Tamuna, a voice spoke in her mind. She froze, her blood turning to ice. Was someone behind her? She glanced over her shoulder, but saw only shadows. Perhaps the wind was playing tricks with—

Tamuna, the voice spoke again, this time as clear as if she had heard it with her ears. She spun around, but again, she was alone.

As she turned back to the apse, the air immediately in front of her began to ripple like a mirage on a hot day. The sword seemed to morph and change, until she saw two images before her: the sword in the slab of marble, exactly as before, and a tall young man with golden hair and a carefully trimmed beard, wearing a silver coat of mail and the tunic of a warrior.

“Wh-who are you?” she asked, taking a step back. Something about his gaze held her, telling her there was no need to be afraid.

“Tamuna Leladze,” he said softly, looking at her with the barest hint of a smile. “Over a thousand years have passed since mortal eyes have seen this place, now in ruins in the world of men. Many have desired to wield me, but I have refused them all. I am Imeris, the twelfth and final sword, and this is my sanctuary.”

Tamuna frowned. “The twelfth sword?”

“Yes,” said the young man. His image faded until he was almost invisible, so that Tamuna found herself staring at the hilt of the sword in the marble slab. It called out to her the way it had in the tavern, and she realized that the man and the sword were one and the same.

“How did you know my name?”

“I know a lot about you, Tamuna,” said Imeris, coming back into view. “Our minds made contact the moment you laid eyes on me. I know how your heart longs for adventure, how you dream of faraway lands. And yet, your unshakeable loyalty to the few close and lasting friends in your life keeps you rooted to your home.”

“You can read my mind, then?”

“Only because you are too innocent to know how to shut me out. What I read in your mind, others can easily read in your countenance.”

Tamuna gazed into Imeris’s eyes and felt as if she were staring into a mirror back through centuries of time. And yet, he looked like a man only a few years older than her.

“Why have you brought me here?” she asked.

“Do you see the inscription written on the floor beneath your feet?”

Tamuna looked down and saw an inscription, written in old, faded letters in the marble floor. She squinted and tried to make them out, but the writing was too ancient for her to read.

“What is it?”

“It is an ancient prophecy, pronounced on the day when I was forged.”

“What does it say?”

“It says: This sword IMERIS, though last to be forged, certainly shall not be the least. For in the days when the Order is broken and darkness sweeps across the face of the land, it shall await the one who will wield it in truth and wisdom to free the world of men.” He paused, looking her in the eye. “You are the one of whom the prophecy speaks, Tamuna. You are the one whom I have chosen.”

At first, Tamuna felt as if she were falling through an abyss. Darkness surrounded her, so thick she could almost taste it.

Before she could panic, her fall slowed until she was floating in midair. Her feet touched water, and a deep sense of peace swept over her, the peace one only feels in a dream. As the darkness cleared, she found herself swimming in a clear pool fed by a mountain spring. Rugged cliffs rose behind her, while a small stone chapel stood a short distance from the shore. An eagle cried out in the cloudless blue sky, momentarily breaking the solitary silence of the wilderness.

Where am I? Tamuna wondered. How did I come to this place? If this was a dream, it felt more real than any she’d ever experienced. The water was cool and refreshing, with a bed of fine gravel under her feet. There was no danger of drowning, though the pool was deep enough that she had to swim instead of walk. She was naked, but that didn’t bother her. It would be silly to swim in her clothes, of course.

She reached the edge of the pool and climbed onto a large rock. Snow-capped peaks lined the horizon in every direction, while virgin forests stretched out in the valleys below. The view was so stunning, it completely took her breath away. She’d heard of places like this, where the cattle herders took their cows in the summer and the hunters roamed in the winter. However, when she scanned the mountains on the horizon, none of them were familiar.

“Hello?” she shouted. “Can anyone hear me?” The echo came back a few seconds later, but only the wind answered her.

She shivered and rubbed her arms with her hands. The breeze was uncomfortably cool on her bare, wet skin, but fortunately the sun was rapidly drying her. She sat down on the rock and began to wring out her hair.

She noticed a small footpath nearby, leading to the stone chapel. A set of woolen clothes lay neatly folded at the head of the path, clearly meant for her. As soon as she was dry enough to dress herself, she climbed down from the rock and slipped the clothes over her body. They were thick and warm, perfectly suited for the mountains. The embroidery was red and gold on black, in the style of the Khevsurans, with a recurring cross-and-circle motif. She took a few moments to admire her reflection in the lake before setting off down the path.

Like most mountain churches, this one was built in the shape of a cross, with tall, narrow windows and intricate patterns carved onto the exterior. The stones were crumbling, and a long crack ran down the wall through the highest window. From the outside, it seemed empty.

I’m alone, she thought silently. And yet somehow, she knew that wasn’t true. Ever since the darkness had lifted, she’d felt a presence nearby, waiting for her. It felt as if she were part of a story that she was living through instead of merely hearing about.

Tamuna bit her lip as she finished preparing the food. She could tell from Sopiko’s tone that any further questions would not be tolerated. Her aunt wasn’t a harsh woman, but she could be stern, especially when it came to the tavern. Tamuna sometimes wondered if her mother had been like that: stern and domineering. She had no memory of her mother, and Sopiko had never mentioned her.

As she finished with the cheese and spooned the beans into a clay bowl, Tamuna’s mind drifted back to the sword. She didn’t know why, but something about it seemed to call her. No matter how she tried, she couldn’t put it out of her mind.

“Here,” said her aunt, loading the roasted chicken on the tray. “Take this to our guest upstairs, but don’t linger too long.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m serious, Tamuna. I know how you like to stay and chat every time we have a guest, but this time,” she made a cutting motion across her neck with her hand. “Understand?”

“Yes, Aunt Sopiko. I won’t disturb him.”

“Good. Now see to your work.”

He must be a very important man for her to say that, Tamuna thought as she climbed the stairs. Usually, her aunt had no qualms about her chatting with the guests. From them, she’d learned all sorts of fascinating things about the world beyond her village: of vast rocky deserts to the south, with ancient ruins buried beneath the shifting sands; and of warrior kingdoms on the grassy plains beyond the western sea. But lately, it was the Northlands that everyone seemed to be talking about. Some guests spoke of armies marching steadily toward the Kevonas, while others spoke of the rise of a new empire across the plains. Perhaps their new guest was an envoy, or an advisor to a king—or perhaps he was the leader of a band of warrior monks, preparing to take part in a holy war.

All these thoughts raced through her mind as she walked down the hallway and knocked on the door to the private room.

“Sir,” she called, holding the tray against her hip. “I have your dinner, sir. May I come in?”

No answer.

She waited for a moment, then knocked again. “Uh, sir, are you there?”

Again, no answer.

He’s probably just gone to the outhouse. The tray weighed heavily on her arms, so she nudged the door open with her toe and stepped in.

Sure enough, the room was empty. A fire blazed in the fireplace, while the man’s cloak and rucksack lay exactly as he’d left them. She carefully set down the tray of hot food, noticing the sword that still lay on the other side of the table.

Something about the sight of it rooted her to the spot. She knew that she should return to the kitchen, but all she could do was stare, mesmerized by the sight. The blazing light of the fire made the emerald on the pommel glisten and shimmer.