I hate surprises.

  This isn’t in the way that other people will use the word hate. Some people say I hate it, and what they truly mean is they don't really like it. Some people say I hate her, and they really mean I love her. No, when I say hate, I mean every ounce of that intense negative emotion all surging out at the same time.

  Once my little sister Abragale put a harmless snake in one of my boots. When I sat down on the little stool inside our door and slowly pulled that boot up to put my foot in, I felt that slimy, scaly bastard slither around my toes. I didn't scream. No. I’m not even afraid of snakes. I fumed, I fumed, and I fumed.

  I went out, and I caught one snake. I caught two snakes. I caught three snakes. I put them in her bed, and I put them in her shoes, and I put them in her jacket. Some would say I’m vindictive. I would disagree. It’s making a point. If someone cuts you, you cut them twice back. They won’t ever cut you again. Abragale though, she continues to try and surprise me because she knows I hate surprises. She is twice as stubborn as me.

  Mother once thought it'd be a great idea to throw a party for my birthday. And so she invited my friends, sisters’ friends, father's friends, and all her friends to come to the house. They squeezed in like tiny sardines when I was away, baked a wonderful cake, and a present from a place far, far away. When I came back and opened that door, I saw the potential for the best party of my life. I turned and walked right back around.

  Thankfully, my plans for today were not a surprise. Stoney had told me a few days ago that today was going to be the day we were going to catch a Rift spawn. So I woke up bright and early. I woke up for something exciting. Sometimes when I wake up for nothing, I slither deeper into the bed and forget about the world for a bit longer. I force myself to dream that I was training to kill Riftspawn in the Capital. Ten minutes of wasted time become thirty. Before long, I’m kicking myself for not having gotten out of bed to at least do something that could get me closer to my goal. Swordsmanship would do it. Strength training would be very helpful. The children at the Academy, they don’t sleep in. But sometimes, I do.

  When I get up for something, I don't go back to bed. I don't feel sleepy. I jump out of bed, ready to conquer the world. Today, it was the moments before dawn when I snuck out into the main room of our house. Usually father would have been up for an hour by now, he would have started to bring the cattle out. He would have done some repairs and practiced some woodworking. Mother used to be an early riser. A year ago she would have been preparing breakfast, repairing clothes, and worrying about the future. No longer though.

  But today my father was sleeping in. No work would be done on the celebration of Lafta.

  I slowly and silently stalked to the door, slipped on my boots, and threw on my jacket. Grabbing a wooden chair, I held it up so there was not even a chance it scraped the ground. I gently placed it next to the fireplace, and stood on top of it. I was face to face with my father’s sword.

  My eyes drank in the details as they always did when I had a moment alone with it. This was no ordinary sword and no ordinary scabbard. Engraved in the leather scabbard were numerous symbols I had never seen before I had first laid my eyes on them. Silver metal grew up from the tip of the scabbard like a vine, growing erratically towards the hilt. Closer to the hilt, the interlocking lattice grew thicker, hinting at different beasts, plants or humans. My father refused to tell me anything about this sword.

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  The hilt seemed to have been carved with the love of a sculptor, if that was even possible. A wolf’s features stood, aloof and proud, howling at any who wielded it. It was so small, you could barely make it out. It was absolutely a work of art. And when I reverently pulled the sword out of the scabbard, I could see the tiny scripts of silver and gold glinting even in the near darkness. Today was not a day I was going to admire this. No, I was going to steal it.

  Ever since I was a boy, I had kept awake at night, dreaming of what adventures this sword had been through. Whenever my uncle had been in town, he had told me stories of the troubles he and my father had been through and the bravery had gotten them through it. As the years passed by, my uncle came less and less. My boyish trust slowly was shed to the razors of truth from growing up. I realized my father was a poser and likely had never used this sword in his life. He was, in short, a coward.

  I gently wrapped the edge in some leather I had prearranged the week before. Nobody ever looked above the hearth anymore. This sword was practically wallpaper. As long as my family did not look closely to find there was no hilt left, I was sure that my deception would be covered up for a day.

  I tucked the sword under my jacket and slowly sneaked to the door. I only cracked it open a smidgeon before I heard a voice that stopped me dead in my tracks.

  “Vidal,” my sister Sarah hissed. “What are you doing sneaking out right now? Mother needs you today.”

  Internally I panicked. If I were caught with the sword by my oldest sister, there was no way I would be able to convince her not to tell my mother or father. She was a rule follower of the worst sort. She sat at the front row of class when we went to school and answered the teacher’s questions with perfection. Deep inside, I knew I loved her but sometimes it was tough for me to remember because of what a pain she could be.

  “What do you care about what I do? You’ve been living your life worry free. The least you could do is look after her for a day,” I retorted back, the cold anger inside slowly being brought to life.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean, do you remember where I was all of yesterday? By her bedside to feed her soup. By her shoulder as she walked to get fresh air. Running to the market to get her favorite foods. And what about you? I see the back of your heels in the morning and only a lick of your hair late at night. Where were you? Where were you when she needed you? Where were you when Abragale needed you? When I needed you? Now you care about where I go. I’m seeing a friend.”

  “You don’t know what I do for this family! The lengths I’ve gone to in order to help father keep us warm, to help mother fix the clothes on your back. You have some nerve to set yourself up as a saint when we both know what you can be like.”

  “And what’s that?”

  My sister stood there, her long brown hair shooting in every direction, frizzy and tangled. Her brown eyes darted in every direction like a caged beast. Her belly bulged ever so slightly, and her outfit was an assortment of random clothing articles. There was a time that people said she was the pearl of the village, the beauty of Tristvale. Her hair had been straight as an arrow. Her eyes would pierce into you like you were the only one in the world that mattered. She competed with boys in athleticism and the girls in fashion.

  I knew we had changed, but it had not hit me like it did then. I couldn’t remember the last time we had spoken more than a word or two to each other. As she caught her breath, the pity in my heart strangled my anger. Some of the pity was for her but mostly for me. Life was unfair.

  I heard my father stirring in the other room and knew I had to go.

  “Can I leave now? Actually, I am leaving now. Look after mother for once.” I turned and strode through the door as I heard her whisper my name, all anger gone. Another piece of my heart chipped off as was often the case these days.