The Ninth Key: Frostblade

He had killed his only brother. Slaughtered him as he did a fattened calf on the holy day. The mere seconds that separated his envious intentions and his murderous actions had altered him forever. On that arctic night, Treachery in pure form was born. It had carved its way into our world with his blade and the innocent blood of his brother’s heart gave it unquenchable thirst.

Some believe that the ninth gate had already been there. Some believe that Treachery spawned the gate, the circle and himself from pure lust to torture treacherous souls who would betray and slay their brothers; all in those same mere seconds. To argue either would be a waste of time. The true fact that remains is Cain’s blade had become the ninth key, the Frostblade.

The key that would unlock the ninth gate of hell and punish all men who worshipped Treachery. Endless torture in a frozen wasteland. The key that had gained power it’s power from the sweat of betrayal and the blood of innocence. The key that, according to legend, could cut a rip in time and reality to any possible dimension or universe?! Cain threw it aside as a man throws a loose rock in his pocket. An action birthed of ignorance of what he had just created and shame of spilling his brother Abel’s blood.

I noticed it on the train tracks of L’enfant Plaza Metro Station. A little brown paper package with my name on it. As if the sender knew only I would see it at this very moment in time. I jumped onto the tracks, but when I retrieved it I fainted. Everyone thought I was shocked from the third rail and proceeded to convince me of it. I know for certain I never touched the third rail. Only the piss soaked brown paper box from “Destiny“ with my name on it.

I told them of my dream while I was unconscious, a garden untouched by man. Again I was met with indifference. I silenced myself as soon as it’s sparkle caught my eye. It’s tooth sticking out the box already as if it thirst for freedom. I tore open the package that had nearly cost me my life. The Frostblade and it’s infinite knowledge and access now lay on my lap. A drop of my blood stained it’s wilted iron. I did not know the blade’s name or history at the time, but the single golden grape I was clutching in my left hand was proof enough that I had visited that garden in reality when I touched that package. It wouldn’t be proof enough to my friends though. They thought I tried to kill myself. They still think the ninth key is rusty shiv.

I gathered myself and bid my friends goodnight as I exited the very train car that almost wrote me a one way ticket to my maker. My two friends had carried me off the tracks onto the platform and then to the numbing floor of the orange line train. I should have thanked them more, but ninety-three percent of my brain capacity was preoccupied with my imminent course on time travel. I had a date with curiosity and the devil himself would not keep me from my pursuit of knowledge. I climbed six full flights of stairs with ease. I’m sure multiple neighbors spoke words of daily welcome. At this pace their voices were to me as the wings of a bee, not inaudible, but ambient noise.

I burst through the door like a child on Christmas morning. I usually kept my door unlocked because I had no physical possessions that were worth taking and it was well known within the social circle of my building. What is known is that I have believed in magic for as long as I have believed in anything. I rip the zipper on my backpack like the cord of a rusty lawn mower. I placed the blade there as to not cause further alarm from my peers.

I remove it from the bag and let my eyes take a walk along it’s form. It is the oldest thing I have ever held and certainly the wisest. It’s edge has met many hearts I am sure. I hold it with an open palm not wanting to disservice my eyes’ captivation of it. As I close my fingers around the hilt, my thumb last, lightning explodes within the room and my eyes are met with a Rolodex form of destinations formed from thin air. As I think of fear the rolodex shifts into frame my old home, my parents house appears. The window to my childhood room surfaces. The rolodex is displaying my first encounter with fear. I ponder for a second exactly how all of this works. Not a moment before the thought passed, the blade spoke to me with a darkness that would leave a a brave man humble. It spoke it‘s true name to me, Frostblade, the black hole of time.