The mage smiled. He had watched dozens of times as the older students moved through the blizzard of blossoms and leaves that suddenly became sharper than any blade. The goal was to reach the trunk without a single white spot on your robes. The tree itself was beautiful, but if you touched its blossoms, you’d immediately get stained with its pollen, which was the color of bird droppings and very hard to remove.
Around the corner was a huge metal tub shaped like sphere six feet in diameter. It’d be filled with water and the students would be asked to stand on the side. The stronger ones would last for about a second before falling. The most skilled ones could stand on the thing edge for minutes, balancing only on the big toe of their right foot.
Ash went to the central pavilion, passing all sorts of devices used for the strict and often insane exercises that the abbots put their students through. With each new step, he felt a little bit sadder. Fate was clearly laughing at him. He hated studying, but he would’ve liked to learn the arts that the monks were practicing. Alas, he wasn’t destined to learn even one move, let alone become a disciple.
Pushing aside his thoughts, he opened the giant doors, and entered the hall. His head instantly ached from the heavy smell of the burning incense. The monks seemed to have stuck incense into every crack on the wall, floor, pillars, and ceiling. The swirling cloud of smoke smelled of sandalwood and cherries.
Ash put his fist on his palm and bowed as low as he could.
“Come in,” said the abbot, sitting in a lotus pose with his legs spread so wide that Ash’s groin instantly ached uncomfortably. His jewels just weren’t designed for such a pose.
Closing the doors behind him, the mage sat down on the pillow that had been left there for him. He had never liked this place. Not because of the smoke, which made it difficult to think and see, but because of the dozens of statues of Liao-Fen that seemed to be staring right into your soul.
Gold, bronze, stone, and sometimes even iron, they occupied every inch of free space. At the end of the hall stood the biggest of them all, made of glass. Almost twenty feet tall, it propped its head on a wooden beam. During the day, whenever the sun shone bright in the sky, it’d turn the golden rays into a myriad of colorful beams, which greatly amused the children.
Ash had once wondered why was the largest statue made of such a delicate and fragile material as glass. It was until recently that he learned the rather obvious answer — symbolism. One of Liao-Fen’s wisdoms was that the “bigger” a person was, the weaker they were, because they had too much to care and fear about. The most dangerous were the “small” people, who’d do anything to live as they had nothing to lose. It was then that he also realized why all of the smaller statues of Liao-Fen were made of durable material like iron and stone.
“Giving up?”
The mage put down his staff, nodded, and rested his hands on his knees.
“My son, what it is that you are looking for in this monastery?”
“Peace,” Ash immediately replied without hesitation.
“Peace,” the old man drawled, stroking his long, almost transparent beard. Despite his age, the abbot’s hands were steady as a rock. “Do you think you deserve it?”
Ash bowed so low that his head touched the cold floor.
“I know that I did a lot of bad things, but I didn’t act on my own.”
“Those are excuses.” Ling sighed. “Listen to me, young mage, and then answer the question. If a traveler following a mountain path gets killed by a stone knocked over by a gust of wind, who is to blame? The traveler who chose the wrong path, the stone moved by the wind, or the wind itself?”
Ash thought a moment before answering.
“The wind.”
“Why so?” the old man asked in surprise. “The wind was doing its job. It blew on the entire mountain, but only one stone fell. Why is it not to blame?”
“By that logic, the knife would be to blame for an injury, and not the hand that wielded it,” Ash retorted and then twitched when Ling laughed. It sounded like a broken rattle.
“Then why not blame the man who took the knife in the first place? Why not blame the victim for allowing someone to stab them?”
“Because it’s stupid.”
“Is it stupid or is it just easier to look for the cause of your problems in someone else?”
Ash almost lashed out, but quickly calmed down, realizing what the old man was trying to say. He opened and closed his eyes like a fish out of water. But no matter how much he thought, he couldn’t find an answer.
Someone else would’ve blamed fate, the Gods, or some other higher force and nonsense, but he didn’t believe in such things. he had seen too much in his short life to think that there was such a thing as “fate.” If there were, it didn’t care about the people. And if the Gods were truly alive, they didn’t give damn about what was happening outside the gilded doors of their heavenly palaces.
“So, who is to blame? The traveler? The rock? Or the wind?”
“I... I don’t know...” Ash replied. This was the first time in his life that he had heard himself utter those words.
“Remember these words, young mage. Remember and never forget that you don’t know everything about this world and that sometimes what may seem right and simple at first, may seem so only because of ignorance.”
“Yes, abbot. I will remember,” he said and bowed again.
“As for your request...” Ash’s heart began to beat at an alarming rate. The blood was pounding so hard in his ears that it was almost deafening. All he could hope was that he wouldn’t be driven out of the monastery. “I cannot comply with it.”
“But... Why?!” the mage exclaimed, his eyes ablaze. “I learned all the sixty-three wisdoms of Liao-Fen! I proved that my intentions were honest! I swore that I’d never again harm an innocent soul!”
“Calm down, young one, calm down,” Ling whispered. “Unfortunately, the way of the monk isn’t for you.”
“What makes you think that?” Despite his anger, a lump formed in Ash’s throat.
He imagined leaving the mountain, his conversations with Jing-Jing, the music of sisters Sen and Men, the laughter of the young students, and wandering the earth without a home or family, not knowing when he’d be ambushed by bandits. The lump grew as his imagination ran wild.
“I cannot tell you.” Ling’s voice was low and calm. “But Liao-Fen’s wisdom allowed me to see that the Gods have cursed you for the evil that your hands had brought to the lands of the Kingdom of Arabist.”
The mage twitched and grimaced. Another lecture about the damned Gods and their damned curses.
“In that case...” Ash blinked a couple of times, trying to keep the stinging in his eyes at bay. “In that case... Why did you ask Jing-Jing to look for me? Why him? You could’ve asked anyone else! Anyone else would’ve killed me without a second thought!”
The abbot rose to his feet and walked over to the young mage. An old, wrinkled hand grabbed Ash’s shoulder as his heart fluttered like a captive bird.
“One day, when you’re ready, you’ll find an answer to that question. Now listen, young mage, you’ll never have a home or a place to return to. Fate will forever drive you forth like tumbleweed. Wherever you set foot, the buds of flames and misfortune will blossom. The Gods have cursed you to be but a tool in their hands, and to sow death wherever it befits them. But, that is a tale for another day... Come, you should enjoy the last song of sisters Sen and Men... I feel like you’ll miss their music the most.”
Ash closed his eyes, trying not to sink into despair. He couldn’t believe that he’d have to leave soon, he couldn’t believe that the abbot could talk so calmly about such a terrible curse, even if he himself didn’t believe in it. He knew that a warlock could cast such an awful malefaction or that anyone with enough hatred in their hearts could manifest their emotions as a hex... But to hear that Gods hated someone so much?
No, he simply refused to believe it. He didn’t want to admit that he wa
s doomed to be just a pawn in someone’s game. That he was cursed to live the fate of a fallen leaf, driven by a self-willed wind.
From the outside, he heard the tune of the song without words. He hadn’t heard this one yet, so he waited for the flute to play the last note of the soft, lyrical melody. Little did he know that he’d have to wait for that note for many, many years. Sometimes, he’d wake up at night, wiping the sweat from his forehead, and banishing terrible dreams, in which the music was constantly interrupted by a terrible whistle and a dull wheeze.
Instead of a melodious whisper, the flute produced a terrible screech. Less than a moment later, something pierced through the wall, dripping blood onto the floor. Ash, acting on instinct honed over years of fighting, jumped to his feet and grabbed his staff.
Ling was as calm as the statue of Liao-Fen that towered behind him.
The huge, heavy doors cracked and exploded in a shower of splinters, letting in a whirlwind of fire, followed by black figures whose tattered robes fluttered in the wind like the wings of a demon.
At the head of the group was a tall man. His heavy armor rattled with a metallic echo and his outstretched arm was covered with scales and topped with four yellow claws. What hid under the steel had perhaps once been a man, but no longer.
The hood hid the intruder’s face, but Ash met the gaze of the eyes hiding within its shadows. The beast might’ve been unnaturally tall, it’s power might’ve made the walls shake and the glass statue of Liao-Fen shatter to pieces, and the fire might’ve howled like a faithful dog following its master, and the creature might’ve looked like nothing Ash had seen before in his life, but he knew, oh, he knew well the look in those black eyes.
“Racker,” he whispered, eyes turning red.
The figure flinched. The clawed hand tossed the good back, revealing a hideous face. Covered with green scales, it was a cross between a human and a snake, with two slits for a nose. From the left temple to the right cheekbone, running over where the bridge of the nose would’ve been, were three scars — a memento from the siege of Zadastra. A forked tongue emerged from the parted thin lips and licked the sharp teeth.
“General!” Racker hissed. “Long time no sssssee!”
“Murderer,” Ash growled, as an unknown energy began to gather around him.
The stone floor groaned under his feet, the steel statues were covered with dents and cracks, and the air was constantly flickering with tiny sparks and flames that surrounded the mage like a fiery halo.
Racker laughed, sending a shiver down Ash’s spine. Even before, his laughter didn’t sound human, but now... Looking at his former lieutenant, the young mage sure that what stood before him wasn’t a human, but a beast torn out of the blackest depths of the abyss. Even the demons weren’t as vile as this wretched thing, whose armored tail was slithering across the floor like it had a will of its own.
“Pot calling the kettle black,” Racker snarled. “Aren’t your armsss elbowsss deep in the blood of the innocent? And your legsss knee deep in corpssses? Compared to you, I’m but a mischievousss child.”
All this time, his posse was laughing behind him. Vials of colorful liquid shattered against the floor, bows creaked, and leather creaked as swords were unsheathed. Runes shone on the wooden handles and blades of axes and arrow tips, and barely visible ribbons of poisonous vapor rose from the daggers.
Ash got ready for a fight, but Racker waved his hand, instantly calming down his men.
“I’ll do it on my own,” he said and turned to face the mage. “Look at me. Look!”
Gritting his teeth, Ash did as told. He didn’t look at Racker with his eyes, but with the energy that he had been collecting all this time. What he saw frightened him. A white fire shone in the reptile’s chest, so bring and powerful that Ash had to close his eyes and avert his gaze.
“You’ve absorbed it,” he said. “You’ve absorbed the Dragon’s Essence.”
“I have!” Racker exclaimed. “I did what you didn’t have the gutsss to do! I wasss a fool, I didn’t know what it’d do to me, but I found a way out! SSSoon, I’ll... I’ll get my handsss on true power an—”
Before Racker could finish, Ash, whose rage could eclipse the light of Irmaril, gathered the accumulated energy and hit the ground with his staff, shielding the silent abbot with his body. A roaring stream of fire erupted from the floor and rushed at the intruders. Twenty feet tall, it burned through the high ceiling; forty feet wide, it left scorch marks on the walls. The flames, capable of vaporizing a small pond, hit Racker’s exposed hand. Instead of screaming in agony, he disappeared with a silent pop.
The staff, made of ordinary wood, couldn’t withstand the power, turning into ash in the young mage’s hands. Ash was left unarmed and without anything to confront the enemy with. But he had no intention of retreating. A general, even a former one, didn’t flee from the battlefield — he remained to fight to the very end. Either his, or that of his opponent.
“Weakling.” Racker smirked.
Before, the two were equal in strength, but the Essence clearly tipped the scales in Racker’s favor. And without a staff, Ash was completely helpless.
“Run,” Lin whispered, stepping forward to shield the young mage.
“But—”
“Liao-Feng had once said that a fight is not lost as long as you still draw breath. The herald of your death as not yet risen on the sky. Run, young mage,” he said and pushed off the floor, leaping fifteen yards like a feather picked up by the wind. Landing among the group of assassins, he straightened his bent back. His long robe silently touched the ground and his hands, usually locked behind his back, turned into the deadliest weapons. There was no shouting, no clatter, no thuds, nothing. Ling’s palm touched the breastplate of one of Racker’s men, and the poor bastard was sent flying back as if he had been hit by a battering ram. He flew nearly nine yards and smashed through the wall.
“Run!” he repeated for the third time, breaking Racker’s hand with just one hit.
Obeying the abbot’s order, the young mage ran.
Chapter 46
4th Day of the Month of Krag, 322 A.D., The Plains
A sh swam up to the surface. Greedily swallowing air, he coughed as his lungs burned and ached. Ahead of him, the river continued to rage. Water bullets collided with lead ones, which, although they caused no harm, significantly slowed down the beast.
The water around him was boiling and frothing, as if he had found himself at sea in the middle of a storm. Huge waves would every now and again roll over the shimmering spheres as giant pillars shot into the sky, crashing down on the ferry with all their might.
In the midst of this chaos, Ash looked at the lost boy. His little body had long remained without the strength needed to even float. A couple of more seconds, and the child would’ve sank to the bottom and no one would’ve been able to pull him out of the river’s embrace. Low on energy himself, Ash, choking on both water and air, let the waves carry him where he needed to go.
Sinking under the waves every now and again, Ash felt time, like grains of sand, slipping through his fingers. His physical strength wasn’t enough to deal with the river’s fury. Trapped in this watery cage, his magic was of no use. And yet, he was in a hurry to help.
Finding himself on a few yards from the serpent, he dived under the water. Slowly plunging into the darkness, the only thing that guided him in the right direction were the bubbles that escaped the boy’s mouth.
Spells, arrows, and bullets whizzed past him. Every now and again, a shell, slowed down by the water, passed so close that if he had moved a bit to the side, he would’ve been hit by one of his allies. Despite the dangers, he continued deeper and deeper into the darkness, trying to grab the boy’s hand.
It was getting darker, but calmer at the same time. At the very bottom, the chaos that was happening on the surface couldn’t even be felt. It seemed that Erld’s depths were as indifferent to what was happening as much as were the distant clouds where the syl
phs, the spirits of the skies, lived.
There was almost no oxygen left in his lungs. The mage jerked and pushed himself down, grabbing the boy. Already suffocating, Ash almost lost consciousness succumbing to hypoxia, but somehow managed to swim back up to the surface.
The boy coughed as his lungs were filled with air, then screamed in panic when he saw the shadow cast by the giant spirit looming over him. But before another breath could leave him, the serpent hissed, its necks cut off by a pair of scarlet sickles. The crescents, flying over people who were struggling to stay afloat, made a strange, almost melodic sound as they cut through the air.
Contrary to the laws of physics, the serpent’s heads didn’t fall back into the river, but hovered in the air. Ribbons of water emerged from its cut off neck, as if the spirit was searching its heads in order to put itself back together again.
“Take a deep breath!” Ash shouted and pulled the boy under the water.
The little one did as told and dived with the mage. Once again the steel grip of the darkness and the cold, the child didn’t close his eyes so he saw everything that was going on the surface.
Almost a dozen of mages gathered an incredible amount of energy. It roared and raged, ripping bits of canvas from the sail. People covered their eyes with their hands, unable to look at the blue sphere vibrating above the crossed staffs of the mages.
One of the dozen, moving his tongue and lips with difficulty, uttered the magic words, and the sphere began to change. It expanded and elongated until it finally took the shape of dog’s mouth. There was thunder, the brightest flash of which blinded even through the closed eyes, and the dog’s head snapped at the spirit devoid of the river’s power.
The serpent, screeching and snarling, turned into steam. No one present would ever be able to tell whether they had heard the howl of the Thunder Hound or whether their imagination played a trick on them. But what everyone was sure of was that a powerful spell destroyed the giant serpent. But not everyone knew what’d follow.
Ash was among the few ones that did.
Ash. The Legends of the Nameless World. Progression Gamelit Story Page 29
