***
Before Glint and Azrael headed back to the town to receive their payment for killing the wolverines, the duo decided to spend a few hours investigating the forest, looking for a sign of whatever had gotten the animals the way they were. The search seemed futile, as nothing at all seemed to stand out. After an hour or two Azrael even asked for Glint to try out his newfound ability to see the traces of energy that an ability could leave behind, but it was to no avail.
In an impromptu camp behind three thick trees growing rather close to one another, the two had a lunch of packed bread and cheese, expecting to be delayed. The two talked of all that had happened so far in their trip. It had been a good start, they concluded.
“Azrael,” said the sandy haired youth suddenly, not looking at the man, but rather at the crackling fire they had set up for heat against the winter. “Tell me how this energy seeing ability really works again.” He had heard the explanation, but it was still a confusing subject for him, despite his ability to now see something not unlike an electrical haze emanating from people. The haze around Azrael was bigger, more like a cloud, and the man had said that was because he was an Ability user.
The necromancer furrowed his eyebrows for a second. “No matter if a normal person, energy artist, magician or psion, we all have what we call living energy inside of us,” he started. Glint nodded his understanding of that particular point. “Whatever your art, there is a way for you to utilize it in order to be able to see this energy. However, a normal person’s interaction with this energy is both passive and weak. What we see is not the actual energy of an Ability user, but rather the effects it leaves on their own life force. This is how we perceive this vitality. If you get better, which is rather rare indeed, you might be able to see the haze take shape, but that is truly unlikely. In fact, the best most people could hope for is to clearly see another person using a similar art to theirs. This is the reason Lord Alfjötr reacted in shock to you before you actually moved your armour. He could see the tendrils of electrical qi enter your gauntlet and interact with it.”
Glint pondered that for a while, and thought he understood things better now. But before he could say so, Azrael pulled out the map he had showed Glint earlier, keeping it furled up. He said, “Focus your energy on your eyes and try to look at this here.”
Glint did, and was surprised to see a haze emanating from the map, floating an inch above it as if it were a fire. Looking at the man, he asked, “What is that?”
“Told you it was enchanted,” Azrael answered, looking slightly pleased with Glint for seeing something. “That, Glint, is what you can see of the spell put upon this map. Undoubtedly it isn’t actually a haze, in fact the art was explained to me as looking like a fairy holding a pen, all made of spiritual energy. Anyhow, it causes the map to update itself when I give it a specific voice command, depending on what I’ve seen and where we’ve been. It is a wonderful tool for an adventurer to have.”
Glint looked at the thing in wonder. “How does it work?” the warrior pondered aloud. Azrael laughed, “I was told once that explaining an art to an outsider is like painting for a blind man. The principle, however, is called energetical bleeding. It works because of the sphere system we exist in. A small percentage of spiritual energy from the spell bleeds out physically, and changes the physical form of the map. There are ways to create tools using the arts we use. I actually heard that in Quicksilver, some are capable of making enhancing armour for anyone to use, although it is nothing compared to the ones they create for themselves.”
At the mention of the Quicksilver guild, Glint became subdued. A few minutes of talking later, Azrael went quiet as well. “What’s wrong?” he asked finally.
“Is joining Quicksilver the right thing to do?” the warrior asked. The question has been spinning through his mind all this time, since they started their journey.
Azrael’s eyes flared, Glint noticed, and he wasn’t sure if it was in anger or something else. Azreal had a right to be enraged, of course, if Glint decided to change his mind about joining the guild after the man had done so much to a facilitate reaching that goal. But Azrael’s look was not, Glint decided, one of anger. “Why wouldn’t it be?” the man voiced the question quietly, almost expectantly.
“I... I just don’t know, Azrael,” Glint answered. He didn’t know exactly how to put his concerns into words, and so he remained silent for a bit, thinking.
“Is it not the way you imagined?” Azrael intruded into his thoughts, and the youth nodded.
“Tell me the history of the age of power, Glint,” the man commanded quietly, catching Glint off guard. When the warrior didn’t respond, Azrael said, “Trust me, it’s relevant.” Glint thought about where to start for a second, then laughed at his stupidity, “It all starts with Odin, of course. There were people with abilities before him, but he started the oldest guild, didn’t he?”
“True, Allfather was the first guildmaster of the first guild, in eastern Mti. The Creationists guild stands to this day, surrounded by his emerald savannahs. Keep going,” the man prompted, with his arms around one of his knees while the other leg lay splayed on the ground before him. He had no blanket on since the trees behind the two sheltered them from the cold well enough.
“Right, so before then, there wasn’t a huge difference between Normals and Ability users. They lived together and stuff. But... it was the creation of heaven that changed things. Guilds too, because people with Abilities started separating themselves from Normals,” Glint concluded, biting his lower lip thoughtfully.
“And why did they do that?”
“Well... when Odin made heaven, he made it so that only people with Abilities, and only strong ones, could get in. So... maybe they thought they were better than others?” he asked.
The fire crackled in the silence that followed, but Azrael still kept his peace, waiting. After a couple of minutes, Glint added, “Because they were told to? Because they knew they would be separated from their loved ones after death? Because the Normals were afraid of them? Pyro’s skull, I don’t know, Azrael!” The warrior’s teeth grated against one another. Why couldn’t he just get a straight answer for once?
Azrael smiled sadly. It was that same heartache Glint noticed in him sometimes, the one that made the warrior recoil internally. What could make somebody hurt like that? “These are all wonderful answers, but I believe they don’t capture the problem’s essence. My boy, let me tell you, there is no one who would want to hate the guilds like I would, but they aren’t inherently evil. Rather, their machinations are a corrupt system leading people down the wrong path. Or perhaps leaving only the corrupt at the top.” The man seemed to have forgotten Glint’s presence, and was almost musing to himself. “So, how to avoid corruption? As long as one follows the good of his heart, all the evil in the world couldn’t change him. It is when we settle for the better of two evils that we start to rot, boy, for there is no good to be found between two evils.” The man smiled pleasantly as he said that, and the sadness seemed to hide itself again.
“So... is that a no then? The system is corrupt so stay away from it?” Glint understood that Azrael was trying to explain something large and profound, but he just couldn’t get it. Why would he help him join Quicksilver if he thought that? The youth drew spirals in the snow with his finger absentmindedly. The snow was dirty and starting to clump over from being around so long, so he left it alone after a second.
Azrael shook his head. “No, what I’m saying is, if you do what you can to remain pure, to stay yourself rather than get effected by outside influence, then it wouldn’t really matter whether you join Quicksilver or not. Either way you would be able to be a protector of the weak, of sorts.” He paused as Glint gave him a look. “Silly me, I didn’t ask you earlier if that is even your goal. I just assumed that based on what I saw of you.” Seeing Glint’s look of confusion, Azrael added, “Of course I’d understand wanting to be strong so you would be able to survive an age of warfare
better, or to be able to secure a better afterlife for yourself, but didn’t you have another goal? Something beyond simple survival?” the man gazed at Glint, looking truly intrigued, and perhaps for the first time seeing Glint as more than a child with an interesting ability or talent, Glint thought. It was as if Azrael was really trying to put himself in the warrior’s shoes. Which, he thought to himself, is all well and good, except his shoes stank of gore and guilt and fear.
“I...” Glint hadn’t really ever thought about it before, beyond that dazed recollection of when he fought Alfjötr. When he originally asked Azrael to make him stronger... it was because he was tired of murder, he’d wanted to improve and escape the helplessness. Glint had to consider that thought’s implications for a few seconds, to struggle against what was eating at him; what was always eating at him. “My whole life, the only one who didn’t want me to become an Ability user was my dad... and he was the one I’ve hurt the most,” he admitted the thought in a low voice, as if it were blasphemy. The necromancer leaned in to listen better. “He- my father, I mean, his grandfather was an Ability user, and apparently a cruel one. He used to hurt others as if they were puppets made for his games. He would enslave entire villages, and force the people in them to fight to the death in front of him.
“He especially enjoyed hurling f-family members against each other, I’m told, because even though he controlled their minds they were still able to cry when they killed loved ones. Those who survived would work for my great granda’ as servants. They didn’t have any real choice most of the time.” Azrael had gone very still while Glint was speaking in his stammering, tripping voice, and the warrior thought it might be because he wanted him to be comfortable with the story telling. Glint didn’t have to struggle to remember the story: it was burnt into him. “Anyway, he controlled their minds, but it wasn’t permanent, and w-when he got tired he would frighten them into doing as he wanted. Knowing what I do now, he probably could only control some people completely or more people partially. I mean, you can only expend so much energy.” Azrael nodded in approval, and a deer went by in the distance, looking for shelter from the cold, its big eyes glancing frightfully about. “But for some reason the guild he was with didn’t teach him that properly. Or maybe they did and he was just stark raving mad. I guess it was no surprise when he stretched his power too thin and somebody managed to sneak into his room and slit his throat while he slept. He had kept his family close, always, and...”
“It was a massacre,” Azrael stated hollowly. Glint imagined Azrael knew the story all too well. It could only end like this if someone took such a path. Revenge had a way of finding people of its own accord.
“I don’t really blame them, you know.” At that Azrael looked slightly shocked but then merely grunted in acknowledgment, so the boy continued. “Great granddad was the first to die, but they took granny out almost at the same time. When they started cackling about it, my grandfather tried to flee. Alone.” He spat out the final word in disgust, and Azrael commented softly, “It was just the fear, lad.”
Glint looked at him coldly. “Would you run away and leave your wife and two sons to die in a fire? One child barely out of the crib and the other not older than ten?” He stared Azrael down until the man breathed, “Never.”
During the conversation the two had finished their meal of cheese and fruit and bread, packed by the old lady in the tavern. Glint had buried grapes in some snow to cool them down, and he now pulled them out and bit into one, savouring the freezing sweetness packed inside. He had instructed Azrael to do the same, and the man gave him a satisfied salute now as he enjoyed his own grapes, smiling contently despite the grimness of the tale. After a few minutes of silence, Glint decided on how best to continue his story again. “The bastard didn’t get too far though,” he hissed, causing Azrael to choke on his grape. “My dad saw him get stabbed just outside the hallway. He was young enough to not truly understand death, but when you see someone push a spear through a man’s chest, it doesn’t matter how young you are. Somehow he got neglected, hiding under his mother’s skirts. He had the good sense to not stay there frozen and get choked to death by smoke. No, he walked his bare little feet, seared almost raw by hot stone, out of that castle. He went to a nearby village, changed his name and got apprenticed to a blacksmith. He lived happily enough, never mentioned where he was from, refused all training or talent testing done by whichever guild was ruling over the area at the time. He never got into a fight, never called anybody names, married a nice woman, and had me to show for it.” He gulped down the last grape, and it made the warrior feel better. Talking about his father always put him into a bad mood, after all.
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” the question almost made Glint want to laugh out loud.
“Well yes, it’s all great, except for the last part. You see, dad was hoping I’d turn out like my mother, but I’m his spitting image, sadly. He always saw my great grandfather in me, and it scared him to death. I still remember the way he always told me that story, trying to put his loathing of power into me. All that could protect me from that onslaught was my mother’s embrace.” He smiled then, and his voice softened, “My mother’s humming and lullabies. Her smile, her telling me that daddy was just having a nightmare, that it’ll all be good, I could cry the fear out if I wanted to.” He stopped there. Glint didn’t want to remember his mother too much either, for he was the one who’d scorned her upbringing.
“So... on one side my father, warning me that being strong only brings tragedy. On the other side of that, everyone else. They pushed me towards the guilds and their training, as was expected. As a child, it was too much pressure, too many opposing expectations. One day I snapped, like a string pulled from both ends. I argued with him, called him a useless coward. I ran away from my family and went as far as I could. I guess they thought I would come back soon enough. But they didn’t know I’d taken the first piece my father had made after he learnt to smelt metal: it was a blade and the armour I kept with me for five long years. That same armour became the bracers I have on right now.” He showed his forearm off to Azrael.
The metal gleamed with pride, now rimmed and with two dark curving rectangular patches on the inside. Glint could make out something looking a little like a circle. Azrael nodded politely. “So you could say I had a piece of the man with me, and that helped me go on. But... he was right, Azrael. I’m just like my great granddad.” The last words were said in a croak, and it had taken all of Glint’s strength to say them. Azrael kept silent. “The truth is, I don’t deserve what I have. On the day of my essential success... I massacred everyone in the mercenary band I was in at the time. T-that’s how I…” he inhaled deeply, lips fluttering, “…got the estate.” A soft hiss left the man’s lips at the confession, but other than that and Glint’s sobs, the clearing remained silent for a few minutes.
When he had gotten rid of the last throat wrenching sound Glint took a deep gulp of fresh air, wiped his brown eyes and continued his story calmly, “It’s true that it was either me or them at the time, and that I was trying to help an innocent, who’s probably dead now anyway, but I still killed forty eight people in cold blood. More, if you count the people I killed under orders when I was still in the band, sometimes in fights, or fires, or slitting their throats while they slept. So there you have it, the culprit behind that story Alfjötr told us the day he dropped by. That’s me. I’m not worth the goal, nor the good, nor your training. Have your answer yet?” The last sentence was pure bitterness, Glint knew, but the warrior was angry with Azrael for prodding him.
“You seem to really hate yourself for what you did, Glint,” Azrael commented at length. Glint laughed and said, “Yeah, though I’ve been running away from it for a while.”
“You are a very curious teenager,” the man added, stroking his chin. “Let me tell you, you haven’t had a normal life. Not by a long shot. You’re mature, smart, and kind, I’ll tell you that much.” Glint scoffed, but Azrael wa
ved off his disbelief. “You may not believe it, but many crimes are committed by kind people. They try to do the right thing and it backfires, as in your case. This is why I think strength is most important for those who fear it: a man afraid of the knife in his hand will use it wisely. Similarly…a leader afraid of his cruelty turns out just and good.” He waited for Glint to respond, and the youth knew Azrael had just probably given him a riddle, but the warrior ignored it for now. He looked deep into the man’s black eyes, trying to figure out what the necromancer wanted with him.
Then he remembered all the times Azrael had helped him out for no reason and kicked himself mentally. The necromancer had assisted Glint with the managing of the estate, taught him to read, about his abilities, helped him get accepted into the Quicksilver Guild, and was now simultaneously training him and even trying to get him to sort his feelings out. So instead of thinking about the right answer or about figuring the necromancer out, Glint looked deep inside himself. What had brought him this far? Expectations? Fear of retribution? No... Glint knew in his heart of hearts that he had always been fighting against his father, trying to prove him wrong and make him proud. He wanted to do the right thing without shying from himself.
But damn him if he was telling Azrael that.
“I guess what I want to say is, I’ve always been going along with what other people want, and need to think about what I want to do.” As an afterthought, he added, “That’s why I like you, Azrael: you don’t have any expectations of me, no hidden agenda. You’re probably doing all of this just to have fun, or out the goodness of your heart. Maybe I’m just another person you’re trying to help.”
Glint felt better after telling his story. He had been dreading it for so long, not knowing how to explain. But now that he had, he felt surprisingly good. The snow was shining in the sunlight, reflecting the light streaming through the clouds brilliantly. The trees awaited a new coating of green, vibrant leaves, and the earth prepared itself for the coming of flowers. He had the taste of grapes on his tongue still, sweet and good. He smiled.
After a few minutes, Azrael said, “Bathroom,” gruffly, and walked out from their camp circle. “Enjoy!” Glint called after him, then relaxed on the tree trunk behind him, hands folded behind him to create a pillow for his head. It was a beautiful day.
The Final Life Page 32
