by Philip Read
A style I bribed Kazimoto with twenty kilos of celestial ore for his personal use. Enough to make eight katanas and a bit more I’m told. For which I got lessons for seven days and a scroll he scribbled together in less than 20 minutes to continue my training during the trip.
Kazimoto apparently has several kenjutsu and zanjutsu styles in his head, which is the only reason I was able to bribe him at all.
The man is a walking talking fount of sword disciplines. Taking different students to teach different styles to seemingly at random throughout the years. Sometimes resulting in the current styles each family ends up using exclusively generations later.
After hearing that story I started believing that the old drunkard really might be almost 2000 years old.
“Are you done yet?” Asriel asks after my practice has been going on for at least two hours.
I’ve become obsessed with learning Kazimoto’s unnamed style. Forgetting all else when I begin to practice, starting with the jumping and acrobatic exercises Kazimoto recommended.
Most of the slashes are circular, either circling the blade around myself like a cutting dome around myself in a move that nearly dislocated my shoulders the first few times, to jumping spins that circle around me like a cyclone. The jumping slash I used to defeat one of the Brave during sparing is currently my favourite. Focusing all power and momentum on wherever along the blade it connects first with the force of my body weight and momentum behind it.
Very difficult move to block unless you are Awakened, a vampire, very skilled or very strong. Or you have an appropriate weapon for blocking, like a shield.
“Yea I’m done,” I say and drink from my gourd, wiping the sweat off my brow.
“Good, now let’s enjoy the view. It’s not every day I see a 120-meter long skeleton leaning against a mountain.”
We walk to the edge of the cliff and look at the beautiful view of the mountain range and especially the skeleton as the twilight of dawn makes way for the light of day.
The skeleton seems to be almost all the way up the mountain, the bones bleached almost as white as the snow. It’s ribs and forearms sticking out of the mountain like a draugr leaving its grave. The size of the thing is impossible, as Asriel said at about 120m from head to toe as far as I can tell.
“It’s big,” I say with awe in my voice wondering how something of that size could exist, and what monster could have killed it.
“It’s very big,” Asriel says nodding, looking at his sketch pad and up again at the sight.
He is a very talented artist, a vocation I at first didn’t understand in a warrior of his calibre. But to live and know only battle and death is a sad existence, even though it can be an exciting existence.
“What happened to the rest of the Titans, I don’t think I know their story?” I say not taking my eyes off the sight. The fog obscuring my view on occasion as it’s blown by the wind across the patches of snow visible on the other mountain..
“Legend says they Ascended, that the Titans as a race all Ascended. Being too powerful for indigenous life on Gaia along with all the other immortal races. All except those that lived in harmony with Gaia’s nature.”
I digest that for a moment. Looking at the impossibly big skeleton in front of me, trying to imagine myself standing up to it in the challenge. I shake my head, the thing could squash me with a step.
“What kind of world is beyond the Gates that can accommodate such creatures?” I ask more bewildered than anything else.
“That is the question, my friend. What kind of world have those that reach the peak of power on Gaia been exiling themselves on all these millennia.”
Asriel says while deep in thought. Its the look in his eyes more than anything else that gives him away when he thinks.
“Do you know anyone that has Ascended?” I ask. Something that has just now occurred to me.
Ariel is an Awakened Lord, the step above Awakened Warrior in the martial Awakened ranking. A feat he accomplished not too long ago as he says.
He is over 110 years old as far as I’ve gathered from his rumbling in his foreign language. He has had training from people that are higher in power and skill than he is. Something I would have had a hard time imagining just three years ago before meeting monsters like Kazimoto or Khan Watanabe, or even any of the Watanabe in fact. Beings so powerful that the normal means of measuring power may not even apply.
Perspective is everything, and my little corner of the world known as the Tundra had left me narrow sighted and narrow-minded. Even now, looking at this huge creature that claims an entire peak of a mountain as it’s grave site, I can’t imagine what had killed it. I know it’s dead, the slight shine of a humongous blade by its right side implies it died in battle. Or at least with the blade in hand. Yet whenever I try to imagine something bigger, stronger, or meaner than the skeletons of this creature. I draw a complete blank.
“I know someone who has Ascended yes. One of my masters, Master Zaraya Zaraki.”
“She became an Imperium?” I ask, an Imperium being the highest level of power allowed to exist on Gaia before a person is compelled to seek a Gate. A geas assumed to be placed by Gaia herself.
“No… We still don’t have a word for what she became. Master Zaraya did the unthinkable when Awakening to Mana.”
He starts filling his pipe with dream weed or whatever else he’s smoking these days. The dramatic pauses were at first a way to force Mira to be patient. But I think he enjoys them too much to ever stop now.
“What unthinkable thing did she do?” I finally ask when his pipe is filled and he pulls the first puffs of smoke.
He blows out the white cloud of smoke smoothly.
“She let the Mana do as it pleased.” He says, taking another puff. I hope he realizes that doesn’t answer my question.
“She didn’t direct her Awakening at all, but instead embraced whatever happened to her.”
I think about that for a momentum. I know a lot about Awakening because I have pestered Asriel, Mira and any of the Hito that seem to know even a hint of what it entails.
Awakening is one of the most prestigious accomplishment that my people have ever sought. As such, it was in most of our best legends. Legends about Bor and the Asgardians. The only barbarians to ever Ascend in recent memory. Recent being hundreds of years ago.
“What do you mean?” I ask, so as not to misunderstand anything about Awakening.
“When the ether in our bodies reach a certain level of saturation and purity it eventually explodes into Mana.
“This is an instantaneous occurrence but it also takes years to complete. When it first happens you have access to Mana for the very first time. You can feel it, direct it, condense it further. To be a mage one has to direct that Awakening Mana to manipulation of the world around them. This usually takes the form of an elemental affinity.
“As some mages specialize in water, or air or lightning. The mana has some autonomy so you can never be too sure what element you will end up with. Warriors and other body specialists direct that Awakening Mana inward to improve themselves, their muscles, their bones, their reflexes.
“Even here the Mana has autonomy resulting in some people being better at a certain thing, even two people that invested their Mana identically will never have the exact same power or affinity to that power. Psions focus mainly on the mind. Focusing that mana on improving their minds to be able to do scary thing. Very scary things…”
He pauses for a moment seemingly just enjoying his pipe, but actually deep in thought.
“Anyways, Master Zaraya did something unheard of in the Order before her time. She let the mana be invested as it pleased within her. No one knew what she was investing of course, its every person’s prerogative to keep such things secret. It took her only five months to finish her Awakening. An unheard of amount of time. Master magicians thought she hadn’t finished or done it properly. But all who witnessed the spectacle had no doubt she had fully Awakened. You have to
keep in mind that Awakening Mana is limited.”
He says looking at me and pulling more smoke, his eyes glassy and reflective from the high of the dream weed.
It’s as if he can almost see the story he’s telling me. Painting a picture with his words that I can just look at and understand. I nod, imagining it as he says.
“Those that choose to temper some Awakening Mana into their bones might not have enough to temper their muscles. Those that choose to temper their blood, might now have enough to temper their heart. Most people plan years in advance the combinations of things to temper the day they Awaken.
“The body doesn’t allow too much of an imbalance though. If you temper bones, tendons and cartilage will also be slightly infused with mana. So the body is never too imbalanced. Master Zaraya just let nature take its course. Letting the mana infuse her over the five months of her Awakening as it saw fit.
“Afterwards she carried on as though nothing had happened. Her main vocation was that of a warrior so she continued her training. She at first wasn’t as good as any of the Awakened Warriors, not even newly Awakened warriors. But within three years she had caught up to them and her mind was a wonder. The woman never forgot and needed to learn something once as though she was a psion. Even having telepathic abilities that could have been a result of Awakening as a psion or fully utilize her crown chakra.
“Ten years into her Awakening she could cast lightning bolts with her eyes and defeat veteran Awakened warriors in single combat. I’m not even exaggerating. By then others wanted to try her method, but it isn’t easy to not tweak yourself a little. Short people want to be taller, people with poor eyesight want to see better. To Awaken is to get a chance to fix everything you consider a flaw within yourself. And her method required complete surrender to a force of nature we don’t even understand. To trust blindly, a very difficult thing for most people. I know of only two others that have managed it to some degree.
“It became clear that though she wasn’t any one thing, she had a depth of abilities that training could unlock with time. And though she may Awaken seemingly weaker in all known disciplines initially. The combination could turn out to be the greatest of powers with its versatility and potential for development.
“Her prospects seemed limitless as she even managed to learn the basics of Magic and psionic powers quickly. By the time she Ascended she was something else. A force of nature that could peat itself against any discipline and come out the victor.”
We stay silent a while after that enjoying the view of the mountains. What more could there be to say?
Chapter 3
Om
The only person likely to be able to teach me about aura use ironically turns out to be the Hermit. The man was blinded in a battle by a hammer blow to the head when he was only 40 years of age. In those days he was apparently known as Gorr the Butcher, one of the most bloodthirsty warriors in the Norse tribe.
Always the first in a fight, always in the front line of an assault, always managing to kill a multitude of warriors in the most bloody way imaginable. His strength allowing him to cut through limbs and torsos and bone with his huge single headed war axe. His Rage was apparently terrible to behold as it seemed to cause fear on everyone around him. His opponents seeming to slow down slightly or losing their strength.
But after he lost his sight everyone quickly lost their patience with him. ‘Who will tolerate a blind fool who still thinks he’s a warrior?’ His mate said as she left him to find better prospects. Any woman can divorce their mate within the Norse, they just have to state their intentions to her man, then to the village and lastly in the longhouse to the village chief and witnesses.
And such was the shame of Gorr as his mate left him 40 years ago. After that, it is said his village tried to help him. Maintaining his house for him so it didn’t crumble around him. Bringing him food and furs in winter. But for a warrior of his calibre, helplessness is a bitter reality to swallow.
It is said he tried travelling with the tribe as it went on raids. Stumbling behind trying to follow by sound, getting lost numerous times and being led home by children after he has been allowed to be thoroughly lost and miserable by the other warriors. Shaming him into remembering his place. And many hated him for his former arrogance. His village eventually fell in a raid though, sacked and burnt to the ground.
Even then it is said the invaders walked around him as he screamed his challenges. Hoping to be cut down and receive a warrior’s death. But the Scavengers were not known for their mercy even back then. With the rest of the survivors, they went to Hill-Town and from support from Hill-town founded a new village.
But Gorr stayed a while and relocated to a different Norse village. An already established village far from any who knew him before, and there he was built an isolated house close to the Dawn Forest. There he accepted what had become of him, and he was known only as the Hermit. There he learnt humility, patience and despair. Giving up on life, giving up on death, becoming old and used to being blind. Reaching the ripe old age of 80, a true elder. A rarity among the battle-loving tribes.
With no prospects but befriended by many young people and creatures over the years. Creatures of the Dawn that would have killed anyone else, anyone except a blind old fool hoping to be killed that is. To the Awakened Beasts he became a curiosity in his pursuit of death and it’s rumoured that some even deigned to speak to him.
A little over two years ago, when the fae arrived in the Tundra with their healing magic. He was eventually found and led to the new city being built, the city of Paradisum. Where the Barbarians, the fae, the dwarves and the Highlanders were building a city like none other. Using a combination of methods from all four peoples. Here he was offered healing but insisted on Awakening before all else instead. For he had heard rumours that a method of Awakening had been discovered for old veterans that qualify for the honour.
And now here he stands before me. The first of the Barbarians to fully complete his Awakening, but certainly not the only one. A man I only befriended because Hiro and Dee had befriended. Now hale and healthy, with smooth skin, a golden tanned complexion, trimmed beard, long thick blond hair, and a sash covering his once blind eyes.
When I was told about his life story I was not very surprised. Many a once hero has been debilitated by an injury that prevents further fighting but is denied an honourable death. But the quiet old man I’ve known all my life as the Hermit was anything but a warrior in my eyes. Stooped, with a long walking staff and a wolf that followed him around. Seemingly protecting him, but which he always cursed for it’s ‘meddling’ and spoke to as though it were Awakened with sepient intelligence. I would have never guessed he was once a great warrior, but he was always the example made to the young in the village that refused to wear their helms.
Now he stands before me, the staff still in hand. The white wolf with a head that’s at about 3”5’ by his side watching me curiously. I see it now though, I see the warrior within and without him. Though he is lean for a Barbarian he is muscular. Tightly corded muscles that are more a result of hard work than fighting in the recent years.
The sash covering his eyes surprised me though. I had thought that Awakening heals all past ailments. But maybe blindness is an exception.
“I always liked you, Om. You reminded me a lot of myself in my younger days.” He says clasping my forearm.
“Thank you. What should I call you now? I don’t think ‘Old Hermit’ is appropriate anymore.” I ask, looking from him to the wolf, which gets closer and sniffs me before moving away and lying on a cot by the window.
“Call me Gorr, it is my name though I haven’t used it in many years.” He says with a smile as we sit at his table. Gorr is one of the few that has taken full residence at The Arena apartments.
“How is it that you are still blind?”
“Pfffh…” He snorts. “I always liked your bluntness as well. I am not a blind young warrior, I just see too much with my eyes open.”
He says mysteriously filling two cups from a jug of ale.
“Old Hermit. I’m told you could help teach me how to control my new abilities.” I say after a swallow. He grins a mischievous grin.
“I am also newly Awakened, I am also attending the training sessions the fae and the dwarves are giving. What makes the others think I know more than they do?”
“They say in all your sparing matching you have never lost. They say you have a very unusual and dense aura.”
I say what I was told about him by Old Man Tosting. Though Tosting might have been playing a joke on me.
“I was about to walk Fenrir here, walk with me through the city.” He says getting up and going to his sleeping chamber.
He comes back a minute later wearing a hooded cloak made of suede deer hide. The cloak doesn’t look very warm but it’s very beautiful but leaves the arms exposed.
His face is in complete shadow though. I can’t even see the sash I know he has across his eyes. I notice for the first time as he grabs his staff, signals to the wolf and walks to the door that he moves around like he isn’t blind or blindfolded.
We walk through the wide hallway, passing by a couple in a dark corner moaning urgently. All the Awakened old men and women seem to be making up for lost time. Fucking as though for the first or last time.
Of the 188 Awakened Barbarians, two are pregnant, 16 have impregnated someone. All are fucking like rabbits with whomever they can have and there are many eager volunteers.
All except the hermit. We walk down the stairs, through another hall down more stairs that go all the way to the ground.
I would expect the bar that serves free ale, mead or spirits to Awakened Barbarians to be busy. But as we pass from the ornate passages of the Arena to the receiving hall and bar it’s mostly empty.
