The Naming

by Torsten Weitze

  They were now less than ten paces from their target and Ahren could clearly hear the fight that was unfolding before them.

  ‘Now don’t be like that, dearie’, he heard a deep voice say, husky through alcohol and the desires that Ahren knew spelled trouble. ‘Everyone knows that a girl from the Eternal Kingdom only comes to King’s Island with one thing in mind.’

  ‘She just wants to drive up the prices’, said a second, nasally voice.

  ‘Me, no scars. Me, no touchable!’ the girl cried out in anger, and tried to escape once more. She almost managed to squeeze out between two of the men but then the man with the deep voice boxed her hard in the stomach and she tumbled backwards.

  Ahren was stunned. And impressed by the fact that she hadn’t screamed in pain.

  ‘If it’s scars that are stopping you, then of course we can help’, said the third voice in the gang, his voice almost as deep as his companion’s. A knife blade flashed in his hand and the circle moved in closer.

  Ahren was filled with blind fury and he drew out Windblade.

  ‘Let go of her immediately!’ he roared and stepped forward. A little voice in his head told him he’d thrown away the element of surprise, but now it was too late.

  The three figures spun around, the third pressing the blade against the girl’s throat.

  ‘Who are you?’ said the first, his voice slurred. ‘Her boyfriend? Put that blade away before you hurt yourself.’

  The girl saw the sword in Ahren’s hand. Her eyes widened in surprise and she called out to him in a strange, melodic language that he didn’t understand.

  ‘Shut your gob!’ roared the man with the knife and strengthened his grip on her neck.

  ‘How about you pay us, and we let the girl go?’ grunted the second man maliciously.

  Ahren was suddenly reminded of Sven, the miller’s son in Deepstone. He understood that situations like this came to pass when people like Sven met up together and were let roam unopposed.

  Well, he would just have to oppose them.

  He raised his blade and pointed to the man with the knife.

  ‘Let her go and be on your way or I will have to harm you.’ That sounded pretty impressive to Ahren, and those kinds of warnings always worked in the legends of brave heroes. But the three just laughed at him and looked decidedly unimpressed.

  Ahren shifted from one foot to another, unsure of what to do next. He couldn’t attack without the girl getting injured. And so he decided to do something completely unheroic.

  ‘Help! Town Watches!’ he roared with all his might.

  ‘Gag him!’ hissed the third. ‘I don’t want to end up in the dungeons again.’

  The first two drew their jagged short swords from their jerkins and Ahren realised that he had a problem. The short weapons were more suited to these narrow confines than Windblade. For sideways strokes he would have to push himself against one of the walls and then wouldn’t be able to protect himself from a counter strike. That only left blows and thrusts from above. Furthermore, the two had separated and were now approaching him from right and left, protecting their bodies with their weapons and using the wall as cover. They obviously had experience in this type of combat. There was nothing to be done, he just had to finish one of them off before both of them reached him.

  ‘Attack, Culhen!’ he shouted as he quickly tried to strike his opponent on the left. His blade was parried effortlessly aside, but the attacker on the right was caught unawares by the wolf, who had been lurking quietly in the shadows.

  The animal’s powerful jaws bit into the forearm which was holding the weapon and Ahren shuddered inwardly when he heard the crunching, grinding sound that the bone made as Culhen began to shake his head, tossing the screaming man here and there.

  The girl took advantage of the confusion and banged the back of her head into the face of the man who had the knife at her neck. At the same time she wrapped her fingers in a most unusual way around the wrist of the knife-bearing hand. Then she twisted her hand and Ahren heard the wrist splintering loudly and clearly.

  The knife-carrier let out a scream of pain and tumbled backwards, but the girl followed him and pressed her fingertips into his throat and in the bat of an eyelid he was making rattling noises on the ground. Then she kicked him in the nether regions and the rattling noise was now intermixed with choking sounds as her attacker vomited through his agonised throat.

  The whole manoeuvre had lasted no more than three heartbeats and Ahren could only look on, open-mouthed. His opponent took advantage of Ahren’s inattention, lunged forward and thrust his knife in. The blade scraped over the leather panel of his armour and slipped in between Ahren’s ribs.

  An icy coldness radiated from the spot, and through his whole body. Instinctively, Ahren raised Windblade in a flat upward sweep and it hit his tormenter in the face before Ahren fell backwards, his legs having lost all their strength.

  Culhen howled in rage and fell upon the attacker while the apprentice could only stare up at the sky, a narrow strip between the tall houses. A few stars seemed to be twinkling in the night - they seemed to be winking at him and somehow everything seemed peaceful. He coughed and suddenly his mouth was filled with blood, while the feeling in his chest changed from cold to hot. Now every breath burned like fire and suddenly the pain was unbearable. Ahren couldn’t breathe and thinking clearly was impossible.

  The sounds of fighting had ceased and now the girl’s face came into focus. Ahren saw smooth black hair which brushed against his face and tickled his nose. And he saw two dark, almost black eyes which were strangely slanted. A small nose puckered disapprovingly as she said ‘Susekan’. Her tone of voice reminded him of his master and, whatever the word meant, it was certainly not complimentary.

  ‘Help’, Ahren managed to say, accompanied by another gush of blood. ‘Palace’, he rattled weakly.

  Then his world went black and Ahren hoped fervently that the last thing he would ever see wasn’t a contemptuous look from a strange girl that he had just barely saved.

  He felt a cool face cloth on his forehead. The birds were twittering. Uldini and Falk were quarrelling loudly. If this was what the paradise of the gods was like, Ahren would have to have serious words with the next available priest.

  Glad to be still alive, he opened his eyes and looked woozily around. He was in his master’s chambers and lying in his enormous bed. He felt as though he were floating, so soft was the mattress under him.

  Ahren carefully tested his lungs by breathing in slowly, but the pain was gone. He gingerly raised his arms and that too was possible without hurting. He felt after his wound, and found only smooth skin. Jelninolan or Uldini must have worked their charms on him.

  ‘Oh look, he’s awake’, said Uldini in an irritated voice. ‘I’d love to stay here and listen to you congratulate your apprentice for his deed, but I’ve heard more than enough of your bluster for one day. I’ll go and look after our other patient and you can take care of this hero.’ The way he emphasised his last word suggested that it hadn’t been meant as a compliment. The little figure waved at Ahren, said ‘good luck, Ahren’ cheerfully, then went out the door, leaving the young man alone in the room with a furious Forest Guardian.

  Falk stepped towards the bed.

  ‘What have I told you about your choice of battleground?’ he grunted.

  ‘Determine the battlefield or the battlefield will determine you’, said Ahren nervously.

  Falk nodded and came a step closer.

  ‘You decided on a narrow alleyway, and you had a long sword in your hand. And what is the lesson concerning the beginning of a fight?’

  ‘Only fight when you can do nothing else or when you are sure that you will win’, came the timid answer from the bed. Ahren resisted the temptation to hide his head under the covers. The image in his head of a four-poster bed containing a cowardly apprentice being flung out through the palace window forced him to keep his eyes on the old man as long as he could manage to do
so.

  ‘And you had to go and take on three cut-throats, and utter pithy slogans while wiggling your sword instead of decommissioning one or two of them with a couple of arrows before they even knew you existed’, said Falk, continuing his analysis.

  ‘What have I told you about the goal of battle?’ he asked and took another step closer.

  Ahren swallowed hard. His master had almost reached the bed and the fact that the old man was composing himself with difficulty brought the apprentice almost into a panic.

  ‘Always be aware of your goals. Why you are fighting and how can you end the battle as soon as you have reached your goal’, he said, repeated his master’s explanations.

  ‘You wanted to save the girl, which is why you made sure that she had a knife at her throat and all were able to draw their weapons at leisure’.

  Falk took the last step towards the bed, then gave Ahren a fatherly look.

  ‘And what lesson did I teach you regarding life itself?’ he asked as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

  Ahren cast his eyes around the room, furiously trying to remember what piece of advice his master was referring to. The old man’s eyes narrowed and Ahren decided on one that he thought might pass the test.

  ‘Always act with courage or don’t act at all?’ he suggested timidly.

  A fraction of a heartbeat and Falk’s head was right in front of Ahren’s nose, the veins in his head were about to burst and his face went a deep red before he roared with all his might, ‘DON’T...BE...AN IDIOT!!’

  His hands gesticulated wildly, and his fingers were claw-like as he roared.

  ‘Everything I’ve taught you has that as its foundation. And you’re running around the place like a character created by a third-rate bard, brandishing fine speeches, allowing yourself to be stabbed to death because you want to save a girl without the planning that you damn well need to do!’

  Falk snatched the tobacco container from the table beside the bed and smashed it with such force against the wall that it shattered into tiny pieces.

  ‘You put yourself and the little one into danger because you didn’t think things through’ he shouted. ‘How in the name of all the gods did you manage to take every wrong decision you possibly could within the space of ten heartbeats? Why not just give them your sword the next time and ask if you can’t just dance your way out of?’

  Falk drew breath and Ahren took the opportunity to try and defend himself.

  ‘I wanted to frighten them so that I wouldn’t have to hurt them. And I was distracted. I’d just found out that you’re a Paladin’, he blurted out.

  Ahren was furious now and he jutted out his chin. Perhaps he had acted irresponsibly, but his master wasn’t perfect either and the apprentice really felt like cursing and shouting himself now.

  Falk stared at him for three heartbeats and Ahren tried to gather his thoughts together so he could confront the Paladin, but then his master started shouting again.

  ‘SO?! You’re supposed to become a Paladin too, damnation! The whole point is not to be killed! I’ve spent centuries trying not to, just like the others too. And because we were waiting for you! I saw my daughter die during the Night of Blood. I saw my wife grow old and die because we swore that we would wait until the Thirteenth appeared! AND YOU SERIOUSLY TRY AND GET YOURSELF GORED IN A FILTHY ALLEYWAY?!’

  Falk lifted up the table and smashed it against the wall too, so that the wood splintered into a thousand pieces.

  ‘I swear by the THREE, I will not see you die. You’ll wish you were dead when I send you blindfolded and with a fully packed field kit on your back up and down every single tree in the palace park, but I will not see you die!’

  The old man slumped down at these last words and fell on his knees, weeping bitterly.

  ‘I’m not going to see you die too’, he whispered, sobbing.

  Ashamed and bewildered, Ahren clambered out of the bed and embraced his master. All thoughts of a scornful confrontation had melted away at the sight of the age-old sorrow that held his master in its grip.

  ‘I’m so sorry’, he whispered again and again, rocking the old man, who was crying over his centuries old troubles and grieving once again over his family that had died in a different age.

  They were undisturbed for the rest of the day. Falk told Ahren of his earlier life, of the time he had spent with his wife, of their wonderful daughter who should have been next in line. He described the dreadful events of the Night of Blood and of how the traumatised Paladins had imprisoned HIM, WHO FORCES and how they, disillusioned, had disappeared in every direction under the sun.

  Ahren believed that only very few had heard this story from the mouth of the old Forest Guardian and he listened quietly, without asking a single question.

  When Falk had finished, he gently placed a hand on Ahren’s cheek and said, ‘you must not die, do you hear me? All those centuries and all those victims cannot have been in vain’.

  Ahren could only nod, his eyes full of tears.

  Falk nodded in return.

  ‘Good. Come!’ he simply said.

  The young man followed the Paladin and wondered what revelation was awaiting him now. They went out into the park. And Ahren spent the rest of the day blindfolded and with a fully packed field kit on his back, climbing up and down one tree after another.

  With a smile on his face.

  Chapter 10

  58 days to the winter solstice

  That evening, they were sitting at the supper table, Ahren was brought up to speed on what had happened. Khara, for so the girl in the alleyway was called, had apparently dragged him all the way to the palace, while he was bleeding like a stuck pig. He would never have survived were it not for the combined healing arts of Uldini and Jelninolan. And even so, it had taken two days of a healing sleep before he had fully recovered.

  The room in which they were sitting was in Jelninolan’s living quarters. The fittings were all in bright wood or white marble, and everything was decorated with nature motifs and carvings. They were at a long table, the windows were thrown open and a gentle autumn breeze wafted the last remaining warmth of the year into the room.

  Ahren could only lift his fork to his mouth painfully slowly because every bone and muscle in his body still ached, and so he concentrated fully on eating, and let the others talk. Khara was sitting slightly apart and was similarly quiet and unobtrusive, apparently concentrating completely on her food. Ahren tried to give her a quick smile, but the girl seemed to be ignoring him and the others.

  ‘How is Elgin?’ Falk had just asked.

  Uldini gave a sour look before biting hard into a drumstick.

  ‘It will take a while before he’s his Ancient self again.’ Then the wizard laughed at his own word play, and everyone else in the group groaned.

  ‘The Illuminated Path had sucked most of the strength out of him, and the enforced trance of many months has done terrible damage to his body’, continued Jelninolan. We were able to heal his heart and vital organs, and his muscles are on the road to recovery. But for the next year he’ll have to do a lot of exercises to aid his recuperation, both physical and spiritual.’

  ‘Have you any idea how he was trapped?’ inquired Falk curiously.

  ‘Somebody had sold him an antique book which supposedly describes a powerful ritual whereby you can increase your powers’, explained Uldini. ‘The blunderhead had never met the seller before but he still jumped on it. The snares in the magic were very well hidden and he was so enthusiastic he didn’t notice until it was too late. Once he was trapped in the trance, his aura was as open as a barn door and Wultom could help himself to Elgin’s powers. The more power he stole from Elgin, the deeper Elgin fell into the trance. Without us he wouldn’t have had a hope in hell of ever waking up again. When we jump helter-skelter into something without thinking, then things like that are bound to happen’, he continued with emphasis.

  Ahren knew that he was the target of that last remark, but he decided t
o ignore the barb, and with his head lowered he concentrated on his meal.

  ‘By the way, there is a celebratory banquet in your honour in three days’, said Uldini to Falk casually. ‘Apparently all of the Knight Marshes citizens are delighted that their national hero has returned to them.’

  He looked up at the ceiling in mock concentration.

  ‘Perhaps I too should have disappeared for a couple of centuries so that the people would be overjoyed when I finally decided to be interested in the fate of the world again.’

  Suddenly there was a tension in the air, and Falk and Uldini stared daggers at each other.

  Ahren knew that the two of them had argued repeatedly over Falk’s decision to turn his back on the world. He cleared his throat and decided to risk becoming the target of their contrariness.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that, you know. If Falk hadn’t lived in Deepstone, then I would never have become an apprentice, but would have ended up as a farm hand. Then my father would never have let me go to the Spring Ceremony because he hates the church. Then I would never have been chosen. And that would have been bad, wouldn’t it?’

  Uldini looked at him thoughtfully before answering.

  ‘Sometimes you really do surprise me. First you save a king’s life - by the way that’s why you’re the second guest-of-honour at the feast – then you make an absolute idiot out of yourself when you meet a couple of scoundrels on the street, and finally you come up with an insight that really hits the mark. You’re like one of Trefan’s lucky bags. One never knows if utter nonsense or a flash of genius is going to come out of your mouth.’

  Ahren suppressed the sarcastic answer that was on the tip of his tongue and chewed on his potato.

  ‘But he’s right all the same. The Gods’ Stone only revealed to us where he was. Even without the ceremony, the blessing of the gods would have awakened in him, undiscovered and unchanneled. HE, WHO FORCES would have appropriated his power and that would have been the end’, said Jelninolan.