The Vengeance of Mirickar

by Stuart J. Whitmore

  When they began to descend into a shallow valley and the sound of rushing water reached his ears, Mirickar felt unsettled. Once again, Sraikura had seemed to know about something without explanation. He said nothing, though, but merely followed her as she made her way through underbrush that grew thicker as they dropped further into the valley.

  A narrow but fast-moving river awaited them at the bottom. Dense brush grew right up to a sharp drop down to the river bed. The water was churned into a white torrent as it flowed through rocks of varying size.

  Sraikura stopped at the top of the bank and turned to him. “Water, Mirickar!” she said loudly and with obvious excitement.

  He raised his eyebrows skeptically. “Yes, and water is good, but it does not keep you safe. You said something about a cave.”

  “Cave,” she echoed, and then pointed upstream. She turned and tried to peer upstream but shook her head when she apparently did not see what she sought. “Come, Mirickar,” she said over her shoulder before turning to scramble down the bank to the edge of the water.

  “Careful, Sraikura!” he called out as he stepped forward to follow her. “The water is fast and strong, and deep enough to be dangerous.”

  She did not seem to hear him as she leaned out over the calmer edge of the water to look upstream again. Still not satisfied, she stepped out onto a large rock amid the water to see further. Mirickar scowled at the increased risk but felt there was nothing he could say to stop her.

  Still not seeing what she hoped to see, Sraikura glanced back at Mirickar, her face a mix of emotions. She then looked toward another, larger rock that was further toward the center and well into the fast-flowing water.

  “No, Sraikura!” Mirickar yelled.

  Showing no regard for his warning, she leapt forward. For a moment it looked like she had landed safely. Mirickar watched in horror as she lost her footing on the wet stone. With a wild look back at him, she fell backward into the water.

  “Sraikura!” Mirickar screamed. “Sraikura!”

  He rushed down the bank as the torrent pulled her downstream. It took only a moment for her to disappear amid the white water. Mirickar ran as best as he could along the edge of the river, looking for her and shouting her name. There was no answer.

  Chapter Four

  Mirickar followed the river as far as he could. Eventually he reached the end of the gap between the bank and the water. The bank had become steeper and taller and the water now met it, leaving him no space to move forward. Just beyond where he stopped, he could see that the river emptied over a cliff in a roaring waterfall. He stood and watched for his friend, unaware of the tears streaming down his cheeks, but there was nothing to see but rocks and water. Sraikura was gone.

  When he could no longer deny his loss, Mirickar sat down hard on a nearby boulder. He buried his face in his hands and wept. His tears were not only for Sraikura, but also for his parents, and for how he had lost all of them without being able to tell them how much he cared about them, and without being able to honor their deaths with a decent funeral.

  “So what am I?” he asked angrily when he finally rose to his feet again. His voice rose to a shout. “All of my decisions have gone wrong! I have lost those I loved, I have lost my home, I have strayed too far from my mission of vengeance, and now what? What have I become? What am I to do? Can I hope for at least one decision to not utterly fail?”

  The forest surrounding him offered no answer to his outburst. The river next to him rushed on noisily. Feeling empty, he began making his way back to a place where he could more easily climb up the bank. At times he glanced toward the water, fearful that he might discover Sraikura’s body, but his fears never came true. When he was able to scramble up the bank, it almost felt like a fresh act of disloyalty to leave the scene of his friend’s death. Her sudden disappearance pulled at him to stay by the water, yet he knew there was no reason.

  “And now I return,” he muttered. “Now I will see if I can find even one kurakvin to slay, or if that, too, was a false path to follow.”

  Despite not returning to the place where he had lost Sraikura, Mirickar knew the general direction he needed to go. In fleeing the farms they had headed toward the mountains, so now he only needed to keep them at his back. The exact route didn’t matter, for it was only important to find kurakvin, not to return to the ruins of his home. He suspected the scene there would look worse than what he had last seen, and he was not sure that he could face it.

  At first his pace through the forest was slow and his path wandered as he struggled to clear his mind. Eventually his thoughts settled into thinking about his surroundings more than the people he had lost, and he began to make better progress. He knew night would fall before he could reach the area where he hoped to find kurakvin, but he pressed on until the darkness under the trees made it too difficult to proceed.

  Rather than spend the effort to make a shelter as he had the night before, Mirickar found his way to the base of a large tree and did his best to get comfortable amid the exposed tops of its thick roots. He leaned his sword against the tree next to him, wanting to be ready to face any threats that might appear. He soon found himself more troubled by his own memories than anything in the forest. When his mind eased itself into a shallow sleep, his cheeks were wet once again.

  The discomforts of mind and body kept him from achieving a restorative slumber. Many times during the night he awakened and adjusted his position or stretched out his cold limbs to ease their aches. The accumulated fatigue finally caught up with him just as light was beginning to leak into the sky and he slipped into a deeper sleep.

  Mirickar found himself in a confusing dream where he was chasing a white light through a dark forest. Each time he thought he was about to catch it, a kurakvin would appear in front of him, making him flinch away. The kurakvin would then disappear with a taunting laugh, and the white light would appear behind him. He tried to yell at the kurakvin to stop laughing at him, but it came out as a mumble.

  He woke up realizing that he had actually mumbled something aloud. Ice seemed to fill his veins when a real laugh greeted his ears. His eyes flew open in panic, and he struggled to rise to his feet. Only after he stood did he realize that his sword had fallen over during the night and could not be retrieved quickly.

  “Sleeping alone in the forest is unwise,” said the cloaked old man who stood several paces away. The man chuckled again. “I can imagine it would lead to restless dreams.”

  “Who are you?” Mirickar demanded as he tried to muster a stern expression to meet the man’s gaze.

  “Who am I?” the man responded, giving a sweeping but casual look down at himself. His shaggy white hair reached past his shoulders, and a coarse gray cloak covered much of his body, but it did not completely conceal the chainmail he wore. “I am the kind and gentle Kallosarin, who protected a child he found sleeping in the forest.” He laughed again, seeming pleased with himself.

  “I am not a child, I am a man!” Mirickar retorted. “I do not believe you that you were trying to protect me. Perhaps you meant to rob me!”

  The mirth faded from Kallosarin’s face. “You leave yourself unprotected and wake up to me simply standing here, and you accuse me of thievery? I have given you my name. Who are you to assume you can sleep at that base of that tree without paying for the privilege?”

  “Why should I not? Are you claiming this tree as your own?”

  The old man shook his head gravely. “I do not know your history, but on this day you are a brute. What is your name, boy who wishes to be treated like a man but does not know how to act like one?”

  “Why should I tell you? I don’t know you or your intent, nor do I know that the name you gave me is true.”

  Kallosarin moved smoothly but swiftly to draw an ornate sword, surprising Mirickar who had not realized the man was armed. “You should offer your name, or a name, because I tell you to,” he answered, pointing his sword at Mirickar. “And also, because it is the polite way for
a man to respond to another man who has offered his name, or a name if you must be mistrustful.”

  Mirickar shook his head but kept his gaze on the blade. “I am not afraid of you and your sword. I was unarmed when I was attacked by a kurakvin, just days ago, and I slew him. Do not test me!”

  Kallosarin’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not testing you, fool, I’m asking for your name. You are showing yourself to be fey, and I am prepared to dispatch you if that is the direction into which you force our interaction. I would suggest that you try to be sensible, but in claiming that you were attacked by a kurakvin, I can see–”

  “It is not an idle claim!” Mirickar snapped, interrupting the other man. “The kurakvin attacked my home! They slew my parents, and I slew those I could before my… before a friend pulled me away!”

  “There are no kurakvin in the land, boy,” Kallosarin said. “The king’s men see to that.”

  “No,” Mirickar growled through clenched teeth, “they do not, and my parents are dead because the king’s men failed to protect them!”

  “Those are grave accusations, boy, and–”

  “Stop calling me boy!”

  “Then give me a name, fool!”

  Mirickar stared at the old man silently for several moments. “Mirickar,” he finally answered, his voice sullen.

  “Well, Mirickar – if that is your name – you are voicing some serious accusations against the king and his men. And unless I see evidence to the contrary, I will consider your claims of kurakvin to be utter nonsense.”

  “Nonsense!” Mirickar burst out. “The murder of my parents is not nonsense! The vengeance I shall wreak upon any kurakvin I find will not be nonsense!”

  Kallosarin snorted softly. “Fey. I cannot know what has become of your parents, Mirickar, but you are in a sorry state.”

  “You don’t have to believe me,” Mirickar scoffed. “Just leave me alone and I will pursue my destiny and kill as many kurakvin as I can find.”

  “Which will be none.”

  “Your ignorance matters not to me. Go on about your business and I will go on about my own.”

  Kallosarin snorted again. “There is still the matter of payment for sleeping at the foot of my tree.”

  “Your tree? You are mad.”

  “Well, if we are to talk nonsense, I should have a turn, don’t you think?” Kallosarin asked before laughing again. Unlike before, his laughter this time was thick with mockery.

  “What I told you is not nonsense!” Mirickar snapped. He stopped himself, and when he continued his words were slower and more measured. “I have no time to listen to your mockery. Your words merit a response, but I have more important business at hand. You can believe what you wish, but I will not make payment to you for sleeping here nor will I allow you to delay me in hunting down kurakvin.”

  Kallosarin shook his head slowly but lowered his sword. “You have much to learn, Mirickar, and I almost feel as if I should be the one to tutor you. Yet I am only a man, and I have my limits. I feel confident you would push my patience past any such limits. I do not know what fate lies ahead for you, but I recognize the rashness of youth. As an older man, I feel some regret that you face an apparently dark future without the benefit of my teaching.”

  “Teaching?” Mirickar echoed skeptically. “What could you teach me?”

  Kallosarin glared at him. “Far more than you could comprehend at your young age. You say that you seek combat. The king himself would agree that I am one of the greatest swordsmen to walk this land in at least three generations. What I could teach you about combat could allow you to lead entire armies into battle. That, young Mirickar, is what General Kallosarin could teach you.”

  Mirickar opened his mouth to make a sharp retort but then closed it again. He looked over the other man and considered the possibilities.

  “You could teach me to kill more kurakvin? To lead others into killing even more than I could do on my own?”

  Kallosarin sighed. “If there are kurakvin as you claim, which I still do not believe, then yes, I could and would be happy to. But I do not want my teachings wasted on the folly of the crazed.”

  “Kurakvin killed my parents,” Mirickar said tersely.

  “I understood your claim the first time you made it,” Kallosarin said with a shrug. “It is believing, not understanding, that I fail to do. Who were your parents and why would kurakvin mysteriously appear in the kingdom to kill them?”

  Mirickar splayed out his hands, as if to show that his understanding was as empty as his hands. “We were humble farmers, as were our neighbors. I was away from our home, collecting greens for our dinner. I heard noise, and then a neighbor girl alerted me to the problem. My mother was dead before I got back, and I saw them kill my father. I do not know how the kurakvin appeared there or why they chose our farms to attack.”

  “So the neighbor girl’s home was attacked also?”

  Mirickar nodded. “She pulled me away after I slew the kurakvin that had killed my parents. We saw more in the distance. I wanted to fight, but she wanted to run.”

  “And where is she now? Perhaps she can confirm this wild story?”

  “I… I lost her,” Mirickar answered. Fighting to talk through the thick feeling growing in his throat, he related how Sraikura had fallen into the stream and been taken away by it.

  Kallosarin was quiet for a moment after Mirickar finished. “It is unfortunate that there is nobody who can confirm your tale, but if all that you say is true, your days have been troubled indeed. Come with me, my home is near here. I will feed you, and then we can discuss whether it is worthwhile for me to teach you what I can.”

  Mirickar glanced about. “Why would the greatest swordsman in the land have his home in such a remote place? Would your home not be closer to the king, in Madarre?”

  Kallosarin grimaced. “There is much for us to talk about, Mirickar. Let us do so over food, and perhaps that will include an explanation for why one of the greatest swordsmen in the land now lives like a hermit in this forest.”

  “How do I know I can trust you?”

  Kallosarin laughed. “Truly, Mirickar, you would be dead already if that is what I wanted.” He turned away. “Pick up your blade and follow if you wish, or do not.”

  Kallosarin started to walk away, but Mirickar hesitated.

  “I do not wish,” he whispered quietly to himself as he began to follow the older man, “but my wishes seem to matter for naught.”

  Chapter Five

  Kallosarin walked briskly through the forest. As Mirickar followed, he noticed how the other man did not seem specifically concerned about their surroundings, yet he consistently moved quietly while taking a route that maximized natural cover. The path he chose also kept to ground that was quiet to move on and did not leave footprints.

  Mirickar did not believe the man’s choices were coincidental, but he could only wonder at the reason. He knew it might simply be that the man knew the area around his home so well that he didn’t have to think about it. Yet it could also be that he was so experienced that he could rapidly adapt to whatever he found without taking particular note of it.

  “Here we are,” Kallosarin announced when he stopped suddenly.

  Mirickar was surprised and amazed to see that, indeed, there was a small home in front of them. It blended in so well with the surroundings that he had not even realized they were approaching it.

  “So I see,” Mirickar commented. “It is good that we have finally reached it. There were times that I thought we were going in circles.”

  Kallosarin looked back at him and chuckled. “That is good, I am glad that you noticed. This bodes well for your training, if it is to be that I train you.”

  “So we were moving in circles?”

  “We did not take the most direct route,” Kallosarin said with a shrug. “I saw no need to make it easy for you to find me again or tell others where I live.”

  Mirickar nodded silently. The older man turned and led the way in
to his home. Once inside, Mirickar looked about in curiosity. The house was very small, with just one room that was partitioned into different areas. Some of the furnishings looked rustic and handmade, while other items in the home looked expensive and appeared to have been made by talented craftsmen.

  “It’s not much, but I don’t need much,” Kallosarin said. “I have been here a good many years and you are my first visitor. There is, as you can see, only one small bed. You will need to sleep on the floor, or outside, if you stay that long.”

  “I understand,” Mirickar said, but his thoughts were more on a golden figurine that was set into a decorative alcove. Whether or not the man was a great swordsman, there seemed to be some truth to his claim to be something other than a wanderer.

  “Do you know how to cook?”

  Mirickar shrugged. “I helped my mother sometimes, but she did most of the cooking work. My father did some but only rarely.”

  “Well,” Kallosarin said, “when you’re hunting an enemy and there are no parents or others about to handle chores, you need to be able to take care of everything yourself.”

  “I am not interested in cooking, I am interested in killing kurakvin,” Mirickar said flatly.

  “You’ll kill more if you’re well-fed. Leave yourself hungry and you’ll make it easier for them to kill you. And I’m hungry, so we shall eat. You might as well at least pay attention to what I am doing so you can tend to your needs better in the future.”

  Mirickar sighed impatiently but said nothing more as Kallosarin began preparing some food for them to eat. When the meal was ready, they ate the simple but nourishing fare in silence. As he ate, Mirickar pondered the metal plates and tankards. They seemed ornate and finely made, but now they were battered and worn. Kallosarin pushed his across the rough-hewn wood table toward Mirickar after eating the last of his food.