Chronicles of Galadria II_Encounters

by David Gay-Perret

  He soon reached the city gate, and there realized that he was getting used to leaving like this. He found that every time he passed through one of those great gates, it was guarded by soldiers offering their well-wishes to travelers, and this time was no exception to the rule. He answered back with “farewell”, then left.

  Chapter 12

  THE young man made good time, and in a few hours, he reached the edge of the woods that he and his friends had passed through, and where they had encountered the militia of Adrish. That all seemed so long ago now. He pressed into the gloom of the trees, telling himself on one hand that passing around the forest was not an option, since it would take too much time, and on the other hand, that he had nothing to fear here.

  Just before the greenery entirely isolated him, Glaide threw one last glance towards Adrish. Who knew how long it would be before he again found a place to eat and sleep so comfortably? Then, he turned around and continued on his way.

  After what seemed like only a few minutes, he noticed a faint glow of light before him. As he approached it, he discovered that he had already reached the other side of the forest. “Incredible,” he thought as he reached the outskirts of the woods. “Two months ago, when we passed through here for the first time, it had seemed to take so long.” He glanced at his watch, and had to admit that it had taken almost an hour to pass through the woods. It had seemed, though, like he’d only just begun his walk. As he continued on his way, he was happy to realize that he was beginning to get used to the schedule of Galadria. A day’s walk seemed perfectly fine, while when he’d first begun, that had seemed like such a major exploit. Today, reaching Rackk was just a minor detail, while reaching Adrish had been an epic journey two months earlier.

  Glaide walked on. He took joy in looking around him, at hearing the blades of grass swish against his boots, and the whisper of his clothes rubbing together with each step. From time to time, he would make his sword appear, draw, practice a few thrusts and slashes, then replace it and continue on his way, all in a contemplative silence. Now that he had time to think about it, he found his ability to make his weapon materialize completely incredible. It had become a habit, even while it continued to surprise him.

  Though he hoped he would not cross any enemies, he would fight tooth and nail if he did come across some. He wasn’t worried, however, as the plains surrounding him would let him spot an adversary from miles away. He found it exhausting to always be on guard like this whenever he passed through dangerous areas; however, it was necessary, as an arrow could be shot off so quickly. Constantly asking himself if he was being followed, or if an ambush awaited him, was draining. As he thought about it, he realized that his travels up to that point had been exceptionally lucky. He had encountered amazing creatures and people that had protected him, and he had seen many lands, and he had never had to suffer hunger or thirst.

  However, the young man was also conscious that things didn’t always go that way, and that too often, travelers in this world never arrived at their destinations. He chased those dark thoughts out of his head, silently thanking his benefactor, whether it be chance, a lucky star, or any other director of fate. As he turned his head, he could distinguish the mountains of Fyth in the distance. As with every time he saw them, he felt a shiver run down his spine. He thought back to what Ayrokkan had shown him beyond them: the Forgotten Ocean. However, he preferred to think of other things, and a thought occurred to him: if he could see the mountain chain, then that meant he was not far from the fields of Shinozuka. At the same time, though, not knowing if the cultivators would be able to see him, he preferred not to get too close.

  The sun began to descend towards the horizon. Glaide realized that he had unconsciously been walking more slowly than usual. Rackk was not far, but he felt his heart tighten, and he found he had to take a break. Suddenly, he couldn’t find the courage to face the remains of the city that had once sheltered Drekhor and Uziere. After leaving this village, he and his friends had mentioned the place as little as possible, and even on the rare occasions when they did speak of the place, they never tried to picture what had actually happened there. They had a vague idea of the fate that had befallen the people of the village, but they’d never taken the time to truly reflect on it – to consider the men, women, and children that had lost their lives to save the lives of three.

  Death, destruction... All of those words had, from repetition, lost all meaning. In the silence that surrounded him, however, Glaide began to measure the depth and amplitude of those terms, of what they represented, all that they signified, and, as the burden of these thoughts suddenly overwhelmed him, Glaide found that he couldn’t take even a single step forward. He spoke aloud, trying to spur himself on, and, gathering his courage, he convinced himself to at least reach the foot of the hill that separated him from what was once Rackk. Going farther, though, would take more strength than he had left. Once he reached it, he sat down, conscious of the fact that he was only yards from the first place he had ever lived, and from the remains of what had once been the school of Iretane.

  At that moment, he caught a glimpse of everything that this little village had been and still was for him; if today he wandered in search of this seemingly mythic master, it was because here he had discovered a style that pleased him. The fact that he still lived today was due only to the general that had protected him. Glaide couldn’t stop himself from picturing the look of amazement on Gwenn’s face when she’d discovered this sleepy little village: it had been a glow of hope. The people here had known who the four friends were, and would have been able to guide them. But Destiny had decided otherwise.

  Now, it was necessary for him to confront the reality of the situation. Glaide had to see with his own eyes what remained of this place. That would allow him to take one more step down the road to considering life on Galadria as truly his. The young man remained there, though, unmoving, for several minutes longer; laying on the grass, he meditated on all of those things. Soon, stars filled the sky. Their eternal radiance reminded the adolescent that everything had an end, and that he had to learn how to confront those ends, whatever form they may take on. This flash of wisdom dragged him out of his stupor. He settled in for the night, deciding he would climb the hill as soon as morning arrived, then see what awaited him there.

  Glaide slowly opened his eyes. He did not move, taking a moment to remember where he was and what he was doing there. Everything came back to him rapidly, and his heart began to beat faster. He sat up, feeling his cape wrapped around him, hugging him protectively. Dawn approached; the edge of the horizon was just beginning to take on its rosy tint. He gazed at the budding rays of light, then brusquely stood up. He turned around and began to climb the hill, gazing steadily at the ground before him, his mind blank. He would first have to see this thing that he so dreaded before he took any time to reflect.

  He reached the summit, his eyes still fixed on the ground. Resting his hand on the tortured trunk of a small tree, he turned his eyes before him. The moment his gaze fell on the scene before him, Glaide felt a great portion of the tension that had been enveloping him evaporate. Before him, he saw no bodies or cadavers of any sort, no blood stains marring the ground, no gallows or hanging nooses. The ruins of Rackk were completely unsullied. Using the tree for support, he leaned further forwards, so that he could better see exactly what remained.

  The great main gate still stood, though it no longer opened to anything. Parts of the great wall remained to the west and the south east of the city. In the middle of those ancient borders, only a few wooden walls still stood strong, though charred black by flames. Glaide sought out the place where the dojo had stood, and where only ruins remained. “The orks must have suffered many losses in that place,” he thought to himself, imagining Uziere’s combat. In the streets, which before had been so full of life, nothing remained but cinders and planks of wood, ripped loose from here and there.

  A bird sang, and the sun rose, illuminating the place with
its light. The young man noted how nature was already taking back this place. Trailing vines had already begun to climb up the remains of the walls, and tufts of grass pushed their way up between the paving stones and in the middle of empty houses. Within a few years, this whole place would be consumed by the vegetation, and anyone who saw the ruins would believe they were in the presence of the remnants of another long-forgotten age.

  The adolescent remained there for a long time without moving, and without even thinking. His emotions were muddled up inside of him. He had expected a vision of horror, and unspeakable carnage, but the peace and serenity this place gave off calmed his heart. The simple act of looking on these ruins, instead of waking painful memories as he had expected, was quieting. All of the questions that he had continually asked himself – those about himself, about his friends, and about his destiny – faded away, giving way to a great, restful void. The celestial body of day traced its path through the sky, without the young man making any attempt at movement. One would almost believe he was a branch of the tree against which he rested, he was so still.

  Suddenly, he began to move, to climb down the hill. He wanted to see this place close up. He stopped at the edge of what had once been the protective wall, and bowed his head slightly. Then he crossed into the town, a soft breeze sweeping across his face, with the sound of birdsong resonating around him. He wandered about for a time, aimlessly. Without really knowing why, he felt that this place was not dead, as though some remnant of life remained here. The sensation of cold that had invaded his body as he had gazed out on the Forgotten Ocean, sitting on the back of Ayrokkan, didn’t come to him here. The adolescent felt nostalgia, but no sadness. He saw the benevolent face of Drekhor, the deceptive severity on the face of Uziere, the sea of faces that made up the inhabitants that he had only caught glimpses of. The blackened ruins that surrounded him contained nothing menacing. Much to the contrary, they appeared dignified, silent witness and the only survivors of a battle that, many years later, would perhaps be carefully documented in manuscripts.

  Time passed without Glaide even noticing it. He walked about, not caring if he passed the same places over and over again. He felt at peace, the place being perfectly suited to meditation.

  “Rackk lies in ruins that mark the first step towards my destiny, towards what I am meant to do in this world,” he thought to himself. He now understood better what had happened to him, what he was experiencing, and what others expected of him. Though he still didn’t know if he could measure up to those expectations, he would do his best.

  “So many people ask themselves why they were born, and what they are destined for. I don’t have to ask myself those questions, as it has all already been decided for me. Yet I remain myself; I am who I am. I have met extraordinary people, I have made choices that I believe in, and above all, even if my destiny is already written, it is I who construct that destiny, in my own way.”

  He sighed, then murmured, “It is up to us to decide what we will do with our lives. We choose what we believe in, what we value. Perhaps my values are the same as those of the Destroyer, and perhaps they are not. But whatever the case, I will continue to believe in what I believe in. My dream is coming to pass, and that is the purpose of my life, the goal I have set my eyes on. Today, I will set a new goal, for that is the way one advances through life. I’ve been told I can help, so that is what I’ll do. If I have to fight for that, then I will fight. The adventure I have begun will not come to an end, and I don’t want it to come to an end. We are born for but one purpose, and that is to accomplish what we have decided to accomplish. And isn’t that what we call... life?”

  His reflections brought him to the dojo. Lifting his gaze, he saw the sign that had once proclaimed the name of the technique taught here to all who passed, though the sign was now broken, and hung crookedly from just one chain. The place that it indicated no longer existed. The moment that the young man felt ready to move on, the placard came loose. He caught it as it fell, then placed it gently on the ground, his hands trembling. An entire side of the building had collapsed inward. It took several strikes of his sword, the sound echoing for miles, before Glaide could get the door open. Before him, he immediately recognized this place where Uziere had tested him, and Jeremy. He could almost see their silhouettes as they were berated by the master of Iretane. He advanced a little farther, but couldn’t continue very far; too much rubble impeded his progress. The wood beyond, though, still looked new, as though no decay had yet reached it, and the floor still shone. With a sigh, the young man withdrew.

  A few minutes later, he found the barracks where the soldiers had lived. All of the weapon racks were empty; not a single piece of armor remained. There was also no trace of the horses. Here again, some of the walls had collapsed. There were traces of the battle everywhere: the wooden posts were notched all over from strikes of the sword, and here, traces of blood remained in the soil. “The entire village must have been a part of the battleground,” thought Glaide. There was nothing more for him to see, though, so he soon left that place.

  He felt as though every road he traversed, and every crossroad he passed through was henceforth a place charged with history. He tried to imagine the orks in the moment when they’d penetrated the village wall. The villagers, who he had seen prepared for combat, had certainly formed a strong barrier. There must have been a great deal of noise: cries of rage, of fear, and of pain, many tears, the clang of swords, of armor, the roars of their enemies. And then, little by little, the sounds had calmed. The last pockets of resistance had been snuffed out, one by one, and the creatures had savored their victory. They had not taken prisoners, but they also did not seem to have tortured or hung anyone. “That’s one good thing,” thought the adolescent. A vague smile appeared on his face.

  “Even if the orks won, even if they killed all the inhabitants of an entire village, they were not able to erase Rackk. It is not just ruins that remain – ruins that I will make sure receive the honor that is their due – but the spirits of the villagers: their dignity, their strength, and all of the things they represented still exist, here, in me.” The young man stopped and looked around him.

  “They lived hidden lives, apart, here near the Forest of the Worlds, in a place both dangerous and unknown. But all of that is over now. When this story reaches its end, I will tell Rozak that it is time that everyone know of the men and women that guarded this southern frontier in total secrecy. It is thanks to them that I am here, and I owe them a debt. To pay that debt, I will make sure that Rackk becomes a place of pilgrimage: the first village the Destroyer encountered, his first shelter, and the first place to be razed by the armies of Baras.”

  Glaide passed through the main gate of the city one last time. Though it no longer served any purpose, it remained impressive. The guard towers that surrounded it were broken, but the gate... The gate would always remain, standing proud. Men, monsters, and time itself were nothing compared to the majesty of this monument. “What could be more symbolic than a gate?” the young man asked himself. “It signifies arriving, welcomed with warmth, and refuge, but also departure, separation, and the unknown. And when it is a gateway that leads nowhere, then what? It is neither entrance nor exit, destination nor journey, no longer a step to cross, nor a home to find. It remains simply as a part of Galadria, a part of the Known Lands, but without any particular value.” Glaide sighed.

  He continued to stride about the village from end to end, not noticing the time passing, so that he was surprised to see the rays of the sun take on their golden tint, announcing the coming twilight. The shadows lengthened, and night no longer tarried. The young man decided to leave. He had seen what he wanted to see, and it was certain that here, no living soul remained. Where, though, where the bodies? That was a mystery that remained, as there had been none in the city, and no funeral pyre on which they could have been burned.

  He headed towards the east.

  Chapter 13

  AGAIN that day, th
e young man planned to march late into the night. However, his plans soon changed. Once the sun had fully set, the young man spotted light and smoke in the distance: a campfire. The people who had lit that fire were no more than a hundred yards away, but the uneven terrain offered natural camouflage, which the young man eagerly took advantage of to creep closer without being seen. He didn’t expect to find monsters around the fire, but then again, a prudent voyager wouldn’t light up such a bonfire out in the open like this. He crept in the direction of the warm glow.

  His progress was slow and difficult, but eventually the adolescent arrived. While he remained hidden, he could now see what – or who – he was dealing with. Before him, he could see carts, covered wagons, horses, cattle, and all sorts of baggage bundled high on the backs of pack animals. The carts and wagons had been carefully arranged in a circle around the fire, leaving no openings but one, near Glaide.

  He could see infants playing, elderly people telling stories, and men and women laughing joyously amongst themselves. There had to be at least thirty people, each one absorbed in their own activities. The group was dressed in dark clothing, and the condition of the clothing proved that these were people of modest means. None wore a traditional sword, but were instead equipped with long cutlasses, while spears could be seen leaning against one of the carts. They didn’t seem to be soldiers. “They don’t seem to be mercenaries, either,” thought Glaide. “They seem more like... well, like gypsies.” The young man hesitated to show himself; the abundance of joy and good humor in that place drew him, but he also did not know if he would be welcomed here.