During the meal, they talked about nothing in particular, but Glaide could tell that his hosts were impatient to learn more about what had caused Kezthrem to take on another student, and to bring him here. Finally, dessert arrived, and a few minutes later, everyone had left the room.
Ralon declared that they would be more comfortable in the room with the big table, by the clearing, which they had visited the day before, so they headed that way.
“Take a seat, my friends, take a seat,” he exclaimed, as they drew closer to the chairs. “I’m so excited to hear your story!” Koeris, though quieter, also had a face that gleamed with an interest that he could hardly contain.
Kezthrem began the story by recounting what his student had said several months earlier, when they had first met. He added some commentary on his training and progress, and mentioned that Glaide hadn’t been able to complete the entirety of his training, since Emily wasn’t there. His tale took at least an hour, and while he spoke, Glaide let his mind wander.
“That makes five months that I’ve spent with Kezthrem. Our relationship is so much different now than it was when we first met... And my friends... They’re still waiting for me... But not for much longer. In a few hours, I’ll have a powerful weapon in my possession, capable of eradicating all of my enemies. With the help of my master and Emily, I’ll soon be able to learn some basic techniques, and that will be enough...” Just as Kezthrem was prepared to explain what they had come for, they heard a knock at the door.
“Who’s there?” asked Ralon.
The door opened, letting in a young boy who, in a timid voice, said, “Master, please excuse the interruption, but the mages in charge of translating the parchment of invocation need your assistance...”
The man sighed, then declared, “Tell them I’m coming.” Then, he turned to the rest of the group and added, “I’ll be back in half an hour. While I’m gone, feel free to explain to Koeris exactly why you’ve come. I’m sure he’ll be able to help you.” With that, he disappeared with the messenger.
“So,” began the monk, “this is how it stands... You, Kezthrem, decided to train Glaide, specifically because he is the Destroyer, right? And you and your three friends, Glaide, are protectors and maggs from another world.”
“Exactly,” replied Kezthrem. “We have come here for two reasons. The first, as you must have already guessed, is to see the katana of Dzen, which is guarded here in your temple. It is possible that the weapon will reveal some of its secrets. Along with that, I want you to tell us everything you know about the saber—everything that Dzen explained in his writings. Secondly, having come from another world, my disciple knows very little about the history of Galadria, and much of what he has learned is not without its errors. If he must walk in the footsteps of my ancestor, I want him to know more.”
“Hmm...” murmured Koeris. “It is true that the legend of Dzen and Novak is not very well known today. People often think only of the latter, or even think that he was the Destroyer!”
“That’s true,” agreed the adolescent. “I’ve heard the story many times, but it wasn’t until I met my master that I learned what was true and what was false!”
“If it’s alright with you,” continued Kezthrem, “could you tell us more about the history of these two heroes, and explain what it was like in the Known Lands five hundred years ago, when Baras first appeared? He should also understand why the dwarves and elves live as recluses, and understand just who his enemy is.”
Koeris sat for a moment in silence, lost in his thoughts, his face serious. Glaide found himself contemplating how surprised he was that neither of the monks had seemed remotely shocked when Kezthrem presented him as the Destroyer. The only show of surprise at all was Ralon’s one raised eyebrow! Perhaps it was because they were some of the last humans to believe in Aras, and because their knowledge better matched the reality, that the monks weren’t surprised to find that their god hadn’t abandoned them, and that another page in the history books was about to be turned...
Koeris suddenly began to speak again, a smile returning to his face. “Ralon would be better able to give you all the information you need about the katana, but I can certainly explain to the young man what I know about the past.”
“Perfect,” said Kezthrem.
“But before we get to that,” continued the monk, “and because my superior doesn’t seem to be returning in any great hurry, I would suggest we first go to the room where the famous saber is kept. If it is Glaide’s to wield, we should know as quickly as possible.”
Hearing that, the boy got up with a bound, ready to leave the room. His excitement built toward an explosion, and he barely held back a whoop of joy. In just a few minutes, he would finally see the weapon of the man who had confronted a god half a millennium ago. In a flash, he pictured his own complete and definitive victory over the God of Evil, though at the same time, he knew that one sword would not do everything for him. The adventure wasn’t finished yet. Far from it. It was taking a new direction, however, and one that Glaide could only consider a good one!
Chapter 10
ONCE they reached the main tower, the small group headed toward one of the exits. A narrow, white, gravel path wound through a garden before disappearing into the forest. As they walked, Glaide learned that this path would lead to the pagoda that he had seen when they first arrived. That was the actual place of worship and prayer, and also housed a library filled with rare works. Finally, and most important to the young man, he would be able to see the katana of Dzen. Koeris explained that it was kept in a guarded room on the top floor, purely dedicated to its preservation.
Though the young man tried to force himself to walk slowly, the distance between him and the others began to grow. Once the three penetrated the thick vegetation of the forest, the young man found himself in complete shadow. Slowly, though, he began to distinguish little glows of light all over. He moved closer for a better look, but couldn’t figure out what they were. The flickers were too bright to be fireflies. Soon, the pathway went around a bend, so that the entrance to the forest disappeared entirely from view.
The young man felt irresistibly attracted to the little lights that filled the trees with flashes of emerald and blue. It was almost as though stars had fallen from the sky and become trapped in the verdant green of the forest. It was perfectly magical. In a few seconds, he’d forgotten why he was there, and the silence surrounding him drew him in, so that he didn’t even hear the voices of his master and the monk. All that mattered now was admiring this strange place. He wondered to himself what secrets these trees held, and suddenly, he felt an overwhelming desire to wander among them, to see what could be seen further in, deeper into the forest.
Suddenly, Glaide felt something catch him by the arm. He turned to see what would dare distract him from the magnificent spectacle, and discovered Koeris, still smiling.
“Stay with us,” he said.
The young man shook his head. It didn’t take long for him to shake the strange vision and feeling, and he remembered suddenly why he was there, and where he was going. He realized, too, that he had wandered away from the gravel path.
“Wh..what...” he stuttered. “What happened? I suddenly had this irrepressible desire to wander deep into the forest... and... the lights...”
“This forest is very old, and though it isn’t hostile to us, it isn’t wise to lose yourself in it, either. It is so vast that it can become almost impossible to find your path again! And it’s true that those little lights spread throughout can have an incredible draw. We have all wished at one time or another to discover just what lies within these woods! But wisdom compels us not to look for the answer to that question!”
Glaide nodded slowly, then the three returned to the path. Kezthrem looked about them in curiosity, but he didn’t seem to lose his head like Glaide had. The young man found himself comparing this place to the Forgotten Ocean, which he had seen from the dragon Ayrokkan’s back. He remembered the deep
sense of melancholy that he had felt in the face of that endless stretch of water. A place, eternal but forgotten, protected by plains more dangerous than Baras himself; a place that had become lost in the limbo of memory, only remembered by the dragons. But this place was different. The boy had the impression that he was in the presence of something immense, but also very much alive. There, the ocean had never stopped throwing its waves at the beach, in perpetual movement; here, the trees moved gently in the breeze, glows of light appearing, then disappearing into the shadows.
The young man felt hale and hearty in the presence of this spectacle, while in the face of what Ayrokkan had showed him, he’d felt a deep sadness. He had needed to feel alive again, because there, he had felt dead.
He was still deep in thought when they finally reached the entrance of the pagoda. The path the group had taken suddenly widened, passed under a wooden arbor, then opened into a small, paved courtyard. Before the adolescent stood a door in a deep crimson color, with golden hinges, and standing slightly ajar. Almost a dozen feet tall, the door towered over the group, and above that, the pagoda itself rose into a tall tower, reaching higher than the treetops. The three entered the sanctuary in silence.
Inside, it was very dark. Only a few carefully placed candles and some rare rays of sunlight managed to pierce the darkness. A few monks were there, sitting on benches or tatamis. They sat absorbed in their thoughts or prayers. In the back of the room stood a massive statue representing a man with long hair. His face was smooth and stern. In his left hand, he held a katana, and his right was held out toward them, as though inviting them to follow him. Glaide was impressed, and felt at first that he must be in the presence of a representation of Dzen or Novak. Then, he thought back to the statues he’d seen in front of Shinozuka; those surely showed the two heroes, but neither looked like the man in front of him...
“This is a depiction of Aras, as he was described by Dzen,” murmured Koeris. The young man opened his eyes wide in stupefaction, and he found himself unable to draw his gaze away from the sculpture. “So, then, the ancestor of my master actually met this god face to face,” he thought. “And that is what he looked like...” The monk pulled him from his reverie when he spoke.
“Follow me. I will take you to the object that interests us so.” He headed to the back of the room with Glaide and Kezthrem at his heels. There, he took a door through to the right, which opened toward a spiral staircase. The higher the young man climbed, the more excited he felt, so that when they reached the next level, his excitement had nearly reached a climax.
“The library,” declared Koeris. That much was obvious. Before the young man, an open door gave them a view of innumerable books arranged on many shelves. But, he saw no trace of the katana! “This can’t be the right floor,” thought the boy. Nonetheless, he took the time to look at the room more closely. He thought it had to be about the same size as the library in Shinozuka. Then, he looked up at the tall windows that let the light in, and realized that they were above the level of the trees. The place was much brighter than the ground floor because of it. He didn’t have time to look at much more than that, though, because Koeris had already began to tackle the next flight of stairs. Also moving in a spiral, these were much wider. As they climbed, Glaide asked, “The katana that the statue Aras is holding... Is that the same one we are about to see?”
“Dzen himself commissioned that sculpture,” the monk replied. “According to Ralon, he specifically asked that the katana be modeled after his own katana.”
“The same one that he gave to Novak, who gave it to you himself,” finished the young man. Koeris nodded. The three left the stairs on a new floor with a relatively low ceiling. Before them stood yet another staircase, though this one was smaller and straighter, much more narrow, and made up of about a dozen stairs of smooth, polished and lacquered wood. It was obviously extremely well cared for, and Glaide noticed that it was carved all over with inconspicuous but magnificent designs.
“My friends,” announced the monk proudly, “at the top of these stairs, you will find what you are looking for. I must ask you, however, to touch nothing for now. We must wait for Ralon. Now, if you are ready...” With that, he swept his hand toward the stairs, motioning for them to feel free to begin climbing them.
The adolescent knew that now, they were really reaching a new chapter in his life. In just a few seconds, he would finally see that famous weapon, and in a few more hours, he would be able to wield it! He forced himself to remain calm, and breathe evenly. He noticed that his master was smiling a little.
“He’s already seen it,” the boy thought. “But today, he is not here just to see it...” He began climbing the stairs, counting them as he went. He kept his gaze fixed directly in front of him, and he didn’t blink.
“Three more... two... one...” Then he stepped onto the top floor of the building. The room was much more spacious than he had imagined and unexpectedly round. An altar, frescoes, and small sculptures were displayed in front of him, a few yards further in. Something seemed off, though...
Kezthrem joined him then and—disturbingly—his brow seemed to knit together. Then, Koeris reached the top of the stairs, a broad smile on his face. “So, I think...” He let out a strangled cry, and his smile disappeared. His eyes grew wide in surprise, as though he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He spun around, looking about distraughtly. “No!” he exclaimed, so loudly that Glaide jumped. “No! It’s impossible!” Then, he shouted, much louder this time. “Thieves, thieves! Someone has stolen the katana!”
Chapter 11
THE young man had been right, then. He had thought the altar was meant to hold the legendary weapon, though it was empty now. As the moments ticked by, Koeris became more and more panicked, and the wrinkles in Kezthrem’s brow became even more pronounced.
“What does this mean?” he questioned, his face somber.
“Who stole it?” exclaimed the monk. “How could something like this happen?”
“How could someone have come here without being seen?” wondered the young man, who felt his blood freeze in his veins, colder than the snow in the Antarctic. Suddenly, they heard footsteps approaching. They were calm and even. In one movement, the master and his disciple grabbed the monk and jumped away, drawing back from the stairs, then spun, drew their swords, and faced... Ralon! The four figures stared at each other in silence for a moment. Everyone looked surprised. Glaide and Kezthrem had both expected to see some sort of creature, and the new arrival didn’t seem to understand why his coming would be met with such panic. It was Koeris who finally recovered enough to speak.
“Ralon, it’s terrible! In the name of Aras, what will become of us?”
“Calm down, my friend. What has happened?” his companion asked slowly and deliberately.
“The... the katana,” stuttered the monk. “It’s gone!”
“Right, and what is the problem?”
This time even Kezthrem couldn’t help but let out a cry of surprise, and Ralon seemed to suddenly understand the situation.
“Oh, of course... You weren’t there then.”
“What? What are you trying to say?” the other monk exclaimed, practically hysterical.
“Calm down,” Ralon commanded imperiously. Koeris’ mouth snapped shut, and he seemed to instantly get it back together. Even Glaide felt a bit calmed by his controlled tones. “Listen, everyone, the katana has, thankfully, not been stolen. I gave it away voluntarily.”
“You gave it away,” Glaide asked in astonishment. “But to who?”
“To the descendant of Novak,” replied Kezthrem, his voice calm and measured, as always.
“Always the perceptive one, my friend,” Ralon said with a nod. “While Koeris was traveling, a man came here. He was entirely aware that we kept the weapon here, and he named himself as a descendant of Novak the Liberator. Since five hundred years earlier, Dzen had chosen to give the saber to his companion and friend, it was only right that that man should
be able to return and claim it.”
“But how can you be sure he wasn’t an imposter?”
“His knowledge of the weapon and its powers was perfect. We spoke for awhile, and it quickly became evident that he knew things that only Novak could have known. There was no doubt as to his identity.” Koeris appeared greatly relieved at his words, but Glaide felt a bit petulant about everything.
“So that means we have no access to it, then.”
“Unfortunately, no. We don’t know where this man lives, and it is said that the village where Bren, later called Novak, lived is hidden from the eyes of all.”
Glaide stepped over to the window, and slammed his fist against the frame.
“Damn it,” he ground out through gritted teeth. “This is insane! Everything I do always ends in failure!” Disappointment had quickly given way to anger. Behind him, the three men were still discussing everything. “What am I supposed to do now?” he continued to himself. “The katana is off who knows where, and we’ve come all this way for nothing!” He felt his anger grow and found himself wishing that he could lay hands on the man who now held the weapon and force him to give it back. “Kezthrem said we would be here for a week, but now that would be pointless. We might as well leave straight away!” He stayed there for several minutes, dwelling in his anger until it slowly began to dissipate, replaced by a deep weariness.
“Here I am, constantly running hither and yon, and never succeeding at anything,” he murmured. “I’ve spent so much time chasing shadows... How can I hope to ever find that saber now? And the dragons? What will they think? Even the dwarves were trusting their futures to me...” His hand went to the chain of mithril that Gardock had given him and he fought to hold back tears of frustration. Suddenly, he noticed a shadow fall over his shoulder.
Chronicles of Galadria III - Lessons Page 8
