“Illena,” began the farmer, “these travelers are hungry, and the child that is with them is even more hungry.”
“Oh, please, take a seat,” invited the woman. The little girl rushed to find chairs for everyone, and the adolescent savoured the feeling of sitting around a table. It made a nice change from the endless campfires, inevitable during a long journey. Rays of sunlight filled the room, and Glaide felt a deep sense of peace and quiet that printed a smile across his face. All kinds of food were soon set out on the table: loaves of bread, all kinds of fruit, butter, and many other things that made the boy’s mouth water. The child timidly began to gnaw at a pear, then—as his stomach woke up—he began to devour everything within reach, under the watchful eyes of the three inhabitants of the home.
“If you keep that up, you’ll polish off more than I will!” exclaimed Glaide. The child smiled in reply, and almost brazenly sank his teeth into a slice of bread. During the meal, the master and his disciple explained who they were, and where they were going. However, here in the presence of the two children, they didn’t mention the devastation of the village. The man and the woman did not ask where the boy had come from, at least until they’d finished eating. Then, they asked their daughter to take the boy and go play, which she did without hesitation.
“Right,” said the man, as he watched the two silhouettes head off across the courtyard. “Now we can speak freely.”
Kezthrem nodded then, and continued with their story. As he spoke, Glaide saw the images of the carnage flash before his eyes. His smile disappeared, and it seemed like the temperature in the room dropped by several degrees. Even the sun, so reassuring a few moments earlier, seemed to grow cold and pale. When his master had finished, the boy tried to find the calm that had filled him a little earlier, but he wasn’t entirely successful. His master’s words had reminded him that, despite the appearance of peace around them, despite the serenity of this seemingly unchangeable place—unchangeable like he had thought Rackk was—danger was never far away.
“The child accompanying you is now an orphan,” murmured the man. The woman squeezed his arm tightly. She was nearly in tears.
“Rest assured, we will raise him like our own,” she declared. “Our daughter will be his sister, and we will do everything possible to make sure that the life you have saved for him doesn’t contain a future filled with hatred and vengeance.”
“Don’t forget that he has experienced a deep trauma,” Glaide replied in a voice cooler than he meant it to be. He stopped for a moment, continuing more gently. “He has said nothing since we found him.” The young man had become attached to his young companion, and leaving him behind weighed on him. He ignored the emotion filling him, though. He knew that taking him as far as the village next to his master’s dojo was out of the question. Their travels were far from over, and plenty of danger still remained.
“We’ll have to inform the nearby village that Zakorth has extended their borders. If what you say is true, they are less than twenty miles away now. We can’t be taken by surprise. We must be ready for battle.”
“There is a village near here?” asked the adolescent in surprise.
“It isn’t finished yet. They’re currently in the middle of building the wall, and they haven't named their village yet.”
“Be careful,” counseled Kezthrem. “Our enemies are numerous, and even if you’re prepared for them, your defenses may be insufficient.” The man of the house struck the table with his fist then.
“If we can’t fight them off, we’ll go all the way to Ojilon to demand soldiers. And if that isn’t enough, there is Vlatendire, and even Shinozuka if necessary. It is out of the question for another new village to be destroyed by that blasted town and its corrupt inhabitants!” The master of Iretane smiled at the man’s avowal, and his gaze crossed that of his disciple. They knew now that they were right to leave their ward with these people.
“So,” finished Kezthrem, “we’ve told you everything we know. Now, it’s time for us to continue on our way.” With that, he got up, followed by his student.
“If you’d like, you can stay here for a little while,” the woman offered.
“That’s a generous offer, but we have somewhere to be, and we ought to get there as soon as possible.” The family walked with them over to the horses and the boy—with his new sister—stood there waiting for them. Seeing that they were about to leave, he broke into tears, and ran over to throw himself into the arms of Kezthrem, who crouched down to receive the hug.
“Be careful, my child,” murmured the man. “A deep hatred has planted its seed in you, and in time, and over time, it could eat away at you. Don’t let it win.” Then, gently, he set the child back down. The boy then ran toward Glaide, who crouched to pick him up in turn.
“Like my master said, don’t let your memories and your past ruin your future. These people will be your new parents, and I’m sure they will love you like a son.” He hesitated for a moment, then added, “If you can, try not to forget us. One day, perhaps you will be able to tell me your name, and we will be able to visit your parents’ tomb together.” Then, he, too, released the boy and stood up. His throat was tight with emotion, and he could no longer speak. Imitating his master, he climbed up onto his horse, then the two headed off into the distance. As they drew away, they heard the voice of the man behind him.
“This boy will never forget that you’ve given him a future. You can be sure of that!”
“Thank you,” Glaide murmured in return.
Kezthrem declared suddenly that it would take just over two more days to reach the dojo. They would travel parallel to the Forest of the Worlds, situated a few miles further to the south, and the man didn’t expect them to encounter any other perils. He thought it was even possible that they wouldn’t cross paths with any monsters at all. For the young man, the rest of the journey passed by in a fog. They traveled during the day, rested during the night, then repeated it all again the next day. The whole time, he was haunted by visions of the burnt village and the unfortunates that they had found killed, and more than once, his thoughts returned to the child that he and his master had saved, then left in the care of that welcoming family. He couldn’t say whether the child would grow up filled with pain, hatred, and a desire for vengeance, or if he would manage to build a life for himself, far separate from those terrible memories.
“It’s my job to give him that chance,” Glaide thought to himself. “By destroying Baras and Zakorth, I can create a new world, where fear and violence will no longer have a place. That will make it easier for people to choose a peaceful future.”
With time came a certain distance from that dramatic experience, and he realized that since leaving the scene of the massacre, he had not once felt anger toward Baras and his servants. No, he had instead felt despair, and a loss of any will to advance. Instead, he had imagined scene after scene of the same situation happening elsewhere, and the numbers of orphans created by them. His role in everything had appeared futile. However, his natural perseverance had returned now, and he decided that these memories—though they would remain ever fixed in his mind—would become one more reason to advance toward the goal he had been given and that, for the first time, he accepted in its entirety. He would vanquish Baras.
On the third day, just as the afternoon began to draw to a close, the two travelers were surprised to find a relay station for horses. The structure appeared to be new, and the proprietor of the establishment only had a few mounts so far. He explained that he came from the new village, which had been constructed a couple of miles away. That statement brought a smile to the faces of the master and his disciple, who took advantage of the opportunity to ask what was new there. Apparently, all of the construction was finished. The wall was solid, the militia had taken up their positions, and all of the shops were open. Already, merchants from other villages had began to come to exchange products. The man declared that news of the existence of a new village of such size as the
irs was the kind of information that traveled with incredible speed. In his opinion, even Adrish was probably already aware of them, as was Endre, a village situated farther to the north. Only one thing was still missing: a name. The two travelers wondered what Gelden, the leader of the city, would choose.
“Ydref and Arline said they were going to announce to all of the world that I was the Destroyer,” the boy thought then. “I wonder if they’ve done that?”
Kezthrem decided then that now was the time to leave their mounts behind. They told the man that the creatures had come from Vlatendire, and the proprietor declared that he had already sent some men to coordinate a relay there. Glaide took a moment to look his mount in the eyes, blinking gently, trying to transmit a little of the gratitude that he felt through his gaze. Without this animal, it was certain that their journey past Zakorth would have proven catastrophic. He apologized for not being a good rider, and promised to try to work on that for the future. Though he didn’t know if the animal understood, the creature nickered softly, and he decided to take that as a sign of his comprehension. Then, after once more patting the creature’s neck, he followed Kezthrem’s footsteps, and the two drew off into the distance.
A half hour later, as the sun began to take on the colors of sunset, the two stopped to contemplate the sight that the adolescent had ardently wished for for the last two days: the path wound about through the low grass, climbing toward a small hill that the two voyagers recognized perfectly. At the summit of that hill, nestled amongst the trees, there was a house. They could already make out the sliding panels that led into the training room on the ground floor, and into the veranda that opened to the bedrooms on the second floor. For a moment, the boy felt himself transported back to the first time he’d seen the building, five months earlier. Two children had led him here, and he had felt filled with hope as he imagined the man he was about to meet. He sighed in relief, and at the same time, his master spoke from beside him.
“Here we are, back again, the same, and yet different.”
Glaide knew that he was referring to his long discussion with Ralon about his magg and his constant journeys, and to everything the young man had learned.
“It is here that the construction of a new age will begin,” he murmured.
With that, the journey of the master of Iretane and his disciple—which had taken them to the edge of the Known Lands, far to the east, on a quest for knowledge for the one, and pardon for the other—came to an end. Their encounters and discoveries made them feel rich, and they were now back where their paths had first crossed, though at the time, neither had truly understood the importance and consequences that meeting would have.
Chapter 32
A soft melody rose up toward him. Bit by bit, the boy opened his eyes, and as he made out the room he found himself in, he was filled with joy.
The evening before, he had found his futon entirely unchanged, except for a thin layer of dust that he had shaken loose before settling in comfortably for a night of reparative rest. For the first time since he’d seen the horror of the massacred village, his rest had been untroubled by even the tiniest of nightmares—he supposed that he’d been left alone because of the relief he’d felt at being in a safe place once again—and he had slept like a rock.
The tune continued, dampened by the wooden walls in the small house. The music had a slow, cheerful beat. Glaide, after listening for a moment, decided the tones must be coming from his master’s shakuhachi, the instrument with the pan flute-like sound that Kezthrem produced.
The adolescent found it difficult to convince himself to climb out of bed. He had no idea what his mentor had planned for the days to come, and to be honest, he didn’t feel particularly motivated to return to his lessons. That being said, in a few weeks at most his master would have nothing more to teach the boy—or at least, nothing particularly vital—besides the one thing that only disciples of Iretane could do: use the magic of their magg.
“But for that, I have to find Emily,” murmured the young man. He knew that they would also need to go to the village to buy food, and to have their clothing washed, but Kezthrem hadn’t mentioned anything about that the day before. The boy estimated that they would have to go to the village by the end of the week at the latest. Then, he took a moment to calculate how long their recent journey had taken. He couldn’t check the exact length anywhere, but he thought it had taken them less than two weeks to return from the temple, if memory served. That meant the return had taken much less time than going. It had seemed more like the opposite, though. The last few days had seemed interminable! He sighed as the music became more insistent, as if it were trying to incite him to get up.
“Fine, fine,” he grumbled as he decided to get up at last. “I’m coming.”
The tune came to a sudden stop. The abrupt silence surprised the boy, so that he wondered if something was wrong. He listened for a moment, but heard nothing but the continuing silence. He carefully changed into his training kimono, which he’d folded up and placed in a corner before leaving, then silently descended the stairs leading to the main floor.
There, he noticed that the panels leading into the garden were open, letting him see the healthy green expanse of grass, as well as the hundred-year-old trees. His master, too, stood within his field of vision. He had his back to the boy, and sat at a table. The way he was bent over the table proved that he was in the middle of some delicate task, which the young man couldn’t quite make out. He approached, and noticed that the shakuhachi he had heard a few moments earlier lay there on the table, near Kezthrem. Glaide relaxed a bit, coming to the conclusion that the music had stopped for no other reason than that the musician had chosen to stop playing.
“Hello, master,” he exclaimed as he stepped into the garden. The man turned toward him with a smile.
“Good morning, my young disciple.”
“What are you up to? I heard you playing this morning, and when you stopped so suddenly, I was worried.”
“Without reason.” The adolescent stepped closer, and noticed what his master was doing: he was carving a shakuhachi with the knife the young man had given him for Christmas, a few months earlier.
“I’ve never seen you carving before,” Glaide noted enthusiastically. “Does the knife I gave you work well for it?”
“Perfectly. Its size is just right, as is the weight of it, and the sharpness of its blade.”
“Excellent.” He grabbed a chair and settled in comfortably while the man returned to his work. The boy noted that the work was already quite far along, and in a few places, decorative designs and swirls were already visible. The patterns intertwined, forming some magnificent ornamentation. “That must take so much time,” thought the young man admiringly. “That one must have already taken many hours. Does he never sleep?”
While Kezthrem worked, he and his disciple discussed the last several days, the temple, and earlier events, such as the boy’s encounter with the dwarves, the dragon, the days he spent in Shinozuka, and many other things. Glaide realized that he would once again have to plunge into the life of Galadria. The last few months had been more like a parenthesis where he’d learned to use his sword and be a warrior. The concerns of the rest of the Known Lands had appeared far off. The actions of Baras, apart from the burnt village, were distant and removed from him, and though he’d learned about many things relating—more or less—to his mission, he hadn’t really made any progress toward that end. He wasn’t worried, however. Now that he knew how to fight, and he knew more about Dzen, his katana, and the powers of the Destroyer, he felt much more ready to launch into battle.
Midday arrived without either of the two really taking notice. They took joy in simply relaxing, and taking advantage of the quiet in this place, so that time no longer seemed to have any meaning. They set the table, and Glaide took a moment to ask when Kezthrem planned to return to the village again. He replied that they would go at the end of the week, after they finished off the rest of thei
r provisions from their travels. The man took the time to prepare a proper meal, and a hard chunk of bread soon turned into a lovely accompaniment to a cheese fondue. He also cooked a good quantity of the remaining fruit, which the adolescent had carefully cut into small pieces for him, and which acted as a lovely dessert.
Kezthrem passed the rest of the day working on the flute. From time to time, he’d pick up his own flute and play for a few minutes, then stop to think before returning once again to his carving. Glaide, on the other hand, used the time to take a nap on the roof of the house. He had missed the breathtaking view the place offered, and he realized how much he loved this place, and that it would always have a special place in his heart. Afterwards, he took a walk in the woods that held the hot springs, and took pleasure in listening to the birds sing, and hearing all of the sounds of nature around him. He let his mind wander.
At first, he thought about what he needed to accomplish, then, as the calm of the forest filled him, he thought back on the little boy he and his master had saved. Naturally, images of the massacred villagers also came to mind, but the scenes had lost some of their horror. He saw them with some detachment, and he thought that that was how he should remember them, so that they no longer frightened him, but instead gave him motivation to advance. Then, he mentally glanced over all of the experiences he’d had since setting foot on Galadria, and the brief montage made him dizzy. In just a few months, he’d seen so many things, met so many people, and learned so much about so many different things...
“I’m happy to be here,” he murmured as his gaze fell on his clothes, and then the countryside around him, as if it was the first time he’d seen any of those things.
Evening arrived, and in the same atmosphere of calm and peace, the disciple and his master ate supper, spent the evening in conversation, and then went to bed. The next day, and throughout the week, Kezthrem insisted that his disciple spend a few hours in training. It wasn’t that he needed to learn new things, or even that he needed to perfect what he had learned, but that he simply shouldn’t lose the skill he had already gained. At first, Glaide was reluctant, especially because his last few battles were filled with bad memories, but he finally realized that no great effort was required. Once he attacked the mannequins, he found was able to cut them to pieces without bumping into any of them. He also faced off with his master, but the older man made no attempt to trap him, and the fights usually went fairly slowly, as Kezthrem took the time to correct any major mistakes as they went. The two combatants knew that it would be pointless for Glaide to work to master the style perfectly; he simply didn’t have the time. Their main priority was, instead, to make sure he didn’t create more danger for himself as he was fighting, and that he would be capable of defending himself and protecting his friends.
Chronicles of Galadria III - Lessons Page 23
