by C. K. Rieke
“Together, Gildur and the Order saved people, gave them shelter, and trained them to use their powers, or just gave them a safe home. They went off on crusades out west, into the Bolgivish Desert and to the northernmost parts of Essill, saving people from Armoz the Devil King and his vast reach.”
“His stories ended with the Battle of Gildur and the Witch.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“THAT’S how you give an embarrassingly insufficient story of the life of a great man like Gildur,” the Major said, as he let out another puff of a loud single laugh.
“Wow. I had no idea,” Zaan said. In the time he knew Gildur, he’d seen him as, not only a friend, but the most courageous person he’d ever known. He was the one who killed Angela Dragus the Righteous. Such a sad life he came from. It seems like the more I learn of these lands, the more horror and pain I find in it. “How’d you guys meet?”
The Major let out a singular laugh, “We didn’t get along so well at first, actually.” He pulled down this shirt to reveal a scar on his shoulder, which was bulbous and stiff. “We butted heads a bit.”
“Really? That’s funny. He doesn’t sound like the type of guy you would want to mess with. But, I guess, neither are you,” Zaan said, looking at the scar on the Major’s shoulder. “What did you guys argue about?”
“I bet you can guess,” he said. He gave a sly wink with his beady eye. “Go ahead.”
Zaan thought, why in the world would he want to fight somebody like the Major or Gildur? The most rational thing that came to his mind was . . . “A girl?”
“Ha,” the Major laughed. “You nailed it.” He looked up at the rafters in the ceiling above them and eyed a corner littered with cobwebs. “She was quite a girl.” Then he let out a gruff clearing of his throat and seemed to snap back into the moment. “But that was a long time ago. A lifetime ago.”
“Who was she?”
“Ask me again another time. For today, let us talk about you,” the Major said as he sat at the small oak table in the corner of the room. He pulled a dark, curled pipe from the drawer underneath the windowsill and lit the musty tobacco produced from his front shirt pocket. He took a deep pull from it, as deep as Zaan had seen anyone inhale before, and he left out a powerful plume of smoke. Zaan breathed in the remnants as they floated towards him. His eyes watered slightly, and he felt his body yearn to sit. He then took a seat next to the Major. “So what is happening in the world of the Great Northern Ogre Slayer?” This was another one of the nicknames Zaan had been given, not that he enjoyed it. Technically, it was his friend Gogenanth who killed the monster.
“Things are fine. I just really would like to keep growing. I would like to learn from you— how to fight in particular, like you offered,” Zaan said.
“Yes, like I had offered. You know, after what you did with Reizenthrōgz, perhaps you should be teaching me how to fight.” A smile came across his face, and he let out another plume of smoke. “But yes, I can teach you the principles of hand-to-hand combat and weaponry.” He looked down at where Zaan’s sword would have been if he had been carrying it. “What weapon would you like to learn how to use most?”
Zaan thought for a moment; he had basic swordplay instructions given to him at Gildur’s armory by some of the people down in Auracity. “I do like the slaver’s sword I have.”
“Aye, that’s a good sword, good length and weight, good for learning. Let’s start with that.” He looked at Zaan, as if looking into him, “Yes, I think a sword is a good place to start.”
CHAPTER FIVE
HE heard a loud pounding at the door and it startled him awake. With a loud crash, the door suddenly flung open inward. “Want to play Zantzi?” his friend Gar asked eagerly.
“Whoa, calm down. What’s got into you, Gar?” Zaan asked, as he leaned up in his bed. “What time is it?” The sun was just beginning to peak over the windowsill of Zaan’s small one-bed room. He wiped the sleep out of the corners of his eyes.
“Come on, it’s beautiful out! Who cares what time it is?”
“What I mean is, I have a bunch of appointments today. Do you know what time it is?” Zaan asked again, standing and pulling up a pair of tattered cotton pants.
“I’d say it’s around seven, I guess, looking at the sun on the horizon.” Gar looked at the Zantzi ball in his hands. “So, I guess that’s a no?” Gar asked.
“I want to, although it may still be a bit early. I have to meet up with Zelestiana, and then Palanzal today. I might be done around supper though.” Zaan motioned for Gar to throw him the ball, which he did. You got enough people to play this time in the morning? Or were you trying to get a two-person game going? You know that is never as good,” he said as he threw the ball back into Gar’s hands.
“I got three people. I was hoping you’d be the fourth, but big surprise, you have plans with your girlfriend.” He threw the ball harder at Zaan this time, yet playfully.
“My girlfriend.” Zaan laughed. He’s joking because I spend so much time with my teacher. He’ll understand if he ever gets these powers. “That would be something; the classic teacher-student forbidden romance. Except she would probably crush me if she even gave me a hug, and she’s probably the jealous type.” They both gave a quick laugh. “Who did you get to play?”
“I got that kid Stave to play. I hear he’s pretty good, and I got Lily to join too. She has to play before her meeting with her instructor— that’s why we are playing so early.” Gar wasn’t blind to the way Zaan perked up when he mentioned her name. “But if you’re too busy . . .”
“I . . . I can’t. If I were late again to see Zelestiana, she might not teach me anymore,” Zaan said, as he tucked his shirt into his pants. “Damn, really, you got Lily to play? I’m surprised you even found her.”
“Actually, we eat lunch almost every day together now,” Gar said.
“What? Really? I must be working too much. How long has this been going on?” Zaan asked. How had he never told me before? I hardly get to see her.
“A little more than a week now. We meet up with Stave at noon every day, eat, and share a bottle of wine. I would’ve invited you, but I figured you would have just told me you were busy.”
“Yeah, well you assumed right, sorry to say. Who is Stave?” Zaan asked, as he picked up his slaver’s sword with the tiger’s head hilt, slid it into its sheathe, and tied its harness around his waist.
“He’s a guy I met a couple of weeks back. He’s actually pretty great; you’ll meet him soon I’m sure. You know what? Why don’t we all meet up for dinner tonight?” Gar asked. He seemed surprised that he hadn’t thought of the idea before.
“Okay, yeah. I’ll get ahold of you after I see Mäezer Palanzal later,” Zaan said, and hopefully get to see her as well.
“Great, I’ll see if Lily and Stave can come. Bring your own wine. I don’t want you drinking all of ours.” Gar gave Zaan a wry smile.
“What kind of wine does Lily like?” Zaan asked, struggling to hide a curious smile.
***
“What did you say?” Zelestiana asked as Zaan opened his eyes to see her with arms outstretched, three upright identical swords hovering in front of her. The challenge was to tell which of the three swords was real, as two were illusions created by her.
“Huh? Sorry,” Zaan asked, dazed.
“You said something, what did you say?” Zelestiana asked again, irritation lined her words.
“I don’t remember. Sorry, Zelestiana,” Zaan said, closing his eyes and concentrating.
“Continue then,” she sighed.
“It is the one on the . . . in the . . . center?” He opened his eyes to see a disappointed look on his mentor’s face, “Which one was it?”
“It was the one on your right.”
“Damn,” he grumbled, “the only way I’m going to get it, is by guessing.”
“Zaan, this is important, and we are going to keep at it until it finds you. For you to grow
, you need to be able to feel the Azulūz, not just move things you see with your eyes.” She grabbed the sword from the air and held it out in front of her. The other two swords dissolved into blue vapors. “An arm wields a sword, the mind controls the arm, the body houses the mind. The Azulūz is in all of these, and when mastered can make you a force to be reckoned with. It is a part of you. It is like learning to read; I can teach you the rules, but it takes practice.”
“I get it, but it’s so frustrating. I remember how I felt when I moved that stick from your hand all of those months ago, and now I can move boulders half my size, but I can’t get this,” he said, shaking his head.
“So what? You are going to quit because you are frustrated?” Zelestiana asked. “You have to move past your frustration, and clear your mind. Clarity brings focus. All strong emotions can be used to some advantage, if known how to convert negative energy into positive. But that is a lesson for another day.” She turned to look up Headmaster Tower. “Think about the things you have learned today, we will meet again tomorrow morning.”
“I guess it’s time to go see Mäezer Palanzal, isn’t it?” He bowed to Zelestiana, who bowed back, “Are you coming?”
“No, he wishes to speak with you privately. He specifically requested you bring the red stone with you.” Bring the red stone I found in the Black Cave again? It seems like every other day he’s asking to see it, oh well, he’s the headmaster.
“Oh, okay,” Zaan responded, and started towards the tower. “See you tomorrow.”
CHAPTER SIX
ZAAN knocked at the iron entrance gate to the great Headmaster Tower, its high peak illuminating the sky with its great white light. Zaan heard the echo float throughout the interior of the tall, cylindrical building from the knock. The door opened with a loud, squealing creak. Palanzal himself was standing there to greet Zaan. He bowed slightly and waved for Zaan to come in. Zaan bowed low back and walked into the dimly lit interior of the majestic tower.
“Hello, young Zaan, how do you do?” Palanzal asked. He was wearing an extravagantly long dark- blue robe that slid on the ground behind him.
“I- I’m fine. Thank you. How are you?” Zaan said.
“Fine, just fine. Please, walk with me,” Palanzal said as they walked past the blue torches shedding their light onto the black stone walls of the main entrance to the tower. They began to ascend the stairway that curved like a coiled snake all the way up to the top of the tower, and to Palanzal’s study.
As they ascended the main stairway, which Zaan had seen but never taken, he noticed how dangerous it was. There was nothing to hold onto, except the slick stone walls, and the staircase itself was barely as wide as Zaan. There is no way Gogenanth could climb this, he is too large.
About half way up the winding stair, Zaan looked down to the entrance below, the blue torches looked more like matchsticks then. He wanted to ask Palanzal a question, any question, first of all to end the silence, and secondly, to know why they were taking this stairway. The other stairways in the side chambers were much safer and had windows to look out with great views of the surrounding areas beyond Barrier Cliff.
Finally, Palanzal broke the silence, “Do you know of the history of Essill, and the history or Barrier Cliff, Zaan Talabard the Crusader?” He didn’t stop walking, nor did he look at Zaan.
“Sir, I learned a bit about both places in my studies in Fur-lol. Yes, I know a bit about the history of our continent, Essill, but not nearly enough. Gar educated me quite a bit about Barrier Cliff recently,” Zaan responded, hoping his response was pleasing to the head figure of Barrier Cliff.
“Ah, good point, who does know very much about the history or Essill? I doubt that even one percent of the history of Essill is written down. So much can and does happen in the span of time, few care to record the everyday beautiful things that pass, we tend to record the horrific and dreadful.” He turned to Zaan then, and gave a big grin, showing his yellowing teeth.
“Barrier Cliff, however, has a more specific and condensed history. Tell me, Zaan, what do you know of this place?” Palanzal asked, still climbing the long staircase, which seemed to narrow the higher they got.
“I know it was first used as a fortress to fight off any who attempted to sail from the east, then eventually became a haven that harbored refugees and migrants from that same place,” he said.
“Very good. That is indeed why it was constructed, and what it became,” Palanzal said. “What else do you know?”
“Riverend the Dragon Master.”
“Ah, that is the one story everyone should and does know about Barrier Cliff. It is actually quite an exciting tale. Tell me, Zaan, do you believe the tale of Riverend and his fifty dragons to be true?” Palanzal asked, as he climbed the final stair and walked over to his office door, opening it inward to reveal the mahogany desk that Zaan remembered from the last time he was there. Zelestiana and Palanzal had scolded him for the incident with Harry Kimble’s house. Palanzal went over and sat behind his desk, took a deep breath, pulled out a dark tar-like substance, placed it in the back corner of his mouth, and began to chew on it. “Would you like some?” Zaan politely shook his head.
“The story of Riverend, do you believe it?” Palanzal asked, as he straightened his neck out, and it cracked in five places. As he chewed the black tar substance, Zaan caught a whiff of sarsaparilla from the pungent thick substance being swished around the old man’s mouth.
“I, uh, hadn’t really thought of it. It is a good story, I just assumed it was an exaggerated tale. I, myself, have never seen a dragon, or met anyone who has seen one,” Zaan said.
“You raise a good point. If you haven’t seen something, what would lead you to believe it exists? Anyway, that is beside the point. So, do you assume it is true, at least partly?” Palanzal asked.
“I think it happened— at least parts of the story. After all, I didn’t believe in ogres until I saw one,” Zaan said. What else is the world harboring that I don’t know about? Surely there are more magical, wondrous, and terrible things out there.
A slight glint was noticeable in Palanzal’s eye. After a moment, he said, “You speak of Reizenthrōgz.”
“Yes.”
Palanzal stood up and walked over to the window, which was a clear, old window, framed by smaller, intricate stained glass. He stood there and looked out at the Rion Sea. He spat the tarish wad into his hand and threw it into the receptacle by his desk. “You know Zaan, when Gildur described to me whom was accompanying Angela Dragus the Righteous and the young girl Lily, I was quite concerned, indeed I was.”
“Gildur described the ogre to me, and as I searched through my library, to see who this monster was, there were pages upon pages on the history of the Great Northern Ogre. There was a part of me that was worried that none of you would return from an encounter with Reizenthrōgz.” Palanzal paused, and hung his head in his hand for a moment, then sprung back up and looked at Zaan, “But you certainly proved me wrong, didn’t you, Zaan?”
Zaan looked curiously at the old man, who seemed now, energetic for his elderly age. The headmaster was an eccentric character who at times seemed playful, and oftentimes obsessive, especially went it came to Zaan’s powers and the red stone he found.
“That is one reason I brought you here to speak with me on this fine day. Tell me about your encounter with the ogre, not only for my curiosity, but so I may record it for history purposes, with your approval of course,” Palanzal said.
“That’s fine.” Zaan sat, relaxed back into the comfortable, leather chair.
“Would you like anything? Tobacco, wine, water?” Palanzal asked, as he sat into his chair and pulled out freshly smelling papyrus, quill and ink at the ready.
“I’m fine, thanks. It’s kinda hard to describe what happened, though. It all happened so fast,” Zaan said, scratching his eyebrow as he tried to remember the traumatic events of the battle with ogre. He brushed his black hair back from hanging in f
ront of his eyes.
“It’s okay, just start wherever you want, maybe when you started chanting to focus your Azulūz,” Palanzal said.
“I remember feeling vulnerable, and desperate, but determined,” Zaan said. “My friends were in trouble, and I did the only thing I thought I could do to help: I tried to use my Azulūz, I didn’t really even focus on that fallen tree, that just happened.” Palanzal sat hunched over at his desk, scribbling wildly.
“When I try to do something I haven’t done before, and I find it difficult with my Azulūz, I think back to when I was in the Black Cave, and the night I first used it. I try to remember the smoke from the torches.” Zaan sat up slightly in his seat. “There was something weird about that battle with Reizenthrōgz. It was especially hard to focus, and it was difficult to keep the chant going. I’ve never felt that before.” Palanzal stopped scribbling and looked up at Zaan.
“What was it? What was it that made you feel unfocused?” Palanzal asked.
“When Xersha was . . . when she was killed. It was hard to concentrate, but there were so many people . . . screaming all around me, that is probably why,” Zaan said.
“Hmmm, that does make sense. Can you think of anything else that would have caused your lack of concentration?” Palanzal leaned in almost unnoticeably.
“Well, there was a lot of . . . blood. I’ve never seen so much in my life, I don’t think,” Zaan said.
Palanzal ran his hand over his head and down to his chin. “I don’t believe it. You really are a miraculous young man.”
“I’m sorry, what do mean, Mäezer Palanzal?” Zaan asked.
“Do you remember the last time you came to meet me here in this office?” Palanzal asked.
“Yeah. You and Zelestiana talked to me about what I did, that I shouldn’t have done, and you gave me an evaluation.”
“I asked you then if you noticed anything that caused your Azulūz to weaken, and now we have it,” Palanzal said.
