by Vitaly Zykov
Finally the storm in his mind calmed down. Yaroslav looked over the resulting weaving with his Inner vision. Well, nobody could understand now what exactly had happened, and how it had happened. It was impossible to repeat these chaotic, haphazard weavings of magic flows. His mind was surrounded now with such a shield that it was hard to imagine a creature who would be able to invade its depths. The seal of True name turned out to be a very powerful thing.
At this moment Yaroslav remembered about the Urg. His feelings turned to the prisoner, but the latter was completely motionless. Yaroslav listened and felt quite a commotion of the Urg, his shock, mortal horror and… adoration.
– Why are you so quiet? – Yaroslav asked mockingly.
The Urg muttered something under his breath. Yaroslav frowned:
– I did not hear that! Repeat!
– It's impossible… It's wrong, it's forbidden! Magic of True names forbidden for thinking beings. It kills! It is impossible to control it. One mistake, and the summoned Forces get out of your control…
– Oh-о-о… But I was not aware of that. You know, one great ancient said that brilliant discoveries are, as a general rule, made by ignorants: everybody knows that something is impossible, then appears a non-professional, who does not know it, and brings the impossible into reality.
But the young Urg did not listen him. His eyes were somewhere far away, and his lips whispered:
– Power of shaman gives the roots, magic of his blood, awakened by his teacher, is the trunk, and the magic of ancestral spirits is the crown. Their power bind the weaving together, making it adamant, hiding your mind and the core of magic. – He looked at Yaroslav. – You're the true Ryrga. You're Evil!
Shouting this rather a pathetic phrase, he lost consciousness.
– Boy, am I tired of your Ryrga, – muttered Yaroslav.
The young Urg disappointed him. Simple warriors were braver, they even threatened him. But this one – said «You're Ryrga» and fainted.
– No, no, – Yaroslav began slapping the prisoner on his cheeks – That won't do. Come to life! Come on!
The prisoner groaned. His opened eyes glistened with tears.
– Let me go, Ryrga the Great!
– Go to hell! I, actually, stole you for some business. Give me answers to some of my questions, and I will let you go… But not before that! So, are you going to help me?!
The Urg nodded resignedly. The scene of using the seal of True name suppressed his ability to resist.
The idea to kidnap a young shaman was very successful, after all. Dialogs with him gave a lot of useful information. So, it appears that small squads of Urgs were scouring through these places for two reasons. One of them was searching for Ryrga. The spirits of ancestors said to shaman Puas, that Ryrga would soon come from the west, from the Death Forest. Yaroslav came out exactly from there, and as he was the first who had come, so he was confidently appointed the Enemy of all Urgs.
The other reason was that their Elders were expecting invasion of Spawns[22] this year. They attacked Urg's villages once in a hundred years, and the period of a new attack was coming. Yaroslav asked what means «Spawns» and Ghol revived answering the question. He even forgot his fear of Ryrga, and Yaroslav regretted that he had untied the prisoner. Ghol jumped to his feet and began to wave his arms, spluttering, growling and screaming. No one could say that his behavior was adequate. There was such hatred to the unknown creatures in his words, that Yaroslav even recoiled.
The Spawns were product of Wild magic, remaining in the place of a great battle of the greatest magicians of antiquity (Yaroslav grinned at these words: so much greatness in one phrase!). They were few, but once in a hundred years, they headed north, destroying everything on their way. According to some assumptions, these creatures somehow learned about defensive plans, despite magic spells of shamans. So simple warriors knew almost nothing, their mental defense being too weak. At the last words Ghol proudly puffed out his chest. Spawns crossed the steppe in small groups of two or three beasts. A squad of twenty warriors with bows and spears could cope with them, with some luck, even retaining almost all warriors unharmed.
In response to the question, why they could not wait Spawns in their protected villages, Ghol looked at Yaroslav like at an idiot.
– Because they gather in hordes up to several hundred beasts, and then the waves of horror cover all Urgs, dooming them to drop weapon from their hands and humbly wait for their fate! – These words were uttered in such judgmental tone that Yaroslav was even ashamed. Horrible Ryrga, whose coming was predicted by Great Mad Shaman and confirmed by Puas himself, should be ashamed not to know such simple things!
At this point Yaroslav ended the discussion. It was dangerous for him to dissuade Ghol in his belief in Ryrga's omnipotence. In addition, from some prisoner's words, Yaroslav realized that all Urgs who had been in captivity before, told horror stories about how he beat them almost to death and turned into a huge monster with mouths hungry for flesh, with sharp fangs and writhing tentacles. As he drank their blood and threw them into the Abyss, and the most terrible demons from the depths of Darkness obeyed him, recognizing him as their master… Yaroslav even became pleased with such stories: there he is, Yaroslav the mighty! And no Urg said a word that mighty Ryrga learned their language. Yes, he remembered their surprise when he in a few hours learned a huge amount of words, but, apparently, it did not seem to be such an impressive ability as to be mentioned in stories of great heroes of Urgs folk, having escaped from the claws of the monster. Well, he would not dissuade anyone of that! Such reputation was even useful. The only disadvantage was that the young Urg believing in those stories, after the demonstration of Yaroslav's magic, believed firmly that Ryrga could and knew everything. But Yaroslav had a lot to learn from the Urg. For example, he wanted to learn about the writing system of Urgs, referred by one of the captives. Yaroslav sighed, he had a difficult work to do.
– Ghol, did your Mad Shaman die long ago?
– Long, long ago! Twelve Great Shamans already have already passed away to spirits of their ancestors since then.
– Yeah. Then why did you wait for my arrival? Ok, your Puas said something, but his words were just a spark. The spark that ignited dry tinder of your hatred! But you all should have forgotten this ancient prophecy already!
After these words, Ghol got offended for all his folk and for that damned shaman in particular. In the conversation, he even forgot that Yaroslav is a scarecrow of his folk. He believed that if Ryrga wanted to kill him, then he would have killed him, but he maybe only ask around and let him go. And besides all, Ryrga did not ask any particular secrets.
– All the prophecies are kept in strulies.
– In what?!
And Yaroslav listened to a short lecture about these strulies. It turned out that it was an ordinary rope with knots tied in a certain way, where the knots and the distance between them formed words. At this point Yaroslav expressed doubt in the competence of his prisoner, saying that it was impossible to write anything in such way. The prisoner got excited and shouted that his folk took pride in their records, and in the villages on the north there was a great collection of these knotted letters. But Yaroslav sarcastically remarked, that other warriors did not own such knowledge, and hence there was nothing like that. Monitoring aura fluctuations of young Ghol, Yaroslav asked questions and inserted sarcastic remarks, playing the prisoner's state, like a pianist virtuoso on an instrument.
Young Ghol (only fifteen years old, a kid by both Yaroslav's and Urgs' standards), almost moved to tears, grabbed a scrap of a rope and began to tie knots quickly, hurriedly uttering names of each character and rules of its using. Yaroslav kept a skeptical smirk on his face, but tried to remember all the smallest details of the knowledge revealing to him. Apparently, the boy was showing the local analogue of alphabet. After that Yaroslav had only to tease the boy a little, to induce him to compose a couple of sentences on the rope, and the general principle became clea
r. Yaroslav stopped the overexcited greenskinned kid. As far as he remembered, either Maya or Aztecs had something like that. He only needed to learn the local system of count, which, as it turned out, was based on the number of Urg's teeth. They had twenty-three teeth, so if people count from one to ten, these savages would go from one to twenty-three. For each number they used a corresponding type of knot. Number twenty-three was called canine. A canine of canines compose a jaw, a jaw of jaws that was infinity.
– This is, probably, enough, – said Yaroslav and by one touch plunged the prisoner into sleep. – Now let's deal with your toys.
Ghol had many sorts of decorations on him, and Yaroslav very strongly suspected that they all were amulets, he had never met dead things with magical aura before. He groaned: from bitter experience of the previous kidnappings, Yaroslav knew that he would be found soon, so he had very little time to interrogate the prisoner. In his situation every minute did count.
He began examination from a skull of a rock rat, hanging on a cord around the boy's neck. Clutching the amulet in his hand, Yaroslav slid into Sat'tor and began to study. And there was something to see. The magical weaving was pleasing for eyes in its simplicity and elegance. The skull was a tool of communication with some magical essence, which fueled the weaving with energy. The weaving itself was responsible for a slight changing of aura of the amulet carrier, as if freezing the upper energy layers. Apparently, it was supposed to protect against acts of energy vampirism, making energetics of its master inaccessible for outside attacks. Yaroslav immediately remembered the web, sucking energy, which attacked him during the crossing of the River. But, this protection was pretty weak.
Yaroslav put the skull aside and took the next amulet. It was a bunch of all kinds of shells. It looked more complicated. Each shell was responsible for some action. One weaving was responsible for energy storage. Another created channels in the carrier's aura, the third transformed the accumulated energy into some other type of energy, and the fourth was blowing energy through the created channels, and so on. Actually, this amulet created personal defense from physical contacts. A certain passphrase was the trigger for this ingenious unit. Yaroslav had no desire to learn this phrase, because principles of work of this construction were clear for him.
The countless bracelets were responsible for increase in stamina and strength. All that Yaroslav could do without amulets. What ignited his particular interest was a cute bracelet, very skillfully made of dark bronze (all others were made from bones, shells and leather!). It obviously was not locally produced and was a fairly expensive thing. But even more interesting was the magic weaving concealed in this decoration. The weaving was much more complex, and Yaroslav spent a few hours to study it. It, evidently, could feed itself with energy from the environment, without using any magic substances, to store energy, and at the request of its master produced a new weaving. Yaroslav put on the bracelet and activated it mentally: a portion of energy filled his palm. Yaroslav stretched his hand forward, pointed at a boulder at the foot of the cliff, and opened his clenched fist. A small glob of fire broke away from his palm and with a hiss quickly swept down. It reached the boulder and flashed, ears popped from the roar of the explosion. A crack ran over the boulder and a significant piece fell off.
– Wow, Yaroslav whispered admiringly. He saw firsthand the thing, which sci-fi writers of all times called fireball, and it was a ball of fire in fact. And he immediately decided to create it by himself, without the bracelet.
Yaroslav looked at the prisoner. He curled up shivering, his eyes never leaving the bracelet on Yaroslav's arm. Yaroslav grunted and pushed the amulets, heaped in a pile, to the prisoner:
– You can take them.
There was no need to repeat twice. Like a shadow he rushed to the pile and began frantically to put on all the amulets.
– Do you know how to use them, after all?
Ghol's eyes flashed with offended dignity!
– I can use all the amulets! I can summon junior spirits and one of the amulets I made myself. – He grabbed the skull of a rock rat and shook it. – It protects against gurhs!
– But not for long… – Yaroslav said ironically, on hearing the explanations that gurhs was the name for energy vampires of the Bone River.
Ghol hung his head:
– It's true. I cannot yet speak with senior spirits, while junior ones give little Force.
– Nothing to worry about, you will learn more, – Yaroslav said soothingly, seeing that the boy started sniffling already. Certainly, learning was not too easy for him.
Then, Ghol said without looking up:
– I am an orphan. My father died at the Big Water. He was fishing near the place where the Bone River meets the Big Water and a wave smashed his boat. Gurhs killed him. Mother could not bear the grief and passed shortly after him. I was given to a shaman, but he taught only his own son. I only had crumbs. They took me on this hunting only because if I were killed, no one would regret. – He looked at the bracelet, covering Yaroslav's hand like a black snake, and raised his eyes filled with tears. – This bracelet is the only thing left from my family. Return it to me, please.
– Yes, of course, take it. I don't need it! – Yaroslav took off the bracelet from his hand and handed it to Ghol. – Do you know how to use it?
– How?! It's just a bracelet. The shaman, my mentor, looked at it and said that this is a bauble, and offered to buy it as a good decoration. But I kept it as a memory.
– But, why cannot you determine is a thing magical or not?
– I can, only with our amulets. But this is an alien work.
– Well, then your shaman is either incompetent or deliberately deceived you. Put it on! Squeeze your hand into the fist, and then give an order to the bracelet!
– How?!
– Magically!
Ghol concentrated, aura on his hand shined with reddish light. Fascinated, the boy was looking at what was happening. Before Yaroslav warned him, he opened his hand. The ball took off from his palm and swiftly ran towards Yaroslav. He instinctively, as it had happened in the Forest, waved his hand, protecting it with magic. The fireball was tipped aside like a tennis ball by a racket. The ball hit the rock and exploded. Frightened Ghol cried:
– I didn't want to! I didn't want to! I didn't know!!!
– Yes, I do believe, – Yaroslav reassured him. – Stop shouting. And remember: at first you should aim, and only then throw a fireball. And one more thing: the energy supply is limited. It's enough for three fireballs at maximum. Then you need to wait a few hours until the energy supply is refilled…
At this point Yaroslav noticed that Ghol was not listening, but, as if stunned, looking somewhere behind him. His whole posture expressed extreme fear, which was gradually transforming into horror. Yaroslav threw a sideways glance behind and shuddered. A horde of nightmarish creatures raced across the steppe. About a hundred beasts. Yaroslav had already seen a variety of monsters in the Forest, but these… these were special. All the magic feelings of Yaroslav smelled some ghoulish stench, the stench of evil and wrong magic. These creatures had no right to exist. They were like someone's nightmares which broke free and gained flesh and strength.
– E-e-e-e-e!!! Spa-a-awns!!! – Ghol found his voice, finally. – They are going wrong!
– What do you mean?! – asked Yaroslav, attentively peering down.
– They are going in a single wave! During the last invasion such a horde destroyed six villages! – Panic veiled Ghol's eyes, then suddenly receded somewhere into the deep, and its place was taken by hope. – Ryrga The Great! Help!
This plea for help leapt out from the depths of Ghol's soul. His giant ears were trembling, his nose was sniffing pleadingly. All appearance of the eared shorty was utterly hilarious, but the situation was not funny. Yaroslav saw the more important thing: the monsters obviously chose as an object of their first attack the rock with two-legged persons on it.
– Damn!!! – shouted Yaroslav. �
�� Damn! Why am I so unlucky?!!
Eared Ghol calmed down and now looked expectantly at the raging horror from the prophecy. As if saying «we have predicted your arrival, so you are our own monster!» consequently he should defend Urgs from other monsters! The greenskinned boy's eyes even showed some curiosity: well, how will Ryrga defeat them?!
Yaroslav swore irritably. The entire horde had already gathered at the foot of the cliff. The speed of their movement was impressive: a moment ago they appeared on horizon and now they were already here. Some especially arrogant, or maybe impatient ones, had already started to climb. Very quickly they found the trail and began to climb on the rock.
– I'll try the weaving later! – Yaroslav mimicked himself. – Idiot! And in fact, he had felt some anxiety. He blamed shamans in that… But no, he was mistaken!
Yaroslav swore once again, then closed his eyes and concentrated. There was no fear, only anger and irritation stirred his blood. But, in Sat'tor, in this state of emptiness and tranquility, they quickly subsided too. There was only steady beating of Force somewhere far away in the depths of his mind and pulsation of Force flows, going in the ground and piercing the air. He recalled in his mind the image of the fireball weaving. He could not reproduce one fragment: something strange was in it, nonnative for Yaroslav. Although everything else was clear. Yeah, okay… This fragment is responsible for the fire component… Binding to some magical essence, then filtering the Force… Something unclear… Okay, he'll replace it by channels of his own magic, and then build the weaving. It was simple: it was similar to work with signs of Forces. Making lines of the weaving again and again and filling them with power of his magic, Yaroslav formed a kind of structure. What would happen if he concentrated more Force? As a final touch, he added the sign of concentration… It seemed ready. Yaroslav decided that his construction had too little Force. It would be good to get some Force from external sources. Yaroslav opened his soul for the surrounding world. Chaotic pulsation of magical energy lost its rhythm, froze for a moment… and streamed to Yaroslav.
