Closed eyes. Gaping mouth. Red.
Brown hair. Yellow flowers. Red. Hard iron. Gelra.
Red. Closed eyes. Red. Gelra. Gaping
mouth. Red. Soft skin. Red. Eyes open.
Gelra!
He opened his eyes and breathed a
sigh of relief. Just a dream.
The council meeting was still going
on. Boring talk of boring subjects by men over twice his age. When the gods had
gifted him with his sword as a child, he'd never dreamed of playing politician,
but peace was the law of the land. It left little room for swords.
The men seated around Gelra, eyeing
him briefly before turning their attention back to whoever was speaking,
weren't interested in his frustrations. They worried about money. Other people's
money. Getting more money. Spending money.
Boring.
Gelra considered going back to sleep,
but the light shining into the chambers was from a low sun. It was almost time
to leave, get back to his temporary home here in the city. His eyes wandered
around the many stern faces, hoping to find Shar, the swordsman who trained
him. There. Gray hair tied back. Neatly trimmed beard, still black despite his
age. The blue-stained pieces of leather armor were more decorative than
functional, just like Gelra's own brown pieces. Just like the swordsmen
themselves. Stupakparya they were called, a title that once meant something,
but now all it got him now was a sore back from sitting on a stiff wooden bench
all day. Shar was a lot better at putting on a good face to impress the
politicians, but young Gelra didn't care enough to try and hide his annoyance,
only enough to not get up and leave.
Shar wasn't looking in his
direction, just the speakers as they came, spoke, and left and the people
seated immediately next to him, whispering to each other. Gelra stretched his
legs, stiff from the hours and hours of sitting, interrupted only once to
relieve himself. He'd spotted two other swordsmen along the way, but they were
too busy with each other to pay him any attention. A pang of jealousy for the
lovers, one built to fight and win, and the other beautiful as the sun, made
his heart beat fast for a moment.
The fifth swordsmen, Alyadim, hadn't
been spotted by him. He wondered if he was even in attendance, and why Gelra
was. It was a waste of time, but when the closing prayer came to an end he
wasted no time in getting up and making for the nearest exit. It was time to
relieve himself again.
"Ahawa!"
Shar was standing next to a couple
of the men he'd been speaking to during the meeting when Gelra stepped back out
onto the green surrounding the enormous council chambers. Straightening himself
up while walking towards them-
Why
do I care what these forgettable people think of me?
-Gelra weaved through the crowd
spreading its way into the city of Skandagal .
He'd hoped to see Shar before night fell, if only to say goodbye. The last few
years it seemed like they only ever saw each other at these annual meetings,
and sometimes not even then.
"You know I prefer Gelra, Shar."
"Here, I want you to meet some
people," he said, ignoring his comment. "This is S---- and D----,"
he said, motioning to each. Each wore the expensively embroidered tunic and
shawl of priesthood. "They'll be accompanying us on our voyage
north."
His mind started racing as he held
each of their hands in turn to greet them. "I'm sorry, what voyage?"
"I want you to come with us to
Kalires. I've found a beautiful cave there, and I want to show it to you. I
doubt anybody knows about it but me. I've been describing it to these two men
during the meeting,"
Glad
he was just as bored as I was.
"and they wish for me to show
it to them. Get closer to the gods. You really feel their blessing sitting
inside, away from, well," he said, gesturing around him, "all this.
You should go and grab your things. I'm planning on leaving tonight if we
can."
"But, I," don't want to "can't. They're
expecting me back home. It's hard enough on my uncle leaving him for these
meetings. I can't leave him alone longer than is necessary."
"Ah, I forget." The
disappointment in his eyes almost made him change his mind. "Well, perhaps
afterwards, eh? Give my regards to your uncle for me." With that he turned
back to the men whose names Gelra had already forgotten and began walking with
them towards the harbor while Gelra turned and walked away, cursing himself
under his breath.
I
should've gone. Idiot. Why didn't I go? I should've gone. Stupid. Stupid.
Regret followed him all the way to
his bed that night, alone with his thoughts in a cold dark room. The noises
outside his room certainly didn't improve things. Eventually exhaustion
overtook him and he got a bit of peace.
They next day he hitched a ride
with a farmer who'd come to town to sell off some of his crops. The man was
nice enough, but Gelra cared even less about raising crops than politics, and
spent most of the trip in the back of the cart lying down and staring up at the
sky. The wood still reeked of whatever fruit the farmer had raised, with
scattered dark splotches left behind by the pieces squished by those above
them. The sweetness mixed with smell of grass and flowers that grew in the
fields on either side of the road. Much
more pleasant than the city. A bump here and there prevented him from
getting too comfortable though, and Gelra welcomed the darkening sky.
"How far'd we get?"
"Well, Bacha's still-"he
said, his words cut short by an arrow he took to the chest. Gelra's eyes
widened. Heart raced. Riders, four of them, dark, a bit off the road ahead but
getting closer. He wrapped his arms around the man's limp body and grabbed the
reigns, urging the old farm horse into a gallop. Another arrow flew, sinking
into the man's thigh. Come on! The
cart shook violently, the stiff cart making it hard for him to keep his balance
without holding onto the dying man tighter. Another arrow, sticking from the
horse's neck this time. As he urged the horse on, Gelra saw the glint of metal
against the black. Come ON! A raised
arm swiftly lowered, a sword catching the horse on its shoulder and collar. Gelra
fell back down into the cart, hoping not to receive the next sword swing. Chop.
Warm wet along his arm. Thud. Pressure. He couldn't get up. The farmer was
lying on top of him. He rolled out from underneath and got up, glancing at the
riders; now behind him, but not chasing. Why?
He swung his legs over and settled into the driver's seat, desperate to get to
Bacha before it was too late. He was too afraid to see that it already was.
* * *
He woke up. Bright light shining on
his face. What happened? He slowly
became aware of a sore arm and that he wasn't wearing any clothes. There were a
few pieces of cheap clothing folded and stacked on the floor by the mat he'd
fell asleep on. After dressing and exiting the room he found himself standing
in a long hall, similar doors to his own going on in a sequence of four, ending
in a blank wall. He turned the other way and saw another pair of doors, this
time ending in a door, barely open, with nothing but darkness beyond. He walked
slowly towards it with legs as sore as his arm. Creak.
His eyes opened. Heavy breath. Another dream. The room was similar, but
less bright than its fantasy counterpart. Clothes in a similar spot. Only once
he smelled meat cooking and heard the muffled sound of people talking was he
sure this wasn't a dream too. He left his room and entered a kitchen of some
sort. A cook had his back turned to Gelra, leaning over a huge pot set over the
fire.
"Glad you're up!" he
said, not turning his back. "I was worried I'd find you as dead as the man
you rode into town with!"
So
he is dead. Damn it.
"I'm a bit sore, but I'll be
fine. Do you know where my things are?"
"The owner's got them. You
should be able to find him at the bar through there."
He thanked him and walked out of
the kitchen and towards a tall man seated at the bar against the back wall.
"Hello, I was told you have my things?"
"That'd be me, son," the
bartender said as he reached underneath the bar to pull out a sack. "Your
sword and other effects are locked in my office. The clothes you were wearing
last night have been cleaned but I doubt you'll ever get the blood out. You can
keep those if you want. Follow me," he said as he stepped out from behind
the bar. Gelra followed sheepishly behind the man, gruff and standing a head
taller, clutching at the cloth sack. His sword, armor, and purse sat on his
desk.
"It's all there," he
said, sitting down behind the desk. "Before you go, though, I'd like to
ask you a few questions."
"Sure," he said, sitting
opposite him.
"Did you get a good look at
the people that attacked you last night?"
"Not really. It was dark, and
they were wearing black themselves."
"How many were there?"
"Uh, four. Any idea who they
were?"
"I can make a good
guess," he said, reaching down and bringing up an arrow, blood covering
the tip. "You see the feathers? I'd seen these before on a bird unique to
the wastes of Sheshpal to the north. It's a common enough bird that I'm not
saying who attacked you came from there, but I'd be surprised if they didn't.
I've already notified the local sheriff, but I'd like you to use your
connections as a swordsman to try and find these bastards. The sheriff's heard
of similar attacks a few hours away. Nobodies been caught yet, and it all seems
to be really small attacks like the one last night. A few men coming in out of
nowhere and then vanishing. I don't want people thinking this area's unsafe. Bad
for business." He leaned forward. "I'd like to say that a swordsman's
come to take care of things. Think you can do that for me?"
Sweat began to form as his stomach
dropped. "It'll be taken care of, I promise."
A smile formed on the man's face as
he leaned back. "Great! That's just fine!" He stood up and began
leading Gelra out with an arm around his shoulders. "I'll give word to the
sheriff. In the meantime, borrow one of my horses. You'll need it if you're
going to get around up in Sheshpal."
"Of course," he said,
thinking about what he was going to write his uncle.
* * *
Death. That's what Sheshpal
reminded Gelra of after the lush green of Shorpal. The soil couldn't support
any more than thin brush and twisted trees. Small crawling things and the animals
only big enough to eat them without bursting. The map given to him by the
sheriff was an old one. How accurate it was could only be guessed at.
Everything looked the same once he'd left the last town, where he'd gotten
rest, water, bearings, and little else. Nobody had any information on the arrow
or the men who'd attacked him.
Now he was here, alone, with
nothing more to go on than a poor memory and an arrow. Every moment that passed
was another chance for him to turn back. What
would I tell them? What could I say? He'd thought of a million excuses, but
he kept going. He'd almost convinced himself that it really was his problem.
He'd been attacked, too, after all. But, somehow, that meant less to him than
getting home. Yet, here he was.
He lifted his head and checked the
sun, making sure he was still going in the right direction. When he did he
noticed a cloud of dust in the distance. People.
He kicked the borrowed horse into a quick trot, praying that they weren't
moving further away from him. Hoping that the only reason he hadn't seen it
before was because they were getting closer, and not because he just hadn't
been paying attention.
He didn't have to wait too long to
get an answer.
Soon, figures appeared in the
distance. Many figures. It was a caravan, dozens of riders and large
cloth-covered wagons, with a battle-hardened swordsman at its head.
Alyadim.
The men accompanying him were
initially hostile, but once they realized who Gelra was they backed down. "Do
you not see what he carries? Refill his waterskins. So, Gelra, what brings you
out here?"
After he explained what had
happened to him and what he'd heard concerning the other attacks, Alyadim
became deeply concerned. When Gelra showed him the arrow, a look of recognition
flashed across his face.
"The make of it belongs to the
Misa to the north," he said, and described how to get there.
"Would some of your men be
able to accompany me? I fear I might get lost."
"I'd go with you myself if I
could, but unfortunately there's a pressing matter which I must attend to, and
I couldn't spare even a single man. All I can offer is the water and my
prayers. Mind my directions and be careful. The Misa care for nobody but
themselves, and it would be best to turn around and leave them alone."
"I can't do that, not until I
confirm that they are the ones responsible."
"Suit yourself. I hope I get
the chance to meet you again, young swordsman."
With that they moved on, Alyadim
veering west and Gelra north. He arrived a few days later to find a small
settlement populated by dead villagers. They'd been dead for a while, maybe a week. Parts were scattered everywhere, some
appearing to have been partially eaten. Jackals, maybe. A few had arrows
sticking out, the same make as the one Gelra carried with him. This should have
been where these arrows came from. Had he gotten the directions wrong? Did he
lose his bearings and end up in a village near where the Misa resided? It had
taken longer to get here than Alyadim said it would take. He couldn't ask
anybody here for directions, and the thought of wandering around here and
probably getting lost didn't seem worth it, not by himself like this. He had to
go back. This was too much for him.
"Thank you for your
help," the sheriff said, taking back his map. "I'll spread word to
some of the other baronies to gather men. They've slaughtered an entire
village, and I don't see them stopping. I'd ask you to stick around and show us
the way, but while you were gone a messenger came from the city. You're wanted
by the Council immediately."
"Did they say what for?"
"No," he said. "Just
that you're wanted."
"Thanks."
He bought the horse off the tavern
owner, having become fond of her travelling the wastes, and made for Skandagal.
The entire journey he wondered why he was being recalled when the annual
meeting, the only one he was ever requested to attend, was done and over with. The
trip back took about as long it had before, weighed down by unfounded guilt
instead of a wagon. He'd always just simply gotten by as Stupakparya, never
being comfortable with a public position. Never made a fuss, never made waves.
This message was unprecedented for him. He'd never been singled out like this,
not since the sword he carried suddenly appeared to him one day almost nine
years earlier, when he was only thirteen. Since then, he just did what he had to
and that was it. He wasn't really excited about what he was now. After all—
"The year is 793. We've
progressed far since the founding of this great city. We've achieved something
many thought impossible: unifying the nations of this continent under one banner,
that of the High Council of the Five Nations. Us."
Gelra stood before the panel of
councilors, every one of them, in his mind, a copy of the next. They took turns
speaking to him, but as far as he knew they all spoke as one. He had to make a
conscious effort to try and look at them, but his head kept drifting back down
to the floor. It's beautiful stone,
whatever it's called.
"Gelra, we've come to the
agreement that in this modern age of peace, the Stupakparya are reminders of a
time when war was commonplace. However, times have changed, and the notion of
war is a relic. That is why we have decided it is best for the people of this
great land to abolish the tools of war, including the sword which you carry
now." Guards came out of the shadows and moved towards Gelra. "As an
act of good faith, we would like you to now relinquish your sword to us. The
other swordsmen have been sent for, and are on their way to do the same. This
is the beginning of a new chapter in our history. You should be proud to be the
first." Gelra unclasped the sword belt. "You and the other swordsmen
will be the example which the rest of the world will follow. Once we've
gathered you all there will be an announcement held here to the rest of the
nations. No longer will there be blood shed over trivial matters. We of the
High Council shall be the ones to determine how disagreements are won, not
through brute force but with debate and adjudication. Humanity is too precious
and too civilized for anything less." A guard reached for Gelra's sword.
"But, what about rebels and
gangs? I was attacked the day after I left this city."
"Yes, we'd seen the report.
This is a small matter and will be dealt with accordingly."
"A man died! I was almost
killed!"
"And they will be dealt with.
Now please hand over your sword."
"You don't understand."
"Gelra."
"A whole village was
murdered!"
Not a single expression changed.
"Another matter to be dealt
with. Guards, take the sword."
They did.
