“In general, the Ternites replaced the Ernites ― ordinary people. The maximum that an Earnite can hope to achieve is to be given chainmail and die in a war as a soldier, or cannon fodder, as they’re more frequently called. The rest of the ‘jobs’ were taken over by the Ternites. Assassins, witches, magicians, paladins, necromancers, sorcerers, wizards, hermits, heretics, hunters, and so on and so forth... Like locust, they swarmed the Thirteen Kingdoms.”
Despite listening carefully, Ash had little idea what she was on about.
“At one point, there were so many Ternites that the cities became so small for their giant egos. And then the Kings, even those of ordinary men, decided that Ternites should serve only for the benefit of the mankind. So, thank you, I guess, you little maggot, for not yet doing them a disservice. Anyway... The Ternites now roam the world, carrying out various tasks. Those who refuse this sacred task are considered heretics and hunted like wild beasts. Such is life.”
“But what does that have to do with words?” Ash asked, stirring the brew.
“It has to do all with everything!” the old woman barked and coughed again. “With you, Ash, the terna is water and you’re a fish, it’s all around you.”
Ash shrugged. “I don’t feel it.”
“Because you can’t feel it! You don’t know how... But more about that later... Let me teach you about words. All, even the poorest people, have their language. Take a stone, for example, there are a thousand words with which to describe and call it, but they’re all false. You have one name, Ash. It’s not the best, but not the worst one either,” she said. Ash wanted to tell her that it was her that had given him that name, but he kept silent. “And just like you, this stone as its own name.”
“What is it?”
Gwel’s lips moved but he heard nothing.
“You don’t hear,” she said, “and you won’t be able to hear until you learn how to listen. Just like you and the stone, everything in this world has its name. Its true name, let’s say. Those names make up the language spoken by the Gods who created our world. And knowledge of this language, knowledge of the name, gives power. That’s why no one knows the name of our world, for the Gods are afraid of the power that it holds. This is the language you must learn how to speak if you want to understand the essence of magic.”
“Why does it have to be magic?” Ash asked.
“Look at yourself... You’re small and scrawny, you ain’t worth for anything else other than carrying a staff and an entire library in your head.”
The boy shrugged again. He didn’t care.
“Hold on,” she said, genuinely angry, “you haven’t seen me do magic?”
“You do magic?”
Gwel froze, then laughed, and then spent some time praising and cursing her Queen that had played such a cruel trick on her.
“Looks like the timing is right,” Gwel said suddenly. “Observe, little maggot.”
The old woman ran her fingers over her staff and whispered something. A moment later, the kitchen came alive. Knives jumped out of their boxes and began cutting herbs. The spoon with which he had been steering the potion leaped out of his hand and continued stirring on its own. The tablecloth suddenly rose into the air and move to the window to shake off crumbs off itself. The fire in the hearth danced vigorously and the chair in which Gwel was sitting swayed a little bit slower.
“Ah, I still got it,” Gwel whispered contentedly and closed her eyes.
“Are these words?”
“The best kind... Now, go outside. I want you to learn at least one word by tonight.”
Chapter 3
Two Days Later
A sh spent all his free time, of which he had many, outside but he never learned a single word. Gwel never got tired of teasing him about it, sometimes giving him particularly vile names. Ash was feeling what could best be described as “annoyance.” He felt like absolutely everything was trying to talk to him. The wind rustling to the treetops chuckled at him, the grass swayed, eager to tell him its story, the branches creaked, wanting to share wisdom, and clouds, sailing silently across the vast blue, wanted to tell him about distant lands.
Ash, lost in these sounds, almost reached the essence of the words a couple of times, but the moment he tried to focus on it, everything stopped. The wind was wind again, creaking just creaking, and clouds just giant tufts of white.
“Hey! Devil incarnate!”
Ash dusted his pants and returned inside where Gwel, as always, was rocking back and forth in her chair, gaze fixated on the fireplace. Perhaps she didn’t see what Ash saw in the flames. He was certain that he heard something in the crackling of the logs as for the first time in his life he felt something that could only be described as desire.
“Yes, mistress?”
“Didn’t I tell you that I’d drown you in the cesspool if you call me that again?”
“You said that two days ago.”
“Two days ago...” Gwel repeated. “She never came for the potion...”
Her milky gaze became blurrier. She was almost completely blind.
“Take it,” she said and pointed at her staff, “it’ll serve you well as long as it can. Now, get ready.”
“For what?”
“The Queen has made her first move. The game has begun.” Gwel chuckled and picked up the knife. “Don’t be angry with me for having treated you like this. I can’t do much else.”
“I’m not angry.”
“I know,” Gwel said. “That isn’t good... How can you feel joy without resentment? Little boy,” she said hoarsely as if she was trying not to swear. “You’ll soon know, too.” She hoped that she had done well and raised a wizard and not a monster.
Ash felt something. He smelled iron and tested copper. He then heard the distant croak of a hungry crow.
None of this was happening in reality, but the feeling remained.
“Did you feel it?” Gwel asked. “I see that you did. Good, I didn’t waste my time for nothing. Goodbye now, you demonic fiend. Get yourself a succubus or a tramp, so that your manhood withers and inhuman heart rots.”
Green teeth flashed in what looked like a smile and the young man in his late twenties burst into the house. His gray eyes were burning with rage and hard-working hands gripping the worn-out shaft of his trusty pitchfork.
“Witch!” he shouted, spitting saliva. “You wanted to kill my child!”
“You idiot, it was your wife who wanted it dead!” Gwel laughed.
“I’ll kill you!”
Ash said nothing, just stood there and watched as Gwel made the knives come to life and fly into the air. But before she could do anything else, the villager ran over to her and sunk the pitchfork into her chest, piercing the hardened heart that didn’t have the time to soften over the eight years spent living in the forest.
Silver locks fell over the old woman’s shoulders, free of the black scarf that had been keeping them in place, revealing the slave’s mark on Gwel’s forehead that glimmered in the firelight.
There was no mistress more adamant and merciless to her servants than Fate, the queen of the Gods themselves.
“Freak,” the villager spat, pulling out the pitchfork. Knives fell on the floor with a loud latter. Ash stood frozen, staring at the corpse sprawled before him. He was certain that he should feel something... A sharp pain in his chest or a lump in his throat, but he simply didn’t care. He didn’t know the difference between life and death.
“And you must be her homunculus,” the villager said and pointed his pitchfork at Ash. “I’ll be given a lot of coin for the head of a bastard like you.”
Flames danced in the reflection of the dirty steel of the pitchfork. Staring at it, Ash felt a cold hand on his throat.
Death was ready to claim him.
Ash raised the staff that Gwel had given him, ready to defend himself. He still didn’t understand the difference between life and death, but he wasn’t quite ready to go meet the Gods. He hadn’t learned a single wo
rd yet, which meant that he’d be unable to listen and follow their others, something he couldn’t allow himself to do as that had been all that he had ever done. That was the only thing he understood.
“Different colored eyes,” the farmer said, laughing at Ash’s pathetic attempt to defend himself. “Damn freak.”
Coming from the farmer, being called a freak sounded like an insult. There was a difference when one spoke without malice and when one spoke with the intent to kill.
Ash stared at the flames reflected in the steel and felt heat fill his limbs. Just like the brew boiled stronger, heated by the fire, so did his heart pound faster, fueled by anger. And just as he thought he’d burn from the inside, he heard the word.
It was like nothing else in the world. Not a single audible sound, not any language spoken by either mortals or immortals sounded like it. Because this word was contained the pure essence of fire. Its flames both devoured endless forests and warmed lone travelers in the cold nights.
Ash welcomed the fire and allowed it to fill him to the brim. Its flames licked its skin, and whispered the word to him. Closing his eyes, he listened and then repeated.
Bloodcurdling screams filled the air, scaring off the birds that had nestled on the trees outside the house. They spoke amongst themselves about a young wizard who had learned the fire’s name.
And anyone who knew how to listen to the birds became aware that the winds of change were about to sweep over their nameless world.
Chapter 4
322 A.D. Age of the Drunken Monk, Middle Kingdom
I rmaril shone brightly that night, illuminating the unnamed planet, and providing gentle and affectionate (sometimes fierce and merciless) light to the billions of its inhabitants. Some of them dwelled in cities surrounded by high walls, others in villages, while some preferred the dusty roads and cheap taverns over a comfy bed free of bedbugs and a roof over their head. There were also those who lived in caves, huts by the lake, in the lakes themselves, in the sky, in the fiery embrace of the volcano, at the bottom of the ocean, in the forests, on top of pine needles, in the buds of flowers, and even in the wind itself.
But more about them later.
The wind of change had brought the young Ash to the Middle Kingdom, a great land ruled by the wise Garangan and his wife Alessia. Everything from the Rose Sea to the Forests of Armund, which included four cities, half a hundred villages, and countless farms, belonged to them.
And in the north, at the foot of the Mazurman mountains, was a field dotted with flowers. Lakes of buttercups, hills of roses, and rivers of tulips... Birds flying over this colorful ocean would sometimes stop in awe, risking colliding with the rocky hills because of their carelessness.
In the center of this field, not far from the lake in which various fish splashed merrily, was a small house. So small it was that it could barely be called a house. It looked like a cabin. Inside, save for a kitchen, was one small room in which the owner of this house lay. He was young, about twenty-three, with a lovely face and a body shaped by years of hard work. Opening his eyes, the young man sat up and gazed over at a little box with colored lenses on the table next to the bed. One was brown, the other blue. Having given it a thought, the young man chose the blue one. Today he wanted to look the world with eyes the color of the azure sea, and not those the color of fertilizer.
Stretching, he got up, scratched his head, and sniffed. Rolling out of bed, he gathered his clothes and got dressed: patched-up and well-worn trousers, a canvas shirt with ribbons on the chest, and a pair of sandals made of hemp and wood. The look was completed by a wooden staff that stood leaning against the wall. It looked like the most ordinary staff; so plain and mundane…
“Breakfast,” the man yawned and hit the floor with the staff.
The air rippled, walls shook, dishes rattled and windows covered by boards rather than glass quivered. The logs in the stove caught fire on their own and cracked cheerfully; drawers opened and utensils flew into the air. A knife twitched and started cutting the lettuce that had flown onto the chopping block from the wicker basket by the door. The kitchen, which was a couple of feet from the bedroom, seemed to come to life.
The water boiled in the kettle that had once been a soldier’s helmet. Leaves of tea flew from their box into the mug. Slices of fragrant bread landed into the breadbasket and were quickly covered with lovely, golden butter without any knife.
The young man was a wizard, you see, and not the kind you meet at the carnivals that coax you into spending your hard-earned coin to see their cheap tricks. Sure, he didn’t know how to turn stone into gold nor did he know the secret of eternal youth, but he was still a wizard. Sitting down on a stool that ran up to him, the young man rubbed his hands and began his meal. A black scarf flew over to him from one of the drawers and wrapped itself around his ashen hair.
As he chewed his bread with pleasure and ate his fried eggs, wagging his finger at the confused pan, it had gotten it wrong again), the young man thought about what he’d do today. It was about time to go to the market and sell herbs, as he needed coin to buy more food. He couldn’t live on roots and berries forever.
Having finished his breakfast, he got up and hit the floor with the staff once more. The dishes spun and leaped into a barrel full of water. The kitchen towel wiped them clean, and they settled to dry.
The door opened on their own, creaking with its hinges as if it to say “Good day!” to the young man. The moment he stepped foot on the green grass, the seemingly solid house wavered as if it were made of fog and disappeared. There was only a small grassy meadow.
The illusion left much to be desired, but who in their right mind would come all the way here looking for something? Here in the mountains, there were no dwarves with their eternal fairs and cheap metals or monsters to hunt or the gloomy drows, with their protruding fangs and skin the color of wet stone.
Who then was this young wizard that so carefully gathered herbs and plants into his satchel? No one knew the answer to this complicated question. Everyone thought he was just a Ternite, but he knew for sure that he wasn’t human Worst of all, he knew he wasn’t a Fae either. The only thing he did know was his name.
“Ash!” squeaked something near his sandals.
The boy looked down and saw Maverie, a flower fairy, so tiny that she could fit comfortably in a teaspoon. Though, she insisted that she was just fine living in a tulip. Just like many other flower fairies.
Smiling, Ash squatted and held out his little finger. Maverie fluttered over to him, flapping her tiny little wings. Landing on his finger, she dusted her dress sewn out of blades of grass and petals so thin and delicate that a harder wind could tear them, and so valuable that any alchemist would gladly give a gold coin for a single petal. But Ash didn’t seem to care that he was holding a fortune in his hands.
“I’m sorry, did I wake you up?”
“You woke everyone up stomping around like that!” she said, voice sounding more normal now as Ash had brought her closer to his ear.
“Sorry, sorry, I forgot that you sleep till noon.”
Maverie snorted and puffed her cheeks. Fairies, which many thought were a figment of the imagination of Ternites and those that had had one too many mugs of mead to drink, woke up only when the flower buds opened, which was usually at noon. “Where are you going?”
“To the village. I’m going to sell some herbs and flowers in the market.”
“Take me with you!”
Ash smiled. A couple of times of a week, Maverie would ask him to bring her with him, but he always refused. It wasn’t because she was a flower princess, the daughter of the fairy queen, but because his adventures were always dangerous and he’d hate it if something happened to his friend.
“And what does a pretty little girl like you have to do in a village?”
“I’m not a little girl!” she exclaimed and stomped her foot, poking his finger. “I’m an adult! I can travel!”
Ash nodded. “Of course, of c
ourse... And get lost in the vast spaces of a leather bag.”
Maverie instantly fell silent and flushed, remembering the incident when all the fairies were looking for her in Ash’s bag.
“I’ll collect the best flowers for you!” she said. “All the girls will want to buy your bouquets!”
Ash didn’t want to tell her that girls lined up in front of his stall regardless of what herbs he brought.
“As lovely as your offer is, dear Maverie, someone will ask me who had helped me make those lovely bouquets, and when word spreads of your talent and beauty some handsome prince will come looking for you. And when he learns that you’re a little fairy, he’ll do all he can to turn you into a human, or himself into a fairy, so that you two can live happily ever after.”
Maverie’s blush grew more and more prominent the longer his story went on. Her gaze became dreamy and her wings fluttered so quickly that she flew up.
“And when your mother learns of all this, she’ll turn me into a sheep and feed me to the wolves.”
The fairy flopped back down on his finger, realizing that he was joking.
“Then don’t accept my help!” she said and stuck her tongue out. Acting like a child rather than a princess, she, pouting, kicked a nearby bud in protest. The tulip opened, revealing a small bag made of fabric that shimmered faintly on the sun. “Oberon asked to give this to you, just in case.”
“Tell him I said t―”
Maverie faded away in the ocean of flowers before he could finish. Sighing, Ash shook his head and moved the staff away. In his opinion, the queen should teach her daughter some manners. He wouldn’t have to keep inventing stories and jokes just to keep Maverie from following him around.
Picking up the little bag, Ash looked into it. Whistling, he clutched it to his chest and looked around as if he was afraid that someone might be spying on him. Pollen! And not the cheap kind that was sold by the pound on the markets, but the priced fairy pollen from which he could learn powerful magic.
Ash. The Legends of the Nameless World. Progression Gamelit Story Page 2