Ash. The Legends of the Nameless World. Progression Gamelit Story

by Kirill Klevanski

  Ahead of them stretched the boundless plain, behind which towered the mountain chain of Rezaliks.

  Ash glanced over his shoulder as if to say goodbye to the forest that had finally released them from its grip. Despite the many troubles and deaths that accompanied them, the Stumps weren’t going to give up. No matter how naïve it sounded, they were pursuing a noble goal, generously flavored with promises of wealth and honor.

  * * *

  [1] A drink made of jam diluted with water

  Chapter 41

  3rd Day of the Month Kraig, 322 A.D., The Plains

  T he first month of autumn brought with it not only a cold wind, driven from the far mountains forever covered in snow, but also fluffy, heavy clouds that sailed lazily across the low sky, hiding Imaril from view. Here, on the vast plain that separated the civilized world from the land of few forts, castles, and outposts, you needed to wrap yourself up in a thick cloak to keep yourself warm. Unfortunately, Ash had never had such a thing so he clung to his staff, absorbing the heat trapped within the wood.

  “How’s that possible?” Mary asked irritably, staring at the mage’s horse.

  While she was haggling with the stable boy, the mage had somehow managed to summon his odd horse, which came galloping toward him from the direction of the Forest of Shadows. Guido, as usual, gave everyone a curious sniff as if to check if they’re edible. Wrapped in their cloaks, they were of no interest to him, so he hurried to bother other horses. Unaccustomed to a member of their kin alike to Guido, they were trying to throw off their riders.

  In total, seven gold coins had to be paid for the riders. Such an expense made Mary lose her temper, so she was now snapping at the smallest of troubles.

  “It’s magical.” Ash shrugged, stroking Guido’s thick neck.

  “Everything you own is ‘just magical,’ ” she hissed. In her distress, she added a few too many coins into the expense column that she was writing up in her mind.

  “Because I’m a mage.” Ash winked and, bursting out laughing, dodged a slap.

  The party moved rather briskly along the road, which was covered with sand and overgrown with weeds. Here, on the plain, there wasn’t a single village that had more than two hundred inhabitants. Therefore, it wasn’t surprising that no one really cared about roads as no one really needed them. Here lived mostly those who had fled from the wrath of their previous kings.

  Sometimes, you’d met those who thought that betraying one’s king and running away to live free in the middle of nowhere was much better than living under tyranny. Ternites also came here, looking for a peaceful and quiet place where they could study and train. But more often than not, once could see Aquelas, wandering artists, traveling the endless sea of emerald grass.

  The plain, which encompassed all thirteen human kingdoms in a half-circle, was reputed to be the birthplace of the most famous of people. Their fame, unfortunately, wasn’t that gained by chivalrous deeds, but exploits, scandals, as well as theft and other scams.

  The Stumps, crossing the lake, went northeast, hurrying to get to Rezaliks as soon as possible. The ever-crimson sky of the Fiery Mountains could be seen looming ahead. These epic mountains, mentioned in many old legends, incessantly ejected gigantic columns of ash and smoke into the air. It was there, on the slopes of these ancient volcanoes, that a flower grew that could heal the king’s daughter.

  It had been almost forty days since they had left the walls of the beautiful Mystrit and set out on a long and dangerous journey. The princess had no more than two months left.

  “Mary.” Tul pointed his finger at the detailed but rather old map. “The crossing’s here. If we go a bit south, we can cross over the bridge. We won’t lose more than two days.”

  Mary took the map and began to carefully study the landmarks, monster dens and hunting grounds, as well as the comments left by the mapmaker. About forty miles separated them from the bridge, which at a good pace wouldn’t take more than a day and a half, but the ford could be reached by the first star. Of course, this would mean getting off the beaten path, which was always dangerous, but when a life was at stake, every second counted.

  “We’ll go to the ford then,” She said, returning the map.

  While Tul and her were discussing the route, Lari read the scroll that Arlun had given him.

  “Is it interesting?” Ash asked as he rode closer.

  “Uh-huh.” Lari nodded, continuing to stare at the diagrams covered with lines of small, neat handwriting. He kept biting the tip of his tongue, trying to make sense of what he was looking at. He was well aware that it’d take him no less than six months to learn, and a good couple of years to improve these techniques. Though, that was nothing compared to what Arlun had to go through. He had probably spent at least seven years inventing and another seven polishing the skill.

  “Did you know that a sword can be transformed without magic?” Lari asked, reading the description of the Blade Aura Technique.

  “Really? I’ve never heard of it!!” Ash replied. He did know, but there was no need for his friend to know that.

  “Uh-huh.” Lari nodded again, most likely, he didn’t even hear the answer, immersed in reading.

  They were getting closer and closer to the high mountains. Forever cold and white, they seemed like the fangs of some monster, chained and buried in the frigid ground. Baring its teeth, it tried to crack open the lid of its coffin and break free.

  Ash smiled, remembering his first time in these mountains.

  16th Day of the Month Zund, 312 A.D., the Drunken Monk Era, the Eastern Boarder

  The edge of the world. How many songs have been sung about this mysterious place? How many poems have been composed, stories written, and legends retold? Some say that there, on the horizon, there’s a huge dragon that devoured the brave and desperate travelers. Others argued that there was where a rift split the sea. But these legends were all debunked when the age of ships and ocean-loving travelers came about. Still, they remained stories for the young and the drunk.

  In today’s day and age, all knew that what beyond the horizon lay... nothing, if only simply because no matter how far you traveled you could never reach the edge of the world and this very horizon. However, even if the inhabitants of the nameless planet knew that such a thing as the edge of the world didn’t exist, they still experienced a kind of a superstitious, sacred awe before the Eastern Boarder.

  And it was here, among the labyrinth of snow and stone, on a plateau lost in time, that a monastery, forgotten even by the bards, existed. The last refuge of the people from the last era who had left a big mark on culture and art.

  Once, when huge volcanoes had not yet woken up, making the sky blaze with the fire kindled by the rage of the elements that boiled in their depths, the fourteenth human kingdom existed. Girtai was the country of great warriors, sages, dancers, tea, and porcelain. But all that remained of its beautiful meadows and valleys was the monastery on the Mount Mok-Pu, under the arches of which lived the last representatives of Girtai’s people, and whose history was more ancient than anybody else’s.

  Within the monastery’s walls, made of red and gray stone, woke up the only outsider who had ever set foot on the lands hidden from the lands of mere mortals.

  Ash tossed aside the strange woolen blanket that he had been covered with. He was surprised to find that he wasn’t covered in bandages and that the scar from his chest was gone. He remembered that he had been stabbed with a dagger. Something like that should’ve left a mark but... there was none. There wasn’t even a thin whitish scar, which even the most powerful spells of the most skilled healers often left behind.

  Shaking his head, Ash looked around. He was lying on a bed that was only slightly raised above the floor, covered with many cloths and mats.

  There were no guards in the corners of his room, no bars on the round window with wooden shutters and red silk fluttering in the cold wind. Shivering, Ash watched in amazement the dance of the snowflakes that flew into hi
s bedchambers.

  “Curious,” he muttered, holding out his hand and admiring how the white crystals melted as soon as they touched his warm skin. Widening his eyes slightly, he realized the meaning of the word “curiosity.” But even so, he didn’t dwell to long on it, being more interested in where he was and how he had got here.

  As he sat up, he was surprised to find an equally curious set of clothes stacked on a very low stool that looked more like a footstool than a chair without a backrest. Lifting the clothes, he found no pants or shirt, only a length of cloth of yellow and purple silk over which he was to put an equally unusual red robe that covered his entire body.

  After a couple of minutes of struggling and trial and error, he finally managed to put on his new clothes. Holding on to the wall, he made his way to the door. He expected it to be locked, so he was surprised to see them swing open with a light push. The cold wind caressed his face but it didn’t make him shiver. His clothes might’ve been simple but they kept him very warm.

  Outside, he saw things that made him doubt that he had been locked up in some fortress. Walking between the columns, which represented strange statues with distorted faces, he kept his eyes on the amazing buildings that surrounded him.

  He had always believed that a house could only have one roof, but this place seemed determined to prove him wrong. These buildings had three, four, or even thatched roofs. Their clay, lightly dusted with snow, glittered in the winter sun.

  Around him were similar buildings, but in the center of the one he was currently standing in was a stately yet seemingly simple complex consisting of a low wall, a spacious courtyard, and what Ash would call a temple.

  As soon as he passed under the archway, he froze in bewilderment once again. Gathered in the yard were about thirty clean-shaven children between the ages of six and sixteen. All of them were balancing on tall, thin poles.

  Frozen in the most ridiculous and at the same time visibly complex poses, they kept changing their positions, stretching all of their muscles and limbs. Climbing the pole seemed easy, even he could do that, but he doubted that he’d be able to assume the simplest of the poses and hold it for longer than a second.

  He walked between the rows of poles, looking at the students who seemed too engrossed in their training to pay attention to him. There was only one pair of eyes on him — that of the instructor who, with the help of a stick, kept adjusting his student’s arms and legs, or hitting the ground thereby announcing the shift in poses. Ash saw no trace of interest in his black eyes.

  Aware that he should still be courteous, the instructor nodded and greeted him by placing his clenched right fist into the open palm of his left. Raising his arms so that they were in line with his chest, he bowed slightly. Ash’s clumsy attempt at repeating the greeting drew a giggle from one of the students. They were promptly punished with a blow to the pole they were standing on.

  Leaving them to their training, Ash entered the main building. Pushing open the heavy doors studded with iron and glittering bronze rivets, he found himself in a spacious hall, the ceiling of which was lost in waves of thick, sweet smoke that rose from the numerous torches and braziers. Everywhere you looked, there were copies of the man he had met back in the forest. Bald, dressed in the same robes he had been given (although tied with more skill, which made them look better), they sat in strange poses, their legs so tightly intertwined that just looking at them gave him cramps.

  At the very end of the hall, on a pedestal, sat an old man whose skin resembled old parchment dotted with black spots. His long, almost transparent beard braided in an odd fashion, gave him an even more frightening appearance. Behind him, towered the statue of their God.

  The deity inspired no fear or admiration. His thin body and small face would never make an enemy troop retreat in fear of divine punishment. There was no way that this was a God of the Thirteen Kingdoms.

  “I see you’re awake,” the old man said. The monks seemed to wake up from their meditation, summoned back to reality by the voice of their teacher.

  They held their palms out in front of them, so that the edge of their hands touched their chins and the little finger pointed in the direction of the statue. After bowing to their God, the monks got to their feet and turned to Ash in unison.

  “Where am I?” he asked.

  “Good question,” the man replied, his eyes still closed. “Do you ask about your body or your mind?”

  Ash said nothing. He had no clue what the old man was on about.

  “Well, you seem a simple man. I assume you ask about the mundane,” the old man’s voice was flat, but there was a hint of pity in it. “You are in the Shao Monastery located on Mount Mok-Pu.”

  Ash strained to remember his geography lessons, but he could not remember any mention of this place.

  “Am I a prisoner?”

  “We are all prisoners in a way. It doesn’t matter who deprives us of freedom — our own passions or the enemy’s sword.”

  Ash sighed. All this philosophy was getting on his nerves.

  “Can I go?”

  The old man gave a slight nod. Ash turned around and walked back to the huge door that led to the courtyard where the students were still practicing balancing. Ash thought that they must be really uncomfortable like that, but their faces were calm and serene.

  Reaching one of the higher courtyards, Ash couldn’t help but gasp when he crossed the threshold. The view from the platform was spectacular, with endless mountain peaks shrouded in fluffy clouds and snowflakes that glittered in the sun.

  The vast sky, for all its severity, was as serene as a six-year-old with his right leg over his head, keeping his balance by standing on the big toe of his left foot.

  Ash took in the calm of the land forgotten by the Gods and mortals. It seemed like the time flowed slower here, as if it was trying to preserve this land in its original form. There were no people or animals for miles around; only a couple of birds circled overhead, looking at the monastery and hurrying to tell other sky travelers about it. For the first time in his life, Ash thought about “tomorrow.”

  He looked into his past but found nothing that called him back. He had no doubt that the king would do everything in his power to find the last person that had seen the Dragon’s Essence. But even if he could convince him of his innocence, he had sullied his hand with sin to the point of no return.

  As soon as he returned and restored his honor, he’d be immediately sent on another campaign. He didn’t want to listen to the screams of the dying anymore, didn’t want to hide in the shadows from fires, and wash his hands clean of dried blood.

  He turned to the elder who had appeared behind him but didn’t even need to speak for him to understand.

  “You can stay,” he said to the young mage.

  With a smile, Ash turned back to the endless sea of mountain peaks. He wanted to find the thing that people called “peace.” By the Gods, no one deserved it more than him.

  Chapter 42

  3rd Day of the Month of Krag, 322 A.D., The Plains

  A sh pushed the memory away, surprised to find that evening had already fallen on the grass, promising the imminent arrival of the night, led by Queen Myristal. The Stumps were still riding. Tul, sitting on one of the boxes, kept muttering curses through his teeth as the cart thumped again and again over bumps and potholes. The sight made Ash crack a smile.

  In his travels, he had seen places where such roads were a gift from the Gods. Looking at the road he pondered how it was possible that wherever they went, the Stumps managed to fall into a trap that lay on top of another trap visible only to him.

  But now, things were different. The plain didn’t meet them with its famous bandits or wander monsters or other boogeymen that feasted on blood and flesh. Somehow, the lack of danger made him more worried than when there was danger.

  “I see pink lights ahead” Lari yelled, removing the brand-new telescope from his face.

  “Aqueals,” the adventurers said in u
nison.

  Every traveler knew that if they saw a pink light in the distance, they’d soon meet the people of Balagan. Traveling artists considered this color the symbol of their patron Goddess and always lit magic torches in her honor. Something told Ash that many thieves and bandits used this to attract tired travelers looking for a place to stay for the night. They flocked to the Aqueals like moths to a flame.

  “Should we leave?” Blackbeard asked.

  Mary thought for a moment and decided that it’d be easier to spend the night with the Aqueals than to get off the road and rusk running into monsters or bandits.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “Stay on course. We’ll feast with the Aqueals tonight!”

  “What makes you think that they’re feasting?” Alice asked, carefully weaving wildflowers into her braid.

  The wizard grinned broadly and then raised his index finger in a warning gesture.

  “A real showman feasts every night,” he said in a mentoring tone. “It’s because they don’t know if they’ll be able to steal enough to drink wine instead of water the next day.”

  Mary choked and looked suspiciously in the direction of the wagon.

  “Tul,” she said sternly, “you’ll keep an eye on our stuff.”

  “What?! Why me?!” he exclaimed, outraged. He was looking forward to a good nights rest.

  “Because I don’t trust these two idiots,” Mary replied and nodded toward Ash and Blackbeard who were greedily staring at the piles of food.

  Tul grumbled again, more for show than because he was planning on arguing with Mary. If she said so, then it was so. After all, she knew best.

  The rest of the way, Ash spent trying to cheer up his companions. However, they only waved him away, telling him that he was being annoying. Taking offense, the mage sulked like a child and only spoke to Guido because he was, as Ash claimed, the only one who understood and loved him.