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

by Kirill Klevanski

  The Stumps, taken aback by the appearance of a piece of an old legend, didn’t pay attention to his curses. Not believing him, they rushed to the edge themselves, but didn’t see majestic spires or the marvelous palace described in many stories. Below, under the mountain side, the wind was still howling through the empty gorge.

  “It’s always like this...” Tul sighed. “Legends are just tales...”

  “Maybe it’s for the best,” Blackbeard said, but his eyes contrasted his words. Even a fool would’ve known that he wanted to make a profit from this venture. “After all, they say that Anna’Bre guards the treasure. In all honesty, I don’t wanna be turned into a popsicle again.”

  “Yes, to hell with it!” Mary shouted, gripping the hilt of her saber so tightly that the brass shields on her gauntlets cracked.

  The Stumps looked at each other, and, as one, took a step back. If their leader refused to go treasure hunting, then whatever lurked in these ruins had to be really dangerous if even the ever-greedy Mary wanted no part of it. She had once tried to arrange a bounty hunt on Esh, so it was easy to see that she wasn’t the one to get scared easily.

  “Them aside, what if the castle hides a passage to the Fiery Mountains?”

  The group let out a sigh of relief and took a step forward. As Ash realized during his time spent in this group, if Mary put anything above profit, then she was sure of success of her mission.

  “You’re not afraid of Anna’Bre?” Ash asked and frowned.

  “To hell with her, too!” Mary shouted. “We’re in a hurry!” She snatched the telescope from Tul’s hand and began to look carefully around the gorge. “Where the hell is that damn castle...?”

  Ash turned to the tree. Whispering something, he held out his hand. Another gust of wind tore a bud from the branch and brought it to his open palm. The petals were so warm that they could keep one warm if tucked in the breast pocket of a jacket. Ash sighed and realized that he had no right to hide this from the Stumps. As much as he was afraid of the ice witch, it seemed like he’d have to set foot into her domain.

  If your soul and heart of courage are made

  take a flower from this glade

  And if to the laws of Heavens you abide

  let the magic be your guide

  After listening to the rhyme, Mary snatched the flower from Ash’s hands and began to shake it so violently that he was afraid that she’d lose her balance and fall off the cliff. The Stumps didn’t react. They would’ve eaten the flower if that would get them to where they needed to be.

  “Why isn’t it working?!” she cried.

  “A second...” Ash smiled. “I’ll show you...”

  Coming closer, he leaned forward a little so that his lips almost touched Mary’s. She almost took a step back in surprise and even blushed, but Ash had already whispered something to the flower in her hands. Mary would swear that the petals were moving in time with the whispering.

  Ash closed his eyes and took a deep breath of the cold air, and then exhaled. The wind whirled and danced, playing with the snowflakes. The Stumps covered their faces, hiding their skin from the gust that brought sharp ice needles with it. When they could see again, they felt their jaws open in surprise.

  The wind tore the petals from the bud, sending them fluttering over the cliff, but no matter how much it blew, there seemed to be no end to the torrent of white. They seemed to divide into myriads of drops, shrouding the snowy expanses. and as the petals danced along with the snowflakes, the wasteland was transformed, shimmering like a mirage in the desert.

  First came the towering spires, covered with glittering ice crystals that trapped rainbows and sunbeams. Behind them, they saw black marble — a fabulous material, the secret of making which was lost a couple of eras ago.

  Black marble, like the darkness itself, enveloped the ancient abode of mages, drawing in not only the ribbons of light lost in this snowy desert, but also the views of the Stumps. It was so difficult to tear their gazes off the walls that they didn’t immediately notice the exquisite stained-glass windows, which would forever capture the epic scenes of the exploits of the lost order; statues of lovely nymphs in dresses made of ice; ever-green trees, imprisoned in transparent towers of snow; and beautiful flowers, now resembling crafts made of colored glass.

  It was all so beautiful and terrifying at the same time that they had no idea what was going on. Bewildered, they were no longer surprised by the way the dancing petals had woven a crystal bridge in front of them. One end of it lay at Mary’s feet, who was still clutching the wide bud. The other end materialized right at the gates of Graven’Dor. The bridge seemed to invite the travelers to rush headlong into a new adventure, but the Stumps were still too shocked to move even a finger, let alone a leg.

  When Ash had asked Ar’Valon to break the illusion that hid the castle, he expected to see something like this. In the old scrolls he had read at Mok-Pu, he had often seen sketches of the castle when it belonged to the Order of the Fallen King.

  The mage tightened the grip on his staff and led the way. He wasn’t sure that he could fight this ice queen on equal terms on her home terrain and within her own home. Ice, like water, wasn’t the best of friends with fire.

  But still, Ash hoped. He hoped that once they leave this wasteland behind, he wouldn’t wake up at night stricken with regret over having done nothing, but that he had tried, albeit in vain. All he could do was try.

  “Where are you going?”

  Blackbeard’s heavy hand rested on Ash’s shoulder. Soon, the stocky man, clad in plate armor, marched in front of him. Ash smiled a little. Devil only knew what awaited them inside the castle, but at least he wasn’t alone. This time, he’d meet danger shoulder to shoulder with the brave souls of the Wandering Stumps. Marching ahead of him, no one noticed how his staff glew slightly.

  And while our heroes walk over the bridge to the ancient stronghold of magic, we should take a look into the past. After all, to understand why this story’s end is the way it is, we must first understand what had been.

  Chapter 52

  Long ago, the Easter Territory

  A sh concentrated and whispered a Word. A piece of rock lying on his lap shuddered and trembled. Soon, a miniature stone pony appeared, just over an inch at the withers. The animal, created by magic and will, shook its head and opened its eyes wide, exploring the world around it. Ash, who could speak to the stones, knew what they saw. Well, “see” isn’t quite the right word to describe the feelings of a stone, if it could have feelings at all. Yet, they heard, saw, and felt.

  Time for a human being was like a stormy stream; the further you swam along it, the faster its waters and the stronger the current were. For a stone, time was a placid lake — boundless and bottomless. For a stone, there was no “now,” no “later,” no “yesterday,” no “tomorrow.” Stone didn’t feel like people. It knew no sorrow, no joy, no suffering, no dreams. For it, feelings were like lightning in a particularly quiet thunderstorm — only a rare flash against the background of a misty sky.

  With a Word, Ash subdued the serene lake. He tore the firmament apart, laying a channel for the waters of time. Magic whirled the winds and raised the rapids, speeding up the current and making it faster than thought. Ash put a heart in the stone’s chest, hot as a spark that flickered over a fire; free as an eagle soaring among the mountains, and strong as a lioness on the prowl. And all this was only a small part of the Word that made a miniature pony out of stone. So small that its sound you wouldn’t have heard even if you had ears so sensitive that the whisper of a newborn would seem like thunder.

  That’s what it means to be a Master of a Thousand Words. This was what it meant to subdue the very essence of the universe. That was what it meant to—

  “Mediocre!” Hu-Chin, who was in the form of a winged tiger, snapped.

  His roar caused the pony to shudder and turn back into a stone. Ash blinked and the dragon appeared in the form of a huge ape. Less than a heartbeat later, a hand
some man stood in front of him, looking as if he had stepped out of a picture of some famous artist.

  When Hu-Chin was angry, he’d begin to subconsciously change his appearance. Ash once dared to point out this to the dragon, for which he was punished so severely that if the Dark Gods locked in the Sherkan prison had seen it, they would’ve howled with compassion and wept bloody tears.

  Ash bowed his head as usual and put his hands on the cold floor of the cave.

  “How many times do I have to tell you, worm?” The snarl turned to scornful sarcasm, and the man’s beautiful face twisted into a grimace of disgust. “It is not sounds and images that should come out of your mouth, but strength and will! Why are you begging like a powerless animal?! You must submit, not ask for leniency! This pony is even more pathetic than your parody of ‘power’!”

  Hu-Chin uttered a Word that made the mountains tremble and the sky cry out, and out of a small pebble, a despicable fragment of Mother Earth, a mustang was born. Free and huge, he neighed and stood up on his hind legs. His muscles tensed up like a pulled bowstring, and his black mane fell in rivulets around his powerful neck. In a leap, he could cross the river. In a gallop, he could outrun the wind. The dragon said another Word, and the universe trembled again as the horse disappeared, replaced by a cherry blossom blown away by the wind.

  Ash bowed his head even lower, touching his forehead to the cold stone. “I admire your wisdom and power.”

  Hu-Chin waved his hand to indicate that he didn’t want to listen to flattering and equally false speeches. A moment later, the handsome man disappeared and the dragon took on his true form. His crimson mane covered the cave floor like a carpet and the dragon closed his eyes. Huge nostrils, like the craters of geysers, steamed as he fell asleep. There’d be no more classes for today.

  Ash wrapped himself in his tattered robes and summoned the flames. Sparks danced around him, providing his frost-bitten body with much-needed warmth. Winter had descended upon the mountain long time ago. He didn’t know when, as he could no longer tell exactly when yesterday ended, today began, and tomorrow came.

  It seemed that the concept of time didn’t exist in Hu-Chin’s cave of Blue Flame. When the dragon wanted it, “today” became as brief as a breath. Sometimes, he would stretch “today” so much that Ash had to shave and tie up his hair several times.

  The wind howling outside brought with it a chill that made one’s blood run cold. The clouds that were floating past the mountain peaks until recently, were now rushing past like frightened animals. At night, when it did come, the cave hummed so much that sometimes Ash woke up with the blood from his ears tickling his neck. Hu-Chin either didn’t notice his disciple’s problems, or he didn’t care.

  Ash had learned many things during his stay with the bloodthirsty, ferocious, and sometimes insane, dragon. He learned to put power into Words (though he didn’t show it to his teacher), learned the secrets of the five forms of power over the elements, and even tried to comprehend the art of seventy-two transformations and the technique of Stepping through the Seven Heavens, but was severely punished by the dragon. These two mysteries were available only to semi-divine creatures, and in his vanity, Ash almost lost his life, for which he was punished. Hu-Chin could not allow his food to pass away before the appointed time.

  The wizard cast a quick glance at the sleeping dragon. One day, Hu-Chin would understand how strong his disciple had become, and then he’d not hesitate to devour him, absorbing all of his strength and increasing his own power. Ash had to keep reminding himself to not be deceived and that he wasn’t a guest here, but a failed monk, a toy, and a pig that was raised, fed, and then slaughtered and devoured.

  The coiled dragon snorted and shivered. The white pearl peeked from between its claws. It was twenty feet in diameter, and a shard of it alone cost enough to buy half a kingdom and probably even a horse to boot. Alas, Ash had thrown it into the chasm, praying to the Gods and spirits that the dragon wouldn’t notice the small chink in his jewel.

  “You see this pearl?” he once asked him Hu-Chin asked. “Few of my kin have kept the Wind Pearls...” he added and sighed a little sadly. “They chose to absorb the power contained within it.”

  “Why didn’t you do the same?”

  “Because I am not a dirty ragamuffin from the southern reaches!” The dragon’s roar caused such a storm that day that Ash felt as if the mountains would split apart. The lightning was more like a torrent of fire, lavishly poured out by the wounded heavens.

  “I don’t understand, o mighty one.”

  “The name of the wind is captured in this pearl. It is thanks to it that I can walk freely among the birds without defiling myself with wings...”

  Walking away from Memory Lane, Ash looked at the pearl again. How many names did the wind even have? Perhaps so much that two infinities wouldn’t be enough to count them.

  The mage rose cautiously, and made sure that the dragon was asleep. With a light, catlike step, he reached the far wall, where, biting his lip, he pulled out the clumsily burned cobblestone inch by inch. Reaching into the alcove, he pulled out a gray canvas and two metal spokes.

  Sitting down on the floor, he groped the air, as if trying to find a thin thread. As strange as it might’ve sounded, he found one. A transparent, weightless thread wound through space, sometimes disappearing, and sometimes appearing. One end of it was skillfully wound around the spokes, while the other was on the jewel.

  Having damaged the pearl, Ash didn’t find out the name of the wind, there were only fragments of its memories. Short flashes into the past, so rich and deep that they could hold within themselves the history of a thousand eras. But that was enough for the wizard to take the wind’s memories into his hands, weave a thread from them, and begin to sew a cloak. Ash did this almost every spare moment of his time, because only in this simple gray cloak did he see his salvation.

  ***

  “How many Words do you know, worm?” Hu-Chin thundered.

  “A thousand,” Ash replied, bowing his head. Today, if it even were today, the dragon taught Ash very little, preferring conversation to study. Although, if we were to be completely honest, all the talk was usually about humiliating the humans and praising the dragons in general and Hu-Chin in particular. Usually, while praising himself, he didn’t forget to talk bad about his cousins.

  The great dragon turned out to be extremely narcissistic. The Gods had clearly deprived him of modesty, bestowing upon him insolence, rudeness, ego, and many other vices. As is usually was the case, there were far more vices in the heavenly basket from which the Gods distributed their bounty than there were virtues.

  “Even a baby knows more Words than you do!” The dragon roared, involuntarily exhaling jets of azure fire. “Not to mention the nobles and me!”

  “I admire you immensely, all-knowing one.” Ash’s forehead touched the floor of the cave once again.

  From these endless bows, the skin on his forehead was worn out, and turned into an unpleasant red spot. To hide the shameful mark, he created a bandana from a stone, with which he tied up the regrown hair.

  “Can you speak to the rain, worm?” the dragon asked, resting his gigantic head on his coiled body.

  “Yes, I can.” The mage smiled to himself.

  “The Fae king can speak to the torrents.” Hu-Chin grinned. That grin would’ve turned a man’s hair gray and made him stutter for life. “I can talk to every drop.”

  “I’m amazed by your knowledge, wise one,” Ash said, his forehead aching again and his skin prickling.

  “Do you know how to tame the Forest?”

  “I do.”

  “You do not know anything! I can tame every leaf and every blade of grass, but even that is not true knowledge!”

  Ash paused, not believing what he was hearing. For the first time in his memory, the dragon spoke of himself as not the most knowledgeable and most powerful sage, but as someone who still didn’t know all the secrets of the universe.

&nbs
p; “Did you know, worm, that I was once the patron saint of Girtai, the blessed land lit by the moons of the Seven Heavens?”

  “I didn’t,” Ash replied, even though he did know. “But now that I do, I respect you even more, the most powerful of them all!”

  “Once upon a time,” Hu-Chin continued, “these people were great. When the human kingdoms were still young in the west, there were already cities full of pagodas, and walls as thick as some of the mountain ranges. Sages wrote books upon books on philosophy, artists could capture the movement of wind in their pictures, and mages could subdue spirits and demons. But all of that is now gone. Like a poorly built tower, it collapsed under its own weight.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Ash said during the pause that followed. He truly was sorry for the fate that befell the Girtai.

  For a while, the cave was silent, save for the howling of the omnipresent wind. What was its original name? No one could tell, for it was more fickle than the temper of a scorned woman. One moment it had one name, the other, a completely different one. Its name couldn’t be caught or found. All you could do was listen to it and try to understand it. It wasn’t like the fire’s name, which had burned itself into Ash’s soul. No, he couldn’t understand those who danced with the wind. To him, even this small fragment of the pearl seemed incomprehensible.

  “The time has come to teach you the most difficult lesson,” Hu-Chin said calmly, barely sounding like himself. “Listen and never forget. These events took place back when people called anyone who had a club stronger than their own a king. Back when the Girtai celebrated New Years by letting thousands of petals cover their capital, then called the Mysterious City. At the same time, in the Seventh Heaven, where the Kingdom of the Gods lies, there was a Cherry Feast. All the demigods, the fae, and many mortal sages were called there. I, too, was present. But even in my most majestic form, I occupied but a tile of the palace. That was how majestic the Jade Emperor’s abode is.”