“Stop...” Mary pleaded.
“We don’t need two corpses!” Lari said.
“I have to,” Ash rasped. “This is all my fault.”
“Yes, you have to answer for what you’ve done!” Lari exclaimed. “So don’t be a coward and run away to the next world!”
There was a moment of silence.
“Don’t,” Mary whispered softly, almost inaudibly. “We don’t... need two... deaths... Don’t...”
“The value of a life can only be calculated after death. How many you have helped, how many you have saved — that is your price.” This was the commandment of the Heavenly Sage that Ash had struggled to understand for a long time.
“Mok-Pu Art...”
A glow surrounded his palm for a moment, but then it went out and Ash felt a terrible pain. A mage couldn’t use a monk’s technique. His magic wasn’t meant for it.
“Mok-Pu...”
Pain again, followed by blood spurting from his mouth.
“Mok...”
Unable to stand it, he fell on his side. His mind began to blur, and all he could do was pray to the Gods that hated him.
“I was cursed for my sins. I deserve it. The king also deserved it. But they... Mary... Alice... Lari... Blackbeard... Tul... Elanor... What did they do? Leave them alone... Leave them, or I swear that I’ll continue to break your laws even after I’ve died. I’ll continue to do so until I get to meet the Jasper Emperor and punch him in the face!”
The Heavens responded with thunder and lightning. Aware that he couldn’t count on divine help after such a “prayer,” Ash struggled to a sitting position. He put his hand on the wound, and closed his eyes as his mind drifted to the temple and the cliff on which he and his first friend were smoking fine tobacco.
“Mok-Pu Art: Healing Hand!”
Something was yanked out of him. All the borrowed power was gone, as if swallowed by an abyss. The stone that had pierced Mary split, the edges of the wound tightened, and the blood that had spilled all over her clothes and the floor returned into her body. Mary sat up abruptly and gasped like a drowned man cast ashore by the current.
“You idiot!” she snapped, but immediately fell silent.
Ash’s body convulsed in occasional spasms. Blood trickled from his eyes, mouth, ears, and nose, but he still smiled his stupid smile and handed Mary the White Dragon Essence.
“For the trouble,” he said.
His hand went limp, and the Essence rolled to the feet of the dumbfounded adventurers. Alice sobbed aloud, and the rest gritted their teeth as Ash’s eyes glazed over and the last gasp escaped his throat.
Chapter 60
I n the nameless world, there were laws that no one could break, one of which was that every mage has a limit beyond which they couldn’t go. However, it is often the case that such rules only made people want to break them. Was it the will of the stars that one of the supporting pillars of the universe were to crack and begin to crumble? Was there anyone who knew the answer to that question? Probably not. But there was something that we do know.
The sinners must be punished, and the righteous awarded. So dictates the Celestial Mandate. But what is the man who breaks that law? A righteous man or a sinner? Whatever the sages might think, the creature that descended from the Seventh Heaven had its own opinion on the matter.
A giant phoenix made of iridescent flames landed on Ash’s chest and he began to breathe again. The Stumps, despite having seen things that couldn’t be real become reality, froze. The phoenix, the father of Irmaril and all earthly fire, was considered a mythical creature. More mythical than the Gods themselves.
The bird looked at the Essence and a thin thread emerged from its wing, which then took the shape of a white feather.
Slowly coming to his senses, Ash stared in awe at the legend resting on his chest. To his surprise, the bird seemed in no hurry to leave.
“A wish,” Alice said, wiping away her tears. “A phoenix will grant one wish.”
According to legend, the phoenix paid for a gift in kind. It accepted the Essence of Fire as a gift, but in order to pay Ash back, it had to pull him from the boney clutches of death.
So, what was the mage to wish for? Judging by the faces of the Stumps, they all had their own ideas. If the phoenix had flown to one of them, new legends about some mystical armor, wand, or weapon would begin to circulate.
“A ribbon...” Ash whispered. “A blue, silk ribbon...”
The phoenix sang, spread its iridescent wings, and disappeared in a flash of bright but not scorching flame. A ten-inch-long silk ribbon swirled slowly to the floor beside Ash.
“A silk ribbon?!” Mary shouted, realizing what a prize had just slipped through her hands.
No previous events managed to stop her from grabbing the mage by the throat and strangling him.
A heartbeat later
The Stumps had to work their feet — after Racker’s death, the citadel, created with the help of magic, began to collapse. That is, if that was what you could call the process that turned the once-mighty fortress into a pile of rubble. As a result, the adventurers found themselves sitting on a small island of tranquility in the midst of a scorched valley. Despite all of today’s events, the valley retained its chaotic serenity — as weird as that might sound. The volcano was still spitting ash and smoke, and the clouds were still flashing with thunder and lightning, but the Stumps felt relatively safe.
“So, you’re Ash,” Blackbeard began. He had to fix his injured arm the old-fashioned way as Alice couldn’t do much without her want.
“In the flesh.” The mage nodded, swaying on his heels.
“You know,” Tul mused, “I expected more—”
“—from someone named Ash, I know,” the mage finished for him. “If I had a coin for every time I heard that...”
Mary didn’t join the conversation, quietly lamenting the fact that a notorious scoundrel and wanted criminal was a part of her squad. However, for some reason, this didn’t prevent the Stumps from keeping him in the squad and considering him their friend.
“A liar!” Lari snapped.
Everyone turned to him. Having used the commotion to get ahold of Ash’s bag, he was now rummaging through it. But all he found were some shells, pebbles, candy wrappers, trinkets, pieces of glass, and other useless baubles.
“Where are the treasures that legends speak of?!”
But before he could get his answer, he, and the rest of the Stumps, were forced to cover their ears to protect them from a high-pitched scream. To their surprise, the source of the noise turned out to be no one other than Ash. Falling to the ground, he gathered up his innumerable treasures, snatched the bag from Lari, and began to return his trinkets into it.
“No one loves me!” He sobbed. “No one wants me! They even began robbing me!”
Tul scratched his stubble and stared thoughtfully at the mage.
“You know, your jokes aren’t as funny as they used to be.”
“What jokes?!” Ash cried with tears in his eyes and shoved a cracked shell under the archer’s nose. “That barbarian almost broke my precious possessions!”
Blackbeard cleared his throat.
“People seemed to have lied to us... This ‘demon’ is not at all demonic, and his treasures are nothing but trinkets...”
The mage’s trembling lip and watery eyes didn’t allow him to finish. Suddenly turning pale, Ash groped for his staff. Realizing that something was amiss, the Stumps turned around and immediately jumped to their feet. An Ifrit was approaching them quite quickly. The creature was famous for killing many a Ternite.
A vaguely humanoid column of fire stood about eight feet tall. It didn’t seem as a threat if you didn’t know its destructive power.
“Pft!” Mary snorted, shaking her hand. “There’s no reason for concern, we have a Master on our side!”
“That’s right!” Tul exclaimed.
“Oh, we’ll be rich! Think he could help us kill a dragon?”
<
br /> “Dragon? No, no, we’ll be killing only demons from now on!”
“Better yet, sea monsters!”
“Yes!”
“Guys,” Ash said with a slightly mocking smile, “I don’t want to upset you, but Ifrits are born from the First Fire.”
“And?” Mary asked without turning around.
“My fire can’t hurt them.”
Pause.
“Why didn’t you immediately say so?!” Lari shouted with panic in his voice. “What should we do?!”
Silence.
The adventurers turned around and saw Ash walking away as he tired the scarf around his head.
“Run!” he shouted, but his voice sounded like the cry of someone falling from a cliff. Distant and fading.
A month and a half later
Garangan, who had grown much older and haggard during these months, stood surrounded by a dozen of court officials. Elassia, holding on to her husband’s elbow, watched as the court —healer moved his hands across the body of their daughter. Ten squads were sent out to find a cure for her magic fever, but none returned. Whether they disappeared or chose to ignore the king’s request, no one knew.
There was a thin wheeze and Elassia almost fell, so exhausted was she by the pain of her child. The king only clenched his teeth more tightly, but his graying hair and dozens of new wrinkles showed that he, too, was exhausted.
The courtiers whispered behind them. Many of them schemed, but most sympathized with the loss of the royal couple. No one doubted that the girl would die before Myristal rose.
The healer looked up and shook his head. Elassia buried her face into her husband’s shoulder and quietly wept. The king gently stroked her head and prayed to the Gods. For which sins he had been punished so, no one knew. No one but him and those he had harmed.
“Sire! Sire!” The majordomo burst into the room. “Sire! The Wandering Stumps have returned from their mission!”
The courtiers gasped, and the eyes of the king and queen lit up with hope.
“What are you standing there for?!” Garangan barked. “Let them in immediately!”
“Right away!”
Six figures entered the hall. Even though black hoods covered their faces, it was clear by their bearing that they were exhausted and were holding on only by the strength of their will.
“By the Gods and Spirits,” the king almost pleaded. “Please, tell me that you have good news.”
“We have the flower,” said a quiet female voice.
One of the figures stepped forward and threw back the hood. Many of the present immediately recognized the famous swordsman and leader of the Stumps — Mary Birch. The lady, whose callused hand resembled a branch of a dead tree, held out the flower to the healer with trembling fingers. He carefully took it, checked it with magic to make sure that it was authentic, and turned to the king.
“Sire, I must warn you that there could be aside effects and—”
“By the Gods!” Garangan’s roar was almost like that of a lion. “If you don’t do what you have to do right now, I’ll send your entire family to the mines and leave you to rot in a dungeon!”
“Of course, sire,” the healer said. “I shall do as you ask.”
Turning to the side, he added the flower to some kind of a solution, which he then carefully poured into the princess’s small mouth. For a moment, nothing happened. And then the terrible fever began to subside, the girl began to breathe more evenly, and her face assumed its former soft pink hue.
“Thank the Gods!” Elassia exclaimed and rushed to her daughter but was stopped by the healer.
“The side effects,” he said.
Before their eyes, the girl began to change. Her limbs stretched out, her face and torso morphed, and where a moment before lay a girl of three, now there was a young maiden of sixteen. Her beauty was ballad-worthy — her eyes were as blue as the skies, eyebrows thin as fine threads, eyelashes long as a butterfly’s wing, lips read and full as cherries, and complexion as that of the morning of a winter day.
But there was no intelligence in the azure eyes. Growth did not bring wisdom with it.
“Dad?” the princess called.
Now the king wanted to rush to his child, but someone got to her before him. One of the robed figures walked over to her, sat on the edge of the bed, and handed her a blue ribbon.
“Do you like it?” the person asked.
“I do!” she replied with a childlike smile.
The person leaned forward and put their arm around the girl. They smoothed out her tangled golden locks and tied them with the blue ribbon.
“I got it for you.”
“Thank you.”
The king wanted to order the person to be seized and dragged away immediately, but something stopped him from doing so. Whether it was amazement or shock, even the storytellers of this story didn’t know.
“You know that a gift must be returned in kind, yes?”
“Of course!” The girl nodded, face as serious as that of a child could be. “Mommy told me. She reads a lot.”
“Then I’d like a gift as well.”
The person threw back the hood, and the king felt his heart leap. Even with his hair covered with a scarf, even in the beggar clothes, even with a lens over his eye, Garangan recognized the monster that he had created.
“Get him!” he shouted, but it was too late.
The mage pulled the girl’s face close to his and kissed the cherry lips. The courtiers gasped, and the lady gave a startled squeal and recoiled. The guards burst into the room, but Ash was already standing on the windowsill, his black robe thrown off.
“Lords and ladies!” he shouted with a smile. “Remember this day as the day when the most wanted criminal, Ash, stole Princess Elanor’s first kiss!”
Dodging an arrow, the mage turned around, and ran. The gray cloak fluttered behind him like wings, and he ran through the air as if he were climbing a ladder, getting higher with each step.
“Maybe some bits of the legends are true,” one of the cloaked figures said, raising their hands in surrender.
EPILOGUE
Six months later, 7th day of the month of Parel, 323 A.D., Mistrit
M ary followed the king’s secretary. Six months ago, she thought that if they weren’t executed, they’d be thrown into prison for an indefinite amount of time, but here she was. Not only were the Stumps paid an impressive bonus to the already agreed amount, but they were also awarded a medal of honor in the center of the city square.
A smile appeared on her face.
However, the king’s generosity didn’t end there. Each of the Stumps was blindfolded and had their ears covered, and then taken to the royal treasury where they were allowed to take one item for themselves. Blackbeard, of course, took a new shield, Alice — a wand, and so on. Mary now sported a legendary rapier that used to belong to Kasius the Lisping, a ballad-sun swordsman of the Era of the Dancing Dragon. Despite him being a hero of the old, his skill was still considered unsurpassed.
As for Ash’s escapade, a new bounty was placed on his head, raising the sum to a total of fifty thousand gold. Mary knew that none of the Stumps would betray their new friend. Then again, they wouldn’t be able to even if they wanted to, as no one knew where the mage had run off to.
The secretary opened the doors of His Majesty’s private office.
“Thank you.” Mary bowed, and went inside, sporting her polished medal.
Six months ago, Garangan looked like an aging man, caving in under the weight of time and sorrow, and now he looked at least ten years younger. There was still a hint of concern in his eyes, though.
“Lady Mary Birch has arrived,” the lady announced, dropping a deep curtsy.
“Dismissed,” the king said without looking up from his papers. “Forget about the ceremony. Time is running out. I have another errand for you.”
Mary held her breath. Admittedly, in the last six months, new missions have been scarce. Potential customers, having
learned that the Stumps were somehow connected with Ash, no longer gave big and profitable missions. The squad’s savings couldn’t be salvaged even by trading and selling looted monster parts.
“Whatever His Majesty wishes.” Mary bowed.
“I must warn you, this will be the most dangerous mission you have embarked upon.”
“Our blades are your blades, sire.”
Garangan looked up from his papers and stared at Mary. Having made up his mind, the king pulled the silk cord. The bell rang and one of the most famous sailors appeared from the secret door — Suren Lodos, the only native Ernite who achieved the highest state position of an admiral. There was only one problem — Suren had been missing for almost thirty years. It was said that he had sailed west. Allegedly, he wanted to find the mythical second continent, but disappeared in the depths of the sea.
“Mary, how would you like to go to the western mainland with the Ternites and Ernites that Suren and I have selected?”
A week later, flower meadow, the foothills of the Mazurana Mountains
Ash sat buried in the flowers. For the past six months, he was actively engaged in his small business. He grew and sold flowers, earning just enough to buy a loaf of bread and a hunk of spoiled cheese. But this didn’t discourage him — he wanted to rest a little before going on a new adventure. His heart was pleasantly warmed by a little metal disc with the insignia of the Stray Stumps.
He straightened up, cracked his neck, and turned his face to the spring wind.
“Caw!”
On the porch of the run-down house, too large to be called a barn, but also too small to be proudly called a house, sat an eyeless raven.
“Caw!”
With a flutter of its inky wings, the raven soared into the sky and quickly disappeared among the white, fluffy clouds.
Ash knew whose messenger the midnight bird was — the First Master had expressed his displeasure with Ash’s behavior.
“Oh, those conservative geezers,” the young mage mumbled to himself, shaking his head.
Just as he was about to lie back down to the ground, he felt something brush against him, and then saw an envelope fall from the clutches of a mechanized pigeon. Ash unfolded it, read the message, and smiled broadly. The Stumps wanted him to go on a new journey with them. And not just anywhere — but to the western mainland. Ash had traveled (or rather ran through) all of Mormanon, so he didn’t need to think twice before making up his mind.
Ash. The Legends of the Nameless World. Progression Gamelit Story Page 41