The Final Life

by Andrew Mowere

  ***

  The next stretch of travel was just as difficult as the first one, but Glint took to his training with as much determination as he could muster. Wispy clouds beyond the trees were starting to thicken, causing the sky to darken in premonition of rain. This Glint took as a good sign, for he knew they were going to be camping out for the next three months. Considering that fact, he hoped for the sky to become as dark as possible to ease their sleep.

  The companions thankfully stopped after scant hours of travel and headed northwards off the road to set camp. With Vladimir helping things went more smoothly. The weather hinted at a chill by the time the cover above them was set up. Azrael had bought a new one when they were in the town earlier, with better shade for more people. Added to that, it boasted a patchwork of threads in the middle so the canopy (Glint decided it was a canopy) would let out smoke from whatever fire they set up without letting sunlight in, almost like a latticework layered upon itself. It could be made into a tent, but the three decided to leave it open for the day and let the fire warm them up.

  Azrael prepared a stew of animals that Glint had caught in a pot over the fire as usual, but he added in the boons of his and Vladimir’s earlier shopping: fresh vegetables. Glint breathed in the aroma hungrily. “I didn’t think you’d buy any veggies,” he said to Azrael, glad to be proven wrong.

  The necromancer laughed. “Oh? Then watch this.” Right before Glint’s eyes he sprinkled some herbs into the pot. Immediately the odour coming from the stew changed, became a more creamy and sweet fragrance. The warrior started to salivate hungrily. Seeing his reaction, Azrael broke into a new fit of merriment, which Vladimir joined.

  After supper the warrior and necromancer went off to the side to have their daily sparring session. Glint had recovered some of his strength after his rest, yet was still unable to strike Azrael cleanly. The man danced upon the grassy ground in his black outfit. His tattered cloak lent to the necromancer an almost ghostly feel as he flitted in and out of reach. More than that, the man himself moved like a leaf upon the wind: he dodged Glint’s attacks so narrowly that the warrior felt his punches were simply passing through the man. Every time he went in for a fast strike it was caught or deflected. Azrael was using some sort of martial art that depended on distancing and balance. In this way he kept Glint stumbling over his own feet.

  “Come now, young master!” the man exclaimed in what came close to pure joy, “You can’t simply rely on superior strength and speed! Fighting is all about…technique!” to accentuate his last word, he grabbed hold of the inside of Glint’s right wrist with his left hand, turned into the warrior whilst pushing upwards into his right armpit, and effectively flipped him right over his shoulder. Glint smashed into the ground painfully, wheezing. Above him, the clouds were a continuous grey mass, framed by a circle of treetops. Azrael’s grinning face entered his field of vision. “I’m not telling you to use my martial art, or any other. There are many ways to fight. Think of it: with your body control and power, you could for example flip yourself forward and strike vertically downwards with both feet in the same time you would need to lunge into a punch.”

  Glint hesitated, his swordsmanship training rebelling against Azrael’s words. “But that isn’t even a normal move, it isn’t human or logical.” As he said the words he thought about it, brushing his straight hair out of his eyes. Why fight logically?

  “You are not a Normal anymore,” retorted the necromancer firmly. “There is no reason for you to do battle with the constraints of one. You need to fight in a way that utilizes your strengths the best. Perfect your own style, Glint Stryger, and you shall prevail.” Azrael always seemed to have some good wisdom to share, Glint thought. That particular piece of advice rang true outside of battle as well.

  Glint was amazed at how good of a fighter Azrael made, with nothing but well polished techniques. Glint hadn’t thought that a person with a Normal’s physical strength could match up against him half so well, let alone defeat him. Granted, he was only using his armour’s strength with no weapons, yet he wasn’t going easy. Transforming the armour still took too much time for it to be useful in a fight.

  From off to the side where he was sitting on a large boulder, Vladimir said, “A question, if I may?”

  “Of course,” Azrael bade of him, putting his arms to either side in an inviting gesture.

  “Why is it that mister Glint’s movements slow down the closer he gets to you?”

  Glint froze, and so did Azrael. The necromancer looked exactly like a child caught at the cookie jar. Glint remembered how Azrael had dealt with the last wolverine they fought. The bastard tricked me! he thought to himself. Azrael had promised not to use his power beyond their eyesight training. The man laughed manically as Glint threw a pebble at him. The youth couldn’t suppress his own smile, for even his annoyance was encased in the larger context of good humour.

  “It’s just proof that you’ve gotten quite good at what you do,” Azrael said, clapping Glint on the back, and the warrior felt better about it.

  “Could you not beat me without your power?” he asked, but received silence as an answer.

  Of course, the next day and the one after that resolved into a cycle of the same thing, for weeks: Glint running at high speeds a hundred feet away from his companions for training, before stopping to make camp, spar and sing songs. As they entered new strange woods, the warrior began to sometimes forage further ahead to check for any hidden dangers such as bandits, feral animals or other more sinister things. More often, however, he came back with wide eyes filled with wonder.

  The forest they were crossing was named “Treasure woods” for a reason, and it was not as innocent as one would assume. This area was in fact populated by some animals that the Second had created years ago, transforming the entire forest to create a magical place in an otherwise perfectly natural part of Shien. In turn, bandits began to use the dangerous woods to hide their own loot away from sight, due to the lack of travellers. None of that could detract from the beauty of the forest, Glint knew. For every animal that Sklaver had made more dangerous, there was a new aspect of this place that he had enhanced. It was simply the way he was known to do things, as Glint could see in the appearance of birds with exotic plumages, trees with unnaturally sweet golden apples, dripping with honey and glistening in the sunlight filtering through strange tree leaves, as well as the musical chants of animals he could not name. There was one type of squirrel which had overlarge pointy ears yet venom in one of its claws. Pine trees grew huge, and dropped pines larger than a man’s head only when butterflies the colours of rainbows flitted about close to ponds. The three ogled each strange creature, marvelling at the beauty of it all. Here, even the atmosphere around them seemed magical. Somehow Glint felt like he had stepped out of the world he’d been raised in all his life, and entered into a land of fantasy. In the distance a squirrel with twin tails scurried off at times, startled by the travellers. Even Vladimir’s music changed to accommodate the place: it turned soft and ethereal. The less dangerous beasts avoided the group, however, as if frightened of something.

  Thankfully Sklaver had restricted his creations to the forest, and so the people were safe from feral beasts outside its borders. In fact, one could say that this forest was technically a part of Sklaver’s domain, although he had not claimed it for his own. Rumour had it that the Unchained even came to the forest occasionally to check up on it, although none in the area had seen Beast in living memory. At least, Glint corrected himself, none had seen him and lived to tell the tale.

  After a while, there became no need for Glint to move away from the group, for they had gone deep enough into the woods that no Normals were to be encountered. And so it was that after a month of travel, the warrior was allowed to move next to his two other companions. This proved to be a pleasant change for Glint, for their speed of travel was slow enough to allow conversation, as well as the occasional song and general appreciation of their marvellous su
rroundings. All three were aware of their trip’s urgency and so did not stop to admire the strange mammals, birds and insects, but they spent many hours in silent gazing while on the move. Vladimir even befriended a yellow four winged sparrow for a week, before “Flamer” left its comfortable perch upon his instrument one day, never to return.

  Breaks were filled with the wafting smell of brewed tea as well as the crunch of biscuits, and Glint was surprised that Azrael had brought so many with them. The man seemed to truly enjoy comfort at his core, something which Vladimir and Glint both appreciated.

  Naturally, training was not missed, nor were the other lessons which Azrael enjoyed giving Glint so often. One day Azrael was teaching Glint about being financially secure when the warrior interrupted him with a raised hand. “Sorry, but why does an Ability user need to know this?” he asked, as confused as he usually was when Azrael’s lessons turned obscure. He had learnt already that some of the necromancer’s more abstract lessons acted as simple ground blocks for other more practical things, but his teacher never did mind answering a question. A cloud of irises, impossibly light, floated in the breeze as Azrael pondered.

  “Well... he doesn’t really. But it’s important for an Agent who wishes to work for the greater good,” the necromancer answered. Vladimir, who had been sitting next to the two and tending to the fire silently for the last hour, coughed lightly. Both Glint and Azrael turned towards him expectantly but he ignored them, electing to keep his peace and throw another stick into the flickering orange flame, which was surrounded by rocks to prevent a forest fire. The man had been slightly more withdrawn ever since Flamer ran away.

  Seeing no other interruptions forthcoming, Azrael turned his attention to Glint and continued his answer. “As an unaffiliated Ability user, we have concluded that you get most of your money either through taking paid requests, robbery, or battling somebody else and taking their possessions,” he said, “Let’s face it, the only difference between options two and three is legality. As somebody who elects to help the weak and poor, how much money do you think you can make?” he asked.

  The answer was obvious to the warrior. “Not much at all,” he stated.

  “Precisely. This is why it is very difficult for many people to take up what you or I would call the “proper” path, and who are we to blame them, really? Think about it, if we were only after profit, we would not be travelling with a certain somebody who scoffs at our choices in life.”

  The last statement was delivered with an edge not lost on the said scoffer, who shot up with, “Mister Michael, I meant no offence. I am simply being a practical man. The ideals that you speak of are nothing easy to replicate. They are not how humans work in reality. We are perfect machinations in pursuing our good, and rarely take in other’s wellbeing into account.” His heartfelt apology seemed to sway the necromancer, whose expression softened.

  “That is sadly true for some,” the man admitted. “But nothing comes out of expecting too little of yourself. I think that’s the greater issue causing much evil. People don’t think they can or should do good, and thus never try to become their best. Simply trying is enough, it’s already better than most can boast of, no? Besides, people are probably capable of more good than even I could imagine. I believe that a man’s deepest well is his heart. However, I will agree that society’s current state does not reflect my ideals, although I refuse to think of that as a matter of nature.”

  With that, both men smiled and Glint felt that they had somehow reached a point of understanding between the two of them.

  The necromancer headed over to the kettle suspended between two upright sticks by a third horizontal one set a foot above the reaching hands of their campfire. This tea was made with sap from a nearby tree, which had smelled sweet like berries. Seeing that his beverage still needed a few more minutes, the necromancer continued his lesson from his bent position in the shade. “So, as you see, you need to be able to use whatever money you get well. When investing, you want a return of at least...”