“Don’t think about it.”
“About what?”
“About the time. You humans worry too much about the sand in the hourglass, and that leads you to miss the most important thing. You miss out on life.”
“But…”
Hadjar realized he was so scared that, for the first time in his life, he was ready to run away. Fortunately, this impulse was immediately replaced by a wild, unbridled rage. Hadjar drew his blade and turned toward the east. There, a yard away, leaning on a stick, the old man stood. He tilted his head back and stared at the stars. He was the one who’d answered Hadjar’s last question.
“This is impossible! It can’t be.”
“I presume he’s now saying that this is impossible,” the old man smiled.
“What are you talking about, Master?” Talie muttered. “Are you mocking me again? When do we start training?”
“We’ve already started.”
“Damn it all!”
Talie pulled the straw hat off his head in frustration and threw it on the ground. The old man watched his disciple with a sad look and muttered:
“I tried so hard to make it look beautiful.”
“Back then, I thought my Master was mad,” Traves whispered. He was standing to the left of Hadjar. His tears flowed freely, leaving yellow streaks behind. Hadjar couldn’t believe that this dragon, a Lord of the Sky, could cry. “How stupid I was, my disciple. How utterly stupid…”
“That’s nonsense, Talie. Stupidity always comes hand in hand with wisdom,” the old man continued. “Just as pain comes with happiness, the past with the future, strength with weakness, and life with death. In this world, everything is so intertwined that you don’t know where one thing begins and the other ends.”
“Master!” Traves shouted. Or rather, he wanted to shout, but couldn’t. These were just his memories of the past. “Master... forgive me.”
“Don’t get riled up.” The old man patted the young dragon on the shoulder. “One day, you’ll understand everything.”
Hadjar couldn’t discern if the old scoundrel was talking to them — Traves and Hadjar — or to his disciple. In either case, his words were fitting. However, if he was addressing the latter, something was happening here and now that was so deeply mysterious that Hadjar couldn’t explain it.
“Will I finally understand why we’ve been training with a sword for the past five years? I use a staff-spear, and you know it!”
“Of course, Talie, of course.” There was a roguish gleam in the old man’s gray eyes. “Perhaps one day, in the distant future, you’ll be able to create a Sword Technique.”
Talie only snorted. His demeanor showed what he thought of this claim.
“Let’s just get this over with.” He said, drawing a simple, short sword from its scabbard.
It was a straight, double-edged blade with a long tip and a crossguard so small that it looked like it didn’t exist at all. It was the same kind of sword that the young Prince Hadjar Duran had used so long ago.
“Unsheathe your sword, disciple,” Traves rumbled. “Hurry up, it’s not every day you get a chance to learn from a brilliant man like my Master.”
Hadjar also realized that it was probably not Talie who was being taught right now. This lesson was for... him. Drawing his blade, he stood right next to Talie.
“As I’ve told you before,” the old man seemed to be addressing his disciple, but he was looking directly into Hadjar’s eyes. Hadjar became frightened. “Everything in this world is intertwined.”
The old man, using a sharp movement that might’ve brought glory to the head of the Predatory Blades clan if he’d used it, launched a direct attack with his stick. Or so it seemed to Hadjar. As soon as he blinked, he realized that the old man’s hands hadn’t moved. The stick had never left the ground. However, how had a cloud in the sky been cut in half, then? What kind of power was this that allowed the old man to strike at a range of several hundred yards, using a simple stick… Or using nothing at all, even… Damn it! Hadjar’s head was starting to hurt.
“Where do you think the sword begins?” The old man asked suddenly.
“I have no idea, Master.” Talie barked, spitting on the ground. “I think it begins in the ass of the person who forged it! By the High Heavens, I’ve already grown to hate all swordsmen in these past five years.”
The old man remained silent. He didn’t pay attention to the insulting and insolent words of his hotheaded young dragon disciple. He just stood in the middle of the wheat field and looked into Hadjar’s eyes, even though he couldn’t see the young man standing in front of him. After all, they were separated by a length of time vast enough that several empires could rise and eventually fall during it.
“Where does the sword begin... the sword begin…”
Hadjar pondered. He looked at his hands. Did the sword start at his hands? No, that was an error the mortals often made. As a Wielder, he could feel the sword in everything around him: the grass, a light breeze, the threads of a spider’s web, a ray of sunlight reflected in a drop of water. The sword didn’t start at his hands. On the contrary, it ended there, surely. But where, then? Hadjar looked up and boldly met the ancient, grey eyes.
“In my heart. My heart creates the sword. And it will end there.”
“We’re all going to die, Talie. Even the Immortals... the very word ‘Immortal’ is no more than an attempt made by frightened creatures to deceive death. They will also die. And so will the gods.” The old man’s voice sounded unnaturally deep. “But before that, if we are strong enough, we’ll live a long life. Never renounce new knowledge, because you never know if it will be useful to you in the future. Maybe it’ll help you one day.”
Hadjar clutched at his chest. The sword started in his heart... It had always been there. From the very first day he’d seen it, looking simple and cheap, hanging in a rack of similar copies made hastily by a simple blacksmith. And after years of wandering around the world, he’d forgotten about it. Like he’d forgotten something else no less important. Now, after realizing this obvious but profound fact, Hadjar suddenly understood that his heart was free of the sword. He held a sword in his hands. He felt it in every cell of the universe. It was everywhere but... not in his own heart.
“The fourth level of mastery,” Hadjar whispered, “is the Sword's Heart.”
“Just as a king owns the heart of his country,” the old man continued. “A future Master must also master the heart of a weapon. Only when he feels the presence of the Spirit of a weapon within his heart can he be called an apprentice.”
“I know that, Master!” Talie barked again, but no one was listening to him.
“And just as the King rules his country, the ruler of his own heart can create his own Kingdom. A Kingdom of the Sword.”
The old man tapped the ground with his stick and Hadjar’s soul almost went to meet his forefathers. The space within a ten-yard radius suddenly became saturated with the Sword Spirit. But not the one that came from the World River permeating the universe, the one that was an eternal part of it, but one which came from the old man himself. It was as if he was in complete control of these ten yards, and anything within that radius could immediately succumb to his power.
“That’s incredible,” Hadjar gasped.
“That’s only a thousandth of his power,” Traves said respectfully. “I once saw my Master create a Kingdom of the Sword with a diameter of two thousand yards, which he then used to attack two dozen Lords.”
Two. Dozen. Lords! Even the Shadow of the Immortal Swordsman back in the Black Mountains hadn’t been capable of such a thing!
“We’re finished for tonight.” The old man turned away from Talie and gazed at the distant heavens. “We’ll leave tomorrow, Talie. So, I think you have something you need to do.”
Talie’s eyes flashed and, after bowing to the old man, he sped off in the direction of the village. A few seconds later, he was out of sight.
“It’s so beautiful here
.” The old man was still looking at the stars, but Hadjar had no doubt that he knew who was standing next to him.
In the future.
“Yes, it really is beautiful,” Traves said.
“You’ve always been hesitant, Talie. Proud. Strong. And doomed.”
“Thank you, Master, for staying with me for so many years.”
Hadjar wanted to say something like: ‘Wait, this is a simple memory. He can’t talk to the old man now, because at that moment, he hadn’t been talking to him, but seeing the naked breasts of that girl instead.’ But he didn’t. There were so many mysteries in this world that it would’ve been a waste of time to puzzle over another one.
“Do you remember that day, disciple, when we parted?”
Traves nodded. He was standing next to his Master.
“That time has come for you, too,” the old man’s voice mingled with the rustle of the wind playing with the wheat. “Time to return to the World River. And if the wheel of rebirth is merciful, we’ll meet again in our next lives.”
Traves knelt and touched his forehead to the cold ground. Tears were rolling down his cheeks again.
“Thank you for everything, Master.”
The old man just smiled.
“How beautiful they are, Traves. I hope I can be a star in my next life and keep an eye on you. On you and the North Wind that you’ve brought with you.”
Hadjar started. He wanted to say something, but it was too late. With another gust of wind, the old man turned into a cluster of small, yellow lights. They danced in the wind and flew up to the sky.
“What was that?”
“He’s dead,” Traves said, sounding weary. “My Master was very old. So old that it is difficult for me to describe his age to you. I thought back then that he’d just left me, but now I understand that he died.”
“But what was all of this?”
Hadjar blinked and realized that he was once more sitting at the foot of the rock which stood at the top of the hill surrounded by green meadow.
“I can’t answer that question, my disciple,” Traves said, shaking his head. “My knowledge isn’t worth a piece of my Master’s fingernail. The wisdom he possessed is beyond my understanding.”
Hadjar nodded. He knew exactly how Traves felt, because he felt the same way when talking to the dragon.
“Then… thank you for another lesson. It helped me a lot.”
Hadjar pressed his forehead to the ground and tried to return to reality, but he found he couldn’t do so just yet.
“That’s not all, disciple,” Traves said, shaking his head. “Do you remember that girl with the black hair?”
“Yes,” Hadjar nodded.
“Didn’t she look familiar to you?”
Hadjar shuddered.
“She did.” He said a little stiffly.
“She had black hair,” Traves smiled dreamily. “Same as me. We bonded over that. When my Master disappeared, I didn’t leave the village immediately.”
“What do you mean?”
“She was beautiful, Hadjar. And so wonderful. I fell in love with her. It was a thousand times more intense than anything I’d felt before. By the High Heavens, disciple, my partner on the path of cultivation was a mortal!”
“Why are you telling me this?” Hadjar felt a desperate need to stop Traves.
The dragon didn’t pay attention to his disciple, and continued the story:
“I couldn’t help falling for her, disciple. But I was driven by revenge... I had to leave. And I did. I thought I’d be back. I asked her to give our child the name that I’d often heard in my mother’s ancient legends. I liked it a lot.”
“Master, please…”
“She called our son Haver.”
Hadjar was paralyzed with shock.
“I went through a lot. My fate was a terrible one. I didn’t come back after a year. Nor a hundred years. A thousand. A hundred thousand years passed and I still didn’t return. She died. My son, Haver, also died. But he had children. My grandchildren. Then they also had children. My great-grandchildren. And so it went on for centuries, then millennia.”
Hadjar stared into Traves’ amber eyes. Tears were still rolling down the dragon’s cheeks.
“My fate was sealed the night my Master left. I didn’t come back home. I didn’t get to hold my wife ever again. I didn’t get to carry my son on my shoulders, teach my grandchildren how to fish and graze cattle. Hadjar, you can’t imagine how much I enjoyed herding cattle. I loved it far more than shedding blood.”
“Please, Master, stop…”
Hadjar already knew how this story would end. He was also crying.
“In a cruel twist of fate, or perhaps some painful, cosmic irony, I ended up trapped beneath the Kingdom that my own descendants had founded.”
Hadjar shook his head. He wanted to cover his ears, but his attempts failed. His body wouldn’t obey him.
“The truth is, my disciple, no... my distant descendant, that I couldn’t give my heart to just anyone, only to someone who has my blood in their veins, someone who carries a bit of the original Haver with them. A bit of the one who started the Duran family. Do you know her name, Hadjar? Her name was Ereo Duran.
Hadjar looked into Traves’ eyes. There was nothing but sadness there.
“When did you realize who I was, Master?”
“The very moment I saw you. The High Heavens had granted my wish. For a brief moment, I was able to reunite with my family.”
Traves jumped down from the stone. He went over to Hadjar and hugged him tightly.
“My request is only part of the reason why I granted you my heart. It was the least I could do for the Duran family. I am sorry, my distant descendant, that I condemned you to death.” Traves gradually disappeared amidst the rays of this illusory world’s sun. “It’s time for both of us to move on. Each in his own way.”
“Please, Master…”
“I’m proud that a warrior like you will continue the legacy of my Dark Storm Clan and the Duran family. Always remember what I taught you. Remember what your parents taught you. Don’t stray from your path.”
Hadjar tried to hold on to the fading image, but he couldn’t, his hands passed right through Traves’ body.
“My time is running out, Hadjar. My request... when the time comes, you will know what it is. Now, my child, live free…”
Through the lump in his throat, Hadjar said:
“Die with honor, my illustrious ancestor.”
Traves smiled. The last thing that disappeared were his amber eyes. For the first time in a long time, joy and relief replaced the sadness in them.
***
Hadjar awoke on the floor of the hut. His thick, black hair had spread out all around him… Letting the tears flow freely, he whispered:
“Master…”
Chapter 453
After getting up, Hadjar wiped away his tears and looked toward Einen’s room. The islander had definitely seen and heard everything. However, being a real friend, he’d immediately understood that his friend needed his support. The kind of support he could only provide by giving him some space.
Hadjar turned and went outside. After a few steps, he fell to his knees. The pain he was experiencing right now wasn’t physical. It was nothing compared to the one that he’d endured during the lengthening of his channels. It was like a toothache. However, it didn’t hit his mind like a hammer, but corroded his soul instead. It settled within the void that was inside every person. Some filled this void with music, some with alcohol, and others with romance. People like Hadjar always tried to get closer to their goal as a way to distract themselves from it.
Now, he stumbled. The path before him began to disintegrate. His wounds were like the ones Primus and Ragar had suffered, and Sankesh had even died from. Now he understood exactly how these three men had felt, and what kind of bottomless abyss they’d fallen into.
What did their path mean to a cultivator? How could a person live for thousands of
years if they didn’t know what they lived for? When one’s path collapsed, their life also dissipated. At first, small emotional ‘wounds’ opened up all along Hadjar’s spiritual body, one by one. All this time, he’d been carefully building the path in front of him, using it to move forward, never looking back and never regretting anything. However, this path wasn’t a bridge of solid stone connecting Hadjar’s past and future. It was just a rickety, wooden parody of a bridge, swaying precariously over a raging sea of reality.
When he’d first come to this world, he’d had clear ‘landmarks’ in mind. All he’d wanted was to experience this new, endless world, see its dazzling expanses, learn all its secrets, mysteries, and riddles, enjoy being able to control his body, and experience what the warmth of a parent’s love was like.
Then, under the pretext of saving his sister, he’d taken revenge on the one he’d blamed for tearing down those dreams. He’d taken revenge for being reminded of the pain he had endured back on his native Earth.
Elaine. His beloved sister... If he’d truly wanted to save her, he probably would have stayed in Lidus. Hadjar loved her, of course. He loved the five-year-old girl he’d been asked to look after. He’d felt responsible for her. However, he had still been looking for the warmth of his parent’s home.
And he’d found it. Back then, in that deep cave, Traves hadn’t been the only one who had come across his family. Even in his darkest times, when he hadn’t known what to do next, he’d felt an invisible support lifting him up and had never been truly alone.
And now it was all gone. He had been left alone. There was no one left in the world who knew his entire story, who could help him find his way. After all, this was the essence of a partnership on the path of cultivation: wading through all the thorns and obstacles together, surviving the sorrows of parting and the joys of meeting up once more, seeing, hearing, and feeling the same things, but most of all, overcoming loneliness. After all, Hadjar was more aware than most of the fact that loneliness wasn’t when you were alone in a locked room, but when there was nothing you could rely on to fill the corrosive void inside of you.
Land of Magic Page 15