by Sohan Ahmad
Over the next four days, a heavy winter fell upon the earth. Once the white rain ceased, the sun shone with renewed warmth, and what birds remained sang their blissful song as a visitor stumbled upon the remote woodland home. “I seek a duel with the legend,” he said as Tyr called out to his master, just as he had done in the months before their eastward journey.
Zephyrus walked out to the porch to greet him. Damn, I did not think a name seeker would find us so soon. The stranger boasted lofty claims of strength and skill like so many before him, hoping to entice, but this time the Wind refused. Instead, he returned to the shadows within his house. “You are too weak to face me. Defeat my apprentice, and I may reconsider.”
With the door shut behind him, Tyr was left to fend for himself. The visitor took great insult and lost himself to fury. His fierce roars drove the birds from their trees and the rabbits to their holes. “Cocky little shit! I shall erase your sword from existence and paint your corpse with this child’s blood.” A shade taller than Zephyrus, the man had an azure cross painted across his face, and his balding head tightened at the crown where a few lingering strands clung together in a braided knot.
He unsheathed a gleaming blade of crescent steel from a wide leather scabbard on his back and withdrew a small iron hatchet from the belt on his hip, aiming both at Tyr. “Master, come back. Please! I’m not ready,” the boy begged, banging on the door, but there was no answer.
“Pray to your gods for a quick death, boy! Before the sun retires, I shall drink your master’s blood from your skull,” warned the visitor. The tiny ax alone could buy one hundred of the boy’s copper sword while the moon-blade shined pristine, almost as if it had never met skin or tasted blood.
This monster of a man was to be the boy’s first test as a swordsman. I’ve never attacked a person before. What do I do?
Just then, a stern voice echoed between his ears. “Remember your training, and you shall forget your fears.”
Nearly an hour had faded as Zephyrus awoke from his afternoon slumber to venture outside. Where are they? There were no bodies, alive or otherwise, but something caught his eye. Is it Tyr’s blood? The trail of warm crimson melted through inches of snow, leading him deeper into the frozen forest. Thank the gods. Tyr sat still with his back against a gray-bearded oak, gazing blankly into the distance. His cheeks were bruised blue, his nose dripped red, and yet his breath remained lighter than the flakes of white beneath his feet.
Zephyrus was curious. “Tyr, where is your sword?”
The boy said nothing, his eyes cold and empty, just as they had been four days prior. He answered with his finger, pointing ahead to its new home. A handful of starving crows feasted on the cool flesh that swallowed his seething blade.
The Saint smiled, “Well done,” patting the boy on his head like a father would his son.
I took a life, but he’s still proud of me. A soft touch from such a cold Wind brought the boy an odd comfort.
Zephyrus tread through the plush white toward their home with Tyr on his back. “You must have been frightened. It was the same for me as a child.” Tyr’s blank gaze began to flicker as his master continued, “I promise that few things will ever be as difficult as your first kill.” The child has taken his first life, spilled those first drops of human blood. And yet, it will not be the last. Forgive me brave lady, this is all I can do for your son.
The Saint was as fierce a teacher as he was a warrior. Each day, he pounded the steps of his sword’s dance into the boy’s bones, and Tyr was a natural dancer. One thousand thrusts at the crack of dawn steadied tremors in his near flawless form while two thousand slashes by the afternoon, with both hands, slowly perfected the holes in his ever-narrowing stance. He sweated until the quiet whispers of the night sky commenced, after which he slept as if he would never sleep again.
Eventually, another visitor came knocking on their door, followed by another and then another. As time marched on, knowledge of the Wind’s location was still only rumor. Though old fears began to resurface, Zephyrus chose to stay, denying the few blades-men that found him, offering them up instead as sacrifices to nourish his disciple’s growth. The initial trials continued to prove difficult, Tyr’s countless hours of training turning to ash in front of the fear of combat.
More often than not, he avoided death by one step until it became two before it became three before he was free. No matter how severe the wound, he limped away with breath in his chest and another’s life on his hands. The lava born from searing cuts poured onto cold bruised bone, forging layers of diamond skin. Blisters just below his fingers sucked onto the leather sword grip like blood-starved leaches, and a once chaotic panting calmed into a gentle summer breeze. Soon, the forest became a tomb to memorialize his transformation from helpless child to seasoned killer.
As winter neared its end, the drums of war between Hawk and western Bull thundered throughout the North. Prime Vain Chrona’s call to arms enticed many men with swords to the front, and thus the presence of name seekers dwindled drastically.
Spring’s return also signaled the end of their stores. However, the many months of solitude took its toll on the Saint. It’s best I stay behind. “Tyr, go into town and purchase only what I have written here.”
“You’re not coming, Master?” the boy asked, as frightened as he had ever been with a sword in his hands. When was the last time I spoke to someone without taking their life? The killing often made it difficult to look at his reflection in their pond’s wet, wavy mirror. How would others see me? he often asked his twin in the water.
Tyr’s spine softened like strawberry jam while his knees wobbled like a drunk, but the Wind reminded, “this was training, too.”
Spring’s fifth day was brisk. I wish Master was here. The wind howled one minute and vanished the next as Tyr finally mustered the courage to venture through Scilia’s gates. It’s so big! It reminds me of Xenon, but prettier.
Compared to the enclosed forest, Scilia seemed endlessly open. The existing alliance with the East, formed nearly fifty years earlier, bled many Silonician tastes into the wheat-growing town’s sights and smells. Most homes were built of tanned, ivory bricks, speckled in cobalt dust, with roofs as gold as wheat. Large towers, first developed by the Sky Crafters of the Scaled Empress, sprung from the perimeter to harness the winds with spinning blades. The western mills looked out to a narrow river that flowed underneath a bridge of faded moon rock, built by Silonician laborers as a token of their alliance. Venturing deeper took him into a network of empty alleys that funneled into a vast merchant square, littered with salt rocks mined from the banks of the Lunar Lakes, along with blue silks and sickle-shaped tools from the eastern capital of Zyon.
As he tiptoed through the unfamiliar streets, merchants shouted to any who would listen, “Grain for sale! Honor the late Lord Dantes with a purchase.”
His memory still a blur, the name did nothing to alarm him until a local peddler called out, “Young man, is this your first time in town? Wash that sour frown from your face with a tasty sweet. We have the most delectable assortment of candies and cakes, try one, and it will feel as if you have been reborn. I’ll even give you a newcomer’s discount so take your pick and eat your fill.”
A wizard! Tyr ran as fast as the wind would take him. Thank the gods, he nearly put a curse on me. Having caught his breath, his eyes remained vigilant until they came across a group of young girls alongside a nearby home. Are they my age? He wondered as they rolled a leather ball back and forth between each other. The shorter of the two wore a freshly pressed lime dress trimmed in yellow wool, and curled locks of honey hung down to her chest. Her friend was painted in smooth olive with a long, braided tail of oiled green. Her smile is as warm as the sun in winter. The ivory glow of her gown bounced against the drops of sapphire in her eyes. She’s the prettiest person I’ve ever seen.
Tyr moved toward them without any recognition of his feet’s path, as if her beauty was a floating finger, luring him closer
and closer. Oh no! What am I doing? But the fear and strain that buried his neck into his shoulders quickly lifted like steam from a bath. They look happy playing their silly game. Tyr thought until the Wind’s stories echoed within his drums. I wish I could have what they have,
Before he could retreat, however, he felt the tacky touch of leather against his heel. When he turned to see what it was, the girls were already skipping toward him. “It belongs to us,” the shorter one said with a fold of her arms.
The pretty girl scolded, “Be nice, Carla, maybe he wants to play with us.” She then turned to Tyr, offering an open hand. “My name is Thena Pelamar, and my friend here is Carla Hayet. What’s your name?”
Her words sang to him, dripping sweet nectar into his ears, but his skin soon faded into a ghostly pale hue. What do I say? I’ve never talked to another child before. Especially one that made his heart flutter. Tyr’s heart pounded from his chest to his throat, choking the words that refused to part his lips. I am the God of Battle! I mean, I can easily kill a man, but please don’t be frightened. No, no, that will definitely scare her. The girls gawked at the tense fidget in his hands and feet until his lungs burst open. “My name is Tyr! Um, it’s nice to meet you—is it really okay if I play with you?” he asked, unable to meet Thena’s eyes.
“Thank goodness,” she said, “I was worried you couldn’t speak.” She clasped both hands onto his wrist and dragged him forward. “Of course, it is. Come on.”
He could not explain what happened. My body was as stiff as iron, but now I feel so light. I can barely feel my feet on the ground. Tyr smiled for the first time, the only time since holding sharpened metal in his hands.
Thena welcomed his awkward innocence. “You’re a bit silly, but you have a really nice smile.”
Tyr blushed redder than the Scarlet Sea. “I do?” he asked as his smile grew wider.
Sadly, their glee reeked of fresh flesh to three nearby hyenas. Local boys whose strides burned with the flames of arrogance, cackling as they flung tiny stones at scattered gatherings of pigeons. An alpha emerged from the pack. His narrow eyes glared between the part of his auburn hair. “Thena, why are you playing with this beggar trash?” he questioned, buzzing around Tyr until he noticed the sword at Tyr’s hip. “You’re that war orphan, aren’t you? One who lives in the woods with that creepy old swordsman. My father warned me you were strange, but I had no idea you were a freak,” he barked stepping in between them. “What kind of kid carries a sword? Get away from him right now, Sister.”
Thena’s brow furled. “Erik, you’re so cruel. He’s no different than any of us. Why can’t we all just play together?”
Her brother snapped, “Just like us? Grow up little sister. He kills people. Why else would he would walk around with a sword? If you don’t shut up and do what I say, then I’ll have to tell Father.”
She was furious, but Tyr couldn’t allow her to keep pushing. “It’s fine, Thena, you don’t have to defend me.” I have killed people. “It was nice to meet you. Maybe, I can talk to you again some time.”
Erik’s fists clenched, and his teeth chattered like clashing metal. “Get your hands off my sister, you murdering freak.” He grabbed Tyr by the arm, hurling a fist towards him.
I could easily avoid it. Tyr thought. The wide swing moved as slowly as a cloud in front of a killer’s eye. Maybe this place isn’t prettier than Xenon after all, but I think I see why Master didn’t defend himself back then. He stood still, allowing the angered fist to strike him flush in the cheek.
After Tyr crashed to the ground, Thena’s frail arms pounded on Erik’s back. “Stop it, Brother! Leave him alone!”
The young swordsman rose from the dirt and dusted himself off as if he had just awoken from a nap in the garden. “I’m not a bad person, Erik. Master doesn’t like games, and I never get to play with anyone my age so there’s a lot I don’t understand, but if you teach me how, I can learn to be normal too.”
“Shut your mouth, freak!” Erik shouted, punching Tyr once more. “Don’t talk to me like you know me. You better go back to your cave in the woods before I get really mad.”
It’s like a fly bite compared to Master’s fists. Once more, Tyr stood up. His words hurt more. Thena continued to protest on his behalf, but it was to no avail. Erik only stopped once his knuckles grew blue with bruises. He clutched his sister by her long, slender arm and burst off toward their home on the western edge of town.
A slight tinge of black and blue marred Tyr’s cheeks as a spoonful of blood trickled from the corner of cracked lips. Maybe I am a freak, but Master taught me to never give up. “When can I see you again?” he shouted at Thena’s back. She turned just enough for Tyr to see her smile. The point of her pointer pressed against her pursed lips, but Tyr shrugged her warning aside. As long as I stay calm like Master taught, I can handle your brother.
Hours later, Tyr returned home with a sack of grains, vegetables, and a grin that shone from ear to ear. Training and mopping were mere trifles at that moment. I made my first real friend. Thena’s likeness danced repeatedly in front of his eyes when his back pressed down upon freshly cut grass. As he gazed into the eternal light of the heavens, a warm breeze caressed his cheeks and transformed the clouds. That one looks like her hair and that one like her nose.
Shortly thereafter, Zephyrus walked out into the yard, glaring at the boy’s careless daze. “Fix your face. You look like a fool.”
Young Tyr sprung to his feet, rushing toward a nearby oak with a wooden edge in hand. Each swing shaved bark from tree, but something was different. “Master, can I ask you a question?”
“Fix your form and perhaps I’ll answer,” answered the Wind.
Tyr did his best to sharpen his focus. “Sorry Master.” But thoughts of Thena still dulled his edge. “Have you ever talked to girls before?” he asked Zephyrus as each swing of his wooden blade was slower than the last.
The Wind’s brows peaked. “Why do you ask?”
Tyr’s arms dangled limp against his sides as he answered, “I met one today in town. She was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, dropping his wooden blade to the grass. “Her name is Thena and she was really nice to me too.”
My boy has finally made his first true human connection. “I see,” Zephyrus remarked. It warms my cold heart to witness his happiness, but can it last, I wonder? “It has been some time since I last spoke to a woman, but I will do my best to answer any questions you might have.”
The boy’s once vibrant smile cowered beneath the shadow of his hanging blonde strands. “I think she wants to be my friend, but I’m scared.” His eyes trembled as he stared at his calloused hands. “What if she finds out that I’m a killer? Will she still be my friend?”
Tyr…The old warrior lamented. No matter how many battles I have won or lives I have saved, I am no hero. I am a tool, no different from the blade at my hip, one that is marred with death and ugliness. “Hero” is too fair a title for such a creature. Take more lives than the enemy and people will cheer your name, sing songs in your honor, and immortalize your glory. However, such favor does not last forever. It is a lesson that required decades to learn: we, who walk the crimson road, are destined to be alone in the end. The only true love we will ever know is death’s icy kiss. The only warm embrace we will share is with the cold metal in our hands. “If she is truly your friend, she will understand,” Zephyrus answered. Have I become so soft that I would deceive a child?
“Really!” Tyr said, the warmth renewed upon his cheeks. “Thank you, Master. I swear that I’ll do everything I can to make that happen.” The vigor in his sword arm soon returned as hope crept into the Wind.
I have molded him in my image; a perfect warrior and an imperfect human, but perhaps he will not share my fate. Scilian lands have known less bloodshed throughout the centuries. Tyr’s heart is pure, despite the blood that the gods and I have forced on his hands. If there were anyone capable of shattering the chains of prejudice and fear
, surely it would be he. Raising this child is the only good I have accomplished in my life of death. To all the gods and devils, I pray. He is the source of my salvation . . . please spare him. Zephyrus concealed his concerns, choosing instead to indulge the boy and his glee until it was time for the sun to slumber once more.
When their stores ran dry, Tyr returned to town, but before his journey, the Wind uttered words the likes of which had never tasted breath: “Should you meet the girl again, forget about training for the day. Use what extra coin remains on a gift for her. Girls enjoy their trinkets.”
“Yes, Master,” Tyr said. “Thank you so much, Master.” His master’s words were a treasure to the boy, allowing his mind to hold hands with his heart.
As Tyr returned to town, the sun baked freshly along the Scilian skyline like a pie sitting on a baker’s window, luring many into the stone field of wheat. I must find a trinket like Master said. Tyr scoured the market until he found a heart-shaped locket affixed to a slender chain of brass. “Sir, would a pretty girl like this?” he asked the seller, gazing at the locket as if it were a puzzle.
“Of course, my young friend,” the seller answered. “Good enough for even a lord’s lady.”
“I’ll take it!” Tyr shouted. “Is this enough?” he asked, handing the handful of coin that remained in his pouch.
“Lucky boy,” the seller remarked, “I give you a special price. Make sure you tell pretty girl I have more just like it.”
“Of course,” Tyr said, running to the street where he had first met Thena. Please be here. He prayed, and there she was, glowing like a star amid the clouds, but she was not alone. Carla is with her again. Erik and his pack were there as well, ever watchful. However, once Thena’s smile turned to greet Tyr, the others faded from sight. I hope she likes it.
She seemed to glide toward him, but their fingers never quite reached one another. Erik wedged himself in between them. “I thought I warned you before,” he snarled as his pack of goons restrained Tyr. “Now, you don’t get to leave.”