by Marc Watson
“I can’na say, lad. I only arrived in time t’ see wha’ happened t’ ya”
Aryu couldn’t believe what he was hearing. After a moment of confusion, he looked around, suddenly overwhelmed by a need to see for himself if it was true. “Where are we?”
“A week’s walk from your 'ome tha’ was. Due east.”
“Dear Gods, have I been out that long?”
Aryu could hear the grin in the thing’s words. “Who said we walked? No, lad. We arrived by other means.”
Aryu was getting even more lost in pain and confusion. His head hung low between his hands trying to sort things out. Loss consumed him as visions of his parents flashed into his head. They were good people who only wanted the best for their son. A loving husband and wife who had risked everything to save their son. Why did they leave him and Tan Torna Qu-ay without a word? The tears began.
“I hate t’ be a nuisance, but I'm afraid I mus' ask about the sword. Specifically 'ow ya came t’ possess it?”
Aryu couldn't believe this. The sword? The stupid sword? After all that he'd been through, that was what seemed important? Who cared! Aryu just sat there, ignoring the question. His problems were so much larger than that.
The man-thing rose and closed the gap between them, his sword still in front of him pointing at Aryu as he moved, stopping inches from his head.
“I've no problem dispatching ya here and now, lad. Frankly, it would make my life tha’ much easier. But I'm afraid I need more from ya before we reach tha’ end, so I'm askin' ya for the last time. The sword. Where did ya’ get it?”
Aryu cried on in pain and waved it off at first, but looking up into those glowing eyes he saw the truth. This thing would kill him. Today was not the day for any more tragedies.
“I found it,” he said finally. “A few days ago, I guess.” He had a hard time remembering now. He assumed it was still the same day as he thought it was; the day Tan Torna Qu-ay was destroyed. “I found it buried in rock on a mountainside. Why does it matter?”
His voice escalated and the anger caused his head to ache anew. The man seemed to be thinking over what he'd just been told. The seconds passed by with Aryu’s anger growing with each one.
“Tell me, lad, do ya…”
“Listen, who or whatever you are. I just spent a year away from home proving my manhood. I've also spent the days suffering the most extreme lows a man can reach. You say my home is destroyed and my parents are gone. By this point, you had damn well better believe I'm no lad, and you had better treat me as such.”
The big man seemed taken aback, almost as if the words had struck a chord. Then he smiled, and almost instantly Aryu was relaxed. Something about that smile was so reassuring. Despite everything that had just happened in the last few days, Aryu felt a small ounce of peace again.
“Indeed, sir. Indeed. My apologies. It's safe t’ say Imma’ man outta’ place here. I beg yer pardon. If by yer ways yer a proven man, then I shall treat ya as no less.
“Now, again, I must know, and speak no lie t’ me, sir. Is wha’ ya say tha whole truth? Ya simply found it?”
Aryu nodded slightly, tears still flowing freely. “Yes, that is the truth. If we are a week west by foot as you claim, then we are just over that far from the mountain. It was our final night before setting off home.” Recognition dawned on the thing’s face as if Aryu had confirmed a suspicion he’d had. Aryu barely noticed it.
Our. He had said our. The thought of Johan came to him instantly. He was likely still out there, either going home or wherever. He had to get back to him to let him know what had happened and that he was alive. Surely Johan saw the explosion, but the truth of why had to be told. Machines had come to the village, which meant that they were already coming into the central Inja. They were all in danger.
“I need to find my friend.”
The man looked at him, lost in thought once more. “Friend?”
“A man like myself. We set off on our quests together. I was sent on ahead by air. I need to find him. I need to know that he’s alright.”
The man seemed unaffected by Aryu’s plight. “Not yet. As odd as it sounds, I need ya with me right now. I believe ya hold some answers tha’ I need.”
Aryu was up again, head and body be damned. “Now I don't know who or what you are, but my place is with my friend, and if you don't take me there, I'll go on my own. I've told you everything I know about the sword, now please give it back and let me go on my way.”
The man shook his head calmly. “I can’na do tha’. I need ye and this sword with me.”
“Forget the damn sword. Keep it, I don't care.” A lie. After only two days he was already irrevocably attached to it for reasons he could not explain, but he hoped his lie wasn’t detected. He hoped his tear-soaked face hid it well. “I don't need it. What I do need is my friend, and you are not going to stop me.”
Aryu didn't know what kind of shape he was in but knew it was as good a time as any to find out, stretching his wings out with a minimum of trouble as he began to leave, hoping to find somewhere to take off from. “I do thank you for saving me, sir, but I'm afraid I cannot do as you ask. I have my own way to go.”
Before he could begin to leave, the large man rose to his feet and lifted his sword to Aryu’s face. “I'm afraid I must insist. Ya got more important things t’ do now.”
“So you say. My way is west and to my friend.” He turned to leave with a quick wave over his shoulder, telling the other this conversation was finished. He needed Johan. He needed to see if the machine was true to its word.
It was then he felt the heat and saw the light grow behind him. He turned quickly and was blinded by two very large walls of fire protruding from the other’s back, almost like....
…like wings. Son of a bitch. He had wings, and not ones like his own. This man was something so much more. Dear Lords and Ladies, he was an Embracer! After all this time of peace and silence, why was Aryu suddenly inundated by a mechanical Army of the Old AND a practitioner of the forbidden ways? Eyes wide and heart racing, Aryu stepped back and slumped down onto his rock again. It was all way too much. The tears became sobs as the weight of it all pressed harder.
The man’s wings died down, shrinking in brightness and intensity until they were no more.
“Ya canna’ escape me, and I highly recommend ya don’t try. My path is tha correct one, and I insist ya follow me on it.”
“Who… who are you? Why me?”
“Well now, finally some logical questions.” The big man relaxed and sat back down, sword resting in his hands. “My name is Nixon. Nixon of the Great Fire and Ash, t’ be precise, but most jus’ call me Nix.
“The history behind my bein' here is more stories than I care t’ tell at this moment. Know this, though. I am and 'ave forever been, drawn t’ the bearer of tha' sword and 'ave hunted ’em since long before ya could imagine.”
“Are you an Embracer?” Aryu spat out between gasps.
A confused look on Nix’s face. “Of the Power? Ha! Not in tha slightest. Those are mostly fools and tha fools who follow ’em. No, I'm somethin’ more’n tha’ entirely. My power is God’s power, as it was He who gave it t’ me.”
“God’s power?” The sobbing slowly crept away as the conversations steadied him. “Lord Ryu gave you Power?”
“Wrong again. Not him. Ne'er him.”
“Good. Then I'd know you were lying.”
Nixon looked perplexed suddenly. “And why do ya say tha’, may I ask? Tha’ was a very real man with very real abilities.”
“With very real lies,” Aryu answered while sniffling heavily and with more than a dose of cynicism in his response. “Most around here disagree, but I've never once believed in him as any more than a very powerful man. Only a man could have done something so reckless and self-centered.”
“Ah, so ya know of his final days, then?”
“Yes. It's jammed down our throats from birth. He was denied his eternal rest and punished the world and those hungry for
power, with no discrimination in his anger. Embracers of the Power at the time were all killed. None were spared. Such a clear overreaction could only be the work of a man, not God.” Aryu hated that story, but he hated the people who worshiped the God Ryu even more. One who had not spent their life shunned, mocked, and generally hated likely would have been more receptive to the moral of the man and not the action he had taken.
Nixon’s smile returned in full force. “I admit ye're a little hazy on the details, but tha bottom line is tha same. You’re correct, and it truly warms m’ heart t’ hear ya say it. I'm glad t’ know tha poison of ‘is words is slowly bein’ purged.”
“Most people believe his to be the ultimate power, his story being one of warning and not foolishness.” Aryu tried remembering more details to the story, but his head was still murky, and they didn't come quickly. “You say you are granted the power of God, yet claim it wasn’t him?”
“No, sir. Not at all. I'll not bore ya with preachiness, but I serve the one true Lord, He who reigned long before tha one ya speak of, and with considerably more mercy. He is whom I serve, and will forever, despite his essence being gone from this place fer so long.” Nixon seemed to sadden slightly with these words, as if they were difficult for him to say. As his smile slipped away, so did Aryu’s brief respite of peace as the visions of a machine murdering his parents rushed back. The tears still came but the sobbing ceased, so he opted for a change of topic.
“You'll forgive me if my interest is elsewhere right now, but I'd like to know why that sword is so much more important than me finding my friend.”
Although his eyes didn't brighten any, his soft smile did return. It seemed to Aryu that he was thankful for a change of topic as well. “Well now, that's a very long story indeed. Suffice t’ say it'd take much too long t’ regale ya with it here and now.”
“Listen Nixon, my eyes are red with tears and revenge, and I need to see my best friend alive again. My hatred is just enough to make me consider running and taking my chances against whatever you are. All I'd like to know is what's so important that you'd save me, just to torment me now.”
Nixon seemed to agree to the logic. “Ya make a strong point, sir.”
“Aryu.”
Nixon faltered. “I'm… I'm sorry, wha’?”
“Aryu. Aryu O'Lung'Singh. It's my name, as opposed to 'sir'.”
Nixon looked astonished, an expression Aryu could read even in the poor light. “Ye’ve got to be kiddin’ me! Aryu? Aryu O'lung'Singh? Ya canna’ be serious.”
Aryu didn't know what to say. His parents had told him that where they came from it was a perfectly normal name, although he was the only one he'd ever know with it. “What’s your issue with it?”
“Well, it all but confirms my original assumption about ya, that's all.”
“And what assumption is that, Nixon?” Now there was an odd name.
“My assumption tha’ I'm supposed t’ kill ya, and do it very quickly, Aryu O’Lung’Singh.”
Aryu was still alive. That was something he was certain of. But his words were so precise. So purposeful. He knew that this man-thing across from him was not lying.
Aryu was still breathing. His head was still aching. His family was still gone. “Why? Why save me only to kill me?”
“Believe me, I wish I knew.” Something very large was tormenting Nixon. “I'll put this as simple as I can, and if after I tell ya, ye still feel the urge t’ pester me further on it, I'll gladly do wha’ I'm supposed to, make no doubts about tha’.”
Aryu understood. Embracer or not, he was still associated with the Power and needed a wide berth.
The large man rose and pointed to the ground partway between the two. With a 'SNAP' and a bright flash, a bolt of fire shot from his hand like a bullet from a gun. Aryu wobbled back on his rock, shielding his eyes for a moment as he did so. Looking back, he saw a crackling fire now between them, but he could see no wood or kindling. Simply a hearty fire burning on nothing more than a bed of rock. The light it gave off illuminated them both, adding to Nixon’s terrifying and powerful appearance. He then took his seat again.
“I want ya t’ see me and hear me true as day, Aryu. Do ya promise?”
Not a doubt in his mind. “I promise.”
“Good, because I have many, many reservations about telling ya any of it and not just cutting ye down right here. Do ya believe tha’?”
“I do.”
“Alright then. Listen. Cry yer tears until they run dry. Mourn. I know ya want t’ see yer friend. I know ye are trapped with a man sworn to kill ya. I know how difficult this story will be t’ believe and understand, but I am not a man prone t’ lyin’. It is all true. Agreed?”
“Yes.”
“Good, now listen and listen well. What year is this, Aryu?”
An odd question to start, but a simple one. “It’s the one hundred and thirty third year of the second cycle.”
Nixon looked confused. “Alright, um, poor start. 'Ow many years inna’ cycle?”
Aryu was amused by the flustering of his would-be executioner. “One thousand. A thousand years is considered a full cycle of human existence.”
Nixon smiled with pleasure. “Oh really now. I was unaware tha’ such a thing was measurable. Tell me, then; how ever did someone arrive at such a fine number? What was year zero? Surely ya must know tha’ mankind has been around much longer than tha’.”
“Yes, we know, but year zero was the year Ryu purged the Power from this land and cast the remaining humans back to a state of primitives.”
“Ah, well, is tha’ how long it’s been? Well, see, ye’ve already given me more than I had.
“Alright, so it’s been one thousand, one 'undred, and thirty-three years since then, is tha’ correct?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Alright then, lemmie do a wee bit’o math ‘ere.” He looked as if he was trying to put together a puzzle from Aryu’s perspective. “I’m almost five times tha’ age, t’ give ya an idea.”
“If that’s so, how did you escape the wrath of the false god?”
“Well, tha’s also a long story, but tha short version might be tha’ I was asleep. Know this: his powers didn’t completely wipe tha slate clean. Many lived. Also, as I said, I dunna’ embrace the Power as ya know it. My abilities are Divine.
“My sleep lasts as long as it must, be it a day or a thousand years. My purpose, the reason for my creation, is t’ balance the Power in tha world. Good and Righteous are strong, and those who follow those paths become lit'le more than hermits and prophets. Still, they cause no 'arm, ‘elp all they can and believe their causes t’ be more spiritual in nature.
“Evil… No, that’s a poor word. Let’s say malcontent Embracers of tha Power are who are n’ bound by strong moral code are my business. Often, one of tha ‘good’ meets their end at tha 'ands of one of tha ‘bad’. In a usual mortal lifespan, it 'appens all tha time. Over eternity, it ‘as a lasting effect. When it gets t’ outta’ 'and, I awake, track tha most powerful of these ‘malcontent’ and dispatch ‘em before they shift the balance t’ far t’ be repaired. They upset the balance an’ I keep it. There is no good and evil. It’s always strictly a matter of perspective.”
Words Aryu had heard not long ago. “And the sword?”
“Well, tha’s an easy one. For as long as I can remember, tha individual I’ve ‘ad t’ dispatch has ‘ad it in their possession. Rare is tha bearer of tha’ blade who dunna’ follow tha unrighteous path.”
“But there are those who do? People who’ve held this sword and done good things?”
“Well, first ya must remember tha’ good is relative. Of all tha people who I’ve seen with it, only a small handful believed their cause t’ be evil fer tha sake of evil. Most were just seekers of power who went t’ far. Likely good people, at least on some level. It’s their actions I punish, not their intentions.”
“That’s unfair. What if they want to change? What if they are savable? What
if you’ve killed many who could have done greater things than the crimes they’ve committed?”
A thought Nixon was plagued by every waking hour. “I’m not judge or jury t’ these people and their actions. I am and shall always be n’ more than God’s right hand in these affairs. The simple answer is this: if ya follow tha right path, I will remain asleep. If ya don’t, then I will sleep only as long as it takes for ye t’ go too far. I awaken, speak with my followers and search for any information t’ assist me. I begin my 'unt and tha moment I finally arrive to ya is, as ordained by God who made me, tha moment ya pay for yer actions. If I e’er doubted this as the truth, I’d doubt the word of my Holy Father 'Imself. Tha’ is something I will ne’er do, so I hunt, I kill. I am tha vessel of His retribution!”
Nixon was getting fired up now. The emotion with which he explained it held Aryu in awe, his mind removed, albeit briefly, from his current pain and plight. Something in the way he told it filled Aryu with wonder.
But then, there was always the obvious question that needed asking.
“Why me? I just found the sword. I’ve only just become a man. I’ve embraced no Power, and more to the point, I’m terrified by it. I’ve caused no harm, and I’ve killed no one, though I really want to. Yet here I am with the sword, and here are you, an old god’s holy executioner, sent to kill me. Why?”
“I dunna’ know, sir. I truly dunna' know. This time is different. This time everything ‘as changed. I have no followers t’ answer my questions. I ‘ave no signs t’ follow or information t’ collect. I woke alone, only my sword by my side. If I’m awake, the Power is outta balance and I must right it. I am in tune with the strengths all possess. I can sense its ebbs and flows. By tha’, I can track it. It brought me ‘ere. It brought me t’ ya.”
“How do you know it’s me you’re supposed to track?”
“Simple. Ya ‘ave tha sword. Tha sword tha’ ‘as been buried for thousands of years. I was awake while it was buried only once, and tha’ one time has been tha only exception to these rules I’ve ever seen.”
“And when was that exception? When were you last awake?”