by Marc Watson
“I was here right after tha Third Fall O' Man. I awoke t’ kill the false god, whose powers were always far beyond need o’ the sword. I am limited by time and distance though, and he embraced maliciousness so quickly I could’na reach’im in time. The Power was purged and mankind brought t’ its knees before I’d even sat up from my slumber. It was all I could do t’ survey tha aftermath, weep for the innocents who’d fallen, confirm the loss of the false god and ‘is sword and return to my sleep.”
Nixon began telling this mesmerized young man minor details of his history, and each time Aryu had to agree death was the most necessary course of action to reach the ends Nixon was bound to if these tales were true. After twenty minutes, Aryu wondered more and more why this Hangman of the Lord was letting him live to hear them.
Were he to enter the head of this Heavenly Avenger, he’d see that that was the exact same thought in his head as well, with the simple exception of the one powerful, overlying fact.
This time was different. This time nothing was as it should be. The world had changed, moved beyond what was considered normal for so many years. This simple fact seemed to break every barrier Nixon had. The routine was broken, the patterns shuffled. It now went beyond a need for answers. In this conversation, Nixon had convinced himself that although he may find some, a satisfactory one would not arrive.
By the time the talking was finished (or at least, all the important parts, as full stories of all Nixon’s past and targets would likely have gone on forever), Aryu was certain that despite his certainty on the matter, Nixon had all but talked himself out of killing the young man, and Aryu was not about to remind him of his pledge. Not after all those stories. Not after all he knew now.
All for the luck of finding that one little sword amidst the rubble. Nixon informed him that he could not recall a time anyone had happened upon it simply by accident, and although he wasn’t about to call this the first time, he certainly couldn’t dismiss the option. For all either of them could see, that was all it was. Aryu was not powerful or worldly, and beyond his obvious difference (which he was not self-conscious about at all while with this man), he was just a young man only beginning his path in life. His direction could not be determined yet. His intentions were not, as Nixon had said, worth punishing.
“So do you doubt your God’s intentions now?” Aryu regretted saying it the moment it slipped from his lips. He hadn’t reminded him of his task outright, but he had just stepped into the next best thing.
Nixon lost his radiant smile. The darkness consumed them both as the baseless fire died down, seemingly tied to the emotions Nixon suddenly found himself entrenched in.
“No. Ne’er tha’ far, but I do doubt His ability t’ predict and command the powers tha’ control me so long after his leavin’ this world. Just t’ say tha’ may be considered blasphemy by some I knew, but I am afraid tha’ while I have always considered his power beyond great, it was not so great tha’ it was infinite and everlasting in his absence. He drew power and strength from the world and tha people tha’ inhabited it. Even gone, His strength was eternal as long as the faith remained. When the false god purged tha power and the eternal peoples tha’ possessed it, in one swoop he abolished what remained of any great belief in Him. It’s a sad fact, actually, as it was the false god who cast him away, essentially destroying him in the first place. It is only bitterly fittin’ tha’ he cast the final blow. Thousands of years dunna’ make rememberin’ easy. Quite the contrary, it blooms new myths and misinformation, and ‘ere we are inna place where the machine, once revered, is looked upon as evil, and tha false god is remembered fondly and worshiped while his far-more noble predecessor is dust in tha wind.”
The fire was nearly dead now, fading more and more as Nixon became lost in the gloom. Aryu, desperate to return his spirits and resist returning to a world with dead parents and a destroyed home, said the only thing he could think of to perpetuate the conversation to a lighter place.
“Nixon. I’ll go with you east. I’ll help you find your path and do all I can to help you sleep again. For not killing me yet, and it was something you were clearly set on, I think I have to. I am clearly a link in a chain you need to piece together, and from what you’ve told me tonight, you are someone worthy of helping.”
It sounded so cheesy coming from his mouth. Not contrived, but not far off. ‘A link in the chain’? Not Aryu’s usual choice of words, but he was trying to sound as sincere as he could. A few days ago, it was just as likely that he’d have pissed himself and cried after this meeting, but growth came in pouncing on someone who’d been through all he had in that time.
Nixon looked at Aryu, reading his sincerity (or perhaps just trying to cut through the schlock). The fire grew after a moment and Nixon spoke.
“You’ll na’run? Not attempt t’ escape until the deed is done? Ya know if ya do what my reaction will be.”
“You’ll find me and kill me, yes, but that’s not why I’m agreeing. I will not run because I don’t want to.” It was true. Despite Aryu’s need to confirm what the Herald had said and done, something triggered in his head. This was something he wanted, and he had good reasons for it.
Nixon gauged the answer. He was no fool, and he was not tricked easily. He believed Aryu to be telling the truth. “There’s a but here isn’t there?”
Aryu smiled. “Of course there is. It’s about my friend. My friend and him.” He motioned to the resting Esgona, whom he’d by now identified. While this long discussion had been going on, he had selectively chosen to ignore him. As long as he didn’t wake up, Aryu didn’t have to go through the painstaking process of fighting with him and explaining all that had happened in his unconsciousness.
“I’ll listen, sir. Ya’ve earned tha’ much from me.” Nixon looked on, interested.
“I assume you don’t want him tagging along with us?” Nixon nodded. “Help me find my friend. He can’t be far now, and until I see proof otherwise, I refuse to believe he’s dead. We find him, explain it all as it’s been explained to me, and leave the two to do as they will, likely go north to the Great Range I’d guess. I’ll accompany you until our task is finished and your answers found, but I want your promise that you will let me return to them and continue as I was before you ever showed up, never to be bothered by you and your threats of death ever again once we’re done.
“You should know that I am beside myself with anger and sadness right now, Nixon. But the reality is that my friend and I can’t just destroy this inhuman army. Time with you, one who’s seen so much, might just help me come up with a plan on how we can.”
Nixon thought it over briefly, but the answer seemed clear to anyone in his position. “It seems a fair deal, Aryu O’Lung’Singh. Agreed.” He rose, walked over to where Aryu was sitting, and spat in his hand; sparks and sulfur flying forth just as they had done days earlier with the old man in the bar. His hand extended, his face determined, chiseled from solid rock.
Aryu met his huge hand, finding it hot, but not so hot to pull away. They shook hands, the fire blazing to life behind them as they did so. The deal made, the mission clear, and the moment locked forever in stone. Aryu smirked, the first hint of a smile in days.
“Wha’ is it, Aryu?”
Aryu shrugged. “My home is destroyed, the weapons of the Old have returned, my best friend may be dead, my parents are lost, my greatest childhood enemy is steps away, and you, a holy hitman who may be able to help me make it right, came to me needing my help, so long as you don’t kill me like you’re supposed to.”
Nixon frowned. “The Lord works in mysterious ways.”
Chapter 8
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What’s in a Name?
Aryu didn’t know if the deal was a good one or not. From the brief stories Nix had told him, his missions could take years to complete. Aryu was not going to wait that long. He was currently under the notion that finding a woman named Crystal, an Embracer who lived long before yea
r Zero and seemed to have a history with Nix, would be the first, and hopefully last, step in the quest.
The notion was misguided for reasons even Aryu could see plain as day. Was she alive? Even if she was, Nixon described her as a recluse; a woman locked in a self-imposed prison to the east of here, deep into the lands that he feared.
The clarity of tragedy was his primary reason for why he had made the deal with Nix. This was a creature of power. One who had lived for years learning and gleaning information about all kinds of enemies and situations. Aryu was not a man prepared to battle an entire Army of the Old, and he doubted Johan would have any ideas so grand as to defeat them. Nixon was a creature of the ages. He had seen these kinds of things before. Perhaps he could help Aryu find a way to defeat the monsters currently ravaging his homeland.
At the very least, he had guessed he could pick up something useful by being around him. It was a helpful thought in very unhelpful times.
Nixon agreed that they could do nothing until the sun rose again, at which point they would return west to find Johan. If he had followed the plan, Aryu knew where he’d be.
The big man tended to Esgona, careful not to upset him or wake him before his mind was ready to do so. “He ‘ad a ‘ard day too, I’d wager. He jus’ doesn’t know ‘ow ‘ard yet.”
Frankly, Aryu didn’t care. He’d never been high on Esgona’s personal favorite list, and the feeling was more than mutual. He couldn’t say he wished Esgona hadn’t been saved, but he was closer to that awful feeling than he’d like to admit. Esgona’s disrespectful treatment of him after his return was as close to unthinkable as he could get. Esgona, wounded or not, had not completed his Quest. Aryu had. Aryu earned his manhood with each step. Esgona had only earned shame.
Aryu tried to explain this to Nixon after giving up trying to get some rest. Nixon didn’t seem to care about such things, at one point even going so far as to call Aryu’s quest an “unnecessary attempt to prove one’s self in the eyes of others.” He didn’t understand. It was the way it had to be, if for no other reason than to shut others up about his damn wings and prove he was as much a man as any that had come before him.
“It’s not the journey tha' makes the man,” Nixon had said finally. “The sooner you people would realize tha' tha better I’d say. So ya learned t' start a fire, fight fools and look within yerselves fer some kind of maturity ya didn’t know was there. Wha' was out there in those mountains tha' ya couldn’t find right on yer own doorstep? A different view? Prettier, perhaps, but no more enlightenin'. Sorry, but I really don’t see tha point, and I never really 'ave.”
Pushing it further was clearly a waste of time. Nixon was a man removed from such social obligations. He could not understand how important it was that Aryu go and finish what he felt he must.
Nixon, convinced that Esgona was still a good ways off from coming to, moved him closer to the phantom fire and let him sleep off the shock. “Look at him, Aryu. If all you say is true, think about the time this man had…”
“Boy, Nixon. He’s still just a boy.”
Nixon sighed heavily. “He’s not my enemy, Aryu. I’ll address 'im as I wish. This man is clearly crippled, weak, and most certainly pushed far 'nough to 'is limits to be lying 'ere after all he’d seen. Yet still he confronted ya like a man in 'is situation should. Scared, sure, but strong enough t’ stand against ya when he deemed it necessary. And don’t fool yourself, Aryu; yer little knuckle-duster 'ad nothing t’ do with 'is current state other than a bruise and a 'eadache when he comes to. Now, tell me Oh Worldly One, 'ow is he any less a man than you?”
Aryu glared across the fire but said nothing. His resolve would not allow him to be dragged into this argument. His ‘oh worldliness’ knew a moment to agree to disagree. Esgona’s treatment of him in youth would become apparent once he woke up. Another conversational sidestep was needed.
“You looked surprised when I told you my name. You even said it was further proof that I should die? Why?”
Nixon smiled, but not the reassuring smile. More a leering one that both informed Aryu he knew what he was doing, and told Aryu the answer was not one he wanted to hear. “A bad piece of luck on yer behalf, I’d say.”
A moment of silence. Aryu pushed him on, urging him with his eyes, trying to wordlessly convey that he needed this conversation.
“Alright, if ya must know.” Nixon met Aryu’s eyes, sure to send the message that Aryu had better listen to what he was about to be told. “Through the ages, there 'ave been those tha’ carried the sword fer one reason or another. Their reasons always varied but usually along the same paths as those before ’em.
“The first sword-bearer was the one ya know as the false god, but he was really a man named Tokugawa Ryu, the 'alf-breed bastard son of a ruler of an old empire now long dead. He and 'is twin brother were born t’ parents of two different races, and born where they were, tha' was a 'orrible taboo. He and 'is brother were raised 'n trained in what’s called Martial Arts, a varied and confusing array of self-defense and attackin' techniques, thankfully lost t’ the ages because of its ridiculousness. It was durin’ this intense trainin', more so devised to keep’em away from their father and 'is position than to strengthen ’em, which they learned o' tha Power or whatever name it 'ad at tha’ time.
“Now, an Embracer of the Power will always 'ave an item t’ assist ’em as their power grows. A talisman t’ focus their thoughts 'n energy. They don’t need it forever. Ryu outgrew this sword long ago. They don’t need it to live or die, just help ’em embrace and, to a very, very small extent, control the Power. Control of the Power first leads t’ great longevity, and eventually, if one’s not careful, immortality. Immortality tha' can only be taken by someone with similar or greater power. Will, Aryu, is what determines these things. Never strength.
“Anyway, the long and truly sorted details of Ryu’s life are not important. All tha’ is needed is this: he was a man whose power got tha better of ’im, and 'istory has made ’im a god.
“Now, long after he discarded this sword the first time, others found it. Each would take on tha title and power it possessed. Tokugawa Ryu, after a long period o' time, lost tha’ name and was simply referred to as Ryuujin, loosely translated from 'is native tongue as ‘Dragon God’, or per'aps ‘Dragon King,’ is closer. The point is, 'is reputation and 'is prowess with this sword were becomin’ legendary, and when he cast it off t’ grow the Power without it, many bearers thereafter would take on the name Ryuujin, even though the original man was still very much alive and well.
“The sword, for its part, as every such item of focus does, became more than itself as well. Once used so well by a master o' the Power, something Ryu certainly was despite 'is relative youth, it became an item of focus t' others. Each time its legend and power grew until all one had to do was 'old it and its purpose and 'istory were clear, but only, and this is important, if the bearer knew wha' to look for. One trained glance at it and it would tell ya its history in a single moment. Not everyone sees it, but a general rule is anyone with an aged and open mind will at least hear it whisper to 'em.”
Aryu somewhat understood what he meant. When he looked at the weapon, a whisper of something otherworldly filled his mind, but not as strong as Nixon was describing.
“Some of my earliest memories came soon after it was discarded the first time. It eventually fell into the hands of a man named Adragon Sakata. He was a ruler of a small island close t’ where Ryu and 'is brother were born and raised. Sakata was a man bent on gainin' more power than he truly deserved. He was not 'appy with what he thought was a meager island, and when the sword and its obvious abilities came t' his hand, he began a silent war against all above 'im, determined to undermine 'is way to tha top. When he began t' cut down powerful Embracers, 'is sword doing so with ease, soon he’d unleashed enough fury t' awaken me.
“By the time I reached 'im, 'is power was considerable and he was well entrenched in its seduction. Our battle was long and impre
ssive. 'Is prowess with a blade even edging my own slightly with each move, and were it not fer the interjection of Tokugawa Ryu, I dare say I may 'ave not been the victor tha’ day. Ryu, havin' seen the terror 'is blade created, interjected himself to appease 'is guilt fer all tha’ had been felled by it. By tha’ time, 'is brother was dead and 'is lover missin'. 'Is son was lost t' tha ages and 'is purpose driven by lit'le more 'an 'ope tha' he’d find a way t' die. He jus' wanted an escape from the life tha Power 'ad given 'im.
“Word o' mouth spread from one Embracer t' another of tha power tha man Adragon Sakata 'ad commanded and tha blade he’d wielded. If one was in possession of the blade and sought nothin' more than knowledge and peace, they were Ryuujin, or fully, Ryuujin of the People. If they swayed tha other way too far, even if their ends weren’t as ruthless as Sakata’s, and believe me most were ne'er so crazy, they became Adragon of the Rage."
Nixon's dark, haunting eyes loomed heavily over the young man across the way. “Do ya see now, Aryu, the seemingly ironic title ya possess?”
Aryu thought it over, piecing it together. “Ryu. Ryu is this old-world tongue for dragon.”
Nixon nodded as he saw Aryu piece it together.
“In this old language, my name is Adragon.”
Nixon nodded again. “Well, more or less. ‘Lung’ is dragon in yet another tongue. You’ve got dragons all over yerself, Aryu. I suppose t’ some tha’ could be open t’ interpretation, but the coincidences are far too close for my liking.”
Boldness filled Aryu. “Such things are rarely coincidence, Nixon. I can’t say I’d have had your restraint in killing me. I am a man with a lot of terrible thoughts right now.” It was a more honest answer than Aryu wanted to give, but now was not a time to hide. If Nixon wanted him dead, he’d be dead, so the truth was the better way to go.
“Tha’ answer alone, sir, is more than enough reason t’ keep you alive.”