by Matthew Wolf
Fight it or die! A voice pleaded. And as if thrown into a lake and drowning, he fought, scraping to hold a single thought.
Maris—the name was an arrow to his conscience.
Gray opened his eyes. The world was a blinding white and gold, so bright it hurt. His whole body felt aflame and everything Maris said came back to him in a rush. He knew he was being overtaken by his power.
In his mind, saw his nexus. It was alive and growing. Air sparked from its core, forking like white lightning. Gray reached out a mental tendril and then recoiled as if burned. He lunged, throwing himself onto the crackling ball of wind and cried out as it burned, but he held on. Light burst from every seam in his body, but still he held. Then at last, the nexus’ slowed its expansion. Listen to me! He ordered. Grudgingly, the lightening stopped and it shrunk, returning to its normal size until it was quiet at last.
Distantly, he felt the damp earth and he opened his eyes to see eddies of white and gold wind flow back into him. All around, stalks of bamboo lay shattered, felled from the might of the clash. Then he saw the Ronin.
Gray rushed to Maris’ side. The man knelt upon one knee in the middle of the glade, his head bent and cloak draped over his still form. As he reached the Ronin, Maris looked up. A thin line of blood ran from the corner of his mouth, and his green eyes looked drained, but otherwise, he appeared unharmed. His hair stood on end like flames of white and he gruffly wiped the blood from his lip.
“Are you all right?”
The Ronin rose to his feet with a chuckle. “To face the Kage, the foul legions of the Endless War, and then to die by the hands of a boy?” He cracked his neck with one hand. “It would take more than that.”
Gray sighed in relief when he sensed something behind him and turned. Morrowil lay quietly upon the ground.
“You feel the sword’s presence don’t you?” Maris grabbed the blade, and pain filled his eyes. Gray accepted it with open palms. “Morrowil is truly yours now,” he announced. “That was the final test. It recognizes you as its owner.”
Gray examined the blade. “There is one thing though. When I was overtaken by my power, a voice called out to me. Was that you?”
Maris shook his head, confused. “No. I was already overcome by your defense, which was, admittedly, slightly more than I was expecting. Perhaps it was the old you.”
Kirin… Despite his last encounter, his old self was still in there, and it had saved his life. Thank you, Gray thought inwardly, feeling very peculiar giving praise within his own thoughts. Still, he would have to be wary of his second-self; for he had no idea if it was truly good, or simply sought their mutual survival. He looked down and his grip tightened. Morrowil, he thought, speaking its name in his mind, accepting the blade at last. It felt right in his hands, finally.
“Get some rest,” Maris said. “You will need it. The power takes far more out of you than you realize, and tomorrow will be a long day.”
“That’s it?” he asked.
“That’s it,” Maris replied over his shoulder. “Now, leave me be.”
Irritated at the man’s sudden terseness, Gray mounted Fael’wyn, but paused at the edge of the clearing in annoyance. “You know for a moment there, I saw a human side to you…”
“Then that was your mistake,” Maris said callously.
Gray swallowed the cold words.
“You fool yourself with friendships, Gray. The boy, the young girl, even the old man… You risk their lives needlessly. We can hold no attachments. They only hinder us, and clout our judgment. In the end, a Ronin is always meant to be a lone,” Maris said.
“Then I am not a Ronin,” Gray said.
Maris laughed coldly, “No, you are not. For if you care about them, you will let them go before you destroy yourself or them. Now, enough lessons for today. Go.”
Gray snorted and turned. As he left the glade, he looked over his shoulder to see the Ronin standing like a statue in the shattered glade.
A Fated Man
DARKNESS WAS FADING AS GRAY LAID his battered body on the ground between Ayva and Darius. A bit of rest is all I need, he thought and within minutes he was drifting off. Moments later, something woke him. He ignored it, grasping for the darkness of sleep when the voice came again.
“Kirin…”
Gray opened his eyes. He wasn’t sure how long he had slept, but it was still dark. Sleep beckoned and his lids grew heavy once more, memory of the voice fading.
“Kirin!”
His eyes snapped wide. “Who is it?” he called, but there was no answer.
Around him he saw the rumbled forms of the villagers. He looked on either side and to see Ayva and Darius still deep in slumber; the rogue’s hand still clutched dagger hidden in his jacket. Again the voice came. But this time, the sound of his name hummed in his ears like an echo in a cave.
He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and rose, covers falling. The cold crept beneath his skin and he snatched his blanket, curling it around his shoulders. The voice echoed again. Grabbing his blade, he stepped over Ayva. He watched the rise and fall of her chest, careful not to wake her.
Tiptoeing through the maze of bodies, Gray stepped past the last sleeping villager into the darkness beyond the camp. With every step, the pendant grew hotter upon his chest. He ignored it and raised his sword that glowed silver, lighting the way.
“Kirin…” the voice called again. In it, he heard affirmation, as if it was telling him that he was going the correct way. Soon enough, he stood before the bamboo thicket where he had trained. Shrugging the blanket off, he stepped forward into the mist. The voice led him left, and right, and then left again, weaving through a labyrinth of fog and bamboo. Maris was nowhere to be seen.
At last the voice stopped.
A figure stepped out of the shadows, tall, slender, and in black.
“Vera. You’re alive! But how? And how did you find me?”
“Our bond.” On his wrist, Gray saw the mark crawl and writhe in the light of the sword. Vera spoke again, drawing his attention, “Even if we both weren’t Reavers, I could find you anywhere, Kirin.”
“Gray,” he corrected remaining at the edge of the enclave. “I’m no longer Kirin.”
“If you insist.”
He shook his head, “How did you survive?”
“Are you disappointed?”
“No, I just…”
She approached, her perfectly sculpted legs flowing out of her dark gown as her hips swayed. “By luck.”
He swallowed. “What happened?”
Vera’s eyes lingered on the blade and a strange look darted across her flawless features. Gray pulled the sword away and her eyes flickered back to his. “Yes well, it wasn’t easy,” she said as she pulled back her black sleeve. Gray recoiled from the sight. Where her first two fingers once were, there was now merely bone. The flesh had been peeled off and a gruesome gash ran up her arm.
“How?”
Vera casually dropped her sleeve, hiding the wound as if to spare him. “At first, when you ran, most of those creatures followed you. In that moment, I gathered enough power to cast a simple spell of light which blinded the rest of the beasts and allowed me to escape, so I thought…” she paused. “The creatures caught up with me. That’s when they did this.”
Gray choked, imagining the horrific scene. “And they let you go? I don’t understand.”
“They tortured me, but it was not me they wanted,” she said calmly.
A shiver traced Gray’s spine. “What would they want with me?”
“Are you really so naive, Kirin?” Gray gripped a fistful of hair and eyed the glowing blade in his hand. Morrowil. “He searches for you with every ounce of his being. He wants his sword back.”
“Kail,” he whispered.
Vera hissed at the mention of his name. “You invite darkness by invoking his name—he is the wanderer and nothing more.”
He shook his head, “No, it doesn’t make any sense, Vera. I saw him. I told you back then,
he didn’t take the blade. In fact, he did the opposite… He warned me of its dark power.”
Vera laughed, it echoed through the woods, it was beautiful but cold and derisive, “Oh sweet Gray. That you question and doubt his methods is simply a tool of diversion… And when you put your faith in him fully, only then will you realize the depth of his madness and the error of your ways. There is a reason why he is called the traitor of mankind. So no sweet Kirin, he may not take it now, but he will have it. And once it is his, the world will drown in the darkness of him and his brothers.”
“His brothers… Are you implying he is a part of the Kage?” Gray asked.
“A mere part?” she laughed, “As much as one’s heart is only a part of their body.”
“He is their leader,” he whispered in realization. How can that be?
Vera gripped his arm. “But you don’t have to worry… I didn’t speak a word, for I would never betray you.”
“Why not?” Gray shouted, pulling away from her. “You should have told them everything! They could have killed you!”
Vera looked hurt. “Kirin, you don’t remember?”
“What are you talking about?”
Her violet eyes narrowed, her face pained as if wounded. “I see… I will show you then why I protected you just as you once looked out for me.” Before he could react, she snatched his wrist. Suddenly, his mind was filled with a vision.
The air was warm and the sun blazed high in the sky. They sat on a grassy bank, just outside the tall city walls. A lone oasis in a dune-filled desert. Their legs dipped into the warm water. Kirin’s stomach rumbled in hunger. They hadn’t eaten in days. “I’ll find a way,” the little girl said at his side abruptly. “Soon we’ll have all the food we want and no one will ever hurt us again.” She turned to him gripping his hand. “I promise.” And Kirin squeezed back.
Flash.
They stood in a packed room as a man spoke, fear pounded in his veins. He shifted in his ragged street clothes that fit loosely on his small body. A powerful voice boomed off the stone walls. Something at his side grabbed hold. Her hand. He looked at her small round face. Her tiny palm was warm and sweaty but he couldn’t be more thankful for it. He gave her a look of confidence, and saw some of her fear fade. Kirin looked back. He would be strong for her, as she had been strong for him.
Gray’s eyes snapped wide, and the images fell. The shrouded forest was unchanged, and Vera was right before him. She was the same, and the same fire still burned in her striking violet eyes. He looked to the sword in his grip. “I trust you, so then what am I to do with this?”
“You must keep it safe. It is prophecy.”
“Damn the prophecy!” he shouted. “That’s all I ever hear!”
A fierce light entered her eyes. “Understand Gray, you can’t give up, for the wanderer must never gain control of the blade. With the power of the sword, he would be able to cross the gates and tear the world asunder.”
He hid a shiver and grabbed Vera’s hand, pulling back her black sleeve to eye her mutilated fingers.
“Did you hear a thing I said?” she questioned.
“Does it hurt?”
She snorted, amused. “You haven’t changed at all, have you? Just like back then.” Her other hand came up, brushing his cheek with her soft, but cold fingers. She lifted his head to stare into his eyes. “You do understand, don’t you? Kail must never touch the blade.”
Gray pulled her sleeve down, hiding the wound again. “This was my fault, but I will make it right,” he vowed as his eyes fell to the blade in his hand and his grip tightened. “Kail will not so much as set eyes upon it as long as I hold Morrowil.”
“Good,” she whispered in a husky voice. “That is what I wanted to hear. You are truly something, Kirin.” Nearing, Vera pressed body against his. It was firm, yet soft. Gray didn’t move. Delicately, she grabbed his face in her hands and kissed him deeply. At last, her soft lips left his and he returned to the moment, finding his breath. “Goodbye, Kirin.”
Vera turned and he grabbed her arm. “Don’t go.”
She smiled, her eyes full of promise, and his cheeks grew hot, “And where would I stay?”
“In the camp, with us,” he answered.
Her fingers grazed his cheek. “You mean with you? In your tent?”
Though his blood grew hot, he met her gaze evenly, “Where else will you go?”
“The woods are shelter to those who seek it. I am no wilting flower, Kirin. I’m more than capable of fending for myself. As for why I cannot join you? It’s a story as old as time eternal. Reavers and Ronin simply don’t mix. Maris would kill me as soon as I stepped foot into your camp.”
“But you said I am a Reaver. Besides, Maris isn’t like that. I could reason with him,” he pleaded.
Vera shook her head with a soft tsk. “The comparison is unjust. You are a Reaver, but you are different than anything this world has ever seen. And Maris wouldn’t listen to reason once he saw me. If you care for me at all, this you must trust me on.” She paused. “One more thing, if the Shining City is not safe, you must flee to Death’s Gate.”
He turned away angrily. “Is that part of my prophecy as well?”
“My dear Kirin, you are the prophecy.”
Gray felt his hands curl into fists at his side, rage coursing through him. He wanted to denounce the prophecy, to convince her to stay, or tell her he didn’t care about his destiny. But when he turned back, she was gone and only the silence of the misty bamboo forest remained. All he could think of was Maris’ last words. Perhaps I am destined to be alone…
As if in response, Morrowil glowed brighter. Gray held the blade close. The sword breathed its silvery luminesce, beating back the shadows. It was now truly his companion, he realized. And as he left the clearing, wrapping the blade back in its cloth, a dark glint shimmered across its surface. He looked again, but it was pure silver. Just my imagination.
Through the last stand of trees, he saw the glow of campfires and he halted at the tree line, bile rising in his throat. He felt no desire for the warmth of others this night; he wanted only to be alone. He slunk down, resting his back against a nearby asp tree. Wrapping himself in his cloak and cradling Morrowil, Gray found solace in the shadows and a strange dreamless sleep.
A Figure in the Snow
IT HAD BEEN SEVERAL DAYS SINCE Gray had seen Vera in the bamboo forest. As they traveled he focused on the treacherous road ahead, trying to distract himself from thoughts of prophecy and the like.
The Lost Road looked as if it had not been used in over a millennia. Higher and higher they traveled winding and twisting. The mountains were thick spires of ice. Their scope and size weighed on his shoulders and he saw others wearing the same look of awe. The soles of the villagers’ boots wore thin. Several times Gray pulled men and women up from the ground, urging them not to stop.
Now they made camp at a cliff’s edge high upon the winding path overlooking the land below. With dawn fading, Gray wove through the last stand of villager’s camps. There was a heavy mist in the chill air reminding him of the bamboo forest. He pulled his cloak tighter. A storm is coming, he knew, feeling it in the air and he moved quickly towards the promise of fire and a warm blanket.
He saw Darius and Mura in the orange glow of a small campfire. They sat on rocks playing a game of cyn. Ayva watched, brows knit in consternation. He glanced to the board and noticed Darius was losing, again. The majority of the pieces on the board were Mura’s usual white poplar figurines, opposed to Darius’ dark oak. Gray smirked. Mura had bested him more than a few times at that blasted game.
Avoiding the glowing lantern that swung from a withered tree, he made his way to his pack, hoping for a bit of cheese or even dried bread, his stomach hollow with hunger. Several wool blankets were rolled tight and stacked alongside the bags that held their remaining supplies. A teakettle sat on the fire and whistled softly. Despite their vagabond lifestyle, Ayva had managed to make the camp feel like home.
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She turned and smiled at him. Throwing back his hood, he returned the gesture, when Mura made a swift move on the board.
“Ah lad, you’re back! How’s the weather this morning?”
Gray shrugged off his damp cloak with a shiver, “Worsening.”
“And scouting? Did you or the Ronin see anything?” Darius asked without turning.
“Nothing but ice and wind.” It was not the least bit comforting to him however, and he had been on edge all morning, feeling as if things were hiding in the shadows.
“I coulda’ told you that,” Darius mumbled.
Mura tugged his dark cloak tight. “Good, good. No news is always the best news when it comes to that sort of thing.” He motioned Gray to sit. “Come have some tea lad. It takes the chill off.” Gray grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders.
“I hope we reach a village soon,” Ayva said. “There’s little left in the way of bread and now we’re dry as a bone as far as meat and cheese goes.”
Mura grunted his agreement, “Aye, let’s hope.”
Gray listened to the sound of the howling wind. Something Maris had said still churned in his mind. “The storm is stronger than it should be at this height and it will let up only when it decides.” The way he made it sound… as if the wind was something more. His stomach growled loudly and the others turned.
Mura raised a furry brow, “Have you eaten, boy?”
“I really haven’t had time. Come to think of it, I don’t think I ate much last night either.”
The hermit shook a sausage-thick finger. “You fool, you’re going to faint if you don’t eat something. You’re going to learn to take care of yourself, even if it’s the death of me.”
Ayva was ahead of him, pulling a half-loaf of frozen bread from the hard ground. Gray suppressed a grimace. The ice kept the mold at bay, but all remnants of taste were sapped in the process, and it always left him hungry. Gray remembered a time when he took for granted a simple loaf of bread. Still, he thanked her, knowing it was the last of their supplies.