Chronicles of Galadria I_The Other World

by David Gay-Perret

  “We’re flattered to be the center of so much attention,” said Glaide, “but after all, we are only a couple of maggs and protectors, and the Guardian told us that those are not so rare here.”

  Drekhor seemed about to say something, but then he seemed to think better of it, as though he had almost revealed something that he was supposed to guard as a secret. He took a few seconds to think about what he was going to say, before he continued.

  “It has been years since anyone has come from another world, and it is for this reason that you’re unusual. But whatever the case, to the rest of the people, you are simple protectors accompanied by their maggs. You should also know that this village reports to no one. We occasionally receive orders from the king, but most of the time we act perfectly autonomously. Our only obligation is to inform our sovereign of what goes on here.”

  Just as the final words were pronounced, an alarm sounded. The young people didn’t know what it signified, but in a few seconds, the general and a handful of soldiers moved to take positions above, on the wall. The teens climbed the stairs to follow them. From their position, they had an unobstructed view of their surroundings, and particularly of a somber shadow that approached.

  “Are those orks coming our way?” asked Glaide. Drekhor responded with a nod of the head. With unsettling speed, all of the soldiers took their posts; the archers stood with arrows ready, and the horsemen sat in their saddles. The general advised the four friends to return to the interior of the village. Still at the ramparts, Glaide, Jeremy, Emily, and Gwenn, merely moved closer to the doorway. They didn’t really know what awaited them; it didn’t seem like this could be a large battle, as their assailants didn’t seem very numerous. But, after all, perhaps the small battle that was coming could suddenly turn to carnage. Whatever the case, for now they had no task or place in this. After a few minutes, the four young people found they were able to more precisely count the number of aggressors: fewer than a dozen.

  “But that’s hardly anything,” exclaimed Jeremy. “Why is everyone so agitated?” The answer quickly became obvious: they realized that the archers could barely keep themselves upright, and the soldiers were hardly capable of marching in a straight line. Fatigue had ravaged them more than the teens could have supposed.

  “Ten orks. We could easily take them,” declared Glaide with a firm tone.

  “Yes, but we should be prudent. Last time, you were injured, and there were fewer of them.”

  “That’s true, but now we know their technique a little better. And plus, I want to know if we are capable of fighting them. We have a death to avenge.”

  “Then, I’ll follow you.”

  “Let’s go!”

  They left the wall, regaining solid ground in record time. No one paid attention to them, and they slipped out through the gate, which had been left ajar, in case the horsemen were given an order to charge.

  “Be careful, you guys,” cried Gwenn.

  “I don’t want to have to take care of a cadaver,” added Emily.

  Glaide smiled; it was nice to be able to act as he wanted, and live as he thought best. Far from realizing what he was doing, he had only a single idea in his head: he wanted to use his sword again. More than anything else, that sword bore witness to his eyes that he now belonged in a new world, and was beginning a new life. He felt a rush of joy in his heart and in his mind, then he ran into combat.

  The two friends drew rapidly away from the village. Soon they could distinguish the hideous heads of their adversaries; they could not only hear their cries, but they could also detect the strands of saliva that dripped down and flew away on the wind. They made an insane amount of noise, but the protectors were still able to clearly distinguish the sound of the door of the village opening behind them, and the distant sound of horses galloping.

  At that moment, Glaide began to feel fear replace his excitement, bit by bit, though he tried vainly to curb those fears. For a moment he had thought himself capable of vanquishing his enemies; what arrogance on his part. The creatures that stood before him could certainly kill him with a single blow!

  “What are you doing? You’re the one who wanted to deal with them, so now get moving,” cried Jeremy. The two groups collided in the middle of the dust cloud kicked up by the many pairs of boots, and the adolescents could detect nothing besides hearing the cries of rage. They swung their swords about them and struck their enemies – or at least they thought they struck them; they came to that conclusion only because they could feel the vibrations in the swords that spiraled down to their hands and arms. Just as the dust settled, the cavaliers smashed into the group. Under the effects of this charge, three orks fell, propelled forward by lances that ran through their chests. Three other monsters lay on the ground, completely decapitated. The four others had managed to approach the village and were soon cut to pieces by the remaining warriors.

  With no additional formality, and in a dead silence, two of the horsemen took the teens on their horses and brought them back to the village. Glaide and Jeremy were shaken, and a few small cuts marked their faces. They gazed steadfastly at their clothes; though not reduced to shreds, they didn’t look particularly good. In addition to the enormous gash in the arm, Glaide’s sweater was now covered in small tears caused by blades. Jeremy’s pants seemed rather dirty, and were sprinkled all over with drops of dark red.

  “My mother would kill me if she saw this,” he sighed. “Blood never comes out in the wash.”

  “I think we’re probably lucky that there is no more damage than that,” responded his friend.

  “We could purchase some new ones, when the chance presents itself.”

  The general approached them then, saying, “I don’t know how to thank you. You risked your lives to help us.”

  “Exactly the contrary: it was your men who saved us,” responded Glaide. “We barely escaped being injured ourselves. We would have certainly been killed if you hadn’t been there!”

  “Perhaps, but I thank you all the same, from the depths of my heart.”

  The young man hesitated before saying something to Drekhor: in the middle of the chaos that had accompanied the battle, he thought he had heard an ork cry, “Hey! He the man we look for!” He was sure of nothing, but Jeremy also remembered hearing something of the sort. His friend, with a motion of his head, encouraged Glaide to ask about it, which he did.

  “Excuse me, general, would it be possible for us to speak... in private? Along with the two girls accompanying us, of course.”

  “Naturally. Follow me. Soldiers, keep an eye on our surroundings. We have perhaps not yet finished for the day.”

  The men saluted him and went back to their positions, then the leader of Rackk led the three friends to a pavilion just beside the camp. The interior had a classic appearance: it contained a mattress, a small table and a stool. Boxes of food were stacked up in a corner.

  “This room is for the soldiers to recover, so they can take their next turn at the guard. So, then, I’m listening.”

  “Well,” began Glaide. In a few words, he recounted what had happened. The general began with a bright expression that became conspicuously expressionless. The young people looked to each other, wondering what in this announcement could have pleased the man, but none dared to ask the question.

  Drekhor thought for a few moments, then declared, “If that is really what he said, we have two things to fear: the first is a massive offensive against our village and its inhabitants. Apparently you are being searched for, and your anonymity is not as complete as we had hoped, which would explain the presence of the orks that killed the Guardian. I’m quite surprised, however, that these orks seem to have addressed themselves directly to you, Glaide. The four of you are a group, but if what you say is correct, it seems like they’re only interested in you, yourself.

  “This brings me to the second fear, which directly concerns your survival. If these green skins want to kill you, Glaide, then they’ll do anything to accomplish th
at, and you represent a danger to your group. And honestly, you’re not strong enough to do anything against that; at the moment, it would be impossible for you to push back all of your enemies, and your mind is not ready to support the fact that three lives depend entirely on you. So it is imperative that you and Jeremy join our training school to learn how to handle a sword as quickly as possible, or else you will certainly be condemned to die.

  “Your maggs should remain your priority, however. That is to say that if the orks attack it would be pointless for you to stay to help us; you should leave for another village to continue your studies. I can show you a map to prepare you for what is to come.” The discussion ended, and it was with a profound sense of disquietude that the young people left Drekhor. Glaide couldn’t truly comprehend that the man had just predicted the destruction of the village because of them. He couldn’t imagine how this place, almost a paradise to him, could, the next day, be turned into a ruin, and he was filled with anger at the idea of having to feel fear at the face of his enemies, and to be incapable of killing them. At that moment, although everything was calm around him, he had only one desire: to take his chances and destroy those enemies. He felt that disagreeable sensation one feels when they must leave something at a dissatisfying conclusion, and when one wants to try again, certain they’re capable of better.

  Chapter 6

  AND that was how Glaide and Jeremy found themselves joining the school of Iretane. According to the general, the school dealt specifically with a technique that was little practiced, but one of the most devastating fighting techniques. Created long ago, it was today taught by only two masters – one here in Rackk, and another in the capital – and it had been created specifically for protectors. Drekhor didn’t know a great deal on the subject, but he had heard, from the mouth of the master that taught in their village, that the school was based on the principle of using the effect of surprise, and that at a very high level, it even allowed its user to make full use of the maggs’ power. Another reason, no less important, for the young people to join this school was that it was the only one that trained the skill of sword fighting in the entire village. So in other words, they really had no choice.

  The day after their discussion with Drekhor, the teens, guided by the general, presented themselves at the dojo at the appropriate time to discover what awaited them. They were positively stupefied at the sight of the impressive structure before them: made of pale wood, it appeared new, even if the floorboards proved otherwise. Made in the oriental style, its entry was made up of a massive overhanging roof, with a placard indicating the name of the school. Before the majesty of it, the four friends could do nothing but admire the structure in silence.

  The military leader moved ahead of them and entered. The interior was also of wood, and the waxed floorboards nearly allowed the visitors to see their reflections. The room was spacious – nearly forty feet by forty feet. In the back, the teens could see wooden sabres, wooden staffs, and all sorts of weapons that they weren’t familiar with, but that they supposed were for training. Drekhor removed his boots, then advanced across the floor boards. The adolescents imitated his movements. The place seemed to be deserted. The general moved until he was in the center of the room. Silence reigned, and the young people let their thoughts wander in this place where, it seemed, no one else was present.

  “It’s incredible,” thought Glaide, in complete happiness. “I always wanted to have a room like this one to learn sword fighting in. With a master who could explain everything, and with whom I could meditate on life under a setting sun...” The beauty of that place, the sense of magic that it gave off, and the nostalgia that he felt... All these emotions overwhelmed the young man, who felt tears of joy come to his eyes. Now, at last, he could see before him what he had always hoped for, and he was finally happy.

  A sudden noise, unobtrusive, but nonetheless clearly perceptible, drew the group from their reveries. They all turned towards a wall through which a man burst into the room. Actually, he didn’t come so much from the wall, as from behind the wall; the vertical planks of the wall were so well positioned, none of them had even noticed the door in it! The stranger had bare feet and wore a simple Japanese kimono, black on top, and brown on the bottom. He advanced towards them, smiling. He was older – about sixty, perhaps – but he seemed to exude strength and well-being. His grey hair was pulled back into a knot at the back of his head, and he held a sword in his hand that looked much like Glaide’s.

  The young man stared deeply into the eyes of the man, looking to see if the man was able to hold his gaze, and he was not disappointed: the stranger never blinked, instead meeting the adolescent’s gaze with a look of great determination, courage, wisdom, and deep intelligence. Glaide again felt overwhelmed with happiness at the mere presence of such a man before him. Immediately he recognized him as the master; whatever this man asked of him, he would do. Through this simple look, he had been able to see all of the greatness and strength of spirit of the stranger. The stranger spoke, saying, “Good day, my friends. And to what do I owe the honor of your presence here?”

  “Good day, Uziere. Let me present Glaide, Emily, Gwenn, and Jeremy to you. They are the ones we’ve been waiting for; they’ve come from the Other World. I’m bringing them to you to be trained – if you are willing, of course. They should learn the art of Iretane as quickly as possible. Their destiny is not to remain here, and we should prepare them as best we can in the time that we have.”

  “If what the Guardian said is true – and I believe it is – their training is of the essence. These young people must survive at any cost...”

  The man called Uziere stopped himself, and Glaide thought he’d caught a glimpse of Drekhor giving him a look heavy with meaning that Glaide could not understand. Again, he found the conversation strange: in what way was their training more important than anyone else’s? And why didn’t the general want the master of Iretane to finish his phrase? The latter didn’t seem to mind, and addressed himself directly to the teens.

  “We’ll soon see what merits you have. Take up a wooden sword – they’re at the back of the room – and leave your current weapons there.” The two boys remained silent, and after leaving their swords in the corner, they each took up a saber. The floor creaked lightly under their feet. Glaide was euphoric. The weapons were made of very solid, dark wood. A poorly calculated blow could easily cause death or injury. They would have to be careful. Not wanting to make their future master wait, the two boys picked up the weapons and returned to their previous places.

  The man, wielding his own weapon, told them to reproduce his movements as carefully and precisely as they could. The teens acquiesced and took up on-guard positions, holding their swords in front of them, even with their chests. The man stepped back with his right foot, bending his leg to support himself. At the same time, he raised his arms, holding his weapon in both hands, and making a half circle, bringing the guard of the weapon to eye level. He looked straight ahead, holding the blade of the sword near the right side of his face. He kept his back to the two friends so that they could more easily copy his movements. The teens tried their best to reproduce the movement. They had each practiced martial arts, and the position of the legs was easy to adopt. However, the arm movements were another story entirely: once they’d reached the position, their swords refused to be still. Such a weakly held sword would do nothing to deflect a blade, and it would instead be struck down, as would the person behind it.

  For several minutes, they attempted to reproduce the technique, under the amused regard of the general and the two girls. But the weapons, even made of wood, had a certain amount of weight, and soon the arms of the two boys began to tire. In Glaide’s opinion, it didn’t mark a very auspicious beginning for their training. The man abandoned the position, but ordered the adolescents not to move. He looked them over one at a time, though his face gave no sign of his thoughts.

  Glaide tried to concentrate on a single point so that he wou
ld forget the pain that sawed through his shoulders and arms. He was successful, and managed to ignore the pain, but because of his concentration, he never saw the weapon coming: the sword swished through the air and stopped a hair’s breadth from his neck, accompanied by the cries of terror of the two girls. The teen roused himself from his stupor and moved his weapon to a vertical position, but he was perfectly conscious of the fact that had the combat been real, his head would now be rolling on the floor. His dismay awakened sadness, fear, and despair in him. The fear of letting death come so close, sadness at the weakness of his technique, and despair as he thought of all that awaited him. There was nothing to do but to leave and find a new master and a new school... But suddenly, a cry roused him from his thoughts.

  “What are you doing? You’re not dead! So attack, fight, defend your life!” his master berated him. The concentration of combat shone through his gaze, and perhaps also a small glow of mischievousness. Incredulous, Glaide was nonetheless overwhelmed with joy. All was not lost! He attacked with renewed enthusiasm. Each of his strikes was parried, and every counterattack of his adversary hit its mark, though he tried his best to ward them off and dodge them.

  During this time, Jeremy – completely petrified by the misfortunes of his friend – had let down his guard. Uziere took advantage of that to strike against his wooden sword with a blow that vibrated down the sword, reawakening the fatigue in his members. This was followed by a blow that swept just over his head, cutting off a few pieces of hair in the process. It was too much for him, and Jeremy fell to the floor. Ignoring him, Uziere turned his attack back to Glaide. Seeing that, Jeremy leapt back up and attacked.