“That’s an interesting strategy, especially the first part, assuming that you could do all of that at the same time. However, if there really was someone else in danger, it would be pointless to expend a great deal of energy to keep yourself constantly between them and your enemies. It would be easier to try to remove them from the field of battle, placing them in safety, then take care of your adversaries. That way, you don’t have to worry about them.”
“That’s true,” murmured the adolescent. “I hadn’t really thought of that.”
“Always be careful, though. No place, even a seemingly safe one, is ever entirely impregnable. You must always keep an eye out behind you. The purpose of moving them would be just so that the person you are trying to protect does not wind up getting in your way.”
Glaide nodded quickly. He’d learned his lesson, and next time, he’d make sure his attacks destroyed the wooden figures.
One evening, the boy heard the tiles of the roof creak. He was about to go to sleep, but, intrigued, decided to go investigate. When he reached the hallway, he chose the external ladder over the circular staircase leading up to the roof. He had never climbed up there before, and wondered to himself just what kind of a view there would be from the highest point of the house. He didn’t doubt that the stranger above was his master, because he couldn’t imagine anyone reaching the roof without Kezthrem noticing.
As he reached the last rung, he could make out the figure of his master. He was standing with his back to his disciple, who joined him, his fatigue disappearing at the thought of the conversation they might have. Kezthrem gazed at the stars, remaining perfectly immobile. Even as his student moved to stand beside him, he remained frozen in place, as though he were a statue. His disciple decided to look at the stars like his master, and as he had done many times since arriving, he stared deeply into the immense darkness above them and then around them. From their vantage, he also had an unobstructed view of their entire surroundings. In the distance, to the west, he thought he could even make out the peaks of Fyth. Feeling his vertigo begin to take hold, he lay down on the roof, fixing his gaze on the stars. It was the older man who finally broke the silence.
“This evening, Glaide, I will respond to your questions. It has now been three months since we have known each other, and since your training has begun. It is more than time for you to have the answers you’ve sought.” He sat down, his gaze remaining fixed in the space in front of him, then added, “So go on, then. I’m listening.”
As he heard that, the adolescent felt his mind empty; he couldn’t think of a single thing to ask. Gradually, though, all of the questions he’d asked himself, then stashed away in the corners of his mind began to surge to the surface. He sat up, taking a few moments to sift through them all. After a few minutes, he finally began, starting at what he considered to be the very beginning.
“Master, who are you?”
Kezthrem let out a chuckle. “That is quite a broad question,” he declared. “But here are a few things that might help you understand me. To start with, you should know that Uziere was my father.”
At that, Glaide jumped. “Your father?” he asked, incredulously. He couldn’t imagine how his master must have felt when he discovered the ruins of Rackk. On the tail of that thought came a more unsettling one: he felt a deep sense of guilt threaten to drown him. “I’m so sorry,” he managed to whisper. “It’s my fault...”
“Come now,” Kezthrem replied with a small smile. “If that were the case, do you think I would have agreed to teach the murderer of my father?”
The adolescent cautiously raised his gaze to look at the man, and when their eyes met, he realized that he had long since been pardoned for his part in that. No, more than that, he realized that he’d never been accused of anything at all.
“So he was your father, then,” he began, feeling a bit calmer. “I didn’t suspect that at all. That would mean, though, that he gave you your sword before he died. And now that I think of it, I don’t believe I ever saw him carry that weapon.”
“That’s true. He gave it to me when I left to go teach, many years ago.”
“So your family must have held a number of masters of Iretane over the years, and from the very beginning.” Glaide contemplated what that really meant, then continued with a deep respect notable in his voice. “From the inception of Iretane. So that means, then, that your ancestor – the one who forged our two weapons – was... the protector that accompanied Novak in his quest, wasn’t he.”
“Now you’re moving too fast. Yes, my ancestor was that famous protector, and his name was Dzen. However, that doesn’t mean that every member of my family became a master of Iretane. I also told you that one of them was a musician. Do you remember that?”
“Right, when you were talking about the shakuhachis. Hmmm.... So that must mean that Dzen gave his katana and my sword to Novak, as gifts. You told me that your ancestor gave the blade to a friend.”
“Yes, that was Bren,” confirmed Kezthrem. Glaide felt less and less keen on sleeping, and he was burning to ask a new question. He didn’t hesitate.
“On another note, you told me that there was only ever one master of Iretane at a time, except for when two generations overlapped, like with you and Uziere. Why?”
The man sighed, and his face took on a guarded look. The questions seemed to have brought up some bad memories. When the adolescent realized that, he wished that he could take back his words. Nonetheless, he waited for an answer, because he did want to know everything, whether it was good or bad.
“Listen well, Glaide,” began Kezthrem, using a grave voice that his disciple had never heard before. “This is one of the darkest parts of Iretane. A master of this technique is above all a protector, just like any disciple, as I’m sure you’ve already guessed. He must be able to use white magic with his weapon to become truly powerful, as you saw with Tyv. That is the one part of your training that we can’t work on, since Emily isn’t here, like I explained before. Then, however, you must wonder where Uziere’s magg was, or mine, for that matter...”
Glaide knew that his suspicions were about to be confirmed.
“They are dead,” the man said softly.
Glaide’s eyes widened, but he said nothing. Images filled his head, all variations of the same scene: Glaide, holding in his arms the lifeless body of Emily.
“No,” he choked out finally. “That’s not possible... A protector can’t lose his magg...” Everything seemed unreal to him. How could a man like Kezthrem have failed? And if that were the case, how could anyone succeed? Glaide suddenly understood the source of the deep sadness that he saw in the somber eyes of his master, every time their eyes met: the sadness that had made him who he was.
“The fact of the matter, my young disciple, is that all of the masters of Iretane, starting with Dzen, were failed protectors. He lost his magg in the battle against Baras. I think it is important that you remember that the term Destroyer was not used for Novak, but rather for Dzen.”
Glaide held his head in his hands. He could feel his heart, beating like a drum against his chest. Why did he feel such pain filling him suddenly? It was because one thing was clear to him: being the Destroyer meant a sacrifice: the sacrifice of Emily.
“Calm down,” Kezthrem said firmly. “It is pointless to imagine something that is so uncertain. There is nothing to prove that it was because my ancestor was the Destroyer that his magg had to die. Remember, every master of Iretane lost their magg, and only one of them was the Destroyer.”
The young man nodded, his head barely moving. What Kezthrem was saying was true, and undeniable. Emily didn’t have to die just because they said he was the Destroyer. That wouldn’t be logical at all.
“Listen, Glaide. Do you want to know what it means to be the Destroyer? Even I am unable to tell you, really; only Dzen knew. But from a purely technical point of view, this is what it would mean: in theory, it would mean that you would be able to use powers far greater than the
simple Blade of Light that Tyv showed you. It would mean that you would have access, through white magic and your magg, to extremely devastating magic, of which, I’m afraid I have no example to show you. This power would come to you directly from Aras himself. It would surpass everything that the ordinary disciples of Iretane can do with white magic.”
“But why me?” asked the adolescent. “I’m from another world entirely. Why me, and not one of the many, excellent warriors who already roam this world?”
Kezthrem sighed. “That I do not know. Only the guardian knew. Though you should also know that that man wasn’t really a man. He was actually a half-elf. His lifespan was much greater than our own, which let him study the Book of Eternal Twilight long enough to understand its secrets. The Forest of the Worlds was never a place that anyone visited often, but when the elves lived among us, they took care of all travel between worlds. The guardians always came from that race, because with their long lives, they had the time to learn that magic. It was a blessing on all of us that that man remained among the humans. He truly was the last guardian.” Silence fell on the two. The boy understood now how much that man had changed the future, and not just his own. He had brought hope to the world.
“Even if we don’t know why you were chosen,” continued the man, “or by who, or even why, then here is one certainty in all of it that I can give you: the role of Destroyer is a symbolic one, above all else. That is not everything that there is to know, but I have told you everything I know on that subject. All that remains today is what the word means for the world: the sole fact that you exist will push mankind to fight for itself. It will be enough for you to simply be you.
The Destroyer is nothing more than a title that is given to someone. In any case, it doesn’t dictate how you should act; be yourself, and live according to your own principles. If one day you find yourself imbued with an excess of strength and power, then, and only then, should you confront Baras. Don’t forget, Glaide: what we do matters little if we don’t believe in it. Believe in what you do, and in the decisions you make. Your actions should be dictated by no one but yourself.”
Silence fell again, this time hanging heavily over the two for a long time. What he had to do was clear to the young man. He still didn’t know how he could destroy Baras, or when such a situation might occur, but he knew for sure that, for now, he should continue to do what he had done since he arrived: follow his heart. He would finish his training, find his friends, and together they would go to speak to the barbarians, the elves, and once again, the dwarves. And after that? Well, he’d think about it later. Anyway, he knew that many things would happen before he’d reach his current objectives and that they would probably lead him to discard any plan he might prepare now. He remained there, lying on the roof, calm. One last question came to mind. It seemed silly, but he asked it anyway.
“Master, who forged those ancient weapons – the ones that were capable of holding magic?”
Kezthrem had already gotten up, and was on his way to the staircase leading down to the floor below. He stopped anyway, turned back to his student, and replied, “The dwarves and the elves.” Then, he headed down the stairs, the sound of his footsteps gradually receding into the distance.
“Of course,” thought Glaide. “It always comes back to them...” He muffled a yawn, told himself it was time to be in bed, and headed there directly.
Chapter 28
TIME passed. Glaide continued to make progress, and had several opportunities to engage in conversation with his master, sometimes in the evening, or during meals. He took great joy in the conversations, and in learning more about the kind of man that Kezthrem was.
Once again, Kezthrem attacked him during the night, and again, he failed to defend himself. However, he realized that he’d made progress: this time, he’d clearly heard the door between their rooms opening. His tired brain simply hadn’t understood what that meant, and rather than jumping to his feet, he had simply tried to go back to sleep.
The master and his disciple also confronted each other a number of times, one on one, in combat. Glaide never won, but several times, he managed to at least make it difficult for his master, thanks to a few well-placed attacks. More than ever, he felt absorbed in what he was doing, and though his mind often turned to his friends, he still managed to remain focused on his training.
As mid-December arrived, Glaide became aware of a problem of significant size: it was the time of year to look for a gift for his master. Did the holiday even exist here? Probably not, but he really didn’t care; Christmas was a tradition, and whether it came from another world or not, he wanted to continue it! He decided to ask his master for a vacation day, so that he could go down to the village to look for something. At the same time, he offered to purchase everything they needed, in an attempt to not draw any suspicion.
Luck seemed to be with him, because Kezthrem agreed immediately, without asking to come with. It was a golden opportunity. However, the young man soon discovered the reason for this willingness: the day he had chosen was also the anniversary of the death of his master’s magg, and he wished to visit her grave.
The young man soon found himself on his way to the village, once again weighed down by gigantic bags. He took the usual route, and when he reached the top of the hill leading towards the village, he let out an admiring gasp: before him stood a thick wooden wall, encompassing the entire city. “They’ve really done it,” he thought with a smile. He found that he had to present himself directly at the gate in order to enter, which he did, all while continuing to admire the work. That wasn’t the only change, though, he quickly noticed. Along with the wall had come other defenses. Guard towers stood tall, manned constantly by archers. A walkway at the top of the wall resonated with the sounds of armed guards, and gatekeepers stood guard at the entrance to the village. When the young man reached the guards, they greeted him politely, and by name. He didn’t have a chance to ask how they knew his name, though. A voice that he knew well interrupted him before he even began to ask.
“Here you are, ready for your usual visit.” It was Gelden, the city’s leader. “But I don’t see Kezthrem.”
“No,” replied the adolescent. “I’ve come alone. He was... busy.”
The man raised an eyebrow, but didn’t press the issue. “So, then, what do you need this time?” he continued good-naturedly.
“Well, actually, along with our usual provisions, I’d like to buy a gift for my master.”
“A gift?” asked the man, surprised. “Why?” The young man felt embarrassed, and unsure how to explain that he wanted to celebrate a holiday that didn’t exist here... His response came with a deceptively calm voice.
“Oh, it’s a bit complicated. Just something between a master and his disciple.”
“Hmm... I see,” replied Gelden, though he obviously didn’t see at all. “Do you know what sort of gift you’re looking for?”
“Oh, yes, I thought maybe a nice knife, that he can use for carving the shakuhachis that he sells.”
“Right, then. Let’s hop to it.” The old man led Glaide through the roads and between the houses that were still under construction. On the way, he kept a conversation going. “Tell me, how is your training coming? When your master and I met that first time, we spoke of you a great deal. I have to admit, I’m flattered that he considered me a worthy confidant for the fact that you are... the Destroyer.”
Glaide wasn’t sure how to respond, and after a bit of bumbling, he finally managed to say, “Please, keep that between us. I feel as though there are already far too many people who know that, and I don’t want to give them false hope.”
“False hope?” exclaimed the man.
“It’s just that... Well, training is difficult, even if I feel like I’m making progress. And it’s such a massive task, and to be perfectly honest, I don’t really know where to start...”
The older man looked at him for a moment, and the young man caught a glimpse of sadness in his eyes.
“Damn it,” he thought, biting his lip. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t want to destroy the faith they have in me...” However, he’d misunderstood the source of that sadness, something he understood as soon as his companion began to speak.
“You are young, and yet so much weight has been put on your shoulders. How is it that we have been reduced to destroying the life of a child to save ourselves?”
Glaide had no immediate response. Those words reached deep into his soul. He knew that they were true, almost as soon as he heard them. The mission he had been given left no room for the carefree tranquility and idleness of childhood. The destruction of Rackk had already been a great shock, but the worst was yet to come. In his mind’s eye, he saw before him an adolescent of his own age, declaring that he would sacrifice his life for the world, not by dying, but by doing something even more difficult: choosing to live. However, he couldn’t picture himself in that scene; he was no typical adolescent. No, the mission that he’d been given wasn’t such a great weight to him, because he felt he owed them that much for just giving him the chance to discover Galadria. In his eyes, it was the opportunity of a lifetime – a chance to live a legend. He had already experienced difficult times, the worst of which, without a doubt, was being separated from his friends. But the hope of seeing them again gave him the strength to move on, and the joy he felt simply at seeing everything around him left him no doubts: he was happy.
“Don’t worry about that,” he said gently. “It’s difficult to explain, but you should know that this quest doesn’t weigh so heavily on me. It’s pointless for you to agonize over this for me.”
Chronicles of Galadria II - Encounters Page 20