Chronicles of Galadria III - Lessons

by David Gay-Perret

  “That’s an excellent idea,” agreed Glaide. Truthfully, everything the monk was saying was thrilling, but sitting there on benches with nothing to do but listen was a bit boring. This would be an excellent chance to continue to learn plenty of fascinating things, all while touring a magnificent place. Kezthrem agreed as well, so the small group got up and began to head toward the main tower. Following Ralon, the master and his disciple climbed several flights of stairs before taking one of the many walkways leading outside again, this time toward the east. It was situated just behind the temple, and the young man noticed that the walkway seemed very long. Unlike the others, which connected different parts of the compound, this one seemed to lead out of the temple grounds, to another place entirely. Glaide noticed that it passed over the forest, then turned toward a peak of Oclin-Fer that jutted out above the green of the trees.

  “This bridge is a point of pride in our temple,” began the monk. “It was constructed a bit later than the rest of the structure by the dwarves and elves themselves. It leads to a tower that is hidden by the mountain. Kezthrem has already seen what I’m about to show you, but I think you’ll find it’s worth it.” The adolescent shot a questioning glance at the monk, but he was ignored, and as the group continued on their way, the man returned to his explanations about the katana.

  “Back to the katana, then. You know many things now, but we still haven’t covered the most important part. Besides the many more or less mysterious powers that Dzen mentioned, the main power of the weapon comes from its ability to use white magic. First of all, you should know that it works much like your own sword. If your magg is with you, she can turn your hatred into white magic, which you can then use.”

  “My master explained all of that,” replied Glaide. “He also told me that in the process, she works like a filter, but also diminishes the initial strength of the rage. I also know that in her place, an eoren of light could be used, but in that case, the energy transformed would be limited by the size of the sphere.”

  Ralon smiled then, and directed his next words at Kezthrem.

  “Your disciple has quite a good memory!”

  “It’s important that he know at least that. Once he finds his magg again, we will have only a little time to cover everything they’ll have to learn.” The monk nodded his head thoughtfully at that. Then, he returned to his original train of thought, and turned back to the young man.

  “White magicians and the eoren of light are the only things capable of giving a disciple of Iretane the ability to use white magic, and then, only through his sword. But of course, you know that it’s impossible to combine the two, right?”

  “Yes, because our swords wouldn’t be strong enough to take in so much power.”

  “And that is the key to it all,” explained Ralon. “The katana takes away that restriction, letting its carrier transform his hatred through both the eoren and his magg.”

  “And...” began the adolescent, “what would that do?” He had seen Tyv in battle, and he couldn’t really picture what could be added to the Blade of Light. Before him, though, the monk’s jaw dropped. He couldn’t understand how the young man could fail to understand the amplitude of his declaration. Kezthrem laughed lightly.

  “Don’t forget that my student did not come from this world. There are many things that seem obvious to us that simply aren’t for him.”

  “True, true,” murmured Ralon, though he looked disappointed that his words hadn’t had a greater impact on the boy. However, he pulled himself together and enthusiastically threw himself into an explanation. “Glaide, there are other forms of magic much superior to the Blade of Light. That is a useful one, of course, but some of your tougher adversaries are capable of withstanding it. Besides which, white magic is a pure magic. Its purpose is to protect and to heal. The stronger your hatred, the stronger the power it provides.”

  “And you’re telling me that these other, superior forms of magic can be used thanks to the katana?” asked the boy.

  “Exactly. So now that you understand what I’m saying, perhaps you can imagine what combining the power of a magg and that of an eoren of light would do...”

  The young man thought for a moment. “Well, I guess, it would make the magic in the sword stronger?”

  “Much stronger,” the monk replied enthusiastically. “Dzen only explained how he used the sword to attack once, so we don’t know what would have happened if he had tried to use it to shield or to heal others.”

  “And what was the result of the attack?” asked Glaide.

  “Well, according to him,” the man replied with a smile, “it was devastating.”

  The adolescent let his imagination run, filled with images of battles filled with hundreds of orks against a single human. He imagined the katana he held beginning to gleam, and then with a great flash of light, all off the monsters being thrown to the ground, dead or in agony. He was too excited to stay out of the conversation for long, though.

  “And what happened? What did Dzen do?”

  “Well, according to his description of the phenomena, it seemed he was able to create what he called a Stream of Light.”

  “How? How did he do it?” Glaide demanded, practically in a frenzy. “My master told me that no one had ever used the eoren of light!”

  “That’s true. He launched that attack solely with the help of his magg. His rage against his enemies that day had reached an incredible level. It seems that the orks had massacred a village practically right in front of him. Thanks to the power of the katana, he was able to stock up such a huge quantity of that energy that it allowed him to create the Stream of Light. According to his writings, he drew his sword before most of the enemy forces. The blade began to gleam, and behind him, his magg focused her energy. He said that the light became almost blinding, it was so strong. Then, almost as if a voice had commanded him, he held his sword vertically next to his head, pointed toward the sky. Then, he swung it so it was horizontal and thrust it forward as though he were piercing an adversary with it.”

  “But since he was facing his enemies, and had not yet engaged in battle, I don’t imagine he was close enough to any of them to strike any of them with a blow like that,” Glaide declared sensibly enough.

  “That wasn’t the point,” replied Ralon mysteriously. “No, because it wasn’t the blade that struck them, but the white magic contained in the blade. It followed the movement of his weapon, and continued on beyond it in a long line.”

  “I see,” whispered the adolescent as he tried to picture the phenomenon. “And the result?”

  “As I said, it was devastating. It seemed that every ork that was touched by that stream of light fell instantly dead.”

  “But that means... You mean he was able to destroy an entire regiment alone!” concluded Glaide, astounded.

  “Incredible, huh?”

  The boy couldn’t believe that such a power could exist, but in the end, he had to admit that here, anything was possible. Once again, the fact that the katana had passed out of his grasp left him with a bitter taste in his mouth. By that time, the small group was just drawing close to the peak, and the adolescent noticed that a passageway was carved into it.

  “The work of master dwarves,” declared Ralon before entering. The master and his disciple followed in silence. Glaide expected to see braziers at the entrance, or torches to light their way, but there were none, and he soon understood why: after they walked for a few yards in darkness, the path turned suddenly, and after the bend, it disappeared behind the rough rock. Once they’d reached the bend, the path straightened again, then travelled across a great cavern. When Glaide stepped into the space, he stopped in his tracks, in awe of the sight before him. Every last inch of the rock seemed to glow in a deep blue color, as if a light was reflecting off of the walls. Immediately, he thought of the forest that they’d travelled through to get to the prayer room; those lights had been so similar. This place had a mysterious and inexplicable draw that left the youn
g man without words. He was finally pulled from his admiration by a sound that he’d recognize anywhere.

  “It sounds like water lapping against something,” he murmured. The dwarves who had excavated the space had built walls against the edges of the path, and had transformed it into a bridge. Glaide approached the edge to see what was below, and found he could make out eddies and swirls. Though the water was not crystal clear, the boy could easily spot fish swimming below.

  “Here, you can see one of the only lakes that exists,” announced Ralon from behind the boy. “It is what ensures our survival.”

  “Right,” began the boy, without turning around, “but how is it possible that there are still rivers and lakes like this? They’re rare, but they do exist, then.”

  “That’s a long story. I’ll let Koeris explain that to you during the week, if that’s okay with you.” The young man nodded, since after all, he was in no hurry. “But this is not what I wanted to show you,” continued the monk. “For that, we have to leave this place.” With that, he continued on down the path, and at the same time, returned to his explanations.

  “So, Dzen was able to call a magic much stronger than any that had ever been seen before, and it was thanks to his magg, his weapon, and his hatred of the monsters. But that isn’t all. He mentioned using this power several other times. What really interests us, though, is what happened a few months later, when the time came for him to confront Baras.” That caught the adolescent’s attention, and he listened much more attentively.

  “Unfortunately, that is also one of the least clear passages in his story. At any rate, he never really described the duel, or even his adversary, but we’re discussing what he did with his sword. Legend says that it was more or less at that moment that his magg was killed, although we don’t know for sure if it was before, during, or after the battle. Whatever the case, this is what Dzen recounted about what happened with his sword: his goal was to transform all of his rage, anger, and all of the most basic emotions of human beings into a light to surpass all others.”

  “Of course, if I remember right...” murmured Glaide, “my master explained to me that the power of the Destroyer lay in his being able to use the energy without filtering it, as a magg does, and to have a quantity not limited by size, as with eorens.”

  “That’s exactly right. What happened next, though, we don’t entirely understand. It seems that he managed to do exactly that, but he didn’t write anywhere how. He explained it with only a single phrase: ‘One must become one with the Light’.”

  The adolescent sighed.

  “It is a bit... concise,” he conceded. “And that doesn’t really explain the white magic that is necessary to defeat Baras...”

  “That’s positively wicked to write so little!” he thought to himself with a tinge of anger. “How did he think that was going to help?”

  “Whatever the case,” declared Ralon, “you now know about as much as we do.”

  The young man nodded. “So, then, this red and gold katana is in the possession of the descendant of Novak, who live who knows where. Its origin is uncertain, and it was given to Dzen by the stranger who brought us Iretane. The sword is similar to the swords of Iretane, but it can’t be made to disappear, and it possesses other powers that are secret. Its main strength lies in its ability to use much more white magic than the normal swords, which lets the one who wields it launch incredible attacks. It’s directly connected to the idea of the Destroyer, and it seems that it is vital if I’m to obtain the force necessary to destroy Baras.”

  The monk and Kezthrem nodded.

  “Great! Now all we have to do is find it, and we’ll have won,” Glaide exclaimed sarcastically. He understood now how critical this weapon was—far more than he had ever imagined—but most of all, he found it hard to understand how someone, even if they were the rightful owner to it, could have taken it, especially if they understood exactly what it was and what it represented.

  Several minutes had now passed since the group had passed out of the tunnel, and from the moment they exited, Glaide had been unable to draw his gaze from the tower in front of them. It rose up above the trees around it like an arrow pointing up toward the sky. It wasn’t actually very tall, but cut off as it was from the rest of the world, and with its sheer majesty, it filled the young man with awe. The stone path that they had followed up until then led straight toward it, but unlike the part in front of the peak and the cave, this part looked much older. Moss covered much of the edge of the trail, and the branches of the oldest trees bent over it, creating patches of shade here and there.

  As they approached the edge, Glaide tried to get a good look at the great pillars supporting the structure, but they were soon swallowed up by the trees. It was late in the day by then, and the tops of the trees began to take on golden tones. No one spoke until they had reached the entrance to the tower. Around them silence reigned, interrupted only by the occasional crack of a branch, or the song of a solitary bird.

  “This place was built by the elves,” murmured the monk before opening the door. Everything was built of stone. The stone had almost certainly been white many centuries earlier, but it had greyed with time. Here, too, moss and lichen were beginning to take possession of the place. The group climbed a simple circular staircase that led to the top of the tower, and nowhere else. As Glaide climbed the last stair, he was blinded for a moment by the sun, which was just reaching the horizon. Here, there were no walls to speak of—only a rail encircled the place, supported regularly with newel posts—so that the light streamed in, and the place took on its flamboyant colors. It was magical. The adolescent watched his master take a seat at the edge in front of him and take in a deep breath of the evening air. A deep smile spread across his face as he whispered, “I’ve missed this place...”

  Ralon, who had also moved away from the stairs, turned to the young man and said, “This is what stands at the border, east of the Known Lands.” The adolescent felt his heart beat faster as he approached the edge. Would he see here, too, an ocean? Or a forest without end?

  Then, Glaide saw it. Under the setting sun, he had the privilege of seeing something that few humans had ever seen. This was nothing like the western limits of the Known Lands, that Ayrokkan had shown him. Here, there was no water, and no desolate land. Only trees, as far as the eye could see. Or at least, that was what he saw before him and to the right, because to the left stood Oclin-Fer, great and majestic. From where he stood, the boy could make out how far back the mountains went, and he was surprised to note that they didn’t continue as far as he had thought: only a mile or so. But, they didn’t disappear as abruptly as they began. Instead, they dropped into lower and lower hills, until finally, they disappeared into the forest before him.

  From the heights of the tower, Glaide could make out a number of rocky outcroppings peaking up above the canopy in different places. Sometimes, it would be nothing more than a naked hill, while at other times, they were proper peaks like he, Ralon, and Kezthrem had just passed through. The young man squinted at the horizon, trying to decide if the green was truly infinite, and he thought he could make out an end to it. It looked like the ground became flatter, as if, miles and miles away, almost in another world, a plain began. But it was so far away, that the adolescent couldn’t say anything for sure. The monk, the master, and the disciple remained there for a long time, gazing at the rare spectacle that the dwarves and elves had given them through their skill, and that Galadria was providing herself.

  Chapter 14

  “HELLO, everyone!” exclaimed Glaide.

  “Hey, how are you?” asked one.

  “Hardworking as always,” noted another with a smile.

  “Why, did you doubt me?” asked the boy jokingly.

  “Not me!” returned the man. “But there are some here who were sure you’d quit before two days were up,” he added, jetting a glance at one of his colleagues, who stared at his feet, embarrassed.

  “Well, then let me of
fer them my condolences...” the boy replied, jokingly. “They’ve just lost their money, after all!” With that, everyone burst out laughing.

  Three days had passed since Ralon, Kezthrem, and Glaide had climbed the tower built by the elves. Since that day, the young man had barely seen his master, who spent most of his time with the monk, talking for hours on end, though about what, Glaide couldn’t say; he hadn’t been included. At first, he wondered what important subjects the two could be talking about that didn’t concern him, but in the end, he accepted it for what it was: his master wasn’t obligated to share everything with him and, though he envied Ralon, who seemed much closer to his master than he was, he decided to set those thoughts aside and do something useful with his days.

  That was why he decided to come regularly to the training room: first so that he wouldn’t lose what he’d learned, naturally, but secondly to take the opportunity to use the weapons they had there. He amused himself, trying out the staff, knives, bows and arrows, and many other sharp, pointy, or even blunt weapons. Along with the reasons he came in with, he soon added that of meeting with the temple guards who were there. Glaide quickly learned that they were very proud of their status as temple guards, but that they were also very easy to get along with. They had great respect for Kezthrem, and so welcomed Glaide immediately.

  His time there had brightened his days bit by bit, and today, he had promised to show them a few of the techniques his master had taught him. The soldiers moved aside to give him room, and he found himself alone on the tatamis in the middle of the room. His clothes didn’t allow him to attach his sword to his belt, so he started off by making his sheath appear in front of him. He took the time to draw slowly, and take pleasure in the feeling that all eyes were on him. Then, suddenly, he threw the sheath behind him, making it disappear as it flew, and took up a guard stance.

  He heard a few admiring exclamations, before he began the first series of movements his master had taught him. The attacks and movements were simple, and he had worked on it so much that he knew it perfectly. He executed the series rapidly, his blows at full power, and without making a single mistake, then he returned to the guard position amidst polite applause from his spectators. “Hmm... It seems they want to see more,” the young man thought. “Here we go!”