The Nameless Slave

by Vitaly Zykov

  Large stone debris appeared instead of trees. Discernible ruins of some houses appeared on both sides of the road. Apparently, the ancient road brought the man into the ruins of an old city. And with every step he who formerly was Yaroslav approached the center of the city. Gradually walls of the houses became more and more decorated with carving. Here and there were lying broken statues of never yet seen animals and birds. The two-legged predator was walking through the rich districts of the former city. Finally the houses parted like the trees had before and the naked man ran onto the town square. His running came to an end. His lungs were working hard. His wheezing breath forced to retreat the grave silence of this place. Yaroslav bent, with his hands on his knees, his eyes were moving from side to side, looking for danger.

  The square was paved with large stone slabs – three by three yards. The ligature of characters of some dead language, covering them, was unique for each slab. Even if Yaroslav could clearly perceive reality, he still would not be able to recognize the characters. The ligature was so thick it left no free space on the slabs. Yaroslav's feet were trampling the messages of an unknown race… Or were they? Could they drawing him into a trap?

  Some threads of Force began to appear under the square slabs. Then they began to tremble, to squirm, interweaving in unimaginable combinations. The square now looked like a large sheet of parchment with some patterns of magical Forces starting to appear. All the energy flows which filled the ancient square, were concentrating, focusing in its center. And there was a grandiose and unique sculptural group. A roving look of the man fell on this group, and ability to think returned to Yaroslav. He became a man again, not only in appearance but in his mind as well.

  Yaroslav had no memory lapses, he remembered everything that had happened since he had started the run. But now he could think and completely controlled his body again.

  – Nuthouse, – Yaroslav gasped, trying to calm his inner trembling. But for some reason he did not succeed in that. – It turns that…

  He could not finish the thought. His eyes examining the sculptural group, caught something familiar, and its meaning became clear. The discovered truth caused a nasty teeth chattering.

  The phrase «sculptural group» did not describe the reality quite accurately. There were only two statues. One of them depicted a rearing centaur. Though it was not a well-known hero of Greek mythology. It was embodied power, rage of Elements, the quintessence of hatred. The body was not like a horse body as it is described in myths. It was a powerful bestial body with clawed paws and a huge barbed tail. Its wool was thick and stiff as wire. The torso twined with muscles was crowned with a lizard head, set low on the shoulders. This creature, this raptor-centaur, stood on his hind legs. Its terrible tail frozen in the air, was helping to keep balance. The forepaws were slashing the air menacingly. The muscles on a quite human torso were cramped because of monstrous tension. Its hands were frozen in a strange gesture, as if gathering Force for the final strike. The mouth was opened in triumph roar…

  Yaroslav blinked to drive delusion away. The statue of raptor-centaur was so real, it seemed that one more heartbeat and it will come alive and lightnings will hit from its hands, and you will hear a triumphant laughter. Yaroslav looked at the enemy of this warrior of an ancient race. And there was… Hisser. Or at least someone of his race. But there was no frantic pride of a Great Magician, a Master of Elements. It was a posture of resignation, filled with bitterness of defeat. The face of the raptor-man expressed hatred and hopelessness, fear and damped rage. And over all that the fatal anguish for the lost race. Nobody inspired these thoughts to Yaroslav, it was not magic influence, but the talent of a sculptor was so great that mere imagination was enough to realize the bitterness of defeat and the winner's triumph.

  Yaroslav realized that these statues were the source of the giant tongue of magic flame. The weaving of power flows was breathtaking in their complexity. Constant movement, pulsation of the highest energies and beating of invisible heart, were attractive and alluring. A vague guess glimmered in the man's brain. Did he go all the way, attracted by this place?! And when he came close enough, he was simply taken under control?! Now Yaroslav looked at the surrounding objects from a completely different side. It was a trap. The trap aimed at raptor-man or his apprentice. But where is a trap there is a hunter.

  Yaroslav rushed from the square, but the characters on the slabs, lifeless before, shone with ghastly light, the air around the prisoner became thicker and viscous. All his movements slowed down, and he froze like a fly in a spider web. The magic web did not enmesh him personally (he had already had such experience and managed to escape), the magic tied the air around, transforming it into something new and unknown. Yaroslav was confused. Feeling of total helplessness overwhelmed him. He had no necessary knowledge and skills, and that caused the darkest despair.

  A disgustful little thought like someone's echo wandered in his head: «You are a worm! Worm! Worm! Obey!»

  «A worm, indeed!» – The idea began to grow, displacing the rest. And then his memory helpfully returned another flashback: a dragon hanging over him, and contempt of a powerful creature towards the man. Roshag shouted that people were worms too, but how did he finish? This memory banished the growing self-abasement. Why is he a worm?! Yaroslav realized that it was an alien thought. Somebody was persistently intruding into his mind. Though this time it was more neatly and skillfully, Yaroslav felt a master's style. And Yaroslav habitually began to fence his mind from the intrusion. And again, the little sun of human mind began to shine. Yaroslav could not make a movement, that is why he went further than usual. He hid his consciousness, refusing even the slightest possibility of body control. All his senses were gone, darkness surrounded Yaroslav's consciousness.

  Then the darkness began to get some bluish tinge. The light of the hostile magic dispelled the darkness. Its intensity increased with each passing moment. Yaroslav had foreseen something like this, otherwise, that light would have washed off his consciousness like an unstoppable wave, dissolving the consciousness and thus destroying Yaroslav as a person. But even having prepared, he withstood with great difficulty. The pressure was getting stronger. At some point Yaroslav realized, with crystal clarity, that he could not resist. And then he did a strange thing, earlier completely impossible for him. He reached somewhere up, away of the hostile forces, engulfing his head, and inexplicably easily left his mortal body.

  The same thing had already happened to him during the ritual, monstrous in its cruelty. Though that time it happened against his will, Yaroslav was simply thrown out of his body, but this time he did it deliberately. From the outside, he looked at his body standing with ridiculously outstretched arms, surrounded by blue glow. Poisonous tentacles of the hostile magic were fumbling in all corners of his body and could not find anything. The magical heart of his Source worked in a strange, mesmerizing rhythm, trying to wash the whole being with ocean of energies. Then Yaroslav instinctively felt what to do. He darted back into his body and tried to adapt to this rhythm. The powerful stream tried to take him away, to wash him off, but what could it do with consciousness, working in unison with it, the consciousness which became part of it. Yaroslav was that stream for indefinitely long. He infused his own magic to this stream and opened his mind to the limit. He disappeared in the stream, and made affinity with it. And all the time he studied, memorized everything until at some point he took control over this magic. A wild delight filled his whole being at that moment. It seemed that yin and yang merged in him, that his soul got its missing half. The feeling of extraordinary wholeness was perfectly amazing. Yaroslav could not understand how he had lived without such feeling before. The magic awakened by the raptor-man, and the hostile magic of raptor-centaur connected, intertwined and penetrated each other. And something new, complete and perfect, grew from this union.

  Yaroslav opened his eyes. Delight was bursting in his breast. He wanted to laugh. Narcotic euphoria of the mighty magic, which coiled its
nest in the depths of his mind, blanketed his eyes. It seemed to Yaroslav that if he jumped, he would fly high and higher, if he shook his hand the earth would crack… And he did a right thing in this moment. The previous experience tempered his mind, and he was able to detect deadly symptoms. Just a bit more, and he could die from excess of magic, he could be simply burn in it. But with a slight effort of will he cut off himself from the still flowing river of bluish magic of the statue. That action caused fury of the alien magic! The bird was ready to escape from the cage. The usual intervention had not worked, and the ancient mechanism prepared to throw the last reserves in fight with the rebel.

  Yaroslav was approaching the edge of the square, step by step away from the stone anthem of alien power. And, as it usually happens, when the long-awaited freedom was one step away, the magic mechanism of Ancients snapped into action. The slab under Yaroslav buzzed from absorbed power. The heart of the blue magic was going all out. Stone slabs were crumbling underfoot. Symbols that had previously covered the entire surface of the slabs, rose up into the air, turning it into environment deadly dangerous for life. The trap, terrible in its power, was shut.

  But Yaroslav kept going forward, no matter what was happening around. His own Source of magic was burning unbearably bright, saturating his body with energy. Yaroslav's Force and the Force guided by the magical device of ancient race, clashed, demolishing each other. Waves of pain were shaking his body, but he kept going. His steps were short, as small as steps of an ant, but he still kept going. The edge of the slab was getting closer. More and more powerful Forces became involved in the fight against the man, but he did not give up. Gritting his teeth, undergoing terrible torments, the will of Yaroslav paved his way. The force obtained with such difficulty was ended, and he walked and walked, burning himself already. The alien will was slowly killing Yaroslav, draining his mental and physical reserves. When the border beyond which lies that Nothing about nature of which no person knows for sure (guesses do not count) had been almost reached, Yaroslav fell outside the damn square. And helplessly fell on the usual cobblestones.

  A quiet rustling sound of crumbling sand was heard behind his back. A shiver ran through his body. His fingers began to frantically scrape the stones. The mind dictated that he had to immediately get up and get out away from this Gods damned city, but he had no forces at all. By some miracle he got on his knees, shaking his head. The world turned upside down was slowly returning to its usual place. The same slowly, listening to the feelings in his body, every moment expecting a burst of pain or loss of consciousness, Yaroslav got up on his feet. He stood for a while. His condition was, of course, worse than ever, but bearable. Slowly, as if he had all time of the world, he turned toward the rustle.

  The picture before him pleased his soul. The sculptural group was gradually breaking down. The statue of raptor-centaur was crumbling into the sand. The upper part of the figure melted like butter under hot sun, and the bottom would not last for long. Yaroslav tried to look with magic vision, but this simple action echoed with such furious headache that he almost lost consciousness.

  – Go to hell. – His dry, broken lips were moving with difficulty.

  He went along the way, heading out of the lifeless city.

  Each step echoed with pain in every cell of his body. Noise in his ears drowned out the surrounding sounds. Sometimes it seemed to Yaroslav that he was walking in fog that is how dizzy he was. Sometimes his mind floated somewhere away, but immediately returned again in one sharp jerk. It was a miracle that he had not fallen down yet, and even had gone outside the city. Maybe it was a small town, or maybe he had been walking for a very long time, Yaroslav did not realize: now he is walking through the city, and next moment he is with great difficulty plodding at snail pace over the ancient pavement winding between the trees. Yaroslav did not remember how long he had been walking. But one thing was certain: coming out of the city, he lost consciousness and fell several times. He was lying for several minutes or perhaps hours, then got up again and barged further.

  Nobody knows how long lasted that path filled with pain, until at some moment Yaroslav awoke from terrible cold and noise of water splashing near his lips. Wild thirst, tantalizing all his nature forced him to submerge his face into the water and to drink it, without thinking about consequences, to drink choking with greed and unearthly delight. The scorching trickles of water fell inside his stomach extinguishing the fire there. This process could go on indefinitely, but his awakened instinct of self-preservation made him crawl ashore and fall helplessly. His eyes closed and Yaroslav fell asleep the first time in a quite long period. His sleep was not exactly quiet, but he slept, and that was not faint, but blessed, healing sleep.

  His awakening was awful. It could not be different, if you sleep on bare rocks, in a gnarled posture and in addition heavy-headed and extremely exhausted. As you make your bed, so must you lie on it. Yaroslav sat up with grunting and looked around. He was on an exactly the same small area with a miniature garden and a spring, like at the beginning of his hard way. A similar area near the road, a stone basin with running water gushing from a spring nearby, and almost the same garden behind fences as before. Paradise.

  His stomach reminded about itself with an angry growl. Slowly getting to his feet, Yaroslav went to the garden. Saliva filled his mouth. Hunger was torturing him unmercifully. Only good food could return him energy. Tearing such familiar fruit with orange peel and apple flavor, he felt as if he went a few months back. He remembered Oleg and the girls, and his escape from the terrible cat. As if his memory had been unveiled. Once again he could think coherently. All the way from the illfated swamp to the ruins of the city he had passed under the strongest magical control. The trap was set either to destroy the representatives of the one particular race of raptor-men and heirs of their magic or for general destruction of all thinking beings. Or maybe it was made for the first task, but with the course of time it turned to the second one. Anything could had happened. So at the moment Yaroslav threw all unnecessary thoughts and started eating. Forces returned with every swallowed fruit, but fullness of his feelings returned too. His muscles began to ache, all tiny scratches to bite, bruises to pain. Therefore, finishing his meal, Yaroslav got into the basin, hoping that the water would wash away all pain and heal his body.

  The water in the stone bath was warm and caressing for his exhausted body. The pain receded, his muscles were filled with strength again. Remembering something, Yaroslav began to inspect his internal reserves. Very easily he managed to enter into the state of Sat'tor. He reinforced the flow of blood, swept off toxins – these actions were uncomplicated and perfectly natural, but the others… An attempt to use magical vision caused head ache again, though not as bad as before, but quite painful. His magic reserves were completely exhausted. He could not take a gray thread of Earth force and a white one of Air. This habitual way of restocking Force was temporarily unavailable. Yaroslav was actually defenseless for any attack. He urgently needed to recover and continue his journey. But, there was a question – where exactly should he go? Yaroslav decided to leave things to chance. The chance might show him the way. A hope to meet at least one man had almost disappeared. Of course, it's hard, but apparently this is his fate.

  After a brief military council with his inner voice, it was decided to have a rest for a couple of days, to gain strength, and then get away from here with maximum speed. The proximity of the repulsive town was very unnerving.

  The recreation did not take two days, but as many as five. Strength was returning very slowly, despite the constant work in Sat'tor. Yaroslav got to the very depths of his body, eliminating after-effects of the monstrous exhaustion. Healing spring water and seven meals a day were doing their job, but without Sat'tor his recovery would have delayed for months. Five days later, Yaroslav felt completely healthy physically, but his magic component was not fully recovered. He was able to perform basic actions with his Force, even to replenish its supply from external sour
ces, but his magical reserves were still growing very, very slow. It seemed that Force, obtained with great difficulty was slipping through his fingers, leaving only some crumbs. But he was not discouraged. By crumbs and drops, but the stock of Force was growing, and with it the magical possibilities of Yaroslav grew too.

  In high spirits, he set off on his journey. Yaroslav chose a simple direction – the road to the east. The mask of predator that nearly engulfed identity of Yaroslav was easily accessible. But now Yaroslav did not lose control of his body even for a second and constantly kept defense of his mind. Soon it became quite a natural act for him that he committed without thinking like breathing or watching. However, he did not forget to hide his presence, covering his mental activity under natural background. So he was moving with his consciousness merged with energy of surrounding trees and with powerful mental shields upholding integrity of his individual.

  His magical opportunities recovered soon. A couple of times he even had to apply them in practice. The whip of Nergal stopped enemies at distant approaches, and the miraculously preserved bone knuckles remained the melee weapon. The main difference was in the fact that now Yaroslav's magic had acquired dark emerald color. The bright spring green produced by every stroke of the power whip, now changed its color to emerald. Aura of the same color was constantly enveloping Yaroslav shining like a beacon in the dark until he learned to hide it. That proved surprisingly easy, it only took him to reel off all his magic into a ball and close it by shields of mind. In case of need, access to the source of Force was available through the pre-built channels. So unwittingly Yaroslav began experiments with his own mind and magical abilities. He began to be put Hisser's words of self-education into practice.