A Record of Ash & Ruin: The Grieving Lands

Book 2: Chapter 17: Shaping

In the days of yore, when our forefathers roamed the untamed lands, they were beset by trials and tribulations at every turn. Theirs was a state of perpetual loss and unremitting suffering, and yet it was in those primordial epochs that our greatest triumphs were wrought, for they were forged in the crucible of the world, and honed to a razor's edge by the very forces that sought to break us.

To walk the path of the sword is to subject oneself to the most grueling of trials, to cast off all that is superfluous and to lay bare one's very essence. It is to embrace the void, and to become more by becoming less, shedding all worldly trappings and vanities in pursuit of the ultimate truth.

- The Living Sword by Fen Vaigorus circa 520 AC.

We traipsed back and found Kidu looking pensive as he sat on his heels. He met us with a simple grunt. Bathed in the glow of the torchlight, he resembled an armored bear.

"Hail, Kidu the Raider!" I greeted, in a jesting tone, a friendly smile gracing my lips.

"I see you've returned with the spoils of war. Who did you spar with this time? Tested your deadly flail?" he retorted, his voice deep and gravelly.

"With coins, and I can only report that they had me at a disadvantage," I replied, "But I hope to gain something from my monetary loss, a most dire situation. Our young friend Larynda needs something to occupy her restless mind and body. Maybe learning a little of the path of the spear would serve her well," I chuckled, tossing him one of the staves.

Turning to Larynda, I noticed a hint of annoyance on her face, which coaxed a quiet chuckle out of me. It's about time you earned your supper, I mused, lobbing the other stave toward her.

Amon Vanes had significantly shaped my belief of not depending solely on magic. Focusing only on her magical prowess would not serve her well, as a degree of martial skill was necessary on the challenging road that we tread. Furthermore, with our team one man short, neither Kidu nor I could protect her all the time.

She fumbled for a moment, almost missing the catch, as if the shaft of wood was a live snake. However, she was finally able to tame the beast and shot me a petulant look, which I chose to pointedly ignore.

"I leave Larynda in your capable hands, Kidu. I need to discuss plans with the caravan master, both for the immediate future and for tonight," I informed the north man.

Without warning, he struck at the girl, but with none of his usual liquid speed. Larynda, to her credit, dodged the blow. I could see an intense look of concentration as she counter-attacked with her own practice staff. Kidu simply let her attack him, quick in his defense but slow in his attack, and soon the sound of wood striking wood began to pick up in its rhythm.

Seeing that my work here was underway, I turned away to see to my own business. I would have to remember to cast an Identify spell on Larynda later to see if one training session had been effective. Walking away from our wagon, I sought for the woman drudge, who had taken away my donkey, for information on where I could find Laes.

I found Patches a few minutes later, happily munching on what I assumed to be oats alongside some placid ankylosaurids. Fascinating creatures, I mused, truly marvelous. Save for the three pairs of limbs, the resemblance to the creatures from the ancient past of my world was uncanny. I simply couldn't resist casting an Identify spell on one of these six-legged beasts.

Xaraur - (Great Lizard lvl.10) Health 462/465 Stamina 65/103

Mana 2/2

The categorization of these creatures was shocking. Naturally. Of course this fantasy world would have dragons, I chuckled, a little bitterly, to myself. This new discovery only added to my general stress. If these were the 'lesser' and 'proto' versions, then I had no desire to face 'true' dragons anytime soon. Yet another peril to add to the growing list of things that could potentially end my life. Still, the people in this world somehow managed to survive, and I would do the same. On the bright side, they seemed to use these creatures as everyday beasts of burden, so there was some comfort in that.

I gently rubbed my donkey's forelock and took the time to look her over, just enjoying being in the animal’s simple company. Engrossed in her meal of oats, she barely registered my presence. After a few minutes spent affectionately petting my companion, the drudge, the woman who had taken Patches before, approached me.

"She is a good creature. Quite intelligent and very well-behaved. Oh yes, Master Harevor told me to inform you that the evening meal will soon be ready. I will see to the rest of your donkey’s care," she said, bowing low in a clear gesture of polite dismissal.

I took the hint, returning her bow and voicing my thanks. Then I remembered I still had business with Laes. The old slattern had almost tricked me. "Speaking of Master Harevor, could you tell me where to find him?" I inquired.

"Sir, you can likely find Master Harevor in his tally wagon, yonder," the drudge answered, gesturing towards a distinct wagon embellished with gold paint on its edges.

I offered another bow and repeated my thanks before heading toward the wagon. Although I was making good progress, I became distracted. Involuntarily pivoting towards the scent of cooking, I found myself losing a few moments. People flowed around me, and realizing I was in the way, I hurried toward Laes’ wagon.

Eventually, I reached my destination and rapped my gloved knuckles on the door. Once, twice, and then on the third knock, a familiar tenor voice echoed from within. I opened the door, climbed the steps, and went inside.

“A good evening to you, master Gilgamesh of Uruk. To what do I owe the pleasure?” said a busy-looking Laes, glancing up only to confirm my presence, from a small desk bolted onto the floor of the vehicle.

The interior was filled with all sorts of things, foreign and exotic. A large chunk of Zajasite hung from a chain attached to the ceiling of the cabin, its luminescence a step above the stones that had been handed out to the guards and sentries outside. In a corner were the horns of some sort of creature. Hanging over them were a pair of delicately curved swords in scabbards made from shimmering scales.

Noticing my interest, Laes decided to comment as he continued to work, “Shearwater blades from the old Land of Streams. I doubt their like can be found anymore.”

“Ah, that is interesting. May I?” I inquired as I moved closer to the weapons.

Laes simply nodded, giving me permission, and I drew one of the swords halfway from its scabbard. Near the guard, at the base of the blade, was a highly stylized emblem of a strange, yet familiar, insect. The metal itself was not the silver of sharp steel I had been expecting, but a dull stately bronze. Only a ceremonial antique, I concluded to myself as I put the weapon back in its place. Not a potential upgrade.

“Magnificent. Wonderful pieces. However, to appreciate such fine weaponry is not the purpose of my visit. I wish to ask you about the plan for the road ahead. I have not traveled this way before and I would know of it,” I asked simply, wanting to cut into the meat of the matter.

“Yes, of course. We will be traveling along the green road through the Whispering Wastes. I would have liked to have stayed in the city of tents for the first rains, but as you can see, a measure of haste was forced upon us…” he explained, looking at me straight on. When no answer was forthcoming, he simply continued with his explanation, “we will make for the Rump, the hills across the horizon. There, we will wait out the rains of the Weeping. Only after the rains, can we travel across the Wastes. Our Ankhset feels the call of her element too strongly to make an earlier crossing, so now we must wait for the rains to pass. I fear she is on the last steps of her path and the finding of her bliss. We must shelter her from it, as much as possible in any case. I owe her that much at least.”

The master of the caravan spoke to me as if I was an experienced hand, and knew what he was talking about. Had he grown soft in the head or was throwing random things at me to gauge my reaction? Could it be that he believed I knew something that he did not? Something that could shed some light on this dilemma that he now faced? He paused for a moment, looking as if he was considering a different possibility. I kept my face as devoid of emotion as possible as he continued with his complaint, “Her children are still far too inexperienced to be of much use. Bah! Crossing the Wastes before the Weeping finishes, even with the most powerful mages from the college, would still be suicide. Of course, any who cross without proper preparation would be but fodder for the great worms,” he griped, the stress and weight of decision evident in his voice.

“I see,” I said, ruminating on his words and feigning an understanding I did not possess. All of these terms were confusing and they would require further explanation, at some point. But for some reason, I did not want to show my ignorance to Laes. Was this foolish male pride, of all things?

Still, more information was required, so I decided to ask a pertinent question, “Tell me of the Wastes? I have never heard nor seen their like first hand.”

“Ah, the Wastes,” sighed the middle-aged man, his brow furrowing in thought before putting down his long feathered quill, “I have traveled across the bone sands more times than I had a wish to. The Dust trade is a profitable one, but the route one must travel to acquire it is oftentimes fraught with danger. Still, many brave the great desert, for the Dust of Al-Lazar is in great demand across all the lands and can command a high price. A warning to you, partaking of the Dust is a joy unlike any other, but leaves the soul empty, save for a yearning that can never be fulfilled. The world will seem to be duller, a little more hollow, unless you take in more and more of the Dust. Ah, In my youth, I did many questionable things in the pursuit of wealth before I found… no matter. Just know, I barely trade in that substance now. Forgive me this digression. Enough of the Dust, we were speaking of the crossing the Wastes” he said, steepling his fingers, a tension filling him and adding itself to the air of the wagon.

"The perils of the Wastes are manifold, but travelers fear none as much as the dreaded sand worms. In southern lands bordering the Wastes, they're known as earth dragons. Long ago, the elves termed them Sand Fathers, or Hul Abba. Such are the trifles one gathers on the road. Only the presence of running water deters the worms, and only on the verdant path, the green road, can a caravan pass with some semblance of security. Yet, even then, when roused, the worms have been known to attack," he paused momentarily, studying my face to ensure I grasped the gravity of his words. I merely nodded in comprehension, awaiting his continuation.

"Every crossing is a risky venture, and all pray for heavy rains for the season. We'll hold up on the Rump, a moon's journey from here, gauging the rainfall. Anhkset will indicate whether we can safely cross or if we're destined for a perilous passage. There, we'll bide our time for the emergence of the river, the water that will guide us across the Wastes to Al-Lazar. If fortune is on our side, heavy rains will persist here in the Grieving Lands. With the Goddess' tears abundant the river will flow deep and strong. I will have to pray for that. Damn that Hamsa! The obligation he has foisted upon me gives me no other choice but to do so," he concluded, his speech seemingly having sapped him of his vitality as the worries of the future intruded upon his thoughts. Opting not to burden him with further inquiries, I expressed my gratitude, executed a slight bow, and took my leave from the wagon.

The smell of cooking was now strong in the air, and there was a rumbling in my stomach that wished to be sated. It was time to return to my companions and to see what we could do about an evening meal. I was sure the victuals would be simple travelers' fare, but my time in the Grieving Lands had taught me an appreciation of food that I simply did not have in my own world. It had a different meaning here. A different weight. Eating was no longer a matter of opening a fridge door or a quick walk down to the local supermarket.

I decided to travel around the circle of wagons, not wanting to bump into anyone, and to have a little time alone with my thoughts. I had been given so many things to think about today, so many things to muse and puzzle over. A long journey was ahead of us and I was as prepared as I could be. One thing was for sure though, I had to add yet another dangerous creature to this world’s growing bestiary - Sand Worms.

Beasts... this world abounded with them, strange mirages of familiarity nestled amidst the exotic unknown. Creatures bearing an uncanny resemblance to the animals of my old world, yet touched with an alien veneer. The horses and donkeys of this place echoed this eerie parallelism. Had they, like me, been abducted by time and space from our rightful home? Come to think of it, were the people of these wild and barbaric lands now the descendants of humans transported from Earth? Were these, this world's 'native' entities, these creatures with an extra pair of limbs, merely manifestations of an analogous evolutionary tale? Or was their existence just a testament to the relentless churning of cosmic randomness and just an example of, however unlikely, convergent evolution?

Going over Laes explanation, I posited that the green road was probably some sort of river that cut across the desert called the Whispering Wastes and would act as some sort of deterrent to the worms. Hopefully, these caravaneers knew their business and could make the journey safely enough and Laes seemed like a competent sort, I thought to myself. A memory stirred of a half-remembered fragment of a dream entered my mind from a time before I came to this strange and fantastical land. Of giant desert-dwelling worms and their awesome power.

Before I knew it, my feet led me back to the sounds of wood striking wood. The cadence of strikes had lessened and I saw Larynda huffing and puffing, her shoulders low with strain and exhaustion. However, this did not stop her from striking clumsily again at Kidu who deftly deflected each of her strikes, almost indifferently.

Moving slowly, so that they would not yet notice my presence, I cast Identify on Larynda to see if there had been any improvement.

Larynda - Chaos Mage (Human/Elf lvl.5) Health 31/32 Stamina 2/22

Mana 4/19

It seemed that the training was working. Her current Status showed a small improvement of one point in her Stamina. How far could she be pushed, I wondered, with a little sadistic glee. We’ll make a little soldier out of you yet, I whispered to myself. I must admit, I was also a little interested in just exactly what her magic was.

Still, it was time to eat and I had to put an end to their training.

“Little one. Kidu,” I called out, which drew both of their attentions and earned Larynda a little rap on her arm, from the wild man.

“Ouch!” screeched the girl child, more in surprise than in pain.

To this Kidu simply added in his simple and terse manner, “Focus. No distractions,” finishing with his customary grunt. I detected, though, a hint - something had softened his gruff manner.

“I believe that is enough training for one evening. It is time to see what we can do for an evening meal. Let that be our next quest,” I said with a forced smile on my face, hoping against hope that perhaps I would receive a notification from the system. To no surprise, nothing was forthcoming and I could only sigh internally.

Larynda removed her headscarf and fastidiously wiped away most of her built-up sweat with a small towel. Kidu, on the other hand, still looked fresh.

Despite the inherent dangers on the horizon, I could not help but feel a sense of progress. I was growing, and my companions were growing. Of course, there had been Elwin’s betrayal, but in exchange, I had been all but gifted a young mage that could be shaped to my liking. It was always important to see the bright side in all things.

Locking our borrowed wagon, we let our noses guide us to a cooking fire burning brightly near the center of the camp. Already, the cooks had begun dolling out the evening meal in plain but solid wooden bowls. Spiced ground meat and fat over what was some kind of porridge was the main meal for the evening. A slice of purple-fleshed fruit was added as a dessert.

We joined the line of caravaneers, and after ten minutes or so we were served piping-hot portions. In fact, it was a little too hot for my taste, and I almost spat out my first bite once we sat down on the grass. Once cooled, I appreciated how the flavors melted in my mouth. Simple and filling, I thought to myself as I scarfed down my meal.

My companions and I ate in comfortable silence, yet listened to the sounds of mixed conversation from other groups, threading their way across the air. Larynda had lowered her scarf but kept it wrapped around her ears, sensibly concealing her heritage. I had seen other women clad in a similar fashion, so at the very least it would not draw undue attention to us.

A group of caravaneers hushed down when they realized they were in close proximity to us. They were talking in a language unknown to me, the clicking sounds and meter foreign and annoying to my ears.

My Identify spell would be working hard across this journey.