Pesmerga tossed the bridle on top of the worn saddle with a muted jingle, and hit the man behind the counter with a querying look. "How much will you give me for those?"
After inspecting the goods, the man shook his head. "You won't get much. You're probably better off keeping them and seeing if you can trade them somewhere for better."
Pesmerga frowned a little. "Don't have a use for them. My horse died a few days back, and I've been trying to find a place to just get rid of them. They're a pain to carry."
With a sigh of sympathetic understanding, the merchant counted out the few coins he could give—and he was being generous. A short nod of thanks, and Pesmerga was on his way again. This little village seemed busy with its own comings and goings, and he didn't feel like hanging around for too long. He made his way west, no particular destination in mind.
The midday sun was brutal at this time of year. Summer was in full swing, with no sign of an end for at least another two months. The road that stretched through the rolling plains glimmered as heat rose from its dusty, dry surface. But Pesmerga really didn't have anywhere else to go, and any other path would have been just as much fun as this one. He trudged on, shifting the pack on his shoulder every so often.
I really miss that horse. Not that the going had been much easier with the decrepit old animal, but it was more the company than transportation that he was lacking now. His last childhood friend was gone, leaving him alone in the world. Just like he said. Bah, I'm still far too predictable.
As Pesmerga walked, he counted up the days in his head. How long had it been? Three days since the horse died, almost two weeks after pulling out of... what was the name of that city? Eh, it didn't matter. Seven weeks on the road before that brought his total close to two months. At least, that's as close as he could get. All the days just ran together for the most part, so it was up to his best estimate.
I need to pick routes with towns closer together in the future, he reminded himself. The seven week stretch wasn't what he'd have called a picnic. By the time he'd managed to find a city, he'd been ready to eat grass with the horse and probably smelled about as nice as his equine companion. On second thought, the horse probably smelled better. A lot better. He frowned, wiping sweat from his neck with a passing hand. At least I know that a road will actually lead somewhere.
Though as he stared down the long trail, he knew he couldn't be sure exactly how far that somewhere was.
**
Pesmerga downed the last drops of water from his canteen, resting in the welcome shade of one the few trees dotting the vast expanse of grasslands. Damn, does this stupid thing have an end? I've been walking for four days! It consoled him to know that he'd passed a few travelers coming the opposite direction. That meant that there had to be some point up there where he could rest. He'd come to realize just how much easier having the horse had made it before. Taking things for granted again, are we? He shook his head, getting to his feet and lugging his pack up to continue on his way.
Luck was with him today. A few miles up the road, he shaded his eyes against the sun to catch it glinting off an object in the distance. He hadn't seen anyone going his direction, so he knew it had to be someone coming towards him. Or better yet, the shape on the horizon was a destination. He picked up his pace as best he could, hoping for the latter.
"Hullo!" A cheery man called from atop the ramshackle ox cart, waving a greeting as Pesmerga approached. "Going to the Temple?" The driver reined in his beast, pushing the wide brim of his straw hat up to get a better look at the raven-haired man.
Pesmerga regarded the man, presumably a farmer from his simple dress, with a puzzled stare. "Temple? No, I was actually hoping to find a town or city nearby. Can you tell me how far it is to the next one?"
The driver gave a hearty laugh at that. "It's about eighty leagues back the way you came! Only thing out here is the Temple, a little more than half an hour's walk west," the man said, gesturing down the road in the specified direction.
Pesmerga felt like someone had smacked him in the head with a stout plank. Lesson number two of this wandering traveler thing—ask for directions before you leave civilization. Good God, I am an idiot.
The farmer seemed to notice his predicament. "I could give you a ride back to the village if you need one," he offered. As much as Pesmerga knew it was the best option, he still didn't feel all too thrilled about spending at least two days in the company of a total stranger. Much less this unbearably chatty farmer. He shook his head stiffly, declining.
"Does the place have food and water?" he asked, glancing to the west.
The ox driver nodded. "Yeah, they take care of their guests pretty nicely. If all you're looking for is supplies and a place to rest up, that'd be your place."
"Then that's where I'm going. Thanks for the help." Without another word, he made for the Temple as the sun began to settle down in the distance.
**
Twilight was heavy in the sky by the time Pesmerga arrived, blanketing the Temple in a hazy bluish half-light. Stars peppered the deepening purple above him, and a sickle moon hung itself neatly on the line between earth and heaven, rising slowly as the minutes ticked away. Warm, inviting light spilled from the open door of the Temple, pulling Pesmerga's tired feet towards it, guiding him to his rest.
He climbed the stairs tentatively, unsure of what to expect. He stopped short of the doorway, looking in and searching for any sign of welcome.
The room beyond him was lit by dozens of hanging paper lamps, strung about the walls in such a way that they efficiently made every corner of the room glow. It was apparent to him that their placement, no matter how haphazard it appeared, was the product of meticulous calculation and effort. He had to raise and eyebrow as he stepped inside. Monks really don't have anything better to do with their time, do they? When they're not reading some astrological chart, meditating, or praying, they become interior designers. Despite the wry amusement of the thought, the humor itself fell rather flat and there was no smile to be had. Well, at least he'd tried.
A brush of deep vermilion robes and a calm voice, punctuating the cricket-filled quiet, interrupted his musings. "Please follow me. We have been expecting you."
Pesmerga blinked, staring at the young monk with a look of blank confusion. "Excuse me?"
"Master Qlon has been expecting you. Please come this way." The statement was repeated as if delivered to a very small child, before the monk turned and began walking down the hall. Pesmerga followed in stunned disbelief. This is like something out of a cliché fairy tale. And I just can't wait to see what happens next.
He was led through a series of wood paneled hallways, each lit with those same colorful, glowing paper lamps. One final corner, and he stood in a larger, opened room. In the center of the far wall was a marble shrine, and sitting before it was a hunched over figure with his back to the door and the two intruders.
"So he has come."
The young monk nodded with a half bow. "Yes, Master."
"Good. Then leave us, please."
Pesmerga's 'guide' bowed again, and scurried off to parts unknown, leaving the raven-haired man alone with the imposing presence before him.
The monk shifted slightly, then turned around completely, each move careful and painstaking. Pesmerga could see how old he was, even before he looked up to reveal the folds around his eyes and tightly drawn mouth. But despite his frail appearance, the old monk was a power to be reckoned with. In the way he held his bunched, slouching frame to the fire that burned in his dark eyes, to the creases etched into his brow from decades of pondering questions too deep for the mortal soul to understand—everything about the man conveyed ageless wisdom and strength. Pesmerga couldn't help but feel a little cowed as those black eyes bored identical holes into him.
"Sit, please." Though it was said softly and politely, there was no denying that is was a command, loud and clear. Pesmerga immediately did as told, taking a space on the honey colored floorboards.
The old monk nodded. "Good. You listen well so far. But there is much more to hear, and it may take time. Perhaps you would like to rest first? You have traveled a long way, after all."
Pesmerga considered the option, but shook his head after a moment of thought. "No, I'm leaving first thing in the morning." He didn't want to spend any more time among these creepy monks than he absolutely had to. "If you're going to tell me anything, you'd better do it now."
A raised eyebrow. "Very well, it is your choice." He shifted his weight again, closing heavy eyelids. "I will begin.
"Long ago, in ancient times, there was only Darkness. She was beautiful, and she blanketed the world protectively, like a watchful mother. But she was alone. There was no sun, and no moon, and her little world was silent company. She accepted it at first, but soon began to grow very lonely. There was no one to hear her long sighs, or to comfort her, and this only made her feel more alone. She began to weep, letting a single tear fall from her soft, dark cheek.
"The tear shone brightly, and as it drove to the ground, it split and forged itself into Sword and Shield. Darkness was overjoyed, and drew her children close to her in an embrace, for she was lonely no more.
"Things went quietly for a time. But the brothers were prideful and stubborn, neither wanting to admit any weakness to the other. Their boasting grew loud enough to fill the heavens, rumbling ominously. Sword claimed, throwing out his chest, that he could pierce through any defense. Shield crowed, strutting about with his head high, that he could defend against any force. They fell to bickering, and Darkness found herself frequently stepping in to quell the fighting.
"However, their quarrel escalated beyond her control, and in the midst of a heated argument, Sword struck at Shield. The battle that followed was long and furious. The sparks from their weapons flew high and far, so far that they froze and became as diamonds. The outraged cries of the brothers were thunder in the skies, and as they fought, they pushed up the ground of the smooth earth, making mountains and valleys and plains.
"Bringing their weapons together a final time, the brothers shattered in the wake of their own hatred for each other. Neither was ever able to overcome the other, and they broke into twenty-seven glittering fragments, littering the world that they had battled on. Darkness wept for the loss of her children for many long, sleepless nights. Her tears filled the canyons and valleys, becoming the seas and rivers and lakes.
"She took Sword's spirit, and placed it beside her as a bright, glowing ball. She took Shield's spirit and placed it on her other side, cool and bright silver. She then sat between them so they could never fight again. She gathered the frozen sparks from the battle, collecting them into her arms, and held them close. The sun, the moon, and the stars were born. The sun and the moon continue to chase each other, and Darkness still keeps them from catching each other, keeping the balance."
Pesmerga punctuated the monk's tale with a wide, disinterested yawn. How many times had he heard variations of this one before? Too many.
"Look, old man, I know this is a good story and all, but what does it have to do with me? If all you had me stay for was to listen to old legends and kiddy bedtime stories, then I'd rather not. I have a long way to go in the morning."
The monk shot him a look that froze him solid, smothering any further protest and letting it die in his breast. "You will stay, and you will listen. This has everything to do with you. But it must be explained, else you may be too hasty and too ignorant to understand." That did the trick, and Pesmerga sullenly set to listening again.
"The twenty-seven fragments of Sword and Shield's bodies became the True Runes, from which all other runes were forged. The sun or the moon rules each True Rune and in such a way is balance won, keeping the world in harmony. Some Runes have complimentary Runes, which keep each other in balance, as well. Such is the case with the Gate Runes, and the Sword and Shield Runes.
"A True Rune chooses its own bearer. If the Rune tires of its owner, it will actively seek out another to take the host's place. And if doing so, the balance is thrown off, the complimentary Rune will search for a new owner to tip the scales back to the center again."
The monk paused for a moment, staring deep into Pesmerga's face, as though reading his soul. And well he may have been.
"The balance between two True Runes was recently thrown off on a grand scale. A dangerously powerful Rune, possessed by a weak, broken man, began to search for someone more to its liking. It had been looking for decades, but it passed up several opportunities in the hope of finding its ideal match. We watched it closely, for fear of what might happen when it did. The Rune is chaotic by nature and, without another to check its power, would easily run rampant.
"We had begun to think it would never be able to find the one person it sought—that this being could not possibly exist. No one could be born with the kind of potential for chaos the Rune desired. We were wrong.
"When the Rune took its new host, the entire world shuddered. The complimenting Rune snapped to attention, and is now striving to find another as perfect to complete itself." The monk stopped, and his eyes weighed heavily on Pesmerga.
The dark haired man blinked, pointing a finger at himself. "...Me?"
The old monk nodded gravely. "I am the current owner of this Rune. It has been calling out for nearly two months, when its other half flared back to life. When you neared here, it told me that you were, indeed, the one it wanted. You are the one it wants."
Pesmerga took a moment to absorb the information, his eyebrows knitted together in concentration as he tried to piece it all together. "Look, I'm flattered, but..." He glanced back at the door, checking for an escape route. "...I have something I have to take care of. I don't have time to take on any ridiculous holy hero quests." He stood, starting for the door.
"This is not a choice."
"What?" Pesmerga whirled on the man, outraged. How dare some monk tell him of his fate? "My destiny is my own, old man, and I'm not buying into this bull about 'being chosen' by some egotistical magic entity. If it wants a new owner so badly, it's going to have to wait just a little bit longer, because I'm looking for someone, too. And I don't have time to go chasing after more shadows than I already am." He stared the monk down, almost daring him to make a move, despite the fact that his mind was screaming at him not to challenge the little old man.
To Pesmerga's surprise, the monk began to chuckle, very softly. There was a mirthful twinkle in his dark eyes as he smiled up at the defiant, raven-haired man. "You'll do nicely. I think it likes you."
Pesmerga bristled. "Damn it, I told you—"
"And what if I told you that the man who has been taken by the chaotic Rune is the very same man you are hunting?"
Silence. Pesmerga felt his muscles tense as the monk continued.
"You could chase him to the far corners of the earth, until you breathe your last breath, and he would still escape you as long as he held that Rune. If he didn't kill you first."
Pesmerga wanted to find something to say, and groped blindly for words. But nothing came of it, and in the end he gave up. The monk's stare softened in sympathy.
"Perhaps now you would like to sleep, and we will talk more of this in the morning," he offered.
The raven-haired man nodded mutely, but made no move to leave just yet. He turned it over in his mind, again and again.
"This Rune... will it help me find him? Will it help me... kill him?" His voice returned to him at last, sounding far off and hollow.
The monk shrugged a little in response. "Perhaps. It is possible."
That made up his mind for him, and no further hesitation was necessary. He shifted his weight as he turned, and held out his right hand before the old monk. "Give it to me."
**
Pesmerga slugged his way out of a nightmare riddled sleep, rubbing at raw, red-rimmed eyes. The night had not been pleasant. He could easily see, now, why the withered old man had given off such a powerful presence. He lifted his marked palm to his face, peering at it disdainfully.
He felt more alive, sleep deprived though he was, than he had for what seemed ages. He guessed it was the Rune's doing. As he pulled his clean clothes over his clean, refreshed skin with a sigh, he picked through his newfound memories in a search for useful information.
The Rune had no name that he could find. It had no elemental affinity. It was, however, what Pesmerga could best describe as obsessive compulsive. And it was very, very powerful about it.
The Rune was exactly what the monk had said it was—the opposite of chaos. It yearned for order and absolution, and had been perfectly willing to use its previous hosts to accomplish that end. And in doing so, often caused chaos in the process. It was bloodthirsty, in its own way, and Pesmerga felt a chill run down his spine as he recalled the images that had flooded his mind during the night. Some of them were his own memories, and more than a few were those of the old monk, but most belonged to men long since dead. As he filtered through the broken minds of the Rune's past owners, it began to dawn on him exactly what he'd gotten himself into. The Rune would not let anything stand in the way of accomplishing a particular task, so long as the end was desirable. The ends always justified the means.
Which, in this case, suited Pesmerga just fine.
The sun was just beginning to peek though the window of his guest quarters as he slipped out the door. He did his best to be quiet, and to leave unnoticed and uninterrupted. He made his way to the front gates, and was almost surprised to find the old monk waiting for him, with a few parting gifts.
"The mule has at least a month's supplies in her packs, to see you to your next destination." He pointed to the east, the direction the raven-haired man had come from, as he handed Pesmerga the lead line to the patiently waiting animal. "She's no saddle horse, but if you need to ride, she should be able to carry you for at least short distances. But please be kind to her. Also, there is this..." The old man stepped aside to reveal a pack, separated from the rest.
When he pulled back the flap, Pesmerga nearly felt his jaw drop open at what lay inside. Beautifully crafted armor, wrought of black steel and trimmed with gold, glowed softly in the rising sun. He blinked up at the monk, speechless.
"It is enchanted. It has been blessed by the wind and the darkness, kissed by silence. May it serve you well." The monk stepped aside to let him pass through the gate, with a slight bow. "Take care, and whatever you do... do not let the Rune erase who you are. It would gladly take your soul if you let it."
Pesmerga nodded solemnly, and after a polite bow in response, he was on his way again.
Now. With this, now we are even. You are mine, Yuber.
I'm coming.
**
Now with shiny new author's notes!
1~ Does this chapter look shorter to you? That's because it is. It took me forever and a day just to write this much. XD I could not for the life of me get through this chapter. /sigh/. The next one will be better. And longer. I promise.
2~ Look, ma! Yet another retelling of the Sword and Shield legend! I embellished a bit, to give it a little character.
3~ Ending the chapter with Pesmerga thinking will not become a trend. Really.