Chapter 6
[A Difficult Truth]
Teft and the band of mercenaries pushed open the heavy wooden door of the tavern. The sounds of raucous laughter and clinking tankards hit him like the stormwall. Candles dimly lit the interior, revealing a motley crew of patrons from all walks of life. A few laughterspren, minnow-like silver spirits, darted through the air in circular patterns.
His crew wasted no time as they went up to the bartender to join in the merriment. They were all juveniles that had been dismissed for the night by their Brightlord. The more experienced ones were aiding in the dirty negotiations with their cargo.
It wasn't something the youths should experience which was made ever more evident to Teft as they eagerly waltzed their way up to the bar to indulge in the tavern's finest offerings. They disputed over which of the spiced wines to try first; the bartender raised a bushy eyebrow at Teft in silent question.
"The Brightlord said to give these lads one drink," Teft said, his voice carrying over the din of the tavern. "There choice."
The bartender nodded and began to fill up the tankards with a strong variety of a rich, violet wine. The mercenaries cheered and clinked their tankards together in celebration. As they did, Teft sighed inwardly as he successfully cheated the lads. He was given enough spheres to make these boys spin. But he needed the money.
As they drank and talked, Teft noticed a group of gamblers in the corner. He approached the table, his interest piqued.
"Mind if I join in?" Teft asked, eyeing the cards on the table.
The group of patrons looked up at him warily, sizing up the newcomers. One of them, a short and stout man with a greasy beard, spoke up. "Sure, if you think you're up for it."
Teft grinned as he took a seat at the table, already sizing up the glowing spheres that were laid out on the table. The patrons, however, still stared in his direction.
"Ahh, is he joining as well?" said a gruffer-looking man opposite him.
Teft turned to find what was garnering their attention. It was the "stray" — a man with a shock of red hair who their Brightlord had picked up in Kharbranth. The man was peering curiously at the cards on the table,
"Nah, this one is too slow of wit to gamble," Teft replied, gesturing for him to leave.
But the stray didn't budge, letting an awkward silence take over the table. The man opposite him seemed to fidget as he stared up at him. Teft knew that the man was damn intimidating, but during their travels around the Frostlands, he had found that this no-name was rather ignorant and harmless. He had taken pity on him at the start and kept him close, and now the storming man seemed to have imprinted on him like an axehound pup.
'I'll just have to ignore him,' he thought.
Teft picked up the deck of cards in the middle of the table to begin shuffling. He did so expertly, his hands moving with ease.
"Where did you learn to do that?" the redhead asked.
Teft snorted, "I've been doing this for a long time, kid. You don't get good at something without practice."
He nodded, eyes narrowing on the way he shuffled the cards. As he dealt the cards, Teft didn't know how to explain to him that he couldn't be standing over the game. Fortunately, they were saved when a lad from his crew eagerly pulled him by his arm to join them at the bar. Grateful that he was finally out of his hair, he turned back to the card game, feeling a renewed sense of focus.
The game was fast-paced, and Teft found himself caught up in the thrill of it. Using the drinking funds he was given, he managed to rake in a small fortune for himself. A rainbow of colours was soon in his hands much to the dismay of those at the table.
As the night wore on, the cheering in the tavern began to rise. He turned to see what was happening and was met with a makeshift circus. Tables had been flipped, and people crowded around as a certain redhead held a throwing knife towards one of Teft's crew members.
Balancing a small crispmelon on his head, the crew member taunted the onlookers. "Anyone else want to make a bet that he will miss?"
The Alethi, bound by a strict code of honour, eagerly raised their chips into the air, ready to place their bets. The boys, however, lacked both the funds and the experience for such audacious gambling. Teft couldn't believe what he was witnessing — his crew engaged in a reckless and dangerous bet.
"Pali, give these fools your wisdom." Teft growled, pushing his way through the onlookers until he was standing face to face with the red head.
He hesitated, lowering the knife. Teft was about to grab the weapon, but a voice interrupted him.
"Yo boss, it's alright." Cried the idiot who was still balancing the melon on his head. "He never misses."
Another one of his crew cried over the crowd, a runt with a brown mop on his head. "One time, he shot a sky eel mid-flight! Straight between the eyes I tell ya." With a hint of embarrassment, he quickly added, "Saved me when I was trying to steal some of its eggs."
Teft wasn't about to let them get hurt so pointlessly, but curiosity stopped him. 'Did he really do that?'
Sky eels were vicious buggers that nimbly swim through the sky with long bodies and membranous wings. Exterminating an infestation of them usually involved attacking when they were asleep. Shooting them mid-air is almost unheard of.
Teft recalled that the Brightlord said that this one was supposed to be delivered as a recruit to the Alethi army. He expected some sort of training, but there was something obviously wrong with this man. Sure, he was built like a warrior, but Teft couldn't imagine the person in front of him possessing such skill.
The onlookers, their faces illuminated by the candlelight, seemed to agree with his sentiment. Their faces bore scepticism, mingled with a hint of contempt or slight amusement. Teft hated those expression.
The stray deserved a chance. Unfortunately, he was the most difficult type of patient, one that didn't have any physical injuries. But the he was getting better and he never had a shortage of people willing to help him. Afterall, his kindness was like a glowing gemstone in the middle of a Highstorm. He was the listening ear for those who wished to be heard, the gentle smile that became contagious in the gloom and the calloused hand always willing to aid.
Teft knew that this man was destined for great things and so, against his better judgement, he stepped aside.
Understanding the gesture, the redhead took a couple of paces back. It would be a storming difficult throw; he was about 10 metres away and the choice of target wasn't helping.
Despite this, he remained unfazed. His vibrant locks aglow in the dim light as he lifted the blade in his hands. Without saying a word, he was able to command the attention of the crowd, his unwavering focus like a heavy curtain, stifling the bustling tavern.
He adopted a throwing stance with practiced ease. Then, he lunged forwards, his arm flicking like a whip. The movement was like lightning. The blade sored through the air, a silver streak against the backdrop. Time seemed to momentarily hold its breath, only to be shattered by the impact that followed.
With a solid thud, the knife embedded itself in the wooden post behind the kid, the blade quivered from the sheer force of the throw. Its tip, coated in crimson, glistened in the light demanding all to witness its lethality. The blade had found its mark. The boy, who stood as still as a tree, slowly brought both his hands down, holding in each a perfect half of the fruit.
The tavern erupted into cheers as the lad let out a whoop of triumph. He lifted the halved melon from his head and gave a juicy bite into the red flesh. Teft shook his head in disbelief. He had seen many things in his time, but that was something else entirely. The redhead had talent, maybe he could make a name for himself in the army.
But he couldn't help but think as the man was drowned in applause and praise.
'This man can't fight on the battlefield.'
The stray had too much empathy. He had seen it when he was so easily coaxed into releasing some of their cargo. Luckily their Brightlord wasn't present. The man was about to go further but he had managed to stop him at the last second, barely managing to talk some sense into him. If their Brightlord found out about the incident, the man would once again be on the streets, or worse.
Currently, he wore a cheerful smile as people began gathering around him, clapping his back and chiding him to divulge how he accomplished such a feat. He walked over, managing to pull him away from the gawkers.
"That was quite the trick lad." Teft whispered, his voice tinged with concern. "I understand now why you think the army is your best chance at starting a new life but I don't think it's the right place for you."
The red head looked at him confused. "What do you mean?"
Teft decided to give the facts as they were. "I mean that you don't have it in you to kill another person. The army is a place for people who can find revelry in the battlefield. That's not you." He delivered the hard truth, his words hanging in the air like a weighty verdict.
The red head's gaze flickered with disbelief. He squared his shoulders, the youthful face displaying a resolve that belied his years. "You're wrong," he said, his voice strained as he held Teft's gaze. "I know how to fight. I have hurt and killed many."
Teft eyes slightly widened. He didn't doubt his words but the way he spoke; a weariness that spoke of hidden scars and unspoken sorrows. There was no doubt that the man they picked up on their travels was a warrior but...
"You're your own man," Teft finally spoke. "But let me give you some advice, as an old fool who's learned the hard way. Seeking an escape, trying to reinvent yourself—it won't save you, lad. It will only bring you an obsession that will stick with you for the rest of your life.
"You're your own man," Teft finally spoke, his voice barely louder than a breeze. "But, heed this advice from an old fool. Seeking an escape... trying to overwrite yourself won't save you lad. You will soon find yourself stuck in an obsession."
The man's gaze dropped to the floor, his face etched with uncertainty. "I don't know who I am anymore," he confessed. "If I don't stay on this path, if I abandon this chance, then I fear there will be nothing left for me."
Teft wanted to say more, to offer some glimmer of hope. However, this aloof, soft and ignorant child cut him off abruptly.
"Thank you, Teft," the redhead said, his voice held a sense of gratitude but really, it was like he wanted to be done with the conversation.
With those words, he quietly withdrew, blending back into the crowd that filled the bustling tavern. Stunned Teft couldn't help but feel a sense of helplessness. He knew he had no right to judge another about running from their problems. 'Your the biggest fool of them all.' The old man whispered, his words drowned out by the merriment in the tavern.
There weren't many places for him to go with the constant drizzle outside. Shirou was sprawled across the polished wooden floors. The scene before him was comical; the crew he came with were scattered across the room their lord had rented out for them in the tavern. Many couldn't even make it to the beds having collapsed in a liquor induced coma that was fuelled by the spheres they plucked from him during his display at the beginning of the night. He didn't mind.
One of his friends, in a drunken haze, came up to him earlier and said that he was doing some sort of secret training when he isolated himself away from the group. He didn't need to remain here as the kid that made the declaration of finally witnessing his training had already passed out but, he had sworn to stay the night with the rest of them.
Hours must have passed since then, the raucous merriment of the tavern fading into a distant memory as the revelers stumbled back to their homes. They all had a somewhere warm to stay in, except for the band of slaves that were locked in the stormwagon. He hated looking at them. Dirty and ragged, these men were stuffed in cages as they roamed the Frostlands. Teft had told him that their current job was to round up any runaway slaves. It was horrid, but Shirou had also told him that their desperate attempts at freedom were futile.
Slaves were property. This fact was burnt into their skin... like cattle. Shirou had witnessed the brutal branding process multiple times — an iron glyph heated in the fire before being ruthlessly seared into their foreheads. It required a dozen men to forcefully restrain the individual. Of course, the people they were catching were already slaves but, many took knives to carve out the burnt flesh, so they can hide it under hideous scars. Therefore, they needed to be rebranded.
One night, when he couldn't bring himself to shut out their cries any longer, Shirou sneaked out and broke the lock on one of the cages. With their shackles cast aside, the slaves wasted no time seizing their newfound freedom. That was when Teft caught him and instead of punishing him, he called him a fool.
'Those slaves deserve their punishment,' Teft declared, his words echoing once again. 'They are murderers, cheats, and oathbreakers—criminals who don't deserve a chance at redemption.' Still, he couldn't accept Teft's judgment. To Shirou, no one should endure such cruelty, regardless of their past. And the storming man was able to read him. So, he just changed the angle of his strike. 'Despite what you think, boy, you didn't save them. In reality, you've only prolonged their suffering.'
Those words shook him down to his very being. He understood that he had been fortunate—a kind king had negotiated his safe passage to one of Alethi's recruitment camps. He found himself with a job, a roof over his head, and a future that held promise. But what about those slaves? They had nothing—no sanctuary, no prospects, and no hope. Those slaves had nothing, so his mercy was the equivalent of throwing them to the wolves.
He couldn't fully comprehend how, but Teft understood him. And so, he raised a trembling hand towards the ceiling, filled with a renewed determination.
Judging the concept of creation
Shirou strained his circuits, trying to replicate something out of his depth.
Hypothesising its basic structure
He knew what it looked like. Two swords that was his, a symbol that he clutched to during an endless war.
Duplicating the composition material.
Sweat began to bead on his forehead, the circuits on his arm glowing a violent green. He knew it would be impossible, but he tried anyways.
His blade, his symbol in the midst of an eternal war, wasn't crafted from anything in this realm. Thus, it was impossible for him to reproduce it exactly. However, he could fill the gaps with what he did know.
Through the strain of his projection, a particular type of spren began to congregate around his head, eager to witness his creation. Shirou knew that they were just pieces of investiture given life by both nature and the collective human experience. They embodied concepts such as glory and agony, rain and wind, even things as complex as ideals. These creatures were drawn to their corresponding idea. Right now, the ones floating above him were creation spren. They understood his singular intent, their white sprites taking the form of swords.
Shirou struggled, his arm shaking and his breathing becoming more ragged. Despite this, his brow remained furrowed in concentration. It took almost everything he had but his magic began to pour out of him in a green light until he held it. A black curve sword.
Its name resurfaced in his memory—Kanshou. It looked so similar, but he could tell the differences. The weight felt off, the steel lacking the divine metal's essence. And try as he might, he couldn't recall all the intricate details.
'Did it curve up like a wave? How did the handle feel again? Was it even the right colour?'
He held it for lifetimes, yet how could a mortal comprehend, memorize, and reproduce something flawlessly. The slow distortion of it was inevitable. As time went, it would surely warp, deviating from its true nature until it became unrecognizable.
He let the projection puff away. Shirou failed again. And he was just so tired of trying. The people he failed and the oaths he couldn't bring himself to accept. His soul would only know torment but it was then that a melody seemed to whisper to him. It was strange. A humming noise that somehow produced a soothing harmony. Shirou felt his tense muscles loosen, his racing thoughts slowing as he focused on the song. He was tired but for once, Shirou let himself rest.
Artoria's mind swirled as she found herself standing in the midst of a vast expanse of rolling fields, stretching out as far as the eye could see. The fields were a patchwork of vibrant green hues, swaying gently in the breeze. It was a beauty the likes of which she had never seen. No thick shell or rough carapace protected these plants. They sprouted from the fertile soil with grace, embracing the world without fear.
Her bare feet sank into the soft and lush vegetation. It tickled her soles as she took a step forward, each blade seeming to reach toward the heavens, yearning for the caress of the sunlight. The fields undulated like a gentle sea, rolling and dipping in harmonious waves. Standing atop one of these hills, she gazed down upon an exquisite array of wildflowers that bloomed in a symphony of colors. Delicate petals painted the landscape with splashes of red, violet, and gold, infusing the air with a sweet fragrance that enveloped her.
But amidst this breathtaking scene, one particular detail captivated her attention. Drawing closer, she discerned an ancient stone, its weathered surface housing a sword embedded tip first into its very core. The sword beckoned to her, a silent call she could not resist. She took the final steps toward it, her delicate hand reaching out to grasp the hilt of polished blue emblazoned with gold. She felt the coolness and the weight of destiny in her grip. Yet in that pivotal moment, a shadowy presence pounced upon her.
Artoria jumped, caught off guard by the sudden appearance of the smoky spirit. It swirled around her, teasing and taunting her in its ephemeral form.
"Merlin! You almost gave me a heart attack!" she exclaimed, trying to catch her breath.
The spirit chuckled, its mischievous nature evident in its ethereal laughter. "Oh, my dear Artoria, where's the fun if I don't keep you on your toes?
'Am I really that fun to tease' she thought. Resuming her bearings she spoke bluntly,"Are you trying to dissuade me from my path, or are you jealous you aren't getting all the attention."
"Ahh, maybe a little of both. After all, you're connected to her instead of me now. It's quite tragic really, considering that I had to go through all the effort of reconfiguring both your spiritwebs." Merlin replied with feigned sadness.
Artoria frowned, her patience waning. Merlin's penchant for magic jargon was always frustrating. "For once in your life, can you actually explain what you're saying?"
"No." Merlin blatantly said. "If I did, then I would suddenly find myself out of a job. And I do enjoy being the smartest person in the room."
Artoria sighed, deciding to let go of her frustration. She once again swept her eyes across the fields bathed in golden rays. "Where am I?" she asked, "Is this Shinovar?"
"Goodness no. Think grander." Merlin coaxed.
Artoria began to ponder. It was almost like she had stepped into a different world entirely. The ground beneath her feet was carpeted with lush green grass, and trees swayed in the breeze, their leaves rustling gently. It was a stark contrast to the rocky landscapes she was accustomed to. The air felt crisp and clear, devoid of the oppressing humidity of her home. It's peaceful, calm... and so very beautiful.
"A hint." The shadow beside her summoned some arcane force, wisps of smoky tendrils coiled and extended from its ethereal form. At first, their forms remained intricate yet hazy, teasing the edges of recognition. But then, with a surge of ephemeral energy, the wisps transformed into tangible shapes, revealing the embodiment of animals in their misty embrace.
Her eyes widened in awe as she looked up, beholding the sight of a magnificent creature taking flight against the backdrop of the twilight sky. A graceful white bird soared with wings outstretched, gliding through the air with effortless elegance. A bird? They were exceedingly rare and once again, only found on Shinovar.
Beside her, another ethereal creature manifested—a delicate and colorful being akin to a cremling, but far more exquisite in its intricacy. It fluttered from flower to flower, its wings a blur of vibrant hues as it drank deeply from each blossom, savoring the sweet nectar with a sense of unbridled joy. But it was when her gaze fell upon a majestic yet impossible creature that she gasped.
The creature possessed a regal air, its presence emanating strength and authority. It didn't have a hard exterior but rather fur; it radiated a golden hue as it caught the sunlight. A magnificent mane framed its noble visage, flowing like a golden waterfall down its neck. It gently shook its coat as it began prowling around this piece of heaven.
Artoria's eyes widened as she took in the sight before her. The magnificence of this creature struck a chord deep within her, resonating with a hidden part of her being. "A lion..." she whispered, her voice filled with awe. She read about them before, in fairy tales, yet one stood here, in front of her.
Artoria dared to entertain a whimsical thought. "Is... is this..." She stumbled over her words, her breath catching in her throat as she attempted to give voice to the awe swelling within her.
Merlin interjected, amused by the sheer wonder on her face. "You call it The Tranquiline Halls, I think."
Artoria struggled to grasp the enormity of the situation. Could a vision truly transport her to such a sacred place? The promised afterlife, humanity's true home, laid before her very eyes.
"Then, the Heralds. The Almighty himself." Artoria tried to spill out what her head was processing. "There here!"
Suddenly, a gust of pink petals swirled around her revealing the presence of a figure she hadn't seen in a long time. White robes and an angular face that looked almost otherworldly to her. The wizard shook his head solemnly. "Artoria, this place is long lost now."
"No, they are fighting," Artoria asserted, her voice carrying the weight of conviction. "They are battling the Voidbringers so that one day we can reclaim our home."
Merlin's words cracked through her resolve. "The Almighty is dead," he said, his tone heavy with sorrow. "The voidbringers have killed him. Roshar will be next... and you, my dear, are destined to witness it all crumble."
Her mind reeled against the implications. "You've seen it then... what did I do wrong?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
"It's not a singular thing that you did wrong," Merlin explained gently. "It is just that all roads will lead to failure. The enemy possesses a powerful form of future sight— their leader has already foreseen victory."
"But you can see the future, can't you?"
"My ability to perceive the future is much weaker. I am but a mere splinter of him." Merlin stated.
Artoria was paralyzed. Merlin, the most smartest and most powerful person she knew, and he was just a splinter to his power. She wasn't sure whether to ask, but the question came out anyways. "Who is he?"
Merlin paused, searching for the right words to describe the such an entity. "He isn't just the god of the voidbringers... he is the soul of spren and of men. He is lust, joy, hatred, anger, and exultation. He is emotion incarnate. All that let themselves be consumed by such things are open to his influence."
Artoria stood in stunned silence, her mind struggling to comprehend the weight of Merlin's words. The once-illuminating promise of the Tranquiline Halls now felt dimmed and distant. Yet, a resolute determination began to build within her. She refused to accept defeat.
Her grip tightened around the hilt of the sword, her knuckles turning white. "I may not possess the ability to foresee the future," Artoria declared, turning to face her mentor.
A quote from the Way of Kings echoed in her head. "Does the destination matter?" she muttered to herself. Despite being told of impossible odds, those words gave her strength. So what if her life would end in failure, that was just a fragment of the entire journey.
"Are the Heralds still alive?" Artoria asked, a flicker of hope igniting within her.
"Yes," Merlin affirmed, sensing the spark of determination in her eyes.
Of all people, Lin's words came to her. "Can the Knight Radiants and their powers be restored?"
"That, too, is possible," Merlin replied.
"Then I won't give up," Artoria declared, her voice resolute. "Even if my life will end in failure, even if I have to relinquish my emotions so I will be free from his influence, I will fight. If the Tranquiline Halls are lost — then for as long as I live, I will strive to shape Roshar into a realm that can rival such a place."
Merlin stepped closer to her and rested a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Then, Artoria Kholin," he said, voice laden with respect. "May your blade strike true, and may the strength of your spirit guide you through the darkest of days." As he finished his prayer, the illusion before her began to peel away.
As if the Highstorm had finally arrived, a hurricane carried away the petals and the leaves and the blades of grass until her vision became white and hazy. She was about to awaken back in her bed, only a few hour march from Kholinar; where the sword that held her destiny rested, awaiting her. It is with that thought that one final message came to her.
"And take good care of her. Much like you, she could be considered a princess."
Hey all!
So, I have been very conflicted recently about how the story is going...and I am having some regrets. Whilst I still like where my initial story would have gone, I am caught up in what could have been if I just kept some of the more integral characters as they are.
I initially decided against this as I just didn't have confidence in myself to write an interesting story without the stay night characters taking some of the key moments from Brandon's characters. But after writing these few chapters, I've learnt a lot and believe that I might be able to rise to the challenge.
Ultimately, my commitment is to you guys, people who have invested themselves into the story that I am crafting. So I am leaving the hard decision of what to do next up to you. If you want to take part in the poll, head to my profile page.