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Dearest Readers, may fireworks brilliant and grand light up your evening summer sky.
THE HIDDEN SWORD: A TALE OF BALDUR'S GATE
Book One: From the Earth | Chapter 29: Across the Sky, Fireworks (Part Three)
Summer. And across the sky, fireworks.
Well, there ought to be, later.
If this was still Iriaebor.
Startled out of walking trance, Irse halted and looked up and around. Gone - the tallhouses, the torches and magelight lampposts, the merry throng. Instead, finding herself in a sparsely timbered forest, trees dark and towering, the air tranquil with silence and the keen lack of other life. No other light shone in the sky save for the moon waxed to its full form.
On instinct, Irse drew the bokken and held it in seigan, slowly pivoting to all sides. Fully alert, heart pounding, crouching to a defensive stance; she waited.
How long did she keep at position - as long as it took for the pulse to abate, the eyes to take in everything and ensure the spaces between the trees indeed appeared empty. After a while, the elf slackened her posture as she loosely twirled the wooden sword, considering this odd predicament.
She had just been walking the streets of the City. Did she in some way pass through any of the minor gates at the walls and straight into the woods surrounding Iriaebor? Guards manned all entryways to ward against troublemakers and collect toll fees from visiting traders, though more of the latter, of course. Perhaps, one had been deserted, duty abandoned for revelry. And through this one gate she may have stepped through unmindful. A likelihood, not impossible. How could she not have noticed? Unless…
Irse held up a finger. Only one thing in the realms remained to explain this enigma.
She checked the soles of her shoes.
No pebble stuck there, specifically a pebble wrapped in twine.
Pockets in her trousers yielded only a few items for scrutiny.
A pouch previously bearing a fair amount of coins though now decimated after an unbridled snacking spree.
The flyer which seemed most ordinary and bore no evident traces of magic – no gleaming runes nor any whiff of peculiar scents like what she imagined were mad-wizard-arcane-laboratory-smells. Besides, a good number of folks in the crowd were given flyers as well. A quick glance around affirmed that she alone ended up here, wherever here could be.
And another piece of blank parchment, greased and crumpled all over something small and roundish and solid.
With anxious haste she unwrapped the paper only to find nothing more than a sizable crumb of nut cheese. Grasping the fragment between thumb and forefinger, Irse eyed it with suspicion.
How in the realms did she miss this one? Popped into her mouth, the saltish speck was promptly devoured without further thought.
Well then, clearly no one had slipped a wardstone in her pocket. Or had someone cast a spell on her while she walked unaware? Solid recollection confirmed that no one else had been passing through the alley at the time. Despite tuning out the crowd, her heightened hearing should have caught even the faintest chanting. Probably someone from some window above thought it a fine lark to point down a wand at her and mouth the incantations rapidly and softly, out of earshot. Probably something like Teleportis Go Awayis!
Irse narrowed her eyes in familiar distrust. Wands!
Bah! What does it matter anyway? No sense wasting time figuring out the infinite means by which she found herself here. More pressing now was the need to figure out the one way by which she could return to the City. And soon.
With a start, Irse realized the absence of stars. None gleamed in the heavens, none of the constellations she learned from the navigation book, not even Ieriyn, the unmoving light in the firmament guiding sailors and travelers to the true north. Selûne radiated brighter than she remembered, though strangely it seemed to cast its beams only upon the immediate surroundings; the woods encircling her remained blanketed in deep gloom.
Even then, what else ought the stars tell her? Close to nothing - without knowing which direction the City lay yet knowing Iriaebor is surrounded by wilderness kind enough to let the trade roads poke through, but not kind enough to let the weakest and unprepared survive unaided.
Irse crossed her arms, then tapped a knuckle at the temple.
What did the navigation book and the village trappers often say? Find a body of water, follow it long enough and eventually you'd come upon civilization. And to ensure one does not meander around in circles, one had to walk a path as straight as possible; may take a good long while, but it should be better than flapping around like a headless chicken.
Irse nodded to herself, rubbing her palms to draw both warmth and confidence. She set off, imagining a plumb line laid down and stretched ahead to guide her steps.
A blank canvas did the fresh and quiet air lend to her thoughts, settling unasked on a question left unanswered. Most of the last tenday had been preoccupied with preparing for trade, the puzzle of the weighted sword shelved for the meantime. A puzzle - of her Teacher, he who surely could crush bones with a wooden stick but merely bruise her with a heavy steel sword, yet Kerda untrained had nearly mushed her ribs into pudding.
Mmmm, pudding. Raisin? She thumped at her noggin. Focus!
Irse absently pinched her lower lip, brows furrowed, feet striding, mind deliberating. If gaining speed or developing strength were not his reasons, then what else could it be?
Skill in wielding a really big and heavy sword, then?
She snorted at the idea; too simplistic, almost suspect.
Something small sped among the trees in front of her. Curious, Irse quickened her pace and approached, crouching behind the shrubbery. Beyond lay a clearing dotted with rocks and grass. In this ethereal glade, a fox padded through the underbrush, a spot of copper against the gray of illuminated night. Hunting, perhaps stalking its usual prey of rabbits and mice. Nose to the ground, following a tight trail, movements not excitable as typical of its nature, on the contrary, this time meticulous and purposeful.
Suddenly the creature stiffened, quarry surely found. Yet it remained still as a statue.
Why hadn't it gone in for the kill? Irse peered closely, aided by inborn sight capable in near darkness, and tensed at seeing the answer. Not a mouse nor a rabbit did the fox come upon. A snake in the grass. Moonlight glimmered upon its scales as the serpent coiled and readied to strike.
Careful, little fella', that danger noodle might be venomous, Irse warned in her mind. Back away, let it be and maybe it won't hurt you, find something less nasty.
Slowly the fox circled its target. Then it made to pounce. Retaliating, the snake sprung, but it had been a feint for the fox immediately leaped back and out of the serpent's reach. Without count they repeated the pattern, yet the elf continued to watch, fascinated by this deadly dance. At times, the snake close to sinking its fangs, yet the fox somehow evading by vaulting in an unpredicted direction.
Irse furrowed her brows, perplexed. By size the fox far exceeded the snake, though certainly only one venomous bite sufficed to take down creatures much larger. Limbs afforded greater movement and strategy; the fox certainly had its own advantages. It seemed to be taking its time, attacking yet also holding back.
And then it struck her, sure as an illuminating bolt. The fox wasn't aiming to overpower the snake. It was avoiding the lethal bite. Not to win, rather, to not lose. Were it simply overconfident instead of reining in and controlling its speed and greater size, pride and recklessness would've been its downfall, defeated and dead even before the battle had begun.
Hissing with seeming impatient rage, the snake recoiled then sprang and stretched out, rising from the earth. Yet the fox leaped, not backwards, instead forward to meet the serpent, twisting the body away from the malefic mouth, landing behind the snake. Not a moment wasted, the fox stomped its front paws on the serpent's head to hold it down, jaws and sharp canines deciding the outcome.
Irse swiped her fist in the air in mute triumph. The fox feasted on its prize. Then both gave pause.
From the shadows, a wolf emerged. With graceful steps, it approached, pausing mere inches from the fox. Majestic, it towered over the other; eyes shining in the darkness, all the power and ferocity known of its kind stilled and contained in its imposing form.
Would the wolf attack? The greater take the smaller for a prey? Reflexively, the right hand gripped the bokken tighter, readying. Should she intervene? Yet the elf felt herself transfixed, bound by an unspoken commanded to stand down, a mere spectator, her own breath obeying and halting.
Two creatures of the wild, caught in the web of circumstance. Wolf and fox gazed at one another, neither of them yielding, unmoving as the world that contained them.
In a blink, in a moment, she beheld the seasons gliding above and around them; the sun rising and setting in unceasing cycle, the trees black in darkness suddenly with boughs brimming with russet and saffron, receding to stark barrenness, reawakening to the greening, flourishing with fruit and blossoms in the flowering, all before fading back to the current night.
Then as precipitous and tacit as their encounter, the wolf and fox turned away from each other, one retreating to the dark of the woods and the other bounding towards the fields beyond the glade.
Breath returned to her at their leaving. Irse stared at the now empty clearing, wrestling with a strange sense of disquiet. An undefinable aching, unknown and without name yet felt all too keenly.
With a forced shrug, the elf rubbed at her knees and rose to her feet, the rush of blood returning to the head along with the sudden and unnerving awareness. Around her the forest and wilderness remained, no path revealing itself to guide her back to the City. The original plan had been to find and follow a body of water, but its appeal quickly ebbed and dried away, replaced by a growing urgency.
A flash of idea - what if this time she simply willed herself back? Barmy, but it just might work. Like that butter knife she had lost months ago – searched high and low around the cottage and smithy, giving up and simply deciding she wanted that darned blade on her person right then and there. Materialize it did and in her back pocket – how and why she had put it there didn't matter anymore. Perhaps she could be like that butter knife – lost but just needing a bit of will and intention to be found again.
Irse closed her eyes and inhaled as deeply as she could, picturing the grimy narrow alleyway. And then she opened her eyes.
Still here. Irse clutched at her collar, swallowing hard. Familiar feelings of panic gnawed- Lost, lost once more.
No, not lost! What words did he say to her, along a dusty road, on the deck of a creaky boat in the river, ages and a lifetime ago? One cannot be lost if they look back. What of now? What if now, she wasn't lost, but out of all infinite possibilities, is where she should be?
Lord of Pointy Things, point the sword tip in the right direction, she entreated. Please.
Irse peered to the empty space, where all were, all is, and all will be.
"All right, if this is how it ought to be," Irse challenged, her voice echoing in the emptiness.
"I…," she whispered and breathed in. "… I choose the way, the path wherever it may be… I shall tread it," she declared, willing the words to come out unshaken, pointing to the horizon ahead. Beyond her hand, the world remained dark, clear and limitless yet even then, a strange sense of calm began to embrace her.
"Tread it, even to the ends of the realms."
Moments passed, only silence answered back. Irse sighed, shoulders sagging.
Then in the distance beyond the trees, a single flare shot up. It exploded in the sky, showering glittering rays of red and gold.
Fireworks? In the forest?
Irse looked up, comprehension dawning upon her. Fireworks!
Straightway she bolted for the direction where she perceived the firecracker had launched. Eyes trained on the heavens, she darted through the trees, trusting in her feet to keep pace and not falter. Yet the glow had already begun to dissipate, its brief brilliance soaking into the deep ink of the sky.
"No! No! Don't fade! Not yet," Irse prayed in desperation.
As if hearing her appeal, another blazed skyward and burst, followed by another, and another, and more; beacons sustaining amidst an ocean of void.
Air, hope, and exhilaration burned in the throat and chest. Yet she pushed on, seeing the glow pulsing brighter, feeling the very horizon itself rushing to meet her.
"Almost there! No! I'm here! I'm here!" she laughed at the wind. Here and now!
Suddenly, no longer trees but tallhouses, no longer underbrush but cobblestones beneath her feet, no longer the dark and stillness but a world of colors and voices, the familiar firmament with the same moon and stars.
Still Irse kept running through the streets, not stopping until she reached the Open Market. There she halted, seeking among the sea of faces, all dimmed as the torches have been put out to let the spectators better enjoy the show yet to start.
A town crier stood on a platform. He raised his hands in dramatic fashion to hush the crowd, and cried, "By the generosity of the most Honorable Merchants of Iriaebor do we crown the Festival of Midsummer with this magnificent exhibition of skylights! Behold!" He picked up a banner and waved it, signalling to the gnomish pyrotechnists atop one of the buildings.
Finally by the light of the first firework, she found him.
Among the people, Okami stood outside of the stall, but unlike the rest of them, his eyes weren't fixed on the display in the sky. Rather, the blacksmith seemed to be searching around him as well, a deep frown etched on his face.
Irse winced at seeing her Teacher's troubled countenance. Likely wondering what sort of extra-prickly pickle his student has gotten herself into this time, the elf supposed guiltily.
With a quick exhale, Irse leaned in and pushed her way through the crowd, shouting a greeting as she approached. Okami's brows unfurrowed at the sight of his student. He opened his mouth, clearly about to inquire of her prior whereabouts but she interrupted him with a frantic wave of the hand.
Now or never, before courage fails.
"I've come to understand why I must train with the weighted sword," she said in between gasps from the running.
Okami canted his head.
"You do," he replied without question, as if recognizing the certitude in her eyes.
"I see it now," Irse affirmed, for a moment glancing to the side, wagging her head in wonder at not having grasped the answer much sooner. She breathed in deeply then looked at him.
"More than strength, more than speed. The weighted sword teaches control. Not to gain anything that could make me win over my foes, but to gain mastery over the one thing that doing so would ensure I shall never lose to another."
"And what is the one thing over which you must gain mastery?"
"Myself," Irse answered gravely.
"To command the strength in my hands, the swiftness in my strokes, to learn when to hold back and when to let go, until doing so becomes part of what I am, as breathing and being should be."
Like the fox in the glade, like him with her in their practice duels.
Okami raised his chin, beaming at her with a proud smile. Irse's eyes broadened, her mouth breaking into an open grin.
Nodding at each other, Master and Student then turned their gaze to the heavens.
Enraptured and in contented silence, watching the fireworks as they bloomed and cast brilliant trails, crimson and aureate across the starlit summer sky.