Part 21
Embers in the Wind
“The next stage,” Ranin said.
“But, will he be able to control the power,” Namic said.
Ranin glanced worriedly at Namic. “I’m sure he’ll be fine,” he said uncertainly.
In a circle of charred ash, stood a figure, which was taller then the Vassal of fire and stood with his large claymore sheathed. His red cloak slowly blew in the wind, his shoulder length hair was covered by a helmet with gleaming red trim, and his armor too gleamed both red and black.
“Sworder,” the girl said, barely getting the word out.
The figure began walking towards Tempest. “I possess the blade forged of flames,” he said. “I am the Wieldier of the Fire Claymore.”
The Wielder raised the Fire Claymore and struck at Tempest. The wind around him picked up far stronger then before to deflect the blade but the sword only missed by a hair’s width.
The Wielder struck again even faster, but Tempest stretched his hand out and grabbed the wind itself, forming it into a blade in his grasp. The two blades clashed: the flaming sword of fire and the blade of endless winds.
Tempest threw the Wielder’s blade up and slashed at him but the Wielder escaped the initial strike. As the blade passed, a gale followed tearing at the Wielder. Tempest brought the sword back and the Wielder blocked it. The gale struck as the two swords touched forcing the Wielder back several inches.
“Quite a show of strength,” Namic said.
The Wielder of the Fire Claymore roared as he pushed the Wind sword away and began hacking away. Flames leapt from his sword with each stroke, scorching the earth beneath.
He needs to be careful,” Ranin said. “He might burn something he does not mean to.”
“His rage has blinded him,” Namic said. “Few things will get through.”
“Much like that man’s defense,” Ranin said, as he watched Tempest deftly deflect each of the Wielder’s blows.
“That Claymore is quite heavy,” Namic said. “It slows down his attack, making them easier to read.”
“A weightless sword of wind does have the advantage,” Ranin said.
“His true power, I believe, is far from being revealed; yet he can create a blade of wind to counter one of steel. Impressive.”
Tempest deflected another blow and then countered with a low swing. The Wielder easily evaded it by going airborne but as the sword of wind past, a gale struck him. The force of the wind sent him far from Tempest.
“Have you realized yet? You can not win,” Tempest said.
“You have not landed a blow,” the Wielder of the Fire Claymore said.
“And neither have I tried.”
“Fine then,” the Wielder said, charging.
Tempest put the blade behind him then with one mighty swing sliced cleanly through the Fire Claymore. Sworder seemed to fall out of the Wielder’s armor, crashing against the ground nearly a stone’s throw away.
“Sworder,” the girl said, running to his side.
Slowly, Sworder began to rise, beginning to draw his short sword.
“No, Sworder,” the girl said, putting her hand on the pommel of the Sword.
Sworder paused then released the hilt and stood silently. The gale around Tempest had died and he no longer held the wind.
“Well; that was unexpected,” Ranin said.
“That is enough,” Tempest said.
“But I never reached you,” the girl said.
“Indeed, but you were able to hold your Kazan to your will even when he reached such a state,” Tempest said. “And I doubt you would ever get much closer.”
The girl sighed and dropped to the ground.
“I warn you to be careful,” Tempest said. “When achieving higher stages your power grows but it also becomes unstable. You will become unable to restrain yourself. Each strike will use far more strength than in lower stages. Upon reaching your highest achieved stage end the battle quickly. When Kazan’s clash it is a battle of attrition. It is not always about Victory or Defeat but who stands last.
“And Lass, take a more active roll in combat. If your will is set in alignment with your Kazan he will be at his strongest. However, you have little capability for true combat, so understand there is more to a battle than fighting. Command him as you did.”
“Mr. Tempest,” the girl said quietly.
“A fine name they gave me,” he said walking down the hill.
“Why does he take such interest in these two?” Ranin said.
“Why do I worry?” Tempest said shaking his head as he walked away.
“It seems he does not know himself,” Namic said.
“Are you well?” Sworder said, kneeling down next to the girl.
“Yes,” the girl said. “Just a little exhausted,” rubbing her bruised arms.
“Shall we go?”
“No,” the girl said. “I think I want to sit here a while.”
“She has a lot to think about,” Ranin said.
“They both do,” Namic said.
“Well, that was unexpected,” Ranin said suddenly, “Him staging, that is.”
“Despite their differences they have grown quite close,” Namic said. “We still have much growth to see.”
“You’re so vague sometimes,” Ranin teased.
In time the girl stirred, and Sworder in turn stood up.
“You took on a new form?” the girl quired.
“Indeed,” Sworder said. “It was the next form from the Vassal of Fire; the Wielder of the Fire Claymore.”
“Next form?” the girl said.
Sworder looked at her curiously, “What you do not know always surprises me. Kazans take on many forms, each one branching off from the one before it.”
“How many forms do you have?”
“I do not know,” Sworder said after a moment, “I do not even know how I would tell when my forms are spent.”
“And all Kazans are like this?” the girl asked.
“I can only say for Shadow Warriors,” Sworder said. “In fact, you have already seen a Kazan stage to its second form.”
“When?”
“That Kazan I fought aboard the ship,” Sworder began. “Her base form was a form of water staging first to the Aquian Oracle then to the Oracle of the Glaciers.”
“Why do you have so many different forms?” the girl asked, standing up with Sworder’s help.
“We Kazan’s do not decide our forms or Powers.”
“But what made you stage again?” the girl asked holding Sworder’s hand with hers.
Sworder looked at the ground, “I was angry when he hurt you. That anger burned in me and I let the Flames cloak me. As we fought I only grew angrier but I needed to become stronger. I could not protect you as the Vassal. But in truth, I allowed myself to be consumed with hate. I do not remember staging or what I was thinking. I only remember promising myself that he would not harm you again. I was blinded with fury.”
“You cloaked yourself in flames,” the girl said curiously, before recalling Sworder’s words. “You said you did not choose your forms but rather took what you thought natural.”
Sworder nodded.
“What form would you take if you staged now?”
“I-” Sworder began hesitantly. “I do not know.”
“Well, which form feels right?” the girl asked.
“I have no idea,” Sworder said. “It happens when I stage.”
“Then why don’t you just stage then,” the girl said taking a pace back.
“Is she serious?” Ranin asked.
“She is trying to understand him,” Namic said.
“I think,” Ranin laughed, “I might have underestimated her. She wants to know more about him. How sweet.”
Sworder took a deep breath, as the girl took another step back.
“Will he have the strength to stage?” Ranin asked.
“We shall shortly see,” Namic said.
Sworder’s form began to shine and the girl shielded her eyes. In the flurry of a green cloak, the world dimmed.
“Wind?” the girl said, uncovering her eyes.
“Indeed, the Vassal of Wind,” he said.
“And do you know why you chose this form?” the girl asked.
“Not really,” the Vassal said. “It was quiet, and a breeze swept up,”
“That does not make a lot of sense,” the girl said.
“I am sorry, but it was the only way I could describe it,” the Vassal said.
“That’s fine,” the girl said. “In a way I feel like I still know you better.”
The Vassal shyly glanced away, but spotting something he turned back to the girl, continuing, “Shall I show you something?”
The girl hesitantly took the Vassal’s hand, and smiled. “Lead on.”
The Vassal led the girl down the hill and farther away from the city. Far away an outcropping of rock jutted up forming a steep cliff.
“Do you trust me?” the Vassal asked the girl.
“Of course,” the girl said, failing to hold back a smile.
The Vassal pulled her in before scooping her up and leaping up the cliff side. Quickly, he leapt from ledge to ledge up the cliff face. The wind picked up and a large updraft helped carry them to the top. They touched solid ground a few moments later and the Vassal set the girl down. The girl sighed with relief when she felt something beneath her feet.
Turning around, her breath caught. Below them spanned a valley full of flowers, in full bloom. Reds, blues, purples, and an even greater variety of hues painted the landscape below like some beautiful tapestry. The wind slowly rolled over the hill and the flowers swayed gracefully in perfect unison.
“Such pretty flowers,” the girl said.
“Then one shall be yours,” the Vassal said, drawing his bow. With one shot he sliced a single flower in the Valley off its stem, and with another sent it floating up towards them. When it arrived, it gently glided to the girl.
The girl, flush, accepted the flower before saying, “Thank you, Sworder.”
“At your service.”
“Quaint,” Ranin said.
“A short relief,” Namic said.
“Before moving on,” Ranin said. “Calta is their next stop. I wonder what they will find there.”
“We will have to let time move on.”
“It turns so slowly sometimes,” Ranin said grumbling.
They watched the girl and the Vassal stand at the top of the cliff over looking a large portion of the island, and the sun slowly moved across the sky.
“We should go back now,” the girl said. “And by the long way, please.”
“As you wish,” the Vassal of Wind said.
The two began the slow journey back to the city. It was late in the evening when the girl returned to the ship. There she sat silently thinking.
“She is pondering all Tempest had to say,” Namic said.
“She had a lot of time to think it over already,” Ranin said.
“True, but I think she is still trying to process it,” Namic said. “She still has quite sometime as well.”
The day went and the sun rose again. The girl went out to the city and explored with Sworder. Ranin watched as the two moved through the streets. Namic spared cursory glances but the day progressed and the next day the ship set sail with the wind blowing with them.
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