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Silence…
Nothing, but silence.
The last thing I saw was a masked figure flaring their bloody accursed eyes into us. Twice, I had, yet the feelings were different. Cold air wafted across my bare skin, but then a fair warmth slowly ruled. Soft press cradled throughout my back. My nose breathed the air. My eyes weighed from the heavy tiredness. Peace and solace already contained my mind.
Then all of a sudden, a sound of rooster crowing pierced into my ears. Annoyed, my eyes lightened, freed from the heavy weight of fatigue. Gasps slowly escaped out of my lips. Visions slowly washed from a blurry fog.
Finally, a familiar plain wooden ceiling greeted my sight. Pushing myself upright, the walls were rough and stone-crafted. Simple beds, including the one I laid upon, were made in slick fibres of hay and draped in a delicately thick woollen blanket. A shield emblazoned with two crossed swords hung proudly on the wall. Pale light of morning dawn flitted across the windows, casting long shadows. Rising, I stepped onto the creaking wooden floor, noticing a simple white chemisette and brown trousers on my body. Darting beside, a set of armour gleamed on a square desk by the bedhead. So I donned them carefully, all the while sounds of faint pother filtering in from beyond the door. Curious, how was I brought here?
Already clad, I gently opened the door and stepped outside the sleeping chamber, only to see something that shocked me.
The vast hall thrummed with flurries. Figures clad in familiar tunics, cloaks, and armour – folks of my own time – bustled about. Some perused colourful posters plastered on the walls, their faces etched with determination as they searched for a worthy quest. Others huddled around tables, sharing a hearty supper and lively conversation. At a central desk, a woman diligently inscribed names onto writs, whilst a joyous band elsewhere bragged about their haul, clinking a hefty sack of gold coins. A pang of longing pierced my heart.
Truly, this was the world I belonged to, a world of camaraderie, purpose, and shared triumphs.
But which decade?
So I climbed down the stairs and scanned their faces. Never were those folks from the coming times either cleansed from a flurry of baths or stained from ink and dust flaunting their peculiarity, but from the present either scarred from their rough ventures or stained from their foes’ blood speaking of battles fought and quests undertaken. The mingled scent of sweat and exertion filled the air, their honest toil being proven. Their lively spirits amused my youth, a youth brimmed with callow joys and sorrows.
“Emi,” a familiar male voice cried my name, somewhere from around the side. So I darted across until a waving hand caught my sight. A shag-haired man clad in mage’s robe was the one who was calling, alongside another man wearing hunter’s garment and a bycocket. Even a glimpse from both their front and back, a sudden warmth within me brought upon an undoubted sense, a sense where familiar faces began to look true.
“Garen,” I murmured back, then approached them with a faint smile,” is that really you?”
“You?” Garen repeated.
“Once again, a word so true to the unangetty lady of the crown,” the hunter replied, then turned his head and looked at me with a slight glare. Without a doubt, by his ragged look and lousy tone, he was…
“Schlik?”
“Aye, my name’s Schlik,” he bowed scornfully. “How canst I be of thy help, m’lady?”
“Silence, Schlik,” Garen scolded Schlik, “cease thy foul words.”
“Ever dost thou mean, digga?” Schlik shrugged. “I’d seen many children from the athels speaking like an uncouth dosser.”
“On behalf of her life… not her name.”
“Oh, right… aye,” Schlik darted a glance at me and bowed his head as if he was trying to be sure. “Aye, I understand. Least, I’m not gonna side with that… bloody, worthless wench on the seat.”
Bloody wench, she was, I thought. Worthless, too. Then I murmured, “One day… one day.”
So in an era where my elder sister, should Gidden be forbidden, named Karen the Filth was presiding on the throne of Solheim, I returned. Wish it could be an era after endless battles against the Norsians, and yet, here I was… back to the new dawn.
All the while I was lost in thoughts, Garen slowly grew a smile from merely gazing at me – a kindest gaze that somehow held an ineffable meaning. Neither baleful nor lustful. He was a man of soft heart, not even a single foul word befitting to speak out of his lips. Whereas Schlik himself was a man of, perhaps, no intellect, yet a brave and mighty heart, he still had. Bliss and mirth were his spirit, yet together, they shared. A nightmare they shared their beholden eyes – blazing flames, dying bellows, and screeching savagery, but never they were desperate, for they knew a greater preparation comes with a greater vengeance.
“Anyway,” Schlik stood up, then pushed the chair back in, “we have to find some quests for our spare gold. Hopefully, something happens around Loft, or at least, here in this bloody town of Peeke.”
“How about the village of Prush,” Garen followed, and so I did, “or mayhaps Angle?”
“Which one has the most toothsome fish?” asked Schlik.
“Prush.”
“Prush, that is,” he broadened his smile and rushed towards the writboard right before the hall doors.
Garen looked at me and asked, “Hungry for morning fill?”
I glanced down and rubbed my belly, never a growl nor ache called for it, “Nay, I do not feel quite hungry.”
“Mayhaps it’ll be more toothsome once we reach Prush.”
“Aye,” I nodded, “I do love some bits of fish fresh from Prush.”
Garen shared a nod and smiled, “Delighted to hear.”
Garen and I followed Schlik from behind, who was skimming across every word of every writ. In the case of this day, there was a lot, his eyes vigorous from all across. He then turned his back and gasped, bewildered from the disappointing all-around search.
“No hope for a Prush fish then,” said Schlik with a frown.
“Hapless to hear that,” replied Garen. “What about Angle?”
“Angle,” Schlik repeated, then went back to searching. “Angle…. Angle.”
“A fish from Angle can be decent, aye?” Garen asked me.
“I have tasted Anglish salmon pie before… in my palace—hoff.”
“And it was thine only fea inside there, nay?”
“Nay, only a few.”
“Much better than one,” Garen walked closer to the writboard, then turned his eyes behind once again. “And now, I reckon thou maketh thousands here. Shouldst thou keep thy chin up, thou wilt make a kingdom of it.”
“You—Thou canst tell?”
“Nay, only time will do.”
“I agree—thwear it,” I gulped an overflowing slaver. “Thy words art true.”
True, I had wielded a power. For twelve short days, I wore the crown and sat upon the throne. Yet, Garen never witnessed my coronation. He merely vanished. In his absence, Schlik, once a boisterous fellow, had now morphed into a bitter lamb to the befuddled slaughter. Seeing them again back in their youth, I could not help but muse over their beings.
Stepping out of the hall, I was greeted by a scene straight out of my own time. Bustling crowds filled the streets of Peeke, their simple tunics and trousers a familiar sight. A band of bards wove their cheerful melodies through the air, a blithe ode to the new dawn. Mothers bartered for fresh ingredients in the bustling market. Children's laughter echoed as they played in the cobbled streets, oblivious to the adults around them who shared hushed gossip or recounted their daily troubles. This was a world of ordinary life, a world where smartphones and the strange garb of the future held no place. It felt like home.
Before I was about to stretch outward and breathe all in and out, a strange gentle touch caught my shoulder from behind. Looking at it, a peculiar hooded figure appeared before me, face slightly covered in shade. But behind the shade was a familiar pale face with slim eyes, but most bizarre and outborn compared to all folk. Her hair was as black as the raven. One thing that fitted such a menacing look in front of me – her stern aura.
“Aya… ko?”
“Wait, can you recognise me?” she asked.
Blinking repeatedly, I tried to force the image away. Once, twice, thrice, several times – her form remained stubbornly real. There she stood, undoubted and present.
“This is impossible,” I gasped. “What on bloody earth is going on?”
“I don’t know either, but the fact is…”
She stifled her words, her eyes darting across every side. Widened, she knew it was all peculiar to her, same feeling, yet in different cause from a different time.
“The fact is,” she continued, “it seems we’re in the Middle Age… or something.”
“Or to be precise,” I added, “this year seems to be around twelve twenty, my sixteenth year of life.”
“I see. First, you were somehow brought to the future,” she chuckled, “and now, I am somehow brought to the past. Great, how did the world just turn the tables for us?”
“Aye, but the problem is—”
“Twelve twenty,” she finished my point, “a year definitely doesn’t fit with the thousand-year gap theory.”
“But do you remem—”
“Ey, Ma’am Emi!” Schlik’s voice suddenly cried from the hall doorway, interrupting. “We’ve got a quest.”
Just then, Schlik and Garen approached us from the hall, averting from Ayako. Schlik waved a quest writ like a flag, a broad grin on his face. Garen smiled as well, but less enthusiastically. Schlik, the glutton, nearly trembled with fervour; fresh fishes in the river village of Angle must have brought him more joy.
“What is the quest for?” I asked them.
“Who’s this raven-haired maiden with skin as pale as snow and eyes as narrow as the tip of the shaft?” asked Schlik, ignoring my question.
“Hey, what did you say?” fumed Ayako.
Garen shrugged, all the fault going to Schlik, and yet, as I knew him much, he could not simply back away with cowardice. Should he dare to face foe and even strangers, such inklings would never cease his curiosity, as the faces of Norsians and Silish folks were quite indifferent from our white face and golden hair. Only a shock of dirty gold, however, might tell, and hence he felt dubious over her looks, even if she looked far, very far different.
“All I’rt saying is that thou must’ve been a spurrier from some farther lands, spirring every whem and seam.”
“What?” gasped Ayako.
“Oh, thou still not thwear it? Name one city in each five shires.”
“Himel.”
“For…?”
“Capital.”
“What?”
“It means—”
“She means a Kinborough,” Garen interrupted.
“Aye, then?”
“Stergatan.”
“For…?”
“Holy capital?”
“What?”
“It means—”
“She means a Holy Borough,” Garen interrupted me… twice.
“Aye, then?”
“Samdaz… for trading capital… or borough, should I say.”
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“Aye, then?’
“Peeke for soldiery.”
“Aye, and lastly?”
“Foose for entertainment.”
Schlik's reaction was swift and impulsive. Outright, he whipped out his sword, the tip accusingly aimed at Ayako. His usually jovial eyes narrowed with inkling, drawing a crowd of curious onlookers. Garen reacted quickly, grabbing Schlik's arm and pulling him back before the situation escalated further. Meanwhile, I rushed to stand behind Ayako, shielding her from the brunt of Schlik's unwarranted hostility.
“Thou must not do this, Schlik,” said Garen, frustrated from his sudden rage, “I beg thee to seek a further grasp before making thy judgement.”
“What dost thou mean, digga?” cried Schlik, trying to shake away from his grip, “I thought thou’st grasp this dowing way of knowing a backfriend.”
“By the name of Gidden, Schlik,” Garen replied, “soothe thyself. Judging by her raven hair, she must’ve been from Hexia, so of course, naming Fosse before Hansch is natural in her eyes.”
Whilst making a ruckus before us, Ayako gave me a gentle touch upon my shoulder and murmured, “What does he mean by that?”
“It is some sort of… undertaking oath among the folk here. Mostly, whenever a backfriend states all the correct name of the city, and even worse, its origin, you are most likely to be, like he said, a spurrier.”
“So an old irony treating it as a password,” she snorted. “No wonder most gifted minds are curses in disguise.”
“I know nothing of that.”
“Maybe you’re just a bloody idiot.”
“Nay, I am not.”
“Just look at yourself,” she rolled her eyes.
“I have looked at myself in the mirror manifold.”
Seeing Schlik and Garen again, they tried to share their disputes between each other, offering a parry of reasons for Ayako’s mere presence. Their faces clashed: Schlik with his glaring eyes and blabbering mouth and Garen with his gentle poise and shaking head. Soon after, one of the city knights approached us and asked, “What’s the meaning of this?”
“Good day, sir,” Schlik spoke, “thou must know—”
“Nothing about it, sir,” Garen covered Schlik’s mouth from behind, bringing him to a sudden halt. “This is a mere misunderstanding, truth to be told. His morning ale must've clouded his judgement.”
“Morning ale, eh?” he shrugged and waved his hand back, leaving us at once. “Well, thou shalt lift him back to the tavern beds before he makes further troubles.”
“What a carefree guard,” said Ayako, “If I were a sheriff here, his ranks deserve to be stripped of him.”
“That’s Karen’s wield for you,” I scoffed, “Her policies made them blind to see.”
“That typically sounds like some corrupt politician from a crony family.”
“Meanwhile, those Norsian savages had been running and marauding out of nowhere like some hungry pack of wolves.”
“Norsians? Were they that wild and barbaric?”
“Aye, they—”
“Bloody hell they art,” cried Schlik, interrupting with his sincere glares against her, “what doth thou think an outborn like thee to not grasp a whole dwolm of this land, all the while those wandering folks from Hexia shurt around feast after feast?”
“Oh, bloody,” she sighed, “can you just calm down for a sec?”
“Silence, please,” I pleaded.
“Oh,” continued Schlik. “mayhaps thou art a wench from Hexia, seeking some men to brook and their prongs to shurt.”
“Silence, I said,” my voice bursted. With a heavy clang, I cast my mace and slammed to the ground, the floor trembling with the impact. His eyes now morphed into a slight fear. “For the love of Gidden, may I have my word please?”
After the tremor subsided, Schlik slowly stepped back, The menacing weight of my mace, held firm at my side, seemed to finally pierce his bluster. Garen held a hand on his shoulder, keeping him calm. Ayako, her eyes wide with surprise, stood frozen, the echo of my mace strike hanging heavy in the air. The entire scene played out in stunned silence, the onlooking crowd holding their breath.
“Good,” I nodded, “then I shall introduce—inbring her to thee, my fellow fere from…”
I paused, wondering over where she could be from.
“From wha—”
“From Samdaz of the East,” I lied. “Aye, her name is Aya.”
“Aya, huh?” repeated Schlik, rubbing his chin.
“Named after a fern ‘sword’,” Garen lauded. “Aye, it befits her sharp, dogged eyes.
“As dogged as the tip of the double-edged sword,” laughed Schlik, “thou know, the one that spits out a stream of spunk.”
Ayako heaved a heavy sigh and rolled her eyes, “Alright, I’ve understood enough.”
I shook my head, shrugging over his foul humour, then asked Garen, “Anyway, what is the quest all about then?”
Before answering, Garen outright stole a rolled writ from Schlik’s pocket and skimmed across the text. Then he said, “In being, an ado around the caravans trading from Angle to Peeke, and the other way about, has grown into a dwolm. For twenty and even thirty-five passing of suns and moons, nothing was given from Peeke. Due to this, their stack of gold and vattles fall short. According to Sir Hans, son of the village chief there, some band of armed reavers hath been forestalling the route after their unthrift sixfold. Some heard from them… speaking a deep, tongue-heavy yack. This writ was sent through an eathmood culver, hoping to answer his prayers.”
“A deep, tongue-heavy yack?” I repeated, “such… retching befits those of the Norsian tongue.”
“Art thou sure?” cried Schlik, then glanced at Garen. “Do thou thwear it?”
“I’m afraid to say, Schlik, but aye, she speaks true,” nodded Garen.
“These bloody whoresons,” fumed Schlik, clenching his fist. “I… I—No, we shall make them pay for this. As soon as I see their bloody faces, I’ll slice them into half and beat them up into a pulp.”
“But soothe thyself, Schlik,” said Garen, “who knows that these reavers might’ve something up their sleeve?”
“Then we have to keep our eyes keen before theirs wilt,” I declared, my voice firm. Stepping past Schlik, I paused, a thought striking me. “Say, where art the horses?”
“Oh, right, they art at the stable beside the tavern here,” answered Garen.
“Then what art we waiting for?” said Schlik, rushing past us, “let’s drub them to death.”
Before following Garen and Schlik walking towards the stable, Ayako gave me a gentle pull and asked, “Wait, what I’m gonna do then?”
“Do you have a weapon?” I asked.
“No,” she shook her head, “Even for some reason, I can’t even cast Kusengan.”
“I see. What weapon befits your style?”
“Guns. Pistols.”
“Uhh… other than that?”
“Knife or… a dagger!”
With an open palm, I cast a pair of daggers into my hand and undid the tag into it, resettling a seal from mine to Ayako.
“Here,” I stretched my hand to Ayako, then she clutched them, “I used to keep them as spares, but a pair of it is more than enough.”
“Woah, a dual daggers?” she moaned, her dazzling eyes glued on from every angle. “Cool, I’ve got decent skills on this.”
“Better,” I patted her shoulder and turned behind, walking her to the stable. “Then we shall head onto the village of Angle and see if we can find those whoresons awaiting our arrival,”
“Always up for action.”
Reaching the stables, I found Garen and Schlik already mounted on their steeds. Schlik's gaze flickered towards Ayako, suspicion lingering in his eyes. Whereas Garen offered a curt nod of acknowledgement. Yet, knowing her, I would not forsake Ayako, just as she had stood by me during her time – a time of lost future.
“Is she coming with us?” asked Schlik.
“Aye,” I replied, “for she has… a errandwrit from Samdaz towards someone she knew in Angle.”
“Who’s that ‘someone in Angle’ then?”
“Uhh,” I turned my glance towards Ayako and whispered, “Can you come up with the name?”
“How should I bloody know?” she replied. “You’re the one coming up with that idea for me.”
“Be clever, for Gidden’s sake.”
“Fine,” she rolled her eyes.
“I’m waiting,” cried Schlik.
“It’s,” she paused, clearing her throat and licking her lips. “Ana, my good sire,”
“Ana?” Schlik tilted his head and furrowed his brow. “I’ve never heard of that name before.”
“What?”
“As someone who knew everyone living in Angle, never once have I heard that ‘Ana’ in my whole life, even in the village of Angle.”
“You’re fucking kidding me, right?”
“Nay, I ain’t.”
Ayako looked at me with her glaring eyes and mumbled, “He’s quite a socialite, I’ll give him that.”
I shrugged, my mind gone to a frustrating void. Garen leaned in and murmured something to Schlik. Ayako's brow furrowed, her gaze darting between them. The whispered exchange clearly bothered her, sowing seeds of doubt about whose side Garen would ultimately take. Yet, knowing Garen, I knew his sense of grasp rather well.
Soon after their share of murmurs, Schlik nodded with his relaxed brow and bit his lips, “Pardon me, but I change my mind. Thou may come with us, for Goodman Garen of Sarne here knew Ana of Angle.”
“Alright, thank you,” Ayako bowed her head, then looked at me with a slight smirk and murmured. “Shaggy guy’s quite a gentleman.”
“You mean, Garen?” I chuckled. “Indeed, a sensible one, too.”
Relief washed over me as the suspicion seemed to dissipate. With a spring in my step, I mounted my loyal steed and clutched a rein. Reaching out a hand, I helped Ayako climb up. Once she found her footing, I released my grip, her legs gracefully manoeuvring her onto the space behind me. As she settled into the saddle, her hands held on my waist. A faint tremor ran through them, a subtle brush of skin against skin that sent a jolt down my spine.
As everything was all set, I gave a curt nod and steered the party out of Peeke. Our destination: the village of Angle, nestled somewhere southwest of here.
The well-worn path led us through rolling meadows, a placid field stretching before us. A spring breeze swept across the plains, carrying the earthy scent of untamed nature. The swaying grasses seemed to enthral Ayako, pulling her out of her rapt silence. Gentle sighs, tickling my ear, drifted from behind me. As she became calm, her grip on my waist loosened. However, our gazes remained wary, raking across the horizon. The long grasses, swaying like silent sentries, could easily conceal peril. Even I found no wayfarers ambling past.
Then the well-worn path led us through a heaving forest, a hairy woodland abutting around us. A symphony of birdsong filled the air, their chirps a melody beneath the dawn's first light. The rising sun cast a dazzling show across the horizon, briefly stealing our breath away. Ayako's sigh, soft at first, now grew into a joyful exhale that reached my ears. Serene, she seemed oblivious to the danger lurking around us. Whereas our sharp eyes darted across the sweep, searching the tall grass and bushes for any sign of lurking reavers. However, it was tough, as the howling wind and rustling leaves could conceal any lookouts slinking out of the forest.
Soon after a soundless moment of lost awe, Ayako heaved another sigh of relief and spoke, “I don’t know why, but wandering around here is kinda… whole another level.”
“What do you mean by that?” I asked.
“How can I say it?” she paused, thinking over a word befitting to my grasp. “Calm… and adventurous.”
“Calm,” I scoffed. “So you have been gasping all the time like a gaping dragon, whilst we, on the other hand, have been watching around with our eagle’s eyes. Surely, you are as carefree as that guard a while ago.”
“Quit your trifles,” she snorted. “You really don’t know what it feels like after spending time in the office all day and everyday. Let alone living in the city. Sometimes, all we need is to be freed from the excruciating bustles.”
“But since you are here in this age—this so-called ‘Middle Ages’—you will face no peace in this outskirts… sooner or later.”
She paused.
“Wait, speaking of age,” I said, “how did you get in here to begin with?”
“I don’t know, but the last time I saw was a dark figure with crimson eyes,” she paused once again, but this time, she gaped, perhaps a sudden thought clicking on her mind, “Crimson eyes… doesn’t that mean…. No way.”
“Let me guess, Kusengan?”
“Could it be?”
“How much do you know about it?”
She replied nothing, brimming wonders left her presence of mind.
“Hey!” I slightly pushed her behind.
“What?”
“How much do you know about it?” I repeated.
“Well…,” she stammered, then sighed. “Only the fundamentals, As much as I know of history about the Hanashi clan quite decently, sciences behind our eyes were—still are forbidden to be known publicly. Even the bearers themselves.”
“I see.”
“But as far as I can observe, Kusengan holds a power to control the… let’s say, the Beholden one to restrict their movement. Or rather, a bat of an eye could grasp their nerves to forced submission. Besides, you’ve had and even seen it more than once. You know, like I was locking them up without even laying a touch.”
“Aye, seems no one could escape from that,” I paused, wondering over everyone who fell victim upon her chain-locking Kusengan. Yet only one could weather her sightful might. “Wait, what about that redhead?”
“Redhead? You mean, Ana?”
“Polo.”
“Oh, that weird poetaster,” she snorted. “Well, since he’s from a descent of some physically persistent beings, it’s honestly not surprising for him to pull out like that, compared to Ana’s.”
“You mean, Ana’s talent is inferior compared to her brother’s?”
“No, more like… she’s quite more unpredictable than her brother. Of course, an idiot like Ana can do some unexpected things, as some clever idiots do. Whenever she goes out, she keeps flinching away from anybody who is staring at her. Worse, if she crosses through some isolated areas. Quite ironic of her being a brazen bitch, but… well, it seems such saying is true, ‘One who appears weak is strong, and one who appears strong is weak.’”
“That sounds… rather odd.”
“Very odd for you as someone from the West.”
“No, that is not…,” I stammered, then a thought of her during that thunderous incident came across my mind. “Well… apparently, I have seen her like that. In the mall. At the same time as that sudden incident.”
“Oh, I’ve heard of it. Leading you to the restroom just because she isn’t fond of a lot of people looking at her.”
“Right, but she is a wench selling her body. Of course, it is understandable to—”
“Boundaries,” she interrupted. “Boundaries and consents. They all matter, even if she’s committed to a role requiring little to no wonder of shame. If that still doesn’t make sense for you, try to think how you manage to uphold your values after you’ve arrived. Of course, I was about to expect you to shoot your mouth off a while ago on the stage of the forum, but you didn’t.”
“Hmm…”
“But I suggest you think about that later on. Instead, let’s figure out how we get out of this… filler first.”
“Aye, but…,” I paused, a sudden shift of thought came across my mind. “But this could be this… a magic from some purple glimmering stone, no?”
“No, I doubt it.”
“Why do you think so?”
“Do you think it’s out of quest—”
Ayako's words were cut short by a sudden, faint explosion from ahead. It seemed to come from beyond the woodland, no more than a few dozen metres away. The sound brought our horses to a startled halt.
“What the fuck was that?” asked Ayako.
“Earthly magic,” Garen answered, emerging to our side. “Mayhaps brewed with rising flame.”
“Might be our mage folks like thee,” Schlik smirked with gritted teeth, then unsheathed his blade. “I can’t wait to smite these whoresons.”
“Wait,” I gestured, halting Schlik’s rash arms. “That could be de—”
“What’rt thou thinking about?” Schlik heckled, then reined his steed in front of us. “We can’t let them die trying alone.”
“But—”
“Hyah,” he galloped forth in an instant.
“Schlik,” cried Garen, then galloped behind Schlik.
“For Gidden’s sake.”
Despite Schlik's reckless charge, I spurred my horse forward, all the while praying for luck and strength on my lips. My resolve held firm, driven as much by purpose as by the burning question consuming me: why did this anomaly occur? Not that sudden burst there, but our very presence here. It felt as though the ones who emerged true were those who rode upon this steed – my own.