Chapter Four
Dark Age Year 871
Sixth day of the Eighth month
“During my travels with Tharos, we often encountered foreign and strange people along the way. As a young boy, I was aware that there were other peoples besides the Wilders and Invicti located far across the ocean from Aria’s shores. However, their identities and ways of life remained a mystery to me at the time. Meeting Tharos changed all that. It was fascinating to meet people from different cultures, learning valuable lessons and gaining insights into their way of life. This experience taught me allot and made me realize the common ground shared among various people, despite minor differences. Some individuals I met possessed qualities that I admired and wished to emulate. On the other hand, I was horrified by the lifestyles of certain people we encountered, finding them so alien that I struggled to see them as human. Undoubtedly, some of them viewed me in the same light. Jabari Garzar was one of the first of many such encounters, and one of which was quite positive. What can I say about him? Although he could be rather cold at times and cared more about coin than actual people to the point he was rather impartial and often detached from matters of the heart, even more so than Tharos or Saiya was. However, I couldn’t help but respect his rational and often logical approach to things. If there were more people like him in the world, perhaps the wars that had plagued Aria for almost the last three hundred years could have been avoided. If cooler heads had prevailed, perhaps all this blood wouldn’t need to be spilled. All for the sake of greed or pride. But there is no point in agonising over what could have been. It’s too late for me to have such regrets.” —Excerpt From the memoirs of Cenric Dellcreek.
The sun was slowly setting over the horizon, painting the sky with an orange and yellow tinge. The hills, trees, and the lake in front of Cenric looked like they were almost glowing, resembling a roaring bonfire. He saw his reflection in the dark blue of the lake before him. His youthful and often remarked-upon handsome face was marked with more nicks and small cuts, along with his arms. Although it was quite late in the evening, due to summer, the days were longer. This meant more hours spent training with Tharos in swordsmanship, longer hours doing jobs, and, most importantly, more fighting and killing for Cenric. While he didn’t have much of a choice at times, he wished he didn’t have to kill. He hated the smell of blood, the roaring and shouting, and the fearsome looks in people’s eyes, looks that would soon fade as he split their skulls open or cut massive chunks out of their torsos and limbs with his axe or ran them through with the point of his spear, punching through their heart or spiking their heads like a piece of meat rotating on a spit. Sometimes, just sometimes, he even felt their heart stop beating through the wooden shaft of his spear, a feeling that he didn’t like all too much—feeling the pulse of life and then feeling and watching said life fade away like a candle in the breeze. A life that he took, a candle he personally snuffed out, by his own hands.
Kill them before they kill you was the phrase that echoed in his mind. He had killed things before, like random wildlife while hunting and now random monsters while on jobs with Tharos or during their travels. He didn’t feel all that bad about it; he would try to do it as quickly as possible because he didn’t want these creatures to suffer, even if those monsters, who in all likelihood had killed so many innocent people, maybe in some way deserved the fate that had befallen them. But who was he to judge? However, when it came to people, at first, he would start getting a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. After the next few times it happened, he felt this feeling less and less and this scared him more than anything else. Having to kill to defend yourself or your loved ones was something he could accept, reluctantly. However, killing for the sake of killing, was something he didn’t like and couldn’t accept under any circumstances.
He found it amusing to think about. If he were back home, the village elders would have sung his praises to the highest mountains. If they had heard about what he had experienced and accomplished with his own hands, he might have earned his own deed name by now. He wouldn’t be Cenric of Dellcreek any more; maybe he would be Cenric the Deadlands Walker or Cenric the Dead Slayer. He might have even received offers of marriage or been invited to join the adults on hunts and raids in other villages. If that were not the case, he would have already been preparing for his coming-of-age trials, where he would be sent out into the world to either slay a mighty foe, hunt a dangerous beast, or undergo a trial of skill and cunning. It was always up to the elders to decide, as they wanted to test you to ensure you could stand shoulder to shoulder with your fellow warriors. The weak would be cast aside like blades of cut grass, never to be spoken of or mourned. Their souls would be banished, cast aside to the darkness to wander for all times. Their only hope is that maybe one day they may be reborn and try their luck again, to attempt to gain entry into the revered halls of eternal battles, where the greatest of heroes and foes dwell. But for Cenric, either fate wasn’t to his liking.
He thought to himself,Got a few more cuts today, as he examined his arms and face. He then plunged both hands deep into the cold water of the lake, feeling a shiver run up his spine. Quickly pulling his arms back, he splashed some water on his face. Fresh droplets of red blood dripped from his now wet face into the dark blue waters of the lake, blending with the blue. For a brief moment, it felt like he and the lake were becoming one, his red intertwining with the lake’s blue.
I wonder if adding enough red blood to this blue lake would turn it purple. He shook his head, droplets of water dripping off his silky, soft, golden-blonde hair, and splashed another helping of cold water over his face at such a stupid thought. He was fourteen, basically a man now, or soon to become one, and he would have to leave such childish thoughts behind him, just like the foes he encountered who now lay dead at his feet. Their only purpose now, since they joined the hollow dead, was to serve as food for crows and worms, as their bones would join the soil, becoming one with the earth, the same fate they sent so many others to. The soil was watered by the blood of the innocent and wicked alike, and if he wasn’t careful, he would soon join them if these stray thoughts took root now. The time for such silly and stupid thoughts ended when the village of Dullcreek was burnt to the ground, and he was cast adrift to the four winds of Aria.
He had heard that if you mix blue and red together, you get the colour purple. Although he had maybe only seen that colour once or twice, as the dyes for such a colour were rare, and only the most high-ranking and blue-blooded of Invicti nobles could afford or were even allowed to wear such a colour. For his people, the Wilders, they wore any colour they wanted. If you wanted green or yellow, you could do so. Colour was colour, and if you were strong enough, then who was going to stop you from wearing what you wanted? Some clans of Wilders he heard used different colours as part of their clan colours. He long suspected that Rayner might be from crimson-haired clan or at least related to them. They were a clan famous for having crimson red hair, and would often paint themselves red, as a way to honour there clan founder, the famous Ragnar The Crimson Path.
Cenric would often recall times when Estrid would drag him to village gatherings where the elders would tell their stories. Some of the stories included tales of great heroes, such as Declan The Iron-armed, Leif The Dragon Slayer, and Ethel Queen of Storms. As a small boy, he perhaps naively wished to emulate these great heroes; however, the reality of what it would take to become such a person had already destroyed such childish notions in his mind. He could never be a hero, all he could be was himself, and that all he wanted to be.
Purple. There was something about that colour that reminded Cenric of something, although it was very faint. Cenric often had a series of recurring dreams as a small boy. Now, that in itself is nothing to pay attention to; everyone has dreams. However, these particular dreams would be about the same thing and would last for weeks, if not months on end. The subject of the dream might vary from night to night, but the same set of dreams remained the same, with some details being very vague and barely remembered. However, he somehow knew that many of them were repeats of the same thing. One of these hard-to-recall dreams he could remember in some detail. In this dream, he was a fully grown man standing beside the bedside of a beautiful woman with pale skin, dark and piercing purple eyes, and long hair as black as night, as if she was bathed in shadow. The room was thick with the smell of incense and flowers, which tickled his nose, and the only light in the room came from the flickering of candlelight and the faint moonlight pouring in from the balcony behind him, bathing her in a glow that made her in his mind even more beautiful.
She would often beckon to him with an outstretched pale hand from a massive bed. The frame of the bed looked solid, as if it were carved from an oak tree, with pillows stuffed with the finest feathers and sheets so soft they felt like touching a baby’s skin. Her naked form was adorned with jewellery of shining gold and silver, interlaced with gems of various sizes and colours. Her body was framed by the soft cotton sheets that barely hid her modesty, often revealing the contours of her figure. She was so beautiful, in fact, that she seemed almost inhuman and scary to him. But he never felt afraid of her, even though he felt she could do anything to him, and there was nothing much he could do about it.
In this dream, he often felt a strong pull towards her, towards the darkness that enveloped her like a cloak, unable to walk away. He would then find himself enveloped by her cold arms and legs as he rested in her soft bosom with the sheets surrounding them like a protective cocoon. There would be no escape for him, not that he wanted to escape. As she leaned in to kiss him with her pale lips, that’s when the dream would end, and he would often wake up in cold sweats. This was a recurring dream that he struggled to remember in full detail, unsure of its significance. When he mentioned these dreams to the village elders, they dismissed it as nothing or attributed it to the ancestors or gods.
However, whenever he saw or was reminded of the colour purple, which wasn’t very often if he was being honest, his thoughts would sometimes drift to that girl in his dreams. The beauty of that girl was so overwhelming that it was almost terrifying to him. However, he couldn’t remember exactly her face, aside from the fact that she was pretty. All he remembered was her dark and piercing purple eyes and black hair.
I shouldn’t be thinking about such old dreams. Focus on the now, he thought to himself. As he finished washing his face and admired the pristine view of the lake and the woods, he spotted random fish swimming just beneath the surface where the fading light of the sun couldn’t touch them. Across the lake, a deer was drinking water, occasionally lifting its head to look at him. Before continuing to drink, he heard someone call out to him from behind, perhaps several feet away. It was Tharos.
“Dinner is ready now,” Cenric turned his head towards their camp and called back.
“Alright, I’ll be there in a minute,” he called out. Glancing at the deer one more time, he saw that it was gone. Seeing his reflection refracted in the water’s surface, Cenric grabbed his gear and walked back to camp. They were camped out in front of a small dead-end cave with a roaring bonfire and a lovely view of a lake surrounded by hills and mountains. It was a location that Jabari knew well. As he entered the camp and sat down, he saw Tharos sitting on a nearby log reading a book, occasionally peeking beyond the book page to take in his surroundings. Rayner was lying next to a tree, with his great axe placed beside him, his eyes closed and snoring, the sound of which was being drowned out by the roaring campfire.
The smell of the fire and the exotic spices of Navertin cooking filled the air. It was unlike anything he had smelled before. Yes, he had experienced spices and other flavours before, but this was different from anything he had tasted previously. Over the cooking spit were pieces of wild game that had been cut up and were being cooked together along with an assortment of vegetables, now being mixed together with some sort of sauce. In the pot next to it, which was at first filled with water, and along with a white grain, which Jabari told them was called rice. It was quite popular in the nation of Kenshi, and Jabari had acquired a taste for it since it was easy to transport and didn’t spoil as quickly as grain did. Tharos already knew of this food called rice; however, for him and Rayner, they had never heard of such a thing. Cenric just assumed it was something that was common during Tharos’ time, whenever that was.
Jabari, their current employer, had decided that he would cook for them. Outside of Nico, very few of their employers would provide them with food and drink, and even rarer, offer to cook for them. Although Cenric didn’t know where Jabari managed to fit all of this, since the wagon was filled mostly with medical supplies, and there was barely any room for them and their stuff, let alone all this food and cooking gear. He had seen before Jabari pull some of this stuff out of his robe, so unless Jabari was some sort of mage or had some sort of magic item with him, there is no way he would fit all this stuff under his clothing.
As Jabari started to serve the food, he looked at both of them. “Be careful, this food will be spicier than what you are used to. I recommend you eat it slowly,” he advised as he handed them a bowl and a wooden spoon each. In the bowl were pieces of wild game with vegetables and rice mixed in a thick, light brown sauce. Cenric gave it a quick sniff. It smelled delicious and didn’t seem spicy at all. Seeing Tharos eating slowly, Cenric decided to dig in quickly. After a few bites, he felt his tongue burning, and his mouth and lungs were on fire, desperately searching for his water canteen. He noticed a dark outstretched hand offering him a cup of water. “I warned you it was hot,” Jabari stated again, this time giving Cenric a small, knowing smile.
Quickly taking the cup from Jabari’s hands, Cenric chugged the water down as fast as he had eaten the food. Tharos looked at him and let out a small sigh.
“Cenric, I’ve told you many times that you shouldn’t grab things out of people’s hands, especially during mealtime. It can be considered very rude,” Tharos said, addressing Cenric in what Cenric would call Tharos’ stern teaching voice. This was the voice Tharos would use whenever he wanted to make a point. It was different from the other voice he would usually take, the voice that was supportive and warm.
He then saw Tharos look at Jabari for a second and say, “I have been trying to teach him proper etiquette.” Cenric, looking down at the ground sleepily, then looked up at Jabari. “Sorry about that,” he apologised. Jabari looked at Tharos and addressed him, “While dining etiquette is important, he meant no harm by it,” he spoke before turning his head towards Cenric to address him. “It’s quite alright. I have met many wilders before back in my homeland, and I know your people are not known for their table manners. If I got riled up over every little social faux pas, I wouldn’t have made it as far as a merchant. I can tell you that much.”
“There are wilders in Thalassa?” Cenric asked. He had heard that some of his people did take to the sea sometimes, either as explorers or pirates. He didn’t know there were other wilders in other lands.
“Oh yes, there are wilders like yourself in my homeland, as there are many types of people. A few hundred years ago, the city of Naver was once home to one of your people, a few scholars named Raibeart of Greenhill. Have you heard of him?” Cenric looked at Jabari with a puzzled expression. He had heard of Greenhill before; it’s a small town somewhere on the west coast of Aria, about fifty miles away from where Dullcreek was. But he had never heard of this Raibeart of Greenhill before.
Cenric shook his head. “No, I have never heard of him.” Jabari rubbed his chin and gave a slow nod.
“I suspected as much. Your people were never ones for philosophers. But it isn’t surprising. He was an exile. I do believe he failed his coming-of-age trial and was banished from his clan.” Cenric looked shocked. Usually, failing your coming-of-age trial meant that you died in the attempt, but to come back after you had failed, and to not be killed, but instead banished. This Raibeart of Greenhill must have been very lucky or had a silver tongue to not only last that long to make it across the seas to Thalassa. Cenric thought to himself as he slowly ate his food.
The rest of dinner proceeded uneventfully, just as Cenric preferred, with the sun setting and the campfire providing the only light. After some small talk with Jabari, Jabari and Tharos started talking again about various topics, including current events, history, and philosophy—subjects Cenric was not well-versed in, except for the little Tharos had shared with him. Nevertheless, he listened attentively, finding some of it intriguing, even if he didn’t fully understand it. The conversation then shifted to the exorbitant prices of goods in Aria recently, piquing Cenric’s interest. While his people liked coins and valued them, they mostly used coins as decorations. The more plunder you had, the better the warrior you were was the logic.
However, they didn’t value them the way he found other people did. His people typically preferred to trade and barter for goods, or if that didn’t work, it was nothing that an axe couldn’t fix. Even he himself didn’t really see the value of coins that Tharos gave him as part of his cut of the coin. He would say that not that Cenric felt entitled to it, aside from the fact that other people valued them. For Cenric, they were useful because they could help him get the things that he required to survive without having to rob or kill someone. Outside of that, they were just shiny things to him that could be used as decorations.
As Cenric sat there, enjoying the sounds of the crackling fire, the conversation abruptly stopped. Tharos almost jumped out of his seat, causing Jabari to almost fall back onto the ground, and Rayner woke up with one eye open. Cenric quickly readied his weapons when he saw Tharos draw his sword and his eyes darting around. It was clear that a confrontation was about to happen, and by the looks of it, it wasn’t going to be a pleasant one. This meant the next battle would involve more fighting and killing. Cenric would have to stain his hands with more blood and face the possibility that this night could be his last, or the last of the poor fool who would stand in his way and fall beneath his feet. Cenric didn’t want to know the answer.
