A short while after Byuga opened his eyes, he was struck by the simple astonishment that he could open them at all. He remembered the fall. It was the cold that had roused him. Beneath his palms, he felt the grit of rubble. Just beyond his head lay an obstruction; something must have fallen mere inches from his skull. He attempted to pull himself up, but his back was a map of agony and sharp pain. He needed to know where he was. When he turned his head, all he saw was darkness and the cold shimmer born of the snow falling into that void.
At that moment, he realized he no longer needed his eyes or his mortal senses. As he had done during the fall of Gaigen, he tried to open his higher senses, but for some reason, he failed. Perhaps they only functioned in moments of pure adrenaline, threat, and terror. Once more feeling like a mere scrap of a bahysa, an incomplete being, he steadied himself, lifted his head, and stood.
Looking toward the heights, he saw that all of Gaigen had collapsed. Colossal shards of ice, rocks, and mounds of earth had caved in to form a massive crater. The Black Tower, however, remained standing. Now, the only way to reach it was to climb the gargantuan structure at its base, which had been laid bare by the collapse.
Bewildered, he surveyed his surroundings. That massive vortex of blizzard-wind the witches had summoned continued to spin directly atop the Gaigen tower, radiating a relentless chill. Beneath the whiteness it cast, under the weight of that powerful cold and drifting snow, a vast city was revealed. He stood spellbound, realizing that all this time, the tower of Gaigen had been but the surface remnant of an ancient city buried in ice. There was no sound. He could see no sign of life. The only thing in motion was that giant swirling sphere of the vortex, casting out its bitter frost.
The cold was biting; he hunched his shoulders as the chill seeped in. It was then that he saw Bodhi lying right beside him. The old monk’s head was twisted at an unnatural angle. The blood trailing from his mouth had frozen, crystallizing into strange patterns. Byuga felt his stomach turn. He reached out to take the cloak from the body, shook it out, and threw it over his own shoulders. There was nothing more he could do for him. Still, he covered the body with stones gathered from the vicinity. At the very least, it would serve as a grave until someone found him.
He began to walk through the ruins. Within the hollow of the collapse, the snow fell softly. He saw corpses, mangled bodies. Despite the scale, there were few dead. He then recalled what the witches had done to the fallen guards in the desolate northern lands. A shudder of terror went through his marrow as he imagined the guards of Gaigen rising in that same manner. What were they? Why had they attacked Gaigen?
Fearfully, he crawled beneath a large stone and curled up. He knew he had to move, but he was both afraid and weary. His body was exhausted, bruised in every limb. He didn’t feel as though he could go anywhere. He stayed there for a while, watching the snow fall and the massive slab of earth and rock hanging above him. Then, he turned his head to study the ruins. They had certainly belonged to a magnificent city once. It looked like no city of the bahysas. Only a few ruined eaves and columns scattered about bore a striking resemblance to the drawings Byuga had seen of the eras before Macatosh—specifically, the Age of Dynasties. This place must have been from that epoch of legends. Perhaps Gaigen had been built upon this forgotten house.
Leaving his shelter, he headed toward the ruins. He winced as the pain flared in several wounds and abrasions on his skin. He was conscious of the need to leave. A sense of unbearable panic and fear pressed down, as if intent on breaking through the walls of his curiosity. Nevertheless, he began to examine the ruins. Though he could make little sense of it, he studied the columns, the remnants of the floors, and the broken walls. Everything was fashioned from the same strange stone as the ramparts of Gaigen. He looked up at the Black Tower. It, too, must have been part of this ancient city. Likely, because the tower remained above the ice when the city was buried, it had been resettled.
He then remembered that Balbun and Makar had fled toward the tower. He looked at the mass of earth and ice beneath the tower, and then at the massive buried structure protruding from various points. The Black Tower was the continuation of a great dome. He turned his head toward the lake. Though he could see nothing through the wreckage, he could hear the sound of water. Presumably, the force of the collapse had shattered the frozen waterfall, and the water had begun to flow again. Turning his attention back to the tower, he wondered if he could climb it. A few ways came to mind. Wrapping himself tighter in Bodhi’s cloak, he quickened his pace toward the massive domed structure.
When he finally approached it, he was stunned by its gargantuan doors. They were three to four meters wide, and their height was staggering—rising perhaps ten meters. They bore patterned gold leaf and were crafted not from wood, but from a bone-white material. It resembled pearl but felt like marble to the touch.
Byuga placed his hand upon the door and tried to push with all his might. It did not budge. He stepped back and looked at the structure. He had to get inside somehow. His eyes fell to the reliefs beside the door, covering the walls of the building. There were figures locked in combat, strange glows, and shapes that seemed meaningless. It looked as if these people were carrying the stars, being born from mountains, or speaking with animals. Perhaps immense secrets were hidden here, but they would never know. He circled the structure for perhaps an hour. Finally, he returned to the front of the door. There was no other way in. He examined the gold leaf, the engravings, and the surface. He ran his hand along it but found no mechanism. He had heard that the dwarves sold iron doors to the Middle Realm that opened with the pull of a lever. Perhaps this was one of those.
After some time, while he was still searching for a way in and nearly freezing to death, the doors groaned open. They were pushed a little further, then further still. Byuga threw himself back as something emerged, but then he realized it was the guards coming out. Dozens of wounded guards, their clothes caked in blood and filth, stepped through the doors, shielding their eyes against the blinding whiteness of the environment.
They asked Byuga something, but he could not understand. As they exited, he slipped past them and went inside. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the gloom, but eventually, he began to discern objects. Before him was a colossal hall. As time passed, his vision sharpened in the darkness. Moving forward, he noticed the statues lining the sides. There were perhaps a dozen of them, stretching up to where the dome began. None of them looked like a bahysa. They wore strange armor, and their faces were quite unusual—perhaps worn away by time. One held a massive spear; another’s hand had once held a sphere that now lay on the ground. It was a sphere as large as a house. Another stood as if about to place masks held in both hands over his face. Each had different expressions, different armor, and different weapons. They were so imposing, so magnificent, and so lifelike that for a moment, Byuga felt he was being watched.
Yet the most magnificent of all was another statue standing in the center of everything. This one was a bahysa. He stood tall, holding nothing. One foot was forward, the other back, and his left hand reached upward. His finger touched the very apex of the dome. The architecture and the sculpting were so miraculous that it appeared as if he were holding the dome aloft with his finger. His face bore a taciturn, almost angry expression. Examining it, Byuga noticed that the heads of all the other statues seemed to bow toward him. He appeared to be the greatest, the most sovereign among them.
Walking forward as the crowd thinned, he approached the base of that giant statue. Between its two feet, in the exact center of the hall, rose a massive throne. It was worn, its edges cracked. Yet the remnants of the gold engravings and frames that once adorned it, though now scattered on the floor, spoke of its past glory. Despite all its splendor, the entire hall was deeply saddening to the beholder. It was a place of sorrow. Without doubt, it had once been the throne of a magnificent reign, but now it was nothing more than a desolate hall in the midst of a majestic heap of ruins.
As he walked, he saw a tall figure emerging from among the thinning guards, and his attention shifted instantly. It was Makar. He was holding someone in his arms. The moment Byuga saw, he knew who it was. Balbun was wounded. His chest rose and fell, but he was barely breathing. Beside them was one of his father’s shimlyndvyens. He looked on with a mournful expression. From that look, Byuga knew his old friend had little chance. Makar came to him and laid Balbun on the ground, remaining on one knee. He, too, was wounded; his white fur was stained with blood in places.
Byuga did nothing—he could do nothing. Just as with Bodhi, the only thing he could do was embrace Balbun. As the shimlyndvyen raised a single arm to hold him, Byuga could not help but weep. While tears streamed from his eyes, the other shimlyndvyen and Makar simply waited. There was no one left inside except a few wounded and dead guards. Byuga wept for a long time, unwilling to let Balbun go. When he finally straightened up, thinking a hand had touched his shoulder, he realized the hand belonged to Balbun. His old protector reached out his other hand and gave him his bracelet and ring, which he held in his palm. Then, barely finding his voice, he said something to the other shimlyndvyen. Byuga looked at him anxiously.
"He is proud of you."
The heir of Gaigon looked at him, his face contorting with grief, and squeezed his hands. He had lost the man who had protected him since infancy, the one who had striven since he could remember to make him the person he was now—and he had lost him in a single day. As he struggled to swallow, his swollen tonsils pained his throat. He felt the salt of his tears on his lips. His life was in shambles; his future was a ruin.
Then Balbun raised his hand and with difficulty made two signs. Byuga understood. "Fight," he was saying. He would fight. Balbun would want that, would expect it. After all, all he had ever done was fight—against prejudices, against looks, against pressure and hardship.
"I will fight," he said with his hands. Then he held his hand. He continued to hold it until Balbun drew his last breath with a rattle, until his eyes and mouth fell open and his chest became still. Then, he wept again, but his throat was dry. He crouched on his heels, trying to pull himself together.
When he lifted his head, he looked at the throne before him. A silhouette sat upon it. Though it was a skeleton that had been there for centuries, perhaps millennia, there was not the slightest trace of wear on its magnificent, opulent robes. Above its head sat an engraved green halo. It was fused into the skull as if it had melted into it. Though the skeleton's eyes were gone, there was an indescribable sorrow in its posture. Byuga signaled to Makar with a nod, and together with the last remaining shimlyndvyen of Gaigon, they carried Balbun toward it. When they reached the spot, Byuga lowered his feet to the ground and pushed the skeleton off with his hand. It was heavier than he expected. Still, as parts of it crumbled, it fell to the floor with a clatter that echoed through the hall. The young bahysa, with the help of the kardam, placed Balbun’s lifeless body upon the throne. They let his head rest back and withdrew. His old protector looked no different from a departed sovereign.
They remained thus for a while. But then, Makar pulled Byuga and led him toward the door. The heir of Gaigon knew neither what to do nor what to think. Then, the only place that had ever given him a true vision and an answer came to mind. He had to go to Chanchaung. There, the people of Chaf-Chiaun would help him. They had told him what he needed to know before. They would tell him now. He did not say a word; he did not wait for a single person to come with him. Neither Makar nor the shimlyndvyen said anything. They simply exited that somber structure, leaving Balbun on that great throne.
Passing through the ruins, they climbed out of the collapse. When they finally reached the plateau, some of the outermost walls of Gaigen were still standing. Byuga turned his head and looked toward the west. He wondered if the other towers had also been attacked. But it no longer mattered. He wanted answers. He had to inform his father. He turned back and looked at the white sphere atop the Black Tower, still creating vortexes and scattering the blizzard in all directions. Neither the witches nor their demons were in sight. There was cold, and only cold. He wrapped himself in his cloak and his wet clothes. He wondered why he was still alive. Trotko, the famous philosopher of Andaran, used to say that the more a person suffers, the more they are loved by the gods. Perhaps that was true for the cruel gods of those people, but Byuga thought that Quang-Shuin simply wanted him to suffer. They played with their subjects; this was known.
His heavy steps carried him south. He had come to Gaigen with a dozen men and with Balbun and Bodhi, whom he knew as fathers more than his own father; now he was returning, leaving it as a ruin. He walked for a while without saying anything. It was only after walking for more than an hour that he thought of what had happened to the other guards. When he looked behind him, he could see none of them. Perhaps they had stayed there. Perhaps they had scattered to the other towers. Suddenly, he realized what a great catastrophe this was for Bahysaris. Gaigen had fallen. Without doubt, the news would spread from the furthest south to the furthest north.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Until the evening of the next day, they walked, stopping intermittently to huddle together. The air was so cold that Byuga sometimes felt his body seize as if frozen, then begin to shiver involuntarily. Their clothes were wet, and they were all exhausted. Makar was the one struggling the least, but even he shivered slightly most of the time. Such cold was not normal for this time of year. Often they would stop to keep their feet and hands from freezing, warming first their hands and then their feet, taking turns embracing one another to repeat the process.
Despite this, on the evening of the second day as they battled hunger, the shimlyndvyen suddenly collapsed. Both Makar and Byuga continued walking without noticing. When they did notice, it was too late. They did not turn back. They kept walking. Little felt real to Byuga anymore. He had lost both the sense of time and reality. The air was so cold that they did nothing but walk, wrapped tightly and staying close to one another. There was not the slightest sign of life anywhere. They advanced like the living dead until they reached the Tangan Swamps. Though they came across a few villages and ranger huts, they found no one in any of them. In one, they took new furs and boots; in another, they found some food.
Finally, when they reached the edge of the Tangan Swamps, they came upon a small village where torchlight flickered through the gaps of closed shutters. The trace of the only fixed path through the swamp was no longer visible. The waters were frozen, and the stones were covered in snow. There was nowhere else they could go. Having successfully crossed the dangerous terrain despite everything, they practically threw themselves into the largest building upon reaching the village.
Makar had entered first, but they realized much later that this might have been a mistake. For as Byuga stepped inside, the bahysas rose at the sight of the hulking kardam on their threshold. Some reached for their weapons, while one walked toward the oven and gripped his shovel. At that, Byuga stepped in front of Makar and spread his arms wide. He was trying to tell them to stop. He lowered the piece of cloth from his mouth and threw back his hood. Seeing him, they seemed to calm down slightly. As the heir of Gaigon opened his palms, his hands were trembling, his fingertips burning. He moved forward, approaching them, and opened his cloak to show he had no weapon. Then, with heavy steps, he moved toward the center of the large hall. He breathed into his hands, trying to stop the shivering. Inside, it was like heaven. He had forgotten what warmth felt like. The heat from Makar’s body had been the only thing keeping him alive.
He raised his hands and made motions to indicate he wanted to write. Those inside looked at one another. There was a stone hearth in the middle. Tables were visible on the right, and three closed doors on the left. This place must have been something between a tavern and an inn. The villagers, after standing still for a moment, looked at someone in the corner. This was a younger bahysa, his cheeks not yet hairy. Unlike the others, he did not seem to be on edge at the presence of these two strangers. With slow movements, he straightened up, took his bundle from beside him, and pulled out a notebook. Byuga was surprised. He hadn't expected to see a notebook this far north. He took the notebook and the piece of charcoal offered to him and wrote one thing in large letters:
WE COME FROM GAIGEN.
However, when the young bahysa standing before him read this, he gave no reaction. He simply read the writing, turned, and said something to those inside. Then, he took the notebook and wrote his answer:
WHO IS THIS?
MY COMPANION.
When he said these words aloud, they looked surprised. Then Byuga, this time with a touch of anger, took the notebook and began to write: “Gaigen fell. Shyugan Kungam was my uncle. The fortress is razed. A terrible army is coming.”
As soon as he gave the notebook back, the young bahysa’s face hardened into a sharp expression. He knit his brows, looking at him with an expression that struggled to comprehend. Immediately after, he turned and spoke what was written in the notebook. All the bahysas dropped what they were holding and crowded around the notebook as if they could read the writing themselves. Within seconds, they had all forgotten the presence of the kardam in the room; they crowded around Byuga, asking question after question. Byuga took the notebook from the crowd, wrote one thing, and gave it to the bahysa who had not taken his eyes off him and remained silent.
I AM DEAF.
After reading this, the young bahysa pushed everyone aside and said something to them, then signaled for Byuga to sit. Instead of the place he pointed to, Byuga went and sat right by the fire. He could do nothing but close his eyes and savor the heat.
The moment Makar took a step after him, everyone tensed. The young bahysa studied him for a while, then seemed to sigh and pointed to the spot beside Byuga with his hand. Makar seemed to hesitate, but since even he was freezing, he walked straight to the fire and sat on the floor, practically folding his body. Then, the bahysas began to do things. Byuga was still so cold that he neither did anything in response nor turned his head to see what they were doing. After a while, a table was brought over, and then the young bahysa sat across from him and opened the notebook. He took the charcoal—which Byuga hadn't even realized he was still holding—from his hand, placed a glass bottle of ink beside the notebook, and pulled out a quill pen. He tore out the pages used for the charcoal and, with a very calm and still demeanor, ignoring the crowd gathered around, wrote something in the notebook. When he finished, he set the pen aside and touched Byuga. The heir of Gaifon turned his head reluctantly and read what was written. His stomach ached; his feet were cold.
TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED.
At this, he took the pen from where it lay and wrote his answer.
WE DO NOT KNOW EITHER. AN ARMY OF TERRIBLE CREATURES AND DEMONS ATTACKED. VERY FEW SURVIVED; GAIGEN WAS DESTROYED. WE MUST GO SOUTH, TO CHANCHAUNG AND THEN TO GAIGON. WE MUST GIVE WORD.
When he finished writing, he turned the notebook with his fingertip and showed it to the one across from him. The young bahysa, after reading it aloud, waited for the shocked exclamations of those around him before writing a reply.
WHO ARE YOU? WHAT ARE YOUR NAMES?
MY NAME IS BYUGA, A SHAOLIN OF THE HOUSE OF JADO FROM GAIGON, AND THIS BESIDE ME IS MAKAR; HE SAVED MY LIFE.
When he read what was written, the young bahysa was surprised. He had certainly not expected him to be a shaolin. Once again, he read these aloud. Those around him made their astonishment very clear. Byuga, however, sat silently, merely savoring the fire as if he might lose it at any moment. Then, the bahysa wrote something more in the notebook and turned it toward him.
YOU MUST ALSO TELL WHAT YOU HAVE SEEN TO NYOV-MOJU. WE WILL ACCOMPANY YOU.
Byuga felt the image that suddenly appeared in his mind warm his insides more than the fire. To be able to see Lin-Shu once more was like a blessing to him. He liked this thought. Besides, if they were to cross the Tangan Swamps, they would need a guide. They could also get the necessary support and provisions in the city. Thinking of these, he took the notebook and wrote a single word.
YES.
After this, they didn’t speak much more. Someone he took to be the innkeeper brought food to Byuga and Makar. They practically devoured everything put before them. The cold was moving further south by the day. After eating, they both fell asleep by the fire. In any case, since he had lost Balbun and Bodhi, life for him was too silent and desolate. At least Makar prevented him from feeling completely alone.
It was not yet night when they slept. Throughout the entire night, they did not wake once. When morning came, the young bahysa woke them. He brought a pair of new cloaks and a pair of socks for each of them to wear. There were no new boots; they had to continue with the boots on their feet, which were still not quite dry. At least the socks were dry.
They set out with two myshos bought from the villagers. Makar rode one alone, while the young bahysa and Byuga rode the other together. He learned that his name was Laisen when he gave him the notebook with his name written in it. They talked throughout the journey. Before coming here, he had been at one of the academies in the south. Byuga had heard of them. Following the Macatosh Wars, both trust in and demand for monks and sages had diminished. Gunpowder and fire had upended them all. While temples eroded and grew moldy, the mashidas and their spokesmen had spawned academies everywhere like mushrooms. Medical academies had replaced healing spells, and science faculties and military academies had taken the place of war schools and magical orders. They were now training scientists, not scholars. The North, of course, had welcomed this with awe. Still, in less than a century, Northern Ekard had been flooded with steam engines, gunpowder weapons, printing presses, and various inventions.
Byuga often wondered how it would have been if those same northern peoples had possessed this power a few centuries ago. The peoples north of the Skyriver Strait, which practically split Ekard in two, hated the peoples to its south. Every northern child knew the reason. Centuries ago, the southern peoples, primarily humans, had burned the forests of the raruns and opened the way to the north. In northern campaigns that lasted for years, they had annexed many lands to themselves, establishing their own realms in the lands now known as Newhome, but formerly called Albahr. The old people of Veid had tried to resist them but had fallen before the great power of the south. The Northern Campaigns and the war that followed before the walls of Veid were remembered in the North as the Field of Judgment. It was the bitterest event, etched in memories, burning the hearts of the northern peoples. Neither northern Bahysaris nor the aronars of Tahmar could come to their aid. One was occupied with kardam raids, the other with power struggles and the assaults of giants. Byuga would have very much liked to see those eras with his own eyes.
Laisen told him much on the road passing through the swamps. He described the lessons in the academies, how magic was presented as metaphysical sciences, the working mechanisms of rifles, those strange devices called watches, and the horseless carriages that moved with coal. Finally, when they had filled the pages up to nearly half the notebook, they did not continue. Byuga was overflowing with dreams and the possibilities of these magnificent inventions.
At last, they reached the north of Nyov Moju. Gargantuan stones rose all around them. The last time Byuga came here, he thought he was setting out on a magical journey. He was unaware of what would happen to him. If he had known then what he knew now, he wouldn't even have stepped through the gate into the swamps.
Makar stopped his mysho when the city drew very near. Byuga noticed this when Laisen stopped their own mount. He looked at him. The kardam shook his head. Then, he turned his mount and galloped away. Byuga shouted, but he could not hear what kind of sound came from his mouth. Laisen touched him and showed the notebook.
LET HIM GO. THEY WOULD TAKE HIM PRISONER IN NYOV-MOJU.
Then, he wrote something else in the notebook and held it up.
LET ME SPEAK WHEN WE GET THERE. AT LEAST UNTIL WE REACH THE SHIMLYN…
Byuga did not object; he bowed his head.
As they approached Nyov Moju, a harsh wind was blowing, lifting snow from the ground and striking it against his face. The Gaigon line-heir watched the young bahysa standing before him, covering his face. There was no crowd at the gate. It opened slightly, and a guard emerged. They began to speak. During that time, Byuga looked at the holes and observation points atop the gate. The guard must have seen them from there and come out. He waited, and finally, the gates opened; they were admitted into the city.
As they entered the inner hall where they had been with Balbun and Bodhi weeks ago, Byuga was again struck by a sense of being utterly alone. When they first came here, he had felt as if he were discovering the world and had been excited. Danger seemed like an excitement to be warded off then. Now, it was a real threat.
He welcomed the warmth enveloping his body after the doors closed. Oil lamps and torches of magical fire burned steadily. The young bahysa dismounted from his mysho and reached out his hands to help him down, but Byuga jumped down on his own. He no longer wanted anyone's help. Laisen signaled to him with his hand and began walking with the guards. Byuga looked at the doors as they went to the stairs. The soldiers were closing them with difficulty. It looked as though a severe blizzard was about to start. The heir of Gaigon felt afraid. He could not survive another encounter with the witches. He trembled, even shuddered. Still, he continued walking without making a sound.
Once again, Mindhuan was before him. As the young bahysa entered before him, Byuga neither bowed his head nor stood tall. He had no time for these. He simply stood where he was in a state of inaction—without greeting, without word, without courtesy.
For a long time, he listened to the conversation the young bahysa had with Mindhuan. He knew the shaolin wouldn't care. He was young and foolish. Still, he continued to wait. Then, suddenly, his senses seemed to open once more. He felt as if he could touch Mindhuan’s voice. He heard an insult and a mockery fall from his lips. When he turned his eyes and looked at him with an angry expression, the heir of Nyov-Moju drew his head back in fear.
When the young bahysa finally finished speaking with him, Mindhuan signaled the large door on his right with his hand. The shaolin of Gaigon knew this meant hosting them. Together, they went to a room identical to the one he had stayed in with Balbun. As the soldiers closed the door upon them, they looked at each other in the dim light of three small windows and the wind of the snowstorm. Byuga raised his hands to both sides, trying to ask what they had discussed. Laisen took out his notebook.
HE SAYS HE WILL SEND HIS SOLDIERS TO GAIGEN.
THEY WILL ALL DIE THERE.
IF HE WANTS TO SEND HIS SOLDIERS, WHAT CAN WE DO? HE SAID HE WOULD BE PLEASED TO HOST US HERE UNTIL THEY RETURN.
HE WOULDN’T WANT TO MISS THE CHANCE TO BELITTLE AND IMPRISON ME.
Neither Byuga nor Laisen spoke further on this. The prince of Gaigon felt like a captive. He thought to himself whether he should return to Chaf-Chauin or to Gaigon. Chaf-Chauin was on the way, but he couldn’t find it himself. He needed Laisen. As the young bahysa lit the lamps with his hand, he watched the fire coming from his fingers and knit his brows. He hadn't thought he might be a sorcerer. He watched him with bewildered eyes, then took the notebook and wrote.
ARE YOU A MONK?
NO. I WAS A PRISONER IN A PERLAM CASTLE IN THE SOUTH. I ESCAPED TO MY VILLAGE.
Byuga wanted to ask many things. He moved to do so, but Laisen didn't seem to want to tell more. As he turned his back and lay on the bed, Byuga himself remained standing for a while before lying down on his own bed. He was tired and cold. Before long, he fell into sleep.
