III.
In the deep fearful forest of a distant land, asleep within an ancient building lay a young man, an adventurer come traveller in search of a quest that might fulfil him. His name was Waylan.
In his dream he was staring at his reflection in a serene pool and as he reached forward to touch the water the water stayed calm but it was him who rippled. He awoke suddenly in a cold sweat to the sound of his horse braying. A tall handsome man stood within the confines of the building. ‘Good morning to you.’ he said boldly ‘This is no place to be sleeping, where are you heading? ‘Nowhere in particular, I’m new to these parts. Is there a village near here where I may stay awhile?’ ‘It’s quite a journey but the people in Medon are good, you could stay there. Head in that direction’, he said pointing, ‘until you reach a river, follow it down stream. You’ll be there by late afternoon. It will be sun break soon I must be going. Farewell.’ And the man was gone. Waylan dozed off again.
Some while later Waylan awoke. The forest was strangely quiet not a bird sang or a creature moved and he remembered his encounter with a stranger. He mounted his horse and set off eager to arrive in Medon before nightfall. Along his route there were more ruins, many abandoned churches with overgrown graveyards. Whole villages seemed to have been deserted. He had been travelling for a while when he saw another man walking through the forest. He greeted the man and confirmed the way to Medon. ‘You’re heading in the wrong direction. It’s back up that way.’ Waylan set off on his new route. Again he met another man who told him a different direction, and then the same yet again. Finally he asked the next man he met if he could show him the way to Medon. He could but for a fee of ten gold pieces. The man sat back-saddled giving directions.
They eventually arrived at some ruins. ‘This is Medon.’ ‘I was told I could get lodging here’ protested Waylan. ‘Its been deserted for ages now’ ‘Where have all the inhabitants gone?’ Waylan asked, ‘Oh they now live in Medon.’ ‘This is Medon’ he said sarcastically, ‘No the other Medon’, ‘Look friend! I don’t care what the place is called, I just want to sleep somewhere tonight’ ‘I’ll take you to the other Medon but it will cost you another ten gold pieces’. The man’s directions were uncertain and when they eventually arrived at some more ruins he dismounted and scarpered into the undergrowth. Waylan gave chase drawing his sword, and riding along side, struck the man down. He turned his horse and rode back but the body and his money were gone. Infuriated Waylan stormed off vowing not to listen to another direction he was given and when he arrived at a signpost to Medon he ignored it.
Presently he arrived at a village. Looking out over the bustling market place Waylan saw a man steal a purse of money. His victim ran after him and they fell into an argument as a crowd formed around them. They were on the verge of blows when another man stood forward with a dagger. ‘I know’, he said ‘let us determine who needs this money more. The man who is prepared to die for it may have it. If you BOTH accept however, I shall toss a coin to see who wins the money and also who I shall kill’. The man holding the purse stood proud but the other man backed down and walked away. Waylan went after him, ‘That wasn’t justice you should have stood your ground. If you need my help…’ ‘Thank you stranger but that is the way things are in this town, you don’t want to get involved’. ‘No, please I want to know and anyway there is a mighty storm blowing up and I need somewhere to stay’. ‘You are welcome to stay at mine, my name is Yolas by the way’. Outside a run down shack Yolas suddenly lurched a blade at Waylan’s hand. Waylan instinctively drew his sword defensively and was about to attack when Yolas saw his hand bleeding and shouted apologies ‘I will explain Waylan, trust me! You can tether your horse in that shed.’
As the storm raged outside, sitting around a crackling fire while his wife prepared a simple meal, Yolas apologised again. “You see this land has been overrun by demons. They are exact reflections of mortals, indistinguishable, but theirs is not a living body. It does not bleed and they are always young, immortal because they cannot die. They have spread lies and confusion and life is now very hard. We have fled but they only follow. That man who stole my purse could have been a demon and so might you. I’m sorry to suspect. It will be night fall soon you must not go out.” His wife came in with some soup and some garlic and sprigs of mistletoe, “Wear these for safety”.
Through the howling wind came a knock at the door. Yolas answered it and said to the sheriff that Waylan was a relative come to stay, but he failed to discourage the inquisition. “Matia bring the sheriff some food”. The man seated himself and asked Waylan suspiciously his business while tucking into a bowl of soup. “Unhappy with the answer he asked to see Waylan’s identification”. Waylan looked at Yolas who looked back fearful. In the long anxious silence Waylan studied the sheriff waiting for his reaction and as he leaned over his bowl for another indulgent slurp Waylan was chilled to see dancing upon the soup candlelight but no reflection. He signalled to Yolas, then tipped up the table drawing his sword and striking hard at the sheriff. The chair splintered but the sheriff somehow escaped to stand sword drawn behind Waylan. Yolas ran to hold up the Sheriff’s aids at the door.
Waylan was outclassed he had never seen reactions like that. Again he struck at the sheriff who escaped to deliver a blow that Waylan only just defended. Thrashing around the room he could not understand how he had suddenly become such a bad sword fighter and how the sheriff was so unshakeable in his confidence. He was quickly reduced to desperate defence. As they fought Matia began to become hysterical. Screaming at the sheriff she pleaded that he take what he wanted and leave them alone. “There is nothing here of value but you” mocked the sheriff “and even you’re cheap”. Yolas gave the sheriff a grave look but remained silent. “Your ring” said the sheriff “today I’ll settle for the ring but your ‘friend’ must be gone by the morrow”. “No” shouted Yolas, but it was too late, Matia sobbing uncontrollably had thrown her ring at the sheriff – it lay on the floor. The sheriff proudly smirked.
Waylan defending another blow saw Matia throw the ring and look up at Yolas, and he suddenly realised that the ring-itself meant nothing to her, it was just a reflection, a symbol of their truth together. He had been an idiot, he was fighting reflections. He pulled back a little to let the sheriff nearer the ring and as the sheriff crouched down under a defending blow, Waylan went to attack and then spun around and slashed through his undefended rear flank. His sword powered into the sheriff’s side, and the sheriff appeared behind him again. Waylan thought to turn, paused for a second confused and struck out at the sheriff. He missed, the sheriff was beside him. He turned and thought to strike the sheriff in front of him but instinctively this time stabbed his sword behind him. The sword pierced the sheriff’s belly and he stumbled. Waylan went to the door, which Yolas was still holding closed, and offered to take over. Yolas nodded and with silent passion retired to claim his wife’s ring back. Letting the door fling open and presented with a man running at him, Waylan with complete trust in his new-found awareness swung a head high slice behind him and sent the head of the aid flying. His companion turned and fled into the thundering storm shouting for help with Waylan in pursuit.
Sliding around a corner in the mud Waylan was faced with an angry group of ten. He stopped and stood dignified with his back to them his sword pointing upwards in front of his eyes so that he could see the reflections of his assailants, but there were only five. Nervously he listened, resisting turning. The five approached and then they themselves stopped and four turned around and fled. Waylan sneaked a look behind him and the demons were running with four of the mortals. The remaining man, frightened, shouted out ‘What are you?’ ‘Mortal’ Waylan replied, “mortal friend”. “Why did those men flee?” “Five of them were demons and they saw I knew, your friends are fools. Where have they fled?” “This path leads into the mountains.” Waylan ran along the dark muddy path his way lit by explosive flashes from the torrential storm, following it high into the mountains until he rose onto the edge of a vast natural amphitheatre; a flat plate of smooth shiny black rock commanding the valleys and plains below. Everything smelt of oil. In tiers all around sat hundreds of small black demons and on a grand throne on the far side a tall black monster with five horns upon its head. “At last”, the lord demon boomed “we have some sport from the realm of the mortals, I am very impressed. You are welcome to stay and compete.”
As Waylan stepped into the arena, over a neat moat of oil, lightening struck all around sparking the oil and trapping him in a massive ring of flames. Demons then began to enter the arena and Waylan took his place at their centre. At the next lightening strike Waylan charged the demons striking and slicing always instinctively and contrary to what his sight was showing him, but he was growing tired and his foes out numbered him too many fold. Overwhelmed he retreated to the centre of the ring exhausted. Staring at the advancing masses he felt like a giant, being so superior a warrior but he was also frightened seeing his imminent demise. But it struck him: what was he afraid of if it was not what he could see? It must be what he could feel. He closed his eyes and sat down in the ring searching for salvation from his tormentors.
So intently did he search that he forgot about the battle, and when, full of peace, he opened his eyes the arena and the stands were empty only the lord demon remained, and he was filled with fear. Again he tried to find serenity but his fear was too great. He leapt to his feet, ran at the demon and struck out instinctively but his sword passed through thin air. Then he struck out at the demon and the demon appeared behind him. Then he was filled with terror and turned and ran for his life without even a look back. You may run but we will meet again Waylan.”, the Demon said, “Give in.”. But Waylan did not hear.
It was daybreak as Waylan arrived in the village. News of his exploits had spread far and he was received like a hero, rewarded with money from the hoard found in the county hall. He stayed for a season to teach the people of the land his new fighting code and his suggestion that all money should carry the motto “But for ‘ell, Gold’s World is Gods Word.” was duly received, but the words of the king demon wore heavy on his mind. One summer’s morning as the dew was rising into the cool air he hugged a tearful Matia farewell and shook his fond friend Yolas’ hand for a final time. Mounting his horse he slowly took the fateful path out of town down which he had come.
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