By Rusty Priske A tale of Larisnar
Jarad strolls through the marketplace, enjoying the smell of the fresh bread cooling on the stall counters. He walks through the marketplace every day, thanking Neus for his graces. Life is good in Corinth and Jarad enjoys its bounty. He loves the city, as he loves Neus and Jarad's position in the church.
Jarad stops at a stall selling fresh fruit. "Hello, my friend!"
The merchant's eyes light up when he sees the customer. "Good day, Brother Jarad! A lovely day for the Festival, is it not?"
"Just Jarad, Tadamas, please. But, yes! It is a beautiful day!" The Mid-summer Festival, or just the Festival, as it became known, is the greatest celebration in Corinth, and if some of the revelries are a little... beyond what is officially deemed appropriate by the church, such is life. It is all in good spirits and there is never any real harm caused.
"Two of my best, Brother Jarad? One for you and one for your dear mother?"
"Make it four, Tadamas. It is the Festival after all."
The merchant laughs. "That it is, Brother Jarad! If you can not spoil yourself during the festival, what is the point of life, eh?" He picks out four large, unblemished apples and puts them in a small sack. "The only thing better than spoiling yourself is spoiling others. Here you are, Brother Jarad, on the house!"
Jarad takes the sack, but protests, "No, no, Tadamas. I must pay."
"Take it, my friend. I consider four apples a small price to pay to have such a pleasant visitor to my stall on a regular basis. Say hello to your mother for me."
"You could say hello yourself, Tadamas, if you came to services at the church." Jarad smiles broadly.
It is amazing how the world can change in but a moment. Peace becomes violence. The light of a late summer afternoon becomes blood. Life becomes death.
Jarad doesn't see where the elves come from. One moment it is Festival day in Corinth, and the next there are elves all around them, lashing out with jagged blades and firing wicked looking arrows. People are dying every direction Jarad looks and he stands, staring. He knows he should flee but his legs will not obey his commands. Tadamas lays, unmoving, sprawled across the floor of his stall. Jarad knows that Tadamas will not move again. None of it seems real. Death walks amongst them and...
"Mother!" Jarad screams and runs from the marketplace. He prays to Neus that she is all right. If she is locked inside the house and the elves are still in the streets...
He weaves between the panicked throngs, watching them fall and refusing to think of all the death. Whether it is his prayers or just luck that the murderous elves never target him, Jarad does not know. He only has one thing in his thoughts.
Jarad reaches the small home he shares with his mother and runs inside, thanking Neus that it appears unscathed. "Mother? Mother?" He runs through the house, calling out, until he reaches her second floor bedroom.
His face turns ashen.
Jarad's mother sits on the floor near the window. Blood covers the front of her tunic and an arrow protrudes from her chest, just above her breast. She struggles for breath as she watches Jarad fall to his knees beside her.
"Mother! By Neus, no!"
"I heard the noise," her voice rasps as she forces the words, "I went to the window. . ."
"Don't try to talk, Mother. I am going to take care of you." He stops as she shakes her head.
"It is too late. It is time for you to run."
"No, I won't accept that. I..."
"RUN!" She yells in Jarad's face with more force than he thought she had left. The exertion is too much for her badly wounded body, however. Blood gushes from her wound and her breath rattles, as the life leaves her body. Jarad holds her and feels her depart.
Jarad sits with her a few minutes, but he knows why she commanded him the way she did. The elves are animals. They will not stop until they empty Corinth of all her inhabitants. Jarad is no warrior. She was right. It was time to run.
He runs.
One of the first casualties in any war is innocence. Jarad Kirpatrick's face is living testimony to this. His skin tells us of his youth while his eyes tell us something else. They tell us that he has seen things that youth should never have to see. It has been two days since he left his home in Corinth, but his eyes still see his chapel in flames and his mother lying, dead in his arms.
He can still see his mother gasping for air as she claws at the arrow in her chest.
Some things should never be seen.
Jarad left Corinth with nothing but the clothes on his back and a dagger that was dropped by a Corinthian guardsman who gave his last breath fighting the marauding elves. That means two days without food and no more water than what he could find in small creeks or puddles. He constantly grips his Neus medallion hanging around his neck. It is the only thing that reminds him that he is not only a bedraggled refugee. His faith makes him more. He has to keep reminding himself of that as his faith slowly spirals away from him.
None of this means anything to the elf following him. Frinthe spotted the young cleric a few hours ago and decided to see if he was joining others like him. Why kill one refugee when you could kill a dozen? Now, however, Frinthe is bored. He wants to play.
"Where are you going, human?" Jarad stiffens at the first voice he has heard since leaving Corinth. "Isn't home back that way?"
He spins at that, hearing the open mocking in the elf's voice. He sees Frinthe fifteen yards away with a bowstring pulled taut and its arrow tracking him. Jarad says nothing.
"What is the matter, human? Elf got your tongue?" Frinthe laughs at his own attempt at humor as he slowly walks towards his chosen prey. "You shouldn't be out by yourself on this road. I hear there are bandits who might try to take your money."
"I have no money."
Frinthe's face twists in mock surprise. "It can talk! I thought you were a mute." In one motion, Frinthe slackens the bowstring, replaces the arrow in his quiver, and draws a wicked looking dagger from the belt at his waist. "Of course I can take care of that. What about it, human? I let you live in exchange for your tongue. What say you?"
Jarad keeps silent as Frinthe circles him, slowly; now a mere arm's reach away. Beads of sweat run down Jarad's neck and fear makes him shiver involuntarily. "Come on, human. Open up." Frinthe's left hand shoots up and grabs Jarad's jaw roughly, while the elf raises the dagger with his right. He forces the cleric's mouth open before stopping unexpectedly. Frinthe releases Jarad and takes a couple steps backward with astonishment crossing his features. He drops his weapon as he looks at the blood flowing freely from his midsection. His knees buckle and he collapses to the ground.
Jarad looks as scared as he did when Frinthe had him in his grasp but he also holds a Corinthian guardsman's dagger, dripping with elven blood. He looks down at Frinthe, trying to staunch the flow of life's fluid. The elf's face looks paler than usual, if that is possible, and Jarad's complexion is not that much different. The man turns and continues down the road, leaving Frinthe where he lies.
Jarad kneels by a shallow stream, cleaning the blood from his hands and the dagger. In the hour since he left the elf, the shock has lessened, but not by much. He stands and silently curses himself for not drinking before cleansing. He cannot bring himself to drink now, even upstream.
"Not bad, Corinth," a voice behind him says. "But I had to finish the job." Jarad spins around to see a man whose skin marks him as being from the southern kingdoms. He stands in a non-aggressive manner, yet appears poised to move at no notice.
"Finish...?"
"The elf back there in the road. He could have lived so I took care of it. I don't know your ways, but in Narawat - we don't take prisoners. Pleased to meet you. I am Jamr ibn al-As." He steps forward with his hand outstretched. Jarad instinctively increases his grip on the dagger and Jamr puts both of his palms in the air in front of him. "Whoa, now. I'm not looking for trouble. I'm pretty sure we are on the same side. I was heading to Corinth but I found out that I was too late. That is where you are from." It was a statement, not a question.
"Yes. I was. I am." Jarad lowers the dagger.
"I've got some food. Are you hungry?" Jarad's eyes betray his stomach. "What's your name?"
"Jarad Kirpatrick."
Jamr holds the remains of a small animal over a fire as Jarad hungrily devours his. "So why didn't you kill that elf. You had the opportunity to finish him. After what happened in Corinth..."
"I don't want to talk about Corinth." Jarad does not look up.
"Okay. Let's talk about that elf. You must realize that if he had lived that he would come after you. He wouldn't be so careless next time."
Jarad jerks his head up. "So I should become like them? I should kill for fun? I should kill because I do not like the way someone looks at me? I don't know how things are in Narawat, but that is not how I was raised and that is not what my faith teaches me. I stabbed that elf because I had no choice. Given the same circumstances I would do it again, but don't ask me to kill a helpless person - elf or not."
Jamr looks at the young Corinthian with an appraising eye. "Many gods ask the same. In Narawat Djarat teaches us to defend ourselves, but not to use our gifts in anger. Amoudosi teaches us that all of death is just a rebirth so killing without reason accomplishes nothing. Yet when at war, a spared enemy means one more sword lifted against you or your loved ones - one sword that would not be there to kill your brother or your mother if you had dealt with it sooner."
Jarad stiffens when Jamr mentions family. "You talk of gods like a priest and war like a soldier. Which are you?"
Jamr smiles. "Neither. I am a student and a teacher. I am havat-lahn. I seek to master the art of combat."
Jarad looks confused. "Then you are a soldier."
"Not so. To master combat you must master the three elements of combat: your opponent, your environment, and yourself. Most only concern themselves with the first, while that is the least important. First you must master yourself, both body and mind. Theology and philosophy are the first steps in the journey of the havat-lahn."
"I don't understand."
"I wouldn't expect so. The journey must be completed, step after step. You cannot join a path in the middle and know which direction you need to go. You must start at the beginning."
"So, what is the beginning?" Jarad looks expectantly towards Jamr but the Narawati remains silent. Jarad waits for a long moment and then continues, "You cannot tell me that my way is wrong and then refuse to tell me what you think is right."
Jamr holds his hand up to stop the young man. "No, no. Your way is not wrong. It is just unexamined. Any path that one follows out of habit without examination and introspection will lead you. If you have no destination in mind you will always reach the end of your path. The challenge comes in choosing your destination and striving to reach it."
"And if I choose your way? The havat-lahn way?"
"Why would you do that? What would you be trying to achieve?"
"Maybe I could be of some help. Maybe I could help make the elves pay for what they have done in Corinth."
Jamr shakes his head. "Revenge is not the havat-lahn way. If it is revenge you seek, then go to the forest. See how many elves you can kill before they kill you. Revenge can ask for no more than that. Yet if it is revenge you seek, why did you let that elf live back on the road?"
Jarad looks dejected, and more than a little uncertain. "Can you help me find my way? Teach me the first step. Maybe that will help me see if it is the right way for me."
The havat-lahn hands Jarad the meat he was cooking and ponders this for a moment. He appears to make a decision before continuing, "I already am."
Jarad's forehead wrinkles in thought before a slight look of understanding appears on his face. "The first step is to understand why you should follow the path." Jamr's smile lets him know his is correct. "So I have to figure out why I should follow... or not."
"This is not something I can tell you. It is different for everyone."
"Can you tell me why you follow?"
Jamr smiles, as if reminiscing. "In Narawat there are the madhehebu. Think of them as schools, though that is a very loose analogy. Within the madhehebu there are different schools where people who wish to seek knowledge come together to do just that. They swear to quest, to the exclusion of all other desires. The school they choose corresponds to the type of knowledge they seek. Azima for magic, Tariha for history, Ardhi for the land, and more. Havat is for combat. I came to Narawat when I was very young. While I was there, I met a man named Astula. He was havat-lahn and he explained to me how the havat strive to encompass all knowledge, rather than the more specialized quests of the others in the madhehebu. The havat-lahn needs to understand much more than how to strike down the enemy. He needs to know how his opponent thinks, how the world around him acts and reacts, and how his own mind works. I knew right away that this was my destiny."
"You believe in fate?"
"I believe in the path."
Jarad says nothing for a moment. "Yet you said the path has to be chosen. This is not fate." Jamr smiles but says nothing. Jarad ponders further before continuing, "Unless the path is always there and the choices made allow you to see the path or be oblivious to it. You can embrace your fate, or ignore it."
Jamr nods. "I believe that there is a great destiny for everyone. The path leads there. Yet most miss their destiny, because they do not see the path. They stray."
"So to achieve your destiny you have to keep yourself aware. You need to see the path and watch where it leads." Jamr smiles as the young man puts the pieces together. "Kind of like finding yourself losing everything that you thought your life was, yet finding yourself discussing things with a teacher that can show you a different way."
"Correction. Being a havat-lahn means being a student and teacher. I can learn as much from you as you can from me. Do you consent to teach me, Jarad Kirpatrick? Do you swear to follow the path of the havat, to the exclusion of all other pursuits? Do you swear to follow this quest for knowledge and, once able, to share this knowledge with others? Do you swear to become one of us?"
Jarad pulls his head up to look directly into Jamr's eyes. He squares his jaw. "I so swear."
Jamr nods. "You are now havat-chagua. You are a student. One day you will become havat-lahn, student and teacher. Your previous life is no more."
Jarad glances up the road, from the direction he came. "My previous life is no more." He returns his attention to Jamr. "So, where do we go from here?"