His life was pain. It enveloped every facet of his being, encompassing his entire existence around a single quantifiable moment. Waiting for it to end.
Consciousness came in small glimpses. He saw images. A large three-fingered hand reaching for him. A beautiful elf’s heart-shaped face looking down at him with intense concern. Her silver eyes not swirling. Some sounds were mute, others noisy and indistinct. Every time he awoke, the smell of rot prevailed his nose. And he hurt. It was indescribable. He hurt, everywhere.
Elves moved around him. Druids. Moving, speaking, and rubbing things on his body. Things that were cold. Things that felt like fire. They seemed confused. He was confused. Once he saw the First Councilor. He choked on her name. Hate flowed through the broken fibers of his body.
Then he saw humans after the elves were gone. He began seeing groups of them. Some had concern etched on their worn faces. Hunger and desperation on others. They seemed trapped away from him, only an arm’s length away, yet it might as well have been a chasm.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he opened his eyes, and they stayed open. Sleep did not take him immediately. It was a curious feeling being back in the world of the living. He was still exhausted, and sore, but he was awake.
He looked around. His neck was tight and every movement caused spikes to shoot down his spine. Like bursts of lightning from the base of his skull. He dealt with it. His curiosity was overriding the pain.
He was in a pen of some sort, and his back was against the wooden bars. With an ache of unused limbs, he used a bar to pull himself into a slouch. A piercing sting stabbed through his side, an agony that cut through all others. He reached to it. His fingers came away tacky and green. His robes had long since eviscerated to mere scraps of fabric.
A fetid odor touched his nostrils, and he heard the shallow sounds of lapping water. He looked up to see garish brown waters slowly pushing their way against wet, moss covered rocks. Each rolling of the water against the shore left rubbish behind that looked very much like feces. His pained stomach turned.
He heard something like a scraping of rocks. He turned towards the sound. It was dark. The massive canopy obscured the moon above. He must have awoken sometime at night. An indistinct form moved in the darkness. He struggled to see it, with his tired, unfocused eyes.
Then it came forward, suddenly. Whatever it was, he knew that it was the one in control; he had nothing in him with which to fight. The figure was there, before him, standing like a towering behemoth. A seven-foot frame hulked over his slumped form. It leaned forward, and amber eyes glistened in the faintest of starlight. It was the bull.
He wanted to back away, but it took too much of his strength pulling himself into the disgrace of a sitting position he was in. There was no way he could defend against it. The bull that stalked him for so long finally had him where it wanted him. He was absolutely powerless. It bent low and scooped him up. It was strangely gentle. He was a doll in its arms. Carefully the beast carried him over to the putrid waters.
Ashyn Rune cringed as he was lowered down right next to the foul smelling liquid. He felt the waste that was on the shore squish and ooze underneath him. To enervated to move, he wanted to wretch.
The bull hunched over right next to him and stared into his eyes. It raised its left hand before him, and moved it over the water. Ashyn watched, petrified. It could kill him. It could crush his skull like a berry in those hands. It could bludgeon him to death with the rocks about, or even drop him in the sludge where he would drown.
It didn’t.
Again the bovine creature lifted its hand up before him and then hovered it over the water, waving at him to do the same.
Shakily Ashyn raised his hand and held it over the foul pond. It was exhausting. The bovine dipped his fingers into the water.
Ashyn scrunched his face in disgust. The bull pulled its fingers out and put them back in. With its other hand it signaled for him to do the same. Ashyn shook his head no. He wasn’t putting his hand in that filth. Just the thought of what he was laying in was revolting enough to make him want to vomit.
Once more the massive creature before him dipped its fingers into the water, and nodded for him to do the same. Knowing he would anger it or frustrate it, and not wanting to have his head squashed like a melon, he relented. Slowly he dipped his fingers into the disgusting shallows, stifling the bile thick in his throat.
I am ga…
Quickly he ripped his fingers out in surprise as a deep voice assailed his senses. He looked up in surprise at the creature. The bull continued to stare at him. Slowly he lowered his fingers back into the murk.
I am a gaur. What are you?
He blinked in confusion. The bull nodded his muzzle towards the water.
“I, ugh…” his voice rasped.
Quickly it shook its head no, and looked to the water.
Use nature. I am a gaur. It repeated. What species are you?
Tired and exhausted, and unable to even fathom why he was still alive, Ashyn simply thought, You can understand me?
The gaur shook its massive horned head and repeated again. I am a gaur. What species are you?
Ashyn was bewildered. Not only was it truly sentient, they finally could understand one and other. I’m not sure anymore. He answered it honestly.
The gaur cocked its head curiously at him. Did he understand what he meant? Then to Ashyn’s surprise it nodded.
Water is the universal path to all life. The gaur explained. If one knows how to traverse its pathways, then they can speak to all who use it.
We are speaking through the water? Ashyn asked.
The gaur snorted, in what Ashyn assumed was a yes. Then another question sprouted to his mind, and he asked it before he could suppress it. Why are you not trying to kill me? He looked up in horror at the thought, realizing what he did.
The gaur was unfazed. We are Totem-brothers now. You bore the power of the Pundit’s Totem, and removed me of my curse of un-life. You released me back into the cycle without the loss of my vessel.
Ashyn had no idea what it was talking about, but he didn’t object. If the gaur no longer wanted to kill him, then he was more than happy with that.
So does the Totem-Brother know his species? The gaur asked again.
Ashyn shook his head, when I was a child I thought I was human, and then when a wizard found me, we thought that I might be a half-elf. I went by this assumption for many winters, only recently have I learned that I am neither. The elves here call me the Nuchada.
Nuchada.
Ashyn nodded.
I have never heard of the species of Nuchada.
Ashyn chuckled. It hurt. Join the club.
What is a club? It asked.
Ashyn shook his head at that, Never mind.
The wizard looked around a dawning crept over him. I’m in the prison by the pond.
Water Pens, the gaur replied quickly. You flew from the Great Elm and landed in the water.
Landed?
The gaur rounded its shoulders at him, and Ashyn realized it was shrugging. It was not graceful.
How did I get out? I don’t remember.
The gaur patted its other hand against Ashyn’s leg. You are a Totem-Brother now. It answered simply.
Ashyn then looked down to his torn robes and slowly opened the brown-stained fabric to see a new jagged pink scar lined with green fluid, just next to the one that the gaur had given him. I seem to be collecting these lately.
The gaur rubbed the circular pink scar against its own chest, reminding Ashyn that he was the cause of that one. As have I. But now it is different. It remarked. We are both prisoners to these creatures, and your species is capable of using the totem. That has never happened before, to my people’s knowledge. For the time being, that makes you a brother.
Enemy of my enemy. Ashyn returned. Again the gaur snorted.
They do not like you, Nuchada. The burned one tried to cut your head from your body, but the silver-eyed one forced her to stop until their Bos Gaurus arrived.
Ashyn shook his head, trying to understand the thing in front of him. He understood burned one, and silver-eyed, but Bos Gaurus confounded him. He told the creature so.
Your herd does not have a Bos Gaurus? The gaur questioned.
I do not have a herd. He replied.
The creature leaned back alarmed.
My herd was destroyed, in a raid, Ashyn corrected, catching on.
The beast let out a heavy sigh. Most of my herd too has been lost. These small sharp-eared things interrupted our exodus. My Pundit is dead, as is the Herd Matron. It looked to the ground morosely. Even you slew one of my herd.
I’m sorry. Ashyn replied. He didn’t know any other way of conveying his feelings on the matter. He was fighting for his life, and he made a choice.
I understand, now, The gaur replied, and Ashyn realized once again that their thoughts were bridged together by the water. You were trying to survive.
Ashyn thought it best to change the subject, otherwise he would risk losing the gaur’s fragile alliance with him. How is it that the elves have placed you in here?
The gaur snorted, I am too big for their tiny cages, and their magic-creatures that keep bones in their head fur have no place for me. Yet they need to keep me for study. They do not understand how to use the totem. So I remain alive, and fed, until they can discern its function.
That meant this totem he was talking about was something mobile. Understanding swept over him. Ashyn had used it already. That was why the gaur was calling him a totem-brother. The staff.
It is not a staff. The gaur replied with a slight hint of anger. It is the embodiment of the elements forged into a symbol of great purpose for the gaur. It is our icon, our talisman.
I see. Ashyn replied, though he still wanted to call it a staff. Looks like a duck, quacks like a duck. The gaur’s amber eyes sent him a patronizing look. Okay, totem got it. He really needed to learn to take his fingers out of the water.
Another question came to the wizard. Why am I still in here?
I do not know. I cannot understand these narrow-minded creatures’ tongue. When their Bos Gaurus came, she chirped as a bird does, and then they healed your wounds and left. At least they thought they healed your wounds.
I don’t understand.
The gaur shuffled closer to Ashyn, his fingers traced a line in the foul mire, and Ashyn watched a piece of excrement bounce off the gaur’s thick digits and spin away. His stomach roiled.
I am a pan, it continued, closer to him, I served my Pundit, my… Ashyn saw it studying Ashyn’s eyes as if trying read his memories. Your words call him shaman. I was his student; we were on the Takewatha, a journey to our progenitors, so that I may humble myself before the Brahma, our Great World Spirit. It was to be my spirit journey. I was to become the next Pundit of my herd. The next Shaman.
The gaur lowered its head in shame. I have failed that journey, but moreover it has left my herd without its Pundit. Without a Pundit’s guidance, the Bos Gaurus will not have access to the Great World Spirit, when looking for direction to lead his people.
Ashyn sat absorbing it all. If he was good at anything, it was listening. The large creature continued to project its conversation into his mind.
I am trained in use of the elements. In use of nature. My totem is my guide. Still, I am capable enough without it. I am strong. The elements nourish me, and through me I nourished your flesh.
You have been healing me? Ashyn replied surprised. It was so startling he almost spoke aloud.
The gaur snorted. You removed my curse of unlife, and then used the totem to heal my fatal wounds. Though we believe in the cycle of all things, I felt I needed to stop your return to the cycle. It was within my power to do so.
His thick finger pointed to the green fluid around the gnarly pink scar. The sharp-eared creatures do have talents though, and they know nature well. It was a combined effort, but they do not know I helped, nor do they realize what I can do without the totem. I am difficult for them to understand.
Ashyn couldn’t believe what the gaur was telling him. After hunting him for so long, it was now telling him, it was responsible for saving his life. If Ashyn didn’t know better, he would say that the creature seemed rather proud of the feat.
He was a student. He told himself. He had a mentor, just as Ashyn had, that meant he was…
Our lifetimes do not flow like yours. The gaur interrupted his thoughts with an answer. We believe in a resurgence of our one spirit through a great number of vessels. The age of this vessel is what you would call nine.
Nine-winters? You are only nine-winters-old? It was so big.
The bull snorted. We measure cycles differently. Just like there are multiple elements, our lives measured are multiplied by all of the seasons, not just one like your species chooses to do.
Four elements, four seasons, Ashyn thought as he nodded at the gaur’s words. That would make you thirty-six by my people’s reckoning then.
It rolled its shoulders in a shrug again.
You are right. Ashyn replied. Age is irrelevant. What is relevant is that we are both prisoners of the Wild Elves, and they have something we both want. That makes us allies, and allies share names. He touched his chest. I am Ashyn Rune. Do you have a name?
Again he watched the gaur’s powerfully intelligent gaze drift to the ground. Had I completed my Takewatha, I would have taken over from my Pundit as Strides with Spirits. It is the name carried by all Shamans. Until that time I was just Pan.
So I can call you Pan?
The gaur shook its head no. When the sharp-ears poisoned me and ended my life, and the life of my Pundit, I ceased to be Pan. I now carry no name, for I am nothing until I can be reunited with my totem.
Well I have to call you something? Ashyn said. It’d be rude of me to continue to call you gaur the whole time.
The creature lifted its gaze. What does it matter?
Consider it an investment, Ashyn replied.
The bull cocked its head confused.
A name carries weight to it. It makes someone real to the other person. When you share a name, you identify with them. That identification makes them tangible. It’s hard to place why, but attaching a name to them makes them a part of your life. It makes them real. As a result, you care more about them. Think of your herd, those at home, and those you’ve lost. You miss them right?
The gaur nodded.
Now think of the elves that were killed, do they seem real to you? Give it some thought.
Ashyn could see the gaur really thinking about it. After many moments it replied, Knowing a part of something, someone, creates an acceptance of them in your world.
Ashyn nodded and continued, By not knowing a name, it creates less of an acceptance of their reality. Think of soldiers on a battlefield. Every one of them knows that the opponent they face has a family at home. Those people have others that they love and are loved by. But every soldier still fights the other to the death if need be, recognizing that they are committing untold suffering to those left behind in that man’s wake. Families now made to struggle on without someone to care for them, feed them, educate them, and love them. Yet that soldier will still take a life, will he not?
Though your words confuse me, I think I understand their meaning. My herd does not have the soldiers you speak of, but I think the comparison would be our Shepherds. They look out for and protect the herd from dangers, especially orcs.
What you are saying is that we know the names of our Shepherds, and they are endeared to us, but the orcs have no names to us, and are just an enemy, though they too must have some sort of social structure. In that social structure someone must care for them, which means they would have names too.
Ashyn nodded. The same goes for these elves. The scarred one that wanted my head, her name is Whísper. They call the silver-haired one a Voïre dui Ceremeia.
Knowing each other’s name will strengthen our bond to each other, making it all the more likely we will work together to escape.
Ashyn watched as the bull looked up to the tree, its eyes climbing up the length of the trunk slowly. Your words carry much wisdom.
Ashyn chuckled aloud, and shook his head, getting another confused look from the gaur. Sometimes I feel like I’m just making this stuff up as I go. He told it. I didn’t realize the importance of a name either, or its significance to another person until I killed one of these elves. How real it makes them. Of course, that wisdom came with a heavy price. Not only did the elves lose a loved one, but also so did I with the death of my mentor.
Ashyn pulled his fingers from the water for only an instant. He didn’t want the gaur to know that he had also used a name as a weapon as well. Though that weapon had almost cost him his life, it hopefully saved Avrimae. Was he committing his own emotions to more turmoil by learning this gaur’s name? Would it feel like a betrayal, if the creature turned on him? Would it feel more real?
Ashyn didn’t have answers to those questions, but didn’t want the creature to know he had his own share of doubts. The wizard strongly needed allies here. He was all alone, and he was suffering. He hadn’t seen Jenhiro since the elf said he would find Julietta, he didn’t know if he could trust him. That in itself felt like a betrayal.
It was a betrayal that Ashyn certainly knew was coming, but when it did happen, it didn’t hurt any less. Jenhiro had never wanted to know Ashyn’s name. It made the separation and disassociation that much easier.
Yet he was also afraid to involve anyone else. The inclusion of Avrimae and Macky had thrown him off. Worse, what they did to Avrimae in particular, just to hurt him, was horrific. How could he ever justify that to another? How could he justify it to his sister? Had it already happened to her as well?
He slipped his fingers back in the water hoping to distract that unpleasant thought. He wondered if the gaur noticed?
It didn’t seem to.
Finally, it looked up to him. To have a name again would be good, but I am unworthy of such. You have risen me from the curse of unlife, and liberated my spirit from an eternity of damnation by allowing it back into the cycle. What name would you suggest?
Ashyn blinked, suddenly surprised by the question. It is not my place to give you a name, he said apologetically.
You are a totem-brother now. And the herd always assigns us our class name, and then when we assume the mantle of our destiny in this cycle, our station name, the gaur explained.
And you were Pan, and were supposed to become Strides-With-Spirits?
The bull snorted its agreement.
But we cannot use those names now?
It dishonors those worthy of the position, It replied instantly.
A word the gaur used lingered in the back of his head. He still felt awkward at naming the gaur for him, yet he also felt it was somehow fitting.
Rye –zen? The word came back awkwardly into his mind.
Risen. Ashyn returned. If you are risen again to try to piece together a new life. Risen once more to continue your cycle. Risen from the wreckage of an unlife and back into the world of life. It is a fitting name.
Ashyn watched as the Gaur contemplated the name. Finally, it snorted. Rizen it is.
Ashyn realized that the gaur was being very heavy on the S and intentional or not, it seemed appropriate. Rizen, he agreed.
With a smile, painfully stretching the battered and bruised muscles on his face, Ashyn looked at the newly named gaur. Now that you have a name Rizen, I think it’s time we start discussing how we can get out of here. It is time we collect what is ours and go home.
The gaur snorted powerfully, and stamped a hoof on the ground. The act made Ashyn jump, pulling his hand from the water in surprise. Slowly he lowered it back in, and they both looked into each other’s eyes.
I’ll take that as a yes.