The Answers

A few more days passed. Vtorak spoke to Polyphemus, hunted, played the flute and meditated. He finally found peace in his heart and the beast became his friend and source of strength. Time flowed in a measured manner, Vtorak was in no hurry and then the gates opened.

The heavy oak leaves slowly parted, leaving deep furrows on the ground. Neither on the towers, nor at the gates themselves, nor on the wall was anyone. It seemed that the gates themselves had decided to opened and let the guest in. Vtorak gathered his things and went forward through the arch of the opened gate to where the city of secret blacksmiths hid from people. No one met him. No one showed the way. The guest followed the music that his flute sang. Music was reflected from the walls of the cave, houses, a high arch and, whimsically whirling, was carried away, somewhere deep into the city. And the warrior obediently followed her, not being distracted, not looking back, he simply felt that the melody itself guided him. Following that bright call, he reached a spacious amphitheater, where several dwarfs were already located. This place was not like a battle arena. The theater was more elegant, its center was the stage and not the arena. Coming to the center of the stage, Vtorak stopped and tore the improvised flute from his lips.

- The light recognized you and taught you how to make a musical instrument! The Council could not help but notice this. You went through all our trials, and we decided to support you. Our patronage is in the shape of a sword. But expressed not only in this. You will become the heir to the covenants of the Order of the Golden Circle and carry into the world of his ideas and the will of light. Now you can ask your questions, - Vtorak did not expect such a verdict. He no longer expected anything from the dwarf Gods, but, nevertheless, in an instant received everything that he no longer dreaming of.

- What should I do now? - asked the man, not immediately finding another question.

- We will give you the first goal to try out the sword. You will find others yourself. You should know that how you tamed the rage that took on the shape of a bear, you can also tame other feelings. Look inside yourself and see their guises to make contact. So you know yourself and you can find peace in your soul. Now ask your other questions.

- Who... who are you and how are you connected with the Pure?

- We are the immortal Gods of this world. We are captives in this world until the end of his days. We are the servants of light and our destiny is to help people find the path to light here. The world will disappear when all souls stuck in it are cleansed and then they will abandoned this place. The pure ones were able to purify their souls and leave this world after death. Everyone can become pure if he follows the path of light to the purification of the soul, - Vtorak thought for a few minutes. No one rushed him. The dwarfs humbly waited for a new question.

- How many people in the valley serve you?

- Many commoners sympathize and help us. They convey information to our Hand in the world.

- Do you have many Hand?

- There were four in the valley, until one died in battle, a few years ago.

- Who are they? Those that work for you in the valley.

- You met with three. You know them all.

- Varaha, Chetaka and the knight in silver armor... - guessed Vtorak.

- Exactly.

- What are they doing for you?

- They fight the darkness that seeps into the valley. Ask your next question.

- What is the meaning of the plan? If everything is already inscribed by someone on the canvas of fate, then does the person have a choice?

- It will be difficult for you to understand, but try. Predestination writes fate like a feather. The lines cannot be fixed, but your decision each time becomes a new bend in them. Until you read the text, you will not be able to rewrite it. Because you won't know what exactly you want to fix in it, - Vtorak thought again, but suddenly a question cut through his head. A quastion which had long tormented him. Vtorak immediately voiced his thought.

- Who is Akshayah?

- He is a mechanism created to transform souls. He knows no good or evil, but only does his job. This world was created by the Almighty mind as a battery of light. Souls here had to reincarnate from darkness to a state where they themselves became a source of light. In one form or another, other worlds were created for the same purpose. But where there is light, there is darkness too.

- What do you mean?

- Lost souls began to worship darkness. Their black order took root in the heart of society - in the only surviving city of Ash Valley - Stargorod. In the north, a great misfortune is ripening, which will soon appear in the valley. In this difficult time, we do not need worms to sit inside our possessions. We want you to go to the city and clean out all the infection. It is for this purpose that we hand you the sword. "At that moment, one of the dwarfs descended onto the stage. On a beautiful copper tray covered in silk cloth, he carried an excellent blade. The blade was truly magnificent. Subtle features of the patterns added elegance to melee weapon. Leather straps intercepted the wooden hilt. Vtorok extended his palm over his weapon. Without even touching it, he already felt how comfortable the blade rests in his hand, how slowly the heat of his fingers heats the hilt, creating an indestructible bond between the owner and his weapon. Here it is - real magic. He took the sword. The blade sang, hitting the tray and, with a pleasant weight, greeted his hand. Glare from the torches on the walls ran on the polished metal. Perfection.

- I don't even know what to say... - the warrior whispered.

- No need to say anything. Listen, - Vtorak put his sword in the proposed scabbard and, hanging it on his belt, froze in anticipation, - Trouble will come from the north. The clouds appeared a long time ago, but not by chance. By preventing solar heat from penetrating the surface of the earth, they allow glaciers to grow. Very soon, the ice will swallow these lands. Northern peoples will move here. Many people will die. The ice age will begin. But your destiny is to disperse the clouds and let in solar heat, so that the era of ice does not drag on for too long.

- How should I do it?

- Go where you are going. And don't turn anywhere. Now you are the Hand of the underground gods. May the ligh send you a hundred and eight good lucks along the way, - with these words the dwarfs slowly turned around and left. Vtorok was left alone in the middle of the city amphitheater. His path now lay in Stargorod.

Vtorak immediately set off, leaving in the cave a dying fire and a straw trestle bed. Taking with him the stored meat, he left the territory of the Hidden City and went down from the mountains to the valley. There, at the very bottom, he met Polyphemus, hunting mountain goats. The giant also threw huge stones at them from afar, trying to hit it in the head.

- If you crush the skull, the body will be whole, - he said, - If you hit by stone the body, the meat is soft. But it's difficult to separate from the bones... the bones are stuck in the teeth with a small fragment.

- I understand, - Vtorak patted the giant's foot, - A delicate matter!

- A delicate matter, true. Good luck, human!

- Have a good hunting, giant.

And Vtorak went on. He again walked along the ash plain, but with completely different legs. Very different thoughts were swarming in his head, and all of him was already completely different. Now he felt his destiny and was not tormented so much by spiritual searches. He found his goal in serving the light, and at the same time gained a firm confidence in the correctness of his actions. For the first time, the spawning of the Doom felt that it was no different from people: he also had something to die for. Vtorak was now ready to give his life for the future of this valley, which he loved so much.

The path continued for several days until the wanderer stopped at a halt in the spacious grotto that he had stumbled into in the forest. It started to rain. Vtorak stretched the skin on sticks to collect as much rain water as possible. By morning, the water will go too deep underground, so only the longest and deepest roots can extract it from there. After a hearty dinner, Vtorak drew a flute from the bag and began to play. This time the clouds did not dissipate, but the rain seemed to have become warmer.

A human figure loomed in the darkness. A wanderer in a cloak, covering his head from the rain with a hood, stumbling and slipping on wet roots, approached the fire. Vtorak stopped playing. He was not afraid of man, but only calmly watched his approach. Having reached the warrior, the guest flashed a metal smile of teeth, but did not reveal his face, and began to warm his hands by the fire.

- You do not mind, do you? Every traveler needs shelter when it starts to rain. Wetting your feet can be dangerous on the road... and since someone had already made a fire nearby, I thought I could join in, "the guest said, smiling.

- I would not mind sharing with you the warmth of the fire and the dryness of my refuge, - Vtorak nodded. - You can already take off your hood and share the evening meal with me.

- You are so generous, - the stranger grinned, sparkling gold smiles through a beard and mustache, - Do not take it for rudeness or insult, but I prefer not to take off the hood. Under it I... try to hide ugly and scary scars.

- Believe me, wanderer, the old wound does not scare me. I happened to be in many battles.

- I have no doubt that they were all worthy, - the interlocutor grinned.

- There were. What's your name?

- My name doesn't matter, - the traveler shook his head. - Let's talk about something else. Not politely pestering an old, tired person with questions.

- As you wish.

- I see you got a new blade? The handle is not worn at all, not a scratch on the sheath...

- Yes, - Vtorak looked back at the weapon, - It is so.

- Unusual weapons... I've never seen such a thing.

- I deserved it after passing the test. The gods gave it to me.

- The gods always bestow the most worthy of us! - the man laughed, - Let us glorify their boundless nobleness! Their justice built our world! - he pulled flask out from under the cloak with a certain strong drink and sipped a fair amount. Vtorak watched. When Goldtooth offered him his flask, the warrior agreed. The drink was strong and some fruits were felt in the sugary aroma.

- A powerful thing, - said Vtorak, swallowing a fiery drink.

- Still would! The key keeper did. Yes... a good thing is serving the gods. Especially... for such rewards. At such times, it would be good for everyone to get a blade. And the bigger the sword, the better.

- If everyone carries a weapon, the tavern fights will turn into a massacre, - the warrior objected. - I think that it should be enough for people that the weapons are carried by those who are called upon to protect them.

- But a man with a weapon then becomes stronger than the others, - smiled the visitor wrapped in a cloak, - What if he wants to subjugate those whom he must protect? Cut unarmed men, take their women and bring up their children, as his own daughters and sons?

- Then... - thought Vtorak, - We need to carefully choose our defenders.

- Your words sparkle like gold, - a smile flickered under the hood, - If all around us were like you. Or maybe then it is better not to have weapons at all? People would live in peace...

- And they would be defenseless against external enemies, - the man shook his head, - Wild animals do not bite off their claws. We have swords instead of claws. I think the ancient states also forged weapons so that they would not be attacked by neighbors. This is more of a politics than a military craft.

- But then people will never achieve equality... each time someone will be better armed than others.

- Equality cannot be achieved, - Vtorak agreed. - Those who are weaker than others usually dream of becoming stronger. Strong himself achieves everything. He does not need equality. Moreover, it is unnatural. We are all gifted differently. Someone above, someone fatter. Who is stronger and who is more dodgy. This is how the world works.

- So, everything is decided by force... I agree! Well, so let me show you my force now, - said the stranger and, stepping his foot on the hilt of Vtorak's sword, rose above him, throwing his cloak to the ground. The fallen fabric got into the fire and soon a high flame rose from it. Under the cloak on the man were only simple pants with a wide leather belt. The torso was naked. Light outlined the relief of trained muscles. In the light of a bright fire, Vtorak noticed strange metal staples in the abdomen on the man's deathly pale body, holding together a terrible laceration. He looked up and saw Gordey's face surrounded by gray hair and a beard. A peasant, cut in half by a sword in front of an oak tree in a forest of hanged men, stood again in front of Vtorak.

- Cannot be...

- I have been looking for you all year in the vast expanse of the ashen valley! You were like sank into the water, I really despaired. But now... now I finally spotted you! Hug me, an old friend!!!

- How did you survive? - the warrior rose from the earth. He understood that he still could not get his weapon from under the enemy's feet and decided to prepare for hand-to-hand combat.

- The almighty sorcerer found me. He caught my soul and put it back in a body that he sewed with iron. He was just having fun with his power, but it came to my advantage. He gave me a chance to repay a debt and remind you of the death of my fellow villagers who died through your fault.

- I'm sorry they did this to you, Gordey...

- You should have regretted our deaths much earlier. You should regret having killed us! Forget the name of the old weak peasant! Now I am Tigma. Tigma of iron! Get ready, Vtorak! Today's fight will be fair. You won't have a sword today!

With these words, Tigma hit Vtorak in the face. The warrior did not have time to dodge and flew out of the cave onto moist ground. The fist of the enemy was much harder than he expected. His ears rang. Recovering a little, Vtorak rose to his feet.

- As you see... I have changed. As you can see... for the better!

- Gordey, you betrayed me! I did not want your deaths!

- Do not pronounce this name!!! I am Tigma!!! Tigma of iron! - In furious, like a tiger, he rushed to the attack. Gordey has clearly changed. Now he even spoke differently. What really happened to him? Vtorak dodged the blow and hit his fist on the side of the enemy, but hit the iron bracket. Tigma burst out laughing.

- I know why you killed us then! Because you could. Only power in this world makes sense, and I have seen this! People will follow the strong. The strong will be extolled on the shield! You were powerful in the past, but now I am stronger than you! It is easy to kill several peasants with a sword in the dark! They never even held weapons in their hands! And what now do you can without a sword? In fist fighting, I was once the champion of three villages!

Vtorak got ready. Tigma was really good at fist fighting. His punches were accurate and sharp. Vtorak could not reach the enemy's weaknesses. He still could not recover from the thought that the peasant killed by his hands somehow survived. It would have been impossible to believe if he had not been directly in front of him and the pain from his blows were not carried by waves throughout the body. His rage was sincere. He really knew Vtorak. It was still Gordey. He beat Vtorak blow after blow until the warrior's ribs began to crackle. Finally, Tigma grabbed the enemy by the shoulders and began to push him to the ground. The forces were unequal. "Help me, bear!" - prayed out mentally Vtorak, invoking the power of rage living in him. A surge of strength swept over him and, growling, Vtorak threw the attacker back. Having exchanged blows with him again, Vtorak realized that it would be difficult to cope without a sword. He kicked Tigma with his foot and, rolling, reached the fire again, taking possession of the sword. Now the unarmed had no chance. The first swing cut off his left arm at the elbow. The second time Vtorak hit his face. From a blow, Tigma's jaw flew into bloody fragments. Gold teeth fell on the ground. The resurrected dead, howling, collapsed to his knees. Not wanting to prolong the torment of the enemy, Vtorak swinged his weapon one last time, this time breaking a skull.

Rain watered a lifeless body, dissolving blood. Vtorak returned to the fire and threw smoldering pieces of the alien's cloak onto the street. "I hope you don't rise again," he thought. When the rain ended, Vtorak poured the accumulated water into the flasks and went to bed. The next morning the land was already dry, like the skull of a wanderer who died in the desert. The body of Tigma lay motionless in front of the grotto. Vtorak looked at him for the last time and hit the road. He did not want to think about the power of the hatred that he aroused in the peasant. This darkness is in his soul... this fire is in his eyes. They scared Vtorak. Never before has so much hatred been directed toward him. Nobody hated him like that before. Maybe besides Mara... where is she now? So many years have passed. She must have already forgotten about Vtorak. He would like to earn her forgiveness. He had enough enemies without her.