The Legend of the Red Eyed Assassin

[Tuinor]

This is the story of Tuinor the Red Eyed, my namesake here on the moot. I'm writing on this for personal enjoyment, but will hopefully be entering a large excert of it in a writing contest. Wish me luck! (and deliver any criticism you wish on it! All such help is appreciated!) I will sooner or later set up a discussion thread for it... be patient! And, with all that said, and no further ado, I give you "The Legend of the Red Eyed Assassin"!

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The Sight of Blood was his curse. Yes, that was the punishment brought down upon him. Some say he deserved worse; that the acts he committed against the Ain Ilndiri merit nothing less than death. Others believe he was justified; few in Terracia’s short history have suffered such pain and loneliness as he. Tuinor would say that he indeed deserved death. He would have accepted it, too. Perhaps death was too light a punishment. Perhaps his misery had caused him to welcome death. Either way, it can be said that there are few in this world that understand justice better than he.
What few know about Tuinor is that he himself is of Ain Ilndirin blood. Yes, he was even born a prince of that most prestigious race. And yet, even though he was born into one of the highest niches of society in his world, he was alone. Very few know why Tuinor was rejected by his people. Some say he was wicked at birth, that he was possessed of an evil spirit. Others hold to the idea that he was illegitimate, and his father cast him out in fear of his own exposure. However, there are some (in fact, a select few) that believe it was a deeper matter than this. For, you see, the Ilndiri are all beings more of spirit than of flesh, and their spirits can reveal themselves in many ways to a careful eye (as all Ilndir have). The bodies of the Ilndir, it is said, are like vessels of class. Their spirits can be seen in the physical world. It is believed that Tuinor’s father, the esteemed Kallith the White, saw into his newborn son’s spirit and perceived that it was a dark spirit, yet he knew not whether it was evil. It is thought that this may be why his father banished him to the edge of his realm, and why Tuinor may have been so prone to evil in his later life, yet none now can say. For who has ever looked into the soul of the Red Eyed Assassin and lived to tell the tale?
It was thus that Tuinor grew as an outcast in his world. He was close to none save his mother, and she was forced to abandon him as well when he grew into adolescence. Thus he spent a great deal of his young life living in the wild, learning how to survive on his own. Well, it came to pass that his mother (who still loved him dearly) would visit him during the time of Eildom’s waning. It was in those times that she furnished him with what few things she could bring to him in secret. This was how he survived until he had lived nearly fifteen years of the Undari.
It came to pass that one night, during the time of his mother’s visit, Tuinor experienced the first and greatest tragedy of his life. His mother was unusually late, and he decided to go and meet her on the road. He found her, true, but when he did, she had been attacked brutally, and by what she called, “a demon.” Her last words were spent on Tuinor as she lay dying in the moonless night. He stayed with her body until early dawn when he was found by a search party sent to find the missing Lady. Despite his words, Tuinor was arrested as the murderer (indeed, the Ain Ilndiri still hold to the idea that he did in fact murder the only one who loved him). He was brought to court to be tried on the murder of his mother, which is where his childhood ends, and his legend begins…

[Tuinor]

The Youth

Trial

“Well, Tuinor, have you anything to say in your defense?” asked the white-haired High Judge who sat in a large throne in front of the lad. Tuinor himself was bound in cruel irons and watched over by two guards on either side of him. His eyes roamed over the impassive faces of the minor judges, ten in all, that sat in a circle all around him, then to the High Judge that sat at the peak of the semi-circle they formed. He sighed bitterly before he spoke.
“I have… nothing. Nothing to say that will deter you monsters who seek my blood. I have spoken the truth, and I can say no more. You wish me dead, and I see that justice shall not prevail in this cursed place. I shall go to my mother, who awaits me…”
“Your mother is in Niethelion!” said one of the judges. “Her life was pure, her actions good and noble. You, murderer, shall be sent to the Void where fire and darkness is all you’ll know.”
“Silence,” said the High Judge, who had made it a point to wait until his peer had finished before interrupting him. “Tuinor, your contempt of my court will not be tolerated. I see now why your mother kept you in secret, away from her husband. Truly, you must be illegitimate. Only one born of an impure unity could commit the act you did.”
“Shut up!” cried Tuinor, who received in turn a blow from the guard on his right to his ribs. Falling to his knees, Tuinor moaned in pain, but he had known pain before. He kept his eyes unflinchingly on the High Judge.
“One should find it improper to try and silence the deliverer of Justice,” the High Judge said.
“You…” Tuinor said as he struggled to stand. The two guards looked down on him with faces of twisted amusement. “…You, you snake!” These words of his met with a hard blow to the middle of his back which sent him onto his stomach.
“Hmph!” said another of the Judges, “look who’s the snake here! Guards, don’t let him up. Let him taste of the dust like the snake that he is.”
A strong leg placed a boot on Tuinor’s shoulder. With his hands bound he could do little to nothing to stop this, so he merely resigned to continue his glare at the High Judge.
“Th-…” Tuinor said, spitting the dust out of his mouth, “…there is no Justice here. Justice hides in the night. All that’s here is a group of old wretches enjoying the suffering of…”
“Silence!” screamed High Judge. “I am the administrator of Justice! What I say is true and final. My words are…”
“Your words are the darkness that hides Justice itself!” Tuinor shouted.
“I have heard enough!” cried the High Judge, “Your actions here alone are enough to condemn you to imprisonment for the rest of eternity. ‘Tis a fitting end, I’d say, to a murderer such as yourself…”
“You can condemn him for nothing,” said a strong voice from the farthest seat from the High Judge, “For you have not the proof strong enough to sustain your claim. Thus, you cannot hold him to any sentence greater than exile.”
Tuinor tried to look back at who had spoken in his defense. Unfortunately, he could not see him, but he was glad for the unexpected help, even if it only served as an annoyance to the High Judge. Strangely enough, the long silence that followed his declaration seemed to bear testimony to the fact that the speaker had been one who carried great authority in that room. For a second Tuinor pictured perhaps his father had come to set things right, but he would not allow his heart to pursue such hope. Not after all that his father had done to him.
“Yes, but,” the High Judge replied, “the boy is marked with evil. Who else in our realm could have done this?”
“Perhaps the lad’s story is true, and a Shadow did slay her,” the voice stated calmly. “Take, for example, the make of the blade that the soldiers found. It is of no design or fashion I have seen from our forges. Indeed, the blade looks highly unusual for any of the peoples of Terracia. Not even the Unquari make blades of such unique design.”
“But he was found with it!” cried another Judge.
“So he was found along with the blade that slew her,” said the voice, “That doesn’t mean he was wielding it! Why, as far as you have been told, it’s a mystery whether or not the lad was even carrying it on him.”
“He was covered in her blood!” cried yet another.
“Yes, I’m sure,” replied the voice. “After all, he had just found his mother slain in the wilderness. Is it not likely that he took her in his arms vainly wishing that she would return to him? Isn’t it possible that he held on to her because he knew he would have to let go? Is this not reason?”
None in the room noted the tears that fell from Tuinor’s eyes as his memories were torn open by the voice’s words.
“You make your point, Dhildin,” murmured the High Judge. Ah, that was why he spoke so powerfully. Dhildin, after all, had held the seat of High Judge for over a century, and his name was well respected amongst all Ain Ilndiri. It was strange, though, that he would stand up for Tuinor alone against his peers. Perhaps Justice was not without practice.
“Then shall you accept what this boy says?” Dhildin asked.
“I cannot,” the High Judge said solemnly. “Not without taking full responsibility for what he does afterwards, whether it be good or evil. I won’t take the chance.”
“Then what do you say?” Dhildin demanded.
The High Judge was silent in thought, but at last he spoke that single word that would forever change Tuinor’s life: “Exile.”
Dhildin sighed with deep agitation.
“Is this the sentence you pass on him?” asked another Judge ceremonially.
“It is,” said the High Judge. Tuinor only wept at the memory of his mother. Nothing else mattered. Not the pompous Judges that arrayed themselves around him, not the guards, who dragged him onto his feet despite his limp body. Not even Dhildin, who stared sorrowfully as he passed on the way out. Nothing mattered anymore. Nothing but his mother.

[Tuinor]

Exile

The next day found the young Ilndir bound yet again in chains; however, this time his wrists had been bound before him, giving him more use of his hands than before. Few had noted how much he had wept the night before, but they began to notice now. His eyes were bloodshot all about his blue irises, making them appear like blue gems sunken in blood. He was in a carriage by midday, but the high windows did not allow him to peak through towards his unknown destination. However, as hours passed Tuinor began to sense the taste of salt in the air, and not long after that he could hear the calls of gulls all about him.
The sea. So this was it. They would put him aboard a vessel, ship him away to some unknown land were he would spend the rest of his days alone in exile. Finally, sometime in the afternoon the carriage stopped. The door to the outside was opened, and Tuinor squinted his already sensitive eyes from the sudden gush of light. Two guards grabbed him from either side and led him out onto a dock in the midst of a large seaport. Ships destined for places all over the world were docked in all areas around the port, each of them looking marvelous in design. All except one. Directly in front of them was a large, ominous looking vessel with a single large black sail and many windows on the sides. The windows didn’t help to improve its looks, however, and Tuinor felt in his stomach that if he had to board that ship, then he would have been better off dying back in the hands of the High Judge. He almost gagged when he felt himself being pulled towards it.
As the guards led him out onto the dock of that most wretched of ships, Tuinor felt his eyes water, and he knew that he would weep.
“Not here!” thought he, “Not in front of them! Just wait, hold it back until no one sees you. Don’t let them think you’re weak. You are not weak.”
As he thought these things he and his escort were approached by a tall Ilndir with long black hair dressed in strange blue garments and who carried a long curved blade.
“Greetings,” said he with a strange rolling accent that reminded Tuinor of the way waves crashed upon the beach, “How goes things on the mainland, gentlemen?”
“Not much goes on,” said one of the guards, “that is, until this one here was tried for the murder of his mother.”
“Don’t cry,” Tuinor thought.
“His own mother?” asked the Ilndir with disbelief in his tone.
“He wasn’t convicted,” the second guard stated.
“Then what are you doing bringing him here?” the Ilndir asked while tossing back a few strands of long black hair that had blown into his face.
“The High Judge deemed it too great a risk to keep him around,” said the first guard, “so we bring him here to you.”
“Dumping his problems on others, eh?” asked the Ilndir with a grin. Tuinor was shocked by his comment against the High Judge. Apparently, this one was not of Ain Ilndirin blood.
“He might not be a problem,” stated the second guard.
“You don’t think he will after putting him through this?” asked the Ilndir.
“Whatever may become of him is beyond us,” said the first, “Fate has taken him, and Fate shall guide him to whatever end he meets.”
“That’s always a good way to look at it,” mumbled the Ilndir sarcastically.
“What?” demanded the first guard, though he knew full well what was said.
“You heard me,” replied the Ilndir, “Now leave this one with me as you intend and be about whatever other business you may have here. Tomorrow you shan’t even recall the boy, which is how you want it, I’m sure.”
“Eternal lives leave many things to chance,” warned the second guard, “we may yet again meet.”
“His life may not last that long where you send him,” countered the Ilndir with a tone darker than the ocean depths.
“That’s up to you, now, isn’t it?” said the first guard as he shoved Tuinor towards the Ilndir.
“And take this as well,” said the other guard, handing the Ilndir a long, wooden box.
“What’s that?” cried the first guard.
“The boy’s, I believe,” said the Ilndir as he pulled it away from the guard’s grasping hands.
“Why- you! Aldnan!” grunted the guard as he desperately grabbed for the box as it passed into the Ilndir's hands, but Aldnan (for that was the Ilndir's name) pushed the box into Tuinor’s still-bound hands and shoved him away from the guard.
“Don’t let go of it, boy,” said Aldnan, “it’s yours.”
“What is it?” asked Tuinor.
“What is it? What is it!?” shouted the guard, “Why, it’s the sword. The sword that killed…”
Tuinor’s hands went limp as the realization came over him. To the ground fell the box wherein was kept the sword that took his mother’s life. As it struck the ground, the box came open, displaying to the world a blade of unworldly fashion. No smith in Terracia could produce such detailed craftsmanship; and to the guards and to Aldnan, the blade seemed fair. To Tuinor, however, the thing was death itself, and he stepped away from it.
There stood the four of them, each staring down upon the blade, each with a separate thought in his mind. The first to move for it, however, was the first of the two Ain-Illindiri guards. He bent over to take it only to find himself very quickly at the edge of Aldnan’s own blade.
“Touch it…” Aldnan warned, “… and you’ll wish you’d never laid eyes on it.”
“He can have it,” Tuinor said bitterly as he stared in horror at it.
“There,” said the first guard, lifting himself away from Aldnan’s curved blade, “The boy’s own words. And I accept his wish.”
“Only because the boy doesn’t realize yet what he wants, or what this blade means,” Aldnan replied. “Why, he probably doesn’t know half of what’s going on! That being said, you’ll not have this boy’s blade. I swear it.”
“He’s a murderer,” the first guard hissed.
“I’ve yet to find any truth in that,” he countered. “Look at him! He’s just barely holding back tears, and you’ve got the nerve to call him murderer? Even his own mother’s? I fear for what may be happening to the Ain-Illindiri, if this is how they treat the unknown.”
“It is better to be prepared for…” began the second guard, but Aldnan cut him short.
“Bah! No wonder you don’t have the gall to set foot on a boat,” he mocked.
“We shall remember this,” the first guard warned.
“Good,” Aldnan replied, “then the High Judge will remember next time that I don’t take prisoners!”
And with that he spun around and with a wide swing of his sword cleaved in two the bonds that held Tuinor, who fell back in shock at the feat. With a glare Aldnan sent the two guards on their way; then, he turned and offered Tuinor a hand.
“Th-thanks,” Tuinor mumbled as he was towed to his feet.
“Don’t mention it, kid,” Aldnan replied, “you’re not what they say you are, that’s plain enough to see. So, tell me, who do you say you are?”
“Me?” Tuinor asked with a little more than confusion in his voice, “I, uh, my name’s Tuinor.”
“Pleased to meet you, lad,” he said with a grin and a bow. When he rose back again to his full height, Tuinor saw that he held in his hands the box containing that horrid blade.
“I don’t want it,” Tuinor re-stated.
“No, you don’t,” Aldnan agreed, “at least, you don’t want it now. You will, though, I expect. So, I think I’ll keep it awhile; just for safe keeping.”
“Do whatever you want with it,” the lad replied, “I never want to see it again!”
“Hmm, well,” Aldnan said, tucking the case beneath his right arm, “I guess you are free to go, if you want. I don’t know what they’ll do if they find you haven’t been exiled. I know that may sound harsh, but the truth often is. Listen, there’s not much I can give you, but if you need a place to call home, then you are welcome aboard my ship. Silver Spray she’s called, and she’s in need of another good hand on deck…”
Aldnan stopped as he noticed Tuinor staring dreadfully at the terrible black-sailed ship behind them. He laughed and said, “Oh, don’t worry, that’s not her. Why, I’d never sail in such a wretched thing. Honestly, I don’t know where it came from, but if I had to guess it looks rather Ruanin in design. Horrible boat makers, the plainsmen are, but they are learning… Ah, now there is the Silver Spray.”
Pointing out into the harbor, Aldnan grinned with pride and admiration. Tuinor followed his finger out towards a small ship with grey triangular sails. Tuinor released a sigh of relief as he watched the boat closing in on a nearby dock that had just been made available.
“Come on, lad. Let’s go and introduce you to the crew,” said Aldnan with a pat on Tuinor’s shoulder.

[Tuinor]

Sailing

It wasn’t long until Tuinor became well acquainted with the small crew of the ship Silver Spray, and though his days on the sea were filled with many labors, they were not unbearable. Still, he found himself alone even amongst these friends of his, for though he was accepted, he found quickly that he didn’t quite belong to this life on the seas. Try as he might, he could never match the prowess of the Yestii-Ilndiri, the Water Kin (as he found all the crew’s members to be) in their own domain, and this left him constantly frustrated. In addition to his troubles there were the memories of what had happened constantly filling his mind despite his best efforts to put them aside. Often he would sit at the ship’s prow and gaze at the horizon while the sun set, and often its color would turn red as the blood that stained his mind. He began having dreams in his sleep: nightmares of his mother’s cries as he listened helplessly. He would awake in sweat and tears, and many of his shipmates would be disturbed by him. This distanced him further from the Yestii-Ilndiri, and he found that once again he was cut off from the world in which he lived. After awhile Aldnan moved the boy out of the ship’s main sleeping quarters and into a small room below deck by himself.
“It’s just until you settle with your past, boy,” he had assured Tuinor, but the dreams did not stop. In fact, after awhile they became even worse.
Visions accompanied the sounds of his mother’s agony; visions of a figure like sculpted black smoke with eyes like a starless winter night that sapped the warmth from his veins. And beneath it all was a sound that replaced his mother’s cries. It was a sound like none he had ever heard. At first he thought it was silence, for he couldn’t quite feel it, but he knew it was there. Whenever he dreamt it, he would awaken and feel as though he had gone deaf, as if the sound itself had stolen his hearing. Each new time he heard it, it was as if all sounds were taken away; devoured by this… this un-sound. He shuddered visibly whenever its memory was awoken within him, but worse still, to his mind at least, was that slowly but surely this thing was driving away his memory of his mother. After a while he could not hear her at all in his dreams, and he felt bitterness towards himself that she should be lost to this monstrosity.
Then, his dreams began to lose their terror, and they began invoking rage and hatred towards this thing that had taken his mother. As this anger continued to well up within him, his thoughts began turning towards the blade that Aldnan had kept so long ago. He found that at times he would often drift away from his duties to stare towards Aldnan’s cabin area. This, Aldnan soon took notice of. One particular day while the wind blew calmly against the sails and there was not much to be doing on deck Aldnan happened to catch the lad in one of his day-dreams. With a solemn face he cleared his throat, shocking Tuinor back into reality.
“Do you want the sword, boy?” he asked.
Tuinor found his eyes would not meet Aldnan’s. Glancing back towards the cabin he admitted, “Yes.”
“Why?” Aldnan asked.
“Because one day I’ll find whatever demon it was that slew her,” he said, his deep rage beginning to surface, “and when I do, I shall make him pay for what he did. And I shall do so with the very blade he slew her with.”
“It must be difficult to slay a demon,” Aldnan said, “and you may never find him. A blade seeking vengeance desires to be fed. Can you stave that hunger ‘till the right time comes? If it ever comes?”
“I- I don’t know,” Tuinor said, “but I have to try. For my mother’s sake, I have to try.”
“You could forget about it,” Aldnan said, “let your memories drift away until they are nothing more that fleeting shadows. You could live a whole live, a simple and good one.”
“It would be a disgrace to her memory,” Tuinor said, “I don’t want her to be a shadow in my mind. I cannot allow that thing to diminish her so.”
“Nothing is truly eternal, Tuinor,” Aldnan said, “Not you or I or even the mighty sea. Everything comes to an eventual end. Your fighting her loss is like arguing with the setting sun. No matter what curses you throw at it, it still sets all the same.” With a chuckled, he added, “Trust me, I’ve tried!”
“You are trying to be funny?” Tuinor asked.
“It’s my way of keeping the mood a lightened one,” Aldnan replied with a grin. The boy gave a half-hearted smile, but his eyes would not be drawn away from the cabin. “If you want the blade so badly, you shall have it,” Aldnan said, “it’s yours by right anyways. But I warn you: if you ever cause trouble with it on my boat I’ll see to it that you’re punished severely.”
“I won’t cause trouble,” Tuinor said, “I can’t find him on the boat anyways.”
Aldnan grinned and with a motion of his hand signaled for Tuinor to follow him. Into the cabin he led him, to a cupboard just past the entrance. Opening the door, he found the case wherein the blade rested nestled back in the corner of the third shelf from the bottom.
“Keep it inside its case and in your quarters,” Aldnan said, “I don’t want the men growing suspicious of one who’s been tried for murder.”
Tuinor nodded. Taking the case under his arm, he was just about to leave when Aldnan stopped him.
“Wait just a moment,” he said. Tuinor stopped and looked back at the captain questioningly. “Do you know how to use a blade?”
“I’ll learn,” Tuinor replied.
“Yes, you will,” Aldnan said, “because as of now, I am your teacher.”
Tuinor’s eyes widened in disbelief, while Aldnan chuckled to himself.
“Run along now, my pupil!” said Aldnan, “Your training will begin next time we make port!”

[Tuinor]

Training

Aldnan’s student Tuinor did become, and under him he both worked as shipmate and trained as pupil for nearly two years of the Undari. Slow was the training at first, yet swiftly did it become arduous and harsh. Tuinor spent many long hours in the low light of burning candles within Aldnan’s cabin as the seasoned captain instructed the lad in the basics of sword fighting. Each day Tuinor never ceased to astound his teacher with his dogged determination, but for this Aldnan was wary of teaching the lad any true skills, for he knew not whether he could trust the inner fury that drove Tuinor thus. The captain, in his attempt to slow his pupil’s pace and allow his inner fire to simmer, constantly forced his pupil to review only the very basics of swordplay, and soon Tuinor began to notice that his progress had slowed down to a creeping pace. After several moons, he confronted his teacher one night while performing his routine exercises.
“Master,” said he respectfully as he slowly guided his blade through the air, “for how long must I go over these simple basics? I’m ready to move on; I have been for the past four moons!”
Aldnan’s voice sounded hesitant, “You shouldn’t be in a hurry. The basics are what will make your techniques powerful in the end. Trust me.”
“I know the basics by heart!” Tuinor exclaimed as he increased the speed of his movements.
Aldnan, scoffing at what he saw as arrogance, declared “Stop!” as he had in many practices before to point out Tuinor’s lack of control over his blade. Surprisingly, though, even as he declared the word the lad’s blade instantly froze in mid air, as rigid as solid ice.
“I am in control of my blade, Master,” Tuinor said without even glancing towards Aldnan. “I can move it where ever I wish, attack from any point, and halt it with but a thought.”
A flash of anger ran across Aldnan’s face, “Show me, then.” With swift elegance he drew forth his own curved blade. Tuinor’s eyes focused on his teacher as he began moving towards him. The pupil shifted his stance in preparation for the duel with his master.
“Master, I will not harm you,” Tuinor said confidently, “so do not be afraid to come at me with your best.”
“Your recklessness with your life is foolishness,” Aldnan said as he stepped within striking distance of his pupil’s blade. Tuinor silently began to strafe around his master. Aldnan noted the flawlessness in Tuinor’s footwork. “Hmph,” he scoffed, “you definitely have improved!”
And with those words he whipped out his blade towards his student. Tuinor’s defensive form was solid as a rock, hardened from hours of practice. He blocked his Master’s swipe with only just enough movement to keep himself from being hit. Aldnan’s blade and Tuinor’s shoulder were separated by a distance no greater than the thickness of a coin.
“You shouldn’t play around like that,” Aldnan said, “What if you could not have stopped my blade?”
“Then I would be too weak to defeat you,” Tuinor replied.
Aldnan retracted his blade and resumed his stance. Tuinor resumed his own stance and continued to strafe around his Master, but Aldnan matched his footwork step for step. When he began to notice that his student was becoming the aggressor, he grimaced and lashed out with a flurry of attacks; Tuinor successfully blocked each and every one of them. This surprised Aldnan, and with this surprise came the understanding that his pupil was truly fighting against him. Aldnan cleaned up his form, and noticed how Tuinor grinned when he saw that Aldnan was now regarding him as a foe.
“Now I can strike.” Tuinor said coolly.
Aldnan only frowned and prepared himself. Tuinor’s blows came like a flood, and Aldnan could read the precision in each one of them. Likewise he parried them, but his form was like flowing water as opposed to Tuinor’s rock solid technique.
“See, Master!” Tuinor grunted as he continued his assault, “You have not yet taught me such form as that!”
Tuinor’s blows increased in fury, and Aldnan noted that he slowly began compiling different aspects of the basics he had learned into dangerous new attacks. The boy was undoubtedly gifted. Noticing again that he was losing the offensive position, Aldnan began to counter his student’s attacks, but Tuinor continued to successfully block his Master’s moves.
“You are incredibly skilled, my lad,” Aldnan muttered amidst the fury of their conflict.
“Then why won’t you advance me?” Tuinor asked as he locked his blade against Aldnan’s, turning their fight into a struggle of raw strength.
“Be-because,” Aldnan grunted, “it’s because you are already so skilled.”
“Th- that makes… no sense!” Tuinor cried as he pushed against his Master’s blade with all his might. Aldnan, noting that the power struggle would not be his, quickly sidestepped and allowed his pupil’s blade and force to slide by his own. With Tuinor’s force so suddenly released, he was carried by it almost halfway across the cabin. He spun around, and with fury swung with all his might against his Master. Aldnan’s eyes widened with the realization that this blow might kill him, and with all the speed he could muster he raised his blade to intercept Tuinor’s. Only, there was no sound of blade clashing against blade. Astonishment stuck him as he realized in near horror at what Tuinor could do. When he felt the touch of metal fall softly against the side of his neck opposite the side Tuinor had struck at, he let his own blade fall to the floor.
“How did you…?” Aldnan whispered between gasps for air.
Tuinor’s eyes were calm as he replied, “I stopped my blade before it clashed with yours. While you carried through with your parry, I spun around and struck your other side.” With his attack explained, he lowered his blade. “I am in control of my blade.”
“Are you in control yourself, though?” Aldnan asked weakly.
Tuinor thought for a moment on his teacher’s words, and found that he could not reply.
“A blade seeking vengeance desires to be fed, Tuinor,” Aldnan whispered.
“You’re right,” Tuinor replied.
“I am sorry, but I can no longer train you, lad,” Aldnan said solemnly.
“I know,” Tuinor calmly replied. There were no words left to be said. Tuinor sheathed his blade, and turned to leave the room.
“Tuinor,” Aldnan called after his pupil. Tuinor halted for a split moment to hear out his former Master, “We make port in two days. When we do, I’m letting you off. You can go where ever you wish from there.”
Tuinor nodded, and with that he left the room.

[Tuinor]

Shipwrecked

The following day was an overcast one, and the weather reflected the mood on board the Silver Spray. Tuinor did no work that day, but whenever anyone of the shipmates questioned Aldnan about it, he would only reply, “The lad has a lot on his mind, he’d only get in the way today.” More than once Tuinor heard the captain say this and more than once did he sigh in reply and continue gazing out into the open sea. That day went by slowly, and Tuinor did little more that think as he stared into the rolling waves of the ocean all around him.
His thoughts dwelled mostly on his mother, and on the apparition that was driving her away from his mind. Frustration filled him when he began to realize that recalling her features had become difficult; he could no longer fully remember what she had looked like. A solitary tear ran down his cheek as he came to terms with the truth: she was gone.
Bitterness and rage filled his entire body at the thought, and it seemed that the sea expressed his torment. Increasingly the waves grew larger and the wind grew stronger, until their combined wrath tossed the boat uncontrollably back and forth. Tuinor wondered about whether or not he should aid the crew, but when he overheard one of the shipmates mumble, “The lad should just get below deck if he’s not to help.” The words were like sparks in the kindling of Tuinor’s rage. Abruptly he stood and marched down below deck to his secluded quarters, where he sat alone in the dark with thoughts of malice festering within him, draining him of his energy while the rolling waves rocked him back and forth within the hull of the small vessel. He trusted that the crew didn’t need him; no one had ever needed him, neither the crew of the Silver Spray nor the people of the Ain Ilndiri. No one, except for his mother, and he had failed her…

A violent jolt threw Tuinor out of his small cot in which he had fallen asleep. Hitting the floor, he found that the ship’s hull was now drenched with water, something that had never happened before in all his years of serving aboard her. Suddenly, before any thoughts of aiding the crew could enter his mind, the sound of lighting exploded with a loud crack just outside the ship. Tuinor then knew that they must have entered unwittingly a severe storm. Then, several more cracks sounded out around him, but these were not the mighty booms of the fire in the sky; no, these were the sounds of timbers shattering under the weight of the storm’s wrath.
Alarm filled the lad. He knew then that he needed to aid the crew immediately if they were to survive. As fast as he could, he darted out onto the deck of the Silver Spray, but his heart was filled with horror when he made it to the outside. Through the stinging sprays of violent rain and wind, Tuinor surveyed the ship’s deck in dismay; not a single soul remained on board. With his arm up to guard his face from the biting rain, Tuinor searched for the ship’s life rafts. Both were gone. The crew had abandoned hope, abandoned ship, and abandoned him. The thought staggered him. After nearly two years… how could they all just forget?
Slowly now he stumbled about the deck. With both arms at his side, he let the wind and the rain bite at his solemn face, and no longer cared whether or not it hurt. Feeling more alone than ever, he made his way back to his quarters below deck, where rain could not longer find him. Within the ship’s hull he could hear its wooden frame twisting and snapping in the grips of the raging sea, but he cared not. He had been abandoned. Curling up in his cot, he conceded to what he knew would be his demise. He was given up to despair; he knew that there, within that tiny room below the Silver Spray’s deck, he would die. No thoughts of comfort came to him, no assurances that he would be loved, missed, or mourned. His only companion now lay on the floor of his quarters: the sword. Without emotion, he reached down and picked up the sheathed blade and fastened it to his side. If Fate willed him to die, then he would take this accursed blade with him to the ocean’s depths. Closing his eyes, he began the long wait for the inevitable.
As the ship rocked back and forth and the moans and cracks of shattering beams sounded out all around him, he clung to his cot and waited. Suddenly, with a loud snap, a pale light broke into the darkness of his room. With it came wind, rain, and waves of water. The sea swept into his quarters and lifted up his cot even as he clung to it and swept it with him on top out into the open ocean. There, as he was dragged further and further away from the wreckage of the Silver Spray he witnessed as the once proud vessel was shattered and crushed against rocks that jutted out like fangs from the deep. Helplessly he held on to his bed as he drifted out and away, a hostage at the mercy of the mighty sea. He hid his face in the hook of his arm, trying to find refuge from the endless rain, and thus alone he drifted as the storm raged all around him.
For hours upon hours Tuinor clung helplessly to his cot. Day slowly began to change into night as Uan made her decent into the Void, but even as she set the storm exhausted itself and her face shown golden through the broken clouds in the west.
Tuinor was not overly cold, but he tried his hardest to stay out of the water as much as he might aboard his drifting bed. Darkness began to fall upon him as the clouds continued to travel east, leaving pale glimmering stars in their wake. Given nothing else to do but wait for Fate to take its course, Tuinor lay his back upon the floating cot and watched as the stars began to come out. Despite his circumstances, he suddenly became overwhelmed with their shimmering beauty. Somewhere up there in Niethelion was his mother. The thought brought him peace amidst the insecurity of the open sea. There he lay all through the night as he watched the stars and thought of his mother till at last some time late in the night he finally fell asleep.