Ash. The Legends of the Nameless World. Progression Gamelit Story, Kirill Klevanski [great reads .TXT] 📗

She spoke of people who lived on the tip of a pine needle stored here in the Crystal Forest. She talked about the sylphs, the cloud fairies, distant relatives of the flower fairies. She even showed him a drawing of their cloud city. She also told him about the nagas who built palaces under the Seven Seas.

Ash listened to these stories and couldn’t believe that something so curious and interesting had been under his very nose all this time.

“My Lady.”

“Yes?”

“Why is this tree called the Crystal Forest?”

She stared at Ash’s face for a moment, then grabbed his arm, and pulled him away. The pair passed through several secret passages until they found themselves in a grove. Ash stared at the tall trees and still struggled to understand how such a beautiful place could deserve such a name.

“You're lucky,” the princess whispered. “Today’s the day.”

A moment later, the full moon appeared in the sky. Her light mingled with Myristal’s, and a white beam shot through a hundred round windows. It was reflected in a thousand mirrors, and made Ash’s breath become caught in his throat. The trees, shrouded in the glow, became more and more transparent until they turned into crystal sculptures. The grass under his feet swayed and crumpled, as grass should, but at the same time it, too, became crystal-like.

Transparent leaves lay on the palm of his hand, but didn’t leave cuts. The birds that fluttered among the crystal crowns also seemed, or perhaps were, glass.

The princess laughed and picked up an old staff, even older than the one Ash held, and slammed it against the nearest tree trunk. If a moment ago, the mage had seen the ancestor of all forests, now he heard the ancestor of all sounds.

The tune bouncing off the crystal trunks was so clear and so beautiful that Ash was hypnotized by it from the first note and echo. Birds sang in the sky, leaves caressed the weather-beaten skin, and then the soft hands of the beautiful elven princes touched his tense shoulders.

If Ash knew what a proper kiss was, he would’ve returned it to her, but he didn’t know, so she had to show it to him first and then explain.

What happened next doesn’t fit the fairy-tale atmosphere of the Crystal Forest, so we won’t talk about it. But rest assured, the scratches left on the mage’s back weren’t caused by any bird or animal.

***

“Get up! You need to go!”

It was with these words that the princess awoke the sleepy Ash. The air was once again filled with the silent rustling of the green leaves, as if hinting that what had happened under the night sky had only been a drunken dream. However, his itchy back and tingly loins suggested otherwise.

“Why?” he mumbled.

“My father!”

“Wha?”

“My father!”

Ash opened his eyes and immediately regretted it. Right in front of him stood the very angry king of elves. Green sparks flickered in his beard, and the once-slumbering butterflies were now flocking around his head like a pack of angry vultures. Behind him were the guardsmen, their curved blades drawn and their heavy bows drawn until they creaked.

“You!” the king roared.

“Well, this is a surprise...” Ash smiled and said two Words. The first summoned his cloak and staff, and the second made a thick fog envelop everything. The green lightning that struck from the king’s bottomless eyes only singed the young man’s hair.

“My lady, you are beautiful.” Ash pressed his lips to the princess’s forehead and rushed to the window.

Arrows whistled behind him, and he leaped from a height of several feet without hesitation. The cloak gently wrapped itself around him and the wind caught him, gently lowering him to the ground. Unfortunately, more guards awaited him there.

Ash never ran as fast as he did then. He raced through the grove like a mad hare. Arrows whizzed past, sinking into the trees up to their plumes. The mage had only the Gods to thank that the famous elven archers were too blinded by rage to aim. Otherwise, he’d be tortured to the point that his funeral wouldn’t need a closed casket but a locked one. Actually, he’d probably be buried in a box of matches. However, no matter how fast he ran, he couldn’t compete with the elves. And at the moment when they were just about to catch up with him, someone came to his aid.

A stallion rushed into the grove, caught the mage by his neck, and literally threw the dazed Ash onto his back. Ash clutched at the black mane with his right hand, and tried to hold on to the staff with his left. The stallion was running so fast that the trees turned into a brown blur.

“Who...?”

He didn’t finish. In the clatter of the stallion’s hooves, in the beating of his hot heart, in the breathing of its powerful lungs, and in his free, unruly soul, he heard a Name — Guido. With it came the memory of a colt given to the wolves to raise.

“Guido!” the mage shouted.

The stallion whinnied and leaped over a small stream. Powerful and defiant, he could outrun the wind itself. Ash laughed and snuggled up to his friend’s back. Amazing adventures awaited them, but something told Ash that he wouldn’t go join the great ones. They towered above everyone, and if he were to join them, small as he was, he felt like he’d be smothered by his own complexes.

Chapter 57

13th Day of the Month of Lust, 322 A.D., the Fiery Mountains

T he Stumps were moving through a lifeless desert. The dead earth heaved under their feet. There was no vegetation for miles around, not even the most common clumps of weeds could be seen tumbling around, carried by the wind.

The sky, covered with thick clouds, weighed not only on their shoulders, but