The Immortal One

Chapter One - The Wiseman

All men die but one.

"According to the legends of Ätäluviiä, there is one who walks upon the world of Tahlé who is, alone, untouched by age and fears not spell or blade. Long have I scoured the cities of the land of Teldiir, searching for proof of his existence. I have walked upon the vaulted steps of Hul Äsiiär, the Grand Cathedral of the Kingdom of Ätäluviiä; and I have crossed the frozen tundra of Silvä Gädón, home to the mighty and feared Väräk warriors. I have stood before the Dragontail, the great and impenetrable wall built by slaves by the command of the magistrates of Saekän. In my travels, I have seen and heard much. Yet nothing else has amazed me more than the story of this man, this...Immortal One."
The speaker, an odd old man, took a puff from his long ceremonial pipe. It was a thing that he cherished, as it was crafted from the ivory tusks of a rare creature. With his left hand he stroked his long graying beard thoughtfully as his mind explored memories of what seemed to him to be the adventures of some other man - a stronger man, one who had been brimming with the recklessness and determination of both youth and passion. His eyes, plagued by cataracts, squinted as if he were straining to see and touch these distant places; as if he could reach back through time and find himself once again on the hunt for a fable unlike any other...perhaps he could.
His audience was a girl of one, an impressionable child of fifteen years who went by the name of Säyä. Once every week she made the journey to the city in order to listen to the words of her 'Wiseman' as she had taken to calling him. The trek was not a small matter, or rather, a short matter. She would leave the woods in which she lived and cross through the Glimmering Valley, a distance which took her the better part of the day to traverse. Then, upon reaching the gates of Ätäluviiä, she would seek him out - which in itself was no small task. The Wiseman rarely stayed in the same place for long, and it was only on the last day of every week that she could find him at all. Säyä was of average height for her age, but she was much stronger than the children of the city. Her life was one of action, she was a skilled hunter and gatherer, and her muscles had been conditioned during her many excursions. At times, she would stalk her prey for two full days in order to secure food for the table, and then she would have to carry the animal back herself. It was the custom of her people to walk the way of the woods, to survive amidst the trees and thrive beneath the canopy. Her parents had been born in the nation of Avinós, the folk who lived in, and fiercely protected, the Great Forest.
The Wiseman returned to his senses, set his gaze upon the young girl, and smiled. It was a fatherly expression, or perhaps more accurately, a grandfatherly one. It was something that Säyä had never before experienced. Her father, Ziihärk, had been killed shortly before her birth. He had been hunting a wyvern, one of the lesser dragons that sometimes strayed from the mountains. Wyverns were not pursued for their meat, but instead for their scales and bones. They were extremely rare commodities that were used to forge arms and armor. Ziihärk had not been aware that the wyverns of the area were under the protection of the tribe of half-dragons, the beast-folk called the Dekaas. They killed him and put his body on display to warn off any others who would poach the dragonkind. Säyä had never known him, but in the Wiseman, she had found something that she had never touched before.
"Tell me, do you believe that such a person could exist? Someone who is immune to death?"
Säyä, while impressionable, was also highly analytical, curious, and imaginative. She did not formulate her opinion based solely on the excitement that she felt in the telling of his tale. Possibilities ran through her mind as she imagined what such a power would be like. She remembered all the creatures that she had ever hunted, and what it would have been like if she had been unable to kill them. What would happen if she fired an arrow at the Immortal One's chest?
Would it bounce off as if he were made of stone? Would it pass right through him? Would it pierce his flesh, only for it to regenerate? How could it do such a thing?
The Wiseman studied her face as she perused her thoughts. Every nuance of change in her expression was noted by him; by following them it was almost as if he could perceive the processes taking place within her mind.
"I think such a man could exist," she said with an inclined head and a slow and deliberate tone. "Majik takes on a great many forms. There are those that can heal a wound, so it is possible that he could heal so rapidly that he practically avoids them altogether. It would be a very interesting experiment to see if he could survive under extreme circumstances; like having his head cut off or being tied to the bottom of the sea for a day. This is only speculation however. Perhaps those that encountered him simply did not understand the true nature of his power, and therefore made an incomplete assumption. We have no way of knowing if the legends are true, and even if they are, no way to determine with certainty the extent of his immunity."
The Wiseman was pleased with her response. "That is an astute analysis." He then reached into the folds of his brown robes; they were old, and worn, but of excellent make and material quality. Upon the fabric were stitched the symbols of an ancient runic language that Säyä did not recognize. From a pocket within, he produced an arrow-head. It took but a single glance for her to determine that the design was that of the people of Avinós, carved from the exo-skeleton of the assassin spider. Blood was encrusted upon it, and the wooden shaft had long since been snapped away.
"My travels led me to the Great Forest, where after much negotiating, I was granted entry to speak with the former chief of a village near the south-eastern border. He was called Snowhawk - a name that he earned in battle against the Väräk berserkers in their own icy lands. He was one of very few that took such action and lived to speak of it.
He told me the tale that I had sought him out in order to hear; the story of the day that the Immortal One trespassed in their forest.
The fabled man had been fleeing from a mob of villagers many, many, years prior - when Snowhawk was still a very young man and had yet to earn his name. The young hunter and his brethren had been ordered, as is the law in Avinós, to execute the intruder. He and his cousin were perched upon a tree, concealed high in the canopy, and were poised to bring a swift end to his life by means of their bows. The mob that had been pursuing him knew better than to cross the threshold, and yet still, the Immortal One moved deeper and deeper into the forest. Perhaps he had known nothing of the people of Avinós, perhaps he had simply been unconcerned. Either way, the moment that Snowhawk laid eyes on him, the two archers put five arrows into his chest, and a sixth through his left eye.
The intruder fell dead, and lay motionless upon the forest floor. Having performed their duty, the two cousins made their way to his side and checked for the beat of his heart...and felt nothing.
Snowhawk's companion told him to inform the others of the kill, and he left as was asked of him. He had only traveled a short ways when the scream of a man fast approaching death rang in his ears. Without hesitation, he returned to where the intruder had fallen and instead found only his cousin sprawled in a pool of his own blood. His throat had been slit, and he had been stabbed repeatedly. There was no sign of the man that the two of them had killed. In a panic, Snowhawk searched the surrounding area and found the remnants of a trail that had been left by the killer as he fled the scene. Whoever had made it had been trained well to cover his tracks, but his haste and apparent injury had lessened the effectiveness of his skills. Snowhawk dutifully pursued him, until the two of them met on either side of a stream far deeper into the forest.
Standing before him with no sign of having been wounded, was the man that he and his cousin had slain. His left eye showed no trace of having been pierced, and he stood tall and resolute.
'Follow me, and it shall be your death. Leave me be, and I will leave your lands of my own accord.'
With those words, the intruder fled, and something...an intuition, a fear, told Snowhawk to heed his warning. None of the people of Avinós laid eyes on him again."
The Wiseman placed the arrowhead in Säyä's palm. "This is the head of the same arrow that had pierced his eye that day. Snowhawk kept it, to remind him that there was more to the world than he would ever come to know in his life."
Säyä marveled at it. She marveled at the infinite possibilities and wonder of the unknown, and the mysteries that she had yet to imagine, let alone encounter.
"Did you ever find the Immortal One, Wiseman?"
He smiled with a hint of mischief. "I did, but only once. That, however, is not what I am here to tell you this day."
She put forth effort in order to conceal her disappointment.
"I am here to tell you that this shall be the last time that you and I shall speak in this city. I must leave now, and I shall not return."
Säyä's heart raced, panicked even, she could not bear the thought of losing the connection with him. He taught her things, amazing things, that she would never have learned otherwise. She hungered to learn, to grow, and she feared greatly that if he left, she would lose the greatest opportunity of her life.
"But..." He spoke the word with emphasis. "I have one final gift for you before I go. I have left it sitting beside the well in the village near your home. When you reach it, you will be presented with all that you will need."
"What is it?"
"That is something that you will have to discover. After all, life is all about discovering the unknown that is waiting just around the bend. The gift that I offer you is not a trinket to hold onto, but an adventure to be experienced, a road to be traveled, a mystery to be unraveled."
The Wiseman paused deliberately. "I warn you though. Should you decide to seek out my gift then there will be no turning back and you will be shown secrets and wonders beyond your wildest dreams."
Säyä could barely breathe. The implications of such a warning were lost in the midst of a flood of emotions and questions and imaginings. With that, the Wiseman rose to his feet.
"I am honored to have met you, young Säyä. I have a feeling that you will accomplish great things in the future - Time has a way of proving me right. Fare thee well."
She wanted to call out and ask him to stop, to wait, to stay. If not then at least she wished to somehow convey all of the feelings that she felt; the gratitude and the respect, the admiration and the love, and how she would always hold dear all that he had taught her. The words would not come as she bid them. They would not crystallize her emotions into the neat little packages that they needed to be in order to communicate all that he meant to her. Only one thing came to mind.
"You never did tell me your name!" She wanted to draw near to him again, but something kept her rooted where she stood.
"Who are you?" She asked with the pure reverence that is natural among the young.
"I am...naught but a shadow. One whose memory stretches across the vastness of the void to perceive the rising of suns that have long since set. I am a guide - if you wish me to be. We may yet meet again, in other places, and in other times. Until then, may the Threads be woven in your favor."
With that, she watched him go, and shed a few tears for the pieces of her heart that he carried off with him.