At one end there was a lit fireplace, and the entire floor was carpeted. The atmosphere was perfect for a good story. They sat near the fire, and Nárfal began his tale:
—You see, when Sáyer was begotten in some forgotten corner of Álgerien, in another age of the world, horror was begotten with him. The different peoples of that era gave him various names, now long forgotten, yet all bore witness to fear. To the Yurus he was Sáyer, the Wrath of the Sky; the Mages, who cultivate the belief in multiple gods, called him the Scythe of Kuruthén, the deity who, according to them, rules the infernos. The dragon had been born to sow destruction, it was his nature. The very condition of his existence consisted in the suffering and death of all that was not his own being. For the span of two centuries he assumed the role of lord and master of calamity. The slowness of the process did not stem from obstacles that prevented him from acting more swiftly, but simply from the fact that he enjoyed his task. Just as a predator toys with its prey until, weary or bored of the game, it delivers the final blow and devours it, so did Sáyer delay extermination, savoring to the fullest the death and pain of every creature. The dragon directed the definitive annihilation of Álgerien to the rhythm of a slow and implacable ceremony.
» Those who lived through that nightmare could do little or nothing to stop Sáyer. Dragon hunters fell one after another without wounding the beast any more than an insect wounds a rhinoceros. The armies of the five reaches of Álgerien, composed of soldiers of every class and race, attacked him in countless waves and perished crushed. Even the malevolent beings that dwelled in the world attempted to confront the dragon, for he distinguished such creatures from others as clearly as a man distinguishes one ant from another, and slew them with unperturbed indifference. They too failed without exception. For the inhabitants of Álgerien, there remained only resignation, or the hope of a miracle. The Yurus and the Mages, upon whom the working of that miracle depended, were almost as helpless and powerless as any other creature. Only one opponent might have challenged the dragon with even the slightest chance of victory: Karién, the mythical warrior. But by that time, nothing remained of Karién but legends.
» During the first century of his reign, Sáyer reduced to ashes the great cities erected across the vast northern regions of Álgerien. Not content with that, he also devastated the three empires into which the three superior races of antiquity had divided dominion over the fertile lands: the Empire of Trees, the Vulkian Empire, and the Empire of Rain. Then, perhaps driven by the knowledge that he was unique or perhaps by revulsion toward his lesser kin, or more likely by simple boredom, he sought out, pursued, and eliminated every dragon without exception, extinguishing most species. Only those who managed to take refuge in nameless places survived, sheltering themselves in shadow and oblivion.
» The passage of time left no mark upon Sáyer’s spirit. His energy did not wane, and the second century was perhaps worse than the first. Endowed with a natural instinct for accessing his primordial faculty, he exploited the potential of his gifts with almost no effort. The experience accumulated over decades of practice granted him fullness of knowledge and the ease that limited and ephemeral beings tend to attribute to gods. Once he had attained the utmost expression of his power, he freed the titans who had been imprisoned by Cuenya in inviolable cells at the dawn of time. The titans beheld the dragon soaring through the skies, staining them in blood; they saw him breathe and burn the air, and with slow and heavy steps they returned to the quiet safety of their cells. The beast had no need of them to fulfill his task, and they preferred not to risk being destroyed as well.
» On one of his countless journeys above the waters of the Ocean of Mist, Sáyer discovered Itziar, the mythical island at whose center rose the Unknown City, dwelling place of the ancient Féric civilization. Of its founders it is known that they were beings of vast and impenetrable mysticism, who professed a pure and reverent love for nature and worshiped exclusively the gods of the sky: the moon, the sun, the stars. They mastered the seven categories of magic and intuited the illusory secrets of creation. As natural knowers of the language of Cuenya, it may be supposed that the techniques for awakening and wielding the primordial faculty were not unknown to them. They fought tenaciously and proudly in defense of the City. Indeed, that battle did not prove easy for Sáyer. But after six consecutive days of unceasing struggle, the dragon raised the very waters of the ocean into immense walls that crashed down upon the island. Itziar sank beneath the weight of the Ocean of Mist. The waters swallowed it, and the most dazzling civilization that had ever existed was erased forever from the face of the world.
—If they were so extraordinary, shouldn’t they have been the Guardians of Álgerien? —Áradan suddenly interrupted.
—Yes, perhaps. But no one knows whether the Féric civilization truly existed. The fact that we Yurus bear that honor may be the most concrete proof that it is only a myth.
» Where was I? Ah, yes. In that era, relations between the Yurus and the Mages were no better than they are now, perhaps even worse. The eternal rivalry between them stood at its peak. The latter envied the privileged position of the Yuru lineage and coveted the title of Guardians of Álgerien, arguing their supposed supremacy through complex speculations. The former, for their part, were unwilling to renounce the divine responsibility granted to them by Cuenya. Yet the gravity of the situation forced the Yurus to admit their possible impotence and to resort to an unusual solution. Compelled by necessity, they decided that the only possibility of defeating Sáyer was to set pride aside and establish a precarious, provisional alliance with the Mages. Otherwise, both castes would perish separately, and the rest of creation would share the same fate.
» With that purpose in mind, an envoy had to cross the distance between Sémper and Mivvel, the City of the Mages. Under such circumstances, the task became an epic undertaking. Yet the greatest complication had a different cause. Nearly all the Yurus were scattered throughout Álgerien, aiding and doing what they could to protect the peoples who still resisted. In the Temple of Wisdom there remained only the eldest members of the Council and the few surviving apprentices, whose number did not reach twenty. The former would not withstand such a journey, but to choose one of those inexperienced youths for the task would be both cruel and reckless. Nevertheless, driven by desperation, the elders revealed their plan to the apprentices and asked for a volunteer. It is implausible, and useless, to attempt to discern with certainty whether it was destiny or chance that acted furtively at that moment, compelling Afo and no other to step forward. The boy, scarcely nineteen years of age, did not surpass the others in any respect, except perhaps in courage and in faith.
» Afo departed at dusk with many blessings and his protective medallion beneath his cloak. To recount the contingencies of such a journey would take more time than we possess and is of no true importance. Suffice it to say that during the long months of travel, Afo had to cross regions unknown and inhospitable to him, and face a wide variety of dangers; and as you may imagine, there was no shortage of occasions on which he nearly lost his life.
» Shortly before reaching his destination, while crossing the forests of Izol, the boy decided to stop and rest along the banks of the Clear River. There, kneeling at the water’s edge, plunging his hands into the river and splashing his face and hair to refresh himself, he was spotted by Sáyer. The dragon was likely heading toward Mivvel as well, intent on destroying it once and for all. But upon seeing the figure clad in a dark green cloak beside the river, he could not restrain the intense desire to harm him. It was a Yuru, and Sáyer hated the Yurus with particular aversion. Killing him would grant a pure pleasure, an irresistible pleasure. Sáyer descended vertiginously, and the rays of the sun rebounded against his dark scales. To Afo it was as though midday had suddenly turned to night, like an eclipse, only far worse.
» The wind roared beneath the monstrous wings that blackened the sky as Sáyer plunged downward. The dragon was already delighting in the imagined expression upon that wretched little man’s face when he discovered that death was near. His powerful hind claws struck the ground, making it tremble, and with a violent yet controlled sweep of his tail he struck the Yuru, who was hurled through the air and crashed against a nearby tree. Sáyer had no intention of killing him swiftly. He wanted it to be slow. He wanted it to be painful. Afo had not yet learned to master the primordial faculty when he encountered the dragon. Even so, he gathered all his courage and faced the enemy to fulfill his duty as Guardian of Álgerien.
» The poor youth received a brutal punishment. The beast toyed with him for hours, inflicting terrible harm. Once he had sated his appetite for suffering, he seized the young apprentice in his left claw and began to increase the pressure slowly and gradually, threatening to break every bone in his body. Sáyer watched in rapture the expression of agony on the Yuru’s face, but at the moment Afo looked into his eyes, the dragon felt suddenly unsettled. He had perceived something more than immense pain in that gaze. In those eyes he saw something he had never seen in any of his victims. In those eyes there was calm and, even more incredible, there was hope. Barely perceptible, like a faint and fragile ray of light within a dense fog, but it was there: an unshakable feeling of hope. How was it possible? How could someone in that situation, on the verge of being crushed in his claws, maintain hope? Sáyer hesitated for an instant. Then he looked deeper, as only a dragon is capable of doing. And then he discovered the one thing he could fear: a power greater than his own lay coiled within that miserable Yuru, waiting to be awakened. He also perceived a series of subtle, indistinct markings, like an ancient inscription worn upon a stone battered by time. They were letters forming a word in the language of Cuenya.
» Afo saw it reflected in the dragon’s eyes and knew with absolute certainty that it was his incantation, the key that would grant him access to his primordial faculty. He shouted that word with all the strength of his lungs and his body radiated a blinding light. Sáyer did not even have time to close his claws completely, he began to writhe convulsively, emitted a horrific howl, and volatilized. Thus vanished the most fearsome beast ever to tread upon Álgerien, like a mere handful of dust swept away by a gale.
» In time, of course, accounts multiplied from those who claimed to have been, at least in part, witnesses to the astonishing feat. They spoke of a beam of light so intense it outshone the sun and damaged the sight; of a sudden wind that blew toward the four cardinal points, carrying searing heat and deep echoes, while the waters of lakes, streams, and rivers frothed and overflowed; of a vibration in the trees and in the earth, not a tremor, but a shudder that lasted for days. There are even those who say that in the forests of Izol one may still, from time to time, feel the trees quiver, as though remembering that day.
» The truth is that the combat left a profound mark upon the memory of Álgerien, and no trace of the dragon remained. Only the eyes endured intact, and as if by magic they transformed into two small fragments of jade. A second later, Afo fell to his knees. With a final effort, he took the jewels and fainted.
» When he regained consciousness, he found himself lying on his back on a kind of stretcher. He noticed that most of his wounds had vanished. He also became aware that something inside his clenched fists had begun to burn. Slowly, he moved his arms and opened his hands. There they were: the two small jewels, his reward. He contemplated them for a few moments and then put them away. He could not allow himself to be distracted; he had to discover where he was and who was responsible for the stretcher and his miraculous recovery. Around him he could make out six figures seated in a circle a few meters from a river: the Clear River. Then one of the figures rose and approached.
» They had a very long conversation, which need not be repeated now. It is enough for you to know that Afo learned those men were Moks.
- What are Moks? –Áradan wanted to know.
- The Moks are a tribe of nomads, masters in the art of healing. Had it not been for them, Afo might have died. But fate willed that they pass by at that very moment, guided perhaps by curiosity, and see the dying body of the Yuru. Afo thanked them and explained that he had to depart, for he had an urgent mission to fulfill.
» In truth, the mission was no longer necessary, but Afo wished to return to the temple to recount his feat and share with his masters and companions the wonderful news that Sáyer no longer existed. So he bid farewell to the Moks and left. After several months of arduous walking, Afo was attacked by a hungry ogre while crossing the lands of Áder on a cloudy and exceedingly dark night. In the midst of the struggle, both fell and rolled across the ground until they crashed against a great rock that left his opponent unconscious. When he reached the temple, he recounted his battle with the dragon without omitting even the smallest detail. However, when he sought to display his great treasure, he discovered with sorrow that he had lost one of the jewels. So worried and distracted was he, searching again and again through his pockets, his clothes, every corner of his belongings, that he carelessly left the other fragment of jade on the ground. And when one of his masters attempted to pick it up to admire its beauty more closely, he was burned to ashes instantly. Thus, in a sad and lamentable way, it was discovered that only one who had surpassed the power of Sáyer could touch the petrified eyes of the dragon without dying immediately.
» Afo liked to sit and read at that particular table, and it seems he forgot the gem there before he died. Since then, no one has been able to touch it again. Over the years its potency appears to have waned, to the point that some of us, like Coen or myself, are capable of brushing against it and receiving nothing more than an ugly and painful burn in return. The scorching heat it emits when one approaches serves as a warning to the unwary. As a precaution, we keep it well guarded and out of reach of the curious. Only the Yuru masters have access to that part of the temple. Locking it away would make little sense, since no one could steal it or make use of it.
- And what happened to the other one? –Áradan asked, ever more intrigued.
- No one has known anything of it since it was lost. It is believed that over the years it was absorbed by the earth, for no one could have taken it except Afo.
- Why not? Could it not have been found by another being equally powerful?
- Since Afo’s death, there has been no one with comparable abilities.
- And what if it was found by someone unaware of his own power? Someone like Afo.
- You dream with your eyes open, boy. Though the idea is not entirely far-fetched, it is highly unlikely that a case like Afo’s would repeat itself—someone with so much power locked within and completely ignorant of it. Power does not know how to remain hidden. Believe me, we would have discovered it.
Áradan remained thoughtful for a long while. Nárfal waited attentively, respecting the silence and enjoying the soft crackling of the fire, until the young man finally ventured to ask:
- I would like you to explain all that matter about the primordial faculty and spells.
- What do you mean?
- I know it is very important and that the Yurus use it to do good –Áradan said, ashamed of his own ignorance– but I do not know what it is or how it works.
- I see. This is very interesting.
- Why? Am I the only fool who does not know about this? –the Daero was beginning to regret having asked.
- No, no, not at all. There are hundreds of beings who know nothing about the primordial faculty.
- So not everyone has it, right?
- No, that is not it either. You see, there are six forces that constitute the very essence of Álgarien: water, air, earth, light, space, and time. These forces maintain everything in perfect balance; they form the spirit of Álgerien.
» On the other hand, there is the primordial faculty of all living beings capable of speech, of articulating sounds into words. All of them possess it, to a greater or lesser degree, but not all can master it; some do not even know it exists.
» The primordial faculty consists of establishing an unbroken connection between the mind, the heart, and the spirit. Achieving it may take years, months or, as in Afo’s case, seconds of practice. But it also requires great concentration and a spell that is unique to each being. This spell, which forms part of the language of Cuenya, is like a birthmark we cannot see and that each person may discover in different ways.
- And what were Afo’s words? –Áradan asked.
- No one knows. Afo never wished to say. He only revealed that they were two words.
- A pity.
- Why do you think so? It would have served no purpose to know them.
- But perhaps he had found a way to increase the primordial faculty, and that is why he was able to eliminate Sáyer.
- No, it does not work that way. To use the primordial faculty means having the ability to control the elements that form the spirit of Álgerien. Depending on how much mastery one has over the primordial faculty, one may control one, several, or all of those forces. In the entire history of Álgerien, only Afo achieved the last. He alone came to control space and time, the most complex and dangerous of all.
- So space and time are the superior forces.
- Yes, you could think of them that way, or at least that is what is known so far. My opinion is that there exists a supreme force that is the result of the union of all the others.
- And has anyone achieved that union?
- No. Unfortunately, no one has yet done so. It remains only an idea.
» But there is something else you must know. Once you succeed in mastering the primordial faculty, you must use it solely for defense and never abuse it. The elements exist in perfect harmony, and if one of them is disturbed or excessively manipulated, an imbalance could be created that would bring the rest into conflict. Generally speaking, most who manage to use the primordial faculty can barely produce gusts of wind or brief showers. Only a small number of individuals possess a degree of control over the elements that makes them formidable. In any case, it is very dangerous for wicked beings to gain a certain mastery over the primordial faculty.
- And why did that not happen when Sáyer ruled Álgerien?
- Sáyer was wicked but not foolish. One must suppose that he knew, or at least sensed, that danger, and it would have served him no purpose to destroy Álgerien while he was its lord and master. Come, let us go on. We still have much ground to cover, and it will grow late before we realize it.
Night came swiftly, and Nárfal decided it was time to rest. He accompanied Áradan to his chamber and bade him good night. Ísamer was not there, so Áradan finally had some time to himself. It had been long since he had lain back with his gaze unfocused, immersed in his own reflections—and at that moment, that was precisely what he needed. A thousand unanswerable questions pricked at his mind as he reviewed his guide’s words and the images from the books, galleries, and halls they had traversed. An endless succession of lived or imagined situations paraded through his thoughts in utterly incoherent order, until at some point, without realizing it, he fell asleep. He had a long and deep sleep, the kind he would not have again for a very long time.
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