Before Larson or Gaelinar found sleep, Taziar sat up. His gaze swept the clearing in confusion then focused on Gaelinar. He spoke as if awakening from a simple nap. "Kensei…" His voice went tremulous and faint. "You still owe me an explanation."
Larson crouched, glad Taziar had awakened but afraid the climber believed they were still in the tavern. "What did you say?''
Taziar's pale eyes remained fixed on Gaelinar. "Allerum, your friend still has not told me why he attacked me at the Dragonrank school. I think I earned the right to know."
Larson bit his lip to keep from smiling.
Gaelinar laughed aloud. "Agreed. But does it have to be now? We're all hurt and tired."
Taziar's face tensed into a solemn mask. "It can't wait. I'm not stupid. We all know I may not survive the night."
Larson thought he could discern a note of sadness beneath Taziar's matter-of-fact tone. He winced. Taziar was no older than his war companions in Vietnam. And, for some reason he could not fathom, this bothered Larson.
Gaelinar tucked his legs beneath him and lowered his buttocks to his heels. "Very well. But the story begins long before we met. It may take some time."
Shakily, Taziar lay flat on the ground. "I'm not going anywhere soon."
Larson scooted backward and hunched against a pine tree. He suspected Gaelinar's tale would address some of the issues which plagued him as well. He listened with closed eyes, allowing Gaelinar's descriptions to fill his mind with imagery.
"My country is one of rugged peaks and low, silken valleys enclosed and protected by the clear blue waters of its ocean. Aside from the crafted stone castles of the emperors, we lived in wooden cottages with sliding doors and shutters. It is a land where every man must have a skill to sell. The farmers toil, raising rice to feed the lords and their own families. The artisans master tools and plans. The merchants live to profit from the others. But the samurai must sell his very soul, his way with weapons and strategy. He must adhere to a rigid code of honor, loyalty, courage, and the resolute acceptance of death at all times." Gaelinar's eyes held a distant look.
Larson and Taziar waited in respectful silence until Gaelinar continued. "My training as a warrior began almost before I could walk. The weapons skills and the use of my spirit in combat came as naturally as breathing. I was pledged to the emperor before I reached manhood, but my musha shugyo, my spiritual path to enlightenment through combat, did not begin until many years later, when Silme came to Edo."
Interest replaced Larson's fatigue. Gaelinar's relationship to Silme had always engrossed and, sometimes, troubled him.
Gaelinar leaned forward and braced his hands on his thighs. "Before Silme arrived, I had served my lord, and later his son, for more than forty years. I had never strayed from the code of bushido. Because of my skill and dedication…"
Larson smiled at Gaelinar's confidence which approached pomposity. It had become too familiar to bother him any longer.
"… I had risen in the emperor's service until I became his personal bodyguard. Then, one day, a young, yellow-haired woman named Silme arrived from the west. She asked to speak with my lord, in private, and he granted her request." Gaelinar closed his eyes. His chin sank to his chest.
For a moment, Larson thought the Kensei had drifted off to sleep.
But Gaelinar raised his head and continued. "While Silme and my lord conversed alone, illness claimed my master. Since it was my duty to protect him, and I was not present when he perished, I had failed. Honor bound me to die with him. In fact, I was preparing to commit seppuku, when Silme convinced me otherwise. She argued that death is a normal part of life. Since my master was not slain by an enemy, I would have shirked my duty had I saved his life and prevented him from fulfilling his destiny. Then Silme told me of the larger world beyond my experience. She described the powers I had not yet tested my skills against and the glory I could win by proving myself the greatest swordmaster, not of an isolated chain of islands, but of the entire world." Gaeli-nar's muddy eyes glimmered with elation and determination. A cruel smile twitched across his features.
Something uncharacteristically evil about Gaelinar's demeanor made Larson shiver.
Gaelinar continued, oblivious. "Despite this new challenge, I still felt the need of some personal sacrifice to sever the final bonds between me and my master. In order to face the challenges of the world, my body remained alive, but my birthname died. The moment I left the white sand beach of Honshu, Fujiwara Hida No Kami Shokan ceased to exist; and Silme renamed me Gaelinar."
Larson suppressed the urge to ask Gaelinar how he ever remembered his full title. "Why 'Gaelinar'? It doesn't sound Japanese or Norwegian."
Gaelinar shrugged. "I don't know. It took me a year to learn to pronounce it, and I still have no idea what it means. But Silme insisted, and one foreign name seemed the same as another to me."
Larson grinned, recalling how a spell of inept stuttering had earned him the strange sounding monicker of Allerum. And Shadow doesn't use his real name either. "But you still haven't explained why you tried to kill Shadow."
Taziar nodded in agreement, then winced in pain.
"Patience is a rare and wonderful thing." Gaelinar spoke soberly but ruined the effect by adding, "I wish I had some."
Larson laughed.
Taziar smiled weakly.
"One of my lord's advisers had always been jealous of my favor with the emperor. In order to avenge himself on me, he claimed I had shamed my master by refusing to commit seppuku. For years afterward, assassins followed me. They always wore black. They hid in the shadows, attacking, unseen, from behind every corner and tree. Instead of learning the way of the sword, over-coming men for honor and glory, these would-be killers were students of treachery, deceit, and cowardice.
"Many times, they tried to catch me unaware and slay me in sleep." Gaelinar's bitterness returned. "And many times, they failed. Finally, the attempts ceased. Whether I was forgotten or had merely killed all the assassins who knew where to find me, I cannot know. But I have not seen one for three years." He looked directly at Taziar. "Until I found you clinging to the walls of the Dragon-rank school. After seven years during which my survival depended on striking first, when I saw you, I had no need to question. In my mind, it was my life or yours."
Gaelinar raised and lowered his head in an abbreviated gesture of respect. "In ten years, Shadow, you're the first one who escaped me."
Taziar lay in quiet contemplation. At length, he spoke, his voice subdued. "I find it difficult to consider my luck an honor. And I still don't understand. Surely you could tell me from an assassin of your people."
Gaelinar ran the edges of his hands along his face. "Ten years of habit are hard to break. And others besides the Japanese will kill for money."
Taziar's features crinkled with concern. "But now, I hope, you realize I'm not one of those 'others.' "
Gaelinar dropped his hands. "I don't know, Shadow. You've followed us, at least since the Dragonrank school. You've put a lot of effort into gaining my attention. And, by the way, you're lucky I didn't kill you for that incident in the tavern. You agreed to join us with little or no knowledge of our quest. And you haven't offered a plausible explanation for any of that."
Taziar's face bunched tighter. "So you still believe I've come to kill you?"
Gaelinar shrugged. "You've given me no reason to think otherwise."
The words surprised Larson. He nearly died for me and still may. That's enough proof for me. He opened his mouth to voice his thought, but Taziar's feeble voice broke the encroaching stillness first.
"Fair enough. My motives are honorable, if somewhat odd. You see Kensei… Allerum…" He rolled his eyes to each of his companions in turn. "… I am possessed by love."