The Flower of Life 2

Over the course of several hours Rolant slowly recovers. Win sits beside him vigil, attentive to the smallest change, the smallest motion. Win thanks his own luck that Rolant’s health doesn’t seem about to deteriorate again any time soon. He looks several years older, several years Anzo had stolen from him with that artifact. Rolant at last begins to stir after his hours-long convalescence. He sits up slowly, careful not to push his body too far too quickly. He looks at Win.

“It seems I’m alive. And it seems I owe you another great debt, Sir Win.” Rolant bows his head slightly, the most he can comfortably muster.

“I already told you not to call my name. And there are no debts between us. This was all my whim, a flight of fancy, all just to sate my own ego.”

“Even so, I still draw breath thanks to you. It seems that the orb sucked away my vitality, and it only then hit me. I’m recovering quickly now, but even still my body feels off. What a strange malady. How did you cure me?”

“With a medicine made of a strange flower, full of magic. If there’s anyone you should be indebted to it’s Calliope. She was the one who parted with such a rare specimen, all out of the kindness in her heart.” Rolant stands up, groaning as he does.

“I ought to thank her then.”

“Is it okay for you to stand?” Rolant laughs loudly, so loud it fills the cottage.

“Of course it is! Unlike Anzo, I intend to die on the battlefield. My body won’t waver so easily.” Rolant moves to the other room where Calliope sits. “I heard you have done quite a bit for me. I thank you, and I shall one day repay this debt.” Rolant bows deeply. Calliope quickly writes something and shows it to him.

“Have you already recovered?” Rolant leans in closer to the page and squints.

“My apologies, little miss, but I can’t quite make out the letters. My vision started going several years ago, and I suppose it’s even worse now.” Win interjects as he enters the room.

“And yet you’ll die on the battlefield?”

“Indeed I will, little lord. If you doubt me, then how about a spar.”

“You only just recovered.”

“And now I need to get my body moving again.”

“Very well.”

Win and Rolant exit the cottage and walk out onto the grass in front of it. Calliope follows them, opting to sit on the stairs leading up to the door to watch them. They face each other down, then both begin to draw their swords. Win stops his blade just short of Rolant’s neck, Rolant’s sword still halfway inside the sheath. Win draws back, both of them looking dissatisfied.

Win allows Rolant to draw his blade so they can start another spar. They approach one another and clash swords. Win almost has a puzzled look cross his face, but he wills it away before it is made manifest. Rolant is frustrated rather than anything else. Win moves his blade around, deftly manipulating Rolant’s with little resistance. He forces it into the air. Rolant off-balance, Win performs the pinnacle of his skill for him.

“Empty Heart.”

Win’s voice is gentle. His body seems light as he slips closer to Rolant. Yet the blow from Win’s blade, the edge made dull with magic, is unbelievably heavy. Win knocks Rolant to the ground. Win grimaces from the dissatisfaction of it. Rolant sheathes his blade and begins to speak jovially.

“To think you were so strong with the sword, little lord!” Win answers him bluntly.

“Neither of us can be fooled, Rolant. You’ve grown far weaker. The ravages of time are cruel indeed.”

“Come now, know some pride, little lord. A small pinch of arrogance after a victory won’t hurt you.”

“There will be neither arrogance nor humility. I have not underestimated my own strength. I’m just as strong as I was this time yesterday. I have no doubt that it is you who is weaker, Rolant. And I’m sure you’re aware. Your sword has lost its dominating force. The blows that had only a day prior brought me to my knees no longer exist. Don’t patronize me with such vapid praise, and don’t look away from this great tragedy.”

“Great tragedy is a little much, little lord. Even if I’ve lost some strength, my heart is no less that of a warrior.”

“You say that now, but Anzo, my master, so many others; great warriors often die of their own age rather than steel. You’ll join their ranks, a warrior who could not fight at the end and dies an insignificant death. Doesn’t that frighten you?” Rolant is unshaken.

“If the cold hand of time takes me rather than a battlefield then so be it. To fight at all is honor enough. Warriors live, fight, and die. That’s all fools like us know how to do in the end. I’ve lived a long life and fought a great many battles, so if death takes me so be it. If I were to have died today I would have no more regrets. If I truly cannot die on the battlefield as I wish, there’s nothing for me to do about it, and no reason for despair. My manner of death is not what will make me significant. And even if it did, so be it. I’ve touched the souls of others, is that not enough for a lone man in this world? Tell me of your master, little lord.”

“He was once a great spellsword of Pacaster, but fortune didn’t favor him and he would lose his ability to fight from injuries. He wandered until he came across my grandfather. He became my family’s butler, then my father’s teacher, then at last my master. He was strong, even injured and even in old age, and he was a man worth emulating. But his body could not last. He died to pass on the pinnacle of his art to me, but even still I can’t master it.”

“Did his time far from battle make him less significant? Does your failure to master his teachings make him less significant? No, it doesn’t matter at all. He brushed up against your soul and still he weighs heavily on your heart. Even now he shines a guiding light on your way. Indeed he is among the most significant of all the dead. So indeed I have no reason to fear.” Calliope approaches Win as his body relaxes and shows him her notebook.

“You’ve not slept. Rest now.” Win smiles weakly, the deferred exhaustion at last reaching him.

“Perhaps I shall.”

Win tries to lift his body, but it gives out. He crumples onto the grass and promptly passes out. Rolant smiles at the sight. He gently lifts his savior’s body and carries him inside. Rolant places Win in the bed. Win sleeps soundly, though he murmurs softly about a world unlike their own, speaking with a degree of love he’ll never be able to remember.