Frozen River - Part 6 (Final)

He looked back. Tavata had not followed him. Was the old man freezing to death? It didn't matter. The seer was already dead inside.

It was already nightfall by the time he reached the village. The villagers were gathered around the frozen river, cautiously eying a tall man who was standing silently next to the river, holding a long broad sword. After all, they had ever only seen one other man with white hair like that. And this was their first time seeing such a magnificent weapon.

The villagers looked at Sylilin as he walked past. Standing next to Verok and Kasik were their wives, his sisters-in-law. A few small children were hugging their legs. Their children. Sylilin had once dreamed of having a family like that. Once.

Jusantae, his hair as white as Sylilin's and his eyes as blue as the river, was now within earshot. Sylilin thought he should've felt anger toward the man, but he didn't. Perhaps he was already past anger.

"It is a pleasant place here," said Jusantae, his voice hollow.

"You should know it well."

The other man nodded. "Finally, the seer has told you everything he knows."

"Your bandits are not here."

"It was unnecessary to bring them here."

"It was unnecessary to send them to the other villages either."

"No, that was necessary."

"And so is this." Sylilin held Ragnarok in the basic offense stance, the first stance that Jusantae had taught him all those years ago.

"Have you been reading the Scroll of Salainin?"

"You know I can barely read Kieligo."

"Oh, but I can!" Jusantae thrust his sword toward Sylilin, his eyes narrowing. "I was the original prince! I know the language and the clan techniques better than you do! Now, on this day, I will become what every Winter Warrior has always dreamed of!"

"Not every Winter Warrior."

"You're not a true Winter Warrior."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

The snow danced with the wind. The moon looked like a watchful eye hanging over them. The villagers stood silent, apparently in full awareness of the magnitude of the event unfolding before them.

"So, how do you intend to become the 'perfect warrior'?"

"I never told you the name of my sword, did I? This is something not even that seer Tavata could see. Something I have kept hidden inside myself for so long." Jusantae looked at his blade lovingly. "It is called Fimbulvetr, the Sword of Winters, the original prized weapon of the Winter Warriors. It has seen even more bloodshed than Ragnarok, which was forged second. My ancestors planned to take both swords with them when they were banished, but they only managed to take Fimbulvetr. The two blades have always been fed by human sacrifice. The scroll says that the ultimate sacrifice will make the perfect warrior. I have waited a long time for this, Sylilin. For you to grow up. For you to become able enough to wield Ragnarok. For you to kill those foster parents of yours and that woman. For you to dwell on your grief. For you to be ready to face me. Now, you are. Fimbulvetr and Ragnarok will cross blades, and the owner of the victor will ascend into a god!"

"A god?"

"The perfect warrior is a god!"

"If there really are gods, then they are less than perfect."

"But gods can do anything! After I become a god, I can bring them back!"

Sylilin was struck. Oh, Jusantae, he thought, is this what this is all about? Sylilin and Jusantae were as similar as their blood made them.

"How did they die?"

"I killed them."

Sylilin's eyes went wide. "You're a madman...no, wait...it's the sword."

"Yes...the sword. Fimbulvetr. And Ragnarok. You do not read Kieligo, do you?

"Barely."

"I was hoping that giving you the scroll would enlighten you on our clan's history. You disappoint me, Sylilin."

"The feeling is mutual."

Jusantae laughed maniacally, his entire body shuddering. Perhaps he was crying.

"Centuries ago," Jusantae began, "the forefathers of the Winter Warriors, two brothers descended from a long line of swordmasters, crafted two swords and forged their souls into the blades. Their souls of enmity toward each other. Fimbulvetr and Ragnarok are twin blades, brothers. Our two forefathers used to be loving brothers. Until the day a woman came between them. Until the day their parents shunned her, a woman of commoner descent, a woman who did not even know how to wield a sword. The two brothers were eventually forced to marry and bear children, the children who would one day spawn the clan of Winter Warriors. With Fimbulvetr and Ragnarok, the two brothers slew their parents and their wives. Then they killed each other, sealing their souls into the two swords. Their bloodlust has needed to be quenched ever since."

Sylilin shook his head in despair. Would the bloodlust ever end?

"I have said enough. This conversation is over." Jusantae charged.

Sylilin dashed to meet him. Ragnarok and Fimbulvetr glowed red. The snow crunched under their boots as if to cry out. The villagers held onto their family and friends. At the last possible moment, Sylilin, with a satisfied grin on his face, let Ragnarok slip from his fingers. Fimbulvetr slid between his ribs.

He fell, the soft snow flying into the air. Jusantae was still holding Fimbulvetr, blood dripping off the tip of the blade. Fimbulvetr dropped from his hands. Then he dropped to his knees, staring at his former student, his face already asking the question that he needed answered: "Why?"

"I can't give you the gift of godhood, but I can show you how to be human again."

All his life, Sylilin had had three fathers: the man who had given birth to him, the man who had raised him, and the man who had taught him to be a warrior.

Jusantae growled, an inhuman sound echoing through the wind. It was Sylilin's first time seeing tears stream down his former swordmaster's face. "You know I loved you. You were like a son to me. It was I who didn't know that I loved you. Why...why did I do this? Why!?"

"This is what I have been waiting for all these years. Now I can see them again," Sylilin said, his blood already smearing the snow red.

He closed his eyes. Beyond the stars, he could see Raskaea. Her eyes were no longer asking him why.