“Three... are parts of many. Two... are a dreamer and his dream. One... is everything. There cannot exist any others. If there were to be others, then one would no longer be The Singularity. Zero... Zero does not exist except in the imagination as it is the fear of nothingness.”

Subito whispered a prayer to the gods, trying to calm himself. He was once again falling into the same state of mind as before, a place beyond wisdom, beyond any emotion.

He'd had innumerate nightmares about it. Terrified, he would walk around, lost in the tunnels of his mind not able to love or show mercy. His countenance was as gray and heavy as the skies looming above his homeland, the island of Ulan. A fog lies heavy on his mind, much the same as the dense fog that has covered most of the world of Malkene since long ago. It blocked any light from the sky from reaching the ground.

He would wake up covered in cold sweat and shaking, teetering on the edge of tears. When he was in this state of mind, people meant no more to him than ants crawling under his feet. He felt like he would step over them, not even noticing that they exist. Thus, he lived in fear of what he might be capable of doing to his loved ones. This singular thought terrified him.

The smooth handle of his scythe felt comfortable in his hands. It will be over soon. The smell of their blood will wake me from this pale dream. He was silent like the incoming storm. Then he saw it, a single point of light in the distance – the Fetun Stone.

No light comes from the sky. We, who are Ulans, brought with us, to the island from distant lands, our own light. The light emanates from within magical stones called Fetun Stones which illuminate the whole island. I have the inner light to cast over the grayness of the mind and to chase away the fog. My will is my light. It will show me the way out of the deepest dark.

As he shook his head at these thoughts, he set his scythe down next to the big wooden cask which held the huge chunks of the previous season's matasart meat.

Soon the great matasart beasts will emerge from their hibernation deep within the earth. I am glad I found the strength not to kill these bastards or else I would have to spend years serving the clan till I pay off my debt. And I would miss hunting. There are a few moments better than when the giant tube-like body of the beast hits the ground. When the many tentacles whipping through the air stop moving and at last we can taste its flesh.

He took the masterly crafted Ulan warrior sword out of the scabbard. The light of the Fetun Stones danced and shined off of its razor-edged blades as he held it up to the sky.

Ulan sword

He touched the golden oak leaf attached on the helmet he held, smiling, as this was the symbol of the War King's Guard. The first rule they learned in training to become a part of the War King's Guard, he remembered well. It was to keep their weapons and armor clean as white linens and sharp enough to shave the whiskers off of a matasart youngling. Only those whose abilities surpassed all others were chosen to be the royal guards of two kings. He twisted the Matasart hide-bound handle of his lash-sword allowing the interlocking triangular plates of which the blade was made, to separate, hanging down from the long leather strings which connected them.

In the space between heartbeats the sword-whip flashed out and in an instance entwined around the left ankle of a menacing, huge, dark-haired man. He was rushing past the young man, dragging a young street girl down the alleyway through the throngs of a gathering crowd. He braced his footings and pulled hard, dragging the overgrown ogre down under his feet. Kneeling before the hulk, he deliberately let his helmet fall to the ground while he was restraining the hands of the man with his whip. Sensing movement from his far right, he grasped the helmet hard, rising and turning on his heel, just as the man's associate rushed at him. He brandished the weapon of choice for Ulans, a threatening-looking scythe. Subito feigned left to escape the piercing blow of the scythe blade. Then he swung the helmet with such utter ferocity that as it slammed into the second man's face the symbol of the King's Guard became etched in blood and bone, into the bridge of the man's nose.

He knelt beside the broken and bleeding man and spoke in a steady voice, “You are marked with the Sur coat-of-arms as it is imprinted on your features. We Surs wear it with pride on our helmets and we are even more proud to brand oafs like you with it. I do not care for cretins who are rude to any lady.” He turned with haste to stare into the eyes of the most beautiful creature he had ever beheld. “Especially… if that lady is ... my girlfriend!” The brazen smile which was still plastered on the first man's face at once vanished from his lips when he said those frightening words.

He had always been aware, that bad luck stalked him like the mighty trackers who chased down the matasart during the season of the hunt. Sense of awareness was accompanied with the sign of an eerie sensation which crept along the borders of his mind. It was as if fate itself was afraid to touch him. Bad things always happened to those who were around him. It started at his beginning; his mother had experienced unknown complications while giving birth to him. During the Blood Week his brother-in-arms, Melessar, had lost his right arm to the cold stone mace of the enemy while protecting him from a frightful death blow. Since these and other incidents, the fear of death was ever-present. Because of this uncommon fear, whenever the situation arose, he would rush into danger just to prove to himself and the Fates, that he is not afraid. It is easier to ignore the fear than to admit to yourself that you are afraid of it, he thought.

An elder man stepped out from within the crowd. “Young Baronet Subito of Clan Lux!” The thunderous voice boomed, “I understand why you dislike it when anyone would bring harm to a woman, for was it not you who lost his mother in the throes of child-birth, even before you could remember her?” Subito's face grew dark.

“You should not speak of things you do not understand old fool!” The young man said scolding the official. The elder stepped up to the intense young man, looking him straight in the eyes with respite, “But this pitiful naïve... yes this one,” he pointed his open palm toward the young girl, “I am certain she deserves what is coming to her.”

Subito

Subito’s countenance was now bordering on menacing at the gall of the old man. With the turn of a sarcastic smile he addressed the elder, “I cannot say I know you, but I can see from your necklace you are a baron and high member of the Hoz tribe. If I might ask your excellence,” he said bowing which elicited a small ripple of laughter from the gathering crowd, “Why do you think this naïve, no my girlfriend, deserves to be dragged through the crowd like an animal?”

“She offended me.” the Baron spat back at the young warrior. “To call a Baron a coward is an offense and under tribal law, my plan was to punish her for her crime. To do this is well within my rights.”

“If you would like to prove that she has lied ... We can have a proper duel right now.” Subito twisted the handle of the whip-sword in order to draw the blades back into a fighting position. “If she was not lying ... I do not see why she should be punished.”

The old man’s face twisted in anger. He screeched, “Now you too! I will inform my lord, Peace King Trevan, about your offenses against my honor.” He stepped closer looking deeper into the young man's eyes and in a calmer voice spoke, “I will also inform your father that his son has tried to drag our clans into a blood feud.” The old Baron stepped back and spoke more to the crowd than to Subito, “Release my men at once fiend!”

Subito paused, and with patience listened to the man's feeble tirade. He rested his hands between his broad leather belt and Ulan lamellar armor. After awhile, careless, he reached up and began to play with his black hair which was drawn into a brigtail. The preferred way Ulan Warriors kept their hair when in battle or while performing their duties in service of the King's Guard. It is called this way as it resembles the great brig beast’s tails; two longer tails on either side and one short down the middle of the back. He waited... waited to see just how red the man’s face could get. Then, as slow as he could, he released the restrained man. Who rubbed his swollen ankle for a moment and reached out for his dazed and confused partner. The old man left through the crowd furious and distraught, followed by his men like trained dogs.

The young blonde girl nestled her head into Subito’s armored chest. He wrapped his muscled arms around her, hugging her in an amorous embrace. She raised her head to look him in the eyes. He sighed, touching her button-like nose and whispered, “Miratur, if I had not been near this market, you would have gotten whipped. What has gotten into you? Why would you offend an old baron like that?”

Miratur

Her long, thin mouth stretched into a seducing smile. She whispered back, “He is a coward, you saw it. I am not afraid of a minor whipping.”

“If they were to ruin your perfect skin with scars, I would have to kill them. I like it as it remains, white and smooth like the petals of a rose,” he whispered back, while taking in the sight of her small, but yet so remarkable, breasts as she left the top of her tunic, which was reinforced with iron rings, exposed. He loved small breasts.

They moved along the rows of vendors as she spoke, “Do not worry dear Subito, all roses have thorns.”

“And yet they tremble under the slightest whisper of the wind.” he said as their eyes met. She enchanted him once by the burning embers in her eyes and now it was happening all over again. Each of their eyes was the shape of almonds, but her eyes held an intense glowing with an everlasting fire. He looked at her in bewilderment, and then asked, “Did you planned to send off your companions that day when we danced around the Fetun Stone?” She looked at him, puzzled. “I speak of the day when we first ... fell in love. I could never forget the day when you entranced me with your lustrous eyes. It was as if Mount Ryich,” the volcano located to the southwest of White Mountain, “itself was erupting in your eyes, slow-flowing lava, seducing me to run and vault into your warm embrace.” He caressed her cheek. “I never knew human eyes could glow in such a lustrous way. Not being able to control my urges any longer, I grabbed you by the shoulders. A fear was in your eyes in the moment before I pressed my lips to yours, but later you had acted as if you had expected the kiss.”

She smiled again, whispering, “The glow in my eyes only seeks to reflect my desire for you. You say that was the day you fell in love with me? Subito, I have been in love with you since the first day I saw you. And yes, I arranged with my friends to leave us alone. You are not cross are you?” It was all he could do to withstand her longing, apologetic gaze.

“Why should I be mad? It was the most exciting day of my life.”

“Your father would be mad should he find out.” She sighed, covering his mouth with her hand. “You cannot marry from your own clan. Your only chance to start a family is here at the Gathering.” She turned and started a slow-paced, solemn, saunter away from him. “He expects his son to give him grandchildren. Tradition says I may not marry 'til I kill my first enemy. That is one of many reasons I offended old baron. Gossip is that Peace King Trevan has made a truce with Utrikat pirates and must be true as they haven't attacked in years.” Her pace quickened as her anger flooded to the surface. “Where else should I search for an enemy to kill if they don't attack us??”

The young warrior caught up to his beloved and halted her march, “Gossips are no reason to offend anyone. My father does not mind, many have married despite tradition.”

She stood chest to chest with him, a glare in her eyes. “You refuse to look at that which displeases you. Maybe your father does not mind, but your clan would. For your clan tradition is of utmost importance. I have dyed my clothes purple, the same as every other young person on the island. We long to be different. It makes us feel special. Your clothes are still as black as the hair of the Ulan dogs from which they were made. Why is that Subito? Can you tell me?”

He rolled his eyes, reluctant to admit, “Because it is an ancient Ulan tradition to wear not dyed clothes.” She took notice of the uncomfortable way he was playing with the side laces on his pants and with the iron rings which bound them.

“Good, now read this note,” she said as she pulled him toward the half rotten panel which hung in the square and was where all Ulans could post messages, meetings, and summons. She pointed at a particular piece of paper nailed to the board. She was skinny, he thought. He preferred stronger women, but her ass was a fit, round, bubble of perfection. He grabbed it with both hands. She smiled to herself, moving away and with a false anger in her voice she said straight-faced, “Read!” Then, as she could not hold it in any longer, a loving smile broke across her face.

“We, who are signed below, are seeking brave warriors willing to journey to the Land of Moving Hills. This summons is a plea for Ulan to join the war and protect the kingdoms of Ang and Basteri from the vicious attacks of the vile Lorantides. Our duty is to do everything we can to save those two brotherly kingdoms and other neighboring dominions from certain disaster. Brave warriors will receive a reward according to our modest possibilities and the eternal gratitude from the people of the east. Those brave souls who are willing, should prepare to leave for the gathering point in the Bolki clan's hunting grounds as soon as possible. Signed: Lord of Bolki tribe Aenead Ultri, with agreement of Peace King of Ulan Trevan Terizo, War Queen of Ulan Melessara Retewi and High Priest of the Temple of the Voice Sabator Retewi.” He finished reading, pondering the meaning. After some time, he said, “I saw this same note on my queen’s clan house doors. What does this note have to do with your offense to the old baron?”

“He said that only a fool would fight in a foreign land, for a people he had never seen in his life.” she stated.

“I heard his lord, Peace King Trevan also spoke against the war, but the decision fell to my lord, the War Queen Melessara. He was just following orders of his lord the Peace King. Maybe I should let him whip you after all?” he said with a cunning smile.

“Don’t you see? This war is our chance! I could at last get my chance to kill an enemy, and the Land of Moving Hills is not foreign to me.”

He rolled his eyes and spoke in frustration, “Now I understand! You want to use this campaign to clear the sullen name of your father. Yes, that’s it! He was from the Land of Moving Hills, and that's why you have always had blonde hair as it has not changed to the dark color of native Ulan people. If my memory serves me well, was he not accused for treason in the high court and executed short time after that? Then in secret your mother had to return to Ulan and as newborn brought you with her?”

“He was one of the most revered tribal chiefs because of his courage in battle and kindness to all and was a first cousin to the late Talasu king. When the old king died, his sons fought for the crown. My father done what he thought is a right thing to do and sided with the wrong son. Victors spared many who changed sides. He, who was faithful to the end, lost his life and was branded a traitor.”

He stared with desire into the fiery eyes that in their depths pleaded with him to help her to avenge her father's memory and reputation. After a moment he needed to recollect his thoughts he was able to speak again, “I will follow you into battle. I will rage at your side until the war has ended. I would give my life with joy to defend your honor. We have to do everything in our power to clear the name of the Fronter clan. To restore your father's honor” A long, slow, passionate, kiss followed these words. When he had shaken off the drumming sound of the blood coursing through his head, he heard silent giggles coming from behind him.

Despite his attempts to stop it, his own mouth stretched into a wide grin. He was growing uncomfortable. He felt envy in their smiles, not intentional, evil envy, just common human longing for a love as deep as theirs. There were three girls all standing behind a table covered with fish. They hailed from the shores which ran along the Diteforahn Ocean, near the place where the light of the Fetun stones could not reach and where the realm of the fog began. He pulled Miratur’s hand leading her out of the market place. All she ever wanted was a family, and he knew it. To grow up without parents is so difficult, he thought but he also knew that he would give her one, no matter what it may cost.