"Blind Illusions"
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dochermes"Blind Illusions"
4/11/1989
As he walked up the narrow mountain trail, Garrison Nebel was cut off from normal perception. He wore soft leather boots and gauntlets, cotton tunic and pants, all white. A full-length cloak of gold ensalir-fabric hung to his ankles and he wore a heavy helmet of ensalir metal which had no openings, just outlines etched where the eyeholes would be. Beneath the eyeless helmet, his own eyes were opaque and sightless. In a medical sense, Nebel was blind.
Yet, paradoxical as it might seem, he was more aware of his surroundings than a naked man with perfect eyesight would be. For he was a mystic of the Order of Tel Shai, and his discipline centered on perception. The pathway appeared to turn left past a sharp rise, but that was an illusion. So it seemed that the sorcerer Weng Chiang knew at least some of the forbidden arts. Nebel strode through the deception onto the real pathway leading up to the mountain home of Chujir's most secretive fang shih practitioner.
Nebel was touched by the songbirds, the early flowers, the small islands of snow scattered here and there. The crisp clean air made him breathe more deeply. Beauty was everywhere, he only wished he had more time to appreciate it. But, to be fair, malevolence was here as well... malice as dark as a well of black water.
When he approached within hailing distance of the small cottage, a young man stepped out onto the wide porch from within. He was short but athletic, wearing simple farmer's clothing. The people of Chujir claimed to be the ancestors of the Chinese of the real world, and although Nebel had doubts about that, he admitted it was difficult to distinguish between them. Sitting on the young man's shoulder like a parrot was a monstrous winged creature, spiky fur bristling as it dugs its talons into a leather pad on his shoulder.
"You passed through the barrier?" the young man said as if to himself, speaking in the Northern dialect.
Nebel did not respond. He stopped almost at arm's-reach, his cloak draped to conceal his body, the eyeless helmet gleaming in the afternoon sunlight.
"What do you want here, stranger?"
"I intend to speak with Weng Chiang," answered Nebel. Strangely, his voice was not muffled by the helmet.
"The master will see no outsiders! I am his nephew and eldest student, Weng Lo-Sing. You will leave any message with me."
Faint golden light played over the ancient helmet, not a reflection of sunlight but of a force richer and older. The young acolyte felt uneasy and even threatened by the sight of that flicker. He gestured angrily, "Go! Begone from here!"
"I am Garrison Nebel," the blind mystic said. "Weng Chiang, step forth."
Behind Lo-Sing, a handsome middle-aged man appeared in the doorway of the modest cottage. He was sturdy if not tall, grim-faced at this intrusion. His black robe had an intricate pattern in red threads that ran up one arm to the other. "A wise man would not presume to hide from Sagehelm... if that is indeed the Eldaran helm you bear?"
"Yes. I have long respected you as fang shih, an alchemist and mystic of your ancestral way. But I come with a warning. The knowledge you now seek of the Five Forbidden Arts implies too much for Human minds to safely hold."
Weng scowled and waved his hand in contradiction. "You claim to be the Sorceror of Truth, Imthril. Is truth something you can hoard for only yourself, like gold or jewels?"
"What you seek is denied to all. Not even the Teachers at Tel Shai delve into that knowledge gained on Ulgor so long ago. Let the Sulla Chun slumber in their chains beneath the world as long as they may. Weng Chian, it is folly to rouse those beings in hopes of gaining the knowledge they guard. More than your life would be lost."
"So you say! Would you contend against me then?"
"I will oppose black magic and forbidden arts wherever I find them. Your own life and spirit are yours to risk as you will. I will intervene only since your plan to rouse a Sulla Chun would mean the deaths and suffering of many innocents."
The sorcerer from Chujir snapped his fingers. "Kuo!"
Launching itself from Lo-Sing's shoulder, the scale-winged creature hurtled straight for Nebel. Fanged jaws gaped. In the instant before it could reach him, Nebel perceived it was an unnatural construct his power could heal. The eyeless helmet blazed up brighter than the sun, the creature shriveled and fell to the dirt as the ordinary bat it had been. In a few seconds, it scrambled up and flew off.
"I know your power is to undo spells and restore all things to their natural state," said Weng Chiang. "That is why the children of the night fear you, Imthril. But I have a thought. What can you do to a being who is what he should be. Lo-Sing!"
It was rare for Nebel to be taken off-guard but he was now. He had not expected the young man to lunge forward and drive a hard fist deep into the pit of his stomach, nor was he prepared for the spinning reverse kick which cracked a slipped foot to the side of his head. Nebel fell to an undignified seated position on the hard ground, and he felt an uncharacteristic surge of anger at the pain. Weng Lo-Sing moved in and threw a downward hooking punch to the sitting man, a punch which Nebel deflected with a slap. The blind mystic rose and threw his heavy cloak back over his shoulders.
Lo-Sing was well trained in whatever style his uncle had taught him. He threw a rapid flurry of alternating left-right punches which would have confused most opponents. Not one landed. With pinpoint accuracy, Nebel blocked each blow with an open palm or a forearm, as if they had rehearsed this like a dance routine. Stepping to one side, he seized Lo-Sing wrist and tugged, at the same time placing his foot in the back of the young man's knee. As his opponent fell face down, Nebel smacked a leopard's-paw strike to the base of the skull with just enough force to stun the youth.
"I don't brawl like that often," Nebel said in English, "But, better to know how and not need it than the other way around." Straightening up, he went back to the flowery Chujir dialect again. "He sleeps, Weng Chiang. His death is not needful this day."
The sorcerer had gone into his cottage and returned armed. In both hands, he held a slim ceremonial spear with a wide barbed blade and red ribbons running its length. "Fool! This spear is what it is. It is not unnatural and your power cannot affect it."
"It is not the spear which needs healing," Nebel said sadly. "I know where and WHEN you were born, Weng>"
Hearing those words, the fang shih shrieked in horror and drew his arm far back, but too late. The light which shines down on Elvedal itself focused through the Sagehelm. In a rush of golden radiance, Weng Chiang withered and died. The ritual spear rolled to one side.
Stepping past the moaning Lo-Sing, Nebel stood over what remained of the warlock. As dry and brittle as any mummy, the body had curled up almost in a ball. For seventy years after his rightful span, Weng Chiang had prolonged his life at the expense of others. That was over now. The eyeless helmet never blinked.
[6/20/1985- Rev 5/9/2013]
4/11/1989
As he walked up the narrow mountain trail, Garrison Nebel was cut off from normal perception. He wore soft leather boots and gauntlets, cotton tunic and pants, all white. A full-length cloak of gold ensalir-fabric hung to his ankles and he wore a heavy helmet of ensalir metal which had no openings, just outlines etched where the eyeholes would be. Beneath the eyeless helmet, his own eyes were opaque and sightless. In a medical sense, Nebel was blind.
Yet, paradoxical as it might seem, he was more aware of his surroundings than a naked man with perfect eyesight would be. For he was a mystic of the Order of Tel Shai, and his discipline centered on perception. The pathway appeared to turn left past a sharp rise, but that was an illusion. So it seemed that the sorcerer Weng Chiang knew at least some of the forbidden arts. Nebel strode through the deception onto the real pathway leading up to the mountain home of Chujir's most secretive fang shih practitioner.
Nebel was touched by the songbirds, the early flowers, the small islands of snow scattered here and there. The crisp clean air made him breathe more deeply. Beauty was everywhere, he only wished he had more time to appreciate it. But, to be fair, malevolence was here as well... malice as dark as a well of black water.
When he approached within hailing distance of the small cottage, a young man stepped out onto the wide porch from within. He was short but athletic, wearing simple farmer's clothing. The people of Chujir claimed to be the ancestors of the Chinese of the real world, and although Nebel had doubts about that, he admitted it was difficult to distinguish between them. Sitting on the young man's shoulder like a parrot was a monstrous winged creature, spiky fur bristling as it dugs its talons into a leather pad on his shoulder.
"You passed through the barrier?" the young man said as if to himself, speaking in the Northern dialect.
Nebel did not respond. He stopped almost at arm's-reach, his cloak draped to conceal his body, the eyeless helmet gleaming in the afternoon sunlight.
"What do you want here, stranger?"
"I intend to speak with Weng Chiang," answered Nebel. Strangely, his voice was not muffled by the helmet.
"The master will see no outsiders! I am his nephew and eldest student, Weng Lo-Sing. You will leave any message with me."
Faint golden light played over the ancient helmet, not a reflection of sunlight but of a force richer and older. The young acolyte felt uneasy and even threatened by the sight of that flicker. He gestured angrily, "Go! Begone from here!"
"I am Garrison Nebel," the blind mystic said. "Weng Chiang, step forth."
Behind Lo-Sing, a handsome middle-aged man appeared in the doorway of the modest cottage. He was sturdy if not tall, grim-faced at this intrusion. His black robe had an intricate pattern in red threads that ran up one arm to the other. "A wise man would not presume to hide from Sagehelm... if that is indeed the Eldaran helm you bear?"
"Yes. I have long respected you as fang shih, an alchemist and mystic of your ancestral way. But I come with a warning. The knowledge you now seek of the Five Forbidden Arts implies too much for Human minds to safely hold."
Weng scowled and waved his hand in contradiction. "You claim to be the Sorceror of Truth, Imthril. Is truth something you can hoard for only yourself, like gold or jewels?"
"What you seek is denied to all. Not even the Teachers at Tel Shai delve into that knowledge gained on Ulgor so long ago. Let the Sulla Chun slumber in their chains beneath the world as long as they may. Weng Chian, it is folly to rouse those beings in hopes of gaining the knowledge they guard. More than your life would be lost."
"So you say! Would you contend against me then?"
"I will oppose black magic and forbidden arts wherever I find them. Your own life and spirit are yours to risk as you will. I will intervene only since your plan to rouse a Sulla Chun would mean the deaths and suffering of many innocents."
The sorcerer from Chujir snapped his fingers. "Kuo!"
Launching itself from Lo-Sing's shoulder, the scale-winged creature hurtled straight for Nebel. Fanged jaws gaped. In the instant before it could reach him, Nebel perceived it was an unnatural construct his power could heal. The eyeless helmet blazed up brighter than the sun, the creature shriveled and fell to the dirt as the ordinary bat it had been. In a few seconds, it scrambled up and flew off.
"I know your power is to undo spells and restore all things to their natural state," said Weng Chiang. "That is why the children of the night fear you, Imthril. But I have a thought. What can you do to a being who is what he should be. Lo-Sing!"
It was rare for Nebel to be taken off-guard but he was now. He had not expected the young man to lunge forward and drive a hard fist deep into the pit of his stomach, nor was he prepared for the spinning reverse kick which cracked a slipped foot to the side of his head. Nebel fell to an undignified seated position on the hard ground, and he felt an uncharacteristic surge of anger at the pain. Weng Lo-Sing moved in and threw a downward hooking punch to the sitting man, a punch which Nebel deflected with a slap. The blind mystic rose and threw his heavy cloak back over his shoulders.
Lo-Sing was well trained in whatever style his uncle had taught him. He threw a rapid flurry of alternating left-right punches which would have confused most opponents. Not one landed. With pinpoint accuracy, Nebel blocked each blow with an open palm or a forearm, as if they had rehearsed this like a dance routine. Stepping to one side, he seized Lo-Sing wrist and tugged, at the same time placing his foot in the back of the young man's knee. As his opponent fell face down, Nebel smacked a leopard's-paw strike to the base of the skull with just enough force to stun the youth.
"I don't brawl like that often," Nebel said in English, "But, better to know how and not need it than the other way around." Straightening up, he went back to the flowery Chujir dialect again. "He sleeps, Weng Chiang. His death is not needful this day."
The sorcerer had gone into his cottage and returned armed. In both hands, he held a slim ceremonial spear with a wide barbed blade and red ribbons running its length. "Fool! This spear is what it is. It is not unnatural and your power cannot affect it."
"It is not the spear which needs healing," Nebel said sadly. "I know where and WHEN you were born, Weng>"
Hearing those words, the fang shih shrieked in horror and drew his arm far back, but too late. The light which shines down on Elvedal itself focused through the Sagehelm. In a rush of golden radiance, Weng Chiang withered and died. The ritual spear rolled to one side.
Stepping past the moaning Lo-Sing, Nebel stood over what remained of the warlock. As dry and brittle as any mummy, the body had curled up almost in a ball. For seventy years after his rightful span, Weng Chiang had prolonged his life at the expense of others. That was over now. The eyeless helmet never blinked.
[6/20/1985- Rev 5/9/2013]
