World of Khaas - Starric - A New Beginning

It was a slight movement that alerted him, a tremor more felt than seen. As the wind whipped up the snow, sending swirling ghosts through the trees, Starric halted, breath streaming from his nostrils. He stretched his full six-foot plus frame to its highest, body relaxed but mind fully active and light. The whisper did not come again, but he knew what was out there. Like a statue Starric waited—patient like the stones—patient beyond even the curses of the gods.

The wind howled and the trees waved in compliment, bowing to the strength of an invisible hand. Despite the restless wind they were still: hunter and hunted, foe and friend. Both knew the depths of their resolution, just as they knew Starric would be the first to break—the call had come and he could not deny it—curse or no curse, damned or not damned, as they were by the gods.

The end of patience was quick after so long held in check. In the silent space between the heavy sighs of the wind he moved. With one hand he held his sword while the other counterbalanced his descent through the snow, aided by his native agility to press down the slope. There was no chance of outrunning his foe, but the ground, the ground of this fight would be of his choosing and no others.

The rocky flat held only a veneer of snow and Starric slowed to come to a halt near its center. He turned and waited, breath streaming out of him into the chill air. The scar that traveled down his face and into his furred tunic blanched white against his skin, bitten harshly by the wind. Starric was not long in disappointment, as part of the snow-laden wind appeared to coalesce and form into a man.

“Sucurro” he breathed into the air.

The silent form made no movement to acknowledge this recognition but only waited, hands hidden in swathing white clothes.

Starric sighed heavily. “Silent as always I see. You know, for the length we have been on the mountain you have been a poor speaking companion.” Seeing no response, and while expecting none, hoped there would be at least a word, some token of speech after so long together, he continued after a slight pause. “You cannot hold me here any longer.”

The figure of the man, named Sucurro stirred, and spoke in soft, low voice barely audible over the howls of the wind. “No. Our time has passed.”

“My time ends when I say it is so. Neither the gods, nor your master or my father can contain me.”

Sucurro shook his head slowly from side to side. Soft voice again said, “You cannot go. I am to you, as you are to me—one cannot survive without the other.”

Starric gazed back at him, and one more time asked, “Then come with me. They have looked away from us after these long years—the curse is lifted—what eyes have you felt gazing upon us to watch? Did we not kill the watcher over 15 cycles ago? Is that not proof enough?”

Sucurro again shook his head, the hood parting just enough to give glimpse of olive skin and startling dark eyes. “No.”

Starric bared his teeth eyes alight with volcanic fire at Sucurro’s bitten off response. “I’ll not be denied—I have the call—do not stand in my way!” Thrusting an arm vigorously around to encompass the mountain he exclaimed, “Live here if you choose, but do not deny me my right—my duty—my need to do this!”

Sucurro shrank, head bowing into his chest for a moment. After a moment of silence he looked back up to catch Starric’s eyes. His dark ones clashed with Starric’s explosive blue, and on some plane they crossed swords in battle. The years had taken their toll, however, and Sucurro was not as strong as he once was, and further weakened by the strength of Starric’s burning need, Sucurro lost the battle of wills. His head bowed once more, then lifted, catching Starric’s eyes one more time and meeting them firmly while moving his head from side to side in an undeniable negative.

Sighing explosively, Starric barred teeth and said plainly, “Do not do this—I ask you once again, stand aside and let me pass.”

When Sucurro did not respond, Starric smiled bitterly, the thick white scar splitting his lip making the turn of the lips more ferocious. At the howling of the wind and companion snow flurry he drew the sword on his back and moved. Sucurro, knowing the outcome of their match beat his draw by the merest instant, baring two blades, one long and slightly curved, the other shorter and double edged. The pulling of the blades was in juxtapose with his movement, more glide than shuffle that sent him forward to meet Starric in a dance of steel. At the meeting each showed their craft in the mastery of swordsmanship, Sucurro with his dancing blades in either hand, Starric with his hand and one half blade. So matched in ability did they stand that for those few seconds neither could gain the advantage. Yet this deadly dance of masters could not last long and in the span of a few heartbeats it ended.

Sucurro was like a statue, frozen seemingly in the blustery wind then he crumpled into the snow. Starric dropped his sword, the Whispering Angel into the snow and moved over to the fallen form, tucking his useless left arm into his belt as he did so. Kneeling next to Sucurro, he rolled him over and pulled back his hood to see his face. Even dying Sucurro showed no emotion on his face, calm as ever. Starric grimaced and said, “Honored enemy, old friend and brother: you should have let me pass.” Sucurro whispered something in return, so low it was ripped away by the wind. Starric needed no translation for it though, knowing it well as often as his heart had murmured it back to him. The life faded from Sucurro’s eyes and Starric covered them with the hood. Sitting back and knowing his should bind his wounds but all he could think of was Sucurro’s last words, “We should have died that day”.

“Maybe”, he said to Sucurro’s stiffening form, “maybe we should have died then, but we didn’t. We lived on past your master and my father—outlived them and their games that cost us everything. Stood before the assemblage of the mighty and defied their justice, accepting their curses instead.”

“We lived!” he screamed to the mountain.

Looking over the fallen form, Starric said sadly, “Rest well, my friend, you have earned it, if any of us could earn it. Your burdens are done, and mine—they only begin”.

Staggering to his feet, he stumbled over to his sword in the snow and returned it to its home. The hard task of binding wounds came after, though the pain was nothing new to the warrior. Sucurro was next, laying him straight and caring for his weapons and gear one last time. A hero, or villain depending on which side of the sword you stood, but deserving of a fitting end regardless.

Once finished Starric looked upslope into the wind, taking in the harsh-planed peak of the forested mountain that had been his home these long years one more time. When he finished saying his goodbyes, he turned down slope and plunged into the trees.