The next morning, Rustam set off to search for the Lost Princess. As he was leaving, N�a came up to him. "Never lose hope, Rustam. Remember what we taught you, and never forget that the gods are watching over you, that we will help you wherever we can, and everything will turn out all right." Rustam could only nod. "I must go now as well," she said suddenly. "Mother calls." She turned around, and when Rustam had recovered from the sublime grabe of that gesture, she had gone."
The storyteller paused. "There were a great many wondrous adventures that Rustam had in his search of the princess. Sorceress, have we time to tell them all?"
I nodded. "But your voice must be tired, good weaver of tales. Perhaps I could tell one while you rest yourself."
I could see his eyes light with secret joy, but his manner remained solemn as befitted a man of his stature. "To speak truth, sorceress, your voice is so enchanting that all this time I've been hoping to gear one of the great epics from your mouth. But, I could not impose."
"Perhaps we should ask the children."
"Even so." The children, when asked, gave unanimous agreement, and so it was that I started my tale:
"Beloveds, Rustam was overjoyed to be truly back on his quest, but soon he eralized that there was little enough in the world for him to see without a ship. So he travelled to a town on the coast, and asked a man how a noble of limited means such as himself would go about obtaining a ship.
The man replied with a look of sadness that he could not assist Rustam, but that on an island nearby, a wrecked wing of Swan traders and their Dragonfly escort were washing up, and they were fairly salvageable, for the persistent. Rustam felt his hopes being dashed to bits. Then something came to him.
That very evening, Rustam thanked the man warmly, presented him with a letter of esteem should he ever need the assistance of his noble house, and rushed to the island on a ferry.
"Good evening," he called, walking into one of the island waterfront's boardign houses. "Would you, good sir," he asked the landlord after securing a room, "be able to tell me where I might be able to begin crewing a ship?"
The landlord nodded. "Go see my wift Ksatanih upstairs in her office; she'll arrange for the word to be passed around that you need crewmembers for a ship. Your name?"
"Rustam Paper Sword nah Iumaveili," Rustam replied.
"The ducal heir of Iumavei? Your Tranquillity, Iumavei thinks you dead," said the man in tones of distres. He wrung his hands nervously.
"Yes, I am he. Can you arrange for a letter to be sent to Blue Night Castle? I'd like the family to know I'm all right." The landlord nodded. "Then I'll leave a letter with you before I depart in the morning."
"Of course." He spoke briefly to one of the servants, and led Rustam to a chair. "So, O duke, what brings you here?"
"The Lost Princess. I'm trying to chase her down." Rustam sighed. "It's going to be a challenge."
"Yes. I hear that the Swift Storm is the fastest ship in the imperial fleet. It would take a sorcerer to catch her, if she chooses to run."
Rustam suppressed a smile. "I'll work it out."
Later, Rustam went in the dark of night to the nearest wrecked ship. "What should I do with this?" he asked no one in particular, frustratedly. He paces for a while, juggling magics in his head, thinking, rejecting ideas. "I know that I can do anything I can imagine. How can I imagine this ship into seaworthiness?"
Then the clouds shifted and illuminated a patch of flowers sprouting from a cleft in a driftwood log,and Rustam gasped with inspiration. He cut a chip of wood frop the splinteres ship, sniffing it. Fine cedar, stil fresh and fragrant. Good. This must have been one of the escort, a slim Dragonfly xebecsurul cut from the cool Silence highlands. Rustam went to a nearby tree and cut a branch. He was disappointed to learn that it was tth�nixkna, a coastal fruitwood not god for construction or magic. He whispered to it in the secret language of sorcerers, and watched smiling as it grew into a cedar staff. He climbed carefully up onto the deck, and stood the staff on the stump of mast.
"I hope this works," he muttered, and touched the staff with a leaf of the First Tree that N�a had given him while they were studying under its shade.
"Nur gave light and life to the world, the trees first of all," he spoke. "So, here I bring life back to the prematurely dead in Nur's name: Grow again, and build me a ship worthy of the Dragonfly name!"
Rustam listened to the song of a bird and the whispering of the sea for a moment, while on the ship all was still.
Then, the staff bucked and twisted, put forth leaves and roots. The planks underfoot creaked and bucked with the strain of growth. The staff became a mast, and soon the holes in the ship were mended. It still bent and shifted, becoming longer, thinner, a knife to cut the waters. As Rustam stepped off, still more carefully than before, the deck was becoming spongy with moss, and rigging - vines were falling from the mast's branches. All that were needed were sails and a crew.
Beore leaving, Rustam took a pen and scared a squid for ink, and wrote on the bow, "To Sarastih, the first sorceress and best of us all." Then he returned to the lodging-house to sleep.
The next morning, there were two new stories being passes around the town: one about the mysterious transformation of a shipwreck into some magical masterpiece, and the other about the handsome noble stranger seeking a crew. It was only a few days till Rustam had gathered enough people, and an obliging fabric merchant brouht over miles of heavy silk for the sails. It was the concensus among the crew, once the mission had been discussed, that no pay was required beyond the spoils of adventure. Soon enough, they pushed off.
posted by Shreyas Sampat at 12:41 PM

Until I rename the Dragon, we shall call him Light.

When they reached the side of the stream they had crossed in the morning, Light stopped. "Have you ever fished, Rustam?" Rustam shook his head. "Someday, I must teach you." Light sat down on a rock and trailed his fingers in the water. You see, fish are much like men. Even in battle, your opponent wants to trust you." Abruptly he stood up, a limp fish in his hand. "Now I'l explain a bit of what's going on, as I'm sure no one else has. Durat is to focused in his work, and N�a thinks we all know everything like she does. N�a. Now, there was a woman. You know, once long ago, one of your people told me something; he said that your goddesses and gods walk the earth in the guise of ordinary men, and that the talessaid sometimes their masks slip and we can see the light inside. If there was one person who could make me believe that, N�a would be her. She makes the very air around her sing with joy."

Rustam smiled. "You're right. The little forest spirit told me she's Sarastih the writer-goddess. I didn't know that you never knew."
"She practically reeks of it. I has always guessed, but I could not believe. But no mortal was ever so wise or so beautiful."
Rustam nodded. "Magic happens around her without her even knowing it. When she's looking for something, the book always opens to the right page. Candles burn forever; pens never run out of ink. She's gone onfor days without remembering to sleep or eat. At first I thought she was merely a bit insane, but after a time I realized she was more than I had been told."

"But back to the subject," Light said. "The situation here is more grave than you Dragonfly may imagine. The disappearance of Kanjan� will affent all the clans. Xormalih is a capable vizier, bit his heirs were all raised as commoners in small towns like Asxaratsi and Mirabethta. They never had the education of proper noble children; not one could run a farm, let alone a kingdom. Xormalih did that to protect them, but it seems to have backfired. Dragonfly would fall. But not only that. As you know, all the cans are interdependent, just as every piece of a dome or arch needs every other stone to stand. When we're in shortage of food, we buy it from you, and you in turn buy it from the great farmer clans in the East. The sailors have entire spice fleets feeding Dragonfly mouths; the world depends on your architects to keep their buildings standing after Panda stonemasons carve them into their sculpted fantasies. As all these collapse, so do those people who depend on them, and so on. It's possible that most of those affected would be adept enough to adapt and recover, but even so, irreparable damage would be done."
"Besides that, there is the magic. They tell me that Kanjan� was as skilled a sorceress as her mother, and the magicians fear that her departure was in order to go and set into motion certain forces that we would rather not move. On that I'm not so well-informed."
"Perhaps," Rustam returned thoughtfully, "I can make the sorceress and spirit enlighten me."
"And perhaps," mused Light, "we should be getting back."
"Yes." Rustam rolled to his feet gracelessly, and stumbled on after the warrior. The wind was pulling the clouds into fantastic shapes, and as they walked back, they took turns pointing out shapes in the sky.
"That one, there, looks exactly like Durat."
"You know, it does."

The next day, they began to learn the ancient art of the sword, arts that the Dragonfly were beginning to lose.*
Light taught Rustam all the traditional forms, and they practiced and practiced. One day, N�a wandered into their clearing. They were fencing with wooden swords, waist-deep in a lake.
"Meteor pursues the Moon," murmured Light, swinging his sword in a tight arc at Rustam's head.
Rustam swatted the blade down into the water with the flat of his own, replying, "Catch the Swallow's Tail." Then in some blur of motion, Rustam was behind the Dragon, holding his blade to the Dragon's throat. "Heron stalks in Reeds."
The Dragon seemed to fall, but at the last moment he was the one standing, and Rustam on his knees, gasping, a wooden sword pointed at the crown of his head. "Phoenix Dies," ended Light.
N�a walked into sight, laughing gleefully. "That was wonderful. But he'll never be able to beat you, Light. You very nearly invented the sword. Give him an opponent he can handle."
"Like you, O Goddess?"
She nodded and took the weapon from his hand.
A few moments later, N�a was standing very still, Rustam holding her by the throat with his sword aimed at her chest. "Drink the Dragon's Blood," he concluded, released her, and took a seat.
"Congratulations, Rustam. You're one of only three living men who've bested me in battle."
"Who is the second? Light must be the first, and I the third."
"None other than the swordsmith."
"Of course. I don't know why I asked."
"Silly mortal."
"Yes."
"So,we've finally made a hero out of you. Go, hero Rustam. Save the world from the Lost Princess."
Rustam bowed. "As my goddess commands."
The next morning, he left the Dragon's camp.

*:The Dragon took their sword arts from the Dragonfly, but the Dragonfly under the civilizing, softening influence of their new religion began to lose them. In the Pii present, the Dragon are among the premier fencers on Pii, and the Dragonfly are their disciples, and are beginning to take their skills back and adapt them to this new time.
posted by Shreyas Sampat at 8:46 AM

The Dragon shall soon be renamed.
Perhaps Wind-on-the-Water or Light-in-the-Sky is fitting, or Fire-of-the-Stars.
He's a strange little man.
Yes.
---
Shreyas
posted by Shreyas Sampat at 8:55 AM

At some point I met the swordsmith Durat, who too had a quest with N�a: he desired to find the fabled sword of the hero Itanir Broken Mountain, who it is said cut the bed of the river bearing his name one day in battle with a terrible monster, which they tell me was a great dark dragon come down from the dayless caves of the Silence, a devouring ravening thrashing whirlwind of destruction that cut the First Forest in two and created the forests Ai and Ur and decimated the Spider people till even those who were left dwindled and died pining the loss of their their kith and kin. But, I digress. Durat wanted then to learn the swordsmith�s magic which now, many years hence, he is the undisputed master of, perhaps the greatest in the world, for though N�a is perhaps the knower of more secrets than he, she was never a maker of new things, but only a collector of antiquities, and he was then as willing to brave the fearsome rumours of her magics as I to reach our goal.

And so, we set out into the forest, searching for the sorceress. But we lost our way, and soon we found ourselves awakening in the hold of a ship. It came to me that I had been hearing the singing of the sea through the darkness of the trees for days now, and that that mysterious scent must have been the salt tang of the air, though till then I did not know it. Around us were other men like ourselves, imprisoned by some traders who were in need of oarsmen. It seemed we were being kept in the hold till we were out of sight of land, to discourage escape attempts.
�Durat, what do you think of this?�'

The storyteller put down his cup and wrapped himself in his cloak. The sun was painting the western sky.
posted by Shreyas Sampat at 12:40 AM

"Perhaps it's time to retire for the night, wouldn't you agree, O sorceress?" he said.
"Indeed, so it seems to be. Have you a place to stay the night, Storyteller?"
"I do. Thank you for asking, though. Perhaps I can accept your hospitality another time."
"Yes. Goodnight."
I rose to my feet and began to gather the things I had set out for the evening meal. Afterwards, I wandered through the marketplace, marvelling at the beauty of the world and its people and how the sunlight in its celebration of the evening painted over everything in warm tones of joy. Clouds and darkness awaited eagerly in the east while light fled the sky.

Now, for those of you who d�dn't see the story begin, this is how it does:
Some definitions:

Sarastih is the goddess of writing.
Irandd�n are a type of psychotropic flower used as a magical tool by sorcerers.
Eska R�n� is a collection of stories of the Dragonfly people that are held as holy writ.
Nur is the goddess that created the world. The other gods are her children.
Basically any animal name referred to as a collective noun, and capitalized, refers to one of the cultures that populates the world. So far only Dragonfly and their close relatives the Dragon have appeared, but soon to be revealed are representatives of Spider, Antelope, and perhaps Cougar or Lynx. They are referred to as clans.

On spelling:
See the Nrit Phonology page for any weird-looking Dragonfly names like N�a and Xormalih. Other names will be rendered in Nrit-style orthography as well, or as Englisk, as in the Dragon Light-of-My-Eyes.

Sarastih's Journals: Market Day
I was wandering the market today, Journal.
It's an interesting place. Full of color and scent and sound.
Sound.
Like the sound of voices. Natlihah's people have beautiful voices. I met this wonderful old man, and he told me a story. It went something like this:

Long ago, when the world was still new, and the stars burned bright in the sky, there was a princess. This princess was no ordinary princess. Back then proper princesses didn't fence, or fly gliders, or climb cliffs, or sail ships. Kanjan� wasn't a proper princess.
One day, she had a fight with her father, and sailed off in Swift Storm, her ship.
"Dear, shouldn't we have the guards search for her?" asked her mother the queen.
"No. You know as well as I do that her ship's the fastest one in our fleet, and even if we could catch her, if she lands and escapes we'll never find her. Let her come back in her own time," replied the king.
"If you say so."

Several weeks later, Kanjan� had still not returned. "Where is my daughter?!" shouted the queen. "She never runs off for this long. Send out a search!" The court rushed to send off their sailors and trackers to look for her by land, sea, and air.

Soon one returned. Her ship had been found, drifting toward shore, unmanned and empty of provisions and tools. The queen was devastated. The king's health had slowly been declining, you see, and she had some deep fear that she'd be the only one left.

The next day, the queen climbed to the very top of the highest tower of the royal palace. Days and days she climbed, stair after stair after endless, merciless stair, till she reached the ultimate summit, and out of its windows she could see all of her kingdom laid out around her, and the seas beyond that. Still, she saw no sign of her daughter. So she wrote a letter, and flew it down to the earth on a kite. So it read:

Children,
I shall not leave this place till my daughter Kanjan� is returned. The winds will bring me food and water. I am no small sorceress, fear not for me. But know that without we two, the kingdom is doomed to a long and bloody succession war. My husband the king is no longer be fit to rule. In our absence, our adviser Xormalih will rule in our stead. Let it be declared all round the land that the rescuer of my child, from whatever danger has taken her, will be rewarded handsomely and forever remembered.
Your Queen.

Soon enough, the kingdom was in an uproar. All manner of brash young noble men and women fled to the far reaches of the world, hoping for word of the Lost Princess, as she came to be called. Some returned. Many did not.

One of these brash young men was a young duke named Rustam Paper Sword. He didn't even have the funds to buy a ship, let alone crew one, and so he set out on foot, with his trusty horse. Far into the Mountains of Silence they travelled, into the darkness of the Forest Ur.

One evening, while Rustam was washing himself in a shady forest spring, a
voice called out to him.
"Rustam! Rustam!" Rustam stood and followed the voice.
He came upon a clearing, carpeted with soft moss and green in the forest twilight. A little man clothed in grass was standing on a
toadstool, looking up at him. "Rustam!"
"Who are you? Why do you know my name?" asked the young duke.
"That's none of your concern, little prince. It's come to be known that you're on a quest to return the Lost Princess."
Rustam sat down, intrigued.
"I didn't know that the forest spirits were so well informed. You'll forgive my ignorance, I hope. What concern of it is yours that I'm seeking a princess, if you don't mind my asking?"
"I won't forgive it, but I'll pretend to. The Forest is prepared to offer you certain assistances, because we have a certain stake in this matter that I'm not permitted to reveal." The little man also took a seat, and he pulled a knife and sharpening stone from a pocket, honing it as they spoke.
"I appreciate your offer. I perhaps might like to know what precisely assistance the Forest is offering me, though."
"I'm told that you're a warrior, not a magician. That will not do. We offer you the magic of the Tree itself, the first living thing to be touched by Grandmother Nur's sculpting hand." The man tugged on the tip of his knife; it stretched into a graceful willow-leaf sabre, glittering coolly in the halflight.
The prince's eyes widened. "You're offering a great deal of power there."
"We are. Are you prepared to accept?"
"I am. I seem to have no other choice; I'm told rescuing princesses is no easy task."
"Good. Your first lesson in magic is the lesson of knowledge; you must know how the world thinks, because thought shapes the world, and sorcery is only thought given power. Go find your horse. Blindfold yourself and untie him; unveil yourself when he stops walking." The little man jumped abruptly off the toadstool and skipped off into the undergrowth.
"Wait!" Rustam shook his head, and then followed his directions. It was eerie, being unable to see as the sounds of the forest slipped by; the scents of irandd�n and sweet fruits drifted through the air, birds sang dolorous songs, the light of day shifted and flickered and died.
Finally the horse stopped, and Rustam opened his eyes.
He stood in front of a strange house, raised on stilts and pierced through the centre by a tall, slender tree. The door was covered in patterned silver, in designs that Rustam knew from the edges of wizards' robes and the little dangling goodluck charms that peddlers sold at market. The designs, he noticed, climbed all over the house, and even down the tree, like twining vines of ink. The doors swung open, and out stepped the most beautiful sorceress in human memory.'
I suppressed a smile.
'Rustam walked up to the cottage door. "Hail, sorceress. The little man of the forest sent me to you, for what I know not."
She nodded, and murmured, "Come, Rustam. I've been expecting you."
They walked into the house together. As the witch shut the doors, candles in glittering crystal lanterns flared into life - amber, green, white, blue. The scent of irand� and cinnamon hung heavy in the air.
"We brought you here to teach you of your people. Here I've collected most of the stories in our world; you shall take the tales of the Dragonfly, Eska R�n� and common folktale alike, and learn them all by heart. Then, once you've proven to my satisfaction that you know them, the true magic begins. You may call me N�a, incidentally."
For moons and moons they worked; the sorceress's dusty leather-bound books soon became polished with the constant rubbing of hands. After a time, Rustam had learnt them all, and recopied them into his own books, books marked with the traditional Mask and Crown of Nur.
Then, N�a taught him what could be done with this power - Nur cast a mask into the Void and made it light; so any face can see in the dark: a man at night, a mask on the wall, a coin cast into an alleyway. She brought land to the sea with her footprints, so a man may walk on water, or call up stones upon which to break ships. And so on.
Once Rustam learnt this heart of sorcery, she sent him away with his books, and an empty book and pen to record his own tale.'

The storyteller paused and took a drink of water. I grinned.
'That was a masterful retelling, Lord Storyteller. Please, favour us with the rest.'
'It is a long tale, O Sorceress.'
'True. Perhaps we can have it over the evening meal?'
'That is a most excellent idea.'
I walked to my cart and took out a great basket, and served the man and the children who had gathered. I poured sweet wine, and the storyteller went on.
posted by Shreyas Sampat at 1:04 AM

Forgive the flaky pirate jargon; this is an early draft.

The next mornng I went to a bakery and bought some fresh break, and to the fruit vendor for fruit and juice.
Then I went to look for the storyteller. Today he'd found a lovely grotto in a park, a group of large rocks surrounding a pool, all ringed around with shady weeping trees that were just touched with sparks of red with the approaching autumn. Several of the children from the previous day had gathered round, and they were eagerly speculating on what Durat and Light-of-My-Eyes' next exploit would be, now that they'd been captured by these pirates, even though I knew most ofthem must have heard the story a hundred times before.
I sat down on a rock and told the children to help themselves to a snack. The storyteller looked at me questioningly.
"So, noble sorceress, you've returned. Children, shall we continue?" They all nodded eagerly.
He began:

"It doesn't look too bad", Durat replied. "I think we can come to some arrangement with the ship". He carved at some piece of wood absently. It was at that point that some member of the crew had come down into the hold to retrieve something, and Durat called out to him. "Ho, sailor! Have you any food on this leaky barge? We landsmen can't survive on only the wind and salt spray like you." I blinked, wondering what he was trying to do.
"You'll all get your meals come nightfall", the sailor growed. "No sooner."
"I can pay", Durat insisted I didm't think this was too likely; Durat had been roddeb and disarmed like the rest of us.
"What with? We robbed all you dry when we brought you in."
"I have something of an idea. Can I speak to your captain?"
"Cap'n Three Crowns has better things to do than talk to dirty prisoners about extra mealtimes they isn't going to get", the sailor snapped, "and even if he did we don't have no food spare."
"Perhaps I can see the first mate, then? I know where you good men might be able to find some more sailors, and some good cheap food as well. Perhaps even a nice private harbor for those special 'private' cargoes, if you'd like." Durat glanced back at me and winked.
"Listen, landlubber. I don't know if you're pullin' me anchor-chain, so we'll dice for it. If you win, you can speak to the first mate. If you don't, you miss dinner tonight."
"Fair enough. Has soeone got some dice? You know, good sailor, so we know that we're not cheating with our own dice."
I had to suppress a grin. You see, Durat's a much more skilled sorcerer than he lets on; the dice game was probably his own idea. We had happened to play a game last night, to decide who was to wash the dshes after dinner. Durat dug himself into dishwashing fr a week, because I cheated shamelessly, and I'm not much of a wizard. The dice are designed to me attuned to magic, you see, and they can be easily manipulated if you know the mental trick of it. I'll show you sometime. At any rate, I figured that he must have guessed it, and he was about to try them out of the poor sailor. "I do!" I called out. Durat trotted over and took the dicebad from me, and the two of them sat down at a table to play. The game didn't last long; I could feel the magic rippling round Durat as the dice fell from his hand. He was a subtle cheater; occasionally the game rolled in the sailor's favor, but inexorably Durat's score crept up higher than the other's.
Then the dice fell once more. For a moment, the dice fell in a attern that would have ended in Durat's favor, but then the dice leapt into the air and turned the game about. The sailor laughed.
"I see you know some magic as well", he said. "I suppose we shall have to make a new bet, because we both cheated.""
"But I won't bother you with the rest of the story tonight, Rusta. It's late. Get some sleep", said Light-of-My-Eyes at last, "because we've done eating and you have a big day tomorrow."
Little did Rustam know how true that was. The next morning, Light-of-My-Eyes woke Rustam slicing his pillow open with a sword, and all morning they fenced across the fields and throught the tents and along the dark mountain snowmelt streams and to the foothills of the mountains to thenorth. They traded blow for blow for a time; the stood still and poised like watchful hawks; they fenced slow and subtly like two starving snakes. And alweays and always, Rustam was beaten back and the Dragon would stop and smile and shout, "Again!"
And Rustam leapt to the battle again, their weapons would describe gleaming arcs in the air - Rustam's priceless, lovely swrd with its glorious smoky steel, and the Dragon with every weapon he could think of - swords and graceful spears and little throwing knives like butterflies, with mace and whistling scythe and staff hung with jingling bells, with willow branch and pebbles and a fisherman's cleaning knife on a string. All this and more, all defeated the hero Rustam. Then Light-of-My-Eyes took up brush and ink and with it wrote his name on Rustam, like a herder's mark, and this humiliation was the last.
"Stop!" shouted Rustam, and held up his hand in surrender. Light's cloak snaked by inches from his eyes, edged with blades of glass. Rustam collapsed to a seat on the stone where they stood while the Dragon looked around. They had wandered far from camp. The flowering fruit trees around them reminded Rustam of his home, a home where no man dared beat him in chess, let alone while fencing in earnest. A home he missed sorely.
"Master", said Rustam, "teach me. The words spilled from his mouth unmoved by any volition of his own. "The Forest gives you ore and a forge. Make of me a weapon worthy of the name of hero."
Light-of-My-Eyes nodded. "Then you understand your place. Good. We have much more to do." He bent and lifted Rustam to his feet. Together they began to walk home.
posted by Shreyas Sampat at 12:45 PM

It was a weapon befitting a hero.
"Now we part ways, my friend," said Durat as the sword was completed. "Use the sword well."
Rustam rode off in search of the little man, but he did not find him. A masked figure appareed some distance back, shooting at Rustam with a great Dragon bow. Rustam did everything in his power to defend himself - he threw flowers at the man, turning them to boulders in midair. He threw seeds at him, and flocks of birds hindered the hunter for a moment, but they flew away in fear. For a moment Rustam hoped that soon his pursuer would run out of arrows, but then he bagan to rip branches from the nearby trees and shoot them at poor Rustam with some unwholesome magic. They ran for days, the one chasing the other, across the mountains till they reached a ring of tents in the Dragon grasslands. The figure reined in his horse and took off his mask.
"Hello, Rustam." Rustam was taken aback. What was this?
"We're here to teach you your last lesson, Rustam. I'm the hunter Light-of-My-Eyes. I'm to make a warrior out of you." He took off his feathered cloak (Rustam was puzzled; did Dragons wear feathered cloaks?) and walked toward a tent. "Come inside. We'll eat, and I'll tell you how I got mixed up in this business of spirits and swordsmiths and sorceresses."
Unsaddling their horses and leaving them out to graze under the watchful eye of a herdsman, the two man washed and then went to the fire to cook their meal. Soon they were seated on great plush cushions before great plates of food, and Light-of-My-Eyes commenced to tell his story.
"Long ago, in my youth, I was a much younger and more foolish man. Once /i took it into my head to learn the secret of your Dragonfly sorcery: a troupe of R�n� priests had just passed through our town and to me, their powers were filled with the lure of the exotic. So I found Dragonfly clothing and disguised myself as one of your people (It is truly hard to find one of those tight-sleeved shirts that fit; it seems that your city tailors sew clothing for very delicate men.) so I could learn more about you. Perhaps for nine of your months I wandered Han.ts�nsirat, seeking out sorcerers and priests (Your priests are wonderful people. One night it was dark and cold and a priestess met me on the road, asking me if perhaps I'd like to come in for a meal and a night in a warm spare bed, instead of making whatever long trip I'd made to get to this place where I looked such a stranger.)and learning what I could. It was then that I learned of the recluse-sorceress N�a hidden deep in the Forest Ur (Near the Great Tree, they say, though for all I cold tell every tree in that wood is equally great and ancient; in my travels I saw one that housed the ruins of an entire Spider village (their houses are so small! Spiders must be tiny people), but it was long decayed and only the frames remained, speared through by centuries of new growth.); legend had it that she was more beautiful than fire and perhaps as old. I decided I must find her.
But I was still a plainsman, and I did not know the secret ways of life in the verdant woods of your land. And so I needed a guide.
posted by Shreyas Sampat at 12:10 AM

�Soon, he again came upon the little man. He was sitting on a tree branch, carving its dead stumps of branches into delicate wooden flowers.
�Hello again,� said Rustam. �My encounter with the shamaness was quite enlightening. What�s our next adventure?�
The little man collapsed laughing. After he finished rolling in the dirt, he gasped, �You dolt! That was no sorceress! That was the Goddess Sarastih herself!�
�Ai ia. I�ve made a fool of myself.� Rustam hung his head in shame.
�No, you�ve simply been deceived. Your next journey is to see the bladesmith Durat. He asked to speak to you. Something about your flimsy commoner�s sword.� Rustam glanced at the sword, a dully serviceable one of gray steel.
�What�s wrong with it? A sword doesn�t need to be fancy. It just needs a pointy end.� Rustam looked slightly hurt.
�A hero is no ordinary man. The Forest is trying to make you into one, and it wants no stain of commonality about you, master Paper Sword.� The little man rose to his feet as if preparing to go.
�So be it then. How do I find the swordsmith?�
�At dawn, follow the scarlet path�� shouted the little man as he scampered off into the trees.
�Wait� what? Scarlet path?� Rustam shook his head and began to set up camp.�

The storyteller paused to take a piece of fruit.

�When dawn came, Rustam had already been awake for some time, searching for the scarlet path and finding nothing but the endless sea of green. Then, as the sun rose over the Mountains of Silence, it revealed a mossy path that Rustam hadn�t yet noticed. As the light hit it, thousands of tiny green buds unfurled, revealing uncountable blossoms of lush, glittering red. Rustam followed the path for some time, out of the lowlands into the blue pines of the mountainsides, and still it stretched into infinity.
But finally it ended in front of a little stone cottage set about with copses of bleeding-heart. Rustam approached the door, but it opened before he could knock. Durat welcomed him in.
�I�m here to forge a sword, master smith,� said Rustam. He brought out his sword. �I�m told this is insufficient.�
Durat lifted the blade, tested it with his thumb. Then he gripped it by the hilt and tip and twisted it into a great loop. �It is. This will not do at all. Come, we�ll make a swordsmith out of you yet. We begin with ore.� They trekked for a moon or more, seeking the secret location of a fallen star that Durat used to make his greatest treasures. They sought out precious metals and bright jewels, the shed horns of an antelope to make a hilt, heavy silk to wrap and tassel it, fragrant pilaṇgitam wood for the scabbard, and more to fire the forge. They made horseshoes and bells, a shield, armour, and finally the sword. The sword. Light rippled down the blade like water; flower petals split under their own weight on its edge.
posted by Shreyas Sampat at 12:37 PM