No Man's Sustenance

One of the tales treasured by most Azhurans is the one known as No man’s sustenance. The myth goes about a Vhalurian knight on a quite harsh errand, which took him to wander through foreign territory. The quest itself lies buried in the sands of time, but the story is as current as it is popular.

It is said that the knight, in pursuit of his elder brother’s last wish, found his voyage filled with nothing but exhaustion and unsuccessfulness. Absolutely famished, he allowed his dear mount and companion some rest while foraging food for both of them. Apparently, on a sudden turn of events, the knight followed the evidence of a recently abandoned camp site, where he was able to gather two loaves of bread from an otherwise empty basket. However, almost as instantly, an Azhuran native reached the same location.

The knight, then, claimed the bread for himself, stating that he was entitled to the goods since he was the one to find them. The Azhuran, as expected, countered the statement by means of saying those were his lands, and it was his people’s right to own whatever lied on their grounds. A few more sentences were exchanged between the men, but it quickly became clear none would stand down on their claim. If reason was not to solve the matter, it would be dealt the hard way. And so it was.

The knight drew his sword and tightened his treasured shield on the seasoned arm, readying both for combat. The Azhuran, unwilling to stand back, accepted the invitation and, near dusk, bpth men were fighting for the ambiguous loaves of bread still lying on the basket by their feet. After three quarters of an hour, there was hardly a conclusion, and the combatants had no more than minor and indecisive injuries. Their stamina was second only to each one’s conviction, and, although their feet began to misstep and their arms to weaken, only the defeat of one of them would truly bring an end to the clash. All of a sudden, the Azhuran started to move far slower than before, fighting back his foe’s blows with much less intensity and resilience. This lasted until he was deeply struck on the shoulder by the knight who, in awe, retreated a couple of steps back in a surprised stance.

- What happened? I laid the same thrust at you a hundred times, and you solidly parried every single one but the last – asked the knight.

- Stop talking, and finish your work – replied the Azhuran, with a hand on his badly wounded and bleeding shoulder.

- You are not the same man who originally stood up to me. Why is that?

- If you want to know, my Fiery Lord just disappeared from His throne in the skies. Which means that, whatever the occasion, I am doomed: if I slay you, He will not be aware of my success, thus making our struggle meaningless; and, if I fall before you, He will not acknowledge my sacrifice, and my soul will not rise to His realm of radiance. So, no choice is good enough. Just get done with this.

- Yes, there is a choice – said the knight, sheathing his own weapon with haste – Tomorrow the sun rises again. When that happens, we will put an end to this. Even though I will lie nearby, you have my word none of the bread will be gone by the moment we meet again. Go tend to your shoulder.

- Why would you do such a thing?

- Because it would be like partaking the bread of two men, instead of one. And I wish to settle the matter the proper way.

Abiding by these terms, the Azhuran vanished from the knight’s sight, to return only the following morning. The Vhalurian left the bread untouched as he promised, even though snakes would coil in the void of his stomach, just occasionally drinking some water of a creek nearby to ease the suffering. And, as the sun was to bathe the early morning of the next day, so would both men meet again, in pursuit of closure, if nothing else.

The renewed duel was, unlike the other, rather brief and trivial. Since the knight started the duel on foot, thus the fight would be held. After a quick series of well-put and centered swings, the Azhuran could not face his formidable opponent with compromised mobility, and a wide cut on his throat brought an end to the native’s life, along with the quarrel as well. The Azhuran had resignation and peacefulness upon that mortal glance, the one he was killed with. As for the knight, he was now able to claim the bread.

But he did not. Despite the desperate cry for provisions his already weakened body wailed with, his honour kept reminding him that he perhaps would not produce a victorious outcome if his foe’s shoulder was left unscathed. The doubt consumed the Vhalurian, and eventually it took him to finally leave the loaves as they were. Venture would find the knight again, should fate have a desire to show the honourable warrior true care. Although a few different endings of this story are occasionally heard, it is believed that the same knight was found dead from starvation, no more than two days after the famous encounter.

 

The Legend of Calihu

Many generations ago, when the Azhurans were unable to call themselves old, let alone ancients, it is said that a hero amazed his kin with unmatched reverence and determination. Little is known accurately about his endeavours other than his name and this fable. In short, this tale is taken very dearly for the whole tribe, despite the latent lack of precision herein.

It is said that the miraculous event took place close to a special wedding: Boara, one of the finest Agulepoc and whose eye for the arrow was no less than deadly, was finally to marry Caia, a female shaman he had been wooing for almost a decade. When she finally agreed upon their marriage, it is said that the festivities were exceptionally joyful, due to the maiden’s continual refusals throughout the years. However, one soul was fairly discontent with the outcome of this, but would get to show his dissatisfaction only in due time.

When all citizens gathered around the Agulepoc and his prowess at numerous tasks, there was no suspicion of any unsettling disruptions to Boara’s display of self-control and discipline. He stepped onto hellish hot charcoal, held an obsidian lance immersed on the hottest furnace in the forge for a long period of time and excelled in all other challenges with remarkable vigor. The Azhurans heartily cheered as the Agulepoc headed to the only incomplete challenge he was to face: the great Bonfire.

However, as he approached the dreadful column of fire, the tribesmen suddenly silenced as if magically compelled to. Momentarily stunned by the radical change, Boara looked at his companions, wondering what was wrong. Heinous lightning flashes would storm within his brain as he realized he was being challenged by another fellow Azhuran in this task: Calihu, also his fellow Agulepoc, had just intentionally stepped on a wide circle around the bonfire. The sudden stillness around the two reflected the tension between both brothers in arms, as they lost their heart to the same woman, thus making it so difficult for her to choose her mate.

But she did. Although Boara was the one to be bonded with the shaman, Calihu quickly erased the light and playful atmosphere, turning the challenge more to the likeness of an upcoming war. Both Agulepoc were rivals at dozens of other matters, where one excelled the other so many times each one was unsure of the outcome of a real duel taken seriously. They stared at each other for a few moments and, without using words, agreed upon settling the matter at the bonfire. Being well known the simple rule commanding this last task, there would hardly be a rematch after the challenge: the men whose distance to the bonfire is the smallest by the end of the day was the winner.

Even though the bonfire held in marriage festivities hardly allowed any competition, no voice amongst them interfered with the dispute. And so they went: feet by feet, both generals ventured a bit closer to the hellish flames, and very soon it became quite extenuating to advance even but a minor step. Both were a few feet away from the fire’s core, and most Azhurans were astonished at how close they got to it. Nevertheless, the Sun was setting on the horizon and Calihu knew he could not come out of this challenge empty handed. The generals took a few more steps, and the heat was starting to physically damage their own eyes. No one was unaware their proximity would permanently undermine them if they held their ground for too long, but, being both warriors by heart, the Agulepoc remained still.

Calihu suddenly realized the bride-to-be was witnessing the ceremony with an appalled gaze at both tribesmen. Most of her face was covered by her two shaking hands, allowing no more than her eyes to stare at a horrific stance. Encouraged by the vision of his loved one and by the ever descending Sun, Calihu threw himself over the distance that separated him from the fiery column. While he made the crossing, nothing filled his mind but to show her how valuable he was. The crowd watched, terrified in awe, their Agulepoc’s body being consumed in the fire. Twilight was there and nothing else could be done to release the noble Azhuran from his fate. Or so thought the entire tribe or reason itself.

As the last shred of light abandoned the skies, the fire column simply died, dismantling powerlessly on the ground. Heavily scorched and blackened, Calihu’s body still slightly moved upwards when he breathed. Motion was nowhere to be found, as everyone just could not call upon their reasoning to understand what just happened, until Boara snapped out of the trance and rushed to his fellow Azhuran and checked on him. Apparently, to behold such sight was enough to bring most people to their senses, and so they tried to aid the Agulepoc as well as they could. The bride-to-be herself tended his injuries, but there was little to be done.

The tragedy did not, however, stall the wedding ceremony, even though most of the celebrations were apathetic. Calihu had the flames entirely ruin his eyes and most of his mobility, being scorched from head to toe. But it was his body’s refusal to die which led to the amazement of his kin, including the Ataloa. When rumors began to state the Agulepoc was a reject of Xipotec’s, the Fire Father quickly interceded to dismiss them. After several days of reclusion to decide on the Agulepoc’s fate, the Ataloa revealed to the tribe that, if Calihu would not die by the bonfire, then Xipotec wanted to keep him on the surface to guide his fellow tribesmen.

As always, the wisdom of the Ataloa was supreme and his words were final. Nevertheless, many Azhurans kept to themselves their own assumptions, mostly avoiding to deal with the “accursed Agulepoc” as they called him. But what the Ataloa’s words could not subside, the Agulepoc’s actions got to. Unable to remain on a bed and being tended to like a bird with broken wings, Calihu decided to show his value to the tribe again. Against all medical advice, he retook his training sessions at the expense of continually damaging his already debilitated skin. Forever deprived of his eyesight, he submitted himself to the brutal exercises he was used to take.

There would not be one day in which he would not exhaust himself in training, nor a single day he would not have to be carried over to the shaman’s shack. Brand new injuries would dwell where the damaged skin opened due to frantic exercise and movement. And the next day, Calihu would strive again, making his body quite one big, appalling wound, devastated by waves of inner pain and from merciless sunlight. And yet, he did not die. Instead, the Agulepoc’s body suffered so greatly from newly exposed wounds to the Sun that, eventually, they turned into some sort of skin, new in both hue and structure. It was a bit harder than the previous one, and would not breach into injuries as he moved anymore. Although blindness was to remain, Calihu eagerly expected to embrace fighting again.

His determination won the tribe’s admiration once again, perhaps even more than he had prior to the incident. The new Agulepoc fought many battles, being virtually fearless in whatever encounter he plunged himself into. The Azhurans mourned for him only many years from then, where Calihu finally fell facing alone half a horde of now forgotten barbarians. There is no record of greater depression than the one following his passing, which was somewhat embellished by the elders’ enlightement. Xipotec’s festivities preceding marriage or war alike are now named after the hero and his sacrifice.