Content Warning: Some profanity and mentions of blood

“Luka, is that you?” Ulanbek asked in the Saradeyan language.  

The Silver Sorcerer raised his eyebrows.  The wind whistled through the trees and caressed his silver locks.  He replied to Ulanbek in the same language.  “Apologies, I am not the one you seek.”  Ulanbek was taken aback.

Murat looked confused.  “What are you two saying?  Do you know each other?”

Ulanbek turned back to Murat.  “He’s my old friend Luka, although his hair wasn’t white the last time I saw him.”

“Luka?” Murat asked.  He turned to the Silver Sorcerer.  “Is that your real name?”

“I am no one of the sort,” the Silver Sorcerer replied.  “That’s just how I appear to him.”

Murat’s eyes widened.  He remembered Khamzat’s words.

How he appears to you is a reflection of what’s in your heart.

“Oh…” Murat murmured.  He turned to Ulanbek.  “This is actually the Silver Sorcerer.  He’s a shapeshifter.  To me, he has my face, but to you, he looks like your old friend.”

Ulanbek raised an eyebrow.  “The Silver Sorcerer?"

“Correction,” the Silver Sorcerer cut in. “That’s just what Murat here calls me.  I don’t actually have a name.”

“Murat?” Ulanbek asked.

“Oh, yes, that’s my name,” Murat replied.  “I didn’t actually introduce myself yet.  And your name was U…lan…?”

“Ulanbek.”

“Interesting.  My kunak had a somewhat similar name.  His name was Beslan.”

“Kunak?”

“Oh, you probably don’t know that term.  It’s like a friend but closer.  A sworn brother.  We went through a ceremony and pledged to be loyal to each other for life.”

“Hmm, interesting.  Where is he now?”

“He died.”

Ulanbek’s eyes widened.

“The Vargoranth were chasing us down. I tripped and fell.  Beslan was trying to help me back up but was hit with an arrow.  The Vargoranth closed in on us and shot more arrows.  He was already injured but he shielded me…and died.”  Murat's eyes became watery.

Ulanbek frowned.  He didn’t know what to say or if he should say anything at all.

Murat blinked away his tears and turned to the Silver Sorcerer.  “Actually, the reason why I wandered off this morning was to wash Beslan’s dried blood off my chokha.  Where did it go?  I was holding it but it got lost in the chaos.”  He wandered back toward the bushes and kneeled down.  He pulled out the damp, wrinkled garment.  “I’ll have to wash it again.”  He looked at Ulanbek’s bloodstained red robes and trembled.  His stomach then let out a loud growl and his face turned red.  He clutched at his torso.

“Are you all right?” Ulanbek asked.

“It’s fine,” Murat replied.  “I’m just really hungry.  I haven’t eaten yet and we only had plants last night.”

“Do you not eat meat?”

“I do, but…I don’t really know how to catch animals.  It’s not something I feel comfortable doing.”

Ulanbek blinked.  A contemplative look washed over his face.  He turned and headed towards the bushes.  “I’ll go catch something.”

“Huh?  No, it’s okay, you don’t have to…”

“I’m hungry myself, so it’s fine.  Defeating all those Vargoranth bastards used up a lot of energy.”

***

The aroma of roasted rabbit filled the air as the three of them sat in front of a fire.  Murat’s chokha and Ulanbek’s red robes hung on a nearby branch to dry after being washed - or rewashed in Murat’s case - in the river.  Ulanbek’s horse stood a short distance away.

Murat watched as Ulanbek rotated a branch with the skewered game over the flame to cook it evenly.  After it was done and cooled down, he took out a small knife and cut up the meat.  He handed a piece to Murat.

“Thank you,” Murat said.  He blew on it and took a bite.  His eyes lit up.  It was tender and the juices dribbled down his chin.  He wiped his chin and savored the meat.

Ulanbek cut off another piece and handed it to the Silver Sorcerer.  The Silver Sorcerer looked surprised and accepted it.  He took a bite.

“You eat other animals?” Murat asked the Silver Sorcerer.  “I thought you were a forest spirit.”

“Animals eat other animals,” the Silver Sorcerer replied.  “It’s the way of the forest.”

Murat’s eyes widened.  “But…that tree spirit got so angry though, when it found the leaves in my satchel.”

The Silver Sorcerer shrugged.  “It considered the other plants its family.  I have fewer such attachments.”

Murat gave him a look.  “But you keep rescuing me.”

The Silver Sorcerer gave him a sideways glance and continued eating.  Murat turned back to Ulanbek and studied his features as the other man ate in silence.  Ulanbek had thick black hair, gracefully curved eyes, high cheekbones, and a tanned complexion.  His shoulders were broad and his torso tapered to his waist. Ulanbek paused and stared back at him.  Murat blushed and turned away.  Ulanbek cut off another piece of rabbit and offered it to Murat.

Oh, he probably thought I was staring because I wanted more food, Murat thought.  He took the meat and bit into it.  Not that I’m complaining.

Ulanbek offered another piece of rabbit to the Silver Sorcerer, who held up his hand to decline.

“You two finish it,” the Silver Sorcerer said.  “I don’t actually need to eat.”  Ulanbek frowned.

Murat finished his second piece of rabbit and turned to Ulanbek.  “You’re the first Saradeyan I’ve met.  Do they generally look like you?”

Ulanbek raised his eyebrow, then chuckled.  “No, I’m not a native Saradeyan.  I’m from further east.  The Saradeyans recruit from all over the empire.  If you have talent, you can rise up, no matter where you’re from.”

Murat found this fascinating, although he also feared that he would be a failure in such a system.  He switched to a different topic.  “What was your friend Luka like?”

Ulanbek gazed over at the Silver Sorcerer and then back to Murat.  “Almost the opposite of me, actually.”

“Oh?”

“But maybe that’s why we got along…”

***

Eleven years ago…

It was a long trek to Yizamir, the capital of the Saradeyan empire, and not everyone made it.  Some of the young men from Ulanbek’s tribe succumbed to illness and exhaustion and were buried by the wayside.  During the months-long journey, they were joined by groups that were recruited from the other corners of the empire.

Ulanbek counted the days since he left his family.  It was over a hundred now.  Day in and day out they trudged through the grassy fields, the monotony broken by the occasional mountain.  The envoys did not offer much food beyond stale flatbread so Ulanbek and his fellow recruits hunted for small animals to supplement their diet.  He sometimes chatted with them, but there was not much to say after a while.

After the 120th day, they came down a mountain pass and were met with the sight of the sparkling sea on the horizon.  A walled city beckoned to them from afar.  Ulanbek’s tired, apathetic eyes lit up.

When they passed through Yizamir’s gates, Ulanbek felt as if he was transported to another world.  He had grown up in a small encampment of yurt-dwellers on the sparsely populated grasslands.  Here, a single block contained more people than his entire community back home.  The streets were filled with a cacophony of vendors hawking their wares, street musicians and dancers, children running about, and adults milling around the open-air markets.  His eyes were wide open and his mouth would not close.  Someone nudged him on the shoulder and motioned for him to follow the rest of the recruits.

The recruits were assigned to live with host families for one to two years while they learned the Saradeyan ways and language.  Ulanbek and several others were sent to live with a middle-aged couple whose daughters had already married and moved out.  The couple wanted to fill the empty rooms and have some help around the house.

The first dinner was a hearty lamb stew.  Ulanbek’s eyes glistened and he tucked into it, savoring the tender spiced meat, starchy potatoes, and softened carrots.  The onions, garlic, and herbs gave the dish many layers of flavor.  It made him think of beshbarmak, a seasoned dish of boiled meat and noodles that was eaten by hand and shared communally with his fellow tribespeople on special occasions.  The bowl was finished too soon, but he didn’t want to impose on his hosts.  He grabbed a piece of flatbread from a plate at the center of the table and used it to sop up the remaining liquid.

After dinner, the recruits washed up behind the house and were then led to their rooms.  Ulanbek was assigned to a small corner room with another young man.  He was fascinated by the bed frames and mattresses since he had spent his whole life sleeping on the floor of the yurt with only a blanket to cushion him.  He sat down on the mattress and turned to face his roommate.

The other young man had a slighter build, chestnut hair, and large hazel eyes.  His face had a delicate softness to it, like a maiden.  Ulanbek did not realize he was staring for far too long until the other man turned towards him and smiled.  He uttered a few words, but Ulanbek could not understand and shook his head in confusion.

The other man smiled again and pointed to himself.  “Luka.”

Was he saying his own name?  Ulanbek decided to follow suit since they were going to be roommates.  He pointed to himself and said, “Ulanbek.”

Luka smiled and said something else that Ulanbek could not understand.  It sounded pleasant though.

The next day, Ulanbek, Luka, and the others attended a language class.  The teacher started off by introducing the Saradeyan alphabet.  Ulanbek was particularly confused because he was not even literate in his native language.  The recruits spent hours copying the swirling letters over and over again with calligraphy brushes on paper.  Ulanbek had a hard time telling one letter from another, while Luka zipped through his writing exercises like a person possessed.  Since they sat next to each other and Luka finished his assignment ahead of everyone else, he helped Ulanbek with his calligraphy.  They still could not speak a mutual language, so Luka slowly painted each letter with beautiful brush strokes on his own paper while saying the sound.  Ulanbek watched and tried to copy.  He thought that Luka had graceful hands.

After a few months of language classes, Ulanbek was able to speak basic sentences in Saradeyan.  He knew enough to understand short commands and make simple requests, but often got lost when native Saradeyans spoke at length.  Luka, on the other hand, seemed to have a gift for learning languages.  He was already reading Saradeyan books, even late into the night, when he had nothing but a flickering candle to illuminate the pages.  Sometimes he tried to read them to Ulanbek in an effort to help him learn faster.  Ulanbek did not understand most of what Luka narrated, but he liked listening to his melodious voice.

What Ulanbek excelled in was physical training.  He and his fellow tribesmen had practiced archery and horseback riding since childhood.  They had sharp eyesight, a keen sense of hearing, and greater strength and endurance than many of the recruits from the other regions.  During wrestling matches held at the end of their daily drills, Ulanbek often bested his opponents.

Ulanbek noticed that Luka was nowhere to be seen during physical training.  It was probably all for the best, since he could not imagine his delicate roommate taking part in these wrestling matches, and he certainly would not want to fight him.  He wondered if Luka was being fast-tracked into the administrative pathway, given his prowess with languages.

One year after they arrived in Yizamir, Ulanbek and Luka could finally hold long, in-depth conversations. Luka said that he came from a village further west.  He was one of many children in his family, and they were quite poor.  He did well in his village school, but there were few options available beyond the few years of formal education that were offered.  The one-room school had a tiny bookshelf and Luka had already read through those books multiple times.  He seemed resigned to living out his life as a subsistence farmer, helping his family eke out a living on their meager patch of land, but then the Saradeyan envoys came on their recruiting trip.  His parents practically begged them to take Luka with them, since his talents would be wasted if he remained.  Similar to Ulanbek, he was eighteen when he left his village.

The sands of time flowed onward and the seasons went through their cycle.  Ulanbek and Luka were now in their twentieth year and nearing the end of the cultural immersion period.  As expected, Luka was assigned to the palace to undergo administrative training, while Ulanbek and the other recruits that lived in the middle-aged couple’s home were slated for military service.  Their hosts prepared a lavish dinner to celebrate their last day together as a household.  Tomorrow, they would all go their separate ways.