Lorix’s Eye glimmered below as Vincent gazed upon it. It was a spring-fed lake with an ovoid, oblong shape. A yellowish-green shoreline of pristine water gradually yielded to a corona of dark greens, which abruptly dropped off into a blue cave forming a “pupil” of darkness.
At the lake’s opposite edge, a stream wept into the forest. Vincent stared into the black depths. They seemed to be impossibly deep, an endless abyss from which nobody could ever return. Schools of fish could be seen passing over its entrance but none of them dared venture any deeper. An irrational fear pulled at his gut.
Vincent returned the lake's unrelenting glare and continued along the path. It slowly sloped down the cliff face, the “brow” of Lorix’s Eye, turning several times until it deposited him on the lake's shore. The water splashed onto the beach with indolence, depositing leaves and sticks that had been caught in its currents. The sun's corona scattered along the wind-broken surface, hiding its azure visage and scattering auroras onto the stone face.
As he neared the water, his mind began to fill with static. His brain's waves were receiving interference from the lake itself. Signals meant to confuse and disarm were emanating from its depths.
His feet splashed into lukewarm water, traveling along the golden shoreline, but never taking him inwards. He was afraid...afraid of deep water. For his entire life, he had been a thalassophobe. Deep water terrified him, so the depths of the lake called out to him.
What was he here for again? A chorus of phantoms uttered lines of brilliant incoherence as the muffled sound of crinkling plastic washed over his ears. His feet sent ripples out to the center as though they desired communication with the lake. They traveled slowly over the depths until they lost themselves among the other waves.
“It knows you’re here.”
“Abomination.”
The wind propelled him forward with its gentle breeze, blowing strands of the green mane in front of his face. What was he here for again? His foot found a rotting log and without any thought, he carefully navigated around it. Where was he going? What was his purpose?
A group of clouds momentarily blocked the sun, but Lorix’s gaze hid underneath the cliff's reflection. In the distance he saw something on the shore. A boat made of wood was tethered to a crudely wrought mooring. The boat...of course. How else would he have been rescued? It had been placed there specifically for him to use. But why?
“Come get on me,” the boat whispered, “I promise not to tip over.”
As he approached, he could hear the wood groaning as the subtle currents of Lorix’s Eye nudged against its sides. A region of deposited minerals marked the grain near the water line. Vincent untied the tether from its mooring and carefully climbed into the boat, teetering precariously. The boards were sealed with waxy resin.
He grabbed a wooden oar which he found lying on the bottom of the boat and used it to push against the shore. It took the entire weight of his body to free the vessel from the shoreline, but eventually it broke and began to float away.
Its balance was precarious. It swayed from side to side and a few phantoms predicted Vincent would fall into the water. But he moved to stabilize the rocking. A gust of wind blew against his wings, which in turn, sent the boat into a slow spin.
Without knowing what he was doing, he laid against the bottom and stared at the sky, the walls of the boat forcing the wings over his chest and his tail forcing his hips upward. The world slowly revolved around him, the cliff orbiting his position. He thought he saw a flickering of light at the cliff's apex, but the boat obscured his view before he could get a good look.
He turned his head to one side and pressed his ear as close to the wood as his horn would allow. Water lapped against the boat, gently ebbing it back and forth like a cradle. The sun glared against his cheek and chest as though it were appalled at his transgression. Transgression? Ideas without momentum formed in his head, but they disappeared before they came into fruition. Suggestions of subtle conspiracies nodded to him before they disappeared in the haze of madness.
His finger tapped a rhythm into the wood, the impact echoing throughout its fibrous grain. Somebody began to hum a familiar melody to match his rhythm, to accompany the sway of the boat. The vibrations in his throat told him that it was from his mouth that the melody came. And yet he was also an observer to the melody.
He was a child again, listening to somebody's attempt to bring calm to his nightmares. “Hello darkness my old friend...” The words he knew, but he could not speak. His pitch was off and yet he heard the Simon and Garfunkel melody, sung to him from somebody's lips. It repeated itself over and over in his head until it seeped into the wood and escaped into the waters of Lorix’s Eye.
Sweat poured down his face and began to sting his eyes, but the melody was all that occupied his senses. Even as he sat up, it stayed with him, allowing him to take refuge in disconnection. He leaned his head backwards over the wall of the boat and stared at an upside-down shore. It was hundreds of feet away.
The melody stopped at the sight and Vincent righted himself. How could that have happened so fast? When he looked down into the water, he found himself staring right into the lake's depths. It yawned at him like the gaping maw of a monster.
Dread of falling into that bottomless pit filled his stomach with lead. Lorix's Eye had him within its gaze, he had floated right into its trap like an idiot, and he thought he saw movement hidden within the azure shadows. The abyss evaded his senses and filled his brain with static. Vincent fled once more into the boat and curled up, but he could feel his body floating over the fathomless depths.
It was hopeless, why had he come? Dave was right, how could he ever hope to get back to his real life? To do so would be suicide, he would be sucked into that pit and he would drown for an eternity. It was calling for him. He could not hear its words, but he could feel it grabbing for him as all deep water did. The rocking of the boat became its invisible claws.
Any moment now, it would be sucked downward and the world of light would be left behind, shrinking in the distance until he was surrounded by darkness. Every organ in his body would be crushed by the pressure, but he would still be alive and unable to scream.
“Intimidation.”
The word rang through his mind like a revelation. Intimidation, one of the oldest tricks in the book and one the world loved to hurl his way. Vincent's dread slowly gave way to anger. He grabbed the oar in an act of defiance and used it to prop himself up. The current had carried him over the underwater cave, as though doing so were an act of mercy. But he did not want mercy; he did not want to live in a lie. He splashed the paddle in the water in a motion that was his equivalent of “Fuck you!”
The motion sent the boat into another spin, putting the cave at his back. He corrected the action by paddling on the other side. Both the current and the wind fought his attempts by blowing him off course. His shoulders began to ache with his efforts and the wind continuously buffeted his wings, throwing him off balance.
Eventually a strong gust did tip him over and his grip on the oar slipped. Several splinters pierced his palms, forcing him to let go. When he realized what he did, he tried to reach for the oar. It collided against the boat several times before inching beyond his reach. So he leaned over the side and used his hands in a fruitless effort to regain his lost distance.
Eventually, he had no choice but to accept failure. The current carried him towards the stream until the boat scraped the bottom. Vincent climbed out and, in his fury, picked up several rocks and threw them into Lorix's Eye. He began to pace back and forth as Lorix's stream of tears washed past his feet. Desperation began to mount in his chest. He was trapped in this world against his own will, stuck in a lie. It was intolerable.
“WAKE UP!!” he screamed into the lake. “WAKE THE HELL UP!!!”
He picked up several more rocks and threw them into the water. An exotic crustacean scurried to find cover. He stomped his foot onto its shell and crushed it against the riverbed. He stomped the ground repeatedly, splashing his legs until his toes hurt. The oar weaved among the rocks until it got caught. He picked it up and began to slam it against the ground in hopes of breaking it. But it was too sturdy.
“Stop throwing a tantrum,” Dave said with an arrogant dismissiveness.
“Shut the fuck up...just shut the fuck up. SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
Vincent went on a rampage, using the oar to tear up the riverbed as if he meant to clobber unseen enemies. More crustaceans scattered to find new hiding spots, scurrying among clouds of agitated dirt. Using the oar as a spear, he stabbed at the water in an effort to crush his prey. After several minutes of venting his anger, he took a moment to catch his breath.
The current resumed its gentle flow, pulling a skin of deceptively smooth water over the displaced stones. His distorted image was reflected back at him, a creature of alien geometry. Two membranes of blue skin radiating from its back. A mane of frayed green hair draped around a snout, from which two manic eyes gleamed.
He looked away from the mockery and that's when he saw it: A gleam of reflected sunlight revealed something metallic floating on a string. Putting the oar aside, he got to his knees to get a closer look. The metal object was a familiar-looking bead with a button protruding on one side. The string grew from partially covered fabric, which he recognized to be polyester.
With a jolt of familiarity, Vincent grabbed the garment and pulled it from the riverbed. It was weighed down with water and grime, but there was no doubt about it. This was the jacket he had been wearing on the night of the crash. It must have been spewed up after him and the current carried it to the river where it got caught on the rocks.
He stumbled toward the dry shore and took a seat, his hands trembling with emotion. The blue-black polyester was mottled with green mineral deposits and the white lining on the inside was tainted by splotches of rust. A small puncture marked where the deer had impaled him. But the rest of the jacket was intact, the sleeves folded inside out. He could visualize the wings growing out of his back, forcing the unzipped jacket off his person, bending his arms back until the sleeves gave way.
After wringing as much water from the jacket as he could, he inspected the contents of its pockets. What he found was a disintegrated tissue, a wadded up candy wrapper, a closed bottle of citilapram from which the label was dangling. Remarkably, the pills remained intact despite the bottle lacking a water-tight seal. He also found a bottle of aripiprazole, again with the pills intact, and a comb.
Wonderful...he thought, I'm glad I have these around...you know, just in case I get depressed.
Vincent hung the coat on a branch and returned to the river to see if he could find more of his clothes. He overturned every rock, raked every foot of dirt with his claws. Eventually he came upon a bundle of bushes which had been trapped between two rocks. Tangled within the bushes was a torn black garment. He stumbled over to it and tried to pull it away from the branches. It was the shirt he had been wearing, or at least part of it. It was missing the top half, having been violently torn apart during the transformation.
He rolled up the shirt and looked for more pieces of snagged clothing. He did not have to look far; one of his boots had been wedged between a rock and a log. The strings had been torn right down the center, allowing the tongue to hang loosely. The leather was stained with streaks of human blood.
He made several ventures to and from the creek, hanging his clothes out to dry on nearby tree branches. What he hoped to find would have been his jeans, since they contained his wallet. He could take out his ID and show it to Xalix, try to get the creature to understand what he was.
He scrutinized the stream until he found the black hoodie that he'd worn under his jacket. It shared the same puncture mark, yet like the jacket, it remained mostly intact save for a few torn seams around the armpits. He wrung the hoodie and hung it up with the rest of his clothes.
“You realize this means you came into this world without any pants on don't you?” Dave asked.
“Yes,” Vincent gritted his teeth, hoping Dave wouldn't continue.
“This means you were–”
“Yes, I know!”
“Listen you little shit! I'm the reason you–"
“–like Dad only you're an idiot!”
“–alive! So don't you talk ba–”
“–never know when to keep your fucking mouth shut!”
The argument continued back and forth and as Vincent became angrier, Dave began to utter more vulgarities until he uttered nothing but a monologue of filth and perversion. He recounted all the past failures in Vincent's life with utter contempt and made snide insinuations about his mother, his sisters, and even his father.
The chorus murmured their agreement, poking fun at his situation. When this happened, he had no choice but to suffer the attack. He could not run, nor could he cover his ears and silence them, for their taunts were in his skull as well as coming from outside his person. He was caught in a trap of many layers, the first being the world around him. The second being his malformed body. The third, the one which enabled all of this to happen, was his own screwed up head.
Without thinking about what he was doing, he opened the bottle of aripiprazole and shoved one of the pills in his mouth. Dave continued his furious tirade against the “worthless parasite” he was attached to, but Vincent sat down and stared at the water. He was helpless against Dave's bullshit and the phantom knew it, took advantage of it.
Through all the noise, it was difficult to hear Xalix calling out to him. It wasn't until a rock skipped across the surface of the water that Vincent saw the creature and the two youths walking along the shore. Vincent waved nervously at his host, the gesture somehow coerced Dave's rant into a whisper. And then, it was the usual silence accompanied by the occasional phantom.
Micah and Theomus splashed along Lorix's Eye. He noticed how their wings were folded completely against their backs and how they used their feet to dig into the ground. When they made a turn, they used a wing to catch the wind, the drag assisted in their agility. Xalix let them go before coming over to Vincent and taking a seat on a rock adjacent to him. He could hear the creature’s bones popping as he set his satchel on the ground and stretched his back.
“Vinsch,” he said, “walk big, shleep?” Vincent assumed he meant “Are you tired after that walk?”
“Shyce.”
“Hmm...” Xalix said, taking another swill of water. “The little ones have more energy than the both of us.” Vincent felt an ear twitch and he gaped at Xalix.
“Did it just speak English?” Dave whispered.
“Don’t know,” Vincent mouthed. “Remember when I passed out? I thought I heard it speak English right before then. But I thought it was you guys playing tricks on me.”
“Found you right over there,” Xalix pointed toward the middle of the lake. “Micah saw you first. He thought you were a fish.”
Vincent could not comprehend what was happening. Not only was suddenly Xalix speaking English, his mouth was moving to shape every word.
“–pulled you into the boat and we all thought you were kissing the 'night carrier',” Every syllable was enunciated with a slight accent, reminiscent of both Jamaican and Caribbean. “Of course, you do not understand a word I am saying.” Xalix finished, completely unaware of the irony.
“Xalix...” Vincent said.
“Hmm?” he grunted.
“Don’t tell him,” a phantom warned.
“You...” Vincent pointed at his ears and at Xalix.
“What does ‘this’–” he repeated Vincent’s gesture. “–mean?”
Vincent formed a talking head with his left hand and used his right hand to point between it and his ears.
“Your hand represents me?” Xalix asked.
“–Vol.”
Xalix blinked. “You...understood that?”
“–Vol.”
“You...understand what I am saying right now?”
“–Vol, vol! Es!”
Xalix furrowed his brows and raised a hand to his chin to pinch a piece of flesh as he considered him.
“How?”
Vincent shrugged.
“Raise your right hand,” Xalix said. Vincent did so.
“Can you speak?”
“–shyce.” no.
“But you can understand me. You are a strange one,” Xalix mused, “I suppose the ‘why’ is not as important. The world is strange. If you remember our language, then surely other memories should follow I suppose.”
What the hell was going on? Why was he suddenly able to understand what the creature was saying? Did it have something to do with this lake? The phantoms whispered a few conspiracies from the waters lapping against the shore.
“What did you find?” the creature asked, his brows furrowed with confusion as his eyes focused on the Earthly garments. “I–”
He shot a concerned look toward Micah and Theomus, who climbed swiftly up a nearby tree and were now playing what could only be described as a dragon version of “chicken” on a branch that extended over the water. Using their claws to cling to the bark, they both hung on the underside of the branch and tried to push each other off. Eventually, Micah got the upper hand and dislodged his brother's claws from the bark, sending him plummeting into the water.
“–as I was saying,” Xalix continued, “they look strange.”
Theomus used his wings to swim over to the tip of the branch, which was only a few inches from the water and grabbed it. The entire limb bowed, almost sending Micah to his doom. “Do you remember...anything?”
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Even if he could speak, Vincent was not sure what to say. He did remember of course, he remembered the crash, he remembered the deer that impaled him. He remembered a dream where he floated in a place of darkness and was attacked by some entity, perhaps it was the Stalker itself. There was pain, but the details of it remained foggy. Now that he had his original clothes, maybe he could use them to explain to Xalix how he wasn't a citizen of this world.
“Why is the boat over here?” the creature asked with a hint of puzzlement in his voice. All Vincent could manage was a shrug of his shoulders. “I thought I saw you using it earlier, but my eyes were not too sure. The current is flowing strong today. Never know with this spring...unpredictable flow. But if you can understand me now, help me move it.”
Vincent pressed his hands against the ground, making sure not to pinch the wings, and pushed up. Xalix took the tether and slung it around his shoulders while he took the rear of the boat. His feet dug into the riverbed, clawing deep gouges into the mud before the boat began to slide. Xalix pulled it until it was completely out of the water. He threw the tether around a tree branch and secured it with a knot. He gave a wince as the bandage around his hand fell off. The cut was mostly healed but it still looked tender. Vincent felt a slight pang of guilt but said nothing.
“You didn't answer me before. Did you remember anything?” Xalix asked without looking up.
“Shyce.”
“Unfortunate.”
A second splash relayed the news of Theomus' fall. “I sent our messenger to seek help. When Strix returns, hopefully he will bring news. After we carried you back to our home, he sent word to Meldohv Syredel to tell them you were found unconscious and near death. It is rare to see a channeler around here and I thought with your eyes, well...it is said most channelers are accounted for. It was Strix's idea.”
“It was my hope–” He unclipped the satchel from his back and lowered it to the ground, then he sat on a nearby boulder “–that they would send someone to your aid. Though I am beginning to wonder if you are from one of the other provinces or perhaps Jalharen itself. It would have been a long Journey from Admoran's West, but...with your unusual apparel and appearance...”
Xalix unraveled his leather canvas, which now had his alien writing accompanied by diagrams. Then he folded it up and put it aside. “Well, I've never seen a Jalharen before. But your appearance does match some descriptions I've heard. The curled horns and your build. Though I have also heard they scorch their scalps so that no hair will grow. Freaks...”
Vincent found it difficult to listen to anything Xalix was saying. He thought being able to understand the creature would help, but somehow hearing a bipedal dragon speak English made him disconnect. Nevertheless, he forced himself to listen. The creature had sent a message to others and let them know of Vincent’s presence. Would more of his kind arrive to take him away? That was the last thing he needed was for more of Xalix’s ilk to show up and try to “help”.
“They are coming for you.” A phantom whispered from one of the rocks.
He grabbed his torn shirt like a memento, a rebuttal against this place. These things were just creatures of fiction. In his hands he held a link to Earth, he held a part of himself. Yet, holding the bloodied garment in his clawed appendages made it look as though he had just killed a human. It was a strange feeling.
Xalix called out to the two youths, startling Vincent. “Dry your hides and come here.”
Micah was the first to exit the lake, followed by his brother. Streams of water ran off their wings like heavy rain off an umbrella. “How?” he asked.
“How what?” Xalix opened the satchel to remove the food.
“How are we going to dry?”
“Should have thought of that before you and your brother decided to go swimming.”
The way Theomus wrapped both his arms and wings around himself was just how a child would react to getting out of water and being cold. Xalix chiding them was an interaction he had seen countless times on Earth. It was surreal. The effect was not unlike the uncanny valley, where something seemed almost human, but not quite so. Hearing them speak English seemed to amplify this set of contradictions.
After performing their wordless ritual of prayer, Xalix opened the dried food and divided them into pieces. Vincent was forced to tear his portion into small pieces and shove them into the side of his mouth. The creature made a comment about his unusual method of eating while the two youths tried to dry off their damp clothes. Then he picked up the leather scroll and began to examine its contents.
“I do not know what it means...” he murmured, more to himself than to others. “hmm...” He looked up at the highest point of the cliff, then he looked back at his scroll. “I am getting old.”
“Why?” Theomus asked.
“Why? Because it happens,” Xalix said, “Cannot hold it off and stay young.”
“I mean why,” Theomus stuttered perhaps not wishing to acknowledge Xalix's mortality, “You said the sky was ill.”
“Oh...Well...” Xalix groaned as he rolled the scroll up and tucked it through the loop on his satchel, “It is ill. It is not in the right state. First, it threw a deluge at us, then it took away our wind and left a fog on Lorix’s Observatory. Suddenly the wind returns without warning. There is something foul in the air. Perhaps if our channeler here could speak, he would say he feels it too.”
Vincent wondered if Xalix was being ironic but, given the circumstances, it would not be too surprising if the weather were sentient. Their world already threw enough strange things at him to render such a thing believable. So that was Xalix's job, he was a weatherman or weather-thing of sorts. The glimmering he had seen at the top of the cliff must have been some sort of instrument that gauged the wind.
“Windmills,” one of his phantoms whispered.
“Vinsch,” Xalix said between mouthfuls, “does the name 'Meldohv' mean anything to you?”
“Shyce.”
“Lord Thal’rin? The Culluinar? The House of Siekh? Do those names mean anything?”
“Uh...shyce.”
Theomus looked between him and Xalix, “He cannot understand, Xali’ka.”
“He can. Suddenly he recovered the ability to understand us. Do not ask how.”
“How?”
“Told you not to ask,” Xalix scoffed, “I don't know. Dabbled in strange lore perhaps. Addled his brain.”
After they had finished their food, both of the youths asked if they could stay at Lorix's Eye for a while. With Xalix's permission they ran off to splash in the water, scattering a group of iridescent green ducks into the air.
“Don't get many people around here,” Xalix said to Vincent, “ever since they lost their...” He stopped momentarily. “Well, I am old. I do not have the energy in me to play their games. We live far from the nearest village, Gelndas. We passed the path to it on the way here. So there are few others their age.”
His sentences were short and restricted, as though something held the creature back. “So anything that will distract them or make them happy...As long as it doesn't get them into trouble. You are the most exciting thing to happen to us in a long time. Don't get much visitors, especially not channelers.”
The silence that followed brought with it an atmosphere of awkward tension. Vincent was terrified that Xalix was about to tell his life's story, to confide in him as elders on Earth often did, passing down their elderly wisdom in a manner that most found endearing.
“Channelers,” Dave said, “We had those in basic. You had to be real good with a radio.”
“There was no such thing, Dave.” Vincent mouthed.
“I...never appreciated how beautiful Lorix's Eye is when I was a youth,” Xalix continued, oblivious to the exchange, “I grew up in Lorix's Observatory so...I guess I just...took it as something, that would always be. I have heard all the stories about this lake, the kind you tell on a dark night: The sleeper in the pit, the Echoes of Lorix–”
The gateway to another world...Vincent thought.
“–never really appreciated the beauty.”
While Xalix continued his disconnected monologue, Vincent reached back and grabbed his waterlogged hoodie and examined it. Although it was not completely dry, the black fabric absorbed a lot of the sun's heat and he could see thin wisps of water vapor rising into the air.
“If you try to put that on, you'll look like an idiot.” Dave whispered.
As the sun crested over the apex, it began to cast a shadow along the cliff. A subtle sensation of nausea began to brew in Vincent's stomach, like the pangs of hunger.
“Do you remember what a channeler is?” Xalix asked.
“Shyce.”
“Rider's dung...” his host groaned, “you must remember something. If you can understand my words, then some part of you must be coming back.” Vincent simply shrugged.
“Hmmf,” Xalix sighed, “never encountered memory loss before. There have been a few times when I thought you were mad, wracked by the Bane.”
Buddy, Vincent thought, you have no idea how right you were.
Another stabbing pain pierced his stomach.
“Poison” a whisper from the trees suggested.
It was a stupid suggestion. Xalix ate the same food that he had eaten, so he doubted the creature had an opportunity to poison him without also poisoning himself. Xalix called the two brothers back. Micah, who was soaked and shivering, huddled his wings around him for warmth.
“Hey.” Vincent said, “Mik ah.”
The youth turned to him, still chattering. Vincent grabbed the winter jacket, which was still slightly moist, but it was dryer than it had been before. Micah cocked his head as Vincent laid the jacket across his shoulders. The wings prevented it from fully enveloping the youth’s back. Confused but fascinated with the strange garment, Micah began to play with the drawstrings
“What do you say?” Xalix asked.
“Thank you, Vinsch...” Micah said, trying fruitlessly to pull the hood over his horns. Vincent cringed as the creature tried to force them through the fabric.
“Where do the wings go?” Theomus asked. Vincent simply shrugged.
Micah had to fold them in order to bring the jacket around his body. Seeing a small dragonoid wear a winter jacket, even one with a few bloodstains, was damn cute. The image lightened the pall that hung over Vincent’s shoulders. He watched in amusement as Micah continued to explore the earthly garment. He seemed particularly curious about the teeth that lined the zipper, running a finger over each one.
“Hey,” Vincent said, gesturing for him to come over.
He reached down, locked the tab on its track, and pulled the zipper up. Micah’s eyes widened.
“Whaaat?” he said. Mind blown, he held the seam up and stared at in disbelief. “How?”
He showed it to his brother, who echoed the same question: “How?”
They spent the next few minutes zipping and unzipping the zipper, finding it to be the most fascinating thing in the world. Xalix called Micah over to see what all the fuss was about. He showed the elder how the zipper worked, moving the tab up and down like a magic trick. Xalix raised his brows.
“Where did you get this?” he asked, fascinated by the mechanism.
Vincent was about to say, but his mind went blank. Odd, the jacket was new. However, when he tried to remember the store where he got it from, it was like encountering a wall of fog. The details weren’t just hazy, they were gone. He could not remember when or where he bought it. Whatever, it didn’t matter.
Grinning, he showed Micah that the pockets had zippers too and watched as the youth played with them. Another wave of pain stabbed Vincent’s gut, souring the mood. It felt like somebody had reached inside and squeezed his stomach. Ignoring the pain, he pulled the rest of his human clothes off the tree branches.
He tied his shirt around his waist and used the hoodie to secure his wings in place of a wing strap. It was not as tight, but it was gentler. Not knowing what to do with the boot, he simply carried it in his hand. With the other, he grabbed the walking stick from the boat and began to follow Xalix and the kids back the way they came.
The pain in his stomach continued to grow, each wave more intense than the last. A cold sweat that had nothing to do with the sun’s rays gathered on his neck and forehead. As the elevation rose, the illusion of Lorix's Eye became more apparent, the underwater cave once more became a pupil. The concave geometry of the lake created a deception of the eye tracking his movement. His steps became laborious and shallow, as the pain in his stomach became more difficult to ignore. Voices trapped within the depths of Lorix's Eye began to cry out to him, the voices of children laughing without mirth.
The cliff's shadow now asserted itself in the azure waters, changing the perceived shape of the lake itself. It was slowly narrowing its gaze. It wept at Vincent’s transgression, its visage as accusatory as his most cynical of delusions. What was it accusing him of? And how could Xalix ever find beauty in such a thing? How could he not feel the danger that lurked in that darkness?
Somebody turned on a damaged radio in his head, interference screamed across his auditory nerves. It was the lake itself, it wanted him. No, lakes are dead, inanimate. It wanted him back. It was just water and minerals, a pareidolic illusion.
Contradictions rent Vincent’s mind: The lake was not inanimate, it was dormant. No, it only pretended to be dormant; it was staring right at him, reading his thoughts. It was poisoning him, killing him. It was twisting his gut, ripping apart his intestines. He could no longer take it. His knees hit the path, shooting a lance of pain up his thigh. The walking stick fell from his hand, as did the boot. He fell on all fours. There was a shout, but the interference from the lake overrode the words.
Every muscle in his chest seized against his lungs, locking him into position. Sweat bled down his face as the contents of his stomach were emptied onto the rocks. Acid burned the inside of his maw and stung his lips. The familiar odor of sickness was tainted, exacerbated by the unfamiliar odors created by the alien digestive tract.
He was not fully aware of Xalix helping him off the ground, or about how much his limbs trembled. It was as if part his awareness left him along with the contents of its stomach, where it now lingered, strewn about the rocks. Sensing that he was not completely there, Xalix must have stayed by his side and assisted him the rest of the way up the path, but Vincent couldn’t tell. His lucidity came in lapses. When he finally did return to his senses, he was seated along under a tree. Xalix was extending a hand towards his face, which caused Vincent to naturally withdraw.
“Is your mind with you now?” he asked. “Then take these and chew on them.” he held in his hand several grape-sized berries. Vincent took them and stuffed them into the side of his mouth. The taste was bitter and tart. “Don't spit them out,” Xalix said, “The taste is foul, but they will help you. Did not like my cooking very much did you?”
His head was reeling from the violent reaction. Even now, knives still prodded at his stomach as though he'd swallowed bits of glass.
“Chew them,” Xalix repeated.
Vincent forced several more berries into his mouth. Micah and Theomus were standing in the middle of the path pacing around and kicking dirt, Micah still fiddling with the zipper. They did not say anything, but he got the impression as though they were pretending that nothing bad had happened.
“Can you stand?” Xalix asked, “I know you are not well. But they will help you more quickly if you move.”
His muscles were shot from the 'aftershock', but he managed to stagger to his feet. More by direction than by voluntary movement he picked back up his boot and began to follow Xalix. He expected the pains to worsen by locomotion, but Xalix was right. The knives in his gut dissolved as the juices in the berries took effect. Every step he took made him feel better. However he remained weary, exhausted. When he was able to walk at a reasonable pace, Xalix decided to ask him some more questions.
“Did you eat anything around here?" he asked, “plants? Shrubs? There are trees around here whose fruit resemble aardenfruit, but they are toxic to eat.”
Vincent shook his head, he didn't even see any such trees. Nor would he ever be stupid enough to eat from them. He was never much of a botanist, but even he knew that it was foolish to eat from plants if he did not know whether or not they were edible. No, Lorix's Eye had done something to him, he was sure of it. But he shut down that thought, it was stupid. How could a lake attack him? But then again, how could he turn into a fucking dragon?
Applying logic to this world was a borderline fruitless effort. Yet it was only borderline fruitless because logic is also what reminded him it was just a dream. A dream probably enhanced by whatever drugs the nurses pumped into his body. That's what he had to remember.
Drugs? Vincent remembered the pills in his coat pocket. He had taken one of them before. Yet it was designed for human consumption, not for dragons. Was it possible it had been the source of his violent reaction? Triggered by his line of thought, a phantom said, “Do not feed it to dogs.”
When Vincent snorted with suppressed laughter, all three of the creatures turned to look at him. Instead of being relieved at his gaiety, Xalix seemed to tense. Vincent gestured with his hand “go on” while shaking his head in suppressed mirth. But instead of moving on, Xalix spoke in a voice so stern, it caught him off guard.
“Look at me.”
He looked at Xalix wondering why the creature was suddenly regarding him as though he saw a rabid animal. Why did he have reason to be upset at Vincent's laughter?
“Hmmm...your eyes look odd,” Xalix murmured. “But there’s nothing coming out of your nostrils.” He scratched his chin and looked into the trees as if pondering. “I do not know what you found so funny, but I was worried you had the Bane. Ever since you awoke, you have shown signs of having it. You are just...unusual. Weaver-fire...”
‘Unusual'? I’m the only ‘normal’ one here. Vincent thought.
When they reached the trail leading along the cliff edge, the view absorbed most of his thoughts. Fully illuminated by the sun's ambiance, the broken land below calmed the noise in his head with its sullen beauty. It gave him the impression that the land was trying to recover from some sort of trauma.
The wind washed against the cliff and almost caught his wings. If they had not been secure, there was no doubt in his mind that they would have splayed open like a kite. He found himself suddenly, yet irrationally confident that if he removed the hoodie and tied it around his waist; he could use the wings to ride the wind.
His hand fiddled with the knot, his fingers tucked themselves under the loop, but he did not fully untie it. His mind verged on the precipice between delusion and reason, a small part of his logic warned him against such folly.
At some point, Dave had returned to comment on the nearby flora, telling Vincent to document the plants he encountered. The reason for this suggestion was lost on him, Dave said something about survival and then he went silent. By evening, they were nearing Xalix's home when the creature spoke.
“Welcome back.” he said to nobody in particular, so Vincent assumed Xalix was being ironic, talking to himself.
“I do not see you,” Xalix continued. “Where...” He looked up at the sky. “Well, I do not see you. I have the eyesight of a wrinklebag.”
“He's gone mad.” Dave whispered.
The hell is a wrinklebag? Vincent thought.
“Strix, wait for us at home,” Xalix lowered his gaze onto the path. “No, I am fine. Yes, he is awake. No. I don't–I don't know. We went to Lorix's Eye because he wanted to go. But I do not want to talk like this. Wait for me at home. Weaverflame! I am tired dammit! And the weather is ill. What?” He stopped. Unless Xalix had truly gone mad as Dave suggested, Vincent had the impression he was wearing an invisible earpiece. He had just received a phone call which had just imparted troubling news.
“No, he’s not a Jalharen at least not that I can tell. How should I know?!” he continued, “did...no. I mean...yes...he cut my hand...think he was afraid. Stop! Whatever you have to tell me, you tell me when I am home you damn bag of feathers! I can't talk to your kind while I'm walking. Too old for that.”
“They are judging you...” the phantoms whispered.
“Strix has returned,” Xalix said after a few moments of silence, “I have never heard him so concerned. Zerok aren't known for being perturbed.”
Vincent was only partially listening to Xalix, the phantoms' suggestions were taking hold of his mind. The trees, which this morning, had cast their shade onto the path, had now withdrawn their shadows. Their branches were wrought with condemnation, reaching for him like claws, hidden within leaves.
Even the wildlife which occasionally leapt from one limb to the other seemed to look away whenever he directed his gaze towards it, feigning disinterest. He continued to loosen the knot from the hoodie nervously until a sleeve dropped, freeing his left wing. Xalix did not seem to notice or if he did, perhaps he did not think the wind was much of a danger.
When the trail to Xalix's home was within sight, Vincent noticed something in front of it that had not been there before. A massive beast awaited. When it saw them approaching, it rose on all four legs and stretched two enormous wings, spanning at least thirty feet. Crimson feathers covered the majority of its body, twitching and fluttering in the gentle wind. A tail with giant feathers fanning outward jut out behind its rump. Its legs were bare, covered in scales and ended in enormous talons. It stood tall, majestic, even. Its stout neck rose upward, supporting a head that was neither avian nor reptilian.
Two horizontal beak-like pincers formed the creature's mouth with a bite that looked as though it could easily snap a tree trunk. Its talons looked as though they were solely formed for the purpose of slaying elephants and beasts. But it was the eyes that stopped Vincent dead in his tracks. There were two of them set above the beak. But when the creature raised its neck, a plated 'flap' opened in its throat to reveal a third, very large, orange eye set where the gullet should have been. Its gaze darted between Xalix, Micah and Theomus, and Vincent. Xalix called out to it.
“Again, do not talk to me while I am walking,” he said to the creature, “I cannot crane my neck so that you may read my mouth.”
“Strix!” Micah and Theomus cried out at once and ran towards the beast, as though having a winged abomination on their doorstep was a reason for joy instead of outright terror.
Vincent wanted to scream for the little ones to get away; fearing that he was about to witness a brutal slaughter, but his voice was frozen. He could not move from the spot. The phantoms screamed at him to run, uttering all kinds of morbid divinations about his imminent demise.
“Look!” Micah said, pointing at Vincent. “He is awake!” while Theomus struggled to get a word in edgewise. The beast's eye darted from Micah, to Theomus, but it did not utter a noise. Yet despite its silence, they acted as though the beast understood or even partook in their conversation. “Look at this!” Micah tried to show Strix the zipper, but the beast only had eyes for Xalix.
“Move...” Vincent told himself. The hoodie slipped from his fingers and dropped to the ground. His feet stepped back into the grass with measured steps, the blades brushing against his heels. Xalix continued the one-sided conversation with the monstrosity, uttering words like “channeler” and “madness.” It was an opportunity to make a quick escape, but Vincent could not bring himself to run.
He tripped over his tail and fell on his wing. The profanity he uttered drew the creature's gaze immediately. It locked onto him and it stood alert, taking a step forward. Xalix turned his attention toward Vincent, a look of concern flashing over his tired snout. A shrill hum emanated from the creature's eye, drilling right into his brain. It abruptly changed into a demonic garbling, to which the phantoms screamed in protest.
Vincent could not get to his feet, but he wanted to run. He needed to escape, but his own fear denied egress.
“No...” His voice was barely above a trembling whisper. “Get away.” he pleaded, crawling backwards.
The garbling tried to form itself into words, becoming abstract phrases: locomotion to end, cease and desist, a time interval extinct, red...light. A rapid descent. Death. Confusion. The updraft from the cliff inflated the membranes between Vincent's wings. Xalix ran over, grabbed his wrist and pulled him away.
“You wing-flapper of a boy!” he growled. “Do you want to kill yourself? Another step and you would have gone over the cliff!”
Vincent did not hear him. He stepped backwards and his hand slipped from Xalix’s grip. The beast, Strix, took another step forward. With one leg it nudged the youths out of the way so that they would not get between it and its prey, which was Cordell himself.
“What is the matter with you?” Xalix shouted.
Vincent pointed at the abomination standing behind him, the one whose eye bored into his head. A steady stream of mish-mashed phrases continued to manifest themselves in his brain: confusion. Silence. Deaf. What? Inquiry.
“NO!” Vincent yelled and with a surge of adrenaline, he launched himself backward, hoping it would give him an opportunity to get to his feet and run. Instead, he felt himself falling over the edge. The beast launched itself toward him at the last minute, foiled by the rising cliff.