Slade felt her heart pounding against her chest. The silence was a familiar old friend. She had been lured to this place like many others, dwelt on the outskirts of its muteness, became familiar with the way it seemed to inherit a quiet sentience. She felt it watching her, testing her. It listened. Or perhaps this personification was the effect of the muted air that lingered above the marsh. In the absence of sound, many were quick to assign sentience where there was none. No, her intuition told her there was an intelligence present in these motionless pools. And it recognized her as the child who survived.
“I know you,” it seemed to say.
It was a strange thought with a dangerous allure. Yet this place held her in a dark attraction, she wanted to know what happened to that little girl, she wanted to know the presence behind the silence. It wasn’t the first time she wondered if this attraction meant there was something profoundly wrong with her. Nevertheless, she felt like she knew these waters. They were her birthplace. She knew they had spoken too much when they saved Tuls. The marsh was watching, it knew exactly where they were, and it would try to claim them.
Would it claim me this time? she wondered.
When the expedition came upon a fork, they took the narrower path. Vincent let out an audible sigh of frustration but said nothing. Clearly, he thought The La'ark should have taken the bigger path.
No, Slade thought, The La'ark was right.
The Stillwater was trying to trick them. Slade saw patches of mangled grass, the telltale sign of hidden pools. No doubt The La'ark saw the same thing and decided against taking it. But Slade knew there were other dangers here. She hoped it would take a while for The Stillwater to realize they had not fallen into its trap. Meanwhile, Vincent became more agitated by the moment, which was a bad sign. Navigation of The Stillwater required patience and silence. Yet he continued to grumble under his breath. Fortunately, Menik turned around to glare him into silence.
Lepin, Slade thought, he reminds me of you. Why?
A memory flashed. She saw dilated eyes forming pits in her brother’s mournful gaze. Blood mixed with his tears as he cuffed his ears with his palms. He kept screaming. A glass bottle shattered against pavement nearby as one of the streetcrawlers told her to shut him up. She covered him in her wings, rocking back and forth. “Somebody help...” she had whimpered, “somebody help us...”
The Bane was a curse, a stain shared among all thinking creatures. Anybody could get it, zerok or groundwalker alike. Even the mythical yanai were said to be susceptible. But nobody survived it. Nobody except for this being that dwelt among them. When she saw the signs of the Bane in Vincent, she watched...waited for the next stage. It never came. It never progressed. She was in denial. And then the Triasat cured him. Though she did not show it, her world had been turned upside down. She was not acquainted with confusion, and yet his immunity confounded her. It was impossible.
Select kiolai had been alerted about Ayrlon’s tear, told to keep watch for anything unusual. Slade found Vincent. He defied nature. And so, she had to rush him to Meldohv. But it was more than that. The Bane was like a beast in the woods, and Falius was the forest it used as its hunting grounds. It claimed who it wanted when it wanted. There was nothing that could be done. And yet...Vincent defied this. He’d beaten her brother’s killer.
Slade was not emotional. She was often logical, calculating, and calm. And yet...seeing him defy the Bane had awoken old pains, agonies she didn’t know still existed. It took the ground out from under her feet. It made her irrational and impulsive. She felt like she had to protect him, as if doing so would be to protect Lepin. It was an irrational thought, yet one that persisted, one that nagged at her. She pushed it to the side.
Tuls muttered in silence, forming words of prayer without speaking. Sweat and tears rolled down his cheeks and air hissed between his teeth. It would have been kinder to sedate him. But those who fall asleep in the Stillwater's silence often start screaming from nightmares. Nobody knew why, but every vocalization in the silence increased the likelihood of death. So nobody was allowed to sleep.
There was another splash in the distance. A shared ripple traveled between the pools. The expedition stopped before it reached them and waited for it to pass. Then they continued with caution along the narrow strip of land. Another ripple appeared on the horizon, traveling from the opposite direction. Akhil saw it and stopped them again, allowing the wave to pass before continuing. It was no use, it knew where they were.
The trail widened until it emptied them out on a giant island-like intersection of branching paths. As The La'ark consulted Madeen above, Slade and Menik made an attempt to step to the side so the rest of the expedition could file in. However, Slade’s ear twitched and she launched forward as the ground gave way. A pool was forming right beneath them. Vincent was almost thrown off when Menik launched his landrider. After landing, he whipped around and clasped a hand over Vincent’s snout before he could swear.
Vincent struggled for a moment but was quick to collect himself. Meanwhile, the ground continued to collapse as the pool swelled. Its edges crumbled and the water spread. The body grew until it became a river twice a stone's throw across, connecting the two adjacent ponds to each other. Menik, Vincent, and Slade were cut off from the rest of the expedition.
“We will find a way around.” Menik signed. Akhil nodded and told the others. Up ahead, Madeen flew, projecting directions.
The three of them backtracked until they reached the fork, then they took the wider path The La’ark had passed earlier. Slade was right about the hidden pools. Navigation was tricky, but Holan knew where they lay before she reached them. Though landriders lacked eyes, the appendages that flanked their mouths could read plenty of information about the environment. The trail took them further and further away from the expedition, yet they had no alternative.
They stopped when they detected another ripple and waited for it to pass. A change began to occur in the marsh. Fog rose from the pools. In all the previous encounters Slade had with The Stillwater, this had never happened. There was never fog in the silence of the marsh. In fact, such clarity is what allowed navigation. But now, it threatened to coat the ground and obscure their path.
The turf was still visible, but wisps of gray mist began to swirl over it, dancing between the blades of grass. If there were a slight breeze, it would be blown away. Instead, it hovered silently, only fleeing from Holan's tread. A splash nearby brought her to a halt. That pool had not been there before.
The mist became so thick, that the only indication they were still on land came from the shrubs that poked from the ground. Other than that, their landriders may as well be walking on the sky. Slade had to stop and fan the fog with her wings in order to see the ground. Several small bottomless puddles stared up at her like eyes. She and Menik fanned more of the fog away until they revealed a path they could travel. Occasionally, she thought she heard the escort in the distance, their voices muffled.
Idiots! Slade thought, you have to stay silent! You have to–
Menik and Vincent suddenly plunged into the fog, their shouts cut off prematurely by a large splash.
No...
Slade whipped out Calimere's Light and flashed it to life, using bursts of heat to clear away the mist. A bubbling pond lay where Menik's landrider had been a moment before, freshly broken ground at its edges. She paced around it as the water boiled, slowed to a simmer, then came to a stop. They were gone. The aquatic pit, infinitely deep, swallowed them.
Before she could figure out what to do, something grabbed onto her shoulders. She immediately swung her blade around. Nothing was there, just air. Nevertheless, she felt its grip, which grew tighter by the moment. She clasped her hands to her shoulder, expecting to find talons, but she found nothing.
An echo? she thought, why would there be echoes here?
For the first time in a long time, she experienced terror. The pain grew so great that she began to cry out expletives and clawed at the unseen attacker. All around her, she could hear the marsh erupting in excitement, pools that hid beneath fog, boiling and splashing their contents onto their shores. Holan brayed and stamped at the ground. Slade had to ignore the pain, she had to find Vincent and Menik. No...they were gone. No, she had to find them...she leapt off her mount and chased away the fog on foot. Streaks of blood poured down her shirt from the growing wounds in her shoulders.
She thrashed her blade around in the air, hoping to strike some tangible entity, but all she cut was the air itself. Holan cried for her but was trapped by a circle of puddles which seemingly appeared from nowhere. Slade dropped her blade to the ground and clutched the wound where the entity held her, its grip tearing through muscle.
“Stop!” she snarled, clutching her shoulders, “you know me!”
The ground gave way beneath her knees, and she instinctively clutched at solid soil. Her legs sank into water, followed by her hips. She clutched a root and tried to pull herself up, but the pool encased her as thoroughly as any shryken. It pointed her feet down, down toward unfathomable depths.
“Holan!!” she cried, unable to keep herself from panicking.
Every movement pulled her further into the pool. Her beast paced back and forth, desperately looking for a way to get to her owner. The hands that clutched her shoulders felt like invisible jaws clamping down. The tips of her wings sank below the surface, pinned by the undeniable pull of the marsh. The water rose to her chest and now the movements of her own breathing pushed her past the surface. The water closed around her face and immediately stopped her breath. Not even the air of her lungs was allowed to escape.
Slade saw her hands sticking beyond the surface, holding onto the last line of safety. The ground trembled and dirt flew into the pool, sinking quickly past her. Holan's screaming visage appeared through the glassy surface. She clamped her mouth onto the wrists of her owner and tried to pull Slade free. Pain shot like shards of shattered glass as Holan's strength broke her owner's wrists and stripped the flesh from the back of her palms. Slade's grip slipped and let go of her last lifeline.
The Stillwater pulled her downward, away from the surface, away from her screaming mount. The surface quickly became a small circle of light, disappearing in the distance as she fell toward nothingness with a bubble of stale air trapped in her mouth. She could feel a wall approaching, a circular blackness which opened itself like a maw to receive her. And she could do nothing to stop it, nothing to save herself from being devoured.
This blackness, this featureless shape toward which she was hurtling was the essence of The Stillwater. How did she know this? It did not matter, she was about to die. She closed her eyes, she didn’t wish to see the darkness when it came upon her. Yet she could feel it approaching, faster now, she passed through it and–
“Pssst! What's wrong with you?!” somebody hissed.
She opened her eyes and found herself on Holan's back. The fog of The Stillwater was gone. She turned and found both Vincent and Menik staring at her, tired but unharmed.
“Where...did you...” she began but stopped herself.
They were in the exact spot that they had been just before the fog appeared. Vincent and Menik were apparently not aware anything had transpired. How was that possible? Slade looked around to see if she could detect any fog rising, but the pools remained clear as crystal.
“Are you well?” Menik signed.
“Something...happened,” Slade answered, “how long have you been there?”
Menik looked confused.
“Forget it. We should go.”
Slade guided Holan along the path. They reached the spot where the fog began to rise. But there were no signs of it now. She recognized certain shrubs she had passed. They eventually came upon the root that she had clutched to as she was being pulled into the water. There were no pools nearby, yet she veered clear of it.
The ponds became scarcer, and, in their place, bowl-shaped divots pockmarked the ground. It was as if The Stillwater were suddenly retreating from her, opening itself up to their passage. She played through her mind every detail of the vision, noting the texture, smells, sights, everything she could think of. It had been more than a vision, it had to have happened. Yet how was that possible? This information would have to be relayed to The La'ark when they camped for the night. But for now, Slade kept her eyes open for any more traps. They encountered none. In fact, the ground even began to feel dry. Eventually, they reached the end of The Stillwater, marked by a flowing river in the distance. Never before had she been so relieved to see movement in water. The expedition waited for them further down the river.
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
***
After leaving The Stillwater, the expedition followed the river upstream until they reached a waterfall. It tumbled over a small cliff that bisected the land and fed a shallow plunge pool. Vincent asked Menik for help removing the armor. It fell to the ground with a “clunk”, then he walked right over to the riverbank, knelt on the shore, and splashed his face,
“Keep your clothes dry,” Menik said as he joined him. He reached forward with his wings, scooped up a huge amount of water and dumped it on his snout.
“Wasn't planning on getting them wet, but why?” Vincent asked.
“Tomorrow, we will reach Crefield. We will need as much warmth as we can get.”
“Makes sense.” That's right, Crefield was frozen.
To his left and right, soldiers were dropping their armor, stripping down to their bare chests and splashing themselves. Vincent hesitated, then he removed his shirt, damp from sweat, and laid it on a nearby rock to dry out. He plunged his head beneath the surface, allowing the water to shock his system. The waterfall, though muted, echoed in his ears as he held his head there. When he pulled it out, cool tendrils ran down his back and chest. Menik was right next to him, filling the canteen.
“Here,” he said, “drink.”
Vincent took the canteen, raised it to his mouth and quivered as he quenched his thirst. He nearly emptied the whole thing.
“Thanks,” he said, passing it back.
“Naikira’s wing, you are bones,” Menik said as he refilled it a second time. “You need more meat to fill out your body. Your keel is jutting out like a knife.”
Vincent, saying nothing, raised his hand to his chest and palmed the ridge in the middle of it.
“You need to start hugging grass.”
“Hugging grass?” Vincent repeated.
Menik put down his canteen and got on his knees. He crossed his arms over his chest and laid down. Then, using only the peaks on his wings, he pushed himself up off the ground.
“This is ‘hugging the grass’,” he said, “lift yourself, lower yourself, repeat.”
Pushups with wings, Vincent thought.
Mkari joined them, followed by Madrian, Jeris and Tuls. The latter was in an incredible amount of agony and had to be aided by the other two as he walked. A blue-stained bandage covered the stump at the end of his tail. When they reached the edge of the lagoon, Tuls sat down and cradled the wounded appendage in his hand. They brought water to him and poured it on the bandage.
“The wind bothers me.” Mkari said as he massaged his fleshy whiskers, looking up at the sky.
Wind? Yes...now that Mkari mentioned it, there was a strong breeze blowing at their backs.
“Think one of those storms is on its way?” Vincent asked.
Mkari shrugged, “the zerok say the storms have ceased for the time being.”
Vincent wasn't sure what to think upon hearing that. He didn’t know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. He found a soft patch of grass and laid on his back. He closed his eyes and let the waterfall drown his thoughts. Waves of mist washed over him, buffeting away the heat. His ears twitched a few times when he heard his name brought up in conversation, but the words were drowned out by the never-ending rush of the torrent. Footsteps approached and a shadow loomed over him.
“Vincent Cordell,” Akhil said, “The La’ark wishes to speak with you. Put your shirt back on and follow me.”
What now? Vincent thought.
Groaning, he got up, put his shirt on and followed the shandan to The La’ark’s tent. Vincent stepped on through. Oris was already there, wearing a dour look on his face. The La'ark considered Vincent for a moment, wing to her lips in contemplation.
“Oris, go outside and get rid of any guards,” she commanded. Oris stepped outside and told the guards to do their rounds.
“You wanted to talk?” Vincent asked.
“Indeed. Take a seat,” she said.
“I'd rather stand–”
“–She did not ask,” Akhil rasped as he pulled up a crate, “you will sit.”
The shandan’s tone took Vincent by surprise. What was going on? When he sat down, The La'ark took a seat across the table from him, her arms folded.
“Are you well?” she asked, “The Stillwater takes its toll on anybody who enters it.”
“I’m...fine.” Vincent said.
“Good...good,” she nodded, “tomorrow, we will pass the point of no return. We don’t know what we will find in Crefield, only that it will be dangerous. You have demonstrated your value. If it hadn’t been for you, that storm would have struck Heldair.”
She waited for Vincent to say something, but he didn’t know what to say.
“But I can’t help but wonder if there is something amiss.”
“What do you mean?” Vincent asked.
“The reason I summoned you,” she continued, “is because I want all facades to be dropped.”
“Facades?” Vincent repeated.
“Vincent Cordell, you’ve been lying to us from the moment we departed.” The La’ark did not raise her voice, yet there were daggers in her words.
Vincent stared at her for a moment. “W-what?”
“You are hiding something from us,” Akhil rasped, “we’ve tolerated your mendacity long enough. All deception ends now.”
“What? What are you talking about?” Vincent tried to keep the panic out of his voice. He failed. “What would I be lying about?”
“The storms,” The La’ark said, “there’s something you’re not telling us about them. This ‘spiel’ about visions? Nobody believes that, not even Thal’rin did. You are an awful liar.”
Vincent’s thoughts were racing. How did they know? How did they find out? The chill in his gut became as cold as ice. He felt sweat forming on the back of his neck. A thousand conspiracies gathered at the edge of his mind. They were onto him. How? He hid it well, he'd delivered a stunning performance. Thal’rin knew? He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. He couldn’t speak.
“There it is...” The La’ark said, “the eyes of a deceiver.”
“I didn’t lie about anything–”
“–Stop!” she barked, “we already demonstrated that we have lore we can use to detect falsehood. You wore the thumahl, you experienced this for yourself. But the bracers aren’t the only means of truth-seeking. There will be no more secrets between us. Whatever you are hiding, I have tolerated your act until now. You will spill it.”
Vincent looked to Oris for help, but the expression in his eyes made him turn away. He had to calm down. He could tell that whatever fabrication he spun up, they would see right through it. But he didn’t want to admit the truth. He couldn’t think.
“It has nothing to do with you,” he said.
“Nothing to do with us?” The La’ark scoffed, “I lost twenty competent soldiers. Twenty...from one storm.”
Pain stabbed Vincent’s chest. The image of his helmet, stained in Clyme’s blood, flashed in his mind. He looked down at the table, at the map sprawled across it, followed the topography inked on its canvas. His jaws clenched and his breath rushed through his nostrils. Calm down...they aren’t real...
“Yeah,” he admitted, “yeah...I lied.”
Shame settled in his gut. He got those soldiers killed. It was his fault. No. He had to push back. Push back against what? Having integrity? He didn’t remember who he was. He had to lie because he was defenseless. He couldn’t let these people, these hallucinations know how vulnerable of a state he was in. Hallucinations? Did the phantoms ever have children like Menik does? Did they have their own history? Could he smell them? Touch them? Dysphoria, nerve damage, neurological problems...they’re working together to emulate this world.
“Well? We’re waiting,” The La’ark said.
“It has nothing to do with you,” Vincent repeated.
“That’s for me to decide. You will speak now.”
“No. I won't,” Vincent had to fight. He had to tap into that immense well of anger within to put up his defenses. But he couldn't find it. “You aren't real…”
The La'ark considered his words for a moment, then she looked up at Akhil and Oris.
“We aren’t real, huh? Hold him.” she commanded. Vincent felt two sets of arms hold him down.
“What are you doing?!” He thrashed in the twins' grip. “Get the hell off me!”
The La'ark walked around the table and stood over him. Then she knelt until she was at his eye level.
“You are an unknown,” she said, “I don’t like unknowns. There have been too many of them on this mission. I do not know what we will encounter tomorrow and the zerok refuse to get any closer, so we will not have their sight. One thing I do know is that the deceit must stop. I do not know what you are. But whatever you are hiding, I get to decide whether or not it is pertinent. Not you. I did not wish to hurt you...but if this is what I need to do to get my message across, then so be it.”
She grabbed one of his ears and twisted it. Akhil cupped his snout shut just as he cried out.
“Listen to me Cordell,” she growled, “you believe our world to be a dream, yes? Yet if that were the case, this twisting of lobes would be meaningless. It would not hurt. So why are you squirming?”
Vincent thrashed around, but the twins’ arms were like iron. They wouldn’t let him go.
“But allow me to entertain this sentiment of yours, this delusion that we are all manufacturings of your imagination. The fact that you are struggling when I do this means that your 'dreams' can still hurt you. They can cause you unimaginable agony, regardless of whether or not you deny their existence.”
Vincent's vision blurred as he tried to pull away and water beaded up at the edge of his eyes. But the twins grabbed hold of his horns and kept his head still.
“Does this feel unpleasant Cordell?!” The La’ark hissed. She dug her claws into his lobes. He screamed into Akhil's hand and tried to kick, but Oris and Akhil caught his legs and held them firmly to the ground with their own.
“I am just a woman,” The La’ark continued, “if I can cause this much suffering with only two claws, imagine what will happen when those things get a hold of you. If this is a dream, you won't experience the mercy of death when they tear their claws across your torso and spill your guts. You will remain alive and feel everything.”
To punctuate that last statement, she swung a fist right into his stomach. The twins let him go and he fell to the ground, curling and swearing. She was at his side whispering in his ear.
“Imagine that pain...multiplied by twenty... no, a hundred-fold,” she said, “do you think you will relish that? Will you relish thrashing on the ground trying to vomit up your own intestines?”
Vincent cradled his gut and all he could think about was the Stalker. Glimpses of his transformation flashed in front of his eyes, a thousand thrashing appendages writhing in the darkness. For a brief moment, the pain connected him to the moment of his rebirth.
“The La'ark asked you a question,” Akhil said.
“N-no...”
“You have a vested interest in stopping these things,” The La’ark said, “even if it's only to avoid a fate worse than death. Whatever truths you hide, I decide whether or not they are important. This is our world. You are but a clueless visitor. You do not get to say whether or not the knowledge you hold is relevant. If you want to help us protect you, speak.”
The pain in his gut cut through all of his defenses. The La'ark did a damn good job painting a picture of hell. Damn them!
“It took...” he wheezed, “it took my memories...”
“Speak louder,” she demanded.
“It took my memories!” Vincent rasped. It was a struggle to talk through the gagging. “The thing that brought me into your world, it took them.”
“Your 'memories'?” The La'ark repeated in disbelief, “what do you mean 'memories'?”
“I have amnesia. Huge chunks of my past are missing. That’s why I needed to come on this mission...”
“What does that have to do with the storms?” Akhil demanded.
“Every time I encountered one, a memory returned to me. That’s–” Vincent nearly retched on the ground. “–That’s my big secret. That’s what I was hiding.”
“The storms...you believe they have your memories?” The La’ark sounded like she was trying to piece together and make sense of what she just heard.
“I swear to God, that's the only reason I came!” Vincent groaned.
“That is it, then? You chanced your life to...pursue 'memories'?” Her voice became low and dangerous. “Explain.”
Vincent didn’t know if he could. Did she want to hear his entire life’s story?
“You...you don't know people like me,” he said, “you wouldn’t understand. You don’t know what the Bane does. It brainwashes you. It makes you think you’re something you’re not. You haven’t seen what it does to me or my family. I need to remember who I am so I don't get lost in this Saedharu bullshit. When I wake up, I want to return to my normal life.”
The La'ark considered him for a few moments, her eyes burning with barely contained outrage.
“Why the lies?” she demanded, “why this pretense about 'visions'?”
Vincent didn’t want to answer. The truth felt pathetic and spiteful. Everything he did left rubble in his wake.
“Because that's what you people want,” he said, “you all wouldn’t leave me alone. I asked you...I told you to let me be, but you wouldn’t do it. You wanted a chosen one...so I fed you some chosen one bullshit.”
“A ‘chosen one’?” the La’ark repeated, “who wanted a ‘chosen one’?”
“Your entire world,” Vincent said, “it's trying to replace my identity with the Saedharu. It’s making a fucking mockery out of me. But the storms, they helped me fight back.”
Confusion, disbelief, and disgust danced on The La’ark’s lacertine snout.
“An entity that can manipulate memories,” Oris said, “fascinating. Unsettling. The tuhli are going to throw a fit over this revelation.”
“Indeed,” Akhil rasped.
The La'ark turned around, leaned over the table and sighed, deep in thought.
“You do realize...” Oris said, “this means Crefield is most certainly a trap?”
“Of course, it's a trap!” she said, “we knew that.” Then she turned around to glare at Vincent. “You are a raving fool, Cordell. You are the biggest fool I have ever met in my entire life. Even with your lapses in memory, you should see that the entity behind the storms wants you. It is luring you to it and you allowed yourself to follow the bait.”
I know, he thought. He didn’t know what he was doing. He just wanted his identity back and he wanted answers.
“Your memories...” The La’ark repeated, “that's the only reason you came...the only reason for your 'bravery'. I cannot fathom...such idiocy.”
You could never hope to understand, Vincent thought. But now he wasn’t so sure he even understood his own motives.
“I’m sorry,” he said. His words were numb and flat. “I didn’t want anybody to get hurt. I didn’t mean for your men–”
“–You would do best to stop speaking,” Akhil said.
Vincent went silent.
“This changes nothing,” The La’ark said, “we knew you were lying before this expedition ever left Meldohv. I just never expected your deception to hide such an asinine truth.”
“What do you want us to do with him?” Akhil asked.
“What to do with him? He comes with us.”
“Is that wise? If he was manipulated into pursuing the storms, it can’t be for noble reasons.”
“And yet he’s too important to simply leave behind,” The La’ark said, “he comes with us.”
Vincent simply sat and stared at the map. His thoughts were scattered. He wanted to melt away and soak into the ground. He didn’t ask for any of this. He was just trying to survive in a fucked up world when he was taken here. Where was his rage? Where was the anger that allowed him to fight back and speak up? Instead, all he could think about was the bloodied helmet and the screaming soldiers.
The La’ark paced back and forth as they discussed the implications of Vincent’s revelation. There wasn’t much to be discussed. Nobody had a clue why something would manipulate him into pursuing the storms. She didn’t like it though, none of them did.
“We’re done with you for tonight,” she said, “you may leave. Get out of my sight.”
Vincent didn’t say anything as he got up. When he stepped outside, there were tremors in his steps. He stood at the edge of the plunge pool feeding the river. He wanted to step into its waterfall and let it wash away his stains.