The boy woke up in a dingy room.
No.
Aleem.
His name was Aleem. He groaned, bringing a hand to his temple. There was a crummy mattress beneath him, lumpier than poorly made oatmeal. It was incredibly low, almost indistinguishable from the floor, in fact. He propped himself unto his elbows and looked about.
Aleem doubted he could stand to his full height in this room. There were three walls and a gate of thick metal bars. The gate stood ajar.
So not a cell then?
A candle burned slowly on a small metal pan, but it was not the only source of light. Certain parts of Aleem’s skin were glowing softly. His upper chest, shoulders. He cupped his palms over his eyes and confirmed that his face was not exempted. Even now he could feel it tense and tingle, almost as though there might be gooseflesh on it. And when he crossed his eyes, it looked like his nose was aglow.
He had no idea how long he’d been out for. But it must have been quite a while. Someone had given him a bath, cleaned him up. There was a distinct scent of lime on his skin and in his hair. The pair of pants he currently had on didn’t look filthy at all. They’d given him a pale brown shirt; it might have been white for all he knew, but the lighting here was too poor to tell. He also had on an incredibly snug pair of dark leather boots, a different pair than the one he’d been wearing earlier. The brass band of the suppression device hung heavily around his ankle. They hadn’t taken it off yet.
He pulled and tugged at the thing. While fairly wider than his ankle, there just wasn’t enough give to take it off. Not with the shoe on at least.
He was stalling, he realised. The effects of wun-oil had not dissipated entirely. And he was enveloped with an unshakeable sense of need. A need to move. To do. That was what that substance had been.
Wun-oil.
In ‘Tales of Woe’ the substance was a powerful narcotic boasting a range of ritual effects. None of which, as far as Aleem knew, included causing the amount of pain he’d endured. This world was tossing one nasty surprise after another at him.
He needed to find his footing. Far more promptly than ‘soon’, preferably.
Aleem, part shiny, part groggy, pulled himself into a lotus position, the boots making it quite awkward.
He’d had this senior lecturer in college who always said that there only ever were three things. That every problem could essentially be boiled down to three clear remits. And right now, Aleem’s mind worked hard to fit his present predicament into this model, despite how unsparingly he’d criticised it in the past. It was a lifeline and this wasn’t the time to be finicky.
His left hand spasmed. Move, do, it seemed to have said. He sighed. He could walk and think, couldn’t he? Pacing in thought had always been his thing back on Earth.
Unsurprisingly, Aleem bumped his head against the low ceiling above him. The impact was dulled by his dreadlocks. He retrieved the candle pan and exited the room, stooping.
The hallway was long and dark and silent. Thankfully, the ceiling here was high, though not to the extent that he could reach out on his tiptoes and touch it. The walls and floor were made of smooth, firm rock that absorbed his light source, reflecting very little. He walked along the hallway and found rooms much like his. All with the same setup. Bedroll and metal gates. If these weren’t prison cells, then what were they? He shook his head.
Right. Three things. He paced along the hallway, letting his thoughts consume him.
Firstly, Tanton. He’d sincerely hoped the man wouldn’t be a problem. But he couldn’t simply ignore what had just happened. There was unsurprisingly little information about Tanton in ‘Tales of Woe’. He’d been a mostly inconsequential non-player character. But that wasn’t quite true any longer, was it? Aleem would do well to start treating the game as a sort of outdated ’handbook’, at best, rather than an unquestionable authority on the world of Orig.
Aleem combed his memory, replaying their conversation in the carriage. Much of the second half was blurred by the apprehensive haze that had come over him, but he still remembered how intimate Tanton’s behaviour had been. It felt… personal. He even recalled seeing relief on the man’s face at one time. Tanton had clearly exercised a great measure of menacing control over Gwa.yao.rai’s life, and whatever the nature of their relationship, Aleem was now caught up in it. He needed to get more information. But more importantly, he needed to stay out of Tanton’s way.
Aleem believed that filling his head now with thoughts of vindictiveness and vengeance would merely fast-track his second death. He did not want to die again. And he presently stood no chance of actively working against Tanton. Of that he was sure. But he could try to protect himself, put safety measures in place. Grow stronger.
He did wonder, though, if Gwa.yao.rai had … ‘done’ something to warrant—
No. He shook his head.
No child deserved that sort of treatment. Still, Tanton’s behaviour had come across as a reaction to something. Or maybe the man was just a downright sociopath. He really hadn’t seemed that way in the game… but again, outdated handbook. In the meanwhile, Aleem would just have to continue making alterations to what he already knew. He sighed.
“I need more information,” he muttered out loud. And there was only one way to get it. Interact with people, be more proactive. Which brought him to the second thing.
Aleem had struggled to productively utilise any of the things Bojra and Thebas had shared with him earlier on. He’d been addled at the time, overwhelmed. The second bit still held true for him, actually, but now was as good a time as any.
Aleem knew of two player characters that had been present at what came to be known as the Creckowan Disaster; the beginning of the fall of the Ontacreesian Empire. The first was the Vriorian woman, Sheilu Fir-lilla, who would have been a budding arcane swordstress at the time. Aleem had reason to believe that she would be very difficult to gain as an ally. In the game she’d been one of few player characters with a life-altering vendetta, earning her the ‘revenge ex machina’ sobriquet from the fanbase. He would still try to find her and see if they could somehow work together. Though he imagined she wouldn’t be of much aid, as she was sure to be relatively powerless at this time. Of all the player characters, Sheilu had gotten the greatest leap in power over the shortest period of time. He would have to think up ways she could be useful to his goals here. Approaching her was sure to prove a serious hurdle. And it certainly wouldn’t help that he was now a member of the lowest Vriorian caste: jrjis.
The second player character present at this clusterfuck was the beau sabreur, Wulry Cosk, who had merely been ‘passing through’. Wulry had been one of Aleem’s favourite player characters in the game, superseded only by O’Freiga … and maybe Moss. He was excited at the prospect of meeting the man but had to remind himself to manage his expectations. This was not a game, and he had come to the realisation that there were far too many variables his future-past knowledge could not account for. His foster mother would often say, ‘The world is not a ludic box, Aleem.’ He chuckled bitterly at the memory, and bit his lower lip. He’d decided not to think about any of that for now. He feared that he might not be able to keep himself from spiralling otherwise. And the irony wasn’t lost on him.
The third and final remit was something he did not want to dwell on. His fingers. In the game there’d been one notoriously six-fingered entity. A wave of nausea passed over him; the chances that—no. No. This three things model was stupid. His distracted strides almost brought him face-first into a large gate at the end of the hall. It had staunch vertical bars, and beyond it, he could see a hint of light. Aleem touched the gate and it creaked open. Also unlocked.
Huh.
He walked over the threshold, and almost as soon as he did, it felt like his ears popped. The haunting silence was gone, and a dull assortment of sounds filled his hearing. A hollow, muted rustling reminiscent of the howling wind. Chirping cricket-like sounds, oddly enough. Buzzing vibrations from the ceiling above.
With an embarrassing amount of childlike fascination, he hopped back past the gate, and the sounds disappeared instantly, his hearing confiscated — as it were — at the threshold.
He walked back towards his cell and noticed how his steps made no sounds. He’d missed that completely! However, once he stomped his leg on the ground for effect, it echoed hollowly. Speaking out loud wasn’t restricted either. The working, whatever it was, seemed to be somehow selective.
This was so awesome!
Aleem returned to the larger hallway outside the gate. It was a cavernous junction with two paths leading in opposite directions; a T-junction. The left side had glim-stones further in, like the ones he’d seen in the brevet’s tent but much, much dimmer. They lined the top of the walls, emitting an eerie, en-pallored light. There was a door at the end of the hall, and it seemed to be ajar as well.
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The path leading right, however, harboured a darkness so refractory that neither his candlelight nor the glim-stones further away persuaded it. Somehow, it called to him. He was considering taking a step into it when he heard jangling and clinking noises from the left.
A low and distant peal of laughter followed.
Aleem shrugged and moved towards the sounds. His footsteps echoed along the hall. There were trace sheets of smoke in the air and the sharp tang of cheap liquor.
He pushed the door open all the way and found three persons seated at a low table, clutching cards and drinks to themselves. It was a cosy room with glim-stones atop the walls. A sort of medieval man-cave, really. Large clay gourds lay on the table, along with cups, a few flasks and three comically large bowls of what he was pretty sure were pieces of fried meat. One occupant was a handsome woman dressed in the glistening, mirror-like armour of the Olomti, while the other was a bald man, thickly bearded and donning leather armour.
The room’s final occupant was a grizzled man in a black gambeson. His greying cropped hair and lined face gave him an air of senescence that didn’t quite match the spry look in his eyes as they crinkled. He flashed Aleem a very healthy-looking pair of teeth. “You’re awake!”
“Um … hello?”
The other two burst out laughing in that near manic way zonked people often would whenever anything at all was said.
“Hello, he says!” The female Olomti raised her flask at her own declaration.
“I see the signs of a fierce rammy all over your face, boy!” the bald man guffawed. He was also quite elderly in appearance. “Haim’s been going off about you losing your memories.”
“Leave him be, Gus,” the grey-haired old man said. “Come on, boy.” He gestured Aleem over. “Have a seat. There’s grub if you like. Put out that candle and leave the pan by the door.”
The table was quite wide, an oval wooden thing at the height of his shin. There was a compact cylindrical coal burner in the centre of the table; it was evidently the source of all the smoke in the den. Aleem moved over to the old man, who then showed him how to roll out a comfy flokati from among the thick and comfy nest of mats under the table. He let out a soft sigh of relief when he sat.
“I’m Haimol,” the man said, pushing over a gigantic bowl of fried meat to Aleem along with a pair of wooden chopsticks. “That old fucker—”
“Hey!” Gus protested good-naturedly.
“Geezer,” Haimol amended, “I meant ‘geezer’. He’s Gusmos, oldest friend of mine—”
“You’re older than me by five years, you coot!” Gusmos laughed
“The silver numpty’s, Des. My wayward daughter, who won’t let this poor old man see his grandchildren.”
“They’re focusing on their studies, da,” Des said in a droll voice.
There was some resemblance, though it’d been easy to miss. They both shared the same amber eyes, and something else he couldn’t quite place.
Des gave Aleem a kind, if impish, smile. “Hello, Two-two.”
His brows creased, eliciting laughter from her.
“Don’t tell Tanton, now,” Haimol said. “But we can’t very well be calling you ‘Two hundred and seventy-seven’ all the Mercies-blanked time.”
“Seventy-four,” Des corrected gently.
“Still too long.”
“I’ve had marriages shorter than it takes to say that name,” Gusmos confided sagely.
Haimol laughed. “You’ve had marriages shorter than it takes the gloam to ring out, you dolt!”
The meat was delicious, and Aleem was really, really hungry. He hadn’t wanted to deal with chopsticks while figuring out his extra fingers, so he wielded one of the sticks like a skewer, poking the sharp-ish into the meat and eating like a barbarian. It tasted like deer meat, and he chose to believe that was what it was. Des passed him a water-skin, which he received gratefully.
There were bronze chits on the table; stacked in some places, strewn about in others. Haimol seemed the most talkative of the bunch, and only, Aleem soon learned, because he was losing very badly in their game of cards.
“It’s a stockade,” Haimol explained to Aleem. “One of three prisons on the base. Four levels. We’re on the second.”
Aleem squinted. “So… I’m not being detained?” These people seemed nice, and that in itself was a very suspicious thing. He didn’t trust them.
Haimol laughed. “Not at all. Tanton has you bunk here whenever you lot have business around the base. You’ve been coming by since you were a squeaky laddie.”
“You’ve pretty much lived here for,” Des waved a casual hand in the air, “something close to a decade. Why it was just like yesterday when you used to sneak in here with my youngest to try and steal some of the ‘good beer’.”
Haimol laughed heartily. “I remember that! Gods.” He wound down as if catching himself; his face softened. “It must be terrible just losing all these memories, huh, lad?”
Aleem shrugged, chomping on the pleasantly charred venison. From what little he’d seen of Tanton, he suspected there was an aspect of Gwa.yao.rai’s life that these ‘nice’ people were not quite privy to. More so, he tended to listen to what they weren’t saying. Tanton had trusted this Haimol fellow enough to leave Aleem in the man’s care. Why?
“What exactly happened to you, anyway?” Gusmos asked. “It’s clear you got into quite the scrapper, but I couldn’t get any details all of yesterday. And these two are as tight-lipped as my purse.”
“What part about memory loss don’t you understand, Gus?”
Wait. Aleem frowned. “How long was I out for?”
Haimol seemed to shift uncomfortably, and even Des moved her gaze to her cards, almost as though she couldn’t look him in the eye. Haimol eventually spoke. “A day and a half.”
Aleem blinked, he sat there bewildered.
“It’s because of your—your condition, Two-two.”
“You have an illness,” Haimol explained further. “Has you slipping in and out of consciousness for days at a time, and you’re usually in quite some pain during the whole ordeal. Tanton doesn’t like to talk much about it, and you never really … knew much either.
“Tanton said you had another bad episode on your way back from the Fouts Encampment. He spent quite a bit of effort just to stabilise you. It’s why he started having you stay here.”
Bullshit.
Aleem made to say something, but his mouth didn’t so much as open. What?
“NO,” Gwa.yao.rai’s voice said into Aleem’s mind.
Horror gripped Aleem by the shoulders and shook him. He knew what this was.
A Geas.
Geasa were powerful magical compulsions; they constituted a complex school of magic that could loosely be described as injunctions, coercing its bearer to do or not to do a specific act. The weakest Geasa could be easily violated with consequences soon to follow, but the more powerful ones actively preempted their bearer from infringement. There were even legends of Geasa that could not be broken at all.
This particular one, though, forbade Aleem from speaking negatively about Tanton. It shouldn’t have been possible. Placing something so thorough shouldn’t have been within Tanton’s capability. Or means of procuring, even. Something else was at play here. And there was clearly more to Gwa.yao.rai’s past than first met the eye.
The other occupants of the table seemed to shift awkwardly. Going by their subdued expressions alone, this seemed to be a thorny topic for them, Haimol especially. Aleem forced down the dread bubbling in his chest. He wanted so dearly to press the issue, glean more information. But that would mostly be from a place of panic. And panic was the enemy of competence. He could bid his time, gain their trust. This was fine. The last thing he needed was them becoming less open with him. He did not understand the true nature of their relationship with Gwa.yao.rai, but he would need to be careful with these people if he wanted their help.
He stirred the conversation away from Tanton. He forced a spark of cheer into his voice. “Bojra and Thebas visited me at the tent.”
“Oh?” Des perked up, visibly grateful for the change in topic. “She’s over at Fouts, isn’t she? Haven’t seen her in a while. Oh and speaking of which, Sembi came over earlier today. She wanted to see you, but da asked her to wait till you’d woken up.” Des seemed to remember who she was talking to. “Uh … she’s Bojra’s sister.”
Aleem remembered. Bojra had mentioned having two sisters. And if he wasn’t mistaken, Sembi had been the younger one.
“If you’re feeling up to it, you should go see her tomorrow.”
“Okay,” he said, nodding. “Um they told me that I got into a fight with Narum and some other locals?”
Des lifted an eyebrow, “Did you, now? Narum’s quite the capable swordsman for his age.”
“It was just a brawl.” Or at least he thought so. There hadn’t been any weapons involved, if their wounds meant anything. Or his, really.
“You get ‘em good?” Gusmos asked, leaning over the table with wide-eyed expectancy.
Haimol whacked the other man over the back of his head. “Don’t encourage reckless behaviour, you geezer! How would he live long if he keeps picking fights, eh?”
Gusmos had the gall to roll his eyes. “Oh please. What use have the young if we can’t live vicariously through them? I’m telling you, look at the shadow of a smile on the boy’s face. He got ‘em good, am telling ya.”
Des shook her head at the man’s antics and began gathering the coins on her side of the table. “One more round, da?”
Haimol scoffed. “You’ve already taken all my money tonight. Look how much I spend just to fund your gambling addiction.”
Des made a choking sound and Gus burst out into laughter.
The game was mostly ruined after that, but Aleem was fine seating there and listening to them talk and rant and tell stories. For the first time since he’d woken up under Orig’s blue sun, he felt … not ‘safe’ but shielded. As though whatever shit storm this world had cooked up for him was being belayed in the meanwhile—and only long enough for him to catch his breath.
A lemony breath of transcendental calm.
Hmm. There was definitely some kind of opiate laced in that coal burner, Aleem decided. It wasn’t such a bad thing.