The sky was dark by the time Gase stood up. The hammering of his heart had long since quieted down and left him feeling drained. He wasn’t sure how long he had sat there, and scouring his mind for any more hints of his true self hadn’t turned out fruitful. It did, however, give him some time to think things over and organise the memories he now held.
Of what he now considered his real memories, all two of them, only a few things were clear. Just his name, the name of the place he had lived and with who he had lived there. Gase, Eriston and Lae and the small girl. Even now, as he thought of the girl, he felt a sense of worry tightening in his stomach. She was important. More than that. Just thinking of her as ‘the girl’ caused him to grit his teeth.
She has a name, gods damn it!
Only, he couldn’t remember what it was, even though he knew he should. The thought of having forgotten such a thing made him want to scream in frustration. If only he had a few more pieces of the puzzle.
But he didn’t. He only had those two memories. They did, however, allow him to measure the other memories that dwelt in his mind, which made clear what he already suspected. That he did not belong in this body. It belonged to a young man named Y’rid, a person he had mistaken for himself only a short while ago.
Had it truly been only a short while? It felt like it should have been much more.
There were holes in the memories he inherited, and after his breakdown, he hadn’t remembered anything else. There had been enough to piece together a rough outline, though.
The youth had lived a shitty life. His mother had died before he got a chance to know her, he could barely remember her face. Then it was just him and his father. Things weren’t bad then, Gase knew. They didn’t live in luxury or anything as such, but his father was a hunter. It was a respected occupation, if a dangerous one, and his father earned enough to see to their needs.
Things took a turn for the worst when he died during the last horde the city saw, nine terms ago. There was limited space in the Riversedge, and anyone who owned property had to pay steep taxes or else they risked losing it.
At first, the tax collectors simply took what possessions he had leftover from his father. Perhaps they did it out of pity, to allow Y’rid to stay in the house as long as he could. Perhaps, as he later thought, they saw an opportunity to line their pockets a bit by slowly bleeding him dry. Either way, between that and trading items for food, there was soon nothing left to take.
Not being able to pay taxes, he had lost the house. One woman who had known his father had taken him to the temple of Tella’nash. They were known for taking in children off the streets. He had stayed there for the next three terms. He had to work hard to earn his keep along with the other children. Mostly by regularly cleaning every facet of the large building to reflect the splendour of the Enlightened.
It wasn’t a bad three terms. But like everything else, it had to come to an end. While the temple looked after children, they couldn’t do so forever, and the cutoff point was at twelve terms of age, at which point they were considered to have at least a chance of survival.
Forced out onto the streets the boy had done whatever he could to survive. Most days ended up with him trying to steal enough food to go to sleep with a full belly. Luckily, he wasn’t the only one in such circumstances and making friends with a couple of other street urchins had dramatically increased their chances.
With space being so limited, living on the streets was strictly against city law. But it was either that or moving to the slums outside the wall. Of course, if he were caught squatting on the streets, he would be evicted, and he was. More than once. At first, the guards took pity on the small boy, turning a blind eye when they saw him. This changed as he got older, though. Still, he took the beatings they gave and found his way back into the city. People didn’t survive long in the slums. Not with opportunistic beasts sneaking in almost nightly for an easy meal.
As he grew older, the other kids began to drop off one by one. Some like Chase had managed to work themselves up to a job, others weren’t so lucky. Eventually, he had found this place.
Looking around, he guessed the alleyway must have been a street once. At least, until it was blocked off by newer buildings, leaving a narrow area leading nowhere. Only a few small windows faced the alleyway and no doors. Whoever lived here either didn’t know he was here or didn’t care. Not that it mattered now.
Though Gase didn’t remember his reasoning at volunteering for the mage’s experiment, he could easily guess at it. Desperation and a lack of hope. He pitied the boy. Y’rid had made some mistakes, but no one deserved the fate he had been dealt. He was surprised Y’rid had even made it as far as he had.
Gase glanced down at the overturned cart with the blanket draped over it. The boy might have lost his pride somewhere along the way, but he’d be damned if he was going to live like a rat.
Turning around, he left the cart behind and made his way towards the centre of the city. Using the memories of Y’rid as a guide, he made his way towards one of the nearer inns. The exhaustion of the day settled on him like a weight, one more mental than physical. Tomorrow he would have to decide on a course of action, but for now, he’d settle for a hot meal and a proper bed.
The streets were beginning to empty as the night descended, leaving the atmosphere much more subdued than what he first saw. The few people that were on the streets hurried along to reach their lodgings before the night really began to set in.
He didn’t see many guards patrolling the city, which he found strangely odd. It wasn’t out of place if the memories of the boy were anything to go by, as he knew most would be near the gates, walls or noble district. But looking at the nearly empty streets, he found himself feeling a sense of… disapproval?
He pushed the thoughts aside as he arrived at the door of the inn a short while later. The faded paint on the wooden sign above the door depicted what might have been a mug over a burning fire. He wasn’t sure, but the warm light spilling out from the underneath the door and the mirthful voices inside were all the convincing he needed. Pushing open the door, he stepped inside.
The interior of the inn was simple yet inviting. A few wooden tables and chairs were arranged haphazardly while a great fire burned on the hearth to his right. A few serving girls were swerving between the patrons bringing food and drink to those sitting at the tables and chatting with one another.
At the far side of the room was a large counter behind which stood an even larger man, his shirt stretched tightly over his protruding gut. His double chin wobbled as he spoke animatedly to one of the girls.
A few glances were cast at Gase as he entered, but they quickly turned back, not finding anything worthy of their interest.
He made his way over to the counter and stood in front of the big man, who finished whatever he was saying before turning towards him. The man looked him over, taking his ragged appearance.
“You want something?” The man questioned in a flat tone.
“How much for a room?”
The man frowned, his gaze pointedly lingering on the torn shirt.
“Don’t worry, I’m good for the coin,” Gase said with a self-deprecating smile, quite aware of how he looked.
“Hmm.” The innkeeper was clearly unconvinced. “A silver for a room. Silver and twenty if you want a plate and a mug as well. Anything else is extra.”
Was that a fair price? He didn’t remember Y’rid ever paying for a room in a tavern and doubted he ever had, so he had nothing to compare it to. All he knew was that the youth had had four tiny copper pieces to his name and that he hadn’t eaten in days.
“I’ll take the room and food,” he said as he took out one of the coins he received from the mage and placed it on the counter, feeling too tired to argue after the day’s events. He just wanted to fill his stomach and go to sleep.
The man raised an eyebrow when he saw the glint of gold before he snatched it up and bit into the side. He raised the coin to eye level to examine the marks before he grunted, a small smile on his lips.
The coin disappeared into his clothing in the blink of an eye, and he produced two much smaller gold coins along with some silver and copper ones that he pushed towards Gase. He then reached below the counter and pulled out a black iron key that he added to the coins.
“Up the stairs, third door to the right,” the innkeeper said a friendly smile replacing his surly expression. “Just take a seat at one of the tables, one of the girls will bring you your food.”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Seeing the change in the innkeeper, made Gase a little suspicious. He knew that merchants usually weighed coins as they could vary in sizes drastically. Even the two gold coins the man just gave him seemed to differ in size a bit, and together they still seemed a way off from the large piece he had handed over. Yet the innkeeper had made no attempt to measure anything.
“There a problem?” The man asked. He knocked on the wooden counter. “There are no refunds in the Roasting Cup.”
Gase mentally shrugged and took the coins and key from the counter.
He found himself a seat at an empty table at the far wall, furthest away from the fire, and sat down. All the ones near hearth were already crowded with people, and he didn’t feel like having company at the moment.
He took the time while waiting for his food to observe the people in the inn. A group of hunters sat near at a table not too far away, the polearms and bows leaning against the wall next to them making clear their chosen occupation. They seemed to be in the middle of an argument about some beast one of them saw, or more precisely, one of them was trying to convince the others as to what he saw while they kept suggesting other things it might have been. None of the names meant anything to him.
At another table sat a man dressed in bright colours speaking to an armoured man and woman, both with swords strapped to their waists. At a table next to them sat another group also dressed in a mixture of leather armour with the occasional breastplate or chainmail coat thrown in. A variety of weapons either on them or at the wall nearest to them.
It took him a moment to realise, that they were the group of mercenaries he had seen guarding the merchants’ convoy. The colourfully dressed man must be one of the merchants. A rich man if he walked around with that kind of protection.
Gase turned his head towards the sound of approaching footsteps. A brown-haired serving girl stepped up next to him and placed down the plate and mug she carried. He thanked her as she turned away before examining the food in front of him.
On the plate was a massive overturned mushroom that was hollowed out and filled with some kind of meaty stew. The mushroom itself was brown with blue spots on its cap. He recognised it from memories of the market. He remembered having eaten it before, bland and tasteless.
That wasn’t me.
Gase reminded himself as he closed his eyes. Even though he knew it wasn’t his memories, he still remembered experiencing them. At least the inflow of experiences from Y’rid’s life had stopped. Now he only had to deal with those he had already received.
He reached out and broke off a piece of the mushroom before popping it into his mouth. It was actually quite good. The crispy skin giving way to the cooked mushroom’s juicy flesh.
Was the difference that great between it being eaten raw or cooked? Or perhaps his taste was different from that of the Y’rid?
Pushing away the question to which he had no answer, Gase continued with his meal and savoured the taste. He had to stop himself from shovelling the food into his mouth. He had not realised exactly how hungry he was until he had taken the first bite.
He reached out and picked up the mug and looked down into it as he swirled the pale golden liquid around. A sweet aroma rose up from the rim as he brought it to his lips. The taste was sweet and fruity, though, for some reason, he expected more.
He shrugged and took another mouthful before turning back to his meal, he definitely wasn’t going to complain. Y’rid had eaten whatever he could get his hands on, which meant the memories in his head of eating consisting mostly of him devouring a couple of fruit or a piece of bread and water. Occasionally he might have gotten his hands on a few copper pieces. But those were few and far in between and were saved for the cold stretches. Like the four pieces hidden away in that rotten cart were.
Gase pushed the unpleasant memories from his mind and finished his meal before washing it down with what remained of his ale. As he sat back, his mind turned to the woman and girl from his memories, replaying the two scenes in his thoughts.
After a few moments of staring out in front of him, he dragged a hand across his face and stood up from the table to make his way over to the stairs, leaving the lively atmosphere behind him. It was still early in the night, but he was tired and chasing his mind around in circles wouldn’t help. Perhaps the new day would bring him new insight as well.
The second floor consisted of a long unadorned hallway with several rooms to either side. A few candles burning in stone bowls placed in depressions in the wall to provide light.
Gase found his room was at the far end. He opened the door and stepped inside before locking it behind him. The only light came from a small window in the wall to his left, the nearly full moon just visible through it. He stood for a moment and allowed his eyes to adjust to the semi-darkness as he inspected the interior of the room.
It was an exceedingly simple layout. A small table and chair stood next to the door. Across from the entrance, was a bed placed against the wall with a chest in front of it in which to store personal possessions. Gase walked over to the chest and lifted up the lid to reveal it as empty. Not that he had anything to store in the first place, it just felt like the right thing to do.
Gase didn’t bother to take off his clothes as he threw himself unto the bed. It didn’t take long for sleep to start dragging him into the darkness.
His last thoughts were of the girl and the woman who welcomed him home in his vision. Somewhere out there, were people who remembered him for who he was, even if he didn’t. The thought left him in an odd mixture of comfort and loneliness as his consciousness sunk away.
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Outside of the city, on the fourth and highest level of the tower, stood a man in a white robe hunched over a desk. Crumpled pieces of paper littered the floor, and several old tomes lay open where they were subject to interspersed glances by the tower’s master.
Larann’s ink-stained hands danced over several notes at once as he drew and revised the ancient Tellish runes that crowded the pages. His sharp green eyes pierced through them, seeing the full array of runes, so complex that it would leave most mediocre mages dumbfounded. Only those that specialised in resurrection would have any hints as to its purpose, but even then, few would be able to recreate them.
He had always likened magic to music. The runes were the strings of a grand and unfathomable instrument, one that plucked at your very spirit, causing it to sing and bend reality to its will. A bit poetic, perhaps, but he could grant himself that.
A pity then that he had to work with only half of the strings. Half of the Tellish runes. And that was according to his most optimistic estimates. The more he researched and studied magic, the more he became aware of his lack of knowledge. The sheer depth and understanding the ancient mages had had of the spirit never ceased to amaze him.
And so much was lost.
He stopped his movements for a moment as he pulled back his wandering thoughts.
The experiment had been a success. Even if it had cost him most of his remaining resources, he couldn’t contain the grin that split his face as he thought of the day’s events. Sure, some minor irregularities would need sorting out. But the core of the spell had succeeded.
It had taken him nearly twenty terms of researching resurrection and then a few more of editing and rebuilding to circumvent the sacrificial requirement, but it had been worth it. If a condition so intrinsic to the spell itself could be changed, then the others could as well.
The original spell was a masterwork. But like so many things, its impact was determined by those who used it. His fingers curled into a fist as he thought of the so-called nobles’ use of the magic. Of the herds of brainwashed slaves, their only purpose in life to willingly give their lives so that there ‘betters’ could regain their own after they lost them to the indulgent and gluttonous lifestyles they clung to.
His head turned, unbidden, towards a wall on the side of his study. His gaze almost seemed to pierce through the wall to land on what he knew lay beyond. He could see the stone coffin in his mind, as it lay undisturbed in the dark room. He looked at it often enough to remember each and every detail. Every day he activated the from the runes of reconstruction he had inscribed into the lid long ago.
The hard edge in his gaze faded as it was replaced by a much gentler look, one tinged with sadness.
If only he could…
No. Some mistakes couldn’t be undone. The best he could do now was to use his efforts to make up for them.
He would break through the secrets resurrection held. He would ensure that it was available to all. In doing so, he would free the people from the fear of the monsters that threatened their very survival. He would usher in a new golden age. One that rivalled that of the ancient times.
He repeated the thought a few times, reminding himself of his goal to keep his mind from wandering.
This magic would be the key, the stepping stone towards something that would change the world. But it would require a lot of time and work. The experiment only signified the beginning.
He turned back to the notes, his gaze sharpened once more, dipping the pen into the inkwell before he resumed his life’s work.
Perhaps… after it is complete…
Despite his efforts, he couldn’t entirely stop the small ray of hope that took root in his heart.
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Rhone stepped into one of the rooms they had rented from the inn. His pale red eyes swept over the interior, taking in the three others, sitting at the table. It was a large room and had enough space for the goods and guards of merchants that usually made use of it.
“Where are the others?” He asked.
“Kali and Red went to get the food,” Adler replied. “Meera said she was going sow some rumours about the behemoth.”
Rhone nodded. That was good thinking from Meera, not that he expected any less. Her Aspect, while not useful in combat, was well-suited for this.
“So?” Holin asked. He was leaning back in a chair that balanced it on two legs, his own kicked up onto the table. A cup was in his hand, and a small barrel sat nearby.
“The Hall sent out some runners.” He said, walking over to the table. He placed his winged spear against in and filled himself a cup of the ale as well. “Most of the hunters in the city should be there tomorrow morning.”
“I doubt we’ll find much support,” Jerrick said. “The people down here don’t hold much love for us. They’ll probably think we’re talking shit.”
He was busy checking the seals on numerous vials of stimulants and poisons. The later of which stood next to the barrel of ale, much to the apparent discomfort of Adler who eyed the setup with wariness.
“Maybe Meera can cause a few to sway,” Rhone said.
“It shouldn’t be necessary in the first place,” Adler argued. “The Order’s reputation is without question. They should be happy we are here.”
“We’re not in the north now,” Holin said with a chuckle. “I think you’ll find the Order’s reputation very much in question down here.”
“Oh right,” Adler said with a frown. “You were born somewhere here, weren’t you?”
“Here and there,” Holin replied with a shrug.
“Here and there?” Adler asked doubtfully.
“Don’t worry about it,” Holin said dismissively and turned to Rhone. “I say we lure the behemoth right to their fucking walls. They’ll have to act then.”
“Disregarding what one of them can do, they are a lot smarter than you might think.” - Rhone shook his head. - “We’ll want to catch it off guard and limit its movement as quick as we can. Surround it, and whittle it down. Piece by piece.”
“Well,” Holin said and raised his cup. “I’ll drink to that.”