Gasping for air, clutching my own head yet again, I frantically gaze about the apothecary. The door was unlocked, but Tiago isn’t in the front of the shop. I’m about to shout when Tiago rounds the corner.
Tiago mumbles, “Dios, you two are nothing but in-trouble aren’t you? Are you alright? Please, please, come in. Headaches?”
Teuila and I both nod. Tiago leads us to the loveseat near the fire and excuses himself to get us something to drink. He says it will help with the pain. It’ll probably be some willow bark extract for its salicylic chemical agent and pain relief properties. Perhaps brewed as a tea. Wait, what in the? How the hell do I know that much about freaking willow bark? I can’t even blame my Can’Z’aasian memory database thing for the knowledge, where whenever we were introduced to a term, we suddenly knew its meaning. Tiago returns shortly, with tea of course.
Tiago orders, “Drink up, half now while it’s hot, the other half after it has cooled and steeped. Don’t worry about payment. You’ve done quite enough for The Brook and its peoples. Not to mention the little present your Teuila dropped off for me out back.”
I nearly spit the tea as I choke on my own laughter at Tiago’s flippant statement about the enormous dragon head that likely takes up his entire back yard, or somewhat nearly there. Coughing, I manage a few laughs, and Teuila grins smugly up at me.
While coughing I state, “That reminds me, I want, koff, you to, koff, ow, koff, to dispose of, and I mean utterly destroy, everything that you don’t use. Please Tiago? I don’t want there to be even the slightest chance that the head reunites with the body.”
Tiago’s eyes widen early on during my statement, but they look fit to pop out of his skull when I finish making my ask. He gives his assent, “Si, yes of course. Do not fret, none of us in The Brook want such a thing either. Hmf, not dragon slayers indeed.”
I chuckle, “I knew it! I knew you wouldn’t let me live that down braddah, hah. It’s like when I met the town ghost and you were needling me for days when I referred to them as a w--. Wait. What?”
Tiago actually spits his drink in startlement at my statement. Teuila and I wipe ourselves off and stand from the loveseat to help clean it up as Tiago finds rags for us. Tiago eyes me warily, yet with curiosity. Ugh my head. My eyes feel heavy. Crap. Before I get more distracted, or fall asleep again, there was a thing. Oh! Right!
I ask, “Tiago, is the librarian’s name Mildred?”
Tiago nods, “Si, verdad. So?”
I shake my head as I ask, “Can Mildred teleport?”
Tiago laughs and looks fit to slap me on the shoulder for an assumed jest when he realizes I’m not laughing. Tiago shakes his head, “No, of course not. The most magic we’ve seen in The Brook in a long time were some enchanters that could help shore up a few materials against the acid rain. Berinon is one of them actually. Well, and of course the preservation of the ancestors.”
I ask, “How long has Mildred existed? I’m not asking how old she is mind you. How long has she existed?”
Tiago looks almost annoyed, “This is very similar to a line of questions my old friend once asked. If you’ve had more of Aces’ memories in your dreams, it is a very cruel thing to remind me of my now lost friend in such a manner.”
I frown, pouting, “I’m, no, it’s not. I don’t think I’ve had any more. Well, Teuila said I had one on the way to the Colossi plains. But she didn’t mention you in it at all. Just the inn-maiden, Selunie.”
Tiago’s eyes widen, “Just what in blazes was Aces doing with Selunie Tavner?”
Teuila and I look at each other with excitement. Didn’t Tiago say he didn’t know her last time we were here? Wait, no, was that Harriet? Or Keeley? Ugh, I’m having trouble keeping track of who I asked. Friggin’ heck things are so hard without digital memory logs. Even when I had them I’d goof up, forget, misremember things, like all the time. I’d have to be actively reading about a thing in my memory logs to recall it accurately.
I prod, “You know Selunie Tavner? Is, where, where does she live? Which town?”
Tiago shakes his head, “Sorry friend, Aces never let on about where they were. I’m just shocked, since your dreams appeared to be, well, intimate in nature. Aces described her as so innocent, and possibly interested in the p--, well, it’s none of my business her preferences.”
Was Tiago about to say she was interested in the princessora? That would be Taylynn. Do I even want to feed Tiago’s curiosity about the details of my dreams? According to Teuila, they were sort of intimate. At least about to kiss.
I cough, getting back on topic, “Koff, right, anyway, so. Mildred? Librarian? Is that the same one that you and George talked about with Harriet as being hens for gossip?”
Tiago strokes his chin shaking his head, “No, no, plenty of people with the same first name around, I could see how you’d be confused. Harriet’s life-mate Mildred is, ah, it’s not my story to tell. You’ll meet them eventually if you continue to stay in The Brook. I’m sure with your charm, eventually Mildred would open up. The librarian though, I, I really do not like the question. Aces felt as if they were going crazy, and honestly seemed to slightly be doing so. Insisting things were certain ways, that everyone else suddenly sprouted new memories.”
My heart’s thumping hammers in my chest. A world that changes itself, rearranges itself, builds itself as it’s explored? One that adds its own history out into the past? But very few people, or no one noticing or believing it? I begin to hyperventilate. No, no, we’re just. I’m just. I’m overlaying Aces’ conclusions and confusions onto the situation, jumping to the same ones. That has to be it. Calm down. Breathe air, breathe. That phrase again.
Tiago now wheedles, “You though, are you doing alright? I’m starting to worry that you might be confusing fiction with reality, or letting your dreams influence your personality. You spoke a memory of me as if it were firsthand. I mean, if all your dreams are intimate, that wouldn’t have been you simply joking from a dream. I’d offered Aces once or twice, but they were always too busy, then I met George, and, well, that’s neither here nor there. Point being, I’m concerned.”
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
I flush with embarrassment. Somehow I know that Tiago had flirted with Aces a couple of times across their life and friendship. Like Tiago said though, Aces was almost only ever stopping by The Brook on the way back home to pick up a new job, when they took the westerly path through The Gap, downriver to Lake Siempre. They’d hit The Brook by canoe, secreting away their vessel, travel east until the mountains, then follow the mountains til the Hidden Heart, then use the secret tunnel to Vale Valley. They’d never even gotten lost in the mists from the Sisters’ Sanctuary to the Heart. The journey was as if by rote.
Wait. What? That’s, that’s a lot more information than I recall remembering from any particular dream. What the heck is going on? Why does my head feel staticy and fuzzy at the moment? Am I starting to daydream Aces’ life too?
I mumble as I woozily stand, “Th-thank you Tiago. No, no, you’re right. No such thing as memories suddenly being generated or altered. I guess, I guess we should go rest. Harriet wants us out of town tomorrow eve, she’s booking us on a fishing charter.”
Tiago virtually shouts as he stands, “She what!? Is, I mean, did you want to be leaving this early? I can’t imagine Harriet would--. What the devil. Like she’d said before, she’d never imposed her will on anyone that didn’t deserve it. Did she say the council ordered it?”
I shake my head, rambling, “N-no. She um. Insinuated it was more than a polite offer, and a personal desire of hers to see us gone. There were, um, some criticisms of our efforts. Admonishments even.”
Tiago lets himself drop back into his seat, “What the devil has gotten into the unruly woman? First she wanted to send every able-bodied in the village on a rescue-mission, knowing that some would likely die, now this? She’s hardly even herself these days.”
Teuila and I exchange an almost-knowing glance. There’s something happening in The Brook, and we can’t stay here to help them with it. I really hope Autumn Brook is still here the next time we swing back this way, if we ever do.
Tiago continues to rant, “A dragon, a literal actual dragon, and you adorable little children-in-adult-bodies-with-adult-knowledge slew it, on top of a Colossi chieftan or some such, and several guards. You took lives, which, based on what I can tell about you, hurt you and scarred you to your core, yes, I can see that in your eyes. I see that it’s true. We dropped this situation in your lap, and, and, and she gives you the boot? This is nonsense. Sheer, utter nonsense. I, I must have words with George, he’ll be home shortly, please, please this night at least stay for dinner. I don’t know when I’ll see you again if not, and—“
Tiago cuts himself off, being about to say that I’m all he has left of Aces, his dear old friend. I’m almost positive on that. I look to Teuila who shrugs and pantomimes eating. My stomach suddenly rumbles, and I blush in response. She is right. I’ve had what, some digital fish, a cornbread muffin with baked beans and lamb, a bowl of stew and hunk of bread, then some corn flatbreads, to last me an entire week in Rayileklia? Well, in reverse order. I am ravenously hungry.
I sit back down, nodding to Tiago, “I, yes of course. It would be a pleasure to accept your hospitality, an honor even. I’m sorry we rushed off the other night, and for my bad manners and juvenile actions.”
Tiago scoffs, “De nada, pay it no mind. What will you two even do? Your end goal is to make it to an entire other world? How does one even start going about such a task?”
My eyes flash with understanding for a moment. If it’s anything like last time, it starts with a book. Then I lose the thought. I can’t recall the train of thought I was going with. How would one start what now? What was I thinking about?
Teuila and Tiago seem to be looking at me expectantly, so I answer a question I vaguely remember hearing, “Um, I think I checked out the library. I didn’t get enough time there, but I know in what time I did spend there, I didn’t get any leads. Though maybe there was something else that could possibly have been a lead on the plains. Something weird happened with Kozzurth’s heart now that you mention it. It shrank and shriveled up after it was exposed to air, after I touched it while begging the magic of the world to create a portal home. Do you know anything about touching dragon’s hearts?”
Tiago’s eyes answer before he does, “Verdad? No, no, that is a curious thing. How shrunk would you say?”
It’s hard to estimate, so I guess, “Um, definitely smaller than half, maybe down to a third, quarter, or fifth of its original size?”
Tiago’s pensive gaze leaves the air hanging silent for a long moment as he taps his chin in thought. He shrugs and shakes his head before standing to pace about the room. My eyes droop heavily yet again. What is it with me? I can’t manage to stay conscious here at all.
When I awaken, George is home, and dinner is nearly served, Teuila is playing with my hair, and, wait. Is she eating my ear again? Her finger twiddling is sleepily slow, I don’t think she’s even aware she’s playing with my hair, let alone eating my ear. I tug my head lightly to the side, and a wet pop frees my ear from her mouth. Eww-heheh-eww. I poke Teuila, and she awakens to alertness swiftly, quickly flashing a grin my way. I point at my ear, rub my index finger in the wet about its edges, and flick her nose with her own saliva as payback. Teuila just giggles and hugs me tightly.
I call out, “George, Tiago said you were a historian, right? Do you work at the library?”
George laughs, “Oh saints alive no, yes that’s you honey hahah, no. I’m town record-keeper. Minor member of the council, property deeds, city planning and the like. Mostly I’m only a member to remind people of what we’ve already got, or what agreements have already been made. I don’t have much of a voice, nor do I care to have one. But oh, yes, I like to think of myself as a historian, or at least a fan of history.”
Hm. Is there anything useful I can ask George? Anything to narrow down our leads? I ask, “George, have there ever been any things like archwizards or archmages or sorcerer supremes or transcendent enchanters, or, um, planeswalkers or anything of the like?”
I could swear for a moment that the staff strapped to my back glows as I speak, but there’s no way to tell, it’s buried deeply between me and a cushion. I have no idea why I thought it glowed, there was just this tiny sensation from behind me, and that’s the only thing I can think of.
George chuckles, until he realizes I’m being serious, “Ah, I’m sorry. The words mean little to me, though I understand them based on context and simple grammatical meaning. We do have enchanters. The Heart supposedly has a much wider variety of magic. The Imperium boasts a wealth of different cultures and countries under its banner, so likely has several different styles of magic as well. Then there’s always the rumored Sisters. Supposedly they divine with oracular powers. But no, no single names that cry out the most powerful of their kind. That doesn’t mean they don’t, or never existed, simply that news of them has never made it into Southern Aasimovian history texts.”
I frown, “Ah, right, yes, that makes sense, thank you. I don’t know where to even start looking for clues. Is there anything like a magic academy somewhere in the world? Even for just beginner enchantment stuff or something?”
George nods at this, “Yes, yes there are several strewn about the Imperium I believe. I couldn’t tell you where exactly, but as I mentioned, it had swallowed up such a variety of cultures and countries over the years. I believe a renowned one is ah, Javelina Suidae. It used to be in, or rather is located in what used to be- what was it again dearest? Usledian? Yes, thank you love.”
Tiago rolls his eyes, not having said anything as George used him as a sounding board. I try to keep my laugh to a quietly polite chuckle. Wait. Javelina Suidae? Peccary Pig? Warthog? Hog—. I glance around, half expecting to see a copyright lawyer ninja’ing its way across the ceiling. What an odd series of thoughts. Why on Earth did I have them? Not this again! Why on Rayileklia! Or, um, something.