“What did you just say?” Aberfa blinked a couple times, as if waking up from a dream. They were still in a dream of course, though it was hard to say whose dream it was.

Brin didn’t want to be too obvious about calling her mother after he had made such a point of resisting it, so he only repeated the question. “I asked if you could show me what my life was like from before I lost my memories.”

Brin felt something shift in the Wyrd. Some key balance point in their relationship had moved in her direction.

Aberfa nodded slowly, then again more firmly. She smiled brightly and kept nodding. “Yes. Yes! I’d like that. Come. Come and see! I’ll take this memory from my mind. Here.”

Everything shifted, and they were walking down a busy city street. The sky was sunny and full of those big fluffy white clouds that were usually seen after a big rainstorm.

Aberfa closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Alhaendra. The capital of Arcaena. I missed this place."

Brin looked around again with renewed interest. It didn't look like the dark and desolate land of misery that he'd come to expect. The homes he could see were square and extremely symmetrical with round doors and windows. The walls were all white plaster or stucco, and blended into each other to give it a very idyllic feeling. The sea was visible in the distance, with the sun sending glittering sparkles across the water where tall ships mixed with small fishing sailboats darted here and there across the water.

At least the castle looked like it should. In the other direction, on top of a hill, a black castle dominated the sky. It looked windowless, like a piece of sheer slate, and four towers rose from the main building like sharp knives.

They walked, and they seemed to move through the city at a pace outside of regular time. The people moved past them in a blur, walking past them at a hundred miles an hour while never really seeing them. He'd always pictured the Commoners of Arcaena as hunched over, miserable peasants, but these people walked with straight backs and chatted in the markets and basically acted like regular people, if a little oddly dressed.

They tended towards bright colors, with shorts and skirts interchangeable for both genders. It was also common to see them wearing tank tops with bare midriffs. He got the feeling that this was one of those unfair places like San Francisco or the south of France where the weather was perfect all year around.

There was more evidence of that when they drifted through a poorer district near the shore where the homes were little more than wooden lean-to's to keep off the rain.

"It's nothing like I expected," Brin said, finally breaking the silence.

"Of course not. If the kingdoms of men admitted that we are prosperous, it would undermine their entire rule. Arcaena is not our queen for nothing. She uses her tremendous power for the good of her people."

Brin looked closer to try to find a flaw in her utopia, and didn't have to search far. He was able to [Inspect] the people as they flashed by, and he found their average level was extremely low. Most people were in their early twenties. He saw one man who despite looking middle-aged was only a level 15 [Skinner].

"Why is everyone so low-level?"

Aberfa pursed her lips. "Ease breeds complacency. They squander the gifts we have given them. But what else can we do? Providing for the comfort of the little people is the first duty of the noble class. And we compensate for their lack in other ways."

The dream started to shift faster. First, Brin saw a lumber mill where a horde of undead servants ran to and fro carrying burdens or completing simple tasks under the direction of a few human leaders. Then in a mine, where tireless undead dug deep into the bedrock. Next, undead in a dark room turning a wheel, moving forever without stopping to power a water pump for a fountain high up above.

He saw a vision of a farm, where the field was ripe with grain and ready to harvest. A cloaked figure with a ceramic mask raised both hands into the air and started chanting.

Brin [Inspected] the figure, suspecting it was a [Witch] and the message just returned "Mediator".

The cloaked figure finished speaking and dropped both hands, unleashing an overwhelming flood of Wyrd. It seemed to come from the entire nation all at once, empowering every inch of the field. The stalks of grain bent down on their own accord to release their fruit, and then they wriggled and writhed on the ground, pushing the grain into flowing streams leading to large piles. Workmen cheered, clapping and wildly waving their arms in the air while others knelt on the ground and bowed their heads. The hooded figure raised a hand in acceptance and then the workmen rushed into action pouring the grain into sacks.

"No undead farmers?" asked Brin.

"Of course not. Don't be disgusting," answered Aberfa.

"So who's the person with the mask?" asked Brin.

"A [Witch]," Aberfa said simply. "While wearing the robes of the Mediator, they are beloved and venerated."

The workmen treated the Mediator with obvious respect, but it seemed a little performative to Brin. That didn't necessarily mean it wasn't sincere, though.

"So I guess it's true that Arcaena openly employs other [Witches]. Hogg originally thought that she killed all her rivals and he's not usually wrong about that kind of thing."

Aberfa shrugged. "That's the official story here, too, though I don't know how many people actually believe it. According to the law, taking the [Witch] Class is punishable by death. It’s a necessary fiction in order to facilitate [Witches] of real quality rather than pretenders. Please understand, an effective [Witch] needs to be ready to rebel against anything and everything. Her family, her friends, the law, the natural order, even the gods themselves if necessary. In this way, the government of Arcaena is no true government at all, rather an ongoing rebellion against disorder and injustice."

"Spare me the propaganda. What's Arcaena's excuse for how the so-called Mediator is doing all that stuff if she won't admit it's a [Witch]."

"Answering that question would require me to tell you the propaganda, would it not?" Aberfa tilted her head to the side with a quizzical expression. She looked innocent enough, but Brin could see a dangerous glint in her eye.

There was only so much rudeness she would tolerate from him, and he was toeing the line. He was in the capital city of an enemy nation, receiving vital intelligence, but that all depended on her believing that he'd accepted his role as her son. He needed to play this carefully.

He nodded his head and said, "I'm sorry, mother."

She blushed. "N-not at all. To answer your question, according to the law, a Mediator is a randomly selected citizen, chosen for a day to enact her will and wield her authority. That last part is the honest truth. The [Witch] will not use her own magic to perform these miracles; rather she will draw on Arcaena's authority to move the world with the power the Queen has instituted for this purpose."

Brin watched the workers moving in tandem with the writhing stalks of wheat to collect the harvest. It seemed like the entire world was working together. He raised his eyebrows. "How powerful is Arcaena that she can do this without even being present. No, how insanely confident is she that she can let someone borrow this much power?"

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

"There is a reason that we serve her. Arcaena has such power to do everything, everywhere at once. It does not please her to be everywhere at once, so by ritual and investiture, she grants authority to her servants to wield her power on her behalf."

Brin had to wonder if it was the robes. If he got his hands on a set, would he be able to use Arcaena’s power against her? It was all so strange. Every [Witch] of Arcaena he'd met had been power hungry to a fault. What did it say about Arcaena that she gave her power so freely? Brin wondered if she got experience for the things her Mediators did. She must. That would explain everything. Arcaena the country was a nation-wide experience farm for Arcaena the [Witch]. Her level must be tremendous.

The dream shifted again, and this time they were in a domed room where a man and a woman sat across from each other, a stone altar between them. A Mediator stood in front of the altar, and there were a few dozen observers in the pews. At first Brin thought he might've been taken to a wedding ceremony despite the clear hatred the man and woman bore for each other on their faces, but then the Mediator held an open palm out to the woman and she launched into a story about how the man across from her had vandalized the flower box on her porch.

This was a trial. Or maybe a civil dispute? Looking at the stone dome above them, he saw a mural of a masked Mediator. She held balance scales, but unlike the pictures of lady Justice from his old world, she wasn't blindfolded. Or maybe she was behind the mask. In either case, her third eye was open, visible over her mask and sending out beams of sunlight in every direction.

When the woman had ranted for about five minutes, the Mediator looked at the man and said, "You will pay restitution of the amount of one silver and ten pennies."

The man winced, but then the Mediator held her open palm to him, and he launched into his story. He listed off a long string of minor abuses, everything from cutting in front of him at the bakery, to spreading rumors about him, and then the cruel things she said in the argument that led to his vandalism.

The Mediator looked at the woman next. "Your inability to resolve conflicts is a burden upon Arcaena. You will apologize for cutting in line. You will negate these false rumors. You will seek the guidance of your mother and your aunt in learning how to discuss simple matters without engendering bad feelings."

The woman visibly winced, while the man looked a little smug even though he’d technically lost, which Brin thought was slightly pathetic. The Mediator departed, and the rest of the group filed out soon after.

"I guess that's why they're called Mediators," said Brin.

"They resolve conflicts with the Wyrd. By accessing the truth of the world itself, they are able to perfectly diagnose and resolve all offenses. The Mediator will not dismiss a case until all scales are perfectly balanced," said Aberfa.

"I've seen how fair the Wyrd is," said Brin. "[Witches] stretch their claims to let them do whatever they want."

"Is that what you think? Then I have failed as a teacher. [Witches] follow the Wyrd, not the other way around."

Brin knew he was on thin ice, but he couldn't help but shake his head. "I've felt it for myself. The Wyrd completely changes directions once I've convinced myself that I'm right."

"Some rights are strengthened when they are vocalized. Some offenses don't exist until they are noticed. [Witch] magic harnesses the Wyrd itself, it is true, but these people are not [Witches], and the Mediator is impartial. They receive a perfect justice unheard of in other lands."

Brin had doubts as to that last part. Nothing he'd seen about [Witches] made him think they could be impartial about anything. On the other hand, they seemed to have so much disdain for the regular people that he could believe that they'd never bother to care about one over another.

"I assume criminal trials are the same?" asked Brin.

"Criminal and civil are words without definition. There are only people. Those offended, those indebted, and those with rival claims to property, resources, and antecedence. However, I will admit that there is a much heavier weight to trials where the one offended is Arcaena herself."

"Who runs those trials?"

"A Mediator, of course, as a representative of Her Majesty. This is the purpose of the robes. Well, one purpose. The other purpose is so that at the end of the day, the bearer can remove them. She can go home and in anonymity she might still have a normal life."

That was a change of conversation that Brin had been waiting for. "Is that what you did?"

She smiled. "It is."

She waved her hand, and the dream shifted yet again. This time they were standing in front of a pretty white plaster house with a nice, wide garden covered in blooming flowers.

"Is this... was this where we lived?" asked Brin.

"Sometimes. This is only one of my properties, and we often dwelled in the palace, and sometimes we traveled," said Aberfa.

She approached the front door, humming like she was a princess and expected the flowers and random animals to start singing along. The door opened on its own, and she swept inside. He followed her, bracing himself for the horrors that he knew would dwell within.

The first one was Cadwy, waiting near the doorway for Aberfa to come home. Brin flinched in shock at the sight of him; he'd never seen this man in life but enough of his features had remained that Brin instantly recognized him. He'd seen this face as a zombie that time, and then a hundred times again afterwards in his nightmares.

Cadwy didn't speak. His face was expressionless as he took Aberfa's hat that she hadn't been wearing until just now, and quietly stepped away further into the house.

Aberfa, still humming, walked into a great room with decadent furniture and a large roaring fireplace, stylized like a great dragon with the flame sitting in its open mouth.

Brin stopped being able to concentrate on the furniture and decor when he noticed the other figure in the room. He was there, little Brin as a child, looking young, six or seven. No, that wasn't him. That was Aberthol.

Brin's mouth went dry. He should've expected this, but for some reason he'd never imagined meeting the previous owner of his body. Aberthol didn't seem to notice him at all. His entire attention was focused on his mother.

Like Cadwy, his face was completely expressionless. Aberfa bent down to hug him and kiss both cheeks. He smiled in a way that didn't touch his eyes and said, "Hello, mother." The sound of his voice hit Brin like a psychic shock. That... that was his voice. Aberthol's smile dropped instantly and he went back to his toys. He'd been playing with a stack of blocks.

Aberfa strode back and forth through the room. She picked up an old book and flipped a few pages before setting it down, examined herself in a hand mirror, wiped an invisible smudge off a vase, and overall enjoyed the experience of being back in her old house again.

The entire time, Aberthol watched her warily, blank-faced but intense in concentration, the way you might watch a wild tiger. Any time she moved out of his sightline he shifted so that she'd remain in view and not be able to sneak up on him. Other than that, he stacked six or seven blocks, and then knocked them over again, endlessly repeating. It looked like playing from the corner of the eye, maybe, but since Brin was really looking at him he saw nothing but active camouflage.

Aberfa sat down, and Cadwy immediately arrived to give her a cup of tea and a plate with a few small cakes, then left again without a word. She took a sip, and then leaned back and sighed in satisfaction.

"Everything was just perfect back then."

Brin swallowed the rising bile. He'd never seen a child act like that in his old life, or his new one for that matter. Even Davi's little brother hadn't had eyes like that after being tortured by Basil Bunny for weeks. Aberthol's eyes were like a caged animal. One of those abused elephants maybe, right before they snapped and went on a rampage.

He couldn't help Aberthol now, but he might be able to avenge him. That required playing along. For now. Brin swallowed again and said, "It's nice. We had such a happy home. What happened to us?"

"Time," said Aberfa, suddenly looking much older. "Time and... mistakes. But we can have this back! We can have it all back."

"How? I don't even know where you are."

Aberfa eyed him cautiously, looking almost vulnerable. "And you will. In time. Once I'm sure that... Once I'm sure. Once you’re ready."

Brin wasn’t quite sure what to say here. He had the distinct impression that if he pushed too hard here she’d grow suspicious and it would all be a waste. At the same time, this was an opportunity he might not get again.

“Is–?”

His question was interrupted as something hairy and red launched into the room, some kind of short-armed monkey. It bounded around the room in a frenetic dance, knocking over chairs and pulling cushions off the couch, hooting madly. “Mistress home. Mistress home!”

Aberthol backed up and curled into a ball, holding his head with his hands and trying to look as small as possible, but he never took his wary eyes off Aberfa, which meant that whatever this was, it wasn’t a complete unknown to him.

“Ekved! Ekved shoo! Go. Get out!” Aberfa said, launching to her feet and pointing. The creature, Ekved apparently, flung himself at Aberfa, wrapped her in a hug which she didn’t appreciate, and then finally slumped and left the room with slumped shoulders.

“What was that?” Brin asked.

“Nothing that concerns you,” said Aberfa, brushing off her dress angrily.

For the first time, Aberthol’s eyes left his mother. He stared directly at Brin, holding his gaze with cold and bright blue eyes. “That’s her familiar.”

Aberfa marched towards Aberthol, who flinched away from her on instinct. She raised her hand to slap him, but then hesitated and looked back to Brin. She winced.

“That’s enough for tonight,” she said, and Brin woke up.