As the centuries slowly crawled by, D’Argen found himself lost at the bottom of a bottle more often than not. It was one of the easiest way to avoid thinking about his mahee and the only way he had found so far to sleep without dreaming. That was another thing he decided on. Sleeping.
With a bottle clutched tight to his chest, he found himself passing at least half of each day in bed and most of that time lost in a haze of either alcohol or dreamless sleep.
Before he had turned to the bottle, he turned to writing. He was never much of a fan of it, but keeping track of the false memories versus the… were the other memories false? He had no idea which was the real set anymore, so he wrote everything down and compared. He started doubting that Lilian and he were so close when every single Never Born questioned his daily visits to the Worship Hall and their flower-covered statue.
He started doubting Abbot was a trusted confidante when the settee broke one night under his own drunken ramblings and riots. He started doubting Yaling was more than an acquaintance when he only saw her during the few meetings they were both told to attend.
He stopped doubting and threw out his journals, turning to the bottle completely, when Thar’s white shade did not appear even once in the next few years. Not even in the corner of his eye.
And nobody came to his rooms to check on him after his hip healed. Nobody made jokes about him not leaving the castle. Nobody even noticed that he had changed rooms to be only one staircase away from the cellar where the wine and mead were plenty.
As he finishing off his current bottle, D’Argen wondered if anybody even noticed that he had started drinking the heavier stuff made of plums. Did anybody even know that just the thought of eating something that was once living, that once grew, made him gag? He threw up that plum drink more often than not, but at least it sent him into oblivion much faster than any of the others.
Even Vain did not visit him to send him off into the unknown and help fill up his books. The fact that D’Argen had barely even touched his mahee in that time probably had something to do with it, but, yet again, nobody made a comment about it.
It only took a decade for him to become known as the castle drunk.
He heard the whispers in the halls, saw the pitying looks from both mortals and Never Born alike, and he either smiled at them and toasted them with whatever bottle he had in hand that day, or he ignored them. Most often, he ignored them. Most often, they ignored him too.
Things came to a head when he realized, only a century late, that he was not even invited to Acela’s coronation as the official leader of the Never Born. He remembered the event from his other memories. It was grand and spectacular. It took place in the open garden in the middle of the castle and both Hiras and Lilian had worked hard with the other naturalists to keep the coming storm at bay. The air smelled of Acela’s mahee even if she did not use it.
Did she?
D’Argen could not recall.
He took to writing again. That lasted barely a year before he realized his writings were more drunken ramblings than an actual comparison between memories. Then, one night, he woke up from his first dream in centuries in a cold sweat. He could not recall the dream itself, but it had him paranoid and stoking a fire. Every journal and scrap of paper he had written since returning to this horrible world was thrown in there. He hesitated in throwing the old paper, so worn and soft and barely legible, that held Thar’s and Lilian’s names.
Lilian was remembered.
Thar was nowhere to be found.
He was sober enough to write the man’s name in a neat script on a new paper and that one he put between thin wooden boards and attached to his belt. Not like he had a sword to carry anymore.
One morning, he woke up with his now usual headache, and thought that there was something important he was forgetting. His latest bottle only had a sip in it to wet his mouth, so he went down to the cellar as he tried to recall why that day was important. What day even was it?
There was a mortal stocking the shelf D’Argen usually took from. Good as any, even if he did not recall their face or name.
“Good morning,” he greeted and did not realize how raspy his voice was until he heard it. Had it been so long since he had spoken to someone?
“Morning? Who calls noon morning? I mean—” the man cut himself off when he turned around and noticed him. “Oh. Uh. My apologies. Good morning, milo—uhh…” the man hesitated on his title.
D’Argen waved it away with a smile that felt like it was trying to break his cheeks. How long has it been since he smiled? Instead of trying to explain that to himself, he asked, “What day is it?”
“Uhh…”
“I know, I know, strange question, but you probably know who I am, right? I’m the one who empties that shelf ever month.” He pointed to the shelf in question. “It has been a trying few years. But I’m trying to recall something. Is there a specific event happening or…”
“Not to my knowledge… missir?”
“Just D’Argen is fine.” D’Argen once more waved and then cleared his throat. It was so dry. The bottles behind the man were so tempting. He would get one. He would. Just, first… “Any celebrations? Anything at all?”
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“Nothing big,” the man replied. “I’m not privy to what happens in the upper halls, but there have been no visiting dignitaries or any events planned outside of the usual court dinners.”
D’Argen thought about it. Did he miss the first mahee conference too? Acela and Zetha had gotten married in the mortals’ custom there. It had been even grander than Acela’s coronation, mixing multiple mortal cultures into a wedding that lasted almost half a month.
That was an event he remembered the date of.
“And today is…?” he asked, looking for a number.
“The fifth of the twelfth—”
“The first equinox?” D’Argen interrupted when the day finally made sense.
The man looked unsure.
“I have to run! Thank you!” D’Argen almost yelled and left the cellar. A moment later, he dashed past the man and grabbed a random bottle from the shelf. “Thank you,” he said again, lifting this closed bottle in a toast, and then ran.
It was so tempting to open his mahee, but it was not an instinctual thought like he had before. He was able to suppress it, even if he hated how long it took him to get to the library.
The grand library at the castle of Evadia was finished long before the first conference. The shelves were not yet fully filled, but there were so many tomes and books and scrolls waiting to be re-written in the more common languages of the mortals that would soon have everything bursting. He ignored the mortal sitting at a desk near the castle entrance of the library and rushed to the doors that led out into the gardens. Right by them were…
Yes.
There.
He had to put his bottle down to grab a ladder and climb it. His legs were shaking, but not as bad as his hands, when he reached for a volume near the middle. He did not even bother to get down the ladder before he was flipping the heavy book open.
Olde, God of Time, had moved to the northern peninsula to start his observations of the sky a few centuries ago. He regularly sent back messages to Vain to add to his books. Vain had someone else re-write the less important ones in a series of volumes that talked about the sky, the stars, and other celestial objects.
There.
D’Argen slid down the ladder, grabbed his bottle, and rushed back to the front desk.
“Hi. Hello there. How are you? What is the date today?” he asked quickly, not giving the mortal time to reply before he grabbed the single card the librarian was writing on and checking for himself. He gave it back, flipped a few pages in his tome, and… yes. It was today.
The excitement rushed out of him once he had an answer.
So what if he knew the date? So what if he was the only one who knew what would happen today at noon? So what, if—
Would it even happen?
He wanted a view if it did.
His old rooms back in the Forest Tower looked ready for him. There was no dust and the splinters had long been cleaned, there was a ceramic basin filled with tepid water, and his bed was made. The doors on the balcony were left open to let in fresh air. He ignored all that and stepped out and onto the railing. Then hesitated.
He had never done this climb without his mahee. Vah’mor’s rooms were higher up, a shorter climb that he had tested a few times, but with the exhaustion and the heat of the day, he was not sure he could do it now. Add the tome under one arm and the bottle under the other, and he was not sure he would not fall to the meet the ground. It was tempting, but it had been ever since the moment he returned and he had turned away that temptation every time. He wondered for a moment if he should take the stairs, but the sun was already high in the sky.
The bottle shattered when he dropped it but the tome remained closed. He jumped and grabbed onto the ledge right above his balcony doors. His fingers were weak and his head was pounding. He could do it. He climbed until there was a secure foothold, then another, and another. There was a decorative trim on one of the walls that allowed him to shuffle sideways for a bit before he had a makeshift ladder in the latticework that held vines and flowers. A few more steps, his legs shaking and his arms screaming at him, and he made it over the lip and onto the floating bridge of the castle.
He was covered in sweat and the first thing he did was remove the ribbon from his loose blouse and used it to tie up his messy and knotted hair in a bun. It allowed a cool breeze to caress his neck and he smiled, thinking of Lilian and Thar both.
Then the sky started getting darker. He looked up.
He was right.
The vernal equinox. The solar eclipse. The two never happened at the same time. And yet, one time, in the history of all of Trace and both sets of memories that plagued D’Argen into insanity, it did. Just the once. Exactly five thousand years after the gods fell to the mortal realm.
The moon’s edge covered a small part of the sun and D’Argen stared right at it, even as it hurt his eyes. The sky darkened as if storm clouds were above him, yet everything was clear. He heard murmurs as the sky darkened more and more. Others were noticing it. Then the sky got darker and darker and a bright flash of light before the moon fully settled over the sun. It created a bright halo of light that sparkled and stabbed at his eyes.
D’Argen felt his mahee leave him.
It would be a few hours, the moon travelling with the sun for a bit and leaving the land in darkness, but even after the sun’s light shone bright on them, they would both continue to laugh. Laugh at their plight, as none of the Never Born had access to magic.
The last time, in his other memories, D’Argen had been as surprised as the others. He had not been using his mahee, but Abbot had panicked when he could not make a light to counter the darkness above them. Yaling had screamed. Lilian had clutched D’Argen as tight as he clutched back. The four had been not too far from the city of Evadia and they had rushed back. By the time they returned, they had access to their mahee again. Even so, they were not the only ones. Over the following month, every Never Born had returned to Evadia and complained or reported the event.
This time, D’Argen would not be joining the others in the great hall as they panicked and discussed what had happened. This time, D’Argen would just sit and laugh and drink.
He remained atop the floating bridge until long after he could feel his mahee again. He ignored it. There was no need for it at all. It only brought him pain and suffering. The only reason he left the bridge at all was because he was getting thirsty.
D’Argen was either drunk or asleep during most of the following month when all Never Born returned to Evadia to report the event. Only on one occasion, when things started calming down, did he make it to the hall where they met. He decided to stick to the top balconies and look down at the others. He overheard a few conversations here and there, rumours had started among the mortals that demons had returned. He knew it to be true, even if most of the others dismissed it and instead focused on explaining the event away as something else.
But D’Argen ignored all that. The most important for him was Darania. He watched her small form move through the crowd, assuring the others and giving them support.
On one occasion, their eyes met. Darania looked surprised.
She knew. He knew that she knew. She would use her new knowledge to strengthen the Life Crops, to create the Rainbow Forest and the Rainbow Reefs, and keep quiet about it all. Because she knew that she was the reason they were all in the mortal realm.
D’Argen smiled and waved to her with his bottle.