“Let us begin.”

Those ominous words echoed through the otherwise silent interior.

The Inquisitor allowed the tent flap to fall shut behind him and stepped further inside, past the two guards, and towards where I was shackled to the chair.

I eyed him warily. I thought of being glib, but mouthing off would only hurt my chances. So instead, I watched, I listened. I attempted to convey respect. To inflate the man’s ego. For that was my most realistic tactic to survive this.

“Many fear the wrath of the Inquisition, but this need not be the case…”

He said as he compacted his wings as much as possible. The pavilion was too small, he appeared cramped. But all the same, he continued speaking and walking, circling me. His wing feathers scraped the fabric of the walls and myself. It truly did look far too cramped for comfort.

“Many attempt to clothe their misdeeds in deceit, hoping to fool the Inquisition. But doing so is futile, at best…”

He made it around to my side, making each step deliberate. I craned my neck to continue watching him, even though the shadows were only illuminated by the blinking diodes of the control panel.

“Many shun the taboos that draw the attention of the Crown, and perhaps rightfully so. But a select few, the brave, the unique, the worthy… These few seek to tame the power of the gods for themselves. These brave few, they slave themselves to the very same gods which sundered our world, and in return… in return… they receive power beyond mortal ken, beyond the arts and sciences and crafts, perhaps even rivaling Imperial Sigils…”

He made it directly behind me, where I could no longer see him, not with the chair between us, and not with the bindings around my neck and waist and arm and legs. Was he emphasizing how helpless I was? I did not appreciate this at all. But despite that, I could only grit my teeth and let the moment continue. I would not even plot, as any interrogation might reveal my plans, especially with the truth detection that they employed.

“These few, they may attempt to hide from the Crown, but they need not do so…

“For there is a place for all beneath the Crown, more so for the skilled, for the Marked, and most so for the Godsmarked. None may say that the Crown is wasteful. They are housed befitting their sacrifices. They are put to good use. Which is fitting, as they sold themselves for power, as that power must be used, and there is no finer service than that to the Crown.”

Despite my better judgment, I began listening to what he was saying. Not that he was swaying me. No, I was trying to determine his strategy. He was making a case that my future might not be bleak–assuming I cooperated of course. Whether that was true or not, I could not say. It would hardly be the first time interrogators used false hope to incentivise confessions.

“So despair not!” he proclaimed, stepping back around into my field of vision once more. And then he paused, seemingly consideringly. He shook his head slowly, and in a softer voice, continued. “However, despite this hope, this efficiency, this purpose… perhaps the reputation of the Inquisition is not completely unwarranted. For divining the truth, removing the layer of filth and lies, purging the deceit through the fires of the Crown… it can go painfully.”

“Thus, I must ask: how will you bare yourself? Willingly, beseeching your purpose through the Crown. Or… through the fires of the Crown?”

He gave the carrot, and then the stick. Or at least, he implied their existence, not that he gave any details. Not that I needed the details. They had torture instruments, they had an electric chair! Clearly, they had the means to inflict pain.

“Plainly, I ask this: Are you Godsmarked?”

He was now gazing upon me.

I had two options. One, remain silent. And given their propensity for torture, I could not imagine that going well. The other option was to tell the truth, but to do so as vaguely as possible. But even then, I knew it would be futile. The Inquisitor would not let half truths steer the ship. Not unless I lucked out with his incompetence. But from what I had seen, that hope was unrealistic.

However, that did not mean that I was in danger. Because other than Nick Delaney explaining his own experience with an alleged divinity, I had no knowledge of any such thing. And even if the humans suspected I was Godsmarked, I had no such knowledge.

“No,” I answered truthfully.

He tilted his head, glanced to the green light, then to the guards by the door.

“It was calibrated,” one of the guards said, before belatedly adding, “Sir.”

“As it was noted,” the Inquisitor said dryly, before continuing the questioning.

“Have you been touched by a god?” he asked.

Truthfully? “No,” I answered. Because despite the claims of others, I doubted the existence of any god.

“Perhaps it is a translation error?” he wondered aloud. “Have you been known by a divine entity?”

That one made it sound like I had been ‘biblical’ with a god. Which would be disgusting, and an imbalance of power. “No,” I answered, both truthfully and gratefully.

He tsked. His momentum had been lost. I could sense it. But still, he continued soldiering on. “Do you know from whence you received your Marks?”

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“No,” I said. Because in all honesty, I absolutely had no idea how I had received them. Or this body.

“A different line then,” he said after a considering pause. “Do you believe yourself from another realm?”

“What?” I asked, caught off guard and by surprise.

“Another realm. A different world. One unrecognizable from this one.”

“From the Wastes?” I asked.

“Answer the question as you interpreted it,” the Inquisitor said. “As strange as it seems. The penalties are dire, otherwise…”

He probably could have left off the threats. I remembered them well enough. I could not lie on this. I might have been able to give a misleading truth, but I was unsure of how. And then it hit me. I had the perfect excuse already.

“I… I don’t know,” I answered. The green light may have flickered slightly, but it remained solid enough for the misdirection to pass. Because it was the truth. I could barely remember anything. And for all I knew, we were off in the midwest somewhere, or an apocalypse happened, or I was in a coma. There were too many unknowns.

“You don’t know?” he asked.

“No,” I confirmed.

He ran his fingers through one of his wings, grooming the feathers. After some time, he asked for clarification, likely remembering my claims of amnesia.

“Can you provide a single, concrete memory, prior to receiving your Marks?” he asked.

“No,” I said. Because while I might have hints, maybe glimpses, and while I had impressions of my life from before… I was missing concrete details. And, I could not recall any specific moment. If I could finally put that frustrating disability to use, to my advantage, then all the better.

“Most vexing,” he said. “Your memory was clearly wiped. Whatever entity you serve has covered its tracks well…” He began pacing, creating a breeze whenever he went by. He thought aloud. “Strange though. Why spend divinity without a planned return? Perhaps… Well, such measures may be unheeded, unnecessary. Perhaps, a simple mechanism shall serve us well…”

He quickly turned, his wings slapping me in the face hard enough that I would have been sent tumbling, were it not for the restraints. He pointed at one of the guards, the same to provide confirmation earlier.

“You!” the Inquisitor said. “Send for a memory aid. Serum of the Lapis Sage, version two.”

The guards’ eyes widened.

“-the strong one, sir?” the one he asked said.

“-such colloquialisms.” The Inquisitor scoffed. “Yes. the strong one.”

The guard disappeared out the exit, the brief moment of light blinding, before he returned and the flap shut once more. He gave the Inquisitor a sloppy salute and a nod, and the Inquisitor responded by shaking his head. The Inquisitor smelled as though he were disgusted.

Rather than consider the guards and their lack of respect, he turned towards me and conversed. I absorbed all the details that I could, to better prepare myself for whatever was coming.

“Ordinarily,” he said. “Such expensive resources such as the serum would not be spent… but doing so would expedite this, though it is something of a risk…” he almost appeared apologetic as he said that.

“A risk?” I asked, worried, seeking clarification.

“Yes, a risk,” he said. He apparently decided to multi-task, and while he talked, he walked over to the tools and picked up a scalpel, examining it against the weak light of a glow stone. Dissatisfied by what he saw, he began rasping it along the edge of rough leather. “Minds were not made for tampering,” he said with a shrug.

I tried ignoring the tools as best I could. If all went well, they would not be used. Focusing instead on what I could, on the conversation, I asked, “And that’s what the elixir will do?”

“No. Not exactly.” He scoffed, placing the scalpel back down among the other instruments, next picking up a pair of clips and testing their springs. “But that is not what I meant.”

“Then… What did you mean?” I asked, nervously watching him systematically work through the torture implements.

“I see no gain in humoring you, except in showing the difference between your foul master, whoever it is, and the glorious mercy of the Crown…” He set the last of the tools down, finishing his inspection, and once again approaching me, circling me, and tracing a finger across my brow. “It is clear your memories were stricken, or would you contest?”

I shook my head.

“You disagree?” He sounded surprised.

“No, I don’t contest,” I said. “I agree. I’m missing them. A lot of them.”

“From our sciences, we know memories are sourced from here–” he tapped against my forehead, and then the top of my skull “-even among the beastborn. It is the brain, the mind, that houses them… so if a portion of them were removed, then what does that say of the methods?”

He was insinuating that whatever robbed me of my memories, also robbed me of pieces of my brain? I supposed in a primitive sense, that might have been true. But it was largely an oversimplification of how the mind worked. Or at least, of how I thought it did. I was hardly a neuroscientist. In fact, I hardly could be considered to have passed high school. If I even had.

“Now, while the elixir does not damage the structure of the brain–it does aid the mind in reforging connections to past memories… How is this a risk? I can see the question churning upon your lips. And to answer: I am unsure of the methodology that your mind was tampered with. So in encouraging portions to be restored, I cannot say with complete certainty that it will be your mind that returns to us, after the procedure is completed.

A cold sweat began forming.

“Brain… death?”

“What? No. Don’t be an imbecile. Well, perhaps, but unlikely. It is more of a philosophical question, if anything. Should the structure of your brain, of your mind, change, will you still be you?”

As he spoke, the flap to the tent re-opened, and a soldier came in, presenting a small metal container. He held it out and opened it for the inquisitor. “Per your orders,” the soldier said.

The inquisitor retrieved what might have been a bottle, about the size of my hand. It had a sealed lid, which he unsealed. Using a pair of forceps, he retrieved an object from the bottle–a pill. A blue glowing pill, approximately the size of a pinky’s fingernail.

The Inquisitor turned towards me.

“Will you open and swallow willingly?” he asked.

I gulped, and thought of resisting, but again, I was at their mercy. And should I attempt to fool him, such as hiding the pill beneath my tongue, I was certain they would discover the ruse. It was in their job, practically. I nodded confirmation.

“Verbally answer.”

“Yes. I will…”

“Very well. Then open.”

I did.

The pill was placed upon my tongue.

I was not given water.

I swallowed.

The Inquisitor checked my mouth. Then asked for additional confirmation. Which I gave. And then, we waited.

Minutes later, I began seeing colors that should not have been.

Then I tasted them.

Minutes later, my head was aching and spinning and I felt like my skin was inverting.

I became lost in myself.

I remembered.

At least, I remembered something. Flashes. Pain. Mother…

If I could have, I would have groaned. It was another horrid memory.