“There are no secrets that time does not reveal.”

Jean Racine

“We all have our own little secrets.” My mother’s words echoed in my mind. I certainly do and I guess some have more than others. But it made me wonder what other secrets the rest of my family might be hiding from me. Were they even hiding them at all though? I was so young and they were so old in comparison. Everyone can accumulate a lot of different secrets over time even if they were never secrets to start off with. Merely facts of life that they had yet to mention. But it made me wonder what else people weren’t talking about. I still had so much to learn.

Mother had never mentioned the caves. Grandfather had never mentioned the caves. Did it count as them keeping secrets? Or simply failing to tell us something we would find interesting.

What more could she do?

What more could everybody do?

It seemed almost taboo to speak about stats and skills at least the specific stats and skills of individuals. But I really wanted to know. What they were and who had what? Probably the easiest person to ask would be Aleera but she would probably also be the most suspicious. Maybe if I got Des and Sinis to speak Bussola then I could order them to tell me theirs, but that seemed a bit of a selfish move and taking advantage of the weird power dynamic between us. Off the island, they would be my slaves. On the island slavery did not exist. It was weird and I tried not to think about it too much.

“Aleera, Aleera, what level are you?” I whispered to her one night. Whether it was worth whispering to her I didn’t know. I had realised that if I could hear everything that was happening in and around the house then maybe they could too. Who knew what their senses stat might be at.

“Kai, don’t ask me that. It’s incredibly rude.” She whispered back.

“Why?” I mean I didn’t want to tell anyone my stats but then I thought I was probably a little weird with my stats and still paranoid about telling anyone them despite my family's unbelievable acceptance of me, my magic, and my survival.

“You will know when you get your stats. They are very …” she paused, “Private. If you knew yours would you tell me?” she asked.

“Maybe,” I whispered back. Still unsure if I would or not. Would I really tell her mine if she told me hers? I wasn’t sure.

“What can you tell me?” I kept whispering my questions.

“What do you want to know?” she sighed.

“When did you get your system? What was it like? What happens next?” I was trying to be as vague as possible in asking so as not to arouse suspicion that I already had access and was trying to get a basis for comparison. Grandfather’s speech back at the house had been all very interesting but I was hoping for a little more detail and specifics.

I was finally getting a better handle on the vocabulary of Bussola and its syntax. My baby-style talk was not simply a part of acting younger than I was mentally although fairly sure that the cat was out of the bag that I was not normal after a month or two of revelations. It had also been part of learning the language which I was still inordinately proud that I had managed to do so quickly. It hadn’t been easy without a dictionary to reference or a teacher to translate for me. I wondered if it was partly due to the fact that a baby's brain is inordinately fantastic at building connections and learning from all the new stimuli it is exposed to. Or maybe it was the result of the high mind stat that I had managed to develop.

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“Well, I don’t know as much as mother and father. And I definitely don’t know nearly as much as Grandfather. Why don’t you ask them?” She attempted to deflect probably keener to go to sleep than actively avoiding my questions.

“It is nice to know how big and strong my big sister is.” I flattered in the hopes of eliciting an answer.

“I’m not going to tell you my level or my specific stats. History is filled with stories of what happens to those who are too honest. Even if they were only honest to the ones they love.” She reproached.

“What stories?” no one had mentioned them within my hearing was it another secret or simply a story I had not had time yet to hear. Growing up I had always been told that if I didn’t behave my inheritance would be given to the cat's home. It was not until I was a lot older that I discovered this family saying was based on the real-life actions of my great grandmother. Who has thought? Was this a secret story or simply a story I was yet to hear?

“Look if you promise to go to sleep afterward I will tell you are a story about why it is less than wise to verbalise your stats.” She compromised.

“Ok,” I said.

“This is the story of the lion and the mouse.” She started.

“Oh, I know this one. Is this the story where the Lion lets the mouse go and then the mouse helps the lion?” I ask.

“What a strange story, no not quite.” She answered.

“Once upon a time a Lion was sleeping alone in the jungle when a mouse came rushing past. In his fright and flight, he accidentally ran across the mighty lion and awoke him from his slumber. Despite his attempt to flee he was caught quick and held fast by the strong and might lion. Please don’t eat me great and mighty lion the mouse pleaded I can help you one day he declared. But the mighty lion just laughed and laughed. You’ll taste good as a mid-morning snack he chuckled as he lifted the mouse to his lips. Oh, great and mighty lion then at least tell me your stats so I might know by what a great and mighty Lion it is that is eating me, the mouse begged with his last words. The lion proudly told the mouse of his hundred stats in strength. The mouse flattered him about his strength and asked him to reveal more of his greatness and proud of his abilities the Lion went on to tell the rest of them. He went on to tell all who could hear his strengths and fro those listening carefully his weaknesses.”

“Did the mouse escape? Did he have a high dexterity?” I asked intrigued by how the mouse was going to escape the lion.

“Not quite, the mouse pointed out that although he had very no strength stat to speak of he had a very strong mind, and the one day if the Lion let him go then he might be able to repay the favour somehow. Finally convinced the Lion let the little mouse go on the condition that one day he would repay the favour. It was just as the Lion was letting the mouse go that a hawk who had been listening in the whole time blessed as he was with 100 senses and 100 dexterity swept in and ate the pardoned mouse.”

I sat there in shock, “That’s not how the story goes.” I complained.

“Yes, it is.” She calmly replied.

“Well, that’s not a very good story,” I complained frustrated by this world’s twisting of what I had thought would be a fable similar to Aesop’s.

“It is not supposed to be a nice story, it’s supposed to point out the dangers of telling your stats out loud. You never know who is listening and who is going to gobble you up. Go to sleep Kai!” she said rolling back over to go to sleep.

Left with my thoughts I lay sulking in silence.