The walk to the tavern is short and quiet. My agitation bites at my hands as I wrestle the door open. My concerns only deter when ignored, as direct attention inflames them. Fighting with it is useless. I will forget and accept it without letting it have any control over me. A promise easier to proclaim than to perpetuate. I will continue, as I have, to do so.
“Yerr llate,” Jer slurs.
“You’re drunk,” I call.
“You’re both stupid.”
“Whatup ‘er bum?”
“My bum is fine. I don’t like drunken loudmouths.”
“If’in you’ll ‘ee a way to escuse my dunkiness.”
“I doubt it. You know we have a meeting?”
“I did. ‘Lso knew I only had’t lisen.”
“No problem. I have it all written out. It is in the bag, along with instructions on how to use everything. We are here for a going-away party, not a meeting,” I sueth, placing the bag on the table.
“Oh yeah, the louse is leaving. If we aren't talking business, I am getting drunk.”
“I’ll get us some rounds.”
Mulberry meads are back in season, so I order three. Once the drinks are secured, I dig through the crowd. Jer and Shan are audible from across the bustling room. They are slipping into their usual demeanors with little prompting. Do they not like each other?
“Here we are. The way you guys fight makes me think you don't enjoy each other's company?” I question upon my return, interrupting their babbling.
“Ain’t got any ‘roblem wit ‘er.”
“Your demeanor is too bold. As well, you put too much pressure on Vesh.”
“What you know?”
“I know he seems to do all the heavy lifting while you run around officer training getting drunk and screwing anything with a pulse.”
“Oh? How many screws do I get? How many ‘rinks? Vesh has the role ‘ey chose.”
“You petulant. Vesh is the only chance you have at doing anything. If it weren’t for Vesh, you would still be in some backwater village.”
“Oh? That it Shanshi?” Jer sarcastically asks before bursting into laughter.
“You’re unbearable.”
“Jer is right, if not amenable. I appreciate your concern on my behalf, but he is right. I chose this role. I chose to come along, and Jer could have left without me. It may seem like I do too much, but that isn’t Jer’s fault. My problems are ones I put on myself, and no one is to blame for that but me. Jer is doing what he has always intended to do.”
“So you’ll defend him doing nothing?”
“The fact that he can’t do anything is one that we are accounting for. He got into the academy, which was our whole plan initially. My failure to make it has set me down this path where I must work harder to keep up.”
“I see. I apologize for assuming the situation, but I still think Jer leaves too much for you to work out on your own.”
“Accepted,” Jer barks.
“I appreciate that, Shannai. Maybe Jer isn’t the most involved, but he is as loyal and determined as possible.”
“Accepted,” Shannai echoes, “Alright, I need to get drunk before I deck this idiot.”
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“Cheers,” We all call.
A pounding noise yanks me from sleep as the door frame buckles and splinters apart. My rapiers are beside my bed. The haziness of sleep still sticks, preventing a full assessment of the situation. My reaction is one of instinct. I tear out at the first and turn to the second. The room and hallway are smokey, making breathing difficult. I push through the dark and remember Shan in the room. Shannai Sage needs no help from me when facing anything, so I disregard my concern.
My rampage cuts short as the pervading smoke fails to satisfy the needs of my pumping blood. It is more than obfuscation, it is a paralytic. My attacks lose force as my body strains against the substance. I could have fought with a source of air that wasn’t tainted. As it is, the air pulling into my lungs is corrupt, and I don’t have enough magic or materials to filter it. If I had figured it out sooner than I could have— My knees thud to the ground, and my arms slump to my side. Someone is on top of me, pushing me to the ground while restraining my hands behind my back.
The next thing I am aware of is the sting of a metal chair. I jerk away from it, but my limbs aren’t responsive. My mind and body are numb to the exterior reality, pulling me back into my world. My mind palace isn’t safe; the world's influences entrench my perceptions. All the harvested knowledge flies from the shelves to hover around me. Deeper still, we journey into the essence of me. A hidden place of magic dwells between my soul and mind, the cord of my being.
Protecting it becomes the focus. Unrequited thoughts and discordant yearnings disguise it, things that hover at the edges, composed but unqualified as worthy. With all these things that people hide, I stand in defiance. With them, I cast aspersions while still keeping my truth even deeper. No one will find the confidently whispered hum so concealed in the tumult.
I build walls on walls, hiding away that truth from anyone who will try to seek it, which raises a question. A question I have hitherto considered secondary to hiding. What is there to hide from? Is there a need to hide? Those questions shadow the tales of those missing. If they can find the truth, then there will be a trial.
I try calming myself down, hoping this is a misunderstanding or unrelated coincidence. The ideas do little to counter the similarities between this and what I have heard. They come at night, incapacitating all those around the accused with white smoke. Creations' breath is a hallmark of the Truth Seers. All of this becomes clear, and I am back to building walls, hiding away the secret that's sure to grant me a life sentence in the pits of hell.
“The accused is awake,” a voice reverberates against my defenses.
“I am.”
“The accused guises itself,” a second voice accuses.
“I am not.”
“It has been accused, the accused will submit, or it will die...” A third voice trails off.
“What of-”
“Or die...” a fourth voice echoes.
“You are free to seek. I am not resisting you,” I recite.
“We are sight,” a fifth voice assures.
The pressure encompasses me then. At first, it is a slight thing, like a gentle hug. It takes some time for the person to rifle through my entire life. However, everything obfuscates that one whispered truth. That truth is hidden deep and will be the last thing found if they can manage it. The scrutiny grows as the missing whisper comes again and again, that loose thing that ties together all the pieces. They must have noticed and, of course, have some means of seeing what is missing. Right?
The pressure is now as sharp as needles, their points wringing spasms from my muscles. The pain is secondary, a thing to consider from afar, with a detached attitude. A bruise here and a cut there won't break me. The hold condensing my being won't stifle me. They won't uncover the fleeing recollections. I will give up everything, every piece of myself except for this one, and it will be complete. The falsehood will stand.
Parts of my wall crumble under the onslaught, and ramparts of my delusion crack from strain. I patch the sections, fortifying myself around my truth. Here, I am the master. Here, in me, no one is higher. I am this one point of space, this one claim. I feast on the impetuousness of standing against me in this place. How foolish you are even to try.
“The accused has had enough for today.” A sixth voice commands.
“Have you not found all that you are looking for?”
“Yes, we will sedate it.” A seventh voice affirms.
“What are you looking for?”
“Goodnight, Vesh,” a familiar voice whispers.
The attempt falls on aged ears as I don't lose consciousness. I see the melatonin burst intended to help me along. However, I store it in some fat instead of letting it affect my mind. I stand vigil at the border of consciousness and add layers to the wall, defending against certain death. They will fail before I do. They moved too soon. They won't have enough to convict.
“The accused is prepped for the C.R. Neurogram,” A voice calls.
“Good morning.”
“It is conscious?”
“Well enough, rough night, but what can you expect?”
“It appears to be.”
“You will all be quiet. The subject isn’t subdued fully.”
“I will let you seek openly,” I repeat.
“Accused from its kingdom always know rights and obligations so well.” a sixth voice digs.
“I imagine you have to be rather devious in your work. It makes a title like `truth seer’ kind of ironic.”
“It dangles on the edge of decorum.”
“Another place where the people of my kingdom feel apt.”
“You will yield, and your people have already begun. With Odin’s death, the north will crumble into the fold,” a familiar voice bursts.
“Now, who is on the edge?”
“Silence. We begin.”
It is a strange thing to compare. It is the worst physical pain I have ever felt, but so was last time. So, how do you compare that? It’s presently the worst, so the other pain becomes less tangible. The walls holding me shake, and each blow worsens the underlying tenderness as it induces separate inflictions. It is as if pain is simple pressure and heat, both of which can continue to grow endlessly. There are no nerve endings to fry or senses to shut off. It's a painful thing that grows worse without any reference. I know the pain will continue to worsen from this moment to the next.
I often consider loosening my grip for a second, well-deserved respite. To do that would mean giving up everything I dream of and submitting to the person and system I loathe. This place holds everything in devotion to ignorance. It is an idea that gives comfort to those who recite it.
“The accused continues to resist. It will only end one way.”
“When that time comes, I’m sure you will relish it. I’m sure that you will love seeing your grandeur grow. Even if it is only in your mind that anyone truly respects you.”
“It is a broken thing.” A familiar voice needles.
“Deluded. You are all deluded. We’re all fucking broken.”