Like many, even the majority of people, I never considered myself a bad person. Yes, there were moments when I committed unsavory acts, but I could always justify myself: "Circumstances turned out that way," "I was forced," "I didn't start it," "Such is life"... There were always many excuses, and they were easy to believe. On the other hand, I never thought of myself as an unconditionally good person either. I had enough self-criticism to understand that good people do not act as I sometimes do. In general, I considered myself an ordinary person, somewhere in the middle of the moral scale accepted in my environment. What the "past me" did in revenge against the questers was far beyond morally acceptable, both on Earth and in Ain. But I let this warning sign pass by my consciousness, simply describing that situation as "circumstances broke me." And there was some truth in that excuse. Even now, I feel the echo of that brokenness; these last months of "memories of the future" are literally soaked with this wrongness.
But as nothing arises from emptiness, the prerequisites that made the "past me" overstep all moral norms and commit truly shitty deeds did not come out of nowhere. From nothing, suddenly, a person cannot reach the point where he deceives five people and then, having lulled their doubts with lies, conducts a ritual that kills them all. The "past me" justified this act only by the fact that these five were doomed, as demons would have killed them sooner or later anyway. And so their "voluntary death" in a ritual, which they thought would protect their souls, allowed "me" to get one of the elements needed to implement the plan to destroy the quester. The famous phrase "the end justifies the means." Yes, sometimes this statement is true, and no matter how unthinkable the sacrifices may seem, they are worth making so that there are not many times more victims. The main mistake of the "past me" was that "that me" considered the fight against the questers a goal that justifies any means. Because the questers were not the main enemy, not at all. And in the end, it wasn't the questers who killed everyone.
Even weedflowers appear from somewhere, and if there are no seeds in the soil, no weeds will grow there. I should have admitted this a long time ago, just when I got the "memory of the future." But instead of this admission, what did I do? Right, as usual, I found an excuse for myself. But the sprouts of that shit that budded in the "past Raven" are in me now. And that anger that is now raging inside is one of such seeds. If I water this sprout, fertilize it, it may carry me in the wrong direction again. But I can't ignore this rage either. It cannot be ignored because it is part of me. And if I lock this part away, pretend it doesn't exist, then one day, it will break all artificial walls and barriers. After which, there will be such an explosion that everything the "past me" did might not seem so bad... in comparison.
Perhaps the determination with which I saved Lan Lin during the first group trial was motivated by a desire to prove to myself that "the current me" is not the same as "the future me."
I need to understand the roots of the feeling that has just arisen. Because this isn't even anger, it's something more primal, pure spite. Such a strong emotion that it hinders clear thinking and decision-making.
With a gesture, I pushed the boy aside, closed my eyes, and immersed myself in my thoughts. I assumed that I was in for a long self-examination journey, but it all turned out to be much simpler. The answer was always on the surface, and if I had bothered to look at myself, my character, without the rose-tinted glasses of self-justification, I would have seen the obvious long ago.
No, I'm not a hidden sociopath monster. Sociopaths are incapable of empathy. I, on the contrary, am overly sensitive to the troubles of others. But it's precisely because of this that I'm now twisted with anger. I shouldn't care about Cristo's death - we were barely acquainted. But even this "barely" left a mark on me, and I take the earthling's demise too close to heart. That's the first reason.
But there was a second one. Those who knew me well often spoke about this trait of my character. But I always brushed aside their observations or turned it all into a joke. Now, looking back, I notice that my coach wasn't shy about using this trait of mine as an additional motivator. How can you not notice the obvious for so many years? Apparently, you can. Yet I didn't. Or rather, I saw it but easily justified myself. The fact of the matter is that I have a not-so-nice and virtuous trait. And now I can admit it. Because in light of everything I've learned about myself, both from the "memories of the future" and how Ain has revealed my character, I can't turn a blind eye anymore.
"It's time to admit to myself: I'm a vindictive bastard." Since this was said in my native language, Aun didn't understand anything and just blinked in confusion.
This character trait in the Last Cycle grew out of resentment towards the questers, grew to unprecedented proportions, subjugated everything else, and became the center of my worldview. Revenge on the questers became the meaning of existence for "past me." A story that perfectly illustrates the parable of the two wolves that live in each of us.[1]
Now, I understand the source of my anger, which calms the waves of rage almost overwhelming me. It calms but does not eliminate completely. Yes, knowing the root cause of these emotions, I can better control myself. But the desire to break the neck of that fleet officer who arranged all this hasn't gone anywhere. It has only moved from the center of my attention, receded to the periphery, but it hasn't vanished without a trace. Not at all vanished.
"Aun, do you think revenge is bad?" I'm not sure why I decided to ask the boy's opinion.
"Bad?" The young man's eyes sparkled. "Seeing the dead body of my father's killer float on the waves was pleasant. Perhaps it was this that stopped me then from thoughtless and bad actions, gave me the strength to live on. And if I had killed that scum with my own hands, it would have been even easier for me." The boy's fists clenched so hard that his knuckles whitened. "Revenge as retribution cannot be bad." There wasn't a trace of doubt in his voice.
Aun and I are the products of completely different upbringings and civilizations. We were even born in different worlds, but our views on this matter are surprisingly similar. Basically, I've been going down this path in this Cycle for a long time. "Revenge as retribution" is how I justified myself when I took the rods from some at the first group stage, doomed them to die by my hand, and gave them to others. And the fact that this retribution was for actions not yet committed did not stop me. I then felt some inner righteousness in my actions. Besides, even now, more than a month later, I still think I did the right thing then.
It's a strange thing - all these heavy thoughts didn't make my mood worse. On the contrary, they calmed me down a bit. They calmed me down because uncertainty was always more unpleasant than even the harshest truth. Now, knowing what caused "my" breakdown in the previous Cycle, I was no longer as afraid of a similar outcome. Now, in light of my newfound understanding of my own character, I looked at some moments of the past from a new angle. And this view only confirmed the conclusions I'd recently made.
For instance, one guy at the youth competitions deliberately messed me up by adding crushed pepper to the talc. More precisely, he messed up not specifically me, but everyone who performed after him, but I got it the most as I was next in line after him. We didn't have direct evidence of who did it, but we had enough indirect. And five years later, instead of forgetting what happened years ago, I did the opposite... When we met again at the national championship, I sent that guy to the hospital, slightly adjusting the height of the jumping table before his performance. Even now, remembering what I did then, I feel no remorse and still believe that jerk got what he deserved. And the fact that he, perhaps, didn't even remember how he put pepper in the talc years ago, in my eyes, did not justify him at all.
There were more than just one or two examples of this in my past, not even a dozen. There were far more. Still, I was far from avenging minor things, and if someone pushed me in transport or stepped on my foot without apologizing, I didn't spit in their back. Sometimes I really wanted to spit in the back of particularly persistent impudent people, but I restrained myself. But if someone touched a "sore spot," I could remember it even after many years. And those who knew me saw this trait of mine and hinted to me about it, but I only joked it off. For example, to the words "You are really a grudge-holder," I replied, "I'm not a grudge-holder, I'll just get even and forget," or "I'm not a grudge-holder, I just have grudges, and a good memory."
The announcement by the lead steward of the end of the tournament day jolted me. Getting to my feet, I nodded to Aun and headed for the exit from the stands. The boy immediately jumped up and ran after me. With the help of a servant, I found my allocated room, changed into my own clothes, and asked to have my tournament clothes washed for the next day. After that, Aun and I left the Arena.
Unlike the previous two days, this tournament day ended long before the sun began to set. Evaluating the position of Dairin relative to the daylight, I determined the time to be around four in the afternoon. Sensing my mood, Aun walked quietly alongside me, not even trying, in his usual way, to chat. For that, I was a bit grateful to him because without being distracted by his chatter, it was more convenient to think. In complete silence, we descended almost two-thirds of the large staircase when a boy ran up to us. Not a courier, not a ragamuffin, just a regular kid around nine or ten, of which there were many running around the city's central square during the day. Standing right in front of us, the lad gave us an appraising look, grinned widely, and pulled out a small, only about a finger-sized, scroll from his bosom and handed it to Aun, saying:
"Here! This is for you!"
The merchant's son looked at me and only after my nod took the scroll in his hands.
"And who told you to deliver this?" asked Aun.
"I don't give away my clients!" The lad replied proudly, turning his nose up, and immediately bolted away, disappearing into the crowd in a matter of seconds.
Of course, I could have grabbed the kid. But grabbing a child in front of hundreds of people wasn't the best choice. Moreover, someone likely used the lad as a random courier for a few copper coins or the promise of a treat, and he wouldn't tell us much even if he wanted to. As I watched the lad run away, Aun had already unfolded the scroll.
"Don't do that again, don't open anything yourself - let me check first," I immediately gave him a little lecture.
If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.
"But even without opening it, I knew who the message was from," the young man shrugged apologetically.
"Really?" My question was laced with doubt.
In response, Aun lifted the scroll to his nose and noisily, demonstratively, inhaled the air.
"I recognize the smell of these herbs from a thousand." A smile crossed his face.
"A message from your bride?" My question was asked more for form's sake; I already knew the answer.
"Yes." Aun's answer was too laconic, and he didn't seem overly joyful.
"Will you show me, or is it something very personal?"
Clearly, the young man was hesitant. After nearly half a minute, he came to a decision and handed me the scroll. You can't fit much on such a small piece of paper, and here only a couple of lines were inscribed. Beautiful, ornate, I would say feminine handwriting read: "I need to tell you many things. Be careful: you are in danger. As soon as I escape from the watchful eyes, I will let you know. You know the meeting place." No name, no signature. But it's clear who this letter is from. Still, I ask the question:
"Do you recognize the handwriting?"
"What?" Aun didn't understand my question.
"I repeat, do you recognize your bride's handwriting?"
"Ah? I don't know..." The young man seemed confused.
"How so? You never exchanged messages before?"
"We did, but Shadrasi, Aunt Zian's assistant, always wrote for Alaya. Auntie always considered personal correspondence somewhat vulgar." The young man shrugged. "So, to my shame, I don't know Alaya's handwriting. But I always recognize the smell of her favorite herbs." Taking the small scroll from my hands, Aun sniffed it again. "And this is that very smell."
"And what is the meeting place that 'you know about'?" I continue to ask.
"When we were very young," the young man's eyes clouded over as if he had dived into memories, "we often played in the warehouse belonging to the Zian family. We would run away from our parents and go there. I think that's the place. We never met anywhere else alone."
"Do you think Alaya is referring to some new danger to you, or has she found out about the attacks?"
"I hope she found out something about the attacks, not about some new troubles," the young man sighed heavily and finished, "although I wouldn't be surprised by anything at this point. After my father's death, it's as if the whole world has turned against me." Raising his eyes, he smiled. "And if it weren't for you, Master, I don't know what I would have done."
Requesting the letter-scroll, I took it into my hands and examined it once more with the utmost attention but could find no catch. If there was any magic on it, I was unable to recognize it. Most likely, this was indeed a message from Alaya. But my paranoia today was particularly nitpicky. Apparently, because I received indirect but still evidence of Cristo's not accidental death.
"One thing I don't really understand," I say, returning Aun's message. "Why was the letter delivered here? It would have been easier to bring it to your house."
"So when am I at home?" The young man dismissed. "It's no secret to Alaya that when you guys are fighting, I'm always at the Arena. Plus, she sometimes goes to the fights," the boy gestured, "not alone, of course, but under the supervision of Shadrasi." Noticing my raised eyebrow expression, he added, "No, I didn't see her in the stands today. But that doesn't mean she wasn't there. The place was packed today, there were people even standing in the aisles. I might have missed her, but she could easily spot me since in the participants' and their guests' section, there were only two dozen people apart from us."
This explanation satisfied me, but nonetheless, I was not completely reassured and, starting to move down the stairs, I advised Aun:
"I'd get rid of the message before we go home if I were you. It would be better to burn it, but you can also throw it into the sea after tearing it up."
"What could be dangerous about it? It's a piece of paper smaller than a palm." The boy was surprised.
"Oh! You wouldn't believe it!" I smiled. "This paper could turn into a snake at night or, worse, suddenly burn, releasing poisonous gas. Or it could just lay there peacefully during the day, transmitting everything that is said in the house somewhere."
With every word of mine, Aun's eyes grew bigger and bigger, and when I fell silent, he said:
"I've never heard of such spells! They're probably only available at very high ranks of the Spiral?!"
"You could say that," I evaded a direct answer.
What I listed was developed by earthlings in the Last Cycle. For example, to create a poisonous bomb disguised as a letter, hidden by Illusion and Transformation magic, you don't need to reach Legendary Steps at all. Most likely, the message that Aun is holding is fine, but I will be more comfortable if the boy destroys it, which I told him again.
"And another thing," when the boy agreed to throw the message into the sea, I turned to him again. "Show me the place where you used to meet Alaya. It shouldn't be far, should it?"
"It really isn't far," the boy confirmed my thoughts. "On West Ox Street, which stretches along the market square."
"So it's near Aunt Zian's shop?"
"Yes, just three hundred steps away from it," the boy nodded. "But why do you want to look at it? A warehouse is just a warehouse, almost always closed. Servants and porters are there only in the morning or after large fabric purchase deals. Otherwise, it's almost always deserted, which is why we chose it as our playground when we were children."
"We're going by the market anyway," I shrugged.
"And what are our plans for the evening?" Aun perked up noticeably.
"You'll go home to train. And I'll drop by the 'Quiet Harbor' tonight, have a few beers, listen to people."
"Do you want to learn more about Officer Laore Tempai? Do you think he'll win the Steel grid of the tournament after all, and you'll have to meet him in the grand finale?" The boy immediately perked up.
"Yes," I answer in one word, as I don't want to come up with a lengthy lie.
The officer participating in the tournament interested me only as an excuse to strike up a conversation with someone and enter certain taverns under the pretext of finding out about a future opponent, nothing more.
"Then I'd better go with you instead of home." The young man gave me a sly smile.
"Don't tell me that another cousin of yours works at 'Quiet Harbor'..." I rolled my eyes.
"Not a cousin." Aun's eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief. "A childhood playmate. We didn't become friends, but when we meet, we chatter at length."
"You chatter? That's the last thing I could have doubts about!"
The youth caught the teasing note in my voice and shrugged with a friendly smile. It was the kind of gesture people make when they formally apologize without feeling any guilt. After some thought, I accepted Aun's argument and allowed him to accompany me.
"But first, you'll show me that warehouse." I insisted.
"I still don't understand why you need that..." He sighed dramatically. "But, of course, I'll show you. Let's go."
At a leisurely pace, we passed the central square, then a couple of blocks, and arrived at the main city market. But since we didn't need to buy anything, planning to have dinner at 'Quiet Harbor,' Aun suggested we bypass the crowded place and take a different street.
West Ox Street was almost a carbon copy of the alley where I had taken Ye Lan to Aun's house. Such streets were quite commonplace for Tries and similar cities. They were very narrow, barely allowing a single cart to pass through. The windows of residential buildings never faced these streets. In fact, there were usually no front doors on this side at all, replaced by the much larger gates of warehouses, workshops, or shops. The sewer, rainwater drains, and garbage removal services also ran beneath and along these streets. Those houses that did not contain warehouses or workshops generally had no exits onto such streets, no windows or doors. The only significant difference between West Ox Street and the alley near Aun's house was that, since this street ran along the market square, almost all the buildings along it were either shops or taverns. As a result, all these buildings had some form of exit on this side. This was particularly noticeable for restaurants and other food services, as their kitchen windows, almost always wide open, faced this side rather than the market. On the opposite side of the street was a nearly solid wall of storage facilities, rising steeply upwards. It made sense to have a warehouse next to a store, which was always better than having the same warehouse at the other end of the city.
Even though the sun had not yet set, and it was still light, I felt a sense of claustrophobia as I walked down this street. It wasn't just the close proximity of the walls but also the near absence of windows in the houses. It was like walking down a narrow corridor without a roof, whose walls stretched ten meters high. If it weren't for the kitchens with open shutters we passed along the way, it would have been utterly uncomfortable.
"Good day, Grandpa Wyuan!" Aun greeted someone, peering into the window of one of the kitchens.
"Eh?" Came the elderly man's croak in response. "Young Aun? Get lost from here, you naughty boy! I don't sell from this side!"
"I just said hello!" The young man shouted back cheerfully.
"He says hello, and then my pastries disappear!" Came the indignant response. "I said, get lost!" A dry, sinewy hand appeared for a moment and slammed the shutters closed.
"Tell me, would I be mistaken if I assumed," I turned to the boy when we were about thirty steps away, "that you and your beloved Alaya, when you were children, before you went to play in the warehouse... sometimes, occasionally, you would sneak into old Wyuan's kitchen and treat yourselves to some sweets? Without asking, and of course, without paying."
"Very, very rarely!" The young man replied, pressing his hands to his heart and looking at me with honest eyes. "I thought the old man had long forgotten, but no, he remembers!" The boy laughed.
"Thank Elai for the fact that after these antics, you're still alive, and your hands are intact," A crooked smile flickered on my face.
"What?" The young man didn't understand. "The old man is harmless! When I was still learning to walk, he was already old. Long ago, when he was in his prime and, as he always yells, was a warrior of Steel, he was probably dangerous. But now..." The boy waved it off carelessly.
For a moment, I had the desire to tell the boy that all his life, he had been pulling on the beard of a master of Mithril. And then watch his face. But I held back because I would have to explain how I knew the real level of the sweets seller.
"Still, offer sacrifices," I patted Aun's shoulder, deciding not to explain any further.
When we passed through West Ox Street, I looked back, stood there for a minute, assessing the disposition, and said:
"When you get a note from your bride requesting to meet here, let me know."
"I would not want to," The young man's face became stubborn. "Alaya is my bride, and she clearly wants to meet without outsiders."
"And yet..." I began, and, perhaps, for the first time in our acquaintance, the young man interrupted me.
"I apologize, Master. I have great respect for you, but please understand me. For me, meeting with Alaya is very personal," He bowed to the ground, but from the tension in his back, I realized that he would not change his opinion.
"Suit yourself." I shrugged. "But when you're lying here, bleeding out on these stones and staring at the sky with dying eyes, don't blame me."
"What are you talking about, Master?" The young man was surprised at my words.
"It's an ideal place for an ambush!" I replied, trying to contain my irritation, as I looked at the narrow alleyway. "Especially after sunset, when there's no one around here, no servants, no loaders…"
"Master! Alaya definitely has nothing to do with assassination attempts on me! How could you even think of such a thing?!"
"I didn't say that," I reassured the agitated boy. "But the message you received could easily be forged."
"I recognize the smell of these herbs." Aun reiterated his argument.
"And if the person who forged the letter ever visited Aunt Zian's shop and encountered Alaya there, they could remember these fragrances."
"Master…" The youth said with sympathy in his voice, "You're overcomplicating things. Besides the scent, one would need to know about our childhood meeting spot, and only the two of us know about that."
"Have it your way." I dismissed his argument again, but this time because I had forgotten about that detail. Most likely, the young man was right, and the letter wasn't forged.
"Shall we go to the 'Quiet Harbor' now? I'm hungry, and they serve an excellent baked sea perch prepared in their own unique way!"
"Baked perch?" My mouth was immediately filled with saliva. "Then, of course, let's go!"
[1] TLN: In short, the side of yourself that you "feed" - grows and takes over. https://www.awakin.org/v2/read/view.php?tid=927