Season I | Episode IV | Chapter II

Dying. Grandma’s friend is dying.

Tarrick is still processing this hours later. Not long after giving the terrible news, Rycrofth had asked them to sit on rocks. Using his strange Meaning powers, Rycrofth had levitated all of them out of the caved in section of the canyons. Once they were back on firm, solid ground, he’d almost keeled over with fatigue. Grandma had immediately decided they set up camp for the day. Now here they were. Eating their supper around a slowly growing fire. Hours ago, Rycrofth had gone to sleep on a bed of rocks - sleeping bags would burn, Rycrofth had half-muttered - and hadn’t gone back up since.

“Do you think he’s okay?” asks Tarrick for the millionth time.

“Yes, he’ll be fine,” answers Prothea, sitting in his lap.

“Then what happened to him? No one’s told me since we set up camp.”

“It’s Meaning,” says Grandma, gaze lost in her teacup. She grips her teacup so hard, Tarrick fears she’s going to break it. “It’s killing him. Slowly.”

Silence follows after that. Tarrick decides to push further.

“But… how? I’ve never heard of someone who could channel Meaning like he does.”

“You haven’t?”

He looks down at Prothea. “No, I haven’t. It’s usually channeled in objects, not Davrians.”

“He hasn’t aged a day.”

Tarrick looks back up at Grandma. She looks defeated. Older than her years.

“Rycrofth is an Academist,” Grandma explains, still gripping her teacup tightly. “People who can channel Meaning into objects, plants, etc. Like you said. But Rycrofth… he’s one of the few who… During my Chronicling days, I visited Brunnaron, the Academy of Experimental Meaning. The school for people who study Meaning’s mysteries. Who create the artifacts we use to protect ourselves during Affliction Day. I want to take you there, one day. That school is a well-known secret. But it has secrets of its own. Rycrofth is one of them. Back then, he was working at the Academy as a professor. One of the best. There was a freak accident. Rycrofth and a few others - six professors in total - were trying to figure out the properties of Meaning. The experiment backfired. Rycrofth, Tralamir, Isepisys, Unalitia, Faeraele and Syllael. There was an explosion. After that… they weren’t the same.”

Tarrick looks down into his teacup. He grips it tight until it hurts. His jaw tightens, too. He can’t bare the haunted look in Grandma’s eyes.

“What happened to them?”

“They absorbed the properties of Meaning. Solid, gaseous, liquid, aether, kinesics and plasma. Their bodies morphed into those properties. That accident gave them great powers, too. Rycrofth can move anything solid. That’s why he prefers places with many rocks. Somewhere solid. His power has great consequences, though. It eats him from the inside. Each time he uses it, it drains his life force. And one day… one day… I fear…”

Tarrick didn’t want to push her. But he didn’t have any other choice.

“What do you fear, Grandma?”

“I fear he’s going to turn solid, one day. And lose himself completely to Meaning.”

Tarrick swallows. He expected she was going to say that. But it’s still not an easy thing to hear. Rycrofth seems like a decent fellow. He took them out of the cave in, after all.

“I’m sorry.”

“I just hope… I hope I can help him, now that I’m older and wiser. I hope… I hope I can bring him back to normal. He was friends with your grandfather first. Reeckards really liked his friends the Academists.” Grandma smiles at the memory. It’s a sad kind of smile. The kind that hides tears at the corners of her eyes. “They were wacky. Like him. Reeckards always wanted to know how things worked and how the world turned round. Poor Reeckards was always heartbroken he never got to learn at Brunnaron. They refused each time. Your grandfather was a thinker. Not unlike Rycrofth and the others. And I followed wherever he went; I loved Chronicling whatever struck his fancy. Whatever struck their fancy, too.”

Tarrick exchanges a look with Prothea. “You think we can help him?”

“I hope so,” says Prothea. “I truly hope so. For your grandmother’s sake.”

“What about the red crystals we found in the mountain scorlion’s lair?” suggests Tarrick. “Couldn’t that help him? Somehow?”

Prothea clicks her tongue. “I don’t know. Remember what it did to the mountain scorlion?”

“Touché.”

“Tarrick.” Grandma looks up and stares him right in the eye. “You might have a point there, though. Everyone at Brunnaron tried everything to make them normal again. It never worked. But no one tried to use crystals imbued with Meaning.”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“I… wonder why.”

There’s carefulness in Prothea’s voice. A carefulness that, Tarrick finds, sounds strange in her voice. She doesn’t like this one bit. “There must be a reason why no one tried that,” says Prothea.

“Meaning is always unpredictable,” answers Grandma. “But it’s our last hope.”

“I guess it is.”

Silence falls and fire burns. Prothea curls up in a ball and falls asleep fast. Tarrick lies down on his back, his sleeping bag enticing even while the sun is still setting. He doesn’t have much time to fall asleep, though. Someone stirs in the camp. And it’s neither Grandma nor Prothea. Rycrofth is awake.

Rycrofth groans and puts a paw to his temples. “What happened? I feel terrible.”

“You exhausted your Meaning powers. You needed the rest.”

“What time is it?”

“Almost seven,” answers Tarrick, looking up at the sun, low in the sky.

“Really?” Rycrofth sits up. “I slept all that time? I must have been more exhausted than I thought.”

“How much did you use your powers today?” asks Grandma.

“Not much. I levitated some rocks.” Rycrofth snaps his fingers, smile growing on his volcanic-like face. “Oh! Right. I tried to stop the cave in. That didn’t work out, did it?”

Tarrick knows he’s trying to lighten the mood. That doesn’t work out either.

“Last time I saw you… you could lift up the entire Academy with one paw.”

Rycrofth laughs. “I grew old.”

“We all did.”

“Hm, hm.” Rycrofth tsks. He turns to Tarrick. “What about you, son? You’re Reeckards’ grandkid, right? How’s your grandpa? How are your parents? Jortus and Onette, right? I’ve only heard about them through letters, but it’s been a few years. How are they?”

Tarrick opens his mouth. Grandma beats him to it.

“They’re dead.”

Tarrick sniffs. He’s never heard Grandma talk about that Affliction Day… like that… before. So bluntly. She usually avoids the subject. Never mind saying this.

Rycrofth gasps. “Oh, Maeena! I’m so sorry. I… I didn’t know.”

What’s going on? Grandma’s gaze has gone steely. Freezing cold. Her jaw is set, brow frowned. What happened to her cheerful behaviour from a few hours ago? Meaning, be, what happened to her cheerfulness from a moment ago? It seems the more time she spends in Rycrofth’s presence she’s grown angry. Vengeful.

Prideful.

“That’s the point, now, isn’t it!” It’s not a question. It’s an accusation. Grandma tosses her tea cup. It shatters loud in Tarrick’s ears. Grandma rises to her feet, paws gripping her cane tightly. “You weren’t there! You should’ve been there, but you weren’t. You weren’t there!”

Grandma smacks her cane against the ground. Prothea awokes with a start.

“What’s happening? What’s going on?”

Tarrick runs his paw into her fur. “Shhhh. It’s okay.”

Grandma doesn’t look okay, though. Each breath she takes sounds ragged. Knives in her throat. “They died when the ground broke apart and they fell. I was there, Rycrofth! I… I watched.”

“Maeena…”

Rycrofth jumps up and grabs onto Grandma’s arm. She pulls away with a cry of pain. Tarrick smells burnt fur from his spot a few feet away. He burned her. “Leave me alone!”

Thus, Grandma storms into her tent and closes her flap. With purpose. She’s gone.

“I…”

Rycrofth stares at Tarrick. Face crestfallen. The poor fellow. He looks absolutely, completely lost.

“Sit down. I’ll explain.”

Rycrofth plops down next to Tarrick. Tarrick stares into the fire. Wood crackles under the blue flames. It’s strange. When Tarrick looks at Rycrofth, he can’t help but think how orange fire looks… odd. Out of this world. Supernatural. He never thought he’d get to see orange fire. Or lava. Tarrick shakes his head. He has to focus. Don’t avoid the subject. Stop beating around the bush. Even in your own head. Tarrick takes a deep breath. Then he starts to tell his story.

“Grandma was the one who took me in after that dreadful day. I’ve never seen her react like that. She usually closes up when someone mentions Grandpa or Mom or Dad. I’ve never seen her angry about it. If anything, she’s always been my rock. Keeping me afloat when it felt like too much. We always see it coming. Most of the time, we’re lucky if we don’t lose someone to the Afflictions. But that year… everyone lost someone. Our family lost the most.”

“She’s right.” Rycrofth’s voice shakes around the edges, but he looks resolute. “I should’ve been there. I should have protected them. I control Meaning in solid form! I could’ve… saved them.”

“It’s too late for that. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

Silence falls. Only broken up by the popping of the embers in the blue campfire. Tarrick rubs his paws together, enjoying the way the feeling of fur against fur distracts him from that pain deep seated in his chest. Still there. It’s always there. Some days are worse than others.

“Where were you, anyway?”

Rycrofth avoids his eyes. “People don’t like us. The Academists. We’re… We’re scary. It doesn’t matter that we’re all almost ninety-years-old. We age but we… I can understand why people are scared of us. A bunch of people stuck together in a freak accident gain immeasurable power in the span of…” Rycrofth snaps his fingers. “Like that.” He clicks his tongue. “People grow weary of us. Suspicious. We’re like a ticking bomb waiting to explode for them. That’s why we all left the Academy. One after the other. We don’t really stay in one place for long. At least, I don’t. I don’t really keep in touch with the others anymore. Not even in writing. Besides, it got hard to keep track of everyone’s locations after a while. Where do you send a telegram or a letter if you don’t know where the recipient is supposed to retrieve it? The others could be anywhere, for all I know.”

“You don’t seem sad about it.”

“I am. There’s a part of me that is.” Rycrofth shrugs. “But there’s no need to worry about that.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Hey… what’s that?”

At first, Tarrick doesn’t feel anything. Then it starts. The ground shakes. A low rumble comes from deep below the ground. Rycrofth grabs Tarrick by the paw.

“Look out!”

A great ruckus fills Tarrick’s ears. Rycrofth pushes him against the canyon walls. Now he understands. The wall on his right collapsed. Rocks bigger than himself are falling. The rocks collide with the ground. Dust rises up. The fire goes out. Someone screams. Grandma. Or was that Prothea? Everything stops moving. The dust settles once more. What is it with cave ins today?

Tarrick coughs. “What happened?”

Rycrofth’s paw is lifted in the air. A few rocks as big as Tarrick’s head he was holding safely above them fall to the ground. “They're drilling again.”

“I’m sorry?”

“The Davrians who live underground. I keep telling them to stop drilling under the Wide Canyons but they never listen! And now… now here we are.”

“What do you mean, here we are?”

Tarrick shakes away the dust from his eyes with one paw. He gasps when he realizes what’s going on.

“Grandma? Prothea!”

They’re separated. And somehow, someway, the falling rocks formed a cul-de-sac around them. They can’t see the sky anymore. All that’s left is rock. And… are they in a tunnel?

“Great,” grumbles Rycrofth. “We’ve stumbled in a Meaningful tunnel.”