“So which cart are we hopping in?” Keldon asked.
“Not we, you. And yerr hopping with the prison cart.”
“Woah woah woah. Wait, slow down a second”, Keldon said, stopping in place. “Prison Cart?! And what do you mean “you”?”
“I meant what I said. Yerr leaving the Hissings alone buddy boy.”
“But why? Why can’t you come with me?” Keldon asked, but then, Keldon suddenly remembered asking the doctor who had paid for his medical bills. “Bertram… were you the one who paid for my hospital bills?”
“Our bills. And yeuh, not like you could pay them on yurr own, 'specially not now. So, I extended my contract. ” Bertram said nonchalantly
As Keldon was about to argue that he could work for the money himself, Bertram was already poised to counter his argument. He sighed inwardly, knowing that arguing with Bertram on the topic would just be wasted breath. Instead, he just smiled in appreciation and wrapped his arms around Bertram.
“Thank you. Really.”
“Don’t worry about it buddy,” Bertram said, patting him on the back. “Now let’s go, gotta get you on board.”
“What about Hilda by the way?” Keldon said, looking around. “She told me she was going to come to see me off.”
“She’s tied up today, tons of paperwork to fill out because of the attack. She’ll be comin’ to the capital in a few months or so, so she said she’ll look for ya then.”
“That’s a shame; It’ll be nice though to see someone familiar after a few months in the capital,” Keldon said. “Although, it would have been nice to see her before I left.”
Moving towards the front of the prison cart, Bertram and Keldon made idle conversation. But while they were discussing when they’d be able to see each other again, they were interrupted by boisterous cheering. Three gentlemen were making merry by the tortulgas, surrounded by empty bottles and clanking together glasses full of frothy, pale yellow ale.
“To life on the road!!”
“PRISON CREW BOYS, HURRAH!!”
“To delivering justice to baddies!!”
“PRISON CREW BOYS, HURRAH!!”
“To easy money!!”
“PRISON CREW BOYS, HURRAH!!
Together, in unison, they laughed a hearty and genuine laugh that was straight from the belly. Keldon rarely heard those while he worked in the Hissings. Infectious as it was joyful, Keldon couldn’t help but let his lips curl into a smirk, joining in the merry in his own way. It had been quite a while since Keldon had heard laughs of true joy.
“You lot haven’t aged a day. You boys get my message?” Bertram said, approaching the lot.
“You’ve aged several from the looks of it. And yeah.” said the man who led the chant. He was a bit pudgy and leaned towards the shorter side of people Keldon had known. He smeared his arm across his face, still leaving trails of ale foam in his beard.
“Well, almost all of you,” he said, pointing down at Bertram’s faux leg. “When was that.”
“Recent,” Bertram replied matter of frankly. “Keldon, meet the Prison Crew Boys. Prison Crew boys, Keldon. We were drinking mates way back when.”
“’ello Keldon.” Said the man who had led the chant. “I’m Mitch, the tall one’s Pudge, and that’s his younger brother Ernie.”
Pudge waved a friendly hello. Strangely enough, he wasn’t fat at all, he was quite handsome despite his nickname. He had a sharp jawline and sparkling blue eyes, it wasn’t the sort of attractiveness that made a person feel intimidated, but rather the opposite. He seemed warm and inviting, the kind of person you feel you could share your darkest secrets with.
Ernie, in comparison, was much plainer, his eyes were a duller blue and the only other particularly remarkable feature on his face was his crooked nose. He walked up to Keldon with a wide grin on his face. Shaking his hands with gusto, eagerly introducing himself.
“Well well, Bertram, what a man we have here, now this is a man that knows how to dress. Name’s Ernie but you can call me “at your service”.” Ernie said.
“Shove off, Ernie.” Bertram said, “He ain’t a lordling, the boy is broke.”
Ernie frowned, but quickly picked his smile back up, shrugging his shoulders dramatically.
“Ah well, can’t blame a man for trying. Nice to have you along for the ride.” Ernie said, patting Keldon on the back.
While the five of them were introducing themselves, trading jabs at each other’s appearances and reminiscing a bit about their history. Many of the caravans had exited the town gate, waiting at the side for the prison cart to lead the way. A few of the merchants shot annoyed glances at the quintet, each trying to outdo each other’s quips and jabs.
“At least I ain’t never shit myself on the tavern floor while courtin’ the barmaid. You should’ve SEEN the look on ‘er face when you passed out, herrherrherr” Bertram said with a strange chuckle.
“Bastard, at least I could drink then. Remember how you had gotten yourself pricked by a Thornapus and the doctor said you couldn’t drink for a month?” Mitch said, turning to Keldon. “Get this, he thought the doc was exaggerating so he had a sip of ale and got sent back to the medic. After paying the bill, Berty couldn’t afford to stay at the inn so he just slept in the barn. Woke up the next morning to a horse cock, dangling on his lips, HAH!!
Keldon tried to suppress his laughter as Bertram stared daggers into the two of them. However, upon noticing the gaze of several important-looking merchants staring at the lot of them in annoyance, Keldon brought it up to the Prison Crew Boys' attention. They laughed, waving it away as “business as usual”. They said their goodbyes to Bertram as they finished their drinks, and started to load up the rest of their equipment into the front of the cart.
Keldon turned around to Bertram, looking him in the eye. “I know I say it too much but, thanks again for everything Bertram.” Catching him in a warm hug. Bertram started to push Keldon away, but gave in, returning the embrace.
“Alright, alright. That’s enough of that,” Bertram said, pulling Keldon off him. “I’m sure we’ll meet again someday soon.”
Keldon nodded, turning around and hopping up to the side of the prison cart as it started to pull away towards the town gates. He waved one final goodbye to Bertram, before getting into the cabin at the front of the prison cart. Opening the steel door, he plopped down onto the side bench and closed his eyes, feeling the rumbling of the wheels against the dirt road. It had been an exhausting few days and having a good laugh really reminded him of how tired he was, both mentally and physically.
“*Ahem*”
Keldon snapped opened his eyes. At the opposite end of the cabin, there was a man in a long auburn cloak with sharp dark eyes, staring at Keldon. He had long brown hair that was tied back, and seemed unamused as Keldon realized that he must be another travel companion; probably upset that Keldon didn’t introduce himself.
“I’m sorry, didn’t notice you there, name’s Keldon.” He said, reaching out for a handshake.
The man shook his head with a frown, “Not that, your bag’s on my lunch.”
Keldon lifted up his knapsack, revealing the smushed remains of a tuna sandwich smeared across the bottom.
“Oh shit, I’m so sorry. Let me pay you back for it.” Keldon said, starting to dig through his satchel for his coin purse.
The man reached over and peeled the sandwich off the bottom of the knapsack, the sandwich making a schluck sound as he pulled it off.
“It’s fine. Just watch your language.” He said, taking a bite of the smushed sandwich and looking away from Keldon.
“Oh. Right. Sorry.” Keldon said, shying away. “My language?” he thought, a little confused.
Man, it was awkward in the cabin now. The cart rumbled down the dirt road as the sound of hooves and Tortulga feet clopped against the earth. Keldon shot the man a couple of glances, trying to find an opening to reintroduce himself and make a better impression, but the man kept a tight defense against any social interaction. However, about twenty minutes or so later, a gap in the wall slid open, revealing the prison crew boys steering the tortulgas at the helm. Mitch slipped his head through the opening.
“I damn near forgot to introduce the two of you, Salem, meet Keldon. Keldon, Salem.” Mitch said.
Keldon looked over to Salem, flashing him a slight smile. But Salem didn’t meet his gaze. Mitch looked back and forth between the two of them before sliding the gap door closed. He started to talk to Pudge and Ernie, assuming that Keldon and Salem wouldn’t be able to hear them conversing. That or he didn’t care if they did.
“I think they hate each other.” Said Mitch, muffled by the gap door.
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
“They fightin’?” asked Ernie.
“Hope not,” said Pudge.
“Lemme check.” Said Mitch. He slid the gap door open, poking his head in again.
“You two fightin?” asked Mitch.
“We’re not fighting Mitch. Leave us alone.” Said Salem, not looking up from the book that he had pulled out.
“That’s what fightin’ people say. You know, I’m somewhat of a therapist myself. I like to think all of life’s answers could be found at the bottom of a bottle somewhere. That’s how I figured out I needed to leave my ex-wife!” Mitch said.
“Mitch…” started Salem in annoyance.
“Lemme tell you, she loved being in plays. Mainly dressed-up as herself and acted like a total bitch.” Said Mitch.
“Mitch.” Said Salem flatly.
“Like that one Keldon? Stole that from a traveling comedian, scrawny little one he was.”
“Well, I-“started Keldon.
“MITCH. Leave us alone.” Said Salem, raising his voice.
“Okay, okay, you don’t need to shout,” said Mitch, as he closed the gap door.
“Some people just have no respect for others,” said Mitch in a muffled voice, still audible through the gap door.
Salem let out a sigh, shaking his head and looking back down at his book. Keldon looked back between the gap door and Salem who was brooding in the corner.
“Man, why do I always get interrupted in the middle of my sentence,” Keldon thought, taking out his own book from his travel bag.
This was going to be a long trip.
#
Four or five hours had passed by this point. Keldon didn’t feel like he was making any progress in his readings, and by now, he had given up on trying to make any further conversation with Salem. He had tried to have a bit of light-hearted conversation but after working at the Hissings, he knew there was a point where it was just wasted breath. Instead, Keldon just tried to pass the time by staring out the cabin door window. For the first couple of hours, it was just the outskirts of town, yellowed grass fields, and barren trees as far as the eye can see. Nothing out of the ordinary. But then, Keldon saw his first patch of wildflowers.
It was almost…healing. It was like the first ray of sunshine to break through an overcast sky. Much of the flora in Greenhearst was controlled; Vegetables were grown row by row, trees lined the streets in perfect rows, and potted plants pruned to precision. There was nothing particularly bad about it, it’s just… there was something about the untamed beauty that couldn’t be replicated by human hands. It had been years since he had experienced an untainted wilderness, and the childlike wonder on Keldon’s face expressed that. There were the forests near the hissings but the vegetation was strange and gnarled, here, the flat prairies melted into rolling hills of emerald.
As the group traveled north, they entered into a large forest of weeping willows, some mysteriously growing out of enormous sun-bleached boulders weathered by rain. The smell of damp moss and pollen wafted through the air as the group trudged over the well-worn path. As the sun fell from its throne in the sky, cascading the forest in hues of purple and yellow, Keldon heard someone call out to halt. He watched the company of merchants, each secluding themselves in their own little corner of the forest, set up camp for the night.
Mitch slid the gap open, poking his head into the cabin.
“Oy, Salem, you mind starting up the campfire for us?” Mitch said.
“Oh, I can do it,” Keldon said, piping up. It’d be nice to get out of the cabin and stretch his legs for a bit.
“A volunteer without needing to be voluntold! I knew I’d like you.” Mitch said with a grin, turning back to the others. “Why can’t you two be more like him.”
Ernie shrugged his shoulders as Pudge pursed his lips into a sheepish grin. Keldon hopped out of the cart cabin, stretching his arms and taking in a deep breath of crisp evening air. He wandered around nearby, careful not to stray away too far from the campsite. Climbing over roots and stones, he gathered dried branches and twigs which had fallen between the crevices of nearby boulders. Being careful not to damage the inner trunk, he peeled back the dried bark from nearby weeping willows as he made his way back to the campsite. Mitch had already set up the ring of stones and left pre-chopped logs nearby for Keldon. Keldon took out his trusty flint and steel from his backpack, a remnant from his refugee days, and started the fire. Within a few minutes, the sparks had turned into a crackling bonfire, as Pudge hauled over an iron cauldron, carefully hanging it over the fire.
“No fire skill huh?” Pudge said, waving his left hand in a semi-circle as a dull-looking skill orb materialized.
“Yeah, something like that,” Keldon said.
“Makes sense, quite expensive they are,” Pudge said.
Activate Skill: Lesser Create Water
A small stream of water materialized as Pudge filled up the iron pot, as the scent of ginger, spice, and lemongrass rose up from the bubbling stew. He kept quiet, gently basking in the light of the fire. He pulled a few russet potatoes out of a sack he had left nearby, and with precision, Pudge diced them in his hands, dropping them into the vat of spiced stew. He didn’t talk much, only occasionally making brief eye contact with Keldon and giving him a gentle smile.
The two of them sat quietly by the crackling fire, distant sounds of chatter from the various camps echoing in the background. They basked in the warmth, as the snapping of burnt logs sent embers scattering into the wind. A few moments later, the door to the prison cart opened up as Salem climbed out, announcing his presence with a loud stretch. He sauntered over and pulled up a log across from Keldon, making himself a little seat. He sat quietly though, only muttering thanks to Pudge when handed a bowl of stew. Both Pudge and Salem seemed to be unaffected by what Keldon would consider the awkward silence. A few seconds later, Pudge ladled a spoonful of warm broth into a wooden bowl, gingerly handing it over to Keldon.
“Thanks,” Keldon said. Pudge just flashed him a smile. Staring into the bowl, he spotted chunks of potato, pork, and carrot swirling the bowl around and letting the scent rouse his appetite.
Then, it disappeared.
“What?” Keldon thought, looking up.
The forest of weeping willows was gone; instead, Keldon found himself sitting in a chair, across from an old man with a frown plastered across his face. Tired bags weighed his eyes as lines of worry streaked across his face. He sighed, tossing what Keldon could only assume to be a book of priceless historical value behind him.
“Aegethyr, T’oo’t, Bpthae’l, Ennison. Gone. Of the ten thousand great beasts, only Devoro remains.” The man said, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Devoro, where have I heard that name before?” Keldon thought, but suddenly it hit him. In one of his dreams, he had heard that name called out by the man who had been floating in the sky. The one who had crushed the hoard of Devoidlings in the sky.
The implication of the sentence suddenly hit him all at once. He was talking to the Master of Names.
“You’re the master of names," muttered Keldon without thinking.
“Yes yes, I’m the master of names. Of course, I’ll be able to push back the Calamities by myself.” The Master of Names said, rolling his eyes. “Jests aside Mink, don’t call me that, it may be my title but it’s not who I am. Just Ars please, we’ve known each other long enough,” said Ars.
He assumed the Master of Names, or rather, Ars saw him as someone he referred to as Mink. He should take care not to antagonize him, otherwise, he might not be able to learn what he needed.
“No retaliation Mink? The world really is ending.” Ars said, shaking his head. He picked up a book, and flipped through a few pages, muttering under his breath. Suddenly a gust of wind whipped through the room, sending pages of writing flying around the room. Rather than respond in annoyance, however, he just leaned his head back against his chair.
“They’re not listening to me, Mink,” Ars said, notes of frustration in his voice.
“Who?”
“The Names Mink, what else would it be? Seems the stress is finally getting to you.” Said Ars.
The Names! Finally, a clue!
“Do you know why they’re not listening to you?” asked Mink/Keldon.
“You’d have a better idea than I would. Isn’t that right, Death?” Said Ars, looking over to a bed, just behind Keldon. Sitting quietly on the bed, gazing out the window was a young girl, with silvery hair and skin fair as snow. She radiated a calm demeanor, the kind of eerie stillness and patience that one would develop after centuries of inner meditation. She carried a shepard’s crook nestled in her arms, and attached to the end of it was a lantern. The lantern constantly swirled in a complex undulating pattern, seemingly changing into infinity.
But her eyes, by the gods her eyes. They were dark and pale yet, were as boundless as the night sky. Her pupils glittered with pale white dots, unquantifiable to the human eye, each one a myriad landscape of the entirety of a life, she-
Then a book hit Keldon/Mink in the head.
“Mink you halfwit, don't look at the eyes or you’ll end up in the lantern too,” Ars said in annoyance. “Keep your gaze in between her tiny eyebrows.”
“I take offense to that you know.” Death said. Her voice was archaic and smooth, reminiscent of a grandmother’s lullaby.
But, Ars just looked even more miserable. “Drat, you’ve developed a sense of humor as well. Has it really gotten that bad out there, Death?”
“My physical form should be proof enough.” Death said, then turning towards Mink/Keldon “You should ask him your question, while you’re here. There is only time for one and it will grow more difficult for you to see him. ”
“Oh heavens, look at the time,” Ars said, looking up to a clock on the wall. “Death is right, I must be leaving soon, something you wanted to ask Mink?”
More difficult to see him? Did she mean whoever they thought he was? Either way, Keldon took a deep breath, taking a moment to think about what to ask. He only had one shot. Ars sarcastically mentioned the Calamity, but not that it was the Final Calamity, meaning at least currently, that there’s a possibility that it wasn’t the same thing. The best thing he could ask Ars now was how to control his magic.
“Before the names stopped listening to you, how did you command them to use their magic, and what changed?” asked Keldon/Mink.
“Command? Oh Mink, you don’t command names. You ask of them.” Said Ars. “I can’t believe you’ve forgotten the basics I’ve taught you already."
“Ask of them?” Keldon thought.
“Take, for instance, this sheet of paper. To command a name, you must know it in its entirety; its molecular makeup, its history, what tree it came from, the origin of said tree, what hands have molded it, the perception it has of itself, and so on and so forth. It can take months if not years to understand the name of a single sheet of paper. “Ars said, waving the sheet around.
“When I refer to Naming magic, I don’t refer to an object’s name in any one language. For there are an innumerable amounts of ways a single object can be perceived by other people or even other objects. Naming Magic refers to speaking to the soul of the object in the Apperceptual Realm, meaning the realm where souls perceive and understand themselves. Therefore, when we speak to an object’s name and soul, we ask of it to act according to its idea of itself and its nature, but also to go along with our desires through suggestion.” Said Ars. He leaned towards the sheet of paper, bringing it close and whispering to it under his breath, as the paper gently rose from the palm of his hand, and stuck to the ceiling.
"No matter how hard they plea, one cannot force the river to flow upstream. However, through action, by carving open a new path for the river to flow, they may direct it towards a new destination"
“However, you cannot ask of a name where it does not exist, you may speak to it in the realm of apperception, but it still requires embodied cognition. No matter your suggestion, it cannot act within the physical realm without a material representation. In addition, a name cannot act outside of its nature; the further away your suggestion goes, the less likely it will be to act to your suggestion. For the most part.” Said Ars.
Then the clock chimed, striking the bell three times.
“Seems like it is time to leave. Come Death, there is much work to be done.” Ars said, moving towards the door. Death hopped off the bed, slinging her lantern and crook on her shoulders as she followed behind him. Keldon/Mink started to get up from his seat, but then Ars turned around and said to him “No, it is not your time.”
And, before Keldon had a chance to argue, he went through the door, slamming it shut.
Suddenly, Keldon was back in the forest of weeping willows, sitting in front of the campfire, and holding the bowl of stew in his hands.
“Not hungry?” Pudge asked, looking a little disappointed.
“I am, sorry. Just a little tired.” Keldon said, fumbling an excuse as he tried to reorient himself. Salem stared at him, his face a mixed expression of confusion and wariness? Honestly, he didn’t feel too sure.
But right now, whatever Salem was grumpy at him for, it didn’t matter. Keldon wolfed down spoonfuls of dried pork and broth, reveling in the excitement of newfound knowledge.
Finally, he had his first clue.