Andrei

I woke up in a sitting position to no light, no colour, no shapes, no visual inputs whatsoever, and it wasn’t long before I became aware of the bandages tightly spun around my head. I rubbed the side of my face, and judging by the length of my facial hair, I’d been asleep for approximately two days. I felt around me for something to empty my stomach into, but I came up short and vomited into my lap.

“Bloody hells, lad,” said a voice. Rhydian Sinclair.

Thud, thud against the wooden floor as he made his way closer. He patted my mouth clean with a dry, scratchy fabric.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Right, well—I don’t have a change of clothes for you, so.”

Mister Sinclair handed me whatever it was we were using as a spit rag. I cleaned up what I could and swallowed another mouthful of bile.

Back and forth, back and forth. My head thudded in time.

“Are we on an embark?”

“I was hoping you’d stay down until we got there,” Rhydian replied. “But we’re nearly home. Do you remember what happened to you?”

Even though I couldn’t see anything in front of me, the memories behind me were sharper than ever. I saw her the way she looked on the day we met—her eyes concealed by a strip of cloth in the same shade of blue as my robes. Very funny, Lidia. But then the memory blinked, and her smile was the last thing I remembered before the pain.

“Lidia happened,” I said, not yet ready to talk about how she'd attempted to seduce me, or how she caught up to me when I tried to escape the church. “Were you in Oskari the whole time?”

I received no reply.

“Are you ignoring my question?” I asked.

“I’m not ignoring your bloody anything. I just forgot you can’t see.” The sound of a lighter sparking, followed by the smell of tobacco and smoke. “Aye, I was in Oskari the whole time.”

“Is she all right? Sinclair?”

The Strachan took another drag of his cigarette, exhaling through his nose. “Seemed she had it in the bag.”

“Seemed?”

A subtle shift in the air, and the sound of leather rubbing against itself.

“Did you just shrug?”

“Right,” Rhydian replied.

“How did I end up here? Last I recall, I was in a room with Zacharias Vonsinfonie.”

“Pardon?”

“Zacharias Vonsinfonie,” I repeated. “Let's say he exudes a certain aura and walks with a cane."

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Rhydian said. “Rick wasted a few good years looking for that one.”

“He didn’t seem too interested when I mentioned the name.”

“He wasted even better years hunting the Ruza bitch. One thing at a time, follow?”

The man took another drag of his cigarette, which was followed by the sound of metal turning against metal. The scent of honey and cloves met the smell of smoke in the air. Rhydian sipped his drink. “Pity he didn’t get to see it.”

“So, is she finally…?”

“Dust?” Rhydian took my hand and curled my fingers around the flask. “Aye.”

Vindication, and a comfort in knowing that if Sinclair was still in Oskari, the threat of Lidia Ruza was no longer looming. I lifted the flask to my lips and took a sip.

“My condolences,” I said. “For what happened to Rick.”

“It was just a matter of time, wasn’t it? I’m not looking forward to sharing the news.”

Considering those at the lair viewed Rick and Rhydian as father figures, what followed was a spell of silence where things went without saying. Rhydian smoked his cigarette.

Eventually, I asked. “Where did you find me?”

“The Nav found you sleeping on her shoulder this morning, not long afore I arrived.”

“That’s awkward.”

“Awkward? You’re lucky she recognized you from the last trip, otherwise you’d be dead.”

My stomach gurgled, joined by another putrid wave. “Yes, lucky me.”

Rhydian recovered his flask. “Don't worry so much, lad. We’re gonna crack you back into shape.”

“As though I were in shape to begin with.”

Rhydian’s laugh reminded me of hers—short, more like a snicker. Her father seemed to believe Sinclair was safe. But she’d be worried about me, and wondering where I went, and Amalia wasn't the ideal—or the correct—place to go looking for answers.

“How did it happen? With Lidia," I asked. “Did everyone make it to the party?”

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The man took one last pull from his cigarette before putting it out on the floor between us.

“I don’t know what the hell party you're talking about, but your favourite little lassie inherited more of my personality than is recommended.”

“You realize avoiding saying her name out loud doesn’t deny her existence, right?”

“All right, then. Rhian tracked the Ruza bitch to her crypts. Putting two and two together after the fact, she and a few others had a plan to blow up the catacombs, but I wasn’t at their family-bloody-meetings, so. Reckon she was working with Blanchett's girl and the Ruza son-of-a-bitch.”

“Alexander?” I asked.

Rhydian grunted.

“Other than his... age, what do you have against Alexander?”

“Doesn’t fucking matter now,” Rhydian said. “That one’s dust, too.”

The muscles in my abdomen tightened. I’d only met the man once, but he was kind, and he was Sinclair’s friend. I brought my hand to the bandages around my head.

“Can I take this off?”

The liquid in Rhydian’s flask sloshed in time with the surrounding water.

“Haven’t the foggiest what’s underneath there. Won’t be long and we’ll get you looked at.”

I had an idea what was—or wasn’t—underneath the bandages. The conversation with Rhydian was keeping me adequately distracted while I came to terms with what I already knew.

“Why isn’t she with us?” I asked.

“Who?”

“Rhian,” I said. “Why wouldn’t you have invited her along, and the others, if they wanted?”

“Because Rhian and her merry band of misfits have done more about the problems in Amalia in a matter of months than most have in decades.”

“You’ve sacrificed her safety and an opportunity to build a relationship with her for the greater good?”

“Something like that.”

I had mixed feelings, but I couldn’t deny it’s what Sinclair would have chosen for herself, and that’s all there was to say. The embark slowed, jerked to a halt, and the Navigator announced our arrival.

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While crossing the island, the Celestian took the lead as Rhydian guided me by the sleeve, warning me at every stretch of uneven ground or at any trace of a twig, or a rock, or at any unsubstantiated sign that I may suddenly and inexplicably forget how to walk. He promised he'd find me a suitable room once we arrived, even if it meant evicting someone from theirs. Frankly, I was suspicious.

He was being considerate, and I was appreciative, but the last time I'd visited the lair, he'd threatened to have me sleep under a table, then tricked me into breaking the rules, after which I attempted to both freeze and strangle him to death. Given my condition, there was the possibility he was taking pity, or showing me the softer side to Rhydian Sinclair, but my instincts informed me I was missing a piece of the puzzle.

Upon arrival at the lair, we passed through the hidden doorway, and led ourselves down the corridor and into the common room. Judging by the tantalizing scent of mixed roast vegetables, and the less appealing scent of cooked meat, it was evening. The Navigator slipped off without ceremony, and those who noticed Rhydian’s return welcomed him back. Someone approached.

“It’s good to have you back, Rhydian.” The individual was at least part Endican, considering his height.

Rhydian grunted. “Call a family meeting after dinner.”

There was a pause in the exchange. Someone, somewhere ahead, asked someone to a friendly duel, and the other agreed.

“J.D. sent us some fresh blood,” the Endican said next. “He’s been well-behaved—staying in the twins’ room while they’re away. You could bunk this one with that one.”

There was another grunt, and Rhydian tugged me forward by the sleeve. It was time to go.

After a series of dizzying turns down what felt like dozens of corridors, Rhydian directed me into a room on my left, but… left of what? My memory was exceptional, but by the time we arrived at the medic’s office, I was completely, without a doubt, disoriented. The room smelled crisp, cool, and clean, however, and knowing the lair observed adequate sanitation processes put me at ease.

They led me to the examination table and asked, “Are you ready?” to which I replied, “Sure.”

The medic had no identifying accent, and based on the trajectory of her voice, she seemed to stand at an average height, only slightly taller than Rhydian. Every turn of the bandage was met with a cheerful jingle. A bracelet—perhaps like those worn by the Senec, where each charm represented a decade of life.

The bandage spiraled around and around, and the medic smelled like saffron. It was time for us to come to terms with what I already knew. There was no miracle, and there was no medicine that would cure the complete loss of both eyes. They spoke the obvious around me, about me, in front of me as if I wasn’t even there. Things like, “He’ll need time to adjust," and, "Whoever cleaned him up did a marvelous job," and, "Holy fucking hell, what the fucking fuck?” Can't see me, can't see you—like a macabre game of peek-a-boo. I was relieved I couldn't see their faces. All the same, I was relieved I’d never have to see my own.

Drowning out the rest, I focused on the deeply satisfying smell. Cleanliness, order, everything was going to be just fine. I counted the charms. Three, four? Three or four charms jingled while the medic poked and prodded. I tuned into the laughter in the distance. It helped until I remembered the laughter would be short-lived.

“All things considered, he appears to be in good health and at no risk of infection,” the medic said. “He’s perfectly healed.”

“Fantastic,” I said, cautious as to sound sincere and not sarcastic. Other than the anxiety I was longing to suffer through in solitude, and the warm, fuzzy sensation coursing through the front of my face, I felt physically fine since I'd recovered from the seasickness. “If we've all agreed I’m not going to die, could someone show me to my room?”

“Should we fetch Maryse?” the medic asked.

I formed my hands into sweaty fists on the insides of my oversized pockets.

“I don’t need to see a psychologist,” I said, recalling the Delphi from my first visit, and how she’d convinced me to go into the lab without clearance.

"He does understand what's happened, doesn't he?"

Rhydian grunted. "I reckon so."

"Why isn't he—?"

"Reacting?" I snapped—to the medic, to Rhydian, to nobody. "I am having a reaction. I have been reacting.” Catching the edge in my tone, I took a deep breath through my nose. "I understand that I'll never see again. I understand that it'll be an adjustment. But unless you have developed a method by which to travel back in time, there is nothing I can do about it. I will be fine, like all those before me who have lost their sight and have been fine. I appreciate you both for taking the time to look me over, but could someone please show me to my room?”

Having been a victim of my temper in the past, Rhydian Sinclair didn’t require any convincing. Before we left, the medic replaced the bandage around my head, and to this day, the smell of saffron makes me sick.

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The room I’d share with the lair's latest recruit was three doors down from the medic’s office. I didn't have any reason to think I'd need to return, but I took comfort in knowing that if I did, my odds at finding it again were decent.

Rhydian opened the door, speaking into the room. “Oi, new guy. I brought you a roomie.”

“Fine,” the voice inside returned. “They promised me the top bunk, though.”

There wouldn’t have been a contest about the beds, but there was something familiar about the voice.

“All right—so, what the fuck’s your name, new guy?”

“Matteus,” said the familiar voice. “Matteus Rizik.”

Matteus Rizik, known to us as Riz—the Celestian with the showy personality I’d encountered while in Delphia on my pilgrimage. During that time, he’d become a friend of Sinclair’s, asked us to run away with him, and offered to teach me everything he knew. In the spirit of evoking Sinclair, it was a small goddess-be-damned world. And in the spirit of acknowledging bitter regrets, I should have accepted his offer.