Gilder

Max had lost an arm fighting Johan. It hadn’t really hit me just yet, and the man himself seemed hellbent on making it even harder to process it. Less than a day had passed since their fight with Johan, and yet the crazy guy was already complaining about not being allowed to walk around Harlock. “Usually I don’t exactly mind if you keep me like this, but this isn’t really ringing that same nostalgia.” Max tugged at his remaining arm—handcuffed to the bed frame behind him. “This is new, but I can work with that.”

I rubbed my temples and drew a deep breath. “Please, take this seriously for once. You nearly died and we can’t use Restoration here to take care of your injuries. We are treating your injuries the old-fashioned way. That means plenty of rest and praying you don’t get an infection from losing an arm. I don’t care how much you clown around, you aren’t getting out of this bed for a while.”

“Way I see it, I have a spare body on Earth. Just have to find the Devil and ask him how to bring that body into this world. It’s fine if this one is kind of done for.” My glare must have said words more aggressive than I allowed myself to think, for the man sighed and let his back fall against the bed, resigned if not happy about the situation. Despite his bravado, he was sweating and I knew the fever wasn’t pleasant. Harlock had a rare amount of medical supplies, likely because of its very nature rejecting stats, but none of us was an expert at actually using them. He is going to be fine, I thought, nodding to myself firmly. He—he has to be. “I will stay here if it makes you happy,” Max announced, annoyance plain. “Seriously though, get rid of the cuff—it hurts my arm.”

“In a minute,” I told him. “When I am sure you’re going to actually listen. You—you could have died, you know?”

“Gilder, my man, you are really bad at this being angry thing, you know?” Max’s voice was cocky, and somehow he made his messy hair and damaged clothes give off a measure of imposing sophistication. He raised his chin as he spoke to me, and his smirk grew at the last syllable, a sort of soft, stretched sound at the end keeping the edge out of the taunt. “Think it’s supposed to be that you look at me coming back all injured and get mad at me—say something dumb that sounds touching but also oddly unfair. You know, the kind of thing that is so unfair to me that it makes me feel like I haven’t done anything wrong despite my actions consistently leading to danger. Then we can have a touching coming to terms with each other’s perspective.”

“I am mad,” I told him, my voice shaking a little. I didn’t know if I wanted to cry or slap him. Perhaps both. “But most of all, seeing that you’re alive is giving me so much relief that—it’s taking up everything inside of me right now. I know I’m mad at you. Because point A leads to point B, and you doing your reckless crap and joining up with Johan just for the sake of a match then immediately turning against him—that is point A, and it leads me to Point B that is me being mad. No one’s ever gonna accuse me of being the most self-aware guy in the world, but even someone like me can tell what’s going to make him mad. Even I know that this is something that should upset me, that you put yourself in danger for something completely avoidable.”

Max watched me for a moment and nodded slowly, processing it all. “But you aren’t mad right now. Not really.”

“No,” I told him. “Not really. Right now I’m just happy you are fine. I know I’m angry—but I don’t feel it. Can’t force it.”

There was a long silence that followed, but it was a productive one. The kind that comes not out of not knowing what to say, but out of knowing too much what to say, being spoiled for choice, and wanting to pick the best option for the person who deserves it the most. I was too slow—I always was—to break the impasse, and it was Max who spoke first. “I know what it’s like,” he said, his soft voice hinting at a warm nostalgia, “to not feel the things you do.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you really look at it, I know I come across like a selfish idiot. Just straight up abandoned you to go to Earth and learn to fence, came back and joined up with Johan…then even after finding out everything he did, even though I suspected the people I was fencing with were all fakes…I still stayed with them to the bitter end. That must seem pretty weird to you, doesn’t it?”

“No,” I replied, honestly and quickly. “Frankly, you are an idiot and have always been.”

Max was taken aback by this. He was a nobleman from birth, and despite his ambitions convincing him otherwise, the man was well-respected by most. Very few ever said anything like that to his face. And only I could say it without getting him on the defensive about it. “Listen, man, I just—I ride out the emotion I’m feeling. It’s not that I stop feeling other things I just…I just focus on only one thing. And then by the time I realize, a long time has passed and I have hurt a lot of people but still I—!” Max shook his head. “What I’m trying to say here, my man, is that—I know I left without saying anything and that was horrible of me. And it would have been completely understandable if you never wanted to have anything to do with me afterward.”

“Of course it would have,” I told him annoyedly. Heavens, if he wasn’t so injured right now I would try to strangle him—or at least punch his shoulder very hard. “You just ‘ride out emotions’ yeah. Fell in love with fencing, forgot about everything else and just went on about it. Did the same thing before, that’s why you stayed with the other team and why you got your bloody arm cut off. No need to explain yourself, it’s not that I don’t understand you, Max. On the contrary. I know exactly how dumb you are.”

“Gilder—”

“Don’t you start!” I hated when he said my name like that because I liked it too much. It made me want to just laugh it off and forget any criticisms I had in mind. “Honestly, for how much of a reckless idiot you are, your fencing is weirdly conservative.”

“I—my fencing?” Max raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Watched your match from this castle ship thing, remember?” Was secretly cheering for you over Fedal, but I’m not gonna say that. “I saw it earlier in your matches with Valle and Carr, but you are really careful, huh?”

“Gilder,” Max started, in a weird tone I didn’t recognize, “what are you—”

Max had fought well in the match, but he had made a few mistakes, most of which were directly related to how much of a team player he was. “Never thought there would come the day when I accuse you of being too passive, Max, but you ended up taking the safe option too many times. I understand you were playing to the percentages, but Fedal was redlining that entire bout. It was safer to end him quickly instead of trying to dance around the score the way you did.”

“His stats were too high, I wasn’t dancing around because I wanted to. Even in an individual match I would have—” Max stopped himself, shaking his head and looking up at me with a curious look on his face. “That’s some good analysis you have there.” His tone was suspicious for some reason.

“What, I can’t be right once in a while?” I snapped back. “I can make some good guesses sometimes.”

“No, it’s not that you can’t, just…those were a lot of correct guesses.” He paused. This silence was a little more foreboding than the last. “Her Highness spoke to me earlier. She briefly mentioned how you guys took care of Isabella.”

“What about it?”

“Gilder, you defeated Reven.”

That was another thing that hadn’t quite hit me yet.

Reven was someone I had looked up to my whole life. I wasn’t like Max. Didn’t really have any wild dreams of becoming the best in the world at anything. Couldn’t see the appeal in having thousands chant my name and wouldn’t really like being treated with respect, either. Casualness was more fun than the way nobles talked to each other. But I had always wanted to be like Reven—from the day I saw him, my dream was to be taught by him. People like Max, Carr, Isabella…when they catch a glimpse of a light like that, they want to learn how to burn their hearts to channel that light themselves. That was never the case for me. People like me are content just being near enough to catch a reflection off that light. Let someone else be its source.

Yet Reven fell.

By my hand.

That didn’t feel real yet.

“Reven’s stats stopped working inside Harlock,” I said. “So, I got lucky. Happened to get a lucky hit.”

“There is no way Reven wasn’t being taught by Johan,” Max replied, his eyes burning with something I could not place. “He must have been a really good swordsman. And you defeated him in one hit.”

“Well, it happened, what do you want me to say?” I cried out. “I got lucky! Celle and Nevada saw me doing it if you don’t believe me.”

Max didn’t reply immediately but his intense gaze never left me. Not even for a moment. “It’s not that I don’t believe you. I’m just trying to figure out how to get you to admit that you weren’t lucky. Gilder, I have been suspecting this for a while but…you’re really good at fencing, aren’t you?”

I shook my head. “I’m not. I just got lucky.”

“But—”

Do you ever feel like you know that a topic will go on for an uncomfortable length of time if you allow it? It was this feeling that came over me at that point. No amount of words, agreeing, or denying would shorten this conversation once it began. Max was going to be silly and go on about how good he thought I was because he couldn’t understand that I just got lucky. Weird stuff happens sometimes, but he wasn’t going to accept that. Need to say something to change the topic. Anything at all. It couldn’t be a lie though. I had to say something that would really shake his very core, but that was still true. “Reven’s body went missing, you know?”

Stolen novel; please report.

His shocked look told me a lot. Aw, fuck. Too honest. Didn’t mean to say this yet. Not that I wasn’t ever going to tell anyone about it, but I hadn’t really even worked out how I felt about it yet—let alone worked up the courage to tell anyone. Her Highness had asked me to dispose of the body and by the time I got there it was already gone. Not like I had a lot of time to talk about it after we crashed the ship through the stadium. “That—uh, any chance you can forget about what I just said?”

Here Max’s reaction surprised me. He didn’t appear too shocked after his initial narrowing of his eyes, but he held a solemn expression I couldn’t quite read. I hate when he does that. Did he already know that? Had someone seen where his body ended up and were they mad at me for it? Shit, hopefully that wasn’t—“You have a lot going on right now,” Max muttered. “Are you okay?”

I thought about everything that was concerning me. Defeating Reven, his body going missing, Johan—lord, the man gave me nightmares just by standing near me—the idea I could have become a brainwashed version of one of Max’s Earth friends, the death of all stats, the fact literal monsters were going to start rising up in the world, the war that was to come…there was so much to worry about. Most of all, you idiot, you lost an arm. I can’t very well start unloading all of this on you when I’m worried about how you’re doing in the first place. Physically he might be fine, and the idea of using his Earth body to replace this one was certainly a possibility. But there was no way he was mentally fine after losing an arm and getting injured like that. I have to be strong here.

With effort, I steadied my voice and raised my chin a little. It felt heavy, to keep my head up like that. It was more comfortable to let my head hang low and look down, that was my favorite resting position. But I still managed it. “I am okay,” I told him. “Do you believe me?”

He regarded me for a moment. “I will believe you if you unlock the goddamn handcuff,” he said.

Is that the trade? That’s fine by me.

My hand reached for his handcuff and unlocked it one go; it had been created by my Forgery and it hardly needed much convincing to remember it didn’t really exist. This was something people didn’t realize—even objects could be convinced of things. Guess I can’t forge things forever anymore though. Not now that Johan killed stats. Maybe I should—

Suddenly I felt Max’s now free hand holding my chin so I was looking directly at him. It wasn’t a rough action, nor was it completely surprising, but I could not avoid it regardless. Even from that smallest of touches I could feel the immense pain he was under and the monumental effort the small action took him. He was in agony from his injuries still, I knew. A reckless man beyond any other, sometimes appearing uncaring for even himself when distracted with whatever new dream he saw. But in times like this he would remind you of what his priorities really were. “Tell me you are okay again,” he said, looking me in the eye, “and I will believe you.”

Such an easy lie, such familiar sounds that had left my lips and echoed in my mind countless times over the last few years, more natural than a greeting. Yet now my tongue could not say them. He is injured. Much more than you are. Don’t be selfish. Let him rest. Max’s eyes were burning with a serious intensity his callous behavior had ill-prepared me for. Despite my best attempt to look away, his weak hand still kept me looking at him. “Don’t look at me so sincerely,” I whispered. “Can I have the callous, selfish asshole back?”

“You get honesty when you lie to me. To summon back my selfishness, you have to tell me the truth, Gilder.”

“Bastard,” I muttered. And I meant it, too. Now, I actually felt upset at him for making me do this. But I still drew a deep breath and said, “I’m really not okay, Max. Can I talk about it with you?”

“Always.”

Isabella

“It’s really lonely,” I said.

There were no responses, of course.

I was alone in my room, feeling well-rested and lacking a fever of any sort. My words were directed at no one but myself, words I could have just as well not said and kept them unsaid. Yet old habits died hard, and recent habits died painfully. Silence was deafening, maddening. And it raged on, relentless as darkness in a moonless night. “There is no sun at the end, though,” I said. Again the thought came to me in silence, but saying it aloud provided a small comfort. “Hated those voices at first, but the silence sucks now.”

Even now I had no idea what those voices truly were. Connected to Carr’s friends, I understood—but did each voice correspond to a person? Or were they all an amalgamation, drawing from their shared experience? Closer to the latter, probably. “They said we would meet again one day. Did that mean they would recognize me? Would they remember this? Is there even a them or just an it? I—goddamn it.”

Ah, sure, my sanity was hanging by a thread with those voices in my head.

But it felt worse now. “I never really realized it, but goddamn I was a lonely ass kid,” I said, sipping at the bottle of rum beside me. It was a bad idea, I knew, but the alcohol soothed the madness a little. It kept it at bay. Bad idea, though. It was much like a siege. You’re keeping yourself safe but the army at the gates is growing stronger. But when letting them in meant allowing that army meant certain destruction of your keep, surely it was wise to keep yourself safe by any means necessary right? Maybe help would arrive at some point. Empty justifications for drinking alone, I knew. “Grandpa was too rich for me to fit in with the commoners, but he didn’t have enough rank for me to fit in with the nobles. I was good at fencing, but not good enough to be one of those aiming for the World Cup or even serve as one of the crown’s champions in Trials by Combat. Thought I was just antisocial, but goddamn, never really had anyone really get me, huh?” I laughed loudly and bitterly at this. It was too loud of a laugh to have by yourself, and I felt stupid for doing it, but the alcohol was getting to me. Sipping at that bottle and making it lighter brought me no pleasure, but it made life more bearable, if only for a bit. That was enough to pay the price later. “Needed some goddamn voices in my head to get me—because they could see my literal soul—and now that they are gone I feel miserable. Wow. Good going me. Should be happy to have some peace, quiet and sanity again. Instead, I’m fucking depressed that the voices are gone. Great.”

At first my immediate fears had been practical, without the Devil’s powers I was useless, surely. But those concerns soon gave way to more immediate ones. Being alone with my own thoughts again was more than terrifying, it was unbearable, like an itch that could never be scratched. “Muscles would say something funny here. Would get my fears and give me the route to just get my heart pumping and forget all about it. Flexibility would make me acknowledge my fears but think of a way around it. I…shit. I can’t be thinking like this. I can’t.”

But the thoughts wouldn’t stop, and neither would my sips. “Good…I have enough to last me a while.” Just two bottles, but they were lard liquor—finishing even one would be too much. “Hope I have water here too. Don’t want to wake up too hungover.”

A sudden knock on the door sent a chill down my spine. “Hey, Isabella—can I come in?” Fedal asked.

“Ah, fuck,” I muttered.

Do you know the feeling of wishing for nothing more than to not be alone? The one that launches you into a state beyond depression—humanity leaves you!—that you wouldn’t want anyone to witness after you find out none of your friends are able to spend time staving off your loneliness? The one that causes immense concern when you find yourself surprised by your friends’ change of availability and finding yourself torn between immense relief you don’t have to be alone and the horrifying feeling of ‘Shit, they can’t see me like this’ as you desperately try to summon a measure of humanity back within yourself?

It was that state of mind I found myself in. I threw a pile of clothes over the bottles and shook my head, once, then twice, then finally slapped my cheeks lightly to try to startle myself into sobriety. “Yeah, come in,” I told him. Only after saying that I remembered my hair was probably a bit of a mess and quickly tried forcing it into a shape resembling presentable with my hands while he opened the door. Ouch, that’s tangled. I have to brush it later. Maybe Fedal wouldn’t notice it. “How’s it going? Injuries okay?”

Fedal nodded slowly. “Yeah…I wasn’t too injured compared to everyone else who fenced. Including you.”

“I got the sphere to heal off everything though.”

“True.” He scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “Um, is it okay if I sit down?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

It was only after I asked my question that I remembered I had been sitting down on the floor, my back against the wall, resting one arm on my knee and my head over that arm. At the time it had felt more comfortable—the more I drank, the less I liked sitting above ground level. Even my desk chair felt uncomfortable and lying down on the bed made me feel dizzy. Now, however, it probably just seemed odd. “Have to appear sober,” I muttered, hopefully quietly enough that he didn’t hear me. “Ah, yeah. It’s warmer here than in the rest of the room. Come on.”

He hesitantly sat down beside me and appeared to look around for a bit. My bottles were well hidden, I knew—not like he would go through my piles of clothes on the floor. But he was looking at them suspiciously. “We just got here,” Fedal said, voice incredulous, “how did you already get so many clothes on the floor?”

Ah, yeah, that was an issue. “I’m an expert. Don’t try me.” That made no sense. That was a very drunk answer. “What’s up, Fedal? Don’t imagine you came here to talk to me about my cleanliness habits.”

“No, I just—okay, listen,” Fedal said, pausing carefully before continuing, “I need to ask you for advice on something.”

That was good. Action was good. Anything that required effort would keep me from my own mind. “Go ahead. Ask anything.”

“When I was duelling Johan, I—I felt something happen. When I first fought against one of his assassins, Martim, he placed a curse on me. The Unicorn Murders. I have no idea—I have no idea how to fight against it or what it does. Some…some weird things are happening to me and…I figured you would have the best advice about that.”

I had never liked Fedal more than at that moment. That was perfect. It would keep my mind from suffering in silence and give me something to work with, to think about. Something to put that experience with the voices in my head to good use. That weird curse…that would be a good mystery. “Tell me more,” I said, excitedly. “Anything you can remember since you got it. Literally everything you know about it.”

“It started when—wait!” Fedal’s pause was abrupt and accusatory. “Are you okay? You smell like…you drank a lot.”

At first this came as a shock to me and I had no idea why he was now able to smell it when he hadn’t been able to mere moments before. Now I realized that in my excitement over the idea I had leaned closer to him, placing my head on his shoulder and nearly falling over. Perhaps I’m not acting very sober. “I didn’t drink a lot,” I snapped back, angrier than I meant to. “I drank a little. Not enough.”

“Listen, I know you have gone through a lot. If you want to talk about it—”

“I don’t,” I told him quickly. “Now, about your curse…”

“I want to know if you are okay before that,” he said firmly.

“You can ask me about my feelings or your curse—not both. Pick one, Hero.”

Fedal didn’t even hesitate. “Your feelings,” he said promptly. He wasn’t even trying to sound particularly convincing, it was as if the answer was just more natural to him than breathing. “How are you feeling, Isabella?”

It was hard to muster up a correct, polite response when drunk. So I was honest instead. “Fedal, I am actually really touched that you aren’t even trying to be an asshole when you say that. Makes me feel like I’m the asshole here for putting it like that. But to be even more of an asshole, I’m gonna have to be clear here, you know?” It was really hard to be clear when I was that drunk. By the time I had reached the words ‘you know’ my brain had already forgotten nearly everything I had said before that point. “There’s no real choice here, I’m not telling you shit, so let’s talk about your curse.”

“But—”

“Talk about your curse!” I shouted, and now I realized that there was no way he thought I was sober. Probably already the case from the moment he walked in, now that I think about it. “Look, I want to get drunk tonight, so we’re going to deal with your thing, head to the kitchen, cook a lot of food to sober up, then wake up everyone and party. We survived Johan again, let’s fucking drink. Maybe after that I’ll talk to you, okay?”

Fedal opened his mouth as if to reply, then shook his head, and said, “Fine. That’s not a maybe though, that’s a promise, you hear me?”

“Of course,” I replied, having already forgotten what I had promised.