I have lived different lives. For each new life, the previous must be lost. Destroyed. Preserved through memory, but imperfectly, and all recollections colored by the decades that follow. I experienced the entire world through my father, and without him it was as though I had lost a part of myself. I’ve never managed to retrieve that part.

Dunn’s Brook was a small town compared to some places I’d been, but to these people, probably a swollen metropolis. The square, at least, had enough to occupy the mind of a bored, nervous nine year old boy. I stared at the vendors plying their wares. Thick chops of brined meat, fish sold whole with the eyes seemingly still active, and animals directly beside the stalls, apparently unaware of the display of their kin. Skirts, dresses, breeches, and strange old caps like what Nanou wore. Bread, rolls and biscuits, cakes, pastries. My eyes lingered on the pastries. But eventually, after much roaming, they found a small little table arrayed with many toys.

The puzzles I enjoyed, but I grew so bored of them after the solution was found that at some point I’d started to figure it wasn’t worth the bother. I’d enjoyed tops for a long time, something entrancing about the way a well weighted top could spin and spin. Even better if they were painted; designs that weaved pretty pictures in movement. But once my father had carved several shapes into one, and after, it would spin day and night. I had to set it on its head when I wanted to sleep. Every other top seemed terribly mundane after that. But toy soldiers, they were my favorite. A toy whose value depended on the imagination of the owner. And I had a very broad imagination. There was one I had my eye on as we passed. A little tin man, dressed in thin-plate armor and wearing an open cervelliere atop a head with barely any neck - as they were made . I was just thinking how I could cut black cloth to form some small mage robes to fit him, when a small boy perhaps four years my younger rushed up and grabbed the very same soldier I’d been admiring. He held him up, moving the little man’s arms and praising the design to his mother. Suddenly and resolutely I decided I was too old for such trifles.

A man called out. “Nanou! How long has it been? Here to see Balder, eh?” Nanou made no sign he’d heard, but drove the cart forward with quiet inexpression as he had done the whole eleven days there. The old man’s eyes had far more dark under them than when we’d left. Most nights he wouldn’t stop until there were only a few hours before sun, and the mule was run ragged by Dunn’s Brook. Hessa was her name. Though he’d bought me provisions and let me sleep in the one blanket we had, there was not a word passed between us that was not necessary. The stranger called out again. “Everything all right there, Nanou?” But when the old man still gave no reaction, the stranger let us pass with a long, appraising look at me. We rolled on.

Towns built in farming districts, and more than anything, towns built along the main road, tended to be built for commerce. After the market square, after the outdoor vendors plying their wares in the bustle of their separate profession, there were the shops. There was a milliner, a butcher, metalworks, a carpenter, a tavern… and I was surprised when a man exited the doors, blinking at the bright of day. I’d somehow thought such places for the habitude of drinking were only trafficked at night.

We stopped at a regular seeming building with one small, dim window cut into the brick a man’s height off the ground. The sign hanging above the door was painted with a sketch of an open book. Nanou stumbled more than stepped from his seat. He rubbed Hessa’s nose as he watched me climb out, and I stared back at him. It felt wrong to be resentful, of this man that helped me when he had every right to walk away. But the words he’d said of my father were still fresh in my mind. And I had little for him but spite.

We walked in and Nannou led us straight, through shelves and shelves of books and manuscripts and my gaze lingered. A man behind the front desk straightened, eyes narrowing at Nanou in surprise. There was a scattering of burn marks on his cheek which disrupted an otherwise plain appearance, and a short, graying beard trimmed immaculately. “Pa?”

Nanou slowed and stopped short a few feet away. He took off his cap and smoothed his hair back into place. “Uh, wait here, boy. Just a moment.” Nanou walked around the counter slowly, meeting the man on the other side and awkwardly enveloped him in a brief embrace. Hushed muttering. The shop owner stepped back, face going pale and eyes wide. My heart leapt to my throat. More muttering. Faster now, as if the old man wanted this part over with as fast as he could. The shop keeper glanced at me. Then looked again, eyes sharp.

I turned away, pretending to study the shelf to my right, but really just embarrassed of the hurt I knew was on my face, and afraid I’d cry and draw more attention. I slowly walked away, pretending to study the books on the shelf.

There seemed to be little reason to it. Foreign culture next to history next to a book of recipes boasting of fifty different ways to make bread, next to a well worn and faded novel titled “The Princess’ Great Dilemma: The Dragon Who Promised to Wed Her”. The long title was barely legible, scrawled on the very bottom of the spine. The author’s name took up nearly three quarters. “Maximius Ravenheart.” It was the sort of book my father would have laughed at. I stared at it for a long while.

The voices at the front desk rose and I hurried to the next aisle, peeking at them between rows of books and hurriedly wiping my eyes on my sleeve. When no one called for me and the voices hushed again, I eventually continued looking.

It was the edge of the store, and it seemed these books were older, wearing dust, and some with the pages all but falling out. My finger ran along the spines as I looked for something to catch my interest.

I’ve been reading as long as I can remember. My father began to teach me when I was two years old, and by the age of four it was dense books and scrawling manuscripts. Personal accounts and journals, where deciphering the very words and letters written became its own separate skill. Most of what I read for my father was geographical. About the climates of different locations; elevations, terrain, population density. Even strange things like the quality of soil and the availability and category of wildlife in a given region. With every place we traveled, he bought new materials, and sometimes it would add up to hundreds of hours worth of reading with the fortune he spent. Hundreds of hours of reading, and with lists of notes that could fill their own books. It was from the long hours of research that we’d come upon that little farm in Brosia, and that he’d found that snowy crest that showed us such things. However, when I read for enjoyment instead of obligation to my father, my tastes ranged far wider. But there is only so much a boy of not yet adolescence can read to enjoy.

I brushed past thick volumes of philosophy by an author named Apollo Valair. My father may have been able to enjoy such an onslaught of big words, but from the few hours of such tomes I’d read, it seemed all contrived useless gibberish. An undeveloped, immature idea which I departed from for some short time in my formal education, but which I now gladly return to. Philosophy for philosophy’s sake is, I find, despicable. And philosophers, great champions in intellectual sport. But it is just sport. Greatness isn’t found by pen.

My finger stopped against one book. It was leather bound and dyed black, with a thick head of dust on the top edge which I absent-mindedly brushed away as I drew it from the stack. Unremarkable in almost every way, except that the name printed on its side and cover was a name I already knew. Engrey.

“Hey, boy.” A girl’s voice.

I turned, making a small attempt to hide the book I read from view, though knowing she probably wouldn’t even be aware of who Engrey The Dark was. She was dark haired and my own height or slightly shorter, but looked down on me with a sense of superiority, the specific variety of which only older kids can muster. She had brown, almond shaped eyes and a very small dimple in her chin. She was pretty. If I could have admitted it.

“Where are your parents? Are you supposed to be in here?”

I glared up at her sullenly. She leaned closer, trying to see the book I clutched tightly to my hip, but I angled away to prevent her from seeing.

“You know I can tell my father,” she said with a frown. And after a moment, “When was the last time you bathed?”

My grip tightened on the book. Fantasies of hitting her over the head with it.

We watched each other for a long moment. “Here, come with me, boy.” She reached over and grabbed my wrist tightly, pulling me along with her through the aisles. The shopkeeper and Nanou looked over. She’d entered at an apparent lull in their conversation. “I’ve found another troublemaker, Pa. An orphan, might be! I don’t think this one even knows how to rea-” She stopped in her tracks, her grip on me loosening. I yanked my hand away. She stared at Nanou, confusion fully evident on her face. “Grandpapa? When did-”

Nanou cut off her words again, coming forward and wrapping his arms around her, pulling her heartily off her feet. The girl gave a small yelp of alarm, which quickly turned into laughter. “Grandpapa,” she said as he set her down, “When did you get here? Is grandmama with you?”

He said nothing, but winced a bit at the last question. And he bent down, kissing the crown of her head.

The bearded shopkeeper bent over his counter, quiet eyes examining me. “Leigh, this is a friend of your Grandpapa’s. He’s going to be staying with us for a little while.”

She whipped around to face me. “HIM?”

The shopkeeper nodded silently, then hesitated, before walking around the counter to speak to me. “I understand you’ve been through a great deal, Costin. I'm sorry for what’s happened to you.” He scratched his cheek and opened his mouth again, then stopped. He reached down, pulling the book from my grasp. This time, I didn’t resist. “Engrey the Black, hmm? I forgot we had this. A bit of light reading before bed?” He smiled, but I could tell it was forced. His knuckles rapped lightly against the book in his hand. “I’m… sorry, Costin, but this is not suitable material for a young lad. Especially given what you’ve been through.” He finished under his breath. Paused in thought for a moment. And then, with a comical undertone to his voice, “You thought he was an orphan, Leigh?”

Her eyebrows arced down at him, creating a comical “M”. “Yes, I… he smells.”

The shopkeeper smiled again, which this time wasn’t so forced. Still it didn’t reach his eyes. “My name is Balder. I’m… Nanou’s son,” he said, glancing at the old man. “We’ve got some bread and we’ve got some cheese. Would you like to come and eat?”

I followed the grandaughter, the son and the old man further into the shop, lingering at the entrance to what was clearly private living quarters. A woman’s voice sounded from inside. “Lunch already? Why, Luv, did something happen? You have such a look on your face.” And then, “Nanou! What a pleasure it is to see you! Is Belda here, as well?”

She was a pretty, chubby woman with kind eyes and a strangely loud voice. She was rising from her work, restitching the binding of a book when I entered.

“Oh! And who might this be? Strapping young boy, aren’t you?” She faltered as Balder took her gently around the shoulders.

“There’s something I must tell you, Eda.” He led the woman from the room, saying over his shoulder, “Leigh, see that they get enough to eat. And you will be nice,” he said, shooting her a stern look.

She immediately turned to me. “Why are they acting like that? Did you do something?” But before I could answer, what her father had said seemed to finally register. She stuck out her hand. “Good to meet you. My name is Leigh.”

I stared at the proffered hand a moment before taking it. My handshake was limp. “Costin,” I said quietly.

It was obvious she barely restrained a scowl. “Well I suppose that’s a proper introduction. We’ll get something to eat and then I am going to draw you a long bath. Do you know how to bathe?” Again no chance to answer before she said, “Grandfather? Is something wrong?”

Nanou sat down at the table with a long exhale. “It’s been a rough journey, darling. Where’s your brothers?”

“Hale is the carpenter’s apprentice now. He works every day, all week long. Well, except for sunday.” She opened the pantry and began assembling foods. “I don’t think he really knows what he’s doing all that well, to be honest. And Robb, well, he’s been out chasing this girl. Rowena Lurkin. Well, I don’t think she’s really that pretty if you ask me. And she gets some of the worst grades in school.” She set a plate down on the table, laden with a full loaf of bread, a knife, and a block of cheese the size of a man’s head. I still stood awkwardly. “Have you ever been to school, boy?” she asked, sitting down, herself. “Er, I mean Castin.”

“No,” I said quietly, mentally correcting her.

“Well, if you’d like, you could accompany me tomorrow. I don’t know how much you’ll learn though. I think you have to be quite bright to really get something out of school.” She bit primly into a slice of bread topped with a generous amount of cheese.

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We ate together. Neither Nanou or myself were very conversational, so we mostly listened to Leigh discuss with herself, which she did with great aplomb. She was very interested in what she had to say, with opinions on the most and least useful subjects in school, what traits in particular made her such a good student, how the fools in the city council should put greater priority on education, why the people in politics didn’t want the townspeople getting too smart, which led into a very long tangent about how someday maybe she would sit on the council and every decision she would therefore make. The unilateral conversation was interrupted. Great sobs were heard through the wall. Leigh looked in the offending direction, before turning to me with a suspicious, pointed and accusatory expression. I attempted to become smaller in my seat.

Leigh, true to her word, drew a bath for me directly after lunch. She attempted to take my clothes for washing, but I protested and pleaded that I could do it myself. The ariglass was hidden in the pocket of my jacket, and I didn’t know what Nanou or anyone else might do if that fact became known. She brought me her brother Robb’s clothes, which fit me very baggily, but altogether I was glad to have something to wear which wasn’t crusted in dirt and grime from so many days on the road.

The room they gave me was small, under the stairs. It had clearly until that very day been used for storage, and several empty book shells still occupied one corner. The room had no door, and was too short for me to even stand at my full and unimpressive height, but a small, worn mattress had been stuffed into the space while I had tolerated the bath, and now it was mine.

For the rest of the day I stayed almost entirely in my little room. Sitting on my bed, and staring out at everything else. The idea of reading was very enticing; that book about Engrey the Dark, which had been confiscated, or any of the thousands that stacked the shelves sounded very agreeable to me in my boredom, but I was so scared of overstepping, of getting into trouble with these new people, that I did and asked for nothing.

Some time later I saw Eda again. Her eyes were red. She sniffled slightly. But when her eyes alighted on me in my little hole, she gave a very warm smile and came bustling over. “Oh, are you settling in all right, dear? I’m very sorry we didn’t get properly met earlier. Has Leigh been all right to you? Do you know where she’s gotten to?”

I didn’t. The girl had scampered off earlier, maybe to get away from taking care of me more than anything. I shook my head “no”.

She tsked. “Oh well. And are you settling in all right, dear?”

After a moment, I nodded my head “yes”.

She continued for a while, asking me questions, attempting to lure me into a conversation, but to some questions I said little and to most I said nothing, and eventually she relented and left me to sit and do nothing all on my own. With nothing else to do, and feeling very tired from a sleep deprived journey, I took a nap, a nap which lasted until the very next morning.

#

Balder woke me. Dark blue light barely penetrated the room, and his features were cast darkly.

I came to harshly, scrambling back from him, as far as I could in my little cubby, new clothes sticking, body damp with sweat. Slowly, he retracted the hand used to shake me awake.

“Dreams are understandable,” he said softly. Still, I shook slightly. Reality hadn’t finished reasserting itself yet. “You’ve been through a great trauma. It would be strange if you didn’t have them. Bad dreams.”

I focused on my breathing, as my father had taught me long ago. Filling my lungs as full as they could become, then expelling all my breath until they were as empty as they could be. Three times. Slowly, the shivers stilled.

Balder watched me. Eyes contemplative, but features otherwise inscrutable. “I’d like you to meet someone. A friend,” He said eventually, pausing on the very last word. “Nanou has told me what he can. That something horrible happened. But he said… that you kept trying to tell him more. That you saw it, what happened.” Balder’s eyes were fastened to mine. He spoke very slowly, measuring my reaction to every word.

“Who is your friend?” I asked with a delicate voice.

By the time we reached the hut, dawn had become a vibrant yellow. The trail was covered in a thin but treacherous layer of icy frost, and feet slipped multiple times up the small hill to get there. It was a little bit outside the town, perched overlooking everything like the nest of a proud bird. Multiple wind dials stood posted in the yard on tall metal poles. A large garden of strange plants was sheltered under a thin awning on the side of the hut, which I spent intervening time staring at, as at least two of the plants seemed to be moving - without wind.

She opened the door at the very first knock. Thin eyes stared out at me. Thin eyes, and spectacled with a pair of arching, narrow glasses which hung near the end of a long and bulbous nose. She frowned at me, opening the door a little further. “Hello, Balder. And he is here willingly?”

“As willingly as you or I,” Balder said patiently.

She opened the door the rest of the way, stepping aside to let us enter. “If he is here willingly, why does he look so scared?” she muttered. But to us, she said, “Ah, watch what you touch. Most things are safe, but one or two little curiosities may burn off a finger.” She gave me a playful smile as she closed the door behind us. And it was filled with curiosities. Strange statues and figurines lined one slanting shelf, many vials on another (some of them very brightly colored and one with what seemed to be a human fingernail, barely visible), a rug with very strange symbols dyed into its wool, a cauldron simmering over the fire with a steaming green substance, and an unnecessary and surprisingly gaudy chandelier of red mage light which hung from the ceiling. And these were only the things which first struck me.

She leered at me as she positioned chairs around a small table in the middle. “You are wondering at what’s in the cauldron, hmm? A fortune telling solution, so I may know the faraway future? A devilish concoction, using hands and feet, to turn an enemy into a ferret? Or, perhaps, a love elixir, to make a man fall for the dear old witch?” she laughed. “Today, it is pea soup. A recipe I received from the best cook in town, Mrs. Bellady, for whom I cured a particularly foul case of gorton’s cough. Would you like some?”

I was hungry, not having eaten since yesterday lunch. “Yes, madam,” I said in a small voice.

She laughed. “‘Madam’, am I?” But she ladled me a bowl of the hot soup, setting it at the table and indicating me to sit.

Balder took out a pipe and a small pouch of tobac. He stuffed the pipe, and handed it briefly to the witch. “Would you mind?” She breathed lightly over it, and after a moment, smoke began curling from the chamber. Balder watched me eat as he puffed.

The woman watched me, too, with her narrow eyes. “Nothing warms the system like a good soup,” she said. “Well… perhaps a strong brandy. Do you like brandy?”

I paused, glancing up at her. I shook my head.

“Ah, you will. How tastes will change, hmm, Balder? And in this house we speak with our lungs and our lips, boy… Now, you probably have a name, though it has not been told to me. What is your name, boy?”

“Costin,” I said quietly.

“Hmm? What was that?”

I raised my chin a little, and said too loudly and too firmly, “My name is Costin.”

She inclined her head, lips upturned in a small smile. She paused a moment. “Ah, watch him, Balder. Every shy little boy has an angry man inside him. My apologies if I prodded you too much, young Costin. I know you have been through very much, very much indeed, I think. Most people here call me Nana Thorn. Has been that way for a long time.”

Balder leaned forward, expelling a great cloud of smoke from his mouth, then pausing, and saying slowly, “Costin… I’ve brought you here because I think Nana may be able to offer some insight. Some valuable insight. I’d… like to know how my mother died.” He paused awkwardly. “Whenever you’re ready, son.”

I glanced at Nana Thorn, who smiled at me, lips flat and wrinkled from age, and eyes still narrowed and assessing, but the smile seemed genuine. So I told them. From start to finish. With boyish inconsistency, and significant difficulty. From that day on the snowy crest, looking through the ariglass, to when Nanou eventually found me. Tears stung my face and my cheeks burned out of embarrassment. I found myself talking about the years before, years with my father. Babbling about how he used to be. But no one interrupted me, not until I eventually fell silent and bowed my head, eyes shut tight just wanting not to cry any more.

A great silence descended around the table. For what felt like hours, me sitting there in great shame and embarrassment and feeling very, very alone. The silence was broken by Nana sitting up to tend briefly to the fire, which was by now greatly reduced. She put another log on the embers, and came back to sit again. Then the silence still stretched on.

“Why did he do it?” Balder finally asked. I looked up to see his eyes, thick with moisture though no tears ran down his cheeks. He wasn’t looking at me, just off, faraway into the distance. “The man, why did he do that? To my mother.” His voice was thick.

Nana Thorn eyed him for a moment before saying, “There are… legends mages know, of dark magics which allow the user to take the magic out of other people, and use it for their own means. It is called Furantism, an especially nasty dark art. From the boy’s story, this sounds like perhaps a… reasonable deduction.”

“She didn’t have any magic,” Balder insisted. “She was an ordinary woman. Just an innocent old woman.”

“We all have some, my dear. Though many of your folk would like to pretend otherwise. Though we all have some.” She smiled softly at Costin as she said it. “But, I am afraid to say, there is another question we should be asking. The question of, where did this dark mage come from? And even more importantly, where did he go?”

“To the other world!” I said, wondering if this old hag of a mage had listened to anything I’d said at all.

“To the other world. Yes.” She paused, as though not sure how to continue. Eventually, she said, “Other worlds do not exist, Costin.”

I glared at her. I could feel the weight of the ariglass tucked into my coat. I always kept it on me. And I knew what I had seen in it, hundreds and hundreds of times. I knew the copious notes my father had kept on each world we saw, and I knew he had been vastly more of an expert than this stupid old witch. “You’re wrong, Nana,” I said with as much venom as I could muster.

“‘Wrong,’ am I, boy? ‘Wrong?’ I do not know what you saw in your father’s device, but those visions were not of another world. This has been investigated already. The university has found conclusively that other worlds… simply do not exist! But perhaps you know more than the greatest mages in the world.” She slowed down, seeming to reconsider her tone. “I’m sorry, Costin. I don’t know what you saw, but no other worlds exist besides this one. Such was believed by many for a very long time, but now, in the modern age, it has been very disproven. You’d be hard-pressed to find any reputable scholar who believes in such things. That dark mage, I’m afraid to say, must be from this one world. Which is a very scary thought, indeed.”

“My father believed in it. And I know what I saw.”

The old mage made no response but to raise her eyebrows at me patiently. Eventually Balder spoke. “Have you never heard of this dark mage before, Nana?”

“The giant? Fedor? No. And he sounds very notable. To achieve something like Furantism, even on an ordinary person, he must be quite powerful, indeed.” She paused a moment, adjusting her spectacles. “It’s… quite remarkable, Costin, that your father made such a stand against the dark mage. There are many archmages who could not have resisted so. He studied at Lightmark, you said?”

Tears threatened to spill again. A knot in my throat made it difficult to swallow. I nodded.

“What did I say about wordless answers, young man?” but she drummed her fingers on the table, frowning. “Toros… Toros… mmm. The name sounds familiar, I’ll say, but I don’t remember where from. Did he have a surname?”

I spoke and choked on the sizeable lump buried in my throat. I tried again. “Verix.”

“Verix? Toros Verix?” She paused a moment. I held my silence. “Hmm. Well. Ah, regardless. Regardless. We have heard the full story and for every question answered, two have been uncovered. Who else knows this story?”

“My father knows very little. He’s apparently refused to hear more.” Smoke left Balder’s mouth in small wisps. “And no one else. To my knowledge, at least. Is that true, Costin?”

I began to nod my head, but at Nana Thorn’s glare, I said meekly, “Yes, that’s true.”

She smiled. “Good. There would be pandemonium if such a thing gets out. People’s lives are hard enough without the story of a nearby dark mage jumping from ear to ear. And making young Costin’s life more difficult. I’ll compose a letter to the Bureau and let them decide what to do, send their dark magic hunters out to investigate. Nothing The Majora haven't seen before, I think. In the meantime I want not a word more of this, do we all understand? Not a word, not a hint, not an implication. Do you agree, Costin? Not even to Nanou.”

“He has a right to know,” Balder growled.

“You have lived through the witch hunts, I’m sure, Balder. Perhaps you recognize the name Garron Arrat? Or more commonly known as the Blood Elder. Do you remember what happened when word got out that a man was sacrificing innocent lives to deal with demons? Do you remember what happened when men and women began accusing their neighbors, good folk they’d known their whole lives, of being demonkin? No, Balder, the less people know, the better. And Nanou is hardly the most reasonable man when it comes to magic. Given all that’s happened between you, I’d expect you to be the last person standing for him.”

“He deserves to know the truth of how his wife died. How my mother died.”

“Are you sure? It won’t give him any comfort. Quite the opposite, it may inflame him severely. Not knowing can be quite a bit better than knowing. And what if, in this state of anger, he tells others? Or he decides to pursue this dark mage, himself, all consequences be damned? There are consequences far worse than a man not knowing…”

“He deserves to know,” Balder said.

She scoffed. “Well. I suppose it is not truly my story to tell or not tell. If the old man ever asks, I suppose the responsibility must fall in the hands of young Costin.” And she turned to me. “You’re staying with the family?”

“Yes,” I said.

“He may stay with us as long as he likes.” But Balder wasn’t even looking at me, he was staring out the window as he said it. “And I must give my apologies, Nana Thorn, but the sun has risen quite high, and school must be starting soon.” He pushed back his chair, tossing the remaining contents of his pipe into the fire.

“School? Where they fill children’s heads full of useless skills and lies about history?” She cackled. “He’d be better off rearranging rocks in the forest all day, at least his head wouldn’t be full of all the junk.” But as I stood to leave, she said, “Come visit me again, won’t you, Costin, dear? It gets very lonely living so far away from everything else.”

“Uh, yes’m,” I replied, avoiding her eyes. Really I just wanted to leave.