The darkness was absolute, the air thick with the stench of death and decay. He could hear the sound of dripping liquid but never the splash against solid flooring. His awareness grew and, steadily, so did the recognition of the oppressive blackness that surrounded him. And then, he felt it.
Blinding pain that came all at once.
“…” ‘It hurts!’. The sentiment was sent throughout his mind.
“…” [damn it, why do I have to be awake for this!], a second sentiment that didn’t belong to him also diffused in his mind.
“@#$%$ %^&^ @#$#” strings of words sounded in his ears which he ignored.
“…” [Why is everything so painful!]
His eyes violently snapped open and as his awareness of self continued to spread, the pain turned to rhythmic pulsating waves focused in his skull. With a groan, he struggled to a sitting position, taking in his surroundings. His pupils contracted, adjusting to the bright sunlight.
“…” […blood…a lot of it. Trust no one!] the foreign presence in his mind urgently insisted.
“#@ #$#$ %^%#$”
“…” [Urgh, we can hear you. If this pounding in our head stops for a second, we could probably understand you, damn it. ] the foreign presence lamented.
String of words kept drilling into his ears and they could swear they felt familiar but for the life of them, they couldn’t attach meaning to the sounds.
“…” ‘Hey, what’s your name?’ he sent the intent to the presence in his mind.
“…” […how could you forget me? …I'm Number 7.] the presence responded, its displeasure at being forgotten made abundantly clear.
“…” ‘…and who am I?’
Number 7’s displeasure quickly turned to worry.
“@#$#%$^%^%&^”
He smiled at the rather well built old man that had been trying to get their attention for a while.
“…” [ Remember, father, show no weakness. ]
The sentiment, ‘father’, elicited absolutely no emotional reaction from him but he took the advice and suddenly sat up straight. The very action sent crippling pain through out his body but he stoically bore with it. Pain was a rather inconvenient feeling.
His eyes subconsciously darted to the pool of blood he had once been laying in.
“…” ‘that really is a lot of body fluid.’
“…” [ Well, you have no external injuries and there’s vomit mixed in there so this vessel was most likely poisoned. ]
“…” ‘What do you mean by ‘this vessel’ ?’
“…” [ Father, this isn’t your body. ]
“…” ‘I see. Can we switch to another that’s not damaged?’
“…” [ Father, normal people don’t ‘switch’ bodies. I don’t know what’s going on either. Get some rest, may be we’ll stop being in pain when you wake up. I’ll be on the look out in case someone tries something. ]
He tolerated a silent sigh.
Kung!
A jolt pulled him from his introspection causing him to focus on his surroundings. After a couple of seconds staring, it suddenly occurred to him;
“…” ‘I can’t form coherent thought…’
They understood the concept behind “tallying” but “counting” as a skill was not in their repertoire. Like knowing what an ‘apple’ was but not having the word for it.
Frustration welled up in him. So he closed his eyes and regulated his breathing, seeking composure. He then put the little information gathered into perspective.
“…” ‘Anything memory based is lost: language, arithmetic… I…*sigh, I don’t remember my name. What a mess.’
“…” [ As far as physical health goes... you are definitely built for light duty slavery. ] Number 7 somehow gave the impression he was taking measure of both him and their environment.
He looked back up and realized he was in a carriage, on rough ground, being pulled by a pair of dark skinny horses. The horses didn’t have shadows and he wondered if there existed any scientific justification that made that possible but after coming up empty, he shrugged it off and focused on things he stood a chance at understanding.
After a stretch of silence, Number 7 sent his sentiment with a grave tone infused;
“…” [ You might actually be a slave. ]
The sentiment was understood, but hardly comprehended. He could tell that Number 7 considered slavery a bad thing —why that was so, was anyone’s guess if he was being honest. He couldn’t tell what constitutes a ‘bad’ thing.
A moment passed. His nose crunched up taking in the new smell in the air.
The smell of burning flesh which was followed by a burning sensation at the center of his chest, above his sternum. He reflexively reach up to put out whatever was burning, the pain nothing in comparison with to the headache.
Before he could reach it though, the sensation passed and all that was left was phantom pain. He paused then subconsciously went ahead and started rubbing the spot.
The top of the carriage was covered, protecting the occupants from the elements and for that, Number 7 was grateful. The road ahead was rough and uneven, with deep ruts and overgrown vegetation threatening to obstruct their path at any moment. The thick and lush greenery of the forest surrounded them, tall canopic trees reaching up towards the sky like great pillars of nature's might. The humidity hung heavy in the air, making it difficult to breathe at times. Yet, they pressed on, the rhythmic clopping of the horses' hooves the only sound in the dense jungle.
“…” [ Tropical climate lands... Hello slugs, snails and mosquitoes. ] Number 7 commented in exasperation.
With nothing else to see, he tried getting some rest. A small part of him hoped to dream of anything that may jolt his memories but the majority of him simply wanted the pain to stop. He knew he was grasping at straws but when he couldn’t even hold a conversation, anything went.
As he waited for sleep to take over, strings of words from the occupants kept drilling their way into him. He could feel the meaning behind them trying to creep from within. Like looking through frosted glass, the silhouette equivalent could be felt. The longer he listened, the more the frost layers thawed. He fell asleep agitated only to have a dream with frosted-over faces.
— — — — — — — — —
‘On the bright side, my headache cleared up!’
He still felt like parts of his mind—or more accurately, his psyche— were covered in frost but it was easy to ignore the discomfort. He figured that maybe his soul simply needed to get used to the new vessel.
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“Attempted suicide usually gets you four years in prison under tax evasion laws.”
He tilted his head for a moment, taking in the sound that now had meaning, relief washing over him. That was until comprehension followed, prompting a scandalized look and he turned to the woman that had spoken.
She chuckled but said no more.
He inspected his memories by forming coherent thought and this time, the concepts had been indexed. He now had the word for “slavery”.
‘… the language feels strange, yet familiar nonetheless…’
[hmm, I'm more interested in why this vessel wanted to kill himself?…] Number 7 said.
“I don’t remember much, mind telling me what happened?” He asked. He could feel Number 7 palming his metaphorical forehead at his straightforwardness.
“How much did you forget?” The muscular old man from earlier asked.
“Might be easier answering how much I remember. Why did I try to kill myself?”
The eyes of a teenage girl seated to his right narrowed, probably trying to spy any indication that he might be lying. She had tanned caramel skin and kept her light-brown hair in a twin braid.
“Bleed and bury me, memory wipe and personality improvements, thanks for the practical lesson on drugs, Big man. Usually you just glare at everyone and grumble.” she said.
Ignoring the girl, the old man picked up from where she left off, “There are six in the carriage excluding the driver and you’ve never spoken to any of us.”
For a fraction of a second, he felt a cool sensation dissipate from his brain, like a part of it that was initially frozen had only now just thawed. Arithmetic as a skill was no longer so foreign to him. A very large part of his mind still felt like it was covered in thick layers of ice, a metaphorical itch he couldn’t reach.
“…so on the matter of killing yourself, sonny, you’ll have to figure it out all on your lonesome.”
He fell silent and went back to chip at his memories.
‘…my language and arithmetic skills were remembered separately after I was exposed to them. The reason for trying to kill myself may also follow the same pattern.’
[ I don’t know if it’s a problem but… why is everyone so calm about this vessel committing suicide? Not just that. Blood and vomit should smell, yet none of them are disturbed by it. ] Number 7 pondered.
What Number 7 said made him look up, a bit more curious this time because he was also not disturbed by the mentioned points.
There were 2 women seemingly in their mid twenties, a teenage girl, 2 men also seemingly in their mid twenties and a rather well built old man.
Both men and one of the women spoke different languages and they all had travel cloaks on. Little conversation was held by the party.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Evening came by eventually, a crude imitation of a camp was set up by the carriage driver in a clearing in the woods. The rushing of a stream could be faintly heard in the distance.
“So we aren’t slaves…?” He asked the teenage girl seated across from him on the log by the fire.
Her eye twitched as she gave him a scandalized look, “…sheesh, Big-man, no.” She looked at her cream colored dress “Its this dress, right!? Ah but come on! Does it really make me look like a slave? *sigh. I’ll go shopping once we get to Astrohelm.”
The woman from earlier finished inspecting her tent for any loose knots and walked over. She ruffled the teenage girl’s hair and sat next to her.
“I can see why you’d think that. From a foreigner’s perspective, this is not the way free men travel. And it isn’t. This is new for most of us, well at least its new for me.”
“Why are we heading to Astrohelm?…if you don’t mind me asking that is.”
“The Society Of Engineering has a branch there.” the teenage girl said offhandedly, no longer lamenting her fashion choices. Her tone was firm and assertive as she looked into the camp fire that reflected in her hazel eyes. There was a story there but he figured she’d have said more if she wanted to.
He turned to the woman with an air of nobility.
“Commerce. I have decided to develop a venture that eclipses the earnings of duchies for my amusement. I have considered the variables and concluded that Astrohelm of the Burton Duchie is ripe for my picking.”
The teenage girl rolled her eyes, “All hail the queen.”
[ Looks like we got saddled with a passionate group. ] Number 7 commented […too bad we can only know what they want us to know. ]
The seats around the camp fire and boiling food steadily got filled as people finished up with their tents.
‘The food’s actually pretty tasty.’
“Thank you for the tents, Bitrus”. The teenage girl said and passed a bowl to the old man from earlier.
“Ha! Says ‘please’ and ‘thank you’! Glad manners’ still fashionable. Very much welcome, lassy.”
[ Thank him or he’ll keep looking at us. ] Number 7 whispered.
“Thank you for the tents, Bitrus.”
“Don’t worry about it child.” He smiled as he took a seat, “Name’s Bitrus Steelarms, means stone. Didn’t catch yours though.” The old man said, not minding introducing himself so late in their interaction.
“That’s because he didn’t throw it, old man. I'm Hadiza. One with no desire —Ironic, I know.” said the teenage girl before stuffing her mouth.
“…and I'm Ola Ashwood. Means Born to Rule”. Said the woman with an air of nobility.
Since the remaining three spoke different languages, he didn’t expect them to even be paying attention to their discussion. He put his bowl on his lap and waited for a name to pop up in his head. After waiting a while and nothing happening, he said
“…I don’t seem to remember…” [ Zeraki! Your name is Zeraki, father. ] Shouted Number 7.
“…Zeraki. My name is Zeraki… I don’t think it means anything though.”
[ Hey, Don’t look at me, Number 1 suggested it. I wanted Amos but no one liked it. You’ll have to ask her what it means when she wakes up. ]
The carriage driver arrived afterwards, once the majority had finished their meals. Only Bitrus remained, still helping himself to more servings.
[By my siblings, this man has an abyss for a stomach.]
“Is there a reason the horses don’t have shadows?” Zeraki asked no one in particular.
A skinny man, one whom spoke a different language looked up from the book he was reading. After a moment of thought, he shook his head, “There is no scientific justification for them not to have shadows. Physical science does not allow for it. You weren’t in the best of shapes. I believe you might have been hallucinating.”
“…may be” Zeraki whispered, still unsure of what he saw.
[…are we seriously going to ignore the fact that he was speaking a different language 2 seconds ago?]
Zeraki was stunned for a moment. He hadn’t noticed. No one had noticed. Not even the man himself.
Zeraki looked at the cloaked figure of the driver for a brief second before turning back to look into the fire.
A low, steady, baritone voice came from beneath the hood of the driver, “You've forgotten the purpose of your science and mathematics and have steadily begun worshiping them as the engines that govern reality.”
Everyone looked up. From how focused they were, Zeraki assumed this was the first time he had spoken to them.
The man looked at the driver and succinctly stated, “All phenomena conform to the laws of science. If something is observable, it can be measured. Once measured, understanding the governing laws is inevitable. These laws give us absolute certainty in predicting future actions. The creation of Shadows is thoroughly understood. His assertions are impossible since no law supports his claim.”
The driver was silent for a moment.
“When a rock falls, does it fall because the laws of gravity dictate it or because that's just how life is?”
“…That's a trick question, isn't it?”
“So-so. Though I believe a trickier question would be, ‘What came first, science or existence’. Was science needed for existence to manifest or did manifestation of existence give birth to science?
Did you know, that there was a time when humans would to walk up a pyramid, be laid on a stone slab and have their still beating hearts ripped out of their chests using an obsidian blade. The blood would then flow down from the peak in channels that were etched into the stone. Men, women, children… infants. Tens of thousands would die after conquest or during major celebrations for decades on end. The logic here was that blood sacrifices were needed in order to keep the sun rising. A basic Tuesday for them.
I was impressed. Humans have an incredible amount of tolerance. Anyway, the pursuit of understanding for the sake of subjugation of the world around us is as old as human self awareness. You’ve brute forced many methods; blood sacrifices, magic, prayers, apothecary amongst many others. Science is a recent breakthrough that succeeded where all other methods failed. It grants you consistency and predictability. Because of this, the world isn’t such a scary place to you anymore. You have faith that science can crack any mystery you face because it has done so many times in the past.
But remember, science is a tool used to understand mysteries, not govern them. A rock will still fall whether or not your science recognizes it, but your science will break once rocks stop falling and shadows stop forming.”
The man shook his head and closed his book, “Science is malleable. If rocks stop falling, then there is a logical reason for it. It may take a while, but we will study this new phenomena and incorporate them to the existing scientific framework, thus bringing another law underneath our thumb. We can use the laws to our whims essentially, governing reality itself. First comes understanding, then comes subjugation.”
“He!” the driver scoffed, “Nature is mechanical. Matter is unconscious. Spoken like a true Smith.”
‘…what do you think?’ Zeraki asked Number 7.
[ Well, we don’t govern reality through science, we just study it. We have no right to say what should and shouldn’t exist. I think science is a slave to the whims of reality… though I have nothing backing my statements, it’s just my subjective view, father. ]
Zeraki inwardly nodded before thinking back to the scene with the horses,
‘…looks like I wasn’t hallucinating. The reason we can understand each other and be oblivious to the logically improbable things happening around us is most likely because of him. I wouldn’t have noticed the language barrier dropping if Number 7 hadn’t pointed it out.’
“We’ll be arriving in Astrohelm in 5 days.” The driver whispered, bringing the conversation to an end.
Zeraki later ditched his bloody shirt in the stream after washing up and went to bed in a tshirt.
***