The Book Of Dreams - Vol. III
asanetargoss
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The Book Of Dreams - Vol. III
by asanetargoss
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"Come on, Fristad. I know it's you. Also, for the record, skeletons don't make hissing sounds."
I keep my bow lifted, staying silent to make it seem like I don't recognize him. Regardless if he does, it should be pretty obvious that I don't want him
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around.
"You aren't honestly going to fire that at me, are you?"
Perhaps Dan needs a little bit more persuasion. I let go of the arrow, letting it fly towards him.
Dan lifts his hand up to his face. A purple vortex appears in his palm, swallowing
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the arrow instantly. The expression on Dan's face goes flat. He pulls out a diamond sword from the flaps of his robe, and holds it outward. "I don't want to fight you, but if you try to kill me, I will defend myself."
I eye the brilliant blue sword
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with awe. Between that and the magic, Dan's too strong of a match for me. I lower my bow. "How did you know it was me?"
Dan's face breaks into a grin again. "The magic from your enchanted armor was kind of a giveaway." He lowers his sword. "What were
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you doing out here, anyway?"
"Well, the reason I'm out here in the first place is because I was looking for you, actually. I thought there was something wrong with your house because everything was so bright... until I went outside and
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realized the brightness was from my night vision from being, well, undead. After that I..." I hesitate for a moment, trying to think of something harmless to say, "...practiced archery."
Dan raises his eyebrow. "Oh,
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really? In this desolate place? What were you practicing archery on?"
I look around. There really isn't much here. I try to think of something reasonable. "I was practicing archery on the shrubbery."
That probably wasn't the best answer.
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The way Dan glares at me, I can tell he isn't buying it.
"Are you sure? I don't see any bushes to shoot at..." He looks around him. "...in fact, I don't see any monsters or animals to shoot at, either. So tell me, Fristad, what were you really
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shooting at?"
"Well, you're right, there isn't really all that much to shoot at, which is why I was shooting at the shrubbery."
Dan continues to stare at me, unconvinced.
"I was bored! Geez, give me a break."
"I don't believe
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you, Fristad." Dan says plainly. "So, please tell me, and be honest this time: What were you shooting at? If you don't give me a persuasive answer, I'm going to assume the worst."
He sees through my lies. He's going to keep asking me until he gets the
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real story out of me. I might as well tell him the truth. I sigh in defeat.
"The town guards."
Dan shakes his head. "I had a feeling you were up to no good."
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Chapter 25: Some Place Secret
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Sunshine trots energetically around Dan's feet, her panting maw lifted
upward. As Dan walks up to his front door, Sunshine occasionally bounces
off of her forepaws, reaching her soggy nose for Dan's hand. I look
behind me,
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towards the gravel road, for the last time before heading back inside. The town guards have finally vanished. Dead. Respawned. Memories erased.
I cradle a guilt forming within me. A comforting voice inside of me insists that what I have
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done is just, but an older voice, gradually growing louder, worries that I have broken a sacred rule. But which voice should I trust?
"Good girl!" Dan says in a childish, praising half-squeal. As I turn my head back forward, I see Dan
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rubbing his hand rapidly upon the husky's shaggy head. Sunshine's head tilts upward, her eyes squinted in a furry bliss. "You did well tonight, sweetheart," Dan's voice drops a couple octaves. "You clever watchdog, you!"
Hmm, I don't think
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I've ever heard a dog be called "clever" before. It seems a bit out of place to assign such a high mark of intelligence to a four-legged animal. But then again, Dan does seem quite enamored with that dog....
Dan pats Sunshine on her head before
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lifting his hand away. She gazes expectantly up at him for a moment, letting out a high-pitched whimper, before giving up her pleading and trotting away.
Dan opens the door and enters, leaving it open behind him. I follow Dan inside of the cobblestone
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shack, closing the door behind me. There is some place where Dan wants to take me.
The torch's glow retains its unearthly brightness, a perception created by my enhanced vision.
I follow Dan down the narrow
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staircase, into the room with many bookshelves. The glowstone on the ceiling appears molten, just as before, but still just as strange. He leads me behind all of the bookshelves, toward the end of back wall, where the secret passage leads
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down into the study. He takes me down those stairs, past the desk, and into the hallway on the left, the one I have never entered.
The hallway remains flat, but it is longer than the others. After about half a minute of walking, we follow the turn in
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the hallway to the right. My jaw drops in admiration. The walls open up into a grand room, roughly as wide as it is long: perhaps 30 meters in each direction. The walls are made of a purplish black stone, similar to the obsidian I've read about in
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books, and the corners are held up by wooden beams. As we step onto the wooden flooring, I see that the wide gap in the center of the floor leads deep into the earth, where many levels of wooden flooring hang against the walls, connected with
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staircases made of thin planes of stone bricks. Glowstone is held in place along the top of each corner by the wooden beams. Some walls are entirely covered with chests, others with shelves containing books, vials, jars, unidentifiable
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artifacts, and other objects too strange to even classify. On the bottom levels, I can see furnaces, crafting benches, cauldrons filled with water, and strange contraptions composed of glowing orange rods held vertically by cobblestone. The
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great room has a stately, almost ancient quality to it.
As I follow Dan another step forward onto the wooden floor, I suddenly feel a sense of dread from the incredible depth of the room. I see in my mind, vividly, the mistake of me
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taking another step forward, slipping off the edge into the room's hollow center, falling through the air for what seems like forever, until my bones shatter upon the ground, each ebony shard piercing its presence into me with a pain only
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death could bring. I feel nervous of the incredible magic locked away in the chests and emanating from the artifacts on the shelves, a magic far too powerful for me to touch. I cannot trust myself to enter this place safely.
I take a step back,
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looking at Dan. Space appears to wobble around his grey cloak, in much the same way as the smoke above a flame. I see that from him, too, emanates a strong magic. Should I, by accident, absorb just a tiny percentage of his magical energy, I
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would be overwhelmed by it. On top of the sheer amount of magic from my enchanted armor, which continues to exhaust me to my limit, it could topple my sanity, as if each logical thread within my mind were a domino. It is a responsibility I
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cannot bear.
Dan notices that I have halted my footsteps, and turns around to face me.
I express my guilt to Dan, looking into his blue eyes with the most apologetic gaze I can express. His previous advice, "Don't underestimate magic," echoes in
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my mind with fresh meaning.
"I really shouldn't be here," I say, quietly and humbly. "I'm sorry."
Dan's eyebrows lift. "Oh dear," he says, his voice's echoing loudly from the excess magic spilling out of him. "My sincerest
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apologies; I forgot to remove the ward."
He lifts his hand upward, the fingers wobbling from the smoke-like distortion. He begins to chant a command in an old, formal dialect, roughly translating to: "From now until the sun rises, let Fristad
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pass." The instant he says this, the smoke-like distortion of the space around him disappears.
"There we go," says Dan, his voice now at a normal volume again. "That should stop the ward from messing with you, although you'll still feel paranoid for a
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little while. Stay close to the wall and think of puppies."
Puppies? Okay, then.
I follow Dan around the left perimeter of the room, mindful to keep my head facing the wall. My foot nearly slips on the first step of a stone brick staircase, and the
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sudden jerky motion makes me forget which way is up. I crouch against the wall, in fear that my thin legs will lose traction on the stone, causing me to slip uncontrollably over the edge. I grasp my skull, trying to remind myself that I am covered in a
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solid, rough substance, not some liquid, frictionless slime. Get a hold of yourself, Fristad. You've never fallen off a staircase before. Remember that the physical world is a logical place.
I force myself to stand up, and
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continue walking down the steps very slowly, mindful that each step lands precisely in the middle of the stone brick slab.
Dan slows his pace in front of me. "It's alright, Fristad. There's nothing to be afraid of. Besides, I wouldn't have
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taken you down into this room if I didn't feel it was so important."
I feel slightly more confident, trying to look away from my boots, letting my legs settle into a slow rhythm. So far so good, as long as I watch out for stairs.
And so we proceed
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very slowly clockwise, my steps still tense from the possibility of falling, until many floors down later, we reach the very bottom, where the floor is covered in stone bricks. There is one large table in the center of the floor with many glowing
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orange rods standing upright, and along the walls are narrow tables, cauldrons, furnaces, shelves, and a crafting bench in the middle of each wall, discluding the wall against which hangs the staircase we have just descended.
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Dan pulls out two backless wooden chairs underneath the center table. He points one hand at the chair closes to me, beckoning me with his other hand to sit on it.
"I'd remark on how you must be tired from the long journey down
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those stairs, but you don't have muscles with which to be tired." Dan chuckles. "That's just one of the plus sides of being a skeleton... although I doubt it outweighs the fact that you despise being one."
I walk over to sit on the wooden chair,
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letting my legs lay limply on the floor. The process does not make me feel relieved, but it at least allows me to get my mind off the process of walking. I look up at the levels of wooden walls and spiral staircases stretching upward towards the
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ceiling. It was difficult enough to get down without falling - I shudder - but I can't imagine trying to do the same thing all over again, except next time, every step will bring me up progressively higher, to more dangerous heights. I force my head
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down towards the floor, trying to get my thoughts off the idea.
"Still a little jittery, I see?" Dan says, reaching for some empty glass vials on a shelf. "Don't worry; you've gone through the worst of it. Look on the bright side: with a ward that
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powerful, there's absolutely no chance that anything else can get down here." He grins.
This fact frustrates me. Rather than comfort me, the idea of the ward surrounding us makes me feel isolated. "Why do you even bother
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having a ward here if it's just going to freak people out?!?" I snap.
"Because..." Dan sighs, while dipping the vials into the water of a cauldron, one by one. "...this is where I store my most valuable projects and supplies, stuff
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that would take a lot of money and magic to replace."
I nod my head. "I suppose that's a pretty good reason. But still, if you had such a powerful ward up, then why did you bother bringing me down here?"
"I need you here for two reasons.
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First, I need you here to help me make some potions... potions that will help you. And second, I need to ask you a few questions."
I nod again. I can kind of understand why he'd want my help to make the potions; it may have something to do with how
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the magic works, or maybe he just needs another set of hands.
But the questions... why would he need to ask me something while we're down in this room? Perhaps there is a magic-related reason for that as well. Or perhaps,
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Dan needs to speak to me in a place where he can know, for certain, that we're alone. Some place secret.
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Part 4: More than Just a Book
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Chapter 26: Diagnosis
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Dan places the last of three vials filled with water on the center
table, on the side directly opposite of me. He then sits down in front
of the vials, and lifts each one onto one of the three cobblestone cups
at the base of a glowing orange rod. As it
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catches my attention, I begin to realize that this glowing rod has an unusual shape. Its tall narrow neck, with columns of stone riding up against it, its upper tips protruding outward, and in the other direction its mass widening and flattening, makes
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it seem alien... almost organic. Its curvature gives it the appearance of the tall body of some sort of creature... suggestively armless, but not exactly like a Creeper. It looks almost like a fortress, the outline of the stone
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forming a decorative molding around it.
"What is that thing?" I can't help but say, staring at the strange structure.
Dan nods with his head downward, his eyes watching the orange rod as he places the third vial within the remaining stone bowl.
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"Nothing less than a brewing stand." He lifts his head up to look at me, his eyes squinted with scepticism. "It brings the heat of the Nether to our world. It's essential for making potions."
"I see..." I debate whether or not I should ask
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another question. Even though Dan's response doesn't feel like a sufficient explanation, I feel as if I shouldn't say anything. His piercing glare suggests that this place is far too austere for small talk.
This is not the same Dan that I knew
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five minutes ago.
Dan turns his back to me, and walks toward the shelves on the far wall. His head tilts from left to right, scanning the shelves for something he wants. After about a minute of scanning, his head stops.
"Of all the questions buzzing
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inside of my head, one keeps coming to the front..." He reaches for several pouches on an upper shelf, walks toward the center table, and sets them down next to the brewing stand. He looks back up at me. "...What were you planning to do after you killed
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the guards?"
I try to think back on the moment after I killed the second guard, the one who was running toward me with a sword. Somehow, I was confused. I realized that I no longer held a place within normal 'craftian society. I wasn't sure what
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to do next. The moment already seems fuzzy.
I shake my head. "I'm not sure. I had trouble trying to wrap my head around the fact that I had transformed into a skeleton."
Dan squints his eyes, raising a hand up to his chin. "You
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seemed much more determined about what you were going to do at the time, much more than you claim now. I was getting the impression that you were trying to avoid me. It appeared almost as if you were trying to run away."
I see, in my memory's eye, the
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limp body of the fallen guard. Somehow I associate his death with a strange, distant feeling... a feeling that, at that moment, seemed tantalizingly close. I remember walking away from the body. I wasn't exactly scared, but I felt the need to travel
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somewhere. Exactly where? I'm not sure.
I nod at Dan. "You're right. I was trying to run away. I'm not exactly sure why, but I was."
Dan gives a faint nod of approval. "I thought so. That doesn't answer my other concern, though: why were
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you trying to avoid me?"
I recall the sight of the dead grass plain, and the sound of rapid footsteps crackling upon it behind me. I remember turning around and seeing Dan running towards me. I remember being irritated by his
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presence... but why?
"I don't know. For some reason, I was angry that you were there. I wanted you to leave me alone, but I'm not sure why I suddenly felt that way."
Dan slowly pours a strange powder from the pouches into one of the vials. It
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glows bright crimson as it silently flows out, before disappearing into the transparent water. He eyes the powder carefully, before tilting up the pouch in preparation for another pour.
"Did you want to kill me?" he asks in a plain, objective
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tone.
"No, I didn't want to kill you. I just wanted you gone...at least, I hope that was the case."
A spurt of worry and guilt taps within me. I realize, too late, that it sounds like I actually wanted to kill him, just phrased differently. I try
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to explain my intentions more clearly.
"I can't imagine killing you."
Dan places the now empty pouch down onto the table. He lifts up the other pouch to the neck of the third vial, and begins to gingerly pour again. "I feel like you're
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withholding information from me... yet at the same time, you seem too openly clear, too sincere."
I nod slowly in agreement, trying to stay calm. Even just a suspicious facial expression could make me look worse. I really hope he trusts me.
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Dan places the second pouch onto the table. He walks around the right side of the table, pulls a chair out from underneath it, and sits next to me. He is no more than a meter away.
Dan crosses his fingers neatly upon his lap. "Are you
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still nervous?"
I shake my head. The fear of death has subsided. The leeching fatigue of the enchanted armor, however, still remains.
"Can I see the book for a moment?"
I nod, reaching into my back pocket... but feel nothing in it.
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It feels so confusing and unexpected for the book to not be there... almost unnatural. At the same time, I feel an overwhelming sense of relief. And on top of all these feelings, there is a sudden sense of nervousness, pressed upon me
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by the draining magic of the armor. I despise this sense of nervousness; it reminds me of the consciousness of the book which tried to invade me. I try to ignore it, repress it, control it.
"Fristad? Fristad!" Dan's hand waves close to my face.
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"Can you hear what I'm saying?"
I focus on my vision, returning my attention to my surroundings. I nod at Dan.
"I asked if you could give me the book."
"Right. I would but... for some reason, I don't have it."
"Where is it, then?"
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Dan's brow furrows in suspicion.
"I'm sorry, but... I really don't know. I always keep it in my back pocket. Even when I set it down somewhere, it always appears in my back pocket again."
"And yet you don't have it with you right now, all of a
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sudden?" Dan glares at me, his eyes in a tight squint. After a moment's thought, his gaze drops, his eyes widening. "... but that doesn't make any sense, if the book really wanted to control you, then..."
"Perhaps it was trying to avoid your
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questioning?" I offer.
"Or perhaps..." Dan pauses for a moment. "... perhaps it confirms my suspicion that the book is indeed sentient."
"Sentient? As in... what? Self-aware?"
"Self-aware, yes. But it is a little more than that." Dan stands
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up and walks toward the shelves again. He reaches for two shallow wooden bowls. "It involves a certain form of mental connection to magic. Some spells work differently on sentient creatures than non-sentient ones, in the same way that some spells
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work differently on living things than inanimate objects." He sets down the two bowls on the table, then turns around toward the shelves again. "The ward protecting this room only works on sentient beings, and it seems that the book has been driven
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out by it." He collects some jars and pouches from the shelves and brings them back to the table. "That would only happen if the book was sentient."
I mull his words over for a bit. "But how do you know that the book was driven out? Perhaps
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something happened to the book since I last spoke with it." I feel the nervousness pressed upon me by the armor grow stronger, more difficult to ignore. The nervousness instills within me a strange longing, a parasite
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burrowing itself deeper into my mind. I despise it. I want it gone. "I can't help shake the feeling that the book is still able to control me somehow. I feel a power coming from the armor. It is almost as if the book exists within the armor
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itself."
Dan pauses from grinding material in a bowl with a pestle. "That complicates things..." He takes some powder from another jar, and pours a little bit into the bowl. "I'm still inclined to believe that the book is sentient, but I'm
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not sure what to make of the armor. Perhaps it is tied to the transformation...."
I nod. "I suspected the same."
Dan begins to pour a viscous, purple, slime-like substance from a jar into the other bowl. He begins to grind it with the
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pestle. "What does the power from the armor feel like?"
"Well..." I cautiously reflect on the mental influence of the armor, avoiding thinking too deeply about it, for the fear that obsession over it would cause its power over me to strengthen. "It
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makes me feel nervous and tense... not exactly afraid, though, like the ward made me feel. It feels almost like a parasite, feeding on my awareness. It's almost the same as the book made me feel... except the book made me feel a variety of other
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emotions as well."
"Interesting..." Dan picks up the two bowls and walks around the table. He holds the two bowls out in front of me. "I have a favor to ask of you. Please place one hand in each of the two bowls. Make sure your fingers are submerged in
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the powder."
I am confused for a moment, but I recognize that it's probably necessary in order for Dan to help me. I press my fingers into the powder of the two bowls. My right hand begins to tingle, then a strange burning sensation begins
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to pulse through it. "Ow!" I pull my hand out of the powder in pain. I glance at Dan. "Why'd you have to do that?!?"
"Just a test." Dan pulls the two bowls away. "It actually gives me more reason to trust you."
I clasp and relax my hand, trying to
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get rid of the burning sensation. "I never thought skeletons could feel pain..."
"They can, indeed..." Dan grabs a few more pouches off the shelves. "...although the undead do tend to be affected by magic somewhat differently, which is why that test is
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useful." He begins to mix in more powders into the bowl which didn't make me feel pain. He then brings the bowl over to my side of the table. "I want you to put your fingers into the bowl again. Use your left hand this time. And don't worry; it won't
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hurt you."
I hesitantly place my left hand into the bowl and wait for a moment. I lose feeling within them, and they become immobile within the powder.
"What does it feel like?" asks Dan.
"It makes my fingers feel numb." I reply.
"I see...." He
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takes the bowl out from underneath my fingers. They remain stiff and numb, hanging from my bony wrist like a stiff sculpture.
Dan pours some of the powder from the bowl into each of the three vials on the brewing stand. Then he opens up a small pouch,
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and pours a small amount of grey powder into each one. The orange rod begins to glow, as black smoke materializes above the vials.
"What are those potions for?" I ask.
"They're for helping you sleep."
The nervousness
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impressed upon me by the armor grows in strength. The parasite within my mind pierces a barrier, beginning to chew at my willpower. I feel my perception of the foreign emotion turning; I feel the desire to accept it as my own. My ability to
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perceive its existence blurs; a growing desire within me urges me to leave the room immediately. Nervousness turns to fear. Dan is trying paralyze me. What if Dan tries to imprison me? What if Dan makes me drink that potion, and I never wake up? I have
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to escape.
I sprint from my chair onto the stairs, pushing myself up the steps as fast as my ebony legs will let me. I think I hear Dan yelling behind me, but I don't waste time trying to interpret what he says. I focus on continuing to ascend the
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steps.
Something bangs against my head. I hear the tinkling sound of breaking glass. A numbness spreads down my neck and towards my legs, making them stiffen. I fall forward onto the steps, but am unable to move. Blindness fades
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my sight to darkness. A fog of tiredness envelopes my mind, descending me into a deep sleep.
And within the ether of a waking dream, I hear a voice, soothing as spider silk. The voice fills me with happy but indescribable memories of a long
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lost friend. It is the Book.
"We meet again, at last..."
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Chapter 27: Peace and Darkness
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I feel a gentle, warm breeze brush against my face. I open my eyes, and
an incredibly blue sky blinds me with its brilliance. I place my hand up
to my eyes to shield them from the bright blue light, letting them
adjust more slowly. I turn my head to the
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right, and realize that I am laying down on a pastoral green field. Tiny flowers and puddles speckle the grass. Every so often, my eyes land upon one of several scattered trees, with lush and budding leaves and innumerable blossoms. Grazing
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cows are scattered across the landscape.
The whole scene seems familiar... I feel like I've been in this field before, except it was in the Summer, when the grass was golden and the sun unforgivingly hot. Yet this time around, freedom
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permeates the air. It is the place where I've always wanted to be, a place free from the darkness.
The savory smell of a pork roast persuades me to sit up and turn around. I see a cobblestone cottage with its chimney breathing smoke. The
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entrance is surrounded by a dense and colorful garden, with a mossy stone path leading up to an ornate yet sturdy wooden front door. The large stones holding up the walls have a deep and earthen texture, no doubt weathered by many storms. The
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wooden roof is slightly sagged, but its dark color suggests that it is as old as the stone beneath it, far too strong to simply break, but bound to slowly bend under its weight over many years.
The cottage reminds me of the safety
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and security of childhood, a period of blissful innocence and adventurous spirit, a time when the chaotic confusion of spawning for the first time was a close memory. Yet somehow, it isn't meant to last; the safety is only temporary. It is
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only a matter of time before the darkness finds me. I can only hide from it for so long.
I try to ignore the fear. It's not like thinking about it is going to make my troubles go away. It is inevitable. All I can do for now is enjoy however many
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days of peace I still have.
I turn my back away from the cottage and lay back down onto the grass, absorbing the tranquil Spring weather. My stomach rumbles, reminding me that I need to fill it soon. After many deep breaths, the sky darkens, an
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orange glow strengthens in the corner of my eye, and the cooling breeze tapers off. I think I hear someone calling my name.
I turn my head by stop halfway, seeing wisps of silver smoke snaking along the ground. The color of the world fades,
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the sunset reduced to an ominous white glow, the sky to black, and the grass to the color of ash. He is here. Why must he come too soon?
I swing my head forward as fast as I can. I don't dare look back. Any longer I stare into the smoke, the more it
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blinds me. And I'd surely be doomed if I looked into his eyes.
My heart pounds like a bashing brick. He has blocked my way to the cottage. If I try to run towards the cottage, he will surely catch me. However, if I try to run away from him, I will be
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distancing myself further and further from the safety of the cottage. Is there really much of a choice?
I have to run. As futile as it may be, it's my only hope of escape.
I rock forward onto my toes and push myself immediately into a sprint. I
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don't try to avoid the wet puddles which my steps splash onto my legs. I just stare into the grayscale horizon and focus on one thing: running.
I hear a malicious chuckle. "Do you honestly think you have any chance of escaping? Running is futile! Save
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your energy."
I feel my legs burning and my breaths growing heavier, but I don't let myself give in to the temptation of rest. Fear courses through every vein. I am running faster than I thought I ever could. My energy is the instinct of the primordial
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chase: I am the sheep. He is the wolf.
Another laugh. "When will you ever learn? I am catching up to you ever so slowly. With just a little more power, I could easily overtake you."
I say nothing. The world has become a numb illusion. The pain feels
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more distant. I feel my legs moving beneath me, but the movement has become automatic. Against my will, the frequency of my steps decreases ever so slowly, like the slowing flames of a furnace running out of fuel. For the love of Notch, don't slow
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down!
I focus on pressing my legs against the ground harder, swinging them forward with ever so slightly more force, hoping the exertion will push me forward ever so slightly faster. The contrast between the sky and the horizon
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begins to fade. A chill flows through me as I realize that it's too late to run. He has me.
All I see in front of me is grey, with wisps of silver smoke drawing in from the edges of my vision. I keep running in spite of seeing nothing, not willing to
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give up to the inevitable. Hot ethereal coils tighten around my ankles, pulling me into the air and dragging me backward. I am tipped over, forced down onto my knees against the grass I cannot see, and clamped in place by an invisible
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force.
"You see?" said the voice. "There's no point in running away. Someday, after disobeying me enough times, you will realize how wrong you were to even try."
I can't imagine what he will do to me... or what he will make me do. Still, there's
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nothing I can do to prevent it from happening. My muscles shake uncontrollably, to my frustration. Why must I appear so weak?
"What's that? Aww..." he coos. "It seems as if you're afraid!"
He tisks mockingly, in the same way a mother might to a
#pgx128
disobedient child. His patronizing tone makes me enraged. I avoid the urge to clench my fists, to show any more emotion. It hurts to watch my ego burn.
He laughs yet again, longer and louder than before, savoring the moment. "What sickly
#pgx129
delusion made you think that you, a mere human, could possibly trump my incredible power? Did you think you could outrun me? Outsmart me? Outfight me? Hm?" The invisible force pushes me closer to the ground. More laughing. "Do you want to know the
#pgx130
cold truth? Well, perhaps, out of ignorance, you don't want to know. I will tell you anyway. The cold truth is that you are a lesser being: I own you! And it is only a matter of time before you are broken. You will come to respect me. You will come to
#pgx131
serve me without question. And, of course, you will know better than to run away from your master!"
My hatred for him boils inside of me. I strain myself keep my mouth shut. Talking will only make things worse.
"So what are you
#pgx132
planning to do? Resist? You know that path always leads to failure... so why bother? All resistance has brought you is pain and suffering, despite all the strain and effort you put into pursuing it! What kind of terrible life are you living?
#pgx133
You could be happy... all you need to do is submit. I have incredible power... power that has been wasted making your life a Nether in the Overworld. I could use my power to bring bliss and meaning to your life! All you have to do is act as I say,
#pgx134
speak how I ask you to, and think as I command! Is that really that hard? It's not as if my instructions are unclear. It's not as if what I'm asking you to do is life-threatening, or beyond what your puny human body is capable of! Why do
#pgx135
you resist? You are taking the unnecessarily hard path! If you would just obey me, everything would be so, so easy..."
I feel a hand placed on my shoulder. It is deceptively warm. Behind that hand is a being that does not comfort, does not
#pgx136
love, no matter how hard he tries to deceive me that it is so.
"So, what is it, then? What is preventing you from truly accepting me as your master?" His fingers tighten to a painful grip around my shoulder. "Tell me now!"
#pgx137
I shake my head. He will get no more knowledge out of me.
He sighs, unclenching his fingers from my shoulder and lifting his hand away. "It seems like we still have some work to do."
The ground rips open beneath me, and we are thrust into
#pgx138
another space. I still see nothing.
#pgx139
Chapter 28: The Mailman
#pgx140
I shriek compulsively as I rapidly sit up. The motion tosses a blanket
off of me.
What a terrible nightmare.
I glance to my right and see Jonas laying awake, his violet eyes wide
open and his elbows spread out in surprise.
"The blazes...?"
#pgx141
Jonas croaks. I must have woken him up.
"Sorry about that," I apologize.
I feel an itch on my forehead and reach my hand up to scratch it. I realize, looking at my fingers, that they are no longer a mass of floating bones, but normal skin and
#pgx142
flesh. So I didn't transform into a skeleton after all...
Thank Notch. I'm so glad it's all finally over.
"Did you have one of those nightmares?" Jonas asks.
I nod. "Yea. It was a pretty long one, too."
I turn myself around and tilt my weight
#pgx143
off the bed and onto the floor. The walls are back to their dull, dark grey again, with glowstone light scattering dim yellow splotches onto them. I walk around the bed and sidestep through the half-open door. I see, on the other side of the hall,
#pgx144
Dan's closed bedroom door. Perhaps he is inside.
I turn to my right and walk down the narrow hallway towards the stairs, picking up the pace. Nature calls.
------------
As it turned out, I didn't get much sleep. It's early in the morning; the air is
#pgx145
crisp and silent, and the sun barely peaks over the horizon. A few monsters are still lurking in the distance, mostly spiders, but none close enough to be a concern.
I walk back around to the front side of the shack and see Dan talking to
#pgx146
somebody. His husky, Sunshine, is standing close beside him on his left. As I approach slightly closer, I recognize the gristly face of Greyfeld, the old mailman who used to come to my hometown of Veridale.
I grin and wave. "Grey! It's been a
#pgx147
while."
Greyfeld turns his face towards me, his eyes widened in confusion. "Now, where do I recognize that voice from?"
I grasp my fingers around the base of my leather helmet and pull it off, allowing him to see my face.
Greyfeld nods his
#pgx148
head in recognition. "Indeed it has."
Dan turns his cloaked face towards me. "You know this man?"
"Yea, he used to carry mail back in my town."
"...up until a couple years back." Greyfeld adds in his cracked voice. His eyes squint as he
#pgx149
smiles. "How's it been, lad?"
"It's been fine. The livestock have stayed healthy. Thankfully there hasn't been plagues or raids, or anything of that sort..."
I feel a pang of fear as I stare at the helmet in my hands... loosely hanging
#pgx150
there... insecure. I feel the cold morning air against my damp and newly bare head. An irresistible urge wills my arms to move mechanically, replacing and re-strapping the leather on my head in one fluid motion. Then comes a sense of relief. I try to
#pgx151
recollect my jumbled thoughts, recalling the conversation that I started with Greyfeld.
"That's great to hear," Greyfeld turns back to Dan. "Is the price reasonable, from what you remember?"
Dan shrugs the shoulders
#pgx152
beneath his grey cloak. "As reasonable as it gets in Bluesteel. You know how it is. Everything's expensive in the city."
"Ah." Greyfeld mutters in an exacerbated sigh. "That's not ideal."
"It's more ideal than the other
#pgx153
alternatives. I remember there being some blacksmiths in Ash Valley that know how to make those sorts of things, but that's far too long a journey unless you travel by rail..."
"I don't want to leave my baby behind." Greyfeld shakes
#pgx154
his head. He is referring to the swine steed that usually carries his deliveries in leather pouches. I notice the mail hog behind Greyfeld resting, its fleshy snout laying flat upon the gravel path. "I've heard the same from other folks as well. I
#pgx155
suppose Bluesteel is the only reasonable option. Thank you for your advice."
"It is my pleasure. I wish you the best of luck and health."
"Thank you, Vrendan."
After those thoughtful words, Dan turns around and departs
#pgx156
towards the shack. His husky trots alongside him, its closest forepaw nearly brushing against his heel.
"What do you need to buy at Bluesteel?" I ask Greyfeld, curious of why he needs to travel to such a large city.
"I need a back
#pgx157
brace." Greyfeld answers frankly. "You wouldn't possibly know where I could find one, would you?"
I shake my head. "Not really."
"I didn't think so." A somewhat sorrowful look enters his eyes. "I went to see a doctor a few days
#pgx158
ago, because I've been feeling really tired on the job. I started feeling that way several years back, when I used to travel over the Adamant Mountain pass..."
"So that's why you stopped coming to the other side of the valley." I reason.
#pgx159
"That's right," Greyfeld responds. "The tiredness became progressively worse, until I concluded it was no longer safe for me to travel across. Once I stopped going, the fatigue went away for a while, but then it started to get
#pgx160
worse again. As it turns out, the doctor says there's something wrong with my back."
"That sounds terrible." Poor Greyfeld. He's probably been in a lot of pain, too. And yet he's kept delivering mail, all this time! "I hope you
#pgx161
feel better once you get the back brace."
"I do too, lad. I do too." He smiles weakly. "Life's not as kind to those who spawned long ago. The pull of the earth isn't as forgiving to the bones of the old as it is to the bones of the young. But enough
#pgx162
about me." Greyfeld waves his hand in a dismissive gesture. "What brings you out as far as Zomem, if you don't mind me asking?"
"I came here so Dan could enchant my armor." I pause for a moment, trying to remember something. "I think there was
#pgx163
another reason as well, but it's escaped me for the moment."
Greyfeld's eyes scan from my head to my toe, then back up to my head again. "It is quite... I don't think I've seen armor quite like yours before. It looks similar to leather armor, except
#pgx164
it's more... ornate."
A pool of anger wells up in my stomach. How dare he disrespect my beautiful armor! He has no idea what incredible passion and craftsmanship went into making it. My hands shudder slightly. I ought to crush him like I did to that
#pgx165
skeleton...
I try to submerge the anger. I can't let my emotions get out of hand like this. I try to hide the signs of my inner anger, opening my hands and softening the clenching of my brow.
"Are you alright, Fristad? You seem
#pgx166
a little out of it..."
"Don't worry; I'm fine." I reply.
Greyfeld nods, eyeing me carefully. "Is there something you want to talk about?"
"I'd rather not."
"Alright, then. I won't press you for information. To be honest, I'd rather not know the
#pgx167
details of the business that brought you to such an infamous village as this."
"Infamous?" Now Greyfeld makes me curious. I had the impression that Zomem was impoverished, and I know that impoverished
#pgx168
villages tend to attract crime, but what could possibly happen in Zomem to give it the title of infamous? "What do you mean?"
Greyfeld lets out a subtle and refined chuckle, the sort of sound that someone might make if they were very
#pgx169
knowledgeable about something. "Where do I begin? Well, first of all, Zomem is a haven for dangerous fugitives, not the least halfbloods. You've probably seen at least a few of them by now."
"Well, you don't know if they're really that dangerous. The
#pgx170
rumors can't possibly all be true." I restrain the urge to say more, remembering all too well the way the villagers treat Jonas back in Veridale.
"Perhaps some are exaggerated, but it's impossible for all the rumors to be false. You ought to know
#pgx171
that halfbloods can't be trusted. They are monsters, after all. However, I won't press you further on the matter."
I feel a little sad. It's a shame that nice people like Greyfeld see halfbloods as monsters.
"Of course, there are other sorts of
#pgx172
dangerous fugitives as well: thieves and bandits, naturally, as well as just about every breed of criminal that society has brought up. You name a crime, and chances are someone who lives in Zomem has committed it. Plus, Zomem's so filthy that disease
#pgx173
is rampant. It's awful." Greyfeld shakes his head. "I don't mean to curse your visit, but it's something that's worth knowing."
"I didn't get the impression that Zomem was such a great place to begin with." I admit. "Thanks for telling me, I
#pgx174
guess."
"I hope you heed that knowledge and leave quickly as soon as you get whatever business you have here over with. Also, there's one more thing I think you should know." Greyfeld's voice drops to a whisper. "It's about
#pgx175
Vrendan."
I lean a little closer to make out his voice better.
"Vrendan is a dark magician. A practitioner of forbidden void magic. The worst of the worst."
"What's so bad about void magic?" I whisper.
#pgx176
"It is incredibly dangerous and powerful... to such an extent that it is said to be irresistible to avoid using it for one's own self-gain. It is said that void magicians can teleport as well as annihilate objects from existence. Some say that void
#pgx177
magicians can even read minds. If I were you, I'd speak softly around Vrendan. You don't know what he'll do to you if you get on his bad side."
So Dan is a void magician. I contemplate the thought for a moment. "I'll try to be respectful
#pgx178
around him. I mean, he seems like a polite guy..."
"His politeness is likely just his way of avoiding drawing attention to himself. He knows that what he's doing is illegal. People like him aren't without their hidden motives."
I nod. "I'll be
#pgx179
careful."
Greyfeld backs away. "Please do, lad. It was great to speak with you again."
"You too." I reply. "I hope you feel better."
Greyfeld lifts himself onto his hog with a grunt, then kicks its belly with the side of his heel. The hog
#pgx180
lifts itself from its bed of stones and begins carrying its master towards the rural side of town, where the poorly maintained cottages fade to grassland.
#pgx181
Chapter 29: Mutually Sleep-Deprived
#pgx182
I think back upon Greyfeld's warning. What is void magic, really? And
why is it illegal? I don't know all that much about the void. I've heard
from some miners that there are holes leading to the void somewhere deep
underground, hiding in the space
#pgx183
between the lowest layers of bedrock. I've also heard that the void will annihilate anything it touches with the exception of bedrock itself... although according to Jonas and Dan, it seems that Endermen and obsidian are also immune to its destructive
#pgx184
power. Exactly why it's so destructive, however, I have no idea.
I think back upon the first nightmare within the infinite library, where I had my intimate encounter with that all-destroying, malicious void. The pain of the void
#pgx185
feels distinct from all other things; I retaliate in vengeful anger to the memory of its flame. It is hard quantify what I would be willing to give up to avoid feeling that pain again. How much more I would give up to forget the memory that it ever
#pgx186
happened...
My hand wanders into my pocket, grasping the Book and opening it.
"It would be irresponsible for you to forget the memory of the void. That would be equivalent to forgetting evil in a search for moral
#pgx187
truth. The memory of the void brings contrast to our goals. We seek greatness... power... prestige... but if we fail to find it, we are no better than fuel for the void's flames. That is not what you want, is it? Surely you want to avoid that terrible
#pgx188
pain..."
The fear of the void begins to expand within me, but I repress it with a great struggle. You're trying to manipulate me, aren't you? You think you can use the threat of the void as an incentive to get me to do what you
#pgx189
want... but you also won't go as far as to make me experience it again, because you can't stand the way it made you feel.
"That is far from the truth, I am afraid. I am far too familiar with the void to be bothered by tiny, miniscule snippets of
#pgx190
memories such as the ones I show you in your dreams. Your definition of excruciating pain is quite foreign from my own... not that I would ever use that against you. Your future experience of the void, if it should ever happen, would not be of my own
#pgx191
volition. Instead, it would be an inevitable consequence of your own guilt."
Fear turns to confusion. The sensation of trying to wade through my mind for the correct thoughts reminds me of the futility of trying to stay awake in bed with eyes
#pgx192
closed, when dreams begin to flash incongruently in the mind with increasing strength, drowning out coherent thoughts.
Why would I ever feel guilty, unless you made me feel that way? You're just trying to hide the fact that you're
#pgx193
trying to influence me. You want to catch me off guard by making me feel as if there is no threat to my own willpower, to make it easier to control me. You want to make it seem as if I'm in control, when I'm really not in control at all. But that's not
#pgx194
what I mean by that. Wait, that doesn't make any sense, I...
Anger brews as I sift fruitlessly for ideas. It seems pointless to argue against the Book's congruent thoughts, its far superior logic seeming to make it unquestionably true.
"I think what
#pgx195
you are trying to explain is the difference between free will and free judgment. You may have many conflicting thoughts of how to approach the future, some of which reflect your ideal desires. However, when it comes time to make a decision,
#pgx196
there is only one obvious choice. Willpower is no more than the entertainment of impossible options."
What are you trying to say? That I don't have a choice?
"Hey there," Dan unknowingly cuts off our silent conversation. I
#pgx197
put the book in my pocket and turn around, my eyes falling upon the cloaked magician carrying an empty basket filled with cloth. "Would you mind accompanying me to the market?"
I am abruptly returned to practical reality,
#pgx198
the resentment of the argument with the book slowly fading away. "Um, no, not at all. I could use a walk." Especially after the mental weariness the Book made me feel.
We begin walking toward the gravel road. The Book projects a sense
#pgx199
of annoyance. "You must give up this ridiculous delusion of yours that I'm trying to manipulate you. The fact of the matter is that it simply isn't true."
"Jeez, you just have to make it keep going," I accidentally verbalize my thought. Dan
#pgx200
appears unphased, to my surprise, his blue eyes peering straight forward as if he never heard me.
After a few minutes of walking through the cool morning air, Dan breathes in, preparing to speak. "So, how did you sleep?"
"Alright, I guess. I
#pgx201
woke up abruptly because I had a nightmare, but I don't feel all that tired now. How about you?"
Dan exposes a weak grin. "Eh, well... I actually didn't sleep."
"Why not?"
"I was kept up by magic."
With those few
#pgx202
vague words, Dan makes me curious. I take advantage of the moment to try and test Greyfeld's suspicion that Dan is a void magician... and possibly understand what void magic really is. I settle on an obvious question at first, to avoid making Dan seem
#pgx203
uneasy. "Why was magic keeping you up?"
"Well, it started off when I decided to help you enchant your armor. When I draw from my pool of magic to perform the enchantments, some of the excess lingers in my body, filling me with energy. Of
#pgx204
course, the enchantment on its own wasn't enough to keep me awake; it was what came after." Dan glares at me with a cynical frown. "Next thing I know, you're undead, walking through the fields and shooting at the guards."
I become caught
#pgx205
up in the sudden realization that the transformation actually happened, that what I experienced as a skeleton wasn't just a dream. "So I did transform into a skeleton after all..."
"Indeed you did, and you were quite the source of chaos.
#pgx206
You could have hurt me if I wasn't as experienced at combat as I am."
I am torn between asking Dan about the magic he used to avoid my arrow and asking Dan about how I became human again. Chances are that Dan will mention the latter either
#pgx207
way as he continues with the story of his night. I capitalize on the moment to ask Dan about the nature of his magic. "What was that purple vortex that came out of your hand to stop the arrow that I shot at you?"
"The technical term for it is a void
#pgx208
rift," Dan answers without hesitation. "It does exactly what it sounds like it does. It opens a temporary rift into the void. Anything that flows into it is disintegrated."
A void rift could not be associated with anything else but void magic. The
#pgx209
connection between the memory of my standoff with Dan last night and Greyfeld's words suddenly clicks. Dan can indeed annihilate objects from existence, just like Greyfeld said void magicians ought to be able to do. But does this mean that Dan
#pgx210
can teleport as well... and perhaps even read my mind? I avoid that last thought, hoping that the privacy of my mind isn't invaded by more than one being at this very moment.
"So... void magic, basically?"
"Indeed." Dan adjusts the cloth
#pgx211
in his basket. "That is one reason why I couldn't sleep, although the potion-making afterward was more significant."
I nod. "That's when you brewed that potion that made me human again."
"Well, no, actually. It's more complicated
#pgx212
than that."
My jaw drops open in shock. "What do you mean you didn't change me back?" Is my human appearance just an illusion?
"All I did was give you a sleeping potion. It was the armor you are wearing that changed you
#pgx213
back."
I trip over a pothole in the gravel path I didn't expect, but regain my footing before falling.
I feel a sense of relief, although Dan's specific knowledge about my armor strikes me as suspicious. Is it possible that he
#pgx214
knew all along what the enchantment would do to me, but he refused to tell me about it? Is it possible that Dan read my mind in order to find out about my armor? But in that case, would he have known about my intention to kill the guards? And if so,
#pgx215
why didn't he take the moral initiative to stop me sooner?
I have to ask him. "How did you know that the armor would change me back?"
Dan nods knowingly. "Therein lies the bulk of my sleep deprivation problem. When you came to me wanting to
#pgx216
enchant your armor under the influence of the book, I didn't know what to make of it. When your enchantment turned out to be something I didn't recognize, I became very suspicious. That's when I used a large sum of magic to sift through my
#pgx217
library for answers. As it turns out, you are not the first person to wear that enchanted armor; its effects have been documented. Once I found out that the armor could transform you into a skeleton, I figured the book had more immediate plans.
#pgx218
The rest, of course, you already know."
We step onto the firm ground of the Zomem town square. The sun is now peeking over the horizon, dimly illuminating several townsfolk leaning against buildings and sitting on the fountain walls.
So Dan didn't
#pgx219
really know about the enchantment beforehand. "I see now. But still, why did you let me enchant my armor in the first place, considering the influence the Book may have on me?"
"I simply didn't know what it would lead to. I can only act on
#pgx220
knowledge I already have."
"I suppose you're right," I respond.
We enter the alleyway between two cobblestone buildings. The ground is a patchwork of stone bricks, trash, and dirt. As we approach closer, we get a closer view
#pgx221
of a stone brick entryway with the door open. Beyond the door is a staircase leading underground. This must be the entrance to the market Dan mentioned, but what is with all these underground tunnels? A torch burns above the
#pgx222
door, and on either side of the door there are wooden beams. On the beam on the right is nailed a painted sign:
Mothy's Market Manor
My lips burst open as I let out a spitting chuckle. "What kind of parent names their kid Mothy?"
Dan rolls his
#pgx223
eyes. "When you see him, you'll understand. More importantly, however, try to be nice to him when you meet him. The townsfolk hardly give him any respect as it is."
#pgx224
Chapter 30: Mothy
#pgx225
I follow behind Dan, as our steps create a damp echo within the
descending stone passageway. We follow the stairs down as they spiral
down at right angles, every so often illuminated by a lone torchlight
which hangs within an indent in the wall.
Just
#pgx226
as I spot a larger floor at the bottom of yet another final flight of stairs, I notice that my breath is a little heavier than usual.
By Jeb, if I feel even a little tired just walking down this massive flight of stairs, then all the more tired I'll
#pgx227
feel walking back up it.
As my feet step upon the floor where the stairs end and a room begins, I mention this to Dan, slightly annoyed.
"That was one serious flight of stairs."
Dan nods. "I know. I can't say I'm too fond of the location,
#pgx228
either."
I look around the room we have just entered, inspecting our surroundings. It seems that no one else is here.
The room is long and narrow, its walls, floor, and ceiling all composed of stone. Display shelves take up the two side
#pgx229
walls. The one on the left is tightly packed with baskets; one such basket is filled with potatoes, while another is filled with loaves of bread. The shelf on the right, closer to us, is more conservatively filled with books and papers, possibly
#pgx230
records to keep track of store purchases. The back wall is barren stone, which strikes me as somewhat a waste of space.
About a meter away, there is an oak desk which partitions the shelf space from the entrance where we stand. Its surface
#pgx231
contains many scratches and black stains, evidence that the desk has seen much use. On the oak desk sits a torch which dimly lights the room, an ink stand with a feather resting inside, and a piece of paper holding several words in black ink:
#pgx232
"Please wait for assistance."
I recall the sign posted at the entrance to the stairwell. So the shopkeeper's name is Mothy? What a weird name.
"Mothy isn't here..." I look at Dan in the eye with a hint of suspicion. "Are
#pgx233
you sure we didn't come here too early?"
"Of course." Dan responds, placing the cloth-covered basket upon the oak desk. "The boy has always had early opening hours."
We stand waiting for a moment. The air is a deathly silence;
#pgx234
our only close surroundings are the depths of stone.
I nearly jump as I hear a voice to my left. "Mr. Ti'Drannes? I wasn't expecting you."
As I turn to my left, my eyes fall upon a bizarre, humanoid creature. They are perhaps two
#pgx235
heads shorter than me, with flaky silver skin, thick grey hair, black irises surrounded in grey, and a lopsided smirk. The creature wears a vest over a blue shirt and burlap pants. Their hands are thin, brown, and bony. I suspect the creature is a
#pgx236
half-blood, but I don't recognize what monster the creature is related to.
The creature's grey eyes fall upon me. "I don't believe we've met before. My name is Mothy Cleftstone, and I am the owner of this f-fine establishment."
#pgx237
Mothy's voice seems to tremble and stutter ever so slightly, and his inflection seems forced, as if the words do not come naturally to him.
"My name is Fristad. It's nice to meet you."
Mothy's grin balances out as it widens. "And you as well. It's
#pgx238
always great to meet a new customer. How can I help you?"
"Well, um... I'm actually here with him." I pointed towards Dan.
Mothy lets out a long "Oooh" with an awkwardly high level of realization, as if he has discovered that the answer to an unsolved
#pgx239
riddle is surprisingly obvious. "I see now. What can I get for you, Mr. Ti'Drannes?"
"I just need some more carrots, eggs, and bread." Dan responds.
"Certainly! Just let me g-get some eggs first. I left them in the back."
Somehow the way
#pgx240
that Mothy phrases his plans sounds a bit odd for a room this size. I watch Mothy walk to the back, passing by each basket on the shelf without a single glance. Perhaps what he's looking for is near the very back of the shelf.
Mothy continues to
#pgx241
walk forward until his body morphs to stone as he phases through the back wall. My jaw drops in surprise as Mothy disappears into the earth. "Wait, Mothy just... How did he do that?"
"He's part Silverfish," Dan replies. "He's
#pgx242
well-attuned to the earth."
I try to wrap my head around Dan's explanation. I'm not quite sure what a Silverfish is, but the name sounds vaguely familiar. Still, what strange creature could walk through solid stone? Somehow it seems... wrong.
#pgx243
"What's a Silverfish?" I decide to ask.
"They're distant relatives of spiders, a meter long and half a meter thick all around. They live deep underground and near tall mountain ranges. Miners often disturb them when digging through the
#pgx244
stone."
"So they live in the stone?"
Dan nods. His eyes have drifted away from me, looking at something behind me. I turn my head to see what it is.
A poster hangs against the wall, to the left of the stairwell. It
#pgx245
appears to be some sort of recruitment poster for a mining union.
"Deep Shaft Mining Crew: Do you want to be a miner? Adventures and riches await you! Our crew explores the deepest caves and mines at magma levels. The
#pgx246
danger is great and the reward is greater. Highest cut and best training are given to new recruits. Are you worthy? Visit our nearest mineshaft in Aridtown, and look for our seal."
To the right of the promotional passage is a blue banner
#pgx247
with a pickaxe in the center, the foreground having an outline reminiscent of flames. Below the promotional passage is a heroic depiction of several miners in full diamond armor, holding their chins high and their diamond pickaxes
#pgx248
aloft. Their artistically-depicted chiseled muscle is by no means an overestimation of a miner's strength, considering the miners that pass through Veridale. On the other hand, it's hard to imagine so many miners with diamond armor
#pgx249
and tools, because of how rare diamond is. Plus, the miners in Veridale never carry diamond. They almost always carry iron, and the few that don't carry leather and stone.
As I hear footsteps coming from the stairs to the left of the poster, a
#pgx250
brunette woman wearing a wool coat and carrying an empty basket steps down into the room. She walks forward to stand alongside me, waiting for the same shopkeeper that Dan and I came down to see.
We wait for about a minute. Mothy's
#pgx251
stony form begins to stretch out from the wall, along with a strange mass of woven stone. As Mothy's flaked face returns to a lighter silver, the mass of stone comes to resemble a basket of eggs. The brunette meanwhile reaches into her coat
#pgx252
pocket, pulling out a tiny pouch.
Mothy's head snaps toward the pouch with wide eyes. With visible effort, Mothy turns his head forward. He sprints to the desk and sets the basket on the table. "Amber, th-this really isn't a good..."
The brunette
#pgx253
Amber tucks her finger underneath the string holding the pouch together, pulling the knot apart. She then tosses the pouch upon the floor, its hard, bead-like contents rolling out and bouncing along the floor. Mothy's posture takes on
#pgx254
a feral crouch. His eyes glaze over as he lets out a slurping hiss. He dives onto his belly and rapidly claws at the beads, tossing them into his mouth. A harsh grinding sound causes my jaw to clench. Amber laughs hysterically at the ordeal. After all
#pgx255
the beads are consumed, Mothy proceeds to roll over onto his back and lick and gnaw at his arms. As his sleeves are pushed back, I observe that his arms are thin and brown, just like his hands. Mothy then begins to rub and twist his arms
#pgx256
together, as if applying a lotion.
I can't help but stare at him as he repeats the process... twice.
After starting to gnaw at his fingers for the fourth time, Mothy suddenly pauses, sanity returning to his widening eyes. "Nether..." He swears. He
#pgx257
sits up and rocks back onto is feet. "Why did you have to do that?"
"Because I have a favor to ask of you." Amber replies, the smile of laughter now gone from her face. She reaches her hand into her coat pocket again and pulls out another
#pgx258
pouch.
"Nonononono..." Mothy stutters, stepping back towards the desk. "Don't make me do that again."
Amber tugs at the knot of the pouch. "Then I want half price on groceries."
"What do you think this place is? I don't run a charity here."
#pgx259
"You WILL give me half price on groceries..." Amber insists, letting the pouch slip to the tips of her fingers, "... or you get to roll on the floor again like your slimy cousins."
Mothy lets out a deep sigh. "You know what? Fine." His eyes lock upon
#pgx260
Amber. His face tightens into a scowl. "You can make me dance like a bug all you want... it doesn't matter anymore. I'm not giving you groceries for half price."
"Mothy, please..." A hint of desperation surfaces in Amber's voice. She looks
#pgx261
at Mothy pleadingly. "I have a family. They're starving. We can hardly afford to feed ourselves."
"As if you're not the first person in Zomem to tell me that!" Mothy's voice rises in volume. "There are better ways to solving your food problems than
#pgx262
p-putting it all on me. Besides, after all you've done to me, you don't deserve a discount."
"Look, Mothy... I have plenty more of these pouches, as you can see." She reaches her free hand into her coat pocket and brings out a handful of them briefly,
#pgx263
before putting them back inside. "So, unless you want to be stuck in bug world for the next few hours, you'll give me the food that my family needs." Amber brings her hand back in preparation to throw the pouch.
"You know what? That's it! I've had
#pgx264
enough!" Mothy slams his hand upon the desk. He reaches underneath the desk, and brings an iron sword out in front of him. "Either you pay f-full price for the food, or you leave with nothing."
"You'll drop that sword as soon as I throw this
#pgx265
pouch..." Amber responds.
Mothy steps around the desk with the sword in hand. "You'll be s-sorry if you t-try to throw it."
"What, do you think you have the nerve to hit me? Nobody's going to buy from your shop any more if you start
#pgx266
attacking your paying customers."
As much as I sympathize with Amber's family hunger, it seems wrong for Amber to humiliate and dehumanize Mothy in response. I decide to prevent her from throwing the pouch again. I reach for
#pgx267
the sword at my belt... but find nothing. I clench my fist in frustration as I realize I forgot my sword again. I decide I can make my point just as clear by walking directly in front of her. By the time Amber and I have locked eyes, our chests are
#pgx268
nearly touching.
I try to speak as firmly as possible. "Mothy's being serious. I think it's about time that you leave him alone."
Amber's eyes sink downward. A shade of pink leaves her face. "I suppose you're right."
She walks around
#pgx269
me, reaches into another pocket, and sets coins upon the desk. She then pulls off the basket hanging on her arm, and sets it on the table next to the coins. "I'll take however many carrots and potatoes this money will buy."
#pgx270
I step back.
Mothy nods in acknowledgement. He brings her basket back to the shelf, placing carrots and potatoes inside of it. He then walks back to the desk. He takes the change before setting the basket down.
Amber picks up the
#pgx271
basket, and carries it up the stairs without a word.
Mothy pulls a stool out from underneath the desk, sits down, and plants his face against the desk.
"I hate myself," he says in a muffled voice. "I always h-have to be the bad guy... on top of
#pgx272
being this half-blood freak. Hardly anybody gives me respect..." He lifts his head up from the desk with his arm as he leans against it. "Someday I'll be a miner, and I won't have to make the choice of who gets to eat, and how much..."
"But if you're
#pgx273
a miner, who's going to sell them the food?" I ask, perplexed.
"Oh, d-don't worry, there still will be plenty of merchants selling food throughout town. It's just that I have the lowest p-prices. It's the only way I can scrape by."
"Perhaps it might
#pgx274
help for you to sell in a different location?" I suggest.
"Yea, but... it's not just the location; it's me. I can't stand being near the surface for too long."
I nod my head in acknowledgement.
Dan points on the poster on the wall. "I notice you have
#pgx275
that poster up on the wall. Are you going to apply?"
"Sure am!" Mothy responds, a lightness returning to his voice. "I put the poster up as a reminder. I hope to gather up enough extra c-cash by the end of the month to afford the trip.
#pgx276
With Stephen's blessing, I hope they see what I'm worth."
Mothy's hope makes me smile. A part of me even feels a little jealous. Here's this half-blood, working as a merchant and aspiring to be a miner, and here I am, a human, having worked as a
#pgx277
shepherd my whole life, without a second thought.
"Mining is quite a demanding job, isn't it?" I ask.
"It is," Mothy replies, "but I know I can handle it." He turns to face Dan. "What can I get for you?"
"Could I have a loaf of bread, six
#pgx278
eggs, and four carrots?" Dan requests, as he places his basket upon the desk.
"Will do!" Says Mothy, as he brings Dan's basket to the shelf on the left. He returns with the bread and the carrots beneath the cloth. He opens up the cloth again to
#pgx279
place the six eggs inside.
"Hmm," Dan remarks as he reaches within his cloak. "I just remembered that one of my clients is late on their payment, so I guess I'll just take four eggs for now."
"Four eggs it is." Mothy puts two eggs back into the
#pgx280
larger basket. "Sometimes I worry about you, Dan, with your p-profession and all. Some of the people you work with, I honestly hope they don't know I exist."
Dan chuckles. "I assure you that I don't pick clients just for the sake of making your life
#pgx281
more difficult."
"Oh no, I don't mean it THAT way. I mean, I d-don't think most people would want some your clients to know that they exist, either. They're just those sorts of p-people..." Mothy glances at me for a moment. "... but I think I've said
#pgx282
too much."
Dan hands Mothy the coins for the groceries.
"Thank you, Mr. Ti'Drannes."
Dan smiles. "Thank you for the food. I'll be seeing you."
As Dan turns around, I take the queue to walk towards the stairs.
#pgx283
"Also, mister-what's-his-name. Tristam, was it?"
I turn around towards Mothy. "Fristad."
"Right, of course. Fristad!" Mothy spreads his hands in annoyance of forgetting. "Thanks for sticking up for me when that girl was
#pgx284
here. That really meant a lot to me."
"No problem."
As I start to ascend the stairs again in earnest, the Book's presence enters my mind. Its female voice fills my thoughts.
"I have a feeling that getting to know that man could be of benefit to us.
#pgx285
If he does end up becoming a miner, he will have access to quite valuable resources. Even if he doesn't, I think there is a lot to learn from him."
For once, I think I actually agree with you. Well, at least partially.
Yet a small part of
#pgx286
me is hesitant, for a reason that I cannot retrieve.
#pgx287
Chapter 31: A Common Problem
#pgx288
"Speak of Herobrine..." Dan remarks, ending the silence of our walk.
Leaning against Dan's cobblestone shack is a tall, scarred, tanned man.
His bald, tattooed head is ribbed from the pressure of his scowl, the
lips beneath it pierced
#pgx289
with three gold rings. From the neck down, chainmail dirtied with red and green stains covers his body. Across his chest run two diagonal leather straps, holding a bow and quiver in place against his back. At his waist are strapped two scabbards: one
#pgx290
iron, one gold.
The man's shrewd eyes inspect a pale red crystal turning over in his hand. It takes a moment for the man to notice us before he lifts his eyes from his study. The bulge of his brow gives his gaze a threatening undertone, but it
#pgx291
does little to hide his slight uneasiness.
"I have bad news," The bald man begins to say, his voice deep and hoarse, worn and deepened from unknown trials worth reckoning with.
"That's not exactly the best way to introduce yourself after your friend
#pgx292
was late on his payment," Dan responds, unamused, a hint of anger creeping into his voice.
The bald man shakes his head. "There's no other way to put it. There have been delays. There's been a..."
"I don't want to
#pgx293
hear excuses." Dan snaps off the man's sentence. He walks out in front of me, then stops near the door of the shack, about two meters away from the man. There is hesitation in his demeanor for a moment, then the frame of his body relaxes a little. "I
#pgx294
want an explanation of how your friend is going to pay me."
"He wanted me to tell you that the payment you desire is on its way. However, he also wanted to make it clear that it is a privilege to do business with him," The man replies, seemingly
#pgx295
emboldened by Dan's concession to compromise. "He said that your deal with him is conditional upon your cooperation."
"Is that supposed to be a threat?" A calm and deliberate confidence returns to Dan's voice. "Because it certainly won't change the
#pgx296
deal we've already made. I don't take threats for a bargain. He's late on his payment, and I want compensation."
"Fine. What do you want?"
"That sword," Dan points at the bald man's golden scabbard.
The man pauses
#pgx297
for a moment, confused, his stare questioning if Dan is actually being serious. A flash of worry ripples across his brow, and then he nods, fidgeting with the belt until he unclips the scabbard from his waist. He hands the covered blade to Dan,
#pgx298
handle first. "Collateral?" the man asks.
"No, interest." Dan takes the sword from the bald man, who lets go of it reluctantly. "There is collateral, though, and you can probably guess what that might be. Let your friend know that." Dan pauses
#pgx299
a moment to let the meaning sink in. "When can I expect payment?"
"Within two to three weeks," the man's dark brown eyes lock upon mine, his scarred and tight-muscled face causing me to feel uneasy. "We also need assurance
#pgx300
that the man over there will keep quiet."
Dan follows the man's line of sight until his vivid blue eyes fall upon my own.
"I won't say a thing; just don't get me involved," I reply.
"It's a deal, then." Dan turns back to face the man. "However,
#pgx301
there won't be any leeway this time. I've been too forgiving already, simply because I'd rather resolve this issue peacefully while I'm in front of a guest."
The man nods. "Your urgency will be made understood." He pushes his back off of the wall and
#pgx302
begins to walk towards the neglected gravel road.
Dan turns the golden sheath over, squinting at its vine-engraved design critically. He tilts it forward while slowly pulling out the handle from the upper end, the
#pgx303
friction creating the tinny sound of gliding metal. Muted yellow sunlight travels down the length of the blade, sometimes amplified to a burning brightness with the pulse of a purple sheen.
He lifts the blade upward, then slowly rotates it back
#pgx304
and forth. On either side of the blade is a geometric, crisscrossing design, its shapes resembling the exposed layers of sediment in a high cliffside. "What a shame," Dan mutters. "Even with the enchantments I've added, this sword
#pgx305
is worth more melted down than kept as a weapon. The gold from it is worth a lot, though, which is what matters in the end..."
It seems somewhat strange that such a tough-looking man would be willing to accept a deal with Dan so quickly. Why would he
#pgx306
give up his own sword, when he could have insisted that his friend pay the interest? The man looked as if he had seen many battles, not the sort of man who would give up one of his own possessions to avoid confrontation.
Dan pushes the
#pgx307
blade back into its sheath, its entry ending with a metallic click. "I'll have to travel to Bluesteel to sell this for a good price. You may have to come with me."
"Why is that?" I ask, somewhat confused of why I'd have to tag along.
Dan looks at me,
#pgx308
perplexed. "Don't you remember back in Mothy's shop, when I couldn't purchase the eggs I wanted? That man's friend..." Dan points towards the gravel road behind me. "... has been so late on his payment that I'm running out of money for food."
#pgx309
I can't help but draw a parallel between Dan's client and the customer that visited Mothy this morning. "You're not the only one having trouble getting paid, are you?"
Dan reveals a little smirk. "Lack of money is a common problem in Zomem." He turns
#pgx310
around and opens the door. I begin to walk towards the entrance.
"It sure seems like it..."
Zomem seems to be a magnet for misfortune, from poverty to crime to disease. It's not exactly the best place to make a
#pgx311
living. Still, its population is so isolated and desperate that it is the perfect place to begin germinating my power. If I go to Bluesteel with Dan, I lose that opportunity to begin my plans. Bluesteel is far too heavily populated, far too fortunate
#pgx312
with resources, for me to be able to control it.
I close the door behind me, leaving only the flickering torchlight to illuminate our faces. Why should I think that way? Since when did power matter so much to me? I'm not like this.
#pgx313
My thoughts change shape. I feel as if my head has been dunked in water. The memory of last night materializes. I see the fallen guard at my feet, laying limp upon the dried grass. What if he wasn't actually dead? What if he was just laying there,
#pgx314
because I told him to? What degree of loyalty would that take? In a rural town like this, he'll have few places to turn... and if Dan is gone, nobody will be able to stop me.
We begin to walk down the stairs. I resolve to convince Dan to let me stay.
#pgx315
"Still, that doesn't explain why I have to come to Bluesteel with you."
"I'm afraid that if that book's control over you isn't severed in the next few days - and frankly, I highly doubt it will be that easy - then I have no choice but to bring you with
#pgx316
me." A meter across the library at the bottom of the stairs, Dan stops and turns around. "Your compromised willpower makes you a danger to society... as well as yourself."
I stop after taking the last step down. "Is there any way that I can stay
#pgx317
here?"
"No. I need money for food. Why must you insist?"
The Book speaks. "It's not working. If you try to press your demands upon Dan at this point, he will only trust you less. Bide your time."
I sigh in defeat. Since when was the Book
#pgx318
the reasonable one, restraining the demands of the other mind-kin?
"I don't know," I respond to Dan, searching for a harmless excuse for my behavior. "I guess I'm just tired from the long trip yesterday."
Dan nods and
#pgx319
smiles, seemingly accepting of my explanation. "You've had to endure a lot since your troubles with the book started. I recognize that. Don't worry; I still have a few days worth of food, before the trip will be necessary."
I work to conceal a
#pgx320
glare with a sorrowful smile. Poor Dan. He's still naive enough to think that I want to get rid of the Book. He still thinks that my friend is solely a nuisance. The longer he's kept in the dark, the better.
"It seems that Dan does not suspect
#pgx321
your motives," says the Book. "That is exactly what you need. I apologize from restraining you from your desires. Usually, you are the reasonable one."
It would cause me too much guilt to pretend that. On the contrary, I've been the demanding
#pgx322
one. I greedily drew on your power to craft the armor, then insisted that Jonas bring me to Zomem to enchant it, ignoring the warnings you gave me. I insisted on staying here, when you knew it would be impossible. I should have known sooner that you
#pgx323
were the reasonable one. I should have known that you were the one keeping me sane.
Dan lifts the cloth-covered basket, the motion in my line of sight helping me to climb out of the haze. "Do you mind joining me to make some eggs?"
#pgx324
Chapter 32: Uncertain Memories
#pgx325
After breakfast is prepared, the three of us sit down at the kitchen
table. Dan pinches the fabric of his cloak, pulling it backward onto his
chair, revealing a collared shirt. Even without the cloak, there is a
less friendly edge to his appearance. A
#pgx326
weighted tiredness pulls on the lids of his eyes. Jonas begins to eat first, his hood obscuring his line of sight as his head is bent down.
I look down at the food in front of me. There is a glass of water, two eggs, a slice of bread, and a piece of
#pgx327
melon, courtesy of Jonas.
A few minutes pass in silence, aside from the chewing of food. Dan looks up at me, the smoothness of the small motion conveying a sense of volition and purpose.
"I recall you telling me that you had a nightmare last
#pgx328
night," Dan remarks.
I nod, recalling the chase with dread. It seems as if the dreams are only getting more vivid and coherent. The thought of running through the endless grey persists in my mind, kindling a fear which tenses my muscles, despite
#pgx329
my logical belief that the threat isn't real. I want to run away. I want it to disappear.
"It must have been a bad one," Jonas adds, his purple eyes observing me with concern. "You don't look good at all."
"You really do not," Dan adds. "Perhaps you
#pgx330
should talk to us about it. At the very least, it could make you feel better."
"I suppose I could..." My speech comes slowly, bogged down by the worry that my words could carry to unwanted ears. But whose ears? It doesn't matter; there is no good
#pgx331
reason for me to feel this way. Maybe if I talk about the dream, and describe the feeling, I could finally convince myself that it isn't real.
"The dream began at a peaceful cottage in the spring. The air was warm, and there were many flowers. I
#pgx332
remember laying down upon the grass, trying to ignore the feeling that something was searching for me, something very dark..." I pause for a moment, feeling the anticipation soak in. It's no use trying to wait for it to pass. "The sun started
#pgx333
to set, and then I heard someone calling me. I think it was my mother."
It's been a very long time since I've seen my mother. Perhaps that was one reason the nightmare effected me so deeply: there was the knowledge that regardless of
#pgx334
what I did, I might never see my mother again. Still, I'll never know for sure if it was her. The voice was so faint.
"I tried to turn around towards the cottage, but I stopped because I saw silver smoke on the grass. It made me afraid to look
#pgx335
behind me. I thought there was someone there that would trap me if I looked into his eyes."
Dan nods in acknowledgement. His eyes appear more open and alert.
"I tried to run away from him, but the longer I ran, the more silver smoke
#pgx336
there was. He kept calling after me, telling me that running was useless. I kept running, but I started to get tired. I felt myself go blind. I was pulled off my feet by hot coils and clamped in place. He gloated over me, claiming that he could do
#pgx337
terrible things to me, telling me that I would become his unconditional servant. Then I felt the ground give way underneath me. That's when the dream ended."
Both Dan and Jonas are looking down, deep in thought. Their reaction doesn't
#pgx338
seem like enough. I didn't describe the nightmare well enough, did I? I couldn't adequately describe the events which made me so afraid. I don't think I ever could; somehow the true detail of the events is hidden from me. They can't sympathize with
#pgx339
me, no matter how hard they try.
"This man..." Jonas speaks first, "...seems very controlling, not unlike the book."
"That's no surprise, considering that the Book created the dream." I remark.
Dan raises his head. "I wouldn't be so sure. It might
#pgx340
be a memory from someone that got trapped in the void, perhaps the memory of a miner."
"So, does that mean that, while the Book was passing through the void, it may have heard the thoughts of a miner?" An idea inside me clicks, a realization that
#pgx341
excites me. "Or... perhaps the book actually is the miner, and all this time I've been hearing their thoughts?"
"Not quite," Jonas corrects me. "'Thoughts' are not the best way to describe the sorts of fleeting impressions that
#pgx342
drift through the void. When a human consciousness enters the void, the void has the tendency to tear it up into tiny pieces. They become more or less dead; they aren't capable of new thoughts or ideas. The book would have come across one
#pgx343
of the miner's memories, at the very most."
"I see..." My sigh echoes my deflated hopes at an explanation of the Book's existence. On the other hand, the existence of fragmented memories within the void may explain where the
#pgx344
terrible nightmare came from. This possibility, however, does not get rid of the fear that I feel. "Still, who was that man who was chasing me?"
"It's hard to say," Dan responds, "especially since you couldn't see his face. Do you
#pgx345
remember him having a name, or perhaps you remember what his voice sounded like?"
"No."
Jonas resumes eating, his hood covering his eyes once more.
"In that case, it's unlikely that we will ever know who the
#pgx346
man was," Dan admits, his brows lifted in sympathy of the mystery. "He might not even be a real person, depending on how much of the dream came from a memory, and how much was, in fact, made up."
I suppose it can't be helped that I may never know who
#pgx347
that man is, but I still feel a bit disappointed. When Dan mentioned that the nightmare could have come from the memory of a miner, the possibility gave me hope. It made me feel as if I could have knowledge over the Book, a psychological
#pgx348
power of identity that would allow me to struggle against it.
A force within me tugs down upon my defenses. The female voice of the Book coos in my inner ear. "Why struggle? There is no point in trying to explain my existence, when your failure only
#pgx349
sheds yet a bigger spotlight upon your human flaws. In fact, it is pointless for you to struggle at all, because you have already become so weak and agreeable that you think and act as I will you to. It is only a matter of time before you anticipate my