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ACoL Book 2 - Chapter 10: Confessions
🕑 Added 2024-11-10 20:14:02 +0000 UTC(I just felt like releasing this. Just put on some finishing touches.)
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“You were quite ill when you arrived last night,” Thal’rin said.
“I’m feeling better," Vincent said, "thanks for letting me sleep in your carriage. You didn't have to do that."
"It was clear I was not going to use it last night, so you are welcome."
Vincent felt conspicuous following the High Channeler to the edge of the caravan. Thal’rin wanted some place quiet where they could speak without being overheard. Yet wherever they went, they received curious looks. Vincent could practically read the onlookers' thoughts. ‘Who is this strange being who walks by Thal’rin’s side?’ their eyes seemed to say.
“Your recovery is quite remarkable," Thal'rin said, "My sister is still asleep, and she has been trained to endure harsh conditions.”
Vincent didn’t respond to this. Every step he took felt heavy. A few people tried to get the High Channeler’s attention, but he politely warded them off, promising to talk later.
“I didn’t expect you to be out here, wherever this is,” Vincent said, “I thought you were in Meldohv.”
“I am headed to Gullreach to attend the Festival of the Nestings” To Vincent’s visible confusion, he explained: “Every five years, the zerok celebrate new life. Their people do not reproduce as easily as ours. And so, every new birth is extraordinary to them. We attend, we celebrate, we mend old wounds.”
“Mend old wounds?” Vincent repeated.
“Our history is both storied and troubled. The zerok do not experience time as we do. Our people, the groundwalkers, wounded them long ago. And they wounded us in return. It was far before my time, of course. So, I do not remember the conflicts. Yet they still do.”
“Oh. Yeah. I was told they inherit memories.”
“Yes, they do,” Thal’rin said, “My best friend, Kyrotin, you have met him, remembers the terrors his ancestors experienced, even though he did not exist at the time. The festival is a reminder of the wounds. We relive them with the zerok, or at least we try to. Then we show camaraderie, we renew a promise never to do that to them ever again. I was not sure if I would attend, given everything that has happened with the stormspawn. But I realized that was all the more reason to go.”
After that, he said nothing. They left the caravan behind. Vincent was surprised that nobody followed, not even a few guards, given Thal’rin’s stature and importance. But then he recalled what Thal’rin said back in Meldohv, about being able to protect himself. After the display last night, he believed it. They reached a lone tree and stopped. Thal’rin turned around to look at the carnage caused by the zeffyr. The fleshy whiskers that hang from his snout swayed in the wind. His jaws seemed to clench and unclench.
“This was an attack,” he said, gesturing with a wing to the zeffyr’s corpse. “Or dare I say it, a possible act of war. Jalhara used the deadliest lore we know of in an attempt to assassinate you, a lore which they have sworn never to use again. We do not know why, and we have not heard from them yet. We do not know if it was sent on the Gyanyu’s authority, or if it was a rogue agency at work. Either way, I cannot understate how serious this unprovoked attack is. It changes everything. They violated a treaty that had ensured peace between us for decades. The repercussions of this will send ripples across Admoran.”
He turned to Vincent. “I do not want to discuss the revelations imparted upon you by the storm entity. Not here. It is far too dangerous. But if your captor is what the Puppeteer says it is, if somebody in Jalhara got word of this... then I need to know you. I need to know the mind of the being who stands before me."
Thal'rin gave Vincent a chance to respond. But he didn't know what to say.
"You have been through a harrowing ordeal," Thal'rin continued, "I wanted to let you rest in Gullreach before I questioned you. But this…this development changes things. I need to know how you think."
"How I…think?" Vincent repeated.
"When the first black storm arrived in Meldohv Syredel," Thal'rin said, "you told me that you had visions of our people dying. You told me you wanted to help. I want to know why you tried to sell me this lie.”
'Tried to sell.' It was Thal'rin's way of saying that Vincent did not have him deceived for one second. The High Channeler saw right through his bullshit. The wind from the burning storm in the distance chased waves across the meadows. Vincent wanted to ride it, to fly away. His jaw muscles were tight and so it was hard to form words.
“I don’t know,” he said softly. It was a pathetic response. It was the kind of answer a child gave when they were scolded by a parent.
“You do not know,” Thal’rin repeated, sighing. “That will not work, Vincent. I was told you pursued the storms for...memories? I am hesitant to believe it.”
“It’s true,” Vincent admitted.
“Then explain that to me," Thal'rin said. He did not shout. But his words cut like razors. "I want to understand.”
“You know about my condition.”
“I do. We have discussed it in length.”
“But you will never know what it’s like unless you lived it. It's like I said back in Meldohv: Your schizophrenics die before you have a chance to know what it does to them.” Vincent watched as more zerok arrived, gathering like vultures around the zeffyr’s mound. “So, I don’t know if I can explain it to you. I can try...but I’ll fail.”
Thal’rin waited. Vincent searched within himself, trying to find the words, trying to find a way to explain what was going through his mind at the time. But they never came. That person seemed alien to him now. Any explanation he attempted to give would be both petty and inadequate. It would feel more like a cowardly excuse…which, it was.
“Something inside of me broke,” he finally said. “Orth finding my belongings in Lorix’s Eye, finding out I was trapped here...what Salish said...Kirlon, everything that led up to that. I broke. Suddenly my memories became more important to me than anything. I thought they were the only way I could avoid losing myself.”
“You could have come to us. You could have consulted me,” Thal’rin said, “you knew what the stormspawn could do. You encountered them with Kiolai Reashos. This is not your world, you do not know its dangers.”
“Could you have helped me?” Vincent asked.
“We don’t know,” Thal’rin said, “we never tried. You hid that knowledge from us.”
Vincent stayed silent for a few moments, watching the smoke rise. His mouth parted and shut. He licked his lips. How could he explain to Thal’rin the chronic paranoia? Or the mindset that comes along with years of fighting a neurological condition? How could he explain the fear and the rage?
"I was kidnapped from my world and reassembled into this 'thing'," he said. His voice was flat, devoid of inflection. "Then I was thrown into Falius. You arrested me. You tried me for murder even though I never met my victim. Then you pardoned me and told me I'm this 'Saedharu' thing. I told you I wanted nothing to do with it. But your world kept finding a way to force it on me. Then you sent Kirlon after me. Is it really hard to understand why I wouldn't trust you? Any of you?"
Thal'rin closed his eyes and chewed on his words. "No, Vincent. That is not what I am struggling with," he said, "We have made many mistakes. I will not deny that. It's the extent of your denial that confounds me, the denial of our world. I do not understand why you would pursue the storms. To you, our world may be a fantasy, but it's a fantasy that can still hurt you."
Vincent searched for an answer. "I don't know what to say, Thal'rin," he said, "I wasn't stable. I snapped. And now people are dead because of it."
Vincent wasn't looking at Thal'rin, but in his periphery, he noticed a subtle change in the High Channeler's stance. He could feel the golden eyes boring into him. But when Thal'rin spoke, his words were softer.
"There are a hundred pains in your words," he said. 'A hundred pains' must have been another Falian idiom. "Do you still believe our world is a fabrication of your mind? That it's nothing more than a dream?"
“No,” Vincent said.
The admission shook him to his very core. Though he tried to maintain a collected façade on the outside, he felt like breaking. Falius was real. Girashnal was real. Everything that he had done, everything that he had experienced since coming to this world, it all actually happened. Though he could taste it, touch it, and see it, he tried to remain in a state of denial until that very moment, until his admission. Even after the confrontation in Crefield, he remained unsure. Or at least...he pretended to be uncertain.
When his mother had passed, he didn’t want to believe it. Even though she decayed day by day, though all the signs were there, he had grown so accustomed to her presence that her passing was unfathomable. It was not reality. And so, he denied it, pretended she would get better until the day she died. Falius was a similar shock to his system. He used his schizophrenia as an excuse to lash out against it. He was a pathetic coward. But now, looking upon the devastation wrought by the zeffyr, he could no longer justify the running. The wind, sucked in by the distant fires, blew at their backs, filling their wings.
“Lives were lost,” Thal’rin said. He did not raise his voice, nor did he cushion Vincent from the consequences of his actions. “We will have to live with that. But The La’ark also bears that burden. As do I. Do not give yourself too much credit. We allowed you to go to Crefield even though we knew you were lying to us. And in the end, from what I have been told, the storm did disperse. You did the right thing for the wrong reasons.”
The reassurance, if it could be called that, did not make Vincent feel any better. He watched as soldiers cautiously approached the zeffyr’s remains. They were driving stakes into the ground. Tied to each of them was some sort of blue banner. Warnings, perhaps? Wards?
“That thing you wielded last night,” Vincent said, “was that your conduit? Not an artificial one like the shryken, but an actual conduit?”
“It was," Thal'rin admitted.
“The zeffyr,” Vincent said, “it chased us for days. Nothing could stop it, not even the mountains. We just kept running and running. But you destroyed it like it was nothing.”
“It is a power I do not take lightly,” Thal’rin said. He did not sound arrogant. Rather, he sounded uncomfortable with the fact that he could wield such destruction. “If you have questions about Sincalindre, I am willing to answer them. But not at this time.”
“They could have used you.” The words escaped Vincent’s mouth before he could stop them. “The expedition, I mean. You were sitting on that kind of power...what the hell were you doing in Meldohv?" He nearly shouted the last few words at Thal'rin. He had to stop himself and take a breath before he continued. "The Puppeteer, the stormspawn, they wouldn’t have stood a chance! You literally are a walking army like everybody says!”
Vincent felt his nostrils flaring and he heard his breath hissing. His anger was not hot an venomous, but it was present nonetheless.
“I wanted to go,” Thal’rin said, his voice was filled with rue. “I have a power that frightens me. The stormspawn would not have been a threat. This much is true. But my reasons for not going are this: we did not, and we still do not know what the storms were, only that they corrupted life, turned living things into monsters. And there is much life in and around Meldohv Syredel. They could have been food for this lore. Our militia is not prepared for such an attack. Several cities with vast armies were devastated because the very insects that inhabited it were corrupted. You can’t fight pestilence with an army. Sincalindre can.”
“When you departed," he continued, "three storms were headed toward Meldohv. One was inert. It yielded no stormspawn. The other two, however, did. If I had gone with you, if I had not been there to intercept the storms, we would have run the risk of Meldohv suffering the same fate as those fallen cities. We could have returned to a fallen stronghold, and many more lives lost. If any of the syredels fall, the repercussions would be felt throughout Mid-Admoran.”
Thal'rin's logic was sound. Vincent had nothing to do with his anger and sorrow.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"Do not be. You echoed my own thoughts."
“So...what happens to me now?” Vincent asked.
“We do not know how zeffyrs are summoned, only that the act comes at the cost of thousands of lives,” Thal’rin said, looking at the devastation. “One does not make that sacrifice unless they were determined and desperate. And so, we must assume that once they learn of their failure, an attempt on your life will be made again. You and your cabras will be flown to Gullreach. The citadel of the zerok is built on a liacyte surge. We know from Jalharan defectors that zeffyrs cannot hunt those surrounded by that much liacyte. You will be safe from such lore there. I cannot fly with you, as much as I would like to. It would raise far too many questions. But when I do arrive, you will stay near me. That is what we do for the short term.”
“And for the long term?”
“If the race your captor belongs to is returning, we need to learn everything we can about them before this happens. We need to learn what it did to you and how. Why were you chosen? What is it about you that piqued its interest? What are you capable of and what does it hope you do? We may need to learn about ‘humans’ and Earth. Any information about you could be relevant. That is why I need to understand you.”
Prior to the quest to Crefield, Vincent would have blanched at the thought of these people probing into his life. Even now, the thought of it repelled him. But he also wanted to know why Girashnal chose him. He wanted to know what was going on.
“The Puppeteer called me Herald–“
“–Do not say it,” Thal’rin cut him off, “not here. I do not know what happened to you, Vincent. I do not feel malice on you. But those things...it was said that they were so terrible, so wrong, many gloweyes such as myself, who are sensitive to the wrong and the unnatural, would die in their presence. The agony and the terror alone would kill us. Naikira Laneus, with her guardian of the mists, was the only one who could face them. The prospect of their return is unfathomable. But we cannot ignore the risk. Ayrlon still weeps.”
Vincent looked around. “Okay,” he said.
“Now, we should return to the caravan and get you ready to leave soon. I don’t want you to wander. I want you to stay with your cabras. People are asking questions about you.” Thal’rin turned and headed back toward the wagons.
“Thal’rin,” Vincent said. The High Channeler stopped. “I should have told you the truth. I'm sorry.”
Thal’rin considered his apology, thoughts churning behind his golden irises. “Trust in us,” he said, “you are here against your will...yet you are here.”
"I want to help…for real, this time, I mean," Vincent continued, "but I need to rest. I'm at my limit; I'm overwhelmed. I don't know what I'm doing and I don't know what to do. I need a break from all of this."
"All of you deserve a rest," Thal'rin said, "I am sure it can be arranged."
When they returned to the caravan, Caleet was back and running around, though his chaotic energy was a bit tempered now. The little one, the dragon toddler, was crawling in the grass. Occasionally she would grab onto one of the wagons and try to climb. Ezrai would pluck her off and set her back in the grass. Vincent wanted to hide. The future was uncertain, and it was filled with snares. Every step he took felt like it would lead him into a landmine. He rejoined his cabras and tried his best to disguise the shame he felt.
He sat down and felt something poking his side. He palmed his pockets and found that the shryken was still with him. He had not realized he still had it. He tucked his hand into his pocket and wrapped it around the handle. His ethereal form appeared along with the shryken’s hierarchy. He wanted to leave his body, to disappear from the growing number of curious onlookers.
He split. He was sitting. He was standing. He was in two places at once. He was two people at once. But which one was the real him? The question resonated. He felt remorse for his actions. But the rage was also still there, buried down deep, ready to be awoken. He didn’t want it, yet it felt like an inseparable part of him. He was lost in a storm, buried in shame and silent despair. He felt far too small for the situation he was thrust into, a helpless cog trapped in a machine.
Something tugged on his backside. Startled, he let go of the shryken and nearly jumped up. He felt tiny, clawed hands and feet climb up his back. Something grabbed his shirt and used it to pull itself up. Hands tugged on his mane, and little feet stepped on the bases of his wings. Vincent felt a tiny body clinging to him, little wings brushing against his own, tail swishing on his back.
“Uh...what?” he said, feeling around on the top of his head.
His hand found a tiny little snout tucked between his horns, small hands wrapped around their bases. The little dragon toddler...she was clinging to him. He had been too occupied with his own powerlessness and misgivings to notice that she had crawled up from behind. After the initial shock passed, a snort escaped his mouth. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. A grinding noise rumbled through his skull as she gnawed on his horns, scraping her teeth against his keratin.
“Dude...dude!” he said, half laughing, half panicking. He saw M’kari. “Hey...look! There’s, there’s a...thing! On my back. A dragon kid!” He could barely speak a coherent sentence.
“A climber,” M’kari said in his usual, understated tone. There was amusement in his silver eyes.
“What do I do?” Vincent asked, “I don’t want to hurt her...gwahh!”
He had to resist squirming when she grabbed one of his ears and pulled on it. Apparently, his ears were ticklish. That was new. He didn’t know that until that moment.
“What are you doing? Stop–”
She let go of his ear and grabbed one of his fingers. All thoughts stopped. Time slowed. Her grip was fragile and weak, but she would not let go. He hesitated for a moment, but then his hand closed around hers. He heard sniffing and felt her breath on the back of his palm. His jaw remained parted in mid-sentence. Something alien, yet somehow familiar filled his chest. He didn’t know what he was feeling. All he knew is that the darkness and shame he felt earlier was gone.
“Ah...Kedia!” Ezrai said, his voice filled with embarrassment, “I am sorry again, Vincent Cordell. Kedia thinks every person is a mountain to climb.”
“Oh! My daughter is the same way!” Menik said as Ezrai pulled his daughter off Vincent. Kedia did not let go easily.
“It’s fine,” Vincent said, subconsciously massaging the finger Kedia had grasped. She was making grabbing motions at him even now.
For those brief moments that Kedia clung to his back, he felt something he had never felt before. Her feet on his wings and her snout between his horns, they felt right. He wanted to protect her.
Crowds were gathering. Travelers were arriving and stopping to awe and gawk. The sky was filling with zerok. Vincent played with Kedia as he waited to depart. She kept coming up to him and grabbing his hand. Then she would flop onto her side, curl around it and gnaw on his wrist.
"Cordell," Menik said, "it is time to go."
Vincent reluctantly got up and took his hand away from Kedia. She made a few grabbing motions in the air after it, but then her tail curled up onto her stomach. She grabbed it and put it in her mouth instead.
"That is one of the cutest things I've ever seen, man," he muttered.
"What? Oh." Menik grinned. "Come. The Shaydos are ready to take us."
"Right."
Glimmer and the others were waiting. Thal'rin was there too. He pulled Vincent aside.
"I will arrive a few days after you," he said, "But one thing you should understand about Gullreach: it belongs to the zerok. It is their home and while they have granted us groundwalkers residence, it remains theirs. The zerok you have encountered so far, messengers, diplomats, they are not like most. They have learned to speak to us groundwalkers. The majority of zerok have not, and they do not think as we do. What you say to one flyer, you say to ten. That is the way of broods and flocks. It goes without saying…show respect to any you encounter."
Vincent looked at Glimmer. A sharp sapience inhabited his blue eyes.
"I will," he said.
"Well, you better depart," Thal'rin said.
"Yeah."
Vincent was still bruised from five days of nonstop flight. So the thought of taking flight again made him feel a bit queasy. He approached Glimmer, who towered over him. He felt like he should say something to the zerok, but the words got stuck in his mouth. So instead, he turned around and raised his arms. Glimmer embraced him and took flight. As they rose into the air, Vincent saw Sgt. Dave standing next to Thal'rin. He was still crying.
