I am often called favored, gifted, and in truth I am. But gift upon gift becomes a burden, then a crushing weight, then a rockslide thundering upon me. Yet, I cannot tell her. Even as my back bows and my legs tremble, she smiles and gives me more, more. She shows me who I might be, shows me the crown of light and eyes of fire, but my death awaits long before such a thing might grace my brow. Into the twilight passages ever branching I wander nightly, but she is never where I look. When day comes again I find only me - and each day, less remains.

- Excerpt from the collected letters of Goresje Di Sazhocel Selyta, Royal Archives, Ce Raedhil.

Breakfast was sumptuous, with trays of dried meats and cheeses served alongside good crusty bread, tiny pots of cream and fragrant jams, fresh slices of melon and a pot of strong, bracing tea that seemed to lift the fog of sleep from them in an instant.

“Pass the jam?” Jackie said, her mouth half full of bread.

Gusje did so, nodding appreciatively. “Your speech has improved,” she noted. “At least where food is concerned.”

Jackie snorted. “I…” she said, looking around for Jesse out of habit. She frowned. “Word is new. Jesse still in bed. I order most important things.”

“Prioritize,” Mark supplied, chewing noisily. “Jesse’s not the only one with language chops, let the man sleep in for once. Dude had a rough fucking day.”

“I’ll say,” Arjun muttered, shaking his head. “Do you think Vumo could be right? About the woman Jesse sees?”

“That is so far above my pay grade,” Mark muttered, shaking his head. “Not that I’m drawing a paycheck these days. Fuck if I know, man, but I get why he’d be the first round draft pick for this asaarim business. Jesse is super smart. Tragedy of the century that he ended up out here instead of on his way to the Mars colony or something.”

Gusje shook her head, annoyed once more at Mark’s references that meant nothing to her. “Tasja,” she said briskly. “Vumo said something about the old king yesterday. He said he sacrificed his life, and that it was doubly significant for an asolanem. The king held an asolan, as I do?” She flipped the coin up from her wrist into the fingers of her left hand, holding it so he could see.

Tasja swallowed his food and nodded. “Yes, most royalty wear them. Given that Vumo mentioned his association with Goresje he must wear one as well.”

“Why do you say that?” Gusje asked, confused.

He blinked at her. “Because of… Gusje, it’s an asolan. Goresje was the king’s grandfather. It’s the only thing that would make sense.”

“Make sense how?” she muttered, confused. “It’s just fast healing.”

“Oh, Maja’s grace,” Tasja whispered. “Don’t you know? It’s healing, but it heals everything. Everything.”

“That’s rather the point,” Gusje said crossly. “What does that have to do with the king’s sacrifice?”

“Gusje,” Tasja said hollowly. “Does everyone in Ademen Tacen have an asolan?”

“Of course,” she replied, taking a bite of bread. “It’s bad fortune to have a child without an asolan to gift them. We pass them down within families.”

“Jaa tseve,” Tasja swore. “Then you don’t-” He paused, then shook his head. “Gusje, how do your people mark time?” he asked.

“Days?” she said, confused. “How else would we do it?”

“Yes, but… help me, please,” he said, turning a pleading glance towards Arjun.

“Hrm,” Arjun said. “Gusje, is there an event that comes over and over, always after a certain number of days?”

“Well,” she said, thinking hard. “There’s the harvest feast, that occurs whenever we get a batch of reinetel. We all plant at the same time, so it’s pretty regular.”

“Okay, that’s about eighty days,” Tasja said, “assuming you’re using normal reinetel, which… yeah, eighty days. Gusje, how many harvest feasts can you remember?”

Arjun froze, and Jackie looked at Tasja with sudden realization. “Oh, Jesus Christ,” she said.

Gusje looked between them, not understanding their concern. “What? We have the harvest feast all the time. I can’t even remember how many I’ve been to.”

“But if you had to guess?" Tasja said quietly. “Hundreds? Thousands?”

She laughed brightly, then paused at the look on his face. “Tasja, really, what’s wrong? I haven’t been to thousands, although perhaps my father has. Two hundred, perhaps, three hundred at most.”

The others stared at her, their expressions blank. “What?” she asked, laughing nervously. “There’s not much else to do out in the desert, it’s not that odd to go to a feast when given the opportunity.”

“Gusje,” Arjun began hesitantly. “We mark time in what we call ‘years’, which are about four of your harvest feasts.”

“Okay,” she replied uncertainly, growing uncomfortable at their reaction. “So?”

“I am seventy-two years old,” Arjun said. “If you have seen two hundred harvests, you are older than everyone in the room except for me. If it is three hundred, you are older than me as well.”

She laughed again nervously, looking around at the serious faces of the others. “There has to be some mistake,” she said. “You’re all…”

“Old?” Arjun supplied, smiling with kindness and a hint of pity. “I am, at least. Gusje, where we come from people only live for three or four hundred of your harvests. Seventy five to one hundred of our years. In that time we grow old and die.”

“But that’s-” she cut off, looking around at the sombre faces around the table. “That’s too short!” she objected.

“I won’t argue with you,” Arjun said, his lips quirking upward once more. “But that is the truth of it. You have lived half as long already as any of us ever expect to.”

Gusje looked around the table, feeling a cold knot in her stomach. “I don’t understand,” she said, a pleading note rising in her voice. “Tasja, help, please. There has to be a mistake.”

“I am old enough that I would have seen perhaps seventy harvests,” he said. “Seventeen of their years. I would expect that I will live to see around four hundred harvests.”

Her mouth worked soundlessly as she looked around at the others sitting at the table, their faces grim or sadly smiling. Tasja shook his head and sighed. “I’m sorry, Gusje,” he said quietly. “I thought you knew. A man and his grandchild, and his grandchild in turn can all live their whole lives under the same king because the kings are given an asolan at birth. That’s why Vumo valued Goresje’s sacrifice so highly. That your people all have them is…” He trailed off, searching for the proper words. “It’s incredible,” he said. “An amazing gift, and one that you should be thankful for.”

“But you,” she said, looking around the table at her companions. “All of you. After so short a time? Everywhere is like this?”

Tasja nodded, and she felt the cold knot of horror in her gut tighten. “No,” she said, tears welling in her eyes. She fumbled at the strap around her wrist, wrenching the coin loose. “Here, one of you, take it. Please.”

“Gusje,” Jackie said gently, reaching out to take Gusje’s hand in her own, closing it around the asolan. “Coin is yours. Only one person can use it.”

“If it’s any consolation,” Mark said wryly, “It’s looking pretty unlikely that any of us will die of ‘old age’ versus something more intriguing like ‘gnawed on by sand zombies’ and such.”

“I-” Gusje sobbed, then ran from the table with the offending coin clutched tightly in her hand. The group stared after her for a few long moments.

“Hey, that went well,” Mark commented, breaking the silence as he reached across the table to refill his plate. “Tasja, I can’t see any way this will come back to haunt you. Still, it explains a lot.” He popped a chunk of bread in his mouth and chewed happily. “How Tesvaji’s got his shit so together, for one. Dude is wise.”

“You’re taking this in stride,” Arjun observed blandly.

Mark shrugged. “I’m trapped in an alternate dimension,” he said, smearing jam on the rest of his bread, “where a civilization running on magic coins collapsed and is now in danger of being taken over by the zombie king of the desert. My buddy has an imaginary girlfriend which means he is apparently the hero of destiny. I am eating breakfast in a skyscraper owned by a shady cabal of magical calligraphers.” He took a bite and chewed, making an appreciative noise. “So, you know,” he said, swallowing and taking a swig of tea. “Finding out that Gusje gets the AARP discount is kind of just another thing on the pile at this point.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” Jackie said, grinning ruefully.

“Right?” Mark said, shaking his head. “Prioritize, that’s the word of the day. We’ve got too much shit on our plate as it is.”

“Says the man on his third plate,” Arjun pointed out. “But I suppose you’re right. As much as it matters to Gusje, it doesn’t really change anything for us in the near term. We should probably be more concerned with Vumo’s intentions toward us, or more specifically toward Jesse.”

Mark nodded. “Well, the way I see it we don’t have much of a choice,” he said thoughtfully. “He seems like he’s figured out we’re not from the neighborhood and he wasn’t all that surprised, so I’d count him as our best bet for actually getting home - but he’s not going to give us any help unless we solve his problems first.”

“He seems to believe it would be pointless to try,” Arjun noted. “That there would be more ‘intervention’ if we made the attempt, to use Jesse’s term.”

“Do you think he’s right?” Jackie asked.

“If he’s not willing to make the attempt it doesn’t matter if he’s right or not,” Arjun said. “As friendly as he’s been, he’s placed a condition on his aid and we have to either meet it or find help elsewhere.” He turned to Tasja, who had been lost in thought.

“Tasja,” he said, shifting back to Ceiqa. “Is there any other place that could help us return home?”

Tasja thought for a moment, then shook his head. “There are scriptsmiths in Tinem Setel,” he said. “Perhaps there are more in other places I’m not aware of, but I couldn’t say if they’ll be able to help with… actually, I don’t know what you need them to do.”

Mark shrugged. “Neither do we,” he said cheerfully. “Sounds like we’re stuck, though. Tinem Setel is up the north coast, so to travel there we’d either have to hire a ship that we probably can’t afford or drive through the same zombie horde that Vumo wants us to help with.” He took another long swig of tea. “I hate to say it, but it looks like helping Vumo might be the most direct path back. It would be out of the question if he wanted us to fight another nation or something, but saving people from the same shit that went down at the base?” Mark shrugged. “I wouldn’t say no.”

“I’m not sure what he expects,” Arjun said. “We heard before that the king has sent thousands of soldiers to the north. What can we do?”

“Yeah,” Mark agreed, “I’m not sure either. It’s not like two dudes with guns are going to turn the tide, not without an unlimited supply of ammunition. Vumo seems to think that things will more or less proceed on their own if we’re in the right neck of the woods, though.”

“Still, if you’re willing to make the attempt it couldn’t hurt to give him a few conditions of our own,” Arjun mused, a sly smile teasing at his lips. “Tasja, you said that the scriptsmiths have the largest collection of jeqiva and other powerful saon draim.”

Tasja nodded. “Largest in the kingdom,” he confirmed.

Arjun turned back to Mark, who was grinning broadly. “Arjun, you’re a fucking genius,” he said. “Come on. Let’s get Jesse and shake grandpa Vumo down for some toys.”

The group trailed along behind Sjogydhu as he led them to a massive set of iron doors thickly coated in scriptwork. The surface of the metal seemed to shimmer with heat haze, and as they drew near to it there was a distinct smell of ozone.

“Do not touch the door,” Sjogydhu rumbled, “even after it is opened.” The man had taken off his helm, revealing a handsome, aquiline face with a narrow moustache. His stoic silence had gone with the helm, and if he was not precisely friendly he had at least warmed to the idea of holding a conversation with them. His tolerance for Mark’s incessant questions had dropped noticeably as they approached the scriptsmiths’ vault, however.

“Why,” Mark asked curiously. “What does it do?”

Sjogydhu gave him a look. “It kills you,” he said flatly. “Stand back.” He lifted his weapon and reversed it, pressing the metal pommel cap into an indentation in the door. There was a low vibration that resonated in their ribs and shook dust from the walls, and Sjogydhu took a measured step back as the doors opened wide.

Beyond was a long, narrow room filled with boxes, cases, racks and displays. Here and there were large chunks of machinery coated thickly with dust, hulking pillars of metal or stone and misshapen lumps of melted, twisted debris. On the walls hung weapons and tools of every variety, mounted to wooden panels or simply hanging from pegs.

“Holy shit,” Jackie said, impressed. “Keep an eye out for the Ark of the Covenant.”

“Do not touch anything,” Sjogydhu said, ignoring her. “Do not open any containers. Do not raise your voices past a normal volume. Almost everything in the vault is potentially lethal under the right circumstances, and much of what it holds will kill you with a touch. Several items are not even safe to look at directly.”

His eyes met each of theirs in turn. “This vault is not here to protect the items it contains. It is here to protect us from its contents. Vumo Ra has given you leave to select two things from within, subject to my discretion.”

They looked at the seemingly endless vault, with racks of items stretching back for close to the full width of the tower. “I don’t suppose you could give us some advice,” Mark asked. “You selected your weapon from the vault, right? How did you settle on it?”

Sjogydhu hefted the metal rod in one hand, holding it up so they could see. “I studied the manifest for quite some time before selecting,” he said. “Since you have not had the luxury, I will guide you as best as I am able.” He ran a hand over the surface of the tube, his fingers tracing the scriptwork on it almost lovingly. “You will not find another like Sunshine in the vault, however.”

“I’m sorry, Sunshine?” Mark said, grinning in disbelief. “Jesse, am I mistranslating that?”

Sjogydhu’s eyes narrowed, and he flipped the rod around to point at the wall of the corridor. His hand twisted on the glossy wood of the handle and a high whine issued from within the tube. Sudden, blinding light shot out of the end as they flinched back, flinging their hands across their eyes in response to the assault of light and heat that washed over them.

The blast of radiance lasted only a second. Mark opened his eyes, blinking at the blobby purple afterimage that hung dead center in his vision. A patch of stone on the corridor wall was glowing red-hot, with drips of rapidly cooling magma hanging down at the periphery. Sjogydhu stood before them, holding Sunshine at rest on his shoulder.

“Sunshine,” Mark said, blinking rapidly. “Got it. Very appropriate name.”

“It was not originally a weapon, or so we believe,” Sjogydhu said, popping a dull crystal out of a cleverly hidden socket on the tube and reinserting a brightly glowing one from a bag on his belt. “But we have lost the knowledge of its original intent, and it serves well in this capacity. For you, however…” He gave Jesse an evaluating look. “Our sources from Sjan Saal informed us that you already have tools at your disposal for rapid, powerful strikes, but that you use them sparingly. Is that mere restraint, or a limitation?”

“Both,” Jesse replied, earning an annoyed look from the captain.

“Limitation, then. If you can’t prevent your opponent from closing in numbers then a close-in weapon would be ideal. You’ll want something that takes advantage of your reach, something that will hold up to extended use.” He tapped a finger against his jaw, then nodded sharply. “You two, you are the ones selecting?” he asked, pointing to Jesse and Mark.

Jesse nodded, and Mark looked back at the others. “Anyone else want to toss their name in the hat?” he inquired. Arjun and Jackie shook their heads, as did Tasja. “Gusje?" he prodded.

“I have enough,” she murmured. “You go.”

Mark winced, then turned back to Sjogydhu. “I guess it’s us,” he said.

“Wonderful,” the captain replied dryly. “Follow me. Stay close, stay quiet, and take care not to come into contact with anything.”

The three of them moved into the vault, walking carefully through the lethal doors and down the long interior. They passed row upon row of items, some carefully organized and some which appeared to have been piled haphazardly. Occasionally there were whole rows of ominous-looking black stone boxes laden with scriptwork, their glossy exteriors covered in a thick coating of undisturbed dust.

On the wall, the mounted weapons ranged from the fantastical to the mundane. They passed a staff that seemed to be made of pure crystal, an axe with a perfectly black blade that drank in the light around it and a bladed mace that blurred in their vision like smoke. There was also what appeared to be a perfectly normal garden hoe, mounted innocuously amid the ranks of lethal weaponry.

“Here,” Sjogydhu said firmly, stopping in front of a display. He reached up to carefully remove a sword from the wall, then turned to offer it to Jesse. “The Blood-Red River. Hold it, move slowly, see what you think.”

Jesse gripped the blade gingerly and lifted it to test its weight. It was a perfectly straight length of dull rust-red metal, and as he moved it the handle seemed to anticipate his intent, tugging at his fingers as if eager to bound forward. He quickly handed it back to Sjogydhu, shaking his head. “It feels… restless,” he said. “Uncomfortable.”

“Many things in here are,” Sjogydhu said, returning the blade to the wall. “Restless. Most of them have long histories before they made their way here. Given their nature, more of that history is tragic than not. Here,” he said, pausing at another display. On it there was a warhammer, its blocky dark head crudely wrought in contrast to the finely inscribed bronze handle that wrapped up and over its flat sides like entwining roots.

Sjogydhu lifted it and held it out to Mark. “Your friend will take longer to find a match,” he said, “but I believe I have your measure rather well. This is the Fragment of the Forge. You may carry it, but do not swing it in the vault.”

Mark took it in his hands, hefting it gently upward. “Light,” he said, surprised. “It moves like it’s heavy, but it’s easy to lift.”

“If the head were stripped from the handle, I doubt both of us together could lift it,” Sjogydhu said. “Each piece complements the whole. The best mode of use is to simply hit everything within reach as hard and as fast as possible. With repeated strikes there is an accumulating effect that is… unsubtle.”

“Got me figured out, huh?” Mark smirked. “Man, I can’t even be mad at you because you’re totally right. An epic enchanted hammer?” He looked up at Sjogydhu and grinned. “You’re my new favorite person in all of Tinem Sjocel.”

“I’m thrilled,” Sjogydhu said. “Use it before I give you permission and I’m going to take it back. Come on, follow me.”

He led them further and further down the corridor, stopping every so often to have Jesse try out an item from the walls, some of which had no obvious use as a weapon. They tested an axe with a blade that seemed half-melted, a dagger with frost perpetually clinging to its edge, and (very carefully) a mace that varied its length depending on how it was gripped. There was a small buckler that had no weight whatsoever, a pendant that blurred the outline of his body when he put it on and, at one point, a stretch of conspicuously bare wall that Sjogydhu had him stare at for several long seconds before he shook his head and ushered them onward.

They were moving on after trying a bulky axe with guttering blue flame dancing along its edge when Jesse felt a light touch on his shoulder, a pair of lips gently brushing his neck. He froze, his hand drifting up to rest where he had felt the ephemeral kiss. Sjogydhu paused and looked back at him. “Problem?” he asked.

“No,” Jesse said quietly. “No, I just think…” He turned to his left, looking at the wall. He had paused directly in front of a long falchion, plain but finely polished with a swept-back crossguard and a single round sigil forged at the base of its blade. “Is there something special about this one?”

Sjogydhu raised an eyebrow. “Interesting choice,” he said, walking over to lift it from the wall. His motions were careful, as they had been with every other item they had tried, but there was a certain added gentleness to his grip when he turned the sword over to Jesse. The weight distribution of the sword was bizarre, with the actual blade seeming weightless while the core of the grip was unnaturally heavy.

“What can you tell me about it?” he asked.

“I would not have thought to recommend this one,” Sjogydhu said slowly, “but in hindsight it may be appropriate. It’s a larger sword, although that shouldn’t be a problem for you. As you’ve probably noticed, the grip bears all forces that act upon the blade. That can be toggled at will by means of a switch in the crossguard.” Jesse held it up and found a small metal protrusion, which he pushed. He nearly dropped it as the balance of the sword became more natural, the center of mass shifting to the other side of the crossguard.

“There are likely other properties that are yet to be documented,” he continued. “The circumstances of its creation were unique. It has no name, and it was only used once.”

Jesse looked up at Sjogydhu, noting the hesitancy in his voice. “Is there something wrong with it?” he asked. “You seem to think that it’s not a good choice.”

Sjogydhu shook his head. “I believe it’s an excellent blade, and would serve you well. I do not imagine Vumo Ra would object to your use of it either - in fact, he would likely be delighted.” He looked Jesse in the eye, his expression grave. “This blade belonged to Goresje. He forged it himself, to replace a blade he lost on his campaign in the Vidim Vai. On the last day of its forging he set the finishing inscriptions and came down to take his evening meal at the normal time.”

“Shortly thereafter,” Sjogydhu said, “he retired to his chambers and used the blade to end his life.”

Jesse stretched out as best as he could on the small bed, still getting used to the feeling of sleeping alone. The quiet was almost painful, but he relished it, bathed in it. No coughs or snores from bunkmates, no breathing and shifting from the others huddled beside him for warmth - just him, and the dark.

Sleep, though - that was another thing entirely. Whatever the day had been woven from was anathema to sleep, so instead he was still, and quiet. It wasn’t sleep, but it was the most respite he could hope for.

Asaarim.

His mind danced away from the word as if burned, but it lingered beside him inescapably. Vumo’s cadaverous face seemed to float in the dark before him with his arm outstretched, pointing, proclaiming-

Asaarim.

“It’s not me,” Jesse muttered. “That isn’t me.” The sea wind gusted slightly through the open window, bringing the smell of brine and smoke to his nose. The dim glow from the lighthouse glinted off the silvered guard of Goresje’s sword, leaning against the wall in its scabbard.

An arm draped across his chest, and a voice whispered in his ear, gently. “But it is you,” she said. “It’s us.”

Jesse sprang up from the bed, heart pounding, then spun to look back down at the mattress. There was a shadowy figure sprawled amid the tangle of linen, a mere silhouette but for the faint light from the window reflecting in pale, pale eyes.

“Who are you?” he rasped, trying ineffectually to slow his breathing. “What do you want with me?”

There was a quiet sigh from the bed. “I want what you want,” she murmured. “I am you, and you are me.”

“I am me,” Jesse retorted, indignation crowding out shock in his mind. “I want you to leave me alone.”

The silhouette hauled herself up to turn her head towards him. “You are part of you,” she said. “I am the rest. I am your completion, that which you lacked. A gift of that which you yearned for.”

“No,” he said emphatically, shaking his head. “No. I never asked for this.”

“Of course you never asked for it,” she said. “I know you never would, I know your nature.” She shifted, and suddenly she was behind him, her arms over his shoulders and her breath hot against his neck. He tried to pull away but found his arms weighted, his legs unresponsive.

“You don’t have to tell me,” she said. “I know. Oh, I know. I see the beauty, the glory within you. I know how afraid it makes you, and I know how afraid you will be.” She reached up and stroked fingers through his hair, tracing her fingertips lightly over his scalp. “I know that you hate me,” she said sadly. “I wish you wouldn’t. I did not choose to be born in you.”

Jesse’s jaw strained, and he forced his mouth to move with a titanic effort. “Wwwwhy… me?” he croaked.

“I did not choose, so I do not know,” she muttered, sounding a bit sheepish. “But I could only be what you lacked. You were the mold into which I was poured, and so you determined the shape of me. Perhaps She found your shape pleasing, I cannot say. I have never been Her. I have only been you.”

“Her?” Jesse managed, desperately straining to twist his head as the silhouette traced the curve of his ear.

“The shape that was me,” the silhouette replied. “Before I was you.” She laughed softly, then moved in front of him so he could see the contours of her face. Her eyes were nearly luminous in the dark, and light sparkled from tears on her cheeks. “Oh, you beautiful flame,” she whispered. “We are bound in this together. My soul is writ on your bones, and I can no more change that than you. I am so sorry for the pain, for the terror you feel.”

“But what I am tells me that it will pass,” she said, leaning forward to kiss him on the cheek. “And that greater things will stride forward. You will unbar the door.”

She kissed him on the other cheek. “You will find what is sought.”

She leaned in to kiss him gently, gently on the lips, her tears wetting his beard. “And you will know the pattern, my love.” She pulled away and gave him a miserable little smile, rubbing her hand over her eyes. “Perhaps one day you will even find it in your heart to forgive me.”

Jesse sat bolt upright, his chest heaving and heart pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears. He sat with his eyes closed and tried to breathe, breathe slowly and calm himself. It was morning, and light filtered in from the window with the gentle wind. The air was cool on his sweat-slicked torso, raising gooseflesh, and for a moment he sat and shivered with the adrenaline chill as it washed over him.

When he opened his eyes he saw a scorchmark on his bed, black as soot where his right arm had touched the cloth.