40 years ago

The letters bought Charcot a roof over his head, exactly as the drunkard had assured him. Over the weeks of his travel from Moor City where he’s settled, his thoughts kept returning to things he’d been told. It was clear as water that the old, white-haired man possessed a broken mind. Things he’d whispered … they were utter nonsense. And yet, he knew about my dream of finding Liveren’s Treasure. Obviously, such information could be extracted with excellent timing and alchemy. Nothing of that sort was used because Charcot would’ve noticed it right away. Then how did he know? He neither was an Awakened Spirit as Charcot had been taught to recognize them. Not many have left in the world. Emperor Tain made sure of that. The ruler of the mighty empire went a step further and censored any mention of Awakened Spirits and advanced alchemy. It was difficult to blame him. I saw possibilities alchemy possesses, I know how much it can do. But he’s never run across an ability to read minds or know the future. How otherwise the madman had known of some events that indeed happened to Charcot?

An explanation was nowhere to be found and it was what truly has hooked Charcot. This shroud of unexplainable mystery. Charcot was a knowledgeable man who had seen firsthand the workings of dark alchemy. Aka Manahi used it without limits or caution. He wished to forget this little thread that led to his past. This would never happen though. Charcot’s memory was perfect. He remembered everything since his birth and the weight of this felt damn heavy. He could pretend—and often did—that he forgot a name, face, or place. But pretending didn’t change the reality. It was just a poorly crafted lie. What kind of lie did I stumble upon now? With this revitalizing question, he allowed himself a short nap.

Mornings in the villages were different from those in the cities. The larger the city, the busier it was during the night. Moor City had districts where only nightlife thrived. In this village, the morning was harsh, coming with clatter and sharp calls between villagers. Shadows, still deep, lingered around Cape Town. Charcot stretched out, observing those who made a poor job of concealing their burning interest. He understood that the chief hasn’t allowed a single stranger to stay in his village unless they produced an Imperial Merchant writ. And this only happened because he didn’t plan to join the plethora of other exterminated villages. The Aael Empire’s expansion into the forest region was a brutal one. No mercy was shown. They couldn’t afford it with so many fronts around the world. But Tain and his sister managed it. The world was theirs.

Not all of the world, mind you, Charcot reminded himself. There were lands unconquerable even for people as powerful as the emperor. As he walked to the river—more like an oversized stream—a scream reached him. Already? Was the drunkard right again? The thought excited and terrified Charcot at the same time. It showed him that there were things unknown to him. And it gives me hope that Liveren’s Treasure will be found during my life. A medicine to cure the uncurable. The greatest treasure mankind may ask for.

“Forenero!” A man with thick limbs and a posture of a hunter called to him. So it begins…

*

Charcot hasn’t get acquainted with the content of the letters he brought to Ling nor he’s known what exactly would happen. A man named Tan checked his pockets and boots before he allowed him inside. There the red-faced chief huffed. The second Charcot’s foot crossed the threshold of the hut, the tall man was by him, face to face.

“What have you done to my daughter!”

“Nothing. I didn’t leave the place you’d sent me to until now.”

This seemed like not enough for the chief.

“You can ask anyone in the village. I am sure many of your people watched me all night.”

The chief shoved Charcot toward Ling who lay on the ground. It was a gesture of a man seized by desperation. I’d seen thousands like him, sent into the sand pits or worse. The chief understood that there was nothing he could do. Charcot looked at Ling. Her forehead was covered by sweat and burning.

“What happened?” Charcot asked although he suspected the cause of the girl’s state.

“A snake!”

Snakes in the jungle were as common as flies and trees. Even the larger cities experienced them throughout the year. People of this forsaken region had antidotes and knew how to deal with a snake’s attack. Why did they call him? Charcot looked around, seeing the ashen faces. What am I missing here?

“Don’t you have a healer?”

“Yes. I am a healer. My name is Ragial but there is nothing I can do beyond sedatives here. A two-tongue snake.”

Ragial looked to be before his fifties. A man of strong posture, and a keen eye. Charcot immediately came to like the healer. He didn’t offer people false hope. This was good. What was worrying was the fact that this incident could endanger Charcot’s anonymity. Aka Manahi and Guei might get wind of this. Or maybe not, after all, the chief’s paranoid about strangers. The only issue will be merchants. Nonetheless, before lifted a finger he asked.

“Why did you call me?”

Honetah’s hand grabbed him.

“The letter said only you can save her,” he growled.

So it seems that my disguise has failed. The drunkard knew of my abilities. He knew and sent me here. Why? Charcot already made a decision, now he struggled with an invasive curiosity. Somewhere in the letters could be a reason why he came here. Why this Ling was so important that a man from a city away by over a thousand miles, felt compelled to save her?

“I will gladly save your daughter.”

“How?” Ragial asked. “There is no antidote for the venom of two-tongue snakes.”

“Watch him, Honetah,” said the man who had fetched Charcot before. “I don’t trust this one.”

What was disturbing about these words was the fact that they were spoken in the native language. Charcot has already started picking it up. He had to be careful to not give away this advantage. They should never know that he could understand them.

“There is no venom that doesn’t have an antidote.” Unless the venom comes from a Valer’s beast. There is no help for the victim of those.

Charcot gave a list of fruits and trees he needed a sample. Then he asked for the healer’s equipment. It was not going to be easy without proper medical accessories but Ling would live. An hour later he was fully absorbed in extracting the venom. He had no idea of what would come of this. None had. Except for one man who was hundreds of miles away, drinking himself into insensibility, and dreaming of the future.