CHAPTER FOUR

I felt a fresh autumn breeze on my skin for the first time in centuries, and I awoke rested and limber. Last night I slept unburdened by nightmares- the first peaceful sleep I’d gotten since I was to be sacrificed.

My eyes had barely opened before Corbal was hounding me, questioning me about the previous night. His words meshed together unintelligibly and I pulled myself upright. I smelled food cooking, so naturally that was all I could think about.

Corbal caught me eyeing breakfast and closed the gap between me and my prey. He bolstered his stance and stood there defiantly, and said, “No food until I get some questions answered!” I was not fearful, but I hesitated, deciding to let him speak. “First, that gargantuan tree in the distance. When did it appear?”

“That thing? A few decades ago by my count. That thing was why my village burned,” for a moment, my rage flared, and I continued quietly, “why I burned it.”

“What do you mean, ‘burned it’? There’s a village around here?”

“Yeah, there is. Was. It’s probably somewhere around here. I’ve been lost and wandering for all of time, it feels like.”

He made marks in his book.

“I was one of those selected for the Harvest. Cursed with this burden, I was to give my life for the renewal of the world, just as the ancient stone says. Or what the Elder says it says, I’ve never actually seen it. He was surprised I came back, or something. I don’t quite remember.” I began to drool at the scent of food while Corbal wrote that down.

“Can you tell me in more detail?” he eagerly asked after inking his pen again.

I relayed what I remembered, “A deep rumble broke out and shook the land apart. There was a dark cloud rising to the east, somehow bigger than the sky itself. It overtook the silver clouds and it was dark. The very earth disappeared from beneath me, like an earthen maw opened, and I tumbled down into the dark, enveloped in roots and rocks, and the world around me grew taller, and everywhere the ground should have been turned to blackness, I fell deeper into the earth. Then nothing. After that, I was on solid ground, scarred and exhausted. The Elder said I was chosen for the renewal, and needed to be taken to the hillshrine. But I, uh, didn’t want to die. So I ran.”

Guilt pervaded my body. While it was true I ran away to save myself, I also killed everyone I knew. I wondered how much longer I could convince myself it was necessary.

Freeing me from my thoughts, he asked another question, “Next, why did you make that veil?”

“…veil? I have no memory of cloth weaving, usually the women alone were tasked with linenmaking.” Upon hearing this, his eyes widened like this surprised him.

“You mean you didn’t put yourself in that realm?”

“What realm? You’re not making sense, and I’m starving. I stepped off a stone platform and then it vanished, and then I was plagued with constancy for decades. Then you appeared from nowhere, and here we are. Please, let me eat already!”

Tapping his foot as he recorded my information in his book, with a sigh, Corbal eventually yielded, and like a hunting treecat I dove for the cooked meat. The bowl an afterthought, though I grabbed it anyway. Not only could I not find a fork at first, but it really didn’t matter; if I could grasp fire unharmed, I could pull bacon from a hot pan just the same. Corbal’s face relented from concern to wonder as I peeled a slice of meat from the grease. It felt no warmer than sunlight in the field. My skin was untouched, though significantly more slippery.

As I devoured the sizzling bacon, each bite bursting with greasy flavor, I noticed Corbal writing furiously in his book. I thought nothing of it, but after catching his eyes flitting between me and his pages, I asked him, “Are you studying me?”

His pen paused a moment as he thought. “You might say that.” I didn’t know how to feel. I thought having my privacy intruded would be upsetting, but instead I found comfort. Under different circumstances I might be angry, but for now, it felt nice.

With a full belly, my mind became clearer and I noticed a thought nagging at me. “Corbal, what symbol lies upon my brow? You called it a brand.” He pulled the book out and flipped through its many pages.

“Here. I drew it, look.” I traced the symbol with my eyes, and touched my own fingers to what he had drawn. The page was stiff where the ink dried. It looked like a thumbprint, but with specks on either side and above. I enjoyed staring at it. “What does it mean? Why did I see the world burning when you touched it?”

Corbal snapped his head in my direction and asked, “Burning? So you do remember last night?”

“Parts, yes. Nothing after falling asleep under the night sky, and no nightmare. I think you said something to me at some point, but I was transfixed on its beauty. It’d been an incredibly long time since I’d last seen stars or darkness.” I held the wooden bowl tightly as I scraped every last drop of meat juice from the fibers. “Fields, this is good.”

I had been so busy reacclimating I only just noticed the stone circle’s reappearance. The tall stones still stood where they had disappeared from centuries ago. The grass at their foundation was no taller than what I remembered, naturally unkempt from its placement in the forest. Unaltered. Unchanged. It was like I was stuck in place forever and only just returned.

I helped clean after up mess kit supplies, much to Corbal’s gratitude, and asked him what he knew about veils.

“You might call them pockets out of reach- it’s similar to a fey glamour, but for a physical location. Imagine sitting down and covering yourself with a blanket, only you can’t see outside the blanket and those outside the blanket can’t tell it’s there. Well, unless they are trained in relevancy rituals, which I happen to be. At first I assumed you were hiding from someone, but now I think someone may have been hiding you.”

I supposed I’d have to grow accustomed to too many answers.

“So there’s more to the world than just my village?” I asked him. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but stopped himself, placing his thumb on his chin. He thought a moment. His brow furrowed, and sounding a little downtrodden, he replied, “You really were all alone out here, huh.” With a quick whisking of his quill, he made marks in his book. “It’s getting later by the minute, as time usually does, so we should probably pack up and head back to the RASA.”

He began snuffing the fire and from somewhere deep within me I felt insulted. “RASA? Where is that? Is that your village?” I asked, curious.

“Semantically, no- but I do live and work there. It’s a college of animancy, the Research in Animatic Studies Academy, to be exact.”

“You would have me go with you?” I asked, immediately unsure of myself. I was indeed alone, and have been alone for longer than I can remember. Thus far I’ve greatly enjoyed his company, and after finally having company after so long, the feeling of loneliness felt terrifying. With no village left to return to, it’d be worth a shot to ask. I’ve been starved of social contact, and enlightened to a world unlike my own- I couldn’t miss this opportunity.

He paused his packing and turned to me, bright-eyed and smiling. “Well, of course! I didn’t expect to find a human out here, or anyone, for that matter. And just looking at you, I feel you would benefit greatly from company and care, no offense.”

I took none – it was nice to hear a real voice again. After packing up and checking some handheld device, Corbal led us off.

Later that day, it felt to me like everything was backwards. “Corbal, are you sure this is the way to go? The sun rises in the west, we’re going the wrong way!” Upon hearing my protest, he stopped in place, crunching a fallen leaf, and stared at the sky intently. I could only assume he was measuring distance or something academic.

“Just to clarify, you said the sun rises in the west?” Naturally, it rose from the western sky and sank behind the eastern mountains. I confirmed it.

Corbal set his bag down and after some digging pulled out a map and compared it to a page in his leatherbound book, occasionally making barely audible whispers to himself. While he double checked our direction, I looked him over. His robe was immaculate even after trekking through the dirty woods, and even his wispy off-white hair was clean. It was nicely upkept and tied behind his neck with some stretchy cloth. I felt inclined to tie my own long, dark hair up in a similar way. The clear lenses were encased in some stiff material that wrapped around to the top of his ponytail, and I assumed that helped his ears’ mobility, which were catlike, but longer. The sleeves showed delicate embroidery on each cuff more precise than anything I’d seen before. The next two days passed rather quickly. My strength slowly returned and walking grew easier. On the third day, I discovered something new in myself.

Rocks adorned with fuzzy moss and crumbled pieces coated the forest floor, smaller and more frequent, until eventually giving way to a gravel beach beside a slow-moving and wide river. Green fish dashed, kicking up with their lengthy tails fragments of sand which billowed and were carried by the current. This was a sharp bend, but seemed to be the narrowest part of the gravel beach we found ourselves on. I wasn’t tall by any means, but even so, most of me should stay dry above the water. As for Corbal, I could probably carry him- he doesn’t seem very heavy. Shallow and clear enough to see the bottom, I knew it was likely safe to cross.

I tied up my leggings and was careful to avoid sharper stones. However, when I took a step closer, I froze in place. It felt to me like I was leashed to a tree and had run out of slack. The shining points on the small waves stabbed my eyes with pain through the deepest part of my skull and became unbearable.

The trickling of tiny waterfalls filled me with restlessness and the desire to flee; visions of tumbling over the edge and smashing myself against the rocks overtook me. Threatening waves reached out to nip at my toes, and I cried out in fear reflexively, falling backward away from them. Corbal paused and watched me. Legs kicking up the gravel I dragged myself far from the water. I was as confused as I was terrified. It’s just water, why do I hesitate? Swimming always came naturally to me, especially as a child. The dancing glow of crested waves repulsed me. “I can’t bear to stay here,” I declared. I would be uncomfortable wherever I could be tormented by the trickle of water, so I asked Corbal if he knew another way to go, a path away from the water. “This is the way I came, it’s shallower around another bend. Though…” he turned to me, and my face likely gave away my fear. “…we can find another way.” Concerned, he produced a map, folded but not weathered, and studied it. I got to my feet.

Later, while Corbal prepared breakfast, curiosity overtook me, having never seen such baubles before, and I asked if I could examine his things. “Yes, help yourself, but mind the green pouch. It contains delicate objects.” He fought to contain his excitement, betrayed by a smile as he turned the potatoes in the pan, and I presumed he saw me as a temporary student.

I delicately rummaged through the leather knapsack, keeping in mind the fragility of its contents, and felt a small, rounded rock. It was cold to the touch. In my hand, it felt like the buzz before lightning strikes, like a storm captured in a stone. Its outward appearance was less than interesting, however, but the static pull made my attention linger. I put it back to discover other curiosities.

I was curious about the oversized leatherbound book he scribbled on. This bag was surprisingly deep. I felt around for it, and reached my entire arm deep into it, but never reached an end. I lifted the bag above my head, studying its dimensions. It should only be forearm-deep, yet I reached until my shoulder met the entryway and the bottom was evasive. Such an unnatural thing must be cursed. I decided to feel around one more time, and to my luck, I located the book.

It was in remarkably sturdy shape despite being jostled about in this too-large bag. I glanced over at Corbal for permission, but he was focused on cooking. I opened it anyway.

On the first page was a drawing of a leaf with symbols around it in a circle. Confused, I traced my finger over the image, but felt only the roughness of the paper, much finer than the rough sheets I used for smoothing woodwork. I wondered how they added color to it. I flipped the pages, stopping on a page with vertical lines made of more symbols.

“Hey, what does this mean?” I asked. Corbal took the pan off the fire and placed it on a rock nearby, then came over and gave it a look over. “That’s On Thaelosseil Greenery by Theokyn Strahm.” He focused, eyes moving across the page. A few moments pass, and he continues, “I think the author is pondering modern ethics in regard to the use of plants as materials in Water somancy.” I was still confused. I pointed at the ink scribbles.

“No, those marks all over the page, what do those mean? Are those how stories are kept?” Corbal paused for a moment, thinking. I feel like I caught him off guard somehow.

“Yes, they’re words.” He seemed his assumption was too hasty, and his face expressed regret. He asked me as a concerned mentor would, “Efrit, can you read?”

“Read? Do you mean to make words from these markings? No, only the Elder could tell us the tablet’s story. Even my messages resemble that, but I just understood what they were trying to say, like I myself wrote them. This book is different; nothing moves, and nothing comes to me.” Corbal gained a level of excitement I only saw in a hungry creature.

“That’s very interesting.”

Over breakfast I watched Corbal write more in his book. Each movement of his quill was precise, his symbols different, yet following some pattern I wasn’t privy to. How he memorized the lines and drawings fascinated me. Holding my arm up, I watched my faintly glowing pattern stir ever so slightly, and looked back at the wet ink. “I wonder if my own will ever look like that,” I wondered aloud. Hearing me, Corbal finished his line and placed his book open on his bedroll.

“Let me look for but a moment, if you wish,” he said, seemingly curious. I held my arm out and stayed as still as my weak muscles could. He made scholarly sounds, moving his eyebrow and watching from other angles, veins reflecting in his lenses. After holding position long enough to wear me out, he announced, “If they are from written language, I’ve never seen it before.”