Book 1. Chapter 13

Book 1. Chapter 13

The next day, Brin set off for his chores like usual, a hard morning at the mill, but it felt like the time went by in a flash now that he knew he’d be done with work at the end of the four hour shift.

To his surprise, he found Hogg waiting for him when he finished. The [Millers] had laid out some bread and butter for him, but Hogg didn’t even wait for him to pat the flour off his clothes before he said, “I gotta talk to you. Come here.”

Brin followed him back behind the building, where the huge blades of the windmill spun slowly in the breeze.

“I got news,” said Hogg.

“About the Heroes?” asked Brin.

“No, that’s the same as ever. This is about you. Or, your body. The kid whose body you– You know what I mean.”

“Oh,” said Brin. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear this.

“Just like we hoped, there were survivors of Travin’s Bog. Some are scattered to the wind, but most settled in Kara’s Bog. I asked around, trying to find out about you, figure out who knew you and maybe what your name was. Didn’t have much to go on, but I passed around your picture. There were some who recognized your face.”

“And?”

“Nothing. No one knew you. Your parents were traveling merchants. The people whose house you were staying with died in the attack, and they were the only people who got your parents’ names. No one learned your name. I’m afraid it’s a dead end.”

That was a relief, although he felt guilty at how much of a relief it was. He knew it was his responsibility to follow up on whatever final wishes this boy may have had, but being told that there was nothing else he could do was very liberating. He could dare to think that this life was his now. Completely his, without some poor lonely ghost following him around.

Brin met Hogg’s eyes and said, “Thanks for letting me know.”

Hogg nodded and turned to leave. Over his shoulder he called, “You should talk to the [Priest]!”

Brin didn’t respond. If there was someone who would know more about the circumstances of his reincarnation, it would be the [Priest] in the temple. He had to go sometime, if only to get this weight off his shoulders, but Hogg was right when he accused Brin of being afraid.

What if the [Priest] decided that Brin was an evil spirit that needed to be cast out? What if the boy was still inside here somewhere, screaming silently as a stranger controlled his body? Also, Solia was real. The gods in that place were real. But were they gods? What if he found evidence that the faith of his old world was wrong? What if he didn’t?

He walked towards the temple. Then turned around and walked away. Then turned around again and walked straight there, eyes on the ground. He stood outside, waiting. For what, he didn’t know. An invitation, maybe?

The temple was beautiful white stone, one piece to all appearances, and the only stone structure in town. Before him was a wide open doorway leading to a large open space on the inside. Above the door, images of the gods were arranged in rows, forming a pyramid-shaped roof.

The sixteen godlings on the bottom row. The nine minor gods were next. Above that, the seven major gods, including Nedramus, Magelin, Eridu, Sezorat and the goddess who’d apparently been speaking to him. Solia.

Above that were the three Fundamentals: Inanu, Babus, and Nocta. On the top row, the Ur-god, Primus, stood alone.

“Are you wondering if you’ll light on fire the second you cross the threshold? Maybe you shouldn’t take the chance,” said a woman.

He turned and saw the absolute last person he wanted to see. It was that [Weaver] lady, Tawna. From anyone else, he would have taken it as friendly banter, but there was something in the way she said it that told him it was far from friendly.

“I guess you would know.”

He didn’t get this lady. Everyone said [Weavers] could see the future. They talked about her like she was all mysterious and wise, but every time he’d met her he’d seen nothing but a small, bitter old hag.

She had wide open eyes with an unhappy smirk; in his old life he’d seen that face on all kinds of unbearable people. She had the same long black hair as her daughter, and she was closer to his mind’s age. In his past life, she probably would’ve been someone he’d try to get to know better. At least until he saw her make that face.

“Well? Why don’t you move along?” she said.

“Why don’t you? I’m not blocking the street,” he said.

“I’ll excuse that because you’re from out of town, but in my town, that isn’t the way that children talk to adults. You can bet that I’ll be having a talk with your guardian.”

“Oh, please do. I would love to see you try to throw your weight around with Hogg,” said Brin.

“Do you exist to vex me? You are ruining this town. Why can’t you do as I say and leave?”

“The only thing wrong with this town is you,” said Brin. He turned toward the temple doorway.

"Ah ah ah! What do you think you're doing? You have no idea what you've brought. What you're bringing."

"Then tell me," said Brin.

She pursed her lips back into the tight little smirk, eyes wide.

He shook his head and walked away from the silly conversation. Into the temple. Maybe he’d just needed the motivation to come in here, and spite was a pretty good motivator. Tawna didn’t want him to come in here? Then that was a good reason to do it.

Looking around, he felt stupid that it had taken him so long to do this. It was a beautiful building, with some solid stone benches, a few murals on the wall, and beautiful geometric patterns on the ceiling. The [Priest] Ellion was sitting on a plush armchair, head back and eyes closed. He was taking a nap. This was a peaceful place.

The stone walls and floor echoed every single sound, but somehow also made the room feel quieter. Quieter, and larger. It seemed to get larger and larger the further he walked inside.

He walked across the empty chamber and sat on one of the benches. He was here to talk to Ellion, but there was no rush. He could wait for the man to wake up.

His eyes moved across the room’s decorations. The murals told a story of sorts. Each wall was a different season, winter, spring, summer, fall. So they did have four seasons here. That was one question answered. He’d been beginning to wonder, because the entire time he’d been here, the weather hadn’t seemed to change at all. Muggy and warm, always.

Brin pointed to them on his own face, and realized that he had bloody tear trails as well.

“Oh, where are my manners,” said Ellion. He wiped his face with a handkerchief, and gave Brin a spare for his own face.

Ellion produced a hand mirror to get the last few little spots, then handed it over to Brin.

“Now, where to begin. Let’s start with you. You are twelve years old. Your name is Brin isu Yambul. Translated into English, it’s Scar the Mistaken,” said Ellion.

“You’re speaking English! How are you doing that?” Shocked, Brin realized that Ellion had been speaking English since he’d come down here.

Ellion shuddered. “I was given the language, as well as some knowledge of your situation. If the goddess had imparted it to you directly, you would have perished. An intermediary was necessary.”

“In that case, I’m sorry you had to go through that. If it was anything like what I saw... I didn’t know she was going to do that when I came in here.”

Ellion nodded. “I know. And your apology is accepted. Now, there is much that Solia would have me tell you. Some of it is for later, but much of it I can tell you now. First, about your name. Brin means ‘scar’ in Frenarian, but it’s actually not unheard of as a name. ‘Mistaken’ is, though, so that’s how people think of you. Brin the Mistaken. For the record, Mark Lambert is dead.”

Brin thought he was done being surprised, but that still shocked him. “I’ve never told anyone my last name.”

“That doesn’t mean it isn’t known.”

“When you say Mark Lambert is dead, does that mean I’m not–?”

“You were. Mark Lambert. Then you died and now you’re here. You have memories of your past life in your head, but your body is that of a twelve-year-old boy and that makes you a twelve-year-old boy. The water fills the vessel, but the vessel is not the water and the water is not the vessel; this is wisdom.”

“That’s actually... really nice to know. But I still think me and Zilly should just be friends,” said Brin.

Ellion’s lips quirked with humor. “I think that’s wise. On that note... your body.”

Brin braced himself for the news. This question is what had brought him here in the first place, and if he’d gotten more than he’d bargained for, he still needed to know about who his body belonged to.

“Your body had a previous owner. He’s dead now. The [Mage] Lumina guessed correctly at what happened to him. His mother... she didn’t treat him the way she ought to have. But she loved him, in her own way. She crafted an artifact to save his life, one time, from a mortal wound. Due to his circumstances, he was given a choice. He saw what lies ahead, and he knew what waited for him should he turn back. He chose to move on.”

Brin bowed his head. “Ok.”

“Don’t resent him for his choice. You made another. When you lay dying, your soul cried to the heavens in rebellion. You felt it unjust, to die the way you did. It was seen that another body was available and so it was given to you. Make no mistake, if that unsouled body had fallen into the hands of the one who destroyed Travin’s Bog, great evil would have been done with it. By taking possession of it, you were able to resolve the boy’s final regret. This life is yours now. He no longer cares what happens to it.”

Brin nodded. “Can I ever go home?”

“No,” said Ellion.

“What? But–”

“What would you have Solia do? Send you back? You’ve received a true miracle, something far beyond anything you had any right to expect, you already demand a second miracle? No, make the best of this life. You won’t get another second chance,” said Ellion.

“What if I find another way? Some kind of spell or something,” said Brin.

“I know of no such method, but perhaps. Perhaps you’ll gain the levels necessary to extend your lifespan, and after a century or two you’ll gather the power you'll need to make it happen. But you’ll be traveling there as Brin, not Mark. This is a lesson all men must learn. You can never go home. The place you once called home has changed, and you don’t belong there any more. Hold that memory warm and safe in your heart, but move on. You must make a new place to call home.”

Brin sat and thought for a moment. He pulled the blanket off; it was getting too warm. “What was his name?”

“That is not for me to say. If you wish to know, find out on your own.”

Brin nodded, and stared at the crackling fire, deep in thought. “I should go.”

Ellion said, “Very well. Should you ever feel the desire to converse in your mother tongue, I hope you will not hesitate to visit.”

Brin promised he would, then left the temple. It was night. Late at night, but he didn’t go back to Hogg’s place. He wandered the streets, walking endlessly as he thought.

The houses and buildings took on a new cast. They seemed a bit more solid than the day before, a bit more substantial. They weren't just backdrops any more. This wasn't a temporary shelter. For the rest of his life, whenever someone asked where he was from, he'd have to tell them he was from here.

A new home. A new life. What did he want that to look like?

He found himself at the public house.

The customers had all gone home, but it wasn’t empty. The bartender was sitting behind the bar, the [Bard] was counting coins on stage, a young man was sweeping the dance floor, and Hela, the owner, was clearing tables. She scowled at him when he walked in. Kids weren't allowed in here, especially after dark.

He ignored her and walked straight over to Jeffrey the [Bard]. “Can you teach me to play?”

“It won’t work,” said Jeffrey. “There’s no surefire way to get the [Bard] Class.”

“I don’t care. I’ve always wanted to be able to make music. I don’t need a Class for that, do I?”

Jeffrey smiled and strummed a note. A chair jumped up from the dining area and danced its way up to the stage beside him. He patted it.

“Sure kid. I can teach you.”