An Age of Mysterious Memories

The trio telepathically murmur their assent to my request to keep the tome a secret. Nala likely guessed what was up before I put my telepathic walls up, but if she did, she understands the urgent need for secrecy, and isn’t saying anything. She knows about the tomes, and my suspicions about them. Should I be scouring the globe for Mataalii? Which of the six of us will be spared? Would Mat even be willing again? Is it just the rest of us without Mat? Is that why there’s only five this time?

But Lil was the original… Sighing, I try to remind myself that without Luni guiding my thoughts, that this line of intrigue is likely to get me killed. I’m not allowed to wonder, let alone know. Drawing a ragged breath, I try to reset myself towards my equilibrium emotionally and physically. Neither Nala nor the ‘Neath trio are demanding anything of me at the moment, thankfully, as they respect my need for centering myself after such a dire warning, such a terrible find.

I’ve got to get my mind off of this. I think I just saw my wife hastily leaving Verdimenn back towards Solace. Is it because of the siege, or is something else urgently requesting Kinzul’s attention?

As I’m thinking about her, my wife messages my mind, “I’m sorry my love. That something could cloud my mind enough to… I’m sorry if I hurt you during this skirmish, my Schism, my love.”

Tentatively touching my raw, sore, still semi-crushed throat with my fingertips, I wince in pain. I want to absolve Kinzul more than I want her to feel any sort of guilt for my pain, but I have to be honest too. Knowing that there are things out there that could wrest Kinzul’s mind from her, or her actions from her, and turn her against us is terrifying. Knowing that anyone and everyone I’ve ever loved, might someday simply be mind-controlled, possessed, sent into befuddling confusion, mentally dominated, puppeted, or otherwise controlled is horrifying. I’ve known about these possibilities in the back of my mind for a long while, but having one of them strike Kinzul really nails the knowledge home.

Rattling my skull, I try my best to bury the knowledge. It’s not helpful at the moment, especially not if it feeds some kind of fear that, well, any kind of fear. Calming myself, I respond, “Think nothing of it Kinzul, my love. I know it wasn’t you, and it’s not the first time someone I loved has—.”

Whoops. I crumple to my knees, and then topple forward. My breathing is labored, ragged, coming in shallow staccato bursts as my eyes focus and unfocus repeatedly. My ears ring like the worst pitch of a bell extended into an endless moment. Descending into panic, not quite terror, but definitely dissociative panic, I recall the times when my loved ones had attacked me in the past. Lil, and Teuila, were under sway of the red-eyes, some shard of the Celestial Emperor’s being. After I don’t know how long, I come to, with a Draconiac whispering to me that Kinzul said to make sure I was alright, that she had to leave. My head is throbbing, but breathing properly for a few minutes will hopefully clear that up.

Trying to reorient myself, I blink several times in confusion at the Draconiac’s relayed message. Where did Kinzul have to go? Checking my goggles, I don’t see her anywhere, and she isn’t wearing a pair herself. It seems like most things are going about as well as can be expected. Our Queens are indomitable, as far as I can see. My surmising on their Latents appears to be pretty close to correct as well, like my attacks with that heinously weighted sword in the Cragbeast Warrens, the slashes can be left in the air, and they shred anything that comes in contact with them. Well, rend or sunder anything that comes in contact with them, I suppose would be more accurate.

Ah yes, just what Schism needs, their brain to be more pedantic about terminology to humorously reference someone’s Latents and Aliases. I roll my eyes at myself before loosing a long sigh. I suppose I was due to be hard on myself again at some point soon. No time to wallow though, let’s try to take stock. I wave towards Revvy, Greggy, and Shaylon as they head topside to take a well-deserved break, and deliver the item I’d requested of them. I’ll get their full sitrep on the ‘Neath at some point soon, but they deserve time to recuperate before a debriefing.

Hell’s bells, when did I start sounding so officiant and just, ugh, militaristic? Rattling my skull, I loose another sigh. Hey, hold on, go back a tic, wait a second, speaking of sitreps, did anyone bother to get one from Induul, either time that he returned from ranging? Speaking of Indy, where the crap is he? He’s not showing up in any of the goggles that are heading east with Lucky, nor anywhere I can see around Solace or Verdimenn. Illy looks agitated, and I can’t blame her, if her teammate is flaking on her again, as the war becomes more real, and tougher by the hour.

Oh Illy. I wish I could alleviate the strain our explosive romance put on you without having you have to withhold yourself and even your friendship from my presence. I get it though. I really do. Thinking about you, Te, Lu, Lil, anyone that I love, mid-battle, or seeing you get hurt, I’d get sloppy, make mistakes, maybe even let Wrath take over, and finally lose, never regaining control of myself ever again. I just keep sighing this morning, don’t I? Hell, I’m sighing again about sighing. What is it with me today?

Well, then again, that’s not all that unusual for me, is it? I’m oft exasperated, or otherwise sighing for some reason or another. Still, I’d say that this is certainly a—what’s the word? Inauspicious?—start to the day. I’ll spend the day here in the Verdimenn project space, helping out Littlebit, Nala, Leeza, whomever, while doing my best to recuperate and add new tools to any toolbelts for anyone that’s available. It leaves me available to strike out at a moments notice if the Damnations return. I don’t want Lu or Te to face them alone for a moment longer than they absolutely have to.

Right, get to it Reggie. There are a lot of rueful blacksmiths wandering back towards the forgeworks in the base of Solace. Most won’t meet my gaze, feeling ashamed or embarrassed now that they realize they attacked poor Pawn. Pawn’s pretty beloved around here, I’d certainly have a hard time forgiving myself if I hurt her, even if it was against my will or out of my control.

“Thanks for saying so, Schism,” comes a brief intrusion to my thoughts from the sweetheart herself.

Flashing a soft smile her way, my telepathic avatar nods to Miraina and murmurs, “Any time Pawn, any time. Let me know if you need anything. Today, or ever. When you can get her to do so, make sure your mom rests up. By my estimates, we’re in for a storm of trouble within the next week or two.”

A couple of weeks, not a lot of time—even for creatures as powerful as dragons—to recover without some sort of magical aid. The surviving Vivant look like crap, erm, no offense Prinny love. Her devilish smirk across my mental wavelengths lets me know that, while she forgives me, she’s totally going to make me pay for that thought later, somehow. Yikes, heh.

Erm, where was I? Oh. I’m so glad that so many Solace residents simply volunteer, and clean up when they see a mess. That’ll make this easier. Puffing a long breath of relief, I head towards a few familiar faces. I grimace when I see how battered and bruised they look. I almost forget sometimes, that Rayileklians, like me, bleed. I was raised around Can’Z’aasian digital critterkin, well, not raised, I spent most of my first life around them is what I mean. Seeing raw, torn flesh, bloody wounds, exposed bone, and more, on kind, wonderful people that I care about, that are under my protection, it sets my blood to a low simmer, minimum. Clenching my teeth, and my eyes closed, I loose a few heated ventilations, frustrated, angry expulsions of air through my nose. Is there a word for that? I mean, other than, sigh, a type of sigh.

Rolling my eyes at myself, I finish my approach while calling out, “Hey Del, please tell me that—.”

Nodding, weakly slapping me on the shoulder, Deli interrupts me, “Aye, my son’s home, drawing up a storm, ideas for things to carve or model or whittle or what have you. If you hadn’t thought to have me ask about what he wants, he’d have been with me today. Thank you Schism, again.”

Blinking, stunned, I nod dumbfoundedly towards Del. Did I really have that specific impact? Del said she was going to see what he needed, but maybe she didn’t know that the project space was open to everyone, so she might not have set him loose right away to chase his ideas and desires. I find it hard to catch my breath. So many lives are within so few degrees of my actions impacting them deeply. The weight is almost too much to bear.

Before I can succumb to the weight of self-pity, or whatever I’d been about to do, Deli interrupts me to request, “Let’s sit and drink a spell since you’ve got ale coming out, when you get the chance Schism. You owe me a drink, remember?”

Cracking a smile, loosing a half chuckle, I nod as I respond, “Yeah, yeah I do. I’ll try to catch you for a lunch break or something Del.”

Offering me a warm smile, and a hearty handshake, the buff woman flicks her head towards me, dismissing me casually. Nodding and smiling, I continue heading towards the Verdimenn project space, waving towards Charles as he heads back to the forgeworks as well. The cries of several people startle me momentarily. They aren’t shrieks of fear, no, they’re more like… wails of mourning. They’re accompanied by sobs.

It dawns on me after a few moments—retroactively while analyzing some sensory input in retrocognition—that amongst the bodies of the mite-hulks were bodies of Draconiacs. My heart sinks, plummeting into a bottomless pit in my stomach. We… we got there as fast as we could. Miraina did her best, to, to, to save everyone, and not hurt anyone.

My breath hitches, catching in my throat. I’m forced to swallow, and gulp down a sob as tinnitus runs screaming through my brain. One of the most secure locations in Solace, in its deepest reaches, was penetrated by a hostile force strong enough to slay some of us. My right hand, trembling, approaches my face and cups my mouth to hide my tremulous lips, but I don’t hide the tears that fall. My family, my friends, my loved ones, the people under my care and protection, I—.

Nala taps and prods me, pushing me along towards the tinkering space she shares with Littlebit. Dumbly, mutely I follow where directed as I try to get ahold of myself. I feel ill. It’s a war, an apocalypse, hell, three of them. I know death is on the table, for any of us, at any time, but it hits so much harder, seeing the bodies of innocents who should have been safe, who were as far from the conflicts as they could be. I can’t save all of them. I’ve already failed in that. Several times over. The kobold refugees, Jorro, Lijhro, Shapuackurt, Lilmbrayer, Heccinkethmorn, and now blacksmith volunteers I’d never even met or gotten the names of.

The tremors shaking my limbs don’t cease, but I try to struggle my way back to reality. I can’t afford to wallow. Muttering my titles under my breath, I loose my Honoris Causa, to stifle the rampant signals, the ambient energy that’s messing with Littlebit’s machinery. I can immediately sense it, now that I know to look for it. She’s right, obviously. It’s a wonder I hadn’t noticed before, well, small wonder, since I didn’t know to keep an eye out for them. It’s trivial to keep them dampened, voided out, rebounding back against themselves outside the range of Littlebit’s equipment.

Speaking of the goblinoid cutie, she approaches with a half-frown, and lays a hand on my hip, patting me comfortingly. After a few moments, she starts, “Tiger? Are you okay? What happened? Is this too much? If you can’t keep it up, I’ll try to work something else—.”

Shaking my head, I’m glad Littlebit didn’t launch into humor about my thinking about her equipment, or my ability to keep it up. I interrupt her, “I’m not doing great, but it’s not the signals. You’re fine to continue at whatever pace you’d like Littlebit. We lost people, good, innocent, helpful, kind people today. The day has barely started, we’re besieged from three directions, sky, soil, and subsoil, figuratively. That last one managed to break in through our forgeworks. I guess the vibrations of the hammering, or the heat of the forges gave subterranean creatures something to home-in on.”

Seeing Littlebit’s eyes widen with worry, I hasten to add, “But at least that last one is dealt with, routed completely. The three I sent to the ‘Neath returned, and finished off the insectoid invasion. We, we’re, um, we’re safe for now, sorry Littlebit. Uh, do you, erm, have a..—“

After puffing a breath of relief, Littlebit interrupts me to answer, “Yeah, just call me Bitty, unless you think of something sexier Tiger. Wink,” before salaciously winking.

Yeesh, inveterate flirt. Still, I shapeshift to be closer to her height, and wrap my arms around Littlebit, whispering in her ear, “I miss her too Bitty, I miss her too.”

I feel a tear form in Littlebit’s left eye as she savors our hug while we both think of Tiktik, so I don’t make an issue of it when Littlebit refuses to part from the hug for a long while. When I hear a cough at approximately the same height as Littlebit, from behind me, I blush furiously, knowing who to expect behind me. Gulping, I slowly turn towards Alanea. Meek as ever, she stands a ways away, fidgeting, but before I can do so much as greet her, Littlebit waves Alanea over to our hug, and I end up sandwiched between the two women. Gulp. Faefection indeed.

Teasingly, Littlebit requests, “Can you keep Tiger’s mind occupied for a couple of hours miss Fluffypillows?”

My eyes widen in shock at the play on Alanea’s last name, and I worry she might be insulted, but her response is, “Well, I mean, we, well, have the infirmary only a few steps away. So, I could, well, maybe step away frequently, but there are oh so many injured to tend to now. I, well, I mean, I’ll do my best, miss Itty-bitties.”

My jaw drops in surprise at Alanea’s indelicate nickname for Littlebit, but thankfully the goblin inventor simply grins wildly, smooches Alanea’s cheek in gratitude, and returns to her machinery. Littlebit begins running diagnostics on her ‘Twixt-related devices in order to get them back to peak efficiency, now that they’ll no longer be overloading upon her every attempt to use them. I forget how much more open Fae are about things of, well, almost any nature. I guess it’s easy enough to lightly tease each other about physical attributes without things becoming hostile.

Still, I’m slightly saddened that Alanea parts from our elongated hug after a short while, in order to return to the makeshift infirmary. I know she has to look after Kagired, Yuri, all the injured Spellknights, most of whom were injured by me, Lil, or Lucky, and now all the injured blacksmiths who haven’t waved off her attempts to treat them. Phooph. A hell of an inauspicious start to a day indeed.