48. [Uicha] Reflections (Patreon)

--DRAMATIS PERSONAE—

Uicha de Orak, Wildcard representing The Forgotten One, on the run again

Kayenna Vezz, sorcerer of the old Kingdom of Orvesis, a constant companion

***

2 Frett, 61 AW

A secluded boat, docked in Noyega, North Continent

178 days until the next Granting

The archmage's head didn't come off clean. Uicha had hacked into the side of his neck but only part way through the spine, so Ahmed Roh's head flopped against his shoulder like he was trying to get water out of his ear. His legs splayed out from under him and the old man crumpled, bones snapping like dry twigs in the fall. 

Uicha took a step back as the archmage's blood reached his toes. 

“I didn't… what did I…?” Uicha mumbled. 

Bile rushed up his throat, but there wasn't anything in Uicha's stomach, so he just doubled over and dry-heaved. When he straightened, the archmage was still dead, and Kayenna Vezz was standing over his body. Her ghostly presence left no disturbance in Roh's expanding puddle of blood. 

“I didn't mean to,” Uicha said. 

“You didn't?” Kayenna cocked her head. “Let us move quickly beyond the guilt, yes? I know your mind. There is sadness and confusion, yes, but also satisfaction, triumph, and wonder.”

Uicha swallowed. “I…”

“He was a tormentor and he would have done the same to you, had he found a way.”

He couldn't argue with anything she said—or he didn't want to. “Fine. I didn't think I could do it. How about that? The gods aren't supposed to allow it.” 

Kayenna touched her own throat, which still occasionally flickered into a gaping wound, much cleaner but no less final than the one on Roh's neck. “You can change. No loyalty. All loyalties.” She shook her head. “The one below has made things complicated for us.”

The one below. Uicha shuddered at the memory of the crushing weight of the world, and that thing lurking beneath it all, its mocking voice containing a power that stretched his mind. He'd felt a similar sensation once—in the fields on the outskirts of Ambergran—when the ge'ema appeared to do Battar Crodd's horrible bidding. 

“What was that thing?” Uicha asked. 

“I do not know, exactly. The Forgotten One. No friend of ours, of that I am sure.”

Uicha rubbed his face. The cuts from where Kayenna had smashed vials of that crimson goo—a substance Uicha felt sure leaked directly from that buried entity—had already healed thanks to his newly gained [Regeneration]. 

“I'm linked to it now,” Uicha said. He scrubbed at his chest, but none of the crimson Ink flaked off. “You made me its champion. Why would you do that if it's not our friend?”

“No other choice,” Kayenna said. “You needed the power to escape from the mage.”

“No, you needed it!”

“I told you what would happen,” Kayenna said. “I was clear with about the danger. I would have accepted a no.”

Uicha dug the heels of his hands into his temples. She had indeed said that he would become a champion, but Uicha had thought…

“You thought you would an opportunity to back out,” Kayenna said, reading his mind.

“I thought there would be a Quill and that they would have better sense,” Uicha said.

“No. You were its only choice, as it was ours.”

“Why-?”

Uicha cut off at a hissing sound from Roh's body. He watched as the Ink on Roh's chest melted away, sinking into the graying tome symbol of the Magelab and disappearing. He was truly dead, then, the Ink returning back to where it came from. 

“We should not linger,” Kayenna said. “His people will know he has died. If they are not looking for him yet…”

“They will be now.” This time, Uicha was the one to finish the thought.  

Uicha pressed the back of his hand against his mouth as a fresh burst of acrid smoke filled the room. He glanced first at the brazier, but whatever strange incense the archmage had been burning as part of his ritual had only dwindled. No, the new smoke came from the workbench—Roh's books had incinerated themselves, the pages crisped embers inside shriveled leather bindings. 

“Selfish,” Kayenna said. 

There were a few unopened vials of chanic still on the table next to Roh's ruined spellbooks. Uicha pretended not to have noticed them, although such measures were obviously useless with Kayenna occupying his mind. 

“You would be a fool to leave those behind,” she said. 

“I don't want anything to do with that stuff.”

“Look at yourself,” Kayenna said. “It is far too late for that.”

Uicha did look at himself, beyond the new crimson tattoo splashed across his chest. He was naked but for some loose and frequently pissed-in underclothes, his body covered in dry blood, fading lines of chalk, and filth. His hip bones and ribs jutted out from his skin. He’d lost all the weight his lean body could bare to lose. His head felt heavy, like it might roll off his shoulders.

“I need clothes,” Uicha said. “And something to eat.”

When Kayenna didn’t respond, Uicha glanced up to find her gone. The witch had retreated back into his mind, to do whatever she did in there. He was alone again.

Uicha padded across the room to the ladder and the hatch in the ceiling. A deadbolt was padlocked into place, one for which Uicha didn’t have the key. He returned to Roh’s desk, pushing aside the burned books, but found no key. He turned back to Roh’s body.

“Gods damn it,” Uicha said.

To reach the archmage now would mean leaving a trail of bloody footprints wherever he went. Instead, Uicha accessed his [Telekinesis]. During the fight with Roh, he’d used the ability entirely on instinct. Now that he had time to think about it, the magic came to him easily—like something he had always known. He merely needed to focus on an object and then imagine himself taking hold of it.

Grimacing, Uicha levitated Roh’s corpse to him. The old man’s limbs were already turning a pale purple, sagging and jiggling horribly as Uicha spun the body through the air. He turned Roh so that he could access his pockets while keeping his dangling head as far away as possible.

In Roh’s first pocket, Uicha found a packet of leaves and stems from a blue-tinged plant. The leaves looked frozen, like they were covered in a layer of frost, although that was impossible considering the temperature in the room. Based on the piney aroma, Uicha had no doubt that was what the archmage had been burning in the brazier. He set that aside with the chanic.

With a sigh of relief, Uicha plucked the key from Roh’s other pocket. Using his [Telekinesis], he tried to set the archmage’s body back where it had fallen. His palms started to sweat and he felt the sensation of his grip slipping; the feeling faded as he let go of Roh’s body. He understood what that meant. There were limits to how much he could use this new magic and his [Telekinesis] was just about tapped.

Uicha climbed the ladder with his mother’s scimitar—his scimitar, now, since he had finally put it to use—tucked awkwardly under one arm. He unlocked the hatch, shoved it open, and almost immediately retreated at the sight of his own reflection staring back at him.

The room above was a bedroom where the better part of the ceiling was covered in mirrors. The bed—which hardly looked slept in—had black silk sheets that struck Uicha as far too decadent for the archmage. Roh’s bags were set to one side of the room. One of them smoldered slightly, on account of the books packed within. Uicha hoped that wasn’t the one where Roh had packed his clothes.

Uicha took a long look at his reflection. He traced a finger around the empty box on his neck. The symbol reminded him of a grave.

Behind a curtain, Uicha found a barrel of fresh water, a basin, and a privy. He drank greedily until his intestines clenched and he felt like he might throw up. Then, he dumped some of the water into the basin, and cleaned himself as best he could. Even though he sensed it was pointless, he tried to wash away the red Ink on his chest. None of it came off.

Uicha rummaged through Roh’s bags until he found the archmage’s spare clothes. He had expected the garments to reek of old man and brimstone, but everything was crisp and clean and felt good on Uicha’s skin. The archmage had been possessed of an obsession for cleanliness, which made the grim scene down below stand out all the more. To reduce himself to such circumstances meant Roh must have been desperate.

Uicha chose a white shirt that he could button to the neck and a pair of red trousers—luckily, Roh had been a thin man, so Uicha didn’t need to struggle to keep the pants up even once he’d hooked the scimitar to his belt. He was taller than the archmage, though, and so found himself rolling up the sleeves and pants to hide that the clothes didn’t quite fit. Uicha found a scarf and wrapped this around his neck, hiding the strange red symbol. Finally, he squeezed his feet into Roh’s riding boots.

Assessing himself in the mirror, Uicha decided he could pass as a sloppily dressed sailor. The boat was docked somewhere. He should be able to slip away.

Deciding to find out where he was, Uicha ventured up a short staircase and emerged onto the deck of a small, single sail craft. The moon was high, the night sky clear. A cold wind cut across him, feeling cleansing to Uicha after the squalor he’d faced below. The boat’s sail was tied down. An unlit lantern hung from a spike nailed into the mast.

 Uicha turned to gaze out at the ocean. The waves were choppy, white caps visible even in the dark. He had never seen the water before. He had begged his parents to take him, but there was always work to be done or reasons to delay. A sense of longing seeped into Uicha—he wished he could’ve seen this with them, instead of under these morbid circumstances. He wiped the back of his hand across his eyes as he sensed Kayenna Vezz standing next to him.

“Do you know how to sail?” he asked her.

“I do not think we would find this vessel seaworthy,” she replied.

Their boat was docked at the end of a long line of similar craft. Red lanterns shone on some of their masts, while others were dark. The next boats over were quiet, but moaning and laughter carried on the wind from further on. Craning his neck, Uicha made out a maze of docks that sprawled along the coast, the glittering lights and billowing smoke of a city beyond them.

“Noyega, if I’m not mistaken,” Kayenna told him. “A cesspool in my time.”

 Uicha knew of the city’s reputation. Until recently, his father’s friend Trick Longblossom had been guest of their debtors’ prison. Gambling, whoring, and graft were the place’s best known attractions. He supposed it made sense that Roh would bring him here—silence, privacy, and exotic ingredients could all be bought in Noyega, and no one would go looking for an archmage there.

“What am I supposed to do now?” Uicha asked as he returned below to begin making a bag.

“Get off this boat,” Kayenna said.

“Yeah, no kidding,” Uicha replied. “But after that?”

“Perhaps Battar Crodd and my misguided kinsmen have done as we asked and found the origin of my urn’chan,” Kayenna said. “I would know the purpose of this purgatory I have been sentenced to.”

Uicha shook his head. “I’m not going back to Ambergran. No way.”

“Then you will need to find us other protectors,” Kayenna said and disappeared again. Uicha sensed her frustration and felt pleased within himself—he was stuck with her in his body, but this was still his life. For however long he had left, he’d be the one making the decisions.

Uicha’s first decision was to travel light. He packed a single change of clothes, mostly so he had something to hide the rest of his treasures under. He’d have to buy something that actually fit him, eventually.  He found a pouch overstuffed with rounds and angles—the archmage had been well-funded. More than enough to buy him supplies and passage to wherever he wanted to go. He stashed the money along with the packet of blueish leaves and, though his blood chilled at the sight of them, the remaining vials of chanic.

He took one last look at the body of Ahmed Roh as he finished his pass of the boat’s cellar.

“Well,” Uicha said. “Fuck you, I guess.”

Uicha shouldered his pack and climbed off the boat. He tried to walk normally, but the adrenaline was fading, he was starved, and his body wanted to curl in on itself. He put one hand on the handle of his scimitar to try to straighten his posture, then thought that made him look like he was spoiling for a fight, and so opted to give in to his body and stagger his way down the docks. Just another drunken sailor. He figured that should fit right in around Noyega.

At first, he took this part of the docks for deserted. But then, up ahead, he noticed two men standing in the shadows of a shanty positioned at the crossing between these docks and the next set of berths for red-light ships. They had clearly seen him and were now having a hushed exchange as Uicha approached.

There was no other way to go. Uicha kept moving forward, head down, pretending that he hadn’t noticed the men.

Of course, they stepped into his way.

Both men were square as blocks, grizzled veterans of any number of bar fights. They both had the tumbling dice insignia of Noyega upon their necks, and they both had clubs badly hidden under their jackets. The two reminded Uicha of Johan Steadyhand—the bully who had tried to take over Uicha’s farm after his parents died. Uicha used to be intimidated by men like that, with all their muscle and bluster. But new power flowed through him now.

“Hold up,” said one of the men, and Uicha did as he was told. “Where did you come from?”

Uicha jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the boats. “Just finished.”

The other man shook his head. “All those boats are rented. No clients.”

Uicha’s mind worked quickly. So, Roh had bought himself ample privacy and hired these two goons to watch the docks for him.

“Good, you passed the test,” Uicha said. “Our employer has sent me out to gather some supplies.”

A look passed between the two men, as if they were trying to decide how much they believed him. When they turned back to Uicha, the answer seemed to be very little.

“You look worn out,” said the first man. “And like you’re wearing the old man’s clothes.”

“I told you he was into some sick shit,” muttered the second. “Experimentation.”

“Go get him,” said the first. He placed a rough hand on Uicha’s shoulder. “Sorry, kid, but the old man said no one comes or goes except for him.”

“You go get him,” the second man protested. “Guy creeps me out.”

“I can pay you,” Uicha offered quietly.

“Any money you’ve got ain’t nothing but trouble, kid,” said the first, then looked over his shoulder to snarl at his partner. “Go on!”

Uicha wasn’t exactly sure what would happen when he used [Summon Gargoyle]. He felt the symbol sizzle across his chest and then fade. A moment of stillness followed, and then a shadow passed above them.

“What the-?”

The man further from Uicha didn’t have a chance to finish his question. The gargoyle—perfect stone skin like white marble run through with arteries of glowing ice—landed on top of him with enough force to buckle his body. Bones and wood cracked beneath the gargoyle’s weight, but the gods saved the man from a worse fate.

The symbol for [Disloyal] itched on Uicha’s skin. He could give himself the tumbling dice of Noyega and the result here would be very different. But no, these men didn’t deserve that. They were only doing their jobs. He just needed them out of his way.

The remaining goon spun toward the gargoyle and almost got his club out. But, with a motion that was almost casual, the gargoyle flexed one of its massive bat wings and sent the man pin-wheeling into the water.

Uicha flinched as the gargoyle turned its hollow black eyes toward him. The creature bent low, bowing like a horse ready to accept a rider, and tilted its head. Awaiting orders.

“Stay hidden, but stay close,” Uicha said. “Make sure I’m not followed.”

The gargoyle responded by leaping into the air. Uicha watched it for only a moment, then hopped over the broken body of the goon, and disappeared into the night.