A Chronicle of Lies-Book 1- The Dark Sculptor (High Fantasy/Isekai)

“December 16, 2015 (I think.)

Got little sleep last night. Xalix didn't wake me. The silence did, I think. Silence and memories. Not sure. It's strange for the voices to be this quiet. The phantoms and the psychosis usually come and go, but the noise is usually constant. Now, there is no noise, only silence. It makes everything seem so much louder.

I kept waking up because of the sounds coming from outside. Got about 4 or 5 hours of sleep? Not sure if time here flows the same as it does on Earth. At one point, I couldn’t go back to sleep. So I decided to write a journal, collect my thoughts, and retain my sanity, get better at writing with this hand.

I just snuck out and borrowed a lot of scrolls from Xalix's storage area. He has a shitload of them. Do I risk pissing him off with theft? Yes. But on the flipside, I get to gather my thoughts while I am still lucid, assuming these journals don't just vanish. This dream seems to have some sort of continuity, so I guess they'll stay in place? Maybe I can read them later to anchor myself. Plus, this is important: I need to laugh at this world, poke fun at it behind its back.

I have schizophrenia. People like me get sucked into fantasies like this. I’ve seen it happen time and time again. God knows I’ve done some fucked up shit because of it, because the voices convinced me people were conspiring behind my back. Sometimes they convinced me to do things I thought were right, but ended up fucking everything up. I’m tired of it. I need to fight back against this. I didn’t spend the last several years busting my ass to get an electrical engineering degree just to have this happen to me. 

I don’t know why this experience is so vivid. But as I told Dave, the brain is powerful. I can’t let myself become invested in whatever the hell this world is. My brain is making it up so I have to fight back. I have to laugh at it. If I wake up, I need to get back on my feet as soon as I can. But the more time I spend in this place, the more it’s going to fuck me up.

This place is beautiful. It’s an alien world and I want to find out more about it, but I have to resist. People like me, we hurt others when we indulge in fantasies. So...laugh at it.  I don’t think I’ll be able to stay sane otherwise.  

Here’s my situation: I'm supposed to believe this nectar cured my schizophrenia. My mind is definitely sharper, I'll give it that. Dave hasn't talked shit since I went cliff-diving yesterday and the other voices are quiet, too. That's great, but I'm still a fucking dragon. (I am never going to get used to saying that.) So yeah, I still have schizophrenia. It's just a more advanced form of it, I guess. But my mind, it feels so clear.

Last night I told Xalix my story. I was flustered and I don't think he believes me. Also, I took a good look at myself in the mirror. I've been told I'm okay-looking: Olive skin, brown eyes, dark hair. Not supermodel stuff, but not bad.

But this thing's face is incredibly effeminate, which sucks, because I'm wearing it. When you think of dragons, you think of giant man-eating lizards that breathe fire. But when I see this thing, I want to punch it in the fucking face and wring its neck.  

So, it's turning into morning, judging from the light outside. Xalix should be waking up any moment now. I have no idea what he's going to do today. I think whoever was sent for me is supposed to arrive. I left my jacket near the cliff, the one from my 'accident'. I would grab it and make a run for it so I don't have to deal with any more of Xalix's race. But that thing is still waiting outside. The one with an eye in its throat. 

I don't care about what Xalix said about Strix ‘saving’ me, it also thinks I'm a danger. If I go outside, it will probably bite my head off. Funny, I just accidentally convinced myself to walk outside because a monster will bite my head off and end this nightmare.”

Vincent looked down at his journal entry. The handwriting was atrocious and barely legible. After rolling the parchment into a bundle, he tucked it under the bed where he had stowed the other stolen goods. He made sure the lump they formed looked inconspicuous before he exited the room. He didn’t know if he would write any more journals, but it would probably be a good idea. Numerous studies demonstrated that writing things down helped improve memory retention, something he would desperately need.

In this world, there was no mistake that he was still a cripple. His brain was forced to rewire itself and compensate for the new limbs. It made it hard to walk and control his body. Using stealth with his form at first seemed like an impossible task. However, if he thought of the wings as over-sized hands, he was able to control them somewhat. Not perfectly, but he was able to keep them tucked in. If he thought of the tail as an extension of his vertebrae, then it became easier to manage. He could feel it, so he should be able to control it.

Then there was the silence, a silence in which every noise was amplified. There were no phantoms. There were no clicks or white noise. There was no spacing out, no haziness. Everything was new and everything was frightening. Wonder and joy courted terror and disbelief. His clarity of mind contradicted the impossible world that he found himself in. So he pushed the contradiction to the back of his thoughts and concentrated on making it outside without waking Xalix or the brothers. But it was difficult. He felt his brain running at speeds it never ran at before.

He navigated the corridors with as much caution as a spooked feline, checking every corner, noting every possible thing capable of being knocked over. Fortunately, the sap that Xalix had applied to Vincent's claws absorbed their impact against the stone floor. At one point he stopped when he heard a noise. He realized it was the creatures snoring. They were still asleep. The wood groaned a little, but the sound did not carry throughout Xalix's home.

The sun was not yet up, and morning dew wet the grass, frosting the iridescent blades with condensation. Vincent mouthed a silent profanity when he saw Strix lying directly in front of the path, barring his escape. The creature was asleep, yet there was no way around him. Vincent lifted his foot to take a step forward.

As if detecting his presence, Strix opened his two top eyes, blinked a few times, and turned his head toward Vincent. The beast showed no sign of surprise at seeing him there. His vertical beak opened wide in what appeared to be a yawn, revealing a second mouth tucked in between the two halves. Perhaps the beaks were designed to kill while the mouth inside, lined with atrocious inward-pointing teeth, chewed the prey. The grotesqueness of Strix’s visage contrasted with the vibrant flame-like quality of the creature's feathers. It was a beautiful beast if the face were ignored.

Vincent swore softly to himself before addressing him. “Okay...uh...look. This feels crazy to me,” he said, feeling like he was talking a creature with no more sentience than a horse. “Xalix talked to you, so I assume you're supposed to be capable of understanding English. Or whatever it is you people...er...animals, speak.”

Strix continued to gaze at him showing no sign that he understood. His feet were placed right under his chest, displaying talons that seemed more than capable of slaying walruses. His face was utterly devoid of expression. The third eye remained hidden under its plated lid, yet Vincent had the strange impression it was looking at him through the carapace that shielded it.

“I don't know what Xalix told you,” Vincent continued, his eyes darted around for possible escapes or for weapons to grab. “Honestly, I feel like I'm talking to a freaking animal. I have no idea if you can understand me or if you are thinking about having me for breakfast. Okay...look. I have no idea how he 'talks' to you, I assume it’s some sort of psychic...telepathy?”

No response.

“Right...how about this. If you can understand me, blink your eyes.”

Strix waited a few seconds before blinking.

“Okay...not sure if that was coincidence or not. Can you do it again?”

The beast closed his eyes very deliberately and opened them in acknowledgment.

“Right...well, okay.” Vincent looked at the ground so that Strix's appearance wouldn’t distract his train of thought. “I don't know what the hell you are and uhh...I really don't care. Can you move? Out of my way, I mean?”

He didn’t look up to see if Strix heeded his request. He didn’t need to, the silence answered his question. The beast's mute reply and inaction refuted any demands. Vincent had no idea where the line was regarding the creature's temperament. He had no doubt it could make mincemeat of him in an instant.

“What are you waiting for? A 'thank you.'?” He barely spoke louder than a whisper. “You want me to thank you for saving my life, is that it?” He kicked the ground nervously, using a claw to dig a rut in the moist dirt. “Is that your game? Save my life, have Xalix cure my schizophrenia, use guilt to...manipulate me?” He looked back up at the creature, who maintained the same stoic pose. He was not addressing Strix, but the entire world that surrounded them both, as if the very trees were listening. “Now you're using fear. You're using this creature to scare me. Get out of my way.”

Strix refused to move from his spot, nor did he show any signs that he had heard or understood the nature of Vincent's accusation. But the words gave Vincent confidence, they stirred up an anger in his chest which in turn gave him something that emulated courage. He forced himself to meet the creature's gaze.

“I will climb over you,” he continued, forcing a more assertive tone into his voice. “If you don't get out of my way, I will walk right up to you and climb right over your ugly, mutated, feathered abomination of a body.” He took a step forward as if to galvanize his resolve. Still, Strix refused to move, as if he were calling a bluff.

“I'm serious,” Vincent said, “as soon as I reach you, I'm going to grab onto your feathers and climb you like a ladder. I don't even care anymore. Eat me, bite my head off, slit my throat, I don't give a damn.”

He recalled the words he wrote in the journal: I need to laugh at this world. With every step that he took, his apprehension began to give way to disbelief, which in turn, slowly transformed into anger.

He was within ten feet of Strix when the beast finally reacted. A flinch betrayed Vincent's apprehension when sticks and twigs snapped under the creature's weight. It rose up on both of its feet and for a moment it appeared he would appease Vincent’s request. But instead, Strix stood as a challenge, completely dwarfing him. A taloned foot was raised in a threatening manner, poised to attack. Vincent considered it for a moment, but then he made to move around Strix. The beast moved his foot to block Vincent’s escape. When he moved to the other side, Strix blocked him with his tail.

“You thought I was bluffing, that I wouldn’t climb over you?” Vincent asked, feeling his heart pounding against his ribcage. “Let me tell you a quick little story. When I was 7, I was haunted by a dead cat. It kept following me around and meowing despite the fact that it had no fucking head. It followed me everywhere I went, no matter how much I screamed. I would wake up to find the thing on my covers with its throat meowing. I would run from it, slam the door in its face and it would appear in the room with me, meowing with its bloody stump. That's just one of my many childhood horrors. I've had plenty of training for freaks like you.”

He grabbed onto its feathers. “You don’t scare me.”

He thrust himself up its side and grabbed its enormous plumage. He was immediately thrown to the ground and found himself pinned on his back, trapped beneath the beast's talons. When the stars cleared from his vision, he found himself looking straight up into the eye on the creature’s throat.

Desist. To discontinue. Placate.

“Stop it,” Vincent demanded, “whatever you’re doing, stop it! Let me go!”

All Strix would have to do was shift his weight and Vincent would be crushed to a pulp. Instead, he continued to bore down with the grotesque eye in his gullet. Vincent felt around as he glared up into the red iris. He felt his fingers close around a rock and clasped it in his hand. The giant talons that saved him the day before now tightened against his sides.

Warning. Confused.

“Ugh,” Vincent grimaced, “you are one ugly animal. Did your mother hatch you too close to some uranium deposits or are you just one of nature's mistakes?”

He threw the rock at the creature’s eye and to his amazement, it struck. The eyelid flashed close and Strix gave a long hiss of agony, but he didn’t let Vincent go.

“Fine,” he relented, “you’re as stubborn as you are ugly. Look, I’m not going to run away. I doubt I could lose you even if I tried. My jacket got left by the cliff. It has a lot of sentimental value and I don’t want it to get blown off. Now if you've been trained to 'fetch', go ahead and grab it. Or...let me up.”

Strix waited for a moment as if considering his request, then he loosened his talons and let go. The ground shook as the massive beast moved to the side, fixing Vincent in its gaze. Vincent staggered to his feet and made his way down the trail. It wasn’t difficult to find the place where he had fallen off the cliff. The grass was still trampled and stained with blue blood. The jacket was right where he had dropped it, right next to the path.

He grabbed it and rolled it up in his hands. He cast a glance down the path, once more, considering making a break for it. But before he could do so, his attention was drawn back toward the meadows below. There was a sense of disappointment, as if he expected to see something among the broken fields and fractured ravines. Scratching his head in confusion, he turned around and headed back towards Xalix's home. Strix closed the path behind him.

Before Vincent could reach the door, Xalix opened it and stepped out into the morning gloam. He glanced at Vincent with tired eyes and then at the jacket in his hands.

“So you found it,” he said.

“Yeah”

Xalix looked over his shoulder at Strix, as if were confirming something with the animal. When he looked back at Vincent, he asked him to come inside. After picking up a metal bucket from the wall, he carried it over to the fire pit and began to shovel out the ash. The silence between them seemed to speak more than words.

“Sorry.” Vincent said in an effort to break the ice.

“Mmf.” was Xalix's only response as he shoveled the last of the ash into the bucket and carried it outside to be dumped.

A few minutes later, he returned with some firewood and began to start a new fire.

“I wasn't lying,” Vincent said as he watched smoke begin to rise, “I'm not from around here. I don't belong here.”

“I never accused you of lying.” Xalix said as he set the fallen tripod back onto its feet.

“Right.” Vincent did not know how to respond to Xalix's dismissal. “Well, I'm obviously not wanted here, so why don't you let me go?”

“I already told you why you can’t leave.” Xalix frowned at the fire, got to his knees and gave the tinder a blow. It burst into flame. “Meldohv Syredel is sending somebody our way. When they arrive, then you are no longer my responsibility. But until then, I have to keep you here. That is why Strix stands guard.”

Vincent remained silent. He wanted to ask who was being sent to retrieve him and why, but he was afraid of asking such questions. He waited for Dave or one of the phantoms to offer their suggestions, but only silence answered him. Instead, he watched as the flames began to lick the logs.

Xalix pulled two large roots out of a basket and began to dice them with the same knife Vincent had used to slice his hand. His jaws were clenched, and he avoided looking in Vincent’s direction. Smoke rose from the logs, catching a few of the sun’s rays, which now began to pierce the morning.

“The stuff you gave me,” Vincent said, “it cured my schizophrenia. The voices, they’re gone. That shouldn’t be possible.”

“You speak in ravings,” Xalix said.

“The madness,” Vincent clarified, “what did you call it, the ‘Bane’? It’s been with me since I was a kid.”

Xalix was finally looking at him, his orange orbs held him in their gaze. “That is impossible. You are fibbing.”

“What is impossible, is to cure a neurological disorder,” Vincent said, “that stuff you gave me...is impossible.”

Xalix looked like he was chewing on a few words. “Perhaps you should show some gratitude,” the creature said.

Vincent placed his snout in his palms. He didn’t know what to think. His mind was unfettered, clearer, sharper than it had ever been. The silence was a calm he was unfamiliar with, and he didn’t know how to cope with it. A weight had been taken off his shoulders, yet he was still bracing himself to hold it up. He could not accept that his schizophrenia was gone. It was a lie. A dragon gave the nectar to him. That alone was all the rebuke he needed.

“In third grade,” he said, “I thought I could read peoples’ minds.”

“What?” Xalix spat.

“I got into fights because I thought people were plotting against me. I was convinced that I could because I could hear their thoughts. I kept getting moved from school to school because none of them could handle me.”

Xalix stared at him. “What are you talking about?” he demanded.

“And in fourth grade,” Vincent said, “I beat the living shit out of my cousin because I thought he was possessed by an alien.”

“What are you–”

“–In High School,” Vincent spoke over him, “my mother got cancer. She...she started wasting away. But I didn’t take it seriously. I was too caught up in my own shit. Plus, the voices convinced me she’d get better.”

“Boy, I do not understand your rambling!” Xalix growled.

“She was dying!” Vincent hissed, “but I didn’t believe it. The voices kept telling me it was a lie. They had me convinced it was a damn conspiracy, that my family was trying to screw with me. And when she actually started getting thinner...I was convinced she was being poisoned. I blamed it on my father, I blamed it on the doctors...I even fucking accused my sisters of doing it. That’s her last memory of me before she died: that her son’s still a lunatic.”

He never even got to say goodbye to her. She was on her deathbed, just skin hanging on a skeleton. On the day of her passing, Vincent had already slipped into one of his catatonic states. When he finally came out of it a day and a half later, she was already gone.

“I just gave in to my malfunction and did whatever it suggested!” he continued, “shit like that happens when I believe in its...in its bullshit, when I don’t fight it.”

Xalix appeared to be at a loss for words.

“After all that...I’m supposed to believe that stuff fixed me?” Vincent demanded, “I’m supposed to believe that I got transported to another realm and had a neurological disorder cured? Is that the next...” He stumbled for a moment. “Is that the next delusion?”

Xalix didn’t have an answer for him. He could see confusion written on the creature’s snout. He had no idea what the hell Vincent was talking about.

“It’s a goddamn lie...” Vincent scoffed.

“W-what’s a lie?” a tiny voice asked.

Both of them turned to see Micah standing there. He held one of his wings in his hands, fiddling with its webbing. Vincent looked away and stared at the rising flames. Micah was not real. None of them were. Then why did he feel guilty at the sight of the creature? Micah came over and told Xalix he was hungry.

“Be patient, child,” Xalix said, “if you’re that hungry, go out to the garden and eat something.”

“I want meat,” Micah said. Though he was speaking to Xalix, his eyes never left Vincent.

“Then you will have to wait,” Xalix said.

Micah took a seat next to the fire and warmed his hands near the flames.

“Vinsch?” he said.

“Y-yeah?” Vincent softened his tone.

“Are you...are you well?”

The innocence of the question pulled at his chest. “Yeah...I’m all right...little guy.”

“Are you really from another world?” Micah must have eavesdropped on the conversation the night before.

“He is not,” Xalix said before Vincent could answer the question. The tone dared him to contradict it. “Why don’t you go outside and see if Strix wants to play with you?”

It didn’t seem like Micah would leave. But he got up and did just that.

“You don’t need to do that. I’m not going to hurt them,” Vincent said.

“You are not going to fill their heads with ridiculous ideas either,” Xalix retorted.

Vincent stifled the urge to shout at his host. But after a few deep breaths, he calmed himself down. What would be the point? He watched as Xalix dumped the ingredients into the cauldron. His jaws were clenched, and his eyes kept darting to Vincent and back. Resentment and fear etched his gaze. Sighing, Vincent got up and began to head back toward his room, but he stopped.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said without looking up, “I don’t have kids. I don’t know what it’s like to lose them. You’re in hell right now and those two are the only reminders of their parents that you have. I get it.”

Though Xalix didn’t answer, Vincent heard him pause for a second before he resumed cooking.

Vincent went back to his room, sat on the bed and looked at his hands. His mind continued to race, free of obfuscation. Was this what everybody else experienced? Did “sane” people know how good they had it? He felt like one of those deaf people who received a cochlear implant and heard sound for the first time. It was overwhelming. The shock was being “cured” was wearing off and the more his thoughts raced, the more he broke.

Wasn’t this what he always wished for, though he knew it was impossible? Didn’t he always want to be cured? He could not afford to believe it. The Triasat was a snare, an attack on his identity. It was an identity he abhorred, yet it was reality, and he could not afford to deny it. “Look, I healed you,” this world seemed to say. His life had been defined by believing delusions. The collateral from this was far-reaching, touching everybody he had ever met. He remembered one particular incident involving a...

His mind stopped and he stared at the wall. He could not recall the incident. He could recall others, but a fog lied between him and the memory he was trying to revisit. That was odd. His brain was working in overdrive, but this lapse in memory remained. But he didn’t think much of it.

A noise distracted him, the sound of laughter. He stepped over to the window and looked through its port. Micah was playing a game with Strix. Giggling, he planted his arms on Strix’s head and tried to push. The beast, who was laying on his belly, made a show of pretending to struggle, wriggling his head back and forth. But then he simply pushed his head forward and knocked Micah on his back. In seconds, Micah was back for more.

Soon, he was joined by his brother, who, armed with a stick, ran outside yelling. He leapt onto Strix’s flank and climbed him. He whacked Strix repeatedly, the beast’s feathers absorbing the blows. Unaffected, Strix simply lifted his head up, grabbed Theomus in his beak and set him on the ground.

The cure was meant for one of them,

Vincent thought, I stole it.

“They aren’t real,” he said out loud in a self-rebuke. He was disappointed that the silence answered instead of a phantom. He was alone.

He paced back and forth in his room, mulling over the exchange he and Xalix had. Xalix said somebody was being sent for him. Who? Why? Something about repelling a “telen”, but Vincent had no idea what that was. He needed to find out. If more of these people were coming for him, he had to be prepared. He made a mental list of questions he intended to ask Xalix. Regardless of what the creature thought of him, Vincent was going to press for answers.

He left his room, still running the questions through his head, but then he saw Micah and Theomus sitting at the table, eating. His mind went blank, and he forgot them all. Xalix saw him enter, but he said nothing. Instead of joining them, Vincent sat on the step surrounding the fire. Xalix silently placed a bowl of stew next to him, along with some bread. Vincent looked at the contents of the stew, large lumps of meat mixed with some vegetables. He picked up the bowl, tore sections of the meat into smaller pieces and ate.

Micah left the table, took a seat next to him and stared. Xalix said his name but stopped himself. What was it he had said at Lorix’s Eye? “...anything that will distract them or make them happy...As long as it doesn't get them into trouble.” The youths were fascinated with him. Vincent didn’t know why. Micah grunted to get his attention.

“H-hey.” Vincent said. It was the first time he had actually spoken to one of the kids since he’d been cured. The experience of talking to dragon children was surreal. He didn’t know how to react.

Micah held up his hands and successfully recreated the thumb illusion.

“It’s...good,” Vincent said, “you did a good job.”

“Theomus can do it too,” Micah said shyly, “b-but I can’t do it with my wing, only my hand.”

“That’s uh...cool...” Vincent didn’t know what else to say.

Micah cocked his head. “What’s cold?”

Vincent was confused by the question at first. “Oh,” he said, “it’s just an expression.”

Theomus left the table and came over to join his brother. Like Micah, he also stared at Vincent.

“Why do you have big ears?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” Vincent said.

“Why do your eyes have two colors?” Theomus was most likely referring to the mixture of blues and magentas in his irises.

“No idea.”

“Can you see in in the dark?” Micah asked.

“No?”

“Are you angry?”

The question took him by surprise. Did he look angry?

“No...no I’m not angry,” he said. He was growing increasingly uncomfortable with their questions. So, he decided to change the subject. “I saw you both playing with that thing outside...Strix.”

“Strix is fun,” Micah said, his voice lighting up. “He used to be smaller, but now he’s big and he lets us climb him. Xali’ka says he could walk through the door when he was a kid. But now he can’t.”

“Oh...uh, Is that so?” Vincent asked.

“Yeah. And–and he is a messenger for Meldohv. But he plays with us...when he has time.”

“Are you scared of him?” Theomus asked. He seemed to be more perceptive than his younger brother.

“I don’t know. I guess I am.”

“You should play with him!” Micah said, his eyes lighting up.

Dammit, Vincent thought as he considered the young lacertine. As bizarre as it was to have dragon children asking him questions, these creatures were too damn innocent. He needed to press Xalix for information, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it in front of the kids.

“Heh...I don’t think Strix likes me,” he said.

“Why?”

Vincent looked up at Xalix. “I don’t know.”

They kept asking him questions and telling him random facts. The brothers were enamored with him even though he did little more than eat and answer their curious inquiries. Though they were older than his niece, they reminded him of her. She would ask questions like this for no rhyme or reason. One time she–

Vincent’s mind went blank. He tried to recall the memory but failed. He tried to reach for it again, but it laid beyond his grasp. Memory lapses were common for somebody with his condition. It was one of the many things that made life miserable. This felt different. His mind was racing and yet he could not recall the memory he was looking for. Why did this keep happening? It unsettled him.

Xalix lurked nearby, pretending to be busy. It was clear he was staying in the room because he didn’t trust Vincent to be alone with the brothers.

“Hey...” Vincent said, interrupting Micah, who was talking about some place called Gullreach. “Um...I need to talk to your ‘grandfather’, okay?”

“Why?” Theomus asked.

“I just need to ask him some important questions. Grown-up questions.”

“Grown-up questions?” Micah repeated. Theomus echoed the term, apparently unfamiliar with it.

Xalix, hearing this, told them to go outside and play. Vincent waited until Theomus shut the door behind him.

“You said somebody’s being sent for me,” Vincent said, “Who?”

“I don’t know,” Xalix replied, “I am just a weather gleaner. The workings of Meldohv have nothing to do with me.”

“But you’re keeping me here. Because I did what?”

“Repelled a telen.”

“I don’t know what the hell that even is.”

“Another type of lore-meddler,” Xalix spat, “there is an order to things and the ‘academics’ in Meldohv are disturbing it. We have the zerok, we have Strix. We do not need telen to send messages.” He seemed to be speaking more to himself than to Vincent. “Nevertheless, you repelled one… supposedly.”

Xalix’s rant answered nothing. Whatever telen were, it was clear Xalix did not approve of them.

“I’m not going to run away,” Vincent said, “I have nowhere else to go. I’m stuck here.”

“Frankly, I do not care what you are,” Xalix said, “Jalharen spy, foreigner, it does not matter to me.”

“When will they arrive? The people picking me up, I mean,” Vincent asked.

“Sometime today,” Xalix said.

Vincent spent the rest of the day avoiding conversation with Xalix, and Xalix did the same. However, Micah and Theomus tailed him and kept asking him questions, about where he was from, what his favorite color was, if he had kids. They wanted him to show them more tricks, but the thumb trick was the only one he knew. When he went outside to get some air, they brought him critters that they caught, creatures that walked sideways, creatures that had ten eyes, things that wriggled and glowed.

They showed him clusters of strange beaklike organisms growing on some of the tree trunks. They looked like barnacles with tiny blue tentacles sticking out, probing the air. When the brothers got too close, the tentacles retracted, and the beaks snapped shut. Vincent said very few words. He didn’t know how to react to their fascination with him. But he always had a soft spot for children, doubly so for these creatures.

Several times throughout the day, he noticed his attention pulled toward the mountains for no reason whatsoever. He looked in their direction with the impression that if the trees weren’t in the way, he’d be seeing something happening. But what? He assumed it was a symptom of his schizophrenia that he had never seen before, so he thought little of it. The coma was bound to cause some unexplained complications in his brain.

The gaps in his memory also persisted as big gaping holes filled with fog. That only continued to unnerve him. He felt naked. Sometimes Xalix and Micah would ask questions and he would stop in mid-step, trying to think of an answer. The answer never came, since it relied on knowledge lost in those gaps.

Strix spent most of the day lying down in front of the path, his eyes following Vincent whenever he was within sight. Around mid-afternoon, the beast lifted his head up and turned his gaze to the woods. The eye underneath his snout opened and stared into the branches.

“How far?” Xalix called from inside. He paused, then he turned to Vincent. “Your escort approaches. Go and grab your belongings.”