Maxwell

  “I hiked up Mauler’s Hill today, seeking the place where Sarah first confessed her love to me. Though it has been only five years since that day, it feels like a lifetime. So much has happened in the time since, so many grand changes wrought upon my life, that I can scarce reconcile my current self with the old one.

  In many ways, this is a good thing. For a man who has no one to care for is a dangerous man indeed, ready to lay down his life for the feeblest of causes. I need look no further than my own life for reminders of that sobering reality.

  But at the opposite end, a man with much to love has, in equal measure, much to lose. For having known the happiness and joy of true love and affection, the man with much will spend his days in fear of being reduced to a man with nothing once more.

  It is an ironic fact of life, this duality of fates. And it is one I struggle to make peace with, for I have been both the man with nothing and the man with much, and now I stand to lose it all.” - Writings of the Sword-Saint, 2154 Post-Separation (PS).

  The following morning, I awoke from my slumber with a groan – though calling it sleep might be too generous a portrayal. It had been more akin to anxious shifting, my ears alert to every sound of the forest, and that which lurked in unseen shadows.

  The only indication I had as to the break of dawn was the increased visibility – there was no sun, for that had been swallowed entirely by the mist. Nor was there any birdsong or lively animal chatter, for such things did not exist in this place, where all lay smothered in eternal vapor.

  I twisted and turned in the bedroll to face my companion, whose features lay obscured by long strands of black hair. She was breathing softly with her hands tucked beneath her head, and her legs curled up against her chest. It was an oddly endearing sight, completely at odds with her usual composure and disposition towards the mature.

  I briefly considered whether or not to wake her, but soon decided against it. I knew that, much like myself, she had spent the majority of her night in troubled silence, chasing dubious sounds and imagined terrors with her eyes closed. And so, it would not be considerate of me to wake her now that she had at last found her rest.

  With great care, I extricated myself from the bedroll without disturbing Amelie. She let slip a soft sigh as I withdrew from her vicinity, but otherwise showed no sign of waking.

  The world around me lay in heavy silence, with naught but the faintest rustling of leaves upon the breeze. There was nothing to see, as all was drowned in white oblivion save for a scant few feet in either direction. The ground beneath my feet was soft and yielding, covered in a layer of damp moss and lichen.

  It was isolation unlike any I had ever known. A remoteness that seemed at once all- encompassing and vast.

  The feeling of it was terribly frightening to me, and so I turned my mind away from such things, and towards the issue of breakfast. For some reason, I did not feel like eating more stale bread and salted meat that morning. I wanted something fresh, something that had not been kept in a dank sack for weeks on end.

  But what did I know of hunting?

  I meandered about our campsite for some time, fighting through the mist, until my eyes eventually settled on a small brook that snaked through the forest some distance away. Perhaps there was something edible to be found there. A fish, maybe, or some wild berries. It was a long shot, but as I had nothing better to do, I decided to spend the next few minutes fashioning myself a makeshift spear from a sturdy branch, using Amelie’s oversized knife to chip away at the wood.

  It did not take long before I had a suitably pointy stick in my hands, sturdy enough not to break on impact, yet light enough to be used with quick and nimble movements.

  I made my way over to my designated hunting spot, the mist hugging the body of water, giving it an otherworldly appearance. I crouched by the bank, peering into its depths, hoping to spot a fish darting beneath the surface.

  To my great surprise, it did not take long before I spotted a glimmer of movement. A flash of silver scales, moving with a quickness up and down the brook.

  I watched it circle around a few times, measuring its speed and swimming patterns. Then, with a quick thrust, I plunged the spear into the water, right as the fish passed me by.

  My aim was off, and the tip of my spear found nothing but mud and weeds as the fish darted away. Undeterred, I tried again, this time with more patience and precision. The fish mocked my efforts by having the spear pass along its flank, doing no damage before embedding itself deeply in the soil below.

  I let slip a soft curse as I pulled my weapon free, eyeing the fish with blatant hostility.

  “That is not going to work,” Amelie said, having appeared from nowhere to sit behind me on a gnarled tree-trunk. She had her chin resting on the top of her knee, hugging her leg as she watched me attempt spear-fishing for the first time in my life.

  “Then how am I supposed to do it?” I said. “He’s a slippery little bastard.”

  “You have to predict his movements,” Amelie said. “He is too quick for anything else. If you try to aim for his current position, he will have moved by the time your spear breaches the surface of the water. Thus, you must guess where he is going to be ahead of time, in order to successfully intercept him as he flees.”

  I turned her words over in my head, and stared at the fish leisurely swimming about in the brook. Predict his movements, huh? I reckoned I could do that.

  A moment of silence passed as I sat in tense preparation, my eyes trailing the course of my prey. Then, with little fanfare, I plunged my spear into the depths, some distance ahead of the fish’s current trajectory.

  I missed it by a hair’s breadth, and watched as it retreated further up the brook.

  “I give up,” I said, throwing my spear down in defeat. A light giggle sounded from behind.

  “That was fast,” Amelie smiled. “A little hot under the collar, perhaps?”

  Hot under the...

  I put on a contemplative frown as I traced the length of the brook, following it with my eyes where it snaked through the underbrush. It formed a narrow tunnel going straight before twisting left and disappearing into the mist. For some reason, the fish seemed to prefer this lower section, as it had yet to move off despite my best efforts to end its life.

  It was then that an idea struck me. If I could somehow close off this part of the brook, then maybe...

  I started looking around for a suitable stone or clump of dirt I could use as a barricade. As I searched, Amelie watched with a curious expression.

  "What are you planning now?" she asked.

  "Trying something different," I replied, still with my eyes on the ground.

  After a few moments, I found a hefty stone that seemed perfect for my impromptu plan. It took some effort, but I managed to roll it to the edge of the water, strategically placing it to partially dam the flow downstream, creating an enclosed space with the fish in the middle.

  “Cutting off the escape route?” Amelie said. “Interesting.”

  “Oh, I’m doing more than that. Just watch,” I said, getting to my knees by the side of the brook and sticking one hand into the cold water. The other, I placed upon a patch of grass nearby, feeling the sodden earth beneath my fingers. Then, I closed my eyes, and opened my mind to the immaterial.

  At once, the world regressed into achromatic shapes adorned with white crystal. Streams of Astra flowing in abundance through the ground beneath me, providing nourishment to the soil and the creatures that lived within. The essence of purity, untainted by man nor beast.

  I called upon a fraction of it, allowing it to use my body as a vessel, filtered by the sigil on my back.

  Somewhere far in the distance, I heard Amelie say something, but her words were drowned out by the hum of Astra. Stonefather, how good it felt to wield it like this. The way it tingled beneath the skin, and crawled up my spine. Like a radiant sun melting away the chill of decrepitude and feebleness.

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  I took a deep breath, and commanded it to transform. To emit warmth from my left hand, in order to rapidly heat the water surrounding it. The Astra was only too happy to oblige.

  At once, every single ounce of it converted itself to pure heat, resulting in a veritable conflagration of my limb. A loud hissing sound exploded from the brook as the water was brought to a flash-boil and evaporated in an instant, letting slip a mighty column of vapor that rose towards the heavens.

  I let out a yelp of shock, and withdrew both of my hands immediately. Behind me, I heard Amelie give a startled cry, taken aback by the sudden display of power.

  “W-Woah...” I said, blinking rapidly. “I did not mean to do that.”

  Staring into the now empty bowl of dried mud that had once housed a small ecosystem, I spotted the fish from earlier laying on its side, a thin stream of smoke rising from its corpse. It had been boiled alive in the blink of an eye.

  A prolonged silence followed in the wake of my stunt.

  “Well,” Amelie said at last, looking somewhat rattled. “That is one way to do it, I suppose.”

  /-0-\

  Back at the campsite, Amelie set about teaching me how to clean and gut the fish, a task I had only ever seen others perform. It proved messy work, as I gingerly went about removing the slimy entrails coated in blood whilst taking care not to puncture the stomach. It took some doing, but I was able to prepare the fish for cooking, skewering it on a stick and setting it over our campfire.

  As the meal sizzled and crackled over the open flame, Amelie found her seat next to me, observing my progress with a hint of amusement and approval.

  “You did well with that,” she said, nodding towards the primitive spit I had constructed to grill the fish. “Not at all bad for someone who was struggling to catch it just moments before.”

  I could not help but grin at her words, a sense of accomplishment warming me from within. "Thanks. I suppose unconventional methods do get the job done sometimes."

  “I would have to agree,” she said, before a thoughtful mood overcame her. “And, speaking of unconventional, I may have thought of another application for your idea.”

  “Oh?” I asked.

  “It is one more suited for training purposes, with a pleasant boon on the side. We shall have to save it for later though, I think,” she said. “Once we get out of this mist- choked forest.”

  “Yeah, about that...” I said. “Please tell me we’re not as lost as I think we are.”

  “Oh, no.” She shook her head. “We are most certainly lost. But not to worry... we still have my compass.”

  Fishing the strange contraption out of her pocket, she held it up for me to see. The spherical center of the instrument, surrounded by eight slender spokes, remained motionless, wiped clean of any lingering stains of blood.

  “Where did you even get that thing?” I asked. “It doesn’t seem like the kind of compass you would just happen to stumble upon at a roadside market.”

  “No, that much is true,” she said. “This compass was made specifically for me, by a friend of the family. It is quite unique.”

  “But what does it point to?” I tried, hoping for an answer this time. She had deftly avoided giving me any real clues as to its true purpose and origin thus far, but now, the need to know burned bright in my chest, and I sensed that I would not be willing to let the matter rest without a proper response.

  She leaned back slightly, her eyes coming to rest on me. "The compass points to the essence of that which was taken from me. It is a guide, but a subtle one."

  “An excellent non-answer,” I said, nodding sagely. “Now for the real one, if you please.”

  She let out a brief sigh of exasperation. “It points to my mother’s corpse,” she said. “Encased in glass within my father’s castle in Benadiel.”

  My mind came to a reeling halt as soon as the words had left her mouth.

  “What?” I blinked.

  “It is a long story,” she said, looking down as she pressed the tip of her finger against one of the spires, drawing blood. “One I may feel inclined to share once we are free of this cursed forest.”

  The weight of her statement hung heavy in the air, stirring a mix of curiosity and concern within me. I wanted to ask more, to delve deeper into her story, but I sensed pain and reluctance in her words. Thus, I simply nodded, acknowledging that some tales were best shared in their own time.

  Once the fish was cooked to perfection, we enjoyed our breakfast in companionable silence. The flavors of the freshly caught meal were a welcome change from our usual rations, even with the lack of spice. Once finished, we doused the remnants of the fire with water from the non-evaporated part of the brook, and packed up our campsite. As we stood at the edge of the clearing, Amelie glanced at the compass once more.

  "It is pointing that way," she said, gesturing in a direction that seemed to lead deeper into the heart of the forest.

  I took a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever lay ahead. “Then lead the way.”

  /-0-\

  The mist ebbed and flowed as we passed, opening in brief partings to reveal glimpses of distant shapes, only to engulf them once more in ethereal oblivion. It was difficult to know how far we had traveled, for there were no landmarks or notable geographical features by which to navigate. Telling the time was likewise a problematic endeavor, as we could not see how far the sun had crossed upon the sky. Thus, we were forced to travel in ignorance, blind as to the length and duration of our journey.

  My lower back was groaning in agony, a result of the onerous and grueling bouts of horseback riding it had been subjected to. Prior to my arrival in Alwaar, I had never so much as sat upon a horse before. Now, I had traveled hundreds of miles on one, and my body was none too pleased with the change.

  Stonefather, how I miss cars, I thought to myself with a forlorn sigh, before a sudden realization struck me. Wait, when did I start using the term ‘Stonefather’ so readily?

  It had not been that long since my first night here, waking up in those woods on the outskirts of Galwen. The world had seemed a terrifying place back then, so very alien compared to the life I had known. A reality in which humanity struggled upon the carcass of a dying planet, screaming out in defiance of the wicked things that threatened to consume them all.

  And yet, despite the horrors and the challenges and the constant threat of death, there was a strange allure to it all. A cadence found only in the depths of true hardship, a sense of purpose and discovery far outweighing anything I had ever felt back in my own world.

  In fact, as time went on, I found myself missing my old life less and less. The pain of loss that had once been so present had faded into a dull ache, as the memories of my friends and family drifted further and further away, to be replaced by the new and immediate.

  There was no danger in Westbrook, for we had conquered nature long before I was born. There was no inconvenience in Westbrook, for we had constructed mechanical wonders to ease all burdens that had once plagued us. There was no excitement in Westbrook, for all that threatened to upset the delicate balance of placidity was eliminated with a swiftness, for daring to impose upon the realm of human leisure.

  Contrasted against the life I lead here, in a world devoid of such comforts, it seemed at once starkly dull and mundane. For how was one supposed to feel free in a world of cages?

  I turned my gaze upon Amelie, her raven curls flowing down her back in a billowing cascade. She rode with grace born of familiarity, her posture relaxed yet alert, always attuned to the subtle shifts in the mist and the forest around us.

  A person like her could never exist in my old world, I thought. She was a product of her unique environment, at once fiercely independent and brave, yet retaining the ability to love and nurture. I admired her, fancied her, and envied her, all at the same time. How conflicting an emotion that was. How intoxicating.

  “I can feel you staring, you know,” she said, disrupting my thoughts. “Is something amiss?”

  “No, no,” I said. “Just... thinking, is all.”

  “Thinking,” she said, cocking her head. “You do that a lot, it seems.”

  I let out a half-hearted chuckle.

  “Well, there’s a lot to consider,” I started. “But yeah, I suppose I do spend a lot of time in my own head.”

  “That is not necessarily a bad thing,” she said. “One can benefit greatly from measured deliberation. But you mustn’t lose yourself to it. If you spend every waking moment considering the world and your place in it, you will eventually forget how to live.”

  “Oh, that’s not a problem,” I said, tightening my grip around her waist. “I feel very much alive right now, sitting here with you.”

  A thoughtful silence followed in the wake of my statement. I felt her body tense beneath my arms, her spine growing rigid and unyielding.

  “That is a dangerous thing to say,” she began, measuring her words carefully. “A girl might get the wrong idea.”

  I ran back the conversation in my head, realizing at once that I may have just crossed an unspoken boundary. The tension in her body spoke volumes, and I did not want to make her uncomfortable.

  “Sorry,” I said, loosening my hold on her waist. “I didn’t mean to overstep.”

  Amelie relaxed slightly, her posture softening as she glanced over her shoulder at me. “It’s alright,” she said. “I know you did not mean anything by it.”

  But I did, I thought to myself. And that’s what scares me.

  “... Have I upset you?” she asked some time later, and I sensed the humor in her voice.

  “Well, it always hurts to be rejected by a beautiful girl,” I said in a jesting tone.

  “Mmm,” she hummed, a smile tugging at her lips. “That may be so, but I do not recall any such rejection taking place.”

  It took me a couple of seconds to grasp what she was getting at.

  “O-Oh,” I said at last, somewhat meekly. “I see.”

  A melodic laugh sounded in response. “What's wrong?” she said. “Misplaced your bravery?”

  ... So that was how she wanted to play it.

  “My bravery is very much intact, my lady,” I said. “It's more so restraint that I struggle with.”

  “Oh, really?” she smirked. “And what, pray tell, is it about the current situation that is testing your restraint?”

  “Hmm...” I said, leaning across her shoulder to the point where my lips were mere inches from her ear. “I think you already know the answer to that.”

  A noticeable shiver ran through her body at my words. She tried to mask it with a shrug, but it was a futile effort. I could see the gooseflesh rising upon her neck clear as day.

  “Flattery will get you nowhere, you know,” she said, fixing her gaze firmly upon the road ahead.

  “Oh, who said I was trying to get anywhere?” I replied, enjoying the banter. “In fact, I think I’m right where I want to be.”

  “Hah!” she smirked. “How terribly brazen. I have half a mind to push you from this horse, you know.”

  “You wouldn’t,” I said, sounding more certain than I felt.

  “Hmm... No, I would not,” she admitted. “Though it would be amusing if I did.”

  “Amusing for you, maybe,” I grumbled, leaning back with a frown. I could have sworn I had her there for a second.

  “Oh, it looks like I have upset you again,” she smiled. “My apologies. I seem to have a knack for it.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I waved. “Keep talking. I’ll find a way to upstage you some day.”

  “I shall look forward to it,” she said, guiding Brom around the rotted trunk of a fallen tree.

  Though the conversation had reached a natural endpoint, I felt as if something had shifted between us. The lifting of invisible chains, perhaps, which had heretofore burdened us with their unseen weight. And though Amelie yet hid plenty of secrets within herself, it felt as if I was slowly getting to know her, on a level that went beyond mere circumstance.

  I’m falling in love with her, I thought, sensing the truth of it deeply. And I don’t know what to do about it.

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