[Skell]
"It's not too late to change your name," Cynthine urged me at her doorstep. "Needless to say, a skeleton going by 'Skell' is hardly subtle."
I rubbed at my neck, pressing the dull warmth of the morning sun into my false flesh. She was completely right. Not that I'd ever admit it.
"Know what is subtle?" I pivoted, tugging at my skin. "This lifelike glamour. I could wear a sign labelled 'I'm dead' and people still won't have a clue."
She crossed her arms, wearing decades of pride on her youthful face. "The glamour is what concerns me. My masterwork of a disguise - seen through due to a horrid choice of name? What a tragedy."
"That's the problem?" I slouched. "Not the part where I get burned at the stake?"
"I don't know," Oliver shrugged beside me, his shoulder seeming better. "I'm so used to calling Skell… Skell. Anything else wouldn't feel right."
"Goodness," sighed Cynthine. "You two are clearly adamant about keeping it - who am I to campaign for its riddance? All I can do is give a word of warning."
Whew, doesn't seem like she's figured out why I won't budge.
If she did, I'd never get to unlive it down. After that big debate about my glamour being a temporary skin until I came back to life, I couldn't turn around and say I'd gotten attached to a name of all things. Especially a stupid one.
"I see you're acting your age again," I said, "and after we had so much fun around town yesterday. I appreciate the concern, but it's just a word."
"This pertains to more than mere words," she ignored my jab. "The world is big. Mean. There is much to know, much I could teach you two - but no time for you to stop and learn. Oliver, keep him in line. He's bound to land in trouble otherwise. Or worse, damage the precious mirror I lent him."
Lent? my eyes narrowed. Of course, I knew it was a joke. Not that the thing was exactly a gift, either. More like a pawning off of old junk, considering the one in my pocket was about a decade old and no match for the shiny present I gave the old witch.
Still, she didn't need it anymore, and thought I'd like to gawk at her handiwork - my own face - when the mood struck me.
She wasn't wrong.
"Of course, Miss Cynthine," Oliver straightened. "I'll watch him like a hawk!"
"Hey!" I threw up my arms. "Why am I the one being treated like a kid here; I might be older than both of you."
Cynthine slipped into a dry laugh. "Unlikely. Now, run along you two. Selem City and Amara await. Hopefully all will fall into place once you reach them. As Ansel predicted."
"It will," I said. "And once I'm flesh and blood again, we'll meet back up here again, right?"
"Yeah!" Oliver beamed at me. "We'll eat and drink everything they sell in the Lower Layer - and we'll bring Amara!"
Cynthine's expression carried an air of bittersweetness. "You two… My home will surely be less chaotic once you depart. And… more quiet."
She exhaled, then put on an uncharacteristically warm smile. "Farewell, boys. And don't do anything worthy of a scolding."
—————————————————————————————————
"…Sorry, Skell," Oliver walked with weighty steps.
"Huh?" I peered at him under the edge of my hood. "For what?"
"For yesterday," his eyes traced the lines between the brick road. "Remember, you told us about that memory you had in jail. About your mom."
Oh, right. Should've known he was quiet for a reason.
"Miss Cynthine and I talked about it this morning," he told me, "but we still don't know how we can help."
I took in my surroundings. Lower Layer's bustling as usual. You're still a hot topic, Skell. Don't gather unwanted attention.
My voice lowered. "Oliver, my jumbled memories aren't your fault. It rubs me raw, being fed my past life in crumbs, but I'll get by. You were off stuffing your face in that crêpe stall, so you didn't hear, but Cynthine told me to let my memories come on their own time. She's right, I think. At least it can't be slower than wracking my brain all night just to remember nothing."
"…Yeah. I reckon it wouldn't do to worry."
It could hear it in his voice. He felt bad about my "condition" for sure, but he was equally bummed about leaving Belza Hill - Cynthine most of all. They were each other's last remnant of Ansel; I couldn't imagine how it felt to separate after so short a time together. There wasn't much I could do to help matters. But I could at least hurry along a meeting with another key person.
I pointed. "Up ahead, see it? That's the place I told you about; the one I saw the other day."
Oliver followed my finger to the building at the street's corner. With one story of stone, one wood, and a host of windows, I got the impression that the guild valued three things: a solid foundation, unity with nature, and transparency.
That, or I was just overly optimistic.
"Escort Guild?" he read the wide sign aloud, each letter bigger than his head. Oliver's eyes moved higher, stopping at a symbol of a boot and shield. "Are you sure about this place, Skell? We can travel on our own. We've done it already."
"More than once I've overheard people saying the further north you go in Lumerit, the worse the danger. Even the patrolled roads aren't guaranteed to stay free of fangs and blades."
I let a smile slip beneath my hood. "Plus, it's not like we can't afford it. Why gamble on survival when we can bank on safety?"
My eyes moved back to the approaching building, its blue and orange flags waving in the breeze. I just hope it's the kind of escort we're looking for.
—————————————————————————————————
We barely cracked the door open when a voice floated toward us from across the lobby.
"Welcome to the Escort Guild, where security is our specialty," a mint-haired clerk recited with all the enthusiasm of a beached whale. "How may we help you?"
Her pale, half-closed eyes didn't spark with recognition as she watched me lift my hood. Good, she hasn't seen my face before. That'll make this simpler.
I skimmed the guildhouse's interior. We were the only people inside the lobby, save for a steel and furs-draped man who seemed to scoff at every paper pinned to a nearby line of bulletin boards. Jobs, I figured.
My eyes drifted back to the left, where the slender clerk leaned, rhythmically tapping impatient nails on the wooden countertop.
"We'd like an escort. Er, for traveling," I added.
"Where?" she stabbed a thumb at the massive map on the wall behind her. The entirety of Lumerit was displayed within its corners, so detailed I almost expected to see myself.
The clerk watched us come for a closer look. "Below are a few rods." She began to point toward a cup of them before the motion fell lazily to her side. "Point to your destination."
I stopped at the counter. "We won't need them. We're headed straight to the capital. You guys go that far, right?"
"All the time." She forced herself to stand straight, retrieving a quill and paper from behind the counter. "Pencil you in for two weeks from today, okey dokey?"
Oliver's face sank. "Terrific! We have to set out today!"
…Terrific? You mean terrible?
"He's right… sorta," I said. "We've a bit - no - a lot of a schedule to keep."
"So does everyone ahead of you," she replied, before deciding we deserved something of an explanation. "There's too many escortees, see? Not enough escorts."
They're that shorthanded? I… figure that makes sense with all the trade around here. But if it's a choice between risk, or an agonizing delay - I'd prefer a third option.
I slipped into a friendly smile like it was a nice suit, tapping Oliver's arm behind the counter: the signal to let me do the talking. "What would this trip cost, exactly?"
"You clearly aren't part of the Trader's Guild," she noted, "so you're looking at the standard rate of twenty silver per mile. Sixteen gold rounds up front for safe passage to the capital."
Sixteen? Talk about steep… good thing we're carrying a vault!
"That's a fair price," I raised my brows. "Really fair, actually. I was ready to leave double that on the table."
Her glassy stare remained blank.
I worked to keep up my smile. "But then, the Guild would've only needed half. The rest could've went anywhere. Too bad we can't spend any of it; two week's just so far away."
A handful of gold rounds - double the asking price - fell from my hand and piled on the counter. "Unless you'd be willing to pull us a small favor?"
"I don't take bribes, sir." The clerk's face didn't stir an inch.
"Wha- this isn't a bribe!" I blurted.
"Then what is it?"
"A… persuasive donation?"
Come on, you hate your job, don't you? Just take our money!
Footsteps approached from behind. Before I could turn to the noise's source, a thick arm slid across the counter and swept away the golden pile like poker chips.
"Hey!' Oliver shouted before I could open my mouth. "That's our money, thief! Give it back!"
Beside us loomed the same man from earlier, unbothered by Oliver's exclamation. Burrowed deep inside a pelt of a beard, his lips twitched. "Settle down, kid," he muttered quietly. "Thieves don't make legal transactions."
The gears visibly turned in Oliver's head. "You work here?"
"Not for long," the clerk said dryly. "Taking money under the table, passing over scheduled jobs? Carlyle, the guildmaster will-"
"To the Abyss with the guildmaster," sniped Carlyle, kettle helmet darkening his eyes. "The sot pays in peanuts, anyway."
"Whatever," she rolled her eyes. "Your neck, not mine."
"Hold on," I tried not to look directly at the man's intimidating face, "you're gonna escort us to the capital?"
His gaze pierced me, then flicked to the backpack we carried. "You're already packed. I'll be outside. Don't take too long with the paperwork."
The escort pocketed half - apparently his half - of the rounds, then lumbered for the exit before we knew what to reply with. Shouldering through the door, he stood against the nearby window with his eyes on the gold in his palm.
"Um, are we going?" Oliver asked. "He can probably keep us safe, but he ain't very… polite."
I was just as skeptical, but I had to make some sort of decision. "He has our money. If he's getting his end of the deal, so should we."
Besides, I'd rather not ask him for it back.
"Then it's decided?" the clerk asked. Rhetorically of course, since she immediately slapped several papers on the counter. "Well, against the rules or not, my guildmaster still expects the fee - and your signatures."
"Right." I took the quill she handed me, the embarrassment from the failed not-bribe keeping my eyes low.
We got exactly what we wanted, didn't we? So why do I feel like a sucker?
—————————————————————————————————
From the humble hill we walked atop, Oliver and I couldn't help but look back.
Shrinking in the distance was the layered town of Belza Hill, still as enormous as a lone mountain amidst an sea of bumpy plains. I engraved the image in my mind, then turned back to the wide path: a strip of brown among the endless green.
Oliver didn't do the same.
"I know," he smiled, having noticed I watched him. "We'll be back. I'm fine. No, wait, better than fine."
"You sure?" I asked.
"Of course! I forgot how it feels to have a new road in front of us! Hey, mister Carlyle, do you like traveling too?"
For his absolutely fascinating answer, the escort just grunted.
"Sir?" Oliver asked. "Did you hear me? Sir? Sir? Si-"
"Sun above, kid!" He shot back, already a fair distance ahead. "It's my job, travelin'. Don't love it or hate it. Satisfied?"
"Hey," I fixed my eyes on him. "He's just asking a question."
"Askin', answerin', don't matter," he shook his head and helmet. "None o' us should waste breath with chitchat. Especially you, purple. You don't strike me as a man of endurance."
Me? I fumed. You're the one with lungs!
"He… might be right, Skell," Oliver's shoulders hung low. "I don't want to slow us down; Amara's waiting. I'll… try not to talk so much."
"What?" I hesitated. "Oliver, you don't have to…"
"Good call," said the escort. "Now pick up the pace. We've five long days on the road."
My mouth shot open, just for nothing to leave it. Though there was much to say.
Maybe he was being a little annoying, but if you're gonna act so callous…
I sighed. Relax, Skell. You can't just go around picking fights with everyone bigger than you. Even if they are asking for bony knuckles to the face. Besides, his services might be necessary to reach Selem in one piece. For now, we're just gonna have to deal with him.
————————————————————————————————————–
Try closing your eyes in Lumerit. Then pick a direction and walk for a half hour.
Let's say you didn't fall off a cliff or bloody your nose on a dozen trees. You'd, without fail, end up in an entirely different environment than where you started. And I'm only slightly exaggerating.
The way the land shifted in elevation, biome, fauna and flora almost made me question my sanity. Not far north of Belza Hill, the earth became barren and arid and cracked. So much that the land itself was fractured. Wide chasms split the ground with no way across save for raggedy bridges built who-knows-when.
Then within a day's travel, the land steadily mended, grew healthier. By noon the drylands were behind us and we'd entered a paradise of flowers that almost seemed alive, swaying under the clear sky in perfect harmony. Peaceful insects pollinated the flowers I carefully avoided trampling, and despite his watery eyes and constant sneezing, I could tell Oliver wanted to stop and smell the bountiful roses.
But our northward march didn't slow - the escort wouldn't let it. Not until the third day.
"Hey," I asked from the left of our triangle-shaped group, speaking for the first time in hours. "I've got a question."
The escort didn't reply. He just kept leading us through the swamp, unbothered by the green fog in the air. Gray trees bent at sharp angles, and the desiccated, similarly-tall mushrooms leaned oddly, but past any few of those in every direction, the haze was too thick. Anything could lurk beyond its veil.
But that wasn't my biggest concern - though, Abyss, it wasn't small by any means.
Oliver's noticed too. Had to. Probably would've spoken up before me if he hadn't been muzzled. I forced my teeth to quit grinding. No, don't let that distract you. You need to figure out what's going on.
"The road," I said. "I haven't seen it since last night. Are we… still going the right way?"
"…Yes," the man finally said, swatting at a cloud of mosquitos.
I almost assumed he'd ignore me. But I needed more than a brusque confirmation.
"Follow-up question: is this the safe path?" Another dark puddle splashed under my boot, now outnumbering the patches of overdamp grass. I was worlds away from being considered a survivalist, but even I knew we weren't on a well-beaten trail.
"It's the quick path. A shortcut."
I stopped still. "Hold it. We left the safe roads to cross this murk instead? Look at this place. If monsters were to live anywhere, it'd be here. Oliver and I didn't even agree to this route."
The escort kept walking, but somewhere between steps, realized this wouldn't go away. "Yes, you did."
"What?"
"The guildhouse," he half-turned, shooting me a dirty look. "You have a schedule to keep, you said. I'm keeping it."
"No, you're focused on your time," I accused. "You've been rushing us ever since we left Belza Hill."
Suddenly the escort turned around and quickly stood over me. Chills were instant. "This is my last escort job. I quit, the guild just don't know it yet. I still guide you as a courtesy. So don't test my patience."
I stepped back, sweat building at my forehead. A part of me wanted to talk back. Say something scathing, something vile. But fear and sense kept my tongue in check.
"I thought so. Now-"
Something shifted in the corner of my eye: Oliver, his bow nocked with an arrow.
"O-Oliver?" I asked. Even the escort watched him closely, tensing up.
"I hear something." He turned his head one way, then the other. "Is that…?"
My attention turned to the swamps' sounds. Ribbitting frogs, buzzing mosquitos, slopping puddles, and-
A scream.
"I hear it too!" I focused. "It sounds like-"
Another scream.
"A girl!" Grimness overtook Oliver's face. He spun around, eyes locked ahead. "This way!"
He took off into the fog without hesitation. Unlike me. Oliver, we don't know what we're running into. The girl could be surrounded by monsters! We should-
I shut my eyes.
…We should help her.
"Wait!" the escort grabbed my shoulder, stopping me just as I started. "Leave him. The boy is lost."
I turned back. "Get off me! Oliver isn't going alone!"
His grip tightened. "You fool, liste-
"Hand of Decay!" I shouted, my hand sparking with devilish green energy. I waved it toward the bearded man and he jerked away.
My hand stopped short anyway - I never intended to grip him with the art. But I froze. Looking at my hand. Looking at myself. The escort seemed to hesitate too.
I snapped out of it. Diverting all thought to Oliver, I turned and ran after him.
—————————————————————————————————
Was Oliver always this fast!?
I moved as quick as I could past haunting trees and way-too-huge mushrooms. Yet even with heightened speed thanks to my Shroud, he only became more distant in the thickening fog.
He probably used his, too. Cynthine made sure to teach him the basics of Shrouds before we left. But that didn't explain the whole of it.
Oliver's almost as quick as Hyland - at only fifteen? If he stays sharp, he could end up just like-
Shade! I dropped the thought. I'm losing sight of him!
He took a sudden turn, then another - his body delving further into the blanket of green haze.
No! Pull it together and move!
But at the end of the day, I was a creature of bone - not muscle. I couldn't push my body beyond its limits, and as a novice my Shroud only gifted so much power. When even the sound of Oliver's panting became obscured in the haze, I stopped.
He's lost in this stupid fog! And so am I! I paced around - alone in the swamp - unsure of what to do. I should've called for him. But would he have even waited? Someone's out there, in danger.
I shook my head. I need to keep moving. Even if it's the wrong direction, it's better than no direction!
Choosing to a path, I forge a ahead and picked up speed. It wasn't long until I slowed again. A tree as mangled as the rest stood at my right. This one however, carried a circular hollow in its center.
One I'd seen before.
What in the Abyss? I… Deja vu, must be. I need to keep going.
But after more sprinting through the fog, I came to another standstill. The hollowed tree stood there again, almost mocking me. Soon I noticed it wasn't just the tree but the entire scene. The array of puddles, a fallen mushroom - even a determined snail that barely moved an inch since I last saw it. Maybe I was being mocked.
There's no denying it; I've been here before. But that doesn't make sense!
Confusion darted my eyes in every direction. 'Till they stopped at the murky puddle between my feet, displaying my reflection.
My glamour.
Unless… this is some sort of illusion?
The haze! I realized. It's felt off ever since Oliver bolted. Something about it must be playing with my eyes, or dragging me back to this spot, or both. But if I can't trust my eyes, how am I gonna get past it?
In a race of thoughts, I brainstormed. Given more time I'd like to think a more elegant experiment would've came to me. But every second was precious, and your first idea was rarely the classiest.
I bent down and dug out a handful of mud. Quickly I packed it into a ball, then hurled it with all my strength into the haze ahead.
When a ball of mud pelted me in the back of the head, I felt pretty stupid. Yet deep within that feeling of slowness was a spur of understanding.
I grabbed another two mud balls. One was launched to my left - and subsequently flew from my right into the puddle below. And the one I threw to my right… never returned.
H-huh? Wait.
I stared into the fog at my right. And a smirk unfurled across my face.
———————————————————————————–——————
With an arm's worth of mud balls, I threw and threw like no tomorrow.
Most flew behind, past, or into me - but that was okay. Because the ones that didn't? They were my guide. Since Oliver didn't end up where I did, he must've taken some sort of "correct" path. One I'd follow.
New parts of the swamp spread out before me. A small bog, patches of venus flytraps - Abyss, I even saw a salamander the size of a kid.
But there wasn't time to stop and stare. Oliver needed me.
And eventually, the fog let up.
Between a thick gathering of trees and mushrooms beckoned a wide clearing. I shimmied through the gap and immediately turned stock-still.
Here, the fog lifted slightly, revealing how few trees dotted the clearing. And by few, I mean one. One clearly unlike the others. It extended high in the dead center of the clearing. Healthy. Brown and oak-like. Almost big enough for someone to live inside and with a wide enough canopy to soak up what little sun shined in the swamp.
Other trees were spread out at an equal distance around it, as if they were afraid of the healthy one. Or if those that used to be closer were no longer alive.
But something more important sat at the base of the lone tree: our backpack, dropped on its side. Most of its contents littered the grass like someone hastily sorted through them in a mad search. The line of things, from rope to bread to a shovel to the dozen pouches of gold rounds led right a pale-faced Oliver.
Oliver, and the "woman" lying on the grass in front of him.
"Here, I found it!" he hurriedly grabbed a bottle of salve we bought back in Belza Hill, along with a cloth. "I'm sorry," he knelt, "but I reckon I'll have to lift your blouse - just to the middle of your belly."
A blouse?
She wore no such thing. No clothes at all, actually. Her skin, rigid and bare and wooden like the bark of a tree - that was what I saw. Branches dropped down her head like faux braids. What passed eyes fixed onto Oliver's - two of what I first thought to be amber gemstones.
A mistake. Those eyes were something else: hardened tree resin - hungry and sadistic.
Oliver didn't seem to notice her strange appearance, or the ruthless look in her gaze. He simply wore a friendly smile while lowering the cloth to her wooden stomach. There was no wound to clean. Not yet.
Behind his back, the woman's wooden arm rested in the grass. It lifted out of Oliver's view, the bark coiling around itself. At the end, her knuckles and fingers dislocated and morphed into a honed edge.
Horror reached into my chest and gripped tight.
What was once the woman's arm was now a twisting stake of sharpened wood.
Pointed directly at Oliver's heart.