Chapter 34: Forget Me Not (Patreon)

The bronze wall, vine-covered and twice his height, appeared in the middle of the forest as if from nowhere. The metal was dull and green from age. Elliot glanced up and down its extent nervously, unable to see far enough through the trees to determine where it curved. The flight had been longer than he’d expected, their broadback taking them at least thirty miles west. Hadrian had walked him a mile or two from where they’d been dropped off, then left, telling him to continue on straight until he saw something obviously out of place. Elliot was back in leather armor, and instead of the knife, he held the Ghost Eye clutched in his hand.

Last night had been deeply uncomfortable for several reasons. Physically, the constant sense that he was about to fall had kept him in a state of persistent adrenaline release. Socially, having to let out little yelps while walking by pedestrians on the branch—only escaping notice at the bitter end of his several hours of training—had been its own special brand of torture.

By the end though, he’d been able to avoid attention after crying out while close to passersby  several times in a row. It was an interesting effect. Not invisibility, people had known to step around him with no trouble, but more of a dampening of his sense of significance.

It was going to be harder in the warren. In Tular, as in any city, people were largely looking to get where they were going and avoid inconvenient strangers along the way. The beasts here would not be so ambivalent, and Breka had emphasized that he would have to use the item sparingly, and only as an accessory to basic stealth.

He grasped the thin, worked metal strands of the gate in front of him, and slowly pushed it open. The forest vanished beyond the entrance, shifting to gently rolling hills covered with grass, small wildflowers, and stones. So many stones. Massive boulders jutted from the earth, craggy and rough, some standing twice Elliot’s height or more. They stood close enough together to block any view off into the distance, and made it impossible to guess what obstacles might lie ahead.

Elliot touched a hand to his pack, took a deep breath, and moved forward.

The stones were tall enough to leave the ways between them in shadow. He tried to step softly, easing around corners after taking quick peeks while low to the ground, in case there was anything silently waiting.

When he lost his first minute, it almost didn’t register. One second he was approaching a corner, and the next he was padding gently across a ten-foot clearing on his way to a new stone. When he glanced back, feeling off-kilter, the pattern of the rocks behind him was unrecognizable.

Peering back, he took a few steps to his left, then frowned. He could’ve sworn he was just about to duck out of cover. The granite had still been in front of him, covered in blue-grey lichen, and his chest had been tight as he crouched down to take a quick glance around the corner.

Then….then I walked across this open area? He spun a full three-sixty degrees, taking in everything. Nothing looked right. Did I just hallucinate? He clenched both hands into fists, then released them as he took a slow breath and continued to walk. He had to stay focused.

The next minute was more obvious. He’d taken a moment to appraise the vibrant red flowers at the base of one of the stones, and just as he’d been about to activate [Detailed Appraisal] he was instead halfway around the same rock moving into the next clearing. He froze, his heart starting to drum.

What’s happening? Is this an attack? He flipped the switch on the Ghost Eye and forced himself to sit with the feeling of vertigo for almost a minute, the falling sensation causing a swell of nausea. When he couldn’t take it anymore, he switched it off, panting. What were the steps he’d just taken? He’d been about to appraise the flowers—

His heart rate skyrocketed. He had appraised them. They were red trilliums, a common local perennial species, and somehow that information was in his head despite his memory clearly ending right before activating [Detailed Appraisal]. That was very, very bad.

Elliot retreated back behind the stone, crouching down and looking around frantically. Was there some kind of hallucinogen in the air? Was something eating his memories? 

Panic was getting harder to suppress. His eyes darted back and forth constantly, trying to pick up anything out of place. There was no discomfort, no sense of injury. How was he supposed to fight something that might not even exist? Only a few minutes passed between the two episodes he’d noticed, so if whatever was happening was on a timer, it was about to happen again.

The lantern was his only idea. Flipping the switch back on, he rose to his feet and had to brace himself on the granite surface to keep from falling. Striding forward jerkily, he didn’t bother with a careful screening of the turn, instead lurching out into the clearing. 

This one was only about five feet of grass, the next trio of boulders right ahead, each roughly twice his height. He moved deliberately, bracing himself with each step and trying to ride the line between being slow enough to keep his balance while still covering ground as fast as possible. 

Then he was standing in the middle of a new patch of grass. He hissed, dropping the lantern and spinning in a circle. Again! Damnit.

The trio of rocks—now behind him—loomed ominously. This clearing was larger, about twenty feet across, and it was full of small yellow and blue flowers. Closing his eyes, he tried to think, and to control his breathing. Whatever was doing this didn’t seem to be hurting him, just erasing memories. Would it only happen if he was moving? How would he even know it had happened if he held still?

In a flash of inspiration, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the silver he’d received back in Bastogne, with its sun and tree motifs. He crouched down and used its edge to score a long, thin line into the dirt in front of him. Then he placed the coin at the bottom of the line, and started a slow count in his mind. When he reached five, he flipped the coin forward up the line, then began to count again.

When the next loss happened, it was immediately apparent. The coin jumped forward almost a foot, and he found himself in the middle of flipping it, where in his mind he’d still been in the process of a five second count.

So it’s a minute of loss, and it doesn’t matter if I move. 

There was a part of him that wanted to retreat immediately. He didn’t understand what was happening, and the fact that his memories were being targeted was deeply freaking him out. But this was his chance to move forward. Breka had given the go-ahead, and she seemed to have a very specific plan. If he turned back now, who was to say another opportunity would come around any time soon? He was tired of floating along. Rowan was out there somewhere, tens of thousands of miles away, across territory so dangerous that society itself had yet to map it, and he was a [Merchant of Antiquities] at the very bottom of his potential for progression. Something needed to change.

Barter was his only history with mental warfare, and it had been a lopsided experience. No matter how often he played, Breka had smashed his will aside with the same casual ease every time. 

The only real strength he’d ever felt he possessed in this world was his sight. There was something in his head that gave him an advantage. He didn’t understand it, but it was his nonetheless. His skill functioned better than it should, he could see the blue-white clouds, he could examine the figurine. He’d made it track the invisible steppelander in the warehouse. He could do this.

It was almost time for the next skip. Elliot activated [Detailed Appraisal], targeted the silver coin, and immediately spun his vortex—making a conscious effort to pull as slowly as possible. 

Information started to flow in. The silver had been minted in a town called Tusard in northern Remmir roughly eleven years ago. It had changed hands too many times to get an accurate look at any one bearer.

As the energy started to slow, he tried to gently increase the pressure on the vortex. The silver was part of a shared coinage system maintained by a network of nations in the north of Condyn, the same network that shared Common as a language. There was a great working of magic that had a tiny resonance with each silver coin, something it was linked to during its minting, the overarching goal of which was beyond him. 

He pushed harder, any gentleness forgotten, straining to keep the skill active. He hadn’t felt a memory wipe, but did that mean anything? It must happen at the end of the lost minute, not the beginning. Or maybe this was a fool’s errand and the timing wasn’t as predictable as he’d thought.

Then a wave of something like a soft electric current passed through his body. His mind tilted on its axis, slipping away like it was rolling over the edge of a hill. He yanked on the vortex, feeling himself fading away, feeling loss—

More information arrived. The coin’s last owner had been Yehi, a [Merchant of Leathers], who had acquired it back in Remmir in exchange for some kind of plain beast hide—

He returned to himself, trembling. That had clearly been a mental attack. He’d been close to losing time even while being mid-skill, but something about the vortex had kept him grounded.

Critically, he’d also learned that the attack came at the very end of the minute that it stole. That meant about two minutes between attacks. He could work with that.

The next fifteen minutes were some of the most stressful of his entire life. When he thought the attack was about to hit—judged by keeping constant count in his mind—he’d activate [Detailed Appraisal] and target the coin. There was no new information, but the ritual of spinning the vortex as slowly as possible then slamming it when he felt the current kept his memory intact.

Each time felt like a battle, but each time the effect lessened slightly as well, almost like his mind was becoming resistant now that the wave was palpable. Elliot could feel his energy draining, and it became a race. Every pull on the vortex tired him further, and every time the current passed through his body he could throw off the mental disorientation faster.

During the sixth loop, the ethera in his core gave out. It was right before the attack started, just as he’d begun to spin the vortex, and terror surged within him. The current hit, his mind tilted, and he gritted his teeth and held on.

Then it passed, and his memory was intact.

He rose slowly to his feet, breathing ragged, and braced himself on the stone until the stiffness in his legs and spine had passed. The clouds above had become darker, and a heavy wind was rising. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, trying to regain a sense of calm, or at least focus. 

Get it together. Keep count.

The next few minutes passed quickly. His breathing had calmed, and as his count neared the end, he braced himself. He couldn’t keep using the vortex forever. It was time to see if he’d adjusted, or not.

When the current struck this time, he focused the whole of his attention on the coin in his hand, but refrained from activating [Detailed Appraisal]. 

When his mind began to tilt on its axis, he tensed every muscle in his body and tried to push it back, a strange sensation when a half hour ago he wouldn’t have known his mind could tilt at all.

It passed through him, and when his experience of the world settled there was no discontinuity that he could perceive. He sighed, a long slow release of air, and felt better for the first time since this had started. He could hold himself together.

At least for now.