The Quest of Words

Chapter 5 - Jax

I was not totally sure, for obvious reasons, but if you were to ask me, I would say that there was some kind of combat going on out there. I could definitely hear a lot of yelling, that was certain. Then there came the sound of hoof beats running just past my little hut. That was new. I had not heard any horses around here. Then again, I could easily have missed them, given the state of my entrance. I also heard a lot of what had to be metal clanging together followed by screaming. So, yes. Most likely combat.

After quite a bit of that, things quieted down again, and I started hearing some conversations start up again. Momentarily, I sensed someone poke their head into my little lean-to, but before I had time to react, they quickly left again. “Hmm! Heeemmmm!” I tried to get their attention, but they must not have heard me.

The conversations outside continued for a bit, fading in and out as people walked past. Eventually, I started hearing something quite disturbing. It was a series of yells in succession followed by a sharp thump and then silence. I had no idea what that could be, and I really did not want to find out. Fairly soon after that business was concluded, I heard some more yelling followed by the thunder of hoof beats fading away. And then total silence.

I tried more muffled yelling for quite a bit after that, trying to get someone’s attention. Eventually, I managed to again work the rag out of my mouth. Gasping with relief, I sat and breathed for a moment. Deciding that I needed to get out of this place — or barring that, at least get a look around — I pulled my knees up to my head and started trying to grip the bag between them. It took me several tries, and I had to stop once because my side kept cramping up on me. But I did finally get the damned thing loose.

“Hey!” I tried shouting again. “Hey, can anybody hear me?”

The camp was silent as a stone.

So, I started working the ropes behind me, rubbing them up and down against the post. Fortunately, my ‘pal’ from last night had tied me a bit loose, so I was able to get my feet under me. Standing up, I managed a better angle on my bindings. Even so, it still took quite some time for me to friction the thin rope through. As the strand broke loose, I stood massaging my wrists, red and raw from my efforts. I had yet to hear a thing from outside, and by this point, dawn was beginning to break. Though I was exhausted, it was still a simple matter to get my feet untied. They had not spent much time on the knot, after all. Rubbing my tired eyes, I decided I needed to take stock of the situation.

Cautiously poking my head through the flap, I saw a scene out of a nightmare. Corpses were piled up in the center of the camp in a disorderly heap, which had then been set aflame. Disturbingly, especially considering how hungry I was, it smelled really nice, just like meat sizzling over a fire. Faintly disgusted, I walked around to survey the rest of the damage. There were signs of battle everywhere. Broken spears, and arrows were all over the place, to say nothing of the blood. Most of the bodies had apparently been collected for the central burn pile, but as I looked around, I could see that they had missed a few. Many of the structures of this little ‘hamlet’ were razed to the ground, still smoldering with the heat of the blaze that had consumed them.

Over by the entrance to the camp, I found a series of shallow and freshly dug graves. Each had a metal helmet lying atop them ceremoniously. Odd. I had not seen any bandits with helmets, nor would I have thought they were the type to perform such rituals. Turning around, I saw another horror show. There, above my head, at the entrance to the camp, was an impromptu gallows. Five men were swinging there, including the massive form of the Bandit King. Former now, I supposed.

I did not vomit or freak out, like you always hear people do when they encounter a situation like this. I do not know why. Maybe I was in shock. Maybe I was just too tired. For now, I just walked around with a strange sort of calm, simply surveying the damage. I did not know who had attacked this place or why, but at the very least, I was now free and clear of danger. I just could not figure out why I had been left. I had to assume that I would have either been swept up in this bandit purge — and that’s all it could have been — or rescued.

But then it clicked.

“That skill! Silent in uh… no…” I snapped my fingers trying to bring it up, “Forgotten in Stillness!” I had left it on without thinking about it. And whoever had looked into my hut had overlooked me in his haste. It was as simple as that.

<blip>

I blinked. “Thanks, dude,” I said dryly. And then waved the notice away. Why would it only notify me now? This game system did not behave like any video game I had ever encountered. It was almost like it was governed by narrative flow, or like there was a Dungeon Master somewhere behind the scenes, dropping bread crumbs in front of me, rather than computer logic.

I figured that there was no point in my staying there any longer. I would give the camp a once over, though. I might be able to scrounge up something useful. Like food. Before long, I did find an overlooked clay jar that was filled with several tins of some kind of… preserved meat I guessed. It smelled a bit like raisins, though. Giving it a sample taste, I decided it was a lot like beef jerky but with a tart aftertaste. As hungry as I was, I barely even tasted it as I chocked it down. Eventually, I found an old shirt and pants tucked under someone’s cot. They were both quite loose in the weave and were held together by hemp rope, but they were a step up. Fortunately, the bandits had not bothered to strip me of my clothes, so I still had my nice belt and shoes. And boxers. From the feel of those pants, I was quite glad of that.

After I had collected everything I thought I might need, I noticed there was one last hut tucked in a corner that I had not checked yet. I found that there had not been any intact weapons left behind beyond a few broken spearheads — which were usable but less than ideal — so I wanted to be thorough. I figured that if I had overlooked that building then maybe they had, as well.

When I got there, I stopped when I saw the trail of blood leading through the flap. Cautiously, I poked my head inside, and to my surprise, I found my old friend, Mr. Bald-Pale-and-Here’s-Your-Gag-Again-You-Loser. He was still alive. Technically. He was unconscious, and curled around what looked to be a vicious gut wound. I figured that he would not be alive much longer. Off to his side, I saw that he had dropped his dagger. It had dried blood on it.

“Gave as good as you got, huh?” I sighed. Crouching down, I rubbed my hands over my face. “What am I going to do about you?” I muttered.

Honestly, I did not want to do anything. His breathing was quite shallow, and he had an unhealthy pallor. I was no expert, but I did not give him long. If I tried to move him to bandage him up, I might do more harm than good. And… he was a bandit. He and his friends had kidnapped me. But he had fed me. I did not know if he had taken the initiative to do it, or if he had been ordered. Nevertheless, I felt a niggling obligation. Sliding his dagger out of reach, I bent to roll him onto his back, but as soon as my hand touched him…

<blip!>

Now there was a quandary. On the one hand, doing this to a sentient being would probably be considered wrong. By everyone. Bandit or not. Plus, I still did not know what exactly a ‘Lilim’ was. Judging by the fact that I was able to ‘bind’ this guy as one and the associated possessive pronoun just in front of the word, it was leading me to the conclusion that I might be making this guy a slave — a fact that I was in no way comfortable with. And, despite the fact that I probably had about fifty to sixty pounds on this guy, I had no real combat experience, and I was pretty sure he could wipe the floor with me. And would once he found out what I had done. He looked scrappy. Plus… I did not want this ugly ass guy as my Lilim. If anything, I wanted a cool looking griffin or at least a panther or something.

But… and it was a big one… if I did this, and it worked like I thought it might… then it might just heal him. That’s how pet classes usually worked when you had to catch your own in all the games I had played. Well… no… there was Pokemon. Actually, now that I think about it…

As I sat there pondering, the man coughed up a globule of blood, and his breathing began taking on a hitching rattle. Shit. I don’t want to see this guy die. No more time to think.

So, with a healthy dose of trepidation, I touched ‘yes’.

Immediately after having done so, the box vanished, and words began forcing themselves out of my mouth. I had no idea what they were or what they meant, but I knew they had meaning. And I had no control over it. There were really quite a lot of words — far more than when I had acquired my skill. And when I had finished, I was completely drained. It was as if I had sprinted to the point of collapse. The only thing I could even think of doing was to sit on my duff and gasp for air. Meanwhile, all the words I had spoken seemed to solidify slightly in the air and took on an ethereal glowing quality. They hovered about the pale and bloody man for a moment, and then zipped all at once into his body. There was a very brief green blinking outline that shone about him, and then the red hovering [Bandit] that had been floating above his head this whole time vanished.

“Aw, man! Don’t give me that! I don’t care about his name, just heal him!” I protested. “Just use his old name!”

“What, by the Watcher’s black eye, does that mean?” The Watcher? Why am I swearing by the Watcher now? I shook my head. There was no time for these tangents now.

“Alright, fine. Uh… I don’t know. John?”

“And why not? It’s short. Shorter than Donum.”

“Okay… whatever. Let’s try uh… Joseph? Jacob? Jeremiah?” I do not know why I was stuck on J’s. It was like a tic. In frustration and panicked haste, I just started rattling off random sounding words that started with the sound. “Jerkinik? Jimmy? Jugjug? Uh… Jax?”

<blip>

“Why did that one take?! Are Lilim only allowed three-letter words as their names?” I certainly did not have a clue. “And what’s all this ‘it’ stuff? He’s a ‘he’, damn it!” Meh. It was probably just some default text expecting you to take an animal or something. I had beaten its little game and the ‘spell’ was complete. The real question was whether my efforts had paid off.

Dismissing the window, I checked on my new… companion, I supposed. Whatever I had done, somehow he was not a bandit anymore. I did not know if he would end up feeling the same, but I figured that was a step in the right direction. He still had quite a bad gash in his gut, but his breathing was easier. He looked like he was merely asleep now, instead of unconscious. My ‘spell’, if that was what it was, must have had an effect, then — probably while I was fighting with the menus. Figuring I should do something constructive, I ripped away his shirt and inspected the wound. Bits of fabric were stuck in there, and I knew that was not good.

Quickly looking around, I found a single jug of some kind of booze in a corner of the hut we were in. It smelled like lighter fluid, and it kicked like a mule. “That ought to do it,” I coughed, my eyes watering. Dribbling some on a cleanish rag I found, I began gently cleaning the wound. Weirdly, it already looked better.

Maybe, he has that regeneration skill I found earlier.

What I really needed was some clean bandages. There was plenty of fire around — grim reminder, that — and if I could find a pot and some water to fill it with, I should be able to boil some cloth to sterilize it. Leaving him there for now, I set off on my new project.

It did not take too long to find a cast iron cooking pot. From the residue inside, it looked to be what they had been making the stew I had eaten in. The thing must have been kicked over in the attack. It was also monstrously heavy for its size. Finding water was also a simple matter. You do not set up a camp of that size in the middle of the woods without a water source nearby. I dragged the pot to the stream, which might have even been the same one I had been using earlier for all I knew, and began scrubbing it out. Filling it with water, which made it much heavier, I began lugging it back. It was slow going.

By the time I had managed to drag the thing back, about half of the water had spilled out, and I was beginning to curse liberally. Turning around to look for a suitable spot to start boiling linens, I saw him. Mr. Baldy, or I guess ‘Jax’ now, was just standing there in the middle of the camp, clutching his side, staring at the pile of burning bodies. And, to my dismay, he had retrieved his knife.

Damn. I should have pocketed that. I am not good at this. I was not sure what I should do now. It did not seem like he had noticed me, but I had not been quiet. Taking a chance, I decided on diplomacy first. If things took a turn, I was sure I could get away from someone nursing a gut wound.

“You shouldn’t be up yet. You’ll just end up making that worse.” I decided that was a good opener. Gruff but concerned. Seemed solid. Oh, wait… he doesn’t…

“’Kin spake now, can ‘ee?” he turned his head toward me. I had not surprised him.

Taken aback, I replied, “You can understand me?”

“Cos ah can. I dunna wha kinna poof accen’ tha’ is, though,” he returned. I tilted my head. I had an accent? “Ah dunna wha’ tha’ choppa tongue ‘ee were usin’ afer.”

It took me a moment to parse that second sentence. “I’m speaking the same language I have been this whole time.”

He chuckled at that, “Ah, yer soun’ a poof,” but then he frowned, “wha der ‘a mean, ‘a same language?” he drew the word out, almost like he was making fun of me.

“Exactly what I said. I’m speaking English, just like before. But never mind that now. I need to get some bandages on that wound.”

He frowned at me for moment, considering. But then he suddenly got a surprised look on his face and looked around in fright.

“What is it? What’s the matter?” I asked looking around. Was something coming? I had not heard anything.

He looked at me then, almost like he’d seen a ghost. “’Er voice! Ah ‘eard ‘er voice! Is back!”

“What? What voice? I didn’t hear anything.”

His head whipped around and he looked down his nose at me, “Ah cos not, yer daft. She were spakin ter me, wern she?” As if that explained everything.

I shook my head. “If you’re hearing voices, then you really need to rest. Let me boil some bandages for you, alright?”

His legs shook for a moment, and he slowly collapsed back onto his behind as if he were struggling to understand the world again. “Yer dun unnerstan’! She were spakin’ ter me! Me! Ahs abandoned!” The way he said it, I had to assume that there was some significance to the word.

“Abandoned?” I considered. “Abandoned by whom?”

“Tha Goddess, yer bligh’ed.” I stared at him uncomprehendingly. “Tha Goddess o’ Power! Bline! She ‘oo spakes!” His eyes had a fervor to them, almost like he was holding back tears.

“Bline?” He nodded, like he was explaining the color of grass to a cow. I frowned. “Is she like the Watcher?”

He gasped. “No! Yer daft.” He looked at the sky almost like he was afraid he would be struck down. “Why‘d yer spake a thin’ like ‘et?”

Sighing, I started hauling the pot over to one of the nearby fires. This conversation was not getting me anywhere. I needed to start over and get the water boiling. He was still bleeding a bit, after all. His eyes followed me like he was watching a feral wolf circling him. It took me a bit of fiddling before I got it situated. Satisfied, I turned back to him.

He was staring at the ground in thought, though he was still watching me out of the corner of his eye. “My name is Donum,” I said by way of introduction. The name just slipped out automatically. I did not have to think about it. It was just there. The odd thing, though, was that I did not even notice.

“Jax,” he replied quickly. We both frowned at the same time. He then looked off to the side as if he were trying to remember something.

“Jax, huh?” I probed. He nodded vaguely, as if he was not confident of his answer.

“So, uh… Jax,” I sat down to talk, well out of arms reach, while I waited on the water to boil. I was not quite ready to explain why his name was different. He was talking now, but he could easily turn violent. Clearly, he knew something was off. The question I had was why the name I had given him had replaced itself in his mind with the name he knew. That spell I had cast had quite a lot going on with it, apparently. “Tell me about this goddess and why you were abandoned.”

“’Ow do yer not know o’, Bline?” he asked. “’Ow do yer not know, o’ tha ‘bandoned?”

I spread my hands, “Clearly, I’m not from here.”

He scoffed, “All o’ tha kin’ know o’ Bline.” He considered, “Mebbe thos’a yern calls ‘er sommat else? She’s tha voice tha spakes to yer,” he said expectantly. Then, “Tha voice wha’ tells yer tha ways o’ thins. Wha ye kin do? When ye kin make choices abut yer ownself?”

I blinked slowly. “You mean like the boxes that show up with skill points?”

He cocked his head. “Ah ne’er ‘eard o’ nothin’ like et, a’fer. Et’s like tha same, though. Mebbe yern’s got different gods where yerns from?”

“That… seems likely.”

“Hmm… Ah ne’er ‘eard He had ‘is ownself a different brood,” he said in confusion. There was some kind of mythology at work here. He tilted his head, “No’ tha’ ah’d know.”

“What about this business about being abandoned?”

He took a breath. Pointing above his head, he said, “Yer seein’ tha sign above mine?”

I cleared my throat, “Uh… no. Not anymore.”

His head jerked up at that, his eyes ablaze, “Spake not lies ta me!” He slapped the ground. “Spake not lies ta ones ‘bandoned since ‘e were a wee lad. ‘Bandoned fer crimes ‘e didna’ know ‘e were doin’! Didna’ know tha consequences! Dinna be sa’ cruel as tha’!” he yelled.

Holding up my hands, I said placatingly, “Whoa whoa.” I’d never met someone so prone to theatrics. “You’re talking about the business with the red ‘bandit’ thing that was floating above your head, right?” He gave a jerky nod. “Yeah, well… I think I may have… fixed that.”

His face reddened like he was about to explode at me, but then his eyes widened in sudden comprehension, “’ow could ye? Es’n yer a servant o’v‘em? O’ tha law giver?” He scooted closer, “O’ Ginna?” But then he stopped. “No, no. Tha’ kinna be. Yer said yer ownself yer ‘ave dif’ren gods.” He looked up at me again, “’ow then? ‘Ow es’n yer ‘fixed’ mine bandit sign? Yer a priest of summat other gods?” He shook his head, “’ow did yer own gods convince tha Lady o’ Power ta talk ta mine like ah was ‘er lad again?”

I took a breath. I did not really know where to start with that. Hedging into it, I said, “It was… sort of an accident? I was really only trying to heal you.” I gestured toward the wound he was still holding at his abdomen, “I cast a spell, and when I was done, the wound hadn’t healed. Not much anyway. But your… uh… ‘bandit sign’ went away.”

He sneered disbelievingly, “Ah ne’er ‘eard o’ no mage ‘oo could fuck a spell given’ ‘im by tha’ Lady,” but then he reconsidered, “Mebbe yer own god’s spells donna work sa well?”

My lips quirked to the side, “Well… the spell wasn’t exactly… a healing spell per say. I was kind of hoping that the healing would be… a side effect.”

He looked me up and down. “An’ wat kinna spell could do say much. Bring a man back from a brink o’ death from a spear to ‘es guts? And forgive tha curse o’ tha Lawmaiden?” He paused for emphasis, “All by accident?”

This guy was sharp, I would give him that. He had backed me into a corner, and I saw no way out of it. I just really did not want to answer that question.

“Uh… ha ha… well…” I tittered nervously. Seeing no alternative, I decided I would just dive in, “The spell is called [Bind Lilim].”

He blinked. “An’ what,” he pronounced, “by tha Hand o’ Mercy, is a ‘Lilim’?”