On the third night of his voyage, Brex found himself struck with insomnia. It was too dark to read and the waters had become too coarse to try and sleep through. So he slipped on his clothes and went up to the deck.
The only people present were a handful of deckhands, a variety of dwarves, humans, felarin and even another orc. They kept to themselves and left the passengers alone, even in the middle of the night, lit only by the moon.
He wandered out to the bow, looking at the vast ocean in front of the ship, empty and devoid of life above the waters, but containing so much potential both beneath and beyond. After all this time looking behind him, it felt both relieving and terrifying to look ahead.
Still, something bothered Brex. Even after everything that happened, there was something nagging at him.
How had that illusion of Karna known the right questions to push him toward the truth? How did she appear when he knew he wasn’t wearing the catalyst? It ate at him, forcing him to confront the idea of losing his sanity. But the more he thought about that moment, the more he was sure that it really happened.
There was an awful sound of cracking, splintering, and creaking behind him.
A wooden creature pulled itself free from the ship’s railing and a few floorboards, as if it had been lying in wait the whole time, camouflaged while Brex wandered there. But it’d taken chunks of lumber from the ship as part of its body as well, leaving behind a divot of roughly shorn wood.
For once, Brex was unafraid as it pulled itself up to its full height, matching his own.
And Brex recognized it.
“Guardian,” he mumbled. “But you’re not a Guardian, are you?”
The creature bowed its head. “An astute deduction. It’s nice to see you again, Brexothuruk.”
Brex crossed his arms. “I don’t know what you want, but I’m not here for your entertainment. Leave me alone.”
“But I cannot, as one cannot leave oneself alone.” Its voice was growing warmer by the second, starting its sentences with scratches and hisses, ending them with proper consonance.
“What do you mean?”
“You are correct, Brexothuruk. I am not a Guardian in the strictest sense, as orcs understand them. But I am your guardian, of a kind. I have charged myself with your protection. Thankfully, it has not taken much intervention to ensure it.”
“So you were the Guardian I met back at the mesa, but you were just…lying?”
“I would not be the first to do so. And I would not be the only one of the two of us, either. Is it a sin to lie for the sake of someone’s protection? Would you have trusted me and kept your promise to return The Bloodmane to his home if you had known?”
Brex stifled a grumble, looking away. The creature was still finding the right shape for itself, as if an invisible craftsman was working on a sculpture at a ridiculous pace before his eyes.
“Fine, you’re not a Guardian. What do you want with me, then?”
“Why, I simply came to offer some comfort as you grapple with your emotions, trapped in this vessel. The way I did on the savannah not so long ago when you mourned your grandfather.”
“Alizarin isn’t dead, I’m not mourning him.”
“He has not passed, but still, you grieve. We both know there has been an ending, and you must allow yourself to feel its pain.”
Brex closed his eyes and pursed his lips. The creature was right, even if he didn’t want to admit it.
“But that is not the only reason, Brexothuruk. I came because you deduced my influence rather recently, and I feel you deserve to know the truth.”
“And what truth is that?”
“That moment, when you needed a gentle push from a friend, toward the truth. I stepped in and provided the momentum. It has happened before as well. Thrice in total, since you departed your clan.”
“So you were the Karna I saw in the castle.”
“That’s correct,” the creature said, its form becoming clearer. It was more than just Brex’s height, but his width and thickness too. It was turning itself into an orc, perhaps even to mock him.
“What about the other times?”
“Once, in Harramschall, as you took cover from the storm, I diverted the path of falling debris to save your life.”
Brex was dumbstruck. “The pillar…no, the pole that fell on our shelter?”
The creature nodded slowly, its face starting to etch itself into something recognizable. “And once more, as you feared for your survival in Ziqondi, trapped in a makeshift prison.”
“No…” Brex said. “You were the beast? The thing inside of me?”
“Yes and no,” the creature said. “The truth is much more complicated than can be explained with ‘is’ or ‘is not.’”
“What about Grandpapa and Red, the night before I left? W-what about Kotak and the Alizarin I saw?” Brex asked, panic slipping into his voice as the creature’s body started carving decorations of clothing into the wood.
“None of those were my doing. They all came from within, as you perhaps suspected. But you deserved to confront them, regardless. Or so I believe, at least.”
Pockets all over its chest. Thick, sturdy boots. An orcish face, small tusks, short hair.
Brex was looking at a version of himself carved from lumber, its eyes and mouth lighting up with the same color as his enchanting plate when he finished a spell.
“What…what are you?” Brex asked, full of fear and fascination.
“I am a permutation of the self, unmoored in time, at the mercy of the winds of magic,” it said with his face. And, Brex realized, with his voice. “There will come a day when your identity fractures itself into disparate pieces, some great and some small, each worthy in their own manner. I am but one of those, a small piece of the self you will become. And I am charged with your protection. I intervene only when absolutely necessary.”
“Someone sent you to protect me?”
“I chose myself for that role. I treat my duty with honor and privilege. And I find myself proud of what you have done. So I reward you with truth,” it said.
“How am I supposed to live my life knowing you could do something like that again?” Brex asked
“Such is the treachery of knowledge. But you know how you would act without it, and so you share that burden with yourself.”
And then, it started to dissolve before his eyes, tiny specks of dust and splinters lifted into the wind, flowing past him, beyond the bow of the ship.
“And so you shall, Brexothuruk. I wish you well,” it said before crumbling into dust before his eyes. The wind picked up and Brex raised his arm to cover his face, but nothing ever hit his skin.
Instead, when he pulled his arm down and looked around the bow of the ship, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. Not even the divot that the creature had made.
And yet, he didn’t question his sanity. Not when the creature had so many answers at the ready. And despite the unsettling encounter, Brex had to admit that it was nice to know at least something, someone was looking out for him.
A chill crept down his spine and Brex found himself cold enough to return to his cabin. He reached into his bag and pulled out the jewelry case that Oswin had given him, opening it up and watching each emerald glimmer in the moonlight.
In each one, he imagined a moment in his future.
In the first, learning sorcery at the University of Harramschall.
In the second, reuniting with Liam and Elaina.
In the third, standing in the magnificence of the University’s grand enchanting hall.
In the fourth, writing to Tiyash and Alizarin, telling them of all the wonderful things he’s made and learned.
In the last, he discovered a flaw in the emerald, seeing a chip in a corner. The would-be flaws in his future. But in the moonlight cast through the ship’s porthole, he saw a reflection of himself in the emerald’s facets.
After everything that happened, everything he’d seen and done, he thought he knew himself. He thought he knew the person he wanted to be. A scholar. A sorcerer. An orc. A good man.
After meeting that strange vision of himself, who had stepped in at the most crucial moments of his life, he was unsure about the person he’d become.
But he was excited to find out.
Copyright © 2020 E. Michael Chase, All Rights Reserved
Key art by Jonah Cabodul-Chalker
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
This book is licensed for the personal enjoyment of the reader. It is the copyrighted property of the author and may not be reproduced, copied, or distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes without written consent from the author.
Brex’s adventures will continue…
Orcanist 