<html><body><div style="color:#000; background-color:#fff; font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:12pt"><div></div><div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">He nods. “Indeed, but excuse me if I return yours with a counter question first: What is the last thing you recall?” </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">He’s passing the ball back to me. No fair, although helpful to sort out my thoughts. So, what happened? I remember I got a hold on the first strand of earth my mental tools could seize. </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">“I really did it, right?” I ask, beaming probably bigger than ever in my life. A grin I reduce to a tight-lipped smile, after Kindle recoils from me by almost a foot. The display of an entire mouthful of sharp, feline teeth can be unnerving, all the more if you’re a rodent. More restrained I try it anew: “Well, it worked?” </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">“Erm, it worked, kind of. The definition is rather strained, though. You knocked yourself out with that stone. “</span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">“It <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">did</i> float, I knew it!” No doubt, my triumph-laden expression confuses the mage to no end. </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">“Float? The crack when it collided with your forehead was loud enough to be heard at the other side of the valley. I was seriously afraid you killed yourself! We have to thank Eli you have such a thick skull.” </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">I raise an unsteady hand to flick one of my fuzzy ears. “According to a certain healer, and I quote her: ‘Everything between those lugs is solid bone, not even the expected hollow space’. Hits on my head don’t hit anything vital.” Aww, poor Kindle, gallows humor is wasted on him at the moment, so I change subject. With his help – more good intention than actual support, after all, he’s a scrawny little snack… mouse! I was about to say mouse! – We’re managing it to lie me down on his more comfortable divan. </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">“Your opinion, Kindle. What do you think?”</span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">For a time he’s crossing his arms and looks to the ceiling, then nods. “You have a strong affinity for the earth element. It’s awful early and unprofessional to speculate, but you could be a more specialized user of the magic arts; perhaps of southern tutelage.”</span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">Can’t help it, I have to smirk and also show my fangs again. “Southern, eh? You realize that, from our point of view, practically everything is south?”</span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">“Well, then the possibility of me being wrong is slim”, he giggles. “Kidding aside, do you know about the difference between the magic traditions of the northern and southern parts of our world?”</span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">“Now I know there is one.”</span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">He sighs. “To make it short and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">very</i> simple: Northern tradition is mostly generalist, the mages of the south are more specialized on certain aspects of magic.”</span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">“Ah, now I follow. Someone like Dustin’s ‘firefoxy’.”</span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">“Fire-what?”</span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">“A little, gray, grumpy, flame throwing fox mage he knows.”</span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">“Oh, that one.” Enthusiasm certainly looks different. “He is a special case. In every definition of the term.” </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">We call it a day at this point. We have much achieved and I need to recover from the hit I took. I shall see a physician and inform Kindle when I’m ready to continue our session. And the mage insists I see a healer first. At least it’s an excuse to visit Kiba. </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">*****</span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">I close the door to my room and lock out the noise from Dustin’s bubbly household. As much as I would’ve liked to spend more time with them, exhaustion kicks in hard. Tired enough to not even discuss with Kiba, after he demanded, I have to wait at least three days until my next lesson in magic. </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">Placing the candlestick on the nightstand, I fall onto my bed, with a pleased, heart deep sigh. Questionable tactical decision, now it’s harder to remove belt and kilt. The thought of standing up is crossing my mind, but leaves unnoticed. After some struggling my sparse clothing rests beside me; my gaze falls upon the belt pouch. There’s a notebook that demands attention, but for one time I choose to ignore it. Gods, I’m tired…</span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">A good dozen of them had made it through the breach. I don’t know what they had expected. Surely they hoped for weak resistance, believing our forces too far stretched to allow reserves. </span></i></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></i></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">Well, my brothers and I are standing here to prove them wrong... </span></i></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">Bleary eyes are still not able to look straight, but my hand is already searching where I left my stuff earlier. Retrieving book and writing utensils a series of well-known motions, it practically works by itself. The candle is still lit and had only devoured three hours’ worth of wax by now. So much for sleeping. </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">Forgotten is the crushing tiredness that forced me down. A nervous, giddy energy makes my body shaking in eagerness to bring down to paper, what occurred to me in sleep – again!</span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">This time, though, I’m able to keep most of it. </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">Pensively I read through what I’ve written during the last two-or-so hours; several pages, filled with my awful, haste-driven handwriting. The gaps in the descriptions are gaping holes to me. No, still no clue what my human face once looked like. And the academy, what was its full name or mine, damn it?!</span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">I bury my mouth in a pillow to stifle a cry of frustration. Calm down, Mark! You made great progress today, don’t be so bloody stupid. See the glass as what it is: Half full instead of half empty! And it is, I mean, that’s totally awesome! Suddenly there isn’t just a stranger with no past, protagonist of so many tacky adventure stories. My memories are coming back. </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">Oh, I’m surely grinning like an idiot now. It’s a small miracle I’m not jumping around, screaming like a donkey. I’d like to, though. Oooh yeah, but I don’t want to wake my hosts up. Tomorrow is early enough to break the good news to them, maybe reinforced with research in the library. </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">Tomorrow is tomorrow. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Now</i> I’m in the mood to visit the Deaf Mule. Gods, listen to me, I can’t stop giggling. Screw it, I don’t care! Let them look at me funny, I hope they will have more reason to, when I’m coming back from the tavern. </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">With a bounce unthinkable a few hours ago I jump out of the bed and toward the drawer. My good kilt, the one made from dark blue wool seems proper. </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">The cold tiles beneath my paws sparking (or re-evoking) another recall, letting me pause on my way to the door. The one about this grandmaster who gave me water, who called me brother master. About him, attuned to the solid rock under his bare feet. A strong affinity to rock you said, Kindle? I somehow know what to do. It’s exactly like the painful experience with the piano. Only this time my clumsy fingers won’t be required. </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">Finally an art my body will not stand myself in the way. Kiba said I have to wait, but I can’t, I have to try it out or it will rip me apart!</span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">I close my eyes and focus on the stone all around me, going through the mental routines which flowing, one by one, back to me. At first it’s weird, the longer it goes, though, it’s like slipping on an old shoe (would be rough on those furry paws, but I guess you get my picture). I start to sense the hewn granite on floor and walls on a level I cannot define (again this magic-versus-mundane thingy), its age, its hardness, its portly weight. </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">Slowly, slowly it becomes a part of me. I feel heavy, but not the heaviness of exhaustion, more like accumulating bulk, together with the additional strength it brings. With the power comes coldness. Well, that’s a little unsettling. Stone is the opposite of warm, living flesh, but does it have to feel so uncomfortable? And a slight at first, but rapidly increasing numbness climbs up my legs.</span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">Wait, what?!</span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">With a start my eyes are open. I would have stumbled around for a few steps, because with concentration equilibrium left me likewise. Emphasis on “would”, since My. Legs. Don’t. Move!</span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">It’s like my paws are bolted down to the tiles. Doesn’t matter what I’m trying, I get not even a flinch, like everything below my hip turned… to… stone.</span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">Merciful gods, I didn’t, did I? Relax Mark, breathe. Panic won’t do you any good. All right, with a moment of relative calm I realize <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">that the numbness is still creeping higher!</i></span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">Serenity gets kicked out of the estate, as I let loose the most embarrassing, girly scream everyone will ever hear from me again. Somewhere on the way I’m running out of air, just in time to hear the patting of little feet, nearing swiftly. </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">Dustin, of course; wide eyed, bed headed, fluttering nightgown, knife in his clenched fist. After noticing I’m alone and no monster jumped out from nowhere, he assumes a less stressed posture and lowers his weapon. “Sheesh, Spotty, what happened now?” And because he is Dustin, he simply has to ask: “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of spiders?” He does it with this annoying smile, dancing on the edge between provoking the urge to laugh alongside and the wish to slap him</span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">I don’t think of either one, arms now frozen, too. “No time for jokes, get Kindle!” I bark, returning his perplexed expression with a more urgent: “The mage, quick!”</span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">Argh, no! I can’t move my jaw anymore! </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">“Hllllp!” </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div><div style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size: 16px; font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif; background-color: transparent; font-style: normal;" class="MsoNoSpacing">________________<br><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"></span></div><div style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size: 16px; font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif; background-color: transparent; font-style: normal;" class="MsoNoSpacing"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size: 16px; font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif; background-color: transparent; font-style: normal;" class="MsoNoSpacing">So far for part three, and here's the promised preview. <br></div><div style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size: 16px; font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif; background-color: transparent; font-style: normal;" class="MsoNoSpacing">We're somewhere after the beginning of part 5, the scene openes in the great library of the Keep. <br><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"></span></div><div style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size: 16px; font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif; background-color: transparent; font-style: normal;" class="MsoNoSpacing"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size: 16px; font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif; background-color: transparent; font-style: normal;" class="MsoNoSpacing">*****<br><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"></span></div><div style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size: 16px; font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif; background-color: transparent; font-style: normal;" class="MsoNoSpacing"><br></div></div><div style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size: 16px; font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif; background-color: transparent; font-style: normal;" class="MsoNoSpacing"> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">I’ve never met him before, but who else could he be?</span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">He sits alone on the gallery, you can tell by instinct he isn’t interested in company – and that he doesn’t belongs here. A stranger, mysterious and exotic – guess that’s a big thing to say, minding where I am, but I will not take it back. </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">A big man, easy six and a half feet, wide shoulders, athletic build, strong but not bulky. The calloused hands of a fighter, rough facial features. So far nothing special, it is not the frame, more the details. I have difficulties to estimate his age; older than mid-thirty, sure, but how much? Time has curved enough lines into this face to say maybe 40. Alas, he is definitely too young for white hair, which he is sporting. Even the short trimmed full beard and eye brows are immaculately white. His complexion is too dark for an albino. If I only could see his eyes. Ah yes, this I should mention.</span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">He’s wearing glasses, circular lenses made of a dark kind of quart, held together by silvery wire. They’re all the time on his nose, regardless of daytime and illumination. I’m wondering if there is even one person here who’s really seen the color of his eyes. </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">These dark lenses are like shields that are shutting out the rest of the world, body language matching: reserved, dismissing, and not interested in socializing. A big “Keep away!” sign on a high, glass shard crowned stone wall. </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">Believe me, I would never think of approaching him, weren’t it for this crest, stitched on the left chest side of his doublet in golden yellow thread: </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">An opened book in a circle, behind the book a tower.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>“To defend lore” that’s its meaning, I know it by heart now; spent an entire night just researching this tidbit. The sigil of “The school of the ancient monastery of our revered father Anselmo, dedicated to preserve and spread lore and sciences”, also known as the Anselmo Academy. Destroyed in 702 CR during the turmoil of an uprising, as a result of badly chosen alliances. My alma mater, my lost home and he might be a link to this important part of my all too fragmented past. </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">Cautiously I step nearer, thinking about how to address him. Snap, I have no clue, feeling like I’m about to disarm a spring loaded trap. One false move…</span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">Don’t say a word. I know I probably would dally very much longer, would he not size initiative. Vigorous he’s closing his book - the sudden loud “clap!” startles not only me – and looks up to direct the eye-less stare of these damn glasses to me. </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">The much abused phrase of the awkward silence hits it square in the face this time. Awkward for me. Every idea about how to begin this conversation fell out of my paws and shattered on the ground. And he is just gazing at me, word- and emotionless. Then, he tilts his head a tad to the right. “Do I know you?”</span></div> <div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US"> </span></div> <div style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size: 16px; font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif; background-color: transparent; font-style: normal;" class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US" lang="EN-US">Not an unjustified question, Metamor changes lifelines and appearances, although no one I would’ve expected at first. “You might” is my reply. “I very much hope so.”</span></div> </div><div> </div></div></body></html>