“Thank you,” Y’rid said as he stepped outside. He turned back to the mage’s apprentice. “Do you think you can tell me a bit more about resurrection?”

The girl looked up at him. She smiled and nodded distractedly. Then the door closed with a resounding thud.

I guess not.

Y’rid watched as the runes covering the door dimmed and died down, leaving him to stare at the barred entrance. Whatever the girl had expected from the mage’s experiment, it certainly wasn’t for it to be a success. Something that only increased his unease. Was it really so unlikely to work that the mage’s own apprentice expected failure? Why did he agree to this?

The girl had been lost in thought when she escorted him out, and he had focused starting to sort out his memories. This only revealed a few more discrepancies in what he knew and what he felt he should. He was getting more certain that the experiment had changed him in some way. He could only hope the mage was right and that the sense of wrongness would disappear. Yet, he a part of him didn’t want it to. It was a strange feeling that in no way helped the matter. In fact, it only served to complicate the situation further.

Y’rid shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. It was becoming a habit, and it helped about as much as it did the first time.

He turned and looked out over the area. The mage’s tower was built on top of a hill. It was surrounded by the farmland outside of the city of Riversedge. From where he stood, he could see people working in the fields laid out in what seemed to be rings around the city. Further away in the distance, he could see the forest that surrounded the entire area.

The city itself had massive stone walls guarding it, hiding all but the tallest buildings from sight. However tall the walls looked from here he knew they were even more impressive up close, more than twice as tall as he and nearly half as thick as that.

He could also see the large river that ran alongside the city, giving it its name. A sizeable part of the river was diverted from the main body to run through the city. From his memories, he knew the clean waters entered Riversedge near the noble district and left near the impoverished western district, a murky brown by then. The diverted stream rejoined the river a short distance away from the walls and wound past the farmland. His eyes followed the river as it reached the end of the cleared farmland before making its way into the forest beyond.

Taking a deep breath, he started down the path that led down the hill and to the city. There was some distance between the tower and the surrounding fields. Though whether out of respect or wariness, he didn’t know. Probably a measure of both.

As he passed the first of the fields, he came to a wooden bridge spanning a deep trench that had been dug, stretching out to the sides. It had a wall of rocks on the far side to keep the hard-packed earth in place. Stakes were planted into the ground at the far end, angled outwards, slightly pointing towards him.

The trench was here to keep out the beasts he realised.

Another flood of memories assaulted him. Stories of the beasts that roamed the forest. Memories of hunters dragging in their kills through the southern gate to sell at the Hall. Memories of a night, so long ago, where he had hidden under the bed and listened to the distant sound of fighting. The roars of monsters had mixed with the city’s alarm as he had waited for his father to come home.

His father had been a hunter. Men and women who made a living of thinning out the beasts. They did so to keep them from growing large enough in numbers to pose a threat to the city. It was a dangerous profession that claimed the lives of all who hunters, sooner or later. The grimness of such a life was only outweighed by its necessity, without them, everyone would die.

His father had died protecting the walls of the city during the last horde. A swarm of beasts that was formed when the hunters were too few to keep their numbers down. Beasts would hunt people, lesser animals and even others of their kind for food but it was when their populations grew that the true threat emerged. They would band together, forming a horde that would attack towns and cities in a mindless hunger.

Y’rid felt his throat constrict. He could feel fear he felt as a boy, hiding under the bed. He could feel the pain in his chest and old anger rising as he thought of his father. But it also felt wrong. The feeling was like an itch he could not scratch, one that exsisted in his mind.

“Make Way!” A shout came from behind him.

Y’rid’s head whipped around, seeing a small convoy of caravans and waggons approach the bridge. They were flanked by armed men and women, but Y’rid’s eyes were instead to the six-legged animals pulling the caravans. The creatures had long bodies, six strong legs and two rows of eyes, running down their heads.

D’yari.

The name came to him as another memory took hold of his mind. They were usually quite tame, though they could get aggressive in large groups. At least, that is what he had heard from Chase. A youth, who worked as a stable hand for the Iron hearth inn. Chase had lived on the street like him until he had the luck of impressing the stablemaster and earning himself a job.

He could remember talking to the youth in that very stable. Chase was busy carrying feed to the single d’yar there at the time. The conversation that started out with him congratulating the other for his new station had quickly turned sour over something trivial. They had drifted apart soon after.

Y’rid shook his head as the memory faded. He focused on the caravans and waggons as they passed him. The guards flanking them were dressed in leather armour of various forms with a few hints of steel here and there. The only sense of unity was given by a wide strip of cloth stitched into their shoulderguards or wrapped around arms. It was a dyed a reddish-brown and adorned with an iron emblem of a fist.

“Hands to yourself,” one of them warned with a glare as Y’rid’s gaze passed over them and to a waggon that was laden with crates.

It was a travelling merchants convoy, he realised. Guarded by a mercenary company, though he didn’t recognise the sigil they wore. It was common practice for a few merchants to band together when travelling to another city, both for safety and to lower the costs of mercenaries.

He had thought of becoming a mercenary himself once, but he had found out the hard way that showing up at a company’s doorstep dressed in rags didn’t exactly make a good impression. He had begged to be given a chance.

Y’rid felt his lip curl up in distaste. Had he really done that?

That didn’t seem right. It all felt wrong.

He hurried on, toward the city, trying and failing to distract himself with quick strides.

What is happening to me?

The mage had said the feeling would likely go away, yet it seemed to be getting more pronounced. The itch was building inside his mind. He needed to think things through and quickly, else he felt he might go mad. But this was not the place. He needed somewhere where he could sit and take his time, somewhere he wouldn’t be interrupted. More memories came to his mind, offering places he could do just that. He stubbornly refused to pay them any attention, focusing on the road ahead of him.

A line stood outside the city gates, as he made his way over. People were slowly walking through a silver archway set into the gateway. One of the cityguards, the crest on his helmet marking him as one of rank, stood with a hand pressed against the curved structure. The arch itself was made of silver and had numerous runes inscribed into its surface that were glowing with a faint light. It was there to reveal beasts that could disguise themselves as people, his memories told him before he shut them down.

More magic.

Most of the people in line were armed. He even saw a couple of what he thought were farmers, chatting to one another as they awaited their turn, spears clutched loosely in their hands. There were also a couple of people who wore armour, mostly in leather, and were more heavily armed. Most with polearms and bows, some with swords at their sides as well, though these were fewer in numbers. They were hunters, he knew, returning to the city for the night.

Two of these men stood next to a large carcass of some scaled creature that was nearly hacked in half. About the size of one of the men standing over it, it had a barrel-shaped body with a short stubby tail. It had two curving front claws and two strong backwards-bending hind legs. It didn’t seem to have a neck, its head, an extension of its body. Jaws dislocated, its maw stretched wide and hanged loosely in death.

The two hunters stood unspeaking. One of them absentmindedly wiped at his clean spear with a cloth while the other stared out in front, eyes unblinking. Y’rid recognised the look of despondency and didn’t fail to notice sword and bundle of bloodied armour that lay next to them.

Y’rid felt another memory was calling for his attention. Not wanting to deal with it here, he tried to shove the memory away but found himself unable to do so.

He looked down as he tightened the straps of his breastplate, the thick and calloused hands he got from his father going about their task with familiarity. Two slender and much lovelier hands reached across his chest from behind and hugged him, a warm body pressing against him back. A smile found its way onto his face as he turned and saw Lae looking up at him, the early morning rays glistening off of her raven black hair.

It felt right. And to his horror, the memory began to fade. Frantic, he reached out and grabbed a hold on it. With a thought, he tried to will the memory to continue, to see what happened afterwards. But, in his mind, there was only a blackness where the scene ended. He tried to reach out towards it, but a sharp pain lanced through him. It felt as though it came from the centre of his being. He could barely keep from crying out.

Y’rid grit his teeth in pain and opened the eyes he couldn’t remember closing. One of the armed men standing at the back of the line gave him a strange look.

“You okay?” The man asked with a frown.

“…yeah,” He managed after a few moments, the pain fading quickly. “Just a headache.”

The man looked at him for a moment longer before shrugging and turned back to face forward. But Y’rid paid him no mind as he thought of the woman he had just seen. He felt a horrible tightening in his chest as he did so. Those few moments had seemed more real than any of the memories he held in his head. For once it fit. And was all the more merciless for it.

Who is she? Where is she?

Questions spun in his mind. The tightness in his chest increased. He felt a longing laced with the shame with a shame he could not place. He needed to know more.

Y’rid glanced at the man in front of him.

Not here.

He thought to himself. He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled before dragging in another. He looked around, searching for a distraction. He quickly found one.

A group of seven well-armed people stood next to the gate, talking to one of the guards. At first, he thought it was a mercenary group, but something about them drew his attention. They looked relaxed, but he got the feeling that it was only a façade. Small details sprang to his attention as he took a better look. The way they stood with a few feet of distance between each other seemingly coincidentally, yet just happened to leave enough room to ready their weapons. The occasional glace one threw out to the surroundings, quick while covering everyone around them. The bored look another had as he looked to the sky, yet his eyes were always moving as though expecting to see something hidden in the clouds.

The line of people continued moving, and he got closer. Hushed whispers travelled through the crowd, as many threw looks towards the group. Y’rid turned his head slightly to listen to the conversations he had been ignoring until now.

“That’s them, isn’t it?” A woman whispered to her companion.

“Definitely. I heard from Khalim that the beasts in the forest were growing in numbers, but surely we would know if it was that bad right?”

“Perhaps they are just passing through?”

“Those fuckers probably brought the creatures with them,” another said. “Mark my words. No good will come of having beastblighted here.”

“They are not going to let them into the city are they?”

Beastblighted?

The word jogged a multitude of myths and old wives tales from his memory. They hunted beasts others wouldn’t dare to. They brought the beasts to unsuspecting towns then charged whatever they could to clear them out again. They were half-beasts themselves, living in the shadows to take unruly children from their houses. They were heroes of mankind, dedicating their lives to the fight. They were the spawn of an evil god. They were born in the Night. They were short, in a tall-ish kind of way. Their skin was light and pale, but very dark, almost pure black in fact. They wore armour made of bone, and were always naked.

With some effort, he pulled his mind away from the memories, as the sense of wrongness continued to build. The stories that seemed as numerous as they were contradictory anyway. He didn’t think he had ever seen one of of these ‘beastblighted’ though. He had a feeling that would have been the first thing to come to mind if he had.

Y’rid was looking at one of them when the man he was looking at turned to stare straight back at him. A shiver ran down Y’rid’s spine as his gaze met that of the man. His eyes were a pale red, more predator than human. The eyes held his gaze for a moment as if searching for something. Another of the group, a woman, turned to him and said something. She followed his gaze, and as their eyes met, Y’rid saw they were the same red as the man’s. Much to Y’rid’s relief, the one speaking to the guard finished, and the group was led inside the walls.

That’s some scary senses.

Y’rid thought, and he felt a cold sweat on his back as they departed. Whoever or whatever these people were, his instincts told him they were dangerous, something he was inclined to believe.

The crowd kept talking between each other about the group as they made their way forward, and Y’rid found himself once more listening in to avoid the other thoughts in his head. Unfortunately, their talk was mostly just speculation as to the purpose of the new arrivals, not telling him anything of importance.

The line kept on moving, and he soon found himself in front of the archway, with guards on either side looking at him. As he passed through, a cold sensation ran over his skin, as if he stepped out into a winter breeze. One of the guards eyed the runes but, seeing no reaction, the man waved him through the gates.

Beyond the gate was a cobbled street lined with buildings on both sides. People were everywhere to be seen as they went about their business. Some hurried along, determined to reach whatever destination they had, while others stood and chatted with acquaintances.

Y’rid started making his down the street, the sights bringing more memories to his mind. This was the southern street, one of the main streets in the Riversedge. It street led to the merchant square near the middle of the city, he knew, where it joined with the other two. He could remember walking down this very street countless times.

His gaze landed on a large timber building standing on the corner of the street and another. Wayfarer. An inn catering to those coming in from the southern gate as he did. While he couldn’t see it now, he knew there was a stable behind, the inn housing d’yari and other pack animals. More than once had he made a couple of copper helping merchants to carrying of their goods inside. Enough to fill his stomach if not much else.

A stall stood nearly onto the street in front of a house, the seller yelling out prices and details. Tohin, was the man’s name was. He wasn’t really allowed to set up shop here, but a silver into the hand of the patrolling guard and what was and wasn’t allowed became up to interpretation. Tohin’s ‘friendliness’ with the guards also made trying to swipe some of those fruits he sold a terrible idea, as he knew from first-hand experience.

Y’rid continued on, and the smell of freshly baked bread reached his nose as he passed the stall, making him wonder if Hursha was busy manning her shop. The stern face she usually wore contradicted her warm heart. He would probably have starved during more than one cold stretch, were it not for her.

Y’rid let his feet guide him as he made his way through the city, every step bringing up more memories. He tried to linger as little as possible on any one of them as the sense of wrongness continued to build in his mind. Each new memory brought new strength to the itch in his mind.

He kept going, his thoughts continually going back to the vision he had outside the gate, hoping that something he saw would give him some new insight. But of the woman, Lae, there was no trace. He knew she was important to him, yet he couldn’t place her in any of the memories he saw.

As the itch in his mind continued to build, he found himself paying less and less attention to his surroundings. His past seemed more and more real. And more and more false.

Who was that woman?

He shook himself awake, realising he had been staring at the same spot for a while now. He glanced around, wondering where he had ended up when his eyes fell onto something. What could barely have been called a blanket hung over an overturned and half-rotted wooden cart wedged into the corner of a blocked-off alleyway.

He knew that blanket. He knew how the coarse texture of its woven plant stems would feel on his skin were he to reach over and touch it. He knew that were he to pull the blanket to the side, it would reveal a pile of rags, spread out onto the floor. In the corner where the wall and the cart met would be a wooden cup, filled with water from the river.

He remembered crawling onto the pile of rags countless times, to fall asleep as the wind ran over the worn wooden barrier, piercing through its many holes. He remembered wedging a copper coin between two of the planks to join its three brethren, the total sum of his wealth.

This was his home. And it had been for nearly a term now.

He stared at the shelter in disbelief, if it could even be called a shelter. Rathole seemed more appropriate.

No.

He didn’t live like this.

The itch grew. Another bout of memories pressed into his mind, refuting the claim. He saw himself lying in the pile of rags. If he turned just so, and pushed one of the torn shirts against the right corner he could block out most of the bad weather, and if –

No.

He raised his hands to his head, scratching at his scalp, the itch now almost unbearable. He ran through his memories, trying to understand just how this came to be. Slowly at first, more discrepancies showed up. An action he wouldn’t have taken, yet did. A belief long-held suddenly ringing false. An interest he had, but now couldn’t imagine ever paying it any attention. Slowly at first, but then quickly turning into a cascade. The wrongness built and built. It filled his mind, crawling in his skull. Just as he could take no more, it finally snapped.

He staggered towards the side and reached out to steady himself against the wall of the alleyway. How did he ever believe any of it? Maybe he never did. A part of him had recognised the wrongness from the beginning. And yet, another part had wanted to shut it away, hope for it all to fade.

He pressed his back against the wall and slowly sank down, feeling lost. Was any of it true? No, that was the wrong question. It was true, all of it, it just didn’t happen to him.

I’m not Y’rid.

Desperate, he searched for something to hold onto. His mind went back and grasped onto the only thing that had felt right. The image of the Lae. He saw himself tightening the straps of the breastplate and turning to look at her before the memory started to fade. As it did so, however, another took its place.

He stood in front of a sturdy wooden door, the late afternoon sun baking onto his back. The door’s squat frame was typical of those in Eriston, most houses having similar ones, but this one was special. The fatigue of spending the entire day on duty took its toll, but he felt his exhaustion fled as he reached out to push open the door.

The sweet scent of apple pie filled his nose as the door swung open. A small girl looked up from where she was sitting at the kitchen table, crumbs sticking to her cheeks. Her eyes lit up with delight as she saw him.

“Gaysh!” She shouted, the words coming out mangled as they were pushed around a mouth full of half-eaten pie. He couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. She had been very proud of herself for learning his name a few days back and had taken to calling him by it on every occasion. Not that he minded.

“It’s Gase. And what did I tell you about speaking while eating?” A stern voice came from around the corner as Lae stepped into view. She turned to him with that familiar smile on her lips. “Welcome home.”

The memory faded. He wanted to see more. He needed to see more. He tried to force more out of the recollection, but like before, it faded into blackness. Unable to help himself, he reached out, intent on pulling it out of the darkness.

Agony blinded him, it shot through every part of him, and the world disappeared.

When he came to his senses, he found himself lying against the wall. He didn’t know how long he lay there, but eventually, the pain started to recede, making it possible to think once more. He slowly sat up and raised one of his hands. It was thin, thinner than should be healthy. And it was young. Nothing like the hands in the memory. Nothing like his hands. He swallowed. This wasn’t his body either.

His thoughts fled to the girl he saw in his vision. The image brought a smile to his face, and for a moment, all his concern was pushed aside. But then the moment passed, and his smile slowly faded, replaced a look of dread.

What was her name?

The thought spun in his mind, again and again, yet no answer came.

Gase pulled his knees up to his chest and buried his face into his arms. The sky began to darken, hiding his tears as he wept for a loss he could not wholly understand.

That did not make it hurt any less.