[Crystal Two: Little Butterfly]

  Maya's Perspective:

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  Olayemi was not one to mince words. When he said everything, he meant it; and not just my journey. He wanted to know my whole life story from my fifth summer until now. I didn’t know what was more uncomfortable: a total stranger showing this much interest in my life, or the fact that he already knew a great deal before I told him. Maybe he had heard some details from Marcel over the years, but it was still disorienting. He already knew about the Syndicate and Snowcrest, and remembered countless details about me I had thought were mundane.

  Cupcake, growing impatient, eventually peeked her head into the tavern, much to the amusement of the patrons. Someone tossed her a steak bone, which she gratefully accepted.

  “Where is he, anyway?” I asked.

  “If my timing is right, you saw him after I did.”

  “…Oh,” I sank.

  “I’m sorry, my dear.”

  “Well, he said that maybe there could be Reminscents who could help me?” I asked hopefully. “Maybe doctors?” I felt more or less…fine; but Lou had acted like I could drop dead at any moment. Even if ghost-Marcel had been keeping me alive, I couldn’t possibly be fully ‘healthy.’

  “Of course! The inner city has some of the best doctors in the world.”

  I flinched as a scruffy man suddenly sat next to me. He had unkempt hair and stubble, and was relatively lean; almost scrawny compared to the other tavern patrons. His eyes were weary, as if he’d been awake for days or endured great pain.

  And he was missing a leg. His right leg was wooden from the knee down.

  Olayemi stood from his bench and went around the bar to serve the man.

  “A taste or an experience?” he asked.

  “Just a taste, this time,” the man said, his voice deeper and dryer than I expected. “Going to the runeforger soon. Need to be clear-headed.”

  Olayemi reached under his bar and produced a bottled orange beverage, taking three gold coins from the man. I noticed all the patrons had differently colored drinks, each served in varying portions. Olayemi didn’t ask this man which type he wanted; they must’ve known each other well.

  “Do you know who you’re sitting next to?” Olayemi asked playfully.

  “New face?” the man shrugged, popping open his drink. “No clue.”

  “That’s Maya,” Olayemi introduced. The man raised his eyebrows, looking me over.

  “That’s Maya?” he said, offering his hand. “No kidding. Well, you probably don’t remember me, but I’m Arthen.”

  “Marcel’s talked about you before,” I said, loosely taking his hand. He finessed two munins into my palm; I didn’t even notice the coins until I drew my hand back. Strange.

  “I don’t doubt it,” he sighed. “He credits me with saving both of your lives.” I would have chosen any other place on earth to bring Maya if Arthen hadn’t insisted on Snowcrest’s safety, Marcel had thought. If this was that same Arthen, how embarrassing was it that I had no recollection of him?

  “Do…I owe you?” I asked.

  “Don’t poison yourself with such thoughts, Maya,” Olayemi chided.

  “Where is your brother, by the way?” Arthen asked. Dammit! Still shackled, all the way out here!? Despite my aggravation, I wished I could answer. I had undertaken this journey expecting to meet him here, but the Syndicate could have executed him for all I knew.

  “He passed through here on his way to Hillcrest,” Olayemi said. “Then came back on his way to the village. He stayed a few hours, but wouldn’t rest. It’s been some days; he should be home by now.”

  “Maya?” Arthen directed his attention toward me.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted, shrinking.

  “He didn’t come here with you?” Why is he asking me so many personal questions? I thought. I don’t know you! Leave me alone!

  “He said he would ‘find me,’” I said, more defensively than necessary.

  “I didn’t mean to pry,” Arthen retracted. “But sending you all the way here from Snowcrest…he wouldn’t do that lightly. Something must be wrong.”

  “You could say that,” I dismissed, attempting to shut down the conversation. This man claimed to have saved me, but he had no right to poke into my personal life. Olayemi had to introduce us; Arthen hadn’t even recognized me! If he was so concerned, where had he been for the last twelve years?

  “Where did you say I could find a doctor?” I asked Olayemi, mainly to get away from Arthen.

  “The infirmary’s on the way to the runeforge. Let me take you,” Arthen offered, “for old times’ sake.” I shot a terrified look at Olayemi but he smiled approvingly. Ghost-Marcel was quiet, too.

  “Sure,” I said, trying to reassure myself. Arthen had a peg-leg; if he threatened me, I could just…run away. He would never catch me. And if that failed, Cupcake would be with me.

  “Thanks for the drink,” Arthen acknowledged, taking his bottle as he hobbled out the door. I loosely followed, while Olayemi smiled after us.

  ***

  “A little bit of privacy would do us some good, don’t you think?” Arthen remarked as we walked. He was barely audible over the tolling of runes across the city. Cupcake sniffed Arthen once, but was more interested in street trash and debris. Ghost-Marcel’s headache had returned, though less intensely; possibly because of my new…companion.

  “What do you want from me?” I demanded irritably. He was walking far too close.

  “You don’t remember this about me,” he began, “but I consider myself a…private man. I have my secrets, and I keep them close. Guarded.”

  “This concerns me because…?” I sidestepped, but he remained in my personal bubble.

  “Because you’re one of them.” I stared at him suspiciously. He gestured for me to turn down another street before speaking again.

  “You know about Snowcrest and the Syndicate. You know they rely on each other’s secrecy, and that relationship teeters on the edge between mutual coordination and destruction.” Does he think I’m stupid? I thought, indignant. That I can’t be trusted with secrets I was literally raised to protect?

  “…And?” I asked, looking for an escape route but I couldn’t justify running.

  “I’m just reminding you to keep your lips sealed about the Mountain. You’re not home; but the pact still applies. Protocol still applies. All it takes is one rumor reaching the wrong ear. So please, if you want to protect Chief Thorin and little Valorie, remember the fate that awaits them if Reminisce finds out about them.”

  “I…understand,” I breathed, just as we approached a massive building. A woman, holding a staff and a small water gourd, was engraved into the stone. The words ‘Eir, the Healer’ were etched beneath the engraving.

  “Here it is,” he gestured toward the entrance. “I wish I could stay longer, but I really must go.”

  “Not a problem at all,” I said, probably too eagerly. He took my hand to shake again, but wouldn’t let go of it.

  “Well, I’m off to the runeforger’s, then to the mountain,” he leaned in uncomfortably close, lowering his voice. “I’ll tell the Tiger’s Fang you’re safe and sound.”

  Ghost-Marcel didn’t say a single word during my entire exchange with Arthen; and that was even scarier than Arthen himself. Even though Ghost-Marcel was usually an unwelcome nuisance, even though he pushed me to commit atrocities, I’d grown accustomed to hearing his voice, whether I wanted to or not. Because when I was actually in danger, he made sure I survived. So for him to be silent when I felt so trapped…was unnerving. That alone made me second-guess my visit to the infirmary. I was no longer worried that they wouldn’t be able to cure me—

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  I was worried that they would.

  And Arthen! He said he would return to the Mountain, and he had called Marcel ‘The Tiger’s Fang.’ That meant he was affiliated with the Syndicate, at the very least. He also said he would talk to Marcel and tell him I was “safe and sound.” Marcel himself admitted that he only joined the Syndicate because they promised him strength; power is what he responds to. And according to Lou, Marcel didn’t talk to anyone at all. If Arthen was so casual with him, then he had to be at least as strong, maybe even stronger. That would mean—

  “If you only Wandered in here to stand around looking lost,” the nurse said, irritated, “then I suggest you loiter elsewhere.”

  “S-sorry,” I spluttered, wondering how much I would have to apologize for my own ignorance. The infirmary itself was just adorned enough to be considered ‘decorated.’ An engraving here, a potted plant there…

  “Do you have a need for care?” the nurse sighed, exasperated. “Because if not, you can get out.”

  “I do, I do,” I said defensively.

  “Well… can you read?” the nurse said surprisingly less condescendingly this time, as though she actually expected me to be illiterate. She gestured toward three signs overhead. Psychological Injury Unit, one read. Physical Injury Unit, read another. Sickness and Disease Unit, read the last.

  “The Pi-U?” I had to stop myself from giggling. I am a grown adult, I told myself.

  “Just get out of my face,” the nurse rolled her eyes, but I saw a weak smile tug at the corner of her mouth. I followed the pathway under the Psychological Injury sign until I reached another receptionist. Throughout the hospital, there were very few people milling about. Perhaps the patients had their own quarters, or maybe the doctors were so skilled, patients had no reason to stay long. That’s how it was in Snowcrest; Eliza was—

  “Excuse me, miss?” another nurse jarred me from my thoughts.

  “Oh, uh…” I straightened myself. “I recently experienced a forced extraction, and now I hear a voice in my head.” Remembering what Eliza and Lou had said, I had been expecting a more…urgent reaction from the nurse. Contrary to my expectations, she simply stood up, walked around her desk, and beckoned me to follow her.

  She led me to a small room with a stool, desk, bed, and window. There were very few decorations other than a small, thirsty potted plant. The window looked out onto a barren alleyway. Nothing particularly interesting.

  “I’ll bring a Unicorn to look you over, okay?” the nurse assured me.

  “Sounds good,” I murmured, taking a seat on the bed.

  The nurse disappeared behind the closing door and returned a few moments later with a strangely dressed man in tow. He wore an all-black gown, looking more like a judge than a doctor. His build was intimidating; very tall, and, though his clothes were baggy, I could still see muscles peeking through. A memory crystal poked out of his forehead; I’d imagined the term “Unicorn” was figurative, but clearly, it was literal. And this guy was a brute! Was he even gentle enough to be a doctor?

  The nurse closed the door, leaving me alone with him.

  “Forced extraction?” he inquired as the door shut.

  “Yes,” I responded simply.

  “Do you have the crystal with you?”

  Yes, doctor, it’s on my head.

  “No, I don’t,” I admitted. I’d lost track of the yellow crystal; the Snow Leopard had taken it. Even if I’d kept it, I’d probably have discarded it. It would have been a cruel reminder of what had happened, and it wouldn’t even form a useful rune if smelted. A ‘Marcel on the Infirmary Floor’ rune? Preposterous.

  “Can you retrieve it?”

  “No… I came from far away to be seen,” I told him.

  “Well, that’s no good,” he sighed, taking a seat on the stool. “We can’t reverse it if you don’t have the crystal.”

  “Reverse it?” I asked. Eliza and Hugo had both said there was nothing that could be done; Lou hadtold me death was certain. A reversal operation was possible this whole time?

  Then it clicked.

  ‘I know I may seem like a wellspring of knowledge to you,’ Lou had said, ‘but that’s an assumption based on your Snowcrestian perspective.’ Maybe I wasn’t the only one rendered ignorant by Snowcrest’s isolation. Eliza was the best medic in town, but what if she was only good relative to other Snowcrestians? Worse, what if Snowcrest simply lacked information that Reminisce had in abundance?

  “Yes, reverse the extraction,” the doctor reiterated. “Is that not what you came for?”

  “I’m sorry, I just didn’t know that was an option,” I said. “I was told nothing could be done, that my death was certain!”

  “Common misconception,” the doctor sighed as though he were Sisyphos and his boulder had just come crashing down. “Can you die from a forced extraction? Yes, but if you survive the initial event, chances are you’ll be fine.”

  “I see.” That was more relieving than I had thought it would be, but now I had another question: “And the voice?”

  “I’m tempted to write that off as one of the symptoms…hmmm…just to be sure, have you used any memory crystals lately?”

  “Yes, two,” I told him without skipping a beat. Eliza had told me never to lie to a doctor.

  “And were they yours or someone else’s?”

  “They were my brother’s,” I said, then added, “It’s his voice I hear.” The doctor rubbed his face.

  “I’ll try to explain this simply. Reverse extraction, or reintegration, works by slowly casting bits and pieces of the extracted memory back into the victim. This process is extremely tedious, not to mention excruciatingly painful; but it ultimately reverses the harmful symptoms.

  “However, it’s important that the victim doesn’t use any other memory crystals before undergoing reintegration. You might accidentally replace the damaged parts of your psyche with parts of the foreign crystal; so, if you weren’t going to experience symptoms, you pretty much guaranteed them.”

  “So I’m not going to die?”

  “Who told you that?”

  “…My friend, Lou,” I admitted, bashfully.

  “And her occupation?” This time, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be totally honest.

  “She’s a…sell-sword, I think,” I told him.

  “So you’re taking medical advice from a mercenary…? Are you stupid, perhaps?”

  “Harsh.”

  “But deserved, girl. In all seriousness, no, you won’t perish. Many people live fulfilling lives after experiencing forced extractions, even if they don’t reintegrate.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course. You’ve probably walked past half a dozen of them on your way here. Horrible that it’s so common, but it’s not a death sentence. Can you tell me exactly when you hear your brother’s voice?” I was tempted to just tell him that ghost-Marcel only emerged when I was ‘in danger,’ but I knew it was much more nuanced than that. He emerged when my emotions were out of control, when I was facing a moral dilemma; sometimes it seemed like he only emerged to make a curt statement. But no matter when he emerged, and no matter how twisted he was, he always seemed primarily occupied with my survival.

  “There’s a broad range of triggers,” I decided, “but I do know he wants me alive.”

  “That part is unusual. Most are terrified of their delusions, but no matter. Clear-blossom, tea or runes, should silence the voice. There are sativa breeders in the north; the plant should have a similar effect. Less common, smells horrid, but more versatile in its preparation.”

  Ah, Thorin. Still saving my life, I see.

  Wait. Foul-smelling plant from the north? Had Lou been smoking the cure for my illness!?

  “I’m grateful,” I thanked the doctor, trying to stop my eye from twitching.

  “That’s all?” He stood up and offered his hand.

  “That’s all,” I said, taking his hand, and he hoisted me up before shaking it.

  “Didn’t even need to get bloody,” The doctor remarked, ushering me out the door and sending me on my way.

  As I was leaving the hospital, I saw a man hobbling down the hallway with his left arm tightly held to his chest. He looked very uncomfortable. I wanted to approach him and ask what had happened, but I remembered how the beggar had treated me. I remembered how dismissively the receptionist had treated me. Were all Reminiscents like that? They couldn’t be, could they?

  Third time pays for all, as they say.

  “What happened to your arm?” I wondered innocently. He looked puzzled at first, but then as though he’d been waiting for someone to ask.

  “Fell off my horse, broke my arm,” he grumbled. He had a thick accent that I couldn’t quite place. “Doctor cast this weird blue rune on me, told me to come back in a month. Now my arm’s stuck like this, it don’t feel no better, and I can’t work!”

  A binding rune on a human? The village huntsmen used a method very similar: they would tie themselves up, totally restricting their movement. Then, they would turn the experience into runes which they would fit into their spearheads and arrowheads. Using these in tandem with sleeping and fainting runes, the huntsmen were virtually inescapable to the Forest’s prey animals, and virtually unkillable to predators.

  “I could be wrong, but the doctor might have placed you in a type of runic sling. Didn’t the doctor tell you?”

  “Wasn’t paying much attention,” he began walking toward the exit and beckoned me to follow. “That sort of thing goes way over my head. But that means doc must’ve had his own arm in a sling for a month straight then—with no broke arm at that!”

  “Yeah, that’s true,” I agreed, wondering how Eliza had never thought of this.

  “Well, I should be going now,” the man dismissed himself as we approached the exit, briefly bowing before

  “Excuse me, sir?” a male voice called after him. It was a Unicorn, a different one from my own, rushing down the hallway. “Your treatment is not yet completed; where are you going?”

  “You told me, ‘come back in a month!’” the man protested.

  “I said you will need to return in a month. I didn’t say leave!”

  “Oh!” the man backtracked and followed the doctor, leaving me to exit the building alone.

  As I greeted Cupcake, who so graciously decided not to wander off, I couldn’t help but realize how…pointless that exchange was. I didn’t know that man, he didn’t offer me any particular insight, I didn’t gain anything from speaking to him. I wasn’t used to speaking to people—especially strangers—who didn’t want anything from me. I wasn’t used to speaking to people and being… relaxed. Maybe it was about time that something for me was…boring.

  Ghost-Marcel’s headache returned the moment I stepped outside, and I was tempted to try and ‘silence’ him; but I realized I didn’t actually want to. Hearing ghost-Marcel had always been a conflicting experience, even if he was giving good advice. On one hand, he genuinely motivated me to move forward despite adversity; I would certainly have perished in the Forest without him. But on the other hand, every time I heard his voice, I felt as though the Fates came closer to snipping my thread.

  But now that I knew he wasn’t actually an existential threat, I lost the urgency to rid myself of him. He was useful in his own right; perhaps I was even willing to claim him as a part of me, and not a foreign object.

  So he could stay.

  For now.

  Walking with Cupcake back to the tavern, I came to another realization. I’d received at least three warnings from Marcel and Lou about the peril that I would face in Mnemosyne; even the guards seemed incredulous that I was entering the city alone. But…where was the danger? The most violence I’d encountered was when that beggar slapped the fruit out of my hand; but that had hurt my pride more than anything else. Maybe my body jerks and Cupcake’s presence actually did fend off any potential attackers, but that didn’t explain why I didn’t see anybody else getting assailed.

  So either the city wasn’t as dangerous as I’d been led to believe…

  Or the violence was somewhere else.

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