Chapter

Twelve

Two months later.

Brin held his spear in the ready position, waiting for the beast he was hunting to show itself again. The metal spearhead glinted in the daylight, but he couldn’t let it distract him. The beast would show itself any moment and he had to be ready.

The spear was a reassuring weight in his hand. It was strong and well-crafted. Far from the crude implements of prehistoric Earth, it would’ve looked like an art piece in his old world. Fine designs and lettering were worked all the way across the shaft, but in a way that still left it perfectly smooth. The shining spearhead was affixed so smoothly to the shaft that on first glance it looked to all be one piece.

A perfect weapon for this sort of hunt, since in Hammon’s Bog, this sort of craftsmanship was completely mundane.

He couldn’t see the enemy, but the ground was marked in red by the [Illusionist]. Not Hogg, the other one. Gustaff.

The red dot rose, so Brin was ready. Just as the beast showed its head, he struck.

In one stab, he killed it. His prey, a six-inch-long mouse with big floppy ears, was dead.

What was that, a hundred? Only about a thousand more to go.

The System didn’t even give him a notification. Brin was glad for that, honestly. Even if he could earn experience points, getting notifications for every kill while he was taking care of pests in [Farmer] Dinas’ carrot field would have been supremely annoying.

More dots shone here and there, and Brin moved on to the next one. Other children of the town were scattered across the fields, careful to step only in the dirt spaces between the lines of plants, following targeting dots of their own.

A soft deep thrumming sound filled the air, courtesy of Gustaff. Something about that sound made the field mice go crazy and scatter about on the surface, giving Brin and the other children a chance to kill them.

Above the thrumming, a peppy ballad played, a song about lost love but with a beat you could dance to. That was also courtesy of Gustaff.

The [Illusionist] had also conjured miniature clouds to follow the field-workers around, offering shade. Brin’s cloud had wandered away somewhere. He had never quite mastered the trick of whistling to guide it back, so instead he worked in the sun, watering the fields with his sweat.

Gustaff could’ve shaded the entire field, but Dinas would never waste sunshine like that, not with how rainy it was here. His skills made the plants grow frighteningly fast, but only when the sun shined. If Brin sat for five minutes, he could watch the carrot leaves growing bigger in real-time.

Not that he ever had a whole five minutes to just sit around. He hadn’t known exactly what to expect out of quasi-medieval fantasy life, but one thing he’d gotten right was how much work it was. He laughed at the old life where an eight-hour workday felt long. Nowadays, Hogg kept him slaving away from sunup until sundown, and then into the night sometimes since Gustaff could light that up as bright as day if there was need.

Brin wiped the sweat out of his eyes, looking for another target. “How much longer do we have to do this?” he asked, mostly to himself.

Someone answered anyway. “We’re not finished until the eleventh bell!” It was Davi, a kid the same as Brin’s physical age. He was stocky, though, and big for his age. If Brin had to guess, he would have put Davi as a high school senior, one on the wrestling team, although since Davi didn’t have his System yet he couldn’t be more than thirteen.

Davi trotted quickly through the furrows, eyes darting around, stabbing rodents left and right. He was a farmer’s son, not this farmer, but one who apparently had the same outlook as Hogg as far as children and idle hands were concerned.

Unlike Brin, Davi was extremely popular in this town. One of the three golden children of the golden generation.

Also unlike Brin, Davi took to the work with gusto. He was one of those annoyingly good workers; he worked like he wanted to be here. Maybe he did. He was a good-natured kid and seemed completely satisfied with the near certainty that he’d be following in his parent’s footsteps as a [Farmer]. Brin picked up his pace, just so that he wouldn’t look so slow by comparison, although he still only speared half as many mice as Davi.

“What does it matter when we’re done? As soon as we finish one chore, we’re just going to get sent somewhere else,” said Brin. “Work never ends.”

Davi stopped. He actually stopped working, right in the middle of the day, something Brin had never seen him do.

“Brin, after this… I’m done for the day,” said Davi.

“What?” The sun must’ve been melting Brin’s brain because that couldn’t be right.

“Four hours, we choose one of three shifts. After that, I usually go help my parents with their fields, but if I want to go see a movie or play some ball, no one will tell me no. What does Hogg make you do?”

Brin found that he couldn’t answer. Three four-hour shifts, that’s how they separated their work in Hammon’s Bog. Usually, Hogg made him do all three shifts.

He’d known that he worked more than the other children. But this? This was completely mad.

“More than that,” Brin said finally.

“If you want me to talk to the Prefit for you, I’m sure⁠—”

“No thanks,” said Brin. “I’ll handle it.”

“Ok,” said Davi. Then he laughed, to clear the tension. “What did you do to piss Hogg off?”

“I was born, I guess,” said Brin.

They wandered separate directions after that, and while Brin worked, he couldn’t help but go over Davi’s answer again. What had he done to piss Hogg off? He thought they had an understanding, that Hogg was only playing the part of Brin’s parent because no one else could know he was really an adult in a child’s body. When Hogg had given Brin all these assignments, Brin had assumed that he was treating him the way all kids here were treated. This was a rugged frontier town. You worked from sunup till sundown. That’s how it worked, right? Wrong. Apparently, that was a hell reserved only for him.

He vented his frustration into the tiny mice, pumping his arms, wreaking terrible vengeance. By the end, he was certain he was spearing as many as Davi.

When the eleventh bell finally rang, Brin was exhausted. Not just from the exercise, but emotionally. It was like every stupid extra chore he’d done the last two months was catching up to him all at once. [Farmer] Dinas put out lunch for them. A thick vegetable mash stew, and Brin ate without really tasting it.

When lunch was done, he didn’t rush over to the mill to start his next work shift. Instead, he just… walked.

He wasn’t ready to confront Hogg yet. He didn’t want a fight. He just wanted a break.

He walked past the field, towards the city walls. The fields were all outside the walls. When one harvest was only a matter of weeks, it didn’t make sense to wrap them with the walls in the unlikely event of a foreign army or monster horde, something which had never happened to this town as far as he knew.

The walls were wooden, vertical logs sharpened at the ends, rising thirty feet into the air. There were watchtowers dotting the walls, but no one was ever inside them. He headed through the gates. They were open, and he’d never seen them closed. Monsters stayed out of the city, due to whatever strange magic worked on these circular “bogs.” They stayed out of the general area, too, due to the hard work of the town’s [Hunters].

Inside, the town couldn’t have been more different from Travin’s Bog. Not that he’d gotten a good look at his hometown, but from the size of the ruins he knew that that town had mostly been made up of smaller, one-room houses.

Hammon’s Bog was practically a city by comparison. Two- or three-story townhomes were built snug up against each other on both sides of the streets. The roofs were made of wooden shingles, and most of the houses were painted bright red, yellow, or blue. Elaborate handmade signs hung from many of the bottom-story entrances advertising services: tailors, shoemakers, groceries, a general store, herbs, alchemy, and the like.

Travin’s Bog had dirt roads, but here boardwalks lined the sides, although if your shoes were already muddy like Brin’s currently were, it was polite to stay on the dirt path in the middle.

Men and women walked about on their business, and now that he was looking for it, he noticed that no one looked exhausted. No one was stressed or harried. Everyone had the time to stop and chat with their neighbors. How had he not noticed this before?

His wandering took him to the town square. There was a big grassy plain in the middle of town, where they did community festivals, and where the children tended to congregate.

The smaller children played together. Mostly tag or hide-and-seek; some things transcended time and space. But Brin was at an age where puberty was starting to make things weird, so the boys and girls had self-segregated. The boys were playing “ball.” It was sort of like rugby, but with even fewer rules. It was generally about taking the ball from one side of the square to the other, but mostly it was a big disorganized wrestling match.

“Hey, it’s Brin. Come over, Brin!” shouted one of the boys.

“Shut up, he’s not going to,” another said, a little more quietly.

Normally Brin wouldn’t join in, but today… why not? It was a perfect opportunity, too. Some of the kids had noticed him, but the one holding the ball hadn’t. He was watching the guys following him, not looking where he was going, which was straight towards Brin.

Brin bodychecked him, knocking him to the ground, and stole the ball, running straight through the crowd.

The boys cheered, but that didn’t stop them from trying to take him out. He did the running-back spin past the first three challengers before someone got him by the legs. He fell face-first into grass, tearing a huge divot into the field with his elbow on the way down. The damage to the field would be repaired by the time he woke up tomorrow; he had no idea whose Skill was fixing it, but it was pretty neat.

Some of the kids were watching him nervously, probably wondering if he’d be mad, but he was laughing when he got to his feet. After that, he was one of the guys.

He didn’t keep track of time and just went with the flow. He’d only played this one time before, right when he’d first arrived, and it hadn’t been fun at all. He’d been noticeably weaker than the other boys, and kept getting hurt. All the extra shifts must’ve helped him catch up, though. This time he could handle himself and it was a lot more fun.

Was it weird that he, a twenty-six-year-old man, was playing with a bunch of kids? Well, maybe, but what was he supposed to do? Everyone treated him like he was the age of his body. And he might not have had the mind of a twelve-year-old, but he had the brain of a twelve-year-old. Childish things were fun again. Everything felt more real and immediate. His emotions were more raw, and time felt longer. And he had the energy of a twelve-year-old. Playing like this spoke to him. It provided something that he needed, in his soul. So no, he wasn’t going to keep worrying about stuff like acting his age.

Eventually a bunch of the kids broke off to go do something else, and he left as well.

He still wasn’t ready to go home, so he kept wandering. He walked past the temple, a tall white structure dedicated to the gods that he mostly avoided. Hogg kept pestering him to talk to the [Priest], but frankly, he didn’t want to. The priest might have answers to questions he still didn’t dare to ask.

Past the temple lay the amphitheater. Gustaff the [Illusionist] stood on the stage, looking bored and distant. Not really Gustaff, though, since Brin could tell it was just a mirror image of him. He was an old man, older than Hogg, with thin white hair and a long white beard. Although pants, high boots, and long jackets were in fashion with the men of Hammon’s Bog, Gustaff always wore a blue robe with white stars sewn in and slippers.

A gaggle of younger children surrounded him, laughing.

The little kids in this town were absolute savages, worse than animals. When they weren’t playing in the square, they roamed the town, searching for prey, and when they found a likely target they’d play all sorts of nasty tricks or simply pelt you with mud if they couldn’t think of anything else.

Brin was a little curious how Gustaff would chase them all away without revealing that this was only an illusion.

One of the children ran around and put his full fist straight up Gustaff’s butt, to the shrieking laughter of the other boys and girls.

Right. Unlike Hogg, Gustaff wasn’t hiding the fact that he was an [Illusionist]. The children knew that this wasn’t the real guy. He must’ve kept a mirror image of himself here all day. But why?

It didn’t take him long to find out. A girl waved her hand through Gustaff’s hand, and suddenly a row of portraits erupted on the stage, covering it from end to end. The children all raced to a different portrait. A boy got to a picture of a man in armor first, and the other children screamed in outrage when the other pictures disappeared.

The portraits disappeared along with Gustaff. A huge screen appeared, showing a field of flowers, and music started playing.

This was some kind of automatic interface for Gustaff’s movies. The only time Brin had seen one was when Gustaff had been there in person, so he’d never seen the menu before. It was pretty impressive. Unnervingly modern in a town that was still mostly medieval.

Gustaff was a standard [Illusionist] in this world. He didn’t hide what he did, and while he wasn’t that useful in a fight, he could still work wonders. Like playing movies. Apparently, [Illusionists] could share recordings with each other, and Gustaff made a trip to Oud’s Bog once a year to get the latest blockbusters.

Hogg could do it too, but he didn’t for obvious reasons. He’d spent a lifetime pretending to be a [Rogue] pretending to be a [Warrior], and as far as the town knew, that’s what he was.

Brin sat with the kids and watched the movie. A story about a boy who vows to avenge his mother’s death, only to find out that the villain was his love interest’s father. At only forty minutes long it didn’t overstay its welcome, but mostly Brin couldn’t get over the fact that here he was, in a pre-industrial society, watching a movie on the big screen. There were things about this magical world that he was certain he’d never get used to.

The movie was over too soon, but he didn’t feel like going to another one. He also didn’t want to go back and talk to Hogg. What was he going to say? What did he want to say? Questions for later. For now, he just wanted to enjoy his impromptu day off.

He wandered further into town.

A girl his own age stood in his path, glaring down at him imperiously. Myra was the second of the town’s three golden children, although Brin didn’t know why. She had long, straight black hair, in a town where most everyone’s hair was curly brown, which somewhat set her apart. But she was the daughter of the [Weaver], who had a nasty reputation, and she had a nasty personality to match.

He moved to the left to pass her by, but she stepped into his way again.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“None of your business.”

“You’re supposed to be at the mill today. You’re shirking. Mama says that you’re a pre-[Witch]. Just like a pre-[Witch] to be shirking.”

“Pre-[Witch]? That’s new. Too clunky to be a good insult. It’s never going to catch on,” said Brin.

“Did you hear me? I said you’re shirking, pre-[Witch],” said Myra.

“That’s rich, considering your mom is an actual [Witch],” said Brin.

Myra gasped. “The Prefit will have you pilloried for that. It’s against the law to accuse someone of being a [Witch].”

“What about calling someone a pre-[Witch]?”

Myra didn’t block him when he walked around her this time, and pretty soon she was behind him, mentally and physically. Maybe if he was really twelve this would’ve been a horrible ordeal, but he liked to think he was above things like schoolyard insults. Although, that hadn’t stopped him from firing right back, had it?

The [Witch] accusation… that was something to think about. His [System] awakening was still more than a year away, but what if he did get the [Witch] Class? It was a distinct possibility.

Siphani might be dead, but her story still hung over this town like a specter, and Myra wasn’t the first person to draw a correlation between his story and hers. A strange child from out of town. An unusual disposition, although Brin was dark in all the ways Siphani had been light. He didn’t mean to be—there was just a big cultural barrier, so he didn’t know how to act, and it didn’t help that he was so tired all the time.

The point was that everyone expected Brin to get the [Witch] Class. And what if he did? It might not be too bad for him. From Hogg’s story, [Witches] didn’t have to be evil. They had good and evil powers, it was just that the evil parts were hard to resist. Especially for a teenager, the point in life when a person’s impulse control was at the absolute lowest. But for him? He thought he’d be able to handle it.

Well, it’s not like he’d get to choose, and besides, that was a year away. What did he want to do today?

He heard a few notes of music, and his heart started beating quickly. It was coming from the public house. The building was tall, but only because it had a high roof. No apartments were built above it on account of how loud it got at all hours of the night. There was music coming from inside, which meant that tonight would be one of those rowdy nights of singing and dancing.

Even though Gustaff could play actual movies, [Illusionists] were still considered second-rate entertainers. The real kings of entertainment were [Bards]. That totally boggled Brin’s mind because from what he’d heard Bards could only do music, but everybody swore that Bards were better. It looked like today, Brin would finally get to find out why.

The [Bard] who lived in Hammon’s Bog, named Jeffrey, had been on the road since before Brin arrived, but by the looks of things he was back in town and already playing in the public house.

Children weren’t really allowed in there, so Brin had to figure something out if he wanted to hear the music. He could sit on the boardwalk outside the building, but he’d definitely get chased away. Behind, then? Behind the row of buildings there was a slow-moving stream that functioned as an open sewer. The adults would find him the first time someone needed to pee, and that definitely wouldn’t be a good look for him. And it’s not like he wanted to hang out back there anyway.

Could he listen from above? Worth a shot.

The store to the left of the public house sold expensive adventuring gear. There were never a ton of customers, mostly travelers, which is why the shopkeeper didn’t mind sharing a wall with the public house.

Brin spent some time scraping every inch of mud and dirt off his shoes before going inside.

The shopkeeper was a [Leatherworker] named Perris. A tall, thin man with very pointed, severe features, he looked like the guy you’d cast as a cruel headmaster or a corrupt orphanage manager, but he wasn’t actually mean to children. Or at least he was never mean to Brin. He drove a hard bargain with the adventurers passing through, which is why the best craftsmen in town trusted him to sell their things. He didn’t have a lot of patience for people with no money to spend, although he always made time for penniless Brin.

Not to say that he’d let Brin up the stairs next to his counter. Those led to his and his family’s private apartments. Not exactly open to the public.

Brin walked up to the counter and Perris said, “Eh? It’s little Brin if I’m not mistaken?”

No one in this town had gotten sick of that joke yet. Except him of course. He put on a smile anyways. “Sure is!”

“You must’ve heard about Toros’ new batch, hm? Come to look at the swords?” asked Perris. Even his voice sounded villainous. It was sort of squeaky and overdramatized, giving everything he said a nefarious bent.

“Sure am! If that’s ok,” said Brin.

“I don’t see why not,” said Perris, smiling a bit too wide, showing off rows of crooked but eerily white teeth.

Perris took Brin over to a large gilded display case. It was enchanted against theft. Even a [Warrior] would find it impossible to break into it, and a [Rogue] would find it impossible to pick the magical lock, according to Perris.

Inside was a row of glittering weapons. Swords, each more exotic and beautiful than the last. There were quite a few new ones since the last time he’d been here.

“Toros has outdone himself. He’s got a new Skill, his level fifty capstone. The cheapest sword in this case is on the left, worth twenty-five gold. And I’ll get thirty for it, mark you me,” said Perris. He laughed. Cackled, really, and Brin chuckled along.

Honestly, Brin liked Perris. A villain on the outside, but really he was just a big softie on the inside.

“You should understand something. People talk about Classes this and Skills that, but the real power in this world is money. With this sword, I could cut down a level thirty [Warrior], despite being a humble [Leatherworker]. You think Toros is a great [Smith] because he worked hard? Ha! He makes the best weapons because he can afford the best materials. This sword is made of Blue Sapphire! It wasn’t even a metal before Toros worked it, but now it’s got a spring to it like tin and it’s stronger than steel.”

Perris was leaning over Brin’s shoulder like a devil.

Brin smiled. “Cool! What’s it do?”

“It’s light and strong and well suited for agility-focused fighters. The metallic Sapphire is perfect for enchantment, and it’s got everything that Chamylla could pack into it. Boost to speed. Boost to strength. Minor healing. It can even shoot a devastating blast of ice, though only once a month and it’s uncomfortably hot to hold the entire month when it’s charging. Forget [Warriors]. Now my weapons rival the power of [Mages]!”

Brin gave an appropriate reaction of awe, though he knew that was an exaggeration. From demonstrations he’d seen before, the sword would probably cast a fist-sized rock of ice. Good enough to kill a small monster or serve as a distraction, but definitely nothing approaching the apocalyptic devastation that Lumina could unleash. Minor healing sounded impressive, but healing wasn’t all that easy in this world. Minor healing meant minor, as in it might heal a blister over the course of an hour.

Perris gave Brin the description of every new sword in the case. A scimitar with flame magic. A fencer’s foil that focused on speed and reduced wind resistance, which didn’t sound that impressive but Perris swore it was vital to the type of fighter who would use it. The most expensive was a big black sword that didn’t do much except that it was nigh unbreakable, really heavy, and increased the user’s friction against the ground. According to Perris, really high-level [Warriors] didn’t need tricks, they only wanted a weapon that would let them leverage their incredible Strength. That one cost more than a hundred gold.

Some customers came in and Perris left to take care of them. He let Brin stay with the swords, his eyes glued to the display case. He didn’t usually let people browse unattended, but he knew he could trust Brin.

Well, he knew he could trust Brin not to steal anything. As soon as Perris’ back was turned, Brin darted to the back and dashed up the stairs as quickly as he could move without making a sound.

The doors weren’t locked. Who would bother? Brin found Perris’ door and went inside. He crept across the floor of a living room. It was lushly appointed, with a thick rug, a comfortable-looking sofa, and end tables with expensive vases. The only source of light was the window.

He cursed inwardly when he saw it was made of glass instead of the open-air windows or wooden slats that most people used, but luckily there was a hinge to let it open.

He crawled through the window and closed it gently before dropping down the six or seven feet to the wooden shingles on the roof of the public hall. He hid behind the chimney where he was on the street-facing side of the roof instead of the sewer-facing side, but still blocked from view of anyone below.

From there, he could hear the music perfectly, and it hit him like the first glimpse of sunlight after a year underground. Ah, so this was what a [Bard] could do.

It was dancing music, and Brin’s whole body wanted to jump up and start moving. He managed to limit it to tapping his feet, but it would’ve been easier to stop breathing.

Gustaff could play music, too, of course. Any kind of music, or at least, anything that Gustaff had heard before. But there was a huge difference. An [Illusionist] could only reproduce the sounds of the music. [Bards], it seemed, could reach your heart.

Brin had appreciated music in his old life, of course, as much as anyone. Sometimes it was just background noise, and sometimes it took him on a journey, made him feel angry or sad or lonely. Sometimes it reached his heart. This [Bard] had taken him all the way there, back to the way he had felt in his past life the summer after he turned fifteen, when he went to his first rock concert. And this was only the first song.

A window opened, opposite to the side of the roof where he’d come in, and a girl slipped out and landed on the roof. She tiptoed quickly across the roof and sat beside him with her back against the chimney. She had the brown curly hair that was common in this town, and her simple cream working dress had grass stains on the knees.

This was the last and by far the most beloved of the golden trifecta. Hammon’s Bog’s favored daughter. He didn’t know why she’d snuck up here with him. If she had gone into the public house they would have rolled out the red carpet for her, rules or no rules.

“What are you doing up here, Zilyana?” Brin hissed.

“Following you, of course. Call me Zilly, everyone does,” said Zilly. “This is awesome! I can’t believe no one has ever thought of this before.”

“Well don’t ruin it for me by telling everyone about it,” said Brin.

“Oh, I don’t think anyone else would make it up here even if they know. Olha only let me through because she and my mom are friends. I can’t believe you got past Perris! It makes sense, though, since your dad… or your, um, guardian is a [Rogue], everyone says that that’s what you’ll get, too.”

Huh. He hadn’t heard that particular rumor. Better than everyone saying he was going to be a [Witch].

She must’ve misunderstood something in his expression because she quickly said, “Oh, sorry. He’s supposed to be a [Warrior], isn’t he?”

“Hm? Oh, no. Hogg knows he’s not fooling anyone. People call him [Warrior] to be polite. Because you know, your Class is your Class, but Hogg would never steal or anything like that.”

“Oh, good,” said Zilly.

The dancing music from below ended and a new song started. This was an epic, a long, long song with a lot of verses that told a story. Where an [Illusionist’s] movies could show you a story, this song made him feel like he was there. With his mind’s eye, Brin saw the brave hero with a glimmering spear facing off against endless monsters as clearly as if he were the warrior of legend.

Brin and Zilly sat and listened to the entire thing. Enraptured, they couldn’t speak a word. When it was done, Zilly let out a sigh of relief.

“I like Jeffrey, but sometimes his songs can be a little much,” said Zilly.

The next song started, something slow and sweet, almost saccharine. “Oh no,” said Brin.

This song was romantic.

Zilly leaned towards him. Her heavy-lidded eyes fixed on his lips. Oh no. Their bodies might be the same age, but she just looked like a little girl to him. She bit her lip… then shook. Her shoulders convulsed again, and she broke out laughing.

Relieved, Brin laughed along. She punched his shoulder and he punched her back.

“I had you going,” said Zilly.

“Yeah, right,” said Brin. “Just be glad you didn’t take it too far and I didn’t have to push you off this roof.”

“As if you could,” said Zilly.

The song after that was sad. Almost from the first note Zilly closed her eyes and wept away some secret sorrow. Brin felt a painful lump in his stomach as he thought of everything he’d lost from his other life, but somehow his eyes stayed dry. It made him wonder if he was broken.

Zilly slipped away when the song was done. In an impressive display of athleticism, she jumped up the wall to the window she’d come from.

Brin went to the back side and jumped off the roof. He’d been steadily getting used to what his attribute-enhanced body could do, and the twelve-foot drop to the ground wasn’t an issue. Then he simply walked in Perris’ back door, planning on pretending he’d gone to use the privy if he was asked.

He wasn’t asked. Perris was back behind his counter. “Done already? You know, maybe someday you’ll be here to buy one of those swords. Well don’t expect me to give you a discount! Ha ha HA!”

“I wouldn’t want you to. I can’t wait to barter you down myself!”

“Do you think you can? You fool. You absolute fool,” said Perris, punctuating his statement with a fresh round of cackling.

Brin smiled. “You forget, I already know the number to aim for. You already told me what your swords are worth.”

“Did I? DID I?” Perris laughed Brin out the door, and his solemn mood from the [Bard’s] sad song was completely forgotten. Perris always had a way of cheering him up.

The sun was starting to set, so Brin figured it was time. He needed to talk to Hogg.

Brin left town. Outside the walls, past the fields, far into the trees, Hogg’s home was built right on a riverbank in a cozy little clearing. Everyone thought it was because Hogg didn’t like people, which, while true, wasn’t the real reason. The truth was that Hogg wanted a place where he was free to be an [Illusionist] without anyone finding out.

When he got home, Hogg was sitting on the front porch, smoking from a pipe. That wasn’t real, though he really could smell the smoke. He narrowed his eyes, looking for the real Hogg.

[Know What’s Real] wasn’t perfect at finding invisible things, but he could still do it with a little effort. The trick was that he had to be looking at the spot where he thought Hogg might be and think something like “nothing is there.” Only then would his Skill tell him that’s not real.

Brin scanned the area, looking for places Hogg might be hiding. The forest, the little garden… he had to be close enough that Brin could still smell the pipe smoke.

He saw something in a tree nearby, a spot of air on a high tree branch that wasn’t as empty as it pretended to be. He picked up a pebble and threw it at the spot, and it disappeared.

What was that? Had Hogg jumped down? Or maybe he’d put a mirror image up there and made it invisible.

He saw an unusual splash in the stream. There, Hogg was fishing. Even now that he’d spotted him, the Skill didn’t let him see through the illusion. It just told him something was there. He was pretty sure this was the real thing, from the way the smell of pipe smoke grew stronger.

He walked over to stand next to Hogg’s approximate area.

“How’s the stuff with the undead army going?” he asked.

“Nothing’s changed since yesterday when you asked. The unit from Galan’s Order arrived, but they haven’t had any more luck than us. The entire undead army has just… disappeared. We aren’t going to give up looking for them, but there’s not a lot we can do for now. The Frenarian army won’t mobilize after all. They said they’ll come if their scouts find something, but for now there’s nothing for them to fight. Lumina is talking about heading back to the tower. She’s not the outdoorsy type, and two months of camping are starting to wear on her.”

“That’s… good news, right? The army is gone,” said Brin.

“It’s a disaster. The first thing I told you about conflict in this world is that it’s all about information. The army is still out there, but we don’t know where they are. Meanwhile, they know where we are, and all about who we are and what we can do. But! Nothing we can do about it that we aren’t already doing. Now, don’t get me wrong but you look like you have something on your mind, and I doubt it’s about wanting to hear the same old news.”

“I did the vermin extermination job this morning. But after that I took the rest of the day off,” said Brin.

“Alright,” said Hogg.

“That’s it? You’re not going to chew me out for skipping all my work?” asked Brin.

“Should I? You’re old enough to make your own decisions, despite how you look,” said Hogg.

“I look older every day. I think I’m going through a growth spurt. Words I never thought I’d say again,” said Brin. “But that’s beside the point. I’ve been working twelve hours a day, every day. You told me I had to. You let me think that if I didn’t that I’d stand out and get a reputation for being lazy.”

“That I did,” said Hogg.

“Why?” asked Brin.

Hogg didn’t respond. It felt like he was talking to the empty air. It looked like that, too.

Brin tamped down on his rising anger. Half of it was hormones, and he knew from experience that an emotional outburst wasn’t the way to win the “I should be treated as an adult” argument.

When he was sure he could speak calmly, he said, “It’s not like I don’t understand why you did it. When I first arrived I was super weird. I knew the language but nothing else. Keeping me busy and limiting my interactions with people helped me stay under the radar until I got used to the social norms. Also I was weak, compared to other kids my age. Working all the time has done wonders for my attributes. I just wish you’d let me in on the plan.”

“Good reasons all, but no, that’s not why,” said Hogg. “Hold on.”

Hogg appeared, holding a fishing pole that was bending under the weight of a fish. He reeled it in, a blue and silver trout, at least a foot long. Hogg pulled a knife from one of the many that were strapped to his black leathers and started cleaning it, even before it was completely dead.

“So why?” Brin asked patiently.

“You still get those nightmares?” asked Hogg.

Yes. Nearly every night, Brin dreamt that he was back in Travin’s Bog. He’d woken up more than once in the middle of the night, panicking that the refrigeration in his cellar must’ve worn out. Even now it was hard to feel safe when it was warm, and Hammon’s Bog was always warm unless it was hot. Once, a week after he’d arrived in town, Hogg had woken up to find him in the stream, sitting up to his neck, his lips blue and teeth chattering.

But they’d faded. Lately he’d been sleeping through the night and rarely woke up in terror.

Hogg said, “You uh… when you arrived, you woke up screaming three times the first night.”

“Sorry I interrupted your sleep,” said Brin, regretting the sharp edge to his tone.

“Pox on that! I can muffle sound if that’s all it is. But, like it or not, you’re sort of my responsibility. I told you I don’t really know how to deal with people. So I asked for advice. I said, I’ve got a kid here, woke up in an undead city with no memories and almost died a bunch of times. Figured that experience was bad for you, like, emotionally. They agreed. They told me to put you to work. Said the best elixir is time, but also sleep, so I needed to work you hard enough that you’d fall asleep no matter how bad the nightmares got. Well, I’d say it worked.”

“Who did you go to?”

“The Prefit. And… others,” said Hogg.

“Who?” asked Brin.

“[Weaver] Tawna,” said Hog.

“What?” Brin said, not quite exploding. “Why would you go to her?”

“She’s wise,” said Hogg.

“She’s ridiculous,” said Brin. “And she hates me.”

“Don’t be daft. She doesn’t hate anyone,” said Hogg.

Brin sighed. “It ends today. I can’t keep living like that.”

“Fair enough,” said Hogg. “What are you going to do instead?”

“I need to learn. I can get by in regular conversation, and I’ve learned a bit from Gustaff’s movies and Jeffrey’s stories, but it’s not enough. I need history. Literature. Religion, even.”

“You should visit the temple. Talk to the priest, Ellion.”

“I… don’t want to,” said Brin.

Hogg snorted. “Scared.”

“Maybe,” said Brin.

Finished with cleaning the fish, Hogg walked over to the smoke shed and put the fish inside. Then he grabbed his pole and sat back down on a folding chair on the riverbank.

“The Prefit’s got a personal library. I’ll have a talk with him about letting you use it. In fact, I can ask him now,” said Hogg.

Brin waited for Hogg to stand up and get going, until he realized that of course Hogg would just use a mirror image.

“Can’t just read all the time,” said Hogg. “What else?”

“Strength,” said Brin. “I have an achievement boosting it. If I can get it higher, I can start whatever Class I get with a considerable advantage. That means training. Lifting weights.”

“Sounds like a good enough plan. What about today?”

He shrugged. “Got another fishing pole?”

Hogg eyed him, then nodded. “Use mine. I can make another one right quick.” He moved away, but a mirror image stayed behind. “In the meantime, maybe you could tell me more about those… radio waves? If it’s not digging up anything best left buried, that is.”

Brin thought about it. Thinking about his old memories didn’t hurt as much as they had before. He could talk about them. No, he wanted to.

“Sure, but I don’t know what else I can say. We’ve got a way to translate sound into what we call radio waves. They’re e… electro… no, that doesn’t translate at all. They’re like beams of light, only they aren’t visible and they can travel extremely long distances without degrading...”