Dashyl's Quest

Dashyl collapsed next to Fretly into the underbrush in the tree bosque. his heart pounding, his breath escaping him. “You…you…” he panted. “You beat me.”

Fretly didn’t answer, he was still breathing too heavy, wheezing.

“You must be really scared to run faster than me,” Dashyl said. After he had gained some wind back in his lungs, the boy even chuckled.

“Dash, this is no laughing matter,” Fretly insisted. “I was running for my life.” Fretly flipped over onto his belly, parted the underbrush with his hands and peered back at where they had just escaped. “I don’t see anyone coming after us,” he announced after a short while. “Still, that old night watch saw where we ran.”

“Who would they send after us? Kymla? We can outrun her,” Dashyl said.

“We don’t know who all we’re dealing with here,” Fretly warned. “There could be some guards we don’t know about or who knows what. I am going to climb this tree and get the lay of the land. Stay hidden, but keep your eyes open.”

Dashyl nodded his head as Fretly scampered up the nearest tree. The boy didn’t recognize the tree, or the grasses he was nestled into. He had no idea where he was.

Suddenly, Fretly dropped down from the tree with a crash. “Watch it,” Dashyl hissed through his teeth.

“Sorry, I couldn’t figure out to get out of the tree, so I just jumped,” Fretly explained.

“Listen, the land becomes more wooded in every direction but east. That way, the trees thin out and the elevation seems to dip. It also dips to west, but I can see some foothills off in the distance.”

“What do you think we should do,” Dashyl asked.

“When I came to the tournament, I traveled by airship to Trader’s Haunt, then caravanned west to Tyrana. The tournament was held on the plains north of Tyrana. If I am guessing correctly, the plains are to the east now.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we should be near Anchorwatch. I just don’t know if we are north or south of Anchorwatch. I’m thinking the curics couldn’t have been too far from the tournament grounds, which means we should also be close to Tyrana. I might get recognized in Tyrana. I was feeling brash before the tournament and kind of made some enemies there,” Fretly said, sheepishly.

“So, which way do we go, then? I want to get to Trader’s Haunt so I can get home by airship. And you can go home, too,” Dashyl added. “My father told me about Anchorwatch, I remember quite a bit of what he told me.”

“Anchorwatch is probably our best option. Let’s head north and slightly west to get into the trees more. I’m betting Anchorwatch is that way,” Fretly said, confidently.

This time, the two escapees did not run as fast as they could for cover. Instead, they ran hunched over, trying to hide in the grass as much as possible. They scurried like this for quite awhile when Fretly finally said, “Let’s stop and eat a little.”

After eating, they didn’t feel as compelled to be as stealthy. No one seemed to be coming after them and they were far enough away now that they weren’t afraid of being seen. They didn’t talk, each one was lost in his thoughts, wondering what the future could hold.

Towards the end of the day, they came across a river, a wide river that they couldn’t cross, barring their way north. Fretly finally spoke after standing on the banks in silence. “If I am right, this is the Cerulean River. If we follow this north, it will take us right past Anchorwatch.”

“North? I hate to say this, Fretz, but this river is running east and west,” Dashyl pointed out.

“No kidding, Dash. That fact is throwing me off. Let’s just follow along on this side and see if the river bends back north, then we can make camp.”

The river did turn north not very long after they had made they started following it. Soon, they found a hollow that seemed protected enough to keep them hidden as they slept. Phaeton was bright enough that they could see fairly well without a fire. Fretly went to get more water at the river while Dashyl broke a loaf of bread in half and smeared it with varyl sap. The sap didn’t have much taste, but it was packed with nutrients. The companions ate their meager dinner in weary silence. They both fell asleep immediately with the sound of the Cerulean softly washing over them.

Dashyl's Quest

From the position of the moons, Dashyl could tell dawn was near, they had to be quick, the curics often woke at sunrise to begin their day. The night watch was asleep, just as Fretly had said she would be. They tiptoed past her and crept quietly into the main hallway. Other smaller hallways that must lead to recovery rooms like theirs branched off the main hallway at regular intervals. There must be so many rooms, Dashyl thought.

The main hallway ended at a pair of wooden swinging doors. “The kitchen is through here,” Fretly said as he entered the doors. As Dashyl entered, he noticed Fretly opening a cabinet at the far end of the large kitchen. You could feed an army with this kitchen, Dashyl imagined.

Fretly returned with two sacks full of something. “I stashed this food for us. This will last us long enough to find other stuff to eat, I hope.”

Dashyl took the sack of food and put it in his backpack. Fretly did the same, cinched his straps tight and said, “Ok, this is it. We’ll head to the laundry room where we should be able to get out. Once we’re outside, run to the nearest cover: trees, other buildings, whatever.”

The two made their way through the room where Fretly had found Kilkarak’s journal. Fretly was right, there were drawers built into the walls from floor to ceiling with locks. Some were overflowing with paper and parchment. Four wooden writing desks sat among the rows of drawers. Eventually the drawers gave way to bookshelves with ladders leaning against them so the curics could reach the topmost level of dusty, old tomes.

Fretly stopped at a single swinging door. “This leads to the laundry. I haven’t been past here, I’ve only peaked through and I’ve seen piles of clothes. Let’s go.”

Indeed, the room was where the curics did their laundry. Just as Fretly said, the room was like a patio, almost, with the far end open to the outdoors. They crept close to opening, crouched low and scanned the horizon. The moons had set and it was dark.

Fretly pointed to a cluster of trees. “I think we can run to that one pretty quick and then get a sense of where to go from there.”

“Right,” Dashyl said, tense.

“What are you two doing,” called out a voice behind them. “I come in here to start boiling water and I find you two creeping around.”

The two glanced over their shoulders to see the night watch wagging her finger at them with one hand and holding the swinging door open with the other.

“Run!” Fretly shouted. And run Dashyl did.

Dashyl's Quest

Dashyl was stunned. What should he do? Follow this person, who could be crazy, away from the people who nurtured him back to health and have taken care of him, or stay.

“Fretly, you’re my friend, but you’re believing in a dream. The curics, they care for us, that is real,” Dashyl urged.

“No, these are not dreams, these are memories. I know, Dashyl. I am leaving, I am going to gather what I can and leave now. Come with me, we can survive better out there together. Come with me, I know where we can go, it’s safe and I have many, many friends there.”

“I don’t know,” Dashyl hesitated.

“Come on!” Fretly whirled around and gathered his things into a pile on his bed. He walked to the door and turned to Dashyl. “Get ready, I’ll be right back,” he said and disappeared out the door.

Dashyl sighed heavily. He held his father’s journal in his hands. It did seem odd how the curics were pumping him for information. And why had they not given him his father’s journal back? The answers to many of their questions are probably in the book, what did they need to know from him?

“What would you do, dad,” Dashyl whispered as he lightly thumped the book on his forehead a few times. “Yes, that’s it. You would recommend the road. That’s where you were happiest, out in the world, exploring, having adventures. That’s my choice, too.”

Fretly trotted back into the room holding two backpacks. “I found where they keep these,” he said, handing one to him. “Put your stuff in it if you want to go with me.”

“Hey, this is my backpack!” Dashyl exclaimed as he took one of the bags from his friend. “My knife is in here, along with some other stuff. They never told me they had this.”

Dashyl scrunched up his face and looked at Fretly. “Yeah, there’s something a little creepy about all this. Let’s go.”

Dashyl's Quest

Dashyl sat straight up in bed. He had fallen asleep reading his father’s journal, the book thumped on the floor as it fell off the bed. What had woken him? Suddenly, Fretly cried out in his sleep.

“Faaarleeeey!” Fretly threw up his arms in front of his face as he screamed and then bolted up. He sat there, breathing heavy, looking around the room, dazed. With his mouth open and fear in his eyes, he slowly turned toward Dashyl.

“We have to leave right now,” he yelled at Dashyl. “I had a dream, a…a nightmare! Dashyl, I remember everything! We have to get out of here!”

Dashyl jumped out of his bed and ran to cover Fretly’s mouth with his hand. “Shut up, Fretly, shhhh. They will hear you.”

Fretly’s eyes looked at Dashyl, wide and white. He nodded to Dashyl and he took his hand off Fretly’s mouth.

“Ok, Dash, but we have to leave. Tonight,” Fretly would not back down, but he didn't seem panicked anymore.

“But, where are we even? How do we get out? Where would we go? Fretly, why? Why do we need to go? These curics are taking care of us, strengthening us, teaching us how to defend ourselves,” Dashyl argued.

“It’s not what it seems,” Fretly explained. “They are only healing us to make us fight for entertainment. They want us to fight and kill others for sport. For a tournament. They use nysik toxin to erase memories of the losing survivors, heal them and then make them fight again.”

“But I have my memory. I didn’t fight in any tournament and I wouldn’t even if they forced me. You’re crazy,” Dashyl protested.

“I don’t know why…I don’t understand why you are here and why they haven’t dosed you again with nysik to erase the memories of your father and the rest of your past. They must want information related to your father’s research for some reason,” Fretly said, breathless.

“What makes you so sure you’re right,” Dashyl asked.

“My dreams have been about my experience in the tournament, I know that now. When I remembered this last one, it must have trigged my old memories. My friend Farley and I were promised riches beyond our wildest dreams if we participated in this tournament. They said it was safe, that we would only fake our death to entertain the audience. But my friend Farley did die. I nearly died.”

Fretly choked back a sob, but continued, “I remember being carried off the battlefield, barely conscious. They put me down and a curic came to me. She didn’t tell me her name and I couldn’t see her face. She said that she would not give me a full dose of nysik. She told me that my friend was truly dead, there was no saving him, but that I could saved. This was how they operated, she explained. They would wipe my memory with nysik, heal me and then make me fight again. They would repeat this as many times as possible until I finally died or my mind was fried from repeated nysik doses. 'Remember this and escape with your life,' she said. 'I will give you enough nysik so you won’t remember your injuries or feel pain, but you must remember me and escape.'”

Fretly was shaking, his eyes glazed over, not seeing Dashyl. The young man’s eyes focused after a few seconds and then teared up. “I didn’t get a chance to ask her why, why she wanted to save me. For her actions not to be in vain, we have to get out of here.”

Entry from Kilkarak’s Expedition Journal Day 1

Day 1. A new journal. A new page. A new expedition. A new life for me, Kilkarak. Chemist. Formerly of The Catalyst Foundation. Formerly of Katena. Exiled. Crushed by my colleagues. Shunned for conducting experiments with lethal and unusable results. Ha. I laugh in the face of my detractors, my critics. As if Legion chemists have not performed experiments that harm and kill. Yes, these have been conducted on prisoners from battles or from the people we have conquered, but it is still done willfully, with full understanding that the experiment will harm the subject. My subject died due to accident, due to some unforeseen circumstances that I have not been able to recreate since. No, the moral grounds for my exile are a simply a smokescreen for jealousy over my discoveries. Those who run the Catalyst Foundation cannot stomach the fact that a chemist on the fringe of the inner circle could make such a startling and useful discovery as I have.  I have lost my wife and my home. All that remains for me is my knowledge and all that remains for me to do is to prove my knowledge is correct.

I should not say all that remains is my knowledge and my quest for vindication, I have my only son, Dashyl. He will be my sole companion on this expedition. It will be a chance for me to really learn about my boy, learn about who he is, who he may be. My studies and ambitions have not allowed much time for parenting. If I should be forced from my laboratory, from my vocation, it should be for that reason alone, to be forced to spend more time with my son. Is his mind sharp enough for scientific inquiry? We shall see. Is he up to making this journey?  Am I up to making this journey?

200 days. I have planned to be gone for 200 days. This should be an adequate amount of time to collect specimens and material. Perhaps by that time,  my last true friend, Bilkarar, will have been able to secure a secure space in which to continue my experiments, a space sequestered from the eyes of the Catalyst Foundation. This journey will provide me with supplies and some answers, but it is only the first step to reach the final answer that will propel my future and secure my position as the greatest chemist in the Legion.

*****

Finished with the first entry, Dashyl put his father’s journal under his pillow and fell asleep instantly.