Four or five hours had passed by this point. Keldon didn’t feel like he was making any progress in his readings, and by now, he had given up on trying to make any further conversation with Salem. He had tried to have a bit of light-hearted conversation but after working at the Hissings, he knew there was a point where it was just wasted breath. Instead, Keldon just tried to past the time by staring out the cabin door window. For the first couple of hours, it was just the outskirts of town, yellowed grass fields and barren tree as far as the eye can see. Nothing out of the ordinary. But then, Keldon saw his first patch of wildflowers.
It was almost…healing. It was like the first ray of sunshine to break through an overcast sky. Much of the flora in Greenhearst was controlled; Vegetables were grown row by row, trees lined the streets in perfect rows, and potted plants pruned to precision. There was nothing particularly bad about it, it’s just… there was something about the untamed beauty that couldn’t be replicated by human hands. It had been years since he had experienced an untainted wilderness, and the childlike wonder on Keldon’s face expressed that. There were the forests near the hissings but the vegetation was strange and gnarled, here, the flat prairies melted into rolling hills of emerald.
As the group traveled north, they entered into a large forest of weeping willows, some mysteriously growing out of enormous sun-bleached boulders weathered by rain. The smell of damp moss and pollen wafted through the air as the group trudged over the well-worn path. As the sun fell from its throne in the sky, cascading the forest in hues of purple and yellow, Keldon heard someone call out to halt. He watched the company of merchants, each secluding themselves in their own little corner of the forest, set up camp for the night.
Mitch slid the gap open, poking his head into the cabin.
“Oy, Salem, you mind starting up the campfire for us?” Mitch said.
“Oh I can do it.” Keldon said, piping up. It’d be nice to get out of the cabin and stretch his legs for a bit.
“A volunteer without needing to be voluntold! I knew I’d like you.” Mitch said with a grin, turning back to the others. “Why can’t you two be more like him.”
Ernie shrugged his shoulders as Pudge pursed his lips into a sheepish grin. Keldon hopped out of the cart cabin, stretching his arms and taking in a deep breath of crisp evening air. He wandered around nearby, careful not to stray away too far from the campsite. Climbing over roots and stones, he gathered dried branches and twigs which had fallen between the crevices of nearby boulders. Being careful not to damage the inner trunk, he peeled back the dried bark from nearby weeping willows as he made his way back to the campsite. Mitch had already set up the ring of stones and left pre-chopped logs nearby for Keldon. Keldon took out his trusty flint and steel from his backpack, a remnant from his refugee days, and started the fire. Within a few minutes, the sparks had turned into a crackling bonfire, as Pudge hauled over an iron cauldron, carefully hanging it over the fire.
“No fire skill huh?” Pudge said, waving his left hand in a semi-circle as a dull-looking skill orb materialized.
“Yeah, something like that.” Keldon said.
“Makes sense, quite expensive they are.” Pudge said.
*Activate Skill: Lesser Create Water*
A small stream of water materialized as Pudge filled up the iron pot, as the scent of ginger, spice and lemongrass rose up from the bubbling stew. He kept quiet, gently basking in the light of the fire. He pulled a few russet potatoes out of a sack he had left nearby, and with precision, Pudge diced them in his hands, dropping them into the vat of spiced stew. He didn’t talk much, only occasionally making brief eye contact with Keldon and giving him a gentle smile.
The two of them sat quietly by the crackling fire, distant sounds of chatter from the various camps echoing in the background. They basked in the warmth, as the snapping of burnt logs sent embers scattering into the wind. A few moments later, the door to the prison cart opened up as Salem climbed out, announcing his presence with a loud stretch. He sauntered over and pulled up a log across from Keldon, making himself a little seat. He sat quietly though, only muttering a thanks to Pudge when handed a bowl of stew. Both Pudge and Salem seemed to be unaffected by what Keldon would consider the awkward silence. A few seconds later, Pudge ladled a spoonful of warm broth into a wooden bowl, gingerly handing it over to Keldon.
“Thanks.” Keldon said. Pudge just flashed him a smile. Staring into the bowl, he spotted chunks of potato, pork and carrot swirling the bowl around and letting the scent rouse his appetite.
Then, it disappeared.
“What?” Keldon thought, looking up.
The forest of weeping willows was gone; instead, Keldon found himself sitting in a chair, across from an old man with a frown plastered across his face. Tired bags weighed his eyes as lines of worry streaked across his face. He sighed, tossing what Keldon could only assume to be a book of priceless historical value behind him.
“Aegethyr, T’oo’t, Bpthae’l, Ennison. Gone. Of the ten thousand great beasts, only Devoro remains.” The man said, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Devoro, where have I heard that name before?” Keldon thought, but suddenly it hit him. In one of his dreams, he had heard that name called out by the man who had been floating in the sky. The one who had crushed the hoard of Devoidlings in the sky.
The implication of the sentence suddenly hit him all at once. He was talking to the Master of Names.
“You’re the master of names.” Keldon said without thinking.
“Yes yes, I’m the master of names. Of course, I’ll be able to push back the Calamities by myself.” The Master of Names said, rolling his eyes. “Jests aside Mink, don’t call me that, it may be my title but it’s not who I am. Just Ars please, we’ve known each other long enough.” Said Ars.
He assumed the Master of Names, or rather, Ars saw him as someone he referred to as Mink. He should take care not to antagonize him, otherwise he might not be able to learn what he needed.
“No retaliation Mink? The world really is ending.” Ars said, shaking his head. He picked up a book, and flipped through a few pages, muttering under his breath. Suddenly a gust of wind whipped through the room, sending pages of writing flying around the room. Rather than respond in annoyance however, he just leaned his head back against his chair.
“They’re not listening to me Mink.” Ars said, notes of frustration in his voice.
“Who?”
“The Names Mink, what else would it be? Seems the stress is finally getting to you.” Said Ars.
The Names! Finally, a clue!
“Do you know why they’re not listening to you?” asked Mink/Keldon.
“You’d have a better idea than I would. Isn’t that right, Death?” Said Ars, looking over to a bed, just behind Keldon. Sitting quietly on the bed, gazing out the window was a young girl, with silvery hair and skin fair as snow. She radiated a calm demeanor, the kind of eerie stillness and patience that one would develop after centuries of inner meditation. She carried a Shepard’s crook nestled in her arms, and attached to the end of it was a lantern. The lantern constantly swirled in a complex undulating pattern, seemingly changing into infinity.
But her eyes, by the gods her eyes. They were dark and pale yet, were as boundless as the night sky. Her pupils were glittered with pale white dots, unquantifiable to the human eye, each one a myriad landscape of the entirety of a life, she-
Then a book hit Keldon/Mink in the head.
“Mink you halfwit, not the eyes or you’ll end up in the lantern too.” Ars said in annoyance. “Keep your gaze in between her tiny eyebrows.”
“I take offense to that you know.” Death said. Her voice was archaic and smooth, reminiscent of a grandmother’s lullaby.
But, Ars just looked even more miserable. “Drat, you’ve developed a sense of humor as well. Has it really gotten that bad out there, Death?”
“My physical form should be proof enough.” Death said, then turning towards Mink/Keldon “You should ask him your question, while you’re here. There is only time for one and it will grow more difficult for you to see him. ”
“Oh heavens, look at the time.” Ars said, looking up to a clock on the wall. “Death’s right, I must be leaving soon, something you wanted to ask Mink?”
More difficult to see him? Did she mean whoever they thought he was? Either way, Keldon took a deep breath, taking a moment to think about what to ask. He only had one shot. Ars sarcastically mentioned the Calamity, but not that it was the Final Calamity, meaning at least currently, that there’s a possibility that it wasn’t the same thing. The best thing he could ask Ars now was how to control his magic.
“Before the names stopped listening to you, how did you command them to use their magic and what changed?” asked Keldon/Mink.
“Command? Oh Mink, you don’t command names. You ask of them.” Said Ars. “I can’t believe you’ve forgotten the basics I’ve taught you already."
“Ask of them?” Keldon thought.
“Take for instance, this sheet of paper. To command a name, you must know it in its entirety; its molecular makeup, its history, what tree it came from, the origin of said tree, what hands have molded it, the perception it has of itself, and so on and so forth. It can take months if not years to understand the name of a single sheet of paper. “Ars said, waving the sheet around.
“When I refer to Naming magic, I don’t refer to an object’s name in any one language. For there are innumerable amount of ways a single object can be perceived by other people or even other objects. Naming Magic refers to speaking to the soul of the object in the Apperceptual Realm, meaning the realm where souls perceive and understand themselves. Therefore, when we speak to an object’s name and soul, we ask of it to act according to its idea of itself and its nature, but also to go along with our desires through suggestion.” Said Ars. He leaned towards the sheet of paper, bringing it close and whispering to it under his breath, as the paper gently rose from the palm of his hand, and stuck to the ceiling.
"No matter how hard they plea, one cannot force the river to flow upstream. However, through action, by carving open a new path for the river to flow, they may direct it towards a new destination"
“However, you cannot ask of a name where it does not exist, you may speak to it in the realm of apperception, but it still requires embodied cognition. No matter your suggestion, it cannot act within the physical realm without a material representation. In addition, a name cannot act outside of its nature; the further away your suggestion goes, the less likely it will be to act to your suggestion. For the most part.” Said Ars.
Then the clock chimed, striking the bell three times.
“Seems like it is time to leave. Come Death, there is much work to be done.” Ars said, moving towards the door. Death hopped off the bed, slinging her lantern and crook on her shoulders as she followed behind him. Keldon/Mink started to get up from his seat, but then Ars turned around and said to him “No, it is not your time.”
And, before Keldon had a chance to argue, he went through the door, slamming it shut.
Suddenly, Keldon was back in the forest of weeping willows, sitting in front of the campfire, and holding the bowl of stew in his hands.
“Not hungry?” Pudge asked, looking a little disappointed.
“I am, sorry. Just a little tired.” Keldon said, fumbling an excuse as he tried to reorient himself. Salem stared at him, his face a mixed expression of confusion and wariness? Honestly, he didn’t feel too sure.
But right now, whatever Salem was grumpy at him for, it didn’t matter. Keldon wolfed down spoonfuls of dried pork and broth, reveling in the excitement of newfound knowledge.
Finally, he had his first clue.
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