The Beast of Ildenwood: 5. Deletrear the Spellcaster

5. Deletrear the Spellcaster

He awakens slowly, shedding the already-forgotten dreams of the night before, to the sounds of people. People walking, speaking, calling, laughing – and other sounds, too. The sounds of wagons and carts being pulled, and of less-distinct sounds he cannot quite place.

He awakens to a comfort he has not had in a while, and the smell of something that throws his stomach into motion, begging to be filled.

When he opens his eyes, the Wanderer is surprised to find a selection of messages hovering over him.

You have awakened from a deep and restful sleep. You have gained +32 Energy.

You have left Ildenwood Forest.

You have entered the Kingdom of Samat.

You have entered Rowarr Inn. Welcome, Wanderer of Realms.

Disoriented, he reads all of the messages and dismisses them one by one. What happened yesterday after I fell asleep? Did Lahab carry me all the way here? Where is she?

He is in a homely room, furnished with two beds, each with its own end table, one large yet simple armoire, and one table. It is on the table that the meal sits, warm and inviting, and that’s all it takes to pull him out of bed, stretching and yawning. There are two plates on the well-worn wooden surface, and one is empty, a used fork sitting upon its smooth green porcelain. Lahab must have eaten already. He takes a seat at the table and digs in.

It is strange, how he cannot recall if he has a home – a place where food like this, warm and delicious, is set on the table every day. Does he have someone, somewhere out there, who thinks about him? Who worries about him?

His instincts tell him that he doesn’t. Why, then, does he have a constant yearning, a desire to see someone – someone whose face and name he cannot remember, but who is there in the back of his mind always, as close to him as his own heart, but just out of reach?

So much to remember, and so little time.

The meal gives him another Energy boost, albeit much smaller, and he is pulling on his boots, having made the decision to go searching for Lahab, when she enters the room. She looks tired, as to be expected. If she’d slept at all, she’d certainly slept much less than he had.

“I’m glad you’re awake,” she tells him by way of greeting, and he notices she does not have the bundle in her arms – though she has her worn, patched-up old sack. “I have located Deletrear, and we must make for his establishment before time runs out for you, Wanderer. Come, we must make haste.”

He follows her without thinking much of it, and soon he is keeping up with her as they stride out of the room, out of the Rowarr Inn, and through the cobblestone streets of Samat. If he stares, it is because these are the first people he has seen since Lahab – and because his memories are hidden to him, the experience is particularly fascinating.

Samat is beautiful – or at least, the city of Miraya is, and he is all too keen that they have entered the city now, as dense and awe-inspiring as it is, all walls of white stone that sparkle under the sun’s heated gaze, like millions of tiny crystals. It is clean, too, for there is no trash on the ground outside, and the two of them pass by what seems to be a man sweeping one of the clean-cut flat stone alleys. It is warm and cool – and altogether a sight to behold.

He follows Lahab as they pass through this street, then that street, then through an alleyway, and so on. He could walk around the city of Miraya for hours and still be completely and utterly lost all alone. If I have to find my way back to the inn by myself, I don’t think I could make it. He can already feel how deeply dependent he is on Lahab, a woman he has known less than a week, and this reliance on another unsettles him. It isn’t right.

A half-hour walk from the inn finds them at a square-based wooden tower, not more than five stories tall, and as he takes it in from the ground, he can see a red flag draped upon the smooth, glittering stone. The flag holds an image – something he cannot quite make out, with the breeze flapping it about and the realization that Lahab has already entered, leaving him behind. He hurries after her, and the two of them climb to the top-most floor, past closed door after closed door that must lead into private rooms.

“Here,” Lahab says with a sigh. She lifts her hand and hesitates for only a moment before knocking on the heavy redwood door, then lowers it to clutch her sack. Is she nervous?

The door creaks open, but there is nobody there. How strange, he thinks, and looks to his companion for any sign. Lahab steps over the threshold confidently, so he follows.

The room is not too large – perhaps ten strides in either direction – and cluttered with mismatched wooden tables and shelves. In the far corner of the room stoops an eerily stationary figure in maroon robes over a bubbling cauldron.

“Just a moment, my dear,” the figure calls, and the voice is undoubtedly that of an elderly man’s, scratchy and worn with age, but gentle and calming all the same.

This must be Deletrear.

“You’ll need more than a moment if you’re trying to catch what I think you’re trying to catch,” Lahab replies, but takes a seat on the nearest stool, anyway, draping her sack over her legs.

“I have been standing here for almost two days,” the old man replies. “Any second now...”

For a long and uncomfortable moment, there is silence. He wants to ask Lahab what in the world the old man is trying to accomplish – just what is he trying to catch? But he holds his tongue and waits, unsure of himself.

“Aaghrgh!” The exclamation is so sudden and loud, it sends his heart into a frenzy and he all but jumps. Lahab does not so much as flinch, though he thinks he sees her eyes widen.

There is a loud thrashing and thumping, and much splashing – and for a moment all he can do is bite his lip, worried that the boiling liquid must have spilled all over the old man. But Deletrear does not seem to be in pain, and instead lets out a pleased laugh as he swirls around, holding up what seems to be a tiny creature in his hands.

“I’ve got you now, you little rascal!” he cries, hurrying over to a cage on one of the tables. Quickly, he pushes the creature inside and slams the cage door shut, and there’s a loud, irritated squeal as he turns the latch in triumph.

“Finally!” the old man sighs, stretching his arms over his white-haired head and turning to his two visitors. “That was my last egg, too. I’ve been trying to capture one of those little buggers as soon as they hatch, but they move so quickly, one hardly sees them.”

Deletrear pulls up his wet sleeves to reveal silver leather gloves and promptly pulls them off. “These gloves are horrible, you know,” he mutters as he does this. “Oh, they keep you from burning off all your flesh, of course, but there’s absolutely no care taken for long-term use, is there?” He tsks, throwing the pair of elbow-length gloves onto the table beside the cage.

“Now,” Deletrear says with a smile. “What can I do for you, my dear Noble?”

“Take a look at him,” Lahab says, nodding at her traveling companion. “This is the Wanderer of Realms. He remembers nothing of his past, not even his identity. And he carries a peculiar curse.”

Deletrear’s bushy brows raise, and the spellcaster considers him for a long time, his eyes moving as though they are reading something. I suppose he is, in a way. He’s probably reading my book. But… does he not need my permission for that?

“Hm,” Deletrear hums, stroking his soft beard. “Yes, peculiar, indeed. And linked to his very title – how strange, how strange,” he murmurs, stepping closer. Deletrear brings his hands up to feel the amnesiac’s face, and though it is awkward, the young man allows him to continue. “Ah, yes, a very strong block, indeed. And a drain… more than one drain...”

“It is draining his Life Force at an alarming rate,” Lahab notes as she watches the spellcaster at work. “I have never seen anything like it. The spellcaster responsible – their name is hidden – that is unheard of, is it not?”

“Indeed, my dear,” Deletrear says, still running his fingers over the Wanderer’s face. “I think...” He pauses for a moment and closes his eyes, his expression that of one who is listening very hard. For a short moment, the Wanderer feels himself overwhelmed with a sense of calm, as if he might sleep standing on his feet, but the sensation is gone as soon as it washes over him. “Yes, I think I can do something for the memory, and perhaps I can remove at least one or two of the drains. The others work in mysterious ways,” Deletrear sighs, stepping back. “Mysterious ways, indeed. I’ve never encountered drains like these before.”

“Whatever you can do, I am certain it will be of great help to him,” Lahab says, though she cocks her head to one side, as if considering whether or not this is true. After all, they know nothing of this curse, so it makes sense that she would be uncertain.

“Yes, yes, you’re quite right,” Deletrear replies, and turns away from them. The two visitors watch the spellcaster move through his workshop, rummaging through drawers and searching through the messes on his tables as he mutters to himself. “Something potent… no, much too potent… yes, a pinch of this toxin… some of these… not trying to kill the dear boy!… hmm… this might jog his memory…”

Deletrear returns, a number of ingredients and items in his arms. “Well, I think that’s everything,” he announces. He sets it all down on the nearest table, and holds his hand up. From somewhere across the room, a steaming pot of water floats towards him, and the Wanderer stares, wide-eyed and mouth agape. A mug follows after it, floating its way calmly towards its master’s hand. Lahab does not seem to find anything surprising in any of this, so he bites his lip and does not ask.

“I’ve seen this mixture being sold in little vials – very rarely, mind you – in some of the more respectable antidote shops. But I think for your case you’ll need more than just a little vial... No worries! It’s mainly an herbal concoction, my boy,” Deletrear tells him as he begins to put his ingredients into the mug. If he is not mistaken, the Wanderer sees the spellcaster place an entire paw into the mug, in-between stuffing it with herbs and flicking pinches of different powders into the small container.

“Mainly?” he asks, swallowing hard.

“Oh, yes,” the old man replies. “There’s the pasoblidat – which, mind you, cost me a pretty penny back in the day – but it’s hardly got any meat on it, you know?” Satisfied with the ingredients he’s pushed into the mug, Deletrear pours the hot water from the pot into the mug and meets the Wanderer’s eyes. “Don’t you worry your muddled head about the pasoblidat,” he says kindly. “It’s old enough to be half my age. I hear it grows more potent with age. This should bring all those memories of yours back in a snap of your fingers! I’ll be taking it back, of course – it’s a multiple-use ingredient, that one – so don’t go trying to eat it!”

“How intriguing,” Lahab murmurs, watching him closely. Intriguing is perhaps not the word the Wanderer would use.

A spoon materializes seemingly out of thin air, and Deletrear plops it into the mug, stirring and squeezing the ingredients with it. “Of course,” he continues, “I’ve never had the pleasure of using it for anything, but I couldn’t hardly leave it behind when I saw it at that old hag’s shop! Wouldn’t sell it, you know – had to haggle tooth and nail to get a price as outrageous as I did, but I managed.”

He holds the mug out to the Wanderer with a nod. “Here you go. Chug that down, my friend, and try not to resist the flow.”

“The flow?”

“The memories should, in theory, rush back into your mind like a river,” Deletrear explains. “Well, actually, it will be more like a dam that has burst. Just relax your mind and let the memories run through you and you should be good as gold.”

Should. Well, it’s all I have right now. Might as well.

The Wanderer brings the steaming mug of Who-Knows-What tea to his mouth, takes a deep breath, and is just about to gulp it down when a message materializes before him.

Warning: Drinking this concoction will deplete your Energy.

He hesitates, considering the warning. Well, it isn’t as though he’ll die if his Energy is depleted. But he will pass out again. He sighs. Passing out is still better than dying, and that’s what’ll happen if these drains Deletrear found aren’t taken care of.

He swallows nervously and dismisses the message, bringing the mug to his lips again. This time, he does gulp it down with determination.

Deletrear glances over at Lahab with an excited grin. “I’ve never tried this before, you know,” he tells her casually. “I wonder what’ll happen!”

Dikralibre Potion

The Dikralibre potion is a mainly herbal concoction made of snake feathers, thorns from the sky-apple bush, and a pasoblidat. For the most effective mixture, the snake feathers must be fresh, the thorns must be dried, and the pasoblidat must be aged. The longer the pasoblidat remains in the liquid, the more it releases its effects. It is recommended that the pasoblidat not be kept in any dikralibre concoction for more than five minutes. The Dikralibre potion removes mental blocks that keep a person from accessing their memories. The stronger the memory block, the stronger the concoction should be. Warning: Particularly strong mixtures can cause damage, and such a potion must only ever be concocted by an expert. For this reason, the Dikralibre potion is often quite expensive.