The Scholar's Tale (Original Fantasy)

Book II, Chapter 8

Three was floating at the giant's side in an instant, grinning up at it in disbelief. "Really? You remember these ships, Ib? From when? What did they-"

'Wait,' Mharra seemed like he wanted to be as enthusiastic as the ghost, but didn't let himself lose his head. 'Do you remember them firsthand, Ib? Or just pictures?'

'Don't speak foolishly,' the giant hissed, then started in surprise at its own words. It had never spoken acidly to any of us, let alone the captain. They grey being shook its head-a purely human gesture it had picked up by watching people. 'Apologies, boss. I don't know what came over me. Is this what you call rage?'

'I do not think it was,' I replied carefully, prepared to use my Gift if things got out of hand. When I had first met Ib, in that staged fight, I had managed to make it back off by sharing my memories of my greatest pain. But...

Had it felt it, truly? Or had it merely been startled by the flow of images that had suddenly entered its mind-not brain, as I knew for a fact Ib's dull grey body had no organs, and was instead made of some sort of multi-layered substance that brought to mind metal and flesh alike, but was neither. 'I think you are starting to feel more like you were meant to be, Ib.'

It nodded, wringing hands like cannonballs. 'Perhaps...perhaps, Ryz. Not anger, then, but...boldness? I feel more sure of myself than I have been in months-years, perhaps.'

So, there really was some connection between the Fleet and my-seemingly no longer senile-friend.

'Of course,' Jalil said, unknowingly echoing my thoughts. 'You were never meant to be sent away, but you forced our hands." The former officer either didn't notice how Ib's "skin" was rippling, its version of shaking in rage. It had just said it had gotten more bold, for Vhaarn's sake-

"Sent away? Funny way to word it. I remember floating aimlessly, mindlessly-' the giant was moving far slower than it could have been, but only for Jalil's "benefit". The former Lieutenant's eyes were almost as round and bright as the gem in his forehead as he watched Ib stomp towards him, each step shaking the Rainbow Burst. 'I remember a crushing darkness, pierced only by this faint feeling that I should have been somewhere else, been something else!'

It was now standing over Jalil, arms spread out wide, like it was preparing to crush him. To his credit, he wasn't shaking. When he spoke to Ib, his voice trembled with anger, not fear.

'You don't know what a favour we did you, ourselves and the whole of Midworld. You just talk-no facts, not even aware what you're angry at us for. This recklessness is exactly why-' Two grey fingers closed around his throat, leaving him choking over four metres off the deck. The whole hand would have enveloped his head, but Ib wanted him talking. Or at least alive.

'Enlighten me, then. Open my mind, before I open yours.' One of Ib's hands was now shaped into a spiked ball; a wholly unnecessary gesture, as it could turn mountains to steam with a single punch. The idea of Ib needing weapons to harm a human was darkly hilarious, but my friend was going for intimidation, not efficiency. 'You have a very loose tongue, exile. Could say you're free with your speech.' Its featureless head tilted in mock curiosity to one side before a smirk appeared on its face. 'If the watery cage of my first memories was how you "send people away", I shudder to think how you'd execute someone. While we're on that subject...you lot clearly love playing with minds. You did something to mine, carving wounds that deepen every time I think about their very existence. And that stupid trinket in your little skull...a glamour? The technological equivalent? You made my crewmates drool like magpies over glass, you little-'

Ib was shaking Jalil now like a child would a disappointing toy, and was infinitely more likely to break him. The Fleet, however, had apparently seen enough. Whether wary of what the giant would do next, or out of some lingering sentiment for a former member, they stepped in.

No actual Fleet members, obviously. They might have liked to portray themselves as bold, daring adventurers and explorers, but they never stepped into any situation that hadn't been thoroughly analysed with the help of their fodder.

Hundreds of Freed were teleported on deck, surrounding us in a circle of blue-armoured lobotomites. Their slack faces and blank eyes gave no sign that they were perceiving us, or even the world around them, but their backs were straight, and their hands steady around their smartguns: rifles, and some larger contraptions with square barrels that glowed azure.

I cursed inwardly as I put my hands up. Nobody had brought up these weapons-whatever they were-last time I had heard about the Fleet, and I hated going in blind even more than the hypocritical bastards.

Mharra pursed his lips, eyes narrowed as he dug a hand into one of his coat pockets. He looked more like a man who'd realised he was about to play a bad hand at cards than one threatened with death.

Three was nowhere near as outwardly calm. All his selves clustered together around Mharra, eyes unblinking and cold-but none of the Freed burst into flash-frozen gore, so the ghost was still holding his temper in check.

Ib was the least composed. Throwing Jalil over a dozen metres away-he'd be lucky just to be crippled-, the giant crouched into a wrestler's crouch, body bubbling like water in a kettle.

'Brainless! You've taken from them, like you've taken from me!' The grey giant was speaking in the same thunderous voice it had before killing that Seaworm. 'No...more than you've taken from me. The captain dragged me back from oblivion, but they will never recover. You've cut out what makes humans human, you-'

Before Ib could lay waste to the lobotomites, though, more shapes appeared in their midst. And unlike their lesser comrades, these did not possess even a pretence of humanity.

I was looking at a steel-blue, two-armed mirror of Ib. Two. Six. A dozen, a dozen dozen blue, faceless giants, stomping towards us, heads faceless, bodies rippling as they shaped themselves into weapons: blades and bludgeons and guns, including the strange ones I still hadn't identified.

Ib's outrage vanished in an instant, replaced by shocked confusion. 'What...?' It whispered, disbelief underlined by horror.

A wet, broken chuckle came from where Jalil had landed on the deck. The exile propped himself up on broken arms, shrieking as he did so, though the grin never left his face. 'They are the weapons...forged in your mould-only thing you were good for...Libertas. Able to become anything, and free from the burden of choice, for they...have never known it.'

My friend stood for a moment, shaking, saying nothing. 'My name...it does not bring me the joy I expected. And...I remember why.'