03. So... It's Magic?

“Huh?” I stared blankly at the elf. 

“I’ll take that as a yes…”

“Y-you speak English?”

“I don’t know what that is. We’re speaking Myrian,” he said in a detached matter-of-fact tone.

“I… are you sure? I’m no–”

Impatience leaked into his voice as he cut me off and pointed to the band of iron around my finger. “The ring translates your speech into Myrian and allows you to understand it. It also filters your perception so you hear yourself and others speak in your native tongue.”

The machinery which governed my view of what’s possible broke down. 

I decided to just roll with it and worry about the busted thing in my head later. 

If I was dreaming then that’s cool, I’ll wake up eventually… And if I was going crazy I might as well hang out with the imaginary fantasy dude. 

It’d be nice if this fucking headache would go away though...

“So, it’s magic? Is it also changing how I see your mouth move to match with what I hear?” I asked.

“You’re thinking too hard about this.”

“I think I have a concussion, do you have healing magic or something?” 

“No.” Then after a moment of consideration, he let out a sigh and reached into a pouch fixed to his belt. He produced a small vial the size of a double-A battery. It contained a glowing azure liquid. “Here.”

I accepted it and relished the refreshing chill of the potion seeping into my fingers through the glass container. “So… this a healing potion or something?”

“Yes. Drink it.”

I shrugged before pulling out the stopper and downing the thin liquid. 

A soothing cold pooled in my stomach before flowing throughout my body. The sensation drained away moments later, taking the pounding headache and bruising on my face with it.

“Shit…” My manacles and chains rattled as I felt my face and marveled at the sudden relief and lack of brain agony. Not only that, I also felt energized. “Thanks.”

“It’s technically part of my duties to ensure the health of those in my charge,” he said dismissively. “Now, do you know where you are?”

I couldn’t help but sulk a bit at the deflection of my gratitude. “No…”

“You’re in the country of Myris. Do you know why you are being detained?”

“Public indecency?” I joked, recalling my hard-on in the town square.

“No… Due to the strange language you spoke, your odd attire, and how you appeared seemingly from nowhere, you’re being detained on suspicion of being an outworlder.”

I looked down at my t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. Then I turned my attention to his leather armor and wrinkled sleet-gray coat and narrowed my eyes. 

Yeah… I look weird… totally…

“I don’t know what an ‘outworlder’ is…”  

“It’s what we call those not from this world. Am I wrong in my assumption?”

I couldn’t really disagree, considering I’d just drank a literal healing potion. “Uh, yeah, guess so.”

“Excellent.” He opened the black folder in front of him to reveal a single sheet of paper within. His hand reached once again into a pouch before pulling out a well crafted metallic pen.

“No quill or bottle of ink?”

His brow furrowed in bemusement. “What?”

“Don’t you guys use quills and stuff?”

He pointedly ignored my question by asking one of his own. “What’s your name?

“Bryan.”

He let out a tired sigh. “Last name as well…”

“Northgate.” I let a tiny smile form as I enjoyed a childish flutter of satisfaction at his annoyance.

His pen scratched against the paper. “Age?”

“Nineteen.”

“Height?”

“Six foot three inches,” I said before an idea popped into my head. I sifted through my memories of elementary school to try remembering how to convert freedom units into metric. “One-ninety-and-a-half centimeters.”

“You don’t need to repeat yourself…” He said absentmindedly while he filled out other sections of the form, glancing up at me occasionally as he did.

I guess the ring really does translate everything…

The pen clunked against the metal table as he put it down before reaching into another pouch.

How many pouches does this guy have?

He revealed a thin deck of cards and placed it between us. “Shuffle it and reveal the top two cards.”

“Sure...” I picked them up and shuffled. As I did, a tingling warmth danced along my fingers and up my forearms, making my arm hairs stand on end.

 I slid two cards from the top and placed them face-up on the table before putting the remainder down nearby.

The first card depicted a beautiful woman sitting alone in a gazebo surrounded by a lush garden. Her enticingly curvy frame was draped comfortably over a high-backed armchair as she read a book. 

The other showed a tall man in a tailored suit standing alone in what looked to be an armory. He inspected an elegant blade covered in intricate inscriptions.

“I see.” The elf scrawled something on his form. 

“You see what?” A hint of my own irritation crept in at the elf’s vagueness. 

“You’re a Spiritsmith,” he said with the utmost disinterest. 

I released a puff of aggravation. “Okay… what is that?”

“Something I’m not paid to explain to you.” He shut the folder and scooped up the cards before putting them and the pen away. His voice then took on a tone which suggested a memorized speech was at work. “You will be sent to an outworlder holding facility until the freshmen admissions tests for Chromaryn Academy. You are to take part and assuming you are admitted, you will then be expected to attend the academy.”

I gave him a flat stare. 

“Due to the chaotic, violent, and depraved nature frequently observed in outworlders, this is an expectation set upon you to demonstrate your ability to operate respect a predefined set of rules, show you are not a danger to society, and to become a more capable citizen of Myria. Should you fail to gain admittance, fail to advance from any of the four grades, or are expelled, you will be summarily executed.”

“What?” I asked, hoping something had gotten twisted in translation

He rose and rounded the table as he reached into his coat to reveal a key. “Do you require clarification?” 

The chains clattered to the table as he released a lock affixing them to the metal links connecting my manacles. His fingers closed around my arm before dragging me to my feet.

“What do you mean summarily executed?!”

“Executed without delay.”

“That’s bullshit! I haven’t done anything even remotely wrong eno–”

Pain shot through my arm as his grip tightened, ceasing my indignant protests with a visceral reminder of my situation. It was compelling evidence that this was neither a dream or a delusion.

The mask of reserved professionalism cracked as he narrowed his eyes at me. “If I had it my way, you’d be cut down here and now, you whiny fuck… You outworlders are no better than monsters…” Bitter resentment crept in as his hushed threat shifted into a snarl. “You should be grateful I don’t gut you here and now.” The leather grip of the dagger at this hip creaked as his free hand closed around it in a white-kunckled squeeze. “Nobody would doubt my word if I claimed you attacked me…”

I froze like a mouse pinned beneath the claws of a cat. His glare radiated hate and sincerity. He’d do it, and he’d lose no sleep over it. What the fuck was I thinking acting like a smartass? 

My heart thudded wildly as the image of my guts spilling out onto the stone floor took center stage in my mind’s eye.

I winced as the pressure on my arm built.

People have been disappearing…

In the strange way moments of clarity can crystalize in times of panic, my brother's words echoed in my mind as my dumbass brain finally put it together.

The elf’s grip on his dagger released and his grasp loosened up on my bicep. The spite in his face receded as his expression once again froze over into cool detachment. “Howeve, I am a man of the law…”

I had yet to unfuck the railways on which my brain’s trains of thought traveled and could only stare stupidly at him.

“You will now be transferred to the outworlder holding facility,” he said, dragging me towards the exit. “At which time you will finally cease being my problem…”