Chapter 23 – The Mediator Who Shouldn’t Have Eaten the Soup

“Oooooh,” Anad groaned, needles of light spiking into his closed eyes, and his head pounding like it stood between a hammer and anvil.

What happened? And what is jabbing into my back?

He rolled to the right, found something rough and solid in that direction, so he tried to the left. Dry leaves crinkled under his fingers, but he mercifully took the pressure off whatever he’d been lying on. But, why was he even lying down in the first place?

Mouth dry, he pushed himself up to his hands and knees, and his pounding headache took offense to the movement, threatening to put him right back down on the ground. The world tilted dangerously sideways, even though his eyes were still closed, and he leaned heavily against whatever he’d rolled into before. The rough surface scratched against his cheek, but it was a welcome sensation to take some of his attention off the headache.

Rough? Bark. That’s right, I was sitting on a fallen tree. Talking to Tel and… and… eating soup. The soup that must’ve been drugged. Why wasn’t I more careful?

Anad knocked his head against the fallen log in frustration with himself, then winced at the crescendo of pain. Being angry at himself would have to wait until later when it didn’t hurt quite so much. Eyes still closed, he felt the side of the log with his left hand until he found the top of it, then carefully pulled himself up until he was sitting on it. Another wave of vertigo, this one with a guest appearance by nausea, and Anad had his head in his hands, elbows on his knees.

It’s a pretty potent drug if it’s affecting me like this. The Trance should’ve… wait, my sword!

Anad’s eyes snapped open despite the spike of pain the action sent straight through his skull, and he took in the scene in front of him. The camp was still like he remembered, though there was sunlight filtering through the trees, and the soup pot was right in front of him. But his sword… where… where…?

Right beside his feet.

Anad let out a sigh of relief and reached down to pick up the cane-clad sword. “You’re what was jabbing into my back?” he asked the sword, but of course it didn’t answer back.

Taking the hilt in his right hand, Anad twisted to unlock the blade, then drew out just enough steel he could see it, and pulled on the Trance.

Fresh pain lanced through him, and not just in his head this time. Muscles pushed to their limit the day before screamed against the magic flowing through them, and Anad slammed the sword back into its sheath, breathing heavily.

“Guess I shouldn’t try that again for a bit,” he said, speaking aloud helping to wake him up, and put the butt of the cane on the ground. Leaning his forehead against the cool, scale-engraved pommel of the sword, he let his mind wander back to the first time he’d seen it.

“Isn’t it strange that we have a symbol for measurement, when that’s outlawed, on our swords?” he’d asked his instructor.

“It’s also a symbol for balance, and that’s what we maintain by stopping Tinks and sorcerers from bringing more chaos into the world,” his instructor had said.

“Was what we did at the enclave really bringing balance to the world?” he asked the sword, eyes still closed. Again, no answer. Talking to his sword better not become a habit. Still, the moment of relaxation, or maybe it was the brief touch of the Trance, had taken a bit of the edge off the drugged stupor, and Anad said up straight.

A roll of his shoulders along with a gentle – very gentle – roll of his neck, and Anad carefully opened his eyes. Vertigo and nausea made their closing remarks, but gratefully left him alone, and he took another look around the campsite.

Not surprisingly, there was no sign of Tel or Shara, and Anad let out another sigh. He’d finally caught up to his old… friend, though maybe Tel didn’t think of him quite like that. Given that Shara was a sorcerer and Tel a Tink, it wasn’t really a surprise they’d run from him. He’d let himself get so caught up in trying to explain what had happened all those years ago, he let his defenses down when it came to the food.

Had Tel drugged the food from the beginning? No, he would’ve been unconscious on the ground in front of Anad if that had been the case. Which meant Shara had drugged just Anad’s bowl… which would explain her insistence he eat all of it.

“Stupid,” he reprimanded himself, just once, then examined the camp some more. They’d left the soup pot and tent behind, which meant they’d left in a hurry. “They didn’t know how long I’d be out,” he reasoned. “But how long was I asleep?”

Anad brought his hand up to shield his eyes, but forced himself to look at where the sun was shining through the branches, then grimaced. The sun was low in the sky, but not from rising. He’d slept away almost the entire day. And, without the Trance, he wouldn’t be catching up to them anytime soon, even if he picked up their trail again.

Following them was out of the question, and if he was being honest with himself, maybe that was for the best. His reunion with Tel hadn’t exactly gone well. And, with him being a Mediator, what exactly would he have done with them? If he chose to let them go, he’d be betraying his order. But, if he brought them into custody, what would’ve happened to them?

Shara probably would’ve been executed. And, drugged soup aside, she didn’t seem like a bad person. She’d also fought like mad to close that portal and stop those monsters. Not to mention, Tel trusted her, and Anad had never seen Tel trust anybody.

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Then there was Tel. A Tinkerer. From an enclave the Mediators had just wiped out. If they were in the capital, maybe Tel would’ve been taken into custody to be reformed. Taught that what he’s doing is wrong. Out here though? He’d probably join Shara on the execution block.

“Could I live with myself if that happened?” Anad asked quietly and put his forehead back down on the pommel of his sword.

Getting tricked and drugged was actually the best outcome for everybody. The choice had been taken out of his hands, and all it cost him was a bit of pride and embarrassment.

Should be real fun to explain where I’ve been to Sir Reghald though.

Another sigh, and Anad looked back the way he’d come with Shara and Tel the night before. They’d put a pretty good distance between themselves and the strange old building, but was it really safe to leave it the way it was? Tel said the clock was what kept the portal closed, but what if he’d been lying, and the clock in fact kept the portal open?

Telling the other Mediators back at the garrison in Bastion what he’d found made the most sense. They’d decide what to do about the clock and the portal. And, even if Tel was telling the truth, the Mediators would be able to figure out a way to deal with the monsters and close the gateway permanently.

Decision made, Anad pushed himself to his feet, only needing the functional support of the cane a bit, and eyed the soup pot. What are the odds they drugged the soup left behind?

No, he couldn’t risk it. He was already feeling weaker than he had in years, and a second dose like the first might be enough to actually kill him, if not leave him unmoving for days.

“Wait,” Anad said to himself, eyes still on the cold pot. “Why am I even still alive? Did they assume the drugged soup would do the work, or was killing me not their intention?”

Even with Tel’s anger, Anad couldn’t imagine his old friend being okay with going that far, but he didn’t really know Shara. It was possible she’d intended to kill him with that, but something about that didn’t sit right in his gut.

Or maybe that was just what was left of the drugged soup.

“A question for if I ever see them again,” he said, grabbed the only rolled-up sleeping bag left, and exited the small camp site opposite the way he’d come in the night before. With the setting sun where it was, that meant Bastion would be… that way, and Anad slowly weaved his way through the trees.

His entry into the forest had been more… hectic, but now he had the time – was forced to take the time, was more accurate – to actually take the scenery in. The woods were more quiet than the ones around where he’d grown up, the breeze through the leaves the loudest sound, and with no signs of large animals. Small bolts of movement caught his attention in the corner of his eyes, but there wasn’t the same sense of malevolence he’d felt the day before.

The presence of the monsters that’d chased him had been almost palpable, their aura like a stain on the sanctity of the woods. They didn’t belong there, and simply existing had somehow tickled at the edge of Anad’s senses.

Maybe it was because he wasn’t holding the Trance, but, no, that wasn’t it. The woods felt… whole. At peace, like it was letting out a relaxed breath after holding it back for a long time.

“Great, first I was talking to my sword, and now I’m thinking about the forest as if it’s a living creature. Oh, and I’m talking to myself too. Wonderful. Stupid drugs,” Anad muttered, but his head was also clearing in the pure air.

One foot in front of the other, he trekked through the woods until the sun completely set and he was left with two choices – make camp or walk into a tree. There was the third choice of trying to embrace the Trance again, but given the pain just after he woke up, it would probably be best to wait for the next day.

So, a short while later, finding a large rock in a small clearing, Anad climbed up to the top of it and untied the sleeping bag. “This will have to do,” he said, looking up at the stars while he let the sleeping bag unroll to his feet. The sky spread wide above him, the treetops only noticeable by where they obscured the stars, and the massive crescent moon dominating the center of the sky directly above him.

Anad scowled at the slight pink tinge to the moon that signified an increase in ambient chaos, and snapped the sleeping bag in agitation. Something flipped up into the air at the motion, and Anad quickstepped back while dropping the bag and putting his hand on the hilt of his sword. Nothing else moved or happened, so Anad carefully stepped forward again, eyes on the top of the rock for whatever that had been.

Eyes practically useless with only the slight pink light from the moon above, Anad curiously crouched down and patted around with his free hand. Whatever that was had been inside the sleeping bag. Was it something Tel and Shara forgot was there? Maybe a clue to where they were going?

Slap, slap, slap, his hand gently rapped against the smooth rockface until one slap turned into a pat, and he found something soft and vaguely long and narrow.

Leather wrapped? With string around the middle tying it shut.

Stowing his cane in the crook of one elbow, Anad deftly untied the string and rolled open the leather. The old smell told him what was in his hands even before the tips of his fingers brushed against the dried meat.

“Not a clue. Lunch,” Anad said flatly to himself. “But do I trust it not to be drugged?”

Grabbing one of the pieces, he lifted up to his nose and breathed in, the smell taking him back to an old kitchen. He could almost hear the other kids excitedly talking around him, their shoulders bumping up against his as they watched the Master’s thick hands rub salt into the slab of meat.

“The salt is the most important part, of course, but I like to add a little something extra,” the Master said, pointing at a small pile of red powder. “That, that right there, is what makes our meat special. It’s how we pay for this place, keep you fed. I’ll show you how to make it later, but for now, just touch the tip of your finger in it and take a taste. Not too much now. Ugh, Lako, I didn’t say to lick the pile! Somebody get him some water. Hurry up now!”

The children’s echoing laughter faded away and Anad was back on top of the rock, the spice’s smell crawling up his nose and down his throat. This dried meat in the sleeping bag wasn’t a coincidence. It couldn’t be.

Tel had left it there knowing Anad would take the sleeping bag when he left the campsite.

“Better dried meat than something more dangerous,” Anad muttered, but ripped into the meat with his teeth. Warmth rolled out across his tongue and up the sides of his mouth, while the meat practically melted as he chewed. Almost to the point he needed a drink, the heat leveled off and turned sweet, and he swallowed the mouthful with a happy sigh. “Master never made it this well,” he said, took a second bite, and straightened out the sleeping bag.

Lying on his back with his head resting on his bent arm, sword beside him, Anad stared up at the night sky and munched on the dried meat.

If Tel had left it there for Anad to find, maybe he wasn’t quite so mad after all.

…unless the meat was drugged.