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87. [Uicha] What's Old is New
🕑 Added 2025-02-13 18:05:41 +0000 UTC***
Uicha de Orak, Wildcard of the 5th Renown, representing the Forgotten One, getting into shape
His patron, the Forgotten One, not unreasonable all things considered
And, an interested party
***
13 Rainest, 61 AW
Flamboyance, largest of the Flamingo Islands
77 days until the next Granting
Uicha's second trip down to the Forgotten One was somewhat less agonizing than the first.
It got off to an easier start. He did not descend at the end of a panicked escape attempt, after weeks of torture, with glass vials of chanic smashed across his chest and face, and the coppery liquid thick in his throat. This time, he dribbled the chanic into his palm and let it hiss up his forearm. The crimson paint knew where to go, drawn to the pooled blot on his chest. Uicha knew he’d poured out enough when he felt himself begin to sink.
As the crushing weight of the world enveloped him, Uicha reminded himself that he had chosen this. He wanted the power.
Perhaps all the drinks with Akoni had loosened his mind. Or, perhaps, he was simply getting used to powerful forces toying with his consciousness. As the darkness and heaviness of the Forgotten One’s prison obliterated him, he clung to the notion that this wasn’t real death. His physical body was still slumped in his cabin aboard the Dartmyth. He had not truly been dragged down into the planet's core. His body was not actually splitting apart from the pressure. His bones were not floating through the earth shiny and fossilized.
He would wake up from this nightmare. It was all in his head.
And yet, that meant the Forgotten One was in his head, too. A throbbing crimson pulse down in those smothering depths. Uicha could sense the enormity of the entity lurking just beyond his perception. His mind was like a mouse hole in a wall and the Forgotten One had poked but a little finger in to feel around. It could tear the entire house down if it wished. Uicha remembered Akoni's story of an islander misusing chanic and having his lungs leap out from his body. Could something like that happen to him if he displeased his patron?
No.
The word rumbled through Uicha like a tremor in the earth and he was nothing but dirt.
You do not have the capacity to displease me, child. Those others? Who paint themselves in my blood? Their successes are amusements. Their deaths are provocations. Do you understand? I do not punish small things such as you.
Although his body felt like it was pressed into a vice, a strange sense of gratitude blossomed within Uicha. The Forgotten One did not act with malice. Those who botched symbols made from chanic were destroyed because of the rules that bound the world. With the Forgotten One’s protection, Uicha would not suffer that fate.
I will guide you, child. Until you die in my service.
Well, that didn’t sound so great to Uicha. His mind recoiled.
Or until I am freed.
Uicha wondered how he was supposed to do that. His teeth ground together in his head. To even move his lips down here was impossible.
You will find others. Ones like you. Those who your gods have lost their hold on.
People who had lost their Ink. Uicha could not imagine how he was supposed to go about doing that. He knew the Ink could change and he’d heard stories about other people who had lost their symbols for a time. These were rare occurrences, though. Not something that could be predicted or hunted down.
Miracles. Yes. You must be known so that the others can seek you out.
Uicha was already too well known for his liking. That was why he had used one of his vials of chanic. Because he needed more power to deal with the people after him. The Orvesians. The archmages. Probably Merchant’s Bay now. Everywhere he went, he faced curiosity and confrontation. He could not travel the world relying on bandages or beads to hide his markings. If he was to do the Forgotten One’s bidding, there were times he would need to be discrete. Otherwise, his days would be wasted on petty battles whenever the rumors caught up with him.
Yes, child. I see the wisdom in your request.
Like razor-skinned worms burrowing through the dirt, Uicha felt the crimson Ink taking new shape on his chest.
You have achieved the sixth level of renown. I grant you [Shapeshifter].
***
Uicha's shirt was soaked through with sweat, so he tore it off and dropped it wetly onto the floorboards. Blood tingled under his skin, pumping hard through his arteries. He shook out his limbs and felt relief, like he’d just crawled out from a narrow space. He could sense the curved whorls of the new Ink, but he could not see the new symbol on his chest.
That wasn’t exactly his chest.
Uicha's skin was darker now, his muscular sternum covered in coarse hair. He gazed down at a sculpted abdomen, each muscle visible and pronounced. Rolling his rounded shoulders, Uicha realized that he didn't feel any stronger, although he certainly looked like he should be. He stared at himself in the mirror.
Captain Akoni de Emasyn stared back.
Uicha touched his throat. He bore the symbol of the Flamingo Islands—a treasure chest with a broken lock—in pure, black Ink. The crimson of his true markings were hidden beneath this illusion.
His Ink might not have been visible, but Uicha could still sense the strain on [Shapeshifter]. He flexed one of Akoni's biceps in the mirror and considered the limits of this ability. Uicha could take the shape of anyone he had ever seen, although the fuzzier the memory, the more difficult the transformation would be to hold. Because he knew Akoni well, Uicha thought he could hold this form for hours. He could not invent a shape for himself, or take on inhuman characteristics, or become a beast. Uicha flexed Akoni's weathered fingers, but sensed no deft knot-tying ability there, no study power. He did not inherit any of Akoni's strength or skills when taking his form—he was still Uicha underneath.
“Little brother,” he said to himself in the mirror, his voice just like Akoni's.
Uicha shuddered. He had a vision of Akoni entering his cabin to check on him and felt a sudden rush of embarrassment at being caught in this state. The wincing face in the mirror was not an expression he'd ever seen the true Akoni make.
Hurriedly, Uicha used [Shapeshifter] to change back into himself. But not his present self. He restored the Uicha of Ambergran. Shorter hair, a more boyish face, not yet so lined and haunted, a wheat stalk on his throat instead of an empty red box. Because Uicha knew his own shape best of all, he sensed that he could hold this form for even longer. He tried to make a minor alteration—to change just the symbol on his neck from the wheat to the chest—but this took a conscious effort and would be more taxing to maintain. Better to go with what was easiest for now, until he had a better feeling for his capabilities.
Uicha pulled at the ends of his hair. The boy in the mirror had come a long way from home. He would still not belong amongst the islanders. They would probably see him as easy prey. Uicha didn't mind that. There was a thrill in being more than he appeared.
***
At the first sliver of sunrise, Uicha gathered his things and left the Dartmyth. He looked in on Akoni and found the captain tangled in his bed sheets, snoring into a pillow. Uicha didn’t bother to wake the man. They’d said enough goodbyes the night before. Anything more would be too awkward and too sober.
Uicha walked the docks at an easy pace. He kept his shirt open to the humid, salty air. A steady drizzle rolled in from the north, although pink sky in the distance meant it wouldn’t last. He stored his beads and feathers at the top of his pack, easy to access in case his new ability let him down. Uicha didn’t think that would be a problem, though. [Shapeshifter] was like being wrapped in a sail. He could feel the wind tugging the fabric of illusion away from him, but knew that his grip wasn’t yet close to loosening.
Some sailors bumped Uicha’s shoulder as they hurried past, but Uicha mostly moved smoothly across the planks. He’d gotten good at navigating through crowds, of slipping to the margins and staying unnoticed—he no longer felt the need to scurry from place to place like in Noyega, or to keep his eyes always down like he had growing up in Ambergran.
Uicha found the ferry easily enough. The captain stood next to the gangway, eating scrambled eggs out of a bowl. Under his loose supervision, a couple of oarsman scrubbed the sides of the boat. Nothing fancy, at least compared to the Dartmyth—just a single deck, lined with benches, and a sheltered helm for the captain.
“You’re early,” the man said when Uicha produced the ticket Akoni had procured for him.
Uicha shrugged. “I don’t mind waiting.”
The captain set aside his food, licked his fingers, and then searched around in his belt-pouch for a stamp. “Who do you know, kid?”
“Sorry?”
“That’s an Admiralty pass, good for passage wherever there are islanders,” the captain said. He stamped the paper, but hesitated to hand it back. “You steal this?”
Uicha thought quickly. Given the circulating rumors, he didn’t want to drop Akoni’s name.
“Kersey de Mou arranged it for me,” Uicha said. “You might know him as—”
The captain thrust the ticket back at Uicha like he’d just discovered it’d been used to wipe an ass. “By the tides, everybody knows who Curse is and wishes they didn’t.” He eyed the wheat stalk on Uicha’s neck, but decided not to ask any more questions. “Welcome aboard, I suppose.”
“How long is it to Sugarfoot? I’ve never been.”
“A couple hours,” the captain replied. “Fourth island we’ll stop at.”
Uicha was the first passenger aboard, so he had his choice of seats. He picked a bench near the back, under a tarp, and sat there with his arms crossed, watching the comings and goings on the docks. He’d lied so easily to the ferry captain. Gods, he’d been lying to someone since that first day he woke up in his childhood home, newly possessed by an Orvesian spirit. From one lie to the next. Uicha wondered if he was getting any better at it.
What was he going to tell his grandfather? His only living family, a man who Uicha had never met. Did he expect this old man to offer him shelter? Protection? Did Uicha even need either of those things anymore? The islands had seemed like a good destination to retreat to when he first fled Ambergran, but much had changed since then. He would be bringing trouble to his grandfather’s doorstep. In fact, based on what Akoni had said, trouble might have arrived ahead of him.
Well, the least Uicha could do was look in on the old man. Make sure he was safe. Then, he’d figure out where to go next.
Where did the people who lost their Ink gather? He pushed that question aside.
The ferry filled up all at once about five minutes before the scheduled departure. Uicha remained deep in thought, rehearsing conversations with his grandfather. He imagined him as an older version of his father, kind and whimsical, and with an infinite amount of patience for grandsons who had run afoul of multiple supernatural entities.
Uicha did not notice the man who had sat next to him until he lit a smokeroll. He held out a tin filled with neatly arranged, delicate tubes of tobacco.
“Care for one?”
“No, thank you,” Uicha said.
“You don’t mind, then, do you? They help with the headaches.”
The man was pale-skinned, which meant he stood out amongst the islanders. He looked tired—dark bags under his eyes, tousled hair matted from the rain, and an uneven shading of stubble like he’d shaved on a moving rowboat. The man wore a travel-stained brown coat with the collar turned up despite the growing warmth in the morning air, though he didn’t seem to sweat. Uicha expected to see the coffer of Merchant’s Bay on the man’s neck, but as he tilted his head back to exhale a stream of smoke, Uicha instead saw a candle.
Magelab. A candle of Magelab.
Uicha nearly bolted upright. Then, he considered reaching for his scimitar. He resisted both of these urges, but ended up patting the front of his thighs like he was checking his pockets. Uicha was sure the man noticed his clumsy shifting, although he wasn’t faced in Uicha’s direction. In fact, he kept himself half-turned away from Uicha, as if he couldn’t stand to look directly at him.
“Some people are sensitive to pollen. To cats.” The man snapped his tin of smokerolls closed and they disappeared into his coat. “For me, it’s illusions.”
“I’m sorry?” Uicha said quietly. “Illusions?”
The ferry lurched and Uicha steadied himself against the side. They had pushed off. Uicha became suddenly very aware of sound—or the lack thereof. Islanders and other travelers were packed in around them, but their conversations all sounded muffled.
“I can’t quite figure out how you’re doing it,” the man continued. “Or why, for that matter. But, we’ve got a few hours on this boat, don’t we? Unwinding that will be a pleasant diversion.”
Now, Uicha did let his hand drop to his scimitar. “Who are you?”
“My name is Samus Bind,” the man said. He offered Uicha a hand, but something told Uicha it would be unwise to touch him. After a protracted moment, Samus let his hand drop. “I am the inquisitor of the Magelab. I have been looking for you, Uicha de Orak.”
Uicha’s mouth felt dry. “Why?” he asked.
“I have some questions,” the inquisitor said. “Regarding the murder of the archmage Ahmed Roh.”
Comments
iridium248
Wow, he finally caught up.
