A place on a map

The sun was high by the time Vincenti stormed through the front door of the apothecary he called home. There in deep concentration Sheung was hunched over a map of western Liske that included the Bay on the other side of the hill and a sizable portion of the sea beyond. He could see little islands and archipelagos march their way along the coast. The map was larger than the table table top, its edges and foggy zones of exploration hanging lazily in each direction. Vincenti could see drops of sweat in the sea where Sheung was doing his best to divine the location of Arthur. "He's still moving." Sheung said, not looking up. "But too fast to be on a ship. Maybe a schooner. And where have you been? You were supposed to report back yesterday!"

Vincenti regarded the ancient man for a second. Sheung sat in a specially made chair that allowed him access to the entire apothecary. Large wheels with cogs on the outside allowed him to maneuver himself across the floor and up the walls when Vincenti wasn't there to push the chair. His wizened little legs seemed more like afterthoughts, barely emerging from under his long white beard. His legs had been shrunk in a thaumaturgical experiment some twenty years prior and no amount of coaxing had brought them back yet. His nearly reptilian right hand, another experimental casualty, held a fine platinum chain a foot above the map. A dark blue fluorite octahedron was soldered at then end seemed fixed at an odd angle above a point on the map no matter which way Sheung moved the chain.

"Don't just stand there, come over here and read me the location where Arthur is."

"He's on a coal steamer named the Wonsoon heading for the Refinery."

"Was. His course switched to northerly this morning. And you still haven't answered where you have been?"

Vincenti knew better than to try and explain the situation with the knife and the witch at this point. His shoulders slumped.

"Out investigating."

"Very well, go sit over there until I need you again." Sheung adjusted his thick glasses and became lost in the map once more. Vincenti walked over to his chair and sat. He needed something to do, and sitting and stewing on his memories was more than he could handle today. But, looking around, the apothecary was inordinately clean. There was nothing to dust, not even a beaker or vial to wash.

The minute he sat, the memories began flickering back behind his eyes. Movies and images playing at different speeds but all playing at the same time. The cacophony was overwhelming whenever he wasn't concentrating on something. Every memory of every synapse of his life and everyone's life he had been made up of came flooding in.

Vincenti realized, again, he could recite the first 1460 digits of the product of Sauer's Theorem, but even under penalty of death he couldn't understand what Sauer's theorem was good for or what it approximated. He could smell the little blue flowers next to a bubbling creek he would walk beside when he was a little girl and no more than five years old. He could feel the pats on his back as he had just baked the best loaf of bread in all of Rotma! Sometimes there were memories he would try to steer towards as they were less traumatic than others. Today, however, he had no such luck. He couldn't control where his mind took him. It was straight to the trenches during the wraith skirmishes some one hundred and fifty years ago. He remembered soiling himself he was so scared. It was night. The fog thick enough he couldn't see the other end of his trench.

"Hold the line" had been the orders from his captain. There was going to be no order of retreat. His company could either hold the wraiths back, or die trying. Between urine and sweat his uniform was soaked and cold. Looking around he could see the wild scared eyes of the rest of his troop. His arms started to shake. The wraiths took no prisoners. Countless waves of infantry just like his had been lost trying to find some weakness with the wraiths. The only difference between those poor souls and his was a new type of rifle with bullets made of iron and intricate little symbols engraved on them. Those symbols caused their rifles to jam more often than not, especially in the cold of North Fingers.

Fifteen trenches just like his had been dug on the southern side of that mountain pass. One hundred men per trench, all armed with the same type of rifle and bullets. Ring bearers were stationed every fifty feet reporting what they saw back to HQ.

The moons hadn't risen yet, and the high clouds would have obstructed any light they gave anyway. A hushing "Shush" came from one of the forward trenches. At least he was near the rear. Vincenti would have a chance to see his death coming. The man he had been held a pendant and prayed to a now defunct god, all the while thinking of his wife and daughter.

He could hear it now. The crackle of the rocks, the slight buzzing of the wraiths speaking to each other. The almost crystalline sound of the frost enveloping everything around them. There was a shout and the front trenches opened fire. He only had five bullets in his rifle. Another thirty in a bandolier across his chest. In surprise he accidentally squeezed the trigger and a round shot off straight up into the air. The sound caused three of his trench mates to open fire into the darkness ahead of them. Four other soldiers simply dropped their rifles and began running in the opposite direction of the wraiths.

Vincenti, or Lam, as he had been called then composed himself, finished his silent prayer and crawled on his elbows to the rim of the trench. It was too dark to see, except when another rifle shot sent blinding blue light into the night. He could see, in those times, the wraiths, moving through the fog, almost a living embodiment of the fog itself.

Watching the wraiths coming he could almost count the seconds until they would close in on his position. Another barrage of blue light, then silence. The front trenches were no longer returning fire. The middle trenches opened up. There were only five wraiths that glided over the terrain. Under any other circumstance their movement would have been beautiful. Graceful as a cloud mixed with the litheness of a flame.

The middle trenches were now silent. The meandering gate of the wraiths made them seem even more ephemeral, like a summer zephyr, but he knew that at least 800 solders lay in their trenches, their lives extinguished.

Lam's bowels released and he cursed himself for how scared he was. A shiver so great nearly made him drop his rifle. One of the wraiths was now in range. Lam took a deep breath and howled with the fury and frustration of a man who knew he was about to die. Four bullets left his rifle. Two went wide, one went high. The last found its mark. He didn't take any time to see if any damage had been done. In one fluid motion Lam broke open the stock and emptied the defunct casings. Almost idly he noticed his right hand, the hand inserting the bullets wasn't shaking. Of any part of his body, his right arm seemed supremely confident. Each bullet was placed in the rifle. Each bullet had a place. Each bullet had a function. In seconds he was reloaded, the stock closed, and he was now sighting the nearest wraith, only one trench away. Five more soldiers to his left dropped their guns and ran. He could feel his friend Nonce tugging at his jacket urging him to run too. It was a buzzing in his ears. The only sounds that were distinct were his own heartbeat, the sound of air moving in his lungs, the firing pin pulling back and that incessant chattering crackle coming from the wraith itself.

Three more bullets found home and this time he could watch them enter the wraith's body and slow. To his dismay they still passed through the creature. The being, It. No one was sure what they were. All anyone knew is that to see one was death and they moved in groups.

The bullets caught the wraith's attention. It stopped its lateral motion through the trench it was in, its gaseous head swiveling around to look at Lam with three red-black eyes. In one motion it leapt the edge of the trench and landed halfway between that trench and Lam's.

Two more bullets sliced into two of those three eyes. It let out a caterwaul that froze Lam in his tracks. Vincenti, detached, urged Lam to run. He knew what would come next. What always came next. "Run you fool. You hurt it, it can't see you! Run!" Instead, Lam's right arm merely broke the stock open again and reloaded. Fingers still working as sure as if he were playing a game of Quin with his uncle. Nonce was shouting something at him, but Lam couldn't hear it. In the corner of his eye he could see the terror as Nonce let go of Lam's jacket and ran.

"You've solved it Lam, now run!" Vincenti's subconscious was screaming. "The eyes, the glyphs work on the eyes. Make sure HQ knows that, they can build a better gun that targets the eyes." Because Vincenti knew that exactly that happened. Some nine years after the wraith skirmishes began they were ended by the battle of North Fingers. The intel got through. HQ made the new weapon and the wraiths were a threat no longer. But, to Vincenti's dismay the battle of North Fingers had to conclude.

Lam reloaded. The ring bearer in his trench had sidled up near him, a look of determination and sheer terror on his face that Lam assumed must had mirrored his own. The ring bearer's ring was still spinning on the end of its string. The ring bearer reciting everything he could see into the spinning jewelry. He knew there was another ring spinning from another piece of string back at HQ with a scribe writing down everything in their peculiar shorthand.

Two more wraiths had thundered over to their injured comrade, head's searching for the offender. Lam locked eyes with one, his finger squeezed the trigger three more times. These shots perfect, they hit their marks and another wraith was incapacitated. The ring bearer was now shouting into the ring, a slight tone of excitement.

The other wraith charged Lam. Two shots squeezed off, only one hit its mark. It was not enough to slow the beast. The wraith collided with LAM and knocked him back. Instantly the breath was wrenched from his lungs. He could feel the burning cold grip his chest, his legs, his neck and head. He could see the blue flame his body had turned into and marveled at how painless it really was. His last thought was of his wife and daughter then nothingness.

Lam's right arm had been charged with enough thaumaturgic energy that the blue flame had spared it. It was that right arm and Lam's rifle that had been recovered three days later. It was that right arm that was now giving Vincenti the golem the memories of a man gone some one hundred and fifty years. Vincenti always cherished the sacrifices of those that made him up and he noticed he was blinking away tears of the memories of his or rather Lam's wife and daughter. Someday he'd find what happened to them, but Sheung kept him too busy to find out.

"Quit crying Six and make yourself useful". Vincenti sometimes wondered what happened to One through five, as Vincenti's name itself was merely the number six.

"We've got to go." Then Sheung's demeanor changed as he realized what had happened. "Lam, Pico or Flanda?"

"Lam" Vincenti croaked and stood. He removed his bowler hat from the hat stand and pulled out a handkerchief to dry his eyes.

"I'm sorry Six. Someday I'll remove those memories permanently."

Vincenti dreaded that day most of all. "Not a rush Sheung. Lets go find Arthur and figure out about those missing children."