Chapter IV: The Map

The Outlander continues to experience life in the city.

Aforemention

-

            The survivors crowed around the boy whom they viewed as their hero. They built a small shrine out of wood and placed it over the boy’s resting spot. When he awoke, he was met with great reverence and applause. Some even deified him. They wanted to name him king of their new world, but he responded with great disdain for such a title.

            Another man stood up to take the responsibility. The boy was relieved. But the world outside was in ruin. The waters covered every part of the barrier and no one dared to open it. So, with what hope they had left, they tried to make do with what they had. That day, a new city was born.

 

Chapter 4: The Map

-

The Outlander woke up. He struggled to recall how he ended up in this bed. He looked around and saw the same grey walls as were in the other room. It looked exactly the same, but this room had a smaller window on the southern wall with a tattered curtain blocking some sunlight. The bed was in the back of the room against the eastern wall. He saw the door back to the main room in front of him on the right along the western wall. To the left of the door was a tall piece of furniture with handles and a mirror to its right. The mirror was faded and did an overall poor job of reflecting the room. To the left beneath the window was a small table with another iron lamp, still dimly lit. There was a small chair missing a spoke in the back rest.

He looked down and saw he was fully clothed, so he figured he must’ve wandered into the backroom and fallen onto the bed. He felt calmer today; he figured it was a new day by now. He couldn’t recall much from the night before except a panic. He also realized, almost as if a rigid, hot coal had fallen into his gut, that his stomach was in pain; he was starving.

He rose from the bed and walked to the door. He slowly turned the knob, pushed the thick, wooden door ajar, and stepped back into the main room. He left the door open behind him and decided to search for food. He found some greens resting on one of the shelves and decided to eat them. They didn’t have much taste; just dull, like consuming a small bunch of leaves right off the branch. He couldn’t tell if he was being nourished, but he figured the rest of the food in the flat probably wasn’t much (if any) better, and Aster had told him to ration, so he elected to finish his greens and return to the backroom.

Standing before his bed, he scratched at the fabrics he had worn for days now. He figured he might as well change into something new. He pulled on the handles of the large piece of furniture next to the mirror and accidentally pulled the drawer out of the dresser. It fell to the ground with a loud thud, narrowly avoiding the Outlander’s feet as he jumped back in response. He scrambled to pick it up and push it back into place, worried the entire building might have heard him. After resting it back into place, he gently pulled it out just enough to where he was able to grab a white tunic and some fair brown trousers.

He pulled off the shirt he was wearing. He hadn’t yet felt the air of the world upon his bare torso. It felt relieving to shed the worn-out tunic that had only become more tattered over the past few days, and was now tainted with sweat and blood; almost like one would imagine shedding skin. He looked over in the mirror and saw himself for the first time. Suddenly, he was overwhelmed with intense emotions.

He realized he didn’t recognize his own body. He removed his equally tattered trousers and stood before the mirror still perplexed why the body he inhabited was foreign to him. He rubbed his left shoulder. He had a small scar above his bicep. He began to inspect the scars littered across his body. So much had happened in so little time.

It frustrated him considerably because some part of him felt like the man standing before him was vaguely familiar somehow, but he couldn’t name him. He couldn’t tell you a thing about him; just a mirage standing in a room with him. Mounting frustration boiled, then broke out into a fury. He lashed out at the mirror, but it only teetered back and forth, unbroken. Tears welled up in the Outlander’s eyes, but he quickly wiped them away and began to put on the brown trousers resting on his bed behind him.

He looked one more time at the mirror before putting on the fresh, white tunic. He recalled what Aster had told him. He smiled. It wasn’t fully authentic, but it was his haphazard attempt at being content as a small tear escaped his synthetic emotional transition. He rubbed off some of the blood on his right pectoral with the tattered shirt he had removed and, once he was somewhat clean, he put on the new tunic.

He looked nice. Nothing worth bragging about, but it was an improvement. He moved his bangs over to the right. He may have stood in front of the mirror for a quarter of an hour before finally escaping his self-loathing vanity. He decided he would meet his flat mate across the hall. So, he walked back into the main room and glanced out the window. The light was dim. He figured it must be nearing nightfall. The light was pinkish, however, which seemed odd. He’d only seen the light as yellow or orange.

Quite strange. Must be how things were in the city.

Nevertheless, he exited the front doorway and walked across the hall to the door on the other side of the stairwell. He began to open the door but something crossed his mind.

Would he have wanted someone to walk into his home unannounced?

He decided not. So he chose to get his attention from outside the doorway. He knocked. After a few moments of silence, he knocked again.

The rooms weren’t all that big. Where could he be that’s causing the wait?

After a third, louder knock, the knob shook and the door swung open swiftly. An angry man wearing short trousers and no shirt, exposing his bearlike chest, was now standing in the doorway. His hair was a mess and his eyes were almost shut. Had he been sleeping?

“What in the name of the Four Divines and all of their creation has possessed you to be rapping at my door before daybreak!?” shouted the man beneath his breath.

Daybreak?

“I’m your flat mate from across the hall. I moved in yesterday,” explained the Outlander.

“Well, that’s bloody amazing,” spat the man. “I’m Isar the Divine. Get the hell away from my front door.”

The door slammed shut. The Outlander realized that maybe the sun wasn’t going down; maybe it was just coming up. He looked out the window in the hallway of their floor and saw a faint, pink light on the horizon. It was his first sunrise, and it was beyond incredible. The brilliant hues of pink and whitish-yellow appeared to explode across the dawn. The buildings in the decrepit district were illuminated in a gentle yellowish glow. It brought some sort of unique emotion to his gut. It was, as Ark had said, bloody amazing.

The Outlander wanted to go outside and see the sunrise up close, so he scurried down the stairs, barefoot, and stepped outside. He felt a rich, cool air breathe onto his body. He felt some sort of enveloping emotion, perhaps a new state of mind; he was at peace. Maybe it was tranquility… Whatever it was, he liked it. It made him, for only a moment, forget the endless questions, the anxiety of uncertainty, and his numerous other cognitive dilemmas and focus on the image before him.

After almost an hour of lying down on the side of the road in front of his flat, he elected to go to that garden Aster mentioned yesterday. He wanted to try a gracefruit. He had no idea where to go, so he just started walking away from the direction of the Integration Office and elected to ask people that may walk by. Across the entire mile, he didn’t come in contact with a single person. However, he stumbled upon a sign pointing in two directions down the path that had now forked. One arrow was pointing to the castle, which still stood high above the city for all to bear witness, and the other pointed to the fisheries, a market, and the garden. He turned right and headed south toward the market, which was now visible.

The markets seemed desolate, but one man holding a large barrel was standing near a wooden stand. The Outlander waved in his direction. The man, somewhat confused, smirked, lowered an eyebrow, and awkwardly waved back.

“Where you headed, young man?” asked the burly merchant.

“The garden,” yelled back the Outlander.

The grey-haired merchant let out a gravelly chuckle and smiled.

The Outlander didn’t walk much farther before he saw large, pale-green trees with yellow globes hanging from them. It was a small patch of land in the middle of a myriad of flats and shacks. He figured this must be the garden Aster had talked about. It wasn’t nearly as impressive as the sunrise, but he figured this must be where mortals go to relax.

The Outlander walked to the middle of the quaint garden. He looked around and saw blues, greens, reds, yellows, and some purple. He saw fantastical designs on the surface of the fruits around him; such vibrant hues, though still nothing against the sunrise. He liked being here, nevertheless. He sat on a patch of stale grass in the center of the garden. For a moment, he just sat there, then he fell slowly backward until he lay flat on the ground and stared up at the, now, rich blue sky.

Above him dangled a fruit. It looked luscious and appetizing. He reached out and stretched his body to grab it right out of the sky. He held it. It was soft, yet coarse. He brought the fruit to his nose and was tantalized by the aroma it gave off. He took a bite out of the fruit and was taken aback by the flavor. Nothing had this sort of savor. It was like a waterfall of color dancing across his senses and falling into his stomach where it rested pleasantly nourishing him in a way the stale greens could not.

His mind hadn’t thought once about the stressors of the previous few days. He felt calm for the first time since he had awoken. He had never felt this way before. He was actually happy that Lazarus had found him and that Nikk had brought him here. He made and lost friends along the way, but he believed Aster was here for him; another friend. There was that word again. It was becoming more and more stale the more and more he used it. Still though, he was happy he had them, if only a few.

After over an hour of resting beneath the morning sky, the sun began to rise and shine in his face. He figured the deities were ushering him home, so he rose to his feet, looked around once again at the pleasant garden surrounding him. He let out a slow breath and trotted away. He retraced his steps back down the path, taking notice of the now bustling marketplace and the numerous individuals out walking. It was busy; he had never seen so many people in his entire life. He’d barely seen ten people since he was found. Here, in the marketplace alone, there were easily thirty, maybe even forty!

Eventually, having taken his time, he made it back to his flat. The sun was quite high in the sky; nearly overhead. He reentered the flat and made his way up the stairwell back to his floor. There, he pondered reattempted his meeting with Ark. He decided he would wait until he had more food. So, he opened his flat and walked over to the shelves and grabbed some more greens. He decided he’d try some of the salted meats in the barrel off to the side.

He removed the lid and saw a plethora of red, brown, and grey meats. He shrugged and grabbed what was on top. He placed the lid back on top and sealed the meats for further use and sat down at the table. He began to feast. He gnawed at the meat, but realized the toughness of the substance made it difficult to consume. After only a couple bites, he grabbed a leaf of greens and scarfed the whole leaf down his throat faster than he was able to get one bite off the meat.

He was thirsty. Aster hadn’t mentioned it earlier, but he searched for water and located a smaller barrel with a small spoke on the side and a knob on top. He laid the barrel on its side and turned the knob. Water flowed out slowly. He cupped his hands like Nikk had shown him and held as much as he could hold and lapped it up. So much water made its way onto the floor, likely dripping into the flat below, but the Outlander was far more concerned with quenching his thirst, and, once he was content, he closed the nozzle, resting the barrel facing upward where it had been. Then, he returned to the table.

After struggling to finish the meat and greens, he stood from the table and stretched. He considered lying down on his bed for a nap, but elected not to. Instead, he decided to meet with Ark, but really this time. So, he exited his flat and knocked again at the door. This time, it didn’t take long before the man opened the door once again.

“Ye-,” the young man took notice to the boy. “Oh, by the Light. It’s you. The child who felt it necessary to ruin my morning.”

The man appeared to be having a rough day thus far. His hair was a mess, he wore a tattered shirt and some different, short trousers, and his eyes were bloodshot.

“So, you’re Ark Daliss?” asked the Outlander.

The man sighed and rubbed both his eyes with his right hand.

“Yeah, kid, that’s me,” he replied, then paused. “And you are?”

“They call me Outlander,” the Outlander said, proudly.

“What?” laughed Ark. “We’re all outlanders, kid, that just means we come from out there.”

He pointed vaguely northwest.

“Surely, you must have some sort of a unique name,” Ark explained. “Otherwise, you’re just another one of us, and, trust me, that’s bad enough already.”

The Outlander pondered this for a moment but decided he didn’t particularly care.

“I know no other name,” the Outlander expressed to the young man. “I am who I say.”

Ark admired the boy’s confidence. He smirked and scratched his chin.

“Ok, kid, I’m intrigued enough,” Ark expressed. “You want to come in? I’m making lunch.”

The Outlander felt elated that he was being welcomed into the man’s flat. He nodded and followed him inside. Around him was virtually the same flat, but mirrored. However, Ark had large heads of great beasts on his walls and what appeared to be soft, brown grass on his floors. On his shelves were meats galore. The Outlander marveled at the room around him. It was decorative and vibrant.

“You ever had venison, Outlander?” Ark asked. The Outlander had no clue what that was.

“Venison?” inquired the Outlander.

“You know, ‘deer?’” implied Ark to the still lost boy. “Wow. You must’ve lost more of your memory than most.”

Ark pulled a large knife from his side and pulled down a slab of meat from the shelf above him and began preparing the Outlander’s second lunch. The Outlander was mesmerized as Ark took out a small box with sticks in them and lit a flame. Ark lit a wick on the table, grabbed a pan, and began cooking the meat as the Outlander watched intently.

“I don’t remember anything,” explained the Outlander. “I have no idea who I am, where I am, why I am. It’s not even a blur; it’s entirely absent.”

“Fascinating,” said Ark, impressed. “I’m envious! The city is a hell. It’s nothing worth remembering. I don’t even remember much, but I can tell you that you should be happy you’re gone. If I had it my way, I’d burn that wretched town right down to the ground.”

“Wouldn’t people die?” asked the Outlander. Ark seemed confused by the curt question.

“Don’t you get righteous on me, boy,” threatened Ark, still cutting the meat. “Everyone in that city is a scab on this world.”

“But you weren’t,” said the Outlander, by some sort of instinctive critical nature.

Ark was getting heated. He pointed the knife in the boy’s direction.

“Look, you are more than welcome to come in to my flat and share a meal with me, but,” Ark spat. “Don’t you criticize my nature. Now, shut up and let’s eat before I throw your a*s out.”

The Outlander felt like he had offended the man. Nevertheless, he sat down at the man’s table as Ark grabbed a plate from another shelf and set the table recklessly. The two began eating. There was no silverware present, not that the Outlander would’ve known how to use them if there were.

The meal was ambrosial. It danced across the Outlander’s tongue and filled his stomach to the brim. It far outclassed the gracefruit from earlier. This had an irresistibly rich taste and a thick texture in comparison to the dry greens in his own flat. It made him, for the first time in his known life, crave. He had a burning sensation for more: a sure desire. Something about this felt… awry. This craving desire seemed like it could lead to something more odious, as if tugging at the reprobate nature in the hearts of all men, especially if taken to a greater degree. What lengths would he go to for a slab of venison? Almost laughable, but he was learning something about mortal nature.

After a few minutes, as the meal was drawing to a close, Ark readdressed his earlier point, breaking the Outlander’s internal formulation of hypotheses.

“Look, Outlander,” interjected Ark into the silence. “I’m sorry for getting heated. I have a tendency to… overreact. I understand that you don’t know what goes on behind those walls so I know how you would interpret what I said as being, shall we say, unnecessarily sadistic. But you must understand; they’re monsters. Everyone in that damn city is a cretin, a narcissist, and a villain; vile to the bone, each and every one, and they all contribute to us being here. They all chanted in elation, in a terrifying mob, as we were kidnapped from our homes and cast out into these lands with no idea why we were sent here all alone in such a hostile world.

“It’s cruel, yes, for me to wish for their deaths, but it is far crueler that they wish for ours in the first place. Now, we can have legitimate disagreements on how we want to go about it, but that city needs to be wiped off that map and everyone in that city needs to face a swift justice. I have my proposition; when you better understand the geopolitical situation of the mortals in the Wastes and the city of Babel, then maybe you can bring a discussion to this table, or to the one in Elser’s Hall, but don’t expect much sympathy from our fellow citizens. Be it in the flats of this district, or the King’s Court, you’ll find a deep set hatred for that city.

“Some of those who did not come from the city hate us, the immigrants, but I can’t say I honestly blame them. I’d hate us too if I didn’t understand that we have no love for the city from whence we came. Let me put it this way: I’m far from the only one who desires to see an end to that horrible city; in fact, those who oppose are in the fringe. Damn them! If you could remember, boy, if you only knew what I know, then I’m certain you’d agree with me.”

The Outlander was intrigued by Ark’s bloodthirst; though he could not relate, he had empathy for the man. He had lost all he’d known and was cast out here with little memory of what he had even lost. His void was nameless, but present. The Outlander may have lost something, but he had no idea for certain, let alone what it was. Ark was not so fortunate.

What a world it is, when ignorance is fortune.

“At any rate, you didn’t come here to listen to me b***h,” Ark sighed. “Then again, there’s not much we can talk about if there’s nothing you can recall.”

Ark had a point.

“I went to the garden today,” the Outlander blurted out.

“The garden?” said Ark, confused. “Oh, you mean the district gardens, yes. It’s a pleasant space in an otherwise dreary area of the city.”

Ark’s eyes lit up.

“Outlander,” Ark began. “You haven’t seen much of the city, have you?”

The Outlander shook his head. Ark laughed quietly to himself.

“Well, since you haven’t seen anything that this city truly has to offer, I could use an excuse to go out into the core districts,” said Ark. “Would you mind tagging along with me on a hunt tomorrow? We can take a brief tour of some of the northern districts and I can show you the Market District; maybe even Castle Dant.”

The Outlander smiled. That sounded enjoyable.

“I’d like that,” responded the Outlander. “How early?”

“Be at my door at sunrise,” Ark answered. “This time I’ll actually be awake.”

“I can do that.”

“Splendid. I’ve never actually had company on one of these hunts before. Should be fun. I’ll teach you how to use a bow.”

The Outlander grinned sheepishly and scratched the back of his head. Ark laughed in response.

“I’ll be patient,” Ark consoled. “Now, I hate to kick you out, but I enjoy my silence. I’ll see you tomorrow at sunup. Free your entire day.”

The Outlander nodded confidently, stood up, and walked toward the door. Ark followed him out.

“I like you, Outlander,” Ark said, patting the boy on the back as he walked out. “Now, get a good night’s rest.”

“Same to you,” reacted the Outlander.

The Outlander walked over to his front door and heard Ark’s shut behind him. When he entered his flat, a wave of bottled emotion fell over him. He rubbed his forehead with his left hand, fell into one of his chairs, and sighed. He stared out the window for what felt like an hour, just listening to the sounds of a bustling city. The Outlander decided to go on another walk.

He walked out of his flat building and wandered toward the garden again. After another hour or so of walking leisurely, he passed by the market, now exploding with business, waved to the merchant he recognized from that morning, though de did not take notice, and arrived at the green area within the tan city. He fell to the ground next to a gracefruit tree. He stared at the sky pondering some of the questions pounding around in his skull.

Who was he?

Where was he?

Why was he?

How was he?

“Stop!”

He hadn’t noticed that he had yelled out loud until he noticed a young woman staring at him. He tried to crack a smile and wave, but she shuffled away. He groaned, audibly frustrated, as he raised two fists and dropped his head into them. Then he dropped his hands at his sides, leaving his head staring at the ground, and sighed yet again.

Life was boring.

At some point during his stay, the sky turned into a rich orange and the sun had descended like an anchor in the sky. What had once been a warm blanket of heat had devolved into a light sheet of cool air spread gently throughout the city. The people had thinned out and the buildings closed up. The Outlander had been at the garden for longer than he realized. He started walking in the direction of Aster’s office.

The walk was longer than he’d remembered and there was something about this time of day that provoked a potent mood in him that he hadn’t yet explored. The dying sky left him empty and yearning for more. The day that had passed was a fleeting one that had gone as quickly as it had come. It felt like such a waste to him; such a long time now behind him with nothing to show for it.

He approached the Integration Office. Some lights still hung in the window. Somehow, in all that time, the sun had neglected to fall below the horizon; hanging by twine over the red and orange ocean. The Outlander walked up to the front window and saw Urà sitting at her desk. He smiled for a moment, recalling the events from the previous day. It was far too dark out for Urà to notice him in the window, and besides, he was far enough away to avoid attracting any suspicion.

The Outlander turned up against the brick wall of the building and slid to the ground. He sat up against the wall staring up at the sun, waiting for it to disappear from view. After a short time, the door next to him opened. Urà stepped out. She was startled when she noticed the boy leaning up against the wall.

“My word, Outlander?” she exclaimed. “What are you…?”

Urà took notice of the empty gaze the boy had and stepped back into the building.

“Aster!” she shouted. “Aster, you have a visitor!”

Just then, the old man form yesterday emerged from the building.

“Outlander?” asked Aster Hais. “What are you doing here?”

The boy thought for a moment. He just now realized he didn’t have an answer. He didn’t have a reason. He was just here.

“I don’t know…” mumbled the Outlander.

Aster sighed.

“Urà, you can head on out,” Aster said to the woman. “I’ll handle this.”

“Alright, old man,” joked Urà. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Have a good night, Urà,” beckoned Aster.

“You too, Aster,” said Urà as she began her trek to wherever she belonged.

Belonging.

I wonder what that must feel like, thought the Outlander for a brief instant.

Aster walked over to the boy and looked down at him.

“The first full day here is always the hardest,” he explained to the boy.

He paused.

“Perhaps even too hard,” he conceded.

Aster kneeled down and looked the boy directly in the eyes. The Outlander looked him back.

“Go home,” he instructed. “Get some rest. We can talk more in the morning.”

A look came over Aster; one of sudden remembrance.

“Which reminds me,” Aster said as he reached into his pocket. “You asked about a woods.”

Aster pulled out a scrap of paper with some lines and scribbles on it. He handed it out for the Outlander to take.

“I found this map in with some of my books in my office,” explained Aster. “I haven’t been out of the city in years. Couldn’t tell you where to go, but I’m certain you can find someone who can.”

The Outlander took the paper and opened it.

“If you can’t read it or can’t find anyone to help you, then we’ll talk in the morning, but for now, Outlander, sleep.”

Aster rose to his feet.

“Have a good night, son,” he told the boy.

For the first time all day, an authentic smile rested on the Outlander’s face, if only for a brief moment.

“Good night, Aster,” he responded.

The Outlander let out a long sigh as he watched Aster disappear into the brilliant orange light. He stared up at the red and purple sky for just moment before electing to turn back home. Nightfall was nearing and he needed to be awake quite early tomorrow. He figured he would try to sleep beforehand and started the gradual trek back to his flat.

The Outlander’s eyes were magnetized to the ground before him, passing grey brick after grey brick as he walked. After what felt like yet another eternity, he arrived back home, just as twilight began to pollute the sky. He walked up the stairs, dragging his feet up each step, and into his lonely flat once more. He fell into the chair again and stared out the window until he started to drift. He looked at the map again. He tried to make sense of it, but nothing about it resembled logic. The questions bogged his mind, but soon they settled. His mind gave up. He fell asleep.

Dreams danced in his mind, but were entirely fleeting. It was like walking down a path being laid out in front of you and disappearing behind you. Each step was there, but totally meaningless. It was all temporary; null. It would dissipate soon into the cosmos around him. Memory was a façade. It didn’t exist. Nothing existed in his dreamscape. He just continued moving through the fantastical world, not able to recollect where he had just been and unable to see where he was going. But he kept going, and going, and going, and going, and going, and going, until he saw something: an apparition.

It was his shadow. He noticed it. He recognized it. He waved and it waved back. Then it started to grow. He felt it. As it grew, he felt its weight. It dragged him down. It pushed him from above. It pulled him into the void until up was gone; down had dissipated; direction was an abstraction. He continued falling into the non-dimensional vacuum. As his fear escalated, he recognized what the shadow was; what was forcing him through the nothingness and it struck him like a boulder falling from the sky, crushing his scrawny, young body.

Then, he awoke screaming; sweating.

He was in his chair, still clutching the map. Only a few hours had passed. It was totally dark outside. He was still staring out that forsaken window. Little could be seen; just some faint, distant candlelight in some windows. The voices that had been present before he had fallen asleep had disappeared. He felt an urge to cry, but a total inability to do so. He felt paralyzed in his chair, forced to be staring out that window until the day he died. Then, slowly, he drifted gently back into the void.

Author's Note

Please tear it apart. That's how I improve.