The Dadæf Chronicles

It was nearly midnight. The coach stopped at the city gates. The guard on duty there didn’t seem to be doing much. In fact, he was leaning against the wall with his eyes closed.

The driver coughed politely.

“Hm? Wassat? H’goes ‘ere?”

“Lord Daryun, accompanied by his family and friends. We merely seek sanctuary,” called the driver.

“Wha’ever…” mumbled the guard, and he closed his eyes again.

The coach trundled through. The guard caught a glimpse of Serrus through one of the windows.

His eyes opened wide.

Serrus winked at him as they went past, and giggled. The man’s Adam’s apple started bobbing up and down.

Oh, gods, thought Serrus, I just winked at a guard.

Um… so? came Drakaya’s reply.

Look, I’d never normally do that. Darokh HAS changed me. It’s kind of creepy.

Yeah? Whenever I talk to you now, I have an urge for every second word to be ma’am!

Hang on, thought Teraura, why do we still think normally, then?

Well… Maybe he just changed the speech parts…began Drakaya.

That can’t be right. I still winked at that random guard, replied Serrus.

Well… I dunno then. But… this isn’t magic. This is something else, thought Drakaya

“We’re almost here…” said Darokh, “So you can wash off soon, dear.”

“Oh, thank the gods. I’ve felt horrible traveling like this,” replied Merrissa.

The coach pulled up at the palace. The five of them got out while the driver tried to find the stables.

“Ah, the Dadæf palace. Such marvelous architecture,”

“But daddy, it’s past midnight by now, and mother has cow droppings all over her back! I wanna go inside!” whined Serrus. Inside he cringed at his own voice.

“Now, now, Sara. We’ll be inside soon enough,” said Merrissa, although she had seemed rather uncomfortable as Serrus had pointed out the state of her back.

Teraura had remained silent throughout the trip, and Serrus had been bored out of his brain the whole time. Drakaya, while obviously fuming with rage, hadn’t said much. The only people he could talk to were Darokh and Merrissa, but they were his parents. In a way. And there’s only a certain amount of conversations you can have with your parents, real or not. He’d already gotten sick of listening to how his parents met. And every single holiday they’d had. And their fallouts.

He had found himself wondering exactly how intricate their backstory was. From what he could tell, Lord Daryun could trace his ancestors back four generations, and had had portraits of them in the manor in which he had supposedly lived. Serrus had found himself getting confused for parts of the trip. He kept having memories that weren’t his, like riding ponies around the manor grounds. And he had two memories of his fourtieth birthday, or the equivalent of around 10 for a human. Two separate days… there was the one… the real one… the one where he ran away from home and found the assassin’s guild. And the other one… the one where he was Sara and it was him. Or her. But he… or she… had had friends. He had Sara’s memories.

But… she wasn’t real. Was she?

It was an identity crisis. Which…which one was she?

Oh, crud… he thought, I’m… I… who am I?

*

Schnübertzen was worried.

Vana was forty, but she looked twenty-ish, and had been 3 yesterday. Remara seemed to know a lot more than he’d thought. His chances were shattered. He ought to flee… but maybe Remara was right. Maybe Vana… maybe she… maybe she could still be manipulated…

And that train of thought stopped. All this drained away.

He… he couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t keep going.

But if he fled… maybe… maybe Remara wasn’t the friend he’d thought.

“Ah, Al. You’ve been avoiding me lately,” she said, from behind him.

He turned around slowly.

“Remara?”

“Yes?”

“You’re not… you’re not who you seem, are you?”

“What, a strikingly attractive semi-demigoddess?”

“Someone’s modest.”

“I’m not… quite as powerful as I’d like. But I am more powerful than you.”

“Then show me,” said Schnübertzen, moving into a casting stance.

“No. But…” she said, as a knocking at the door started, “We have visitors. And you cannot go down looking like that…”

And she waved her hand. Schnübertzen’s rotting flesh healed over and cleared up. He changed from his normal grey-green to a perfectly normal pinkish. Even his hair grew back.

“You… I’m not…” he mumbled.

“Oh, you’re still undead. You just don’t look like it.”

“B… but why?”

Remara ignored him.

“Hm, red? Yes, red I think,” she said to herself.

She stroked her hair, and it changed colour, turning to an autumn-leaf red. She seemed to be getting younger, too.

“How… how are you doing that?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” she said, and then she giggled, “Now, you’re not going to remember any of this… so we might as well,” and she waved a hand in front of his face.

Schnübertzen’s face blanked, and he extended an arm.

“My lady? Should we go down and meet the guests?”

“I couldn’t agree more, my lord,” she said, and she walked arm-in-arm with him in the general direction of the stairs.

*

Merrissa blanked again. “Teraura. Be careful,” said Darokh, “She will be even more powerful. And keep an eye out for Vana.”

Teraura nodded, and Merrissa started up again.

The main door to the palace opened, nearly blinding Darokh, Serrus, Teraura, Drakaya, and Merrissa.

“Ah, Lord Daryun,” said Remara.

“Yes. And you are…?”

“I am Remara,”

Teraura made a noise that may have been a stifled gasp.

Schnübertzen nodded at Darokh, stiffly. Darokh extended a hand, which Schnübertzen ignored.

“And you must be Sara,” said Remara, nodding at Serrus. Their eyes locked, and Serrus could have sworn her eyes glowed red at that point.

“Yes, your ladyship… father, can we please go in now?” Sara said. No, no! I’m Serrus!

 “Oh? You wish entry?”

“Yes. Our castle was mobbed, and Aurabelle’s parents were lynched.”

Aurabelle started crying. Damn it, it’s Teraura! Why did I think it was Aurabelle? thought Serrus, What… what’s happening to me?

“Is Sara here alright?” asked Remara.

“Yes, fine,” sh- no, HE said.

Serrus could have sworn he saw a glint of fear in Albërcht’s eyes as he turned around. He said nothing, but the intent was clear.

Help me.

*

Serrus simply couldn’t handle the confusion, so late at night, far after Remara had shown them their rooms, he found Darokh in his room. To his surprise, Darokh was awake and sorting through some pieces of paper.

“Darokh?”

Darokh sighed, and turned around slowly. “Yes, Serrus? Please try not to talk out of character from now.”

“No, that’s the problem. I keep thinking I AM Sara, that you’re really my father, that Drakaya’s a maid. But it’s getting harder to convince myself that. I’m worried that if I sleep, I’ll lose everything about Serrus, and just become Sara,” he said.

“What? That shouldn’t be happening!” said Darokh, “I only changed some small speech and behavioural parts… never personality or memory.”

“Well… why am I like this, then?”

“Someone else must know. Someone knows we are here… we are to remain completely in character. Nothing at all can be risked,” he said, “But even so… this is not good. I’ll partially remove it. From dusk through dawn, you will revert to your old mind completely. This will also make the main parts of the mission slightly easier.”

Darokh waved a hand in dismissal, and the part of Serrus’s mind labelled “Sara” became dormant.

“Oh my gods, THANK you. That was horrible.”

“Enjoy it while you can. It’ll stop at dawn, like I said.”

Serrus stumbled out, muttering thanks, and almost walked into Remara.

“Up late, Sara?” said Remara. Her smirking was making Serrus uncomfortable.

“Um, yeah. Yes. I had to go to the bathroom,” he mumbled.

“In your father’s room?” Remara replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes… because… I… need to get some… toilet paper… and the stuff here is far too rough,” he stammered.

“And you didn’t find any?”

“Um, no. None,”

“Well, go off to the bathroom then. And don’t worry, it becomes easy after a while,” said Remara, and she wandered off.

*

It took a few hours for Serrus to actually need to go, but he realised after missing the bowl three times that it wasn’t going to work standing up.

And then it hit him.

Remara knew.

He swore.

*

Drakaya snored loudly. At about 4 AM, someone shook her awake.

“Mm?” she mumbled.

“Do you want any free time or not?” said someone.

“Wha?”

“Just get up.”

Drakaya pulled herself slowly upwards.

“Do… do you always wake up this early?” she said to the figure that pulled itself together into what looked like another maid.

“Come on, we let you sleep in for an hour!”

“So you wake up at what, three?”

“Usually earlier. Look, you better get started on Lady Merrissa’s breakfast. I’ll begin Sara and Aurabelle’s, but you really ought to finish this… I need to work on Remara and Al’s breakfast.”

“Al?”

“…you really are new to this job, aren’t you? Probably a street urchin, I suppose. Trying to make an honest eru… must be tough on you…”

Drakaya tried to look demure. This was hard, seeing as she had no idea what it actually meant, but she did the best she could.

“It’s okay. I’ll try to help you get started, but you should really try to work on improving your own work. What’s your name? I’m Emma.”

“I’m… I’m, oh, right. Yeah. I’m Maisie.”

“Hey. We’ll get you up to speed in no time,” said Emma, and looked critically at Drakaya, “hopefully.”

*

Remara dashed through the early morning streets of Arakan, dodging the occasional trundling citizen. It took her a while, but she found the alley.

“LEMME IN, I AM NOT IN A GOOD MOOD!” she bellowed.

The hidden door swung open almost instantly. Remara stormed inside.

“You… have not… made your sacrifices…” she fumed, at the bewildered warlocks.

“We… we have! We all made…” said one.

“NOT ENOUGH!” Remara bellowed.

“But…”

“I can not afford any mistakes. My power is waning with the mistress’s. And if you don’t get more sacrifices, then you will be subject to UNENDING PAIN! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

“Y… yes…”

Remara stormed out the way she came.

“Woh. She is way hotter without that hood on than I thought she’d be,” said one of the warlocks.

“Shut up. We… we need sacrifices,” said another.

“Where are we meant to find them?”

“Everywhere. Do whatever you can… maybe call out the assassins.”

“We don’t have enough money.”

“Who said anything about paying?”

Some of the warlocks grinned.

This was power, and this was theirs.