Weaving - An Echo of What Was

Abacus’ feet sunk with each laboring step, cresting the purple dune’s peak. He was certain now. There’d been multiple tell-tale signs reinforcing that this was a dream. Mostly his ability to walk unaided. But the type of dream was only confirmed by the sight ahead.

The Lumberjack stood as a sole beacon of familiarity. Its window’s casting hazy, honey yellow light. Somehow alive against the otherwise surreal, glowy desert and lazy, swirling sky. Awake. Abby surged with excitement, having to force himself to calm down. He gave his empty surroundings one final, fruitless scan. If there was something else to spot, he hadn’t found it. The aged dragonborn gave an acquiescent puff, and made for the lit building.

Seeing as it was an inn, and not even a real one at that, he figured it was safe to enter unannounced. Abby stepped through the first level door, doing his best to not spook the dream. Removing his coat casually and knocking the dry sand from his boots.

“Evening,” an unseen voice came from near the bar.

“Evening!” Abby gave in a chipper reply. He was unsure what precisely made it evening, but was glad for the companionable context.

“In need of lodging?” The voice came again, footsteps approaching.

“Um,” Abby started. “No, no, just uhh— looking for a spot of rest if that’s alright?”

“Of course,” The man said, stepping into view. “Drink?” He was handsome. Human, standing a little taller than Abby. Somewhat youthful save for eyes burdened with an unmistakable lethargy. A visage long accustomed to a lack of sleep. The hints of organic blues and purple that colored his lids almost matching the vacant emptiness outside.

“Yes, please. Tea— if you have it.”

The man nodded, turning towards the kitchen. It was only then Abby noticed the cane. The innkeeper’s dark, curly hair shifting with each limping step. It wasn’t long before he returned with a steaming cup, placing it before Abby at the table he’d chosen with a soft clink.

“Abbacus,” The scholar introduced himself, “but my friends call me Abby.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Abacus. I’m Therin.” He hobbled back towards the counter, returning to polish its wooden surface.

Abby nodded contemplatively. This was nothing if not an opportunity to help The Street Dogs. Unfortunately, he had no idea how to seize it. “I believe we have mutual friends.” The statement seemed like a good place to start.

Therin grinned slightly, “Do we now?”

“Yes, are you familiar with The Street Dogs?” Therin held his gaze impassively, showing no sign of recognition. “Magnus, Sherman, Rozwald, Cyrus, Mallory, Deimos?”

Therin was nodding before the list was even finished. “Ah, yes. They’ve been frequenting the Lumberjack for a little while now. Is that why you’re here?”

“In a sense.” Abby said with uncertainty. He’d pushed the conversation in a useful direction, but was no better off.

Therin raised an eyebrow at that. “Well, what does bring you here then?” 

Abby opened his mouth to speak, then closed it indecisively. Repeating the action a few times. Eventually, the question found its own way out. “Do you know that this is a dream?”

Abby regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. Therin simply nodded, not even bothering to look up.

“That… doesn’t disturb you?” Abby leaned forward, hands in his lap. “Are you… real?”

“You’re here too aren’t you?” Therin remarked. Turning to polish the rows of bottles behind him.

Abby pursed his lips at that. His confusion still somehow growing deeper. He cursed inwardly at not preparing himself for this possibility. He’d been so busy that the prospect of being sucked into one of these dreams hadn’t even occurred to him. “Who are you? I mean, in relation to all this.” Abby made a vague gesture.

Therin considered for a moment, then shrugged “Someone who loved Fejn very much.”

“The… wordbearer?”

Therin inclined his head to the side. It wasn’t an affirming motion exactly, but he didn’t deny it either. Abby nearly asked another question, but Therin spoke first.

“I think we are to help each other.”

“Oh? With… what?”

“Perhaps we could discover that together.” Therin rounded the bar, taking the seat opposite him. “What is it you’re trying to solve?”

Abby sat back, trying to find the words. “Something strange is happening to my friends and I. We believe it may have something to do with the Word of Doors and The Ahamatath. Perhaps something from each of our times is relevant to that?” As Abby finished the sentence he realized the implied transaction in Theirn’s words. Deciding to risk another question. “And you? What do you seek?”

Therin was silent for a long moment. “To fix what was left behind, I suppose.” Voice thick with regret. “The Fejn in your time, what became of him?”

Abby stared down at his still steaming tea solemnly. The amber liquid reflecting Therin’s calm gaze. “He died. By his own hand as I understand it.”

Therin didn’t look surprised by the admission, but his ancient eyes seemed… elsewhere. “Thank you,” he said after a moment. “For telling me.”

“I’m sorry.” Abby said, earnestly in his expression.

“Quite the brave scholar you are.” Therin gave a remorseful laugh. “Risking Kaszu’s wrath. Playing with another time.”

“So… this is another time then?” Concern evident in Abby’s tone.

“No,” Therin shook his head. “I’m merely,” He paused, trying to find the words. “an echo of what was.”

The topic having drifted away from remorse, Abby decided he didn’t want to waste any more time. These visions could end abuptly by the lad’s accounts. “Can I ask you an unrelated question?” Therin, the echo, nodded with quiet attentiveness. “There’s a relic I am wondering if you’re familiar with. Are… you aware of a history around a broken sw—”

Abby’s eyes shot open. The sunrise over The Grand Nothing beaming brightly into his bedchamber.

“Oh, drat!”