Chapter One
Nothing seemed different about her, at least not on the outside. Gavin was used to travelers; they would pass through the little inn one night and be gone the next morning. But when she entered, slipping the hood off her head and dripping rain onto the worn wooden floor, he noticed. He didn’t notice a thing or an action, just her.
“Can you spare a room for the night?” she asked with a small smile.
The innkeeper, Mr. Tristen, shrugged and asked how long she’d be staying. Gavin kept on watching the woman, trying to place her. He felt like he knew her before, a little scratching in the pit of his stomach, like a dream that he knew he remembered, but couldn’t tell what it was about.
“Gavin!” Mr. Tristen shouted, shattering Gavin’s thoughts.
He jumped and tore his eyes away from the woman to look at Mr. Tristen, who raised his eyebrows at him. Gavin hurried across the crowded room to ask him what was wrong. Something was always wrong, it seemed.
“The kind lady says she would like some dinner. What do you suppose we should do about that?” the innkeeper asked sarcastically.
“I…Umm…I think we should feed her some dinner?” Gavin stammered. Mr. Tristen’s annoyed expression grew deeper.
“Oh, really?” he said, “And where do you suppose she’s going to be eating?”
“On a ta—”
“A table?” he asked loudly, “Do we have any? Because all I see ‘round here is mess!”
Gavin looked over at the few empty tables full of dirty dishes, then back to the innkeeper.
“I’ll clean up a table for her, then,” he said nervously, tapping his fingers on his leg.
“You’ll clean up…” Mr. Tristen muttered, shaking his head, “You mean the job you’re supposed to be doing right now?”
Gavin took a deep breath and said quietly, “I’ll get a table ready.”
Mr. Tristen growled something under his breath and turned away, shaking his head again.
For the rest of the night, Gavin cleaned off tables and served tankards of ale, carrying steaming dinners out to guests while his own stomach growled. The volume of the dining room slowly quieted as people left to go to their rooms. He could hear them stomping up the stairs and walking on the creaking floor above his head. As the night grew lazier, he felt like he was going to collapse into one of the chairs and sleep.
Finally given a break to eat, he took a bowl full of dinner leftovers and went to sit down at one of the dining room tables. The woman still sat at her table, staring at the wall as if it were the most interesting thing in the room. She looked up when he sat down, a table away from her. He looked away so she wouldn’t yell at him for staring, but he could swear that she kept on watching him, her forehead wrinkling with thought. She was probably just drifting off again. Just staring at him like she would a wall.
The door to the inn opened with a harsh noise and both Gavin and the woman looked over. Two tall men passed through the door, which closed behind them with a relatively softened noise compared to when they entered. Gavin got up and walked over to the two men since Mr. Tristen was upstairs dealing with a complaint. He asked them the usual questions about how many rooms for how many nights, telling them the costs of everything, and so on. He noticed the woman getting up stiffly from her seat, watching the two men.
“We have a few rooms vacant right now,” Gavin was saying, “One of them overlooks the courtyard, if that’s what you would…”
When the woman leaned over to grab the bag that rested against one of the chair legs, her necklace swung free, the golden pendant sparking in the firelight. Gavin’s thoughts stopped; the woman snatched the pendant as she stood up straight, pulling her bag over her shoulder with one hand and tucking the necklace out of sight with the other.
He swallowed, looking back at the two men, who stared at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue, “…prefer that,” he cleared his throat as his voice cracked a little, “We also have some…erm,” his mind wouldn’t move correctly. He couldn’t think a single thought.
“Don’t mind the boy,” Mr. Tristen’s harsh voice said suddenly from right next to Gavin’s ear, “He’s a half-wit, doesn’t know anything.”
Gavin turned and was somehow relieved, even if Mr. Tristen didn’t seem as thankful. He took a breath and backed away, leaving the innkeeper to do his job.
The woman was gone. She must have hurried up the steps while his back was turned. He walked back over to his table, sitting down to finish his dinner. He sighed and went to take a bite of his stew. The bowl shifted a little and a bit of white slipped into view, much too bright to be a part of table beneath it. Gavin stopped in the middle of his bite, setting the spoon back down and moving the bowl away to reveal a slip of paper. He glanced up at the innkeeper and the two men, who were still talking, then at the stairs.
He slipped his hand with the note under the table, hiding the paper from view while he tried to unfold it silently.
“Wait until everyone else is asleep, I need to speak with you. Room 7. Watch for the Inks and make sure you’re not followed this time.”
He examined the slightly smeared ink which the writer hadn’t let dry. It had to be from the woman; she was the last one anywhere near this table.
“This time”, the note said. As if she’d spoken to him before. He frowned; he didn’t think that he had ever met her. “Inks”. He didn’t know what that meant, but for some reason his eyes were pulled to look at the two men, who were still talking to Mr. Tristen. They hadn’t shown any indication that they had noticed her, but one of them turned and saw him staring, Gavin felt as though ice cold water had just been poured down his spine. The man smiled at him in a friendly way, but it seemed…broken.
Gavin forced himself to try to smile, but it was more of a grimace.
••••
He knocked on the door, softly so the sound wouldn’t carry. Gavin glanced around again, just to be sure. It had taken him a while to convince himself to come. He had started second guessing himself on the way to the stairs and, when he had finally made it up to the second floor, he paced back and forth a few times up and down the hall before knocking. When the door opened, the woman quickly ushered him in, whispering vehemently to him, half of which he couldn’t understand. There was only one lamp burning, and it was turned down to the lowest flame, casting dark shadows everywhere except a small bubble of light around it, barely illuminating anything.
He looked at the woman, who suddenly broke into a big grin.
“Sunshine,” she said, laughing a little, “What in the world have you been doing? Don’t tell me you’ve been here this whole time, for Story’s sake, I barely even recognized you!”
Gavin blinked, his mouth wide open and too stunned to speak. In some part of his brain he registered the fact that she called him “Sunshine”.
He frowned, “What do you mean?”
The woman scoffed, rolling her eyes, “Please, Gavin, tell me you’ve at least been tracking the movements of rogues. This is a pretty good place, plenty of them passing through, but how have you managed to keep undercover this long? Well, other than that silly excuse for a beard hanging off your face, I’ve always said that you look better shaved.”
Gavin’s frown deepened and his hand slipped up to his chin, rubbing over the scruff of his facial hair almost subconsciously, “You know my name…How do you know my name?”
The woman stared at him, her smile slowly slipping away, “You,” she drifted off, obviously confused, then started again, “You don’t know who I am?”
He shook his head. The woman opened her mouth, but nothing came out so she closed it again. She brushed her hair back out of her eyes, shaking her head.
“What do you remember?” she asked, “What did they do to you to make you forget? Did they...” she shook her head again. She backed away from him, looking down at the floor, “This is not good. This is…” she sighed, closing her eyes.
“What are you talking about? What’s
going on?” he asked.
The woman glanced up at him for a second, then away again, “I don’t know. Something bad,” she turned away, walking over to the table where her bag sat, and started digging through it, “very bad. When did you lose your memories?”
“What?” he asked incredulously.
She waved a hand dismissively, still digging through the bag, “Don’t wonder how I know, just answer the question. When did you stop knowing who you were? Did you wake up in the woods? Was there any sign of a struggle, scorch marks on trees and rocks and such?”
“I’m…” he began, unsure what to say, “I mean my memories are all here.”
The woman lifted her head to look at him, “What?” she said, confused. She let the bag fall to the floor, even though she hadn’t grabbed anything out of it yet.
Gavin shifted his feet awkwardly, “I…” he cleared his throat, “I remember my whole life. I grew up just a few miles away, in Blackmill. My parents are both…” he bit his lip, then rephrased, “They’re gone, it’s just me now.” He drifted off, afraid to say more. He felt like he had swallowed an arrow head; the feeling of his throat scraped raw and a weight in his gut. It was always hard for him to talk about his parents.
“I’ve been working and living here for the past nine months. My name is Gavin Redd—”
“No,” the woman interrupted, “No, no, no, no, no!” she said forcefully, shaking her head. She took a deep breath and seemed to calm herself down, “That isn’t who you are.” She said, quieter, “You’re…My friend. My best friend. You and I met when we were children, going to school in the First City to become Bookkeepers—”
“Bookkeepers?!” Gavin exclaimed, “Now that is something I can’t belie—”
“—But you’re twice as talented as I could ever dream of being,” the woman continued stoutly through his interruption, “and you’ve saved my life. Countless times.”
He sighed, “Look, you have the wrong person. I don’t even know your name, I can’t be the one you’re looking for.”
“I grew up with you, do you really think I could ever mistake you for someone else?” the woman asked defiantly, “And,” her voice softened, “My name’s Lana. Lana Copper.”
Gavin stopped, frowning. The name…He still didn’t remember or believe anything that she was telling him…but her name was in his mind, as though someone had placed it there the moment she had spoken it.
“I don’t know you,” he said, after a pause, “But I really hope you find your friend. He sounds like a fantastic person.”
He turned to leave the room, but only got three steps before Lana spoke up.
“You have a strange mark on the back of your hand. Can I see it?”
He stopped and turned around. She smiled a little, just as though she had made a mild joke that he didn’t catch. Gavin nodded and stepped back to her, holding out his hand. He didn’t see the harm in letting her look at his hand.
She took his hand lightly and raised her eyebrows, “Is it a birthmark?”
“Yes…I’ve had it my whole life.” He said. He didn’t know what she was so interested in; it was only a dark mark on the skin. To him it had always seemed a little ugly. It was an elongated oval shape which sort of thinned out into a line on one end.
Lana traced her finger along the spot, “Hmm…” she said thoughtfully.
“What is it?” Gavin asked. He didn’t like the feeling of being studied.
“Nothing. Just…Reminds me of a mark I saw once,” she looked back to him, the pleasant little smile still on her face.
He rolled his eyes, “Let me guess, your friend had one just like it? I understand you’re trying to find him bu—”
Lana held up her hand so the back of it faced him. Her pleasant little smile was gone. On the back of her hand was the same shape, as if it had been tattooed there.
“The mark of the Bookkeepers. The Quill. It develops when the child is old enough to begin mastering their gift. So, you nearly got it right,” she looked down at his hand, “it’s been with you for almost your whole life. Yours showed up when you were eight years old.”
He frowned, confused, “But I thought the Quill was…A quill. What about the gold one?”
Lana blinked in surprise, and then laughed as she pulled on the chain around her neck, revealing the golden quill. She carefully unhooked the quill from the chain and held it in front of his face.
“This?” she asked. He nodded slowly, sending her into another peal of laughter, “This was a present from you! You got it for me when we graduated from the academy; you said it would bring good luck. I never go anywhere without it.” She smiled, looking down at the quill, “It’s not even real gold, you cheap…” she stopped, blinking a few times, “You don’t remember,” she said quietly.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. Gavin tried not to stare at her, giving her a moment.
“I’m…Sorry?” he said. He didn’t know what else to say, so the words had come out of his mouth as more of a question. What else could he say? He wasn’t even sure that he believed her.
Lana suddenly looked up, her eyes watching the door. She put her finger to her lips and gave him a hard look. He wondered if the Gavin she was looking for had been bad at taking orders from her, because she acted like he would start shouting just because she had told him to keep quiet.
She got up slowly, walking on the balls of her feet and trying not to make the floorboards squeak. She reached the door with her golden quill in her hands; it looked as deadly as any knife. She nodded at him, which he didn’t have time to understand before she leaped forward and opened the door.
The two men, the travelers from downstairs, stumbled into the room. Lana brandished her quill at them, which, for some reason, seemed enough of a threat to them that they stayed put. They both had long swords at their sides; Gavin wondered why they didn’t just attack her. But he wasn’t complaining that they didn’t.
“Who sent you?” Lana asked, in a calm voice.
One of the men started to reach for his sword, but Lana shifted to point the quill at him.
“Do you really want to test who’s faster?” she asked.
To Gavin, the swords seemed like things to be quite concerned about, and couldn’t see what Lana would do if they were to attack. But her bluff seemed to be working.
“So, let me guess,” Lana said, studying the two men, “you were going to wait until I went to sleep, then sneak in and stab me in the back?” she clicked her tongue at them, “That’s not very nice of you, I really wanted to talk.” she lifted the quill a little higher, “Now, I asked you a question. Who sent you?”
“We are loyal soldiers. We would rather die than disgrace ourselves in our master’s cause,” one of the men said. His lip curled, as though the words tasted old and sour.
“We’ll see about that,” Lana said, “I have many methods to get Inklings to talk. Especially those serving under a rogue.”
“Wait…” said Gavin, his eyes widening, “They’re Inklings? Real Inklings? As in, living stories?”
“Yes,” Lana said sharply, her eyes never leaving the two men, “and they followed me here from,” she raised her eyebrows at the two men, “The forest?”
The Inklings didn’t answer her question, but Lana just shrugged.
“Doesn’t really matter,” she said, “the real question is why they’ve been bothering me. So…Are you going to tell me?”
The men didn’t answer. Lana sighed and shook her head.
“I didn’t really want to do this, you know,” she said.
With swift, curving gestures, she painted words into the air with her quill. The ink flowed out of the quill just as it would if it were on paper, and stayed floating in the air before her, shimmering black in the flickering light of the single lamp. As she wrote, her eyes never stopped watching the flow of ink.
Reveal your true form.
The quill stopped moving, her hand stayed suspended in t
he air for just a moment as she studied the words. Then she turned her eyes onto the two Inklings. The two of them opened their mouths to cry out. They writhed, flinching away as though the words were too hot to stand near. They seemed to be screaming, but only a sound like rustling paper came out as the words began to glow and shrink, then copy themselves into the pale skin of the Inklings. Pale skin, white as the pages of a book. Gavin stared at them, realizing that their skin didn’t just look like paper, it was paper.
The two men were crisscrossed with hundreds of lines of writing, too small to make out. Slowly, their hair and facial features dissolved and their clothes disappeared.
The two Inklings stopped writhing, standing up straight and turning their featureless faces to look at Lana. She calmly faced them, quill in hand.
“Don’t make me do more,” she warned, “Now, why were you following me?”
“Our master desires to know you.”
Gavin couldn’t tell which one of the Inklings spoke, he couldn’t see how they even could, they had no mouths. But the words rasped like a quill on parchment, made far louder than it was supposed to be. The effect was making him uneasy, like there were spiders crawling through his skin. He was glad that they weren’t looking at him.
“Know me?” Lana asked, “Why?”
“To know if you will join his cause.”
She scoffed, “And what of the swords? You seemed fairly ready to use them, if he wants me for his cause, why try to kill me?”
“A test.”
“Really?” she asked, “How did I do then?”
“You let us live.”
Lana smiled a little, “Glad to hear it. I would hate to be considered a destroyer of art. I mean, look at you two…” she raised her eyebrows, “Must have taken your master quite some time to put you two together.”
“He is strong, we are simple compared to his greater works.”
“Astounding,” she said, “he sounds great, I’d love to hear more about him. A name maybe?”
“You insult our intelligence,” the Inklings hissed, “We do not betray our master as easily as you think.”
Lana sighed, “Well, it was worth a try. But tell me, what makes your master think he’s so fantastic anyway? He obviously wrote plenty of lines about himself into you two.”
The Inklings turned their flat, ink-lined faces toward Gavin, making him back up a few steps, “If you seek more proof, you may look at your comrade. An old friend of yours, correct?”
For the first time, Lana looked surprise. She turned to look at him with wide eyes.
“What has he done to him?” she asked, her voice cracking.
“The achievement of the millennium,” the Inklings said, “Our master has written into a true human form. He chose the one closest to you so that you may understand completely what he has stolen.”
“That’s impossible.” Lana whispered, “A human is too complex, you can’t just write over who a person is, it goes against the human mind itself.”
“So our master drains the human first, just as one may wipe ink away.”
She looked back to the Inklings, “But the impressions of the letters on the page remain, obviously. No matter how much you try to erase, there are always grooves left behind.”
It made sense…In an odd way. Gavin didn’t quite understand what was going on, but in another, deeper part of his gut he did. The two emotions didn’t add up, it made his mind feel too crowded, like there was something else trying to get out.
“Perhaps,” the Inklings said, “he knew you well enough to come to you tonight. But that is a small problem. Our master is quite pleased with the results.”
Lana shook her head, glaring at them, “If he thinks that I’m going to join him after this horror, he is very much mistaken.” She raised her quill again, “Make sure that he knows something for me, would you? I know he has to be keeping Gavin – his real memories, that is –somewhere. Tell him that I am not going to stop until I find him and…” she laughed coldly, “I’ll leave the rest for him to figure out. It’s sort of obvious.”
“How are you so sure that his memories are still intact?”
“I know because your master has shown me something tonight,” Lana said, “He has shown me that he likes to play games. He likes to play puppet master. If anything gives him power over someone he will have it,” she took a breath, taking a little more control over the volume of her voice, “And there is nothing that gives him more control over a person than holding their very being captive.”
“You do not know who you are dealing with.”
Lana laughed again, “I don’t think he does either…” she said, smiling coldly, “Now one of you get out of here now, or your master will never get to hear about any of this.”
She didn’t hesitate a moment before beginning to write into the air, slicing, sweeping letters. Gavin just saw one of the Inklings slipping out the door past words that burned in the air for a moment, too briefly for Gavin to read them, before flying at the remaining Inkling, this time cutting through rather than sinking in. The Inkling clawed at the letters, the sound of rustling pages filling the air again as the story’s form dissolved. When the Inkling was nothing more than dust, Lana lowered the quill. The fiery letters left behind glowing after-images in Gavin’s eyes; every time he blinked he saw them again, as if to assure him that he wasn’t dreaming.
“I have to get out of here …” Lana said quietly. When Gavin turned to look at her sharply she smiled, but it seemed forced; like she was too exhausted to even feel joy, “Oh, don’t worry about me, Sunshine. I’ll be fine.”
“Where are you going?” Gavin asked.
She laughed, “I’m going to do exactly what I said; go get you back so that I can give you a piece of my mind.” She walked across the room, grabbing her bag off of the floor and stuffing a few things into it, “I have had to save your backside so many times, but this time you’ve really messed it up haven’t you?”
Gavin watched her walk around the room, collecting her things and double checking to make sure she had everything, muttering things under her breath.
“I…” he said, “I think I believe you now.”
She looked at him and they both chuckled, a little awkwardly. It seemed like they weren’t quite sure what to do with each other. Lana suddenly walked over to him and hugged him, which took him by surprise; but he was even more surprised when he found himself hugging her back.
“I promise,” she whispered, “I will come back.”
She let go of him and walked to the door without another word, disappearing into the darkened hallway. Gavin listened to her footsteps tread carefully down the stairs, then the faint sound of the door opening and closing. He sighed and turned to blow out the lamp before going. He stopped, a piece of paper sat on the table beside the lamp.
“I bet that you come running to catch up with me after I’m out the door.”
Gavin stared at the note a moment. She wouldn’t be right. He was content to be here. He had a life here, no matter what she said. And Lana would be fine, she seemed able to take care of herself. She had just taken on two Inklings with no problems and Gavin was sure that if his memories were out there she would be back soon. There was no reason for him to risk his neck for her, and if he was a Bookkeeper he certainly didn’t know how to be. He would just slow her down, he was sure. She knew what she was doing and he would just let her do that. He would just be here. In a small town. With nothing legitimately exciting happening…
He rushed to blow out the lamp, grab the note, and run out the door, trying not to stomp down the stairs after her and wake up the whole inn. Grabbing his cloak and bag, he ran into the quiet kitchen, with only the cook and a couple staff still in.
“Do you have some leftovers?” he mumbled, trying to put on his cloak while holding the strap of the bag in his teeth, “Something that will keep, I’ll be traveling.”
Gavin wasn’t sure how many of his words the cook was actually able to
understand, but she nodded and went to collect a few things.
“Where are you running off to at this hour of the night, then?” the cook asked as she turned around, handing him some food wrapped in a cloth napkin.
He grinned, taking the strap out of his mouth so he could put the food into the bag, “I honestly have no idea!” he said, laughing. He felt…strange. Like he had been waiting for something and this was finally it.
The cook nodded slowly, “Quitting the job, I take it?” she shook her head, clicking her tongue, “Well, Clarissa will certainly miss having you here,” she said, looking at him out of the corner of her eye as she turned to fill up a flask of water for him.
He frowned, “Clarissa? Why?”
The cook shrugged, keeping her back to him, “I don’t know, she seems to be rather taken with you. Sweet girl, isn’t she?”
Gavin gaped, “Taken with me?” he said, “She’s nice, but, honestly? If she was, I would know.”
The cook sealed the flask and handed it to him, a sly little smile on her face, “Whatever you say, Gavin… You’re certain you wouldn’t rather leave in the morning? Traveling at night is dangerous.”
He shook his head again, stuffing the water flask into his bag, “I’m sorry, I have to leave now, otherwise she’ll—” he gasped, throwing the bag over his shoulder, “Leave without me!”
As he ran out of the kitchen, he just heard the cook asking who “she” was. He ignored the question; he wasn’t sure how he would answer it anyways. He crossed the common room and turned down another hall, where his room was; he had to get some things. Since arriving from Blackmill he had been working here just so he could have a place to sleep, at least that’s what he remembered. He shook his head, knowing that the whole thing was too complicated to think about for long.
He ran around his room and picked up a few things; clothes, mostly, but also a journal and a small wooden box. The box and the journal were the only things he had from his old home, fire had destroyed the rest…
He growled and tossed the bag over his shoulder again, trying not to think about it. That wasn’t his life. Not anymore. Now he had to find Lana and make sure she got his old one back to him; whatever that life was it had to be better than this one. He hurried out of the room and closed the door behind him. After walking across the common room to the front door, with a last glance around the room and a small smile, he finally rushed out of the inn, hoping that Lana wasn’t too far ahead.
The door closed behind him and he jumped in surprise as a voice said, “Finally! I was hoping you wouldn’t keep me waiting all night; I was just about ready to go back in there and drag you out,” he looked over and saw Lana leaning against the wall of the inn, smiling. She walked over to him, “Supplies? Food, water, and clothes?”
Gavin nodded, “That’s what took me so long… You’re not leaving yet?”
“I am now,” she said, leaning over to light the lantern that she was carrying, “I knew you’d be coming after me anyways, so there was no reason to tire you out early, we’ve got a while to go,” she shrugged, standing up straight. Her lantern hung from a special notch in her walking stick. The lantern bobbed as she began walking down the road, “First City doesn’t tend to move closer,” she said over her shoulder.
He sped up a little until he was walking beside her, “The First City?” he asked, smiling.
Lana nodded, slightly more serious, “I’m hoping that they can help me find out what happened to you. Maybe even help you.”
“I thought getting my memories back was the only way to fix it,” he said, frowning.
She shifted her bag around on her shoulders, “To fix it entirely? Yes. To help your memory in a limited way? No.” she said, “The Bookkeepers won’t be able to help you come back, but they might be able to help you see blurred pictures of what it really is.”
“Meaning?”
“As in you might be able to tell what happened. Not in any exacts, but a general idea is better than what we have now.”
Gavin nodded and the two of them walked in silence for a while with only the crunch of the dirt under their feet. The lantern bobbed up and down with the rhythm of Lana’s steps.
“If the First City is so far, why are we walking?” he asked.
Lana turned her head to look at him, eyebrows raised.
“There are horses back at the inn, we could get a couple,” he said after a pause, “One of them is mine; you would only have to buy one.”
She just kept on walking until Gavin stopped dead in his tracks, refusing to move until he got an answer.
The Time between Ages
Taylor Laird