A Fossilized Old Bat

Cera woke at the break of dawn to an immense pressure on her chest, the air forcibly expelled from her lungs. A startled cry of, "Ow!" tore from her lips as her eyes flew open to find Cy sitting squarely on her back, his expression impassive.

Before she could form a proper protest, he slid off her. "Time to get up," he stated, already turning to leave the room.

Her gaze darted to the adjacent cot, where she saw that Perla had already risen, leaving behind a fresh change of clothes for her. Cera changed with hurried movements, muttering a stream of curses under her breath for the purple-haired bastard and a quiet word of gratitude for the older girl's thoughtfulness. She was in the middle of pulling on the simple tunic when a sharp yell escaped her. Cy was leaning against the doorframe, watching her with casual indifference.

"Pervert!" The word shot out of her, raw and reflexive.

A flicker of genuine surprise crossed Cy’s face, but it was fleeting, quickly erased and replaced by his standard, irritated scowl. "Relax, flat-chest. It’s not like you have anything worth looking at."

A spark of pure indignation ignited within her chest. "Take that back!" she screamed, her hands balling into tight, trembling fists. She charged across the small room, her eyes locked on his smug face.

Cy merely rolled his eyes in dismissal. "You're late. Hurry up."

Her rage was a simmering, unrelenting fire as he led her from the hut. She aimed daggers at his back for the entire duration of their walk down the path, which led to another, more isolated structure.

As they drew near, Cy stopped. In a rare and unexpected moment of consideration, he spoke. "You should probably know before you go in… Carmine's not senile." He glanced toward the hut's entrance. "He's eccentric, sure, but there's a reason behind everything he does."

Her hostile glare softened almost imperceptibly. "Th-thanks," she mumbled. And with that, he turned and was gone.

The air inside Carmine's shack was thick and heavy, saturated with the competing scents of aging books and burning incense. The heat was immediate and stifling; Cera could already feel a trickle of sweat tracing a path down her spine. An old man stood hunched over a bubbling cauldron, and as he registered her entrance, he made a subtle gesture, causing the fire beneath the pot to visibly weaken.

"You must be Sierra."

The elder’s welcoming charm was immediately undermined.

"It's Cera."

"Yes, my apologies," Carmine replied, though the mischievous twinkle in his eyes was anything but apologetic. "Would you come a little closer?"

Cera approached with caution, maintaining at least an arm's length of distance between them. He stooped low, his gaze fixing intently on her feet. A full minute passed, then another, and Cera's mild confusion began to curdle into profound bewilderment.

“Sir…?”

"Oh, yes, yes." He straightened himself up, leaning heavily on a large, gnarled staff. He wore the vacant expression of a man lost to the fog of senility, but Cera held fast to Cy's counsel and bit her tongue.

"Do you have some kind of test for me?" Cera asked, deciding that a direct approach was best. "A 'big test,' or something?"

"Oh." A sly, knowing smile spread across Carmine's face, making his chest-length white beard rise. "My big test. Are you prepared for that? I was quite famous for it, you know. Probably still am."

"Yes…" Cera trailed off, uncertain of what else to say.

"Very well, then. Let us begin. How old are you?"

The question was so simple it caught her completely off guard. "Eleven."

"Cy is twelve, though he was a year younger than you were on Terra. Time flows at a faster rate here, according to what we call Sol-Luna astrology. He is most likely… well, the flow of time is erratic, so any calculations are merely estimations." He gave her a speculative look. "It is best I don't tell you." He peered at her again, his scrutiny unnerving her.

"What is it?" Cera asked, a sense of unease creeping over her.

The words came out in a sudden, deliberate rush. "Cy died on Terra perhaps an hour before you did."

Cera's eyes widened in sheer disbelief. "But… how is that possible?"

"Space and time are not equivalent forces—at least, not in this realm." His words remained a nonsensical, tangled knot in her mind. Frustrated, Cera wrung her hands. "What are you trying to say?"

"Cy was born here. He was originally from Terra, but he returned to his infancy in this world. The body he inhabited on Terra was not this one, just as yours is not the one you had there. But you, you retain your original form, do you not? You looked like this on Terra?"

Cera nodded dumbly, her head swimming in a sea of confusion. "That can't be possible. Are you saying that Cy grew up here knowing he'd already lived and died on Terra?"

"I take it he informed you of his memory retention?" Carmine's smile was deeply unsettling. "That is correct."

A strangled sob escaped Cera's lips. "But—but that's so twisted. That's horrible and messed up."

"Why do you think he behaves like such a bitter old man?" Carmine's tone was deceptively light. "In truth, if one were to add the years from his past life to his current one, Cy could be considered my contemporary."

Cera fell silent, her mind reeling from the implications. This was infinitely worse than science, which had always been her most hated subject.

"Now," Carmine said, turning his full, undivided attention to her. "Let us talk about you."

Cera was almost afraid to, worried about what other secrets he might unearth. Noticing her hesitation, the old man prodded her gently with the end of his staff.

"Come here, child," he said, gesturing toward the simmering pot. Cera drew nearer, a sudden, primal fear gripping her that he intended to push her into the boiling liquid.

The thought seemed to amuse Carmine, who let out a dry, crackling laugh. "I am not going to eat you. I am casting a diversion spell. It is a basic military strategy. We of the Ignis Clan are engaged in a long and bloody war with the mad witch of the north."

"Isn't that a fool's errand?" Cera felt compelled to ask. "Using a spell against a witch?"

"The poor girl has not touched a wand since she was fourteen. The point is, she would not recognize a proper spell if it bit her on the nose."

"So, how does this work?"

Carmine shrugged, a surprisingly casual gesture for a man of his apparent age. "To be perfectly honest, I am not much of a mage." He removed his pointed hat to scratch at his bald head. "In my prime, I could get by with a few daggers and a shuriken. I was more of an assassin, really." He glanced at the library of ancient, leather-bound texts to his right. "I just follow the instructions in these old books. And hope for the best."

"What started the war?"

"Human nature," Carmine said, his expression turning grim. He was silent for several long moments, carefully stirring the contents of the pot. "The witch was raised well enough, but in recent years she has seized control of the Northlands and has made a veritable game of cruelty. Her true target is our clan, the oldest and perhaps the most powerful in this realm. She is coming for us, and we will fight to protect our people. That," he said, looking directly into Cera's eyes, "is where you come in."

"What do you mean?"

"This spell, even at its full power—which it will not be—will only divert her attention for two weeks. That gives us a week and a day, give or take. It is enough time for Cy to teach you the fundamentals of flame fighting—I can see the spark in you—and for you to find the right allies." He gave her a conspiratorial wink that did nothing to quell the alarm rising in her chest.

"Let me get this straight!" Cera struggled to find her voice. "You want me to help you fight your war? Me? A kid who just died?"

Carmine shrugged again, a gesture of unnerving nonchalance. "Those who have died tend to value life more. Besides, it is a smaller war than the ones you read about in your history books. Only fifty souls on each side."

Something inside Cera snapped. This was the final, unbearable straw.

"Damn you!" she exploded, her voice laced with a potent mixture of fury and disbelief. "I don't know what century you crawled out of, you fossilized old bat, but where I come from, we don't use child soldiers!"

"We are not in the world you once knew," Carmine replied calmly. The dangerous glint in his eye should have served as a warning, but she did not know him well enough yet to read the signs. "This is Reverie."

"It's a nightmare!" Cera shrieked, losing all semblance of control. "I—I'm dead, for crying out loud! And you're all turning it into some kind of sick joke!"

"Poor child," the sage interrupted, his smile vanishing completely. "It seems you require some discipline."

"What—"

Before she could finish the word, Carmine moved with a speed that defied his age. He rammed a knee hard into her spine while simultaneously wrenching her arms behind her back at an agonizing angle. If she had thought Cy sitting on her was unpleasant, this was an entirely new dimension of pain.

"I will give you some time to... reconsider your position," the old man hissed directly into her ear. He delivered another sharp kick for emphasis. "Cy will take you to the training grounds at the appointed hour. If you refuse that path, you will go with Perla to the market. In two days, I expect you to be ready to lead a small party north. If you do anything to contradict that..." He punctuated the unspoken threat with a sharp, resonant blow that seemed to shake Cera's very bones.

Then, just as quickly as he had seized her, he released his grip, allowing her to crumple to the dusty floor.