Blessing of the Nameless

“Here,” Rosa says. “This will sting a little.”

She begins stitching the gash on my arm shut. I grit my teeth at every piercing prick, trying to hold myself still as best I can. Rosa patiently applies the treatment, neither painfully slow nor anxiously rushed, applying only the necessary amount of pressure to keep my forearm pinned to the table, unfazed by my pained reactions.

“All done,” she soon says, much to my relief, and proceeds to wrap the wound with a clean bandage. “I recommend you wear a sling to rest your arm for the next week.”

“I’m not sure if I’ll be able to do that,” I say with a sigh. “I’ve kinda been roped into something.”

“I noticed…”

“Did you? Were you watching the fight?”

“Mhm,” Rosa hums as she secures the bandage with a gentle knot. “You keep being subjected to such cruelties. None of this would be happening if we…”

That again. I quickly shake my head. “You’re not responsible for any of this.” Then, trying to change the subject, I ask, “Thanks for the stitches, but couldn’t you have used that magical potion you used on me?”

“I’m sorry?” She tilts her head.

“Yeah, I remember that when Kim and I were summoned, someone, I figured it was you, poured something cold on me and suddenly the pain I was in vanished.” I raise my arm, showing off the stitched cut with a pained chuckle. “I wouldn’t mind getting another dose of that.”

Rosa immediately reaches for my arm and gently guides it back down to my lap. “Please do not move it,” she reiterates, admonishing.

My face warms up a little. I look away with a sigh. “Sorry.”

Rosa fetches a cloth from a nearby table, maybe a towel, and helps tie it around my neck to make a sling for my arm. “We do have more of that medicine here.”

“Oh, you do? Then-”

“But I do not recommend relying on it too much. It’s a regenerative brew, so it doesn’t merely alleviate pain, but promotes rapid healing. The issue is that it exhausts the body while creating plentiful scar tissue. It is perfect for emergencies, but overusing it can lead to disfigurement and motor impairments in the worst cases.”

Whoa, she sounded just like a doctor from my world. I mean, of course she would; she’s a healer as well as a priestess, I’ve heard. It’s just that, with what I’ve seen of this world so far, I expected its medicine to be a bit more… primitive? Spiritual? Magical? At the very least I didn’t expect to be advised on the side effects of a magical potion.

“Besides, the brew is quite rare and difficult to make. It’s enough of a wonder that they have any in stock here, but I’d get in trouble if I used it for this.” Rosa concludes her explanation and looks at me with curious eyes. “Leo?”

I snap out of my thoughts. “Ah, sorry, just…” A distasteful question bubbles up in my mind. “I’m sorry, it’s for emergencies, you said?”

“Mhm,” she said, nodding her head. “Something life threatening, or when other treatment options are not available or practical.”

“What state was I in when I appeared?”

Rosa seems to realize what I’m getting at because she presses her lips shut. “...please wait here.” She nods her head apologetically as she steps away from our table.

I have a moment to look around the infirmary, or the ‘butcher shop’ as the guards seem to call it. They really do it a disservice with that name because it seems very well put together. There are plenty of beds properly lined in rows and spaced from each other at each side of the hall. Cabinets filled with a variety of flasks are set evenly between the beds while nurses walk around, attentively looking over the patients.

Almost all of the patients are wearing Nuren’s yellow; none are in miner’s rags. Hopefully it’s just a coincidence, but I also wouldn’t be surprised if treatment was exclusive to the guards and us fighters; we do seem to be regarded a bit higher than the other prisoners here. I also note that all the nurses and healers are wearing the now familiar shackle around their necks, so there’s that.

Of course it couldn’t be all good, but at least knowing the infirmary is clean and stocked is a relief. Makes me wonder why they call it the butcher’s shop. Probably has to do with the rack of saws and knives set against the wall, but I try not to think into it too much.

Gunther is lying on a bed right next to us, soundly passed out. Rosa said there was no lingering damage from… whatever it is that the witch did to him, so all we can do is wait until he recovers on his own.

Rosa comes back soon enough carrying a circular, plate-like mirror. “Here,” she says, passing the mirror to me.

The anticipation is starting to get to me. It can’t be that bad, right? I haven’t felt all that different. Then again, the way Rosa is acting doesn’t fill me with confidence. Still, I would rather know what has happened to me, so I take a deep breath and look straight into my reflection.

And there’s me. Same dark hair, messy and greasy but I should expect that much, face still recognizable, each feature still in place even with the dusty complexion. The only part that’s new is the scar, an off-colored patch of rough skin on my right jaw that extends to my neck and down under the shackle-collar. I try to look over my shoulder as much as possible but the mark continues down my back and under my clothes.

“Is that a burn?”

“Yes,” Rosa confirms. “When you arrived, you had a severe burn on your back. I made the decision to apply the potion because I feared what they would do to you if they saw you were injured.”

Rosa lowers her head apologetically, closing her eyes timidly, but frankly, I’m relieved. I honestly expected something much worse.

I must have suffered the burn sometime during the fire at the café. Thinking back, I remember that when Kim poured that glass of water into the pan fire, I pushed her out of the way of the surging flames. I had thought I evaded the danger myself, but I guess some of the burning oil did reach me. I must’ve been pumped full of adrenaline cause I didn’t feel anything at all at that moment.

I try rolling my shoulder, stretching my back, curious to notice any motor impairments, as Rosa put it. My skin does feel a bit tight when I hunch over and crane my neck, but I can hardly complain.

If anything, is it weird that I find the mark a bit cool?

“Thank you,” I tell Rosa, handing the mirror back to her. “You had me worried there for a moment; I expected something much worse.”

Rosa takes the mirror back, though the worry on her face doesn’t ease very much. “You are too kind.”

“...Rosa?” I venture.

“Hm?”

“You know, Kim and I were in a dangerous situation when we were summoned. If we hadn’t been spirited away, well, we might both be dead. So, despite all that has happened afterward, thank you for that.”

That does seem to reach Rosa. She fidgets, conflicted between her guilt and my gratitude. I’d just like her to stop blaming herself.

“What’s this about a summon?” we suddenly hear. Gunther has opened his eyes and is struggling to sit up from the bed, a bit unsteady in his movements. “Don’t tell me we’ve already been called for the next match.”

“Ah, Gunther!” I say. “You okay? Try not to move too much.”

“Argh, ease off, kid. I’ve had worse.” Still he takes a bit of time to sit up to the edge of the bed, rubbing his face awake. “Haaah, who is this pretty lady?”

“Ah, this is Rosa.”

Rosa bows her head with her hands politely folded over her belly. “Sister Rosa in service to Holy Ariadne, pleased to meet you.”

“Ah, so you’re the one that was captured with Leo?” Gunther for his part runs his hand back over his hair before bowing his head in turn. “Sister, thank you for looking after me.”

“I was merely doing my duty. If anything, I should thank you for looking after Leo during that fight.”

“Heh, his quick thinking should take the credit. Really saved our hide.”

Now it’s my turn to fidget with a conflicted feeling. On one side, thanks, but on the other, it got us in trouble with the witch.

But no, no, that is exactly what she wants, isn’t it? Despite my inexperience, I managed not to drag the others down and even helped another team make it out alive. I don’t want to doubt the value of that.

Yet there is more I could and should do, in order not to be a burden to everyone.

“Gunther?”

“Aye kid?”

“I know the witch asked you to and I understand if you don’t want to follow her orders but…” I lock my eyes with him, gripping both my knees tightly in a show of conviction. “Please train me!”

“Leo! Your arm!” Rosa chides me, raising her voice a little.

Her concerned gaze forces me to lower my head. “Sorry, sorry…” I apologetically pull my injured arm back into the sling.

Gunther looks at me, his gaze heavy with a cold yet not less imposing fierceness. I feel a shiver run up my spine.

He remains silent like that for a long moment, judging me? Weighting the risk of doing the witch’s will? Something else? Finally, he slaps his own palms into his knees. “Fine!” he exclaims. “You won’t survive here for very long unless you know what you’re doing. And frankly, we can’t afford to carry your slack all the time. I will drill the basics into you.”

“Yes sir!”

“Hrrk!”

I glance at Rosa. She’s turned away, hiding her face. “Uhm, bless you?” I say, noticing her ears are a bit flushed.

“T-thank you,” she quickly replies, easing her chest and clearing her throat with a couple pats and a discreet cough.

Gunther stands from the bed, drawing my attention back. “So Leo, as your first task, it’s customary around here for trainees to offer their efforts to the Divines.”

“Oh, uhm?” I stutter, a bit confused. “Ahm, sure? Look, it’s just that, uhm…” I get the feeling I should be cautious about how I say this, since I’m not familiar with this world’s religion at all. “I’m not, you know, practicing?”

“Neither am I,” Gunther readily admits. I sigh in relief; not fanatics, at least. “But when you’re about to get into something that puts your life on the line, offering a prayer helps prepare your heart for it. That’s what I believe.”

It’s not like I’m planning to die, but…

Well, it is his first lesson.

“Alright,” I concede. “Should I just lower my head or…?”

“Come with me,” he simply commands, walking away. I hurry to catch up with him while Rosa tags along, joining at my side.

The infirmary is not located underground, but within the huge building sitting atop the mine. The bandits seem to have made their fortress by grafting the buildings that were already built here to each other. There seem to be other facilities at this level, like a kitchen, mess hall, a courtyard, dormitories, a library that seems mostly abandoned, go figure, among other things.

All of it seems reserved for Nuren’s men. We aren’t closely supervised as we move through the corridors, but there are guards everywhere, enough to be a small army.

“Are we allowed to be here?”

“Only after a fight, or if you have a special job like Sister Rosa here,” Gunther answers. “So let’s be quick before someone comes around to throw us back in our cell.”

“Right.” I glance at Rosa and lower my voice to a whisper. “So uhm, what sort of gods do you have here? I’ve heard you mention the Divines a few times.”

Rosa stays thoughtfully quiet for a moment. “It’s not something quick to explain. There are the Primordials, then the Imperial Divines and the myriad minor deities serving under them. If you’re wondering who you should pray to…” She raises her voice back up. “Sir Gunther? Do you know who the shrine here is dedicated to?”

“Not really, sorry,” he responds. “I believe the miners started it, but the arena fighters have contributed the most to it since they started the fighting pit business.”

“So most likely a nameless,” Rosa muses. “It might be an aspect of Barnabas, or perhaps Cadmus has adopted it now if the fighters are caring for it.”

“No offense to you or the Divines, Sister, but I’d spit on the shrine if Cadmus has seen fit to adopt these…” He falls quiet as we pass a group of yellow-wearing guards, but he has made himself clear enough.

Okay, but where does that leave me? I’m not really following what they’re talking about.

“We’re here,” Gunther says, rounding the corner into a modest, small room.

A big gemstone is set on an altar against the far wall. Its glassy surface is the color of dirty amber, with veins of silver and blood red running across it like cracks. The walls around the altar are coated with letters, the papers ranging from yellowed with age to still freshly new, all pasted to the stone. Some have come loose and lie scattered on the floor like fallen leaves.

Offerings have been set at the foot of the gemstone, tools, mineral shards, books, a compass, a pair of glasses, even a dented helmet; a variety of odds and ends I can only assume were once someone’s personal items.

“Goodness,” Rosa says, slipping past me to enter the room first. She joins her hand and respectfully bows to the gemstone, then gets to work gently organizing the scattered offerings and picking up the fallen letters. “If only I had a broom, but it’s reasonably well-maintained.”

I curiously check the letters, finding each one written in a strange language I don’t recognize, but nonetheless understand.

Wait, I do? I tilt my head wondering what is happening.

I’m not translating what I’m seeing, as I can clearly see the script and utterly fail to recognize it. The letters are neat, distinct, orderly, somewhat like the alphabet I know, but distinct enough from it that I can’t tell which letter is supposed to be which, assuming that’s even how it works. Heck, the punctuation symbols are different to English, not to mention that the sentences are written from right to left. How can I even tell that much?

Consciously, I conclude I shouldn’t be able to understand a single word. But the meanings nonetheless jump at me much like the names of people and things do just from seeing them at a glance, painting their message straight into thought.

“Help me through my last year.”

“Rest in peace, Ronan.”

“I beg you, keep my wife and child safe.”

“Hope to see home again one day.”

“Give me strength for the coming trials.”

Some messages are brief, others share longer thoughts and stories. All of them carry the wishes, worries and hopes of the people that have visited this shrine.

But I’m forced to look away because the disconnect between what I see and what I understand is starting to make my head hurt. “Are these notes magic or something?”

“Hmm? Something wrong?” Gunther asks.

“The notes, are they enchanted or something?”

“Uhm, no?”

“Then is it the language?”

Gunther furrows his brow in confusion. “That’s… common Imperial. Are you okay, kid?”

I get the sense that whatever I’m seeing, he isn’t seeing. Is it an ability I was given as an outworlder?

Come to think of it, are we even speaking English right now?

“Nevermind,” I say, shaking my head clear of those thoughts before they give me a migraine.

“Right, well, let’s offer a prayer.”

I glance warily at the shrine. “Uh, on second thought, I’m not sure if I should-”

“Ah relax, kid,” Gunther interrupts, taking a knee in the cramped room. “It’s just for luck.”

He keeps saying it’s fine, but something just feels disrespectful about praying to gods I don’t know, with customs I don’t understand, at a shrine that clearly means so much for the people that do believe in it.

I feel tremendously fake, but Gunther insists, and Rosa does not seem concerned. Perhaps I’m just overthinking it.

So, a bit hesitantly, I follow Gunther’s example and take a knee besides him.

“Combat is messy, wasteful business,” Gunther says, lowering his head a little and entwining his hands in prayer, and I follow suit. “When faced with no other choice but to fight, you’ll need every bit of courage, every bit of resolve and resilience to handle whatever comes your way, no matter what happens, both for you and for those that rely on you.”

For me and those that rely on me. I think of Rosa, still doing what she can to clean up the shrine, or Kim, who I hope is fine wherever she is. My mind wanders back to the battle, the fear, the pain, the nerve-flaying anxiety of it all, and how much I’d prefer never to do it again. But that is not a decision I can make.

I don’t feel like I can take that much credit for the way in which we defeated the lizards. I’m sure that, if I was not there, Gunther would have found another way to lead the others to safety. But there was another moment when I definitely did make a difference, when that last surviving monster appeared out of nowhere to attack Siabahn and Luach.

Even so, my mind is burdened with the could-haves. If I had not been attentive and fast enough, what would have happened to them? No, more than that, had my arm been too injured to move, had my gun already been empty, had I missed the shot, had I lost my nerve entirely, would they now be…?

And more importantly, could I do that again? Or was I just lucky?

I cannot leave such things to chance. If there was ever a call to pull my shit together, this is it. Even if…

“You will serve me regardless,” echo the witch’s words as well, as much a curse as our deal.

Yes, I suppose that’s so. And that’s all the more reason why I’m not doing it for her.

For my freedom, for Kim’s freedom, for Rosa’s freedom, and yes, even for the Bewitched that have taken me in with open arms, I will get stronger.

I raise my head and look at the nameless gemstone, the shrine to a god I don’t know. On its glassy surface I see not myself, but a kneeling figure dressed in rags and armor pads, their face obscured by a dented helmet, the same helmet offered at the foot of the altar.

I reach my hand at the silhouette and it reaches back, compelled by something beyond reason. “Leo, you shouldn’t-” I hear Rosa say, but it’s too late. My fingers land on the smooth, crystalline surface, and our palms meet as if separated by a mere pane of glass.

The small room vanishes. An opaque mist the color of dirty amber obscures all, a cloud of dust and sand. Images rush through, silhouettes in the gloom like half-recalled memories.

A maze of tunnels branches into the earth. Days, months, years, each dutifully notched onto solid stone. Roars and screaming echo from the deep. Carts filled with ore and blood parade before the unfeeling gaze of a blind Goddess.

Toil.

A sea of men pours into the depths. Sparks of iron and malice dance in the dark. A whip changes hands. Embers and razors rain from the sky. An army of sacrificial lambs paints the walls red with their ichor.

Toil.

And then there’s a cauldron, filled to the brim with skulls, blood and gold. Giants dip their hands in the cruel brew, devouring it by greedy handfuls. Yet the pot never grows empty, ever refilling with fresh harvests of able souls.

Toil.

The figure stands at the bottom of the pit, dressed in rags, hand clenching a bloodied pick, their face obscured by a dented helmet. Patiently, they toil, they fight, they steal tomorrow from the fangs of the ravenous present, standing unbroken, ever hopeful, ever dreaming.

They lift their eyes, I lift my eyes, to the starlit night peeking through the skylight. We raise our hands at the sleeping sun, hoping to grasp it so we might pull ourselves free from the choking depths.

Home.

I stumble back in a daze, hands reaching around for anything to support myself.

“Whoa there, kid!” I hear a voice, somewhat like a distant, familiar echo as I rise from a dream. Someone firmly catches me, keeping me on my feet as I slowly return to myself.

“Leo? Leo!” Another voice, gentler. I remember the name. Rosa touches my forehead with her soft, chilly hand, pulling me further awake. “He’s burning up! Gunther, we should take him back-”

“No no, I’m okay,” I reassure her, standing free from Gunther’s grasp. My body feels different, lighter, yet slower? I examine my uninjured arm for a moment, fascinated by its movements, the flexing fingers, the dirtied palm, the strength of the arm as the elbow flexes. Something about it seems new, though not physically. It’s more like…

No, there’s nothing different about it. It’s simply a new perspective.

“Kid, you just touched the shrine and suddenly you’re tumbling all over the place. What the heck even was that?”

“I uhm,” I stutter, my mind racing with unfamiliar thoughts as if I had just devoured a library. “I think I met the nameless god.”

“You what?” Rosa gasps, her gentle eyes suddenly wide with disbelief.

“Yeah, and I think they just taught me how to fight.”