Proper Name, Place Name, Backstory Stuff

My head snaps up. One of the human men from the corner table is standing near me, hat in hand. His dark eyes are wide, unsure.

When I don’t respond, too flabbergasted to so much as think about words, he continues with: “Praise be, Lady Eluin. Have… have you awakened to help us?”

I want to say ‘absolutely not’, but the other man approaches at his side, and I shrink back in my chair. I’m not afraid of them – they look like unsociable, timid farmers – but of the thing shining in their eyes. The hope.

“We are saved,” another person says. It’s the stout woman from the bar, with a round face and light brown hair, done up in a braided bun. Her eyes are shining with tears that she wipes away with the crook of her finger. “My lady! ‘Tis a blessed day. Beyond blessed – this is a miracle.”

Or a big, fat, horrible mistake, I think. I raise my palms. “Um, you see—”

The brown-eyed farmer takes one of my hands gently and gets down on one knee. I would blush if the blood hadn’t already drained from my face. “This is an untold honor. We are all at your service, my lady. Each and every one of us will do everything we can to aid you in the fight to come.”

The fight to come? Oh, hell no.

“You see, I’m not exactly—”

The farmer’s friend, a large, jovial man, cuts in. “Once the rest of Tor Reuna hears of your awakening, there won’t be a single person who doesn’t answer your call. The queen herself will grant your any wish and desire!”

So there’s a queen to deal with now, too? Ugh.

I’m a little more forceful with my tone. “If you just hold on a second—”

“The queen?” one of the women at the far table calls out. They all took to standing at some point, huddled together, unsure of whether to move forward out of their assumed respectful distance. “She’ll do more than that, I’m certain. Forget favors – she’ll bow at your feet, she will. You’d be far more than an honor at court, my lady.”

This is too much. Can’t any of them stop to listen to me for two seconds? Indignation eclipses the rest of my emotions and I stand, yanking my hand back to slap my palms onto the table.

“For God’s sake, I’m not Eluin!” I shout. “This is all a misunderstanding, okay? Ruelle, tell them.”

Ruelle, juggling two bowls of stew and pints of drink, stands in the center of the room. “Um—”

“Come on. Are you serious? After everything?”

“For now, just calm down.” The command is given in rich baritone from the salt-and-pepper guy, who guides Ruelle to our table and helps her set down the goods. The other folks around scamper away, and I’m wondering what kind of authority this man has to drive such a reaction in people—

Until the scent of the stew catches my nose, and my attention is fully turned. I can see the steam curling, the savory chunks of meat and roughly chopped vegetables, taste the sweet umami of it all on the back of my tongue—

“Madam.” He’s addressing me, this guy. He nods his head, indicating I should retake my seat – which I do, only because I really want to tuck into dinner, and it would be hard to do so while standing – while he slides another chair over to take the space between me and Ruelle.

I try to keep my composure, but his stare is on me like a rash. There’s uncertainty there, and concern, and the same hint of that sheer awe that lit up the other guests’ eyes. But he’s annoyingly cavalier when he speaks: “If you are not Lady Eluin, then, pray, who are you?”

Ruelle leans toward him, poking him with pointed disapprobation in his side. He glances at her with a familiar softness despite their earlier bickering. Are they good friends? Family?

The aroma of the stew is wrapped around me like a shawl at this point. My stomach pinches. “Any chance we could save this interrogation until after our meal?”

“It would be imprudent to venture a proper discussion without knowing to whom I am speaking.”

“I could say as much likewise. Though I take that to mean that Ruelle’s told you about my, uh… situation.”

“I have been briefed on the circumstances, yes.” He can’t resist a little frown of displeasure at that, and if I’m not mistaken, a little side-eye to Ruelle. She looks down at her hands sheepishly.

“It’s not her fault,” I say, though immediately feeling quite out of place in the dynamic. “I think this is all just an unfortunate coincidence.”

“An improbable one, at that. But you are correct.” He tilted his head forward respectfully. “Allow me to properly introduce myself. I am Gerrin Leheran. I have humbly served, as my fathers and forefathers before me, as the magistrate of Highcreek, and the leader of Eluin’s Shield.”

My shoulders deflate. “And what in the world is that?”

“They are the defenders of The Savior’s Overlook,” Ruelle supplies. “They ensure you… are not disturbed. That your sepulcher and, by effect, your person are not maligned in any way.”

Of course the tomb would have a fancy-schmancy name and a group of vigilante warriors to protect it. I resist a wearied sigh. Gerrin’s suspicions of me, annoyingly enough, now make plenty of sense. He’s an Eluin loyalist, whose family has spent their entire lives protecting her stupid body.

I realize with a pang in my chest that it will probably be impossible to make him understand my predicament.

I opt for politeness, thinking it might be some way forward. “It’s nice to meet you, Gerrin.” I turn to him, and bow in my chair. “If you’ll allow me to say so, I must express my gratitude to you. You saved our lives. I’m… I owe you a debt.”

He pauses, almost flustered – but such a wall of a man couldn’t possibly be, and it fades as quick as it came. “There is no debt whatsoever. It is my honor, and my duty. I am only grateful that I made it in time.”

“Well, we would have been wolf dinner without you, though Ruelle put up one hell of a fight. Anyways, to answer your question… well, it’s a bit complicated. I hope you’ll give me the benefit of the doubt while I try to explain.”

“Of course, if what you say is in earnest. Eluin is not a deceiver, and, by all sane accounts, you are she.”

“I didn’t lie to Ruelle, and I certainly have no reason to lie to you. My name is Akagi Haruka – you can just call me Haruka, if you like – and I have no idea how I ended up here. The last thing I remember is having dinner, and a few drinks… and the next thing I knew I’d passed out and woken up in Eluin’s, uh, casket. I know I look a lot like Eluin, but this is just my appearance where I’m from. I don’t know anything about this place, or its people.”

If he’s shocked by my admissions, Gerrin doesn’t show any of it on his face. “Eluin’s body has been watched over for generations upon generations, untouched. And it is her body that has awoken from The Savior’s Overlook, and the one that sits in front of me now. Your story, while pitiable, is beyond reason.”

“Then let’s abandon reason for a bit,” I suggest. “I mean, Ruelle conjured a literal blast of light out of her hand, so I’m inclined to believe that if magic exists in this world, nothing is truly impossible.”

That gave him pause, however minimal. “Do you have any means of proving what you say?”

I think carefully. It’s an unfortunate day to be born without birthmarks, or any noticeable blemishes on my body that might show I’m me. Then again, this guy has only ever seen Eluin through glass, and with full armor on. Unless she had a legendary mole that everyone talked about, he couldn’t possibly be aware. The non-negative cosmic odds that we would end up sharing the same markings isn’t lost on me, either.

So, I say, “No. All I have is my word.”

“And that is not enough for me to take.”

“Then what are you going to do? Kill me?”

Gerrin blanches. “Kill- of course not!”

“You clearly don’t trust me, and at present, there isn’t anything I can do to assuage your worries that doesn’t involve talking your ear off. And the odds that you’ll let me go on my own way are…”

He doesn’t reply to my bait, his face torn, some of that disbelief lingering in the tightness of his jaw and the crease between his brows. But I know his answer.

“That’s what I thought. I have no intention of letting you imprison me here, so we’re going to have to find a way forward.”

“It is not because I wish to deny you your freedom,” he says slowly, thoughtfully, “but your awakening is a blessing that we cannot let slip through our fingers. Activity in Srolstem has increased dramatically since our first sightings of demonic return months ago. It is a matter of weeks before Lugaz’s forces may overwhelm us. The Prince has not shown himself directly as of yet, but we must prepare for that eventuality. We need you, Eluin. You may be our only hope.”

The rawness, the anguish in his words douses my anger like a splash of cold water. It doesn’t matter if what he says is true or not – that Eluin is the only means of saving the land – only that he believes it with his entire being.

I don’t really want to know, but now, I have to ask: “Who is Lugaz?”

Despite the quiet of the room, a hush falls over us, a bone-chilling silence. Gerrin takes a long pause before answering.

“Lugaz is the name of the Demon Prince that was vanquished by your hand – by Lady Eluin’s hand – five hundred years ago. He and his forces waged war with all of Tor Reuna. They encroached slowly, at first, until all of the kingdom of Srolstem had been overrun by them. They completely tainted the land, twisted it to their own. It was Eluin who finally found his weakness and slew him, though how she did so remains a mystery to this day; they had been sealed in his castle, in a duel of single combat, when Lugaz met his end. At least, that is what we believed.

“Over the past year, remnants of his demonic army have slowly reawakened from his abandoned stronghold. None of the protection spells we enacted there have had any use. With each passing day, more villages come under siege, more innocents are forced to flee their homes to seek shelter closer to the capital, Sieffald. It is not dissimilar to the incident that nearly took your life – those wolves had been marked with Lugaz’ runa.

“We were no match for Lugaz even with the best sorcerers at our beck and call. Not with the best army, the best swordsmen, nothing. Eluin, alone, struck the final blow. And immediately after doing so, she fell into an unwakeable state.

“We thought her dead. She did not breathe, and her heart did not beat. But… she did not rot, or decay. Some magic was binding her to this material plane, to Tor Reuna… and, it would seem, to you.”

Oh, right. To me.

To… me?

Demon Prince? Abandoned stronghold? Magical comas? This can’t be happening. I have no idea what to say to any of that.

And in my disillusioned silence, my earlier theory takes permanent root in my heart. All of the evidence lines up decisively, leaving no other option possible.

There is absolutely no chance that I’m conjuring any of this up in my mind.

Even at my best and most creative, and even in the limitless space of my own subconscious, I’d never be able to even dream any of this, and certainly not in this sort of excruciating detail.

Like the lump in my throat I can’t seem to swallow.

Or the way the pain in my leg thumps along with the fervent beat of my heart.

Or the way Gerrin looks at me, and I look back, and I’m able to notice the fact that his emerald eyes have gem-like turquoise flecks in them.

This is not a dream.

But if it’s not… then what the hell is happening to me?