Gotdy Retfd

Shortly after learning that this world’s language is new and unfamiliar to me too, Tooksmith started waving his hands around in a funky way while mumbling something softly. I was asleep before my head hit the pillow. Seriously, it felt like I had just taken seven Benadryl using a bottle of Nyquil to wash them down. Now I’m pretty sure the wizard thinks he’s the sand man, because he’s been casting that spell on me all the time. Granted, it kind of works now. Because I’m so well rested at this point, it doesn’t take long for me to wake up and it’s a coin toss as to if it’s Olsen or me when I open my eyes.

Since my unintelligible soliloquy a few days ago, the magician has tried tirelessly to find a reasonable method of exorcising me. There have been potions, tinctures, incenses, even a rock that, when hit with a gold bar, glowed and gave off the smell of rotten eggs. Most of the stuff had no effect, a few made me throw up (including the rock), and one made me feel drunk, I think that one might have just been booze. Regardless of what they tried, I am still just as stuck in Olsen’s head as ever.

Sitting up in the bed, I survey the now familiar scenery of Olsen’s room. Iris stopped by to clean a little while ago, so it’s less interesting than before. She seems to be able to tell instinctively if it’s me or Olsen in charge. She does her best to act cold and distant whenever it’s me. Iris clearly doesn’t trust me, and she makes that clear in her actions. After a few more switches it became apparent that Olsen was as good as asleep when I was in control. So she doesn’t need to worry about sending mixed messages. In her eyes I am either the reason Olsen is like this, or a co-conspirator. Olsen had been told not to leave the bed because of how unpredictable our ‘switching’ was. He usually just goes limp before I have time to realize and take over. This narcoleptic aspect of our condition means I’m basically completely limited in what I’m able to investigate.

The result: I’m bored! In another world probably full of magical people places and things, I am relegated to a bed, a creepy old man’s machinations, and the ire of a protective big sister. The only time something interesting happens is when I’m ordered to drink something nasty and wait for the side effects. I have considered trying to run away while I’m in control of Olsen, but I don’t think I’d get far. Every once in a while, I hear Tooksmith or Iris speaking to a deeper set of voices outside my door. I’m sure they have guards stationed outside and I’ll bet they have orders to keep me here regardless of my royal standing. The windows provide a spectacular view, partly because they are high enough to kill anyone stupid enough to jump out.

Then there’s the question of what I would even do if I managed to get out of the castle. I don’t know anything about the lay out of this city, the common practices of its inhabitants, or if there are special rules for exiting the walls I see on the outskirts, hell I don’t know how to talk to anyone and everyone in town probably knows my face! For now I’ve decided to build rapport with my captors in the hopes that they can help me and hopefully realize that I’m not their enemy.

Some conversation at the door, Tooksmith’s voice may be gibberish to me, but I know it’s his. My stomach twists, and I dread what new icky thing he’s cooked up this time that I’ll have to ingest. Surprisingly, his tray is empty of the glass vials and concerning liquids I’ve come to fear. Instead he’s carrying a large book, two slates, and some other things. Looks like we’re trying something new today and I’m all for it. Tooksmith says a greeting to me, still not sure whether it’s me or Olsen, “Jusse”.

I decide to show him I’ve been paying attention, “Jusse, Tooksmith, what’s happening buddy?”

The old man looks at me a little funny, he is still clearly unsettled by strange words coming out of a familiar face. “Pei ayyumyom qap. Jequ yjay zetu uadp ross yjod zalu.” He sits down, setting the tray on his lap, and hands me a slate and a piece of chalk. I immediately get to work and make it clear I am ready to start communicating. Using the chalk, I draw a book and point at the book on Tooksmith’s tray. “Book.” I say clearly, and with a good deal of excitement.

“Ucvussumy! Remfutgis od pei dvyoem! Imfutdyamf pei!” Tooksmith is overjoyed and clearly excited now too, but I’m waiting for something important from him. He gains composure and nods, pointing at my picture and then at the book he says, “Neel”. He pauses and looks at me.

I smile, pointing at the book I say “Neel”.

Tooksmith lets out another frenzy of enthusiastic meaninglessness and then opens the book. Flipping through the pages, he looks for something and eventually finds it. Facing the book towards me he points to a word on the page and again says “Neel”. Written there on the page is, disappointingly and rather predictably, a script I’ve never seen before. If these people use a language like none I’ve ever heard, why should I expect them to use letters like mine?

My incomprehension apparent, I go back to my slate and draw a set of eyes. I connect them to my book sketch with a dotted line, then draw a big X over the whole thing and shake my head. “No good, I can’t read your letters.”

Tooksmith nods, commiserating this additional roadblock, then he pauses. His eyes go wide and he starts to shake his head side to side, then nodding up and down again, then shaking again, on repeat. “Juaf pei djalu! Dazu. Pud amf me royj yjod huy.” He stops his crazy head shaking and looks me in the eye. Steadily shaking his head side to side he says the word “Me”. Then nodding up and down, “Pud”. Taking his own slate he draws a large X and says “Me”, then a simple, but unfamiliar shape, “Pud”.

“It’s yes and no!” I hastily copy the symbols and repeat the respective actions and words to show my understanding. Yes, no, book, and some sort of greeting. These four words connect me to the people of this new world and hopefully, eventually, some way out of my precarious situation.

I am about to draw a picture of a person when shouting in the hallway draws our attention. It’s Iris and she sounds pissed. Tooksmith listens and nonchalantly begins waving his hands and mumbling in an all too familiar manor.

“Me! Me! Me!”

My vocabulary still lacking for the purposes of constructing a compelling argument, Tooksmith ignores my pleas and finishes his spell. The sand man whisks me to dreamland once again.