FATELESS: A Boy’s Bonds

Terms & Conditions

 

If anyone was watching the events taking place inside my bedroom, they would surely have tilted their heads in bemusement. They would also see a lone boy tucked into bed, wrapped in bandages, staring wide-eyed at an empty corner of his room.

Strange, to be sure, but who could blame him after all that he’d gone through?

In reality, I was staring at a man no-one save for myself could see. A man sheathed in shadow, who had yet to explain why he’d taken up residency in my room.

I studied the stranger, battered body tense with trepidation, and winced when his voice shattered the palpable silence.

“How long are you going to stare?”

The hoarse timbre of his voice marked him as a weary old man, while the soft cadence carried a belying youth. I felt like I was listening to two people at once, each word traveling through a thick window or perhaps water before reaching me.

“Zakarot…” I said, uselessly. “That’s your name?”

The hooded man let out a tired sigh. “What more are names than labels used to bind one to their past? My past is meaningless; I’ve worn many names, exchanging them on the regular as one would a shirt. For now, I’ve chosen to be called Zakarot.”

Furrowing my brows, I studied this ‘Zakarot’. My further attempts to sit up were in vain, as my addled body put up a persistent protest.Though I possessed few wounds on the surface, the magical backlash cast a blanket of lethargy upon me. In the end, all I could really do was stare.

This man had been in the woods at the same time I’d been lying on the ground, broken and helpless. The similarities between then and now weren’t lost on me, but now he’d trespassed within the sanctity of my bedroom. The only place I tended to flee to for comfort and solitude.

Though I was cold with fear, frustration also made me want to throw my hands in the air and rant.

Why do these things keep happening to me?

Taking a deep breath, I asked another question. “Why are you here? How did you even get inside?”

“Through the front door.”

“…Do you expect me to believe that?”

“It was unlocked,” Zakarot replied, nonchalantly. “As for the first question, I’d thought that my purpose would be evident. I’ve come to discuss the terms of our contract.”

I blinked. "Huh?"

“Oh, right. You grew up in Geimhread; a contract is a—”

“I know what a contract is,” I told him. “But I’ve never made one.”

A chuckle emerged from within his hood. “You’ve made plenty of contracts, Zavis. Most of which were likely too vague or insignificant to warrant noticing. There are many ways to voice your assent, far more than you might expect. In this case, all it took was a little boy’s fervent desire to make his dream come true.”

As I started to shake my head, a memory broke through my bewilderment. Lying in the dirt, covered in blood, gasping for air. Pain enveloped me and the world was fading to black.

Amidst my terror, a voice cut through the darkness. A voice offering salvation, to make wish into reality.

‘I can make your dream come true.’

“Ah, good. I can tell that you’ve remembered something.” Zakarot clapped his hands, which sounded oddly muffled. “Yes, it’s as you’re thinking. You made a promise, signing the contract that I proposed. Though who really needs such labels?”

Most of that night was still a blur. There was a dream of a life unfulfilled, accompanied by an oppressive feeling of regret. Yet I couldn’t quite remember the specifics of whatever agreements I may have made while dying.

Apparently noticing my struggle, Zakarot shrugged. “Here, let me help.”

‘I can give you the reins to this story, and all you have to do is make one little promise.’

The words flowed back into mind like the final pieces of a puzzle being set in place. My consciousness had been hanging on by a thread, thoughts beginning to transform into a jumbled mess. I'd clung to the stranger—Zakarot’s voice, the voice that told me everything I needed to hear. He’d reached into my mind, peeling back the curtains and offering a chance to fulfill my long-sought dream.

To be more than I was.

He’d known what I wanted most. To be the center of attention, to be loved the most. These were awful feelings borne of resentment for my family, for my neighbors. Emotions that had tainted my resolve, forcing me into seclusion.

I was robbed of the most basic aspect of living: the desire to live.

However, my feelings had changed. Abel was still a pompous bastard, who took advantage of everyone around him. I suspected that would never change as long as I breathed, but the others…

Mother and Father had risked their lives, tearing through the woods in panic. They’d rescued me, cared for me when I needed them most. Lara had been at my bedside, watching over me as I slumbered. The only words that could describe me were ungrateful, self-centered, and pathetic.

The guilt weighed on me, as if a great pressure was pushing me deeper into my bed.

It was my choice to give up, my choice to forgo self-improvement. I’d been cast into an abyss of my own making.

Perhaps my family could have done more. Perhaps they could have checked on me, asked me how I was doing. But I couldn’t bring myself to blame them.

“I’m a bad person.”

Zakarot remained silent.

“Maybe I deserved to die in that forest.”

“You wouldn’t have,” Zakarot replied.

“How do you know?”

He shrugged.

I looked up at the robed man with a questioning stare, and watched as he moseyed over to my favorite chair. Zakarot didn’t so much as sit down, as he shifted in space from one position to the next, like an illustration in one of those paper flip-books.

I chalked that up to my exhaustion, ignoring how the sun’s rays seemed to pass through him.

“I’m not here to tell you whether you do or don’t deserve to live. The fact is that you are alive–and you have a choice. If you want to die, then go back to that cliff and throw yourself off of it.”

A lump formed in my throat as I watched the man gesture behind him, toward the woods lying beyond.

“But we made a contract, Zavis. I promised to give you the reins, to give you the chance to better yourself. Will you throw this chance away? Will you slink back into the same dark place as before, hating yourself and everything around you?”

No.

The answer was obvious, and immediate. I’d decided back then, as I wept into my mother’s shoulder, that I would change myself. That I would try.

If I was going to throw away my second chance, then I might as well have died in that forest. Even though Zakarot claimed I wouldn’t have.

“Why did you save me?” I asked. “Why make a contract with me, of all people?”

Another sigh escaped from within Zakarot’s hood. “You’re jumping ahead, Zavis. There’s so much you need to know before we get into that.”

I frowned.

Lifting his hand, the robed man pointed a thumb at himself. “What am I?”

Several silent breaths passed between us. I studied his tattered robes while considering the question. He’d somehow snuck into our house unnoticed, and observed our conversation from the shadows. Even my mother, a magic-user, hadn’t noticed his presence. Some sort of glamor, or perhaps he was wearing an invisibility cloak. I was sure that those existed. Probably.

And mages always wear hooded robes, so…

Wait, my mother doesn't, I realized. Oh! But she said she wasn't a mage.

“Are you a mage?”

Zakarot swayed to the side. “That’s not the answer I was looking for, but I’ll give you a partial point.” Then, he swayed to the other side. “How much do you know about souls?”

My strange look must have said everything he needed to know.

“Right, you’re completely clueless," he said. "Your mother and I both mentioned anima, do you remember what it means?”

I nodded. “Lifeforce.”

“Mmm. A rather simplistic explanation, but...” Zakarot held up a finger, and I noticed that the man’s hands were wrapped in bandages. “Essentially, a ‘soul’ is a composite made from many parts of one’s self. Your soul is what makes you you; it’s your memories, your dreams, your fears. In addition to a careful balance of each aspect, of course.”

“And when that balance is disturbed, you can use magic.” I said. “I know that already.”

“Yes, yes. But what you don’t know is the significance of anima. See, those individual pieces of your soul cannot grant life. Anima is the aspect of life, the power of the Soul Plane. One’s anima is their animating force, and it infuses all living beings. In addition, when a living being’s physical form is no longer usable, their soul eventually leaves the body and returns to the Soul Plane..."

He pointed upward.

"There, the soul is broken down into its base components. The parts of the deceased—such as memories—are disposed of. Then, the anima is brought back here to grant new life.”

Zakarot stopped speaking and stared at me. As soon as I noticed that he was waiting for a sign that I understood, I couldn't help but furrow my brows.

“That doesn’t seem right,” I told him. “What about the Great Beyond?”

This time, he actually laughed. “Well, take it from someone who’s somewhat of an expert on death—there is no paradise at the end of this. Everyone ends up in the same place, and let me tell you, the locals are not friendly.”

“And the Nine?” I asked. “Are you calling them fake?”

“I never said that,” Zakarot replied. “Though they’re not quite so divine as scripture would have you believe."

I cocked my head in confusion. He didn’t seem keen on elaborating.

Instead, Zakarot stood up—which once more looked like he disappeared before reappearing into a new position—and began pacing around the room.

“The cycle is the law of all life. Your anima once belonged to another being, and it will one day belong to another. However, there are means to remove one’s soul from the cycle. This leads to the phenomenon you know as spirits. To make an egregiously long story short, I am a spirit who has escaped from the cycle.”

Souls, anima, spirits.

Feeling as if I was talking to a complete nut-case, I let out a deep sigh. Though since I was the only one who could see him, perhaps I was the nut-case?

How hard had I hit my head? “

"You’re a ghost,” I said, dead-pan.

“I am, though that’s kind of belittling…”

It wasn’t like I was unfamiliar with the concept. Everyone knew about ghosts, and plenty of my books spoke about them at length. But they were usually depicted as tortured souls that attacked the living. They grew stronger at sundown, and could only be exorcised by a priest or through destroying their anchor—the item keeping them here.

“Forget all of that,” Zakarot said. “It is true that a soul requires an anchor to remain stable, otherwise it’ll begin to break down. But a spirit of my, ah, stature would never go that easily. No, I needed an anchor to avoid someone’s notice. That’s all.”

Once again, Zakarot seemed aware of my inner thoughts. As far as I knew, no aspect could allow magic-users to read another’s mind, but a spirit’s magic was a complete mystery to me.

“Can you read my mind?” I asked warily.

“No more than you can read mine.”

I let that answer sink in, something about his tone making me shudder. It was less of an answer, moreso a warning. I left that topic behind and continued. “The contract we made…did it turn me into your anchor?”

“There’s no 'turning' involved,” Zakarot replied. “You’re no different than before, I just latched onto you. Like a leech.”

Ignoring that he’d just compared himself to a parasite, I repeated my earlier question. “But why me?”

“Well, only certain types of mortals can see spirits, let alone form contracts. They’re called animancers.”

‘Animancers.’

Recognizing the term, I felt myself unconsciously stiffen. Animancers had a rough reputation, sometimes called necromancers or death-mages. They were magic-users who dealt with the dead and played with corpses as if they were dolls.

Or so I’d read, at-least.

“Right, so remove all of that junk from your head," Zakarot ordered. "It’s all hyperbole spread by the Church. Which is really a tad heretical, since animancy comes from a Plane like all of the others. They’re kind of insulting Lady Death by saying those things.” Then, he mumbled beneath his breath, "Not that I mind…”

“So, I can talk to ghosts.”

“Anyone can talk to ghosts as long as they’re in physical form. Right now, I’m in corporeal form but I’m not physically here. If you tried to touch me, your hand would pass straight through. Wanna try?” Zakarot stretched a hand toward me, which I promptly ignored.

“Well, you’re the first ghost I’ve ever seen.”

Assuming that you’re even real.

Zakarot nodded, putting down the hand. “Yes, that’s because animancers generally awaken their gifts after a brush with death. You would have started to see spirits after the fall, regardless of whether I intervened.”

“Well, surely there are other animancers out there. Why are you bothering this one?”

Zakarot snorted contemptuously. “I saved you, kid. From a life as a cripple, at the very least. You still haven’t thanked me for that.”

“You’re still not answering the question,” I said, a little annoyed.

“Well, why not you?”

His question caught me off-guard. I pondered the question. Why not me? I considered myself to be a bad person. An envious, ungrateful child who scorned my own family for matters outside of their control.

Perhaps I deserved to be a cripple. Yet, I couldn’t deny that I was grateful for Zakarot’s intervention. The question wasn’t why he’d helped me, but why he’d chosen me.

Though I apparently possessed a blessing, my magical knowledge was based upon fiction. I was useless at everything involving physical activity, nor I was any sort of genius. Only when compared to the average northerner, I supposed. Average was a word that described me perfectly, and maybe that was even a little too flattering.

I decided to rephrase my question. “What were you doing in those woods?”

Zakarot shrugged, “Looking for you.”

“Huh?” I asked, dumbly. “Wait. So it wasn’t random?”

“I never said it was.”

“Why were you looking for me and not another animancer?”

“I was rather limited in how far I could travel,” Zakarot answered. “Though that’s not all there is to it.”

Ah, so that’s it.

“You’re talking about my blessing, right?”

Zakarot stared at me for a moment. “What blessing?”

“The Blessing of Frost,” I answered, seriously.

“Oh, well…”

“I’ve inherited it from my mother.”

Zakarot sighed. “No, you haven’t.”

Now it was my turn to stare. “You’re calling my mother a liar?”

“I’m calling her wrong,” Zakarot said. “It’s obvious why she would come to that conclusion, but you didn’t inherit the Blessing of Frost.”

“And how do you even know that?” I asked, throwing my arms up and instantly regretting it. “What do you want from me, then? My soul?”

“Mmm. I already have one of those.”

With a loud groan, I sank deeper into my mattress. I wasn’t going to get anywhere from interrogating this spirit. Zakarot was apparently quite keen on keeping secrets, though his trickling of information still felt overwhelming. I needed time to think but the spirit standing across from me was a looming presence. First, my mother tells me that she’s a magic-user and that I’ve inherited a blessing, and now this mysterious spirit was telling me that I was actually a necromancer.

“Look,” I started. “I’m glad to be alive, but this doesn’t make any sense. You helped me, and I’m grateful—”

“You’re very welcome,” Zakarot replied, in an infuriatingly pretentious tone.

“—But you would be better off finding someone else, someone worth your time.”

“This self-deprecation business is already getting old,” Zakarot interjected. “I didn’t choose you on a mere whim. I chose you because I needed you, not some other animancer. I came here to help, and now you’re trying to push me away because you feel like you don’t deserve it.”

I parted my lips, ready to offer a rebuttal, but realized that he was right. I didn't feel deserving of his aid, or anyone's for that matter.

Guilt from hearing that my parents put themselves in danger to find me still gnawed at my insides.

“Listen here, Zavis Invidia.” As the words left Zakarot’s hood, the atmosphere in the room changed. I shuddered, drawing my blankets closer to my chin as chills danged down the length of my spine. “I need your help to complete my mission. If you don’t agree to help me, a lot of people are going to die.”

“…Mission?” I asked, skeptical.

“That’s right,” he said. “A very dangerous mission. One that could end up killing the both of us if we’re not careful. But I can’t do it without your help, and that’s why we’re here.”

“Do I have a choice?”

Zakarot hesitated, and I worried that he was going to say no. “You do have a choice.”

The spirit’s game finally revealed, I looked down at the bed in contemplation. He’d been searching for me when we’d first met, which meant he knew I would be here. Had it really been a coincidence? Parts of his story didn’t make sense.

There were too many holes. Too many reasons not to trust him. Now, he was looking to recruit me on some vaguely dangerous mission?

This was all ignoring the fact that ‘Zakarot’ might have been some sort of illusion formed from my exhaustion. Maybe I’d hit my head during the fall, or maybe I was actually dead.

There were too many possibilities, too many questions.

“What does this have to do with me?” I asked, balling my fists. “I’m not some storybook hero. Even if I can see ghosts and use magic, I just don’t see how I could be of any help to you.”

“I thought you wanted to be a hero?” Zakarot crossed his arms, leaning back against the wall. “To be the center of attention? To be more than you are?”

More than almost anything.

Indeed, that was my dream. Or was it? Before, I’d fantasized about being powerful and all that would come with it. The love, adoration, and respect that I’d been denied. I wanted to surpass Abel and become the ‘special one’ in my parents’ eyes.

My days and nights were full of dreams of leaving Flykra Village, journeying to distant lands in the company of wizards and knights. Slaying ancient dragons and the like.

But things were different now. My mother had accepted me. My family and I were growing closer as a result of the tragedy. Leaving now would only make things worse. Crossing the threshold, leaving home, leaving them behind? Placing my faith in this hooded specter? For some mysterious ‘mission’ of his? It was too much.

“I won’t force you to join me,” Zakarot said. “That being said, you are missing some crucial information. Before you come to a decision—allow me to show you something.”

In an instant, the spirit was standing in-front of me.

Zakarot’s bandaged fingers stretched toward my forehead, causing me to flinch back. Unfortunately, I was caught in a pincher between the wall and the spirit.

The latter advanced without any regard for my clear apprehension, and tapped my forehead.

For the third time in as many days, the world was washed away.