The Nosuch Place

The river ran backwards the day the Queen vanished. He staggered towards the riverbank, watching how the water surged in reverse. He should’ve been curious, should’ve found the defiance of its nature most suspicious. But he didn’t care. Not right then. He was starving. How long had it been since he had a decent meal? He pushed the thought from his head. Right now, it wasn’t his hunger that concerned him the most. His body was bowed and crooked from the strain of carrying the weight for too long. Too weak to walk, he fell to his hands and knees and began to crawl, dragging himself over knotted roots and damp clumps of leaves until finally, reaching the clay bank of the river, and bringing his face close to the surface. His pale lips brushed the frigid water.

For a moment, he hesitated. His gray eyes scanned the surroundings. There was no one else there. He knew he needed to be wary. He couldn’t afford to let anyone else hear it. Not the trees, the grass, the shrubs. No. Only the river and its swift current. The river couldn’t speak. Couldn’t reveal his secret to anyone. Gently, lovingly, he whispered his name, the sound muffled and drowned by the coursing water. Instantly, he felt relief. The weight lifted from his shoulders, and he sucked in a deep breath. He straightened and directed his eyes upwards, glancing at the sky through the canopy. He smiled and then rose. His rags, draped loosely over his body, slipped from his shoulders, revealing a skeletal frame.

Now he could search for food.

He followed the river south, knowing it would take him closer to Mirevale. There were sure to be people near the city. He needed only one. Too many would cause suspicion. He couldn’t afford to draw attention to himself. Just one would give him enough strength to live out the oncoming winter. He didn’t have to walk very long before he began to hear voices up ahead. Two of them. He smiled. Maybe just two wouldn’t hurt. If they were this far out into the woods, he could avoid causing too much fuss. The closer the voices got, the more he recognized that one was female, the other male. He couldn’t tell what they were discussing, but the woman had an accent he didn’t recognize.

He would need to listen. Wait. Let them reveal themselves. He’d learn their names. And when they dropped their guard, he would swoop in, take them unawares, and then leave them as mindless, hollow husks of their former selves. That’s how it always worked. He’d devour their names, their identities, and they’d become nothing more than simple-minded creatures capable of only the most menial tasks. The Nameless. Nulls. Fades. Echoes. Too many names for those without names. He chuckled at the thought, and quickly crouched behind a copse of trees, waiting for the poor, unsuspecting couple to walk by him.

He kept his ears open for any names he might hear. The woman spoke mostly, a commanding, authoritarian tone that was neither harsh, nor polite. The man mostly grunted monosyllabic responses. Their footsteps got closer and closer. They should be just about to the river where he hid.

“The farmer said the thing lives out here but was no help in narrowing down where exactly. We don’t have the time to search the entire Bratt Wilds, Gamyn,” the woman said sharply.

That was one name. Gamyn.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

The two of them went quiet. Eerily quiet. He looked out from behind the trees, just enough that he could glimpse the two of them. The woman was short and fat, squashed like a toad, but wearing expensive robes and a jeweled ring on every finger. Her puffy cheeks were flushed bright red, and sweat was dripping down her brow. The behemoth beside her was rippling with muscles and wore a simple chiton skirt with sandals and a brown tunic. He had his eyes closed and hands forming a triangle at his chest. Suddenly, his eyes flashed open and stared right where the man was hiding.

“He’s just there, Ma’am,” the giant grunted and pointed a meaty finger where the man hid.

Apparently, Gamyn could sense others around him. Useful talent. Realizing he was caught; he stepped out from behind the trees. “Hello there. I was wondering if you could help me. I’m terribly hungry. Have you any food? Anything would help.”

The woman showed no emotion. “Stay where you are.”

He stopped but held his hands out in front of him to show he was no threat. He possessed no weapon. Surely, his pathetic appearance would move them to help him. But they made no movement. Instead, they appraised him coldly. “My name is-“

“Stop talking,” the woman demanded and waved her hand through the air. The man suddenly felt his voice vanish. He couldn’t talk. His mouth and tongue formed the words, but no sound came out. There was an odd taste left behind, like too much salt had been poured on his tongue. He felt around in his mouth, desperately trying to get his voice back, but it was gone. “I know what you are. And you’ll never know my name. We’ve come here to make you an offer.”

The man settled for a moment and looked warily at the woman. He nodded for her to continue.

“We could use a man of your talents. In exchange for helping us, we’ll provide you with all the names you could ever want.”

The man nodded again, acknowledging that he was interested in what she had to offer.

“Try anything, and I’ll make sure you never speak again.” The woman waved her hand again, and the man felt his voice return, like a drip of honey touching his tongue.

“You’re a Voxid. Interesting.” His fingers felt the tip of his tongue and rubbed his lips. Having his voice stolen was an odd feeling. Voxids were just as rare as a Nomenex. They were never found on Vespera. She had to have come from another realm. He glanced at the woman, no longer pretending to be weak and vulnerable. The façade melted away. “What do you need from me?”

The woman smiled, the curled corners of her mouth distorting her fat face. “Tell me your name.”