Chapter 2: Hi I’m Logan

Hi I’m Logan

 

Now, Logan prided himself on his ability to party away his mediocrity, so when he woke up on a hay cot, he wasn’t too thrown off my game. Mostly because Logan woke up immediately to his heart pounding, his body drenched in sweat, and his game already completely, irreparably thrown off.

 

Didn’t I just die? How am I still here? Logan questioned as he ran his hands over his face. When his hands didn’t feel anything on his chin he was flummoxed. Then, when he didn’t feel any hair over his eyes Logan was alarmed, and when he finally didn’t feel anything on his scalp he was fully distressed. The men from both sides of Logan’s family had all lost their hair in their early 20’s making his full mane of locks at 26 a family heirloom that he had a keen interest in passing on. Losing such a treasure was only slightly preferable to the death it seemed he had somehow dodged.

 

Panicked totally exclusively at the loss of his hair, Logan ripped his eyes open and jerked his body upright. Bringing him directly face to face with a gnarled old man.

 

“AHHH'' Logan yelled as he instinctively shied away from the close proximity. However, despite his noise and sudden movements, the old man had done little except blink casually in reaction.

 

Adjusting his eyes over to where Logan flinched to, he asked, “Who are you, stranger?”

 

His voice had a lilting cadence to it, like he couldn’t be bothered to move his tongue any faster than a crawl. Contrary to how his voice carried however, were the old man’s eyes, which shone with a keen and pointed interest.

 

“It’s proper manners to introduce yourself before asking a stranger’s name, isn’t it?” Logan reflexively snarked. As his heart continued to pound in his ears, Logan tried to take more even breaths. He realized that getting defensive with the man whose cot he was likely on was quite rude. 

 

Finally, after what felt to Logan like eons of staring defiantly into the old man’s crag-like face, he stood to his full height, which frankly, felt preposterous. His close to 7 foot frame towered over Logan in the cot, which was not raised off the ground.

 

“Correct, you would be, sirrah. I am known as Old Jeremiah, and I have tended the border of the Inaug Forest for nigh on 3 score, apprenticed for 12 years prior.” The man had taken a slightly more deferential tone, almost like he thought I was someone important.

 

“Ah, well then Jeremiah. Hi I’m Logan.” Logan went in with an extended arm.

 

After an extra tense couple more seconds of starring, the old dude, Jeremiah, said, “Welcome, …Logan, to my home. Rest now, and I will have dinner ready when you next awake.

 

For some reason, his words had an effect on Logan, and even as he went to nod his head, Logan felt my eyelids meet, and promptly had them decide it was more appropriate to stay like that for another couple of hours. Logan headed into unconsciousness wondering if he had felt so tired without realizing, but alas before he could determine anything the darkness overtook him once more. The last thing Logan felt was his proffered arm falling back into the cot, never quite reaching its target.

 

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Gregor did not much like most of the responsibilities he was bound with as the mayor’s eldest son. Whether it be accompanying tax collection visits’, bearing witness to trade deals being made, or being drowned in mathematics and accounting classes, he found all the minutia and social expectations tedious at the best of times, and simply unbearable at worst. However, he managed to persist for one reason.

 

Every Sunday, his efforts were rewarded with free time and reign to practice his affinity. When he was younger, the day had been taken up by martial training and Beast Hunts, but as he rapidly surpassed everyone in the village in both size and skill, his father had recognized his sons’ prowess and had given him the time for his own pursuits.

Gregor had never had so much fun in his life. Although sometimes he just went to local markets and just enjoyed the scintillating sounds and scents, he more frequently followed a plan he had been formulating since he was about 12. 

 

One day, while he had been on one of his first few Beast Hunts, Gregor had heard a flutter from his periphery and had reflexively loosed his arrow at it. As he turned, he nearly launched the arrow straight into the neck of the soldier next to him, the arrowhead instead shaving off some stubble and flying off into the woods without more than the whistle of the air.

 

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“Oi lad, watch it!” The soldier who had just nearly been killed to friendly fire lashed.

 

Gregor looked down ashamed. “S-sorry, I heard the sound of wings and panicked.” 

 

The soldier chewed on his words for a bit before he eventually spat out, “Well then check if your shot landed, boy.”

 

Apparently that meant now, and alone. Gregor, quivering just a bit, stepped out of the Hunt Party. He looked back over his shoulder one more time, praying someone would recognize his plight and come to his aid. Even just one adult would be a relief. Seeing that no one was willing or aware, Gregor sighed, and then trekked out after his wayward shot.

 

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Gregor thankfully had no trouble finding his arrow. It had flown straight and true, hitting a large oak almost a dozen yards from the path. Most of the trouble came when he tried to understand what he had pinned to the tree with his reflexive shot. He couldn’t tell for sure with all the leaves and branches in the way, but more than anything it looked like a large book with wings attached to it.

 

Deciding to get a closer look, he shimmied his way up the trunk and climbed the tree. After 15 minutes of strenuous effort, and a couple close calls, Gregor finally managed to haul himself up the final branch and get an unobstructed view of his prey. 

 

As he had thought from the ground, this creature was strange. Although his arrow had pinned both wings together, instead of being attached to a bird as they should be, a book was dangling down underneath them, banging itself against the trunk in a repetitious struggle to free itself. Even more peculiar, the wings did not produce any blood, and the creature gave no obvious sign of pain, instead seeming like it was still trying to simply beat its wings to control its halted flight.

The book itself looked expensive, with silver embellishments on the black leather cover and along the spine that was visible next to the wings. Shuffling into arms length of the book, Gregor just barely managed to open it enough to see inside. The Symbols he witnessed seemed to blast themselves into his brain, which Gregor would have thought was insane if not for the obvious magical aura it was giving off even to his underdeveloped senses.

 

He dropped his hand and brought it before his face, letting the book close and the sensations stop. Gregor was shaking uncontrollably. Not only was this the strongest source of magic he had encountered in his life, it also represented the biggest opportunity of his life. If he was correct, that was a Codex, a training manual for the soul, and an incredibly powerful one. Although Gregor had never seen a Codex, or even met someone who had, his instructors seemed to agree that some Codices could contain enough Affinity that someone could imprint off the book alone, and begin to follow the same path as the author.

 

Gregor had never even heard stories of Codices with wings, but twists of fate like this were what made legends. And made little boys into mighty heroes, defeating their enemies with style and saving their home. This little boy wanted that, and wanted it badly, so with a grunt, he unsheathed the oversized knife at his belt and slashed at the Codex’s wings.

 

The frail black bird wings crunched before they cut apart, forcing Gregor to hack mercilessly again and again, as the book continued to move rhythmically, totally unaware of its plight. Finally, he leaned in and sawed through the last bit and the book dropped, through his grasping hands, the swaying branches, and weaving leaves, until it hit the ground with a thud, finally inert.

 

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Gregor’s descent followed many of the same features as the books’. He too, fell through the branches and leaves, after a branch he was holding onto for support snapped. Fortunately, he had made it most of the way down, only falling about 8 feet. Still, the fall knocked the breath out of his lungs, and it hurt in a way he had only known his combat training to hurt. Which, finally made him realize that maybe it was for his own good.

 

Although Gregor wanted nothing more than to simply lie there on the bed of roots and greenery while he recovered, he instantly scrambled for the now motionless book only a couple of yards from where he fell out. Securing it, Gregor pulled off the pack from his back and slipped it safely inside. Only then did he get a sputtering breath in. 

 

Taking a couple of seconds to calm his heart and rub at his already bruising back, he sat on the Forest floor. As he looked up, he frowned. Gregor could have sworn the Forest was a lot louder just a couple minutes ago… 

 

Taking his cue, he jumped to his feet and rushed out of the forest at a measured pace. The only thing in his mind were his instructor's words, reminding him to not show his fear to the Forest and its predators. Or else.

 

As the noise quieted even further into an oppressive silence, Gregor upped his pace in response. He could almost feel the Beasts, the attention like a chill along his spine. Thankfully just as he thought they might close in on him, Gregor once again caught sight of the Hunt Party.

 

Never before had Gregor been so glad to see the scruffy men as he burst back onto their path. If the Beasts were the cold at his back, the Hunt Party was the roaring hearth, and tucked in front of it once again, Gregor felt safe at last. With the treasure secured soundly in his pack, it even felt like the holidays.

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