Chapter 007 - Everything Here Was Built With a Purpose

  The first thoughts to surface in Mark’s mind was that he had overslept. It was a familiar, low-level of panic, the kind that usually accompanied various alarms that had been snoozed one too many times. This time, no alarms, just undisturbed quiet. Feeling truly rested, in a way that felt alien to him. This kind of deep, dreamless sleep was a luxury his own bed, his old lumpy mattress and the constant hum of city life outside his window, had kept him from for years.

  He pushed himself up, hissing as his ribs protested the movement. The pain and memory from the day or days before returning, a dull, throbbing map of his injuries, but the overwhelming vertigo and mind-splitting headache had receded to a minor haze. The room came into focus with more clarity than before. A simple, well-crafted space of wood and practical furnishings. Sunlight, bright and clear, streamed in from under the heavy sheet covering the window. It may even be a pleasant day outside.

  A polite knock echoed from the door, that was probably what had stirred him awake. Followed by another louder knock, before he could form a response, the latch clicked and the door swung inward. It was Valerie, the red-headed medic from yesterday, her presence calm and composed as he remembered. She wore the same practical, clean robes as the day before, and carried a simple cloth bag in one hand.

  “Morning,” she said, her voice even and professional. “I’m glad to see you’re awake. I was starting to worry that Tori's unique sedative was a bit too effective.” A faint, almost imperceptible hint of dry humor touched her words, he wasn’t completely sure what she was referring to, probably some level of magic. She gave him a quick, diagnostic look, her eyes assessing his posture and clarity. “How are you feeling?”

  “Somewhat better,” Mark replied, feeling like it was a gross understatement. Compared to the day before, he felt almost like a new person. “Sore, but the world has stopped spinning, so that’s a plus.”

  Valerie gave a slight nod of approval, moving closer to the bed. “Good. Let’s make sure.” She raised a hand, and Mark tensed from the memory of Tori’s aggressive dream-magic still fresh. Valerie’s approach, however, was different and distant. A soft, clean light flowing around her palm. She held her hand a few inches above his chest, her eyes closing in concentration.

  Mark felt a gentle, warming sensation wash over him, it was analytical and detached, like a medical scanner mapping the terrain of his injuries. “No internal bleeding, and the worst of the bruising is already healing,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. “Your nose has set well. You will probably hurt for a few days, but there’s no lasting damage. You’re clear to move around.”

  As she lowered her hand, the light vanishing, Mark became acutely aware of two things. First, the fur-lined quilt over him was the only thing covering his body. Second, the simple, loose-fitting tunic he’d presumably been put in after being found was gone. He was completely naked underneath the blanket.

  “Right,” he said, a flush of awkwardness creeping up his neck as he pulled the quilt tighter. “That’s good to hear. One small problem, though. I don’t suppose you have anything I can wear?”

  Valerie blinked, a flicker of surprise breaking her professional calm before she schooled her features. “Of course. Apologies. We had to remove your old clothes for treatment.” She paused, her expression becoming more serious. “We can collect them later, but your belongings… they raise a few questions of their own. But let's worry about that later.”

  She walked over to the small table by the window and upended the cloth bag she’d brought in. A small pile of folded clothing tumbled out. “These should fit well enough for now,” she said, turning to face him again, her demeanor all business. “I’ll wait outside. Get dressed. We should head to the Library.”

  Mark watched as she stepped out, pulling the door closed with a click. He swung his legs out of the bed, his muscles screaming in protest, and limped over to the table. The pile consisted of a pair of simple, cotton boxers, a long sleeve white shirt and what looked like a tunic and trousers made of soft, dark brown leather. It was practical, and while in theme for a fantasy convention, would probably score as low effort against the ones he had seen over the years. With a sigh, he began to get dressed.

  The leather was soft against his skin, a far cry from the stiff, cheap costumes he’d seen in stores or worn by those at the various conventions. Clearly well-made, but it also felt profoundly alien. Part of him felt like an actor who’d stumbled onto the wrong set and wanted to find the exit. He ran a hand through his rough, unwashed hair and took a steadying breath before opening the door. He would need to find some wash facilities later, assuming they had them.

  Valerie was waiting for him, her posture relaxed but attentive. She gave him a quick once-over, her professional gaze assessing his balance and coordination. “Ready?” she asked.

  Mark nodded, still a bit groggy. The short walk from the bed to the door had been a stark reminder of the beating his body had taken, but with some concentration he looked more steady than he felt.

  “I’m thinking I know the answer,” he started, his body protesting against the familiar and yet very unwelcome movement, “You don't have any Paracetamol by any chance?”

  She had already stopped when he started to talk, but the question had her looking the same as when Saturn was mentioned, her answer just confirmed it, “Paracet… you’ll have to tell me what that is.”

  “Common painkiller medication, most of me is tolerable, but something to help wouldn't kill me I don't think.” Keeping to just the basics, he was met with her palm pushing against his chest, the pain still there, but noticeably dulled from before.

  She removed her hand and motioned him forwards, “Generally pain reduction is kept to a minimum, while it can be very unpleasant, it’s also the best indicator to find out what's wrong.” He couldn’t find anything wrong with that logic, even if it wasn’t how he would have assessed it, but, he admitted to himself, he was no medic.

  “Good. We’ll take it slow,” she said, her voice containing a hint of sympathy. She turned and began walking down the quiet corridor, her pace measured to match his own badly hidden limp. The infirmary was clean and smelled antiseptic and something vaguely like pine. The walls were a mix of dark wood beams and smooth, grey stone, lit by the soft, steady glow of quartz crystals set into simple iron fixtures.

  As they walked, a stray memory surfaced through the mental fog. The first person he’d seen upon waking. A middle-aged man with a rough beard, who had muttered something before leaving the room. He hadn't seen the man since.

  “There was someone else,” Mark said, his voice raspy. “When I first woke up yesterday. A man, sitting in the chair. Who was that?”

  Valerie’s stride didn’t falter. “That was Silas,” she replied, her tone even. “He helps with maintenance around the infirmary.” She glanced at him, her expression seeming careful, "He's not on shift today. Apparently, he’s taken some personal time, and will probably be back in a few days."

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  Mark accepted her answer, feeling there was considerably more to it. He filed the detail away with the growing list of things that he didn't know or that didn't quite add up.

  The rest of the walk was quiet. They passed a few other workers dressed in similar clean, white robes as Valerie, all of whom offered her a respectful nod. They glanced at Mark with open curiosity but said nothing, keeping their gazes polite. He was clearly the center of speculation and rumour for the moment, he wondered what they had thought up so far.

  They soon arrived at what was clearly the infirmary's main entrance. It was a set of large, heavy double doors crafted from the same dark woods as the building's internal beams. The wood was reinforced with broad straps of polished brass, and a large, intricate circular latch of the same metal sat in the center. It felt less a hospital entrance and more the gate to a small fortress. Valerie pushed on one side with a practiced ease that belied the door's apparent weight, and it swung open smoothly, allowing cool light to fill the corridor.

  Stepping outside, the first thing Mark noticed was the mountain.

  It wasn't just a mountain in the distance, it was the mountain. The memory of them being called the Iron-Tooth mountain range. The infirmary had been built directly into its stony flank, and the sheer, overwhelming scale of it stole his breath. An immense wall of dark grey rock soared vertically into the sky, its peak lost in a swirl of white and grey clouds. The air was crisp, carrying the sharp, clean scent of pine and cold stone. Below them, the settlement of Enceladus sprawled outwards, a town of expertly crafted wooden buildings nestled in a valley carved into the mountain's base. But all of it, the town, the forest beyond, the very ground he stood on was utterly dominated by the silent, colossal presence of the mountain they inhabited.

  He just stood there for a long moment, slowly turning his head as he tried to take it all in. The settlement of Enceladus was a marvel of rustic engineering. The buildings were rugged and functional, built from thick, dark wooden logs and stone, but they were also accented with an incredible amount of polished brass and copper. Intricate copper pipes, hissing with steam or water, ran along the sides of buildings and crisscrossed over alleyways, connecting to everything from streetlamps to the upper-level balconies. It was a bizarre fusion of a logging town and a Victorian-era factory, all held in the shadow of the impossibly large mountain.

  Valerie waited patiently beside him, a faint, amused smile playing on her lips as she watched him gawk. For her, this was just home. For Mark, it was a breathtaking, bewildering spectacle, belonging on a movie screen or a video game.

  His gaze drifted from the town to the surrounding landscape. Just beyond the outer buildings, a vast dark green forest, its trees unnaturally tall and dense. For the first time, he could hear the town's defining sounds, the high-pitched, incessant whine of sawmills, layered with the clang of hammers from what must be workshops and the distant rumble of wagons. This was the source of all the lumber, the heart of the "Sawtooth Crossing". He realized with a jolt that this must be the forest he’d woken up in, impossibly close to a settlement he had been completely oblivious to. It begged the question, how did he not see or hear any of it?

  "It's probably a lot to take in, amnesia or not," Valerie said, her voice pulling him from his thoughts. "Come on. The Library isn't far, but we'll take the scenic route. Consider it a brief tour."

  She led him down a set of broad stone steps onto the main thoroughfare. The street was bustling with people, a diverse mix of burly, soot-stained workers he assumed were lumberjacks or smiths, merchants calling out their wares, and guards in practical leather armors. The sheer physicality of everyone was striking, even the merchants seemed in prime shape, maybe more rugged because of where they were, when compared to himself or other city dwellers he was used to.

  "Enceladus is a crucial hub for the Collective, so almost every Guild has a presence here, not just the Carpenters'," Valerie explained as they walked, her voice a calm narrative against the town's lively backdrop. She pointed towards a large, expertly crafted wooden hall from which the scent of sawdust was particularly strong. "That’s the Carpenters' Guildhall, obviously. They practically run this town, for the most part."

  She then gestured across the street to a sturdier, stone-and-timber building where the rhythmic clang of hammers echoed from within. "The Artisans' Guild has a major workshop here, for smiths and engineers, most service the mills, some have their own personal workshops for their own wares. The Miners' and Merchants' Guilds also have large outposts near the main market." Her tour was a casual list of names, should he stay here would probably become important.

  Mark was trying to take it all in, seeing the different signs for the guilds swinging or mounted from the sides of their respective buildings, “Other wares?” he asked, noting it was a very vague description.

  She stopped and paused for a moment, taking a look around the buildings before pointing one out, smaller than most with a sign that looked like a group of gemstones. “Some dislike how the guilds run in their home locations, so they set up smaller shops elsewhere.”

  With that Mark started to take more notice, and there were more than a few such buildings, carrying the common signs of the guilds. The wares in the windows varied a lot, he originally thought they were specialists, maybe they were the innovators.

  “See that gemstore? It's led by Carl,” she said, pointing it out. “He’s the one examining your things. From what I understand, he doesn’t get on with his guild, but leaving isn’t a practical option for him.” He thought it was a little casual for the implied context, but they started to walk again.

  As they moved toward the center of the town, the architecture began to change. The sprawling outer districts of dark timber gave way to more formidable structures. The main road opened into a central plaza, at the heart of which stood several large, imposing buildings made of solid, grey stone, designed as fortresses.

  "The major Guildhalls and the civic buildings are at the town's heart," Valerie noted, her gaze sweeping over the impressive stonework. "That one is the Governor's office, and next to it is the Militia Garrison. Security is a high priority here. The forest isn't always a friendly neighbor."

  Mark looked at the stone fortresses, then back at the intricate wooden longhouses they had passed. It was a town of two faces: the practical, industrial outer ring, and the fortified, powerful core. Everything here was built with a purpose.

  They crossed the central plaza, leaving the formidable stone garrison behind. Tucked away on a quieter side street, just past the governor's office, was a building that stood in stark contrast to the rest of the town. While the other structures were either rugged wooden longhouses or imposing stone fortresses, this one was a compact and elegant masterpiece of a different design.

  It was still a wooden building, but the timber was a lighter, warmer shade, and it was constructed with graceful, sweeping lines rather than brute functionality. The walls were inlaid with large panes of glass, designed to let in as much natural light as possible. A small, meticulously-tended garden, vibrant with mountain flowers and strange, colourful mosses, wrapped around its front entrance. It felt less like a part of the industrial town and more like a serene retreat.

  "Here we are," Valerie announced quietly. "The Enceladus Public Library and Hall of Records." She gestured toward a small, respectfully carved sign near the entrance. The words in English, freezing in the moment and almost failing to hear her continue. "It also serves as the local sanctuary for the Oracle of Knowledge."

  The fact the signs were in English was a new level of anomaly, but so was the fact they were all speaking perfect English even with odd but different accents. The convenient explanation was that for whatever reasons, English was the default language here, a cosmic coincidence, and regardless of the levels of sci-fi and fantasy he had consumed over the years, this would not be an acceptable answer. Mark considered how to ask Valerie, hoping they would know something, but remembering their limited history knowledge. Then again, they are now at the Library, a place that may at least hold a few answers about his arrival.

  Breaking that chain of thought was who he saw next, waiting by the entrance, leaning against the polished wooden frame, was Tori. He resisted the unproductive, and very understandable feeling of anger as he saw her. There was something different from when he had last seen her, maybe now he wasn’t seeing her through a lens of rage and confusion. She looked tired, but where her own fiery anger had previously been, there seemed to be a confidence not built from arrogance, but of accepting purpose.

  For a moment he just stared in her direction, she clutched what he assumed was the medical book Valerie had handed her, discreetly wrapped in a simple cloth bag. She in turn watched them, her expression a mixture of dread and something else.