Beers and Beards

Chapter 38: Interlude: Brother Mine

Chapter 38: Interlude: Brother Mine

“Balin, can we take a break here?” I moved to the edge of the road and leaned against the rock wall. The terrain was actually incredibly craggy, with canyons, ridges, and weird crevasses. It felt kind of like walking on an enormous grey-brown glacier. The only reason we weren’t horribly lost was the well-maintained road down to the main highway. It was a pretty gruelling hike, with the occasional sheer cliff to either side, though it did make for fantastic views. We were currently on one such section, with a ridge rising above our heads, and a drop off stretching down nearly twenty meters on the other side of the road.

After our goodbyes, we’d been freed of our manacles, given a small bag of silver each, and sent on our merry way. My bag had over one hundred silvers in it, which was actually a pretty decent amount. I hadn’t expected that much, since removing our indenture was essentially an advance on any gold the city earned from boomdust. Imagine my surprise to learn that Bran had been selling my recipes to earn some silver for all the sugar and lemons. I’d been angry at first, but then he’d pulled out nearly ninety silver and handed it to me. A small tear came to my eye at the thought.

“Sure ya want to stop? We still have at least a dozen hours ta go. I know you’re good for it. Yer vitality must be huge with those blessins.” Balin said.

“It’s bigger than you think.” I mimed with my hands and he snorted.

“That what ya tell tha ladies?”

“Just the ones with red beards.”

“Don’t let Speaker John hear ya say that!”

We both laughed and then paused as the reality of our newfound freedom crashed down on us. There was a non-zero chance that we’d never see Speaker John again. Balin plunked down on the ground beside me, leaned his back against the wall, and pulled out a canteen full of ale. He took a dreg and held it out.

“Ya want some?”

“No, Bran gave me my own.”

“Radler?”

“What do you think?”

"That he was out o' ginger pop."

We grinned at each other.

“To freedom!”

“Praise Aaron!”

We each took a drink then wiped our moustaches clean. Balin’s handlebar had finally started to grow back in a little bit.

“Why are we stoppin’, if yer not actually tired? Just wanted a drink?”

I stayed silent for a bit as I contemplated. I’d thought a lot about what I was going to tell Balin, and eventually decided he was owed the whole truth.

“Do you remember what I told you in the mine tunnel?”

“What? Nah, I was there in body –“

“But not in mind, yes, I know. I told you I remembered a bit about my past.”

“That’s right!” Balin snapped his fingers. “Are ya ready to tell me? Why couldn’t ya just do it in the camp?

“I can’t perform when people are watching.”

“Yer a dirty minded little horny goat, ya know that?” Balin glowered at me.

“Not guilty. Anyway, I figured there may be some surveillance in the mine.”

Balin thought about that for a moment before he nodded. “I know Whisperer Gemma can hear things from far away. There might have been magic on tha cuffs too, but I don’t think so.”

“I thought the cuffs were just designed to lock up if we went too far.”

“Aye, but they could have had listenin’ or trackin’ magic on ‘em.”

“You don’t think they did?”

“Nah, expensive and tha Minin’ Camp aint that kind of prison.”

“They would have caught Tim more easily, if they did.”

“There’s that.”

We both grew a bit morose at the mention of Tim. He’d been carted out a few days ago, headed to the capital prison. He’d undergo ‘rehabilitation’ there, whatever that means. I just prayed that it didn’t mean brainwashing or some other kind of mental manipulation. The fact that kind of stuff existed here made me a bit wary of what other nasty tricks were going to catch me by surprise.

“Are there enchanted items that block mind manipulating effects Balin?” I doubted they cost… a hundred and twenty silver, but I could start saving.

“Like a Swindler’s? Aye, but they’re expensive. Most Nobles have ‘em.”

“That makes sense.”

“Pete?”

“Yeah?”

“Yer stalin’’”

“No, I’m Lenin – never mind. You’re right. Are you sittin’ down?”

Balin waved his hands in his general ‘already sitting down’ vicinity and arched an eyebrow.

“Alright. Balin…. I’m a human.”

Balin choked, and then chortled, and then coughed. His face went through a couple of odd contortions before it finally settled on ‘amused’.

“I dunno what I was expectin’, but it wasn’t that! Pete, I’m a forward-thinkin’ dwarf, so if ye identify as human that’s okay. I had a cousin that identified as an elf; cut his beard and shaped his ears. I know that greybeards can get stuffy about it, but it’s – “

“No, I mean I am a human. My spirit is human.” I interrupted.

“Like I said – “

“No, I died Balin. It would be more accurate to say I was human, and now I’m a dwarf. The Gods or whatever put my spirit in the body, er… spark, of Peter Samson with all my human memories intact.”

Balin went really quiet. His face slowly lost the amused expression and his mouth became a more serious line.

“Are ya serious?”

“Deathly.”

“Pete… that’s…”

“Ridiculous? I know, but it’s the truth.” I calmed the rising tension in my voice and took a deep breath. “My original name was Peter Phillips, and I’m from another universe. All the odd things I’ve been inventin’ and my weird references are because my memories are from a completely different world.”

Balin was really quiet for a bit and I gave him some time to think. It was a lot to take in at once, and honestly, I don’t think I’d have ever believed it. On Erd though, magic made the impossible possible. Balin took a few deep swigs of his canteen before he spoke.

“Opal never talked to ya about death, did she?”

That was an odd segue. “No. It… never really came up.” I sat down beside him, and took a deep drink from my own canteen.

“If ya knew, you wouldn’t talk about this, not even with me.”

“Do I sound insane?”

“No… it’s believable.” Balin dry-washed his hands and looked up into the sky for a few moments before he continued. “Here on Erd, when we die our spirits are reborn within a new spark.”

“Like reincarnation?”

“Aye, that it is. You know it?”

“My world had…. similar ideas. Go on.”

“Yer spirit gets a new spark. But tha loves and the hates, tha personality, who you are?That’s all part of yer spirit and it comes with.”

“You’re saying that people are defined by their nature, not their nurture?”

“That’s right.”

“You know this for sure?”

“Of course. It’s all part of Tha Firmament. When yer Blessed by tha Gods, they get ta choose where yer spirit goes when you die. The un-Blessed are split amongst all of ‘em.”

“So… Barck and Tiara get my soul when I die?” I didn’t think I was really comfortable with that. I’d gone from agnostic, to theist, to ‘the gods own my soul’ in pretty quick succession this past year.

“Nah, they just get ta choose where ya reincarnate.”

“I’m guessing you usually don’t keep your memories?”

Balin snorted, “That would make fer some weird births.”

“My goodness, this is most uncomfortable, please just shove me back in?” I mimicked an offended baby.

“Yer a dirty minded little horny goat.” Balin chuckled, but it was a pained laugh.

“I got that. I’m guessing it’s all set up so the Gods can put the right spirit in the right place at the right time.” I paused and pulled at my beard for a moment. “Do the Gods have ‘favourite’ spirits?”

“That’s about right. Some spirits have been around since tha start o’ this world.”

Phew. That was something to take in. “Only some?”

“Aye, sometimes tha Gods make new ones. Or…” he trailed off.

“Or?”

“Or they get them from other worlds.”

“Ah.”

“Ah.” Balin added, “They don’t usually keep their memories though.”

“Usually?”

“Never, more likes.”

“So… I shouldn’t talk about it because… it marks me as something special.”

“Aye, very. We really need ta get you to a priest.”

We sat for a while, Balin and I. Friends now, hopefully friends in the future.

“When?” Balin’s lip quavered as he asked.

“After my accident in the sulphur freschie.” I replied, quietly.

Balin held his arm over his eyes and took a deep breath.

“I never really knew ya before that. We’d spoken a few times, but Peter Samson was a hard dwarf ta like.”

I didn’t say anything. What could I say under the circumstances. ‘Oh, I’m glad you didn’t like the dwarf whose body I snatched’?

“So ya never lost yer memories.” Balin’s question was more of a statement.

“No…I never had them to begin with.

“Doc Opal will kill ya if she ever finds out.”

“Nah, those lessons weren’t wasted. I owe her, and you, a lot. I never meant to lie to you Balin. Everything I’ve said and done has been real.”

A few tears did spring to Balin’s eyes then, and trailed down his cheeks to wet his beard. I admit to some drippage myself. Can I just say that crying and sneezing with an abundance of facial hair is a singularly awful experience?

“Thanks fer trustin’ me with this, Pete.”

“I had to Balin, yer the only family I got here.”

We shared a hug and then sat there, drinking silently. Eventually Balin cleared his throat and spoke up.

“I should tell you ‘bout my family….”

We sat there and talked for about an hour. About the past. About the future.

About who we were and would become.

Then as one, we stood and took our first steps into that future.

As brothers.