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Sander’s had always been a man of few words and fewer friends. When he had abandoned his first assigned Identity. He hadn’t bothered to try and hold onto anyone. Family’s calls were blocked, anything he’d accomplished under that false image was lost in the paperwork. He had lived a peaceful but solitary life. When he learned he was sick he hadn’t bothered to try and find people to reach out to. Before the disease could swallow the body, he had fought for all his life. He took it on his own terms. Unwilling to face a hospital where nurses intentionally mistook him and family wormed their way to his bedside. He felt bad for the city workers that might have to clean up his mess. Trying to ensure he would sink and never surface.
The wind was biting, the water ice cold but then he felt nothing.
Then came the sensation of being gently rocked. A hand patted his back cooing to him. The four-year-old still dazed from his nap lifted his small head looking around. The child scrunched his face up as he examined his own small hands. The nanny laughed as the child shot an accusing look at her. One of the other children was tugging at her leg, wanting the child put down so they could play with him.
“Zen go play, you silly boy” The nurse deposited him to the floor.
Sander’s was horrified at his own small stature. Having to crane his neck to even look about the room filled with children sized beds and toys. Was he Zen? The ever-pessimistic not quite middle-aged man in him began to grumble. Was this a strange flash of delusion before death? No, he was sure that had already happened. The afterlife? That theory couldn’t be proven easily. Rebirth? Perhaps. How unfortunate. He would have liked some rest before being tossed back into the thick of it.
A little girl about his size tugged at him pushing a worn doll into his face. The doll didn’t look too clean and he leaned away from it instinctively. The girl took offense to his actions puffing up her face and stomping off. The nurse sighed from beside him, giving him an encouraging pat before moving to wake another sleeping child.
Zen -who was now him- was a child being raised within some sort of institution. Children of a wide range of ages all lived and received lessons here. Most of the staff were grouped by age. Nannies tended to be younger, strong enough to lug around the kids as needed. The care taker rolls of groundskeeping and food was done by elderly folk. The teachers existed somewhere between these two extremes.
Zen felt he had it bad enough he would have to experience puberty for the third time. He had no interest in being scorned by education again. When he could escape his lessons, he would follow the old timers around instead. Watching and trying to help them do their work. Though he was still too young to be of real help, the company he provided seemed to be appreciated. He recalled his own grandparents. They had been the ones to raise him. He couldn’t help but see their shadows in the faces of the elders here.
Before long he had properly scorned his peers. Disinterested in their games and playground politics. All the elders on the other hand, had fully embraced him as the community grandchild. Adoring their quiet boy, who would choose them over the other children every time. Even the grumpiest old man -a gardener who seemed to despise children- was fond of him. Often taking him on nature walks around the property, teaching him the names of the plants and bugs. His words were gruff but his actions were gentle.
As he grew up in this strange environment, he started the develop theories about this places purpose. Perhaps it was a high-end orphanage that was setting the children up to be useful to affluent families who needed talented heirs. There was a rather odd regular occurrence after he grew up a bit. The elders would at least once a month come and wake him especially early. Taking him out for the day and not returning until dinner. As if they were hiding him from something. It wasn’t uncommon for a few of the children to be gone when he came back. His lack of communication with the other children; and the many classes he skipped. Meant he was completely out of the loop.
As the horrible teenage years swept over him. He had managed to keep his grades mediocre in nearly every subject. He had always held love for creative pursuits though and couldn’t help going all out in such subjects. Finally, after being ignored by the teachers most of his life. A teacher finally sniffed out the stealthy artist. It was a new professor whose keen eye had spotted how at home he was in the art room. It was the only subject he never ditched after all. Even when sneaking supplies out of the class, the new teacher never said a word. Somehow, he would always find the hiding spots Zen would stash his work in. Leaving his work for the elders to pick through and take as they wished.
The old timers then seemed to be at odds with this teacher. A silent war broke out between them. With every passing month they would come wake him earlier to get him off the grounds. Finally, near the end of his nineteenth year. The elders are fed false info about that month’s schedule. The social mixer he’d avoided all his life was now laid out before him. The imagination is truly stronger than reality. The children dressed nicely were introduced to rich childless couples. Scholarly types scouting for new students. Tradesmen needing apprentices. It was mundane really. Perhaps the old timers simply hadn’t been willing to part with him. A touching enough reason, he wouldn’t fault them for all the before dawn wake up calls. If it meant even one more month idling together.
The arts teacher that had worked tirelessly to have this mixer be kept hush by the ones who usually set it up. His suit was still damp with sweat from having done much of the labour in their place. Finally, having gotten his way the teacher introduced him to a poet he claimed was from a famous family of artist’s. The poet excitedly shook his hand as his eyes appraised him. Apparently, Zen’s own writing -which he’d kept hidden in a diary that had recently gone missing- and some of his art pieces had already been shown to the man. This had been a long plot.
With much talking over his head Zen learned another way some older students left here. The poet had a daughter he wanted a good husband for. Apparently, his artistic talent alone made him the ideal candidate. Zen pitied the poor girl who was having a groom arranged for her.
The institute let him stay to celebrate his twentieth with his horde of grandparents. They had no doubt threatened to strike if the school hadn’t. They had protected him into adulthood and given him plenty of time to develop his own schemes. He hugged the old ladies until his bones were squeezed sore. Most of the old men had patted his back so much the fabric seemed notably thinner when he removed it.
There was also a silent understanding. Their notorious class escape artist might have ditched most lessons. But he had never failed one of theirs. He’d hidden it well in fitness classes but from labouring for the elders for years his body was strong. Though his agility was very uncoordinated and in many ways he was clumsy. He had a strength that held a brutal edge when he put his mind to it.
This world had been unlike his past life in another critical way. Magic was more then science here, it was a skill that could be honed. The institute only provided lessons for children that showed inherent talent. These kids often left quicker than their peers. So, the elders had taught him to keep it hush. Teaching him themselves.
Zen had always relished in his magic studies. Though art was a skill he had honed in his past life. Magic was his favorite subject in this one. The rush of what was once -to him -impossible. Experimenting with powers that’s only limits was one’s creativity. If Zen coveted one thing it was knowledge for this new tool. Being sent out into the world to become some dusty old poet’s son-in-law apprentice was just his excuse.
After his birthday and endless farewells from his union of grandparents. Zen was somewhat surprised at how trusting the institute was of his obedience. Perhaps because he was an adult, or the naïve new teacher hadn’t been told of his childhood antics. They put him on a horse with supplies, a map and sent him on his way. He almost wondered how good of a deal this future that he’d been traded into. Traded? Sold? He still wasn’t sure how the institute worked. Maybe it was government run and affluent people were given the right to pick from its stock. Either way he might go peek in the maps general direction but following it all the way was still in the air.
Being a relatively sheltered child, he only had the elder’s stories and the few classes he’d attended. Magic was an everyday thing here; perhaps magic dangers would also exist. Zen would look back and wonder why he’d been so stupid. This world was completely insane compared to his old one. Strange creatures and people were everywhere.
There were some who in their study and practice of magic had practically abandoned humanity. Strange creatures wandered the lands between human civilizations. The short distance to his new life wasn’t meant to be so long a journey but his luck decreed it perilous. After avoiding one too many close calls, Zen suddenly saw the appeal of a cushy scholarly life. This journey might very well have been designed to scare him straight. Pun fully intended.
By chance not far from the city the poet lived in, Zen thought he finally had caught a break. He bumped into another traveller, a young man who seemed about his age. The elegant appearance of the man though was soon dashed by his terrifying battle prowess. The great sword the youth carried. Zen had assumed was for decoration, it would be far to heavy to wield if it was real. Until another towering beast had tried to get in their way. The ground split where he swung his sword, nothing left for the crows. Zen decided he wasn’t so lucky to have dumped into the man.
Neither of them were talkers, so they’d initially walked awkwardly in tandem down the road. The horse Zen had originally been on, had long ago run off. When the pretty boy finally spoke, it was after chasing away another strange beast.
“I’m hungry. Pay me for saving you, with food.”
Zen was shocked by the rude tone he was used to hearing from the likes of the grumpy gardener. Still, he wasn’t unused to such temperaments and was a decent cook. He unpacked his supplies and set up a fire. The sword wielding maniac did nothing to help. Watching as Zen set up, zapping the flames with a bit of magic to help it grow. The man’s eye brow rose slightly but he still said nothing. Zen kept it simple mixing ingredients together in an easy meal. He held the bowl of food out to the clearly drooling man. His eyes were shining as he gobbled the food down in record time.
“Can I at least get your name. You bottomless pit.” Zen said after having to share some of his portion to keep him from staring at him as he ate.
“I’m Bai. How much more food you have in there.”
“Not enough to feed you.”
He glanced over his bowl at me. I held mine closer.
“Your one of those laurel children aren’t you.”
This was a statement not a question. I recalled the crest of the institute I’d spent the last sixteen year’s in. It was a laurel wreath wasn’t it. I guess I might be then. I shrugged in response. He really looked at me then. His unnervingly white travel clothes, compared to my school uniform which had become dingy over the last few days.
“You don’t really seem like one of those kids.”
“And you seem like an old man.”
He barked out a laugh at that. Hitting his leg, he seemed to brighten up.
“Great eye! I am.”
A lopsided grin was running his nice face. I had truly been humbled about all I didn’t know about this world. Young looking old fogies didn’t seem so hard a truth to swallow.
“Well, I’m technically fifty-two. If I count past lives.”
He laughed again nodding his head.
“I won’t deny you those years then. But I’ve still got you beat.”
I tilted my head expecting him to divulge his exact age. He only smiled cockily; he had no intention of sharing.
“How’s immortality then. Ready to toss yourself off a cliff yet.”
I was curious of his answer. His mirth faded, dropping his head he nodded again.
“Getting there.”
Having a long-heated discussion about the theoretics of immortality was yet another thing I hadn’t foreseen on this trip. I was unable to hold back my criticism of many people’s arguments against prolonged life. Many couldn’t handle the thought of outliving their loved ones and ending up in isolation. I found this argument pointless. No matter the span of a life, it is full of partings either way. Some live long lives with few farewells and some see many from very young. To be alive is to say hello and goodbye. This is an inherent double-edged -blessing and curse- part of existing.
Zen had lived a life of solitude and he hadn’t even made it to middle age then. In this life he’d lived less and yet had already made more connection than he would have once thought possible. Bai clearly didn’t fully agree with Zen but he was finding the passionate argument entertaining. The past was a hard thing to escape after all.
The two traveled more smoothy after that. Bai taking the lead in helping them avoid the more troublesome routes. Zen had begun to enjoy the journey. Only realising much latter he’d forgotten how close to town he’d been before meeting Bai. Looking around the city had long faded into the horizon as they wandered toward mountains in the opposite direction.
“Where we going?” Zen didn’t mind going off course, he wasn’t concerned.
Bai laughed, “I’m taking you home. I wanna see if you’ll change your tune after a couple hundred years.”
“Am I your student now? What ever will that old poet think.”
“Who cares.” Bai snorts.
“But don’t call yourself my student. I know your stubborn ass won’t listen to anything that doesn’t interest you.”
Zen smiled at the immortal’s back. As if sensing his stare Bai glanced back. Seeing him smiling, Bai quickly turned away again. The back of his neck turned a bit red as he fiddled with his sword. Zen felt warmth settle in his chest. He was looking forward to his future, perhaps for the first time.