The Broken Numbers

The Broken Numbers

Bor had been meditating for hours. He didn’t really know how long he had been, but he knew that he was not done. He felt something in the air, something in the way the breezes danced, that somehow forced him to stay. It was as if something was out of place; something important yet unnoticed by most.

That was why he kept on with his meditation; he hoped for a clearer sign of what was wrong, something that evidenced the malfunction he was looking for. That was when Kiri rushed to his side.

-This is not good, kainira. –said Kiri, clearly nervous.- This poem’s metric is out of place, kainira.

-It is not, Kiri. –replied Bor without caring much about Kiri’s words.- You are reading Ionostus’ Eulogy to Mirkos, and you already know that Ionostus was one of the most metric-obsessed poets of his time. –Bor took a deep breath and started to get his mind back into meditation.- You must be measuring wrong.

-But I am not, kainira. –answered Kiri, annoyed by his brother’s words.- You know I’m the best at this things, I know how to it should be and this is not how, kainira.

-Stop saying kainira Kiri, it’s just a poem. –annoyingly answered Bor. Kiri always used that word when something made him uneasy, but he only did it so much when the issue was extremely disturbing.

-It’s not just a poem, kainira. –said Kiri, a little bit angry because of how his brother dismissed his words. - The whole book is wrong, kainira.

That was the straw that broke the camel. Tired of his little brother’s childishness, Bor stopped meditating and tried to get up. Surprisingly, he was unable to do so. He could even lift his legs from the ground; unable to move, he looked at his brother.

-Can’t you get up brother? Kainira… –said Kiri. He sat down onto the grass and got up instantly. - Are you really unable to get up?

-How did you do it? –asked Bor, now even more worried of his condition.

He tried to get up by pushing himself up with his arms, by gaining momentum and suddenly trying to jump and by many other logical ways he thought of. Meanwhile, his brother Kiri was constantly sitting and getting up with ease. Frustrated, Bor asked his little brother how he was doing it.

-I don’t really know. I just do it. –he answered.- I mean, it’s not the first time I get up, and I’ve always done it the same way. –he sat once again and instantly jumped on his feet.- See?

Only then he understood what was truly going on; the whole world had lost its mathematical basis. With no numbers to guide rational actions, chaos was to be expected. Yet the wind kept on blowing the same way than ever, and the grass still bent under the weight of his body; most actions were not rational, even though able to.

When not based in the number doctrine that Bor had imposed on himself, things were able to function as usual. He was still thinking about it when his brother’s words caught his attention.

-I told you that it wasn’t that difficult. –said Kiri with a mocking tone.

He was about to ask his brother what was he talking about, but, even though it was wide open, no words came out of his mouth; he had got up. How had he done it? He didn’t really care, and he didn’t think that he would be able to explain it anyways.

Bor asked his brother to handle him Ionostus’ Eulogy to Mirkos. Once Bor started to read the page that Kiri was talking about, Kiri started to tell him which verses were wrong. But there was no need for that; the mistakes were obvious, you didn’t even need to know about poetry to feel that the whole book sounded weird. When read aloud, the words seemed to step on each other; if each poem had been a castle, this would have been the biggest collapse ever witnessed.

After telling his little brother that he was right concerning the poems’ metric, he decided that they needed to get home and discover what was actually going on; only there he would be able to face the problem directly and solve it. Also, it was the closest place where they could cover from the storm that relentlessly advanced through the mountains towards them.

Minutes later, the brothers had already arrived home. In front of the house’s door, Bor became afraid of what would happen next; he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to open the door.

He failed with his first try, but that was something he expected. He was trying to open the door as he usually did, by grabbing the doorknob and pulling in a way that the strength he applied was optimal for the door’s rotation around the axis placed in the connection between the door and the house. If logic wasn’t working, he’d have to do it the opposite way.

But there were so many. He tried by pushing in the same direction that he had already pulled, by sliding his hand over the door as if he was pushing it downwards, by telling it to open and by punching it right in the middle. But nothing came out of that; not even his fist was hurt.

When he thought that there was no hope, his brother pushed him aside, opened the door by pulling the doorknob and told him to go in.

-You’ll get a cold if you keep on fooling around with the door, brother! –he said as if he had done nothing strange.

And he actually meant it; Bor knew that what Kiri had done was nothing out of place. No miracle, no magic, not a complicated trick; he had done what he had always done. He had gone towards the door, opened it and entered the hallway.

-I’ll make the dinner today, brother. –announced Kiri while taking off his wet jacket and hanging it near the fireplace.

-I’ll lay the table then, Kiri. –replied Bor, doubting if he’d be able to.

-Sure, Bor! –answered his brother, way calmer than how he had been outside.

That was strange. Kiri was not saying kainira anymore; did that mean that he could get back into doing things on his way? Had everything been solved for no reason at all?

Instead of asking his little brother about it, Bor rushed his way into the kitchen and grabbed the yellow tablecloth they had not used in the last nine hundred thirty seven years. Then he ran towards the dining area, shut his eyes closed and threw the tablecloth onto the huge wooden table that they used for dinner when it rained.

When he opened his eyes, he saw the yellow tablecloth stretched over the table, without a single wrinkle ruining its beautiful display of grace. Then, Bot tried to disturb that perfection; he grabbed a hanging corner of the tablecloth and pulled downwards a little bit and then backed away to look at the results of his actions.

Just like he expected, the tablecloth was still perfect. Nothing disturbed its relentless grace that broke through the logic of physics just for the sake of maintaining its perfection. Bor’s logic was unable to force a change in the great scheme of things because of how he was trying to simplify everything into a set of numbers that was obviously malfunctioning.

Bor had been laughing for quite a while when Kiri entered the dining-room.

-Where are the dishes? –asked Kiri.

And then Bor realized; since physics were flawed and numbers were broken, anything physically dependent could be done by sheer will. He thought about it for a short while and realized what was going to happen.

-They are already here, Kiri. –answered Bor.- By the way, you shouldn’t leave the brew still cooking, it’s already on point.

Bor looked at Kiri, expecting to see him surprised when he looked at the table and saw everything ready for dinner. But Kiri’s face showed nothing but guilt.

-Oh, I’m sorry, –said Kiri, looking at the table.- I thought that you were just hacking around.

Kiri went back to the kitchen and grabbed a wooden spoon. He carefully stirred the brew with it and brought a spoonful of it right into its mouth. Without a doubt, he spit it on the floor.

-This isn’t ready yet, Bor! –angrily claimed Kiri.- Don’t lie to me again, you know that these herbs are toxic when not cooked on point!

Surprised with his brother’s answer, Bor went into the kitchen, took the wooden spoon from Kiri’s hands and tried the brew. It was perfect! How could he say that it was not on point!

Only then he realized; it was both ways. In the reality perceived by Bor, the brew was already perfect for eating, while in the part of the world that Kiri cared about the brew still needed some time before being ready to eat.

It was after realizing that that Bor reached a stunning conclusion; he could not eat the brew. If he ate it now he’d have to eat it from the cooking pot, because Kiri was in charge of the kitchen that day; if he ate it later, it would be overcooked, and he didn’t want to face the constipation days that an overcooked heliotrope brew could cause.

-Ugh, you were right. –said Bor to younger brother, rushing towards the sink and gargling several times in a row.- I think I’ll have no dinner tonight, Kiri, I’ll just go to sleep.

Without giving him any time to reply, Bor made his way upstairs and got into his bedroom. He undressed himself and swiftly got into his stripped pajamas. Only then he realized that he had done all those things without thinking about them, in the very same way that Kiri had been acting the whole day. It was that impulsive behavior what was letting them get through the day, avoiding the nuisance that the numerical issue was.

And he kept on with it. He got into bed and slept comfortably all night. When he woke up the next morning, he had completely forgotten about the issue that had troubled him so much the day before. From then on, he never cared much about the little details of life. He knew he would  be fine as long as he knew how to live.

Lies

During dinner, Bor had noticed that Kiri was nervous. Like he always did when something made him uneasy, Kiri bit his nails whenever he had a chance and said kainira nearly after every sentence.

Usually he would have asked him what was going on, but he didn’t really want to right now. He knew the exact reason of why he was nervous, and the topic that his brother was obsessed with was one that he had never liked.

With a silence only interrupted when he decided to praise the food that Kiri had prepared for that night, he peacefully went through the dinner with no mention of the doubt that haunted his younger brother. They ate peacefully; they cleaned everything and calmly went to bed. Right when Bor was about to claim the outcome of the situation as a personal victory, the hasty dark-haired child that his brother was talked.

-But what if, Bor... –whispered the little boy.

-There's no "what if" for that, Kiri. –answered Bor, frustrated because of the defeat that the question meant for him.- That just can't happen.

-But why? Why not Bor? –replied Kiri louder, now talking as he usually did, wielding his high-pitched voice as a blade that slashed through his brother’s persistence.- I just want you to answer that question and then I’ll shut up. –he said while he moved his left hand over his mouth as if he was closing it manually.- What if I am the best liar in the world? What if I am so good at lying, what if I lie so convincingly, that even I believe my lies?!

While Kiri said those words he gradually raised his voice. Bor made him a sign to lower his voice and, embarrassed, Kiri closed his mouth, doing the very same movement with the hand he had done seconds ago.

-What if I'm not good, but horribly bad instead. –whispered Kiri, as if he was telling his brother a secret.- What if that's the truth, but I'm so good at lying that even I can't be sure about it.

-That's nonsense. –said  Bor, waving his hand while trying to stop the discussion.- Just let that be and go to sleep.

But Kiri wouldn't stop there.

-What if, since I realize that I was horrible, I wanted to hide it from everyone? –he  said, rising his voice once again while talking.- What if I am an abomination, such a horrible one, that I even scared the shit out of myself. And then that happened Bor!

-It doesn't work that way Kiri. Please, leave this as it is, we needn't make it more complicated.

-Why doesn't it Bor? I believe it does! -shouted Kiri, exhalted.- What if I lied to myself and convinced my very own abomination to hide beneath a lamb's skin. I may look like a lamb, even to myself, but maybe I am not. Maybe I'm so good at lying that I don't even remember being a...

-If that was really the case, Kiri. –interrupted Bor with a serious tone.- Then you would not be lying anymore. You would not be a beast anymore, because you would have buried it deep into your past. And now go to sleep.

Those words were enough to calm Kiri who, satisfied with his brother’s answers, went to bed. The little black-haired boy fell asleep immediately, but his brother did not. The moons came and went, but Bor didn’t sleep at all that night.

He was busy keeping his monsters confined.

Joke y Kalen

Kalen estaba tan radiante como siempre. Su sonrisa destacaba entre las demás, acompañando a sus perfectos rizos. No había forma de competir con tal belleza natural, y no solo por el hecho de que Kalen no tuviese rival aguna; para competir hacían falta dos, y la perfección de la que hacía gala ella era algo tan natural que nunca podía ser considerado un acto semejante. Podía notar sus mejillas sonrojarse con cada copa que tomaba, dándole un toque aún más alegre a su cara. ¿Cómo no iba yo a estar enamorado de tal ser? ¿Era posible resistirse a sus encantos?

Lo dudaba.

De hecho, mucha gente le había confesado ya su amor a Kalen, no era un secreto. Y no es que alguien se encargase de hacerlo público, pero se notaba en las caras de los afectados. Imperturbable salía siempre Kalen de toda conversación, siempre alegre, siempre bella, siempre fresca. Pero no se podía decir lo mismo de aquellos que habían compartido con ella tales minutos. Abatidos, deshechos, despedazados. Nada de ellos quedaba. Muchos se iban de viaje para recuperarse del golpe, o al menos así había hecho Rory. Joke le echaba de menos, pero la verdad era que desde que ambos se habían confesado lo que sentían por Kalen su relación no había vuelto a ser la misma. No creía que su amistad con ella fuese compatible con el corazón deshilachado de su antiguo amigo.

Porque eso era lo que compartían. Una amistad; algo de lo que ambos se beneficiaban, algo que ambos disfrutaban, algo que siempre les dejaba con la miel en los labios. Algo que hacía que siempre, al despedirse, Joke sintiese que lo hubiesen dejado a medias. Pero eso era mejor que caer presa del desasosiego. ¿No?

Fue entonces cuando empezó a sonar la canción. “La marcha del Gallo purpúreo” era una canción que había nacido como un juego de niños, pero el paso del tiempo la había convertida en la canción por excelencia de las fiestas, ya fuese en tabernas o durante las festividades de los pueblos. Fue entonces cuando, inesperadamente, nuestro querido Joke se encontró con una invitación que llevaba esperando toda la noche.

- “¿Me concede usted un baile, señor?”-le dijo Kalen a Joke con una jovialidad solo posible en ella.

No hizo falta respuesta alguna. Con una sonrisa, nuestro protagonista se puso a bailar con ella. Abandonándola en cuanto se cruzó con la hermana pequeña de Rory, se pusieron a lanzarse miradas mientras bailaban. Una vez acabada la canción, hubo una pequeña pausa.

- “Me pregunto si sería capaz de seguirme el ritmo con un poco de música más... seria, milady.”-retó Joke a la dama con la que acababa de compartir el final del baile.

- “No lo dude usted ni un momento caballero. De hecho, le pido encarecidamente que no se pierda entre mis pasos. No sería el primero.”-le dijo Kalen con atrevimiento.

Fue entonces cuando empezó la música de verdad. Pocos niños quedaban alrededor de los intépretes; la mayoría se habían ido ya hacia sus casas, a dormir. Era el turno de los adultos y de aquellos que jugaban a serlo. Los pocos niños que quedaban eran puestos en cuarentena por sus padres, en algun banco cercano o incluso con algún conocido que supiesen que no fuese a bailar.

El primer baile era, como de costumbre, la canción del padre de Kalen. Era obvio que ella sabía que sería así, pero no por ello me sentí intimidado. Llevaba años practicando para este momento, nada saldría mal. Absolutamente nada.

Far-away stories: The wereman

 The young boy wasn't able of standing the crow-eyed man's look, and it was that very same moment when he realized what he had lost. His honor with the lost battle. His pride with the unveiled secrets. His life with his acceptance. Gaining control over this late victim didn't take more than a second to the body-sweeper, and a moment later he was Norell, the mad-lord's steward, bastard son of that same abomination. “Monsters with monsters.” thought Ranick while he built the alloy of his whole collection of memories with those small newborn thoughts. “Not small while I'm into him, I must remember who I am now.” said Norell to himself.

After giving a quick glimpse and remembering where he was, the young boy approached to a six feet tall man that stood sitting and asleep in front of him. “¿Where should I hide myself?” asked the man into the boy that now was not more than a sack of memories. After searching for a while into the not-so-deep steward's mind, he remembered of a small abandoned room nearby, and there he brought him.

The room was small and cold, and not even the tattered and torn old rags that Norell used to cover the man's body seemed warm enough for the situation. Not being able to find anything better, Ranick left himself laying there, covered into what looked like a useless rotten blanket. “Working with these foolish minds is no good at all.” thought the man inside the boy.

Sometimes it grew difficult to stop his other minds from talking. And not a thing could be done to avoid the whispers that always surrounded him. Madness is a small price to pay for enjoying a thousand lives. Ranick had always seen his power as a bless from the gods, a not like the curse his parents were always telling him. Killing the body is not enough. Joining the mind has its consequences. Every act does. But being into another body always lowered other people's activity. They also have to get used to the new brain, to a new home. Sadly, he only remembered being what they were because they were always telling him. He couldn't even be certain that Ranick was his true name, but that didn't really mind. Tomorrow I might be a goddamn maiden fearing an unexpected wedding, as far as I'm concerned.

There was only one thing that the thousand-man could be sure he was. Death. That's what I am. The one with many faces, by all feared and respected. Death. He recalled an old thought in which he saw himself as a god. I thought I could do everything. I knew I could. But then he had discovered others. Maybe not like him, and the ones that shared the same blessing were not as good as him when referred to eye-wars and mind-tricks. Poor old fellow, that stableboy. But I ended up even worst.

A long time ago, during those years in which he remembered not being Ranick but being called as his grandparents wished, he had met a young boy when working for a lesser lady wanting to see his puppet-strings grow longer. The stableboy had been gifted, like him. A “werecrow” he called himself. Trying to emulate a werewolf. The first time Ranick had heard a crow's mind, he had found both funny and interesting, feeling like a newborn baby that doesn't even know what may happen after opening a door. But now the sounds were not something he could stand. Subdueing people was much easier than wild creatures. And when those creatures were corking ravens and muttering hungry crows, you can do nothing to shut them up.

Both he and the stableboy knew what they were right after the meeting their eyes led. But they didn't share a future. Or at least that was what Ranick had thought at first. He didn't truly know the risks his power carried until he got the stableboy's mind into him. “No one dies 'til forgotten.” had been the last words the lad had spit before Ranick got into him. A second later, the stableboy was lying dead on a dry straw bed, and Ranick was at his job as if nothing had happenned. He had been hidden. He knew how to make me suffer.

Mallick was the stableboy's name. He couldn't forget it, and it had been years since the last time he had tried it. The foolish asshole hadn't been a useless sack of thoughts after all. Hidden during decades, he had waited the most critical moment of his life to wake every other mind in him. “No one dies 'til forgotten.” he said before the storm began. The only thing he had done was remembering every victim, every death Ranick carried upon his shoulders, every burden he might have tried to leave rotting with the past. And then he understood those words.

The torture he lived everyday was only similar, when referring to the beastly excessive amount of pain, to the flaying the southron houses used for uncovering the truth of those supposed to know more than they presumed. I learnt that from a prisoner. Next time I'll seek one that is just condemned to lose his head instead of have his tongue loosed. But there was something that made his personal curse something much more horrible than any flaying; it never ended. Most nights he could scarcely sleep, if he did get a chance to rest at all. Decades of killing, possessing, learning, capturing and remembering had transformed him into a living book full of nearly every word and phrase you could like to read. The people who were once his victims and now took their revenge as torturers were counted by thousands. He wasn't able to remember every name, but he remembered their deeds, their words and their voices, everything they had done after he had spoiled their existence and his own.

Even though after some years suffering such an unrespectful treatment, he could distinguish some hierarchy. Unluckily, he had been in charge of a great amount of soldiers, fierce warriors, holy knghts, unexperienced stewards, but soldiers after all. After the stableboy woke them up they suddenly realized they had found an enemy they could fight for eternityand it only took a breath for them to form what they called the punishment army. ¿Will I ever find a way to die and kill them all with me?

He had thought about the possibility of committing suicide more than once, he could not deny that. But every time he thought he had reached his true body, he found himself reappearing into another one after dying. The fact was that he couldn't even remember those in which he lived, nor did the minds so comfortably playing at the siege of his mind, so after he took the crow-eyed man some years ago he decided to avoid more changes. I know it makes it easier for them to linger around, but knowing the field and fortress also gives me some advantage against them. Also, the crow-eyed man was probably the only man he didn't think of as an enemy. Obviously, he attacked, as everyone did. But he knew he would end up returning to his body, thinking with it and, as Oswald thought from time to time, controlling it. Ranick, my name is Ranick.