Chapter Two

“Camden, was it?”

The fisherman nods his head, for that is his name. His surname, anyway. As his eyes open to greet a man in a grey vest standing over him, he tries to remember his first name and realizes that he cannot. He begins to panic, fearing that he may have suffered amnesia. He wonders briefly if someone who has amnesia still has the memory of what amnesia is, and confuses himself before the man in the grey vest begins to speak again.

“You took quite a tumble out there. Do you remember it?” he asks.

The fisherman begins to shake his head that no, he does not remember it. He does not remember his first name even, he does not remember anything! He realizes however, as he begins to shake his head, that he does remember it. He remembers it quite clearly.

“I do remember it,” he says. “I remember everything, but I don’t remember a lot of other things.”

“Well now,” the man in the grey vest responds, “that just doesn’t make any sense at all.”

And then the man in the grey vest is gone, and darkness is all there is. Darkness just like before, when the waves took him. He remembers the waves. He doesn’t remember his name but he remembers the waves, and he remembers that they took him.

The fisherman opens his eyes slowly. He is dimly aware of another man in the room, a man in a black cloak. He remembers the man in the grey vest from before, and realizes he never saw that man’s face. He wonders if the man in the black cloak is the same man.

“Awake again, Camden?” the man in the black cloak asks.

The fisherman nods his head, concluding that this must be the same man from before. He knows his name and he said ‘again’ when he spoke, so he must be the same man. The fisherman nods to the man in the black cloak who used to be the man in the grey vest that he is awake, and opens his mouth to speak before he is abruptly interrupted.

“You’re lucky to be alive,” he tells him.

“I suppose that I am,” Camden says. “There are some things that are unclear, however.”

“Unclear?” the man with the changing clothes asks. “But you said you remembered everything.”

“About the fall from my boat, yes. There are other matters,” Camden tells him.

“Such as?”

“Well, who are you?” Camden asks.

“Me? I’m the doctor, of course,” the man responds. “Garin’s the name. Garin Burton,” the man tells him, extending his arm to shake.”

“Well then, I suppose that makes sense,” Camden answers, shaking Garin’s hand. “I remember some of the men were looking for a doctor to tend to the post-war injuries still lingering in the village.”

“Indeed they were,” Garin responds. “And they found me, and just in time, too.”

“Yes, it was,” Camden responds. “That was quite a tumble I took.”

“Indeed it was. Anything else you’re concerned about?”

“I can’t remember my first name. I’m concerned that I may have amnesia,” Camden answers.

“Well, how would you remember the accident if you had amnesia?”

“I don’t know,” Camden answers. “But still, shouldn’t I remember my first name?

“Probably, yes. But it could be temporary damage to your head. Try not to rush it. If it’s going to come back, it’ll come on its own.”

“And if it’s not going to come back?” Camden asks.

“Well then, I suppose it won’t come back then, will it?” Garin answers. “But if it’s not coming back you certainly won’t be able to force it back. It will either come on its own or it wont, so you simply cant rush it. Feel better?”

“Not really,” Camden answers.

“No, I suppose not. I probably wouldn’t feel much better either,” Garin admits. “A first name is an important thing. Now then, now that we’ve dealt with your concerns, do you think you could tell me what exactly happened out there?”

“I... don’t know,” Camden responds.

“You don’t know? I thought you remembered everything that had happened.”

“I do,” Camden insists. “And I remember not knowing.”

“Well now,” Garin responds, “that just doesn’t make any sense at all.”

“No, I mean I didn’t know what was going on.”

“Why are you still conscious?” Garin asks.

“What do you mean?” Camden responds incredulously.

“The last time I said that, you passed out. It had a very strong effect. Why didn’t you pass out this time?” Garin asks.

“I’m... sorry?”

“Hm,” Garin responds. “I suppose I forgive you, yes. Please continue with the details of your accident.”

“I.. what are... I was sailing,” Camden finally says, resolving that he may as well continue, rather than attempt to reason with a doctor who kept changing his clothes and also appeared to be mad. “I had stopped sailing, actually, when it happened. I had stopped sailing to fish, and I had dropped my net into the water when suddenly the boat began to rock violently. I checked the net and it was pulled tightly, as if having caught a fish that would be far larger than anything I know to be Lake Scorn. I resolved to cut the net free, knowing I could never take anything that large in, when the boat began to rock even more violently, and then suddenly, the boat and the water around it became still, but the Lake itself began to rage and storm, and suddenly everything became dark. I lost my footing and stumbled over the edge of my ship. That’s the last thing I remember. Wait. How did I end up here, actually?”

“You were rescued, of course,” Garin responds.”

“By whom?”

“Another fisherman out on Lake Scorn.”

“Which fisherman?” Camden asks.

“You don’t know him.”

“How could you possibly know that? Amount of fisherman left after the war, I know almost all of them. And you never told me his name, how could you know I don’t know him?”

“Fine,” Garin concedes. “His name is Morzansonsternbeckside. Do you know him?”

“You made that name up,” Camden insists. No one’s name is Morzansonsternburt...whatever you said.”

“I certainly did not,” Garin insists. “That is his name.”

“What is his name?” Camden asks.

“Why, whatever I just said. I already told you his name,” Garin replies.”

Camden sighs, knowing this is once more going nowhere. “Please tell me,” he finally continues. “Do you have any idea what happened to me out there?”

“You fell from your boat,” Garin responds matter-of-factly.

“I know that,” Camden answers. “Do you have any idea what I caught?”

“You caught nothing. Your ship was also recovered, empty.”

“But something pulled on the net!” Camden shouts.

“No fishing net was found on your ship, sir,” Garin responds.

“That’s because I cut it free! Now please tell me if you have any idea of what’s in that lake!”

“There’s nothing unusual in Lake Scorn that I am aware of, Camden. I’m quite certain you fell from your boat and imagined yourself a life as a fisherman and an awful accident that occured while fishing. All of it is probably your imagination. After all, you’ve already admitted you do not even know your first name.”

“I... but... well, I suppose that’s true,” Camden admits.

“Indeed it is. Now I think you’ve asked quite enough questions for today,” Garin says, tilting Camden’s head back and pouring a thick and vile liquid down his throat.

And suddenly everything goes black once more.

“Camden, was it?” Garin, now wearing chainmail for some reason, asks.

“Uh... yeah,” Camden responds, confused. “Garin, look.”

“Yes?”

“What we were talking about before, I-”

“Before? You have only just woken, sir. I’ve never met you before.”

“Don’t lie to me, Garin. I don’t know what’s going on but I know you’re lying to me about it. How did I know your name if we’ve never met before?”

“Why, I told you my name. ‘Camden, was it?’ I said. ‘My name’s Garin,’ I said. Right when you woke up!”

“The second part of that never happened, and you know it!” Camden shouts.

“I’m quite certain it did,” Garin responds, and tilts Camden’s head back to pour more of the vile liquid from before down his throat.

Everything begins to blacken again, and as he loses consciousness, Camden is dimly aware of a serious looking man in a chair on the other side of the room frowning at Garin, and is also dimly aware of the notion that the serious looking man has been there all along. He fights desperately to cling to something, to stay conscious. He knows now that this man must not be a doctor at all, and that he and the serious looking man must be completely aware of what happened in Lake Scorn, and hiding it from him for some reason.

Either that or he’s gone completely mad. He almost laughs at the thought, except he passes out instead.

Chapter One

He pulls the rope. It likely has a seafaring term, but he never did get hung up on those things. It was a rope on land so it was a rope on the sea. The only difference was that this one was attached to a sail.

It was the largest boat in the lake, but it did not inspire thoughts of grandeur when any looked upon it. It was unfortunately hideous, a gathering of wood and nails which somehow learned to float. The sail, however, was of a magnificent quality; a gift from the king.

The dead king, anyway.

He pulls the rope. The sail rises and the ship slows. Adrift on the surface of the lake, he drops an anchor. He is not fishing now in the same manner in which he was previously accustomed too. His two companions are gone and he fishes alone. Still, he did well enough to drop a net upon the surface and collect fish as they swim into it. He catches less and has to wait longer than if he’d drag a net across the lake as he sails, but at least in this manner he can manage. He is strong enough, at least, to retrieve what is inevitably a lighter load of fish from the lake.

Lake Scorn was named for the thorny vegetation surrounding it. It is a large lake, taking at least a full day to cross if anyone chose to sail the distance. It sometimes feels like an ocean to those at its center, but the water is fresh and the air is lacking in that salty taste which accompanies the ocean. However, the wind is also less bitter and so it is considered a fair trade. The river Tear, oddly, flows out of the lake instead of into it. It was once believed, then, that Lake Scorn was a natural spring, but the water is colder than much many have known.

The water is calm. The disturbance of the anchor is a memory. He allows the net to slowly slink into the cool depths. The water is not clear, it never is, and it soon fades from his vision beneath the thick crystal blue.

Around him he can see nothing but the blue sea of the lake. While the sky is overcast and gray there is no fog. A brief thought of concern flits through his mind as he wonders why there are no other fisherman for miles, but perhaps he had found a lucky spot and there would be plenty of fish here. The lake had not been busy with fisherman in quite some time anyway. Ever since the war ended there were simply less people to do work, as could be expected. His village on the north coast of the lake was a small one as well. Some fisherman still alive moved on to other endeavors such as hunting for game or filling in for the poor blacksmith. The town, while physically unharmed, had never been so empty as it was now. Many buildings were abandoned simply because no one was around to inhabit them. The homeless had taken to raiding these buildings and claiming them as their own and even then the number of empty homes outnumbered the total population.

He runs his hand through his thick brown beard, shaking the moisture out of it. Heading away from the ship’s starboard edge, he finds a seat on the deck and rests his legs. He is further in the years. Some grays have begun to appear upon his head, but he was fit enough. He had to be fit enough to keep things going. His children needed him, even if his wife did not. Three sons were lost in the war, as well as two daughters. The kingdom did not adhere to the strict expressions of a woman’s place as he did, but he was fighting in the war himself and not around to forbade them. But one daughter and one son remains. The daughter was near adulthood and wouldn’t need much more support, he knew. She was spunky, hopeful to follow the fate of her fallen sisters, but he did hope she’d be delighted by some young man to keep her out of harm’s way. The son was the youngest and he would most certainly be the last. Just fourteen years he was and he had taken to wearing a helmet at all hours of the day.

Why, the fisherman thought to himself. Why did I raise a family of warriors? The notion brought a sad anger into his mind. And why can’t they swing a sword worth a damn?

His knees ached. Definitely fisherman’s knees. Not a warrior’s knees. Yet when he was out there, when he was in it... somehow it didn’t matter.

The boat lurched sideways, nearly tipping over, and then settled again quickly. The fisherman was forced to assume he had imagined it until it had happened again. The boat had gone closer to tipping that time and had adrenaline not replaced his cognitive thought he may have become concerned that another movement on the boat’s part might be a problem.

He moved to the starboard side again where the net had been dropped. The ropes keeping it attached to the boat were pulled tight, strained. He could feel them aching to break. Something was pulling on the ship.

All around the fisherman’s ship the waters still appeared calm aside from the swells newly made by his boat’s violent movements. As the deck sloped again the fisherman regrettably unsheathed his knife and began to cut at the ropes. He was not aware of what could possibly be stuck in the net as he was only aware of small fish filling the lake, but he most certainly knew that even if it was subdued he’d surely never be able to pull something so large up into his ship for storage lest he sink it. He’d be better off jumping into the sea, claiming it as his home, and insisting that because the creature was in his home he had rightfully caught it.

With one more rope to cut a sudden calm made itself known in a most violent manner. It was such a sudden contrast to the recent events that it disrupted the fisherman’s senses and violated him in a way which he had never known. The boat was still, the water around the boat was still where it had once been violent. But now the whole of the sea was no longer a still painting. It raged with a thunderous perversion never before seen. Violent and horrible waves which sucked up all the sunlight leaving the fisherman and his calm boat in darkness. The light had dimmed smoothly and abrupt. Now he could not see his hand in front of his face if he had the desire to wave it there. As darkness hit him he had unfortunately not had his hand steadied on anything. He toppled over, unsure of where he was. The water received him graciously.