*****
Chapter Thirty Three
*****
Adrift in a dark ocean of roiling confusion, Revaramek glared at Asterbury’s back. Not one word the furry little bastard said made sense. He’d never met someone so completely confounding and infuriating at the same time, and he wondered if that was how Mirelle saw him. As the urd’thin walked towards Aylaryl, Revaramek mentally measured up the distance. He could pounce on the little monster, rend his head from his shoulders. See if he can heal that. Or he could just rush him and bathe him in fire, burn him to a crispy cinder.
“I know what you must be thinking!” Asterbury gave an exaggerated shrug without looking back. “Slay him while his back is turned, right? Of course, if you do that, you’ll never find out what I’m…what did you call it? Babbling about?” Asterbury laughed, grasping the edge of his purple cloak. He shook bits of grass and dirt from it. “Besides, I’d like to think lesson learned about you now. So I’ll warn you. Try and kill me again, and it won’t turn out the way you expect.”
“Only one way to find out.” Revaramek snarled, striding after the urd’thin. Adrenaline and anger kept his wounds both fresh and reopened from hurting too much.
“Don’t!” Kurekka leapt away from Aylaryl to place himself squarely between the two dragons. “There’s been enough bloodshed here today!”
“Move aside!” Mirelle hefted her maul again, holding it up in both hands. “Just because that twisted little monster healed your wing doesn’t mean I’m gonna let him get away with burning down villages, or let him come after mine!”
Kurekka gave a startled squawk and glanced at one of his wings. Revaramek pulled his head back, staring at Mirelle. “The urd’thin did that?”
“Unless you know someone else who can heal injuries with their touch!” Mirelle tightened her grip around the haft of her maul till her knuckles stood out against her olive skin. “They’re friends with Aylaryl, Aylaryl’s friends with Asterbury, and Asterbury seems to be friends with Enora! She must have brought him here to heal Kurekka. And they knew Aylaryl’s the one who caused your injuries, so why else would they act so evasive when I tried to ask about his wing?”
“You were drunk, who could tell what you were really asking?” Kurekka snapped his beak, flaring out his wings to bar Mirelle’s path when she tried to circle around him.
“You knew damn well what I was asking!” Mirelle prodded his wing with the maul. “Now for the last time, move aside!”
Kurekka stood his ground, growling at her. “No. There’s been too much fighting here already. I’ll pin you down if I have to.”
“You’ll get a maul in the beak if you try!”
“Kurekka, they tossed her into the clouds!” Lingering anger sparked anew inside Revaramek. With every beat of the dragon’s heart, his blood grew hotter. “Were you not listening when she said I nearly died saving her? You’re not the only one who’s fallen out of the sky now! The difference is, I did it save her, from him!”
“He died!” Mirelle screamed at the gryphon, her voice rising with every word. “He died, gryphon, for me!” Mirelle’s body shook, rage twisting her face. “Not that long I hated this stupid lizard, and he damn near killed himself just to try and save me! I had to-”
“She had to jump on my chest just to make me breathe!” Revaramek snarled at the gryphon, advancing swiftly enough to force Kurekka to backpedal or be bowled over by the larger creature. “I realize you may have been too busy pitying Aylaryl’s tail to listen to Mirelle a minute ago, but we saved each other’s lives! From them! Now move aside, Kurekka, or so help me any god who is listening I will move you!”
Beyond the gryphon Aylaryl screamed as Asterbury pressed his hands to her. Kurekka glanced over his wings, his ears flattened back. As soon as he was distracted, Revaramek barreled forward. He ran up alongside the gryphon and threw his weight up against the smaller creature. It knocked him off balance and left him stumbling. Kurekka hissed and whirled around, but by then Revaramek was already past him. Mirelle ran around his other side, and the two of them charged at Asterbury and the female dragon before Chir’raal could get between them.
Revaramek grit his teeth. It did not matter who was friends with who. Asterbury nearly killed them both. Who knew how many countless other people he’d murdered. If Revaramek could end this now, he would do exactly that. Revaramek bound towards the urd’thin, already picturing his death. He’d just sink his claws into Asterbury’s head while he was distracted. He’d scream, go limp, and then everyone would yell at him for a while. Let them yell. Someone had to play the hero. He promised to protect Mirelle’s people the day he made that truce, and though he despised having to make that promise, he’d despise breaking it even more.
And then Enora was there, standing before him. Her arms raised, hands outstretched towards him, a silent plea for peace. His resolve wavered. Her blue dress fluttered around her, her hair rustled in the breeze. For a strange, surreal moment, everything seemed silent and peaceful. He skidded to a stop just before her, held up his paw to stop Mirelle.
“Please.” Enora’s voice was soft, and tears glistened in her eyes. “No more. Not now.”
“Told you!” Asterbury’s voice grated on the dragon. His paws ached from the tension of flexing his claws, instinctively trying to unsheathe them even further. The urd’thin glanced back, smiling. “You’re only making it harder on her.”
Enora shot him a glare over her shoulder. “Shut it! You’re not helping anything!”
“I’m helping Aylaryl.” Asterbury patted her purple neck. “Deep breath, dear, one more round and we’re done!”
“Enora, I don’t know what it is between you and him, but we have to stop him!” Mirelle took a step towards the woman, her face drawn. “If you and Kurekka think you owe him something, then convince him to surrender so we don’t have to kill him!”
“What a kind offer!” Asterbury twisted around to give them a mock bow.
“You say that as if you think I’m afraid for him.” Enora wrung her hands, her expression crumpling.
“If he’s your friend, you should be.” Revaramek snarled. Enora’s sorrow stole a little of his anger’s fire, but more yet smoldered in his belly. “You saw what I did to him.”
Enora’s voice sharpened. “And you saw how little it troubled him. And that was the most I’ve ever seen him slowed by an injury. I’m not afraid for him, Revaramek, I’m afraid for you.”
Aylaryl tipped her head back and roared agony to the skies. The sound hurt Revaramek’s ears. He flattened them back, resisting the urge to turn his head away. Instead he stared at Aylaryl, transfixed as all of the wounds he’d given her closed up. Her broken tail, crooked, bent and bloodied, straightened itself out. Her flesh knit back together into pink lines, accomplishing in moments what should have taken weeks. Then even the pink scars faded back into purple scales.
Asterbury gasped and wheezed, stumbling away from her. He panted, his legs wobbling. He grasped the corner of his purple cloak and used it to wipe blood from his muzzle. Revaramek glanced at Mirelle. She made a gesture like wiping her nose. The dragon gave a single nod, and licked his muzzle. At least the little bastard’s powers seemed as much vulnerability as strength.
“Really takes it out of you, huh?” Revaramek took a step forward, only for Enora to press her hand against his scales. “Wonder how many times you can do that before you haven’t got anything left to give.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised.” Asterbury pivoted back around, something wicked glinting in his dark eyes. “This, though.” He held up his right arm, flexed his fingers, and pointed at them with his other hand. “That was impressive! Been a long time since anyone’s injured me that badly!” He cackled and clasped his hands together. “It’s exciting, having a real nemesis. Of course, now that I know you can do more than give you a few bitchin’ scars, I’m going to have to take you seriously.”
“How about you try some of that healing on Revaramek?” Mirelle planted the head of her maul in the earth and put a hand on the dragon’s shoulder. “Make it even. Then we can have round three, and see what you’ve really got.”
“Clever, Mirelle!” Asterbury wiped his muzzle with his cloak again, but never took his eyes off of them. “Get me to use my power again, try and wear me out, strike me down while I’m recovering. But no. I’ve important things to discuss. I’ll heal him later, if you’re good.”
Revaramek snorted, dragging unsheathed claws through the sod. “Was worth a shot.”
“It was.” Asterbury smiled at Revaramek, then gave Mirelle a dismissive wave. “Now step away from the maul so we can talk like civilized people.”
Mirelle hefted her maul again, holding it before herself. “No.”
Asterbury rolled his head in a circle, his ears splayed. “Ugh. You’re not going to hit me with that thing, you know.”
“We’ll see about that.” Mirelle grit her teeth, breath still coming in angry pants.
Revaramek gave a low growl, stretching a wing to brush Mirelle’s back. “She kept you distracted long enough for me to get to you, didn’t she? And she hit Aylaryl with it. But feel free to keep underestimating her. That seems to be what makes her stronger.”
“Point taken.” Asterbury folded his arms over his golden tunic. He tilted his head, staring at Mirelle. “Perhaps I should change it into cheese.”
Revaramek snapped his jaws. “And perhaps I should change you into-”
“I’ve seen it, you know.” Asterbury turned away, walking across Enora’s meadow towards the lake. “The swamp.”
All the fire in Revaramek’s blood turned to ice, frozen in his veins. His paws and wings went cold, his belly wrenched and twisted. “Wh-what?”
“Your swamp.” Asterbury paused, flicking an ear. “The one you came from.”
“He comes from the marsh.” Mirelle stayed where she was, stroking Revaramek’s scales. “Like the rest of us.”
“You don’t listen very well, do you Mirelle.” Asterbury splayed his ears, his tail swishing. “For all the caterwauling you do about getting people to listen to you, you’re not a very good listener yourself. Or maybe you just didn’t pay him any mind because he was ‘just a dragon’, and you didn’t notice him get cold or distant when you tried to tell him the swamp and the marsh where the same thing.” He turned to regard them over his shoulder. “Are they the same thing, Revaramek?”
Revaramek forced himself to swallow, to breathe. “No.”
“You see, Mirelle.” Asterbury swirled a hand in the air. Trails of color followed his fingers. “The marsh is a wonderful, beautiful place filled with clean, drinkable, life-giving water. But the swamp?” He jabbed a dull claw tip towards the dragon, and the air rippled around it. “The swamp is a poisoned place. Filled with rotting trees and twisted lifeforms and water, water, everywhere but not a drop to drink.” Asterbury smirked. “Heard that somewhere. The swamp, you see, is like a desert. A perfect place for anything that can adapt to it, but deadly for everything else. Can’t even drink the water without it slowly rotting you from the inside out.” He bounced on the balls of his feet, grinning. “That about right, old overlord, old pal?”
Revaramek’s mouth and long throat were parched and dry. The growing chill spread from his paws and wing tips to the rest of his body. He could not find words, only garbled sounds of confusion. He nodded in reply, his ears drooping, his spines half flared in uncertain fear. The dragon gazed around at all his friends. It felt as if they’d all drawn lines and stood on different sides of a divide he did not even know existed. At least now they all looked as confused as him.
Save for Enora, who only looked sad.
“You…you told him?” Revaramek licked his muzzle, forcing words over his tongue. “About my life?”
Enora shook her head, sighing. “No. He already knew.”
“The question, Revaramek.” Asterbury’s voice was a thunderbolt, punching straight through his armor and into his heart. “Are you from the swamp, or do you only believe you are?”
“What?” Revaramek pulled his head back, his neck curling.
“Are you the dream, or the dreamer?” Asterbury took a step towards him, his gray-furred hands spread wide. The air rippled between them. Flashes of dark water, towering trees, and swirling clouds flickered behind the ripples along with glimpses of two dragons, a mother and child. “Are you the story, or are you the storyteller?”
“I don’t understand.” Revaramek trembled, his wings shaking against his sides. He curled his tail till the webbed spines pressed against his green scales. He turned his long enough to look at Mirelle. She shrugged and reached out to stroke his cheek. “What’s…what’s he…”
“You see, Revaramek, I called you an amalgamation once, but the amalgamation might be in your head. You built your own addled mind out of all the stories you heard in your lonely youth, tried to model yourself on what you thought a dragon should be.” Asterbury dropped his hands, striding across the meadow. The grass disintegrated beneath his feet, turning to sand that swirled away in the breeze. “You’re obscured from me. You’re a fracture, something that somehow, some way, should not be here. Some twist your life took that led you to this moment, this place, where you do not belong. The rest of them…” He gestured at the gryphons, Enora, and Mirelle. “Well, I can read the story of the pawns just by looking at them, but your story, why…it’s like trying to read a book that’s not only unfinished, but it’s been translated a few too many times and it never quite makes sense. The most obvious answer is that you, like me…” He placed a hand upon his chest. “Are a traveler.”
“What the hell have you been smoking?” Mirelle stomped her foot, growling at the urd’thin. “And where can I get some, because sharing it seems like the only way you’re ever gonna make sense!”
Asterbury turned ever so slightly to stare at Mirelle. His lips twitched across his muzzle, and a strange, flickering gleam shone in his eyes, like candlelight reflecting on pools of wet ink. “Your earliest memories are of travel in a wagon. You still keep the wagon outside your home. You own a tavern, it’s your second, and you’ve left your friends Beka and Tavaat to run The Cathedral while you’re away. You keep a picture of your parents in your bedroom. You came to your unnamed village when you were four years old. Your parents never quite told you why, or where they came from, and you rarely thought to ask because it didn’t matter.” He licked his nose and shrugged. “A suitable backstory, makes sense without having to raise too many questions.” Then he snarled, baring his fangs. “That’s the problem with pawns, they never do raise enough questions. Do play chess, Mirelle?”
Mirelle did not reply. Instead, she just stared at the urd’thin, her eyes wide, her jaw hanging open. Revaramek shifted himself to curl a foreleg around her middle and hug her. Her whole body was tense, and as he pulled her against his scales, he realized she was trembling just a little.
“Chess.” Asterbury tilted his head. “Do you play it?” Then he blinked, glanced at Enora and scratched his muzzle. “Do they have chess in this world? I can never keep these things straight.” He sighed, shifted his eyes, and then laughed. “Do you know, Enora, the other day I asked Uncle Rekky for crayons. They don’t even know what those are, here.” He turned back towards Mirelle, cocking his head the other way. “Oh I’m sorry, do you need a moment? Maybe a bandage for that fissure in your world view?”
“How…” Mirelle stumbled over her words, squeezing Revaramek’s foreleg. “You…how could…”
His voice dropped into a snarl, and he balled up his fists. “Yes, Mirelle, I know all about you, and I know where your parents really came from. They feed you the same lie they feed everyone else. There is no kingdom to the west. It’s a code phrase, for another world, another story. Yes, your parents fled something, but it was not persecution. It was the end the Storytellers themselves wrought upon their world. They might have been people of import, or maybe just good workers. They needed plenty of people who could make things and ply a trade, after all. I know your story, I know her story…” He thrust a finger at Enora, then at the gryphons. “And I know his, and I know his…And I’ve helped them fracture that story that they may be freed from its shackles. But him?” Asterbury held an open hand out towards Revaramek. “Oh, he’s something special. You know, in all my time wandering, I’ve never met another traveler who wasn’t affiliated with the Men in Robes.”
“The what?” Revaramek kept Mirelle hugged against his scales, as much to keep her from doing anything brash as to comfort her.
Glee returned to the urd’thin’s voice. He rubbed his hands together, beaming. “Don’t you love it when the villain shows up only to introduce more questions than answers?”
“How about I introduce my fire to your face?” Revaramek snarled, lowering his head.
Asterbury cackled, clapping his hands. “You’re so spunky lately. The heroine must be rubbing off on you. But the Men in Robes.” Asterbury traced a line in the air around Mirelle. “They’re her associates.” He lifted his voice to a higher octave, waggling the knife at his belt. “Oh, we hate them so much!” He dropped his voice again. “We certainly do, Mirelle Two. But they’re who this is all about, you see. The Men in Robes. The ones who made you sign your truce, the ones who cast Enora out for loving you, the ones Mirelle works with. Her precious council. And my chess reference! You see, Mirelle. The Men in Robes are like the king, and Revaramek is like the queen.”
Revaramek blinked, splaying his ears back. “I’m not a queen, I’m male!”
Asterbury waved his hand. “It’s just an analogy.” He tilted his head. “Or is it metaphor? Damn, I should have brought Rekrek and Gavak, they’re always got something to offer in a situation like this. The point is, Revaramek protects your council. That’s why they really signed that truce. Surely no one was stupid enough to think some barely-grown adolescent could protect a burgeoning village. But they knew he’d grow…and when he did, they knew he’d be there to keep them safe. Of course, at the time they didn’t know what an asshole he’d turn into, or how their people wouldn’t want him around anymore once he was grown. No, back then all they really wanted was their own dragon to protect the Storytellers sent to control this story.” He spread his hands and gave a mock happy sigh. “Just like old times.”
Then the snarl crept back into his voice. “They didn’t give a shit about your village. They only wanted to protect themselves. And along came poor, naïve Revaramek, his head filled with stories, and his heart filled with terror after they beat him half to death. Sure, he’d swear to protect them if they spared his life, and certainly, he’d always keep his word because that’s what the honorable heroes in the exciting tales would do. What his mother would be proud of.” Asterbury flashed Aylaryl a grin. She snarled at him, and the urd’thin shook his head. “No matter how much of a fissure it drives between himself and those he loves.”
Revaramek hunkered down, shredding at the grass with his claws. His head spun. How did this urd’thin know so much about him? “I protect the whole village. I protect all the villages.”
“Yes!” Asterbury bounced on the balls of his feet, snapping his fingers. “Exactly! You’re such a benevolent overlord! You protect all the villages! Why, if some villain came along and say, start burning them, surely someone would recruit you to go and put a stop to it! Even if the rest of the council argued against it, knowing he was better off protecting them. And then if you say…” He circled his hand in the air, swiveling his ears. “Oh, I don’t know, went off to protect some fishing settlement, and had the shit beat out of you, why it would leave your home village and their precious council totally unguarded while you were off recovering.”
Mirelle gasped. She tried to pull away from Revaramek, and when he did not release her, she pressed herself against his foreleg. “You leave them alone! We won’t let you hurt those people!”
“Oh, Mirelle, don’t be so naïve.” Asterbury clucked his tongue and shook his head. “Disappointing. Do you think I’d come here and tell you how I’d planned to draw away their protector all along if I hadn’t already paid them a visit? Been, gone, took what I wanted. Chess, Mirelle.” He snapped his teeth, pointing at her. “Pawn.” He tapped a claw to his chest. “King.”
“But…but…” Mirelle sagged a little against Revaramek’s foreleg. “It’s only been…”
“Days, Mirelle! How long do you think it takes a dragon to fly from village to village?” He cackled, pirouetting in place. “Oh, and listen to the music swell! Did you think I was just going to sit around on my ass while you and he recovered? I suppose someone forgot to tell you that sometimes the chapters are out of order, especially in a rough draft! Why, you can never tell what’s a flash back and what’s a flash forward, what’s real, and what simply should have been.” He danced back and forth across the meadow. The breeze whipped the grass back and forth in time with his motions. “You probably think all stories are linear! I bet you still think you work for the good guys!”
Asterbury came to a dead stop. His voice was a whisper that grasped Revaramek’s heart with icy talons. “But you don’t. You work for the monsters, Mirelle.” As the urd’thin spoke, the grass withered and died around his feet. “I should have been the hero. I should have lived a happy life if not for the Men in Robes.” The withered grass crumbled and turned to sand, as if aged a century in only a moment. “I may not be the hero I was born to be, but I can still slay the monsters. I can still set things right. Now tell me, Revaramek. How did you escape the swamp?”
“The grass…” Mirelle stammered, staring at the urd’thin’s feet.
Revaramek’s heart was slowly sinking into a pit of cold darkness. How could the urd’thin know so much? Had he already slain Mirelle’s council? What of the rest of the village? What of Beka and Tavaat? Had…he failed? He’d given his word, but…he could not let that stand. He had to discover what Asterbury knew about his life, his mind, his memories, and yet…The smoldering anger in his belly grew and rose, a fire that spread through his veins. His fire glands tingled and ached, he worked his jaws a few times.
“Go on.” Asterbury took a step forward. “Tell me how you escaped the swamp. I need to know.”
The question made his head ache. It felt as if his very memories were tangled and knotted, fighting each other to escape. And yet even then his desire to understand himself, to know what all the urd’thin’s babbling meant was overwhelmed by growing fury. He clutched his head beneath his broken horn, groaning.
“What, are you getting all pouty now because you failed? If it makes you feel better your friends are fine. I only murder those who deserve it. And the town’s still there. Well…most of it.” Asterbury smiled and took another step forward. “Can you remember how you left the swamp, how you escaped that story? How did you find yourself here? This is important, Revaramek, focus.”
Revaramek focused on fire. He roared and blasted his flame across the urd’thin in a roiling gout, like blood and fury poured straight from his heart. In the background he heard Enora scream, and yet he kept his focus on incineration. He’d cremate that little runt then and there, answers be damned.
No sooner had he spat his fire than the very ground beneath him heaved and rolled like waves on a great ocean. The force of the earth’s sudden bucking tossed the dragon off his feet. It jerked his body around, his jaws snapped shut, cutting off his flame. The ground fell away, only to rise sharply and slam against him, throwing him into the air again. Pain rolled all through the dragon’s body as the impact knocked the air from his lungs. The earth dropped just as he flopped onto his belly, groaning.
Just as quickly, Asterbury was upon him, untouched by the flames. The urd’thin dropped his knee onto the dragon’s muzzle. Sharp pain stabbed through Revaramek as the urd’thin snatched his sensitive ear and twisted it till it bled. Sunlight glinted off steel, and Revaramek found himself staring at the point of a knife, so close to his eye he dared not even blink.
“I am not to be trifled with!” Asterbury’s voice was a roar that left the air itself shaking, a sound beyond that of which any urd’thin should have ever been able to make. A sound of impending catastrophe, a building storm, boulders rolling down a mountain. Existence itself seemed to shudder with Asterbury’s anger. “I warned you! I came here to talk, only to talk! I am sick and tired of people trying to slay me when I only wish to speak! I came to you under truce! I oughta carve out your eye and make myself a necklace!”
Revaramek’s heart thundered hard enough to rattle his sternum. Before he could stop himself, he squeezed his eyes shut, his eyelid brushing the knife point. If the urd’thin made good on his threat, he did not want to see it happening. The dragon’s body trembled, and he clenched his teeth, curled his icy paws against the ground. He felt no more grass beneath him, only sand, hot and dry. The smell of the desert filled his nostrils, scorched and acrid as if the land itself was burning.
“Now.” Asterbury’s weight shifted, uttering a sound like a growl from the throat of some impossible beast. “Do I have your attention? Mirelle, answer for him.”
“Yes!” Mirelle’s voice trembled, her words rushed together. “You have his attention, you have mine, you have all of our attention! Please, don’t hurt him! We won’t try anything else, I swear it!”
“That’s enough, Asterbury!” Anger and fear colored Enora’s tone. “You’ve made your point! You can’t blame them, not after what you did to them! I never blamed you for wanting your vengeance, so how can you hold the same against them?”
“I’m not!” Asterbury snapped, easing back from the dragon’s muzzle. “But I warned them quite explicitly and-”
“Asterbury!” This time it was Aylaryl calling the urd’thin’s name. “Get ahold of yourself! Look what you’re doing!”
Revaramek opened his eyes a fraction. Beyond the knife hovering in his view, beyond the gray-furred urd’thin in the colorful clothes and purple cloak, he saw sand. All across Mirelle’s meadow, the grass was withering, dying, and golden sands took its place. Sparks of yellow light fluttered all around the Urd’thin. Tendrils of blue-white lightning arced in the air behind and above him. Bits of sand floated off the ground, drifting towards the lightning that slowly coalesced into a crackling sphere.
“You’re aiming that knife at the eyes of the wrong person, and you know it.” Aylaryl softened her voice and Revaramek saw her purple scales shifting closer out of his peripheral vision. “He’s a worthless traitor, but he doesn’t deserve that.”
“Please let him up.” Mirelle’s plea was a raspy whisper. She crouched down next to Revaramek’s neck, her warmth against him, stroking his scales. “Please. We’ll do what you want, answer anything you want. Don’t do this to him. He’s only doing what I asked of him.”
“Let him up, Asterbury!” Enora shouted from nearby. “That’s enough! You know how I feel about him.”
“He’s not going to try anything.” Kurekka’s voice was level, a false calm. “They know, now, okay?”
“Just put the damn knife away, Gods! He’s learned his lesson!” Chir’raal angry warble called out from the other side of the dragon.
“If you lose control now, you’ll never finish things here.” Aylaryl’s voice was as sharp as her claws.
Her words seemed to cut Asterbury deeper than the others. He straightened, flattened his ears, and with a snarl, he yanked back the knife and leapt off the dragon’s muzzle. Before he’d even slipped the knife back into his belt, Mirelle threw her arms around Revaramek’s head, burying her face against his scales.
“I see how it is.” Asterbury snarled through grit teeth, glancing around at everyone. “Try to incinerate me while all I want to do is talk, that’s fine. But threaten to take someone’s eye out?” He waggled his hands in the air. “Oooh, that’s gone too far!”
“Look around you, Asterbury.” Enora waved her hand at the sphere of whirling blue lightning. “And tell me who’s gone too far!”
Asterbury scrunched his muzzle. “Perhaps I did go a bit overboard. Give me a moment.” He took a deep breath, spread his hands, then lowered them towards the sandy earth. The lightning sputtered out of existence. The motes of yellow light flickered and faded. He crouched, scooped sand, and stared at it. “You have a point.”
Enora knelt next to Revaramek. She pressed her forehead against his scales. “Are you alright?”
“I…still have both eyes.” Revaramek swallowed. He took a few deep breaths, struggling to calm his racing heart. Each breath made his bruised ribs throb. “I think…that was…the third most afraid I’ve ever been.”
“Only third?” Asterbury watched the sand pour between his fingers. “Must be losing my touch. Sorry about your meadow, Enora.”
Chir’raal and Kurekka moved up alongside Revaramek, brushing him with their wings in gestures of gryphon tenderness. Revaramek slowly pushed himself up to his feet again, his belly and ribs aching. Mirelle rose with him, an arm draped over his neck. She murmured something but her words were lost to the ringing in his ears. Revaramek tested his limbs, then splayed his ears and gave a hiss.
“Be nice if you’d all decided to take my side before he was threatening to blind me.” He curled his head to glare at Chir’raal and Kurekka. “We came to you for help, you know.”
“Just as there was a time we came to him for help.” Chir’raal flicked his wing towards Asterbury, who now knelt in the sand.
“Why the hell would you go to a maniac like that for help?” Mirelle shot the gryphon a glare, stroking the dragon’s neck.
“Because your people shot Kurekka out of the sky!” Chir’raal hissed at her, snapping his beak and flaring his crown feathers. “Your council thought a little raiding here and there made him a monster to be put down. Damn near sheared his wing right off his body. Was a miracle he survived, and he sure as hell wouldn’t have ever flown again. So yes, we asked him for help, and he saved Kurekka’s wing! Believe it or not, he wants to help people like us, people your council would rather see dead!”
“Yes, I can tell.” Revaramek hissed, curling his head to glare at Kurekka. “He’s very kind when he’s not threatening to cut my eyes out or trying to have Mirelle killed!”
Chir’raal’s feathers flattened back, and his ears drooped a little. He hung his head, sighing. “I…haven’t seen him like this…till now. You’re right, I’m…he’s…”
“To be fair.” Asterbury’s voice was back to bouncy, gleeful. He traced a little smiley face in the sand, then crossed out one of the eyes. “I only threatened to cut one eye out. I wasn’t really going to do it.” He dusted his hands off. “I mean I was, but I’d have helped him grow it back.”
Cackling, Asterbury dug his fingers into the sand. He grimaced, splayed his ears, and water seeped up from the ground. It wet the sand, and soon it turned to dark earth that grew and stretched around him in dark spirals. After the water, grass sprouted, growing across the surface in undulating patterns. Bit by snaking bit, Enora’s meadow reclaimed the tiny desert.
“Mind your feet.” Asterbury glanced at the others as the grass reached them.
Still weak and shaking, Revaramek lifted up a front paw as sand turned to soft earth beneath him. The grass followed it, soft against his paw pads. He lowered his head, sniffed at it. The grass smelled fresh. He dug at earth with unsheathed claws, sniffed at it the same way. It smelt of old earth and something more acrid, like burnt vellum. That burning smell soon faded, leaving the meadow as if it had never changed at all.
“How did you do that?” Revaramek slowly lifted his head, awe and wonder joining the lingering fear that still sloshed around in his belly like too much ale. How could they ever beat someone who could do that?
“A long story, better suited for another time.” Asterbury pushed himself back up, dusting off his clothes. A corner of his purple cloak was singed and burnt. He pulled it in front of himself, ran a finger across it, and the purple material shimmered in the wake of his touch. When the shimmering faded, the cloak was as good as new.
“Now. Where were we before you tried to kill me again?” He tilted his head, flicking his big gray ears back. “You know, for protagonists, you two sure are quick to violence. Oh!” He clapped his hands, bouncing in place. “That’s right! You were about to tell me how you escaped the swamp. You did escape, didn’t you? I suppose this could all be your hallucination, if you’re still trapped there.” He sneered, shaking his head. “I never know what to think of stories like that. Always seems like a cop out. Surprise!” He threw his hands in the air. “It was all a dream while you’re dying.” He snarled and bared his fangs. “Lame.”
“Yes.” Revaramek snarled. Terrifying or not, the little rodent’s rambling was making his head ache worse. He was starting to feel hungover again. “I escaped the swamp. With my mother.”
“You’re sure?” Asterbury tilted his head, drumming his fingers against the hilt of Mirelle’s stolen knife. “It’s not just a story you’ve been telling yourself that you’ve gotten all mixed up in your head? If you ask me, I don’t think you’re quite all there.” He circled a finger at Revaramek’s head. “You know, if you let me touch you, I can get a better look at what’s in your story. Afraid I was a bit too angry to think of that a moment earlier. I promise to be gentle this time.”
“You put your paws anywhere near me and I’ll bite them off.” Revaramek curled his tail, baring every fang he could. The last thing he was going to do now was let that little monster anywhere near him.
“Suit yourself.”
“What is so important about that damn swamp?” Mirelle balled up her fists, stomping a boot against the freshly regrown grass. “Why are you so obsessed with it? You’re burning villages, you’re torturing my friend, all to ask about some stupid swamp?”
“No, Mirelle.” Asterbury shook his head. He flicked his fingers and the dagger flew from his belt into his hand. He waggled the blade at her, adopting a higher voice. “You see? She’s a very poor listener.” He lowered his voice again. “She certainly is, Mirelle Two. I already told her I burned the villages to draw out the Council’s guardian so I could get to them without his interference.” He wiggled the knife again. “And because they deserved it after what they did!” Asterbury tilted his head. “They deserved it about as much as we did, but I suppose that’s the point. Anyway, I ask about the swamp because there is no poison swamp like that. Not in this world, anyway, and that’s the key distinction.”
Revaramek cocked his head, his frills lifted in confusion, ears splaying back. “What do you mean? Of course there is, I was there. That water nearly…well…my mother…”
Asterbury circled the knife in the air. “Yes, yes, we can all piece together your tragic backstory. But that’s just it. If you really did come from that swamp, then you’re a traveler…” He flipped the knife around, used the point to circle a single button above his heart. “Just like me.”
“You keep using that word and it never makes any more sense.”
“Your dream, Revaramek.” Enora stepped forward again, looking back and forth between them. “The one you told me about when we were young. About the sky, and what lay beyond it.”
Revaramek flattened his ears. Something deeply unsettling crept into his heart, but he could not place it. “I…I wanted to conquer other worlds, I think. A foolish hatchling dream, that…that the sky was something you could crack. But nothing lay behind it…just…emptiness and, the smell of…”
“Of burning vellum.” Asterbury smiled, and stretched his arms wide. “The smell between worlds we are not meant to transition. The gods have written us each into our own stories, and that is where we were meant to stay. If you imagine the world as a sphere, then the sky is the glass boundary that surrounds it. Beyond it there is…emptiness, stars…but there are other spheres. Other stories. If you put two books next to each other, there is not one story, there are two. If you write a new ending for each of them, now there are four stories. We were not meant to transition between them, and yet…”
Asterbury splayed his fingers in the air. Flickers of black, poison water painted the air above one hand. “I suspect that swamp was the end of one story, and the beginning of another. You, I believe, were meant to die there.” Over the other hand flashed images of a serene, peaceful marsh with beautiful blue water. “Somehow, someway…your mother saved your life the only way she knew how.” A spectral green dragon flickered into view in the black swamp, clutching a tiny hatchling. The ghostly dragon flew from Asterbury’s hand, across the space between images, and into the marsh. “She found a way to travel. The effort probably cost her life, but she did what she hoped. She brought you somewhere you’d survive.”
Revaramek worked his jaw, but no sound came. He tried to piece his thoughts together, but mind, his memories, everything was fragmented. It seemed so impossible an idea, and yet it made a sort of twisted sense. He curled his tail, looking at his spines. When he’d first met Aylaryl, she’d been so surprised that they had webbing. He lifted his paw, staring at the webbing between his toes. Aylaryl didn’t have that, either. His mother did, but none of the other dragons he’d ever known had webbed paws and tail spines. None had markings like him.
Asterbury smirked, glancing at Mirelle. “I think your dragon is going to need that world view bandage for himself, now. I’ll give you a moment to come to terms with that. In the meantime, what I need to know is, how? How did you mother take you between worlds? Tell me that, and I can finally track the Men in Robes back home, and set my own story right.”
... Ummm... excuse me? But, your mad at the council, for defending itself? Am I reading that sentence right? And, they knew about Asterbury beforehand... but, only now he is making his move? Why has he waited so long? Still, at least Chir admits that something is wrong with Asterbury, even if he's reluctant to admit it. Ya know, saying 'You're right, I'm...he's...'
I also wonder why Aylaryl views Revar as traitor, a worthless traitor... for what? For making a desperate promise to save his life? To try and live up to his mother's stories?
Either way... whilst Asterbury is still the villain here, that much is for certain, he is far too fixated on his desire for vengeance. To destroy these 'Men In Robes', when I doubt they are straight antagonists themselves. A story like this is never that simple. I think Asterbury is far to focused on believe he is a hero in order to question why.
Above all however, I think he is forgetting the true wonder of stories. In that they grow. The character grow, they change and evolve. They become more than just the words on the page, but living, breath creatures in their own right. Revar, as a traveler, is someone beyond his sight, someone he can't predict and thus excites him. Yet, I doubt Mirelle has been so prominent JUST to subvert out expectations of this story. I fully believe she will be his ultimate downfall, by growing as a character and a person beyond what he expects her to be able to. Perhaps she hasn't been the best listener so far... but she has been in a situation far unlike any other... and what tavern keeper really wouldn't know how to listen? To judge the mood of the tavern and try and break up situations before they turned hostile?
That is what I think Aserbury's true enemy is.
Not a someone outside of the story like him.
But someone from within, who grows beyond the story.
A fixation on vengeance, or other such goals often is the downfall of villains, after all...when they have their chance to win...or escape...but they just...can't...let...go...
And Rev did warn him about underestimating Mirelle...
We shall have to wait and see how it all turns out!
You're right about the story, and its true wonder. It IS the way they grow and change, like children growing up. This story's certainly grown, changed, matured...it began as a simple, silly comedy I wanted to write for stress relief and to try my hand at NaNo...and just look what it's become! And even now...it is still growing, still changing, still...
...Becoming.
What will it be when it's complete?
THIS, THIS, THIS... ITS JUST THE UNDERTALE OF STORIES!
By all means, say all you'd like to say!
And I'll get round to saying more after work.
Stupid urd'thin villain coming in and introducing more questions than answers. I don't love it.
And yes, it certainly seems as though most people of this world, including the various ruling councils, have no idea who Asterbury really is...But some of them do...we'll see that soon enough...
If rev came from another story, doesn't that automatically make thst story part of this story now? Meaning it might have been Rev's mother who messed up Asterbury's desert paradise.
Asterbury is proving quite the character, and I can certainly somewhat see what his motivations are now, and to be fair it's quite a sympathetic cause! Really fascinating to see where this is going - starting to delve into Jasper Fforde territory now!
Also...I feel like I have to go research Jasper Fforde now lol.
do you know who the men in robes are?
Do you know how rev got into this story?
Do you know who dreams the dreamers dream?
Can you be sure your entire writing career isn't just some dream of someone and any moment they may wake up and this all will cease to exist.
Yes, I know who the men in robes are.
I have a pretty good idea of how Rev reached this story world.
I have no idea who dreams the dreamer's dream. Or who tells the storyteller's story...
Actually...I'm pretty sure that's exactly what's about to happen. So let's hope they sleep just a little longer...
As for who Tells the Storytellers story?
So if you are a storyteller Of the Wild, Who is telling your Story?
The answer, The stories that you tell, they are a window to your soul. The only question is How deep inside do you let the stories peer and what do you keep hidden/unshared
We finally learn more about Asterbury's motivations. He also brings ten more questions for every answer, of course.
For example, i'm most curious about his past with Aylaryl ; apparently they know each other enough for her words to have the strongest impact on our villain. And that is intriguing ^^
They probably won't think about it while the tension is still that high, but I wonder if Rev or Mireille could remember the characters they reead about earlier, and get the hint with Asterbury's powers.
Keep up the good work ! ^^
Hehe, I suspect at some point Mirelle and Rev will remember adorable little Vakaal...and start to wonder, or decide to keep reading...
First things first, on the 5th paragraph of the chapter. We have the fact that Mirelle DID figure out that yes, our rodent is the being that healed Kurekka’s wing, as well as provided a solid train of reason as to how exactly she figured it out. Most importantly, it shows that Asterbury is wrong with his claim that Mirelle is not a good listener. After all, both of his claims about Mirelle’s lack of listening are both related to the swamp, both related to an area that DOES NOT EXIST in Mirelle’s world. I don’t think it's that Mirelle is not a good listener. Its that the world does not want her to know about the other worlds, thus the subtleties which indicate that there is something wrong with the picture as pushed away to be forgotten. Like how no one notices the fact that ‘my old gran’ kept being repeated.
So for someone like Asterbury, who is a willing traveller between worlds, and for someone like Revaramek, who has travelled between worlds. The swamp, and how it is different from the marsh is easy to accept, as they know on at least a subconscious level that there is more than one world. For someone like mirelle however, they don’t know and so they struggle to belief it themselves. Not unless their world view is ripped apart, like how Asterbury took such glee in doing so.
Plus, remember WHY Mirelle is on the council. She was elevated to that position, because she spoke loudly. She spoke from the farmer's, the crafters and the merchants. She, in her bar. Listened to their voices, listened to their grievances and what they viewed as ill, and spoke loudly on their behalf. Mirellie is an OUTSTANDING listener. Its simply that she is dealing with a being that simply should not exist in her world. So her mind struggle to properly accept what she is seeing and hearing before her.
Now, let's talk about Asterbury for a bit shall we? We all know he has the ability to heal others, but that seems to be his weakest, or most draining ability. After all, that was the only ability which left him panting afterwards. That drew blood from his nose. It could be argued that Asterbury was only left so staggered due to the fact he had to heal so much at once. But, to counter that, I would like to point out what he did when Revaramek’s fury consumed him. Not only did Asterbury moved the earth with enough speed and force to fling the dragon around like a ragdoll. This being a big, powerful dragon that likely weighs as much as a house, and Asterbury tossed him around like nothing! Not only that, but he turned a meadow into a plain of sand in seconds, as well as creating a ball of lighting without even meaning to do so.
Maybe I’m looking into things too much, but that just confirms to me that Asterbury is a villain, even if he doesn’t recognize it himself. His powers are driven by emotion... and his most powerful one is rage, where he shows nothing but destruction and decay. Indeed, afterwards it took him a lot longer and a lot more effort to restore the meadow to its previous state. It shows that Asterbury doesn’t belong in this world, doesn’t belong in this story... and his powers are not powers that should be used with such casualness. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if Asterbury ends up killing himself by losing control of his powers.
Beyond that however, I want to turn my attention to the symbolism that Asterbury was more than happy to share with the cast today. Chess... calling himself a king, these ‘Men in Robes’ kings... Revaramek a Queen, simply because the Men in Robes willed it, and the others as mere pawns. Pretty much putting them beneath his notice or care with how he dismissively talked of them as well. No bishops, rooks or knights. Only kings, those who they make a queen, and then the pawns, to be used as the kings saw fit.
However, Asterbury forgot something important, which reflects something I said in the first comment as well. Pawns have the second most powerful ability in the game of chess, and the ability with the greatest potential as well. The ability to become a queen if they reach the otherside of the board. Whilst you cannot win without your king, the queen is the most powerful piece of the board however. And this growth, from pawn to queen, reflects how stories can grow outside of the author’s expectations. How the characters can change and evolve from what they are, to become greater than what they were to begin with.
In essence, Asterbury is arrogant and cocky. Believing that he is completely invincible with no possible threat to him. But not only is he now facing someone who he CAN’T predict, and showed to be learning quickly, what with Asterbury commenting how Revaramek was getting pretty good. But, he is underestimating Mirelle, and just how well she and Revaramek are working together. Even after our character pointed that out to him, the rat still dismissed Mirelle as a pawn. Most importantly, he calls himself the ‘All-Knowing’ when it is very, very clear he is not.
I can’t see Asterbury winning this in the end, he’s far too arrogant, forgetting the essential wonder of stories, and thinking that his power makes him untouchable... when pride comes before the fall.
Finally, I want to talk about our outcast trio, Kurekka, Chir'raal and Enora. At first, they were set up to pretty much give Mirelle a harsh ‘reality check’, to tell Mirelle the dark secrets of her home and the council that run it. However... I can’t help but think that this is a little TOO convenient. That Asterbury was all ‘Spoiler Alert! Your the bad guys!’, and then Mirelle and Revaramek bugger off to a group of people who go ‘Yep, your council are the bad guys’. With a story like this, its already been shown that nothing is simple, that the situation is black and white... and I think it applies here as well. To the council and to the Men in Robes.
In fact, we got our first clue today. What did Chir say Kurekke was doing that got hit wing nearly shot off? Raiding. Lemme just clarify that for a second. Kurekke was raiding, he was ‘Entering into another's territory for the purpose of seizing goods or valuables’. He was taking goods from the villages by force or stealth. That one word, completely changes the dynamic of the situation. Beforehand, we were simply told that the council shot Kurekke down and that we should put it onto the list of other bad things they did. But now? Now we learn that they did it in self-defence, and if that’s the case... how much else is also in question? How much else could have justification for it?
Not only that, but we need to ask the question. Why Villages? If they had the power to manipulate reality. To change the story to their needs. Why would they keep things so small, to a series of small villages? Some might say that they couldn’t go any further, but I disagree. The only reason I can think of, is that they wanted to keep a low profile... and if they wanted to keep a low profile, then they likely wanted to life a quiet, peaceful life. Perhaps they might even have been running from something, running from someONE whose quest of vengeance has utterly consumed them to such a degree that any trace of the Men in Robes must be wiped out, even though their power has long since vanished...
Just a few thoughts for people to ponder.
So glad you took the time to elaborate on all your theories and thoughts! I love them! And quite a few are certainly on the right track...A couple aren't quite right, but it wouldn't be any fun if I told you which was which, now would it? You'll see one way or another soon enough, I think!
Isn't it crazy how much a story can grow, change, and evolve? How something I conceived of to be a quick, fun and breezy comedy for NaNoWriMo could develop, could transition...into something like this? All I wanted was a funny villain who'd break the fourth wall...and then I started thinking of the hows and the whys and...Now we have this.
You're certainly right about things like Asterbury being the villain, but not realizing it. Or rather, not believing it of himself. He knows he fulfills the villain's role in "this" story, in this world. But in his own mind, in "his" story, and whatever world it takes him to, he still imagines himself the anti-hero, doing what must be done to slay the monsters. And yes, the Men In Robes have done some horrible, horrible things...especially to Asterbury and his people, but like everyone else, they had their reasons. More of which will be hinted at in the next chapter or two, depending which I post next. But again, much like he doesn't believe himself truly the villain, the Men In Robes believed themselves to be doing what they must, to protect themselves, and their own people.
As for Kurekka, yeah, he wasn't exactly an innocent civilian when they shot him down. There's a lot of people, of various races, with a lot of bitterness towards the villages, much of which is well deserved. But at the same time, plenty of people in those villages are innocent, and they still need to be protected, one way or another. If your food or merchant shipments are getting raided...well, you have to do something...
Shades of gray are always so much more fun to me than just black and white.
And caught in the middle, of course...is poor Revaramek, so caught up in his own world of stories and heroes and villains that its hard for him to see anything else. Surely, his friends must be innocent, and their enemies must be evil. And Mirelle, finally reaching her spot on the council to raise her voice on behalf of the commoner, and of the oppressed species she wants to try and help...And here she is, stuck trying to deal with all this otherwordly stuff, stuff she can hardly wrap her mind around...possibly because you're right, the story/world itself doesn't want her to wrap her mind around it. It's resistant to change, and resistant to letting its locals see or understand anything else.
Which may also come back into play with the Council. Most of them just seem to have believed in the whole "village burning bandit" aspect, never thought he was a threat...just assumed Asterbury was a local urd'thin bandit, and nothing more, despite Mirelle's protests. And if any of the current council were true "men in robes", they may have been in this story world so long it's taken hold of them, too. Or perhaps they just thought it was "impossible"...When it comes to painful or difficult situations, people can easily talk themselves into believing otherwise...doubly so if there's an entire story pushing back against your mind, lol. Even if anyone of them knew who Asterbury was, how or why should they believe that somehow, he had come here, to their quaint little marsh? At least, not until they saw him staring them in the face, so to speak...
Asterbury's rage, and healing, are both good theories to follow up on. Healing does seem to take more out of him than anything else. Conjuring the earthquake, the desert, and the lightning didn't even seem to phase him. But healing himself and Aylaryn had him panting and bleeding, just as you observed. In fact, all the way back in his first appearance, when we see him heal Gavak after Mirelle stabs his hand to his chest, even that leaves Asterbury's muzzle/nose a bit bloodied. There's a quick moment there where he's seen to wipe blood from his muzzle, which at the time, is easily overlooked. But also the first clue that his healing takes out of him.
He's also one to keep his cards close to his chest, as it were. Or is it close to his vest? I think he'd enjoy a vest...lol. Whatever the phrase, he doesn't like to show his hand until he has too...or until you really piss him off. When he first waltzes into that fishing village...with what we know of him now, he could have torn that whole place down with his powers alone...but he'd rather keep those powers to himself until he needs them, keep them a surprise. Or maybe he just has so much fun riding on Gavak's shoulders and directing his lizards to rough up the local guards while Aylaryl kicks Revaramek's ass around the town. ...Most likely both! Wants to keep the full extent of his power a secret...and probably promised Aylaryl a chance to beat up Revaramek herself.
As for his rage, and it bringing far more of his power than he intends...yeah, that's definitely important. It may or may not be key going forward, but it's definitely been key to the past. That's also something Asterbury is aware of, that he tries to keep in check, just to avoid getting out of control. But even knowing that, he can't always help it. You mentioned his cockiness, and that's definitely part of it. What really pissed him off this time? Feeling disrespected. He'd shown them a good bit of his powers, jumping from Aylaryl, healing himself and her, sand in his footsteps, and he'd warned Rev not to try and kill him again else. So when he does? He ends up feeling very disrespected, and that really triggered his temper. "I am not to be trifled with!" Got a bit of a complex, I think. Well...he's not likely to be trifled with again...unless they're doing it on purpose just to try and trigger an overflow of his power, lol. Plus, he was getting fed up with people attacking him while he was "just there to talk" lol. As happened previously, in what may be the next chapter I post lol.
I actually meant to post that chapter already but health issues have kept me behind the curve. Hopefully will get it posted soon. Think it'll be chapter Asterbury referenced in his chess analogy, about his visit to the council. It's a fun chapter and get to see him use his powers a bit more. It also reveals a bit more about "reality" lol.
One last note about Asterbury....he is SO much fun to write, lol. Like I said before, I only came up with him because I liked the ideas of an urd'thin villain, given their usual roles in DitD, etc...and I liked the idea of a crazy villain who knows he's in a story...I just never expected those things to combine into someone so delightfully screwed up/funny/dangerous all at once.
Poor little crazy rat-dog shoulda been the hero...
Something else I just thought of...the wonder of stories. It definitely seems like something that has long since escaped him, if the Vakaal chapter is any clue. Whether he's Vakaal, or the Father, or whether that's the life he "should" have lived...stories meant everything to those people, and now they're just...something taken from him, and something that traps him. But Revaramek? The "wonder of stories" is still just about his very life. It's such a huge part of his growth and development, he practically breathes it...an important distinction.
Whilst I'm sure Asterbury is fun for you, he honestly makes me uncomfortable, reading the chapter when he was the focus was... uncomfortable in all honestly. For someone so smart and cheerful, to be so cracked and crazy... it reminds me of the Joker now that I think about it, but all too vivid and real for a writer like myself...
Heh, in some ways, I feel like I should take it as a compliment that he makes you uncomfortable to read about! Guess that means I'm doing my job well. I'll just say...brace yourself, because most of the visit to the council is in his head/POV, just like the chapter in the village with his "Speech."
And you're right...he seems so smart, and cheerful most of the time, almost happy...and he's just so...twisted. Joker is a good comparison, and one I'd say is like a subconscious influence. But with Asterbury, it's almost...sad. At least to me, there's just something...tragic and completely broken inside him. And it didn't have to be that way. But now that it is? Yeah...he's uncomfortable, he's terrifying in his own way...Makes him an awesome villain, at least in my mind.
Thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying it so much!
Now, I'm betting that the whole Revaramek saving Mirelle, dying, then being recusitatted was all helped along by Asterbury's power over the story. There's no way that he would have let Revaramek, the character he was so interested in, one of the only potential allies he has against this cadre of storytellers, actually come close to dying.
However, I think that Asterbury is actually somewhat afraid of Revaramek. He's used to the evil storytellers fighting against him, but here is this unknown element that he can barely read unexpectedly dropped in the middle of the story. He doesn't know where Revaramek's powers start or end and hasn't been able to predict all of his attacks. I think this is evidenced by the huge adverse reaction he had to the fire after confusing Revaramek by asking about the swamp.
He claims now that it was Revaramek's mother that was the traveler, but I don't think he fully believes that, for the reasons I laid out in the last paragraph.
Good job making such a widely interpretable story! ^^