Wednesday, March 28, 2018

Page 1635

((Triple Wednesday -- Page 1 of 3))
Alright, then. Here goes.’ Garovel paused, perhaps to gather his thoughts. ‘It’s a story from when I was still alive. It took place on the continent now known as Exoltha.

Ah--sorry to interrupt so soon into it, but, uh... I seem to recall you telling me that you weren’t sure what your homeland was called nowadays.

Hmm, did I?

Yeah. It was back when you first told me about the Lyzakks. Your native people, you said. And then later, you told Ibai that you grew up on Exoltha. Or the Dáinnbolg, is what I think you called it. Either way, I’m pretty sure everyone knows about the dead continent nowadays.

How strange,’ said Garovel.

Right? It’s almost like you were lying or something.

You’re probably just remembering wrong.

Don’t think I am.

Oh yeah? What makes you so confident, huh? Your memory’s not that good.

Maybe not like yours, but I can remember stuff. Sometimes.

Yeah, when it’s inconvenient for me, apparently.

Why did you lie?

Well, technically, I didn’t.

Technically, you said you didn’t know something that you actually did know. That’s a lie, Garovel.

No, see, while Chergoa and I did grow up on Exoltha, the small region of it where we lived was eventually broken off from the rest of the continent and therefore isn’t a part of it anymore. It became a group of islands and drifted rather far away.

Drifted? Islands don’t float, do they? I mean, they’re made of rock.

Islands DO drift, though admittedly not as quickly as these did. And you’re right, islands normally do not float, but these ones do, because they’re man-made. And I genuinely do not know what they’re called nowadays, either.


So you see, I didn’t actually lie.

...Right. You just left a ton of stuff out.

Well, it wasn’t especially important at the time and would’ve needlessly complicated the conversation, okay? And as you already know, I don’t particularly like talking about this part of my past very much. Now will you stop breaking my balls and let me continue on with my story?

Go ahead.

Alright. So I was still alive and in the flesh. Living on Exoltha. And no, before you ask another pedantic question, we didn’t actually call it Exoltha in those days.

I wasn’t gonna ask that.

Mm. Regardless, for ease of storytelling, I’m just gonna keep referring to it as Exoltha, okay? Okay. Anyway, it began, like many stories, with war--

I’d still like to know more about those man-made islands, by the way.

Stop interrupting, dammit.

Sorry. It’s just, I mean, this was like three thousand years ago, right? So who made them? A servant?

Yes. Now do you wanna hear this story or not?

Of course I do.

Then shut up for a minute.

...Fine.’ If Hector was being completely honest, though, a part of him would’ve liked to keep stalling. He might’ve kept trying, if the reaper hadn’t started to sound sincerely annoyed.

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