A Chronicle of Lies-Book 1- The Dark Sculptor (High Fantasy/Isekai)

(Message from the author: I keep forgetting to post to scribblehub, I know. Feel free to hop in the discord and give me a holler if I forget again. Link: https://discord.com/invite/nknXqcCsWc )

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Every new day in the new world was like waking into a beautiful form of torment. The mornings would start as they used to back on Earth, with the voices awakening him with their greetings. He would get up; look around in disbelief as he found himself still trapped in his inhuman form.

He hoped that being stuck in this dream would be something he could cope with. He hoped that as every day passed by, it would get easier. But the solidity of this new world shocked him beyond comprehension. Even though he could touch it, feel it, taste and hear it, though he felt a child-like curiosity about it, he could not accept it.

When he looked past the conspiracies proposed to him by his phantoms, he stuck to the notion that he was in a coma and this was his nightmare. The phantoms returned because the hospital had not medicated him, so they manifested themselves in this fabrication.

But that did not explain why he could feel his extra limbs, why he could feel the wind tickle the membranes on his back or the chafing he felt when the tail brushed against a wall.

He accepted that he was stuck and there was nothing he could do for now, but the thought did little to comfort him. In fact, this sort of resignation made it worse. During the day, he could cope by finding something to do. He did not understand Xalix’s language, but he was able to pantomime what he wanted and the creature was able to do the same. When he watched them, he could sense a culture behind their actions and he could see sentience behind their eyes.

It was the way they used their forms to their advantage, the small little things such as using the wings as hands, using the spurs at their ends as hooks to carry stuff if their arms were full. Or it was the way Micah and Theomus tucked them in when they ran and opened one of them to make sharp turns. All of these things made them all the more real in ways Vincent could have ever imagined.

During the day, he could deal with his situation by staying busy. Every morning he looked at the words he had written: Press Xalix. Find out how you got here. But he did not know how to approach the subject. Even the pictures of Earth he had illustrated seemed incomprehensible to his host.

But then again, if this were a dream, what would be the point of trying to find out how he got here? Furthermore, approaching Xalix with this inquiry was made even worse by the phantoms.

In the past few years, he had grown used to not hearing their incoherent observations. Now they were back when he wasn't ready to handle them. They were a constant stream of noise that made it harder for him to gather his thoughts. The catatonic states were new. True, he had experienced them a few times throughout his life, but they should have been exceedingly rare. But within the past few days, he had experienced them several times.

The nights were the worst. It was in that darkness, when he tried to fall asleep, that he had no choice but to truly comprehend his situation, to comprehend the ridiculous prison of flesh his mind was trapped in. It made him consider that perhaps this was real. This place made him feel pain, hunger, and exhaustion in places that should not exist.

He remembered hints of mutilation and indescribable agony from the Stalker's attack. The silly-looking creature in the mirror had been the result of its handiwork. Back on Earth, life continued. Every second that ticked by was another second, he was stuck in a fantasy. His mind was wasting away and the brain damage was conjuring a wild hallucination.

One night, a stabbing pain in his back awoke him from his sleep. When he realized it was being caused by the wings on his back, he lost it. He curled into a fetal position and screamed. He was a victim of a brain transplant, his mind planted into the body of an animal; he was imprisoned in this mockery of flesh.

Xalix rushed in to find out what was wrong, but the sight of his winged host only served to pound this new reality in. Then Vincent would curl up in the corner and try to retreat into himself, panic bringing phosphenes to his vision. Only after he hyperventilated all of his energy would he find the capacity to fall asleep. When morning came, he would often awaken feeling run down and burnt out.

Sometimes these night terrors were accompanied by vivid dreams. The dreams shared similar themes, themes of inhuman creatures spying on him. They manifested themselves as guests knocking on the front door of his house and peering in through the windows. Or sometimes they appeared as doctors, physicians, psychiatrists.

But when they appeared, he pushed a button and shields rose over the glass, blocking them out. Sometimes they addressed him in Xalix’s dialect, with bits of broken English scattered among their words. Even when he awoke, he could occasionally hear their voices scattered among the phantoms.

There was only one source of comfort in the chaos and, ironically, it came from his schizophrenia. Dave sometimes acted as a voice of reason among all the other phantoms.

“Find out more about these people.” he whispered one day.

It was uncharacteristic of him, considering his predisposition toward xenophobia. He had been referring to Xalix and his ilk as lizards and reptiles, but now he was curious. Vincent was also curious about this place, but he was hesitant to pursue the questions he had.

One morning, Vincent had awoken earlier than he usually did. Instead of lying back down and trying to go to sleep, he decided to take a walk outside. It had been a week and a half, since he had arrived. By now, he was mostly able to walk unaided but he still stayed close to the trees and used the occasional trunk for support.

He could feel new connections opening in his nerves as his brain adapted to his new form. As his bare feet tread on the grass, the blades wetted their tops with the morning dew. The phantoms gave the grasses voices, making them his new observers. And they hid among the trees, added chirping birds even though the birds were still asleep. Somewhere in the heavens a nonexistent jet engine rumbled across the vista.

“He is learning how to walk. He is making significant progress.”

“Good job, Vincent! We are proud of you. Get well soon.”

“Vinsch,” a voice rumbled. Xalix stood at the door with shadows under his golden eyes. “Shleep you?”

He managed to teach the creature a few simple words of his own language and in turn, he learned a little bit of its language. “Luttle....little.” Vincent stuttered.

“Little?” Xalix repeated.

Vincent held up his fingers and held only an inch apart. “Little,” he said. Then he spread them far apart. “Biig. Vinsch Shleep...l-little.”

“You sound like a cave man,” Dave whispered. Vincent ignored him.

“Ah...” Xalix said before disappearing through the door. A few minutes later, Vincent joined him. Micah and Theomus were preparing the fire when he took a seat at the pit. Micah separated the still burning coals from the previous night while Theomus shoveled up the ash. Xalix stacked fresh wood on top of the coals and fanned it until the flames caught, then he took a seat next to Vincent.

“Wek.” he said, pointing to the fire.

“W-wek,” Vincent repeated, then he pointed to the leftover firewood near the wall. “Wek?”

“Shyce,” Xalix rumbled, got up, stuck his hand in between the tinder and pointed at the flames. “Wek.” he repeated.

“Ah....uh...ffire.” It took Vincent a lot of concentration to form the vowels, but he was learning how to use the shape of the jaw to vocalize what he wanted to be said.

“Fiiire...” Xalix repeated, a very subtle grin spreading across his snout. Apparently, he liked the sound of the word. “Fire...little? Wek quip?”

This was how Xalix learned bits and piece of English and how Vincent learned bits and pieces of whatever language he spoke. In fact, it all started when the two children would point to various objects and have him name them. They apparently thought it was the greatest thing in the world. Vincent found he really enjoyed their company, even though they still unnerved him.

Through a series of tedious pantomimes and guesswork, Vincent figured out Xalix was asking them if they wanted to go to some place called “Kia da Lorix”, which, from the few basic words he learned, translated to Lorix's Eye. Looking at the map, it was easy to see why it was called that.

The topography formed a brow around the body of water, making it look like an eye. But more important than that, Xalix was able to convey that it was the same lake he pulled Vincent from.

“Es!” Vincent exclaimed, “yesh! Uh...Vol! Vol!”

Yes, he wanted to go there. But no sooner had he spoken than doubt sank into his stomach. What would be the point? How would going to this place help him? If he was stuck in a coma, then there was nothing he could do about it.

This lake would not magically cause him to awaken in the hospital. Why didn’t Xalix ask him this sooner? He could have pointed to it on his map the other day. But yes, he wanted to go there.

They ate first, then Xalix filled several leather bladders with water and gave one to Vincent. He showed him how to attach a strap around his wings to keep them folded, then he wrapped several pieces of dried fish and bread, and packed them into some sort of satchel. Micah and Theomus, who had eventually become too rambunctious to remain inside, were ordered to take their energy outdoors.

Xalix rolled up a small scroll of leather hide and tucked it through a loop on his satchel. With a nimbleness that defied the tactile limitations imposed by claws, he tied a knot to secure it. Then he hoisted the satchel over his back, tucking it right between his wings. Two large straps crossed in front of his chest and clipped onto his belt.

A dense fog obscured the trees, making the air moist with condensation. Xalix called the two youths over and ordered them to put on their wing straps. Then he walked around the exterior of his home and returned with a wooden pole. The dirt near the bottom indicated it had been used as some sort of fence post or gardening instrument. He handed it to Vincent, who nodded a “thanks” and used it for support.

The trail was shrouded in white mist. It scattered in whorls as Micah and Theomus ran through it screaming with childish delight. Apparently, fog was something of a fascination to them. Xalix, however, did not appear to be pleased. It was harder to tell what he was thinking since Vincent was used to reading human faces, but his brows were furrowed and his cheeks creased.

Vincent thought it was rather strange that there was any fog at all. The wind from the cliffs should have blown it away. But judging from the silence, there was no wind at all. Other than the lazy rustle of leaves on the treetops, it appeared to have stopped. A few of the trunks murmured vague whispers and Dave said something inaudible.

When they reached the dirt path, the fog thinned, and poured over the cliff, revealing the majestic sprawl of broken land. It took more of an effort for Vincent to look away this time, as the scene practically begged to be ogled at and admired for its visceral beauty. Instead of admiring the lands below with Vincent, Xalix looked toward the forest they just exited and scowled. Something bothered him, Vincent could tell

“La..la..la la la...” a phantom chimed as an eye opened up in a tree. Vincent barely gave it a glance.

The pole provided him with some much-needed balance, almost allowing him to match Xalix's normal walking pace. Several times they had to slow down for him to catch up, but his legs were learning how to accommodate his form. Still, he was slow.

As the sun rose over the treetops, it cast its rays onto the broken lands below. It started by catching the jagged mountains in the distance, sending fractals of glimmering light. Then its gaze slowly began to scan the meadows, casting the shadows of its shattered terrain into contrasting patterns of light and dark. The cliff itself seemed to be sucking the remaining darkness into its stone. Waves surfed along the long, bladed grass, causing the hills and upheavals to shift alternating patterns of green and red.

So there was wind down there, yet there was no wind up on the cliff. It made very little sense. The fog began to dissipate under the sun's heat. Vincent eventually recognized the river which he had stopped at. Grass that had previously been beyond the water's reach was now beaten down under its current. Micah and Theomus jumped into it and splashed the pathway just as human children would. After the river, the path split to the right. Xalix went straight ahead past the river, ignoring the diverging path.

“Gelndas.” Xalix said, pointing at the sign. He said something else but of course, Vincent could not understand any of the words.

As the sun rose higher into the air, it began to heat the ground. A sharp pain began to shoot between his shoulder-blades. At first, he wasn't sure what was causing it. But then he realized it was because his wings kept trying to press against the strap. Xalix continued to converse in his grating dialect. Theomus began to ask something, but was shot down.

Xalix stopped speaking. Instead, he stared off in the distance. At first, Vincent did not know what he was looking at, but then he saw a disturbance in the trees. It was as though a wave of wind were coming towards them. When it hit, the force was not enough to stagger anybody, but it definitely felt unusual, as though nature itself were breathing a sigh of relief.

His ears twitched when he heard what sounded like a low-pitched yawn. But he thought nothing of it. Disembodied voices were commonplace. However, when he saw the looks on the young one’s faces, he knew they heard it too.

“Xali’ka,” Micah said, sounding concerned, “lok shon?”

“Vol,” Xalix said, “shon quen. Unt.” He gestured forward.

A second path diverged to the right. At this, Xalix turned. After they put some distance between the cliff and them, he removed the wing strap. Vincent followed his example and did the same thing, the wings were killing him. As soon as the knot came loose, they sprang like an umbrella. A new pain lanced along his shoulder and chest like a knife, causing him to utter a muffled profanity.

He massaged the afflicted area and continued to follow along the path of dirt. There was movement in the trees and a creature scurried up the trunk. It only appeared for a moment, but it was a pale blue, had three pairs of legs and a snout. Several more rustling branches indicated that there were several more of these creatures.

It was around noon when they came upon a sudden incline. When they began the ascent, the terrain became rocky. Vincent had to be more careful where he put the walking stick. His bare talon-like feet naturally gripped onto the rocks, digging up chunks of gravel. It was a very peculiar sensation. But it also hurt and left the skin around the claws feeling sore. Xalix, noticing this, put a hand on his shoulder and stopped him.

“Et.” he said, pulling Vincent over to a fallen log and sat him down upon it.

He reached into his pocket and withdrew a stone jar. The lid was secure with twine, but he untied it and removed the lid to reveal a thick rubbery substance. Vincent took the opportunity to loosen the leather canteen he had been carrying and drank a fair share of water. When his thirst was quenched, he looked up at Xalix, who was tearing chunks of the substance into pieces.

“Lodan,” He enunciated, pointing at the sappy chunks.

He explained its use by directing Vincent’s attention toward his own feet. It was the first time Vincent noticed Xalix’s actual claws on his feet could not be seen. This was because they were covered in some sort of resin. The creature touched the resin and repeated “Lodan.” Using pantomime, he asked Vincent to spread his toes.

This is too weird...he thought, feeling nauseated the longer he stared at them.

But he did as he was told and spread the digits wide. Xalix worked the sappy resin along each of his claws, starting from the tips and spreading them toward his flesh. Then he scooped up a handful of dirt and dumped it on his feet, coating the resin as flour coated molasses cookies to prevent them from sticking. Xalix ran the back of his finger over each of the newly shaped resin caps until he found a sticky spot, and then dumped more dirt on it. Vincent surmised the purpose of the dirt was to prevent the caps from sticking to each other.

“Vinsch,” Xalix said, drawing a path in the dirt with a stick. The path forked to the left and to the right. He pointed to the one branching off to the right and said, “Kia Da Lorix. Walk Yeou?” He drew several more lines and continued to use pantomime in order to ask “The kids and I will take the other path and meet up with you later, is this okay?”

“Vol.” Like hell he was going to go with Xalix when the lake was so close. He had no problem going by himself and he needed to see this place. He wanted to find out how he got here. He knew it would mean nothing, but he needed to see.

When Xalix decided the break was over, they continued up the path. Eventually they came upon the fork the creature mentioned. After making sure Vincent would be all right on his own, Xalix and the kids took the trail leading up the cliff.

When they were out of sight, he continued down the path toward Lorix’s Eye. It hugged the face of the cliff while the other side of the path dropped off a steep descent. The trees would have stopped Vincent's fall if he slipped, but it would not have been a pleasant experience, so he hugged the cliff. Being away from his strange hosts gave Dave time to speak.

“You are a fool.” he began.

“Why’s that?” Vincent asked.

“You still think this is a dream. What did I say when you first got here? This ain’t no dream boy.”

“You...you never said that.”

“Turn back Cordell. You are messing with people you don’t want to mess with.”

“People...”

“People are watching.”

“People? We’re going to a lake.” Vincent stumbled over a root, but he managed to recover. “The only way the water can become a person is if one of you assholes gives it a voice.”

“Do you think I am playing?!” Dave growled; his voice so close to Vincent’s ear he could almost smell the phantom’s cigarette breath. “Open your mind Cordell. This is happening. You don’t know what kind of powers you’re screwing with. You don’t know what kind of freak was stalking you that morning. It is the worst kind of evil. If you had not been taking that poison, you would have heard me screaming at you. You would have heard us all screaming at you to run.”

“Funny, that’s exactly why I take it,” Vincent mused, “I don’t want to hear you idiots babbling or see the shit you all show me. What the hell is wrong with you anyway?”

“Don’t you get it you son of a bitch?! Open your mind for one second. Consider that this is all real and that the force I’m telling you about smelled you out that morning. It got your scent and it liked what it smelled. And you are going to its lair!”

“Dave,” Vincent said, “if this is real, then I need to find a way back. I don’t know what kind of life I’d have if I’m stuck in this place.” He stopped momentarily to quench his thirst. “Also, if this is real, then that means I made first contact with extraterrestrial beings. And if I can bring proof of that, I’ll become rich and famous. I’ll be invited onto 60 minutes and all sorts of TV shows. And when they ask me how they can meet these aliens, I’ll say ‘All you have to do is go find a buck in the woods, kick it right in the nuts, and let it impale you right in the fucking chest. That’s how you’ll meet aliens. Now you, in all your wisdom and all your years of fake military experience, tell me how ‘real’ that sounds. Because that’s exactly how I ended up in this mess.”

“I'm stuck babysitting you. You go ahead and walk to your doom.” Dave said before Vincent felt him leave.

During his high school years, it had been normal for this particular phantom to contradict himself and turn on a dime, but even this was an extreme turnaround for Dave. He sounded genuinely afraid of Lorix’s Eye. But now the phantom was gone, and Vincent found himself alone with nothing but the occasional chatter to accompany him.

As he proceeded along the path, large rocks acted as obstacles, forcing him to check his footing and test the ground for stability. Clawed feet with blue scales were coated with dusty chalk. The claws on his hand dug into his palms as he clasped the walking stick. He was a cripple attempting to climb a mountain.

“Food stamps.” a phantom murmured.

“Oh please shut up.”

The cliff began to curve as though it really were a brow housing somebody's eye. Hints of glimmering water sparkled through the trees. He suddenly wanted to pick up his pace, but he risked losing control and falling. The path took him through a stone arch that grew from the right side and attached itself to the cliff face. The arch created a tunnel that could not have been any longer than twenty feet. Yet it seemed to be made for the sole purpose of revealing Lorix’s Eye. For as soon as Vincent passed through it, there it was.