Death After Death

I didn’t solve that level, he told himself as he walked numbly to the inn. All I did was pick up a lousy scroll. The wyvern lived, the messenger died, and it still didn’t get delivered.

He had no idea what to make of that, but as soon as he walked into the inn, he could see it was a dramatically different place than it had been the last time he’d been there. On his last few visits, the place had been half empty until sunset, and even then, it had only been filled with a smattering of traders and locals. This time, the place was nearly full, and the benches were mostly packed with soldiers or at least mercenaries. They looked a little ragged, to say for sure, and with the hard looks he received, he leaned toward the latter.

For a moment, he thought he might have to fight these strangers; then, he saw a look of recognition flit across a few faces, and the conversations he’d interrupted resumed.

“Ah, there he is,” the innkeeper said, acting like he knew him. “What kept ya, Simon? You said you’d be back yesterday!”

He doesn’t think he knows me, Simon corrected himself. He does know me. Or at least, my doppelganger… It was a chilling realization. He’d thought about the strange evil Simon since that day, three lifetimes ago, but the man had never turned up again until now, and somehow, he didn’t think that was a coincidence.

“Well, you know how it is out there,” Simon answered, hoping that made any sort of sense.

“I do, I do,” the man nodded. “Ugly time to be traveling, but if you have to, then you have to.” As he spoke, he slid a key out from under the counter and handed it to him. “Still, kept your room all locked up for you, just like you asked.”

“Thanks…” Simon said, not quite sure what was going on. He’d planned on getting a meal and leaving, but digging into this was too big of an opportunity to miss, and he headed upstairs in search of his room with a few words about how he’d be back down for something to eat in a little while.

Half of him felt like he’d just gotten away with the heist of the century, but the other half was certain he was walking into a strange, elaborate trap. So, when he reached the door with the number on it that matched the key, he paused and waited, examining the door frame, the lock, and any other details that were apparent before he went further.

Inside, he found nothing more than an ordinary room. It was empty, save for the bed, a small desk, and a packed backpack sitting against the wall. He still took nothing at face value, and he continued his slow examination, one object at a time. He didn’t even fully step through the door until he’d looked at the door jamb on the far side of the wall.

Something stinks here, he told himself. He just couldn’t figure out what it was. It was simply too strange. The last time he’d met the man, he'd appeared at a pivotal moment and then vanished again, but this time, Simon just happened to have come to the place where he was staying? He didn’t buy it.

“If he is me, then he knows I’ve been here before. He knows where the portals are, too,” Simon told himself. “Hell, he probably knows where more of them are than I do, depending on how far in the future he’s from.”

None of that made him feel any better as he methodically tore apart the room. After he examined the furniture, he took apart the backpack very carefully, examining what had been left behind. None of it appeared to be anything special. There was a sack of foreign gold and silver coins, a few changes of warm clothes that would have been a little snug for him right now, a bedroll, a tent with some stakes, and a couple of weapons that would definitely have been the sort of thing that he’d wield. One of the daggers even had runes of lesser transfer magically embossed into it in the way he’d done so recently in the same style that he’d used on his skull-marked blade.

Simon was tempted to take that but could imagine a second layer of runes somewhere beneath the surface that would do something horrible if it was activated, so he left it alone. “I can’t trust anything here,” he reminded himself as he checked the stitching of the pants for hidden pockets and the backpack for hidden compartments.

Still, there was nothing. It looked, for all intents and purposes, as if some version of him left his things at the inn to run an errand and never came back. Simon didn’t buy that for a minute. “For starters, I would have hid my money better,” he said, looking down at the handful of coins. It was a fortune, no matter what the denominations were. “This much gold represents years of…”

Simon stopped and did a double-take as he looked at one of the coins. It bore an uncanny resemblance to him. No, it was him, too, or at least it was his doppelgänger.

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“Son of a bitch,” Simon cursed. The coins definitely weren’t Ionian, and they weren’t from Brin. They also didn’t look like the one he’s seized from the Murani blood money.

“Has this already happened then, and I wasn’t a part of it?” Simon wondered aloud as he tried to make out the inscription. “Or is this asshole bringing back artifacts from the future to change the past?”

Simon was irritated by that for a moment, but once he made out what the coin said, he practically yelled out, “Oh, come on!” in frustration. The coin didn’t just look like him. It was him. The inscription read Simon the Merciless, and though there wasn’t a date, it was worth 50 drachma. He had no idea how much that was, but he knew that it was half a crown by weight and that the merchants of the area would likely chisel him and give him only 70 or 80% of that.

Right now, Simon didn’t care about exchange rates, though. He cared about what in the fuck this asshole had done to be given the moniker ‘the Merciless.’

“There has to be more,” Simon said to himself. “This motherfucker is taunting me.”

Simon tore the room apart a second time but didn’t find anything until he checked on the beam that ran along part of the ceiling. It looked like it was doing nothing but holding up the ceiling, but given that Simon was sure he would have hidden his gold up there if he was going out for a bit, he used the chair to climb up. It was there he found one of his old sketchbooks. At least, it was something that looked an awful lot like one of his old sketchbooks from his days in Ionia before he’d finally gotten to see his son.

With trembling hands, Simon opened it, wondering if it could really be the case. When he saw that it was filled with places he’d never been or seen, he breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t his book. The doppelgänger hadn’t been stealing from his own life at least. Simon knew it was paranoid, but sometimes he couldn’t help but wonder if this asshole was wandering around, undoing all the good works that he was doing in real-time.

Still, it very much looked like one that he’d owned once, though, and worse, it was definitely his style. Some version of him had drawn every one of these pictures. The style was nearly identical, save for the fact that it looked a little more smudged on some of the softer mediums. He would have been more careful than that.

If the thing was a forgery, though, it was a good one. It was filled with places he’d never been. They seemed to be in the mountains, and there was a castle and…

As he took it all in, he stopped as he finally found someone familiar. On one page near the middle of the book was Freya, pale and perfect. She didn’t look so different from when he’d last left her. The very fact that his evil twin might have gotten his hands on her enraged him. However, for a moment, not even that rage could interfere with that moment of perfect longing. It was heartbreaking, in its way, and it was several seconds before he could turn the page or even look away from those piercing eyes.

When Simon finally managed to shake off that feeling of nostalgic sadness and turned the page, he was rewarded with nothing. The book was simply blank. He started to turn the pages faster and faster, but there was nothing there, not until he reached the very end where he found a long note addressed to him.

‘My dear, dear Simon,’ Simon read aloud in a whisper. ‘By now, you know who I am, or at least you think you do. Perhaps you will change your mind after the trials ahead. I hope you enjoyed your time in Ionia so recently. I thought both of the fireworks shows that you put on were masterfully done.’

Simon paused for a moment, thinking about the words before he decided that both fireworks shows meant the Volcano fight with the lava titan and the final battle for the palace where he’d perished. That asshole was watching me then too? He wondered before continuing.

‘This would be the part where I’m supposed to offer you some advice about the nature of the Pit or taunt you with some great secret, but I’m afraid I can’t do that. I am exactly what you see and have gone no deeper into this horrid place than you have. All I can offer you, instead, is regret.

One of your next trials is so terrible that I would spare you from it if such things were possible. I really would. Sadly, some things like the Basilisk have to happen, and other things, like saving Freya, you will never quite manage to accomplish. Don’t worry, when all of that is done, We’ll meet once more in the north. Perhaps I will tell you a bit of what Helades has left out.

Sincerely,

You Know Who.’

When Simon was done, he almost ripped the book in half in pure outrage. He was sure that was meant to be the reaction, of course. The man was taunting him, but he knew that he was lying. He was certain he’d saved Freya on more than one occasion.

In fact, he told himself, she was only alive when I last saw her, thanks to my magic. Nothing else could have possibly saved her.

That feeling of pride was enough to allow Simon to regain his composure, and after a few deep breaths, he was fine again. “He’s just lying to upset me or to make me do something stupid,” Simon repeated to himself.

Once he decided that, he decided to go downstairs and get some dinner. Acting rashly was the last thing he needed to do, and he’d think much better on a full stomach.

The roast that he was served was better than he remembered, though trying to pretend he knew people he’d never met before was a bit awkward. Still, Simon started down there in the common room for hours, drinking and dicing. The two love birds he was waiting for never showed up, but the Unspoken did, briefly.

This time, the number was smaller than he remembered before, and after a few checks, they quickly left again. This confused Simon further, and even as he turned his doppelganger’s words over in his mind, he tried to figure out what might have happened.

Simon waited for two days for Aaric and the young whisperer he was infatuated with to arrive, but they never did, leaving him wondering what in the hell was going on with this level. Simon was conflicted then. Should he stay on the path he’d planned and leap down the well, or should he take some extra time to get in shape first?

What does my doppelgänger expect me to do? He wondered, planning to do exactly the opposite.