Chapter Fourteen

(POV: Porter)

 

 

"Here is where you will be staying," Brother Koob said as he unlocked the door and waved Porter and Tick through. Inside, there was a dresser with a mirror mounted on top, another door that led to a modern looking bathroom, and...

 

"Beds!" Tick exclaimed, pushing past Porter to run in and jump on one. There were two beds, with soft, fluffy mattresses and thick blankets. "Oh man, I haven't slept in a bed in so long!"

 

Porter walked inside, surveying the room, and then turned back to Brother Koob. "It's perfect. Thanks."

 

"You are very welcome," Koob replied with a formal bow that went so low his nose almost touched the floor. "Dinner is served at six o'clock sharp, and Father Lucius likes his guests to dine with him. There is a shower and towels in the bathroom, and clean clothes in the dresser. If you need anything else, pull this cord and someone will be along to assist you."

 

Then, before Porter or Tick could say anything else, the tiny historian closed the door.

 

"Clean clothes?" Porter wondered, heading for the dresser. He pulled open one of the drawers, revealing a wide assortment of pants and shirts. "No way," he said, pulling one out. "It's even the right size. How in the world did they..."

 

His voice trailed off as he glanced down at the clothes he was wearing. His shirt was stained with muck from sleeping on the ground so often, and half his right pant leg was burned off from... whatever had happened before he'd woken up. Without wasting another minute, he grabbed a new shirt as well and ran into the bathroom.

 

"Man, that feels so much better," he murmured in appreciation a few minutes later when he came back out, showered and dressed in his new clothes. "I hope they let us keep these. You wanna wash up too, Tick?"

 

He glanced over and saw that Tick had stopped bouncing on his bed, and had instead begun using it for its intended purpose. The little kid had bundled all the blankets into a tight ball around himself, and his face was barely visible in the cushy pillow.

 

Looking at him, Porter found himself yawning. "Actually, that sounds like a really good idea, too."

 

He went to the other bed, which was right next to the window. Through it, he had a great view of the Fairies' Field thousands of feet below him. He sat down on the bed, his tired legs grateful for the rest, and kicked his shoes off.

 

"Dinner's not till six," he muttered to himself, lying down on the bed. It was so soft. Way softer than the dirt he'd slept on the past few nights. "Plenty of time for a nap."

 

He closed his eyes, and was asleep before he drew his next breath.

 

(POV: Sarah)

 

"Let's begin our tour with one of the Looking Glass Rooms," Father Lucius suggested, leading Sarah down the hall, away from her friends. Droma, apparently familiar with the tower's layout already, went off on his own with a dramatic sweep of his cloak. The dwarf took her back down the way she'd come from, up a new set of stairs, and into another hallway four floors up. At the end of this hallway was a large door, above which a sign hung that said "Looking Glass Room 74."

 

"Rooms like this," Father Lucius explained, "are the historian's source of knowledge. In there is a network of magic mirrors unlike any other on earth. But, unlike most magic mirrors, we do not use a second mirror on the other end. Instead, we have discovered a way to use the gasses in the earth's atmosphere in place of a second mirror."

 

"Gasses?" Sarah repeated. "I don't understand."

 

"Think of it this way," Lucius went on, raising his hands to mime the process. "Have you ever heard of what humans call the greenhouse effect? Rays from the sun shine down on the earth, and then bounce back towards space. But the gasses in the atmosphere don't allow them to escape. They act as a giant mirror, and reflect the rays back down to the earth's surface once again."

 

"So, wait, you just use the atmosphere as a mirror? How? It's not a real mirror, so that shouldn't be able to work."

 

"No, it is not a real mirror," Father Lucius agreed. "But one thing you will learn once you have studied magic is that what magic does is based largely off of the user's intentions. What we have done is, essentially, exploited a magical loophole. We saw the atmosphere as a mirror, and thus we were able to use it as such."

 

Sarah thought for a minute, trying to wrap her head around this. "So," she said at last, "anything could be used as a magic mirror, then. You just have to convince yourself of it, first."

 

"Well, not quite everything," Father Lucius admitted, shrugging. "You could not use a tree, or a rock, because neither of them have a reflective surface. Without that, it doesn't matter how many times you tell yourself otherwise, you will never be able to make the connection. But other things, like water, ice, or even a polished stone floor can all be used. In fact, I have seen someone use an empty soup can for such a purpose."

 

A thousand more questions exploded into Sarah's brain, but she bit her tongue. If she kept interrupting him, Father Lucius would never finish the tour.

 

"To get back on track," he said, "these rooms allow us to survey the goings on everywhere on the planet, at any given time."

 

"And do you really record every single detail?" Sarah asked. "The stories say you could tell me how many hairs I had on my head on any day I chose."

 

Lucius chuckled. "Well, a little embellishment never hurt a story, did it? But for the most part, yes, we try to record every detail we possibly can. One thing we always try to remember is what type of clothes they are wearing. A black dress, a red shirt, blue pants? Things like that are all important."

 

"But why? I mean, that's got to take a long time, right? What does it matter what color shirt they were wearing?"

 

Father Lucius held up a finger, and started towards the door. "The details are only small if you don't believe they have any value. To us, no question is too small to be worth answering. But you are correct about one thing, it takes us a very, very long time to do our job. Come, let me show you."

 

He pushed open the door the Looking Glass Room 74, and motioned for her to enter. She did, and gasped in amazement when she saw what was on the other side. Mirrors, more than she could ever count, lined the walls, floor, and ceiling. A hundred Sarahs stared back at her from every direction. A moment later, the door swung shut and those Sarahs were joined by a hundred Father Luciuses. Many of the mirrors had historians standing in front of them, alternating between staring at the glass and jotting down notes on parchment.

 

"The historians you see here are called the viewers," Lucius explained, leading her through the room. Sarah followed closely behind him, suddenly thankful that she wasn't in there alone. Even without any twisting, turning corridors, the Looking Glass Room was like a hall of mirrors. Just walking in a straight line proved to be difficult without keeping her eyes firmly on the dwarf's back in front of her. "They watch the mirrors at all times, and takes notes on what they see."

 

They walked past a viewer, and Sarah stopped for a moment to look over his shoulder. He was watching a small town from a bird's eye view, though Sarah couldn't tell where it was. After surveying the scene for a few seconds, he tapped a part of the mirror, and it zoomed in on a specific street. Another tap focused it on a single young woman walking down the sidewalk, and the view continued to follow her as the historian took notes.

 

"Who's she?" she asked. The viewer looked at her, as if surprised to find her there. "She must be someone important if you're focusing an entire mirror on her."

 

"Everyone is important, child," Father Lucius said, rejoining them. "We try to survey as many people as possible so that we can document their lives. You never know when such details might someday be valuable. But please, do not distract my viewers from their work."

 

"Oh, sorry," Sarah said, her face turning red as she hurried after him.

 

"Quite all right. Now, look," he pointed at another historian who was taking what looked like a pearl out of a small indentation on the frame of the mirror. "Those little marbles are what hold the images we see in the mirrors. Once the viewer feels they have collected enough information, they take the marble and send it down the Reviewing Rooms, along with the notes they have taken."

 

Motioning for her to follow him again, Father Lucius ushered Sarah through a door on the other end of the room, and then through another maze of hallways and stairs before finally stopping at a second doorway.

 

"This," he said, "is Reviewing Room 74. As you have probably guessed, this is where our reviewers work." He opened the door and ushered Sarah through it.

 

Inside, Reviewing Room 74 was just as large as the Looking Glass Room. Rows and rows of long, narrow desks filled it, with historians taking up every available inch of space at them. Some were scribbling notes on parchment, others were watching mirrors which were placed on the desks in regular intervals. Others still were debating with each other about what they had seen in the mirror, and how it should be recorded.

 

"Our reviewers spend their days watching and re-watching everything that the viewers have recorded," Father Lucius explained. "They use the notes the viewers give them as a reference, but ultimately it is up to them how it is to be catalogued. But unlike the viewers, the reviewers are not in a rush to keep up with whoever they are watching, which means they have much more time to work. A single recording could easily take them over a year to adequately document."

 

"But the recordings never stop, do they?" Sarah asked. "If it takes them that long to finish, how do you stay on schedule?"

 

Lucius smiled and spread his arms. "Simple: we don't have a schedule! We are dedicated to recording history in its entirety, not rushing to finish it as quickly as possible. Time will not stop just because we've caught up with it, after all. It is better to work slowly than to hurry and make mistakes."

 

He paused, and then nodded. "But they do tend to pile up, I will admit. The historians you see here are probably still reviewing events from at least ten years ago. But once we have the images recorded, they are secure. They're not going anywhere, so there's no rush to get to them. Come along, now."

 

Leaving Reviewing Room 74 behind, Father Lucius again led Sarah on a twisting, turning journey through the tower. When they stopped, Sarah estimated they were somewhere around the eighth floor- but in truth, she had no idea where she was. The door they stood in front of now said "Documenting Room 74."

 

"After the reviewers have finished collecting information, it is sent to the Documenting Rooms," Father Lucius told her. "What you've got to understand is that the viewers and reviewers only write in the quickest, most simplistic of notes in order to save time. It is the documenters' job to take their notes and rewrite them in legible, fully formed sentences."

 

He opened the door, and Sarah realized the room she'd seen on the way in must have been a Documenting Room. More desks were in here, but these historians all sat alone, not speaking to each other. Their noses were buried in thick tomes, and the only sounds Sarah could hear were scratching quills and soft breathing.

 

"This may be the simplest job in the tower, but it is no less important than any of the others," Father Lucius said, whispering now. "If the documenters were to make a mistake and not correct it, history would be incorrectly documented forever. That is because the documenters are the final step before the manuscript goes into the archive on the top floor."

 

Father Lucius shut the door and beckoned her to follow him again. As they walked, he continued to explain. "There are always two copies created of every finished manuscript. One stays here in the tower to be made into books, and the other is put in the archive for preservation."

 

"So, the archive is like a library?" Sarah asked, trying to picture it. How big would a library have to be to hold every detail in history all the way from the beginning of time?

 

"Not in the way you're thinking. It is a library in the sense that every manuscript we complete is placed within it, but you will find no books in there. The best way to explain it, I think, is to show you."

 

The two of them climbed higher and higher, and though the small man never seemed to tire, Sarah's paws soon began to feel like stone and her breathing came heavily. They passed several doors on their way up, leading to more work rooms. Sarah asked how many of each room there were, and Father Lucius proudly declared that there were over 700 of each- but there was only one archive. He never went through any of these doors, though. The climb lasted over twenty minutes, and just as Sarah though she was going to collapse from exhaustion the stairs evened out into one last hallway.

 

"This is the top floor of the Historians' Tower," Father Lucius explained, not even sounding like he was out of breath. He gestured toward the end of the corridor, where an impressive metal door stood. Compared to the warm look of the rest of the tower, the gray iron this door was made of looked... gloomy.

 

"This is the most important room in the entire tower," Father Lucius said, stepping up to it and taking the key from around his neck. "Special measures were taken to protect it, so please, when I open this door I need you to stay behind me at all times. The room is enchanted with very dangerous spells. It will recognize me as the Father Historian, but if you were to ever go in alone they would incinerate you on sight."

 

Sarah gave him a wary look. "Incinerate me. Lovely."

 

The dwarf held up his hands. "Don't worry! As long as I remain between you and the archive, you will have nothing to worry about."

 

Father Lucius inserted the key into the lock, and an ominous boom resonated from the door as it unlocked. He gave it a push, and the door swung open, its hinges squealing in protest. Inside was a long, jet black corridor. It looked to Sarah like it had been carved out of onyx, or maybe obsidian. The only thing she could see was a small glimmer of green light at the very end.

 

"Follow me," Father Lucius said, sounding unsettlingly grave. He went in first, and Sarah came next, trying to stay at least three steps behind him. She glanced down, and could vaguely see her reflection in the polished black stone- and the reflected green light of whatever was waiting for them. It was so quiet in there. It made the click of her claws on the floor sound deafening. Sarah's skin crawled underneath her fur, and it seemed to take an eternity for them to finally reach the end of the hallway. There was a pedestal rising out of the floor, made of the same stone as everything else, and on it blazed a green fire.

 

"Sarah," Father Lucius said, turning to face her, "this is our archive."

 

Sarah stared at the green flames in confusion. This was the archive, where they kept the second documentation of history? No, she must have missed something.

 

"A fire?" she finally asked.

 

"Not just any fire," he explained. "This is what is called a Keeping Fire. Have you ever heard the term?"

 

Sarah shook her head.

 

"It is safest and most secure way to store the treasures we have here. Think of the Keeping Fire as a gigantic brain, created to store memories. When our documenters have finished the manuscript they are working on, I bring it up here and place it in the fire. The flames will consume it, and the magic will store all of the information it contained. The Keeping Fire does not forget, and it is almost impossible to extinguish. Everything we have ever put in this fire has been kept safe, much of it for more than six thousand years."

 

A new appreciation for what she was seeing blossomed in Sarah's heart. This fire was over six thousand years old. In it was contained all of history, from the beginning of time to... well, not the present, apparently, but at least as far as the historians had gotten

 

"How do you get it out?" she asked.

 

"By asking for it," Lucius answered. "The Keeping Fire is enchanted to recognize requests, and it will bring up any record that you ask to see. For instance," Father he turned to address the fire directly, "tell us about the Centaurian Civil War."

 

Immediately, the flames of the Keeping Fire leaped higher, bathing the room in green light, and a voice spoke out of it. "The Centaurian Civil War took place between the years 475 and 481. It was fought primarily between the Largo Clan and the Welmas Clan, though smaller clans of centaurs were often drafted into service. The war began on August 14th, when..."

 

"That's enough, thank you," Father Lucius interjected, and the fire went dim and fell silent again. He turned to Sarah and motioned for her to lead the way out. Sarah did as she was told, her head spinning with all the new information. Once they were back in the hallway, Lucius turned and locked the door behind them and smiled at her.

 

"Well, that concludes the tour. Do you have any questions?"

 

Did she have any questions? There was so much to learn here, how could she not have questions? The only problem was deciding which one to ask first. She took a breath, hoping she wouldn't tire the old dwarf out before she'd asked all of them-

 

"Father Lucius!"

 

Both of them spun around to see another historian running up the stairs with a frantic look in his eyes.

 

"Father Lucius!" he said again when he'd reached them. "The human boy who came with Droma! There's something wrong with him!"

 

(POV: PORTER)

 

Porter flailed his arms wildly, trying to fight off the invisible hands that were holding him down.

 

"You can't keep me in here forever!" the other Porter screamed at the top of his lungs, his eyes bloodshot and blazing with anger. "Let me out!"

 

"Leave me alone!" Porter begged him. "Please!"

 

"I'll tear you apart!" the boy in the cage yelled, reaching through the bars like a madman, trying to grab hold of his lookalike.

 

"Go away!" Porter tripped over one of the unseen hands and fell flat on his face. Immediately, the weight of several people pushed down on him, and he couldn't get back up. Still he fought, panic putting fire into his veins.

 

"Porter! Porter, wake up!"

 

Porter gasped in surprise. That was Sarah's voice! Before his eyes, the dark hallway began to fade away, and he heard other voices all around him. The last thing to disappear was the other Porter, who glared at him with enough hatred to freeze his blood.

 

"Kill it!" the demented doppelganger screamed. "Do it! That's why we're here!"

 

Porter jerked his eyes open, and his copy was gone. In his place was Sarah, standing over him with a terrified look on her face. He took a few seconds to catch his breath and regain his senses, and realized he was lying on the floor of his room in the Historians' Tower. Seven historians were piled on top of him, which explained why he couldn't move. Tick was huddled in the corner, grasping his tail like a security blanket.

 

"What... what happened?" he asked, turning back to Sarah. His voice was hoarse.

 

"I don't know," she answered. "I just came here and you were running all around the room, screaming and swinging at nothing. The historians tackled you before you could hurt yourself. Are you all right?"

 

No, I'm not all right.

 

"Yeah, I think so," he answered.

 

Sarah bit her lip and glanced at the historians holding him down. "Are you sure? You were screaming at someone to leave you alone."

 

The image of the other Porter flashed in front of his eyes, and he shivered. "I don't know," he finally admitted. "But I'm fine for now."

 

Tentatively, the historians stood up, ready to jump on him again if he made any sudden movements. When he got up without attacking anyone, they relaxed and turned to walk out of the room. Porter's face burned red with embarrassment.

 

"I'm sorry," he called after them. Not that an apology could make up for something like this. The sound of heavy footsteps came racing down the hall, and suddenly Droma was standing in their doorway.

 

"What happened?" the giant demanded, nearly bumping his head on the doorframe in his haste to get inside. "What is going on?"

 

"It was a nightmare," Porter responded. "I, uh, ended up sleepwalking during it."

 

"And sleeptalking," Sarah added, giving him a hard stare. "And sleep-hitting-things."

 

Porter's face turned red again, and he looked out the window so they wouldn't see it. "Yeah, sorry. It won't happen again."

 

When he looked back, Droma's expression was grave. "Just a nightmare?" he asked. "Are you sure?"

 

"Well, yeah," Porter said. "What else could it be?"

 

Before anymore could be said, Brother Koob walked in. "Dinner time, everyone! Follow me to the dining hall."

 

Droma hesitated, but then nodded. "I know the way. We will be right down."

 

Koob retreated, and Porter turned to see Tick still curled up in his corner, looking at Porter like he was a monster. Porter cringed, sucking in a sharp breath.

 

"Hey, Tick," he said, kneeling down. "It's okay now. I won't hurt you."

 

A single, frightened, tear leaked out of Tick's eye as he looked up at the young man. "You promise?" he asked.

 

"Cross my heart and hope to die!" Porter swore, making the expected motions across his chest.

 

Hesitantly, Tick picked himself off the floor and came to join them. Porter patted him on the back encouragingly, and turned back to Droma.

 

"Okay, we're ready to go," he said.

 

(POV: Sarah)

 

Sarah watched as Porter and Tick followed Droma out of the room. As much as he tried to deny it, she could tell there was something wrong with her friend, and it made her skin crawl. For half a second when he'd opened his eyes, she almost thought she was looking at the old Porter. The Porter who had burned her house to the ground and tried to kill her. But then it was gone, like if it had never been there at all, and the Porter she knew was looking back at her.

 

Was he getting his memories back? If so, why would that give him nightmares? She thought back to what she'd told him the last time he'd woken up from a nightmare. Porter was so innocent he was almost childish. Did she really believe that he could stand up to the bitter, battle hardened warrior he used to be?

 

Of course he can! she snapped at herself. He's your friend. Have a little faith!

 

Even if Porter was as innocent as a lamb, he wasn't helpless. He'd already risked life and limb on her account and come out unscathed. Whatever skills he'd learned as a Slayer, he somehow still had them. That, if nothing else, would help him put up a fight against the old Porter.

 

"Hey, Sarah," Porter reappeared in the doorway, "you coming?"

 

"Y- yeah," she replied, pushing those dreary thoughts away and following him.

 

Droma led them back down to the first floor, where the hallway expanded into the biggest room Sarah had seen yet. The dining hall was built to be able to house all of the historians at once, and it was simply massive. The walls were so far apart that Sarah could barely see them, and there balconies circled around the outer edges to seat those that didn't fit on the ground floor. A sea of brown robes surrounded the tables, waiting for their evening meal to be served. Hundreds of different species of Mythics sat together. Satyrs, centaurs, elves, gnomes, dwarves, and... humans.

 

No way! she thought, doing a double take when she saw a blonde haired, middle aged man chatting amiably with an orc over a mug of cider. Humans and Mythics living in the same place? But they- how did- such a thing just did not happen! Humans were supposed to be prejudiced egomaniacs, eager to purge the world of anything that didn't meet their perfect ideals. But to see so many of them here, socializing with creatures they weren't even supposed to know existed... Maybe there was more to them than she thought.

 

"Ah, you're here!" Father Lucius said as they reached his table. "I was beginning to worry that Droma had lost his way."

 

"You know better than that, Lucius," Droma retorted, smiling. "I know this entire forest like I know my own house. Your little tower cannot trick me."

 

"True, true," Father Lucius consented. "Well, now that we're all here, let's bring out the food, shall we?"

 

Father Lucius held up his hands for silence. Even though Sarah had a feeling that everyone in the huge room was not able to see the miniscule man, the hum of friendly chatter quickly died down.

 

"My children!" he called out. "Tonight, we are honored with the presence of four guests. Droma the Soul Smith has come to visit again, and this time, he has brought three of his friends. I introduce to you Sarah Heisen the sphinx, Tick the chimera, and Porter the human. Make them feel welcome, as if they were your own family!"

 

A roar of approval erupted from all over the dining hall, and suddenly Sarah was surrounded by friendly faces wanting to shake her paw. It made her uncomfortable, but luckily Father Lucius raised his hands again, bringing order to the dining hall once more.

 

"Now, as always, before we eat we must say our mantra. These are the words we live by, and we must never forget them."

 

As one, the historians began to chant:

 

"All that once was, and all that has passed,

 

To bring it all back is our single task,

 

To serve all our days, from our first to our last,

 

Devoting our present to remember the past."

 

"Amen," Father Lucius concluded as he took his seat and clapped his hands The doors to the kitchens burst open, and an army of chefs came out, carrying more types of food than Sarah could keep track of. She inhaled through her nose, taking in the scent of fresh cooked food. Oh, how she'd missed it! Soon, a plate of sizzling steak and a large bowl of vegetable soup had been placed in front of her, and she licked her chops eagerly.

 

"Please, help yourself," Father Lucius told his guests. She needed no further encouragement, and, stretching her neck out, grabbed a slab of beef in her teeth. Pulling it back to her plate, she tore a piece off and chewed it with relish, allowing the juices to soak every one of her taste buds.

 

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Droma had filled a bowl with salad, and had taken a large breaded chicken breast. Tick was already slurping down a bowl of spicy red soup. He had to stop every few seconds so he could fan his mouth, but looked like he was having the time of his life. Porter was sitting across from her, staring vacantly at his empty plate.

 

"Is something wrong, Porter?" Father Lucius asked. "Is there nothing here you like to eat?"

 

"No, it's not that," Porter responded. "Sorry, I'm just a little frustrated."

 

"Oh? What about?"

 

Sarah gritted her teeth, halfway through chewing a bite of steak, and tried to look calm.

 

"Um," Porter said, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck, "it's kind of a weird story."

 

Father Lucius smiled encouragingly. "Those are usually the best ones, my boy!"

 

Porter nodded. "Right, well, about a week ago I woke up in the middle of the forest with a broken leg. Sarah was there and she helped me bind it and travelled with me."

 

"Interesting," Lucius said, leaning forward. "And how did you come to be asleep in the forest with your leg broken?"

 

"That's just it, I have no idea!" Porter answered. "Waking up is the first thing I remember."

 

"Fascinating!" Father Lucius replied. He leaned back again and adjusted his spectacles. "You remember nothing? Nothing at all?"

 

Porter shook his head. "Just my name, and I don't even know how I remember that. I've been trying to remember who I am ever since, but no luck." He paused for a second, looking down at his plate. Suddenly, his face twisted in anger, and he slammed his fist down on the table, making everyone but Droma jump. "It's driving me insane! All I want to know is who I am!"

 

There was a tense silence at the table for a minute, nobody knowing how to respond to Porter's outburst. Sarah's heart was pounding in her chest. They were in dangerous territory, again. How many times could Porter talk about his past before a single, stray memory came back to him, opening the floodgates for all the rest? Porter put his head in his hands, looking utterly miserable, went back to staring at the table. Then, slowly, he raised his head again, a new light in his eyes.

 

"Father Lucius, you said that the historians record every detail of history, right?"

 

"Yes, indeed we do," Father Lucius confirmed.

 

Porter leaned forward excitedly. "Then that means somebody here knows me, right? Somebody must have written down my past and put it away in a book somewhere, right?"

 

Father Lucius put a hand to his chin in thought. "Hmm. That's not really how things work here at the tower, but you have a point, Porter. Yes, at some point or another, I almost guarantee that somebody has observed you."

 

This time, it was Porter's turn to lean across the table in excitement.

 

"Show me!" he demanded. Then, probably realizing that had been rude, he sat back and said, "Please show me. I need to know!"

 

Father Lucius shook his head. "I'm afraid it's not that easy. Like I was telling Sarah earlier, we are not entirely up to date with our recordings. Our historians can take years to accurately document what goes on over the course of a week. The things our viewers record in their mirrors see have a tendency to pile up because of how busy we are."

 

Porter thought for a moment. "So, you mean nobody's written it down yet? They just have it in a mirror or something? That's fine, I don't need to read it. Can I see the mirror?"

 

"Again, it's not that simple," Father Lucius insisted. "We have hundreds of thousands of recordings waiting to be examined by our reviewers. Looking for a single person in all of those would be worse than searching for a needle in a haystack!" He paused to take a bite of soup. "If given enough time, we could find you. But that could takes weeks. In fact, I would say months is a more likely estimate. And even then it might just be a trace of you. I have no idea how long it would take to piece together your entire past."

 

Sarah watched as the light died in Porter's eyes. He slumped down again, looking like he'd suddenly lost all his energy. She felt bad for him, of course, but at the same time she was relieved that she'd dodged another bullet. A bullet that would kill the new Porter and bring the Slayer back to life. But apparently seeing the boy distraught was too much for the kindly old dwarf to take. He sighed.

 

"Very well," he consented, "I will dedicate a small team of historians to go through our recordings in search of anything related to you. I can't promise you that they will find it in the time that you're here, but we will do our best to help you."

 

Porter immediately sat upright in his chair, eyes alight with spirit once more. "Really? Thank you, Father Lucius! Thank you!"

 

While Porter's spirits were soaring, Sarah's heart felt like it was sinking into her stomach. She glanced at Droma, and saw that the Soul Smith was already looking at her. He discreetly shook his head, and mouthed one word at her.

 

No.

 

NEXT TIME: The historians may be the key to unlocking Porter's memory! But is that a good thing, or a bad one?

 

 

 

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