Skara Braens

Part 19

Part 18 Vote Tally

Option A:
Option B:
Option C:

Onward!

Opening your mouth to speak, you find your voice stripped by salt water and screaming.  You wince at the sharp pain in your throat.  You cough as your throat closes in a natural response to the pain.  Pausing to catch your breath, you attempt to speak again.

"Come," you manage to wheeze.  "Please."

"Aye. Come it is," the man says.  He turns to the girl you assume is Mordina. "Bidh thu cunntachail airson an tè seo," he says.

The girl looks at you with a cocked head.  "Aye," she says.  "Uisge."

"Aye," the man says, nodding.  He raises a muscular arm and waves the dark-haired man by the vehicle over.  The man grabs something from the back of the vehicle and walks over to you.  Blinking, you note that he is carrying a bucket with a ladle - all made of wood.  He pulls out the ladle and hands it to you.

Struggling to sit upright, you take the ladle and sniff the liquid in it.  Water.  You were given water.  Suddenly thirsty, you down the label in a single gulp.  That water is icy cold, making you shiver, but it is utter bliss on your raw, bleeding throat.

"More?" the man asks, as he accepts the ladle back from you.

Not wanting to ruin the sudden calm in your throat, you nod.

"Aye." He dips that ladle back into the bucket of water and hands it to you again.  "Drowning's a painful way to go, especially in salt water."

"From experience?" you croak.

"Aye," the man says softly. "From experience."

You look up at him in surprise.  Meeting his pale blue eyes, you find them unguarded.  You do not doubt that he knows what it's like to almost drown.

"We've clothes for you," Mordina said, breaking your train of thought.  "It's not fancy fabric like you have.  It's furs and such.  But it's warm, and you won't be naked anymore."

You smile at her and she nods at you.  Turning, she jogs to the vehicle, opens a door, grabs your new clothes and runs back.  "Here," she says, laying the clothes beside you.  "Get dressed.  We'll head off once you're done."

You try and dress yourself while keeping the fur blanket around you.  Your modesty is not so much an issue as the rapidly cooling night air.  The three, fur-clad strangers murmured amongst themselves while you dressed, paying you little mind until you stand up, now dressed and feeling a little better.

"Ready?" Mordina asks you.

You nod and she smiles.  Her sombre features light up suddenly as she flashes her teeth at you, her cheeks dimpling.  You smile in return.

"I'm Mordina," she says, extending her hand to you.  You clasp it and smile.

"My associates are Gordon," she slaps the man carrying the sword and shield lightly on his chest with the back of her hand, "and Artair."  The dark-haired man nods at you.

"Hello,"  you rasp.

A short awkward silence follows.

"And you are?" Gordon asks.

Smiling ruefully, you shrug at him.  "Don't know," you say, your throat beginning to sting again.  "Can't remember."

Another silence.  Artair rumbles a soft laugh, sounding not unlike a bear grumbling.

"An amnesiac?" Gordon asks.

Again you shrug. "I guess so?"

"Not even a name?" Mordina demands.

You shake your head, reluctant to talk more.

"We'll give you a name on the way home," Artair said.  "Come on. You're in the truck with me."  He walks away.  As if that decided the issue, Mordina raises her arm to indicate for you to follow, then falls in step behind you, with Gordon at your side.

You crawl into the vehicle's cab and settle into the seat.  It is comfortable; some kind of worked leather sewn over soft cushions.  Artair gets in the other side.  Mordina and Gordon climb into the tray back.  One of the pair hits the top of the cab twice, making you jump, and Artair moves a stick around at his side.  Without warning, the vehicle begins to move forward.

Alarmed, you brace yourself against the walls and ceiling of the cab with a sudden snap of your hands.  Artair grins.  "Never been in a truck before?"

You look at him, your eyes wide.  "Don't know," you rasp.

Scoffing, Artair shakes his head.  "Cars of any kind are rare these days, 'tis true.  Petrol is hard to come by.  It's not that bad, really.  The air is cleaner for it, at least."

Still unsettled by the drive, all you can do is nod.

"So, you're an amnesiac with no name, then?  Don't know where you came from either, I suppose?"

You shake your head.

"Strange.  We've dealt with amnesiacs before. Most have at least some memory.  A few had all their memories but couldn't make new ones.  None had forgotten who they were altogether.  Some tried to pretend.  Their fraud was discovered fairly early."

Not knowing how to respond, you shrug.  "Had mind probed," you say, your voice still rough and without strength.  "Nothing."

"Mind probe?  A psionic?"

You nod.

"How much do you know about them?"

"Not much. Talented. Bred."

"Aye.  Part of a breeding programme.  Creepy bastards."

"Not all bad," you say, your mind again turning to Drest, whom you abandoned to face a horde of undead.  Shame and guilt wells in your chest and you turn your attention out the window and the landscape that passes impossibly fast across your vision.

Sensing the turn in your mood, Artair falls silent.

"You need a name," he says at length.  "For us, an adult is given a new name to make their passage into adulthood.  Their childhood name is left behind.  When I became a man, I was given the name Artair, which means Bear."

You look over at Artair.  Bear was a good name for the man, who had thick, well-muscled limbs, a broad back and a head of dark hair.

"I was given that name by Siona, our elder.  In truth, people had been calling me bear since I was a lad.  Mordina was given her name when she was sixteen.  A woman's rites are different from a man's.  Our ceremonies are public.  Theirs are not.  In any case, the girl I knew as Beth returned from her ceremony as Mordina.  It means girl of the ocean.  More or less.  It suits.  She was always swimming.  Gordon did not undergo the ceremony.  He was a foundling, like you.  He opted to keep his childhood name.  It was permitted, since he was not one of our people."

"One of your people?"

Artair smiles, but does not explain.  Instead, he tells you about your naming options.  "You can, if you wish, submit yourself to examination by our elder.  If you permit, she can bestow a name on you.  In order to do so, however, you have to submit to the rites.  Alternatively, you can come up with a name yourself and we'll call you that for always.  Or, if you like, I could give you a name."

What do you decide?

a) Submit to the elder's naming. You might learn something cool.
b) Let Artair name you. He seems sensible enough.
c) Come up with a name yourself. How hard can it be?

Voting ends 3 November, 2016 at midnight.  A nice easy one after all the high stakes of the last couple of episodes!