"Where am I?" It demanded, "Where's my family? Who are you?"
Amos stepped back from it. He held out his hands. It advanced on him.
"What did you do to me?"
Amos' backpedalling disturbed the waters. He looked around him frantically for anything to help against his aggressive mirror image. There was nothing, of course. There never was in this place.
"Stop," Amos said. His voice cracked, "Just wait."
The duplicate waited, standing above him. It reached up to push its wet, blond hair back. Its hand seemed to waver in and out of existence, phasing through its own hair. The duplicate looked at its fingerless stumps in confusion, then back at the appendages it left in the obsidian.
"What?" it whispered, then louder "What in Maur's name is going on?"
"I don't know," Amos dropped his hand in shame, "I don't know anything."
The replica's anger softened, but didn't disappear entirely. It looked so much like Leila, with those eyes, searching Amos' face. "Who are you?"
"My name's Bailey," Amos said, "You were watching my life, just now. Before I died."
"You look like me."
"I woke up in this body after I died. I don't know why."
There was a pause where the two appraised each other. Amos knew that he didn't belong in the body he occupied all too well. Being interrogated by a replica of the person he expunged via transmigration only exacerbated Amos' feelings of guilt.
Is it really a doppelganger?
Or is it the real Amos?
"That's my body," it said, interrupting - and confirming - Amos' internal thoughts.
Amos just nodded, defeated. "I'm sorry."
"Give it back."
"I don't know how. I didn't do any of this."
"Give. It. Back."
A vein on the soul's forehead bulged. The muscles in its hands flexed, clenching phantom limbs. It stiffened, its arms trembling slightly.
From the ruined stumps where it ripped its fingers out of the obsidian, new growths of skin and bone pushed their way through. The pale digits unfurled like flowers budding from soil, forcefully. Amos and his soul looked on in horror.
Amos' soul didn't appear to be afflicted with pain from the sudden onset of new growth. It was shocked, certainly, but hurt? No.
It turned its new hands around to examine them properly, flexing the fresh fingers to repeatedly form fists.
"Then," it said, its expression twisting into a sneer, "I'll take it."
It lunged.
The soul didn't give Amos any time to react. He still tried to scrabble away, scratching at the obsidian and sending splashes of water into the air. It was upon him in a second, new hands wrapping around his neck.
The sensation was strange. Its hands were incorporeal, but the effect on Amos' body was the same as if they were physical. He spluttered, choking for air, grasping at the soul's wrists. His struggles didn't faze it, sliding through the murderous hands like smoke.
There was confusion in the spirit's eyes as it saw Amos's hands passing through it. Its grip loosened for a moment, and it locked eyes with him, grey on grey.
A moment passed.
"You should've stayed dead," Amos' soul gritted its teeth. It redoubled its efforts, grip tightening.
Just when Amos was losing his grip on consciousness, vision waning, pulse slowing, struggle ending, breath fading, his soul - his original self, the person whose life he had unwittingly ripped away - disappeared.
Amos gasped for air. Sweet, preserving, oxygen.
Amos looked around for his original self. There was no sign of it. He shook his head and walked over to the patch of obsidian where he first found the soul kneeling.
There were ten cylindrical holes in the smooth obsidian. A tiny hairline fracture appeared as Amos stared at the proof that everything he saw was real - he wasn't imagining the old Amos. It had an effect on the Infinite Lake. A dangerous one.
Amos felt a stabbing pain behind his eyes. A headache unlike any he had felt before. He staggered from the force of it, putting his hands to his head. He pressed, hard, hoping the pressure would help.
It didn't.
The pain increased, sharper and sharper. Amos began screaming. He fell to his knees, hunched over the smooth surface of the water. Through the strands of hair falling over his face and the tears welling in his eyes, he saw his sobbing reflection.
His skin was boiling, the flesh shifting like sand. His vision split in two. A second, ethereal face pushed itself from the side of Amos' head chimerically. It was a visage of torment, screaming silently.
Amos retched, throwing bile onto the reflection, obscuring the horrific sight.
He pushed himself up with a frenetic energy, desperate to get away. The void - the portal - was still hanging in the air. He staggered towards it.
Stop.
Don't leave.
We can talk.
The pain stopped suddenly. Amos gasped and doubled over, throwing up again.
"What," Amos rasped, panting, "the fuck. Was that."
"You stole my body. I tried taking it back."
The original Amos stepped into his vision, clutching at its chest. It had taken on a paler hue.
"I don't feel good."
"Yeah, no shit. It didn't work?"
"No, obviously-" the real Amos began before being interrupted.
"Don't try pulling that shit again."
"It's my body!" the soul shouted at him, "My life! My family! You took it from me!"
"Fuck you," Amos spat, "I didn't ask for this."
A beat of silence.
"Neither did I," the soul said, "and yet here we are."
The original Amos exhaled an empty breath, fists still clenched.
"So what now?" Amos rubbed his neck gingerly, "Why shouldn't I just leave?"
"Because," the soul hesitated, "when we touched, just now-"
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"You strangled me,"
"When. We. Touched," Amos' soul clenched its teeth, trying very hard not to resort back to violence, "It was like I was back in your - my - body. It hurt like anything else, but I was there. I felt you, too. We were one."
Amos nodded, trying to keep up. He had felt a presence, but was mostly distracted by the overwhelming pain.
"I saw your memories, the ones you made with my family in the last two days. But... something pushed me out. I couldn't stay. It was like I don't belong in my own body anymore, like it was physically shoving me out,"
Amos' soul searched its oppressor's face, a sense of urgency and fear creeping into its micro expressions, "Did you do this to me?" it asked, "Are you Drai?"
Amos frowned, "A what?"
"Don't play dumb with me," the soul growled, "You owe me the truth, at the very least."
"No, I seriously don't know what a Drai is," Amos protested, "I don't know anything about this world! I didn't even know about the, uh, chicken things."
The soul's lips quirked upward slightly at the mention of the 'chickens'.
"You saw my old life. If you really saw my memories, then you'll know I'm not lying."
It acquiesced, holding up a hand to stop any more of Amos' explanations, signalling that it knew what he said to be true. It began to pace, twirling blond locks around a single finger.
"This doesn't feel like any of the Orders I know..." the soul muttered to itself. It stopped pacing and turned to face Amos, "I-"
It disappeared.
No ceremony, no puff of smoke, no screams. It was there one moment and gone the next. It was like it had never existed.
Amos panicked, thinking it had decided to try its luck at forcibly regaining its body. He braced for the pain, but it never came.
Amos waited for some time for his soul to return, eventually calling out to the empty space, "Uh, hello?"
No response.
"Do you want to come back and try killing me again?"
After a while of this, Amos was reasonably certain he was alone in the Infinite Lake once again. He sat down in the gentle waters, thoughts and emotions tumbling through his cyclonic mind.
Amos sighed. His throat still burned where the soul had wrung it. He needed the time to process everything that had just happened.
I didn't kill the real Amos when I transmigrated. He must be stuck here, in the Infinite Lake.
How terrible this must be for him... To see someone else living his life, catching glimpses of memories.
He lowered his gaze to the water.
That's not me. I can pretend to be Amos all I want, but even if I didn't want this, it's still my fault that he's stuck here.
"I don't know how to fix this," he said out loud, "but I have to try."
Amos made the declaration to himself, more than the void or anyone else that might be listening.
Maybe... maybe the real Amos will help me. So I don't fuck up his life so much.
He mentioned Maur… could it be like their god? Or some kind of authority figure? The Emperor Maur?
And he said something else about 'Orders' in relation to his separation from our body...
Orders... magic factions, maybe?
And what the hell is a Drai?
Amos stayed in the water and mulled over the implications of everything his soul had said. He couldn't come up with any other precious droplets of information. He waited a little bit longer in case the soul returned. Eventually, he gave up and decided to head back home.
Amos meandered towards the sphere of anti-light. He reached inside, meeting no resistance. His whole arm sank into the portal, the suction increasing in strength. It felt like the centrifugal force of a carnival ride spinning in fast circles, but only in one direction.
There was a popping noise as Amos' entire body was pulled through the portal forcefully.
...
"-MOS! AMOS!" A voice called from the darkness - for it was dark now, the sun had set since Amos entered the Infinite Lake.
It seems time continues on even while I'm in the Infinite Lake.
"WHERE ARE YOU, BOY! IT'S LATE!"
Amos groaned, rubbing his head. He was covered in dirty water and crumpled in an extremely uncomfortable position. He had returned home exactly where he had left from - the splintery water trough.
It sounded like his parents had been looking for him for a while. Their shouts and calls had a tone of desperation, even fear.
"Over here!" Amos called out to the night, tumbling out of the trough and landing on his knees in the mud. He was shaking, though it was difficult to say whether the wet and cold or shock of the encounter produced the greatest effect on his nerves.
Shit, they're going to be worried about me.
I'll have to be more careful next time I want to speak to my soul...
Kien and Leila arrived shortly to find Amos standing sheepishly next to the trough, dripping with the dregs of the animals' drinking water.
"Oh, Amos, you're alright!" Leila rushed forward, taking him into a bear hug. She smoothed his dank hair down and kissed his forehead repeatedly, muttering "Thank Maur, thank Maur," each time.
"What the hell, Amos," Kien joined the hug, "you've been gone all day."
They stepped back to examine his face. Leila wiped away a streak of grime with her thumb.
"Where've you been, son?" Kien asked, "we were worried sick!"
Amos cleared his throat, trying to stall while he thought of a lie.
"Uh, I fell asleep."
"Out here?"
"Yeah..." Amos thought on his feet, "I haven't been able to sleep at all, lately. Guess I just got too tired and passed out."
"I told you to go to bed, boy," Leila said, pulling on his ear gently.
"I wanted to help out," Amos shrugged.
"Come on," Leila led them both back to the farmhouse, "I'll heat some broth, and make you some tea to help with sleep."
Kien's stomach grumbled. He shot a sideways grin at Amos, pulling him in to tousle his hair, "We were waiting for you to eat."
"And then you are going straight to bed, young man, straight to bed, you hear me?" Leila pointed at Amos.
Amos gulped and nodded.
...
After dinner, Amos stood alone in the darkness of his double room, while Kien and Leila stayed in the central room. They had both expressed great concern over his behaviour in the past few days. Amos stuck with his excuse of tiredness - to which Leila responded by pointing at the stairs with a stern face.
The shutters of his window were open, latched so they didn't bang about in the breeze. The moonlight cast an eerie glow on Amos' face, looking out at the farm from the open dormer.
The Aquila family farm. The farm that Amos - the real Amos - worked so hard to keep going. The farm that sustained his family and the farm that the new Amos was so royally fucking up.
If I can return to the Infinite Lake again...
The real Amos might be willing to teach me about the world, or farming.
Then I won't be ruining his life so much...
The door to the room creaked open, letting in a shaft of soft orange glow and interrupting his thoughts. Leila stood in the doorway, holding a chipped mug and a slim candle.
"Hey, honey bun," she said. She set the candle down on the flat top of Amos and Yakob's shared chest, then went to sit on the bed.
"Hey, " Amos said, watching her cup the mug in both hands, shivering on accord of the open window.
"I made this for you," she indicated the mug.
"What is it?"
"Tea. Herbal. It'll help with your sleeping."
Amos walked over to sit adjacent to her and took the tea from her hands, "Thanks."
They sat in silence for a while. Amos sipped his tea. It was good - strong and warm.
"Amos," Leila broke the silence, "I know you're doing your best to help us out on the farm. Your father and I really appreciate it, and everything else you do for us. You're our strong little helper."
Amos sipped his tea with eyes downcast. Orange light flickered as the candle danced.
"Look at me," Leila insisted, "you are strong. But there's only so much you can do, okay? Don't think your father didn't notice all those late nights you spent fertilising the fields last month. You're working yourself too hard, Amos. You need to slow down. I told you already, the work will wait. I mean, you even let the Ra get the better of you!"
The Ra?
The only thing that got the better of me was those chickens... Those beasts must be called Ra.
"We are going to be okay, you know that? No matter what. You just need to get some proper rest."
Leila patted the knee of her son's doppelganger. They sat in silence while she ensured that Amos finished his tea. Then, she took the mug and tucked Amos into the scratchy woolen blanket.
"I'll close these shutters before you go to bed. You don't want to catch the madness," she said.
Wait, what? Some kind of airborne disease?
"Goodnight, goose," Leila smiled at him
"G'Night... mum."
Leila exited the room backwards. She shut the door with a soft thud. Amos listened for her descending footsteps.
He let himself relax under the covers. It was peaceful, for a moment. A second of genuine rest.
...
There was a soft rustling preventing Amos from sleep. It was the noise of wind playing with a stack of papers left unsecured.
He frowned, his eyes still closed, insistent on attaining unconsciousness. There shouldn't be any papers in the room - he'd explored them all while cleaning the house and paper was a rarity, it seemed.
Amos threw his blanket off with a frustrated sigh. He was determined to find the source of the annoyance.
As he got up, he cast his eye around the room. Everything was in order: The candle flickered softly, the chest was closed tightly, the breeze brew softly through the open window.
But... Leila closed the window...
The rustling came again.
Amos approached the window cautiously. The stars glittered brilliantly, brighter than they ever were in Amos' old world. They were strange colours, reds and golds and greens.
Everything is so different here.
I'll just have to get used to it.
Amos shook his head and reached out to close the shutters. The rustling noise redoubled its efforts to gain his attention. It worked this time.
Illuminated by the moon and stars, and the soft glow of the candle behind him, Amos looked down on the windowsill. There was an innocuous envelope where there hadn't been before.
Strange...
He picked up the envelope. It was oddly warm to the touch. The front was sealed with red wax. The wax was colder than the rest of the envelope.
The seal was not entirely unfamiliar to Amos. In his old life, he had consulted his horoscope for advice regarding his (non-existent) love life, lottery chances, and career forecasts. It was for this reason that he recognised the symbol for Pisces, even though he was a Cancer himself. Twelve stars surrounded the Pisces symbol, like numbers on a clock.
Amos broke the seal and opened the letter, shrugging. There was text on it that he couldn't-
Wait...
This is written in English!
There was text on it that he could read. He smoothed it out hastily, accidentally smearing the ink.
The ink is still wet?
Amos closed the shutters and went to sit by the candle Leila had left him on the chest. He held the note close to the flame. His eyes widened as they skimmed over the mysterious letter.
"BAILEY," it read simply, "WATCH FOR THE ECLIPSE."
If you were Bailey, would you try returning to the Infinite Lake to help Amos' soul?
