An Unwelcome Discovery

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A Soldier

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We were advancing on the enemy. A fortress carved from the mountains meant casualties were certain, and the cold was a bitch, but we outnumbered them five to a man. My own children were nearly grown, and by the war's end, they wouldn't need me any more, so I had volunteered for the ramming team. The gate was in sight now, an enormous rune engraved on its surface. It was similar to the rune we'd seen on their banners, but there was something different. There was an extra line on the right side. Perhaps they believed their runes offered protection, or perhaps it was simply a strange form of heraldry. It mattered not; if we wanted to know about their culture, we could ask the prisoners of this seige. Finally, we stood before the entrance. Others propped ladders against the walls as my team hefted the battering ram from the cart.
"Heave!" our captain shouted, and we pulled back, "HO!"
The ram swung forward, and the collision produced a resounding knell.
"Heave!"
The ladder teams were fighting valiantly to keep us alive, but an arrow shot past my head.
"HO!" Bong
"Heave! HO!" Bong
It was almost sorrowful, the ringing, and I noticed that there was no dent at all in the door.
"Heave!"
I felt as if I were being watched, and looked up to lock eyes with an archer. His hands were glowing.
"HO!"
The battering ram fell to earth when I let go of my handle to reach for the arrow in my chest.
Magic is real. My prince lied to me.
I was dragged through the snow and heaved onto the cart the battering ram was brought on, but I knew there was no saving me. I knew there was no saving this army. We had no such thing as magic; we thought that was all there was. If any made it home, I only hoped the prince believed them.
"Heave! HO!" Bong
My vision was fading. It wasn't a bad life, honestly. I was born, I lived, I loved, I raised two beautiful children, and now I gave my life for my country. I only hoped this battle was not in vain.
Bong . . . Bong . . . Bong
And I knew no more.

And then I was back.
Strange, this wasn't what I expected the next world to look like. No garden, no wasteland, just stonemasonry and a dwarf in robes.
"Welcome back," said the dwarf.
"What is this place?" I asked.
"This is the fortress you were hitting with a big stick, remember?"
"It's called a battering ram," I corrected, "and yes."
"Hah!" the dwarf scoffed as he turned to a washbasin, "If that's what you call a battering ram, you'd better hope your army never picks a less forgiving opponent."
I thought on this for a moment, and said, "I was certain I would die, and yet you, my enemy, saved my life. Why?"
"Oh, you did die," he clarified, scrubbing at soot, "you're undead now. And if it's all the same to you, you're going to be a slave."
I prepared to protest, to jump to action and attempt escape, but I realized: it was all the same to me. That didn't make any sense. How could anyone not care about his own enslavement?
"What have you done to my mind?"
The dwarf smirked, "I've restarted it, and nothing more. But I think what you're really asking about is your soul. It's gone. No one knows where to, but it certainly isn't yours anymore, which means you don't have emotions."
I sat in silence while the dwarf dried his hands. I would be shocked if only it weren't true, but then again, if it weren't true, I wouldn't have cause to be shocked. As it was, I wasn't angry over my enslavement, nor my prince's lies. I felt no sorrow for my fallen comrades. I didn't miss my wife. I didn't love my children.
"Come on," said the dwarf, "there's work to be done."

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A Highway Bandit

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I watched as the road receded behind me. It was starting to look awfully familiar.
"Fool," said my captor.
"At least I don't hunt people for a living," I -- attempted to say. The bloody wizard had sealed my lips.
"No, not you, the other one," he said, "the one who never stopped following his heart long enough to use his brain. And it's didn't, not don't, since you're not going to be doing any living after today."
Did -- did he just read my mind? And what other one?
"Why would I bother reading your mind?" he said, having clearly read my mind, "No, I haven't, I've got a much better source. Don't worry about the other one, you would need context you don't have to understand."
I decided not to press the issue. That tree, I remember that tree! I had to duck under that branch riding away from that town. We're almost there!
"That town? You robbed a town without knowing its name? There's a sign I can read from here: it says 'East Dell.' . . . Okay, I admit, that's pretty forgettable. In fact--"
"You love to hear yourself talk, don't you?" I mumbled.
The line slackened. The bounty hunter walked around to face me, if it counted as facing me.
"Look," said the damn coward behind his mask, "I don't get to talk to people very often, so I like to take the chance to verify I'm still sane when I get it, got it? Your face tells me all I need to know; you're angry rather than confused, so I know I didn't imagine your backtalk. And as for the mask," he slapped me, "nobody calls me a coward. You want to see what's underneath? Fine, it's not like you'll tell anybody." He lifted his mask, and . . . .
His . . . his face . . .
"See?" he said, resituating the mask, "I told you you wouldn't tell anyone."
He picked up the rope and continued hauling me, "No one ever believes me when I tell them what's next. I was only kidding about the town's name, by the way. I doubt it had one until I looked for the sign."
Wasn't he just talking about his sanity?
"Oh yes, I'm perfectly sane. You see, East Dell here isn't important enough to have a name unless someone specifically asks about it. It doesn't matter enough to ever be spoken of again. I have a name. What's yours?"
"My name is --" I began, but . . . "My name is . . . "
I couldn't remember my name. I couldn't remember ever knowing my name.
"See?" said the masked man, "You matter even less than this town."
He was silent from then until he handed me over to the sheriff.
"Thank you, stranger," the sheriff told him, dropping five gold pieces in his hand, "one less bandit is always appreciated. Say, what's your name?"
The masked man looked at him, "I don't have one," and left.

I had a night to think about what the masked man said. I didn't have a name. That sheriff didn't have a name either, did he? And neither did any of the people I robbed. Had I even robbed them? Was I about to be punished for crimes that never happened? And if I didn't carry enough weight to be named, if I my only destiny was to be forgotten, did my death matter?
I was lost in thought as I climbed the stairs. I barely heard the list of my crimes, and they had to ask me twice for my last words.
I looked at the crowd and said simply, "We don't matter."
The executioner tied the rope around my neck. He pulled the lever.
And I knew no more.