Shard
The Shard
By: Shayna Cox
--Begin Audio Recording--
*muffled noises of fabric, metal, and plastic*
*quietly, as if from a distance*
Hello? Is this thing recording yet? … Ah, yes, it is. Finally. ‘Kay, better start this thing the right way. Hold on a sec.
*something clicks*
*normal volume*
Hi. I’m Ari Byrd. In my past life, I was North Blackburn. Don’t judge. My past life parents were strange. Actually, they were hippies. Before that, in a much shorter life, I was Brooke Bond. I remember living a hundred different lives, each new life beginning the instant I died in the previous life. The further back I try remembering, the more tattered and incomplete the memories get, though the detail and clarity don’t change. Again, don’t judge my past life identities, and don’t ask how I know this stuff. I just do.
Currently, I’m about 22-ish years old. I don’t know for certain, because I’ve been living on the streets since I was 17. There aren’t many open avenues in life when both of your parents are dead criminals.
*momentary silence*
Surprised? Shocked?
*chuckles*
I suppose I’d be, too, if I wasn’t used to it. It’s been part of my life - my current one, that is - since I was a child. I didn’t go to school for more than the 5th grade. At that point, my father, at the suggestion of my mother, began to reveal their secret way of life to me, and teach me all the skills necessary for their kind of future.
Within four years of training, I could pick any pocket, crack any lock, shoplift from anywhere (even when I wasn’t shopping and there were no shops to be found) no matter the level of security, and steal anything from almost literally anywhere. I could lie and cheat and scam and fight dirty, and I always got whatever I wanted to get. If I couldn’t obtain something legally, why then, I’d obtain it il-legally!
Life was grand: my parents were satisfied with the level of my skills, and they were planning their next big break-in. It would be my first, though we weren’t going to be stealing anything, merely looking. Still, I was excited - but it never happened. My parents were caught in the midst of their preparations.
*coughs*
It didn’t really help that several illegally-owned weapons were on premises at the time, and a variety of both stolen and forged passports, driver’s licenses, credit and debit cards, birth certificates, marriage certificates, and other forms of ID. … Plus huge amounts of foreign money. It was like, Boom. Instant prison sentences. So yeah. That wasn’t good.
I was still a minor by law, 15 years old, so I wasn’t arrested. The officers and other legal people were sufficiently convinced that I knew nothing of the illegal doings of my parents, so they granted me mercy.
Ahem. “Mercy.”
They gave me to some kind of foster home. I hated that. The couple who owned the home were appalled at my general lack of schooling, which they apparently found out from my school records.
*mutters*
I knew I should’ve destroyed those.
*normal volume*
Anyway, they decided to re-enroll me at once. But uh, that really didn’t match up with my list of priorities, so I wasted no time in lifting a few - ok, several - choice valuables from the house, along with food and basic stuff, and the stuff that actually belonged to me, and I left. Just walked out the door when they thought I was going to the store or something, and they didn’t suspect a thing until no one had seen me for hours. I was long gone by that time though, and was quite annoyed when Missing Person posters went up.
I had to disguise myself, for obvious reasons. It was easy: scissors and brown dye to disguise my red hair; brown contacts to cover up green eyes; even super-realistic fake tattoos on my arms, left ankle, and both shoulders, plus a few fake piercings. The idea of that was to make myself look older than I really was, and I’d say it worked.
I was able to make it to a relative’s house, who somehow hadn’t heard about my supposed disappearance and everything about my parents. I stayed there for 2 years before they finally figured out the truth, or part of it.
So, I left once again, in much the same manner as the first time: taking much, leaving little, altering my appearance, and staying out of the public eye. Over time, I was forgotten. I’ve liked it that way. But hopefully, after tonight, I’ll be forgotten no longer. After tonight, I’ll be remembered as the thief who stole her Relic from the Museum’s Relic Vault.
--Pause Recording--
--Resume Recording--
Okay, I should probably explain something to you.
*exhales*
Relics. Uh, well, Relics are things that… connect you to your life story, in a way. They tell you things about yourself that you don’t even know. Sometimes they tell you about your past. Not your past life, just like, uh, whether you’re German, or Irish, or English, or Scottish, American, Norwegian, Russian, French, Australian… you get the idea. You feel them, in a way. You know which one is your Relic simply by looking at it. I’ve been told that it’s like a tugging sensation in your gut. You’re drawn to it.
*snaps fingers*
Ah, that’s it! Relics tell you who you are, who you will be, who you have the potential to be. Yeah, that’s a much better explanation.
*pauses*
Um. Everyone has a Relic of some kind. It looks different for everyone. Sometimes they’re fancy, sometimes they’re plain; some look like treasures, some look like trash. Some can be used as the object they appear to be; for instance, a dagger Relic can usually be used as a dagger, to cut and slice. But some Relics have no other function than to be a Relic.
And they’re named partially based on what they look like, and partially based on… uh… you know what? I don’t know. Their names can be really stupid, or cool. Everything is always different from Relic to Relic, and person to person.
So yeah. Now you, the listener, know what Relics are, and you now know what I mean when I say that tonight, I’ll be looking for my Relic.
--Pause Recording--
--Resume Recording--
Alright, so I want to find my Relic, because I’m hoping that it’ll tell me why I can remember my past lives. It’s not normal. As for as I know, it’s never happened before. No one should be able to touch the past like that. The memories give certain advantages in certain situations, like knowing someone’s secret weakness, which makes it easier to bribe them.
*in an undertone*
I’ve totally never done that before, by the way.
*normal volume*
Also, I remember how I’ve died. That’s … it’s not very pleasant, having memories of being shot 13 times, or falling from an apartment building’s roof, or succumbing to cancer, or any of that.
*silence*
*inhales*
*exhales slowly*
Anyway. All Relics, both claimed and unclaimed, are held in the Museum. Specifically, the Relic Vault inside the Museum. The Museum doesn’t really have any purpose other than to store and display Relics, and the ways of making them, though the latter are held under far tighter security than the former. Since I’m not going to be going anywhere near the Makers, I’m not worried in the slightest. I’ll just have to be quiet.
*long stretch of silence, punctuated by footfalls and deep breathing*
*panting slightly*
Okay, I’m at the Museum fence, at the east side. I’m going to stop recording, because obviously I won’t be talking during the actual break-in. That’s a really excellent way to end up at the business end of a pair of shackles. Not where I wanna be. So I’m just gonna stick the recording device…
*rustling leaves*
*grunts*
*slightly straining*
… in… a tree.
*more rustling*
*exhales*
*whistles softly*
Woah, pretty good view from up here… if you enjoy looking at concrete, steel, and glass, that is. Still, the skyline is nice, all lit up as it is.
*sighs*
Really hope nobody bad finds this. Be rather embarrassing if someone did. They’d know far too much about myself. Including my general criminal record.
*pauses*
‘Kay, I’m stopping the recording. Should be back out in… less than an hour, if I’m lucky, longer if I’m not. Kay. Bye.
--Pause Recording--
--Resume Recording--
*heavy breathing*
Oh… okay. Okay. Um. That was… eventful. Or not, maybe. Depends on how you see it. Anyway…
It was about 11pm when I entered the Museum. It was empty, of course. It closed at 8:30pm. I entered with minor difficulty due to an absolutely ridiculous number of thorn-encrusted rose bushes planted around the entire perimeter of the Museum. I jimmied the lock on a window, swung myself up, and I was in. The next 10-ish minutes were smooth sailing: I located the Relic Vault, avoided cameras and guards changing shifts, picked the Vault lock, and… that’s when it got less smooth and more choppy.
The Relic Vault isn’t an appropriate name. The Relic Vault should’ve been called the Relic Chamber, or the Relic Hall, or the Relic Mansion! Something that would aptly convey the hugeness of that place! I mean, it was more ridiculous than the number of rosebushes! The place was absolutely ENORMOUS. It was like a castle of items. I was expecting an actual vault, like, one of those bank vaults that’s only about as big as the average public restroom. I was not expecting … this. Well, not “this” because I’m not in the Museum anymore, I’m back by the tree, but you get the point.
I really didn’t know what I was looking for; what form my Relic would take. My parents hadn’t offered any clues about that either. The only thing my mother ever told me about my Relic was that it was in the Museum, it was unique, and it was super old. Older than her Relic, older than my father’s Relic. That gave my some indication of what to look for, but not much. That meant that I was kind of… reduced… to, uh, wandering around. Looking at everything, trying to find something that stood out.
There were lots of cool things, and lots of weird things, and interesting things, and questionable things, and downright confusing things.
The Holy Moon Piece - interesting. The Miracle Gem of the Banshee - more interesting. The Stone of Stones - confusing and pointless. The Chestplate of Scorching Skulls - cool, but still a little confusing. The Trident of Infinite Scars - awesome. The Belt of Red Faith - interesting, but what’s Red Faith? The Sun Crest - not very interesting, because it’s normal. Then there’s, um, whatever the Bloody Voice of Freezing is supposed to be. Whatever it was, it was contained in a sealed jar made of purple glass.
Some stuff really caught my attention, like the Endless Core of Horror, the Dragonbone Book of Thieves, the Timeworn Armor, and the Bag of Slumbering Memories. But no matter how much I wanted the Dragonbone Book of Thieves to be my Relic, I never felt the telltale tug. I wasn’t drawn to anything.
For the next several hours, I searched to no avail. I was nearly out of time. I passed over the Madness Chain, the Eternal Flames, the Axe of Pain, and the Bronze Tear of Victorious Agony. I found some weapon Relics: a silver Bo staff, a platinum machete, a copper sledgehammer. So many things, but no matches.
I was really, really, really frustrated by that time, and more than a little desperate. And then… by chance… I happened to glance… at probably the most ancient display in the entire Museum… set in an alcove… lined with velvet. Inside the case rested an unassuming fragment of green stone. Mineral? I don’t know what it’d be called. I did know, however, that the fragment was malachite. I was well aquainted with my gemstones and precious metals, so I recognized it immeadiately.
As I gazed upon it, I was seized by a sudden certainty… I knew. Oh, I knew. That fist-sized piece of rough-hewn malachite? It was my Relic. No, it is my Relic. I was filled with amazement and wonder, until my eyes left the Relic and landed on the display plaque. You know what it’s called?
The Immortal Shard of the Chosen One.
*silence*
Cringe. So much cringe. It’s like something from Harry Potter or something. Don’t get me wrong! I like Harry Potter, but I don’t necessarily want my life story coming from the Chosen One’s Immortal Shard. I mean, yeah, it’s cool, but… ugh.
*silence*
Wait… wait. Wait wait wait. I just had a thought. Multiple, actually. If the Immortal Shard of the Chosen One - ugh, that’s such a mouthful, I’m just gonna call it the Shard - if the Shard is my Relic, then am I the Chosen One? But chosen for what? To do what? … And if the Shard is immortal… than am I?
Wait no, stupid question, since I quite clearly remember dying several times. Hmm, maybe that’s why I can remember my past lives? But that doesn’t seem likely. It seems more likely that the immortality aspect is why I keep getting reborn. But then how am I remembering all this stuff?
*silence*
Mmm… wait, is the Shard shaking? … No… wait, yeah, it is. Is this normal Relic behavior? - Wait, what’s it- gaah!!
*static*
-- ERROR -- Error Detected --
-- Force Stop Recording --
-- System Error Detected -- System Reboot Needed -- Reboot Commencing --
-- Rebooting...
-- Rebooting...
-- Rebooting...
-- Reboot Complete --
-- Save/Recall Audio Files? -- Save/Recall=True --
--Resume Recording--
*silence*
… Um… I don’t quite know what happened. The Shard… I was holding it, talking about the Chosen One, and possible immortality, and other stuff… and um, yeah, I could suddenly feel the Shard shaking, and then it sort of exploded into beams of light. … Well, no, the Shard itself didn’t explode, but light exploded from it. It was blinding. That’s why I yelled. After my vision returned, the first thing I did was check that the recordings were still intact, because something happened with them. There was some sort of system error that forced the recording device to stop recording, freeze up for a little while. Anyway, they’re apparently fine, though I guess that I should be careful with my tech around the Shard.
Oh, and that reminds me. The Shard is still glowing. It’s a whole lot fainter than it was 5 minutes ago, but the glow is unmistakable. Also, I didn’t notice before, but there are runes carved all over the Shard. They look like… I think they might be Ancient Greek.
Ok, this is the part where I tell you, dear listener, that although I dropped out of school after 5th grade, my parents were far from lacking in the resources to teach me themselves. That’s how I’m mostly fluent in, um, over 20 different languages plus English, including Spanish, Mandarin Chinese, Yiddish, French, Latin, German, Swahili, Dutch, Korean, Italian, Russian, Irish, Vietnamese, Hawaiian, and Greek, just to name a few. Ha. “A few.”
Anyway, I was interested in finding the origins of the languages, blah blah blah, so I know some Ancient Greek. And that’s what the Shard is covered with. Ancient Greek writing. This is what I can kind of make out, and translate to English with my knowledge (and a little bit of help from Google Translate):
Φαντάσματα. Αλήθεια. Το παρελθόν. Επιζώ. Ευημερώ. Ζωντανός.
As far as I can tell, these individual words are as follows: Ghosts. Truth. Past. Survive. Thrive. Alive.
It makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. Ghosts? I don’t believe in ghosts. Dad did, though. When I was younger, he was always telling me stories about things that he and his dad did with ghosts. Talk to ‘em, settle unfinished matters for ‘em, help ‘em figure out how they died, sometimes. I thought they were just stories, but if the Shard says “ghosts” and “truth” right next to each other, it might be saying that… ghosts are real? What? So, was my dad telling the truth, disguised as entertainment?
If so, there is something seriously messed up with my life. I mean, I’m technically immortal, I remember things from before I’ve died, my parents were criminals, my parents are dead criminals, I’m a criminal, I steal valuable things for a living, I’m homeless, nobody knows I’m alive, I may or may not be the Chosen One, my Relic seems to be the brainchild of Rick Riordan or JK Rowling, I don’t know how I’m supposed to use my Relic, ghosts may or may not be real, and I’m having an absolute mental breakdown right now, and- and-
And hey, look, the Shard is glowing brighter. Wait, wha-? It’s floating… this is creepy…
*sarcastically deadpans*
Oh, great, lovely, there’s a voice in my head. Am I going crazy? I think I’m going crazy.
*pauses*
*delightedly*
Oh wait, this is good! It’s my Shard speaking! This is cool! Hello, Shard!
*pauses*
*mutters*
This is stupid. Why am I talking out loud? It’s not as if it can hear me.
*2 second pause*
Ahh! Shard, don’t do that! I’m tired of being blinded!
*pauses*
Oh, yeah, I’m sorry for calling you cringey and stupid. It’s not really in my nature to be polite at all times and in all places. But I am sorry about that. I mean, you’re my Relic, so I do owe you some respect.
Right, listener, if that was confusing, I’m sorry. I was talking to my Relic, which can apparently hear me. And it can float. And glow. And talk in my head. And right now, the Shard is giving me portions of memories that I’d lost. They’re just fragments, like the other super old memories, but I think they’re important. Let’s see:
A waterfall. A sword’s sheathe, intricately decorated. Mountains. Falling from a high place, into shadow. A simple hunting knife, made of bone. A wolf, howling atop a cliff. A cave. A lake inside a cave. Fire. A silver ring with a green stone, possibly malachite like the Shard. A forest. A glass of wine? Glowing fish. Birch trees, growing beside a stream. A bloody ribbon, originally green or blue. Someone’s hand, with a scar across the palm, shaped like a starburst (not the candy!). And, I think, the most important memory, the face of a man who bears some resemblance to me. His name is Tom. He’s related to me, I think, and the Shard is telling me that I have to find him.
So, it’s telling me what to do. Now if only it would tell me where to go. Oh!
*pauses*
Wow, this is nice! It told me where to go! It’s helping me. It’s really not cringy.
*silence*
Hmm, so, I guess that I’m gonna be going to Canada to find Tom… Dang, that’s far away from England. Probably gonna have to stow away on a plane. Yeah, I know, I don’t have an accent. I was born in Canada, actually, but that clueless relative of mine is here in England, so that’s where I am now. I’m going back to my roots. I guess… I guess you probably won’t hear from me again, but if you do, you’ll know it’s me. I’m the Chosen One, after all.
--End Recording--