Chapter 2

History

Green rolling hills, all around, greeted the Squirtle's eyes. Some of the hills' greenery gave way to rocky cliff faces, others' grassy coats were intact. Here and there small copses or even individual trees stood proudly on the slopes. Though the land for miles around rippled and rolled, there was a steady downward slope on the whole, toward a thick blue river. The path upon which the two Pokémon stood snaked down through the hills, and the Squirtle spotted a couple of footpath offshoots from the main one leading into the distance. An hour or two of walking away from the forest's edge, the main path seemed to end by the river. Or at least the Squirtle guessed it did, as making out detail past the river was difficult in the stormy haze. The river must have been a half mile wide. But where the path met the river, there was a smattering of roofed structures all grouped up, with a clearing or plaza in the center. A small settlement, or town maybe?

A drawn-out, almost lethargic boom of thunder fell upon the pair, though rain was still completely absent. The clouds above had lost some of their menacing darkness, but a glimpse of the sun was not going to happen any time soon. In fact, the day seemed a bit darker. The day was marching toward night even though there was no sun to report it. It must have been noon or early afternoon when the Squirtle first woke under the massive tree. As he had surmised earlier, the winds were powerful out here. What were sudden gusts in the forest were now sound-erasing blasts that punctuated a steady breeze. The wind changed directions often, but it carried no wet after-rain smell.

"Do you want to head to some cover?" The Cyndaquil faced him, and once again the Squirtle experienced the helplessness of trying to read body language and facial expressions that were absolutely foreign to him. "Resting someplace safe and quiet for a while would be really nice, wouldn't it?" The Cyndaquil planted his feet wide apart to brace against the wind.

The Squirtle nodded. He was reliant on the Cyndaquil, he realized, as they walked toward the obvious choice for shelter: a natural mound of earth with a cave-like hollow protruding into it. The view of the countryside rung no bells for the Squirtle. There was no recognition. He did not have the slightest idea of where he was, and was only just getting some time to think. And by now the Cyndaquil had proven that at the very least he meant the Squirtle no physical harm. He could have left him when the Paralysis kicked in, easily.

The cave was cozy. A few feet deep, which was more than enough room, since the Squirtle estimated his height at a foot and a half. The roof of the hollow was rough and rocky, but the floor was worn smooth. The Squirtle judged that he and his companion were not the first Pokémon to rest here. The Cyndaquil plopped himself down against the hollow's wall, and curled up without further ado. His eyelids would probably have closed, if they weren't already. Were they? The Squirtle stood for a moment, wondering what the best position was to rest in his new body. Before the moment could stretch on to become awkward, he settled for the way he had first woken, and sat down against the wall with his short legs stretched out in front of him. His shell made the TOK sound as it clinked against rock. He flinched.

The Cyndaquil seemed to be studying him. "Well," he began, "we made it out of Root Forest. That place was insane! The storm really bothered all the Pokémon living there, huh?"

The Squirtle's thoughts were elsewhere. Something about the situation was bothering him, but he had built up so many questions, and even forgotten some of them, that he couldn't pin down what exactly was unsettling him so. "Oh...yes, it was like everyone had lost it completely." He was about to ask about why each Pokémon they encountered was intent on killing them, when the Cyndaquil spoke up.

"Oops, I forgot my manners!" The Cyndaquil rose to all fours. He seemed tense, prepared to launch himself in any direction. "My name's Quil."

The Squirtle was startled by the Cyndaquil's sudden change in posture, and stood up hurriedly. But when the Cyndaquil declared his name, he snorted in amusement. The snort almost became a full-blown laugh, but he checked it just in time. His companion would obviously be offended by someone laughing at his name. Quil, though? He was a Cyndaquil! What kind of name was Quil? That would be like a Mudkip named Kip, or a Charmander named Char!

The Squirtle turned his snort into a cough, and pretended to regain his breath. Quil. Wow. The Cyndaquil waited in the same ready position. So the Squirtle opened his mouth to say his name in turn. "My name's..." His name did not spring to mind like it always did. He had nothing to say, so he trailed off. "It's...my name is..." He felt himself freeze in shock. His name was unknown to him. The Squirtle didn't know his own name!

The Cyndaquil chuckled softly in his quiet voice. "Oh, you don't know your own name? This is the first time I've heard some humor from you!"

What was his name? What was his name!? One's name had to be the most fundamental thing that everyone simply knew. One of the first words learned, the word most important to one's identity, one's life, one's experience! Not knowing it was impossible, laughable. Then how could he have forgotten? How could he have forgotten what everyone called him? He racked his mind for the first time since waking up under the tree, tried to access his memories now that he had solace from the chaos and fast pace of the forest.

That was it. That was what had been bothering him in the back of his mind.

His memories were a void. The Squirtle could not recall a single moment before waking up. The only memories he had were those he experienced since waking up under the tree. In other words, he had less than a half hour's worth of memories. His entire conscious experience was a measly few minutes.

The Squirtle was nearly speechless. "I don't...my name is...I don't know. I don't know anything. My memories are gone! Quil, I can't remember a single thing! What happened? Why did this happen to me?"

Quil's expression slowly changed as the Squirtle watched. It had to be the equivalent of a fading grin. "I hope you're still joking. But let's be serious now, please. That's not funny."

"You think I'm joking?" He exhaled sharply in derision. "Of course you think I'm joking. The situation I'm in is a joke! I'm a Squirtle, talking to a talking Cyndaquil, and – oh, that makes me a talking Squirtle – and we're sitting in a cave waiting for a huge thunderstorm to pass when not a single drop of rain has fallen. That's not mentioning that I have no idea who I am, where I come from, or, or what I'm supposed to do, or-"

He ran out of breath abruptly. The Squirtle breathed in and out, in and out, but the air was a long time in coming. His lungs were burning. Thinking about what he had just said, he realized he was wrong in one aspect. He did have an idea of who he was. Or at least, what he had been. Otherwise, he would have no idea that waking up as a Pokémon was crazy. And, he realized as he thought more, he did remember some things. He must have, because he had remembered the saying about young Squirtle getting stuck on their backs. But who had said it? He let his eyes lose focus as he tried to zero in on a voice or a face, the person who had last mentioned Squirtle ending up trapped on their backs. Yet nothing sprung to his mind, the way a memory should. The memory of the expression was present, certainly, but no associated speaker, or place. It was as if he had learned the saying, then all of the context had been plucked straight out of his head.

Quil had been speaking, and was now sitting on his haunches. "...can't remember anything? What were you doing before I ran into you in the meadow? Can you remember that?"

Again, the Squirtle tried thinking backwards, retracing his steps. The wind howled outside as the time passed. The weather was improving slowly. The periodic blasts of high winds were becoming less ferocious, and less frequent. The swaying of the trees at the forest's edge was becoming harder to spot as the storm moved away or dissipated.

"It's no use. I can't remember anything specific. I do remember bits of knowledge though, like sayings, or Pokémon names, or...myself, I guess. I still have a personality, right? And I know that-" He closed his mouth. He was on the brink of explaining exactly why waking up as a Squirtle was so strange. But that would be foolish. The knowledge that he was not always a Pokémon was just about the only advantage he had at the moment. For all intents and purposes, the Squirtle was in a new world. No maps, no destination, and no memories were available to guide him. He needed every advantage he could get. He had no idea how safe it would be to reveal everything he knew to this Cyndaquil. Besides, how would the Cyndaquil react? For all the Squirtle knew, Quil could take off.

"I know that I was sleeping before you came into that clearing beneath the huge tree," he said instead. "Waking up is my first memory."

"How bizarre," Quil replied. "You don't think you were struck by lightning under that tree, do you? That could explain why you were unconscious. Although, I've never heard of any Pokémon losing their memory to a lightning strike, or a move, or...well, anything."

The Squirtle toyed with the idea, but discarded it. "No, that can't be it. I woke up disoriented but completely unscathed. And the tree was intact, too."

Both were silent for a moment. Then the Cyndaquil said, "Well, Squirtle, I'm sorry this happened to you, that's for sure."

The Squirtle felt a pang of indignation at that. He was not a Squirtle! At least not inside, and not in the past. He tried to stop his emotions from showing on his face so as to not let the Cyndaquil in on his secret. "It's not your fault, Quil," he mumbled.

"Is it alright if I call you Squirtle? Since you can't remember your nickname, if you had one?"

Interesting. So Pokémon had nicknames that others called them by. "Yes, sure. That's sensible."

"Great." Again, Quil rose to all four feet, looking ready to fight or flee. "I'm Quil," he said unnecessarily.

Warily, the Squirtle rose to two feet. Quil was obviously expecting reciprocation. "For now...call me Squirtle."

And with that, Quil crouched even lower, and dashed forward, head first, toward Squirtle.

Squirtle had enough time to throw his arms up and take half a step back before Quil's head drove into the front of his shell. Squirtle was lifted off his feet and thrown through the air. A cave wall stopped his short flight. The impact broke off a few chunks of rock which clattered to the floor as he fell to the ground roughly. The Cyndaquil packed a punch!

"Agh, Squirtle, what are you doing!? I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I wasn't expecting...you didn't...why didn't you try to tackle me or something? Sorry!" Quil rushed forward to help him to his feet. The Cyndaquil's snout and brows were in the same position as when he had concernedly told the Paralyzed Squirtle that he would not leave him. A distraught expression, then. There was yet hope for Squirtle's ability to read Cyndaquil facial expressions.

"I'm okay, I think." Surprisingly, he was perfectly okay. The blow would have landed him at least an injury or two, before his Pokémon transformation – a concussion or fractured rib perhaps. Now, though, he felt no lingering pain or other signs of long-term damage. Quil's headbutt and the collision with the rock wall had hurt, but not nearly as much as Squirtle felt they should have. "Doesn't your head hurt, Quil?"

The Cyndaquil's expression changed. "Huh? Erm...no, I'm fine, I'm fine." He sounded confused. The tip of his left hindleg began to draw small circles in the fine pebbles on the ground as he stood. The motion was distracting, but the Cyndaquil didn't seem to notice he was doing it. "But Squirtle, why didn't you...you know. Push me back?"

"Because I completely wasn't expecting whatever you just did. Why would you headbutt me in the middle of a conversation? For a little Pokémon, you tend to get right up in the face of other Pokémon really often."

The spike-like flames on the Cyndaquil's back flared, their light intensity and length jumping higher for a couple of seconds. The gloom of the cave retreated from the flame. Quil looked directly at Squirtle, seeming on the verge of retorting. But the fire died down, and with it, Quil's bristling posture. "You're not the biggest Pokémon yourself, Squirtle," he muttered even more quietly than normal.

"Mm," Squirtle said. He hadn't meant to upset Quil.

After a moment, Quil said, "It's because you lost your memories, isn't it? I'm sorry. I should have realized you might not remember how Pokémon introduce themselves."

"You mean to say...Pokémon greet each other by attacking each other?" Uh-oh, thought Squirtle. That sounded too much like he was not a Pokémon. Quickly, he added, "Where I'm from, we probably have a different custom. I just can't remember it, of course."

Quil nodded. "Makes sense. If you can remember sayings and other general knowledge, I bet you wouldn't forget everyday things like introducing yourself."

The pair listened to the wind outside during the break in conversation. It had died down considerably. Now that the noise outside was quieter, Squirtle found he could actually hear Quil's flames. The air burned and crackled in the flames extending out of Quil's back, emitting a barely perceptible roar. The sound of a bundle of dry sticks spewing streams of flame into the open, limitless air.

Squirtle took to pacing the short length of the cave – fifteen paces each way. In his mind, he ran over the facts he knew. Quil rested against the rear wall, apparently lost in thought himself. It wasn't long before Squirtle spoke up. First things first.

"Quil, what are you doing out here? How come you were traveling through the forest?"

The Cyndaquil's snout drooped. "I have to get somewhere, Squirtle. I'm on a journey." He paused. "A long, long journey," he said, wistfully.

"Where to?"

Quil's eye wrinkles stretched sideways, and the fur at the base of his snout twitched. His snout-tip pointed a bit higher. A smile! "You wouldn't know it if I said it, would you? My next stop is Karprest though. Is that familiar to you?"

Squirtle shook his head. "To be honest, it doesn't much matter to me. Quil, I..." He hesitated. Maybe Cyndaquil were solitary Pokémon, and Quil would react negatively to his request. But Quil certainly didn't seem like a loner from the way he had acted thus far. He turned away from Quil, working up courage. Well, his dignity was already stripped from him somewhere in the forest between his being stuck on his back and his frantic whispers of "What do we do?! What do we do?!"

He faced Quil. "Quil...I don't know where to go. I don't know what to do. And I...I can't remember how to fight Pokémon, so I'm...I'm a bit helpless, I guess." Warmth filled his face. It was almost pleasant knowing that his new form could blush too. Almost.

Quil watched, listening intently. Squirtle pressed on before he could lose his nerve. "You seem to know how to look out for yourself, and you're the only Pokémon I've encountered that hasn't attacked me. Well, attacked me with violent intent." He tried to crack a smile, but he was too fearful of rejection for it to come out as anything more than a lop-sided mouth jerk.

"What I mean to say is...Quil, can I travel with you?"

In response, the Cyndaquil contracted into himself, becoming small and compact. He squeezed himself as small as he could get, becoming a ball of fur and flame on the cave floor. Squirtle stepped forward tentatively. Was Quil alright? Why did he curl up so tightly? It was as if he was going to...

Quil exploded upward. As he pirouetted in the air, all four limbs extended outward in joy, Quil shouted his response. "YES!" The instant he landed, Quil leaped forward to take the nonplussed Squirtle's hand with his stubby forelimbs, and performed a wild little victory dance right then and there, laughing all the while.

His energy was infectious. Squirtle sighed in relief, and smiled. He chuckled in amusement at Quil's impassioned reaction. Then he laughed at Quil's antics, and mimicked Quil's jig. And soon, he found himself laughing heartily for no particular reason. He felt lighthearted and joyous. Some of the weight that had accumulated on his shoulders since waking up under that tree was now lifted. He wasn't going to be alone. He wouldn't have to face these trying circumstances with no one to turn to for help.

"I'm so glad you want to come with me, Squirtle!" Quil said. "The first leg of my journey wasn't a problem, but Wildfire Fields was a bit daunting. Once I made it out, I kept thinking about how tough it would be to keep on like that. Fighting the Pokémon there by myself, walking all day by myself, you know, it's not how Pokémon should be! Now, my dad kept telling me," Here Quil lowered his voice's pitch in imitation, "The Pilgrimage is your burden, you must not rely on other, stronger Pokémon for help." His voice returned to normal. "But this is fine! You're not st-" he stopped short, and he looked away from Squirtle. "Erm...that is, I haven't seen you fight, but...you said it yourself: you think you're a bit helpless. I'm not breaking any promises if you accompany me, Squirtle." Excitement crept back into his voice. "Let's go together!" He chuckled gleefully.

Squirtle continued to smile. Without thinking, he began to throw his arm forward purposefully to offer a handshake. Never mind that the Cyndaquil had no hands and his own forelimbs may not be able to grip anything very well. His old ways still wanted to make themselves known. As his arm stretched out, he realized that a handshake would never exist in this Pokémon culture. Squirtle turned his motion into a stretch forward and upward, and followed it up with his other arm. Hopefully Quil wouldn't think twice about the odd 'stretch'. Squirtle was surprised once again by his body as he extended his limbs to their maximum extent. They were so short!

"Oh, so you're ready to go, Squirtle? Me too!" Quil exclaimed.

Whoops. Squirtle turned his head, in the middle of his stretch, and glanced outside the cave hollow. The worst of the storm was decidedly over. A breeze was present, no doubt, and would likely persist for quite a while. Daylight was burning though. If the hilly landscape was at last traversable, there would be no point in staying put.

"Ready when you are, Quil."

The pair quit the hollow, blinking in the relative brightness. Rather, Squirtle was blinking. Quil probably didn't need to blink because his eyes were barely open, if at all. The stormy haze had lessened along with the jostling winds, so Squirtle could follow by eye the path that wended all the way down to the structures at the riverside. The hills obscured the majority of the path, but it was definitely continuous with plenty of room to move, which promised an easy walk.

Did Pokémon have villages, or even cities? No other explanation came to Squirtle's mind regarding the clearly 'Pokémon-made' structures at the end of the road. The walls were broad slats of wood, and grasses packed tightly together served as roofing. Some had rectangular or circular apertures cut into the side as windows, and some even had wind vanes atop the roofs. Those would have seen some action in the last few hours, thought Squirtle.

The structures' architecture was a far cry from greatness, especially since signs of damage were evident even from this distance. The storm had been brutal. And unless those buildings fell to pieces each time bad weather struck, this storm was especially powerful. No surprise, considering the state of the forest-dwelling Pokémon.

Quil followed Squirtle's gaze. "Karprest. My next stop." His voice brightened. "Our next stop."

"So that's Karprest." He refrained from asking the questions on his mind, the foremost being 'Is it a Pokémon village?' Even now, remaining cautious with his words around Quil was mandatory, as he could not afford to give the impression of confusion and naivete when speaking about ideas and knowledge that were commonplace to Quil, or presumably any other traveling Pokémon. Squirtle's loss of memories would allow him some leeway, but it would be best to not ask too many questions. With a sinking heart, he realized his curiosity and thirst for answers would constantly have to be weighed against the need to avoid sounding like a total outsider to Quil.

Squirtle took a deep breath. He expected to smell the scents he had long ago come to associate with the calm following a storm: the moistness of reinvigorated soil, the freshness of the still grass, the myriad scents emanating from the plant life all around. No such smells existed here. The storm had left dryness and, if anything, a burnt electrical smell. If lightning had a smell, Squirtle thought, this would be it.

Squirtle was not eager for traveling, but it was a necessity. Answers would not find him. He'd have to seek them out.

Quil said, "Let's talk about the long-term a bit later on, okay, Squirtle? I want to focus on reaching Karprest. I have a hunch that Root Forest's Pokémon won't be the last ones we encounter who are looking for a fight. Out here, with no cover from the storm, the last couple of hours must have been terrifying." Squirtle grunted his assent.

The Cyndaquil and Squirtle began walking along the dirt path that continued from the forest's mouth all the way down to the river in the distance.

"I just realized," said Quil suddenly, "What a coincidence that this terrible, rainless thunderstorm hit on the same day you woke up without any memories!" He chuckled softly in wonder.

Squirtle took in a sharp breath. Quil was right. How had he not realized that already? The two unprecedented events had to be linked somehow. The odds of them being independent of each other were astronomical.

"Stranger things have happened though. It's just a one-of-a-kind day, right?" Quil walked steadily onward, apparently believing the two extraordinary events to really be a coincidence. Squirtle couldn't rule that possibility out, but his mind naturally concluded that powerful coincidences like this were rare. He no longer had memories of any examples that compared to this situation, but the experience was nonetheless there, somewhere in his skull.

As the pair rounded the first bend in the road to circle around a grassy rise, a lone tree came into view on the side of the road. Its branches extended over a few bushes and shrubs that grew near the tree's base. The ensemble brought to Squirtle's mind images of a towering man holding back a pack of bloodthirsty beasts, all tensed and fervently awaiting the signal to leap forth and savage whatever passed on the road.

With that disturbing image, Squirtle cut off his previous train of thought about coincidences. Quil was right, and Squirtle ought to trust him: danger could be anywhere around them. This was no pleasure stroll. For all they knew, bloodthirsty beasts could be waiting amongst that cover. They had to be vigilant.

Because if they were attacked, there would be no place to hide. No place to escape to. This was the open countryside. Squirtle swallowed, trying to quell the rising fear. If they were attacked, he would have to fight.