Jak and Daxter: Legacy

Chapter 9: The Sage's New Clothes

Three rivers crossed through Riverjoint. Two - the Brass and the Ashtide - meandered towards the town from opposite directions, the first mixing into the currents of the latter like molten amber into obsidian.

Jak and Daxter walked the third river into town; a mass flow of people on a bridge over where the waters met. Jak peered down with a nervous stare as they crossed. The bridge was made of transparent blue eco crystal, allowing him a view of boat-bound merchants circling the pool below. However, his uneasiness was soon replaced by awe (and perhaps a little nausea) when he looked back up at what lined the bridge.

Blue eco sages, their frames lithe, skin tan, and hair frizzy, were preserved in blue eco crystal pillars on the bridge's edges. Their bolt-shaped staffs jutted out over the middle, creating arches where they met like clashing swords above. Monstrous cables wove from their crystal prisons to lamps that suspended from those same staffs, lighting the way for their people long after their own hearts had ceased to beat.

"Precursors… that's not unnerving or anything," he mumbled to Daxter, eyeing one of the pillars nearby, its captive sage gazing at him with the blank, icy stare of the dead. "Back home, your sage passed and that was it. Stick them in a tree trunk, seal it back up, and let nature do its thing."

"Yeah, these corpse batteries are givin' me the creeps! Wait a minute… I thought your folk burned your dearly departed? Ya stick 'em in trees? How is that any less weird than these dioramas?" Daxter replied from the shadows of Jak's hood with a shudder.

The ottsel had curled up there before they'd come into town, as they'd decided it was the best way for him to be able to speak to Jak without drawing attention. If Jak was honest, he wasn't sure he liked the idea. Daxter's fur did make his neck itchy. But putting up with a little rash sounded better than being left to navigate this big place on his own.

"Full sages get special burials." Jak furrowed his brows. "Wait, how'd you know I'm from a green tribe? I never told you that."

"Remember when we camped out by that patch of starblossoms? When you got up, ya realized you'd rolled all over 'em in your sleep and ya told 'em you were sorry ?"

Jak's cheeks seared. "That never happened."

"Ya also leak more green stuff than a forgotten sandwich left out in the suns too long-"

"It's called eco, Dax-"

"-and ya get all goo-goo eyed and bow whenever we pass any big old trees. Oh, and then there's that one time ya rambled on about different kinds of herbs for like… I don't know, two hours?"

"Says the guy who lectured me for three hours about what's the best kind of trash to search through for food."

"Hey, ya asked me advice on survivin' in Haven City, and I gave it. Free of charge, mind you."

They passed the front gates and grew silent, other travelers thronging close enough that it'd have been difficult to talk without drawing attention. Beyond the gates waited the market, its stalls lining the cobblestoned plaza around the river pool, so large it put Passheart's to shame. By the time Jak finished walking the market's perimeter, he swore Sandover Village in its entirety could have fit within it.

Humans, Kig, Klaww, and chained Babaks passed by in dizzying numbers. On the tables and racks, there were exotic fruits, satins and silks in colors Jak had never seen, scrolls and tomes, medicines, trinkets, and eco gun stands manned by northerners all proudly displayed in a constantly shifting rainbow mess everywhere Jak tried to rest his eyes.

The market's end wove up the hillside to not one, but two sage huts at the town's greatest height, noticeable not only for the Precursorian script on their front gates, but their sheer size. Back home, a sage hut was actually a hut. Here they were almost castles.

That's right. Samos said Riverjoint had two sages. Twins, Jak smirked. I can't imagine having two Samos' around .

Homes, inns, stores, and taverns leaned against each other like crooked wooden and brass teeth between the market and the sage huts. Steam billowed over them from multiple hot springs sprinkled throughout the town, set aglow by massive eco crystals that jutted up from the ground. Blue eco crackled between their peaks. If Jak wasn't in public and hadn't feared that his lack of training would lead to blasting a hole in someone's house, he might have reached out to try channeling it.

Once they were in a quiet alley away from prying eyes, Jak muttered, "Mind helping a country boy out again?"

"Depends on what you want to do. We just passin' through again, or are we actually going to sleep somewhere with a bed for once?"

He'd been so happy to be free from the slavers that he'd practically skipped along the road to Riverjoint without a care in the world, never mind a thought about what they should do next.

Brutter did say to buy northern clothes while I was here. We at least have to stop that long.

Jak wanted to peek down his shirt to check his dark eco wound, but didn't dare when Daxter was around. He still hadn't told the ottsel the reason why he had his anger problem, nor the fact that it was a ticking time bomb. Worry prickled his gut. He had to get to Haven as soon as possible, but to avoid risking being captured by slavers again was well worth the time spent here.

Palms sweaty, Jak tightened his hands around his pack's rope straps and fidgeted with them. "I think we should take Brutter's advice. Get some northerner clothes."

"Oh boy, I get to take ya dress shopping. My favorite pastime."

"Or I could keep sticking out like a sore thumb and get thrown in a slave cart again?"

Daxter sighed. "As much as I enjoyed pissin' on that greasy idiot, never again."

"Any idea of where we could find some, then?"

"Jak, do I look like I know anything about wearin' clothes?"

"You're the Haven expert, right? You know what they wear."

"Ugh, do I have to do everything ? Fine, get walkin'. I'll keep an eye out."

Their shop of choice resided on one of the higher streets of Riverjoint. It had no name, but when they caught sight of a Klaww figure with a sewing needle beside it on a sign squeaking in the wind over the entrance, Daxter tugged on Jak's ear.

A bell rang as Jak opened the door. Dust fell like golden snow in the light of the yellow eco crystal lamps on the walls, and tables of clothes lined the shop's sides. Jak walked up to the wooden counter, where various smaller eco crystals of all colors were displayed for sale in its glass case.

"Hello?" Jak called.

"Coming!"

The scratchy voice came from a room in the back. From the curtain emerged a red Klaww with spectacles and a measuring tape draped over his neck. He was dressed in long swathes of various silks. As he set some cloth scraps on the counter, Jak noticed he had sewing needles gleaming from his arms, needing no pincushion when hard scales could hold them just as well.

The Klaww glanced over Jak's clothes, ripped by Metal Head claws and tinged with the copper memory of blood stains, and lifted his lip.

"Welcome," he rasped with little energy. "Southern garb, I'm guessing? You can find what you're looking for by the door. Pants are at the windows, tunics are closer to the middle. Vests are on the other side by the cloaks."

The Klaww was already retreating when Jak said, "Actually, I was wondering if you had anything for up north?"

The clack of the Klaww's talons against the wood floor ceased.

"You know, like… Haven stuff?"

The Klaww flipped back, silver eyes bright and wide. He gave a hoarse chuckle, glancing around and shaking his head as if he couldn't believe what he'd just heard, then caught Jak's bewildered stare. "I never thought someone down here would ask for that. I don't have any in stock, but I'd be glad to stitch some up for you. Haven style, you said? Is there a particular look you're wanting?"

"Neonscar District ," Daxter whispered in Jak's ear.

"Neonscar?" Jak asked, hoping to the Precursors Daxter didn't have him say that just to be funny.

"Ahh, Neonscar! Dark, fast-paced, dangerous. Bars bursting with the city's greatest racers and their biggest fans, trying to catch a glimpse of the legends themselves after having watched them all day at Mar Stadium. Are you a fan?"

Racing? Bars? What the hell, Daxter?

"I was hoping to get into racing in Haven myself," Jak said, trying not to blush even as little lungs huffed in barely contained laughter within his hood. "I thought, hey, an up-and-coming racer needs to fit in. I also saw your leather armor," Jak gestured in a vague direction that was definitely not where the armor was. "I'll need some protection, too. Lots of traveling and shooting to do, you know."

The Klaww's eyes gleamed. "By Mar, I'd be overjoyed ! It's been so long since I've had the chance to craft anything this challenging. And just picture it: someday when you're on that track taking first place, everyone will look and see clothes I made on a star racer. Let me get my kit!"

As the Klaww ran to the back rooms, Jak muttered through the teeth of a feigned smile, "Dax, translate to bumpkin, please."

"Klaww men are the world's best tailors. And they know northern styles well; the rich folk from Haven hire 'em all the time. And, might I add, they're the world's biggest racing nerds. Could give ya a fanboy discount, Bigfoot."

"What do they even use for these races? Flut fluts?"

"Just follow my lead, kid."

Before Jak could answer, the Klaww was already back and starting to pull out his measuring tools. To Jak's horror, Daxter peeked from his hood and trilled at the Klaww. Jak started to push him back down, "Sorry! I can put him outside-"

"Is that your racing mascot?"

When Jak hesitated, Daxter dug a few claws into his shoulder. Jak winced a little and blurted, "Yep!"

"An ottsel? Not very intimidating. But looks can be deceiving."

As if to prove him right, Daxter hissed. The Klaww laughed and started to measure Jak.

"How much is this going to cost?"

"Normally, I'd charge one thousand."

Jak made a noise like he was about to hurl.

"Ha! I thought you'd protest. Luckily for you, I'm such a fan of the sport - and so starved for such a delightful challenge after years of making drab southerner rags - that I'll only charge you two hundred. I'll even throw in something for your mascot for free. What do you say?"

Two hundred takes up half the money from the slavers, Jak thought. What if we need that for food?

Before he could answer, Daxter put a subtle paw behind Jak's head and pushed on it to make him nod.

"It's a deal, then," the Klaww said with a grin.

After he'd finished measuring them both, he'd told them it'd take two days to finish. Jak's gut had flared with anxiety. Two days ? As they left the shop, his anxiety turned to irritation, and a small prickling emerged from his dark eco wound. Even as he wondered where it was coming from so suddenly, he turned to the ottsel on his shoulder and said, "Next time, could you let me answer?"

"What? What'd I do?"

Jak glared at him. "Sometimes I don't know why I even travel with you."

Daxter recoiled and drooped his ears. Jak was about to take him off his shoulder, but then he stopped. The irritation died down as fast as it'd sparked. He looked at the ottsel, confused.

"I… sorry, forget I said that. Let's just find a place to stay."

Daxter was quiet for the rest of the day. They'd stopped at an inn and rented a small room, its bed low to the floor, and a view of a neat garden, the Ashtide, and the town market beyond just outside its open window. A few times, Jak had tried to start a conversation, even resorting to asking Daxter to retell the story about the twenty tigerbears he definitely slew all by himself again.

But the ottsel had simply shrugged and curled into a ball on the end of the bed, his back to Jak. Jak took the hint and didn't blame him for giving it. The thought of heading to the market crossed his mind, but every time he reached for the door, he felt as if something was missing; his shoulder felt too light. Then he'd glance at Daxter, expecting him to have gotten up and been ready to go. But Daxter never did.

And so they spent the rest of the day in that stuffy inn room, Daxter snoozing the hours away, Jak sitting by the window and focusing on the dark mountains to the north, then the way the few northerners in town walked and talked on the street outside.

Most had short ears like the slaver Vend had had, their top ends square and blunt as if hacked with a knife. Jak winced and clasped his hands over his own. He may have planned to dress like one of them, but cutting his ears was one step too far. The other large difference about them was a common name that fell off their lips as often as the word 'Precursors' did from his:

Mar. With a jolt of realization, he remembered that that was the name the painted face monks who'd visited Sandover in the past had called the man who had been able to channel all four kinds of eco and what they'd called 'light eco'.

He sounds like a super sage of some sort. But why would they worship a human? That makes no sense. People didn't create the world. The Precursors did.

Daxter's words back from when they'd first seen the ruined city in the Precursor Basin echoed in his mind:

"Also, you're gonna have to quit actin' like they're the greatest thing since sliced tuberbread. Up north, they make hatin' the Precursors a fashion."

Hating the gods , Jak rubbed his upper arms with his hands. Those monks did say Mar waged war on the Precursors. They're not here anymore, so how is that possible? And even if they were, what do they think the Precursors did to deserve that? Sure, they're a little distant and I can't say I've never had any doubts about them. But we owe them so much.

He sighed. Is it even possible for me to pass as a northerner? I might be able to change my clothes, but how will I ever fit in in Haven? If my ears don't give it away, every other part of me will.

Near dusk, Daxter got up and they shared a bland and wordless dinner when they went out to eat in the main room. After they came back up and as the suns fell, glittering night sky taking their place, thoughts of how he'd acted earlier that day towards Daxter and doubts about the journey ahead weighed Jak down like a hundred-ton anchor, making it difficult for him to ponder over anything else.

As such, sleep was always just beyond Jak's reach that night. One moment, his eyelids - heavy as lead - would flutter closed, the stars outside their window and Daxter's quiet snuffle snoring turning to darkness and silence. Then the prickle of his eco wound would drag him back into awareness with sharp claws. Eyes wide, breathing heavy, he'd lay in bed and try to remember something happy or good or anything but his sickness.

He tried picturing the ocean. Wave after wave of unending, frothing blue. White teeth, eating away at shore, swallowing it whole and suffocating it until you succumbed to-

He grimaced. Not the ocean. Maybe… Sandover Village? Home. Golden sand, warmth, glossy palm leaves swaying in the breeze, people staring at him, giving him dirty looks and muttering 'demon' underneath their breath and chiding their children whenever they even dared take a step towards him-

Jak jerked up in bed. He stumbled to his feet and rushed for the door, hand clutching his shirt over where his chest was suddenly on fire. Thankfully, the inn's main room was silent and dead. He rushed past the empty chairs and tables and burst out into the night through the front door, looking around the grounds for somewhere private.

Jak raced to a spot behind a bamboo copse, far away from any of the inn's windows, where a little garden bridge crossed a stream feeding into the Ashtide. He leaned against the bridge's railing and tried to breathe deeply. But the air was filled with steam-vent mist that billowed through Riverjoint's streets. It made it feel as if a great beast was on his heels, its hot breath cloaking him as it opened its jaws to taste flesh.

And the water below… the Ashtide bleeding into the stream that was so helpless, so weak of a flow against the river's force; black strangling blue, clarity turning into blind darkness.

"Fear. Rage. Pain. The more you give in, the more that mark will spread. And the more it spreads, the more you will give in. It's a never-ending cycle of fear and destruction. Then your mind will go. Then…"

The fire in his chest flared to molten levels. He fell to his knees, one hand still on the railing, clinging to it as if it were the only thing holding him up over a cliff's edge. His other hand dug at his eco wound, the sharpness of his fingernails cutting into his own chest mere pinpricks compared to the sundering beneath.

What's going on? Why is it acting up!?

His eyes snapped open with anger. He managed to clench them closed again, fearing the anger enough to take back control. Then he felt rage at himself for daring to try to hold his own power back. Then nauseous horror at himself for wanting to give in.

The railing broke in his hand as wrath won. To the surprise of the little part of his sane self left inside, it was different this time. Before, giving into the dark eco was a possession; something else taking the reins and shoving him into the backseat blindfolded. Now the blindfold had been removed. Everything was in bleary detail and he could think, if only disjointedly. It was no longer just mindless rage. It was also cold and calculating hate.

And to his greatest guilt, it amplified and worsened thoughts he'd had deep down while not under the eco's influence that he was ashamed of ever thinking in the first place.

Go back to Sandover… anyone that ever called me a demon would-

His fingers locked around the broken halves of the railing. Then he tore them clean off the balusters. One at a time, he took each half and beat the ground and bridge with them until they were mere fragments. He turned back to the remaining parts of the bridge's outer side and smashed it with his fists. Broken wood crashed into the water below in large sprays of splinters and spikes and droplets of red, falling into the dark, murky current.

As suddenly as the rage had come, the agonizing burning came back, albeit tamer than before. It chased the anger and dark eco away, heralding a return to normalcy. Jak collapsed to his knees again, glad, exhausted, scared, ashamed, muttering thanks to the Precursors under his breath.

He dared not move from silent, closed-eyed relief for a while.

Then, he finally raised his head, amazed at the quiet around him. Save for the broken bridge railing and the ripples from the sunken wood still rolling towards the opposite shore of the Ashtide, it looked like nothing had happened. He was in control again, alone on an inn-side bridge by a stream, moonlight shining uninterrupted on the calm, murmuring water.

That's never happened before , he thought. Nothing triggered it this time. And it felt… different.

Terrifying, is what he didn't dare think to himself. Before, he thought it'd only occur when he was in mortal danger. But he hadn't changed when he'd faced the slavers like he'd expected to, and even during his encounter with Metal Heads in Basinbreak, it'd been a random moment at which the dark eco kicked in. And this time, he'd been in a warm bed after having slept in a slave cart for days, comfortable save for a few minor worries.

He pulled his shirt forward and glanced down with hesitant eyes. To his shock, the wound hadn't grown at all. So… the change wasn't a sign of the progression of the poison, either. It was no longer something predictable. Or had it ever been? Maybe he could change anytime, anywhere, and none of it worked like an on and off button or the tick of a clock? It would explain both how inconsistent it was and his sudden outburst at Daxter earlier that day.

I shouldn't even be in this town. And if I get to Haven, there'll be people everywhere. How will I even find Gol and Maia? What if they're not there, or can't help? Maybe I shouldn't go? I don't want to hurt anyone. But if I don't go, then I'll-

"Ya out there, Bigfoot?"

Jak twisted around, surprise cutting through his panic. Daxter padded forward on the garden stones leading from the front of the inn, yawning. The ottsel froze as soon as he finished, eyes caught on the pieces of shattered railing, then at Jak sitting on the half-broken bridge with bright red cuts on his hands and arms.

"You, uh… doin' okay?"

"I-" Jak started, about to give some lie as explanation, but instead sighed. "No."

He expected to hear Daxter head back inside, but as always, Jak's dark eco fits did nothing to scare him away. The ottsel instead came to sit on the bridge close by, though kept a respectful distance. Jak tensed his muscles, ready to get up and run if he turned again, not wanting Daxter to once more see - or be a victim of - his terrible disease.

But the eco wound died down to numb space again. The only physical reminders of his outburst were the splinters in his hands, the cuts he'd sustained from breaking the wood, and the cold of his sweat-soaked shirt.

"Can I use my truth a day question?"

Jak winced. Yes, I beat this bridge railing to a pulp. Yes, I'm a freak. Yes, you should get as far away from me as you can.

Daxter stiffened with surprise. Then, he said, "Nah, it's fine. Besides, I'm in truth debt."

"Truth debt?"

"Part of the deal was we both get to ask the other something every day. But ya didn't extract a single confession from me. I'd say you've got…" Daxter started to count with his fingers. "Nine truth coupons to turn in. Me? I've spent all of mine."

"Oh."

Jak said it with more guilt than surprise. He supposed that made him look bad in a way, Daxter asking him everything and Jak never doing so in return, as if he didn't care. Despite how much he'd been upset at the ottsel for not revealing anything earlier in their journey, he realized he'd never ventured to ask, even though his curiosity was the reason he'd agreed to the 'truth a day' deal in the first place. He told himself it was because he simply hadn't cared, but deep down he knew it was because he cared too much.

After all, he could never hurt or disappoint and then lose someone if he held them at a distance. From afar, cracks and faults and ruin couldn't be seen. It was only up close that the light could reveal him for the broken little shadow that he was, stranded in the dark jungle of his mind, alone and reaching for connection but knowing that any he could grasp would always, inevitably, let go. It always had.

Jak grabbed at his cowl, pulling it away from his throat. He wanted to throw it in the water; to release its suddenly heavy and choking hold on him. But despite it being an irritating reminder of what he was - a cur of a boy whom no one had wanted - it was also his only tether to his past he could still hold onto. Then another thought soaked him in a numbing realization he'd had many times in the previous days. Each remembrance hadn't been any less shocking than the last:

Daxter had put up with his prickly attitude. He'd bandaged him up and guarded him after Basinbreak, stayed despite how dangerous Jak was and after Jak had told him to get lost. Not to mention, he'd freed him from slavers.

And he was here right now, after Jak had bashed part of a bridge into bits with his bare hands, chatting like an old friend even after Jak had told him earlier that day he wasn't sure why he wanted him around.

They sat together for a silent time, two long human legs and two short ottsel legs dangling over the bridge's side. Finally, Jak broke the quiet for once.

"I guess we're still stuck here for another day."

"Oh yeah! It'll be your last day of lookin' like a bumpkin. Excited?"

"Not really," Jak glanced at his feet, wondering what shoes would feel like, then turned back to Daxter while avoiding his stare. "Not much to do in the meantime, though."

I owe him a lot, Jak thought. I haven't been… the friendliest to him, either. Even just now, he didn't ask me about what happened. He was just content to joke around.

It was then that Jak bit his lip and nodded to himself in firm resolve. I need to tell him the truth. About everything. What happened. Why I'm going to Haven. He at least deserves that much. But when do I just drop something like that?

"Wanna do something fun tomorrow?" Jak blurted before he could stop himself.

Daxter cocked his head, raised an eyebrow, and stared at Jak.

"What's wrong?"

"Did I just hear the word 'fun' come out of your mouth?"

Jak's cheeks burned. "Well, we have a day off and I don't really care about how we spend it, so I thought I'd ask you. I mean, if you don't want to do anything, that's fine-"

"I can't believe it. By the stinkin' Precursors... Jakan Kur of all people just suggested that we should have fun. It's just-" Daxter put a paw to his chest, "-the sweeping unpredictability of it all. It's too much for me to handle! Jak, cover your eyes! I think I'm gonna faint! Or puke! This world-shattering whiplash might just kill me-"

"Or I could spend tomorrow dunking you in the hot springs so that I don't have to put up with the smell of dirty ottsel for a few days?"

"Ahh! There's my sour little storm cloud back! Jak, where'd you go? I thought I'd lost ya! Some jolly weirdo took your place for a minute."

"Hey-" Jak started to argue, then a better idea came to his mind. "Wait, you see that girl over there?"

"What girl?"

"She's just across the river. Oh, wow… blonde, too. Her hair almost looks white in the moonlight."

Daxter scrambled to all fours and scanned the bank Jak was pointing at. "What? Where? I don't see-"

The ottsel splashed into the stream below, a smug looking Jak still on the bridge above, hand hovering where Daxter had been standing just moments before. An orange streak slithered through the water back to the surface.

"Hey! What was that for!?"

"Hand slipped."

Daxter narrowed his eyes. "You just made the biggest mistake of your life, kid."

The ottsel sprung out of the water with surprising ease, clambered back onto the bridge, and leapt at Jak. Jak ducked. Daxter crashed into a bush nearby. He crawled back out, grit his teeth at the sight of Jak laughing, then started to push at Jak's back with all his might, huffing and wheezing more with each attempt.

"Man, the breeze really picked up. Is that a leaf back there that just hit me?"

"I swear," Daxter gave another full weight push against him. "If I ever get my normal body back, I'm dunking you into a river ten times!"

"Hard to imagine you stronger than me."

"Much stronger! And taller! And way better lookin', too!"

"Are you going to answer my question?"

"For what?"

"Tomorrow?"

The ottsel paused his futile efforts and hesitantly peeked around Jak's arm, little blue eyes wide. "You really mean it, Bigfoot?"

"Anything you want. Within reason."

Daxter cracked a devious smile.

They found themselves on a bridge just outside of Riverjoint the next day, made of ancient Precursor metal and covered with soft moss. Below, the Brass River flowed amber in the sunset light. Jak and Daxter sat side by side, a bottle of rice wine and two wooden cups between them. In their hands were two fishing poles with gossamer lines swaying down to the water below like spider silk in the breeze. The pole Daxter held was little more than a stick.

"Drinking and fishing," Jak muttered. "And you call me a bumpkin."

"There's nothin' bumpkin about it. Well… maybe a little."

I haven't done this since I was a kid, Jak thought, remembering a younger version of himself with a bamboo net and dirty knees leaning over a stream for hours on end, hoping he could catch a fish big enough to cook for dinner that night. He had to admit: he was having fun. He'd expected Daxter to choose a day at a tavern, or something dangerous and half-brained. But this was just… nice .

For a small moment, as he glanced up at the suns in the sky, spilling golden light over everything, his dark eco felt farther away than ever.

"Haven't touched your drink yet."

Jak shrugged. "I'll get to it later."

So that I can spill my guts out. Precursors, how am I going to tell him the truth?

"On second thought," Jak took his cup and swallowed its contents in one burning swig. Then he poured another and guzzled that, too. Daxter watched, clearly amused, but started to look concerned when Jak put a fourth shot to his lips.

"Your liver's gonna explode at that rate, kid. Or at least your bladder."

"You're right. I, uh..." Jak shakily put the cup back down. "Pace myself. Good idea."

He was about to start his truth blurting when something tugged at Daxter's line. The ottsel almost went flying over the edge, but Jak grabbed him back by the scruff. Jak put his own pole down and hauled up Daxter's line. On the end was a small red fish hardly bigger than a minnow.

Daxter beamed with a proud grin. Then without hesitation, he pulled it off the hook and downed it in a few bites. "Ahh! Much better than yakow jerky!"

"Sometimes I forget you're not a human."

For a moment, Daxter looked almost guilty as he baited his hook with another worm. Or perhaps sad. "Nope."

To Jak's relief, the alcohol started to take effect quickly. As he started to feel a warm glow all around him and his senses and nervousness dulled, he turned to Daxter and stared him directly in the eye.

"So, about those truth coupons…"

"Yeah, ya gonna turn yours in?" Daxter set his pole down, not having cast it back to the water yet, then reclined against a mound of moss with his paws behind his head. "I'm all ears. And mouth, I guess, if I'm gonna be doin' the truth talkin'."

"Actually, I was thinking… maybe we could do away with all that?"

"No more questions?"

Jak shrugged. "More like just being honest all the time?"

"Jak, if you're gonna start angstin' about your anger problems again-"

"I need to tell you the truth."

"About what?"

"Who I really am," Jak winced at himself, wanting to shove every word back down that begged to be freed from his throat. "And what I'm doing. Look, I'm not trying to get all gushy and ruin the moment here, but you saved my life. More than once. Do you realize that?"

Daxter shrugged. "You've saved my life before, too."

"All this time, you've been following me without a complaint. Every time I lashed out at you or told you to go away or hell, even when I turned into a senseless monster… And without you, I'd be in a slave cart right now."

"It's not like I didn't benefit in any way. A little guy like me doesn't exactly have the easiest time gettin' around. Plus, you are a pretty easy way to get food, as crappy as it might be-"

"Dax, most people have kept a wide distance from me my entire life. Even before I was deadly to be around. Precursors, the villagers back home even called me a demon to my face when I was a kid-"

"Demon?"

Jak shut his eyes and took in a deep breath. This was it. It was time for the cracks and faults and ruin.

"I was found outside a Precursor ruin as a baby. No parents. No family. Samos - our sage - took me in, but the others never accepted me. Dirty looks. Comments about how different and ugly I was. Questions about where I'd really come from or when I figured I'd give up the charade and devour their children. And then the accident happened."

He peeled back one side of his shirt, unveiling the dark eco wound in all its sinister glory; a cold and poisonous shadow over his heart, eating away at what had been healthy tan skin before. Daxter stumbled to his paws, eyes wide and tail drooping as he peered at it.

"I went into a Precursor ruin and got stuck in a machine that injected me with dark eco. That's why I turn into a monster whenever I'm afraid, or upset, or angry. The more I give in, the worse it'll get. And that's why I'm going to Haven. I was told some Gol and Maia Acheron might be able to help me. To stop it from spreading and..."

When Daxter didn't answer, Jak hid the wound again and turned his head away, not wanting to catch the pity in his eyes any more. "I owe you. More than I can ever pay back. And so I guess the other thing I'm saying is, is thanks. Because you stayed. Even when I didn't deserve it."

He crumpled at Daxter's silence. He'd said too much, hadn't he? He found his fingers at his cowl again, rubbing it, his other hand gripping his fishing pole so tight it ached. Why did he care what an annoying talking animal thought, anyway? So what if he turned his head and Daxter was gone, or pretended to be okay with all this and then vanished in the middle of the night, never to be seen again-

"Precursor crap, am I right?"

Jak looked at Daxter once more, who was already picking up his pole again and getting ready to cast his line like nothing serious had just occurred.

"Just leavin' dangerous garbage around for people to find. Oops! Dropped a weapon that can make craters there. Oh no! We forgot to turn off the oven and the nightmare machines before we vamoosed. And what do ya know, we kinda just made a bunch a races and abandoned 'em and let them figure out what buttons not to press. That's why suckers like you and me got caught up in all this."

"You?"

"Jak, I'm a talkin' ottsel. Nature doesn't make those."

Jak forgot his previous thoughts for a moment, one eyebrow raising, dizzying confusion replacing worry. "I know you said you weren't always an ottsel, but…"

Daxter sighed. "Sorry, didn't mean to change the subject. That was rude, wasn't it? Also, your village sucks and don't worry. We'll make sure you get to Haven and get healed."

"It's fine," a flood of relief washed over Jak at how non-reactive Daxter had been to everything he'd just said. "I just thought I'd be honest with you, is all."

"I don't blame ya for keepin' all that locked up. I mean, I've been keeping things from you all this time, too."

They were both quiet for minutes, Daxter continuing to fish, Jak staring at Daxter and waiting for the ottsel to explain. A few times, Jak opened his mouth and drew in a breath to speak, but kept stopping himself.

Finally, he blurted, "Can I turn in those truth coupons now?"

Daxter pulled on his fishing line until its worm was out of the water, paused for a while, then nodded. "Long story short, my little brother got in trouble and I messed around with some Precursor machines to try to save his life. Problem is, I got body swapped into an ottsel in the process."

"Little brother?"

Jak's thoughts swirled with confusion. Everyone came from somewhere, but he realized just now that he'd never fully pictured where Daxter had. What had Daxter even looked like as a human? He imagined bright orange hair, blue eyes, probably a bit lanky, and likely a northerner given his familiarity with Haven and their customs. Also, his hatred - or at the very least, distaste - for the Precursors was telling.

"Yeah. He's kind of an idiot. But I'd do anything for him. That's how siblings work, ya know?"

Jak smiled. He could relate, sort of. Keira wasn't his sister - and she was miles smarter than anyone else he'd ever met - but even when they didn't agree or get along, they still were there for each other like siblings.

"Still alive, then? What you did worked?"

"Yeah, he's still kickin'."

"Does he know about your…?"

Daxter nodded.

"So why aren't you still with him? Or the rest of your family?"

The ottsel's stare lifted to the horizon. "I had somethin' I had to do. Still workin' on it."

A pang of guilt flared in Jak's gut. "Coming with me isn't stopping you from doing that, right?"

"Nah, it's all good. Haven's actually where I was headin' in the first place. Thought I might find a cure to my fuzzy predicament there."

"Oh, good. I just wanted to make sure I wasn't getting in the way."

"Like I said, I get rides on your shoulder and you're a good source of food. You're helpin' me out a lot, actually!"

"So I'm a carriage and a free meal?"

"Maybe."

A few weeks ago, he'd have scowled at Daxter's answer, but now a small smirk came to him instead. It widened even further when a furry fist punched him in the arm.

"I'd punch you back, but I'd hate to see you get knocked off a bridge again."

" Sure you would."

Jak set his pole down. "You're right. I wouldn't."

The ottsel tried to retreat, knowing what was coming, but Jak managed to slide him over with only a single finger. Daxter fell into the golden waters below with a tiny splash. Jak shrugged, took up his forgotten last cup of rice wine, downed it, and pushed himself over the edge.

The next morning, Jak left the inn feeling rested and calm. He made sure to look as nonchalant and wide-eyed innocent as possible when the keeper asked him if he'd heard anything weird out in the garden the other night, even when he slipped him extra money in his rent payment and left in a hurry before the keeper could count it.

As it had been the other day, the market was bustling with voices, colors, steam, clinking pots and pans, and even the plucking hum of a stringed instrument somewhere in the distance. Daxter slipped into Jak's hood as Jak pulled it up.

"Any special requests? Probably the last time we'll get to restock for a while," Jak asked.

"Just make sure ya get somethin' other than rice and moonfruit, please. I'm gettin' bored of it."

A shit-eating grin spread across Jak's face. "Yakow jerky for every meal, then?"

"Kid, are you tryin' to kill me?"

Jak headed for the largest concentration of food stalls and gathered supplies for the road ahead, making sure to grab - of course - yakow jerky, but also some things Daxter picked out by tapping his paw on Jak's shoulder whenever Jak's hand hovered over certain items. Jak curled his lip at a few, especially the jellied eel and dried fish, but collected and paid for them anyways, slipping a piece of the latter to Daxter as they walked to a different section.

"Where ya headed, Bigfoot?"

"You'll see."

The night before, Jak had laid awake for hours, silent and numb with gladness at how good it'd felt to come clean. He thought he'd been indebted to Daxter before, him saving his life and all, but he harbored an even deeper appreciation for him now like a warm glow in his heart.

He'd let Daxter catch a glimpse of the dark jungle of his mind and insecurities. And instead of running back out in terror, the ottsel had simply shrugged and acted as if he'd only just walked into a messy house, then trudged on through the muck without a care. Jak was certain the secret of his eco wound would have sent the ottsel on the run, but Daxter never stirred to leave throughout the night, much as Jak strained to listen for retreating pawsteps.

It was just as he'd fallen asleep the night before that he'd made a decision, one that now drew his steps to a particular part of the market.

Jak stopped before the small section of eco rifles and pistols. Each gleamed oily beneath the early sunlight, leaning against wooden racks in haphazardly set rows. A Kig with a head less pointed than ones he'd seen before sat behind them, polishing a pistol more archaic than those on display.

The Kig glanced up and widened her yellow eyes at Jak, turned back to her polishing, and muttered, "A leaf-ear at a gun table. See somethin' new every day."

"What?"

"You even know how to shoot one of these things?"

"I have one," Jak said defensively, pulling out the one from his belt he'd gotten from Brutter after they'd raided the slavers' belongings a few days before.

The Kig glanced over it. "That's a Klaww model."

"Klaww model?"

"Made to accommodate hands with talons. Bet you have a hard time reaching the trigger, right?"

When Jak didn't answer, only glanced around and then widened his eyes with realization, the Kig sighed. She reached over the rack, picked out a pistol with a smaller distance between the grip and trigger, and handed it over. Before Jak could respond, too busy trying the new one out and finding it did feel a lot more comfortable, she took the first gun, pulled on the eco cartridge from the top of the barrel until it gave a yellow hiss in release, then tossed the cartridge into a bucket by her feet with a plink .

"They go for the same price. Fair trade. I sell more of the Klaww ones, anyways. I'll swap your cartridges out, too."

"How do I know the Klaww one isn't worth more than the one you just gave me?"

"You don't," she said as she started filling a bag with eco cartridges. "But you also didn't know even five seconds ago that there was a difference. So you can either trust me or take the Klaww one back and die when you miss a shot because of your stubby human fingers."

Jak was about to argue, but every reason he could come up with died on his lips. She tossed the bag of cartridges at him, held out her hand until Jak turned in those he'd been carrying, then returned to her polishing.

Jak glanced over the other guns on display, focused on how there were many size differences between even what looked like the same model of pistol.

"Do you have anything really small?"

"For what?"

"I dunno…" Jak shrugged and said his next words before realizing how twisted they sounded, "Small human? Child sized?"

The Kig's face wrinkled with astonishment. Jak chuckled nervously. "Nah, it's fine, I was just kidding-"

"Maybe you humans aren't so squishy and soft after all?"

She reached under her stall and pulled out the tiniest pistol Jak had ever seen, not much bigger than the length of a finger. The Kig set it atop the wood and crossed her arms with a proud smile.

"An HI Apprentice, model 273. Normally, we only buy these for our kids before we kick 'em out for their apprenticeship, but I don't see why I couldn't sell it to a human who understands the value of teaching his kid how to shoot young."

"Uh… yeah, that's…" Jak picked it up with his forefinger and thumb, half amazed, half horrified. "What age are these made for, again?"

"Any. Got mine when I was four," she replied with a smug grin. "Killed my first pirate with it when I was five. A human like you, actually."

Jak swallowed hard. He paid her for the tiny pistol and some cartridges for it as quickly as he could, then dipped his head in farewell and thanks before leaving. Some tribal humans nearby were eyeing him strangely, first glancing at his ears, then at the guns in his hands. A few gave him dirty looks and made the four-fingered prayer gesture as he walked by with his head lowered.

"Jak, you heathen heretic, you! Look at you, riling up all their self-righteous dander! Also, what's with the peashooter?" Daxter whispered in his hood.

"I'm used to it," he replied. When he got to an alley with less prying and judgmental eyes, he slipped the tiny pistol and a few cartridges to Daxter in his hood, putting the rest in his pocket.

"What the hell? For me?"

"We need all the advantages we can get on the road ahead."

The way Daxter snickered in reply made Jak both glad and nervous. "Only for emergencies, Dax. Like if we get separated at any point and you need to defend yourse-"

"Ha, imagine the look on people's faces when they see me with this thing! Daxter, the gun-totin' ottsel, slayin' all the baddies and impressin' all the babes with his sharpshootin' skills and foxy, handsome mug!"

There was a clink and the quiet hum of an eco cartridge powering up within Jak's hood.

"Just make sure you don't shoot that thing while you're in there. I don't need my ear blown off."

"Aw, don't worry, buddy! I'll be very, very careful with it, I promise!"

However, the occasional pew pew and explosion noises Daxter started making with his mouth as they made their way to the tailor's did little to convince Jak.

"And here you are! Shoes, pants, pads, fastening straps, stockings, belt, holster, back pouch, cartridge band, gloves, pauldron, your mascot's things, and…"

Jak peeked around the heavy, tall, and tottering pile of items the Klaww tailor had just dumped into his arms. "There's more?"

The Klaww pulled out an intricate copper case from a nearby drawer. He clicked its clasps free and held it forward as the lid opened to reveal what was inside.

It was a pair of brass goggles set in a leather band with long straps. In the center were two eyepieces, the right one long with a ruby tinted lens and the left one shorter with a tiered silver device on it.

"A long time ago, I once had the opportunity to see an exhibit in Haven City of racing artifacts from its earliest days. One of the items was something from Mar himself. I remember it clearly, shining in that glass case beneath a spotlight, higher than all the rest. It was said that his goggles were forged by the Precursors themselves - before his disagreement with them, of course - and allowed him an advantage on the track. The ruby eyepiece blocks glare and sharpens your view. The other one is a magnifier, allowing you a closer look at things. Those worn by racers nowadays are a bit smoother looking, but there's something to be said about honoring the past. These have the same updates as the modern ones, but I made them to be a perfect replica of Mar's otherwise."

"I…" Jak looked down, guilt gnawing at him for having lied about his intention to race now that the Klaww was taking him so seriously. He was also reluctant to take something modeled after an item of Mar's, even though he knew just wearing them wouldn't mean he forsook the Precursors. "I don't know if I can take these."

The Klaww placed them on top of the other things he'd handed Jak, handling them as gently as he would an egg. "Think of them as your promise to me. Racing has gotten so boring these days, what with Prince Erol always taking the top spot. There's a reason I left Haven, you know. Erol may be Mar's descendant, but if that old hero were alive now, he'd shudder to think of what that boy has done to his city and his sport. There are rumors that he's even killed other racers."

"Killed?"

The Klaww adjusted his spectacles and nodded with a grim frown. "You'd best be careful on that track, my friend. But I've got a good feeling about you. And if I'm right, you may just be the key to giving this old Klaww something to root for again."

"I'll try," Jak lied, a tsunami of guilt crashing against him.

"That's all I can ask for. Now, go! Get your gear on."

The Klaww pointed to a side room. Jak headed inside, but slowed his steps upon seeing a strange rectangle of silver in a frame on the wall. He shut the door behind him, set down his and Daxter's clothes, and walked up to it.

To his surprise, he saw himself staring back as he got close. He'd seen his reflection in fragments before in water whenever he'd trimmed his facial hair with a flint blade, but never this crystal clear and of his full body at once.

"Daxter, what is this thing?"

"Lemme get my bumpkin translator booted up," Daxter crawled out of Jak's hood and cocked his head when he realized what Jak was looking at. "Don't tell me ya haven't seen one of these before?"

Jak shook his head. "Is it some kind of device?"

"Oh boy… you've got a case of the backwaters worse than I thought. That's a mirror, Jak. Meer. Roar."

"Is that what I really look like?"

"Standin' next to me with a mirror nearby probably makes you feel bad, huh?"

"What? No! I just never expected…"

Water distorted proportions and desaturated colors, but here he saw himself in full truth for the first time in his life, no longer through the lens of those back home in Sandover. "I'm so normal."

"Uh… yeah? What made you think ya weren't?"

"Never mind," Jak said, but a small smile soon came to his lips.

He set to work getting undressed and his new clothes on. Daxter had to help him with much of it, for there were so many pieces Jak was not familiar with. And the belts and straps… there were so many. Figuring out which went where took him far longer than he wanted to admit. There were also multiple layers of cloth wrappings underneath his bronze pauldron that helped secure it onto his right shoulder, and some that went down to the middle of his lower arms from beneath his fingerless gloves.

He'd started to put the pants on.

"No, no, no… stockings first, bumpkin boy."

"Stockings?"

"They go over your feet."

Daxter pulled out two tubes of plain cloth with one opening on each. Jak grimaced. This was the part he was dreading: covering his feet.

"Would I stand out in Haven if I just forgot about the foot stuff?"

"Jak, your ears are already going to be suspicious enough. Walk around with those flippers bare, and you'll get beat up for your lunch money the second you step inside those walls."

"Why? What's so wrong with bare feet?"

"First off, they're ugly. Secondly, there's a lotta things on Haven streets you really don't wanna step in. Thirdly, how can you possibly stamp your boot on the face of the unwashed peasants beneath you without an actual boot?"

"What? Do they trample people in Haven?"

Daxter sighed. "In a way."

With great reluctance and a shudder, Jak put on the stockings and fastened them with yet another strap each to hold them up.

"Now the pants."

Jak did so. The black and relatively baggy pants were fine, and he supposed he didn't mind the blue sleeveless shirt, knee pad plates, and the three sets of - yes, more belts - that fastened to his ankles and calves. But the next things Daxter started to pull out of the pile were not so great.

"And the boots."

"Precursors, what's the point of those? They're so bizarre."

"Calm down and pick up the shoes, Jak."

"Are you sure I'll stand out that much without them? There's got to be some folk in Haven that-"

"Jakan Kur, if you do not put those boots on right now, I will devour every last shred of yakow jerky in your pack."

"But you hate yakow jerky."

"Exactly! So get your ass movin' and put 'em on!"

"Who invented these, anyway?" Jak mumbled as he reluctantly grabbed them and pulled them on, stumbling as he tried to walk in them for the first few steps. He eventually got the hang of them, but he felt so disconnected from the ground. It was like wearing a blindfold and trying to see, or plugging his ears and trying to listen. He wondered why everything about northern culture was so obsessed with severing oneself from what was natural.

Nature was messy and uneven, but everything about these new clothes, handmade they may be, was so perfect they were imperfect. Unnatural symmetry, unnatural colors, unnatural cloth woven so neatly that no mortal hands could have crafted it, metal forced under fire to be shaped into flawless, repeated items with nothing unique about them. The only other thing he'd seen similar were the Precursor ruins and the artifacts they left behind, but the Precursors were gods, so it made sense that they could attain such perfection.

For a culture that hates the Precursors, they sure like to emulate them in every way.

"See, was that so bad?"

"It goes against everything I was taught. We walk barefoot for a reason."

"Can I have jolly weirdo Jak back? He showed up for a few moments the other night and I've really been missin' him."

"Jolly Jak died inside just now."

Daxter rolled his eyes. "Drama king."

All that was left was the cartridge band - a ring of leather loops that could hold ammo - around his left bicep, the goggles around his forehead, the belt around his waist, and…

Jak picked up the red cowl he'd taken off with his old clothes. He stared at it for a long time, half tempted to throw it back for the dark reminder it was, but a sweeter memory soon held him in a comforting, warm grip:

"Thanks," she said, picked up the sword and cowl he'd dropped, retracted the blade, handed it to him, wrapped the cowl around his neck, and wiped her eyes. "Now take your crap and get out of here, you big sap."

He put the cowl back on, then stared in the mirror again. Once again, too symmetrical. Not normal.

Gonna fix that, he thought and reached for his sword, pressed the button to extend it, and cut off a long piece of red fabric from the inner lining of his old pack. Then he tied it around the right side of his belt and smiled at the 'flaw'. Much better.

"Whatcha think, Bigfoot?"

"It's not me. But that's the point."

"I was talkin' about me !"

Daxter was standing on two legs with his hands on his hips, now covered with fingerless gloves. He had leather goggles like Jak's, albeit much less detailed, which sat just in front of his ears, their long straps fluttering where they tied behind his head as he lifted his face in pride. An intricate harness wrapped under his arms, then down around his hips as a twice-bound belt with pouches just as small hanging to the sides. On the back was a retractable hook.

"What's the hook for?"

"Probably to make sure I don't fly off when we're on a racing track."

"Or…" Jak shrugged. "I could use it to catch you in case you ever fall off any bridges."

Daxter's toothy, proud grin melted to a scowl. "I hate you."

They folded up Jak's old clothes and relocated their supplies in the large leather pouch attached to the back of Jak's pauldron strap.

When they left the room, Jak paid the tailor, thanked him, and - with a shred of reluctance, for they'd been given to him by Samos - gave over his old clothes, the tailor having said he could clean and use them to make new pieces.

Before leaving, Jak caught sight of the eco crystals in the glass case under the counter again. Green eco was useful, but in a fighting situation blue eco was far more so. A blue eco crystal could come in handy. Plus, he could use it just to practice. Daxter noticed where Jak was looking and circled the case, seemingly just as curious.

"How much for one of the blue ones?" Jak asked.

"Fifty," the tailor replied.

Fifty? If I hadn't bought Daxter that pistol, I could have afforded it.

But instead of feeling regret, he only smiled, remembering how excited Daxter had been when he'd received said pistol.

"I'll have to pass," Jak said, then started walking out. "And thanks again."

He got to the door, but realized Daxter wasn't with him. He turned around. Daxter was still lingering by the glass case.

"Dax, you coming?"

Daxter hesitated a while longer, then bounded away as fast as he could, past Jak and out the door. When they were outside, Jak reached for his hood by instinct, ready to pull it up. But his hands only met his collar; no more hood.

"It's shoulder riding from here on out."

Daxter crawled up his leg, back, and to his pauldron, though was having a hard time finding a footing. "Guess they don't make these with ottsel grips."

"What about the other shoulder? That's the one you always ride on anyways."

"It's bare. I don't want to claw you up."

"Should be fine."

"Ya sure?"

Jak grabbed him by the scruff and placed him on said shoulder. True, Daxter's claws were sharp and dug in, but given time, he'd get used to it. And after all the ottsel had done for him, he could put up with a few scratches.

They left Riverjoint, garnering many puzzled looks on the way. Whether that was because it was strange to see a tribal young man in northern clothes and with a gun, or because of the dressed and armed animal on his shoulder, he wasn't sure.

But he left feeling an oddly familiar sensation he'd only experienced once before, though this time his old clothes were in the hands of a tailor and not burning in a fire on a cliff just outside Sandover, and his mood was that of contentment rather than shame. Save for the discomfort of his new shoes, of course.

The road beyond Riverjoint wound alongside the Ashtide to grayer hills with red eco crystal veins, casting a blood-hued glow through the mists. As they passed the last copse of green foliage, far from other travelers, Daxter let out a long-held breath.

"Thank hell! I was worried we'd get caught."

"Get caught? You didn't talk when anyone else was around-"

The ottsel held a paw before Jak's face. Within it was a blue eco crystal.

"Where'd you….?"

It clicked.

"I saw how you got all sparkle-eyed when we were at the tailor's, so I thought I'd-"

"First, you made me lie to that guy about being a racer so that we could get a discount, and now you stole from him? Is there an honest bone in your entire body?"

"Jak, you can say 'thank you' now."

"You're a little thief!"

"Yeah, ya figured that out when we first met. So why the surprise?"

"If you don't think I won't turn around right now and give it back to that poor guy-"

There was a sudden loud ringing. Jak twisted around. Riverjoint was glittering on the slope below, enveloped in calm mists and lazy afternoon light. After a few moments, he realized the sound was a bell. Then another clanging came to life on the other side of the town. And another. And a fourth.

The crowds on the main bridge parted and from the part emerged a few people in armor, halberds gleaming in hand. They started to search the crossroads outside, stopped one person to talk with them, who then pointed up the path that Jak and Daxter were now on.

"Well, what are ya waitin' for? Step on it!"

Jak burst into a run and booked it for the higher slopes. Daxter cackled maniacally all the way and raised his brand new pistol, taking little potshots at the pursuers. Most squealed past them, but a few struck their armor, creating yellow-tinged craters in the metal.

"What are you doing!? You're making it worse!"

"Less talkin', more fleein'!"

They ran for a long while, increasingly putting more distance between them and the guards. Eventually, they hurtled past another traveler, who, if Jak hadn't been running like his life depended on it, he would have gawked at.

The traveler sat on the arm of a long-dead Precursor mech, and wore leather and silk robes with various tubes and pieces of brass metal interlinked across it. They unfolded their patient, moon white hands, and looked up with red eyes at Jak and Daxter as the two went by.

Their face was covered with the same pale paint with a golden circle in the middle, a crimson mark severing it in half from their forehead to the tip of their nose.

A smile lifted their lips.