by Ramy Vance
Once they were finished, they led their axbeaks to a creek flowing between the hills and watered the fowls. Then they followed the road, occasionally allowing the axbeaks to meander from what had been paved.
The road and riders were silent.
They rode on for another three hours as the sky filled with swollen clouds looming apocalyptically in the distance. Suzuki thought the clouds looked like they were filled with whatever was going wrong in him, balloons filled with noxious gas.
Stew would have had a good joke about that. Most of the other MERCs too. The Red Lion was probably filled with MERCs, sitting and joking right now. They had probably been laughing and reveling that night when the orcs rode through and slaughtered the elves.
Suzuki had probably been there that night as well, he and the rest of the Mundanes, drinking and merry-making while the orcs’ blades slit innocent throats.
Sandy leaned over from her axbeak and nudged Suzuki. “Yo, that’s it ahead, right? The village we need to get to?”
Suzuki pulled himself out of his own head and swung around to meet Sandy’s eyes. “What?” he asked.
Sandy pointed down the road. In the distance, between the black clouds and cracks of lightning, a large steeple stretched to the sky, with a thin, black cross which seemed to emit a descending blackness across the village which lay beneath the shadow of its arms as if it were a vulture stretching its wings.
As the Mundanes rode further toward the village, the colors of the sky stretched and changed until it seemed that the sun had set before them with hardly a gesture. Suzuki scanned the sky. The sun was still beaming brightly. Yet when Suzuki’s eyes fell back to the land before him, the world looked as dimly bleak as a storm at midnight.
Lightning flared, ripping the sky open.
“Guess it is,” Suzuki muttered, nearly too afraid to bring his voice above a whisper. This was a new fear, one that he had not felt before. It was unlike the cold shivers that had crept up on him the first time a troll stared him down. Nor was it the fiery heat shooting through him when he thought of kissing Beth. This was new—and it had started back at the village of the dead elves.
Here, it had only grown into completeness.
Suzuki turned his HUD on and surveyed the village ahead. His HUD read 35% chance of success. “We’re fucked,” Suzuki sighed. “We’re only at 35%, and that town ahead is probably too small to even have a village elder. This is like walking into a mall and getting your ass kicked by a bunch of middle schoolers.”
Stew pulled a spyglass from his HUD and peered through its lens. “Is that good or bad?” he asked. “The middle schoolers where I grew up were cut from fucking stone. I once saw a two 6th graders tackle a guy coming out of the gym. I didn’t really think of it at the time. Then, like two weeks later, those kids were on the news. It was not a feel-good story.”
Suzuki and Sandy looked at Stew blankly. Then Suzuki burst out laughing so hard that he had to lean over on his axbeak. Sandy managed to get down from hers to grab her stomach and roll on the ground in stitches.
“What the hell’s so funny?” Stew asked. “These kids were straight-up serial killers. That could have been me. I could have been eaten by sixth graders for being too swole.”
Suzuki forced himself to sit up, his sides still aching from laughing so hard. “Are you telling me that there were murderous sixth-graders killing off all the jocks in your hometown?”
“No, dude. Not jocks. They were coming after swole, adult gym bros. This was like last year. The swoler, the better.”
“I swear to God, if you say swole one more—”
“I was terrified, dude. All I wanted to do was get the flex, but there were some fucking freak-ass kids running around, chopping people up and fucking their heads and—”
Sandy raised her hands to stop Stew from talking. “Did you just say ‘fucking their heads?’”
“These kids were sick, dude. Next-level sick. I dropped so much muscle that summer. I wouldn’t even go for a walk.”
“You realize that you just told us a story about necrophiliac cannibalistic middle schoolers and your takeaway was how you lost some muscle mass?”
“Babe, it wasn’t some. It was noticeable.”
“You are unbelievable.” Sandy affectionately touched Stew’s shoulder.
Stew shook his head. “Anyways, what were we talking about again?”
The Mundanes looked at one other. It was fairly obvious that none of them remembered what had prompted the story.
“Is the town filled with children?” Stew asked.
The sun was setting, and a heavy mist poured into the village. It looked like someone had cranked a fog machine up to high and left it on for a couple of hours.
Suzuki’s HUD decreased the chance of success from thirty-five percent to sixteen percent. He muttered under his breath, aggravated, trying to figure out what he could do to change their odds. As he shook his head, pacing back and forth, he walked past the axbeaks, which were patiently nipping at each other. When Suzuki looked up, the chances of success had jumped up to sixty-eight percent. “What the fuck?” he mused.
Suzuki grabbed his axbeak’s reins and looked at the fog-covered village. The success fell back to sixteen percent. “Hey, guys,” Suzuki called. “I think if we tie up the axbeaks, we have a significantly higher chance of success.”
Stew spoke in a nasal tone, imitating Suzuki. “A significantly higher chance of success. I also think the mating habits of adult gryphons is extremely exciting, and probably the closest I’ll ever get to losing my virginity.”
Suzuki glared at Stew. Something about Stew’s tone irked him. Maybe he didn’t like being imitated. Or it could just be Stew’s general childishness. Whatever it was, Suzuki had to push down the urge to hit Stew in his smug, pimple-filled face. “Fuck you,” Suzuki growled. “Let’s just leave the fucking birds here and get this over with.”
Then again, under other circumstances, he might have laughed, but whatever was affecting his mood was still there. Laughing had helped, but it hadn’t taken it all away.
Stew shrugged and grabbed the reins of the axbeaks. “Whatever, dude,” Stew sneered. “Don’t know when you lost your sense of humor, but if you want to get all Gestapo, be my fucking guest.”
Sandy snapped her fingers and a ball of fire flashed between Suzuki and Stew. They both jumped back, throwing up their hands and waving away the flames as they quickly dissipated. Suzuki had seen Sandy’s face in the brief illumination from the fireball. Her eyes were stone-dead, and she had been biting her lip—the same look she often reserved for whatever monster she was going to sear alive.
“Let’s just get this over with,” Sandy said.
Suzuki marched over to Stew and snatched the reins from his hands. He walked the axbeaks to the nearest tree and tied them to it. Then he turned back. It felt like his body was moving through mud. His legs were heavy, and his arms felt like weights had been attached to them. Even blinking was difficult. “Anyone else really tired all of a sudden?” Suzuki asked.
Stew shrugged and scratched his face, his nail lodging in a particularly large pimple. Suzuki couldn’t look away. He wanted to vomit or hit Stew. He didn’t know which would feel better, or if it was going to make him feel better at all. The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to hit Stew.
But the rush of adrenaline at the thought was replaced with a sick feeling deep in his guts. “Maybe we should wait,” Suzuki suggested. “Camp a ways out from the village. We could come through in the morning instead.”
Suzuki checked the rate of success through his HUD as he looked out at the village. He hit variable option and wound the time forward to the morning. For each hour that passed, the rate of success improved. The HUD read at eighty-nine percent at roughly around 10 AM.
“We will have much better odds by then,” Suzuki explained.
“How much better?” Sandy asked.
“We’d be at eighty-nine percent.”
“We�
��re at sixty-eight percent now,” Stew said. “That’s only a twenty-one percent difference.”
“Twenty-one percent is a lot,” Suzuki said.
Stew pulled out his sword. “We’re still over fifty percent to begin with. We should just get this over with. I don’t like this place. It makes me feel sick. I don’t want to be sleeping here all night.”
“So you feel it too?” Suzuki asked.
Sandy nodded and pointed in the direction of the fog-covered village. “I can tell it’s coming from there. I don’t know what it is or what’s happening, but I feel… I don’t know how I feel, but it’s coming from there.”
So it wasn’t just him.
Stew stepped up to be a part of the conversation, almost pushing his way between Sandy and Suzuki. They both looked at him as if they were ready to rip his head off. “What?” Stew asked. “Everyone was talking numbers, and I wanted in.”
“You’ve never cared about percentages and success ratios before,” Suzuki said. “If you had, we wouldn’t have started calling you Leeroy.”
“For the record, I started calling myself Leeroy. And I can talk percentages.”
“There’s a chance of success if—”
Stew groaned. “What the funkily fuckity fuck deal is it with twenty-one percent?”
“Are you fucking serious, Stew?”
“What a way with words,” Sandy sighed. “That man, oh man, of mine.”
Usually, the Mundanes would be smiling right now. Instead, the tension between them had thickened so it seemed palpable. He didn’t notice that the fog from the village had stretched its way out to them.
After a long silence as they stared with murderous intent at each other, Sandy finally cleared her throat and woke them up out of their trance. “So we’re going?” she asked.
Suzuki absentmindedly swatted at the fog swirling around his feet. “Fuck it,” he growled. “Let’s just do this.”
Suzuki walked faster than Sandy or Stew. He wanted to get away from them. He wanted to lose himself in his thoughts. That was a bad idea. When he let his mind wander, he could see himself holding a rock, standing over Sandy’s body, her eyes swollen and blackened, fully aware that the rock was coming down between her eyes. Suzuki shook his head and tried to drive the vision away.
The village was before them before Suzuki even realized they had crossed the field. The heavy fog he had seen from the hills of the plain was even thicker in the streets.
The village was empty and silent. The windows of the crudely-made thatch houses were mostly broken with shards of glass littering the streets.
Suzuki coughed loudly, trying not to inhale too deeply. His chest had suddenly grown tight, as if something had reached into him and gripped his lungs. He fell to his knees and clenched his heart as he coughed painfully, gasping for air, inhaling the fog.
At Suzuki’s side, Sandy and Stew had also doubled over. They sounded like they were hacking just as hard as Suzuki was. The thought dashed across Suzuki mind before he realized: I hope those assholes choke to death.
The coughing fit passed after a couple of minutes. Suzuki was the first to his feet, and he was walking away before either Sandy or Stew stood up.
Stew called loud and obnoxiously, “Hey, where the fuck are you going?”
Suzuki spun and pointed toward the center of the village. “Would you mind keeping the fuck up?” he shouted before turning back and continuing on his way. He didn’t care if Sandy or Stew couldn’t catch up. Maybe they’d get lost. The fog was thick enough for that. Someone might be in the village, hiding in one of the shit houses. They might slip out and slide a knife into Stew’s back.
Suzuki’s heart raced at the thought of Stew dying in a pool of his own blood.
As the sun finally set, the amber-hued fire streaks in the sky faded to a starless night pregnant with a full moon. It cast a silver light that streaked through the fog, which was now up to Suzuki’s knees. The fog was thick as storm clouds. Suzuki almost wanted to reach down and scoop some into his hand. Then he would shove it down Sandy’s throat while she gagged on his fist.
Suzuki turned around. He was suddenly gripped with an intense desire to know exactly where his party members where. The village was too quiet. Sandy and Stew were being too quiet. Suzuki flipped down his HUD. “Cast Find Target,” Suzuki said.
Fred unwrapped from around Suzuki’s mind. There is no target, Fred said slowly. There’s only Stew and Sandy.
Well, then find them!
Suzuki, do you feel odd?
Me? No, I feel great. I feel like I could take on the world right now.
And your friends?
I could fucking murder them.
Something’s not right, human. I sense…an offness in myself. Usually, I am filled with a slight murderous rage toward you. At the moment, I feel…well-disposed toward your squishy human body.
Suzuki considered this. Hmmm, yeah, that doesn’t sound normal.
You and your friends. You keep fighting with each other. It makes me sad.
Jesus fucking Christ, something must be wrong. You sound like a Lifetime special. Are you going to teach me a lesson about the power of friendship?
No, I am only going to tell you that you are acting unnaturally, and I have found the source. The fog is bewitched. It is causing us to feel the inverse of our emotions. Rather than wanting to see you suffer for your poor decisions, I want to protect you. It is almost a compulsion. You have snapped at your friends multiple times since the fog rolled in, and you drew your sword on them both near the outskirts of the village.
There wasn’t a fog out there, Suzuki pointed out.
Not that you could see. Your eyes aren’t strong enough. But I could feel the magic back then. I just didn’t think anything of it, since there was so little.
Suzuki was relieved to hear that there was a bit of magic out in the plains. He had been sincerely worried that he was cracking around the edges. This made more sense. Granted, he was stressed, but he hadn’t thought he’d ever get stressed enough to attack either of his friends. So what are we supposed to do? Suzuki asked.
You are feeling hatred for your friends? Perhaps thinking positively about them would help? Then we must find the source of the fog.
What the fuck? You want me to think positively. Who the fuck are you? Tony Robbins?
I do not know who this Tony is, but if he is an advocate for thinking positively, then yes, I am Tony Fucking Robbins.
Suzuki groaned in frustration. Are you sure stabbing Stew and Sandy won’t help?
Can you hear yourself?
Suzuki closed his eyes and thought as hard as he could. He tried to bring up his memories of Sandy and Stew. He couldn’t remember anything remotely friendly. Mostly just memories of Stew annoying the shit out of him: cracking his stupid jokes, rushing into things without planning well enough, being nervous about the tiniest things, things that made Suzuki even embarrassed for Stew.
Suzuki chuckled. Huh, he muttered. That’s weird. I think you’re right. I think Stew is my friend. A really close—
An ax flew through the air, cutting through the thick fog and hitting the wooden wall behind Suzuki, where it stayed embedded.
Stew stepped through the fog, wielding two of his short swords.
Suzuki’s sword was in his hand before he realized it. “Your aim has gone to shit.”
Stew twirled one of his swords in his hand. He shrugged and took a step toward Suzuki. “I didn’t wanna stab you in the back,” Stew said. “I want to make sure to look you in the eye when I fuck you up.”
Suzuki summoned another sword from his inventory. “Come at me, then…bro.”
“So fucking cliché, dude. So fucking cliché.”
Stew rushed at Suzuki, his sword raised high. He brought it down faster and harder than Suzuki had ever seen Stew do. That blow was meant to kill. Suzuki managed to pull his shield up in time and block the attack. He rolled to the side and slashed at Stew’s ankles as Stew stepped forward
to avoid Suzuki’s blade.
Suzuki wanted to end this fast. He knew Stew’s weaknesses. He’d watched Stew play for years and had been fighting beside him for at least a month. All he had to do was get Stew to stop thinking, to distract him enough that he’d make a stupid decision. And it wasn’t going to be hard to distract him.
Stew rushed Suzuki again. Typical, Suzuki thought. Just rush your target. I’m not even going to have to work for this.
Suzuki slammed his sword to his shield, enchanting it with fire. Flames flickered across the surface of the blade as Suzuki took a parrying stance.
Stew hit Suzuki hard, their blades crashing together. The sheer strength behind Stew’s blow was enough to drive Suzuki off his feet, but he held his blade, all the same, watching the heat from his sword force beads of sweat on Stew’s forehead. It wasn’t slowing Stew down, though; he was still pushing Suzuki as hard as he could. It became apparent at that moment that if Suzuki’s knees went out, the fight would be over.
Suzuki tried to push forward while Stew pushed downward. They were caught in an uncomfortable stalemate. Stew was stronger, but the flames from Suzuki’s sword were keeping Stew at bay. “Bet you were just thinking about how this fight was over,” Stew said. “Just gloating over how you already got everything figured out and how fucking smart and put together you are. Weren’t you?!”
It was happening. Just what Suzuki was waiting for. Stew’s emotions were starting to get the better of him. It wouldn’t be long until Stew was a screeching tank, incapable of slowing down or thinking things through. All Suzuki had to do was get out from underneath Stew. Then he could slide his sword through his chest and move on to Sandy.
Huh, Suzuki thought. Where is Sandy?
There was a giant crack of thunder and a bolt of lightning struck the ground a few feet away from Suzuki and Stew, sending rubble and bits of the ground flying through the air as the fog around Stew and Suzuki dissipated. In the clear air, Suzuki could see Sandy floating down from the night sky, the tips of her toes scraping the ground as she levitated.