by James Beamon
“Sure, miss,” he said, casting a couple of glances back at Jason before finally focusing on Melvin. “I’ll leave you lot to plan a strategy. You’ve got about an hour before Sentry Triptoe arrives.”
Melvin kept his pretty-faced smile while Nestor got up to leave. As soon as his back turned, Melvin gave Jason a wicked elbow.
“Hey!” he cried, sloshing beer onto the table.
“Hey, yourself! How the hell are you going to volunteer us to take on a killer robot?”
“Dude,” Jason said with shrug. “Don’t worry. We got this.”
“What do you mean, don’t worry? The whole town’s afraid of it, it’s already put bodies in the ground, and you say don’t worry about it?!” Melvin snatched Jason’s beer as he was in mid sip.
“Dude, you really need to lighten up,” Jason said.
This time Rich agreed with Melvin. At first he thought Melvin just worried all the time, preoccupied with getting home as soon as possible. Rich figured worry was a by-product of being stuck in a body that was differently gendered but very, very easy on the eyes. But if they had just listened to Melvin an hour ago, they wouldn’t be in this mess.
They should’ve gone around this town.
“I’m doing us a favor,” Jason continued. “We need to get our feet wet.”
“No,” Melvin said. “We don’t.”
Jason turned indignant. Rich caught that look all the time from Jason when he had to explain things about the game he felt Rich should know. Jason started his words with a deep sigh.
“So what’s your plan... talk nice to the death creature’s undead army and hope they’ll let you through? Ask the creature to stay still so Rich can chant over it and pray Rich doesn’t mumble or misspeak a spell of insane magnitude?
“We need battlefield experience. What’s crazy is trying to take on death monster in this state. You’re unreliable.” Jason pointed at Melvin and then pointed to Rich without taking his eyes off Melvin. “He’s unreliable. Just hoping your inner ass-kicker’s going to manifest itself when you want it is plain stupid. Where was she in Fort Law? Where was she when I got this?” he asked, holding up his bone arm.
Melvin’s eyes softened. “Jason... this robot... it could kill us.”
“If it does, we would’ve never finished this quest to begin with. The only difference is that at least here they’ll be people to bury us. Better that than shuffling around with the rest of death creature’s zombie party.”
Even though Jason wasn’t talking directly to him, Rich felt the same way he always felt whenever Jason finished doing his long talks that started with a deep sigh. Stupid. Either Jason was a master tactician or incredibly convincing.
“So what do we do now?” Rich asked.
Jason shrugged. “We wait. Then we kill it.”
Rich looked out toward the door. Behind the wood buildings on the main avenue, the sky was starting to purple. Inside, the bar’s crowd had thinned out considerably. The sun was setting.
In the space of what felt like mere minutes, the sky went from orange to red to purple to black. Night couldn’t have come this quick. Rich jumped out of his seat and looked to his friends.
They weren’t there. He was alone in the bar.
“You’re alone with a monster, Razzleblad,” a familiar voice said.
In the darkness of the doorway emerged a boy with a black suit, dark eyes and twisted smile.
It was Richard Bates.
Rich’s breath caught in his throat. The cost must have come while he was waiting for the sun to set.
He closed his eyes tight. It didn’t matter if he felt creepy fingers, oozing slime or heard hissing in his ears. He wasn’t going to open his eyes. The cost could swirl and swarm all around him; if he didn’t look it wouldn’t matter, right?
Rich didn’t feel anything creepy. He felt a punch to the face. Hard and jarring, the force of it knocked him to the ground and made his eyes water.
Richard Bates stood over him. Even though it was a face Rich had grown used to in the mirror, the look of rage etched in it was so intense it made Rich’s heart leap in fear.
“Is that what you thought, Razzleblad? That you could cast and not pay?!”
Richard Bates punched his face and kept punching. Each blow was a lancing, biting jolt of pain. Dream or hallucination, it didn’t matter. The only difference from real punches was the point where his nerves should’ve gone numb to the pain never came. The last blow stung as fresh and raw as the first. And still Richard Bates kept punching.
When he stopped, his knuckles dripped blood. His other hand gripped a handful of the gray robe. He spoke in a shout, spittle flying as he loomed over Rich.
“I am the cost, mage! And you will pay me. If you try otherwise, I’ll make it so you wished you paid.”
This was too much. Rich tried to say he only made a little water, a little fire, but he talked through swollen lips with loose and knocked in teeth. It was all mumbles.
“A little water? Is that what you call that glacier you made at the Hierophane?”
Rich recalled his fight with Druze. He didn’t even know how he had made that thing, he just remembered being stuck in the tornado and being more afraid than he had ever been. The words just came from nowhere. It shouldn’t count. He shook his head, tried to bargain.
Richard Bates turned him around and hauled him up by the waist. A hand jerked Rich’s head back by the hair.
“I know what you do, what you owe,” Richard Bates whispered. “And I swear, before I’m done tonight, you will know. I. Must. Be. Paid.”
Rich felt himself careening, pulled along by his back and head towards the wall. He didn’t have the strength to fight as the wall grew closer. All he could do was close his eyes as the impact came with a hard crunch and dull thud.
He felt himself getting pulled out of the wall. Rich opened his eyes and saw a red outline in the wall, a ghostly specter of his face dripping blood. Then he felt himself getting pushed again. And the wall grew closer.
Rich woke in the dark, screaming his head off. He flew out of the chair and scrambled across the floor, trying to get away from the invisible, screaming the whole while. A hand clamped over his mouth, which he tried to claw and scrape at, his chest taking great heaves as his panic began to overwhelm him.
His eyes adjusted to the dark and he saw the person clamping his mouth shut was Melvin. The look on Melvin’s face was serious. He was holding a slender finger up to his lips, silently calling for Rich to shut up. Rich obeyed.
Jason was peeking out of the bar’s open doorway, staring out into darkness.
“We thought you were going to do that trance sleep thing all night,” Melvin whispered. “Triptoe’s already made one pass and will probably be headed this way soon, especially with you screaming like that. You ok?”
Rich wasn’t. He wanted to tell Melvin he was scared and confused. That he felt helpless and trapped. But he didn’t say any of that. He nodded.
Melvin helped him up and they joined Jason by the door. Jason’s dancing pupils scanned the darkness, his gray brow furrowed with strain.
“My eyes suck at night,” he said.
Rich looked out at the dimly lit streets. The occasional lantern illuminated the avenue, but most of the town stayed draped in pitch. Somewhere out there, Sentry Triptoe patrolled.
“Plan’s simple,” Jason said. “When I see him I’ll step out and distract him with some arrows. He’s all metal and wood, so I won’t be of much use. But while he’s focused on me, Melvin will charge from the rear.”
Jason looked at Rich. “While Melvin is lopping off body parts, you cook up some fire to toss at him.”
The pain and helplessness of the last cost was fresh in his mind. He never wanted to cast another spell again. Ever. He shook his head.
“No... I can’t...”
“Agro time!” Jason said and darted out the door.
Rich looked down the street. A figure stood under the light of a solitary lantern.
The thing looked like a combination of training dummy, scarecrow and tank. Its chest was all turning gears and chains in a wood casing, its face wood with blinking lights for eyes. It stood with its pipe-like arms extended, like it had been caught in the middle of picking up an oversized box.
“I’ve been doing criminal acts in this town for hours,” Jason hollered at it. “And now I’ve finally found the toilet!”
He loosed an arrow. In keeping with his newfound marksmanship, the arrow hit Triptoe in its left eye, shattering it.
Triptoe’s right eye stopped blinking and went dark. It stood under the light, inert.
Jason looked back at his friends and shrugged.
“Man, was he trumped up for nothing,” he said.
Triptoe’s remaining eyelight came back on. It wasn’t blinking, but glowing a steady, angry red.
It dashed toward Jason with its pipe legs at breakneck speed. As it raced toward him, it pulled a giant double-headed axe from its back.
“Oh, crap!” Jason said as he saw the speed of the robot bearing down on him.
He had wanted Triptoe’s hostile attention, or agro as they called it in the game. Now that he had it, it turned Jason into a wreck. He tried to fire again and the shot went wild. He backed up and tried again and he almost shot himself. Finally, he ditched trying to shoot and just ran.
“Melvin!” he shouted.
Rich looked at Melvin. He wasn’t in Zhufira mode. Zhufira was graceful with her weapon, amazing, beautiful. Melvin couldn’t keep the sword still, he was shaking so bad.
Nevertheless, when the dashing robot was almost at the bar, Melvin ran out. He swung his sword at a pipe leg and connected, cleaving the foot off above the ankle.
Triptoe fell forward on its hands. The moment its hands hit the dirt, they dug in for traction, supporting a body now parallel to the ground. Its body swiveled on its hands, whirling like a powered turnstile. Triptoe’s extended pipe leg whirled around, smashing into the back of Melvin’s knees and knocking him on his butt.
Triptoe’s pipe leg came around again with crushing force. This time Melvin’s head lay directly in its path.
“Duck!” Rich yelled.
Melvin flattened out just as the pipe leg rushed past.
Triptoe stopped whirling. It dug its knee into the ground and raised up in a crouch. Now it kneeled in front of Melvin, who was flat on his back.
It raised up its huge axe.
Thwip! An arrow lodged itself into the doorway next to Rich, far off its mark. Jason was still shaken up, his aim worthless.
The axe came down.
Melvin rolled away and the axe stuck into the packed dirt of the street. But Triptoe was inhumanly fast and strong. The axe came back up like the robot was pulling a knife out of warm butter. Triptoe’s free hand shot out and grabbed Melvin’s leg. There would be no rolling away this time.
Rich ran out into the street and grabbed Triptoe’s axe-wielding arm. Rich was no match for Triptoe’s strength. All he did was slow the descent of the axe. It came down, steady and sharp, to cleave Melvin apart.
Melvin brought his sword up to meet the axe. Their combined strength slowed the axe to a crawl, but did not stop it. Now the only difference would be that Melvin would be killed by his own sword as the axe forced it down.
“Rich! Cast!” Melvin yelled between clenched teeth. All his strength was tied into keeping his own sword at bay.
There had to be another way. It was just gears, spare parts. He didn’t have to cast, he just had to think.
Rich started kicking Triptoe’s arm, the one that held Melvin in place. The arm didn’t budge. Melvin looked up at him with desperation.
“Cast!”
The sword was almost at Melvin’s exposed belly. Rich kicked again. And again.
His third kick dislodged Triptoe’s grip. Melvin rolled away. The axe bit into dirt.
This time Triptoe left the axe where it was. The sentry grabbed Rich by the hair, just as Richard Bates had done.
Rich fought against it, but Triptoe pulled. It was going to bring Rich’s face down onto the axe.
Rich’s heart threatened to beat its way out of his chest. The axe was like the wall Richard Bates had slammed him into. It was coming. He was helpless against it. Fear overcame him, like it had when Druze had trapped him inside a raging tornado.
The words came. He didn’t know what he spoke, but the words came naturally. They sounded foreign and familiar all at the same time. And they kept coming.
Rich’s hands erupted with energy. Red light burst forth like a lava flow. He grabbed Triptoe’s axe and it melted into sludge at his touch. He dug his hands into Triptoe’s gearbox chest and pulled. The robot separated like freshly torn bread.
Rich’s final words were a shout, his voice reverberating with authority and power. The red light consumed his vision in a violent explosion. When the light finally faded to the dark of night, the only thing left of Triptoe was a couple of pipes that were slowly eating themselves into cinder.
No one spoke in the space of several moments after Triptoe’s demise. Finally, Jason broke the silence with a shout.
“Badass!”
Jason and Melvin shook Rich with enthusiasm. They patted him on the back and spoke with excitement about how crazy awesome he was.
Rich was numb. He was too busy worrying about how the hell he had done that and how much it would cost.
Chapter 16
Answers
The town of Triptoe celebrated their liberation from Sentry Triptoe with wild abandon. Streets that were once bathed in darkness sparkled and flickered in the light of torches, lanterns, sconces, and bonfires. People danced in the streets, their doors open, and the light from their homes flooded out to join the bright displays up and down the avenues.
Rich sat in the bar with Melvin and Jason. Now it was full of life, with people singing and cheering and drinking and dropping rounds off at their liberators’ table. Each of the guys nursed at least three full glasses apiece.
The good mood of the townsfolk didn’t rub off on Jason. He sat grumbling, looking down into his near empty mug. After he drained the glass, he looked up to address his friends.
“We were garbage out there.”
Melvin was leaning back in his chair, his long legs crossed as he held his mug. He shrugged casually. “At least we did it.”
Rich didn’t say anything. The last thing he cared about at the moment was letting Jason down.
“It’s okay if you guys are garbage,” Jason said. “I mean, I expect that from you two. But me? As soon as that dumb robot came at me, I imploded. I was a total nub out there.”
Melvin smiled and drank. Apparently, he was enjoying Jason’s self-directed hatred.
Rich was too busy thinking about the magic he never wanted to use again. He couldn’t imagine what kind of cost that last spell would incur. Plus these guys didn’t understand; later on they’d ask him to start a campfire or create a drink of water or magically make their dreams pleasant. Their whining only added to his cost. The only spell he wanted to cast was the one to cage the death creature so he could get out of this body.
Out of nowhere, a smile crept up on Jason’s face.
“I think I got it.”
The only response he received was Melvin’s raised eyebrow.
“We all have a character-mode trigger,” Jason continued. “It’s something we have to trip to before the skills of our characters emerge.”
“Huh?” Melvin asked.
“Yeah,” Jason said. He leaned closer and talked excitedly. “I thought at first it was just a matter of concentrating, but it’s not. After I was out of danger, I concentrated, I focused, and still couldn’t hit the side of a barn, let alone Triptoe. The problem was I couldn’t trip my trigger to put me back in Cephrin mode.”
“And what’s your trigger?” Melvin asked.
“I have to be calm. Cool and relaxed. That’s my trigger. Anything else and I’m just Jason in a gray body.”
“I tried being calm,” Melvin said. “Back at the Hierophane with the practice dummy, remember? That didn’t work out so well.”
“That’s the thing,” Jason said. “Your trigger is completely different. I’ve seen you go Zhufira mode twice now. Once in the akhta with the weagr and again in this bar when that dude groped your goodies. How were you feeling those times?”
Melvin nodded, his pretty features scrunched in anger. “I was mad,” he said.
“Anger’s your Zhufira mode trigger,” Jason said, pointing at Melvin as if that validated everything he said.
“Of all the triggers to have...” Melvin stated flatly, blowing hair out of his face with a heavy sigh.
Rich could understand. He hadn’t known Melvin very long, but Rich knew Melvin to be extremely level-headed. A person would have to step over the line and then step out another mile before Melvin got angry.
Melvin and Jason were both looking at him. “So what’s your trigger?” Jason asked.
Rich thought about being stuck in Druze’s tornado, the wind ripping at him and tossing him about. He thought of Triptoe’s iron grip at his hair, pulling him relentlessly toward the axe. And how his heart had felt ready to rupture, the waves of panic striking him like lightning bolts.
“I dunno,” Rich lied.
“You need to figure it out,” Jason said. “You unlock those gray robes, and the rest of this trip will be on easy mode.”
Rich dry-swallowed and nodded. He looked down into his beer glass to keep from meeting the eyes of his friends.
Jason’s theory made sense. Until they found another way to access the potential of their characters, they needed those triggers. Jason would be able to tap into Cephrin virtually all the time. Zhufira would be much harder to call on for Melvin, who largely stayed afraid, level-headed, or worried.
And Rich? He wanted nothing to do with Razzleblad. He was mortified to use him. But now that he knew his trigger, the thought of turning into Razzleblad would linger in his mind and only heighten his fear the next time he was afraid. His mortal fear of turning into Razzleblad could likely cause him to turn into Razzleblad.
Talk about a repeating cycle of irony.