by Robert Bevan
Stacy frowned. “Okay. Fair enough answer. I should have phrased the question differently. Where is Crescent Shadow? And what’s the best way to get there on limited funds?”
“I suppose you might hire a griffon rider to take you up there. But the tricky part is wandering around the desert trying to find it.”
“It’s an island... in a desert?”
“Above,” said the prisoner. “Crescent Shadow is a floating island. It meanders above the Fertile Desert, never staying in one place for too long.”
“That sounds really cool,” said Julian. Stacy didn’t glare at him this time. Now that the interrogation was running along smoothly, there wasn’t much point in maintaining his threatening façade.
“On the contrary. It’s one of the hottest and most unforgiving places in the world.”
“I meant the island.”
“Ah, well yes. I suppose there’s probably more of a breeze up there. I’ve never been myself.”
“I’m sorry,” said Stacy. “I feel like I’ve missed something again. Is Fertile Desert a contradictory name, or is there more to that than what you’re telling us?”
“I apologize. I mean to keep no secrets. I thought you might have some knowledge of the history of the world.” He paused and thought over his words. “Again, I apologize if that sounded condescending.”
“You’re doing fine. Feel free to explain things to us as if we were little children from a different world. Tell me about the Fertile Desert.”
“The legend goes back to the time of the First Men.”
Stacy rolled her eyes. “Of course it does.”
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing. Please go on.”
“Humankind was the final creation of the gods, and we were meant to be their finest. But since the elves and dwarves and halflings and such had already established themselves, the gods chose to give their newest creation a place of their own where they could thrive until they were ready to join the rest of creation. They created a garden so abundant with life that their newest creation would want for nothing, and be able to focus on forming a civilization of their own.”
“An Eden myth,” said Julian. He knew in the back of his mind that this was all just stuff that Mordred had ripped off from ancient myths he was familiar with, but it was fascinating all the same.
Stacy looked less fascinated. “Let me guess. There was this one particular tree, the fruit of which the gods explicitly told the First Men not to eat.”
Their prisoner looked puzzled. “No. They were supposed to eat the fruit. That’s what the gods put the fruit trees there for.”
“So there wasn’t, like, a talking snake or anything?”
The prisoner looked like he was starting to get worried about being tortured again. “There might have been. I can add a talking snake if you like.”
“No,” said Stacy. “You’re doing great. Keep talking.”
“Instead of building a civilization and preparing to find their way in the world as the gods had intended, humans grew lazy and complacent. Knowing they were the gods’ favored race, they also grew arrogant and demanding.”
Julian shook his head. “Here we go.”
“The gods sent emissaries from each of the other races to demonstrate to the humans what wonders were possible with a bit of effort. They were sent to introduce art and literature and magic.”
“Whew,” said Julian. “For a second, I thought that was going to go in a different direction.”
“The humans raped and/or ate the emissaries.”
“Oh.” Julian frowned. “A minor detour, but we’re back on the road I thought we were on.”
“Naturally the gods were incensed. They cast an eternal drought upon the land. It is a desert, but the soil itself remains abundantly fertile. Spill only a few drops of water on the ground, and you can see vegetation sprout forth. But when the water stops, the insatiable barren earth drinks it away and the plants wither and die.”
Stacy looked at Julian. “Change of plans. We need to find Cooper.”
“Oh right,” said Julian. “Because he’s got the... the thing. The water thing.”
“Thank you for your time and cooperation sir.” Stacy placed the gag back in the prisoner’s mouth, which he opened wide to accommodate her. “I think you understand we can’t have you follow us.”
The man nodded understandingly.
“So we’re just going to leave him here?” asked Julian.
“Someone should be along shortly to meet the wolf here, I would think.”
“That looks really uncomfortable.”
“Well I’m sorry I don’t have a pillow handy.”
Julian spread the arms of his serape wide and channeled his sorcery.
“You’re not going to summon a horse, are you?”
Julian ignored her, placed his hand on the man’s forehead, and whispered, “Sleep.”
The prisoner’s head lolled to the side as he fell instantly to sleep.
Chapter 12
Where would I go if I were Tim and on the run?
Cooper realized the second part of the question was probably unnecessary. Tim would go to a bar. He’d tell himself that he needed to clear his head and think, but he’d just wind up getting shitfaced and passing out.
There were only two problems with this insight. Cardinia was crawling with taverns and pubs, and Tim was in a sewer.
Cooper stopped running and tried to think of which direction Tim and Katherine might have gone after they escaped the Piss Bucket Tavern. No, that was impossible to determine. He didn’t even know what direction he was headed in.
Wherever he was, he had this part of town pretty much to himself. The street was quiet. He took a cautious glance up and down the street before trying to remove a manhole cover.
Another dead end. He could barely get a grip, and the thing just wasn’t even pretending to budge.
Shit. Back to square one.
In a moment of zen, all of Cooper’s anxiety and tension and worry and self-doubt coalesced in his mind and sunk down into his bowels, then noisily out of his butthole.
If Cooper couldn’t move these fuckers, there was no way that Tim or Katherine could. As far as he knew, there was only one publicly accessible way in and out of the sewers. If they could fight their way through whatever horrible creatures lived in other people’s shit, Cooper would be able to find them at the edge of the Collapsed Sewer District.
That was a good bit of thinking. He wished he had someone to high five.
It was indeed a good bit of thinking.
“Thanks, voice in my head.”
Let us make haste to this Collapsed Sewer District.
“Dude. I’m fucking going already. Keep your pants on.” The voice in Cooper’s head was just a little bit demanding, but he was grateful for the company. He might even miss it once he got some proper rest and sleep deprivation stopped fucking with his mind.
He took a roundabout way to the Collapsed Sewer District, both because he wanted to avoid running into anyone from the Whores Head Inn, and because he began his journey without the faintest idea of where he was. By the time he reached the rubble-strewn exposed tunnels, it was nearly dawn. The first hints of light were beginning to silhouette the buildings to the east.
Filthy vagrants huddled around fires fueled by the remains of what was once one of the more prosperous parts of the city. If he played his cards right, he might just be able to fit in.
“Alright, boys,” said the hobo in charge. “The fire’s good and strong now. Roll out the cauldron and start filling her up.”
Four men rolled a large iron cauldron out from where it had been hidden behind some rubble. Two others carried out the carcass of a freshly slaughtered dire rat. Everyone else got to work scooping up water from puddles and dumping it into the cauldron.
A younger man, one of the four who had rolled out the cauldron, frowned at the giant dead rat. “Doesn’t it seem wrong, that we should be eating rat?”
Cooper w
as at least as hungry as he was tired. A bellyful of rat gumbo sounded great to him. He wasn’t sure, but he sensed the voice in his head was hungry as well.
“Don’t be such a sissy,” said the leader. “It’ll keep your belly full and warm. And besides, I nicked enough garlic to mask the taste.” He pulled two bulbs of garlic, each about the size of a softball, out of his satchel and tossed them into the empty cauldron. “What else have we got?”
“We stole a bag of rice,” said one of the other cauldron movers. He and a companion hefted up a heavy burlap sack and dumped dry rice into the mix.
“Aye, good lads. That’ll thicken it up nicely. Anything else?”
“I’ve got carrots,” said one of the puddle scoopers. He removed a seemingly empty scabbard from around his waist and dumped four scrawny carrots into the cauldron.
The leader frowned. “A weak effort, but every little bit helps.” He pointed to two of his hobo underlings who were slacking off. “You two, up off your asses. You can skin and gut the rat.”
Cooper kept his distance, knowing he was charismatically challenged, trying to think of some way he could contribute so that he might be invited to share their meal while waiting for Tim and Katherine to surface.
The guys on rat gutting duty finished their job quickly enough, and were reassigned to puddle scooping. This was going to take forever, and Cooper strongly suspected that those puddles had more hobo piss than water in them.
Hunger and exhaustion must have a way of kindling the imagination, because Cooper suddenly had an idea that was sure to endear him to these men.
He stepped out into the open. “Excuse me, gentlemen. I couldn’t help but notice that what you’re cooking is fucking disgusting.”
Everyone stopped what they were doing and glared at Cooper. To be fair, his words had sounded more endearing before he spoke them aloud.
“Well well,” said the leader. “Look who’s too good for boiled dire rat. Lucky for you that nobody asked you to join us.”
“I’m sorry. That came out wrong. I’m totally cool with eating rat. I just thought you might enjoy some clean water.”
“What know you of clean water? You don’t appear to have made its acquaintance for months.” His subordinates laughed.
“Hey,” said Cooper. “Not cool, man. I have, like, glandular problems and shit.”
“You best be on your way, half-orc. You might have noticed we’re not so finicky about what we boil and eat. With enough garlic, it all tastes the same.” The leader put his hand on the pommel of his short sword, prompting everyone else to reach for their weapons as well.”
Cooper raised his hands as a gesture of peaceful intent. “Whoa. Take it easy. I’m not here to start any shit. I’m waiting for some friends, and I thought I’d offer you something in return for your company, and maybe a little rat soup.”
The leader licked his lips and eyed Cooper warily. “I’m listening, half-orc. What’s your offer?”
Very slowly, and as non-threateningly as he could, Cooper approached the cauldron as he reached into his bag and pulled out the Decanter of Endless Water.
The leader removed his hand from his weapon and raised his eyebrows. “My my, but wherever did you come by such a... shiny... receptacle?”
That was more like it. Cooper grinned as he held the decanter over the cauldron. “It does more than shine.” He tipped the vessel forward, and crystal clear water poured out from the top. Long after it should have emptied, the water just kept on flowing.
The crowd gathered around in hushed awe. They were impressed.
“What’s your name, half-orc?”
“My friends call me Cooper.”
The leader’s nose twitched as he offered Cooper a wide grin. “Well I have some good news, Mr. Cooper. I’ve decided to accept your offer. You hand over the shiny pitcher, and we’ll share soup and stories around the fire.”
Cooper snorted. A fleck of snot shot down and him in the nipple. “I think you mistook my offer. My bad. I don’t always communicate well. The offer I was making was just for the water.”
The hobo leader laughed in a way that made Cooper begin to feel uncomfortable. His underlings joined in the laughter, from well within Cooper’s personal space. They took a step back and coughed when Cooper had another sudden buildup and release of anxiety.
“Sorry,” said Cooper. “Empty stomach.”
“I’m afraid it is you who are mistaken,” said the leader. “if you think you’re walking away from here with that shiny bit of treasure in your hand.”
Shit.
Cooper was in enough trouble already. Katherine would be pissed if he surrendered her Decanter of Endless Water to a bunch of hobos.
I’m hungry.
“Goddammit, this is not the fucking time. I’m in the middle of some shit right now.”
The leader’s smile faltered. “Your personal problems are no concern of mine, Mr. Cooper. I can assure you that, if you wish to remain alive, now is most certainly the fucking time to hand over the pitcher.”
“I was talking to someone else. He says he’s hungry, like I’ve got time for that shit right now.”
Some of the men crowded around him craned their necks to check out the surrounding area.
“Listen,” said their leader. “You seem like a nice enough fellow, if a bit slow. Mind games are not your strong suit. Give me the pitcher, and you and your imaginary friend can consume all the rat soup your bellies can hold. How does that sound?”
I feed on blood and the souls of the wicked.
“Dude, there’s, like, no nutritional value in that.”
“I put carrots and garlic in the soup.” The hobo leader’s voice was growing impatient. “It’s very healthy. Now give me the pitcher!”
“Can one of you please shut the fuck up for a minute?” said Cooper. “I can only handle one conversation at a time.”
Feed me.
“This is your last chance, half-orc.”
Give in to your rage.
“Hand over the pitcher at once.”
FEED ME!
“FUCK YOU!” Cooper needed to end at least one of these conversations, and only one of the voices was coming from a discernible mouth. The choice was clear. “Geyser!”
“Very well, Mr. Cooper. Have it your –” The hobo leader flew backward when a torrent of water hit him square in the face.
“I’m really angry!” said Cooper. His vision turned red as the hobos drew their weapons. He swung the decanter sideways, catching the nearest one in the side of the head, dropping him to the ground.
Use me, you fool!
Cooper tore his axe from the straps on his back and shoved the decanter into the cauldron, where it continued to spew water straight up in the air. The axe glowed bright red, which the small functioning part of Cooper’s mind thought might be a trick of his rage-fueled vision. But it appeared that the hobos could see it as well, because they all backed away.
“There are a dozen of us, and only one of him!” cried the leader, who had somehow just turned into some weird hybrid of man and rat.
“Master Splinter?” Cooper needed some food and sleep. This shit was getting fucked up.
“Kill him!” Master Splinter was kind of a dick.
Some of the men remained men. Others followed their leader in morphing into man/rat hybrids. Those without weapons went full rat. All of them rushed Cooper at once.
His axe blade cleaved through hobo-rats, felling them like saplings made out of meat. Cooper felt a sensation not unlike the first beer after a long and shitty shift at work as he painted the ground with blood.
Cooper felt a few stabs and jabs here and there, but they didn’t hurt nearly as much as they probably would once he came out of his Barbarian Rage. One thing that did catch his eye, however, was the fact that whenever he killed a hybrid or full rat, they morphed back into their human form. The gashes his axe left in their rat forms doubled in size as their dead bodies changed. Both fascinating and gross.
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br /> When only three of them remained standing, all in hybrid form, the leader ordered their retreat. The three rat men ran into the sewer tunnel, and Cooper was ready to abandon his Rage and let them run off.
They will return with more of their kind. Bury my blade in their chests, so that I may drink directly from their still beating hearts!
As fucked up as that sounded, Cooper had to admit the voice in his head had a point. Adrenaline still pumping, he gave chase into the sewer, and chopped through the two underlings with ease. The leader was faster, but not by much. He turned around and begged on his knees.
“Forgive me, great warrior! I beg your mercy!”
Cooper raised his glowing red axe above his head. “MERCY SHALL BE GIVEN AS BELHANNA SEES FIT!” He brought his axe down hard, slicing through the rat man’s head, neck, and deep into his torso. The body changed back into human form. Even the insides, bones and brains and parts that Cooper couldn’t identify, morphed in subtle ways.
His enemies defeated, Cooper deflated back into his flabby exhausted self. “What the fuck did I just say?”
In the darkness of the sewer, his axe still glowed with a faint red light.
My hunger is quenched for now, Cooper. Take me and satisfy your own.
“Are you the axe?”
I am.
“You're the one who’s been talking to me inside my brain?”
Correct.
“And now you want me to eat you?”
What? No. The voice paused for a moment, then sighed. I meant that you should take me with you, and then go eat some of that rat soup. Two separate instructions. I should have been clearer.
Cooper removed the axe from the dead body, but wasn’t quite ready to strap it onto his back. He held it in front of him, less like a weapon and more like a picket sign, as he made his way back to the cauldron.
You needn’t be afraid, Cooper. I sense the good within you. That’s why I chose you as my new keeper.
“Who the fuck are you?” asked Cooper. “I mean, aside from a talking axe.”
My name is Nabi.
“Knobby? As in, ‘like a knob’?”
No. Nabi. It’s the Old Sylvan word for butterfly.
“That’s a pretty name, I guess.” Cooper exited the tunnel. The sky was quickly lightening the dead bodies and red pools of watery blood as the decanter continued shooting water up into the air.