The monster bent down to me, staring into my face with its soulless eyes. It sniffed me with its huge, hairy giraffe nostrils, almost like it was more curious than hungry.
And then...well, there's this passage of the Luxiacon that sums it up better than I can, when St. Gunther the Prophet met Argo in the flesh. “In the terror of His unbearably magnificent presence, the prophet witnessed his body and mind do things that he could not explain with the language of mortals.” Gunther 3:92.
Point being, I ended up petting the leviaraffe's snout a bit, and it seemed to like it.
After a few seconds of that, the beast went off to join his pack and eat the other monks, may they all rest in peace. Without looking back, I ran down the shoulder of the highway toward Fulgan town, seeking a place to start a new life.
As any unattended eight-year-old boy headed for a town of strangers can tell you, my luck wasn't fantastic. Even as a healer and a truthseer, no one would hire me, thanks to child labor laws. But having the Beads also counted me as a legally autonomous adult as far as the Church of Aries was concerned, so I was always placed at a lower priority at the various soup kitchens and charity events I went to. I spent plenty of nights in underpasses and train stations, getting little rest.”
Era sighed. “You too, huh?”
Noah nodded. “Liv was homeless too, at one point.”
“Nah, I was in a street gang,” said Liv. “We at least had a safehouse to sleep in.”
“Reminds me, though,” Noah continued, “Era, do you remember when you said that 'train-hopping homeless dudes don't exactly make for legendary heroes,' or something to that effect? The fact that there's two of us here, and that we were the ones trusted with the Flute and Bells—that can't be a coincidence. Besides, you'd be hard pressed to find a saint that didn't come from humble beginnings.”
Era thought for a minute. “I mean, technically,” he said, “St. Artaxerxes was the former High King of Kamenniland, St. Orpheus was the heir of a diamond mining company, St. Osiris's crib was decorated with thousands of flawless emeralds—”
“I don't recall you having the floor here, Slasher,” said Liv.
“Right, my bad.”
Noah continued, “So, my travels took me to Cape Dartley. As a last resort to find some money, I ended up peddling my truthseeing services with a crude cardboard sign, making sure my Amethyst Beads were always visible.
That turned out to be the winning strategy I needed. You'd be surprised how many people stopped by to settle their personal conflicts. I'd make upwards of 150 G a day just from sitting on my little bench in Blitzen Square! People would line up in pairs or small groups.
“Is my boyfriend cheating on me?”
“Did my friend actually slay a monster that big?”
“Did this guy steal from my shop?”
The locals got to calling me “Judge Noah” instead of Friar Noah, and it carried a sense of importance and power with it. It was just oodles of fun! Well, except when people were crying because the truth wasn't something they liked. That's an unfortunate but necessary part of the job.
For a higher fee, I could also do the Ram's Hoof Oath! That's where I witness someone making a promise, and if they break it at any point in the rest of their life, Argo Himself comes down from Paradisia and stomps 'em to death. I don't really like thinking about the second part.
One day, in the heat of late summer, a very interesting group of clients came to Blitzen Square. They were led by Mr. Aleister O'Connell, a local multi-millionaire who was known for two things: owning a few luxury boat factories and weighing 570 pounds. (Not to look down on him, of course; with his confidence and attitude, he barely looked an ounce over 300). His beautiful brown-haired stepdaughter, a girl about my age named Pamina, was with him, and so was a tall and sickly pale man in a reddish-purple and yellow three-piece suit—the uniform of a House Koschei civil Minister, but I didn't know that at the time.
“Might you be this 'Judge Noah' I keep hearin' about?” asked Mr. O'Connell, with that real deep, booming voice of his.
“That's me!” I told him.
“Awright, then, see this guy?” He pointed to the tall man, who was trembling a little. “He's gonna repeat to you what he said to me not five minutes ago. Tell me whether or not he's full of [he swore here, forgive me, Argo], and yer in for one [he swore here, forgive me, Argo] of a payday, yeah?”
“Sure thing!” I told him, then I looked at the tall man. “Go on, then.”
Thing is about this tall man—though he was very tall, his arms were a little short, to the point where he could withdraw his hand into his sleeve if he so chose. Reason I mention this, of course, is because inside his sleeve, I could see him pointing the barrel of a small pistol in my face, in such a way that no one else could spot.
“As I was saying, Mr. O'Connell,” said the tall man. “The fire at Assembly Plant Nine was a freak accident caused by an electrical malfunction, and absolutely not an act of industrial sabotage I had orchestrated.”
It was a lie. It was such an intense, callous, evil lie, that hearing it caused me physical pain in my chest, as opposed to the usual tingling sensation that comes when I hear a fib or a bluff.
But with this gun pointed at me, I would be shot where I sat for identifying it.
Once again, it was like I was staring into the eyes of that leviaraffe. I found myself in the worst sort of dilemma a truthseer can wind up in—the kind we're warned to avoid in our training. If I told the truth, this man would kill me. If I lied, the Gods would kill me.
I wracked my brain for an answer as Mr. O'Connell stood there, tapping his foot. The thought of running away crossed my mind, but my sign read, “The truth, every time, guaranteed!” Breaking that promise would also mean breaking the code, and my death.
I don't recall sweating so much in all my life. In the end, it all boiled down to a simple principle: who could I trust to follow through with their threats? The liar, or the Gods? So, I went with the, “if you started that fire and lied about it to cover it up, you probably wouldn't be willing to commit a crime where you'd be easily implicated—like murdering a child in broad daylight” route and told the truth.
“That was a lie,” I said.
Terrified, the tall man lowered his arms, pocketed his gun, and tipped his hat to Mr. O'Connell. “I just remembered,” he said. “My wife's in labor. I gotta go see her.”
“That was a lie, too,” I said. “And just so you know, he pointed a gun at me during the first lie.”
Mr. O'Connell's face turned beet red with anger. He snatched the tall man by the arm before he could leave. “I'll tear your [he swore here, forgive me, Argo] off, ya back-pokin' [he swore a lot here, forgive me, Argo] traitorous [more swearing, forgive me, Argo] meatball sub!”
[Tall Man — Attack]
The tall man, now with nothing left to lose, pulled out his gun and shot Mr. O'Connell in the chest.
[1,204 DMG to Aleister]
[Aleister was KO'd!]
War molecules scattered from the wound. Since Mr. O’Connell was about to beat the Tall Man within an inch of his life with his bare hands, they were both in combat mode. The poor fella dropped to the sidewalk and started pixel-fading.
Now, remember that Pamina was there, too. She didn't even scream or cry, just sprang into action. I dunno when exactly she started training, but from a very early age, she always wanted to be in the Gunner class.
Point bein,' she pulled out a bigger, fancier pistol–
[Pamina — Knee Shot]
[2,921 DMG to Tall Man]
[Tall Man was paralyzed!]
The Tall Man fell to the pavement with a screech of pain.
Seeing her defending her father without hesitation must have been contagious, or at least inspired me a great deal, as I ran up to the dying Mr. O'Connell and pumped his body with healing energy.
[Noah — Rejuvenate]
[Aleister is no longer KO'd!]
[Noah — Restore - 1]
&n
bsp; [Aleister recovered 500 HP!]
[Noah —Restore - 1]
[Aleister recovered 500 HP!]
[Noah —Restore - 1]
[Aleister recovered 500 HP!]
[Noah — Res—]
“That'll do for now, kiddo,” said Mr. O'Connell, staggering to his feet. “Didja get 'im, Pammy?”
She smiled in the most innocent way you could think of; it really was the blessing of the Gods coming through in her face. “Is the screaming loser on the ground not a clear indicator, Dad?”
He let out a hearty laugh, just as the police started to converge on the scene.
As for me, I just sat there on my bench, too overwhelmed from the whole sordid affair to do anything but ugly-cry. But although I was a total stranger to her, Pamina sat next to me and hugged me tight for saving her stepdad.
And that's the story of my childhood,” finished Noah. “Hope that clears things up, 'cause it's getting late, and I really need to sleep.”
“Actually,” said Era, “we were asking how you got engaged to the princess.”
Silence filled the bedroom as Noah's eyes slowly widened. “Chicken and waffles! I completely forgot! I'm so sorry. Friends, forgive me. Argo, Galgalim, Rafeth, forgive me. Pamina, forgi—”
[Liv — Hypnosis]
Liv placed a glowing hand on Noah's shoulder. “I gotcha, Minion. Get some rest.”
[Noah fell asleep!]
Noah fell backwards and immediately began snoring.
“I'll make this quick,” said Liv. “Mr. O'Connell was all 'Wow, this kid saved my life and my business, he's useful as hell and also really polite and cute, I'm totes takin' him in as my ward.'
Fast forward to high school, Minion and Pammy slowly upgraded from 'childhood friends' to 'in love and don't know it yet' to 'in love and they both know it' and, finally, 'disgustingly adorable power couple'.
But then, when they both hit 17 years old, Pammy gets this letter from Queen Stella, and she's all like: 'Hey giiiirl, guess what, we found your long lost biological parents, it's—drumroll please—ME! And also, some guy I divorced, but mostly ME! You're the lost princess of Aries! Also, I'm totes dying of some incurable disease that I swear isn't genetic, so do me a solid and get your butt over to the Imperial City so we can Queenify you—or Crown Princess if you're not feelin' the Queen title—it's the same thing but more princessy. Toodles!'”
“I'm gonna go ahead and assume you're paraphrasing,” said Era.
“So Pammy's all 'Hey hotness, I gotta go train for crown-princess-ness for about a year, but when I'm done, you can come over to the Imperial City and help me out with queen stuff, and we can get married!'
“Minion's all 'I mean, that sounds cool, and I do love the crap outta you, but we're still really young. You sure making that big of a commitment so early is a good idea?'
“So, Pammy goes 'I know, but loving you is only half the reason I wanna do it. Marriage is gonna free you from a lot of your truthseer's code restrictions. If you're married, you can actually kiss me, look at my butt for more than five seconds at a time, watch R-rated movies, and say stuff like 'pissdamned voggin' hell in my assballs,' without being executed for it.'
“Minion goes 'I need a priest!' But then he's all 'Yes, a thousand times yes, my darling!' and they smooch each other's faces a lot but not on the lips. Also I'm sleep deprived as balls. THE END.”
With that, she plopped on the bed next to Noah.
Chapter 7
Flibbityfloo and Other High Concepts
< A cold, unfinished scream am I >
< A bitter could-have-been >
< I'll never live, I'll never die >
< Until you let me in >
< The Gods a cradle-butcher be >
< Existence was my sin >
< I shriek for life to hear my plea >
< I beg you, let me—>
Era woke up with a scream. Fortunately, being that Era's “scream” resembled another elf's “surprised gasp,” the other two remained in bed.
Noah had buried himself in blankets, and Liv rested her head on his belly. Guess it helps when your best friend doubles as a heated blanket. If Liv had eyelids, they would have been closed, but her fires had gone out for the night. Probably for the best, with so many flammable linens around.
As for Era himself, he sat up in the bed, without the slightest speck of his earlier sleepiness remaining.
That same nightmare again. Eaten alive by a lake of bugs, while the Bug Man vomits his eggs in my mouth while telling me how much he loves me—oh hey! I actually remembered, this time. Score.
Also, Scary Head Voice? Bug Man? If you're hearing this, TONE IT THE VOG DOWN! I got a quest to go on soon, and my sleep schedule is bad enough.
Yeah, didn't think so.
“Can't sleep?”
Era jumped. A deep, raspy whisper came from the doorway. Fjell the giant, was crouching down to Era's eye level from the hall.
“So long as yer up,” said the giant, “the Princess requests your presence. Just you, though, on account of yer bein' the 'leader' here.”
“For what?” asked Era.
“You mean to tell me that a literal bloody Princess wants to meet you in secret in the middle of the night while yer in ya jim-jams, and you hesitate?”
“She's engaged, and I don't really feel like confirming every stereotype about elvish seduction at once.”
Fjell chuckled. “I like you, elf. Now come on!”
“And did the wheel, in ancient time—”
With a deafening buzzer and a few clicks, the light show and song ended prematurely. Era, still in his pajamas, saw the door open to reveal the princess, still in her white pantsuit. She fiddled with the controls on the elevator with secret codes and more secret parts of her keychain.
“Sorry to call you out so late, Sir Era,” she said. “The elevator can only access the Myth Archive in the wee hours of the morning. Do come in.”
He did, and Fjell stomped away to verbally abuse the Ariesian Space Program research staff without provocation, because, “Someone's gotta do it.”
The elevator door closed, and Pamina punched a few passwords in a hidden panel.
“What's this Myth Archive?” Era asked. I was sleeping in train stations and luggage cars until two days ago, and you're trusting me with government secrets all of a sudden?
You know what? This week is starting to feel like the buildup to a very mean-spirited prank. Nobody goes from where I was, to where I am, that quickly.
After a few seconds of loaded silence, the princess placed a hand on Era's shoulder. “There's doubt in your heart,” she said. “You really don't think you can lead the Chosen Three, do you?”
“It's that obvious?” Don't kid yourself, Era. Liv could smell it, and she can smell it, too. “I mean, it's less of a question of can and more of should...and also can.”
Also, you didn't answer my question about the Myth Archive.
“For the record, not only do I disagree,” she said, “but I have evidence to the contrary.”
Lifting a plexiglass molly guard on a hidden panel, Pamina pressed the Big Red Button with a calligraphic “M” emblazoned on its face.
[Golden Elevator — There's No Earthly Way of Knowing Protocol]
With a distant rumble, the elevator sped downward, faster and faster.
“The Myth Archive is the Empire's collection of all the most legendary and powerful artifacts on Luminar,” said Pamina. “Sort of like a museum, except that it's top secret. Most of the things in here can kill you, and there's no gift shop.”
“Are we falling?” asked Era.
“We hardly ever access anything in the Archive unless we need it to defend the Empire, or the Gods instruct us to retrieve it. And that's where you come in: Galgalim made it clear that you were to have the Bells of Miracles, and my fiancé would carry the Astral Flute, did He not?”
“Are we falling, Your Blessed Imperial
Candescence?”
Pamina latched onto a handlebar at the side of the elevator. “Ah, here we are.”
[Golden Elevator — Stop the Boat Protocol]
Era didn't latch onto a handlebar and face planted on the elevator's floor as it came to a grinding halt.
“Is there something wrong, Sir Era?”
“Ah, it's nothin'.”
Something tells me Noah's honeymoon is gonna be at a crash testing facility.
The elevator door opened to a moldy wall of concrete blocking the exit. The wall rumbled, opening to expose a foot thick horizontal line of darkness.
“Before we go any further,” said Pamina, “I should probably let you know...the Mythkeeper means well.”
A screech from the distance echoed, “Who said that?!”
Era could hear the clattering of scattered garbage, swearing, the giggling of rat spirits, the devouring of rat spirits, and the sound of scales on concrete. Two glowing blue eyes the size of basketballs peeked out from the void, and a sickening, hissing voice spat out, “Well, this is just voggin' perfect. I'm halfway through shedding my skin, get the old stuff caught on a scab halfway through, the rats think that's their cue to laugh at me, then this manky little skin-lined fanny pack of organs decides she can go around telling people I mean well.”
“Good evening to you, too, Mythkeeper,” said Pamina. “I'm in need of two items.”
“That's Fangzor the Amazing to you. And I'll bet I won't get to say no to this request either, will I, Princess Pissmonkey?”
With the last three syllables, the beast's thin, forked tongue shot through the opening, lightly slapping Era in the face.
Era giggled. Aww, got a little snake kiss.
Neverstone: A LitRPG Adventure (The Mad Elf Book 1) Page 8