by Sean Gibson
It occurred to me somewhat belatedly that in burning all of our clothes, we had, you know, burned all of our clothes. Look, you can sit there in your warm house with your mulled wine and your fluffy robe and judge us for making a decision that showed maybe just a slight lack of foresight. Until you’ve spent multiple weeks wandering a swamp that smells like a dying ogre’s taint and fending off everything from shambling bog men (people) to undead alligators, you can just choke on your wine.
Nonetheless, I decided that one of us needed to broach the issue. “So,” I began nonchalantly, “not that any of you are hard on the eyes sans clothing, but I’m wondering if maybe—just maybe—we might have considered washing at least one set of clothes instead of burning them all, given our need to wear clothing for the next step of our journey. And everything that will come after.” I looked at the smoldering fire pit where scraps of fabric still burned. “I’m thinking that ship has probably sailed, and, as far as I’m aware, there are no clothing stores, reputable or otherwise, in the area—if there are, those shambling bog people would apparently rather be naked than shop there, which doesn’t suggest a particularly great selection of garments.” I shrugged. “Any thoughts on how we deal with this little problem?”
“Well,” said Nadi, looking around in an effort to not look at anything in particular, and blushing when she looked at me, “I’m hoping that Whiska might have a magical solution. Whiska?”
“What?” snapped Whiska defensively as she popped a rather large beetle into her mouth.
“Can you help?” asked Nadi.
“No! I saw it first!” Whiska crunched loudly on the bug. “Get your own.”
“I meant with clothes,” said Nadi, exasperated.
“Who needs ‘em?” countered our furry friend. “Human weakness, if you ask me.”
“None of us is actually human,” interjected Rummy.
“Well, I’m half-human,” I replied.
“Fine,” said Whiska. “Bipedal weakness.”
“You’re bipedal,” I noted.
“Fine,” growled Whiska. “Weakness of those who don’t have tails or fur.”
“That may be true,” said Nadi, “but the fact remains that we still need clothes.”
Whiska mumbled something that sounded a little bit like “snucking gorons,” but I didn’t quite catch it. (Snucking gorons are gentle, frog-like creatures found in lakes and rivers around Norindia, named for the cute, snuffling “snuck” sound they make when they get excited. Given that I didn’t think Whiska was comparing us to adorable, runny-nosed amphibians, I might have misheard her.) “I can do it. But, I need time to rest and study my spells.”
And so we sat around naked for the next eight hours. It got cold, which was obvious when you looked at any of us. We got hungry, so we caught some fish (incidentally, bent over holding a wriggling fish is not a good look for a naked half-dwarf/half-halfling) and cooked them (note to self: fire is especially hot when you’re naked). We got bored, so we played rhyming games (Borg was surprisingly good at them, notwithstanding his tendency to rhyme with lines from which we’d moved on several minutes before).
Finally, Whiska declared that she was ready. We stood in a line facing her, all trace of self-consciousness gone (except maybe for Nadi, who continued to try to avoid looking directly at anyone). Whiska walked up and down the line, hands behind her back, for a moment before pausing in front of Rummy. “Now,” said Whiska, “I do have a spell that will clothe you.”
“Great!” responded Rummy. “This cold air is really not good for my already limited sense of self-worth.”
Whiska resumed walking, coming to a stop in front of me. “But, I can only create a single outfit for each of you, and the spell is limited in what it can do.”
“So, muumuus for all of us?” I asked jokingly (or so I hoped).
“Yes,” replied Whiska.
“You’re not good at being funny,” I said. “Which means…you’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Why would you think I’m not serious, you thick-headed bibblebop?” (Whiska’s insult was sort of redundant—bibblebops are known for their immense heads, so calling them “thick-headed” is a little bit like calling something a “smelly skunk” or a “winged bird.”)
I sighed. “No reason.” I looked at the others, none of whom seemed particularly distressed. “You guys know what a muumuu is, right?”
“We’re not really in a position to be picky,” said Nadi. “Whatever Whiska can do will have to suffice.”
“I’m with the elf—well, the full elf—on this one, Heloise. I’m all in favor of whatever’s going to minimize the obvious effect the cold is having on me.”
“Is it like…a shirt for…cows?” asked Borg.
“No, Borg, it’s a—” My response was cut off when Whiska waved her magic wand and, in a flash of light and a puff of smoke, clad us all in…long, white, loose-fitted dresses patterned with black blotches.
“More like a cow dress than a shirt, apparently,” said Rummy, admiring his new garment.
Sometimes I hate my life.
At least we’d made it out of the swamp. Now, we just had to get into the mountain the dragon called home, which I figured would be the easy part, and then battle it dressed in cow costumes, which I figured would be the hard part.
It turns out I’m not very good at figuring.
Chapter 19
THE BRAVE HEROES PROVE THEIR BRAINS ARE EQUAL TO THEIR BRAWN
At the foot of Mount Fenneltop our doughty warriors stood, battle scars fresh from their victories in the Dukbuter Swamp. With renewed vigor they began their climb, scaling the nearly sheer face of the mount. Hand over hand, clawed foot over clawed foot…it was a grueling and torturous climb, but the difficulty did not deter the band of heroes, so intent were they on finding the dragon and bringing to a close their quest to save the good people of Skendrick from further agony and destruction at the beast’s fire, jaws, and talons.
At last, they reached the summit, and stood for a moment gathering their breath and stretching weary muscles. They knew that an epic confrontation awaited them, and began to steel their nerves for the coming battle. First, however, they had to gain entrance into the dragon’s mountain lair, which was blocked by a massive, round stone that none of them, not even the mighty Borgunder Gunderbor, could so much as budge, no matter how hard they pushed.
It was the quick-thinking mage Whiska who first noticed the spidery text above the door, written in the language of magic, and she summoned her companions together and read the words aloud.
“Ye who enter here,” she said slowly, translating as she spoke, “take heed, for only those who can solve this riddle may gain the safety of the mountain.” Whiska looked at her companions, who nodded, ready to take up the intellectual challenge. “Name for me these ideas three: you can’t begin before it happens; it gets shorter the longer it lasts; and it ends its opposite.”
The heroes pondered long and hard, calling upon the prodigious powers of their collective intellect to consider any number of possible answers, knowing that to answer incorrectly would prevent them from having the chance they so desperately sought to defeat the dragon. Finally, Nadi looked up and said, with confidence, “Birth. You can’t begin life before you’re born.”
Rummy’s eyes widened, and he took up the thread, adding, “And birth begins life, which gets shorter the longer it lasts.”
Whiska smiled and nodded, adding the final piece: “And what ends life? Death—its opposite.”
With Whiska’s words, the grating sound of rock grinding against rock reverberated through the air, bouncing off the mountain and amplifying to a deafening degree as a passageway opened before them. The dark tunnel appeared to head straight into the heart of the mountain, though the companions had heard rumors that a dangerous creature guarded the maze of tunnels that led to the dragon’s lair, and so they steeled themselves for one final challenge before the time came to take on the foul and mighty wyrm itself.
SHUT UP…YOU WOULD HAVE BEEN STUMPED, TOO
Riddles are for smart people what sexy underthings are for attractive people—a way to flaunt what they’ve got, to tease the possibility of something greater, and to generally frustrate the hell out of you.
As you can probably guess, I hate both riddles and sexy underthings.
After a long and arduous climb, we reached a plateau on the mountain that, we believed, presented the entry point that would lead us to the dragon. Unfortunately, standing between us and that goal was a boulder the size of a Harvingian wedding cake. “There’s a rock…in our way,” said Borg succinctly after we had all stood staring silently at the impediment for a good five minutes.
“Sure is, big guy,” said Rummy, “any chance you can roll it out of the way?”
Five more minutes passed before Borg said, “I will…try.” Our muscular friend braced himself against the side of the boulder and began to push. After about a minute of pushing and no result, Borg stepped languidly back from the boulder, staring at it thoughtfully.
“Whiska,” said Nadi, “any ideas?”
“Short of blowing it up? No.”
“Can you do that?” asked Rummy.
“I’m not sure,” replied Whiska doubtfully.
“The rock is…too heavy…to move,” added Borg.
“Thanks for trying,” said Rummy, patting the giant on the arm.
“Want to give it a go, Whiska?” asked Nadi.
The wizard shrugged and lifted up her staff. “I’m always up for blowing things to smithereens. Might want to stand back, you brainless half-twits.”
“I think you mean ‘half-wits,’” I corrected.
“No, I mean half-twits,” said Whiska.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” I replied (stupidly, given who I was talking to).
“None of you is smart enough to be a full twit—you’re all half a twit. Half-twit.”
“That’s not a…never mind. Let’s just get out of the way.” I motioned to the others as I took refuge behind a rocky outcropping that looked solid enough to withstand the blowback from whatever Whiska had in mind.
Whiska closed her eyes and concentrated for a moment before pointing her staff at the door, uttering arcane syllables, and unleashing an absurdly large and insanely bright energy bolt.
We’d all been staring at Whiska when she cast her spell, which meant that none of us could see for several minutes. When the spots finally cleared from our vision, there stood the rock, utterly untouched. If it’s possible for a rock to laugh mockingly, this one was doing just that.
“Did you hear that?” asked Nadi, sword at the ready as she looked around.
“Hear what? The rock laughing at us?” asked Rummy.
“I thought I heard it too,” I said.
“Don’t be ridiculous, you refuse-refusing rejects!” For some reason, Whiska enjoyed chiding us for not wanting to eat garbage. I was okay with accepting that insult. “Rocks can’t laugh!”
“Some of them can,” said a gravelly voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.
When something unexpected happens, most people freeze. There are two reasons, as near as I can tell, for that reaction: one is to give your brain time to process what is happening, and the other is to stay put so that you don’t put yourself in harm’s way. That’s exactly what we did, though Whiska also belched.
“Some of them can do more than just laugh—they can talk, too,” continued the voice. “Obviously.”
I was staring directly at the massive boulder that blocked the entrance to the mountain and saw a very slight movement on the rock face. “Wait—was that a mouth?”
“What do you mean?” asked Nadi.
I pointed. “There—I’m pretty sure I just saw a mouth. On the rock. Great. It’s a talking rock. An immovable talking rock.”
“So is Borg,” said Rummy.
“You,” I said, addressing the giant rock, “what’s the deal? How do we get past you?”
“But you only just got here,” replied the rock, its mouth now even more visible. Two craggy eyes appeared above the mouth, and an outcropping in the form of a nose pushed its way out as well. Far more disturbing were the caterpillar-like eyebrows that popped out. “Why are you in such a hurry to leave?”
We drew together closely so we could confer without the rock hearing us, though we indicated to Borg that he could remain where he stood astride his mess. “Anyone ever seen one of these things before?” I asked.
“Nope,” replied Rummy jovially. “But, we do have a rock giant with us. I think we should ask him.”
I ignored Rummy. “Whiska?”
“Nope.”
“Nadi?”
She shook her head. “This is new for me, too.”
“Let’s ask Borg,” said Rummy.
“What do we do?” I asked.
“I think Rummy thinks we should ask Borg,” said Nadi.
“I’m right here, you know,” said Rummy.
“Might not be the worst idea,” I replied.
“I also…look like…a rock,” called Borg, stepping away from his pile at last.
“Hey, giant rock,” I yelled—I’m not sure why I yelled; I mean, we were right next to the thing—“do you know our friend Borg? Over there? His full name is Borgunder Gunderbor. He’s a rock giant.”
“I am a magical talking rock,” replied the rock in its gravelly voice. “It’s ridiculous that you’d assume, because we share superficially craggy features, we might know each other.” The rock’s gaze slid over to Borg. “He is very handsome, though.”
“We meant no offense,” said Nadi.
“Some of us did,” interjected Whiska.
“Not helping,” said Nadi. “We seek passage, um, through you. Around you?”
“You are…handsome too,” said Borg, coming to stand behind Nadi.
“I’ve never actually seen myself,” replied the rock, “but I appreciate that. No one’s ever told me that before.”
“Borg’s right,” I said, “you’re probably the handsomest rock I’ve ever seen.”
“But not the stupidest,” replied the rock. “Flattery will not get you past me.”
“Then how do we get past you?” asked Nadi.
“By answering my riddle,” said the rock.
Nadi looked at me and shrugged. “Tell us your riddle, then.”
“It’s nothing personal, you know,” said the rock.
“What do you mean?” asked Rummy.
“Not letting you pass—it’s an enchantment. No matter how much I might want to, I can’t roll aside unless someone solves my riddle.”
“Who created the enchantment?” Rummy seemed genuinely curious.
“I don’t know,” replied the rock.
“Seriously?” I asked. “I feel like I’d pay attention to anyone who was enchanting me.” I looked around. “Which none of you are, incidentally.” Sometimes you have to take the easy shots. “Except maybe Rocky here.” I winked at the rock.
It didn’t seem to notice as it raised its eyebrows in what was the visual equivalent of a shrug. “I was not always conscious. I spent eons weathering the storms in silence before I gained sentience…well, I think I spent eons. Given that I wasn’t aware, I suppose it could have been longer. Or shorter.”
“The riddle?” prompted Nadi.
“Yes, yes,” said the rock. “I forget that creatures with such short lifespans are always in a hurry. It would be nice to make some small talk once in a while, you know. I don’t often get company.”
“The riddle,” said Nadi again, more forcefully.
The rock’s eyes slid over to look at Borg. “She’s a tough one, isn’t she? Not to mention very impatient. Is she mean, too?”
“Please?” asked Nadi, her tone softening slightly.
“Very well,” rumbled the rock. “I will present you with my riddle.”
“Yes, she…is,” said Borg.
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�What?” asked the rock.
“He’s a little slow,” said Rummy. He turned to Borg. “Try to keep up, big guy.”
“I’m not mean!” said Nadi.
“Tough, but not…mean,” said Borg, almost at the same time.
“If you all don’t shut up and let the giant talking rock speak, I’m going to stab each and every one of you in the throat.” The comment, perhaps surprisingly (even to me), came from me and not Whiska.
“That’s the first intelligent thing you’ve ever said,” replied Whiska with an approving nod.
“She’s kind of mean,” offered Rummy, gesturing toward yours truly. One glare shut down further comment.
“Please,” I said sweetly to the rock, “continue.”
Before it could answer, a crack and a rumble broke the silence. We looked around in alarm and grabbed for weapons before we realized that the rock was laughing.
“It’s been some time since I’ve conversed with a group of adventurers like yourselves,” said the rock.
“Brave and intrepid?” asked Rummy.
“Dysfunctional and in over their heads,” replied the rock.
“Also accurate,” said Rummy.
“Now then: to business.” The rock moved its eyes to take in each of us before fixing them on Nadi. “Before you can pass on through you must answer first these questions two.”
“Isn’t it supposed to be three questions, you crack-faced, oversized pebble?” asked Whiska.
“What do you mean?” asked the rock.
“Questions always come in threes. Everyone knows that!” She looked at each of us as she gestured dismissively toward the rock with one of her weird, ratty thumbs.
Everyone shrugged except for Borg, who said, “We are not…dysfunctional. We are a…good team.”
“Right on!” said Rummy as he saluted our giant companion.
“The first riddle is this,” said the rock. “Bob leaves the stronghold of Canarvon on a gold dragon at four o’clock FSM (Fanting Standard Time) and flies eastward. Lavinia leaves the elven forests of Gloraria at five o’clock FSM, flying west on a silver dragon. What time do they meet in Borokia?”