by Pirateaba
Pawn.
He was the first. Pawn knew that. He had been the first to choose a name, the first to choose. Because of that everyone treated him as if he were special. Klbkch, the Queen—they gave him no duties, no responsibilities. They just watched him to see what he would do. And Pawn had no idea what to do, so most days he just walked up to the chess room and either played games or sat like this.
He didn’t do much. Pawn just sat here, day after day. Thinking, really. That was all he could do. He was no gifted warrior like Bird, and nor was he particularly interested in other classes like Garry, Belgrade and Anand. Already the other four had begun to specialize in their roles just as his Queen had hoped. Bird had begun using a bow to harvest a large number of his namesakes even in the wintery climate, and Garry had learned to fry them and make a palatable snack out of their carcasses.
Belgrade and Anand had continued to improve in their [Tactician] class. They had already fought numerous engagements against the dungeon monsters in the tunnels below. They were all becoming assets to the Hive. But Pawn was different.
All the Workers knew it. Pawn knew it. He was different. He was the Worker that Erin had first spoken to, the first Worker to choose his name. Even the other four treated him differently. Because he was first. He was special. He hadn’t just chosen, he had been chosen by Erin.
He was unique. But Pawn had no idea what that meant.
He knew what his Queen wanted, what Klbkch wanted. They wanted him to become a useful warrior, or an asset to the Hive. They wanted him to specialize, to level up in a class and surpass normal Antinium in that way. But Pawn hadn’t done that.
Yes, he had the [Tactician] class. But he wasn’t that high-level in it. In fact, he’d stagnated his growth weeks ago. Pawn still loved to play chess, and he was the best player among the Workers by far. But like Erin, he had ceased to level.
And he had no interest in using a bow like Bird. He didn’t like to cook, only to eat, and he had no burning desire to do anything else in the Hive. Pawn was sure that if he walked anywhere in the Hive—save perhaps the Queen’s room—he could find something to do.
There was always work to do in the Hive. Since he had been allowed aboveground, Pawn had learned something of the customs of other species. Apparently boredom was something their peoples had to fight against. It was an alien concept in the Hive.
Were you done with your assigned duties? In that case, there was always time to be spent processing the nutritional paste the Antinium ate, chewing food up and regurgitating it into a vat to be mixed up with long poles. Or you could be sent to guard against monsters attacking from the dungeon underneath Liscor, supporting the Soldiers in their tireless battle.
And if neither of those two options were viable, you could be assigned to monitor the larvae, or maybe dig. There was always time to dig. You could dig out a collapsed tunnel, dig a new tunnel, dig a deeper tunnel, widen a tunnel, dig out a room, dig into a promising mine shaft, dig out a hole for excrement…
Occasionally, the Workers would build something. That was a refreshing change of pace. They would make wooden load-bearing supports to hold up the titanic weight of the dirt overhead, or fashion crude arrows out of wood. But even that grew tiring after hours of monotonous work blended together.
It wasn’t for Pawn. He knew that. He knew he wanted something different. And perhaps he had found it. Perhaps.
But he was no longer sure. The certainty, the faith that had filled him weeks ago had long since departed, and now Pawn could only rely on uncertain memory to fill the hole in his heart. Had it really happened? Was it true?
Was he really an [Acolyte]? What did it mean?
“I don’t know.”
Another pause, and the Workers looked up. This time Pawn stared back, just to see what would happen. They looked down as one, and he went back to thinking.
Once upon a time, an Antinium had been questioned. He had been asked who he was, and he had no answers. He had wondered why his…friends…had all died, whether it was all for nothing. And he had been given an answer. A ray of hope.
“Faith.”
So the girl had told him. She had reached down into his despair and offered him something to hold onto. She had spoken to him of something beyond his understanding. A God. And a place…a place where the dead might go to rest. A wonderful place.
“Heaven.”
Pawn sighed, and clenched his still-healing fist. He stared at it. Yes, that night he had believed. And his belief had become reality! He had gained a Skill, and a class. [Acolyte], and the Skill, [Prayer]. It had meant something to him at the time, he had been sure.
There was a God. There was something to believe in. But in the days since, Pawn’s faith had wavered. He had not leveled again, and neither had he prayed. Because…because he was afraid.
There was a God. Erin had told him that. Not just a God, though. Gods. She had talked about a God who was born and died in her world, but apparently that God wasn’t the only one. Other people believed in a God who was the same, but different, but who had never said certain things.
“Are you even there? Will you answer me? Am I worthy of asking you such things?”
No response. The Workers looked up at Pawn and down at their chessboards. He looked up at the ceiling, in the direction Erin had told him heaven probably lay. He saw only dirt.
Heaven. Faith and Gods were all confusing to Pawn, but the idea of Heaven, the idea of forgiveness and a place to be happy was what he had clung to. He had believed in that, and so been rewarded. But if he was to pray, as his Skill seemed to indicate, then to who? To Erin’s God? Only…he wasn’t her God. That’s what she had said. So then, who did he pray to?
And for what? Why? What would it do? And would anyone answer? Would anyone care, or would his words go unheard?
Pawn didn’t know. He hadn’t known for the last week, and he was no closer sitting in the corner of the chess room. Part of him didn’t want to know. Another part told him to talk to Klbkch and his Queen, tell them of his new class. But the last part wanted to believe. It wanted to know of this God, and to put his self into believing in that God. To reach that place called ‘Heaven’.
But he was afraid. Afraid of knowing the truth. So Pawn sat in the chess room instead, wondering what would happen if he prayed. Would nothing happen? Or would something, someone answer? Which would be worse?
Pawn didn’t want to know. But he wanted to, desperately. He was afraid that if he went back to Erin, she would tell him he was wrong. That his class was a mistake. That God only existed in her world. Or—
Or that there was a God, but not one for him.
That was his greatest fear. There was a God. Probably. The class he’d received seemed to indicate that. And Pawn wanted to believe in a God. But what if God didn’t want him? Pawn was too afraid to ask.
So as the day passed, he sat quietly in the chess room, thinking. His mind spun in the same circles, over and over again. Workers walked into the room, played chess, walked out. They had their duties. But Pawn had nothing. Not a thing. He only had a question, and an answer he was too afraid to face.
And then, just as soon as he’d woken up, it was nightfall. Pawn knew this because of the clock in his head and the Workers on duty, not from any change in the ambient light. He stood up, stretched; the other Workers waited for him to do or say something. But Pawn just walked out of the room.
This time he went up. Up, to the city above. It wasn’t his choice; Pawn just felt his feet carrying him that direction. He went up, out of the tunnel that was one of the entrances to his Hive. He walked out into the streets of Liscor, around Drakes and Gnolls and Humans who gave him a wide berth in any case. He walked out of the gates of Liscor, and through the snow, up towards the small inn whose windows shone with inviting warm light.
He had to know. He had to ask, at least. Pawn had felt the certainty in his bones, he had. He had gained a class and Skill and that meant something. There was a God. But would God acce
pt Pawn? He had to know, and so he had to ask Erin. She would know what to do. She always did.
But Erin wasn’t there. Pawn knocked at the door and then opened it, and saw the girl lying on the ground. She looked up at him, and she was not Erin.
“Excuse me? Is Erin Solstice here?”
“Erin?”
The girl had been curled up into a ball. Now she sprang to her feet and wiped at her face. Her cheeks were wet, and her eyes were red.
“What are you—you’re that Antinium, aren’t you? Pawn?”
“That is so. Is Erin here? I would like to speak with her.”
“Erin? You haven’t heard?”
The girl laughed almost hysterically. Pawn would have frowned if he were able.
“Heard what? Has something happened to Erin Solstice?”
“She’s—gone.”
“Gone?”
Pawn listened incredulously as the young woman explained what had happened. Erin had vanished? How could this have happened? How could anyone have allowed this?
Part of him longed to run out the door, to gather Bird and Garry and the others and immediately search for Erin. But she was safe? In another city?
“She’s safe. But she’s not coming back yet. I don’t think she can with all the Goblins around.”
The Antinium’s mind raced as he considered the implications. Goblin armies. Of course Erin’s safety came first, but if she couldn’t come back—should someone send an escort? Did Klbkch know? He must, but would he send the Soldiers out to guard her? What if—
“So…are you here for something?”
Pawn looked back at the young woman in surprise. Yes, she had stayed here, hadn’t she? Who was she? Someone new?
Lyonette. That was her name. He vaguely remembered Erin hiring her, but hadn’t she been a bad employee? Now the young woman was alone. She wiped at her nose as she pointed at the kitchen.
“Do you want…something to eat?”
Pawn’s first instinct was to refuse, but that would have meant he had to leave the inn. And he wasn’t ready to go back down into the Hive. Not yet. So he nodded, and told Lyonette he could not digest gluten. That threw her for a loop, but she eventually offered him eggs and bacon.
Pawn was under the impression such food was reserved for breakfasts, at least according to Erin, but he accepted. He still had the coins Klbkch had given him to spend. Enough for many meals.
The Worker sat at an empty table as Lyonette rushed into the kitchen and began to bang things about. He stared at the wooden grain, trying to think. Everything was chaos in his mind now.
“Erin is gone.”
There was no one to answer his question. Pawn felt immediately relieved, and then horrible at once. He was no closer to his answer, and the question was tearing him apart. If Erin could not answer him, then—
“Here’s your food!”
A plate was shoved in front of Pawn’s face. He stared at it, and the hand holding it. Lyonette looked anxiously at Pawn as she put it on the table in front of him.
“Sorry. It’s a bit—”
The bacon was slightly burnt. The eggs hadn’t been fully cooked and they ran a bit. Pawn poked at the food with a fork once Lyonette remembered to give him one. He cautiously took a bite of the greasy bacon and chewed.
It wasn’t like the paste the Workers ate at all. It had been so long that Pawn had nearly forgotten the taste of hot food. And salt! Pawn finished the plate and a second helping when Lyonette offered.
Then he sat in the inn, watching the fire fade. It was funny. He had come here searching for answers, and found none. But even without them, he had found an answer of sorts.
Erin was gone. She might be in trouble, but there was no way Pawn could help her. Not as he was. He was useless, a Worker alone. But if there was a God—
There was no Erin. So there was only one person he could ask. One person who might know what this all meant. Klbkch. He had been assigned to watch over Pawn, and it was Pawn’s duty to inform him of any new classes he obtained. He had not done so before, because he was unsure. But now? Now was the time.
He would tell Revalantor Klbkch about his class and ask him what it meant. Perhaps Klbkch would know of Gods. Pawn dug at the belt on his waist and left what he thought was close to an appropriate amount. Usually Erin told him the meal was on the house.
Slowly, Pawn walked out of the door and into the snow. He was no less lost than before, but at least there was something warm inside him. He stared up at the clouded sky. He couldn’t sense heaven up there. Nor could he tell if there was a God.
But maybe there was one. And if there was, Pawn would find him. Slowly, he began to walk through the snow, back into the city, to his Hive.
Gods. Heaven. He tried to believe. This time, Pawn thought he might have succeeded.
—-
Lyonette watched Pawn go, silent, walking into the snow as he stared upwards. The Antinium had said barely a few words to her all night. He had sat, staring at the fire. But he had also eaten two of her plates and left—
She stared down at the pile of coins on the table. Silver and bronze coins glinted in the moonlight. Trembling, Lyonette scooped up the pile of coins. She counted them. Once, twice, again.
It was enough. More than enough. With this, she could feed herself for several more days. And if he came back—
Lyonette’s heart skipped. Part of her wanted to shout in revulsion at even touching something the Antinium had touched. She still remembered stories about what they had done, what horrible atrocities they had committed. But this one—Pawn—he had paid her.
Maybe it was just one time. But Lyon remembered the Antinium coming into Erin’s inn like clockwork. And they weren’t picky; they’d even loved the bees, disgusting as they’d been. They were a stable, profitable source of income. If she could stomach serving them, maybe, just maybe, she’d survive.
The [Princess] stared out the window at the Antinium’s lonely form as he walked back to the city. She could do it. She could live until Erin got back. She would do it, and she would show Erin she was capable. She would run this inn, and it would be her castle, her sanctuary until Erin came back.
All would be well. Lyonette had to believe in that.
1.00 D
She owned a hamster, once. That was the reason she’d wanted to be a doctor. She found other reasons later, but the day she decided to learn to heal people was when she sat in the garden outside her house and tried to hold her dying friend together.
Normally, she would want to be a vet, but her parents had talked her out of that. And her aunt had died when she was twelve. She’d stared down at the closed casket and dreamed of being able to save even people who had to be buried in pieces.
And in her last years of high school she’d had the right grades. And she liked biology, she didn’t throw up into her frog like the boy next to her in class, and she didn’t have anything else she wanted to do.
So she’d taken pre-med classes when she wasn’t partying with friends and learning how to live alone. And she’d graduated on time and gone into Medical School, and found that it was hard to manage rent and a part-time job, but not too hard to learn. And then, one day, she’d had to go to the bathroom during a lecture and she’d never come back.
Geneva Scala had found herself in another world. And there she’d learned one thing: she didn’t want to be a doctor. Not anymore. She was a [Doctor] now, but all she did was watch people die.
—-
The person lying on the crude operating table Geneva had set up was screaming in agony. The blade had cut deep into his side, and he was bleeding to death before her eyes. If she didn’t close up his injuries soon, he would be dead.
With one hand, Geneva held a crude wooden device that looked like pliers. She used that to close the artery she’d found and prayed that she could move fast enough.
“Suture!”
She screamed it at the soldier watching with wide eyes. He stared at her. She pointed to the
needle and thread.
“I need to close the wound!”
She let another man take over applying pressure on the artery as she held out her hand for the needle. The soldier fumbled with the needle and nearly dropped it onto the dirt floor. Geneva snatched it out of his hands and looked at the thread.
It was just cotton; not even good quality. She’d boiled it, but now she wondered if it would even hold under the pressures she was about subject it to. But then the man screamed and she was out of time.
“Hold him still.”
The two other men did as she ordered, holding the screaming man down as Geneva desperately started to stitch. It was horrific; the needle she’d bought wasn’t sharp enough and she had to poke massive holes in his flesh to try and close the gaping wound in his side. And the blood—
“Keep that artery closed!”
She snapped that at one her assistants. He tried to do as she instructed, but the forceps he was using were made of wood, and they were crude; carved in a single day, more like chopsticks than a true clamp. They slipped, and blood squirted into the man’s stomach.
“Reapply pressure!”
Geneva had to shout it over the man’s screams. He was gagging with pain, still half-awake. But she had no anesthesia, nothing to give him. And now the other man was trying to grasp the artery and failing to find it in the heaving wound. Geneva reached for the forceps and hesitated. The man had gone still.
Slowly, she stared at the flow of blood. It had slowed. She looked at the soldier’s wide, open eyes, and then around the tent at her assistants. They stared at her. Geneva took a breath, and then spoke.
“He’s dead.”
Part of her wanted to add the time of death, but that was pointless. There was no one to record it, and besides, there was no point. Even as she dropped the forceps and needle into the bowl of boiled water and watched the liquid turn red, she knew she had no time to even mourn.
“Take him outside. Bury him. I’ll be out in a second.”
The soldiers haltingly moved to obey her orders. Geneva stared at her hands. They were so red. She had no surgical gloves on, and she’d cut herself earlier that morning. She was not sterile.