by J. R. Ford
“Is that what you tell yourself? That because you didn’t make Ha-Jun any promises, his blood isn’t on your hands?”
“It isn’t!” she insisted, even though she’d whined about it to me back at the cabin.
“I know it isn’t. But it’s my choice to follow you. It isn’t on you if I get hurt, either.”
“Well, don’t. Because even if it isn’t, it’ll feel that way.”
The majestic views and insistent breeze cooled Heather down eventually. On a precarious summit path, half-mountain drops to either side, I asked her, “Before Tyrant’s Vale — were you ever jealous of Ana?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you about to ask for a threesome? I can’t believe you!”
She stalked off. I watched with jaw hanging open. She turned about ten paces up and began laughing.
My cheeks burned. “Well, did you?”
“Of course,” she said. “The way you looked at her…I wished you’d look at me that way.” She smiled tenderly, all teasing gone. “And my wish came true. But that doesn’t mean you can stare at her!”
“I’ll try not to,” I promised, sincerely believing I’d try.
“Why do you ask?” she said. “Oh, I know! Farrukh is jealous of Jeremiah, isn’t he?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Not to you three. For a while I thought Priyanka was going to give her a run for her money, though.”
Maybe I should’ve been gossiping with Heather more often. “And what does Ana think?”
“You’ve seen the disgust on her face every time she looks at his stump. I think it reminds her of when she lost her legs.”
It made sense — she didn’t cringe the same way when she looked at my wrist. Her slug transformation hadn’t been the same as dismemberment, but I’d forced her on a two-hour trek with me when her legs had been fused together. She’d been a wreck. “That doesn’t mean she likes Farrukh, though.”
“I don’t think she’s given it serious thought. You know her. She goes with her gut.”
“And I don’t know if she can feel embarrassment,” I said. “I think we’ll know once she’s made up her mind. Still, I can’t believe he turned Priyanka down! They live in the same city! You know what I’d give to live in the same city as you?”
She smiled. “It wouldn’t be the same. Would you leave me for another girl if she lived in Atlanta?”
I wasn’t so inexperienced as to fall for that one. “Never.”
“Pav…I’ve been thinking. About what you said.”
My heart started pounding. Had her question been a feint, designed to draw me in before the true thrust came? “I’ve said a lot of things. Should we turn our cameras off?” A quick check informed me of a million people tuning in. They already knew how bad I was with girls, but there were things best kept between a couple.
“No, it’s fine. You remember asking me to run away with you?”
Phew, I wasn’t in trouble. “You changed your mind? Are you sure your father isn’t watching?”
“I wanted to say sorry…and thank you. I’ve never had anyone try to whisk me away.”
I sighed. “But you haven’t changed your mind. Why not? You left him to come here, and he’s fine. They’d notify you if anything happened to him.”
“He’s fine because I’ll come back.”
“Parents have to give up their kids eventually. You’re your own person!”
Her look was scorching. “Thanks, I didn’t know that.”
“Then what’s the problem?” I kicked a pebble and watched it tumble.
“You don’t understand, I’m all he has left. If I leave him, there’s no telling what he’ll do.”
“He’ll get over himself eventually.”
“You’re not listening, Pav! He’s not stable, not without me.”
“I’d listen better if you gave me anything more than vague answers. I know you don’t want to talk about it, but our future is at stake here! And you still haven’t told me what happened to your mom!”
“I came here to get away from all that. Please, just let me enjoy our time here, unburdened by thoughts of the past. I already feel guilty enough for leaving my father.”
“Why? He’s not your responsibility.”
“Wow. You’re so insightful.”
I shut up before I made things worse. Who said I wasn’t getting better with girls?
“Why don’t we try to make it work anyway?” she asked.
“I don’t understand.”
“Long distance.”
I shook my head.
“You want me to run away with you, but you won’t even give us a shot if you don’t get to fondle me at every opportunity?” Judging by her glare, she was dangerously close to not joking.
“You get your ‘can’t’s, I get mine.”
“You got your ‘why not’s.”
I blinked rapidly. “I can’t count the promises, ‘We’ll still be friends after we stop playing.’ I used to try, and sometimes they tried too. But I’m done. ‘Try’ is a word the pitiful use to make failure taste better.”
Her tone was sweet, which only made the words more bitter. “I’ll be different.”
I tried to swallow. “You aren’t the first to say that, either. And how will you be different, when we’re five time zones apart and can’t even fantasize about visiting each other? About going to college together?”
“I thought you didn’t want to go to university.”
“I don’t! I hate school! But I’d study myself ragged to get in somewhere if it meant being with you!”
She was quiet. “Ana, Farrukh? Will you abandon them too? Will none of us be your friend, once we’ve hit game over?”
“I don’t doubt they’ll try. That you’ll try.”
She gripped me tight. Her finger was tender on my cheek, wiping away my tears. “I will. But I want you to try too.”
“Thank you for trying. Really.” But I’d already learned my lesson, the hard way, time and again.
It came without a screech. Air whistled, and when we whirled, a gigantic silver dragon was hurtling toward us. Its maw opened wide, fangs glinting with the premonition of fire.
There was no room to dodge on the narrow summit path.
“Nullify my momentum!” Heather shouted. But I was already lunging between her and the beast, whipping through symbols for nullify spell, not knowing if it would work against dragon-fire. It streamed forth, blinding and scorching, and I held my palm out.
Fiery agony enveloped me, until Heather’s finger poked over my shoulder and the flame turned to water. It washed over us, knocking us back, the coolness shocking my burnt hand. The dragon’s jaws snapped where we would’ve been standing roasts. Then the water swept us off the path.
I tumbled for a second, disoriented, before the jolt of my left arm smashing against rock sent my mind careening into frenzy. My burnt-raw skin tugged as I formed the gestures for nullify momentum. My foot clipped the rock face and sent me spinning, and through the haze I saw Heather tumbling down beside me, already in goat form. I reached for her, the null ring forming.
My nullify momentum spell would stop anything the null ring touched. But when Heather and I had leapt from Vedanth Durg, I’d been able to touch both of us at once.
If I’d let her tank the fire instead of trying to stop it myself, I could’ve nullified us against the transmuted water. But I hadn’t. If I’d had two hands, I would’ve been able to reach out, grab her, and nullify both of us. But I didn’t. If promises had any bearing on reality… But they don’t. So as I extended my hand to touch her one final time, she stopped, and I kept falling.
12
Falling was like walking: I never got used to it.
I skidded along stone, upside down, head tucked in, frantically hoping the mountain didn’t smash my neck. My cuirass tugged painfully. I wrenched my fingers through the motions, and when I slapped my palm to my thigh, the world jolted to a standstill. My mana bar bubbled up to 40/100.
<
br /> I scrabbled with my burnt fingers and gauntlet-dagger, but there was no purchase, only cold stone. Not that I would’ve been able to support myself upside down anyway. I tried with my feet as well, but as soon as my left boot touched rock, hot pain lanced up my leg. I had a split second to realize I’d better keep symbolling.
I looked up, which was down, and saw the ground was still far below me, though the mountainside wriggled in my head’s way about twenty feet down. I’d hated the ascent, but I had to admit, the descent was worse.
Fingers were not designed to twist through arcane gestures after being roasted, but necks were even less designed for being crushed, so my fingers did their best. I couldn’t breathe as the stone rushed to end me. Three pings and a slap stopped me dead inches from the mountainside.
I only had a moment. I got what little grip I could and spun myself upright. It was still too steep to stand, but at least I’d have a bit of headroom. My mana pulsed at 60/100.
I began gesturing even before the effects wore off, and as gravity gripped me again, I pushed off with my right leg. The hop bought me some time to think, while my hand was ready to slap me to a stop at any moment.
Two stops to reach safe ground. Another outcrop threatened from below. It took all my grit to wait until the last second before halting myself. My mana bar warned: 80/100. No time for redirect momentum. One stop left.
A ledge! As the mountain face twisted, a meager shelf jutted out, only a couple feet wide. Wide enough. I planted my feet, ignoring the fire in my left foot, and leapt for it.
Air resistance and my twisted left foot conspired against me. Instead of arcing toward it, I plummeted.
No choice. As the ledge approached, I slapped the last nullify momentum to my arm.
I’d waited too long. The ledge was above me and two feet away. I reached with singed fingers and managed some sort of hold before gravity reclaimed me.
I clung on by those aching fingers and swung like a pendulum to smack into the rock face. My dagger chinked against stone ineffectively.
My left boot found a crack, at the expense of my toes. My vision dimmed, but I persevered and found purchase with my right foot, then pushed my left elbow over the top.
I got a good look at it, a mistake. Sleeve and flesh were bloody ribbons. My gauntlet was soaked. I had no breath to scream. I staved away unconsciousness enough to swing my leg up and roll onto the ledge.
My breath was ragged. Mountain winds cut through clothes soaked with water and blood. My right arm dangled over the precipice. Existence was agony.
It would be easy to roll over and end the suffering. Maybe it was the promise I’d made Heather that stopped me. I could pretend that, in that moment, I reaffirmed my commitment to her.
The world went black.
13
Pain and fatigue. Don’t know how long I slept, don’t care. My jaw was locked shut against the incessant agony.
My left sleeve had been shredded. The leather straps that held the gauntlet in place had been severed, though the clamps around my forearm kept it attached. My bicep was an angry red mess. When I tried to sit up, my arm hung heavy, and sloshing sounds came from the gauntlet. I leaned enough to vomit over the cliff.
A glance at my left leg. My once-sienna trousers had been stained black, and the boot was soaked. I hauled myself up to a sitting position and reached to undo the laces. Flaring pain told me to leave them alone. I choked down more vomit.
Guess this was it. None of my companions could navigate down this far, even if they thought I was alive. I wasn’t going anywhere.
My throat was parched and sour with acid bile. My head swam as I looked around for my pack. I groaned, which only made the thirst worse.
Thoughts trickled through the haze of pain and blood loss. Might as well log out. Trade hours of weakness and pain for one moment of betrayal.
I’d promised Heather I wouldn’t seek death, and I wouldn’t pretend logging out wasn’t dying. Not after seeing that Enlightened slump on Bluehearth’s streets, blood still dripping from his stomach, his dead eyes still open.
But I was out of options. Surely, when all paths led to the grave, Heather couldn’t begrudge me an early entrance.
Of course, all paths led to the grave always. I couldn’t tell if that invalidated my argument or reinforced it.
Whether driven by fear or conviction, my tapping fingers took me not to ‘Log Out’, but to the leaderboard. Heather was still streaming.
At least I’d saved her. Scant relief. I’d still failed her. I’d still failed all of them.
What would I have said to them, had I known a dragon attack was soon to send me to my death?
Should I have told Ana about Farrukh’s feelings for her? It wasn’t my place to do so, but had Ana not told me how Heather admired me, back in Tyrant’s Vale, things might have turned out very differently. Perhaps I wouldn’t have had the conviction to pursue Heather and her captors. She would’ve logged out, Ana would’ve turned into a slug, and Farrukh would’ve fled from the Enlightened and returned to his loneliness. I would’ve met my demise long ago, without them.
The comparison was weak. Our souls didn’t hang in the balance, on scales which could only be tipped by the weight of Ana and Farrukh conjoined.
Still, I regretted my last words to him. He’d taken me into his confidence, and I’d admonished him for one of the most human of emotions. But he’d have to wait until his own game over before he could receive my apology.
Would my companions turn back? The dragon had incinerated our trollbat boss theory, but the orcs still needed to be stopped. Ana would want to continue, for Jeremiah. Farrukh might take the opportunity to convince the others to flee, but to where? Not Bluehearth, into armies of Enlightened and Lancers. Perhaps he’d cast his line, and if she bit, he’d have nothing to worry about. If she refused, his fantasy would be shattered, and I had no doubt he’d abscond. There would be nothing left for him in our group, save his comradery with Heather.
Dizziness and pain derailed my pitiful attempts at closure. Respite was only a tap away. Bindings only chafe when the bound struggles.
Closing my eyes didn’t help. In the silent darkness, my corpse stared back at me.
I hadn’t let myself imagine my own death lately. Now every image radiated fear.
Apprentices fell before my superior swordplay. I had Ana’s tutelage, while Edwin’s apprentices subsisted on a curriculum of hostility. But he’d been right. One day, my tricks would’ve failed me, and I would’ve failed my friends.
The episode was detailed. The apprentices’ prop swords looked sharp, and the wounds they left in my body were convincing. But I couldn’t turn the television off.
We had a marathon. Up next, being spitted on an orc spear. Ana was already dead in that one. Farrukh was bleeding from multiple arrow wounds. An orc’s spear cast its shadow upon him, poised as he’d poised his own poleax so many times. He saw it coming and struggled, in vain.
I couldn’t breathe. Maybe the fall had ruptured my lungs. Maybe it was the unrelenting images. The burning in my chest was like being dragged down that waterfall, down into a grave of mud and roots. To have reached earth, only for it to turn to water beneath my sinking self, was a cruel joke. So ensnared, my only salvation had been my companions. Without them, I would’ve been plant food, the same as those devoured apprentices.
Drowning in mud was one of my least favorite episodes, but I’d saved the worst for last.
Yao’s cleaver flashed through my mind. I cringed.
I’d seen it kill Heather twice. The only thing worse was seeing it sever my hand.
It had come out of nowhere. Now I couldn’t look away from it, not while I was fighting him, and not here, in a body destroyed by my own failure.
I understood how Heather thought of Edwin, after he’d struck her with his Lightning Whip. She’d said she wouldn’t be free of that whip until she could protect herself. Now she struggled to ignore that cleaver, hanging like a guillotine w
ith her in the stocks.
But I was beside her, and the shadow before us was unmistakable. Yao would kill her. He would’ve killed me, had I not done it first.
He’d severed my hand, that night in Tyrant’s Vale. He could’ve killed me as I lay unconscious and bleeding, but he hadn’t. True, he’d probably been delirious after getting stabbed during his 3v2 gank on me and Ana.
With both me and him in that vulnerable state, he could’ve taken final revenge. Instead, his sole priority had been getting his friend out alive. That, or he thought I’d bleed out the same way I’d thought he had. Maybe he’d thought cutting my hand off was enough.
Maybe it was. I could barely do anything anymore. And what we’d hoped was our trollbat boss had turned out to be Vedanth’s old dragon. It wouldn’t drop Knucklebones. I wasn’t getting my hand back.
The days after my mutilation had been a fever-dream cocktail: nausea every time I glimpsed my stump, mixed with the delirious joy of having found my first ever girlfriend. Someone who I not only cared about, but who cared about me.
It only made my failure sting worse. My death would hurt her. That’s why I’d promised her I wouldn’t put her life above mine.
And now my body was a ruined mess. Morbid curiosity demanded I look, but one glance made my gut roil, and I rested my head back against the hard cliff instead.
Death stared me down, and over his shoulder, Heather gave me a piercing look. But she wouldn’t know I’d logged out, not until she died herself and looked up the video of my last moments. And by then, it wouldn’t matter. The chances of us seeing each other again were slim.
I shut my eyes again, lest my million viewers notice the way the world blurred. They wouldn’t feel the wetness on my cheeks or see the world trembling. That choked noise could’ve been a cough.
Who was I kidding? I opened my eyes and, in silence’s mirror, saw pain, hurt, and an undeniable fact.