by JM Bray
‘Nice.’
‘Cool.’
‘I like that one.’
‘Hey,’ Flea said, ‘where’s your d4?’
‘Oh.’ He pulled it out of his pocket and set it on the table with the rest.
Emily’s eyes lit up. ‘Wow, that’s awesome. Is it wood?’
Flea couldn’t contain himself. ‘Yes, but that’s not even the best part. May I, Vincent?’
Not be the center of attention? You bet. ‘Sure.’ He smiled.
He placed the d20 in his palm. ‘This one Mr Brown has seen only one other time. It’s actually a double ten; we marked it to show which numbers are tens.’ He displayed the multifaceted die, holding it like a jeweler might a precious gem. ‘The one you so aptly noted, Emily...’ He smiled, causing her to blush, and took the silver-marked d4 between his thumb and forefinger so they could see it clearly. ‘Mr Brown has no idea how it got into his shop.’
‘Wow.’
‘Are you kidding?’
The chatter and speculation went on until Knife settled them down. ‘Before we allow any new dice, we need to make sure they aren’t loaded. Not that you’d do that on purpose. But...you never know. Mind if we test them?’
‘Sure, no problem.’ He looked around the circle until his eyes met Julie’s then handed the dice to her. ‘Umm… Would you do the honors? Maybe it will give me luck…or…’
‘My pleasure.’ She shook the lot in her hands and tossed them to the table. Various sides of the d6’s showed; the d4 landed on a two, and the d20 on a seven. She gathered them up and rolled them once more; again, all of the numbers were random and, this time, different from the first.
‘That looks good to me,’ Knife said. ‘Everyone satisfied?’ They all nodded. ‘Let’s get started.’ He reached into the box, bringing out a fat, three-wicked candle, and set it near the center of the table, lighting it. ‘Flea get the — ’
‘Lights,’ Flea finished. ‘Already on it, boss.’
Vincent looked around nervously as the lights went out.
‘Don’t worry,’ Knife said. ‘Nothing weird going on; we just like to set the mood when someone rolls up a character.’
Everyone grew quiet as Flea returned and their eyes adjusted to the candlelight. Despite Knife’s reassurance, Vincent felt like something strange was happening. Some kind of important event was taking place. He couldn’t have explained it, but he could feel it.
He tried to grasp it with his mind, but the edges were indistinct, like something that’s seen out of the corner of your eye but gone when you try to look at it directly. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t put his finger on it. As he looked at the group, he knew that no one else noticed it. They were being quiet to help make the moment fun and see how his character came out, but they didn’t sense how important this rolling of the dice would be. They couldn’t tell, but he could. Why? The tips of his fingers tingled and his pulse thumped in his ears.
He could see it.
In their eyes.
Dice had eyes. Didn’t they?
He looked at the cubes Knife held in his palm. The markings were like little spots of fire — blood — set on black sparkling diamonds. Knife was speaking, and Vincent struggled to make out what he was saying.
‘The dice you’ve received from Mr Brown are special...’
The red dots drew Vincent’s gaze. Why? Do you know, Knife? What’s going on? Vincent’s mind raced and he tried to speak, to tell them something was off, but couldn’t. His voice wouldn’t work.
‘...from now on, don’t let anyone use your dice. No one but you.’
He handed Vincent the pile. They felt cold, like they’d come from a freezer. The d20 sat near the candle; he didn’t remember putting it there. The four black d6’s were in his right hand, and he clasped the wooden die in his left like a talisman. How did that get there? Vincent tried to move again, to shake this weirdness, but was unable to.
His hands held the dice.
The universe held him.
As Knife’s hand moved back, it seemed to slow down. Everything slowed with it; then suddenly moved at normal speed and back again to a crawl. Pulsing. Knife spoke, and his voice followed the same pattern.
‘Reme...mber only one throw fo...r ea...ch...trait. Keep the di...ce on the ta...ble.’ Knife’s head turned slow-fast to the rest of the faces circled about, hovering in the darkness, illuminated by the candle.
‘Y...ou all must be tota...lly silent during the thro...ws; I’ll call the...resul...ts. If you ca...n’t b...e still, leave no...w.
Flea’s hand clapped Vincent on the shoulder, the sound amplified; it seemed like a gavel falling. ‘D...o it good bu...ddy.’
Vincent tried to nod, tried to talk, but the fog in his mind seemed to fill the room. The faces of his friends faded; his mind was somewhere.
Somewhere...
Not.
Here.
The fog thickened.
‘Ro...ll,’ something whispered inside his head. And he did so. The dice fell to the table like feathers floating on the currents of a breeze then accelerated striking with a deafening pounding which slowed again, finally coming to rest. All four of them were sixes.
‘Stren...gth,’ Knife intoned, but Vincent heard it as chanting voices in the distance. ‘...Eighte...en.’
A hand — his? — moved and picked them up, rolling them again. They pounded against the table.
‘Dex...terity,’ Again the chant, half of the chorus saying the first word, the other voices the second. ‘Ei...ghteen.’
The hand moved.
‘Constitu...tion.’ The voices. ‘Eighteen...’
They grew louder. ‘Intel...ligence.
‘E...ighte...en.’
‘Wisdo...m.’ It sounded like they were getting closer; the voices became a dull throbbing ache in his head. It was unbearable, but something had snared him. ‘Eigh...teen.’
The hand.
The Dice.
Pain.
Terror gripped him. Something was fighting the movement of the hand.
Vincent knew he had to make the final throw, that the moment must come to completion. He added his strength to the effort, and saw his hand move slowly to the dice. The pain had become extreme, the effort enormous. Somehow he — or they — managed to get the black cubes into their palm.
And drop them one last time.
‘Char...isma.’ The approaching throng was here, unseen, around him, in him, voices ringing, ‘Ei...ghteen.’
The chants and pain and fear snapped like a rubber band and were gone. Time, movement, sound had returned to normal. Vincent found himself surrounded by another clamor of voices, totally different from those that had departed.
‘I can’t believe it.’
‘It’s impossible.’
‘You’d better leave for Vegas tonight.’
He couldn’t distinguish whose voice belonged to whom.
‘The dice have got to be rigged.’
‘The dice are not rigged.’ Knife’s voice brought Vincent back to his senses. ‘We all saw them tested.’
Everyone was standing and talking at once.
Flea was pounding him on the back. ‘Geez. You really did it. I mean, I told you to do it but I didn’t think you could do that. I didn’t think anyone could do that. How did you do that? I mean, I can’t believe it. Not just all eighteens, but every roll, every dice, every time a six. All of them.’
It was the first time he had ever seen Flea completely out of control of his mouth. The pounding on his back seemed to break whatever held him, because he could move once more. ‘Flea, settle down, stop hitting me before you break something.’
‘Huh? Oh. Sorry. It’s just...man, I can’t believe it.’ He sat down, put his elbows on the table and head in his hands.
‘Yeah, I can tell.’ Vincent laughed. He felt different somehow, lighter, happier. He couldn’t begin to explain what had happened to him. Besides, who would believe him? He looked at Julie as she came around the
table toward him. She smiled like he’d won her a stuffed animal at the fair. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. Vincent wasn’t very experienced in these things, but heck, he wasn’t about to turn down a hug from a beautiful woman, so he hugged her back. He could get used to this.
‘All right, all right, everyone ease up. I’ve still got to figure up points for this guy. This has never happened before.’ Knife sat at the table looking slightly dumbfounded. ‘I’ll tell you one thing, though; this character is going to be something special.’
Vincent couldn’t have agreed more.
Chapter 8
Awakening
He drifted in a wonderful dream. A beautiful woman smiled at him, speaking softly while rubbing his body with exotic oils. When he forced his eyes open, Coleman knew he wasn’t dead. Dead wouldn’t be this painful. Even his eyes hurt. The light, though muffled by white curtains, seared his vision, and the muscles required to open them protested. The effort was worth the reward, though; he wasn’t in some beast’s cave, and that was a tremendous relief. He sighed.
Ah, that hurts, too.
The ceiling above him was tongue and groove, oak, by the look of it, done by someone who knew their job. His father was such an artisan, and Coleman had learned the skills as a boy, though it had been years since he picked up a tool. Father, Mother; he hadn’t seen them in some time. He needed to correct that.
Randolph came to mind and his chest constricted with sorrow and regret. The last time he’d seen his Second was at the start of the battle.
The beasts came out of the mist, their talons clacking over the rocky soil. They were randomly assembled, a disjointed collection of nightmarish animals. Sharp teeth erupted at all angles from their gaping maws, some piercing their own faces. Serpentine drool oozed from their mouths, hanging in long strands before finally plopping to the ground. Where it struck, fires burst into life, as if they brought the flames of the Abyss with them. Strangely, the creatures smelled of mint, as if they had freshened up before setting out on wanton destruction.
Randolf turned with a smile. ‘Coleman, my lad, this looks like a bit more than a small infestation.’
Coleman gazed at the approaching horde. ‘That it does.’
‘If things go wrong, at least we’ll have a good smell about us.’
An urge to rush at the beasts welled in him bringing an odd sense of mirth. ‘Wrong? It looks like a party’s comin’ our way.’
As the first beast clambered at him, Coleman brought his longknife through a powerful downward strike. The blow severed its taloned claw and carried into the creature’s head, splitting it to the chin. What served for its brains, and brackish blood, splattered him. Fortunately, the gore didn’t start fires, like its spittle, which found gaps in his leather armor, scalding him. What should have felled the beast, merely made it stumble. It blindly grabbed one of his blades and succeeded in slicing off its own fingers. Coleman struck low, taking a chunk from the creature’s thigh and it flopped to the ground. The beast continued to fight until he’d dismembered it completely. Even then, the limbs twitched and squirmed as if alive.
Though his sixteen-man squad strove to fight side by side, the sheer number of the fiends soon divided them and Coleman struggled to survive. Abandoning all grace of blades, he resorted to a methodical hack and chop. In a momentary pause, he looked around, desperately hoping to see a brother in arms, but only found more of the beasts clawing toward him. He was nearing the end of his strength, his arms so tired he could barely grip his sword.
And so, he ran.
Not out of cowardice, but to survive.
Coleman sighed; his whole squad, lost. He needed to contact their families. He closed his eyes and lay there for a long moment, letting the grief wash over him like a cold wave. Though it hurt, Coleman took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, letting the pain help clear his thoughts. Mourning them would happen over time. He needed to find out where he was. Opening his eyes, he looked around the room as far as possible without moving his head; he wasn’t sure he was up to it yet.
What’s that awful smell? The stench was like rotten eggs mixed with sheep’s dung. He ignored the pain and forced his head off the pillow to find the source. To the right was a comfortable looking chair. As he panned his gaze back across the room he saw his body and informed his caretakers he was awake. He took a deep breath and screamed, despite the agony it brought. His body looked like charred meat, and when he tried to move, he was unable to lift even his fingers. Panic burbled in him.
‘So, you’ve decided to wake up? Now, shush, you’ll bring the whole Cloister.’ She made calming motions with her hands.
At the sight of her, the scream caught in his throat. It’s her. The spirit. The one from Paradise.
‘Am I...dead?’ he asked.
‘No, not yet at least. I’m Jolie, your Healer. By the way, it’s good for you to exercise your lungs, but I suggest you try another way. If you keep screaming, you might rip a stitch. Besides, it isn’t exactly a heroic response, now is it?’ A playful smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
Coleman drank in the sight of her as she went about the room, opening the curtains and checking his blackened body. She was tall, thin, and athletic. Her green and yellow eyes reminded him of a cat; her hair was a deep brown; her skin lightly tanned from the sun. She moved easily, with the smooth grace of a dancer. As she bent to retrieve something, a nicely formed bottom that stretched her leather breeches in a very pleasant way came into view.
Turning back with a cover sheet in her hands, she caught him looking. ‘Yes, I can see you are coming along quite well.’ Jolie smiled and tapped her fingernail here and there on the crust covering his body, before shaking the sheet out over him.
‘You’re the one, aren’t you?’
She giggled. ‘My, aren’t you the bold one.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Well, many people have appreciated my skills as a Healer, but never has anyone claimed me to be the one, at least so soon after meeting me.’ She stood near his head to make it easy for him to see her.
‘Oh. No. I mean...’
‘Ah, I see. Rescinding your proclamation, are you?’
‘No, I meant. The one. I saw. Er...in my um...vision.’ His voice lowered.
‘So, now I’m a vision, am I?’
‘No. Wait. Yes. But...but...
‘Yes. I noticed you were staring at mine.’ Jolie put a hand on her hip...
Coleman blushed, and struggled to find a way out of the hole he seemed to be digging for himself. He opened his mouth several times to say something, until he noticed a smile once again tugging at the corner of her mouth.
‘Well, it would be a shame,’ he said.
Jolie’s eyebrows lifted. ‘A shame to what?’
‘To let such a well-rounded bottom go unnoticed.’
Jolie blushed. ‘What?’
He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘Especially when it’s presented to me for viewing.’
‘Now you just wait a min — ’
‘In such form-fitting leather.’
Her blush had gone from her cheeks to her neck, and was traveling to her ears. ‘I, well, I never — ’
‘You just did.’
‘...why you...’
Coleman bit back his laughter, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. A contagious giggle replaced Jolie’s rosy cheeks and neither of them could resist it.
‘Oh.’ Coleman gasped through his mirth. ‘Ah...stop...hurts to laugh.’
‘You...have only yourself...to blame.’ She blew out, trying to quit, as he panted quickly, attempting to do the same. When their laughter finally subsided Jolie said, ‘At least I got you breathing hard.’
‘It seems our patient is doing well, Jolie.’ A woman stood in the doorway with her arms crossed, and head tilted.
‘You know, Sari, laughter is the best medicine.’ Jolie smiled and motioned that she enter.
‘Speaking of medicine...’ Coleman
said, ‘Will I ever...be able to walk again?’
‘Walk?’ Sari asked.
‘Yes, these burns, I just wondered.’ He looked toward his covered body.
‘Oh, don’t tell me?’ Sari rounded on Jolie. ‘You haven’t explained it yet?’
‘Well, I didn’t have time.’
‘Time? What else was there?’ Sari looked at her with narrowed eyes.
‘He had more pressing issues on his mind. As his Healer, I felt it best to give him a well-rounded answer,’ Jolie said. She winked and blew him a kiss.
He stifled a laugh, and Sari whipped her head back around. Jolie was completely composed.
Sari threw up her hands. ‘If you weren’t so blasted good at what you do, you’d be back scrubbing pots in the scullery.’
Jolie turned to him, speaking in an overly concerned voice, ‘So then, let’s get your questions answered. However, first, might we know your name? It makes conversation ever so much easier. Don’t you agree, Commander?’
Sari rolled her eyes.
‘Coleman of Lomendel,’ he said. Though her presence put him at ease, he braced himself for the news.
‘Coleman, I’m the Mistress of Healing. Don’t worry about Commander Sari, she isn’t usually this tense.’
Sari huffed.
‘You have nothing to worry about; you’re in remarkably good health. There are several deep wounds that will need to heal for a sevenday or so.’
‘But the burns — ’
‘Are not burns at all. It’s a medicinal poultice, mixed, applied, and allowed to harden around the injured person. It brings the herbs directly into contact with the body, and keeps the patient immobile so wounds or broken bones may mend properly.’
‘And the smell?’
Jolie smiled. ‘That is an unfortunate part of the process. I’m sorry; it’s so common in our order that I sometimes forget it can be alarming to outsiders.’ She patted his forehead with a damp cloth. ‘You’re going to be fine. In fact, we can remove it today; enough time has passed.’