Critical Failures VI (Caverns and Creatures Book 6)

by Robert Bevan

  He had a good point. Cooper looked down the hall again, then walked as quietly as he could back into the cell. He closed the door and sat down on the bed.

  “What do you think they're up to?”

  Chaz paced back and forth in front of Cooper. “And then they give us this easily solvable puzzle to give us a false sense of confidence, like we've outsmarted them. But the joke will be on us. They're trying to lure us into something, I just know it. I guarantee you as soon as we turn that corner, they'll spring some horrible trap on us.”

  “Oh man, that sucks. What do we do?”

  “We need to think of a way to outsmart them for real,” said Chaz. “What's the last thing they'd expect us to do?”

  Cooper thought hard. Focusing on problem-solving skills must have diverted brainpower which he'd been using to hold his sphincter shut, because his ass erupted in a warm farty gush all over the mattress.

  Chaz frowned. “That wasn't really what I had in mind.”

  Heavy footsteps approached from outside. “Are you boys okay in there?”

  “Shit!” whispered Chaz.

  Cooper got to his feet and looked down at the massive red shit stain on the mattress. There were still undigested chunks of tomato in it.

  “We should probably hide this.”

  “Hide it how? It looks like a giant's used maxi pad!”

  “Oh, like you've never shit the bed before. Oldest trick in the world.” Cooper grabbed the mattress with both hands and flipped it up toward the wall. When he pulled the other side out toward him, the soiled side left a pungent reddish-brown streak down the wall. Not that it mattered much anyway, because there was a pretty significant stain on the other side as well. It wasn't a particularly thick mattress, and the force of the blast must have plowed right through it. As long as hiding it wasn't an option, he decided it was at least good for a wipe. He sat down and slid his ass left and right, leaving a thorough coating on what could no longer be called the cleaner side.

  “What the hell are you doing?” said Chaz. “Are you deliberately trying to make it worse?”

  A small knock sounded on the door. “You're free to come out now.” The door started to open. “We only wanted to make sure – By the gods, what's that smell?”

  Cooper and Chaz jumped and stood shoulder to shoulder as the door opened to reveal a burly dwarf in faded brown leather armor.

  “Hi, there!” said Chaz.

  “That was me,” said Cooper. “I farted.”

  The dwarf waved his hand in front of his nose. “Did you ever! Come on. Follow me outside. We'll let this place air out a bit.”

  Cooper and Chaz followed close behind, walking side by side in case the dwarf turned around.

  “How are you fellers feeling this morning?”

  “Better now,” said Cooper.

  “The soup was delicious,” said Chaz.

  The dwarf led them past the corner where Chaz had been certain something was going to leap out and kill them. “That's an old family recipe. I'll pass the compliment on to the missus.” Opening the front door, he led them out into the fresh morning air. “Whew! That's much better.”

  They were in the same village they'd arrived at the previous day. The garden surrounding the building they were now standing in front of had a variety of fruits and vegetables growing, but Cooper could see the giant tomato forest beyond the quaint little buildings.

  Chaz held out the puzzle box. “Am I supposed to return this to you?”

  The dwarf looked inside the box and frowned. “Your final answer was twenty?”

  “Um... yes?”

  “And you truly believed your lives were on the line?”

  “Are you saying they weren't?”

  The dwarf chuckled. “Gods no. We just like to give our guests something to keep their minds occupied while they ride out their intoxication. I came and unlocked the door half an hour before you finally emerged.”

  “So, this place...” Cooper looked back through the door they'd just walked out of. “This is a drunk tank?”

  “Visitors here are often surprised at the potency of our green tomato beer.” The dwarf smiled. “We like to show folks a good time, but we don't want them to be a danger to themselves or others. We provide what we hope are comfortable accommodations.”

  Chaz frowned down at his answer in the puzzle box. “We thought really hard on this. How far off were we?”

  “The highest answer anyone has given us so far is twenty-seven.” The dwarf took the box from Chaz. “Yours was the saddest effort I've ever witnessed. I'm almost inclined to think this was a suicide attempt.”

  “Thank you,” said Chaz curtly. “I suppose we'll be on our way now.”

  “And where might you lads be off to? Perhaps I can offer you guidance.”

  Glittersprinkles Grove.

  Cooper turned his head back. “I know. I know.” He looked back at the dwarf, who was now eyeing him warily. “We're going to Glittersprinkles Grove.”

  “Oh dear. I was half joking about the suicide thing before. I thought it was more polite than implying you were both extremely stupid. But now I wonder if it may be a bit of both.”

  Chapter 11

  The Temple of Life hardly seemed like part of the city. If not for the backdrop of the white stone city wall, Katherine would have assumed this was an ancient ruin which nature was halfway through reclaiming. Tall white-barked trees served as columns. Their interweaving branches formed trellises between them, from which green leafy vines hung down like curtains. In spite of her most recent run-in with curtains of vine, there was something about these vines which soothed Katherine's mind. She had every confidence that they wouldn't try to seize, strangle, or stab her or anyone she was traveling with.

  The path to the entrance of the temple was lined with life-size granite statues of saints, martyrs, and other significant people – as well as other creatures – of the faith; at their feet, each had a brass plaque engraved with their names, deeds, and the dates of their births and deaths.

  Many were champions of peace and prosperity. Renford Sweetwater, for instance, an elf who lived from 1,260 to 872 BSR, portrayed here strumming a harp, was credited with uniting the long-feuding Trugwal and Borley clans.

  Others served as a reminder that Rasha, the goddess to which the Temple of Life was dedicated, was not someone to fuck with. Stagnor Bloodfroth, also known as Stagnor the Incorruptible, an impossibly tall and muscular human, lived a decidedly shorter life from 215 to 241 AOE. His statue featured wild eyes, a necklace of normal-sized human skulls, and a double-bladed battleaxe, as large as the one Cooper used, in each of his hands. He was granted sainthood posthumously for single-handedly slaughtering all the clerics and acolytes of the Darkwood Catacombs, a feat during which he died three times while achieving. The clerics tried twice to resurrect him as an instrument of evil, but his devotion to Rasha was so strong that he returned to life just as he had been and continued carving his path of carnage.

  At the entrance, which was merely two of the tall white trees standing twice as far from each other as the rest of them, Katherine, Randy, Denise, and Butterbean passed through unmolested by vines. The sounds and smells of the city were almost imperceptible from within the temple, replaced with birdsong and burning rosemary incense. Four semi-circular grassy steps of amphitheater led down to an altar made from the polished stump of what looked to be the same type of white tree which formed the perimeter columns, only much much wider. Behind the altar, a golden statue of Rasha herself sat cross-legged, head bowed in meditation, her eight arms spread like rays of the sun.

  Visitors of every race were scattered about the grounds, some sitting alone on the amphitheater steps in prayer or meditation, others accompanied by what Katherine assumed were either clerics or employees of the temple, identifiable by their white and gold vestments. The latter seemed to be mostly engaged in either planting seeds or digging up saplings. Both activities seemed to involve the exchange of money.

  “
What is this place?” asked Denise. “A fucking nursery?”

  “It is considered an honor to plant the Seed of Life in Rasha's hallowed ground.”

  Katherine, Denise, and Randy jumped at the soft-spoken male voice which came from right behind them. They turned to face it.

  “Forgive me,” said the elf in the Temple of Life's uniform vestment. “It was not my intent to startle you. I trained myself to walk silently in my old life, before I discovered Rasha's Light. Alas, old habits die hard. Now, how may I be of service? Planting a Seed of Life requires only a donation of ten gold pieces.”

  “How much does it cost to dig up one of them trees?” asked Randy.

  The elf's eyes lit up. His pupils might as well have turned into dollar signs. “For a donation of five hundred gold pieces, you may take a Life Tree sapling and enjoy Rasha's presence in the comfort and convenience of your own home.”

  “We're not here for gardening,” said Katherine. “I need to speak with Brother Mayfair.”

  “Very well.” The elf bowed, then scanned the temple grounds. “Ah, there he is. The portly cleric next to the altar.”

  Katherine bowed back. “Thank you.”

  “May Rasha's light shine upon you.” The elf backed away, then turned around to find some other saps to shake down for money.

  “I could have guessed,” said Denise as they walked down the amphitheater steps toward the altar. “If anyone here could be swayed by hops crotch and chicken wings, it's that fat motherfucker down there.”

  “Hi,” said Katherine as cheerily as she could fake when they got within non-shouting distance. “Are you Brother Mayfair?”

  “I am.” Brother Mayfair's smile and tone were much warmer and more genuine. “How may I be of service?”

  Katherine reached into her Bag of Holding. “Jug of...” All of Denise's horrible euphemisms ran through her head before she thought to say, “...beer.” When she felt the jug in her hand, she pulled it out. “Mr. Grimmond from the Stinky Pickle sends his regards.”

  Brother Mayfair licked his lips as he giddily accepted the jug. “Always so kind and generous. One would think I attached a prosthetic head for him!”

  “So that cleaver hand he's got,” said Randy. “That was your handiwork?”

  “Ha ha!” cried Brother Mayfair, startling Katherine, who hadn't caught the pun until then, and suspected Randy hadn't meant to make one. “Yes, I was the vessel. He said I changed his life forever, that I gave him purpose. But of course, it was all Rasha's doing.”

  Randy looked at Katherine and nodded down at the bag. Might as well get this guy as buttered up as possible before they spring a resurrection request on him.

  “Jar of wings,” said Katherine, reaching into the bag again. She held out the jar to Brother Mayfair. “He said to give you these as well.”

  “Rasha's mercy!” he squealed, placing the jug on the altar and accepting the jar. “Oh thank you!”

  “I beg your pardon, your holiness,” said Randy.

  “Please, new friend. Call me Waldor.”

  Randy smiled. “That's awful nice. You can call me Randy. These are my friends Denise and Katherine. And that's her friend, Butterbean.”

  “It is a pleasure to meet you here in the presence of Rasha, new friends.”

  “Of course, we ain't come here just to deliver these gifts from Mr. Grimmond,” said Randy. “We was on our way here anyway for some help from Rasha.”

  “Would you like to plant a Seed of Life?” Brother Mayfair winked at Katherine and nudged Randy with his elbow. “I'll knock the donation down to eight gold pieces each.”

  “It's my brother,” Katherine blurted out. “He recently passed before his time, and I need you to bring him back.”

  Brother Mayfair's face turned suddenly serious. “I grieve for your loss. Truly, I do. But it is not for us to choose when our time is come. That is at the discretion of the gods.”

  “Don't bullshit me. I know you people can cast spells to bring people back from the dead. I've seen it happen.”

  “It is true that the gods will sometimes let us return the spirit to the flesh, but I'm afraid that an attempt would require a sizable donation to the temple, one which common folk as yourselves may not be able to afford.”

  “I can get the money.” Katherine held up her bag. “I have a Bag of Holding to offer as collateral. That should count for something.”

  Brother Mayfair's eyebrows rose. “A Bag of Holding of that size is rare and valuable indeed.”

  “So what's your price?”

  “That will depend on a number of factors. How long ago did your brother pass?”

  “A couple of days ago.”

  Brother Mayfair nodded. “That is good. Then his body should still be relatively well preserved. That will facilitate the process of resurrection.”

  “About that,” said Katherine. “There was an incident involving... You know what? It's probably best to just show you.” She reached into the Bag of Holding. “Jar of basilisk shit.” When she felt the jar in her hand, she pulled it out and set it on the altar.

  Brother Mayfair frowned at the jar. “I don't suppose I need to ask what substance that is in the jar.”

  “A basilisk ate my brother's body before I was able to reach it. I'm sure there's still some of him in here though.”

  The look on Brother Mayfair's face drained what little hope she had left. She wondered again why she had any hope in the first place. This was ridiculous. Tim was a lump of shit in a jar. It was over. He was gone.

  “I'm sorry,” said Brother Mayfair.

  That was it, then. At least Katherine knew for sure.

  “The magic required to bring back your brother from such a state is beyond the power the gods would grant me.”

  Katherine lowered her head and stroked the back of Butterbean's neck. “I understand.”

  “Hang on a second,” said Denise. “Do you mean to say that such a magic don't exist, or that the gods just don't give enough of a shit about you?”

  “Denise!” Randy snapped. “Be respectful.”

  “All I meant to ask was if it was possible.”

  “Through the gods, all things are possible,” said Brother Mayfair. “But what you ask would require the intervention of a cleric much closer to the gods than I. Lady Swansong, our High Cleric, might have the requisite piety, but she is currently away on temple business.”

  Katherine didn't want to set herself up for further disappointment, but Randy spoke the question she wouldn't.

  “When do you reckon she'll be back?”

  “She is curing the diseased north of the borderlands. She may be gone as short as a week or as long as a month.”

  “But...” Katherine, against every instinct, allowed herself to hope again. “This Lady Swansong. She could bring my brother back to life?”

  Brother Mayfair shrugged. “She might be able to. My own faith is not so strong, but I believe it is strong enough, at least, to see if your brother's spirit is even still connected to this... corporal form.”

  “How much?” asked Katherine. She wary of being fleeced, but she needed to know.

  “A donation of five hundred gold pieces would suffice.”

  Katherine didn't yet have a solid grasp of the exchange rate between dollars and gold pieces, as far as the cost of typical items and services were concerned. But five hundred gold pieces seemed, at a wild guess, like a reasonable amount for finding out whether or not Tim could be brought back from the dead.

  “Are you saying it might be possible to bring him back?” Katherine asked.

  “I'm not promising anything,” said Brother Mayfair. “It will require the power of the gods to know for sure. Are you willing to offer your Bag of Holding?”

  “For what?” asked Denise. “We ain't even talkin' about getting your brother back at this point. Let's hang out here and meet with the Grand Wizard when she comes back.”

  “I am a paladin of the New God,” said Randy, the last ditch desperation
heavy in his tone. “He would want you to help us.”

  Brother Mayfair tapped his finger against his lips as he stared intensely at Randy for an uncomfortably long time. Finally, he lowered his hand. “You speak the truth.”

  Randy nodded. “I do.”

  Brother Mayfair knelt before Randy. “I will do whatever is within my power to assist you.”

  “Please bring back this woman's brother.”

  Katherine could tell Randy was uncomfortable exploiting his station. She took his arm and leaned in to whisper, “Thank you.”

  “I beg your forgiveness, most Holy Baguette,” said Brother Mayfair, struggling to his feet. “But I have not the power to bring back your friend even if I wanted to. His body is too far gone.”

  “You said your superior could do it,” said Randy. “Lady Swansong.”

  “This is no small feat you ask,” said Brother Mayfair. “The High Cleric is a busy woman. And the size of the donation such a service would require...” He laughed. “I could not even begin to guess a worth in coin. It would have to be a relic of such extraordinary value such that your Bag of Holding would not even be worthy of polishing it.”

  “Just give me a target and point me in a direction,” pleaded Katherine. She looked around the temple, desperately hoping to find something it needed, something it was missing. The massive golden statue was a breathtaking work of art. Its two normal eyes were closed, but there was a rough eye-shaped hole in the forehead which didn't look like it was supposed to be empty. She pointed at it. “What about that?”

  Brother Mayfair scowled at her. “Lower your hand at once. One does not point fingers at Rasha.”

  “Sorry. I just thought Rasha seemed to be missing something. She's got a hole in her head.”

  “You would seek the Eye of Rasha?” Brother Mayfair looked at Katherine sympathetically. “Your brother must truly be special.”

  Katherine shrugged. “He is what he is. But he's my brother. Would that be a worthy offering to the temple?”

  “I cannot speak for Lady Swansong. But if you were to retrieve the Eye of Rasha, I expect the High Cleric would be very grateful indeed.”