by Charley Case
Finn raised an eyebrow but took the offered hand and shook it. He wondered if this might be an odd attempt to collect the bounty on him, so he extricated his hand after one pump.
“How is it you know my name, old-timer?” Finn’s hand itched to reach for the folded axe at the small of his back.
Rolf chuckled. “Don't worry. I’m not here for any bounty, man.” He held up a glass of bubbly water. “I just like the seltzer here. I think they put extra bubbles in it.” He winked before taking a sip and smacking his lips.
“That’s great and all, but it doesn't answer my question, Rolf. How do you know who I am?” Finn felt the rage at the back of his skull like a coiled viper.
Rolf pursed his lips and squinted at the ceiling. “That’s the question we all ask ourselves, isn’t it? How do we know who we are? Ya know? Like on the inside, who are we?”
Finn frowned. This guy was not an assassin in a clever disguise. He was just some old stoner. He cleared his throat. “No, I asked, how do you know who I am?”
Rolf’s eyes widened, then he snickered. “Sorry, man. I thought you were getting into the heavy stuff right away.”
“’The heavy stuff?’”
Rolf bobbed his head. “Yeah, man. You know—life, love, why we exist. The heavy stuff.”
“Are you high?” Finn felt comfortable this old nut couldn't be dangerous. He was far too chill.
“Almost always, man.” He gave Finn a big smile full of perfectly white teeth. “You should give it a try. That’s the whole reason I moved here. They saw the need and released the weed. Best ten years of my life.”
Finn grinned at the stupid rhyme. “I don't think getting high is the answer right now. I have a little too much going on.”
Rolf nodded. “I figured you were going to say that. Shame, man. It really helps with the rage.”
Finn focused on the old man, suspicious again. “The rage? What would an old-timer like you know of the rage?”
“We’ll get to that in a minute.” Rolf took another sip of seltzer water. “I’ve been watching you, man. Ever since word on the street got to me about a dwarf, I knew I had to check you out.” He laughed, the sound a melodic slow beat. “It took me a minute to figure out you weren’t some short ugly dude with a giant axe and a beard. Well, I guess the beard and the axe are true, but pretty cool when he turns out to be six-five and good- looking.”
“Yeah, what’s up with that?” Finn frowned. “I watched The Lord of the Rings and busted a gut laughing at the ‘dwarves.’”
Rolf laughed. “Yeah, that’s about what I expected to find. Turns out dwarves aren’t exactly a loved species among the magicals. When the last of you died out, they changed the narrative. A spite thing, I guess. Man, you people must have really pissed a lot of folks off for them to besmirch your entire race.”
Finn frowned harder. “I might not like the outcome, but I can't blame them. Most dwarves are insufferable. That’s why I left in the first place.” Finn cocked an eyebrow. “Wait, you know about magicals? How?”
Rolf wiggled his fingers, and a glitter of golden light drifted from them. The smell of heated steel filled the area, then a small bubble formed in the bowl of peanuts before popping and transporting a handful of nuts into Rolf’s hand.
“I’m one of ‘em, man.” He narrowed his eyes. “I thought you were all smart and stuff. Don't princes get, like, special education?”
“You seem to know a lot about me, Rolf Williamson. And you don't seem to be telling me much in return.”
The old man tossed a few nuts into his mouth and chewed, talking with his mouth full. “Well, let’s remedy that. You wanna hear my story? It might help you out.”
Finn glanced toward the restrooms and saw no sign of Mila or Penny. “Sure. Guess I have a few minutes.”
“Right on, man.”
Chapter Five
Rolf wiggled his fingers, and the smell of hot steel filled Finn's nostrils again. “Let me set the scene, man,” he said, in a mysterious stoner-tainted drawl. “The year is 1969. The war has been going on for fifteen years roughly, depending on who you ask.”
The wet smell of vegetation and rain replaced the steel scent. A bubble formed close to the bar, out of sight of passersby, and Finn and Rolf leaned in. The translucent bubble filled with white fog that resolved into thick jungle foliage. Finn discerned what he assumed was a soldier. The view swung around, and he made out five more of them in green fatigues, their helmets camouflaged with bits of local vegetation. They had black grease smeared on their faces, covering tight expressions. Each man clutched a rifle and wore a grenade belt. The view swung the other way and revealed four more apprehensive soldiers.
“I was the squad’s sergeant.” Rolf sobered with the retelling. “We were ordered into a village that had been taken by the enemy. No civies, just enemy. No one to look out for, kill-‘em-all kinda thing. We had reports only five of them were there, their reinforcements still an hour away. It was supposed to be easy.”
Rolf displayed a haunted look as the soldiers moved forward. Finn realized he was watching one of Rolf’s memories. The view was his, but its clarity was beyond what most memories could produce, which meant it was one he often revisited. Finn experienced a pang of empathy. He had a few memories like that tucked in the back of his mind, too.
Rolf emerged from his dark thoughts, snapping his fingers and freezing the image. “Before we get into this, I need to give you a bit of backstory.” He smiled and took a huge gulp of seltzer, making a pained face as it foamed down his throat. “Spicy!”
He thumped his chest a few times. “Sorry. Backstory. Ever since I was a kid, I’d have bouts of anger. My parents would send me to my room. It was a frustrating situation. I’d get mad, and they would send me to my room, I’d get madder at the injustice, you know? Like a never-ending loop of rage.”
Finn’s brows raised. It sounded similar to his childhood, minus the being sent to his room. The rage was very familiar.
“You’re a berserker,” Finn stated.
Rolf nodded. “Of course, no name for it back then, before I awoke. I was just an angry guy. So, I did the only thing I could at the time; I joined the military. I figured they would know what to do with me and, boy, did they. The first sergeant I pissed off was a ticket to the frontline. And I stayed there, beating the odds, taking bullets that should have killed me but just laid me up for a few weeks. You know, man, I’ve been shot twenty-seven times. That’s got to be some kind of record. They kept trying to send me home, but I’d refuse.” He waved a dismissive hand to clear the air. “Anyway, all that to say, I know about rage. Hell, most guys I served with knew about it. They’d get me all riled up and turn me loose.”
He snapped his fingers, and the view in the bubble started up again.
Finn watched as they moved into a small village, about five or six huts made of grass and wood, not much to talk about. The village seemed empty, but the soldiers at Rolf’s side didn't ease up. Keeping low, they spread out, rifles ready.
The tinny voice of one of the soldiers filtered out of the bubble. “Sarge, I don't think they’re—”
The tiny bubble lit up with gunfire from the huts. Soldiers scattered, letting loose with their rifles. Finn watched as Rolf gunned the enemy down, killing one and moving to the next. Finn heard Rolf’s heavy breathing climbing in tempo as the rage took hold. Rolf emptied his gun and, instead of reloading, he grabbed the hot barrel and held it like a club, smoke coming from his hands where the hot metal burned his flesh. Rolf charged a hut while the occupant fired round after round at him, yet he kept going and kicked the door in. The wood exploded inward, splitting down the middle, ripped from the hinges. The shooter at the window swung the tip of his smoking gun at Rolf. He never had a chance to pull the trigger. Rolf growled and used his makeshift club to bash the man’s skull.
Finn saw himself in the savage actions. He watched as Rolf found two more targets and beat them to death. Bursting out of the last hut, Rolf howl
ed like an animal, hands and arms covered in blood. He searched for another target, but the village was quiet.
“Where are your men?” Finn asked in a soft whisper.
The pain in Rolf’s eyes told the answer.
In the bubble, Rolf found the first of his fallen men, burned to a crisp; far worse than should have been possible in the time Rolf went from hut to hut. There was another, burned like the first, mere ash in human form. He discovered more, and his roars of anguish echoed through the jungle.
“This is it, man,” Rolf said low. “The moment it all changed.”
Laughter emerged from the bubble. Soldier Rolf turned and saw a man in the middle of the ruined village amid the dead, his hand raised, a bubble the size of a basketball floating above his palm. The man said something, but Finn didn't understand the language. Rolf roared and charged. The man threw the bubble and it burst into a white and orange ball of fire, filling the air with smoky tendrils.
The flames engulfed Rolf, yet he kept charging, the magical heat not touching him in his berserker state. He burst through the flames, swinging his rifle club high, and bashed the wizard’s face over and over. The memory faded as Rolf howled. The bubble went hazy gray, the smell of jungle and blood fading with the image, then dissolving.
Rolf sucked his teeth, then finished off the seltzer water in two long gulps. “That was the first time I ever saw magic, man. It broke something loose in my head, you know? Once I came down from my rage, I stumbled to base. They kept me in the hospital for a month, figuring I’d gone buggy. The report said my men were ambushed and killed in a firefight. I never mentioned the wizard.”
He took a deep breath and waggled his fingers, refilling his seltzer water with a quick spell.
“I get how that would have been hard,” Finn said. “I take it they sent you home after that?”
Rolf glanced at him with a smile on his face. “No. I’d be dead if they had sent me home. No, man, what I showed you was just the beginning.” He took a deep breath and leaned back, folding his arms over his chest. “During that month in the hospital, I wasn't just moping around. I had a mission. That thing that broke loose? It was my peabrain waking up. I sensed the magic inside me, and I knew I could make it come out. I worked in secret in that hospital bed, honing the craft through sheer willpower.”
Finn's eyes widened. “That’s astonishing. Most people need at least a basic lesson in manipulation to manifest even the smallest spell. You just willed it?”
“Oh, yeah, man.” Rolf smiled, gloating, then his face fell. “I also failed to learn the most important lesson. I failed to understand the rage tucked that power away, out of reach when you need it most. Like in that fight you just had on the street—yeah, man, I saw you guys—a simple spell could have dealt with the second merc, but you had to rely on your friends. Nothing wrong with relying on friends, but it shouldn't put you and them in danger, you know? That lesson was the hardest.”
“What happened?” Finn was sure this story didn't have a happy ending.
“I began using my magic to fight the enemy. What do you know, I’m a wizard, Harry!” He barked a laugh.
Finn furrowed his brow. “Harry?”
Rolf looked taken aback. “Harry Potter, man? You’re no fun. Anyway, the magic was just the edge I needed to keep my men safe, and I could get spells off without any of them seeing a thing. I didn't fall into the rage for months. But all good things come to an end.”
He sobered before continuing. “Eventually we got into a fight where I was flanked. Had to go hand-to-hand with these two guys because I had gotten too cocky. The rage took me fast. While deep in the bloodlust, I caught sight of an armored transport rolling up, but my men didn't notice. I tried to send off a spell to take out the transport, but my magic failed, man. The rage kept my powers out of reach. I watched more of my men die, only this time, it was because I didn't understand my limitations.”
Finn nodded. He was all too aware of a berserker’s constraints. “As a child, I was taught to never rely on magic in battle. Berserkers and spell-slingers are like oil and water.”
Rolf smiled a cheeky smile. “Yeah, that’s what I figured out. Thing is, I was wrong.”
“The fuck is that?” someone yelled close to the bathrooms. Finn looked around.
A patron had run into Mila coming out of the women’s room with Penny sitting on her shoulder. The man who had shouted had backed away at the sight of the little dragon, who put on her most innocent face.
“Don’t worry.” Mila held up her hands in a calming motion. “She’s a draco volans lizard. Exotic, but nothing to be worried about.”
The guy cleared his throat, his face turning red. “Sorry, it was a little shocking.” He leaned in and smiled. “What’s her name?”
“Penny.” Mila glanced at the dragon. “Say hello, Penny.”
Penny gave the guy a wave and a toothy grin.
The guy flinched and waved back.
Mila laughed and headed toward the bar.
Finn turned to introduce Rolf to her, but the old man was nowhere to be seen.
“Where did he go?” Finn asked, moving the stool to the side and checking the floor as if the man could have been hiding behind it. Even his glass was gone.
“What guy?” Mila asked, climbing onto her stool.
“The old guy.”
Mila raised an eyebrow. Penny mimicked the expression from her shoulder. “Uh, what old guy? The only old guy I see is you, big guy.” She socked him in the shoulder.
Finn frowned. He could still smell the faint hot steel of Rolf’s magic; that, and the strong scent of weed.
Chapter Six
“Hey, Danny.” Finn raised a finger to get the bartender’s attention.
Danny lowered his paperback, nodded, and put the book on the back shelf after dogearing his page. Grabbing another rocks glass, he filled it with a double shot of Finn's preferred whiskey.
“’Ere ya go, Finnegan.” He noticed the first glass of whiskey was still half full and set the second glass beside it. “Double fistin’, eh? Atta boy.” He dropped a conspiratorial wink.
“Thanks, Danny. You ever seen the old-timer I was just talking to?”
Danny’s eyebrow crept up his forehead. “Whatcha on aboot now? Yer de only gob at de bar these last ten minutes.”
Finn frowned, then held his glass up in a toast. “Never mind. Thanks, Danny.”
Danny nodded and turned to Mila and Penny. “Need a refresh, Mila?”
Mila glanced at Penny, who shook her head. “Nope, all good. Thanks.”
Danny glanced from Mila to Penny and back before smiling and walking away. Finn heard him mutter under his breath as he flipped a bar rag onto his shoulder. “Dat fookin lizard. I donna get hipsters.” He grabbed his paperback and settled against the counter.
Mila shoulder-bumped Finn. “You okay?”
He watched Penny climb into her bowl of nuts before shoving a handful in her mouth. “Just had a weird talk with some random guy.” He smiled. “How are you doing? Are your headaches gone?”
She squinted an eye and shrugged. “I still get them, but they’re better than that first couple of days. It feels like when you have a hard workout, and it takes a few days before your muscles are back to normal. The pain is less, but it’s still there every once in a while. If I have any magic in me, it’s hiding well. Danica has taken me through a few exercises to check for magical abilities, but I think I might be a dud.” She tapped the side of her skull. “Just a normal boring human up here.”
Finn forced a smile. “You know that’s not true. All Peabrains can use magic.”
“Yeah, but Danica said because we all have the ability, it doesn't mean we all can awaken.” She slapped him on the back. “Sorry, Finn. Looks like you’re stuck with a non-magical.”
Finn puffed air out of his nose in a silent laugh. “You are a lot of things, Dr. Winters, but normal is not one of them. Speaking of, are you still able to communicate with insects? You know,
like a normal human?”
She snorted before taking a sip of her G&T. “Okay, maybe not normal, but you, Danica, and Penny all confirmed that’s not magic. We don't know what it is, but you can't detect any magic when I do it, so…”
“True.” He tipped his beer back and took a swig. “But you can still do it?”
“Yeah. I made a deal with a spider today. She wanted to stay in my room for the winter. I told her okay, but she’d have to do her hunting on the balcony because pickings are slim in our place. She said that was fine and would be out as soon as the thaw came.”
Finn cocked his head. “Isn’t that advanced compared to what you can get out of them? I thought you said communication was one-way, you telling them what to do and gesturing to communicate.”
“I guess it is more robust than normal. Now that I think about it, it was more of a conversation than I’m used to, but it made sense.” She raised a questioning eyebrow. “What do you think it means?”
Finn considered. “Well, if talking to insects is a natural ability, it would make sense that if the circlet did some irreparable damage to your magic center and magic was interfering with that ability…” He left the rest unsaid and shrugged.
“Shir chi chi, shee,” Penny added, having followed the conversation. Her arms were draped over the lip of the bowl as she laid on her back, her tail flicking back and forth.
“I mean, I guess so.” Finn conceded her point.
Mila frowned as she looked from Penny to Finn. “You guess so what? What did she say?”
Finn opened his mouth, then closed it. He glanced at Penny, and she shrugged. “You didn't understand her?”
Mila snorted. “How would I have understood her? I don't speak draconic, remember? I mean, I get a few things, but that was too much.”
“But you understood her earlier.”
Mila's brows rose. “I did? That’s news to me.”
“When we first got here…” He held up a hand and shook his head. “Never mind. She said maybe it’s the opposite, and the trauma from the circlet may have woken you up a bit. And communicating with insects is magic. We just don't recognize it.”