Possible Hero

by Sean Heslin

  “So, Mr Rancha, where is it we are headed and how do I fit into your plans?” said Terand.

  Perci rumbled behind him. “Well, I'm the Chosen One…”

  “A Chosen One, “ Terand and Rancha chorused.

  “Quite. And you are going to help me fulfil my destiny, or so I’m told by a reliable source,” he said glaring at the humanoid urglon in front.

  “Yeah, that’s all very well,” said Terand, waving a hand, “But where exactly are we going and what do we do when we get there?”

  The company stopped, mainly because Rancha had suddenly halted in the middle of the road. “That is a thought,” he said slowly. “Where are we going? We never did find out did we?”

  “We were heading to Franchick, where my ancestor came from,” Perci spoke as if delivering an obvious and spiritual Truth.

  “Yes, but what were we going to do when we get there? Your father's note tell you anything else at all?”

  Perci scratched his head and shuffled through his memories. “Well, I guess we get there and see what there is to smite! Evil is always obvious to the righteous!”

  “Is he fer' real?” asked Terand.

  “You have no idea,” sighed Rancha. “Anything else you haven’t deigned to share?”

  Perci gave up thinking and shrugged. “Perhaps we’ll get told by another boon companion!”

  Rancha and Terand being seasoned adventurers both frowned deeply, but they too shrugged, and the march recommenced towards the slightly infamous Deserts Of Trallis near to which Franchick was located.

  They managed about three miles of painfully slow progress down the road before the next interruption took place in the form of an extremely disgruntled looking Yrinmet appearing with another slight 'poof' in front of them.

  “You utter bastards,” he kindly informed them despite evidence to the contrary.

  “You'll never get anywhere by swearing you know,” said Terand.

  “You are complete shnotdwars, the lot of you, do you know that?”

  “Now that’s no way to talk is it?” admonished Rancha.

  “You total and utter pieces of diseased pus excreted by a dead beetle!”

  “Now just a minute there!” griped Perci, turning a pleasant shade of beetroot.

  “Do you have any idea what the hell you have done to me? No? Well, I'll tell you. I am now bound,” he spat, “to follow you wherever you go, and aid you however I can, and this part really takes the biscuit, the piss and any other thing that can be taken, because you now bloody own me because you stupid buggers went and caught me and managed to turn me in and now because of some bloody curse of a bloody demon, and might I stress this, bloody years ago, I have no choice whatsoever in the matter, I'm not allowed to be more than a mile away from the one who caught me unless told otherwise and if I don’t follow the rules I'll be stripped of my powers and gleefully carried off to the demon realm by lots of tiny laughing imps! ARE YOU BLOODY HAPPY NOW?!?”

  The trio were taken aback. Indeed, they had taken quite a few steps back presenting a wall of discomfiture during the tirade and were now perturbed as to what the mad sorceror might do next.

  “You mean to say,” said Perci slowly “that you are our slave and have to do whatever we tell you?”

  “Will you hark at the man? No, even demons aren't that cruel. I'm simply not allowed to use my powers for personal gain, and I have to assist you with whatever silly little quest you are on to whatever capacity is needed. I don't have to be a human footstool or anything like that, no matter how much you ask me, so please, have a modicum of respect and don't try it!”

  Perci looked disappointed. “You won't carry my pack then?”

  “No!” said Yrinmet. Then, his jaw straining, gritting his teeth he said: “I can do a Trick to make it lighter though...buggerdidIjustsaythat?”

  Perci grinned and indicated Yrinmet should do thusly. Nodding mournfully, Yrinmet made a few passes in Perci's general direction, and muttered some syllables that both Rancha and Terand thought were utter nonsense. Lo, the pack became lighter and Perci was a lot happier for the good fortune.

  “Thanks,” he grinned. “Now, improve this armour.”

  “Piss off and just buy some more, you fat pillock.”

  Perci's face fell.

  “If we are quite done here,” interjected Terand before there was a scene, “I would quite like to get wherever we are going because my foot is killing me slowly. Yrinzametaphicalogispolymoboincat, I knocked you out once, I will do it again, understan' me?”

  “Whatever. Call me Yrinmet. Can we go now?”

  There was a chorus on the theme of “Yeah,” and the party resumed their marching with Yrinmet now despondently holding up the rear.

  They passed an interesting boulder shaped boulder.

  They went “Ooo,” when Perci pointed out a colourful bird.

  They saw a horse-shaped cloud.

  They saw a lot of dirt.

  They saw the ninth most vicious plant on the planet. Nobody noticed.

  They all tripped over the same tree root, left incautiously along the path.

  They all were bitten by some sort of buzzing insects except for Yrinmet, who had sensibly put his repellent on.

  Two of their number developed blisters. Neither found out till much later.

  They fended off a nasty attack by a ravenous cat-like creature that really should have known better.

  They crossed a trickle of a stream. Perci fell over and got mud in his eye. Rancha gave him a handkerchief.

  They stopped for a few moments while Terand put on a travelling shoe because the terrain was giving him gyp.

  They saw a duck-shaped cloud, although Yrinmet insisted it was a boat.

  Terand hacked to death a giant spider monster simply because it wanted to rend them limb from limb. Yrinmet threw a fireball at it and received threats of violence for singeing Perci's immaculately threaded eyebrows.

  There was a heated moment after Rancha turned into a giant snake to span a gorge, because the bridge had fallen and there was no other way across. He told Perci afterwards to take the damn spurs off his boots and throw them in the hole, because of the permanent scars he now possessed.

  The scrubland gradually became rougher and more desert-like and they stopped to buy sunblock from a handy pushcart vendor. Yrinmet created a small cloud to hover over the group and the others plotted his murder because they had just spent a fortune on the sunblock.

  They trudged over a few dunes in what the map assured them was the right direction.

  Yrinmet got a telling off for enchanting it to speak without being asked to.

  They wandered over the seemingly endless desert, dune after dune after dune.

  The sun felt hotter and hotter.

  Collective throats grew parched and scratchy.

  Finally, Perci collapsed at the top of a dune.

  “Too hot! Lunch break!”

  The others shrugged and also sat down. “Take off the armour, maybe?” said Rancha.

  “Nice place,” commented Terand offhandedly, examining the surroundings as the others rummaged for their spare water flasks and rations.

  “True,” agreed Yrinmet. “It's so peaceful and quiet.”

  “Shh! Shh! People trying to eat!” said Perci still rummaging in his pack. His hand closed on something squishy. Puzzled he pulled it out and gazed at a yellow ball with a fabric trim. He rotated it to examine the other side. To his increasing horror, it uncurled and opened its eyes.

  “Hi!” it said brightly “Are we nearly there yet?”

  “Pib!” Rancha, Perci and Terand all exclaimed simultaneously then looked rather sheepish for having done so.

  “Glad to see I have a fan club,” she said with a big grin and very deliberately winked at Yrinmet. “So, guys what fun and exciting things are we doing today?”

  “I've been carrying you all this time?” said Perci in disbelief. “No wonder the damn pack was so heavy.”

  “Now, now, nev
er tell a girl she's overweight,” said Pib with a shake of a tiny finger.

  “Er, Pib,” said Rancha “Please don't take this the wrong way, but didn’t you say you could never leave Harweld because of that contract?”

  Pib grinned even wider if that was possible. “He sacked me,” she announced proudly. “I made a pass at Iang the jewel guy, who reported me and I got sacked for inappropriate sexual conduct in the workplace.” Pib was the very epitome of happiness. Good feeling practically radiated off her. “I can't think why I never thought of it before. Worked perfectly. So, you never answered my question. Where are we and are we nearly at where we are going?”

  Perci's eyes were glazed as he looked at her. “We are in the middle of the Desert Of Trallis and the map says we are about five miles from Franchick.”

  Yrinmet motioned at Terand and the two stepped away and to discuss something in a quiet huddle.

  “Pib, why did you choose us to stow away with? Also how? You don’t even know us.” Rancha squinted at her in suspicion.

  Pib shrugged - a difficult manoeuvre with no neck. “Dunno,” she said cheerily “I just wanted to get quite far away and you seemed like you were going that far. The how part was easy. I needed to catch up on my sleep. What can I say? By the way, why do you have a shoehorn in there?” While speaking, her gaze wandered over to Yrinmet again, just as he and Terand abruptly returned from their discussion.

  “How about telling us how much this job is paying you, you little spy!” demanded Yrinmet.

  “Yeah, Harweld didn't sack you did he? He just sent ye to get his money and the wizard back,” said Terand, indicating Yrinmet with a jerk of his head.

  “It's true isn't it?” yelled Yrinmet.

  “Admit it!” bellowed Terand.

  “No!” quavered a shaking Pib. “It isn't true! I was sacked! Honestly!”

  “Oh, fair enough then,” said a calmer Yrinmet.

  “Sounds good to me,” said a mellow Terand.

  “Huh?” said the other two, highly confused.

  Perci was first to shake himself of the general bafflement. “Are you quite done haranguing our new companion? Come, compatriot! Join us in a hearty meal!”

  “I'm a compatriot? Gosh!” Pib smiled shyly at this.

  Rancha went deadpan. “Come on you lot. Finish your lunch and we can get a move on. We can reach Franchick in an hour or so if there are no other interesting surprises. And frankly, I think there have been far too many convenient additions recently as it is, but who am I to talk? Companions out the wazoo. Hurrah. Hurray. Etcetera.”

  The others grumbled at the downer that was Rancha, but did as they were bidden. Pib stole some of Perci’s sausage roll. Shortly, they resumed their sullen marching with an air of vague disgruntlement, but that was only to be expected. There was some brief action when Perci fell down a dune half an hour later, but nobody was injured so it was hardly worth noting.

  ---

  An hour and thirty-seven minutes later, because they had stopped for another water break, they reached the outskirts of Franchick, which had comparatively recently gained legendary status. When the inhabitants had been first told of that accolade, many had tried to say it three times quickly, after having partook heavily of the also legendary cider and other apple derivatives the town had once produced. Sadly, no such derivative luck for Rancha and company, as the orchard had long been gone, and the distillery was just a looming broken-down hulk on the edge of town; a poignant reminder to all, that once, this place had been great.

  They moped through sandy streets, looking at the wildly assorted range of architecture from far-flung inspirations, most having been built back in the day when people were attracted from all around the world to trade in certain sweet green, yellow and red spherical objects. It was obvious that this once had been a proud hub of commerce, but now it was just yet another decrepit and practically deserted desert town.

  Dusty people glanced in their general direction as they passed, a few looked vaguely hopeful - all the town really had left was the remains of its tourist industry and a vague nod to the status as a gateway to the Trallis desert next door. Travellers and their money were always welcome.

  Rancha paired Perci and Terand and sent them to find somewhere to stay for the night.

  “Why must I go?” whined Perci. “Surely as a collective we can achieve this! I can supervise.”

  “Supervise Terand then. Treat it like part of the quest. Without proper rest, our noble adventurers cannot continue. Or something.” Rancha attempted to smile winningly.

  Terand mercifully took his cue. “C'mon Mr Knight, let's find a bed. Do you do wenches, or are you more of a satin sheets guy?”

  “I can't have both?”

  The conversation continued off into town as the others sat on the rim of a windblown, dried-up fountain and idly engaged in chit-chat about the weather (sunny), the town (sandy) and the buildings (seasonal).

  “So, Yrinmet, hi.” Rancha tried to keep his smile going.

  “Oh, more small talk. If we must.”

  “Tell me about yourself. Terand says you are very dangerous?”

  “Everyone says I am dangerous. They aren't wrong,” said Yrinmet, unsmiling.

  “Really?” Pib was intrigued. “How dangerous? Dangerous men are the most interesting.”

  “I once hypnotised a dragon into believing he was a swampchuck. He couldn't work out what its tail was for and ate it.” Yrinmet was lost in reminiscence for a second. “Good times. But I am more interested in you, Pib. I don't see many iccles doing your line of work. At least the work you used to do. You seem delicate.”

  Pib completely bypassed the snark in the last statement and exuded joy. “Thank you Yrinny. Can I call you Yrinny? Well, I did used to be a riveter, but there wasn't much call for it, so then I was a shelf stacker, I mean, I stacked shelves on top of shelves, but that got a bit dull, so then I was an office mover, then I found out that office people do the most sitting around of anyone, so I did that but then I signed the wrong contact and got stuck.” She blushed. “It was a bit of a downward spiral, but now I'm doing great!”

  “But, yes, Yrinmet,” said Rancha. “How do you feel about the questing life?”

  “It's not the worst. Pib seems keen on it don't you Pib?”

  “Oh yes!” she enthused. “I read a lot of those trashy romances and things and I really love the life that adventurers get, always whisking away places and whisking people off their feet and then cake.”

  “Cake?”

  “Wedding cake.”

  “So, Yrinmet...” began Rancha.

  “Ugh. Yes?”

  “...never mind.”

  Rancha tried to glean more information about Yrinmet and his past, but every question was cunningly evaded and redirected towards Pib, who was more than happy to blushingly talk about herself in the most glowing terms she could muster. She had perched herself on the head of the statue at the centre of the dry fountain and appeared to be sunbathing, removing her skirt to show off what iccles probably classed as shapely calves. Indeed, the healthy jaunt through the dunes had brought a little colour to all their cheeks, apart from Perci, who of course had earlier managed to sunburn his shoulders through his armour. Nobody could figure out how and honestly did not care very much.

  Pib had started to turn a shade of orangey-blue by the time Perci and Terand returned. They were arguing heatedly about which side of trees moss grew on. After staring for a moment, Rancha decided he didn’t want to ask, and prodded them into telling them about the accommodation.

  “Well,” Terand started. “Most of the hostels, hotels and guesthouses have gone out o' business, due t' lack of anyone wanting to visit this pointless place, as have the camping grounds, shack merchants and mobile home sellers.”

  “So we're in a B and B on the far side of town,” finished Perci, looking smug.

  “Could have opened with that. Let's get going,” said Rancha. He started to walk, then stopped when he noticed Perci's
smugness turn into a puzzled interest directed at the fountain.

  Pib, sat up atop the statues head, shifted nervously at the sudden interest in her choice of perch. Perci strode over to the fountain amidst various grunts of “What?” and squinted at the weatherworn surface of the statue.

  “Hmm,” he uttered.

  “Yes?” enquired Rancha.

  “This statue…”

  “What about it?” asked Terand.

  “It seems very…”

  “Very what?” said Yrinmet, eyebrow arched.

  “Like me.”

  Pib wriggled around and hanging on by her feet lowered herself into a position where she could see both Perci's face and that of the statue.

  “I think he's right you know,” she said. “There does seem to be a bit of a resemblance, even though he's all worn out. Must have been up for decades though. Look, this ear's crumbling at the edges!” She demonstrated by removing a lobe and flicking it away. Perci gasped at this sacrilege and clutched at his ears as if to reassure himself that they were there. Then he spotted something and quickly got down on his knees to poke at the base of the fountain.

  “Ah! A gleam of treasure!” he exclaimed triumphantly. “Anybody got a tin of polish? And a cloth? And some garden sequiturs too.”

  These items were duly rooted for, produced, and handed to Perci with an air of mystification.

  Terand leaned across to Yrinmet. “Bet you ten Stands it’s a memorial to his ancestor.”

  Yrinmet grunted acknowledgement and continued to watch Perci busy himself with manual labour at the fountain base. “I'm not helping unless he asks directly, curse or no curse.”

  Finally, after a few minutes more of sunbathing and effort, Perci sat back and let them admire his handiwork with a sigh of something that nearly reached contentment. The weeds had been cleared and now a polished plaque was visible bearing the inscription. It was written in Olde. “To thee Great Seler Of thee Apaples, Gregor Yamsuel. Mae hime ande His Friut be spreade foreveremore. (Builte bie the Commissione to Re-elect Governor Morrick)”

  Perci stood proudly and saluted the statue with a tear in his eye. “Bless you, Grandpa Gregor. The world shall never see your like again.”