by Eric Ugland
“Nah,” he said, turning and looking at me through tear-filled eyes, “he knew you’d be the one who needed hand holding after this. We talked about it. He told me to look after you. Make sure you didn’t do anything stupid. I said that wasn’t possible, so he told me to try and limit the stupid.”
“Sounds like Skeld.”
Ragnar nodded.
“Is there,” I started, “I mean, how do we, should we bury him?”
“Burn him. Bury him. It’s just meat now.”
Ragnar turned to look at the body once more. Then he pushed past me and left the hospital room.
I stood there for I’m not sure how long. I just stared at Skeld, and tried to come up with something I should be doing. Something to make me get off my ass and actually function in the world like I was expected to. But nothing made sense to me. I was filled with confusion and rage.
Nikolai and Bear arranged the burning of the body, and Lee took me up to my quarters through some of the lesser used stairways. According to Nikolai, it wouldn’t do for the people to see their leader somewhat catatonic over a single death when so many others had also perished in defense or support of the holding.
I went to sleep with my armor still on. My throwing axe was still on my belt. I’m not sure when it was I finally fell asleep, but fall asleep I did.
Chapter Thirty-Five
In what felt like a mere instant, I was standing on top of the mountain that rose directly above Coggeshall. Down below, I could see the walls lit up, and tiny figures walking their rounds as they stood watch.
“I want to extend my condolences,” Mister Paul said, stepping out of nothingness to stand next to me.
“Fuck your condolences,” I said.
“A response I should have expected.”
“Could you have done anything?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
“I need a little more than that.”
“And yet, there is no more I can give you.”
“Is there something I could have done?”
“Not that comes to mind.”
I didn’t look at him. I just watched the greens below.
“In part, I couldn’t. I had just expended nearly all my available power to bring you back from beyond. And though it is against the rules, I might have to slip up and warn you to not die any time soon. I may not be able to bring you back.”
“Then it’s because of you I can respawn?”
“Partially.”
“Who gets to respawn, then?”
“Champions.”
“Explain.”
“That is the explanation. Champions are allowed to respawn.”
“What are champions?”
“People like you.”
“Could Eona have made Skeld her champion?”
“Perhaps, though I believe she has one already.”
“Me?”
“No.”
“Can you only have one?”
“No. I only have one.”
“Me.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re tapped, power-wise?”
“At the moment, yes.”
“Which is why you couldn’t save Skeld.”
“No. Well, partially. Power is half the deal. Maybe more like ten percent.”
I frowned at him.
“Right,” he said quickly, “division of blame is not important. The rules kept my godly hands bound more than the lack of power. Power meant I couldn’t do something even if I wanted.”
“You won’t break the rules?”
“You don’t want me to break the rules.”
“Why?”
“Well, that would be breaking the rules.”
“I don’t know that I like these rules.”
“There are very important reasons for these rules to exist, and should the time ever arise where you are given a glimpse behind the rulebook, I think you will be very glad they exist.”
“So if I just took a header off here right now, I’d be dead and gone?”
“No, but only because this is a dreamscape. Your corporeal form is still in your bed right now. So, you’d probably wake up, and then I’d have to wait for you to go back to sleep so we could continue this little chat.”
“Is this an important chat?”
“Aren’t all my chats of the highest importance?”
“I’m having my doubts of late.”
“You cannot let this one stumble affect you so entirely.”
“Stumble? Someone dying is a stumble?”
“Perhaps your head has been so far up your own ass that you haven’t noticed how many people are dying around you. Or maybe you have forgotten how many you have killed yourself. Everyday, people in this land die. It is a land of violence and savagery, and to think that you will be above it is foolish. And you are not a fool.”
“We both know that’s not true.”
“I admit, I thought you a fool at first. And many of your actions have continued to be foolish. And yet, you continue to astound and amaze. Not just me, but others as well.”
“I don’t want to hear this shit. I don’t want to be, I don’t know, cheered up by you.”
“And yet, here I am.”
“Go away.”
“No. For one thing, I come bearing gifts.”
“I don’t want your gifts.”
“They aren’t my gifts, asshole. They’re gifts from others.”
“I don’t care.”
“Show a little more gratitude.”
“Let me grieve.”
“Grieving is an activity for times of peace and solace, neither of which is now. As I continue to tell you, there are many figures at work. Many people here are moving against you, and for some reason you can’t seem to get it through your thick head that you need to be moving faster. Building faster. Getting Coggeshall into being as a real city. You seem to think there’s no time pressure on any of this, despite me and Eona telling you otherwise.”
“Do you listen to what Eona and I talk about?”
“On occasion…”
“You fucking eavesdrop on me?”
“You are my champion, Montana. If I just left you alone around other gods, I would be a bigger fool than you think you are.”
“You really piss me off sometimes.”
“I, too, am filled with self-loathing. It’s what makes us get along so well, don’t you think? Now, shall we have presents or would you prefer I blow sunshine up your ass? Given we’re in a dream, I can probably make a convincing go of it.”
He rolled his hand around, a bit like a magician, and suddenly there was a ball of brilliant light in it. He held it out to me with a smile.
“Shall you bend over?” he asked. “Or would you rather we move along with this?”
“I don’t need that in my ass.”
“Your loss,” Mister Paul said, and he tossed the bright ball over his shoulder.
I watched as it spiraled up into the sky and became a star. Or, you know, it just disappeared in the line of a star that already existed. Either way, neat trick.
“On to the gifts then, eh?” Mister Paul said.
“Sure,” I replied. I didn’t care what I got. There wasn’t anything he could offer that would improve my mood.
He passed over a rod. It was metal, about eighteen inches long, and it had a button on one end. It sort of looked like a really thin flashlight. I pushed the button, and the rod didn’t do anything. Then I let go, and the rod stayed there. In mid-air. Just, well, hanging there. Like it was stuck.
I grabbed the rod and pulled it. Hard. Nothing. So I got both hands on the rod, planted my feet, took a deep breath, and pulled. Everything I could put into it, I put into it. Muscles bulged, veins popped out, and nothing. The rod held.
“What the hell is this?” I asked.
“A stick.”
“A stick?”
“More to the point, THE stick.”
“It’s the sti
ck.”
“Aptly named, if I do say so myself,” Mister Paul said, himself. Almost calmly, he reached out and pushed the little button on the end, and The Stick dropped to the ground with a clang, bouncing on a rock. “It sticks.”
“Oh, yeah, I got it. Just, you know, I didn’t think it would have such a stupid name.”
“Stupid name? It’s brilliant.”
“I’m sure it will come in very useful.”
“You’d be surprised how The Stick could get you out of a sticky situ—“
“Stop,” I groaned.
“Puns are the highest art form.”
“More like the highest fart form.”
“Cretin.”
“Yeah, well, intelligence isn’t my strong suit.”
“This is about culture.”
“You just gave me something called The Stick, and you’re talking to me about culture?”
“I didn’t name it.”
“Can we move on?” I asked.
“Your wish is my command, you grace,” Mister Paul said with a low bow. “Only one additional present this time—“
“I’m losing my audience?”
“No, it’s more that you’re in between exciting moments. And I can’t just be dropping prezzies on you willy-nilly. That would make things too easy for you.”
“I could take a little easy.”
“This has been easy, Montana. You are playing this game on the setting with fluffy bunnies. There are other champions who are playing on hard mode, and they complain far less than you do.”
“He just died.”
“Death is a constant here. Get used to it.”
“You’re being a dick.”
“Because I have seen my champion go from being a last-minute quasi-joke to a legitimate contender to a man who refuses to use the tools given to him.”
“What do you mean?”
“The stone Eona gave you. How could you have been so foolish to have never used it inside the base?”
“I, uh, what?”
“Did she or did she not warn you there were corrupted within the walls?’
“I think she did.”
“She did. I was listening, remember? She’s a terrible flirt, by the way. Does that with everyone. But she gave you a stone to use to find the corrupted inside the base, and she told you that there were corrupted inside the base, and you let someone else handle the job for you!”
“I sense some anger here.”
“I’m glad you can sense it. I would hate to think I’m not laying it on thick enough for you to pick up. Knowing how far subtlety is from your strong suit.”
I looked over the edge. I really thought about just diving. Even if it would just wake me up, it might be worth it to get away from the annoyance that Mister Paul was becoming.
“You need to understand this world better, Montana,” Mister Paul said. “You need to use the gifts you get, and you need to continue to level. Don’t whine to me about people dying when you were not even smart enough to save some of your own. Build yourself, build your community. And do it quickly. The time for idle growth is almost over. The true battles are about to begin.”
“Battles for what?”
“Oh, if only I could tell you.”
‘You can.”
“You know I can’t.”
“The rules.”
“Yes.”
“Fucking rules.”
“Just as the rules prevent me from meddling in the game on a whim, so they prevent others, my champion. So yes, the rules may vex us. They may anger you and frustrate me, but there is a reason for them to be there, and I will never see them torn asunder on my account. Now, are you ready for your second gift?”
“Sure, whatever.”
He handed me a small bag. It felt like paper.Like a little brown paper bag. But there was something more to it.
“Is this The bag?” I asked.
“You bastard. But no.”
“What is it then?”
“Some kind soul thought that you, perhaps, might have a hankering for a little food from home, considering how much dried meat you’ve had to endure here. So, they so kindly procured this method of conveyance for you.”
“A bag.”
“Ah, but it’s what happens when you reach in the bag, isn’t it?”
I reached into the bag, and I felt something there. Something warm and a little slick.
Pulling it out, a beautiful fragrance came first. Cheese. Tomato sauce. Bread.
“Holy fuck,” I whispered, as I suddenly held a fresh square of Buddy’s pizza. Buddy’s Detroit-style pizza. With a thick, somewhat fried crust. Heavy on the cheese, sauce, crust, heavy on everything. It steamed in the night air, and I just stared at it. “Is it, I mean, how does it work?”
“Pizza? Yeast, flour—”
“I mean, can I just grab a slice whenever I want?”
“Pretty much. You’ll have to see where the limits are, I suppose. But it conveys a slice of pepperoni pizza from 17125 Conant Street.”
“Only pepperoni?”
“Only. It is harder to offer choices. If it’s just one thing, easier to get the pizza place to just continue putting the pizza in the bag.”
“Wait a minute, there’s some dude on the other end of this bag, on Earth, putting Pizza in it?”
“Not exactly, no. That’s just more a way of thinking about it.”
“How does it work?”
“Magic,” he said, and shot sparkling dust out of his fingers.
I bit into it, and it tasted as good as I remembered. Crunchy crust. Gooey cheese. A bite of home. It was really something special, and whoever had sent it had probably found one of the few things that could make me feel better about being in this world. This world of death.
“I do so love the stars here,” Mister Paul said. “Really something special.”
“You want a slice?” I asked through a full mouth, proffering the bag his way.
“You wouldn’t mind?” he asked, already reaching into the bag.
He withdrew his own slice, gave it a long sniff, and then took a large bite. A smile spread across his face as he chewed.
“So many people think great food is made by genius chefs out of the rarest ingredients,” Mister Paul said. “But the best food is that which makes you feel better. Or so I think.”
“Seems like a truth I could get behind,” I replied.
I took a big swig of Faygo Root beer, and if I closed my eyes, it was a lot like being back home. Sure, there wasn’t cigarette smoke around me, and I wasn’t dripping grease onto my paunch, and I wasn’t either drunk or hungover. But other than that, mostly like home. I passed the flask of root beer over to Mister Paul. He took it, and with a wave of his hand, caused a park-bench to appear out of the snow and rocks beneath us. He sat down, and I followed suit.
“Thank you,” he said. “This really completes the meal.”
I nodded, unable to talk because I was chewing.
We ate in silence for a moment. I reached into the bag and grabbed another square, and then offered the bag to my meal-mate.
Mister Paul hesitated a heartbeat, but he grabbed a second square for himself as well.
“There is danger coming,” he said. “I know I keep harping on that, but it’s really all I can say.”
“What am I supposed to do about it?” I asked.
“As I see, there are three bits of advice I might offer within the bounds of the rules. One, you do nothing. You just keep floundering around as you’ve been doing and hope you stumble into a way out. Or through. Two, you hunker down. You make this valley so defensible everyone will bypass you. Of course, that is, until you’re all that’s left, and then they’ll come for you with everything they’ve gained along the way. And you’ll only have what’s in this valley. Three, you become the baddest motherfucker on the planet, and you—“
“How do I even do that?”
“Training. Leveling. Getting skills and abilities. Finding new indi
cium to have burned onto yourself. Unlocking all that you can be.”
“That sounds like a load of crap. Like pedantic sunshine up my ass.”
“Those words don’t really go together in the way I think you want them to.”
“Okay, well—“
“You have a good country here. The Empire has weathered a lot of storms in the past, and has the foundation to continue that way. But others see that. There are only so many protections in place to keep a horror from the throne—“
“You think I should be Emperor?”
“Oh gods no. That would be a disaster. You can barely govern yourself. The Empire? I’d say you’d be like Nero, but I doubt you can fiddle. Perhaps you’d be more along the lines of Bomilcar.”
“Who?”
“Never you mind. Governance is not your strong suit, and you know it. This holding is clearly your limit. At least for now.”
“So what should I do then?”
“Find a way to determine who a good emperor might be, and then get that person elected to the throne.”
“Does it make that much of a difference?”
“Yes. Maybe. I don’t know. I can’t tell how much I can tell you, but I can tell you that there is a lot of power at stake. Several of your enemies are already getting their hands dirty, and that means you need to get into that game as well. Or not. Turtle up here. That might work out smashingly.”
“You don’t say that with much confidence.”
“Oh, am I foolishly forgetting to be subtle so you can miss all the important stuff?”
“I suppose you are, yes.”
“Good.”
He popped the last bite of pizza into his mouth, took a long pull from the flask, and then tossed it over to me.
“Thank you for the pizza. It was delicious,” he said. “And the company wasn’t bad either. Now, get your butt to work.”
He stepped through the fabric of reality, and disappeared. It took longer than it should have for me to realize that I wasn’t sleeping. Then I stared at the rock and snow below me, and I leaned forward, thinking about jumping. Thinking I might put Mister Paul’s claim about not having the juice to respawn me to the test.
“It’s true,” Mister Paul said. “I’d prefer if you didn’t test me.”
“So I’m not sleeping am I?” I asked, not bothering to look at him. I stared, instead at the ground, and I contemplated things.