by Drew Hayes
There was the sound of gulping as Gabrielle finished off her cup of water in a steady chug. She set the container down with a heavy thud. It was a performance meant to draw attention, and she succeeded. “If you don’t mind a suggestion, we should probably have those meetings in the mornings, as well.”
“In case Thistle learns more in his dreams?” Jolia asked.
“In case any of us learn something in the night. I, for example, had a very interesting evening. Not sure how trustworthy the information I got is, but I should definitely share it.” Gabrielle hesitated, as if unsure of whether or not the next words should be spoken. Her nerve soon asserted itself, as did her knowledge that, right now, every clue was vital. “When I killed someone yesterday, my axe seemed to... steal part of him, is the best way I can think to describe it. Then, last night, I was able to talk to him. I have no idea what that means, or if it was even the same raider I killed, but it felt worth sharing.”
She could feel the looks from the others burning into her. They were worried for her, scared of what she’d become, and, in one case, weighed down by the guilt of her condition. Every time some new development popped up, it was always the same. Gabrielle was ready to find answers half out of the desire to avoid future moments like these. The other half, however, was to put her own very real fears to bed. Their delay made sense, but she had to start seriously working toward answers about her condition.
“Definitely glad you told me that,” Jolia agreed. “We’ll table discussion of what you learned until this evening, though. You were going to spend the morning with Simone, anyway, getting a full analysis done on you, your axe, and the connection between you. This is one more thing to have her look into. Once we’ve got a better idea of how reliable the knowledge is, we can discuss it tonight.”
Further words had been ready to leave Gabrielle’s mouth, though she’d be damned if she could remember what they were as her jaw hung open. Just like that, so casually, Jolia had proposed solving the question that had been tunneling around in the back of Gabrielle’s mind since she changed. Was that even possible? The axe was a mystery, and they’d been bonded in a storm of wild magic—it was the sort of situation one expected only a specialized brilliance might be able to untangle. Simone could handle the undead aspect, she’d shown that much already, but the axe was another matter. Gabrielle had bought the names of artifact experts back in Camnarael, and Simone’s name wasn’t on there. Then again, that might very well be because no one knew Simone was still alive, or existed at all. The entire point of Notch was that it was hidden from the greater world; that probably extended to information brokers, as well.
“You really think she can?” Whatever words had been lost, these were the ones to take their place, a touch of hope and far more fear than she’d intended permeating Gabrielle’s words.
“Without question.” Jolia permitted no quiver or hesitation in her voice, and the reply was instantaneous. “In terms of raw talent, I’m a superior mage to Simone. But when it comes to study, research, thought, and creation, she’s on a whole other level. She built half her spell book on her own. If there’s anyone who can puzzle together what you are and how the magic works, it’s that woman.”
“Just the expert we needed, perhaps.” Thistle took his time with the next bite, properly chewing over both this knowledge and his eggs. “The more coincidences pile up, the more uncertain I become about what drove us here. There are things we benefit from, information we clearly needed that we have come into. Yet at the same time, we’re seeing surprise attacks and visible effort to curtail divine communication. It’s like we’re supposed to be here and not, all at the same time.”
The whole thing was equally strange to Timuscor. He did have one thought on the matter, an idea he nearly silenced until he remembered Jolia’s words. They knew so little that every piece mattered, even bits that could easily be wrong. “What if it’s both? Maybe we were supposed to be here, but then someone else decided to use those plans to their advantage?”
He’d been braced for polite nodding, followed by one of the smarter members of his party pointing out exactly why that couldn’t be the case. Instead, Timuscor was met by considered silence. Just when he was about to apologize for wasting everyone’s time, Eric let out a long breath and leaned forward.
“Shit. That might be it. We keep thinking of this as one connected plan, instead of two mashing against each other. Grumble points us toward Notch, knowing we have serious gaps in our understanding that need to be filled if we’re going to get stronger. Where can we get that knowledge and find people sympathetic to our situation? Here. And, added bonus, they’ve got enough magical expertise to give us some idea of what’s going on with Gabrielle. Makes sense. The problem is, it makes so much sense that another god might see the move coming. Instead of this being our chance to relax and learn, they’ve pinned us in and cut off communication between Thistle and Grumble. What comes next is anyone’s guess, but for right now, Timuscor’s theory is the best fit I’ve heard. Anyone else got something better?”
A round of collective head-shaking rippled through the room, Jolia and Brock included. For his part, Timuscor made a point of looking to his plate to hurriedly put away more eggs. Eyes on him in battle was one thing. He felt less comfortable about such attention without the cloud of combat to hide in. At his feet, Mr. Peppers nuzzled up to his side and Timuscor scratched the boar behind his ears, already feeling better.
“That’s something I’ll talk over with the others before tonight,” Jolia said. “For now, let’s focus on assignments. Gabrielle, you’re with Simone today; first priority for you is figuring out your condition. Timuscor and Thistle, you’re with Kieran to start. Grumph, you get the privilege of studying under the wisest mage in all of Notch—me. And Eric, good news for you, looks like you’ll be passing the morning with Brock.”
Eric looked up from his meal, poorly hiding the surprise on his face. “I’m sorry, Brock? I didn’t realize you were a rogue.”
“About as far from one as it’s possible to get,” Brock chuckled. “But you clearly know about sneaking, stabbing, and all that stuff. What you don’t know is how to be aware of your mana intake and output, when you use it, and how to use more or less as needed. While I can’t pick a lock for shit, you’ll be hard-pressed to find anyone who can match my level of physical and mana control.”
With a clang, Jolia set her empty mug down on the counter and slid off her stool. “That’s a lesson most of this lot will need to learn. Even you’ve got room to improve, Grumph. Finish up your breakfasts, drink some water, and take care of any bodily necessities. Once you leave here, we’re not stopping until after lunch. And although I said we don’t plan to teach you much, you should know that even the fraction we’re going to impart will take a lot out of you. I’d ask if any of you want to sit it out, but you’re adventurers. I already know you won’t make the smart choice.”
She wove her way across the room, then stopped before drawing near the door. “Truth be told, the willful idiocy is my favorite part of adventurers. It’s the thing I miss most. Now, hurry up. Daylight’s wasting, and every minute you spend on breakfast is time not being used for training. Just be sure to eat it all. You’re going to need the energy.”
Final piece said, Jolia exited the tavern seconds before everyone except Gabrielle began wolfing down their food at breakneck speed. Whether it was time management in action or pure excitement was hard to say. All that mattered was that the party saw a path toward getting stronger laid out before them. They all wanted to take that first step as soon as physically possible.
Even if Jolia’s warnings had made it clear that said first step was going to be one hell of a doozy.
24.
Borrowing the car was easy. Russell had proven himself responsible at virtually every turn in his mother’s eyes, especially when compared to the example set by Cheri, so he had more or less free rein over the vehicle when it wasn’t in use. Driving over, on the other hand,
turned out to be more difficult than Russell expected. It had been some time since he and Mitch had exchanged words. Spells, Swords, and Stealth was the only thing they ever had in common, and after the incident with Tim’s dice, the odds of any of them playing again had seemed pretty low. The group had drifted apart, which was such a blessing, Russell almost didn’t mind having his body eventually used as a puppet if that was the price for freedom.
Dealing with Mitch and his cronies was a slow death, like a frog being boiled in a pot of water. They started out civil, but kept pushing things bit by bit, until Russell had ended up running a game he barely wanted to play for a group of people he largely didn’t like. No wonder he’d picked a module with harsh rules for realism that he knew they’d initially ignore. It had all seemed so natural; of course, he was stuck playing with that group. Only, the truth was that he could have taken Tim and bailed at any time. Mitch had managed to make Russell forget that was a choice: he kept everyone around him constantly pinned in whatever role he wanted them in, just by being louder and pushier than anyone else.
Today, that would have to change. Mitch had something Russell wanted: confirmation at the minimum, perhaps even information that Russell’s party lacked. The minute he realized that, Mitch would sleaze into his usual role, demanding favors for the trade, perhaps even trying to weasel his way back into the game. Based on his review of the comic shop, the guy seemed to be in denial about whatever it was he’d experienced, so fear of magic probably wasn’t a card Russell could play. Truthfully, Russell didn’t really know what tactic he was going to use, and sitting in his car conspicuously wasn’t making the ideas flow faster. Turning around was technically still an option, albeit one he would never use. Now that there were real stakes involved, Russell had to do everything he could to learn what was going on. The others were taking risks by playing the actual module; the least Russell owed them was an awkward conversation if it meant learning something useful.
He was moving before he noticed, body acting while the brain hesitated. No new revelations struck him as he walked up the concrete path winding through the front yard, leading up to the front door of Mitch’s house. Both his parents would be gone—they worked most of the time, including weekends—so Russell didn’t need to worry about explaining himself. Now that he thought about it, Russell wasn’t even sure he’d ever met Mitch’s parents. Not a relevant realization at the moment, but it seemed his brain was pinging all over the place, except to the one subject Russell really wanted it to dwell on.
A quick ring of the doorbell, followed by the slow steps of someone who didn’t care if they made it before their caller departed. Almost a full minute later, the door opened to reveal Mitch, clad in jeans and a shirt that had clearly both been tossed on seconds prior, likely from the floor, hair still mussed from bed. The sleepy look in his eyes vanished as soon as Mitch recognized his guest, an unsavory expression of casual cruelty taking its place.
“The fuck do you want?”
“Good to see you, too, Mitch.”
“I didn’t say it was good to see shit.” Mitch’s expression darkened, his tired mind sluggishly cranking into gear. “I asked what the fuck you want, and why you’re here at the ass-crack of the day to bother me about it.”
Just to be sure, Russell double-checked his watch. “It’s past eleven. We’ve barely got any morning left.”
“Oh, I see, you came over to wake me up and then lecture me about my sleeping schedule. In light of that, let me ask, have you considered fucking off?” Mitch began to close the door, but, to his own surprise, Russell stepped forward, jamming his arm against it to stop the movement.
“Look, asshole, you want to be a dick about this, then that’s how we’ll do it.” The words were almost as shocking as his body’s movement. It felt like he was poorly trying to channel Cheri. Except, the door had stopped, and Mitch appeared to be listening, so maybe Russell was doing a better impression than he realized. “I’m here to talk about what happened the last time we all played Spells, Swords, and Stealth. The dice we saw glow and explode.”
There it was. A crack in the armor that was Mitch’s douchebag veneer. Fear, real and undeniable, darted through those sleepy, angry eyes at the mention of the dice. An instant later, it was gone, smothered under hurriedly manufactured anger, but Russell knew what he’d seen.
“Fine. We played, Tim had a batch of defective dice, one of them fell apart on the table, and the lighting made it look weird. Woo-fucking-hoo. What an event to come knocking on someone’s door about so early in the fucking day.” Mitch started to shove the door closed, making quick progress. Neither young man was especially muscular, but Mitch had more brute strength than Russell.
For a moment, Russell considered letting it end there. If Mitch was still in denial about the dissolving dice, then there was no way he could face whatever had happened to him in that comic book shop. But as Mitch strained, his shirt shifted, a sleeve sliding up to reveal the puckered red of a semi-recent scar. A slice, right across the arm. To anyone else in his group, it would have meant nothing, because they only knew what he’d told them. They hadn’t been the ones used by the module, nor had they gotten the strange flashes of scenes from within that very treasure room where their characters were fighting.
“I know that wound.”
The pushing stopped, and this time, there was nothing fleeting about the terror in Mitch’s face, nor was the anger on its heels in any way manufactured. “The fuck do you think you’re talking about? I was mowing the lawn and accidentally sent a rock flying. No big deal.”
“Bullshit,” Russell shot back, an unusual sensation flowing through him. Was this... confidence? It felt strange to have that without a GM screen in front of him, although he certainly wasn’t complaining. “First off, pick a better cover story; everyone knows you don’t do chores. Secondly, I know you’re lying.”
“Yeah, and how is that?” Mitch was puffing out his chest, mistakenly thinking this was heading for violence.
“Because I saw that attack land. A barbarian tried to rush some guy holding an artifact, and took a dagger from an armor-covered gnome for his trouble. Only, instead of taking it in stride, he screamed like they’d cut his throat and ran as fast as he could in the opposite direction. Dragged his asshole friends with him.”
With every word Russell spoke, Mitch seemed to grow slightly paler. By the end of his accusation, it was virtually impossible to recognize him as the domineering force who’d ruined countless tabletop games. Even still, he tried to thrash against the truth. “Glenn or Terry told you. They must have.”
“Oh yeah, after an experience like that, they were so eager to start chatting, they looked me up even though we never talked outside of games and spilled the whole thing. No, Mitch. No one told me. I know because I was there. Our dice started glowing, too, and those threads of energy bonded us to them. If we’d been dumb enough to attack, you might not be the only one with a mysterious scar.”
“Except you can’t have done that, because none of it was real. It was all just a trick some bitch shop owner played to fuck with us!” Though his voice had risen, Mitch didn’t seem angry anymore. He was closer to desperate, determined to believe that there was some—any—explanation for what they’d endured.
In that moment, seeing him fight so hard to deny the truth, Russell realized that whatever dynamic had existed between them before was dead. He and his new players had faced their experience honestly, had been able to move forward from it. Mitch couldn’t do that; he was too afraid of what it entailed. When faced with real adventure, and the danger that came with it, Mitch had elected to cower and throw ignorance over himself like a blanket. This was not someone who was going to gain dominance over Russell, or his game, ever again.
“Okay, Mitch, if that’s how you want it.” Russell pulled his arm away from the door, permitting it to be closed. Knowing now that he’d seen Mitch’s party reacting to their experience from within the game, Russell had a hunch they wouldn
’t have any more clues than he did. Those characters had run away as hard and as fast as they could, which meant their players probably followed suit. Russell was the one with the power right now, and he decided to use mercy instead of force. Not facing the truth was visibly haunting Mitch, probably would for the rest of his life. They’d never been friends, but they had played together. Not tearing away all shred of delusion was a simple act of kindness for someone he’d once adventured with.
Perhaps someday, Mitch would succeed in convincing himself it wasn’t real. Russell doubted it, but he wouldn’t be the one to take that possibility away, assuming he hadn’t already. “Maybe you’re right. There was weird lighting that first day, and bad dice get made. I can’t say what happened to you in the comic shop, but an elaborate setup does sound more likely than magic being real. Sorry to have bothered you.”
With that, Russell turned away and headed back toward his car. It hadn’t panned out the way he was hoping, yet the mere knowledge that he’d tried made the disappointment easier to bear. He would keep digging, and maybe the next wild thread he pulled on would actually unravel something.
“Hang on!” Mitch jogged up behind Russell, rushing to reach him before he left. Russell paused, allowing him to catch up.
“I’m not saying that what you think happened actually did—make sure you understand that,” Mitch said. “All I’m saying is that, if you had some weird shit happen, then maybe it’s related to what we endured. As in, organized by the same person. I don’t have much, but I can send you the information we had on Jamie, the woman who ran our game, and her shop. The store has been closed since that day. Her email might still work; I haven’t thought to try it.”
Yes, he had. That much was plain on his face. But Mitch had shied away for the same reason he’d flat-out denied the truth when Russell confronted him with it: getting more evidence would only make denial harder. That didn’t mean it couldn’t be useful to Russell, however.