The Wizard of Quintz: A coming of age LitRPG

by Ember Lane

  “The quarry,” Billy said, shoveling a handful of pork in his mouth.

  “After that.” Merl rolled his eyes, knowing Billy was just being daft.

  “What about the market? Down the river to Three Valley’s Market. See if we can rustle some folks up to come and clear all the guts away.”

  “There’ll be nothing left. I told you that,” Frank said. “The disease came from somewhere, and I’ll bet it was there. When’s market day?”

  Both Merl and Billy looked at Frank like he’d cracked out a stinker. “Every day,” they crowed.

  “And did anyone return from there yesterday?”

  “Jus’ Old Man Viggers. He’s the only one with a head fer numbers, so everyone sends him,” Billy told Frank. “Mind, I never saw him come back. May be one of them snuck in his cart.”

  “Or followed him. Or maybe he changed once he was back. Not sure how long the sickness takes to grab hold of you,” Frank mused.

  “More than like, he got bitten on the cart and the nag turned around and took him back. Horses aren’t stupid, not like dune dogs.” Merl said and thought that much more likely. His dad hadn’t taken any time at all to turn into one of those things, so why should Old Man Viggers have been any different?

  “Don’t really matter if they’re all dead, do it?” Billy pointed out. “If they are, we’ll just mosey on and go to the next place, if there is one. Never been farther than Three Valley, meself.”

  “What if everyone’s dead? People go in and out of Three Valleys all the time. Likely as not, the whole world is zombified.” A shiver ran down Merl’s spine.

  “We could get a cart and head to Quintz,” Frank suggested.

  “Will we fit inside?” Merl didn’t think they would. “Only, if it’s as tiny as an ant’s toe, there ain’t no way that Billy’s gonna fit in. He’s as wide as a house.”

  “You’ll fit in. Quintz is under a spell.”

  “A spell?” Merl liked spells. Spells were great. There was once a wizlet who had visited Morgan Mount, and who could send fire up into the sky and paint it different colors, then make it explode.

  “We’re not quite sure how it works, but we call it tinyfication,” Frank replied.

  “You just walk up to it…” Nope, Merl thought. I can’t get my head around it.

  “Well, if the world has gone down the craphole, I’m okay with Quintz. They’re bound to need a muckspreader. Ain’t many of us around. ‘Specially now,” Billy said. “Who knows, maybe the quarry is free of the horrors, and we could live there.”

  “Bit dusty living in a quarry.” Merl didn’t fancy that at all. Not with all the rumors of monsters and goblins.

  “Quintz it is,” Billy said. “If that’s what takes everyone’s fancy.”

  Fred’s quarry was halfway up the lower western slope of No Face Mountain. A dusty gray road led to it, zigzagging up like a badly tossed rope. It cut through a conifer forest that had somehow survived the previous day’s burning. Merl could still smell the taint of singed mud and pine needles, but it was better than the stench of zombay flesh that had filled his nostrils the night before.

  “Wonder how my fire stopped. Wasn’t like it rained last night. Reckon it ran out of puff, Billy?” Merl preferred a bit of conversation. The others seemed quite happy with silence, but the quiet always made Merl itch and fidget.

  “Fires do that,” Billy answered. “They just give up for no reason. I s’pose they have to, a bit like when a cloud runs out of rain, like.”

  “I think it’s actually because they run out of combustible material,” Frank informed them.

  Merl shot Frank a fast glance. He was back to his wizarding ways where he pretended to be ‘telligent and know the answer to everything.

  “That’s bull, Frank, an’ you know it. Plenty more trees ‘round here they could have ate, so they didn’t run out of that. Reckon Billy’s right. Maybe it sleeps. Maybe that’s why sometimes fires spring up again.”

  Frank sighed, clearly defeated.

  “We need to grab some more weapons from Fred’s quarry.” Billy said, changing the subject. “We’re down to a scythe, ax, hand axe, and cleaver.”

  Merl realized he’d left his spade somewhere, probably the butcher’s. It had been a good spade, but he couldn’t very well fight his way across the world armed only with a spade and a cleaver. He needed a prodder to keep the zombay bastards at bay. “I could do with a rake or something. You think they’ll have a rake there?”

  “Doubt it,” Billy replied as they finally left the woods and approached the last turn before the quarry. “Why d’you want a rake anyhow? Smooth some mud over all the bodies once we’ve lopped their noggins off?”

  Billy was being daft, and Merl didn’t reply. Besides, one of the creatures was lumbering down the trail toward them. Big bastard too—looked like the zombay had once crushed rocks with his bare hands.

  “Guess we’ve got our answer,” Frank said. “Fred’s got infected too. Must have gone into town for a bite” He hopped into the back of the cart and retrieved his ax. “I’ll deal with it.”

  Frank jogged up to the zombay. Pulling back the ax, he chopped its head off without even breaking stride.

  “He ain’t no wizard,” Billy affirmed.

  “Na, he’s a ‘prentice wizard. He told us that, Billy.”

  “Why’s he need wizarding? He could be a grand warrior in any army.”

  The Kingdom didn’t have an army, on account that it had all been slaughtered long ago, and now it couldn’t have an army, on account that all its citizens were probably dead. Merl wondered if the kingdom was still occupied, or whether all the soldiers were dead now. Be a funny thing to be finally be rid of them all, only to find it didn’t matter.

  “We don’t even know where Frank comes from,” Merl pointed out as he ambled along.

  “Quintz, he said Quintz, Merl” Billy nodded furiously.

  “Na, he said he goes to wizarding school in Quintz. He never said he was born there.” Merl nodded at the wizard. Frank was walking ahead, swinging Billy’s ax, whistling, just like he was out for a morning stroll. “Man’s comfortable with Death,” Merl added.

  Billy shot him a sideways glance but didn’t say anything, because nothing needed saying. It was plain to see Frank was a killer, and if you was going to be around a killer, it was better that he was on your side. Merl and Billy ambled up the last of the hill and toward piles of rubble that had been pulled from the quarry. Another zombay staggered toward them.

  “Is that Fred?” Merl squinted as the sun bounced off white rocks that were littered everywhere like snow. “Looks like Fred.”

  “Bet you Frank one-swipes him.” Billy stopped and leaned forward on his scythe, staring at Frank and Fred as they closed on each other.

  “Ain’t much of a bet. Which way will Fred’s head go? Now that’s a bet. Down the slope or up?”

  Billy sniggered. “Down.”

  “I’ll take up.”

  Before Frank swung Billy’s ax, a line of zombays appeared behind Fred.

  “Big bastards,” Merl said, readying his hand ax and cleaver.

  “What’d you expect up here?” Billy spun his scythe around and drew it back.

  They both burst forward, screaming merry hell.

  Quarrymen zombays were far more intimidating than villager zombays. Merl’s courage nearly failed him as they loomed ever larger. Plus, they were higher up the slope, and that made them look bigger, which didn’t help. Frank was already battling away and surrounded when they caught up. Merl stuck his hand ax in the closest brute’s neck, then yanked him back and swung the cleaver around. It sliced straight through the zombay’s fleshy shoulders, neck, and both of his bracer straps. The quarryman’s pants fell down, and all his bits flopped out. No one wanted to see that. The headless corpse staggered about and quickly tripped over its own pants, then fell into a pile of rubble.

  Merl attacked his next target straight away. He swung his cleaver across the back of its k
nees as it tried to claw at Frank. The zombay immediately buckled and fell backward, so Merl brought his ax down on its exposed throat. Before he’d even ripped his ax out of the creature’s neck, his cleaver had hamstrung another. Merl couldn’t help but think he was a little bendier than he had been before the strange words had appeared in his head—stronger too. Hamstring, decapitate, hamstring, decapitate, Merl found his rhythm and he stuck to it. It was only when he swiped toward a pair of leather greaves that he realized he was about to attack Frank. Stopping in mid swing Merl twisted his head up.

  “Sorry, Frank. Bit carried away.” He retracted the cleaver.

  “Got the devil in you, there, Merl. The devil in you.” Frank swept his hand around.

  Merl straightened. Headless zombay bodies were strewn around him like petals on a duneberry flower. “I clobbered all of them?”

  “If clobbered means unhinge their legs and de-bonce them, then yes you did, Merl.” Billy had his mouth agape. “Like a fire sprite, you was. Hoppin’ around like a nutter. You’ve been watchin’ Frank too much, like.”

  “It’s since them words flashed up in me head. That’s what it is.” Merl stepped out of the blood bath and skittered away, wanting some distance between him and his handiwork.

  “The big block of words?” Frank enquired, scooting after him.

  “Nah, not that. That’s always been there. This was new—or I’ve never noticed it afore.”

  “What’s it says?” Billy asked.

  “I dunno. It says level, but then a muddle of stuff came after and lost me totally.”

  Frank grabbed a white rock and muttered, “Chalk, we can use that, Merl to find out what’s inside your head so we can understand.” He made it vanish like he had the butcher’s hooks, and then shrugged. “Let’s go check there’re no other zombays about, and then we can talk about it.”

  Fred’s quarry was comprised of a hut and a scattering of cottages around it.

  “Level one, one, and one,” Merl said, pointing to the cottages. “And level swan.”

  “Two,” Frank corrected. “Level two.”

  Merl repeated it as he kicked the hut’s door in. “No zombays in here, but there’s hammers an’ stuff.” He picked up a long-handled hammer. “Too heavy.” A selection of tall bars stood in the corner. Merl picked up one that was about four feet long. “Look like a lever,” he muttered.

  “For splitting rock,” Billy told him.

  Merl threw him one. Billy hefted it like an axe. “Reckon it’d be good fer splitting heads. Grab three. We can always toss ‘em.”

  A cray rang out from the quarry’s entrance. Billy bolted toward it.

  “That’s Frank hollerin’, that is.” Merl shouted. “Wonder what’s he found?”

  “Probably more zombays.”

  The mine entrance was just a large, rectangular, hole in a forty-foot-high cliff face. A small stream burbled out of it. The water was as milky as Merl’s dad’s eyes before they popped, and about as dribbley as his mouth.

  Frank appeared at the entrance before they got there. He had a big grin on his face. “Found our wagon,” he called.

  Merl skidded to a halt. Billy tried to but ended up going ass over elbow as he attempted to avoid the stream. Frank pointed to the tunnel. “Whatdya think?” A set of tracks led away like furrows you’d dig with a draw hoe, and they led to a huge wagon that had raised sides as tall as a man and took up all the tunnel barring a couple of inches all ‘round. “Let’s pull it out.”

  Merl looked at Billy, and Billy dusted himself off and rolled his eyes.

  “What?” Frank asked.

  “Tha’s the monster wagon. The monster wagon never sees the light of day,” Billy told him.

  “What’s a monster wagon?”

  Merl couldn’t believe how many holes Frank had in his brain box. Everyone knew what a monster wagon was. “It’s where you hide from monsters. Don’t you have monsters in Quintz?”

  “Couldn’t fit them in,” Billy scoffed.

  “Are there monsters in the quarry?” Frank asked.

  “There’s always monsters in quarries and mines, just like there are dragons in fire mountains and trolls under bridges.” Billy stood up tall like he knew what he was talking about.

  “Not under bridges, not nowadays,” Merl told them both. “Ain’t many trolls around anymore.”

  “Why can’t the truck see the light of day?”

  “Bad luck,” both Merl and Billy said knowingly.

  Outsiders knew nothing.

  “How much worse can our luck get? Your dad’s dead with his eyes popped out. Your town’s gone, everyone you knew all zombified and decapitated. Your life as you know it is over. I really can’t see how pulling a monster cart out into the sunlight can make things any unluckier,” Frank cried.

  Merl pursed his lips. “He’s got a point.”

  “Sure has,” Billy agreed. “Let’s pull the bugger out.”

  “There was a rope back in Fred’s hut. I’ll go fetch it.” Merl darted off and got the rope.

  After an hour’s worth of hefting and heaving, they finally had the cart out of its furrows and half free of the tight mine entrance.

  “Hang on, what’s that noise?”

  “Somethin’ behind,” Merl muttered. “Probably more of them zombays.”

  “Nah, that’s not zombays. Tha’s horses. Bet Fred hid his horses and donkeys from the dribblin’ bastards. He always did love ‘em. You two heave it out. I’ll keep them calm,” Billy said.

  Merl and Frank grabbed the rope and pulled until their arms nearly came out of their shoulders.

  “It’s okay. He tied them all up to the back,” Billy called out, and the wagon jerked forward as Billy gave it a mighty shove.

  Merl and Frank lunged to slow the wagon and had to push for dear life to stop it rolling down the slight slope. “Stop pushing it, Billy, you bloody hollow-head,” Merl screamed as his boots carved divots in the gravel. The cart ground to a halt. Frank chucked a rock under its iron-shod wheels to stop it rolling back.

  Merl took a few steps back and gave it a quick appraisal. “Now that’s a zombay-hunting wagon if I’ve ever seen one,” he said.

  The wagon was like a hut on wheels, except it had a flat roof where you could stack stuff up. It had a long window down each side with an iron-grilled shutter covering it, and a door at the back. The front had a bench for the driver with another long window behind so the driver could roll in and slam its shutter shut in case of emergency. Frank jumped up on the roof.

  “There’s a hatch up here too, so if we all get long scythes, we can decapitate them from the roof.”

  “We’ll be able to rob some on the way to Three Valleys’ market,” Billy said. “I like it, I like it a lot. Take two horses to pull it, I reckon.”

  Frank gave it a few thumps with his boot. “I reckon so to. You know how to tether two together? We could have two upfront pulling, and two behind resting. That’s way we won’t have to stop often.”

  “Fer a wizard, you have the odd good idea,” Merl told him. “But we best get a shifty on, we’re already most of the way through the day.”

  “Let’s load up. Where’s the sacks of meat?” Billy asked.

  “Frank’s got ‘em in his magic ring.” Merl pointed to it. “It’s got the butcher’s hooks in it too.”

  “How?” Billy asked, scratching his head like he was a dumb one.

  “It’s called a spatial ring.” Frank jumped down from the top of the wagon. “Buggered if I know how it works, but it does.”

  “Ain’t you supposed to know?” Merl asked.

  “Suppose, but I’m only a level-one wizard. My teacher told me to think of it like ten invisible shelves. I’ve stacked the meat on the third shelf down and hung the hooks on the bottom one.”

  “What else you got in there?” Billy asked, still scratching his head.

  “My staff, my cloak, a couple of dozen apples, and my sword.”

  “If you’ve got a sword, why
have you been using Billy’s ax?”

  Frank’s face clouded over, like Merl’s question had sucked his joy away. “That sword’s for chopping those who deserve it.”

  “And them zombays don’t?” Billy spat as he helped Frank bring around two horses and tether them to the wagon’s front.

  “Them zombays were your neighbors,” Frank reminded him.

  “Let’s not get all maudlin’,” Merl said. “Let’s get going. We could get to the Chivers’ farm before nightfall. At least then we’ll be out of Morgan Mount and away from and hordes of the bastards.”

  “Think we killed all o’ them,” Billy said.

  “Nevertheless…”

  “Yeah. Know what you mean.”

  “Should we have buried him?” Merl asked. “Do you think we should have buried my dad?”

  “That weren’t your dad, Merl.” Billy jumped on the wagon’s bench. “He said as much.”

  “Sure you don’t want me to drive?” Frank asked.

  “You don’t know the way.”

  “How many roads are there?”

  Billy grabbed the reins. “Just one, but it goes both ways and only one’s the right one. You sit in the wagon with Merl and teach him more letters.”

  “Can’t we sit up top?” Merl asked, looking in the wagon. “Bit gloomy in there, and we’ll be inside all night.”

  “Why not?” said Frank.

  They threw the lever irons in the back and hopped up on the roof. Billy coaxed the horses into a walk, and they started off down the track.

  “Why do I see all the letters and others don’t?”

  Frank looked away from Merl momentarily. The wizard composed, crossing his legs, and took a breath. “You must have the Power of Construction.”

  “Do what?” Merl scrunched his face up. “Is that a fancy way of saying I can build stuff?”

  Frank furrowed his brow. “It’s not that easy. Only people with the Power of Construction can see the words over the houses, shops, temples and other buildings. I can see them too—that’s why I sought out the wizards of Quintz. It was driving me crazy.”

  “But you was a warrior?” Merl was confused, confused like crazy. “How could you be a warrior and hang on all that time wondering what the words meant.”