The Monolith

by Stephen Roark

As I sank my axe into another one of the screeching, foul mouthed semi-rodents, and leapt back as it exploded into a torrent of red goop, I heard the satisfying sound of a level-up.

  Rand—Level 12

  Vitality: 20 HP = 504

  Toughness: 18

  Strength: 27

  Skill: 5

  Viletaint: 17

  Intellect: 5

  The eerie orange glow hung higher in the sky and as I raised my attributes, I tried to focus on what I had to do.

  The Fortune Teller was first priority, and there was a splinter of anxiety in the back of my mind, digging away at my confidence, and I knew if I even tried to scratch it things would start to turn bad very quickly. So, I ignored it, and kept my mind focused on the swing of my axe and the shot of my gun.

  I’ll have to go see Mom soon too, I thought as Fujiko and Altarus started in on another Corpse Crow. They’d both hit level 10 and picked up new skills; Altarus had chosen Counter Shot, which was a guaranteed interruption against any spell cast (as he was worried that the Fortune Teller might be a caster enemy despite what I’d told him about Rathborne’s warning) and Fujiko had learned Quickening, which granted a 50% increase to her speed for 5 seconds. Her hammer was slower than my axe, as it was longer and heavier and reminded me of those carnival hammers you used on those stupid games where you’d bash a mat and try to get the thing to ding the bell at the top, so the extra speed had her face plastered with a permanent grin as we bashed our way through the ruins.

  I’d expected a decaying castle, bent and broken and on the verge of collapse, like Rathborne’s house, but I guess something like that would have been too typical for Mizaguchi, so he’d given us this—a graveyard of a once great castle, fortress or city, with only the blueprint-like lines of stone cut into the ground, leaving our imaginations to fill in the rest.

  We were deep in the bowels of the ancient fortress, but the ground ahead of us was sloping up at a steep enough angle that I could see we were rapidly approaching the mountain. A nameless mountain, or perhaps Rathborne had simply forgotten to tell me its name. Either way, it didn’t need one, it was intimidating enough as it was. I heard the sound of more Corpse Crows as the cramped corridor we were walking through opened into the guts of what must have once been a grand hall, but what I saw was not what I had expected.

  A man, lanky and spider-like, clad in dark grey rags and a pointed grey hat that had once aimed at the sky but was now bent over like a dying plant, was hacking away at one of the rat-birds with a short curved sickle. The strange man’s face was hidden behind layers of wrapped cloth, with only small slits cut out for his eyes, but I could see he found enjoyment in his task. He even cried out happily as the crow let out its final breath and died. He was clearly an experienced hunter of the hideous fowl, as he sprang back with unexpected speed as the bird burst into a fountain of guts, then leapt back quickly to loot the thing.

  “Ah ya bastard!” he grumbled, slapping a thin fist against a slab of fallen rock. “How many more’s it gonna take?!” He wasn’t a Seeker, that much was sure. I inspected him.

  Gerrard the Cutpurse—Level 32

  Fujiko sighed behind me, softly, so softly I almost didn’t hear it, but Gerrard’s head snapped up with such speed I almost couldn’t believe it, the dark slits in his face wrappings fixed on my group and me. My body tensed instantly, but as the cutpurse spoke, I knew we had nothing to fear.

  “Stinkin’ little creatures, ain’t they?” He spoke as though we’d been friends for years and no introduction was required. “Are they rats? Or are they birds? That’s the question I’ve been asking myself for ages now. You know what I’ve come up with for an answer?”

  I glanced at Altarus and Fujiko, then back to the cheerful little man. “Uhm, no?”

  “Who gives a fuck?!” Gerrard cackled with delight and trotted over to us, propelling himself half with his legs and half with his arms. Something about his movements reminded me of a crab. He reached me and quickly extended a hand. “Gerrard the Cutpurse,” he said with pride, as though his name carried with it some kind of weight.

  “Rand…the Seeker.” It only felt right to give myself a title too.

  “Pleased ta meetcha I’m sure.” Gerrard smiled, shaking my hand so hard my arm went up and down like one of those wooden planks that would drop across the road when a train was coming. “And who’re these fine folk?”

  “I am Altarus. And this is Fujiko.”

  “Fine, fine, fine.” He smiled, taking their hands in turn and giving them the same vigorous treatment he’d given me. He was a strange combination of threatening lethality and overwhelming hospitality. I felt like he was the kind of guy who might own an inn and cook and clean for those under his watch, but be perfectly willing (and able) to slit the throat of anyone that threatened any one of his guests.

  “What are you doing up here, Gerrard?” I asked. I realized it was the first time I’d seen an NPC interacting with the game world in a way a Seeker might. Rathborne, Wilhelm, Victoria—despite being real and feeling so, they weren’t out there doing things like Gerrard. They were waiting. The cutpurse seemed to be on a quest of his own.

  “Little huntin’ never hurt anybody, eh?” he asked with a laugh. “But if you think you’re going to edge in on my cut of the stones, you best turn your arses around and head back on down to Ebonmire!”

  “Stones?” Fujiko asked. “What are you talking about?”

  “Ah, so you don’t know then…” Gerrard brought a quizzical hand to his chin. If he had a beard, he’d be stroking it.

  “Know what?” I asked.

  “Nothing, nothing!” he replied, shaking his head quickly. “Tell you what—I’ll go on ahead and clear the way for you. How’s that sound?”

  Without waiting for a reply, Gerrard began to scamper off up the slope away from us.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa,” I called out, racing up beside him and taking hold of a bit of the ashen rags that covered his boney body. He reacted almost like a happy dog, snatching his body away from me but turning back like I’d just started a game with him.

  “Eh? What’s that, what’s that?” he tittered.

  “What stones?” I pressed him. “We haven’t seen any stones.”

  “Ain’t, eh? Well, I wouldn’t bother yourself with that then.”

  “What stones?!” Fujiko said irritably, stepping closer and dropping her hammer threateningly beside him.

  “Ya plannin’ on beatin’ some dough with that, missy?” Gerrard teased. “’Cause you be daft if ya think you’ll be hittin’ ol’ Gerrard with that slow thing!”

  I shouldn’t have laughed, but I did. I liked him. He had spunk, and I found myself wondering if he were a Seeker, what kind of person he’d be back in the real world. Strange thoughts to have about an AI

  “Gerrard, we’re not here to con you,” I told him. “We just want to know what we should be looking for, that’s all. Tell you what—we come upon one of these stones and we’ll come find you. How’s that sound?”

  Gerrard’s head cocked to the side, and I thought if I’d been able to see his eyes, there would have been a gleam in them.

  “Ehhhh…” he pondered, then nodded firmly. “I shouldn’t be trustin’ ya. But for some reason I do. It’s the damned thing’s Kidney Stones! Tell ya what—if you bring me one, or two, or three, or more, I’ll find ya a handsome reward!”

  Kidney Stones! A very dim gong of recognition sounded somewhere in the back of my mind, and I opened my inventory, which was still depressingly empty—and there it was, sitting right where I’d left it after Rey and I had gone back and killed “the bitch” Midwife.

  Kidney Stone—Appears useless, but somehow seems important. Maybe someone knows what to do with it? Oh, and it stinks to high Heaven!

  I selected it and it appeared in the palm of my hand, bringing with it the horrific stench of rotted corpses mixed with composting vegetables. Fujiko coughed and took a step back.

  “You mean one of thes
e?”

  Gerrard’s reaction was priceless, as he literally leapt into the air, vaulting off of all four of his springy limbs, again like a happy Labrador.

  “Ya got one! Ya got one! Shit Goddamn!” he cried out between jumps. “Hand ‘er over, sonny!”

  He reached out to snatch it, but I withdrew my hand. Why would he be so excited for something I looted from a low level enemy? Normally, quest items or things NPCs were interested in would be found in or around the areas where those NPCs were found. But the Kidney Stone had been in my inventory since the beginning, and finding Gerrard was interested in it now was strange.

  “What do you want with it?” I asked him. I realized it was a bit of a strange question, as this was most likely part of an unmarked quest I’d stumbled upon, but at the same time, these were real people, weren’t they? Maybe he just wanted it because he liked them?

  “D’ya want a handsome reward or don’t ya?” the Cutpurse replied, finally sitting with his four limbs on the ground. The stench of the Kidney Stone was growing unbearable, and as I could see no use for the thing on my own, I handed it over.

  “It better be handsome,” I told him as he snatched it gleefully from me and stuffed it away in his rags.

  “Like you, eh?” he teased. He leapt away from me with such speed I almost thought I’d been tricked and he was making a break for it. But he stopped a few feet away and began chipping away at the ground with his sickle.

  “Many strange things roam these ruins,” Altarus remarked as we moved closer. Gerrard’s blade struck something beneath the ground, and he slid all ten of his thin fingers deep into the earth and pulled. A chest was concealed there, and the lid lifted with the sound of metal tearing. I caught glimpses of things there: knives, potions, Mortal Chunks and Scourge Steel, but the lid snapped shut almost instantly as Gerrard fetched my handsome reward from the trunk.

  “Here you are then!” his voice boomed as he threw something in my direction. I caught it and found myself holding a tall stovepipe hat, not unlike the one Rathborne wore. A once-white sash wrapped twice around its circumference, and was stained with grime and blood that hinted at a rich history of violence.

  Stovepipe Hat of the Order of Londorin—Once the mark of a proud Seeker of the Order of Londorin, now nothing more than a relic of a time long gone. After the Crimson Banquet betrayal, and the death of all those loyal to Lady Sofia, these hats were no longer of any use.

  Armor Level: 78

  +7% Strength

  -17% to Cooldown Time

  Lady Sofia? The Blood Banquet? I thought back to my first arrival in this world. Hadn’t Horticus been talking about something like that?

  “How’s that for handsome?” Gerrard asked proudly. “Put ‘er on, boy. Put ‘er on!”

  I had to admit he was right. It was quite the gift and the stats couldn’t have been any more perfect for my build, which was definitely turning more and more into a Strength/Speed build. Almost 20% reduction on the cooldown of Shadowstep was what really excited me. I could just see myself through the eyes of the monsters; a deadly blur of charcoal wraith mist, disappearing and reappearing as I dealt out death with my Shovel Axe. Turning back to my friends, I slid the top hat onto my head.

  “Cunnin’,” Gerrard cackled. “Real cunnin’!”

  43

  A Cunnin’ New Hat

  “The old woman of the mountain was once quite fine, with long hair that fell like strands of silk across her delicate shoulders. But now, something has come over her—a force of evil, which has twisted her in ways I cannot explain and has caused her to do…things. My days of visits and admiration are over, for I value my life.”

  —Young Carl of Ebonmire

  “I don’t suppose you like Quintessence, Gerrard?” Fujiko asked, enviously eyeing my “cunnin’” new hat perched atop my head like it had been made for me. Gerrard practically spat on the ground and was probably rolling his eyes beneath his face wrappings.

  “What do you think I am? A Blood Merchant?”

  Fujiko sighed. “I thought it was a global currency.”

  “Maybe to those with a peasant’s palate!” he replied. “No, no, no. Kidney Stones are far superior! Find some more, and I may have somethin’ for ya, missy!”

  “Damn,” she sighed. “I haven’t spent all my Quint yet. I could really use some new armor.”

  “As could I,” Altarus replied. “Let’s continue on. Perhaps there are other things in these ruins beyond the birds.”

  “Like the Yama-Uba!” Gerrard interjected.

  “The Yama what now?” I asked.

  “Yama-Uba,” Gerrard replied, not even trying to conceal the hatred in his voice. “If ya intend on challenging her, ol’ Gerrard could be easily persuaded to help ya.”

  An NPC offering to help with a fight?

  “Haven’t heard of this Yama-Uba,” I replied.

  “And you’re better for it!” Gerrard swung his sickle and buried it halfway into the ground angrily. “Bitter little bitch she is!”

  “She?” Fujiko asked.

  “Lives up the slopes a bit,” the cutpurse replied. “Feeds on the weak. Gives her strength, ya see? Right little bitch she is…”

  Gerrard’s words carried weight with them. Despite his crude language and strange behavior, this was a wise man. If this Yuma-Uba had him this irritated, there was good reason, and that interested me.

  “We’re heading up the mountain, Gerrard,” I told him. “I don’t think we have the time for a side trip.”

  Gerrard cocked his head to the side again. “Up the mountain, eh? To enjoy the view?”

  “To visit the Fortune Teller.”

  Gerrard’s body froze in place for a single, brief second. “Fortune Teller, eh…? Looking for answers, eh?”

  “Absolutely,” I replied.

  “Do you know of her?” Altarus asked.

  “Not a soul ‘round these parts that doesn’t know of her,” Gerrard replied.

  “Is she dangerous?”

  “Hmmm,” Gerard thought to himself, stroking his invisible beard again. “No, no, I wouldn’t put it that way.”

  “How would you put it?” Altarus replied. Gerrard took a while to answer, in the way that a person does when they’re being careful with their words and don’t want to offend the person they’re talking about.

  “That’s a hard one…” he pondered. “Let’s just say, you climb the mountain to reach her, then you climb another that you might not find the peak.”

  “You have a way with words, cutpurse,” Altarus said with a nod.

  I felt as though I was riding the crest of a wave, the crescendo of a symphony. I was a ship with the wind beating hard against its sails, my eyes set unwaveringly on the horizon, pressing through this dangerous land with a single goal. And sidetracking now would mean running a greater risk of setback. We could die, respawn back in Ebonmire with death penalty, and have to fight our way back up the mountain and through the ruins again. This was no time for adventure or fun—people were trapped, dying, and we were the free, the lucky ones able to escape this world, and the way I saw things, the only ones capable of doing something about it.

  “No.” I shook my head. “There’s no time for the Yama-Uba. We have to keep moving.”

  I tipped my hat like an old gunslinger to the cutpurse and stepped past him, taking the corridor that seemed most likely to lead us from the ruins.

  “Well, you won’t want to go that way,” Gerrard called after me. “Unless you want to end up in the old dungeons. There’s Soul Snatchers and spiders the size of you down there!”

  I stopped and turned back to the cutpurse, who I imagined was smiling beneath his rags. Like it or not, we were navigating the maze-like ruins with no understanding of their layout or the best path through. So far, all we’d encountered were the Corpse Crows, but there was no telling what else lay in store for us. Also, the thought of giant spiders made me want to hurl.

  The old stone around me felt like prison walls, shee
p dogs herding me toward a destination that I knew I had to reach but didn’t understand why. The weight of the Fortune Teller’s existence was like a heavy set of chains attached to my legs, a dagger hanging precariously from a string above my head, ready to fall and tear me open when the time was right. It was enough to drive me crazy, but there was no time for that either. Gerrard had done right by us so far. There was no reason to believe his intentions were anything but honorable, so I nodded.

  “Fine. Lead the way.”

  Gerrard slid his sickle into a scabbard hanging from his side, slapped his hands together and scurried past me and took a passage to the left that was covered in dirt and grime. I motioned to my friends to follow. I had to jog to keep up with him. He moved quickly and with ease over the ground that grew more and more jagged and treacherous as we went on. It would not have been the way I would have chosen, as it began to slope down, not up, as though we were headed through a tunnel cut straight through the mountain.

  Strange black barnacle-like things winked from the walls where they hung together in slimy clusters like symbiotic organisms that grew in size as we went on. They spat and expelled puffs of steam as we passed, and I half expected them to morph into some terrible beast and spring out at us at any moment.

  “Calm down, lad,” Gerrard told us, sensing my mood. “They’re ugly as shit, but they ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

  “Oh, no, I like them.” Fujiko’s sardonic quip was a welcome distraction from all my imaginations that were warring in my head about what I would encounter when we reached the Fortune Teller. Rathborne’s cryptic warning had been perplexing. If I wasn’t supposed to be worried about her in the way that I would be with a normal enemy or boss, then what was I supposed to think? I couldn’t even wrap my head around what our encounter was going to be like.

  Damn it, Rathborne, I thought as a group of barnacles burst by my right ear. Why couldn’t you have told me more?!

  A strong stench of salt and rotten fish swept through the corridor as the ground leveled out at a basin of old water. Fujiko coughed and Altarus blew breath from his nose.