Woad Children (Challenger's Call Book 3)

by Nathan Thompson

  She walked away to take care of her other responsibilities. I struggled with accepting what she had just told me. I realized that I had been struggling with her message long before today, with the fact that I desperately needed help, and just as desperately had no idea how to ask for it. I had even been taught not to ask for it, despite everything that my parents had gotten right.

  And I realized that it mattered whether or not this part of me got fixed. I had been putting too many burdens on myself. I shouldn’t have to feel bad for killing someone that was hellbent on hurting others as much as possible. Especially since their own deaths were not nearly as final as that of their victims. I didn’t need to make a process out of that sort of thing and I didn’t have time to try. My job was rescuing their victims, not ensuring I abided by a bunch of stupid rules that the enemy wasn’t following and weren’t even helping me.

  Instead, I had to find a way to let others get near me again. I didn’t know what that would look like, but I didn’t have time to do anything but try to open my heart up a little, clear out the nagging thoughts that insisted I was one step away from falling completely apart, and that it was my job to fix myself.

  It would probably take a number of tries, I realized. But that was still better than not trying at all. So I reached for all of the worries hovering over my heart, the ones telling me that I was failing, and that I needed to try all sorts of hopeless, burdensome methods to fix them or I was doomed, and that I was doomed anyway.

  Some slipped through my phantom fingers, but I grabbed as many as I could, lifted…

  And pushed.

  #

  My inner world quaked again.

  “Again? So soon?” a voice asked in fear. “This is outrageous! He has no right to this!”

  “There’s more,” another old one muttered. “Look at what hides inside of him. He has dangerous dreams.”

  Lightning flashed. Shapes gathered around me, staring, judging.

  “He would not dare,” a third voice finally scoffed. “He cannot. None would dare for her now. Not with this much doom ordained for her.”

  “He could dare,” the first voice hedged. “He is proud. Arrogant. Hungry for victory.”

  “All the hunger in a hundred souls would still not be enough,” the third voice scoffed again. “For how can the starving know success?”

  A growl came from my core, and this colorless world rumbled in response.

  “And yet he Rises again,” the second voice muttered. “So soon after the last. Without respect for the ordained limits.”

  “He invites judgment!” the third voice declared. “The heavens are low for a reason! He must be taught to crawl under them, as is proper for his race!”

  “Indeed,” the first said. “He dares have so many improper cravings. For doomed worlds. For doomed people. For the doomed star-lass.”

  “He seeks those which others have already bought, damned, and paid for,” the second shape said with a tsking sound and a shake of its head. “Truly lecherous of him.”

  “Shall we kill him now?” the first old voice asked. “So that he may offend us no more?”

  My shape grew teeth, and as I looked up I bared them.

  “Disgusting!” the third voice said, and I heard frightful revulsion in his words. “I will not touch such filth as this!”

  “Nor will I,” the second voice declared. “Crushing this vermin is beneath us. Let other shoes step on him.”

  “He is doomed himself,” the third voice affirmed. “We need not act in any fashion. Hungry, wretched things like him always meet their own end, without help. Just let him lust all he wants for doomed worlds and the doomed maiden. It shall change nothing.”

  The sky darkened at the old thing’s words. Their shapes became even blurrier. The cloudy black sky became even heavier. My feet began to sink downward.

  It angered me.

  “Enough,” I declared, and the boom of my voice hushed all others. “These are not my heavens. This is not my sky. You are not my gods. Begone from my heart.”

  I raised a mighty right arm that I had never known I had. With an angry slash of my fingers I tore apart this worthless lie of a world.

  CHAPTER FIVE: RESTORATION

  Request for monitoring detected. Checking authorization now. Recognizing Draconic-Level Imprint. Authorization granted for Wes Malcolm. Access granted to current monitoring log regarding Chris Rhodes.

  Chris’ Perspective

  “Young master Rhodes!” the man in the white lab coat exclaimed as I walked in. “I wasn’t expecting you! What can I do for you today?”

  “Sorry to just drop in,” I said with a small smile, one that probably didn’t reach my eyes. “Dad says surprise inspections are good for morale. I figured I’d do one of my own, since I’m still trying to learn that side of the business.”

  “Of… course,” the scientist said, blinking slowly. I didn’t blame him, because morale is a fucking stupid excuse for surprise inspections. They don’t raise morale at all, they just scare the hell out of your employees who are probably breaking rules you need them to break so they can actually do their jobs. But what Dad really meant is that fear is a better tool than good morale, because even happy people will keep wanting more and more things. But those scared of losing what little they have will just stay in the proper lanes.

  But whether or not that philosophy worked was never going to be important. Not today, at least. The ‘surprise inspection’ was just the best excuse I could work with right now.

  “Why don’t you show me what you’re working on right now, Robert?”

  He blinked at that.

  “Well, uh,” he began nervously. “We’ve made some progress on getting more material from the other worlds back to Earth…”

  “Actually, Robert, I wanted to revisit an older project you were working on,” I said casually. “Just to get another look at the final logs.”

  His white face paled even more at that, and his eyes darted toward the door.

  “We’re not under surveillance,” I said bluntly. “Dad’s too busy losing his shit over the ‘complications’ that came up from trying to terminate Wes Malcolm.”

  “You still said for me to keep what I was doing under wraps,” Dr. Robert Blake whispered.

  “Which you’ve clearly done well,” I said cheerfully. “Because you are still alive. Remember that, Robert? Remember getting caught trying to make your own portal? By me? Who could tell anyone whenever I felt like it?”

  “Yes, you don’t have to remind me. Sir,” the scientist added quickly. “What do you need to know? I’m still working on it.”

  “That’s good, Robert,” I said, using my best cheerfully asinine middle-manager tone. “Because you selflessly changing the parameters on that project to work on my personal portal was the best long-term decision you ever made. But now’s a good time to update me on that project. So why don’t you share what you’ve managed so far. No pressure though,” I added flatly. So that he would know that there was actually a hell of a lot of pressure on him right now.

  “I think,” he whispered, then looked around, in spite of the fact that there were no windows and I had already closed the door. I didn’t blame him. “I think I’m close to having it done. In fact, I think I can finish it before the end of the month.”

  “That’s good,” I nodded, searching his face for honesty. I found it hiding in the fear. “That’s very good, Robert. You’ve done well. But I need to know about the side effects. You’re working on those too, right?”

  Part of the construction of the portals depended on techniques Dad’s creepy fucking nightmare alien gave to us. Even for those fully initiated into Malus’ mysteries, they caused side effects that were hard for our doctors to monitor. Those not initiated at all, like Wes, they put into a coma that took months to come out of, Earth time.

  “That,” Robert started to say, then he looked at the closed door again, and ducked his head as he talked. “I’ve started to figure thos
e out too. Sort of.”

  “What does ‘sort of’ mean, Robert?” I asked casually, crossing my arms and staring at him.

  “I mean I don’t know why my method works,” the scientist hissed quietly. “I don’t have any solid theories as to whatever’s really going on in those holes. But giving—” He took a deep breath. Robert was ambitious, but he had a hard time with the metaphysical aspects of our research. It was one of the reasons I was able to catch him working on his own experiments. “Giving a sacrifice before the portal opens, lessens the effect of the voices inside.”

  That was potentially the most useful news yet.

  “What kind of sacrifice?” I asked carefully, even forgetting to make another display of dominance out of my question. Dad would get onto me for that if he ever found out.

  “Blood seems to work the best,” Dr. Blake answered, eyes still roaming the room nervously. “Hair helps a little. And oddly enough, something of personal value is almost as good as blood. I think it depends on just how valuable the person perceives their cost, even though I can’t figure out why.”

  “But blood always works well?” I pressed. “And how much of it?”

  “Not enough to go to the hospital over, but enough to sting. 10 ml is the amount I prefer to draw. And oddly enough—” the paranoid doctor glanced around again—“it matters what you use. A serrated knife gives the best results so far. But a finger-syringe requires twice as much to dampen the voices. I still don’t understand why.”

  Because you’ve joined a demonic cult, dumbass, I thought but didn’t say. Dad’s chapter of the Malus Order insisted on having a wide range of members going from completely science-oriented all the way over to full-blown pagan wizards. Dr. Dalfrey leaned toward the first while Pastor Barnes was close to the other end. Dad saw the need for both perspectives and remained in the middle.

  But a handful of ‘outlier’ members like the good Dr. Robert Blake were chosen exclusively for their skills and kept largely in the dark until one day they were suddenly in too deep to escape with their lives. And even then they kept trying to rationalize half the things they saw.

  “That’s good to know. So far you’re doing well, Dr. Blake,” I nodded, and the man relaxed just a little. My ‘you’re going to live after all’ comments provided a good mix of relieving his crippling fears while still reminding him just how much power I had over him.

  “Thank you, master Rhodes,” the man said with a hunched nod. “Can… can I answer anything else?”

  I need to get back to work, but please don’t kill me, he meant.

  “Yeah, one more thing.” I grew serious. “How many people can use this portal at once?”

  “People?” he blanched. “I thought you just wanted it big enough for one or two travelers?”

  “I did,” I answered. “And now I don’t. Actually, I’m just curious. How big was your portal probably going to get?”

  “Um—” he leaned back, sweating again—“I was focusing on keeping it small, but you could probably fit four, maybe five people at a time? I should be able to get it bigger though,” he added quickly. “A little bigger shouldn’t change much. Unless you need ten people or more.”

  “Good,” I said. “Because I don’t. I’ll let you get back to work, Robert,” I said, turning. “Have a great day.”

  #

  I shuddered as the visions of Chris and the strange old figures left my eyes. As I recovered my balance I felt my muscles shake instead, quivering on my arms and legs. I reminded myself that this was normal, that my last few Rises had contained explosive growth, but this time was especially terrifying. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and just rode out the remaining jitters, drawing on my previous experience of dealing with a body that behaved erratically. They finally passed, and I took a step forward, looking around. Guineve had gone somewhere, either to put away the cookies or to deal with some other errand. I shrugged and pulled up my mind-screen.

  The list began to load, and this time I stopped it.

  “Avalon,” I asked. “You can help update my mind-screen, right?”

  “Affirmative,” the planetary supercomputer confirmed.

  “Can I make my status screen more readable? Maybe change it to table-form?”

  “Confirmed that request is possible. Changing the Challenger’s status screen now.”

  I sighed out a thanks, and then repeated my earlier command.

  Wes Malcolm

  Origin: Earthborn (Dusk Era), Avalonian (Challenger) Other bloodlines unknown

  Rise Level: 13th Rise (Candle)

  Saga: Unconquered Hero

  Act 2: Unbowed Bones. +5 Con, Will, Str. General resistance to crushing damage and pressure-based attacks

  Strength:172

  Dexterity:155

  Constitution:172

  Intelligence:155

  Wisdom:150

  Charisma:172

  Speed:184

  Deftness:180

  Wits:150

  Will:208

  Paths: War, Kings, Archmage

  Skills (averaged): Weapons (14), Ideals (14), Misc (5)

  Profession: Leader (Rank: Low Noble)

  Art: War (Newly Gained)

  Science: Forming

  Craft: Forming

  That worked out being easier to read, though I was probably still going to tinker with it from time to time. And other than noting their increased sizes I dismissed the information about my vital, mana, and stamina pools.

  All in all though, I was pretty shocked. I had known that I had started to gain power faster, but I hadn’t expected most of my Traits to increase by half of their original total before I even assigned any points. With more Ideals and more bloodlines and Bonds activated, along with the transition to the next stage of Risen heroes, Candle, I was now well above my weight class in just about every category. Even my skills, which had grown too numerous and detailed to list, had grown to where I could probably combat someone else five, maybe even ten Rises above me, without relying on the power I had used to kill Raw-Maw. That reminded me.

  “Avalon,” I said out loud, scrolling deeper into the data to read about each individual bonus gained to my Traits. “What is this consumptive bonus I’m reading about? It’s responsible for at least two points of every Trait increase I’ve gained.”

  “Data not found,” Avalon answered.

  Before I could throw another fit about not getting the information I wanted, Teeth spoke up.

  Oh yeah, that. We did that, remember?

  Um, no? I answered.

  We straight-up ate a guy.

  WHAT? I demanded.

  Raw-Maw’s essence, Teeth explained. Plus a little bit of that prick that tried to taunt us after he merged with him. Remember? You bitched about us doing that. Said it would turn us into some kind of freaky monster.

  Yeah I remember being upset about that, I growled in my mind. I only did it because you said it would save us.

  It did, FNG insisted. Replaced a lot of the stuff you burned out with our double transformation. And there was enough left over to increase our personal power a bit. Would have been a much bigger increase if Raw-Maw hadn’t been such a discount knockoff of a demigod.

  I’m still trying to process the fact that I digested something I killed in mortal combat, I replied. Hasn’t really been my thing until now.

  Well get used to it, Dragon-Me retorted. We’re a dragon. Eating idiots that mess with us is a big part of what we do.

  I shook my head again and stopped answering. I wasn’t ready for this argument yet.

  There were more changes to process. My Ideal magic had kept up easily with my Rises, thanks to my new Bonds and bloodlines. I had also kept all of my weapon skills close to the same rank as well, partly with the aid of the bonuses given from the Path of War.

  All in all, I was so well-rounded and overpowered that any video game tester would have destroyed me on sight, or at least cried out “hax!”

  And if I were in a video game, and not
one of the few people standing against half a dozen worlds full of monsters and tyrants, I might have cared about their complaints.

  I spent my Risen points to raise my Wisdom, Intelligence, and Dexterity, since those Traits received the lowest inherent bonuses per Rise. I spent a few of my skill points to raise my skill with Blood and Lightning magic up to where my other Ideals were, and then I saved the rest for any new skills I might need, such as learning the magics of the Testifiers.

  I took one more quick look to make sure I was satisfied with the changes.

  Yep. That worked.

  After using my mind-screen to check the time, I realized it was well into the evening, and that Guineve had been baking very late.

  When I stepped outside of my manor and into my village, I saw her through one of the village huts’ windows, sitting on a rickety old chair, rocking a sniffling child that was nibbling on a fresh cookie.

  This… Teeth began in my mind, and then stopped. This is what we have?

  I guess so, I answered calmly, as I watched the child in Guineve’s arms stop her sniffling and gobble up the cookie Guineve had given her. We’re in charge of it, at least.

  Why…

  My dragon-side was having trouble articulating, but he tried again.

  Why do I feel rich?

  What do you mean? I asked, but as I looked at the child snuggling into Guineve’s lap as she fell back asleep, it suddenly hit me too.

  I really did feel rich.

  Trauma, war, and suffering notwithstanding.

  I seek wealth, Dragon-Me explained. I can’t help it. That’s just part of our nature. But neither of my Fathers said this could be wealth. But I see them thrive. See them put things behind them. And then I feel rich.

  I didn’t have an answer for him, because with all of the ambushes and Challenges and nightmares and other business, I hadn’t realized this feeling either.

  We’ve got to protect this, Teeth insisted. How can we do that?

  We have to keep growing stronger, I answered. And…

  I still struggled with what Guineve told me earlier. I swallowed, and tried to push past what I was taught to believe on Earth.