by Sean Gibson
“That’s what I figured,” I replied before shaking my head. “You boys are an interesting bunch.”
“We’re not all lads,” said the first chitinoid, offended.
“You’re not?” asked Nadi.
“Good heavens no!” replied the first. “I’m a female of our species, and deeply into the mating cycle as well, I might add, so the characteristics of my sex should be quite apparent.”
Nadi looked at me and shrugged. I returned the gesture.
“Well, we’re really sorry about that,” said Rummy, reaching out to pat the creature on the arm. “This is our first encounter with chitinoids.”
The creature drew back quickly. “Don’t touch me when I’m in the midst of mating! You might disrupt the seminal transfer.”
As you might imagine, this comment precipitated a few moments of silence as we all struggled to find an appropriate response. Rummy looked at his hand with distaste. Sensing that no one else was willing to do it, I decided to take the plunge. “Seminal transfer?”
“Yes. My mate there,” she said, indicating the third chitinoid (“Gorky,” as I had come to think of him). “He’s currently transferring his seminal material into my fertile womb.”
“Currently as in…as in right now?” asked Nadi tentatively.
“Yes.”
“But you’re not…you’re not, ah, actually touching. That I can see, anyway. Not that I’m, um, looking.”
“That’s not how it works.”
“I see,” said Nadi, nonplussed.
“Well,” said Rummy cheerfully, “I’ll be sure not to touch him, either.” He winked at the third chitinoid, who gave him one of those “just doing my duty” nods men excel at.
“So, this is awkward,” I said.
“Why?” responded the second chitinoid.
“Because those two are…well, you know…they’re…”
“Gettin’ buggy?” replied the second chitinoid.
“Um, yes,” I said.
The chitinoid shrugged. “Not our fault the rest of yous is awkward about the baby making bits, you know?”
“So,” interjected Nadi, “what can you tell us about the minotaur?”
“Minotaur?” asked the female chitinoid.
“We were told a minotaur lived down here somewhere,” replied Nadi. “Where does it dwell?”
The chitinoids looked at each other. “You don’t want to mess with the minotaur, you know?” said the second chitinoid.
“‘E’ll carve you up for supper an’ leave nuffink but your stockings, ‘e will, won’t ‘e, eh wot?” said Gorky. “Don’t like to eat stockings then, do ‘e?”
“You’ve seen it?” asked Rummy.
The female chitinoid shook her head. “No. My companions are just having a bit of a jest at your expense. We’ve never laid eyes on the creature, though we, too, have heard that it rules these tunnels.”
“We hain’t laid eyes on it, me lovey? What about when we was wiv it the other day and—”
Gorky ended his thought abruptly with a sharp exhalation when his mate elbowed him hard in what I assume was the general vicinity of his abdomen. “You’d do best to steer clear of the minotaur, if one indeed rules this maze. They are powerful foes, and even a hearty band of adventurers such as yourselves would be hard pressed to defeat one in its prime.”
Nadi looked at me and I nodded; clearly, these three knew more than they were letting on. “Have you ever fought one?” I asked. “Another one, I mean.”
“We should be going,” said the female chitinoid. “We must find the mushrooms. We thank you very much for your assistance, and wish you the best of luck in your adventures.”
“Why we in such a hurry, lovey?” asked Gorky. “Let’s ‘ave a spot o’ fun and watch these wippets get ripped in ‘alf by the—”
Gorky once again stopped mid-sentence, though this time it wasn’t due to a sharp blow to the solar plexus, but, rather, the sound of an inhuman roar reverberating through the tunnels.
Gorky shrugged and smiled. “Ah, well—fun to be had wiv the rippin,’ sure, but not ‘alf as much as livin’ to eat another mushroom, eh wot? Ta!” With that, the three chitinoids withdrew into the wall, disappearing as quickly as they’d arrived.
“What just happened?” asked a bewildered Rummy.
“I’m more concerned with what’s about to happen,” replied Nadi. “Defensive positions—now! Borg, up front. Whiska, behind me. Rummy and Heloise—flank Whiska.” She drew her sword and eyed the tunnel from which the terrible roar had come. She risked a quick glance behind her. “Whiska—any idea what might have made that sound?”
“Something hungry or angry, you brainless forest frolicker,” Whiska shot back.
We waited, tense, but didn’t hear any more roars, or anything else for that matter. It was completely silent.
Completely silent, that is, until three massive ape-like creatures burst into the room, shrieking and slamming their hands on the ground.
“Gormalons!” shouted Whiska as she rapped her staff on the ground and swirled it in a circular motion.
“What?” cried Nadi as she moved closer to Borg.
“Cave-dwellers. They’re not very smart, but they’re strong and fast, and they don’t stop fighting until they’re dead.” Whiska uttered a sharp syllable that sounded like “Hurk!” and the tip of her staff flared with light, causing the gormalons to screech in anger.
Nadi darted around Borg and lashed out with her sword, scoring a solid strike on one of the creatures, but its countering swing, which Nadi just barely managed to dodge, suggested that she didn’t do much damage to it.
“Rummy!” shouted Whiska as she reached into her pouches, searching for spell components. “They love shiny objects!”
“Shiny objects…shiny…right, right,” said Rummy, patting his own pockets absently as he tried to muster up his courage. A few seconds later, his hand slipped inside a pocket and his face lit up. “Got it!”
As Borg weathered a series of blows from one of the creatures (without apparent ill effect, I might add, as I heard him singing something that almost sounded like it rhymed “oops” with “poops” while the creature pummeled him), Rummy stepped forward and, taking advantage of the light from Whiska’s staff that still filled the chamber, held up what appeared to be a multifaceted—and absurdly huge—diamond.
“No way that’s real,” I said.
“Focus, Heloise!” shouted Nadi, dodging another blow and slashing at her opponent.
“Come on—that thing would be worth, like, a thousand gold pieces! It’s fake, right, Rummy?”
“Not right now, Heloise,” said Rummy through gritted teeth, a forced smile fixed on his face. “Gentlemen!” he began, then shook his head. “Uh, creatures? Gormalons! Yes, let’s go with that—hey, gormalons!” He began to wave the stone above his head, causing it to refract and reflect the light from Whiska’s staff across the chamber in a very eye-catching display.
“Hrrrmmm?” said one of the creatures, ceasing its assault of Borg to look at the jewel.
“Ooohh aahhh oo oi!” shouted the creature attacking Nadi, backing away from her and turning its attention to Rummy.
“Aaaahhh aah aaaaaaa!” wailed the third creature, advancing slowly on Rummy and sniffing the air.
“That’s it,” said Rummy gently. “All eyes on this magnificent diamond.” He shot me a look that said something along the lines of, “Don’t say anything about whether or not this is a real diamond or I will murder you with a hacksaw,” so I elected to remain silent, though I kept my knife at the ready (both to defend against the gormalons and in case Rummy’s look was in earnest).
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he continued, slowly spinning the gem between his fingers. The gormalons shuffled in closer, heads simultaneously tilting as their eyes flicked back and forth frantically in an attempt to capture each reflected facet of light. “Good lads, good lads,” murmured Rummy. “Now then,” he continued, raising his eyebrows and gl
ancing quickly at Nadi, who nodded. “Who wants to see this beautiful gem disappear?”
The gormalons hooted and hollered; apparently, they didn’t think too highly of that idea. Nadi caught my eye and pantomimed a stabbing motion as she slowly circled around behind our opponents. Borg, moving at his natural speed, did the same.
I tried to act nonchalant as I followed suit, oohing a little as Rummy continued his patter. “On the count of three, then, boys—you are all boys, aren’t you? So it would appear from your plumbing, anyway. Regardless, on the count of three, I’m going to throw this gem up in the air, and whichever one of you can tell me where it lands gets it. Deal?”
The gormalons continued to stare at the gem with slack-jawed wonder. “One,” said Rummy, looking up to lock eyes with Nadi, who nodded again as she took up a position behind the gormalon in the middle. Borg stood behind the one on the right, and I had managed to get behind the one on the left. “Two,” said Rummy. “Watch closely now—you won’t want to miss this. Three!” Rummy flicked his hand up into the air and the gem disappeared; at the same moment, Whiska extinguished the light in her staff, plunging the cavern into darkness.
Before the gormalons could react, Nadi shouted, “Now!” and I could hear her sword hit its target even as I plunged my knife into the back of the gormalon in front of me. Borg’s strike followed a few seconds later, though there was no mistaking the resounding thud of his club smashing a gormalon skull.
Nadi and Borg successfully felled their opponents with a single strike; I wasn’t so lucky. The gormalon I had stabbed roared in pain (and presumably rage; I know I’d be pretty peeved if someone stabbed me in the back) and thrashed about, knocking me over in the process. “Watch out!” I called as I fell painfully on my backside.
To my surprise, it was Rummy who stepped in, driving his little mace into the creature’s face and dropping it cold. Nadi rushed in and plunged her sword into it for good measure, or maybe just because she likes stabbing things. (Oh, wait—that’s actually me.)
“That was almost competent,” said Whiska approvingly.
“Quiet!” hissed Nadi. She held up her hand to forestall any further comments as she listened intently. A moment later, apparently satisfied that no other threats loomed, she sheathed her sword. “Agreed—that was well done.”
“If we’re not careful, we might get good at this,” said Rummy.
“You won’t live long enough to get good at it,” I said.
“Thanks for the vote of support,” replied Rummy sunnily.
“Well, there is an encounter with a minotaur looming…and, you know, that whole dragon thing you still have to deal with.”
“Whiska—secure the perimeter,” said Nadi. “Borg—stand guard on that entrance in case any more gormalons come in. Rummy—watch the back side of the cavern.” The three adventurers moved to do as Nadi bid without question. “Heloise,” she said, turning to me. “A word.”
Nadi pulled me aside. “Look, I know we still have a long way to go, and I know we still need to face a dragon.”
“An incredibly deadly dragon. Not to mention a minotaur,” I said helpfully.
“And a minotaur,” she added, glaring at me. “But, that was a solid win. Right now, more than anything, we need confidence. It’s been a long road—”
“A much, much longer road than necessary due to occasional fits of incompetence and a series of poor decisions, and that ill-advised trek through a really stinky swamp,” I interjected.
Nadi glared at me again, and I had the good sense to shut up. “It’s been a long road, and we haven’t had a lot of moments where it felt like we knew what we were doing. Everyone needs to feel like that’s happening, like things are coming together. I need you to reinforce that—not undermine it.” She shook her head. “We brought you with us to lift us up, Heloise—not tear us down. If you can’t do that, then maybe it would be better to part company here and take our chances on our own.”
She walked away to check in with Rummy to see if he’d heard anything, leaving me to stand there with what I assume was a very abashed look on my face.
Being the hero of the story is easy. You say and do what you want, and people adore you. You can be sassy and clever and sarcastic and impossibly beautiful and everyone cheers you on. I’m good at being the hero of the story, even when there’s not much of a story, and even when I haven’t, in reality, been much of a hero—and I’m really good at telling those stories.
Turns out though, that for a world-renowned storyteller, I’m not very good at telling other people’s stories.
It occurred to me then that I’d never really told someone else’s story. I mean, not really—I’d told stories about other people, sure, but they were heroes of myth and legend, or they were bit players in stories in which one Heloise the Bard, adventurer nonpareil, was the star. I hadn’t told a story in which I’d played a supporting (and not very supportive) role.
It’s not that I have a big ego, mind you—after all, I was once named “Miss Modesty” in the famed Florcester Centarian Beauty Pageant (which I also won, incidentally, but that’s neither here nor there (though you should know that the Pageant only happens once every hundred years and features only the most beautiful humanoids in Erithea))—but, well, I’ll concede that I might enjoy being the center of attention. I mean, at least a little. Not a lot. I’m very modest, after all, having, as just noted, won an award for that very quality. But…
Nadi was right. My job wasn’t to make clever quips (though all good stories need someone who makes clever quips) and drop devastating bon mots; it was to tell the story of her adventuring band, and they really were starting to work together better, to function as a team. And, in their own way, to become heroes. I still didn’t think they had much of a chance against the dragon (and I didn’t particularly relish the thought of smelling Ratarian jerky flambé), but I was starting to have some faith in them. And, with a sense of duty and commitment that worried me a little because it made me think I might be maturing, I wanted to see it through to the end.
Which, of course, meant that I needed to do the thing I hate above almost all others: apologize.
“Nadi,” I said quietly. She didn’t hear me. I sighed. “Nadi,” I said, louder.
She turned toward me. “Yes, Heloise?”
“Can I talk to you for a moment?”
She shook her head. “I think that anything you have to say can be said to the group.”
I sighed again, louder. She was right, though. I was beginning to hate that about her.
Everyone gathered around me, save for Borg, who continued to keep watch on the tunnel (though it’s possible he just hadn’t started moving yet). “All right,” I began, “in an effort to be funny a few minutes ago—”
“A very poor effort,” interjected Nadi.
This time, it was my turn to glare, but she just shrugged. “Fine. In a very poor effort to be funny a few minutes ago, I suggested that the challenges that remain ahead of us—namely, the minotaur and the dragon—will be tough...which is true.” I looked pointedly at Nadi, who tilted her head slightly to concede the point. “I also suggested that this hearty group had made some less-than-excellent decisions along the way that resulted in a longer road than was necessary.” Nadi started to speak, but I held up my hand. “Let me finish. Sure, we probably could have done things better—but, hey, that’s true for all of us in life generally.”
“Speak for yourself, lute licker!” retorted Whiska.
“I’ve never once licked my lute.”
“That’s not what I heard,” muttered Whiska.
“From who?” I asked, arching an eyebrow.
Whiska looked away and said something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like “your mom,” but I didn’t press her on it.
“What I’m trying to say is that, well, look—I’ve been around.” Whiska’s eyes lit up. “Not like that,” I said before she could say anything. Then, I shrugged. “Maybe a little like that. The point
is, I’ve met a lot of adventurers—some of them were successful, but most of them failed spectacularly. Why? Because adventuring is hard. Really hard, and it’s kind of insane. I mean, who honestly thinks it’s a good idea to walk into a dragon’s lair for kicks?”
“Not for kicks,” said Whiska solemnly. “For treasure. A fecal ton of treasure.”
“Even for that reason, it’s an absurd thing to do,” I replied.
“If this is your big, inspirational speech, you might want to kick it up a notch,” said Rummy politely.
“I’m getting there. I need to set the stage. I’m a storyteller, remember?”
“You’re the professional,” replied Rummy amiably. “Continue.”
“Absurd though it may be, someone has to do it, or else good folks suffer and die. So, anyone who decides to take up the adventuring mantle is a hero from the start in my book. Even if they get killed by goblimites their first time out.”
“What are goblimites?” asked Nadi.
“Really tiny goblins that are about the size of a squirrel,” said Whiska, “and about half as dangerous as one.”
“Yet, I know an adventuring group that was killed by some,” I said.
“Really?” asked Rummy. “Like, knew them personally?”
“I know of an adventuring group that was killed by some,” I amended.
“Think that really happened?” asked Rummy, looking around at the group. “I bet that’s just a story.”
“Fine. Whatever. The point is, adventuring takes courage, and you’ve all got that in spades. And, now that you’ve been through some scraps, you’re starting to show more than just courage—you’re showing competence. And chemistry. And charisma. And all sorts of other qualities that start with ‘C.’”
“Coitus?” asked Whiska.
“Not a quality,” I replied.
“Maybe not the way you do it,” she said.
“I’m not sure you want to challenge me on that one.”
“Goblimites are…delicious,” said Borg over his shoulder.
“Wrap it up, maybe, Heloise? We’ve got a minotaur to find,” interjected Nadi.
