It wasn’t that he minded being attractive. He’d been attractive long enough to learn to live with it. Complaining that people had a tendency to like him right off the bat was akin to complaining about having too much money in the bank. It might be a problem, but you shouldn’t expect much sympathy, even from yourself.
He tousled his hair, and it only came across as purposely disheveled.
Sighing, he gave up. He slid on his boxers and threw open the door. “You’re up, Hel.”
She barely glanced away from the television. “I think I’ll skip tonight. I have trouble using regular drains. They can’t handle all the fur.”
After a shower, she also smelled exactly like a wet minotaur would. Keeping people from knowing that was one of her primary goals. It was why she stayed inside when it rained. Or when it looked as if it might rain. If she had to go out, she covered herself in rain gear. Her suitcase had a full set packed away. Just in case.
“Suit yourself.” He stretched.
She avoided looking directly at him. His body belonged in a gym commercial. It wasn’t surprising, given his athletic reputation, but this was more than being in great shape. This was being in ridiculously great shape. It was having a physique that belonged on a statue carved by Pygmalion. Or at the very least on an airbrushed model in a men’s health magazine.
“Did you call your mom?” he asked.
“How did you know I wanted to call my mom?”
“I know you, Hel. And I’ve seen you with her.”
She put her phone on the end table, picked it up, then put it down again. “I’ll call tomorrow. What about you? I haven’t seen you call your folks yet.”
“I called earlier. After lunch. You were in the restroom.”
“Must’ve been a short call.”
“It was just a check-in. Let the family know I haven’t been eaten by trolls or stepped on by a giant.”
“That’s it?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Dad was busy…with something. Mom was at her club, I think. Left a message.”
Helen said, “Overachieving kid with distant, demanding parents. That’s traditional.”
“An oldie but a goodie. It’s not really like that, though. I mean, it’s like that, but…” He trailed off.
“But what?”
“Hey, is anything good on cable?” he asked.
“Oh, no, you aren’t getting off that easy. You had a front-row seat to my psychological deconstruction by metaphysical forces of the universe. I think I’m entitled to a little payback.”
Troy switched off the TV. He flopped into his bed, talked while staring at the ceiling.
“Remember that thing you said about us being alike? How we’re both bound by expectations? It’s like that. I was always good at stuff. I was always a good kid. Then I grew into a great one. Never caused any trouble. Always had solid grades. Natural leader. Likable. Smart. Capable.”
He frowned.
“Now I sound like an ass. It’s why I don’t like talking about this stuff.”
Achilles raised his head and whimpered.
“Nobody asked you,” said Troy.
“Hey, I asked,” said Helen. “It’s cool. No judgment here.”
He turned his head to smile at her. She smiled back.
“It’s simple. My parents never had to worry about me. I never hung out with the wrong crowd. I never did anything reckless or stupid. I never ate paste or chased little Susie around the playground. Basically, once I was potty trained, their job was over.”
“And that’s not a good thing?”
“Probably was from their perspective. Gave them more time to work on their own lives. And deal with my sister, who really didn’t take up much of their time either. They ended up having their lives. I ended up having mine. There’s surprisingly little overlap. It’s not that the folks wouldn’t be there for me if I needed them. I just don’t really need them. They know it. I know it.”
Helen said, “My parents respect me too. It’s not a bad thing.”
“No, it’s not,” replied Troy. “Except mine respect me. They just don’t particularly like me.
“I think if I’d been a bad kid, if I’d made mistakes along the way or needed some guidance now and then, then there’d have been some bonding. Or if I’d been perfect for them, for their approval, then they could feel connected. But I wasn’t, and they know it.
“It’s like we’re less of a family than an organization. While I’m a valued member of the Kawakami organization, we’re all busy with our own projects, and they trust me to take care of my own.”
Helen frowned, understanding how often she took her own family for granted.
He said, “I know. It makes me sound like a jerk. What the hell am I complaining about?”
“No, I get it,” she said. “It’s a weird thing to deal with, but I can see how it could be annoying.”
“You should call your family,” he said. “I know it’s late, but we both know they’d want you to.”
She picked up her cell and went into the bathroom. Before she closed the door, she said, “Thanks, Troy.”
“Anytime, Hel.”
Achilles hopped off her bed and jumped onto Troy’s. The dog laid his head on Troy’s stomach.
“Just so you know,” said Troy, “you’re not fooling me. You’re not an ordinary dog. You’re some kind of magic dog, a spirit guide, a god in disguise. You can drop the act anytime now.”
Achilles’s ears flattened, and he whimpered.
“Have it your way. Either way, I still don’t like you.”
Troy’s phone rang. It was Imogen. He sat up, and Achilles shifted his head to Troy’s lap.
“Hey, Sis. Yes, everything’s going great.”
Troy petted Achilles, whose tail thumped against the mattress.
16
Helen woke up early and went outside in the hour of creeping dawn. As was her habit, she thoroughly brushed her neck, shoulders, and arms to keep shedding to a minimum. She usually did her whole body, but she wasn’t going to leave telltale hair in the bathroom.
Troy wasn’t dumb. He had to know that she shed. This was more for her than for anyone else. Much as she hated to admit it, there were plenty of things about minotaurism that bothered her.
She sneaked back into the room, went into the bathroom, brushed her teeth, polished her horns, and finished getting dressed. Troy was still asleep. Rather than wake him, she went for a walk. Since there was no place to walk to, she did a few laps around the motel. Out of sheer boredom she checked out the office.
The same shaggy clerk was at the desk. He raised his head and waited for her to say something.
“Uh…sorry,” she said. “Just killing some time. Can’t get back to sleep.”
He leaned back in his chair and flipped through his magazine.
Helen studied a rack of brochures against the wall. There were two dozen of them, though no duplicates of any.
“It’s so nobody follows anybody,” said the clerk, anticipating her question.
She picked up a pamphlet on the Trial of the Seven Chalices and glanced through it. “Why would anyone care?”
“You’re new to this questing business, aren’t you?”
“Is it that obvious?”
The clerk said, “Everybody’s gotta start somewhere. You must have heard stories about questing before, right?”
Helen nodded.
“Do you ever notice in those stories that some hero will come across the monster’s lair or a castle of death or whatever, and there’s usually a pile of corpses to indicate he’s in a dangerous place?”
She nodded again.
“Where do you think those corpses come from? They’re the bones of everyone who quested before but failed. Every sad sack who thought he was the hero of the journey, but actually was merely a nameless dumbass who got himself killed. Everybody wants to be a legend. Most people end up as set dressing.
“Questers started deciding the best way to be sure th
ey didn’t end up being the prologue to someone else’s destiny was to be sure they weren’t being followed by someone else. If there’s no hero behind you, then it stands to reason that you must be the quester who triumphs. That’s the reasoning, anyway.”
“But that’s a logical fallacy,” said Helen. “Of course the person who completes the quest is the last to do it. No one needs to do it after that. It’s like saying lost keys are in the last place you look, so why not just look there first? It sounds good, but it doesn’t stand up.”
The clerk set down his magazine. “You’re a bright one. But when we’re talking about questing, a lot of the rules of logic fall behind the laws of legend. So maybe it’s just irrational superstition, but when you’re dealing with these forces, a lot of people don’t like taking chances.
“It got to the point that questers were spending all their time camping out, making sure they weren’t being followed, and then fighting among themselves when they ran into each other. Even if that person was on an entirely different quest. Whole system went to hell for a while. Then someone finally got the idea to stick one pamphlet per slot in the stand. Every quester grabs one. Nobody follows anybody. And questing continues as it should.”
“But—”
“You’re overthinking it.”
Helen browsed the rack of brochures. She assumed the motel was a questing nexus because there were an awful lot of places to go from here, lands of adventure and peril where ordinary people feared to tread.
It didn’t make a whole lot of sense. In the days of yore there had been forsaken realms and vast acreage of untamed wilderness waiting for adventurers to appear. But this was the modern world.
“Are we still in Nevada?” she asked the clerk.
He lowered his magazine an inch and nodded without looking at her.
“Like Nevada Nevada?” she pressed.
He lowered his magazine another inch and fixed her with a curious stare.
“I mean, I’m just wondering if I fell into a parallel universe or something, where stuff like this is normal.”
The clerk sighed very, very deeply.
“The Age of Legends never ended,” he replied. “It just started hiding in different places.”
“Places like Nevada?”
“And New Mexico. You didn’t think they call it the Land of Enchantment for nothing, right?” The clerk tossed his magazine on his desk. “You’re still in your world. You’ve just stepped into the part the gods pay special attention to, something to keep them preoccupied.”
“We’re the television of the gods?” she asked.
The clerk chuckled. “No, television is the television of the gods. You don’t think they get that up there too? Quests are more like the live improvisational theater of the gods. They throw suggestions your way, monsters and trials, and then they watch how you cope with them.”
Helen said, “Sounds sadistic.”
“What can you expect from gods? But watching quests at least distracts them, limits the damage they can do. And if questers happen to destroy an evil artifact, slay evil monsters, or save the world now and then, that’s a bonus too.”
“But—”
“Look. You’re clearly a smart young woman with a lot of deep questions. But I’m not here to answer them. I’m a guy who gets paid nine dollars an hour to run the place. If you want to know the best way to clean up gryphon crap or where’s a convenient place to buy a good sword polish, that’s me. Otherwise…”
The clerk stuck his nose in his magazine and turned his back on her to make it clear the conversation was over.
She picked through the brochures.
“Only one,” he reminded her.
She considered her choices. The Cave of Seven Riddles looked intriguing, but the brochure itself was black and white and on cheap paper. Some of the ink came off on her fingers.
Seven was a very popular number among questing destinations. In addition to the cave, there was the Peril of the Seven Sisters, the Deadly Trail of the Seven Knights, the Deathly Lair of the Seven-Headed Ogre, and the Seven Perils of Deathly Doom.
She noted that the writers of these brochures would’ve benefited greatly from a good thesaurus.
Swamp Perilous had a terrific pamphlet. Full color. Well-written copy. Some nice photos that made the dark gray muck appear almost welcoming. But she avoided mud as resolutely as she avoided rain. Once it dried in her fur, it was hell to get out.
Not all quest destinations advertised themselves based on danger and glory, though. Some went a subtler route.
“HAVE YOU SEEN THE THING?” one asked in bold lettering. The pamphlet extolled the vague properties of the Thing without giving any concrete clues as to what it might actually be. Helen was intrigued, but at the same time she wasn’t certain she was up to that level of adventure. She wanted to have some idea of what she was getting into, and if the Thing turned out to be a giant two-headed rat or a potato chip that looked like somebody famous, she’d kick herself.
Lake Hecate included details on the beautiful picnic grounds, the water park, and the antiquing opportunities. “Come for the Forbidden Temple of the Ancients. Stay for the fun of it!”
And then there were the pamphlets that went with reverse psychology.
“Ghast, Idaho, where only fools dare come.”
“Norman County, where even immortals fear to tread.”
“You’re too much of a wimp to visit Amber Mound, Home of the Shrieking Bloodfiends.”
If the crude painting of the fiend on the cover was any indication, she agreed.
Then she found it. The brochure she was looking for. Her curse mark prickled as she touched it. She took that as a sign from the Lost God. She plucked it from the stand, thanked the clerk for his time, and went back to the room. Troy was up and dressed. She wasn’t surprised he was an early riser.
“I know where we’re going.” She handed him the pamphlet for the North American Wild Dragon Preserve.
He read it.
“Aren’t dragons kind of high up on the questing scale, Hel?”
She laughed. “Wait. Are you actually trying to talk me out of doing something dangerous?”
Troy smiled. “No, it just seems a bit advanced.”
“I’ve never seen a wild dragon,” she said. “Have you?”
“Only seen them in zoos.”
She started packing. “So let’s do it then.”
“We don’t know if there’s anything there for us,” he said.
“Yes we do.” She unfolded their map, pointed to the previously indecipherable scribble next on their journey. “It’s not a squiggle or a snake. It’s a dragon. Didn’t realize it until I noticed these two triangles. They’re wings.”
He took a closer look. “I guess I can see it.”
“Maybe I’m wrong, but the fates said I should be more decisive. I’m taking that as a sign, and so far following signs has been working for us. How’s your mark feel?”
“Itchy.” He scratched his hand. “Itchier now.”
“That has to mean something, right? Like our curse is trying to point us in the right direction. And if I’m wrong, at least we’ll get to see some dragons. You’ve got your magic sword. Those things are usually great at taking care of dragons, if we run into any problems.”
They grabbed a couple of bagels and some mini-cartons of orange juice from the motel and headed to the preserve. The Nevada desert spread before them. It looked nothing like the lush forests pictured in the brochure.
“How far away is this place?” asked Troy.
“Says it’s about thirty miles down the interstate.”
“Are we still in Nevada?” he asked. “Like Nevada Nevada.”
She smiled.
17
They followed the directions on the brochure because the GPS on their phones was stymied by any attempt to find the preserve. A search for an official website did pull up an informative page listing rules and regulations and giving contact information. But it did
n’t list any address. They considered calling the number on the site but decided to see if the directions on the pamphlet were correct first.
“Says here you aren’t allowed to bring any weapons,” said Helen.
“Isn’t going in unarmed dangerous?” he asked.
“Visitors must sign a waiver before entering the preserve.”
“That’s comforting.”
This was looking more and more like a dangerous undertaking. But they’d already committed, and she wasn’t going back to the motel to grab another brochure. By now all the good ones were probably taken.
Danger was part of questing. Perhaps some quests were dull and safe affairs. Go to the store. Pick up some eggs. Return henceforth with said eggs and thou shalt be rewarded with the sacred omelet of justice.
Nobody wrote legends about that type of quest.
She wasn’t interested in becoming a legend, but if she was going to be stuck on this journey, she might as well make the most of it. She doubted there’d be an epic poem in her future about that time they visited a preserve, had a picnic, and saw a dragon fly by. But at least it would be a day to remember.
They nearly missed the unmarked exit off the interstate, but the prickle in their hands flared up to alert them. It was an irritating form of guidance, but it did the trick.
From there they went down an old paved road. Then turned off onto a gravel one that transitioned into a dirt one before reaching their destination.
The preserve itself was marked with a wooden archway over the road. The sign declared, in hand-painted yellow letters, HERE BE DRAGONS.
“This must be the place,” said Troy.
After they passed through the arch, that became obvious. On the other side a forest sprang into existence. The forbidding timberland was a sinister mix of dark greens and deep shadows. They parked the Chimera in a dirt lot and double-checked. On one side of the arch was nothing but desert. On the other, the forest.
They entered the visitors’ center, a large blocky building made of stone with no windows and only one door, also carved of stone. The interior décor was dominated by a fearsome dragon skull on display. Its jaws were propped open, allowing one to imagine what it might be like to see the fleshy version bearing down on one.
Helen and Troy's Epic Road Quest Page 12
