by Scott Meyer
The next morning, as Jimmy got up from his bedroll, he felt something in his hip pocket, which had been empty when he went to bed. He explored the pocket with his hand and quickly recognized that the intruder was a plastic pen with a sheet of paper wrapped around it. Jimmy looked at his fellow adventurers. Tyler and Gary were going about their business, but Phillip was glancing in his direction.
Jimmy made eye contact with Phillip and slowly withdrew his hand from his pocket. Phillip seemed satisfied and went back to putting his bedding away. After an interval of time Jimmy had calculated to not be suspicious, he announced that he was going to go void his bowels. He didn’t usually proclaim his intent to defecate so proudly, but he figured it was the most effective way possible to ensure that Todd would not want to watch him.
Once he was out in the woods alone, Jimmy unrolled the note.
This is good, he thought. Phillip wants to conspire and he came to me. That shows some trust. I’m making progress.
He still held the note close to his chest and made an effort to conceal his actions, in case he had misjudged Todd’s proclivities. Jimmy read:
Todd is probably watching and listening. After we make the weapon, next stop is “Chasm of Certain Doom.” We need a plan.
—T
Agreed. Ideas?
—P
My 1st idea was to ask you. That was a dead end. 2nd idea, ask Gary?
—T
T, no need for snark. G, how about it. Any ideas?
—P
You two want a sneaky plan and you haven’t asked J? Dumb.
—G
J?
—P
Jimmy shook his head as he rolled the note around the pen and stowed them both in his pocket.
The wizards gathered as much water as they could, compared ideas as to how to transport the blade, and agreed that the best method they had was carefully, with lots of rags wrapped around their hands, while shouting instructions and insults at each other. They also agreed that this was a bitter disappointment.
They followed the path out of town, which was not marked, but there were only two paths in or out of town, so they chose the path that had not brought them in. The path was wide, more of a road, really, and was mostly downhill, but the going was slow, and they rotated their place in formation often. They positioned the blade so that the twisted portion was at the front, so whoever carried that portion could support it with one hand while walking almost fully forward, watching the path ahead for obstacles and wolves. The two supporting the sides of the blade walked sideways, more to control the blade than to support its weight. The man at the back had the easiest job, in that he got to walk straight ahead, but he also had the most dangerous job. His view of the path was obscured by the blade and his fellow blade carriers, and if there was a mishap, the others might lose a finger, while he could very well get decapitated or cut in half.
It did not take long for the lush forest, with its evergreen trees, thick undergrowth, and abundant tree wolves, to start thinning. They knew soon it would give way to some form of desert, which meant a bleak landscape, no shade, and, they’d been warned, sand wolves.
“What was that other thing he warned us about?” Phillip asked, walking sideways, both hands supporting the shining blade.
Jimmy, who was in the lead position, looked back and said, “He called it the ‘dreaded elemental,’ whatever that means.”
Gary, bringing up the rear, yelped, “Eyes forward!”
Tyler said, “An elemental is a fairly common type of monster in fantasy stories and D&D adventures. They’re supposed to be made of one of the four elements: earth, wind, fire, or water. It’s almost always fire, because why wouldn’t it be?”
“Maybe it’ll be the fifth element,” Gary said. “The supreme being.”
Tyler saw the confusion on Phillip’s face and explained, “It’s from a movie.” Tyler affected a high-pitched voice and a foreign accent and said to Gary, “Leeloo Dallas. Multipass.” He turned back to Phillip and said, “In the movie, the fifth element was a beautiful woman who wore nothing but suspenders and an ACE bandage. We will not be so lucky.”
Phillip said, “Marvelous. What else do we know about it?”
Jimmy glanced back. “He said ‘the dreaded elemental,’ so we know that it’s an elemental, and we know that it is dreaded.”
“Eyes forward!” Gary shouted.
“The dreaded elemental,” Phillip said, bitterly. “Doesn’t tell us much. We already know it’s dreaded. We’re the ones dreading it.”
Jimmy shouted back, without turning his head, “Sorry I keep turning around, Gary. I’m not doing it on purpose.”
Gary said, “Yeah, I know. Just try to remember, okay? Seriously, guys. I don’t know how much of this I can take.”
Phillip thought, I don’t know how much of this any of us will be able to take. I just wish there had been a better way to carry this cursed thing. Of course there wasn’t, though. Todd’s too clever for that. Phillip mulled that last part over a bit. Todd’s too clever. That doesn’t sound right. Maybe . . .
He considered suggesting that they put the blade down and run back to town to see if there was something they had overlooked, but dismissed the thought. No, if there’d been something there we could have used, we’d have remembered it. We’re too smart to have missed anything.
Phillip mulled that over and thought, That doesn’t sound quite right either.
23.
“Looks like there’s a town around the bend,” Roy shouted back to the rest of his group. Gwen was carrying the front of the litter. She nodded back over her shoulder to Martin at the back of the litter and said, “Town ahead.”
Martin said, “Got it.” He lifted the poles from his shoulders and turned to look at Brit. She nodded, sending the clear message that she’d heard, so he put the weight back on his shoulders without saying anything.
During the hike from the home of what Martin had learned not to ever call “the Gwenches,” they had taken to having the person walking in the lead keep a bit of distance out ahead of the rest of the group. That way they could warn of any obstacles in their path, and often, if they were attacked by tree wolves, the lead had them dealt with before the rest of the group caught up.
Roy waited for the others. He felt it would be better if they entered the town together.
“This would be Bowmore, I think,” Gwen said. “We’re supposed to make the dailuaine into some kind of weapon here, if I remember right.”
They entered the small town cautiously, Roy still in the lead. There were unconvincing citizens ambling aimlessly around the street. A clearly artificial old woman appeared to be making bread. There was some sort of motion in a shop up ahead. Roy approached the woman, who was repetitively kneading her dough.
“Hello,” Roy said.
The woman said, “How can ye not know where you are? This be the town of Bowmore.”
Roy walked back to the group, who had heard the exchange and needed no explanation. Roy squinted into the distance and said, “I guess we head to the shop.”
Gwen said, “Probably a blacksmith. Makes sense.”
As they walked through the empty streets of the fake town, Martin saw that tucked between two of the huts, there was an old oxcart. He pointed and said, “We could have used that.”
Brit glanced at the cart and said, “We don’t have anything to pull it, but yeah, I bet a couple of people could make good headway on level ground. Oh well, we’ll see if we end up having to carry anything out of here. That might come in handy.”
When they reached the shop, Gwen and Martin heaved the heavy litter to the ground with an air of finality.
The shop was an open-air affair, with an awning to keep the weather off and a fence to keep the pedestrians out. There was a forge that looked like a pile of bricks, and a blacksmith, who also look
ed like a pile of bricks. There were various nails, horseshoes, hammers, and other products or tools of the blacksmithing trade strewn around the shop. The blacksmith was using his tools to assert his will over a glowing bar of metal, fresh from the forge.
Brit stepped toward the blacksmith and said, “Hi.”
The blacksmith turned and said, “Greetings, stranger. How does this day find you?”
Brit shrugged and said, “Eh.”
The blacksmith put down his work. He walked over to a basin of stagnant water, where he washed, or at least rinsed, his hands. Then he introduced himself. “I am Inchgower, skilled blacksmith and crafter of fine weapons.”
Brit said, “Uh huh.”
The blacksmith listened intently, nodding and stroking his chin. After a stretch of awkward silence, he said, “Aye, ’tis a long journey to be sure. I’m certain you didn’t come all this way without good reason.”
Brit made a “hurry it up” motion with her hand and said, “Uh huh.”
Inchgower spread his hands apologetically. “I see. You’ve come to the right place, but sadly, I cannot help you.”
Martin said, “No?”
“I know all about the prophecy,” the blacksmith explained, “but to make the weapon you need, I require certain raw materials, materials that have not been available for quite some time, I’m afraid.”
Brit pointed at the litter, with the invisible chunk of rock, wrapped in Martin’s old robe. She stood there silently for a moment before Roy said, “I guess they do just wait for a verbal cue before continuing.”
A look of amazement filled the blacksmith’s face. He dropped the rag he’d been holding and staggered to the gate, where he looked down at the round lump that could really have been anything, wrapped in a bolt of dirty, sequined cloth.
“You have it.” He gasped. “You managed to procure the dailuaine. I cannot believe it.”
Brit said, “Uh huh.”
Inchgower looked delighted. He said, “Gentlemen, I will make you your weapon.”
Brit turned to Gwen and motioned for her to take a turn. Gwen bowed slightly to her, then said, “Yeah?”
The blacksmith turned to face Gwen, bolted forward three steps, seized her by the shoulders, and said, “We will need bricks! Lots of bricks, my friends. Come with me—there are wheelbarrows out back.”
Brit cringed. “Yeesh, sorry about that, Gwen. I didn’t know he’d do that.”
Inchgower let go of Gwen and strode purposefully out the rear of the shop.
Martin said, “I think he’s waiting for us to go get the wheelbarrows.”
“Let him wait,” Roy said, rubbing his hands together. He glanced at Brit and said, “That went really well, didn’t it?” She smiled and nodded.
Roy turned to Martin and Gwen and said, “Just to make sure we’re all on the same page here, at each stop in this stupid quest, we’re supposed to do something, right? But at the last stop, with all the Gwens, we didn’t, did we?”
“No. No, we did not,” Martin said.
“Right,” Brit said, taking over from Roy. “So, when the blacksmith started into his subroutine, it proved that we don’t actually have to do any of this crap, which is good, because we need to catch up to the others. Now we know we can.”
The whole point of coming here had been to meet up with their friends and offer them assistance. It had weighed on all of their minds that they didn’t feel like they were making any progress in catching up to the first group. Of course, due to the other group’s extended stay with Inchgower, they had gained a great deal of ground, but they had no way of knowing that.
“So you’re saying we should just move on?” Martin said.
“Unless you like the idea of staying here and gathering bricks,” Roy answered.
Martin said, “No, but he’s supposed to make us a weapon. What if later we need it, whatever it is, to move forward?”
Roy turned to Brit and said, “The boy makes a good point.”
Brit said, “Yeah, but if we stay here and do whatever it is we’re supposed to, it’ll be that much harder to catch up with the others. If, on the other hand, we skip this and make tracks as fast as we can, and catch up, they’ll probably have the weapon, and we won’t need ours.”
“What if we never catch up?” Martin asked.
“Then we can backtrack and get the weapon, because if that happens, we have much bigger problems than making good time. Look, I know that leaving without whatever we’re supposed to get here is taking a chance, but we have to stay focused on what our real goals are. We didn’t come here to experience this quest. We came here to help our friends, and we aren’t accomplishing that by following at a distance. We need to catch up to them.”
Martin raised both hands, signaling partial defeat. “I’m not arguing with that. I’m just trying to think ahead for once, and I don’t want us to get stuck here because we don’t have some object we need later.”
Brit smiled. “No, you’re right. That’s a good point, but we need to catch up, and that won’t happen unless we start taking some risks. Besides, Martin, this isn’t really much of a risk. We know we won’t get stuck here because if we did, Brit the Elder wouldn’t be in Atlantis right now. She’d be here with us. Of course, she might still be here with us right now, and we get her out so she can be in Atlantis now too, but even if that’s the case, we still get out, because if we have the ability to get her out, that suggests we can get ourselves out as well.”
Martin said, “I can’t argue with that. Or even follow it, really.”
Roy said, “Good. I say we look around the place, see if there’s anything we can use, then get on our way.”
Gwen found the water pump and refilled their bottles. Aside from that, there was little of any use, or so it seemed at first. When they regrouped to leave, and got a good look at the path out of town, Roy asked everyone to wait for a moment. The path was nice and wide. The ground was dry and solid. They’d been walking downhill for most of their journey, and the terrain didn’t give them reason to expect a change.
“I think I have an idea,” Roy said. “I know we need to get a move on, but like the lady says, it’s time to take some risks, and this might be worth it.”
Roy turned and walked back toward town. Martin followed, asking Roy for details. As the men disappeared around the side of the blacksmith shop, Gwen heard Roy ask, “Did kids still play with Radio Flyer wagons when you were a boy?”
Martin answered, “Yeah, big red plastic things, right?”
Brit stared down the path, as if trying to peer into the future. She muttered some words that were largely unintelligible. Gwen picked out “enough water” and “wolf jerky to eat.” Brit stopped mumbling when she became aware that Gwen was smirking at her.
“Why are you smirking at me?” Brit asked.
“Was I?” Gwen asked, smirking.
“Yes. You still are.”
Gwen said, “You must really be worried about Phillip.”
Brit said, “And that’s why you’re smiling. You know, Gwen, I can see why Martin finds you confusing.”
“You must be really worried about Phillip, because when people are really, deeply concerned, their true thoughts tend to come out.”
“And?”
“And,” Gwen said, “you’re using the fact that Brit the Elder is back in Atlantis as proof that we can get out of here without whatever it is we were supposed to make at this stop.”
Brit saw what Gwen was getting at. When Brit first traveled to the distant past and found the version of Atlantis she’d imagined building already there waiting for her—along with another woman who looked exactly like her, and claimed to be her from the future and to have built the city she’d wanted to build as a gift for her—Brit’s natural first reaction had been to become very, very confused. Her natural second reaction was to be deeply sus
picious of the second Brit. As time went on, and the other her seemed to remember everything she said, did, or thought, and did or claimed to have done everything Brit aspired to, Brit’s natural third reaction was to wallow in resignation and resentment, and that’s exactly what she did for years, until Phillip came along.
Phillip had two core beliefs: that the 1980s were the pinnacle of human culture and that people can always change their destiny. Brit liked his second core belief so much that she was willing to ignore how obviously wrong his first core belief was.
Phillip had looked at the massive pile of convincing evidence that Brit the Elder was Brit the Younger’s future, and he said, “Nah.” He immediately constructed an elaborate theory for how Brit the Elder was a projection, created in real time, based on estimates of the possible outcomes of Brit the Younger’s actions. Thus, Brit the Elder wasn’t living Brit the Younger’s future; Brit the Younger was altering Brit the Elder’s present. Brit, both Brits, oddly, loved him for that.
Since the day she’d met Phillip, Brit the Younger had refused to be pinned down on the issue of whether Brit the Elder was in fact her. If Phillip was around, she’d sit in silence, smiling, as he explained that she was not. If Brit the Elder was present, Brit the Younger would sit in silence, sulking, while the Elder explained that she was. If both Phillip and the Elder were in the room when the question came up, everybody else would sit in silence and watch the always-entertaining debate that would ensue.
Now neither of them was present. Brit was on her own, and Gwen had clearly been paying attention, waiting for her to take a position on the Brit the Elder question.
“It’s just interesting to know that when it comes down to it, you believe Brit the Elder is you,” Gwen said.
“Eh.” Brit shrugged. “When it suits me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Gwen asked.
Brit was not displeased to see that Gwen’s smirk was gone. “Look, when that person you all call Brit the Elder is pretending to be humble and gracious while accepting praise and credit for my ideas, I tell myself that she can’t possibly be me, because I’d never do that to someone.”
