by Demi Harper
Gneil let out a strangled cry, craning his neck to see what had happened to Granny. The kobold gave him a vicious shake, then turned and limped away down the tunnel with its gnomish prize, blood trickling down the back of one leg.
Eight
The Fast and the Furry
‘They stole Gneil!’ Disbelief filled me, quickly replaced by horror, then outrage. ‘What do I do, Ket?’
I knew the answer even before she replied, ‘Creation. Quickly!’
I tried to stay calm as I blinked open the Augmentary once more. If I’d had hands, they’d have been shaking badly. Luckily, I needed only my thoughts to negotiate my way through to the blueprints, and a moment later I had the fox before me once again.
Scanning through the other options, I picked the one that stood out to me the most – the cave spider – and selected it, ready to combine with the fox.
Not quite knowing what to do next, I hurriedly cried, ‘Creation!’ and dragged the blueprints together.
Nothing happened.
‘Foolish rock!’ scolded Ket. ‘You don’t have enough mana right now to mix vertebrates and invertebrates! Weren’t you listening to a word I was saying earlier?’
Truthfully, no, but her tone suggested that admitting as much might be the last thing I ever did. ‘Verter-whats?’
‘Bones, Corey. The mana cost for combining creatures that have internal skeletons with creatures that don’t is much higher than you can afford right now.’
Well, that’s inconvenient.
I reconsidered my options.
‘Hurry!’ Ket moaned.
‘I’m trying!’
The cave spider was now out of the question; without a larger creature to combine it with, there was probably no way it would be capable of bringing down a squirrel, let alone a kobold raider.
Speaking of squirrels…
‘Now, Corey!’
‘Ugh!’
I mentally gritted my teeth and selected the only remaining option that made sense: the squirrel.
Just like when I’d cast Growth, I saw – and felt – my mana rush out of me as the two blueprints combined. Even though the Augmentary showed me exactly how much mana the ability would cost me in this particular instance – precisely one globe’s worth – I still felt a twinge of panic as I watched it drain away, leaving me with barely a fifth of a globe to my name.
As my mana poured into them, the two blueprints entwined, merged, and then began to change. The blue lines and symbols moved faster, faster, blurring and brightening until they became a blinding silver mass. I recoiled weakly, but remained focused on it, hoping, pleading.
Please be the size of a fox. Please be the size of a—
The glowing mass spat out a creature. It dropped to the ground, landing lightly on all fours and then sitting back on its haunches. Russet fur coated most of its lithe body; its belly, throat and pointed muzzle were white. The legs – long and slender – were black all the way down to its clawed feet, as though the creature had just waded through tar.
All in all, it looked very much like a fox, though perhaps not quite as large. The only concessions to its squirrel parentage were the beady black eyes, furry finger-like toes, and tufted ears sticking up vertically from the top of its head. Oh, and the tail. To call it ‘bushy’ would have been an understatement; it lay curled around the creature’s feet, almost the length of its entire body, and looked fluffy enough to be harboring several baby birds.
Disappointment quickly began seeping in.
It doesn’t look very dangerous.
The creature sneezed, falling over its own black-fur-tipped feet to plop onto its rump, a surprised look upon its face.
We don’t have time for this. That kobold still has Gneil!
‘Ket, how do I make it go?’ I asked.
The squirrel-fox – squox? Forrel? – quirked its head to one side as though listening.
‘Can… can it hear me?’
Its eyes narrowed.
‘Go!’ I commanded it.
It cocked its head to one side, back legs twitching as though about to spring. Then it lifted a leg to scratch behind its ear.
‘No! What are you doing, you half-witted ball of fluff?!’
What if that kobold fancied an afternoon snack en route and decided to chow down on Gneil? My disciple might be being devoured at this very moment!
I focused all my mental energy into flinging the command at my flea-ridden creation:
‘Go.’
The raised leg jerked back to the ground and the squirrel-fox sprang forward. Muscles bunched and stretched beneath sleek red fur as my new creation sprinted down the tunnel in the wake of the kobolds.
I followed, and was several feet into the passage before I realized: ‘I’m outside my Sphere of Influence!’
‘No, you’re not!’ Ket sang back happily, easily keeping pace with me and my squirrel-fox. ‘Each time you Ascend, your Sphere of Influence expands.’
Splendid!
The squirrel-fox – forrel, I decided – showed no signs of slowing, not even for corners. When it encountered a bend in the tunnel it leapt up and ran along the wall, toes splayed and claws somehow finding purchase on the damp rock.
Within seconds we caught sight of a distant silhouette. Its shoulders were burdened with a lumpy shape and it jogged awkwardly, as though limping. A thrill ran through me – we’d caught the bugger! – and I urged the forrel even faster.
‘What happens if I go outside of it?’ I panted to Ket. I wasn’t actually exhausted or out of breath, of course, but old habits die hard, and it seemed exercise had never really been one of mine. ‘My Sphere of Influence, I mean. What if I leave it?’
‘You can’t leave your Sphere. It’s not possible.’ She said this like it was the most obvious thing in the world. ‘If you or any of your god-born creatures tries—’
She broke off with a gasp as the forrel smacked into an invisible barrier and rebounded, tumbling over and over from the force of the impact.
‘—that will happen,’ finished Ket.
I gaped at the squirrel-fox as it staggered to its feet, then I eased myself along the passage to the point where it had been repelled. True enough, I found my own way blocked by an unseen force, like a stiff, transparent curtain. I pushed myself against it, tentatively at first, then harder, but it was no use. There was no getting through.
‘What now?’ I watched helplessly as the kobold limped further and further away. We were so close!
‘I was saving this for later, but… use your Augmentary. Look underneath Creation.’
‘What?’
‘Quick!’
I skimmed down to the bottom of my list of abilities. There, nestled beneath Creation, was what appeared to be some kind of sub-ability.
‘Avatar,’ I read hastily. ‘Tier three ability; no mana cost. Choose one god-born creature to become your avatar.’
‘Do it, Corey!’
‘Wait! What’s an avatar?’
She made a strangled, exasperated noise. ‘It’s… it’s the physical incarnation of your divine will. Your representative, if you like. Now hurry!’
‘This thing? But it’s just a forrel!’
I stared down at the fox-like creature. It flicked one tufted ear at me and swayed on its haunches, still dazed from its impact with my Sphere’s boundary. This was to be my champion? Really?
Ket made a noise almost too high for me to hear, and I immediately tried to recoil. The sound hit me like the mental equivalent of a backhand slap.
‘Corey, are you seriously considering letting Gneil’s kidnapper get away, just because you think this… forrel… isn’t impressive enough to be your avatar?’
The sprite was right: I was considering it. But I was also watching half of my entire source of worship moving further and further away on the shoulders of a limping kobold. There’s always a choice, I’d told Ket earlier. Now, it seemed making this thing into my avatar was the only smart choice available to me.
‘Corey…’
‘Fine. Fine!’
Unsure what to expect, I focused on the confused-looking squirrel-fox and thought, ‘Avatar.’
Immediately, its appearance began to change. Its forelegs bent into elbows, now resembling the furry arms of a squirrel more than the legs of a fox. Its back legs lengthened; it writhed, rolling onto its back, where I couldn’t help but notice ‘it’ was actually a ‘she’. Then, with one smooth movement, my new avatar flipped herself upright so that she was standing on two legs.
I gaped as she took a few tottering steps, her bushy white-tipped tail curling up to compensate for her lack of balance. Her dark eyes shone with intelligence as she surveyed her surroundings from her new bipedal vantage.
To my delight, the avatar tentatively began moving down the tunnel again without instruction. Once she passed the point where she had previously hit the barrier – in other words, once she’d left the limits of my Sphere of Influence – she broke into a run. Forgetting my own limitations, I instinctively tried to follow, only to meet the same invisible resistance that had knocked the squirrel-fox onto her back just moments ago.
Trapped, helpless, I watched anxiously as my avatar sprinted off into the distance.
She moved a little unsteadily on her new legs, but the avatar was still far quicker than the injured kobold raider. In a matter of moments, she had caught up to the distant enemy. I squinted from afar but could see nothing more than a sudden entangling of two-legged silhouettes, hear nothing but the scuffle of bodies and a series of furious barks which could have come from either combatant.
Already accustomed to seeing everything with my god’s-eye vision, I found this new blindness unbearable.
‘What’s happening, Ket?’ I moaned. If I’d still had hands and a head, I’d have been pulling my hair out. ‘What’s happening?’
If Gneil was lost, I’d have no means of gaining the power I needed to escape from my gem. I’d be stuck in the Grotto forever – if the remaining gnomes didn’t try to smash me first, that was. Superstitious buggers.
A pained squeal tore me from my thoughts, apparently signaling the end of the fight.
All was still. No movement and no sound came from down the tunnel.
They’re all dead, I thought despairingly.
‘Corey,’ said Ket softly. I barely heard her.
My first worshiper, dead. My avatar, dead, and only minutes after I created her. What sort of a god am I?
Stupid universe. Why put me in such an unwinnable position?
‘Corey!’
Snapping out of my maudlin reverie, I scanned the tunnel for whatever Ket was trying to draw my attention to. Given my current luck it was probably more kobolds, returning for another raid.
But the two-legged shape emerging from the darkness was not a kobold. Her red fur was streaked with black reptilian blood, and three parallel crimson lines – claw marks, without a doubt – stained her white belly, but it was unmistakably her.
My avatar.
Held in her furry arms was Gneil, who gazed adoringly up at her proud vulpine face. My worshiper’s cheek was bruised and he had blood in his hair, but both he and the avatar were very much alive.
Nine
The Voice
As Ket and I followed my new squirrel-fox avatar back toward the cavern, I could see Gneil’s relief and elation; his Faith seemed even stronger than before, his glowing verdant aura now more vibrant. The green levels in my Faith triangle had visibly risen higher toward tier four, albeit only a fraction.
Better yet, when we re-entered the cavern we found Granny waiting among the mushrooms, injured but alive. She fell to her knees when my avatar deposited Gneil in front of her, and bowed her head in worship; to my delight, my sorely depleted mana began to replenish once again. Furthermore, my Faith levels rose by a tiny amount as the avatar placed a gentle hand on Granny’s head.
Despite my earlier reservations about my new avatar being a lowly squirrel-fox – or ‘forrel’, as I’d dubbed this new species – the creature had proved herself more than equal to the role by destroying the enemy and rescuing Gneil.
For some reason, Ket seemed to think she herself had been instrumental in this achievement.
‘See, Corey? See what happens when you follow my instructions?’ she sang.
I’d just single-handedly created the furry solution to our troubles, and now the sprite was trying to take credit?
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I replied haughtily.
‘Oh, behave,’ she huffed as we followed Gneil across the cavern toward his village. ‘Don’t pretend you could have handled that situation by yourself. You need me, Corey. Just like you need Ris’kin.’
‘Who?’
‘Your avatar!’ She said this as if I was stupid.
‘You mean the forrel?’
The sprite tutted. ‘You can’t just call her by her species. She has to have a proper name.’
‘Fine. So why Ris’kin?’
‘In ancient Umerian – the noblest of the lost languages, in case you didn’t know – ‘risu’ is squirrel and ‘kinsu’ is fox. Fitting, don’t you think?’
‘It’ll do,’ I agreed. ‘Though you still haven’t really explained the purpose of an avatar. Why do I need one, again?’
‘Like I said earlier, she’ll be your representative among your denizens. The physical incarnation of your divine presence.’
‘To what purpose?’
‘Many. An avatar may be an emissary, a go-between for you and your denizens, or simply a symbol. She is also your earthly champion, and a source of inspiration – as you can see.’ She indicated Granny, who was still worshiping the avatar while ignoring Gneil completely. ‘And as you’ve also seen, your avatar may travel outside your Sphere of Influence should the need arise. Essentially, she’s the eternal manifestation of your will.’
I hesitated. ‘Wait… ‘eternal’? You mean I’m stuck with this thing—’
Below, the avatar bared her teeth, while Ket trilled with outrage.
‘—with Ris’kin,’ I hurriedly amended, ‘as my avatar… forever?’
‘Well, yes. More or less. Is that a problem?’
There was a challenge in the sprite’s voice. ‘Say “yes”. I dare you,’ was what she’d really meant.
Who was I to resist a challenge?
But before I could respond, the Grotto began to dim around me. The edges of my vision darkened, as though I was viewing the world through a tunnel. I remained frozen in alarm as words crackled their way into my consciousness as if from very far away.
… hear me?
The voice was deep but distant, yet sounded as though it was speaking directly into my mind.
‘Excuse me?’ Please don’t let it be yet another sprite. ‘Who’s there?’
Can you hear me now?
This time, the voice sounded much closer.
‘I can hear you,’ I snapped, my fear manifesting as impatience. ‘What do you want?’
There was a dangerous pause. I looked around; my surroundings still appeared blurred, as if I was viewing my cavern through a dim fog, but I had the prickling sense of being watched.
Chilled, but trying to sound brave, I said again, ‘What do you want?’
What I want, little god, slithered the voice, much closer now, is to be addressed with respect.
‘Don’t we all?’
Indeed.
Another pause.
Well, this is awkward.
And still I couldn’t see who the voice belonged to. After a few moments’ silence, I ventured to ask again, ‘So… what do you actually want? Your Highness,’ I added sarcastically.
You mock what you should fear, little god, said the voice slowly. Be thankful Grimrock’s mood is generous today. It is not always so.
‘Erm, okay?’ There really wasn’t much else to say. ‘Who’s Grimrock?’
Perhaps you should ask your sprite.
There was a note of smug, deadly humor in
the voice now, like a panther’s smile in the dark. I didn’t care for it.
‘How do you know about Ket?’ I asked, suspicion coloring my tone. Once again I felt the cold, prickling sensation of being watched.
Enjoy your little victory, little god, said the voice softly, ignoring my question entirely. I cannot say I wish you well, but I can promise we’ll meet again soon.
The voice faded, leaving me with one last parting comment:
Take care. Grimrock is always watching.
Ten
Ascension
Well, that wasn’t ominous at all.
The dark fog receded, and sights and sounds rushed in from all around to flood my senses. As the cavern returned to normal – or whatever passed for ‘normal’ in a place that was home to a sprite, a sentient rock and a bunch of hapless gnomes – I scanned my surroundings again for the source of the strange voice.
There was nobody there.
Of course, a disembodied voice, I thought grumpily. And just when I was starting to get the hang of things round here, too.
Unsettled by the whole incident, I took one last look around. Over beyond the mushroom patch, the darkness of the tunnel stared back at me, as though daring me to re-enter it.
‘Grimrock is always watching.’
I shuddered and fled across the cavern toward my less sinister companions.
Gneil and Granny were now walking on either side of Ris’kin, leaning on the avatar for support as they splashed their way through the shallow stream. As they entered the outskirts of the tent village, lost-looking gnomes stared at the unlikely trio. And no wonder, really.
Two injured gnomes supported by a squirrel-fox hybrid walking upright on two legs? My little entourage was surely a strange and pitiful sight.
Bruised, bloodied and wincing, Gneil broke away from the small group and climbed atop a nearby rock to address the gawking gnomes. His babbling remained unintelligible to me, but his wide eyes and animated facial expressions – not to mention his dramatic gestures toward my gem – made it obvious he was explaining the juicy details of my divine intervention.
