by Demi Harper
Oddly, it was reassuring to know that he and Coll weren’t the only ones on the run. Even the Core was going to have to leave soon, along with its entourage of gnomes.
A pity, really. From what he’d seen, they were really starting to make this place into a home. A shoddy home, one which smelled of dirt and damp and spider farts and fungal infestations, but a home nonetheless. There were more houses than the last time he was here, and the ones that had been burned to cinders had been rebuilt. The mushroom forest—he assumed it was a forest—looked much better now, too. The mushrooms were growing vertically from the ground, for one thing, whereas last time they'd been strewn all over the place, their stalks brutally snapped as if from beneath their own weight. The absence of dead kobolds helped too.
In truth, he didn't much care about the Core, or even the gnomes. Sure, it would be a shame if they got wiped out, but he wouldn't shed tears over it.
Tiri would, though. And he owed her. She'd saved all their lives by keeping her head and leading them through the tunnels when all else had been lost.
She'd also been the driving force behind their decision to go against the Guildmaster's wishes and return to the red Core, for which he would probably never forgive her. But he owed her this at least.
And so here he was, about to throw in his lot with a talking crystal and its motley crew of bizarre miniature humans. It’s not like I have a lot of other options. Besides, traveling far away from the Guild and waiting for things to blow over is not the worst thing I could do right now.
For the hundredth time, he glanced over his shoulder, scanning his surroundings. A rising wind rippled the meadow’s long grass, and he shivered.
Still no sign of Tiri.
Lightning flashed to the north, and a second later the first raindrop plinked against the back of his hand.
“Rain’s coming,” warned Coll, not stopping his slow dance.
Benin squinted up at the gray-black clouds, now fully smothering the late-afternoon sun and dragging the world into early evening. Another fat raindrop splashed his forehead. “What was your first clue?” He climbed to his feet. “We should put the tent up. Quit your damn yoga and give me a hand.”
“It’s not yoga.” Coll’s eyes were closed and there was a serene expression on his face as he bent his knees and slowly brought his hammer down in front of him until it rested between his feet. “I’m practicing my forms. Don’t want to get rusty.”
“Fine, I’ll do it myself. You’re about as useful as a chocolate teacup anyway.”
Coll opened his eyes. “That’s not what you were saying when I saved your arse from getting caught red-handed in the zoo.” He grinned at his own pun, and Benin fought not to wince at the memory of the burns on his palms—a truly unpleasant and alien sensation for any pyromancer.
“That’s because you did cool warrior things. I realize now I’m lucky you didn’t choose to meditate at those guards instead.”
Coll’s grin widened. “It was cool, wasn’t it? I learned it when I leveled up after fighting those white spiders near the red Core’s base. Been looking for an excuse to use it ever since.”
Benin pulled the tent from his pack and started to unroll it. “What’s it called?”
“Hammer Smash.”
“Subtle.”
“Want to see it again up close?”
“Ha ha.”
Benin looked up from the tent to see Coll raising his hammer above his head.
Shit, he wasn’t joking.
“No! Don’t—”
The hammer’s head connected with the ground with the force of a falling meteor. A geyser of grass, stones and clods of earth erupted as Hammer Smash’s shockwave blasted out, tearing vegetation from its roots in a widening circle from the point of impact.
Even though he saw it coming, it still knocked Benin to the ground when it reached him. He swore and climbed shakily to his feet, searching desperately for Pyra.
The emberfox had been quick enough to avoid the blast and was now standing twenty feet away, fur all on end, growling at the earth. Reassured that she was all right, he rounded on Coll—
—just in time to watch the earth swallow him.
Twenty-Four
Exodus
Corey
“The wagons are all finished. They’re ready, Corey. It’s time.”
“Young Ket is correct. The water is—”
A corner of the Grotto exploded. For a panicked instant I thought the river had broken through the wall to rush in and drown us all. Then a cascade of dirt, rocks, and heavily-armored human came crashing down into the badgers’ nest.
“What the hell, Coll?” I yelled, zooming over to inspect the damage to my ceiling. But I stopped just before entering the now wide-open space.
The day’s light was nearly gone, swallowed by the storm clouds as well as the encroaching evening. Still, I flinched as the sky’s gray illumination came pouring into my domain, as inexorable and unwelcome as the floodwater. The grotto was now awash in silvery light. I did not like it.
You’re going to have to get used to it, I told myself.
I edged out into the open space, cringing the entire time. I felt like a dormouse in a field as the hawk circles overhead.
No shadows. No shelter. How do surface dwellers not go mad beneath the weight of all that sky?
Roots poked out from the sides of the ragged opening, trailing down and grasping at the empty space like pale crooked fingers. I was no claustrophobe, obviously—far from it—but it was disconcerting to be reminded that most of the ceiling was just compacted dirt and rocks. It could have collapsed at any moment.
Or perhaps not. I glared at Coll’s hammer. “What did you do that for?”
“I just—”
“What? You thought, ‘Oh, it’s been nearly a full day since I fell through Corey’s ceiling, I’d better smash a hole in it and do it again!’?”
Thankfully, there’d been no gnomes nearby; most were in the village or the barracks, going about their travel preparations. The only thing Coll had damaged was the badgers’ nest.
Luckily all four of the stripy little beasts were elsewhere, having already been literally roped into helping. Bruce stood patiently between the yokes of the chariot, ignoring the commotion behind him as Gneil and the acolytes tried to maneuver the ark onto the two-wheeled carriage. Every time they were about to lift it in place, Bruce would bumble forwards a few inches, making the ark topple off the back of the chariot and beginning the whole rigmarole all over again.
It would have gone a lot faster if just one of them handled the ark. For some reason, though, all five of the acolytes insisted on sharing the load with Gneil in a classic case of too many gnomes.
If this is us being ready to leave, then gods help us all.
But since I was the only god in attendance, I forced down my doubts and fears and finally did what needed to be done.
Initiate Exodus?
WARNING: Failure to establish a new base while the ability is still active will result in the loss of all Faith accumulated up until this point.
Yes, yes, if I fail then we’re all ruined. I know, damn it.
But if I didn’t risk failure, I would guarantee our destruction. Despite my numerous legitimate concerns, it really was no choice at all.
Exodus initiated!
Time remaining: 960 hours
The effect was immediate. All over the Grotto, gnomes jumped to attention and began barking orders at the rest.
Warriors surged from the barracks, led by Hoppit. Some followed her into the village, but most split off into smaller groups. Graywall led a dozen of them over to the lumberyard, where they began assisting one of the sawyers in loading stacks of planks and woodcutting tools onto an open cart.
Hammer grabbed a heavy pack from a staggering juvenile, shouldering the burden herself as she marched from gnomehome to gnomehome, bashing her shield against each door to rouse the few still sleeping within. She then stormed over to the creche,
disappearing inside and then re-emerging with a small child tucked under each arm. A recently matured female gnome followed her out, also hefting children; even if I hadn’t recognized her, her large frame and brawny shoulders marked her as Hammer’s eldest daughter, Nails, already grown to adulthood thanks to the creche’s accelerated growth cycle.
Though she was assigned as a nurse, not a warrior like her mother, Nails was a force to be reckoned with and had been ever since she was old enough to walk. More children followed her out of the creche like a gaggle of meek ducklings—a stark contrast to some of the other wailing forces of chaos currently getting under the adults’ feet.
The two farmers, Doug and Grimes, were shoveling soil from the shroomeries and flinging it into handcarts. Nails directed a handful of older children over to join them. The juveniles immediately began digging in the neighboring shroomeries with their bare hands, pulling out sprouting spores of all colors and shapes, and either tossing them in the wheelbarrows or dropping them into sacks as per the farmers’ instructions.
As Hammer and Nails passed the smaller children up to those who were loading the wagons, the nearby builders climbed ladders and started fiddling with the gnomehomes’ thatched ceilings. They rolled each layer of thatch tightly into a bundle so that each could be carried by a single gnome.
Meanwhile, those without specialized tasks to complete jogged around helping wherever they could; wrapping food, coiling rope, rounding up children, and throwing everything into the wagons which were even now being hooked up to the other three badgers.
Gneil and the others had finally managed to get the ark on the back of the chariot—mostly thanks to Ris’kin, who’d nudged the bumbling worshipers aside and done it herself—and now my avatar was reaching over to pick up my gem. Her hands closed around it—
—and everything went black.
Seconds felt like eternities as I drowned in nothingness. I could see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing. Not even the panic that clouded the tiny part of my mind not already succumbing to the abyss.
Then light and sound enveloped me in an overwhelming rush. I was looking down on myself once more, nestling in the ark amid a bed of straw like the egg of a giant amethyst chicken. The acolytes lowered the lid; Gneil shook the reins, and Bruce began his descent toward the exit.
Okay, that was terrible. Let’s not do that again.
I’d known it was coming, but I still watched with growing dismay as one by one the tabs in my Augmentary went dark. I no longer had access to my construction options or my Creation screen, though I could still view my blueprint archive and would hopefully be able to continue using Insight. I could still view the golden map of my domain, but it was shrinking even as I watched, the edges dissolving as my Sphere began to contract.
I frowned when I noticed something else. “What’s going on with the gnomes’ colors?”
Instead of the familiar blues and greens, the dots on my map that represented individual gnomes were now a variety of different colors. Some were still green, but others were red, orange, yellow or purple, and some remained blue even though they were packing rather than praying. I knew there were much bigger things I should be worrying about right now, but this was jarring.
“Hmm.” Ket paused in her zooming about to peer at the new map. “Perhaps they represent vocations?”
“No, look—Doug and Grimes are both farmers, but one’s blue and the other’s yellow. And Twain is orange, but the other sawyers are green.”
“Huh.” Then she made a sound of disgust. “Ugh. Here’s your answers.”
She flitted away and Bekkit appeared to take her place.
“The colors on the map, you say? Yes, so, the Augmentary auto-assigns groups—‘moving buddies’, one might say—according to the strength of social ties between individuals and groups. Similarly, the leaders of those groups are chosen on the basis of their level of influence on the rest.”
Okay, that made sense. It at least explained why gnomes of all ages and vocations were leaping to obey those who didn’t usually hold positions of command. A stocky builder with gray in her hair nodded sharply and marched off to carry out whatever order Hoppit had just given her; the young slinger was already turning to issue more commands to the woodcutter waiting behind her.
If there was one upside to Coll’s forced entry, it was that the fresh pile of dirt and rocks provided a much more direct route to the surface—one that didn’t rely on the human warrior’s dubious directions. Coll’s hammer was surprisingly effective in compacting the loose earth into a ramp sturdy enough to bear the wagons, and the instant he was done I sent him away, loaded down with sacks and supplies like an especially dumb-looking mule.
The first cohort—the greens—were already heading for the new exit, handcarts in tow, led by none other than Longshank. The hunter hobbled on his new peg leg, still using Granny’s stick for support, but didn’t let it slow him down in the slightest, and the others were hurrying to keep up as they followed him up and out.
The second group were hot on their heels. This group was led by one of the nurses—an oddly short, hairless gnome whom Ket had named “Emrys.” I did a double take at the sight of him coaxing Binky up the ramp. The massive spider was yoked to a cart full of children, showing on my map as a cluster of yellow dots.
How did he get himself roped into that? I felt a tiny spark of joy amid the stress to see my denizens and my creations working in harmony.
Sadness soon replaced it as my other god-born started to discorporate. Each time the boundary of my shrinking Sphere passed through one of my creatures, it would dissipate into smoke without so much as a whimper.
“Focus, Corey.” Ket’s voice was gentle but firm. I pulled my attention away from my extinguishing creations and back to the exodus.
The rain was hammering down in earnest now, and the shattered ceiling offered no protection from the downpour that was already turning the ramp into a treacherous slide.
Longshank and the others who’d already made it up into the passage lowered ropes, so that even with their footing uncertain on the slippery terrain, the others would be able to ascend the slope and continue up toward the surface.
The badgers’ wide paws and long claws gave them purchase on the muddy ramp and let them scramble up it without too much of an issue, pulling their cargo safely up behind them.
The remaining handcarts and smaller wagons were more of an issue, but Ris’kin was doing everything she could to help. My avatar had taken up position at the ramp’s base, pushing carts from behind to give their drivers the impetus they needed to complete the ascent. In between carts, she was also picking up dropped items and tucking them more carefully back into the passing packs and wagons from which they’d fallen, and barking encouragement at the struggling gnomes in a way that was both stern and motivational.
All things considered, it was going as well as it could. The gnomes were exhibiting their usual resilience; the new leaders had stepped up to their roles, and Exodus had everyone working together like true teams.
Then things turned really dangerous.
The stream had burst its banks and the flat area around the exit ramp was rapidly becoming a floodplain. Heavily-laden gnomes waded through the brackish water, holding their supplies above their heads in an attempt to keep them dry—a mostly futile endeavor, for raindrops continued to hail down on them like liquid bullets from a million tiny slings.
More chunks of the wall crumbled away as the current forced its way through, roaring like a rampaging water spirit. A branch of driftwood knocked an elderly clothier from his feet. He disappeared under the surface, until two of the older juveniles hauled him back up, coughing and spluttering. With Ris’kin supporting them, the three gnomes managed to slip and slide their way up the ramp, the last of the green group to do so.
“Corey, they’re not all going to make it. We have to do something!”
But what?
My Sphere was still shrinking steadily. The column of mana
globes, nine in total thanks to my recent and timely ascension, were grayed out, as was the inverted triangle that displayed my Faith levels and ascension progress. The only abilities I had available to me for the foreseeable future—Insight, Divine Inspiration, and Double Sight—would be of no use here; Ris’kin and my gnomes were already doing everything in their power to make sure everyone got out safely.
It wasn’t enough. The swirling water was too deep for my chariot to traverse; Gneil and the acolytes were a small cluster of white dots on my map, stranded at the edge of the floodplain.
To the left of them, a gaggle of orange dots—Graywall’s group—were struggling to attain the ramp, caught as they were in the debris-ridden currents of the rising flood. Graywall was calling to them, as though rallying them to his side in battle; the stolid warrior had planted his legs firmly, like a one-man shield wall against the forces of the rushing water. Two other warriors clung to him, reaching out to snag the clothes and reaching hands of others, until most of his group were clustered around him. Together, they began wading through the now neck-deep water toward the ramp.
Twain had already managed to reach the slope, but was clearly too exhausted to climb it. Even with the aid of the ropes, the wiry sawyer strained against the weight of two toddlers that were clinging to him like whipfish.
Whipfish…
With the exception of Binky, the presence of god-born creatures tended to either awe or terrorize my denizens to varying extents, generally rendering them useless. But if things continued like this, those who remained in the Grotto—myself included—would soon find themselves beyond useless in a watery grave.
I scanned my map. My shrinking sphere had eliminated more than half of my creations, but a few still remained.
