by Ramy Vance
Robyn stared down at his giant babyish hands. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he wiped them away as he tried to maintain his composure. “This is all right,” he said, mostly to himself. “All we need to do is get out of the dungeon, and I’ll go back to normal. This is definitely all right.”
The rest of the Wordsmiths pushed the drinks on the table away. “Uh, we should probably get going now,” Dawn said.
Robyn, somehow managing to remain completely unaffected by his recent babyfication, stood up abruptly. “It would be nice if we had some idea of what we were doing,” he grumbled. “Instead of just changing into infants willy-nilly.”
“Yeah, it would be nice if there was an info dump around here somewhere. Like a cool NPC who has all the right answers. Guess that’s not how life works, though.”
Dakota took one more bite of the sliced ham on the table. “Yeah, we just gotta handle this like grownups,” he joked. “No pun intended. Also, sorry about the whole giant baby thing.”
Robyn waved away the apology. “We just have to make it out of this dungeon. I’m sure this’ll fix itself.”
A door appeared behind the Wordsmiths. It was covered in runes, as they had come to expect. The Wordsmiths opened the door and prepared for what was to come next.
Meanwhile, on Earth:
Tao found himself in another long hallway. Unlike the first few he had stumbled upon, this hallway hardly had any doors. The only one he could see for sure was at the end of the hall. How many hallways can one magic cottage have? Tao wondered as he ran toward the door. He threw it open and dove through, locking the door behind him.
The room was fairly small and lacked furniture. The walls were painted red, and there was a floating orb in the middle of the room that gave off an unearthly glow. What the room lacked in furniture, it made up for in people. Chris Fox, Mal Cooper, Derek Murphy, and Brian Cohen were huddled in one of the corners of the room. They were sitting down, and they looked like they might have been trying to stay as far away from the floating orb as possible. Mal waved to Tao to join them in their corner.
Tao took a step toward them, then froze in his tracks. Mal was wearing a latex catsuit that she looked like she had been poured into. There was yellow stitching around the shoulders that ran down to the wrists. It looked like something out of a very high-budget Tron movie. The attention to detail was immaculate, and it would have been right at home at a cosplay con. A symbol was stamped on the right breast, a red hexagon broken into slightly disjointed connections.
Mal waved at Tao more aggressively. “Are you just gonna stand there, or are you going to come over here?”
Tao still hadn’t moved. “Why are you wearing that?”
“It’s for a videogame I’m writing. Destiny’s Sword, coming out spring 2020. Shameless self-plug! That is, if I live through this one. Lol. Anyways, cop a squat. We’re killing time as we hide.”
Tao took a seat with the other writers. They all seemed to be in reasonably good spirits, given all the chaos and murdering going on in the cottage. “You’re not really hiding. I saw you right away.”
Chris Fox pointed at the center of the room. “See that orb? It hides us from anyone or anything that has ill intent. We’re safe as long as we’re quiet.”
Mal spread her arms to her fellow writers. “So, while we’re hiding, we’re also talking about marketing tactics.”
Tao’s eyes nearly bulged out of his skull. Writers were dropping left and right. The cottage had been invaded by orcs, goblins, and who knew what else, and these guys were talking about marketing campaigns? Why the hell weren’t they making a plan to get out of here?
Mal could see the concern in Tao’s eyes. “Oh, don’t worry about it, Tao,” she said. “We should be safe as long as we’re quiet.”
“And you’re all okay with this? Sitting around whispering about marketing?”
The rest of the writers shrugged, some of them grinning a little. “I don’t know,” Derek admitted. “Kinda beats running around, stressing out about how not to get killed. At least this way, we get to enjoy some people we really like. So, like I was saying, it’s all about the newsletter. That’s the best way to get the word out. You can do them weekly, monthly, yearly…whatever. People love ‘em. They get to see a little bit of your personality, and it’s a nice, personal touch. Kinda like getting a letter. Who doesn’t like getting a letter?”
Chris raised his finger and shook it at Derek. “Yeah, but who has time to write all of those letters?” Chris countered. “And on top of that, most newsletters just go to spam folders. I wouldn’t be surprised if people weren’t even reading them.”
Derek’s jaw dropped in shock. “How dare you assume my readers don’t appreciate my newsletters?”
“I’m not saying that. I’m just saying there are other ways to market stuff. My personal favorite? Actually fucking writing. You know what I mean. Book after book after book. Gotta get that content out there. That’s what people are there for anyway. Branding is cool and all, but you don’t become a household name with fans who are dying to read your new work by sending newsletters. You gotta pump those books out. Box sets, huge ones. Unholy and unwieldy box sets that you break your back trying to pick up. That’s why you release them digitally. But really, how great of press would that be if someone threw out their back trying to pick up one of my box sets?”
“You want your readers to break their backs?”
“No, I’m not saying that at all. But there’s no such thing as bad press, am I right?”
“No, dude. You are definitely not right.”
“All I’m saying is that if people know you’re out there, breaking your fingers cause you’re delivering real, heartfelt, beautiful, entertaining storytelling, they’re going to go out in droves to pick up the new books when they’re released. That’s my go-to. Content, content, content.”
Mal moved uneasily, causing her latex to make a very uncomfortable noise. “God, this thing is so tight,” she muttered as she tried to get comfortable. “And yeah, content is great. You need to have content to even get started. But people don’t buy books because they see how big the box set is. I wouldn’t be surprised if you lost an occasional buyer because they see a sixteen-book set and think, ‘I will never be able to read all of that.’”
“Uh, who wouldn’t want to read sixteen books?”
“Anyway, that’s not marketing as much as writing. We’re talking about marketing. And when it comes to marketing, there’s nothing better than Facebook. You hit them with the ads, and they hit you with the cash. It’s not even intrusive or anything. Everybody is on Facebook all the time anyway. You can choose which demographics you want to market toward, and that makes everything so much easier. People already want to read books. You just show them you have a book they can read. A good Facebook author’s page can draw and hold many different audiences.”
Bryan broke his silence as he stood up. “Nope,” he exclaimed. “You all got it wrong. Blurbs.”
The entire group of writers sighed in unison. Bryan raised his hands to quiet the writers. “Hold on, hold on, I know what you’re thinking,” he started. “Bryan is going to go on his ‘blurb’ rant. Well, that’s where you’re right. Blurbs sell books, plain and simple. They are the most underutilized and useful tools in marketing. Think you’re a great writer? Have you ever tried to sum up a book in a sentence? Not only sum up the work, but also convince someone that they might like it? Not unless you’ve written a blurb. It’s like the haiku of marketing.”
Mal turned to Derek and whispered, “At least he’s not getting all weird about it this time.”
Bryan turned to the odd, glowing orb, which cast shadows over his face. When he turned back to the other writers, his face looked unhinged, as if he had just stared into the very depths of human knowledge and had come back changed. “I’ve mastered the blurb,” Bryan whispered. “And with that immense power, I now have such responsibility. I’m a marketing wizard. One sentence, that’s all it
takes. With one sentence, I can snake my way into the hearts and minds of anyone. Let me write your blurbs, friends. I will bring you to the masses.”
Derek couldn’t help but laugh. “Dude, I can’t figure out if you’re writing blurbs to sell your books, or if you’re only writing books so you have an excuse to write blurbs.”
“No one needs an excuse to write blurbs. You can blurb about anything, anytime. I could write a blurb about you. About the wall.” Mal stood up. “And those blurbs would be nothing without ads driving traffic to our books.”
Derek cleared his throat as if he was about to get back into the debate. “Okay, so what if you thought of—”
There was a loud roar as the door was kicked open and two orcs entered, clearly drawn in by their bickering—not that any of the authors noticed. They were too busy yelling at each other.
But Tao noticed, and he slipped away as the four authors and master-marketeers met their end.
Chapter Eleven
The Wordsmiths walked into yet another room. It was not much different from any of the other rooms they had seen. In fact, it seemed to be an amalgamation of all the separate rooms. There was a small wading pool in the center. Dawn shivered unconsciously when she noticed it. There were also candles everywhere, floating near the ceiling, floating beside the walls. There was even a dining room table. It looked like whoever was in charge of construction had run out of ideas and just shoved the leftovers of their past designs into the room.
Dawn admired the candles floating near the walls before exclaiming, “You know, this looks like some pretty fast work to me,” she said. “We must be coming to the end of all this. Also, you guys might want to be careful with that pool. The last one Lindsay and I saw was not something I would recommend.”
Robyn was waddling toward the pool. He had equipped his armor, but unfortunately, his head had grown too large to fit into the helmet. The rest of his armor managed to make him look like a child wearing his father’s armor. It was a confusing image, to say the least, but he managed to make his way to the pool while the rest of the Wordsmiths explored the room, trying to find what they were supposed to do to advance farther into the dungeon.
Dakota stopped near the wall that had the most candles. He noticed that there were paintings on it. They looked like something early humanity might have created, rudimentary drawings of people and animals. They seemed to be worshipping something.
Dakota grabbed one of the candles and looked closer, and made out what looked like a giant gold clock. He worked his way back through the paintings as he noticed there were sections he had seen before. As he walked backward, he realized that all of the walls were covered with this painting. “Hey, guys, you might want to come check this out,” Dakota suggested.
The Wordsmiths, except for Robyn, came over to Dakota to see what he had discovered, examining where the story began.
The gold clock was the first drawing, and they traced its tale along the wall. People had discovered it years ago. There had been a war, and many were slaughtered. The new owners of the clock were grieved. They used the clock to travel back in time and put a stop to the war, then gifted the clock to themselves in the past. Then a neighboring tribe grew jealous of the gold clock.
An attack was mounted.
Many died.
The new owners of the clock tore their clothes and wept before they realized they could use the clock to travel back in time to right their wrongs. This continued on throughout the ages and across the walls of the room, only to end up back at the door with an image of the gold clock.
Lindsay lit the tip of her wand so she could get a better look at the final image of the gold clock. “Well, it was spelled out for us at the beginning, but I think that might be exactly what we’re here for. Now, how are we supposed to find this thing?”
Dawn pointed to the floor. The painted tale continued there, to a lesser degree. There was only one image, and it was that of the gold clock. The painting created a path that led to the pool, a succession of gold clocks leading the way. Dawn had hoped the pool was just for decoration, but now it seemed like it was there by intent, and she sighed as she dragged her feet to the pool.
She knew she was never going to look at a pool the same way, and the way that Robyn was staring down into it wasn’t helping, either. He had seemed completely uninterested in the cave paintings. This had struck Dawn as odd because Robyn was exactly the kind of person who would nerd out on something like that.
Yet he was glued to the water.
The Wordsmiths surrounded the pool. Dawn glanced down at the pool, if only to relieve her fears. There was nothing of note in it, just water. “Hey, Robyn, what’s got you so fascinated with this pool?” she asked.
Robyn looked up. The shock of his baby face still hadn’t disappeared. Dawn wanted to simultaneously run, vomit, and laugh. Instead, she forced a very weak smile as Robyn spoke slowly. “I see my favorite reading chair,” he sleepily murmured. “And there’s a fireplace…and my dog. They’re just sitting there, being comfortable. And a cold beer…”
Dakota leaned over the pool to take a look. “No way. There’s no… Oh!”
“What do you see?” Dawn asked Dakota.
“I see a beach. It’s Hawaii. The waves are crashing, and there’s a little spot just for me. Mal’s new book is in my seat. It looks…perfect. God, I wish I was there. What do you see, Lindsay?”
Lindsay peered into the water. A smile crossed her face. “It’s my favorite hiking trail, where I go with my dogs. There’s no one on it. Always completely empty. And…there are water fountains everywhere. Without any dog hair in them! And a picnic blanket and basket! And Destiny’s Sword is there too! Oh, it looks so beautiful.”
Dawn had heard enough. She thought she had this figured out. Still, she wanted to double-check. “Are those all places you’d rather be than here?” she asked.
The three writers all muttered various versions of “yes.” Dawn nodded. She didn’t want to look down into the pool. There was a place she wanted to be. Looking into the water wasn’t going to help anyone, although she was curious to know, even if she already had an inkling. She peeked into the pool, and her reflection stared back at her, just as she had suspected. This was the place she wanted to be.
“You all want to get back home, don’t you?”
The Wordsmiths quietly nodded, each of them staring into their own fantasy. “It’s been exciting and everything, but I kind of want to get back to my own life,” Dakota said. “I’ll be glad for this hero’s journey to come to an end.”
“You too, Robyn?”
Robyn laughed as he splashed the water. “Dawn, I’m a seven-foot baby right now. Of course, I want to get back home.
“Lindsay?”
Lindsay held her wand up wistfully. “I have books to write. I have my life. This has been interesting. Deadly. Exciting. Extremely dangerous. All of that. But this isn’t me. This isn’t my life.”
Dawn nodded in understanding. They were right. This wasn’t their lives. She knew what she had to do. It would just take a little bit of concentration.
She had already solved the riddle of the pool. Now it was time to put all those years of imagination and willpower into action. Dawn closed her eyes and focused on one image, reminding herself of how much she wanted that one thing. When she opened her eyes and looked into the pool, she could see the water draining out. But it wasn’t quite draining. It was as if someone had opened up the bottom of the pool and the water was slowly draining into another vessel.
Lindsay squealed as she jumped back from the pool. “What’s going on?” she asked.
Dawn peered into the empty pool, which was actually a gateway. Wherever it led was where the gold clock was going to be. That was where they were going to find their lives again. “Come on, guys, it’s about time we took care of what we came here to do,” she said as she jumped into the portal.
Chapter Twelve
Dawn floated through the portal with the Wordsmith
s close behind her and gasped as she saw the vast expanse of the cavern that she was slowly descending into.
The pool had opened at the top of a cavern with blue-black stone walls. A pillar of bright light shot down from above them, the light from the room they had just been in. It was as if they were descending in a tractor beam of light. The sheer enormity of the cavern was breathtaking. It looked as if it could have held a couple of city blocks with ease. It was difficult to tell how far the ground was from their current position.
As they floated into the depths of the cavern, Dawn was able to make out what was at the bottom. She could see a glint of light, but as the Wordsmiths descended farther, she could tell it was actually thousands of pieces of gold reflecting the light from the portal. If the clock is anywhere, I’m going to bet it’s in that pile of gold, she thought.
The ground came up fast, and Dawn prepared for an uncomfortable impact. The shock never came, but when she looked down, her feet were on the ground. “You guys ready to go grab that clock?” she asked.
The Wordsmiths approached the pile of gold. Dawn noticed that the closer they got to it, the hotter the cavern became. It was almost like the pile of gold was radiating heat. It didn’t make any sense, but Dawn thought it was hardly the most bizarre part of the dungeon. Why make a big deal out of self-heating gold?
As the Wordsmiths got closer, Dawn could tell that there were more than just coins in the pile. It was a gold horde. Cups, furniture, a very realistic human statue—anything you could imagine being made from gold formed a pile that was at least ten feet tall. Dakota groaned. “Like finding a needle in a haystack.”
Lindsay suddenly gasped and clasped her hands over her mouth. She pointed, and the Wordsmiths followed her finger to a massive black spot on top of the pile of gold. Flames rose from the nostrils of a black dragon.
