The Item of Monumental Importance
Max and the Multiverse Shorts, Volume 1
Zachry Wheeler
Published by Mayhematic Press, 2019.
Table of Contents
COPYRIGHT
BONUS READ
THE ITEM OF MONUMENTAL IMPORTANCE
MAX AND THE MULTIVERSE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ADDITIONAL WORKS
BEFORE YOU GO
COPYRIGHT
© 2019 by Zachry Wheeler
All rights reserved.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-0-9982049-8-7
Print: 978-1-9991027-3-9
Edited by Jennifer Amon
Published by Mayhematic Press
BONUS READ
Haven’t read the books? No problem! Max and the Multiverse shorts are stand-alone tales that serve as entry points into the series. And if you’re hungry for more, this short also includes the first chapter of book one as a springboard into the saga.
THE ITEM OF MONUMENTAL IMPORTANCE
a Max and the Multiverse short
A tiny freighter vessel sailed through the big black empty near Alioth, a star in the tail of Ursa Major. Inside the cockpit, a pair of orange-skinned females studied a hologram star map floating above the console. A human teen gazed over their shoulders with a hand on each headrest, trying his best to fake some foresight. Zoey and Perra wore leathery duds suitable for nightclubs and pirate ships. Max, on the other hand, looked as if a cosplayer had wandered onto an actual spaceship by mistake.
The glowing star map painted their faces with a warm yellow sheen. A red line zigzagged from the Milky Way over to the neighboring Leo Group, a small cluster of dwarf galaxies. The nav computer calculated a time and distance, which it proudly displayed like a toddler with a crayon portrait.
Perra cringed. “That’s a long way for a resupply.”
“Yeah, but we can get everything we need at Durangoni,” Zoey said. “It would save us multiple trips and the PCDS always has work there.”
“True. Plus, it would be funny to watch the Earthman’s head explode.”
Zoey chuckled.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Max said.
“You’ll see when we get there.” Zoey tossed him a smirk.
Perra reached overhead and patted his cheek. “In the meantime, get some rest. We’ve got a lot of travel time ahead of us.”
Max replied with a mild scowl, then turned away and moseyed down the cockpit corridor. Zoey and Perra continued to banter, which faded into the background hum of the main engines. Despite the teasing undertones, Max welcomed a chance to reset. He had remained jacked and giddy throughout his first delivery as an official crew member, so a long slumber seemed like a fitting reward. He rounded a corner into the guest cabin, rejoining his cyborg cat and longtime companion. Ross stayed curled in an orange pile of fur atop the bed, but cocked an ear back to acknowledge the intrusion.
“So what’s the plan?” Ross said without opening his eyes.
“We’re going to—”
“Sounds good.”
“But I didn’t say anything.”
“Sounds even better.”
Max started to respond, but sighed instead. He plodded through a pre-snooze routine, then slipped into bed and departed the world. This departure carried a literal interpretation, as Max shifted between parallel universes whenever he fell asleep. A peculiar affliction, sometimes stressful, but one he had grown used to. In fact, he had already forgotten that his current reality had gifted him a bizarre sixth sense. He could taste his own thoughts, but as a young adult with a raging libido, it proved more troublesome than it was worth.
* * *
Max awoke the next morning with something stuck in his teeth. An uncomfortably large something, big enough to dry out his mouth during the night. His tongue and lips tried to wash around some saliva, but even that proved difficult. He reached up to examine the object and found a pair of matching objects. A finger slid from a pointy tip down to a meaty gum line. Tusks, two of them, several inches in length and attached to his lower jaw. He groaned with irritation and opened his eyes.
The tusks immediately dropped down the ladder of importance as a vibrant landscape unveiled itself. A dense forest of alien plants expanded in all directions. Towering trees with giant red leaves waved overhead. Beams of morning light fell through the canopy. An ocean of purple plants with fuzzy fronds covered a ground of dirt and stone. Black vines meandered as they pleased, ensnaring trunks and dangling from branches.
Max glanced down to find a green hand with three fingers resting upon a bed of spongy moss. He recoiled in fright, only to realize that the hand was attached to his own body. He lifted the meaty grabber and examined each side. It was dirty and veiny with rugged nails and thick calluses. A bewildered gaze walked up a muscular arm to a full set of leathery garb with heavy stitching and tribal markings. Numerous lanyards hung from his neck, each laden with mottled beads.
Musky aromas teased his nostrils, everything from rotting logs to a distinct lack of personal hygiene. The forest was thick with humidity and sweltering to boot, much like a Florida summer, only less off-putting. An array of eerie sounds needled his ears. Buzzing hums, clattering whops, metallic drips, a veritable cornucopia of interesting yet unfamiliar melodies.
Save for one.
The crackle of nearby embers caught his attention. He turned to find a thin column of smoke rising from a depleted fire pit. The charred carcass of a small six-legged creature dangled over it, the obvious remnants of last night’s supper. Two creatures stirred beneath thin coverings behind the pit, very much alive. He tensed with a rush of trepidation, but then the bushes rustled beside him, sending a chill down his spine. His head slowly turned to find the massive snout of a scaly beast mere inches away from his face. Max screamed and scrambled backwards, slicing through the brush and pinning himself against the base of a tree.
The two creatures around the fire pit burst into action. Their blankets whipped aside in unison, like the whooshing of capes, which were, in fact, capes. Pieces of armor clanked and clattered as they bounded to their feet. The gleam of a longsword reflected around the camp as the creaks of a drawn bow echoed through the trees. Teeth gnashed as the pair spun around in search of a worthy target to unleash their fury.
This confused Max because the presence of a giant orange dragon seemed like a target worthy of focus. Slitted blue eyes the size of grapefruits stared back at him over a horned snout. Gaping nostrils exhaled puffs of heated breath, infecting the air with the pungent stench of smoke and ash. Max snapped his gaze between the warriors and the dragon, wondering when the vicious battle would commence. The dragon, he thought, must have been invisible. Either that or the warriors were deaf, blind, and unspeakably dumb.
“Where is it?!” said the sword-wielding warrior.
“I see nothing,” said the archer as her gaze raked through the canopy.
“Um,” Max said while pointing at the fearsome dragon with the least possible amount of bodily movement.
The warrior turned to the dragon. “Rossarath, what say you?”
The dragon shrugged. “Ain’t nothing out there. I think Maxillian just had another vision.”
Max released a ca
che of pent-up terror as the realization dawned. He glanced around the group with a cocked jaw and ruffled brow.
The warrior sheathed her sword and bounded over to Max. She knelt before him, revealing a familiar face through her studded helm. A pair of sunburst hands gripped his mitt and stroked it in a knowing manner. “Maxillian, what did the Great Spirit Eyeball bestow upon you?”
Max tilted his head. “Zoey?”
She donned a worried expression and turned to the archer. “He speaks in unpleasant truncations. His mind must be mangled by the corruption.”
The archer rushed over and tossed her bow aside. She knelt beside him, gripped his other hand, and also began to stroke it in a knowing manner. The activity proved a tad uncomfortable, forcing Max to tense and recoil. However, another familiar mug presented itself.
Max tilted his head to the other side. “Perra?”
She frowned and sighed. “Unpleasant indeed. His mind has been cursed.”
Zoey released his hand and shot to her feet. “We must cleanse his mental state and reaffirm the mission if we are to be granted success.” She turned away and raced over to a nearby satchel.
Perra cupped Max’s cheek. “Stay with us, brave orc.”
“Brave?” the dragon said with a chuckle. “Maxillian is many things, but brave is not one of them. Remember when he pissed himself up on the Mountain of Frosty Folly? It was a squirrel, dude. A goddamn squirrel.”
Max recognized the snark immediately, prompting a face pucker. He yanked his hand back from Perra and climbed to his feet, palming the tree for leverage. With his fists clenched and lips taut, he stomped over to the basilisk and thrust a finger at one of its giant eyeballs. “Even as a dragon, you’re a total dick.”
Ross grumbled and raised onto his hind legs, exposing a bright yellow belly with broad scales. The beast towered over the camp, in a manner of speaking. He stood over ten feet tall, which dwarfed his companions, but would likely leave an elephant unimpressed. A pair of stumpy arms with hooked claws reached into the open air. Lips retracted to reveal rows of dagger-like teeth. Puffs of black smoke fled each nostril. As a crowning glory, a pair of tiny wings no bigger than beach towels spread with a dramatic reveal.
Max snickered at the sight.
The mighty dragon crashed onto the ground and unleashed a devastating roar at the orc. It rumbled the ground beneath their feet and jostled the branches above them. Max grimaced as a dollop of warm saliva smacked his cheek. The thundering bellow faded into the distance, cueing the chirping sounds of frightened woodland creatures.
Max maintained an unflinching demeanor as he fanned the air in front of his face. “You could seriously go for a breath mint.”
“Piss off, wanker.”
“Prick.”
“Prat.”
“Douche.”
“Hobalobble.”
“Enough!” Perra said as she leapt between them. “It is clear that the orc is impaired by the Ebon Edge of the Essence.”
Max raised an eyebrow. “You mean the Dark Side of the Force?”
Perra hardened her gaze. “What is this Force you speak of? Is it the spirit of a fallen necromancer?”
“No, it’s—”
“The specter of an unholy apparition?”
“No, it’s—”
“The vision of a phantom menace?”
“No, it—well, yes. To a lesser extent.”
Perra snatched a dagger from her belt. “Can it be killed?”
“Only by the prequels.”
A baffled gaze responded.
Max waved off any further explanation. “Forget about it.”
Perra sheathed the dagger and turned to the dragon. “The shaman’s visions reach far and wide.”
Max chuckled. “I’m a shaman too? Elemental or enhancement?”
Perra started to inquire, but Max waved it off again.
“Maxillian,” Zoey said from behind.
The group turned to the fire pit where Zoey stood with both hands wrapped around a golden goblet. The glow of smoldering embers reflected off the smooth metal surface. Gemstones lined the base and mouth, giving it the distinct vibe of being plucked from a selection of other shiny goblets that had been guarded by an ancient knight for many centuries.
“Did you choose wisely?” Max said with a sly grin.
Zoey turned a worried gaze to Perra.
“His intellect is departing,” Perra said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We must mend his mind with great haste.”
Zoey nodded and lifted the goblet between her and Max. Her purple eyes gazed over the rim as she cleared her throat and steadied her voice. “Shaman, this is the Urn of Exposition. It reveals truth to those in need of guidance. Are you ready to receive its wisdom?”
Max shrugged. “Sure, go for it.”
Zoey closed her eyes, took a measured breath, then lowered it to the ground with a slow and braced descent. She waved her hands over the top as if to perform a magic trick, then pressed a palm to its side. Using her other hand to steady the base, she started rubbing the goblet like a desperate caveman trying to start a fire. Max cringed as she stroked the cup with an unpleasant ferocity. Soon after, it sparked and expelled a cloud of white smoke, prompting Zoey to dive for cover. The cloud exploded into a giant genie with purple skin and a thin mustache. His barrel chest hovered atop a legless column of churning smoke. A pinstripe suit and top hat completed the unsettling image of a jacked-up ringmaster. He donned a toothy grin and whipped his gaze around the group.
“So, who needs a recap?” he said.
Perra lowered to a knee and bowed her head. “Oh great Father of Facts, Dispenser of Detail, Allotter of Annotation, our brave and trusted ally requires an influx of sagacity. I present to thee, Maxillian the Misshapen.”
Max pursed his lumpy orc face and glared at Perra.
The genie slapped his hands together and locked eyes with Max. “Okay, guy. Where’d they lose you on the quest?”
“Uh ... quest?”
“Aaah, so you need the whole bacon-wrapped caboodle.” The genie cracked his knuckles. “Alrighty then, park your keister and we’ll get you all caught up. Places please!”
Max took a seat on a nearby log while Zoey and Perra lined up next to Ross, creating a casting call for rehash. Max folded his hands, knocked his knees, and fought a potent urge for popcorn. The goblet cued some pleasant background music as it began to boil like a witch’s cauldron. White smoke poured from its crest and crawled across the ground. The genie pointed and mumbled as he eyed each character and double-checked the ambience. With everything in place, he clapped twice and the show commenced.
“You, Maxillian the Misshapen, are on an epic quest to deliver the Item of Monumental Importance to the Lake of Unspeakable Torment. Behold!”
Zoey reached into a belt pouch and withdrew a white rock the size of an apple. She held it overhead and gazed up in wonder as if grasping the meaning of life itself. But it was just a rock, as far as Max could tell, like a hunk of marble from an ostentatious kitchen.
“This,” the genie continued with a weighted tone, “is the most important artifact in all of existence, a stone of white that emits a dark force known as the Ebon Edge of the Essence. It contains enough concentrated depravity to level mountains and boil oceans. The Item is dreadfully powerful and must never fall into the clutches of evil. Thus, the Guild of Good Guys was founded and charged with the Item’s destruction. You must do so by casting it into the Lake of Unspeakable Torment. Only there can it be ejected from our realm, never to return.” The genie perked and smiled. “With me so far?”
Max nodded.
“Good!” The goblet switched to an upbeat melody and swirled some spotlights as the genie assumed the persona of a game show host. “Now let’s re-introduce you to the glorious Guild of Good Guys. First up, we have Zoeyana, Warrior Princess of the Pointy-Eared Attractives. She is the trusted courier of the Item of Monumental Importance, and thus, the de facto leader of your marching band
of merries.”
Zoey bowed and started a slow spin.
“She wears a medium armor set with a faceless helm and matching utility belt, the ideal ensemble for battle on the go. She wields a big ass broadsword that weighs as much as she does, perfect for blasting biceps and hacking fools to pieces. Just look at those sleek lines and charcoal highlights. What is she hiding under there? Is it a sweet little kitty cat or the unmistakable siren call of death? I’ll give you a hint. It’s death.”
Zoey completed her twirl with a nod and curtsey.
Max smiled and clapped.
“Next up, we have Perralyn, feared archer of the Pointy-Eared Attractives and paramour of Zoeyana. Is the last bit important? Not in the slightest, but now you’re thinking about it. That’s what I call a mission bonus.” The genie winked, which the goblet saw fit to accent with a ping.
Perra bowed and started her spin.
“She wears a light armor set with a bottomless quiver and more straps than you can shake an arrow at. Her aim is as deadly as her sultry smile. She sports a braided hairstyle that is so overly complicated that it makes you wonder if it’s a work of art or an act of payback.”
Perra also completed her twirl with a nod and curtsey.
“Moving on to the blazing beast, the harrowing hydra, the reptilian terror himself, Rossarath the Flame Spitter!”
Ross had already lost interest and was intently picking his teeth.
“Notice the thick scales, the menacing horns, the fact that it can talk and nobody thinks it’s weird. Packing hooked claws and a belly full of fire, this is a dastardly demon that anyone would pick for a village plunder. The wings may be pointless, but the wit is on point.”
Ross flicked away a gum crumb, then glanced around the group and wondered why the attention was on him.
“And last but not least, there is you, Maxillian the Misshapen. You are an orc shaman hailing from the distant land of Dusty Bluffs, where the tracts are brown, the skin is green, and kissing is complicated.”
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