by Drew Hayes
At least she wasn’t the first of her kind—that burden might have been unbearable. Simone had walked her carefully through what she suspected had happened—or, at least, she’d done the best she could as a mage explaining complex magic to a barbarian. The working theory was that the storm of magic Gabrielle endured had torn her soul from her body. Maybe she’d truly died in the explosion; maybe it was a mystical effect. Either way, her soul had ultimately been bound into her axe. That was why she grew weak when it wasn’t nearby; the connection between soul and body was decaying. And unlike most liches, Simone wasn’t sure that the connection could be reestablished when broken.
“Yeah, pseudo-lich is a better name.” Eric bumped her shoulder with his, lightly, as he moved to her side. “Now, tell me the truth: how are you holding up?”
“Fine. It doesn’t change anything. We already knew I was undead. We knew it was a strange condition, and we figured it was related to the axe. All this does is fill in the details we were missing.”
“Very true, and a properly stoic response.” He bumped her lightly again, as he had since they were children and he was trying to wheedle out some secret. “Also definitely not how you’re really feeling. I get it. We don’t know these people very well, and you’ve never been one to open up easily. But I’m not them, and I hope you’ll hear me when I say you need to let some of this out.”
They stayed like that for some minutes, the sounds of the nearby woods filling the silence. When Gabrielle spoke again, it was softer, the kind of voice she hadn’t found much cause to use since they departed Maplebark.
“Simone figured my condition out in a morning. A few hours was all she needed. But the axe… she’s having trouble with it. Apparently, it’s an artifact, one with a lot of carefully placed enchantments specifically designed to stop the kind of learning she wants to do. That means it’s powerful, Eric. Potentially indestructible. What happens to me when I pass on? I was at peace with dying on a battlefield, going to the realm of the gods to meet my ancestors and patiently await my loved ones. This is something else. What if I can’t die? Or worse, what if my body can die, but my soul stays stuck inside that axe? Will I just be there, forever, looking through the eyes of whoever picks it up next? Will I fade away with time, like what happened to Elnif?”
“Hey now, don’t go down that road,” Eric cautioned. “We all heard Simone. What you took from him was a piece, a sliver, nothing more.”
Whether the axe was originally meant to function in such a manner or not, its recent status as a soul depository had given it an inclination to embrace the new role. Simone had warned them that this part was more theory than fact at the moment, but her hypothesis was that when Gabrielle raged and began pulling in as much mana as possible, her soul within the axe created a similar effect. Only, instead of drawing in mana, it pulled in more of itself from the sources it struck: slivers of soul, pieces of who a person was.
“This time it was.” Gabrielle knew Elnif’s soul was intact; Julian had been kind enough to fetch Notch’s local priest, who cast a spell to seek out the dead. Elnif’s soul was in the realm of Prinkom, goddess of bandits and thieves, riding across the endless plains. What her axe had gotten was little more than the shadow of a ghost, one that had soon faded away. “Next time, maybe I’ll leave the axe in too long and end up with a permanent housemate.”
“Guess you should stick to swift, killing blows.” Eric glanced over to her, her skin even paler under the light of the stars. “For now, I mean. We’re going to find a way to fix this, Gabrielle. Even if it’s something we’re not supposed to be able to do, that doesn’t mean it will stop us. We still have a piece of the Bridge. If worse comes to worse—”
“No.” Gabrielle whipped her head around, meeting Eric’s eyes dead-on. “Look, I’m not saying that thing isn’t powerful, and I’m sure not telling you to avoid using it when our friends’ lives are on the line, but the Bridge is too unpredictable. Even when it works, there are side effects. Or have you forgotten that frequent use of that first piece was enough to let demons break into our realm? Maybe it would work, but there would be consequences. I want your word that you’re not going to try to use that thing to save me. However, if it comes down to it, I do give you permission to use it if you have to free me.”
“What does that mean?” Eric asked.
“You know exactly what it means.” They both did, and Gabrielle wasn’t going to let him get out of this. The stakes were too high. “If this body dies, and you can’t find a way to free my soul from the axe, then you have my permission to use the Bridge if it means you can crack this thing open and set me free.”
He stared at her, eyes harder than they’d ever been during his guard days. What simpler times those had been, when their greatest fears were drunk adventurers and kidnapping goblins. “So, I can’t use the power to save you, I can only use it to kill you? Is that about the sum of it?”
“In that situation, freeing me would be saving me. I hope you can see that, Eric. I want to trust this to you, but if it’s too much, I’ll talk to the others.”
That was it; the stare broke as Eric turned away. The man could handle much, far more than he could have even a year prior, but the idea of failing his friends still haunted him. It was unfair to use that against him… Gabrielle was fully aware of this even as she did it. But this was a matter beyond life and death; this was the fate of her very soul. Entrusting the task to the hands of her oldest, truest friend was the sole way she’d be able to put the fear from her mind.
“I’ll do it; only if I’m sure you can’t be saved. I won’t go crossing oceans and chasing wild geese to buy time, but I will explore any real options I find before I give up. That’s as good a promise as you’re going to get, so don’t try to haggle.”
“As long as none of those saving options require using the Bridge, I can make peace with that bargain. That artifact has to be our ‘break axe in emergency’ tool and nothing more, at least so far as I’m concerned.”
Eric stuck out his hand, and Gabrielle accepted it. “Deal,” he told her, and they shook on it.
“Thank you, Eric.” She hesitated. This was going to hurt him, but she couldn’t think of any way to get around that, so it was best to face the issue head-on. “I want to warn you, I’m going to make another arrangement in case of my passing. The reason I’m not entrusting you with that task is purely because you can’t fulfill it. Otherwise, I’d have left it to you, as well.”
A flicker of surprise, then, on its heels, understanding. He was getting quicker by the week, taking careful note of everything Thistle did to try to learn what it meant to think critically and strategically. “You want to be laid to rest in your family graveyard, and since that’s located back in Maplebark, I can’t be the one to take you.”
In the grand scheme of things, making a promise to a god not to return to one’s homeland in exchange for a second chance at life was a small price to pay, but it was a price still a price. One that had never felt steeper than at that moment, as he visibly struggled with the idea of not being around to lay his best friend to rest.
“I understand. Were the roles reversed, I’d ask the same. Well, we don’t have our own graveyard or anything, but Mother picked out a good plot next to where they buried Father, and I assumed one day I’d go to rest somewhere in the same area. Now, I think they should just bury me near where I fall, if it comes to that. Promises with gods are said to go beyond even death.”
“Honestly, I don’t see myself burying you in some random patch of woods, but I get the point about not trying to take you home,” Gabrielle said. “Anyway, I’ve had enough talk of death. Instead, tell me how your training went. We’ve only got another day or so before the trader arrives and we need to consider leaving, so I hope you’re going to tell me you mastered it.”
The laughter from Eric was unbidden and surprising, but just what they needed to break the morose spell they’d woven. “Bad news, I very much did not. Good news, I have ample s
tories of falling on my ass to amuse you with.”
* * *
The act of writing an email shouldn’t be scary. And it wasn’t, not in the same way the glowing dice or magical possession had been. No, this was daunting not because Russell feared for his life; rather, it was due to the fact that he feared there would only be a single chance at this. He had a connection to something right now, another person who had experienced what it was like to be controlled by the game. Except, as Mitch had detailed once he finally agreed to help, Jamie apparently wasn’t as surprised by the event. If Mitch’s account was accurate, she’d been ready for it: waiting, prepared, and in control even as everyone else’s ideas of reality were shattering around them.
So far as Russell could figure, that meant there were only two real options. Either Jamie had experienced it before, or she’d known it was coming. The former could mean that she’d taken a different path in an earlier module, or that this had all been going on for far longer than Russell imagined. The latter, on the other hand, would mean that she had some kind of inkling as to what was going on. Whichever it was, talking to her meant potentially learning more about the situation they were in. Assuming he could convince her to make contact.
The more he mulled it over, the more Russell realized that his approach depended on which situation he thought was more likely to be true. If Jamie were another GM in his predicament, he should send a message of camaraderie, a desire to share more information. On the other hand, if she was in on it, then that kind of email would be ignored at best and replied to with false information at worst. But if she was part of all this and Russell let her know he was on to them, there was a slim possibility he might be able to bluff his way into more intel, keeping the threat of going public in his back pocket for emergencies. That was a risky card to play, because without proof, the world would think he was crazy, and this woman would know that, too. Of course, crazy or not, he still might be able to shine a light on something that was clearly meant to be kept a secret, making whatever the goal of all of this was harder to reach.
Ultimately, his choice came down to how well Russell trusted Mitch’s account of the incident. As described, it heavily implied that Jamie was part of all of this, but there was a chance that Mitch’s anger colored the memory and painted her as more malicious than she actually was. Russell pondered the issue for some time, before finally leaning forward and typing.
“I know about the modules, and about the artifact that reaches between worlds. I just want to talk. Please.” He spoke the words as he punched in the keys. Mitch was many different shades of asshole, and part of that included being deeply self-obsessed. For him to notice another person, for them to leave a lasting wound that had nothing to do with the cut on his arm, that person must have done something truly attention-grabbing. Cooperation fit better than complicity, so Russell chose to assume that Jamie had the inside track on what was happening.
Just to be safe, Russell had chosen words that could be interpreted as either a threat or a declaration of secret knowledge, depending on the context. The “Please” was there because even if he was coming in with accusations, a little decorum never hurt. He read it over a few times, but the upside to such a short missive was that there was minimal room for error or improvement.
With one final key-stroke, Russell hit send. Leaning back in his chair, he watched the mail icon cycle a few times before a checkmark appeared. Email sent. Now Russell would have to try to keep from staring incessantly at every electronic device he owned until a reply arrived, assuming one came at all.
To keep himself occupied, Russell picked up the latest module and flipped over to where the party had left off, with the lyranx barely slain. He’d need to prepare some maps and miniatures for their next potential paths, a task that would mercifully eat up at least a couple hours of his time.
28.
The rider approached carefully, vigilant for ambushes or roaming monsters. The hood concealed her face, but it didn’t hide the constant turning of her head, always attuned to even the slightest disturbance or irregularity. From a distance, using magic to enhance her vision, the priestess watched as the rider gradually slipped onto the hidden path. This was important; the rider presented real danger to the plan. Kalzidar had been explicit in that regard. Her arrival in Notch was the signal to truly turn loose. Once she was there, the priestess would be able to create a proper barricade. No more hiding on the edges. The real job started soon.
In minutes, the rider had vanished from even enhanced magical view, yet the priestess remained. There were to be no needless risks at this point; her orders were clear. Sit, wait, make sure the rider wasn’t looping back around. The sun was already at its midday point, so the priestess would stay hidden until night fell. Then, with darkness as her ally, preparations would begin. By the rise of the next sun, everything would be in place. Skirmishes and secrets, feeling an enemy out, all of that was preamble.
Tomorrow morning at sunrise, the true match would begin. A good thing, too. After this sunset, they only had two days left before the stars aligned and Kalzidar’s full plan could come to fruition.
* * *
Morning training had gone roughly the same as the prior day. Grumph was beginning to notice some of what Jolia kept referencing, the moments where his mana drained away, but he’d yet to take control of the mana flow the way she wanted. Although the work was frustrating, that posed little bother. Grumph was accustomed to hitting walls with learning. Not due to a lack of intelligence, simply because few people, aside from Thistle, had ever bothered to offer him proper education in a subject. His knowledge came from what little scraps of information he could gather, combined with ceaseless trial and error. History had taught Grumph that with enough dedication and practice, things would eventually fall into place. It was the same way he’d learned to build a table, cook a meal, and brew fine ale.
The afternoons, however, soothed Grumph’s minor ego wounds, giving him the chance to help Brock refine his brewing process along with punching up some of the ale recipes in use. Supplies here were somewhat limited; there were a variety of farms around Notch that could provide basics, but anything special needed to be acquired by magic or via the trader. That put limits on how much Grumph could add to the recipes, so he instead focused on balancing the ratios of existing ingredients and refining Brock’s brewing process.
It was simple, straightforward work that Grumph had forgotten he enjoyed so much. Together, he and Brock toiled in silence, the former crushing dried leaves from various spice plants into a fine powder, while the latter fixed small holes in one of the storage barrels. Sometimes, in the rare moments when things were slow, Grumph imagined starting another tavern once this was all over: adding new flavors he’d found on his journey, living a simple life of brewing, cooking, and serving to the natives of a town where he felt at home.
The idea was a nice one, a pleasant fantasy in which to take occasional refuge, but it would never be anything more. Grumph knew that, had known it since the day they departed Maplebark. Adventurers rarely understood when to stop; things had a tendency to snowball around them, so even the ones who wanted to get out rarely could. Their goal had been to save Maplebark from Mad King Liadon’s wrath, and in that regard, they’d succeeded. The king knew and cared nothing about their town; his focus was on the party who’d stolen his desired artifact, rather than turning it over. The price on their heads alone ensured that they would never be able to go back to normal lives.
At least, that was what Grumph thought, until they’d found Notch. The citizens of this place had no interest in the pasts of his friends, or the gold their lives were worth to the King of Solium. Seeing a place like this made Grumph uneasy, because it gave him the urge to hope for the future. That sentiment was dangerous, especially in this line of work. Hope could make one think of what came next and hesitate during a critical moment. Grumph had to keep his eyes on the here and now; it was the best chance he had for actually making it to see another s
unrise.
That inherent attentiveness may have been why he noticed the footsteps racing toward the tavern, moving at a speed that was slightly too quick to be just a thirsty customer. Grumph lifted his eyes to look over at Brock, whose head was raised and tilted slightly to the side. “It’s Jolia. We’d never hear Kieran coming, and Simone doesn’t rush. If you listen closely, you can catch the occasional thump of her cane.”
Despite straining his ears, Grumph could make out no such distinction. Brock was nonetheless proven right moments later as Jolia came bursting in the door, stopping with a heavy thud of her staff.
“Thought you’d both want to know that the trader arrived less than an hour ago. Kieran is with her, explaining the situation so she’s up to speed. We’ll spread the word that she’s going to be open for business in the morning, giving us the rest of today before the townsfolk start pouring in. Grumph, she usually hangs around for a couple of days before heading out again. As long as she doesn’t mind taking your group along, anyone who wants to should be able to leave safely with her, even if there are more threats hiding out there.”
“Sounds like I should’ve asked you to write more of these recipes down,” Brock said. “From the look and smell alone, I think that once Jolia tastes the new batch, she’s going to refuse to go back to the old version.”
“Time-acceleration spells take a tremendous amount of mana, part of why I do them rarely, but in cases of true need, I can be convinced to make an exception,” Jolia replied. “So if speed-fermenting is needed, I’d be happy to lend my talents.”
Grumph finished pulverizing his spice leaves and added them to the jar he was storing all the finished batches in. When they were done, Brock would only need to measure out the powder, rather than the leaves, creating a mixture that would be easy to consistently add to future batches. “I hope it goes that easy.”
“From what I heard, the trader didn’t encounter any trouble on the way in. Maybe whoever was attacking us realized how pointless it was.” Jolia didn’t look like she believed the words any more than Grumph or Brock did. It was merely a polite nod to the possible, even though they’d all seen enough action to know problems never went away that easily. “And if not, then I’m sure she can get you past any trouble you might encounter. Humble as she looks, that woman easily could have been a citizen of Notch if she’d wanted to.”
