by Drew Hayes
From the back, Gabrielle raised her voice. “I didn’t know they fit together. Makes sense when you consider the shapes, though. What makes some people able to use the Bridge while most can’t? Eric’s the only one of us who can manage to wield it, and even he started to fray when he held two of them at once.”
It was one of the few times any of them had seen genuine shock on Fritz’s face. “Eric, is that true? Did you hold a piece of the Bridge in each hand?”
For his part, Eric squirmed, visibly uncomfortable with his past actions. “Sort of. I mostly lost it once I had the second one in my grip. Thankfully, Gabby brought me back around so I could set one down. I don’t think I’d have lasted much longer if I’d tried to keep hanging on.”
“The mere fact that you aren’t in the corner making dolls out of feces right now borders on miraculous,” Fritz informed him. “In my travels, I’ve only ever known of two other people who could withstand direct contact with multiple pieces of the Bridge at once, and one of those people is me.”
That revelation stunned the room. Even some of the Notch citizens seemed mildly taken aback. Before this fact could knock the meeting off course, Fritz barreled ahead with the next point. “However, there are more ways to interact with the Bridge than just the direct method of grabbing it. Despite not being bound by the laws of magic, the pieces are still connected to the mana that flows through the world. In fact… never mind, that part is mere speculation. My point is, direct handling is probably the least efficient way to use a piece of the Bridge. It’s sloppy and imprecise, which is why you’ll often find strange, lingering effects whenever a piece of the Bridge is used in that manner: weakened barriers that allow extra-planar creatures to slip through, awakened minds in those meant to sleep, even unexpected magical conditions.”
Fritz paused, her gaze lingering on Gabrielle. There was no way to be sure whether it was the storm of chaotic magic that had caused her condition, or Eric’s use of the Bridge. She hadn’t gotten up until after he was wielding both pieces, and the reason he’d grabbed them was to bring her back. If so, he clearly didn’t regret it. Undead Gabrielle beat no Gabrielle, but it was a thought that probably weighed him down, nevertheless.
“Thankfully, we don’t have to solely use the direct method.” Fritz had resumed her usual cheer, even taking another sip from the mug. “With the right equipment, knowledge, and skill, it’s possible to interact with a piece of the Bridge through the flow of mana we all share. It does still require a physical touch to become active, but after that, everything is done via magic and ritual.”
A wave of relief swept through the room. Even the uncertain gaze of Thistle softened. It almost hurt that she had to break the bad news to them; however, there was no sense in holding things back.
“I should warn you, I had no idea I was walking into this situation, so I didn’t actually bring the aforementioned equipment,” Fritz added, successfully deflating the room’s joy like a forgotten air bladder. “Don’t worry. I talked with Kieran and did a full run-through of Notch’s supplies. We can put something together; I just don’t want to overpromise. It won’t be as precise or as controlled as a true version, but in life, we make do with what we can.”
For a moment, Fritz wavered. Her original idea was merely to have the adventurers pitch in with helping to gather the materials and maybe some light assembly. She could still do that, without raising so much as a single eyebrow. Yet…
Eric had held two pieces of the Bridge and come out the other side with his faculties intact. Very few people ever got that opportunity, and only a fraction survived. His connection was strong; it might even be on the same level as hers. This was a prime opportunity to witness Eric interacting with the Bridge firsthand, to see how well he could really handle it. The risk was that it meant giving over far more information than she’d planned and potentially creating a powerful enemy down the road. If he turned to evil with that kind of knowledge in his mind, it could be truly devastating for untold kingdoms.
Her eyes left Eric, tracing over Grumph, Gabrielle, Timuscor, and Thistle. They were a good party and good for each other. So long as they adventured together, Eric’s friends would never let him wander too far from the path of decency. If they died, on the other hand—well, that was another issue. Still, it seemed unlikely that Eric would go suddenly evil overnight, and it wasn’t as though he’d be the first upstart she’d had to crush. Given that they were doing a simplified version of the ritual anyway, this was probably a risk worth taking.
“There is one way to increase our odds of success,” Fritz said. “If I have someone else to help me commune with the Bridge, to shape our desires, we have a better chance of pulling it off. Many hands make light work, and all that. Most people can’t handle the sustained interaction, even without direct contact. But then, you’re not most people, are you, Eric?”
To his credit, he didn’t hesitate; the man was already moving his head in agreement before the first words made it out. “Assuming I can help, I will try my best. If you don’t mind, I’d like to hear the answer to Gabby’s question before we move on. Why is it that some of us can handle holding the Bridge when most can’t?”
There had been any number of probing, problematic questions that Fritz was prepared to rebuff, yet thankfully, his request turned out to be one she was happy to answer. Both because it was relatively harmless information in the grand scheme of things, and thanks to the fact that it would take at least some of their attention off of her.
“My apologies, I didn’t mean to avoid it. I can tell you what the prevailing theory among the few of us who know about the Bridge is. We don’t have full confirmation, but so far, all tests have proven this to be true.” Fritz took one last sip from her mug, finishing it and waving off another. There was too much work to be done for her to be cloudy-minded. “By this point, we all know that the Bridge connects us to another world, one whose influence permeates our own in countless untraceable ways. The Bridge, in turn, allows us some influence in their world, along with a tremendous amount in ours. The reason we think so many people who touch the Bridge go insane is that their minds aren’t equipped to handle straddling two entirely different dimensions of existence. We aren’t talking about another plane; this is a place with completely different systems of reality, and that puts strain on a mind. It breaks them, fractures their ability to tell real from false, erodes their sanity.”
Moving forward, Fritz stepped away from the bar. This next part needed to be gentle, just in case. She didn’t know Eric’s family history, so there was no way to tell how he was going to react. Fritz settled down at the same table as Eric, carefully putting one of her slender elven hands on top of his.
“The only ones who can bear it the way we do are those who are also touched by both worlds. Those whose blood, whose creation, is tinged with the very essence of that other place. Eric, were either of your parents adventurers, by chance?”
“My father. He was a paladin.” Absentmindedly, Eric put a hand on his short sword, the sword he’d inherited from a father that barely existed in his memories. “But it can’t just be that. I mean, adventurers lay with people constantly. Some towns have entire brothels solely supported by their patronage.”
Smart. Fritz hadn’t expected him to catch that. “It’s not just the making of a child that does it. There’s more involved. The parent has to care, has to love you, has to truly give over a piece of themselves. I warned you, this is all theory at the moment, so you’ll have to forgive the vagueness. Truthfully, we don’t entirely know all the factors that contribute to our ability. The one thing I do know for sure is that when your father made you, he was still a true adventurer, connected to the other world. Which means, in a small way, you are as well. Enough to handle brief uses of the Bridge.”
Eric was staring at the table now, absorbing everything she’d laid on him. That was fine; they needed to do prep work for now. It would be midmorning, at the soonest, before the ritual could start. She sque
ezed his hand, forcing him to look up at her.
“I think that’s enough for tonight. Why don’t you rest? Come morning, you’ll need your focus.” She started to rise—that was enough compassion to keep things moving along—yet stopped before she walked away entirely.
“And, for what it’s worth, as someone who’s already had to grapple with the same questions you have, remember that how you got here doesn’t really matter. Parents, magic, divine creation, none of it means a damn once you exist. We’re not defined by where we come from; we’re defined by what we make of the lives we have.”
With that, Fritz walked back over to the bar and motioned for Brock to bring her another mug. One more wouldn’t be the end of the world, and after the memories that last bit had dredged up, Fritz could damn sure go for a drink.
34.
Common sense dictated that a paladin, clad in heavy armor, would never be capable of sneaking in silence for more than a few careful steps, and even that assumed a lot of good fortune or deaf opponents. However, those who adhered to this kind of sense didn’t have someone like Chalara in the group. For as much as she might seem the type to learn spells of unchecked destruction—which she very much was—Chalara also had a curious amount of insight into the perils of adventuring, almost like she’d done it before in a previous life. She was incredibly easy to underestimate, a fact that she counted on and used to her advantage frequently.
On this occasion, her expertise paid off in the form of a spell named Muffle, which cloaked the target in magic that made them significantly harder to hear and slightly harder to notice. Much as Chalara might have liked to cast it on everyone, the spell consumed a fair chunk of mana, and this wasn’t the kind of fight where she could risk starting off drained. Only Timanuel got the magical aid. The rest of them would have to manage to sneak in on their own.
Gelthorn led the way. There was no discussion or question regarding it; even outside the forest, she was the most adept at hiding and tracking. Following her, the others stayed close, but not so close they risked stepping on one another. Getting noticed was one thing; drawing attention to themselves by tripping on an ally was more shameful. Plus, they really couldn’t risk it. Not until they knew how strong this helsk creature was.
For what felt like the first time since they’d arrived, luck was with them. The staircase they chose to descend turned out to be empty, with no balyons clattering about. Although everyone kept their eyes peeled for traps, it turned out to be unnecessary. There were none, absent along with something as seemingly indispensable as a door.
Wimberly puzzled that over as they made their descent, going from the first narrow passage after the stairs to a wide hall leading them elsewhere underground. Why go to the trouble of bringing in a giant monster and setting it loose on the city without adding so much as a locked door for protection? Was the helsk that powerful? No, it couldn’t be raw strength; even dragons laid traps in their lairs. Looking down, Wimberly noticed a few claw marks on the ground. In another world, dice landed roughly across the table, and suddenly, it all clicked into place.
It was about efficiency. The balyons fed the helsk. They were equipped to fight and eat, but nothing more. They didn’t even have hands to pick a lock or turn a knob. Open tunnels meant that they could leave, eat, and return with as little hindrance as possible. Someone with allies might have been able to post sentries to open doors for the balyons, or at least to help defend this place. Since there were neither, the perpetrator was probably working alone, although even that was speculation. Alone or not, the main goal seemed to be feeding the helsk as fast as possible. Did it do something when it got full? Wimberly tried to scour her mind for all of the odd tales and strange rumors she’d heard, but this time, she came up empty. Before she could whisper to her friends to share her concern and possible realization, Gelthorn took them around three sharp turns, navigating the increasing numbers of routes and hallways with unnatural surety.
All these halls couldn’t be necessary; they’d counted the number of staircases, and this was far too many. But it if was designed to be a labyrinth… Now the situation made more sense. The defenses were set up in a labyrinth style, with false routes and dead-ends, potential traps waiting to be sprung. The balyons must somehow know the right path, possibly guided by the helsk itself; however, intruders could get lost before they knew such a thing was even possible. Only Gelthorn’s keen tracking was keeping them on what, they hoped, was the safe route.
As it turned out, Gelthorn did have the right trail, although how safe the route was could be debated. It led them into a vast, carefully-constructed chamber. The room was so huge it must have been taking up space under several buildings, perhaps beneath their basements, to remain undetected. The space was certainly needed, given the room’s occupant. Technically, occupants, Wimberly realized, noting the dozen or so balyons skulking about. It was forgivable that she’d missed them, given the behemoth that sat in the chamber’s center. Unless another giant monster had coincidentally decided to invade, the party had successfully found the helsk.
Tremendous was the first word that leapt to mind, and it applied to scale rather than grandeur. The helsk was not the largest monster in existence—far from it—but it was so misshapen and sprawling that the creature seemed to stretch beyond its natural space. Towering over the balyons, with the upper parts of its body only a few feet from scraping the ceiling, the helsk was a splotchy purple mass with warped, unnatural faces spotted along its flesh. Thicker versions of the balyon legs kept it supported, while countless tentacles, sprouting from its surfaces in no discernible pattern, flicked through the air, almost as though they were tasting it.
One by one, the tentacles would reach down, carefully picking up a balyon and raising it to one of the disturbing faces. A new mouth appeared on the top of the balyon’s head, which then spewed the food it had eaten into the helsk. When the process was done, the balyon was allowed to float back to the ground, at which point it scuttled away toward a nearby hall. No doubt, it was returning above ground to make another meal run for its boss.
Tactically speaking, there was good and bad in the situation. Although surrounded by balyons, all of whom would no doubt attack the instant their maker was in danger, the helsk itself didn’t appear especially tough: no natural armor, no fangs or weapons, only sharp legs and tentacles that seemed too thin to have much strength. They were probably designed for lifting balyons, meaning they didn’t need to be powerful to get the job done. The flip side was that since they had no chance of sneaking closer to the target, they would have to fight their way through the balyons before they could even have a chance at nearing the helsk. And thin though the tentacles were, there was still a ridiculous abundance of them. Weak or not, there were too many to ignore, and helsks wouldn’t be problematic if they had no defenses of their own. It was going to fight back, and not knowing how put them at a disadvantage.
“Ugly son of a bitch, isn’t he?” Chalara whispered. “Almost looks familiar though, like…” Chalara paused, searching her memory for the tenuous thread it had uncovered. Worlds away, a dice hit a table and rolled twice before finally landing with the number twenty face up. That tenuous thread became a solid rope, hooked to something deep in her past, and, with impossible ease, Chalara hauled the memory to the surface of her mind.
“Fuck me, I’ve seen these before.” Her eyes had gone wide as information surged through her brain, ostensibly from a book she’d read during her training. “Not in person; the mage who taught me magic insisted we learn something about all aspects, including the planes. I’d forgotten the name, but there was a picture of this thing, and I could never wipe that sight from my mind. They’re a type of monster called ‘unnaturals’ that hail from the Plane of Chaos. While not too tough physically, helsks have a lot of magical resistance. Also, those tentacles are more dangerous than they might look; they secrete a toxin that slowly numbs and paralyses. Helsks exist as walking tanks that make their own troops. The balyons pro
tect them from physical danger, resistance weakens most direct magical damage, and forget about trying to target its mind or body. The kind of magic we use was never designed to deal with that sort of biology. The only exception I know about is magic tinged with order, spells from those especially dedicated to laws and maintaining peace. It’s the opposite of chaos, so anything from the Plane of Chaos has an inherent weakness to it.”
The rapid-fire facts had shot out of her mouth almost unbidden, like the knowledge existed to be shared. When it was done, Chalara took a second to compose herself before looking back at the others. “I hope you all can think of good shit to do with that, because to me, it sounds like we might be pretty fucked.”
It felt like a lot to take in, but really, there were only a few key elements they needed to focus on. Wimberly was already looking over the battlefield, new information percolating in her mind as she reassessed the situation. It didn’t sound like helsks had much in the way of physical protection, assuming one could get close enough. That wasn’t such an easy proposition, sadly, since the balyons would swarm anyone who appeared. The endless tentacles made getting close, or even shooting arrows from a distance, a difficult proposition, too, since they surrounded the center mass like an undulating web. Magic might be able to pass through more easily, but as Chalara had just told them, it wouldn’t work well against the helsk. The balyons, based on what they’d seen so far, lacked such protections. It made sense; the stronger a body the helsk needed to produce, the more effort it would take, and balyons were meant to be easily replaceable.
