by Rachel Ford
Ceinwen watched the giant with unconcealed astonishment. So did Jack. This was a side to the bloodthirsty assassin he’d never even guessed at.
The dragon, meanwhile, waited until Karag retreated. Then it fell upon the food in a ravenous frenzy. Somehow, even this struck Jack as adorable. He grinned up at Jordan. “This is a heck of a thing, Jordan. You did well.”
She shook her head urgently at the same time Karag said, a measure of ice in his tone, “Jordan? Where?” Ceinwen and Er’c spun around, as though they too were looking for the mystery woman.
Shit, Jack thought. Aloud, he said, “Sure did. I said ‘sure did,’ guys. Not ‘Jordan.’ Geez. You are all jumpy.”
Jordan shot him a skeptical look. He was pretty sure she was calling him a dumbass in her head. He shrugged. As saves went, he figured he did alright with that one.
Ceinwen and Er’c visibly relaxed, if only a little. Karag did not, though. His hand rested on the hilt of his blade. “I heard you distinctly, Jack.”
Jack pshawed this, though. “I definitely did not say that, Karag. You’ve got Jordan on the brain.”
The giant frowned suspiciously. “Maybe. But it’d be no wonder. I don’t think you talked about anything else last night.”
Jack felt the blood drain from his face. Then, he felt it all rush back again. Migli’s eyes seemed to be boring a hole into him, but he steadfastly refused to look her way. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, which was almost true. He didn’t remember their conversation, except in vague impressions and small snippets.
“You did –” Er’c started.
But Jack interrupted. “Look, guys, it doesn’t matter what we said when we’re drunk. What matters is, I didn’t say Jordan just now.
“And we’ve got a hatchling here. Let’s stop arguing, and take care of it, okay?”
Karag’s hand slipped from the hilt of his sword, relaxing until it hung at his side. He started to inquire if the dragon needed anymore food.
Then, the game paused. Oh shit, Jack thought. But he said, “What’s going on? Why’d you pause the game?”
Jordan frowned at him. He could see the annoyance in her eyes, even under the dwarf’s great, bushy brows. “What were they talking about?”
“Who?”
“Your companions, Jack.”
“When?”
She arched Migli’s eyebrow, and it rose almost halfway up her forehead. It was a little disconcerting. “What were they talking about, Jack?”
He laughed sheepishly. “Well, uh, I might have got a little drunk last night.”
“Why were you talking about me?”
“I wasn’t.” She looked like she was about to say something, so he hurried to add, “I mean, I was, but I think I was rambling about…well, the situation. You know, being stuck in here.”
She gaped at him. “Jack, you told your companions they exist in a game?”
“No, of course not. At least, I don’t think so.”
“Then how –”
“I think I was saying something about feeling trapped, and like you were my only lifeline, or something like that. I know I was drunk, but I do remember thinking that I had to be careful not to mention it was a game.” That was true. The longer he thought about it, the more he remembered being cognizant of that point. Like the other remembrances, it wasn’t a distinct memory, but an impression – a clear and undeniable one, though.
She groaned. “Jack, you’ve got to be careful. These companions, they’re products of their era and culture: they’re superstitious, and paranoid, and whatever else they’re programmed to be. We had situations where the companions turned on the alpha tester thinking he was possessed. Where they abandoned him, because they thought he’d lost his mind.”
“Can they…can they do that?”
She nodded. “Yes. They’ve got some basic personality traits and objectives scripted in, but their personalities are evolving. Just like how Migli hit on Estelle? That’s not scripted. That’s his personality developing, and him taking actions based off it.
“So you have to be careful. Because if you alienate your companions too badly, they will leave you. Or turn on you.”
Jack remembered how quickly Karag’s hand had flown to his dagger, and he nodded. “Sorry, Jordan. I was pretty drunk.”
“You’re not this morning,” she observed.
“No, but I am a little hungover.”
She frowned at him. “Hungover how?”
He shrugged. “My head hurts. The light feels too bright.”
“Wait, you’ve got an actual headache?”
“Yeah.”
Now, her forehead furrowed. “You’re sure it’s pain, and not some kind of – I don’t know, paralyzing effect, or slow-wittedness, or something like that?”
“I’m sure, Jordan. I can tell the difference between sluggishness and throbbing pain…”
“That’s not good. That’s not supposed to be possible, even. You’re not supposed to feel any pain at all, Jack.”
He wasn’t looking to change the subject, exactly, but the comment did remind him of another point; and he wasn’t sorry for the topic shift, either. “Actually, there’s something else too. I’ve been having these weird – well, they’re not quite dreams, but they’re like dreams. Only, I’m awake.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, time just races by. And I think weird things, like about Richard III.”
“Richard III…of England? Like, the Plantagenet dude who bumped off his nephews?”
Jack nodded. “Yeah. Although, to be fair, it is kind of an open question about who actually killed the nephews.”
She brushed this quibble away with a wave of her hand. “So you were…dreaming about Richard III?”
“No, I wasn’t dreaming. I was awake, and I was thinking about how Christmas has dominated everything on the island. Which reminded me of Richard III.”
She stared blankly at him. “How?”
“You know, kind of snuffing out everything that was a threat to him. If he did, I mean.”
“So…you were…what? Comparing a holiday to a murderous, five hundred-something year old king?”
It did sound odd, when she put it like that. But he shrugged. “Well…yeah.”
“Okay. And then what happened?”
“Well, I don’t know exactly. I started seeing images of Richard III – who was also basically Father Winter, or, you know, some kind of Christmas persona – killing everything that wasn’t Christmas related.” She stared at him, and he flushed a little. “Look, I know it’s weird. It felt very dreamlike, like my mind was just wandering, and making associations.
“And then, when Arath finally pulled me out of it, forty minutes had passed.”
A deep, troubled frown spread over Migli’s forehead. “Oh, Jack. That’s not good at all.”
“Yeah, it was definitely…weird.”
“You say Arath pulled you out of it? How?”
“He started talking to me. Asking me if I was alright.”
She quirked an eyebrow at that. “Wait, so he could tell something was wrong?”
“Yup.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah. He said I looked ‘a few eggs short of a nog.’”
“What does that even mean?”
He shrugged again. “Beats me. I didn’t program him to say that crazy crap.”
She nodded. “Good point. But this is not good at all, Jack. You’re losing track of time and feeling pain. That shouldn’t be happening.
“When did this start?”
“A few days ago,” he admitted.
She stared at him again. “And you didn’t tell me sooner?”
“Well, I guess I didn’t think much of it at the time.”
“Oh Jack…if you don’t kill yourself with your pigheadedness, you’re going to be the death of me.”
Chapter Twenty
Jack had gotten himself out of trouble by relaying his latest sympt
oms, only to get himself back into trouble for not having relayed them sooner. Jordan was deeply concerned, though, and the more she thought about it, the more she seemed to consider herself at least partially culpable. “I’m sorry I said anything about replaying. I shouldn’t have done that. You’ve been in here too long already, Jack.”
“It’s not your fault,” he said. “I was having the dreams before I replayed. Anyway, I couldn’t keep that snake. The thing creeped me out too much.”
She didn’t seem entirely satisfied with that, so he grinned at her. “Well then, go ahead and be mad at yourself. As long as it gets me out of the doghouse.”
“Oh, you are not out of the doghouse. I’m just in there too.”
“Well, I guess that beats being in there alone.”
“Jack, this is serious. I need to report it right away.”
He nodded. “Okay. In the meantime…I guess I’ll just keep playing?”
She nodded too. “And if there’s anything I can do for you, let me know.”
“Two things. First, if you don’t hear from me for a bit, check in on me. Just in case I need someone to pull me out of some kind of weird dream state again, okay?”
“Of course. I’ll check in at least once a shift, even if I don’t hear from you. You’re making a formal request, right?”
“Right.”
“Good. Then Avery won’t be able to chew me out for interfering with your gameplay.” She grinned at him, and he smiled too. She was an evil genius when it came to finding loopholes around her boss’s orders – orders like not contacting the player until she’d been summoned. “And the second thing?”
“I could really use some good coffee.”
So Jordan spun up a half dozen lattes for him to stash in his inventory. They’d be piping hot and fresh when he pulled them out. “Thanks, Jordan.”
“Any time, Jack. Now, my shift’s almost over. I need to go talk to Avery, right away. Or Roberts, if he’s still here.” She paused, reaching out one of the dwarf’s broad hands to his. Squeezing it, she said, “You take care of yourself, Jack Owens. You understand me?”
It was as once deeply touching, and a little weird due to the Migli avatar being in the mix. “I’ll try.”
She nodded. “Bye, Jack.”
“Bye, Jordan.”
Then the game sprang back to life. Migli threw a bewildered glance at Jack, and then an even more bewildered one at their hands, that were still clasped.
Jack pulled away quickly. So did the dwarf. Ceinwen and Er’c exchanged glances. Karag asked, “Uh…what just happened?”
Migli, meanwhile, glanced all around the courtyard, and then back at Jack. “What’s going on? How did I get here?” Then, he spotted the little dragon, and he took a few rapid steps backward until he was behind Karag. “What in the gods’ names is that?”
What ensued was a long and, for a long time, fruitless discussion. Once his other companions realized that Migli had no idea of what had just happened, they jumped to the not entirely absurd conclusion that the dwarf had been possessed. And that, in turn, led Karag to a familiar suspect: Jordan.
This time, though, he was more relaxed about the whole business. “I don’t fear the supernatural. If you consort with spirits, that’s your business. As long as you’re not consorting with fiends from the Crimson Isles, it’s no skin off my nose.”
Er’c and Ceinwen considered the conclusion with a little more concern. “The spirit realm is a dangerous place, Jack. There are many evil beings there. How can you be sure this Jordan is not one of them, pretending to be a friend?”
Jack, being by now quite tired of this argument, produced one of the lattes she’d given him, and said with a flippant manner, “Would an evil spirit give me this?”
“I suppose that depends on what it is.”
“But we have proof, at least, that she is a spirit,” Karag said. “Only a spirit could conjure up gifts that did not exist a moment before.”
“She’s not a spirit, Karag.”
“Then why don’t I know what happened, Jack?” Migli demanded. “How did I get out here with no memory? And don’t say because I’m drunk. I’m not drunk anymore.”
That was, of course, what Jack had been about to say. It’s what he’d been saying from the first time Migli inquired. So he just gave up. If they wanted to think she was a spirit, well, he wouldn’t dissuade them. It wasn’t completely off the mark. She was a being from another realm, in a way; and she could essentially possess Migli. “Alright, fine, she’s a spirit. There, are you happy?”
“Yes,” Karag said. “She’s not a spy.”
“No,” Migli said. “She possessed me.”
“It was a definite improvement,” the giant remarked.
“We do not know her intentions,” Ceinwen argued.
“She may mean you harm, Sir Jack,” Er’c put in.
“She doesn’t mean me harm.”
“How can you know that?”
“Because I know her – from before.”
“Before she was a spirit?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.” A sympathetic expression crossed Ceinwen’s face. “I’m sorry Jack. I had no idea. How long has it been?”
Jack stared at her, confused. “How long has what been?”
“How long since she passed?”
“Oh.” He was about to say that she hadn’t died at all. But, then, he had no better way to explain himself, either. So he settled for, “Awhile, now.”
She nodded. “I’m very sorry. Yours must be a deep love, for you to remain so connected even across the void of death.”
He flushed at that. “Well…uh…”
“I’m sorry,” Er’c said too.
“Me too,” Karag said. “It wasn’t one of us, I hope?”
“What?”
“An Obsidian Isles man? It wasn’t one of us who did her in?” Jack shook his head, and the giant nodded, apparently relieved. “Good.”
“Hold on,” Migli said. “I’m sorry, I’m sure, for your loss. But what about me? I don’t know this woman. I didn’t give her permission to be haunting me.”
“If it’s any consolation, your personality was greatly improved. I wish we could convince her to do it more often,” Karag said.
“It is not a consolation.”
The giant shrugged. “Well, I tried. Come, Jack, this poor little beast needs more food – and a name.”
So the Jordan business was settled. Migli did not find it quite so romantic as he’d once done. But he consoled himself that he could draw inspiration from the story for his many songs. And then he went to the kitchens, to wash away his hangover.
Jack couldn’t say he was thrilled with the conclusion. But, on the other hand, he wasn’t going to end up with a dagger in his back either. So, all things considered, he figured he made out alright.
He’d just decided to go in search of food when a messenger found them. He was another elf, dressed in reds and golds. “The lady Estelle sends me,” he said, “with an urgent summons. She requests your presence at your earliest convenience.”
“Oh.” Jack considered his plan of eating and decided it could wait. He’d eaten enough for a small city that morning, so he’d survive a wait. “Lead the way.”
The elf did, taking him through a labyrinth of elegant ice corridors until at last they reached a massive set of doors. “Just in there, Sir Jack.”
The elf scuttled off, while Jack headed for the doors. They parted for him of their own volition, and he stepped into a great council chamber. Mrs. Winter, looking grave and beautiful, sat at the head of a white ice table. To her right sat her daughter, but the chair to her left was empty. The other seats were all occupied by Christmas elves.
“Please, enter,” the old woman called, gesturing to the seat beside her. “Sit.”
Jack did as he was bid, glancing at the faces of those he passed. He recognized a few – Miss Mint and Elfkin, among others whose names he didn’t know, but whose faces he’d
seen before. But many were strangers.
Once he took up the seat beside Mrs. Winter, she spoke again. “We have received a visitor.”
“Oh?”
The silver haired lady gestured toward the table, and for the first time, Jack noticed the snow-white tribble-like creature sitting on it. He blinked. “The…abominable snowman?”
The little creature spoke. “Indeed. I had to come, Jack.”
“He brings us sound counsel,” Mrs. Winter said. “He brings a voice of reason and courage that we have not heard from the Vale in many long seasons.”
Jack found himself doubting this, though he didn’t know why. But really, what could a softball-sized little monster really bring to the North Pole? “What counsel?”
“He urges us to retaliate against Krampus.”
“We must,” the abominable snowman said. “Already Father Winter is dead. Who will be next? Maybe you, my friend, when next you fly the sleigh. Or perhaps it will be Miss Estelle here – or any of us.
“The beast has killed once. He’ll do it again.”
Jack nodded. “You’re not wrong. He even tried to recruit me to join him.”
“So my daughter mentioned,” Mrs. Winter said.
“Well, I think it’s a good idea. You guys have a real problem. I mean, even in the village: you’ve got Eben, and Gryla and the Yule Lads and all the rest.”
“Killers and vagabonds,” the abominable snowman agreed. “People look at me and see a monster, and I have never raised a hand to any who has not first struck. Yet they let such men and women live in their midst?”
“It must end,” the old woman said.
“I can’t disagree. As I say, you’ve got a real problem, and the sooner you solve it, the better you’ll all be.”
Mrs. Winter nodded gravely, and Estelle sighed in a resigned way. “Father always thought we could find some way to make peace. Even after – well, I still hoped there might be a way. But your counsel is sound, Jack. We must respond.”
“Then it is agreed,” Mrs. Winter said. One by one, everyone at the table nodded. Then, she turned to Jack, who was still nodding. “Thank you, Jack. I’m not sure they would all have agreed to this if not for the fact that you will be at our side.”
