Too Young to Die

by Michael Anderle

  He was surprised to feel a few stabs of pain in his arms as he swung down. That had happened sometimes lately, and he wondered if it was actual pain in broken limbs—the thought made him shudder—or merely biofeedback that had been fouled up in the system.

  As always, the thought of his own sleeping body made him nervous. and he decided to think about something else. The truly terrible smell in the sewer was first on the list.

  “Lyle?”

  “Over this way.”

  “How do you know you’re going the right direction?”

  “Put a dwarf underground and ask ʼim to find gold, and he won’t fail ye.”

  The two humans looked at one another, shrugged, and headed off, following the sound of his voice. He did, in fact, seem remarkably good at leading them through the passages of the sewer, most of which were blessedly dry.

  “Lyle,” he said.

  “Eh?”

  “You can…get us out again, right?”

  The dwarf scratched his ear. “Uh…yeah. Yeah, sure.”

  “We’ll die down here,” Justin told Zaara. “Either that or we’ll turn into Morlocks.”

  “Into what?”

  “Nothing. I—oh, hey, is that—oh, no.” He raced forward to yank on the back of Lyle’s shirt. At the end of the tunnel, a shaft of light from another sewer grate illuminated the edge of a glittering pile. It wasn’t all treasure, but there were coins mixed in with the battered knives and slivers of glass.

  A scrabbling sound came from somewhere nearby, followed by sniffing.

  He drew his sword, Zaara drew her knives, and Lyle edged forward with his fists ready.

  “One…” he whispered.

  “Two…” Zaara continued.”

  “Stoooooooout!” Lyle yelled as he attacked.

  “Oh, for—” Justin surged into a sprint. “Leeroooooooy!” He came around the corner and slashed at the first thing he saw that wasn’t Lyle.

  Between the squealing, dodging dwarf and making sure he didn’t trip on the metal, it took him a while to identify what he was fighting—a truly giant rat. He had never seen anything like it if the truth be told. Its eyes glinted red, its fur was thick and mangy, and its teeth looked longer than any animal’s had a right to be.

  “This rodent,” Justin yelled as he backed out of the way of the snapping teeth, “is a truly unusual size.”

  “Oh, you noticed, did you?” Zaara shouted in response.

  “R!” he called as he slashed. “O! U!” He stepped forward and thrust the blade into the animal’s eye. “S!”

  It screamed and fell to the ground, where it twitched horribly.

  “ROUS?” Zaara asked blankly.

  “So, it’s not a human thing?” Lyle asked her.

  “No. No, it’s not.”

  “It’s a long story.” Justin shrugged. “Oh, hey, look.” He stooped to take a gold ring off the ground. “It was hoarding things like a dragon. Off we go, I guess.”

  “Will you tell us about the ROUS?” Zaara asked. “We do have quite a walk ahead of us, after all.”

  “Fine, fine… Okay, so where do I begin? Once, there was a princess named Buttercup…”

  It had begun to get dark by the time they reached the widow’s hut again, and when she hobbled to the door, it was with a radiant smile.

  “So you found my ring! Oh, children, let me get your reward.” She hobbled away but returned quickly with a coin purse and a bag that clinked like glass. “I made you all some salves and potions.”

  “Thank you,” Zaara said humbly. “Would you look at Justin’s arm? He’s tried not to let us see but it had a nasty bite.”

  “Of course, of course.” The woman beckoned them to the table and fixed Justin with a look. “Now, let me see. Ah, good God. Child, this wound is poisoning you.”

  “Er…” He had seen the bleed debuff as it chipped away at his health and expected it to go away. So far, though, it hadn’t. “Yes.”

  “And did it not occur to you to ask for help?” She clicked her teeth, hobbled to the table in the corner, and began mixing. “One of these days, that’ll kill you.”

  “I’d say it’s more important that he learn how to dodge,” Zaara suggested.

  “You’re too clumsy,” the AI told Justin. “I keep waiting for you to figure out your role but you don’t. This is excruciating.”

  “Excruciating for you?” he muttered under his breath. “I’m the one with the bite on my arm.”

  “Look, you don’t have what it takes to do all the fancy footwork. Try something else.”

  Justin didn’t have a chance to ask what it meant as the healer had returned with a set of salves and bandages. Zaara carried a steaming bowl of water.

  “Hold him,” the older woman told the other two.

  “What? Hold me? Why—ow, fuck!” He did his very best to levitate through the roof of the thatched-roof cottage, an effort that was thwarted by his teammates. They hung onto him as the woman cleaned the wound with brisk, efficient strokes of a brush and rubbed the whole area with salve. “God in heaven, woman, what are you doing?”

  She didn’t bother to answer. “Keep holding him,” she told his companions. She bound the wound tightly with strips of linen and stooped to glare at him. “If I have them release you, will you leave the bandage on?”

  “My arm,” he said through gritted teeth, “is on fire.”

  “Good gracious, boy, you can see that’s not true.” She looked at his companions. “Give it a few more seconds.”

  “I’ll give you all my loot,” Justin said wildly to Lyle. To Zaara, he suggested, “And a new set of daggers. Maybe? An old map? Uh…a magic textbook?”

  “I’d like that.” She gave him that smile that made his stomach flip. “But I won’t let go of you. Sit still and stop being such a baby.”

  Hearing her call him a baby wasn’t good for his wounded pride. Justin sank into the chair and muttered under his breath, but he noticed that the wound had begun to feel better. He watched the widow darkly as she went to the corner and pulled something out from under the bed. When she turned holding a sword, he almost shoved the chair over backward as visions of demonic sacrifice ran rampant in his head. Even Lyle and Zaara surged to their feet.

  Their hostess gave them a disbelieving look. “Good heavens. I’m not planning to kill you. I want to give you this sword. It’s a good sight better than the one you have, and gods know, I’ve no use for it. Now, run along, all of you. It’s getting late and you need your rest if you plan to go off adventuring. Remember to come back for potions.”

  It was surprisingly pleasant to have an annoying parent in the game too. Justin smiled at her and bowed awkwardly. When she handed him the sword, it felt heavy in his hands but also right. This was the kind he’d wanted when he started the game, and no amount of polishing would make his old, rusted blade into a proper weapon like this one.

  “Thank you,” he told the woman. “We’ll be back, I promise.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  The villagers of East Newbrook had heard of the good deeds the three adventurers had done. Justin almost thought they cared more about the lost wedding ring and the flocks of sheep than they did about Sephith’s defeat.

  “Of course they do,” Zaara said over a lavish breakfast. The innkeeper had only reluctantly taken coin for their rooms the night before and now went out of his way to offer every amenity he could.

  “I don’t get it.” Justin took a big bite of bread. If he didn’t concentrate too hard, he really could imagine he was eating.

  “Look.” She considered what to say for a moment. “There are always tyrants, right? There’s always some fuckhead wanting to rule the world who turns villagers into slaves. If it hadn’t been Sephith, it’d probably have been the king, drafting them to fight in his wars. Sure, they hated that dude, but as far as they’re concerned, another one will simply come along soon.”

  He put his mug of ale down and stared at her. “Are you telling me we went through
all of that for nothing, in their opinion?”

  “Not nothing.” She shrugged. “They’re always happy to see someone like that defeated. But they know that soon, there’ll be another one. When it comes to things like lost wedding rings or wolf packs…well, you can deal with those. Once you fix those problems, everyone’s better off for a while.”

  “Huh.” He ate a few berries off his plate while he it though. “I never thought of it like that.”

  “That’s plain.” Zaara gave him a curious look. “Where do you come from that you don’t know anyone who thinks like that?”

  Justin decided against even trying to explain Silicon Valley. “It’s a long story and not as cool as the one about Princess Buttercup. Let’s go find Lyle and dunk him in the fountain.”

  “Your dwarf friend is already up,” the innkeeper informed them. “He got up with the sun and he’s at the blacksmith. He said he was looking for something for you.”

  “For me?” He exchanged a confused glance with his teammate. “I guess we’d better go see, then. We’re heading to the ruins today, so we won’t be back for a while.”

  “I’ll have my boy run some provisions to the blacksmith,” the landlord told them. “And your rooms will be kept ready, don’t you fear.”

  He would have protested but Zaara shook her head. As they walked out into the sunlight, she told him, “Tyrants are common, but heroes are rare. East Newbrook saw many adventurers come through looking for glory and almost none of them cared to help with the little things.” She elbowed him. “Besides, weren’t you excited to have tavern wenches falling all over you?”

  “Uh…” He colored and cleared his throat awkwardly. That fantasy now seemed embarrassingly juvenile. His dreams lately had been filled not so much with curvy tavern wenches as a figure in black armor, light on her feet and with a ready smile. “Someone pointed out that was stupid.”

  “Eh.” She shrugged. “Well, I’ll be damned, the innkeeper was right.” She pointed to where Lyle lounged outside the blacksmith’s shop. “Lyle!”

  “So ye finally decided to show up.” The dwarf shook his head at them. “Lazy buggers.”

  “This coming from the dwarf who wakes up at noon most days,” Justin said. “The innkeeper said you were here getting something for…me?”

  “That’s right.” He slung his arm around the young man’s shoulders. Given the difference in their heights, it didn’t work very well and he settled for shoving him in the back to push him into the blacksmith’s shop. “My thought was what do ye do with someone who doesn’t know how to avoid his enemies?”

  “Footwork lessons?” he suggested.

  “Oh, should I add tap dancing to this game?” the AI asked him.

  “Nah, you’re too hopeless for that.” Lyle delivered the insult distractedly. He looked at the blacksmith, who hammered a large sheet of metal. “Armor!”

  “Oh, wow.” Justin dropped his pack on the floor and hurried to look. The armor was a little rough but it was miles better than anything he’d had yet. Between this and the new sword, it would be like playing an entirely different game.

  The blacksmith, a young man with his hair held back in a braid, ducked his head apologetically. “It’s not as good as it should be, sir. Our master blacksmith was taken by Sephith a year past, and no one worth their salt would come to replace him. I’ve made it so another should be able to add to it, though.”

  “Don’t apologize.” He looked at his leather armor. “This is what it’s replacing, after all. And I like it. Did you teach yourself to do this?”

  “I was still learning when Geoffrey was taken.” The young man flushed. “And most of what these people need is nails and plows and so on. Horseshoes too, not armor or swords.”

  “I’m glad to have this.” He began to strip his leather armor off. “Do you want any of this for scraps? And how much do I owe you?”

  “Aye, the leather would be useful. It’ll be…” The blacksmith swallowed. “Fifteen copper, sir.”

  It was a pitifully low price for his work and barely enough to cover the cost of the metal, and after a few days of adventures, Justin had enough in his purse to spend more. He handed him two silver as well as his leather armor and his old sword. With the blacksmith’s thanks ringing in their ears, the adventurers clanked away to find an alchemist.

  The new armor was difficult to walk in. He noticed fatigue taking his energy every few steps and could only hope that he grew stronger as time went on. Lyle took practice swipes with his new weapons—sets of long, curved claws that he wore over his knuckles. It would turn any normal boxing match into a bloodbath—and make the dwarf’s punches less ridiculous and more deadly.

  Although Justin had to admit, his teammate did have a very good track record due to sheer chutzpah. Few wolves, orcs, or wizards could believe that an unarmed dwarf would run in, headlong and with no apparent concern, to punch them.

  The alchemist, a man with a long beard and overly dramatic phrasing, had several things in stock. He sold “a vial of the sea’s fury” to Lyle—a basic potion Justin suspected was nothing more than caffeine—and “the purest, distilled essence of the stars” to Zaara.

  “What exactly is that?” he asked her once they were out of the shop.

  “I’ll show you.” She led him to a bench, where she wet a rag with the potion and rubbed it carefully over both her daggers. When she had finished, she put the bottle away with great care and placed the rag on the cobblestones before she stated, “Ignis!” The two blades and the rag both burst into flames and she smiled, satisfied. “See?”

  “So, here’s how it’ll work,” Lyle said, as they made their way out of town, their packs heavier now with the provisions from the innkeeper. “I’ll run out and surprise ʼem and Justin can follow and draw their attention with that sword. Once they’re all focused on him, Zaara and I will do the real damage.”

  “Excuse me,” Justin said, with dignity. “I can be useful, you know.”

  “Of course you can,” she said soothingly. “And this is how. You take all the hits.”

  “Oh.” He realized now what the AI had tried to push him toward. “I’ll be the tank.”

  “Finally.” He chose to ignore the comment and the snark in it.

  “What’s a tank?” Lyle asked.

  “Uh…nothing. It’s not important. Let’s head to those ruins, shall we?”

  Mary took the last sip of her coffee and looked around. Normally, Tad would be whistling while he read through his briefings for the day. He probably was, she reminded herself, but he was in DC right now and she was there to be close to Justin—which meant the house was unnaturally quiet.

  She cleaned her breakfast dishes with a sigh and got ready to leave. DuBois and the others were sure that, any day now, she would be able to try to go into the game world with him, and she was equal parts impatient and terrified. She had only ever seen the pods used for comatose patients and even the thought of being put under was enough to worry her.

  Her desire to see her son, however, was stronger than her fear. At the insistence of the doctor, she and Tad had not sent any further messages. They weren’t supposed to distract him, the man explained. He needed to focus on strengthening himself and his survival instincts and forging relationships.

  Those relationships were what worried her. She had seen him form very few close friendships in his life, and she had never seen him take to someone as quickly as he had bonded with Zaara. The woman might be a figment of his imagination, but Mary was quite sure no mother would be happy with her son bringing home a black-leather-clad, dagger-wielding runaway.

  Not only that, a part of her had worried since she gave Justin the dragon that he would never want to return to the real world. Why would he, after all, when he had everything he’d ever wanted? Now, he could throw fireballs, run his life without any restrictions, and ride dragons. If he fell in love too, that could be too much to come back from.

  She realized she simply stood and stared into noth
ing with the water pouring over her hands. With a little shake of her head, she put the mug and plate into the dishwasher and was about to pick her purse up when the computer dinged.

  It was probably her sister, she thought. Ever since Justin’s accident, the family had tried to rally around the two of them and even offered to fly out. When he was moved to the PIVOT labs, however, Mary had tried to keep them all at arm’s length—an attempt that had fallen apart spectacularly when the press broke the story of the “experiments” being done on him.

  While Tad dodged reporters in DC, she had dodged them at home as well as fielded increasingly worried questions from her family. She didn’t like lying but she also knew that her family wouldn’t understand the range of pressures that were being brought to bear on the Williamses.

  If she didn’t answer this email, though, her sister might well go a little insane and fly out from Nebraska, and she shuddered to think of that. She went to the computer, brought up her email, and her face immediately snapped into a glare.

  It wasn’t Annette who had emailed her. It was the girl who’d almost killed Justin and who was the reason they were in this mess to start with.

  Mary had refused to see Tina in the hospital. She’d ignored the calls, the texts, and the handwritten letters. She had deleted the voicemails and text messages without reading them before she blocked the girl’s number and shredded the letters. When Tad’s aides called her to pass messages on, she told them not to speak to the woman.

  How she had gotten her email, she didn’t know. On the advice of other senate spouses, she had set up a new one when Tad was elected and it wasn’t linked to anything—not any of her favorite shops, not the utilities, and not even her friends.

  She was about to delete the message, but the title caught her eye. Please, it read simply.

  Only one word and nothing more.

  Something about that word caught at her heart and she swallowed. Please. She could sense Tina’s desperation, and almost of its own volition, her hand scrolled slowly. She hesitated only a moment before she clicked on the email.