Chapter 23 - Billy Caws in the Cavalry

With his newfound power, Billy faced new struggles: he needed money. Cashola. Coinses. He had neither enough cha, nor enough ching. That… Nevermind. Scrap that last one. He needed gold or cores.

Between farming the living trees and playing prophet, Billy looked for work that paid in interesting sounding monster cores. As it happened, a certain feathery friend of his had just such a job and was looking for a wingman. Well, he was more of an acquaintance.

Jessum Crowe, bard extraordinaire, required assistance. He needed an escort (not that kind) to a monster den that had been found in the forest not three hours away from the outpost. One of the bears had been killed, but only barely. The scout, embarrassingly, had to leave in a hurry when a second beasty showed up.

Turns out, Billy wasn’t great at seeing signs. Embarrassingly so. That, or he chose to willfully ignore them. To be honest, he couldn’t read that well, but he also wasn’t awesome with metaphorical and situational signs, either. He sucked at those. His Gift hadn’t helped his intuition grow in that direction, unfortunately. He was more of a sledgehammer when situations needed a microscope.

Crowe had offered Billy a monster core that glittered silver and gold for his assistance. Sign number one. There was, however, a catch. He was not to tell anyone what they did while outside the walls. Sign number two.

Billy shrugged. “Ain’t like there’s ever much to tell.”

He had suggested bringing along a tank, like Rhinus. Crowe had vehemently disagreed, stating that he and Billy were more than strong enough to handle any trouble. Sign number three.

To be fair, the bear was either peak F-rank or low E-rank. Billy should be able to handle it easily. Besides, Crowe had promised to heal him if he sustained any injuries. Easy!

Beasts ranked up much in the same way as humans did, though they did it a lot more naturally. An F-ranked beast didn’t need to know how to form a core, it just needed to survive long enough to jump ranks. They slowly but constantly grew in power each day that they survived and fought for dominance, speeding their growth by eating monster cores and residing in places with higher mana concentrations.

As the duo walked through the woods, making much more noise than Crowe thought was necessary, Billy regaled the bard with tales of his own. That one time Farmer Tim didn’t triple check the mushrooms before putting them into a soup. That one tiiiiime where Farmer Tim walked into the wrong room in the brothel and had to sign a magical contract to never tell any adult about the mayor’s affairs. That one time when Farmer Tim created a portal (which Jessum knew was preposterous). It was almost unbearable, but the bard was determined not to crack.

After an eternity, Billy finally guided Crowe to the entrance of the bear’s den. It was pretty ordinary-looking, despite how massive the entrance was.

“How big of a bear do you think lives in this sort of place? It looks huge! You could fit three of Farmer Tim’s spare bedrooms in here! Not the main one, of course. He has a bed named after royalty to impress guests and really tall church ceilings.” The boy kept up the verbal diarrhea as he walked nonchalantly into the den, exclaiming at every interesting thing he found.

Crowe clutched his backup lute to his chest. It was much less extravagant than his other instrument, but it still did the job. “This boy… He is a crazy child…”

“BEAR!” Billy’s shout echoed out from the den. Jessum, light as a feather, flew inside, not wanting to be responsible for the death or maiming of his so-called guide. The kid was, in fact, crazy. Who wandered into a den on purpose without checking, well, anything?

He slid down the entryway just in time to see the boy, in mid air, rocketing towards a bear, shield stretched out in front of himself. The bear, having been obviously startled awake, shot its head up, opening its mouth to let out a mighty roar. Before it could do so much as start a rumble in its chest, the boy’s shield lodged firmly into its mouth.

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Jessum watched, half in fascination, half in horror as the kid shoved his wand into the bear’s mouth, keeping the maw wedged open with his shield, legs dangling two feet off of the ground. He stared as Billy channeled a stream of fire into the beast’s mouth and down its throat. Some fire even came right out of its nose. The monster swiped a massive paw, smashing the boy to the side, ripping his shirt and some of his chest to shreds.

Unbelievably, Billy didn’t let go. He just kept channeling fire out of his wand as his body spun counterclockwise once, ripping and tearing at his arm that was still stubbornly attached to his shield. He screamed. Oh, he screamed terribly loudly. But the fire never stopped coming out of the wand. Flames licked at the walls and ceiling of the den as Billy was flung about. Then, he jammed it right back into the bear’s mouth. As suddenly as it started, it was over.

The beast crashed to the floor in a heap. The stream of fire didn’t stop until the monster shattered into motes of light, leaving behind a rather nice rug. All the while, Billy was still screaming.

“Oh gods, the pain! My arm! AHH! You lug nutted it out of the socket, brain, clamp, coward goo of morning ashes!” He continued yelling incoherently as he fell to the floor, bleeding from three large gouges in his skin, his arm a tangled mess.

Jessum quickly remembered himself. He gripped his lute and started channeling a spell. He picked and strummed, working a melody to heal the injured. Ethereal lights bathed the entire den. Soothing tones sang out in the screeches of a metric flock-ton of birds. Soon, the yelling quieted. The boy, his guide, had fallen asleep on the floor, just like that.

“Well, that makes this easier.” The bard started channeling another spell, a glint of fowl intent in his eyes. Darkness swallowed the den.

When Billy awoke, he was on the softest fur he had ever touched. He looked around at the strange room. It was (*emo) gothic, all blacks, blues and candlelit. A woman with feathery wings for arms polished a counter with a rag. She was standing in front of a wall of bottles and mirrors. Was he dreaming? He looked over to where a lightly humming birdman was playing soft music in a corner. Jessum Crowe, bard extraordinaire, was lovingly playing a sweet melody on his lute. Was that a bowler hat on his head? As Billy stood, the bard startled.

“Ah! You’re awake!” The birdman took the rounded hat from atop his head and pressed it to his chest. “I am glad to see everything is in order.” It came out as half of a question. He nervously looked the boy over, craning his neck to get a better view at his lack of injuries.

“I feel great, actually.” Billy looked down at his torn clothes and tsked. “I really need some sort of armor.”

“Or, you know, you could not run headlong into danger?” Crowe tittered nervously, obviously nervous about something that made him quite nervous.

Billy just scoffed. “I’m not fast enough to outrun a bear.” He said it as if that explained everything.

“He’s got a point, hun. Those legs are for snackin’, not for runnin’.” The sultry voice came from behind the bar.

“Not the time, Bab.”

“Oh, Jess, it’s always time for Bab.” She sultrily drank liquid from a glass, enjoying every drop as it satisfied her thirst. Mmmmmmmmmh… Hydration. She stretched, which pulled her shirt up just enough for Billy to catch a glimpse of a tattoo on her side. “No egrets,” it read.

“Crowe,” Billy started. “Why are we in an underground bar? Also, does she lick all of the glasses like that? Little unsanitary, don’t ya think?”

Bab squealed a laugh. The bard’s feathers puffed up a bit, hiding his face ever so slightly. “I, uh, brought you here. Yes! After you were injured, I brought you here so that you could rest.” Seeing the blank look on the boy’s face, he added. “Oh! Don’t forget that rug. That’s the loot you got from the bear. Also…” He fished around in his pocket and withdrew a beast core. “Your payment, good sir.”

Billy beamed, first snatching the core, then wrapping himself in the bear rug. It really was the softest thing he had ever touched.

“Need anything else, boss, or do we go back?” He just couldn’t get over how SOFT it was.

Jessum nervously stammered. “Why, uh, yes? Yes, of course. I mean, no. No, everything is accomplished. Yes, we can go back to the outpost.”

“Cool! Where to?”

“Same way we got here, of couuuurse with a little detour! Haha! Right.” He almost face palmed at his blatant slip. How would he explain--

The boy cocked his head to the side. Like. A. Bird. Was he mocking him?

“Soooo, this way?” He asked, pointing to the exit door. At the bard’s nod, he confidently strode out of the building. “Right! This way, bard! Billy the guide, coming through! Ooooh, you modeled your entrance to look like the bear’s den? COOL!”

Crowe opened his mouth to reply, then closed it. He raised his hand and opened his mouth again. Closed it. Shaking his head, he hurried after his guide.