Chapter 33: Puzzle Pieces
“These tunnels never end! It has been weeks since I lost the other students. We only went down into the sweetshop’s cellar to hide from an angry mob. They were after us for a tiny, little prank we pulled. When the commotion had ended, all the others exited through the hatch, I followed last.
How was I supposed to know that the basement counted as a part of The Underground? One moment, I was pulling myself through the hatch to the surface, the next I was in a pond. I had found myself in a subterranean reservoir filled with a variety of magical and non magical life.
Although the sight was beautiful and worthy of study, I was scared and ran desperately to find a way out. I regret that now - the place had water and food enough to survive - I haven’t seen it since. I made my way through caves, sewers, hidden trials, and more but never was there a way back to the surface. I have discovered that the path I have travelled can change unless I am totally sure of every stone that I passed, even the slightest bit of doubt and the underground changes. If you are reading this I am likely dead, please let my family, the REDACTED, know my fate.” -- An account from a journal found by some junior adventurer’s next to one of the sewer entrances, no body was ever located.
☠
Ravin polished his glasses with a cloth. He coughed. He coughed louder. The guards cramped into the alley with him didn’t move or even react. They were the most discourteous guests he had ever had. First, there had been that creepy weirdo - whose immediate thought had been to cut him open, dissect him, and now he was stuck with this. The white-and-gold clad men had been led by an overly tall man, adorned in shining armour. At that point, they had appeared to be a rather rambunctious church party, all laughing and cajoling. Not having seen the church members who were supposed to sterilise the tunnels every few weeks, in more than five years, Ravin was rather excited. After a thorough cleaning, there would be less blockages and people wouldn’t stink so badly for at least a month.
However, when he asked the leader of their party he was disappointed. Apparently, they weren’t here to use their Sterilising Light chant, although the leader was interested to learn that this duty was being neglected, he claimed not to have time to do it himself.
This piqued Ravin’s interest, and, without thinking, the gargoyle asked:
“Then why are you here?”
Instead of the indignant tirade he might have expected from other church members, who believed the sewers were beneath them, he received a simple answer. Apparently he was hunting vampires; they were believed to have attacked Far-Reach fort with a number of raised undead before fleeing. The man and his party were returning to the capital in shame, when the Light sent him a revelation. A number of undead were attacking a small town called Market Basing, Ravin had never heard of it. They turned out to also be vampires and Orlando, for that was the leader’s name, had found a note on one of them - referencing a hidden cache of illegal goods beneath the city.
Ravin was compelled to warn them of the dangers of the sewers and how best to avoid them. For the first time in years, they all listened with rapt attention and didn’t interrupt. The stone creature was sad to see the majority of the party leave, he had not had such courteous visitors in a long time. When it was let known that a half dozen men would be left to guard this entrance, Ravin was elated - though he dared not show it. He had only been able to play cards with the other gargoyles and through speech alone, so cheating was rampant. Cards were a given for men on guard duty. What would he play, poker, five mens habits, or maybe catcha? Nothing, apparently.
As soon as the men had received their orders - to guard the entrance - they were all seriousness, none would let up their wariness for even a moment. In the end they had stopped speaking to him, deeming him a distraction.
“Digger?” Ravin called through the Clota network, a magical network that connected all sentient gargoyles.
“Ravin, it’s been too long,” a rough, gravelly voice returned, from the strangely named gargoyle. “Shoo shoo, get gone.”
“I’m terribly sorry if I interrupted something,” Ravin replied, hesitantly.
“You’re all right, it's just those bloody birds. The bank's pest control charm was done by a student, pretending to be a graduate. Now it attracts birds from all over the city, I can’t think for feathers.
Oh, no. You feathered rat I’ll gut you!!!
Sorry I’ve been caked in excrement and they keep adding to it.”
“I’m sorry Digger, I had no idea.”
“You're quite alright, it's not your fault. It's that bloody school's problem. They said they would send a professor to fix it weeks ago.”
“I’m sorry to impose upon you but I have a request.”
“Go ahead,” Digger replied, the constant sound of swatting and flapping overlapping his voice.
“Can you still make out the Underground entrance from your position?”
“Yep, just about. Hold on.” There proceeded an awful screeching and rustling of feathers. “Yep, as I thought. It’s surrounded by church men; lounging about, complaining, drinking, and…”
“Don’t say it.”
“Playing cards,” Digger finished. “Why have you got the same problem?”
“Mine won’t play.”
“Ahh, I’m sorry.”
“If you’ll excuse me I’ll have to contact the other gargoyles who overlook ways into The Underground.”
“The sewer squad,” Digger affirmed, enthusiastically.
“I told you not to call us that.” Click, the connection was terminated.
☠
Two Woden’s students walked through the city, apart from their four friends. They were all disguised as common folk because, strictly speaking, they weren't allowed off school grounds in term time. It was an agreement struck between the towns lord and the headmaster, so being seen breaking the rule could end up with one in double jeopardy.
“Stafford?” the Wand wielding Wizard asked his companion.
“Yes Wandicus?” The staff wielding student replied.
“Do you think they’re right?”
“Not a chance! We both saw him.”
“But there is no Osseus in the list of professors, not even the nominal professors who spend their time researching for the school. No one’s ever heard of him.”
“Nonsense, he’s a dual affinity mage! Not to mention how quickly he picked up our spells. I think the headmaster might be hiding him.”
“Why?”
“So he can have him do the jobs that only the headmaster himself can, without anyone knowing? Or perhaps to do the school's less savoury work?” Stafford said, conspiratorially.
“Even if that is true, No one would believe it. Our own housemates think we’re making it up,” Wandicus replied, indicating their four friends in a group across the road. At first, they had laughed good-naturedly at the boy’s outlandish tale but when they had persisted it had placed a wedge between the clique.
Stafford could only agree with his friend, if he hadn’t been there he wouldn’t have believed it either. They walked in silence for a time.
“Stafford?”
“Yes Wandicus?”
“Do you really think he’s an assassin or some such.”
“No,” Stafford replied after a disappointed breath. “He was definitely a professor, he was so enthusiastic to teach us anything. He couldn’t wait for questions. He’s better than any of our other teachers.”
“Not to mention he was able to improve our spellshaping with just a glance.”
Stafford grunted in reply.
“Hey?” Wandicus began, “You don’t suppose that it was the headmaster in disguise.”
“Hmm,” Stafford began in a sceptical tone, “We’ve only seen him from a distance, at ceremonies, but word is he took the position for the power it gave him, not to mention the money. I don’t think anyone’s ever seen him teach.”
“And he’s supposed to have fire and water affinities, not earth and wind,” Wandicus added. There proceeded another silence where giggling could be heard and pointing seen from their friends across the road.
“We could find out,” Stafford eventually proposed.
“How?” Wandicus asked.
“At the Ghibellines’ ball, tonight. The headmaster will no doubt be there,” Stafford answered. As they were both distant sons of faraway, minor nobility, they had been afforded an invite.
“I don’t know, I haven't asked anyone to go with me,” Wandicus replied, his attention transfixed by a member of their house across the street. His eyes never left her smile, but whenever her head would turn he looked away. Stafford slapped his friend on the back.
“We can fix that,” he said with a knowing wink.
“We can’t just ask the headmaster,” Wandicus added, turning his attention back to his pal. “If he knows we’re students then we might end up in detention for a month.”
“How would he know, he doesn't spend any time with the students. We’ll just be visiting nobility on our grand tour. Now let's get you a date,” Stafford said, dragging his friend across the street. Just as Wandicus was dragged over a sewer grate, a gout of flame shot up - engulfing the boy's foot. His shoe was on fire and he was staring at it blankley, in shock. Before Stafford could react, Penelope (the water mage his friend had taken a fancy to) doused the flames, before running to his mates side.
“Wandicus Marcus,” she said, coming to his aid. A scream soon followed as the pain set in. Stafford wisely took a step back, if they were already on a first name basis, he thought his friend might do alright. He wasn’t too worried about the burn, in a city like this they could get that healed in no time. Instead his focus followed the gazes of his fellow classmates. Gouts of flame had begun to sprout from the sewers in a line, heading out of the city. Something had happened in the underground. A wind howled past with the force of a tornado as it collected up all the fire Stafford could see.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
☠
“What do you think about the new guy?” Tintagel asked, continuing to write his next article.
“Tricky, very tricky…” Loretta replied from further up the desk they shared.
“How so?” Tintagel questioned.
“He will either do great as an adventurer, he has the strength, or he will grow bored of it. It’s clear his passions lie elsewhere.”
“He won’t be your successor?”
“No…sadly”
“If that’s the case, you shouldn’t have sent him after rats, he’ll get bored all the faster. You should have sent him after a dragon!”
They looked at each other and both let out a chuckle.
“Anyhow,” Loretta eventually said, “I didn’t send him, one of the girls at the desk did. Tradition or some such nonsense.”
“We both know what can happen if you send a strong adventurer on a weak quest, the world seeks to right things.”
A silence overtook the pair as they scribbled, each on their own train of thought. The reception used noise-isolating charms so neither the bustle of the board room nor the cacophony of the common room broke through.
An entitled lordling strode in, demanding that he be given membership immediately. When neither looked up he clapped in the old woman’s face, demanding to see the Guildmaster. With a casual wave of her wand, he was sent flying through the window, his cadre scurrying after him. Her eyes never moved from her work.
“Did you notice he was undead or are you getting blind in your old age?” Loretta asked, ignoring the interruption.
“It was the eyes,” Tintagel answered.
“The eyes?” Loretta asked.
The ruffled noble came charging back in, demanding an apology, and was sent out another window - with but a thought.
“Maybe I’m not the one getting old,” Tintagel laughed, quickly turning it into a cough at his wife's look, “Sorry dear.”
“What about his eyes?” she asked again, returning to the subject.
“Oh, well. Osseus never focused on what he was actually looking at. His eyes would just look straight ahead. That told me it was some kind of disguise. Then I just had to look more closely. His breaths didn’t move the air, when I fitted him with clothes they wrapped into his skin, and do you know what the biggest give away was?” Tintagel spoke, eager to show off his skills of observation.
A uniformed officer of the law lingered nervously at the doorway. Passing the rim of her skullcap through her fingers nervously, waiting to speak.
“You know I don’t Tinny. And spit it out Officer Singer before you give me indigestion,” Loretta spoke, venomously. Tintagel held his reveal anxiously until the uniformed woman said her piece.
“Err.. well mam…. Emm… he seems to be claiming that you, that is you Mrs. Loretta, has somehow assaulted… the… erm.. Young… urm… gentleman. Not that I am accusing you of anything,” the officer rushed to add as the older woman looked at her.
A voice called out from the street, “What are you a woman or a woodlouse?! Get in there and arrest that crazy bitch!” The officer gulped at the words. Loretta raised an eyebrow and stood.
“What did you call me?” the Adventures’ Guildmaster called out, ignoring the officer as she flattened herself against the door frame to let the old woman past. Tintagel followed, jumping on his tiptoes, struggling to hold in his final remark.
“Honestly, I expected we’d have some arrogant pricks about, what with the Ball. Is this your first time away from home without a parent or older sibling?”
Now, without the Law between them, the not-so-confident lord backed away from the shuffling old woman - his eyes fixed on her wand.
“You think that you can just stroll in here, kill a dragon and get out from under your family's thumb?! I saved you from your own stupidity and what do you call me?” Loretta raised her wand and the man's hands raised in defence.
Suddenly, from beneath the city, there came a rumble. The sun seemed to darken and from up the street came a flash of light. Fire raged up from one entrance to the underground to another, creating a line that headed right for them.
Loretta became the wind. Using its power to collect and direct the fire, she saved innumerable people from a burning death, corralling the flame. Taking flight, she followed the trail of fire as it headed out of the city - protecting as many as she could. The noble dropped to the ground, sweating and shaking.
“Fine, say it,” Loretta relented.
Tintagel, who had been keeping up by jumping from rooftop to rooftop, scooping up passers by when they came close to the fire and moving them to safety, smiled.
“It was the footprints,” he let out in a rush, when he was at the apex of one jump. Loretta raised her wand, slashing down from left to right, fire that had travelled down side-passages was collected up by a sudden gust of wind and joined the main stream, saving a nearby school. People stared at the pair as they followed in the wake of the flames rushing across the city.
“What about the footprints?” Loretta asked, “He was wearing boots wasn’t he?”
“Yes but you can,” Tintagel began, before falling out of earshot. He leaped again, “see an odd. Impression. In the. boot print. When he. Was changing. He took. Off his. Boots. And the. Impressions. I’m getting too old… Were. Of. only. The Bones. In the. Foot.” he eventually panted out. “He’s a skeleton, isn’t he?”
Loretta concentrated on the escaping inferno, she wasn’t able to reach the source with her wind, but all the surface flames could be controlled. The trail headed out of the city and towards the fields, she could already begin to feel her control slipping, so saving the city would have to be enough.
“Tinny, you know I can’t reveal any adventurer’s secrets,” Loretta responded. Maintaining her focus on the task.
“I’m right. Though. Aren't I.” Tintagel persisted, ever more out of breath. Finally, the stream of fire passed under the wall. It continued, combusting trees and bushes from beneath and creating a path of destruction as whatever was causing it sped underground. Loretta wiped the sweat from her brow, not having pushed herself so hard in many years.
Ignoring the conflagration that reached out into the country, she collected all that was left in the city into a ball. Despite her efforts, the fire wouldn’t die, it persisted without oxygen. She condensed the ball smaller and smaller, converting the fire-mana into wind through pressure. When it had retracted to a roiling ball of flame the size of her head, the old woman's control slipped.
Buildings shook and glass broke from the ensuing explosion. Thankfully, she was high enough in the air to keep people out of the radius, but there wasn’t a person in Wiccawich who didn’t either see or hear the 1000 foot tall ball of flame which burst forth. It formed, rapidly, into the shape of an enormous head, burning emerald eyes looking out upon the city. The dragon roared, sending the nearest people flying and destroying structures. She let forth a tongue of flame that stretched across the city’s skyline from one side to the other before releasing control of the fire mana, leaving the image to dissipate.
Loretta floated down to rest, her back against the outside of the city wall. Tintagel bounded over - sliding down next to her. Both out of breath.
“We’re both getting too old,” Tintagel finally said, between heaving breaths.
“You were right.” Loretta replied, “Not only about that.”
☠
Bang. Splat. Screech. That was the last thing John ever heard.
The Bang of metal on flesh, the Splat of body beneath the truck, and the Screech of tires as the brakes were applied - too late.
John sat, stood? Existed, or not, in darkness. He couldn’t feel, see or hear anything. There was nothing, absolutely nothing. He sighed, or tried to, nothing came from nowhere and blew out more nothing.
This was just his luck. John was living alone in London, he had moved out there to fulfil his dream. He applied to every art college in the city and not a one had accepted him. Nonetheless John moved there in hopes of trying again next year, this year.
He thought he could find a job and rent a place in the city but waiting tables, washing dishes, and working nights at a petrol station wasn’t enough to afford the rent. He had advertised for roommates - that was his first mistake. The guy he now lived with always paid on time, often in cash, but it was his other activities that made John uneasy. So much so that he hadn’t said a thing about it.
He had just dodged a police raid on the flat, gone downstairs, and collected his post. To find that, once again, he had been rejected. He couldn’t even return to his room and begin drawing - as he so often did to raise his spirits - he could still hear the shouts of “Police, Open up.” When John walked down the stairs, past the armed police, no one had paid him any mind. It was as if he were invisible.
‘That’s me, the invisible man.’ He thought, walking out into the rainy night - not knowing where he was going but just that he had to leave. His whole life he had been overlooked. He was the third child of four, never having anything just for himself. His brother was the smart one, his sister the kind one, and his younger brother the family charity case. He, he was nothing. John didn’t have a drug problem, he didn’t make six figures and he didn’t volunteer for the Saint John’s Ambulance Service. He just was. The final person they thought to invite to a family gathering.
John had had friends in school or he thought he did. He didn’t speak to any of them now, they hadn’t even asked what he was doing. John had wandered aimlessly as, yet again, he debated giving up on his dream.
Is it really worth it? Before he could work himself back around to his ideals - through the normal path of questions and answers he knew by heart - John was struck by a lorry and killed almost instantly.
Killed by a rogue lorry, at least that won’t be forgettable. It might be on the news. He thought, trying to cheer himself up.
In the void no time passed, or all time passed? Time ceased to exist or never existed. Whatever happened or didn’t, the blackness broke after some not-time had not-passed. His intangible soul was struck across the face by a clawed hand… somehow. The aspiring artist gasped as the blackness of nothing dripped from him. John looked up into eyes darker than the void, on the draconic face of a man-shaped creature - the darkest impossible black. Looking upon him, John was not able to repress his deepest anxieties, he was nothing, no one.
“Oh, sorry,” the thing said, lifting his soul ball higher. The despair lifted as if it had never been there but John didn’t know that he could ever believe in himself again.
“I wanna get back to my game,” The Darkness began, not waiting for John to get back to his senses. “Let's make this quick. I took your soul from a world that is familiar with the idea of being reborn in another world, I believe your people call it Isekai?” he added, looking down at a piece of paper and reading off the word. The paper had appeared from nowhere and had strange symbols on it. Scared and confused, John simply nodded.
“Great. You are my champion. Here are some Skills. Go cause chaos and try not to die again so soon,” the thing said with a wave of its claw. Just as it was about to cast John aside, a creature of green oozing tentacles burst into the black nothingness, that was somehow different to the void of before.
“Great news,” the thing declared.
“What is it Yamete?” the dragonoid asked the tentacle monster.
“Some Lich has burst into this world and started reeking havoc, that Light bitch won’t be on your arse anymore. You don’t have to summon a villain, her Paladin has something to do.”
“What?!” John tried to cry out, but nothing happened - he was ignored anyhow.
“Typical,” The Darkness complained, “Well I guess I’ll just keep this one in storage. Looks like I can come back to the game now; did you get snacks?”
Before John could utter another word he was plunged back into the fluid darkness where time did not not, not not not, not exist…. or not?
☠
David Wainwright sat on a bench in the graveyard. It rained. It hadn’t stopped raining since the funeral. David had sat here all night. Many men had been lost but looking across at a gravestone he truly grieved for but one.
“Mr. Pools Died as he lived; in the pursuit of justice. Retired at age 50 but never stopped helping till the end.” – the headstone read.
David had had no real family, none that he would care to mention but Mr. Pools or Detective inspector Pools was as close as anyone had come for Mr. Wainwright. When he first joined the Police force he was hot headed and overeager. It was always Mr. Pools that got him out of those close calls, afterwards, they would visit the pasty stall, sit by the river and talk. He would ignore whatever advice the older man would give and head to solve his next problem with the same brutishness as before. Nevertheless the older detective would be there to bail him out and he would reiterate those same lessons, however many times it would take to get into his thick head.
David wiped his tired, sore eyes and looked up to the raining sky.
‘Why is fate so unkind?’ he thought. ‘Is she not a god in the pantheon of Light? should she not work to better the world?’ It was a question possessed by many, for all the lesser gods and goddesses in the Light’s pantheon claimed to strive for good, but not fate. She was ever fickle and whimsical, never to be controlled by another.
A pair of gangly limbs sat themselfs beside him. Where before they had been uncoordinated and hesitant, now they were graceful and competent.
‘The fight with the vampires hasn’t been all bad it would seem’ David thought, with a wry chuckle.
“Mr. Wainwright.”
“Mr. Hills.”
The two mens’ greetings were all that was said for a time as the rain poured ever on. Eventually, once David had become used to his presence, Mr. Hills spoke.
“It hurts doesn’t it. Losing something I mean,” he said, looking ahead at the graves of the fallen.
“Someone you mean?” David asked.
“Hmm? Yes of course.”
“If I were a younger man, I might not have the strength to admit it but yes, yes it does,” David finally said, letting the rain take up the silence between them.
“What will you do?” Mr. Hills asked.
“What can I do?” David responded.
“Revenge?” Mr. Hills questioned. David looked at the man strangely before laughing darkly.
“Again, if I were a younger man I might try it. And when I came back covered in scars and clinging desperately to life, Mr. Pools would tell me what a fool I had been before splitting a pasty.” Rain came between the two men again as they returned their gazes to the gravestones.
“What if I told you there was a way to gain the power you would need to get your revenge.” Mr. Hills began but was interrupted by a great earthquake. The two men grasped desperately at the bench for support.
In the distance it started, something orange and bright hazed by the rain. It quickly drew nearer and resolved itself to be a line of fire, headed straight for them.
“Shit!” David cried. Just before the inferno hit the isolated graveyard, far outside town, the flames disappeared. The earthquake, however, only grew stronger. David's eyes followed the motions as it went under the graves then, on the other side and in a field, fire burst forth. From beneath the ground came a roaring, enraged dragon, its body nothing but fire and growing by the second. Rain turned to steam on its hide.
David's heart burst from his chest and his breath caught. It swung a carriage sized claw down but was stopped by a heretofore unseen foe. With an almost casual ease the old man turned aside the attack leaving it to burn up a copse of trees that had stood longer than David had been alive.
“Shit!” the inspector reiterated when, once again, he could breathe.