Elia awoke with a shudder, shedding memory and cold sweat like a dirty raincoat. Nothing made sense and at the same time an attempt had to be made to order the pages of her memory before they slipped through the cracks. Elia was Elia. She grew up in Portland, Oregon, not a farm. She didn’t have brothers or sisters and neither did she go out feasting (most likely this world’s equivalent of partying) nor did she spend her time foreshortening her lifespan by studying like an academic zombie.
She was a normal zombie, thank you very much. She didn’t need to go to school.
The dream belonged to Rye, it wasn’t hers and neither was her body or her voice. She was living life on a lease, though it made for a familiar experience, coupled with an ever-present exhaustion seeping from her deepest pores. Elia was not many people. She was one person, stuffed into the hardware of another. She wasn’t even paying rent.
She took a breath and for a moment, felt like she could run a marathon. The impression lingered in lieu of the vague smell of dried flowers and cinnamon from the nearby flower beds. She didn’t think sleeping on the ground could ever have felt this comfortable. She even had a pillow, a blanket, a…
Elia was not in the garden. Her eyes shot open. No sky, no cliff, no clothes. She was in a bed and the bed felt soft enough that she might have drowned in it.
“Has thy sleep been restful, undead?” The attendant woman asked as her heart-shaped face crept into vision, string and needle in hand. “Art thou of calmer mind?”
She traced a hand across Elia’s chin. Elia punched her in the face. Out of reflex, a bit of surprise, and mostly panic. She toppled out of her bed and perform an impressive, albeit quite useless series of evasive rolls until her head cracked against the far wall.
Her armor was in a neat set of piles by her side, followed by her clothing, her gear and Quibbles sitting in a bowl of mud and water. The brown toad was giving off an air of smugness. His opinion was unwarranted and unreliable. He had been bribed with bugs.
“Apologies. Thou must have been startled.” The attendant’s voice betrayed no sliver of pain or anger. It was the exact same gentle tone her words always carried, seeming ethereal, almost out of this world. Equally unnatural was the fluid graceful motion as she cupped her eye with a hand.
No trace of pain marked her face, a state Elia tried to copy.
“The fuck?” Was all she said, belated realization dawning that she was in control again.
“Thy wounds required care, dear undead. Thou woulds’t not drink and thy sleep appeared disturbed, thy thoughts ringing of discomfort, thy body cold from lack of life.” She lowered her hand, revealing a faint blue bruise growing around her left eye. “I only sought to bring thee peace.”
“Don’t fucking touch me.” Elia said, adrenaline still pumping as her eyes flicked to the bandages around her arm and stomach. “Not without consent.”
If a person could wilt like a flower, it would not come close to how those words seemed to hurt the attendant. “Apologies. I assumed too much. Thou seemed quite smitten, amicable to– oh.” Her brows furrowed in an oddly refreshing human expression, mouth starting and stopping in minute twitches. “No, I must have misread. Apologies, once again.”
“Misread what? Assumed what? Rye likes you, not me.” Elia’s eyes flicked to the doorway. What were her chances surviving outside completely naked? “We went straight outside, didn’t talk this entire loop– wait, are you in my head?”
An ethereal yawn echoed throughout her awareness.
Hey, Elia, I just woke u– OH MY GOSH! Elia! What did you do!?
“Nothing! I just woke up and she, this creep thought she could nonconsensually snuggle me, like a body pillow. I’m not an anime girl; I’m not filled with feathers!”
Oh. She did? That’s… sorry, what?
The stare off between Elia and the eyeless woman continued.
Did you do that to her? On her face?
“No.” She eyed the attendant as she rose, silently gathering her things. “Maybe.”
Before leaving the room, she bowed in what was probably meant to be another apology. Elia sighed, sagging down against herself. Hordes of undead, poisonous magic casting spiders, a giant wielding a prosthetic snake, and this was what finally got to her? A single touch from a woman?
In retrospect, maybe that was to be expected. She didn’t have many people that were safe to hug in the maze, or as a child. Not like she had nineteen freaking other family members, unlike someone.
Is she that bad at cuddling? Or are you not into women? That’s fine, I can’t believe her having any intentions beyond empathetic kindness. She even fed your toad.
Silently, Elia’s head slinked into hands. Why did she react to human contact with instant violence? If it was something she didn’t remember, some part of her left eternally in that maze, then there was no fixing that because she was never going back. If it was from before, well… that seemed even less fixable.
“The point is, I wasn’t prepared. And she didn’t ask.”
Oh. Does not being prepared make it worse?”
“Infinitely.” She ran her hands through strands of hair. This was a safe place, all evidence pointed towards that. She was just jumpy, felt on edge. Maybe it was the deluge of human contact overloading her brain, or maybe it was because she knew she never had a brother but could swear his name was Marcus. “Say, you’re awfully calm after your previous performance, lil’ Spartacus.”
It’s… I remembered some things. About my actual life. It wasn’t quiet, and not quite how I imagined it. The outside world is dangerous, even in the heartland and especially at night. But I have less holes in my head now. I feel better. Refreshed. Say, did you also dream about summer and the wind and tomatoes?
It was hard not to, the vivid impressions playing over and over as they vied for a place in her awfully limited long-term memory. For a few moments, it felt like she could name every odd farm tool, knew when every grain was planted and how long the harvest would take. It wasn’t unpleasant, even in spite of the fear that their memories might be merging. Even if she didn’t openly admit it, her short vacation and the dream had loosened her up, giving her a fresh mind to start the day with.
“Disco-Rooster.”
…what?
“Disco-Rooster. That’s our safeword now. You do know what a safeword is, right?”
As a matter of fact, I do. I have used it plenty of times and am a big proponent of the idea.
“… quite the charmer, aren’t you?” She checked her pockets, making sure Quibbles’ nest and all her nick-knacks were still in order. “You’re not going to yell it every fucking time I need to waste an undead, are you?”
Lan–… no. I don’t know. The dregs are mindless. It’s a mercy, killing them, at least it should be, but I… I just can’t. I can’t say it’s right, nor can I say it isn’t. If they die, even if they get back up, they might dream for a bit like we did. Forget it all. Maybe be human for a while. Or it’ll be just another prick in the endless repetition of suffering they’ll face. Can we even give them a proper farewell, a proper death without a burial?”
“Sheesh. A little less caffeine my little depresso-expresso.”
…what did you just call me?
“Nothing.” She eyed the many different clothing articles. A piece of cloth. A weird shirt-dress hybrid. A belt. “Say, since you're roman, can you help me figure out how to wear this shit?”
And there you go talking nonsense again. Your provincialism is showing. And no, I am not a row-man, whatever that is. Hey – that’s a loincloth, not a headband! No, no you’re doing it wrong. Give it here.
Watching Rye bind her bits and bobs with one arm was fascinating, though the demonstration didn’t last very long as the tunic could just be worn like a long t-shirt that was fastened with a belt. Her belt was leather, but frayed so much it looked like a band of twine. Without the two large bags at each side, she wouldn’t be able to carry much at all nor save items in between loops.
She loved having a belt, but she should really get a new one. And boots, too. And, well… a lot of stuff. There were many things she really should do.
“We need to get to Loften,” she muttered as she finished counting her pebbles.
We? As in, you and me? What happened to your vacation?
“You happened,” she muttered before talking much louder. “We’re friends now. Tit for tat, was it? You want to go back home, un-undead yourself, probably save the world et cetera. Anyhow, city of the gods? Seems like a good start for doing the impossible.”
… and you want to go there to kill the gods?
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
“Nah, I’m over that. Deicide isn’t cool anymore.” At least, until she got some answers and a name. This world had many gods. She couldn’t just go around killing all of them, it wasn’t logistically feasible. One of them had to be responsible for her unceremonious start in this new world.
Unfortunately, her lack of explanation wasn’t enough to assure her cranial companion.
Sooo…? What’s your real reason then?
“Wanna see how deep the rabbit hole goes. Maybe lodge a formal complaint. With the soles of my boots, if we ever get any.” She shrugged ineffectually, trying to hide her lingering suspicions of the overly perceptive attendant behind a completely unrelated puzzle. “Shit, I mean, I’m stuck in another girl’s body, in a world that has telepathic tomatoes and now that we’re out of the maze I can finally, finally start getting somewhere. Maybe even enjoy my second life. I’ll join your adventure, heck, I’ll even feign some interest for all this ‘civilized behavior’ you keep slinging at me.”
An adventure? Oh. OH! Like the stories of Sir Geck and Lady Lovebelle, it’ll be us two on our journey back home, a knight and a maiden. Elia could practically hear a lightbulb lighting up above Rye’s head. Since we’re going to our capital, I can give you an introduction to our empire’s glorious history, its people, inventions and all the things good about it. You probably haven’t even heard of the concept of concrete! It’s like clay but becomes hard like stone after it dries. We build roads with it, great baths, and the circus, too. I cannot wait to show you all great wonders you barbarians are missing out on.
“Great. Cultural re-education.” Though the more she thought about it, someone from ancient times calling her, a 21st century adult a barbarian was greatly amusing. “I’m thrilled.”
As you should be! Don’t worry, once I’m done with you, you’ll appear like a model empire citizen. Like the attendant!
“Yeah, because she doesn’t appear a little too perfect, a little too nice and too caring.” After patting herself down, checking on all her gear, she got up and left her room. “Might be just coincidence, but I’m calling it now: Conspiracy is afoot.”
Conspiracy? Like, how some people think birds are real?
For the second time in less than an hour, someone managed to interrupt Elia’s already chaotic flow of thought with an even stronger current of counter-logic. “I… yes? Wait, don’t you have roosters and chickens?”
Yeah, and?
“They’re birds.”
No. Birds have feathers. Roosters and chickens have scales.
Elia picked up Quibbles, still happily smacking his gums from the last of his feast. “…right. Anyways, it’s high time we got some rewards for our hard work.”
----------------------------------------
You are the worst negotiator I have ever seen.
Elia tensed, barely visible. She casually wiped away the water healing her leftover wounds and rolled her eyes. All she had to do was trade some common bone shards for uncommon, at a set rate at that. How she managed to nearly screw that up would be a sticking point for ages.
“The merchant’s an annoying prick!”
Undiplomatic! Rude! Crude!
“It’s not my fault he kept on trying to convince me to sell my helmet! It saved my life so many times; it has sentimental value.”
Your helmet is so dinged up it’s only use is being smelted. And he was annoyed because you threatened him with your hatchet. The one I bought from him.
“That was half a dozen loops ago, it’s not like he remembers! And we got what we came here for so shush.”
She dug out a handful of shards from her pocket, fusing them to underline her point.
You have fused: Bone shard [Uncommon] x10 into Bones of Boons [Uncommon] x1
The emerald die twisted in her hands, glowing symbols flashing on a million sides. Next to the great sea of greens, twisted blues appeared and disappeared in erratic intervals. Much to her dismay, gray was a still present, if only as a minority color.
“See? Traded nine commons for three uncommons and boom, now we’ve got a new boon.”
…could’ve done it without so much fuss, gotten it cheaper, too. The merchant probably hates us now.
“Potato-tomato. Here, this is yours. Ready to be disappointed?”
She presented the die with a dramatic flourish, an ethereal sigh ringing in her mind as the tingling will of another crawled down her arm.
I don’t know why you say it like that. This is supposed to be special, supposed to be exciting! Now? Now I’m just sad.
Elia was moments before saying something nice for once, but her lips had barely parted and already the die had stopped its journey, landing right on the rim of the great cup of healing water. Elia squinted at the green symbol, a tilted diamond with many smaller ones coming off one end.
“Is that supposed to be a–“
You have gained a divine boon: Heavy Hailstone Bolt [Uncommon] [Empty Socket]
What does it say? I can’t look!
Elia stared at the smoke for much too long, mind blanking. “–uuuh, what? WHAT?”
Is it that bad? Please tell me, Elia.
“Rye. Get that smoke up in here, now.”
[Spirit] Heavy Hailstone Bolt [Uncommon] [Empty Socket]
Gather your spirit to launch a heavy bolt of Hailstone at your target.
A cumbersome pattern of conjuration, this projectile submits to the laws of gravity in exchange for greater potential. Disliked by conjurers for its crude design, though its efficacy is undeniable.
M-magic? Rye stuttered. F-for me? But, but I don’t have any… I didn’t learn… I don’t DESERVE–
“Calm your tits, brain bud. You just won the fucking lottery and let me tell you, things are a-changing. Because this,” she lowered her voice, drama oozing from every poor. “is Magic.”
Her excitement was infectious, like a particularly virulent disease transmitted by words.
Magic! Ma-gic. Magic… to be honest, I always had idle dreams that one day I’d go on an adventure, learn magic and see faraway places. A real fairytale was what I wished for, but now that it’s on my platter? Now I feel like I’m eating a stolen pie.
“Hah! I knew you were going to be disappointed.” She grinned at her reflection, only for it to grin back just as stupidly. “I had a bolt for a while. Really cool, didn’t last. Stupid stone bird.”
At the immaterial sigh, she stood and stretched, thoughts jumping between the road ahead, a muddled past and the attendant, standing wistfully some distance aside. This was not her world. Telepathic tomatoes were normal here. Scaled, vicious lizards the size of a rhino were normal too, domesticated even.
Dying a thousand times could be normal. Overly touchy level-up ladies could be normal, though she dearly hoped it didn’t extend to other people.
“Does it make any sense to you why she did… that to us?”
Who?
“The attendant. The dressing of wounds, the whole soul-leveling stuff?”
Oh. Perhaps that is her purpose? She is a servant after all, and she sure does appear to know how to dress wounds. She was trying to be of service, even towards someone as hideous as us. She possibly even has a boon or two to help us along. You should apologize to her. You were more than rude.
“Please, at least I’m not drinking in her face like its hot chocolate. Your eyes roam, Rye. A lot.”
That elicited an enjoyable string of sputtered denials as Rye choked on her own words.
T–they DO NOT! Y- agh, you. Go now. Say sorry. PLEASE.
“Hmmm… No. I don’t think I will.” Elia turned in the opposite direction. “Now, Rye, since I know that my best buddy requires a constant diet of dopamine and serotonin to keep from becoming sad, emotionally destitute and lonely, let’s go take a look at the results your brave and selfless sacrifices brought.”
Selfless. Good joke.
“You died five times clearly going against your lofty morals, all to help someone you didn’t even know. You were selfless. Pragmatic, even.” And she learned that lesson quicker than Elia ever had. If only she’d had someone like herself help her out during her humble beginnings. “Now stuff it, we’ve got a quest reward to gather.”
After a short search, the pale lady came into view, lying on one of the upper stairs, her mask-helmet resting atop her chest. She looked calm, at peace, the same way as a stalk of grass swaying in the wind. She didn’t meet Elia’s eyes and only when she bent over, staring down at her unmoving face did she react.
“Oh. A new face. Hello.”
“’Sup.”
‘Sup’ she says. Unbelievable.
The pale woman barely moved, but Elia didn’t need her to.
“Solved your attachment issues.”
The woman blinked, as if waking from an odd dream. Rye screamed, muffled as if stuffing her face into a pillow.
As charming and tactful as a ROCKSLIDE. Gods, smite me now so I don’t have to witness this travesty of a conversation.
No lack of tact seemed to move the woman from her everlasting ennui. “I assume I have you to thank then, for putting my sunshine to rest. You seem more than meets the eye. Perhaps you’ll make it further than I. As for myself, hm, my capacity for adventure has been… sated. I suppose I will lay here and wallow in my misery, sorry twice-lived fool that I am. Hm.”
The awkward silence returned as she closed her eyes. Elia found it hard to empathize. Too often did she return from death, only to find people oblivious to the time spent together, not even recognizing her name. She would have liked to say that she still tried to care, still tried to listen, but the time she spent in that maze never left her.
Life then was all still about balancing the numbers, never letting the ratio of deaths to boons acquired tip too much towards the former. Now she was past basic subsistence, finally allowed build up a buffer. If only she wasn’t certain how that was going to last just as little.
More shards would work wonders. Anything would, really. Food, bugs, essence, weapons, knowledge. Her gaze drifted to the side; an assortment of gear folded half-neat at the top of the stairs.
No. Stop. You are not going to ask for her only spear. Just look at it, the flourishes, the inscriptions made with love and care. It doesn’t look cheap and probably has sentimental value. Like your helmet, remember?
Elia tried not to ask. She tried hard, really, really hard.
“Sooo… no reward?”
A single eye cracked open to the silent sound of Rye sinking into a second round of second-hand shame.
“Still here? On second thought, service such as yours does deserve a reward.” She pulled a ring off her a finger on her third arm, staring at it for but a moment before placing it in Elia’s waiting hand. “Here. Take this. You have more use for it than I, hm.”
Ring of Grace
Filia, The Gentle Watcher, crafted these rings in the hopes they would lessen the burden placed upon those undead still loyally within her service. Upon death, the wearer loses nothing, yet the ring is shattered.
Oho. This was nice. If she was in a particularly deadly area with a lot of souls and shards, Elia could slip this on and simply return unharmed upon her death. Though, in all likelihood it was going to fall into the box for later use indefinitely. It was a consumable resource after all. A simple spear would have been better. Or boots.
How much was this worth to the merchant? Maybe another angle could reach another reward, should they die before finding the next checkpoint. It was an infinite source of rings before then, though whether a single ring was worth suicide was another question entirely.
Elia… Disapproval and annoyance mixed in Rye’s voice. What do we say?
“Alright, thanks. I have a pantheon to audit, so… be seein’ ya’.”
As she turned to leave, the woman stirred once more. “My name is Avice, if it pleases thee. Avice of Viln.”
“Elia. Of… Portland?”
The woman named Avice failed to tear her stare away from the ceiling high above. Her pelt-covered frame belied a hidden strength; hidden weapons, too. She was tall and if the dreg out back was any indication, then it would be better to stay on her good side in future loops if they ever led her back this way. “Elia. Hm. You are an odd one. Perhaps you’ll find your peace one day, though I doubt it will be out there.”
“Uh-huh.” Unwilling to spend more time with a woman radiating even more sadness than her often gloomy cranial companion, Elia took it as her cue to leave. The air outside was a lot less melancholic and a fresh gust blew across her face.
At least we finally learned her name. That is almost as rare an occurrence as finding a friendly face around here. So, what now?
Elia let the question linger, rubbing her chin in a mock-show of deep thought. She already knew where they were going to go.
“Say, Rye, what is your opinion on sieges?”