Novels2Search

11: Paths

The district where the baby had been born was a maze of narrow streets and leaning buildings, their facades weathered by centuries of rain and neglect. The smell of roasting meats and wet stone filled the air, mingling with the distant clang of blacksmiths and the calls of street vendors. Krungus and Eugene stood before the imposing iron gates of a modest estate, flanked by two heavily armored guards who were clearly unimpressed by their presence.

“You cannot go in,” one of the guards said, his tone flat and unwavering.

Krungus sighed, tapping his newly restored staff against the ground. The polished metal rod gleamed under the city’s dim light, the blue crystal atop it pulsing faintly with restrained power. “And why, pray tell, is that?” he asked, his voice dangerously polite.

The guard squared his shoulders. “The child and her...companion are not receiving visitors.”

Krungus’s eye twitched. “Not receiving visitors. Not receiving visitors. Fascinating.” He adjusted his glasses, the red lenses flashing as he glanced at Eugene. “Boy, would you like to hear something amusing?”

Eugene, sensing the wizard's mounting frustration, shrugged. “I don’t think I have a choice.”

Krungus turned back to the guard, his smile thin and entirely devoid of warmth. “I am Krungus. Once Archmage of The Number, founder of The City of Cities as you know it, and, quite frankly, far too important to be standing outside having this conversation. Now, you can either let me in, or I will be forced to use my—how shall we put it—considerable talents to discern what I wish to know in my own way.”

The guard remained unimpressed. “You still can’t go in.”

Krungus’s smile evaporated. “Fine.” He muttered an incantation under his breath and raised his staff. A faint ripple of energy expanded outward, and Eugene watched in awe as shimmering threads of magic spread across the estate like an invisible spiderweb, highlighting residual magical traces. The air shimmered and coalesced in Krungus’s vision, revealing what mundane eyes could not.

Moments later, Krungus scowled. “They’re not here,” he said, voice clipped with irritation. He turned back to the guard. “Where did they go?”

The guard hesitated, suddenly uneasy. “I...don’t know, sir. As far as I knew, they were still inside.”

Krungus rubbed his temples, muttering a curse under his breath. He stood still for a long moment, eyes closed as if sorting through a mental ledger of possibilities. Then he started walking back towards where they had come from.

Eugene took the silence as an opportunity to observe him. Nine thousand years. Nine thousand years. He couldn’t begin to imagine what that kind of existence felt like. The sheer endurance it must have taken to survive, to stay sane. But was he ever truly alone? Krungus had mentioned displacing a mushroom god back in Syzzyzzy. Did that mean there was someone—something—to talk to all those years?

Eugene cleared his throat. “Krungus... back in Syzzyzzy. You said you displaced a mushroom god. Were you really alone, or...?”

Krungus sighed, his grip tightening on his staff. “I couldn’t leave,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “But that didn’t mean I couldn’t bring others in.”

Eugene blinked. “Wait, what?”

Krungus smirked, the ghost of something almost fond crossing his face. “With the right spells—spells I had plenty of time to refine—I could open temporary portals. I brought creatures in, oh yes. Some of them willingly. Others... less so.”

Eugene's eyes widened. “You kidnapped things into your prison?”

Krungus shrugged. “What can I say? Solitude is a harsh mistress. Conversations with intelligent beings kept me sane.” His smirk faded. “At least, saner than the alternative.”

Eugene stared. “What kind of creatures?”

Krungus waved a hand dismissively. “A handful of lesser elementals, a few wandering spirits, one very insistent cat. I even managed to drag in an unfortunate bard once. Terrible conversationalist. Sang songs about smoking pipe tobacco, of all things.”

Eugene shook his head in disbelief. “You really are something else.”

Krungus smirked. “I try.” His expression darkened again as he tapped his staff against the cobblestones. “But enough of my tragic backstory. If the child and Jennie are gone, I must find them. That, for now, is the only decent use of my abilities.”

Eugene shifted uncomfortably. “So what’s the plan?”

Krungus turned, his expression unusually serious. “I need to visit a certain ancient library, far from the city. A repository of knowledge that even I have not fully explored. If there is anything to be learned about Jennies, it will be there.”

Eugene frowned. “How long will that take?”

Krungus shrugged. “Days. Weeks. Longer.” He glanced at Eugene. “And in my absence, I cannot leave this budding organization without proper leadership.”

Eugene scratched his head. “Brenna’s doing a pretty good job.”

Krungus scoffed. “Please. The idea of leaving anyone but a wizard in charge is...unthinkable.”

Eugene raised an eyebrow. “Who, then?”

Krungus reached into his robes and pulled out a coin, pressing it into Eugene’s palm. The weight of it was heavier than expected, the cool metal adorned with a disturbingly lifelike carving of Krungus’s own face. On the other side, it simply read: You’re holding it wrong.

Eugene snorted. “Seriously?”

Krungus ignored him. “This will guide you to my long-lost brother, Bahumbus.”

Eugene’s jaw nearly dropped. “You have a brother?!”

The old wizard smirked. “Even a magnificent specimen like myself cannot escape the chains of family.”

Eugene stared at him. “I can’t believe you’ve never mentioned this before.”

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

He shrugged. “Bahumbus and I... had our differences. He preferred to isolate himself in his workshop, pursuing magical tinkering and invention. He is no match for my expertise, but he is a generally benevolent wizard.”

Eugene eyed the coin warily. “And you want me to go find him?”

Krungus nodded. “The coin will show you the path to his workshop. Once there, show it to him, and he will know I am alive. He will assist you in whatever concerns you have regarding Cozimia and whether you should accept her offer.”

Hesitating, Eugene asked, “And his workshop is... safe?”

Krungus grinned. “Famously well-boobytrapped.”

Eugene groaned. “Of course.”

Krungus placed a hand on Eugene’s shoulder, his tone unusually earnest. “War is coming, boy. And war in this world is brutal. You must learn to protect yourself. Bahumbus can help you with your path.”

Eugene swallowed, feeling the weight of the wizard’s words. “You really think it’s coming soon?”

Krungus’s expression was grim. “Sooner than I’d like.” He adjusted his glasses. “I trust you to make the right choice. But make it quickly.”

Exhaling, Eugene slipped the coin into his pocket. “Guess I better get moving, then.”

Krungus gave a short nod, turning toward the street. “Indeed. And do try not to die.”

Eugene grinned. “I’ll do my best.”

With that, Krungus strode off into the bustling city streets, leaving Eugene standing there, wondering just what kind of wizard Bahumbus was—and how many deadly traps he’d have to avoid before getting answers.

----------------------------------------

Eugene stood in the middle of the bustling street, squinting up at the chaotic skyline of the City of Cities. Towering spires, ramshackle huts, sky bridges crisscrossing above him like tangled spiderwebs—everywhere he looked, the city sprawled on and on without end. He wiped the sweat from his brow and sighed.

"I need a map."

With renewed determination, he turned down a narrow alley and approached the first merchant he spotted, an elderly gnome sitting atop a pile of mismatched trinkets and scrolls. “Hey, uh, do you sell maps? Like...a full map of the whole city?”

The gnome stared at him for a moment, then threw back his head and laughed—a deep, wheezing cackle that made Eugene immediately regret asking.

“A map?! Of the whole city? Hoo-hoo, that’s a good one, lad!” The gnome wiped a tear from his eye. “What do you think this is, a village? You think you can fit all of this”—he waved his arms wildly—“on a piece of paper?”

Eugene awkwardly scratched the back of his head. “Uh...yeah?”

The gnome shook his head, muttering something about “outlanders” and “damn fools” before dismissing him with a wave. “Next!”

Eugene groaned and continued down the street, stopping at vendor after vendor, each one giving him the same answer—laughter, confusion, or a variation of "Are you an idiot?"

Eventually, a middle-aged elf with ink-stained fingers took pity on him. “You want a map, huh?” he said, leaning against his stall stacked with books and scrolls. “Paper won’t do you much good here, friend. Too many streets, too many changes. You need the mural.”

“Mural?” Eugene asked, raising an eyebrow.

The elf nodded, pointing down the street. “About a quarter mile that way, on the side of the old tax office. Big thing. Covers the whole damn wall. Only way to get an idea of where you’re standing.” He paused, looking Eugene up and down. “Though if you’re smart, you’d just keep walking and trust your feet.”

Eugene rolled his eyes. “Great. Thanks.”

----------------------------------------

After a short, sweaty trek through the city's labyrinthine streets, Eugene finally found the so-called "map." The sight of it stopped him in his tracks.

The entire side of a towering stone building was covered in a sprawling, vividly painted mural, stretching at least a hundred feet across and just as high. The detail was staggering—each district was labeled in large, elaborate script, with colorful depictions of landmarks, roads, and rivers woven through an intricate web of streets.

"This place is insane."

Eugene stepped closer, tracing his fingers along the mural's surface, reading the names of the districts.

Palace District. That one made sense. Probably where the rich people and rulers lived.

Arena District. He figured there was some kind of gladiator-style bloodsport going on there.

Food District. Finally, something logical.

Flesh District. Eugene paused. “Who the hell names these things?”

His eyes searched the massive mural until they landed on a spot near the lower right corner—Flesh District, where Krungus had planted the new mushroom headquarters. The idea of their HQ being in a place called the Flesh District made his stomach turn, but so far, nothing about this city made any logical sense.

Looking up, Eugene realized the map showed at least two hundred districts, maybe more. No wonder nobody uses paper maps. How does this place even function?

What baffled him even more was that, in his short time here, he’d noticed that people put their shops wherever they pleased, regardless of their so-called district’s specialty. The Food District had blacksmiths, and the Arena District had bakeries. It was as if the city itself didn't care about order—just existence.

Eugene leaned against the mural for a moment, exhausted from the heat. He patted his pockets and groaned—no money for food, no strength left to keep wandering. “Guess it’s time to head back.”

----------------------------------------

The walk back to the mushroom headquarters was uneventful at first. The streets were quieter now, shadows lengthening as the sun dipped toward the horizon. Eugene’s feet ached, and his stomach rumbled in protest, but the idea of collapsing into one of those ridiculously plush mushroom beds kept him moving.

Just as he rounded the final corner toward the towering fungal structure, a commotion in a side alley caught his attention.

Two guards—if they could even be called that in this lawless city—were hunched over something, their voices low and filled with menace. Eugene squinted, and his blood ran cold when he realized what they were doing.

A toucanfolk man—feathers ruffled, one wing bent awkwardly—was desperately trying to crawl away from them. His brightly colored plumage was smeared with dirt and blood, and every time he tried to flap his wings, one of the guards stomped on him, keeping him grounded.

“C’mon, birdie,” one of the guards sneered, a burly man with a scar across his cheek. “Just give us the money they gave you, and we won’t have to break anything else.”

“Listen buddy, I don’t have any money!” the toucanfolk man’s words tumbled out in a nervous torrent, his voice shaking. “I lost it in the swamp! I was trying to climb over this giant lily and then I fell right in… it’s a whole fiasco–”

The second guard, a lanky figure with an ill-fitting helmet, snorted. “Liar. You birds are always lyin’ and stealin’ something. Let’s see what happens when you can’t fly away, eh?”

Eugene clenched his fists, every instinct telling him to turn away, to keep walking. But something in him snapped. One of the guards was hitting the toucan in his wings with the butt of his sword. The toucan made an odd sounding squawk when he was struck, but it was obvious what the sound meant. The little guy was in pain.

No. Not this time.

He stepped forward, his voice loud and steady. “Hey!”

The guards paused, turning to face him with unimpressed expressions. The burly one frowned. “And who the hell are you supposed to be?”

Eugene took a deep breath, exasperated but determined. “I just can’t stand the sight of you two guys pounding on that little bird-man. Please stop.”

The toucanfolk man looked up, his eyes wide with a mixture of hope and fear. The guards, however, didn’t seem particularly concerned. The lanky one smirked. “Please stop? What are you my nan?” He cracked his knuckles. “You lost?”

Recalling how a single punch to the face had once hurled him into another plane, he decided that aggression might be the right answer this time, too. Eugene swallowed hard, adrenaline already kicking in. His muscles tensed, and despite having no weapons, no magic, and no real plan...he stepped forward anyway.

The burly guard grinned. “Guess we’ll just have to teach ya how things work around here.”

Eugene braced himself, fists clenched as the two men advanced.