Novels2Search

Ch 5: Stromwell

Earlier…

“Little Author,” Kinsoriel said as he came to a stop, “you will wait here while I go hunt.”

Seeing no reason to argue, Benjamin simply shrugged and sat on a nearby log. He wouldn’t take long, and as far as Benjamin could remember, there wasn’t anything he could mess up nearby. Not like he’d listen if he objected anyway.

After the dragon had disappeared into the forest, Benjamin found himself just lounging around. A little amount of time to think about things without having to worry about anything else; what a treat. Not like he hadn’t been doing that already as he walked, but this sudden alone time gave him an idea.

He straightened out and peered at a tree. ‘Then, a lightning bolt struck the tree, setting it ablaze.’ he imagined as hard as he could. He grimaced as the tree remained unstruck, green and billowing still. He tried again and again to no avail. The possibility of success wasn’t very likely, but it was still disappointing.

Normally, he only needed to think of what happened and it would be so. It didn’t matter how nonsensical or contrived, though any Author worth his salt would still avoid that if possible. There wasn’t any question of it now; he needed that book to do anything.

He laid back on the log, trying to relax. A hard task, given he was used to the fine chairs he would often will into existence. He wouldn’t have to be without such comforts for much longer, they were only an hour away from Harax’s lair.

A slight rustling caught his attention. Even though he was on the lighter end of the scale now, Benjamin doubted that was Kinsoriel. The lack of any tremors only further cemented this thought. Shifting over to his side, Benjamin saw what might be the worst possible thing he could imagine in his current predicament.

“Resting on your laurels, eh?” came a familiar, demeaning voice.

“Stromwell,” Benjamin drug out with deep-seated resentment.

If there was ever a benefit to engrossing himself in the worlds he made, seeing less of his older brother was certainly in the running. Always wearing that same outfit of his; the dark gray suit and vest, complimented by a white shirt and pinstripe tie. That wood grain paneled pen Father had given him was still in his upper breast pocket. It likely never left it either. Fine silk gloves, black leather derby shoes, and a trimmed beard rounded out the look; that is, if you wanted to scream how ‘mature’ you were to everyone around you. Stromwell could have been born in that outfit and just never learned to take it off; such a thing would hardly be surprising. What was he doing here though? He wasn’t the type to just drop in on his fellow Authors.

“Don’t you have a character arc somewhere to crush for shock value?” Benjamin spat.

Stromwell scoffed at the insinuation, continuing to close the distance. With a waggle of his finger, a chair that could be at home next to a fireplace appeared. Benjamin briefly coveted the lovely-looking seat, before his attention was once again drawn to its owner.

“Yes yes, I’m sure you have plenty to say, but I’m not here because I want to be.” Stromwell droned. He reached a hand into his suit, rummaging around in it. When it came back out, it was holding something Benjamin hadn’t expected; his book. “I believe you were looking for this?”

He lightly shook the black covered volume around. Benjamin’s eyes went wide as he looked at it. No wonder he could bring a chair out of nowhere in his world! It all made sense now, this was just a prank of some sort. It wasn’t very funny though.

“Oh wow, thanks Stromwell,” Benjamin said with faux gratitude, reaching out a hand to grab the book. “I don’t know what to say.” Before he could grasp it once again, it was pulled away. Hands left empty, he looked back to Stromwell. He had a rakish brow and a grin that broke his typically subtle demeanor.

“No need to thank me, Ben, I’m not doing you a favor.” He leaned back into the chair and folded his hands on top of the book. “More the opposite.” Benjamin, now sitting up completely, looked at his older brother intensely.

“Okay then, I’ll bite.” Benjamin stated as he folded his arms, “What do you mean by that?”

Stromwell scooched a bit forward and looked Benjamin straight in the eyes.

“Nobody else has ever fumbled as badly as you have right now, Ben. Nobody.” A single hand gripped the edge of the seat as he went on. “I don’t know how you managed to do it, that’s where we are here. But… you are in luck. I just so happened to be there in time. Nobody else knows of your failure.” He raised a finger with his final word. “Yet.”

Benjamin began to see what his game was now. Write the makings of a blackmail plot once, and anyone would be able to see it as well. But besides that, did he say that he didn’t know what happened either?

“You mean you don’t know how this happened either?” He asked genuinely, with a twinge of concern around his words.

Stromwell huffed. “Would you please try and keep up? Now, as I was saying, nobody else knows. We could keep it that way if you wouldn’t mind doing something for me.” Benjamin wordlessly waited, hoping whatever it was that would be demanded of him would be reasonable. “You see, I have been needing an assistant for some time now, and nobody seems up to it lately. Be mine for, let’s say, 100 years, and we can come to an agreement.”

A distraught look twisted itself onto Benjamin’s face. They didn’t see eye to eye much of the time, but did Stromwell really loathe him so? For Benjamin to become an assistant to another Author, that would be like hanging a sign off his neck that read ‘Inept’ in bold red letters. Assistantship was only meant to give newcomers experience before they went on to the real deal. Shaming him and glorifying Stromwell as a superior; for 100 years. If tossing aside his image for this stuffy prick’s benefit was the only alternative, he’d rather be a failure for the next millennium; even if it reached Father.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“Run off and tell them then, I don’t care,” Benjamin said as he stood. “Just give me back my book.”

“Really? You won’t oblige such a simple request? And just why is that?” Stromwell sneered and crossed his legs. Benjamin could feel his temples throb more and more as his brother spoke.

“Why? Why should I even need to explain myself to you?! You have no right to be interfering in MY world.” Vitriol bubbled up, catching in his throat before he said anything else. Stromwell stopped smiling in any fashion, taking a very so-so expression.

“I’d watch my tone if I were you, little brother.” Stromwell stood up, meeting Benjamin’s gaze directly. “With a proper answer now. Why deny my request?”

“Because I’d never want to be the assistant of a hack like you!” Benjamin felt his answer escape his lips before he could even think. They were both taken aback. Stromwell went from shock and confusion to anger, and finally back to his neutral look with a sigh.

“Is that so?” He stared over to the chair. It disappeared without any movement or flourish on his part. He looked back to Benjamin. “Don’t worry about making a deal anymore, I have a far better idea now.”

Benjamin, who had now recovered from his outburst, felt uneasy at his words. ”W-what do you mean?” He asked as Stromwell opened up the book to the first page. With his free hand, he took the wood grain pen out of his breast pocket. Despite his neutral façade, there was a malicious gleam in his eyes.

In what felt like slow motion, Benjamin tried to take the book back from the vindictive man. In reality, it probably was slow motion. He was powerless to stop him as ink flowed from the pen and across the title page. Once. Twice. Five times. Ten. Until Benjamin’s name was completely crossed out.

“Here is what’s going to happen. I’ll be keeping this all our little secret, and you…” He flipped to the back of the book, ripping out an uneven piece of its endless pages. “You are going to finish this story without being the Author. No protections, no special rules, and you can only keep the knowledge you write here.” As he said this, he stuffed the torn paper into Benjamin's near totally frozen hands, along with a pen he brought into existence just then.

“If you can manage this, the book will come to you. But if I see you pop up at the Infinite Library ‘early’... I’ll take over this setting for you. After all, you’d never be able to come back to a world you died in.” He moved in a little bit closer, lightly smacking Benjamin’s cheeks twice. “Oh what am I saying, you’ll be just peachy! After all, you aren’t a hack like your dear old brother, right?!” He frowned as he said that last word, turning around and walking off.

Raising his head over his shoulder, Stromwell said one last thing. “Oh, and I’d hurry with writing down what you want to keep. You’ll only have one minute to do so.” He looked to the sky, snapped his fingers, and disappeared without a trace. Time started flowing normally again after he had done so, Benjamin nearly falling over from his preserved momentum. When he righted himself, a floating digital clock appeared before him.

Fifty-six. Fifty-five. He didn’t have any time to waste. Clutching at the pen with a death grip, he jotted down all that he could. Every vital name, every big plot point he could dredge up, absolutely everything. Nineteen. Eighteen. He struggled to think of what else he might need to know about, he came to a grim realization. He would now be a part of this world, but he didn’t have anything there to help him survive it. Thirteen. Twelve. He quickly wrote down whatever he could to make sure he didn’t die immediately. One. Zero.

As soon as the clock had finished its countdown, it disappeared, taking with it Benjamin’s unsecured thoughts. He could feel his meta-knowledge get wrenched out of his head, and it was excruciating. The pain had come and gone near instantly, but it brought with it other feelings. An emptiness in his stomach, a dryness in his throat. The chill of the wind made him shiver. He… he was no longer an Author, he was just Benjamin. And he felt completely vulnerable.

Wanting to get away from this now too obvious wind, he moved to a more sheltered area. He looked over the page he was given, seeing what his mad scribbles had left him.

‘Kinsoriel, Draconic Canon, Nela’s group, Carthex the Butcher, Betrayals, Continents, Cities, Mythology, Dangerous Plants and Monsters, Spel-’

He stared blankly at the unfinished word, the blood draining from his face. He tried to remember anything at all about the rules of spellcraft and magic, drawing a blank. It was completely gone. Everything else that he had successfully written was still there in his mind, but nothing from the partially written word. The broad terms he had given himself worked, which meant he could have just used generic terms and saved it all. Freaking out over the timer had left him at a hefty disadvantage, which was exactly what his brother wanted.

He smacked himself in the face. Not used to feeling real pain in created worlds, he unwittingly hit himself too hard. This wasn’t something he could just ignore, he had to truly live in this world now. Normality would be the death of anyone in a land of sword and sorcery, and this was high fantasy!

The world swirled around him as it all became too much. If he died, this world would be doomed to Stromwell’s wrath. A perfectly calm Stromwell would axe off important places and people in his awful interpretation of realism. But with a bruised ego, he could very well make this place a grimdark nightmare.

That could happen at any moment! He could trip and hit his head and that would be it. Did he even know how to swim? What if he choked? It occurred to him that he’d need to eat now! The minutes ticked by as Benjamin continued to spiral deeper into his fears.

“I have returned,” Kinsoriel said, coming back into view. This barely registered to Benjamin, he was too preoccupied with babbling to himself. The dragon laid down and got to making a campfire with a small gout of his breath. As he held the meat between his claws, the deer roasting over the tongues of flame, he looked over to Benjamin.

“If you beg hard enough, I may give you a morsel of food,” he said with a self-gratifying expression. Bringing up the concept of food in the first place brought Benjamin’s mind back to what he had said, though not by much.

“I didn’t need to eat you know. Now? Now I have to. Or I’ll die. I can die now. And if I die? I can’t come back.” Kinsoriel said nothing in response to his words, just continuing to roast the deer. Worry overwhelming him, Benjamin held his face in his hands, rubbing at his head incessantly. Time passed, and he was still having as hard a time coming to terms with what had happened. How could his brother even think to do such a thing to him? Surely they could have just talked things out right? But then again he w-

His circular line of thought was put to an end as he found a hot hunk of meat lying on his lap. It hadn’t burned him though, because it was also upon a flat rock. His mouth watered at the sight, a feeling he wasn’t used to. Looking up, his eyes met the cook, who had already begun ravenously digging into his meal. Before thinking of touching the meat, he called over simply, “Thank you.”

Kinsoriel briefly stopped his glutinous shredding, only to go back to it a moment later. Whether he had heard and given pause or was just taking a breath, Benjamin did not know. He soon joined in, eating the meat with gusto. He didn’t have any utensils, and he had to rip bits off with only his hands and teeth. A messy process, but also surprisingly effective. The venison was gamey but rich in flavor; hard to eat but worth every bite. Grease stains found their way all over his cloak, but he didn’t care at the moment. He felt much better.

They were almost certainly screwed, but it was that ‘almost’ that made the difference. Even with all the ways he could fail at every corner, he knew he would have to conquer them if this world was to survive. And to that end, he refused to throw in the towel.