CHAPTER 10

“That didn’t go as planned, did it?” I ask.

Gedden just smiles and shakes his head sharply. I catch his meaning. Mossgreen seems to be able to hear everything that goes on in his forest.

“Nice troll,” I continue instead. “Why did he measure my height?”

“Who knows, with Mossgreen,” Gedden shrugs. “Let’s hurry. We’re gonna miss Beckra if we dally.”

“Who’s Beckra?”

“The person on the road. She’s bringing another esteemed guest around. Lysander’s appointment book has probably run out of space by now.”

“Another Godtouched?”

“The guest? Yes,” Gedden says. “Beckra is the most Untouched person you’ll ever meet. Lay a finger on her and you might not get it back. Of course,” he flashes a smile over his shoulder. “You don’t have to worry about that as much as we do.”

“Ha-ha.” I glance down at the bandages covering my stump.

For a moment, my emotions hang suspended, as if someone just pushed them off a cliff and they haven’t realized yet. The next moment they fall, but the cliff turns out to be nothing more than a hay-covered meadow. Maybe it’s Gedden’s constant playful behavior, but I’m more amused than bothered by his joke. In fact, it’s something else entirely that I take issue with.

“That’s not a real word, you know,” I say while keeping my eyes on the path.

The thorns seem more foreboding than before. More than once I’ve thought I caught movement in the corner of my eyes, and all around us I can feel, or think I can feel, Mossgreen’s presence, ushering us along and out of his woods.

“What word?”

“Untouched.”

“It’s as made up as ‘Godtouched’. And that’s a word you use constantly.”

“Free levels and immortality? What would you call it?”

Gedden shoots me a look over his shoulder.

“You know, you’re mouthier than you looked at breakfast.”

“Table manners have always been one of my strongest suits.”

His laughter shakes a flock of birds from their perches on the higher branches. When the echoes die, I’m surprised to see the path open up a little wider, as if the prickly bushes have taken a step back to better let us through.

“Stick around and you’ll find that a lot of people have issues with those things you mentioned. Well, everyone has issues with the levels thing.”

“Where I come from, everyone dreams about the levels thing.”

“Well, I don’t think they get it, where you come from. I can see the fun of it when you’re Amelia, Mossgreen, captain Olobo, and you, but for us? Godtouched? It’s crap. You get one of three Archetypes, and it’s barely an Archetype at all.” Gedden turns to me, his movements quick and irritated. “Did you know we stop learning new things at third level, though we keep levelling until level ten? Some people, I among them, believe we glitched into this thing and that this is our punishment. We got rid of the real Dungeons because we were scared of risking our lives, and now all we have is this drudgery.”

It’s so much information, presented in such a carefree manner, that I have trouble deciding which morsel I want to jump at first.

“Glitched?”

“Hum… like cheated. Yeah, we cheated.”

The only thing I can focus on is on keeping Gedden talking, keep him revealing secrets. This deluge feeds the feeling I’d felt earlier, the pleasant tinngling coursing through my veins and making me quicker, sharper.

It’s the Archetype, I think amidst the drumming of my heartbeat. Secrets and information, right?

I breathe in, steady my thoughts.

“Why don’t you run the dungeons yourself and go through the Doors? Gain levels that way.”

Gedden scoffs.

“That’s what they said, in the beginning. ‘If we ever need them, the Doors will be there still’,” his voice grows more nasal and irritating. “Turns out yes, the Doors are there, but that doesn’t matter when they’re disconnected from their original Challenge. When Godtouched cross them, we just come out the other side.”

And about the people on the other side? Like Arbiter?

I think the words clearly, form them out in my mind. But the moment I try to pronounce them ou loud, my voice catches, no sound is produced. Gedden observes me open and close my mouth like a fish out of water.

“Yeah,” he says with a sympathetic nod. “Because of the geas, we don’t even know what’s wrong. People who gain levels by going through a Door can’t talk about it with people who haven’t. So all we know is that we’re missing something. Something big. We were never supposed to level up indefinitely by killing vermin. We were so in love with life in this world, with what it offered, so afraid of losing it that we turned it into a prison.”

He stands there, shaking his head, observing some internal process of his own. And then a smile courses through his face again.

“But Lysander is going to solve all that. You’ll see. Now come on, really. If we lose Beckra we’ll have to walk all the way back.”

*

Beckra turns out to be a young tan-skinned woman with a shawl wrapped around her head. Her clothes are a mixture of comfortable and outlandish, with garish colors and strange shapes. Her bright yellow leather boots curve up at the tip and her smile flashes bright with golden teeth when she reins up the horses next to us.

“’Tis a fine day when such a bum soul as mine has a Godtouched in her reception committee. Howdy-do, Godtouched and friend.” she touches two fingers to her tricorn hat, which rests on the bench next to her.

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“Always a sight, Becks,” Gedden nods, good humored. “Nice trip?”

Before she can answer, a high-pitched voice comes from the inside of the carriage.

“Are we there, coachwoman? I don’t think we’re there, because all I see is mud and dirt. Why, pray, did we stop?”

“Strays on the path, ma’am,” Beckra yells back before turning back to us. “None better, as you can see, Ged. What could a woman want with the open sea when can drive boxes through dusty lanes? Who’s the lad?”

“This here is Malco. He’s one of the Black Sword Challengers.”

Beckra whistles as I nod to her.

“Well, you better climb up and let Beckra drive you from this stifling place. The feeling about these woods is the same as when a ocean beast swims gentle under your vessel, and I’d sooner be away.”

Her carefree demeanor, her voice full of life and flavor, lends a contagious excitement to the world.

“Ah-ah,” she shakes her head as Ged, smiling, walks up to her. “What would they say if a good woman such as I was seen alone with a scoundrel such as yourself, Ged the Godtouched? Malco’ll keep me company. And you,” she leans further down, her smiling face a scant handspan from Ged’s. “You better hang off the back and try not to eat too much dust.”

Ignoring the Godtouched’s protests, she puts her tricorn on and nods to me.

“Thanks,” I say. “Glad I can be of some use, protecting your honor.”

“Oh, aye,” Beckra touches the reins and the horses trot away, getting us moving again. “It’s a much-abused thing and needs all the protection it can get. You really been in a Dungeon?”

I raise my stump by way of answer.

“Worth the trouble, would you say?”

“I had my reasons.”

“Aye, I can see where I’d trade a hand for a level. They’d call me Beckra the Hook, and my banner would be feared in every land that borders the ocean. A girl can dream.”

“You’re a sailor?”

“I sail,” she says with a flash of a smile. “I’m second-mate aboard cap’n Olobo’s Princess, the finest vessel ever took to sea.”

Pirate, I think, taking her in from the corner of my eye and trying not to ogle.

“Gedden mentioned Olobo before. He’s been in a Dungeon, hasn’t he?”

“He would talk about him, wouldn’t he?” Beckra tuts. “A terrible jealous man, Gedden is.”

“Screw you, Becks,” Gedden calls from the back of the carriage, his voice vibrating on pace with the road.

“Pardon me,” Beckra says, and twists the reins so the carriage’s wheel goes over a prominent rock on the path. The carriage bumps, Gedden curses, the woman in the carriage gives a panicked yelp that sounds muffled and distant. “Sorry, all. Sneaked up on me, it did.”

The mischievous smile she gives me is full of more golden teeth than I can count.

“Cap’n Olobo’s been in and out of more Dungeons than you or I traded blows for lives,” she says, voice low with admiration. “‘Course, that was in his younger years, before our friends here dismantled what Dungeons they could reach to make their own. Imagine that: taking apart a proud three-master to make your very own rowboat.”

“Have you been in a Dungeon?”

Beckra shakes her head.

“They got to them before I could. If I ever go inside one, it’ll be as a free woman, not a pet in their games. No offense.”

“None taken.”

The horses maintain the easy trot and bring us quickly out of the forest. The midafternoon sun has conquered the last remainders of clouds and is shining down to draw the humidity from my clothes and clear away the wet smell that hung around Mossgreen’s place, clinging to clothes and hair and skin. Beckra turns her face up to it, glad to bask in the brilliance.

Up ahead, as the road climbs the soft incline into the open arms of the mansion, I see a group is standing by the stables. The four riders are still around, three talking amongst themselves while the man in red and black speaks to Lysander under the mighty tree in the center of the courtyard. The elf turns to face the carriage.

“Beckra,” Lysander says. “What a joy to have you back. I trust good captain Velan is in good health?”

Velan?

“Better than ever, sir, and richer too,” Beckra says without missing a beat. “The seas between Olvion and Red Harbor are finally safe to sail thanks to the work of the guilds. Good for trade, it is.”

The elf nods and approaches the carriage while red-and-black, standing stiffly to attention, hangs back. I hear the door being thrown open and a squeal fills the air.

“Lysander!”

“Dear Madame Keys. Allow me.”

With his help, the carriage’s occupant steps out, taking an impressed look around. Even in the warm weather she’s muffled in expensive heavy fabrics and a long skirt. Madame Keys looks small and frail, though still young. My instincts scream Godtouched, but my brain has trouble putting her in the same level as the titans I grew up in awe of. Meanwhile, red-and-black has his eyes fixed on me. His hand twitches at his side, as if he’s unsure of how to proceed.

“Your house looks lovelier every time I visit,” says the Madame. “How do you do it?”

“You should return next year, when I hope to have the gardens finished.”

“Oh, but I do wish you’d tear off this ghastly thing,” she continues, ignoring him and gesturing to the old tree. “I— Teryon? What are you doing here?”

Red-and-black’s eyes shift away from me. A moment later he smiles.

“Guild business with Lysander, Madam Keys. Couldn’t be helped.”

“Madame, Terry. You keep forgetting. And ah, yes, I heard. Dreadful business, that. I hope you boys made up.”

“We’re clearing it, Madame,” Lysander says. “Here is Malco, the Challenger in the center of that terrible misunderstanding.”

Standing next to Beckra and Gedden, I’m surprised to be dragged out of my position as observer and into the center of Madame Keys’ attentions. Incongruous with her bored expression, her eyes are incredibly active, flitting this way and that to catch all of me there is to see. I know what that is. The Observant Perk, seen from outside.

Is this how my eyes look when I watch people? So intense? So probing?

I wonder if the Madame is thinking the same.

“A fine boy, I hope. Indulge me, Lysander, what did he pick?”

“Inquisitor, Madame,” I say. “It’s Rogue-ish, I’ve been told.”

“Sounds like it. Sounds invasive, too. How interesting.”

Madame Keys gives me a final once-over before accepting Lysander’s arm and permitting herself to be escorted into the house. As if almost forgetting himself, the elf stops and turns to Teryon, still standing, still watching.

“Captain. I hope Valkas finds the situation agreeable and that you’ll have good news for me when next we meet.”

“That’s my hope too, sir.”

Teryon bows respectfully, then gives the order to mount. I notice that from several packs hanging from his saddle Muscle’s yellow-shining armor peeks out into the world. With a final look in my direction, Teryon and his party hurry down the path, kicking up a cloud of dust that hangs in the air a moment before disappearing.

“Get me out of this sun, Lysander,” says Madame Keys. “Can’t wait to hear what you have planned.”

“Just business, Madame. Just business.”

Still arm-in-arm, the duo disappears into the house, leaving the three of us outside. A servant shuffles out of the stables to take the carriage. I notice the large scar in his forehead, the dumb, brutish look he gives us before disappearing. I can stop noticing things. The pleasant feeling stemming from the uncovered secrets, the truth about the Godtouched, still courses through my veins. It’s a strange thrill.

“Good save with your captain Velan,” Gedden says. “Can’t be talking pirates in front of the Madame, can we?”

“All Lys,” Beckra shrugs. “Though I’m not sure she was convinced. Damn silly move, making me cart over Valkas’ bleedin’ spymaster.”

“Lysander knows what he’s doing. Anyway,” Gedden coughs. “Malco, you had that thing, didn’t you? Best not make Amelia wait.”

I see his eyes open wide, the slight nod of his head pointing towards Beckra.

Subtle as a brick.

But from the slight smile on Beckra’s face, I don’t think she minds much.

“Yeah, I should get going. Pleasure, Beckra. See you later.”

I make my way into the house, leaving the two alone. Lysander and Madame Keys have already disappeared into one of the myriad rooms. The house is silent, quiet as day begins the slow descent into night.

Amelia mutters to herself in the kitchen. I find that I have no desire to actually see her, and that there’s still a lot to find out about this place. Taking the steps two at a time, I walk up to my room, as tidy as I left it, and look out the window. Gedden and Beckra are nowhere to be seen. In the distance, the forest beckons, trees swaying this way and that, like Mossgreen is waving at me.

I open the side door into a tiled room with a toilet, thick, soft towels laid in a pile, and, taking up an enormous among of space, an overlarge marble bathtub. I’d experimented already with the little knobs right above it. One made cool water come out of the spout like magic. More marvelous yet, the one next to it made hot water flow.

I should go explore the house, I think. I’m missing both wings, the gardens behind the house, and an infinite number of rooms.

Should is right. A little later, with my dirty and sweaty clothes in a pile on the floor, the bandages discarded, steam fogging up the window and curling lazily in the air, I sink into my first warm bath in an age, trying not to feel guilty.

Alright, I force myself to think, at effort. Let’s plan.