Chapter 85

“As I stated before,” Wyll began, while he gave us all more jerky, which we were all thoroughly enjoying, “I used to be a Coal just like you three.”

“No shit,” Nyle said between bites. Wyll ignored him and continued.

“After the Reaping, I did all I could to learn about the Tower. I took on jobs at Climber’s Rest, did my fair share, and even grouped up every now and then.”

“How long have you been a Climber?” Lyn asked.

“Three years now,” Wyll answered, “first year I did all I could as a right proper Climber. Talked the talk, walked the walk,” he shrugged, “last two years though, I decided to walk a different path.”

“What about…” my voice went soft, “damnation?” We’d just learned of it, and yet the thought of it was terrifying. Jobs were important. Doing your duty as a Climber, important.

“I’m still here, aren’t I.” He said with a grin. “I told you, even though I don’t leave the Tower, I still do my duty. It’s part of why I stick to the lower four floors. Always plenty of non-climbers to assist. I do my duty to the Tower, sure as the fact that you and I breathe. I just don’t like living with the shadow of the Speakers over me,” he shook his head, “and let me tell you, they do not like me either. Last time I died, they were more than overzealous about shoving me away and punishing me for a week straight.” He laughed, the crazed laugh again. “As if that’s going to motivate me and make me want to change my ways. All it did was ensure I had all the more reason to not die within the Tower.”

I couldn’t help but wince as he cursed about the Speakers. Considering we had just yesterday seen what happened when you angered the Tower, I figured bad mouthing the Tower’s Speakers was ill advised. And yet… Wyll had a point. If he’d been in here a hundred days, and Damnation hadn’t occurred to him, then that meant somehow, someway, what he was doing was alright in the eyes of the Tower. The power hadn’t been turned against him. The Tower hadn’t stricken him down. He’d been allowed to live, these past hundred days, on the third floor.

“Speakers aside,” Wyll began again, “like I said, I spent a year as a proper Climber. Made it to the tenth floor and leveled up nicely as a result.”

“Did you beat the tenth-floor boss?” I asked.

“On more than one occasion.” Wyll confirmed with a grin. “Always with a group mind you, but we farmed it good and proper enough till we couldn’t get no more essence from it.” He looked at us, “it’s level 30, if you’re curious. I’ll let you do the math there.”

“You’re level 36?” Nyle asked, and Wyll’s crazed smile widened.

“Wrong,” he chuckled. “Forty-one,” he added before we could press him for answers. “Seems a few years hasn’t changed how little they actually teach anyone. Floor bosses give you essence as long as you’re within ten levels of it. Meaning we were able to hit level 41, before it stopped giving us essence. Of course, the poor level 30 boss stopped being a challenge far before then. Those were good times.”

“If you’re so strong,” I began, “then why are you on the third floor? Why aren’t you still climbing?” I was curious, more than a little. At the same time, the information he’d already given us was huge. Floor bosses gave essence as long as you were within ten levels. That meant if we wanted to, we could fight the fifth-floor boss for essence until we hit level 26. That was crazy.

“Told you,” He said, “I don’t like dying. And if I tried to live on any of the floors past the fifth, it’d be a lot harder to avoid damnation.” He shook his head with a shudder, “plus, let me tell you, those higher floors. Ain’t anywhere as hospitable and comfortable as the lower ones. Like I said, this area, it’s perfect for living in, and sure beats leaving the Tower to go back to the dark stony world of Climber’s Rest.”

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He had a good point there. Compared to this, the world we lived in outside of the Tower seemed bleak and somewhat depressing. Even still, I couldn’t imagine spending my entire life within the Tower.

“Any who, ‘bout two years ago, I had a falling out with the Speaker’s, you see. I was getting right fed up with how much they wanted from my climbs, and dying was getting exhausting. I started asking questions too, you know. Questioning the Speakers and their ways, questioning the will of the Tower according to them, the means, the methods.” He leaned closer, noting our attention was fixated on him, “I started asking too many questions, and it got me thrown underneath the Cathedral for a few weeks of re-education, you see.” He shook his head, “after that, well, enough was enough.”

He leaned back again, cackling slightly. “Now, I live within the Tower. The Tower provides plenty. The floors have all the food you can want, if you know what to look for. Plenty of resources too, and I’ve really found my calling, if you will, in learning to survive and thrive within the Tower. With my levels too,” he looked at his fur covered arms, “I’m able to fend for myself quite well. Not much to threaten me here, and I know the floors like the back of my hands.”

He held his hand out, turning it over as he did, as if to make a point. For a second, he focused on a bit of his hand, muttered something, and scratched a fleck of dirt off.

“Does Alexandra know you’re here?” Lyn asked him, the question having sprung to my mind as well.

“Course she does,” he said with another cackle, “that she-devil knows damn near everything about everyone that bears the mark of a Climber. But she made herself pretty clear to me. As long as I help out the non-climbers on whatever floor I’m living on, and I help any Climbers who ask for my aid as well, she’s no problem with me staying in here. She’s of the same mindset as me, you know. Not too keen about those Speakers. Doesn’t like people flaunting power and trying to shackle folks and such. All that matters, is that we’re doing what we can, to ensure Damnation don’t come to us. No harm, no foul, you see.”

“I…see.” His story was just causing more questions than anything. And then of course there were questions his appearance had raised already, that he hadn’t yet answered. “I get that you haven’t died in a hundred days,” I began, motioning towards his hands, “but why haven’t you healed yourself?”

He grinned as he flexed his hand. A few of the more recent scabs broke, dropping crimson from the disturbed wounds. I noticed a few droplets hit the jerky in his lap, and my appetite was suddenly gone. I pushed the few pieces I still had in my lap, back towards the man with a gracious smile.

“Keep em,” he said, oblivious to my disgust, “share ‘em back at Climber’s Rest if you want. It’s a recipe of my own, won’t find bear jerky like mine anywhere outside of the Tower, I can promise you that.” He chuckled, and not wanting to anger the level 41, slightly unhinged Climber, I mentally absorbed the jerky into my inventory. A list of information appeared regarding the Jerky, similar to when I’d acquired Claw and Fang, and the other magical pieces of gear. I put off reading the information though, for later.

“As for my injuries,” Wyll returned to the topic at hand, “I don’t like wasting essence on pointless things. And healing scrapes and bruises, no point. Besides, I feel it’d be kind of cheating, you know, to just heal myself at any instance. Cheapens the experience of living right proper within the Tower.”

“You’re level 41, on a floor with level six monsters,” Nyle countered, “surely that’s more unfair than using heal on yourself.”

“You’re not wrong there,” Wyll cackled again, “which is all the more reason not to heal. If something works hard enough to actually injure me, well, it’d be wrong of me to just make all that effort go to waste. If the Tower wanted me injured, if the Tower wants me dead, well, so be it. I won’t fight the fate, nor the will of the Tower. But I will use my own skills, my own experiences, to live and thrive as best I can here, without you know, relying on healing spells. Case in point,” he lifted one of the fur pant legs, showing he’d wrapped wooden bark all around his ankles, “I wear these to keep from getting bit by any of the snakes that slither about. Lesson learned well, a hundred days ago, when one of the sneaky bastards sent me to my grave.”

He laughed, and I couldn’t help but smile, slightly, at the strange, crazy man. Partly due to his whole attitude, his carefree nature. And partly because I wasn’t sure he was sane, and really didn’t want to risk accidently making him do anything too crazy, which could quickly result in my death, and the death of my friends.

“But any who,” the jerky in Wyll’s lap disappeared as he let his pant leg drop back down, “that’s my story, the long and short of it. If you’ve any questions, ask away. And I’ll happily guide you about the third floor if you need it. Otherwise,” he rubbed his hands together, “I’m pretty sure there’s a bear hunt going on today, and I’m never one to miss those.”