Chapter Twelve: Ogre, Where art Thou?
“You’s name is Hyde. Yes? Tes likes to hide. Not same, but sounds same. Same, same, but differents. Tes hides a lot. Does Hyde hide?” Her voice was childlike and innocent, and she reminded Cushing of an excited and overly energetic puppy because she bounced and bopped around the boy’s legs. The Ogre replied to her, his voice deep and baritone but with a tinge of youth. It reminded the Game Warden of Lurch from the Addams Family, with maybe a touch of Pugsley thrown in as a reminder that he wasn’t quite grown up yet. “Hyde gets scared? Tes always ‘fraid.”
“Yes, I tried to hide, but I’m afraid I’m too big to pull off so delicate a maneuver as you might manage little one.” His right hand was pressed tightly to his chest, applying pressure to the upper part of his wound. Clackhissis had woven some silk bandages over it in record time, and Cushing had wrapped the boy up in an effort to keep him from bleeding to death. He’d tried his heal monster spell, but apparently, being an NPC disqualified one from being considered a monster, and his magic did squat. They were now heading to a small village that Hyde had been on his way to when he was attacked. Hopefully, the group could find some healing potions for the boy.
“I have run from people before,” he shared with the kobold, “I ran from the people in my home who did not want to let me choose my way.”
“You’s own way,” Tes looked at him quizzically, “You’s run a’cause you's scared. Scared peoples makes you into somebody else?”
“Uh-huh,” he nodded his head, “I want to become something more than my father wants me to be. My people’s flesh is generally of green or yellow shades. You can see how I was born,” he said as he raised a hand to her in an effort to emphasize his skin color. “My red skin was an omen, a portent that I was meant for great things.” Hyde took a breath to calm himself, “My father wants me to protect our home from Icthyoid and monsters as a shaman. I want to defend all the lands and to call upon magic and fight in great battles,” he said with a toothy grin.
“Tes jus’ sees three colors. Whites, blacks, ‘n greys.” She shook her head sadly.
“You might want to learn how to fight first, youngling, before you go into great battles, considering that you just hid in a tree,” chirped Clackhissis. Cushing noted for the first time since he had met her that her words did not seem condescending. They might have lost and had to flee for their lives back in that pit of despair that had been the first dungeon they’d found, but it seemed like her attitude about being forced to work with him and Tes had lightened up to the point that she could now make a point but not seem so draconian while doing so. Cushing couldn’t help but smile. Underneath all the gnashing fangs and spewing venom, she was a big softie, after all.
Smoke rose in the distance, telling them the village was nearby. The spider signaled a halt, and everyone came to rest beneath a large oak tree. The spider placed a leg against the trunk and paused; she reminded Cushing of someone testing to see if the water in a pool was too cold by placing their toe in the water. She was, he realized, using her vibrational sense to see if any dangers were lurking in the branches above.
“Tes and I will wait here,” she announced. “I doubt the village will take kindly to having an ominous arachnid of my size scuttling about their streets and homes. Tes will be seen as a nuisance at best and a minor threat at worst. So, we will stay away from civilized places.” The Game Warden was surprised that she hadn’t been sarcastic or full of vitriol when she’d mentioned places being civilized.
“Cushing, take the young man into the village and find someone or something that can heal him.” She froze while facing the boy. It always unnerved the Game Warden when she did that; it was like she was considering how tasty the boy would be. “Get Hyde some clothes,” she continued, “And if you have enough money left over, please get supplies and water for you and Tes. We have a long way to go, and the two of you will need as much food as you can carry. Some potions as well, perhaps.”
Cushing concurred with a bob of his head and checked his cash situation. He didn’t have much on him in the way of coin, but he had some loot that he could sell in his inventory to keep them from starving. He’d been carrying stuff since he'd first arrived in Ravenkist, but due to his immediate quest and subsequent marching orders, he hadn’t ever really had a chance to sell anything.
“I exhausted my potion supply while searching for you, so I agree I’ll need some more. Tes, too.”
There was one thing about him that he believed made him unique among gamers. Most everyone came into the world towards the end. Most people got in just before the Elder God Apocalypse hit. He’d been the same, a latecomer to the party, so to speak, but he got into the game even later than the others. Because when he’d made his entreaty to the gods that controlled the game world to become a defender of monsters, they didn’t just make a decision and insert him right away. His request was given serious thought and consideration, and he firmly believed that they constructed an entirely new class from the bottom up just for him.
The result was that he physically materialized into Ravenkist months after the last human that had escaped the annihilation on Earth had joined the game. Everyone else was far ahead of him in so many ways. Level-wise, he was still in his teens. A fifteenth-level Game Warden did not do much to inspire fear into the hearts of seasoned warriors. He took a peek at his character sheet.
J=I===>
Name: Cushing Race: Wild Human Class: Game Warden
Unused Skill Points: 6 Health Points: 800 Essence: 500
Strength: 18 Vigor: 16 Constitution: 17 Acumen: 13 Agility: 15 Wisdom: 11 Luck: 9
Current Level: 13 Current XP: 9,243
J=I===>
His understanding was that Clackhissis, too, had come into the game a spot late and was not as high level as she could have been if she’d been around as long as the other gamers. It made him suspect that her creation might just be tied to his. He couldn’t help but think they had been made for each other. He just thanked Kaali that he hadn’t paired him up with an ogre-like Hyde. Creepy crawly spiders he could handle, but eyeball-eating hulks were an entirely different matter.
He looked to the young Ogre with a touch of anxiety. The kid was all right, but he still set off Cushing’s warning bells. He laughed when he realized that the way that he felt about Hyde was probably the same way most people would feel about traveling with a giant spider. He offered his shoulder to the boy, but Hyde declined the offer.
“I’m walking into Shadley on my own two feet.”
“Shadley?”
“Yeah,” the Ogre nodded, “That’s the name of the village up ahead.”
“What can you tell me about it,” Cushing inquired.
“My people rarely go there to trade; it’s a bit out of our way, but the villagers are trustworthy. They won’t pinch you too much when buying or selling.”
“I’ll bear that in mind, the Warden replied. He realized he was going to take a bath in the market because he had no bartering skills and lacked an iota of intimidation. For all Cushing knew, associating with monsters gave him a secret charisma status ailment. He could imagine it now, Debuff! You carry the Curse of Monster Taint. You will smell like bark to all normies that do not associate with monsters until you have no contact with dangerous exotic creatures for 48 hours. You will suffer a -10 % penalty in all interactions involving diplomacy, bartering, and negotiating so long as the Taint is active. Your Charisma will have a +10 modifier when dealing with exotic beasts and a -10 % penalty when interacting with sapient humanoid races.
They walked on until, eventually, the pair came to a cemetery that rested near a dirt road. In the distance, the Game Warden could see the rough path leading not to some walled gate but to what looked more like a flea market with wooden cabins sprinkled here and there.
“Looks like we can get to the village quicker if we cut through the cemetery,” Cushing urged the boy. “It would shave off a lot of time and save us some walking.” Normally, he would be loath to do something like traipsing over the dead. He’d seen too many movies that started with someone disrespecting a grave and ending up zombie chow for their efforts, but he could see the boy’s health bar, which was at twenty percent and dropping slowly but steadily.
“No,” the ogre replied, “No point in disturbing the dead. They deserve their rest.” Even though his face was drenched with sweat and his color was getting lighter with every passing minute, Hyde seemed determined to give the dead their privacy. The Game Warden shrugged. He didn’t mind walking, and bad things tended to hang out in places like cemeteries, so they continued to the road.
Cushing eyed the village. It looked less like a village and more like a rummage sale that someone had thrown up around some Lincoln Log-inspired homes. Upon seeing the village, Cushing’s first thought was, It looks like the M. Night’s The Village meets Friday the Thirteenth, the television series, a place where some college intellectuals pretending to be backwoods cosmopolitans sell supernaturally tainted antiques. He looked to Hyde with concern on his face.
“I swear to you, if one of these guys introduces themselves as Lewis Vendredi, we are outta here,” he said it jovially, but the seriousness of his face belied his intent. “Huh,” Hyde was clearly confused by that statement, so Cushing elaborated.
“There used to be this show where a bad guy sold cursed objects; his name was Vendredi.” Hyde still had no clue what he was talking about. “Vendredi is a French word for Friday, and I think he was the thirteenth in his line,” he took a deep breath to explain further, “Where I’m from, thirteen is an unlucky number. So he was supposed to represent the unluckiest day of the year, Friday the thirteenth. This place sort of reminds me of that series.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about, but I would not worry about the people of Shadley,” he said, shaking his head. “They are not as suspicious of outsiders as they should be and treat strangers as well as could be asked of them.” He pointed to them, “These people survive on trade and would starve without a good reputation. We will be safe here.” The boy paused and looked thoughtfully at Cushing.
“The best way to judge a people is to look at how they treat their dead. The people of Shadley honor their fallen and remember them in their hearts with love and dignity. You have nothing to fear from them.”
Well, Cushing thought, that doesn’t make me feel any better, or our prospects of finding danger there seem any less ominous. In fact, that sounds like the perfect start to a horror movie. Talking about how people treat their dead is an utterly normal part of a conversation. I swear, they better not hold a funeral while we’re here or ask me to officiate a burial or something.
They continued another ten minutes before they made it to the edge of Shadley. Cushing noted that there was a mix of races that he could see right off the bat, with the exception of there being any Guilders, as in Adventurer’s Guild members, in sight. He was surprised to see several Nyteguants and a handful of dwarves with booths of their own. The place was otherwise a small, wild human establishment in the middle of nowhere. His dad would have said it was out in BFE, and his grandfather would have called the location the boonies. According to his interface map, the best he figured was they were north of the little town of Ravenkirk, not far outside the Tanglewood, and headed generally northward toward Brokenhelm. Honestly, though, it felt like they’d been wandering aimlessly and were somewhere just south of purgatory.
Cushing noted that some Ogres were selling what looked to be handwoven rugs. He turned to look at Hyde, whose deep red hue of skin had shifted to a creamy pink color. The boy swayed on his feet, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. It was obvious that their little stroll had been more than the boy could handle with his apparent lack of eating and blood loss. It was a testimony to the kid’s stamina that he could make it as far as he had, and now he regretted not making the kid hoof it through the cemetery.
“Need a little help here!” He shouted to the Ogre that was in the nearby stall. They turned and saw Hyde, dropped their wares, and rushed to help. Seconds later, the now unconscious teen was carried off by his people to a proper healer, or so Cushing hoped. There was no way he could have lugged the brute off so quickly, and he had to trust that they would care for him. He called after the medics as they took Hyde for healing.
“You take good care of that boy! I’m coming back to check on him after I find myself a good map! Gotta find me a local anomaly.” The ogres all ignored him. Cushing didn’t mind; they had more significant concerns to deal with than his imminent return. He had a map in his head, but then Korvath had also said that it only contained most locations, not all, since most things went unrevealed until you discovered them. That meant he'd need to purchase a map if he wanted information about where things were. If he could find a good local map, then he might be able to find one of those elusive hidden dungeons.
He considered his options and then decided that his best course of action would be to get the supplies they would need, pick the lad up some clothes, and check in on him before leaving. Admittedly, it sounded insensitive to him, but he couldn’t do much more than he already had. He couldn’t heal him, and the kid needed magic or medical attention right now. While he’d played a medical class in the Tour of Duty MMORPG for about a year, he didn’t have a clue about actual simple first aid. After scraping them as a kid, he had applied some poop-emoji-covered adhesive bandages to his knees, but that didn’t come close to what was needed here.
The Game Warden, aware that no self-respecting gamer would ever go anywhere without potions, picked up ten vials that should sustain Clackhissis, Tes, and himself. The vials were filled with a syrupy liquid that smelled like candy to him. He decided that rather than spending all of his on-hand cash on healing potions, he would look for a set of leather armor for Tes. The map would hopefully be reasonably cheap, and if it was possible to find a set of leathers made for a child, he could get her some protection.
For the next hour, Cushing perused each booth, looking for anything they might need, including a map of the area. In a case of what occurred to be pure happenstance, he managed to find a place to change his respawn point, making Shadley his impromptu home for the time being. At least if he were killed around here, he wouldn’t wake up in a cave north of Harrowick where he’d started out. They needed to get their bearings. The bad news was he doubted that he could find a helpful map. There was no way that Clackhissis or Tes could read one, and he had never been trained beyond using a You Are Here map in a store to figure out where he was. It would be handy, but in the long run, it would be as valuable as someone giving him latitude and longitude coordinates and expecting him to find his way there without a cell phone or GPS. As far as he knew, Darkest Knights lacked both helpful devices. Cushing knew that if he got a map, it would fill in the portion of the map he was in, but he still needed to get one to do that.
What they really needed was a guide, someone who knew the area and could help them avoid the more deadly locales. He had managed to sell off a substantial amount of his inventory of loot and had purchased more than enough food and supplies. He hadn’t cleared his inventory out; he’d just traded old stuff for new stuff.
He knew where there was a cartographer. He’d passed the man’s cart several times as he decided on whether he really wanted to spend his coin on a map that no one in the party could read. Cushing hated to admit it, even to himself, but he had snickered relentlessly over the cartographer using a cart rather than a booth, but it did make sense. Cryptographers didn’t work in crypts, and phonographers didn’t work on phones, but for him to find a Cartographer who worked from a cart . . .
The mapper had a nice canvas that hung above the cart that would keep the sun and rain off of the map-maker, and the lacquered wood of the small dray would stave off moisture. The mobile booth was not open but set up like a filing cabinet that was six feet long and four feet high. It was a mass of drawers, thin ones, large desk drawers, and smaller receptacles for what he assumed would house money, ink, pens, paper, and other tools of the trade. The back end had been neatly designed into a fold-out drawing board where the small wild human man could create maps while he waited on customers to appear. This was exactly what he was doing now; he was seated on a three-legged stool and wore an ink-stained apron over a white shirt.
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The mapmaker looked to be about seventy years old. His bald head still cultivated a handful of long, wispy white hairs, but his chin was covered in bristly hairs that indicated that he hadn’t shaved in several days. His eyebrows were thick and wild but looked to actively pull away from one another in a desperate attempt to not form into a unibrow. His eyes were a striking blue and were full of life, while his hands still looked as dexterous as those of a twenty-year-old. He noticed Cushing staring at him and returned a gap-toothed smile of immense proportions. He motioned for the Game Warden to come over. Cushing gave him a friendly nod and started singing under his breath.
“Map maker, map maker, make me a map,” it didn’t bother him that only he would find such a thing humorous and that not a single NPC would ever even get where he was going with it. Sometimes, he just did things for himself. His little song made him smile, and that was all that mattered. The mapmaker stuck his quill over an ear and looked Cushing over.
“Wherever it tis you want to go, I can git ya there, lad,” he said with a wink and nod. “I kin also help you find whatever it tis yer lookin’ fer.” His voice was dry and reedy, making Cushing want to hand him a wineskin to slake his parched throat even though he knew the man wasn’t thirsty.
“I’m looking for a map of the local area that might show me a dungeon or tomb few others would know about. You have something like that?”
The old mapper nodded, put down his quill, wiped his hands on his apron, and waddled around to one of the drawers that was lower to the ground. Cushing hadn’t noticed his potbelly or his bow legs before. The man was lean everywhere else, with the exception of his stomach. Cushing didn’t know why, but his stature was off-putting. The man was genial enough, but this felt like one of those old movie tropes where the main character is looking for something, and a mysterious stranger appears and provides help, only for the MC to learn later that it was a set-up all along. His inner Admiral Ackbar was screaming in his ears, but he stuffed a rag in the fishy guy’s mouth and told him to be quiet. Something told him he was getting played for a sucker, but he ignored it. He’d seen too many horror movies, and they had to be what was getting into his head.
“You one’a them delvin’ types?” he asked with a raised eyebrow, “Risking yer neck for gold ain’t no way to live, boy. Yer better off stayin’ outta them dungeons. I even hear’d tell that the Icthyoids are laying claim to some of them, usin’ ‘em for sumpin' occult an’ obscene, but if you have the coin, I have the map.” The old man sucked in a breath and continued.
“A-yup, I have a map detailing the well-known dungeons, ones mostly less traveled, a handful of lesser-known locations, and a smattering of suspected lairs. That do ya good?”
Cushing nodded. He liked the sound of suspected lairs. That echoed the hidden and forgotten places Korvath had been discussing. He checked his coin purse. He had money, his sales had not been insubstantial by any means, and there was nothing he needed now more than a reliable map.
“What are you asking for it?”
Wordlessly, the old mapper turned around and pulled a small key from his pocket. He inserted it into a large middle drawer, gave it a turn, and pulled the wooden box out. Reaching in, he rummaged through several scrolls until he found what he sought. The piece of ancient vellum looked to be half the man’s size. It was thick and looked waterproof, but what did he know? He unrolled it a quarter of the way and showed Cushing its artwork. Just enough, Cushing noticed, to not activate his game map so it could absorb the information. With just a tiny glance, he could see that the design was stunning and covered what had to include all of Ravenkist. He could see well-defined buildings and some simple question marks that indicated that there might be a dungeon or shrine in the area. There was no doubt that this was precisely what he was looking for.
“How much?”
“Twenty gold.”
“Twenty Gold!?!” Cushing did a spit take without any water in his mouth. He wasn’t sure how he accomplished it, but the saliva splattered all over his boots.
The vendor didn’t even blink when he made his statement but held the map to his eyes in a way that made Cushing think he was in love. Something told the Game Warden that this was not the time nor the place to haggle. Besides, he didn’t have the skill and knew that even if he tried and picked it up right, then it still wouldn’t be of any use to him. So, of course, that didn’t stop his mouth from running off like it was being chased by a Dire Wolf.
“Twenty gold?” He sputtered the words again, “Twenty gold for a map? Do you know what I could get for twenty gold pieces?” Cushing paused with a finger pointed in the air, his mouth open like a hungry fish as he tried to think of something that would cost that much; “Well, I don’t know, but I bet you do! This has to count as highway robbery. Is there a sheriff about?” There goes Tes’s armor, he thought morosely.
“Normally, I’d charge ya less, but ya’cha stink ta high hell, and I’m not enjoying me sale asmuchas I’d be likin’. Vendri pinched his nose and held the map out to Cushing. With a sigh, Cushing tugged out his purse once more and began to pull out the required number of coins. He handed them over to the cartographer in exchange for the map.
“Would ya be wanting a case for that?” The question made Cushing roll his eyes, but not so the salesman of the year could see. He had hoped that he would get something to safeguard the chart for such a price.
“How much? A hundred gold? My firstborn son?” He repeated as his head dropped in defeat. There were times to haggle, and there were times to shell out. He’d already caved on the map itself, so there was no point in arguing over a few silver bits. Besides, he hadn’t even gotten the haggle skill yet, and getting it to ding now when he completely and utterly failed would be disheartening, to say the least. That poor ogre boy’s plight was already bumming him out. There was no point in drawing in more negative waves.
“Well, the one I’m offerin’ has an enchantment that will negate magic damage and will float, too. So, I could’na take less than another twenty silver for it.”
Was the old man seriously just trying to squeeze money out of him? No, he did have a filthy Status ailment from so much traveling and not time to bathe, and he knew that would detrimentally affect his sales with merchants. Cushing wanted to throw the coins at the man rather than hand them to him but held his temper. There's no point in making things difficult if they came back this way. Again, he opened his purse and retrieved the money. There wasn’t much left since he’d gotten Hyde a set of clothes and potions and replenished their food stock.
Cushing wondered why he would need a case for the map. He could buy it, download the information into his personal map, and then toss it, but then he considered resale. He might find another gamer or vendor in need of such a map and recoup a little of his money. He looked in his coin pouch to see what he had left.
This time, he swore when he saw the little man looking to see how much he had left in there. It was too bad for him; he wasn’t getting another cent unless he could provide a treasure map that was marked with a big red X. He thanked the man and turned to leave. He had something that he wanted to get Clackhissis before he left and still needed to check on Hyde as well. He barely had enough cash remaining to get Clackhissis her surprise.
“A real pleasure doing business witcha, sir.” The cartographer bowed deeply and returned with a big smile for his client, “Remember to tell everyone you know that the best maps come from Shadley and that Vendri is the man to see!”
Cushing stopped in his tracks and looked over his shoulder. Did the Map Maker tell him that his name was Vendri? Hell’s fire, that was too close to Vendredi for his liking. This place, he decided, wasn’t quite as quaint as Shyamalan’s The Village. No, it was more the Village of the Damned, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d just bought a cursed antique from Uncle Lewis. Cushing decided that Hyde was in good hands and that he could get the spider’s surprise on the way out. He just knew that if he went back and looked, he would find a body somewhere near the cart, and he didn’t have time for that.
Cushing waited until he was out of sight to look at his map. He strolled as casually as he could, whistling out the side of his mouth as nonchalantly as possible while looking the area over like he was expecting a horde of zombies to come out of nowhere and snuck behind a booth selling incense. He opened his expensive new map and looked it over.
^
Map Update
Congratulations! Your in-world map has been updated with a new location: The village of Shadley and its surrounding area. Other significant areas around Ravankist have also been added and will become visible after you get near these locations.
^
His world map filled in instantly, adding more detail to that area than any other, even the places he had already been to! Cushing was not a big-time cartography guy, but he appreciated the level to which his new map had just taken his game map. It was still worth keeping since he didn’t believe that Tes or Clackhissis, as monsters, had internal world maps of their own. The twenty gold price still chaffed his butt, but whatcha gonna do?
Twenty minutes later, he was leaving the road and heading back to the tree where he’d left Clackhissis and Tes. The sun was beginning its final descent through the sky and was headed for the horizon. He’d been in the town far longer than he’d planned. Behind him followed a small calf, which he figured would make for an excellent snack for Clackhissis. The spider had fed him and Tes, and he reckoned it was the least he could do to return the favor. The Game Warden had to admit that while intellectually he knew that the young cow was just a walking hamburger, it bothered him that he would be feeding it to the spider alive. He wondered if she’d let him slaughter it humanely before she fed. Fresh blood was fresh blood. Just the thought of it made his stomach queasy. He could face a dozen Icthyoid warriors and not get butterflies, but the idea of handing the poor cow over to the spider made his stomach flip-flops. He didn’t think that he could watch her eat. That would be too much for even his desensitized sensibilities.
Tes saw him approaching and rushed to greet him. She ran upright most of the way but periodically dropped to all fours without slowing her stride. Her tongue lolled out the side of her mouth, and her expression reminded Cushing of a dog in a car that had its head hanging out of the window as they went down the street.
“Yer back, back, back,” she barked enthusiastically. She got close and then drew up about five feet shy of him. “You’s have a cow? Cushin' a farmer now?” Her head crooked to one side, making her look like the old RCA dog staring at a phonograph. “Farmer Cushing! Milkin’ cows and plowin’ through Icthyoids!”
“No, little one. I just brought a snack for Clackhissis.” He scratched the cow’s ear and patted her neck. He could not conceive of how much negative karma he accumulated with this act of sacrifice. Technically, it wasn’t a sacrifice, but it felt like one. The cow was harmless and probably thought it was going to some farm where it would be milked once a day and left to grace and chew cud the rest of the time. After all, NPC’s were as intelligent and real as gamers; why wouldn’t farm animals dream of chilling out on a nice, cozy farm? He was regretting this decision more and more.
Tes circled them at the pace of a quick jog. She stayed on all fours as she ran around them. She made several rotations and then bounded off to the tree where he assumed Clackhissis patiently waited. The calf was growing nervous, and Tes’s shark imitation hadn’t helped to calm its state of mind. To his great surprise, the creature maintained control and did not get spooked.
He led the unfortunate ruminate to the tree and looked upward. He had to admit that it impressed him that he knew the spider was hiding somewhere among the branches, yet even forearmed with that knowledge, he could not see her. Her hide or stealth skills had to be off the charts, or maybe his perception wasn’t all that high. Tough call.
“What is that with you?” Her voice filtered down through the leaves. He noted that she was speaking in her human tongue and was not hissing, clicking, or clacking.
“Well, I thought that you might be hungry, and since I got supplies for Tes and me, I figured that you deserved something too.” He held tightly to the calf’s rope, unsure if he should tell her that he’d changed his mind and just wanted to let the young cow go. To his utter horror, he watched as two long, spindly legs silently dropped from the tree towards the calf. The animal, thankfully, hadn’t seen the appendages reaching for it.
“Wait,” he sputtered, “Wait. I can’t do this. I mean, uh, I really don’t want to see this.” He didn’t know how to tell her he didn’t have the heart to use the poor calf as a quick snack, even though he knew his spider companion needed the meal. He had no idea how to tell Clackhissis that he’d already become attached to the beast and had named it Heck Kow in honor of a cow that Count Dracula had fed upon and risen three days later as a bloodthirsty creature of the night in those old Marvel Dracula Comics. He most especially didn’t want to tell her that he’d nearly bought a cape for the bovine to wear back in Shadley; he figured that would not only have tested her patience, but she would have completely failed the exam. He couldn’t feed Heck Kow to her, not after they’d bonded on the way back.
“Would it be all right if I just let the cow go?” His eyes traveled to an area of tall grass that slowly sloped upwards, becoming a small hill. He turned the young cow to face that direction, gave it a gentle tap on the rump, and pushed it forward. The calf, unaware that it had just missed becoming a plate of Veal Spiderimbocca, trotted off to the area Cushing had wanted it to go by guiding it with his rope. It slowed its trot to a leisurely pace and stopped a few yards from the start of the hill. Cushing looked at the animal and wished he’d bought it a cowbell, but he hadn’t seen any of those since coming to Ravenkist. “What they need,” he said under his breath in one of the worst Christopher Walken impressions ever uttered, “Is more cowbell!”
“Of course,” her voice drifted down and seemed to be stained with amusement. He wasn’t sure if she’d heard his impression, but he knew that even if she had, she wouldn’t have known how bad it had been. Thanking the gods, he took the rope from around the cow’s neck and lightly swatted it on the behind. The calf rounded the tree and went out into the tall grass towards the setting sun. It kept a slow pace and did not seem troubled in the slightest, but the beast had no idea how close to death it had come. Tes sidled up to him, her doglike grin still stretched across her face. She gave the calf the hairy eyeball for a second but relaxed when she saw it wasn’t dangerous.
“You wuz gone a long, long time. Hyde, ok?” She shifted from foot to foot like a child and tugged on her blouse as she spoke. “Hyde was hurt bad. Yep, pretty bad,” she nodded enthusiastically, “Sure he’s ok?” Her face, canine though it was, was etched with concern. She had taken to the boy quickly, which was exactly the opposite of what he would have expected of her. She tended to shy away from big hulking brutes that could kill her with a swipe of their hand. He had to admit that something about the kid didn’t set off his alarm bells either. The Ogre seemed like a young man who’d just gotten in over his head. Now that he was with his people and receiving the medical attention he needed, Cushing was certain that the lad’s troubles were finally over.
“Hyde is fine,” he assured her, “He’s with his own people, and they were healing him the last I saw.” His eyes scanned the grassy plain and saw his calf lazily munching some tall grass. It looked majestic in the light of the setting sun. It would bend down, take a mouthful of long grass, raise its head, and chew until it had swallowed its last bite, and then repeat the process. It barely moved. Head up, head down, and head up once again. Then it was gone. There was a blur of movement, and the calf was pulled into the waist-high grass with barely a thump. Heck Kow did manage to let out a startled “Muh!” A sound that amounted to a muffled moo on the way down but was silent as a churchyard thereafter. Cushing found himself riveted to the spot, unable to move. Tes, on the other hand, had already vanished like an ink spot dropped in a shadow.
Then he saw the spindly legs rise over the grass, rapidly rotating as if they were rowing a boat, and he realized that Clackhissis was silking the poor calf, wrapping it up like it was a microwaved beef burrito, which, he supposed, was a fine equivalency for her hand-delivered meal. Once Clackhissis was finished with her web rotisserie, she used her fangs and pedipalps to lift the envenomed calf and then carry it up the hill to eat her meal in peace. Cushing took some small amount of comfort with the knowledge that the little veal meal was not only paralyzed but was hopefully unconscious as well.
Tes sidled up to him and wrapped an arm around his leg. He looked down at her, and he could see her eyes full of water. He couldn’t tell if she was empathic, but she was picking up on his sadness. She had sensed his unease and come over to comfort him.
“Yuz, sad. You lie-ked the grass eater.” She shook her head from confusion, “But you bringed it for the Clacker spider to eat. Why be sad?”
He smiled down at her. It was hard to explain. This was precisely why he had always sympathized with monsters. They were usually misunderstood, afraid, and often killed for doing their thing. He should have known there was only one way it would end for the cow; the spider was a predator, and she was hungry. If he had used a magic eight ball and asked it if Clackhissis were going to eat the young cow, the only response he would have gotten would have been: It is certain. He went down on one knee after unwrapping Tes’s arm from his leg. He looked into her eyes and could see so many questions, so much uncertainty brewing there. It dawned on him that she wasn’t so much afraid all the time as she was unsure of what was going on around her.
“I feel bad because even though I brought the cow for Clackhissis to eat, I changed my mind. I wanted the cow to go and live, but I realize that is a silly thought now.”
“Why izzit silly?” She gave him a confused, doggy head twist.
“Because if I just let the calf go, it would have been eaten by some other animal out there. If I’d taken it back to the village, someone there would eventually slaughter and eat it. Such is the way of life. Some things are meant to be meals, and other things, the diners.” His voice was somber, and he realized he’d just had a glimpse into Clackhissis’s world. After all his protestations that things weren’t so easily cut and dried, he’d allowed the color to drain from his eyes until he only saw in black and white.
“Is Tes a meal?” She squirmed as she asked the question. It was evident that she saw herself in just such a way. She lived every second of her life thinking the next thing she encountered was going to devour her or simply kill her for being beneath it. He shook his head vigorously.
“No, little one, and I promise Clackhissis, and I will teach you how to protect yourself so that you are the one others fear.”
Her face puckered as her eyes scrunched up. She tilted her head, deep in thought. Cushing thought that her face was what a dog’s features would look like if the canine tried to solve a calculus problem.
“Tes not wantta scare others. Being scared not fun. Tes wants to give happy to others. Tes help. Tes likes to help. Tes help you and spider,” and just like that, she went from nearly sobbing to having a positive attitude. Her tail was wagging, and her tongue lolled out of her mouth, and as far as she was concerned, it was as if the discussion had never happened.
“Sometimes, Tes,” Cushing said softly, “We’ll have to scare others.”
“Why?”
“Because if we just scare them, we may not need to hurt them.” Cushing pursed his lips, “There will be times when we need to act badly to help others.”
“Then Tes will be scary too!” She made a growly face and giggled. “Gargh!”
Cushing resisted the urge to pat her head and scratch behind her ear but found it surprisingly difficult to do so. Not because she had sharp, short horns on her head, but she was like some poor street dog that you took in and cared for, albeit one that carried poisoned daggers and could vanish faster than a missive penned with invisible ink on water. Cushing didn’t want to be condescending and was about to tell her how much he appreciated her help when he heard a bellowing coming from the road. It was someone calling his name.
Name: Hyde Race: Ogre Class: None/Basic Ogre
Unused Skill Points: 4 Health Points: 120/900 Essence: 200
Strength: 25 Vigor: 20 Constitution: 20 Acumen: 8 Agility: 9 Wisdom: 14 Luck: 3
Current Level: 6 Current XP: 465
Name: Tes Race: Kobold Class: Rogue
Unused Skill Points: 1 Health Points: 300 Essence: 100
Strength: 8 Vigor: 10 Constitution: 17 Acumen: 4 Agility: 19 Wisdom: 10 Luck: 19
Current Level: 3 Current XP: 465