Chapter Six: Gift of Tongues. Not the same thing.

The beds at the inn weren’t exactly luxurious. I woke to Gem grumbling about rocks and straw in her sleep right before dawn. She drifted back in seconds, leaving me wide awake. Thank you very much. So naturally, my mind started its daily exercise routine of sprinting towards mental bedlam.

The bed was tiny. Gem was on her back against the wall, and I was curled up on my side, my head resting on her arm. My hair was like some pink, frizzy shoulder cat. We were still all naked from the night before, but at least we were warm under the covers. We fit perfectly together, like Africa and South America if you pushed them together.

They didn’t call the continents Africa and South America, did they? Of course, they didn’t. Not that I had a clue. A new pot of thought stew started stirring in my head. I didn’t know the seasons, weather, or calendars. What month was it? The year? Did anyone know, or was this just one of those “vibes” timelines? I hadn’t asked. The last two days had been a blur of rift-related nonsense, orcs, new bodies, new lives, and, oh yeah, one fewer virginities. Maybe today should be the day I start tackling the basics.

NEW QUEST:

LEARN YOUR NUMBERS

You need to catch up on preschool-level education. Figure out the Imperial Calendar before you embarrass yourself.

Reward:

1. You won't embarrass yourself more.

The Whisperer chuckled softly as she read me the bullshit quest—total nonsense, of course, but helpful nonsense. Besides, having her leave a sticky note in my brain wasn’t the worst.

I realized I hadn’t taken much time to poke around my magical interface since I got here. It had been non-stop running, stabbing, and what-the-fucking, up to this point. But now, with a rare moment of calm in the charming hellscape of Murder World, I decided to explore.

First up: the map. It hovered in the lower right corner of my vision, the most prominent element in my interface. Right now, I was just a dot tucked into the northeast corner of the Iron Hammer. I focused on the map, and it expanded to fill my vision. Zooming out was easy. Just thinking about it worked. The inn snapped into place among the surrounding buildings. Even the room I was in had details labeled. Kettlebottom’s was nearby, clearly marked.

I zoomed out further, and the route I’d walked with Jinx yesterday lit up on the map. Shops I’d passed had signs, and street carts were labeled with what they sold: meats, fruits, baskets. It was like my brain was playing back footage from earlier, annotating everything I’d noticed.

Another zoom revealed a larger county map, the one Jinx had shown me. It even tracked my path all the way from the barn in the village, named Barley Field, apparently. It would’ve been a nice place if orcs hadn’t murdered everyone. The whole thing felt like every open-world game I’d ever played, which made it oddly comforting and ridiculously intuitive.

My interface had other elements lurking in the corners of my vision. In the lower-left were my status bars: EP, AP, and VP, all green and full. When I focused on the VP bar, it slid into the center of my vision, accompanied by the word Trend. I activated it. A little bar graph popped up, charting my VP levels since I’d arrived. Most of it was steady, but there were dips early on, moments I was sure I was about to die. Reassuring.

At the top left of my vision, a cryptic message hovered:

Second Beldrin of Funa.

Intriguing? Yes. Something I was willing to wake Gem to ask about? Absolutely not. Directly below it, was Inventory. I’d messed with it earlier, but I was being careful. I didn’t want to accidentally summon a weapon while— Oh Fuck!

Sick Stick appeared in my right hand under the covers. Thank every available god that the business end was pointed away from Gem. I silently gasped, dismissed it, and cursed myself for reckless brain-clicking.

Party Information was in the upper right corner above the map. Gem, Kev, and Jinx were all there, their little avatars glowing cheerfully. I didn’t pick them, but they were populated with small cartoonish faces of my friends. I could activate the chat to beam my voice into their heads, but honestly, I couldn’t think of a crueler punishment. The party name—The Animaniacs—caught my eye. I stifled a laugh. Jinx. Of course, it was Jinx.

Between the party info and the map, two more items hovered. The first was Messages, a running log of everything The Whisperer had sent me. It was a grab bag of open and completed quests and random brain-drops about looted orcs and maps. It was good to hold on to this stuff, I guessed. But after some time, it would be a mess if I needed to go back and revisit something random that she said was important.

Below Messages was Character Sheet: everything about me, reduced to neat stats and numbers. I’d skimmed it the first night I arrived, but not much had changed since then. Honestly, I didn’t love the idea of looking under the hood too often. I already spent enough time in my head. My ability to obsess over the stupidest shit was a sheer invitation to an ADHD nightmare, and the last thing I needed was to know just how much of a train wreck I really was.

I stayed tucked against Gem, inhaling her mix of scents. Her skin was warm and musky, still carrying hints of eucalyptus from the bath. Her hair smelled fruity, like mango. There was also…a lingering reminder of last night from lower down. All of it blended with the smoky smell of the inn into a fragrance I desperately wanted to bottle and sell. “Gem Essence™” I stayed until sunlight began sneaking through the blinds.

With the first rays of dawn, I carefully slipped out of bed, equipping my default tunic-and-pants combo like some bargain-bin adventurer. Activating Stealth with a minor dip in AP, I soundlessly snuck out of the room.

The inn was still fast asleep, save for the kitchen. With nothing better to do and the faint hope of caffeine, or whatever the Nya equivalent was, I wandered toward the back. Still in stealth mode, I was surprised to find Heather at the counter. She sat with a bowl of porridge in front of her and, more importantly, a steaming cup of something that smelled suspiciously like salvation.

She wore the same robes from the day before, looking as pristine as if she’d pressed and ironed them overnight. Her hair was neatly braided, her face fresh and awake. Clearly, she was a morning person. I never really was.

The kitchen was alive with activity. The stove roared, pots bubbled and hissed, and the air was thick with the smell of food. Bent over the oven, the dwarven cook pulled out a tray of bread, her movements efficient and unbothered, like she’d been baking since the dawn of time. Meanwhile, I was just trying to remember how to exist.

“…That's when ah telt him ah wisnae gonnae be his wife anymore.” The cook continued her conversation with Heather.

“He does sound ungrateful,” Heather said, smiling. “Is that when you finally left?”

“That verra mornin', ah packed up everythin' ah could put on the back o' a pony, and ah havenae been back. It's been thirty years since.” She smiled at the priestess and put the tray on the cooling rack. “Ah own half this place, and ah dinnae answer tae anyone.” She turned around, and I got my first look at her. She was middle-aged with long, silver and blond curls and large green eyes. She wore a green cotton dress covered with a huge white apron. I had to dig deep to understand the dwarven cook’s accent.

“Good morning,” I deactivated Stealth and walked into the room.

“Guid mornin', dear,” the cook said. “Micht ah put somethin' thegither fur ye?”

“What Priestess Heather has looks pretty good,” I smiled over at Heather, “That wouldn’t be coffee in that cup would it?”

“It is,” Heather said. “It’s good too.” She scooted over a couple of inches to allow me to fit on the bench beside her.

“Ah'll hae it fur ye in twa shakes.”

“Thanks,” I said. I slipped onto the bench next to Heather and giggled quietly when I realized the counter was still up a little high. “I’m not used to this body yet.”

“You will. I heard you went with the Rogue class.” Heather said, taking a bite of her porridge.

“It seems like a good place to start,” I held up my tiny Elf hands, showing them to her. “I’m too little and weak to be a fighter, not smart enough to be a wizard, and I don’t know of any gods to follow.”

“You don’t have gods in your world?”

“In my world, they’re just made up, and no one can agree on what they would say if they were real.”

Heather turned to me with a look of exasperation. “You mean there aren’t any gods on your world at all?”

“No gods, no magic.”

“Who guides your people?”

“No one, we just kind of make shit up. It’s not like it’s the Wild West or anything; people mostly have a moral compass, but there’s nothing real that enforces it.”

“The Wild West?”

“I mean, we have laws and governments and all of that, and most people try to do the right thing.”

“Here ye go, sweety.” The cook set the bowl and mug down on the counter.

“This looks amazing,” I said. “Thanks.”

“Ye’re most welcome.”

“So, people just… make up gods?” Heather blinked, momentarily abandoning her breakfast.

“Yeah…” I replied, taking a sip of coffee. It was hot, bitter, and absolutely divine. Well, it was as divine as gas station coffee could get, which is exactly what it tasted like. It tasted like home—the most Earth-like thing I’d encountered since landing in Murder World. For a fleeting moment, I was back on endless commutes down I-225, gripping the wheel, yelling at Texans who thought snow was a myth. It hit me like a rubber mallet: I was getting nostalgic for that? Morning traffic. Blizzards. My old life. The worst parts of it. Monkey brain shut the fuck up.

Heather was staring at me now, a mix of curiosity and expectation on her face. Or maybe she was picking up on the suspicious glint in my eyes. I took another sip, letting the mug shield me, hoping it would all pass unnoticed.

I set the cup down gently, giving a little dismissive laugh. “This stuff’s hotter than I expected,” I said casually like that explained everything.

“Sure,” she said, skepticism dripping off the word. Her bullshit detector was probably in the red, but mercifully, she let it slide.

I didn’t know her, but she could obviously read people. And me? I was an open book, the kind even a blind man could read from across the street. She saw right through me, no doubt. But, surprisingly, she didn’t push. Yesterday, she’d given off major mean-girl energy, but right now? She wasn’t using it against me.

For a moment, her expression softened—just slightly. As sharp and bitchy as she’d been, she couldn’t seem to shut off her empathy. She’d been wearing her mask of indifference since the moment I met her, though I couldn’t say why.

I inhaled deeply through my nose, exhaled through my mouth, and tried to shove my existential crisis back into its box. Time to rejoin the conversation. “But…” I searched for the thread we’d been tugging on. Crisis officially over. “…I think most people who talk about gods in my world, even though they don’t exist, actually believe in them.”

“So,” Heather nodded. “To them, the gods are real.” She slid back into whatever mode she was in, shutting off the facial scanner and back to learning about my messed-up world.

“I suppose, but it’s more like just believing what you’re told and not really questioning whether it’s real or not.” I took another sip. “I mean,” after I swallowed. “You’re god empowers you in a tangible, quantifiable way.”

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“Amania shares her gifts with everyone,” Heather said reverently. “And you don’t have to believe in her for her to be real.”

“Does she have a physical existence?”

“She visits Nya in the form of an avatar, a living body.”

“Not someone claiming to be her?” I asked. “We’ve had lots of guys that do that back home.”

“No, it’s very much her. I saw her once. She visits the temples and schools from time to time to share blessings.”

“Amania sounds nice. I’d probably like her if I met her.”

“Sorry about yesterday,” Heather said. “I had time to think as I walked and meditated on it last night.”

“It’s okay.” I took a bite of porridge; a big slab of butter was melting on it, and it was flavored with sugar and dried fruit; it was terrific. “We’re going to be traveling together. Road rules apply. We all make it back. No matter whether we like each other or not.”

“I don’t dislike you,” Heather said.

“You left me with a different impression yesterday.”

“All of those born to this world will know the grace of Amania. Do you understand what that means?”

“Kind of,” I said. “I guess?”

“Our goddess seeks to elevate people to a state of grace,” Heather said, turning to me with a calm intensity. “Physically and spiritually, so they can pass cleanly from this world to the next. Death is a traumatic thing for the soul to experience, and there’s the danger for those who carry lingering regrets or unresolved issues. Those things can keep them tethered to this plane of existence and become vulnerable to evil forces.”

She set her spoon down and folded her hands, her posture calm but purposeful, like she was about to deliver a sermon. “That’s what we do,” she said softly. “We help people learn to let go of the darkness within themselves. To see that it doesn’t have to define who they are.”

“We’re born with an innate sense of right and wrong, but the world…” She paused, her gaze steady. “The world twists that. It wears us down and makes us forget. But living a life where we try to do the right thing—for ourselves and others—that’s enough. Even when we make mistakes, lose our way, and end up in places we never thought we’d go, there’s always a way back. She can guide anyone out of the shadows and into the light.”

Heather extended her right hand toward me, palm up. A small shimmering ball of light began to form, floating gently above her skin. “Healing magic,” she said, her voice soft but steady, “is her way of showing love for all of us. It’s a tool—not just to mend the body, but to help the spirit understand her grace.”

“Okay, then.”

“I joined this church to heal the spirits of those who are astray and to heal the bodies of the sick.” She put her hand down. “That is how I seek to find my own grace.”

“So, you want to share your gifts with the world then?”

“On behalf of Amania. That is my mission, my duty.” Heather took a sip of coffee. “But my temple decided they would take money from a band of mercenaries and hire me out as a healer.”

“Oh. Shit. No wonder you’re pissed.”

“I don’t get a say on where the leaders of my faith send me. Instead of fulfilling my role by setting an example and spreading the word of my Goddess’ grace, I’m here. Pimped out by my church, supporting mercenaries as they cut and slaughter their way around the countryside.” She smiled bitterly at me. “I might as well be a whore.”

“I guess the mercenary types don’t appreciate your position, do they?”

“They aren’t people of faith,” Heather said, shrugging her shoulders. “Not mine, anyway. They see anything that has to do with gold as a simple transaction. They assume everyone on the road is like them.”

“So now I understand why you were being a total bitch yesterday.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“As far as those three are,” I said, tilting my head to the door. “They could have just bonked me on the head yesterday and took the axe for themselves.”

Heather sighed and sipped her coffee. “But they didn’t.”

“No,” I said. “Stinky souls and all.”

“I find their violence unsettling. They are so casual with it.”

“But…”

“They are honorable. It’s a virtue. A form of grace, I suppose.” She smiled at me and shook her head. “I have a lot to learn; I’m new to this, too.”

“So, there might be hope for me. Maybe them too.” I took two quick bites of porridge, fearing it might start to get cold.

Heather took a bite of her own, followed it up with a sip of coffee, and shrugged. “Strictly speaking, rifters are not born of this world. You were not born in a state of grace. Not her grace anyway. But that’s not your fault. You didn’t ask to come here. I won’t leave you or anybody bleeding on the side of the road.” She smiled at me. “That’s a promise in the name of Amania.”

“I have a feeling when things get hairy, I’ll be keeping both of you busy.”

Heather finished her breakfast before me. She pulled out a copper and dropped it on the counter. She thanked the cook, who smiled and said she was welcome.

“See you out there.” She said to me. She slipped off the counter and left the kitchen.

I hungrily watched Heather’s shapely rear end and hips sway as she walked out. Her robes really clung in the right places to accentuate her lovely curves. For the briefest of moments, I imagined…Shit! All these thoughts and urges were constantly bopping around my head when I wasn’t busy doing something.

I just had the first real sexual encounter in my life just a few short hours ago, and I was already fantasizing about wrapping my thighs around another person. I shook my head, trying to clear the thoughts and urges from my brain, and finished my breakfast while the cook continued to complain about her ex-husband in an accent I could barely understand.

I left the inn after breakfast. Wood Cut was beginning to wake up, and I sat on the bench in front of the Iron Hammer, watching the citizens as they made their way to various places. The mill workers moved en masse, primarily dwarves, wearing leather aprons and carrying sacks over their broad shoulders. They wore lederhosen-like overalls with colorful embroidery and heavy work boots.

The almost-human people astounded me. All the features were there but were larger in some places and smaller in others. All the men were bearded with the same range of hair color as humans, and the women were built almost the same as the men, with long braided hair that ran nearly to the ground behind them.

Mixed in with the dwarves were gnomes like Kettlebottom. They were small, child-sized adults with sharp features. There was a smattering of humans and elves, too. It was not a very large village, but it seemed very cosmopolitan.

After about a half hour, Jinx emerged, grumbling to himself. He was clad in his blue robe again, the hood down. His bald head glistened in the morning sun. He had a roll in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other.

“Good morning, Jinx,” I said to him. He seemed to be startled a little at the site of me.

“Oh,” He said. “Good mornin', love. You sleep well?”

“Well enough.”

“Good dreams, I hope.”

“No dreams, actually.”

“Good enough then,” he stood awkwardly before me for a moment. “I'm goin' to take a turn about the town and get my legs a workin'. We're goin' to be sittin' on that bloody cart for a good part of the day until we get to the chagkraaw nest.” He spun on his heel and briskly walked up the street towards the middle of town, “Cheers!” he proclaimed back at me, his cup in the air.

Gem emerged a moment later with her own breakfast to go: an apple and mug of coffee. She slid onto the bench next to me and kissed my cheek.

“Where’d Jinx go?”

“Said he was gonna take a turn about the town since we’re gonna be sitting on a cart all day.”

“You snuck out early enough.”

“Stealth skill,” I could feel my face get hot from the kiss. “I can’t turn it off.”

“You’re not a bed-and-dash type, I hope.” She took a bite of her apple, watching me closely.

“Not a bed-and-anything type.”

“About that...” Gem’s tone shifted, her playful demeanor giving way to something heavier. She looked uncomfortable.

My radar for trouble pinged. “What?”

“You’re new here, and I feel like... I might have taken advantage.”

“I may be new, but I’m an adult.”

“It’s not that.” She sighed and hesitated before continuing. “I’m not exactly human.”

I blinked at that. “The antlers, tail, fuzzy legs and that tongue are a dead giveaway.”

“That’s not what I mean.” She gave me a pained smile. “My mother is human. My father is a Satyr.”

“No idea what that means.”

“Satyrs are beings of lust.” She looked at me, expecting something. I had no idea what. “You come from a world of all humans, so you expect people to act like humans.”

“Okay,” I smiled. “I’m a people are people kind of girl, so it doesn’t matter to me.”

“My father bedded my mother,” she sighed, “and he left.”

“Still sounding human.”

“He comes back from time to time, but he never stays, no matter how much he loves her. It’s our nature.” she shrugged, but she had a look of sadness on her face.

“So, you’re telling me all this...” I circled my finger between us, “...is not a thing that will last?”

“Not exactly.” She looked ashamed, not even keeping eye contact with me. “I can never belong to a single person. Something I inherited from my father.”

I raised my eyebrows at her. “Hit it and split it, huh?” I tried to hide the skepticism in my voice.

“It’s not like that.” She sounded a little defensive. Seriously? “I just want you to understand that I have a home in the woods; that is where I belong. I came out to earn gold for my mother and sisters. I won’t be following you wherever you are going.”

“If I got it into my head to follow you, then what?”

She laughed. “You hate camping. I pretty much live in a tree.”

“I thought you were asleep when I said that.”

“Doesn’t mean I didn’t hear you. Remember, not human.”

“This is, uh...” I started looking for the words. “Kind of a temporary thing?”

“We love,” she said. “Satyrs, I mean. In fact, we love a little too easily. I will always come back if I can.”

“You mean you love me?”

“No,” she held up her hands. I’m pretty sure that her face was blushing, but it was hard to tell. “I’m very fond of you, but we just met.”

“So, no matter how we feel about each other, you will always be headed out.”

“I feel absolutely terrible,” she said. For the first time, I could see this was a genuine burden. Her eyes were starting to glisten as she spoke. “You trusted me, not understanding the nature of my kind.”

“Hey,” I put my arm on her shoulder and kissed her cheek. “I don’t know anything about this world, but what happened last night was one of the most amazing things to ever happen to me. That isn’t going to go away.” I shrugged my shoulders. “In this world, I have no idea what will happen today, much less tomorrow or a year from now, assuming I’m still around.”

She smiled at me, tears running down her beautiful, weird face. “I hope you’re around.”

“One thing’s for sure: I’m not planning on bailing.” I bumped up against her playfully. “And I have a lot to learn.”

“I wouldn’t know from last night.” She said coyly. “They do say that Urban Elves have the gift of tongue.”

My face flushed an even brighter red. I giggled. “Gift of Tongues. Not the same thing.” The sex talk was enough to set my body off yet again. I squirmed a little on the bench as we chatted. Gem gave me a smoldering look over her mug.

“I’m gonna take a turn about town myself.” I would be sitting all day with Gem and the rest of the party, so I wanted to get a little more time in my head before going out. I needed to practice solitude without panicking.

“See ya soon,” Gem said, taking a swig from her mug.

I followed the path Jinx had taken just a moment earlier, strolling up the bustling street. Shops and stalls along the main drag were springing to life, their shutters creaking open as the smell of baking bread mingled with the early-morning air. In the distance, the mill belched its first smoke of the day, and the saws let out a long, metallic wail. It was like Wood Cuts’ alarm clock—unpleasant but effective.

A fruit stall caught my eye, and I stocked up: half a dozen apples and a handful of plums. Into storage, they went. I moseyed along, grabbing sausages wrapped in crisp leaves, biscuits that promised crumbly goodness, strips of bacon, and a wedge of cheese like the one I tasted at the Iron Hammer last night. By the time I was done, my pockets were jingling with none of the loose change Gem had given me. Every coin had found its way into the hands of vendors who now seemed far too happy.

Eventually, I found myself outside Graybrow’s. The shop window was filled with mannequins dressed in adventure chic: chaps, armor, leather bits, and pieces that screamed, I’m here to slay monsters, but I also care about looking stylish. A stray comment from The Whisperer about my storage sparked an idea, so I ducked inside.

NEGOTIATION SKILL INCREASED

NEGOTIATION SKILL NOW LEVEL 2

+14XP

Charisma +1

Thirty minutes later, I walked out poorer in gold but richer in life. I’d decided it was time to invest in my adventuring future. I was now kitted in leather armor with a standard dagger hanging from a new belt. Across my chest, a magically reinforced bandolier proudly carried cheap potions for healing, energy, and stamina. It even had a built-in scabbard for my short sword. A new pack strapped to my back held basic supplies, including a bedroll. The pack came with a nifty quick-release buckle, perfect for when I needed to make a dramatic exit. When I rejoined the party outside the inn, Gem raised an eyebrow at me. “You do have storage, you know.”

“And now I have more storage,” I shot back with a grin and slipped my Colorado beanie on. It was blue with the Colorado “C.” It clashed spectacularly with the leather armor but pinned my curls in place. Those curls were getting out of hand. A haircut was in my near future, hopefully not a distant one.

Less than fifteen minutes later, we set off. At my insistence, Heather hopped in the back with us girls. I reintroduced her to Gem and made them hug. After that, we cranked up the girlie talk and got more than one nasty look from Jinx as we giggled. I had a feeling he thought I would spill the beans on Alfie, or maybe he was just a grumpy bastard.

It wasn’t long before we were out the gate and back on the Imperial Highway. My new gear was jingling lightly with every bump. I was feeling a mixture of excitement and apprehension. Officially, I have had as many good days as bad days in this place, but the road promised danger, no matter what. So, I hung on to the good moments when they came by.