CHAPTER THREE
ANSWERS, BUT CONSIDERABLY MORE QUESTIONS
FLORENCE was all smirks when Andy and Menka returned from the men’s room. Andy tried not to meet her eyes as he awkwardly sat back down on his bar-stool. Menka rolled his eyes and did the same– apart from the awkward part, as nothing Menka does is ever awkward. (Or so he thinks.)
Speaking of awkward, that was the perfect word to describe the silence that followed. Florence’s grin was reduced to a half-smile as she tried to choose which eyebrow to raise at the pair next, while Andy was trying to figure out the best way to get revenge on Menka for being so embarrassing (seriously, the men’s room!?), and Menka himself was puzzled over which genius' idea it was to waste so much time in this tavern anyway– it wasn’t like they didn’t have better things to do... like saving the world.
Kingdoms were conquered, a king was murdered and some unimportant boy called Hayle was born by the time Florence broke the continued silence. “So.”
Andy cringed, not wanting to hear the words that she would most likely say next.
Menka sighed and decided that he better stop her before she could continue along that path. “We were deciding what to do with you.”
“With me?” Florence settled for using her left eyebrow for the time being. “Why?”
“After some debate--” Menka gave Andy one of ‘those’ looks; so quick you could have missed it. “--Andy and I have decided you can come with us, if you want.”
“Help us die horr-- I mean, save the world and get our asses-- kill a god.” Andy stopped cringing and grinned.
“Really?!” Florence’s eyes lit up and Menka smirked from his corner of the table. She quickly regained her composure and turned her expression back to neutral. “I mean, sure, okay. You probably need someone sensible to help you.”
“That and you would have followed us anyway,” Andy said, rolling his eyes.
Florence grinned sheepishly– the look of someone who had been caught before the act.
“But if you come with us,” added Menka, “and you manage to get yourself killed, you have to promise not to come back and haunt us.”
“Okay...” She wondered where this was coming from.
“Because the last time that happened, it was really annoying.”
“Right.” Florence rolled her eyes in her mind. That was a pretty strange thing to say, but she decided to go along with it anyway. “I promise not to haunt you if I die.”
“Good,” said Menka, “now that that’s settled...” He reached down and dug around in his bag for something. “Hey Andy, you wouldn’t by any chance have seen the--”
Andy reached into his pack and picked out a piece of rolled-parchment and winked at Florence before holding it above his head.
Menka looked up and sighed, then snatched it out of Andy's hands. “--Map,” he finished, unrolling the parchment out on the table.
There was nothing particularly special about this map, but it was a map nonetheless. Something to help you when you got lost, whether that ‘help’ be knowing where you should be, and/or something to scream at and rip into tiny pieces when you realize a map doesn’t actually help much when you don’t know where you are in the first place. The trio leaned over this map, which was big-enough to cover most of the table– its edges worn and weathered, the colours faded from use.
Menka placed his finger on a grey splodge that was near the map’s centre.
“So here we are. In the capital.”
“Norcrest,” corrected Andy.
Menka snorted. “Fine then, Mr. Exposition. I’ll refer to it as its proper noun. Here we are. In Norcrest.”
Florence absentmindedly listened to them bicker back and forth, paying more attention to Menka’s left fingers and hand as it rested on the table. There was something wrong with it. The fingers were a bit on the long and bony side and they were maybe a bit pale, too, but that wasn’t it. He shifted his hand to the corner of the map nearest him and she saw it. He was missing half a finger. His pinkie, it was half-gone– an awkward and only half-healed stub was all that was left behind.
“And the Fire God’s pla--”
“Elias.” Menka gave Andy a death-stare and continued, “So Elias’ place is over here. Inside this volcano. On th--”
“Mount Fl--”
“For the love of everything, will you shut up and let me speak!”
“Say please.”
“I hate you.”
“I know.”
“Anyway--”
Florence zoned-out again, as she puzzled over the finger. She knew a magical wound when she saw one. Well, she was pretty sure she did.
“Florence, did you get that?”
If the textbook drawings were to be accurate, she did. However long ago the damage to his finger had occurred, it didn’t look like it had healed much in that time– it really didn’t look like it had healed at all.
“Are you even listening to me?”
It wasn’t bleeding, and the edges were blackened a little, charred, but she could still see the raw flesh.
“Florence.”
It wasn’t green, shooting sparks or anything as drastically magical, but--
“Florence! Andy, do something to make her listen to me.”
“Why should I have to do something?”
“Because... I don’t know... I told you to.”
Florence sighed, and looked up. “What happened to your finger?”
“Oh, that’s what had your attention?” He held up his left hand and she nodded. “I should probably do something to make it less obvious.”
“To be honest,” added Andy, “I hardly ever notice it anymore.”
“When did you do it?” she asked.
“A year or so ago.” Menka shrugged.
Florence frowned. “But it doesn’t look a year--”
“I know.” He sighed. “But anyway, we are getting off topic here.” He placed his hand back on the map, next to the volcano.
Florence checked it out. It was pretty massive, if the scale of the map was to be trusted. Honestly, you could never tell with maps. Was the volcano actually that size, or did the mapmaker just draw it in big because they thought it was exciting and way more important than what was supposed to be behind it. Furthermore, if the scale was, once again, to be trusted, the volcano was a long, long way away from where they were. She sighed in her mind.
“So we have to get from the ca-- Norcrest,” Menka continued, giving Andy a side glance and getting a grin in return, “to Elias’ volcano, Mount Flaemindoom. They happen to be a long way away from one another.”
“There seems to be a lot of stuff in between,” commented Florence, looking at the different coloured-sections, representing what she assumed to be lakes, plains, farmland, forests, deserts, mountains.
“Yes, there is,” he agreed. “However, most of this we will try and avoid.” He dragged his finger back to the capital. “When we leave the city, we are straight into the farmlands and, later, the grass-plains. Well, dead grass-plains– because of the drought.” He pointed to a light-greenish section of the map. “But then over in the northwest, those plains turn to desert. The volcano is more in the southwest anyway, so we will enter the forest, instead, as we head that way.” He placed his fingers on a slightly darker-green patch, which had trees drawn in. “Even if we head through the forest, if we keep on going southwest we will still hit the desert. Personally, I hate forests, because of the pointy-eared pests who live in them, but I like deserts even less. Expressly this desert.”
Florence looked at the yellow-gold sea, which covered most of the western area of the map, and read its label. “Desert of Old.”
“Exactly. We are going to avoid it.”
“What's so bad about it?” she asked. “It’s not like it’s called the desert of death or the desert of certain doom.” She personally hadn’t been in a desert before, but she knew it involved lots of sand and no water, but it also could involve lost cites, magical caves and buried-treasure.
“That’s the desert with that magical fountain that nobody knows the location of because the fountain itself can’t decide, right?” asked Andy.
Menka nodded. “The Fountain of Old. That’s another reason why we aren’t going into the desert.”
“What’s the ‘Fountain of Old’?” Florence asked.
“It’s a magical fountain,” Andy answered, in what Florence assumed was his best mock mystical voice. “It has the power to change your age.”
Menka snorted. “Sure, but it’s also just a really quick way of growing old and dying.”
“So, if you drink from it...” Florence started, beginning to see the picture they were painting.
“You die,” was their simultaneous answer.
“Ah, okay.” Florence nodded. “Yeah, let's avoid that.”
“So, where were we?" Menka asked. "So, instead of going southwest, we just head south, until we hit these mountains up here.” He ran his fingers along the base of some brown and grey triangles that sat in a line near the edge of the map. “If we head west along the base of the range, we should reach Elias’ domain. Taking that way means we will be traveling over rocks and generally-uneven terrain, but it’s better than getting lost in the desert.”
Andy scratched his chin. “This doesn’t sound too horse-friendly.”
He sighed. “That’s because it isn’t horse-friendly. Plus, I don’t like horses. We are walking. Is that okay with you?”
“No.” Andy moaned.
Florence shrugged. “As long as we are traveling light.”
“Excellent.” He rolled up the map. “That’s the plan. Any questions?”
“Sure. How do we actually plan on killing this god?” she asked.
Menka rolled his eyes. “With my sword. Any more questions?”
“But no one in recorded-history has actually killed a god, so what makes you think you will succeed...?”
Andy decide to answer this one: “Well, we don’t know for sure, but...”
She groaned. “We are so doomed.”
“You don’t have come, if you don't--”
“Nope, I’m coming.” Florence half-smiled. “It will probably be best for my health if I leave the city, anyway.” She saw Andy raise an eyebrow at that and shrugged it off.
“Good. That's enough questions,” Menka decided, placing the parchment back in his bag.
Andy pouted at him from his side of the table. “But what if I had a quest--”
Menka interrupted him by loudly sighing and placing his head in his hands. “No, you didn’t.”
“I think I did,” he persisted.
“Fine. What?”
“When are we leaving?”
DAWN came and rolled over the city, giving everything a golden and pink hue. Andy looked up from where he was leaning against the city-wall and saw another cloudless sky. Definitely no drought-breaking would be happening today, that was for sure. The temperature was already soaring and he was grateful that he had found a shady spot of the wall to lean against.
Speaking of shade and shadows, where was Menka? Or that woman, Florence? It was too hot to stand around and wait, but it would probably be worse on the road.
Yesterday evening, Menka had demanded that they go out and get some more supplies. To Andy it was a nightmare, as Menka had spent almost an hour convincing and nagging him to buy himself some kind of weapon with a blade. Eventually Andy had given in and bought himself a measly dagger just to entertain him, which he had concealed inside his pant-leg.
Well, tried to conceal. Hiding daggers wasn’t actually as easy as all those flashy rogues and assassins made it look. First, he had to roll up his pant-leg, then find a way to somehow attach the dagger to his calf. A metre of rope later and that was easy enough, but then – after he had managed to block out the sound of Menka’s laughter – he had to roll the pant-leg back down, which was hard with the blade in the way. Once the material was over the dagger, it was still very obvious that a weapon was concealed there – with the overly large and distinct bump in the fabric. It wasn’t ‘hidden’ at all. As for getting the dagger off – well, Andy had yet to attempt that. With any luck, if he asked their adversaries nicely, they would stop and wait for him to take it out. Or, even better – he could hope he wouldn’t need it.
He saw Florence approaching him in the distance, and grinned as she came over and stood against the brick beside him.
She had a backpack on, as well as that massive sword slung over her shoulder. Her hair was bound back and she had changed out of the blue and grey robes of yesterday and into a basic pair of leather pants and a cloth vest, with skin-tight animal-skin boots on her feet. Perspiration glistened on her tanned forehead, which she wiped away with her hand. “So, pink-red sky in the morning. Isn’t that supposed to be some sort of bad omen?”
He chuckled nervously. “I hope not. The odds are stacked against us enough, already.”
“You don’t say. Where is Menka?”
Andy frowned. “That’s a good question.”
“Is he one to be late?” she asked.
“Only when he wants to be.”
Menka arrived a minute later, frowning and squinting as he unsuccessfully tried to use his hand to block out the sun from his eyes. His face and neck was already a painful-looking lobster-red – a fact he didn’t seem to be too happy about, as he subconsciously rubbed at it with his other hand. He wore his trademark black cloak – rarely had Andy seen him in anything else – hood down, showing his crazy hair. The only visible weapon on him was the sword, hanging from his belt in its sheath – but, knowing Menka the way Andy did, he had at least five daggers up each sleeve, ten in his boots and at least one pair in his undergarments.
Andy would bet half his gold that Menka could draw them faster than him, too. “Late?” Andy asked, his tone teasing.
Menka sighed and pulled his hood over his head. “Let’s go.”
Florence gave Andy a sideways look, as if to say, 'Is he annoyed, or is it just a morning thing?'
Andy shrugged. He really didn’t know what was up with Menka. He could be moody, or it could just be the sunburn. After all, he had gone on god-rages for less.
They passed through the city-gates easy enough, but it hadn't been a breeze – not like it usually was. The guards appeared to be on some type of lockdown, checking everything and everyone, which made Andy wonder who had been assassinated this time. It wouldn’t surprise him too much if someone had been murdered – after all, the lifespan of important-people only tends to be about the length of time it takes for a poisoned-arrow to fly the length of a courtyard. Luckily, the city-guards seemed to be more interested in a gang of mercenaries to their right, who were swearing and making a general fuss at having to be searched for illegal, dangerous and suspicious items.
After Menka admitted to how many weapons he was carrying (28) and expressed how he was going the wrong way if he was going to assassinate the king, they shrugged and let him through, while keeping a careful eye on the other travellers.
Florence, being a woman with an awfully sharp-looking sword, got her documents stamped without any more than the usual questions.
Andy himself almost got through without having his possessions checked, expressly after he explained to the guards that his pack was too small to hide a dead-body. It wasn’t that Andy was hiding anything illegal or suspicious-enough that the guards would want to question him over, but rather that he hated it when his cleverly-packed and crammed-full bag was poured out all over the table and not neatly packed back in how it was before. Organized.
But then Menka just had to state to the already-on-edge guards that, in theory, a whole dead-body couldn’t fit in Andy’s pack – but all the important bits probably could... expressly if they were cut-up first. Menka smirked at him over his shoulder, as Andy’s stuff was rifled through, but Andy wasn’t too mad at him.
Knowing Menka, it was probably a long-awaited revenge from some instance or another – like, about a year or so ago, when Andy purposely embarrassed him in front of a group of dryads. He chuckled at the memory, making a mental-note to get re-revenge on Menka later, as he returned a threatening look over his shoulder, and jokingly cracked his knuckles together.
Menka rolled his eyes and pretended to shiver.
Soon, the ordeal was over and they were out on the open-road, passing through fields or farmlands. Or at least what used to be fields and farmlands – before the drought occurred. There weren’t many other travellers around – and the ones who were were mostly in wagons or on horseback – so they were mostly alone on the long stretches of road.
Menka still had his hood over his head and walked several paces ahead of them, the back of his cloak gently flowing with the soft but dry breeze.
Florence wasn’t speaking, either, but she seemed too preoccupied with keeping an eye on the road around them.
Andy wondered if something had made her paranoid, judging by how much she was looking back at the quickly-fading city behind them, and occasionally holding the top of her sword for support. The further they walked – and the more the view of the city was swallowed by the hot, dusty air – the more she let herself relax. Something was definitely up with her, he concluded. He gave her a few more minutes, before growing sick of the silence. He decided to speak. “So,” he said, using the worst conversation-starter in the world and cringing afterward at how it had made him sound. “Florence, you mentioned yesterday about wanting to get away from the cit--”
“And?” she cut him off, seeming by her tone to not be very happy about him taking notice of her mood. “We have left the city, have we not?”
“Yes, well--” He scratched the back of his head, not wanting too seem rude. “--Well, it just seemed like you were getting better with every step we took from Norcrest, and it’s none of my business, but--”
“Damn well, it’s none of your business,” she snapped.
Menka chuckled ahead of them. “Someone is feeling sassy.”
“It’s not ‘sassy’.” She pressed her lips together in annoyance, while Menka looked over his shoulder and raised a shadowed eyebrow at her.
Andy sighed, wishing Menka wasn’t so good at winding people up. They had known the woman for a day, and now, as it turned out, they were traveling with her. Surely, Menka knew better than to try and make enemies.
“Oh, then what is it?” Menka grinned back at her in a snarky fashion.
‘Never mind’, Andy thought. ‘Menka doesn’t know better at all.’ He carefully stepped in between the two “She doesn’t have to tell us anything about herself, if she doesn’t want to.”
Menka scoffed and rolled his eyes at him for taking her side.
“But I’m still curious,” Andy quickly added.
“You’re curious?” Florence awkwardly laughed. “I’m curious about you two myself. Menka over there is pretty much a living description of the phrase ‘dark and mysterious stranger'--”
“Actually,” Menka interrupted, “I thought the phrase was ‘dark, mysterious and handsome stranger’.”
She snorted at him and continued: “--And you, Andy – well, at least you don't dress like a tactless necromancer--”
“Hey!” Menka cried in outrage.
“--But you are still a stranger,” Florence added.“So, if you think you can go asking questions about me, I ought to be asking you questions in return.”
“I’m not a necromancer,” Menka muttered, sounding deeply offended.
Andy ignored him and turned back to Florence. “Okay, how about we exchange questions and answers, then. Answer my question and I’ll answer one of yours.”
“How come you get to go first?” she huffed.
“Because I asked first.” Andy beamed at her.
“Fine,” she answered, sounding like she regretted it as soon as the word came out of her mouth. Sighing, she continued: “You wanted to know why I wanted to get out of the city.”
“Of course.”
“Well, I’m half on the run. I kinda-- well, I didn’t complete the terms of my last contract.” She adjusted the sword on her back as she walked.
“Contract?” Menka turned around and looked at them. “What are you? An assassin?”
“Mercenary? Rogue?” Andy continued throwing out the guesses.
“Hired-escort?” Menka suggested.
She shook her head, snorting at the last one. “Nope, you’ve had your question. It’s my turn.”
Andy frowned. “You’re so mean. Okay.”
“So,” she said, thinking of what she wanted to ask. “What are you? What do you do?”
“Like for a living?” Andy specified. He saw Florence nod, and he ran his fingers through the back of his hair as he thought. “I dunno. I do a lot of different things, but I seem to live nevertheless.”
“Give me an example.”
He tried to think of what to say. Telling the truth wasn’t really an option – ‘well, I’m a minor god, so it doesn’t matter what I do, I still live.’ He sighed to himself. “I like to travel, I suppose. Annoy Menka. I’ve done a little mercenary-work, but it wasn’t really for coin. Slayed some monsters – whatever Menka leaves me when we go hunting.”
Menka rolled his eyes.
“Stop Menka from getting into too many bar-fights.” He didn’t know what else he could add that wouldn’t make her suspicious. “Menka needs me to function normally, you see.” He winked at her.
“You must have a hard job, then. Menka looks like he can’t take two steps without trying to summon someone’s dead grandma.”
“HEY!” Menka cried. They ignored him again, so he growled at them.
Andy rolled his eyes. “So, what do you do?”
“When will I get to join in this question game?” asked Menka, sounding annoyed as he stepped into line beside Florence.
“Okay, I’ll ask you the next one,” Florence said.
Menka grinned, content with this.
“So,” Andy continued, “what are you? Mercenary? Assassin...?”
“The first one, I suppose.” Florence said, smiling. “I’m a bit of a mage, though.”
“Don’t all the mages have to go to college or something?” asked Menka. “So they can learn how to control their ‘powers’?”
“Pffft.” She laughed, “I ran away from that place ages ago. Too many boring people.”
“So, you are, like, a ‘sell-mage', or something of the like, eh?” Menka smirked and kicked at the ground as he walked, creating a small cloud of dust behind them. He turned to look at her, the faint edge of his upturned-lip visible within the shadows of his hood. “How much do you get paid?”
“It’s her turn to ask a question now,” reminded Andy, teasing Menka and grinning.
“Thank you, Andy. Menka: so what are you? What do you do?”
“Oh, me?” The whites of his teeth flashed at them, as he smiled from under his hood.
Andy moaned inside, hoping Menka would say something sens--
“I’m a g-- mortal, human,”
Luckily for Menka, Florence didn’t catch his slip. She just rolled her eyes as if he were trying to be smart. “Obviously. But what do you do?”
“I kill things, Annoy Andy. I’m not a necromancer.”
“Then what are you?”
Andy wondered if it was at all rational to hope Menka would say something reasonable as to what he ‘was’. If Menka ended up having to spend the rest of this trip pretending to an expert cow-whisperer or something, he was going to--
“I’m a shadow-priest.”
Florence raised an eyebrow, and Andy mentally wiped the sweat from his forehead. That was probably the best lie he had ever heard Menka tell, and it was believable, too. So long as he didn’t do anything too outlandishly powerful – and just stuck to basic shadow-manipulation and the like – Florence wouldn’t know any better.
“You’re a shadow-priest,” she said, giving him a look that said ‘really’.
“Yep.”
“So you worship the god of--”
Menka hushed her. “One question, remember? Now, tell me how much you get paid for being a ‘sell-mage’.”
Florence rattled off a string of figures, while Andy stared off into the distance, observing the road around them. Dry, cracked and deserted ‘farmlands’ ran to the edge of the horizon, where grey-blue mountains sprung up, softly tearing at the edges of the sky.
If the onslaught of the drought could be seen anywhere, it was in the farmlands. They weren’t even farms and fields anymore; just miles of cracked ground, dusty and bone-dry. Animals didn’t even exist anymore – not here. There was the odd skeleton and the lost remains of a waterless-creature, but most of the animals had long since been made extinct as their food-supplies dwindled down to nothing. It tugged at Andy's heartstrings to see this. It made him feel useless as a ‘god’ – to see suffering, but have no power to end it.
All of this: Elias’ fault. Andy wondered what he would have done if Menka hadn’t agreed to help him try and stop the God of Fire. Would he have gone after Elias, anyway – by himself? Taken the sword from Menka – or made Menka come anyway, against his own will? It was truly mission-impossible without that talking-sword. He was glad Menka had the sense to feel partly responsible for Elias’ actions – as he should have.
“That’s right!” Menka bellowed, breaking Andy’s train of thought. “I totally worship that guy. What? Don’t look at me like that. What’s wrong with worshipping the God of Shadows?”
Andy only had to glance at Menka’s face to see just how much of a kick he was getting out of 'worshipping' himself. He tried not to snort.
“Everything,” Florence said bluntly.“No offense, but if you could go through history and find the most chaotically-evil – or, at least, the most trouble-making god – of all time, it would be him. The God of Shadows.”
“That’s exactly why I worship m-- him, and choose to embrace his branch of the magical arts. He is my idol. A total badass.”
“'Shadow-magic', 'shadow-manipulation' – whatever you ‘shadow-priests’ call it – is not a ‘branch of the magical arts’.”
“Then why did you just call it ‘shadow-magic’, huh?”
“That was a slip of my tongue.”
“Shadows are so much cooler than your dumb normal magic. We don’t have to make spells – and remember them – or anything, like you do. We just make things up as we go along.”
“And that is exactly why it isn’t magic.”
“So shadow-manipulation isn’t allowed to be magic, but ridiculous things like necromancy are.”
“That’s different. Besides, why do you dress like a necromancer if you're a ‘shadow-priest’?”
“I don’t dress like a necromancer!”
“Where’re your robes, then? Woven from shadows? And the staff you use to control--?”
“They are in my bag,” Menka lied.“It’s too hot for robes, and I don’t look as mysterious and badass in a dress. Plus, aren’t necromancers obsessed with skulls or something?”
“Not all like skulls. What’s this about being too hot? That’s why you're wearing a black cloak, black pants, black leather-boots... or did you decide to dress in the most appropriate thing for talking to the dead because you do talk to the dead.”
“I don’t talk to the dead!”
“That’s what you want us to think.”
“You are impossible. Fine, whatever. I give up. Leave me alone.”
Andy burst into laughter, before rejoining the conversation: “Menka, giving up?” Menka gave him that trademark death-stare, while he teasingly grinned back. “I have new respect for you, Florence.”
“Why thank you.” She'd started grinning, too.
“I hate you guys,” Menka declared, speeding up and walking ahead of the other two before Andy could read the expression on his friend's face.
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