Chapter 23 – Strange Bedfellows

The drizzle had now turned into a steady patter that was slowly soaking Shaelith.

She stood in front of Benderast’s tent like an idiot, considering what to do. In her hand she held her sleeping roll, which had already taken on a darker hue, and water dripped from the tips of her braids.

I could sleep under a tree. Or build a shelter out of branches and leaves. Or just stand here and freeze to death out of pure stubbornness, she thought, sneezing.

Objectively speaking, all of these options were stupider than the obvious alternative.

The tent entrance opened and Benderast’s head appeared, blinking in her direction.

“What are you doing out here? It’s raining.”

Thanks for the weather report, Sherlock.

“Mirrsoss needs the tent to herself tonight.”

“Why?”

Shaelith sighed. “Women’s stuff.”

Benderast’s expression wavered between confusion and the instinctive discomfort that some men showed when this topic came up. But he nodded slowly.

“You can come in here,” he said, holding the tent entrance open. “I promise I’ll behave myself.”

She still hesitated, but she was cold, she was getting wet and not the good kind, and the exhaustion of the fight still lingered in her limbs. And being stubborn just for the sake of being stubborn was simply foolish.

“Fine,” she said curtly and crawled past him into the tent.

It was cramped inside. The two-man tent had clearly been designed for people much smaller than Benderast, whose massive frame already took up a good half of the available space.

She arranged her sleeping roll on the opposite side, as far away from him as physically possible, which in this case meant about half an arm’s length.

Benderast said nothing. He simply lay down and turned toward the tent wall. It seemed like the confrontation from their “wedding night” was still fresh enough that he clearly needed no encouragement to respect her boundaries.

Good enough for now.

 

~

 

The rain drummed steadily on the tent canvas, which hung low over Shaelith, and she lay on her back staring at it, imagining the sky beyond, blurred by water, clouds, and darkness.

Sleep would not come, even though her body was already heavy with exhaustion.

“Can’t you sleep either?”

Benderast’s voice was quieter than usual.

“No.”

A pause. The drumming of the rain.

“Shaelith, can I ask you something?”

“Yes.”

“I want to learn more about you and this world,” he asked. “What was your childhood like? Have you always lived in Myzele… in your city?”

He sounded genuinely curious.

“My childhood was, um, how to put it… busy,” she finally said, carefully trying not to reveal too much. “I am the daughter of one of the most powerful matriarchs in Myzelemaerlazin. That means a lot of privileges, of course, but also high expectations.”

“What expectations?”

“To be perfect. I wasn’t just any daughter of House Vyrnara, I was the daughter of House Vyrnara. A poster child. The crowning jewel of House Vyrnara.” She could hear the bitterness creeping into her voice. “And of course, that made me a target.”

“In what way?”

“The first assassin came when I was one year old.” It had been so long ago, and yet it felt like it had been yesterday, shortly after she had been thrown into this world.

“An assassin had sneaked into my nursery to kill me. By chance, I survived because I started crying. At least that’s what the servants keep telling me, I can’t remember,” she lied.

Benderast was silent.

“More came,” she continued. “I stopped counting at some point, you know, because after a while it becomes normal. You just stop being surprised that someone wants to kill you.”

And you stop expecting anyone to like you just for who you are, not what you represent.

“That sounds…” he searched for the right word, “…lonely.”

She blinked. Of all the reactions, she hadn’t expected that one.

“No, we Shaeravyn are never really lonely,” she said. “We spend a lot of time together and are very close, closer than humans. I was always surrounded by countless servants and aunts and cousins.”

“But you had friends too, didn’t you? This Vyriz, for example?”

Shaelith’s heart clenched painfully when she heard his name.

“Vyriz is… He liked me, always has. And I…” She bit her lips. “I think he would have liked me even if I had been the ugly daughter of a servant.”

“Is that unusual?”

“For Shaeravyn? A little bit.” She turned her head, even though she could hardly see him in the darkness. “And what about you? What was your world like?”

Can’t let him know I already know, can I?

He took a deep breath and sighed loudly. “Different. No magic. No Mushroom Cities. Lots of machines that power everything. Metal carts without horses and stuff. A bit like the dwarves, if I understand Grimbart correctly. And lots of big and small glowing boxes with moving pictures in them. I miss those a little. They’re similar to your spore projections.”

“Sounds strange.”

It certainly feels that way now.

A pause. “I was… different there. Not like I am now.” He coughed awkwardly. “I was bullied. Pretty badly, actually. The other kids… well, I was an easy target, I think. So I escaped into games and books and something called… ah um, I don’t think you’d understand, anyway, into fantasy worlds. Stories where I could be someone else. Someone stronger. Someone who was respected.”

“Like you are here.”

“Yes.”

“And how did you end up here?” she asked quietly.

“I died.” He laughed a short laugh that sounded hollow and contemptuous. “They threw me into a lake and I couldn’t swim. Until the very end, I didn’t want to believe they would really do it. I thought they just wanted to scare me, but they really did it. They just threw me in. I… maybe you are right that you learn not to be surprised about it after a while, but it was the first time and I was surprised they were actually trying to kill me. Someone tried to save me, but… it didn’t work.”

I know.

“When I woke up here, at first I thought I was dreaming. Then I thought it was a game, but now…” He fell silent.

“Yes?”

“Now I’m not quite sure what it is anymore.”

Shaelith considered how far she could go.

“This system you see,” she asked cautiously. “How exactly does it work? You mentioned you see text and numbers?”

“Yes. I see skills and quests and experience points.” He sounded relieved to be able to talk about something easier again. “I can see how much health an opponent has left. And of course, the quest markers that show me where to go, as you know by now.”

Why does he have that and I don’t? We both got here the same way.

“Do you know why you were brought here?” she asked. “Is there a… reason?”

He was silent for a moment. “I think the Crimson Warlock is the reason.”

“What?”

“That’s how these stories work.” His voice regained some of its usual enthusiasm. “They’re called Isekai stories, and they’re very popular in my world. You die, wake up in another world, have adventures there, collect a ha-… ahem, I mean… anyway, you’re usually pretty OP for some reason. There’s always a final boss. A big bad. You defeat him, and then… then you can go home.”

Oh no.

“You think if you defeat the Warlock, you’ll return to your world?”

“Maybe.” A pause. “I hope so. I don’t know. But it feels like that’s the point, you know? Like everything is leading up to it.”

I don’t think it’s that simple.

Shaelith stared at the tent ceiling again. She had been here for twenty years, had lived through her childhood here, and wars and politics and everything in between. There was no indication that a single victory would take her anywhere.

But she couldn’t tell him that. Not without revealing who she really was.

What if he was right? What then? Would I even want to go back?

This thought, which had come to her involuntarily was more unsettling than she had expected. Back to Earth? Back to a life as Jacob Williams? Maybe she would see Mom again. But leaving behind being Shaelith, leaving behind everything she had become? She shook her head and dismissed the thought.

“I hope you’re right,” she finally said. It wasn’t even a lie. She hoped for him that he would find what he was looking for and get whatever he wanted. Even if she doubted it would be that easy.

“Thanks.” His voice was tired. “Hey, Shaelith?”

“Hmm?”

“That was nice. A nice conversation, I mean.”

She didn’t answer right away.

Maybe he is capable of learning after all.

“Go to sleep now,” she said. “Tomorrow will be exhausting.”

 

~

 

Sleep refused to come.

Shaelith lay there in the cold with her eyes open, listening to Benderast’s breathing slowly becoming calmer and deeper, while her thoughts revolved around themselves again and again. The fortress that lay ahead of them. The conversation with Ben. Vyriz in chains. Earth.

Slowly, imperceptibly, she drifted off to sleep.

And then came the dream, no, not really a dream, just an image.

The mycelial pattern from Zinvere’s message spread out before her, pulsating, expansive, almost infinite, growing and branching like the synapses of a gigantic brain.

And something was with her.

Then it was over.

Shaelith woke with a start and her heart pounded in her chest.

But something was different. She felt warm, much warmer than before. Pleasantly warm, even.

Sometime during her sleep, she and Ben had moved closer to each other. His massive body was now lying directly behind her, and he had his arm loosely wrapped around her waist. She could feel his warm breath on her neck.

Oh, damn.

She carefully freed herself from his grip and slid back to her side of the tent…

…and the cold immediately crept back into her bones.

Damn.

She lay there for a moment, wrestling with herself and her pride.

Fuck it.

She slid back, snuggled up to him, and enjoyed his body heat, and after a few minutes, he even put his arm around her again in his sleep.

It doesn’t mean anything, it’s just simple thermodynamics, nothing more.

She fell asleep again.

 

~

 

Shaelith woke up before dawn.

Ben was still snoring and lay sprawled out like a starfish next to her, having claimed the entire tent for himself at some point during the night. She crawled past him and out of the tent, glad that he was still asleep.

I don’t need a conversation about nighttime cuddles anytime soon and as far as I’m concerned, it can stay that way forever.

Mirrsoss also stepped out of her tent, looking tired but content. In her hands she held an egg about the size of a large ostrich egg with a soft, leathery shell.

“Good morning, Shaelith! Good morning, Thaelon! Good morning, Grimbart!” she called cheerfully and fluttered over to Grimbart, who had already lit a small fire. “Here, for you!”

Grimbart accepted the egg with a beaming smile. “Thank you, Mirrsoss! That will make a nice breakfast.”

He took out a small wooden bowl, cracked the egg open, and poured the contents into the bowl.

Shaelith watched the process curiously. She stepped closer and looked at the beaten egg mixture. Without really thinking about it, she stretched out a finger and touched the liquid.

Then she flinched in surprise. Mana! The egg yolk was mana-conductive. Not as strong as real mycelial ink, not by a long shot, but better than blood. The resonance tingled on her fingertip, and she discreetly wiped her finger on her robe.

I must remember that! In an emergency, it could work as a substitute for glyph ink.

Benderast crawled out of the tent yawning and his curly blond hair stuck out in all directions. When he saw the omelet in the pan, his face lit up.

“Oh, great! I love your egg dishes, Grimbart!”

“Thank Mirrsoss!” The dwarf deftly flipped the omelet. “Mirrsoss delivers, I cook.”

“I’m so glad you like my eggs!” Mirrsoss chirped cheerfully. “We Umilari usually use them for the larvae, but since I don’t have any…”

Benderast paused mid-motion.

Shaelith could practically see the gears turning in his head and had to stifle a laugh. Shaelith had told him that Mirrsoss needed the tent to himself because of “women’s stuff,” and now she was talking about “her eggs,” and Grimbart had been cooking those eggs since… how long had they been traveling together?

“Wait,” he said slowly. “The eggs you’ve been cooking all this time…”

Grimbart looked at him blankly.

“…are they…”

“Mirrsoss’ eggs, yes.” The dwarf shrugged. “Once a month. Unfertilized Umilari eggs are a delicacy.”

Benderast stared at the sizzling omelet. Then at Mirrsoss. Then back at the omelet.

“I…” He swallowed. “I have…”

“Yep, you’ve been eating them all along,” confirmed Thaelon, who was watching the spectacle from the sidelines. “Didn’t you ever wonder why I never wanted to eat the omelets?”

“I just thought you were a vegan or something.”

For a brief moment, Benderast looked disturbed, but then he just shrugged. “Well, they’re delicious.”

He took a portion of the finished omelet and dug in heartily.

Thaelon looked as if he had an unpleasant smell in his nose, but Mirrsoss beamed with joy and Grimbart nodded appreciatively.

Okay. Point for Ben. That was unexpectedly pragmatic.

The mood was lighter than it had been in recent days. It seemed as if yesterday’s battle had brought them closer together, and something had changed overnight. The tension between her and Ben hadn’t completely disappeared, but it had turned into something that seemed a bit more manageable. At least it felt that way.

They broke camp and continued their march north.

“According to the marker, it shouldn’t be far now,” Benderast announced after a few hours. “Maybe another mile or two.”

They climbed a hill where the terrain became rockier and the vegetation sparser. Thaelon, who had gone ahead because he had the best eyesight of them all, suddenly stopped.

“What is it?” asked Grimbart.

Thaelon didn’t answer. He just stood there, staring at something beyond the hilltop.

They reached him, and then they saw it too.

The Crimson Warlock’s fortress rose from the center of a wide valley. In the middle of the fortress stood a massive dark tower, surrounded by countless walls and defensive towers.

Goblin Fuffurks spread around the fortress like a plague in the landscape. Dozens of tunnel entrances with columns of smoke rising from underground forges, and countless patrols running back and forth between the structures.

And on the walls… Oh God!

Shaelith forced herself to look closer. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of bodies hung there. Executed prisoners put on display, some in advanced stages of decay. But among them were figures that still moved. Chained prisoners, exposed to the elements and the pecking beaks of ravens, left to a slow and agonizing death.

Vyriz.

The thought struck her violently. Was he one of those up there?

The group stood there silently, overwhelmed by the sheer monstrosity of what lay before them.

“That…” Grimbart began, then didn’t know what to say.

“…is going to be difficult,” Thaelon finished the sentence.

Benderast said nothing. For the first time since Shaelith had met him in this world, he seemed truly speechless. But his face revealed a thought that Shaelith shared.

How the hell are we supposed to get in there?