16 – Monster Mash

Doug landed in the clearing, with a crash loud enough that Perceval, who had regained consciousness somewhere mid-flight, had slid sideways off Doug's back and hit the dirt in a heap.

The fog disappeared, revealing a lodge. I have seen many strange things in this world, but a building hidden behind a fog wall in the middle of nowhere, with smoke billowing from three chimneys and a sign reading “No Heroes Before Noon” seemed deeply suspicious. It speaks volumes about my standards, since I consider this weirder than a talking dragon. I guess that's where my mind is at.

Doug folded his wings and settled onto the ground, letting out a long exhale.

"Home sweet home," he said. "Wipe your feet."

He pushed the door open with his snout and squeezed through. We followed behind.

The first thing I saw was a cyclops behind the bar. Polishing a glass.

I turned my head. It was a Gorgon. She was reading a book, and snakes were coming out of her head. She was just sitting there. Next to her... selkies? Seal skins draped over the backs of their chairs like jackets.

Harpies perched on the rafters.

"— So I told her, I said, if you're gonna molt in the common area, at least have the decency to sweep up after yourself. We're not animals."

A tiny being shrieked about mead barrels. A creature made entirely of moss leaned against a wall, nibbling at itself.

Holy shit.

I looked at Perceval. He had turned sickly green. He looked as though he were about to throw up. His mouth was open, but no sound was coming out. Wallace was holding his elbow, the only thing keeping him standing.

"I need to lie down," Perceval whispered.

I glanced at Cricket. Her mouth was open too, not in horror, but in something else. She stared at the selkies, then the harpies and back at the selkies again, slowly turning her head like everything in the museum was alive.

I turned to speak to Wesley.

Wesley was gone.

He was already halfway across the room, making a beeline for the Gorgon's table, his hand outstretched, his mouth already forming words that would definitely get him killed.

"Oh no, you don't —"

I grabbed him by the collar and pulled hard, causing him to choke. He stuttered backward. The Gorgon looked up from her book. The snake that had been trying to turn the page turned its attention towards us. It did not appear to be in a good mood.

"Sorry," I said, dragging Wesley backward by his shirt. "He does this a lot. Love in the time of sorcery? Nice. Doug says it's pretty good. Anyway, sorry again. We'll let you get back to it."

"Unhand me, fox, she was about to tell me about her —"

"She was about to turn you to stone is what she was about to do," I hissed. "Stop being a dumbass!"

"A worthy death for a tale well earned!"

"Walk. Now." We were met with more shrieks from the little green creature.

"I did it last week! I did it the week before that! I'm not doing it again, Cy, I swear to —"

"You restocked the ale and completely left the mead —"

"The mead barrels are heavy!"

The three selkies were crowded around a notice board on the far wall, arguing about a schedule.

"Someone put Fenwick down for the midnight patrol again. Are you kidding me?"

"Fenwick's got a bad hip."

"Fenwick's HAD a bad hip for two hundred goddamn years. At what point do we stop buying that shit?"

Doug had already distanced himself from us. He was in another part of the room, chatting with a being that seemed vaguely reptilian, about four feet tall and covered in what looked like moss.

"— Told them the summit's been pushed again. Third time. The sphinx is claiming prior engagements."

"A prior engagement?"

"That's what Mags said."

The moss creature noticed us. Glanced over. Glanced back at Doug.

"Those yours?"

"Hm?" Doug followed the creature's gaze to where we were standing in a clump by the door — me, the princess, Wesley, Wallace, and Perceval, who was now pressing himself as flat against the wall as his body would allow. "Oh. Yeah. Picked 'em up at the tower. Cultist thing."

"The prophecy people?"

"Yeah."

"Ugh. Those assholes." The moss creature shook its head. "They stole three of my scales last month. Just walked up while I was sleeping and scraped 'em off. For their 'ritual.' Do you know what it's like to wake up missing scales?"

“That's fucked up," Doug said.

"Right? And they didn't even apologize. I went to their camp to get 'em back and they tried to bless me. I've never been so disrespected in my life."

"You should file a grievance."

"I did. The union said it's 'outside their jurisdiction' because the cultists aren't guild affiliated. Meanwhile I've got bald patches and no recourse."

"That's rough, buddy."

Wesley had lasted only about four seconds before detaching from the group again. Now he was at the bar, leaning across the counter and talking to the cyclops.

"The reality of having one single ocular organ... does it not limit your peripheral awareness? The blind spots alone must create fascinating, compensatory behaviors. Do you tilt? I imagine you tilt. The great Bard Eamon once wrote of a one-eyed king who —"

Cy reached for another glass.

"Because if you close your eye, that is a blink, yes? But if a wink requires two eyes and the closing of one, and you possess only the one, then is every blink a wink? Or is every wink a blink? Are you winking at me right now? Have you been winking at everyone this entire time? And forgive me, when you sleep and your eye closes, is that also a wink? A very long wink? Do you bump into things? You must bump into things. Do you bump into the bar?"

"I have never bumped into the bar."

"Not ONCE? Extraordinary. I must write this down."

"Doug." Cy did not bother to look up. "Your human is talking to me."

"Yeah. That one doesn't stop. Just let him go. He tires out eventually."

I was finished. I sat down on the nearest bench. My arms were sore from the fight. My legs were exhausted after climbing the stairs. My back hurt from riding a dragon. My face hurt where the princess had hit my helmet with an iron rod, which—now that the adrenaline had worn off—was really starting to throb.

A dragon that talks. A cyclops bartender. Harpies. A Gorgon. Even a goblin was there, protesting against unfair working conditions. After witnessing the palace, the stables, the hunt, the lake, the ball, the tower, the burning bridge, and the cultists, this somehow seemed the least strange to me. Perhaps it was because nobody was trying to harm or imprison me, or fulfill some prophecy.

"MAGS!" Doug yelled. "Mags! Get over here!"

From somewhere in the back, from behind a door, a wall or six different ongoing crises, a voice:

"WHAT?"

"Company."

"I'm dealing with the kobolds, Doug! They're bitching about Tuesday's stew again!"

"It's the cultists, again."

"The — oh for fuck's sake, hold on —"

The door flew open and Mags appeared, carrying a tub-sized pot in one arm and a ledger in the other. The Minotaur towered over us. Her horns were finely polished, and she wore an apron adorned with delicate embroidered flowers.

"All right," she said, slamming the pot down on the counter so hard that everything on it vibrated. She caught sight of us and sighed exasperatedly. “Seriously? Humans, Doug?"

"They needed a ride."

"Doug, you know that Babs is in recovery. He’s been clean for eight months and you bring a whole buffet through the front door." She pointed at us. Her gaze settled on Perceval, who was still pressed against the wall, pale and trembling. "The fat ones are his favorite, Doug. You know this.”

Perceval let out a high-pitched squeak.

"He won't even know they're here," Doug said.

"He can smell a human from three caves away. Last time someone brought a traveler through he relapsed and ate half a shepherd before we could pull him off." She massaged her temples with both hands. "What do you want from me, Doug? You want me to hide them? Feed them? House them? Give them clean linens? Perhaps I should draw them a bath and tuck them into bed and read them a story? You want my firstborn? My time? My sleep? MY SOUL?"

"Look how cute they are," Doug cooed.

Mags's gaze swept over each of us, taking in my injured face, the tattered dress of the princess, Wesley perched on the counter, talking to Cy about iambic pentameter, Wallace's stiff demeanor, and Perceval's desperate attempt to not throw up.

"Ugh," she said. "Fine. FINE. Follow me. And if Babs shows up, run. He's slow but he's committed." She snatched the ledger from the counter and made her way down a hallway at the back of the room. We followed, some of us more willingly than others. Perceval had to be pried off the wall by Wallace.

"Okay," Mags said, walking quickly without looking back. We had to sprint to keep up, and her strides were longer than the corridor itself. "What's the deal? Give me the short version.”

"So basically —" I began.

"They are zealots." Cruit's voice cut through mine. "They call themselves the Faithful. They operate from the northern hills. Their leader is a woman; I did not learn her name, though I believe they call her Mother. She constructed a prophecy around my bloodline. She believes I am a divine figure. That my imprisonment and awakening will bring about a new age of peace and prosperity for the land."

Mags reduced her speed, not stopping completely, but just enough to turn her head.

"The prophecy requires a prince to ascend the tower, face the dragon, and wake me from a cursed slumber through an act of devotion. They have supply routes from two villages to the north," she continued. "They receive food and provisions every three days. Their camp is in the hills approximately half a day's ride from the tower.”

"Okay," Mags said. "That's above my pay grade. Way above." She tapped the ledger against her leg.

The room at the end of the corridor was cramped and messy, exuding a fragrance of charred herbs and an unidentifiable sweet scent. Jars lined the shelves, while items dangled from the ceiling. The table was covered in objects that might have been tools, might have been junk, or might have been both.

Nestled among a sea of flickering candles, a woman with unruly blond hair and oversized glasses sat on the ground. She frantically paged through a large book, then suddenly lifted her eyes to Mags.

"Mags!" she said, her eyes lighting up. "Hi! Oh my god, hi. I haven't seen you in like... minutes! How long has it been? One? Two? I lose track. Time is such a thingamajig, you know? It just goes and goes and then suddenly it's Autumn and you're like, where did the —"

"Idir," Mags said. "These are —"

Idir had already sprung to action. Without a moment's hesitation, she made a beeline for the princess, bypassing Mags and me, and grabbed a lock of her hair.

"Ooh," she said, holding a strand of her hair up to the candlelight. "This is nice. Do you feel that?"

"Unhand me," Cruit demanded.

"Sorry, sorry." She let go. She turned. She looked at me. She poked my cheek with one finger.

"Hey —"

"Shh." She poked again and leaned in close. Her eyes squinted and moved over my face, as if reading something that only she could see. "Uh-huh, uh-huh. Nasty curse, huh?"

"What?"

"You've got a whole — oh wow. I haven't seen one of these in — when was the last time I — ooh, this is BAD. Interesting bad.

"

"I... there's no curse. I'm fine. She's the one who got kidnapped." I gestured toward the princess. "Her. Focus on her."

Idir laughed like I'd told a joke, a really good joke. She slapped her knee.

"Oh, you're funny. You're so funny. Oh, that's good. No, no, no. You." She poked me in the chest. "You're the one with the thing."

"What thing?"

"Do you feel itchy?"

"...What?"

"Itchy! But not on your skin. More like inside? Like behind your eyes? Or in your elbows? Do your elbows itch?"

"My elbows don't itch."

"What about your teeth? Do your teeth feel crowded? Like there are too many of them in there?"

"I have a normal number of teeth."

"Hm." She tilted her head. "When you sleep, do you dream of hallways?"

"I don't — what does any of this —"

"Ooh." She stopped. She leaned in. She squinted at something past my shoulder. "There's like someone in there with you."

"Dude, what the hell are you talking about?"

She poked my chest. "In there! The you-space. There's like a roommate situation happening. The other you!"

My stomach dropped.

"She is NOT vibing right now. She's all crunched up in there. Real mad."

I glanced at Wesley. He had gone still. Cruit watched the scene unfold, perplexed.

"And you keep like —" Idir mimed pushing something down with both hands. "Smooshing her. Every time she tries to come up you're like NOPE." She slammed an invisible lid. "Back in the box. Which, I get it, it's scary, but she does NOT appreciate it."

"How do you know about —"

"Duh. It's all over you. You REEK of it."

Cruit stepped forward. "This woman is clearly deranged. We have wasted enough time. If there is nothing —"

"She's been in there a while too," Idir persisted, disregarding Cruit entirely. "Like, a WHILE. And you keep pushing and she keeps pushing back and it's this whole —" she made a grinding noise "— thing. Very tense. She's big mad. You've been, like, sitting on her for weeks."

"We should go," Cruit suggested, gently pulling on my arm. "She speaks nonsense. Thank you for your time —"

"Wait." I pulled my arm out of Cruit's grasp. "Wait. Hold on." My mind was working in overdrive, making connections that I didn't want to make. "The other me. The one in there. I... I took over her life. Right? That's why she's mad. Because I showed up and just... took it."

"Ooh, you're close! But not exactly." Idir raised one finger. "You didn't take her life. You ARE her life. You're the same! But also not! It's like —." She furrowed her brow. "Okay so you used to work together. Like both parts of you: the you-you and the her-you, you used to just, like, coexist. Vibing. In harmony. Doing the whole —" she interlaced her fingers "—teamwork thing."

"Used to? When did I ever —"

"To fix the story! Duh!"

"The... what?" Wesley asked.

Idir's expression shifted from confusion to exasperation as she surveyed the sea of blank faces in the room. It was as if she had just explained that the sky was blue, only to be met with a room full of people asking what blue was.

"The STORY." She waved her hands. "Oh come on. You're all IN it. How do you not... ugh." She pointed at me. "You. Background character."

"Excuse me?"

"Not YOU you. Cassian. Cassian is a background character. A nobody, no offense. She was never supposed to be important. She was supposed to stand in the background and do background stuff and the STORY was supposed to be about —." She turned and jabbed her finger at Wesley. "YOU."

Wesley's eyes flickered. "Me?"

"You! You're supposed to be the one! The whole thing—the princess, the pauper, the love story—it's supposed to be you and--." She pointed at Cruit. "Her! You two! That's the story! You fall in love! Happily ever doohickey! The end! Except —"

She gestured towards me.

"Except SHE took your spot. And now the whole thing is sideways because the princess —." She glanced at the princess, then at me, and back at the princess. "— Is in love with her."

Wesley's eyes went wide.

Cruit's head turned. Slowly. "Her?"

Idir didn't even notice. She was already moving on, pacing and waving her hands, completely unbothered by the bomb she'd just dropped.

"Yes, her, and THAT is why the whole prophecy thing happened, because the story was like okay THIS isn't working, we need a course correction, and it basically — POOF —" she made the explosion gesture "— So the princess is the doodad of the prophecy and then there will be peace and rainbows and everyone gets a pony. But then, then other people heard the story and they were like, oh, that sounds nice. I would like a pony. And then MORE people heard it and then — WHAM." She clapped her hands together. "Cult."

"So the story... created the cultists," Wesley said cautiously.

"Yeah!" she exclaimed cheerfully. "Point is. You gotta fix it."

"Fix what?"

"The story! Get it back on track! Make sure everyone gets their happily-ever-whatsit. The princess falls for the right person, the kingdom gets saved, the whole shebang lands where it's supposed to land. And THEN —." She tapped my nose. "Boop. You go home. Easy peasy." She paused. "Well. Not easy. Actually very hard. Possibly impossible."

I began to speak.

The door slammed.

Everyone turned to the corridor. The sound of fast, sharp, deliberate footsteps getting further away.

Cruit was gone.

"Oh dear," Idir said, glancing at the empty doorway. "I probably shouldn't have touched her hair. Some people are really weird about their hair."

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