The Roots (Pt. 3)

Did you click ‘Slam’ on last chapter and find the other two parts? If you didn’t, go and do that.

—pirateaba

The door closed, and the very last thing Mrsha saw was her own face wearing a look of disbelieving fear.

Not great fear. Not terror. Just uncertainty and dismay.

Then the door closed—

And Mrsha wondered if she’d killed herself. Or just turned off another reality where she’d landed on her back and gone exploring. She didn’t know.

She did know she’d watched herself die, breaking her neck when the [Pavilion of Secrets] had hurled her into a wall in its wrath. And witnessed another reality where her mother had gone looking for her and never come back.

Mrsha, the real Mrsha with a bloody bandage on her head, sat down and pulled something out of her bag of holding. It was a little journal that Teacher Shassa made her keep for school. Mrsha pulled out an auto-inking quill, a gift from Selys, who hated the inn now, and wrote a few lines.

Dear Diary:

Today, I watched myself die.

I didn’t feel that sad. Maybe that should worry me, but I’m lost in a madhouse of fates and destinies, and I have seen my friends and family and tribe die. Anyways, it was another reality where I ran afoul of something bad.

Me, the real me, would be a lot more afraid if I was about to die, I’m sure.

If I am real. Now I don’t know. I’ve never asked myself if I was real. If someone closes a door and I vanish, I think…I’d be upset. Because I feel real. But what if I’m not? What if I’m another Mrsha in a door?

If I am, I think…I’d prefer it if no one told me and no one ever closed my door. So I suppose I killed myself today too.

Mrsha hesitated. She got up and slowly opened the door that had shown her the Mrsha with a bad back. She peeked inside and saw the alternate-reality Mrsha standing there, staring at—

Mrsha shut the door fast.

Okay, turns out she’s not dead. That’s good.

If anyone finds this message, I really didn’t mean to fall through the hole in the garden. I swear; I was just looking, and I had no idea the Faerie Flowers had been growing roots. Damn things. Ryoka never told me the flowers sucked.

She scratched at her chin with the tip of her quill and realized she was getting ink on her fur. The girl frowned as she thought, then studied the words. Underlined them.

Faerie Flowers. The other mes didn’t know how they got here. They didn’t remember the flowers. Or the roots. They were ropes in the first door.

Hm. Other oddities:

1. All the other realities kept calling Ryoka ‘Ryoko’ for some reason. That’s stupid. Why?

2. I can sort of read the thoughts of people, even if they’re not me. Or get, like, a summary of their lives. Can I do that with more than just Rags? I thought it was just me.

3. Is there an Empress Sheta creeping around here or was it just the imagination of the alternate Mrsha?

4. None of the other realities knew about the fae. They thought they were stories. If I know about Faerie Flowers and their roots, does that make me the real Mrsha?

5. I cannot let Mother meet the forest people. Not angry.

6. I have until dinner before they get worried. It’s been about an hour and a half?

She studied her list. Then, Mrsha looked down the hallway that was so much like the one the other her had been exploring. A long, endless hallway.

With a few quirks in her reality. Mrsha stared up at the ceiling, which was, instead of a roof, a second hallway. She concentrated—and flipped into the air. Gravity inverted; what was up became down, and Mrsha landed on her feet on a new ground, now staring up at where she had once been standing.

The Gnoll girl caught herself, put a paw to her mouth, and tried not to barf. She inverted again and landed next to the door that had held the alternate her.

Okay. Mrsha rested her paw on the door’s handle and hesitated. But then—she steeled herself and opened the door.

Not fully, but just enough so she saw that fraction of another world in there. Mrsha carefully and deliberately left the door ajar, fishing something out of her bag of holding.

A shoe. One of her spares for football. She wedged it into the door, between the frame and door itself, so it’d stay open if a breeze blew or the door wanted to close. Then she waved—turned—and inverted a third time.

When she looked up, her shoe was still on the ceiling, keeping the door open. Mrsha nodded to herself. If she had paint, she could have marked the door. As it was, she just memorized the door—it was black marble and had a stone handle. Then she turned and began walking back the way she’d come.

Her head was aching, and Mrsha really wished she had a healing potion on her. That other her had gotten lucky, landing on her back and having healing potions. The shortage in this world was so bad that Mrsha had donated her own personal healing potions to the Knights of Solstice, on the grounds that they needed them.

Just a drop or two would have sorted her out. She was lucky she hadn’t split her skull open; Mrsha still remembered falling, tumbling down amidst the damn roots for what felt like ages, before landing here.

Like the other Mrshas, she had gone exploring, but hadn’t ended up in a ruined [Palace of Fates] like the first Mrsha, who had died via the pavilion. But that meant the door in the central courtyard might lead to the [Pavilion of Secrets] where a very unchill fake Erin was.

Note to self: never check the keyhole there and stay quiet. Mrsha shuddered to herself. At least she was seeing all the mistakes she could make.

She was walking back the way she’d come where a series of objects were littering the floors, every fifty feet or so. Mrsha picked up a sock, an empty inkpot, a roll of toilet paper, and shoved them back in her bag of holding.

She wasn’t getting lost, thanks. As she retraced her steps, she passed by doors, each one of which had a little piece of paper stuck in the doorjamb or was lying in front of it.

Me sleeping in The Wandering Inn until nightfall.

Me setting myself on fire in the [Palace of Fates]. Don’t burn the rugs.

Me having a panic attack and passing out.

Calescent giving up on making spicy food and becoming a [Sour Chef].

Nanette and Lyonette reconciling over the stupid wand thing.

Me getting really angry for some reason and punching everything in the palace.

She came to a halt after about sixty doors and decided the final other her—the one on the ceiling—was pretty smart for some things.

Bathroom, please? With a nice water fixture.

Mrsha closed her eyes and warily opened them. Instantly, she looked around and cursed. All her markers were gone! She closed her eyes hurriedly—concentrated—

And she was back right where she’d been. Mrsha wiped her brow.

Okay, that’s better. She supposed it made sense; it was hard to get lost in Erin’s [Garden of Sanctuary], and this [Palace of Fates] was ‘hers’, at least according to her conclusions in the alternate reality.

Current, probably real Mrsha wasn’t sure if she entirely bought the explanation, but it made a twisted kind of sense. She watered the damn Faerie Flowers that had intruded here. It was literally her responsibility. It was on her chore list, and Erin and Lyonette had given her an allowance for doing her chores for months.

If that somehow qualified her as ‘owning’ the flowers, which then meant she ‘owned’ the [Palace of Fates], she just had to say someone was slacking on the job.

Faeries. Mrsha went into the bathroom and found that instead of some nice bathroom stalls, it was a single bidet. She sighed at it, but filled her water flask at the sink before doing her business.

——

Ilvriss might have a point about bidets. After washing her paws, Mrsha returned to retracing her steps. She kept her ears perked for signs of anyone else here and occasionally tasted the water in the flask. It tasted fine. So she had free water if she was stuck here.

Mrsha hoped not. Dire things clearly happened if Lyonette panicked when she was gone, hence her rush, but on a hunch, she tried something out.

Give me…a room of cakes!

Mrsha closed her eyes, opened them, and a room of cakes with pink frosting did not appear. She shrugged, a bit relieved. If this place could give her free food, it would really be insane.

Then again, here you are, Mrsha, in a Level 70 Skill, and so far, it’s just made you see alternate timelines of Mrshas, one Calescent, a Nanette, and Rags. Is this really that powerful?

The [Gardens of Sanctuary] were places that could literally become free beaches, unleash magical hell on Erin’s enemies, and had cripplingly sad statues. It seemed like the [Pavilion of Secrets] let Erin talk to anyone in the world, and it clearly had some kind of self-defense mechanism. It could even speak and impersonate Erin.

The [Palace of Fates] had free bidets and a bunch of doors that showed you what might be. Not exactly…well, Mrsha was probably using it wrong.

She wanted to explore. But her mother was going to get herself killed. So Mrsha picked up her pace. She had a destination.

——

The roots did not look like ropes to Mrsha. They were too thin; they twisted downwards, a net of questing brown seekers wrapped around two of the doors. Dirt and bits of debris from the ceiling were everywhere. Mrsha stared up darkly at the dirt overhead; it covered the hallway she stood in.

Just a hallway, not the palace’s courtyard or anywhere else. Unlike some of her incarnations, she had landed here and found both courtyard and other features of this topsy-turvy palace in time. But she had made several marker trails so she wouldn’t lose this critical point.

Another sign she was the genuine article; she saw the roots as they were, and she could still see the [Garden of Sanctuary] above her. The roots, her only connection to the inn, were fragile-looking. Mrsha bet they could take her weight, but like the other realities’ versions of her, she wasn’t going to mess with them.

Besides, [Groundswim] had worn off. Mrsha rubbed at her chin. She’d been hoping to find some kind of implement, like a shovel, and tunnel up, as direly hard as that might have been. But it seemed like she had limited amounts of time before Lyonette started panicking.

Okay, worst case scenario. It was about 3 PM when I fell. So that makes it about 4:30? I have an hour and a half until dinner, and then about a day or two before Lyonette goes off with everyone.

Assuming that she doesn’t go faster in my reality. My head hurts. Let’s figure this out. How do I dig up there in an hour without breaking the roots or getting killed?

She scratched her head, then, hopeful, tried to summon a stepladder.

No dice. Mrsha turned and found a hallway where staircases snaked overhead, going every direction. Upside down, through each other, in endless loops…she rubbed at her eyes.

I hate this place.

Stomping away, Mrsha considered her options. There was no help for it; she’d just have to climb and dig…at least twenty feet straight up. In theory, gravity would help with the process immensely.

——

In practice, digging straight up while dirt and the occasional stone rained down on your head was highly unpleasant. And you were doing all this one-handed while you clung to some damn slippery roots that kept moving.

Mrsha tried for a solid eleven minutes, spitting and cursing, until she felt what she’d been afraid of: one of the roots moved, and she felt that fraying sensation that immediately made her slide down. Even bundled together, they were too weak!

For magical plants that could bypass the nature of Skills, they couldn’t hold one Gnoll girl’s weight!

“I told you to mind your diet, young Miss!”

Mrsha waved away the voice of Lyonette lecturing her about the ‘proper’ weight for young women. She groaned up as she saw a depression barely three feet deep.

Okay, this is a bad option. I won’t get up there fast enough. Think, Mrsha! Think!

Here she was, in a new Skill that Erin didn’t have access to—and all she wanted was to get out of here. This wasn’t classic Mrsha stuff. Classic Mrsha would be racing around and not realize she was making Lyonette worry for ages.

Eight-year-old Mrsha, who was really ten by Earth standards, felt like she had a terrible burden of time weighing down on her. She had to get back before Lyonette was…!

She’d seen it in one of the doors. Which begged the question: was that going to happen? Mrsha didn’t want to risk it, but it occurred to her to check.

Brushing dirt off her fur, she hurried down the hallway, thinking now.

I need to see every reality where something bad happens in the immediate future to The Wandering Inn or my friends!

Was that how you—

The hallway changed in front of her eyes. Mrsha blinked, caught herself on a green-painted door with Pallass’ sigil and a chipped yellow handle on it, and grimly exhaled.

So that’s how you use it.

She swung the first door open and pressed her face to the invisible barrier keeping her from the reality beyond. What she saw made her stop cold.

——

The ground was blasted black with flames as Drake [Soldiers] flooded into the burning fortress in the High Passes. It was hard to burn stone, but 2nd Army’s Oldblood Drakes were still exhaling, burning the tops of the fortress.

The entire valley looked like a charnel pit. Pallass’ famous army had been forced to take the approach through the pass. It had cost them soldiers with each step. Their yellowed armor was stained red, and broken arrow shafts studded corpses.

However, when the figure lying on her back raised her head, she saw more Goblin bodies than Drake. Rust-colored fur marked the place where the last Carn Wolves and Redfangs had sallied out with her. A ring of bodies and blades surrounded her.

Her lungs strained for breath. She was shivering, despite the flames. The Great Chieftain of the Flooded Waters tribe saw a Drake walking towards her, soot staining the Drake’s brilliant armor.

But what she remembered was a [Spearmaster] holding a pair of heads as she crouched in the tall grass, numb. She felt like that, as if the world were splitting in half and something was forever gone.

Because it was.

General Shirka of 2nd Army halted and threw the Goblin at her feet a crisp salute. She bore no scars, but she spoke as if each breath cost her.

“Chieftain Rags of the Flooded Waters tribe. I had orders from my city to eradicate your tribe. Against my better judgment, against my instincts, I obeyed orders.”

Rags said nothing. Her eyes were on the sun hanging overhead. Cheery and bright, only marred by the rising smoke.

She was leaning against Redscar. The Goblin coughed, and his head lolled back more. Shirka kept speaking, as if she expected a reply.

“You have bled 2nd Army out. I salute the courage of your tribe and warriors. I should have ignored orders.”

No reply. Rags wasn’t even listening to her anymore. Just staring upwards. The [General] continued now, a monologue to her soldiers.

“Pallass is rotting out. Today, we destroyed a Goblin tribe. Tomorrow—we’ll see those consequences, and every day thereafter. I should have gone to Saliss and told him, or refused and damn the consequences.”

An officer leaning on a spear stopped trying to reattach another’s jaw. He looked up and rasped.

“[General].”

“Edellein wants to see us humbled? He’s seen 2nd Army ruined. How many armies do we have to lose before the Antinium or the north decides to push us?”

Shirka’s voice rose. She shouted in a fury at the officers and soldiers around her, and rage at her own idiocy.

Goblins. A single tribe versus one of Pallass’ armies. Shirka turned and studied the Frost Wyverns, whose corpses stood out, bloodied from where they had dove into 2nd Army’s ranks. The Wyvern Lord’s voice was silent at last. Shirka began to say something else, and the [Spearmaster] rasped.

“General. She’s dead.”

Shirka stopped. She bent down and saw a curled up figure. She didn’t hear the howl, the pounding on the door. Nor hear it—

Slam.

——

Mrsha stumbled back from the door, clutching her chest. Her throat was ragged; she didn’t know when she’d begun howling, but—

Just a—a—lie! She told herself that as she backed away from the door that now seemed to loom in front of her.

What was that? How far in the future? Why…

2nd Army was going to attack Goblinhome? It couldn’t be true. But then Mrsha’s memory flashed back to Rags sitting in The Wandering Inn and her conversation with that other Mrsha, saying she was waiting and checking for—

No, no, no. Suddenly, Mrsha’s fear for Lyonette had company. She raced over to another door, this one made of crude, hewn granite. She yanked it open and only realized too late that it smelled of stone…and dried blood.

——

Something was wrong. General Shirka of 2nd Army stared at the gates of Goblinhome and asked a salient question.

“Why are the gates open?”

“Trap, General?”

She grunted and transferred her enchanted spyglass to the other hand as she watched the first scouts entering the fortress hidden amidst the mountain range.

“If it’s a trap, it’s a damn bad one, because it looks like a trap. This place is a killing field. Scouts, where the hell are the Goblins?”

There was silence on the other end of her speaking stone as General Shirka’s unease grew.

Three days. That was when she had calculated that the Flooded Waters tribe would notice the approach of 2nd Army, no matter how stealthy they were and no matter how many Goblins her [Scouts] could take out.

It had been a hellish march to even get here, fighting through parts of the High Passes, and Shirka had been prepared for a siege. Instead—she had found no Goblins. None in the concealed bunkers along the pass her Drakes were checking out. None harassing her troops, no Wyvern Riders. Obviously, it had only sharpened her guard, but now she was staring at ‘Goblinhome’.

And it was…empty?

If anything could have made Shirka uneasy, it was that. She stood there, surveying the terrain, wondering if the Goblins were crazy enough to lure 2nd Army into their home and launch a surprise attack. But why would they abandon their positions? She gave the right orders, even so.

“Keep the vanguard in our Alpha position, Strategist Ulhouse. Spearmaster Gaellis, take your forces in and be ready for an ambush.”

“By your will, General. [Stormline Advance]!”

Drakes, Gnolls, Dullahans, and Garuda flooded across the ground, led by 2nd Army’s [Spearmaster]. Their [General] didn’t stand in the open; she had taken cover behind mage-reinforced barriers and several rocks.

Only an idiot like General Edellein stood in a place where you could get sniped. Shirka had been cursing his name the last few weeks—today, she wondered if his damned stupid orders had been the right call after all.

Something was wrong here. Terribly, terribly wrong. She scanned the air again.

“Wing 1. Do you see any Frost Wyverns?”

One of the threats she had been prepared to face were the Goblins’ tamed Frost Wyverns or that Wyvern Lord that had attacked Pallass itself. 2nd Army had been itching for revenge, but the flight wing of Wyvern Riders and Oldblood Drakes reported a negatory.

“Nothing, General. Air’s clear for miles. Unnaturally clear.”

“Elaborate, [Wing Captain]?”

2nd Army was marching through the gates that led into Goblinhome. Warily. Drake [Soldiers] spread out as one of their [Strategists] landed next to the [Spearmaster] heading the vanguard. Ulhouse’s voice cracked through the speaking stone.

“Entrance is clear. No Goblins, but signs of fighting. Gaellis, hold position! Keep clear of that…contamination. I want our Oldblood teams front and center. Flame and scourging breath types. Alche-squad One and Two as well, and Battlemagus Erithe. General, you’re going to want to see this.”

Shirka strode forwards as the [Lieutenant] elaborated.

“Air is dead empty, General. In the High Passes? Even the Razorbeaks would be out to scavenge kills, and I’d expect to be challenged by something flying. I can’t even see any monsters. No Passmaws, no Eater Goats or Gargoyles…”

There was an unease in his tone as Shirka crossed the ground, her bodyguards with their shields raised, waiting for a sniper. However, as she approached the silent Goblinhome, Shirka felt that unease grow.

“Dangersense is going off, General. It’s not like the prelude to a battle.”

One of her [Tacticians] reported in, and Shirka acknowledged it.

“Move up two flank wings to me. Set up our ballistae with lines of sight on the doors.”

She walked through the gates of Goblinhome and found her [Strategist] and [Spearmaster] standing in the center of a broad entryway designed to kill anyone who came through. The moment Shirka entered, she felt her scales crawling.

Crossbow bolts littered the ground. She halted as she saw a familiar red stain on the ground and scuttling insects. They were huge, covered in black fuzz—she stared for a second as the [Soldiers] kept back, heads scanning the room.

But what struck Shirka and made her stop and gag was the smell. Something beyond rotten filled the air, and one of her [Bodyguards] gagged despite themself.

“Burn the insects. And whatever the hells that is.”

Ulhouse was pointing at a huge, rotting lump of flesh, the source of the odor. A faint buzzing filled the air, and the insects were congregating around it.

“Should we take a sample, Strategist? For identification?”

The Alche-squads of Drakes wore pointed masks to cover their faces and were thus less affected by the smell, but even their leader sounded palpably reluctant. The Oldblood Drake gave the [Alchemist] a look.

“I’m not having anyone infected with whatever that is. If there was anything to gain by studying it, it was weeks ago. Burn it. General, looks like someone beat us to Goblinhome.”

An Oldblood Drake exhaled, sending acrid, but reassuringly cleansing smoke up into the air. It was joined by two [Alchemists] who lobbed fire flasks forwards, coating the ground.

“So it appears. Gaellis, thoughts?”

“Where the hell are the Goblins?”

The Drake whirled his spear up, clearly unhappy with the situation. He looked right and left, then pointed.

“Not one damn body. Lots of blood. Look at their defenses; they gave whatever came through here a hell of a fight. But aside from that lump of shit—nothing. They must have fallen back.”

“If they did, they had to have used tunnels. We saw nothing.”

Ulhouse countered, advancing forwards slowly as the way was cleared. He turned to Shirka.

“There was no sign of Goblins escaping from our Wyverns. They have routes through the mountain, I’m sure, but we should have seen clusters of them with [Detect Life] spells. Where are they?”

Shirka said nothing, just kept advancing, hand on her sword’s hilt. Her bodyguard fell in as she stood in the great hall.

Hidden bunkers, killzone traps the entire way into the valley, and a siege weapon bigger than ours?

She was grateful she hadn’t run into the tribe on this attack. It might have been disastrous, but it only begged the question: where were they? The Flooded Waters tribe had every advantage in their home, but there was not a Goblin in sight. Ulhouse waved her over to the biggest weapon in the room.

“General, look.”

She called out as she strode over to a gigantic ballista made out of Wyvern parts.

“Gaellis, keep heading in. Don’t pack the corridors; keep your people outside and prepare to fall back.”

“Yep.”

Shirka turned to the Oldblood Strategist, who was inspecting the ballista. Shirka strode up the steps as Spearmaster Gaellis kept pressing into the fortress.

“Take a look at this beast. Goblins made this? I want to requisition it for 2nd Army if we can figure out how to dismantle it. It’s not enchanted, but I’ll wager it hits like one of the ballistae on 9th wall.”

“That’s treasonous talk, Ulhouse. Goblins can’t make anything as good as us Drakes.”

Shirka kept her tone light; that was a joke. Ulhouse’s grin was her reward, but both were too tense. There was a foul smell in the air, added to by the burning of the insects; Shirka saw survivors clinging to the walls and decided they had to be taken as samples. Maybe they were good for some kind of alchemy.

She noticed the Alche-squads and Oldblood Drakes clustered around the lump of flesh in the corner. One of them was pouring acid on it; it was burning, but they seemed to be having trouble incinerating it.

“Good as ours or not, this thing could kill a Wyvern if it got a clean shot, General. It’s been fired a few times; see how it’s moved back? Something came through here, dodged or ate those ballista bolts—and didn’t destroy this thing?”

Shirka frowned at the ballista, feeling that prickle down her spine grow.

“Meaning something or someone bypassed the defenses so fast they didn’t even bother taking it out? But there are no bodies. So either the Goblins had a chance to retreat and collect their wounded—”

“—in which case, they left way too much behind. Or whatever came through here disposed of the bodies very, very tidily, but had no use for anything else. And the fighting was fast.”

Ulhouse nodded at the reserve barrels of ammunition, oversized crossbows, all ready to be used. For all the ammunition littering the floor…

Shirka bent down, frowning, and realized something.

“There’s no blood on any of the crossbow bolts. Armored foes? Magicked? So what you’re saying is that something took out this fortress and went through the defenses so fast it wasn’t even a protracted battle. Or the Goblins bugged out equally quick.”

Shirka hated both explanations. She felt like she was looking at a defensive fortress on par with what any of her classmates could have made in the Titan’s academy. If she had known what Goblinhome contained, she would have messaged General Edellein and told him to either give her two weeks to reconfigure her army—or to shove the orders to take this tribe on up his tail.

Yet something had happened, and the answers were forthcoming. Shirka heard her speaking stone activate.

“General. We’ve found what looks like a banquet hall or throne room. Doors are sealed. Spreading out further. Lots of bugs. A bit more of that flesh stuff—smells worse than a corpse pit. Blood. No bodies. I—hold on.”

“General, [Dangersenses] are going off.”

A report from her [Tactician]. Shirka’s head snapped up.

“Standby for my approach! Get me a full squad of [Battlemages] and our 1st Goblinslayer…no. Make that 1st Armored. And have an Oldblood squad on backup. I will be there shortly.”

“Yes, General.”

Ulhouse followed Shirka, sensing the ominous sensation she did. The moment they’d found the doors…the [Strategist] whispered in her ear.

“General, let me take over the operation.”

“No. Pull the army back outside, Ulhouse. Give me reinforcements, but wait for our signal on what’s inside. You are to report to Pallass what you find at once. If I should fall out of contact and you cannot re-establish within two reinforcement groups or five minutes, you are to fall back to the main force. Understood?”

The [Strategist] hesitated, then saluted.

“Yes, [General]. Should we find other breach points to the banquet hall?”

The crawling was a full-body sensation, like maggots running all over her scales. The [General] of 2nd Army shook her head.

“No time. Gaellis? Get ready to knock on those doors.”

——

The halls of Goblinhome were filthy. Shirka actually thought it would have been a livable space, if cramped with however many Goblins she imagined had been here. But the walls had black lichen growing on them, insects which darted away or crunched underfoot, and that smell—

She’d put on one of the masks 2nd Army used when dealing with poison gas spells or other hazards, and all the other [Soldiers] had done the same. It was silent…so silent that when Shirka’s speaking stone crackled, one of her [Bodyguards] flinched.

“General. We have a survivor. Goblin.”

Shirka halted.

“Survivor?”

That was supposed to be ‘enemy combatant’. But 2nd Army didn’t appoint stupid officers. The engagement had changed and her [Scout] leader replied in a hushed voice.

“One. It—she’s babbling at us. We found her in a cupboard. She had some kind of aura on her. Darkness aura?”

Goblins with auras? Shirka spoke.

“What can you get from her?”

“We’re trying—keep the captive secure, [Soldier]—she keeps shouting at us. Get its name and…”

There was silence and voices on the other end, and then the [Scout] came back.

“The Goblin speaks common. It’s name is ‘Gothica’. It keeps telling us to evacuate. Something’s in the banquet hall. She said it killed everything.”

Shirka had survived Wrymvr the Deathless’ raid on her village during the first Antinium Wars. She’d enlisted in Pallass’ army and shot up through the ranks, idolizing the famous [Alchemist], Saliss of Lights, who’d saved her. In her career, she’d fought against enemy armies, monsters, and found herself close to death enough times to grow used to it.

—Today, she had the same feeling in her bones as the girl who’d looked up and heard a Centenium screaming as it came out of the skies. The same feeling as she got when she heard Named-ranks talk about the things you found that had no name until they killed it.

“Get the Goblin to Ulhouse. Now. We’re going to see who our uninvited guest is.”

Are you sure? No one said it, but Shirka asked it of herself. But what was the other choice? Fall back and not learn what had killed the Goblins? No…they were 2nd Army. They had to know.

Besides, now she understood the ominous feeling that had triggered the [Dangersenses]. They were being watched.

They were being expected.

It wasn’t long at all for Shirka to stride towards the group of silent [Soldiers] readying themselves at the sealed banquet hall doors. It looked like these ones were slightly off their hinges, despite being huge, big enough to let in two squads abreast. Everyone was silent.

They felt it too.

Shirka took position in the center as her [Battlemages] prepared barrier spells. She glanced at Gaellis, 2nd Army’s [Spearmaster], and flicked two claws.

The doors blew inwards with a crash, and 2nd Army’s vanguard streamed into the huge banquet hall, [Soldiers] recoiling and freezing in horror—then leaping into place. They spread out, forming a semi-circle as Shirka walked forwards, sword drawn.

She saw the single figure sitting at the back of the room on a bloody throne of corpses and halted. Her instinct was to shout ‘kill it’, but the misshapen titan sitting there halted even her in her tracks.

Then her training took over, and she roared into a speaking stone.

“Ulhouse! Old One! Old One titan! Tell Pallass I need armageddon spells on my position now!”

Of course—the speaking stone was dead. Shirka felt her breastplate growing heavier on her chest, and one of her [Battlemages] croaked.

“General, magic’s…”

Dead. The [Soldiers] looked up as the giant slowly stood up. His head looked too huge for the rest of his body, but that was because his bare organs and bones were open to the air. Sinew shifted as he raised one too-thin arm; his body was covered with sores and rotten flesh.

Something was wrong with his joints. Shirka saw a black line along the neck, where both shoulders met the torso, and the hips, where the legs were joined together.

Weak spots? She marked the left leg for her troops as that mouth opened. A rotten tongue lolled out, expelling a cloud of black flies, and the thing spoke.

“Welcome to my new home, dear cousins.”

——

Mrsha watched for half a minute longer and then slammed the door, covered her ears, and curled up in a corner. Only after a few minutes could she uncurl, and only because she was now desperate to—to stop this.

She had thought, a minute ago, nothing in the world would ever make her like General Shirka of Pallass’ 2nd Army. But after seeing the Drake fighting that—that thing—Mrsha realized even she didn’t deserve that.

What’s going on? Mrsha tried another door and jerked back the moment she saw who was in it.

Rags again? Mrsha shut the door this time rather than see…Rags was underground, talking to a bunch of Trolls. Mrsha assumed they were Trolls; they were like Durene, but more monster-like, if that wasn’t too mean to say.

Wait, that made sense. She had asked for people in immediate danger. Mrsha had assumed it’d be Lyonette, but what if the person in the most danger was…

Rags.

If that thing had any chance of attacking Goblinhome or 2nd Army—Mrsha went from door to door, opening and shutting them fast, just confirming. Then she rushed back to her journal and wrote swiftly.

Let’s see. She’d opened twenty doors, and seventeen had been Rags. One had been Lyonette. Two had been her.

The implication seemed simple enough to Mrsha as she tried to figure out how to do that percentages thing that Yelroan had taught her. Let’s see. That was a…a…you multiplied this by…

Seventeen times out of twenty, Rags was in deadly danger. And it seemed almost split between either her preparing or being in the middle of a war with 2nd Army or being in a dark underground place with Trolls. Or fighting another tribe of Goblins, including some super-huge Goblins.

Once had been her fighting a really angry Wyvern Lord, and another had been her shouting at some huge, super-hairy figures covered in white hair, but Mrsha was going to run with the odds she knew.

Rags was in danger. Mrsha had to get out of here and warn her before it was too late.

——

Mrsha yanked one of the Faerie Flower roots clean out of the ceiling by accident as she was furiously digging. It snapped, and she went tumbling down, only to find the long root on the ground. When she saw it lying there and felt the sense of loss in the air, as if she’d taken a gulp of the Faerie Flower drink, it snapped her out of her panic.

Each root was a lifeline back home! You break that, you’ll be trapped and Rags and Lyonette will be dead, dumbass! Mrsha slapped herself. She had no idea if the Faerie Flowers would regrow the roots; they were well-watered and fed, but she wasn’t going to risk it!

The Solstice had clearly enabled them to grow down this far, and Mrsha caught her breath and washed herself off with some water as she panted. She guessed it’d been about forty more minutes, so she was rapidly running out of time.

Her digging had barely enlarged the hole, despite her panic. Mrsha sat down, eating cookies from her looted cookie jar and trying to think.

Okay, let’s tackle this another way. Why are Faerie Flowers growing roots here?

The entire time she’d taken care of the pesky things, they’d been small, tiny flowers with very small root networks, and she’d repotted them enough times to know they had no secrets.

This batch was insane. Something had happened to them; Mrsha had suspected they’d been trying to grow for ages, but hadn’t. Why?

She was a [Druid]. Moore and Nalthaliarstrelous had taught her. Mrsha thought hard as she gulped down an Acid Fly cookie and spat something out. Gross.

Flowers needed sunlight, water, and soil to grow. Erin said it was because they needed nutrients in the ground to do something with chlorophyll, but she hadn’t been good at her explanation; Wailant had once just said it was like how anyone needed food and water. When Mrsha had asked why plants needed two things, soil and sunlight, he’d just said it was like fruits and vegetables.

“Believe me, lass. You may think you could live off of just meat or whatnot, but I’ve seen [Pirates] get scurvy from eating the same thing every day. Plants need a full diet, and not all soil’s the same kind. Got it?”

In this extended analogy, Mrsha had given the Faerie Flowers soil, water, and sunlight. However, what they had really needed was something else unique to them that had been missing. Until now.

What? Unclear. When? Very clear.

The Winter Solstice. Mrsha closed her eyes. They had gotten something from the Winter Solstice and Kasigna. Maybe it had been Theillige revealing themself or the battle or just auspiciousness of it being the Solstice and an eclipse, but the end result was Faerie Flowers had bloomed.

Now, why had they sprouted downwards? Again, the answer seemed obvious if you assumed they were still plants.

Plants went to water. Plants went to food. Mrsha had seen other plants growing roots to get access to water; Lyonette had described huge, hanging plants in Oteslia that had long roots, which reached down so they could get enough water.

Something in the [Palace of Fates] made the Faerie Flowers think there was food here.

Probably fate. Glumly, Mrsha stared at the broken root in her paws and stuffed it into her bag of holding. And yet, they were still fragile as heck!

Argh! Mrsha wrung her paws together as she stared up at the hole. The [Garden of Sanctuary] was right there. If she could just howl and be heard, or if Valeterisa’s stupid spell cast by her stupid, Relc-kissing face could have just lasted a few more hours…

She wasn’t going to cry. Mrsha sniffed. She had to get out of here. She wouldn’t think of Rags dying or Lyonette vanishing. She was going to save them.

Just once, let me save someone.

The hallway flickered around Mrsha, though the space around the roots remained the same. Mrsha turned and saw more doors had appeared. She hesitated, walked over to one, and opened it. There wasn’t anything that could help her. She had to get b—

Mrsha stared at what was in this door and slammed it so fast she struck her own nose. She stood there, rubbing it, and then backed away.

Oh! Oh.

So that’s why Empress Sheta had desired this palace so much she’d made it. This was why Erin Solstice might someday own it.

How…utterly terrible. The [Innkeeper] should never have access to this place.

It would destroy her.

Mrsha backed up a few more steps and took a few deep breaths. She wrote on a single piece of paper and stuck it in the side of the door, then turned back to the hole in the ceiling. The real world. But she bookmarked this place for later. The note was simple.

It said:

If Brunkr lived.

——

Twenty minutes to dinnertime.

Mrsha sat and stared at the hole in the ceiling. She had not been idle; instead of more dirt on her fur, she’d gone from door to door, trying to see if another Mrsha had figured out how to get out of here.

The problem was…the other Mrshas didn’t remember the roots. They sort of knew how they’d gotten here, but when they looked up, they just saw some ropes, at best, instead of the roots. Mostly, there wasn’t a hole at all.

If…Lyonette was worried, it could be a good thing. She’d begin looking, and Rags might not go with the Trolls or fight Shirka? That was a small, paltry silver lining for Mrsha. She just…

Argh! Mrsha fell on her back, staring at the ceiling. She’d tried commanding the door to the [Pavilion of Secrets] to open, even taken a look through the lock; no dice. In this reality, there was no hole that let you see into it.

Mrsha would have chanced the wrath of Pavilion-Erin to get help for her friends. If Erin were here, the real owner with the key to this place, Mrsha was sure she’d be able to warn Rags and save her and do all kinds of amazing stuff with this place. Right now, it was like the ultimate teaser: all the knowledge of what might be and no ability to fix it.

The fact that the [Garden of Sanctuary] lay over the [Palace of Fates] was odd to Mrsha. She supposed that geography didn’t matter too much; she doubted they were actually placed one on top of the other. It was just the roots messing up her sense of direction.

She stared at the hole in the ceiling. She’d hollowed out enough to sort of stand in the bottom of the [Garden of Sanctuary]; at least that way she wouldn’t keep straining the roots. But however hard she’d worked, there was so little to show for it and she knew how damn deep the garden went.

Nothing for it. I dig all night and all day, even if my paws bleed. If I’m lucky, Mother will sense me in the [Garden of Sanctuary] and dig me out. At worst, it takes me, what, ten hours to get to the surface? I have to do it. Time to Grimalkin up.

Mrsha’s arms hurt already. She got up slowly, just hoping, praying, she’d be on time. If only she had a single good damn Skill. But her [Emberbearer], [Student], [Survivor], [Druid] classes…

She didn’t want to be a hero like Pisces just yet. She wasn’t a good one. Mrsha sniffed and wiped at her eyes and got dirt in them. All the good heroes died. Like Moore or Halrac or…

She just wanted that ordinary life where none of her friends died and she could be a kid playing in the [Garden of Sanctuary] without stupid flowers, running from garden to garden. But even the beach was gone. The snow garden was gone.

Even sanctuary ended. Mrsha reached for one of the roots and began to pull herself up, gathering them up so she’d exert less pressure on them, when she stared up at the ceiling and the small hole there.

…Wait.

Wait.

This was the [Garden of Sanctuary] after all. It was stupid…no, she was stupid because she hadn’t thought of it. But it would be so incredibly Leon-brained if it worked like that. But why not? Mrsha closed her eyes as she pulled herself up, arms trembling with effort.

Please work, please work, please…? If you love Erin, please help. She opened her eyes. Raised her head, and her eyes widened.

I’m actually a genius after all. Mrsha hauled herself up two more feet of the roots, panting. She reached up, incredulous—

And her paw touched the handle of the [Garden of Sanctuary]’s door buried in the dirt. Mrsha swung the door open, made a faint sigh, then grabbed the floor and pulled.

——

“Mrsha? Dinnertime! Mrsha, where are you?”

The [Princess] was getting worried. She checked the [Garden of Sanctuary], the [World’s Eye Theatre], the kitchen, the outhouses, and then doubled back on a hunch and opened the door to Mrsha and Nanette’s shared rooms.

“There you are! I’ve been calling your name for ages! What are you doing, young miss? And why are you all wet?”

Mrsha looked up and finished toweling off her fur. She shook herself, and Lyonette flinched, but the girl had gotten all the water off. She held up a pre-prepared notecard and handed it to Lyonette as the [Princess] put her hands on her hips.

Bath. I got dirty from gardening.

“The baths? But I didn’t sense you anywhere!”

Lyonette had Erin’s Skill and ability to tell where people were in the inn, even if she had to focus to consciously monitor people. However, Mrsha had been completely off her radar. Even now…Lyonette narrowed her eyes.

“You’re using [Natural Concealment] on me! What have you gotten up to, young miss?”

Mrsha stopped and looked Lyonette up and down in an oddly…patient manner, which made Lyonette waver. Her instinct was to assume Mrsha was up to no good, but Mrsha wasn’t acting like she normally did when she had done something naughty. She was usually profusive or dramatic. Mrsha just scribbled on a card and handed it to Lyonette.

Why’re you trying to sense where I am? Don’t be a Laken, Mom.

“I’m not—”

Ushar coughed into a fist, and Lyonette gave her Thronebearer a narked glance. She and Mrsha had begun to realize Ushar kept score on who had made a good point. The Thronebearer eyed Mrsha appraisingly, but Mrsha just sighed, wrote, and handed another card to Lyonette as she pointed at her head.

I’m hiding from Nanette. And I shan’t be around either of you until you make up over the wand fight. Also, does my head look okay? I hit it with a shovel.

“Your head? Oh dear!”

It had a lump and a cut on it! Lyonette instantly held out a hand, and Ushar placed a healing potion in it, but Mrsha batted Lyonette’s hands away.

No potions! I’m fine! It just bled a bit!

“A bit? Let me see. Ushar, see if there’s a [Healer] who can look at—”

Mother. Please!

——

It was terribly hard raising a pair of girls who thought they were adults. Mrsha refused everything but a bit of salve for the admittedly small cut on her head, then marched downstairs.

She seemed fine. Lyonette was mildly suspicious just on the merits of her maternal instincts, but Mrsha just grabbed a broom and began sweeping up the bathroom.

It was filthy, and a grumbling Asgra had been cleaning up a prodigious amount of dirt Mrsha had gotten everywhere. Asgra brightened up when Mrsha helped, which was very thoughtful of her.

Lyonette, who was definitely not spying on her daughter, saw Mrsha poking and hand-signing with the Goblin, who had picked up the shared Mrsha-Antinium language. Lyonette wasn’t the most fluent, but she’d learned enough.

“Hey, sorry about all the dirt. Can I tip you or something?”

“It’s my job. How do you get so dirty?”

“Flowers. Hey, what’s for dinner tonight? Smells good.”

“Cabbage beef rolls.”

“Sweet!”

Mrsha was oddly enthusiastic for a girl who hated the association of vegetables with her meat. But she nodded encouragingly.

“Is Chieftain Rags here?”

Asgra grimaced.

“Nah. She’s at Goblinhome. Busy, bossy-boots. Why?”

“It’d be cool if she were here. So she could smack Numbtongue over the head or something. Maybe you could send her a message asking if she’ll join us?”

Asgra scratched her head as Lyonette wondered if Mrsha and Rags had that kind of relationship. Then again, they both knew each other through Erin…she had the distinct impression Rags didn’t really care for Mrsha, though.

However, Asgra seemed willing enough, and conscious she was staring, Lyonette tip-toed off. Perhaps Mrsha was being responsible. Good for her! It was better than Nanette trying to pick the lock on the drawer and steal the wand…Lyonette strode towards her rooms.

“Miss Witch, I know you’re there! Don’t run!”

——

Mrsha smelled Lyonette moving off and certainly heard her go, but she kept up the friendly banter with Asgra a while longer as they cleaned the bathroom.

It was hard to tell when Dame Ushar vanished; she didn’t have a smell. But that was the trick; the Thronebearer didn’t smell like anything. She had one of those scentless oils on her, so when you smelled more all of a sudden, that’s how you figured it out.

It helped that Calescent was making cabbage beef rolls after all. So Mrsha wasn’t dreaming. It also meant she had been right to clean up and act normal.

Asgra gave Mrsha a curious look as Mrsha handed her something covertly. The Cave Goblin sniffed at the sealed letter, and began to open it, but caught Mrsha’s eye and stopped.

“What this?”

“Something I want you to take to Chieftain Rags. Right now.”

“Now? I have work!”

Asgra was mindful of Boss Peggy, who had poked her head in twice to make sure Asgra wasn’t slacking off. Mrsha glanced at the door.

“I’ll tell her it’s a special request from me. You can loaf around for an hour, but you get that to Rags immediately, okay?”

“What if she’s busy? I heard she’s talking with Trolls or something.”

Mrsha’s heart began beating faster, but her paws were as calm as her face. They had time. She had to believe that.

“Show her the card. Show it to one of her underlings, and they’ll probably send it to her. You do that and I’ll pay you ten cookies.”

“Ten? I was going to not tell on you for four. Deal.”

They shook hands, and Mrsha forked over the cookies; Asgra warned Mrsha that Goldbody wanted his cut.

At this moment, Mrsha couldn’t care less about the damn cookies. She even promised to finish up cleaning, so Asgra left work early. Mrsha finished mopping, went to find Peggy to tell her about Asgra’s job, and then found Goldbody.

She handed the Antinium the entire cookie jar, much to his amazement, and then went downstairs.

——

Lyonette and Nanette were sparring with each other as they set up the tables for dinner. The [Princess] turned to Mrsha with an approving smile as Mrsha put out silverware, leaving an extra place at one of the tables.

“Good job, Mrsha! You’re being very responsible today, you know. Unlike someone.”

Her comment was pointed at Nanette, who adjusted a baseball cap as she sniped back.

“Like a [Princess] who can’t handle trusting anyone younger than she is with a smidge of responsibility?”

Ishkr passed Mrsha with raised eyebrows, clearly indicating his opinion on this spat. But Mrsha said nothing. She was just glancing towards the door, waiting.

No Rags. Nor had Asgra come back with any news yet. Mrsha’s stomach hurt. She listened to Lyonette hissing at Nanette.

“You are thirteen years old.”

“Oh, pardon me, Lyonette of Eighteen Years.”

“It’s nineteen, thank you, young Miss—”

“Why didn’t we celebrate your birthday then?”

“Er…”

Mrsha stood there, ears ringing with the sounds of realities that had never been. Was she too late? Trolls? She hadn’t seen Trolls in most realities. But she had seen the ones where Rags had faced one of the threats that would kill her.

She had been in the darkness. Mrsha had to tell someone. But who? Saliss wasn’t here. Neither was Normen. Who else? Who could be trusted? She eyed a Drake with green and yellow scales who walked into the inn, pretending to be an ordinary guest. Mrsha made sure the [Garden of Sanctuary]’s doors were closed. She’d seen the reality where he found it.

All the while, her mind was racing.

Was Rags even alive?

Mrsha kept going to the door to the [Garden of Sanctuary]. The Faerie Flowers were innocently blooming there, hiding their deep roots. Mrsha wrote Ryoka’s name down, staring at it. Making sure it wasn’t ‘Ryoko’.

She didn’t feel any better.

Author’s Note:

I took a day off to edit this one and the next part. So it’s not ‘every day a chapter’. I’m also not posting on Wednesday because I need days off.

But I have a plan. I have been executing on the plan. Whether the plan is good or not or was flawed from the start, we shall see. Perhaps we shall all hear a ‘slam’ in time. But I hope it is now clear what is going on to some extent.

These chapters shall continue. I think they are appropriately sized, and they do benefit from editing. If I were smart, I’d have backlog and be posting them and be able to edit well in advance, but I’m never that organized.

Just wish me luck. Writing should be something you can do a bit of each day, not a frantic life-or-death struggle of stress and fighting to a finish line. So often it’s the latter for me, because I want it to matter.

…But I could enjoy chill writing too. The beach chapters were some of my favorites in recent memory to write. We’ll see how the, uh, stress levels work on these next few. I don’t know how the readers feel. See you on Thursday!

Mrshatale by Fiore!

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