NOVEL NEXT 118 - The Nice Forgive When the Paranoid Fears Grudges
The portal dropped Archmund at the bottom of a vast cavern or tower.
The portal sealed with a finality, his awareness going with it, as if he had Fired himself. It felt like he had cut a limb off, but also like a weight had lifted off his shoulders. The only burden upon him was his Gemstone Tablet.
It looked like he was at the bottom of one of the skyscraper-stalactites that he saw when he looked into the endless blue — as he looked up, the floors gradually widened before they converged to a steady area.
"Gemmy, any thoughts?" he said. He was half hoping the weird blue creature had been cut off from him, but unfortunately Gemmy responded "helpfully".
"You're correct about this place! You're at the bottom of one of the Archivotowers of one of the lost civilizations who ruled the world long before the advent of the Omnio Empire!"
"And how do you and I know that?"
"I am attuned to the source of truth at the heart of the universe! You have made a reasonable-enough guess at its purpose that I can affirm your guess is essentially true!"
Wonderful. Gemmy was another aspect of the universe that favored "rich-get-richer" rules. The more you knew or could guess, the more Gemmy would favor you, like a rigged version of Akinator or Twenty Questions. Luckily, Archmund was absolutely full of knowledge and the confidence to make bullshit guesses.
The Archivotower's walls were lined floor-to-ceiling with bookshelves and filing cabinets. Even this lowest point, with a reception desk and open doorways, was filled with books.
Archmund flipped through some. They looked like nonsense, glyphs and logographs he didn't recognize, that blurred and merged into each other with no identifiable rhyme or reason.
That was expected. In the second subtier, things stopped making sense, like a lucid dream.
Why would the dead create a place like this in their wandering instinct? Archmund couldn't say for certain, but he had guessed. Sorrow at the theories lost with their death, a cry for a new generation to pick up the torch of research, simple regret that these tales might never again see the light of day.
He saw a flash of red light that drew his eyes like a cat's paws to a laser pointer.
He felt the tug of Rory's mental influence at work.
He was up there, and he was fighting. But what for?
"Gemmy, what resources does this place have?"
"I'm sorry, I can't answer that question, but if you give me a resource and ask whether you can find it here, I can confirm with a yes or no!"
"Forget it," Archmund said in disgust. He looked at his Gemstone Tablet. "What's the easiest way to get to him?"
Gemmy plotted a course upward, which displayed on the Gemstone Tablet. Archmund stowed the tablet in his pouches after committing what he could to memory.
Why would Rory be here? He seemed alone, without Gelias or Beatrice to back him up. They were stronger together. Maybe he was learning independence and learning how to function without being attached to Beatrice at the hip.
Archmund began making his way up. He decided not to use his Infrared Lance, in the off-chance that some of the books were useful — exposure to such a powerful direct laser of heat would burn them irreparably. But there was probably no point of caution in a life-or-death scenario. The text was like dreams that floated right off the page.
There was a story from Earth called the "Library of Babel", by Jorge Luis Borges, which contained books with every possible combination of letters up to a certain length. However, most of these possible combinations were absolute nonsense, which was cause for existential despair. Somehow it had become a metaphor for something or other, or something in computer science, but since he hadn't been well-studied in those, he didn't remember great. This was just like that.
(But as far as fictional stories went, maybe this was one he could rip off that the nobles of the empire would see sufficient novelty in.)
He had been expecting a fight, but nothing came to block his path.
"Is it supposed to be this easy, Gemmy?"
"The Dungeon's running anemic," Gemmy said. "You really did a number on it. It's reinforcing its threshold. Good thing you dumped all that power into keeping Mary safe!"
"Yeah," Archmund said. "Great. Real reassuring."
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As he got closer, he saw the distinct hypnotic light of Rory's staff. He could feel confidence seeping in from the edges of his consciousness, but he could repel it with his own will if needed.
But it didn't seem strong. It wasn't raised as a taunt.
Still, it didn't hurt to gather all the information he could. He pulled out the Gemstone Tablet and navigated to the entry for Rory.
Most of the information was grayed out.
"Gemmy?"
"You've probably guess that won't work," Gemmy said. "You willfully broke the connection between the Dungeon, Rory, and the Tablet. You're on your own for this one!"
"That sounds like bullshit. How does this thing work anyways? It told me Mercy was the crown princess instantly."
"Nothing I told you was wrong! Omnio Identity is so magically potent that it would take a godlike amount of power to hide, but current status fluctuates from moment to moment and is easy stemmed!"
Unfortunately that made sense. He didn't think identity was that immutable, but it was undoubtedly more ambiguous than someone's current thoughts.
He pulled himself up to join Rory.
Rory was sitting, cross-legged, stacks of the meaningless books around him. He flipped through one, ascertained it was meaningless within seconds, added it to one of the stacks around him, and pulled a new one from the shelves.
He was using his staff as a reading light. No, more than that. He was using his Inspire skill on himself.
"Can you do that?" Archmund asked mentally to Gemmy. "Affect yourself with mental skills?"
"Yes. That's the most common way those are used," Gemmy said.
Archmund swallowed. Maybe he'd been Influencing himself as well. That could surely excuse whatever he'd done. Surely.
Excuse, but not absolve.
"Hi," Archmund said. "What are you doing?"
Rory turned to face him, brandishing his staff with hands. Archmund raised his open palms, a gesture of peace.
"Hi," he said again. He knew this was going to suck. But he didn't realize this was how much. "I just want to talk."
"Sure," Rory said, but he didn't lower his staff. "I'm listening."
"I'm sorry for sending you away so unceremoniously without warning."
"That ended up being a pretty good thing, actually."
Rory's eyes brimmed with suspicion. Archmund realized, belatedly, that he was still wearing the Gemstone Cufflinks, which had supercharged his Charisma and started him down this path.
He took them off. It was a symbolic gesture, since the Gemstone Gear was integrated into his soul-circuit, but Rory visibly relaxed once he did. The light of his quarterstaff dimmed slightly.
"Are you here to get me to join back up?"
"Yes," Archmund said. Rory tensed back up. "Well, no. Kind of, not really."
"Which one is it?"
"I need your help, but not for the whole… harvesting operation," Archmund said.
"I was never that mad at you anyways," Rory said with a sigh. "I… we were both acting weird, weren't we?"
"Yeah," Archmund said. He wasn't so sure about that. He always had the potential to act like he had, he'd just had the power to do so. "But…"
Rory waited.
"I'm sorry."
"For what?" Rory said. It wasn't a ploy. Rory genuinely seemed to be unsure of what Archmund ought to be apologizing for. The poor boy had spent his entire life getting browbeaten by Beatrice and taunting her in turn.
But he wouldn't feel right
This was an apology for himself, to make himself feel better, and so excuse any further sacrifices he might make in the future.
"I ignored your advice", he said. "You offered to help me, to pay me back for all I'd done for you, and my response was to send you away."
Rory shrugged. "Hey, I'm used to it."
On one hand that made Archmund feel worse. On the other hand he would take an easy victory where he could get one.
"You said we were friends," Archmund said. "And, well, I may not know much about friendship—" (this was a lie. He'd had plenty of friends before his death. He just didn't get to spend time with them on account of his horrible job that made him wish for death) "—but I know I haven't been a great friend to you. To any of you, really."
"What are you talking about? You hosted us in your manor for a season, you taught us magic that's usually reserved for much richer families, and you're giving us a lot of stuff."
Those were all material things. Perhaps by the standards of this place Archmund was a great friend, actually. Even if his interpersonal behaviors weren't great.
There was a cognitive bias known as the "Halo Effect". Beautiful people were perceived as smarter and nicer even when they weren't. This was just like that, but for wealth.
But it was a matter of character to hold fast to your own values when the world around you let you get away with less.
"I thought sending you away was the best thing I could do," Archmund said. "A way to set you free. One last act of command and control to save you from it. To let you seek your own destiny."
He took a breath.
"I need your help. I think I have a way to wake up Mary… but I need your power to do it."
Rory looked at him, really looked at him, and then smiled slightly.
"Of course I'm in, and my offer's still open," Rory said. "You're my friend, and I'm glad you've come to your senses instead of holding it in and lashing out."
Archmund let out a sigh he hadn't known he was holding. He'd hoped Rory would be easy to reason with. If he'd been wrong, then he wouldn't have known what to do. Beatrice would be harder, and Gelias he couldn't even begin to guess.
"But friends keep only necessary secrets from each other," Rory said. "You keeping any unnecessary ones?"
"I sure hope not."
Rory chuckled. Archmund chuckled. Rory stopped chuckling. Archmund kept chuckling.
"Okay, but really?"
"I had to leave Mary there under a powerful spell that keeps her safe so Monsters can't get to her, but because of that same spell we can't waltz right back in there, we might have to fight our way in. And also I need Beatrice and Gelias on board as well. And also I only have enough power to teleport to each of them and then reasonably back, once, because I've disconnected myself from the Dungeon, so I only have my own power."
"Alright," Rory said, digesting it for a second. "You're still pretty strong, though?"
"As far as I know?"
"I mean parts of that felt like a necessary secret. The part where you're much weaker now and how we'll have to fight our way in."
"Right."
"Well, I'm glad you told me. What a mess."
"Shall we get on with it?" Archmund said. He didn't particularly enjoy getting his mistakes picked apart, even if after-action-analysis was helpful for preventing similar mistakes from happening in the future. Rory nodded.
"I mean," Rory said, as Archmund drew open another portal that peered into darkness, "I am a little mad. Just not mad enough to try to beat the tar out of you while we're still deep within a Dungeon.
"Oh, got it. Saving that for when we make it out of here?"
"You know it."