Chapter 3.15 – Soulsplit

It has been a very long time since I was part of a team. Decades at least, probably more. Yet now, inexplicably, I’m leading a party east to Xarinos—and not just a party, a party with two queens in it, a reborn, and a…whatever Ormund has become. 

I’m used to working alone. I think I work better alone. But there is something about being part of a team that reminds me that we’re all very much the same—human and reborn, salad and centaur. We all want the same things. Power, happiness, someone to care for us (who we also care for), and safety—oh and a really good bowl of soup on a cold morning. Not that I can really appreciate that anymore, it’s been eighty years since I had one. But even after all this time, I remember. I remember what it is to be human. 

                                                                                             Excerpt from the Journal of the Emissary

 

Fourth of Striving 1142, Morning (Three days ago)

Merck Vanderoth didn’t speak much, a vast departure from the man he’d been only weeks before. He hoped that made him look mysterious rather than terrified, which is what he was. For the Misfits of Karmenon were searching for a dungeon.

Merck had been a Level 4 Swindler before Tharin, the god of thieves and charlatans, rightly dumped him, and George, somehow, had acquired his tether. He was a Priest—a Priest! Hardly a day went by without an irony alarm going off in his mind. Of all the people he knew, Merck was the least deserving of being placed in that sort of position of trust. But George had trusted him and that changed the way Merck thought about himself, because he had never been trusted before.

And now he was heading toward a dungeon. Aside from the fact that Merck wasn’t an adventurer…well, he was now, through circumstance rather than choice or training, Merck was also only Level 2, and only recently at that. Everyone else in the team had far surpassed him. He hadn’t realized how much weaker he was than the others because, until he’d leveled, he hadn’t had an appropriate detect skill.

However, the last time he’d leveled, he’d been given a skill called Detect Suite and could see all sorts of things with it. Levels, classes, intent, lies, magic, even which god a person was tethered to. He’d never heard of a skill like it. Unsurprising, really. He hadn’t heard of lots of skills—further evidence of the holes in his understanding.

He hadn’t told anyone about his new skill, partly because his old life had trained him to keep advantages to himself, but also because none of the Misfits had discussed the skills they’d received when they’d leveled. He wasn’t sure if talking about it was some kind of faux pas or if privacy was a normal adventurer trait and, until he found out, he felt more comfortable behaving in the same way as the others. Which didn’t stop him from testing Detect Suite.

He knew that Dreek could detect level, class and lie at least. Dreek had used those skills on him, so he didn’t feel too guilty about returning the favor. And he wanted to know, if he was going into a dangerous situation, just how much protection he had, because if anyone was going to die on this quest, he was the most likely candidate. Though, if he was being honest, he would have used his new skill anyway. Merck was driven by curiosity. In the past, it had gotten him into trouble frequently enough to suggest that staying out of others’ business might be a wiser path. Unfortunately, in this case, Merck’s safety hinged on others, and that was an uncomfortable situation for him. Anyway, it would be silly to go into a dungeon with a new skill that he hadn’t tested.

This is how he learned that Ressssen was a Level 9 Mage, only a level away from Tier 2. Merck was aware that it was rare for mages to lead adventurer teams, one of the few things he did know. He wondered if it were rarer than a serpent lord becoming an adventurer. He’d seen very few serpent lords in his life. Maybe where Ressssen came from, things were different.

Garne, the Misfits’ second in command, was now a Level 7 Warrior. Garne, the only human left in the Misfits after Striker’s defection, was the picture of a Warrior. He fought hard, drank hard, played hard, and complained about pretty much everything. Cantankerous was the word Merck would have used. Ornery maybe. Definitely a good man to have on your side in a fight, and a bad one to make an enemy of. And he was loyal. Even with all the proof, he refused to condemn Striker. Merck could respect that. He was going to make sure he did whatever it took to stay in Garne’s good graces.

Dreek was also Level 7. He was a Scout, and a damned good one. phase-shifter adventurers had to be even rarer than serpent lords. You almost never saw them. That this team had both was remarkable. Dreek was extremely competent and somewhat sarcastic. Merck couldn’t help but relate the two. If you were really good at what you did, it was easy to see how you’d have less patience for people who weren’t as good at their own jobs. Merck was surprised that Dreek was tethered to Mitra, having expected a Scout to be tethered to Sheba or perhaps even Sarith. Dreek must have been motivated by a thirst for knowledge, which told him as much about the phase-shifter as his class had. Detect Suite was such a great skill.

Which brought him to Borin, a Level 6 Healer, and perhaps the most unusual of his companions. This was one thing Merck did know something about, having once been healed by a salad healer when he’d been injured. He and the healer had shared a meal, during which it had done most of the talking.

Salads weren’t a true race, and because of this, the salad population was tiny. Strangely, there were more salads in the Adventurer’s Guild than phase-shifters or serpent lords, because healer was such a natural role for salads, and every team needed one. Most salads had become sentient by being exposed to healing magic for long periods of time. Thus, learning how to heal came naturally to them. And the Adventurer’s Guild was very kind to healers of any kind, much less a salad that was naturally good at it. Salads didn’t have a homeland of their own, but the Adventurer’s Guild did a pretty good job of filling that void.

That pretty much covered all of them, except one—Striker. Merck hadn’t been with the Misfits long, but even he missed her. He’d have loved to use his new detect ability on the Beastmaster, just to see what he could find out, though more and more, that possibility seemed out of his reach. Striker was off getting into whatever mischief she was about, and he was about to head into a dungeon for the first time. He might not even survive long enough to see her again.

He hated the idea that he’d die before he’d find out what had happened in the palace. He hated not knowing things. But he had to admit, of all the people in the Misfits, he’d been affected the least by not knowing, so if someone had to die, he was a pretty good choice. What the hell was a Level 2 Priest going to do in a dungeon? The mounting pressure and urgency of his situation drove him to think about sizzle, but he immediately pushed the idea out of his mind. Never again. These days, he had a reason to live.

Ressssen led the group through the foothills, which created a maze of pathways leading all the way to the foot of the mountain proper. Dreek scouted ahead, as usual, Garne took up a position at the front of the party, and Maynor held back, guarding the rear. For the moment, Merck felt safe, knowing if anything did attack, he’d be in the middle, and whatever it was would have to get through the higher-level team members to reach him.

Borin walked beside him, looking around with curiosity bordering on wonder at everything around them, even though one hill was pretty much the same as any other to Merck. As always, curiosity got the better of him.

“What do you see?”

Borin looked surprised and turned to face him. Perhaps people never bothered to ask him.

“Thysandrika. The world. Each of these hills, they’re just a part of it. A tiny part, but a part nonetheless. They all formed under specific circumstances. Perhaps they don’t all share those origins. Most of these hills would be quite easy to climb, with relatively smooth surfaces and fairly gentle slopes. There’s little chance of falling, except for that one over there.” Borin stopped to point to a hill a bit further away, just visible between the two closest. “It’s surrounded by jagged rocks, and its sides, or at least the one facing us, are much steeper. I have no idea why it’s different, but it doesn’t seem to match those around it.”

Merck thought about it. “It is different, isn’t it? You know, if I were going to hide the entrance to a dungeon, I might well choose a hill like that.”

Others were listening now, including Ressssen, who had first looked to see the object of Borin’s interest, and then followed his gaze to the hill.

“The priest is right,” said Ressssen. “We should at least have a look.”

They’d already been walking in the right direction, so they continued. Merck shook his head. He had a lot to learn about adventuring.

*

Garne stood at the foot of the hill, looking up. They had circled it and the place they’d stopped was the easiest of the faces to attempt an ascent—easiest, but not necessarily easy.

“Who’s our best climber? They can take a rope to the top and secure it,” said Maynor. He looked expectantly at Ressssen, but it was Garne who answered.

“That would have been Striker. I don’t think we’ve ever determined who was second best. I suppose I could give it a try. At least if I slip on the sharp rocks, I have armor on, even if it is only leather.”

Ressssen walked close to him. “You can go, but let me buff you first.”

She cast a spell on him, then another. No one could tell what she was casting since her words were in Altevarian, the old speech.

“Go. You have about ten minutes before it wears off.”

“You want to tell me what you did to me?”

“Speed, strength and balance.” Ressssen extended a clawed hand, holding a rope they’d taken from the palace stores. “Go.”

And he went. The climb looked harder than it was, which annoyed Garne, because it robbed him of the chance to complain. Perhaps, if he hadn’t been buffed, it might have been harder, but he reached the top with plenty of time to spare.

He looked around. Nothing resembling a dungeon entrance. Nothing even remotely interesting. But it felt wrong—looked wrong. There was something off, though he couldn’t put his finger on it. He called down.

“There’s nothing up here.”

“Are you sure?” called Maynor.

“No.”

“Sssssend down the rope. Let’s all have a look,” said Ressssen, her serpent lord accent an indication she was intrigued enough to slip in her pronunciation. She seldom did that when leading the team.

Garne looked around for something to fix the rope to, but there was nothing. He took off his pack, pulled out a spike with a loop atop it, and pounded it into the rock at his feet. He tested it. It felt sturdy. He’d hold the rope anyway.

He tied the rope through the ring, knotted it securely and threw the end down. Maynor took it first. He climbed quickly up, his body altered by years of leveling. He reached the top with ease. The rest of them had no difficulty either, not even Merck, who prayed to George before he started his climb, and also received a series of buffs from Ressssen. Finally, they all stood on top of the hill.

Each of them looked around as they reached the top, but Garne kept his eyes on those coming up, since he was the one holding the rope. Now that his team was safe, he returned his attention to the ground behind him. One thing was immediately clear, though at first he couldn’t figure out why. This plateau was not natural.

It was about twenty feet across. It was cold up here, colder than he’d expected it to be. The rocky surface was solid black in color, but not uniformly black. There were areas that were darker black, forming strange patterns you could almost see, but not quite, as if someone had tipped over two ink bottles into each other with slightly different shades. The contrast between them was so subtle, you could almost believe it didn’t exist at all.

“It’s too flat,” said Garne. “It looks manmade.”

Borin looked around. “How do we know it’s not centaurmade or demonmade?”

“Because those aren’t words,” growled Garne. “Manmade means artificial, not made by man.”

“Oh,” said Borin. “Then why didn’t you just say artificial and save us the confusion?”

“Because,” Dreek cut in, “the rest of us races don’t count. There are more humans than all of us put together. It’s a sad truth of the world. You should get used to it.”

“That’s not fair,” said Garne. “It’s not like I personally caused a centaur shortage.”

“You didn’t,” agreed Dreek, “but humanity certainly did. Ask any centaur if you don’t believe me.”

“That’s enough,” said Maynor. “Humans have done some extremely questionable things, it’s true, but it’s not all humans. Let’s not paint any race with a single brush.”

Ressssen nodded. “Maynor is correct. The only race I’d count as innocent here would be salads, and they’re not actually a race.”

Borin looked thoughtful. “What are we then?”

“An anomaly,” said Ressssen. “Races breed true, but salads don’t breed.”

Borin paused for a moment. “How do you know?”

“Have you ever heard of a salad breeding?”

“No,” said Borin. “But plants breed differently than most sentient species. Maybe, one day, I’ll create spores. Or pollinate myself. Or bud. I wonder how it would feel to be a parent.”

Garne chuckled. “Tiring…believe me. It’s the only thing all parents agree on. Now if this is the entrance to a dungeon, how do we find it?”

“It’s right in the middle,” said Merck. “See it?”

Others looked at the priest then shifted their attention back to the plateau.

“I can’t see anything,” said Maynor. “Show me.”

Merck walked to the middle of the plateau. He looked down at his feet. “It’s a trapdoor, see? It even has a word on it. Soulsplit. I wonder what that means.”

“There’s nothing there, Merck,” said Garne.

Dreek shook his head. “There is. We can’t see it, but it’s there. I can feel it. It feels the same way a trap feels that’s meant to be hidden.”

Garne looked doubtful. “Why can Merck see it, when the rest of us can’t? Is this a George thing?”

Merck stopped as if listening for a moment. “George says only the lowest-level member of a party can see the entrance. And he says Soulsplit is the name of the dungeon.”

“Did he say why it’s designed like that?”

“No,” said Merck. “But he did say we’d figure it out before too long.”

Maynor looked troubled. “Soulsplit,” he repeated. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Why do gods always give too little information? It’s annoying,” said Garne.

“There are a couple of reasons,” said Maynor. “Mostly, I suspect they enjoy being mysterious, though sometimes they literally can’t say more without stepping on another god’s toes.”

Garne looked up sharply. “Wait a second. Why would another god care if we learned more about a dungeon before we entered it?”

Maynor shrugged. “Maybe the new dungeons were created by one of the gods. I almost feel like that’s likely. Multiple new dungeons can’t just appear all at the same time. Who else would have the power to do that?” 

“So you think we’re going into a godmade dungeon,” said Borin, “rather than a manmade one?”

“If it helps,” said Maynor, “think of it like a transition dream. It’s not really different. Gods create things to test their followers all the time. And since we’ve all leveled so recently, it seems like this whole thing might be a giant test.”

Ressssen moved away from the trapdoor and looked around the rest of the plateau. “Is this a test? If so, what are we being tested for?”

Garne didn’t get the impression she was speaking to them. Since no one answered, it seemed likely others thought so too. Everyone waited, holding their breath. After a long pause, Ressssen spoke again.

“There is no answer. Whether or not this is a test, we are on our own from this point.”

They all looked at each other then turned as one to Merck. After all, he was the only one who could see the door to open it.

“It’s just a door that you can pull open.” Merck leaned close and pointed to an area of rocky plateau that looked almost exactly like every other area—nothing at all to mark it. “The handle is right there.”

Merck looked around at the sea of blank faces. “Really? No one else? You realize I’m the least qualified to open up a dungeon, right?”

Maynor moved closer. “Point to it again.” 

Merck complied. Maynor reached out and grasped at nothing.

“Your hand is going right through it,” said Merck.

Merck reached down and his fingers closed on something no one else could see. He braced himself to pull, but whatever it was didn’t need it. It opened easily for him.

“There,” said Merck. “See?”

Not a single flicker of acknowledgement.

“You don’t expect me to enter this dungeon first, do you?”

Maynor shrugged. “You’re the only one who can see it. I suppose I could try to go down blind.”

Maynor moved to where the door should have been, but he just stood on the same surface he’d been standing on all along. “It looks like there’s no real choice here.”

“Damn. Okay…okay. I can do this. George, if you’re listening, protect me…because you know, this is way out of my comfort zone.”

Merck stepped onto the stone where he saw an entrance no one else did. Garne watched as he slowly lowered himself into the stone, disappearing foot by foot, until he was completely submerged in solid rock. Garne held his breath.

“Oh!” said Maynor. “I can see the entrance now.”

“I can’t,” said Garne. “This is insane. Are you really going down there?”

“Someone’s got to protect our priest. Anyone else see it?”

A chorus of denials sealed the deal. Maynor turned and lowered himself through the hole in the ground only he could see or access. Garne watched him disappear.

“Well there goes our heavy hitter. Guess I’m back at the top of the food chain.”

“I’m still higher level than you.”

“Yeah, but you’re a caster. I’m front line. Unless you’re volunteering to lead the charge.”

Ressssen smiled, or maybe that’s how reptiles always looked. “I have no problem leading from the front.”

“Irrelevant,” said Dreek. “What you’re willing to do and what’s smart to do are different things, Ressssen. You don’t lead the charge, because we don’t want you interrupted while casting. It’s why Garne and Striker took the brunt physically, or I suppose now Garne and me. We haven’t really discussed how we need to adjust to Striker’s absence. It didn’t matter much when Maynor was here. He was high enough level that it didn’t really matter. But it’s a discussion we need to have, sooner rather than later.”

Ressssen nodded. “You’re right, of course. But right now, we have two members in the dungeon and…oh…I see it. The entrance.”

“Go,” said Garne. “I’ll be right behind you… if I can see it.”

Ressssen followed the others through stone and as soon as she was gone, Borin brightened. “It’s there. I’m coming Ressssen.”

And he too disappeared into the dungeon called Soulsplit.

Garne looked at Dreek. “Well, it looks like it’s just the two of us.” 

Dreek didn’t answer. He stared at the place on the ground where the others had descended. Finally…

“There. See you down there, Garne…I hope.”

And he was gone, leaving Garne alone on the plateau. This would have been easier with Striker somehow. More than any of the others, he felt her absence. It was true he wasn’t the only human on the team since Merck had joined, but Merck was a priest. What the hell would he talk to a priest about…especially a priest of George. God he missed her. Striker, wherever you are, whatever you did, be safe… for me.

And then it faded into existence, an open hatch with a square of darkness extending from it.

“Here goes nothing.”

Garne lowered himself into the hole and vanished into the black stone, after which, on the empty plateau, the hatch swung shut with a satisfying click that no one was around to appreciate.

*

Merck Vanderoth stood alone in a room—a room in a dungeon. Stone walls, stone floor, stone ceiling. One exit on the wall opposite him—at least he assumed it was an exit. It looked like a metal plate set into the stone wall, the size and shape of a door, though it displayed neither knob nor handle. Was it meant to keep something out, or him in?

Merck looked around at the otherwise featureless room. So this was a dungeon. His first. Level 2 and alone, in an empty room with a metal plate on the wall. Merck felt like he should do something but didn’t know what, so he used the only skill he had access to—Detect Suite. At once, the metal plate glowed brighter, and instinctively Merck knew that the plate was magic. Well, what did that mean for him? Nothing.

He had no experience, no training and no backup. This was a nightmare. He tried praying to George and realized, immediately, that for the first time since his tethering, he couldn’t feel his god—or whatever George was. And Merck realized he was alone…more alone than he’d ever been in his life.

He looked up at the ceiling. Whatever he’d climbed down through to get here was gone. He’d heard stories of dungeons his whole life, everyone had, though he never thought he’d be in one. Right now, he’d pay any amount to be someplace else…which is exactly when Maynor dropped to the floor next to him, practically giving him a heart attack.

“Holy shit.”

Maynor looked around, ignoring him for a moment. That’s how professionals did things, thought Merck. Scan for danger first before engaging in conversation. This was going to be a disaster.

“Hopefully the others will be joining us,” said Merck, before Maynor had a chance to speak.

Maynor looked up at the ceiling. “Maybe. But if the dungeon isn’t allowing us to enter together, it’s just as likely they’ll end up somewhere else. We’ll wait a bit, but it may just be us.”

“You do realize I’m Level 2, right?”

Maynor shrugged. “That’s okay. We all started somewhere. I’ll just have to do my best to keep you alive.”

“What if your best isn’t good enough?”

Maynor grinned. “Then you can tell Se Karn when he shows up for your soul that it was all my fault.”

“That’s not funny!”

Maynor chuckled. “Probably not from your point of view, no. Just relax. We haven’t been attacked yet. There’s nothing immediately threatening us…just stay behind me, and try not to get in my way.”

Merck bristled in spite of the fact that Maynor was probably right—he wouldn’t be much use. Still, he did know one thing. “That metal plate is magical.”

Maynor walked toward it. “Okay, let’s see what it does.”

“What about the others?”

“Hopefully, they’ll be up to whatever challenges Soulsplit throws at them, because I won’t be there to help.”

Merck frowned but didn’t speak. There didn’t seem to be anything to say to that.

*

Ressssen landed in a corridor. She immediately moved out of the way in case someone else came down through the same passage—not that she could see a passage. The ceiling above her had closed. She was alone in Soulsplit.

Everything was made of stone. Not blocks either. Solid, unbroken gray stone, as if the corridor had been mined out of solid rock, except that the walls and floor were too smooth for that—too perfect. Whatever had constructed this place had used magic to do it.

The next thing she noticed was that there was no sign of Merck or Maynor. Was the dungeon separating them? Probably. It was an obvious reason for them not being able to enter at the same time. She wondered if they’d have to face challenges solo, or if some of them would end up in small groups. She didn’t have long to wait to find out. Borin joined her, dropping to the floor behind her.

“Hi, Ressssen.”  

“Don’t wander off till I check the corridor,” she said without returning his greeting. “It could be trapped.”

“Where are the others?”

“Elssssewhere. It may just be the two of us.”

“But that means the others won’t have a healer.”

“Yes, but we do have healing potions. Oh…I have healing potions, in my pack. This is not good. Let’s hope no one else needs them.”

Borin looked like he was about to speak but stopped and tilted his head. It wasn’t that easy to read his facial expressions, but Ressssen could swear he looked frustrated, though she couldn’t say why.

“Is everything all right?”

“I can’t feel Sylinar. I won’t be able to use my healing prayers.” 

“So the healing potions are the only source of healing we have.”

Borin shook his head emphatically. “No. I know several healing spells.”

That stopped Ressssen dead. “What do you mean you know healing spells?”

“Jalag, the mage I lived with, insisted that I learn magic, because he wanted to see if salads could cast spells. So he had me study Aldevarian. Then, when I learned it, he taught me a simple healing spell. Later, I used study aids to learn more healing spells. They’re not quite as powerful as healing prayers, which are powered by the goddess, but they’re not nothing either.”

“Yes, you’d mentioned you knew Jalag, quite casually as I recall. Do you realize how famous he is? How powerful?”

Borin looked right at her. “Really? I just thought he was a nice man. He was interested in salads and told me I could read his books if I let him do some experiments on me. He had a lot of books. And he taught me a lot of things. It’s why I can say with some confidence that even if I can’t reach Sylinar from here, the spells should still work. Because spells are cast by your soul and my soul hasn’t gone anywhere.”

“You have a soul?” asked Ressssen. “I hope that’s not a rude question.”

“I have to,” according to Jalag. “One of the reasons he wanted me to do magic. He wanted to see if salads had souls. He said you need a soul to do magic.”

Ressssen shook herself. As fascinating as this conversation was, and she was absolutely going to continue it at some point, she had a dungeon to explore.

“Okay, so we have two ways to heal. That means you don’t get a healing potion when and if we all meet up again. I only have five and there are six of us. You can heal yourself I assume.”

“Yes. Some of the healing spells I know will only heal others, but I have a few that will work on me.”

“Good. Then each of the others can get their own healing potion, if the dungeon brings us back together. Let’s get moving. This dungeon won’t explore itself.”

Borin nodded and started down the corridor. Ressssen let him lead. She was used to being the back line in combat situations anyway, though admittedly, having the healer go first was always a risky strategy. Still, Borin knew more about dungeons than any of them, even if he didn’t have the direct experience she did. It might give him an advantage going forward.

*

The moment Dreek dropped to the flagstone floor of the room, he was ready to fight, but there was nothing there. Just a room with an ordinary door in the middle of one of the walls. The room seemed to have been hewn out of the stone itself, but someone had taken a lot of time to pave the floor with flagstones. He carefully stepped off the one he was standing on, and waited to see if the next was somehow trapped, but he had to move in case Garne came down the same chute. Sure enough, as he thought it, Garne landed heavily behind him.

“Ouch!”

Dreek studied him. “At your level, that didn’t hurt,  and you know it.”

Garne looked surprised. “You may not get this, because you’re not human, but we remember pain from when it did hurt. We have automatic reactions, because we expect pain, but you’re right. It didn’t hurt. It’s just that my mind didn’t know that until after I’d spoken. It’s not like I’m trying to fool you or anything.”

Dreek shrugged and realized that too was a human affectation. “Fine. Don’t move off the flagstone you’re standing on. Some of these may be trapped.”

Garne finally looked around. “Well, what do we do?”

“I go incorporeal and walk over to the door. Then try to open it. Ready your weapon, Warrior.”

“My weapon is always ready.”

Dreek moved off, leaving Garne in the center of the room. He didn’t glance back to check on him. Garne was a professional, whether he acted like a buffoon most of the time or not. Even when he drank, he was still Garne…still reliable. So he made his way to the door, stood on the flagstone to the side of it and phased in. Weight on the stone. Nothing happened. He pulled on the door handle, but it didn’t budge. Stuck? Locked?

No, it didn’t feel like it was meant to budge. There was no give at all, and Dreek was strong. He looked back at Garne.

“This isn’t going to be as simple as we thought.”

“Who’s we? Nothing has been simple since we met Merck. We’ll figure it out.”

Dreek admired Garne’s confidence, but also wondered where it came from. Sooner or later, you’d run into something beyond your ability to handle.