Chapter 24

  The rest of the day passed by much in the same manner as the first part. The two made their way along the path, talking about nothing in particular or just minding to their own thoughts. They had practiced more of the wedding song, Cici had filled in some of the blanks regarding the different races they had seen, and Kopius spent most of the time twirling one of his new throwing knives on a finger as if it were a fidget spinner.

  One time he had spun it and the blade clipped the inside of his arm guard, slicing through the leather strap and nicking his skin. He bled a little but not enough to complain. Removing his arm gauntlet to restring the straps he had cut filled that bucket though.

  It would have been similar to restringing a baseball glove given the thickness of the leather straps and the rivet holes in the gear. The complaining came as he had to repair the strap and force the knots through all the small holes. He also noted with a smirk that the knives were remarkably sharper than when he had first sheathed them.

  Travel remained uneventful. The farther they moved away from Twelve Days March the less on-coming traffic they saw. It had been well over two hours since they had seen anyone as shades of dusk began to grow. As the sun had dipped below the skyline was about the same time the two companions stopped at one of the several–Metem equivalent–highway rest stops they had seen over the course of the day. Each location had an L-shaped, four foot high wall, with cinder block seating, and a firepit. Some had kindling; others were just piles of soot. The one they were at now was the latter.

  Just as they had on their journey across Escher Pass, the two started the process of setting up camp. Kopius wandered into the trees to gather dry wood and Cici cleared debris to set up his cooking station.

  While collecting campfire fuel, Kopius admired the variety of color still visible in the ambient sunlight. The small forest looked magical, surreal. It was only missing some mystic, magically impressive animals or a damsel in a precarious state.

  Upon his return, Kopius setup and then stomped on the dry wood; sparta-ing the campfire to life. He sat on the nearest block that allowed him to lean back against the short wall. The fire sparked and popped as the flame heated the dried wood.

  Cici had his cutting board on his lap and was seasoning a bunch of small pieces of meat and greens. The big man reached into his crotch and fumbled around before producing two long rods of metal that looked like elongated chopsticks. He used both to skewer the prepared food and then placed said food over the growing fire.

  “Shish Kabobs?” Kopius asked with a hopeful eyebrow raise.

  “Spit n’ Spin,” Cici replied as he slowly turned the two skewers.

  “I’ll take mine without spit,” Kopius insisted.

  Cici didn’t reply to him but chuckled nonetheless.

  While he waited, Kopius decided it was time to do some adulting; it was time for him to see what his quests were for the Communications Practice. It was not lost on him that, given the solitude, he would not be able to complete—or even start—any of them. This, of course, was the motivating factor for him to look at them now.

  It was the same line of thought and eagerness Cory would feel on a rainy day. The day he was going to start to exercise but, oh darn, wouldn’t you know it, it’s sprinkling outside and that is an obstacle too great to overcome.

  As long as it was practically impossible to do now, Cory was all about doing it. It was the right amount of feigning responsibility that really got him through most days. Kopius paused to consider his older ways; his Earthly ways.

  We should probably read the books, a part of him offered.

  We’ve been walking all day, man. We’d fall asleep reading, another part countered. You should have done that back in Cawbachu.

  We were walking more back there!

  Yeah, yeah. I’m just saying I doubt talking to yourself is one of the quests.

  We’d be good at it though.

  “Obviously,” Kopius said aloud, breaking him from his internal musings.

  “What’s that, lad?” Cici asked, still focused on keeping the food from catching fire.

  “Nothing, nothing,” Kopius answered. “I was debating whether to look at my Practice challenges or go through a book.”

  “A good book and some hot food is always a great way to end a day,” Cici recited.

  “It’s not exactly light reading,” Kopius reminded him. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to lay in a hammock and dive into the First Law world by Joe Abercrombie as much as the next fan, but this is like a rogue college textbook.” He summoned the bag of books and showed him Manabolism.

  “Who’s Joe?” Cici asked.

  “He’s–why…,” Kopius stammered, a bit confused as to why that was relevant. “He’s the author. Some asshole that wrote very compelling books. That’s not my point though.”

  “The First Law,” Cici repeated the words as if the order were strange. “I rather like it. It invokes curiosity.”

  “Yeah, sure. It's a cool name.” Kopius agreed.

  “What is the first law?” Cici continued.

  “Don’t touch the other side or something,” Kopius gave up on trying to keep the subject on track. “It’s been a while.”

  “What’s on the other side?” Cici asked, holding both of the kabobs above the open fire.

  “I don’t know,” Kopius complained. “Demons or some shit.”

  “Demons do not like to be touched, lad” Cici spoke as one who may have tried.

  He shook his big head while offering one of the skewers to Kopius. The conversation died out as they both devoured their meal. Between the length of their journey and the sun beating down on them they could have been served boulders for dinner and would have approached it with the same gusto. Thankfully, Cici’s meals were on par with any popular hometown, mom-and-pop diner that had been serving a community since the beginning of time.

  “Are we going to take turns sleeping?” Kopius asked after dinner was complete and the two had settled next to the fire.

  “Aye,” Cici nodded. “Unless you want to cuddle up close, that is?”

  Kopius shook his head in the negative. Cici laughed.

  “How do you do this solo?” Kopius inquired.

  “Solo?”

  “By yourself,” he clarified. “You just–raw dog it on the ground and hope for the best?”

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Raw dog? What are you talking about?”

  “If I wasn’t here, do you just go to sleep and hope nothing or no one is going to come along, kill you?”

  “Oh that!” Cici chuckled. He reached in his crotch bag, fumbled around a moment and then pulled out a dark, tightly rolled piece of fabric. “It’s not a cloaked noir but it keeps me hidden nonetheless.” The big man unwound the item, revealing a sleeping bag of sorts.

  “Is that a sleeping bag?” Kopius asked.

  “It’s no bag,” he replied, lifting the blanket to show. “I can fold it in half and sleep inside. If you were to get up close and tight, it’ll cover the both of us. We could sleep the whole night through,” Cici finished like a pick-up line that most likely has worked for him in the past.

  “What about the fire?”

  “I would put the fire down.” Cici answered as if that was obvious. Then, his eyes widened and he snapped his fingers at Kopius. “Now that I have reasoned a bit, we can both sleep. You’ve got that cloak of yours. It’s a far cry better than hiding inside here.”

  It made sense. Lydian had been rather enthusiastic regarding the material, especially its cloaking abilities at night. The idea of shutting down the fire gave him pause until he remembered his Night Vision. To add credence to the plan, ever since changing elevations from Escher Pass, the nights had been noticeably warmer, so that wasn’t an issue. Realistically, the fire was the bright beacon summoning any and all to lurk in the safety of the shadows.

  “Alright,” Kopius eventually said. “If you think it’ll work, we can give it a shot.”

  “It’s not fool-proof, my friend,” Cici responded. “Terrors in the night can still stumble across our slumber. However it's done, it’s best the fire is out.”

  A few hours after the flames had been extinguished and Cici was lightly snoring under his blanket, Kopius lay awake staring at the night sky. Once the crackling of the campfire had ceased the sounds of night came to life. Sounds he had not had to listen to in Escher Pass. Sounds that required him to keep one eye open while simultaneously trying to sleep.

  By the time he had quelled the growing paranoia, all aspirations to sleep had long passed. For a while he had looked to the sky admiring the moons; his mind free of thoughts and clutter. The brief absence of noise between his ears—his own drama or otherwise—was therapeutic to a large degree. Once he had snapped out of the meditative state, he felt refreshed as if he had awakened from a well timed nap.

  The only downside was that this was occurring in the middle of the night and not at 3pm, when a nap would really improve the rest of the day.

  Kopius sat up, activated his Night Vision and gave his surroundings a look. There didn’t appear to be any creatures stalking around or any sets of illuminated eyeballs staring at him from the deep dark. He did see a few blurs of movement on the forest floor. Small rodents type animals scurried from one bush to another; from one tree or another. He stood to stretch and the world fell quite around him.

  At first he froze; both externally and internally. The sudden drop in ambient volume made him feel like he had dropped several levels on the food chain. Holding his breath he scanned the space around him. Wishing his Night Vision spanned further than its current twenty feet, he slowly spun to get a full picture. Holding that breath like it was his last puff of cannabis before rehab, Kopius listened with every sense available.

  Slowly he let the breath out, unwilling to make himself anymore noticeable then he already had. The buzzing, chirping, branch-cracking sounds of night began to show themselves again. It didn’t take long before the noise had returned. When Kopius took a few steps towards the road, the sounds stopped again and he shook his head at his own paranoia.

  He meandered out on the path they had been traveling to look up and down the walkway. The moons provided enough light that he could make out most things. With the wide open road around him, his Night Vision wasn’t needed. He summoned the pugil staff from his inventory and held it in his hands. The smooth wood-grained, brown metallic, rose gold-tipped baton felt cold to his touch like a can of soda from a cooler. He admired the piece for a moment; the seamless, edgeless, and endlessly smooth object was always impressive to look at and hold.

  “Quinntrain!” Kopius announced as he pushed mana into the staff.

  The familiar surge worked its way into the pugil staff, warming it in the process. The baton, again, went through its undertaking of displaying the many weapons it had shown before. Once that was completed, his fake lightsaber pulsed and The Matrix themed light show began; drums and all. After the translucent green grass and barrier took form, the door that had assaulted him last time appeared. He nodded at the door as if it were a respected foe.

  With all of the fanfare out of the way, Kopius waited for the door to do something. He stared at it and then stared some more. He blinked by closing one eye at a time and ignored odd itches a person gets right after they get comfortable in bed.

  Nothing happened.

  He held this way for many moments like a cat ready to pounce or dodge or any of the other five D’s. The very moment Kopius relaxed his stance, the door blasted open and hurtled directly at him. Caught halfway between a crouch and full height, Kopius dove in the direction he was leaning and ate turf as he hit the ground. He spit out dirt particles from the road as he got to his feet. Quinn stepped through the door like a noble needing to hear a peasant out before burning his house down.

  “You lack both grace and composure!” Quinn shouted, his Spanish-leaning accent adding a higher class of indignation.

  He wore the same tight-fitting fatigues as he had before except for the over-abundance of medallions; those were gone. His long black and curly hair was up in an open-ended man bun. It gave him both the distinction of a warrior and a hipster. Given his thin and precise mustache on the pale canvas that was his scowling face, Quinn appeared more annoyed by Kopius’s return then he did their first meeting.

  Kopius wasn’t sure how to respond to that so he dusted himself off and picked up the pugil staff. Quinn stood at attention, watching Kopius like a diseased rat in a science experiment. Once Kopius had settled he stood there and the two stared at each other.

  “I have the Fighter Practice,” Kopius stated, unsure as to what was supposed to happen here.

  “You strike me as a Slash,” Quinn spat back.

  Fuck this fucking guy, Kopius seethed internally. He had no idea how this little pocket of space-time continuum fuckery worked, but if he did he may be more willing to give Quinn a piece of his mind.

  “Actually, I am,” Kopius gritted between his teeth. “And a Variant.”

  “For the love of Janassa, what curse has Oh-jin passed to me!”

  “He said you were going to help,” Kopius responded. “No, he said you have to help.”

  “To what end boy?” Quinn snapped. “Take your Non-Combative and live a longer life.”

  “That’s great advice and all,” Kopius agreed, “but I’m not from here, man. Metem ain’t my home. I’ll need to take the Combative route if I want a shot at getting back.”

  Quinn gave the slightest of eyebrow raises at the new bit of information. Kopius would have not seen it if he had not been glaring at the otherwise stoic man. With his hands clasped behind his back, Quinn began to slowly pace back and forth. His steps were as precise as the about-face turns he made at the barriers edges.

  Sometimes his chin was up as if seeking guidance from the moons; other times it was tucked to his chest like a person deep in thought. Once he paused to look over his shoulder, scowled at Kopius, and then continued on. This went on for a minute or two until the swordsman finally stopped a few feet in front of Kopius.

  “Tell me of this Variant,” Quinn demanded in a less hostile way than he had spoken down to Kopius previously.

  “Fighter, and, ah–Communications,” Kopius answered hesitantly.

  “Unconventional,” Quinn responded, the word sounding dangerously close to ‘inconceivable’ given the swordsman's accent. Kopius refused to smirk.

  “I picked Ranger,” Kopius clarified with a shrug.

  “Indeed,” Quinn answered, unimpressed. “Sword or bow?”

  Kopius perked up at the word ‘bow.’ Though Quinn had said it with the same deterring enthusiasm as Oh-jin had about the weapon. Where normally Kopius would jump at the chance to kill from a distance, it felt off here. That and the pugil staff, for all of its weapon shape-shifting, never displayed archery as an option.

  “Sword,” Kopius answered as he was ninety-nine percent sure he was being tested at the moment.

  Quinn looked over Kopius one more time before stepping towards him. He reached in one of his many thin pockets and produced a sheet of parchment. Rolling the paper, Quinn held it out to Kopius much the same way as Oh-jin had passed Kopius the pugil staff. Kopius waited for a nod, or some other indication that Quinn wanted him to take hold of the rolled document.

  “Practice for three suns,” Quinn ordered, gesturing for Kopius to grab ahold. “Return on the fourth.”

  Kopius grasped the rolled paper and immediately felt the heat emanating from it. He focused on the document but nothing happened. He didn’t want to try any mana until Quinn let go but the instructor just looked at him while the rolled paper upped its temperature. A sneer grew on the man's pale face. If Kopius had thought the man was warming to him; he was mistaken.

  As if Quinn had been pulling back a large rubber band and had let it go, the paper poofed into a cloud of dust and mana raced into Kopius. His brain felt like it had just been lashed at by an ice-cold whip. He ignored the disintegrating paper in his hands as he tried–and failed–to battle away the massive brain freeze occurring between his ears. He rubbed at his eyeballs and tried squeezing his temple to make it stop.

  By the time he recovered from the ordeal and was able to focus, Quinn and his Matrix-esque surroundings had vanished. He was dropped back into the deep night and all of its loneliness. It was disorienting at first, but once his mind cleared he saw a blinking indicator light in his peripheral vision. Mentally opening his profile he harrumphed when he saw a new tab. It was labeled: Drills