Johnny threw his head back and let out an exasperated sigh. "This is dumb," he said.
"Good dental hygine is not dumb," Mom said.
They were in the car on the way to the dentist, Johnny in the back and Lincoln in the passenger seat. It was mid-August and thus time for Johnny's yearly check-up. Lincoln, lucky dog he was, already had his. It would make sense for them to have their check-ups at the same time, right? But for whatever reason, Lincoln always went in May and Johnny in August.
August, May, or freaking Christmas Day, Johnny hated the dentist. He hated it more than he hated anything else, even wrestling. He would literally rather watch every video on the WWE Network, then every single AEW event, than go to the dentist. What did he hate about it, you might ask? What didn't he hate? He hated having his teeth scraped, he hated the taste of the dentist's Latex gloves, he hated the way the dentist shook his head and tsk, tsk, tsk'd (you need to brush more often, Johnny). He hated the smell of the place, he hated the stuffy little waiting room, he hated the smiling tooh posters on the wall and the lumpy chair and everything else. The only thing he didn't absolutely despise was the secretary...Mrs. Loud. She was cool by virtue of being his neighbor and the mother of his gal-pals, the Loud Girls, but if he didn't know her like that, he would probably hate her too.
Every time late summer rolled around, Johnny started cooking up excuses for why he couldn't go to the dentist. Last year he pretended to have a stomach bug. I wouldn't want to puke on Dr. Kriep (pronounced "Creep").
Mom made him go anyway.
The year before that, he ran away from home and fronted like someone kidnapped him. He even wrote a ransom letter and left it in the kitchen for Mom and Dad to find. Little did he know, Mom was friends with some Hawwian shirt wearing private investigator who was so good that they based a TV show on him. He found Johnny in literally five minutes; Johnny was sitting on a park bench and swinging his legs back and forth when a black 1978 Trans Am pulled up and a guy in tight jeans and a Hawwian shirt jumped out, his thick mustache and white boy jheri curl utterly perfect, not a strand out of place. "Johnny?" he asked.
Johnny looked at him.
He looked at Johnny.
Johnny got up and bolted, his paper bag flying off and landing on a pile of dog poo. The PI gave chase and tackled Johnny like Bill Goldberg killing a jobber on Monday Nitro. Johnny's face slid through the dirt, his jacket tore, and one tennis shoe flew off. "Get off me, pedo!" Johnny cried. He kicked and thrashed beneath the PI's massive muscles, but he was pinned, trapped, a goner, done for. The PI dragged Johnny to his feet and marched him back to the car. "Your mother's worried sick, you little punk."
"Dude, I was kidnapped!"
"No you weren't."
"Oh, yeah? How do you know?"
"You wrote the ransom letter in crayon and signed your name."
Oh.
Whoops.
"Dude, stop being a baby," Lincoln told him once. "It's just the dentist."
That made Johnny mad because he wasn't being a baby. He wasn't, like, afraid of the dentist or anything, he just didn't like it. Why did he have to go? Dad didn't go to the dentist every year and he was just fine. Sure, he complained about his teeth hurting every now and then, and one of his teeth had rotted to the point of leaving a black hole in his jaw, and sometimes his gums would randomly start bleeding when he ate, but otherwise, he was perfectly fine.
Nothing Johnny did could extract himself from the clutches of the evil Dentist, so he was pretty much POL. Poop out of luck.
"I don't understand why I have to do this," Johnny said now. "I brush, floss, and use mouthwash every night."
"That's not true," Lincoln said from the passenger seat. He was bent over his DS playing Mega Mario 6000. This thumbs flashed across the keypad and pixelated sounds filtered from the speaker.
"Shut up, yes it is."
"Is not."
"Is too."
"Is not."
Johnny started to reply but Mom cut him off. "Both of you be quiet. You're going to the dentist and that is final, young man."
Sigh.
SIGH.
"Fine."
He'd go...but he wouldn't like it.
Johnny crossed his arms and glared at the back of Lincoln's head.
Five minutes later, Mom pulled into the parking lot fronting the L-shaped building housing Dr. Creep's office. She slid into a slot facing the big glass window and cut the engine. "Aright, boys," she said, "I have errands to run. I'll be back to get you in an hour."
"Do I have to go?" Lincoln asked.
"Yes," Mom said firmly, "you do."
Lincoln heaved a sigh, threw the door open, and got out. Haha. At least Johnny wouldn't be the only one miserable today.
Johnny hopped out and he and Lincoln watched Mom back out of the space. Johnny couldn't be sure because all the windows were up, but he thought he heard her scream I'm free! I'm free!
"Let's go, Snocone," Johnny said.
Inside, the waiting room was a study in industrial blandness. White walls, gray carpet, some chairs and end tables laden with six month old magazines. CNN played on a wall-mounted TV and the moment Johnny saw Chris Cuomo, his stomach turned. Ugh, that guy was annoying.
The only people present were an old man holding an ice pack to the side of his face and a teenager with braces on top of her braces. Johnny winced because all that metal looked painful. Can you imagine kissing a girl with a chainsaw for a mouth? He tried to picture it and cringed so hard he doubled over and bumped into Lincoln.
Lincoln shoved him. "Watch what you're doing."
"Don't shove me," Johnny said and shoved him back.
Lincoln's face darkened, and he pushed Johnny so hard he stumbled back and fell over the arm of a chair.
Oh, it was so on.
Johnny jumped up and charged his brother. Lincoln met him halfway, and they proceeded to slap at each other like a couple of girls, their heads turned to one side to protect their faces from damage. They only stopped when someone shouted their names.
Mrs. Loud, in a pair of pink scrubs, sat behind a pane of plexiglass, her brow angled down in an angry V. Lincoln and Johnny separated. She watched them for a moment to make sure they wouldn't go back at it, then softened her features. "Sign in, please," she said.
Johnny signed in.
"Now take a seat." She pointed at him. "And no more fighting with your brother."
"Yes, ma'am."
Johnny sat down next to Lincoln and looked nervously around the room. The atmosphere was heavy and oppressive, the air stagnant. Was it hot in here? It felt really hot in here. He drew a deep breath and let it out in a shaky rush. Chris Cuomo droned on and on, his voice buzzing in the center of Johnny's head like a hive of angry, Italian-American bees who get triggered af when you call them Fredo. He started to hyperventilate and clutched the arms of his chair, nails digging deep into the polished wood. Beside him, Lincoln went on playing his game, the beeps, boops, pings, and pongs adding to Johnny's anxiety.
Just when he thought he was going to lose it, the door to the back opened and Mrs. Loud came out. "Johnny."
Johnny's stomach jumped into his throat and he swallowed thickly. He got shakily too his feet and cast a searching look at his brother.
Lincoln ignored him.
Taking a deep breath, Johnny went into the back.
Mrs. Loud led him to a cramped room with cold lighting, stainless steel surfaces, and a chair that looked so much like Old Sparky that Johnny shuddered. "The doctor will be with you shortly," Mrs. Loud said.
Yay.
Great.
Johnny approached the chair the way a boy would a venomous snake coiled in the toilet. He sat down and leaned back. Mrs. Loud left and he was alone with his thoughts and fears. Earlier, when he said he wasn't afraid of the dentist, he may have been downplaying his emotions. He was kind of scared. Not much, just a little. A manly amount of fear. Not like quaking and peeing himself or anything.
He took a series of deep, calming breaths.
Be cool, Johnny, he told himself, you got this.
Right.
Just believe in yourself.
In the waiting room, Lincoln's DS died and he hissed a dirty word through his teeth. A shadow fell over him and he looked up. Mrs. Loud loomed over him. Uh-oh, did she hear what he said? Was she going to wash his mouth out with soap? "Lincoln, honey," she said, and Lincoln braced himself for a motherly tongue-lashing from the fifth level of hell.
"Y-Yes, Mrs. Loud?"
"Can you do me a favor?"
Uh...where was she going with this. "Sure," he said and smiled sheepishly, "anything I can do to help."
She produced a notebook and he tensed, half way expecting her to whack him across the face with it. "Can you hold onto this for me? I have things to do and I don't trust leaving it on my desk."
And you trust me? A kid? Okay. "Sure," he said and took it. "What is it?"
"It's a book I'm writing."
"Oh," Lincoln said. She was writing a book? That was pretty cool, he guessed. "Sweet."
"Thank you."
She returned to the back and Lincoln looked at the notebook's cover. Let's see what kind of writer Mrs. Loud is.
He opened it. Ranks of flowery purple script greeted him. He read a few lines and gagged. Ugh, a romance. Lincoln hated romance. Romance was the lamest, dumbest, more stupid literary genre there was. Lincoln liked stories with action and adventure, monsters and brawny heroes on epic quests to -
An idea struck him.
He flipped to a blank page, whipped out a pen, and started to write.
They met at midnight in a dimly lit tavern along the Western Road, seven miles east of Eld near the River Ol. Coming down the road on horseback, Lincoln the strong couldn't help but wonder what Kel saw in the place: Two stories and trimmed white, it reminded him of a cracker box, its paint peeling in long strips. He was certain Kel knew the owners. Perhaps they, too, were part of the Nefrati.
There was a stable beside the main building: The flicker light of a lantern shone in the windows. Lincoln hopped off the horse (whom he hadn't named...naming was bad luck), and walked her inside, where a man in green, nodding in a chair by the pen closest to the entrance, jumped up, suddenly invigorated by the arrival of a customer.
"Good evening, sir," he said, smoothing the wrinkles from his tunic. "Will you be spending the night?"
"No," Lincoln said. "I should be less than an hour."
"Right," the man said, taking the reins fromLincoln's hands. "I'll treat him like he's my own."
"It's a she," Lincoln corrected.
"She then," the man smiled.
Relenting, Lincoln walked over to the tavern. A wooden sign hung over the door. It creaked and swayed in the warm summer breeze.
Inside, the pub was like any other in Sel: A wide room dotted with tables and chairs, a bar running along the far wall. Lanterns hung in the corners, casting shadows along the floor and walls.
At this late hour, the place was empty, save for the innkeeper behind the counter, and a man sitting at a table, his arms couldn't see his face, but he was sure it was Kel.
Taking off his sword and hanging it by the door (as the law decreed),Lincoln walked over to the man. It was Kel alright. His eyes were closed and his breathing was shallow.
Moving quietly,Lincoln pulled out his chair, lifted it several inches off the floor, and slammed it; Kel jerked, his eyes flying open and a small gasp escaping his lips.
Lincoln smiled.
"Good morning," Lincoln said, sitting.
"You nearly gave me a heart attack," Kel said, sitting up straight.
"My apologies. Now what did you want to see me about? I'm a very busy man."
Kel shifted in his seat, found a comfortable enough position, and rolled his neck. "I have a job for you," he said. "If you can keep from frightening me to death, that is."
"What sort of job?" Lincoln asked.
Kel leaned forward, lowering his voice. "A death job."
Kel, as far asLincoln knew, was a captain in the Nefrati, the secret organization the King so recently labeled "Blood-thirsty bandits." They operated all over the land of Sel, plying their wicked trade in the shadows. Murder, extortion, drug trafficking. In some of the more remote spots of the kingdom, such as the area near the Krakucs Mountains, they were the government.
"Tell me about the mark," Lincoln said.
Lincoln was one of many employed by the upper echelon of the Nefrati. His specialty was murder: In five years of work, he'd taken the lives of over a thousand beings, and never once had he been caught, or even implicated. Kel, in his more jovial moments, called him "The Phantom," because he came and went like a ghost.
Presently, Kel cleared his throat. "We have a problem in Arb."
A terrible ten headed beast had taken up residence in a cave overlooking a small village. It came out only at night and ate unwary travellers and townspeople.
"I need you to destroy it," Kel said.
"How much?" Lincoln asked.
"25,000 Ulk."
"Make it 35."
Kel sighed. "32."
"33."
"32,50."
Lincoln shrugged. "I can live with that."
Come on, come on, Johnny thought. He looked up at the clock on the wall. Ten minutes, He'd been waiting ten minutes for the doctor to come in. Okay, he got it, there were other patients who were here before him, but still. It shouldn't take this long. What was the point of calling you back from the waiting room just so you could wait some more? He never understood the logic behind that. At least out in the waiting room he could watch Chris Cuomo and read old articles about Georg Freud riots and Pabstvirus. Nothing passes the time like looking at pictures of burned and looted storefronts and reading opinion pieces by white liberals who support looting as long as it takes place in black neighborhoods far away from them.
That was something that really got to Johnny as a black man. Facebook and Twitter were both filled with Woke white people who 1) made no differentiation between Black People Are Important and the a-holes just there to loot 2) supported the looting as though it were part of BPAI protests and 3) acted like riots were a good thing. Uh...no, they're not. Most of the places getting burned down are in BLACK COMMUNITIES. His uncle Tyrone owned a barber shop in Kalamazoo. A bunch of black dudes and some scrawny white AntiNa kids from the suburbs broke out the windows, set it on fire, and beat Uncle Tyrone's beep when he tried to stop them. He posted about it on Facebook and some white Karen from Lynnwood straight up told him "You shouldn't have fought back, you have insurance."
Like...is that what you really believe? That people should just roll over and let their homes, businesses, and personal property be destroyed? Their families harassed and put in danger? Wow, okay, remind me not to vote for you.
Frickin' psychos.
While Johnny mused on politics because it was either that or stare blankly at the wall, Lincoln continued to write.
Lincoln left that very night, following the Western Road through the dense Yolga Forest. Towns rose and fell along the way, each smaller than the last.
He stopped twice, once in a glen to give the horse water and let her rest her hooves, and again at a scenic lookout providing a sweeping view of the Ild Valley. Sitting on a rock and eating an apple from his sack as the horse drank, Lincoln looked out over the land: Tiny clusters of lights huddled here and there, and in the distance, the moon shone on the placid surface of the Rul River. Though he couldn't see them, he knew that the Krakucs Mountains thrust up from the land beyond, their higher peaks lost in the clouds.
When he was done with the apple, he took the sword Kel had given him and examined it once more in the feeble light of the moon. Golden with a jewel encrusted hilt, it was larger than his own sword, the edge much sharper and pointed.
When Lincoln asked why, Kel explained that it had been blessed by a mountain dwelling shaman during the time of King Netul, and that its magical properties destroyed evil.
On the rock overlooking the valley, Lincoln hefted the sword, getting a feel for it. He swung it left, right, up, down, side-to-side. It was heavy, yes, but he was certain he could handle it.
Near daybreak, Lincoln climbed onto the horse and set off again, following the winding mountain road down into the sea of trees. An hour later, as the sun shone, he came to the east bank of the Rul River. On the opposite side, a mill sat in a cluster of trees, its giant wheel spinning lazily.
Patting the horse, he crossed. Ten minutes later, he came to a rise. At its summit, he could see the towering stone walls of the Krakucses. Smaller foothills flanked its lower reaches.
Lincoln pushed the horse, and the horse obeyed. The road began climbing past the village of El-Frati, and jagged rocks grew up beside it.
The Goya Pass was the lowest and most easily accessible of all the fords through the range. Lincoln followed it, and in less than an hour he was on the road down. The valley falling away from the mountains was green and lush: Farther back forest rose up, and in the foreground a small village stood next to a babbling brook.
It had to be Arb.
In fifteen minutes (a surprisingly short amount of time, Lincoln thought), he was walking the horse into the stables next to the town inn. A man, almost identical to the one the night before, took the reins and smiled. "Good morning, sir. Staying the night?"
"Yes," Lincoln said.
Inside, the innkeeper, a short black man with dreads, warily watched him approach. "I would like a room," Lincoln said.
The innkeeper sized him up. "You're here on a great quest." He pressed his fingertips to his forehead and held out his hand as if to hold Lincoln back. "I see a great ten-headed beast and a sword of the finest silver."
Lincoln's forehead pinched. "You are you?" he asked.
"I am Johnny the Merchant. I am also a mystic. The Mystic-Merchant. Or the Merchant-Mystic, if you like."
"What do you know of this beast?" Lincoln asked.
"Follow me," Johnny said.
The Mystic-Merchant came around the counter and led Lincoln through a door. Outside, dense pine forest pressed close. In the distance, a craggy mountain thrust into the azule heavens, its peak flat and rocky. "It makes its home in a cave on the western slope."
Lincoln hummed. "What else do you know about it?"
"It's a right fearsome beast. Fifteen feet tall and covered in scales. It has ten heads, each more horrible than the last, and it eats muscular journeymen in one bite." He nudged Lincoln's side.
"What is the best way to fight it?"
Johnny was quiet for a long, thoughtful moment. "The best way to fight it...is to turn around and go back the way you came."
"I can't," Lincoln said instantly, "there's money involved."
Johnny winced. "Aye. As a capitalist myself, I understand. Come inside and we'll talk more over grog."
Five minutes later, Lincoln and Johnny were seated at a table in the inn's empty dining hall. Golden morning sunshine cascaded through the window and lay across the floor. "There is but one way to kill the wicked Loudbeast," Johnny said. "You must drive your sword through its heart."
"I take it that's no easy task," Lincoln pondered.
"Not at all," Johnny said. "Its heart be in the center of its body and covered in tough scales. If you get too close, the monster will tear you apart."
Lincoln digested that bit of information. "But I have no choice?"
"None."
Lincoln sighed. "When is the best time to approach the beast?"
"Tonight," Johnny said. "I will assist you if I get a cut of your pay."
A cut? Of his pay? The sun was more likely to set in the east and rise in the west!
Then again, Lincoln was not sure he could handle this dreadful being alone. He had slashed and hacked his way from one end of the Realm to the other, fighting vampires, werewolves, evil sorcerers, soldiers, rebels, and a million other nefarious enemies, but this was something different altogether.
His mind went back to the time he faced a clan of nine foot white ape in the snowy mountains at the top of the world. These apes, who were too human to be called an animal and too animal to be called human, put up a fearsome fight that saw Lincoln nearly defeated.
Lincoln stood nearly seven feet tall, bulged with muscles, and had a cunning honed by years of necessity. He was still only a man, though, and there are some things that a man can not do on his own.
"Ten," Lincoln said.
"Make it twelve," Johnny countered.
"Eleven."
"Eleven and a half."
Lincoln considered his proposal for a moment, then nodded. "Meet me at midnight."
The door opened and Johnny tensed. Dr. Creep slipped into the room like a hungry shadow. Six feet tall with sunken cheeks and a broad forehead, Dr. Creep looked, well, like a creep. He was a nice guy when he wasn't lecturing you about brushing your teeth, but if you saw him walking toward you in a darkened alley, you'd be forgiven for mistaking him for a flesh eating ghoul.
He held a clipboard in one gnarled hand and wore a gauze face mask around his neck. There was a stain on his scrub top. Was it from his lunch...or was it blood?
"Hello, Johnny," he said.
"Hey, Doc," Johnny said, hating the anxiety in his voice. "H-How's it going?"
Dr. Creep went to the counter and pulled on a pair of Latex gloves. "Oh, the usual. How are you?"
"I'm okay," Johnny said. "I've been brushing and flossing every night." He bared his teeth for the doctor to see.
"Very good," Dr. Creep said. He put his mask on and tied a paper apron around Johnny's neck. Johnny held his breath and stayed perfectly still. When Dr. Creep was done, he reached for a tray full of sharp metal instruments, and Johnny squeezed his eyes closed.
He really, really hated this part.
That night, under the watchful gaze of the moon, Lincoln and Johnny left the inn by foot. They moved silently through the pine forest, making little noise, and picked up a narrow dirt trail that led up the mountain at an angle. The only sound was the chirping of crickets and the wind in the trees.
Per Johnny, the mountain was honeycombed with caves, some of which were believed to reach all the way into the very depths of hell. The Loudbeast was on the far side of the mountain in a vaulted chamber that had a reputation for being haunted. They approached it cautiously, Lincoln in the lead. He gripped his sword and tensed his muscles in expectation of a confrontation. Before they had even reached the cave, the rank smell of the beast found his nose and he gagged.
They reached the cavern shortly. Feeble, flickering light spilled from it and painted the ground. Lincoln poked his head in and started. Fifty feet away, the monster reclined next to a roaring fire, uglier and more disgusting than he ever could have imagined. One head wore a red baseball cap, one a pair of glasses, and another still braces. He could not clearly see the others. "Stay here," Lincoln said to Johnny. "Come when I call."
Crouching low, Lincoln went in. A head with blonde hair and blue eye shadow perked up, saw him, and hissed. The others whipped up, and the creature got to its feet. Lincoln tossed his sword from one hand to the other, his eyes firmly on the thing's heart. The blue eye shadow head let out a deafening roar, and the Loudbeast charged him. Screaming in fury, Lincoln ran toward it. At the last moment, he ducked to one side and brought the sword up, tearing a jagged slice in the monster's green skin. It wailed and lashed out with one mighty paw, almost hitting him.
"Johnny!"
Johnny came in and the Loudbeast trained its attention on him, as planned. Lincoln stepped forward to deliver the killing blow, but stopped. The creature stared at Johnny with hearts in all of its eyes and dreamy smiles on its lips. It slunk forward, purring like a cat, and Johnny fell back a step. "What are you doing?"
The thing continued coming and Johnny started to run. He threw a frightened look over -
"Lincoln, what are you doing?"
Lincoln jumped and dropped his pen on the floor. Mrs. Loud stood over him, her brow furrowed in confusion. "Uh...nothing," Lincoln said.
"You're writing in my notebook."
Uh oh. "No I'm not."
Mrs. Loud snatched it away and flippd through it. She started to read and Lincoln's face tinged red with embarrassment. Mrs. Loud turned to the next page, then eventually sat down and crossed her legs. When she was done, she looked up. "This is really good, Lincoln."
"Thanks," Lincoln said. He didn't think it was very good. He wasn't a writer, just bored.
"No, I mean it, it's much better than mine."
"Yours is good," Lincoln lied.
Mrs. Loud drew a deep breath. "No, it's not." She frowned down at the notebook. "I've always wanted to be a writer and I've worked really hard at it, but I'm just not good enough."
She told him that she had been writing since she was a little girl and entertained dreams of being just like her literary idols. "Writing is my passion and something I really want to do. I've written so much but no one will publish me." She hung her head in shame.
"You just have to keep trying," Lincoln said. "It might not happen now but if you keep working hard, you'll eventually get there."
"I don't know about that," she said, "but after reading your work, I feel inspired."
Lincoln blinked in surprise. "Really?"
"Really," she said. "I want to write something with action and heroes now."
That made Lincoln feel really good.
Just then, the door opened and Johnny came out. "Hey," Lincoln said, "how do you feel?"
Johnny smiled. His teeth were white and sparkly. "I hate coming here, but love how my mouth feels when I leave."
Their mom got there a few minutes later and they climbed into the car. Lincoln found himself really hoping that Mrs. Loud got to achieve her dream one day.
It would be cool knowing a writer.
Whipping out his DS, he plugged it into the cigarette lighter and started to play.
