The Second Life and Adventures of Benjamin Finn

Chapter 3: In Which the Answers Beget More Questions

It was once more with my boot planted firmly within my mouth that I did begin my odyssey with my one-time friend by reminding her of exactly why she now detested me, if completely by accident as was customarily my way.

Upon completing my duplicitous vow, we had taken our impromptu audience into the gardens and had been engaged in an astonishingly civil conversation on where we were to begin our search for our unknown adversaries, as it was likely there were more to be found within Albion's borders, when an idea I though rather clever came to mind. Little did I know it was the introduction of yet another very large and very uncomfortable wedge to be driven between us.

"Whatever happened to that gypsy friend of yours?" I inquired of a sudden and, at Wren's puzzled expression, clarified; "You know, the creepy blind woman who always knew more than any one person should?"

"Theresa?" By how quickly Wren was able to deduce to whom I referred it was obvious that I was not the only person who found the ancient clairvoyant unsettling.

I snapped my fingers in excitement that my idea was blossoming into something of use. "That's it! I bet she'd know exactly where to start."

"I don't doubt that she would," Wren mulled, "but the problem is Theresa always found me."

This admission puzzled me. "You mean she never told you how to find her?"

It all seemed rather ridiculous to me, but my Hero companion apparently found my confusion at least moderately unexpected judging by the single brow she arched. "You clearly never spent much time with her." She stated dryly yet without the rancor she'd been so quick to hurl at me less than an hour passed. "Theresa kept her secrets locked up as-" I watched then as the woman before me stumbled upon the answer within her mind; her features lighting in triumph that she failed to withhold behind her recently adapted irritation at my general existence.

"The Spire!" She announced boldly. "Of course! When she first introduced herself to me she called herself Theresa of the Spire."

I myself could not suppress a grin at our sudden good fortune and, in my sudden elation at having luck finally turn our way, forgot myself and my tenuous place in the good queen's indulgence. "Then, old pal, looks like we're off to Bloodstone!"

Now traveling to Bloodstone was not strictly necessary to reach the Spire, I will admit, as the monolith was not actually located within the village but beyond its coast. In point of fact Driftwood or Industrial would have served our purposes just as well, having docks from which a vessel could be launched to traverse the distance from the mainland. In my defense I'd like to call attention to the fact that the disreputable settlement had long been synonymous with the Spire since the days of the Old Hero Queen, and Bloodstone was the closest port town to our ultimate destination, thus bringing it to the fore of my thoughts when the Spire was mentioned, as would have no doubt been the case for any other citizen of Albion. Any save for Wren that is, who instead perceived my eager input as something else entirely.

"Well aren't we excited?" Her acerbic posture reestablished, Wren set loose her tongue once more; the query uttered in a dry manner which quite clearly implied her out of its meaning. "Planning on reacquainting yourself with your preferred class of companions, are you?"

"Oh, do pardon me for setting aside personal differences for the larger problem." I rebuked with far less sincerity than Wren had displayed, which in and of itself was quite the accomplishment. "There's only one Spire in Albion after all – it wasn't a difficult guess." Sufficed to say I was none too thrilled with the reaction I procured and felt very much abused in that instance as a throng of onlookers spied the insult hurled so casually at me. Here I was, at last able to present a useful contribution to the strategy, and she could not see fit to move beyond my past solicitation of less than respectable women. The need to defend myself and my intentions took firm hold over my tongue faster than reason could overtake my actions. "And I'll have you know," I pressed on heedlessly, "there're a few decent women in Industrial who'd have recent cause to take offense at that remark."

Looking back at the whole encounter and knowing now what was to come, I concede that it was impetuous and ungracious of me to react to her affront in such a way, and had I half of the knowledge then that I do now I might have thought first on what drove her to behave so pugnaciously.

Self-preservation often comes at the expense of another, and in this case it was no different. Yet I was never a man who was known for putting a great deal of forethought into his words and in this I proved no different.

What can I say? I was an idiot.

I was both astounded and abashed to find something that all too closely resembled misery obscure the blue steel of her eyes, if only for the most infinitesimal of moments. Since the dismissal of her initial shock at my return the only animated reaction I myself had drawn from my compatriot had been anger; and rightly so for the mistreatment she clearly felt I had delivered upon her. And so it had never occurred to me that there might be another emotion tied to my treatment of her, such as the pain of broken trust. It was a sobering realization to be certain and one I shan't forget with any ease.

So there I stood, properly hushed and ready – even hopeful – that she'd strike out at me; perhaps cast a bit of fire or fracture my nose as I had only a short time ago feared she might. I deserved no less than that, I knew, and welcomed her retaliation for once. Instead what I received was a barely perceptible nod of her head followed by a lovely view of her straight back as she turned to guide us to the castle in complete silence.

Well done, Finn. Well done.

XXXX

In the end it was by way of a merchant ship commandeered from Industrial and not Bloodstone that we at last fell within the shadow of the gypsy woman's lair where, after recklessly hastening the passage when his queen requested speed, the captain was immediately ordered to drop anchor and ready a longboat, as the remainder of the journey would be made by Wren and I alone. At the call from the ship's second I left my self-assigned post at the riggings, having worked aboard enough ships during my years that I could no longer board a vessel and remain inactive with any degree of comfort. With my weaponry gathered from my footlocker in the berthing I then returned to the deck to join up with my erstwhile traveling companion as we waited for our next transport to be readied.

"Are you sure that you want to come?" The Hero Queen asked of me when at last I stood beside her at the rails. "Theresa may not appreciate our intrusion." It was a cautious exchange; Wren had been nothing if not reserved since our last confrontation outside of Walter's tomb, a regard that had driven me to avoid contact with her wherever possible, unaccustomed as I was to standing on any sort of formalities with her, pleasant or otherwise. I admit that during our friendship I'd never treated Wren as the royalty she had been. Jokes, jibes, rough cursing and good natured tormenting had followed us through our travels, and now to have to stand on guarded propriety with her was something I had no experience with.

"This was my idea," I grumbled, though unable to fault her treatment of me. "Can't very well make a suggestion and not follow through, can I?"

"No, I suppose not."

Without further explanation as to what we could expect, Wren climbed aboard the secondary vessel and cast off, forcing me to choose between bounding into the longboat or being left behind, of which I decided upon the former option. With oars out and our shoulders working like seasoned deckhands we were quickly enough standing within the Spire's cavernous port and finding ourselves staring into the blank eyes of the very person whose counsel we had set out to request.

To her credit Wren took everything in stride, as though having one's actions foretold by a preternatural diviner was an everyday occurrence, which I had to remind myself had long been the case for my companion.

"The last to step foot within my Spire were four Heroes of great purpose and greater power," the old gypsy moved straight-away into her dialogue without so much as a proper greeting, though I'd come to expect no less from passed dealings. "That you have such an important task before you now is the only reason you were permitted entry here." Ah yes, we had most assuredly been expected.

"Tell me how to kill the Crawler," Wren seemed to me to be as unruffled by Theresa as the gypsy was by our arrival, "and we'll be gone from your sanctuary as quietly as we came."

In typical fashion for the old seer Theresa seemed to disregard the reply one normally would have been obliged to furnish and instead retreated deeper into the hollowed-out bastion, leaving we uninvited guests no alternative but to follow for our answers.

"The darkness that threatens once again cannot be stopped by any weapon you currently possess," the gypsy admitted in that obscure way that made one wonder exactly how much of what she knew did she plan to reveal.

"But there is a weapon?"

Theresa's response was as equanimous as Wren's request, which made what followed all the more surreal. "To face the demon and destroy it forever, first you must unleash it upon the world."

Now, I was positive at this point in the dialog that I had just gone quite mad, or perhaps had unknowingly swallowed some vast amount of sea water during our crossing thus poisoning me and bringing about hallucinations.

"Wait," I dared to speak in my madness, more disturbed by the gypsy's words than her otherworldliness, "you mean let it out? As in turn it loose? 'Sorry chum, let us help you out of that body.' That kind of unleash?"

"The creature will require a body in order to inhabit our world once more. It cannot survive without a host," Theresa was clearly able to tolerate my sarcasm better than most, for I was fairly certain that she hadn't so much as blinked beneath that hood of hers. "You will have to revive it and then destroy it within a mortal vessel."

"Like Walter?" With her demand the steel-blue of Wren's eyes became slightly more luminescent than it had been mere seconds prior. Now this was dangerous territory, I could plainly see, and thus I made the undoubtedly wise decision to back out of the exchange. "You're saying that I have to let that thing wake up again inside Walter and kill him all over again – to kill Walter for a second time?"

"You would be destroying the host form, not the soul of the man who had once inhabited it." Though she must have meant her words to serve as reassurance Theresa's admission did little to subdue the dread that was welling within my digestive system. "Two years ago you succeeded only in killing the mortal vessel housing the shadow creature, yet it was something the Crawler had not been prepared to compensate for. Your actions set the creature into a state of dormancy, though it was never truly destroyed. As I said, it cannot be killed by conventional weapons or magic."

"You're saying that two years ago I murdered Walter for nothing? No, I refuse to believe that! Walter said the darkness was gone. He said he could see the light again! Why didn't you warn us the creature still lived?" Wren's patience with her enigmatic advisor was clearly and quite hastily unraveling, while the gypsy seemed as imperturbable as ever – a factor, no doubt, in Wren's rapidly dwindling tolerance.

"The Crawler bound itself to Walter's spirit – not his physical body – as a way to control your friend through fear, and so was forced to become inert to survive the death of its host form. There is only one way to destroy it from what I have seen, and it is not with swords or bullets or common spells. At the time of your victory two years passed there was nothing more you could do to vanquish the creature. It was for this reason I would not tell you your future in our last meeting. Had you been warned things would not have progressed as they did, and you might not have had the opportunity to destroy the creature that is open to you now."

With a reasonable argument such as the one Theresa posed, Wren at last began to regain some of her composure, and with that I began to regain some semblance of wellbeing. "So what's next? How do we kill it once and for all?"

"You must go to Aurora. There you will find the answer you require."

"Aurora, eh?" I chimed in, nostalgia taking firm hold of my thoughts. "Sounds a lot like Swifty's last message to us."

"What is this weapon?" The queen went on doggedly. "How will I know it when I find it?"

"You will know the weapon only when the time comes to use it. I cannot tell you more than this for in truth I cannot see it."

And here I forgot the virtues of holding my tongue once more, lost as I was to incredulity of having heard the woman admit to her own limitations. "You don't know what it is? How do you know this weapon exists if you can't even see it?" And to my surprise Wren acknowledged the validity of my inquiry with a tilt of her head that wordlessly demanded the gypsy answer my question.

"I can see the events surrounding a great void in my visions. This void will result in the permanent destruction of the creature of darkness. What lies within the void is beyond my knowing, however. It is up to you to seek out and identify it.

"Know this, Hero," Theresa's voice took on an ominous quality that caught my attention and held me rapt, "the void only appears when the pair of you are together. Whatever happens, for the time being you must not part company."

I chuckled at this revelation and shrugged at Wren with false nonchalance when a quip came to mind that I failed to withhold. "So much for our suicide pact, eh pal?"

Cold steel met my gaze and, though no emotion crossed her features, I could feel the chill of her Ice Storm spell in my bones even if not so much as a snowflake danced upon the warm air.

"Right," I muttered quickly, before she could find the words that I was fairly certain I would not want to hear, "let's just play that by ear then, shall we?"

To my everlasting relief, my Hero companion abandoned her unborn irritation with me and in quite the responsible fashion returned to the matter at hand. "How long do we have? Can you see that much?"

"Time is of the essence," the seer replied, for of course she could not be expected to directly proclaim 'you have two weeks and four days' or anything quite so edifying; that would have proven useful, after all. "I would advise alternate means of transportation to Aurora."

I knew what was to come from the way the Hero Queen had gazed pointedly at the seer, her expression thoughtful. I was familiar with this 'alternate means of transportation' the old woman referred to; there had once been a time when I had marveled as Wren dematerialized from the room in a flash of white light only to reappear moments later with items not previously on her person. From that point on it had never ceased to draw wonder from me to watch Wren traverse in this fashion, for though she was my friend she was still a Hero, and none in life had fascinated me more than her breed.

I found then that I had become the subject of critical study, as though I were a puzzle that required solving. "Is it possible to take a passenger?" At last I understood her hesitation. Never had I witnessed Wren take another into one of those blinding trips, not without the aid of one of those strange platforms. Theresa held none of our concern, however.

"You need only take hold of the person you wish to travel with and do not let go until you have fully materialized."

It was here that Wren hesitated dubiously, peering down at my hand as though awkwardly considering how to go about taking it up without actually requesting permission, until I proffered it as I would for a handshake. The leather gauntlet that pressed against my palm tingled with what I could only assume was restrained Will, and for an instant that had nothing to do with the woman before me I wanted nothing more than to never let go. "Brace yourself." Her tone was laden with warning and straightaway I knew I would not like what was to come.

And with that my world vanished, pulling me faster than thought through a swirling vortex of white light, indiscernible noise and sick-inducing motion.

In my defense, anyone who has ever traveled using the Heroes' preferred means of transportation will agree with me when I say there is no dishonor or shame in emptying one's stomach after one's first encounter with what Wren later called 'Fast Travel'. Having said that, I feel no compulsion to bear false witness to my resilience in this mode of transit, nor do I deny costing Wren one very lovely and very expensive outfit that day.

XXXX

When next my eyes beheld the world, it was to the sight of checkered tiles and silk covered walls of a flattering blue. A grand map of Albion occupied the majority of the globular room, as well as a surfeit of unopened gifts, a large basket lined with clean blankets and an elderly gentleman who stared at me, propped as I was against that pedestal map, as though I were no longer a man but a Hobbe.

"Good heavens, it's him!" The man exclaimed with such shock I could not be certain if it was to my benefit or detriment to be here. "Madam, I hesitate to ask, but-"

"Jasper I need to leave quickly," Wren's voice called from beyond an opened doorway further on, "have my travel clothes been laundered?"

The man I remembered to be more an extension of Wren's family than simply a butler hurried to join his mistress, albeit casting the occasional astonished glance in my general direction as he left me alone within the cozy chamber with nothing to occupy my time and attention but my surroundings. So it was that I felt no reservations about peering about curiously and granted myself the right to a leisurely stroll around the room.

Upon the walls were framed sheets of parchment each having been granted a place of some esteem upon the narrow walls, and on drawing near to one in particular I saw Major Swift's scrawling print detailing The Hero of Brightwall's vow to restore honor to the army and appoint the major as the new general once Wren took the throne; a promise she regrettably never had the opportunity to keep. Without thought my hand reached up to touch the nearly indiscernible script, remembering the man who had penned this agreement. Similar parchments hung from other walls; promises the Hero of Brightwall made on her road to becoming Queen. Promises she'd kept, save for this one.

This was her sanctuary, I was at last able to discern. I'd heard Walter speak of this place, and that Jasper fellow during the one time I'd had the pleasure of making his indirect acquaintance. I had always known that Wren had some sort of secret hideaway she would abscond to on occasion; a place where only Walter and Jasper had been, and that she'd brought me here seemed an honor I was hardly worthy of.

It was at that moment that an insistent warmth nudged my hand, one I was familiar with and happy to know once more.

"Hey," I knelt to rub at the wriggling mass of black and white fur which sported a pink tongue all too eager to greet my cheek, "hey boy! It's been a while hasn't it? You been a good boy? What are you doing cooped up here?"

"Her Majesty retired our good Master Pip after an ill fated fight with a pack of balverines over a year ago," the gentlemen's gentleman returned with the ruined garments bundled in his arms. "Apparently she decided she'd had enough of losing those she loved most. He hasn't been allowed to join her in battle since."

Regardless of if he had intended for his words to strike at me in such a fashion, or if it had been an unknowing slip, the effect was the same.

My Heroic friend had always been there for me, of this I had no doubt. She'd stood at my side during those first unbearable moments after Major Swift's inglorious murder, worried for me when we became separated upon being shipwrecked on the shores of Aurora, accepted my pathetic attempt to comfort her after Walter's loss and had viewed my company with not only tolerance but gratitude; something I'd never expected to have from the likes of her. She'd referred to me as her friend on numerous occasions, both publicly and privately.

And then, on what was to be our last night together, I'd momentarily been audacious enough to believe myself worthy enough to sweeten my lips with hers, and had been shocked to find that not only had my actions failed to bring about her revulsion, she'd responded to my attentions with what I daresay had been equal enthusiasm.

It had started simply enough, with a conversation beside Walter's statue as we watched the sun sink behind the town below. Talk of future plans, half-hearted mocking and a great deal of putting off our final goodbyes lead gradually to fingers that touched without grasping, looks that lingered just a moment beyond prudence and an embrace that, while intended to signify the end of our evening, became only the beginning when at last I acted upon impulses I admit had been long withheld.

To recount the detailed events which followed that first honeyed kiss for you, however, is not something I wish to attempt at this point in my narrative. It is not that I wish to forget that evening, for in fact nothing could be further from the truth. But with those invaluable memories also comes a profound sense of regret for the injustice I placed upon her, and the loss that resulted from it, which no amount of forgiveness could ever erase.

For indeed Wren had counted me as something dearer then a friend that night, and yet where my past romantic consociates in Bloodstone and beyond had received at the very least an expression of gratitude in one form or another and a farewell before departing their company, in the case of Wren I'd left asleep in her bed, without so much as a parting word spoken or scrawled.

XXXX

When next I laid eyes upon my queen and companion it was to a sight I remembered with fond if bittersweet reminiscence, for more than the finery and ornaments of her stature, I knew Wren for the adventurer she was at heart. With her favorite travel garb of a crimson and gold dyed highwayman's suit, her chestnut hair tied up in the bun that crowned her head, the courtier's makeup replaced with a far more modest face paint and her preferred choices in weaponry – the Casanova and the Chickenbane – strapped to her back, she became once more the Hero and friend from my memories.

"I'm not sure where in Aurora we'll need to go. We should start with Kalin." My companion announced as she entered the central chamber at last, straightening the buckles of one of her gauntlets and then drawing Chickenbane to ensure it was in proper fighting condition. "Do you need fresh ammunition?"

Though it hardly seemed necessary due to the training in which Major Swift had ingrained within me the habit of never allowing my weapons go unready for combat, I none-the-less pulled first my rifle and then my pistol for inspections, pausing only when I caught notice of the absolute stillness that was now the woman at my side. She was gazing at my pistol as though surprised to see it, and for a moment the reason escaped me.

"Briar's Blaster," her voice, I took note, was a whisper of incredulity mixed with something heavier and as of yet unidentified, "you still have it."

Ah yes, this particular firearm had been a favorite of hers until she had given it to me as a gift immediately after Walter's funeral, and it was this gun above all others that I'd never had the heart to pack away or tradeoff for a more powerful model. It fit me in some inexplicable way that had nothing to do with the specialty grip and trigger which matched my smaller hands so perfectly. I found holding it gave me a sense of completion no other gun had given me, as though it had been crafted for me even though it had been quite clearly constructed long before my birth.

"Why wouldn't I? It was a gift."

With that Wren sniffed disdainfully at my response, though the derision seemed more than a little forced. "No doubt you'll make some good coin if you sell it while advertising who gave it to you."

It was at those words that I returned the pistol's hammer to its rightful position and holstered the weapon once more whilst trying not to take out my irritation on my treasure. "I'd sooner sell my right leg," I muttered in a tone gruffer than I'd intended and for once decided against giving her the opportunity to respond, mindful that any retort she delivered might pull the worst from me yet again, and that I had no right to inflict my ire upon her. For reasons I could not comprehend Wren's animosity towards me was diminishing, and I for one was in no hurry to revive it through blatant stupidity. "Ready when you are, pal." My abrupt end to the conversation brought about a startled blink from the Hero, but nothing more.

"We'll be Fast Traveling to Aurora." She said at last, and I took her words for what they were; a warning, and one that was thankfully spoken for my benefit rather than to deter me.

"I'll be fine." Though I tried to impart a reassured quality to my statement there was no denying the trepidation I felt at the thought of returning to that plane of instability. "Just be sure keep me aimed away from you; I always was partial to that outfit."

And it was at that point my heart tripped within my chest, for upon her lips I detected the faintest trace of a smile. Whether it was in response to my words or at my expense didn't matter in the least at that moment, only that I'd seen it – as I hoped feverishly that I had.

Too dumbfounded to think of something that might draw the smile further from its hiding place and confirm my hopes, I instead held out a hand for her to take. I succeeded in mustering a steady enough voice for a quick "Lead the way," to which she responded with a tightening grip on my hand as, without further ado, we vanished into the noise and light once again.

XXXX

I mentioned once in a response to someone's review that when I write a character's speech I think of it like finding their 'rhythm'. In this case every time I switch from Ben's narrative to his dialogue it's like a time change (any music aficionados out there?) It can get really tricky in places where he starts talking more and the rhythm changes. Hope I didn't slip the rhythm too much. ;o)

Anyway…

Slow start and no action scenes yet, I know, but this is going to be a long-ish series. Eight chapters down so far (pre-editing) and the ending I'm working could probably stand to be divided into a couple of separate chapters itself. Don't worry – from here it starts to pick up!