The Second Life and Adventures of Benjamin Finn:
Chapter 10: In Which Delay Becomes Deadly
It was only after some debate, consisting primarily of a fair amount of elevated squabbling in which I was surprised to find myself the voice of reason, that Wren at last consented to a brief stopover in Industrial to replenish our depleted stock of potions and munitions – thanks in no small part to the Hero Queen's ill-fated attempt at decimating a horde of shadow fiends singlehandedly – as well as to assess the situation within the castle; for it was almost assured that a certain Mayor would already have detailed knowledge of the events which had recently transpired within Her Majesty's home.
Despite said agreement, however, Wren was not without stipulations of her own, of which she readily presented upon the completion of our exchange. "We go, we restock, we meet with Page and we're on our way to Shadelight within the hour. Agreed?"
"Well I've never been one for drawn out conversations, myself," I consented, seeing little point in arguing against a proposal I myself found preferable, despite the insinuation of a near total disregard for her responsibilities of state. "Alright. One hour. Then we settle things up proper with those blighters."
With a curt bob of chestnut locks our bargain was struck and Wren's reluctance vanished with the promise of the battle to come and the melee of gunfire and spell-craft that never ceased to put everything into proper perspective, her brow only arching with the barest of puzzlement when I held a hand out to her expectantly.
"I'm still new to this whole Hero business," I grumbled, embarrassed to find myself doubtful of my own abilities – a concept I had never known prior to accepting my new role as a Hero of Albion, "figured I'd let you show me how it's done once more." With an altruism at odds with the exacerbating disregard for our mutual safety she'd exhibited not more than a full breath ago Wren's fingers reached out to encase mine and draw me near to her.
"The act itself is quite simple." She explained with what I daresay could have almost been a hint of softness touching her expression; a reaction I had not expected of her given her current frame of mind. "Envision where you want to be and will it so. Your Guild Seal will answer the call. Go on."
"Me? You sure 'bout that?"
An astonishingly indifferent shrug responded to my incredulity. "Why not?"
A thousand different reasons resounded in no particular order within my head, and all of them involved my inexperience bringing about our deaths or permanent displacement to that terrifying other plane, yet I knew better than to risk Wren's temper given recent circumstances; if she thought it a simple enough matter that even I could manage it, so be it; and if we found ourselves in the hereafter momentarily I would be within my rights to remind her that the notion had been hers from the start while possessing the good fortune of not having to fear for my mortality at the hands of her ire.
So it was that I was yet again confronted with the knowledge of why a Hero's mystical abilities had earned the title Will, and not magic or spell craft, for indeed much of those incorporeal powers were the result of intention alone. Clearing my thoughts of everything save for the memory of the musty odor of the canals and factories, the echo of production against brick, and the cool sea air traveling along the waterways deep into the city, I closed my eyes and willed us to a point just outside of The Riveter's Rest – one of my preferred haunts – and was startled to find the jarring vertigo of Fast Travel respond to my desire; the passage as normal as once could consider it and as uneventful, if one could call Fast Travel such.
It was the sound of screaming that first alerted me to the peril I had placed us in upon our materialization.
"Bloody-" a vicious snarl cut off the obscenity I was ready to unleash when Wren's fingers clamped down upon my wrist with spasmodic force; her voice rising in a shriek of alarm, the likes of which I'd never heard her emit prior to this moment.
"Ben – look out!"
Instantaneously I was wrenched by my entrapped arm back into the blinding white vortex of the Heroes' path, and yet this time the violent nature my movement through the passageway made all previous experiences with Fast Travel seem nothing more than a tipsy stumble down a paved street. At my other arm an unseen force gripped the shoulder with sharp pressure, and when pain sliced from shoulder to wrist I knew that whatever had driven Wren to pull us from Industrial had followed us into this nightmarish arena. Unable to shed Wren's crushing grip from the appendage she still clung to I found it impossible to fend off my invisible attacker; my cries of alarm and pain obliterated beneath the whirling noise that was Fast Travel.
It was only when I landed face first upon a vaguely familiar checkered floor that I was at last able to free myself of Wren's grasp, reaching for my pistol so that I might lay waste to whatever it was that had drawn burning lines of seeping blood down the length of my shirtsleeve and flesh beneath.
To my horror – if not surprise – I found my brutalized arm to be the prisoner of a balverine's claws, my hand poised between the sealing jaws as deadly saliva dripped onto my leather gauntlet. I cannot recall actually conjuring the idea to push the creature off of me by utilizing my Will, I simply knew that I needed my hand out of this thing's mouth before its venomous teeth could contaminate me as well, and out of that desire alone the gauntlet obeyed; the balverine hurtling through the air, though not before ruining more of my flesh with its merciless grip. The impact of its body against the wall shattered what must have been an obscenely expensive mirror with flailing limbs before the beast was pushing itself back onto its hindquarters with an uncanny ability to recuperate.
Somewhere behind me I was aware of the sound of more fighting; of shouting voices and a growling that did not match that of the creature or creatures we had accidentally brought with us to Wren's Sanctuary. Yet foremost within my thoughts was pulling free Briar's Blaster and unloading its precious contents into my attacker's brain, though my efforts were thwarted when I myself was thrown back, my shoulders colliding with what must have been the great map at the center of the chamber. Without bothering to lift myself from the wreckage I drew the pistol and swung the weapon wide, striking my assailant across the face with the impressive barrel and purchasing the opportunity to tuck in my knees and thrust my boots into the fiend's chest, heaving the creature off of me.
Ordinarily one shot would have been sufficient, however Balverine skulls are astonishingly resilient, and in my regrettably unstable position I was not quite sound enough to find the creature's eye with my first shot; though when the second shot obliterated the orb, I admit that in my agitation I fired a third shot into the remaining eye for good measure, bounding to my feet and turning my attention to the raucous at my back before the body ceased its final death throe.
At the far end of the circular room a mass of silken black and white had affixed itself to the second Balverine's back, Pip's growl of pure canine hatred making it clear that the pampered royal pet was indeed a killer in his own right; gleaming white teeth staining red as they drove into coarse fur that covered his prey's throat, while lanky arms stretched awkwardly in an attempt to dislodge our four-legged defender.
"Pip heal!" Wren's fingers sparked and sizzled with a spell she refused to set free until her beloved companion was out of harm's way. "Heal, damn it!" Yet be it a desire to protect his mistress or vengeance for that last encounter which had forced Wren to retire the dog from battle, Pip would have no part of obeying her commands this time, and the scent of scorching leather informed me that there was no further time for pleading.
"Sorry boy," I muttered and set loose what I hoped would be a gentle specimen of Force Push, extricating the dog from his quarry with a startled yip as he skittered frantically to a stop on the polished floor. The room was immediately awash in a vivid orange glow and a flash of heat so intense I thought for a moment that the remains of my garment might have caught fire; at the core of that glow and heat a balverine which howled and launched itself about as it attempted futilely to avoid the flames which had enveloped every inch of its body before at last crumpling to the ground in a reeking conglomeration of charred hair and flesh.
"My word! We're under attack!" From the entrance of the armory Jasper stumbled forth hefting a rifle quite obviously too large for his frail frame, his gaze near mad with alarm as he took in our surroundings, quaking from head to toe in what was quite clearly a fierce desire to find himself anywhere but his current situation. With this display I at last understood that this man was not simply a servant of Albion's queen but a man who had acted as Wren's surrogate father-figure when her true father could not, and suddenly it seemed all the more likely that Jasper was aware of Wren's parentage while the woman herself remained ignorant.
"Not us," Wren countered whilst patting per smoldering gauntlet against her thigh, "Industrial." With a flick of her wrist she flipped the barrel of Chickenbane open to take stock of her remaining ammunition, scowling darkly as she closed it with an identical ease. "I'm almost out. You?"
"Four shots left," I replied readily; years of living as a crack shot having taught me to account for every bullet before ever pulling the trigger. "Three in the pistol, one in the rifle."
"Hope that's not your sword arm," she murmured, her firearm to gesturing towards my fouled appendage.
"This isn't my first fight, pal," my retort came with an arched brow and a decidedly self-assured smirk, "and it damn well won't be my last."
Whether it was my arrogance, the timing of my response, or a heartfelt belief in the legitimacy of my statement, Wren's answering grin – though slightly malicious – was something reminiscent of her former levity. "Then it appears we're late for a party."
"Do be careful Majesty," Jasper fretted, relinquishing his weapon to the floor and reaching out to stroke a whimpering but otherwise unharmed Pip absently.
"Lucky for us there's two Heroes in Albion now." Pulling my blade from my back and hoisting it over my shoulder as I prepared to depart, Jasper then uttered an admission that caught me thoroughly unprepared.
"And for that, Captain, you have my gratitude." He announced without rancor. "Watch over her, if you would?"
I found it only possible to nod at the earnest nature of such a request and, without reaching for Wren's arm, it was I this time that initiated the passage to Bowerstone, knowing in some inexplicable way that Wren was not far behind me within the roiling void.
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In the moment my boots struck solid cobblestone I was in motion; hurtling down back alleys and canal paths I knew would provide the quickest route to where Page would undoubtedly be making her stand – for the orphanage had been a cornerstone in her struggle to reform the city during the time of reclamation after the rebellion, and as I knew Page, she would sooner confess to having feelings for me before she'd let that building or its inhabitants fall to an onslaught. At my back boot heals clacked hurriedly along without protest or query; for as it often was upon the battlefield, Wren and I were once again of the same mind.
Around us the town had been reduced to wartime turmoil; common folk with blunted blades and antiquated firearms battled against the occasional beast, with even more of our fellow countrymen strewn about the streets in pools of blood – a clear indication that Page had either been unaware of the impending attack or unable to rally a proper defense. Given that this was Page I was considering, I could not decide which implication was more disturbing, for as confident as I was that nothing would escape her notice, I was equally as certain that nothing could bring the former rebel to her knees against her will.
Despite these convictions, however, it was plain to me that one of the two probabilities must have been the case, for her people were dying within the walls of her city and with not a single crimson uniform in sight – an oversight Page would never consciously tolerate.
"Where the bleedin' hell did she go?" I was growing angrier by the moment with my current trail of thoughts, and therefore by association with the subject they circled around incessantly. "They don't stand a chance without help!"
"Keep moving!" The woman at my back ordered tersely, contravening herself briefly so that she might pause and behead a balverine too intent on a portly man with a cleaver to notice its own impending doom before sprinting to catch me up. "Either she's there or she's not – no matter what we need to reach that orphanage!" Of course Wren once again had the right of it, for it was there that we would either find our answers in the woman who had sworn to protect Bowerstone's people, or people in desperate need of our assistance, if not a combination of the two.
Rounding a few more corners I was at last confronted with the sight and sounds I had yet to bear witness to since our arrival; dozens of uniformed soldiers creating a veritable wall of human defiance, the clash of swords, ear-splitting echoes of gunfire and an occasional explosion here or there in close quarters drowning out their battle cries as they engaged a horde of balverines the likes of which should have sent them fleeing. Yet these were no ordinary soldiers, for at their anterior one very familiar face, contorted with an expression bordering on maniacal animosity, sneered and bellowed in open defiance as he hacked into a white-furred beast.
"Morris!"
Swords in hands, Wren and I cleaved a path through the monstrosities, not trying to slay or even maim, but simply to reach my former brigade as they held their ground against the invading beasts.
"Finn! Damnation man, it bloody well took you long enough to get here!" With his free hand he reached into his belt and ripped free a parcel of ammunition, thrusting it into my hand without ever taking his eyes from his foes. "Since when are you a sword fighter?"
"I'm a man of many talents, Morris, you know that." A guffaw answered my quip, yet I paid it no heed, for a cluster of beasts had found an opening in the line's defense and was pushing their advance upon us with only a few men near enough to pose a resistance. Without hesitation I placed my bag of bullets between my teeth, hefted my gauntlet and let Force Push rip through the balverines' ranks with as much strength as I could muster; brown and white bodies hurtling back through the air with shrieking howls.
"Fill this gap men," I bellowed over my shoulder as I paused to load my pistol with my newly acquired supplies, "before they do it for us!"
"Many talents my ass!" Morris grunted. "You think I don't know what you just did? That ain't soldier talent, Ben. You're a damned Hero!"
From Morris's left a wall of fire erupted in a show of obvious aggression-born excess, pushing out into the street and giving birth to walking, screaming infernos that staggered and fell dead almost immediately.
"Trying to burn down the city are you pal?" I quipped, using my own Will to push more of the beasts into her conjured blaze, and from beneath the roar of those flames and battle I was almost certain that I heard Wren utter that familiar demand of "shut up, Ben" she'd adapted so easily from Walter, to which I responded with my formerly instinctual egotistical smirk.
"Where's Page?" The Hero Queen's voice boomed out from beneath the din almost immediately thereafter, and Morris who stood directly at my left, was only marginally less easy to hear.
"On the roof, blowin' the blighters sky-high with the mortar."
"You gave Page a mortar?" Somehow the idea of Page with a cannon inspired an apprehension in me that I could not describe; undoubtedly because I'd so often been the object of her annoyance in the past.
"I didn't give her anythin'. The woman all but claimed it as her own when she saw it come in on the wagon. Do you know how many men it took to drag that thing up to the top of that building and set it up for her? We almost lost our hold on this place while she played fussy housewife!"
Thunder rang out from above our heads, and now I was cognizant of the fact that it was Page, decimating our aggressors from above, for beyond the contorted backs of the creatures before us brick and mortar exploded in a haze that was just a touch too red to consist of the pavers alone. Ah yes, Page was in her glory, no doubt.
"What happened here, Morris?" Wren demanded between fiery gouts into the balverines.
"We were ambushed, Majesty," the man admitted through his teeth, "not many, either. But the blighted things were fast and by the time we knew they had Sir Walter they were already in the catacombs. The brigade followed, leaving Captain Turner and his men behind to secure the castle. When we got here it was pandemonium; balverines everywhere. Page was evacuatin' the citizens to the orphanage, but a lot were lost in the act. Fumin' mad, she was. We lost Sir Walter in the mayhem."
"How the bloody hell did they get balverines to do their bidding?" I found once more that placing bullets into the pitiless eyes approaching me was relatively easy and the most efficient means of killing the vermin, yet there always seemed another ready to take the fallen beasts' places. "And so many?"
"Balverines aren't mindless," Wren's response was almost casual as she picked off the creatures one by one, "I've spoken to them before. They're implacable and grasping; they can be manipulated easily if one can find the proper motivation."
"Well isn't that lovely." I muttered, shouting out in furious alarm just then as the ground erupted into shrapnel not more than ten paces before me. "Bloody hell, woman," I whirled and roared to the rooftop in a voice that carried remarkably well despite the clamor around me, "aim for the monsters! The monsters!" With a wild arm I gesticulated to the creatures at my back and was rewarded with the sight of a dark head covered in thickly plaited locks leaning over into view, eyes wide with shock visible to me even from this distance.
Wren's voice quickly enough broke me from my reprimands. "Ben! Pay attention!"
"Balls!" One of the fiends was closing in quickly and with my hand still raised I thrust it back with my Will, only to find that the act was strong enough to unhinge its lower jaw from its skull, killing the balverine before it struck the ground.
We fought on like this for what could have been hours or days; for in a battlefield time is almost always meaningless and only measured by one's supply of bullets, foes and adrenaline. Men fell with the beasts, though thankfully at a far less frequent rate, until it was at last that a soldier on the outskirts of the lines brought down the final balverine with the broken blade of what had once been his standard issue brigade sword. For a time we remaining warriors stood silent, poised and ready for a second wave that never came, before at last soldiers slowly began sinking to the ground in exhausted relief, Morris included, while Wren and I stood merely panting in our lesser exertion.
"Is it always so easy?" I asked of my superior and at my feet Morris barked an angry chortle.
"What about that was easy?"
Wren elected – wisely – to disregard the conversation between Morris and I and instead turn her attention to the doors at our backs where the sounds of barricades being dismantled could be heard only moments before Page emerged, blackened from the mortar and looking as irate as Morris had implied in our battlefield tête-à-tête.
"I trust you know what that was about?" She demanded, which for the record should not be confused with requested, implied, or any other phrase which may construe some form of manners or deference having been utilized with her queen.
"A diversionary tactic to get Walter out of the city," Wren surmised. "Though how they managed to remove him to Aurora so quickly is beyond me."
"Almost makes you think they had some way to use Fast Travel," I muttered, my arms crossed as I tried to puzzle out the dilemma, "but then they'd need a Guild Seal, wouldn't they?"
"You mean the medallion Wren wears?" Page frowned, pointing to Wren's breast where the seal would be resting beneath her shirt. "So medallions like that aren't just symbols?"
"It's what awakens new Heroes and allows us to travel instantaneously from one place to another." Wren explained, "It is how we reached Industrial so quickly after discovering Walter, and how Ben discovered who he is."
If I had been of the inclination that Page had seemed surprised on the rooftop during the battle to say the same applied in this case would have been a drastic understatement; for when I lifted my leather-clad hand and displayed for her the evidence of my Heroic nature I was quite honestly taken aback at the look of utter shock that crossed her face, and if not a little delighted that I was the cause of the greatest surprise I'd ever witnessed cross her features.
"Ben?!" She quite nearly whispered, leaning forward as to gain a better vantage over the two foot gap between us so that she might view of my gauntlet in detail. "Ben Finn is a Hero?"
"Shocking I know," I drawled, returning my arm to its place over my chest, "the world's really in for it when ol' Ben Finn is in charge of saving it."
"You said medallions," Wren frowned, ignoring my whit as was usually the case in situations such as these, "you mean to say you know of more than just mine?"
"A medallion identical to the one you wear was stolen from Reaver's former mansion just yesterday." Page revealed, prying her eyes from my hand so that she could focus upon her conversation with Wren. "Apparently it once belonged to the old Hero Garth."
The bile rose to my throat. "Even if they got their hands on the seal, don't you have to be a Hero to use it?"
"Maybe they just needed the body of a Hero." Wren growled, and the wrath I'd witnessed in her eyes beside Walter's body returned instantaneously as she clarified without need; "They have my mother."
Right. In that case…
"Morris, I need the men to pool their supplies. Bullets, potions, dressings, all of it. Her Majesty and I need to pay a visit to a cult, and we'll not want to go in empty handed."
The man who had stepped in to take my position as commanding officer of the Swift Brigade stood and promptly saluted me with not the slightest hint of the banter we two had shared during our service together. "The men and their provisions are at your disposal, sir. Give me ten minutes?" I scowled, but was denied the opportunity to refute this offer.
"You have two." Wren growled on my behalf, and without any further formalities Morris was bounding off, shouting for men to turn out their pockets and empty their rifles. As I watched my hand was caught up and a cache of health potions was placed in my grip, Page's eyes as piercing as a sword and as hard.
"I shouldn't have to tell you-" it was easy enough for me to see where her warning was taking us, and easier still to halt it before it could be spoken aloud.
"I'm done with running Page," I broke in before she could finish. "I mean it."
"You'd better be." Her voice was softer, but not so soft that I felt Wren could not hear us. "Even Heroes need to be saved sometimes, Ben."
I wanted to tell her that she didn't know the half of it; that there were worse things threatening our Hero Queen than a broken heart. But as I said, I wasn't certain that Wren would not hear every word of it.
For if Wren knew what it was that lay before us, and the threats Theresa had warned me in secret we were about to face, I was certain that Wren's stubborn nobility would thwart whatever chance I had of saving her life. And that was when the revelation struck me with full force:
Wren was completely, unequivocally, and without question, her father's daughter.
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Re-write!
Okay, so this chapter was longer in coming out because I already had a completed Chapter 10 down in print. I had it ready when I posted Chapter 9 in fact. But I went in to do a re-read and was so totally bored with it that there was no way I was going to post it.
So I sat around for a while perfecting my process, which is as follows: Finish the chapter, stare at it until the loathing was totally consuming me, swear at my computer until I felt the need to give the poor machine a Xanax, brood over the failure of my efforts for a few days/weeks/whatever, and then finally sit down and write something halfway decent!
Now as in accordance with the final steps of my process I will post this chapter, having found it suitable, go online immediately thereafter and start to pick out more faults with it that may or may not get edited.
Welcome to the mess that is my creative process. ;o)