Shadowcroft Academy Year 2 - Chapter Seventeen

Days later, Sunday evening, Logan and his friend emerged from the Dungeon Interchange of Entrances, or the DIE portal outside the Bone Vaults, the most undead of Arborea’s undead dungeons. The Bone Vaults had a massive necrotic entrance made of interlocking bones a 164 feet high and 148 feet wide. It was the Arc de Triomphe of skeletal structures. While there were mostly human bones, the remains of other creatures had been thrown in for fun, most notably a fully ossified dragon.

Around them was the cold yellow Vralkag Plains. A weedy cobblestone path led from the bone entrance to Vralkag itself. In the fading light, the little town looked cozy and comfortable, snow covering the rooves. Chimneys filled the air with the sweet-smelling smoke. Even at a distance, they heard the music from the taverns and the busy marketplace, open all the time now for Forevergreen Festival shopping, which was the Christmas season of the Ashvattha multiverse.

Logan normally liked a good winter festival, celebrating light, drinking eggnog, singing holiday songs. However, Logan wasn’t having the best time in his sophomore year at Shadowcroft.

He and his three friends—four including Steve, who was never far from Marko these days—walked down the road, edged by the long yellow grasses. All were bundled up against the cold. Clouds covered the heavens, creating a scarlet sunset, and supposedly there was a good chance it would snow. Steve had on a red and yellow stocking hat and matching scarf, that Logan didn’t comment on, though it took sheer force of will to hold his tongue. Inga quickly tired of his very specific cultural references.

Logan wore pieces of his armor for warmth, and had added a big yellow cloak, though his mushroom head was too wide for the hood. Inga wore a stylishly long white coat with a comfortable fur collar. Treacle’s gigantic leather duster was black and heavy with bits of metal. Marko sported the jeweled coat he’d won during their finals the year before—looted from the corpse of a vanquished dungeoneer. That Linraist Erejam had terrible taste in clothes, though the gaudy coat seemed to suit Marko well. Underneath, the satyr wore a black turtleneck. Logan didn’t ask his friend how he got the sweater over his curling horns.

“What’s the name of your fancy new technique called again, Logan?” Marko asked. “Trouser snake of ultimate moon power? Did I get that right?”

Inga looked shocked. “Marko. Please.”

“Radiant Serpent Under the Glowing Moon Technique.” Treacle bent and ripped some grass from the side of the road to chomp on their short walk into Vralkag. “Professor Rainsap said Logan has to work less and let go more. He hates it.”

“I do hate it.” Logan had to scurry to keep up with his friends. Even in this form, they all had longer legs than him. “Working hard is what I was built for. This dumb cycling technique? It’s stupidly easy. It’s like rolling a wheel down a hill. I’m supposed to get it started and let it just roll on down. The Apothos is supposed to ‘dance’ through my knot and into my core.” Logan threw some air quotes. “It should be like a perpetual-motion machine, but it never works, so I have to keep forcing the energy. I have to literally push it through every step of the way.”

Treacle crunched and swallowed. “Sounds like it’s stupidly hard.” Sighing followed. The big minotaur was more depressed than usual, and they were worried about him.

Logan pulled his cloak tighter. ‘It’s stupidly easy in a stupidly hard way. I can see it wants to work but it never does, so I have to keep messing with it.”

Marko danced forward. “Ha! There you go. You gotta goat it up, brah. Rainsap has it right. Don’t work. Just let the music of the universe lead you. Dance to your own heartbeat.” He did a bit of tap dancing, hooves clattering across the hard packed road.

Inga’s antennae curled outward. “That is beautiful dancing, Marko. I am so very impressed.”

He stopped. “Sheesh, Ing, I have my Language of Dance ability. It’s part of being a Dark Muse. I can hypnotize the evil dungeoneers with my fancy hoof work, when I’m not using my Unrelenting Debauchery and Vicious Insult skills.”

The mothmancer glowed. “I am not encouraging ‘Ing’ as a sobriquet. Inga is fine.”

She lit their way with her Lunar Aura ability, giving them light as the sunset. They made their way through the gates of the walled city. Vralkag was nestled deep in the grassy hills, south of the school proper. It was a quaint place, the buildings and shops made of stone with wood-shingled rooves mixed with half-timbered houses. Quaint. The kind of place that belonged on an English countryside brochure. If not for all the monsters, and there were a lot of monsters, ranging from almost human to eldritch horrors that looked like they’d crawled out of the depths of hell.

It was busy for a Sunday because people were doing their holiday shopping. Also, since Melvin had taken over helping Chef Treegee, the food had become very good, except on Sundays, when Melvin took the night off. Dungeon cores then hit the inns in Vralkag, for a change of pace, and for better food.

Finally, Professor Zantho had made visiting Vralkag homework. You didn’t want to miss a single assignment in the Fairy Fetch’s brutal class. Getting on Zantho’s bad side could get you killed.

Marko led the way since Vralkag was basically his second home. They walked through the marketplace, where hawkers shouted to the students, selling donuts just out of the grease, pastries, and knockoffs of Melvin’s cherry triangles. Other stalls featured cultivation supplies that promised to help with energy flow. Those shops had exotic names like Sherry Zhad’s Sacred Smoke, or Ttan Ttich Nick’s Tinctures ‘n Stuff, or Ptah Ptar’s Potions, Powders, and Pedicures. As unbelievable as it sounded, there was actually an entire school of cultivation that insisted improving your core started with good footcare. Logan was so desperate that he was seriously considering looking into it.

Try as he might, it seemed he’d plateaued and he couldn’t increase his rank, not even a single level.

The food stalls were everywhere as well, and many had little charcoal grills cooking fish and various sweet meats. There were other little fires warming the market, though with all the monster bodies shopping, it would’ve been warm regardless.

The snow started abruptly, but above, hanging magical tarps kept the market dry. Every time a snowflake hit the fabric, the material glowed a soft silver color, converting the snow into intricate patterns of brilliant Luminosus Apothos that reminded Logan of Celtic symbols. The magic was ingenious—it not only melted the snow, but it also gave the vendors light.

Inga stopped in front of a cart selling all sorts of silverware, dinnerware, and flatware—only Inga knew the difference between the three. She gestured to a set of gold spoons, forks, butter knifes, and steak knives. “This is the problem with the neo-Eritrean tableware. The forks have the four tines, and they are slender, known as the precise tinian, but they’re still too thick. They should only be the size of three pine needles from an adolescent Forevergreen pine.” She snorted. “It’s like people don’t even know about the neo-conservative phase of high-Eritrean cutlery.” Abruptly, the mothmancer stopped talking and stood there, stupefied by the various forks.

Marko squinted. He gave Logan a worried look, then returned to appraising their friend who had a haunted look etched into the lines of her face. “Hey, Inga. Are you going to be all right?”

The moth woman blinked and shook her head. “Yes. It’s just a lot to remember. Melvin has offered to help me. I probably should take him up on it.” She faltered and glanced away. “He’s just so awkward.”

A jeweler’s loupe telescoped out of Treacle’s eye socket, and he appraised the offending forks. “Three pine needles thick. It’s more like four. I see why you’re so upset.”

Inga brightened. “Really?”

The spyglass withdrew back into Treacle’s skull. “No. Inga, you might want to reconsider this elective. It’s as meaningless as everything else in the veil of tears we call our lives.”

Marko winced. “Ouch. Dark.”

“You’re probably right, treacle,” Inga admitted, sounding defeated. “It’s just that when I get challenged, I have a hard time not committing myself fully. And honestly I’ve never been as challenged by anything as I have by this course.”

Marko hung himself off of Inga’s and Steve’s shoulders. “Not committing is my specialty! Girlfriend, again, you need to embrace your inner goat and just dance, dance, dance.” Marko backed himself up into a stall that sold all kinds of musical instruments. He plucked a lute off the wall, strummed a chord, and then made a very EDM noise in the back of this throat. At the same time, he sang a song about sleeping all day and dancing all night.

The shopkeeper, a woman with stainless steel hair sticking vertically off a pink skull, snatched the lute away from him. “We both know you’re not going to buy that, Marko Laskarelis. Maybe if you spent some gold in my shop, I might let you draw a crowd.”

Marko bowed to the shopkeeper and took her pink hand in his. Each of her fingernails was tipped with an inch of razor-sharp steel. Marko kissed the hand. “You are lovely, Ms. Poppy, or can I call you Anna Kay?”

“It’s Poppy to you, goat boy,” the pink metal woman shot back.

“You do me an injustice, Poppy,” he said pressing a hand to his chest, sounding hurt. “I just love your shop so much. I’d wager you have the best shop outside of the Crossworld Bazaar. Simply beautiful!”

“Oh, and when have you been to the Crossworld Bazaar?” From her voice, it was clear that Poppy didn’t believe him.

“GK and I snuck away this summer,” Marko said. “I bought an Aldeerian flute at an antique shop. I’ll have to bring it over and show it you sometime.”

“Or buy something from me.” Poppy frowned.

“What’s the Crossworld Bazaar?” Logan asked. “And what is it with this Aldeeria stuff?”

Inga shoved her hands into the pockets of her coat. “The Crossworld Bazaar is a realm, not unlike Arborea, full of markets, malls, and shops of every kind. If an item exists at all, you can find it in the Crossworld Bazaar.”

Treacle stood behind them like a leather-coated tower. “I heard Professor Crucible say we’ll take a fieldtrip there next year. He has a course on special magic items, and there’s lots of magic items there. Not that they’re any good. Or so I’ve heard. As for Aldeeria, I have fond memories of—”

Marko interrupted the minotaur and shoved them all toward the satyr’s favorite place in Vralkag, Enrico’s Inn and Fry Kitchen. It was the biggest building in that part of the market, five stories of a precarious structure that swayed with the revelry inside. It looked so structurally unsound Logan had no idea how the building didn’t just fail apart when hit by a stiff breeze. But according to a plaque hanging out front, the Inn had stood for a thousand years, which meant they were doing something right.

The place was packed. But Marko had gone in with the Gelatinous Knight, Nemoy the undead merman, and few other people to buy their own table with a window seat facing the market. The ground floor had booths along the edges, a ton of tables in the center, and a polished bar across the back wall complete with bar stools and town drunks.

Four windows at the front of the tavern had stained glass borders showing the Four Celestial Ancestors. Marko’s booth was under the Azure Dragon, where a blue beast breathed fire onto a party of raiders in a brightly colored cave. One the dungeoneers wore bright blue plate mail but had golden light radiating from his hands. The artwork was top notch.

“Marko!” a huge man behind the bar shouted across the room. The man was very old, very fat, and like most things in Arborea, very weird. Logan wasn’t sure where to look first. The tri-corner hat covering the white hair which looked suspiciously like a wig? The man’s enormous belly? The wrinkled skin hanging from his neck under the prune-like face? Or the fact that the bartender had four arms? Two muscled arms hung from his shoulders. Another massive arm emerged from his chest, flexing a bicep, while another stuck out from his back, grabbing a bottle of hooch off a glass shelf. He must’ve had his topcoat and apron especially tailored to accommodate the extra limbs.

Marko flung out a hand. “Enrico! Brought my buddies here for dinner!”

Enrico slammed a plate down in front of a customer, sent a mug sliding across the bar to another patron, grabbed gold coins from a forth, and then spun to catch another plate delivered through a slot in the wall. “Your buddies? I don’t see GK and Nemoy!”

“My other buddies! From school.” Marko called back. “We’ll be at my table. How is the shrimp tonight?”

“Shrimpy! What do you expect? It’s shrimp! You want Liverkill? I have a special flavor. Chile-lime.”

“No. We’ll do your Forevergreen Fizzies! And bring us the death-by-fry baskets. With extra honey.”

“That’s a surprise!”

Logan, who could eat rotten food without a problem, felt his stomach twitch at the thought of chile-lime wine.

The shouting match drew everyone’s attention, and that included Melvin R. Chevalier. That was bad. Worse? Melvin was sitting with the First Cohort, at a table near the kitchen door. Black flames rose from Chadrigoth’s shoulders and his horns gleamed like they were sharpening themselves. Jimi Magmarty crushed his pewter mug in his rocky grip. The worst glares came from Lady Elesiel’s necromantically green eyes. Even though it had been a couple months since their bout in the Mines of Madness, she still had a band-aid on her face from the Blister Wart.

For a lich queen, she must have sensitive skin.

Logan sat down with their friends and tried not to let the sour looks ruin the festive mood. Steve was shoved way to the right, and Marko leaned against him. A waitress, who also had four arms, slammed down frothing mugs of green fizz. Clouds appeared over each ornate flagon, showing different patterns. Logan got what looked like a present wrapped in a bow, Inga got a star, and Treacle got a toy soldier. All were surprisingly Christmassy.

Oddly enough, a skull and crossbones appeared in the fizz above Marko’s mug.

The goat man swept up his drink. “To us!”

They knocked cups. Logan slammed back the liquid with a gusto. He wasn’t much of a drinker by nature, but he’d lived through enough barracks parties back in his Army days to know that sometimes you just needed to commit and let the drinks flow. He was caught off guard when the brew was both delicious and shockingly non-alcoholic.  Even better, it tasted like a Christmas cookie mixed with Sprite.

Logan quirked a fungal eyebrow at his friend. “Why did you get a skull and crossbones?”

Marko tipped back his drink and smacked his lips. “I’m, uh, not a big fan of the Forevergreen Festival. But we settled that last year. I do like a good fizz, though. It’s so minty.”

Inga explained further. “The fizzies can sense our Apothos and react appropriately, giving us the drink we want, and also giving us a little surprise. Some say they predict the future.”

Marko set his cup on the table. “So, the bones are good news for me, right? I’ll get dangerously thin and waifish, maybe become a starvation model with that whole skull look. Or will I become a pirate? Either way, I’m feeling good.”

“Really?” Inga asked. “If you want some of the Liverkill, we won’t judge you.”

“Nope, don’t want booze tonight. I’m just happy to be with you guys.” He paused and glanced around. “I am a little surprised that GK and Nemoy aren’t here, though. Those two basically live here on the weekends. We’ve had some good times, but I have to say, I love hanging out with you three just as much or more.”

Steve’s head squeaked on his shoulders.

Marko corrected himself. “You four.”

Logan wondered what his present-shaped cloud might mean. Would he get a gift soon? Hopefully it would come with a rank advancement. Not making progress was killing him.

Treacle finished off his fizzy and set a gold coin on the table. “You can keep it at three, Marko. There was a shop out there I wanted to investigate. Then maybe I’ll go home. I might not be feeling well. I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.”

Before they could ask for more information, Treacle slipped out of the booth and trudged out the door.