Frozen Stars Over Wonderland - Chapter 22 (Patreon)

There was light at the end of the cave, faint and flickering like fire. They came upon a large, ornate archway, carved from the dark, shiny stone that made up the rest of the cave. It was deceptively pretty, considering where they were. Alfre peeked into the room just beyond. It was large and round, and it was indeed ringed with fire to illuminate it. The fire reflected in pillars of different colored gemstones, some red, some purple, some sickly green, and others still pure white. At the opposite side of the archway sat a throne, and in that throne sat a man. He didn’t seem much larger than a normal person, but then again Canus wasn’t much taller than Elias was. 

The man dressed in robes of red and black and white. His hair was long and tangled and fell in a way that hid his face in shadows from the way he rested his face in the palm of his hand. His whole posture seemed melancholy and Alfre felt a pang of sympathy for the man before her. 

“Well, now or never, I suppose,” Elias muttered. 

Alfre and Spica nodded, and the three stepped into the room. The man – the god – before them looked up at them, and Alfre caught sight of his dark red eyes, shuddering as their gazes met. She reached inside her coat and pulled the Direwolf Pipe from her pocket. With trembling hands she brought it to her lips and blew. A clear, high tone filled the air. The god (Abital, Alfre reminded herself) raised a thin brow at the action, his eyes flickering to the archway as the howl of a wolf came echoing through the cave. A beautiful, silvery white wolf came bounding into the chamber, coming to a stop at Alfre’s side. It looked up at her expectantly, dark eyes wide and excited. Alfre extended her hand absently and ran her fingers through its soft fur. 

Abital’s eyes widened minutely, his mouth opening in surprise before his face returned to its original despondent expression. He looked away, his hair casting shadows on his face again. He still hadn’t attacked them yet. Why hadn’t he attacked them? They’d stepped into his chamber, hell they were already half way across the room. Why wasn’t he attacking? What kind of dungeon boss was he?

And why did he look so sad?

Elias frowned and tossed a fireball at Abital. The fireball exploded at his feet. Abital raised his eyes once more, a look of melancholy acceptance in his eyes, and lifted his hand from the arm of his throne. A dark beam of black and red magic shot from his finger tips. Alfre bolted, her wolf hot on her heels, skidding to a stop a few meters away from where the beam had landed. Spica had jumped back several feet, a hiss falling from her lips. She hadn’t quite managed to dodge the magic completely. Her leg had been caught in it. Magic damage always stung like a bitch and Abital’s was no exception. Elias hadn’t moved from his spot, a shield he’d thrown up protecting him from the worst of the damage. 

Abital lowered his hand again. Alfre didn’t understand. He’d attacked finally, like any mob should, but why did he stop? Why had he only attacked when Elias attacked? What was going on?

Spica swam through the shadows, melting back into sight once she was within range of her opponent. She threw her poisoned needles, striking Abital in the hand. The god flinched, raising his hand to peer at the needles sticking out of his hand. He frowned a little more deeply, shaking his hand to shake the needles free. He sent another bolt of energy at Spica, who disappeared back into the shadows and reappeared beside Elias some distance away. 

Alfre’s direwolf whined at her, stomping at the ground anxiously. She’d summoned it, but she wasn’t letting it do its job. Alfre petted at its head, shushing it with soft coos. She wanted to understand what was happening. Elias and Spica looked just as frustrated as she felt. If only Canus was here, Alfre thought, then maybe he could explain what was wrong with Abital.

Alfre blinked. Wait. She saw the problem now. There wasn’t anything wrong with Abital. The problem was with them!

“Wait!” she shouted, catching her party members’ attention. “Don’t attack him!”

“Why the hell not?” Spica demanded.

Alfre sent her a look that begged the assassin to trust her. She walked slowly out into the middle of the chamber, facing Abital with hands up in a gesture of peace. 

“You’re Abital, right? That’s your name?”

Abital blinked owlishly at her. When he spoke, his voice rasped like it hadn’t been used in a long time. It was deep and gravely, totally different from the light and breezy tone Canus’ voice had. “Yes. How did you know, little Fell?”

“Canus told me,” Alfre explained. “Told me a bit about you actually.”

“Yes, it would seem the wolf blood is fond of you,” Abital murmured. “He sent his favorite to you, after all.” He gestured at the white direwolf that stood pressed up against Alfre’s side. “How did you come to be in such good favor with him?”

“Ah, well…” Alfre laughed as she stumbled over her words. “It’s kind of a long story.”

Abital shrugged, a tiny smile tugging at his lips. “That’s alright. I am fond of stories.”

Alfre swallowed thickly, her heartbeat kicking up at the sight of Abital’s smile. He had a nice one, not as wild as Canus’ grin, but sweet and a little shy. Like he didn’t get to smile very often. “Um, sure. Okay. Well, what happened was…”

She regaled the guardian of the underworld with the tale of Canus’ murdered wolf and her resolve to find the poacher that had stolen not only the wolf’s life but also its pelt. She patted at her coat when she mentioned how Canus had given her the pelt when it had been retrieved from the hunter as a thank you, and how the pipe had been a birthday gift. 

“And, uh, that’s when we met up with him on the way here,” Alfre finished. “And he told us your name.”

“But knowing my name does not explain why you did not attempt to injure me like other Fell,” Abital mused. 

Alfre shrugged helplessly. “It didn’t seem right to. No one should have to fight if they don’t want to.”

Abital tilted his head curiously. “You are a strange Fell.”

“So I’ve been told,” Alfre said with another shrug. 

Abital smiled again, a little wider this time. “Thank you, little one, for telling me your story.”

“Oh, um.” Alfre felt her cheeks heat up. “You’re welcome. Uh, if you want, I have lots of other stories. You can visit me sometime and hear more of them. Do you eat? Our friend Wally makes really good food. You could, idunno, come over for dinner?” 

“Did she seriously just invite the god of the dead over for dinner?” Spica muttered incredulously. 

Abital thought for a moment, then nodded. “I would like that, little one.”

“Alfre. My name is Alfre.” 

“Alfre,” Abital repeated, looking thoughtful as he tested how the name felt on his tongue. “It is a good name.”

“People around here don’t use it very often. They like giving me nicknames.” 

“Don’t complain, darling, it means they like you.”

Alfre shushed Spica over her shoulder, noting with no small amount of regret the amused looks on her and Elias’ faces. Oh, she was never going to live this scenario down. 

“And what does wolf blood call you?”

Alfre avoided looking at Abital. “Snowbird.” 

If Alfre didn’t know any better, she’d say that Abital’s eye twitched at the admission. “I think I prefer Alfre.”

She let out a tiny snort of a laugh. Because honestly what could she say to that? Abital stood from his throne and stepped down from the small dais to stand before her. He made some strange, arcane gestures with his hands and several items winked into existence around him. 

“Normally, a Fell defeats me to gain these items,” Abital said. “But for you, they are a gift. Thank you, Alfre, for your kindness.”

The heavy looking sack of gold settled at her feet. The dark cloak wrapped around her shoulders, spilling black, smoky wisps about her feet. Finally, a tall, dangerously sharp halberd practically fell into her hands, her fingers wrapping tightly around the woven white leather that covered the shaft of the polearm. She could feel her Winter resonate and sing along the blade. 

“Thank you,” Alfre murmured dumbly, unsure of what else to say. 

“I am looking forward to that dinner,” Abital said, and Alfre swore she heard a laugh in his voice. 

“R-right,” Alfre stuttered. “Um…see you later? I guess.”

“Yes, I shall see you soon.”

Alfre stood dumbfounded, rooted to her spot until Spica took pity on her and dragged her away. Her direwolf companion (she really needed to figure out if it had a name, and give it one if it didn’t already have one) trotted after her, smiling a wolfy smile at her. 

Elias waited until they were nearly to the entrance of the dungeon before saying anything.

“What on earth was that?!” He shouted, his voice pitched up in something (Alfre assumed it was barely contained panic). 

“Honestly, I have no idea,” Alfre admitted. “He just seemed kinda sad and he wasn’t acting like the Briarwood Howler did. Something was wrong, and I eventually figured out what it was.”

“And what’s that?” Elias asked, calmer this time.

“We were treating him like a monster instead of a person,” Alfre said, watching the surprise play over Elias and Spica’s faces. “He’s probably really lonely down there, with no one to keep him company. And when people do come, it’s to fight him. If I lived that kind of life, I’d want someone to just sit down and talk to me too.” 

Elias nodded in understanding. “We were treating it like a game still. Game mechanics may have carried over, but the Wonderlanders are living, breathing people now. And that includes their gods.”

“Are we just going to ignore the fact that Alfre now has three Wonderlander boyfriends following her about?” Spica queried, looking far too amused for Alfre’s tastes. “Two of which are gods?”

“They’re not my boyfriends,” Alfre corrected. 

“Are you sure?” Spica teased. “I mean, the god of the underworld just gave you the Cloak of Night’s Shadow and the best halberd in the game just for telling him a story.” 

Alfre felt the heat crawling up her neck. It wasn’t her fault Wonderlanders liked her! And it certainly wasn’t her fault that Canus and Abital liked giving her things. She was just nice to them and they wanted to repay that kindness. Same with Wally! So what if they all happened to be cute boys with nice smiles and…

Alfre shook that thought from her head, deciding it was best if she changed the subject. “Speaking of the halberd…my Winter likes it, like it likes my rapiers. What does that mean?”

“Elemental blades have two weapons each class can use their magic with,” Elias explained as he untied the elk from the stalagmite. “Summer blades get katanas and hidden weapons like throwing knives and shuriken. Spring blades have broadswords and axes. Autumn blades can use scimitars and battle fans. Winter blades like you have rapiers and polearms. You know, spears, lances, the like.” 

“I see,” Alfre murmured, looking over the halberd in her hand. “Seems like a pain to carry around, though.”

“I’d keep it anyway,” Spica advised. “You could use some range.”

Alfre grumbled some nonsense about showing Spica range as she mounted her elk. She looked down at her wolf. “You coming with us, pup?”

The wolf made a ‘wuff’ noise and settled beside Alfre’s elk, which looked…not exactly unhappy with the situation but it certainly wasn’t pleased either. 

The elk seemed more than happy to push it if it meant getting as far away from the Gates of Death as they could that first day. By the dawn of the second day of travel Alfre was starting to wonder how long her wolf was going to stick around. She didn’t mind it being there, but she was starting to get curious. Most summoners could only call forth a monster for so long, if the monster didn’t get its hit points wiped out first. Was the magic of the pipe different because it came from a god? She couldn’t be sure. 

She still didn’t know if it had a name, or whether it was a boy or a girl. She felt bad calling it ‘it’ in her head the whole time. But when Canus didn’t appear during their journey through the Wilds, she started to get concerned. Usually she couldn’t step foot in the Wilds without Canus coming to see her. Maybe he found someone else to visit. Alfre’s hands tightened on her reigns at the idea. It would be good for Canus to have friends other than herself, of course. She knew that. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that she really didn’t want that to be what was actually going on. Her wolf nudged at her foot in the stirrup of the saddle, somehow noticing something was wrong. She reached down to pat reassuringly at its head. The wolf gave her a look that clearly said it didn’t buy it for one bit. Alfre decided then and there that the dumb wolf was too smart for its own good.