Chapter 619: Fruity Fellows (Patreon)

In case you missed it, I streamed the fateful roll of the dice. Having plotted out where things go from here, I'm actually really excited and thankful I did this stupid joke. The story has definitely improved.
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Argrave and Anneliese both stared at the number that had come up on the die. The first winner of the lottery had been acceptable, but the second…

“…I didn’t think that…” Argrave babbled, searching for justification for his choice. “I mean, the people I put on the lottery were the ones that evoked a strong impression during our journey. I thought that the fruit would filter out the outliers.”

Anneliese looked at him. “Evidently not.”

Argrave stared at the inscribed number one. “What do I do? I mean, this can’t be right, can it?”

Anneliese chewed on her lower lip.  “Reroll it,” she encouraged him.

“Reroll it?” He repeated incredulously. “That defeats the whole integrity of the lottery! How can anything be sacred if—”

“The whole reason you did this was to let the fruit choose, right?” Anneliese looked at him. “If that’s true, it’ll repeat the result.”

Argrave was hesitant to follow through with the reroll for the principle of the thing, but her words made sense. With his eyes closed, he dropped the die to the floor once more. After it settled, they looked at the number. Four. They shared a glance, and their faces hardened. Anneliese knelt down and picked up the die, then dropped it again.

One. Put four and one together, there’s forty-one—the same as last time.

“…good lord,” Argrave muttered, hand held up to his mouth. “I don’t know what to say.”

Anneliese looked at him pointedly. “Respect the fruit,” she repeated his earlier words. “Let it guide you.”

Argrave twisted the top of the pyramidal die, and it split open. He extracted the fruit from within, then looked around. “I, uhh… I think I’ll deliver the first one. I need to think about what I’m going to say to the second. I need to think about what I’m going to do.”

#####

Argrave knocked on the door, and a female’s voice answered, “Come in.”

He entered, looking upon where Elenore and Durran had their dinner. It seemed a rather soothing atmosphere, and both looked upon him as if he had disturbed something. He held the fruit behind his back as a world-bending surprise. Hopefully, it might be a pleasant dessert after their meal.

“I’m sorry to interrupt the two of you,” he said, looking between them. “Hopefully, the news that I bring will make you a little more able to suffer my presence.”

“Pull up a chair,” Elenore offered. “We were discussing the strange shenanigans you pulled today. That little box.” She shook her head. “I don’t think you intend to conscript me for the draft, so it must be something else. I think it’s a task of some kind—something unpleasant, but something that doesn’t require physicality.”

“I’m the optimist. I imagine it’s something nice,” Durran countered. “Honestly I agree with her, but I’m taking the opposing side because it’s more interesting.”

“Well…” Argrave revealed the prize—the golden Fruit of Being. “I’d say it’s nice.”

Elenore stared at it, then her gaze turned to Argrave with eyes sharp enough to bore a hole through his head. “You’d better be joking, Argrave. You did not hold a lottery for the Fruit of Being.”

Durran looked at her, pointing at the fruit. “Is that it? Really?! That’s it?”

“I made a four-sided die, fit it inside, and then let the fruit decide,” Argrave said weakly.

Elenore covered her eyes with her hand, pushing aside her dinner with her elbows as she leaned against the table. Durran simply started laughing, and eventually pounded the table twice.

“No matter how many times we redid it, it chose the same numbers,” Argrave told them, adding conviction to his words. “Every roll, it came up with the same result. That means something. That means it chose.”

Elenore shot him a fiery glare. “Or, the die was badly balanced. Or, it was simply random chance. And even if it did choose, would you consider yourself less intelligent than a fruit?”

“You think these notions didn’t cross my mind?! I tested it!” He looked between them. “Look. Everyone was asking me to choose who to bestow a tremendous gift upon. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life questioning if I made the right or wrong choice, or if I hadn’t suitably repaid the efforts of the people around me. This was the only way I could be sure of some level of fairness.”

“Fair? You want to talk about fair, after who we’ve lost?” Elenore’s voice cracked. “Forget fair. The world isn’t just, isn’t equal.”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t be,” he said softly as he met her stare.

Elenore looked to have more to say, but his words made her hold her tongue. She placed her hands on the table, her temper cooling somewhat. Durran placed his hand over hers, squeezing it gently. Meanwhile, his golden eyes fixed on Argrave.

“So, who won? If you say Melanie…” Durran grimaced.

Argrave studied the fruit, debating changing his mind at the last moment. Maybe Elenore was right. Maybe this entire idea had been a mistake from the beginning. What did this fruit really know? Was he dumber than a fruit?

Argrave held the fruit out to Durran. “You did.”

“What?” Durran rose to his feet, and the chair fell over. He stared for a few moments, then nodded his head with a grin on his face. “Oh, I get it. This is a test—it has to be. You’re checking if… hell, I don’t know. You’re checking if I’m willing to be selfless enough to give up the fruit, because I know there’s someone better it should go to. At this point, I’m just a competent commander in your army.”

“You sound demented,” Argrave chuckled. “Why can’t it be you?”

“Because I don’t get lucky.” Durran tapped his chest. “I got my one piece of good luck—your sister. The chances of getting luckier after that… astronomically low.”

Elenore turned her face away, hiding a slight smile. Her protests had vanished like morning dew now that she knew its recipient. Argrave assumed she had protested so vigorously because she suspected she had gotten it instead of Durran.

“It’s not astronomically low, it’s 1/16 odds. Actually… 16/16. The fruit chose you, Durran.” Argrave held it out further. “Don’t look a gift fruit in the mouth. Just put it in yours.”

Durran reached out delicately, as if he was trying to pet a flighty bunny, then grasped the fruit gently. He weighed it in his hand, then locked gazes with Argrave. “Did it hurt? Historically, anything you’ve done hurts.”

Argrave shrugged. “I didn’t even notice a difference, but I did pass out.”

“Alright.” Durran stared at its golden skin. “I’ll go… I’ll go eat this on my bed, then. Yeah.” He made for the exit, and he started laughing as he stared at it. “Lottery… the damn lottery,” he laughed. “Smell that air! Couldn’t you just drink it like booze? HAHA!”

Elenore looked at him. “I hope this isn’t a mistake.”

“It won’t be, surely.” Argrave stared after Durran. “Now… I have to give it to the next…” he sighed. “Good lord… trust the fruit. Trust the fruit. Just trust the fruit, Argrave.”

#####

Argrave could hear the busy clanging of industry in the building ahead of him. He looked to Anneliese just beside him.

“The fruit chose,” she reminded him almost mockingly by this point. “You told me to let it guide us. And so it has guided. The fruit does not err. It is we who cannot comprehend its vast intell—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he interrupted, and Anneliese giggled before regaining her composure. “Let’s go see him.”

Argrave entered inside Artur’s Hall of Enchantment. Within, countless forges worked diligently to process metal, enchanters overseeing the whole process like hawks looking for prey. Their prey, however, was any mistake in the production process. Here, Artur, formerly a Magister of the Gray Owl, had carved this hall in the mountain of Blackgard, converting it into a workshop that elevated Blackgard into a bastion of wealth. Enchanted items left this place by the thousands weekly, while research and development brought forth new small discoveries every day in search of glorious profit.

Ever since the legalization of magic outside of the Order of the Gray Owl, there had been a huge vacuum. Artur had filled that vacuum alongside government subsidies. He was a capitalist through-and-through, born in the wrong era. Argrave had merely made it the right era for him. Now, this place had artificers of every stripe. He worked closely with Elenore to fuel Vasquer’s war economy, and a few other economies besides.

Today, it seemed exceptionally busy. Even the supervisors were working. Argrave knew that supervisors didn’t actually do any work, so it was strange. There wasn’t even someone waiting to greet him. Argrave knew where Artur’s office was, however, so he merely walked down the vast hall for one of the stone platforms.

An enchanted lamp above illuminated the whole hall in sterile light. As it had been before, this was a multi-story building without stairs. Instead, levitating stone platforms as seen in Order elevators carried everyone everywhere. Offices lined the two side walls in long rows, all of them reachable only by levitation. Argrave was about to transport himself to Artur’s office before he heard a voice.

“This is an embarrassment!” the man shouted. “I’ve made it distinctly clear we have quotas to meet. At this rate, you cannot meet them. If we can’t have things prepared before the research team is fully assembled, our Hall of Enchantment will be an embarrassment in front of all spellcasters of any esteem. The queen herself, Her Highness Anneliese, will be presiding over it. I’m paying you good money, aren’t I? Each and every one of you nitwits is earning ten times you ever did plying your trade in Dirracha or Jast. It stands to reason you should earn your keep!”

Argrave looked at Anneliese, and then the two of them both nodded. They took their place aboard one of the stone platforms, then headed to where the shouting was coming from. Their stone platforms docked on a third-story office, and they stepped inside.

“I think you’ve done enough that your Hall of Enchantment can’t embarrass,” Argrave called out.

Artur, floating on a maroon cape, whirled toward Argrave. Countless golden necklaces and bracelets on his person rattled from the speed. When he saw who it was, his red face faded back to white immediately. His peculiar eyes sparkled like a rainbow before returning to a normal brown.

“Your Majesty!” he greeted pleasantly, clapping his hands together. A loud click echoed as his countless bejeweled rings hit one another. “I wasn’t informed you were here. What brings you? Is something amiss? I’m sure I can fix it or make it, whatever it is.”

“You remember that paper I had you draw earlier?”

Artur narrowed his eyes, opening his mouth as he thought. It was clear he remembered nothing.

“You were very busy at the time—I don’t blame you.” Argrave gestured. “Still, there’s something to talk about in your office.”

“And what is that, Your Majesty?”

Anneliese said simply, “You won.”

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Artur stared at the golden fruit placed on his desk. Argrave sat across from him patiently, waiting for his next words. He remained suspended in the air above his chair rather than simply sitting atop it. His affliction of dwarfism coupled with his sky-high pride compelled him to seldom touch the ground, as he didn’t like others to see him walk nor guess his height.

“Your Majesty consumed the same fruit?” Artur’s eyes sparkled countless colors again, then settled into brown. “And you would give it to me, now?”

“It changed the way my blood magic functions.” Argrave gave him a nod. “And it chose you. If you want it, there would be some more expectations of you; namely, incredible danger. As I recall, you have wonderful situational awareness. It might be said you saved my life in the Bloodwoods.”

Artur floated forth and touched it gently. “I risked my life to get out of the frontlines, not rejoin them. Now… now, I’m doing quite well.”

“You could be more than wealthy and esteemed. You could be a hero of this nation. You could be enshrined forevermore, steeped in myth and legend as long as people are alive to tell your tale. You could—"

“Argrave, Argrave, Argrave,” Elenore’s voice cut into his head, loud, frantic, and rapid. “Durran’s awake, but something’s wrong with him. He won’t tell me what, but he keeps hitting his head—with his fists, and even the wall, and he’s talking aloud, and he’s not focused on anything I’m saying, and he’s—”

“Calm down,” he interrupted her. “I’m coming. Hold on.”

Argrave rose to his feet. “Elenore reached out,” he informed Anneliese, and she nodded understandingly. “Finish things up with Artur. I trust your judgment,” he tapped her shoulder, then set off to see how Durran had changed.

Argrave imbued shamanic magic with blood, and felt great pain as teleportation whisked him away just out front of Elenore and Durran’s room. Immediately upon landing, he heard Durran shout.

“No! Just shut up!”