Joanna Deene (distant past)

The gnomes huddled around the feet of their Master. He looked down at them, the long tentacles that protruded from his mouth waving in agitation. His face couldn’t show expressions like those of his humanoid minions, but the tentacles usually moved in languid waves, and so they knew he was frightened.

The Master was frightened.

Another hollow BOOM echoed through the dungeon, and the Master’s speaking tentacle touched the Head Librarian. The old gnome whipped around, staring at the huddled masses of the youngest gnomes. They had gathered here, in the final chamber, while their parents and the dungeon monsters attempted to repel the invaders.

A ripple passed through the gnomes as a ghostly hand stretched out through a nearby wall, nearly touching a particular young boy. He clutched at his pointed red hat as he squeaked, his retreat blocked by the body of the only human in the room. She picked him up and turned her shoulder so the Specter couldn’t reach the child without going through her first.

An old gnome, her face nut brown and lined with age, raised her staff. White light flashed, the spectral hand dispersed, and the woman swayed, leaning heavily on the staff as she returned it to the floor. She looked at the Master and the Head Librarian.

“I’m done,” she rasped. She had spent the last several hours chanting as she reinforced the barriers that held back the rising dead, but now not even her eyes held a spark of life or hope.

The Head Librarian fell to his knees before the Master. The blue tentacle that touched his forehead pulsed, and the Librarian nodded, tears overflowing his red-rimmed eyes and dripping to the marble floor. The tentacle withdrew, and the Master turned to face the chamber doors.

The Head Librarian stood, turning to the teenagers and children who remained. “You must leave,” he said, and several of the littlest ones began to cry, though they would have sworn there were no tears left to weep.

A girl threw herself at the Head Librarian. “Grandfather, no!” she cried. “Just give him the human! He’ll leave once he has what he wants.” Casting a venomous glance at the woman, she turned her back on the female, ignoring her little brother, who clutched at the only adult he could reach, even though she didn’t belong to his own race.

Shaking his head sadly, the Librarian thrust a book into her arms, then removed her purple hat and replaced it with his own, much taller blue one. “The Master has spoken, Ophelia. Allowing Akuji to gain the Mage-Smith Skill would doom the world, not just one dungeon. He would become all but invincible. We must protect Joanna, even if it means the loss of the Dungeon.”

Ophelia clutched the book with one arm, her face wet and pale. “Or we could just kill her. If she were dead, he couldn’t take her Skill.”

A blue tentacle lashed out, affixing itself to her forehead, and the Master’s merciless black orbs stared down at Ophelia. The tentacle pulsed. Once. Twice.

The girl toppled to the floor, face frozen in the look of fear and fury. A knife clattered from the hand she had hidden in the folds of her skirt. The long blade gleamed with sticky darkness.

“Trai-tor,” the Master hissed, voice sounding as if it came from at least three throats, all of them sliced by glass. He spoke so rarely, most of the children had only been told that he could, but had never heard it themselves.

The Head Librarian looked down at the body of his granddaughter, face frozen in shattered horror and grief. Slowly, he reached down and picked up the book and the fallen hat. Turning to the boy held in the human’s arms, he gently settled the hat on the little head. It fell down over the boy’s eyes, blocking the sight of his sister’s crumpled shape.

The hat was followed by the book, and the Head Librarian looked up at the woman, who stood more than two feet taller than him. He looked very small without his hat. “You know what you must do, Lady,” he said.

The human, Joanna, nodded, turned to the Master, and said, “I’ll keep them safe. Thank you. For the book. For everything.”

The Master’s tentacles briefly touched the Head Librarian, who nodded. “Keep your side of the bargain, Lady, and the slate will be cleared.”

Ever so briefly, she bowed. Turning to the children, she said, “We must go. Silently. No crying. No words. Or none of us will survive this night.”

As one, the field of colorful hats nodded, and an unnatural silence fell over the little ones. Not even the smallest baby, strapped to the back of the tallest teenager, made a sound.

Joanna turned to the wall opposite the doors from which came a persistent, echoing banging. A single door stood in the wall there, and when the Master looked at it, it swung open. Joanna motioned to the teenagers, who each gathered up five to seven of the younger children and noiselessly began to usher them toward the door. One after another, the children fled, and Joanna brought up the rear. As she vanished into the vaulted hallway beyond, the door closed behind them, then faded into a solid wall with a hole barely large enough for a gnome toddler to crawl through.

She swallowed hard, looking at that hole. She didn’t understand much of how Dungeons worked, but she did know that if any piece of it became completely sealed off from the rest, it would no longer count as part of the Dungeon. In the moment of separation, the Dungeon Master’s will would no longer control the space, and it could return to its natural condition. While it might remain a hallway, it also might fill with water, or rock, or the floor might fall away into a chasm. She and the gnomelings were only safe as long as the Master lived and held the path.

Gently but firmly, she pushed at the last of the children, who was staring back with silent longing. The child glanced at her, nodded, and shoved the person in front of her forward.

So they went. The hall grew narrower, and smaller, obviously designed for gnomes, not humans, but each time Joanna reached a particularly cramped spot, it would magically widen, allowing her through. Until it didn’t. She couldn’t hear anything behind her, no sound in the eerie quiet, but she knew the true battle had begun, and the Master had no more attention left to spare for escaping children and their caretaker.

Still, she scraped through. She finally had to put down the little boy in her arms, and the teenager in front of her immediately gathered him into her group. Joanna took off her heavy leather jerkin, then her linen tunic, as they caught and tore on the stone walls. Her skin caught and tore, too, but it was smoother, and the slickness of blood helped her slide or crawl through the pinch points.

Then they were out. The children maintained their unnatural stillness, so Joanna only knew the tunnel had ended when the chill of an autumn breeze slid over her bare skin. She had been bent over for so long by then that when she tried to stand straight, to look around so she could see where they were, her back refused to obey. She wasn’t young any more, but she was strong, and used to her body obeying her commands, so she gritted her teeth against the agony and straightened anyway.

The moons were up, and she turned to look behind her. A hill rose, black and looming, but no patch of deeper blackness revealed the passage from which they had emerged. The Master was still alive, then; at least enough to close the escape hole through which Akuji’s prey had run. For a moment, Joanna allowed herself to hope.

The earth shook. A few muffled yelps escaped the children, and older gnomelings clutched the smaller ones to them. Dozens of lambent eyes turned to stare at Joanna.

The Mage-Smith climbed the hill. It was steep, but there were plenty of small trees to hold onto, and it wasn’t particularly tall, so even though her back still howled at her, she made it to the top in a matter of minutes.

The moons illuminated… devastation. In the distance, she could see the rocky outcropping where the entrance to the Dungeon had been hidden. Between her position and that elegant but ominous doorway had been open meadows, dense stands of trees, and slowly rising foothills. Now it looked like the earth had been dug up by giants. Collapsed tunnels and open pits burned with greasy, phosphorescent flames. The dead crawled, walked, and flew over the earth, searching for their master’s elusive target.

Joanna ran back down the hill. Her breath rasped in her throat, and she thought the rustle of branches and dry leaves beneath her feet must be enough to give away their location, but they had to run. They weren’t safe. Might never be safe again.

“Go,” she muttered to the closest teen, covering her mouth to muffle the sound. The boy’s eyes widened, but he nodded, reaching out to touch each of his charges on the shoulders. The children turned to run, but instead fell to their knees en masse.

Joanna reached out, taking the little boy in the too-large hat from his watcher as the girl moaned and slumped to the ground. Kneeling by the older gnomeling, Joanna felt at her throat for a pulse. It was there, though it was thready and weak.

“What happened?” the mage muttered, turning over the nearest children so their faces were up, out of the dirt.

The girl beside her blinked open her eyes. “Master… died,” she gasped. “He released us… from the Dungeon. So we would live.” Tears filled her eyes and coursed down her face quickly soaking the hair and grass beneath her cheek.

Joanna’s own eye burned, but she tugged at the girl, helping her into a sitting position. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but we have to go.” She picked up the book from where it had fallen on the ground nearby. “We have to fulfill our promises.”

The girl nodded and picked up her pointed hat. Placing it on her head, she helped the next child to his feet, then the next. When they all stood again, except for a few who would have to be carried, at least for a little while, they ran.

They ran until dawn crept over the hills behind them. Hills that had been illuminated by fire, physical and otherwise, for much of the night. When the sun touched the children’s sensitive eyes, they cried out, cowering as they hadn’t when their world fell down around their ears. Joanna looked around, searching her memory, and led the group sharply south, following a thin stream.

When they entered a thicker copse of trees, the children’s relief was tangible, and when Joanna led them into a cave that was more an overhang carved out by the burgeoning stream than anything else, the gnomelings collapsed in piles like exhausted puppies.

Joanna motioned for the oldest children to come close, and they huddled around her as she pulled out the book. Laying her hand on the cover, she said, “We’re as safe as we’re going to be until-” she broke off, unable to finish the thought. Glancing around at the little faces, she went on. “Eat and get some rest. When it grows dark again, we have to go on.”

The girl, the one Joanna had spoken to most often, nodded and said, “Yes, Lady.” She reached into a pouch at her waist and pulled out a few loaves of crusty bread and some hard cheese. They were too large to have fit in the pouch, but no one seemed surprised at their appearance. She began breaking chunks from each, passing them out to the other children.

Joanna opened the book. Words formed in her vision.

You have found a Blank Skill Book. Would you like to record a Skill in this book? Once you begin recording your Skill, you may not stop until the record is complete, or the attempt will fail. Only one attempt may be made per book. The time and Soul Points required will depend on the complexity and level of the Skill to be recorded.

“Yes,” Joanna said. The world faded to blackness. Blackness and pain.

Into the blackness came a forge, and Joanna set to work. The head Librarian had explained the process, and he had said it would hurt, but she had underestimated the agony of having her Skills and memories torn from her soul. As she swung a metaphysical hammer over a spiritual flame, she forced herself to remember her mother, Helena, and Viktor, and even poor, lost little Annie. And Papa. Papa was the hardest, because while Helena had taught Joanna how to be a Mage-Smith, Papa had taught her to be a good human being. In the end, she clung to the memories of hugs, and stories by the fire, and gave the book all the lessons her mother had taught her instead.

To a point. She gave it shovels, pitchforks, hoes, spades, chaff cutters, and dibbers. Axes and scythes, chains and rakes went into the book, and out of her mind. Woven throughout were the essential Skills of the Mage-Smith; [Drawing], [Flaring], [Punching], [Bending], and all the others vanished one by one from her mind. She held onto memories of creating swords, battleaxes, spearheads, and morning stars, keeping those back for herself.

The deeper she went, the harder it became to pick and choose, and the more her soul burned. Memories of Mother dragged at memories of Papa. Memories of making a harrow tangled up with memories of deadly throwing stars, and she knew she was leaving larger holes in the knowledge than she’d meant to. Still, she went on, dredging through every thought she’d ever had, judging them, determining if they belonged in the book, or if they could safely remain in her mind.

Congratulations! You have created the Skill Book: Mage-Smithing Farm Implements by Joanna Deene (Unique). Would you like to set the Conditions for reading, or leave them at the default: Human/Female/Mage?

The end was as painful as the beginning. The lingering shadows of thoughts that had been only mostly contained within the book now vanished, leaving Joanna lost. Who was she? Why was she here? She was just a little girl, or a driven young smith, or was she an aged Master, fleeing from… What?

A small hand pressed against her arm, and Joanna managed to open her eye, looking toward a pale little face. Not Human; the eyes were too big, too moist, the lips too wide, the ears too large, and on her head, a pointed hat.

Memories flooded in, and Joanna’s back arched as they dragged over the raw, open wounds in her soul. Her teeth clenched on a piece of leather someone had placed between her teeth, biting back the scream, but when it was over, she knew what she had to do.

“No,” she groaned, though it was nearly unintelligible even to her own ears.

The Gods understood, though, and asked for clarification.

What Conditions should be set? Options are gender, Class, Sub-Class, God, bloodline, level, and up to three prerequisite Skills.

That was right. The reader had to be the same race as the creator of the book, and they had to have mana, but after that, it was up to the creator. Most linked their books to their own bloodline, but Joanna’s family were all dead.

At the thought, memories surged, battering at the fresh soul-damage, and a choked, bitter laugh came through her clenched teeth. Why hadn’t she put those memories into the book? She would be glad if they were gone.

But she knew why. The person who read this book would have enough weight of their own to bear. They didn’t need - didn’t deserve - to bear hers as well. She stared into the face of the gnomeling who had lost her home because Joanna had gone there to ask how to defeat an impossible foe, and said, “Follower of Gina. Class Druid. That’s it.” She didn’t even know what a Druid was, but that was all the Master of the Dungeon had been able to tell her, and she prayed it was enough.

Conditions for reading: Human/Mage/Worshipper of Gina/Class: Druid. Is this correct?

“Yes.”

Conditions set. Your item is complete.

Gold and silver lights flickered around her as she gained a level, the first in a long time. Some Skill had gone up as well, though she wasn’t sure which one. She hadn’t gone to a priest to find out her skill levels since she was a pretentious young Smith. She could do what she needed to do, and that was all that mattered.

Sitting up, she took the sodden leather from her mouth. It was bloody, so at some point she had bitten her tongue or cheek. Her book fell into her lap, pages fluttering until the cover fell closed with a soft thump. There, embossed in gold, was the title and her name. She caressed the book, leaving a subtle smear of blood on the spine.

“Is it done?” the gnome girl asked.

Joanna nodded, and her head didn’t quite feel like it was going to separate from her body. She touched one of the multitude of metal rivets that were driven into her leather jerkin. They could have been decorative, or perhaps meant to turn aside a blade. Their purpose was something else entirely, though, and she willed the metal to shift, to conform to her will, making itself into whatever she commanded.

Nothing. The smooth, rounded surface remained cool beneath her touch, and she closed her eye as mingled loss and triumph threatened to force tears to rise. Drawing in a deep breath, she looked at the girl, and thrust the book into her arms.

“This is yours, now. Until you, or one of your kin finds the person who will destroy Akuji.”

The girl nodded, clutching the book as if it were the most important thing in the universe. “What will you do?”

Gingerly, Joanna forced herself to her feet. She felt… heavy. Heavy, and yet empty, and she understood why making Skill Books was usually the last thing a Master did before they died. How terrible would it be to continue living, hollowed out like a pumpkin?

At least she had been allowed to keep something for herself. She couldn’t afford to make the book too interesting, or it would become a coveted thing, so she had left out all the parts that would make kings and generals murder each other for it. Mage-Smithing, yes, but what farmer could afford such a thing? No, she still remembered how to make the tools of war, though she would have to beat them from metal like her father before her.

A wild howl echoed over the flowing water outside their muddy den, and thirty pointed hats turned toward the sound. Only the tiniest babes wouldn’t understand that that sound meant their time was up.

Joanna pulled her hammer from the loop on her belt. It felt both strange and familiar in her calloused palm, but though she no longer knew how to warp the metal of its head into whatever shape would suit her need, she could still swing it with vicious power and accuracy.

“Go,” she said. “They want me, and now it doesn’t matter if they get what they want.” She looked around until she saw a little boy holding an oversized hat. Crossing to him, she squatted, letting her hammer rest on her shoulder as she held out a hand.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

He looked up, and his blue eyes were fierce, though his small fingers clenched on the edge of the hat. “I don’t have one,” he said. “I’m the Head Librarian now.”

She nodded as he put on the hat and slipped his fingers into her own. “Thank you, Head Librarian. Lead your people well, and avenge us all.”

The girl gnome came to stand behind the boy, her hand on his fragile shoulder, and both girl and boy nodded to Joanna as she stood again. The new Head Librarian stood, and his piping little-boy voice rang out. “Let’s go, everyone!” All eyes turned to him, and, as one, the gnomes stood, determination forcing out the fear and uncertainty that had painted all the young faces.

Joanna walked over to the root-choked entrance of a safe haven that could easily become a death-trap if they were discovered too soon. Pushing aside a dangling web of hair-thin roots, she peered out. The day had come and gone, and dusk touched the rippling waves just beyond the narrow bank outside. Stepping out, into the cold water,, she listened, felt the cool breeze on her skin, adjusted her grip on the haft of her hammer. Behind her, small feet scampered out of the hollow, heading downstream.

Joanna began to jog upstream, letting the shallow water hide her scent and footprints. Her eyes caught the flicker of blue flames in the distance, back the way they had come, and more gurgling howls drove all the woodland creatures into terrified silence.

She would lead them a merry chase, and when she was cornered, she would fight them until her last breath. She had no doubt Akuji had ordered she be taken alive, but she could, and would, kill every one of his servants until he, himself was forced to come after her again. She had had her hammer blessed years ago, and the Head Librarian had told her how to put Akuji down. He had also told her the monster would rise again, and again, but that her book would help the person who would finally end the cycle.

That was worth it. Today, she would make sure the children escaped, and someday they, or their descendents, would free everyone. That was enough. That was everything.