Stepping Up, Draft 1, CH 20 (Patreon)

The laughter was mocking.

Don started it, and Tims wanted to get up and punch him for it, but the pain in his leg spiked with the slightest jostling.

“So this is the great savior of the dungeon?” the sorcerer said, pointing at Tibs sprawled on the ground. The laughter increased and Tibs considered throwing his knife, but if he missed, it would only feed Don’s mocking.

Tibs had been on his way to Darran’s shop wearing his armor, so the merchant could make sure it didn’t need repairs. Tibs hadn’t worn it since his last run. He’d still been on Transport Way when pain exploded in his leg and he’d sprawled.

He might have cried. The pain was intense. Then Don had laughed and everyone had joined in.

Not everyone, he told himself, as Don said something else to mock him. The laughter was mostly the sorcerer, his team, and the closest people, possibly more of Don’s hangers-on. But the others did smile at Tibs’s pain, him being insulted and unable to do anything.

He’d saved Sto, the town, and they were laughing at him.

He tried to stand, only to cry out. The laughter increased, and when he looked, more people were laughing.

“Have you no shame?” A voice came, a woman. Someone took his arm and help steady him as he pushed himself to his feet, the pain nearly causing him to black out. “Is he not Light Fingers? The one responsible for the dungeon still living? This town continuing to exist, you still being out of prison?” she said the last part as if they should still be there.

Tibs forced his eyes to focus on her through the pain, planning on telling her it was fine. They were idiots, especially Don. But he saw how she was dressed.

The dress wasn’t the giant thing some of the noble women wore, but it was silk so fine it shimmered in the sunlight, the green seeming gold. It had frills at the bottom, somehow still blindingly white despite being close to the ground, the dirt. The shirt was yellow, nearly orange, going to her elbow, leaving her pale and delicate skin exposed from there to her gloved hands, white again, delicate lace. She wasn’t a woman; much closer to Carina’s age than an adult. Her smile held amusement, even as she chastised the other for mocking him.

Tibs wrenched his arm out of her hand and clamped down on the pain as he struggled to stay standing. “I don’t need your help,” he said through gritted teeth. He didn’t need any noble’s help. She wasn’t even helping, just making things worse. Now Don was going to go on about how nobles were his friends or some such.

Her amusement faltered. “I am simply looking to help.”

“Well don’t,” Tibs snapped. “You’ve never helped before, I don’t need you to start now.”

She stiffened. “Is this how you wish to proceed?” she asked, her tone turning haughty. “I was simply seeing to help, possibly propose an arrangement. Do you truly wish me as an enemy?”

Tibs looked her up and down, smile turning into a sneer. “You don’t scare me, noble. Your kind’s nothing but words and threats. Have fun playing your noble games.”

She inclined her head and raised a small frilly umbrella over her head. “Then be this as you wish, Light Finger. Simply remember, I approached in good will.” Her face hardened. “You sent me away.” She turned her back to him as Tibs rolled his eyes and she walked off, head held high.

The crowd was silent, then Don spoke, breaking into laughter halfway through again. “Did you have a fight with your woman?” the crowd joined in, all of them. Mocking him.

“She isn’t my woman! I don’t know her. I’d never have a noble as my special someone!” the few nobles in the crowd stopped laughing, so that was good at least. The others seemed to find it funnier.

“Oh sure,” Don said, “because I’d get angry if a stranger helped me.” That made the crowd laugh even harder, and only the pain flaring as Tibs shifted his weight as he prepared to take a step kept him in place. If he fell again, there would be no shutting Don up.

He had to settle for glaring at the sorcerer, which only made the man laugh harder.

* * * * *

He hated the sorcerer.

Tibs paced the length of the room, his leg still painful hours later. The corruption in his essence hadn’t been this painful or long-lasting since the early days out of his sickbed. It flared here and there at inconvenient times, but it didn’t last.

And that noble. She’d only made things worse but ‘helping’ him. Nobles always made things worse.

“Settled down, Tibs, you’re not—”

Tibs glared at the fighter, who raised his hands in defeat.

“Alright, keep pacing. Stay angry. I’m just saying you should just do something about it.” Jackal stretched on his bed. “Break into Don’s room, steal his coins. Put dung in his bed. You’ll feel better.”

“Do something?” Tibs snapped. “And have the corruption hurt me at the worse moment? He probably did this to me,” Tibs grumbled. “He’s corruption after all.”

“Did he?” Jackal asked, tone serious, laced with threat.

If Tibs said he had, Jackal would beat the sorcerer up for it. He wouldn’t care about Harry throwing him in a cell afterward.

“No,” Tibs said with a sigh. “I’d have felt essence come at me if he had.” There had been no essence moving about when it had happened. “But everyone laughed at me.”

“They’re idiots,” Jackal said. “Next time the dungeon’s about to die, let it happen, that’ll teach them a lesson.” He frowned. “Wait, never mind, I don’t want the dungeon to die.”

“You’d miss the loot?” Tibs asked, tone harsher than Jackal deserved.

“Well, yeah, but the dungeon’s your friend. You don’t let friends die if you can help it.”

Tibs rested his hands on the window sill and looked out at the darkening clouds. The sun would set soon, if not for the corruption in him, he’d go run the roofs. “I’m just fucking tired of it. Of not knowing when my hand or leg will cramp and I’ll fall or drop something.”

“I know,” Jackal said.

“I’m sorry for dumping this on you, I’m just…” He clenched his teeth together in frustration. So, for something other to do than complain, he peeled off his armor, stopping anytime he heard laughter in the streets. Were they laughing at him still? Don would make sure no one forgot what had happened, and Tibs could do nothing to stop him.

He glared at the darkening skies, at the corruption in him, out there, everywhere. He looked in his chest for clothing and his black set was on top, clean and folded.

He should do something about it, Jackal said.

Tibs put the dark clothes on.

He was right. It was time Tibs did something.

* * * * *

Tibs used the alleys instead of the roofs. He couldn’t just walk straight there, guards would stop him, ask what he was doing. He’d lie, but they might not believe him. They might force him to turn back, anyway. He preferred the roofs. The guards never looked up, but the cursed corruption could make him falter, fall, and break his neck. So he used the alleys.

When the smell hit him, he almost turned back. He had the previous times, but now he understood, and it made him angry. The corruption was keeping him away so it could continue hurting him, causing him to falter and be mocked.

Well, Tibs was done with it. He was going to give it a piece of his mind, and if it didn’t leave him alone, he was going to kick Corruption in the balls.

The stench was almost too much to endure when the alley became a straight line to the street and on the other side the pool of the vile stuff. Again, he almost turned back. He knew it wouldn’t pleasant and a part of him wasn’t sure it was worth it.

Why hadn’t he tried to have audiences with the other elements? Maybe it should—

With a silent snarl, he ran toward to street. He was done getting distracted by other things. He crossed it, jumped to clear the fence, then he was looking at the dark purple liquid, black Claria’s faint light.

Of fuck. What had he been thinking? This was the stupidest of ideas in a sea of stupid ones. Even Jackal wouldn’t do something this stupid. He only had time to take a breath of the fetid air and turn so his back hit the liquid. He didn’t splash. The liquid corruption was viscous, clung to him, burned him with cold fire that made him want to scream, open his mouth to let more corruption pour into him.

Would the pain ever end? Or would it keep clinging to him even once he was dead?

* * * * *

“Welcome!” the voice said, and Tibs fought the urge to open his eyes, his mouth. Any motion would just let more of the corruption eat at him. Except…

There was no pain.

He opened an eye, just a crack. Opposite him, seated on the other side of a dark purple table, was someone with features were so fine Tibs couldn’t tell if they were a man or a woman. Their smile was radiant.

“I’m sorry for the pain you felt getting here.” They rolled their eyes. “Rules and all that. I never got the need for them. If you want to meet with me, you should just be able to, right?” They place their elbows on the table and rested their head on their hands. “It’s a delight to finally meet you, Tibs.”

Tibs startled. None of the Elements had addressed him by his name before.

“I hope you don’t mind me using your name,” they said, looking like they were worried they’d offended him. “I’m not big on formalities. I mean, we’re going to be working together, right? That is why you’re here.” They produced the shadow of an element and offered it to Tibs.

“Just like that?” Tibs asked, eying the shadow suspiciously.

“Of course, why would I… oh, right. Let me guess. The others made you work for it. Earth would be all ‘you don’t deserve it’ and—sorry if I don’t do the slow and tedious speech, it’s well, tedious—you had to find a way to push through to get it. Air would run off laughing, and you’d have to chase after what you want. Fire would get you all angry and roar.” They shuddered. “I just don’t get that. Someone like you comes around once in… how many of your lifetimes has it been?”

Tibs shrugged, still trying to figure out what the game was. It couldn’t be this simple.

“Yeah, sorry. Time is a human thing, well, an out-there thing, everything there feels it. We… we have the rules and that’s about it.”

Tibs nodded. “Don’t the rules say you have to make me earn it?” he pointed to the shadow in their hands.

They leaned forward and lowered their voice as if someone could overhear them. Maybe there was? If there were rules, wouldn’t there be someone to enforce them?

“I’m going to let you in on a little secret,” they whispered. “I’m like you. Something of a rule breaker. Why make this so hard, when everything else already is. Unlike the others, I don’t need you to prove yourself. You’ve already done that, getting here. It’s redundant for me to put you through that again.”

“I don’t know that word.”

“What word?” they asked, surprised.

“Redundant,” Tibs said carefully.

“Are you sure?” they asked, and he nodded. “Huh, that’s interesting. I plucked it out of there.” They tapped his forehead. “I’m plucking all the words I’m using from there. Only way we can communicate, although I guess that technically—” they grinned “—you have so many of them in there you might not realize what they all are.”

Tibs rubbed his temples. “You’re starting to sound like Alistair when he wants me to realize something.”

“Sorry, having you do lessons is definitely not what I’m here for. I leave that to the others. I’m just here to offer you what you want and ask that in return you remember that I didn’t make it work for it. I’m here to make things easier for you, that’s all. Working together, everything can be so much easier, do you get me?” They smiled at him.

Tibs didn’t take his eyes off their face as he reached for the shadow. He’d finally realized what they reminded him of. The conmen and women of his street. Thew sweet talkers who could make you believe anything and get you to give them your last crumbs of bread while you thought you’d someone get a whole loaf out of the meeting.

Their expression didn’t change, they didn’t pull their hand away at the last moment, and when Tibs touched the shadow, it melded into him. The core of his essence expanded, making space for another element.

They smiled. “See, not everything needs to be a chore. Now you know that there’s at least one of us who is here to make things easier for you.”

Tibs nodded, studying the feel of the essence he could now sense. Like the others, he couldn’t find words to describe it. The closest approximation that came to him was sticky.

“What happens now?” he asked.

“Now you go back,” they answered. “As much as I enjoy your company, you belong out there.”

Tibs swallowed. “When I get there, will the corruption in the pool still eat at me? It…” his voice faltered. “It hurt.”

They shook their head. “No, Tibs, it won’t. You’re special. I’ll never hurt you again.”

* * * * *

Tibs broke the surface with a gasp and scrambled not to get pulled back under by the heavy, viscous liquid, only to find his hand hit bottom. When he put his feet down and stood, the liquid corruption only went up to his thighs. He looked around; he was a dozen steps from the fence. He remembered watching a man get pulled under as if the pool was bottomless. It had felt so when he’d fallen into it.

He looked down to confirm it wasn’t his imagination. The corruption did only go to his thigh; it stopped just before his—

Fuck, he was naked. He dropped so the liquid hid his private parts and looked around. If Don saw this, Tibs would never live it down.

Tibs realized he was kneeling in the corruption. Maybe he should want Don to see him, maybe he should see if the sorcerer would feel so superior now.

Tibs shook himself. Now wasn’t the time to gloat. It was time to get back to his room without anyone seeing him. He looked up at the closet roof and smiled. Without the corruption hurting him, he had the perfect way to moving unnoticed.

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