Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You can admit we’re lost.”

Mayson didn’t look up as Malroth spoke, but the way she frowned heavily at her map said enough. “It’s not my fault everything in this stupid bog looks the same,” she grumbled.

Even her seemingly-boundless optimism had its limits, Malroth noted to himself. He decided he might as well push a little bit more with teasing her.

“It’s not like there’s a builder around who could make some kind of landmark, right?”

She groaned. “Okay, fine,” she said, as she looked up at him. “I could have put some torches down, if I’d thought of it before now.”

“It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Alright, fine,” he said. “Sorry for stating the obvious.” He wasn’t the least bit sorry, of course, but it couldn’t hurt to say he was.

Mayson sighed and rubbed her temples, before returning her attention to the map again. “I will be SO glad to look at something other than bogwater when we’re done with this.”

Earlier that day, Mayson had led them from the farm into the bog with the intent to reach the as-yet unfilled area of her magic map that Pastor Al had thoughtfully marked as the relative location of his cabin. She had then immediately lost track of where they were relative to the map, refused to admit it, and had almost walked off a dozen or so mudhills and cliffsides—which she’d only avoided because Malroth had dragged her back from them—as she tried to walk and read the map at the same time. It wasn’t until well after nightfall, when spirits had started materializing around them, that Mayson had officially called it quits and they’d set up camp in one of the caves in the cliffs that marked the edges of the bog. Malroth would have been more than happy to keep fighting them for the rest of the night—it was exciting to fight monsters that actually challenged his skills, for once—but Mayson had insisted that it was better they get some sleep.

All things considered, it was a very cozy spot she’d chosen. Mayson had sculpted some of the bog’s endless supply of mud into a wall to make the cave more secure, placed torches to scare off any spirits who might try something, and pulled a loaf of bread and two haybeds from her bag to handle the issue of eating and sleeping. After that she had pored over the map again and again, as if staring at it hard enough would make them less lost.

That had been what she was doing for the past half-hour or so, as Malroth had kept an eye on what was going on outside the cave entrance, idly hoping for a monster to stray close enough to give him an excuse to go after it… but what she WASN’T doing interested Malroth a lot more than the chance to get in one last fight before they slept.

“So,” he said.

“Mmmhmm?” Mayson did not look up from her map

“Any reason we’re not warping back to the farm for the night?”

Mayson snorted. “And go back to square one with this place? No thanks.”

“It’s not like you know where we are on the map right now, right? Wouldn’t you have a better idea if we went back to the start?”

Mayson was silent.

“Well?”

Mayson put down the map and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Okay, fine,” she said. “It WOULD be easier if we did that.”

“So?”

“I just…” Mayson paused, looking pained about what she was about to admit. “I don’t like warping.”

“Really.”

“I can’t take apart an enchanted map!” she said. “The way it feels to use it is bad enough, but if I can’t take something apart and see how it’s made, that means I don’t know how it works, and if I don’t know how something works, I won’t know how to fix it when it stops working!”

Malroth raised an eyebrow. The weird dropping feeling in the pit of his stomach after they’d warped for the first (and come to think of it, last) time hadn’t bothered Malroth much, but Mayson had nearly fallen over. Still…“This from the builder with enchanted gloves?” he asked.

Mayson threw up her hands. “I’m not comfortable about those either!” she said. “They make building easier, sure, but if anything, I’m even MORE uncomfortable about those! What if I need to lift something huge and they just—stop working? What if that happens right in the middle of me lifting it?”

“You’ll yell for me to get you out from under it.”

She snorted back a laugh. “Yeah,” she said. “That’s probably what would happen. But that doesn’t solve the issue of knowing if it could happen, or if I can prevent that from happening in the first place.”

Malroth crossed his arms. “You think about this kind of stuff a lot?”

“All the time!”

“You know what I think?” He leaned back against the wall of the cave. “I think that you’re thinking too much.”

“It’s my job,” she said flatly. “I need to think about how stuff works, and magic just makes that more complicated. When you’ve got something that’s enchanted, it can look as good as the day it was made as long as the spell holds, but the second the spell breaks—” She brought her hands together and then quickly pulled them apart, fingers splayed, in a very underwhelming imitation of an explosion. “There’s exceptions, of course. There’s some REAL good collaborations between spellcasters and builders, or made by someone who’s both, but those are expensive for a reason. Nine times out of ten? The stuff that’s easy to get is just a coat of paint slapped over bad workmanship.

“You’ve got some pretty strong opinions about this.”

“Oh, goddess,” she said, looking pained. “You don’t want to KNOW how deep this goes. Every few months someone comes into Dormer’s workshop—” That was the name of her mentor, Malroth reminded himself. “—Complaining about some overpriced trinket they just bought breaking on them, and it’s always something that they got conned into buying because it was enchanted, and they’re ALWAYS a nightmare to deal with.”

“I think I DO want to know about this.”

“No you don’t. If I get started on that I’m going to talk all night about it, and then I’m going to be mad when it’s daylight. My point is, enchanted stuff has limits, and it’s really hard to know where they are. Like...” Her eyes scanned around her, before settling on the bag Rosie had given her, grabbing it and holding it up for emphasis. “This bag, for instance. I’m REALLY glad to have it, it is a RELIEF that I can carry so much stuff like this, but… not even getting into the question of where the hell all that stuff goes, there’s GOTTA be a limit on how much stuff I can put in there, right? What’s going to happen when it gets full? What happens if it gets damaged? Does all that stuff explode out of it or just... vanish?”

“You should test it!” Malroth said. “I want to see that explosion.”

Mayson narrowed her eyes. “I will absolutely NOT test it, for that EXACT reason.”

“Oh, fine,” he sighed. “Go ahead and be boring about it.”

“There’s also the question of WHAT stuff I can put in here,” Mayson continued. “It’s fine with solid materials, but what about something a bit weirder, like… could I catch a magic attack using it? Would it actually go in there, or would it just damage the bag? And if I GOT it in there, would I be able to get it out or would it just destroy everything I’ve got in there?”

“Again, you should—”

“Malroth, I am NOT testing this.”

He grumbled. She continued. “On TOP of this—” she gestured, as if presenting something to an invisible audience. “There’s the REALLY big question, which is, could I put something that’s alive in there? Would that—that someone or something—be able to survive? Would they have to live off the other stuff I’ve got in there? Is there—is there air in there? Would they just suffocate?

“So throw someone in there and find out.”

Mayson went dead silent.

“Malroth,” she finally said. “I realize this is funny for you, but please understand, a while ago I realized that there is a skeleton in my bag, and I don’t remember putting it in there.”

There was a long pause before Malroth spoke.

“Can I have it?”

“….What?”

“You don’t want it, I’ll take it.”

“What the hell are you gonna do with it?”

“Scare Perry with it.”

“You do that just fine without a skeleton!” she said. “I’m not giving you extra weapons to use on that poor boy.”

Malroth dramatically crossed his arms and pouted. “You never let me have any fun.”

The frustrated look on Mayson’s face wavered, then broke into a smile. She laughed. It was a nice sound. Getting her to make it felt like a victory.

“Goddess,” she said, wiping at her eyes. “This is such a stupid conversation.”

“You started it.”

“I did n—you know what? No. I’m leaving it there.”

“Fine, if you want to be a coward about it.”

She sighed but failed to stop smiling. “You are terrible,” she said, as she turned her attention back to the map. “Completely terrible.”

He decided to let that one hang. He could leave her to her twentieth attempt at figuring out the map until she felt like talking again. He peered out from the cave entrance, the sight of the crabids scuttling about in the moonlight making his hands itch for his club. He wasn’t GOING to go after them, of course, since he’d allowed Mayson to convince him to turn in for the night… but there was no agreement they made that said he couldn’t fantasize about it.

“Hey, Malroth?”

“Mmn?”

“...I’m sorry.”

He looked over at her. She’d hidden her face behind the map.

“I know I got us lost. I know this whole dumb excursion would be over already if I’d admitted that.” She laughed awkwardly. “Some adventure this turned out to be, huh?”

She was… actually upset about this? This was new. In the admittedly small amount of time he’d known her, it had seemed like she could always find a positive side to things, no matter what the situation was. It felt wrong to see her so gloomy, especially about something like this.

He needed to do something about that. “Hey,” he said. “Even if this was a waste of time, I had fun.”

“Really.” She didn’t sound convinced.

“Any excuse to mash monsters is a good one, and I got to do a lot of that today, even if I had to keep saving your ass. Besides, you’re interesting to be around.”

Mayson was quiet.

“What?” he asked.

“It’s nothing,” she said. “I’m just thinking.” She hastily rolled up her map and shoved it into her bag. “We should probably try to get some sleep now. We can get in a few hours before sunrise, I’d bet.”

He sighed. Why did Mayson always get so weird when he complimented her? It always made him happy when she complimented him. The idea that she didn’t like him doing the same for her was an absurd one.

...Well, whatever. He could try figuring out the reason she acted so weird later. For now, it was time to get some sleep. The sooner they did, the sooner it’d be daylight, and the sooner Mayson wouldn’t have a problem with him fighting as many monsters as he wanted.

Somewhere in the early morning, Malroth stirred awake to discover that Mayson’s sleeping body was pressed against his.

This wasn’t the first time this had happened. It was just the first time it had happened when they weren’t piled into the communal bedroom at the farm, where the sound of the other residents stirring would wake her and she’d bolt from the floor and rush off to her workbench as her first conscious action. Without the usual morning noises, she’d stayed slumbering long enough for him to get a good sense of how she’d wormed herself against him during the night.

Slowly, carefully, he turned his head to look at her. She’d shifted onto her side in her sleep, pressed her face against his shoulder and wound her arm around his own. The angle she was at meant he couldn’t see most of her face, but it was just enough to see how peacefully blank her expression was. Awake, she smiled so easily that it felt like that was the expression her face was meant to be in all the time. Now, asleep, the lack of it seemed strange... but not bad? Just…. different.

So weirdly delicate.

“Delicate” was not a word he would have associated with her, even if she was much weaker than him. Someone like Lulu fit that word better—demanding other people take care of her needs, when they had better things to do. Mayson wasn’t like that. Nothing made her happier than throwing herself into the middle of things and getting her hands dirty. He liked that about her.

This, though…. He liked this too. There was something nice about seeing her like this. Something nice about the warm, solid presence of her body against his own. Something nice about the way he could feel her heartbeat against his arm, the way she’d cuddled it against her chest.

...His jacket felt wet. Was she drooling?

Alright, that was enough looking.

Malroth moved his arm, just enough to gently shake her. “Hey,” he said.

“Mmmmm?” she murmured.

“Wake up. You’re drooling on me.”

“Mmmwuh—” Her one visible eye opened. She stared blankly for a few seconds, before her eye went wide. She yelped and released his arm, and hastily scooted backwards. “Sorry!”

He laughed. “You’d better be!” he said. “You got spit all over my favorite jacket!”

Her face shifted from surprise to annoyance. She pulled a stalk of hay out of her hair. “It’s your only jacket,” she said.

“And that’s why it’s my favorite!”

She huffed. “Whatever,” she said. “That can’t be any more gross than everything else that got on that jacket yesterday. We ARE in a bog, after all.

“Nah,” he said. “Your spit is definitely grosser.”

She put a hand over her face. “Ugh,” she grumbled. “Whatever. Let’s just get going.” She shoved the haybeds back into her bag and withdrew the map from it. “We can talk about how gross my mouth supposedly is later. I’m ready to be done with this place.”

“Fine,” he said. “But since I’m going to be nice and not hold this against you, you owe me one.”

She narrowed her eyes. “One what?”

“I’ll think of something.”

“Fine,” she sighed. “I’m sure I’ll regret it, but fine.”

Al’s cabin had been easy to spot in the fresh daylight—surprisingly easy, Malroth had teased—but the One What that Mayson had agreed to owing ended up being used before they got to it. As soon as they’d spotted the giant killerpillar stalking the bottom of the cliffs below said cabin, Malroth immediately decided to cash in on that promise. “Besides,” he’d said. “You don’t want to come back here again, so why not do this now?” It was hardly like Mayson could complain, since she’d gotten the idea to repurpose its stinger into a weapon when they defeated it, which in Malroth’s opinion was well worth the effort.

After that fight, and a lot of climbing, they’d finally made it to the top. Mayson had decided to make her own detour along the way, diligently tapping her map against the naviglobe they found embedded in the side of the mountain to add it. “It’s better to have this stuff on the map,” she’d said. “I don’t WANT to use it, but it’s still better.” Now...

“Oh, dang it,” Mayson said, as the prestidigitator waiting by the door came into view. “Of course this wouldn’t be easy.”

“You want me to take care of him?” Malroth asked.

“No, no,” she said. “Let me handle this. That can be plan B.”

“You never want to go for plan B,” he grumbled.

“Greetings, wayward children!” the prestidigitator said. “I hope today finds you full of destructive energy!”

“Hello, sir!” Mayson said, brightly. She’d turned on her charm to full blast, her face glowing with goodwill to the point she was almost hard to look at. “Would this be Pastor Al’s home?”

“Why, yes!” he replied. “This is the pastor’s cottage. I’m minding it for him while he’s away.”

“How wonderful!” she said. “I’m so glad to know Pastor Al has such a good friend. He asked us to come here and retrieve a special pot he left here—”

“Hold it right there!” The prestidigitator pointed directly at her. “Before anything else, let me have a good smell of you! There is no fooling my sensitive nose!” He leaned towards Mayson “Answer me truthfully, now… You’ve been building, haven’t you?”

“...No, sir?”

“Enough of your lies! He brandished his staff. “I can smell it on you! You stink of creation! How dare you try to deny it!”

“Oh, you got me!” Mayson said, her voice melodramatic. “I’ve been living in sin! Building has consumed my life! Every day I think of nothing but basket weaving!” Malroth bit down on his lip to keep himself from laughing.

“Silence!” the prestidigitator said. “Either way, it matters not… Your ill-gotten gains are forfeit. All of the crops you have grown are to be surrendered to us!”

“If you’ll allow me to speak, mister, uh...”

“Brother Cadabra.”

“Brother Cadabra!” Mayson continued. “It’s too late for me to avoid my fate, of course, but... with growing crops and cooking being forbidden, there’s not a lot of good meals when you’re a disciple of the Children of Hargon, right?"

"...I’m listening."

"If I’m reported, everything I’ve grown will get destroyed, and then no one will get to enjoy it. But… you can’t be faulted for having some of that possession if you confiscated it from me, right? I’m the one who committed the sin, and you only did the right thing by taking it. And it’s not like eating is an act of creation...”

“Well...” Brother Cadabra rubbed the top of his staff thoughtfully. “If you were to yield a certain amount to me personally—as a charitable donation, of course!—I might not only consider letting this go, but also consider rewarding you for it… I did spy an old, dusty pot at the back of the pastor’s cupboard…”

“I would love to make a donation!” Mayson said. “What would the average donation be, Brother Cadabra?”

“Fifty sheaves of wheat,” Brother Cadabra replied. “And no less than that.”

“Can do!” Mayson said. “Please excuse us for a moment.” She backed up from Brother Cadabra, and Malroth followed.

“Be quick about it!” Brother Cadabra called out to them. “The sooner you bring me my tithe, the better! Use the naviglobe if you must!”

“We will absolutely consider it!” Mayson called back. “Great things, those naviglobes!”

“Are you seriously going to hand over our wheat to that guy?” Malroth hissed as soon as they were out of earshot. “He’s a monster! He’s with the Children of Hargon! We can just threaten to bash his head in!”

“He is a monster,” Mayson said, as she dug around in her bag. “And he is with the Children of Hargon, and he is a real jerk, but he’s also Pastor Al’s friend, and I don’t think Pastor Al would like hearing we threatened to kill a friend of his.”

“Suit yourself.” Malroth said. He leaned back and put his hands behind his head, waiting for her to finish searching.

A minute passed as Mayson looked through her bag. She paused.

“Um...” she said. “There’s a problem.”

“What?”

“There’s no wheat in here.”

Malroth raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean, there’s no wheat in there?”

“I mean there’s no wheat in here! I must have left all of it back at the farm so Lilian and Saffron could use it! It’s not like I expected to need it for bribery reasons.”

“Wow,” Malroth said. “You spend your time thinking about all the ways your bag could kill someone, but not about what you’d need on hand to bribe people?”

She held up a finger. “Do NOT start with this. I will not stand for it.”

“You’re already standing.”

“I mean—oh, forget it.” She sighed. “Let me just… think about what I want to do here.”

There was a long pause, as they both turned to look back at Brother Cadabra waiting at the cabin door.

“So...” Malroth said. “Time for plan B?”

Mayson yanked the map from her bag in one swift motion.

“You know what?” she said. “Fuck this. Let’s just warp.”

He sighed. “You never let me have any fun.”

Chapter Text

The false idol made a loud THUNK against the table as Mayson heaved it out of her bag and onto the closest surface in her workshop. It was uncharacteristically sloppy of her to handle someone’s craftwork that way and could have been seen as a lack of concern for its condition—it was a symbol of faith to the Children of Hargon, after all—but judging by the sparkle in her eyes, Malroth doubted that. That was the look Mayson’s eyes got when something fascinated her.

“Wow,” she breathed. “Look at this thing.”

They’d had plenty of chances to look it over by this point—Mayson had restored the altar to The Goddess at the abandoned church the previous night—but most of that time had been spent getting the pumpkin field started and handling the hundreds of other tasks maintaining the farm required. It was only now when there was nothing left to do but wait for harvest that Mayson could give it her full attention. She leaned down to get a closer look as Malroth leaned himself against the workshop wall. He could wait until she got done fawning over it to get a closer look himself.

“This detail work is incredible,” she murmured. She turned the idol to look at its other side. “It’s impressively grotesque. Whoever made this really knew what they were doing.”

“What a surprise,” Malroth said, his voice suggesting anything but. “Monsters with a grudge against building, worshiping something that someone built.”

“Honestly,” she huffed. “I don’t know where they think stuff like this comes from.”

“Maybe they think that Hargon guy pulled it out of his ass?”

Mayson snorted. “Must be a really impressive ass he’s got, if something like this came from it. Something like this takes a LOT of work. Even at this size a sculpture like this can take months to make.” She peered into one of its many eyesockets. “...Are these real rubies? Wow.”

“You gotta hand it to them,” Malroth said, shrugging. “If they HAVE to commit blasphemy against their cause, they might as well do it in style. I’m sure Hargon appreciates getting a solid gold statue in his honor.”

“Oh, this definitely isn’t solid gold.” She tapped a finger against one of the horns protruding from the golden skull. “This here? Gold leafing. The green parts are enameled. The idol itself is probably bronze. The idea of something being solid gold is cool, but it’s a HUGE waste of gold to use it for the inner core of a statue. Using something like bronze is much better!”

“Thanks for the info,” Malroth said. “I’ll keep that in mind for the next time I need to make a statue.”

“Anytime,” she said, a touch of sarcasm to her voice. She turned the idol again and frowned. “Wish I’d gotten to do this sooner,” she muttered. “The light in here is terrible at this time of day. I need...” she straightened up and eyed the sconces on the wall, presumably contemplating the number of light sources she needed. “I need some oil lamps,” she said, as she headed towards the door. “Feel free to keep looking at this hideous thing.”

“Hey,” Malroth said. “Don’t call it that. This thing is cool!”

“It is cool!” Mayson said. “And hideous! Make sure it doesn’t come to life and start causing trouble or something, will you?”

“Don’t worry,” Malroth said. “If it starts getting any funny ideas, I’ll take care of it.”

“I know you will.” Mayson waved back at him as she exited the door.

Malroth straightened himself up and walked to the table, ready to get in his own look at the idol while Mayson was busy. She’d be back in a few minutes—unless she got distracted, and that WAS likely—but that was more than enough time for him to take it in. His eyes settled on the reptilian form at the top of the idol, its wings convincingly leathery, its scales carefully defined, its wide grin appropriately wicked. The coils of its body lead his gaze down to the skull the monster crowned. The glinting stones in its eyesockets were set deep and its teeth were as carefully defined as the scales had been. Most impressive were the cracks in the skull, the sculpture’s unmarred surface proving they had been purposefully made to add to its morbid appearance.

Mayson was right. The idol was impressively grotesque.

His eyes continued their journey by tracing the upwards swoop of the skull’s horns, leading him back to the face of the monster. He leaned down to meet its leering gaze. Was this supposed to be Hargon? He didn’t recognize what kind of monster it was, but if it wasn’t Hargon himself, it had to be powerful for the Children of Hargon to worship it like this. The thought of facing off with something like this made him grin. With the kind of attention Mayson attracted, maybe he’d get lucky.

The staring contest he was having with the idol made him feel strangely dizzy. He reached out to touch it—

The clay oil lamp Mayson had meant to retrieve dropped out of her hands and smashed apart on the floor when she heard the scream. She was already out the door and dashing towards the source of the sound, hand on the hilt of her sword, before she’d started to try identifying who had made it. It had sounded too familiar to be one of the newcomers and too masculine to be Rosie or Saffron. She’d heard Perry scream enough times to know it wasn’t him. Clayton? Mayson had spotted him on the other side of the farm before she’d entered the shed. Bonanzo? He’d been with Clayton. Who could have made that sound?

It wasn’t until she registered that the sound had come from her workshop that she realized the person who made it was Malroth.

The workshop looked exactly the same as it had a minute earlier. The walls were still standing, nothing had caught fire, no monsters had manifested inside the room in her absence. The only change was that Malroth had gone from leaning against the wall with his usual self-assured air to collapsed motionless on the floor. Mayson rushed to his side and dropped to her knees, desperate for proof that this wasn’t the worst-case scenario. He was breathing—she almost cried out in relief to discover that—but whatever had happened had left him pale and shivering, his eyes locked onto something far beyond the scope of the room.

“Malroth?” Mayson forced her voice to sound calm. She put a hand onto his shoulder and squeezed, praying her presence would be enough to bring him out of this state. “Malroth, can you hear me? I’m right here. I’m right next to you. Are you okay?”

Malroth gasped suddenly, as if he’d just come up for air. His eyes squeezed shut and opened, their focus now back within the limits of the room. His shivering began to subside. Mayson kept her hand on his shoulder, hoping it was helping him stabilize.

“Can you hear me?” she asked again. He gave a grunt before nodding yes to her, speech seemingly out of his reach for the moment as he regained his breath. She gave his shoulder another squeeze to acknowledge she’d seen him respond. His mouth moved-

“Wh...”

Mayson leaned in closer to him. “Yes?” she asked.

“Who…” Mayson withdrew her hand as Malroth started to peel himself off the floor. “Who was that?”

“What?”

Malroth pulled himself upright and put a hand to his forehead. Whatever had happened must have given him quite a headache. “Someone was screaming,” he said, his breath ragged. “Who was that?”

Mayson’s brow furrowed. “Malroth...” she said, gently “That was you. That was you screaming.”

“Wh—” Malroth met her gaze with an incredulous look. “What? No. That couldn’t...” He paused, doubt flitting over his face before his expression hardened to firm disbelief. “No, yeah. That definitely wasn’t me.”

“That definitely was you,” she said. “Malroth, what the hell happened while I was gone?”

“Nothing happened! I just—” he broke off midsentence with a pained hiss and rapidly massaged his temples. “—Look, I don’t know, alright? I was just standing here and then I wasn’t. I can’t tell you anything other than that.”

“You didn’t see anything?” Mayson asked. “No one came in here?”

“I told you, I don’t know!” He gingerly moved his hand away from his head. “I don’t know what happened!”

“There has to be a reason!” She leaned in close and peered at this face, searching for anything out of the ordinary. “Have you been feeling okay today? Before now, I mean.”

“Cut it out!” Malroth scooted away from her, his eyebrows knitting. “I’m fine! I’ve been fine all day! You don’t have to make a big deal out of this.”

“Make a big d—the hell are you on about?” Mayson got to her feet, wincing as she realized how much her knees hurt. She must have hit the ground harder than she thought in her rush to help him. “You just had some kind of—of episode, that is a big deal! You could have some kind of history with this for all we know! You could be hurt worse than you think!”

“Well, I’m not!” Malroth pulled himself to his feet as well. “So stop worrying about it, because I’m fi—”

He broke off midsentence as his legs gave out from under him, his arm slapping hard against the surface of the table as he struggled to remain upright. Mayson rushed forward and grabbed his other arm, her muscles straining as she tried to pull him upwards. Malroth yanked his arm away from her. “Don’t touch me!” he snapped. He grabbed at the edge of the table, heaving himself to his feet again.

Mayson felt her face grow hot. “Will you cut it out with this tough guy bullshit?! You’re going to hurt yourself!” She reached out to grab his arm again. “Stop fucking around and let me help y—”

“I said DON’T TOUCH ME!”

Mayson yanked her hand back. Malroth had whirled around to face her, his eyes blazing, his lips pulled back in a snarl. It was an expression she’d seen him make during battle, but not one she’d been on the receiving end of before now. She swallowed hard.

His face fell. “I—” he started. He cast his eyes downwards. “...Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m—”

“No no, I get it,” Mayson said, quickly. “I’m—ugh.” She sighed. “I wouldn’t want someone grabbing me in this kind of situation either. Just—” She fixed her gaze firmly upon him. “—Don’t pretend you’re okay, alright? You’re not and we both know it.”

“It’s not that bad,” he grumbled, his eyes remaining firmly on the floor. “I’m just—I was dizzy. I’m feeling better now.” He took a deep breath and moved a few tentative steps away from the table to prove it. His stance was still wobbly, but he stayed standing. “See? Much better. You don’t have to worry about it.”

Mayson crossed her arms. “I will worry about it anyway,” she said, sternly. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” Her eyes narrowed. “...When’s the last time you ate? I’m not the only one who has problems when they don’t eat, you know. You’re not immune!”

“That’s definitely it,” Malroth said, quickly. “I skipped lunch today and that’s why this happened. Something stupid like that. I’ll go—” He paused, then turned to the door. “I’m taking a walk. I want some air. I’ll get something to eat while I’m doing that.”

“Okay then,” Mayson said. “If that’s what you need, sure.” She gestured towards the idol. “You, uh… want me to keep this out so you can get a look at it later?”

He looked back at it and scowled. “Just get rid of that thing,” he said. “I don’t want to look at it. I don’t know what I was thinking when I said it was cool.”

“Malroth, what—”

Mayson’s question was cut off as Malroth opened the door, revealing a handful of the Furrowfield residents had gathered outside the workshop. Mayson had not been the only one to hear his scream, it appeared. It was a small comfort to her that none of them had tried to enter during Malroth’s recovery—He’d been that upset with just her finding him in that state, and more witnesses could only have made it worse. Several of them tried to ask Malroth questions—Mayson heard a “You good, dude?” from Britney—but Malroth pushed past them.

Mayson scrambled to the door herself. “HEY!” she said, loudly. Everyone turned to look at her, Perry letting out a squeak at her voice. “Can I help you folks?”

“Is everything alright?” Rosie asked. “We heard screaming. Was that Malroth?”

“It sounded like you were havin’ quite th’ row,” Perry added. “...You ein’t not friends now, right?”

“If you are in need of guidance, my girl,” Bonanzo said, sliding himself into the conversation. “I would be happy to—”

“No thank you!” Mayson waved a hand. “But yes! To Rosie’s questions! Don’t worry, it’s nothing serious. We, uh—“

“Blimey!” Perry yelped, his eyes looking past her. “What is that thing?”

A murmur went through the crowd as everyone’s attention fell on the idol, the shadows of Mayson’s workshop adding to its malevolent aura. Its ruby eyes caught the light from the open door and glinted. Saffron let out a terrified squeal.

“Oh!” Mayson said. “That! It’s something we picked up at that old church. I wanted to study it.” An idea lit up in her mind. “Malroth got spooked by it, that’s what he was yelling about. He doesn’t want to admit it though, you know how he is. We just got into an argument about that.”

The explanation went over well, to Mayson’s relief. The idol’s appearance was frightening enough to sell the idea of even someone as fearless as Malroth startling at the sight of it—even if it must have been obvious that was not the scream of someone who was merely startled. She stayed in the doorway to watch as the crowd dispersed, the farm residents eager to start the evening rituals of hot baths and hearty dinners now that their worries had been placated. The light was even dimmer now. Mayson thought back on the shattered oil lamp she’d left on the floor, the one she’d planned to use to better examine the idol.

Mayson turned her gaze back to it. It sat exactly as she’d left it, the only witness to whatever had overtaken Malroth a few minutes ago. She met the idol’s gaze and squinted, as if that would somehow compel it to reveal what it had just witnessed.

The idol just grinned.

Chapter Text

The limited vision Mayson had through the pumpkin helmet was making her antsy, though less for her own safety and more for everyone else’s. She hadn’t exactly designed the farm’s layout with limited vision in mind, and it made her worry someone was going to trip and hurt themselves.

At least for now everything seemed to be going fine. There was some stumbling and walking into fences—Perry, predictably, had gotten unlucky—but nothing that couldn’t be laughed off. Everyone else was too excited about the harvest to be worried about safety like she was. Maybe she could stop worrying about it too.

“What do you think, Mayson?” Rosie’s pumpkin helmet was practically bobbling in excitement as she spoke to Mayson. “Isn’t this the best harvest festival ever?”

“It’s great!” Mayson said. “Definitely one of the better ones I’ve been to!” 

“I’m so glad to hear it!” Rosie said. Her voice took on an anxious tone. “…To be honest, I was worried it would feel a bit lacking to you.”

Mayson had only been partially truthful—it was hard for Furrowfield farm’s small population and limited resources to match even the most lackluster efforts of any Cantlin village—but still…

“Furrowfield farm might not have a lot,” Mayson said. “But I don’t think any other harvest festival I’ve been to had half the spirit of this one.”

“Have you been to a lot of them?” Rosie asked.

“A couple,” Mayson said. “Harvest festivals aren’t really my thing. The festival I’ve gone to the most is centered around builders, actually! It’s done to celebrate a legendary builder who—“ she cut herself off and waved a hand. “It's a long story, actually. I shouldn’t get into that right now.”

“I’d love to hear it!” Rosie said. “Maybe you could tell it to all of us?”

“Definitely on another night,” Mayson said. “I’m not joking about how long it is.”

There was a loud yelp. Perry must have gotten unlucky again.

“Let’s talk later!” Rosie said. She waved vaguely in Mayson’s direction as she gingerly made her way over to Perry.

Mayson watched as everyone twirled and swayed. It was hard to say how accurate the dance was to the one done back in the Deitree’s heyday—the bit with the hoes seemed a bit much—but even if it wasn’t accurate, she was sure the Deitree enjoyed it all the same. The passion involved had to matter more than the exact movements.

Her eyes caught sight of a familiar purple jacket among the dancers. Was that…?

Malroth was dancing along with them, sporting a pumpkin helmet of his own and copying the motions everyone was doing with his own spare hoe. He wasn’t dancing well, but there was a clear enthusiasm to the movements she had to respect. 

She approached and waved, but the limited vision meant he didn’t see her. She tapped him on the shoulder, making him jump.

“Having fun?” She asked.

Malroth suddenly made a big show of trying to take the pumpkin helmet off of his head. “Mayson! Help!” he said. “Perry put this stupid thing on my head and I can’t get it off!

“Oh, really?” she said. She was glad the pumpkin helmet hid how wide she was smiling.

“A-and it’s making me move about, too! I can’t stop dancing!” He gave up on removing the pumpkin. “…You don’t think this mask is cursed, do you?”

“It’s like I said!” she replied. “You can’t trust enchanted items!”

“Yeah!” he said, quickly. “You were right! You really can’t!”

“I’m sure it’ll wear off,” she continued. “Besides, I think the look suits you. Your pants match that color perfectly!”

“If you say so,” he said. He seemed unenthusiastic about her compliment. “Uh. I need to…” He seemed to search for a moment for what exactly he needed to do before he gave up and walked away, the supposed ‘curse’ falling to stop him.

She held back a giggle as she watched him. Did he really care that much about looking uncool in front of her? That was so…adorable. So charming.

It was so…

Mayson’s stomach twisted.

No, she commanded herself. You are NOT doing this.

Malroth nearly tripped, then rebalanced himself. He pumped a fist, celebrating that victory over gravity. Mayson smiled, then willed the smile off her face.

You have something good going here with this friendship, she told herself. You shouldn’t wreck that. Not again.

The cheer she’d felt about the celebration immediately evaporated. It no longer felt like a fun new experience she was having on Furrowfield. It felt like a cruel reminder of the Builder’s Bash back in Alefgard, where she and her mentor had celebrated with builders from all around the continents. Where she had met—

She walked out of the small gathering and yanked the pumpkin off her head. She shook her head to fluff her hair out and felt the weight of the leftover pumpkin guts that had stuck to it. Not that she cared, since she was overdue for a bath anyway.

She leaned back against the fencing she’d placed nearby and sighed. She was no longer in a party mood. It didn’t feel right to still be there with everyone else now.

She continued to hang back while everyone left to finish the harvest. Malroth went with them, almost tripping on the ditch surrounding the Deitree as he left. It was inevitable he’d come sulking back after he’d ripped apart a few cabbages, but Mayson still didn’t want to discourage him.

“Is everything all right, Mayson?”

Pastor Al had approached her. The way she’d hung back must have stood out to him. 

“Everything’s fine,” Mayson answered. “Just taking a break.”

“There is no shame in that,” Al replied. “I’m sure no one will begrudge you for letting them handle the harvest. After all your hard work, you’ve earnt a chance to relax and let off some steam.”

Mayson idly wished that was the reason she was hanging back.

“That mask suits you, by the way,” Pastor Al continued, gesturing to the pumpkin she was holding. “I would have liked to wear one myself, truth be told, but we couldn’t find a pumpkin the right size.”

“I don’t think we’ve got the right kind of pumpkins for size,” Mayson said. “Real shame.”

There was a loud splash in the distance, followed by delighted shrieks and giggling. Someone must have fallen into the sugarcane field.

“Mayson…” Pastor Al said. “Not long ago, Malroth told me that I should cease acting as a mere overseer, and join you in your building work.”

“Oh?” she said. She’d been so busy that she’d almost forgotten about that exchange.

“Watching you and Rosie working together—“ Pastor Al continued. “Seeing the things you built—a thought began to form in my mind.” He tilted his head upwards, to look at the Deitree “A dream is a wonderful thing to have, and there is little in this world more beautiful than to see one’s dreams become reality.”

Mayson patiently waited for him to finish his thought. It always took everyone a bit to directly tell her what they wanted, and Pastor Al was no exception to that rule.

“…And so, Mayson,” Pastor Al said. “I ask to join you.” He firmly tapped his staff against the ground, punctuating his remark. “I want to be a builder! I want to go back to your island with you and build to my heart’s content!”

“Oh!” she said, her eyes widening with excitement. “I’m so glad to hear that! There’s never a bad time to start learning, after all!”

“…but in order to do so, I must first speak with the Children of Hargon, before it is too late. I will need to enlist your aid once again.”

Mayson’s mind halted in the middle of the list of beginner techniques she’d automatically started to assemble. She wasn’t exactly against his plan—she’d noticed how many monsters were quick to reconsider their devotion once she made them something or food was involved, and she’d always liked monsters so any chance to ally with them was a win in her book—but something about the idea of it was bothering her. Something that had been bothering her for a while now.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea?” she asked.

“If I neglect to do so for any longer,” Pastor Al said. “The Brainy Badboon will surely send greater forces to destroy the farm before I can convince him otherwise. If anything, I should have told him sooner.”

Mayson frowned. The Children of Hargon, in her humble opinion, were a bunch of chumps. Nothing but bullies who’d gotten lucky enough to find a decaying island prime for terrorizing with the scraps of their so-called cult. Still…

“I hold considerable sway with this chapter of the Children of Hargon,” Pastor Al continued. “Surely I can convince him.”

Mayson wanted to believe Pastor Al. She liked him well enough and the confession he’d just given her about wanting to learn building had been exciting to hear, but something about all of this worried her. Even if there was nothing that seemed particularly impressive about the Children of Hargon’s forces, there was power in numbers and even weak monsters could be frighteningly strong if banded together. If enough monsters were directed to attack the farm at once—and especially if the Orcs allied with them were called in—it could do some serious damage.

It also hadn’t slipped her notice that he’d never involved himself with any of the fieldwork. He could argue he’d never gotten himself involved with building, if pressed.

“Are you that sure?” she said. “When you came here, you made a big deal out of how you were only letting the farm grow to cause greater despair when it was destroyed. How am I supposed to believe he won’t do that?” Her gaze narrowed. “…Actually, how am I supposed to believe you’re not still planning to do that?”

Pastor Al’s head tilted up, the slot in his mask almost seeming to frown. “You trust me that little?” he said. The hurt in his voice was palpable.

“I want to trust you!” she said. “I really, really want to trust you. I just—“ she broke off and stared at everyone out in the fields. They were all so happy. 

“All of them trust you,” she finally continued. “I won’t forgive that trust being broken.”

“I have no intention of breaking it,” he said. 

Mayson wanted to believe him. She wanted to be understanding. She wanted to be the cheerful, ever-hopeful person she’d managed to be though all of this who’d rallied everyone together and given them something to dream towards.

Anger was building up in her despite that. She’d found it comical when she first arrived how blindly devoted everyone was to the Children of Hargon, but the longer this went on—the more people she saw with fear in their eyes over things as simple as food and shelter—the more frustrated she’d become with the state of things. On top of that, being reminded of—that person was making her paranoid about being taken advantage of again.

“Fine,” she sighed. “But if things go badly—if the Children of Hargon do anything that harms this place—“

She struggled to find something to end that sentence with. Pastor Al said nothing, but something about the way his mask was tilted made its unreadable expression seem sadder.

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. The anger that had been building up cooled slightly. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I know I’m being unfair."

“I cannot blame you,” he said, gloomily. “I’m all too familiar with what the Children of Hargon have done to this island. I myself have participated in things I deeply regret.”

Mayson stared up at the rustling leaves of the Deitree. She’d certainly done things she regretted, herself. They weren’t comparable to the kind of things the Children of Hargon had done, but she’d still hurt people. She’d hurt people in ways she could never take back.

And yet, despite all of that, she was here. She’d helped bring life back to the farm. She’d helped the Deitree grow. She’d helped bring hope back to Furrowfield, and so had Pastor Al.

“Listen,” she said. “I’m sure there’s still a lot of vegetables that haven’t been harvested yet. Would you like to join me in taking care of those?”

Pastor Al tilted his head up.

“I noticed you’ve never gotten directly involved with the harvest,” she continued. “Tonight would be the perfect time to join in.”

Pastor Al thoughtfully tapped a finger against his staff.

“If you’re worried you won’t do it as well as them,” she added. “I’m sure no one will judge you for that. I know Rosie never would.”

Out in the fields, Mayson heard Malroth give a yell of frustration. He must have finally reached his breaking point with the cabbages.

“...Also,” she added. “I’m sure you’ll still be a lot better at it than Malroth.”

Pastor Al gave a chuckle. “You shouldn’t speak ill of him for my sake,” he said. “But I appreciate the encouragement.”

“So,” she said. “Would you like to join me?”

“Hm hm hm…” Pastor Al gave a thoughtful hum. “You did say there’s never a bad time to start learning. I would be delighted to start tonight!”

“Great!” she said. She gathered up her hair and put the pumpkin back on her head. “I’ll bet they could use some help with the pumpkin field.” She started to walk in its direction. “Those things are pretty heavEEEE!”

She yelped as she felt herself falling. A hand clapped down on her shoulder and pulled her back. Pastor Al had saved her at the last second from falling into the ditch.

“Careful!” he said. “It would be a tragedy for you to get hurt during such a celebration.”

“Thank you!” she said, both feet now firmly on the ground. “I really should fill in that ditch.”

“I rather like it,” Pastor Al said. “It’s quite a charming detail of the farm’s landscape.”

“True,” she said, as they headed towards the pumpkin field. “I should at least put some fencing around it, though.”

There was a wave of cheers when Mayson approached the rest of the group with Pastor Al. Rosie was practically vibrating with joy when he helped her lift a pumpkin from the ground. Mayson eventually gave up on the idea of harvesting more than a few vegetables and watched from the edge of the fields instead. Malroth ended up joining her.

“Glad to see the spell wore off,” she said to him.

“What?” he said. “Oh! Right. I’m still not letting Perry get away with this, though!”

“Save that for tomorrow,” she said. “It’s going to kill the mood of the party if you start something tonight.”

Mayson managed to get back into the swing of the celebration as the night went on. Things were too lovely for her to keep dwelling on the past, and while the future was uncertain it felt much brighter to think about. As much could go badly with Pastor Al’s plan, it felt nice to think that things had a chance to go well instead.

She couldn’t have begun to imagine how badly things would go the next morning.