Sidekick by Carl Stubblefield (10 best novels of all time .txt) 📗

So this was his reward for using compassion? Trying to use his power for something productive, and nothing to show for it in the end. Those last damn levels came so easy and gave me a false sense of hope. Why do I keep hoping for the best after life keeps beating me down? Am I just super naive in thinking anything I do will ever make a difference?

With the emotional numbness came a deep fatigue. Was that the sum of life? Struggle then ignominious release? Why am I always struggling? What good has it done me? Realizing the futility of his situation, Gus finally let go.

All the ranting and bitter feelings were ineffectual. Everything was. So he stopped. For a long time he was alone in his thoughts. And for a while he thought of nothing, which was new. His brain usually got anxious if there was any down time and he got fidgety and played a game on his phone or listened to music. Rarely had he just been alone with absolutely nothing to do.

At first, he had flashes of thought on things he should try. Why he needed to protect the manor, get back to civilization, and let his family know he was alive. It all failed to inspire him. As if the darkness had penetrated into him and smothered any kernel of hope that was trying to survive. Gus made no effort and let each spark be quenched. In time, the thoughts stopped coming and he was alone.

It was strange, suddenly having no obligations. He had felt that fate had chosen him for something special. He’d been beginning to believe that maybe, just maybe, all the doubters and naysayers were wrong about him. That he really was destined for something great. The weight of that self-imposed duty had increased day by day. There was always something that he was doing inefficiently or incorrectly.

He had lost though. So now he could rest. At last.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Dream On

Gus fell for quite some time. A heavy fatigue overwhelmed him and he drifted to sleep and began to dream—a new one that he knew intuitively was a continuation of the young thief who had drank the master’s potions.

He was back in the alchemist’s manor. A hooded figure stood over his bed, mixing various reagents and pressing compresses to his body. Uncontrollable spasms arched his back until the only thing touching the bed he was resting on were the back of his head and his heels. He then would fall limp. Cold shivers would wrack his body, causing what felt like painful needles to stab into every pore. Then the pain would shift. Raw and hot, burning like he was flayed alive.

He came in and out of consciousness as the pain grew too intense. Something pressed to his lips every time he gained a brief moment of consciousness. A golden liquid dripped onto his tongue and he gained a brief respite from the pain, until it changed modes.

As he lay there sweating, the alchemist turned, suddenly looking for something in a rush. The cowl fell away, revealing a woman. Strangely familiar. And she was helping him. After he had stolen so much. Pain blossomed again, stopping all thought. His insides felt like they were expanding, pressing against his skin like a taut sausage casing. Tears fell down the sides of his face as if pressed out. Again a drop of liquid, this one a luminescent amber color, and the pressure subsided. Exhausted he closed his eyes and gave in to oblivion.

The cycles felt like they went on forever. Occasionally his rest was longer, sometimes shorter as some new form of pain wrenched him out of sleep to mete out more punishment. One time he saw the master alchemist in the doorway, arms folded in stern disapproval. He had no idea why the master had not killed him for his offense. Maybe they had means of extracting that which had been stolen and needed him alive to regain what they had lost.

He opened his eyes, sticky with some crusty exudate that had partially congealed on his eyelids. Three figures stood beside the plinth-like bed he was laying on in the middle of the workshop.

“I can fix this, but it will cost you…” the new dark-clad figure growled.

“Anything, anything! I will do whatever you want—” the woman cried.

“Watch what you promise! His kind never comes cheap, and we don’t know if he will keep his word.”

The dark figure held up a hand to forestall any more arguments. “I am all you have. So please do stop trying to negotiate. My time is valuable, so if you do not like my terms, I will be on my way. You will be left to deal with this matter yourselves.”

“Nooo…” the woman wailed and collapsed.

Gus came awake with a start. That was new. He’d had the dream with the apprentice thief many times in his life, but it was always the same. He could tell that what he had seen tonight was a continuation, in the weird way things make sense in dreams that sound ludicrous when you try to explain them when awake. Elements of the dream started to fade, and he tried to actively remember them, until the only thing he had left was the woman’s face, which also evaporated into oblivion.

Chapter Forty

Running Just to Catch Myself

Time became a fuzzy concept. There was nothing to separate the moments, and the lack of stimulation allowed his mind to wander. After a time, the falling sensation became almost soothing, and Gus recalled his time floating in his space suit so long ago. He reviewed all of his abilities, and the only one that seemed possibly applicable was Xyzzy. He attempted to fire the ability, but it was too slippery, the high MP cost making it oily to his mind. No matter how he attempted to approach and access the skill, it would