Chapter 25 Genres
Acharming bell tinkered in welcome.
Em and Sasha sauntered into the Beedle’s Traveler’s Goods supply store, right in the heart of Mercer Village. An assortment of adventuring gear hung along the walls, on the low ceiling beams, or was stuffed in various barrels or shelves about the shop.
Everything smelled like leather and crisp paper.
It cleared Em’s nose of the nasty stench of orc.
Thankfully, there’d been a spigot outside the shop.
She’d washed off most of the filth from her arms and face.
Dried chunks of orc guts still clung to the front of her dress, but Em tried not to think about it too hard.
She just needed a new book, some new clothes, maybe some basic travel gear, and to get the hell out of this cliché realm.
Bitter guilt gnawed at Em’s sour stomach, but she pushed any worries for Roden, Gair, and Polo away. If they kept doubting her position as a Main Character—or continuously tried to stop her—she was better off without them.
Sasha, now sober again thanks to the spigot water, meandered about the shop. The dryad appeared especially interested in anything glittery. She poked and prodded at things, quietly humming to herself without rushing or questioning Em.
And this is why she’s still with me, and the others aren’t.
A few other customers mused about, muttering in low voices. Their suspicious, quick glances warned Em they recognized her from the unfortunate orc-explosion-incident earlier. She did her best to steer clear of them in the tight space.
Fortunately, the store’s selection of books was at the front next to the shelves of apothecary merchandise.
As she scanned the sparse choices, Em’s heart sank a little more.
There weren’t any copies of the Main Character’s Guidebook to Plots and Tropes.
Strange that they didn’t supply such a staple manual in a village of adventurers.
She cut across the store to the shopkeeper’s counter, plastering an awkward smile across her face.
A freckled, teenage boy manned the shop. He had one of the largest noses Em had ever seen. A wooden pin with the word BEEDLE was hooked to his collar. He just stared at her, waiting for her to inquire about something, clearly not bothering to make small talk.
“Do you have any copies of the Main Character’s Guidebook to Plots and Tropes?” she asked.
“The what now?” Beedle responded.
“Never mind,” Em shrugged. “Do you have any guidebooks or manuals?”
“We sell atlases of Novella,” Beedle pointed to the bookshelf she’d already searched. “And various locally published guild stories; the deluxe, interactive roleplay editions have the gold-edged pages.”
“But not manuals?”
“They’re no longer in print,” he shook his head.
Em blinked. “When did that happen?”
“Since yesterday,” Beedle shrugged. “Guess you were on the road and missed all the news.”
“Care to explain?” Sasha cut in, leaning on the counter.
“A strange storm overtook the Veil of Maas last night,” Beedle explained, fidgeting with his wooden name tag.
“Ever since then, word is the realms of Novella have strange new rules. Or lack thereof. The regions are supposedly beginning to bleed into each other, and classifications of people’s ranks are gone.
As are most of the guild members’ perks. ”
Sasha slapped at her wrist, but no inventory appeared. She wrinkled her nose toward Em. “Interesting,” is all the dryad said.
This can’t be because of me, right? Em hugged herself.
“Never seen so many rules change overnight so fast,” Beedle said. “It’s like the Great Authors suddenly decided they don’t care about any of us anymore, and everything in Novella is unraveling.”
Shit.
“Ever seen a Pegasus from the Riordan Heavenly Places in the Tahir Desert?” Beedle went on, oblivious to her plight. “Or the Colfer Tunnels in open, letting vampires from Meyer’s Realm inside where the leprechauns hide, of all things?”
“I can’t say I have.” Sasha traced mindless circles along the countertop. She bobbed her eyebrows at Em. “How about you, sweetheart?
“What would cause all this?” Em asked, fighting for any reason to convince herself she wasn’t the cause of this sudden collapse of barriers and regions.
Genres crossed over in some books; she’d read enough to know.
Sometimes, her teachers at Sanderson even encouraged her to pursue multiple interests.
But this seemed dramatic. World changing.
Dangerous.
The type of thing Kriqir needed to begin his invasion over Novella.
Shit shit shit.
“Who knows why anything happens in this insane world?” Beedle laughed dryly. “But most of the guild parties that came through this morning were conspiring that the Great Authors were turning against us. Or worse, abandoning us all together to Kriqir the Living’s demise.”
“The necromancer?” Sasha didn’t even pretend to sound surprised.
“His orcs are beginning to set up outposts along the less inhabited regions,” Beedle said. “Rumor has it he’ll begin a full-scale invasion over the collapsing realms now that they’re weakened.”
“He’d be stupid to try that…” Sasha began.
“Except, if the Great Authors aren’t holding everything together, what’s going to stop him?” Beedle interrupted.
Shit. Em’s mind clicked. Without Stephanie writing her story, any of the realms she’d traveled through during her quest were falling apart. Because Em stole the manuscript right out of the writer’s hands, she was expected to maintain everything within her plot. Not just the sequences of events.
Em touched her skirt pocket where Inky was stashed away. The singular pen held all the power over her world.
“I need a new mentor,” she muttered to herself.
“I’d say,” Sasha snorted.
“You gonna buy anything?” Beedle asked, yawning. Like they hadn’t been discussing the potential end of the world. Background Characters sure seemed unbothered by the chaos of Novella.
Both girls dumped their various travel gear across the countertop.
As Beedle wrote out their extensive bill, mostly thanks to the unnecessary beauty products and jewelry Sasha had picked out, Em secretly wrote a bag of gold into existence.
Thankfully, the teenage shopkeeper didn’t care that she’d already begun to mark up the leather journal she just bought.
As they exited the store, Em’s mind couldn’t escape the web of worries knitting inside her.
“Am I the one doing this?” she asked in a low voice.
“Probably,” Sasha said, linking their arms. “Likely. Maybe.”
“Inky?” Em retrieved the glittering quill from her brand-new knapsack. “Can you explain the level of responsibility I have over Novella now that I’m a Great Author?”
“Hmm,” the pen hummed. “That is a very broad question. Could you give me a more specific category that you would like me to focus on regarding your areas of control?”
“Realms and regions,” Em snapped.
“You hold full responsibility over maintaining the order and well-being of the realms throughout Novella as Great Author,” Inky sang too happily for Em’s forming headache.
“While you do not have control over every aspect or happening within each realm, you are in charge of ensuring each genre remains within its proper categorization and limitations to prevent nullification in Novella.”
“Nullification?” Em asked.
“The process of making any originality or difference between genres and plotlines. If every realm were to blend together with too much ease, that would eventually mold all of Novella into a singular, dull culture where everything morphed together.”
Em shuddered. It would make everything one big world of tropes and clichés. Nothing would become original anymore. The same big, hellish story. A fucking nightmare.
“How do we stop this?” she asked the pen.
“Well, my honest suggestion would be to return me to my rightful owner, Stephanie Sawyer.”
“Not happening.” Em ground her teeth.
Sasha raised her eyebrows, unaware of anything Inky was saying. Thankfully, the dryad didn’t inquire further.
“Alrighty!” Inky sang out. “My second, definitely lesser recommended suggestion, would be to find a mentor with enough resources on how to properly understand and study the ancient ways of the Great Authors. Then, you can try to follow them in their path and rise into power.”
“Where can you find that type of mentor?” Em asked.
“There are many available mentors at the Rowling Institute of Magic,” Inky said. “Or you can attempt to kill two birds with one stone and seek out counsel at the Larian Community College of Secondary Characters. There are training programs there for prospective mentors.”
“Maybe you should warn the others about Kriqir’s impending invasion,” Sasha said, glancing toward the Long Rest Tavern down the street from them. “Just in case.”
“They can handle themselves,” Em shook her head. “If what Inky just told me is true, we don’t have much time. This is becoming bigger than I thought. I’m going to have to save the whole world.”
“Which is cliché.” Sasha chewed on her cheek.
Em grunted, refusing to acknowledge the dryad’s doubts in her. “I’m doing everything I fucking can, okay? Either you’re with me, or you’re not.”
“Oh, this is truly becoming more chaotic by the hour. I’m totally with you, sweetheart,” Sasha said. “I’m definitely at least entertained.”
“Are you sure?” Em asked. “Because everyone else apparently lost their confidence in me.”
“You know that part of your long list of titles about the White Rose Valley?” Sasha asked, lowering her voice. Her amber eyes darted about the village street as if making sure no one was spying on their conversation.
“Yeah?” Em asked.
“Let’s just say I’m in this for more than the money,” Sasha whispered. “And that I have very very very strong connections to a specific forest there in your precious White Rose Valley. I’ve got my roots down there.”
Oh. Em’s heart skipped a beat. If she was understanding the dryad, Sasha had just exposed the deepest secret about herself: the location of her soul tree. And she was fully responsible for the fate of the dryad’s forest, no thanks to her shitty prophecy.
“I’m with you, sweetheart,” Sasha saluted. “Whether I like it or not. I need you to win.”
“Perfect.” Em tried not to let the swelling pressure choke her. She scratched a few quick notes into her book, ensuring that when they arrived at Larian Community College, there would someone there expecting them and ready to help.
“Inky, teleport us to Larian, please,” she ordered.
“On it!” the pen sang out.
In a blink, the scene cut short.