The Blender’s Bargain – Chapter 24

Garrick

Heading into Rumblestone, we roll past the first few buildings. Shuttered windows stare like empty eyes. Then I see them. People. Shuffling. Heads down, feet dragging through the dust. A woman walks straight into a fence post, pivots without expression, shuffles on. Another man circles aimlessly in the middle of the road. Enthralled. Every single one.

“Creepy,” Marlo mutters from the back seat. The stand-mixer on her lap gives a faint whir. Branwen must sense the darkness, too.

“We need to get to the mine entrance,” I say, scanning the vacant faces. “Without attracting attention.”

“Right. Just drop me at the edge of town,” Marlo says, leaning forward again. “I’ll take my chances walking from here. Coralton can’t be that far.”

“We’re in the middle of the continent. And we’ve been over this. I’m not leaving Archie.”

“Your funeral.” She leans her head against the window. “So, what’s the grand plan? March up to the evil wizard fortress and demand they release the princess?”

I ignore her sarcasm. My eyes meet the toaster’s metallic sheen in the passenger seat. “Arvid?”

“The mine is concentrated with energy,” the toaster replies, his voice low. “The source is deep within. Mistress Archie… her signature is faint but present. She is inside.”

Inside. My heart sinks. She made it here. She walked right into this.

“I can confirm the same,” the mixer says from the back. “The seals are weakening. The ritual… it has begun, or soon will. Young lady, you will take me inside.”

Marlo shifts. “Uh, yeah, no. Ritual? What kind of ritual involves blenders, toasters, and mixers?” She lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Look, Garrick, this is all fascinating in a terrifying, ‘world-is-ending’ kind of way, but it’s really not my scene. I’m more of a ‘save myself first’ kind of gal, you know? Saving the day? That’s for people like… well, people like her.” She gestures vaguely towards the mine.

“I don’t do noble sacrifices or fighting dark forces. My biggest battle is usually deciding between Chardonnay and Sauvignon Blanc.”

She pats the mixer again, her expression souring. “But then this… thing… shows up in my life. Why my mixer? Out of all the appliances in Stellura?” Her sour look lightens. “It has to be some kind of cosmic joke, or a sign, right? That I’m stuck in this mess, whether I like it or not.”

She sighs, running a hand through her perfect curls. “Damn it. I really hate being needed. Okay. Maybe Coralton can wait.” For once, she sounds unnerved.

We reach the town square, a dusty patch of nothing surrounded by dilapidated storefronts. More shuffling figures drift through the space. I pull the car into a shadowed alley between an old diner and a boarded-up general store, killing the engine. Silence descends, broken only by the low thrum from the mountain and the scuffing footsteps outside.

“How do we get past them?” Marlo whispers, eyeing the entranced townspeople.

“We sneak,” I say, grabbing my backpack and the toaster. “Stay low, stay quiet. Stick to the shadows.”

Marlo hefts the mixer. “Right. Sneaking. With talking appliances. Brilliant.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

She bites her lip, glancing at the mine. “Actually… maybe.” She gives the mixer a speculative look. “Branwen, remember how you made that awful grinding noise earlier? When I dropped you?”

The mixer hums.

Marlo grins, a spark of her old mischievousness returning. “Distraction it is.”

Before I can argue, she shoves open her door and strides into the square, the mixer held high. “Oh, dear!” she calls out, her voice carrying in the stillness. “My antique mixer! It seems to be malfunctioning!”

She shakes the appliance, and a horrible screeching, grinding sound erupts from it. Several of the shuffling figures pause, their vacant heads turning towards the noise. Even the guards positioned near the path leading up to the mine pay attention.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I mutter, and then chuckle. I can only roll my eyes.

“It’s making the most dreadful racket!” Marlo continues, backing away from the square towards the opposite end of town, shaking the screaming mixer. “Help! Someone! It’s possessed!”

The guards lumber in her direction, drawn by the commotion. Their focus shifts away from the mine path.

“Go!” Arvid urges from the toaster under my arm. “Now is your chance.”

I hesitate, glancing at Marlo, who is leading half a dozen enthralled guards on a bizarre slow chase down a side street, the mixer still shrieking.

It’s reckless. It’s typical Marlo.

But it worked.

I duck low and sprint across the square, sticking to the shadows of the buildings. The path up the mountain looms ahead. I risk a glance back. Marlo disappears around a corner, the guards stumbling after her. The square is clear.

I reach the start of the mine path, a steep, rocky trail winding up the mountainside towards the ominous purple glow. The air grows colder here, heavier. The vibrations intensify, buzzing up through the soles of my boots.

“Arvid? Can you give me any direction?”

“Go straight in, my good man.” The toaster gives a slight pulse of warmth. “You’re heading in the right direction.”

I take the first step onto the path, leaving the eerie town behind. The mine entrance gapes above me, a dark maw waiting to swallow me whole.

I adjust the toaster under my arm, backpack secure. Marlo created an opening, and now it’s up to me to take advantage of it.

A faint sound echoes down from the mine entrance. A scuffle? A muffled cry?

“No! Let her go!”

Archie? That certainly sounds like her.

My jaw tightens. I push down the fear, the doubt. She needs me.

I plunge into the darkness of the mine tunnel, and it swallows me whole. It’s not just the absence of light; it’s thick, heavy, pressing in. That low vibration from outside intensifies down here, humming through the rock, through the soles of my boots, right up into my teeth.

“Arvid? Which way?” I whisper, clutching the toaster tighter. Its metallic shell is surprisingly warm. Comforting, even. (Wow, my life has gotten weird when a talking toaster is my security blanket.)

“Straight ahead for now,” Arvid replies, his voice muffled but steady. “Archie, she’s there. It’s the same energy… it’s faint, but directly ahead. And growing stronger. Or perhaps, more agitated.” Arvid sighs. “I was better at this in human form, but…”

Agitated? Not good. I break into a jog, boots splashing through unseen puddles, the weak light of bare-bulb lamps bouncing off dripping rock walls. Tunnels branch off left and right, a confusing labyrinth.

“Right at this fork,” Arvid instructs.

I skid around the corner, almost losing my footing on slick rock. The tunnel narrows. Another cry echoes, closer now. Archie. Followed by a grunt and a clang.

“She’s fighting,” I breathe, pushing faster.

“Indeed. Take the next left passage,” Arvid says. “Quickly. This place is unstable.”

I duck into the opening just as a section of the main tunnel ceiling collapses behind me with a deafening roar. Dust and rock fragments rain down. Holy hell. That was close.

“My apologies,” Arvid says calmly. “Minor miscalculation in the structural integrity readings.”

“Minor?” I pant, heart hammering.

“I do not have a body with which to feel things! Focus, Master Garrick. She is very near now.”

I push onward, following the twisting passage. The sounds of struggle are clear now — grunts, shouts, the thud of impact. I burst out of the narrow corridor into a wider tunnel junction and freeze.

There. Archie. And her mom. Both of them bound with ropes and backed against the wall, facing off against two hulking figures in mining gear, their eyes blank. One guard lunges, grabbing Archie’s mom.

“No! Let her go!” Archie screams, launching herself at the guard with a ferocity that takes my breath away. She connects with a solid kick to his knee, but he barely stumbles.

Okay, Garrick. Showtime.

I drop the toaster near the wall and charge forward. Surprise flickers across Archie’s face, quickly followed by relief so potent it almost makes my knees weak. The guard holding her mom turns, startled. I don’t hesitate. I slam my shoulder into his side and send him staggering against the rock face. He drops Archie’s mom, who scrambles away.

Archie uses the distraction, landing a kick to the groin of the other guards. He groans, faltering for just a second, long enough for me to land a solid right hook that sends him crashing to the tunnel floor.

“Garrick!” Archie throws her body into me. She’s trembling, but she’s here, solid and real in my arms. I hold her tight, breathing in the scent of her hair mixed with damp earth and fear.

“I thought…” she whispers. “I thought you wouldn’t find me…”

“I found you,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

Archie pulls away. “Can you…?” she asks, turning and showing me her hands. I open my backpack and pull out my camping knife. Sawing the ropes from her wrists, I can see how raw her skin is, how her fingers are white with poor circulation.

Anger, pure white hot fury boils in my chest. Whoever did this to her will pay for it.

Once her hands are free, she shakes them out, and her hand finds mine, squeezing tight. Her eyes are filled with terror, but that spark, that resilience I admire, it’s still there.

Then a scream rips through the tunnels. Closer this time. Definitely female.

Definitely Marlo.

“What was that?” Archie’s mom asks. I step to her and cut her ropes free. Her face is pale in the dim emergency lighting.

“I think that’s Marlo,” I say, squeezing Archie’s hand and letting go. The warmth disappears. Damn it.

“Marlo? What the hell is she doing here?”

I sigh. “It’s a long story.” I start to walk and wave Archie and her mom to follow us. “I picked her up hitchhiking, and she has a magician in her mixer.” I swallow hard. “It’s Branwen, your ancestor.”

Archie and her mom exchange a wary look.

“We have to help her,” her mom insists, increasing our pace.

Archie hesitates, glancing down the tunnel to the central shaft, then back towards the scream. Her jaw sets. “Right. Lead the way.”

We plunge deeper into the maze, the path lit only by sparse, flickering emergency lights and the eerie purple glow seeping from cracks in the rock walls. Vibrations intensify, a low thrumming that resonates in my bones.

“Stay alert,” Arvid murmurs from the toaster. “The energy signatures are growing stronger. More unpredictable.”

No kidding.

We round a corner. Two enthralled guards block the passage ahead, pickaxes held at their sides. Before I can think of a plan, Archie steps forward, eyes closed in concentration. A section of pipe overhead bursts, showering the guards in icy water. They stagger back, their vacant eyes blinking.

“Go!” Archie shoves me forward into the narrow passage they were guarding.

We race onward, the screams growing louder, laced with panic now. We emerge into a larger tunnel junction, and there she is.

Marlo, cornered against a rough rock face by a tall, severe-looking woman and half a dozen guards. The woman holds the stand-mixer aloft like a trophy. Marlo’s eyes are wide, her usual confidence shattered.

“Branwen was a fool,” the severe woman says. “A traitor to her own kind. She thought she could lock away power that rightfully belongs to us.” She gestures with the mixer. “But her essence will serve nicely now. Along with the blood of her pathetic descendants.”

“Vessa!” Archie’s mom cries out, stepping forward. “Leave them alone!”

Vessa turns, her cold eyes landing on us. A slow, predatory smile spreads across her face. “Ah. There you are.” She snaps her fingers. The guards blocking our path turn and move in our direction.

“Get behind me,” I order Archie and her mom, shoving the toaster into Archie’s arms.

I brace myself as the first guard swings a heavy pickaxe. I dodge, grabbing the handle, using his momentum to throw him off balance. He crashes into the wall. Another guard lunges. I sidestep, landing a solid punch to his jaw. He barely flinches, his eyes still vacant. Shit.

More guards swarm us. I fight back, dodging clumsy blows, trying to create an opening. But there are too many, and I’m not much of a fighter. One grabs Archie. Another seizes her mom.

I roar, shoving a guard away, trying to reach them. A heavy blow connects with the back of my head. Stars explode behind my eyes. I stagger, knees buckling. Rough hands haul me upright, pinning my arms behind my back.

I struggle uselessly against their iron grip. They wrench the backpack containing Ysroth from Archie’s shoulder.

“No!” she cries out.

Vessa watches, impassive, as the guards pull guns and point them at us. Our hands fly up.

Marlo glares at me. “Nice rescue attempt, hero,” she bites out.

“Silence,” Vessa commands. She gestures down the main tunnel. “For fuck’s sake. All of you people are exhausting. Bring them. The alignment is soon.”

We’re shoved forward, stumbling over the uneven rock floor. The tunnel widens, opening into a vast cavern. My breath catches.

The air crackles with energy. A massive vortex of swirling purple-black darkness dominates the center of the chamber, howling like a captured storm. Jagged arcs of raw magic lash out from its depths, striking the cavern walls, leaving scorch marks on the ancient stone. In the center, beneath the rotating maw, stands a rough-hewn stone altar. Objects glint upon it — strange tools, carved stones, and gleaming silver… Archie’s charm.

“Magnificent, isn’t it?” Vessa breathes, her eyes alight with manic energy. “The gateway materialized here after the syzygy. Sealed for centuries by fools like Branwen and ripped open by planetary alignments.” She shrugs. “Who even knew this was a thing?”

She lifts the mixer. “But her essence, combined with the blood of her lineage…” Her gaze falls on Archie and her mom. “…will shatter the final ward. And the power will be unleashed.”

Guards force us towards the altar. My mind races. The pages of notes I took in the car. I need to get them to Archie.

Now or never.

As a guard shoves me forward past Archie, I fake a stumble, lurching against her. My hand snakes into my back pocket, fingers closing around the crumpled paper. I press it into her hand, hidden from view.

“Library,” I whisper, hoping she understands.

Her fingers twitch against mine, a silent acknowledgment, before the guards drag me away, forcing me to kneel with Marlo near the cavern entrance. Vessa drags Archie and her mother to the pulsating vortex and the waiting altar. Archie casts one terrified glance back at me. Her eyes scream panic, but also… understanding.

She has the pages of notes, everything Branwen told us, every spell she could remember that would solve this situation. I can only hope it’s enough.

Vessa raises her arms, her voice lifting in a chant that echoes off the cavern walls, weaving into the howl of the vortex. The purple light flares, intensifies.

The ritual is beginning. And we’re trapped. Nowhere to run. Nothing left to do but watch.