I hate small talk. Especially greetings. When you think about it, there are only so many ways to start a conversation, so before you can get to anything interesting you have to suffer through an insipid round of:

Hey Steve

Oh, hey Marv

How ya doin’?

Not bad, how ‘bout you?

Not bad at all

Wife good?

Yah, how bout you?

…et cetera et cetera ad infinitum.

“How ya doin’ back there?” called Euric from the front of the cart.

“Bored. I’m thinking about hurting myself to pass the time. How ‘bout you?”

“Not bad at- wait a minute- if you’re that bored come on up here, I’ll teach you how to drive the horses.”

That actually sounded like a lot of fun. Especially given how far my standards for “fun” had slipped in the past few hours. I’d started off by looking for shapes in the clouds, but there was only one, and it kind of looked like Clayton’s fat mom getting plowed from both ends by the entire football team. I’m glad I never took the Rorschach test as a kid, they would’ve stuck me in a padded cell for sure. As per usual in Alterra, there were also a handful of smoky meteor trails in the sky, so I counted them up like tally marks in a jail cell.

Eleven… how many days have I been in this world, again? Time sure does fly when you’re tripping on orange mushrooms, giant flowers, and supraphysiological quantities of alcohol.

I took a seat beside Euric, and spent the rest of the day learning the basics of horsecraft. We’d just passed the signpost with the friendly reminder that we were about 217 miles from our destination, riding carts that boasted precisely two horsepower apiece.

How many days of this shit? Ten?

Factoring in the rest times for the horses, food, lodging, bad weather… carry the one… and we’ll get there…

I shrugged.

When we get there.

I was finally starting to get a handle on riding when we came across a stream by the roadside and decided to set up camp for the night. Based on the bald patches of grass, I could tell this was a pretty common rest stop, and the scattering of trees in the area provided a bit of shade.

Before long, we had a fire going, and a couple spits of meat getting a nice tan.

“Those are for me and Burt, you got that shrimp?” Clayton bloviated.

“They remind me of your mom last night.” I responded, unable to contain myself.

He frowned, unfamiliar with the imagery I was going for, but Stella exhaled loudly.

After dinner, I said I needed to piss and wandered downstream, out of sight. What I really needed to do was unload my dagger, because practice makes perfect and I was not going to miss a whole week of precious training. Stella was familiar enough with my unique excretory situation to know that was complete bullshit, so she excused herself as well.

I focused on shooting ice projectiles out at high speed, while Stella preferred forming a large lump and hucking it herself. To each their own, I guess.

“Any breakthroughs making ice without the dagger?” I asked.

“Nah, it’s going to take awhile for that.”

“Too bad, guess you’re going to have to keep consorting with a known woman-hating terrorist.”

“Finally, you admit it. Honesty is the first step.”

“What did you tell Allison, anyway? She’s refusing to speak to me.”

“Nothing that you haven’t clearly indicated to me.”

I grabbed the ball of ice that she’d been forming and booshed it into the stream.

When we walked back to camp, Allison eyed me suspiciously.

“What were you two just doing?” she asked.

“Women are attracted to monsters.” I said smugly.

The second day on the road started exactly like the first. Euric took first shift on the horses, while I sat in the back on cloud-watching duty.

Stella getting devoured from both ends by fluffy cannibals. Another lovely day.

I occasionally heard a burst of laughter from the other cart, which was following a few hundred feet back. Listening to a group of people laughing gets in my head like nothing else, because I automatically assume that, because I’m not in on the joke, they must be laughing at me.

Stella’s probably explaining that I’m not fully housebroken, and she followed me downstream yesterday to make sure I didn’t piss all over myself. Or some shit. Bitch.

My smartphone-addled brain demanded immediate stimulation, so I started poking around at some of the crates, just to see what kind of cargo we were moving. Sure enough, one of them contained hundreds of vials of innocent white liquid.

Didn’t Zerch say something about gaining an immunity to bee venom through repeated exposure?

The wind whispered my name, and another laugh sounded from the other cart.

Because now might be a convenient time to gain that immunity… not like I’m doing much else…

Of course, just going on one maniac’s word would be reckless. After all, there are three ways this could go. Additional doses of venom could either:

Build Immunity, like snake venom (Ideal) Do nothing, like acid or cyanide (At least I wouldn’t be bored) Worsen Immunity, like poison ivy (I might die)

I took one of the vials out of the crate and stared at it.

Am I really going to play this game of Russian roulette? Seems foolish…

I looked back and saw Clayton in the throes of a dramatic reenactment.

But if I did, I would only take a *tiny* sip. I don’t want to go blacking out again…

A loud boom erupted from the other cart. I snapped my head back, only to see Stella laughing her ass off.

I downed the entire vial like a shot of cheap vodka.

THERE! THAT WASN’T SO -

*thunk*

When I came to, it was already midafternoon. I sat upright, only to discover that, in my sleep, something horrible had happened.

I was in the wrong cart.

Seated around me, looking down at my disheveled state, were public enemies number 1 through 5.

I hereby call to order: the council of douchebags

They stared at me like I was a cockroach that had been stepped on, crushed, and completely obliterated… yet was still somehow alive.

“Tough little fucker, aren’t’ch’a!” said Burt. “Do you have any idea how many bees it takes to produce one of those vials?”

I shook my partially numb head.

“Over a dozen. How are you still alive?”

“Well, there’s this thing called exposure therapy… where you build a resistance to something through repeated-” I began mumbling.

“Do you know how long you’ve been out?” Allison butted in. I checked the sun.

“Couple hours?”

“A day and a half.”

“Ah.”

Suddenly, I recalled how broken up Stella had been the first time I had experienced the wrath of the bee.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you guys worry about me.” I said sincerely, looking directly at her.

“It’s okay.” Stella responded. “There’s this thing called exposure therapy… the more I see you almost die, the less I care.”

The entire cart laughed.

You know what? I like it better this way. At least I KNOW I’m the butt of the jokes back here.

“So what I’m wondering is, why haven’t you pissed yourself by now?” asked Burt. “From what Stella’s been saying, that’s a big accomplishment for you.”

“Probably because you guys have been taking the piss out of me this entire time. Why am I in this cart with you idiots anyway?”

“No way, the guy who drank poison is calling us idiots.” Clayton snickered, to another round of laughter.

God damn, if I make it to Castella without a nervous breakdown, my skin will be made of iron.

“Dad says you don’t get to ride in the venom cart anymore.” Owen spoke up. He was driving the cart, so I guess his father had gone to keep Euric company.

“Your big boy privileges have been revoked.” Burt clarified.

I hate all of you.

It took awhile, but they finally started discussing something other than me.

“Hey Burt, you think your totem is gonna be a Pawn, or are they gonna start you at Knight right away?” asked Clayton.

Burt shrugged. “Dunno. I heard they only do that for exceptional students, so… maybe.”

“What’s a totem?” wondered Stella. I was glad she’d asked, because I also wanted to know, but if I spoke up myself the group’s attention would be back on me.

“A totem is… this little chess piece that has your name written on the base.” answered Burt. “Everyone in the Castellan Kingdom is supposed to wear theirs at all times, but out here in the countryside we don’t take it too seriously.”

“You’ll see a lot more of them when we get to the city.” Owen chimed in.

“There’s two things you can tell about a person by looking at their totem.” Burt continued. “The first is how valuable they are to the kingdom. A wooden totem is the least valuable, followed by stone, bronze, silver, and finally gold.”

“What determines a person’s value?” Stella asked.

“Overall, it indicates how good you are at your job,” said Owen. “It’s a judgment call by the King or one of his delegates, so the rankings can be a bit political, especially above bronze.”

“On the other hand,” said Burt, “The other thing a totem says about a person is how physically powerful they are - Pawns are the weakest, followed by Knights, Bishops, Rooks -”

“-and then Queens.” Stella guessed.

“Whoa! Careful with that language.” Clayton responded. “If a Champion hears you saying the Q-word, they’ll tear your guts out.”

“So they renamed the Queen to the Champion… because they don’t want to be associated with women?” said Stella pointedly, obviously nonplussed. Allison nodded at her wearily.

“Guess I’m not the only raging sexist in this world.” I offered.

“Shut the fuck up, Bradley.” came the counteroffer. The cart erupted in laughter once again.

How was that funny? There wasn’t even a punch line…

Defeated, I laid back down and gazed at the sky, just in time to catch cumulus-Clayton getting added to the list of registered Castellan sex offenders.

I spaced back in just in time to hear Burt talking about some famous Olympian that he wanted to meet.

“There’s Olympians in this world?” I asked excitedly. “Nice! Both of my sisters were Olympians!”

Everyone in the cart whose name didn’t rhyme with ‘rubella’ burst into hysterics.

“Of course… the shrimp thinks he’s an Olympian…” Burt wheezed, clutching his sides.

“Every time he opens his mouth…” Clayton wept into his hands.

Even Allison was hiding her face.

“Why is that so hard to believe? They were great athletes!” I protested.

“Because, dumbass, Olympians are gigantic!” Burt explained graciously. “They’re ten feet tall and built like Minotaurs!”

I started thinking about how to explain what I’d meant, but…

Do I really want to discuss the earth and my family with this asshole?

I took the L and laid back down. Little did Burt know that, a thousand feet above us, he was having his innocence stolen by the Stay-Puft marshmallow man.

Finally, the lazy bastard known as the sun dragged its ass to the horizon and I was able to escape that wooden, creaky hell.

At dinner, I bit down into a juicy hunk of skewered bee morsel, but… something was off. Euric saw me chewing slowly and grimacing.

“You get a rotten bit?” he asked.

“Nah, it’s not rotten, just… bland. It’s usually got this kick to it, but for some reason…” I trailed off, deep in thought.

No way…

I excused myself from the campfire and rummaged through the cart, eventually locating another vial of venom. With extreme precision, I placed a few drops on the meat and bit off a piece.

Perfect.

I returned to the fire to reheat my dinner, hit it with another dab of that special sauce, and dug in. After a few bites of pure bliss, I looked up to see a circle of shocked faces gaping at me.

“Euric, weren’t you supposed to keep that boy away from the poison?” Tom finally asked.

“Good luck with that, this stuff is the bomb.” I said, dipping a finger in the vial and licking it.

“That doesn’t make sense, how are you doing that?” Stella demanded.

“Well, there’s this thing called exposure therapy…” I began smugly, wearing my proudest shit-eating grin, “Where you build a resistance to something through repeated exposure to it. I believe you’re familiar with it?”

Stella didn’t speak for the rest of the evening.