《Otherworld Shapeshifter》


 Chapter 1

    Dust, blood, and smoke filled my nose. My eyes burned from the haze of light and sand. I stumbled back from the terrifying creature in front of me. Obsidian claws the size of my hands protruded from muscular ebony arms. Its eyes glowed darkly like tainted rubies. It roared, sending my soul quaking to the back of my spine.


    In the quick second I had left to think, with panic pumping through my veins, I thought about my brief stay in Threa. It was a whirlwind of chaos and confusion, and now it looked like my journey was over for good.


    ***


    Earlier that week I was scrolling through old high school crushes¡¯ profiles on Peepfolio. Anna Lowester was getting married. Jackie Finnegan finally started her fair trade coffee business. Julia Bernstein moved to Virginia. If she were still local, I¡¯d have totally asked her out for a cup of coffee.


    I lived on the third floor of an apartment in St. Louis, Missouri. It¡¯s a city that often made it close to the top of the ¡®Most Dangerous Cities in the USA¡¯ list. A good bit of that drama was on the other side of the city. In Benton Park, where I lived, it was pretty safe. Pretty red brick apartments bordered a small community lake with a playground. People walked with their kids down to one of several caf¨¦s.


    ¡°Would it kill you to help me with the groceries?¡±


    My sister DeAnna heaved seven bags of groceries onto the kitchen table, right next to where I was sitting. I didn¡¯t even notice her walk through the door.


    ¡°Why? You get them all in one trip anyways,¡± I said.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have to if you started pulling your weight around here.¡±


    Dead weight. I couldn¡¯t let on how much that hurt.


    ¡°Hey!¡± I mocked being offended. ¡°I did the dishes.¡±


    She looked over at the sink, then the stove, and gave me a look that said, ¡°Are you stupid?¡±


    I just rolled my eyes. ¡°The ones on the stove don¡¯t count.¡±


    ¡°UGH!¡± She shook with a brief spat of rage. She worked at the local YWCA as a lifeguard for the outdoor pool during the summer, so in that moment she looked like an angry lobster. She stomped down the narrow hall to the bathroom and slammed the door. I could hear the hiss of the shower. I went back to doom scrolling on my phone.


    Then the ad popped up, the ad that would forever change (and ironically end) my brief existence. It was from Spudworks. I had briefly heard of the company on TV one night. DeAnna liked to catch up on the news. This particular bit was at least a little interesting to me because Spudworks was competing in a bidding war with Nextech, the leading industry giant in commercial and industrial drone technology. They were vying for the opportunity to clean the St. Louis arch. At just over 600 feet tall, that monument was a lot of surface to clean.


    Although I would have loved to see a sud-spouting mega drone in action, the bid went to the company that would cost the least amount of dollars. Spudworks sealed the deal, proposing the use of buckets and elbow grease to make the arch shine again.


    I absent-mindedly tapped on and scrolled through the ¡°Now Hiring¡± ad when some numbers got my attention. 50 bucks an hour for a 20 hour workweek? For a week¡¯s worth of arch scrubbing I could make enough to get the new Lamia VR headset. I could already imagine myself playing ¡®Fae and Fire¡¯, throwing fireballs into troll dens and soaring above Faeland in ultra realistic 5k graphics.


    It would also get DeAnna off my back. She would get super uptight when I was between jobs or when I chose a new major at my junior college. I recently¡­left my job from The Java Lounge the week before, so she was starting to act bossy again.


    This ad also pulled a dormant nostalgia from my mind. I had a brief flashback to when I was about eight. I remembered being in a headlock in the arch¡¯s elevator. Mom was giving me a noogie. Back when she was strong enough to. I had been playing a game of ¡®stick my shoelaces into the closing elevator door and quickly pull them back out before the doors close¡¯.


    I bet you can guess how that turned out. Sure enough, I was a bit too slow. The elevator claimed my laces. As the elevator moved up, my laces yanked down, painfully tightening my feet. I gave a brief howl of surprise till I heard the snap. The laces broke and the tension eased in my feet. My mom looked at my shoes, then at the elevator door where lace husk was spouting from the door like a fountain. She gave me that "Are you stupid?¡± look. Then the noogie.


    I remember the doors opening at the top of the arch, and being let out into a small room with many windows. I laid down on a window and looked almost straight down to the city 600 feet below. I remember feeling my stomach drop, pure adrenaline-fueled excitement.


    I snapped back to the present, eyeing the ad. I felt the addicting rush of enthusiasm. I tapped on the section which read ¡®Apply Now¡¯. I started to fill out my information. Name: Alaster Titus. Birthday: June ¡®92. Address. Phone number. Check, yes I¡¯m a human.


    Then a notification popped up for Mr. GOAT¡¯s latest video: ¡°We filled a swimming pool with maple syrup and raced for a hundred-thousand dollars.¡± Couldn¡¯t resist. Turns out they drained Kaleb¡¯s backyard pool and rented a firehose to pump maple syrup into it. I had to run some quick math on my calculator app. For a standard 4000 square foot pool, let¡¯s assume 5¡¯ deep, that¡¯s 20,000 cubic feet. Quick search for how much syrup is in a standard bottle. 24 fluid ounces. Convert to cubic feet. 800,000 standard - sized bottles of syrup, at 5 bucks a bottle that puts it at¡­ a cheap 4 million dollars.


    My jaw dropped. That was insane. Literally insane. That was what I could make if I had worked my job at The Java Lounge for 250 years. And it was being dumped into somebody¡¯s swimming pool.


    Shoot! I was supposed to be filling out an application. I switched back to that tab and a notification popped up that said I had two minutes before the page expired. I don¡¯t have time to manually enter my work history, I thought. So I just attached the resume and cover letter I used for The Java Lounge, scrolled through the fine print, signed it, and clicked send¡­with 4 seconds left on the clock.


    I sighed with relief. Then I almost cursed. I felt like an idiot. I was now keenly aware that the phrase ¡°my admiration for a perfectly balanced brew¡± was in the cover letter I sent to Spudworks. Who would hire this clown?


    As if answering my thoughts, I got a phone call the next second. Unknown number. At the time I was glad I answered it.


    ¡°Hello?¡±


    ¡°Alaster Titus.¡± It was said like a statement, not a question. The man sighed at both the beginning and end of his sentences.


    ¡°That¡¯s me¡­who is this?¡±


    ¡°James Hodge. Hiring manager. Spudworks. -wheeze- . Orientation is 5 o¡¯clock. Tomorrow. AM. Bring a long shirt. Long pants. Closed-toed shoes.¡±


    I was stunned. I barely made out:


    ¡°So orientation, like¡­ I got the job?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be late.¡± Click.


    The line went dead. How bizarre. I was definitely not expecting them to get back to me this soon. And that manager, he hardly let me get a word in. He didn¡¯t ask any interview questions. That was not normal at all. Nothing in the next week would be normal.


    Then it hit me.


    5 O¡¯clock? Aww, man¡­I was not looking forward to waking up that early.


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    Might as well finish the Mr. GOAT video. Kaleb won the race and described the experience of swimming in the pool of syrup by saying it ¡°felt like swimming through concrete.¡±


    ¡°You should probably get some shoes. Here.¡± DeAnna, still in her bath towel with another one wrapped around her hair, tossed a couple twenties at me and I scrambled to snatch them before they hit the ground. DeAnna had scary good hearing.


    Welp, my favorite sandals couldn¡¯t come with me this time.


    ***


    I accidentally hit the snooze button a few times that morning. I definitely regretted playing FauxBlox till one.


    The streets were fairly quiet. Besides a rambling homeless person in a pink party hat. He was mumbling something about the stars lining up. The old psycho might have been right. I drifted past him on my longboard, down a small park walkway. The massive silver arch strolled into view.


    I tried rubbing the exhaustion from my eyes as I walked into the double doors at the end of the gleaming semicircle. I got there two minutes before orientation started. A diverse crew of people stood side-by-side on what appeared to be a long, rubber mat. There were footprints stamped on its surface. I fell in beside them, placing my feet on the footprints.


    I checked my phone right as it turned five. I heard a sharp ¡°CLICK¡± from behind me where the double doors were. I saw someone walk up from outside and try the door. The click was the doors locking.  It was clear he obviously saw us which made it awkward. A minute too late. Could have easily been me.


    The Spudworks hiring manager stood, his head slightly visible over the counter. He comically looked how I had imagined him: trimmed, polished, and dull. Something told me one of his hobbies could include collecting business cards or folding napkins for a dinner set. He wore a grey suit with a grey tie, and you guessed it, grey hair. He remained impassive as the knocks grew louder, and simply raised his voice to be barely heard over the insistent knocking.


    Without introduction or even a ¡°welcome to Spudworks¡±, he turned to look at a screen that rolled down. A barebones slide with ¡°safety first¡± next to the Spudworks logo appeared. He sighed and said nothing as he sat down, with the slides moving at exactly 10 second intervals. I counted.


    Attach the carabiner to the support frame. Always wear your hardhat, gloves, and goggles. Someone to my left yawned.


    It¡¯s funny, I thought, what¡¯s a hardhat gonna do if you fall?


    If you accidentally ingest the cleaning agent, signal the emergency alarm and lay on your side. Here¡¯s how to use the pressure gun. Spray 45 degrees downward for best cleaning and to avoid getting the cleaning agent in your face. In theory, everything we needed to know.


    After the slideshow he individually handed us our goggles, gloves, hardhats, cords, and pressure guns. He rolled out thick barrels of what looked like swirling bubbly stuff with patches of shiny floaties. Someone to my left audibly gagged. That¡¯s when the smell hit. I about dry heaved. The smell was an unholy combination of battery acid, shower cleaner, and jr high boy gym socks.


    I wheeled my barrel of cancer to the elevator. I was raised to the fifth maintenance stop, somewhere around the 450 foot mark. As a tourist I¡¯d only ever been to the top. The doors opened and I pushed my bucket forward. It hit a bump and a small slosh of the contents landed on the elevator floor. I could hear a slight hiss and saw bubbles form where it landed. I had no doubt this stuff could clean off the sides of the arch. I was worried it would clean out the sides of my esophagus too.


    I stepped off the elevator into a room where I could see the massive elevator pulleys and a narrow staircase. I approached the tiny maintenance door and opened it. I gasped. I had expected to be hit with a rush of exhilaration, and that was definitely there. But terror claimed the majority of my emotions. A cold blast of air slapped me in the face. I could feel my stomach in my throat. My hands started shaking involuntarily.


    I saw the city of St. Louis in full view. The traffic looked like dust bunnies. The people walking the streets looked like ants. I could pick out the tiniest bit of pink that I guessed was the party hat on the homeless man I saw earlier.  Previously when I came here I was looking through a slanted window. It felt much more terrifying looking down and thinking that there was absolutely nothing to catch me if I fell.


    Let¡¯s fix that. I clipped the heavyweight carabiner I¡¯d received onto a solid steel loop on the building¡¯s frame.  I connected my pressure gun to the outlet and secured the heavy plastic cover so that the weight of its cord wouldn¡¯t disconnect it. I attached the clear tubing to the pressure gun. I stuck the thin tube into the barrel of carcinogenic gunk. I noticed with fascination that the pressure gun also had what looked like a manual pump attached to the front.


    I braced myself and scooted off the floor of the maintenance room into the open air. My heart caught in my chest as I fell a step¡¯s height. Then I felt the reassuring tug of the steel cord. I turned the wheel to get me down about ten feet. I heard the twang of what sounded like lasers as the metal cord wobbled. It was still frightening, but I could breathe a little easier. The cord felt thick enough.


    Time to get to work. I held the trigger down on the pressure gun. Only the surface layer of gunk fell off. Looked like I was going to need that pump. I found it took about 5 pumps to give me 3 seconds worth of blasting power to blast the 60-year-old encrusted dirt off the side. Knowing what I knew already about Spudworks, they''d probably done the math and figured it was cheaper to pay for the man hours it would take to pump the extra pressure by hand than it would to just buy better guns. Lucky me.


    As disgusting as the cleaner was, it was undeniably effective. A silver, shimmering sheen reflected the sunset twilight off the arch¡¯s surface.


    Wait. Hold up. Sunset? It felt so wrong and out of place. I definitely didn¡¯t put in a full shift. Did I? It was only the first herald of my world being ripped away from me.


    The arch under me began to shake violently. It resounded ominously like a massive gong. Waves of savage resonance beat against my skull and eardrums. The pewing of the metal cord intensified. I went to cover both ears. That was a mistake.


    My back smacked hard against the quavering metal of the arch. My teeth hurt as I clamped them down. Air rushed out between my teeth. The force of the shaking threw me away and back like a flailing pendulum. I felt sick to my stomach. Bile rose to my throat.


    I remember thinking I was grateful the metal cord held. Until it didn¡¯t. I heard a sickening SNAP above me, and I saw the frayed end of the metal cord launch away from the arch. Time slowed, and I remember this sense of hopelessness as I fell, with the arch shaking around me and ringing in my ears. My sense of color, shape, and distance blurred together


    I pictured my death in daydreams many times, but never in a way as insane as this.


    Oh well. If I¡¯m gonna go now, it might as well be dramatic.


    I knew I only had seconds before I became ground beef on the concrete, 400 feet below.


    Suddenly everything became unnaturally still. I no longer felt the wind squeezing against my face. I didn¡¯t have the horrible sensation of falling. I opened my eyes.


    ¡°Am I¡­dead?¡± I wondered out loud.


    It was the purest white I¡¯d ever seen. I looked up, down, left, right, but there were no landmarks. No sun. No shadows. Just white. And me. My gloves, hardhat, and clothes were thoroughly greased in that cleaning gunk. The void was kind of beautiful. It was absolutely terrifying.


    Locked¡­Am I locked in here forever?


    A keyhole seemed to spring up from nowhere. I tried walking towards it and found that I could. I was walking on infinite whiteness. I looked through the small keyhole. I was amazed to see what looked like light glinting off a lake, with trees swaying in the breeze.


    Definitely not St. Louis. But then, where exactly was this? Wherever this was, I wanted in. But a problem stood in my way. It was a 4 inch keyhole and I was a six-foot-tall man. I tried looking at the other side of the keyhole, but it turned invisible when I viewed it from behind. My heart skipped a beat before I circled back around and the keyhole came back into view. I breathed a sigh of relief. But how was I supposed to get through this thing?


    That¡¯s when a crazy idea hit me. I just have to get through this thing. I remembered how I willed myself to walk on the infinite whiteness, so what if I just willed myself through the keyhole? Brimming with determination, I reached with my hand. I couldn¡¯t believe what happened next. My fingers stretched and stretched till they looked like long strands of spaghetti. On a whim I reached behind my back and scratched that one spot I could never reach. I lost myself in the bliss of that moment, before turning back to the keyhole. I reached my lengthened fingers through it, and felt the warmth on the other side. My hands, arms, and shoulders were quick to follow, bathing in the sun. I went all in, stretching my whole body through the impossibly small keyhole. A blinding flash consumed me for a moment. I tasted something like strawberry lemonade. Then it was gone.


    For a split second, I took in the world around me. In the twilit sky above me was something that took my breath away. Instead of a solid ball, the sun, if you could call it that, looked like one large and one small interlocking ring. It still hurt to look at, so my attention shifted to beneath me. Unfortunately, gravity existed in this world too. I  resumed my headlong descent. The shimmering lake was right under me.


    Maybe I can stretch myself into a parachute? I tried it.


    Nope. Apparently coming through the keyhole meant I lost my ability to do that. So I just fell. I really wish I could tell you that I cleared the tree line. I didn¡¯t.


    I squeezed my eyes shut. It felt like getting hit with a wet street pole with leaves on it over and over again, first on my head, then back, one dangerously close to my manhood, then side. I didn¡¯t have enough air in my lungs when I hit the water.


    Pain erupted in my shoulder. I kicked frantically as I plummeted farther and farther down. I tried to swim up. Where was up? My arms and legs pumped as fast as I could. I puffed my cheeks in and out. My chest started to make hiccup motions, then started heaving. I desperately clawed my way up, dots swarming my vision. Finally my hand broke through, and I used the last of my strength to breach the surface.  I gratefully gasped huge lungfuls of air.

 Chapter 2

    It hurt too much to move my right arm. My shoulder burned with intense pain and made a crackling, popping noise when I moved it. I never broke a bone in my life but I definitely felt like I¡¯d broken one then. But it was a little weird. When I didn¡¯t move it, it didn¡¯t hurt so badly. But that meant swimming with only one arm, which was quite the chore. I got a few nasty side cramps from all the swimming.


    I think this was some kind of freshwater lake. Thankfully it was mildly warm. The little bit I¡¯d ingested had a mild aftertaste of something like soy sauce. I was somewhere in the middle of the lake, and was a good bit away from the shore.


    I couldn¡¯t touch the bottom at first, but was surprised to find that I could touch some sort of ground with my toes halfway to the shore. It looked like some sort of ridge made of overlapping stone shelves. In another 30 feet I could walk on the rippling ridges. I was glad for the opportunity to rest my left arm which had to do all the swimming.


    I looked up and noticed the trees. Some looked like pine trees. The other trees were more bizarre. Their teal-shaded leaves fanned out in a corkscrew shape. A breeze carried a whiff of a sweet spice I¡¯d never smelled before.


    I dragged myself out of the water onto the loose dirt shore. Rivers poured from the leg holes in my slacks. My shoes were squishing, bubbles forming at the sides. I felt heavier than I ever had in my life.


    It was all too strange. One minute I was suspended 450 feet in the air cleaning the side of the St. Louis arch, and the next I was thrown into the clutches of a beautiful but unknown world.


    Am I the only one that made it through? I thought about my coworkers. Did they survive the earthquake? I thought about DeAnna. Shoot.


    I reached into my soggy pocket and pulled out my smart phone. I tried to turn it on. Nothing. I shook it in frustration. Should have gotten it out of the water much quicker. Maybe I can still dry it out. Unfortunately my still-soaked hand was the driest part of my body, so I just held the phone.


    I turned around to take in the full view of the lake. It was beautiful in the rays of twilight. I stopped when I saw a trail of billowing smoke.


    Smoke equals civilization equals help. Maybe someone here can tell me where I ended up. Unfortunately for me it was on the other side of the lake. I¡¯d have to walk around.


    I started to worry. The sun was getting darker. I looked up and saw that the interlocking rings of the sun were starting to merge, one becoming hidden behind the other. It looked like it started to split the sky in two, red and darkening orange on one side, deep purples and blues on the other. I didn¡¯t want to be stuck out here after dark, but I had a lot of ground to cover.


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    Something felt odd about that place too. It was the noise, well, the lack of noise that bothered me. In Missouri, by one of its many lakes and creeks, you¡¯d hear the croaking of frogs, the buzz of mosquitos, and the chirping of crickets. But here that familiar din was gone.


    The only sounds nature offered were the rustling of the trees and the call of a strange bird in erratic intervals. It looked like some kind of heron. It had a stiff, spiky mane with a crisscross collar around its neck. It gave off a punk rocker kind of vibe and made a strange noise that sounded like ¡°Guh-guh.¡±


    In the otherwise stillness it was unsettling. I picked up my pace, to the anguish of my shoulder. I stuck to the loose dirt at the edge of the shore. The forest appeared almost completely black.The two rings in the sky had completely become one, and it looked like a halo, giving off light like a moon.


    The air became noticeably colder, and the cold started to seep through my clothes.I shook involuntarily. My shoulder ached. I walked for what felt like an hour in the deep, unnatural stillness. Even the ¡°guh-Guh¡± noises of the strange herons stopped, to be replaced with a subtle sound like chittering and clattering.


    I lost sight of the smoke trail. I started to panic. With no direction and no way to see the black forest looked ominous, a gaping mouth threatening to swallow me whole.


    But then I smelled it. A smell like a fresh loaf of bread hit my brain like a slice of heaven. It immediately made my mouth water and my stomach rumble. I hadn¡¯t even eaten breakfast that morning.


    I made a beeline into the forest, following my nose. There¡¯s gotta be someone close now.


    Without thinking I stepped into what looked like a puddle. Instead of a splash my foot caught instantly, threatening to pull me down. It was now pinned in place. My other foot went down to push me up but that one got stuck too.


    That¡¯s when I saw it in the shadows. All of a sudden all the bugs in Missouri didn¡¯t seem too bad. Heck, even the venomous snakes in Missouri didn¡¯t seem too bad now. The creature I was facing had a dark, grey head like a wasp. It stood about 3 feet tall and four feet long, with ginormous compound eyes on the sides of its head. Darkness pooled unnaturally from its abdomen, which streamed out at stopped at my feet.


    I heard the chittering and chattering, now closer. It had friends. Two more of the wasp-head like creatures rushed me from both sides. Giant, metallic mandibles were clacking on this pair.


    With every explosive ounce of effort in me I jumped for all I was worth. My boots popped off my feet and my ankle popped. It burned. I ran faster than I ever had in my life. I ran towards the bread, screaming.


    ¡°Help, help! Bugs!¡± It sounded stupid as I was saying it, but I didn¡¯t know what else to call them.


    Out of nowhere a clearing jumped into view. I about speared myself on what looked to be a palisade trench.


    I kept yelling and either they noticed me or my pursuers. The guard at the gate shouted something, but I couldn¡¯t hear what it was. A man with a shaved head and a rough leather jerkin weaved a cross in the air with two fingers. A ball of brilliant light burst behind me but I felt no heat.


    The creatures angrily skittered back into the forest. A rough arm yanked me inside before I heard the thick wooden gate bolt closed.

 Chapter 3

    So many bizarre, intense, and incredible things had just happened in the last 20 minutes. I felt like I was experiencing emotional lag. Altogether the terror of the shadowy wasps, the pull of the smell of heavenly bread, and the hope of being pulled to safety crashed through my system over and over like a discount washing machine.


    Oh yeah, and throw in some more fear. A row of long, curved machetes pointed at my chest like a row of feral teeth. Holding these were men covered from helmets to boots in studded leather. They wore muted olive tabards with an emblem shaped like the silhouette of a sword against one of those corkscrew-shaped trees. I sat on the cold ground which was packed hard from foot traffic. My shoulder and ankle throbbed.


    As I briefly glanced around I noticed that I was in what looked to be a wooden, medieval fort, like a stage you would see at the renaissance faire. Logs protruded from the tall, wooden wall to function as alcoves and battlements for archers, of which I saw were several.


    I managed to locate the source of that wonderful smell too. A large cast-iron pot sat in the middle of the circular fort over a large fire. Several men sat on benches around it eating what looked to be some kind of porridge. There were about 50 men in total. All of them were staring at me.


    A stout and short man with an air of command and  a large handlebar mustache addressed me. Actually, it was more like he shouted at me, even though I was only a few feet away from him.


    ¡°What yas be doin¡¯ out gates past dark, stranger?¡±


    I was too stunned to speak. I was hardly expecting anyone to speak English in this new world. Apparently I was taking too long. The short man, presumably the captain, kicked my foot. My hurting one.


    ¡°Oh! Uh, I¡¯m not from around here.¡± I could have slapped myself for stating something so obvious. The large mustache wiggled at me.


    ¡°Nah, shax. Bit strung on mead are we? Not what I asked. What in brimstone are yas doin¡¯ wanderin¡¯ mana beast domain? Not e¡¯en a sword proper?


    Mana, like magic? I remembered then the ball of light that exploded behind me out of nowhere without even a trace of heat. I remembered the grip of the unnatural shadows around my ankles. This world had magic! The implications were staggering.


    I saw him move to kick me again so I rushed an answer.


    ¡°I¡­I got lost. I don¡¯t remember how to get back.¡± Technically, it wasn¡¯t a lie. I certainly wasn¡¯t about to tell him that I fell through a hole in the sky. From another world, no less.


    The man growled, clearly unsatisfied by my answer.


    ¡°A fine place to lose yourself an¡¯ forget, stranger. Name. Out with it!¡±


    I knew he was losing patience with me, but I didn¡¯t know if I could give him any answers that could appease him.


    ¡°Alaster, Alaster Cr¡­¡± I was cut short.


    ¡°Alaster?¡± The man¡¯s eyes went wide. ¡°Nah, shax! You feign!¡± Something about what I¡¯d said was really getting under his skin. His face went a whole shade redder. I assumed he was accusing me of lying. The hands holding the machetes tightened.


    Just then, the bald man in the simple leather jerkin put a gentle hand on the captain¡¯s shoulder and whispered something into his ear. By contrast, the stout man wasn¡¯t good at whispering at all.


    ¡°True but¡­this boot scraper?¡± Then something the bald man said got my attention.


    ¡°If he is Alaster¡­will claim him.¡± That didn¡¯t sound ominous at all. And it sounded like prison. But maybe I just misunderstood? Either way, I was surprised that something about my name was familiar to them.


    Am I some kind of prophetic Chosen One? I doubt it. I¡¯ve probably played a few too many video games. Then again, anything was possible in a world of magic.


    My curiosity got the better of my judgment. Not for the first time nor the last. I had to get to the bottom of this strange connection I might have with this world. And if I was able to figure out that connection, I might find a way back home.


    The captain¡¯s mustache relaxed, although his eyes still bore into me.


    ¡°Aighty stranger. It¡¯s to Vivenheim with yas tomorrow. Yas kind will claim ye less ye feign. For yas sake, ye bedn¡¯t not feign.¡±


    He raised a hand. The machetes retracted and sheathed like the paw of a mountain lion.


    ¡°Osner!¡±


    ¡°Yes, captain.¡±


    ¡°Get stranger here a bowl an¡¯ mat. Keep eye on ¡®im. You ¡®n Ysbek to Vivenheim tomorra. Take ¡®im twhere he needs be, an¡¯ take missive to the Rook bouts yon encroachin¡¯ manticores.¡±


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    ¡°Sir.¡± The soldier named Osner appeared to be the polar opposite of the captain. He was soft-spoken and tall. So tall in fact that the standard-issue leathers he was wearing left exaggerated gaps in his armor. He was clean shaven and greeted me with a warm smile.


    We were then approached by the bald-headed man with the simple leather jerkin and short white beard. His movements were peaceful and calculated, as though he meditated as he walked.


    ¡°Let me see your wounds.¡± He spoke with calm authority.


    He gently lifted my arm and hummed as he waved his other hand over my arm, shoulders, back, chest, and legs. It was almost like getting scanned by a TSA wand at airport security. He hovered over my injured shoulder and a soft white light emanated from his hand. A smell like spearmint wafted from it.


    You know when you have a headache, and then you rub your temples just right to alleviate some of the pressure? It felt kind of like that. Then I felt my collar bone snap back into place. A quick burst of pain lanced through me, causing me to freeze, but then it dissipated. I hadn¡¯t even known I had broken it. I was gobsmacked.


    I tested my shoulder. It was still sore, but that burning pain was gone. The man then moved to my ankle. More aware now of what to expect, I braced myself as it popped back into place. Then I moved it around.


    ¡°That¡¯s amazing.¡± I said in a soft whisper. The bald man looked up at me, one eyebrow slightly raised.


    ¡°Have you never been healed before?¡±


    I started to shake my head, then made a dramatic show of scratching my head.


    ¡°Hmm.. I think maybe, one time? I don¡¯t remember.¡±


    He turned to Osner, who was still waiting patiently to take me to my food and bed.


    ¡°An ill omen.¡± He pursed his lips so that they hid beneath his small white beard. ¡°Strange ebbings flow from the mana of the world. The stranger¡¯s memory has been affected. To what extent, I cannot say.¡±


    The drone beasts must have been those wasp-like things with those wicked shadow traps. I can definitely say my memory was working just fine. Maybe a little too fine. How could I forget the ethereal room in white, or falling from the arch in St. Louis, through a treeline, and into a lake? Or those hideous mandibles grasping to tear me to shreds?


    I might have an easier time if these people think I have magical amnesia. I didn¡¯t know how long I would be able to keep it up. It was not going to be as long as I originally expected.


    Osner smiled. ¡°Full a mysteries, ain¡¯t yas?¡± Don¡¯t despair lad. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll find the answers you need in Vivenheim.¡± I hoped so too.


    Osner ushered me towards the cauldron. I was mad excited for this food. Osner grabbed the ladle and poured me a heaping helping of the thick porridge into a wooden bowl. There wasn¡¯t a spoon, but I could figure it out. We sat at one of the benches that made a semicircle around the fire. A pair of other soldiers talked in hushed tones, glancing my way.


    Down the hatch! Without being invited I tipped up the bowl so a glob of steaming porridge slid into my mouth. I had a hard time swallowing the first mouthful. For one, it burned my tongue instantly and I popped my mouth open, breathing in and out rapidly to try to cool it down. Then, once it finally went down, it tasted like porridge alright..if it had been left on the stove for three days. Just bitter and burnt.


    Osner half-smiled apologetically, like he read the expression on my face.


    ¡°I cn imagine fare¡¯s better in Vivenheim,¡± he said.


    I resisted a nod. It was time to play dumb.


    ¡°My memory¡¯s fuzzy on that. Can you tell me about it?


    ¡°About what, Viveheim? What yas like to know about it?¡±


    ¡°Any and everything?¡± It was my turn to smile apologetically.


    I had to admit, after that first gulp it got a little better. At least I didn¡¯t feel like I was going to puke anymore. As much as the flavor was terrible my need was greater. After a full day of panic, confusion, and running for my life I needed all the energy I could get. Without being asked, Osner poured me a second bowl. I thanked him and took to it greedily.


    ¡°Well, Vivenheim is the largest city this side of Mantrapper in Vivien proper.¡± So Vivien was like a county kind of, with Vivenheim being the main city? Wait, what about that one thing he said?


    ¡°Mantrapper?¡± I asked.


    Osner raised an eyebrow. ¡°Yas really hit your head lad. Mantrapper be largest river in Vivien. Many drown ins seasonal floodin¡¯, which splains the name.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± was all I could say. I realized I should ask more about Vivenheim itself, since that¡¯s where Osner would be taking me tomorrow.


    ¡°So what¡¯s in the city?¡± I asked.


    ¡°What¡¯s nae in the city?¡± Osner asked. He looked amused. ¡°Royal palace, noble houses - here he nodded to me in a strange way -, an¡¯ stadium market are some of many luxuries yas can enjoy. Well,¡± he chuckled to himself, ¡°that is, if yas purse is big enough.¡± He winked, then yawned openly. It had been a long day for both of us.


    I patted my stomach and yawned too. It still was curious to me why yawning was contagious. Scientists still couldn¡¯t figure it out. But maybe the scientists here were different? Was there even a need for them in a world of magic? ((was he implying I was some kind of noble?))


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m ready for bed¡± I said. He gave me a raised eyebrow with a bit of a smirk. I realized why when he walked me to the back of the fort to a plain reed mat lying flat next to the wooden wall.


    ¡°Here¡¯s bed¡± he chuckled. He left to cross the fort.


    The cold was seeping through my still-soaked clothes. I was grateful when Osner came back with a folded roll. I unfurled it to reveal a plain creme-colored wool tunic. Seeing as we were all men here I quickly dropped my soggy drawers. The tunic started itching when I put it over my head. But it was warm. And dry. It was weird not having underwear, but at least I was covered. He dropped a pair of leather sandals next to me. No velcro unfortunately, so I had to manually figure out how to tie the laces. Ah, I¡¯d worry about it tomorrow. I laid down on the reed mat.


    ¡°Thanks Osner.¡±


    ¡°I accept yas thanks, stranger.¡±


    Osner turned away from me and rolled out his own reed mat. He sat, legs crossed. I guessed he would have to keep watch on me tonight.


    I turned to face the wooden wall. I was hoping to sleep but my mind kept racing.


    Deanna! Was this seriously the first time I thought about her since I fell off the arch? She¡¯d probably be up worried till morning, then call the police to try and find me. I missed her..and her cooking. A tear welled up in the corner of my eye. It was the first time I felt truly alone, surrounded by strangers in a world of monsters, royalty, and magic.


    Will I ever make it home?

 Chapter 4

    I woke up to someone kicking my boot. It felt like someone clonked me over the head with a hammer while I slept.


    ¡°DeAnna, wha..?¡± A brief moment of panic hit as I took in the site of the wood battlement, the reed mat, the strange tall man looking down at me with a smirk.


    Then I came to. It hadn¡¯t been a dream, but it still felt like I was living one. A reel played in my mind: the fall, the splash, the chase, the magic, the burnt porridge.


    Dang, why does my head hurt so much? Some kind of otherworldly allergies? I suddenly craved coffee. Back in my world there was always some handy, either in my apartment or in one of the many cafes a block¡¯s distance away from where I lived. Did they even have coffee here?


    As if on cue, Osner, who had been patiently waiting as I roused from sleep, worldlessly handed me a cup of brownish liquid. No way! I tipped the cup back and muddy water passed over my tongue. I grimaced. They probably didn¡¯t even have filtered water in this world. Was it even clean?


    I choked out a begrudging ¡®thank you¡¯ as I finished the last sip, careful to avoid the sludge at the bottom of the cup.


    Osner nodded, ¡°Time to away, stranger. We¡¯s get you home.¡±


    I sure hoped so. I¡¯d seen some pretty incredible things I never thought I¡¯d ever see, but I was missing home. Coffee, video games, DeAnna¡¯s cooking. I was in a scratchy tunic without even clear water to drink. Definitely a new low.


    We walked to the wooden gate on the opposite side of the way I¡¯d come in. I caught the corners of a few stares from the guards.


    The mustache on the short captain twitched in irritation. ¡°Mind my men, stranger. Na funny business, else¡­¡± He made a rude gesture at me, like imitating an axe striking his temple. I got the message loud and clear.


    A new person joined us at the gate. From our conversation last night I guessed this was Ysbek. He was a cold glare in human form with sharp, angular features. He carried a short bow with a quiver of arrows strapped to his waist. I tried to wave and he stiffened, eyes boring into mine. I hesitantly lowered my arm and looked away.


    Osner and Ysbek exchanged nods and led me through the gate.


    I was amazed anew as I glanced up at the fresh dawn. The interlocking bands of the sun glowed radiantly above the tops of the corkscrew-shaped trees. There was something peaceful about it, away from the incessant honking and noisy pedestrians of St. Louis.


    Compared to the eerie silence of my first night in this new world, several birds could be heard heralding the new morning.


    I caught sight of one gliding over my head. It was a dazzling sheen of blue. It had a large wingspan with tendrils like long ribbons trailing from its tail. It cooed a gentle melody and barely flexed its wings as it sailed ahead on the breeze.


    We walked at a quick pace on a loose dirt road. Ysbek took point and leered into random trees as though they hid some kind of danger. Osner stood beside me, calm as ever. Only his hand hovering an inch over his sword betrayed his caution.


    It was then that I realized how vulnerable I truly was. Besides the karate I took, and dropped in fourth grade, I knew next to nothing about how to defend myself. In a world full of monsters and magic especially so.


    Up ahead Ysbek stopped and held up a hand. My nerves started to fray.


    Bandits, more of those wicked bugs?


    I swear my heart stopped as something stepped from the forest onto the road. It looked like a moose, but much bigger, with a large horn protruding from its nose like a rhinoceros. Its translucent antlers, instead of facing up, reached forward from its skull like ghostly hands.


    It was a few hundred feet away but slowly turned its head to regard us. The frozen seconds felt like minutes. Then with a flick of its tail, as if shooing a fly from its haunch, it casually and confidently crossed the road to the forest beyond. We stood for a few minutes in silence until Ysbek waved us forward.


    I was somewhat relieved, even though my heart was still hammering in my chest. So much I didn¡¯t know. I¡¯d have to learn fast.


    ¡°Osner,¡± I said quietly, ¡°are creatures like that everywhere here?¡±


    ¡°The trunkel? A few wander the woods. Leave be and they leave yas alone. Mess with a cub though, differen¡¯ story.¡± He flashed a crooked smile. ¡°Nah worries though, stranger, we hunt bigger.¡±


    ¡°Bigger? How much bigger can they get?¡±


    Osner pondered for a moment, as close to plain serious as I¡¯d ever seen him.


    ¡°Well the manticore be roaming closer to camp than we¡¯d like. Is why I¡¯m to take this missive to the Armsduke to request help.¡± I balked.


    ¡°A manticore? Like a lion with a scorpion tail?¡± Memories of stories my mother read to me at bedtime flooded my mind.


    ¡°I dunnae what you mean by ¡®scorpion¡¯, but lion yes. About a trunkel twice high. Black as night. If the claws an¡¯ teeth don¡¯t get you, the fire it spews from its tail will. We saw the smoke from it across the Crescent Lake yesternoon.¡±


    Wait. The Crescent Lake, wasn¡¯t that where..my mind trailed off. My nerves were kicking into overdrive. I thought about the smoke I¡¯d seen across the lake when I first arrived. Had I really been that close to a flame-shooting monster? At the time I thought it was someone making camp. I¡¯d have walked right up to it and become otherworld barbecue.


    We continued walking for another hour in silence. My head still hurt, my nerves shot. What I wouldn¡¯t give for a cup of coffee. Or air conditioning. The rays of the interlocking sun intensified. I held my hand up to keep the worst of it out of my eyes.


    Osner chucked. ¡°Nah much for the heat, are yas? A wonder you made it this far outside t¡¯city.¡± He looked unphased by the rising temperature. I guessed living in a fortress out in the woods would do that to a person.


    ¡°Yeah.¡± I had to agree with him. On all counts I could, should have been dead. I had been in a fender-bender before, but I was never so keenly aware of my own mortality as I was in that moment.


    Our path through the forest turned a bend, and opened up like a flower in full blossom. A wonderful scene filled my view. Beyond the crossing paths crossing at a tee was a massive, frothing swell of blue. The river spanned at least a mile in width. I spottest the barest hint of green and brown on the opposite shore. The vibrant glittering blues in eternal conflict with the gnashing roar of muddy foam.  It captured the essence of how I felt about this world, equal parts beautiful and violent. Thinking back to Osner¡¯s brief geography lesson the night before, I guessed this was the Mantrapper. It certainly looked the part.


    Several carts lined the crossing path directly in front of us. They were either pulled by people or by what looked like hornless bulls with very thick front legs. Most carts had a triangular canopy which made them look like miniature houses on wheels. The wheels themselves were made of stone, with small logs sticking through them.


    That looks efficient. The strange animals and strong people didn¡¯t seem to mind though.


    We made our way into the throng and along the river. We passed lush farmlands ripe with tall grains and bundles of laborers. The road curved to our left and I froze, causing Osner to bump into me.


    ¡°Ey!¡± He yelped in surprise.


    I mumbled a quick sorry in response, but something else had my attention completely. A ginormous golden tower pierced the sky behind a huge grey crenelated wall. The tower ended with an orb twice as thick as the tower itself, radiating the many-colored hues of stained glass.


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    ¡°Come on,¡± Osner nudged, ¡°It¡¯s more impressive up close.¡± His words echoed ever truer as more of the city came into view.


    It was stunning, rivaling the size of St. Louis itself. The stonework of the encircling wall was flawless and seamless as though it were carved from a single block of stone.


    Our path joined a second onto a massive highway, and we found ourselves in the middle of a sea of people. Many of the men wore plain brown and slate tunics, and several women wore faded yellow dresses with collars that opened like lace flowers around their necks. It seemed like most were farmers, judging by the strangely colored vegetables in their carts.


    As we approached the massive wooden gate in queue I grew apprehensive. I noted the silver of shining visors through the turrets in the walls, no doubt holding archers or worse. I looked down, trying my best to walk normally.


    The guards at the gate recognized Ysbek and Osner immediately, and waved us through. They wore the emblem of a gold shield behind a silver sword. The royal guard, I guessed. One of them raised an eyebrow as I walked past, but must have assumed I was no threat, and waved me on dismissively.


    We stopped at the large stone barracks on the opposite side of the gate. Osner nodded to Ysbek and went inside, leaving Ysbek to wait with me outside.


    ¡°So, how long have you been doing this?¡± I asked. Ysbek continued to stare at the many faces of the people piling into the city. I shrank back, deciding that Ysbek could care less that I was there.


    After waiting half an hour, Osner returned. A small shadow touched under his eyes.


    ¡°How¡¯d it go?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t even make it to the Armsduke. Warden turned me aroun and said since there¡¯s no danger right away, there¡¯s nothing he could do.¡± He made an odd gesture with his fingers.


    Ysbek nodded, and went into the barracks himself while Osner escorted me to the city proper. When he left, I turned to Osner and whispered.


    ¡°What¡¯s his deal? Every time I¡¯ve tried to talk to him he just ignores me.¡±


    Osner looked puzzled for a second. Then the shadow dropped from his eyes as he leaned back and belted out a laugh.


    ¡°Oh, that does the soul good. Nah, stranger Ysbek meant no harm. He¡¯s deaf, you see.¡±


    Well now I just feel like a jerk...and a bit of a moron. It all made sense now. I thought the signs Osner and Ysbek made were like some forest guard call sign, but it was actually a form of sign language. And it wasn¡¯t that Ysbek was ignoring me, he just couldn¡¯t hear me.


    I was pulled from my thoughts as I took in the enormity of the city. I could barely believe what I was seeing. I was able to see the entire city all at once. It was in the shape of a gigantic bowl with four massive and distinct terraces. Towards the back of the city sat a shimmering golden palace with the tall tower. From here it looked like the multicolored panels on the orb were flowing, no doubt reflecting the intensity of the Mantrapper.


    The terrace I was on had stables and taverns and thousands of crowded apartments. They were all in varying stages of disrepair. I even noticed a few people sleeping on blankets between them. The sounds and smells of all the commotion were overwhelming.


    Animals brayed. Savory meats were cooked on fires in stone pits. The smell of dung and fresh fish also hung in the air. Tens of thousands of carts and stalls lined this terrace. Jugglers and acrobats and a variety of other street performers displayed their tone physiques and lightning movements.


    That¡¯s when I ran into the most colorful man I have ever seen. His outfit looked like a combination of several renaissance faire costumes stitched together. He carried a large guitar-like instrument with a round body that reminded me of an avocado.


    A single gold feather stuck to his jaunty, oversized cap. The feather was bent in the middle in a pretty yet fragile kind of way.


    ¡°Copper for a song?¡± he asked with a dramatic smile.


    I looked at Osner and he smirked, as if to let me know this was the only freebie I was getting. He flipped the copper piece into the air. The man of many colors snatched it away so quickly that I couldn¡¯t tell where he stashed it.


    He flexed his fingers expertly and quickly tuned his instrument. It produced a rich baritone sound as he strummed the strings. He plucked through an experimental arpeggio then began his song in earnest.


    A sonorous melody in the form of poetry glided from his lips:


    ¡°A beautiful night,


    A purest delight,


    The cradle of earth is my bed.


    Often I swoon


    By the silvery moon


    The stars canopy over my head.


    By daylight I travel,


    As dangers unravel,


    The adders signal their warning.


    Yet blessings I¡¯m counting


    I eat the earth¡¯s bounty


    My mead is the dew of the morning.¡±


    He ended with a dramatic strum and a deep bow. Osner and I and a small crowd of others applauded. I was glad that at least that expression was the same as on Earth.


    The man in the jaunty cap waved towards us.


    ¡°The name¡¯s Harlequin.¡±


    Of course it is. He stood there in all his pomp and glory as though that word were written specifically for him.


    He then quickly spun around and began magicking away a few more coppers from the crowd he¡¯d gathered.


    ¡°Worth the copper to see that for myself,¡± said Osner with a grin. ¡°But of all people ye don¡¯t have any coin on yas?¡±


    I wasn¡¯t sure what he meant by that. I guess the ¡°Chosen One¡± was supposed to be rich.


    ¡°Not this second anyway,¡± I said.


    ¡°Yas a bag a riddles,¡± Osner said with a smile.


    We waded through a field of market stalls. People of all shapes and sizes wore the colors of earth, stone, and flowers. The smell of rich meats cooking caused my mouth to fill with drool. Produce like oblong blue vegetables and spiky green fruit lined many racks. A few vendors even sold live animals, plump and grey four-legged chickens.


    Imagine trying to catch one of those. My grandma, ¡®Nana¡¯ we called her, had lived out in the Ozarks of Missouri with a couple acres of land and more than a few chickens. More than once DeAnna and I played catch-the-chicken. It was a miracle if we could catch one in under half and hour. I tried to imagine how fast a four-legged chicken could haul it.


    I stirred from my thoughts as we approached a stone stairway to the next terrace above us. A low wall circled its perimeter with several openings, each manned by a single guard.


    The guard we had to get through was a head taller than Osner and about twice as thick. He had a club at his hip that was roughly the size of a small tree trunk. Although I didn¡¯t think he even needed it. The brute could probably just strangle me to death. I grew anxious as he held up an authoritative hand.


    ¡°Osner, 7th division, forest guard.¡± Osner spoke in his pure formal tone that I¡¯d only heard once or twice. The guard nodded.


    ¡°And him?¡± He gestured at me.


    ¡°Alaster,¡± Osner said, ¡°escorting him back.¡±


    The eyebrows of the guard shot up to his head.


    ¡°Alaster? Are you certain?¡± His eyes did a full body scan of me.


    ¡°Yes.¡± said Osner. His tone and face were confident, but something about how his thumb twitched over his sword told a different story.


    What if I¡¯m missing something? It¡¯s nothing but crazy that I¡¯m being treated like a celebrity here. What¡¯s the deal with my name? I had an uneasy feeling stir in my gut.


    The guard didn¡¯t perceive any of that though. He waved us on with a primal grunt. We walked through the opening in the low wall. Everything at once seemed calmer on this terrace, almost muted compared to the hubbub below. I realized that the wall was probably there to block a lot of the noise that came from the lower levels.


    Instead of free stalls, there were formal shops on this level. I spotted a few clothing stores with sparkly gowns and trimmed doublets. Suits of armor and gleaming weapons smiled through panes of glass. The smell of fresh bread wafted from a bakery.


    That just brought back the chill of running for my life, away from those magic shadow wasp things. And the taste of burnt porridge. Hard pass.


    After about an hour of walking we ascended another set of stairs, these ones white marble, to the highest terrace of the bowl-shaped city. A tall wall surrounded it with stone archways for entrances. I was surprised to note that these weren¡¯t guarded.


    The sounds of the lower terraces ceased altogether as we walked through the stone archway. It was beautiful.


    Flowers and trees and small picnic meadows grew in colorful, trimmed bunches. Some were in brickwork troughs next to silver fountains spraying cool water. Metal gates surrounded gigantic mansions spaced out a quarter mile apart. All behind the safety of the outer wall. It looked both delicate and imposing.


    As we walked towards one of the mansions, Osner turned to look at me. I couldn¡¯t recognize the look he was giving me.


    ¡°Stranger, I wont nothing bad on yas. So I ask again, are ye truly Alaster?¡±


    Was that hopefulness in his voice, or something else? Whatever the case, this was also my chance to maybe find out more about my unreasonable special treatment.


    ¡°What does Alaster mean to you, Osner?¡±


    He stopped walking. He thought for a moment.


    ¡°Job security,¡± he finally said with a playful wink. But the shadow returned under his eyes.


    I had no clue what it meant, but I also felt like he was hiding something. I was hoping to get some real answers soon.


    We walked on a little further in silence. That¡¯s when I noticed a succulent-looking blue fruit overhanging the fence. It smelled sweet, so I plucked it. I was famished. Technically it wasn¡¯t stealing if it was outside the property, right?


    I bit into the soft skin and a squirt of blue juice leapt from my mouth, almost landing on Osner¡¯s boot in front of me. Thankfully he didn¡¯t notice. I finished the fruit that tasted as good as it looked, a first for this world. I sucked my fingers clean, only to notice that the tips of my fingers were now cobalt blue.


    I had to skid to the side to avoid bumping into Osner again. I turned to look. There, behind a black iron gate, was a vibrant red brick mansion. It had a blue roof trimmed with white. Two large banners hung from the gate. They each displayed a symbol, a river lined with white foam. Osner gestured wide.


    ¡°Welcome home.¡±

 Chapter 5

    I was quickly ushered through the gate with strong guards on either side of me and Osner. I was brought through a thick wooden door. The ceilings shot upward as I walked into a vaulted hall. Rich mahogany and subdued tans, reds, and blues filled the hall with an air of quiet beauty.


    I was directed to sit at a leather couch. A mosaic of stained glass in the form of a blue and white river sat behind a man. As his face came into focus I could tell that he was darkly brooding. Heck, if brooding could become a person, this would be him. His stare was cold and hard like the edge of a dagger. I think I preferred the gruffness of the short captain in the forest, and that hadn¡¯t exactly been enjoyable.


    ¡°I will ask you only once.¡±


    The man had long, silver hair and clearly regarded me with disdain as he interrogated me. He wore long, cobalt blue robes that were trimmed at the ends and collar with white. He noticed Osner for the first time and addressed him.


    ¡°You may leave.¡±


    Osner stiffened, hesitating. His usual calm was shredded in this man¡¯s presence.


    ¡°Milord¡­about the request¡­¡±


    ¡°Leave! Come back tomorrow!¡±


    Osner bowed stiffly and hastily left the room, causing the candles in the darker corners of the room to sputter. The man in silver hair trained his gaze on me.


    ¡°Do you claim to be Alaster?¡±


    There was that blasted question again. The frustration of not knowing why everyone wanted to know drove me crazy. Still, if this was some kind of test, I needed to be honest.


    ¡°I am Alaster!¡± I felt my frustration flare. I was louder than I wanted to be.


    Just then a woman in greying curls tumbled through a side door. She looked as if she only had a few drops of life left in her body. She wore a dress of dark blue silk. She had been listening on the other side. The man¡¯s gaze instantly softened as she approached. She weakly stepped towards the man and slumped against his frame, weeping as she spoke.


    ¡°Kalculus, is it true? Please, tell me. Have you been hiding this from me?¡±


    ¡°No¡­¡± the man spoke. The man looked as though his chair had been pulled from under him. Like he was lost in a void.


    But then he turned to look at me. His pain turned to seething rage as tears poked at his eyes. His hands balled into fists.


    ¡°No! Enough! You would kindle a fire to destroy my home, to erode the reputation of our honorable name with your filthy lies?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not..¡± I tried to cut in. Tried to find answers. But his voice drowned out my own in a keen of sheer rage.


    ¡°Guard!¡±


    The same men that brought me in rushed into the room, wrists turned up in front of them in what I guessed was a salute.


    ¡°Take this insolent liar to the lower courts. He will face trial in the court of kin.¡±


    I spun around. Both of the guards were on me in a heartbeat, binding me with rope that seemed to come from nowhere. They tied a bitter oily rag to my mouth when I tried to scream. I was carried away with the force of the Mantrapper.


    ***


    I was hauled down several flights of stairs. The noise escalated as we bolted down the steps to the lowest terrace of the city. The bottom of the bowl, so to speak. It reminded me of what the Roman Colosseum must have looked like in its prime. Hundreds of rows of jeering spectators sat to watch what was happening on the floor of the arena. Mirrors lined the halls at regular intervals all the way around its circumference, reflecting the reddening light of the sun.


    I was confused. My name held some kind of power in this place, but none of it was my own. I felt caught up in the current, and now it was threatening to swallow me alive.


    I was dragged to the lowest part of the arena. We were stopped at a large wooden gate that opened up to the arena floor. I saw through the gaps in the lattice a slumped figure in one of those medieval stocks that kept your head and hands from moving. The spectators, most of whom wore the pale grays and yellows of the working class, were throwing spiky green fruit at the man. I could see him wince and cry out through his gag as some of the fruits found their mark. They stuck to his face and the backs of his legs.


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    After a few minutes of the incessant barrage, someone in long black and white robes held up a hand, and everyone stopped, some with fruit still in their hands. This figure appeared to hold some kind of prominence, like a magistrate or judge.


    He began to speak in a deeply formal tone, his face tilting into a sneer.


    ¡°For feigning relation to a noble house, in accordance with the law of King Extravagus II, you are sentenced to immediate exile from Vivien. Be grateful your gracious king has seen fit to spare your life this day by his merciful rule.¡±


    Was this like those tv shows where some messed up family waited for DNA results, to hear ¡°YOU ARE NOT THE FATHER¡±?


    Something cold ran down my spine. The reaction to my name. The rage Kalculus felt towards me. The pleading devastation of the woman I assumed was his wife. Being bound, gagged and dragged to something called the ¡®court of kin¡¯. The sentence against the person in the stock in front of me. I finally understood.


    I was no hero, no ¡®Chosen One¡¯. I didn¡¯t belong in a fancy mansion or carry the hopes of the people. It was just a cruel coincidence. Alaster was my name, but was also the name of a powerful noble house in this world. To them, I was a pretender, someone trying to cheat the system by claiming nobility. Suddenly I remembered Osner¡¯s concern, and it made sense. He was trying to give me a way out of this charade, to give me a chance to come clean before it was too late.


    I slumped with overwhelming dread, feeling nauseous. The guard hoisted me up, rope cutting into my wrists. One of them hissed.


    ¡°No tricks now. Too late to run.¡±


    Too late.


    I stared hopelessly as the magistrate walked towards what looked like a woodburning stove. He removed something like an iron poker, with a blazing symbol at the end that I didn¡¯t recognize. The man in the stock began to scream, sharp trills piercing through the cloth tied around his mouth. I looked away as the magistrate lunged forward, pressing the glowing iron to the man¡¯s forehead. Bile rose in my throat. The accused wailed in pain as the symbol burned into his skin. In a few moments he was taken away, muffled sobs leaking through his rag.


    I was pushed forward through the open gate. As I looked up every eye around the stadium was now directed at me. I tried scanning the faces for Osner, for at least one friendly or sympathetic face. No. People were greedily palming more of the green ammunition, sneering down at me. The giant stained glass orb which looked to be a mile above me looked like an eye, powerful and oppressive.


    How could I have been so stupid?


    ¡°What name does the accused claim?¡± The magistrate looked my direction with a fading smugness. Seeing as though no one was rushing to remove my gag, it was obvious someone else would be answering for me.


    ¡°The honorable name of the noble House Alaster.¡± said the guard to my left.


    The spectators gasped all around, then shifted into a wave of fresh jeering. Even the magistrate¡¯s eyes were bulging, his mouth a half-smile.


    ¡°An illegitimate heir of House Alaster would make history indeed¡± the man in white and black said.


    I protested through my sickly gag, but he couldn¡¯t hear me. The yells and screams of the crowd were pressing in from every side.


    This is the worst kind of surround sound. What a stupid thought at a time like this.


    The magistrate continued: ¡°There is no need for us to delay the inevitable, honorable citizens of Vivenheim. Bring out the orb!¡±


    Several guards carried a bronze pedestal on poles. On the pedestal sat a sphere so big I could comfortably fit inside of it. The guards wore tabards with a gold shield and silver sword over their breastplates. They brought the orb to rest in between me and the magistrate.


    A small man with clean, faint patches of white hair on his face approached the orb. He was wearing burgundy robes that held an insignia of a scepter holding an eye. If I had to guess, this was some kind of magic user.


    He confirmed my suspicions when he started chanting. A brilliant ball of electricity appeared in the middle of the orb, arcs like flailing tentacles reaching the wall of the inner sphere.


    I jumped back in surprise, but the guards pushed me forward. It reminded me of those plasma spheres you could get at Chuck E. Cheese for 1500 tickets, except this one was humming ominously.


    ¡°Will the honorable Lord Alaster please step forward to defend the name of your house?¡± The magistrate pointed to the side of me, and I could see Kalculus¡¯s grizzled face behind his sharp silver hair. He approached the orb without even looking at me, and placed his hand on it.


    All of the tendrils converged into a brilliant beam, appearing to connect to his hand.


    ¡°The accused shall do the same.¡± The magistrate looked at me.


    If I tried to run now, I¡¯d probably just get speared down. The crowd hungrily looked at me like a bunch of vultures waiting for a corpse. My options seemed to be die or face debilitating pain and permanent exile from the safety of the city, into the waiting clutches of a world full of monstrous beasts. Ice filled me as I placed my hand on the orb, the arcs splitting between Kalculus and me.


    The magic felt like a river flowing through my mind, my memories floating past like driftwood downstream. I saw my mom and my dad holding hands. I saw DeAnna pushing me on my bike. The hospital room with a blanket hiding the face.


    As quickly as it came, it left. I reached a hand up to touch my cheek and it felt wet. My eyes were puffy as if I¡¯d been crying for years.


    I knew what was coming next. The stinging fruit. The stock. The devastating pain on my forehead. But I just felt hollow. Like all the things I ever felt vanished from my existence.


    But the magistrate was staring at the man in burgundy robes, who was staring at the man with silver hair and then at me.


    ¡°In all my years¡­¡± the magic user mumbled, thin white eyebrows threatening to shoot off into space.


    ¡°What, what is it?¡± cried Kalculus.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never seen this before¡± the man in burgundy robes said. He swallowed as if his throat only held dust. He continued. ¡°There is a connection, but as if¡­from far away. It is strange to me. The bond is faint¡­but it is there.¡±


    ¡°What does this mean?¡± the composed Kalculus slumped to his knees with his head in his hands. There was no hatred or fight in him now.


    The magistrate snapped from his own musings. His robes trembled like salt and pepper shakers. ¡°Well, uh..¡± he began ¡°this has never happened before so¡­in light of the evidence..¡± The crowd was silent, hanging on his every word. ¡°


    ¡°This young man is to be the ward of House Alaster, from this day forth.¡±

 Chapter 6

    I barely remembered the next hour. I recalled the fresh air after my gag was removed, the pressure releasing from my wrists as the ropes were unbound. I remember the whispering faces of the crowd as I passed them. I remember the long trek up through what I learned were the market, artisan, and manor terraces as we ascended.


    My throat was parched. My stomach was empty. I was emotionally and physically spent.


    We arrived at House Alaster and Kalculus said something curt at the door. I was whisked away by a hostess in a blue gown down a long hall, then shown into a room the size of a closet. I fell on the bed as if pulled by a powerful magnet.


    ***


    I woke up to a brusque rapping at my door. My muscles protested from all the walking I¡¯d been doing. My shins had lines from where the edge of the bed dug into them. It was about four inches too short for me. It hurt to swallow.


    I opened the door. As soon as I opened it a crack, I was hit with a stream of introductions. I also saw the weak light of dawn filtering in through the hall. It was the same woman who¡¯d brought me to the room. She wore a blue gown with black trim. She looked to be in her mid-50s, silver and black wisps of hair paired elegantly up into a clean bun. She had a bundle of clothes in her hands that she deftly hoisted into my arms. She spoke politely and quickly in a no-nonsense way.


    ¡°Morning sir. My name is Roquette and I am the head matron of this house. Lord Alaster has given you into my employ this morning. You¡¯re to change then shadow the attendants and prepare and serve House Alaster their breakfast, after which you may eat yourself and tend to the washing.¡± She wore her authority by talking so quickly and clearly that there wasn¡¯t any room for questions or refusal.


    So I was a servant then, or maybe a slave? I mean, if I was to take my pick: polish the boots of nobles or take my chances outside the city, I definitely know what I¡¯d choose every time. But still, the whole ordeal had me rattled.


    ¡°What are we to call you?¡± Her voice snapped me out of my thoughts.


    Well, ok, I think Alaster¡¯s definitely out of the question. Wait, no that makes sense. If Alaster is the proper name for this family, then maybe they do last names first when introducing themselves, like in Japan. Might as well give them my last name.


    ¡°Titus. You can call me Titus.¡±


    Something else hit me in that moment. Like a brick. In my stomach. In the storm of emotions and experiences in the last few days, I hadn¡¯t once used the bathroom.


    ¡°Um, sorry. Can you show me where the bathroom is?¡±


    The head matron blinked and raised an eyebrow. ¡°Water is provided for bathing once weekly on Rests.¡±


    Oh, man. I¡¯m gonna have to relearn the days of the week now? But more importantly, I really needed to go.


    ¡°No, um¡­ I mean..¡± Think. What else would they call it? Think medieval. Think Renaissance. Think.. ¡°Privy?¡± I croaked.


    ¡°Oh! This way.¡± Her shoes clacked softly on the wooden floors as she sped down the hall without a hint of impatience or judgment. I followed close behind. Soon we appeared at a set of double doors with silver handles. She made an ushering motion.


    I started to feel relieved until I walked through the doors. The bathroom was made up of what looked like 3 benches in a u-shape. At the tops of these benches were holes spaced at regular intervals. An elderly man smiled up at me from the bench to my right. His hair was in a silver bowl cut and he had a bit of a hooked nose with a slightly crooked back. That¡¯s when I realized he was wearing¡­absolutely nothing.


    I quickly turned my head  and rushed to the bench farthest opposite him. I hung my bundle of new clothes on a thin rack above my head. I tried to find a way to fold my tunic around me so that I could still have a shred of privacy while trying not to let it touch the hole. He chose that moment to start talking to me.


    ¡°Ah, the new ward! Heard a bunches about yas my boy! Did ye grow up a far ways from the city?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±I said shortly, hoping he¡¯d get the hint and let me finish in quiet. No such luck.


    ¡°Well I¡¯m glad for a fresh face around here, will make the days shorter, methinks.¡±


    If only this conversation could be shorter. Under less vulnerable circumstances I felt I could have warmed up quickly to his companionable spirit. In anywhere but the bathroom.


    ¡°I¡¯m Debble, a greenskeeper here,¡± he continued. I assumed that meant gardener. ¡°Jol and Sheara be ¡®t other two.¡±


    What I thought was, ¡°Go away, go away, go away.¡± What I said instead was:


    ¡°Name¡¯s Titus. Nice to meet you.¡± After all, it probably wasn¡¯t his fault. This talking-in-the-bathroom business must be normal around here.


    He talked some more about his favorite parts of the garden: a sizeable vegetable patch and long rows of herbs. He also mentioned how efficient irrigation was, with this city being so close to the Mantrapper. Fresh water came in through the North of the city, routed through the farm channels and sewers, then dumped the dirty water filled with you-know-what into the river at the South side of the city. Into the same river. Gross.


    Thankfully Debble finally got up, and I angled my view so I couldn¡¯t see him fully. I did manage to see how he flushed though. He pulled on a long sliding bar and I could hear a small gate open at the far side of the room. I listened as a stream of water flowed through to the other side, underneath the wooden bench he¡¯d been warming. Then he put his robes on and left with a wave. I finally relaxed.


    I finished, then pulled my own sliding bar to flush. I had to admit, I was surprised to see this kind of indoor plumbing here. But then I froze.


    I didn¡¯t see any toilet paper anywhere. Agitated, I whirled around to find a bucket. In that bucket was a long wooden dowel with what looked like a tiny pillow at the end of it.


    Great, just great.


    ***


    I left the uncomfortable experience behind me, no pun intended. But now I had a fresh new look, compliments of Roquette. I wore a dark blue jacket in black trim, with trousers that matched the same scheme. It came with well-worn leather boots that had just enough room around the toes. I knew it was supposed to be servant garb but I felt really fancy.


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    If only DeAnna could see me now. She¡¯d probably make some comment like, ¡°At least you don¡¯t look like a hobo now.¡± I wondered how she was doing. She was probably strangling a few policemen demanding answers as to where I was. A tinge of sadness fell over me.


    Haste refused to let that emotion settle. Roquette¡¯s quick steps ahead of me threatened to leave me behind in the long corridor.


    She brought me to a large kitchen. Chefs in blue caps were blanching berries and baking fresh bread. Roquette beckoned me to the dining hall. In it sat a large table covered in cobalt, teal, and white settings. I was handed half a stack of flat cloth napkins, which I immediately realized I didn¡¯t know how to fold.


    The other servants flipped and folded the napkins efficiently and perfectly into what looked like little flower bouquets. I just stood there squinting, trying to copy the lightning quick folding of the others. In half a minute the other servants, noticing my still unfolded stack of napkins, quietly stole them away and finished the remainder of the settings. I hung my head in shame as I returned to the kitchen.


    A small bell rang, and the chefs scurried on balanced feet with incredible speed, flipping dishes on platters.


    ¡°Follow my lead.¡± Roquette said, lifting a cauldron full of porridge with effortless grace. I hesitated, not knowing if I should grab the bread or the berries first.


    ¡°Hmph!¡± A man in my same garb stepped ahead of me, scooping up the basket of berries in one deft motion. His lower lip reached up to his nostrils.


    I growled and picked up the bread basket, following him out the door.


    For such a large dining table, only a few people sat around it now.


    Kalculus¡¯ wife was now saying some sort of blessing in a tender voice. Kalculus¡¯ eyes were open, brows scrunched in thought. His face was stern, with purple bags under his eyes. He didn¡¯t once look up from his plate. There were two others I didn¡¯t recognize, both appearing proper and stately in blue trimmed with grey. The blessing ended and the servants placed food on the table one tray after another.


    As I went to place the bread basket down, I noticed Kalculus glaring at me out of the corner of my eye. Then his expression changed. For an instant he raised his eyebrows, as if revelation struck him like a lightning bolt. His bottom lip twinged into a crooked quarter smile. It felt predatory.


    ¡°You. Boy.¡± he said.


    I froze, startled that he addressed me. ¡°Me?¡±


    ¡°Yes, you. Come to my study after your breakfast.¡± There was nothing warm about his tone. His wife looked curiously at her husband, then over at me.


    ¡°S-sure.¡± I stammered. He didn¡¯t acknowledge me after that, but took a sudden interest in his porridge. I walked back to the kitchen, definitely more than just a bit apprehensive about this upcoming meeting.


    After House Alaster finished their trays we moved to pick them up and set them beside the sink. I watched in amazement as a circle at the bottom of the sink started to glow. An orb of water hovered an inch from the bottom. The other servants pushed the gooey knives and berried spoons through the orb and out the other side, restoring them to a pristine shine. Got to be one of the coolest things I¡¯d ever seen.


    Then the atmosphere changed. The stiff and formal servants visibly relaxed the tension in their shoulders, and each grabbed a fresh plate to sit down at the dining table. Even Roquette sat at the table, opposite from me. I hungrily joined them. My stomach growled as I realized that I¡¯d only eaten three things in this new world: the burnt porridge, the hard biscuit, and that small fruit. I tore into the soft bread with a beastly ferocity. The porridge was perfect and creamy, and I joined it with a thick spoonful of sweet fruit.


    Debble was led by his crooked nose towards us through the doors facing the manor proper. Behind him stepped a woman who looked to be in her thirties with cropped purple hair. Then followed a greying man with a receding hairline and poignantly green overalls. I assumed by the way the three had removed their gloves that they were Sheara and Jol, respectively.


    Debble rushed over to me and sat next to me, not bothering with a plate. He grabbed for the bread with thin, strong hands.


    ¡°How yas holdin¡¯ up with the slave driver?¡± Debble asked. He shot a wicked smile over at Roquette who raised an eyebrow at him over her bowl of porridge.


    ¡°Oh, she isn¡¯t mean.¡± I said defensively. If anything, I didn¡¯t want to end up on her bad side. I had enough problems.


    Now it was his turn to raise an eyebrow. Before he could continue, Roquette spoke.


    ¡°Young Titus, whose son are you?¡± Roquette asked emphatically. That threw me off guard. First, she transformed from an all-business polite professional to a gabby gossip. Second, she straight up asked about my parents. She continued, oblivious to my growing discomfort.


    ¡°I heard you have a connection to House Alaster by blood, but no one seems to know who your parents are.¡±


    The food turned sour in my mouth. It was hard to swallow. A memory of my mom in a wheelchair, staring blankly out our balcony window flooded my mind.


    I tried to steel myself, and hid behind a long drink of water.


    ¡°They¡¯re¡­¡± I choked back a sob, masking it with a cough. ¡°Leon and Rachel. They¡¯re no longer..¡± I couldn¡¯t finish.


    ¡°Oh my dear, I¡¯m so dreadfully sorry. That was insensitive.¡± She said a few more things but I¡¯d stopped listening.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine.¡± I rose from the table, not even bothering to pick up my plate. ¡°I don¡¯t want to keep Lord Alaster waiting.¡±


    Debble and Roquette exchanged a concerned look.


    ¡°He¡¯ll be at your first right, at the doors at the end of the hall¡± said Roquette, hiding behind her voice of polite professionalism. The voices around me were quiet.


    ¡°Thank you.¡± I was glad I had an excuse to leave.


    ***


    I felt so fragile as I repeated the way to the study like a mantra. I wiped my eyes with my sleeve. The memories of my parents were so much stronger these last couple days. Was it because I felt helpless in this alien world, caught in a current so powerful I couldn¡¯t escape? Even with the friendly people like Osner and Debble, I still felt like an outsider.


    I found the study easily enough. I knocked on the thick wooden doors.


    The pity party can wait. Let¡¯s see what the old grump wants now.


    ¡°Ah, come in, come in.¡± The words were hospitable, but the tone was definitely not.


    It felt like the air got colder as I walked through the doors. Many shelves were packed with neatly organized books and leather binders. Kalculus sat at a large mahogany desk, and waved a hand for me to sit. I did so in one of the simple wooden chairs facing him.


    Without a moment of pause he started.


    ¡°Forgive me for my bare hospitality.¡± I didn¡¯t hear any genuine regret in his voice, like he was simply reciting from a book on manners. ¡°You are unknown to me, my wife, my son, and the rest of House Alaster. Plainly, I do not trust you.¡±


    I mean, that made sense. Honestly I was as surprised as he was that I had been connected to his family somehow. A strong part of me wanted to figure out why.


    ¡°But¡­¡± he wagged a finger. A brief glimmer of hope warmed the gloom. Until I saw that predatory smile on his face. He continued.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to offer you a chance to establish some trust. Who can say?¡± He held up his hands and dramatically shrugged. ¡°If all goes well I may deem it appropriate to name a new young lord in House Alaster.¡±


    So no promises, got it. I was really starting to resent getting thrown around. But to become a noble? That might give me access to the information I was looking for, or maybe some powerful connections. Connections I would need to get back home.


    ¡°What do you want me to do?¡± I asked.


    ¡°His Excellency the charitable - he practically coughed the word out - King Extravagus the Second is hosting a hunting party and he¡¯s invited each noble house to participate. I want you to go in House Alaster¡¯s stead and contribute to the hunt.


    Images of a large white stag being chased by hunting dogs ran through my mind. It was like in one of my father¡¯s stories. Of worlds of magic, knights, princesses, and dragons.


    I¡¯m in one of those stories now, dad. I lost myself in a wistful moment.


    Then I noticed the growing impatience in Lord Alaster¡¯s face. I was no hunter, but I rode on a horse before. Ok maybe it was a pony. At the circus. Going around in a circle. I figured all I had to do was not fall off the horse and look on like a less-than-amused noble, as if the hunt was beneath me. I could do that.


    ¡°I¡¯ll go.¡± The words practically jumped out of my mouth.


    ¡°Good,¡± the head of House Alaster said with a self-satisfied grin. ¡°You leave this afternoon.¡±


    I wished for a long time afterwards that I could go back to that moment and slap myself.

 Chapter 7

    I didn¡¯t get a horse. I was escorted by one of the guards down the long flights of stairs to the market terrace of Vivenheim.


    The interlocking rings of the sun glared furiously down on my face and hands. I started to feel a grimy layer of sweat and oil on my forehead. I looked around, but there weren¡¯t any large awnings to shield me from the ferocious rays. I was really hoping for that bath day soon.


    I took in the sounds of haggling farmers and dancers with castanets. I looked around for the colorful Harlequin, but I couldn¡¯t spot him among the many stalls. Someone as dramatic and ostentatious as him should stick out. I wondered if he made it to one of the many inns.


    The sharp noise of a bugle carried over the sizzling sausages and passionate peddlers. The crowds quieted. A host of white box carriages with four horses leading each made their way down the main thoroughfare. They rolled from the direction of the castle.


    I inspected them as they drew nearer. Instead of logs and rough stones for wheels like the typical farmer¡¯s cart, polished rods held what looked like stone discs etched with runes. Instead of the expected loud clacking, the wheels were soundless on the cobblestone road.


    At the head coach stood a short man. He stood as though his prominent position gave him a few inches of extra height, and squinted as though he needed glasses. He trumpeted his bugle a second time and the array of carriages came to a noiseless halt. Then he shouted as loud as the bugle in snub monotone.


    ¡°His excellency the king of Vivien, ruler of Vivenheim, calls the party of the hunt to step forward and receive his excellent hospitality to the grounds of this most excellent hunt!¡±


    Does this guy even breathe? Also, someone needs to get him a Thesaurus.


    The guard next to me nudged me with his elbow. I became more and more self-aware as I approached the train of carriages. People in the market were taking notice of me, wearing expressions of what looked like envy or outright hostility. Some whispered in hushed tones. I didn¡¯t have hearing as good as DeAnna¡¯s, but I could still make out what they were saying:


    ¡°Look, that¡¯s the lad who weaseled his way into the kingdom¡¯s coffers.¡±


    ¡°To think Lord Alaster had an illegitimate heir. That hypocritical prude.¡±


    For the first time, I felt a bit sorry for Kalculus. Me showing up and claiming his name broke his wife¡¯s heart and was already hurting his reputation. Add the fact that he was nobility and all sorts of complications came with that revelation.


    Then there were the others approaching the carriages. A man with long, black hair wore a set of heavy red armor. He had an obsidian, twin-bladed battleaxe strapped to his back. Each head shone like a dark moon.


    A little overkill for deer hunting.


    He wore a white cape with the gold shield and silver sword emblazoned on it. I recognized it as the same emblem that the guards at my trial wore. If anyone looked like a champion, he was it. He locked eyes with me and smirked, rolling his eyes. He stepped into his carriage first.


    The second person I noticed was a mountain of a man. He had shoulders the size of boulders and wore a simple orange tunic with chest hair sprouting from the ¡®u¡¯ in his collar. His insignia was an axe and hammer. He was bald with a rough looking brown beard. I nodded to him and he raised an eyebrow, evaluating me. Then, he nodded back, and had to bend over double just to enter his carriage.


    The third hunter was beautiful. She wore the burgundy robes with the eye and scepter on them. Her hair cascaded down in ash blonde waves streaked with brown. She moved with an effortless grace as though she were gliding instead of walking. Her nose and chin were sharp. And those stunning eyes, they gleamed like pools of liquid mercury. She floated into the carriage with practiced ease, ignorant to my gawking.


    I couldn¡¯t help feeling like a total imposter as I entered my own carriage. At least the interior looked comfortable. Puffy-looking white leather benches lined either side with a small table in the middle. I sat facing the open door. There was a bowl of wrapped treats next to some kind of decanter. I unwrapped one and popped it in my mouth as the attendant closed the door behind me.


    A horribly strong, bitter taste of something that tasted like earwax racked my tongue. I froze, and promptly spit the mess onto the small table. I noticed the attendant staring at me through the window. He gave me the most judgmental side eye I¡¯d ever seen, and disappeared from view.


    I felt the carriage being pulled from under me by the horses, and the market erupted into whistles and waves, shouting for their favorite house. I noticed some even placing bets on the favorite to win. My money was not on me.


    We were pulled through the large city gates and out into the country. I observed the violent crashing of the Mantrapper from where I sat for awhile, then became absorbed in my own thoughts.


    A constricting hand tightened around my chest. I felt trapped.


    A couple days ago I could just go where and when I wanted. And when I was really feeling stuck, I could hide away in a coffee shop. But now¡­


    Now I was being herded like cattle. I was bullied about by the whims of a powerful noble who clearly hated me. I could understand why a little more now, but I despised being forced to do someone else¡¯s bidding. I resolved that I would do what I had to do to win my freedom, and then go back to my world where freedom was possible.


    Soon a field of pines and corkscrew teal trees swarmed my vision. Then the carriages came to a stop.


    ¡°Party of the hunt, depart and gather for your briefing!¡± called the obnoxiously loud voice of the attendant. A small mercy he hadn¡¯t blown that bugle again. The squinty little man took his job a bit too seriously.


    6 people climbed down from the carriages and assembled in a small clearing. Axe man, boulder shoulders, and the beautiful lady joined me and a few from other houses. Our mix of colored robes looked like a fancy human tapestry.


    The announcer raised his chin as if trying to stretch out over us. It was kind of funny; he was like two feet shorter than me.


    ¡°The contest will be decided on both the quantity and quality of your quarry. Each creature you conquer will be quantified and qualified, and your scores will be applied appropriately.¡± I felt itchy just listening to this guy. Too many ¡®q¡¯s. I was convinced he just liked to hear himself talk. ¡°One of the forest guards will accompany you to the trail farther in. May the Celestial grant you success in your hunt. Go forth in the good graces of our gracious Lord, King Extravagus the Second.¡±Stolen novel; please report.


    I was glad he stopped talking when a familiar face stepped into view. Osner scanned the hunting party. When his eyes fell on me his lips parted in a wordless gasp. A series of emotions played across his face. Amazement, confusion, seriousness, then something like anger. He gave me a look that clearly read, ¡°You have some explaining to do.¡±


    Then he snapped back to attention and addressed the group as a whole.


    ¡°They were last seen a hare¡¯s sprint from here, Southwards. Three shes. We suspect there¡¯s an alpha with them, but we ¡®ent caught sights on it yet.¡±


    The champion in red armor sneered. ¡°Oh, it will be there, and it will be my blade that severs its head.¡± The pretty ash blonde woman shot him a cold, challenging look. He didn¡¯t notice. The bald man just shrugged.


    Osner added, ¡°We appreciate the help. They¡¯s been a great thorn in the side of late.¡±


    I had to wonder, what sort of prey would give trained fighters like Osner and Ysbek trouble? Maybe the deer were just insanely fast?


    Osner was cut short and brushed away by the attendant.


    ¡°Yes, yes, save your kisses for the royal boots of His Majesty the illustrious Extravagus the Second. Lead our champions on to their quarry.¡±


    Osner turned his wrists up in a show of respect, then waved the party forward. ¡°Go straight, yas can¡¯t miss ¡®em. Be careful.¡±


    The man in red armor snorted, ¡°I advise you to be careful. By my might and pedigree I shall slay them all.¡±


    What a jerk-face.


    Osner stepped aside as the man wielding the obsidian battleaxe strode confidently into the woods. The bald man followed, eyes calculating the details in the forest around him.


    I wanted to ask the lady with ash blonde hair more about her noble house. Ok, maybe I just wanted to ask her about her.


    Unfortunately, I wasn¡¯t about to do either. Osner made a beeline for me and tugged me towards the back of the procession. He looked around to make sure no one was paying attention to us, then hissed out a barrage of questions as we walked:


    ¡°What in Sheol are yas doin ¡®ere? We guard yer life so yas can toss it away again?


    ¡°Throw it away?¡± I hushed my voice to match his. ¡°I¡¯m just joining a hunt. There¡¯s plenty of fighters here who can do the actual hunting. Besides, Kalculus was treating me like a slave back at the manor. He said I could become a young lord if I joined the hunt.¡±


    Osner stiffened, then softened a bit. I could read the empathy on his face.


    ¡°Do yas know what kind of man Lord Alaster is? Shrewd. He wants rid of yas. Did yas think this was a rabbit hunt?¡±


    As he asked the question a chill began to creep into my body despite the sun. I looked around. There was a glimmer through the trees. Like a lake. No, exactly like a lake. And by the shape of it, it looked like the exact lake I had fallen into when I first arrived in this world. I remembered the smoke that I had tried to follow, and what Osner said about it afterwards. I paled. Panic swelled in my chest. The party was not hunting prey. Osner said the word as it appeared in my mind. ¡°Manticore.¡±


    He noticed my fear.


    ¡°Look, jes go back to the carriage. You¡¯re not well. Something dinae agree with yer stomach. You should go back.¡±


    I wasted no time and turned back. That¡¯s when a wall of flame erupted, shattering the carriages. Many of the horses reared and stomped in panic. Some were burnt to a crisp on the spot. Smoke and fire billowed from the open windows. The proud announcer was clutching a burning arm and slapping it frantically on his pants as he screamed, running away from the torrent of heat and chaos.


    Osner only hesitated for a moment.


    ¡°Run! Run towards the others! I¡¯ll cover yer flank.¡± I spun around and bolted deeper into the woods.


    A second wall of flame boxed us in, cutting through the path that led to the other warriors. My feet clamped to the earth in sheer terror.


    A tall, dark shadow strode casually through the flames. Obsidian claws the size of my hands protruded from muscular ebony arms. Its eyes glowed darkly like tainted rubies. Its mane was like layered charcoal. It roared, sending my soul quaking to the back of my spine. Flickering flames danced around its mouth. It looked like a lion draped in the black of a panther, but three times too large.


    ¡°Alpha.¡± Osner hissed. In milliseconds his eyes darted to the manticore, then to me.


    ¡°Take it. Celestial guide you.¡± He unsheathed a dagger with incredible speed and handed it to me, never taking his eyes off the fiery beast.


    It shook in my hands as I held it up in what I hoped was a guard that would gain me an extra second to live.


    In a blur, Osner drew his sword. It glowed a faint blue. Then Osner charged with lightning speed. No. I rubbed my eyes quickly but there was no doubting it. There were four shimmering Osners, four swords converging on the beast as one.


    Hope swelled in my chest. Then the monster batted Osner aside as if he were a fly. At the last moment Osner raised his sword into a guard, avoiding the manticore¡¯s claws. Three of the four of him disappeared as he rolled through the dirt. Then he was on his feet, breathing heavily from the strain.


    ¡°Fine, no tricks then.¡± Osner grunted.


    The manticore pounced for the tall guard¡¯s head. In a blinding flash Osner ducked under its swiping paws, then surged up like a lethal geyser. His sword slashed towards the manticore¡¯s head, which shifted to avoid its arc. Which put the manticore¡¯s eye in range of Osner¡¯s¡­fist?


    I blinked, not sure if I was seeing correctly. Osner¡¯s fist surged toward the hellish monster¡¯s ruby eyes, but it was tilted unnaturally as if¡­


    No. No. No! Time slowed as I realized with horror what Osner had just attempted to do. His fist bounced harmlessly off the beast¡¯s eyelid. I saw the realization also cross Osner¡¯s face. A split second too late.


    Osner had tried to stab the beast, with a dagger he no longer held. His honed reflexes and training with both his dagger and his sword worked in tandem like two blades on a pair of scissors. But without his dagger¡­


    A devastating paw with razored claws reached Osner as he stared in his empty left fist with disbelief, then horror.


    ¡°Osner!¡± I screamed.


    The paw tore through Osner¡¯s side as though the leather armor he wore was made of tissue paper. Its momentum hurled him into a corkscrew tree with a sickening crack. I saw blood pooling from his sides. He wasn¡¯t moving.


    I was shaking uncontrollably. My thoughts stabbed me over and over.


    Dead weight. I¡¯m dead weight. I killed him. We would both be ok if he didn¡¯t give me his dagger. He¡¯d still be alive. I killed someone.


    The dagger in my hand clattered to the ground. I didn¡¯t remember dropping it.


    The manticore licked its lips, stalking towards the unmoving Osner.


    ¡°H-hey.¡± My panicked voice sounded like a whisper. My thoughts raced a million miles an hour. Not good enough. I had to do something. Even buying a few seconds of time for help. Maybe Osner wasn¡¯t dead yet. But I couldn¡¯t draw its attention. It would kill me. I couldn¡¯t let Osner just die.


    ¡°Hey! Back. Off!¡± I shrieked, all the terror and anger surging into my voice.


    The manticores rubied eyes fixed on me.


    I¡¯m dead. I am going to die.


    It growled like mountains grinding together. It drew eagerness from my panic. No help. No rescue. I would die in this new world before I felt I had ever lived.


    Its haunches constricted, preparing to pounce. Its eyes regarded me with finality. Flames licked hungrily from its maw. Then, it leapt. A coffin of claws rushed to embrace me.


    I stumbled back. I felt the presence of something behind me, moving like a blur. I was falling into a cloud of sand that seemingly spouted from nowhere. I only had microseconds left to think as the claws and jaw of the manticore closed in around me on all sides.


    Whoever, whatever you are, please, help me.


    My hand caught on something bristly as it ran past. I felt a pulse of my own will, crystal clear and running like water. A surging will to live.


    A thunderbolt split my consciousness. I tasted the sharp flavor of strawberry lemonade.


    Then, my world went black.

 Chapter 8

    My first conscious thought was that I was running. My feet were a flurry of motion. But it was strange. They didn¡¯t feel like they belonged to me. It felt like someone, some thing was controlling them. That¡¯s when I noticed they weren¡¯t feet at all. They were hooves. I was rocketing across the ground on six powerful legs.


    What in the world is happening?


    I couldn¡¯t see, but I still perceived the landscape around me. It was like I could feel the earth shifting around me, making imprints into familiar shapes like trees and bushes. I couldn¡¯t see the sky, but I could detect the falling leaves as they danced through it. It was absolutely breathtaking.


    Speaking of breathing, I could feel powerful lungs take in air like a jet turbine beneath my giant ribs. I now had a pair of powerful elongated jaws, with two sets of large tusks protruding from my upper and lower jaws. Bristly spines coated a thick hide that I wore all around me. If I had to guess, I was trapped in the body of some kind of six-legged boar.


    It wasn¡¯t just the physical changes either. I knew I was running, but it felt more like I was gliding, surfing on and slightly beneath the earth. The boar¡¯s instinct was somehow shifting the earth around me, raising and lowering it as I ran to give me flawless footing for every step.


    I could sense the boar¡¯s feral and alien mind. It was driven by the overwhelming need to flee. In the rush of these new feelings, I failed to notice we were being pursued.


    I felt the alpha manticore gaining speed towards us. It opened its jaws, and I felt the heat rising. A jet of flame burst from its maw.


    The boar did something I didn¡¯t anticipate. It dove towards the ground, face first. I mentally winced as the ground rushed to meet us. Then we dove into the earth as though it were water.


    This is absolutely unreal.


    We swam through the earth with the boar¡¯s practiced ease. Then the fire exploded above us. I felt a slight pain on my haunch, like if I had my finger over a candle for a second. But that was it.


    To my amazement, we emerged from the earth and ran even faster, readily outpacing the manticore. It slowed and roared after us. The boar let out a low porcine squeal of victory as I mentally cheered. A sense of relief filled my mind. I wasn¡¯t sure what happened to me, but I was grateful to be alive.


    The relief was gone faster than it came. The manticore turned to stalk towards an easier meal.


    Osner!


    I couldn¡¯t do anything before, but now, with this ally¡­


    Turn back! We have to get him out of there!


    The boar¡¯s unwavering mind rejected my pleas, and ran towards survival with all its might. I could feel Osner stirring ever so slightly. I could feel his weak pulse through the earth. I sensed the manticore licking its lips as it approached him. Helplessness flooded my mind.


    Trapped again. No way out. Osner is going to die. All I am is dead weight. I¡¯m no help to anyone. The one person who looked out for me is going to die, and I¡¯m not strong enough to help him.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    No. A bell of crystal clarity rang in my mind with a single defiant note. You can¡¯t hold me. The boar¡¯s mind crashed into mine, fighting for dominance over its body. I won¡¯t let Osner die. I won¡¯t be dead weight any longer! The boar made a terrified squeal as its mind began to lose ground. This body is mine!


    The boar¡¯s will broke. I was flooded with power as my mind gained total control. Its powerful instincts became my own, as if I had years of experience controlling its body.


    I let out a defiant porcine cry and ran towards the manticore with the full force of my new strength. Trees whipped past me in a blur. The earth bent and shifted to my will, surging me forward like a tidal wave.


    The manticore stooped to take a bite of Osner¡¯s head as I reached it. It reacted too late. I jerked my tusked snout up in an explosion of brute force, piercing and scooping up its hind legs. It sailed end over end and landed on its feet about 20 feet ahead of me.


    I rushed towards it before it made contact with the ground, wanting to keep the fight as far away from Osner as I could manage.


    Those dark ruby eyes bore into mine. The message was clear. I was pork chops. It lashed out with its claws. A glancing scratch stung my haunch as I spun around it.


    Too close!


    I replied with a geyser of sand to its face. It snarled and shook its head, trying to free its stinging eyes from the grit. It roared out a thick rope of flame, slinging it about in wild directions. Thick smoke burned my nostrils. The fires strafed dangerously close to Osner¡¯s shuddering form. I ran clear of the flames, kicking up sand around me as I ran.


    I need to take this fight farther away.


    An idea came to me. I sensed the manticore open one eye and train it on me. I ran straight ahead, away from Osner. The manticore took the bait and pounced at me. I suddenly froze dead in my tracks, using the earth around me to apply the brakes.


    The manticore let out a startled yelp as it sailed through the air in front of me. If I¡¯d have kept running straight it would have buried me. To its credit, it was amazingly agile. It turned a 180 midair and landed on all fours. At least we were far enough away now that we could go all out. Osner would be in the clear.


    It ran towards me. It raised its claws. I strafed around it. This time I wasn¡¯t so lucky. The manticore paused just a breath before striking with wicked intelligence. It split a long gash on my face.


    It carved grooves along my snout up to my forehead. I wailed in agony. It hurt so bad. Pain and panic shook me. It was a small mercy that I could still ¡°see¡± what was happening around me, since I didn¡¯t have eyes. I vigorously shook my head.


    Ok, time to stop running around.


    I launched a wave of sand at the monster as I dove beneath the earth. I could feel the manticore pivot and turn, slashing wildly. It sought me out with claw and flame.


    The last place it thought to look was under its feet. As I sensed the fiery head above me, I pulled a move I¡¯d seen Osner use with his sword.


    I shot up from the earth snout first. I heard a startled yelp above me. Too late. Like a pick spearing a sandwich, my tusks pierced the manticore¡¯s lower jaw, upper jaw, then its skull.


    The fire instantly died. I dashed to the side as the manticore slumped to the ground. Black blood pooled on the ground. The dark light drained from its eyes.


    I screamed out in both pain and victory. I was flooded with exhausted relief. But there was still work to do. I thought between panting breaths.


    Must heal. Must get back.


    I felt like I was being pulled from a dream. I felt my body shift and lengthen. Hooves stretched into thin fingers. I felt the pressure as my long jaw sunk back into my face. My tusks retracted into small teeth. My bristly coat folded back into a frame of skin. A lingering taste of strawberry lemonade, smoke, and grit sat on my tongue.


    I gingerly reached up to touch my now human face, not sure what I would find there. I was amazed when I found no wound. Not even a scar. The skin was as fresh as the day I¡¯d been born.

 Chapter 9

    The euphoria from my magical transformation faded. I felt a breeze from head to toe, quickly realizing I was wearing absolutely nothing. I frantically searched for my robes, and found them in a shredded heap covered in sand and soot. Large splits were on the sides and back of my shirt and trousers. My boots lay in leather fragments.


    Better than nothing, I guess.


    I carefully draped the dirty tunic around me and tore off a long piece from the unusable trousers to act as a belt to tie around my more undignified angles. I ended up looking like a caveman in a shredded blue toga.


    Then there was the smell. Singed hair and smoke and blood. It was overwhelming. I resisted the urge to gag.


    I quickly remembered I had more important things to worry about. Osner was thankfully still alive, but he was in a bad way. He was shuddering and breathing rapidly. His eyes were unfocused. Quivering droplets lined his brow. A steady stream of blood still flowed from his wound.


    Think. Think! What did DeAnna tell you about how to stop the bleeding?


    I sifted through my memories of my sister¡¯s many lectures on the subject, but all I could remember was that I needed to put pressure just above the wound.


    I wiped off both hands on my dirty toga, which arguably made them worse. I gave up and pushed with both hands above the gash on Osner¡¯s left side. Not knowing what else to do,  I started yelling like Osner¡¯s life depended on it.


    ¡°Help! Someone¡¯s hurt! Help!¡±


    I took a deep breath to yell out again, but startled as I felt a rock of a hand clap down on my shoulder. I hadn¡¯t even heard him approaching. It was the man with huge shoulders in the orange tunic. He smelled like oak.


    He wasted no time, scanning Osner¡¯s features intensely. His eyes lingered on the long gash. He abruptly pulled off his tunic and ripped it lengthwise. He wrapped the long piece of orange cloth around Osner¡¯s midsection, just above the wound. He snapped off a sturdy branch from a nearby tree and began twisting it around the fabric, winding it tighter and tighter. Homeboy made a tourniquet from his tunic!


    The bleeding slowed a bit more, but Osner vacillated in and out of consciousness.


    ¡°Not good.¡±


    The man¡¯s voice was like gravel turning in a dryer. He reached up behind his ear. He touched a tattoo in the shape of a music note set in a simple diamond. A sound like gentle waves crashing on the shore emanated from just above his ear. He spoke again in what sounded like some sort of code or address.


    ¡°Volani-Zrclado-Myria.¡±


    The sound intensified to a sound like harsh static, then dimmed as a woman¡¯s voice rang through. Her words sounded like notes on clear crystal flutes.


    ¡°Borst? Is there trouble?¡±


    ¡°Need a healer.¡± came the man¡¯s gruff reply.


    ¡°Celestial above!¡± she hissed. ¡°Borst, what manner is the injury?¡±


    The static went quiet. He removed his finger from the tattoo behind his ear.


    The beautiful woman in burgundy robes emerged from the denser forest. Her silver eyes cut across the landscape, first landing on Osner, noticing his grave injury. Her eyes grew wider as they came to rest on the alpha manticore. They shrank to slivers when she noticed me. I shrank back, all too aware of how goofy I looked. She glared at me. Dainty feet shuffled over in a flurry of movement, her streaked ash blonde hair doing an angry bob.


    ¡°Explain this.¡± She demanded, her voice an angry bell.


    ¡°I, buh-uh..¡± I stammered, looking away.


    ¡°Myria.¡± the man named Borst cut in. She looked annoyed that he cut her off. She started to say something but Borst spoke quicker.


    ¡°Save the banterin¡¯. This guard needs healing.¡±


    Her nose flared as she sucked air in through her teeth. Her tone chilled.


    ¡°Step away.¡± she told me.


    I obliged. Myria¡¯s temper matched her beauty. I hated admitting to myself that she did in fact look cute when she was angry. At the same time, I couldn¡¯t understand why she resented me.


    She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. In a shocking change of tone, she began to sing. A melody at once wistful and beautiful flowed from her lips, in a language I didn¡¯t recognize. She reached into Osner¡¯s wound. I could sense the magic coursing through her fingertips. It smelled like cinnamon.  After some time, she pulled her hand out.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°Borst, pinch the folds of the gash together for me.¡± she said. He did.


    Her miraculous song continued. Red lines like threads formed in woven bands across the mouth of the gash on Osner¡¯s left side. The glowing thread pulsed in a fiery light with a smell of cinnamon so strong I could taste it, leaving scorch marks along its length with the flesh sealed together.


    The magic etched itself in my memory. It reminded me of mom¡¯s lullabies when I was younger, of dad strumming on his guitar. It was nostalgic and sad, healing what once was broken, but reminding me of the things I lost.


    She wiped her head and hands on a handkerchief she produced from a robe pocket, then tossed it to the ground. Her shoulders slumped a little, probably from the fatigue of the magic.


    She addressed Borst, giving me the cold shoulder. She was back to her usual flinty self.


    ¡°I stabilized him but he will need more adequate care within the capital.¡±


    Borst nodded. Then he looked over at me, nodding in the direction of the giant manticore.


    ¡°You going to tag it?¡±


    ¡°Tag? What do you mean?¡± I replied.


    Borst raised his eyebrows. Myria shot Borst an accusatory glance.


    ¡°What inclines you to think that he - she waved a hand towards me, like I was a toad- slew the beast, and not this guard?¡±


    Borst shrugged. ¡°He¡¯s here. Fight¡¯s over there.¡± He gestured to the chaotic mess:  a flurry of feral footprints, scorched earth, and deep grooves from gouging claws. He continued.


    ¡°Wound¡¯s too thick for a sword. Dunno how, but young lord Alaster did it in.¡± I had a hard time thinking of myself holding that title. It didn¡¯t fit well, like a too-short ugly sweater.


    Myria looked away and hissed. She balled her fists but kept quiet.


    Borst talked to me. ¡°Something with your house¡¯s color to claim it. Like this.¡± Borst produced what looked like an orange talisman attached to a fishing line.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have anything like that.¡± I admitted. Thinking quickly I added: ¡°I guess I wasn¡¯t expected to do well on this hunt.¡±


    Understatement of the year. Osner is right, Kalculus probably wanted me dead.


    Myria huffed, but I noticed her fists relaxed slightly.


    I tore another piece off my useless pants and laid it across the manticore''s neck like a ghetto bandana. I guess it would have to do. All of this was a lot to process. I felt like an imposter. It should have been my corpse on the ground, but that impossible magic saved me.


    Bugles cleaved the awkward silence, trumpeting from the direction of the carriages. Borst pushed over a bruised sapling and tore it off by the root. He gingerly picked Osner up and placed him on the leaves, having made a rustic stretcher. He wordlessly started dragging him slowly towards the arriving riders.


    The once proud attendant was nursing an arm still unbandaged, riding bareback with a cohort. He rode behind a burly guard with large pauldrons and a greatsword strapped to his back. Two women rode behind them. They both wore grey robes with veils to cover their faces.


    Both parties met at the shattered remains of the carriages, with only a couple of the vehicles still intact. The large guard rode searching the deeper forest. The two women in grey dismounted wordlessly and crouched over Osner.  They hummed as one, soft white light playing through their hands. The sharp smell of spearmint lingered in the air. Osner finally stopped shuddering. His breathing calmed. The two women waved towards one of the unbroken carriages and Borst carried Osner into it.


    I turned to ask Myria how I¡¯d offended her, but she stormed off to the other undamaged carriage and slammed the door.


    Why does she hate me?


    Borst came back from the carriage. He read the expression on my face.


    ¡°It¡¯s not personal.¡± His response caught me off guard.


    ¡°Sorry, what?¡± I said. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    He regarded me as though calculating how he could explain it to me in as few words as possible.


    ¡°Myria, well - he paused to glance at the carriage she went in - she¡¯s gotta work ¡®arder to stand above the rest in her house. It¡¯s not you she¡¯s angry with.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s hard to believe that,¡± I said glumly. ¡°She looked angry enough to kill me.¡±


    Borst just shrugged, as if that were simply one of life¡¯s many truths.


    That¡¯s when a blur of red and white stomped into the clearing. Bulging veins and a scarlet face to match his set of armor. With long, black, and disheveled hair he leveled his battleax at me and roared.


    ¡°Alaster!¡±


    I took that back. Now it looked like someone wanted to kill me.


    He stormed towards me. Borst moved slightly ahead of me, between me and the rampaging champion. The man in red continued his tirade, not noticing.


    ¡°I will expose you as the thieving rat you are! How dare you make a mockery of this hunt! You stole your quarry in the way that your pilfering fingers have stolen your lordship. Filthy wretch, were I not a man of the law your entrails would cover the stone as gravy!¡±


    Panic swelled in my chest. When people got this angry, the only thing to do was wait for the storm to pass. Saying anything now would be a bad¡­


    ¡°I vouch for him, Ignis.¡± said Borst. My heart half-smiled and half-winced.


    The man in red¡¯s jaw dropped for a heartbeat. Then his anger redoubled on itself, now turning on Borst.


    ¡°You will address me in the proper manner. To you I am and will always be Lord Ikron. Your head weighs denser than stone to honor this villainy!¡± He turned his narrow eyes back to me.


    ¡°Today you think you have victory. But I dare you to contest me in a setting where trophies cannot be stolen. Enter the tournament of Locturne in one month¡¯s time. Prove to me you are truly worthy of your title.¡±


    I didn¡¯t need to prove anything to Ignis. But then again, wasn¡¯t everyone thinking it? That I had stolen a title from a noble house from under their noses? I mean, isn¡¯t that what I did? People would never be satisfied with the court of kin¡¯s ruling.


    Something stirred within me. Something primal resisted the urge to walk away. That same defiance that gave me the force of will to subjugate the mind of the boar and take on the manticore. I looked Ignis square in the eye.


    ¡°I accept your challenge.¡±

 Chapter 10

    Ignis tilted his head back and leered.


    ¡°I relish the day I bring your fraudulent tales to utter ruin.¡±


    He lowered his axe and walked away. With his back to us he faced the dirt road, muttering to himself. One more powerful noble champion who hated my guts. Perfect.


    The last two champions filed their way to the forest entrance, the guard with large pauldrons flanking them as he eyed the forest beyond. One equipped with a sword and shield wore an olive tabard. He sported no discernable insignia and nursed a severe burn on his leg. The other wore opulent silver armor dressed in purple with the insignia of an amethyst which I learned signified him as a member of House Artisian, the noble house responsible for crafting and trading goods.


    The royal announcer stepped in front of the group, some of his usual braggy composure back to normal. When his eyes fell on the shirtless Borst and half-shirtless me, he scowled.


    ¡°Distasteful,¡± he said, ¡°how dreadfully, distastefully distasteful.¡± He scrunched up his nose as if a manticore had pooped on his boot. I made up my mind right then and there that I was going to get him that thesaurus. He continued.


    ¡°It will not do to have such inappropriate attire in the court of his majesty the venerable King Extravagus the Second. We will send for appropriate garb from your appropriate houses before the ceremony in the court of your venerable liege.¡±


    Wai, what? We¡¯re going to see the king?


    I had more overwhelming drama in 3 days than I had in my whole life prior. I was practically running on adrenaline at that point. Borst however wore a calm expression, as though he expected this.


    Can¡¯t say I wasn¡¯t grateful for the chance to change. I definitely did not want to meet the king in a caveman outfit. I pictured going ¡°OOoh-OOoh Aaa¡± and picking lice out of his majesty¡¯s hair. Surely a swift way to get beheaded. The proud attendant pulled me from my thoughts.


    ¡°It will not do for the champions of the kingdom to ferry you in a farm wagon. New carriages have been sent for, to ferry you in luxury.¡±


    I shot a nervous glance over to the carriage that Osner was taken to. One of the veiled sisters in grey (couldn¡¯t help but think of it as a nun habit) came out of the carriage to tend to the man in the olive tabard¡¯s leg. I whispered to Borst.


    ¡°But wouldn¡¯t a farm wagon get us there faster?¡±


    Borst scowled. ¡°King¡¯s always like this. All about the show with ¡®im.¡±


    I felt..angry. It wouldn¡¯t do Osner any good if he needed emergency treatment in the city, to die waiting for the medieval equivalent of a limousine to show up.


    It took another two hours for the carriages to arrive. The longer it dragged on the angrier I got. Even the mountain calm Borst looked more than a little irritated. They strolled in as if they had all the time in the world.


    I was waved into one of the carriages. They even took the time to set out fresh tea. It really angered me, but at the same time I was thirsty. My throat was like a desert. Having learned my lesson earlier, I pinched off a couple leaves from the tea ball and put it at the bottom of my cup. I poured the piping hot water in from the decanter.


    It had that normal green tea taste but had a surprising sweet note to it. A warm refreshing river carved its way through the dry wilderness of my throat. It was so good I went back for seconds! My anger towards the monarch turned to just slightly irritated. He had sent those healers after all. And the tea was good.


    As the forest moved past, I was surprised that I didn¡¯t miss home more. I hated to admit it, but I only hardly missed Dianna. I knew she was in another world worrying herself sick over me. But being here was thrilling. Terrifying, sure. But magic was incredible with its unique scents and flavors. And because of my amazing transformation, I felt like I could finally start rising to the challenges being thrown at me.


    I also knew I may have bitten off more than I could chew with this upcoming tournament,  and I had a whole laundry list of things I needed to find out about this world. About the connection between me and House Alaster. About this power inside of me.


    I doubted Kalculus would be much help with that. I had a sneaking suspicion that even with my victory I¡¯d still be a rock in his shoe. He had made it perfectly clear where he thought I should be.


    The seamless stone wall and gaudy gold tower of Vivenheim pulled into view from my carriage, and I could see the beginnings of twilight cast from the interlocking rings of the sun. Within minutes we were through the massive wooden gate.


    The market terrace was lively as ever. To my delight I noticed my favorite, most colorful performer. Harlequin had two feathers in his cap now, the fragile gold feather joined now by a small green one. It reminded me of the small shoot from when I planted a bean for a project in third grade, lively and determined but in need of tender care.


    He played robustly with quick, dramatic strums, almost sounding like the roar of a manticore.His fingers blurred with each strike. He sang in a deep, defiant tone.


    When the thief cuts the farmhand¡¯s meager purse,


    When the newborn is denied its right to nurse,


    Justice! The cry from the poor and the babe!


    When kings rest on beds of luxury cloth,


    While the poor cannot spare copper for broth


    Justice! Cries the poor and the slave!


    The rest of his song drowned out by the din of the crowd.


    We rolled up to a beautiful gigantic gate made of iron and set into a section of borderless stone wall. The door looked to be a solid 3 feet thick, all iron. It had elephant spikes on the door similar to pictures I¡¯d seen of the doors on the island of Zanzibar on Earth.


    Four guards in golden armor stood warily at the gate with the insignia of gold shield and silver sword on their white tabards. They all sported wickedly sharp polearms. Resting arrows could be seen through the turret holes in the wall, and something that suspiciously looked like a large cauldron was 20 feet over our heads. I had a feeling the palace was just as well defended as the wall outside. I never wanted to be at the wrong end of that cauldron of boiling wrath.


    The gates opened to let us inside. The view was incredible. The castle was centered in a circle the diameter of several football fields. A grand garden surrounded it like a moat, with hundreds of fruit-producing trees in greens, blues, and oranges. The inner circles of the garden looked like herb bushes, and I could smell mint, a sharp bitter spice, and several sweet notes I didn¡¯t recognize. A branch of the Mantrapper was captured to irrigate the space with long branching pathways that didn¡¯t cross the smooth slate walkways.


    The castle was seamless white marble. The ginormous gold tower loomed overhead in its sea of dazzling stained glass colors. I thought there was no way I could escape if it started to fall.


    We rolled along the path towards the side of the castle. Twin silver doors set in gold filigree were there to greet us.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    Attendants poured from the doors wielding bags and suits and tools. One of them with a rapidly bobbing bun rapped quickly on my carriage door. He donned a silver tabard and carried two buckets and a bag.


    ¡°Lord Alaster, I am to attend your suit and powder.¡±


    ¡°Uh, come in?¡±


    Wait, powder?


    The man wasted no time. Within seconds the carriage doors were closed, the blinds were pulled shut, and before I could process what was happening  I was being rapidly stripped of my caveman toga. He took to washing and dressing me like he was a soldier on the front lines.


    He kicked open a drain on the floor that I never realized was there, then valiantly scrubbed me with a soapy sponge. I took a deep breath before he dumped a warm bucket of clean water on my head.


    This was my first wash since coming to this world, and though it was super quick it felt awesome. I wondered humorously how they were going to manage cleaning Borst, since he had to bend over to get in the carriage. I decided it would be polite not to ask.


    Then out came the towel, and every bead of loose moisture was beat ferociously from my skin. Hurt a couple times.


    Then a new blue tunic and trousers was whisked on me, my collar adjusted.


    Then came the powder. It was bumped all over my face. My eyes started to water. I coughed as some of it ended up in my lungs.He held up a hand mirror and I was expecting to be powdered in white but it was in my chestnut skin tone, it just brought out the shine a bit. I was impressed with the results.


    Before I had time to properly thank him he, his stuff, and my putrid rag of a toga was gone. I stepped outside the carriage to take in a fresh breath. For some reason it seemed I could smell every subtle floral hint of the garden all around the palace. I breathed deeply and sighed. It was beautiful.


    I could hear Myria protesting from the carriage next to me.


    ¡°Unnecessary! I¡¯m really quite fine, thank you!¡± She sneezed uncontrollably with ¡°Eck-Ka-choo!¡±s and ¡°Hiagh-CHiet!¡±s, in a high pitched whine like a mouse. As she emerged from her carriage looking frazzled I chuckled uncontrollably. She glared at me and looked away, a bit of red touching her cheeks. Very cute.


    Borst emerged from his wagon with a well-oiled beard and a fresh orange tunic, while Ignis looked the height of pomp and circumstance in his polished red armor.


    The broken record player announcer stood on his tiptoes to mirror his self-perceived superiority and did his usual spiel.


    ¡°Welcome to the fine palace of his Majesty, Extravagant the Second, by royal edict and fine pronouncement of the fine hunt this day. Do enter his castle with the finest of manners.¡±


    I should fine you a ticket, I thought miserably.


    The large silver doors swung open to reveal an opulent walkway. Every forty feet a golden chandelier held a full row of crystal candles with bright flames dancing within the crystal. A burgundy carpet stretched all the way to the main hall at the end of its length. On gold-embroidered frames the portraits of who I assumed were previous monarchs lined the walls. Dark wooden tables with blue and purple table cloths held decanters surrounded by stools.


    My jaw dropped through the floor when we got to the main room. Large tables decorated with the crests of the noble houses encircled the room. The most glaring feature was in the middle. It was an unbelievably accurate scale model of Vivenheim, complete with terraces and even the more prominent shops and buildings. It was entirely coated with gold. Even to the steps of the arena and the dais of the court. I whistled despite myself. Borst nodded approvingly.


    The noble houses were arrayed in lace gowns and shining doublets in their respective house¡¯s colors. I must admit I looked the part myself with the cobalt blue and white trim of a lord like Kalculus wore. I doubted it would ever feel natural.


    The king sat in a guess-what-color throne towards the rear of the main room. He could give Santa Claus a run for his money in terms of size, with a short grey beard and jolly eyes. Just slightly below and seated around him were the heads of the noble houses. Kalculus sat on the king¡¯s left, eyeing his half finished plate with furrowed brows as though he was counting how much each ounce of fish was costing the kingdom. To the king¡¯s right sat a smiling bald man in burgundy robes with the eye and scepter. He said something which ended in the king¡¯s bellowing laughter.


    Borst walked to sit with his house at the table with the orange tablecloth in white trim with the emblem of axe and hammer, the markings of House Mason. I learned they maintained the infrastructure in the country state of Vivien. Many large and strong men sat with beards of varying sizes and colors. The women at the table were broad shouldered and beautiful, most displaying long,simple braids. They all looked tanned like they spent quite a bit of time out in the sun. They were a rowdy bunch, clapping backs and roaring laughter in each other¡¯s faces. Borst¡¯s calm and precise demeanor seemed comically out of place.


    Myria walked over and sat down at the burgundy table, not looking any of her kin in the eye. This sort looked almost the opposite of Borst¡¯s house. Instead of a sunny tan their complexions were paler, some almost ghostly. I assumed they spent a lot of time indoors, probably for arcane study.


    I sat where the blue banner in white trim was, the sign of House Alaster. I was surprised to find no one else at the table. I remembered how empty the dining room looked back at the manor.


    I forgot that quickly when the plates came out. A rack of sweet glazed meat a little softer than pork was sprinkled with nuts. An egg bowl filled with steaming mushrooms and vegetables came out next, and was served with a punchy tart fruit wine. Everything was delightful and perfect, and quickly satisfied my groaning appetite.


    Then the announcer puffed out his chest and blasted the bugle, which sounded a hundred times too loud indoors.


    ¡°Honor to His illustrious Majesty, the illustrious King of Vivenheim, the protector of the illustrious country state of Vivien! Now to display today¡¯s hunt for our esteemed guests.¡±


    A thick mist from out of nowhere choked the ceiling. I watched in amazement. The rolling billows stretched out as though they were a canvas, thickening to a mostly opaque grey.


    Images flashed on the mist with dancing lightning. It wasn¡¯t 4K resolution and it was constantly flickering but I could see everything well enough, and could even see the curling wisps of the mist behind the images. I was awestruck. I mean, wasn¡¯t a tv kind of like this though? For some reason it felt different. More organic, ancient. I guess I could call it mist-ifying. Or maybe not.


    A much smaller manticore without a mane (I¡¯m guessing this was a she, since that would follow logically with lions) ran away from Ignis on the screen. I could see him visibly grinding his teeth at his table.


    So that¡¯s why he¡¯s mad at me. He can¡¯t believe I scored an alpha and his lesser manticore ran away. Although, if someone told me even a week ago I would take down a mythical fire-lion I would have laughed in their face.


    It changed to a scene of Myria standing over another she-manticore. Her quarry was sliced and diced in a hundred cuts. It didn¡¯t show how she was able to do that, but I knew I didn¡¯t want to stay on her bad side.


    I turned to look at her. She stared at the man in burgundy robes at the king¡¯s right hand. I would later learn he was the Archmagus, the most powerful magic user in House Opal, the house Myria was from. She had a sad longing in her eyes. The archmagus did not even meet her gaze.


    The billowing scene changed. It was my fight with the alpha manticore. I felt a growing dread about being exposed. It was also breathtaking to see it in color.


    When my mind invaded the consciousness of the boar, I only saw through impressions, feeling through the earth where the trees and monster were. Now the flame of the manticore blazed in white and gold torrents. A tsunami of sand hid me as I spun around the beast. Then in the sharp finale the sandstorm surged up and the manticore slumped over. Thankfully the picture ended with my shirtless top half emerging from the sand cloud.


    Kalculus¡¯ hands clutched his armrests.Was he surprised, or even afraid of me? The Archmagus was grinning madly with his eyes glued to the pictures, then he looked at me and gave me a nod. I noticed out of the corner of my eye Myria slumped in her seat. She looked away. I remembered what Borst said about her having to work harder than anyone else, and I think I understood then why she was so angry. She was trying to gain recognition from the Archmagus. Father? Uncle? Grandfather? I¡¯d taken that from her. Now she looked deflated. I remember feeling sad.


    ¡°And now to award our courageous champions. You will be awarded in proportion to your catch.¡±


    ¡°To the young lord Alaster, please step forward. ¡°


    The announcer handed me a velvet bag the size of a grapefruit. A loud jangle sounded as he put it in my hands. I resisted the urge to count the coin right then and there and put the bag in one of my pockets, which bulged awkwardly. He then struggled to hoist something in a fine silk cloth into my hands. I pulled the cloth back and I felt my whole body tense. It was the stuffed head of the alpha manticore on a plaque. Its face was contorted into a snarl. They even restored the ruby radiance of the eyes. I was amazed they were able to do it so quickly. It had to be magic.


    A sudden impulse caught me. Was there a way I could somehow use this to my advantage? Was what I was about to do even considered proper?


    I walked over to Kalculus. He still had a white knuckle grip on his armrests.


    I knelt before him. Kalculus paled. He spoke frantically.


    ¡°No, stand up. A young lord need not bow.¡±


    He took the plaque I offered him with trembling hands. His expression was distant, dark, and unreadable, his gaze on the manticore head as turbulent as the Mantrapper.


    After a while of standing in awkward silence, feeling every eye on me, I walked back to the blue table alone. I didn¡¯t even get a ¡°thank you¡±. What did I expect?

 Chapter 11

    That night I woke to my upgraded bedroom door creaking open. Not wanting to move, I listened. Padded footsteps approached my head. It wasn¡¯t Roquette. She would have knocked. Was Kalculus trying to smother me in my sleep?


    If I don¡¯t act now it¡¯ll be too late.


    I leapt from the bed and threw my covers over whoever was standing there. The action didn¡¯t give me as much time as I would have liked.  The black-hooded intruder quickly tossed them aside. My eyes were drawn to a wicked object in his hand: something that looked like three obsidian arrowheads whose points were fused together.


    My heart hammered in my chest. Whoever this was was trying to kill me. Who? Why?


    I shoved my suspicions down and bounced my eyes across the room, trying to find anything I could use to escape. There. The second story window. But the intruder was standing in front of it.


    What can I do?


    In a desperate move I threw a pillow at the intruder¡¯s head. He slashed out with the terrifying weapon and bird feathers exploded out in a funnel around our heads. I jumped around him, and braced myself as I jumped through the window. Shattered glass rained down around me.


    I hit the ground hard, with sharp glass stabbing into my elbows. I cried out. Small rivers of blood trickled down my forearms.


    He vaulted through the window and expertly landed next to me. He trained that wicked tripoint towards my face.


    My mind froze. My body refused to move. Terror held my body rigid, as though presenting an offering to the assassin.


    Change, change! I thought to myself. I needed the boar¡¯s power to run away, to fight back.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    Change! The triple pointed blade raised to an inch over my eye.


    In a moment of desperation I squealed. Like, literally squealed, trying to imitate the sound of the boar.


    Something clicked, and I felt myself change. I experienced the welcome taste of strawberry lemonade. My snout elongated with pointy tusks. The assassin jumped back to avoid them.


    That¡¯s right, just try and kill me now!


    Six powerful hooves stomped from my hands and feet. The earth rushed to embrace me as its master.


    Yes! Yes! I mentally screamed victory.


    But then the earth froze.  So did my body. Even the muscles tightened in my throat so I couldn¡¯t scream. That¡¯s when a dark understanding pierced my mind. This fear wasn¡¯t natural,  it wasn¡¯t a fear I was producing. It was being imposed on me.


    I couldn¡¯t breathe. I lost control of my limbs. I started to panic as my throat swelled and I started to lose consciousness. I heard my captor chuckle mirthlessly. His steps towards me were an ominous countdown of the few seconds I had left to live.


    That¡¯s when a powerful gust of wind knocked the intruder over and broke his spell on me. I heaved wheezes from my powerful lungs, struggling to stand.


    I looked up and saw a beautiful creature half the height of the mansion, with a wingspan twice that. The plumage was beautiful and silver. Powerful fur-coated legs ended with talons the size of swords. A chilly shriek ripped through the night sky from a large, hooked beak. It beat its powerful wings, pinning the assassin with an unstoppable gale to a pillar. The weapon flung loose from his hands.


    The two-legged gryphon whirled out a terrifying localized tornado and slung the intruder through the air. I heard his anguished cry vault over the city wall. Poetic justice was served as the man who trapped me with fear was thrown headlong into the Mantrapper. With a sploosh.


    I saw the gryphon land, and I couldn¡¯t look away as its predatory eyes fixed on me. In a second miracle, it transformed. Its powerful talons retracted into the light flesh of toes. It¡¯s sharp clamp of a beak receded into a human nose. Its eyes kept their color but sunk back into his skull.


    Well that throws that theory out the window.


    I drew a sharp breath as the person who stood before me was none other than Lord Kalculus of House Alaster, resplendent in grey pajama robes.