ã€ŠCooking my way to the top (Isekai/Progression fantasy)ã€‹


 Prologue - My Failed Careers

    What good was having a culinary arts degree if you hated cooking? That thought ran through Sam¡¯s mind as he set out another quick dish consisting of discount beef, premixed chili spice packets, a can of crushed tomatoes, and a can of kidney beans. He scooped up a ladle full of the brownish red mixture and transferred it into a bowl.

    No one showed up for game night the third week in a row, leaving him in his apartment alone with enough chili for five people. Did his games really suck that much? He couldn¡¯t afford to buy full premade campaigns for Runeblade so he had to think of his own original stories and monsters.

    It was a lot more work being original than he imagined. Every week the party he met would point out how much his monster or villain was like one from a movie or game they saw recently. His maps were auto generated on a website he found because he had no idea how to draw maps, much less how rivers and mountains worked. Every week he would be tired from planning out the sessions, making up new NPCs and towns, thinking of ways to waste time if they beat the creatures or evil warriors too quickly.

    Apparently it just wasn¡¯t that good, or else half the group wouldn¡¯t have called it off, and no one wants to just play with two or three people for a session, so they all decided to cancel. Now he sat in his living room, spooning chili and crackers into his mouth. It was perhaps the most bland, uninspired thing he tasted. Well that wasn¡¯t true, in college he once made a chicken curry that his chef instructor called ¡°a pathetic excuse for food, even a dog would send this back to the kitchen¡±. That one really did sting.

    He reached over for his laptop and browsed through an endless slew of streaming sites. Deciding what to watch became his standard of existence until he had to go into work. Just the thought of going back in made him feel sick.

    Being a line cook was a soul sucking experience. His degree pretty much meant nothing to most restaurants if he had no time in a professional kitchen and he neglected doing a stagiaire. Now he was in need of money with no work time in the kitchen. Basically no fine dining establishment would take him so he found work in a chain restaurant. That meant his other cooks might be fine, but the wait staff, management, customers, cashiers, and everything else that didn¡¯t hold a pan or cooking utensil in that building blamed him and the cooks for everything.

    He wanted to quit, but he had only been working in this restaurant for five months, most places wouldn¡¯t see that as a good amount of time. Sam told himself he¡¯d stick it out at least a year then try going to a better kitchen. That was seven years and ten restaurants ago.

    Even with his luck at finding a good restaurant looking worse every year he thought he at least still liked to cook, to make good food. But the last few months made him regret ever picking up a spatula. Every order sent back, every complaint about butter and salt, all of it made him hate cooking a little more.

    So he tried to tell good stories in his games. But apparently both of his hobbies were not to be his career. Cooking and storytelling, why were both so hard?

    Sam ate another spoonful of bland chili as he turned on a movie. It was funny enough, was it worth 14 dollars a month to watch mediocre comedies online? Probably not, but he didn¡¯t have anything else to do.

    About halfway through the movie his smartphone rang with a few short beeps. Some notifications? He did have the news app and a couple others for coupons and stuff to save a few dollars here and there. He picked up the phone, unlocked the screen and read through his recent notifications. Nothing about the news, new games, no flash sales or deals on food.

    Instead what he read was a text thread for his tabletop group. One of his players had found a new table to play at, apparently his boyfriend¡¯s brother was starting his own game and wanted players. Soon more of his players said they would try it out. Only a few texts in they realized they sent it to the wrong thread and another player told him to switch chats.

    So that''s the way it is? He groaned and set the phone down. Most likely they¡¯d all play at that table from now on. So he was alone, again.

    He didn¡¯t know how long he sat there on the couch, the movie ended a while ago and was stuck on a preview for some crappy looking show. The chili in his bowl was cold and congealed into a half-solid sludge. He should¡¯ve gotten ground beef with less fat, or added more water, or not have been such a failure in life. The last option was a bit harder to do.

    Sam reached his arm up and shut the laptop, setting it aside on a little table in the center of his living room. He stood and stretched, then reached down for a pack of cigarettes and his lighter. Nothing could make him feel better in that moment, but life didn¡¯t wait for him. He still had to wake up and go to work tomorrow regardless of how shit his weekend had been.

    He dragged his feet back over to the kitchen table and was going to start putting away the food and maps. Then he stopped. Someone was sitting at his table, eating his food and looking over his notes.

    Panic brewed in his chest. Who the fuck is this? How¡¯d they get in, did I leave the door unlocked? His thoughts raced through his mind, he froze there in place trying to think of what to say? If the person was violent or had a gun he could die trying to just speak up to them.

    Before he could speak the intruder let out a laugh. ¡°Ahhh I¡¯ve never seen a story like this.¡± They turned and Sam could finally see them in the light. From what he could tell they were a guy, kind of pretty for a guy, but there was definitely a bit of beard hair on the soft looking face. Their voice was too-deep for the gentle green eyes and unblemished face with shiny lips covered in gloss that stood there smiling at him. It was like looking at a doll that had, for some reason, a thin white beard painted on.

    ¡°Wh¡­ who¡­ who are you? I don¡¯t have money to take. And I ain¡¯t afraid to fuck you up!¡± He said the last part quickly in a cracking voice as he dropped his bowl and cigarettes on the table and put his hands up in fists. It was true though, despite him having a large gut and legs he knew how to fight. More than once in school he got into a scrap with someone that thought just because he was fat he didn¡¯t know how to fight.

    The pretty looking man chuckled at him and waved his hands in the air. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m not here to rob you. I just noticed a story unfolding and wanted to see that it got started properly.¡±

    ¡°The fuck are you talking about?¡± What story did he mean? His Runeblade campaign? He didn¡¯t recognize the man, his face looked¡­ wrong. The eyes were a bit too big, the hair too stiff when he moved like it was a wig with too much product in it. Then he noticed the guy was wearing¡­ something. It was ridiculous to say the least. He had on a bright purple suit jacket, a ruffled white shirt, a gold ascot tied at the side of his neck, a long skirt, sandals, and on top of his head was a top hat like the kind on a cheap magicians wardrobe but stripped with gold, black, and purple lines with white hair beneath it. Was he a bum that raided a cheap costume store?

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    ¡°Ah, I should explain. I¡¯m a storyteller, and I noticed a diverging path in yours. Normally I don¡¯t interrupt, a story should flow organically without need of outside interference. Don¡¯t you just hate an unwarranted Deus Ex Machina?¡± He swept his hands in wide arcs as he spoke. Definitely crazy.

    Sam was in his apartment, talking to a crazy person. Honestly he would throw the guy out if he wasn¡¯t already feeling down about his supposed friends bailing on him. ¡°You still haven¡¯t said who you are.¡± He had his hands up still, whoever this was he wasn¡¯t going to put his guard down.

    ¡°Good point, call me Bard for now.¡±

    Bard? Like the class? ¡°Okay then, Bard. You gonna get out or do I have to drag you out?¡±

    Bard tilted his head and flashed a smile at Sam. ¡°I¡¯ll go soon, but I had to make sure your story proceeds. It would¡¯ve been a shame for one with your potential to die before the journey even began.¡±

    Die? Yeah fuck this guy I¡¯m not listening anymore. ¡°Okay Bard get the fuck out of my place before I call the cops.¡± Sam threw out one hand and pointed to the door. ¡°I mean it dude, now!¡±

    ¡°Oh no worries, they''ll be here soon. The fire department too.¡± Bard sweeped a hand off to the side like he was presenting a prize. Sam followed his hand towards the kitchen and saw what he was showing off.

    The stove was still on, the burner was just spewing out gas now. ¡°Hey man, what are you doing!? I turned that off, I''m sure of it.¡±

    ¡°You did, but what the fire department will see if that you lit a cigarette with a room full of gas. Anxious about the next day you just needed something to calm you down before bed, then. BOOM!¡± Bard spoke like a deep voiced child, it was unsettling to say the least. ¡°But¡­ before you freak out. I¡¯m not here to murder you.¡± He smiled at Sam now. He actually smiled after saying those crazy things?

    ¡°Then, what are you doing?¡± Sam asked, not even sure what he was doing still talking to this utterly strange person.

    Bard stood up straight and walked over to him, standing barely a foot away from him. ¡°Open your hand, Sam.¡±

    It took a moment for him to realize he still had his hands in fists. He slowly lowered them and uncurled his fingers. His left hand was empty but in his right sat his lighter. A plain plastic tube. ¡°My light?¡±

    ¡°No, the key to a new life.¡± Bard reached over and took the lighter, pinching it between his index finger and thumb and held it up in Sam¡¯s face. ¡°You have a choice to make. You can go to bed, wake up, go back to work and hate life. Or¡­ light it up, and come with me.¡±

    Sam stood there, frozen. It was insane. This guy just appeared in his apartment and told him to kill himself. ¡°You¡¯re nuts.¡±

    ¡°No, I¡¯m Bard.¡± He snickered at that stupid line. ¡°I¡¯m also giving you the chance to tell an amazing story. And maybe make a meal you don¡¯t want to throw in the trash.¡± He wagged the lighter in his face again.

    It was crazy, wasn¡¯t it? This guy was just some psycho and he needed to get him out. ¡°Nah, I¡¯m not listening to you. Let¡¯s go.¡± He reached over and tried to push Bard away from the kitchen and towards the front odor. His hand missed. At least, there was nothing for him to push. As his hand came closer the body just vanished. He didn¡¯t blink, Bard didn¡¯t dodge or move. He just disappeared.

    ¡°Tsk tsk tsk.¡± Sam heard the voice coming from behind him now. ¡°That was rude Sam.¡±

    He looked over and saw Bard standing by the stove, holding the lighter with his thumb on the flint. Sam¡¯s throat locked his air in, he felt like he was choking, his heart sank and he felt despair fill every bit of him. ¡°What¡­ what are you doing?¡±

    ¡°Just getting the story started.¡± Bard stuck the flint. Heat. A loud roar. Sam screamed as he felt the fire.

    Then he opened his eyes. He saw the flames from his stove frozen like a screenshot in front of him. The world was frozen, small bits of shatter plates hung in the air, cups were falling, his pathetic chili was half turned over and spilling into the air. Sam stood there, looking around. He could move around, that was a good sign. Wasn¡¯t it?

    ¡°Sorry for the scare, I don¡¯t get to have as much fun as I used to.¡± Bard emerged from the flames, passing through them like a mist. He stood before Sam again and smiled.

    ¡°What¡­ what¡­ how?¡±

    ¡°I could explain it. But then that would be a spoiler. Now, you still have to choose Sam. Go with me and have a better life, or die?¡±

    ¡°You suck.¡±

    ¡°Only if you make me laugh.¡±

    ¡°What!?¡± Sam stared at the man.

    ¡°You heard me.¡± Bard snickered and shook his head. ¡°But in all seriousness you will die if you reject my offer. I wanted to be more diplomatic but you just weren¡¯t cooperating.¡±

    He felt oddly calm, staring at¡­ whatever Bard was. In this frozen time he weighed his options, just die or go on whatever fucked up game Bard was playing. ¡°What about my life here? I have a date next weekend.¡±

    ¡°Not worth it, Chelsie is cheating on her boyfriend with you just to piss him off¡±

    ¡°What!?¡±

    ¡°You should stop asking vague questions and make a decision already. Despite the display I can¡¯t actually keep this up forever.¡± He said as he tilted his head and motioned to the fire.

    Sam took in a long breath and looked at the fire, then back to Bard. ¡°What¡¯s gonna happen to me?¡±

    Bard smiled and looked up for a moment. He hummed a strange tune and then put a finger up to his mouth. ¡°I suppose, the best or worst things imaginable.¡±

    Sam nodded once and looked around his apartment. It was no home, just a box big enough to fit his failures inside of. A whole life wasted, twenty-nine years of half-assed effort and wasting time. Now there was someone offering him a chance to go and do something. He had no idea what it was, or if he¡¯d regret it. But it was better than whatever the hell he was doing now. ¡°Alright. I¡¯ll do it.¡±

    The man called Bard smiled and nodded. ¡°Glad you accepted. This would¡¯ve been a huge waste if you decided to just die.¡±

    ¡°So¡­ what now?¡±

    ¡°Now, you come with me. You might want to brace yourself, the trip back is a bit disorienting for first timers.¡± Bard snapped his fingers and his green eyes turned an inky black. The white of his eyes turned black as well, dark tears spilled out freely, from his mouth more ink came out and filled the floor at his feet.

    ¡°WHAT THE SHIT IS GOI-¡± the ink flowed onto him and consumed him. More came pouring out of Bard¡¯s eyes to encase him. He felt like he was drowning. Even the light and heat of the flames disappeared as the ink overtook him and dragged him into nothingness. He lost his footing at some point and was falling now. There was no way to tell how long he fell in his ink prison. There was only darkness.

 Chapter 1 - Welcome To Noutir

    Sam continued to fall. He was stuck in that prison of darkness that coated every inch of his body. It honestly felt like forever since he was back in the apartment, staring at an explosion, he hadn¡¯t even heard from Bard.

    At some point he stopped panicking, stopped thinking, and just fell asleep. Only to wake up and flail about then remember where he was. Of course he didn¡¯t actually know where he was. All he knew was that he was on his way to a new world, or that was all a lie and he¡¯s just dead.

    He hoped it was the first case.

    Another long stretch of time went by. At least it felt like it. You never really had an accurate accounting of time when there was nothing going on, and Sam was stuck in darkness for what seemed a very long time. He didn¡¯t know how long it slept, how long he fell, all he knew was that if there was a hell this was the most boring iteration of it he could imagine.

    Sam started to regret agreeing to Bard¡¯s offer after a while.I¡¯m an idiot. Why the fuck did I agree to this? Some whack job breaks into my place, blows it up, and I say yeah sure I¡¯ll do what you say. Normal people didn¡¯t agree to things like that, then again normal people were not like him. A washed out cook with no future.

    ¡°Awww come on don¡¯t get so depressing.¡± Bard¡¯s voice came from¡­ everywhere. Sam tried to look around to find that flamboyant prick but of course saw nothing but darkness. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, you¡¯ll have lots of fun. Oh right you can¡¯t see. Let me fix that.¡±

    The sound of rushing water filled his ears, it reminded him of when he was at a beach and a large wave crashed into him while he wasn¡¯t looking. Inky goops flowed all over him, the squirming gel-like substance made his skin crawl with it. He wanted to vomit it felt uncomfortable and wrong. He always hated squishy textures like overripe tomatoes or jello. Now he was encased in it and felt it move all around him.

    Finally, the ink goop flowed off him. Being in darkness for so long made his eyes weak to the sudden sun burst that bombarded his vision. Suddenly instead of pure darkness and a blacked out vision he swam in a field of white. He groaned and rolled over, the feeling reminded him of the pounding headache that came with a hangover.

    An obnoxious laugh rang overhead as he writhed on the ground ¡°come on stop playing around, we¡¯ve got work to do.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t fucking see!¡±

    ¡°Oh right. So uhhh, how long until you can?¡±

    Sam wanted to punch Bard in his stupid doll face. ¡°I don¡¯t know, you left me in that crap for¡­ how long?¡±

    ¡°About¡­ a lifetime.¡±

    ¡°Can you not be a cryptic asshole and just be straight with me?¡±

    ¡°Not really¡± another round of laughs came from his bassy voice. ¡°Well, I suppose we need to kill time then.¡± Sam could hear someone moving around and then settling down beside him. He started to get some feeling back in his fingers and could tell they were on grass.

    While he was blind he could feel a breeze run across his cheek. He couldn¡¯t quite recall the last time he was outdoors like this. There was the hike he took in highschool. His class went on a trip into a national park. One of the guides showed them how to look for wild plants that were edible and some that were even tasty. That was¡­ ten years ago. He remembered it like it happened not long ago, damn, he really was getting old then.

    Ever since he graduated it felt like his life just flew by, nothing really amazing happening. He went to culinary school, got into massive debt, and worked in shitholes all his adult life. Keeping friendships going became a bit of a chore and he ended up losing contact with a lot of people over the years. His health had never been great but he certainly let himself go, gaining a lot more weight after school and from learning how to cook. Butter and salt did a lot to make anything taste delicious, and put on pounds.

    ¡°I really wasted my life didn¡¯t I?¡±

    ¡°Hmm?¡± Bard hummed over to him and stayed quiet for a while. ¡°Well, your story was going towards a dead end if you kept at it. You were going to get into a fight in a couple weeks and would¡¯ve broken a few bones.¡±

    ¡°Wait, are you serious?¡± He was going to end up in a fight? But he could fend for himself ¡°how bad?¡±

    Bard snickered a bit ¡°that girl, Chelsie the waitress, her boyfriend was going to find out about her going out with you. After getting piss drunk he was going to take a bat to your hands.¡±

    Shit. I might have thrown in the towel after that. He sighed and threw his head back, taking in a long breath. So his life was going downhill no matter what. ¡°I guess this was the best option¡­ Wait. How do you know all that was going to happen?¡± He turned his head towards where he heard Bard¡¯s voice coming from.

    ¡°That. Is a secret. Oh don¡¯t make such a sour face. Maybe one day I¡¯ll tell you, but that will have to wait. Just know that I saw a story going down a path that would¡¯ve made for a really boring end, and I had to put it back on the right path.¡± Bard was smiling. He couldn¡¯t see it but he was willing to bet that the smug bastard was grinning from ear to ear at himself over some accomplishment Sam couldn¡¯t even understand. Oh well, one day he would get answers from the man.

    ¡°So, what now? I think I can see a bit.¡± He blinked his eyes over and over, slowly he started to see shapes. Trees, some rocks, to his side he looked over and saw the shape of Bard sitting down, leaning back in a half-sitting half-lying down position with his hands supporting him. Everything was still blurry and hard to make out, but at least he could see he was in the middle of what looked like a field with some trees a bit away.

    ¡°Well, there¡¯s a farm just a short walk over the hill. But we should let your vision come back completely before trying to move. I had to fiddle around your brain a lot for this to work.¡±

    Sam turned over and stared at Bard. ¡°You did what to me?¡± Did this thing just admit to messing with his brain?

    ¡°Well, if I didn¡¯t you¡¯d have to learn the language of the land here, and English doesn¡¯t actually exist here.¡± Bard said in perfect English. Everything coming out of his mouth made less and less sense.

    ¡°Then how are we talking?¡±

    ¡°Fletvana bohr tumangar, iratner?¡± Bard spoke in that deep voice, in a language unlike anything Sam heard before. He could only stare blankly at the man. After a moment he coughed twice and cleared his throat. ¡°That¡¯s why I had to rework your brain. But I¡¯m only making you understand the local language.¡± That implied there was more than one spoken language in this world. At least it seemed realistic. Now he guessed the reason his head was hurting was whatever that man did to his mind, hopefully it didn¡¯t make him sick.

    ¡°So, I¡¯m in another world. What¡¯s it called?¡± He might as well learn as much as possible from Bard.

    The man beside him stayed quiet for a while. He could hear him shift around, when he looked over Bard had readjusted himself to sit cross legged and facing Sam. ¡°Once upon a time there were two ladies, twins¡­¡±

    ¡°The fuck are you talking about?¡± Sam spat out as the other man started with a very cliche opening. Was he telling a story? Why?

    ¡°Hush, just listen.¡± Bard cleared his throat and began again. ¡°Once upon a time there were two ladies, twins. The elder was a timid thing, always looking over her shoulder, wondering if something was waiting to strike at her. She stayed indoors at all times, and when she did leave the comfortable familiarity of her home she spent every waking moment crushed by anxiety and doubt.¡± At that moment Bard took out what looked like a flask and drank from it. With a long sigh he continued his story.

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    ¡°One day, the elder sister was walking through the world, desperately seeking some way to find courage and happiness. She met someone that took her in. It was difficult at first, loving another being. Especially for one so awkward like her. But the Elder sister continued to work hard at learning to live with others.¡±

    ¡°What about the younger sister?¡± Sam realized that Bard hadn¡¯t gone into detail about the other sister yet.

    ¡°I¡¯m getting there. Ahem. Now then, unlike her sister, the younger was a sprite on the wind. She flitted from place to place, seeing magnificent sights and meeting new people everyday. She was the picture of a social butterfly. So much so that it made her uncomfortable to stay in one place for too long. Like her sister she also left home to find a place to belong, but whereas the Elder was afraid of rejection, the Younger was afraid of boredom and compliance.¡±

    ¡°Like her sister, the younger found companions, friends, and love while she journeyed across the world. She spent endless years finding new places, eating new things, meeting new people. Over the years she became known as Passion.¡±

    ¡°Her sister, however, stayed in her home. Rarely did she ever step from that new place with a selfish partner. The Elder grew to resent her decision to go out into the world, giving in to her fears seemed much more reasonable for her. Years of regret and shame, hate and sorrow, envy and so much more built in her and she let it all spill out of her. Her own fear turned into power and from then on she was known as Fear.¡±

    Sam watched as he told the story, drinking every once in a while. ¡°Passion and Fear? Weird names.¡±

    ¡°I said that once as well.¡± Bard chuckled and looked up at the sky. ¡°The younger sister found out one day that her timid and shy sister had become something she no longer recognized. She was a creature of malice and darkness, spreading her influence over the world and forcing innocents to twist and deform into servants. Mighty beasts roamed the land and slaughtered the gentle people that Passion had traveled and worked with.¡±

    ¡°The sister, Passion, could not ignore the destruction and despair wrought by her sister and sought to put an end to it. They met over the waters of the Alimsra sea. Passion pleaded for her sister to stop, Fear declared war eternal upon Passion and all those that sided with her. The world shook and was brought to the brink of obliteration because of the power of the twins colliding. Passion combated her sister with joy, love, and all that is good in humanity. Their battles broke the world, broke reality itself until it was a shambling assortment of patches of safety.¡±

    Sam shook his head. It was ridiculous, what the hell did he mean by reality breaking and there only being patches of it? ¡°This sounds stupid. What¡¯s the point of this story, Bard?¡±

    Bard took another drink, then reached over and tapped him on the head with the metal bottom of the flask. ¡°Patience. I¡¯m getting to it, good stories shouldn¡¯t be rushed. Now. With Passion seeing how terrible life had become for the people and animals of her home she entered battle with her sister one last time. She threw everything she had against the unrelenting miasma of fear and darkness that her sister unleashed.¡± Sam blinked, he could see it all. The sky twisted, stars realigned into shapes. A canvas of Indigo, bright violet, scarlet, amber, gold, and every color imaginable swirled above him. He saw a figure of a golden woman in a dress made of sunbursts and the light of dawn colliding against another woman made of onyx wearing a cloak of shadow and stars. The two slammed into one another, pushing back and forth in a struggle.

    ¡°The sisters put everything they had into the battle. The sky tore open, the ground shook itself into sand, the oceans boiled away into nothing and cooked the forests with their steam.¡± Sam saw it all unfold on the changing canvas above him. The sky seemed to fit with Bard¡¯s story, to morph itself to match his words.

    ¡°Then, everything stopped.¡± Bard snapped his fingers and the canvas in the sky dispersed. Clouds of various colors formed and floated against the blank background. ¡°Passion filled the void. She defeated Fear and used her power to stitch the world back together. Though, there were complications.¡± The sky filled with an assortment of small shapes that flew together and formed into a new world. ¡°She used her passion for life to bring forth a new type of world, one where passion and effort become reality. It was named ¡®Noutir¡¯.¡±

    As Bard spoke the broken lights in the sky coalesced and formed into a circle, with two lights, one a bright yellow the other a white light, rotating around the new world. Sam watched as the world grew on the image. Mountains sprang up, lands formed out of the seas, forests bloomed, and life began on that once dead land.

    Soon the light show ended, the images in the sky faded away to reveal a brilliant shining night sky. Sam stared up at the thousands of small lights in the sky, looking at the moon - a bit larger than the one he was used to - hanging in the sky and slowly crossing the field of stars. Swaths of deep violet, red, and even a spot of orange painted the backdrop. It looked like images of Nebulas he saw in planetariums as a child. He had only seen the sky, but he knew that this new world, Noutir, was beautiful.

    ¡°So, this is Noutir¡­ It¡¯s kind of¡­ cool.¡± Sam said. He had never been one to get emotional or deep when thinking of art. But this experience did make his chest feel a bit tight.

    Bard was chuckling softly to himself and bellowed out in his bassy voice. ¡°It is pretty cool. Well, it seems your sight has returned.¡± The man stood and took Sam by the wrist, pulling him up. Sam stumbled a bit as he stood, his legs felt as though he just woke from a long sleep.

    The surrounding area turned out to be more of a valley than a flat forest. Off in the distance Sam could see they were between a few mountains with patches of dense trees with open spaces between them. The field they stood in had tall flowers and grass sticking up all around them. He noticed for the first time that the area smelled wonderful, full of herbs and fragrant flowers with purple and yellow petals.

    Then he looked down. The long sleeved t-shirt he was wearing had been replaced with a loose tunic cut down to the collar bone and hanging around his shoulders. His jeans were now baggy pants that were tied with string around his ankles and a long sash tied around his waist. He had no shoes or footwear. Then he noticed something else.

    ¡°You couldn¡¯t make me skinny?¡± He groaned as he tapped the familiar gut. If he was going to go on an adventure in some new world straight out of a fantasy he¡¯d have liked to be in a new body.

    ¡°Nope. That would have meant killing a newborn and shoving you in that body. Too much work and it¡¯d mean you have to live as a baby.¡± The prospect of having to go through puberty again did sound horrifying. What would that even be like in this world?

    ¡°That¡­ does sound really shitty.¡± Sam sighed and relented. At least he was able to enjoy life. ¡°So, what now?¡±

    ¡°Follow me.¡± Bard let go of him and started strolling through the field of flowers and deeper into the valley. Sam stepped gingerly, his legs tingled with that shocking feeling of blood rushing back into a limb that was asleep. Every step felt like it was on glass and nails, he tried stretching his legs out with every step but it barely did anything to alleviate the pain.

    ¡°Fuuuck.¡± He wanted to lay back down but despite his protests Bard continued to walk along, swinging his legs back and forth joyfully, skirt swaying with every exaggerated step. Sam forced himself to keep up with the man.

    They walked for what he could only guess was an hour, maybe a bit longer, and finally they climbed up a hill. In the distance Sam could see a collection of four buildings, one of them had light coming from a window that had no glass but rather a slotted wooden panel.

    ¡°Is that a farm?¡± Sam huffed out his question as he stopped on top of the hill, hunching over and pushing his palms to his knees to keep himself up. Bard said it was a short walk, his idea of a short walk made him want to puke. Every breath felt like needles in his lungs. Shit, I don¡¯t have any smokes. How long would he make it without a cigarette in this world? After their walk the first thing he wanted was something to smoke.

    ¡°That¡¯s right. There¡¯s an old man and his wife living there. He stays up late drinking to relax after a day of labor.¡± Bard smiled and hummed to himself. ¡°Ah, before I forget. You shouldn¡¯t tell anyone about being from another world, might cause some problems.¡±

    ¡°I figured¡­ I¡¯d rather not explain stuff like that.¡±

    ¡°So, you¡¯ll need a life to make people believe you¡¯re from here.¡±

    ¡°Great¡­ So who am I?¡± Sam wanted to punch Bard again. Everything about this was getting more and more complicated.

    ¡°You¡¯re Sahmat, son of Sardur and Kritra. You were born and raised in Lawashar.¡± The man smiled and nodded to him. ¡°That should be easy enough for you to remember right?¡±

    Sahmat. His name was Sahmat, from Lawashar. Wait¡­ ¡°My name¡­ is Sam?¡±

    ¡°Sahm. I thought it¡¯d be easy this way.¡±

    ¡°I¡­ I guess.¡± With a sigh he looked over at the farm in the distance then back to Bard. ¡°So how do I¡­ do this? Wait, what about my home? Shouldn¡¯t I know about it?¡± It wouldn¡¯t be good if he said he was from some place and knew shit about it.

    ¡°Oh don¡¯t worry, Lawashar was just recently raided and burned to the ground.¡±

    ¡°Shit. How long ago?¡±

    ¡°About two hours. You ran over the mountains and through the valley to the nearest village and ended up here with a pretty bad wound looking for help.¡± Bard smiled and turned to Sam.

    ¡°What wound? I¡¯m not hur-¡± his voice was caught in his throat. A sharp pain shot through his core and when he looked down to his stomach he saw a knife, about half of it was plunged into his flesh. Holding the knife was Bard¡¯s hand.

    ¡°Welcome to Noutir. Good luck now Sahm. Be sure to have some fun.¡± He let go of the knife. Sam tried to reach for the bastard¡¯s throat but he disappeared and Sam found himself tumbling down the hill. He screamed out in pain.

 Chapter 2 - Cracking the shell

    All his life Sam was told that adrenaline was like a miracle drug in the human body. It could make you do things you never could before, endure pain for much longer than normal. The body pumped it through itself when it sensed danger or pain to save itself for a while.

    It was all bullshit.

    Sure the first minute he hardly realized that he had a sharp bit of metal inside him. He had been cut before plenty of times working in the kitchen. You didn¡¯t make it a week as a cook without some kind of little cut, burn, or pinch. This was entirely different from a small knick on a finger or accidentally slicing off a thin layer of skin on a mandoline. Being stabbed had the sharp pain of being whacked with a wooden spatula but instead of it disappearing immediately that one moment of burning pain was stretched out forever.

    Most cuts were nothing to be in pain about. Some burned if you got something in it like salt, but besides that they just annoyed Sam when he was reminded they were there. Inside his gut it felt like someone smacked him and decided to pinch the same place with a vice grip. Only there was no way to take it off.

    Getting off his side and onto his feet was a monumental task. Every small twist and turn, every time he breathed he felt the knife slice into his stomach. Part of him wanted to pull it out but he heard over and over again that he should leave something in your body if it was deep enough otherwise it¡¯d bleed out faster. The pain continued to tempt him to just yank it out and make a mad dash to the door. With his luck Sam would probably die two steps away from the door, leaving the owner wondering why some pig died on his doorstep.

    His only hope was that whoever lived in the farm was nice, and could treat a stab wound. He put his hands around the knife to try and keep it steady and tried to walk but every movement made the knife move around inside him, and everytime it did he wanted to fall over and just die.

    Every step closer sapped the strength from his legs, twice he nearly tumbled forward again. His mind started to drift, he tried to focus on nothing but the movement of his feet. Put one foot in front of the other. Don¡¯t think of anything else, just walk forward. Doesn¡¯t matter if some weird purple dressed asshole stabbed you, worry about him later. OW FUCK! He stepped a bit to the side, the handle of the knife bumped against his hand and made it move inside him again.

    The feeling of a sharp blade slicing through his stomach felt disgusting, wrong, and fucking painful. Sam tried to take in a deep breath, and forgot about how the abdomen also moves when you breathe deep like that. He screamed and fell to his knees.

    Tears started to fill his eyes. His pain was getting worse every moment. Not just from the fact he was hurt, but that he was going to start whatever journey Bard sent him on by crying for help at a stranger''s door.

    He cried out with all the strength he could force out of his throat. ¡°HELP! HELP ME!¡± Again and again he cried, just hoping he was close enough to be heard. Apparently he was loud enough. By the time his throat had dried up and gone hoarse a hand with skin like leather was pulling him along. Even as he was brought along towards the house he still whined and wheezed out pleas for help. It was pathetic, but he wanted to live.

    Whoever it was that helped him along slowly trudged alongside Sam. By the time they crossed into the house he could hardly see. Twice in a single day he was blind, this time his vision was blurred and wavy, he started to feel unnaturally cold.

    Somehow he was laying on a flat, hard surface. Did I fall again? Clumsy fat idiot, stay on your feet in someone else¡¯s house. His mom would have smacked his thighs if he sat on other people''s furniture without permission. She was really old school and traditional about being polite and would pummel those lessons into his head every time she had an opportunity. Why was he thinking about that now? Wasn¡¯t he dying?

    A chilling coolness swept over his stomach and a sudden, sharp pain. Followed quickly by intense pressure. Someone was killing him. He shook violently left and right, throwing his hands out into empty space.

    Someone gripped his wrist and pulled them down over his head. He tried to wriggle his way off his attackers; he could tell there were two, one pressing into the wound on his stomach and the one holding his hands down. Sam tried kicking his legs but he was too exhausted.

    The world faded away, his limbs stopped responding to him and fell onto the hard surface. His vision went from a blur to complete darkness. Everything disappeared as he fell into a dreamless sleep.

    ***

    Sam found himself waking up and coughing up a storm. His throat itchy from dryness, it felt cracked. He hadn¡¯t coughed this hard since his first time smoking as a young dumbass in middle school.

    ¡°Khomu! Khomu the man¡¯s awake!¡± A shaky, motherly voice cried out as he continued to hack out coughs.

    ¡°I hear him! Give him some water, I¡¯ll be right in.¡± Another voice, this one more gruff and a touch gravelly, called out from somewhere far away. Even as he coughed Sam could hear someone grabbing and moving things around the room.

    Eventually a soft hand wiggled its way under his head and made him tilt his chin forward. Some kind of smooth stone bowl was pushed to his lips and lukewarm water flowed into his mouth. He leaned into it and swallowed ferociously for the refreshing liquid.

    Sam gasped for air once he drank down the entire bowl and opened his eyes. He was laying down in a rather small room; his own apartment had been a one bedroom and living room that could barely fit his dining table, a couch, and a table for game nights. This place was a bit smaller, he was laid out near a wall with wooden shelves. If he stretched his arms out he could probably touch both ends of the room. It was long, filled with all manner of boxes, pots, a few small jars, and brown sacks. Was it a pantry? Did they shove him in the pantry like a slab of jerky?

    He looked around the room and saw no windows, there was a small candle giving off a little bit of light, and a door towards his feet. Beside him was an elderly woman with skin a bit darker than his. A bundle of dark hair was tied up on top of her head in a bun with a long stick holding it together. She wore a dress that hung over her chest and sides with a series of knots going up the middle all the way to her neck accompanied by a long skirt that reached her ankles. Faint wrinkles tugged at the corners of her eyes, she looked about as old as his mother would have been, maybe late into her fifties or sixties at most.

    The elderly woman smiled down at him and leaned over, pouring water from a rust brown jug into a small drinking bowl of the same color. She picked up the bowl and held it to his mouth. ¡°Drink up young man, you need more water in you.¡±

    Sam just stared at her and nodded weakly, leaning over and drinking more. This time he drank slowly, trying not to choke on water again. He welcomed the slightly minerally water. Once he finished he coughed again, not nearly as bad as the violent hacking coughs he had earlier. ¡°Thank you.¡±

    ¡°No thanks necessary. My husband found you bleeding and screaming outside our farm two days ago. If we didn¡¯t help you might have died.¡± She poured more water and before offering it pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. ¡°Your fever has gone down, it''s still quite warm though. Drink more and I''ll prepare a cool towel.¡±

    ¡°R-right¡­ Wait¡­ You said you found me two days ago?¡± He¡¯d been passed out for two days? He never did that, even when he had the flu.

    The woman nodded and held the bowl to his mouth, helping him drink again. ¡°You had a fever and were babbling about something for a day and a half. There we go, you should still continue to rest. The stitches in your stomach are still healing and you need the energy. We¡¯ll get you some soup to fill you up. Excuse me a bit.¡± Once he finished drinking she rose smoothly from her spot beside him and shuffled over to the door, slipping out into what he guessed was the rest of the house.

    Sam laid there and groaned a bit as he waited. He tried to look around some more but he didn¡¯t find anything interesting. Some herbs and sacks hung from hooks in the ceiling, he couldn¡¯t quite see what was laid out on the shelves, and his only source of light was a little wick set alight in a dish of oil sitting behind where the lady was.

    His head pounded like a drum as he laid there staring up at the ceiling now. Two days in this world and I spent most of it blind and sleeping. Quite the adventure. Sam closed his eyes, wishing to just be back home or dead. Anything was better than humiliating himself even further.

    After a few minutes the woman returned with a bucket of water, a bowl, and a small bit of cloth. She dunked it in the water then wrung it out so it didn¡¯t spill as she laid it over his forehead. He felt like a child, but the cool cloth did wonders for his burning and pounding head.

    ¡°Thanks¡­¡± Sam muttered. He hadn¡¯t been taken care of like this in forever.

    ¡°It¡¯s what anyone should do.¡± The sweet lady pulled over the bowl that was steaming with something that smelled spicy. He could feel his mouth fill with saliva, eager to eat. It was just then in the presence of food he realized how hungry he was. The night he came to this world he ate but that was¡­ How did Bard put it, a lifetime ago, and now he apparently had been asleep for two days. ¡°Come on, let''s try and get you up so you can eat.¡±

    He struggled to lean forward as the woman pushed a sack under him. It felt like a bean bag, just less comfortable. Was he leaning on a bag of rice? The pain from his gut was still there, just dulled. It still hurt when he bent at the stomach, of course it would there was a knife in there.

    She took a spoon and he saw a thin broth with small chunks of vegetables in it. He recognized little green peas, some kind of root vegetables that looked like carrots, and a few chunks of what he thought was potato. A spoonful was pushed into his mouth and he chewed on the vegetables. They were all coated in a light greenish beige sauce. Is this curry? It tastes kind of like it. Regardless of what it was he welcomed any food that warmed his empty belly.

    In no time at all the bowl was empty, his stomach filled a bit, and his head didn¡¯t hurt quite as much. He tilted his head over to her and smiled weakly ¡°You saved me¡­ Thank you.¡±

    She shook her head and just took the bowl away and dropped it beside the bucket. ¡°We couldn¡¯t leave anyone to just die in front of our home. But, who are you? And where is it you got that wound?¡±

    ¡°Oh, right. I¡¯m¡­¡± He stopped himself. I¡¯m not Sam the failed chef and game master anymore. I have the same body but that man¡¯s life was over. He recalled the story Bard told him before plunging a knife in his gut. ¡°I¡¯m Sahmat. From Lawashar.¡±

    ¡°Lawashar, the village on the other side of the mountains? What in Passion¡¯s name are you doing here?¡± The woman leaned in closer and watched him carefully, eyes fixed on him. Was she suspicious of him?

    ¡°I¡¯d like to know as well, what happened to you boy?¡± A gruff, raspy voice came from the direction of the door. Standing there was a man with a face of dark leather with a white beard. He had white, wavy hair that draped down to his shoulders but the very top of his head was bald..

    Sam stared at the man a moment before taking in a breath and nodding. ¡°The village was attacked the night I came running here. Uh¡­ I didn¡¯t see who they were, it was really dark. When I was running away one of them stabbed me and I kept on running.¡± He hoped they bought that story, he didn¡¯t have time to rehearse anything with Bard before he stabbed him.

    The man stepped forward and groaned as he knelt beside who Sam assumed was his wife. ¡°That¡¯s terrible. Who was your family? I know a few folks from Lawashar.¡±

    Shit, he remembered the name of his father and mother Bard told him. Hopefully this old man didn¡¯t know them, if they had a kid or not. ¡°My father¡¯s name was Sardur, my mother¡¯s name was Kritra.¡± He spoke stiffly, should he have put more emotion in it? Maybe tried to cry a bit? Were they even dead?

    ¡°Sardur¡­ Sardur.¡± The old man stroked his long beard as he mumbled. ¡°I think he was a farmhand when I was there last. That was almost thirty years ago. Poor man. Did anyone else make it out?¡±

    Whew. Safe, for now. He had to continue the lie however. ¡°I didn¡¯t see anyone else. I just ran¡­ I just ran¡­¡± Sam felt his chest tighten and pain a bit, he choked on those last words. Was he actually getting emotional? Shit. He thought about it, a dumb kid seeing his family getting slaughtered, knees trembling watching his friends die. Then turning around and just running away, pushing the screams out of his mind¡­ That kind of person was a coward right? Even in this world he was pathetic.

    Both man and wife knelt beside him, the woman laid a hand over his head ¡°Hush Sahmat, hush now. There was nothing else to do.¡±

    ¡°Ebahra, let¡¯s leave the boy to rest. He must be tired still.¡±

    ¡°Ahh yes, that¡¯s right.¡± The two worked and got Sam off the sack of rice and helped him lay flat back onto the ground. He groaned and winced a bit when he had to shimmy down to get his head back on a pillow the lady, Ebahra, brought for him but the pain was getting easier to deal with.

    The old man gently took his wife by the arm and the two rose up. The man led her to the door and gently ushered her out and turned to Sam. ¡°Rest more, that wound in your belly won''t get better without it.¡±

    Sam looked through bleary eyes and nodded ¡°alright¡­ thank you¡­ what is your name?¡±

    The man scratched his beard a bit and smiled down at him. ¡°My name is Khomu. Rest now, Sahmat.¡± Without another word the kind man named Khomu left. Sam leaned his head back and took a shallow breath, closing his eyes. What is happening to me? He was tearing up at memories he didn¡¯t have, and felt emotional at the idea of being a coward. With no little amount of effort he pushed away his doubt, cleared his mind, and tried to fall back asleep.

    ***

    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    Another two days of treatment from Khomu and Ebahra went by. They mostly came in and made sure he wasn¡¯t reopening the wound, gave him food and water, then let him sleep. Every day dragged on a little longer.

    He thought before that his life was an endless cycle of boredom and frustration. Wake up, work, eat, waste time, sleep, and repeat. It was all too easy to fall into the cycle of adulthood with little to no time for joy and excitement. Just work and time spent resting. But now there was no work in a kitchen, nothing to waste time on and fill the empty void of boredom. Now there were just his thoughts and a room.

    Boredom made time crawl like a snail. He started looking forward to visits from the elderly couple. They didn¡¯t ask too many questions but he tried to fit in as many as he could during their little talks.

    Khomu had been a farmer all his life. He took over the land from his father and built two of the buildings he saw outside. The man talked about his love of hard work, how he actually liked the feeling of his muscles aching after a long day in the field or shaping wood and clay. He seemed like one of those hard working men that were far healthier than most people were at that age.

    The lady, Ebahra, met Khomu in a village called Hradar just down river from the farm. She had been the daughter of a seamstress and a dyer. One day while Khomu was in town selling vegetables the two bumped into each other and she sold him a scarf for winter. Ever since then Khomu went to visit her every few weeks. Apparently her passion was making clothes, and that had been mentioned when he asked who stitched up his wound. He could imagine the old lady hunched over him with a thread and needle stitching his stomach back together like a tear in his pants.

    Being with them felt like catching up with grandparents he never met. His own had died before he was even born and his mother never talked much about them.

    He tried to move around a bit on the fourth day, his muscles started to whine and ache with every movement so he tried to use them more. Muscle atrophy sounded like a horrible fate and he wanted none of it. Then Ebahra scolded him when he twisted a bit too much and reopened the wound. She spent some time brewing a tea to force him back to sleep and restitching him.

    The fifth day he pleaded with them to help him move around. The pair took turns moving his legs for him, helping him stretch. Khomu agreed that if he sat around too long his legs would lose their strength. It was a bit embarrassing, making two older people move him around as a man not even thirty years old.

    On the seventh day he finally was let up out of bed. It felt good to be on his feet again and walking around, though he did need to lean on the both of them just to do a round inside the house. Maybe no more than ten minutes of walking and he had to be let down gently into a chair. He leaned as far back in it as he could to avoid bending around his stomach.

    Halfway through the eighth day Khomu gave him a walking stick to keep himself up. Helping a large guy like him around must have been a lot even for the old working man. But the stick did help, he could limp around on his own and didn¡¯t even need help when going back to his bed in the pantry.

    That same day Ebahra handed him a fresh new shirt with long sleeves just like the one he wore the first night. This one had a pattern to it though, little lines of orange made diamond shapes across the chest with dots of red at the center. He wore the new shirt gladly, his old one was horribly stained with his blood.

    He was able to learn more about them now that he could be up and about. On the ninth day he sat at a table with Ebahra. Their home was rather small, just an open area with a fire in the corner with an opening for smoke, some shelves, and a couple of large patches of what looked like hay with animal skin over it to serve as beds. Then there was the pantry and another room full of tools.

    ¡°Do you two live alone here?¡± It seemed like a big farm for just two people. Most would have had kids or helpers around.

    ¡°We had four children, all of them moved away. Our youngest girl, Khamara, went to the city two years ago. Since then it¡¯s just been Khomu and I here. Well one of our boys, Khomuran, came by a few weeks ago. He lives in Hradar now with a wife and baby of their own.¡± Ebahra spoke with a fondness in every word. She must love having a reason to talk about her children again. His own mother talked to him over the phone nearly everyday since he moved away. He should have called her more.

    ¡°I see. Is your husband alright working so much?¡± Even for as strong as the old man was it had to be hard running a farm alone.

    ¡°Khomu is not as young as he was. He¡¯s still stronger than any man around but he is getting slower. I try to support him but my own hands are starting to shake more.¡± As if on cue she picked up a cup full of a spiced tea with a bit of goat milk. Her cup did wobble a bit as she brought it up to her lips and drank.

    Sam looked at Ebahra in her dark blue eyes and smiled. He reached over and held one hand over hers. ¡°You saved me. You¡¯re still good with those hands.¡± It felt odd saying something kinda cheesy but it sounded right.

    She let out a soft laugh and nodded. ¡°Well, you sit there. Khomu will be coming in for an afternoon meal. I¡¯ll cook some for you as well. Do you like eggs? Our hens just laid a few.¡±

    Eggs? He hadn¡¯t had eggs even a couple weeks before his meeting with Bard. Sam nodded but then looked at the woman. She took out a small jar and a metal sheet to place over a small earthen oven. Next to it she set down a flat wooden plate, almost like a cutting board, a small bowl with a bundle of eggs in it, then he got to thinking. He stood up and groaned.

    ¡°Ahh Sahmat you shouldn¡¯t move too much.¡± Ebahra protested but he pulled his walking stick close and hobbled over to her cooking area, holding up a hand to keep her away.

    ¡°You work too much for me. Let me make the eggs. I know how to cook, let me do that for you.¡± It was one of the only things he knew how to do, so he might as well use it to repay these people.

    ¡°Are you sure?¡±

    ¡°Yes. You sit down Ebahra. I¡¯ll cook you and Khomu some eggs.¡± He looked at what she laid out and went over recipes in his head. Then he turned to Ebahra ¡°do you have onions and peppers?¡±

    ¡°Huh¡­ yes we do. We normally put them in soup and stew though.¡±

    Sam smiled and nodded. ¡°Could you bring me a couple? And a knife, I¡¯ll make eggs unlike any you¡¯ve tried.¡±

    She stared at him and kept a smile from plastering over her face, though he could see the corners of her mouth curling. ¡°Well, alright then. Just don¡¯t hurt yourself.¡± In a minute she came out of the pantry and set down a red onion and a couple of long, thin, green chillies. Perfect.

    Sam looked at the knife she set down, it looked more like a short machete. A bit odd to use since he was used to traditional chef¡¯s knives. He picked up the knife and got to work.

    In the jar Ebahra set down was a soft, off-yellow paste. He put a little on his finger, licked it, and confirmed his suspicions. It was clarified butter, pretty much ghee. Before he went to work on the eggs he peeled the onion, it was smaller than what he was used to, the onions in most kitchens were a bit bigger than his palm, this one was barely able to cover his thumb. Then he tapped his knife on the stone twice, split the onion from pole to pole, then set the halves down and started to mince it into tiny pieces.

    ¡°Why are you cutting it so small?¡± The soft voice called out from beside him.

    ¡°Oh. It¡¯s to make it easier to eat¡­ I guess.¡± He remembered asking this same question in culinary school. ¡°And, it makes the flavor of onion more¡­ intense.¡± It had to do with how the onion cooked out its juices and caramelized, but he never even thought about the technicalities of cooking anymore, it just made sense.

    ¡°I see¡­ Is that normal in Lawashar? Or..¡± She hesitated bringing up the village Sahmat was from. Even though Sam didn¡¯t know anything about it.

    ¡°Uhm.. Yes. It was starting to be, anyway.¡± He cleared his throat and continued to make the cuts in a checkered pattern down the length of the vegetable, then cut across it to make small pieces. Ebahra apparently didn¡¯t want to ask more questions and retreated back to the table.

    He moved the metal sheet that was slightly concave in the middle and set it over a cooking stand in the fireplace made of three bricks. He stoked the flames a bit and put in a couple handfuls of sticks that laid beside the hearth to feed the fire. With the knife he scooped up some of the ghee and spread it over the metal. Leaning against the wall was a large wooden spoon, classic.

    With the spoon he spread the fat around the pan easier and then dumped the minced onion in. A wave of fragrance washed over him. Cooking onions and garlic always made a smell that everyone thought of as delicious, because it was.

    Once he tossed the onions around enough to be coated in the ghee he started chopping the peppers. Nothing too fancy with these, he just sliced them into thin rings, leaving the seeds in. From what he had so far he guessed the local palate enjoyed spicy foods more.

    First, he needed to prepare the eggs. He gently took each one out of the bowl and laid them out on the counter. One at a time he took each egg, tapped it against the wooden board to crack it, then split the shell over the bowl letting the familiar yolk and white fall into the bowl. He broke open six of the eggs, Ebahra had brought ten out. He figured two eggs each would be filling enough.

    Then he realized eggs alone would be boring. ¡°Uhh Ebahra, do you have any bread or rice?¡±

    ¡°Hmmm. There is some crushed flour, I can make it into bread for us. I had planned on that anyway.¡± She smiled and got to work making bread. He wondered if she would make some kind of naan or roti. That would¡¯ve been perfect.

    While Ebahra worked at the table mixing flour, butter, and water he got to work mixing the eggs. Once they were a solid light orange-yellow he poured them over the slightly toasted onions. With a hot pan over a fire he had to move quickly. He used the spoon to stir the egg mixture, forming small curds of cooked egg.

    The open fire made the process go quite fast, a little too fast for his liking but he promised to cook for her and Khomu. He stirred and stirred until his arm started to ache a bit. Finally once the eggs were half solid he pushed them to the edge of the pan and threw in the sliced chillies. The spicy aroma assaulted his nose and sinuses.

    He held back the coughs and just turned to the side to get in a breath of air. His stomach flared with pain for a bit, he wanted to yelp, to stop cooking and take a rest. He turned and looked at Ebahra. The older woman was working dough with her hand and shaping it into small balls. She was smiling. A simple kind of joy was obvious on her face, she was happy.

    Sam¡­ Sahmat. He didn¡¯t want to start a habit of stopping short. He wanted to keep moving forward and make himself a better man. With a sharp breath he bit his lip and continued to cook.

    The scent of cooked onion and chillies became his sole focus. The heat of the pan, the way the eggs slowly cooked and became more solid, the kitchen was all there was, he existed to be another tool.

    The tool called Sahmat got to work, turning the eggs over so they didn¡¯t burn. His eyes scanned around the kitchen area and saw bowls on a shelf. He set down the wooden spoon and marched over to the shelf, retrieving three fresh bowls and setting them out. Before distributing the eggs he looked around again.

    ¡°Ebahra where¡¯s the dried spices?¡± Even as he waited for an answer he looked on shelves in the manner of a line cook rushing to finish an order.

    ¡°Dried spices? Oh powders. We have a small few in the pantry.¡±

    It must be hard getting spices to an isolated farm. He¡¯d need to be reserved. Even so he went straight into the pantry and saw small jars tied off with cloth. He untied the little cords and found a small series of powders colored red, brown, lighter brown, almost yellow, and more. He dipped his pinky finger in and found a red chili powder, something that tasted like cumin, and coriander. Three spices should be fine, they have eight here anyway.

    With his arsenal of spices ready he took them out and set them on the stone counter near the flame. Being careful not to use too much he tapped on the jars to gently sprinkle the spices onto the nearly ready eggs. The scent that came from the hot pan now was amazing. He wanted to just dig in and eat it all himself honestly. He sighed and divided the scramble of six eggs as evenly as he could guess and put them into the three bowls.

    Once his eggs were all out of the pan Ebahra appeared as if from nowhere and slapped down three balls of dough onto the metal pan. She watched the bread cook carefully, taking two long thin wooden sticks and using them to flip the bread once one side was cooked to a lovely golden-brown. They all puffed up a little with small bubbles of hot air as they cooked on the pan.

    As the bread finished and the eggs cooled Khomu came through the door rubbing his arms. The man was covered in a bit of dirt that he washed away with a bucket in the corner.

    ¡°It smells good, Ebah!¡± Khomu chuckled as he stretched.

    ¡°You can thank Sahmat for that. He made the eggs. I just made the kacha.¡± Ebahra said something he didn¡¯t quite recognize.

    Kacha? What was that? Sam stayed quiet, hopefully it¡¯d be more obvious in a moment. He set down the bowls onto the table, though Khomu came over and took the last two bowls when Sam limped from hearth to table and tried going back.

    ¡°You can still barely walk boy, don¡¯t do too much.¡± He said as he gently patted him on the shoulder. ¡°Now let¡¯s eat these delicious smelling eggs.¡± Khomu cackled like a child as he sat down and took a long whiff of the food.

    Sam took a seat at the table. Ebahra passed out a hot flatbread to each of them. He reached to pull apart the bread when she lightly smacked his hand. ¡°Ahh sorry, but we should always give thanks for food. You should do it, Sahmat. You made the food after all.¡± Ebahra and Khomu just stared at him now.

    Give thanks, like a prayer? Sam cleared his throat and gulped hard on his own saliva. ¡°What do I do?¡±

    Khomu spat out a laugh. ¡°I heard the hogs were smarter than the men of Lawashar. Do you really not know how to say the hymn of Vridan?¡±

    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t actually.¡±

    The two laughed silently between themselves. They seemed to think it was a joke but he really didn¡¯t know. It was probably some sort of religious prayer they did before meals, crap.

    ¡°Could you teach me?¡± Sam had no other option, just act dumb.

    Ebahra sighed and smiled at him. ¡°Well, alright then. Here copy what we do, I¡¯ll say the prayer. Honestly, I didn¡¯t think the rumors of Lawashar being a godless town were true¡­ sorry that was ill of me to say¡­¡±

    ¡°No, it¡¯s alright¡­ I guess it was like that¡­ at least in my home.¡± Just pretend to be from a family of dumb godless idiots. Not the best solution but it was the only one he could use. ¡°Please, continue.¡±

    ¡°Alright. Now, put your hands in a bowl shape and repeat what I say.¡± He cupped his hands and held them out, mimicking the actions Ebahra and Khomu did. Then she spoke ¡°Vridan of the Hearth, hear our word and fill our bellies. Asjapanat.¡±

    Sam repeated her words, even the one he had no idea what it meant. It was odd how some words still sounded foreign to his ears, didn¡¯t Bard say he¡¯d know the local tongue?

    ¡°Good job. Now let''s eat.¡±

    Khomu wasted no time digging in, tearing the bread into small pieces and using it to scoop up eggs into his mouth. ¡°Mmm, the kacha¡¯s still warm.¡± The two of them tried the eggs and made gleeful little noises like ¡®Mmmm¡¯ as they ate. Each of them had on silly little grins as they devoured the scramble.

    Ahhh it is the bread. It must be their own word for this style. It was almost exactly like roti. Sam tore off a piece of kacha and pinched a small bunch of cooked eggs in his bread. The aromas were enticing, he shoved the whole thing in his mouth and chewed. The first real solid food he had in this world was amazing.

    The eggs were just cooked right, no burnt bits. The spices mixed into every bite, hints of caramelized onion, grilled pepper, and fragrance from the coriander. A deep flavor from the cumin, and of course the kick of the chili powder, all of it came together to make wonderful scrambled eggs. Sam couldn¡¯t keep himself from eating more with the slightly buttery, airy bread still hot off the pan.

    Before he realized it he was almost done shoving the food into his mouth and discovered the old couple watching him. ¡°You really like it don¡¯t you?¡± Khomu asked with a wide smile on his face.

    It was only then Sam realized why they were staring. He felt a wetness on his cheeks, he had been crying. He reached up with his palm and wiped away the tears, why was he crying at a time like this. Staring down at his bowl he realized the simple, and silly answer.

    Bard told him in the apartment, just before he blew it up. ¡®I¡¯m also giving you the chance to tell an amazing story. And maybe make a meal you don¡¯t want to throw in the trash.¡¯ This was the first thing he¡¯d made in years that he actually liked cooking and enjoyed eating. When was the last time he cooked because he wanted to, not just to fuel his body and to complete orders for people that would complain about something wrong with their food?

    Now he was sharing a meal with two genuinely kind people. They ate it with wide smiles and eager hands, and it made him happy. Sam turned to Khomu and let out a soft laugh. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. It just feels good to cook again.¡±

    Neither Khomu or Ebahra questioned it, maybe they thought he was reminded of home. In a small way he was. Scrambled eggs were the first thing his mother taught him how to cook. Now he was cooking them for others. It made him a little happy to cook with a smile again.

    Even after the days of pain, blood, frustration and confusion in this world, Sam was able to smile.

 Chapter 3 - First Blood

    Twelve days was a long time to spend doing nothing. Even with Sam getting up everyday, cooking, cleaning, and talking with Ebahra the days felt so slow compared to his normal life. Back home there were distractions around every corner to keep his mind idle and not worried about how shit it was living that way.

    He always wondered what life on a farm was like. When he was still a kid he went on a field trip to a vegetable farm and got to eat fresh food out of the ground. They gave him a strawberry from the owner''s personal strawberry patch he grew out in front of his house, it was one of the sweetest, juiciest things he ever ate. Even now as an adult that memory came back to him easily.

    Now Sam was on a farm, not in a world he knew but still a farm. Outside Khomu began hauling empty buckets to a river for watering their crops while Ebahra was working on weaving thread into cloth. She said it was for a new shawl since Khomu¡¯s had gotten dirty the other day.

    That left Sam alone for the morning to prepare a meal for the evening once the first chores were done. Luckily Khomu told him they had meat ready to use so he could make a filling meal. He left Sam standing by a pen.

    There was a chicken strutting around with a bit of red string tied to its leg.

    This is the meat? Crap. Khomu expected him to slaughter and prepare a live chicken on his own. That made enough sense from the old man¡¯s perspective, from their conversations Sam learned that Lawashar had been a big animal farm. Every soul on that land had to learn to raise, care for, and kill animals for food and goods. Now that Sahmat was up and able to walk he was expected to be able to kill a chicken and cook it. He was fucked.

    ¡°How the fuck do I do this?¡± He asked aloud to no one, just frustrated with himself. There was a time early in his culinary school that the students learned to kill and prepare live fish. The next week it was chicken, though they had a group of three to do it.

    The phrase ¡®a chicken with its head cut off¡¯ wasn¡¯t completely a joke. After one of his group chopped the head off the little monster thrashed around and popped out of Sam¡¯s hands and started running around, slamming into a gate and flailing all around the yard spraying blood on several students'' legs. He didn¡¯t eat chicken for months after that incident.

    Standing there just staring at the feathery creature Sam felt a bit odd. Even in this world they looked a bit weird to him. Beady little eyes, beak, that flapping wattle beneath the beak, and sharp claws of the skinny feet.

    This particular bird had dark brown, almost orange, feathers from head to ass with a little tuft of black on the rear. Khomu told him it was a rooster, their last hatching had a few too many males so they were needing to cut down on them. So the task of getting rid of the first was given to Sam. Great. He groaned a bit.

    Armed with the small machete in a pouch on his sash he stepped into the pen. The animals remained in a barn, ushered in by Khomu earlier in the morning, leaving just the singular bird. ¡°Alright little guy, just come quietly and I¡¯ll make it quick.¡± He spoke to the animal as he inched closer.

    The chicken¡¯s tiny head bobbed a bit then turned to him, beady little eye staring, unblinking right at him. Sam leaned in, stepping forward. The chicken responded by stepping to the side and clucking once. For some reason he felt like it was egging him on, little asshole.

    Another step closer it would step or bound away. Well, no use trying to be subtle. Sam took in a breath and stepped quickly now, lunging down for the bird. It broke into a sprint, kicking up small clumps of dirt as it ran across the pen.

    He chased after it, running in circles and zig zags all around the pen. The little beast was crafty, every time he lunged one way it ducked and sped off in the other direction. Any time he tried to drive it to a corner it slipped around him or between his legs. After only a couple minutes of running he started to feel winded. Damn this fat gut. Bard couldn¡¯t have at least carved out some when he stabbed me.

    The pain in his stomach was aching, radiating through his core. The stab wound had almost completely healed and the stitches were taken out last night. Now he just felt the familiar burn of exercise. Well, not too familiar.

    He stopped, hunching over and breathing heavily. Sweat started to bead on his forehead as the sun crawled overhead. There was still plenty of time until noon and the afternoon meal. He was going to strangle and cook this chicken at all costs.

    A fire lit under his ass and he clenched his hands into tight balls. He took in a sharp breath and scooched himself across the ground closer to the soon to be lunch. It raised a leg up, getting ready to dodge. He took the chance.

    Sam leapt forward and sprinted, only the balls of his feet hitting the ground and rolling off to push him forward. The chicken let out a loud SQUAK! Then it ran on those little feet.

    It rounded him on the right side. He swung out his arm trying to catch its leg. The little monster jumped over his hand, flapping its wings. He missed.

    The force of his lunge carried him forward against his will and he ended up face first in the ground, a small burning sensation crawling across his cheek. He coughed and rolled over, facing the sky and staring up. With a gentle finger he prodded his own cheek, it felt a bit scratched up but nothing too bad. ¡°I¡¯m losing a fight to a fucking bird¡­ this has got to be a sick joke.¡± With a long sigh he rolled onto his side and pulled himself up onto his feet.

    He looked over at the beady eyed fucking monster at the other end of the pen and growled a bit in frustration. Sam scrambled to sprint over at it. Again and again it dodged his grabs and lunges. Again and again he missed. Sweat dripped down to his chin now, his lungs burned with every breath, his legs felt weaker with every long stride and step.

    Maybe half an hour had gone by and he still hadn¡¯t gotten any closer to lunch being done. He stared at the bird, strutting and pecking at the ground. The pain in his stomach was quickly being replaced with hunger. It had been a long time since he put in this much work for¡­ well anything.

    His mind wandered back to those days in class, to the farm and slaughterhouse they went to for the lesson. How did the farmers catch chickens? Well, their birds were all in small boxes so it was easy for them to pluck one out of a cage and toss it in a machine. But he remembered something else.

    One of the tour guides mentioned using food to lure the birds in specific places, getting behind them, and grabbing them by the feet. Sam turned and looked for something he could use. On the wall of the barn was a bag.

    He ignored the chicken for now and strode over to the bag hanging from a hook near the large doors. Inside he felt many small bits of grain. Chickens ate grain right?

    Sam shoved a hand into the bag and pulled out a handful of what looked like barley. It had an earthy smell to it, the grains each about as long as his nail. He turned his head over and saw the chicken watching him. This was it.

    Shaking his hand in a closed fist let just a few of the grains spill out. As they fell to the ground the bird came over and began pecking at the grain and eating them up. Soon Sam dropped a small pile of barley in one spot. The rooster pecked eagerly at the small mound and focused entirely on its meal, ignoring the fact it was right at his feet. Stupid animal.

    He made sure not to be too quick. Slowly, carefully, he leaned down. He leaned down so slowly he felt more snail than human at that moment. Every inch was deliberate, not a single sudden movement.

    Before he realized it he was half bent over. His hand could shoot out and grab the damned thing by its feet and snap that stupid little neck. But he was patient. If he screwed this up he¡¯d have fucked up lunch, and besides making a fool of himself to Khomu and Ebahra he was hungry.

    Down. Down. Little by little. Soon enough he was basically squatting down beside the beak faced monster. It was almost done with the meal. He had to move.

    Now.

    His hand shot out like a compressed spring. Fingers open like a claw. He went right for the feet. The loud clucks and cries from the chicken came as he stood, making it dangle in the air.

    ¡°FUCK YEAH! HAH!¡± He gloated at the bird and grinned like an idiot from ear to ear. ¡°I GOT YOU! SUCK ON THAT!¡± The cheers and hollers came out easily, it took him a while to notice Khomu just across the field staring at him. The man was sweating so much he glistened in the early afternoon sun.

    He turned and looked at the chicken, still flapping wildly in his grasp. There was still plenty of work to do, this was only step one.

    ¡°Alright fellah, let''s get this over with.¡± He walked to a wooden table set against the home and pulled the bird onto it, trying to lay it onto its side. It still struggled and flailed, desperate to get away. It¡¯s beady eye staring up at him, almost as if pleading for him to not eat it. ¡°Sorry, not gonna happen.¡± With his free hand he reached to his sash and pulled the knife out.

    No use in thinking too much about it. If he over thought then he¡¯d hesitate and not want to do it. Pull out the knife and just¡­ He raised the blade up and swung down, the blade cleaving through the small neck and hitting against the wood with a THUMP.

    The head popped off, blood squirted out, and the body flopped around. Sam quickly let go of the knife and pressed down on the body to keep it from struggling too much. The small body bucked and struggled still even without the head. Why were chickens so fucking creepy!?

    He remembered that a chicken could keep moving for a while after decapitating them. Shit. Was there anything he could use to throw it in? He scanned around the pen, and found a large empty bucket sitting beside the table. In one quick motion he lifted the dead body up and threw it down into the wooden vessel.

    Inside it still sprayed blood and flopped around, almost jumping out of the bucket. He had to cover it with something. Sam marched around the pen and looked all around. He needed something, anything. A plank of wood? A flat stone? Then he finally found a large, wide piece of wood and some bricks under the table. He hated how easily he missed them initially.

    With quickend hands he covered the bucket and shoved two bricks on top. The bucket still nudged a bit to the sides but it seemed secure enough with the heavy stone on top now. Finally, he managed to kill the chicken.

    Slowly a smile creeped over his face and he slapped a hand to his forehead. The first fight in this world, the first kill he made, was against a chicken. A fucking bird.

    ¡°Bard, what kind of fucking weird shithole did you send me to?¡± It wasn¡¯t a shithole, not in the least. But his situation was. He was a fat, dumb, regular guy in a world he didn¡¯t know. He couldn¡¯t even kill a chicken without doing a full workout trying to just catch the thing.

    Sam was quite simply not suited to this life. But, maybe Sahmat can be. That man would¡¯ve been slaughtering chickens and skinning animals all his life, Sahmat was a farm kid, grew up in Lawashar with a rough and tough father that had been doing this sort of work all his life and made sure his son knew it too. Sahmat butchered a chicken as soon as he was big enough to hold the knife, and was feeding cows and pigs at the same time. He knew how to handle an animal and what to do for cleaning, curing, smoking, grilling and every sort of way to cook up meat.

    Just be that man.

    He groaned a bit as he waited for the bucket to stop moving, watching Khomu in the distance as he got to taking the animals out for a daily walk. Apparently it was good for them to get a little exercise each day, kept the blood flowing and the fat from sitting in them. If only the chicken had been on a leash he might not have embarrassed himself as much today. Even still, only a few minutes after the ridiculous display, he smiled and laughed a bit at himself for it.

    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    It was good to laugh at yourself, made it hard for others to do it first. That¡¯s what Sam always believed, and for the most part it worked. Wear your insecurities on your sleeve and no one could use them against you.

    Make people laugh, put up a shell of jokes and a tough face and no one could fight you. It was simple. Just keep on making jokes about yourself and you¡¯d be invincible. But that wasn¡¯t all true. For all the jokes and jabs at his gut he did still despise the fact he could never stick to a diet, go working out regularly, or feel comfortable without baggy clothes.

    Oddly enough, from what he saw, baggy clothes were the norm here. The tunic-like shirt Bard put him in and the new one Ebahra made hung off his shoulders, the pants left plenty of legroom and were tied at the waist rather than the hips. His feet did need to get used to being on bare ground. Ebahra wore sandals but Khomu opted to go barefoot, that was probably the normal thing for men and women here.

    Every question he had in his mind he carefully weighed how odd it would be for a native to ask. If he questioned something that everyone else just knew then it¡¯d stand out. Bard¡¯s warning about letting people know about him being from another world still rang around in his head.

    What exactly would happen if they found out?

    While he was curious, however, he was even more cautious. He¡¯d wait until the asshole showed up again to ask about that. For now there was food that needed cooking and this would be the first fresh meat he¡¯d have in weeks.

    The soups and stew Ebahra made were good, but they did mostly consist of vegetables and broth. Apparently they¡¯d gone through their dried meat during last winter, what they called ¡®Thavir¡¯ or the cold storm, and now they only had dried fruits and veg. He craved meat.

    Thump.

    He looked over at the bucket, now barely moving at all, and grinned. I¡¯m gonna enjoy eating you, little fuck. The time for cooking was upon him. Sam pretended to be Sahmat and lifted up the stones weighing down the board that covered the bucket then the board itself. Small patches of fresh blood stained the side that was faced down, but the inside looked like hell. The walls of the bucket were coated in blood, now pooling at the bottom, the chickens feathers were painted with large swathes of the red liquid.

    Part of him wondered if he did something wrong. Okay, killing the chicken was step one. What¡¯s next Sam? He stared at it a while, focusing on the feathers. They were drenched at this point, sitting in a pool of its own blood. He would have to wash it off right? No. He had to boil it.

    You didn¡¯t eat the feathers, you had to pluck them. His mother once talked about being on a farm in the old country and when she killed chickens she would dunk the body in hot almost-boiling water. Sam picked up the whole bucket and walked back around the house, going inside to see Ebahra fanning the flames of the hearth, a large stone bowl set over the fire.

    ¡°You were taking a bit to kill the rooster so I thought I¡¯d get the water ready for you.¡± Apparently boiling chickens was common knowledge.

    He smiled and walked in, pulling the dead bird from the bucket. ¡°Sorry, I guess I¡¯m still getting my strength back.¡± Sam forced out a smile and walked over to the stone pot, lowering the chicken in, holding it by the feet. He couldn¡¯t boil it too much, he just needed the skin to loosen up so the feathers came loose.

    Tendrils of steam rose up from the water and snaked around his hand, the water turned a murky dark red, almost black from the blood. Just a minute should be enough to start plucking.

    Once he was sure the chicken had been sitting in the water for long enough he swished it around, shaking off some blood stuck to the feathers. He laid it out on the counter and began pulling the feathers out in small bunches. His fingers gripped a small bundle of four or five, wiggled them up and down, then pulled back, releasing the feathers from the flesh.

    Soon enough he was left with the carcass of a defeathered chicken. Not bad progress. Now he had to¡­ Carve and gut the body.

    Using the knife he made long cuts down the sides of the spine, pulling it out and butterflying the bird. Then he began scraping out the gizzards and waste, cutting around joints and separating the white and dark meat. While he cut the bird into pieces he wondered how he should cook the animal.

    I¡¯d kill for some fried chicken. Crispy fried batter around juicy meat, spices mixed right into it all. Maybe even marinated meat. Unfortunately he didn¡¯t see nearly enough oil or fat in the pantry to accommodate that kind of cooking.

    He settled on something that would be quick, and filling. A chicken and egg bowl. ¡°Ebahra, sorry to bother you but, can you make some rice?¡±

    ¡°Of course, I¡¯ll get that started.¡± As the kind elderly woman retrieved a clay pot and rice from the pantry he got to work. They still had a handful of eggs left and he discovered a fermented sauce not unlike soy. Khomu had called it ¡®Doyur¡¯ and it had that deep, salty umami taste of something between soy and fish sauce.

    He grabbed the thin clay bottle of doyur, his metal cooking pan that was just a concave sheet of metal, then walked back into the kitchen. He set everything out neatly and began slicing into the meat away from the bone. Before cutting he tapped the knife on the counter twice and cut the meat into chunks about the size of his top section of thumb. A nice bite sized piece. Next were the onions, a sweet yellow onion would¡¯ve been better for this but he had to make due with the reds. He sliced them into half-rings and threw them into a prepared pan with some of the ghee, putting his knife in a sheathe Ebahra made for him hooked onto his waist sash.

    The onions cooked with a strong aroma as they kissed the pan. He used the wooden spoon to stir them, then once there was a nice bit of brown on them he tossed in the chicken meat. The smell of meat hit his nose and Sam wanted to eat so much he nearly thought of trying it while still raw.

    He pushed down the hunger and continued his cooking, the meat cooked quickly enough since it was all in small pieces so he worked on the eggs. In a bowl he cracked the last four eggs they had and poured in the doyur. He mixed the dark liquid in with the beaten eggs until it made a dark brownish-yellow color almost like clay. Ebahra glanced over once or twice, probably confused by what he was doing, but by now she trusted that he could cook.

    Once the meat was cooked all the way through he poured in the egg mix. With a quick hand he stirred it around in the bowl and then immediately pulled the pan off the fire, using a thick cloth to hold the edges. He watched as the eggs slowly cooked on top of the chicken itself, the warmed sauce throwing up waves of rich aroma.

    ¡°Oh my, that smells wonderful, Sahmat!¡± Ebahra walked over and sniffed the air around the pan. ¡°It smells like the sea on a warm day, so salty.¡±

    He nodded and let out a soft laugh. ¡°Yeah, warming up the doyur makes it taste even richer, and thickens it so it sticks to the meat and eggs. How¡¯s the rice?¡±

    ¡°It should be ready in just a minute.¡± She stepped over to the clay pot and grabbed the lid with her dress and peeked inside. ¡°Almost ready. I can¡¯t wait to try more of your cooking.¡± She smiled over at him like an excited child. His food must be good to get that kind of reaction from her.

    The two of them had been alone on the farm for the better part of a year now. He learned that occasionally they¡¯d go into the village but it took them some hours of walking just to get there. Having someone on the farm to help around and talk to must have been nice for them ever since their children all left.

    From what he could tell their kids all had their own interest they sought after. Khomu and Ebahra had four children; Ebaali, the oldest son, worked as a merchant selling spices all over the region. Rasvalan, their oldest daughter, was married and moved to a farm far away. They hadn¡¯t seen her in many years. Then there was Khomuran, the second son, who worked as a carpenter in the village Hradar not too far away but he often went to work in other farms and villages. Lastly was the daughter Khamara. She apparently left to a large city to be a warrior of some kind.

    Now it was just Khomu and Ebahra on the farm. They must have gotten lonely and when Sam showed up in need of help at their door they were all too ready to give it. Maybe it was the religion of the area, or just common courtesy, but he was glad they were there to help him.

    Not long after the rice finished Khomu walked in, rolling his arms and rubbing his legs after a day of labor. Oddly enough he barely had a single bead of sweat on his face, just a couple at the temples. ¡°Something smells good! What have you made today, Sahm!?¡± The old man spoke with glee in his gruff voice even after working.

    ¡°Chicken and eggs. Come, sit and eat. You¡¯ve been working hard all day.¡± He helped set out bowls with Ebahra. They said the hymn of Vridan, with Ebahra leading this time, and dug in.

    They had no utensils besides the large cooking ones as far as Sam saw. So eating with your hands was the norm. He tore off a bit of the chicken and egg mix, got a clump of hot rice in hand, then shoved the mixture in his mouth. Warm, savory eggs. Hot, lightly browned chicken meat. Sweet and crunchy bits of onion. It was delicious.

    Sam didn¡¯t cry at his cooking, but he did feel elation in his chest with every bite. From the way the other two eagerly devoured the meal, so did they.

    ¡°Mmmm it¡¯s so, I don¡¯t even know the word.¡± Khomu made little discs of rice on his fingers, then used it like a piece of bread to pick up the food. Sam mimicked the action and found it much easier than trying to hold onto the wet food. The man was some kind of genius.

    ¡°It¡¯s wonderful, Sahmat. Cooking must be your passion with it being so good.¡± Ebahra often spoke of the passions. Sam heard Bard talk about a god called ¡®Passion¡¯ but he wasn¡¯t sure if they were the same thing. The way the two of them spoke of it, it seemed as though it was more than hobbies.

    ¡°How do I know if it is?¡± Sam let the words come out, not really thinking.

    ¡°Well, have you ever had a flair?¡± Ebahra leaned over and looked at him.

    ¡°A what?¡±

    She just smiled and ate a bit more food. ¡°It is a¡­ eruption. Within yourself. Here let me show you.¡± With that she stood from her seat, cleaning her hands on a towel and went to the corner of the room where she often worked on weaving.

    She picked up an orange colored shawl, the one she had been working on for Khomu, then placed it around his neck, wrapping it around him and making a hood for his head.

    ¡°Isn¡¯t this for Khomu?¡± He asked as he stared up at her.

    Ebahra just smiled and let out a soft laugh. ¡°No, silly boy. I was making it for you.¡±

    For him? He looked down at the cloth. She made this, just for me? He couldn¡¯t remember the last time someone made him a gift. A warm bit of red crawled across his cheeks. ¡°Really¡­ thank you Ebahra.¡± He turned to look at her, the woman had a glow to her skin now.

    She shone a bit, even in the covered home with only light coming from two slotted windows. It was like she was her own sun, standing there.

    ¡°Wh¡­ what¡¯s happening to you?¡±

    ¡°This is a flair, Sahmat. Surely you¡¯ve seen it at least once or twice back in Lawashar? Or seen how Khomu is when he¡¯s working.¡±

    He turned to Khomu and thought back to when he saw him in the field. The man wasn¡¯t sweating from work, he was glowing. ¡°What¡­ does it mean?¡±

    Khomu chuckled and swallowed down some food before answering. ¡°Magic is born of passion, boy. If you love doing something then it is influenced by your love, your passion. When I work the field and tend the animals I feel younger, stronger, it fills me with life so I can keep doing what I love.¡±

    ¡°For me, my passion is making clothing. The cloth spins easier, the clothes are mended with no effort, and they keep my loved ones warm and safe.¡± Ebahra smiled down at Sam.

    ¡°Passion¡­¡± Sam looked down at his own hands, to the last bits of food. He loved to cook, to see people enjoying his food. Maybe that was his passion. ¡°I think it is.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s good. People need passion to live a good life.¡± Khomu ate the last of his food and smiled.

    ¡°Wait, have I been glowing at all?¡± Sam was curious, how would he even know what a flair felt like?

    ¡°Hmmm, I¡¯ve not seen you flair, but it¡¯s possible you haven¡¯t been inspired enough yet.¡± They went on eating without explaining what the hell that meant. Sam would ask later, he mostly just wanted to eat.

    He had so much more to learn about this world, about the people, the magic, and so many more things. Most of all he needed to learn about himself apparently. What was he most passionate about? The thought ran through his mind as he ate more and more. The food was great, and he did love that he could cook for people again and not want to throw a tray across the room.

    Instead of being frustrated about cooking he actually started looking forward to it. Every afternoon he made something, the egg scramble, the next day he made a vegetable medley stir fry, the next day Ebahra and he made the kacha bread and made a stew to go with it. Now he made chicken and eggs.

    All of them were delicious, putting smiles on their faces. He was sure cooking would be his passion. How the fuck would magic cooking work? Maybe he¡¯d make fireballs, no, that¡¯d be ridiculous.

    Regardless of what it would be like, he had to know more. He finished the last of his food and patted his gut. It still stuck out quite a bit, the days bedridden had made him think he lost some weight, but he still had rolls of fat.

    While he was busy wondering if he should start working out now that he could move around more, a banging knock came at the door. Ebahra and Khomu turned to the door, Ebahra stood first and gently swung the wooden panel open. Standing there was a man, nearly as dark skinned as Khomu, wearing a dirty shirt with stitches all over it. Over that he had on what looked like armor, his head was a mess of tangled and kinky hair with dried blood, twigs, and leaves stuck in it. There was a streak of blood coming from his mouth.

    ¡°What¡¯s happened to you! Come in we-¡±

    Ebahra fell, letting out a high pitched shriek. Sam looked over, Khomu burst out of his seat towards the front, yelling but Sam couldn¡¯t hear anything. He was too fixated on the man. The man was holding a sword, wet with Ebahra¡¯s blood.

 Chapter 4 - Fleeing the Farm

    All he could focus on was the blood on the floor, everything else was a blur, all noise was a deafening ring. Ebahra was on the floor, twisting and turning, a red pool growing over her stomach. Khomu was wrestling with the shaggy man at the door, he couldn¡¯t even tell if he was doing well or not.

    A loud crash and cry snapped him out of the stupor. ¡°SAHM! SAHM!¡± He looked around, and somehow Khomu had thrown the man to the ground and was struggling against him, trying to pull the weapon from his hand.

    He needs help. What was he going to do, just watch as the man who cared for him the last two weeks was fighting for his life? Get up you fucking idiot! Just get up, go punch him in the head. MOVE!

    His legs trembled, sitting there at the table, watching a blade move closer to Khomu¡¯s head. MOVE FATASS OR THEY¡¯RE GOING TO DIE! A sharp breath, the sound of a pounding drum in his ears. With a fire in his belly Sam burst out from his seat and ran to the front where the two men were still locked in a struggle on the floor. He skidded on his knees and brought a tight fist down on the stranger¡¯s head.

    The blow went right for his nose, flesh compressed under the weight of his hand coming down, he heard a soft popping noise right before the man wailed in pain. Even as Khomu wrung the weapon from the man¡¯s hands he struggled. Kicks and punches flew out now, he managed to push Khomu away, tumbling through the door..

    That left Sam with the man. He went to the ground and started jabbing at his side. The man twisted and writhed around, shoving a fist into Sam¡¯s side. The mangy, rabid warrior put his hands to his face and pushed Sam away.

    He tried to throw a hand out, landing on the man¡¯s cheek and scratching down, a small curl of skin and grime came and got stuck in his nails. Another impact came to his gut. Sam curled up and turtled against the onslaught of furious punches. He kept his arm up to cover his face.

    Then the punches stopped. Sam turned up and saw Khomu pulling the man up, hooking his arms through his armpits and then slamming him down into the floor. Sam wasted no time in turning over and shoving their face into the ground and punching at his ribs in wild hooks. Now pinned under Khomu and Sam the man couldn¡¯t fight back very well, but he still tried.

    The man growled and roared like a beast. Twisting around to try and wriggle his way out of their grasp. Khomu pinned one arm down, using his other hand to hold the man down by the neck. Sam took hold of the other hand.

    They couldn¡¯t do much like this, they could hold him for sure but the man was wild, full of bloodlust. He wasn¡¯t going to stop. They¡¯d have to kill him.

    Sam lifted a hand up in a fist to slam into the man¡¯s head. As soon as he did the man twisted, throwing old Khomu off his back again and threw himself at Sam. Again they were on the ground.

    More punches. Sam threw his arms up and tried to catch the man¡¯s hands but instead a fist collided with his open hand, shoving right into his own face. Stupid.

    Not long after, Khomu appeared again and stood behind the man. Both arms went wide and brought them together. His open palms slammed together at the man¡¯s head, crushing it like an overripe tomato, red juice and small shards of white bone and teeth erupted from the mangled ball of flesh.

    Some of the viscera splattered onto his cheek and mouth. Sam wanted to vomit. He looked up to see Khomu glowing and breathing hard, even as he rushed over to Ebahra on the floor he still glowed.

    ¡°Ebah! Ebay hold on! Sahm! Sahm! Get up!¡± The old man called, but Sam was still trembling on the floor. Staring at the body that was twitching ever so slightly on the ground in front of him.

    Even with his head all but gone the body moved. A deep pit grew in Sam¡¯s stomach while looking at the bloody mess, he tasted the blood and a small chunk of flesh on his lip. He turned over and puked right onto the floor.

    A hand grabbed him by the back of his shirt and pulled him up. He was face to face with Khomu now. ¡°Sahm! Come on, we have to save Ebah! Get her to the village!¡± The man let go of him and leaned down to his wife.

    Ebahra laid there on the floor, soft whines came from her lip with every movement. Sam forced himself to move, to help Khomu get the woman on her feet. She cried out as she got up.

    ¡°Keep your hand on the cut Eshema.¡± Khomu took Ebahra¡¯s hand and made her put pressure on it. ¡°Sahm you have to carry her. There will be more coming.¡±

    ¡°More? More what!?¡± He leaned down and hooked his arms behind Ebahra¡¯s knees and carried her in his arms. Sam wasn¡¯t that strong but he managed to carry the small woman easy enough.

    ¡°Mongors. That man was one, where there is one more will follow. They roam around like a pack of vicious animals looking for blood and violence. We have to go before more show up.¡± Khomu spoke quickly as he pulled some things off shelves, shoving them into a bag and slinging it over Sam¡¯s head. He had to twist a little to the side to get the bag comfortably tucked under his arm while still holding Ebahra.

    ¡°The hell is a mongor?¡± He heard too many new terms in the last few days and it hurt his head.

    ¡°No time for lessons, now is time to run!¡± Khomu scolded him and he was right. He could ask for lessons later.

    ¡°Okay okay. Where¡¯s the village?¡± Sam asked as Khomu ushered him through the door. Outside the sun was already starting to fall out of its midday spot. There was probably a couple hours of good light left, maybe four before it was getting dark.

    Khomu stepped quickly and with purpose, walking to the north, at least he thought it was north. ¡°There is a river over these hills, it runs along the mountains there.¡± He pointed towards a range of short mountains just a bit off in the distance. ¡°Follow the stream, it leads right to Hradar. If I do not make it, you find Khomuran, he will help.¡±

    Khomuran¡­ their son. They mentioned he lived in the village. ¡°Okay¡­ wait, why wouldn¡¯t you make it!?¡± Sam walked quickly to keep up with Khomu and looked over at him, besides the blood on his hands he didn¡¯t see anything that looked like a wound.

    ¡°If more mongors show up I will fight them. You need to carry Ebah to the village.¡± Khomu spoke, still glowing a bit, faint in the sunlight.

    ¡°The hell do you mean? We can just run right!?¡±

    ¡°Not from these. They will chase and hunt us until they lose our trail Sahm. So promise me you¡¯ll get her to the village. There¡¯s a man who was a war doctor, he can help her. My son knows him.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t talk like that we-¡±

    ¡°Promise me! Say it boy! You will NOT turn back for me!¡± Khomu¡¯s face turned to stone as he faced Sam, eyes set in a cold fury. He couldn¡¯t say no to him.

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    ¡°Alright, I¡¯ll get her to the village.¡±

    Khomu nodded and smiled. ¡°Thank you. Now move!¡±

    The pair of them trudged across the field, to the distant flower hills. Sam stepped quickly, throwing one foot in front of the other, trying to be careful with Ebahra in his arms. His legs burned with every step, his thighs and knees pulsing a bit with a slight burning sensation.

    They marched up the hill, the added incline only made the burning worse. Every step tensed his muscles and he heaved out long breaths. The walk to the top was difficult, a little painful. But it couldn¡¯t be nearly as bad as what Ebahra was experiencing, he knew that from his own stabbing. If he ever got the chance he¡¯d punch Bard in the face.

    Finally, they crested the hill, and looked out towards the plains below. A wide array of flowers and tall grass spread out from the hill all the way to the mountains. From the top of the hill he could see a shimmering line of clear water cutting across the land, they got to the river.

    In his arms Ebahra had stopped making as much noise, now she mostly moaned a bit when he took a rough step or shook her a bit. The blood on her stomach grew, the wetness seeping onto his clothes now too. Every step brought them closer to saving her, but he was afraid that it was also making her weaker. He glanced down at the older woman, her face was already starting to look paler.

    Barely an hour had passed. He looked down the river where it was flowing, there was no sign of the village. How far away were they?

    Sam stepped around large rocks and patches of dirt. His feet sunk into the mud a bit with every step. He hated the feeling of wet mud and dirt between his toes but there was no time to complain. The two of them kept on following the river, Khomu stepping easily on rock and sand and all manner of debris. Meanwhile Sam felt a stab of pain run up his leg from stepping on a slightly sharp pebble.

    Another hour went by with nothing but silence between them all, only Ebahra¡¯s soft breathing and the rushing of water beside them making noise. The river wasn¡¯t too deep from what he could tell but it was wide, maybe forty yards from bank to bank. Most of it was clear water, he could see a few fish swimming around, only the center was dark and maybe more than ten feet deep.

    From inside the water he spotted small globs of light dancing around in the river. It couldn¡¯t have been the stars, the sun was still up. The light waved, rippled against the water, and coalesced into a shape, almost like a fish, no bigger than a minnow. Made of water.

    Okay so I¡¯m going crazy, cool. He turned his head away from the water, ignoring the hallucination. It had to be his imagination, the stress, the headache, it was all just his mind playing tricks on him. That could totally happen, just under too much pressure from everything; carrying a dying woman that he wanted to save, fighting a madman - a mongor or whatever that was - then seeing his head pop, getting some blood and brain in his mouth, and now walking along a river with tired legs. Of course he was under a lot of stress and seeing shit.

    He chose to just focus on Khomu, following him. The old man still glowed with a gentle light, the flair is what he and Ebahra called it. He still didn¡¯t understand how these passions worked. What did the flair exactly do? How about the inspiration that Ebahra was talking about?

    Passions. What did they all really mean? Would his love of cooking give him some kind of superpower? Khomu loved hard labor and apparently it made him strong and full of energy. The shawl Ebahra made for him hugged at his shoulders, it did make him feel quite warm as the sun started to fade, then he realized there was blood on it. Some of the mongors head juice definitely got on him, he¡¯d wash it later.

    What kind of power would cooking give me? Maybe he¡¯d fling fire out of his hands. Nah too basic. Whatever came of his passion, he just hoped it could help save Ebahra and Khomu.

    The sun began its descent past the mountains, staining the sky a darker blue/violet as the moon came into view. Swaths of red, orange, and violet painted across the sky in little patches. Stars twinkled on the dark canvas.

    Night had come, and there was still no sign of the village. Sam looked down at the woman in his arms, she was still breathing, barely. Her chest barely rose, but it did, and he could feel the little bit of air coming from her mouth.

    His feet began to ache as they followed the river, more than once he missed a rock and stepped on it. He wanted to stop to nurse his own pains but if he did that meant it¡¯d just take longer. With Ebahra in his hands he would not rest until he got her to that village.

    Occasionally Khomu turned to look at his wife then scanned the horizon. Sam would try to look over his shoulder as well, seeing if any more of those wild people were after them. As the last light of the sun was fading wild cries could be heard coming from behind him. Sam and Khomu turned together.

    Far off on the flower hills a surge of people in dark clothing, metal weapons in hand, were barreling towards them. Sam watched as a couple dozen of them started charging towards the river, going right to them.

    The mass of mongors were at least a mile away, but they came sprinting like animals chasing prey. Khomu pulled Sam by the shoulder and pushed him further down river, almost tripping him.

    The man bellowed out at him ¡°GO BOY! Get to the village!¡± Khomu pointed, Sam followed the finger with his eyes and saw in the distance small lights turning on.

    ¡°We can make it just run with me!¡± Sam pleaded. He knew what Khomu was going to do, that crazy man was going to try and fight off the oncoming horde. It took the two of them so much effort just to kill one.

    ¡°Save Ebah, Sahm! Do it!¡± With a strong shove Khomu pushed Sam back, he nearly fell over. Then the man turned, and ran straight at the mongors.

    Sam turned away and ran alongside the river now. It didn¡¯t take long for the sounds of fighting to start. He tried not to, but Sam turned, and saw Khomu glowing like a fire in the dark.

    The old man sent a handful of the attackers back, swinging fists and grabbing bodies, throwing them and pushing down some. A spray of blood landed on him, a couple of bodies crumpled to the floor as he swung his fist in a wide arc. He fought back the wave of violence and blades, for a while. Sam watched, that was all he could do as he carried Ebahra away, but he was going to watch until the end. That shining man continued to fight, to kill the ones who were trying to kill his loved one and Sam. Eventually the light dimmed, and Sam turned, with tears in his eyes.

    ¡® He broke into a run, forcing his burning thighs and calves to shut up and keep moving. He followed the rushing river towards the lights in the distance, hoping there were people awake and that could fight back these insane men. Every step was painful, his arms had to readjust every few feet to keep from dropping Ebahra.

    The distant light of the village came closer, now it seemed not too far off. He could actually make out some buildings, there were many in this quant place. As he approached he could hear the rustling of quick footsteps coming closer to him.

    Don¡¯t look back. You know what¡¯s back there, just run! So he ran, his thighs were on fire. His lungs breathed in daggers of cold air that tore at his lips and tongue. The distant lights became brighter, the shadowed figures of buildings gained more definition and shape. Just a little father.

    Behind him someone was breathing heavily, snarling, a beast was on his heels. He had to get away, he needed to save Ebahra, it would be the first truly good thing he did with his pathetic life he wasted. Then he felt a pain in his shoulder.

    A sharp burning pain crawled across the back of his shoulder, going down to his middle back. Sam bounded forward and just kept on going, using the pain to push on. He was sure that pain was some kind of cut, he¡¯d endured a thousand cuts in kitchens, he could endure one more. Just so long as he got to the village.

    Not far now, he saw a wooden wall and people moving near a large gate at the front. He huffed out a breath and bellowed out the only thing that might catch their attention. ¡°MONGORS! MONGORS ATTACKING!¡± The name had made Khomu look fearful, he hoped it made others worried enough to grab weapons. Again and again he cried out, the beast behind him still followed, was still on his back just barely out of reach.

    Ebahra shook in his arms as he sprinted past the open wooden gates, crying out of attack. Someone standing by the gate ran past him holding a long stick he hoped was a spear. More screams and bellows of attack came around him. Still Sam pushed forward into the village.

    By the time he collapsed onto the ground, knees scrapping on the dirt, the beast was no longer there. He turned and saw a large group of men and women with spears, torches, pitchforks, and all manner of weapons and tools at the gate where he ran through.

    When he turned to look around he noticed a number of people coming to see what was going on. A few knelt beside him and spoke, but his ears were ringing, a dull buzz grew in his head. His legs lost all strength now that he wasn¡¯t running, his stomach flared with pain, and the cut on his back burned intensely. He tried to speak, he knew his mouth was moving, hopefully his words were coherent and could actually be heard. ¡°Save her, save Ebahra, save her.¡± Those were the last words going through his mind.

    Someone reached in and took the kind woman¡¯s body out of his arms. More people came, he still repeated the message. Even as they pulled him away.

 Chapter 5 - What is your Passion?

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 Chapter 6 - Feeding Hradar

    Sam stepped beside Pella as she guided him through the early morning streets. The village was alive in a panic even before the first light of morning burst from the top of the mountains. People ran from home to home, pulling out long wooden poles, tools, all sorts of items.

    They were gathering weapons, what little they had. As far as he could tell Hradar was a collection of a couple dozen or so small homes made of stone and shingled roofs with a couple of larger buildings that might have been stores or warehouses. Surrounding the entire village was a wooden palisade standing about ten feet tall, all of the logs used had been cut so the tops. Running along the entire wall were plates of thick wood nailed to the logs and stakes driven into the ground at an angle propping them up.

    Near the wide gate there were a couple of towers that looked more like a collection of thin logs to make a hollow box with a platform on top with barely any cover and a thatched roof. More people gathered at those gates setting down little knives, small bows, wooden poles from brooms. Jhonu stood there looking over everything and helping a few others by taking the mishmash of household items and discussing how to make them into weapons.

    ¡°... can split the wood and shove the knife at the top. Use some cord and resin to secure it in for a spear.¡± Jhonu passed a small knife and a length of cylindrical wood to a burly man that got to work carefully making cuts at the end of the wood. Then he turned and looked at Sam, scanning him up and down. ¡°You ready to work then?¡±

    Sam nodded and looked around ¡°how long do we have?¡±

    ¡°Mongors prefer to attack at night. They¡¯ll only attack during the day if they happen to pass by a farm or small community.¡± Jhonu worked as he spoke, handing out wood and sharp tools to be made into weapons.

    ¡°Why only at night?¡± Sam still needed to know how those people¡­ those things worked.

    ¡°Night is the time of fear. Honestly, how did people in your home not know these things? I guess they never did build a wall¡­ Sorry that was wrong to say, you¡¯ve lost people too.¡±

    Honestly Sam was relieved the village had a reputation. While he looked stupid it did make asking questions easier. ¡°No, it¡¯s alright¡­ But I don¡¯t want more people to suffer and lose their loved ones while I sit around. So, night is the fear time?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± Jhonu was breaking off the top of a scythe and fixing it back on so the point faced upward. ¡°The Shadow is strong while the sun is down. People all over have some fear, especially of the dark and what lurks in it. So the mongors can feel and feed on that fear. They¡¯re drawn to it.¡±

    A wild roving band of maniacs that can sense fear, attack people, and then feed on that fear. That¡¯s what they were dealing with. ¡°I see¡­ What can I do to help?¡±

    ¡°Well, what can you do? What¡¯re you good at?¡± Jhonu set down the weapon and picked up a gourd at his side and drank from it.

    ¡°I can¡­ cook.¡±

    Jhonu stopped for a moment and coughed on his water. ¡°Cook?¡±

    ¡°... Yes.¡±

    The man sighed a bit and scratched at the side of his wavy hair near the temple. ¡°I guess I can have you help with the food. The older folk and children are making the food while the rest get ready to fight. They¡¯re in the center of the village on the green.¡±

    Embarrassed, Sam just turned and left. Of course he¡¯d show off how useless he was. Hey I want to help, I¡¯ve never killed a person in my life or held a weapon even but I can make a mean plate of eggs. Fucking idiot.

    Regardless, if it was the only way he could help then he¡¯d do it. Sam picked up his pace and marched towards the center of the little village where he spotted a group of about a dozen working people mixing flour and water for kacha and an older woman setting chunks of potato into a vat of boiling water.

    The crackle of the fire popped a bit of embers up into the air as Sam approached the lady. ¡°Excuse me, I was told to help with the cooking?¡±

    Narrow eyes shot from the wrinkled face of the woman. Her graying hair hung in her face a bit as she looked him up and down. ¡°You that pudgy boy that ran in with Ebah?¡±

    ¡°That¡­ would be me, yes.¡±

    She let out a harrumph and groaned ¡°Ebah took you in then? That silly little girl. She always was too sweet for her own good. Come help chop up the potatoes, we¡¯re making a stew and kacha.¡±

    ¡°Alright, I can handle that.¡± Sam pulled his knife from his sash and stared at it. Other than the shawl around his shoulders, that small knife was all he had to keep from Khomu¡¯s farm. The edge was already a bit dull, he would need to find a whetstone of some kind soon.

    ¡°Good, now get to work, we¡¯ve got a lot of mouths that need feeding. I¡¯m Klindi by the way. Just chop those vegetables up and drop them in the pot.¡± The older woman took up a large wooden spoon almost two feet long and began stirring the pot.

    He got to work, scraping away the skin of the dark brown tubers and cutting them up into pieces a bit bigger than a single bite size. Even with a dull knife peeling and cutting was easy enough to do. He¡¯d done it a thousand times in kitchens when other tools or machines went missing.

    Sam and about three others, two children and an older man, cut up vegetables while two other men dragged over large bags. While he worked he thought of passion, what he wanted to do, what he loved to do.

    Then a young, nasally voice piped up beside him ¡°do you know your bleeding mister?¡± Sam looked over and down beside him a small boy, maybe no older than five or six years old, was staring at his hand.

    Amazingly, he cut his finger. Good job asshole, can¡¯t throw that one in the pot. ¡°Well¡­ It seems I am.¡± He set down the potato and brought the cut finger up to his mouth and sucked on it. The iron taste of blood hitting his tongue along with the faint hint of dirt and raw root vegetables.

    Cheerful little laughs came from the child as he smiled wide. ¡°You¡¯re funny. What¡¯s your name?¡±

    Sam licked his wound a bit more then took his finger out of his mouth. ¡°Sahm. Who are you little guy?¡±

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    ¡°I¡¯m Gahla! My whole name¡¯s Gahlahunar but that¡¯s long.¡± The boy smiled with all of his teeth.

    Sam had never been fond of kids before. The thought of raising an infant for years and teaching them life lessons seemed like hell. But, he smiled back at Gahla. ¡°Nice to meet you. You working hard to help out too?¡± He held up a new potato and shook it in the air a bit before starting to peel it.

    ¡°Yup! My older brother¡¯s gonna fight so I wanna make stew so he can be full of energy to beat the monsters!¡± Gahla began carefully chopping up his own potato.

    Even this small child was doing everything he could to help. Damn. Sam looked down at the knife and tuber in his hands. What can I do better than this? He looked back to Klindi, the old woman was scrunching her face as she added more food and water into her large pot. Beside her were a few other ingredients on a wooden board placed on top of a box that acted as a table.

    ¡°To hell with it.¡± Sam muttered to himself and stood up, walking to the pot and holding his hand out. ¡°Miss Klindi, hand me the spoon I¡¯ll handle the stew.¡±

    ¡°Shoo! I can handle this!¡± She winced and held back a grunt as she leaned over to look in the mixture. Sam looked in too, did she add any spices to this?

    With a huff he pulled the large utensil from her. ¡°Go rest¡­ I cooked for Ebahra and Khomu, I¡¯ll cook for this whole village. Bring me some powders, reds, browns, any that you have.¡± He began lifting up some of the half cooked stew to his face and sniffing it. It needed so much more.

    The older woman retreated, reluctantly, but she still went off with a loud huff. Now it was his turn to do all he could. Deft hands shot out and chopped up an onion into slivers about as wide as his pinky, then he found a few aromatic leaves and threw those in the pot. He went to the board, tapped his knife on the wood, then chopped carrots, radish, and potato quickly and tossed them in. Klindi had already thrown in a sizable amount of peas.

    Once she returned with an assortment of several small bags holding spices he attacked them immediately and inspected them. Dried and crushed chilies, cumin, turmeric, coriander seeds, even some green and red peppercorns. Perfect.

    ¡°Have you got a grinding bowl?¡± Sam carefully picked out enough spices for what looked like twenty gallons of stew. They¡¯d need enough to feed the thirty or so fighters as well as anyone working .

    One of the men peeling vegetables spoke up. ¡°I have one in my home.¡±

    ¡°Bring it here.¡± Sam issued more orders left and right. He was in a kitchen, not just as a cook to be ordered around. Now he was a chef de cuisine, head chef. Soon enough he had mounds of prepared vegetables, and a mortar and pestle ready.

    He left Klindi to manage getting a hundred kacha breads ready. Meanwhile Sam began setting the whole spices into the bowl and crushing them with a stone pestle. His arms burned with every step, but he pushed on. There were people that would be putting their lives on the line, if all he could do was give them a warm meal that filled their bellies that¡¯s what he would do.

    After crushing all the seeds and dried chillies into powder he was left with a full bowl of his own spice mix. He¡¯d have preferred to dry toast them, but that would have to wait for another day. Carefully, he dumped the contents left in the mortar into the pot and an explosion of fragrance filled the village center.

    Now most of the work was done, at least for the stew. Sam set the large spoon over the mouth of the pot and went right to work kneading dough together. Every one of the cooks had a small mound that slowly turned to a ball of tacky, not too sticky dough.

    Turn, pull over, squish together, push down, repeat. Over and over again he kneaded the dough and felt even more pain in his arms. Sam didn¡¯t stop, even as he pulled apart little balls and rolled them out into flat discs he let the burn resonate in him. Losing himself in the work, letting the rhythm of it control him and move his limbs.

    Then, he turned back to his stew, stirring and tasting just a bit. The flavors were good, he wished he had some starch to thicken it up. Then once the stew was moved around he went back to the dough. Back and forth, stew, dough, stew, dough.

    Even as the others worked on mixing flour and water for dough the cooking team of Hradar¡¯s defense made little noises in the early morning as their stew boiled. By the time the sun finally crested over distant mountains the stew and bread were ready.

    Sweat fell from Sam¡¯s cheeks onto the grassy field in the middle of the little village. He was sitting on a bench where the peelers were working. Klindi was already handing out bowls of the stew along with a piece of bread. Over an hour of straight cooking, Sam welcomed the familiar strain on his muscles. He hadn¡¯t worked so hard cooking since arriving here. The intimate meals with Khomu and Ebahra were lovely to be sure. But the rush of getting food done, making every movement count, and silently waiting for the next order. That was the cooking he was used to.

    I wonder if they have restaurants on Noutir? He began to think of waitresses rushing out to bring people his meals. One in particular, Pella. She would look great in a short skirt and apron for sure.

    Not the time for lecherous thoughts. Sam took in a deep breath and focused on the line of people. Men and women of all ages lined up to receive their morning meal. ¡°Wonder what I¡¯ll make for dinner¡­¡± Sam spoke softly to no one, thinking aloud and probably looking a bit stupid.

    ¡°If it¡¯s half as good as this it¡¯ll make a fine last meal.¡± Jhonu¡¯s voice came from behind him. Sam looked over his shoulder and sure enough the tall man was standing there with a bowl of stew and kacha in hand. ¡°I wish you¡¯d have told me it was going to be this good. I¡¯d have sent you to Klindi as soon as you woke up. She tells me you took over the cooking?¡± As he spoke the man sat down on the bench beside him.

    He just nodded and smiled a bit. In the line he spotted Pella getting a bowl of food. She was stunning, gorgeous. ¡°How the hell isn¡¯t she married¡­¡± He hadn¡¯t meant to say that out loud. Sam turned and met eyes with Jhonu.

    ¡°What makes you think she isn¡¯t?¡±

    Shit. He realized then that he never did ask. ¡°Umm¡­¡±

    Jhonu chuckled and shook his head. ¡°Well¡­ it¡¯s a bit of a story. Pella was married a few years back to a man from here, Namiid. Four years ago during the cold storm he got sick, fever burned him to death from within. She was¡­ not well for two years.¡±

    ¡°That''s¡­ terrible. I¡¯m sorry¡­¡±

    ¡°There is no need for being sorry.¡± Sam knew that, it was just an instinct to apologize when someone said something terrible. ¡°She was getting better, she started seeing another man from Tahmgrav. He was a calmweed merchant. The man stopped here once a month to see Pella, then one day he stopped. We don¡¯t know what happened to him but it¡¯s been almost a year.¡±

    ¡°She has really bad luck with men¡­ that¡¯s shitty.¡±

    ¡°Yes it¡­ it is?¡± Jhonu looked at him with a puzzled face.

    Crap, would he even understand how I meant that? Sam¡¯s mind raced, trying to find the right way to explain what he meant. Did he tell him just outright? Or¡­ then he realized he had the perfect excuse. ¡°Oh. Yes, it¡¯s an expression from my hometown. It¡¯s like a turd. Uncomfortable and it stinks but you can¡¯t stop it¡­ you know?¡± Sam plastered his face with an idiotic smile.

    The man just nodded. ¡°Shit tea¡­ I see.¡± From the look on his face Sam could only guess he was thinking ¡®those people in Lawashar are stupid and strange. Probably a blessing they all got killed.¡¯ At least that¡¯s what Sam would think if someone said that to him.

    The pair sat together for a short while in silence. Sam watched as the people of Hradar ate and talked amongst themselves, he even heard them praise the food. Klindi shot a scowl over to Sam whenever someone thanked her for the stew.

    Despite the knowledge they may well die before the next sunrise, the people here smiled and enjoyed their food. There wasn¡¯t a single sullen face, no whimpering children or frightened adults. Just people enjoying the life they had and eating a good meal.

    ¡°I want to fight, Jhonu.¡± Sam wouldn¡¯t let this place die.

    The man slurped away at his stew then set down the bowl, wiping his face clean with his sleeve. ¡°Well, I¡¯d accept anyone that can hold up a weapon. You have a passion?¡±

    ¡°No¡­ I want to find mine before they come. I need to.¡± If he could flair, have even half the strength Pella showed back in that house, he could really help. Strength like Khomu charging against the mongors and throwing them around.

    ¡°That¡¯s not really how it works.¡±

    ¡°Then I need you to tell me how it does. Please.¡± Sam turned and craned his neck to look up at him in the eyes. ¡°Let me fight for you all.¡±

    Jhonu stared back at him and smiled a bit. Wiping away the last of the stew brother with his bread, he ate the soaked kacha and stood up. ¡°Go back to my house, rest. When you wake up I¡¯ll see if I can pull your passion out of you.¡± He grinned down at Sam, then not waiting for his reply, walked off towards the gate.

    Sam sat there for a bit longer, looking around the village center. People still stood around, talking, laughing, smiling. Pella was helping clean up a small girl''s face after she finished her meal.

    He stood and made his way back to the house Pella and he came from. Sam would protect this place, the people. No matter what.