by James Beamon
Rich’s robe started fluttering erratically. He looked down. Jason was tugging at his robe with his one good hand, his gray aian face pale and clammy looking.
Rich and Melvin knelt down. Jason grabbed Rich close and mumbled something before passing out again.
Rich looked up at Melvin.
“I think he just told me the spell for heal.”
“You sure?”
“No. But Jason does know more about this game than all of us put together. If anyone would know it, it’d be him.”
Rich’s look was solemn. “What do you think, Mel?”
Melvin shrugged. “It’s about our only option.”
They stood up.
Rich cracked his knuckles, shook his wrists, and held his hands over Jason’s body.
He cleared his throat.
“I wouldn’t stand so close if I was you, bruh,” Mike called from a few yards away. “He’s fixing to turn you into a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”
Rich glared at Mike. He looked back at Melvin and motioned for him to back away.
Closing his eyes, Rich said the words Jason gave him. Jason’s body glowed in a soft white light.
Jason’s face contorted into a grimace. He reached for his shoulder and winced when his fingers touched the burnt nub.
“What the fuck happened to hit points?!”
Everyone was silent. None of them knew what to say to a person who just lost his arm to an axe-wielding weagr.
Jason shambled to his feet, using his one good arm to wave off their attempts to help him up. He looked around frantically. He went searching by the weagr until he found his severed arm. Holding the arm up to his burnt shoulder in a crude facsimile of how it should be, Jason looked at Rich.
“Cast the heal again.”
“Jason, I, uh, don’t see this working.”
“It’ll work. Just do it already.”
Rich cast the spell. The white glow spread from Jason through his body and into the severed arm. He smiled and stopped holding the arm up to his shoulder.
Melvin stared in disbelief at the arm.
Then the arm fell and rolled down to the weagr’s foot.
Jason roared his frustration and started kicking the meaty mass of the dead weagr.
“Hey! Hey!” Mike yelled at Jason, who stopped kicking.
“You healthy enough to kick, you healthy enough to walk... let’s bounce.”
Mike pointed to the woods towering over them.
“Unless you wanna wait for more ridiculous shit to pop out of the woods over there. Cry later. Walk now.”
Chapter 2
Progress Bar
Melvin was managing the simple task of one foot in front of the other until it devolved into a question quest. Rich was the first one to go. He turned around to face Kazawood, which was still an impressive line of trees even now that they were more than a mile out, and shook his head as if he was Lot's wife longing to return to Gomorrah.
“What if the way home is back there, where we started?” he asked. “I mean, we kinda just left without looking, without even trying to look. We should be back there, turning over stones or something. We shouldn't be out here.”
A jolt of happiness surged through Melvin, who felt vindicated that it wasn't just him. “You too? I was thinking, 'what if there's some kind of stargate or something in a partially covered hole, a tree hollow, a secret cave, you know, something.”
Mike shook his head. “Stop tripping. You think a stargate is something you won't recognize if you see it? How they running it? Y'all see some power lines out this bitch?”
He tried to get them walking again, but Rich stayed rooted. “Ok, so not a stargate,” Rich said, “but they have mages here and portals. Same difference. Something that could be just waiting for us to find. We need to go check.”
Mike grimaced. “No, we don't. We didn't walk out of a cave or a tree hollow, so what kind of sense does it make walking into one to get back?”
“Maybe we can't remember it,” Melvin suggested. “Maybe we blanked out for a moment. There's no way to be sure. We should go back and look.” Rich nodded in agreement.
Mike grit his pointy megrym teeth. “Y'all wanna know what's in the woods... danger. And we already found it once. It's. Why. We. Left! Y'all catch a lil bit of fresh air and now everybody wanna be Tomb Raider? We need to get some distance from this place.”
Melvin was ready to argue the point more, hell he was ready to bolt back to Kazawood, until he heard an unexpected voice.
“Mike's right,” Jason said.
Thanks to Rich's healing spell, Jason seemed a lot better since his brush with death. His skin was a much richer shade of gray and looked a lot less clammy. If not for the bloody, torn sleeve that rustled in the wind, Melvin would've forgotten he had just lost an arm.
“Weagrs are tribal. There's never just one. So yes, getting some distance is a good thing.”
Jason turned his gaze to Rich. Melvin found it a strange sight, as aian irises moved constantly, an autonomic function that gave their eyes the appearance of dancing perpetually.
“And Rich is right. There's magic here, with mages and portals. And if there's a portal to be had or one to be seen near those woods, we're probably gonna need a mage to help with that.”
He knelt down and began to scrawl in the dirt. He made a row of triangles.
“Here's Kazawood. If the terrain is anything like the game maps, if we travel due south we'll reach the town of Tirys," he said scratching out a crude X below the row of triangles. "We reach the town, we may find a mage, someone with some magical background that can help us.”
He stood up. “The question is, where's south?”
Mike squinted at the sky and panned his head all around. “Well, if this place is anything like back home, we should already be going south,” he said. Melvin assumed his brother's confident answer came from some training the Army had provided. He wasn't going to question it.
Jason performed a one shoulder shrug. “Guess we'll find out." He turned to continue the trek, exposing the severed arm on his back. Before leaving Kazawood, Jason had the guys tie it around him using the dead weagr’s belt. The hand flopped up and down as he walked in a crude hello wave. It bounced in rhythm with the quiver of arrows on his right shoulder.
Melvin fell in step on Jason's left, a decision that immediately weirded him out as the severed hand seemed to be reaching for him from his peripheral vision. Rich had already taken a place on the quiver side of Jason and Mike brought up the rear. Funny enough, taking the lead would've been even weirder, so Melvin chose to ignore the reaching hand and focused on the landscape. The grasses and shrubs of the steppes were getting sparse as the land turned rockier.
They walked in silence. The plan was simple enough. It felt solid. Magic was the only thing that made reasonable sense as to how they got here. The town of Tirys may have a mage or someone conversant in magic, someone who could maybe help them.
Melvin tried to stay positive. Just because all this was incredibly new and extremely bizarre for him didn't mean that someone in Tirys hadn't seen this kind of thing before and knew what to do. Even if this was strange to the townspeople, maybe between everyone putting their heads together they could arrive at a plausible way to get back.
Above all else, he did not try to think of the alternative. His life was pretty mundane back in the suburbs, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be stuck here. He hadn’t even fully gotten into manhood yet. He’d never get the chance to if he was stuck living the rest of his life as a woman.
They crested the top of a hill and were greeted by more hills. A road would have been a blessing, an indication they were heading somewhere civilized. Instead, the occasional spattering of small, hearty brush among the rocks seemed to whisper the opposite as they rustled. The party crested these hills and was greeted with more of the same. And again. And again.
“Let’s rest a minute,” Rich said. He was sweatier than everyone else, and wheezed b
etween exhales.
They all sat in a circle. A gentle breeze stirred and began to dry the sweat from them. Silence was thick.
“Wish one of us had thought to imagine our character with a water skin,” Melvin said to no one in particular as he wiped sweat from his brow.
“Maybe I can conjure water,” Rich said. “Do you know the spell for that, Jason?”
Jason looked at Rich for a moment, his irises dancing unnaturally. “I know the spell,” Jason said, “but what makes you think I can’t cast it for us?”
“Cause I’m a human mage and you’re an aian archer. I know aians have their own magic but you—”
“You,” Jason cut him off. “You are Richard Bates looking like a made up mage named Razzleblad. I’m a tall, gray dude with one arm. Point is, underneath the stage make-up we’re the same people. If you can cast spells, I can cast spells. I might as well cast it—it’s not like I’ll be doing much arching. How many one-armed archers you ever heard of?”
"Well, that was that one dude who was an Olympian," Melvin answered. "Had one arm and one leg and used his teeth to fire. Pretty badass."
"One dude," Jason said.
"I'm pretty sure there were a couple of lady amputees that are archers, too," Melvin said.
"Whatever!" Jason cried. "I'm not them!"
“Hey, you wanna cast spells, "Rich said. "Knock yourself out."
Jason held out his hand, closed his eyes and spoke flowing gibberish. He opened his eyes and nothing. He said the words again with care. Still nothing.
Rich held out his hands and repeated the words. Blue light emanated from his chest, to his shoulders, down his arms and into his hands. Water filled his hands, which he cupped together. He took a sip.
“It’s cold!”
“It’s bullshit,” Jason said. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Yeah, and the rest of this makes perfect sense.” Mike said.
“Just because he made a caster shouldn’t mean squat. He’s still the same dude—he can’t even read the spellbook!”
“You a hater,” Mike said. “No one made you choose that weak ass character.”
“I’m not a hater. Being an aian archer’s cool, but you want to know what’s even cooler? Not being stuck here!” Jason shouted, answering his own question. “Look at us. A warrior woman in a steel bikini,” he said, causing Melvin to look down at his well endowed chest. “An old mage complete with robes and long gray beard,” Jason said, pointing to Rich, whose robes and beard were stained red with his blood. “We’re walking goddamn clichés.”
Mike grunted “I dunno about them, I ain’t much into this fantasy crap. But I know you ain’t no cliché. Only one of us in this circle has ever heard of a one armed archer, boss.”
Jason’s brow furrowed at Mike’s jab. His obvious madness prompted an idea Melvin recalled.
“Maybe this is folie à deux,” Melvin said.
“Hell’s that?” Mike asked.
“Shared psychosis,” Melvin explained. “I learned about it on Wikipedia. It literally means madness shared by two.”
“Seriously dude?” Jason asked with a sneer. “Wikipedia? You know why it’s not called folie à... uh, four? Because four people hallucinating all this is impossible. You’d more likely to win the lottery while being struck by lightning while dating a supermodel who's reading the winning numbers from the passenger seat of the Chevy Nova you're delivering pizzas in.”
A distant roar killed Melvin’s response before he uttered it. The sound was unmistakably angry. It came from the direction of Kazawood, which was now only visible as a long line of treetops on the northern horizon.
“Weagrs maybe found their dead kinfolk,” Mike said. “We gotta move.”
They ran, down this hill and up the next one. They kept running and the hills kept passing with no town in sight. Jason turned around, his eyes dancing as he looked.
“Weagrs,” he said.
They were just blots on the horizon to the others. Jason said he could see them well enough. He reported fourteen of them, coming their way and making huge strides.
They kept running. Up and down more hills and there still was no town to be seen. Now all of them could see the weagrs getting bigger behind them.
Jason saw something to the west.
“It looks like a house. I’m sure it’s a house.”
“We head there then,” Mike said. “If it ain’t the start of the town then at least that’s more in number against these weagrs. Our odds are bad.”
They set course toward the house. The weagrs changed their direction too. No question they were in pursuit.
Melvin’s lungs burned. All of them were moving as fast as they could. The house was getting closer. But so were the weagrs. He could hear their yells growing louder.
The house was a simple rectangular structure made of what looked like bricks of dried mud with a wooden door and window shutters. Smoke puffed lazily out of a hole in the roof. It stood alone on a hill with a few trees behind it. There was no village to speak of. Melvin hoped whoever lived there would help. He couldn’t imagine someone reacting positively when strangers show up with fourteen angry weagrs in pursuit.
They sprinted the gap to the house. As they got within a couple of feet of the door, it opened and a giant head popped out.
It was a weagr.
“What are you all doing here?” he asked.
Wait. Weagrs don’t talk.
“Weagrs... chasing... us...” Melvin explained between gasps of air.
The talking weagr looked past them. “I see.” He came out of the house and Melvin saw, although he was big, he was much smaller than the weagr from Kazawood. Maybe he was just a massive man after all.
“Bad odds,” the big man said. “I don’t too much care for weagrs.”
“Will you help us?” Melvin asked.
The weagrs were advancing up the hill towards the front of the house.
“Let me see what the trouble is,” the man went forward and started yelling at the weagrs. A real broken, guttural sound, Melvin realized he was speaking to the weagrs in their language.
The weagrs walked up to the big man, who was small by comparison and started speaking back to him. They pointed at Melvin and his party and started beating their chests and yelling.
“I didn’t know weagrs talked,” Rich said.
“It’s never mentioned in the companion texts,” said Jason. “But I guess it makes sense. Tribes gotta communicate some kind of way.”
The harsh dialogue continued between the weagrs and the big man for some time. It seemed like a very tense conversation. Melvin wondered if all weagr conversations were like this.
“I wonder what they’re saying,” he said.
“I can guess,” Mike said. “They wanna end us.”
The big man nodded at the weagrs, said something akin to clearing his throat and came over to the party.
“You killed one of their own,” he said.
“It was self-defense,” Melvin told him.
“He hacked off my arm,” Jason said.
“Don’t matter,” the big man said. “Their law demands blood.”
He stayed silent for a moment, looking at them all. Weighing them maybe. He continued.
“Their law allows for a custom called akhta. One-on-one blood for resolution of group grievance. About best anyone could have managed for you.”
“What are you saying?” Melvin asked.
“One of yours against one of theirs. To the death or worse.”
“Oh shit...” Melvin considered the likelihood of any of them surviving against a well prepared weagr.
“Their other requirement for akhta is to settle debt with blade bearer. Sword kills weagr. Sword swallows debt.”
“Me?”
“Wait,” Rich said. “You said to the death or worse. What’s worse than to the death?”
“Bondage.” Big man answered, looking at Melvin. “I know what that is if you don’t. That happens an
d you’ll wish yourself dead a million times over before you finally find it.”
Melvin looked at the lead weagr. He was looking at him, gliding his thick fingers up and down his club and licking his lips. Melvin looked down at his bouncy breasts and curvy hips.
He shook his head as if it would negate the fact that this was happening. He spoke in a near whisper. “Please... there has to be some other way.”
“Afraid you have little option,” the big man said, his face grim. “You’re lucky they’ve conceded to akhta at all. Easy for them to capture you and kill others. Me too for good measure.”
Melvin looked at the ground. His heart felt like it had sank into his stomach. He wished he was back home and he had never heard of this game and that he had never stabbed that stupid weagr and that he wasn’t a woman that these sick fuckers wanted to have their way with.
“This is bullshit, dude,” Mike told Big Man. “You tell them I was the one that dropped their partner. And tell them I’ll drop any one of their big asses if they step to me.”
“You don’t understand. Akhta not with you.”
“Naw, bruh, you don’t understand. They get akhta with me. I damn sure ain’t gonna watch them make my brother into their bitch.”
“Look. Either your...” Big Man cut his eye at Melvin as he spoke, “...brother... agrees and fights alone or disagrees and there’s no one left to dig graves. Decide. Weagrs not keen on dialogue.”
Melvin looked at the big man “I’ll akhta.”
The big man nodded as if he already knew. “Prepare yourself.” He returned to the head weagr.
The weagrs cheered and hoo-ha’ed at the big man’s news.
“Mel...”
The lead weagr smiled a big grin on his big face. He looked back at his weagr buddies and began to pump his waist in demonstration of what he was planning to do.
“Mel...”
Melvin barely heard Rich calling him. He was too busy looking at the massive man he would have to kill or... else. “Huh?”
“Mel, it’s important. You can beat this weagr. Focus. Put yourself into your game persona. Just like I can cast spells because I’m Razzleblad and Jason can see further than any of us cause he’s aian. Be Zhufira.”