Out of Nowhere

by William Cali

“But the agreement was for three barrels, wasn’t it? You have three on your cart there if you’ll forgive my—”

  Gilbrand tilted his neck to face Lemen, sneering, “My eyes work fine peasant. I’ll be taking a fourth.” The knight fingered the blade at his hip. “Either that or your head. You choose.”

  “Yes, r… right away.”

  Pent could barely stand to watch Lemen drag the fourth barrel into the cart. He struggled for several minutes but finally managed to upright the fourth barrel. He sat on the dirt, his eyes watering, too tired to do anything but wait in silence.

  “Took you long enough.” Gilbrand circled his cart, checking the contents of each barrel. “Maybe if you spent less time gorging yourself on this swill, you wouldn’t have such a hard time following simple instructions.”

  “Right, sir. Yes, sir,” Lemen said. He hadn’t gotten up from the ground, looking like a scolded child.

  Gilbrand led the horse by its reins out into the middle of town. The chief was standing in the center, waiting for his arrival. Mother Lyle, Cenk, and a few of the other villagers were scattered about, most of them content to watch from the equivalent of their front porches.

  Pent was startled by a voice on his right.

  “I’m heading out there. I can barely see from here. You should stay put.” Faldo went and left him in his doorway. Pent thought of going with him but decided against it. Turn the other cheek, man, turn the other cheek.

  He listened intently to the events progressing. Gilbrand sauntered away from his horse and approached Chief Pohk. He dwarfed the elderly leader who peered up with weary eyes. Gilbrand didn’t return his gaze. He was more interested in the gathering crowd.

  “Is that drunken idiot the only person who can handle making this swill?” He dragged his gauntleted hand through his hair. “He’ll drink himself to death one of these days. Don’t you care about the welfare of your people?”

  Chief Pohk shivered in place but stood firm. “Lemen enjoys his work, and he is very talented. Of everyone in Somerville, he makes the highest quality drink.”

  “The drink is passable,” Gilbrand scoffed. “Not quite up to the standard of a nobleman like myself. A decent slop for the court’s pigs to wallow in, though.” He chuckled at his own wit.

  “Yes, very good. Whatever you use it for, that is your decision, my lord.” Gilbrand began to walk slowly around the circle, glancing at several of the villagers. “Is there anything else you need? I wouldn’t want to keep you.”

  Gilbrand sneered, exposing a few yellowed teeth. “Don’t be in such a rush to send me off. I might take it as an insult.” He rested his palm on the hilt of his sword.

  “I would never dream of it! You are our treasured guest, Sir Gilbrand. Anything you need, we will provide.”

  “Now that you mention it…” He grabbed at the wrist of one of the women who was watching in the circular crowd. She yelped in fear but did not pull away. “My wife has been stiff as a log in bed lately. But this one…” His tongue slithered through the gap in his sneer and ran along his upper lip. “She looks like she has some life in her yet. You ever spread your legs for a lord before?”

  The young woman began sobbing and trying to pull herself free from Gilbrand’s firm grip. Chief Pohk stood, resigned in shame. Another woman stomped up to Gilbrand from the side. She yelled in his face, shaking and pointing her finger at him.

  “Unhand her right now, you brute!”

  Pent’s eyes widened when he realized that it was Mother Lyle who was yelling. He wasn’t the only one; Chief Pohk’s eyes were ready to pop out of his head. Right next to him, Faldo gasped, and Riven raised his hand over his mouth in a shocked expression.

  Gilbrand released the younger woman, and then, quick as a snake, smashed the back of his armored fist into Lyle’s face. She was knocked off her feet and onto her back, blood gushing from her nose. Gilbrand stood over her, tense as a wildcat ready to pounce, a vein pulsing on his forehead.

  “Stupid whore!” he snarled. “Look at what you’ve forced me to do.” His scowl morphed into a creepy sneer. “If you want to go first, all you have to do is ask.”

  Lyle spit out blood through clenched teeth. “I’d sooner lay with your horse. It’s a pity your wife has to share her bed with you, the poor thing.”

  Gilbrand’s eyes narrowed, his brow wrinkled, his scowl returned. He dropped his hand to his hip, grasping the hilt of his sword, but the chief rushed forward and grabbed at the armored man’s shoulder, begging for mercy. In a swift movement, Gilbrand jerked his shoulder back, knocking the chief down as well.

  The sound of cold steel sliding out of the scabbard rang through the air. Gilbrand’s eyes were focused with a deadly precision. His armor creaked. He shuffled forward, standing above Lyle now. She stared up at him, his face nearly purple with rage, her own frozen in fear and resignation.

  Everyone was razor focused on the horror taking place in the center of town, and no one noticed Pent rush into Faldo’s house.

  Gilbrand’s words pierced the air in a deep-throated shout, “I’ve been merciful with you all for long enough. I’ll be less so in the future!”

  He lifted the sword above his shoulders and brought it down.

  * * *

  The air shattered with the ringing of steel on steel. Gilbrand’s eyes went wide when he saw the large high school football star that appeared from out of nowhere.

  Pent grunted as he deflected the fierce blow. The vibrations of Gilbrand’s steel on Faldo’s sword stung his hands, arms, all the way to his shoulders.

  The armored man nearly lost his grip on his sword as he staggered backward, grunting. Gilbrand stared at Pent, his mouth wide open in shock. Pent scowled back. How’d you like that, punk?

  Lyle rolled out from under Gilbrand and scuffled to the sidelines of the spontaneous arena. Gilbrand paid her no mind but chuckled as he dragged his sword through the dirt.

  “I knew there was something odd about you. You look like some kind of freak monster.” He spat into the dirt. “Black skin, bigger than a giant. Never seen anything like you before.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m full of surprises.” Pent gripped the sweat-slick handle with both hands and leveled the point at his opponent's unprotected face.

  Looking at the ornate steel blade, Gilbrand said, “Now there’s another surprise. Where did you happen upon a thing like that?” He turned around, scanning for the chief. “My rules were clear, no weapons allowed.” He levied that hideous grin. “You all are just too stupid to follow simple instructions.”

  “It’s my sword,” Pent shouted, puffing his chest out, “and I don’t want any trouble.”

  Gilbrand swung his sword around, pointing it at Pent. “Too late!” Dashing forward, he stabbed rapidly. Pent sidestepped, almost dropping Faldo’s sword as he dodged clumsily to the left and then the right.

  Pent found himself at Gilbrand’s mercy, on the defensive and struggling to avoid the vicious blows. He moved around their makeshift arena with as much grace as he could muster, but beads of sweat stung his eyes, and his arms were throbbing from the first strike.

  For a moment, Pent felt like he was back on the football field, staring down a linebacker. Gilbrand was big, but he was bigger. Gilbrand was fast and surprisingly nimble in his armor that had to be at least fifty pounds in weight. He was strong, but Pent was stronger.

  But Pent was garbage with Faldo’s sword. Every thrust and slash from Gilbrand was a killing blow, and it took everything Pent had to dodge his relentless pressure. Pent tried to answer with his own sword, but nothing was piercing that armor. Gilbrand laughed off every attempt.

  Pent switched it up. He grasped the sword in both hands and swung hard. The sword whistled as it sliced through the air, but Gilbrand masterfully parried these attacks. “What a pitiful cur. My daughter handles a sword better!” Pent was gasping for breath. He tried thinking of a witty reply, but he couldn’t disagree with the pompous lord. He felt his muscles straining with every swing, sure that
if he could land one hit, he would end this. But Gilbrand easily deflected each attack, often with one hand.

  Pent groaned as he narrowly avoided a slash that would have taken off his head. As the fight drew on, his movements became more sluggish and sloppy. Each of Gilbrand’s swings was that closer to ending his life. He was, he realized, hopelessly outmatched.

  Sharp pain exploded through his shoulder, and he sucked in air through his teeth. Instinctively, his hand flew up to his shoulder, and it came back smeared red. That’s it, he thought. I can barely even lift this sword now.

  Gilbrand chuckled to himself, and Pent flushed red with anger, snapping out of his exhaustion for a moment. He narrowly dodged a thrust to his chest, stumbling back from the blow. Damnit, I’m playing his game here.

  He thought back to his time in high school playing varsity football. Why am I thinking of this? Is my life flashing before my eyes? Is this the end for me?

  No. This was something else. Inspiration. If he couldn’t play Gilbrand’s game, he would have to start playing his own. An idea struck him, and familiar words rang out in his mind.

  BLUE FORTY-TWO

  Pent clutched his blade fiercely with both hands. He cocked the sword back, holding it like a baseball bat. Gilbrand laughed again and began a slow approach. He appeared ready to block Pent’s blow.

  BLUE FORTY-TWO

  Pent swung the sword through the air, hard. Harder than he had swung it before, maybe harder than he had swung anything in his life. Gilbrand’s smile turned into a grimace as the blade connected with his. A deafening ring sounded in the air, as chips of steel and sparks shot off in every direction. Gilbrand’s whole body rocked back.

  HUT

  Pent dropped his sword.

  HUT

  He hunkered down, one knee on the ground, his right palm pressed into the dirt.

  HIKE!

  He bolted forward, launching from his downed position, and driving his shoulder into Gilbrand’s plated chest. He put all of his weight into the tackle. Gilbrand’s entire body was lifted from the ground as, suddenly, he was falling ungracefully on his back, gasping for air as he crashed into the dirt, sword flying end over end to clatter on the ground several feet away.

  Pent found his footing and swept around, grabbing up Faldo’s blade in the confusion. He turned and saw the stunned Gilbrand clutching for his own sword, but he was still dazed and disoriented, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

  “That’s enough.” Pent pointed the tip of the blade at Gilbrand’s throat. The knight gawked up at him in awed terror. Realization dawned on his face. “This is over,” Pent said.

  The lord recovered quickly, regarding Pent with contempt. “You’re a cowardly disgrace. What kind of swordplay was that?”

  “The kind that has you on the ground and me on top. That’s the only kind you need to know about.”

  “You’d best move that sword from my face, lest you mean to use it.”

  Pent stared down at the man for a moment. The villagers were frozen in a deep silence, mouths agape. “You don’t seem like the sharpest tool in the shed, so I’ll make this real simple for you.” He kicked Gilbrand’s sword several feet away. “You’re gonna get up, hop on your horse, leave Somerville, and never come back.” He gestured towards the cart and the two stunned servants. “You’re leaving the booze too.”

  Gilbrand rose to his feet stiffly, made his way to his horse, and mounted with a grunt. Pent stared him down, sword still leveled as he followed the defeated knight’s progress.

  “You know your way out of town. Get moving,” he said, swatting the horse of the rump with the flat of the blade.

  As Gilbrand trotted away from the circle of villagers, he snarled contemptuously: “You deny me what is by rights mine, and even rob me of my weapon. You will regret this decision.” He pulled up his horse for just a moment, his stoic face morphing into a disgusting sneer. “I shall leave. And in a few days’ time, I shall return, with my lord and master, the great Lord Yozer.” He chuckled with great disdain. “You will realize true pain and torment as he torches this pathetic burg to ashes. His is a power that is absolute, or have you all forgotten his might? He will not accept this insult. He will be sure to remind you.” He kicked his heels into the horse’s sides and galloped out of town, his poor servants abandoning the cart and running after him.

  Pent turned and looked at the chief. He mouthed the words: “We are doomed.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chief Pohk had shooed the rest of the villagers, who regarded Pent with great fear as they left, away from the village center. His eyes locked with Ellie’s for a moment before she left with the rest. Her eyes, he thought, were filled with sorrow. The chief paced around Pent in a circle, studying him with a desperate look, while Riven, Lyle, and Faldo stood and watched, the only people not sent home. Hanar appeared from the outskirts and approached quickly. Pent wished he knew what was going on. He stood, dumbfounded, still gripping the sword in aching hands.

  Chief Pohk began as soon as the villagers were out of earshot, “We are doomed. You have doomed us.”

  Pent watched Lyle, waiting for advice, but she only shook her head, looking sullen and miserable. Her upper lip was covered in dried blood; she hadn’t bothered to clean it off. Turning towards the chief, Pent asked, “Who is this guy he referred to? Lord Yozer. I’ve never heard that name before. Sounds like a clown to me.”

  “He is death incarnate,” Faldo spoke now, his eyes focused nowhere in particular. “Why did you do that? Why did you take my sword?” His voice rose, tightening in anger as he continued, “I didn’t grant you permission to use my grandfather’s sword. You’ve killed us all!”

  “I did what I thought I had to do!” Pent pointed at Lyle. “Look at her face! He would have killed her. Is that what you all wanted?” He looked at Lyle for support, expecting her to back him up, but she stood in sober silence.

  The chief laughed, but it was a dry, scolding laugh, dripping with derision. “And in saving her life, you have killed her and the rest of us as well.” To Faldo and Lyle, he said, “You’ll need to spread the word to the villagers; we will have to go to ground. Hopefully, some of us can survive Yozer’s retribution.”

  “Why the hell are you all so damn secretive anyway? First, it’s tax day, and now it’s ‘death incarnate?’ No one thought it was a good idea to let me know about whoever this dude is?”

  “And what of it?” Chief Pohk had drawn up right next to Pent, looking up and yelling into his face. “You were told enough. You were told to not interfere and to keep your head down, correct?” He shook his head violently, practically spitting in Pent’s face. “We are a simple people, fine-natured, and we live peaceful lives. I find it best to not keep my people in a state of constant fear. Everyone knows to obey Gilbrand. It is you alone who have damned us, fool.”

  “Perhaps Pent is right, Pohk. Maybe a better course would have been to tell him everything from the start,” Riven said. He had moved over to Lyle and began inspecting her bloody nose.

  “I’ll have none of your badgering now, Riven,” the chief snapped, shooting the doctor a hard look. “One meddler is enough for this town.” To Faldo, he said, “We have no other choice. We must prepare to depart at once.”

  The veins on Pent’s strong arms popped as he clutched the grip of the sword in anger and frustration. He couldn’t help the accusatory tone of his voice when he spoke. “You can’t be serious! I stand up for you all, and the only thing you can think to do is stick your tails between your legs and run away?”

  “There is no other recourse for us, we have no chance to defeat his otherworldly might.” The chief was resigned in despair, and Faldo and Lyle did not seem inclined to disagree.

  “How about we ask my… friend. My friend who lives in the woods.” Hanar, eyes on the chief’s knees, stepped forward and said, “He has a bit of experience in these situations I would think.”

  The chief waved him off. “Yes, sure, you go
on ahead, Hanar. Chase after your fables in the woods. You can go ahead and take our savior here with you.” He shook his head. “I knew it was a lapse in judgment to accept you in Somerville. We should have cast you out from the start. Perhaps this is your chance, go off and find safety in the forest. I doubt we will meet again.”

  Hanar began to walk away from the group, beckoning Pent to follow.

  “I’m not running,” Pent said, compelled to clear the air. “We’re gonna figure all of this out.”

  Chief Pohk didn’t respond.

  * * *

  Minutes later, Pent and Hanar had made their way past the stream. Hanar marched in long, motivated strides, and Pent had a hard time keeping up.

  Pain flared in his shoulder. Pent pressed a hand to the wound in his shoulder and grimaced. In the moment, he thought for sure he would lose the arm, but Gilbrand’s cut proved to be shallow. He had managed to dodge the knight’s assault well enough to avoid a fatal wound. I guess I’ve still got the moves.

  The other shoulder hurt, too. The skin was swelling and tightening, and he was sure if he lifted up his shirt, he would see the skin turning blue. It throbbed with every step he took. He thought about asking Hanar to slow down, but a combination of pride, fear, and guilt held his tongue. His friend was frantic, the chief was frantic, everyone in town was frantic. And all of it is my fault.

  They took large steps up the hillside, approaching the forest from which Pent had entered this world. It had been less than a month, but he was attached to Somerville, and leaving that little corner of civilization was jarring.

  Finally, the silence was too much for him. “Do you think the wizard can help? Gordenthorpe?”

  Hanar stayed quiet as he pawed at the edges of trees. He was having trouble finding an entrance to the forest path. The longer they looked, the more frantic his searching became. Pent could sense the anxiety in his motions. When Hanar finally answered, he spoke without stopping. “If anyone can, he can.”