by Clayton Wood
“Well, normally, we don’t allow immigrants into Tykus,” Ekrin answered. “All outsiders are turned away. But your case is a special one.”
“Why’s that?”
“You’re an Original,” Ekrin explained. “You come from the source world, the world our ancestors came from so long ago.”
“You mean Earth,” Hunter clarified. Ekrin shrugged.
“We’ve heard Originals call it by many different names over the years,” he replied. “Suffice it to say, being an Original makes you exceptional. You see, for us, Originals only come through the Gate maybe once a lifetime, if that.”
“My mother came through about eight years ago,” Hunter stated. “I came here to find her. Have you seen her?”
“Eight years ago?” Ekrin asked, his brow furrowing. “No, I’m afraid not. We haven’t had an Original for forty-five years now.”
“But my mother…”
“I’m sorry,” Ekrin interjected. “If she came through the gate eight years ago, she didn’t come here.” He hesitated for a moment, looking as if he was about to say something more.
“What?” Hunter pressed.
“If your mother came eight years ago, she didn’t come to Tykus,” Ekrin answered. “It’s very likely the Ironclad got to her.”
“Those…things?”
“They patrol the Gate,” Ekrin explained. “And attack anyone that comes through, as they attacked you.” He sighed again. “Frankly, you’re lucky to be alive. I heard that several of our men were killed trying to save you.”
Hunter lowered his gaze to the tabletop, hardly believing his ears. If the Ironclad had gotten to Mom first, then she was dead…and this trip had been for nothing.
And now my life is over.
He felt his eyes go moist, and blinked rapidly, taking a deep, steadying breath.
“They saved you because you’re an Original,” Ekrin explained. “That makes you very special…” He glanced at his notes. “Hunter.” He leaned forward. “We want to help you,” he added. “Normally immigrants are not allowed, but for you we’ll make an exception.” He reached down below the table, lifting up something familiar: Hunter’s backpack. He set it on the table. “I hear you used a very interesting weapon against the Ironclad.” He reached into the backpack, pulling out the revolver. “What is it called again?”
“A gun.”
“A gun,” Ekrin repeated. “How does it work?”
“It shoots bullets,” Hunter answered. When Ekrin gave him a blank look, he cleared his throat. “Small pieces of metal.”
“By what mechanism?” Ekrin pressed.
“There’s a metal piece at the base of each bullet,” Hunter explained. “It has gunpowder in it.”
“Gunpowder?”
“Powder that explodes,” Hunter clarified. “The explosion shoots the bullet out of the end there,” he added. Ekrin frowned.
“And where does one put these…bullets?”
“In the cylinder in the middle,” Hunter answered. If you pull that cylinder latch, it pops open. The bullets go in the tubes there.”
“Fascinating,” Ekrin murmured. He stared at the revolver, then returned his gaze to Hunter. “How many of these bullets do you have?”
“None,” Hunter admitted. “There was only one in the gun, and I used it.”
“Can you make more?” Ekrin pressed. Hunter shook his head.
“I don’t know how.”
“I see,” Ekrin murmured, obviously disappointed. “Can you make this gunpowder?” Hunter shook his head. He had no idea what gunpowder was made of, after all.
Ekrin pushed the backpack to the side, folding his arms in front of him.
“We understand your situation and are sympathetic to it,” he stated. “We want to help you. For the time being, we’ll house you and feed you, and eventually we’ll find a more…permanent residence for you. All I ask for in exchange are these items,” he added, gesturing at the backpack and the revolver, “…and information about your world.”
“Okay,” Hunter agreed. He certainly had no use of an unloaded gun, or a backpack for that matter. “Thank you…that’s very generous of you.” Ekrin smiled.
“You’re an Original,” he replied, as if that explained it. “Tykus himself was an Original,” he added. “The founder of this great city.”
Hunter nodded, not knowing what else to say.
“Stay here,” Ekrin ordered, standing up from his chair. “I’ll send a guide to come and show you around the city. They’ll bring you to your apartment as well.”
“Thank you again,” Hunter said.
“You’re welcome,” Ekrin replied. “I’ll send the same guide back to you tomorrow evening, and every evening thereafter. She will take you to me for nightly meetings.”
Ekrin walked down the length of the table toward Hunter, opening the door. He paused outside of it, looking down at Hunter.
“Good luck,” he offered. Then he stepped through the door, closing it behind him.
Hunter stared at the door, then lowered his gaze to the table, feeling despair come over him.
Mom didn’t come here.
There were only two possibilities, of course. Either she arrived in this world, then went somewhere else…or the Ironclad had gotten to her. In which case she was almost certainly dead. He’d spent most of his life believing that she’d died, and today was the first time he’d allowed himself to feel hope, to believe that she was still alive somehow. And now he had no idea where she was…or if she was even still alive.
And now I’m here, he thought darkly. And I’m never going home.
The door opened suddenly, and Hunter sat up straighter, glancing up from the table. A woman stood in the doorway, looking down at him. A young woman, with long blond hair and striking blue eyes. She was pale, and pretty, but not as attractive as Tiffany back at school. She was wearing a simple sleeveless shirt, low-cut enough to catch his interest, and brown shorts that showed off pale, slender legs.
“Are you Hunter?” she asked. Hunter nodded, standing up from his seat hurriedly.
“That’s me,” he answered. She smiled at him, revealing perfect white teeth.
“Oh good,” she replied. “I’m Trixie.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Do you want to come with me?” Trixie asked. “I can show you the city.”
“Sure,” Hunter replied. “Not like I have anything else to do.” She took a few steps back into the hallway, holding the door open for him, and he followed her. She turned her back to him, walking down the hallway, and he followed behind, glancing at her butt. It was small, but cute. Her shirt didn’t quite reach all the way down to her shorts, leaving her lower back exposed.
“It’s just downstairs,” Trixie explained. They headed down a flight of stairs, eventually reaching the wide tunnel past the main gate. Trixie stood before the second, interior gate, and the guards standing before it smiled at her. Moments later, there was a clunk, and the gate began to rise. At length it stopped. Beyond the gate was a long, wide street, with walls rising several stories on either side. And walking atop these were men with bows, staring down at them.
Trixie stepped onto the street beyond, and Hunter followed beside her, glancing up at the bowmen on either wall. Eventually the corridor ended, the walls on either side giving way to broad city streets to the left and right. And before them were stairs as wide as a highway, leading up the hillside toward a huge, white stone wall on the top of the hill, at least a mile away. It was, he realized, the wall surrounding the massive fortress he’d seen from afar earlier. In the middle of the stairway was a wide stone ramp. Guards stood on the steps on either side of the ramp at regular intervals. On either side of the steps were rows of white buildings built on the steep surface of the hill, each row built higher than the last.
“Where do those stairs go?” he asked.
“To Hightown,” she answered. “And the Acropolis.”
“The Acropolis?”
“
The fortress beyond the wall,” she explained. She gestured to their right and left. “This is Lowtown, the lowest part of the city.”
“Hope this isn’t the nice part of town,” he grumbled. Unlike the buildings flanking the stairs ahead, the buildings to their left and right were rather shabby. Not exactly run-down, but definitely worn.
“Oh no,” Trixie replied. “Hightown is much nicer.” She hesitated. “We can’t go there right now,” she added apologetically. “I have to bring you to your apartment.”
“Where’s that?”
“I’ll bring you there,” she promised. “Come on.”
She turned to the right, and he followed behind her, passing building after building on the left. To their right, the fifty-foot wall surrounding the city extended forward as far as he could see. They passed a few side streets on their left, and Trixie turned down one of them. It wove between irregularly-spaced buildings on either side, eventually leading to a wide-open area ahead. The cobblestone road gave way to rectangular stone pavers some seven feet long and three feet wide, forming a large plaza. In the center of the plaza, about fifty feet ahead, was a huge building. It looked like a gothic cathedral, with imposing stone walls and spires that rose high into the air.
“What’s that?” Hunter asked.
“The Church,” she answered. “We can’t go there right now,” she added. “I have…”
“To bring me to my apartment,” Hunter interjected. “Got it.” She smiled.
“Right.”
She continued forward, aiming rightward of the church, passing it. The plaza ended abruptly, with steep wooden stairs taking them down to a small valley of sorts below. A large body of water stood at the bottom of the valley, a wide pier going from the street to a large cluster of buildings that had been built over the water, each suspended a foot above its surface on thick wooden posts. It was an entire neighborhood on the water; Hunter stared at it, impressed and disgusted at the same time.
This looked like a slum.
The buildings were two to four stories tall, but extremely narrow, like houses he’d seen in San Francisco. To say they were run-down was an understatement. A series of docks connected the buildings to each other, forming streets suspended above the water. A few people standing on those docks turned to look at them, stopping to stare.
“Let me guess,” Hunter ventured. “My apartment is here.”
“That’s right,” Trixie confirmed rather cheerfully. “How did you know?” Hunter raised an eyebrow at her, but she seemed perfectly sincere. She was pretty, there was no denying it, but she had blond hair for a reason.
“Lucky guess,” he muttered.
“We’re almost there,” she stated eagerly, turning left down a narrow street between the rickety buildings. They were apartments, he realized; people stood at their windows – which had no glass, he observed – and stared down at them. Or rather, at him.
Jesus, he thought. It’s like they’ve never seen a black person before.
That, he realized, might very well be the case. Everywhere he looked, the people were white. They all had some variation of blond hair, and the same blue eyes as Trixie. It was like he’d arrived in a bizarre version of medieval Sweden.
“Here we are,” Trixie exclaimed, stopping before a three-story building that looked just as run-down as the rest. “I can show you inside,” she offered. Hunter gave her a look.
“That would help, since I don’t know which room is mine.”
“Okay,” Trixie agreed, oblivious to his sarcasm. Hunter let her go first, opening a flimsy-looking front door. It revealed an equally flimsy-looking staircase that led upward. He shook his head, following Trixie up the stairs. Eventually they reached the third-floor landing, and a closed door beyond. Trixie took a key from her pocket, unlocking the door and opening it, then handing him the key. “Before I forget,” she explained.
“Good idea,” he muttered. She probably would have forgotten. She and that prick Tyler back home would’ve made a perfect pair.
She stepped into the room beyond, and Hunter followed her in. To call it a studio apartment would have been generous. The apartment was eight feet square, with one window and a bed in the corner. A few hooks were embedded into the wall facing the bed. There was no stove, no refrigerator, no sink…and no shower. Nothing but a bed.
“Uh…” Hunter began, at a loss for words. “Where is…?”
“Where is what?” Trixie asked. Hunter shrugged his shoulders helplessly.
“Everything.”
“The bed’s right there,” she answered, pointing at it. As if he didn’t know what a bed was.
“No shit,” he grumbled. “How do I cook food?” he asked. “Or wash my clothes?” he added. Or take a crap, for that matter.
“Oh, you do that at the community center,” Trixie answered. “It’s the big building in the center of the Outskirts.”
“The what?”
“This town,” Trixie clarified. “It’s called the Outskirts.”
“Wonderful.”
Trixie paused, glancing around the room, then back up at Hunter. She picked at her fingernails for a moment.
“Do you have any more questions?” she asked. Hunter sighed, shaking his head.
“Guess not.”
“Okay,” she replied. She hesitated again. “Do you want me to stay with you tonight?”
“What?”
“I can stay with you tonight,” she repeated. “Or I can come in the morning.”
Hunter glanced at the bed. It was barely a twin-size, and he wasn’t about to have her – or himself – sleep on the floor.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he answered. “Thanks.”
“Oh,” she mumbled. She hesitated, then gave a weak smile. “I’ll see you then.”
She turned about and left, closing the door behind her. Hunter watched her as she left, then shook his head.
Well that wasn’t weird at all.
He glanced about his room, then sighed, hanging his key on one of the hooks on the wall, then sitting down on the edge of his bed. The mattress was stiff, the pillow dusty. He started to take off his shirt, then thought better of it, lying down on the bed and staring up at the ceiling. He could hear people talking through the walls, their voices muffled.
So this is it, he thought. Ekrin was going to get him a job eventually, which he had a sneaking suspicion wouldn’t provide the biggest of salaries. Then it was going to be work…and this.
Great.
He rolled onto his side, staring at the door to his room. It was hard to believe that he’d woken up this morning in his own comfortable bed at home on Earth, preparing for just another day at school. And then the suspension, and his fight with Dad. Then one stupid decision, to go after Mom, to do what Dad had failed to do. There was a very real chance that it’d all been for nothing…for less than nothing. Because now his life as he knew it was over. He was stuck in some bizarre world, living in squalor, and his mother was probably long dead.
Just great.
He closed his eyes, feeling suddenly depressed – and exhausted. Although it was still mid-afternoon here judging by the sunlight, it’d almost been nighttime when he’d driven to Smuggler’s Cave. Despite the muffled voices coming through the walls, and the stiffness of his mattress, he soon drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 5
Hunter groaned, rolling onto his side and grabbing his pillow, putting it over his head. There were loud voices coming from outside, followed by the sound of footsteps. The sounds faded gradually. He was nearly asleep again when he heard more voices.
“God damn it,” he grumbled, tossing the pillow to the side and rolling onto his back. Who the hell had Dad invited over this early in the morning? He rubbed his eyes, feeling supremely annoyed. Then he opened them, staring upward. Instead of the nice, white painted ceiling of his bedroom, he saw bare wooden planks. It took him a moment to remember where he was.
Shit.
He glanced at the lone window in
his tiny room, seeing sunlight shining through it. More voices came from outside, and he realized with dismay that he wasn’t going to get any more sleep. He rubbed his eyes again, rolling onto his side, then getting up from the bed, stretching for a bit. Then he realized he had to take a piss…and badly. And of course there was no toilet in this suck-ass apartment. Trixie had mentioned that there was a big building nearby for eating and bathing; hopefully it had toilets. If not, he swore to god he was going to piss out the window. Preferably on the people who woke him up.
Hunter sighed, grabbing his key from its hook and leaving the apartment, locking the door behind him. He went downstairs, emerging onto the dock-street just outside. He looked around, spotting people walking from their apartments, all going in the same direction…almost certainly to the community center Trixie had spoken of yesterday. He followed them, weaving between narrow buildings, until at last he saw a large, one-story wooden building in the distance. A line of people had formed before the front double-doors of the place, and he got into line…or tried to. The man in front of him turned to look at him, then jerked away, backpedaling rapidly.
“Whoa,” the man blurted out. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Hunter stared the man, realizing that more people had turned to face him. Everyone backed away from him then, staring at him with something that looked like horror.
“Uh,” Hunter replied, “…did I choose the wrong line?”
“You chose the wrong city, asshole,” the man retorted. “How dare you expose all of us like that!” he added. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I don’t know,” Hunter shot back, feeling his temper flaring. “Why don’t you tell me?” He took a step toward the man, and the guy backed further away.
“Stay the hell away from me!” the man nearly shouted. Hunter paused, glancing about. The people around him had backed away as well, forming a circle around him. All of them were staring at him, clearly unnerved.
No, they were downright freaking out.
“Jesus,” he grumbled. “What the hell is wrong with you people?” No one answered. He pointed to the building. “This is the community center, isn’t it?”