Into the Realm

by R W Foster

  His flashy appearance caught the attention of one of the Lyxos. The demon tried to stomp the man with its goat-hooved frog leg. He rolled under the assault, came to his feet and sliced the four legs off with a quick figure eight flourish. The ground shuddered under the impact of the demon’s collapse.

  A rain of arrows came his way. My jaw dropped when he cut the arrows down, blocked them with his sword, or danced past. He caught one and threw it back on almost the same trajectory. ‘Why the hell did he do that?’ The arrow accelerated to the point of invisibility. Several demons in a row blew apart in chunks and sprays of blood. ‘Oh.’

  An enormous bipedal beetle with a muscular brown body covered by a shiny, green-black carapace erupted from the ground. Its eyes were silver and bulbous, and its vertically-aligned teeth gleamed with a greenish-black saliva. Keratin spikes grew around the monster’s legs and shoulders, and its forearms were covered by two-foot-long curved blades. With the exception of its coloration, the demon was identical to the bug I fought in the arena. The monster leaped for me. Without thinking, I brought my foot up. The bug’s jump carried it face first into the bottom of my foot. I went back from the force, and the demon crashed to the ground.

  I regained my balance, while the beetle-creature sprang to its feet. I cocked my sword over my shoulder like it was a baseball bat.

  “Azerith, metrenome Zinthos!”

  I was splattered with silvery ichor as I registered Lady Orwen’s voice. The beetle, its skull crushed by a powerful blow from behind, toppled forward. I wiped the sticky, yet sweet-smelling fluid from my face and peered at the princess. “Did you really have to splatter the contents of its cranium on my face?”

  She shrugged, and wiped blood and grime from her cheek. “You were standing still like you wanted to be killed.” I grabbed her arm, yanked her against me and whipped my sword up. She planted her hands on my chest and pushed away. “Carter, you’re attached.” I rolled my eyes down to her, then back up. She turned and saw, impaled on my weapon, an ape-like demon with yellow horns curving from where its eyes would be. “Oh.”

  “You’re welcome.” I pulled my sword from the fiend’s chest while she stepped away from me. I drew the back of the sword along the crook of my elbow, removing majority of the ichor that collected on the weapon, flipped the blade through a series of show-offy motions, and sheathed it.

  She quirked her grimy eyebrows at me. “Was that necessary?”

  “Not at all. But it looked awesome, huh?” That earned me a tired sounding chuckle. I looked around. The battle was winding down. The man in leather finished off the last Lyxo and sheathed his sword after a similar flourish to mine. “I like that guy. Whoever he is.”

  “I wonder why.”

  I jogged over to Dearbhaile and swept her into my arms. “I’m so glad you are safe, Rishka.”

  “And I, ye.” She slanted her mouth over mine and gave me a deep kiss.

  Chapter 13

  1

  We sat around a fire late that night after running from the scene of our victory over the demons. I sat next to my Rishka, helping her prepare dinner.

  “What do you think of our newest companion?” I nodded to the man who’d helped us earlier.

  “I d’nae what tae make o’ him.” She brushed her hair behind her ear. “He be a quiet one.”

  “Indeed.” I tossed the last of the roots into the pot and waited until she replaced the lid. Dearbhaile sat back and glanced at me with a smile. I caressed her cheek, and was gentle when I tugged her locks. “Did I ever tell you how much I love your auburn hair, Rishka?”

  She gazed at me through lowered lashes. “Nae. Ye’ve not.” Her voice was soft.

  “Your hair is delightful.” I ran my fingers through her tresses. “And a giveaway to your nature, did you know?”

  Her lips curved. “How so?”

  I leaned forward and whispered against her ear. “The color is physical evidence of your passionate nature.”

  “Yer a smooth one, lad.” She giggled.

  Some impulse told me to trail my finger along the side of her neck. I obeyed and was rewarded with a soft moan. She leaned closer to me, her eyes closed. I moved closer. My lips brushed hers when someone shouted in church.

  “Carter, may I have a word?”

  I growled and opened my eyes. Dearbhaile smiled at me. “Be polite,” she whispered, then rose to her feet. She walked over to the other women and joined their conversation. I glared up at the interloper who turned out to be the mystery man. Of course.

  “Yes? What can I do for you?”

  He sat down on a log near me. “Sorry for interrupting.”

  I stared at him, taking in the half smile and twinkle in his brown eyes. “No you’re not. You chose this time to come talk on purpose.”

  “Okay, you have me there.”

  “Who are you, how do you know my name, and how did you do those tricks earlier?”

  “My name is Robilar Blackweave. I know your name because I know you – or I will – and I pulled them off because of training.”

  “What do you mean, you will know me?”

  He took a deep breath. “I have this… power. I can…manipulate the continuum.”

  “What’s with the pauses? You suffering from a neurological disorder?”

  He cocked his head to the right. “A what?”

  I shook my head. “Never mind. What kind of power allows you to know about me?”

  Robilar took a deep breath. “Are you aware of Chronomancy?” He ran his finger through his hair. “Of course not, what —”

  “Time magic?”

  He sat up. “You know of Chronomancy? How?” He slapped his forehead. “Of course, you’re the Walker of Worlds. There’s not much you don’t know.”

  I laughed so hard I fell over. After a few minutes, I regained enough of my composure to sit back up, clutching my ribs. He shot me a quizzical look. “You have me confused for someone else. Every day I’m surprised by how much I’m ignorant of. As for Chronomancy, in the world I originate from, a videogame exists called Chronomancer, the Ark of Time.” He gaped at me, not sure what to ask first. “Are you a Chronomancer?”

  He closed his mouth and nodded. “The first in thousands of years.”

  2

  I rolled my eyes and locked them on Dearbhaile. “First in thousands of years? Talk about a story cliché.”

  “I wish,” he said, voice dry.

  She glanced over her shoulder and gave me a lip biting smile. A rush of heat hit my stomach. I swallowed. “Why?” I turned back to focus on him.

  “The good guys win in stories.”

  I rolled my neck, trying to work out some of the stiffness. “In well-written stories, the bad guy calls himself a good guy.”

  Robilar laughed. “Considering what just happened, be honest: do you think we’re in a well-written story?”

  I laughed as well. “Good point. I’d say the tale was pretty execrable if I were to read it.” The delicate bouquet of honeysuckle and jasmine told me Dearbhaile had returned. “Hello, Rishka.”

  “How do ye know when I’ve approached?” The smile was evident in her voice.

  “I can always tell when you are near, my love.”

  “Aye, but how?”

  I glanced up at her with a grin. “Magic.”

  “Sure, an’ I be Vaush-Tauric.”

  I chuckled. Robilar tilted his head. “I thought Vaush-Tauric were dragons.”

  “Indeed,” I said. “Say, Keeper Dearbhaile, do you think the one you’re apprenticed to might be able to help?”

  “Nay. She’s not allowed tae, remember?”

  “Damn. I did not.” I sighed. “I wish I knew what to do next.”

  “Next, we eat dinner. Then, after you bathe, we sleep. Tomorrow, we be arrivin’ in Dunskillen Town.”

  I tugged her down beside me. “Would I be able to persuade you to wash my back, Rishka?”

  She blushed. “Nay, ‘twould not be proper.”

  “Wa
it a minute. A few weeks ago, we could. According to you, Elven bathe together all the time. It’s only natural. Remember telling me this?”

  “Aye, but that be different.”

  “Please tell me how.”

  She opened her mouth, but Robilar spoke instead. “You call each other Rishka, right?” I turned to scowl at him, peeved he’d been eavesdropping. “In the eyes of the Renline, you’re all but promised to wed. Which changes things. Not only that, but you’re human, Carter.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t get me wrong. I think it is wonderful you are willing to bow to her customs. In my experience, humans too often ignore the cultures of those who are not human.”

  “Yeah, humans are bastards, alright.”

  If he caught my sarcasm, Robilar ignored it. “Not all of you are. The regal one seems to enjoy being among non-humans. Do you think she views this as slumming, though?”

  “Lady Orwen?” I snorted. “Not at all. Her best friend growing up was a half-dragon, and her father employed all manners of people. I recall speaking with a Snebbli, and seeing a Treebeard training warriors. The Orwen clan is not racist. I’d bet my life on that.”

  The Chronomancer leaned forward to stare at me. “What of you? Are you racist?”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Ice crystals almost formed in the air as I spoke. “One, I am in love with a Renline. Two, my closest friends are half-dragons. Three, I hate everyone the same.”

  Dearbhaile swatted my shoulder. “Hush, yer rubbish, Carter. Ye do nae hate.”

  “How do you know, Keeper?”

  She narrowed her jade eyes at Robilar. “He be mine. I know what be in his heart. Why are ye askin’ such questions, lad? Are ye tryin’ tae cover for yerself?”

  “No, my lady. I’m testing my memory.”

  “Aye? That does nae soun’ like any Chronomancer I’ve heard of. Their memories were flawless.”

  Robilar laughed. It was pleasant, and deep. “If only that myth were true. Keeper Dearbhaile, how good do you think the memory of a man would be when he’s been exposed to the recollections of almost a thousand lifetimes?”

  I lifted Dearbhaile to my lap. “How are so many lifetimes possible, Robilar?”

  “You and I are unique, Carter. There is only one of us present in any time stream. Whereas you are one hundred percent singular, I, on the other hand, can be doubled, for a short time. No more than six minutes, max. During one of my lifetimes, I learned how to pass memories to a past self by touch. Prior to that, journals were kept, and passed on to the prior version.”

  “Let me guess, you met another version of me.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then, why am I here, and not the other me?”

  He sat back against a tree. “Because my predecessor came back to this point, before we’d met before.”

  I scratched my chin, then smoothed Dearbhaile’s hair down. She kissed my cheek, and slouched down in my lap, bringing the back of her head to rest on my chest.

  “Do this mean ye cannae go back beyond this point?”

  “So you have heard of us.” He stretched, and leaned back against the tree once more. “Yes, I am limited to going back to a time after another me has gone to.”

  “So, if you screw up, there is no going back to before you screwed up and stopping yourself, right?”

  “Yes. A limit of paradox.”

  “That would be confusing as hell. How do you keep it all straight?”

  “Each time I merge with another me, a – time stamp I guess you could call it – is locked in my mind. Forever. Which keeps me from going further back.”

  “What would happen were ye tae try?”

  “I’d end up with a vicious headache, and a blank period. Those are also blocked off.”

  “Why’re you here, Robilar?”

  “I’m here to help.”

  “Aye. But, ye said yer predecessor came tae this point before ye met Carter. That sounds tae me like you have a specific reason for yer presence.”

  “I do: to make sure Drago doesn’t get his hands on the Lamp of Allah-ad-din.”

  “You mean, Aladdin?”

  “No. That’s a common mistake. Allah-ad-din’s Lamp is powerful. It can alter the very fabric of reality.”

  Dearbhaile rolled her head up to gaze at me. “I be lost, Carter.”

  “Aladdin and His Wonderful Lamp is a tale in my world. About a beggar that finds a magic lamp with a genie that grants wishes.”

  “The lamp is an actual relic. The ability to make such an object has been lost to time. None have been successful in recreating the thing. I suspect the artifact may have been created with the aid of something either divine, or infernal.”

  “Rishka, we have tae prevent Drago from getting his hands on this object.”

  “Great.” I sighed. “Anything else we get to do?”

  “Stand guard,” Robilar said.

  3

  I found myself walking down a darkened street. I was a bit disconcerted to learn I was back home. And, the street lights were out. My feet crunched over bits of broken glass. The moon came out from behind a cloud, and I learned the street name was Jackson St. A couple blocks to the east, the familiar green of Leone Riverside Park. ‘I’m home in Baltimore. How?’

  I walked closer, and spotted a young woman in a circle of brightness cast from a lone street light. She dodged an attack by from a hideous monster with a yellow infused skull. Jellied blackish ocher masses sat where eyes would be on a human. Just below a dark hole in the center of its skull was distended jawbone filled with rows of tiny, shark-like teeth, pointed and serrated. A pallid green tubular tongue protruded from its maw. Silvery blue saliva dripped to the ground and burned into the concrete.

  A strong wind kicked up, bringing the scent of rain. The young woman risked a quick glance up at the sky. Thick, grey clouds roiled in from the east. An empty beer can bounced up the street, its clang hollow and sad. The world lit up as if by an enormous camera’s flash. Two seconds later, the air was rent by an eruption of sound. A gentle plopping came as the first cold droplets of water hit the ground. As the wind picked up, the pitch of the rain changed. What had been soft, and gentle turned into harsh, loud and drumming.

  Her hair clung to her face as water dripped from her jaw and ran into her eyes. She swiped her t-shirt across her eyes in a hurry and pushed her soaked hair back from her face.

  The creature’s corpse-white skin sloughed off, revealing ropy bunches of grey muscle and bronze stretches of tense tendons and ligaments. It spread its arms wide and howled. The creature’s shattered arm-blade reformed. I ran to the battle, intending to aid the woman in some fashion.

  The creature raced to the sidewalk and leaped into the air, its arms open wide. When it reached the apex of its leap, and gravity began to reassert itself, her rising foot caught the hideous thing underneath its jaw, severing its protruding tubular tongue. It crashed to the ground, whimpering in pain, a cancerous orange fluid pouring from its mouth. She held her right arm straight out from her body, hand open and waiting. “Come to me,” she said. I stopped, and waited. Nothing happened. She dropped her arm. The creature’s noises changed from pain filled to enraged. It whirled its legs around and spun to its feet.

  Once more her arm rose. “Come to me!” She thundered.

  Faster than I could process, a tinkle of shattering glass could be heard and instant later, a high pitched whistle came through the downpour. The whistle grew louder as a pure white streak of light rocketed through the air. Before my stunned eyes, a pure white sword, the twin to the one at my hip, slapped into her open palm. She angled the white blade across her body in a middle guard position.

  The horror paused, seeming to consider her. I wasn’t certain with the inky ocher spots instead of eyes. It opened its mouth and waggled the stump of its tongue at her. The woman’s lip curled in revulsion. The thing sprang into motion, swinging its blades, trying to eviscerate the young woman.

  She blocked each strik
e. The abomination swung high with its right arm-blade and came at her in the opposite direction with the other. She ducked the high swing, blocked the low one and raised her knee to parry its abrupt kick at her stomach. The monstrosity attempted to slash its weapons across her neck in a scissors motion. She ducked and thrust her sword at its middle. The creature dipped its arm-blades down, deflecting her thrust into the ground. Rather than try to pull the sword from the ground, the young warrior kicked above the crossed arm-blades, catching the monster in the remains of its face.

  Its head snapped back and the thing crashed to the ground, arms going wide. It did a kip-up, kicking its legs outward and flipping itself back to its feet. Before the hideous abnormality could recover from its flip, the young woman gripped her sword in both hands and slashed down at the creature’s right shoulder, separating the limb from its body. Orange fluid fountained out from the stump and its howl overcame the crash of thunder. The ugly, terrifying being reeled back.

  She bent and picked up the severed limb. The monster, whatever it was, whirled on her, hate radiating off it like heat from an iron stove. The young woman stalked the damaged creature, determined to finish it.

  A familiar man yanked her back against him just as the creature’s arm-blade came within a hair’s breadth of decapitating her. ‘Robilar?’ He released her. She blocked the creature’s return swing with the white sword. She drove its own arm-blade deep into its chest. The monster stared at her, shock evident on its skull-like face. Its arm fell away from her white blade. The warrior swung her arm out to the side, then swung back to the left, cutting the creature’s head from its shoulders.