The Rokkaia Chronicles

by Rhys Thomas

  I would have to discuss it with Marisa at some point. I paused for a pee and stepped over some roots creeping out of the ground, climbed a slope coming to the edge of a clearing where the abandon farmhouse sat ghostly and alone.

  I scanned the perimeter of the farm for several seconds in case someone was actually there, if they were in, they didn’t notice me approach. Walking up slowly to the house, I got a better look at the complete disrepair of the place. The door hung on a single hinge, deep cracks and broken floor planks on the porch.

  A rocking chair with its cushion cut-out shifted slightly as my bare foot touch the landing in front of the barely-there front door. I thought about calling out, but no fucking way was I going to announce myself and get stabbed or eaten by demons- or something. I’d seen way too many movies for that cliché, whatever horror’s that lurked within could simply go on without me drawing them.

  I reached over and touched the door lightly, some slight pressure and it swung back revealing a gloomy dank entryway. Every bone in my body went zip the second I stepped within and the whole house seemed to creak. I froze and held my breath, I poked porky on my shoulder a few times till her tail tightened around my throat. Informing me of her displeasure.

  *Marisa, I need you to keep watch. Stay on my shoulders but just inform me if I miss anything,* I explained to try and dissuade her from punishing me.

  *Hmh, fine! But after we leave, I must hunt and rest.*

  I frowned, *I thought you ate?* A draconic claw slapped me in the face, hard enough to actually turn my head a bit.

  *Actual food you dolt.*

  I sighed. “Ask stupid questions,” I muttered, scratching the stubble on my cheek. *Just keep an eye out, this place gives me the creeps.* I felt her head brush against my neck in a nod. I stepped lightly almost testing each and every floorboard as I went. I kept myself alert and decided my need for clothing outweighed my hunger and thirst.

  Keeping each foot to the furthest corner of the stair leading up, I climbed one at a time. I learnt to be in sneaking moving about my home as a child. Considering that most night’s I spent hiding from Michael my foster father, and others trying to clean the burns on my bottom and legs in the bathroom from Louise’s cigarettes.

  Just like then, the fourth step groaned under the barest amount of pressure. My hand lightly rested on the banister and the wooden railing as I tip-toed along. Once at the top an acrid scent nearly floored me, I heard a small growl rumble through Marisa.

  She was low on my shoulder perch as if she was ready to spring, I took the hint trusting in her.

  *What is it?* I sent.

  *A brood nest! possibly even a mother.* I sucked in a breath, there was always some sort of correlation between reality and fiction. I found myself thinking that brood-mothers sounded awfully familiar and that it meant nothing good for us.

  *Not a good sign I take it?* I asked, and her head swung to glare at me from an inch away, complete disbelief coming through the bond. Then she remember I was perfectly new to the whole mutation-abomination-monster-creature-encyclopaedia-thing.

  *They’re a universal threat and shouldn’t even be here, beyond the white. Grrr… The Shi’en have messed with something better left alone,* She explained angrily. *Their nests are generally human bodies, but all species are for the taking. What makes them brood-bearers or ‘nests’ are the grotesque tumours throughout the carriers body. These little sacks that house hundreds of the brood’s larvae. Once grown they’ll find a host and dig beneath the skin and borrow into the intestines where they lay, their young and grow.*

  “Lovely,” I noted drily as I resumed my jaunt up the steps.

  *No, they’re really not my love. The brood-mother’s look like a scorpion crossed with a spider.*

  *So, a nightmare I get it,* I thought at her.

  Marisa gave a me sobering nod, *yes and if not destroyed. Well, Bastion is not that far away.*

  *I get it,* I repeated growing irritable. *let’s move away from that scent for now and search for some clothing. Considering that all the doors are shut I imagine it’s contained enough that we can do that at least,* I said firmly.

  Marisa tilted her quizzical head at me, *that is good. You’re retaining some of your former self. Even the brood is beyond Ra’al, and most definitely mortals. A shame your two halves’ are incompatible as of now. The primordial form has many benefits.*

  I ignored her ramblings as I topped the stairs and moved right. A corridor with three doors, two on the right-side wall and the last at the end of the corridor. Moving to the first, I pressed my ear on the wooden door and waited.

  Nothing.

  Squeezing the door knob and twisting, the soft slide of metal informed me of the shut releasing. I paused and lightly pushed the door open. I was surprised to find myself standing in-front of a laundry room. Usually these were down stairs or outside, where the couple could go out back and hang their washing to dry.

  A big round basin filled with weeks—possibly months—old stagnant water. The air within was damp and mossy. A few racks of folded clothing were to my left and scanned through three till I pulled the clothing off the bottom rack.

  Marisa hopped off my shoulder onto the rack at head-level as I pulled on a dark green tunic over my head and laced the front by my neck. Next was a pair of light-brown breeches that fit snugly over my legs. There was no underwear unfortunately and I pulled off what little remain of the damn kilt-skirt I’d been wearing and flung it to the floor in spite. I heard a snicker from Marisa but ignored her and pulled a burgundy leather waist-belt with two draw strings of corded leather. Once I finished dressing, I posed for Mari.

  *So, what do you think?* I asked twisting and then squatting to test that it all flexed with me, the breeches rode up higher after the squat; but it was a minor nuisance. I still had no boots though.

  *You look good,* Marisa cooed sexily, too bad she’ll be a draconic chicken for a while. I saw her head dip dangerously. Still beautiful though; I’ll be sure to give her some attention later, I thought. Layering it on thick with mental images of scale rub and pat down’s.

  Softly clearing my throat, “god, you’re too easy,” I muttered quietly. Turning as Mari bounced to my shoulder’s taking her now customary place. I moved to the second door and tried the handle, it hitched, locked. I still wanted to proceed quietly so I stopped myself from bashing the door down till, I knew the layout of the house. The third and last door was already open and ajar slightly, I stopped. *Is it just me or was that door closed previously?*

  *No Al, you’re quite right, I didn’t even hear it open. Which worries me.*

  Okay, ghost-doors 1-me scared as shit. *I swear, if a child jump’s out at me I will bash my head against the nearest surface till I’m dead.* I felt Marisa claw’s and her body tensing, waiting like a loaded spring. Using my foot, I quickly and quietly nudged the door further open. It swung silently. *Alaric stay!* Marisa voice demanded in my head, her own head was swivelling back and forth in what I guessed passed for confusion.

  After a few moments of silently obeying, Marisa explained. *Room is not right. Smells odd. Not bad but not right either. It’s too different.* Her voice came across the bond oddly distorted and confused. I decided to intake a big nose-full of the strangeness.

  Like smelling the decay before the death. It was earthy and hollow, everything and yet nothing at all. It was like feeling the rays of sunlight from within a prison. I could go on, but you get the point. *Yea… Let’s not mess with that room,* I sent, and backed away, my mind pressing and screaming for me not to turn my back on this room as if it would swallow me whole the instant I did. *Marisa whatever the-loving-fuck was that?*

  *I... I don’t know, I’ve never felt so lost.*

  Yep, that was my mind made up. Find a pair of boots, some food and then somehow torch the brood-bastards and ghost room. I back stepped till I came to the stairway. I felt the completely rational pressure flooding my body drain the instant I stopped.

  I
glanced downstairs and saw that the front door hadn’t moved since I’d come in. I drew my attention back to the door at the end of corridor opposite me and found that the end door was now entirely closed.

  “I feel like I’m in an episode of Ghost Adventures,” I mumbled sourly. Though now I was experiencing things I’d never had before now. Being on a different world where nightmarish monsters existed, so I could only assume that somewhere down the line ghost’s would to. The wrongness of the brood hit my nostril’s now, and I instinctively took a step away back towards ghost room. Whose door fucking swung open as I did so. NO THANK YOU.

  *There. The scent is strongest through the door closest to us,* Marisa informed me.

  The doors on the left side of the second floor, were two by the staircase and one to the far wall towards the front of house. Ignoring the first door for now and creeping past, I employed the same tactic I had previously. Hearing no sounds from the second door, I pressured the doorknob sliding and splitting the door open a crack. I waited for any kind of response, when I heard nothing I sidled up against the wall and informed Marisa to peak her head out and in. After a strenuous few seconds she gave me the all clear, but I noticed that she was still tense and readying herself for action.

  Walking inside I came to into a bedroom or at least the remains of one. Thick dusty webbing decorated the corners of the room heavily. At the centre of the room lay a gaping hole in the floor leading down into the kitchen beneath. Wedged within the hole was half of a bedframe. Two cobwebbed night stands, a chest of drawers and a wardrobe.

  Marisa’s head swivelled like a turret and I kept getting flashbacks to Aliens and started wondering if a Xenomorph was about to drop through the ceiling.

  That thought got me thinking about searching for a loft hatch. But my bad shit detector beeped instantly and shut down that idea.

  I eased about across the room, careful of any unsteady or weak floor boards. Just knowing that this brood-motherfucker was in the next room with a possible nest wasn’t enough to make me act foolishly and skip about. Caution and paranoia would keep me alive as long I employed their use. Moving first to the chest of drawers lying flat on its back. I tugged each drawer open. The first greeted me with a few pairs of mismatched and itchy looking sock’s, *obviously whoever abandoned this place prioritised their underwear over the comfort of their feet,* I grumbled at Marisa and proceeded to equip my feet.

  The two other drawers slid out to reveal nothing but a dirty brown long-sleeve cotton undershirt, the piece of clothing felt damp but was at least wearable. Undressing and redressing took a matter of moments. Now that the runes on my forearm were concealed, I’d just need a pair of gloves to hide those on my hands.

  My strangeness would draw enough attention to me eventually, as I’ve no knowledge about the custom’s or cultures of this world. As well as the fact that Ra’al mentioned something about travelling west after Glen’dal Coven.

  *There’s a metallic smell within the wardrobe and its strong,* Marisa informed me and moving over I found a thick wolf hide furred cloak. A snarl curled my lips involuntarily. Teeth bared, my hands clawed, and I felt an unbridled anger at the living thing’s whom called this wretched place a home. Then all of sudden my senses snapped back and returned to myself, as I realised; I had grabbed furred cloak and was attempting to tear it up.

  “No,” I hissed to myself. “I’m not a beast, I need this for warmth.” My argument though simple was clear and I found I was arguing with the presence from my dream. After a few seconds though the presence vanished, and I relaxed. I fastened the wolf furred cloak around my shoulder’s, it’s length fell to around my calves. The heaviness of it surprised me, black fur surrounded the neck and shoulders of the cloak, the material that fell to cover my body was layered with fur on the outside, but a dark green cotton underneath. Looking back, I almost whistled and did a happy dance at the sight of a slightly rusted short sword buried within a mound of moth-eaten tunics and shirts. A moment later I found and produce a tanned leather scabbard. Without a thought of hesitation at the actual fact that I needed to defend myself with a sword, I threaded the loop’s and straps of the sheath to my waist-belt.

  I took a few extra minutes to warp a few pairs of scratchy-socks and a dirt beige tunic to my inventory. Marisa watched the whole process with a keen fascination, though through the bond I felt no surprise but sadness and excitement. I patted her chin and a moment later we had left the room.

  Once outside and back on the landing I withdrew the short blade and just felt the weight. It was surprisingly light. The grip was an old rough leather wrapping with a round coin pommel. The cross-guard was a few inches long and curved at either end. What I found irregular was that the back of the blade was blunt like a machete though the blade itself was wide, sharp and flat and the length of my forearm from elbow to wrist.

  I remember seeing this type of sword in one of the many games I’d played or books I had read. Falchion, if I remembered correctly, though this sword was most definitely short compared to those. I slid the short blade in and out of the scabbard on my left side several times, getting used to and adjusting to the feel of something hanging about my hip.

  I also wanted to make sure that my cloak wouldn’t impede any drawing of it.

  I left the sword sheathed and moved on to the door at my right. This room should also provide me with a view of the front of house.

  Repeating the same process, I twisted the handle and opened only to get stuck. Someone had stacked furniture up against the door barricading the room from the inside. Marisa leaned out from my cloak and stuck her head inside, *there are skeletons within my love. They must’ve sheltered here. Either against the brood or something else.*

  I thought of the ghost room. To me this felt more like a barrier against a physical presence, where the strangeness of that room didn’t feel like such a thing to me.

  I pushed further in with nothing more than a forceful nudge, slightly amazed at my own strength. Once enough space was made I shimmied in not wanting to utterly displace the barricade. In case I myself had need of it.

  The room was stark and completely bare of furnishing as they were all piled against the door. The two skeletons clung to one another on the floor to my right opposite the window. The smaller of the two forms sat within the taller one’s lap. Marisa hopped down and approached them sniffing, her head low, a mewl rattled through her chest.

  *A mother and daughter,* she informed me, and I crouched beside her petting the feather’s along her flank.

  *They smell of fresh soil. It’s oddly pleasant and comforting as if they’re welcoming us,* I thought back and nodded moving to the window. The sky outside had darken and the brewing cloud looked to be on the cusp of spilling rain, I looked from the clouds to my sleeved feet.

  Shoes are the priority now, I thought and surveyed the front closely, but I wasn’t entirely sure on what I was looking for. Something out of place? A print freshly made; I was too far away to see boot-print’s or animal marking’s.

  *Marisa, you see anything. Any signs of recent life?* I asked the little dragonling, but she just shook her head in the negative.

  *Animal’s will instinctively avoid approaching this place because of the brood’s scent. As for any humanoid sign’s, none recently no.*

  I left the room having found nothing, walking past and ignoring the brood-den for now I made my way down stairs implementing my technique that past for childhood stealth. Once on the ground floor I pushed the front door further closed, hoping It may provide me some warning of an intruder. I moved to the dining and kitchen rooms. The dining room consisted of wide grey brick fireplace, a large rectangular and half broken table.

  The chairs as I found out were all stack up against the wall upside down. I rubbed my forehead in confusion at some of the impossible angles they were balancing on.

  I moved away but Marisa kept her attention on them as if they’d move the instant we looked away.

  Having found the dining
room mostly bare of everything I crept through the open archway threshold between the two rooms. The Kitchen itself was miraculously unscathed in terms of property damage—well, other than the bed sized hole in the ceiling.

  Searching through each drawer and cupboard, I pulled anything and everything that seemed useable, useful and edible. Affixing them into a pile on the island’s counter-top in the centre of the room.

  Several pots and pans hung from the racks above the island. I collected a few instantly warping them away, subconsciously tallying their presence within my mind. I scanned through the various stacks of food I’d collected, I wasn’t really much of a cook either, but I imagined I’d have several chances to improve upon such skills over this journey.

  Marisa moved around the food sniffing, having keener senses than me, I trusted her to inform me if anything was not edible. In the end my collection was a bag of potatoes, a heavy sack of whole-wheat-grains of which I knew nothing of their usage but had thoughts to maybe trading them further down the line.

  Two small jars, the first of which contained salt and the latter honey, which felt more like a gift from the heaven’s. Lastly was a pot of fine dark powder, the instant I uncorked it the smell hit me I couldn’t help but do a happy dance.

  Marisa watched bemused at my madness. “Fuck yes!” I exclaimed softly. I’d found coffee on another freaking world.

  I began to flit back through the cupboards, doing a more thorough check and finding a small tin mug and an old kettle with several coins and a ring inside. The ring had dark dull ruby embedded in the metal, I paused at the inscription on the inside of the ring, not being able to read it. For some reason I felt like a part of me should know the meaning of the inscription. Shrugging and pocketing everything into my inventory’s catalogue.

  I noted a door at the back of the kitchen which I concluded led to some form of a workshop. An open latched skylight in the ceiling provided enough light for me to view several benches and tools. Straw littered the floor inside; and I wondered if they’d housed a few animals in here during storms and such, the pen’s and small haystacks answered my questions.