by Ted Fauster
“It’s a training device,” she said. “The most fantastic piece of machinery I have ever seen. I’ve already been through it myself. I promise, you won’t believe the results you’ll achieve.”
Jack agreed to go first. He climbed into the chair but grew nervous when Fenwick strapped both his arms and legs down.
“Nothing to fear,” the creature with a nose like an eggplant said. He reached up and pulled a metal bowl-shape that was connected to wires down over the top of Jack’s head. “No pain will you feel.” That remained to be seen. Jack let out a sigh and closed his eyes.
When he opened them he found himself standing on a glowing green grid that spread out toward infinity. The grid crackled and transformed into a breezy field of shortly clipped grass capped by a blue sky filled with puffy white clouds. A row of standard archery targets fizzled into existence a short distance away.
A voice entered his head.
“Feel the wind,” it said in a tone that was both male and female. “Allow your eyes to see the gap between you and the target.”
An alien sensation rippled through his body, squirming through his veins and into his muscles like liquid fire. A bow appeared in his hands. A quiver of arrows materialized in a stand beside him. Not quite of his own will, he slipped one of the arrows out and nocked it against the taught string. The bow lifted before him as he simultaneously drew the string back until the tension settled.
“See the path. Allow the bow to spring forward.”
He let go of the string. The arrow sailed through the air and snicked just off-center into one of the paper targets beyond.
He knocked another arrow, pulled back, and fired it as well. It too struck its mark, this one a bit closer to center. He lifted and fired another. And still another. And in the span of only a few minutes he fired off what felt like thousands of shots. The row of paper targets stood riddled with arrows.
“Good,” the plural-voice said. “Very good.”
The targets faded away and a faceless battling dummy armed with a wooden sword appeared. It lurched toward him. A sword of metal materialized in Jack’s hand.
“Center your weight,” a different set of voices instructed. “Make the weapon an extension of your arm.”
The dummy dropped and turned, the wooden sword swinging around. Jack brought his arm across his chest with his wrist angled down. The sword he held easily blocked the blow. The dummy whirled around, swinging its weapon clockwise to try and catch Jack from the other direction, but Jack leapt back and spun the other way.
The wooden sword swished harmlessly past, but the blade of Jack’s sword caught the dummy on the neck. It separated its head. The defeated sparring partner fizzled away.
Three more dummies materialized and sprang forward…
The tutorial went on for what felt like an entire day. But when Jack came to, he somehow sensed he had only been gone for about an hour at best. Strangely, he was not in the least bit tired. He lifted the metal bowl from his head and blinked.
“What the hell was that?” he asked.
“Just the collective consciousness of a thousand heroes that was,” the gnome said as he undid the straps. “An accelerated method I’ve come up with for preparing you for battle. The knowledge is stored in the crystals. It is yours now.”
Jack was astounded. He stood and pulled out his cutlass and began swishing it around. The sword felt different now, much more in tune.
With the exception of the Raratong, the others took their turns. In the matter of less than an hour, all were capable of performing on a similar level. All except Astinos, who refused to make use of the device.
“I’ve been here long enough,” he gave as an excuse, sounding tired and more than a bit betrayed. “The skills I possess I have gained through personal experiences I had long before I came to this warped place. No machine can make me any greater.”
Fenwick led them to another gallery, a long range with a series of clay pots on stands at the far end. Several Anuran engineers stood by. One of them approached with something large in its suckered hands.
“No tutorial there is for this device,” Fenwick grumbled. “By your own hands alone must you grow accustomed to its usage.”
The engineer cheerfully offered use of the strangely familiar looking thing.
“A thunestaff,” it proclaimed, bowing slightly at the waist. “Please, you may test it out on the targets beyond.”
Astinos was closest. With some urging, he lifted the heavy weapon that looked suspiciously like a shotgun. Just as the engineer had explained, he brought it to his shoulder.
“Just put your thumb over the small hole in the handle, then utter the flamefinger cantrip. This will ignite the cartridge inside, which will expel a burst of iron grit and stones.”
Astinos pointed the weapon in the general direction of the clay pots. His lips moved, mumbling the simple spell that allowed a small flower of green flame to ignite across his thumb.
The weapon erupted with a deafening blast and shot showered the ceiling. Despite a firm hold, Astinos stumbled and fell back in a cloud of smoke. He glared at the engineers as he climbed to his feet. Without a word, he dropped the weapon to the floor and skulked away.
Jack watched him retreat to the back of the gallery. He wasn’t so sure about this man, but he understood his revulsion. The introduction of something so deadly as a gun was surely something these people were not ready for. Still, guns were here, nonetheless.
He glanced down at the weapon that lay smoking on the floor. He bent and casually picked it up.
Although crude, it was solidly crafted, almost resembling something more like a blunderbuss than a shotgun, he now realized. The wood was dense and solid, the metal smooth. The stout barrel ended in a slight flair. The craftsmanship was fine. Despite a clatter on the stones it still looked in perfect working order.
He looked anxiously at the engineers. “Mind if I give it a try?”
Jack fired off several bursts, easily obliterating each of the clay pots downrange. As the engineers scrambled to replenish them, he held the weapon skyward. He couldn’t help beaming over at Marlin.
The rodent looked at him with surprise in his eyes. “When did you manage to memorize your cantrips?”
But Jack was too enamored to answer. He cradled the weapon on his hip, stroking it, admiring it. “Damn barrel’s not even hot.”
“It can fire indefinitely,” one of the engineers confirmed. He angled the suckered tip of his index finger to point at the barrel. “The metal is an alloy which does not yield to flame and conducts no heat. In a sense, the weapon is indestructible.”
“And these loads?” Jack asked, holding up and shaking one of the cylindrical cartridges.
The Anuran’s eyelids clicked. “They are propelled by chaar, an explosive compound derived from brynstan. There are several varieties. But we’ve found the heavyshot to be the best choice up close. There are smaller shots, for hunting birds and the like, and single shots that can be fired from an interchangeable tube. These are most accurate for shooting long distances.”
Jack marveled at the weapon. But a sinking feeling suddenly overtook him.
“Does anyone else have one of these?”
The engineers looked nervously to one another.
“I’m afraid so,” one of them finally answered. “The device is a gnome invention, a device of war. And although it is very new, and extremely expensive to produce, it won’t be long before they are in use all across the lands.”
Jack nodded. If there was such a weapon here in Faerel, a device very similar to a gun, then things would most certainly change. And very soon. In the wrong hands—hell, in any hands—guns were the most dangerous thing on any planet.
The Prinkipria stocked with a fresh batch of supplies—and all of them bathed, fed, rested and well outfitted—Jack stood on the prow, overlooking the gurgling green waters of the subterranean pool.
He finally had some decent clothes. He’d ditched the worn s
hirt and replaced it with a brown leather vest that buckled across the front in three places, noticing when he had that his skin had tanned into a kind of olive-brown color that actually looked quite nice. The vest fit snugly across his chest and abdomen, and it had lots of small pockets for stashing things. There was padding in the back where a lightweight plank of metal had been inserted in an inner sleeve—a form of armor, one of the engineers had told him.
His pants were made from the same rugged material as the vest. They fit snugly but comfortably, allowing for a wide range of movement. A new pair of rugged boots that laced halfway to his knees finished it all off. On his forearms were cuffs made from thick leather, metal rods sewn into the finish. He wore knee pads and shin guards now—the latter of which covered most of the front of his boots—all made from the same alloy that had little more weight than plastic.
In response to Marlin’s suggestion, he’d had one of the staff shave and tightly braid the hair on his head into a Mohawk. Having known many Rusalk, Marlin had assured him he’d encountered most men of the species sporting their hair in a similar manner, claiming it aided in underwater maneuverability.
A small haversack fit snugly across his back. In it he’d stowed several days’ worth of food, some tools, and other critical items. Thick loops sewn into the outer flap of the pack provided a nesting place for the thunestaff and its interchangeable barrels.
Captain Grantham’s old cutlass still hung from his waist. He thought of naming it, like he had his old Louisville Slugger.
Som seemed most comfortable in black cotton shorts and no shirt or shoes, although he did carry an even smaller version of Jack’s pack that rested easily between his wings. He’d finally learned how to keep from involuntarily fluttering them and dusting everyone in his wake, although he was still nervous about flying. Around his waist was a new belt with a big brass buckle and two loops to keep the sais he’d found in the chancing pit in place.
Hanna’s shorts were much shorter—and much more snug. The backside had a little hole for her tail to poke through. She’d somehow avoided having to carry any rucksack, convinced the snacks she’d included in her belt pouches would be sufficient. She was bare-breasted, and strangely proud of it. Of course, she still wore her puffy shoulder furs, which she’d knotted over her chest.
The sabre she kept swishing around in everyone’s face hung from the belt, too. She was actually quite good with it. They were all fairly good with weapons now.
Astinos stood alone by the side rail. His was another story. Although he had bathed, shaved and pulled his long hair back into a knot behind his head, he had refused any new attire. He wasn’t talking much.
Jack worried about him. Freshly soled boots were the only revision to his worn leather armor. He had, however, allowed the engineers to replace the broken and bent shanks in his battered mackinaw with new ones made from the same alloy as the gun barrels. He stood there, looking more like a tired turtle in the giant coat. It looked so heavy, and still appeared as if it had seen better days, but at least it no longer bordered on filthy.
The soldier had accepted one rather interesting new device: a type of bungee attachment that connected his newly acquired shield to a magnetic holder mounted to the back of his jacket. This allowed him to simply let go of the shield when he wanted, and it would be pulled up onto his back. It was a significant improvement. It worked quite well and prevented the man from ever having to drop the shield to the ground.
Jack surveyed the scene in contemplative silence. What a group.
His cutlass sharpened, a long fang of a knife tucked into his boot, a blunderbuss on his back and a bandolier full of cartridges strapped across his chest—he finally felt somewhat prepared.
The moment didn’t last long. A strange feeling settled.
What was he really doing? What were they all doing? Could any of this pay off, and could they possibly survive?
They were off to retrieve chunks of a magical star, for Christ sake, and that was just to reveal the path to something called the Destiny Scrolls—of all things!
He was suddenly reminded of all the cheesy computer games he’d played as a kid, all those goofy quest simulations where you found one item only to discover you needed the next… and the next…
Hanna and Som were walking awkwardly over. He quickly pulled himself together.
Hana reached out to run a crimson hand over his skin. “You look strange,” she said flatly, but she followed it up with a playful look.
“You two should talk,” he scoffed.
Som laughed. He looked down and shook his head.
Jack tilted his chin. “What?”
The blue fairy looked up and gave a wry smile. “I can’t believe we are here.”
Jack nodded in agreement but kept his mirth to a minimum. “Yeah, but we’re minus one person.”
“Does that truly matter to you, Jack,” Hanna asked. “Not to be cruel, but we all just met each other a few days ago.”
“It does matter,” Jack decided. “We came over here together. We’re a team.”
“Where do you think she is?” the devil-red woman dared to ask.
“I don’t know. Hopefully with those mountain witches, just like Maltheus said.” Jack sighed resignedly. “She’s one of us. We need to find her.”
Hanna’s face, always so rigid and full of pride, suddenly dissolved into a blubbering mess. “What are we doing?” she begged through tears. “We’ve been here for days, already. What have we even accomplished? We’re all going to be killed.”
Jack leaned in and put his arm around her. “No, we’re not. You know why? Because that should have happened already.”
Hanna gently pushed away and looked up, her amber eyes swollen. “What do you mean by that?”
“I don’t know. Somehow, for some reason I can’t explain, I just get the feeling that we’re all going to be… okay.”
It wasn’t much, Jack knew, but it was the truth—and it was all he had.
Som brightened. “Hey, we’re here. We made it to Arythria, and in one piece!” He stuck his little blue hand out parallel to the deck, urging them to do the same. “Jack’s right. We’re a team. And we’re in this together.”
Jack put his hand over Som’s, dwarfing it. They looked to Hanna. After a moment, she halfheartedly added her long red fingers to the stack.
“We’re here,” Jack added. “We’ve all been tested and survived. Playtime is over. I don’t know all the weird crap this place has in store for us, but I think we can all agree that we are as ready as we will ever be.”
He waited for acknowledgment. When he was sure he had it, he gave a determined nod. “This is our chance, our chance for a new life. Let’s do this.”
Somehow, Jack actually felt as if that did some good.
As Som and Hanna wandered off to explore the ship with the Raratong, Marlin shuffled up. “Now look here,” Jack said before he could comment. “This isn’t your mess. You don’t need to come. Maltheus already said you can stay here until things cool off.”
It didn’t look like Marlin was going anywhere. The rodent had swapped out his tattered clothes for a set of navy blue knickers and a fresh, puffy white shirt that billowed like a sail. A blue bandanna was wrapped around his head and he’d added a gold loop earring.
Jack also noticed that a new shortsword—a very flashy silvery one—hung from his belt.
Marlin’s eyes twinkled behind the freshly polished and waxed glass of his spectacles. He flashed that bucktooth grin.
“Now what good would that do me? Hmm? This place is far too gaudy, anyway. Gives me a headache.” He placed one bare foot on a crate and leaned across his furry knee. “Overgaard was once my home.” There was a quiver to his voice. “But I’ve been gone a long time. No one knows who I am, anymore. And now I won’t even get to see her before we leave.”
Jack hadn’t expected that. “Don’t you have a family? Any friends?”
The little rodent looked away.
; Jack cleared his throat. “Well, in that case. I’ve been doing some thinking. The ship said I should choose a co-captain, in case I’m not able to drive… sail… whatever.”
Marlin beamed. “Are you saying you require a… first mate?”
Jack gave a nod. “I need someone I can trust. Someone who knows their way around a ship.”
Marlin grinned wide. “Well then, whatever this is that we are about to undertake, wherever it is we are about to go, I shall follow.”
The weathered ship exited the subterranean chamber the same way it had entered, which was a very strange thing indeed. Only this time, when they were expelled from the spiral tunnel of water, they found themselves bobbing in the murky shallows of a swamp.
Following Hanna’s maps, they cut across a forest of lily pads in a southeasterly direction, toward the long canal that would eventually lead them west toward Sarkovia.
Jack stood intently at the wheel. For some reason he couldn’t quite explain, he simply felt determined. Maybe it was seeing the distress in the eyes of the lost soldier, sensing the unspoken need in Hanna’s voice, witnessing the determinedness of Marlin, or hearing the harrowing experiences of Som. Or maybe it was something altogether new.
Whatever it was, the one thing he knew for sure was that they all had purpose now. Someone needed their help—hell, a whole world full of someones—and he, for one, was tired of letting people down.
Marlin stood beside him up top in the wheelhouse. Some weird bugs flew by. Together he and the overgrown rodent watched as the two suns rose up over the burnt-orange swamp.
“So, that fellow back there was really an angel?” Marlin wondered aloud as he bent to lash a small cask to the side rail.
Jack steadied the wheel. The ship creaked.
“Well, little buddy, I certainly hope so.”
Epilogue
The caustic sands shifted. A yellowed point broke the surface, the tip of an ever-elongating spiral tusk that grew wider at the base as it rose higher and higher into the dusty chamber.