by Joe Kuster
He pondered what he was supposed to do now that he was stuck in this world. He really didn’t have much of a purpose here. At that thought, his magic gave him a sharp poke in the stomach, which elicited an eye-roll from TJ.
“Right. Our oaths. I get it, but I feel like a life goal of something more specific than carousing is needed,” he complained.
His magic gurgled and sloshed but had nothing in particular to offer.
He briefly wondered if other magicians talked to their magic or not. He’d never seen any of the bards do it, or any others for that matter.
The cocky idiots he hung out with at the tavern were about as eccentric as anyone could be. If their magic reacted to their actions, they probably wouldn’t have shut up about it. They would probably have given it a woman’s name like Sophie and flirted with it in a way that made it awkward for everyone else in the room.
TJ suspected that what he was calling his magic was just part of himself that he hadn’t entirely accepted or had not yet melded into the rest of him. It didn’t really seem to know anything more than he already suspected, but it did seem concerned about enforcing the bindings he had taken on. Still, he felt compelled to argue with it.
It would be hard to maintain a hedonistic lifestyle that let him do what Serina had commanded if he didn’t put some thought and planning into it. Even back in the meadow, he’d had to work at whatever task he ended up with for at least two weeks to earn enough chits to spend a few days lounging about.
He supposed if he had a bunch of whatever this world used as currency, he could hang out in a tavern or house of ill-repute and spend his days frolicking in flesh and booze. That’d keep most of the oaths happy. He couldn’t even really argue why it was a terrible idea, but it seemed… unrealistic.
For starters, he’d have to get a stockpile of wooden chits to even get started down that path. He’d hated living hand to mouth, and blowing everything he made that way seemed like it would only lead to misery.
He continued his walk, shoving his payload along and enjoying the morning’s sunshine. It was a lot more pleasant than the dreary and misty day he’d experienced yesterday. Although, he noticed the sun’s rays didn’t warm him the same way as the one he’d known. It made his skin warm, but it somehow left him feeling cold inside.
Aside from the chittering of birds, the only thing he could hear were the continued chimes and tinkling of the adornments he’d had to wear at the revel. He’d have gladly taken them all off, but he wasn’t quite ready to throw them away just yet.
He had nothing other than his father’s flask, his robes, and those silly trinkets to his name. He’d hoped they might work as armor of sorts in the fight, but they’d only flopped around, getting in the way. Then there was how ridiculous it looked.
Still, he could always flatten them into an arrowhead or knifepoint if he were particularly desperate. The yellowish metal was soft, so it wouldn’t make much of a weapon, but perhaps he could scrape one of the disks on a rock long enough to make a sharp edge. He paused to run a hand through his finger length blond hair and realized that he’d need a razor to shave and give himself a haircut at some point.
Resuming his trek, his thoughts turned back to the tavern route, and he frowned. That option wouldn’t find him love. Serina hadn’t said to find someone to love. She’d said people, and that implied plural. Did that mean he’d have to start a family? Or would good friends count?
As he pondered that, his magic poked him in a way that suggested she’d most likely meant romantic affection from context. Not only that, but there seemed to be some sort of compelling need to be loved tied up in his chest. It was quiet for the moment, but he could tell it was a desperate thing that would claw hard if he ignored it.
He grimaced inwardly. That was going to be more challenging. Mostly because he still felt so torn up and raw inside. He hoped his magic gave him some time before it started making demands of him about that one.
He chewed on his lip as he continued to push the wheelbarrow. The wooden wheel on an axle creaked and clanked. Anytime he hit a particularly rough spot, Rachel’s discarded sword rattled and tapped along the rim.
“I mean, if I could pick anything, I could always try to make my way back to Eden’s Meadow.” He paused, thinking that through. “Or… would I? No… that wouldn’t work. They’d just fry my ass as soon as I showed up. So… maybe I should bring Serina here?”
His magic stabbed him several times in rapid succession.
“Urgh. You’re no help. It would be a lot easier to remember her fondly if she were here, wouldn’t it? Doing that would fix some of the love and sex stuff.”
The essence slowly swirled in place, seeming to digest that argument.
TJ took it not objecting as progress.
“So… if that’s the case, how would I do that?”
The essence flex then slumped.
“Uh… I have no idea what that… Oh! So, I’d have to get a lot stronger,” TJ tried.
It sloshed in agreement. Then flexed several times, then went utterly still.
“Mmm… much stronger? Like, master level or better?”
The magic thrummed even harder this time, then went silent.
“Grandmaster? Ah, shit. Really?” TJ asked.
His magic shrugged.
Chewing on that idea, he offered, “So… that’d be a long-term goal then. Grandmaster usually takes a hundred years or more. What about the short term?”
His magic shrugged again.
“Fat lotta help you are,” TJ complained. “I mean… there’s no name board out here. No one is telling me what to do. Even back home, it’s not like I got a chance to explore. That… might be kinda fun. Go see new places. Meet new people. Maybe do something interesting while I try to figure out my magic. All that would raise the chances for that other stuff too. If I get tired of it, we can settle down and run a tavern and do a bit of part-time trading.”
His magic swirled about for a bit, then seemed to approve of that idea.
He snorted to himself and broke into giggles as he imagined what his friends would say if they heard the tale of him rescuing Rachel. Devas tended to select humans with certain types of accomplishments as their potential playmates, and it had left them with a reputation among those in the village. Even without extraordinary powers, they tended to lead armies that caused destruction and subjugation on a scale that boggled the mind.
“With the oaths that I’ve got, I think I just agreed to go around saving monster girls.” He snickered. “I know they cause violence and mayhem in every realm they show up, but… I kinda think humans are cute in a weird way. It’s those big round eyes. I just want to pat them on the head and tell them it’s ok that they don’t have wings. Even if most of the pretty ones are borderline insane monsters, or murderhobos that give the Devas a run for their money.”
His magic sloshed around as if calling him an idiot.
A compromise struck, TJ turned his mind from bargaining with himself to the fact that he was now passing a series of houses along the path. He could occasionally see people in the distance working their fields, but no one was near the road, so he just kept plodding along.
The houses were simple wooden things, but each one had a raised rock wall that surrounded it. The walls were about as tall as he was and were set about thirty feet from each home. Robust wooden gates sat mounted in front.
“Monsters?” TJ guessed. “I mean, maybe they have smaller ones? I think those dog things could have jumped that.”
His little village had neither predators nor much in the way of crime, so the concept of building walls around each home stood out. It also looked like even the quainter homes were more substantial and far more spaced out than he was used to.
He saw individual chimneys and caught glimpses of cooking pots by the occasional well. He guessed that meant that it got cold enough to need heat during the colder months and that each family unit ate separately from the community.
Not go
ing to a hall or tavern for food and drink seemed foreign, and he wondered how each home would have time to do their assigned tasks on the name board, be skilled chefs, have time for their children, and do their own distilling.
That seemed unreasonable. He’d had booze by people learning under his father, and it was miserable stuff until they finished their apprenticeship. Scrunching up his face, he decided they probably had some sort of hybrid approach to being self-sufficient and still having communal trade. He hadn’t seen any distillery equipment around the houses. A world without booze wasn’t worth considering, so trading for it was the most likely scenario.
As he trudged, he noticed that several had wooden placards next to their gate with what he assumed proclaimed the residents’ family name. He passed carved words for Tiller, Smith, and Baker.
“So… it looks like the locals are literate. That’s good. These aren’t fancy keeps or anything, so the common folks know how to read and write. That means schools of some sort, or, at least, one could assume that. It also looks like it’s the same language. Maybe the portal takes care of that? I understood the kids and Rachel, so it’s speech too.”
He walked in silence for a bit processing that. His still-damp robes slapped at his calves and had begun to chafe a bit, but they were slowly drying out. At this rate, they’d still take a few hours to be completely dry.
He pondered aloud, “Perhaps it’s a common tongue shared across various realms? It’s not unthinkable. The Devas spend most of their time hopping between worlds, and Rachel seemed to know about those sent by the divine. Forcing their god’s language and ways on everyone they meet is exactly the type of asshole thing they’d do. Sucks for the locals, but it gives me a leg up. I’d rather not spend months learning a new language.”
He filed away each nugget of detail that he could. It would likely make all the difference when it came time to blend in. He was an outsider, and that might matter here.
Thankfully, much of his life so far had depended on his ability to make others feel at ease, and that required understanding their ways. He’d invested heavily in learning what topics and questions would make him an engaging dinner companion versus those that would make him look ignorant.
Asking about the story behind this shiny bauble, parroting their mannerisms, and having a few witty anecdotes at the ready hadn’t just been a strategy to get laid; it had been necessary to keep himself fed. The manual labor detail was the lowest possible rung in his society and the pay represented that fact. Rather than starve or beg, he’d found other ways to get by. While he’d gladly toss most of those roguish days aside, he suspected some of those skills were likely to be called into play soon.
He passed more houses, some painted wood, others unfinished. A few had actual glass windows, signaling that they had more wealth or had technology more readily available than the humble tenements he was used to.
Watching the elves in the village hand blow glass, cut it, then shape it flat had been impressive. However, it was a time-consuming art that relied on fires that consumed vast amounts of fuel, so most of their efforts went into decorative glass displays for the Devas. At best, the community buildings had the cast-offs of palm-sized glass squares they’d worked into larger windows. These, however, looked like a much larger single pane.
It didn’t give him much to work from, but this realm might be slightly more technologically advanced than the one he’d come from. As he thought about it, the mill had seemed a bit better built as well, and what was left of the brickworks had seemed well crafted.
He trod along and was stunned as he came even with a large two-story home constructed entirely of brick with white wooden frames around glass windows. Instead of a rock wall, it had thick layers of thick red brick that looked like the same color of the red clay he’d landed in. There was even a walkway made of red tiles. On the engraved stone plaque by the gate, it read ‘Masterson.’
Next to the gate was a black stone obelisk as tall as he was. There were small symbols carved into it that made the hair of TJ’s neck stand up. In the very center of an elaborate cluster of shapes was a triangle with the tip pointed skyward. As he stared at it, he could hear the faint pounding of hammers. The stone made him want to touch it and stay away at the same time.
His hand was inches from the smooth surface when the essence in his chest gave him a sharp jolt. He hadn’t even realized he was reaching toward the stonework. Looking inward, he leaned on his magic and noticed the stone radiating some sort of field around it. What it did, he had no idea, but it was enough to convince him to take several steps back.
He was so lost in thought looking at the pyramid-tipped piece of artwork that he nearly missed the first person on a horse that passed him at a trot. He quickly stepped to the side as several more riders passed. Each one looked in a hurry, and they’d been moving so fast he didn’t get a good look at them.
Glancing down the road, he saw the first of several storefronts and spotted a white building with a tall tower and bell. He hadn’t even noticed the transition between homes being placed a little closer to what probably passed as a town or village.
Vectoring to what he assumed was the church, he passed through a crowd of people. As he approached the clump of humans, curious eyes were cast his way. He gave a friendly nod of his head and picked up whistling again.
Nearing them, the first group of three men leaning against a railing and lost in debates of the day began shouting and backing away as their eyes locked onto the wheelbarrow. They cleared the path, and their faces had gone pale. A pretty brunette standing next to them looked ready to scream at the top of her lungs as her lip trembled.
Uncertain what to do about their reaction, TJ opted to ignore it. This seemed like the type of situation that would best be served by finding Rachel as fast as possible. If she were the daughter of the guard’s commander, any laws he was breaking might be forgiven. Lingering might mean getting arrested.
Wave after wave of locals gasped and staggered backward, but no one told him what he was doing wrong. They’d turn toward him, sometimes smile and wave, then go pale as they backpedaled.
When they could manage words, their comments ran toward “Hello ther—What the hell!?” or “Get back! Keep back!” Most, however, had fallen into wide-eyed and stunned silence.
He hoped it wasn’t just because he was a stranger. That’d make things all kind of difficult.
He thought through the reactions the citizens of Eden’s Meadow might have, and the closest response he came up with was that maybe only people of specific stations were allowed weapons. The Devas had been like that.
They could wield whatever they cared to, but it was forbidden for anyone else. Even if they left them lying around and a child picked one up, the penalty for touching one of their weapons was death.
TJ sucked his teeth. As he glanced around to men in plain tunics and the handful of ones in colored jackets and riding pants, only one out of twenty had a weapon visible, and they were all on the better-dressed men.
If weapons were outlawed for commoners, he needed to find Rachel as fast as possible. Still, he felt their reactions were overblown. He wasn’t even holding it in his hand. As far as he was concerned, he was returning lost property.
A gaggle of children rushed in, took one look at TJ, then fled, screaming at the top of their lungs as they bolted down the path while pointing his way. Every person not already looking at him lifted their eyes and began staring. All around him, dozens of eerily silent people stared at him.
TJ groaned. “So much for blending in.”
Several of the frightened youths seemed headed in the same direction. Seeing this, a few of the adults followed at a sprint. TJ was more than confused, but their actions cleared the path, and he was able to navigate his parcel on the boardwalk.
Nervously whistling out of tune, to make sure no one was startled by his approach, he propped his payload next to the building, then walked toward the front of the church. He wasn’t sure i
f Rachel would be easy to find or not, but it didn’t look like the village was big enough that a bit of asking wouldn’t get the job done.
Next to the steps into the church was a decorated wooden circle with a nail in the center. On the top were a crescent moon and the word ‘Timarat.’ In the center were carvings of a small home like those surrounding the village and a downward-facing pyramid.
TJ had to tilt his head to better read the upside-down inscription on the other half. It had a sun above an upward-pointing triangle and the word ‘Ratamit.’ The engraving was a picture of workers in a quarry, hammering at stones. He reached out and touched the elaborate woodwork, and it wobbled as though it could be spun back and forth. He assumed it was designed to be switched back and forth, but the water spotting and sun-bleaching on it suggested it had been left with the Timarat side pointing up for a long time.
To the right of the sign, someone had affixed a piece of parchment with a nail. The words were heavily inked in bold letters.
New Order Meeting Tomorrow
Join us in this blessed time of transcendence.
Timarat shall rise beyond the bindings of his shared pantheon.
We seek to unchain our deity and worship the unfettered goodness he offers our families.
Join us in service and hear how you can support our god’s journey.
Now welcoming new apostles, acolytes, and disciples.
The paper ended with a similar symbol as the disk, but with many more accents and swirls.
Pulling himself from the sign, TJ glanced around and realized that there was a steady trickle of people gathering in the street. Quite a few were pointing his way. He needed to find Rachel before their mood went from curious to something less helpful.
Chapter 8
Topping the steps and reaching the door, TJ poked his head inside and gave an amused laugh.
Leaning a shoulder against the already open doorway, TJ called out, “Well, that was easy.”
Rachel spun, and her eyes widened. Standing in between rows of pews, she appeared to be embroiled in what looked like a heated debate with a heavyset man in brown robes flanked by a much smaller man in black robes.