The

Travelers’

Stone

Book One of the One World A’Kyria Series

The

Travelers’

Stone

Book One of the One World A’Kyria Series

Ailene Lynn Ray

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the writers’ imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book can be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without the expressed permission of the authors; with the sole exception of partial reproductions for reviews and educational purposes.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner for the purpose of training artificial intelligence technologies or systems. Concurrently, no artificial intelligence technologies or systems were used to produce the content of this work of fiction.

The Travelers’ Stone

Copyright © 2023-2025 Louise Hughes and Darrell Hughes

Paperback ISBN: 979-8-9880927-4-2

EBook ISBN: 979-8-9880927-5-9

Cover Art by Miblart.com

Bio Art by White Dragon Illustrations, LLC

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Published by The OOGC, LLC

To Ean, Collin, and Alyssa – The best adventure we could ask for. Your spark and creativity inspire us every day!

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The first idea for this book actually came about decades before Ailene Lynn Ray was even a glimmer on the horizon. Many years later, that one idea led to developing a tabletop role playing game in the rich and varied world of A’Kyria. There are so many people we would like to thank who helped us make our adventurous world, and this novel, a reality.

First and foremost, we would like to thank our best friend, business cohort, and partner in crime, Rick Frank. Without your input, ideas, creativity, proofreading skills, support, and patience…lots and lots of patience…likely this book and our game business would never have gotten off the ground.

We’d like to give a standing ovation to our amazing content editor, L. K. Feuerstein, who wasn’t afraid to tell us when something wasn’t working, helped us work out plot and character inconsistencies, and gave us great character feedback. (Lem thanks you, too!)

We are so grateful to Joan George for her fantastic proofreading skills, dedication to going through the book over and over again, and her professional archaeological input; all were indispensable in getting this book ready for print.

This book would never have come about without the help of Steven Pickett who, all those years ago, sat down with one half of “Ailene” to work out the basic plot and character ideas for the book you are now holding.

A great big “Huzzah!” to Zachary Billings and Tyler Wible. Your countless hours of help designing the world of A’Kyria, its systems and stories, have created a vibrant platform for adventure. Your efforts made it that much easier to write this novel.

To our daughter, Alyssa, for creating a bio picture for her camera-shy parents. We are so thankful for all of your time, effort, and talent.

We’d also like to thank all of our play testers and gamers that have joined A’Kyria over the years. There’s a little bit of all of you in this world.

And, finally, we would like to thank all of our family and friends who have supported our creative craziness over the years. We hope you find fun and adventure within these pages.

[ 1 ]

[World Region: 2A765-38BC7-FF433-77432-A2D345-275E4]

THE alarms were blaring; a klaxon wail shredded through everything, leaving him deaf to anything else. He thrust his face to the retinal scanner. The door opened, seemingly silent against the roar from the speakers.

The door slid shut, blunting the blast of the alarm but he could now hear the muffled sounds of fighting and nearby explosions on the other side of the wall. His hands ran over the panel. Experienced fingers flying over the controls, he willed them to react faster, desperate to get through the last lock to face his enemy.

This was not how he was going to end. He would not let them. Their wormhole of black lightning had split the skies above his world, disgorging an armada of ships and mechs and taken everything he loved…his family…his friends…his home. He had to get out. Had to fire just one blast, wrap his hands around one throat, take one down! Only then would he happily surrender to the dark…and take the information he carried with him.

Finally, the red indicator for the outer door started to flash through its cycle and his eyes darted back and forth from the panel to the door. “Come on. Come on,” he whispered, tapping the screen. Then a deep groan wound through the walls and the entire complex went black. “NO,” he screamed in a throat scouring howl, slamming his fist on the edge of the control panel.

He edged his way across the room, his hands stretched before him in the darkness, until he thumped up against the wall he hoped contained the override panel. He slid his hands along the surface searching for the panel groove, but his dominant hand fed him no sensation. His frustration mounted. Not yet accustomed to the cybernetics, his hand felt like a metal glove had been clamped over it.

The smooth wall went on and on without a crease; his only touch-sensitive hand sweeping across it in ever widening movements; back and forth, up and down. Then suddenly, his hand swept through emptiness. He had reached the end.

He spun in a panic. Had he missed it? Was it on the other wall? He groped blindly across the darkness, searching for the other side, when the world came to a muffled stop. For the merest instant it felt like he had lost his sense of hearing, then the world rushed back in with a concussive force that sent him flying. He struggled to rise in the maelstrom of wind and debris, but something smashed across his head, and he dropped like a rock. His vision blurred and narrowed as the sound of battle and energy blasts shrieked like missiles through the air; he watched, sight dimming, the carnage of metal and body parts and shrapnel and blood…

…and leaves the color of that slippery green moss on the rocks by the cave entrance near his childhood home. They rustled back and forth in a soothing gentle motion.

What? No! He tried to shake his head to clear the vision, but it felt like he was pinned down. He had to stay awake. Had to get up.

“Lem.” The familiar voice called to him; so lovely. He had forgotten how sweet her voice was. He howled.

“Lem.” Her voice pulled at him, a siren song that stirred a longing so deep he let himself drift into unconsciousness.

The breeze felt good against his skin. The grass was stiff but soft where he sat on the manicured lawn of the park.

“Lem.”

This was a special day; all three suns were up. The summer solstice. Even at dusk, the air was warm and bright. The rest of the year the suns rode low on the horizon, sharing little light, but in summer? Oh, yes, in summer the suns linked their light and rode across the sky together and everyone reveled in the days outdoors. Even the animals became more brazen, risking being chased by over-exuberant children to capture rays of their own.

“Are you going to eat that sandwich or are you just going to feed it to the bugs?”

Lem snapped out of his reverie and glanced at his sandwich. A couple of purple iridescent beetles were questing about on the bread, scooping up bits to haul off to their tunnel homes.

He gave his wife, Jerrita, a lopsided grin. She laughed and shook her head. She was so beautiful, with her wide brown eyes, graceful neck, and pert nose. Her blond coat shimmered in the sun and her brightly colored sarong made her look like a walking holiday. No, none of the wonder had faded. She was still just as enchanting as the day that they married.

“So, are you going to eat that sandwich,” Jerrita repeated, “or should I let you go back to whatever land you disappeared into?”

He swept off the beetles and took a bite of his sandwich, chewing as he watched his daughter chase after a rabbit. She laughed as she stumbled and rolled in the grass.

“You know,” he said around a mouthful of food, earning him a wry look from his wife. He swallowed and started again, “You know, we should get Shalalla a pet. During the dark days, it would cheer her heart to have something to chase around the apartment.”

“Oh, sure,” Jerrita penned him with her eyes. “And who’s going to take care of it?” Lem gave her a guilty smile and Jerrita sighed. “I know. You worry about us and I know this new job means a great deal to everyone. I just…well, never mind. It’s not important. Shalalla doesn’t need a pet. Just spend time with her. She loves you very much.”

Lem’s eyes tracked his little girl as she scampered around in the grass. She had her mother’s ears, soft and relaxed, approachable; not like his ears, stiff and aggressive. She had his nose, though, and she was growing up so fast.

A heaviness settled over him. He wanted so much for his family. He wanted to give them a life that didn’t require permits and scheduled times just to visit the park; a life where the sun could shine on them every day.

And he could give it to them. If this new project worked out, he could give Shalalla room to run and grow. They could be the first to leave for a new land when the expansion started.

He could give them the sun.

Jerrita picked up on the shift in his mood and gently turned his face toward hers. “Lem, I am so very proud of you,” she said softly. “Whatever happens, we will make it through just fine.” She kissed him gently and stood to join her daughter in a romp around the park.

Lem watched them for a long time as they ran across the grass playing some sort of game that had both of them collapsing on the ground laughing. When they wandered off into the trees, he laid back to catch a nap.

A shadow across his face woke him and he smiled thinking of how Jerrita must be standing over him, ready to tease him about dozing off. But when he opened his eyes, the whole park was shadowed like a large cloud had obstructed the suns. He sat up as the breeze picked up to a persistent wind and the air got colder. Wind? Cold? This was a climate-controlled dome. What was going on?

The wind rose to a gale and the sky grew darker. Lem jumped to his feet in panic, scanning the park for his family. He finally spotted them at the edge of the trees, the wind tearing at their clothes as they struggled to make their way to him.

“Jerrita,” he yelled. “Shalalla…I’m coming!” He tore across the grass, fighting the wind as it pushed him back. The sky grew darker and his family got farther and farther away with each labored step he took.

“Jerrita! Shalalla!” he screamed in desperation as the wind knocked him down and the sky turned purple.

And then it turned black.

And then he remembered.

And then there was pain.

[ 2 ]

[Coordinate: ?????-?????-?????-?????-??????-????? - Earth]

TRISHA skidded to the right and dashed down the alley, alert to the sound of slapping feet behind her. She jumped over a pile of loose cardboard by a dumpster and wedged herself in the gap between the dumpster and the wall. Well, as close as she could get, anyway. With a flash of inspiration, she hunkered down and leaned a piece of cardboard over her. With any luck, it would look like it was tossed against the big metal trash bin. She waited with her heart pounding in her ears as the slapping feet came nearer.

They clopped past the dumpster and then faltered near the end of the alley. With a scrape, they turned around and made a slower circuit back to the dumpster. Trisha held her breath as the shoes scuffed over some of the cardboard and then backed off to lift the lid of the dumpster.

“In the dumpster?” Trisha thought to herself, disgusted. “Really, Chad?”

She waited while Chad came to the same conclusion that, no matter how much she wanted to ditch her nanny-bot, she wouldn’t dumpster dive just to get away from him. He sighed, murmured an exasperated “Bloody hell” and walked back the way he came.

Trisha waited several minutes before she peered around her cardboard cover. Chad would be fine. He’d do what he always did when she managed to give him the slip. He’d head to his favorite pub, (because, of course, her driver/bodyguard/stalker would be English) have a pint, watch the kind of football that didn’t require helmets, then go back and tell her aunt that he dropped her off at cheerleading practice, or a friend’s house or whatever activity was on the approved auntie list.

She called him Chad because it pissed off her aunt. Come to think of it, she didn’t know his first name. He was Mr. Chadwick and as Chadwicks go, he wasn’t really all that bad. As she made her way down the alley, she kind of felt bad. She hadn’t really needed to ditch him today. She was going to meet Kyle and he was, after all, on the auntie approved relationship list.

At the end of the alley, she pulled out her phone, her green eyes scanning the transit app for the nearest bus stop that would take her to UCLA. It was farther away than she thought. She would have to hoof it to make the next bus. Her gold blond hair streamed behind her as she took up an easy jog. She could have put it up today like she normally did, but she had an ache to feel the wind in her hair through the sunroof of Kyle’s car.

Her tireless lope swung her through a beat-down area of the city; a stretch of tired, worn businesses and empty lots. But the closer she got to the stop, the scenery gradually shifted to neat ethnic shops and antique secondhand stores. The bus pulled into the stop just as she arrived. Perfect timing. Today was going to be an excellent day.

Trisha smirked as she climbed aboard and fished her transit pass out of her backpack. Her aunt would die the death of the socially stigmatized if she knew her ward rode public transportation. Trisha had no intention of giving that little tidbit away, even to watch her aunt’s face freeze in that ‘Vesuvius is about to erupt’ look. Freedom was freedom, even if it came with worn seats and the occasional creeper.

But freedom also came in rumpled black hair and blue eyes…and rich parents and a Porsche. Kyle Stockton was the auntie sanctioned boyfriend. He came from a good family, with strong roots and an even stronger bank account. Plus, he looked fabulous at her aunt’s soirees, which were mandatory attendance for Trisha. “Yeah…those were FUN,” she grimaced to herself. Everything about those events gave off the stink of insincerity. She always ended up looking for an escape in the party crowd while her aunt gushed, “Oh, have you met Kyle Stockton? Yes, the Stocktons. Darling boy! So brilliant. He got into the graduate program at the Cotsen Institute at UCLA… not that his father couldn’t have bought his way in. And did I tell you, he is dating my niece? They are so perfect for each other.” Gag. She’d rather lap up her own vomit. Trisha knew an angle when she heard one and her aunt was terrible at it.

As the bus pulled away, she tried to settle her feelings about Kyle. If she was honest, she had latched onto him at one of the parties as a lifeboat in the sea of fakery. When she first came to live with her aunt, she was completely in awe of the world of the “haves.” As a lifelong “have-not,” she was suckered by a lifestyle where it seemed like she could have anything she wanted. It soured pretty fast when she realized her aunt only took her in as an Orphan Annie; a public show of her aunt’s “benevolent and caring heart.” Kyle was the only person she had met in the last five years that even came close to being real in the land of brand names and facelifts.

The bus slowed to a bumping halt at the next stop and she stared through the glass at the open doors of a local mechanic. A lump crawled up her throat and sat like a toad at the back of her tongue. God, she missed her dad. It just kind of snuck up on her like this. One minute fine; the next…toad.

Her dad was always a bit wobbly in the good citizen department. Mechanic by day, chop shop owner by night, there wasn’t much guess work as to why Aunt Denice stopped talking to him before Trisha was even born. But he was a true hands-on dad. From the moment Trisha could hold a wrench, she was working on cars. When her mom bailed, her dad’s crew stepped in as family. They taught her everything a good girl needs to know: how to defend herself, how to fix cars, how to break into cars and, most importantly, how to drive anything with wheels. She didn’t care what anyone said. It was a great way to grow up.

Oh, her dad had his moments of dad-ness. He couldn’t help it. He always told her he wanted more for his little girl. So, school was a priority. Cussing and fighting was a big fat nope, although those lessons never really stuck. Then came gymnastics, because her dad’s first try at the normal dad thing landed her in ballet. One class and he found her ditching her dance shoes in the dumpster behind the shop. She wanted to take a martial arts class; he wanted something that didn’t read “thug life” on a college application. They compromised with gymnastics and Trisha found that she had a natural talent for it. While she never had any real aspirations to become an Olympic gymnast, much to the frustration of her coach, she reveled in the competition. Plus, the guys at the shop made sure she could take care of herself. Martial arts classes had nothing on ‘Standby’ Lee and his ability to teach nunchucks.

But she never lost her passion for being behind the wheel, despite the fact that her dad died in a high-speed chase with the police when she was thirteen. So, when her aunt handed over the keys to a shiny new, respectable, Lexus, she practically salivated. The first thing she did was find the local street racing crowd.

They weren’t impressed…at first. She couldn’t blame them. Some blond-haired puta rico comes strolling in telling them she needs to soup up her ride and they were seeing an easy mark, or worse. It took some serious fast talking and a driving dare to change their minds. When she scooped their driver in her Lexus, they were amused. When she took their pilfered parts and made her Lexus into a screaming machine, Puta Rico became her street name. When she crashed said Lexus into a storefront to avoid a homeless man while she was street racing…well, that’s when the car and license went bye-bye and she got “a Chadwick.”

The bus finally stopped at the UCLA campus and Trisha bounced off the vehicle. Kyle may not be her soul mate, but he was her ticket to the road for the time being. A promise of a seat behind the wheel of his Porsche and a little raceway nearby would make this day go even better.

[ 3 ]

[Coordinate: ?????-?????-?????-?????-??????-????? - Earth]

“DON’T forget to pick up my dry cleaning on your way back. I need it tonight.”

Donna’s high-pitched, near nasally voice clawed its way down the hallway and scratched him where he stood in the bedroom. Clarence sighed as he buttoned up his shirt. Their little one bedroom, one bath apartment meant that there was no room where he could escape his wife’s nagging. And because Donna sat on their financials like a dragon on its hoard, it meant they would not be getting anything bigger anytime soon. It did not fit into “the plan.”

He was very tired of “the plan.”

He finished tying his tie, shrugged into his jacket and, adjusting his glasses, turned to look in the mirror. Black suit, black tie, black shoes, dark skin and a white shirt. His close-cropped russet hair was the only thing about him that was not monochromatic. He looked more like a funeral director than an insurance adjuster. A short skinny funeral director. He sighed and grabbed his briefcase.

Donna yelled down the hall again. “Did you hear me? Get the dry cleaning and make sure they got it right this time. You are always letting these people get away with cheating us and I have to go and fix it.”

“Yes, Dear,” he called as he headed down the hall to get his morning coffee. He emerged into the smudged light of the kitchen; the window curtains fighting back the morning light like they had a vendetta against the sun. And there was Donna, per usual, her brown head bent over her laptop, phone and piles of papers on the kitchen table. The wan light from the kitchen window split around the table like Donna somehow sucked up the energy. In his mind, he called the spot The Black Hole and Donna was the gravity well.

She spent the majority of her time at that table. She digitally clipped coupons, fanatically checked their bank accounts and investments online, complained about him and life on social media, scoured advice columns online and in the paper for financial and relationship tips and, in all things, found various reasons why he was failing her as a husband. She did have a part-time job as an admin at a management company, but Clarence suspected she only kept the job to have ammunition to complain about his ability to provide.

He set his briefcase down on the counter and picked up his travel mug. Plain and unadorned, it fit his life. He carefully poured in the coffee and checked that the lid was on good and tight. He hated leaks. He had lost a perfectly good shirt to a coffee stain. He had tested many travel mugs before he found one that met his satisfaction, but you could never be too careful. He tested the lid by shaking it a bit over the sink. Yes…good and tight.

He turned to grab his briefcase and saw that Donna had emerged from The Black Hole. She had been looking at him while he tested his mug. She pulled a disgusted face.

“I always wonder why I agreed to marry you.” She shook her head and pushed past him to get a ceramic mug from one of the cupboards.

Clarence bit back a retort and grabbed his jacket and keys by the front door. Donna yelled one more reminder about the dry cleaning as he opened the door and made his escape.

He often wondered why he married Donna himself. His family had wanted so much more for him. Hell, he wanted so much more. His mom and dad had worked themselves down to nothing to give him the opportunities they never had. In college, he had dreamed of a life of academia and tenure as a professor at a distinguished college. His parents were so proud. Their son, a college professor; isn’t that something.

He imagined he would be tenured right now if he had not agreed to a blind date. His college roommate, Jeremy, needed a wing man when his cousin Donna came to town and he had tagged in Clarence. To be fair, Jeremy was still apologizing for introducing them.

His parents never approved of Donna. He knew now that they saw what he could not, but he was too enamored to listen. And now it seemed pointless. Clarence’s dad died of a heart attack shortly after the wedding. His mom, heartbroken and dealing with health issues of her own, moved in with his sister in Virginia. All that he had now was Donna. For five very long years, all he had was Donna.

Clarence honestly could not tell anyone why he stayed with her. He did not know himself. At first, her beauty made him star struck and she was so charming and smart and fueled his ego. She told him that he was destined for greatness; that he should not waste his incredible mind on a nowhere job with a nowhere college. He had sucked it all in.

Now he was stuck in a nowhere job while he watched other people do the research he loved. True, his meticulous nature caught the eye of a large insurance firm and, with his academic background, he was the perfect choice to work in their antiquities department. Thus, he was now an insurance adjuster for priceless works of art and ancient artifacts. With some judicious finagling, he managed to get himself on the team that cataloged and itemized archaeological finds for museums and colleges. It took him all over the world, which was perfectly fine with him. More than perfectly fine. He jumped at every chance he could to leave home.

Today’s job was in his own backyard, unfortunately. A shipment of artifacts from a desert dig was due to arrive at the archaeology department of UCLA for cataloging and study. He just had to verify that the items on the list he received from the archaeological firm matched the items that arrived. It would be pretty routine stuff. He settled himself into his car with a sigh and prepared himself to battle the LA traffic.

[ 4 ]

[Coordinate: ?????-?????-?????-?????-??????-????? - Earth]

THE bus had dropped Trisha off at Westwood Plaza, pretty much smack dab in the middle of the UCLA campus. She set her feet for a lazy stroll and pulled out her phone. “Here,” she texted Kyle. “Where r u?” “Museum. Use East dock entrance,” he texted right back.

She smiled. Kyle was as much of an archaeology nut as she was a car nut. They really didn’t have much in common, but they were comfortable with each other. He had been ecstatic (his words) over a last-minute acquisition by the museum; a hush-hush desert dig that hit a trove of artifacts and the graduate students of the Cotsen Institute were getting first crack at what could be a world premiere exhibit.

She took her time moving through the sparse Saturday crowd that was on campus, enjoying another warm fall day in LA. When she had moved here from the East coast, she hated the fact that the seasons never changed, but the warm weather had grown on her. Next fall she would be at UNLV, so she had better get used to the heat.

The thought of breaking out from under her aunt’s thumb brought another smile to her face. Trisha, with the unplanned exception of her spectacular run-in with the law, usually kept her rebellion under wraps. The occasional passive-aggressive baits, like calling Chad…well, Chad…was about as far as she would take it. She had her Aunt Denice dialed in before she had been at the “Aunt McMansion” only six months. Play the appearance game and her aunt would eventually tire of the doting, helicopter pseudo-mom act…and Trisha was right.

Although her aunt went on and on about Ivy League schools and making her proud, Aunt Denice was done with the mom thing. When Trisha had quietly told her no, that she had been accepted at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas, that she had no idea what she wanted to do with her life, but she intended to find out for herself; her aunt looked at her with no small amount of relief. Orphan Annie had grown up and Daddy Warbucks was happy enough to let her fly the coop…but only after Aunt Denice tied up her martyr act in a nice, neat bow. Trisha would toe the line, mostly, until graduation and then she half expected to find her stuff on the curb by the end of the ceremony.

The Fowler Museum had crept up on her as she mused. It took her a second to figure out that she had to walk clear around the building to find the delivery dock. She had liked the building from the first time she saw it; it kind of looked like a cross between an East coast brick school building and a Spanish castle. It just looked like knowledge. She snorted under her breath. Kyle would approve of that thought.

The alley leading up to the delivery dock bustled with activity, a big truck, and a distracted security guard. Trisha grinned. While another crate was hoisted on the electric dolly and moved toward the entrance, she planted herself on the side opposite the guard and strolled in, the crate blocking her from notice. She had no idea if there would be an issue with her being here, but it never hurt to be cautious.

She pressed herself casually against a wall and scanned the mayhem around her. She was sure there was some order to it, but she couldn’t see it. Boxes and their carriers were moving from one place to another and then told to move someplace else. Crates were being carefully unloaded onto tables near the back and a harried looking woman was frantically tapping the screen of a tablet, trying to figure out what went where. A short red-haired man with glasses was looking disapprovingly at the whole affair, tapping his pencil on a clipboard like he was just about to jump in and do the work himself, by golly.

Trisha rolled her eyes good naturedly and searched for Kyle. She soon spotted him, way in the back. She hunched both straps of her backpack over her shoulders, so she had less chance of knocking into someone, and waded into the chaos.

[ 5 ]

[Coordinate: ?????-?????-?????-?????-??????-????? - Earth]

“NO, no, no, no, no,” Clarence thought in exasperation when he had reached the museum and saw the unorganized bustle of people and crates. They were not to un-crate any of the artifacts until he arrived. He had to itemize the artifacts as they were removed from their crates and inspect them for shipping damage. This was a disaster.

Clarence pulled off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. Idiots. He was going to have a roaring headache, no doubt. He could already feel the pressure building under his brow.

Replacing his glasses, he squared his shoulders and prepared for battle. This was his element. Here, he was in control. There was no Donna, no Black Hole and no smirking green haired, nose pierced hulk of a woman behind a dry cleaning counter. A smile threatened to break the corner of his mouth. Someone was about to get the full force of his disapproval.

It did not take him long to find his victim. A frazzled brunette was having an intense discussion with one of the handful of bright-eyed students eager to get their hands on history. She was obviously the professor in charge as she was clearly divvying up tasks, pointing students in one direction or another.

Clarence made his charge, smoothly inserting himself between the professor and an erstwhile student. The student stepped back with a startled “Hey”, while the professor pulled in an exasperated breath. Before she could exhale, Clarence dug in.

“I am assuming you must be Professor Gallo since there does not seem to be anyone else here who looks like they have the authority to take responsibility for this chaos. I am Clarence Freemont, adjuster for Winchester and Rowe Investments and Antiquities and it looks to me like you have completely disregarded the company’s protocol for artifact acquisition.”

Professor Gallo blinked and then frowned. “Look, I know things are a bit…”

“Disastrous?” Clarence cut her off. “You better believe this is a disaster. Nothing and I mean nothing,” Clarence emphasized by leaning toward the professor who leaned back uncomfortably, “is supposed to be removed from the crates until my arrival. Do you realize that any damage found on the artifacts can be directly laid at your feet? It would not be categorized as shipping damage but negligence on your part. And Winchester and Rowe will not cover your negligence. Meaning,” he said and then paused for effect, “any damage will be the sole financial responsibility of UCLA.”

Clarence had the satisfaction of watching the professor’s face pale. She swallowed hard and opened her mouth, but again Clarence plowed over her.

“But luckily, I am here now, and we can get this mess resolved. Cease any activity that involves opening the crates or handling the items, and then I need to see your digital invoice to corroborate with my itemized list.”

Even though she was flustered, the professor was not a fool. She sent a couple of her students to halt any more unpacking and categorizing of the artifacts and grabbed her tablet. Clarence pulled out his clipboard from his briefcase and painstakingly cross-referenced his list with hers.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the professor’s look of surprise at his sheaf of papers stacked neatly under the board clip. As he ran his finger along the page, his eyes scanning from paper to screen, he gave an internal sigh of satisfaction. Nothing beat paper. Even though it appeared fragile, there was permanence there. Digital information? Now, that was fragile. One wrong button and all of those ordered lists; those fascinating facts and figures were gone. Poof. Like they were never there. Clarence shuddered. No…paper was better.

It did not take him long to get things in working order. In no time, students were categorizing items on tables spread around the room, while Clarence monitored and checked off each item as it was unpacked and made its slow progression from one cataloguing station to the next. The professor, still a bit jumpy, kept constant vigilance over her students, the list on her tablet and a wary eye on Clarence.

“Perhaps today is not going to be so bad after all,” Clarence thought as he took in the glorious organizing chaos. Then his brow furrowed in disbelief. Someone was messing with the artifacts…and she was not wearing gloves. He scowled. No, this would not do at all.

[ 6 ]

[Coordinate: ?????-?????-?????-?????-??????-????? - Earth]

TRISHA found Kyle chatting it up with another student, a heavyset guy with tousled brown hair, as they carefully sorted items at a back table. She couldn’t see how they could tell one piece from another. A lot of it looked like rocks or broken pieces of pottery from where she stood. Kyle looked up and gave her an ecstatic wave to come over and look. She laughed at how crazy excited he was and moved around the table to join him.

“Isn’t this amazing?” he gushed. When Trisha picked up a loose piece of pottery and raised an eyebrow, he laughed. “Ok, yeah, this stuff is pretty boring, but you should see some of the other stuff they brought in. It will blow your mind!” Kyle put his hands to the side of his head, throwing his fingers out and making an exploding sound. Trisha laughed again. It was hard not to get caught up in his excitement.

“Here, let me show you,” he enthused, pulling at Trisha’s elbow. She allowed herself to be dragged along.

Kyle stopped next to a long set of tables where two people were taking digital pictures of each item and uploading them into laptops, typing studiously, before moving on to the next item.

“This is kind of a preliminary cataloging of each item,” Kyle said. “We have no idea what a lot of this is.” Trisha didn’t think that being clueless was something to get all hopped up about, but it clearly brought Kyle to the brink of joy. Trisha leaned over to obligingly study the table of items when the heavyset guy came over and said something to Kyle. Without a backward glance, Kyle gave an excited “Oh” and took off after his classmate.

“Aaand, I’ve lost him,” Trisha murmured with amusement. Realizing that she wasn’t going to get Kyle’s undivided attention anytime soon, she decided she’d wander around a bit and see what all the fuss was about.

The trove of items was pretty impressive, even if she didn’t recognize most of it, but it didn’t take her long to grow tired of avoiding the bustling crowd of workers. A nice cinnamon latte and a quiet corner somewhere was in order, at least until Kyle lost some of his shine for these dusty relics.

She was headed back to where she last saw Kyle when she caught a glimpse of something shiny out of the corner of her eye. Shiny and dusty just don’t go together. She picked her way past a couple of waiting crates, dodged yet another student and found herself near a group of shelves along the far wall. The light winked again. It was a roundish lumpy object about the size of her palm.

She knew she wasn’t really supposed to touch anything, but this wasn’t some cracked clay bowl or moldering piece of cloth that could crumble at her touch. This was something entirely different.

Feeling almost compelled, Trisha took a quick glance around. Seeing that no one was paying the least bit of attention to her, she reached into the shelves and snagged the object.

It was covered in dried and caked on mud, but a small section of the mud had broken away to reveal a white sparkle. No, a blue sparkle. Wait a second. It was shifting colors again. Fascinated, Trisha broke off another piece of mud. The ball was faceted, like a gemstone, and the facets were shifting color like some weird disco ball. Working to break off more of the mud, she missed the pair of shiny black shoes that clacked up to her.

“Just what do you think you are doing?” a voice demanded.

Trisha looked up with a start and cursed herself. She knew better than to let anyone sneak up on her. Scrambling around in her brain, she pulled out a name that she had heard from Kyle and decided to bluff.

“Professor Gallo asked me to take this to the catalogue table to be photographed,” she said, putting a bit of confusion in her voice so that maybe this guy would think she was wondering why he would have a problem with her doing her job.

“Where are your gloves?” the man asked with that kind of obnoxious self-righteous tone that set her teeth on edge. Fine, so he knew she was lying. Sizing him up, she realized that he was actually slightly shorter than she was; a short, slender, red haired black man with a lofty sneer on his face. She could totally take him.

Expelling a sigh instead, she decided to take the honest approach…and maybe a little name dropping. “Look, Kyle Stockton invited me to come down and see the items from the dig.”

“So you decided to just manhandle the items without permission or proper protocol?” the man practically spat as he rose on his toes. So, name dropping wasn’t getting her anywhere and his supercilious tone was really getting on her nerves.

“I haven’t touched anything but this,” she retorted, holding out the stone. She blinked as the colors swirled faster in the area that was exposed.

The man’s eyes widened and he sputtered in indignation. “You only touched that? Whatever gave you the idea that you could touch anything in here?” he said. Trisha glanced around and noticed that a few of the people in the area were starting to take note of the ruckus.

“Fine. I’ll put it back.” But she hesitated to let it go. She felt this desire to hang onto it; to see what those swirling colors were trying to tell her.

The man saw her hesitate and puffed himself up. “You are nothing but a thief,” he said, tilting his head so that his voice carried to those around him. “Someone call the guard!” he ordered. “And I will be taking that,” he announced firmly, slapping his hand over the gem.

The world slid sideways and exploded in a kaleidoscope of faceted colors. Time froze for a brief moment; every face that was looking toward them was stamped in a rictus of surprise as Trisha and the man winked from existence. The only thing left was a shower of dust.

[ 7 ]

[World Region: 002A5-1BCD2-EF345-272B5-55D679-9C9DE]

SIXTH Officer Rand, Special Ops Commander climbed the steps to the hydraulic lift platform in the main wormhole generation ready room. Sixth Officer Tenny, Sensor Array Commander, preceded him, trudging up the short flight of steps like he was struggling to put one foot in front of the other. If Rand were a different type of creature, he may have felt sympathy for his diminutive companion, but he had to maneuver his way through similar situations too often for it to faze him now.

It was a sad reality of their current system: something goes wrong and the Ka hierarchy looked for someone to blame. They never looked to themselves, of course. Rand and the quaking commander in front of him were in charge of the wrong op at the wrong time. That was the long and short of it.

They reached the top and executed a stiff right face. A small sea of orderly troops greeted their eyes, standing at attention. As it always did, Rand’s chest swelled at the sight of the troopers arranged in perfect, uniform rows, their varied gray heads lifted proudly.

Every wormhole generation ready room on Command Station was a technological marvel, a testament to Ka ingenuity, but the main room surpassed all in sheer scope and size. The metal plated floor, dotted with the outlines of retracted lift platforms, dwarfed the assembled troops. It expanded out hundreds of meters in all directions, lined to left and right with a row of three huge white composite ceramic pillars. Exposed wide metal beams arced high overhead, bristling with layers of suspended mechs housed in an elaborate gantry system. A mech could be called up and deposited near a lift platform in a matter of moments. A Ka pilot could mount the cockpit of his mech from the platform and be ready to be deployed in less than six minutes. Rand had seen this entire massive floor filled to the brim with row upon row of mechs. He had been a part of the mech force at one time.

Behind the troops, framed in a hole in the hull of Command Station, was a wormhole generation ring, the largest in Command Station. It was the heart of all Ka operations. A huge ramp led to the base of the ring. The airless purple sky beyond shimmered under layers of electrostatic shielding that kept the air within Command Station. He watched as a destroyer slowly drifted past outside the opening, gliding its way to a docking station beyond his range of sight.

Rand cast his eyes up and caught sight of the bulging bottom of the wormhole canon. Another marvel of Ka tech, its articulated arm would drop the canon from the ceiling to send a concentrated beam to open a wormhole event horizon at designated points inside or outside the wormhole generation ring. For trooper recon and mech operations, an event horizon was established just inside the ring at the top of the ramp. For ship maneuvers, a massive wormhole was established at designated points outside the ring.

It was this superiority of intelligence, drive, technology, and ingenuity that drove Rand to give his every effort to the Ka cause. No other race came close. And, because of that, he was willing to overlook its commensurate flaws; flaws that he, through an accident of birth, often ran afoul of.

He was undoubtedly the tallest Cheveroid in Command Station, practically two heads taller than the perfectly petite Tenny beside him. His height aberration alone meant that Rand had to scratch and claw his way to his current command level. The Ka culture put a premium on the belief that tiny stature equated to larger brains and cunning. Rand was more than just an exception to this belief. He was a beacon that the belief was flawed. As such, he had to work harder than anyone else despite his intellectual gifts. Behind his reserved demeanor, he had long harbored a plan to reach the highest levels of command and strike down the antiquated belief systems that kept his Ka brethren from reaching even greater heights of supremacy.

But Acquisition 648 might prove a difficult hurdle to overcome easily.

He kept his face blank, but inside he had his reservations about his ability to maneuver past this latest debacle. Third Officer Jenison, the Base Commander, was taking his time, letting them stew under the bland gaze of the assembled troops. That was never a good sign. The Base Commander’s office was behind and above him; a wide office ringed with a glass wall and metal balcony that overlooked the ready room. From that vantage point, Jennison could oversee everything in the ready room, including public condemnation and punishment.

Unlike his obviously terrified companion, Rand didn’t fear for his well-being. The Ka valued intelligence, even if it didn’t come in the standard small body. They’d hold you in contempt and put you in your place, but they wouldn’t summarily execute you.

He also knew that, after the bluster and public humiliation, came the bargaining and manipulation. Rand was good at both. But 648 gave him pause to consider his next moves more carefully.

The Ka rarely met a civilization they couldn’t overcome, let alone the inability to subvert a world region that was barely surviving. Even with all of their advancements, the Ka’s objective was taken out from under them by a race that had all but destroyed their own land.

Commander Tenny had overseen the acquisition. Rand was the Special Ops Commander that coordinated troop operations. He monitored the operation’s movements from the main troop carrier after their wormhole travel to Acquisition 648. From that vantage point, he could direct his ops teams to locate and secure the portal facility the 648 world region used to locate other viable lands. That was their objective: potentially dozens of arable world regions for the Ka to use.

It wasn’t a standard campaign. Typically, after recon and spy implantation, they would bombard key power and military installations into submission while simultaneously securing any portal facilities. After, they would send in mech and ground troops to control and enslave the remaining populous to work the land and its resources. Tech teams would be at their leisure to peruse through the portal information for other likely resource candidates, cross-referencing the finds with the lands the Ka had already found.

This campaign was different. When word got back from the recon teams that the media of the world was reporting the portal facility had initiated moving military operations through the portal, Jennison made the call to take down the life domes and hit the facility in a coordinated single strike. The precarious nature of the areas toxic landscape and reduced resources meant they were running out of time to find and infiltrate the facility undetected. Jennison gave the go-ahead for a complete death strike. His reasoning was the land was useless, therefore, so were the inferior race of beings who called it home. Rand saw it as a waste of armament, but he wasn’t particularly fond of cruelty for cruelty’s sake. These people would die a slow, miserable death without the new land to emigrate to, so the plan had a kind of elegant sympathy to it.

But, they underestimated the civilization’s desperate situation and their desire to protect the new land they found. The Ka were, perhaps, too sure of themselves. The land they hoped to conquer chose to destroy their portal facility rather than let it fall into Ka hands.

It was always a danger with any acquisition, but the speed at which they implemented the implosion of the facility surprised Rand. His initial estimation was that they would try to protect the portal with their last breath. He felt his teams had ample time to home in on the portal signal with the amplified sensors of the ships and send in the facility strike team to those coordinates.

As fast as his ops teams were, however, they were just breaching the shield wall and outer perimeter when the facility and the hectares of land around it spewed up and out in a massive explosion that sucked back into a giant crater. Many of his ops teams were lost in the blast. It was a blow to Rand’s credibility as a commander, he knew, despite the prevailing belief that no commander could have anticipated this outcome.

From the stationary platform he heard a muted whoosh from the glass balcony door above and behind them. Commander Jenison had finally arrived. The platform they stood on began to rise. When it came to a hissing stop, he and Tenny executed an about-face to stand before, and slightly below, the balcony of the base commander’s office. Jenison had purposely stopped the lift so he could look down on them. Nearly every Ka of power and substance took pains to gain height on those below them. Once again, it highlighted the hypocritical conceit among his people, who professed to value the small and ignored the value of those who didn’t, or couldn’t, conform to physical standards.

Base Commander Jenison was one of the smallest Cheveroid that Rand had had the distinct displeasure of meeting. Not only did Jenison’s diminutive size afford him certain privileges and easy advancements, he was an unparalleled egoist, which Rand felt disgraced the command position and the Ka in general. The base commander was rarely seen without his grav-stand, hovering inches above everyone so they had to crane their necks to speak to him, even one as tall as Rand. Rand, however, had taken Jennison’s measure long ago and could not be cowed by the Base Commander’s superiority, nor be permanently sidelined by his petty attempts to keep Rand from advancing.

Always impeccably clean, Jenison’s pearl-gray head and green eyes looked unnaturally large on his tiny crisp-suited body, his slash of a mouth gripped by a cramped grimace of disapproval. “The Ka have been dealt an egregious blow!” Jenison’s amplified voice was surprisingly sonorous for such a small frame. “While we have conquered, yet again, another unworthy civilization through the superiority of our exemplary troops and technology, the portal which leads to the resources we deserve is not only outside our control; it has been stolen from us.” Jenison, ever one to leverage a perceived weakness, leveled his gaze on Tenny first and asked, “Why?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Rand could see Tenny wince. “Our intel failed…”

“Your intel,” Jenison growled.

“My intel,” Tenny amended. Even without looking directly at him, Rand could read the Sensor Array Commander’s body language like a heads-up display. It was a rather disgraceful combination of fear and groveling. “My intel,” Tenny repeated, “failed to determine the resolve of our enemy to keep the portal out of our control. It was impossible to predict how fast they would blow the facility.”

Rand could agree with him on that point, but Commander Jenison narrowed his eyes at Tenny for daring to make such a feeble excuse.

A flailing movement at the edge of his vision caught his attention. It was near the left corner of the base of the central hub tower that held Jennison’s office. Turning his eyes slightly, he saw Tenny’s second-in-command alternately waving his arms and jumping and then standing stock still in horror before jumping and waving again to signal his commanding officer.

“Perhaps your underling wishes to take your place,” Jenison said. Tenny must have seen his flailing subordinate also because he jumped slightly and turned his full attention back to the base commander.

“I had ordered Didwell to inform me immediately if the new signal appeared again. You see…” Tenny spewed out in a rush of words.

Jenison held up his hand to stop the explanation. A crafty look crossed his face. “Let Seventh Officer Didwell explain.”

As was his way, Rand offered up no words or assistance that would place attention on him. In his experience, those who tried to dig themselves out of a hole only made the hole deeper. And, those who abused power were remarkably unimaginative. They relied on the weak to create their own punishment. Tenny was proving to be the kind of target Rand knew Jennison enjoyed.

Rand stood at an unwavering attention as the platform dropped to pick up the visibly shaking Didwell and rise back to the base commander. Commander Jenison didn’t say a word, just gestured for Didwell to explain himself.

“Base Commander, sir,” Didwell’s high voice cracked and he cleared his throat to start again. “Sir, during Acquisition 648, the resonator locked in on a signal we have never seen before. It only transmitted for a few minutes and then disappeared. Commander Tenny told me that I was to inform him immediately, on pain of demotion or worse, the moment the signal returned.”

“We think it might be Traveler technology,” Tenny cut in. Jenison shot him a dark look, but not before Rand saw the flash of avarice cross the base commander’s face. Rand felt his first twinge of disquiet. The Travelers were a cross between a generational nemesis and the fabled bogeyman of his people. He had no idea if this signal was from one of their devices, but no Ka could resist trying to get their hands on it if it was. If that was the case, than Tenny had unexpectedly found his escape hatch out of this debacle.

Which left the blame to fall squarely on Rand.

Turning back to Didwell, Jenison looked down his nose at the shivering seventh officer. “What makes this signal so special?”

“Well, you see, sir,” Didwell quavered, “this signal doesn’t match any frequency we have seen from the portal rods. It’s intermittent, but each time it returns, the resonator latches onto it with the most focused destination metrics we have ever seen.”

“What kind of metrics? Just how close could we position our wormhole?” Jenison asked.

“Within 15 meters, Sir.”

Didwell’s words caused Commander Jenison to actually reel back on his grav-stand. Rand’s disquiet grew. The destination metrics were hundreds, if not thousands, of times more accurate than their typical wormhole destinations into a new land.

“I want a reconnaissance team sent ASAP,” Jenison barked, pointing at Didwell to make it happen.

Didwell squeaked. In a surprising show of spine, Tenny stepped forward.

“Commander, the signal isn’t consistent, and it will take time to configure the wormhole generator to accept and process the new frequency.”

Commander Jenison studied him for a moment. The base commander of the Ka had an unspoken reputation of being a flopworm ass, but he wasn’t stupid.

“You have 24 hours to show me that you are making progress or these proceedings will commence to their irrevocable close with you and only you on this platform,” Jenison warned. “Commander Rand,” he said, suddenly turning his attention on Rand. “You will personally escort the reconnaissance unit, as troop unit commander, if and when they nail down this signal.”

Rand stiffened, but saluted in answer. What else could he do? Commander Jenison smirked at him and dismissed the troops. Rand had been outmaneuvered. In a mere sentence, in front of hundreds of troops, he had been drummed down three full ranks to a lowly troop unit commander. There would be no bargaining this time. Rage sparked, blooming through his chest and running through his limbs like fire. For a moment, he let it consume him as the platform lowered; reveling in a feeling of loathing he hadn’t allowed himself to feel since he was a child.

By the time the platform reached the metal plating of the floor, Rand was in control of himself again; the feeling melting off as fast as it appeared. He had plans to make and a team to assemble. He would overcome this and find his true place as a leader among the Ka, guiding them to surpass even the fabled Travelers.

And that signal might just be the key to accelerated advancement for him and any who would follow him. If the Ka wanted Traveler’s tech, he would procure them Traveler’s tech…and use it to secure his supremacy.

Neither these supposed Travelers, nor the Ka hierarchy, had a clue of just how driven he could be.

[ 8 ]

[World Region: EFFFF-FFFFE-FFFFD-FFFFF-FFFFFF-FFFFF]

THE sound of the bench plane against the wood calmed him; his practiced movements nice and even, confident and smooth. The plane was set to get those raised imperfections in the wood that would take too long to sand. A couple more passes and it would be ready.

After a few more pushes, Digger ran his hand over the surface of the casket lid he was working on. It was smooth and straight, with veins of purple lightly streaking the length of the wood.

“This will be a nice one,” he said to himself. Pulling out a worn handkerchief, he wiped the sweat from his forehead and behind his neck. It was a hot one today. Even in the shade of the barn, the heat was building up. The only thing that made it tolerable was a slight breeze that funneled through the open doors on either side of the barn. His father had set the barn at this angle for just that reason.

Every time he thought of one or the other of his parents, he couldn’t help but recall the time he spent building caskets for both of them. He doubted that would ever change. Even now, years later, he remembered stark details of that terrible set of days, like bright feathers held close for inspection.

He walked to the barn doors and leaned against an upright, staring out into the late morning sun. He could still hear the squeak of the wagon that carried his parents’ bodies as it rolled up into the yard; the look of guilt that was painted in every line of Sheriff Holding’s face. There was the way the blood clotted to his father’s head; his bright feathery hair stubbornly sticking in the hole blasted in his brow despite how much his son’s shaking hand wiped the wet cloth across it. Then, too, he could see his mom’s wide staring eyes that would not stay closed. He could bring up the grim faces of every neighbor and friend who came by to offer their help…and their curt nods of acceptance when he declined their offers.

There was also the light; the oil lantern that kept constant vigil at his side through that sodden week of grief. It lit his way through the dark hours as he worked on the coffins. It shone a light on his split and bleeding fingers as he imperfectly worked the wood, still a novice at the craft, but he would let no one else work them. The light flickered over the mounding dirt as he dug the graves, flinging the dirt, challenging the night because he could not bring himself to dig them during the bright light of day. The lantern sat next to him when he trembled and cried in the barn by his parents, casting haunting shadows but still a comfort in those sleepless nights. He didn’t sleep until they were in the ground.

And then there was Booker and the train station and the way his face fell from joy at finally being home to abject pain and betrayal. All directed at Digger.

He sighed and went back to work, pulling the sanding block off of the bench and sliding it across the wood. He worked with the absentmindedness of long habit and soon his thoughts drifted again.

Booker had cause to feel betrayed. Digger never sent notice to his school that their parents had died. Lost in his own grief, he truly believed he was protecting his brother. Later, he realized that a part of him was driving on pure heartless practicality. If he told his brother that their parents were dead, he would leave school…and maybe not go back. With only two months until graduation, Digger felt that all of their parents’ sacrifices to pay for his brother’s schooling would be wasted if Booker came home. In truth, he hadn’t trusted his brother…and that hurt and shame burned in both of them.

Those two endless months of shouldering the burden of the business, Digger did not allow himself to truly grieve. When Booker returned, it was like a runaway horse of grief, loneliness and fear. And anger. He was so angry. And because he did not know where it was coming from, he directed all of it at his brother.

Later, when Booker had taken over the logistics side of the business like their parents had planned, they settled their grief together. That memory brought a rare smile to his face as he methodically smoothed the wood. They had beaten each other to a pulp, holding each other up in their exhaustion. They had reached an understanding through split lips and swollen eyes. The next day, they sported their bruises in the clerk’s office and filed for their names.

Up until that moment, they were simply known as brother, or son or child. Their true names were forever lost with the death of their parents. There was no rejoicing at a naming ceremony, no chosen path for them to follow. There was just the quiet scratching of names on paper and the thump of the clerk’s seal. He had chosen Digger to signify his willingness to carry on the family business. His brother had chosen Booker to commemorate the sacrifice their parents had made to give him an education. They both adopted their parents’ last name of Graves; two brothers carrying on the family legacy.

He finished the sanding and wiped a cloth across the wood. That would do for today. He headed to the water pump to sluice off some of the sawdust and sweat. Dripping, he blinked through the water droplets at the graves under the tree on a little knoll and sighed. It appeared that today was a day for memories. Slowly, he made his way up the hill to the base of the tree and slumped against it, taking in his parents’ graves and the other headstones of their small family plot.

“Hey, Mom…Dad,” he whispered. “It’s one of those days again.” Leaning his head against the tree, he let the memory come…maybe the hardest one of all.

When he was 10, his parents had apprenticed him to the county Sheriff. They had seen his restless spirit, his integrity and his physical agility and decided that he was destined to be a lawman. Sheriff Holding took to his task of mentoring with a single-minded purpose. He was a hard taskmaster, but fair and Digger flourished under his wing.

But, there were tasks about being a lawman in a backwater county like theirs that sat like stones in his stomach. Lines were blurred and there was the constant biting bitter twinge that he was good at the hard stuff. When the Sheriff’s wife passed in childbirth and he married a widow with children of her own, Digger almost felt relief at being put aside for the Sherriff’s new son.

There was no doubt that the skills he learned saved their lives during the Event. That’s what he and his brother called it. The Event…the happening that finally erased the last of their rancor towards each other after their parents’ death. They couldn’t bring themselves to call it what it really was, an attempted robbery. It was something simple and yet so profound that it finally got them talking again after months of anger and bereavement.

Digger had prepared a casket for a Llewellen councilor and Booker had come along to ensure the transaction was handled correctly. His brother was still resentful and refused to let Digger handle the money alone. They were returning from having delivered the casket to the train station and his brother clutched the wallet of cash, wanting to set the numbers right in the books before depositing the money in the bank. Their wagon jostled down the lonely stretch of road to their home, the last neighbor having waved them on their way just 20 minutes before. They rounded the last small hill into a slight ravine to find two riders blocking the road. He remembered it so clearly.

“You two want to help out a stranger?” The man closest to them called from his saddle, pointing a gun at Digger. Digger slowed the wagon to a stop. He saw Booker stiffen in fear out of the corner of his eye.

“A couple of strangers,” the second man added, grinning, his gun trained on his brother.

“Right…a couple of strangers,” the first man grinned wider at his own wit. “You,” he pointed at Booker who was white knuckling the leather wallet. “Hand over the money.” When his brother just sat there shaking, the man pulled back the hammer on his gun. “Consider it a charitable donation…it will save a life.” The second man chuckled under his breath.

Digger slowly dropped the reins and raised his hands in a placating manner, which caused the first bandit to lower his gun slightly. “We understand. We’ll just toss the money by the side of the road and you can let us pass.”

Booker looked at him in sudden outrage. “We can’t just hand over our hard-earned money,” he hissed. Digger tried to give him a warning look, but his brother was lost in his panic and indignation. “When the Sheriff finds out, you will both hang!”

The first man’s eyes narrowed. “Neither of you will be around to tell him,” he growled, raising his gun.

Digger had loosened his coat while his brother’s rant had pulled the two bandits’ attention away from him. In one swift move, he pulled his gun. Two rapid shots echoed in the small ravine and two bandits fell from their horses. A gurgling moan rose from one of the bandits as he hit the ground. Digger sighed and climbed down from the wagon. He stepped over to the wounded man and another shot rang out. The gurgling stopped. “Never leave them to suffer,” he murmured under his breath, echoing a lesson learned from the Sheriff.

He looked back at his brother. Booker sat in the wagon with a look of horror stamped on his face.

“You killed them.” His voice was a strangled, hoarse whisper that carried in the ravine.

“They would have killed us,” Digger replied as he gathered the reins of one of the bandits’ horses and lead it to the back of their wagon. His brother watched him in disbelief.

“What are you doing?”

“These horses belong to the Lazy X ranch,” Digger answered, gesturing briefly at a brand on the horse’s hindquarter. “We will return them and inform the Sheriff of what happened. He’ll send some deputies to collect the bodies.”

His brother stared at him wide-eyed as he tied the second horse to the back of the wagon and climbed into the seat. Digger saw him swallow hard and rub a shaky hand over his face.

“How…” Booker began and then stumbled to a stop.

Digger sighed in resignation and maneuvered the wagon to take them back to town. He spoke low and steady, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on the road ahead.

“I never liked the gun,” he began; an honest admission that he had never spoken aloud before. He shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably. “But I was a good shot; the best he’d ever seen, Sherriff Holdin’ told me. I was good at a lot of what it took to be a lawman in these parts.” His voice was becoming bitter and hard, so he stopped talking for a while. His brother stayed silent beside him. After a time, he continued.

“The law was supposed to be my path. Sherriff Holdin’ believed it. Our parents believed it. I don’t know if I ever did.” He felt the bitterness creeping up again and he dropped his voice low. “There was killin’. Holdin’ had me shoot a lot of the rustlers and bandits that we caught up with; said it was better to shoot them if they ran than run the chance they would get away and do more harm to the honest folks.” He was almost whispering now. “He said I should be used to it, workin’ with Dad on the dead and all.”

Digger rubbed at his eyes with one shirtsleeve, surprised by the sudden well of tears. Clearing his throat, he continued louder, “But I never did…get used to it, I mean. There’s a big difference between killin’ a man and helpin’ the dead to rest peaceably.”

Just over the rattle and clack of the wagon and the clop of the horses’ hooves, he heard Booker murmur, “So, why do you carry a gun if you hate it so much?”

Digger frowned, gripping the reigns tight. “You asked before, how Mom and Dad died, and I told you it was bandits that got them. What I didn’t tell you is that I am the reason they got killed.”

He felt his brother stiffen next to him with a gasp of air. Grimly, he continued, “They had gone to the Governor’s manor in Creekline, a two day’s ride, just to petition the governor for another law apprenticeship for me. On the way home, they were set upon and killed.” He got misty again and jerked his sleeve in anger over the offending tears. “If they hadn’t gone, if I had only told them I didn’t want to be a lawman, but wanted to work the family business, they would be alive today.”

He didn’t know whether he expected Booker to disagree with him or not, but his brother sat in silence next to him.

“Holdin’ had me keep my gun, even though my apprenticeship to him was over. Said anyone as good as I was should have a piece of his own. I never picked it up again…until Mom and Dad…” Digger’s face grew hard. “Those first few weeks after Mom and Dad were in the ground, I spent hours every day practicin’. I poured all the extra money I had into bullets. I saw the bandits’ faces in every target I shot. I killed them over and over again. And I’ve never been without my gun since.”

He shook himself out of his reverie and sighed at the memory of the fear scrawled all over his brother’s face that day. Booker could never quite look him in the eye after that, but the hurt that had simmered under their skin for months had been pushed back. They could work together again, be brothers again, without the anger spilling over.

The sun was shifting to the afternoon. There were chores that needed to be done. He stood, dusting himself off and laid a hand on his parents’ graves.

“I’ve got to go,” he murmured, “but I’ll stop by tomorrow.” And then he headed down the hill.

[ 9 ]

[World Region: EFFFF-FFFFE-FFFFD-FFFFF-FFFFFF-FFFFF]

BOOKER closed the ledger and cast a furtive look out the window of the small office and into the main room of the house. He listened for any telltale sounds of boots scuffing near the front door. Digger was still busy.

It had taken him a lot of creative bookkeeping to get to this point. But, to get to the finish line in time, he had to take some calculated risks. With another glance around, he unlocked a small drawer of the desk and pulled out a thick envelope. With rushing hands, he pulled on his coat and tucked the envelope inside.

He stood in front of the full-length mirror that stood next to the coat pegs on the wall. It was a small bit of vanity that made him pull his mother’s prized mirror from the bedroom to the office when he had taken over the business. Dust motes drifted lazily in the afternoon sunlight slanting through the window as he adjusted his dress coat.

“Mayor Graves.” Booker puffed out his chest and admired the effect in the mirror. “Yeah, that has a nice ring to it.” Shifting left to right, he finally decided all was as it should be and grabbed his hat off the hook. “And, Mayor Graves leaves the building,” he said with a bow to his reflection.

Walking out onto the stone porch, he froze when he saw his brother coming down from the burial hill and swore under his breath. He had been so caught up in the books and his own thoughts that he had forgotten to ask Digger to hitch up the buggy. Now there would be questions.

Putting on his best smile, he joined his sibling by the barn. Digger grinned back at him.

“I know that smile,” his brother teased. “That smile means you want something.”

Booker spread his arms in a placating gesture. “Your absent-minded brother has done it again. I got all dressed up to do some business in town and forgot about the buggy.”

Digger’s smile took on a curious gleam. Booker knew that his brother had to suspect something was up with all of the trips he had been taking to town of late. He had let slip a few murmurs of a possible love interest while at the Blue Feather Saloon a few weeks past. Digger didn’t often go to the saloons, but word gets around. He hoped that his lawman trained brother wouldn’t go poking into that ruse before he was ready to move on his plan.

Digger shook his head ruefully. “Fine…I’ll hitch the buggy for you. Wouldn’t want you to get your dandy all dirty.” He shot another smirk at Booker and headed into the barn.

Booker stood by the trough and frowned up at his parents’ graves. He felt the weight of their gravestones like a crush of condemnation. A familiar burning anger bubbled up in his gut.

He hadn’t been given a choice, had he? He’d been packed off to school to take over a plodding business that even his yokel of a father had handled with a bare minimum of education. What kind of business was undertaking? It wasn’t a business. It was a position and a lowly one at that.

He glanced back as Digger led the dun mare to the buggy, humming tunelessly under his breath and then quickly looked up the hill again. He didn’t want his brother to see the disgust he could no longer keep hidden.

There was Digger, perfectly happy slogging away at coffins and organizing the digging of burial plots. He had a chance at an apprenticeship and a chance to become something more. He could have taken up his parent’s plan and found another apprenticeship for himself, but not only did Digger not take it, he didn’t want it…and because he didn’t want it, their parents were dead.

What burned even more was that Booker now knew his parents never wanted their second son to succeed. They strapped him with running a nowhere business so that their firstborn could have every advantage in life. Lawmen were respected and lawmen could advance. Many a lawman worked their way from deputy to mayor and further up the chain. Booker put his hand in his coat to feel the reassuring bulk of the envelope. Digger had made his choice, but Booker wasn’t going to stew in the pot his parents planned to boil him in. He was going to make himself a new choice.

Booker bit back a yelp when Digger clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Your head’s lost in the weeds, brother,” Digger grinned. “I said that the buggy was ready.”

Pushing down his pounding heart, he attempted to strap on a grin of his own. “Oh, uh, thanks.” He grimaced inside. “I’ll, uh, see you later then.”

His brother just shook his head good-naturedly and headed toward the house. “Try not to lose your way back,” he called over his shoulder.

Grinding his teeth, Booker hoisted himself into the buggy and clicked the mare into motion. He cast a furtive glance behind him when he reached the edge of the yard, but Digger had disappeared inside.

He relaxed his shoulders a bit and again patted the side of his coat that hid the packet, a nervous gesture he recognized but couldn’t help. It was the last of the money he needed; a significant bribe that would ensure his election to town mayor.

He had made some pretty significant connections his last year at school. Being at a university just half a day’s ride from the capital had opened Booker’s eyes to what the world could offer. And he wanted it. All of the trappings of an elegant life: the house in the trees, the stable filled with thoroughbreds, the servants…the respect.

There were such plans in the works and he was going to take his family with him on his meteoric rise. It would have taken some convincing on his part, sure, but he had been certain his parents would support him in every way.

Then, he had come home, bursting with the possibilities at his fingertips, to find his parents dead and his beliefs shattered.

Even if his parents were still alive, he had come to believe that they never wanted more for him. That realization had come the night after the “Event.” His plans to dismantle what his parents had built had begun the next day.

The usual gut rolling twinge of guilt swept through him, but he grimaced and rode on. He hadn’t let it stop him before. His parents were dead. They couldn’t care or disapprove anymore and Digger was a reliable worker. He would be taken on by whoever took over the business when the Graves fortunes went under. Besides, when Booker became mayor, he could get Digger a position in any number of jobs.

Booker swung around the last corner and the town of Catcher Hollow came into view. A discreet transaction with a contact he was to meet at the saloon and his appointment to mayor would be ensured. From there, who knew? Governor of these provinces? A Llewellen councilor? Even the sky wasn’t a limit.

[ 10 ]

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DIGGER had gotten a bite of lunch and finished what he could on the last two coffins when he got a nagging twinge in the back of his thoughts. Cutter’s driver should have delivered his next shipment of wood by now. He dusted his hands on his pants legs and checked the old, dinged pocket watch that his father always kept hanging over the workbench. The load of lumber that he’d ordered should have been delivered by now. He couldn’t recall Cutter ever being late with a shipment; except that one time when the delivery wagon broke an axle. The mill was supposed to deliver today so that he would have enough time to finish the two additional caskets. At this rate, it would be another day before he got the caskets finished.

He frowned. The dead wouldn’t notice the delay but those left behind would. With an uncomfortable shrug of his shoulders, he went to saddle up Whistle. Something wasn’t right. Digger’s discomfort grew. He just knew this had something to do with Booker.

He bridled Whistle and led her from her stall. Absently, he went through the motions, smoothing the blanket on her back, heaving the saddle on and cinching the strap. If he was honest, he figured he had known something was off for a while, but had chosen to ignore it in the name of domestic peace. Out of long habit, he strapped on his gun holster, swung up into the saddle and guided Whistle out of the yard.

By the time Digger pulled into Cutter’s work yard on the far side of town, his disquiet had only grown. He had not met a delivery wagon, broken down or otherwise, on the way and the yard looked like it had no shipments ready.

Cutter’s wasn’t the only wood supplier in town, but he was an honest businessman who delivered quality Digger could count on. In a land where wood was a premium, that kind of integrity also meant that they were not the cheapest supplier available, but Cutter’s had been doing business with the Graves since before Catcher Hollow was officially a town. You couldn’t put a price on generations of good business.

But generations of good dealings didn’t mean they couldn’t be soured. The angry glance Cutter gave him when he walked through the door made his heart drag.

Cutter was big, someone you instinctively knew not to cross, but Digger had never seen him anything but glad to do business with the Graves. Now, he stepped up to the sawmill owner with hesitation.

“Hey, Cutter,” Digger said, hoping to appear casual but knew he was failing utterly. “I, uh…well, I was wonderin’ what happened with my shipment. Wagon busted?”

Cutter’s face screwed up in a flash of disbelief and anger.

“My wagon is fine,” he responded in a curt voice. “You cancelled the order after I went and already had the lumber sized and cut for you. We had to shift things for the next order.” Cutter rubbed the back of his neck and then swiped his hand over his ruddy face in frustration. “I’ve always given the Graves special treatment due to the steady work; I’ve always been fair to you, but I can’t afford it if you have decided to play games. You know we have to fight for business and I can’t afford to be left high and dry no matter how long we’ve worked together.”

Digger stared at Cutter, completely baffled. “I didn’t cancel the order,” he said. “I sent Booker with the money yesterday. Are you sayin’ that he never arrived? Why didn’t you send out your son or come talk to me yourself before you cancelled my order?” He paced a little, musing partly to himself. “Booker was probably robbed. He’s proud, you know, and after that attempted robbery he’s…”

Digger stopped when he saw the look on Cutter’s face: comprehension…and pity.

“No, he showed up alright.” Wiping his face again, the sawyer continued hesitantly, like he wanted to be anywhere else, doing anything else, but having this conversation. “I didn’t cancel the order; Booker cancelled the order. Not even a by your leave. Just walked in here and said all pending orders from you were cancelled until further notice.” Cutter lowered his gaze and he sighed. “Look, ever since your brother took over your books he has taken the longest possible time to settle accounts. He squabbles about prices; threatens to take your business elsewhere. I told you once that he didn’t seem to be handling your account very well, remember, and you said you’d look into it. When nothing changed, I figured he had your support and things would settle eventually…and then he comes in here and just cancels without notice and I thought you had decided to go with those cheap bastards down the way.”

Digger shook his head in disbelief. No, Booker wouldn’t do something like this. They needed this standing order with the Woodmillers to stay in business. It didn’t make sense…but that pressure of doubt kept pounding in the back of his head. He looked up at his longtime trade partner, half helpless and half resolute.

“Cutter, I promise you I will get this straightened out, but I need that order. So, if you haven’t sold it, can you get it ready so I can pick it up tomorrow?”

The sawyer’s face didn’t show much confidence, but he relaxed a little, conceding, “Yeah, we still have it and can have it ready.” He looked at Digger awkwardly. “You’re a good man, Digger. If anyone can sort this out, it’s you. Sorry about the cold reception.”

Digger shook Cutter’s hand and headed out the door. He mounted his horse and headed home, his mind running over itself. He couldn’t believe that his brother would do this intentionally. Something must have happened. Maybe he made a mistake in the books? No, Booker was nothing if not meticulous. Gambling? There was that girl he was wooing. Did he get himself in trouble?

Digger lost track of the journey home, but he reined in Whistle at the edge of the yard. The buggy was put up and Crest, the dun mare, was grazing at the manger. Booker was home.

Taking his time to gather his thoughts, he took the tack off of Whistle and rubbed her down. Letting her loose in the stable yard with Crest, he pointed his steps grudgingly toward the house. He found his brother sitting behind the desk, looking over a sheaf of papers.

“Just came back from Woodmillers and Cutter says you cancelled all the orders,” he said without preamble. He saw Booker jump a little and then try to cover it by shuffling the papers into order. Hoping to give his brother a way out, Digger continued, “You shouldn’t say we are cancelin’ all our orders. Next time, just let them know the order is postponed. He gets a bit defensive when he thinks he’s going to be on the hook for material he might not be able to resell.”

His brother’s eyes shifted from the desk, to the walls to the window, everywhere but Digger’s face. He opened his mouth a few times as though to say something, but snapped it shut each time. With a sigh, Digger flopped into the chair in front of the desk. “Why did you postpone the order?” he asked. “Did we not get paid for a job or something?”

Booker swallowed hard and stared at the desk. “I meant to cancel the order along with all future orders,” he answered in a low voice. “We are going to that cheaper supplier upriver.”

Digger straightened up with a jolt. “We can’t do that,” he yelled and immediately regretted it. His brother’s face drew rigid and remote. Lowering his voice, he continued, “I’ve told you countless times why we need to deal with the Woodmillers. They won’t cheat us. Their product is quality. I can depend on them. That upriver company is a bunch of shifty thieves! Half of the wood they supply is unfit to work. No,” Digger shook his head firmly and stood up. “We are stickin’ with Woodmillers.”

Booker sat up with that haughty and stubborn look that Digger had come to truly despise. “We need to use cheaper suppliers. Our cash flow is becoming non-existent.”

He stood before his brother, hands on his hips. “Our cash flow wasn’t that bad when you needed a new suit,” he accused, looking pointedly at Booker’s suit jacket that hung draped over the chair. “Let’s just pull from the savin’s for now,” Digger reasoned, pulling out his small ring of keys and walking around the desk to open the safe behind the desk panel. “It’ll tide us over ‘til I finish this next job.”

Booker slapped his hand over the panel in what looked like a panic. “That money is for emergencies, not to keep the business afloat. We can solve this by going to a cheaper supplier.”

Digger halted and looked at his brother. Sweat was beading on Booker’s forehead and his stubborn expression was now tinged with something else…fear. A dawning realization crept over Digger like a cold wind, making gooseflesh crawl up his arms.

“Let me see the savin’s, Booker,” he said in a low voice that sounded harsh even to his own ears.

“I’m the one handling the money,” his brother countered, voice belligerent, but also high and shaky. “I have the education to run this part of the business. You don’t need to double check every time you feel slighted.” Booker’s hand trembled a little over the drawer, but he didn’t remove it.

“Let me see the money now.”

Booker stared at him and paled. Whatever he saw in Digger’s face caused him to draw his hand back slowly and scramble from his seat to press himself against the wall. Digger felt dread clawing all over him. He opened the panel, but his hands shook so much that he couldn’t fit the key in the safe. He clenched his fists for a moment and then tried again.

The safe door opened. And there it was. Nothing.

He just stared at the empty safe in disbelief for a long moment. Without looking up at his brother, he asked, “What did you do?”

His words were soft, almost a whisper, but he felt them lash out in a wave of anger. He looked up when he got no reply to see his brother cowering against the wall before him.

Finally, unable to stand Digger’s scrutiny, Booker cried out, “I was ensuring our future.” His voice was plaintive, almost pleading as he threw his hands out, “This life can’t offer us anything. There’s nothing here. It’s just empty promises! I’m…” he looked at Digger imploringly, “…you’ve got to understand…everything is all arranged. I’m going to be mayor.”

Digger suddenly couldn’t see anything but a narrow pool of light around his brother’s stricken face. A strange combination of pride and disgust and fear were fighting their way across Booker’s features. A roiling hot wave of nausea swamped his stomach. Everything. Gone. His mind couldn’t stop bashing the words around in his skull. Everything. Gone. Over and over.

Then the spinning words stopped, and the nausea turned into a fiery burning poison; a roaring rage that filled his veins and clogged his throat. He could feel his hand twitch, itching to climb up the side of his leg and close around his holster. He lanced a deadly glare at his brother, spun on his heel and stormed out of the house.

Staggering to a porch post, he slumped against it, shaking all over. So close. He had come so close to drawing on his brother. Would he, could he, have pulled the trigger? The question was bound to haunt him to his dying day.

[ 11 ]

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TRISHA found herself on her hands and knees, pebbles and dirt digging into her palms and jutting uncomfortably through the knees of her jeans. The world spun in a slow lazy sun-bright circle that made her stomach clench. Off to her right she heard someone heaving. The splatter of vomit made her stomach clench more.

“Nope. Not going to throw up,” she told herself as she slowly pulled herself up to sit back on her heels and took a deep breath. Making a slow glance to her right, she saw the officious insurance ‘who’s-it’ clutching his stomach. Spittle dribbled off his lower lip and she felt her gorge rising. Right…let’s not look at the ‘who’s-it’ yet.

Studiously focusing her attention anywhere but on the man, Trisha tried to gather herself and figure out what the hell happened. One minute warehouse; the next…she had no idea. As she moved to stand, she realized that she was still grasping the strange gemstone she found among the artifacts. Her fingers were clenched so tightly around it that it hurt her fingers to release the pressure. Most of the encrusted dirt had rubbed away, leaving a glassy faceted surface that flickered slightly with alternating colors. Trisha had no doubt that this thing was the cause of whatever happened to her.

“So, my little demon stone,” Trisha muttered as she wiped away the last of the dirt. “What is your deal?”

“You will not get away with this,” gasped a scratchy voice. Trisha turned to see the slight man stumble to his feet, his glasses askew. Trisha rose to hers. The man staggered and almost fell again.

“I am going to press charges,” he gabbled. “You cannot punch someone and expect to get away with it!”

Trisha was completely confused. “What? I never hit you.”

“Yes, you did,” the man screeched. “Everybody saw it. They all…” he began, spinning around and then sputtering to a stop. He spun a wobbly circle again before coming to a swaying halt. “They…where are they? The…the building was…” he shuffled a bit, peering hard into the distance like he could somehow make reality work by glaring at it. Suddenly, he whirled on her. “What did you do?!”

“I didn’t do anything,” she spat, exasperated with this high-strung man. “I picked up this stone. You came over and yelled at me and then poof, we’re here.”

The man’s gaze shot to the gem in her hand. “Give me that!” he said, making a wild snatch at her fist. Trisha easily sidestepped him and he went sprawling into the dirt.

Feeling a little bad, she knelt down near him, but far enough away that she could avoid him if he came after her again. She pulled off her backpack and pulled out her water bottle, setting it next to him.

“Look,” she said as calmly as she could, “I don’t know what happened, but I’m pretty sure it has something to do with this stone. And, I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to mess with this thing until I can figure out what happened. Who knows what will happen next if we screw around with it.”

The man looked at her like he would love to slug her, but sat up and snatched her water bottle instead.

Trisha sighed. This wasn’t going well. She needed to calm the guy down before she could make heads or tails of what was going on. She felt oddly calm for having been shot to who knows where. Maybe she was in shock? She pushed that idea away. It didn’t really matter if she was suffering from shock or not. Someone had to do something and it certainly wasn’t going to be the ‘who’s-it’ sprawled in front of her. She put on what she hoped was a friendly face.

“Since we seem stuck in this together, I think we should know each other’s names. I’m Trisha,” she offered hopefully. The man took a slow swallow of water, swishing it in his mouth as he scowled at her distrustfully. Trisha looked him straight in the eye and he immediately dropped his gaze.

“Clarence,” he mumbled, straightening his glasses. He took another long drink, capped the water bottle and set it on the ground again.

“OK, Clarence,” Trisha said with a touch of relief. “Let’s figure out where we are.”

She put the now near empty water bottle back in her pack and gazed across the landscape. They definitely weren’t in California anymore…or Kansas, for that matter, even though the land was flat as far as the eye could see. And the sparse brush was odd. It had purplish peeling bark that splayed out into branches that ended in blue green tufts of thin leaves. Yep…definitely not Kansas.

She stood and slowly spun in a circle, catching a glimpse of some kind of building in the distance. Right. Well, it was something. Maybe that building would show up somewhere on her phone. She shoved the gemstone in her front jean pocket. It was uncomfortable and made an awkward bulge, but there was no way she was letting that thing get an inch away from her. Grabbing her phone from her back pocket, she tapped the screen…but nothing happened. She pressed the power button. Still nothing. Damn. How could her phone be dead? She’d just charged it last night.

“It looks like my battery is dead,” she said, turning to Clarence and shoving the phone back in her pocket. “Do you have a phone?”

The small man nodded absently, pulled out a black phone from his inside jacket pocket and handed it up to her. “So I guess I’m the designated navigator,” she thought, amused and annoyed at the same time. She tapped the screen, pressed the power and even shook it a little, but Clarence’s phone was just as dead as hers. She sighed.

“Okay, new plan,” she said, handing back the phone and shouldering her backpack. “It looks like there’s some kind of building over that way,” she pointed in the general direction and then offered her hand to help Clarence up. He ignored her and grunted to his feet, dusting off his pants. “We’ll head over there and see if anyone can help.” She headed off, assuming the small man would follow.

“Wait,” Clarence called as he scrambled after her and then stopped. “What if it is someone who does not like strangers? What if this is all a hallucination? I mean, we do not know what is going on.”

Trisha turned and looked at Clarence in disbelief. What was with this guy?

Clarence at least had the sense to look embarrassed. “Of course. I understand. We cannot determine what is happening if we stay here. That is logical. It is logical, right?” Clarence expelled a hiccupping giggle and then clapped his hand over his mouth.

“Perfect,” Trisha mused as she glanced at Clarence with worry. “The guy is coming unglued.” Stepping back and putting her hand gently on his elbow, she gave Clarence a bit of a nudge and he started moving with her.

“We’ll figure this out,” she assured him, feeling a bit like she was talking to a child. “I’m sure if someone is at that building, they can help us out. OK?”

Clarence didn’t answer. His hand still over his mouth, he gave a slight nod and they both started walking.

It took about an hour for them to reach the building; at least it felt about that long to Trisha. She was never very good at gauging time by the sun.

The building was situated in a kind of barnyard arrangement near a road that headed off in the opposite direction of where they had come. Trisha assumed it was a house, but it was completely different than any she had seen in the states. It was made of what looked like mud bricks and had a thatched roof that was likely made from the purplish bushes she had seen scattered about wherever they walked. There was a small, thatched barn of some sort on the far side of the yard with a fenced in area and some stables.

Maybe they had landed in some African or Middle Eastern country? She didn’t know how that was even possible, but the buildings reminded her of ones she had seen in a long forgotten documentary or newscast or something.

But, what really snagged her attention was the wide gnarled tree that took center stage on a hill a ways back between the house and the barn. She had seen no other trees until now and this one was a granddaddy of a tree. It had the same kind of purple hued bark at its base as the bushes she had seen but it merged into a deep red brown as it moved up the trunk. It was almost squat, but the branches spread impossibly wide and the dusky green leaves sent a huge swath of shade across the ground.

In that shade was a cemetery; at least that was the only thing she figured it could be, but the grave markers were unlike any she had seen before. They looked like brightly colored stone sculptures with intricate spires and designs. There weren’t any religious symbols that she could recognize. Maybe it was an elaborate shrine of some kind?

She was so caught up in the cemetery that she almost missed Clarence’s strangled whisper of her name. He pointed at the paddock. In it was the strangest wagon she had ever seen. It had six solid wheels on one side, all painted black and adorned with gaudy colored designs. Fascinated, she walked over to get a better look despite Clarence’s frantic pawing at her arm. It was very boxy and long, with an additional six wheels on the other side and it was covered in a wild assortment of designs, drawings and spiky protrusions. Some of the pictures were totally disturbing; like things you wouldn’t want to see outside of a horror movie.

Looking past the horror wagon, as she now dubbed it, she glanced into the corral. In it were two quite normal-looking horses. She didn’t know what she expected, but she felt her shoulders relax a little when she saw them. She pointed out the horses to Clarence.

“No matter how weird all this is, the horses are normal so that’s good, right?”

Clarence nodded and moved back to the wagon like he was mesmerized by the hideous pictures. Trisha nudged him to break his concentration.

“Hey, we should probably see if anyone’s at home,” she said, nodding her head toward the house. Clarence looked less than enthused and she couldn’t blame him, but they had to get some kind of help.

Before they had taken a few steps, however, the door to the house opened and something came slamming out. Trisha blinked. Nope…still a something. Something not human. Clarence froze next to her making a weird mewling sound under his breath.

The creature leaned against the post next to the porch steps, staring at the floor. He looked to be in some kind of distress. Freaked out, actually, but Trisha wasn’t an expert on alien features.

And he certainly looked alien. It was humanoid at least, Trisha thought with a detached kind of logic while the rest of her wanted to crawl under blankets and hide. Its body was lean, clothed in some kind of long belted shirt and pants. Very normal. Ok, sure…but it had a sharp almost beaklike nose on its golden-brown face and the top of its head sprouted hair that looked like feathers, brightly colored in blues and greens.

She didn’t know how long she stood there staring, but her brain finally snapped into focus. Maybe meeting the local gents wasn’t such a good idea. She took a slow step back, eyes still locked on the creature, and groped for Clarence’s arm, but the moment she brushed against him, he let out a strangled yelp.

The creature’s head snapped up and froze for the barest instant. The way it looked along its nose, the piercing orange red eyes and the cock of its head made it look more like a bird of prey. It was also armed, judging by the hand that flashed up to the holster at its hip…and it was moving toward them.

[ 12 ]

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DIGGER’S anger slowly started to leak out of him leaving his limbs feeling rubbery and weak. He was a fool; a fool to trust Booker and a fool to think that he could hide who he was behind wood and a sanding block. He was a killer…a killer with a conscience, but still a killer. Sherriff Holding had tried to make him see it, this potential for violence. Oh, sure, it was wrapped up in a practical and intense sense of right and wrong, but who was he to decide where to draw the line? Had his parents seen it? Would they have felt so compelled to see him in law enforcement if they hadn’t?

A yell interrupted his spinning reverie and he straightened sharply, his head whipping up to locate the sound, his hand already on the grip of his gun. With everything that had happened, he was wound so tight he felt like he would snap. But when he saw the strange pair standing in his yard, everything that had happened in the past few hours scattered like wind driven clouds.

He cocked his head in confusion. He’d never seen anything quite like these two, but one thing was clear: they were most definitely not Laquaran. One was very pale and the strange hair on its head was lush but also pale, a kind of muted yellow. It was also quite tall, taller than he was at any rate and it had strange symmetrical lumps on its chest. The other was just as unusual. About Digger’s height, it was as dark as its partner was pale. It had odd hair, almost like fledgling fuzz, on the top of its head in a rusty red color and spectacles perched on its disturbingly flat nose.

Digger wasn’t inclined to be subtle at this point. The life he figured he was preserving for himself and Booker was fraying around him. He didn’t give a second thought to what these creatures might be capable of as he strode off the porch towards them.

“Hey,” he shouted. “I don’t know why you’re here, but you better state your business quick-like or I will drive you from my property!”

Digger didn’t know what he expected to happen, but it wasn’t the dark creature coughing a gurgling cry and collapsing on the ground. He stopped walking, completely bemused as the tall creature squatted next to its fallen companion and then looked up at him helplessly.

“We didn’t mean to trespass,” the tall one spoke, holding out its hands in a placating manner. It spoke Contwee? Digger still eyed them suspiciously, but he was starting to feel like an ignorant desert bloke. Maybe these were those mysterious peoples that you heard of in stories that occasionally sent emissaries to Llewellen? But what would they be doing way out here at the back end of nowhere?

The tall one had stood up again, looking anxious and nervous. He realized that he had been staring for quite some time and cleared his throat.

“No harm done, I suppose,” he started awkwardly. “Is your, uh, friend okay?” He watched as the tall one gave the other what appeared to be a look of exasperation and nodded.

“Yeah. We could both probably use some water though,” it admitted. From its stance, Digger could tell that this creature had been taught some fighting skills. It was light on its feet and loose in the joints but muscles were tensed, ready to spring. Whether it was ready to cause a diversion or run, he wasn’t sure, but he slowly dropped his hand from his holster and very deliberately turned toward the water pump by the trough.

The creature stayed where it was but its eyes followed him as he took the tin cup from the hook and pumped a stream of water into it. On careful feet, he brought the cup to it, purposely keeping an arm’s distance away. The tall one reached out and slowly took the cup, turning to its companion first. It flicked some of the water onto the dark one’s face so that it sputtered and spit, sitting up with a gasp. Its eyes behind the water-spotted spectacle glass were huge and white as it stared at him, its jaw hanging open.

The tall one looked almost embarrassed and shoved the cup into the dark one’s hands and ordered it to drink. It complied with shaking hands.

Dusting off its hands, the tall one turned to him. “I’m sorry. We’re just a bit…well, probably more than a bit…” it stopped, obviously frustrated. “We are totally lost! I mean completely. Do you have any idea where the university is? UCLA?”

Digger had never heard of a university called You See Elle Eh. Maybe there was one in the capital? The closest university was a couple of hundred miles away in Clabbertown. Booker had gone to one closer to Llewellen. Maybe he would know?

“You’re a long way from the university,” he replied. “Did you take the train?” He was hoping to get some useful information, but when the tall one’s face fell, he knew answers weren’t going to come easy.

“I don’t…” it began, its voice catching. It stopped for a moment and then cleared its throat. “I don’t know how we got here or even where ‘here’ is. We hoped that maybe you could tell us.”

Digger was inclined to believe them, but this was more than passing strange. “You’re at my home and shop in Hollow County near the Shacksaw River. I’m the local undertaker in these parts.” The creature looked more lost than ever. On instinct, he stuck out his hand. “Name’s Digger, by the way. Digger Graves.”

The creature flinched back briefly and then cautiously reached to clasp its hand in his. “I’m Trisha,” it said, shaking his hand quickly, but firmly. “And this is Clarence,” it continued, gesturing to the dark creature still on the ground, clutching the cup.

There’s something about a handshake that could really take the tension out of a situation, at least for Digger. Once the one called Trisha released his hand, he knew they didn’t pose any threat to him. He didn’t know if other people could read a body’s intention like he could, but he had always had this sense about people…except, it seems, for when it came to his brother, Digger reflected sourly.

Pushing thoughts of Booker aside, Digger watched the odd pair as Trisha worked to get the one called Clarence on its feet and get some water for itself. On closer inspection, he realized that these two had hair instead of feathers. Trisha’s hair was similar to his horses’, but a silky mane the color of spring wheat, while the Clarence person had hair that reminded him of a curly haired dog he had seen once. He had the notion that they were two different species, but now it looked like they were just widely varied versions of the same type of peoples.

The smaller one pulled off his spectacles and dazedly wiped them with a cloth from his coat pocket. It had brown eyes rimmed with russet lashes like its hair. Again, Digger saw a parallel between the creature’s features and those of his horses. The brown was very like the deep soulful eyes of his mares.

Trisha, on the other hand, had eyes that drew him in their similarity to his people. Its eyes were a vibrant green that Digger found pleasing, at least until he looked at the rest of its body. The pale pinkish skin reminded him of the featherless skin of Laquaran fledglings and the comparison was unsettling.

He noticed that Trisha was aware of his rather pointed observation and it handed back the cup with an uncomfortable hitch of its shoulders. Digger stood there awkwardly for a moment, a little ashamed for staring, until he noticed the two staring back in kind. A realization hit him like the slap of a wet rag.

“You’ve never seen a Laquaran before, have you?” he asked, completely bewildered as to how that could even be possible.

Trisha looked at him a little desperately. Even with their strange hard ears that stuck out of their head and their flat noses that made him feel a little nauseous when he looked at them in profile, their expressions were nearly as easy to read as any Laquaran he had ever met.

“That obvious, huh?” Trisha replied. There was a touch of humor behind the nervousness. “And, um…let me guess, you’ve never seen a human before.”

All Digger could do was shake his head. There was a strange moment when they both just stared at each other, taking in each other’s features. He watched Trisha’s eyes roam over his head and form. He did the same, pausing for a moment to cock his head at the seemingly incongruous lumps on the front of its chest. Trisha cleared its throat in mild annoyance.

“Yes, looky, I have boobs,” it said a little acerbically, putting its hands on its hips. Digger tried to find some correlation with something he knew, but he was drawing a blank.

“Really?” Trisha remarked in obvious disbelief. “Your women don’t have breasts? To feed babies and stuff?” It ended awkwardly.

Realization dawned. “Oh,” exclaimed Digger, absurdly pleased that he now understood. “You mean teats…like on my mares or on a goat. I see. You’re a female.”

Trisha’s face twisted like she was insulted and embarrassed at the same time, but she smoothed her features. “Yes, I am a female. And Clarence is male. We’re,” she gestured to herself and Clarence, “mammals…and, judging by that look on your face; I’m guessing that you aren’t?”

“No, I’m bi-avian.”

Clarence abruptly snapped out of his stupor. “They lay eggs?” he exclaimed, looking decidedly unhinged. Now it was Digger’s turn to feel insulted. “Of course they lay eggs,” Clarence said. “It is just like everything else around here that makes no sense!” He staggered up to Trisha. “We are dreaming or hallucinating or something.” He chopped one hand into the palm of the other punctuating each word. “And,” he threw up a finger like he had reached some great epiphany, “we are still in the warehouse, and somehow a shelf or something fell on us and we are in a strange state between…”

Trisha leaned over and pinched Clarence’s arm so hard that the small man leapt back with a yelp. She rounded on Clarence.

“If we were unconscious, would that hurt? Do hallucinations hurt? I’ve never heard of it, have you? I don’t understand what happened, but all of this,” she threw her arms wide, “is real!”

“And we don’t lay eggs,” Digger threw in.

“And they don’t lay eggs,” Trisha exclaimed and then stopped abruptly at the absurdity of what she just said. She gave a heavy sigh and faced the disgruntled Clarence who was still rubbing his arm. “You seem to be a logical man, Clarence. No one can be as uptight as you without being able to put two and two together. We are definitely not in L.A. We are not in another country…and we’re not on Earth.” She ended with a voice that sounded certain but scared.

“Not…on…Earth…” Clarence repeated in a small voice and then he started to shake.

Digger’s heart went out to them. He had no idea what was going on either, but this pair was obviously in trouble. And wasn’t he the kind of creature who helped people in trouble? Any remaining idea that they might be predatory melted away like morning frost and the knot of tension he had been harboring in his stomach since his argument with his brother loosened. If nothing else, these two offered a welcome distraction…but, then again, he would have to explain this to Booker.

Digger cleared his throat and Trisha looked back at him. “I think we should get him inside, out of the sun and sittin’ on something other than dirt.” Trisha nodded in agreement and moved to guide Clarence. Digger hesitated before leading them to the house.

“My brother,” he stumbled over the words and then started again. “My brother and I have had a bit of a quarrel. More than a bit, if I’m right honest.” He rubbed his hand along the back of his neck while the two waited pensively for him to continue. “I think it might be best if you let me do the explainin’.”

[ 13 ]

[World Region: EFFFF-FFFFE-FFFFD-FFFFF-FFFFFF-FFFFF]

AFTER the initial shock of meeting a total alien…well, in this case she was probably the total alien, but whatever…Trisha’s eyes started taking snapshots of everything around her. One advantage of growing up around a bunch of less than lawful individuals is that you learned to view the world around you with a particular set of eyes. Eyes that looked equally for opportunity and danger. If there was ever a need for those eyes, it was now.

She took in everything around her, her mind clicking on the details like she was taking photographs to remember later. She took in the quickness of the creature called Digger. Click. The way he held himself and the ease with which he wore his holster told her that, despite his mild manner, he could easily become dangerous. Then the barn and the horses. Click. Her aunt had insisted on horseback riding lessons in some ridiculous English saddle, but it taught Trisha her way around horses. A possible get-away there. Then the open landscape with little cover except some rolling hills. Click. Not easy to get away unseen.

There was just too much she didn’t know. Hoisting Clarence up next to her, she half carried the slight man up the stone steps of the porch, following their birdlike host. She just hoped that she could get enough information to figure out a way out of here before she or Clarence unknowingly did something to set these creatures against them. She’d seen too damn many movies where the newbies got screwed because they didn’t know the culture of a land.

She crossed the covered stone porch with Clarence and hesitated at the threshold of the door. Digger was holding the door open inside. She tried to sense if he meant them any harm, maybe trap them inside, but his stance just showed how nervous he was with the whole situation. Join the club. With her arm starting to cramp a little where Clarence hung on her, she decided, the hell with it, and stepped into the darkened interior.

“Here,” Digger said, pulling a chair away from a polished table. “Let him sit here a spell. I’ll get us all some nettle tea.”

Trisha did her best to settle Clarence in the chair, but ultimately had to pull him up to the table so he could sag against it and not fall over. She felt oddly responsible for the guy, but her instincts were screaming at her that he would be a serious liability to getting out of here in one piece. She squashed that thought down viciously. There was no way she was leaving him behind no matter how big a pain in the ass he was.

She started clicking on details again, taking in the large room that appeared to be kitchen, dining room and living room all in one. There were two rooms off of one wall. She saw the edge of some kind of bed through the partially open door of one of the rooms so she assumed they were bedrooms. An entryway led to another room off the back wall where she could see what looked like a standing mirror.

And there didn’t seem to be a back door. Right. Easy to defend. Hard to escape.

The floor was stone, and the walls were made of some kind of whitewashed mud and wattle type of construction. A deep stone fireplace was set at an angle in the corner by the door with a wicker like couch and chair arranged before it. A long stone counter with a sink and shelved recesses sat under a paned window next to the fireplace. Unlit oil lamps hung in strategic places around the room and on a small table near the wicker chair.

As her eyes continued to scan the house, she was struck by how little wood was used in the construction. There were huge beams that held up a kind of thatched roof and there were posts in the walls like the ones on the porch, but otherwise everything was made of stone or the mud type stuff. Laying her hand lightly on the table, she noticed the deep patina of a piece of wood that had been polished over and over with care. The chairs were the same. These were obviously treasured and well cared for items.

Trisha had been keeping a corner of her eye on Digger and she watched him as he finished pouring something into three cups. He then placed a cup on the table next to Clarence and, watching Trisha carefully, he put the other cup to his lips, took a swallow and then handed it to her. Ok, then. The drink is not poison. Good to know. That’s not to say I won’t melt from the inside out from whatever germs you carry, but I get the point.

In solidarity, Trisha accepted the drink and took a tentative swallow. The tea was bitter, but cool and it felt good on her throat. Digger gestured to another seat, took up his cup and they both sat.

There was an awkward silence that was abruptly broken by the appearance of another creature...“Laquaran, Trisha,” she berated herself in her head…another Laquaran walked hesitantly through the doorway of the back room.

She noticed Digger stiffen in his chair, but whatever reaction the other Laquaran might have had to Digger’s presence was lost to his shock at the presence of her and Clarence.

“Booker,” Digger said carefully. “We have guests. These folks are lost…come from some university called You See Elle Eh maybe near Llewellen. Ever heard of such a place?”

Booker just kind of stood there swaying a bit; his mouth cocked half open. He was shorter and stockier than Digger, with a head of feathers that was fuller and tinged more towards violet than Digger’s blue and green. Trisha could easily see the resemblance to Digger or maybe all Laquaran would look similar to her, but it was obvious this was the erstwhile brother. Trisha kept her mouth shut and her eyes open.

“Booker. Hey,” Digger said and Booker snapped his face to his brother’s. “You See Elle Eh…a university. Ever heard of such a thing?”

Trisha thought that Digger was being a little harsh with his brother. After all, it had taken them quite a while to get to this point of awkwardness. Digger couldn’t expect his brother to jump on this weird wagon just like that.

“Booker?” Digger snarled. Uh-oh…it looked like he did expect that.

Booker shook his head and then narrowed his eyes at Digger. “No, I’ve never heard of such a university.” Booker peered carefully at both of them and scowled. “If I were you, Digger, I wouldn’t trust what these…people…are selling. But, I trust you will do the right thing, since you are such a good judge of character and all.”

Digger reared back like he had been slapped; eyeing his brother with such a look of anger and disgust that Trisha wanted to back away from the table. Oof. Not only had they landed on another planet, they had landed in the middle of a family feud. Perfect.

Taking a studied breath, Digger visibly forced himself calm while a flash of triumph crossed his brother’s face. But that triumph was short lived. Digger speared him with such a steady, deadly gaze that Booker swallowed hard, pinned where he stood.

“I think…” Digger said in a quiet voice that dripped with such unchecked violence that even Clarence roused from his stupor and looked around in panic. “…that you have friends in town who would love to spend some time with their favorite government stooge. Best you be on your way.”

Booker’s eyes bounced from Digger to her and Clarence, unsure what to do. Then, with feigned nonchalance, he straightened his coat, flicked off some invisible fleck of dust and headed for the door.

“You are right,” he said as he opened the door. “I do have friends in town.” And then he was gone. They sat in a pall of silence for so long that Trisha eventually heard the muffled hoof beats of a horse as it tore out of the yard. Only then did Digger move his gaze from the door he had been staring at the whole time.

“I have a co-worker like that,” Clarence unexpectedly muttered into the tension filled air. “Josh. Pedigreed ass-licker. I hate Josh.”

Trisha looked at Clarence in surprise and then saw Digger’s lip quirk spastically. A kind of ridiculous feeling of relief burbled in her chest and she bit back a hysterical giggle. Digger saw her struggle and dropped his head to the table, shaking with short snorting sounds of mirth. He finally glanced up with such a face of amused exasperation that Trisha’s laughter broke free. For long moments, they laughed themselves silly and laughed some more at Clarence’s confused expression. Finally, their laughter came to a hiccupping close and Digger sighed.

“I can’t remember the last time I laughed so hard,” he said wiping his eyes. “Come to think of it, I can’t remember the last time I really laughed.”

Trisha came down to earth…or whatever…quickly. “I’m sorry,” she said, feeling a sudden connection with the Laquaran.

Digger waved it off. “Things have been very difficult the last year or so.” His eyes grew distant as he looked out the window next to the door. Trisha glanced in the same direction and saw the edge of the cemetery. “And now it looks like everythin’ I have ever had is lost.” He didn’t sound bitter, just resigned and tired and very sad.

“Because of Booker?” she asked hesitantly, trying to put some pieces together.

“Booker is a big part of it,” he said, turning his red eyes to hers and then suddenly looking away. She watched his face grow stern and closed again. OK…deep secret sharing time is over.

“Do you have any sugar or honey?” Clarence said. “This tea is quite bitter.” Trisha narrowed her eyes at him in annoyance. “What?” he said. “It is!”

Digger set a small bowl of brown colored sugar before Clarence and handed him a spoon. Clarence studiously spooned in the sugar, stirred and tested his tea before nodding his head in satisfaction.

Trisha didn’t know what was going on with Clarence, but he was clearly barely holding onto some semblance of control. She decided it was best to just let him be. At least he wasn’t doing his impression of a doorstop anymore.

Digger must have felt it was best to stay away from the really tough topics also because he pointed to her shoes and said, “I’ve been meaning to ask you about those.”

Trisha glanced down at her red and white Converse high top tennis shoes. “My Converse?” she asked.

Digger looked astonished. “You can converse with your shoes?” he gaped.

Trisha blinked. It took her a second but then…Oh! Converse…converse. Got it. “No,” she said, trying not to snort. “It’s the brand name of my shoes.”

“Brand…name,” Digger puzzled over the words. “Like a horse or cattle brand?”

Trisha considered that for a moment. “You know, it is kind of the same thing…only they don’t burn the name on the shoes, but it’s there.” She shifted her foot to show him the label.

“Huh,” Digger said. “And do all of your clothes have brands?” Trisha watched him as his eyes roamed over her jeans, patched leather jacket and settled on her black t-shirt with the image of a kitten in a racing helmet at the wheel of a red and white sports car.

She squirmed a little under his scrutiny. “Actually, I think they all do. But this,” she said gesturing to the image on her t-shirt, “is just a picture…decoration.”

Digger nodded as if that made perfect sense. We talked about fashion, she noted wryly; should we move on to weather? But there were things that she needed to know about this world, only she wasn’t sure where to start.

“So, Digger Graves,” she started randomly. “I’ve never heard a name like that.”

“I imagine that there are many variations of Digger Graves among the undertakers of N-Avia,” he replied.

“N-Avia?“ Trisha shook her head, confused. “And, wait, every undertaker has the same name?”

“N-Avia is the name of our land,” Digger said with a sound like he had just confirmed something, “and don’t your people register your true name by your occupation? Although, truth be told, I can’t seem to figure just what a Trisha or a Clarence does.”

Trisha blew out her breath in a low whistle. “Man, I hate it when I’m right,” she muttered. Digger cocked his head. “Earlier I was thinking we’d better find out what we could about this place, or we would end up doing some cultural faux pas and land ourselves in prison or something. Now I find out that even our names draw attention.”

“I’m not sure what a fo-pa is, but it is true that names are very important here.” Digger got up and pulled down a picture from the wall between the bedroom doors. He handed it to Trisha. Clarence leaned in to get a look. “This was my father, Digger Graves,” he said pointing to the taller of the two adult Laquaran’s in the picture. “This was my mother, Sew Graves,” Digger pointed to the shorter figure. Besides the fact that she wore a dress, Trisha couldn’t tell the difference between her and Digger’s father. Laquarans appeared to be an androgynous bunch by Earth standards, at least. “She was a seamstress before she married my dad and continued her job after she married him so she was allowed to keep her name without havin’ to petition for a name change.”

“You have to change your name each time you change your job?” Trisha tried to grasp the concept. All she could see was an image of a DMV office from hell, packed with thousands of people registering a new name because they had changed jobs or been fired. ‘Now serving number 5,483 at window 45.’ It made her head hurt. It would never work in her world.

“It is required here. All names are distributed by the Governor of the province and are closely tracked. It takes a petition to change jobs once you have taken yours as a young adult. Either that or you go nameless.” Digger’s face screwed up in disgust, like he was talking about incest or how Trisha’s aunt looked that time she was bumped from first class to coach due to a computer blip. “The nameless can only really find a place in the big cities, barely surviving as sewer maintenance workers or street-side pleasure companions. Out here, having no name will likely get you killed. It’s the worst kind of punishment to get your name taken from you.”

“Well, isn’t that a special kind of ominous,” Trisha cringed inwardly. She cast around for something to change the subject. “And this is you and your brother?” Trisha asked.

“Yes,” Digger said, running his hand lightly over the glass. “That was before we had names.” Back to the names. Oye.

“You don’t name your children?” Clarence asked, looking like he might get worked up again.

“No. Our true names are given to us by our parents when we finish our apprentice to a trade. If history had gone different for me, I would be named Gunner, most like.” Digger took up the picture and rehung it on the wall

“So, what, you just call your kids ‘kids’ or ‘boy’ or ‘hey, you’?” Clarence said, a little testily, Trisha thought. Evidently, this name thing was really getting under his skin.

“Yes, for the most part,” Digger replied evenly. Clarence just sat there, managing to look stumped and irritated at the same time. “Names are a status symbol here. I take it they aren’t where you come from?”

Clarence looked like he was about to give Digger an earful so Trisha cut him off. “Let’s just say that names work very differently in our world and leave it at that.”

Digger nodded. “So, I figure we should move on to such things like how you got here and how we’re gonna get you back.”

Trisha leaned back in her chair in relief. Now they could get down to brass tacks, as they say in the Westerns.

Digger informed them that she and Clarence had been dropped into an outback area known as The Wilds. Nothing really lived out there except for outlaws and legends of strange creatures and even stranger lands.

But as the afternoon wore on, answers to the questions of how they ended up here and how they would get home remained elusive. N-Avia lay somewhere in a world named A’Kyria, which sounded like a wild fantasy the way that Digger described it. He called it grade school knowledge, but the idea of a flat world sounded like those Renaissance Galileo deniers or Flat Earthers. Digger’s land might be similar to Earth’s Wild West era, but it was obviously further behind in technology and exploration.

Everything in N-Avia spoked out from a metropolis called Llewellen. It was the seat of power, influence and knowledge. It was also one of the few places in N-Avia that could still be considered a forest. Trees, like names, held power here. The closer you were to the trees, the more power and influence you had. If you lived in the trees, you ruled. If you were privileged to work with wood, like Digger, it gave you a certain status in your community. Everyone, except the nameless, were allowed the honor of being buried in wood because trees were a precious commodity…made precious by the tree hungry predation of ancient citizens of this land. They used to live in the trees, in houses that soared above the ground, but great, great, great grand-Laquaran’s got wood greedy and nearly wiped out every forest in the land.

All of the history stuff was great, but it didn’t get them any closer to a solution. As the afternoon faded to evening, Digger made a fire with something he called mash, a mixture of coal and shavings from the ever present purple streaked bushes called purpura. He then put together some kind of stew as they talked, declining her offer of help. The sun set, bowls were laid out and they continued to talk as they ate. It became very clear to Trisha that she couldn’t expect any real solutions from Digger if she withheld the one crucial piece of information she had been hiding.

She started to pull the stone from her pocket and Clarence clamped his hand on her arm. “You cannot,” he hissed under his breath.

“I have to,” she replied. “It’s the only thing we haven’t told him and it’s the thing that got us into this mess.”

Digger looked at them with eyes that now squinted in suspicion. Trisha pulled the glimmering stone out of her pocket and held it in her open hand for Digger to see. Its pale faceted colors winked in glowing lights, refracting some of the fire and lamplight.

“What is it?” Digger asked.

Trisha sighed. “I was really hoping you would know.”

“I have never seen the like,” Digger breathed, obviously intrigued, but sitting back in his chair like he expected the thing to explode. Trisha had her own reservations about keeping the thing so close to her breakable person. With as much detail as she and Clarence could remember, they gave him the full story of the events that brought them to his world.

Digger’s finger tapped a little on the table as he ruminated.

“I don’t see any way round it really. I think we need to make a trip to Llewellen. If there’s anyone who knows what that thing is, they would be in Llewellen.” Digger didn’t look very pleased by the proposed road trip. “Never been, myself, but I know the way and can take you.”

Trisha tucked away the stone and looked at Digger carefully. “Not that I’m not ecstatic that we now have a plan, but why would you risk going with us? No offense, but it seems like you have a handful of stuff to deal with here.”

Digger picked up his bowl and walked it to the sink. He stood there for a long moment looking out the window into the night. Without turning around, he asked in a low voice, “If I told you that I would rather run off on what’s like to be a fool’s errand than face my problems at the moment, would you think me a coward?”

Clarence snorted. “You are talking to the wrong person here. I am brilliant, not brave. Brave gets you killed.” Trisha shot a surprised look at Clarence and noticed that his right hand was twitching a little, like he was ticking off items on a clipboard. Looks like he’d had enough fun for one day.

Trisha stood and took over her own bowl to stand next to Digger. “I think it really only matters whether you think you’re being a coward or not. My dad used to always tell me that there was a fine line between bravery and stupidity and sometimes the only difference between the two was whether you were trying to do the right thing.”

Digger stood for a moment more and then turned to her. “I think the right thing to do at this moment is help you find your way home.”

“And I won’t turn you down,” she said.

“Your dad was a wise man.”

Trisha smiled wryly. “My dad was a criminal who turned into a pocket philosopher when I was born, but he was a good guy.” She looked over at Clarence who was still twitching. “It’s been a long, weird day. Do you have somewhere where we can sleep?”

“Would you have any objections to sleepin’ in the barn?” Digger asked uncomfortably. “I’m just not sure it’s a good idea to have you in the house when Booker returns.” His voice said he wasn’t sure Booker would return, but he didn’t want to take any chances.

“No problems with me.”

Clarence just stood without a sound and draped his suit jacket over his arm.

Digger got some quilts from one of the bedrooms and led them to the barn. The night was very warm so rather than put them in the hayloft, Digger set them up in the corner of his workshop area so they could get a cross breeze. After laying down some fresh straw, he set the oil lamp on the nearby workbench.

“Booker may come in durin’ the night. He’s like to see you there, but he shouldn’t bother you.” His words were meant to be reassuring, but his eyes said that he wasn’t sure what his brother would do anymore.

“We’ll be fine,” Trisha assured him. “See you in the morning?”

“Yes…see you in the mornin’” Digger gave one last look around the barn and, with a nod, made his way back to the house.

[ 14 ]

[World Region: EFFFF-FFFFE-FFFFD-FFFFF-FFFFFF-FFFFF]

BOOKER slumped in the saddle, letting his horse follow the well-known path home. He felt numb. Everything that he had planned, all of that time seeking and meeting and working toward something better, was unraveling faster than he could think.

All for want of a gift.

A gift. A cursed gift to the governor was all that stood between him and success. He had sat there, staring at Dustin, his gubernatorial contact, with absolute incomprehension. A drink at the bar, Dustin had said, to toast the new mayor and finalize plans to meet with the governor and seal the deal. Oh, and by the way, a gift is expected…nay, required…when you are presented to the governor. It must be something unique; something that speaks to the governor of your dedication and resolve and loyalty.

Booker’s head swam. He had bartered everything he had to get this far. There wasn’t anything left. The business was now owned by the bank. He supposed he could try selling off whatever he could from the house and barn, maybe the livestock, but he knew that it would take a miracle to pull that past Digger.

And what would he buy? What spoke dedication and loyalty? What spoke dedication and loyalty that he could find within a week?

When he finally looked up, his horse was making its way to the barn. He saw a light flickering inside and pulled his horse to a stop and swung out of the saddle. His mind snapped out of its funk when he realized that it must be those strangers that had shown up earlier. Very unusual strangers. People like he had never seen before. Had the governor ever met people like these?

He shook his head. The governor had likely met all manner of peoples in his travels to and from Llewellen. But the idea kept playing at the back of his mind as he led the mare into the barn.

The two creatures were sitting near each other, obviously caught in the middle of a conversation when they had heard his horse approach. He gave them a cursory glance and then led the mare to her stall. He took his time removing the saddle and rubbing her down, but the two didn’t make a sound the whole time. He didn’t give them a look when he left the barn.

He paused at the base of the porch steps. The presence of the strangers nagged at him. There had to be a way to leverage them. It almost looked like they were sent here for a purpose. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that these two were the key to his salvation. He removed his boots to silence his steps and doubled back to the barn.

He skirted around the back of the building and stooped below a small window next to Digger’s workspace. The voices of the two were faint, but discernable.

“I still think we should just try it and see if it works,” Booker heard one of them say. It sounded like it was pleading with the other one.

He heard the other one sigh. “We’ve been over this a million times. We have no idea how this thing works. I think you’re probably right but, if you haven’t noticed, this thing doesn’t have a steering wheel. Who knows where we’ll end up next.”

Slowly lifting his head above the edge of the window, he peered in at the two strangers. The dark one sat hunched on a blanket, staring down at something the other one was holding. He shifted a bit to the side and bit back a gasp. In the hands of the one with the golden hair was a gem unlike any he had ever seen. It pulsed softly in shimmering colors.

He dropped down out of sight and pressed his back against the barn. He had been correct. They had been sent here carrying the gift. The divine had been looking out for him after all.

“…keep it hidden,” Booker heard, the golden one’s words breaking through his musing. “This thing sticks out like a lost purse on a subway car. It just screams ‘Take Me.’”

“Do you think we will have trouble in Llewellen?” the other asked.

The golden one snorted. “You’re kidding, right? We’ll have to be careful who we show it to.”

The dark one sighed. “Do you trust him?”

“Digger?” Booker could almost hear the golden one nodding. “He isn’t Captain America, but I get the feeling that he’s a good guy…I also have this feeling that he can kick ass if he needs to. We could use an ass kicker on our side when we head out tomorrow.”

He didn’t wait to hear the other’s reply, but scuttled back around the barn and made his way back to the porch steps. So…the divine wasn’t handing him a free gift. He would have to take it, and it looked like he didn’t have much time to get the precious stone away from them. They were leaving in the morning.

Booker sat there for a long time, mulling over possible plans of attack. His mind kept dragging him back to the events of the day: his altercation with Digger and the sour discovery that he was one gift away from his dreams. His anger built. He couldn’t believe that Dustin had held out on him. He couldn’t believe that his brother had threatened him with a gun.

A gun…

His heart sped up. Could he? It really was the only option. If he could get a hold of his brother’s gun, he could confront the strangers and take the gem with little to no danger to himself. He’d head into town and lay low until it was time to meet the governor.

He gathered his boots and crept into the house. The oil lamp above the table was turned down low and he moved on soft feet to his room guided by its small light. He pulled his door to, lit his own lamp and went about filling a satchel with what he figured would tide him over for a week in town.

Finally, he set the satchel and his boots near the front door and slid up to the wall outside his brother’s room. He listened intently. There wasn’t a sound coming from the room, the door was slightly ajar. Booker chewed on his lip in concentration. Digger never had much trouble falling asleep, but he was a light sleeper. Pressing his hand against the door, he slowly opened it, keeping his body flattened against the wall. Still no sound.

He hardly breathed as he looked into Digger’s room. The room was nearly pitch black, but from the light from the kitchen lamp he could just make out the outline of Digger’s legs and feet on the bed.

He didn’t need to search Digger’s room for the gun. It was always kept on the small end table next to the bed within easy reach.

Booker took a tentative step into the room, pausing for what felt like an hour before he was sure it was safe enough to take another step. His progress was painstaking, his limbs shaking enough that he was afraid he might trip. After what seemed like an eternity, he made it to the dark shape that was the table.

He stood for long moments and then slowly reached out his hand, gently patting down toward the tabletop until his hand felt the gun. Easing his shaking fingers around it, he gripped it with a panicked tightness and lifted it up.

His heart beating wildly, he eased back toward the door. Sweat was dripping down the sides of his face by the time he rounded Digger’s door and leaned against the wall, fighting to get his heart under control. Then, with quick steps he moved to the front door, grabbed his stuff and scuttled onto the porch. He was on his way.

______________________________

Digger didn’t know what woke him, an uneasy feeling maybe, but his eyes popped open and his body lay tense. He waited for long moments, trying to sense the slightest noise or movement. He had fallen asleep sometime after he had heard his brother’s horse enter the yard. He had a moment of worry that Booker might cause trouble with their guests, but he pushed down his concerns. His brother was many things, but he didn’t have it in him to hurt anyone…unlike me, Digger thought. And, since the next day promised to be a challenge, he had forced himself to sleep.

His sleep was troubled. When he woke, he immediately sensed something was amiss. His hand swept the end table to collect his gun, but found it missing. Alarm and anger boiled over. Once again, he had been blind in regards to his brother and let his feelings of guilt overcome his good sense. This time he had no doubt his brother was to blame.

Springing from his bed, Digger flew out of the house in his bare feet and tore down the porch steps before skidding to a halt as a shot pierced the air. Before him, in the long ghostly shadows cast from the lamp in the barn, Booker stood outside with the gun pointed in the air, wiping his other hand across a bloody and quite obviously broken nose. Trisha and Clarence came to a stumbling halt near the water trough.

Booker pointed the gun at them, surprisingly steady. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will,” he growled in a voice Digger had never heard him use before. Maybe it was the pain, maybe it was something else, but he sensed a dangerous desperation in his brother’s voice. He had heard that desperation before and his heart almost stopped beating. Stupidity always followed seconds behind desperation. He sprang forward and slid in between his brother and his targets, the dirt scraping his bare feet.

“Move,” Booker said low, his eyes never wavering.

“You know I can’t do that,” Digger’s eyes bored into his brother’s, but his stomach shuddered. He could see the edge of madness there. “Booker, I don’t know what this is about…”

“He wants this,” Trisha interrupted him, holding out her hand, the stone glowing through the gaps between her fingers. Her voice was firm, almost belligerent, leaving no doubt as to who broke Booker’s nose.

“The stone? But why?” He looked at his brother completely baffled. He couldn’t figure what his brother was up to, but he felt a surge of anger well up inside him. Was his brother so truly filled with greed? Hadn’t he taken enough already? He took a step toward Booker and stopped when his brother cocked the gun.

Digger started to speak but his words were cut off by a crack of wild thunder sizzling through the clear sky above them. He saw his brother’s eyes widen as he looked over his shoulder. He slowly backed off to the side to look, keeping Booker in the corner of his eye.

Edged in an eerie glowing blue aura, a roiling black spot the size of a pail had appeared about ten feet in the air. It winked and spread, looking like an expanding cat’s pupil in the sky. Lightning spit and sizzled around the growing darkness and then a spike landed with an earth splitting crash a few feet from Trisha and Clarence. Clarence yelped and they both ran to where Digger stood.

“What’s happenin’?” Digger yelled, his voice barely audible above the crackling.

“I have no idea,” Trisha yelled back. Then her face went even paler and she held up the gem. The colors were spinning at a frantic pace, the stone practically vibrating in Trisha’s hand.

Clarence screamed something and pointed. They both turned to see the sizzling lightning patterns stretch out towards them, like it was reaching for the gemstone.

Digger heard Booker growl behind them. “No! It’s mine.”

Digger spun to see Booker charging them. He grabbed a hold of Trisha to try to push her out of the way, just as Clarence made a flying grab for the flashing orb. There was a thundering boom and the world shuddered to silence.

______________________________

Booker stumbled and fell as he swept through the area where his brother had been. The gun went off in a wild careening shot, but he barely noticed.

Everyone was gone. The black hole shriveled to a pin prick and then disappeared. He pulled himself to his feet and shuffled around, staring back and forth from the sky to the ground. His brother, the strangers…his dreams…had just vanished.

[ 15 ]

[World Region: 2A765-38BC7-FF433-77432-A2D345-275E4]

WHY couldn’t he keep his eyes open? Panic flooded him and he beat it back. He had a job to do. He had to get up, but the fog in his brain wouldn’t clear. Darkness folded over and he gasped like a man drowning. But consciousness eluded him.

Sound filtered in through his hazy mind. Images flickered and stabilized. Another memory; another time.

A bank of lights and screens with data and images covered the walls. The room was a hive of activity. People in military garb of one kind or another bustled about; checking monitors; discussing readings.

A few people were gathered around Lem, also looking at the main monitor that engulfed most of the forward wall. On the screen was a lush forest with a clear stream on one side that trickled off into the distance. Lem stood transfixed; watching as the leaves on the trees rustled to some unseen breeze and the stream caught the rays of light and refracted them back in shimmering sparkles. It took Lem a moment to realize they were looking at another world. This was no climate controlled park or harvesting dome. This was an honest to goodness real forest in a real world and it was their salvation.

“Are these readings correct?” he heard Kell say next to him. Kell? Lem turned to look at him, his brain still a bit fuzzy. How could it be Kell? But there he was, leaning over a terminal talking to a technician.

Lem’s heart squeezed. Kell…his friend since childhood. The two had gone through school together and had joined the corps at the same time. They were mad science twins; eager to test the limits of the universe together. Kell…the one who introduced him to his wife.

His best friend had this way about him, a kind of charisma that made the ladies swoon and the teachers fawn over him. Kell’s glossy black coat and his pie shaped eyes didn’t hurt him either. Lem had always wondered why Jerrita hadn’t taken up with Kell, but then she always had such a wry wit. Lem thought that maybe she intimidated Kell a little.

And Jerrita was Lem’s. Kell would never get in the way of that.

“It has a fully compatible atmosphere?” Kell continued.

“Yes, sir,” the technician at the terminal responded.

One of the scientists standing next to Lem tapped at his handheld screen. “Every reconnaissance drone we have sent says that it is almost identical to our world’s old atmosphere. It is covered in a volume of plant life our world has not seen in centuries and the aerial drone has determined that this land is huge; approximately 24 billion hectares have been mapped so far and there’s no end in sight.”

The man on the other side of the scientist gave a low whistle. Lem leaned forward and spied General Avos.

“Precisely,” continued the scientist…Emmeril, wasn’t it? “Temperature fluctuations are easily within tolerance and the plant and animal life are similar in composition to what we have here. Of course, we will need to study them more thoroughly to determine if any of them pose a potential biological threat, but even with that caveat, I would say that we are clear for our first manned exploration.”

Lem’s nerves tingled along his arms in excitement. A whole new world; a new life for him and his family. He screwed on what he hoped was a neutral face and turned to General Avos.

“My team and I are at your disposal, Sir, ready and able.”

“Lem is always ready,” Kell snorted under his breath. He had sidled up next to him while the scientist had been talking. Lem wanted to slug him in the arm. He knew Kell was just as excited as he was. Ever since they discovered what the rods could do, they had been dreaming of this day.

General Avos, beyond that one low keyed whistle, kept whatever excitement he might be feeling under studious calm.

He turned to Lem. “I understand your enthusiasm, Captain Cotter, but I am the one that has to answer to the Council if you all get injured or die... or worse, fail.” He raised his voice to address the entire room. “I don’t have to tell you all what is at stake here, but I feel it needs to be said aloud. It’s vital that we all keep this at the forefront of our minds as we admire this new world. If we can’t make a go of this, our people are dead. The entire world. And it will happen in our lifetime. We have tried everything to counteract the damage that was inflicted on this world by generations past, but we have failed and are in cataclysmic decline. We will be on worldwide half rations in a matter of months. Time is against us.”

Everyone in the room was still. Only the electronics made a sound, clicking and whirring as the General took in everyone’s face. “Everything looks rosy now, but we are not fools enough to think there isn’t something we have missed. The portal is two-way when it is open. Whatever is there, can get here just as easily as we can.”

General Avos turned to Lem. “I want on-the-ground data back as soon as possible. Set up basecamp, surveil the immediate area and report back when the area is secure.” Lem turned to set his team in motion, but the General stalled him. “Wait…Soporal, are we sure that the portal is static? Any chance the team might end up in a different location?”

Soporal shook his head as he pointed to the big screen. “We’ve shut the portal down three times now, once for more than two days, and the portal holds stable to one location. You can clearly see the first land probe off to the left of the image. That has been there each time we reconnect.”

General Avos nodded. “Not like we have much choice, but it’s reassuring nonetheless.” He looked to Lem, “Captain Cotter, you have a go. I fully expect that area cleared before I send in the rest of your team.

Lem turned toward Kell with a smile and they both rushed out to their team, prepped and standing by in the adjoining ready room. The command center, ready room, the entire portal system was set up in one immense bunker. As his entire team made their way through the door to the staging area, Lem eyed the glassy tesseract field of the portal through the ready room window. Kell moved next to him.

“You didn’t tell them your concerns about power longevity.”

“Would it have made any difference?” Lem asked. Kell remained silent. He didn’t need to answer.

When the last of the team left the room and started moving the quad vehicles with supplies to the staging area, Lem moved to join them when Kell stopped him.

“You know when you made Senior Science Officer,” he said, “I was pretty jealous.” Lem looked at him in surprise. He never even imagined that Kell would be jealous of him. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this now, but I wanted you to know. And I wanted you to know that I’m not jealous anymore.” Kell motioned to the scene in the staging area. “Look what you’ve accomplished. You made the rods work despite technology we have never seen before. This…you…are going to save our world!”

Lem looked at Kell and felt that he wanted to hold onto this moment with his friend, but a persistent pain in his head cast a cloud over his friend’s face. Please, he just wanted to see his friend’s face one more time.

His mind betrayed him again, pulling him along his memories, dragging him through the pain. He drifted…

…to where water chuckled and sprayed over the rocks in crystal drops that captured the sun. He had never seen water like this on his world.

The stream splashed and laughed in front of him. He was on the new world. The salvation world. A world that was more than he had ever dreamed.

He closed his eyes as a fresh breeze wafted up, the sweet air brushing over his face and whispering through the trees. It smelled like freedom and peace and hope.

From the moment the team had walked through the portal, Lem had been captivated by everything he saw, from the smallest insect to the tallest tree. It took the team more than an hour to peel their eyes from the wonder that surrounded them before they got down to the business of setting up base camp.

That proved to be more of a challenge than Lem had anticipated; not because the land was inhospitable, but because no one wanted to disturb anything. Vegetation had to be cleared and life pods had to be erected. He had seen more than one hardened scientist and soldier wiping their eyes as they uprooted the natural order of this land in order to make camp.

Lem considered it a promising sign. If they had second thoughts about disturbing the land, then it spoke well for the rest of his people. Maybe they would get it right this time.

General Avos had been less than enthusiastic about the delay. His barking growl came through the communique exactly an hour after they arrived, demanding the latest facts and readings and the status on the base setup. Lem had come up with enough suitable scientific jargon to make it sound like they were on their game, but he knew the general wasn’t fooled. Lem had strategically set the vid port to face into the forest so the general couldn’t see the camp…or lack thereof.

As the camp finally came together, Lem’s science teams set about cataloging everything they found with a giddy fervor that had him scolding them to take time to sleep. He couldn’t blame them. He found himself being constantly distracted by the world around him. Some of the team showed a particular fear of the dark that they had never considered. The home world only fell into deep night once a year, with varying degrees of twilight the rest of the time, but this world sank into darkness approximately every fourteen hours. There was nine and a half hours of darkness with nothing to cut the black but the great swath of stars above them.

And the world around them was so full of sound, day and night. The stream, the trees, the wildlife; even the ground felt like it was speaking. It took several days before everyone’s jumpiness subsided.

But their nervousness couldn’t put a damper on the excitement of a new discovery around every corner. Several of the team had contracted insect bites that had them clamoring to test for possible illness laden bacteria, but at the same time they were showing off their bites to each other, practically cooing over the bugs themselves when they were caught for study.

At one time, a fairly large four-legged creature bounded into the camp and everyone froze to stare. None of them made a move toward catching the moment on vid or running specs on their handhelds. The animal looked at them passively, chewing on a bit of grass that stuck from the corner of its mouth and then wandered off into the forest. No one fretted over the lost opportunity for study. They had plenty of time.

There was a scuffing sound behind him and Lem smiled.

“I always know where to find you,” Kell chuckled as he sat down beside Lem at the stream. For long moments, they sat together watching the water play. “I don’t think I will ever get used to this,” he said softly.

“I hope I never do,” Lem replied in kind.

“Just another week and we will have the civilian life pod settlement ready.” Kell smiled. “I leave in a few days to start rounding up our families. I can’t wait to see the look on Jerrita and Shalalla’s faces.”

Lem knew that Kell was ribbing him about being the one to bring his family over. He shot a splash of water in Kell’s direction, making him laugh. As the only real portal expert, Lem would stay behind to monitor the portal. He would greet his family from the new world. He had been thinking of little else when the order went out to start setting up the camp to bring in the team’s families and another group of civilian scientists. He couldn’t wait to show this world to his daughter.

At the thought of his daughter, a burning pain shot through him. No, this…this wasn’t real. This was another time…another place…and he didn’t want to see what came next. But his mind refused to stop, the memory crashing into his consciousness like shards of glass.

A snap of branches and a sudden wild cry sent Lem to his feet. He was at the stream again. Another day. Another time.

“Captain Cotter!” came a panicked call and a soldier staggered into view.

“Captain Cotter, the home world…” the soldier gulped for air. “The home world is under attack! We are ordered to return to the portal immediately!”

Lem took off for the camp, his legs and mind running at a frantic pace. Attack? From where? From who? And why?

Suddenly, Lem found himself alone, running through forest that never ended. A blast exploded the tree next to him and he stumbled to the ground. He pushed himself back up and ran for the camp he could just see through the trees, but the harder he ran, the farther the camp receded. And it was getting dark; night so black he couldn’t even see the stars. But, if he just ran harder, ran faster, he might just be able to save them this time.

The darkness pressed in on him. It was so hard to breathe. His legs and arms suddenly refused to move, and he found himself falling…and falling and falling, with nothing but the blackness for company.

[ 16 ]

[World Region: C9567-9659A-7A7A5-820BB-C88C41-1517D]

THE large merchant ship leaned away, turning hard to port away from the smaller pursuing vessel. The lean corsair was too fast for the comparatively lumbering galleon and the limber vessel kept cutting across their aft, stealing their wind. The broken wind boomed into the shifting sails of the craft, slapping the canvas and making the ropes snap against the masts and yardarms. The water rushed past in an arc of sun spangled spray.

The corsair moved close enough to see the sailors moving on its deck. The captain saw the glint of sun off of weapons and ordered his ship to slip starboard, but the winds failed him and his vessel floundered.

“Prepare to repel boarders!” The captain’s shout split the sea noises.

Sailors on the deck scrambled to barrels of weapons, pulling free a varied and somewhat disreputable assortment of blades. Some yanked belaying pins or whatever was close at hand.

A bellow to below decks brought uniformed soldiers boiling from the hold. They stood in stark contrast to the sailors, brandishing burnished swords and shields in well-ordered rows, faces a mask of grim determination.

The corsair slid alongside the larger merchant craft, the water gurgling and slapping between the hulls. There was a moment where the whole ocean held its breath and the tension between one heartbeat and the next stretched impossibly tight…then a mass of netted hooks sailed over the side of the galleon and slammed onto the railing with a sound like a thousand timber cats clawing through a forest. As the wood shrieked and groaned under the onslaught, the soldiers surged forward but they could not match the speed of the pirates. With a roar, they poured over the railing bare seconds after the hooks snagged wood, like they had ridden the spiked netting as it sailed through the air. Dropping to the base of the railing, they scythed through the legs and guts of the oncoming soldiers with viciously sharp hooked blades on poles. When the first sweeping arc was complete, they dropped the poles in favor of knives and short swords.

While the vanguard of the soldiers was being dropped, the second group of pirates swung in from the yardarms to fall amid the soldiers, tearing holes in their tight formation and spreading the fighting ship-wide. The nets were pulled tight and the vessels slammed together, knocking a few of the defenders off their feet and hastening their demise.

Screams and blood spread across the deck as the flanking pirates picked off the sailors and callously tossed them overboard. They did not discriminate. The fighting sailor and the pleading sailor met the same fate and made room for the pirates to maneuver amidst the soldiers.

Then one of the knots of soldiers went down, felled by a pirate that had dropped from a yardarm into their midst and a coordinated rope tactic that swept them from their feet and into waiting blades. From there, each knot of defenders appeared to implode under the weight of the attackers, collapsing in an inevitable pattern of defeat that moved down the length of the craft. With hardly a last gasp, the final soldier fell and became one more body that littered the deck. The ships knocked together, sloshing and gurgling into the sudden hush of post battle.

“Bring him to me,” commanded a voice, deep and carrying. The pirates parted as the captain of the galleon was dragged limp, bleeding, but alive to the owner of the voice, a pirate who wore the bulk of his muscle with surprising ease and watched the world with an intense gaze.

The pirate lowered himself to his haunches, looking into the eyes of the captain before him. “As duty demands, you are allowed to see the face and know the name of the one who has defeated you. I am Upooa, the captain of the Flaming Iris. You have given me a worthy fight. A quick death is your reward.”

With an economy of movement, he thrust his dagger into the captain’s chest, practically cradling the body with his other arm, watching the life fade from his opponent’s eyes. When the eyes held no more spark, he let the body slide off his knife. With a flick of the weapon over the dead man’s clothes to wipe off the blood, the pirate rose and shouted to his men, “Get the cargo on board. Kill any survivors.”

______________________________

Upooa watched as some of his crew rearranged the cargo hold, setting up stalls along the aft wall. His crew did not kill the survivors, as it turned out. It wasn’t mutiny but currency that stayed their killing hand. The cargo hold of the imperial merchant ship was carrying women.

He stood listening to the wood creak as the vessel swayed in the calm waters, wondering why the imperials would take such a chance in transporting the women across the ocean without a military escort. He’d be a fool to think that an Imperial warship wouldn’t be in the area if women were being transported. And why would they endanger them like this? They were precious cargo, and he would have to forego much of the rest of the haul to ensure he could take them. He was lucky that he had cleared his lower hold chambers completely before shoving off; otherwise he might have been forced to house them in conditions that could harm them.

“Ruupi,” Upooa called, beckoning his first mate over. “I’m going over-ship to help move the women. You make sure they are housed safely. I want everything else in this hold lashed down like it is nailed to the boards. Not a single item shifts. Understood?” Ruupi nodded once and moved off to his task. Ruupi didn’t talk much, but when he did, the rest of the crew scrambled.

Leaving the musty smell of the hold, Upooa emerged into the salty air, the brisk breeze throwing about his black braids. Several of his men were hoisting cargo from the imperial ship onto the Flaming Iris using flats and pulleys. He hopped onto the railing and, with a calculated jump, crossed the span between the two and landed on the deck of the galleon.

“We’ve got it about ready,” Ampho said, gesturing to the makeshift flat with railing that Upooa had ordered they make. Getting the women over to the Iris was going to take some careful maneuvering.

Upooa nodded and scanned the horizon. It wasn’t a matter of if they would be pursued, but when. He felt a twinge between his shoulder blades that crawled up the back of his neck. Something was on the wind.

Letting the feeling spur him, he ordered his men to halt any more cargo transport. “Ampho, Tut, Pote, Coori, with me…the rest of you, prepare to scuttle this vessel the moment all of the women are aboard.”

Upooa took the stairs down to the top aft cargo hold, followed by his four men. The five of them collected awkwardly before the stalls that were arrayed along the hold. A cargo of women was very rare and none of them had come across a shipment like this.

“We will need to bring them up one at a time.” Upooa’s voice felt loud in the hush of the hold. “Some may be able to walk on their own. Guide those to the flat first. Some we will likely have to carry.”

The men went one to a stall and with cajoling small voices, started to determine which women could function without much assistance and which they would have to lift out. Upooa scanned each face as they were moved into the scant light of the hold and then up the stairs, either guided gently as they stumbled up the stairs or practically cradled like small children. All of their faces were slack, their eyes dark and staring…lifeless. He felt his heart crawl into a small place and his loins shrivel in disgust.

He had heard all of the stories throughout his youth; stories the old islanders still like to prattle about. Women, oh women, they would say…did you know that they once spoke and acted for themselves? No, for true! The books in the palace libraries speak of women sailors and philosophers and shopkeeps. And then in hushed voices, they would speak of the ‘other’ women; an entire isolated enclave full of talking women. Not just women who can repeat phrases like a bird, but hold conversations and give answers…and do magic. Witches.

Upooa stifled a shudder and carried another woman up the stairs, placing her carefully in the protected flat and watched as she was hoisted over to his ship.

He often wondered what his world would be like if there was no brain sickness; if little girls, his little girl, could have escaped that terrible fate. Each girl child was watched over with such care, watched over for any signs of the terrible affliction that befell their sex. Many girls succumbed to the brain sickness within the first year of their lives. Their tiny brains swelled within their heads, crushing their life away. If they weren’t given a lifesaving procedure, they died an excruciating death.

So they were taken away when the first symptoms appeared. A small hole was drilled in the back of their heads and, if they survived without infection, they are cared for in dormitories until they reached their pubescence. Then they were sold off to bear children in one household or another. Or they were housed in Imperial run brothels, nothing more than brood mares for Imperial personnel.

And, should they miraculously show no signs of illness by the time they were nine years old, they were taken anyway; spirited off to the palace and a life that was only whispered rumor. Witches…coven…Imperial power.

Bile crawled up the back of Upooa’s throat as he guided another woman to the base of the stairs and passed her off to Ampho. His daughter nearly made it to her ninth birthday. Then she began to fail and was taken from him.

He cleared his throat roughly and called up to Ampho. “I think that was the last one, but I am going to make a sweep.” Ampho called back an affirmative.

Upooa made a cursory walk past the stalls, hearing his men pound at supports on the hull, setting up to scuttle the vessel on his command. He knew he had moved all of the women, but he needed a moment to clear his head. It was folly to get so worked up. They would fetch an outstanding price at the islands; places where new stock of women were hard to come by. He could purchase another ship and the necessary bribes to set up a legitimate front within the empire with the money from this bounty.

It was best not to get attached. The women were cargo; precious cargo, to be sure, but cargo nonetheless.

Upooa’s head jerked up as shouts came crashing down the hold, breaking into his rumination. He couldn’t make out the words, but the sound of alarm was unmistakable. As he charged to the stairs, Ruupi called down, “Cap’n, you best come see this.”

[ 17 ]

[World Region: C9567-9659A-7A7A5-820BB-C88C41-1517D]

CLARENCE and Trisha fell from the sky and landed hard on a sticky, wet wooden floor. Trisha managed to put in a bit of a roll, protecting her head and spreading the impact to her outstretched arms. Clarence had no such skill and landed with a painful crunch that made Trisha wince even as she negotiated her own fall. In moments she was on her feet running to kneel at Clarence’s side.

With a quick glance around, her eyes found Digger, perching for all the world like a gawky stork on the railing…of a ship. Holy shit! They were on a ship.

Trying to clear her muddy thinking from another wailing trip through whatever it was they traveled through, it took her long moments to register the yelling around her. Clarence groaned as she checked that he was still breathing. The right earpiece of his glasses was broken and hung precariously from his ear, but at least he was alive. Her wellness check was brief and her eyes were already taking in the details in front of her. Blood…lots of blood. At first her heart practically fell out of her chest thinking it was Clarence’s but the smears led off in different directions...to piles of bodies. And the yelling was coming from a gathering group of men, waving weapons of every sort but oddly staying back from where she sat with Clarence.

Well, if there was ever a moment for a good old fashioned “Oh, hell no!” it was now.

Trisha rose slowly and watched the strange men jerk back a bit. The ship swayed under her feet, and she felt herself go a little green.

Green. With a shock, she suddenly grasped why they looked so odd. They were green. Every last one of them was some shade of green.

And their hair…they looked like a Rastafarian that had lost a bet with a Dominican monk. The crowns of their heads were completely bald, but thick dreadlocks sprouted from the sides in a profusion of blacks, browns or greys. Beads, rings, other jewelry and what looked like bone pieces were braided in the dreadlocks and most of the green guys sported various piercings and blue tattoos like Celtic war paint. Seriously? They were trapped on a ship with green death metal pirates? Someone was missing out on a really good band name.

She shot a quick glance behind her and, noticing how close they were to a wide mast, Trisha made a calculated move. Keeping a close eye on the spooked greenies, she grasped Clarence under the arms and dragged him back to lean against the mast, his glasses swinging from his left ear. Then she planted herself in front of Clarence.

One of the greenies had gathered enough sense to holler down to someone in the bowels of the ship. The rest continued to shift uneasily, but Trisha had no doubts that they were pretty handy with the weapons they held. The bloody evidence of their skill was everywhere.

Trying to piece together their situation in 30 seconds or less, she clicked her eyes from the piles of dead bodies to the battered ship to the other ship that floated abreast of the one she was on…and Digger. What the hell was up with Digger? He was gawping out at the water like he had never seen water before or had lost his mind when the gemstone yanked him out of his world. In the back of her mind she groaned. Just what she needed, another Clarence.

So, the crux of the matter? They were screwed.

One set of greenies (death metal pirates) had slaughtered a uniformed set of greenies (soldiers, probably…oh, this was good). From the banging in the hold, Trisha had a suspicion that these pirates were likely to sink the ship they were on, proclaimed practically every pirate movie she had ever watched. Door number one held death by sinking ship, door number two held death by blade and door number three…well, door number three didn’t bear thinking on. I’ll take ‘Unlikely Escapes’ for $1,000, Alex.

While she frantically tried to come up with options, death by door number four climbed out of the hold.

A very large and scary looking head was quickly followed by a very large and scary looking body. He had to be at least seven feet tall and muscled beyond belief. Everything about him just screamed pirate captain. Rings in his ears…check. Blue tattoos…check. Oh, hey, and look…he’s even got a couple of small tusks protruding from behind his lower lip. Isn’t that cute. Peter Pan pirate he was not.

The big pirate guy stepped onto the deck and his men parted like he was a green Moses. He stepped to the front of his men and gave her, Clarence, and Digger a casual perusal. If he was surprised by their appearance, he wasn’t letting on.

“Tie them up and put them in the bottom hold,” he said without preamble and headed toward the other ship. Not a “Hi”, “Who are you?” or even a “What the hell’s going on here?” – just a “Toss ‘em in the hold boys!”

Trisha gave another desperate look around and yanked one of the pin thingies from the round thingy around the mast. Hey, nautical linguist she was not, but she recognized a possible weapon when she saw one. She hefted it in her hand as a group of the greenies cautiously circled her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the captain pause near the rail and turn to watch, a veiled look of surprise crossing his face. Trisha shot him a flashy grin and a wink. Something about his casual disregard for her and her friends made her want to find the bastard’s buttons and push all of them. If she was going to die, she was going to make a splash. Oh, there was definitely a pun intended there.

The first greenie stepped up to the plate and Trisha spun past his blade and gave him a nice double-tap to the side of his head. He dropped to a groggy groaning heap and the others halted in drop mouthed disbelief, but Trisha knew that wasn’t going to last. She crouched a little, her arms and legs loose, ready to spring. She grinned again.

“I know this is cliché and all,” she drawled, “but who’s next?”

[ 18 ]

[World Region: C9567-9659A-7A7A5-820BB-C88C41-1517D]

UPOOA didn’t have time to sort out the mystery of the creatures that had suddenly appeared on the deck of the doomed merchant craft, but he knew a prosperous opportunity when he saw one. These creatures were unique and unique meant money. The female did give him a crawling sense of unease, though. She was obviously not an Orc and her eyes sparked of intelligence. The word ‘witch’ twitched through his brain. Yes, she would bear watching.

He was about to jump to his ship when he saw movement and turned in time to see the female give him a crafty smile before she laid into one of his men with a quick crack-crack. His man collapsed on the deck, his hands twitching and his eyes glazed. Then, the female opened her mouth.

“I know this is cliché and all, but who’s next?”

Upooa carefully masked the surprise from his face at her words, but his men weren’t so disciplined. They shrank back from the woman, flashing signs against evil and murmuring “witch” and “kraken spawn” under their breath. He had just caught the look of confusion that flashed across the woman’s face when another movement grabbed his attention.

While the scene with the woman was playing out, the group of men he had sent to apprehend the gawky creature balanced on the rail was closing in on their quarry. The woman cried her challenge. The creature crouched. His men lunged. And the stranger sprang into the air, flew over the deck like an avenging spirit, over the railing and landed in the rigging of the Flaming Iris. Upooa couldn’t hold back his frozen shock of disbelief. His men were as shaken as he had ever seen them.

Loosening his knife at his hip, Upooa glanced grimly from the woman to the creature in his rigging. It was 52 hours to Starlake at this time of the season and he couldn’t dock if he was being pursued. Upooa’s disquiet grew. The women he found in the hold? A solitary merchant galleon with no escort? The strangers who reeked of witchcraft or worse? It was a trap.

“Kill them,” Upooa said. To their credit, his crew did not hesitate. The men on his deck drew arrows to sight on the creature in the rigging and the others rounded about the woman and her fallen comrade.

“Maybe you should wait until your friends arrive,” came a curiously calm reply from the rigging. Upooa scowled up at the creature and saw him nod towards the stern of the ship. The creature was stalling, that much was clear, but he couldn’t risk ignoring the bait. He raised his hand to hold his crew, then, jumping to the top of the rear hold, Upooa scanned the horizon. Sure as sea foam, a pair of Imperial vessels had crested the horizon. The trap had been sprung, likely with the aid of these interlopers.

He gave a slight nod of his head, signaling his archers, and arrows flew…right through where the creature had been or thunking into the yardarm where he once stood. Faster than what seemed possible, the gawky man had flipped to the upper yardarm and had hold of a rope along the mast. He also held one of his men’s knives. How he had swiped one and when, Upooa hadn’t seen. He gave a low grunt of appreciation.

“I don’t figure I know much about boats,” the creature said, laying the knife along the rope, “but this looks important,” he finished, sawing vigorously at the rope.

“Hold,” Upooa bellowed, stopping both his men and the thing in the rigging. Glaring up at the creature, his appreciation gone, he growled. “What is it you want, devil?”

“I want you to give my friends and me a ride on this here boat,” the creature replied, eyeing him with a queer twist of his head. “Safe passage, I believe you might call it.”

“And if I don’t agree to safe passage?”

“Well,” the creature drawled, scratching his chin with the edge of the knife. “I gather from your response that those other boats and you aren’t very friendly-like. I imagine I can keep you busy long enough to ask them for a ride,” he finished, flicking the knife to point at the oncoming Imperial ships.

Upooa ground his teeth. Every moment brought death closer and the devil knew it.

“You have it,” Upooa barked and sharply signaled his men to get under way, but was brought up short again by the maddeningly calm voice from above.

“Oh, Captain,” the creature queried. “I’ve heard tell of people such as you. Stories, mostly. They say you aren’t to be trusted.” The creature’s stare bore into him, looking unnervingly like a predatory sea bird locked onto its prey. “But I think you’re a man of honor; a man who will keep his word. Do I have your word that we will remain unharmed by you and your men?”

Even in the scramble to get underway, some of his men cast him glances. They knew what his word meant and the value he placed on it. This creature, whoever he was, was crafty enough to sense it.

With a brief nod, he grudgingly gave his assent. “You have my word.”

The creature gave him a nod in kind and replied, “Then, we best get movin’. If it wouldn’t put you out none, I’d appreciate you helpin’ my friends aboard.”

Upooa had noticed that the woman had already hefted the small dark creature to his feet during the intervening time. With another nod, a pair of his men hustled them awkwardly across the span of the two crafts and dumped them unceremoniously against the wall of the aft hold. Even amid the hustle of his men, Upooa picked out the female’s glare at the rough treatment.

In moments, the last of his men jumped aboard after having knocked the supports lose and opened hatches to scuttle the merchant craft and his sails boomed as the wind filled them; a dangerous full sail maneuver that could drive them into the sinking ship, but time was precious. As quick as his men were, they were dangerously close to being overcome by the Imperial vessels.

Long, grating minutes of tension filled The Iris as the men stood their posts, some staring at the sails as if to wish the wind stronger. Others stared aft at the coming Imperials, tensed and ready to spring for their weapons. Upooa looked neither up nor aft, but straight ahead from his post at the wheel, feeling the shift of the ship, sensing the currents and the slight changes in the winds. He commanded subtle movements of the wheel, urging his craft along the easiest route. As the half hour rounded on them, the Imperial ships had ceased to gain. As the full hour came, the pirate vessel had noticeably started to pull away. The tension visibly eased amid the crew.

Upooa took a moment to look over his uninvited guests. The woman spoke occasionally with the huddled form beside her, but she never took her eyes off of what was happening around her. She had this calculating look like she was assessing every inch of her surroundings and every threat that lay at hand. He admired that kind of readiness, just as he begrudgingly admired the crafty devil who still clung to his rigging. If they made it out of this mess, he had many, many questions to ask…and come hell or high tide, he would have them answered.

[ 19 ]

[World Region: C9567-9659A-7A7A5-820BB-C88C41-1517D]

DIGGER had never seen so much water in one place in all his life. He had been fishing at the lake down by Shadton a time or two, but that was a puddle compared to this. The vastness of it took his breath away.

He gripped the damp wood beneath his bare feet, moving with the swaying of the vessel. In a way, he was grateful he had forgotten to put his boots on before running out of his house. He could maneuver easier here without them. On the flip side, he was also rather relieved that he had sacked out in his clothes that night, too tied up in knots over his brother to bother to undress.

It was a curious situation he found himself in. Pirates were mostly just a part of bedtime stories in his world. He wasn’t sure if they ever existed, but he had loved the tales of thieves in boats crossing waters so big you couldn’t see the end. Fairy tales or not, he was certain that they had landed in a nest of some kind of pirates. But, even with the creatures below and the threat of the boats behind them, he found himself settling against the hefty pole behind him, taking in the sight of the water with an almost sleepy contentment. The boat rocked and bounced a bit like a discontented horse.

Despite appearances, he never took his eyes off the goings-on aboard the boat and the steady presence of the boats behind them. Trisha and Clarence remained next to the wall of the house-like structure on the floor of the boat. Clarence had been sick, spewing the contents of his stomach onto the floor making Trisha scramble back to avoid the mess. She called out to one of the sailors for assistance, but they ignored her. Oddly, the sailors veered around the two of them like there was some kind of barrier that prevented them from getting any closer. When Clarence got sick the second time, Trisha stood up to press for some help, but before she got two steps from the wall, a bucket with a rag was kicked over to her. With a bemused scowl, she gathered them up and went to assist Clarence. Digger had not a clue how to get them out of this fix, but for the time being at least, everyone was alive and accounted for, vomit notwithstanding.

The captain of the boat was one to watch, though. It was like he had eyes on everything at once. Digger could feel the weight of those crystal blue eyes every time they swept over him; assessing him. He knew that look. Hadn’t he seen that look a hundred times on the faces of the bandits he chased? Dangerous, canny, looking for an opening; an advantage. This creature would not bide with the situation long. Digger had to figure out a way to make himself of use or they wouldn’t last long. He had a gut feeling that the captain’s word was good, but lately his gut hadn’t been very trustworthy.

As the boats behind them faded back a bit, Digger could see tense shoulders sag, everyone going about the business of boating with more ease. He sensed that it wouldn’t be long before the captain took up with them again.

He eyed the sailors. An idea had been crafting itself. It was a slim chance, to be sure, but the only thing that had a hope of working. The captain’s eyes swung his way again and Digger watched as the pirate handed over the wheel to the sailor standing next to him. With a calculated leap, Digger flipped from his perch and landed a few feet from the captain after he had descended from the roof of the small house. To his credit, the big green creature didn’t bat an eye.

“I would like to become a sailor on your boat,” Digger said, his body loose but wary, ready to leap back up to the sails at the least movement in his direction. He kept a sharp focus on the captain’s face and saw his jaw bulge around clenched teeth. That’s never much of a good sign.

“Around here, anyone who calls my ship a boat is usually gutted and used as bait,” the green creature said. The threat hung in the air, but Digger didn’t flinch. There was something about the way the captain looked at him; one brow raised, peering at Digger like he might be a four-eyed fish that asked about the weather.

“And, if you don’t know that,” the captain continued, “You are not from any place I have sailed.”

Digger and the captain stood there inspecting each other for long moments. In some unspoken manner, Digger just knew that the captain hadn’t seen the like of him before, just like he had never laid eyes on the green men of the captain’s people. It was like his first meeting with Trisha and Clarence all over again.

“I have never seen so much water in all my life,” Digger admitted, trying to find some common ground. The green man’s eye never wavered, but Digger saw a brief look of disbelief walk its way across his face. “And I wager you’ve never seen my kind before.”

The captain nodded curtly. “And you have never seen the likes of me before.” It was a statement, not a question. Digger felt a flash of satisfaction. Maybe his gut wasn’t going haywire.

“I’m a Laquaran. That won’t mean much to you, as you say you don’t know my kind, but you saw what I can do. I may not know my way around a…ship,” Digger said carefully, “But I catch on quick and I know my way around a weapon. Had my fair share of fightin’. I can hold my own.”

The captain continued his long gaze and then tipped his head in a slow nod like he had just settled on something. Almost faster than Digger’s eye could see, the man spun a knife from his side and sent it flashing through the air. Without time for a longer leap, Digger flipped back and the dagger thunked into the wood.

“Coori,” the big man said. “Take him.”

Digger heard Trisha cry out in protest and warning. With a swift bunch of the knees, Digger propelled himself into the air…just in time to see a green blur barrel by beneath him and swipe up the knife. Scanning about him at the top of his leap, he barely touched down before he sprang again to land on the top of the little boat house behind Clarence and Trisha. “No, Digger,” he grinned to himself fiercely, “it’s a ship house.”

Pulling the knife he had “borrowed” earlier from where he had tucked it in his belt, Digger cast about for his attacker and, in doing so, noticed that every other sailor held their position. Even the captain stood where Digger had left him, only pivoting to watch where Digger landed. His growling green fighting companion had broken his headlong charge and was sweeping up the stairs to his position.

“So that’s how it is,” Digger thought, casting a grim grin at the captain. The captain returned a small acknowledging smirk of his own. This wasn’t treachery; this was a test.

The sailor, Coori, did not check his forward momentum when he reached the rooftop and swept his knife in a vicious slice, but Digger had already flipped to the floor again.

He could probably keep ahead of Coori for quite a while, but eventually blades would clash. They had to or he would be branded a coward. And no one here would give quarter to a coward.

Digger bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, hefting the large knife he had swiped to get the feel of it. It was well balanced and long, almost a dagger but it was only sharpened on one side. Coori carried a similar knife. How the green giant managed to throw the blade so expertly, he didn’t know, but if he survived this, he was going to find out.

Coori approached him slowly, crouched and ready to throw his weight one direction or the other depending on where Digger leapt. Digger held his ground. A hush fell over the ship, despite the slap of the waves and the snap of the sails. With a speed that ran counter to his size, his green assailant sprang the last few feet, sweeping up with his blade.

Digger spun back and out, letting the knife whistle past his shoulder, allowing him to shift his blade for a backhanded slice. Coori flowed through the motion of his sweep, spinning and curving his gut away from the blade. Digger’s slice snagged the edge of Coori’s shirt. More wary now, the pirate circled Digger, feinting to find an opening.

Digger was never one to drag out a fight, if he could help it. Fatigue was not a fighter’s friend so he held his distance for a few more bluffs and then reversed the tables. Rather than mimic Coori’s maneuvers, he pressed the attack, surprising his opponent in a blur of moves, forcing him back toward one of the poles that was stuck in the floor of the ship. He faked a forward thrust and when Coori jumped back to avoid being skewered, Digger slashed out of the move and swept his blade up the inside of the pirate’s arm. Red bloomed from a shallow cut along the length of his forearm. First blood.

Buoyed by the strike, Digger continued to press the attack, driving Coori up against the post, but at the last moment, his opponent swiveled and grabbed one of the pins. With an underhanded throw, he chucked the pin at Digger’s knees. The moment Digger leapt to avoid the pin; he knew he had made a mistake. Coori launched himself from the pole and grappled Digger in mid-leap throwing them both to the floor.

Digger was close in height to Coori, but the green creature outweighed him two or three times over. With a sickening thud that knocked the wind out of him and sent his knife skittering away, Digger crashed to the wood floor with Coori atop him. In less than a breath, his opponent had him pinned with a knife to his throat.

“Hold,” a deep voice carried across the ship. Coori straddled him; his chest heaving but his blade never wavering. It held steady a breath away from a death stroke.

Out of the corner of his eye Digger saw a pair of boots step near him. The blade flicked from his throat and Coori’s weight abruptly lifted. He coughed a few hacking breaths and looked up at the green face peering down at him.

“My name is Upooa, the Crusher.” The ferocious face glared down at him, and then turned into an equally ferocious grin. “But my crew calls me Captain. Welcome aboard.”

[ 20 ]

[World Region: C9567-9659A-7A7A5-820BB-C88C41-1517D]

CLARENCE had never been so miserable in his life…and that was saying something.

He clutched the bucket to his chest and groaned as the ship heaved and rocked beneath him. Oh, God! Here it came again.

He retched into the bucket, but there really was nothing left for him to throw up. He sat there quivering as spittle dribbled down his chin.

“Here,” Trisha said, handing him the thoroughly disreputable rag she had used to clean up his vomit from the deck. He recoiled in disgust. She skewered him with a look of exasperation.

“I washed it off.”

Clarence looked at her suspiciously. Trisha rolled her eyes and shoved the rag into his hand. He brought it up to his nose and sniffed it delicately. It smelled like sea water. Gingerly, he wiped away the spit and vomit on his face.

It felt like he was waking from a horrible nightmare and reality had not quite come into focus… speaking of focus. He reached up and patted the front pocket of his dress shirt where Trisha had tucked his broken glasses and sighed. Without them, he felt more vulnerable, if that was even possible. The world around him took on a fuzzy quality in the distance, almost like he was wading through a nightmare, except his reality was even worse than a bad dream. He had convinced himself that that first terrible leap was simply the effects of a blow to the head. Digger, Digger’s duplicitous brother, the strangeness of the landscape and the whole situation was nothing more than trauma. Everything about that time was a blur of clawing panic and altered reasoning. Nothing made sense because none of it was real. He was concussed. That was all.

Then he fell out of the sky, crashed onto the bloody deck of a besieged ship and reality gave him a hefty kick in the balls.

He did not know if it was the crunching jolt of the fall or being teleported by that infernal stone, but he felt like his brain cells were finally functioning again. “I’d rather be concussed,” he thought sourly.

Leaning his head against the cabin wall, he watched the crew through slit eyes, trying to force his eyes to focus. It took him several moments before he realized that the crew was very obviously giving them a wide berth. Every time a sailor had to move in their direction, they either took another route or swung wide to avoid them.

“Why are they doing that?” Clarence murmured.

“I’ve been trying to figure that out,” Trisha replied. She obviously knew what he was talking about.

They sat quietly for a while longer, watching the strange behavior.

“Have you tried talking to them?” he ventured.

“Gee, I wonder why I never thought of that?” Trisha rolled her eyes.

“Well, have you?” Clarence pressed.

“Yes,” Trisha said. “They won’t talk to me.”

“I doubt if that has ever stopped you before,” he mumbled, a little surprised at his own rashness. Trisha shot him a dirty look.

“Walking the plank isn’t exactly on my bucket list, Clarence. Feel free to question the Greenies any time you like.”

Clarence sighed and put aside the bucket. How did he get into this mess? He realized sullenly that the question wasn’t just about this mess. His whole life was a mess. He hated mess. He needed to get back so he could start putting things in proper order. He reflected on Donna and the Black Hole and made a grimace. There had to be a way to put things in order.

He stared dully over to where Digger was making nice with the Captain after nearly getting skewered to the deck. He was trying so hard to see if he could figure out what they were saying that he only caught the tail end of what Trisha said.

“…and, obviously, we can’t trust these people.”

“People,” Clarence snorted. “I have not seen any people since we left the university. All I see are aliens that are trying to kill us.”

“Hello…” Trisha gave him a side-eye, “…not on Earth, remember? Look around. We’re the aliens here. So, until I am told otherwise, they are people.” She leveled a look at him.

“Fine. People. Terrifying, tusked, green…”

“Orcs,” finished Digger, dropping down beside him. Clarence yelped and nearly tipped his vomit bucket. He noticed, sourly, that Trisha didn’t seem at all alarmed, or even surprised, by Digger’s sudden appearance.

“They call themselves Orcs.”

“Like Lord of the Rings Orcs?” Trisha looked inquiringly at Clarence.

Clarence held up his hands. “Hey, do not look at me! I read the books and the movies were great, but they are not exactly a manual on how to handle these guys, are they.”

Trisha leaned back again with a sigh.

Digger, who appeared to be watching their exchange with obvious interest, casually swept up Clarence’s bucket and went to the rail to dump it. When he returned, he thumped the bucket next to Clarence and leaned against the cabin wall.

“What do we do now?” Trisha asked, also standing to lean against the wall, leaving Clarence to sit like some grouchy child between them. It didn’t matter. The very idea of standing made him feel like he would be sick again.

“Not sure,” Digger answered from above him. “I think the captain believes we’re from someplace called the jungle lands; at least that’s what he was sayin’. ‘If we can shake the Imperials, you can disembark at Starlake, but I think it would be best to take you back to the jungle lands,’ he told me.”

“Huh,” Trisha muttered. “So, you didn’t tell him where we were from?”

“What was I gonna tell him?” Digger said with wry humor. “I still don’t rightly know where you are from and, now that I am here, I don’t rightly know where I am from. It seemed the better part of caution to say nothin’ at all.”

“Ok,” Trisha continued, “but you are a part of the crew now. How does that work?”

“Well, I need to start by learnin’ more about this boat…”

“Ship,” Clarence muttered, annoyed.

“Ship,” Digger agreed. Clarence could feel Digger looking down at him. “Why don’t you get your feet under you, Clarence? You’d feel better with your feet on the floor.”

“On the deck,” Clarence corrected, looking up at Digger.

Digger looked confused.

“The floor of a ship is called the deck. This thing we are leaning against is called a cabin on the forecastle or front of the ship.” Clarence’s annoyance was pushing him to stumble to his feet so he could face Digger. “That part of the ship is the bow,” he said, pointing to the front of the vessel that bounced along the waves. He swallowed hard and turned to point in the other direction. “That part is the stern. Those tall pointy things are masts. The area below the deck is called the hold.” He felt himself getting worked up, but he could not help himself. Was he the only one who knew any of this stuff? “That part back there is called the quarter deck and the helm.” He turned back to Digger, ticking off things on his finger. “The wheel, rudder and sails direct the motion of the ship and there is…”

“Looks like the man knows his ships,” came a deep rumbling behind him. Once again, Clarence jumped and once again, Trisha did not appear surprised. The only difference this time was that Digger was there to appear just as collected as Trisha.

Clarence swallowed hard and turned to see the captain. He cleared his throat carefully.

“Well, uh, knowing about ships and being on one are not quite the same…sir,” Clarence finished lamely, wincing a little.

“That much is obvious,” the captain replied, sounding subtly amused and looking pointedly at Clarence’s bucket. Clarence felt his cheeks get hot with embarrassment and clamped his mouth shut.

“I have thought over what we discussed,” he continued, addressing Digger. “I have a place where these two might earn their keep.” He gestured dismissively towards him and Trisha. He felt rather than saw Trisha stiffen next to him. Uh-oh.

“My name is Trisha,” she told the big giant green man firmly. “And this is Clarence.”

The captain narrowed his bright blue eyes at her and then pointedly addressed Digger again.

“They will help the cook. I need you to go with Tut and learn the rigging. We are headed for a Rim Storm to shake these Imperials and we could use all the help we can get so we don’t tear apart. Hope you’re a fast learner,” the big man concluded and started to walk away.

“Why don’t you just wait for dark?” Trisha’s voice asked; a little belligerently, in Clarence’s opinion.

The captain turned slowly. “Dark?”

Clarence saw Digger cock his head in that weird birdlike way of his. “When the sun goes down and night falls?” Digger inquired. “Don’t you…”

He did not get any further. The captain moved faster than anyone his size should be able to move and shoved Digger up against the cabin wall. Clarence yelped and hit the deck again. He knew he should not have stood up.

“What kind of sorcery is this?” he heard the man growl. “You are not from the Jungle Lands. What kind of blackness are you and the witches planning for us?”

“Safe passage…your word,” he heard Digger gasp.

“I can keep my word just as well with you three tied in the hold!”

“Well, this looks important,” he heard Trisha say very near him, echoing Digger’s earlier words.

Clarence looked around and up from where he was crouched on the deck. Captain Upooa had one hand around Digger’s throat and his other bent against Digger’s chest, his stance braced and wide.

And that is what Trisha had taken advantage of. She had somehow skirted Clarence and swiped a knife from somewhere; probably from the unseemly arsenal the captain had strapped about his person. She had taken up a defensive stance and had the knife pressed tightly to the captain’s crotch.

Just past the captain, Clarence saw the crew take up weapons and start closing in. Oh…oh, this was bad.

“Trisha, maybe you should…” he said as he scooted back from them.

“Shut up, Clarence,” she cut him off through clenched teeth.

He watched as the crew circled them.

“Trisha, tell him where we are from,” he whispered hoarsely. He hated how his voice cracked and shook.

“I’m not telling this bastard anything!” she grated.

Clarence watched in alarm as archers on the rigging took aim; one of them leveled his arrow toward him.

“We are not from this world,” he wailed, throwing his arms over his head and squishing his eyes shut.

There was a long moment where all Clarence sensed was the rush of the waves along the hull and the sway of the ship. Then he heard Digger pulling in deep breaths. He peeked under his elbow. The Orc captain had released his hold on their companion and the Laquaran was cautiously rubbing his throat. Trisha had stepped back from the big green pirate, still hefting the knife warily.

The captain turned to his crew, seemingly unconcerned about presenting his back to Digger and Trisha. “I will speak with our guests in my quarters,” he barked and stalked to a set of stairs in the quarterdeck.

Clarence saw Trisha and Digger exchange a look. Digger shrugged and came over to help him to his feet. Awkwardly, they made their way through a gap in the crew and down the stairs. Clarence just knew they were never getting out of this alive.

[ 21 ]

[World Region: C9567-9659A-7A7A5-820BB-C88C41-1517D]

TRISHA didn’t know what it was about this Upooa guy that just set her teeth on edge. Rationally, she knew the big bad Greenie could squash her like the proverbial bug; probably with just one hand, but ugh. She scowled and followed Digger and Clarence down the stairs and past a storage area to a door that Upooa held open.

Inside, Upooa shut the door and gestured for them to sit, but Trisha took an exaggerated moment to look around the room.

Her first thought was that it was surprisingly clean. In her mind, Orcs and pirates meant dirt and grime and lots of it. Clarence was right. Tolkien wasn’t going to help her here.

Digger and Clarence were warily seating themselves at a large table that dominated the center of the room like some kind of pirate boardroom. A long narrow built-in cot was up against one side of the room and built-in cupboards covered the entire wall on the other side. A bank of small paned windows was installed along the upper half of the back of the room, shining light on the small built-in desk in front of it. Papers…and was that...yep, a quill and ink bottle sat on the desk. Like she needed any further proof that she was a long way from home. She wondered if she would see anything as simple as a ballpoint pen again. She missed her backpack with its pens and notebook, the novel she never got to finish reading; even her hairbrush. It was all now some strange artifact in Digger’s world, left behind in the crazy moments before they popped up here. At least she still had her phone, although it no longer worked and probably never would again. The red cased rectangle was a familiar, comfortable weight in her back pocket for all that it was useless.

Upooa was watching her every move with those sharp blue eyes. As casually as she could, she slouched into the nearest chair, noticing out of the corner of her eye that there was a pretty elaborate liquor cabinet just next to the door they came in. Would they make her walk the plank if she jacked some of the captain’s finest?

Oddly, once she was seated, the good captain acted like she wasn’t worth his notice. Without preamble, Upooa sat in the large chair at the end of the table, looked at Digger and Clarence and commanded, “Talk.”

Her companions immediately turned to her. Perfect. She was the de facto ruler of this hot mess, it appeared.

Trisha sighed. “Ok, it’s like this. Clarence and I,” she said, gesturing with her thumb to where Clarence sat stiff in his chair, “were at this warehouse that had a whole bunch of artifacts. We got into an argument and knocked over some stuff. There was this weird flash of light and we ended up at Digger’s place…er…world, I guess I should say.”

Digger looked at her out of the corner of his eye. It wasn’t exactly the truth and Digger knew it. Trisha knew he wasn’t stupid so she hoped he would go along with whatever she came up with. There was no way she was telling Sir Greenie about the gem.

Upooa’s gaze slid past her and rested on Digger. “And what happened then?”

Trisha had to give Digger credit. He had a fantastic poker face. Without a blink, he picked up the story. “Well, these two came wanderin’ up to my place a bit lost. Strange as they were, I told them they could bide there for a time until we could figure out where they were from. But, come mornin’ this strange ball of blackness and cracklin’ light showed up and pulled us all here.”

Trisha glanced at Clarence to see what he thought of this little bit of make believe. With an inward sigh of relief, she saw that he had clamped his mouth in a grim line and his gaze was boring a hole in the tabletop. He looked like one of those kids in class who didn’t know the answer and was determined to look invisible.

“What say you…Clarence, is it?” Upooa asked. Oh, shit.

But Clarence just mumbled something that sounded like, “What they said”, and Upooa leaned back in his chair studying him. Inscrutable bastard.

Upooa peered hard at Clarence and Digger and pointedly avoided looking at her. She could feel her hackles start to rise again. Easy girl.

“You would have me believe that you came here by some kind of magic?” He put a weird emphasis on the word ‘magic’ that made alarm bells start going off in Trisha’s head.

“I wouldn’t call it magic per se,” Trisha hedged, “maybe one of those sci-fi temporal rif…”

“Is it magic?” Upooa demanded of the two men sitting before him, cutting Trisha off.

OK…that’s it.

Trisha stood and slapped her hands on the table, leaning in toward Upooa. “I don’t know what this little testosterone fest is that you have going on here, but where I come from, women tend to get pissed when you talk over them.”

“And women in my world don’t talk,” Upooa grated back dangerously.

“Well, that whole “Women don’t talk unless they’re spoken to” thing is not going to work with me. If…”

“Women don’t talk,” he said rising to his feet, his voice like a blow, but she stood her ground. “The only women who talk are witches,” he continued, baring his teeth. “Conniving creatures of black magic and influence that grind Rogthun beneath their pampered heels!”

Leaning back and crossing her arms, Trisha gave Upooa her best “I don’t give a shit” look while her heart sped up just a tad faster than she liked and her brain spun around picking up clues. Rogthun, huh? Must be the name of his world. If the only women who talked in this world were witches then this guy and the rest of the crew believed she was a witch. Rather than make her feel like she had a bargaining chip, it made her feel like a target. Time to change gears.

She sat down again and asked, “So, what did these witches do? Curse all the rest of the women so they can’t talk?”

For the first time, she got a genuine look of surprise from Big Greenie.

“The women of Rogthun can’t speak because of the brain sickness,” he said slowly, suspicion and disbelief written on his face.

“Brain sickness?” Clarence piped up. For some reason that idea looked like it intrigued him. Trisha resisted the urge to slap him upside the head.

Upooa’s mouth slanted into an even deeper frown. “It is a disease that almost all females contract. It causes severe bleeding and swelling in the head. It’s a most painful death.”

When no one at the table piped up with anything, Upooa continued, studying them as he spoke. “In order for them to have a chance at survival, they must have their heads drilled into to drain the blood and fluid. If they survive without infection, they are forever altered. Most never speak, although some can mimic words.”

Trisha shuddered. “That’s horrible,” she muttered, half to herself.

“The disease must attack the speech center of the brain,” Clarence said in fascination. Trisha glared at him. “What?” he asked.

Big Greenie scrutinized each of them for another long moment and then said sharply, “It is obvious you are not from this land.”

Trisha eyed him. “You believe us? Just like that?”

Upooa gave her a wary look; like he still wasn’t sure she wouldn’t whip out a broom and hex him while she flew around cackling. He also looked like he was prepared to swat her down if she did. “I don’t know about elsewhere in A’Kyria, but the brain sickness has been the scourge of Rogthun for generations. Everyone from Rogthun, even a witch,” he emphasized, watching Trisha, “has been affected. Everyone.” He finished and turned his back to them to look out the windows. Trisha gave Digger and Clarence a “What now?” kind of look. Clarence shrugged, but Digger cleared his throat.

“It might be kickin’ stones, but I’m wonderin’ why you don’t have night here.” Upooa turned to him with disbelief scrawled across his face.

“Night?” Upooa asked, his brows wrinkling down in a furious scowl. “You mentioned that before when you said the world went dark.”

Digger scrubbed at the back of his neck; his brow furrowed in concentration. “I’ve never had to explain night to someone before. I don’t rightly know where to even begin.”

“It’s when the sun goes below the horizon,” Clarence said in a small voice. Upooa gave him a gimlet eye.

“Explain,” he grunted.

Clarence gave Trisha a kind of helpless look, but held out his left hand in a fist in front of him. “This is the land on our world,” he said. “This is our sun,” he continued, holding out his right fist. “It is not scientifically accurate, but I guess the best way for you to understand is that our sun rises over the land throughout the day and sets behind the land to give us night…darkness.” As he said this, he swept his sun hand over the land hand and dipped it below.

“Our sun rotates above our land,” Upooa stated, circling his finger above the table.

“The Flat Earther’s would have a field day with this,” Trisha muttered under her breath. Clarence almost snorted next to her but caught himself mid-snort.

Digger pondered Upooa’s words. “So, how do you sleep? How do you figure times of business and such if it doesn’t get dark?” Trisha wondered the same thing. How do you plan your day when all you have is day?

“Night…darkness…” Upooa said, obviously rolling this concept around in his head. He rubbed his hand along his chin.

“It appears that if I have any hope of honoring my bargain in giving you safe passage, I must first keep you from killing yourselves.” Was that humor that Trisha detected? Almost before she could register it, the moment was gone and Upooa continued gruffly, “I have much to tell you, and not much time to tell it in. Take heed of what I say.”

For the next half hour or so, Upooa gave them the travel guide version of his world…or was it land? The whole “we are a part of the world of A’Kyria, but we’re our own world” thing was starting to break her brain. Unlike Digger’s semi-arid plains, Rogthun was like a giant bowl of water with raging cycles of storms that pounded the rim, making it impossible for permanent structures to survive along the land at the edges. Everyone lived on either the main continent in the center or on man-made floating islands. The witches, otherwise known as the rare women who did not contract the brain sickness, ruled as a coven of despots from the continent. The floating islands amounted to the flotsam of society that the Imperial witches regularly harassed when they could be found, but mostly turned a blind eye to. As for the whole ‘day’ and ‘night’ thing, it turned out to be a simple method of marking the sun on its circular path, a lot like Earth, but you know…flat; like Rogthun was one giant clock and their North was noon.

After Upooa’s rushed little geo-political lesson, he abruptly ended their meeting with a generous bellow to his bosun that made Clarence jump so high it was amazing he didn’t latch onto the ceiling. A wiry Orc popped through the door so fast it was like he had been sitting on the handle just waiting for the bellow. Captain Greenie gave him instructions to take her and Clarence to assist the cook. Upooa made no secret about the fact that he was foisting them off on the cook so that they would have as little interaction with the crew as possible. Trisha didn’t argue. The behavior of the crew to her presence wore on her.

Then, without a ‘See ya’ or a ‘Go to Hell,’ Upooa marched out of the room, leaving Digger to scramble after him to continue getting his crash course in ‘how to not make a ship sink’.

The bosun guided Clarence and Trisha through the bowels of the ship to their new position in the galley without a single word or a backward glance. Clarence went gamely along, his seasickness under wraps for the time being. In fact, he was oohing and aahing as they wound through the ship, throwing out ship terms like he was a tour guide. In another time or place, she might have been interested, but now that they were moderately out of danger, from the Greenies anyway, the reality of her situation started to bite at the back of her mind. This was one situation that ‘Standby’ Lee could never have prepared her for.

She was lost in thought when the bosun abruptly motioned them through a door and then took off, leaving them to fend for themselves. Boy, these sailor types were certainly a helpful bunch. When the cook swung around to look at them, she had to reevaluate the bosun’s hasty retreat. Maybe he just didn’t want to have to deal with the cook.

He was a huge man…not fat…just huge… and one of his hands had been replaced with a hook. He was also sporting an eyepatch. Well, that’s just a little derivative.

His good eye scoured over them and he was chewing on something that bulged his cheek. Trisha heard Clarence take a gulping breath.

“The name’s Jarsk,” he grunted, slamming a large fish onto the narrow table between them. He then lifted what looked like a basket of root vegetables and slammed that on the table.

“You…” he said, pointing to Trisha with a sharp knife, “…will cut these.” He slapped the knife down next to the basket.

“And you,” he continued, narrowing his eyes at Clarence, “will prepare the fish.” He whanged another knife onto the table and went back to tending the rather large brick stove that stood behind him.

Trisha and Clarence looked at each other, hesitating.

“They won’t prepare themselves,” Jarsk grunted. Clarence walked over to the fish and gingerly picked up the rather wicked looking knife. With an uncomfortable shrug, Trisha walked over to the basket and started pulling out vegetables. She could muse about their predicament just as well with her hands busy.

Trisha was concentrating so much on her task that at first she didn’t notice that there weren’t any noises coming from Clarence’s side of the table. When she finally glanced up, Clarence was standing there looking lost, his hand occasionally coming down to tentatively poke the fish with the knife. He was turning a little greenish again.

“You wanna trade?” she whispered low. Clarence nodded, clearly relieved and they changed places. The only problem was Trisha had never cleaned a fish in her life. Clarence, on the other hand, took up cutting the veggies like he’d been born to it. Finally, figuring that the head had to come off first, she started hacking away at it.

“Belay that,” Jarsk roared, pushing her back from the table. “Water and witches, woman! It won’t be fit fer eatin’ if you keep at it like that.”

With a deft stab of his hook to hold the fish, Jarsk slit the belly and scooped out the guts. Another practiced flick and he splatted the whole mess in a waiting bowl. He snagged a cleaver and whacked the head off in one blow, using the cleaver to sail the fish head into the bowl with the guts.

“There. Think yeh can skin it without makin’ it mush?”

Trisha nodded, picking up her knife again and went to work, impressed despite herself. What some of the guys in her Dad’s gang wouldn’t have given to have knife skills like that? Then again, what wouldn’t she give to be a thousand feet away from someone with knife skills like that? She resolved to keep her mouth shut and not piss off the nice knifey Greenie.

But it appeared that knifey Greenie had other ideas. After a time, Jarsk spoke again without turning around.

“Yer female.”

Oh great. This again.

“Yes,” Trisha replied, on her guard. She shifted her knife to get a better grip. “That seems to be a problem around here.”

“Yes, I’m imaginin’ it would be,’ Jarsk said dryly, “but yeh just may be happenin’ on the one man in the entire ocean who doesn’t care.”

Trisha blinked a moment at this abrupt turn to her expectations. Well, hey-howdy. Was she finally going to have a conversation without all the witchy hoo-doo?

Trying to sound casual, she asked, “So, why does everyone else care and not you?”

Jarsk swung over a huge pot, slamming it on the table. Poor Clarence practically leapt out of his skin and dropped his knife.

Jarsk chuckled. “A jumpy one, yeh are,” he said as he picked up Clarence’s knife and handed it back to him hilt first. Fish head, vegetable peels and other odds and ends started making their way into the pot. Jarsk gabbled companionably while he worked.

“I was a lander originally. Came from the mainland, I did…serving a stint in the palace until I lost my hand. Didn’t actually lose it, mind yeh. I knew right where it was. The witches ordered it taken from me after I brushed a bit too close to one whilst runnin’ one of their errands. My punishment was to lose the hand and then boot…” he made a kicking motion, “off the mainland I was to go.” He grinned rather ferociously and Trisha wondered if the dude had lost more than his hand.

“Anyhow, Captain Upooa found my sorry self wanderin’ the streets of one of them floating islands. Shadowcast, I think it was, though I was pretty deep in the cups at the time.” Jarsk set the pot on the brick stove and started pouring in water. “He needed a cook. I told him I was one. He didn’t pay no mind to my hand, just said that I had best be able to handle the work and here we are.” He motioned around the packed galley. “I keep the crew fed and I get a berth to sleep in and my own meals.”

“I’m sorry about your hand,” Trisha said, wondering why she felt the need to say it.

“Don’t be sorry!” He eyed her curiously, but continued heartily, “I’m doin’ good work. I’m useful and that’s all you kin ask for.”

They worked companionably for a while after that. The homey actions of preparing food had a calming effect and Trisha felt herself loosening up.

After a while, the fish broth tossed up a heavenly smell and Trisha’s stomach made a distinctly unhappy sound. Jarsk played the host and got them some hardtack and cups for water; a “little nibble before the main course” according to their massive cook.

From there, it was like some kind of barrier had been knocked down because Jarsk just let loose. Lord, was he a talker. Trisha wondered if the guy ever had much contact with the rest of the crew. She imagined that surly bunch scarfing their meals down and heading out again without a word being said. Jarsk mentioned that they ate in the mess, another room down the hall, and the captain and his main men ate in his quarters served by the bosun. One big happy family.

One good thing about Jarsk’s avalanche of words was the amount of information he spilled about the world they now found themselves stranded in. The islands, she found out, were created by wooden scaffolds that were stuffed with floating plants. Over time, they were added onto, and the plants built up so much that they actually had areas of soil for farming. A crazy image of crabs on kelp islands popped in her head, although the little crabbies were tusked greenies scuttling amid the leaves. She stuffed down an amused snort and helped Jarsk strain the broth.

The land to the outer edge of the sea was thick jungle, so thick that you had to hack your way down just to see the ground. The winds and rain and heat prevented anyone from living there. Oh, but those happy little harpies in their palace would regularly send out slave labor to harvest lumber and other plant matter. Even though they never worked when a storm was near, it was still a deadly undertaking. Jarsk said the islanders were particularly good at making runs into the jungle, but they never tried to gather the amounts the Imperials did. “Eye the tide, to save yer hide,” he said, whatever that meant.

The brain disease was one of the few topics Jarsk wasn’t enthusiastic about discussing. All he would say was that every man was aware of their duty to father children. Trisha was about to spout off about what a “terrible” duty that must be, thinking about how all of those brain-dead women were nothing more than brood mares for horny rutting greenies, but then she saw Jarsk’s face. There was such a terrible combination of sadness, need and disgust etched into his face that it made her cringe inside. Sex had clearly become more of an obligation than a pleasure on this world. She had a brief image of a greenie leaning over a drooling, vacant eyed woman and strangled it before it went any further. Yeah, let’s not go there.

By the time the stew was ready, and she and Clarence had helped serve, her ears were numb and she was dead on her feet. Clarence looked like he would fall over the next time the ship shifted and Digger, who had stumbled in with one batch of the crew, but stayed to eat in the galley with them, looked like a half-strangled rat.

The bosun had told Jarsk that they were to bunk with him. Jarsk didn’t look particularly happy about that and, when the three of them were scooted off to get some sleep before they mounted the rim storm, Trisha understood why. The room was tiny. Two hammocks were hung from the ceiling, hanging crisscrossed across the entire room and a small pad and blanket was set on the floor next to the built-in berth. Clarence immediately took the pad on the floor. Trisha wasn’t going to quibble and took a moment to slump onto the bunk.

As tired as she was, this was the first time that the three of them had been anywhere where they could talk privately since they landed in this mess. Digger obviously felt the same way because he hopped into the top hammock and hung over the edge to talk.

“Am I right in thinkin’ that that black lightnin’ thing wasn’t there when you two jumped into my realm?” he said without preamble. Clarence groaned and flopped onto his back.

“Are we really going to talk about this now?”

Trisha eyed him in exasperation. “Has there been any other big sign that said ‘Hey, you can have a clandestine conversation here.’?”

Clarence scowled and sat up.

“To answer your question,” she continued, looking at Digger, “no…that definitely wasn’t there when we were sucked into your world.”

“Maybe that thing has some kind of homing beacon,” Clarence mused as he plucked a small bit of something from his blanket and flicked it away from him.

Trisha pulled out the stone and scrutinized it. “You think this thing is sending out a signal?”

Clarence shrugged. “It is one theory.”

“But why didn’t it send out a signal from our world? It must have been sitting in that dig area for centuries before the university dug it up.”

“Maybe you triggered the beacon when you touched it.” Clarence’s voice was just a bit too petulant for Trisha’s taste and she was about to retort when Digger cut in.

“If it’s sendin’ out a signal, someone might be tryin’ to get their hands on it.”

A cold chill ran up Trisha’s back at Digger’s words. So, they weren’t just trapped with growling greenies; they were being chased down by some other who’s-it who wanted the stone? She was pretty damn sure that she didn’t want to meet whoever could command black lightning across, what, the entire universe?

“They would have come after it again by now, wouldn’t they?” She knew she sounded a little whiney but, come on.

“Water,” grunted Clarence as he leaned forward, snapping his fingers to look at the gemstone. Trisha was confused, but held it up for him to see.

Clarence leaned in to inspect the stone, but obviously not in any hurry to get close enough to touch it. “I have been pondering some theories,” he said, squinting his eyes like he might be able to pierce the rock with his gaze. “When we were at Digger’s, we were in basically one place, right?” Trisha nodded. “Well, since we have been here, we have been on the move constantly…over water. Even with the technology that is at play here, it is my understanding that it is hard to track something on the water or underground. Maybe that is what is going on here?”

Trisha laid the stone in her lap and put her fingers to her temples, rubbing them in circles like the motion could make her brain think clearer. “So, you’re saying that, if Digger’s theory is correct, this lightning thing is probably going to show up again.”

“Probably.” Clarence looked just as glum at the prospect, but then brightened suddenly. “But it is also possible that we could just let the lightning, or whoever is behind it, take us with the gemstone. I mean, think about it! Anyone who has that kind of technology could send us home.”

Her heart started beating fast at the idea until she saw Digger vigorously shaking his head.

“No,” he said. “I can’t tell you why, but no. There’s somethin’ mighty wrong with that black thing. I can feel it from my gut to my toes. You two can do as you like, but as for me, I can’t abide by that notion.”

They were silent for a while after that, lost in their own thoughts.

“Why not just try to jump out of here?” Clarence said. “Clearly there must be more appealing places…and people…than here.”

“That’s obvious, but we don’t exactly know how this thing works now do we.” Trisha knew she was being pissy and regretted it.

“Well, we could try,” Clarence retorted. “I mean, what have we got to lose?”

“I’ve been thinking about that, but like you said…water.” Clarence looked confused. “We don’t even know how it works, but I just keep wondering how this thing chooses where we will jump to,” she continued, rolling the stone around in her hand. “The odds of us landing on a ship and not in the ocean must have been astronomical, but what if the next time this thing “misses”?” She punctuated the word with air quotes. “Next time we could end up in a place without air or we could materialize in solid rock.”

She watched as Clarence’s face turned chalky at the idea. Digger just hung there looking stoic and meditative.

“I think there’s got to be a way to use this to control where we go.” As she considered the options, she idly rubbed the facets as they lit up, but then sucked in her breath when the stone fizzled and went dark in her hands. They all stared in horror at the blank facets.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t…” she gabbled, but stopped as a faint glow emerged in the center of the stone. It throbbed gently. After several minutes of them staring at it, desperation etched on all of their faces, the stone finally ‘rebooted’. The soft shapes of color began their movement across the surface once more.

“Maybe…” her voice croaked. Clearing it with a restrained cough, she continued, “Maybe I should put it away.”

With shaking hands, she put the stone back in her pocket. No one wanted to say anything and, for once, Trisha didn’t have some pithy internal dialogue to make her feel better. Solid rock or not, it had just occurred to all of them that the one link they had to their worlds was incredibly fragile. Without another word, they all climbed into their respective beds and, despite their disquiet, they were asleep in moments.

And then were awoken by the room door slamming open and the barking of the captain. Grit crawled across Trisha’s eyeballs and she blinked furiously to clear them. God, she’d never been so tired.

“Right,” she growled. “First you tell us to sleep and then you don’t let us.” Upooa adroitly ignored her, but Digger whispered in her ear as he swept past, “If you care to know, we were sleepin’ close to five hours.”

Now how in the world did he know that? “Whatever,” she thought, shaking her head, and ran a little to catch up with Upooa, Clarence stumbling in her wake.

Digger leapt up the stairs to the deck, but Sir Captain Greenie growled at the two of them to follow him. Muddled with sleep, it didn’t occur to her to wonder why the captain was directing them where to go instead of one of the crew until they got to where they were going.

This hold area smelled musty and fishy like all of the other places Trisha had been in on the ship, but there was also the tang of sweat and urine here. There were small stalls set along each side with a walkway down the center. She had a bad feeling she knew what was being held here and her skin crawled with discomfort.

“Tut,” Upooa called to the man at the end of the walkway. “Are they secure?”

A stocky Orc with a kind of gray cast to his green skin made his way up to them with a rolling gait. “Aye. The ones that don’t have such good balance, I have strapped down on their sides. I didn’t want them choking to death if they got seasick, see?”

Upooa didn’t speak but nodded, looking over one of the short stalls.

“I put as much padding around as I could. There’s a couple, though, that I’m not right sure how to handle. They don’t like being tied down, but I’m afraid they might hurt theyselves, maybe thrash around like, should they get scared.”

“That’s why I brought these two,” Upooa gestured to them. Tut didn’t seem overly impressed.

“As you say,” Tut replied, clearly not on board with Upooa’s choice, but just as obviously not going to go against his orders.

“Trisha.” She jumped a little at her name. It was the first time Big Greenie had ever addressed her by name and it kind of gave her the creeps. “I want you to watch over this one.” He pointed to the first stall and she looked in.

The female Orc looked quite similar to her male counterparts, even down to the hair except hers was cut very close to her scalp. She was dressed in a loose, but clean robe of some kind and she was sitting cross-legged on blankets.

“What exactly am I supposed to do with her?” she asked.

“Make sure she stays calm and safe as we ride out the storm,” Upooa told her.

“Right,” she muttered under her breath as she entered the stall. “Like I can even keep myself calm and safe.”

She made her way to the woman’s side, more unnerved than she had ever been since she was whooshed out of her world. She sat down next to the Orc and the woman turned her eyes to her.

But she didn’t look at Trisha. She looked just past her, her light green face slack and dreamy. Trisha felt her stomach tighten in revulsion. There was just something that felt so wrong, so unnatural about the woman’s gaze. It was like Trisha could see the emptiness inside the woman’s head.

“Hi,” she ventured.

“Hi,” came a low almost sultry voice that made Trisha shrink back a little.

“Um…ok…my name is Trisha.”

“Um…ok…my name is Trisha,” the woman parroted back in the exact same tone.

“That one,” Tut said, “is quite smart. She’s the easiest to care for because she can tell you when she’s hungry or has to use the privy. Problem is, the smarter ones can get startled and can hurt theyselves. She’s strapped in at the waist.” He pointed down and Trisha saw that the woman had a wide padded strap around her middle that was tied off in two places on the wall. Trisha must have looked appalled because he continued in an apologetic tone.

“To keep her from rolling around and hurting herself when the ship starts rocking, see.” He rubbed his hands awkwardly together. “I’ll just see about getting your friend set up with the other one,” and Tut ducked over to the stall across the way.

Upooa had disappeared, leaving as abruptly as he had shown up. Tut gave them some more care pointers, but it was clear to Trisha that they were going to have to make a lot of this up as they went along. Trisha started to feel panic settling in. How in the hell was she supposed to keep this woman safe?

The pitch and roll of the ship started to increase, the hold creaking and complaining louder as they entered rough water. An eerie sound, that Trisha realized she had been sensing at the edge of her hearing, grew like an approaching yowling cat until she could hear it shrieking and clawing above and around her. The ship suddenly jolted to one side, throwing her against the wall of the stall and she braced herself just in time for another jolt to pitch them in the opposite direction.

A high keening sound rose over the sound of the storm. It was coming from the woman next to her. She was pounding her fists to her head and crying out. Trisha grabbed her arms and all but hauled the woman onto her lap, working the straps so that they held both of them. She wrapped her arms around the woman and held on with all her strength as the ship plunged into the abyss of the storm.

[ 22 ]

[World Region: C9567-9659A-7A7A5-820BB-C88C41-1517D]

UPOOA stood on the forecastle cabin and surveyed the repairs; at least that was what he knew his crew believed he was doing. In truth, he was watching the one called Trisha and her companion.

She sat amidships leaning against the port rail, one hand in a pocket of the odd pants she wore, looking like a battered ship rat. A livid purple bruise was swelling at her temple where the woman in her care had flailed about with a fist and connected. Still, she had done well. Her charge had come through the storm unharmed and, despite her bruises, Trisha was alert and watching over her dark friend.

Clarence had surprised Upooa, as well. Though he was currently sprawled on the deck with his head between the railing and heaving in dry wracking gasps, Clarence had brought his woman through without harm. Upooa had looked at his harness contraption of ropes and scraps of cloth and, as crude as it was, could not deny that it had worked. It didn’t bind the woman flat, but kept her from hitting anything as the ship tossed about. The design had, however, left the dark man with no hand holds for himself and he had rolled about the stall like an unsecured cask. The imagined scenario brought Upooa a good deal of amusement, but he kept his face furrowed in a grave expression.

For their situation was indeed grave. The main mast had snapped in the storm and caused severe damage to the rest of the rigging as it fell. Upooa figured that the damage may have been even more significant if it wasn’t for the uncanny acrobatics of the strange Digger. Even as the wind and waves pounded the vessel, he had bounced about like a water tick, slashing ropes and cutting the mast free to fall into the surging waves.

He and his men had weathered worse, to be sure. There was the first time that they had entered the storm to shake off Imperial ships. They had started taking on water and only through the expedient grounding of his craft onto the Edge lands had they been saved from drowning. Some hasty repairs and the crew had managed to limp the Iris to a floating island for a complete retrofit.

This time, the men had gone ashore to see about bringing down one of the huge trees whose roots clung deep along the rim. It took a lot to cut one down and the creatures that weathered the desperate conditions here were hard to kill and lethal. Still, Upooa had taken the measure of the storm and the Edge lands enough to feel a wary sense of confidence. They would tow the felled tree and put in to Starlake for repairs…and see what this windfall of women and strangers could purchase.

Once again, his eyes fell on Trisha. Upooa smelled danger every time he looked at her; a sickly twist of the guts that he had pondered every spare moment since she had arrived. It wasn’t lust or physical attraction. In fact, that idea had made the sick feeling increase, roiling and burning in his stomach. She wasn’t a danger to him physically. Despite her obvious fighting skill, she wasn’t a match for him. Though he had never seen her casting the runes like the Witches, he wondered if she might be a different kind of sorceress; one who could crawl into your mind and make you weak.

Because that is how she made him feel…weak. Something about her made him want to tuck her away someplace safe and yet…and yet, when she had held her knife to his balls he had felt delighted laughter threaten to erupt and dismantle his composure. He alternately wanted to protect her, throttle her, or hold her up to the sunlight like a precious jewel.

So, yes, Trisha was very very dangerous. He would be well rid of her when they got to Starlake.

A desperate cry from one of his men shattered his ruminations. Following the pointed finger, Upooa looked up and saw a black smudge in the sky above the Flaming Iris. And it was growing. Before he could order his men to arms, a bolt of lightning shot out of the inky blackness and struck the deck of the ship. Jagged splinters sprayed in every direction, striking a couple of his men who went down with cries of pain.

Another bolt shot out but stopped before reaching the deck. It hung there sizzling back and forth like it was searching for something.

Or someone.

Upooa jerked his head to look back at Trisha and Digger’s words came back to him like the echo of a bad dream: “…strange ball of blackness and cracklin’ light…”

The blackness was here to take them. It was here to take Trisha.

Without knowing how it happened, Upooa found himself landing on the deck from the forecastle and running to put himself between that thing and Trisha. Digger dropped down next to Clarence, who was screaming at Trisha to hurry. And Trisha…Trisha was fighting to pull her hand from her pocket. With a twist, she yanked out a flashing gem and several things happened at once.

Upooa’s breath gasped out of him in a feeling of stunning betrayal. She had lied to him. She was a witch. Growling, he launched himself the last few feet towards her.

The sparking light jerked like it had been punched and flashed towards Trisha.

Clarence practically jumped into Trisha’s arms.

Digger put himself between Upooa and Trisha, grasping for her with one arm while he held out the other to fend off Upooa.

Digger’s hand blindly clasped onto Trisha’s hand that held the bright gem, just as Upooa collided into his arm.

A tremendous crack rent the air and sent the sailors ducking for cover. All but Tut, who had emerged from the hold in time to see his captain and the strange ones disappear in a swirl of colors and a bolt of lightning behave as no lightning should; crawling back into a blob of black in the sky and winking out with a crackling pop.

Then there was nothing but the confused and terrified silence of the men and the slapping of the waves on the hull.

[ 23 ]

[World Region: 2A765-38BC7-FF433-77432-A2D345-275E4]

PAIN lanced through his side and he sucked in a breath with a sharp hiss that only made the pain worse. He tried to take small sips of air through his mouth but acrid smoke clung to the back of his throat and made him gag. He needed water.

The world narrowed down to that one thought, water, and his mind took him under again. He dreamed of a rippling creek in a thick forest. Another place, another time he would escape if he could.

The chuckling sound of the water over the rocks beckoned him forward and he crouched by the stream to fill his hand. But once his hand was in the water, he just let it lay there. It felt so heavy. There was simply no reason for him to lift it.

He watched the sun glimmer off the submerged rocks and listened to the soft breeze as it whispered through the trees. How his daughter would have loved this place. His eyes swam with tears and he let them fall; let them join the water at his fingertips and become a part of something else. Maybe something less bitter.

He didn’t know how long he sat there hunkered next to the stream with his hand in the cold current. There was a choice to make. It wasn’t much of a choice. He could spend the rest of his life in this place or he could give himself over to his people to cut and tinker and make into something that could strike back at the enemy that had felled their world. He might even be able to rescue survivors…if there were any. He knew, with a clenching certain emptiness, that his wife and daughter wouldn’t be among them.

He had seen the recordings of feeds showing the total destruction of the city where they had waited…waited for him to come take them to this wonderful new life, full of green and sun and fresh air and open spaces. And they had waited while the invaders poured out from their black tunnels in space to obliterate everything. They had waited for him…to save them.

Snatching his hand from the water, he clenched his fist to his chest like he had been stung. It ached from the cold but couldn’t come close to the pain that was clogged in his chest. He looked around taking in the sunshine and the water, watched an insect land gently on a long stalk of grass, and listened to the chirping, twittering sounds that filled the air…and he suddenly found that he couldn’t stay there a moment longer. It was everything he ever wanted and now it just made him sick.

His choice was made.

Everyone stopped talking when he walked into the ready room pod. Everyone but Kell. Why wasn’t Kell there? His vision swirled a bit.

Right. Kell was gone. He had gone through the portal to set up the first set of civilians to travel through the portal. He had been incinerated in the attack just like his wife and daughter and the other countless billions. He would never see Kell’s wicked grin again, hear him laugh over Lem’s lame science jokes.

Labeck, the former head of the medical science department and now the de facto leader of the survivors, said nothing but looked at him with such deep sadness and regret that Lem had to turn away.

“I’ll do it,” he said quietly to the floor.

His words were the spark that got them moving again. Everyone became intensely busy, some calling out to others to ready the op room.

Labeck gently touched his arm. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I have nothing left.” His voice was so strained that he didn’t recognize it as his own.

Labeck dropped his hand and sighed. “The possibility of any survivors on our planet is so remote that…”

He shot such a dark glance at Labeck that it stifled what the scientist was going to say.

“Of course,” Labeck lamented. “Of course, just like the other handful of people eligible for this procedure, you aren’t doing it for the survivors are you?”

It was a rhetorical question that he answered by spinning on his heel and walking down to the surgical pod. If there was even the remotest chance that his Jerrita and Shalalla were still alive, nothing could stop him from trying to find them. Without that hope, only his anger kept him moving, driving him to fulfill his duty to those of his people who were left.

Other men, dressed in combat gear, were milling around the surgical pod as he approached. They were likely some of the first to come forward to test for the procedure. By the look in their eyes, they weren’t eligible, but it was also very apparent that they had no intention of being left behind. He doubted anyone had tried to tell them to go somewhere else. And there wasn’t anyone alive who could convince them to stay the next time the portal was opened.

Like him, the only thing they had left was revenge.

The surgical pod was only a few months old, but it already had the feel of something worn and tired. He was led into the clean room where he took off his clothes and stepped into the molecular bath. Doctor Giltchet was in the corner of the room pulling on some clean scrubs. The doctor looked as worn and tired as the surgical pod.

Once he was clean, he was placed on a surgical table and wheeled into the operating room. The table clacked into the holding bars and Doctor Giltchet leaned over him, his voice soft and resigned.

“You’re a science man yourself. You, more than any of the others, know the risks. Are you sure you want to go through with this?” He gestured a bit to the machines and tools set up around the room.

Robotic arms hung from the ceiling and heavy tools were mounted on solid block supports. Electronic equipment lined nearly every wall. Two rows of carts were set with an array of sparkling tools; everything from laser scalpels to good old-fashioned drills. It looked more like a garage than an operating room.

At another time, in another life, his hands would have itched to get a hold of such gear to see what he could build. Now, none of it fazed him. He was beyond caring. There was only one thing that mattered now, and the doctor knew it. How could he not? He had seen it in every pair of eyes he had looked into during the past 48 hours.

With a curt nod, the doctor’s face left his view. A nurse and a gen-tech began the process of readying a bank of tubes and thin cables that would be snaked into his body. Another nurse, this one with doe eyes so like his little girl’s that it took his breath away, leaned over him and forced a smile.

“I’m going to give you a hypo-sedative to start,” she said, readying a transdermal injector. “It’s a fast acting, short term sedative that will put you under long enough for us to get your main heart and brain lines in. Once those are in place, we will administer the deep sedatives and brain wave suppressors.”

He nodded because she seemed to be waiting for some kind of response. In truth, he was already half sedated by the numbness that had been creeping through him for days now. He heard the short hiss from the transdermal injector; felt the sharp sting at the vein in his neck.

Then, as ever, the darkness swarmed in and swallowed him.

[ 24 ]

[World Region: A777D-B4983-567FA-AABD3-1267F3-8A8A8]

SLAATHARA treaded carefully through the dark streets; the occasional splash when her feet met an unseen puddle sounded loud in her ears. The buildings, wet with condensation from the moon’s passing, pressed in around her and the uneven stone streets of this low section of Jellara made it problematic to rush, but she couldn’t risk slowing. She needed to get back to the nest soon or she would be missed.

The walk was long and convoluted, and her tail kept threatening to smack against the walls as she turned, potentially leaving a trace of her passage. It would be so much easier if her stash was closer to the nest, but a lot more dangerous. She couldn’t afford to have anyone in the gang, anyone at all for that matter, find out that she had her own place. It didn’t matter that it amounted to little more than a cave within one of the lower levels. What mattered was what she was doing there.

Because what she was doing there was against the law.

Her snout lifted in a secretive smile. Illegal was her gang’s stock and trade, but this illegal was on a whole other level. And, if the gang found out, they would take advantage of it. They would take advantage of her. All of her careful plans to advance herself in her world would be gone. They would never let her go.

Her gang was known on this level as The Osals; a name which Slaathara refused to use. Osal was a euphemism for dirty moss, the kind that grew in all of the Lower Level tunnels. Who wanted to be called ‘dirty moss’ or belong to a clan of moss?

But, regardless of their name, the Osals had given her a home of sorts. It was the last holdout for a homeless orphan on this level. Any child in her level, who found themselves without parents, was eventually scooped up and sent to Rala camps. The upper levels liked to call them trade schools. The lower levels knew better. They were slave camps, pure and simple, and children rarely reached adulthood after they passed through those gates.

Once you were in a gang, however, you had a kind of protection. Everyone looked out for everyone else. Once you were in, you were in; which was safety, but also a hindrance. You belonged to the gang for the rest of your life. The life of a thief was notoriously short-lived. Many would eventually run afoul of Level Soldiers and end up in working prison camps or dead. Very few would find a way to escape to something better.

Her mom was one of those few.

Slaathara always felt a surge of pride when she thought of her mom. Jikva had sought out connections while she was in the gang. Eventually, those connections led her to a position with a wealthy merchant family on the Merchant Level. She then earned herself a modest place on that level and met and married Slaathara’s father. Jikva took pride in breaking the cycle and taught Slaathara everything she knew about working the system to her advantage.

But, it had all come crashing down. The daughter of a shop owner had accused Jikva of stealing. That’s all it took. It came out later that the daughter was notoriously poor with her reading and numbers and had accused Slaathara’s mother to cover her inventory mistakes, but it made no difference. No one even considered bringing Jikva back from wherever the Level Soldiers had taken her. No one gave a moment’s consideration to restoring the home of Slaathara and her father. They simply left them on one of the Lower Levels where they were cast when her mother had been arrested.

Slaathara paused a moment in the upward tunnel to catch her breath and look about to make sure her passage had gone unnoticed. She grimaced and pushed on again.

The tunnels always reminded her of her father and thinking of her father left her feeling conflicted. When they had been cast down, her father had taken the only job he could find, that of tunnel cleaning and repair. It was a thankless job; dirty and dangerous. Creatures and disease were constant threats, but her father never complained.

And maybe that was why she struggled so much with the memories of him. Amra had been so quiet, so staid, so…so content with his life regardless of the circumstances. He went to work every day and came home to cook and clean and teach Slaathara her lessons that had been so important to her mother. It didn’t occur to her until years later how rare it was that her father could read, let alone teach. He never got riled. He never raised his voice. He never wanted more and that made him seem weak in Slaathara’s eyes.

However, it was also Amra who had inspired her calling.

As he lay on his pallet, dying, his breath rattling from the lung fungus that was stealing his life, Amra had beckoned her close and told her a secret. He may have been content with his life, but he knew that Slaathara was not content with hers. So, when he found the partial scroll of a spell deep in one of the tunnels, he had tucked it in his sack and brought it home.

It was a death sentence to possess a spell outside of the upper and wizard levels. But, and this was a huge but…if you showed a strong aptitude for magic, the Wizard Level made exceptions. It was rare because, in order to show aptitude, you had to know how to learn and cast a spell…but in order to cast a spell, you must first possess a spell. It was a neat little rule of circular logic that all but assured the lower levels were never allowed magic.

Slaathara, however, was struck by the possibilities and the danger. Before Amra had even breathed his last breath, she had packed her few belongings and set off for the nest. She still felt a pang of guilt over leaving her father to die alone, but she had seen in his eyes that he wished her to leave. Logically, she knew that the Level Soldiers were likely to descend on their little home the moment they heard of his passing to take her to a Rala Camp. Her heart, however, wasn’t so sure.

The Osals took her in without a skill trial. Her mother’s name still carried weight. Besides, Slaathara had made connections with many of the younger members of the gang. She wouldn’t call them friends, but they were civil enough and, when they saw how quickly Slaathara picked up thief skills, they were happy enough to have her with them.

So, every job, nearly every waking moment for years, Slaathara patiently hunted for spells and the materials to cast them.

With this last excursion, she was so close. Just a few more materials and she would be able to start. In the back of her mind, she calculated the jobs and time needed to reach her goal. She figured two more weeks of running the small jobs, picking pockets, smash and grabs and the like, and she would have what she needed to finally leave this life and move up. At least to the Merchant Level or maybe even higher and, when she was well and truly ready, she would find her way to the Wizard Level.

These happy plans tucked away in her mind, she rounded the last corner and gave the gang’s guards a light greeting. “Hey, Cleesta. Hey, Kaathra,” she called as she swept past and entered the nest.

Per usual, the gang was lounging around drinking and telling bawdy and boastful tall tales. The front room was filled with mismatched tables and chairs. Along one wall sat a long tattered sofa that looked like it had been tossed by the nobility and somehow ended up here. Torn and stained tapestries covered the walls, muffling the sound in the room and keeping out drafts.

The boys were dressed in their usual gaudy attire: pants that were too tight so that they clinched their tails high; blousy shirts open to showcase their oiled chests. They posed and fawned and chuckled over the girls in such a fake display that it made Slaathara a little sick to her stomach. They could at least try to look like they had some respect for themselves.

She hoped to duck through the crowd and make her way to her pallet in the back room, but one of the girls spotted her and shouted above the crowd. “Hey, Slaathara, Jewna is looking for you. She wants you to see her right away. Something important.”

Slaathara held in a groan. It was always something important with Jewna. She made her way to the office where their leader held audiences.

The office was nothing more than an old room with no ceiling. It was actually in the adjacent building, but a hole in the wall between the two buildings offered a makeshift door and a certain level of privacy. It also gave their current leader a whole new level of conceit.

Jewna ran the gang with an iron fist, and she wasn’t one you wanted to cross. She was more conniving than she was intelligent, luckier than she was skilled, and she truly loved power. Slaathara didn’t voice any of her suspicions when old Alumbra just up and died one night and Jewna seized control before the body was cold. As a rule, Slaathara wasn’t here to make power plays. She had her own agenda, so she kept her head down and her business to herself as much as she could, which wasn’t as often as she liked. The one thing Slaathara couldn’t seem to hide was her intelligence. When their new leader found out she could read, Slaathara suddenly became essential for all big jobs.

“You wanted to see me Jewna?” she said, poking her head past the curtain that acted as a door to the office.

“Slaathara. Where’ve you been?” The Osal’s leader was sprawled in a wide padded chair behind a large, battered desk. No real work was done at this desk, but it looked big and important and Jewna liked it that way.

Two of her current boys were in various stages of undress. One was lounging on the desk and another was massaging her bare shoulders. Their glorious leader wore a somewhat rumpled sleeveless tunic, showing off her muscled reddish-brown arms. The desk boy gave Slaathara a pouty bored look. There were no other chairs.

Jewna snapped her fingers and pointed to the curtain and the boys sauntered out. With an elaborate sigh, she settled deeper into her chair, spreading her arms along the wide armrests and regarded Slaathara with her customary sour look.

“Karmellia stopped by today. Says we need to provide more up the chain; that we’re not tithing enough.” Slaathara said nothing but waited for the inevitable lecture that would follow. It didn’t matter how many times she had said it before, Jewna relished telling Slaathara how the system worked.

“We are Lower Level thieves just like we’re Lower Level citizens. We can’t afford for Karmellia to make things hard for us. She may be a thief, but she is higher level and she wants us to pull a job for her. When she told me what it was, I knew you were the one to lead it.” Jewna ran her hand along the underside of her snout, drawing out the moment before she revealed the job. She was taking particular pleasure with this one. “You are to take your smash and grab team and pull an in-and-out up in the LoNo caves tonight.”

Slaathara’s heart dropped about a thousand feet. Before she could stop herself, she blurted, “Are you crazy? We can’t rob up in the LoNos. If we are caught stealing in those caverns, it’s death. This is a suicide job! Why did you agree?”

The Osal leader narrowed her eyes and stood. She was just a fraction taller than Slaathara, but she knew how to use it to good effect. “Karmellia insists,” she said, leaning into the desk so that she appeared to be looming over Slaathara. Slaathara swallowed hard but held her ground. “She needs someone to pull this off outside of her regular crew,” Jewna continued in a low voice that dripped danger. “Their Level Soldiers have been pushing them hard lately. Her crews need to have clear alibies and the job is time sensitive. The owner will only be away tonight. We have been a little short lately and this is how we get back in good with her. Plus, you’re the only one who can raid the study in this place and find anything useful.” Suddenly dropping her anger, she leaned back with a casual wave of her hand. “You’re the best I’ve got, so your team will be the one to handle it. And you will handle it. You meet your LoNo guide at the Pla tunnel entrance just before moonset.”

There was nothing more to say. With a small nod, Slaathara left to gather up her crew.

The rest of her crew treated the news with anticipation. This job would give them some serious bragging rights and set them up to potentially be handpicked by Karmellia to jump levels and work under her organization. It would never happen; Slaathara knew. It was just a tunnel dream that Jewna employed to get the best out of her people.

Slaathara saw this job for what it was…a trap. If they were lucky and pulled it off, Karmellia would see what they were capable of and would use them to her advantage. It would mean bigger and bolder jobs until they were caught or killed. Either way, she would pay for her success or pay for her failure. She felt her dreams sliding away from her like she was riding a travel chute without a hook.

______________________________

Their guide was hanging in the shadows of the Pla tunnel entrance, casually popping roasted secora seeds into her mouth and spitting out the husks. Without a word, she turned tail and headed into the tunnel, not bothering to look to see if they followed.

A couple of detours off the Pla tunnel and they were officially in the LoNo tunnels. Walking through the airy tunnels showed just how different the upper levels were. The passageways were smooth and clean; warmer and brighter. As they neared the LoNo caverns, the walls were decorated with colorful mosaics lit by hanging lanterns.

Slaathara shrugged her shoulders uncomfortably. It was like the walls were watching them. She kept her disquiet to herself but couldn’t help a small shudder. Just being in these caverns without permission or a Level Pass would get them sent to the mines or made a slave in the farming caves.

Their guide gestured to keep low as they traversed the edge of the Level town. They crept along the small alleys, taking a circuitous route toward their target house. Several times they had to back into dark entryways and hide to avoid Level Soldiers making their rounds. Slaathara had never seen so many out at one time.

They finally reached the back of the house, pressing against the wall on either side of the servant entrance. Their guide gave them a sarcastic salute and melted back into the shadows. It looked like Karmellia wasn’t going to provide any more assistance than she absolutely had to.

With a sharp flick of her hand, Slaathara gave Thrista the signal to pick the lock while the rest took strategic marks to watch for Level Soldiers. In seconds there was a barely audible snick and Thrista was through the door. A few seconds more and the rest of the crew had silently padded into the dark entryway.

“Thrista and Raalmar, you take the lower floors. Cleth, you and I will take the upper. You know the run…get as much as you can carry, but make it good because it needs to be small enough to conceal on the scuttle back.”

Her crew scattered. Slaathara and Cleth moved swiftly to the front of the house and swept up the stairs.

They made quick work of scouting out the first set of rooms. The place was huge. Bedrooms and sitting rooms and rooms she had no name for, but not the one room she had been expressly told to find. They headed in the other direction when Thrista came skidding up to them.

“I found a safe,” he whispered in excitement. “I’m gonna need Cleth to work it.” Slaathara nodded and the two bolted down the stairs.

She quickly skimmed down the hallway, opening doors for a quick scan and then hurrying on. Her heart was pounding. Seconds were precious. She needed to find the…

The last door on the right opened into a room that made her pounding heart skip a beat. Books lined nearly every wall of the room in stately dark shelves. She had never seen so many books! Holding her breath, she ran her fingers across the spine of a book bound in leather that had been dyed a deep green. Almost in a daze, she walked along the wall, her fingers lightly bumping and skimming over the books. When she reached the end, she spun in a slow circle taking in the shelves and the heavy wooden desk that sat at the end of the room. What to look at first?

She turned to the shelf nearest her and pulled out a random book. It was a slim edition of The Longest Tail, a children’s story. With a kind of reverent reluctance, she put it back and selected another book but from the adjacent shelf. This one was about great Upper Level families in history.

By glancing at the books from each section, she was able to determine a rough order to the books. Time was slipping away from her. The others were probably ready to bolt. With a bit of desperation, she grabbed a book from an area she hoped might be the most valuable and froze when she flipped the book open. It was a book about magic.

Her mind was so strung up on the possibilities represented by the musty tome she held in her hand that she missed the quiet steps behind her.

“On the floor, thief!”

Slaathara whirled to see a duo of Level Soldiers step into the room. She had no time to do anything but drop the book before the slither ropes flew from their rods and wrapped around her. The soldiers yanked the rods, the room tilted, and she fell to the floor with a head jarring crash.

Time slowed at that moment. It felt like her world wanted to give her a long last look at what she could never have. She gazed with heartrending longing at the books around her. This was as close as she would ever get to another book. She held her eyes on the tantalizing spines even as the soldiers wrenched her from the floor. Turning her head as far as she could, she gathered one last glance before she was hauled out the door.

[ 25 ]

[World Region: A777D-B4983-567FA-AABD3-1267F3-8A8A8]

CLARENCE moaned and rolled over onto his back gulping and gasping for air. He had fallen from the air and belly flopped on a very hard surface. Why, why could that hellish stone not land them somewhere soft?

Through squinted eyes, he looked around to see where in the nine hells they were this time. Sighing, he pulled out his broken glasses and put them up to his eyes, relieved to see they weren’t damaged further by the fall. Through smudged lenses, he saw the lighting was strange, like the pale light of an overcast day, but the sky was more convoluted and dark. With an astonished blink he realized that the sky was not sky at all, but the ceiling of a vast cavern.

“Nine hells indeed,” he groaned to himself. He tucked his glasses back in his pocket and attempted to move onto his hands and knees, hissing with pain over his abused abdomen.

“Maybe Dante had one of those infernal stones,” he murmured, his head hung low as he gathered his breath.

“You ok?”

The voice came from right next to his bowed head. He yelped in surprise and would have fallen over again if it wasn’t for a pair of steadying hands. He swung his head over and glared balefully at an unperturbed Digger. Did nothing faze this creature?

Shaking off Digger’s assistance, he staggered to his feet. Trisha was taking in the area around her with a calculating interest, none the worse for wear for having gone through another harrowing trip through the space tunnel from hell.

But someone else was not so lucky. Clarence stared in disbelief at the sprawled bulk of their former erstwhile captain. How in the world did he get here? He had landed on some kind of crate and it had smashed beneath his massive bulk. Evidently, the crate had hit back because he was not moving a single big green finger. Clarence gave a little snort of satisfaction.

With calculating eyes of his own, Clarence squinted at the area where they had landed. The cavern must be very large to accommodate the structures he saw around him. The buildings were actually quite quaint, like they had popped into Arlington Row in Bilbury, England except the roof tiles looked like slate instead of shake, and there was not a plant to be seen. The street was cobblestone, which he found very Dickensian. He half expected Tiny Tim to come hobbling around the corner.

With growing fascination, he pulled out his glasses again and stepped further into the street to get a better look at a sliver of the cavern wall he could see between two of the buildings. Though it was a good distance away, he noticed that the wall was emitting a pale white light, possibly bioluminescent in nature.

He heard a small scuffle behind him and the blood drained from his face when he turned to look. The intriguing landscape had led him to ignore a very salient fact: where there were buildings, there were usually people…and these people were not proper people.

They were lizards.

He backed up slowly, stumbling on the cobbled street and bumped into Trisha. He shot a glance around at her and saw from her expression that she was as gobsmacked as he was by the appearance of the denizens of this world. It was about time that she appreciated the bizarre nature of what they were up against. Let her call these creatures “People” now.

Up until now, even he had to admit that every person they had met was of a type: basically human in shape and appearance. Sure, Digger had a weird nose and feather hair, but at least he had a nose. These creatures had snouts. Even Upooa had a nose; however green it might be.

Trisha murmured next to him. “Well, this is going to be interesting.”

Her skill at understatement was truly astounding.

“Interesting?” He hissed low at her. “They have tails!”

“True, they are a strange lot,” Digger chimed in, casually leaning against the barrel next to them with his arms crossed. “They are on two feet and are wearin’ clothes so I reckon they’re some kinda people like us.”

Clarence wanted to pound his head against the cavern wall. Why…why did no one understand that things were not supposed to be this way? People were not supposed to be this way.

“We need to get out of here! We need to hide!” he whispered desperately, tucking away his glasses again and squinting around him for some kind of escape route or bolt hole.

Trisha breathed a laugh, low and mocking. Was she laughing at him or the situation? He was unsure, but he thought he detected a hint of hysteria in her voice and his stomach dropped.

“There’s no hiding from that crowd,” she said, flicking a thumb to point at the lizards. Digger nodded next to her.

The crowd had grown in the space of moments. The lizards held their distance and murmured among themselves, occasionally pointing, but were strangely subdued. They were every color of the rainbow, but muted like diluted watercolors.

“Do you reckon they would understand us?” Digger asked, cocking his head in that strange fashion of his. “I’ve been thinkin’ on it and wonderin’ if that stone don’t do more than just pop us from one place to the next.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Trisha replied low. “What I would really like is for the damn thing to start talking to us.”

The stone. Of course! Clarence wanted to knock all of their heads together, including his own.

“Quick…use the stone to get us out of here!”

Trisha pinned him with a look. “Clarence, I know you’re not stupid, but I swear! When you panic all your brains pop out your ears. We’re lucky we ended up in this cavern and not in the cavern walls! Remember?”

He stiffened in sick alarm as the image of being fused to stone flashed through his brain. Ugh. She was right. They had discussed that possibility before.

It really was not the time for personal introspection, but he could not help but think that he was a liability on this strange voyage. He had never been good in a crisis. Append that; he was terrible in a crisis. Come to think of it, had he ever truly been in a crisis? When he was in school, he had stomachaches before exams. Delayed flights and hotel mix-ups sent him into a panic. That is why he liked his life ordered. Nice and neat; boring even. No lizard people to muck up the works.

“Best we greet the locals,” Digger said, pulling Clarence from his reverie. Digger had started to push away from the barrel when a low groan came from the crushed crate.

The groan turned to a growl and then a howl of rage as the crate pieces clattered from the giant green form as it rose.

Oh…oh, no! No, no, no, no! This was bad!

“Where is that lying witch?” Upooa bellowed, stumbling and shaking his head. Digger crouched low, swiped up a jagged piece of the crate and leapt to the top of the barrel all in the space of a blink.

“What have you done to me?” the green giant howled, weaving drunkenly onto the cobbled street. Trisha, who had managed to snag a piece of the crate for herself, backed up to stand next to Digger’s barrel. Clarence noticed with a start that he was in front of them both and scuttled behind the barrel, peering around the side.

“What do we do now?” he whispered.

Neither of them answered but watched the green goon intently. Frantic now, Clarence looked behind him for a better place to hide and his throat clenched even tighter, if that was possible. Another group of lizards was pushing their way through the gawkers that had crowded into the street behind them. Well, pushing was the wrong word. The crowd melted away from them, scuttling away with their heads down. The newcomers were all dressed the same with tight leather jerkins, helmets, gloves, and boots…and staffs; long, black, lethal looking staffs.

“Uhm…guys,” he said, his voice frustratingly high and wobbly. Trisha shot him a dirty look for making noise, but Digger caught the direction of Clarence’s gaze and jerked his head at her. She looked over her shoulder and stiffened.

“Well, that’s just perfect,” she murmured. The crowd in front of them had caught on that the local constabulary had joined the fray and was starting to melt away also. They had barely a moment to register all of this before big greenie bellowed again and charged them.

“You will die for this,” he growled; his blue gaze leveled on Trisha as he bore down on them. At the last moment, Trisha and Digger bolted to their respective sides. Too late Clarence realized that the only thing between him and the homicidal green blur was the wooden barrel.

“Oh, shit,” he squeaked and then he and the barrel went flying. The world went ass over teakettle and he found himself rolling along the cobbled street to land in a heap. He struggled to sit up and almost laughed aloud. He was alive! Sure, he was going to have a bunch of bruises, but he was alive. He felt like he had gained some kind of superpower. Grinning, he started to push himself to his feet when he saw Upooa bearing down on the uniformed lizards.

“So, you are her minions, are you?” he shouted. “She saw me win against Imperial ships and called you in with her foul magic, did she?”

The police or soldiers or guard lizards or whatever they were had ringed them in on one side. The moment Upooa set towards them; they lifted their staffs as one and stamped them on the ground. Then the first in the line leveled his staff at Upooa and a black rope shot out of the end, coiling around the greenie and nearly tripping him. Upooa roared and strained against the bonds. Another soldier leveled his staff and more black ropes spiraled around Upooa, binding him so tightly that he lost his balance and went crashing to the ground, cursing and bellowing.

Trisha and Digger glanced at each other and then spun back-to-back readying themselves for the onslaught. What was he supposed to do? He just sat there feeling helpless and watched in fascination as the remaining lizards lowered their staves at them and started chanting. Clarence felt a wave of lightheadedness wash over him and watched in horror as Trisha and Digger collapsed to the ground like they had been clubbed over the head. Even Upooa was knocked cold.

Through a haze of fatigue, Clarence watched two of the lizards stalk over to him. They looked down on him with speculative eyes.

“We’re going to want to inspect this one,” one of them said. “He’s got power to spare.”

Then, without further ado, the other whacked him upside the head with his staff and Clarence crashed into blackness.

[ 26 ]

[World Region: A777D-B4983-567FA-AABD3-1267F3-8A8A8]

TRISHA bit back a groan. Holy shit, she was tired. It would be so nice to just fall back to sleep on the cold stone…wait a second. Cracking open an eye felt like lifting a car, but she did it. She was sprawled on her stomach on a hard floor and she was pretty sure the left side of her face was sitting in a puddle of her own drool. That’s me…sleeping beauty. She rubbed her hand a fraction over the surface in front of her prone face. She felt grit slide over a solid surface. Yep… stone.

“You recover quickly.”

If she had the energy she would have jumped, but as it was, the most she could do was widen her eyes. The voice had come from behind her, very close to her head. With a lot of effort, she very slowly swiveled her head to the other side. A pair of violet eyes attached to a pale blue snout gazed at her intently from the other side of some metal bars. Her brain seized a little and then slowly began to put pieces together. She felt like a gutless engine that needed to be coaxed into life on a cold morning. They had jumped from the water world, ended up in a giant cavern, the big bad greenie tried to kill her and then…oh, right. They were in Lizard Land.

Trisha pushed herself up a little more. Her arms shook but she got a quick look around. Perfect. Not only were they in Lizard Land, but it looked like they were in jail in Lizard Land. The violet eyes stayed glued on her in a very calculating way. She had this uncomfortable feeling; like she was some kind of fascinating bug.

“Your companion must have a lot of power,” the blue snout said, nodding its head toward the cell on the other side of Trisha. “It looks like he was knocked out when the spell didn’t drop him.”

Power? Spell? Trisha swung her muddled head to look into the next cell and her heart frog-jumped into her throat. Clarence lay sprawled on the floor, a big ugly purple welt donning the side of his head. Oh God, was he dead?

Her heart pounding in her chest, she hobbled on hands and knees to the other set of bars and thrust her arm through to shake him.

“Hey…Clarence,” she croaked, shaking him as gently as she could. “Hey. Wake up.”

Clarence didn’t make a sound, but she saw his chest rise and fall. Relief flooded through her. At least he wasn’t dead. She sagged against the bars and winced when the side of her face brushed against them. She probably didn’t look much better than Clarence after being clocked by that panicked Orc woman aboard Upooa’s ship.

“I have never met a human before.”

Trisha glanced over. The lizard was sitting up, still watching her intently. It wore loose dark blue pants tucked into soft boots that didn’t look like leather, but some kind of thick, almost quilted material. A faded tunic, a lighter version of the same color as the pants, was belted with a sash over the top. It sat weird, cross legged but leaning forward, its hands held before it with its fingertips pressed together. There was a subtle movement by its feet and Trisha realized with a start that it had a thick tail slightly curled around its legs like a big blue cat. The tip was waving back and forth.

The creature’s words finally caught up with Trisha’s brain. Ugh. It was like thinking through syrup, but things were starting to make sense.

“How do you know I’m human?” Trisha mumbled, rubbing her unhurt temple to try to get the juices flowing. So far everyone she had met on this wild ride had no clue what humans were.

The lizard peered down its nose at her and gave her a seriously disdainful look.

“I know all of The Races of the Twelve,” it sniffed. Trisha almost waited for the thing to belt out in a British accent, “We Worthington lizards are always aware of the latest species that walk our kingdom.” Instead, blue snout continued in what Trisha could only describe as a smoky, almost sultry voice. Come to think of it, its voice was almost soothing without any sort of the sibilant hiss that she might imagine would come from a talking lizard.

“My mother owned many books, and one was a compendium of The Races of the Twelve.” It gestured to Trisha and then Clarence. “You two are Human.” It gestured across the way to a line of cells paralleling theirs. “There you have a Laquaran,” indicating the cell where Digger lay curled on his side asleep but looking none the worse for wear. “And the large one on the end is unmistakably an Orc.” Trisha squinted through the low light. Upooa had been shoved into the corner of his cell and it looked like he was tied to the bars. Evidently, the lizard militia wasn’t taking any chances with him.

“And, since it was obvious from your expression when you first woke that you have never seen my kind before. I am a Rawg’Mai,” it said, indicating itself with a nod of its head. “Female, of course.”

“Oh, of course,” Trisha thought to herself. Perfectly obvious. “You have twelve races here? That makes for a crowd,” she said while she shifted herself and leaned against the stone wall of her cell. Her head felt so heavy.

The lizard snorted. “Of course not. Only Rawg’Mai live in this land. There are twelve races that inhabit A’Kyria.” Her reptile jail companion sounded intensely curious, probably wondering why she didn’t know about the twelve races, but Trisha didn’t have the energy to care. She rubbed her temple again. Her mind was clearing, but she still felt unbelievably tired. What did those soldiers do to them?

“It can take several hours to get your power back.” Trisha rolled her head to look out of the corner of her eye at the lizard. The Rawg’Mai stared back in rapt attention.

“Power…you mentioned that before,” Trisha said.

“Uh-huh…I thought so. You know nothing of magic either.” Blue snout looked positively smug.

Magic? Maybe she really had landed them in Middle Earth this time. Was it possible that magic worked here? Trisha stopped short and sighed. She was having a conversation with a human sized talking lizard. Anything was possible.

A soft groan came from across the way and Digger flopped onto his back.

“Ahhh…another one comes around,” blue snout said with satisfaction, twisting to look at Digger.

“What happened?” Digger ground out, wobbling up to a sitting position. Before Trisha could give an answer, the lizard jumped in.

“You were hit with a spell that took your power.”

“Power? What?” Digger swung around and grimaced at the sudden movement. He squinted through the bars of his cell. “Who…”

“Digger, this is…” Trisha’s words stumbled and she frowned. “Well, I don’t know who this is, actually.” She turned to the Rawg’Mai, inviting an answer.

“I am Slaathara,” she said, holding her hand to her chest and nodding her head in a short bow to each of them.

Trisha caught herself nearly rolling her eyes at Slaathara’s formal introduction, but stopped herself. What the hell. When in Rome. She put her somewhat shaky hand to her chest and said, “I am Trisha.” Digger blinked at them with bleary eyes.

“Digger,” he grunted. “Pleased to be makin’ yer acquaintance.” He then flopped back onto the stone with a muttered, “Feathers and stones. I’m bushed.”

Slaathara looked from one to the other of them for a moment and then slid to her feet. “If I am correct,” she said. “We are about an hour before moonset. Our guard will be bringing food soon.”

Trisha didn’t know what else to say. It felt like she should have a ton of questions; she did, in fact, have a bunch of questions, but she was so drained that it was too much effort to ask them. She slumped against the wall behind her and stared blankly through the bars of her cell.

Physically she wasn’t tired. The only thing she could compare it to was the feeling she had had after her father died. It was like emotional exhaustion, but somehow deeper.

Cracking her eyes open, she could see Slaathara pacing around her cell; her fingertips together and her head bowed, eyes nearly closed. Occasionally she would spin and sweep her hands in odd gestures.

It struck Trisha that she should be much more concerned with her situation than she was. It felt like she hadn’t had a moment to really digest what had happened to her and Clarence since this whole thing started. It had been one crisis after another. Clearly, they had landed in another crisis, but, for the moment, nothing was crying for her attention.

Looking back, her relatively short life had been full of upsets. Even when her dad was alive, their life was in constant motion; like if they stopped moving, the floor would fall out from under them. It wasn’t that they moved from place to place. In fact, they stayed in the same house her whole life until he died. It was more like they were always looking over their shoulder; always walking the line. She never really thought about it before, but somewhere in the back of her childhood mind, she always knew that things couldn’t stay that way forever.

Earth, her old life, pulled at her like an ache. If she dug into it, though, she was a little hazy on why. She really had no ties there; no one that would put up too much of a fuss about her disappearance. For some reason, the idea made tears sting the corners of her eyes and she swiped at them angrily. Maybe she just missed a world that was familiar. As much as her life had taught her to take things as they came, she longed for the simplicity of things she knew without effort.

A scraping bang came from the end of the room and a brighter light swung through the doorway. Two Rawg’Mai dressed in drab brown and black walked through the door and down the aisle between the cells. One held one of those black sticks she had seen earlier. It emitted a soft beam of light like a flashlight, but it was held up like a torch. The other carried a tray with assorted bowls and cups.

The tray lizard pushed a small bowl with some kind of gray porridge through a slot in the door of her cell that she hadn’t noticed before. It was followed by a metal cup with no handle that she assumed held water. When they reached Slaathara’s door, the blue lizard stood in the middle of her cell and eyed them with speculation.

“The Level Leader isn’t back, I see,” she remarked.

“What the Level Leader does is none of your concern,” the one with the black stick said in a sing-song lisp.

“I know,” Slaathara shrugged. “It makes no difference to me. In fact, the longer she takes on her little level vacation, the better it is for me. But you sad souls…” Slaathara clucked her tongue.

“I know what you’re doing,” the tray bearer hissed at Slaathara. “When Level Leader gets back in three moonsets, you will…” The Rawg’Mai was stopped mid-sentence by a sharp slap to the back of its head.

Slaathara grinned.

“You’re a flamed fool,” growled the black stick Rawg’Mai, the owner of the hand that had slapped its comrade. “You just gave her what she wanted to know.”

Tray lizard mumbled, rubbed the back of its head, and then rushed over to drop off Digger’s food. Other dishes were still on the tray, but it looked like they weren’t going to hand out food to anyone who wasn’t awake. Trisha had never seen a more literal form of ‘You snooze, you lose.’ The two walked back through the door and everything was quiet again.

Trisha wasn’t particularly hungry, but she had no idea when she would be fed again so she stumbled to her feet and plopped down next to the food. She picked up the bowl and gave it a tentative sniff. Didn’t smell bad; didn’t smell good. There wasn’t much smell there at all.

“It’s regar porridge,” Slaathara said, dipping her finger in the stuff and licking it off. “It’s a little like eating your laundry water, but your laundry water has more flavor.”

Trisha looked dubiously at her bowl.

“It won’t poison you, if that’s what you are thinking.” Slaathara lifted her bowl and took a swallow of her porridge. “It’s actually quite good for you.”

Trisha lifted the bowl to her mouth and took a small taste. Slaathara was right. It had the consistency of watery instant oatmeal, but the stuff had hardly any flavor; which kind of made it hard to swallow. She took a sip from the cup to wash it down. She was correct. It was water and it tasted metallic.

With food in her stomach, Trisha started to feel drowsy again. She leaned against the bars and let herself drift. Ideas flitted through her brain; half-baked plans for escape, but nothing could be done until she knew that Clarence was okay.

A low moan wafted up from the stone floor next to her. Well, speak of the devil. Trisha scooted over to Clarence’s bars.

“Clarence?” she murmured. “Hey…try to take it easy. I think you were hit over the head.”

The moaning shifted to a sharp hiss when Clarence shifted his head and tried to sit up.

“You might want to go slow so you don’t…” Trisha’s words were cut off by a gargling heave and a wet splatter. “…barf,” she finished lamely. After all of the throwing up he had done on Upooa’s ship before they jumped, she was surprised he had anything left.

Clarence wobbled away from where he had thrown up and slumped against the bars adjoining their cells. Trisha picked up her cup of water and passed it through to Clarence.

“Here,” she said holding the cup just far enough from Clarence that he wouldn’t shake it out of her hand if he fell over. “I saved you some water.”

Groggily, Clarence tried to lift his hands to the cup, but they were shaking too much. Trisha shifted the cup through the bars so it was closer to his face and helped him take a few sips. His eyes didn’t look like they tracked right and it worried her. Oh, boy. She put the cup down and stood.

“Digger, I think it’s time we…” A menacing growl interrupted her.

“Witch,” Upooa snarled. In the gloomy corner of the far cell, Trisha could just make out Captain Greenie struggling against his bonds. “Release me, you foul she demon!”

“Seriously?” she barked. “Just take…”

“I said release me,” he growled again, practically gnashing his teeth in the air.

“Dude, you need…”

“What have you done with my men? My ship? I will twist your head…”

Upooa’s words got lost in a buzzing haze as Trisha’s anger surged within her. All of it, everything; the stupid gem, the rides through chaos, the strange worlds, the constant danger and frustration and Clarence getting hurt and her absolute ignorance of what in the hell was going on. It all bubbled and frothed inside her until it reached a staggering peak and then snap... she shrieked as long and as loud as she could.

The echoes of her scream hadn’t even died down before she poured every ounce of her remaining frustration into a spitting furious tirade directed at Upooa’s now stunned face.

“You colossally arrogant homicidal stupid green bastard!” she roared. “Look around you, you dumbass! Look around you.” She slammed her palm against one of the bars making her hand sting, but it almost felt good. “We are all locked up. Would I be locked up in here with you, asshole, if I had a hand in this? I…am not…A WITCH!” she shrieked at him so hard it hurt her throat.

She glared at him as hard as she could and ground out, “There are no witches here.”

She heard Slaathara clear her throat a little and say, “Well, actually…”

Trisha dropped her head against the bars and muttered, “You have got to be shitting me.”

Digger dropped his head and started shaking it slowly; a low rusty chuckle rolling out of his mouth that spoke volumes.

She twisted her head and gave Slaathara her dirtiest look. The blue lizard shrugged her shoulders uncomfortably and pressed her fingertips together.

“We, ah, aren’t typically called witches,” Slaathara muttered. “The correct nomenclature is wizard.”

Trisha gripped the bars and sank to the ground. Digger’s low laughter had morphed into nothing more than a spastic shaking of the shoulders, like his mirth at the ridiculous nature of their situation had turned inward.

“There’s no such thing as magic,” she heard Clarence whisper into the near silence.

Slaathara’s eyes narrowed at Clarence and then she looked down her nose at Trisha. “If I were you, I would not let your small man speak about things he doesn’t know.”

Trisha snorted indelicately. “He’s not my man.”

Clarence sputtered weakly, “I was married…I mean, I am married…but not to her. To someone…” His voice trailed off and his head lolled over. Trisha scrambled to his side. He was still breathing, but he had passed out again.

“So, none of these men are yours?” Slaathara asked. Trisha looked over at her, about ready to ask if she was out of her mind, but she saw the genuine curiosity on the lizard’s face.

Trisha pressed her thumb into the space between her brows. She was getting the beginnings of what she was sure would be a colossal headache.

“All right, I’ll bite. Why do you think these guys are mine?” Trisha heard a growl issue from Upooa’s corner, but when she looked over his mouth was clamped tight and he was watching her intently with his glittering blue eyes.

Looking back, she saw Slaathara watching her just as intensely and then her eyes widened.

“Of course, of course,” she practically leaped; tapping her fingers together in a quick tattoo. “I should have remembered earlier. Yours is not a matriarchal society. Fascinating.”

“Fascinating. Yeah. Girl power, woo-hoo,” Trisha intoned, giving Slaathara a sarcastic thumbs up. Slaathara just looked at her in confusion. Trisha sighed. “What does ‘women being in charge instead of men’ have to do with you knowing magic?”

“Well, nothing, I suppose,” sputtered Slaathara. “I just found it…”

“If you have magic,” Digger’s soft drawl cut her off, “why haven’t you used it to get yourself out of here?”

“These cells are warded.” Digger just looked at Slaathara in his quiet way until she elaborated. “Magic cannot go past them or affect them.”

Digger nodded like it was what he suspected all along and continued to look at her with those beady dark eyes that made you feel like you were dinner on a raptor’s menu. Slaathara shifted uncomfortably. Finally, she mumbled, “And I don’t know the spells it would take to free me.”

Digger leaned back on his hands and announced, “She’s a thief.”

“I’m a wizard,” Slaathara snarled.

“And a thief,” Digger countered almost cheerfully.

Slaathara shot daggers at Digger, but she might as well have been blowing bubbles for all the effect it had on him. When she failed to get any reaction, she threw up her hands and hissed, “Fine! And a thief. I was working on becoming a wizard when I was betrayed and ended up here.”

Trisha was letting that sink in when Slaathara drooped to the ground and continued talking, almost to herself.

“I was betrayed,” she repeated, “by those I thought I could count on…my crew.” Slaathara stopped for a long moment. Trisha figured the lizard might be lost in her own thoughts when she started speaking again, her voice softer. “They weren’t my friends…not really…but we worked well together. I’ve been sitting here for days trying to figure out why they would turn on me, denying what I already knew.” She turned her face toward Trisha then and Trisha saw a fiery bitterness there. “They betrayed me for a hope,” she spat. “Nothing more than a tunnel dream sold by people who would sell them out as easily as they sold me. They didn’t even sell me out for money.” Slaathara’s shoulders slumped down further. “That, at least, I could understand.”

Trisha looked over to Digger with a look that asked if he knew what the lizard was talking about. Digger just shook his head a fraction and shrugged his shoulders.

“Um…” Trisha struggled to find something to say. Finally, she latched onto a question that kept running to the front of her brain. “How do you know they betrayed you? You’re a thief. Maybe your luck just ran out.”

Slaathara put her head in her hands and looked at the floor. “They were on a job with me. I was the only one taken. It was like they knew exactly where I was. Everyone else had just melted away like moon dew. There wasn’t any warning, no shouting or any sign of struggle. They were just gone…like they knew. Like they left the door open for the guard and just disappeared.”

Slaathara’s face came up, almost like she was pleading with Trisha. “And the really confounding thing is that I knew it was going to happen and I went anyway. I knew Jewna had hatched something with Karmellia and I went anyway.” At the look of confusion that Trisha sent her way, Slaathara clarified. “Jewna is the leader of the Osals; the gang from my level. Karmellia is the head of the gang on the level above us. My guess is that Jewna finally considered me too big a threat and convinced Karmellia to help take me out. And my second guess is that she somehow convinced Karmellia that I probably had power to spare. That would be the only reason that she would go along with something like this rather than tell Jewna to take care of her own problem.”

Trisha was trying to look like all of this made sense, but she obviously failed because Slaathara sat back with a sigh.

“I know you don’t understand,” she said with a small shake of her head. “I’m not even sure why you are trying.”

Digger’s soft drawl issued from his cell. “The way I see it, we don’t have much better to do at the moment. Besides,” he smiled slightly, “we might just learn a thing or two about this place.”

Slaathara eyed them closely for a moment. “Yes. You are a strange lot. Where did you come from? Surely you are not from the surface.”

“The surface?” Trisha knew they were in a cavern, but the way Slaathara talked, it sounded like the surface might be like someone telling her on Earth that they hailed from Mars.

“You are in the subterranean world of Jellara; the Cavern of Life, to be more specific. I was always told no one could exist on the surface for long; that it was a desolate hellscape where no life could live. Of course, they could be lying to the lower classes to keep us down here.” Slaathara looked at them expectantly, like somehow, they might know the answers to life, the universe and everything.

Trisha looked helplessly at Digger again. He scrubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly.

“I don’t rightly know about hell, but we did come through a nasty piece of storm on a ship that got battered right good. I don’t suppose this hellscape of yours is a large body of water?”

Slaathara deflated. “No…no, it’s not. In fact, it’s supposed to be just the opposite.”

“Digger is right,” Trisha said. “We are strangers here and could use any information you could give us.”

“It’s not going to be of much use to you,” Slaathara said, the bitter bite back in her voice. “We’re not going anywhere that doesn’t lead to slavery or death.”

“We’ll see,” Trisha told her.

“Alright,” Slaathara said, eyeing her speculatively. “Like you, I obviously don’t have anything better to do.” She gave a sideways nod to Digger. “What is it you wish to know first?”

“The cavern,” Digger opted.

Slaathara pursed her lips and tapped her fingertips together in thought. “The surface gets too hot for any water to remain in liquid form as I learned in my studies. The sun stays suspended above the ground and bakes everything, so we live in the caverns below the ground.” She stopped to see if they were following her and then continued. “Our moon has an orbit that sweeps over the surface, getting heated by the sun until it passes through a huge chasm under the ground, passing light and heat to the caverns along the walls.”

“I think I get where this is going,” Trisha said, recalling some of her bits of grade school science. “And as the moon cools, it creates moisture.”

“Just so,” Slaathara commented, looking a bit surprised. “I have heard that on some levels it creates billows of clouds that pour drops of water onto the land. Mostly here we get persistent dew that slides down the walls into aquifers. I have also heard that there are rivers of water in some of the levels that come from cracks in the rock, but I have never seen them to know if that is true.”

“You have no ocean?” Everyone jumped as Upooa’s deep voice popped out of the corner of his cell. Trisha had forgotten that he was even there, let alone awake and listening.

Slaathara composed herself quickly. “I am not familiar with the term.”

There was a grunt from the dark corner. “It’s a large body of water. Big enough to hold a ship.”

Slaathara looked up, thinking. “Perhaps it is lakes that you are referring to. I have heard that some levels have large deposits of water that people can even bathe in. I am not sure about the ship.”

“It is true then,” Trisha could just hear Upooa murmur. “I am no longer on my world.”

“You all are from another land then.” She didn’t look surprised.

“Well,” Digger said, standing to his feet. “Not all our lands have large standin’ water like his.”

Slaathara startled. “So, you do not all come from the same place?”

Trisha twitched a thumb to herself and Clarence. “We come from a place called Earth. Digger comes from…” she paused for a second to recall the name of Digger’s world.

“N-Avia,” Digger supplied.

“Rogthun,” Upooa growled from his corner.

“And the League of Worlds has convened,” Trisha quipped. “The representatives may take their seats.” A strained silence met her words. Right…let’s keep the smartass comments to herself.

“So how did you all end up here?” Slaathara said, still eyeing Trisha oddly.

Trisha and Digger seemed to have the same idea at the same time. They looked at each other for a long moment and then Digger gave her a brief nod. Ok…here goes everything.

“We were brought here by this strange stone I found.” She spit the words out rather fast and then clamped her mouth shut like she just said something that might explode.

“I knew sorcery was involved,” Upooa hissed.

“Oh, will you just stop,” Trisha barked at him. “Do you want to hear the whole truth or do you want to keep spouting off about your hocus pocus witch shit?”

Though he was still glaring, Upooa actually smirked at her. What? Maybe the guy had gotten hit with too much whammy juice. He was clearly not firing on all pistons.

Pulling her eyes away, she started to relay the whole messy story from the beginning. Halfway through, Clarence came to again and yelped in a slurred voice that she should not be telling the criminal element about the stone. Trisha just handed him her cup of water and continued.

When she was done, everyone sat for a while pondering what she had said.

“So, this blackness is searching for you?” Slaathara asked.

“For the gemstone, at least,” Trisha remarked. “I don’t know if we are on the radar or not. Either way, those guards of yours must have taken the gem because I don’t have it anymore.” The emptiness in her pocket left her with a nasty panicky feeling in the pit of her stomach. She throttled it down. She refused to believe that they were stuck here.

“And this gem can take you anywhere?” Slaathara pressed.

“Like I said, I can’t steer it, but, yes, it could probably take us out of here. I wouldn’t want to try it underground though. Plus, we don’t really know what triggers it to work.”

“Touch,” Clarence panted next to her, holding his head in his hands. He really didn’t look good. “I have been thinking. Two or more people have to touch it at the same time, then…” He swooped his hand out like a plane taking off.

“I think he’s right,” Digger said. “I’ve been ponderin’ it a bit myself. Seems like the two times I’ve been sucked into that thing, we’ve all been hangin’ onto you or touchin’ that piece of rock.”

It made sense; however, Trisha felt a flash of annoyance. Somehow, she felt like she should be the one to figure out the riddle of the gemstone since she was the one who found it. She shook her head, suddenly feeling like a prat. Nice going. How about we throw a tantrum for good measure?

“Ok, so we think we know how it works. Now, all we have to do…”

“…is get it back,” Digger finished for her.

Trisha looked around the room and studied the lock on her cell. It looked pretty basic. She wove her fingers together and stretched them away from her, a couple of her knuckles popped loudly in the quiet room.

“Slaathara, do they have anything in here that would allow them to see what we are doing without actually being in the room? Like cameras or something like it?”

Slaathara scrunched her forehead, thinking. “I’m not sure what cam-ras are but they wouldn’t waste the power it would take to constantly run a spell to watch us.”

“That’s what I needed to know,” Trisha replied. “Digger, I need your belt. Clarence, you too.”

Digger hesitated for a moment wondering what she was up to and then she saw it dawn on him. Slaathara, however, was quicker to pick up on her plans.

“Yes, Digger, toss your belt to me. I am closer.” Digger paused and steadied his gaze on the blue lizard. “I’m a thief remember,” Slaathara sniffed. “I know how to pick a lock.” Digger continued to look at her until she said flatly. “You don’t trust me.”

“I don’t trust you,” Digger said smoothly and finished pulling his belt from his trousers. With a calculated swing, he launched the belt toward Trisha’s cell where it caught on the horizontal bar and looped around it.

Trisha looked at him with admiration. “Nice,” she chuckled. Digger pretended to tip his hat at her.

She helped Clarence take his belt off. At first, she considered using the whole buckles to unlock her cell, but then decided she would have more control if she just used the prongs. It took her a while to pry the prongs loose. It took her less time to pick the lock on her cell.

Hustling over to Digger’s cell, it was mere moments before the lock gave a satisfying click and the door swung open.

“I’m going to need your help with Clarence. I don’t think he can walk on his own.”

“I’m going with you,” Slaathara ordered, crossing her arms and looking down her nose at them. Not with that attitude, Trisha wanted to say, but she had already decided she couldn’t leave the Rawg’Mai here, no matter how obnoxious she was. She was about to move over to Slaathara’s cell when Digger stepped in front of her.

“How many guards?” he asked, his voice quiet but dangerous.

Slaathara glared at him. “Not until you let me out of here.”

Digger continued to just stand there, like he was perfectly willing to stay rooted in that spot until the guards came in with breakfast in the morning. The battle of wills lasted only long enough for Slaathara to start shaking with rage.

“You’re a fool! You don’t know this world. I do,” she hissed at him. “I know a place where we can lay low for a while. I even have some medicinals that will help your friend,” she said, her voice getting desperate.

Digger just continued to look at her.

Finally, Slaathara’s shoulders slumped. “I think there’s only four, maybe less. When I goaded the guards, I was trying to find out how long the Level Leader would be gone because some of the guards leave early when she’s away.”

“You thought we could help you escape?” Digger asked, cocking his head.

“I hoped,” she emphasized with a disgruntled look. “The guards are uneducated fools. There was a chance you had skills or powers they didn’t know about. I took that chance.”

Digger nodded and stepped back so Trisha could work the lock. While she set the prongs, she asked Slaathara if she had any idea where they might be keeping their stuff.

“Probably the same room where they relieved me of my possessions,” she replied as she stepped from her cell. “Here,” she said, tugging a little on Trisha’s arm. “I know you have no cause to trust me, but I can help you. I have a place a couple of levels down that I don’t think anyone knows about. We should go there.”

Trisha just nodded. I mean, where else were they going to go? Slaathara appeared to find this satisfactory and stood back while Trisha worked at Clarence’s lock.

Unfortunately, Trisha was correct. Clarence was in bad shape and could hardly stand.

“Digger, I think we are going to have to carry him.”

“Then who’s gonna take care of the guards if it comes to a fight?” he eyed Slaathara dubiously.

“Me,” came a growl from Upooa’s cell.

Digger raised an eyebrow at Trisha. Evidently, this was to be her decision.

She went up to the bars of Upooa’s cell and frowned down at him. He gazed back at her with those menacing bright eyes and that stupid little smirk that he gave her earlier.

“Besides being a major pain in my ass, he’s really good at bashing peoples’ heads in,” she mused aloud as she stared him down. No one argued with her. “Ok, fine,” she said. “I will let you go, but the moment you mess with me, I will screech at you till your ears bleed and then Digger will kill you.” She knew it was a hollow threat, but it was the best she had. Upooa’s smirk got bigger.

“As you say, witch who is not a witch.”

“Whatever,” she muttered as she picked the lock. “Also, I’m saving your ass so you owe me,” she finished as she walked over to untie the ropes that bound him. They were really tight and it took her a while to work them loose. As Upooa rubbed the life back into his hands and arms, Trisha marched out of his cell and went to haul Clarence to his feet.

“Ok,” she huffed. “Let’s get this circus on the road.”

[ 27 ]

[World Region: A777D-B4983-567FA-AABD3-1267F3-8A8A8]

DIGGER looked at the latch of the door, feeling his lip curl slightly in scorn. It was a simple latch with no lock.

“It looks like they’re pretty confident that no one is gonna make a break for it,” he muttered.

“In my world,” Slaathara said softly, “there are very few who would try.”

He nodded toward the door. “Any idea what might be on the other side?”

“There’s a hallway that leads to the main intake room. I’m afraid there isn’t much cover unless the guards are in the side area I saw when I was brought in. It will be to the right of the hall when we come out.”

“Any rooms along the hall?”

Slaathara nodded. “I think they’re just more cell rooms. I found out that the room we are in is the only one that is warded. That is probably why we all ended up in the same place.”

Digger nodded again. Edging closer to the door, he grasped the latch and eased the door open a fraction. It scraped along the bottom with a noise that sounded unnaturally loud to his ears, but he knew from experience that if you weren’t listening for something in particular, you often missed the details. It wasn’t likely that the guards heard it.

Finally, the door was open enough for him to look through the gap. A hallway stretched before him that ended in an open room, just as Slaathara had said. And, most importantly, it was empty. He looked back at the rest of the group.

“Upooa and I will go first. The rest of you, stay along the right wall.”

Nobody argued so Digger leaned into the edge of the door to lift it a little and pushed it open far enough to let everyone out. They crept along the right wall, Slaathara helping Trisha with Clarence. A muted voice sounded from around the corner and Digger held his hand up to stop everyone. A low chuckle followed the first voice.

Digger motioned for everyone to stay where they were, then he skirted up to the edge of the wall. Lowering himself onto his belly, he peered around the corner to the right. Two guards, one with his back to Digger, were sitting at a small table playing what looked like some kind of game with markers. Digger pulled back and on silent feet, crept back to the others.

“There’s just two of ‘em,” he murmured, “but they both have those strange black sticks within arm’s reach.”

“I’d rather not get hit by those again, thank you very much,” Trisha whispered back.

Upooa nodded and rumbled under his breath, “We need a distraction.”

“I’ll head for the door,” Slaathara suggested softly. “They’ll chase me and you can take them out.”

“No,” Trisha whispered, shifting Clarence’s weight until it was all on Slaathara. The lizard stuck out her snout stubbornly as she grappled with the added bulk. Trisha stepped in front of her and muttered, “If you get knocked out, the rest of us won’t know where to go.”

Slaathara reluctantly agreed.

Upooa flattened against the edge of the wall and Digger took up position behind him. They both looked back at Trisha. She nodded, backed into the hall a bit, and then made a foot slapping charge down the hall. She skidded out past the entryway, gave a look to her right and gave a rather convincingly startled, “Oh, shit!” before taking off for the building’s exit on the left.

Her sudden appearance was met with a bellow and a clatter of chairs. Then other slapping feet were headed their way. Upooa tilted his ear toward the sound and then, with an almost bored look on his face, stuck out his arm and neatly clotheslined the first guard as she attempted to run past. Digger sprang past Upooa in a calculated leap and came down with his fist on the back of the neck of the other guard as she ran past. He followed through with the rest of his weight to bring the guard down and cracked his elbow into the guard’s temple to make sure she stayed down.

As he pulled himself to his feet, Digger heard a crunching pop behind him. He turned to see Upooa drop the guard’s head and wipe his hands on his trousers in distaste. He had broken the guard’s neck.

A twisting surge flowed through Digger’s guts. Anger, disgust and more complex feelings burned at the back of his throat.

“You killed her,” he growled in protest, piercing Upooa with hate filled eyes. Trisha had been returning from her short run to the door and Digger saw her face twist in surprise. He knew that surprise. He had seen it on many a bandits’ face. He had seen it on his brother’s face. It never occurred to them that calm and collected Digger could get riled.

Upooa looked at him quizzically and then answered with a negligent shrug of his shoulders. “She might have woken and come after us.” His casual response to taking a life only angered Digger more.

“Dead or tied up, when the next set of guards come round to relieve them, they’ll be comin’ after us anyway,” he spat. Trisha and Clarence were looking at him with expressions of concern and obvious discomfort. To distract himself, he slung his arms under the unconscious guard’s and started hauling her back toward the table. “Find me somethin’ to tie her up with,” he said.

He didn’t bother to look to see if anyone was following his order, but by the time he had swung the guard into one of the chairs, Upooa was handing him some rope and rags that he had scrounged up somewhere. Digger took them silently and began tying up the lizard.

It wasn’t so much that he disagreed with killing on principle; it’s what it brought out in him that burned his soul. There was something dark and clinical hidden within him; making killing as natural as breathing. Danger presented itself and Digger responded with brutal efficiency; no compassion, no remorse. To see that mirrored in someone like Upooa stuck in his craw. He had vowed to always keep himself in tight check. He had no idea what kind of man he would become if he ever let go of that rein. He could be Upooa…or worse.

When he was done tying up the guard, he looked up to see that someone had put Clarence into one of the other chairs near the table. He was resting his head on his arms. He didn’t know Clarence very well, but a scalding line of worry ran through him. How was it that he could feel nothing when he killed a man, but feel concern for a companion, he would never know.

Slaathara was coming back from the dead guard with a small ring of keys in her hand…and a pair of boots. She tossed them to him and he snatched them out of the air.

“You won’t get far in my world without shoes.” The lizard was blunt, but Digger had to grudgingly admit that she was correct. He felt a surge of disgust at having just robbed the dead, but he pulled the boots on anyway. They were too wide for his narrow feet and a bit too short at the toes, the soles stiff and worn in places, but they would have to do.

“Our belongings should be in that room,” Slaathara gestured to the door behind Digger. A couple of key tries later, and she had the door open.

Trisha rushed into the room and he followed close behind, feeling the same urgency. They needed that strange stone if they ever hoped to leave this place. And, from what he could gather in the short time they had been here, this was not a place he wanted to stay.

A quick survey of the small table in the center of the room showed no sign of the gemstone, but Slaathara’s thief satchel and Clarence’s spectacles were there. By some unspoken agreement, Trisha took one set of shallow shelves on one wall and Digger took the other. After a few minutes of digging through an odd assortment of clothing, pouches and papers, he turned to Trisha with empty hands and a gnawing worry in his gut. Trisha looked like she had been slugged with despair.

“It’s not here,” she practically whispered, like saying the truth softer would somehow make it untrue.

“The stone?” Slaathara asked, spinning toward them. She had an old rucksack open before her and she had been placing some kind of rolled papers in the front pocket. She scrunched up her forehead. “I was afraid of that.”

“You knew it wouldn’t be here?” Digger asked, noting that in his growing disquiet, his voice was a lot terser than he intended.

“I didn’t know,” she countered with some asperity. “Again, I suspected. It stands to reason they wouldn’t keep potentially valuable magic items here. I have heard rumors of a lab on the next level up where they study magic items, but I don’t know where it is.”

Trisha looked at the lizard like she wanted to toss her under the hooves of a stamping horse. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Ah, but,” Slaathara added, lifting a finger in a placating gesture, “I believe I know someone who does.”

“Right,” Trisha said, her frustration obvious. “The way things are going, I bet we’ll have to fight a whole damn army just to get to them.”

“As much as I enjoy a good fight,” Upooa interrupted, strapping on the last of his arsenal of knives, “We must leave. The longer we stay, the better the chance that we will be apprehended again.”

“The Orc is correct,” Slaathara admitted. “We will find the stone; I promise you that, but we must first get to a place where we can lay low and make plans.”

Digger still wasn’t sure if he could trust their lizard companion, but her logic was sound. He took a cue from their former green captain and found himself a serviceable knife and a belt to hold it. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Trisha doing the same, grim-faced but determined.

When they emerged from the room, Upooa was stoically sweeping what food he could find into the satchel that Slaathara had commandeered, while she was rifling through a set of cupboards to the right of the storage room.

“Aren’t we supposed to be leaving,” Trisha asked Slaathara, walking over to Clarence to help him to his feet.

“No…I mean, yes, but don’t move your friend.”

Digger saw storm clouds descending on Trisha’s brow again.

“He will only slow us down,” Slaathara continued, then made a satisfied noise as she pulled out a leather case.

“We’re not leaving him.” Trisha’s scowl deepened.

“That’s not an option,” Digger seconded, feeling his dislike for the lizard growing.

Slaathara put the case on the table and opened the lid. It was filled with glass vials.

“I never said we should,” she sniffed in disdain, pulling out one vial after another and peering at the labels. Finally, she pulled the stopper on one and gave it a tentative sniff. With a grimace, she said, “Yes, that’s the one. You must give this to your dark man.”

“Clarence,” Clarence mumbled.

“Clarence,” Slaathara repeated and handed the vial to Trisha. “He must drink all of it.”

“What is it?” Trisha asked, wrinkling her nose at the pungent smell. Even from across the table, Digger caught the whiff of musty fermentation.

“It is Essence of Toadstool.” At their dubious expressions, she added. “It will help heal and revive him. It will not likely heal all of the damage, but it should be sufficient to allow him to walk under his own power.”

Trisha looked at Digger with questions in her eyes. Since he hadn’t the foggiest idea about such concoctions, he could only shrug and say, “Best to try it, I suspect. It will be difficult to manage carryin’ him.”

“Alright,” Trisha said, not sounding particularly convinced. “Clarence, you’re not going to like this.”

Without another word, Trisha pulled back Clarence’s head, pinched his nose and dumped the liquid in his gasping mouth. In almost the same motion, she dropped the vial and clamped her hand over his mouth so he wouldn’t spit anything out. It was clinically impressive, actually, and Digger cast a glance at Upooa who had approached the table in interest. He had a strange look on his face; a cross between fascination and a proud papa. Digger just couldn’t figure the guy out.

Clarence thrashed a bit, then swallowed and Trisha let go.

Everyone but Slaathara stared at him like he might explode.

After a few moments of sputtering and coughing, Clarence’s eyes began to look more focused, and his color wasn’t so gray. After a few moments more, he started to complain.

“That…was…foul!” he grimaced, shooting everyone a harassed look. “I cannot believe you forced me to drink something so vile!”

Digger was astounded by the dark man’s transformation. “That was…” he stumbled for the right word.

“Amazing,” Trisha breathed.

“Completely disgusting, you mean,” Clarence groused, coming to his feet. “I am…” Clarence started to bluster and then stopped as a look of astonishment crossed his face. “My headache is gone. I am not dizzy or…”

“Yes, yes,” Slaathara interrupted impatiently. “You feel better and we must go.”

No one argued although Upooa looked at the blue lizard like he half believed it would be better to slit her throat than follow her, but he shrugged on the satchel instead. Slaathara slung the strap of the potion case over her shoulder.

“We will take the service door,” she said.

They followed after her to the far side of the open room, Clarence regularly touching the side of his head. The large purple lump he had had was much reduced in size. Digger never put much stock in magic and cure-alls, but he couldn’t deny what was in front of his eyes. He wondered what other surprising tonics were in that case Slaathara held.

Slaathara paused at the door. “We will need to be as silent as possible. The guards regularly patrol this level.”

Digger gripped his knife, ready to fall on anyone outside the door, but it swung open on silent hinges into a narrow alley. Slaathara motioned in one direction, and they headed out into the town.

They travelled at a frustrating pace, scampering one minute, waiting in long tense silences in dark alcoves the next. Slaathara had a sixth sense about the guards, noticing them long before their footsteps or mumbled talking reached his ears. Every alley and back courtyard held a bolthole and the lizard seemed to know them all.

After about an hour of what seemed like constant backtracking and scurrying in circles, they finally made the cavern wall and a dark tunnel entrance. Slaathara paused at the opening and pried loose a handful of a mossy plant. She handed it to Clarence. He looked like he wanted to ask what it was, but she shook her head and raised a finger to her lips. She pried loose a handful for each of them. Digger noticed a pale glow against his hand. When they all had their moss, Slaathara ushered them into the tunnel. The glow of the moss appeared brighter in the gloom.

“Now then,” Slaathara said once they had all passed through the entrance to the tunnel. Her voice echoed louder than necessary in the confined space. “From here we will make our way to the travel chutes.”

Digger winced at the sound. “If you talk much louder, you’ll call the guards right to our position.”

“Oh, they won’t follow us in here,” she snorted. “This is an Unclean tunnel.”

“I wouldn’t think that the threat of gettin’ dirty would slow ‘em down much.” Digger glanced around the tunnel in the low light, trying to understand what would keep a soldier from barging in there after them.

Slaathara squinted at him, scowling, like she was trying to determine if he was making fun of her or not. Finally, she asked, “Do you not have people in your world that other people do not accept? That they find distasteful?”

“What? Like homeless people?” Trisha asked.

“Or people of color,” Clarence muttered.

“The Nameless,” Digger said flatly, remembering all too clearly the disgust he felt for those sad souls.

Upooa opened his mouth, but Trisha plowed over him before he could say a word.

“If you say “witches,” I’m gonna slug you,” she glared. Upooa looked at her blandly, but Digger could see his eyes wrinkle in a smile. Yep…the straw was definitely molding in his hay barn.

“I think you might have an idea of what I’m talking about,” Slaathara nodded “but I will explain it further on the way.”

She headed off down the tunnel and they trundled after; Upooa hunched over to avoid braining himself on the low ceiling.

“Jellara is essentially one big cavern,” Slaathara began, her voice echoing back to them. “Eons past, the moon carved out the great cavern. The side caverns, or levels as we call them, were either created when water wore away the softer minerals into the moon cavern or were mined by my ancestral brethren; although, most levels have been manually or magically expanded over time.” She paused for a moment to shift the potion case and lift up the moss in her hand. It glowed softly, peaking over her shoulder.

“This is moon moss,” she explained. “It gathers the heat and light of the moon as it passes and gives off light in the process. The more heat and light it absorbs, the longer and brighter it will glow.”

“The moon also sheds its light and heat as it travels through the great cavern. So, that means that the upper levels get the most heat and light. Each successive level gets less and less until you get to the lowest levels that live in almost perpetual darkness. That is where the Unclean live.”

“It’s like a caste system,” Trisha remarked, a trace of disgust marking her voice.

“I am not familiar with the term,” Slaathara’s voice echoed back amid their soft footfalls.

“It means that everyone has a place,” Trisha explained, disapproval clear in her voice now. “The caste you are born into is the caste you will be in for the rest of your life. You are treated according to your station; not for who you are. If you are born in a lower caste, you can’t work your way out of it. Can’t even really buy or marry your way out of it because you will always be treated like you are a lower-class citizen. You’re stuck.”

“Then that is precisely the right word for our social system in Jellara.” Slaathara sounded oddly pleased by Trisha’s description. “The Unclean are the lowest level, or caste as you say, in our society. Everything they touch or use is considered unclean. The only job they are considered worthy of doing is waste removal on each level above them. Each level has separate tunnels for only the Unclean. To enter an Unclean tunnel is to become Unclean yourself…and you are cast down among them.”

“So that means that we have all become Unclean?” Clarence asked a little nervously. Digger felt that Clarence was justified in his concern. If the Unclean were treated as poorly as the nameless in his world, they were in for a rough go.

“Just so,” Slaathara agreed. Her voice was much more subdued and Digger had to strain a little to hear her. “That is why the guards will not follow and why I am determined to retrieve your stone.” She stopped abruptly and swung around to face them.

“There are very few ways for my people to advance levels,” she said, pinning them with an intense gaze. “I thought I had found a way, but I was betrayed. There is nothing for me here.” Her voice became fierce. “I intend to leave this place and you are my means to do that. I would do anything to make that happen; even become Unclean.”

Slaathara spun on her heel and headed down the tunnel again.

“Still,” her voice wafted back to them, “it is best that you tell no one you have been here.”

Long minutes stretched out and collected in relative silence thereafter. There was nothing but the muted crunch of their footfalls and the soft glow of the moss. In what Digger figured was close to half an hour, they emerged into a hollowed-out cavern with a circular pit in the middle. Wide netting spread from floor to ceiling on two sides of the pit and a metal rack stood off to the side that carried an odd assortment of long handled hooks. Lanterns hung from poles near the edge of the pit giving off a muted light. Digger couldn’t figure out what fuel they were using. It didn’t look like anything he had seen before.

Slaathara stepped to the edge and gestured down. Digger followed the motion of her hand. What he thought was a pit was, in fact, a channel so deep that it disappeared into the distance.

“This is a travel chute,” she said. “It will allow us to travel up and down within the cavern system. The next one down is where I grew up.” She motioned to the ceiling and Digger realized that there was another hole positioned above. “That will lead up to another level. I wouldn’t advise going that way. Anyone without a Level Pass on the upper levels is usually arrested on sight.”

“You want us to go down there?” Clarence asked. The dark human was looking a little gray again.

“Just so,” Slaathara nodded.

“Oh, no!” Clarence shook his head and scooted back nervously, bumping into Upooa.

Slaathara looked down her nose at him. “The travel tunnels are regularly patrolled. The travel chutes are not.”

“Could that be because the soldiers refuse to jump into a deep black hole of death?” Clarence spat.

Again, Digger didn’t think Clarence was shooting off the mark. The idea of plunging down into the blackness below made his stomach twist, but he didn’t know if they had many options.

“How does this work exactly?” he asked.

Slaathara walked to the rack and picked up a hook. It was slightly taller than she was.

“The travel chutes work the same way the grand cavern does. Anything within them travels along the chute until you pull yourself out or are pulled out. Each exit has these nets on the side,” Slaathara said, gesturing to the nets Digger saw earlier. “You use your hook to snag the net to pull yourself out and to push yourself away from the chute walls if you get too close to them.”

Digger glanced around at the rest of the group. Did they think this sounded as crazy as he thought it did? Trisha’s look of disbelief was enough. Clarence was right. He was pretty sure they were all going to die.

“So, uh…” he cleared his throat a little. “What keeps us from splattin’ if we happen to miss our stop?”

Slaathara gave them an exasperated look. “It’s not like this is freefalling from the cavern ceiling. Chute travel is fast but it maintains a steady speed; about as fast as you can run. You simply step off to go down and jump up from the ledge to go up. The chutes do the rest.”

“That makes no sense,” Clarence mumbled.

“Nothing has since we left our world,” Trisha countered. “OK, so no splat. Which level are we going to?”

“You will need to exit at the second level landing down from here,” Slaathara answered. “The next level is where my gang…well, ex-gang now, I suppose…lives. My hideout is the level after that. Just be sure that you don’t miss it. There are nets farther down that stretch across the chute and you will be trapped there until you can hail someone to haul you out from the level above. This chute isn’t used much so that could be days or even weeks.”

She handed out a hook to each of them and stepped to the ledge. “Just do what I do.” She tucked her moss into a pocket of her tunic, hoisted her satchel and hook and simply stepped off the ledge. She was gone in an instant.

Digger swallowed hard. He wasn’t one to be afraid of heights, but this was a whole other breed of horse.

Trisha looked at him for a second and then rolled her shoulders like she was prepping for a fight. “Ok, then. Deep black hole of death it is. Come on, Clarence.”

Clarence pushed back into Upooa again, looking like he wanted to crawl under the green man’s tunic. “Oh, no! There is no way…”

Before he could say anything more, Upooa snagged him around the waist, took one long step and simply fell into the hole. Clarence’s wail echoed through the chute, rapidly fading as they fell.

Trisha let out a whoosh of air and stared into the hole. “Well, I guess that’s one way to do it,” she said weakly. She glanced back at him. “So-o-o?…”

“Oh, by all means…ladies first,” he said with a smirk.

Trisha snorted. “I thought they only used that line in my world.” Without another word, she stepped forward and dropped from view.

Digger looked at the glowing moss in one hand and the hook in the other. “Well, shit,” he said, then stuffed the moss in his pocket and plunged into the deep black hole of death.

[ 28 ]

[World Region: 2A765-38BC7-FF433-77432-A2D345-275E4]

THE world was dim and smelled like burnt fur and scorched metal. That was the world he belonged to now. He needed to wake up, move, but his heart wasn’t in it anymore. He let the surface of consciousness drift away and smelled sweat; sweat and, oddly, pine.

His vision slowly cleared. Of course. They were in the ready room. Panels scrolled information in a steady stream. Control stations whirred and clicked in an almost soothing background hum. A soft swirl of pine scented air brushed in from the open doorway.

“You with us, Lem?”

Lem gave General Jaccaron a grim smile. “Just feel like I’ve got something on my mind.”

Scattered groans of soft laughter rounded the room. He was sitting with the only remaining four people in the camp who had survived the cybernetic enhancements. The other three who had tested capable of handling the overhaul had died on the table. Lem was the only one who was able to bond with the neural net. It’s platinum external hard drive wrapped around his skull from the base of his right ear to where his head met his spine, providing, among other things, neural activated heads-up displays to his right eye.

Jaccaron tried to force a grin, but it emerged more like a pained grimace. He was looking at a group of dead men and everyone knew it.

With a rough cough, he turned to the vid screen and said, “Play.”

There was no code number or name; just ‘Play’.

Lem watched again as an inky black aperture appeared above the largest bio-dome of their world; the Omsra Nation…his home. The snaking tendrils of black lightning snapped and crackled as it touched the top of the dome. Then the black hole disgorged an endless flow of dark ships. Some scattered to rendezvous at the other domes. The ones that stayed opened fire. Lasers and bombs fell in a blanket that almost completely obscured the enormous dome.

In mere moments, the dome was a pile of smoking rubble. Millions and millions of people gone in an eye blink.

“Stop play back,” Jaccaron said softly, freezing the image of smoking ruin. “You know what happens next. The enemy ships turn their attention to Portal Facility.” Jaccaron’s eyes swept the grim faces of everyone in the room. “What most of you don’t know is that the enemy didn’t blow up the facility…we did.”

There was a soft murmur to Lem’s right. He turned to see a look of disbelief on Topha’s face. His family had been in Omsra also.

As for Lem, he was surprised at the spurting sense of betrayal that pressed at the back of his throat like vomit. It was there in a flash and then buried under the weight of his numbing loss.

“Play ‘Kell Facility One’.” Jaccaron’s voice managed to sound firm and defeated at the same time.

Lem watched Kell’s frantic face appear on the screen.

“Colony Hope, this is Portal Facility. We are under attack! I repeat, we are under attack!” Kell switched the camera to a world matrix grid. “As you can see, every bio-dome, farm dome and manufacturing dome is under attack. And they are headed here.”

Lem watched the red dots of the intruders making their way swiftly to the matrix area marked as Portal Facility.

Kell’s face returned to the screen. “I only have a few minutes. Portal Facility Sleep is initiated. I’m sending as many of the support staff through as I can before the countdown ends. Tell Lem, ‘I’m sorry.’”

The face of Lem’s best friend froze on the screen when Jaccaron paused playback. Lem stared at the determined visage, feeling proud and bereft. Oh, Kell! What a terrible decision that must have been for you.

“As you know,” Jaccaron said softly, “the facility blew up with the portal open. We lost a couple of good people on this side who were stationed as portal guards that day, but they managed to shut the portal down on our side; which, we believe, was Kell’s intent. If he had shut down the portal before the self-destruct, we would have no access to the portal on our side.”

“And the portal would be in the hands of the enemy,” Lem said.

“If it survived the blast, then yes,” Jaccaron agreed, looking at Lem. “When you figured out how to work the portal rods, every military unit sent reps for a top-secret meeting. You were there. You know what we discussed.”

Everyone in the room turned interested eyes toward Lem.

“We talked about a lot of things; the implications of what it would mean to use this tech,” he said, looking intently at his hands, rubbing his fleshed hand over the bio-metal casing of the other. That meeting seemed so long ago now, the implications mere conjecture rather than possibility. “There was one certainty…one truth.” He looked up. “We did not create this tech so; therefore, it belonged to someone else.”

“And that someone else might come looking for it.” Topha’s voice cut in, but he wasn’t really asking.

Lem nodded. “We set up a backup bunker and put the Sleep protocol in place.”

Lem could almost hear the wheels turning in everyone’s heads. The questions and answers that he had bounced around in his head for the months and months he had worked on the project and the ultimate decision that he bore. It came down to one thing…his world had no other options.

“There is also something else.” Jaccaron turned back to the screen. “Play ‘Enemy Movement One’.”

The screen shifted back to another matrix screen. This one must have been within some of the information that Kell had tight beamed to them during his brief on-camera warning.

“I want you to take note of the time,” Jaccaron pointed out. “Watch what happens at six past, when the portal opens.”

The red dots that marked the enemy on the matrix hovered over the ruins of Omsra for a time. At precisely six past, when Kell opened the portal, the dots suddenly shifted and moved in coordinated positions toward the Portal Facility.

“They can detect the portal,” Lem said flatly. The weight he bore of guilt over the loss of his family, his friends, his world, pressed deeper. If he had never figured out how to activate the portal rods, their unknown enemy would never have found them. He tried to take solace in the more logical voice that told him that he never had a choice. It was either the portal or watch his world die a slow death. There was little comfort in logic, though, and he found he didn’t have the capacity to care.

After a moment to soak in the revelation, Tracton muttered, “That just took this mission from suicide to impossible.” He and the rest of his tactical unit looked even grimmer.

“I won’t lie to you; it just might.” Jaccaron sat down in a chair in front of them, resting his elbows on his knees, fingers laced together. “It has been six weeks since the attack,” Jaccaron continued, eyeing them earnestly. “Six weeks of unbearable loss and six weeks of waiting for an attack that hasn’t come. We could destroy the portal and the 838 of our people that are left can begin to rebuild our civilization.”

“If it wasn’t for the bunker,” Lem said dully.

“If it wasn’t for the bunker.”

“Our analysis of Kell’s information tells us that our enemy, whoever they are, likely didn’t attack Portal Facility first because it was built underground. We did that for safety reasons, but it looks like it also muddied up whatever signal the portal sends out when it is open. But once they had reached our world…”

“They could home in on the signal,” Tracton finished for him.

Jaccaron nodded. “By all military logic, they should have opened a portal and attacked us by now. The fact that they haven’t may mean they don’t have the ability to open a portal to this world without the portal coordinates…the portal coordinates that we have in the backup bunker mainframe.”

“And we can’t afford to just hope they won’t find it,” Lem added.

“So,” Jaccaron slapped his hands on his knees and stood up. “We have one shot.” He manually shifted the screen to a matrix of Portal Facility and the surrounding area.

“Surprise is the only thing we have in our favor,” he said, using a touch module to move markers on the screen. “The tactical unit is the decoy. Tracton, you will take your unit and cause as much havoc as you can as you head South toward Omsra.”

Jaccaron shifted the green markers toward the South and tapped in the blue markers for Lem’s team.

“Lem…you, Topha, Markey, and Rincor will head West toward the bunker. The distance is about 1,200 hectares through hostile territory and wasteland.”

Everyone was quiet for a moment, taking in how difficult it was going to be just to get to their destination, let alone get there in any shape to do what needed to be done.

“Lem…” Jaccaron said, “…we’ve given you everything we can. Your team is built to handle the rigors of the landscape and, hopefully, the enemies you might meet.” He eyed the four of them. “Get to the bunker. Lem, download any information you think might aid us and then wipe the mainframe. Markey, set up the energy loop and blow the facility.”

The four of them nodded. Jaccaron turned to Tracton’s tactical unit.

“If you find survivors, try to bring them with you but, remember, your main objective is to keep the enemy distracted.” Tracton nodded.

“If all goes according to plan…”

“Which it won’t,” Tracton cut in again and his team chuckled harshly.

“Which it won’t,” Jaccaron smiled sadly. “If it all goes according to plan,” he repeated, “all of you will be at the portal location 72 hours after go-time.”

He then looked at all of them with an intensity that bore into their skin. “I don’t know what will happen when we open that portal. They may be waiting for us. We hope that they are busy wrapping up their carnage and have let their guard down, but it is likely they will mow you down the moment you cross. Though unlikely, it’s possible they could glean the coordinates of our colony world from the open portal if they are close enough to it. We just don’t know.”

“But we have to try,” Lem said, surprised at the anger crawling in his voice.

Everyone nodded, some growling in the back of their throats.

Jaccaron waited for them to settle before he continued.

“We will open the portal only once to retrieve you. We plan to hold it open for one minute, but it will likely be less. If you are not ready to step across the horizon or there are enemies on the threshold, we will close it.” Jaccaron breathed deeply. “And it will never be opened again.”

Lem looked down at his hands again. It was so improbable that any of them would ever make it back home. He blinked, his eyes blurring. Home? When did he start thinking of this as home?

The world blurred more and he shook his head. Were the enhancements failing him already? Where was the smoke coming from?

His vision dimmed to a pinpoint of light and the smell of smoke got stronger. Right. He remembered now. He was in hell.

[ 29 ]

[World Region: A777D-B4983-567FA-AABD3-1267F3-8A8A8]

UPOOA was impressed. Clarence had a surprisingly large lung capacity despite his size. The small man had managed to sustain a shrilling wail through the first level of their fall before he took another breath. He’d make a decent barrellman. Upooa grinned at the idea of Clarence clinging to the crow’s nest and shrieking louder than the scream of an edge storm.

He sobered quickly, however. They had passed the first level and he needed to be on the lookout for the lights of the next level. He shifted the hook in his hand and tightened his hold on Clarence. The man’s wail raised an octave.

If he were brave enough to admit it, he would have told Clarence that he had grabbed him as a security of sorts. Fear came in all forms and Upooa had bested most of his, but he had never seen so much dark. He had never been in a place where, as Digger put it, darkness fell. He had never known night. This world, bordered on all sides by rock, was one endless night to him. And this hole…this hole was a blackness beyond nightmare. Clarence was a needed distraction.

The tunnel was rapidly growing lighter now. When they passed into the opening, Upooa swung the hook. His heart jumped into his throat when the hook grazed off a line of netting, but the hook snagged the next notch down and his heart made its way back to his chest. He and his lump of a companion jerked to an awkward halt and hung in place for a moment.

Clarence was making odd noises by this time. Upooa swung on the hook a couple of times and then flung Clarence toward the ledge. The man yelped in horror and then crashed in a coughing heap four or five feet from the edge. Slaathara scrambled over and half dragged him toward the wall of the chute cavern.

With practiced movements, Upooa crawled across the netting and dropped neatly on the ledge. He forced himself to stand there, looking hard into the darkness below.

He had just made up his mind to step away when he heard “Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit.” echoing out of the tunnel mouth. In seconds, Trisha emerged and, with a massive heave, latched her hook into the net and clung there.

For a moment Upooa thought he may have to go up there and fetch her down, but after a few shaky breaths, Trisha started to move along the netting. Her movements were jerky, but she was making determined progress. He looked at her fondly and then shook his head in irritation. The girl was a distraction.

It was then that the bird-man made his appearance. With a deft twist of his wrist, Digger latched his hook and swung toward the ledge. At the last moment, he flicked the hook free, somersaulted once in the air and came down in a light crouch a few feet from the ledge. If Upooa had been a different person, he might have applauded.

“Show off,” Trisha griped, looking like she was trying to get her sea-legs back as she walked to the hook stand. Digger gave her a mocking bow. Trisha just laughed.

Upooa did not know what to make of these people. If their stories were true, which it looked more and more like they were, then they had no cause to be so accommodating to each other. By all accounts, Upooa was only more of a stranger than they were by just a matter of days.

The blue lizard watched it all, looking down her long snout in a way that made Upooa’s tusks ache. He’d had his fill of that condescending gaze. That look always smelled of entitlement and cruelty…and magic. His lip curled up in a mocking snarl. He wouldn’t call her a witch…out loud.

Slaathara twisted her neck like his gaze made her itch. “We should get moving,” she muttered, hauling Clarence to his feet and foisting his weight onto Trisha who had come over to see how Clarence was faring. Clarence brushed off Trisha’s assistance and they all moved into the tunnel, their moss giving off a pitiful glow that had faded considerably since they entered these cursed dark tunnels.

“I wanted to thank you,” Trisha’s low voice popped up unexpectedly at his elbow as they walked. He almost brained himself on the low ceiling, but covered his confusion with a rough grunt. It was too dark to really see her face.

“Yes, I said ‘Thank you’,” Trisha repeated in a hushed voice, sounding irritated for reasons that escaped Upooa. “I appreciate you taking care of Clarence in the travel chute. I wasn’t sure how I was going to get him to go with me.”

Upooa grunted again, a creeping sense of familiarity was dribbling through his limbs.

“Aaand…” Trisha continued, managing to sound both annoyed and amused, “…this is where you say something like ‘You’re welcome’. That’s always a good option.”

Upooa halted so suddenly that Trisha tripped and cursed. Slaathara gave them both a hissing sound at the noise.

Upooa stood rooted as a memory crashed over him.

“I said ‘Thank you’, Da!” Iris told him, her four-year-old face fierce. “So, you’re supposed to say ‘You’re welcome!’”

Upooa laughed, squatting down to look her in the eyes.

“You are welcome,” he said earnestly, bopping her lightly on her nose with his finger. She scrunched up that adorable nose and threw her arms around his neck.

“You’re welcome,” Upooa murmured, half in memory, half to Trisha.

“Uh…ok…” Trisha said awkwardly. “I’ll…I’m gonna catch up with Digger and Clarence.”

Upooa only half heard her go. He stood there for a long time until the darkness pressing in on him overcame his reverie. With a lurch, he forced himself to move and then to run in a hunched gait, pounding away at the distance between him and the group. The thought of being left alone in the pitch with nothing but his memories threatened him with panic.

A strange reddish orange glowing blob emerged from around a corner and Upooa tripped in astonishment. Before he could stop his forward momentum, he heard Trisha quip, “I’d rather not be run over.” He brought himself up short, smacking his head on the rough ceiling again and growled out a hushed curse. He looked around through tearing eyes. There was no glowing blob, just Trisha with her fading moss.

Trisha chose to ignore his discomfort. “Slaathara says we will be turning off the main tunnel soon.”

She had waited for him.

A strange feeling squirmed through him. He now knew why she threw him off-guard. Trisha reminded him of his daughter; powerfully so.

They caught up with the others, but Upooa kept his own council about the glow he had seen. Clearly, the darkness was playing tricks on him.

Slaathara led them through a labyrinth of tunnels and alleys. The populations outside the main central towns of each level spread in an odd assortment of mini caverns. Slaathara knew where these little pockets of civilization were and went out of her way to avoid them.

This world made no sense. Upooa always knew where he was, always. When he was on the water, there would be nothing but the sky and the waves and he could tell you exactly where the floating islands were. You would have to lob off his head to get him to forget where his ship was in relation to the mainland, but here…here he was blind.

After what felt like hours, they came to a small door set in the stone of a short tunnel. Slaathara pulled a key from some hidden pocket in her boot and unlocked the door, ushering them inside.

If anything, it was even darker.

Upooa slipped to the right just inside the door and pressed himself against the wall. He heard the others more than saw them as they shuffled in the near total blackness, their moss no more than a smudge of blue-grey. Then, out of nowhere, the bloom of reddish orange color caught his eye. He stared as more of the red blooms sprouted at random places near him. He was about to shout a warning when there was a bump, a curse, a metal clatter and then a rasping click. Another click with a spark of light. And then there was a flame.

Upooa rubbed a shaking hand over his face and looked carefully around the room. The red smudges were gone. Maybe this strange world was making him mad. He reminded himself to breath.

The flame flared larger and Slaathara’s face glowed near the glass of a lamp. She lit the tip of a long metal rod and raised the tiny flame to the ceiling, where it ignited some material in a queer looking hanging bowl. The light from a bluish-green flame bounced off a reflective lid and the pale stone ceiling, abruptly brightening the entire room.

“That is seriously cool,” Trisha breathed.

“It is true that it burns cooler than the oil but, mark me, it would burn you if you tried to handle it,” said Slaathara as she started pulling things from the pack.

“That’s not…” Trisha started to say and then shifted gears. “Never mind. What is making the light?”

“It’s called ray bark,” the lizard said, still sorting things from the pack. “It’s not really bark, of course. Trees are much too precious. It is minerals, like boron, other materials, and moon moss pressed together into a brick that we use to heat and light our homes and cook our food. It gives off a steady heat with very little smoke.”

“Will you look at that,” exclaimed Clarence from the corner of the room. “Indoor plumbing!” He pointed ecstatically to a small alcove where water was pouring lightly from a spout into a small basin.

“I’ve been wondering how you guys took care of things like food and water,” Trisha said, moving to inspect the fountain.

“I’ve been wonderin’ how a thief can afford such fancy lodgin’” Digger said in his quiet way.

Upooa finally took a moment to look around in earnest. Now that he had his wits about him, he noticed how well-crafted the room was. Multiple shelves were carved into the walls, carrying an assortment of items from kitchen utensils to decorative pieces and folded linens. The table, where Slaathara was fussing over the pack, was made from a marbled stone slab set in a metal footed frame. A couple of metal stools were pushed underneath. A metal and stone stove butted up against one wall. A worn but comfortable looking padded wooden chair was set near one of the shelves; a small round metal table sat next to it. There was an archway on the far wall that led to another room. From Upooa’s vantage point, he could just make out the edge of another table and a carved alcove that looked somewhat like his bunk aboard ship.

Slaathara let out a rasp of exasperation. “I had thought we would eat and make plans, but I see I must still prove myself.”

Digger said nothing; just looked at the blue lizard with a long and steady gaze. Upooa was beginning to like this peculiar man. As a man of few words himself, Upooa could appreciate what a powerful tool silence could be. He moved to the comfortable looking wooden chair and settled in. It proved to be strategically placed to be able to watch the front door and the alcove. Upooa’s estimation of Slaathara edged up a notch. He leaned back and let everyone else fill in the blanks of this strange place.

Slaathara spared a moment to give Digger a glare and then started slapping down metal plates on the table.

“I didn’t steal this place; as if you could just steal someone’s home,” she snapped as she snatched up a large knife and began sawing hunks off the bread Upooa had stuffed in the pack back at the jail. “It was given to me.” Slaathara stopped abruptly, staring at them as if she was daring them to contradict her.

She turned back to the food, divvying up the bread on the plates and then quartering some cream-colored type of fruit. “This house was built by an old wizard that had lost favor with his peers and moved down to this level,” she continued as she worked. “It is permitted, but frowned upon and, as a consequence, he wasn’t allowed to bring his spells.” She slid the fruit onto the plates. “Which meant he wasn’t much of a wizard, but I didn’t care. When I found out there was a wizard on this level, I sought him out.” She gestured a little imperiously for everyone to gather up a plate and eat. Upooa stayed where he was.

Slaathara gathered up an assortment of metal and clay cups and began filling them at the fountain while Digger pulled in another stool from the other room.

“I convinced him to teach me the rudimentaries of magic,” she continued when she sat down. “And I ran errands for him.” Her snout dipped in a sad frown. “He was old and infirm when I met him. I don’t think he had anyone but me.” She paused for a long moment, lost in some memory, then shook her head and eyed them defiantly. “He gave me this place on his deathbed. I buried him in a cairn of rock at the end of an unused tunnel so that no one would know and come to take this place from me like they did my father’s home.”

An awkward silence followed her words. Trisha gathered up the spare plate and cup and absently handed them to Upooa. That strange tight feeling he felt in the tunnels welled up in his chest again and he held himself rigid, fearing any movement would break it free beyond his control. Trisha didn’t seem to notice, as she fiddled with the crumbs on her plate, lost in her own world.

“Where do you get your food?” Clarence asked, unfazed by the emotional tension of the room. He sniffed at a piece of fruit and took a tentative taste.

His words broke the mood.

“Food is shipped in from farming caves,” Slaathara said, seemingly glad at the change of subject. “However, no one but the condemned and the guards go to the farming caves. Only the farm guards return from them with the food shipments which are then purchased by the grocers and sold to the public. Water…” Slaathara motioned toward the small alcove basin, “is almost everywhere. The back of the caves are filled with huge aquifers that leak in springs toward the Cavern of Life.”

“Soldiers every which way you turn. Farm prisons and mine prisons and labor camps for children,” Digger listed quietly as he shook his head. “It’s a harsh world yeh live in, Slaathara. You won’t mind me sayin’ that I hope we won’t be stayin’ long.”

Slaathara’s eyes flashed but she didn’t disagree with him. “Not even my gang knew of this location, so we should be safe for a while.” She looked around the group, noticing what Upooa could feel in his gritty eyes and flagging attention. “I thought to make plans but it is obvious that we all could use some rest.”

No one argued as she scrounged up an assortment of blankets, quilts and other linens for bedding. Once again, Trisha took a moment to remember his silent form in the chair and offered him a blanket that he gladly accepted. Trisha insisted Clarence take the extra bed alcove in the other room, saying he still needed to recover from his head wound. Digger merely shrugged and straggled off to make a nest on the floor to sleep in.

Upooa nearly jumped up from his chair as Slaathara moved a rope attachment that dropped the lid over the overhead light. He couldn’t imagine trying to sleep in the absolute black. Slaathara saw him jerk in the chair and halted the descent of the lid, dimming the light but leaving a steady low glow. She studied him for a moment and then said softly to the others. “I think it best to leave a little light while we sleep. No sense in anyone harming themselves if they need to get up in the night.”

Again, no one argued and Upooa settled back into the chair. He sat for a long time pondering the strange situation he found himself in and the strange people who, almost unconsciously, treated him with a kindness he wasn’t sure was genuine. He rested his hand on one of his knives under the blanket, settled his head on the back of the chair and drifted off to sleep.

[ 30 ]

[World Region: A777D-B4983-567FA-AABD3-1267F3-8A8A8]

CLARENCE’S eyes popped open. Before he could make an injudicious squeal of terror, he clapped his hands over his mouth and lay for long moments breathing heavily through his nose.

He was not sure what had awakened him. He remembered clambering into the coffin-like stone bunk feeling like his head was stuffed full of old socks and then waking with a start moments later, his mind clear and, evidently, panicked. Soft snores and whistling breath were the only sounds he heard in this crypt that Slaathara called home.

After several long heart pounding moments, he decided that nothing leggy or slimy was going to pop out and chomp something he would rather not have chomped. He released his hands that were starting to cramp around his mouth. Massaging them ruefully, he looked out at the dimly lit room.

Slaathara had left a metal bowl of the remarkable ray bark burning on a long metal trestle table that was overflowing with odd implements and flotsam. Clarence gave a low sniff of derision. That looked like a perfect way to light a whole lot of stuff on fire; stuff like him, for instance.

He swung his legs out of the bunk and narrowly avoided braining himself on the low stone roof. Giving the bunk a brief sour look, he crept to the table intent on clearing more space around the bowl.

He got no further than the scroll that was unrolled on the table, weighted down on the corners with a random collection of stones and a bowl filled with some kind of crushed herb.

The symbols and words emerged from the page, begging him to read them.

“Thicken Air,” he murmured aloud as he read. “20 gold worth of a single powdered pale gemstone like Morganite, Aquamarine, Quartz, or Opal. Avoid Amblygonite, Beryllonite and Chessamere. Diamond provides superior results – Braided rope of spider silk, a hand width – 12 Ravensara leaves, dried…”

“I knew you had Wizard talent,” a silky voice whispered in his ear.

Clarence yelped and stumbled into Slaathara, who cursed as he scrambled away from her. Gauging from the mumbles in the other room, his outburst had woken the others. Why was everyone always sneaking up on him? If he really was a wizard, he would make everyone wear magical bells, starting with the smug lizard in front of him.

“What’s going on?” Trisha called out as she scrambled into the room, looking disheveled and turning accusing eyes on Clarence.

“Why are you looking at me?” Clarence groused. “She is the one who needs a lesson in personal space.”

“He’s a Wizard,” Slaathara said again, pointing to him in that condescending manner of hers.

“See,” Clarence exclaimed, throwing out his hands in a wild waving gesture in Slaathara’s direction. “She is completely demented!”

Trisha rubbed her hand wearily over her face and sighed, “Slaathara, I’m pretty sure that if Clarence was a Wizard, we’d all be turned into toads or spreadsheets by now.”

“He can read the scroll.” Again, the dumb lizard had that smug condescending look on her face that made him want to stomp on her tail.

“Anyone can read that scroll,” Clarence countered, “Provided that they have learned to read, of course. Go ahead, Trisha, show her.”

Trisha gave him a long look to which he nodded and jerked his head in the direction of the scroll. The girl sighed again and trudged to the table. She looked at the scroll for a protracted moment and then cocked her head to the side and looked some more.

“Well?” he blurted impatiently.

“I can read most of it,” she said, sounding a little unsure, “but it’s like reading a math book that I don’t understand. And all this stuff at the bottom is just random symbols.”

“What do you mean ‘random symbols’,” he said, stomping over. “It clearly says, ‘I call upon the powers of the…”

Slaathara suddenly slapped her hand over the scroll. “You must not recite the incantation aloud unless you have the proper ingredients. It may have unforeseen consequences.”

Clarence rolled his eyes so hard he felt like he sprained something. “You are certifiable! There is no such thing as Wizards or magic. I had a concussion when I heard you talk about magic, so I was a little too preoccupied to correct you as we were escaping. This is all just fairytales and hogwash!”

“Trisha’s little stone looks plenty magical to me,” came Digger’s soft voice. He was leaning against the archway with Upooa looming behind him.

“There are terrible witches on my world,” Upooa confirmed. “They control the weather and the seasons. And they hunt down the enemies of the empire with incantations that send flames and lightning from their fingertips.” He made a strange flick of his fingers. Clarence felt a shock of recognition. It was like one of the finger signs that he had seen to ward off evil in old illustrations regarding witches.

He rubbed his eyes in exasperation. This was nuts. Was everyone taken in by this nonsense? He turned pleadingly to Trisha. “Surely you do not believe this insanity?”

Trisha’s face fell into an expression of sympathy…and maybe pity. His stomach dropped. His one logical companion, however obnoxious she may be, was about to fail.

She fixed her eyes on him, clearly understanding what he was thinking. “Look, Clarence, nothing about any of this makes sense. A stone that transports people to other worlds? Sticks that shoot straps that trap you? Tunnels that defy the laws of gravity? If you can come up with a rational explanation that is not magic, then I am with you. But, right now, I’m going to have to go with the magic thing.”

Slaathara tapped the tips of her fingers together excitedly. “Two of us with Wizard talent will be an added benefit in our endeavor. We must start your training immediately.”

Clarence whirled on her, frustrated beyond bearing. “This is impossible,” he yelled. “I cannot possibly be a Wizard!”

A blue snout suddenly jutted in front of his nose. Slaathara’s crystalline eyes bore into his. “You resisted the Power Drain that felled your companions. The guards had to knock you unconscious with brute force. You. A pathetic strip of a man-thing was the last one conscious out of your formidable group. That is what latent Wizard talent can do for you.”

He blinked at her, unable to come up with anything to say. She pulled her snout back a fraction and cocked her head. “And the symbols called to you. I know they did. I could see it on your face. It’s power that calls to you.” Her mouth curved up in a knowing smile. “And you cannot tell me that a man such as you doesn’t crave power.”

Power? Him? Was it possible? For the briefest moment he allowed himself to imagine what the mantle of power would be like. No one would be able to push him around again! That woman at the dry cleaners…his wife…he felt the corner of his mouth twitch into a smile at the possibilities.

“It is as I thought,” Slaathara exhaled in satisfaction.

Clarence shook his head to clear his wandering thoughts. “Now wait a second. I did not agree to anything.”

“Then we shall make a pact now,” the lizard replied, crossing her arms and examining him. “Are you at least willing to give magic your best effort?” She leaned toward him again. “Even if, for no other reason, than to prove me wrong?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Clarence saw Trisha hide a smirk behind her hand. Upooa and Digger stared at him intently, waiting for his response. He was really wishing he had never gotten out of that bunk.

Long seconds dragged out while his stomach roiled and he looked around the room for an escape. The scroll almost shimmered on the table. His fingers itched to hold it in his hands. Something almost chimed within him.

“Oh, hell,” he sighed inwardly. “If everyone here is crazy, I will not know the difference if I go crazy along with them, will I.”

“We have a pact,” he blurted before he could change his mind, sticking out his hand toward Slaathara to seal the deal. She looked at his hand in confusion for a long moment and he finally pulled it back awkwardly. “I, uh, I mean I will give magic a try.”

“Then we shall begin.” The lizard clapped her hands once in excitement and bustled him toward the table.

Trisha made a reluctant sweep of her hands toward the other room. “So, I guess we’ll just…”

“I wouldn’t mind a lesson in magic,” Digger interrupted, peeling himself away from the archway, while Upooa shook his head in an emphatic ‘No.’

Clarence’s stomach clenched again. He did not want an audience.

“I do not think…”

“You will all learn,” Slaathara barreled over him. She sniffed and looked down her snout at them. “You are woefully uneducated in the ways of magic.” Upooa started to growl in disagreement, but she resolutely plowed over the sound. “Even if you have witnessed it before,” she said pointedly to him. “The more you know, the more you can find defenses against it.”

Upooa glowered. He didn’t enter the room but he didn’t leave his watchful perch by the archway either. Trisha and Digger eagerly found places around the table. Clarence groaned in defeat.

“Let us get this over with,” he mumbled.

Slaathara tapped her snout thoughtfully. “When you learn magic, it infuses the body of the learner,” she started explaining. “As long as they perform a quick spell meditation each day for each spell they have learned, the spells remain active in them. They are then ready to invoke the spell and, as long as the body has enough energy to power the spell, any learned spell can be released. For those with an innate Wizard talent, as is the case with Clarence and myself, we have an aptitude that will allow us to learn a spell faster and more completely than those without that aptitude.”

“If that is true,” Digger pondered aloud, looking at Trisha.

“Then anyone can learn a spell,” she finished for him, her expression intrigued. Clarence pressed the heels of his hands over his eyes. Trisha and Digger running around shooting off magic? The very thought made his eyeballs itch.

“Well, yes,” Slaathara admitted, although her mouth was clamped in a dismissive frown. “But those without the aptitude take much longer to learn and cannot make the spell perform nearly as well.” Slaathara waved her hand like the topic was finished, but gauging by Trisha and Digger’s avid expressions, she had not said nearly enough to dissuade them from the possibility of learning spells themselves. The lizard continued with her lecture on Magic 101.

“A Wizard’s power is finite. Your body,” Slaathara tapped Clarence’s shoulder lightly “only holds so much power. You will only be able to do small spells to start. But, the more you learn and train, the more of your power you will be able to tap into.”

“Also, the more the caster practices and learns about the internal methods of releasing a spell, the better the results of that spell.” She began to pace in front of them, tapping her fingers together in emphasis. “The trick is in the initial learning. This not only takes the spell in written form to learn, but requires the proper materials to perform the imbuing ceremonies. It is those materials that Clarence and I will need before we can learn our spells. The items we need are listed within the spells themselves.” She stopped in front of them, hands on her hips. “The problem is that the items we need are going to be very expensive. I know where they can be found, but I don’t have a tenth of the cash needed for one spell, let alone all of the spells I have collected.”

“How many do you have?” Trisha asked, a little too eagerly in Clarence’s opinion.

“Eight,” Slaathara said proudly, then suddenly narrowed her eyes at Trisha’s broad grin. “Four will be for me and four will be for Clarence,” she stated flatly.

“Now wait a minute,” Trisha objected. “If everyone can learn a spell, wouldn’t it be a good idea if we all learned at least one?”

Slaathara put her fingers to her temples and rubbed them vigorously. “This is why you must know more about magic,” she hissed. “You can’t read the arcane symbols. You would have to study Linguistics for months, if not years, before you could decipher the symbols clearly enough to even learn a spell, let alone invoke it without causing chaos.”

Trisha looked a little crestfallen. Digger had his head cocked in that way that said the gears in his brain were working overtime.

“Couldn’t you just tell us what the spell said?” he wondered. “You know, have us memorize what we need to know?”

“No,” Slaathara sniffed like the idea was preposterous. “Magic is used to create the scrolls. The magic in the scroll is what is infused in the caster when they learn the spell and study it each day. If I taught a spell to you like it was a song, without the scroll, there would be no power behind it. It would just be a bunch of pretty words.”

“So, it is just you and me then,” Clarence said, looking intently at the scroll. The symbols shimmered again. Wild thoughts burbled at the back of his brain. Magic was real? And he was one of the few who could wield it with confidence? Way in the back something whispered that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as useless as he secretly believed.

“I cannot believe I’m going to say this, but we need those materials,” he told them. “We’ll steal them if we have to.”

Slaathara’s grin turned positively feral. Dreadful lizard!

[ 31 ]

[World Region: A777D-B4983-567FA-AABD3-1267F3-8A8A8]

DIGGER took a moment to close his eyes and press his back against the door of Slaathara’s dwelling. His hands longed for the whorls and grooves of wood, but he felt the rivets and smooth surface of metal instead.

“You okay?” Trisha asked him quietly, stepping away from Clarence and Slaathara as they nattered over their haul from the latest raid.

He nodded briefly. “The walls just seem to be closin’ in a bit,” he replied. Trisha nodded like she understood and went back to helping Slaathara and Clarence sort the materials.

But, it was more than the fact that he hadn’t seen an open vista since they dropped into this place. Digger felt like he was losing himself.

They had spent an entire day planning a series of thefts to gather the materials needed for Clarence and Slaathara to begin learning their magical spells. He rolled his shoulders trying to get rid of the itchy feeling he felt between his shoulder blades. Every time they came back from a “job”, as Trisha called it, Digger felt the eerie feeling of a rifle’s crosshairs at his back. Logically he could piece together a good argument for what they were doing, but he knew without a doubt that it was wrong. He wondered if Sheriff Holding would hesitate to shoot him in the back as he ran if they were robbing a shop in Catcher Hollow. And, yet, he could think of no better options.

He, Digger Graves, was a wanted criminal in a foreign land. It just didn’t sit right no matter how he looked at it.

The worst of it was that he appeared to have a knack for this kind of life. He realized, with sobering clarity, that his training to catch criminals also trained him to be a better criminal. It was Digger who suggested that Slaathara remain as the lookout and decoy should they be discovered. Her knowledge of the tunnel system made it so that she was more likely to get away and make sure she wasn’t followed back to their hideout. She didn’t agree at first. She was a stubborn one, that one. But, when Clarence showed he could identify all of the herbs and such they needed, she reluctantly agreed. Digger was starting to appreciate the odd assortment of knowledge the small human possessed.

Much to his surprise, and probably everyone else’s, he quickly became the key organizer of their nightly raids. It didn’t take long for Trisha, Upooa, and Slaathara to take note of his suggestions. He couldn’t quite pin it down, but he just seemed to know the best way to get the most out of everyone’s skills. How his brother would hoot like a barn owl. The Laquaran who wanted nothing more than to spend his days crafting coffins was coaching a bunch of misfit thieves on the best ways to steal and avoid detection.

This night had been the last raid. Trisha was able to get them through the doors of each shop with no problems, her lock picking skills getting faster with each job. The only issue they had that night was a clever magical trap on one of the display cases. The damage Upooa took was largely superficial, mostly because he was built like a draft horse. Clarence did his best to bandage him up on the run. Along with the plant lore, the small human knew a surprising amount of knowledge of first aid. Trisha said it came from being a hypo-konder…or something like that. He reminded himself to ask her what that meant.

Slaathara stepped back from the table with a hum of satisfaction. Over the course of their planning, Digger had taken to calling the stuffy lizard ‘Blue’. Her name always tangled up on his tongue, coming out as a garbled mess. Blue was infinitely easier and the lizard, besides raising an eyebrow the first time he used it, looked silently pleased to have a nickname. At least, he thought ruefully, she didn’t appear to object to the name.

“We have everything. Clarence and I must now learn the spells without delay.” Slaathara looked at the others like a distracted schoolmarm. “This will take many hours and we will be in trances most of the time. We will only take small breaks to sleep and eat. It is important that we not be disturbed. Once we start, we cannot stop while we are learning and imbuing ourselves with the magic of each spell.” She tapped her fingers together nervously. “I’m afraid there won’t be much for you to do during this time, but I ask you to please watch over us.”

It suddenly struck him that this was the first time Slaathara would be learning spells as well. With all of her knowledge, he had forgotten that she was no more a wizard than Clarence at this point. Trisha must have caught onto this fact around the same time.

“Don’t worry,” she said, giving Slaathara and Clarence a reassuring grin. “Upooa and I are very good at making a lot of noise. Nothing’s getting past us without you knowing. And, believe me; with the big green meanie here and only one entrance, nothing’s getting past us.”

Upooa supplied a deep growl and a tusk filled grimace that raised the feathers on Digger’s neck. Far from reassured, he saw Clarence turn a shade of grey.

The small man practically squeaked as he made a wobbly turn into the other room, his arms laden with supplies. Slaathara scooped up the last of the materials and followed.

Trisha dropped onto one of the stools. “And, so we wait,” she said ruefully. “What I wouldn’t give for a charged phone and a solid internet connection… or a good book…hell, a bad book for that matter.”

Digger had no idea what an inter-net was, but Trisha’s comment struck on something that had been wriggling around the back of Digger’s head.

“Did it ever strike you as uncanny strange that we can talk to each other?” Upooa perked up a little at his comment, suddenly alert. Digger could almost see the thoughts swirling in Trisha’s head.

“I mean, how is it that you all know Lanquashin and the Northern dialect at that?” he pressed.

“It all sounds like English to me,” Trisha said. She looked over at Upooa.

“Rogthun,” the green man rumbled.

“Huh,” Trisha mused, absently tracing her finger over the table’s surface. “You know, I kept thinking that it was weird that I could read most things everywhere we went, but I was always too busy trying not to die to really sort it out.”

Digger nodded, but felt the soft twinge of shame. He had never learned to read. His apprenticeship to Sheriff Holding did not take on book learning. Neither did being a coffin maker or grave digger. It was something that Booker liked to bring up when they argued.

“Reading is for witches,” Upooa snorted, confirming Digger’s suspicion that the pirate probably didn’t have book learning either. Trisha narrowed her eyes at the Orc. “Which you are not,” he grinned.

The girl let out a long-suffering sigh and absently rubbed the front pocket of her faded pants. “It’s got to be that crazy stone.”

“So does it make us hear the words of our homeland or does it make us speak the words of wherever we land?”

“I don’t know,” Trisha admitted. “Maybe both?” She paused and then whispered, “We really have to get that back.” All three of them sat in silence. Since they still didn’t know exactly where the stone was, getting their hands on it again felt like the greatest long shot of Digger’s life.

With nothing better to do, he finally gathered up his bedding and started to make a nest up against the door. Trisha followed suit, setting herself up in her usual spot by the bookshelf.

“So, what’s a hypo-konder?” Digger mused as he worked.

Trisha looked up from her bedding and blinked, then barked a laugh that she quickly stifled with her hand.

“Hypo-chon-driac…It’s someone who constantly thinks they are sick with something serious, but there’s nothing physically wrong with them.”

Cocking his head in amusement, Digger grinned back at Trisha. “Suits our friend, I reckon.”

“How can such a puny man survive in your world?” Upooa asked, barely shifting in the chair he had claimed as his own the first night they arrived.

“What do you mean?” Trisha asked.

“On Rogthun, he would have been killed. Anyone weak does not survive.” Upooa shrugged. “It is the way of things.”

Digger figured it was likely the way of things in his land also. The sick and the weak or weak-willed often needed his grave services long before anyone else.

Trisha plopped herself onto her bedding cross-legged, looking like she had just been asked how to saddle a flapping bush wren.

“I’m not sure how to answer that,” she considered. “Our world is so different from both of yours. We rely on technology and devices that make our lives easier. Most of what we have created we did through science, but you might consider it magic.”

“Like what?” Digger asked intrigued by magic that wasn’t magic.

Trisha tapped her knee thoughtfully. “You have trains, right?” she asked him. When he nodded, she asked another. “Do they run on steam or another fuel?”

“Steam, but we have a fuel called iron rock to make the steam,” he replied.

“Okay, so you get the general idea of that kind of technology.”

“I don’t,” Upooa grumbled.

“Upooa, man, I’m just gonna have to get back to you,” she said rubbing her temples. “I hate to admit it, but Clarence could probably explain this stuff better. You’d probably want to punch him before he’s through though.”

Upooa grinned and settled back to wait his turn.

“So,” she exhaled, “my world took the idea of powering a machine to do something faster and better and expanded that to all kinds of things. A train is faster than walking or riding a horse, but it’s on rails so we made cars that use wheels so we could drive ourselves places trains can’t go. That invention’s a personal favorite,” she grinned to them both.

Trisha went on to tell them of fantastic inventions; like the ones that allowed people to fly through the sky at great speeds or travel under the water. There were things she called phones that allowed you to talk to someone in the next town or “halfway around the world”. Machines made clothes and helped produce food and medicines and much more. Digger thought it must be a marvelous but busy place.

“Your world is full of soft people,” Upooa threw out with a disapproving sneer. “Sounds like your machines do everything for you. A tough life makes for a tough people.”

“I can’t say you’re wrong,’ Trisha said. “But when you can blow up a whole city with the push of a button, I don’t think the size of your muscles is really your biggest concern.”

Upooa leveled her with a long gaze and then suddenly burst into a big booming laugh. He laughed even harder as Trisha tried to shush him for being too loud. The green man’s deep chortle soon had Digger and Trisha grinning like idiots. Digger wasn’t sure he would ever understand the strange tusked man, but there was no denying he had a sort of beefy charisma.

The next day, he and Trisha busied themselves with repairing Clarence’s spectacles using materials they had pilfered for the job. Trisha even made a strap that attached to the ear pieces to keep his spectacles in place. After that, they fell into an easy pattern of conversation and stillness, broken by intense periods of sparring where they gave up on the notion of being quiet.

Admittedly, the three of them were perhaps the most ill-suited for sitting still for any length of time. It wasn’t long before their pacing led to a discussion on fighting techniques, which naturally led to training. The hours and days seemed to pass more quickly. The quiet times were spent sharing tales of their worlds and differing points of view. Clarence and Slaathara put in brief appearances; seemingly oblivious to the noise that randomly rang out when the three of them took to enthusiastic scrapping.

The first time Clarence emerged, he had been holed up in what the three of them had named the “magic room” for about twelve hours. For someone who hadn’t slept or eaten in all that time, he had a surprising amount of giddy in his giddy-up. He ran into the main room shouting, “It works! It actually works. There is magic!” He waved his hand and the air in front of him blurred, making Digger’s skin crawl a little. When Clarence moved to the side, the blurred area stayed suspended in the air.

“You can make a kind of shield out of air,” he exclaimed breathlessly.

Upooa, keeping a wary eye on Clarence, got up slowly from his chair and tentatively pushed one of his daggers into the blurred air. “It’s thick,” he grunted with surprise. “Like syrup.”

“YES,” Clarence yelled in triumph, punching a fist in the air. He then snatched up some fruit and bread from the table and hurried back into the magic room.

“You know what this means,” Trisha sighed, testing the thickened air with her hand.

“The small man is a witch,” Upooa said flatly.

“That,” Trisha nodded. “And he’s going to be an even bigger pain in the ass now that he knows magic.”

Digger smiled as Upooa’s deep chuckle bounced off the walls.

[ 32 ]

[World Region: A777D-B4983-567FA-AABD3-1267F3-8A8A8]

THE travel chute was so dark that, even with the moon moss, Trisha more sensed the walls shooting past her rather than seeing them. She clutched her chute hook and strained to hear the clap of the clackers. Slaathara had pulled out a set of connected stone tubes that made a hollow clacking noise when they were clapped together. They produced a kind of echolocation to help find chute landings in the less traveled tunnels, especially ones with landings that weren’t well lit.

And this one was definitely not well lit.

In moments she heard the distant clap of the clackers and readied her hook. When the clacking reached its peak and she could see a bit of light, she flung her hook down and out snagging the net and halting her upward progress. She scrambled over to the ledge.

She could barely make out Clarence’s huddled form next to Upooa’s hulking one. Surprisingly, Clarence had asked to join Upooa in his jump, terrified that he might miss the net and end up who knows where. Even more surprising, Upooa agreed without a sarcastic word.

Clarence’s transformation from annoying know-it-all insurance adjuster to insufferable know-it-all wizard was basically complete. Mere moments after displaying a spell called Dust Spray; Clarence was arguing the finer points of the spell with Slaathara. For her part, Slaathara alternately looked proud, regretful, and murderous. Trisha grinned in the dim light. Slaathara was likely regretting that she ever mentioned magic to Clarence. Over the last two days, since coming out of their trances, the blue lizard looked more and more like she was a hairsbreadth from pounding Clarence into the floor.

As much as Trisha hated to admit it, learning magic gave Clarence a much-needed boost to his confidence. The guy always carried himself more like a whipped dog, switching between snarling and cowering. Unlike a dog though, Clarence didn’t inspire a lot of sympathy. And now that he knew he was a wizard? She shook her head. Nope, there was still no sympathy. In fact, she was solidly on Slaathara’s side and wished she could muzzle the man, but she had to admit that Clarence carried himself differently now. Almost like he was taller somehow. Power gave him confidence. She just hoped they wouldn’t live to regret unleashing that power.

Digger landed lightly next to her, looking pensive in the low gloom.

“You ready for this?” she murmured to him.

“Would it matter if I said ‘No’?” he said grimly.

She shook her head, but she doubted if her friend saw it. Over the course of their time together, the gawky bird man had proved to be a solid, level-headed force amid the chaos. She liked that. It also didn’t hurt that he kinda shared her warped sense of humor.

But lately his hawk-like gaze was set in a thousand-yard stare, battling some inner turmoil she couldn’t seem to penetrate. He had been like this ever since they made their plans to regain the stone.

Slaathara had announced that she knew of only one way to find out where the gemstone was located: getting the information out of the leader of her old group of thieves, The Osals. As she continued to inform them about Jewna and her gang, it became very obvious that just talking was not going to get them the information they needed. It was going to take deception, fighting, and even fickle luck. In fact, as she outlined their base and Digger started crafting a plan, it became more and more apparent that there was a high probability of a death or two or many by the time this was all over.

Trisha could see Upooa practically salivating over the prospect of crushing some heads together. She felt a splash of alarm that the idea of killing someone only kinda bothered her on some far-off academic level. Slaathara looked positively gleeful at the thought of wreaking havoc on the ones who betrayed her. Even Clarence looked excited at the notion of using his magic, even if it meant inflicting harm. Only Digger was pensive at the possibility of ending a life; grim and resigned, but plagued by what he obviously considered a regretful necessity.

As they trooped off without a word into the blackness of the tunnel, Trisha mulled over the changes she saw in their little group of crazies: Clarence, with his newfound confidence, Digger lost in some existential crisis, and Upooa acting like some amused, but barely housebroken guard dog. She wasn’t exempt either. A strange stirring excitement had her practically bouncing on her toes. It was like she was actually looking forward to the altercation ahead. The old Trisha, Earth Trisha, was screaming somewhere in the back of her head, warning her that this was wrong. A’Kyria Trisha was howling and putting on war paint.

“I’ve lost my fricken’ mind,” she sighed to herself. She chalked it up to being cooped up for so long in Slaathara’s little cave, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something within her had fundamentally shifted.

Slaathara finally signaled the party to halt just inside the tunnel entrance to the level city.

“Follow me closely as we enter the city,” Slaathara insisted softly, tapping her fingertips together to emphasize her words. Trisha noticed that her scaly companion had this particular tic when she was excited or nervous. Slaathara must have seen the direction of Trisha’s eyes because she suddenly looked self-conscious and folded her hands into fists at her sides. “When we get close to The Osal’s lair,” she continued, “we will stop out of sight so I can cast Ares’ Blessing on the weapons.”

She didn’t think they really needed this recap of the plans, but it seemed to make Slaathara feel better so she held her tongue. Upooa, on the other hand, let out a low grunting growl at the mention of enchanting their weapons. He had flat out refused to have magic cast anywhere near his person. Slaathara took it in stride, saying she wasn’t sure she could do more than two weapons anyway, so Trisha and Digger stepped up.

She fingered the nunchucks that hung in a makeshift pouch at her side. The pouch was to muffle any noise they might make. Seeing the tunnel clackers had sparked the idea to make a set. It took some trial and error (and some help from the others), but she managed to create some clumsy, but serviceable, nunchucks. And she felt a whole lot more confident using them than the array of knives; the only other weapons at their disposal.

They crept out of the tunnel into the deepening twilight of the passing moon. This level never got particularly light, but it was even darker in what passed for night in these depths. Quicker than Trisha anticipated, Slaathara halted them again. The blue lizard left them in the shadows while she dropped to her knees and peered around the corner of the building.

“As I thought,” she hissed. “There are two guards outside.” She looked to Upooa and Digger. “You can knock them out or kill them as required; we don’t need them.” Digger clamped his mouth tight, but gave her a curt nod. “Trisha, Clarence, and I will be right behind you to ensure they don’t block our entrance. Remember, I will point out who we need to keep alive so look to me.”

There were nods all around. By some unspoken signal, Digger and Trisha placed their weapons on the ground in front of Slaathara. She made some gestures over them, muttered something and touched each weapon in turn. They emitted a brief muted glow before returning to normal.

“That it?” Digger asked.

Slaathara looked unsure, but nodded. Trisha scooped up her nunchucks. She couldn’t sense any difference. She gave a mental shrug. There’s a first time for everything, I guess.

Clarence was practically dancing from foot to foot. “My turn?” he squeaked, a little louder than he should. Slaathara gave him an exasperated look. “Not until we get inside.”

“Right,” Clarence piped, his voice breaking a little. Trisha wasn’t sure if it was from excitement or anxiety, but neither reassured her. The guy was way too jumpy.

Slaathara looked at each one of them in turn, then said in her throaty voice, “Let’s go.”

Digger and Upooa suddenly released like some latch had been holding them back. They shot around the corner before Trisha could take a step forward. By the time she, Slaathara, and Clarence had rounded the corner, they were grappling with the two guards.

Her trio pelted past the two struggling pairs and crashed through the rather rickety door in a rush. As planned, she peeled off to the left of the door, while Clarence went right, parking himself near the wall and muttering his spell. Slaathara took the middle, leaving room for Digger and Upooa to join them.

The room froze in a weird tableau, like someone had hit pause on a movie. Everyone was caught in their actions of the last moment, but their faces were all turned towards the door, eyes wide and disbelieving. Before anyone could even register what was going on, the doorway darkened as Upooa’s bulk and then Digger’s slim frame slipped into the room.

Slaathara pointed to one of the larger lizards, who was lounging on an old, mangled sofa, and said, “Keep this one alive. The rest are fair game.”

Her words were like flame to gunpowder. The room ignited. Some of the smaller lizards screamed and ran in the opposite direction. The larger ones sprang over tables and chairs, grabbing whatever weapons lay at hand, shrieking in outrage as they charged the intruders.

Trisha spun her nunchucks at her side, marking the advance of a crazed green lizard waving a rather hefty looking long knife. She flicked her weapon, intending to give her opponent a good solid whack upside the head, and watched in disbelief as her attack dropped the lizard like a sack of stones at her feet. Before she could register what just happened, she was distracted by a high-pitched warbling howl of rage and fear. She turned just in time to see Clarence throw out his hand at two approaching lizards and a cloud of boiling sand erupt in their faces. The two shrieked and stumbled backwards, clawing at their eyes.

The room once again came to a gasping stop. Trisha’s eyes flashed over the space. Upooa was engaged with two opponents, looking like he was gleefully bleeding them to death one well-crafted slash at a time. Digger had just dropped his attacker. From the way he held his knife, he had done it with the handle. Slaathara was actively engaged in a staff fight with the lizard she had told them to keep alive.

But, they all paused when Clarence’s spell went off.

Jaws dropped and lizards who were working their way to join the fight slowly edged back. You could see the fear creasing their faces. This wasn’t an ordinary fight. Slaathara had brought magic with her.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Slaathara swept the feet out from under her opponent and pressed her staff to its throat.

“What’s going on?” a roaring hiss came from the back of the room. The few smaller lizards that were still trying to escape plastered themselves against the walls as a large reddish brown lizard with a sword stormed out of what looked like a hole in the back wall. The lizard stopped abruptly when she noticed Slaathara standing over one of her crew.

“Slaathara,” the red lizard snarled. Trisha almost winced at the amount of hate she managed to put into that one word.

“Jewna,” Slaathara said, her tone loaded with so much smugness that it positively dripped with satisfaction. Wow, this was better than TV!

“I have some questions for you, Jewna,” Slaathara continued, idly tapping her staff on the throat of the squirming lizard in front of her.

“You will get nothing from me,” Jewna said, launching herself at the blue lizard. She made it precisely three steps before Upooa stepped in from the side. With a swift underhand stab, he flicked his knife in and out of the red lizard’s side. As Jewna dropped to one knee, Upooa glanced at Slaathara. She nodded curtly. With a spin, Upooa moved behind her and slit her throat. Everyone barely breathed as the red body slipped almost gracefully to the floor.

Somehow, during the distraction, Upooa managed to dispatch his two opponents and make his way towards the back of the room. A quick glance revealed a trail of dead and wounded lizards marking Upooa’s path. She felt a little shudder of awe flick through her.

Slaathara crouched down to the green lizard at her feet. “It appears,” she hissed, “that I am now the leader of you fools. And, as leader, I demand answers to my questions.”

“Tell me, where do the guards keep unexplained artifacts they pull from prisoners?”

The prone reptile suddenly got a crafty look in her eyes. Slaathara narrowed hers and bent closer. “Don’t you dare tell me you don’t know or plan to lie to me in any way,” she growled, almost too softly to hear. Slaathara gestured her hands in a hypnotic pattern, muttering in a cadence with her motions. Her eyes flashed a glowing blue and her voice echoed darkly, “For I have magic and I will know.”

The green lizard cowered against the floor, her words tripping over themselves as she scrambled to give Slaathara what she wanted.

Trisha leaned back against the far wall, keeping an eye on those of the crew that were still alive and able. Slaathara’s hollow voice made the skin on her arms crawl. She had been told that, if their lizard wizard chose to use it, it was just a simple Divination spell that may or may not help them get some of the answers they needed. But, Trisha had to admit, it looked impressive as hell.

She glanced around at the terrified faces of the blue lizard’s old crew and then back at Slaathara. Her glowing eyes and hollow voice, mixed with her aggressive stance, made her look like some kind of demon. Yep, that was one lizard you didn’t want to cross. Trisha made a mental note: Never piss off Slaathara.

[ 33 ]

[World Region: A777D-B4983-567FA-AABD3-1267F3-8A8A8]

SHE wanted to howl in triumph, but Slaathara clamped her mouth in a fierce grin instead. Trying to talk through the effects of the Divination spell had left her a little dizzy with all of those future possibilities swimming before her eyes. It might have been a waste of power to use it, but there was no denying its effect. She chuckled under her breath and quickly led her hodgepodge crew through the city to the tunnel that would lead them to the next level up.

She was taking a bit of a risk using the Pla tunnel, but time wasn’t their friend. It wouldn’t take long before the remnants of the Osals picked up the pieces and sounded the alarm to Karmellia and whoever else would listen. Rifer was just as cunning as Jewna; it’s why she managed to stay second-in-command to Jewna for as long as she had. Rifer, like Jewna, wouldn’t hesitate to betray Slaathara. It mattered little that she was the current de facto ruler of the Osals.

No, they had no time to waste. Plus, to complicate matters further, once word got out that there were two unsanctioned wizards running about, every level in Jellara would pursue them until they were hunted down and killed.

Every level except one.

At that thought, Slaathara’s buoyant mood evaporated.

They entered the Pla tunnel, barely pausing to give Clarence a moment to collect himself. The small man had emptied the contents of his stomach as soon as they exited the Osal nest. Whether it was from the excitement, the use of magic, or the sight of the dead and wounded, Slaathara didn’t know or much care. If it wasn’t for his obvious proficiency in magic, she wouldn’t have hesitated to leave him behind long ago.

Slaathara cursed under her breath in frustration. Once they retrieved the gem, they would head to the level of the Unclean. She still found their plan preposterous, but Trisha and the others were adamant that attempting to “jump” underground carried too much risk and should only be considered as a last resort. This meant they must make their way to the surface.

This was so completely and utterly insane that Slaathara had trouble even grasping the scope of what they planned to undertake. She tried to tell them over and over again that the surface was a death trap, so inhospitable that they would have mere moments before succumbing to the elements. They assured her that a moment was all they needed.

She shook her head and continued moving. Clearly, she was just as insane as they were because here she was, executing a plan to get to the land outside Jellara.

The shortest route to the surface was through the upper levels, but Slaathara knew they would never make it past the gauntlet of guards and wizards that inhabited the upper realms. There were rumors you could reach the surface by going down and then up, following the natural tunnels running along the main moon shaft. It meant they must go down, through the level of the Unclean.

It also meant months and months of travel with no idea of what they might encounter or where they might find food and water to replenish their supplies. It was ludicrous.

They arrived at the travel chute and Slaathara handed out the chute hooks, telling them softly to get off at the next landing up. Without a word, they each jumped up into the chute. Even Clarence jumped on his own this time, looking pale and shaky but giving her a thumbs up before disappearing above.

Slaathara jumped last this time, watching the chute lighten as she rushed upward. How dark were the tunnels below the Unclean? She wasn’t one to be afraid of the dark. Most inhabitants of her world would scoff at the idea. But still…had any of the upper levels known the kind of persistent dark that was rumored to exist around the Unclean levels? She was so lost in contemplation, she nearly missed hooking the net on her first try. She berated herself for losing focus, but as she swung across to land on the ledge, another thought made her stumble.

The idea that, if they used the stone underground and her companions were correct, she could find herself fused to rock in some other world.

She shuddered. Ludicrous actually sounded appealing compared to that kind of death.

“You okay?” Trisha asked her, eyeing her with concern.

“Yes,” she said, exasperated with herself. “Just lost my footing.”

Trisha didn’t look convinced, but she nodded.

“Okay,” Slaathara said, trying to regain her equilibrium. “The building we are headed to is the one right next to the jail where we met.” That seemed so very long ago now. “It’s about midway through the hours since moon passing, so there won’t be many guards and we will have lower light, which is good. The bad news is the building also has barracks within it, so we could find ourselves surrounded by guards in a moment’s notice if we aren’t careful.”

“What about usin’ that spell of yours to tell us where the guards are?” Digger asked.

“I intend to,” she sniffed “but you have to understand that I only have so much power and the spell only lasts about 6 minutes at the level I know it.”

“And we may need her to use it more than once to just find the gem,” Trisha added, sounding tense.

Slaathara felt the same. Everything, her future and theirs, relied on them finding that stone. It was such a tiny thing to hold such importance.

“I will cast Divination again when we reach the door. Hopefully, I will be able to get a sense of where the stone and the guards are. If not,” she shrugged “we head in and I will see what I see.”

They moved quickly along the tunnel and emerged into the level city, eyes peeled for guards. She took a more direct route to the building than when they escaped the jail. She doubted anyone was looking for them…yet. Still, she kept to the back alleys and dark thoroughfares as much as possible.

When she rounded the last corner, she suddenly jerked back, pushing the others behind her. A guard, possibly leaving a shift, had emerged on the other side from another alley just as they were emerging from theirs. They waited in tense silence to see if they had been discovered, but the guard continued to the door of the barracks building without lifting his head, intent on his bunk and sleep. They breathed again after he had disappeared within.

“At least now we know I won’t have to pick the lock,” Trisha mumbled behind her. The guard had entered the building without using a key or having to declare himself to a posted guard. “This was good,” Slaathara thought with satisfaction. But their close call made her shift her plans.

“I think it would be best to cast the spell here,” she told them quietly. She didn’t wait for their response, just began the gestures and words. A tingling feeling grew in her fingers then flashed up her arms to her throat and then her eyes. When she looked at her companions, she saw a ghostly overlay of each of them.

“Let’s see what’s going to happen when we walk through that door,” she murmured, looking around the corner of the building. She saw the ghosts of themselves walking through the door and peer down a hallway, only sped up to a fraction of the time it would actually take. From there the ghosts shuddered and split off in several directions to many different fates. They would have to go inside to see the next steps more clearly.

“We make it in without being detected,” she said in a voice that sounded hollow even to her. “I can’t make out what’s next until we get inside.”

They hurried across the road and into the building, standing awkwardly inside the door, waiting for her to point the way. She focused on the doors along the hallway. A couple of possible scuffles with sleeping guards, but they didn’t find a storeroom, let alone the gemstone.

“It isn’t in any of these rooms,” she whispered. “We will have to look further.”

“The top floor would be easier to defend,” Digger murmured low. “Reckon we should start there.”

Slaathara just nodded and crept along the hallway to where it split in two directions, the others following quietly. She paused and directed the spell to take the hall to the left. She saw more rooms but no staircase. When she directed the spell to the right, the ghosts encountered two guards at the base of a set of stairs. She drew in her breath as the silent ghosts engaged with the guards with varying success.

Pulling back further, she motioned the others to gather in.

“There are two guards posted at the base of the stairs to the right,” she said as low as she could. “I am the only Rawg’Mai among us. This spell is almost played out, but I’m hoping with my glowing eyes I can convince them that I am a wizard come to inspect the latest artifacts they’ve confiscated…at least long enough to distract them while Upooa and Digger incapacitate them.”

The others merely nodded. Before she lost her nerve, she spun around and strode down the hallway like she owned the place.

The guards immediately stiffened as she approached confusion and wariness written all over their faces. She didn’t slow her stride, but moved confidently between them and stepped onto the first stair. One of the guards grabbed her elbow, objecting, “No one is allowed…”

She spun and hissed in her eerily hollow voice, “You dare touch a wizard on official business.”

The guard jerked her hand back alarmed. “We weren’t aware a visit was scheduled for tonight,” she stammered, her eyes flicking up to Slaathara’s glowing ones and then down to the ground.

Slaathara took another step up to force them to turn and look up at her. Her heart threatened to pound out of her chest, but she screwed her face into a disdainful sneer.

“So you felt it wise the put your hands on a wizard?” She kept her eyes focused on the guards, trying not to look as Digger and Upooa swept up the hall at a low run.

“We…we don’t see your crest,” stumbled the smaller guard.

“Ah, my crest,” Slaathara said knowingly and reached for one of the small satchels belted to her waist like she intended to pull out the wizard identification sigil. Before she could untie one of the small bags, she heard a simultaneous cracking thud and a gasping gargle. She looked up to find the two guards in a heap at the bottom of the stairs.

“We’re on borrowed time now,” Digger said, grim as he hogtied his unconscious guard. Upooa absently wiped his dagger on his guard’s tunic and picked up the sword that lay next to the body. He spun it a few times in a practiced manner, while Trisha and Clarence joined them.

“Should I stay here in case we get more company?” Upooa mumbled.

“We may have company upstairs, too,” Trisha whispered.

Slaathara felt the spell dissipate, leaving her slightly dizzy again. “Trisha’s correct,” she murmured, shaking her head to clear it. “We need to stick together.”

“Yeh gonna use that spell again?” Digger asked, looking up the stairs.

“Not yet,” she sighed. “At the top of the stairs. I’m sensing that I don’t have much power left. Clarence, you should be ready to cast your spell in case we meet anyone else.”

The little man grinned even though he studiously avoided looking at the fallen guards. He gave them a thumbs-up. She must ask him what that gesture meant.

Digger took the lead up the stairs cautioning them to hug the walls. They reached the landing without incident, but Slaathara couldn’t shake the feeling that they had simply been lucky…and luck never lasts. Taking a deep breath, she cast Divination, once again sending the ghosts of themselves down the hall.

“The three doors at the end of the hall look promising,” she echoed. “They are locked. No guards.”

They swung up the hallway, Trisha taking the lead, pulling out her lock-picking gear they had pilfered on one of their raids. By an unspoken signal, Upooa backed her up while Digger, Slaathara, and Clarence moved to another door opposite. She heard Trisha’s door softly snick open, but focused her ghosts on the door in front of her. Several moments passed while she watched the filmy versions of themselves rummage through the contents of the room beyond at an accelerated rate. Just as the ghostly images had finished searching, her spell suddenly dropped and the world swirled around her.

Moments later, she was looking up into Digger’s concerned face.

“You alright there, Blue?” he murmured, holding her awkwardly in his arms. “You turned white and then took a tumble.”

“Yes,” she whispered as she pulled herself to her feet. “The spell dropped before I was prepared.”

“So?” Clarence asked low. “Is it in there?”

“No.” She saw disappointment and a bit of panic cross his face. “And I don’t think I will be able to use the Divination spell again without risking unconsciousness.”

“It isn’t in this room either,” Trisha informed them. They all turned to the last door.

“It’s always the last place you look,” Clarence muttered. Trisha let out a soft snort of a laugh. Slaathara didn’t understand why these people, Trisha in particular, found so many things amusing.

Despite her oddly placed humor, Trisha was focused on the task at hand and had the door open in moments. Slaathara activated the spell lamps and they all looked around the room with grim faces.

Unlike the other two rooms, this one was a jumbled mess. Everything was haphazardly stuffed into wall nooks, onto shelves or piled on tables.

“What is all this?” Trisha breathed in exasperation.

“Looks like this is where they put unknown potential magic items,” Slaathara said in disgust. “The other rooms were catalogued by type and use.”

“How are we going to find it in here without Slaathara’s spell?” Clarence asked, panic making his voice break.

“We start lookin’,” Digger said, grabbing things off the nearest shelf.

“Be very careful of what you touch in here, though” Slaathara said, eyeing a pile of black rope dubiously. “The plant matter could be poisonous, or the items could be cursed.”

“Oh, this should be easy then,” Trisha muttered. Upooa grinned at her and started flicking items one by one onto the floor.

Soon they were all adding to the growing pile. Edging her way along the least cluttered wall, she bumped into Clarence who was looking through the wall nooks. “This is foxglove,” he burbled in excitement, holding up a packet of pressed herbs. “We could probably use this for a spell or something.”

“It’s likely we could pick up a few more material items for future spells in here, but we don’t have the time.” She watched as he nodded, but carefully tucked the packet into one of his satchels.

“Hey, guys,” Trisha’s voice came from behind a group of shelves. “I think I found something.”

They picked their way to the back of the room to find Trisha studying an ornate chest sitting by itself on a low table.

“Could the stone be in this?” she asked, squinting at the lock and then shrugging. “There’s only one way to find out.” She pulled out her picks and set to work. “Let’s hope you people don’t set things to explode when they are opened.”

Slaathara felt the scales on the back of her neck rise. “That is a very real possibility,” she admitted.

Trisha paused. “Maybe the rest of you should back up?”

Clarence scrambled around the shelf, she and Digger took a few steps back, and Upooa hovered over the chest like his bulk could somehow scare the chest into behaving.

“Look at us…the big green bomb squad,” Trisha said, sticking her tongue between her teeth as she returned to the chest lock. A soft click followed a few seconds later.

“Okay,” she exhaled. “So far no boom.” With her head tilted, she slowly opened the lid of the chest.

“Check it out,” Trisha gushed, throwing open the lid. “You won’t believe it, Clarence. It’s our phones!”

On top of a pile of assorted traditional gems and small metal contraptions sat two flat slabs of what looked like thin shiny stone; one black, one black with a red outer shell. When Trisha picked them up, Digger gasped in excitement. Underneath sat an egg sized milky stone. As Trisha reached out her hand to take it, muted facets of color began to flicker on its surface.

“We found it,” Clarence exclaimed from behind the shelves.

“And we found you!” sneered a voice behind them.

Slaathara whirled to see a group of guards entering the room and blocking the doorway. Clarence yelped out his incantation like he was screaming curses at the guards for startling him and threw out his hands. A roiling blast of sand rocketed out catching the first two guards squarely in the face. The spell nearly exploded in its release, dropping the two guards in a writhing heap as they tried to scour the sand from their eyes and mouths.

There was the briefest pause as the rest of the guards stood momentarily frozen in disbelief. Upooa didn’t hesitate. He took the straightest path to his foes, plowing over the set of shelves with sword in hand. Slaathara caught a glimpse of Digger diving into Clarence to knock him out of the way of the falling shelves before Upooa’s battle cry was met with the dull thunk of metal on flesh and a mortal cry of pain.

From that moment everything was a blur of desperate fighting interspersed with flashes of detail. She was fighting back a guard with her staff, but was interrupted by Clarence falling into her path. He threw up his hands and her opponent’s sword slowed in its downward arc. Digger slipped in with a stab to the guard’s lower back and slipped away just as fast. The guard fell into a heap at her feet. At one point, Upooa was howling in apparent delight as he drove back the guards from the doorway in a blur of sword slashes.

Then they were in the hallway, Trisha whirling her homemade weapon, catching one of the guards in a crushing blow to the head that left half her snout drooping onto her neck. At the landing, Digger launched himself over the crowd of guards onto the banister of the stairs. When half the guards turned to meet the threat at their flank, Upooa made a mad charge that knocked most of the guards down the stairs. Somehow, she, Trisha, and Clarence disabled the last two while Upooa and Digger dispatched the ones on the stairs.

Other guards straggled in; half dressed, but just as determined as their predecessors to stop their escape. Upooa plowed up one side of the hallway, his sword whirling in precise arcs. Digger took the other side, whipping in and out with strategic thrusts of his knives. She and Trisha thumped and bashed those that fell before they could recover; Clarence running up and back to throw dust into the mix.

And then they were at the door. And then through the door. And then they were running. They ran and ran until there was no sound of pursuit and the darkness of the Unclean tunnel swallowed them whole.

[ 34 ]

[World Region: 2A765-38BC7-FF433-77432-A2D345-275E4]

HIS mouth was dry. A bitter acrid taste coated his tongue and made it impossible to swallow. He was losing track of what was real and what was memory.

The landscape swooped and dipped in a rhythmic pattern that made him nauseous. He tried to wipe his eyes clear, but the movement made him stumble.

He was running.

Yes, that was it. He was running. Running in steady low leaping strides that ate up the hectares, his three other companions loping along with him like a pack of the hex wolves of old.

Impossibly, they had made it through the portal intact. Their new portal opened near the area of their original. The enemy had set up some kind of camp along the edges of a crater, which Lem realized, with a deep ache, was what was left of the facility. Even more impossible, Tracton’s team had charged in, causing so much damage and mayhem on the unsuspecting enemy forces around the new portal, even with mech suits that Lem’s people didn’t anticipate, that the enemy didn’t appear to see Lem’s team ghosting through their camp to the wasteland beyond. As the sounds of energy fire and explosions faded behind them, Lem’s systems indicated that no one was following them. He sent a brief electronic sound through their coms to signal they were clear and then wiped the channel clean.

From that moment forward, they would have no contact with the other team until they made it back to the portal.

If they made it back.

The hours slipped past without a sound but the rasping of their breathers. Caustic air swirled around their suits in sporadic pools of thin sulfurous vapors. Lem’s neural net fed him a steady stream of real time coordinates, information, and ground data. Occasionally, glowing yellow eyes and sharp-nosed snouts edged out of dark crevices in the rock formations, but scurried back after a narrow-beamed warning from their sonic blasters. The further they ran, the less their forward momentum was halted by a scramble for cover as Lem’s sensors detected approaching drones.

Their cyber enhanced bodies barely slowed, barely needed rest or nourishment. Or maybe they just didn’t care anymore. Lem thought it was probably the latter. The long hours passed and, despite the danger, Lem found himself pulling up memories like fuel to sustain him. Over and over, he recalled the feel of his wife’s skin, his daughter’s bright smile, Jerrita’s throaty, almost naughty laugh, Shalalla’s quirky way of hopping up to meet him after work; every little habit, mannerism or idiosyncrasy that made them the completely lovely, maddeningly beautiful people he loved. He wanted them etched into his soul when he died.

Thirty-two hours later, they crested the rise overlooking their destination. The backup bunker was built into the hills on the other side of the valley, the only entrance was a set of pneumatic doors powered by the natural gas pockets in the area, cleverly disguised to look like the surrounding rock.

“Rincor,” Lem called into his com. “Any sign?”

Moments ticked past before Rincor answered, “I don’t read any activity within the area.”

“Keep scanning the entire length of the valley as we cross,” Lem said. “It won’t give us time to find cover, but it will give us time to form up. Markey, get the pass sequence ready.”

“Already up,” Markey replied.

“Okay,” Lem breathed heavily. “By my calculations, we’ve got eight hours to get this done before we have to head back to make the rendezvous point on time.”

None of them said what he knew they were all thinking. In a fair world, eight hours was a lifetime to accomplish what they needed to do. Theirs was never a fair world.

On his signal, they sprang up and ran across the valley floor.

Lem half expected a blast of energy fire to lift him from his feet as he ran, but they made the doors without incident. Markey held his wrist com to the scanner underneath a small shelf of artificial rock. With a rumble, the doors opened in a rush of expelled air. In moments, they were in the airlock, cycling the outer doors closed and waiting for the main doors of the control center to open.

They were met with the low eerie green glow of panels on standby. They swept off their helmets and took a deep breath of the stale but clean air.

Markey moved toward the control panel to begin the process of powering up the facility, but Lem held out his arm to stall him. Markey cocked his head at him in question.

“Any chance we can get to the mainframe and power generator without powering up the whole place?” he asked.

Markey’s brow creased in thought. “We could get to the mainframe, but we would have to hack every security door on the way down. That’s gonna take time. Plus, I need full power to get the energy to feedback enough to go critical.”

Lem nodded. He’d expected as much.

“What are you thinkin’, Lem,” Topha asked quietly.

“I am thinking that the moment we power this place up…”

“They can find us,” Markey finished for him.

“So, we should plan for company,” Rincor said, gripping the hilt of one of the energy weapons at his belt.

Lem scrubbed his hand over his head in thought. “Okay, this is what we’re going to do. Markey, power up just the minimum you need to get our retinal scans into the system and get us down to the power generator. We’ll forget about downloading anything from the mainframe. We’ll just wipe it to make it harder for any information to survive the blast and then set up the overload.”

“You and Topha,” Lem nodded to Rincor, “will stay here and monitor the scanners. Let us know when our company arrives.” He gave them a feral grin. “And see what kind of surprises you can meet them with. Markey and I will join you when we have everything set.”

Markey’s hands flashed across the main panel. In moments, he moved to the retinal scanner next to the door and the panel shushed open.

Lem paused before crossing into the circular hallway beyond. “I don’t know if we will make it back up before…”

“We won’t wait,” Rincor assured him. “Neither of us want to disappoint our guests.” Topha growled in agreement.

Lem nodded. “On the other side,” he vowed to them.

“On the other side,” they replied.

The door hissed closed behind him, and he and Markey made their way down the long circular hallway that wound into the depths of the facility. Every level had another security door. There were twelve. When they reached eleven, Lem and Markey split up. Markey headed down to the last level to finish powering up the facility and start the destruction prep, while Lem plugged his neural net into the mainframe to scrub the system.

Several minutes later, sweat beaded his forehead as he cursed under his breath. Scrubbing the system wasn’t going to be as clear cut as he thought it was. He couldn’t just go in and wipe the entire thing. The systems were all tied together. If he deleted the wrong thing, he could paralyze the controls for the doors or lock Markey out of the generator panel. He truly wished that Markey had been capable of handling the neural net. He was so much better at navigating software.

Finally, he found the files that contained their research on the new world and any information that might lead someone to its location. He sent up a prayer that he had gotten everything.

“Lem,” Markey’s voice crackled over his com. “I’ve hit a snag.”

“I’m coming,” Lem told him, rushing to disconnect himself from the mainframe. He ran down the hallway, pushing himself through the doorway after the scanner granted him access.

A huge metal generator took up the entire center of the round room. Markey’s equipment lay hooked up to the control panel, but he was nowhere to be seen.

“Markey?” Lem called.

“Here,” came his muffled voice. A second later Markey emerged from one of the six alcoves that spoked off the main room. He gestured for Lem to follow him.

At the end of the alcove was a flow panel and large metal lever.

“It’s a manual dampener,” Markey said.

“Manual?” Lem asked, surprised.

“Yeah. I tried to bypass it before I realized that only the flow panel was hooked up to the system. It’s some kind of redundant safety measure. I tried to switch it manually myself, but it obviously requires a powered tool to flip. That’s when I thought of…” Markey looked pointedly at Lem’s cybernetic enhanced arm.

Without hesitation, Lem grabbed the lever and heaved upward. The rod slowly lifted. Lem strained, his arm and legs shaking despite the power enhancements as he kept up the pressure. The lever finally broke loose and snapped into the upward position, the flow panel switching from green to an ominous red.

“Wow,” Lem panted. “That was…”

“Captain Cotter,” Rincor’s voice interrupted him. “Our company has arrived.”

“Copy,” Lem breathed. “Markey’s on his way up. Do what you have to do to keep them out of the facility until it blows.”

“Our pleasure,” Topha snarled and then cut the com.

Markey rounded on Lem. “I’m not going anywhere until…”

“Markey…don’t,” Lem snapped. “Are these levers all that’s left?” Markey nodded. “Then, you are not needed, but you can be of help up top.”

“I have no idea how long you’ll have once you flip them all,” Markey said urgently.

“Does it matter?” Lem gave him a sad smile. “I promise you this: I have a burning desire to kill one of those bastards. I’m not done yet!”

Markey stared at him for a second then gave him a brief fist over heart salute before pelting to the door. Lem charged into the next alcove and started the whole process over again. Each lever got harder, rather than easier, taking up precious time. After the fourth, a system of alarms came online, blaring a klaxon wail that echoed through the round room.

Shaking and his vision blurring, he snapped up the last lever and stumbled to the door scanner. The door opened in slow motion, the hallway swirling like it was filled with smoke, but nothing was on fire. He shook his head to clear it, but the smoke pressed in. So, he ran and ran and ran…and the shriek of the alarms followed him into the shadows of his mind.

[ 35 ]

[World Region: A777D-B4983-567FA-AABD3-1267F3-8A8A8]

UPOOA watched Trisha carefully as their group trudged over the rough surface of the latest in a series of twisting tunnels that supposedly led to a village of the Unclean. Concern twisted his gut. The human girl was acting peculiar.

After they recovered the stone, they had rushed back to Slaathara’s home to gather the packs they had been assembling over the days before their attack. None of them knew how long it would take to reach the surface. Food and water could be scarce, so they planned as best they could.

Digger had been wounded in their battle with the guards, a deep gaping slice in his side. They had paused twice in their flight so Slaathara could cast her healing magic to slow the bleeding. Upooa did not think much of her skill in this regard. She made a poor witch. Clarence’s quick bandaging appeared to render more aid. Upooa had quietly covered up the trail of blood.

Once they were back in the cave, Slaathara gave Digger one of the mushroom potions. Upooa could still feel the way his gorge rose watching the wound nearly stitch itself together. It was unnatural. But, begrudgingly, he found himself more and more fascinated by these useful applications of magic.

While the rest of them gathered their things and Clarence bandaged up what remained of Digger’s wound, Upooa caught Trisha sorting the clean bandages and absorbent mosses with a thoughtful look. He watched out the corner of his eye as she followed Slaathara into the other room with the first aid supplies. There was some murmuring, and then Slaathara rolled down a thick curtain over the entryway.

Clarence huffed in exasperation and stalked over to the curtain saying, “We have no time to waste. The guards could be here…”

Trisha’s face peered around the curtain and her livid expression stopped the small man’s words. She motioned him closer and whispered harshly in his ear. Whatever she said left the dark man’s skin flushed a deep red and scurrying back to his pack.

After what seemed like a dangerously long time, considering their fugitive status, Trisha emerged wearing a change of clothes. She now wore trousers tucked into knee high quilted boots. A deep blue quilted vest was belted over a long sleeve tunic. She had re-braided her hair. Upooa found he quite liked the look of her in more conventional clothes. Her rather odd Earth clothes were wadded up in a bundle under her arm.

Trisha didn’t look at anyone as she hurried over to her pack saying, “We need to get moving.”

Since then, Upooa’s disquiet had grown. The chute Slaathara had planned to use had become unstable, with crumbling walls and no net. With few choices, they took the chance it would hold long enough to get them through. Trisha had come stumbling out of the chute pale and retching, although truth be told, he had barely maintained his guts after that terrible fall. But, even hours later, Trisha’s face still looked pinched and pale, though it was hard to tell in the infernal dark. Their moss was barely giving off a glow and they would have to resort to lanterns soon. He thought he detected a hint of the strange orange-red blooms smudging the torsos of his companions, which he steadfastly refused to contemplate. Upooa shifted his focus back to Trisha so he wouldn’t have to think about the darkness pressing in…and the fact that he might be losing his wits.

After several long moments, where Upooa kept casting what he imagined were surreptitious looks in Trisha’s direction, the human expelled an irritated sigh.

“Spit it out, big man.”

Upooa brows wrinkled in confusion. “Spit what out?”

Trisha glowered sidelong at him. “You’ve been watching me for hours like I’m going to grow a second head. What’s the problem?”

“Are you injured?”

“No. Why?”

“You seem…” Upooa struggled to find the words and finally landed on, “…unwell.”

“I’m fine,” she said curtly, lengthening her stride.

Upooa lengthened his and pressed, “You don’t appear…fine.”

Trisha stopped suddenly and pressed her hand to her forehead, looking weary and almost like she wanted to slap him at the same time. He clamped his mouth in a tight line to keep from giving her an impulsive grin.

“Look,” she said, poking him in the chest. “I don’t plan on having a conversation about human female anatomy with a big green dude in a tunnel while running from the local authorities. In fact,” she snarled, “let’s never have that conversation. I said ‘I’m fine’ so I am fine. End of discussion!”

She spun and stalked after the others. He waited a brief moment before following in her wake. She was obviously well enough to sharpen her dagger on him, but he decided to keep a close watch on her anyway.

After maybe an hour, they gathered at yet another junction of tunnels. These, however, looked larger and better maintained than the ones they had been traveling through. Slaathara looked over a rough map of the tunnel system they had managed to procure on one of their supply runs.

“I think we are getting close,” she murmured, running her finger along one of the lines. “According to this, one of the main Unclean villages is about another hour or two in that direction.” She pointed to the left.

Clarence looked around her shoulder, pointing to a long, relatively straight, red line that led directly to the village they were aiming for. “I meant to ask: why did we not take the one that literally dumps us out at the village?”

Slaathara rolled up the map looking down her nose at him. “I would think it obvious. It is the main Unclean route to all levels. It is highly likely that we would meet more than one Unclean if we took that route.” She tapped the rolled map against her palm. “The Unclean may be anathema to my people, but they are not so cursed that the ruling powers won’t use them to find us. And many wouldn’t think twice before using us to better their situation.”

With that said, they turned left down the new path. Upooa imagined the others were thinking exactly what he was thinking. If the Unclean would happily inform on them to the authorities while they were traveling the chutes and tunnels, what prevented them from turning them over once they reached the village?

Upooa trudged on, marking the time by running through military tactical drills in his head. He wondered if his companions would be shocked to find that he was once a sailor soldier for the Imperial Navy. The notion of springing this information on them amused him. That time in his life wasn’t nearly as painful a memory as it once was.

As he mused, he suddenly noticed he could make out the details of the tunnel walls. His heart sped up a little. There was light ahead. He fought the urge to break into a run.

Several moments later, the group halted in a cluster at the mouth of the tunnel. Impatient, Upooa pushed past them and stumbled to a halt himself.

Whatever he was expecting, he wasn’t expecting this.

The Unclean village was similar to the underground towns on the upper levels. It was less grand in scale, to be sure, but more clean and orderly. This wasn’t some dank and dark wasteland; no hovel for outcasts. Multicolored moss and lichen grew in artful patches of rocks like flowers along the main road. The buildings were made of stone, small and neat, organized along wide thoroughfares. Few were more than two stories. And light streamed from…

“Are those lampposts?” Clarence said, squinting into the light.

They gathered around the first of many stone pillars equally spaced along the road. They reached just above Upooa’s head. Attached on the top was a metal box with open slatted shutters on all four sides. Inside the box was nestled a large clear crystal that sent out a steady white light.

“Hooow…?” Trisha asked.

“I don’t know,” Slaathara whispered. “I’ve never seen the like.”

“Is it magic, Blue?” he asked. He’d taken a liking to Digger’s name for the prideful lizard. He suspected that, underneath the occasional disgusted looks she shot them when they used it, she secretly liked the name.

“Probably,” she said, holding out her hand to the light. “You can enchant items to give off light, but it takes a powerful wizard to enchant something. And, once they are enchanted, those items become very expensive.”

“Oh, them’s just light crystals,” grated a crusty voice. “Been here longer than me.”

Upooa whirled around with the rest of the group, ashamed that he had been caught unaware. Behind him stood the shortest and grayest Rawg’Mai he had yet seen in this underground world. He carried with him a metal ladder swung across his stooped shoulders.

With a grunt, he propped the ladder against the stone pillar and scrambled up it. He flipped closed the shutters of the metal box muting the light within and scuttled back down.

“It’s dusk in The Nethers,” he grinned at them, producing a snout with a noticeable lack of teeth. “And you would be new Unclean.”

Slaathara shook her head emphatically. “We are not new Unclean.”

The old lizard frowned. “Well, you’re here, ain’t yeh? Once you’ve passed the threshold into The Nethers, you can’t move back up even if we drug yeh back.”

Slaathara shrugged her shoulders, looking uncomfortable. “Yes, yes, I understand. It’s just,” she looked at the rest of the group helplessly.

Trisha stepped forward and crouched near the lizard. “We’re actually looking for a path to the surface,” she said low. Upooa was a little surprised that she would be so forthcoming about their plans, but decided, at this point, finding their way as quickly as possible was more important than secrecy.

The gray lizard squinted up at her and then jumped a little, craning his neck and looking hard at each of them. It was obvious the old timer had trouble seeing. He rubbed his snout thoughtfully, his calloused fingers rasping against his skin.

“Tis true yeh ain’t like any I’ve seen before, ‘cept her,” he waved vaguely at Slaathara. “Well, either way and all, yeh need to see the Quartermaster. She’s the one to talk to.” The old timer swung the ladder around onto his shoulders, nearly bowling over Digger who leapt deftly out of the way. “I was gonna direct yeh there myself to get yer place and duties. Quartermaster will know where yer to go.”

He tottered off down the road, but it soon became clear that he didn’t plan to shirk his duties while he led them. The old lizard stopped at every pillar to mute the light for the evening.

Upooa could see the frustration on Slaathara’s face at the slow pace, but the others were as interested as he was in getting the lay of the land. Far from being annoyed, he took in the sights, sounds and smells of the place with open curiosity, keeping an eye out for possible trouble.

The old timer was quick to point out the local establishments. Upooa didn’t know why but he was surprised to see store fronts and taverns along their path. As he mulled it over, he realized it made sense they would have these things here if they weren’t allowed to use them in the upper levels. There didn’t seem to be much in the way of defenses, though. Come to think of it, was there anything they needed to defend against?

The Unclean were not what he had imagined either, given their name. They wore simple, but clean clothes, mostly shades of gray and black. Most of them were pale skinned like their small guide; muted shades of green, blue, red, yellow, and brown. The old timer called out a greeting to everyone they passed. They, in turn, gave a greeting back but were clearly not comfortable coming close to the group. Several looked at him nervously. Upooa could feel their eyes following him as they passed.

Upooa was beginning to tire of the sightseeing tour when the codger swung his ladder up against the wall of a building and hollered through an open window, “Hey-o, Britlo!”

There was a growl, some laughter and a scraping sound that ended with, “Daanio, you old bastard, did you lose your ladder again?” A large dull red lizard poked her head out of the door and then straightened up with a start when she saw the group, rapping her head on the lintel.

“I brought new ones,” Daanio laughed.

“I can see that,” Britlo said ruefully, rubbing her head and eyeing them like she wasn’t sure what to do with them. Upooa tried to take a cue from Trisha and shot the lizard an encouraging smile, but all that did was make Britlo turn two shades paler and her eyes go wide.

“Put your teeth away, dumbass,” Trisha snapped at him under her breath as she stepped in front of him. He clamped his mouth shut feeling both bemused and amused. This being cordial to otherworlders took skills he did not yet possess. “Maybe you should take this, Slaathara?” the girl murmured.

Slaathara looked uncomfortable, but nodded. “We are in need of information,” she began.

“They want to get to the surface,” Daanio interrupted chortling.

Britlo jerked like she had been stung by a sea wasp. She glanced over her shoulder into the tavern where a small group of pale lizards were peering at them intently from their tables.

The red Quartermaster cleared her throat and proclaimed, a little louder than necessary, Upooa thought, “Thank you for directing the new ones to me, Daanio. I think it best if I get them sorted and assigned in my office.” With that, she gestured for them to follow.

Ship bells were starting to toll in Upooa’s head. He didn’t think they were in immediate danger, but something rang wrong. He looked to the others, their faces mirroring his suspicion. Trisha shrugged and moved to follow the Quartermaster. She was right. They didn’t have much choice.

A short distance from the tavern, Britlo stopped and unlocked the door of a two-story building. It was an absurd relief to know that they locked doors in this town, even if that meant the possibility that they could be locked in somewhere.

The Quartermaster directed them to a room down the hall on the right. The room was small, dark, and everyone had to scrunch up against the walls to allow the red lizard to move past them to her desk along the far wall. A tiny open window peaked out at an alleyway behind her. Upooa held in a grumble of disgust. No one on his world would put their back to an open window.

Upooa shifted to stand post by one side of the door. He noticed with approval Digger doing the same on the other. They all ignored the metal stools in front of the desk.

Britlo busied herself with lighting the ray bark lamp positioned above her desk, murmuring a, “Just a moment” under her breath. The room blossomed with light softly reflecting off the pale stone walls. She sat back on her stool, her hands splayed atop her desk in obvious apprehension.

“Is it true what Daanio said? You wish to find your way to the surface?”

“Yes,” Slaathara replied bluntly. “Do you know a way?”

Britlo waved off the question. “You must understand that once you have reached the level of the Unclean, you are cut off from the rest of society. You are given a job schedule, housing, a food and clothing allowance…everything is provided.”

“Even light, it seems,” Clarence said, watching the red lizard carefully.

“Yes, yes.” She looked relieved, like she thought they were finally coming around to the idea of staying. “We get a ration of ray bark and, of course, we have the enchanted crystals that were given to the Unclean eons ago. They never go out, though sometimes they break, but they are immediately replaced,” she assured them.

Trisha looked at the anxious lizard with a benign expression Upooa doubted he could ever imitate. “I understand that we,” she gestured to the whole group, “represent a very different situation than what you are used to. I bet you’ve never seen someone like me.”

Britlo shook her head.

“And most certainly not someone like him,” she said, thumbing her hand in Upooa’s direction. He grinned. Britlo swallowed hard and shook her head again.

“So, you can see one of the reasons why we can’t stay.”

“But…everyone stays.” The rusty red lizard thrust out her jaw, looking obstinate.

“You mean to tell me that everyone who comes here chooses to stay?”

The Quartermaster immediately drew back and squirmed. “It isn’t really a choice. Most are born here, some are brought under guard, a rare few show up unescorted, like you.”

“And if they leave?” Trisha pressed.

“They don’t,” the lizard insisted.

“But if someone should try to leave?” Trisha pushed harder, pressing her hands to the desk and leaning toward the Quartermaster with an intense look on her face.

Britlo looked at her and then at the others before dropping her gaze and murmuring, “I must report them to the guards.”

“And there it is,” Trisha exhaled with a sigh.

Upooa was getting frustrated with all of the questions. In his experience, a careful approach could only get you so far.

“Perhaps it is time to tell this official how we came to be here,” he rumbled, throwing a trace of menace into his voice. He was good with menace.

Digger picked up on his cue. “I don’t suppose she’d want to hear about all the people we killed,’ he said, cocking his head in that way of his.

“Or the guards,” Clarence piped up, looking almost excited. “Don’t forget about the guards!” Trisha looked like she wanted to slap him, but Upooa almost laughed at the enthusiasm. He was beginning to enjoy this often obnoxious little man.

Britlo, on the other hand, had turned paler and paler with every remark, her eyes widening until they bulged. Trisha took one look at the terrified lizard and rubbed her temples like she was asking the universe for patience.

“Look,” she sighed again. “You don’t want us here anymore than we want to be here. All we’re asking for is some information on how to make our way to the surface of this world. Do you have that information or don’t you?”

The lizard’s eyes shifted back and forth like she was looking for an escape and was just now realizing that she put a small army between her and the door.

“Oh, she knows,” Slaathara said, considering the other Rawg’Mai. Slaathara had been uncharacteristically quiet during this time. “She knows but she’s wondering how to tell us without getting in trouble.”

The red lizard latched her attention onto Slaathara, her hands twitching slightly before curling them into fists on the desk.

“Yeh sure she’s not tryin’ to figure out how to get somethin’ outta this?” Digger said.

Slaathara shook her head, her eyes glued to the dull red reptile. “Think about it. They have everything they could ever need down here. They even have a certain status because they know they are needed. No one else will do the work they do. They are like Jewna and her kept boys. Besides,” the blue lizard looked at Britlo with a touch of compassion, “there are worse things than being Unclean.”

The Quartermaster nodded in tight agreement. “There are worse things,” she whispered.

Upooa thought back to when Slaathara mentioned the work camps and mines and imagined there were much worse things than cleaning up the refuse of those that lived above.

“This is what I propose,” Slaathara said, tapping her fingertips together. “You tell us what you know about getting to the surface, outfit us for the trip and we leave. Then you tell everyone here that you arranged to have us captured by the Upper-Level Guards because we were wanted criminals. You will also warn everyone that they can’t even speak of us to the guards. Their honor has been so tarnished by our escape, they imprison and send to the mines anyone who even dares to mention us.”

Britlo sat back on her stool with a wary look. “You want me to help you and then lie about it.”

“Yes,” Slaathara said matter-of-factly. “You get this whole messy business out of your hands and no one gets killed in the process.”

A grin started pulling at the corner of the red lizard’s snout. “I can lie. I most definitely can lie.”

“Good.” Slaathara clapped her hands in satisfaction. “So where do we start?”

Britlo pulled herself up from her stool as if she was trying to pull her dignity back on like a jacket. “First, we need to speak with Ruu-an. He’s older than the moon and rambles more often than not, but he’s the only one who’s ever traveled beyond the tunnels of the Unclean. He used to be a slave in the farming caverns.”

Slaathara stiffened and started to look angry. “Wait! He used to be enslaved in the farming caverns? There’s no way he could have made his way here through the upper levels and their wizards.”

Britlo’s grin widened. “I didn’t say it was the Upper-Level farming caverns. Those were played out eons ago. I mean the main farming caverns on the exit side of the moon cavern.”

Slaathara’s snout dropped open in astonishment.

The red lizard chuckled as she headed out the door. “We Unclean know all Jellara’s dirty little secrets.”

[ 36 ]

[World Region: A777D-B4983-567FA-AABD3-1267F3-8A8A8]

AS they trooped through the now darkened streets of the Unclean town, Clarence felt strangely buoyant. There was a way to the surface. Yes, there was a way.

That phrase beat in time to his footsteps on the stone. There was…a way. There was…a way.

He had not realized how much that uncertainty had been weighing on him. He wondered if it felt the same way to Trisha and the others, the lightness of possibility. They did not have anything as solid as a plan. All they had was the hope of a plan. He muffled a derisive snort. With this crew, a plan was more like a scribble. Nothing like his detailed spreadsheets back home…even with Digger’s input.

But he found that this did not bother him. By all rights, it should bother him…but it did not.

He pondered that as they followed the now rather supercilious Unclean Quartermaster. She had steadfastly refused to answer any of Slaathara’s questions while they traveled to see the elderly Rawg’Mai she had spoken of. Again, a mere month ago, that kind of reticence to give crucial information would have him grinding his teeth, a pain building in his gut. Now, it was merely an irritation.

He could trace this burgeoning patience, this overall change, back to the very moment he saw those words light up and lift from that scroll. Something akin to excitement, a burbling sensation of power and promise took up residence in the spot he always associated with the pain of anxiety and bitterness. After he had learned that first spell, the world took on a patina of calm. It was like he had downed some kind of spiritual Xanax, but without the drowsiness and brain fog.

It was like he had found a missing part of himself.

The buildings got steadily smaller as they progressed. There were few Unclean out at this time of their day. Clarence rather liked this place. It was, by far, the most ordered and hygienic populace they had come across during this whole wild adventure. Besides the storefronts and main town buildings, each stone house was almost identical except for the colorful moss gardens growing in front or around them. Stone benches and tables often graced the gardens, suggesting the occupants often spent time “outside” in their gardens. And there was not a single piece of refuse to be seen anywhere. If it was not for the few rather glaring downsides like lack of fresh air and sunlight, along with the enforced indentured servitude, he could see himself living in a place like this.

The road they were traveling took a gradual swing to the left and the houses got markedly smaller and closer together. The moss gardens got smaller too, until they dribbled out into bare stone ground; still remarkably free of debris. Here Britlo paused and had them gather round.

“This community is where our old and infirm reside,” she said in a low, hushed voice. It reminded Clarence of the way people talked in the hospital when his mom was ill. “They have regular caretakers, but most have left for the day. Ruu-an is a bit stubborn. He should be having total daily care, but he insists he can care for himself. Today, that is going to work in our favor.”

Britlo sat back on her tail a bit. “There are some things you must know before speaking with him. He is losing his wits so details may be sketchy. Also,” she eyed them, “me and my aged mother, who was Quartermaster before me, are the only ones alive who know his origins. And now, so will you.” She gave these words a heavy emphasis.

“And, when we leave, it will be just you two again,” Slaathara assured her.

“We have no intention of darkenin’ your door again,” Digger said. Clarence saw Upooa nod grimly.

Taking that as a cue to speak, Britlo leaned forward with a curious expression on her face, kind of like a child given permission to tattle.

“It was many moon passes ago,” she began; Clarence had to stifle a groan. His newly found patience had reached its limit. Oblivious to his discontent, Britlo rambled on.

“I had been plaguing my mother with requests to join her on one of her perimeter checks. Guards regularly patrol the perimeter walls of the villages to make sure cave creatures aren’t burrowing out and preying on residents.” Clarence swallowed hard at this bit of news and cast a quick glance over his shoulder at the walls that surrounded them. “The Quartermaster must routinely check in with the guards and schedule any wall repairs.” Britlo smiled, her eyes distant in remembrance. “It was a badge of honor among the young Unclean to witness a cave creature and I wanted those bragging rights.”

“Right,” Clarence grimaced to himself. “It looks like monsters and crazy kids can be added to that list of reasons not to stick around.”

“My mother finally caved, and I happily tagged along…until it became dreadfully boring.” The rusty lizard wrinkled her snout in amusement at her bored younger self. “Near the end of the tour, we stopped for a bite to eat and I wandered off to a section of wall while my mother ate. I started chucking rocks at the wall, hoping something would crawl its way out of the small caves and pockmarks. I threw one rock as far as I could into a cave hole slightly bigger than me and then practically crawled out of my skin when the rock came rolling back out of the cave followed by a hoarse scratching sound.”

Britlo chuckled. “I must have hollered because my mom rushed over to me, sternly asking what I had seen. After I told her, my mother gathered another rock, larger than mine, and chucked it into the hole. There was a sharp yelp of pain that sounded more like a person than a creature, much to my disappointment.”

“My mother gave me stern orders to stay put and scooted her way into the cave mouth. After what felt like forever, she crawled back out with the sorriest looking Rawg’Mai I have ever seen. His left arm was swollen three times its normal size. He was covered in scratches; his clothes were in shreds and he was barely conscious. We carried him to the closest guard station to get help bringing him back to our village.”

Britlo paused and ran her hand along the back of her neck, looking suddenly reticent to continue. Clarence was about to prod her into talking when Trisha asked, “What happened to him?”

The red lizard sighed. “I didn’t know for the longest time. Ruu-an just seemingly vanished. My mother, rather forcefully I might add, let me know that the subject was not to be discussed. It wasn’t until I took on the mantle of Quartermaster that she shared the tale…along with the knowledge that Ruu-an’s existence was both power and poison.”

A little exasperated, Clarence pointed out, “I think I speak for all of us when I say that you need to elaborate. What does any of this have to do with us finding a way to the surface?”

Britlo shifted uncomfortably. “Ruu-an was a slave on the farming levels that are near the surface on the exit side of the moon shaft; farming caverns, you understand, that aren’t supposed to exist. Every Unclean knows of these farming caverns. The ruling elite suspect we know but, as long as it is never mentioned, we can both pretend the secret doesn’t exist.”

“Not only is Ruu-an a Farm Level slave,” Britlo said, “he is a living Farm Level slave who managed to escape. He’s supposed to be dead. Maybe he angered someone or caused some kind of ruckus, but either way, the level guards tossed him into one of the creature-infested caves to get rid of him. They tend to do that when someone misbehaves. Through sheer dumb luck, he survived and found a passage here. That is supposed to be impossible.”

“Why didn’t yeh turn him over to the upper guards?” Digger asked. As ever, he tended to get to the point.

She shrugged. “I’ve asked myself that quite a lot over the years. My mother heard him mumbling about the Farm Level while they transported him to our village for care. She decided to care for him herself to prevent his story from reaching anyone else. And the Lower Level guards were just glad to pass on the responsibility for caring for some unknown Unclean. After he healed, he was escorted by my mother’s handpicked guards to the next village to sign up for duties there so he wouldn’t arouse any suspicion here. Ruu-an was all but forgotten. When he got too old to work, he was quietly escorted back to live the rest of his life here.” She gestured to the modest building they were standing in front of. “Secrets are powerful things. Maybe my mother figured that, should our fortunes turn sour, it might be a good idea to have a plan of escape.” She looked at them thoughtfully and added, “Or maybe she just liked the idea of having a secret that even the upper elite didn’t share.”

Clarence thought it was probably the latter. Britlo was right. There was power in knowing something others did not.

“The night draws long,” Slaathara reminded them. “We can discuss motives some other time.”

Britlo nodded, quickly pulling herself out of her reverie, and hustled to the door of Ruu-an’s small home. She knocked softly.

“Hey-o, Ruu-an. It’s Britlo. I have brought you some visitors.” Without waiting for a response, she pushed open the door and gestured them inside.

They entered, shuffling their way into the small interior and jostled for space. Clarence found himself pressed painfully up against a small metal table and squirmed around it, finally settling on one of the two stone topped stools set near the table. The table sat under a small window to the left of the door. It had a cleverly hung shutter made of pounded metal attached to tiny rollers that traveled along a grooved metal track embedded in the stone. Clarence shifted the shutter back and forth a little to see how the mechanism worked, but stopped when he heard Britlo gasp.

“Ruu-an,” the red lizard admonished. “You’re going to set yourself afire.”

A small gray Rawg’Mai rested in a stooped recline on a padded chair near a narrow bed that was pushed against the corner of the tiny home. He was bundled in a pile of shawls and blankets, his feet resting on a padded stool dangerously close to a brazier filled with ray bark. Ruu-an opened a bleary eye and grunted, “Tis cold.”

The Quartermaster let out a sigh of exasperation and nudged the brazier away. “You have guests, Ruu-an,” she repeated, gesturing in their direction.

“Guests?” The old lizard mumbled sleepily, turning his head in their direction. Then his eyes widened and he yelped, “Guests,” while scrambling to throw off all of his coverings and come to a teetering stand. “We must have tea,” he exclaimed.

Britlo shook her head, saying, “We don’t have time for tea.”

The poor old lizard’s snout practically drooped onto his chest. “No tea?” he said despondently.

“I, for one, would love some tea,” Trisha piped up, looking a little desperate to cheer up the old guy. Trisha had a point. A cup of tea was a small price to pay to make sure the codger was in the mood to talk.

“I could use a drop myself,” Digger drawled, obviously taking a cue from Trisha.

Ruu-an grinned broadly, a disturbing combination of rolls of wrinkles and toothless gums. “Tea, tea, tea,” he muttered happily as he toddled to another corner of the house. Clarence had to hop off his stool and move around Upooa’s bulk to see where he went.

To the right of the door was a neat little kitchen. A low, narrow stone counter was built into the wall with open stone cupboards underneath. A built-in basin with a drain was set about a third of the way along the counter with a metal pail set underneath, but what fascinated Clarence was the tiny stove. A metal grate was set into the counter with a narrow metal door along the front.

Grunting a little, Ruu-an pulled out a battered metal kettle from one of the cupboards and filled it by simply dunking the whole thing in a barrel of water that was located along the wall in front of the counter. He set the dripping kettle on the stove and grabbed a curious stick-like apparatus from the top of the counter. Opening the front of the stove, he shoved the apparatus into the ray bark that lay in the hollow underneath the grate and vigorously pumped a small lever that stuck out of the side of the device. After a few rasping clicks, sparks flew out of the end and the ray bark ignited. With a start, Clarence realized that the stick-like contraption was a flint striker. It was remarkably similar to the one his grandparents used to light their gas stove.

As they watched the old lizard pull out a series of mismatched cups and an old tin of what looked like crumbled moss, Britlo rubbed a hand over her snout in obvious frustration. She murmured to Slaathara, “He won’t say a thing until the tea is made, you know.”

Slaathara just nodded like she had expected as much.

It took an inordinately long time to just make tea, partly because it took several moments to calm down the old lizard after he realized he did not have enough cups for everyone. After Ruu-an extracted a promise from Britlo that she would come back for her tea later, they finally got their steaming mugs and were settled about the room.

Weirdly, no one appeared to know where to start. Sitting on the edge of the bed with Trisha, Clarence looked dubiously at the mossy bits floating around his cup. Trisha nudged him and mimed taking a sip. In for a penny, he supposed. He took a tiny sip. It wasn’t half bad, kind of minty.

“I’ve been waiting most of my life for this day,” Ruu-an suddenly spoke into the expectant silence.

Looking startled, Britlo asked, “What do you mean?”

“They’re here to learn how I did it,” he grunted in satisfaction. “That’s why I’ve been writing it all down.” He gestured with his cup to the wall behind the table. They all turned to look.

On the wall behind where Clarence previously sat on the stool was a dark scrawl of rudimentary images from floor to ceiling. He and Slaathara practically bumped into each other in their haste to check out the images. Setting his tea on the table, he leaned in to get a closer look. It looked a little like cave paintings. There was an obvious order to them. In the shadows near the ceiling, there was something that appeared to be the image of a cave.

“I think we need more light,” Clarence mused, Slaathara grunting an agreement next to him.

“Light I have! Light I have,” Ruu-an exclaimed, thrusting his cup into Britlo’s hands and tottering to his feet again. The old lizard, creaking and groaning, got on his hands and knees and pulled out a metal box from under his bed near Trisha’s feet. Reaching inside, he pulled out a crystal shard that suddenly bloomed with a bright white light. Ruu-an plopped onto the ground like his strength had run out. “It’s a good light,” he crooned. “Makes me a little tired, though.”

Clarence exchanged a look with Slaathara. It was obvious this was the same type of crystal as the ones lighting the town, although it was merely a piece of one of the larger stones. Even with their inexperience, he could tell by Slaathara’s expression that they suspected the same thing. This was the kind of magic item that drew power from the user.

Britlo, on the other hand, wasn’t concerned with the magic. She came to her feet sputtering, “Where did you get a light crystal shard?”

“Daanio gave it to me ages ago,” Ruu-an replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Britlo advanced on the aged Rawg’Mai. “You shouldn’t have that. Give it to me.”

The old lizard got a crafty look in his eyes and thrust the crystal into Trisha’s hands. “I gift this to you, my young guest.”

Britlo crossed her arms and scowled at Ruu-an who just grinned at her impishly. Trisha looked confused. Clarence couldn’t blame her. What was going on? Even Slaathara looked lost.

“Um…what just happened?” Trisha asked. “I’ll hand this over, if you want,” she said to Britlo.

The red lizard shook her head, still glowering at Ruu-an. “It’s an unspoken rule of the Unclean. That which is given as a gift, cannot be taken by anyone else. Gifts are rare and stealing from another Unclean can get you banished.”

Still grinning, Ruu-an grunted to his feet. “And I was gifted it by Daanio, so you couldn’t take it anyway,” he huffed. “Enough. Enough,” he waved. “I have a story to tell. May I borrow your light, good guest?”

Trisha handed over the shard. Appearing almost bleached in its light, Ruu-an grabbed one of the stools and dragged it to the wall. The others gathered around him. There was an alarming moment when both Slaathara and he had to steady the old lizard as he climbed atop the stool, holding the light high. How he had managed to climb up to draw all of this without breaking something was a mystery.

“It all starts from the end, you see,” Ruu-an said, indicating the first image at the top. “It’s the cave where I was found. Britlo knows the place. 1,698 crawling steps I made to that mark,” the old lizard intoned.

Clarence jerked his head down and looked at Slaathara, whose expression was just as astonished as he felt. Was it possible that this was a map to the Farm Level? His voice a little strangled, he whispered, “We need to write this down!”

Slaathara was clearly way ahead of him because she was already pushing through Upooa and Digger to get to her pack. Britlo, Clarence thought, was looking rather stunned by this turn of events.

“Makes you wish our phones still worked, doesn’t it,” Trisha murmured behind him. “We could take a picture and call it a day.”

Before he could remark, Slaathara pushed back through the crowd and settled herself at the table, one of their precious blank scrolls and her charcoal pencil in hand.

Ruu-an, for his part, took all of this in stride. “1,698 crawling steps I made to get to that mark,” he repeated, pointing to the cave image, and then a figure that looked something like a stick man with a tail on all fours and then a series of strange marks that Clarence didn’t recognize. Then he moved to the next line down. “I had taken 21,569 walking steps before I reached the part of the tunnel where I couldn’t walk. 21,569 steps from the mouth of the sideways travel chute.”

“Wait. There’s sideways travel chutes?” Trisha asked, but Ruu-an didn’t seem to feel the need to stop and answer questions. He just plowed forward.

“I spent many moon passes in the black of the travel chute.” Clarence heard Upooa rumble a low growl. “I couldn’t track the time. I just flew in the dark, before I crashed into the rubble at the end and fell out a gaping hole into the tunnel.”

The old lizard teetered a bit and Clarence helped him to sit on the stool. Ruu-an moved on to the next row, pointing to the crude drawings of creatures with many legs and gaping maws filled with teeth. Clarence shuddered. In a wheezy voice, the elderly Rawg’Mai continued, “Before I stumbled upon the travel chute, I was attacked again and again by creatures I couldn’t see.” Clarence swallowed hard, fear knotting like a hard ball in his stomach. There it was…confirmation of monsters. “The tunnel had only the barest light from patches of moss. I had nothing to fight them with, so I ran and fell, ran and fell. I jumped behind a pile of rocks to try to hide and that is when I fell into the travel chute.”

Ruu-an pulled himself off the stool and illuminated the bottom row of images. “I don’t know how far it is from the entrance of the travel chute to the mouth of the farm cave. I think it might be close to three moon passes. I don’t know which side of the cave wall has the travel chute. It seems like it was on the left, but everything is all jumbled in my head. Lost to time. Lost to time.” Ruu-an looked suddenly spent. He grasped at Clarence’s arm and Clarence gently led the old lizard to his chair.

“The guards dragged me into the cave and dumped me there,” he said after he was settled. “I had heard tales of other slaves trying to run back out only to be killed by the guards. Why they even bothered with the caves rather than killing us and dumping our bodies, I will never know. Maybe it’s some terrible game. I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction. Figured it was better to walk further into the cave and be eaten by beasts than starve to death or be beaten to death by the guards.” His toothless mouth curved up into a tired rueful grin. “Until the beasts started attacking, of course.”

Britlo began tucking in blankets and shawls around Ruu-an. The old lizard’s eyes drooped. “I don’t get it,” Britlo said. “Why did you decide to write your story now?”

Ruu-an opened one eye and murmured, “The moon told me it was time…it was time,” and then he drifted off to sleep.

______________________________

Clarence’s mind was very busy as they headed back to Britlo’s office. He was trying to fit all of the pieces of Ruu-an’s story together and a hundred questions swirled around in his brain. He desperately wished they had the time to get some clearer answers. But, he wished even more desperately that they had any other option than to follow the old lizard’s path through the tunnels. Rudimentary images of mouths and teeth kept popping into his head, constantly interrupting his train of thought with a burst of panic.

The streets of the Unclean village were empty. The place had that very early morning feel to it. Clarence was glad for the emptiness. He could ruminate while his feet went on autopilot.

Upooa and Digger had latched on to the creature part of Ruu-an’s tale and pulled from Britlo a promise of possible soldier armor, although she did not have access to extra weapons. Clarence also expressed his desire for armor, preferably the full metal kind, where every inch of him was covered. Slaathara had immediately squashed that idea. In her typical haughty way, she informed him that most metal armor interfered with spell casting. Of course it did. He could not be so lucky.

Trisha and Slaathara were working up a mental list of supplies they might need. Clarence had made sure to retrieve the light shard from Ruu-an’s sleeping hand, since everyone else seemed to have forgotten it. Britlo had looked at it longingly, but didn’t move to prevent him from taking it.

He and Slaathara would need to take some time to figure out how much power it took to turn on the light and how long it lasted. His mind swirled around the magic it would take to make something similar. Were there power sources under each light in the town similar to batteries? There would have to be, surely.

He pondered the numbers Ruu-an gave them. Who in their right mind would think to count their steps while crawling through creature infested tunnels? It made him wonder if the numbers were at all accurate. Regardless, he used the numbers to try to calculate some distances as they walked. Ruu-an had crawled over 1,500 steps. That must be something like a half mile to a mile. He shuddered at the mental image of crawling over rough rock in a small space for any kind of distance, let alone a mile. And over 20,000 steps equaled something like ten miles. In a cave…in the dark…with many legged creatures…

He was so lost in thought that he bumped into Digger when they stopped outside Britlo’s building. As he murmured apologies, Digger just shrugged and stepped aside so Clarence could follow the others inside.

Britlo took them up the stairs to a large open room with tables, shelves, stacked boxes and bins.

“This is the main storage area for the Lower Level guards assigned to the caverns around our village,” she said. “Take what you need. There’s everything from ray bark torches and lanterns,” she pointed out, picking up a small metal and glass lantern from a neat row on a shelf, “to dried rations in boxes.” She pointed to a stack of small metal boxes on another shelf. “Along the back there, on the tables, are uniforms, boots and what we have for armor.”

The neat, ordered rows of supplies made Clarence’s heart sing. His fingers practically twitched in his eagerness to sort through everything.

“Down boy,” Trisha murmured into his ear, her voice full of amusement. He gave her a disgusted look, but she just grinned.

“Won’t you be gettin’ yourself in trouble for giving us all this?” Digger remarked, watching Britlo carefully. “There’s a bunch of us here. We’re goin’ to end up taking a goodly bit.”

“Not as much trouble as I would be in if you were discovered,” Britlo asserted. “Besides, we Unclean didn’t get to be indispensable for our cleaning skills alone. Many of us are very good with our letters and numbers. It’s amazing what you can hide with some creative bookkeeping.”

Slaathara looked at the rusty lizard with an appreciative gleam in her eye. “You would make a decent thief.”

“Probably more than decent,” Britlo smirked, “because my marks rarely know they’ve lost anything.”

“Let’s give the mutual appreciation society a rest and find what we need, shall we,” Trisha cut in. She tapped an unused table. “Let’s put what we find here. We’ll divvy it up after.”

Everyone spread out around the room. Almost as if drawn by a magnet, Upooa made his way to the table with the piles of armor and accoutrements, Digger following to look through the clothing and boots. Clarence made a beeline for the metal ration boxes. They were clever contraptions with flip latch lids and three compartments inside filled with something that looked like crackers, dried pressed meat and some kind of mixture of dried fruits or vegetables or both. As neat as they were, they would only provide enough sustenance for a few days, at most. In Upooa’s case, maybe only half a day, he thought with a smirk. They were too blocky to carry around several at a time, but not bad for rationing their supplies. What they needed was sacks of goods they could use to replenish the box amounts every few days. He looked around and spied a row of barrels along the far wall. That looked promising.

He snagged a couple of sacks he found on his way to the barrels and opened the first barrel in the row. Just as he thought. It was filled with the dried vegetable mixture. He was giving himself a mental pat on the back when Upooa growled low behind him, “What ails Trisha?”

Clarence spun to look up at the towering green man.

“What are you talking about?”

“She is not well,” Upooa glowered at him. “She is pale and sometimes appears to be in pain.”

“I think she is just a little tired today,” he said, feeling uncomfortable as he remembered Trisha’s hissed information at Slaathara’s.

Upooa narrowed his eyes and thrust his face into his. “Tell me what ails her,” he commanded low and menacing.

Clarence shrank back, but shook his head vigorously. “Nuh-uh! No way am I having that conversation with you!”

“That is what she said,” he growled.

“And you should listen to her!” Clarence had no idea how he managed to get himself stuck in this situation.

“You try my patience, little man.”

“I could throw sand and shut you up.”

“I could throttle you before you even uttered a word,” Upooa said.

Shit…that was true.

“What seems to be the problem?” Digger asked, appearing out of nowhere on those silent feet of his.

“Trisha is unwell.” Upooa looked at Clarence like it was somehow his fault. “He knows what ails her, but will not talk.”

“Look, it is not what you think it is,” Clarence tried to reason.

“Then, what is it exactly?” Digger asked, tilting his head in curiosity.

Desperate, he pleaded, “Trisha would kill me if I told you!”

They both just eyed him expectantly. Clarence sighed in disgusted defeat. Lord. Was he going to have to explain human reproduction to these oafs?

“Oh, come on. Don’t your women have to go through some kind of physical, well, changes to be able to carry children?” He saw Upooa’s eyebrows go up in sudden understanding, but Digger, if possible, looked more confused and even intrigued. Clarence removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“I am not going to go into details,” he sighed. “But all you need to know is that human women have these, uh, changes happen about every 28 days or so, depending on the woman. They can be painful and, in the case of my wife, can make them very irritable.” He threw out his hands. “That is it! That is all I intend to say on the matter!”

“Perhaps Trisha could tell us more?” Digger asked looking like he just found a puzzle he couldn’t wait to solve. Upooa looked just as alarmed as Clarence felt. They both barked out a strangled, “NO” that had Trisha, Slaathara, and Britlo looking over at them a little concerned. Clarence gave them an awkward wave that he hoped said “All is well!”

“In my world, we do not talk about these things,” he hissed. “Just leave it.”

Digger cocked his head in the other direction and then simply nodded and wandered off. Clarence let out a huge sigh.

Upooa watched Clarence speculatively for a moment and then, as if he had suddenly determined him trustworthy, said, “The men of my world must take care of all such matters for our women. I think I understand of what you speak.” He looked over at Trisha with an expression that Clarence couldn’t quite pin down and then wandered off to search another area of the storeroom.

It took several minutes for Clarence to get back to the task at hand. It felt like his body and brain had been twisted into a pretzel. He mechanically scooped handfuls of dried food into a sack, willing his guts to stop churning. His erstwhile companions seemed to know just how to throw off his new carefully constructed calm. At this rate, he was likely to die of mortification before any of the cave creatures had a chance to take a bite.

[ 37 ]

[World Region: A777D-B4983-567FA-AABD3-1267F3-8A8A8]

THERE was an expectant hush in the air when they finally made their way outside of the village. Britlo took the lead, taking them through the alleys out of town to avoid early risers on their way to the tunnel chutes. Digger still had his reservations about the rusty red lizard. He kept expecting to be handed over to some guards or fall into an ambush along the way. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he was still jumpy over Booker’s betrayal. It never hurt to be cautious, though. He kept a peeled eye on the surroundings as they walked.

The studded jerkin he had chosen was strapped along the sides and looser than he liked. He had cinched the straps as tight as they would go, but it still gapped. It was made from tightly woven, layered stiff cloth rather than the leather he was accustomed to. If the level soldiers used this armor to protect them from the cavern creatures, it stood to reason that it would likely work just as well for them, but he had reservations about that as well.

Trisha had chosen a studded vest rather than the longer jerkin. Slaathara and Clarence had chosen stiff quilted vests, stating the metal in the studded armor might interfere with their magic. Upooa chose the largest studded vest available, but it didn’t quite close under the arms. For his part, the big Orc just shrugged at the vulnerability. They all chose gloves, bracers and helmets of some kind, plus padded greaves that extended over their knees to protect them as they crawled through the tunnels.

If the rest of his group were anything like him, they were trying not to think about the first part of their journey. Assuming the old gray lizard was correct, they would be crawling for close to a mile before the tunnel opened up enough for them to walk. Digger held back a shudder. He had never been particular about close spaces, but this world had him rethinking those particulars. He longed for wide-open spaces.

He suspected Upooa was far more particular about dark close spaces than he was. Digger had been watching him closely and, though the green pirate tried valiantly to hide it, he was obviously unnerved by the dark confines of this world. His eyes darted nervously as they discussed their travel order for the narrow tunnel, his mouth set in a grim, tight line around his tusks. At one point, he had insisted on going first, saying he was the more capable fighter should they meet some creature in the tunnels. While no one disputed this, once Trisha pointed out that the lead person would have the light and his bulk would likely block the light from everyone behind him, he clammed up and allowed them to set the order.

Which, Digger thought with wry humor, was how he ended up in the lead. He reached up and touched the bulge of the light shard that was now tucked inside his jerkin. Occasionally, he could see the light peeping up through the collar. The light fascinated him. Actually, most new devices of any kind fascinated him. He suspected that, had he had the luxury of deciding, he might have been an inventor, crafting clever devices or building unique contraptions.

What fascinated his companions, however, was the fact that he knew the light had been shining for almost exactly four hours and 20 minutes; closer to five now. He didn’t know how he did it. He’d just always known the time of day. Even here, in the dark confines of stone, he had an uncanny sense of the passage of time.

Slaathara and Clarence, particularly, were like burrs on a mule. They kept asking questions he didn’t have the answers to. Trisha ended the interrogation by barking at them to ‘give it a rest’ and that they could do their ‘science experiments’ later. Digger found Trisha’s way of speaking rather brash, but amusing. He’d been making mental tallies of the phrases he liked the most.

Digger suspected the two wizards weren’t done with him, but were content, for now, with knowing that they had something to determine how long the light would last. Those two had become unexpected allies in the pursuit of magical what-not. Slaathara still treated Clarence with frequent disdain and Clarence was a bristly fellow, yet, somehow, they lost most of that when they discussed magic.

After another thirty minutes, they found themselves facing a wall of stone pockmarked with bumps and holes of various sizes.

“This is the one you want,” Britlo said, walking over and pointing to a ragged hole that started at her knees and reached to her shoulders. It was slightly wider than it was tall. Digger pulled out the light shard and walked over to shine it into the tunnel. He was surprised to find the light penetrated farther than he had hoped. The tunnel was fairly uniform, heading straight as far as the light reached.

“Looks about what we expected,” he told the others. “Should be on our way, don’t yeh think?”

Slaathara stepped forward and gave Britlo a deep bow, her hands crossed in front of her chest. “May the light of the moon reach you, even here,” she said. Britlo bowed low in response. “May the light of the moon reach you, even here,” the red lizard repeated.

Clarence stepped in behind Digger, helping him to strap the light to the top corner of his pack over his shoulder. Digger knew the light would get in his way while he crawled, so they had come up with the strap option.

Digger looked behind him, partly to make sure everyone was set, but also to take his last look at the wide cavern. He scanned his companion’s faces. As the leader inside the tunnel, it was likely he would not see them clearly for some time. He nodded to each in turn and then quickly spun around and crawled into the hole before he lost his nerve.

The light shard was bright. If he turned his head to either side, it was blinding, but if he looked straight ahead, it didn’t obscure his vision. He crawled forward and heard Clarence grunt as the wizard crawled in after him. It was decided that his dust magic would be helpful if Digger came upon a creature. A few more crawling steps and he heard Trisha enter the tunnel. The further he went, the harder it was to hear above the scraping sounds of their passage. Slaathara should be following after Trisha and Upooa should be taking up the rear.

After what he considered was enough time for all of them to enter the tunnel, he paused and called out, “Everyone in?” His voice echoed loudly through the tunnel. Lowering his voice, he added, “Call out your name, so I know we got everyone.”

Their replies bounced one by one down the line with Upooa growling rather than saying his name. It was good enough for Digger. He had already missed counting some of his crawling steps, but figured he was close to 30. He may not have lettering, but he knew his numbers.

He shuffled forward again, and the long journey officially began. None of them spoke and soon the whole world was reduced to the sounds of their breathing and the scraping of their hands and knees on stone. The tunnel shrunk and increased in size as they crawled, but never opened enough for them to walk. At one point they had to drop to their bellies and squirm forward for about three yards, their packs scraping against the ceiling. The relief he felt when the tunnel expanded again left him a little shaken. He was worried about Upooa squeezing through the narrow passage, but Trisha and Slaathara advised him to take off his pack and scoot it in front of him as he wriggled forward to join the group.

After more than an hour, they were nearing the number of crawling steps that Ruu-an had given them. The light showed an unwavering tunnel in front of them and Digger’s heart sank. His gloves were wearing thin from the rough rock they crawled on. It wouldn’t be long before they developed holes big enough to expose skin to the ragged surface.

1,698 crawling steps passed. He heard Clarence whimper under his breath. They had no choice. They crawled on. And Digger kept counting.

At 1,830 crawling steps, the tunnel ahead started to widen. Digger’s heart sped up. At 1,850, it widened enough that he stopped for a moment to raise his hand above his head. At 1,875, he could rise up on his knees without hitting his head. At 1,898, the tunnel opened abruptly into a nearly ten-foot-tall tunnel space.

Ruu-an had miscalculated by 200 crawling steps.

Digger staggered into the more spacious opening, his knees and lower back complaining bitterly over the time spent hunched over. He forced himself further down the tunnel to give the others room, then took off his pack and collapsed against the tunnel wall. Clarence crawled out and continued crawling, seemingly incapable of standing. He plopped up against the tunnel wall and stretched out his legs with an exaggerated groan.

Trisha emerged, taking a few hunched steps before shaking out her legs, dumping her pack and leaning against the wall. Slaathara seemed the least affected. She came out of the narrows hunched over, but already on her feet. She straightened and called Trisha over to the tunnel mouth looking concerned. Digger joined them just as Upooa made his way out.

The Orc looked a little unhinged. His eyes were huge and staring and he was grinding his teeth. He was pale and sweating. When Slaathara and Trisha moved to help him stand, he growled and shoved them off. They all backed off and watched him warily as he got to his feet, shaking from head to toe.

“You must leave me!” he groaned, falling to his knees again.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen,” Trisha said. Digger knew she was trying to sound calm, but her voice was edged with concern.

Upooa buried his face in his hands. “You do not understand.” His voice was muffled, but the desperation was clear. “I’m losing my wits.”

“You seem just as obnoxious and frustrating as always,” Trisha batted back at him, hands on her hips.

Upooa looked up at her with haunted eyes. “Every time it gets dark, specters appear in my vision. Orange, flaming specters that cloud your shapes.”

“Hold a moment,” Slaathara said thoughtfully. “These specters show up over us?”

“Yes,” Upooa whispered in despair. “I can see neither faces, nor eyes, just orange light that obscures everything.” He covered his face with his hands again and groaned.

Slaathara, however, grinned. “I don’t believe this,” she said with a laughing snort. Digger glanced over at her and wondered if she may be the one losing her wits. He wasn’t the only one. Trisha was glaring at her.

“What?” she snapped at the disapproving faces around her. “He’s an Orc. His race has infrared vision.”

Digger wasn’t sure what infrared vision was and it didn’t look like Upooa did either. He had pulled his hands from his face, but Digger could see all kinds of questions in his eyes. The lizard squinted at him, her violet eyes reflecting suspicious disbelief.

“Are you seriously telling me you did not know that your kind can essentially see any living creature in the dark?” she huffed.

“He comes from a world with no night,” Clarence piped up. He scrambled over to Upooa, gesturing in excitement to all of them. “Don’t you see? There is no dark in his world!”

“So, your sayin’ it never got dark enough for him to notice before?” Digger looked curiously at Upooa. The Orc’s face looked like it was warring with itself. Realization and relief, worry and anger chased itself across his features.

“This is fascinating,” Slaathara crooned, tapping her fingertips together. “An entire people completely unaware of the power they hold in the dark.”

“How is it that you know all of this?” Clarence asked. “It is not like I have seen any other Orcs since we got here.”

“It was like I said when we first met,” Slaathara sniffed with a touch of contempt. “I have studied the Races of the Twelve quite extensively.”

“The races of the what?” Clarence bristled a little. “I would think I would remember…”

Trisha leaned toward the small man and said, “You were kind of concussed at the time.”

Meanwhile, Upooa scrubbed his hands over his face as if he was trying to rub away the last couple of hours of anxiety. His expression settled into its more customary position; somewhere between looming menace and murderous intent.

“How does it work?” Upooa grunted, coming to his feet.

Slaathara tapped her snout. “If I remember correctly, when it gets dark enough, you can see the heat emitted by any creature.”

“We had light in the tunnel,” Digger pointed out. “Why did he see it then?”

“Upooa was in the back,” Clarence answered. “We blocked most of the light.”

“Tis true,” Upooa said. “It was quite dark. I kept seeing orange light bloom and fade in front of me.” He still looked a little concerned.

Trisha saw his expression and exclaimed, “Oh, come on. You have a superpower! And not just any superpower, but the perfect superpower for our situation. High five!” She threw up her right hand and looked at Upooa expectantly. The Orc just looked at her in confusion. Trisha sighed, grabbed his right wrist with her left hand and slapped her raised hand with his. “It’s called a high five. You do it to celebrate something.”

Upooa looked flummoxed. Digger grinned and contemplated his own hand. The girl had a well’s worth of odd little habits and phrases, but it seemed to work for her. It also gave him an idea.

“Say, Blue,” he said, turning toward his pack. He pulled off the light shard and held it up. “Should we test it?”

The lizard nodded with obvious interest, but Upooa stiffened, suddenly wary again.

“Don’t worry,” Trisha nudged him. “I can hold your hand, if you want.” She held out her hand to him.

Upooa gave her a glower. Trisha rolled eyes and took his hand. For a moment, Digger thought Upooa would yank his hand away, but instead tightened his grip and nodded. Digger shoved the light shard into his jerkin and the tunnel was abruptly dowsed in darkness.

“See anything?” Trisha asked into the blackness.

“I…” Upooa began and then sucked in his breath. “Yes…I can see you all,” he said in wonder. “I can see precisely where everyone is standing. I see orange flames with heads and arms.”

“Good, because I can’t see a damn thing.” Trisha laughed nervously.

Digger pulled out the shard and the tunnel bloomed with light.

“Let us not do that again,” Clarence grumbled.

As if the light shard had been listening, it flickered and abruptly went dark, plunging them back into blackness. Gasps echoed through the tunnel. Digger felt a churning sensation in the pit of his stomach and the light abruptly lit again, leaving him sagging in fatigue. The others gathered around him.

“The good news is,” he said a little breathlessly, “the light lasts almost exactly eight hours.”

“And the bad news?” Trisha asked.

“It takes a lot of power,” Clarence answered. Digger nodded, feeling he could sleep for hours.

“We shall share the burden,” Upooa said, gently taking the shard from Digger’s slack hand.

“Except for Slaathara and I,” Clarence announced. Trisha looked like she wanted to object, but then clamped her mouth in a tight line and nodded. It was the right plan. The wizards would need their power for their spells.

Digger stood up straighter, his head swimming a little. “We can plan for when the light will go out and use our lamps, for a bit, around that time,” he told them, trying to mask his exhaustion. He leaned over and swung on his pack. It felt like it weighed more than it did before, but there was no help for it. They needed to push on. “Let’s not waste the light.”

Upooa lead this time, his long steps looking more confident. In his head, Digger started the count again. 1, 2, 3, 4…

[ 38 ]

[World Region: A777D-B4983-567FA-AABD3-1267F3-8A8A8]

TRISHA hit a wall. Not literally, but close enough. Stumbling to a halt, she swayed a little watching Clarence trudge ahead. When was the last time they had slept? She furrowed her brow trying to force her muddy brains to cooperate. They slept before they raided the barracks to retrieve the stone. Shit…that must be like two days ago.

“Hey,” she muttered to the others. When they didn’t respond, she coughed out louder, “Hey.”

Everyone slowed to a stop and turned toward her.

“Don’t you think we should stop for a while?”

Digger rolled his head from side to side like he was working out a kink in his neck. “We’ve only been goin’ for about an hour since we left the crawlin’ tunnel,” he said with a yawn, though it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself of the need to push on.

Trisha shrugged her pack off her shoulders, letting it drop with a clunk near the tunnel wall. “No,” she sighed as she propped herself against the wall. “We have been going for days. Tell me the last time you slept.”

Digger scrubbed his hand over his blue and green featherlike hair for a moment, then abruptly walked back to Trisha, tossing his pack next to hers.

“For someone who’s got a good sense of time, I seem to have lost track of it,” he said with a tired grin. He sank down next to his pack, his eyes drooping like he could fall asleep at any moment.

Clarence crowded in next to them, pulling out his ration box and munching on a piece of dried meat, his eyes kind of glassy. Slaathara set up across from them, detaching her lantern from the side of her pack.

“I will take first watch,” she told them. “Then Upooa, Trisha, Clarence, and then Digger. I suspect he will need the extra time to recover from powering the shard.” She tapped the lantern. “We have several moons’ worth of ray bark. We should alternate our light source.”

No one argued and they started unpacking their bedrolls. Trisha grimaced as she crouched down to unstrap hers. Perfect. She had to use the privy, as Chad would say. She looked down the tunnel in both directions. Back the way they had come, the tunnel veered to the right, blocking it from view. She detached her lantern from her pack and lit it with the small flint striker.

“Be back in a bit. Nature calls,” she announced, hoisting her lantern and pack.

Upooa scrambled to his feet, as if he intended to follow her.

“You stay,” she barked, pointing at him. He stopped in mid-step. “I mean it. There’s no way you’re standing over me while I take a piss!” The big green man scowled, crossing his arms over his chest, but he didn’t move.

She spun and stalked off. Honestly. The guy was clueless! No one wanted to have some huge Greenie looming over them while they did their business, not to mention that her “business” was a little more involved currently. She scowled. How come none of the heroines in the novels she read had to deal with the daily nitty gritty woman issues? She imagined a ripped female warrior pausing mid-battle with a dragon to announce she needs a time-out because of cramps. She snorted a laugh. Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen. Although, it did give her an idea. In a world where magic existed, was there magic to stop a woman’s cycle? Intrigued, she put a pin in the thought to ask Slaathara about the possibility.

Admittedly, being apart from the others in a tunnel possibly harboring all kinds of crawlies was creeping her out more than she wanted to admit. She made quick work of her “business” and rounded the corner, only to narrowly miss plowing into Upooa standing in the middle of the tunnel with his back toward her. She yelped in surprise. Upooa didn’t even turn around at the sound, but stalked back to their camp.

Trisha stood there for a moment both incensed and confused. Come on. Did she seriously have a fanged green guard dog? She cursed under her breath and stomped back to camp. Upooa studiously avoided her gaze, which was good because she was sending some particularly nasty looks his way. Which, she knew, was completely childish, but it felt good anyway.

As she flopped back on her bedroll, she wondered why Upooa irritated her so much. Not to mention why, at the same time, she wanted to make sure he was okay. She shuddered thinking about the look in his eyes when he exited the small tunnel. He looked haunted, almost reduced in size somehow. Something close to panic had grabbed her and she was suddenly sure she needed to calm him down. Of course, everything she said had “Smart ass stamped all over it,” as her dad would say. Luckily, her ‘smart-assery’ appeared to work.

Watching the glow of the light shard, Trisha sighed. She was suddenly, and painfully, aware of how much she missed her dad. Once, when she was small, her dad had gotten very drunk and stumbled into her room late one night. He was carrying a lit prayer candle in a glass jar, swaying in the doorway before collapsing to his knees and crawling to her bedside. Miraculously, he held onto the candle, setting it awkwardly on her nightstand before slumping up against her bed. Then he apologized for not giving her a proper childhood, went on about expecting too much from her and then abruptly burst into wracking sobs. She had wrapped her arms around his neck as he cried, but what she remembered the most from that night was how she felt. That same kind of helpless panic was mirrored today when she saw Upooa exit the tunnel.

Her dad never drank again after that night, as far as she knew. Wearily, she closed her eyes, not sure where she was going with this train of thought. In moments, she was out for the count.

______________________________

Upooa woke her for her guard shift. Two hours is a long time to stay awake when you are still exhausted. The sand in Slaathara’s little hourglass looked like it slowed down every time she glanced at it. When the last sand had trickled through, Trisha had stumbled over to joggle Clarence awake and fell back to sleep almost instantly.

And now they walked. The tunnel never ended. At least, that’s what it felt like. They’d been walking for hours.

Digger occasionally gave them the step count. The light shard had run out of charge somewhere during Clarence’s shift. To give him credit, he had anticipated the outage and had a lantern lit before it went out. They had decided to wait until they reached the travel chute before they powered the shard again.

Besides Slaathara’s awkward instructions on dealing with certain necessities while they floated for days in the travel chute, they didn’t speak much. Everyone pretty much kept to themselves about what they imagined lay ahead.

After ages of dragging time, Digger called out, “21,500…just 69 steps to go. Keep an eye out for the chute entrance.”

The tunnel was littered with small piles of stones in this section. They had to be careful where they stepped. After a dozen or so paces, the tunnel narrowed and they wound their way around big piles of loose stone. Occasionally, a stone would rattle down in an echoing clatter making them freeze, looking around for any sign of the many legged creatures Ruu-an had warned them about.

Just when she thought her nerves were about as tight as they could get, the edge of their light revealed a solid wall of crumbling rock. Her heart dropped so low, she felt like she would have to pick it up off the floor. They had reached a dead-end.

Digger, however, was peering around the corner of yet another rock pile and signaled them to stop.

“I hear somethin’,” he whispered. She strained her ears. Sure enough, at the edge of her hearing, she heard a strange low moaning whistle, like wind through a cracked window.

Digger gently set down his pack and pulled out his dagger. With a hand motion urging them to stay, he disappeared amid the last piles of stone. Trisha reached up, grabbing her nunchucks from the side of her pack.

She needn’t have bothered. Digger returned quickly with a broad smile on his face.

“It will take a little diggin’ to make the hole big enough, but I found the chute.”

Her heart started beating properly again.

Eagerly, they followed Digger, edging their way around and over the rocks until they stood at the base of a slide of pebbles that partially obscured a gaping hole of low moaning black. Creepy as hell. Yeah, she might have to reevaluate her excitement at finding this little treasure.

“21,569 steps, just as Ruu-an said,” Digger said in satisfaction.

“Although, I would like to point out that we did not actually have to count,” Clarence muttered in exasperation. “All he had to say was ‘Turn right at the giant wall of fallen rock’.”

Slaathara nodded, but said, “There is a chance that none of this rubble was here when he exited the chute. It has been some time.”

Upooa squeezed passed Trisha with a camp shovel in hand. She glanced back and saw his pack wedged into a pile of rock. As ever, the dude didn’t mince words. While they were talking, he had started doing. Digger quickly followed suit and soon he and Upooa were making quick work of clearing the pile in front of the chute opening. With only two shovels, there wasn’t much for the rest of them to do but stay out of the way.

In no time they had unearthed a chute opening nearly as tall as Trisha. Slaathara leaned in with a lantern and Trisha watched it sway back and forth in her hand.

“It is much the same size as any other travel chute.” She nodded in satisfaction. “We just need to push off to get going.”

Digger rubbed his hand over his chin thoughtfully. “We will want to be close to each other in there. We need a means to stay together.”

Trisha passed him a bundle of rope she had pulled out while they were digging. “Great minds think alike,” she grinned. “I was thinking about that while you dug. Maybe we can just hold onto this or wrap it around us or something?”

Digger unwound the rope and was wrapping the end around his hand, when the bright white light of the shard bloomed around them. Trisha turned to see Upooa, holding the light in his bare hand. He was drooping a little and his eyes were glassed with fatigue. They had been careful to use gloves when they handled the shard so they wouldn’t inadvertently light it when they didn’t want to.

“It is time,” the big Orc said, strapping the light to Digger’s pack. There was no point in arguing. Digger simply turned and handed the end of the rope to Trisha.

“Best test this out,” he announced, and they walked to the opening. Trisha played out a length of the rope, wrapped some around her hand and braced herself with one foot against the wall near the opening. She nodded to Digger and he stepped into the void. He floated there, his eyes going wide in astonishment.

“It’s passin’ strange,” he murmured in amazement. “I wonder if I…” He nudged his toe against the end of the chute on his right and immediately shot off to the left. Trisha felt a light tug as the rope halted his progress and she yanked him back quickly before the arc of the rope pulled him into the chute walls.

Digger stepped back onto the floor of the tunnel, and they shared a small triumphant smile. It was good when a plan came together.

“Who’s next?” she asked.

Clarence stumbled forward. “I…,” he swallowed hard. “I believe it is best for me to go next.” He looked sick to his stomach, but he squared his shoulders and stepped next to Digger. Shooting her another grin, Digger stepped off into the chute and nudged himself forward, the light bursting off the walls as he went. With a painful gulp, Clarence grabbed the rope and wrapped it twice around his hand. He closed his eyes and hopped in, but opened them quickly as he sat suspended before the opening. Trisha played out more rope and he disappeared from the opening, moving along simply by being tethered to Digger.

Slaathara stepped up and took the end of the rope from Trisha. Evidently, she had decided Trisha would go next. With a twinge of excitement, Trisha clasped the rope and stepped off. The feeling of weightlessness nearly made her laugh. This was pretty damn cool! Like being an astronaut. She peered forward, watching Clarence and Digger bobbing in the light; Clarence alarmed and Digger with a grin probably as wide as hers.

The insistent drag on the line pulled her forward when Slaathara entered. Trisha twisted to look back. Upooa poked his head in the chute. She gave him a thumbs up. He stepped in and they were off, hurtling along the chute at a surprising speed. The air streamed past her face, and she closed her eyes to embrace the sensation of rushing weightlessness. Before she could stop herself, she let out a whoop of delight and the echoing sound chased them into the depths.

[ 39 ]

[World Region: A777D-B4983-567FA-AABD3-1267F3-8A8A8]

THEIR exit from the chute was anything but orderly. With no warning of the approaching end and going a greater than usual speed, they crashed into the end wall in a tangle of arms and legs. With copious amounts of cursing, they tumbled out of the chute.

Slaathara groaned and crawled to the side of the chute opening, feeling bruised from head to toe. Trisha sank down next to her and sat back with a sigh.

“I never thought I would say this,” Trisha gave her a tired little smile, “but it feels really good to be sitting still.”

Slaathara nodded emphatically. What Ruu-an had believed was several days of speeding flight in the darkness of the travel chute turned out to be a little over two, by Digger’s count. Two days of trying to eat, sleep, and live while flying through the bowels of her world was more chute travel than she ever wanted to do again. In fact, just the idea of jumping into another chute right now made her feel queasy.

Digger had already recovered and was picking his way tentatively over the jumble of rock that lay in piles near the chute entrance, holding the light shard high to peer around.

She thrust her hands down to prop herself onto her feet to join him and recoiled when her left hand met with a sticky mound. Hissing with disgust, she yanked her hand back. Web strands stretched in glistening lines from her palm to the stone floor. A tingling sense of dread pricked her scalp, but before she could shout a warning, she heard Digger cry out. She jerked her head up in time to see the Laquaran fly through the air, a white mass of webbing splayed across his chest and his right arm holding the light shard. He landed hard, with a muffled pop followed by a sharp shriek of pain.

Slaathara staggered to her feet, wrenching her staff from the straps of her pack. Trisha was already moving, scrabbling up the rock to get to Digger, her weapon swinging in her grip. But Upooa bested them all, managing to jump in front of Digger’s prone body just as a ball of hairy legs boiled over the top of the scree.

It was a spider…bigger than any she had ever seen before. It nearly reached the height of Upooa’s waist. It charged Upooa, lifting itself on its back four legs. Even from her distance, she saw the length of its fangs, glistening faintly in the gleam from the light shard. Her heart clenched in panic.

“Beware venom,” she shouted desperately.

Her words must have reached the big green man because he simultaneously stepped back and spun to the side, lobbing off one of the creature’s legs. The spider released a high-pitched shriek that shredded her nerves. She wanted to clap her hands over her ears, but just gritted her teeth and yelled, “Clarence, prepare your spell.”

Clarence didn’t reply and as she picked her way as fast as possible over the loose rock, she spared a glance over her shoulder. The small wizard looked frozen in place, chalky and sweating as he gazed in horror at the spider in their midst. Slaathara grunted in disgust. She didn’t have the time to shake him out of his fear.

The spider, rather than run away after losing an appendage, threw itself into a rage. It darted again and again at Upooa and now, Trisha, who had joined the fight. Slaathara angled her climb trajectory. Maybe if she could get behind the spider, she could make it fight on two fronts and give Upooa or Trisha a better opening for the kill.

Finally, she reached the spot she was aiming for at the top of the scree pile. The spider was too engaged with the enemies in front of it to notice her presence at its rear. With a swift lift of her staff, she poured all her strength into striking the spinnerets at the base of its abdomen.

To her horror, rather than making the spider turn toward her, it made the spider launch up and forward. She heard Trisha cry out, followed by a terrible tearing, gurgling sound. The spider thrashed violently, nearly knocking Slaathara from her feet. She watched in dread as it spasmed and collapsed.

She rushed around its twitching legs to find Upooa half buried under the spider’s bulk. His sword was embedded to the hilt through the spider’s mouth and head. Those fangs were a bare nails-length from his hands. She didn’t really know if they were venomous or not, but she didn’t want to take any chances.

Trisha looked at her and, without speaking, they both positioned themselves on either side of the spider. With considerable effort, they managed to lift the spider up far enough for Upooa to extricate himself from under the hairy corpse without scratching himself on the fangs. The human’s face mirrored her own disgust as they hastily wiped their hands on their trousers, trying to rid themselves of the hairy, yet simultaneously chalky and sticky feel of the creature.

A low moan arose from Digger; Slaathara and Trisha rushed to his side. The Laquaran was pale, sweat beading his forehead. Slaathara’s heart sank as she glanced over him; it was obvious now what that popping sound had been. The heavy webbing that struck him had thrown him off balance and he landed badly on the uneven surface, snapping his lower leg.

She looked up and met Trisha’s gaze. It was clear from her expression that she knew how bad the injury was. Together, they removed Digger’s greave as delicately as they could. His leg bent at an unnatural angle.

It was a testament to Digger’s strength and fortitude that, even with the broken leg, he had managed to free his dagger and hack away most of the webbing that held him pinned to the stone. But, that effort had cost him and he lay glassy-eyed and spent.

“Heal him,” Upooa ordered her casually as he walked up, wiping his sword across the thigh of his trousers to get the last of the grime off its surface. Slaathara felt panic grip her.

“I…I can’t,” she stammered.

“What do you mean?” Trisha’s brows were furrowed, and her lips were tight. “You don’t have enough power or something?”

“No, no it’s…” Slaathara splayed out her hands helplessly. “If I were to heal his leg as it is, it would heal at that angle.” She saw Trisha’s face dawn with understanding and she looked at Digger with concern. “The leg needs to be set, you see, before I can heal it” she continued, feeling completely useless. “We could try, but I’ve never…”

“I can do it,” Clarence said, hunched over to catch his breath after climbing up the rocks with his pack. Apparently, he had regained his wits now that the spider was a stinking, dead mound. “I have taken many first aid courses, wilderness survival courses, even some paramedic training.”

Trisha’s lip twitched like she was fighting a smirk and she raised an eyebrow at Clarence. “You? Wilderness survival?”

Clarence huffed and scowled at her. “You never know when an emergency situation could arise where those skills are needed. Case in point,” he said, pointing at Digger.

Trisha quickly sobered. “What can we do to help?” she asked.

“Okay.” Clarence set down his pack. Adjusting his glasses, he looked over Digger’s leg. His tone took on an officious quality. “It looks like a clean break. Not a compound fracture, which is good. Upooa, I need you to come over here,” he said, directing the Orc to the side of Digger’s injured leg. “I am going to need you to hold this section of his leg still, this part right here above the break…but wait until I tell you.” Upooa kneeled in the rock and waited. Clarence leaned over Digger.

“Hey, Digger,” he said. Digger focused his eyes on him. “I am going to set your leg. I will not lie; this is going to be painful. I have to remove your boot and may have to cut your pants.” Digger nodded once in understanding. Slaathara wasn’t one to express affection or admiration often, but she was starting to feel a nudging respect for the dark human.

Clarence walked around to Digger’s legs and started pulling off the bird man’s boot. Digger let out a soft moan, but didn’t move. Rather than try to work the trouser leg over the break, Clarence borrowed a dagger and slit open the cloth. In the open, the Laquaran’s leg looked even worse, swollen and purpling under the skin.

“Alright, Slaathara, prep yourself with your healing spell. Give me a nod when you think you have it charged as much as possible. The moment I tell you, start casting. If we do this right, we will not need a splint.” He looked toward Upooa. “Be prepared to hold his leg as long as possible.” Upooa gave him a tight-lipped nod.

“Trisha, hold him down at the shoulders. The less he moves, the better.” The girl leaned over Digger, looking back at Clarence and Slaathara. Slaathara closed her eyes, sent up a prayer to the moon and started her spell, trying to build it up as well as she could. The sparking sensation vibrated just under her breastbone, shooting down her arms, into her hands, filling them like she held a heavy, live flame. After several moments, the warmth grew to a swirling tide of magic she could barely hold back. She nodded; her eyes still closed.

She opened them, however, when Digger let out a pained hiss. Clarence had grasped Digger’s leg near the ankle and was pulling back with what looked like considerable effort, Upooa’s strong hands clasped above the break. Digger’s leg straightened rather quickly. There was a sound like a muffled snap and the leg settled into itself.

“Now, Slaathara,” Clarence grunted through gritted teeth. She put her hands over the purpled bruised area and released the spell, the swirling flames sparking through her palms and fingertips. The moment she let go of the spell, she knew it was a good casting. Power rushed from her, her hands glowing a blue- white light that sank into Digger’s skin. The purple bruising receded, leaving behind yellow and brownish marks of a week’s old injury.

Digger sighed and his body appeared to relax into the floor as the pain receded.

Clarence let go slowly, his eyes glued to the area of the break. Finally, he released his hands completely and, seeing no shift in the leg, sat back with a sigh of his own.

“Remind me never to tease you about your hypochondria again,” Trisha said, looking at Clarence in admiration.

“I suppose there are advantages to being terrified of everything,” he smiled.

Digger sat up a little, turning his leg a bit from side to side. Slaathara bent over his leg and prodded the area lightly. Digger winced.

“It’s better,” he said, his voice sounding hoarse. “But I don’t reckon I’ll be jumpin’ across ships anytime soon,” he finished, giving Upooa a pallid smile.

“No,” Slaathara agreed. “I will do another heal spell on you and then we will see what we can do about bracing it so you can walk.”

“We could use one of the healing potions,” Trisha pointed out, but Digger just shook his head.

“We only have two left. Let’s save them for somethin’ more serious.”

“I vote that we don’t have anything more serious,” the human muttered, looking harried.

Digger just gave the girl a tired smile.

Slaathara, however, felt something heavy settle over her at the thought of anyone else getting hurt as bad or worse. Would she be skilled enough to care for them? An achy feeling replaced the heaviness and she realized, with a start, that she was becoming invested in these people. When did she begin to care so much about this hodge-podge group of characters?

She shook her head to dislodge the thought. No, they were just a means of escape. The moment she found a place to practice her skills without reprisals, she was going to become a student of magic. And then? Well, she never really considered much past that.

Her tangled emotions left her feeling confused and a little angry. To cover, she threw herself into another healing spell, focusing all of her attention on the words and gestures. The spell was not as good as the first one, but the bruising continued to improve.

Clarence used both of Digger’s greaves to create a makeshift brace he lashed in place with bandages and greave straps. When he was done, the Laquaran could put his weight on his foot. Upooa, without a word or even permission, scooped up Digger and hauled him down the far side of the scree pile. From the top, Slaathara watched as Digger walked slowly along the level tunnel floor, Upooa standing guard.

“Looks like we’re stuck carrying the bags,” Trisha said with shrug. Between Trisha, Clarence, and Slaathara, they managed to haul all their gear over the scree and divvied up Digger’s pack contents. Upooa carried the bulk of it.

To the left, the tunnel splintered off into a maze of openings in varying sizes. After a bit of scouting, they made the choice to travel to the right, down the single tunnel, surmising that this was the likeliest path. They made slow progress, stopping often to let Digger rest. Every few hours, Slaathara would cast another healing spell, trying to conserve her power while continuing to aid Digger. After eight hours, it was clear that everyone had reached their limit. They made camp. Slaathara and Clarence, tired as they were, still took the time to read through and refresh their spells before sleeping.

They had no real idea of how far they would have to travel to reach the farm cave. Slaathara had never been one to fear getting lost in the warren of caverns and tunnels of her world. She was adept at navigating them, having almost a sixth sense of direction as she traveled them. But now she wondered if she might end her days lost in the stony darkness, never having seen open sky. It made her sad in a way that was indescribable. She ate sparingly, suddenly not having much of an appetite. Her dreams were plagued with invisible fanged creatures with many legs.

They set off again after eight hours of sorely needed rest. Digger was so much improved that Clarence removed the brace and watched with amusement as the bright-haired man bounced about to test the leg.

“He looks like a dancing parakeet,” Clarence muttered to Trisha, who was standing near her.

“I do not,” said Digger emphatically, and then cocked his head in confusion. “What’s a parakeet?”

Trisha burst into laughter, Clarence joining in. Soon Digger was chuckling, though Slaathara wasn’t clear why. She glanced at Upooa who just shrugged at her and hoisted his pack. The Orc obviously didn’t understand these people any better than she did, but he was just as obviously unfazed by their odd sense of humor.

They trekked on for several hours, the tunnel never wavering until they rounded a slight bend and were met with a sight that had them all stumbling to a halt.

It was a cavern that rivalled any level cavern she had ever traversed. It was truly immense. Their light shard barely made a dent in the darkness. And everywhere the light fell there was…

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Trisha breathed in horror.

Spider webs. Every boulder, stalactite and stalagmite, every inch of floor was covered in spider webs.

Clarence emitted a whimper next to her. Glancing over, she saw him frozen in fear again, his eyes wide and staring, his mouth working soundlessly. Something in Slaathara snapped and she slapped him across the face and shook him by the shoulders until he focused on her.

“We need you,” she said, letting her anger and fear pour into her words. “If you expect us to carry you through this, you will die here.”

Clarence looked at her in shock and then slowly nodded his head. “Yes…yes, of course…I…” he gabbled and then cleared his throat with an effort. “I understand. I will not be a burden.” He finished decisively, looking terrified, but at least functional.

Slaathara turned to see the rest of the group looking at her with varied expressions that crossed the gamut from interested to alarmed.

She glowered at them, refusing to apologize. “So, how are we going to get through here?” she demanded.

Digger scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I’ve been doin’ some thinkin’,” he drawled softly, walking over to Trisha’s pack and unhooking her lantern. He lit the ray bark and carried it over to a patch of webbing that drooped over the cavern entrance. Leaving the shutter open, he lifted the flame to the webbing. The webbing instantly ignited into a brilliant blaze of light that had Digger jumping back. It just as quickly extinguished with a whoomph sound, leaving nothing but floating ash.

Slaathara looked at the cavern full of webbing and her imagination saw it going up in a massive conflagration. Nothing would survive that…least of all them.

“This is not one of your better ideas,” Trisha said, echoing Slaathara’s thoughts.

Digger smiled. “I don’t intend to barbecue the room,” he said, setting down his pack and pulling out three torches. “Just threaten anythin’ that comes after us. Creatures that are vulnerable to flame are often wary of flame, in my experience.”

“I like this plan,” Upooa said, grabbing up a torch and lighting it in the lantern flame. The flames flickered and smoked as he raised it.

“Of course you would,’ Trisha sighed, picking up a torch of her own and lighting it. “Clarence, ready that dust of yours. Things are about to get interesting.”

“Wait!” Slaathara said, gesturing them to her. “Let me cast Ares’ Blessing on one of your weapons before we follow this foolish plan.”

Trisha was chosen again to take the blessing on her nunchucks. Then Slaathara hoisted her staff and Clarence took up the last torch. No one spoke as they crept into the cavern.

Their steps made sticky sucking noises as their feet peeled away from the webbing underfoot. Slaathara could feel the crawling slide of a thousand eyes watching them. Time stalled. Multi-legged bodies emerged to the left and right of them, only to scuttle back when the flames waved in their direction. Inch by agonizing inch, they wended their way through the cavern, a chorus of almost angry chittering building as they crept along.

Sweat trickled along her jaw and down her neck. Slaathara’s body felt like it would snap from the tension. As they neared the end, the spiders became bolder, emerging more frequently in darting attacks fended off by slashing sword and flame. Slaathara kept losing her sense of direction as she spun to meet each questing attack and had to reorient herself each time to remain moving forward. At one point, Clarence cleared the way with a swirling blast of dust that allowed them to see that they were nearing the cavern opening on the other side.

But the spiders had gotten clever. Several dropped from above into their midst and the flames mattered little in the melee that ensued. Slaathara lashed out blindly with her staff, striking legs and eyes at every corner. Upooa’s blade glinted out of the corner of her eye, cleaved spider parts flying in all directions. Trisha’s enchanted weapon pounded spider bodies into pulp or swept their legs clean off.

There was a sudden lull as the last of the attacking group fell to Upooa’s blade, but Slaathara could sense the bulk of others waiting just beyond the reach of their flame. Digger broke the silence, crying out in a grim voice, “Run!” And tossed his torch into the air behind him.

Everything slowed to a crawl. She spun on her heel, watching the others do the same in a slow-motion pirouette. Details sprung out at her: Trisha’s wide green eyes, Upooa’s tusks standing out from the grin on his face, Digger in the middle of a leap, the torch suspended in the air, Clarence yelling in defiance. Her feet couldn’t seem to move fast enough. Legs and fangs and eyes blurred past her, even as she beat them out of her way. She had just reached the other opening, Digger pelting along beside her when there was a muffled ph-woom and a blast of heat sent her tumbling down the tunnel.

More arms and legs swirled around her, but she couldn’t tell if they were hers or someone else’s. There was no way for her to tell how far they rolled before they came to a stop, scattered about the tunnel floor, breathing heavily. The flaming orange light behind her abruptly dimmed and the air from the tunnel ahead suddenly rushed at her, threatening to suck her back into the cavern. She scrabbled at the stone ground as she slid a few inches before the wind just as suddenly died, leaving her gasping. Somehow, someone had managed to keep a hold of the light shard and it shone brightly in the tunnel, illuminating a sparkling swirl of ash.

Slaathara sat up with a groan, looking around for any fanged menace that might have escaped the explosion as they had. The tunnel, however, was silent. They were alone. She slumped over in relief, completely wrung out by the ordeal.

The others stirred, making their way to their feet and gathering what they could find of the supplies that were now scattered about the tunnel after their long roll to freedom. Clarence, however, lay still. Slaathara started to move to his side, fearing he might be dead or injured, but he sat up before she got to him. He looked himself over a dispassionately, dusting himself here and there before fastidiously plucking a bit of spider leg off his trousers.

“I fucking hate spiders,” he groused emphatically, flicking the spider bit away.

Trisha snorted and covered her mouth, like she was fighting a laugh. Digger coughed out a wheezing chuckle. Before Slaathara knew it, Trisha, Digger, Clarence, and even Upooa were howling, holding their sides and practically crying with laughter.

Slaathara sighed…and then grinned. Soon she was laughing, too, shedding the tension of the last few days with each chortle. We all might be a little mad, she thought giddily as they finally hoisted their gear and moved down the tunnel, occasionally chuckling as they trudged onward.

[ 40 ]

[World Region: A777D-B4983-567FA-AABD3-1267F3-8A8A8]

NEARLY 60 hours of traveling and all of it uphill. Digger lifted the shard, casting beams of light on a path that snaked its way ever upward. He wondered if they had taken the wrong tunnel after all. The old lizard’s directions were fairly hazy on how far he traveled before he fell into the travel chute. Digger had pondered for many hours how miraculous it was that Ruu-an managed to survive. Even if the cavern of spiders wasn’t the warren of fangs and legs that they had found, just one of those creatures was more than a match for an unarmed person.

He looked behind him. Clarence was trailing behind again. Even Upooa looked tired. It was time to make camp.

Digger’s eyes scoured the path ahead, finding what looked like a somewhat level area near a curve in the tunnel. When he reached it, he shrugged off his pack, their now universal sign that they were done for the day.

Pulling out his metal water jug, something Clarence called a canteen, he took a long swallow. Slaathara had been correct. Finding water in the caverns of her world hadn’t been a concern. Seeps and rivulets regularly crossed the tunnel walls and floor, some even settling in crystal clear pools that harbored tiny pale pink eyeless creatures with gaping mouths that looked like a cross between a frog and a fish.

Next to him, Upooa shrugged off his pack with what sounded like an involuntary grunt of pain. Digger watched him as he moved his gear and settled. Sure enough, as Upooa sat, he favored his left side.

“You’re injured,” he said, watching Upooa rest his head against the tunnel wall.

“I am functional,” the green man grumbled.

“That’s not the same, now is it?” Digger looked closer, his concern mounting. Upooa’s color was brighter somehow and sweat beaded across his forehead. “Hey, Blue,” he said quietly, motioning Slaathara to him. “Somethin’s wrong with Upooa.”

“His left side,” he motioned when Slaathara arrived. She tried to lift his arm to get a look, but Upooa just glowered at her, a soft, low growl echoing between his tusks.

“Seriously?” Trisha demanded, exasperated. She stood over them, arms crossed, answering Upooa’s glower with a glare of her own. “You’re really not going to let her heal you? What is wrong with you? Is this some sort of Orc thing or are all males just that moronic?”

Upooa continued to look at Trisha with those hooded menacing eyes, but Digger was close enough to see the corner of his lip twitch like he was fighting a smile. Still eyeing Trisha, he slowly lifted his left arm. Clarence walked up just as Slaathara finished unstrapping the side of his armor and pulled away a wad of bandaging that Upooa must have shoved over the wound.

Everyone exhaled a small gasp of disgust as clotted pus oozed from a hand sized gash in the big man’s side. The edges of the wound were purplish and raw, with radiating dark red lines spreading out from the wound.

“Did this happen during the spider fight?” Slaathara hissed in anger and disbelief. Digger could understand her outrage. Upooa had hidden his injury all this time? He felt an unnatural urge to slap the big guy upside his thick head.

“I have some Cure Poison in the potion case,” she said, moving to rush down to her pack, but Clarence’s words stopped her.

“This is not poison. This is infection.” Clarence took her place, kneeling next to Upooa and pouring water over a wad of clean bandages he must have brought from his supplies. He began to wipe away the encrusted blood and pus. Upooa grunted and closed his eyes, clamping his mouth in a tight line.

Digger watched Slaathara pale a little at Clarence’s diagnosis.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, afraid he already knew the answer.

“It would have been better if he had been poisoned.” Digger didn’t know that he had ever seen the lizard look so grim. “Fever Cure is the one standard potion that was missing from the case. I suspected, at the time, that the guards had used up their supply and hadn’t yet replenished it. I blame myself,” she said, clasping her hands in a white knuckled grip. “I should have gotten more when we had the chance.”

“We don’t have anything that will help?” Trisha asked. “Maybe that toadstool potion?”

The lizard shook her head. “Essence of Toadstool would help heal the wound, but once infection sets in, closing the wound would only hasten the spread of the infection. The same goes for my healing spell.”

Upooa grunted in pain again and clamped a hand on Clarence’s arm. “Enough,” he grimaced. “Your prodding is driving me mad.”

“My prodding,” Clarence shot back, “is the only thing that is going to do any good at this point.” Upooa’s grip remained, but surprisingly Clarence didn’t back down. His dark face was set, stubborn and unyielding. Upooa finally relaxed his grip and Clarence went back to cleaning the wound. When he was done, he ordered Upooa to completely remove his vest armor so he could wrap clean bandages around his torso.

The small man finally sat back with a frown. “Keeping the wound clean and leaving off the armor so it can breathe is about all we can do.”

Trisha scrubbed her hands over her face and then threw them out in a helpless gesture. “Why?” she demanded of Upooa. “Why didn’t you tell anyone you were injured?”

“It seemed but just a scratch,” he said a little sheepishly. At least the green man had the sense to look ashamed of himself.

Digger sighed. Placing blame wasn’t going to get this horse moving any faster. They all needed sleep.

“I’ll take first watch,” he said. “Let’s get what rest we can.”

No one else said anything, just set about doing what was now a regular bedtime routine. Clarence and Slaathara sat for long moments, going over their spell scrolls. Trisha watched Upooa from her bedroll as he slowly set up his own, probably knowing that the stubborn Orc wouldn’t accept her help. Finally, everyone was bedded down. Digger muted the light shard by tucking it halfway behind his pack. When it lost its charge, they would need to stick with lanterns. They couldn’t afford to weaken anyone else while Upooa was ill.

When Trisha came to relieve him two hours later, Upooa was still awake, his dark eyes glinting from the darkened area where he rested. Digger felt his worry ratchet up a notch. He settled himself on his bedding, but it was a long time before he could force himself to sleep.

When Slaathara woke him, her face was scrawled with worry. Digger looked immediately toward Upooa. He was standing, but his face was feverish, his eyes blood shot. Digger’s heart sank, but with little option but to move on, he quickly snatched some rations and packed up his gear.

They trudged in silence. By some unspoken agreement, Trisha, Clarence, and Slaathara hung back enough that Upooa was now in the middle of their march. Upooa, for his part, looked at the ground, seemingly intent on just putting one foot in front of the other.

Around the six-hour mark, Trisha let out a cry of dismay. Digger whirled to see her straining under Upooa’s arm, trying to keep him upright. He rushed back, everyone trying to help her prevent the big man from falling. Digger could feel the heat of fever pouring off Upooa’s skin as he braced himself under the Orc’s other arm.

They sat him up against the tunnel wall and Clarence checked his wound. The pus was not nearly as bad, but the wound was swollen and tight, the fingers of dark lines spreading further across his abdomen.

“What I would not give for some antibiotics right about now,” Clarence muttered.

Antibiotics were clearly some kind of medicine in Clarence’s world. Digger recalled the sulfur powder and herbal tinctures they had in N-Avia. Those remedies were hopelessly out of reach right now.

“Hey, guys?” Trisha’s voice echoed softly from further up the tunnel, interrupting his pondering. “Is that what I think it is?” Digger looked up to see her pointing to a spot on the tunnel wall. Even from where he stood, he could see a muted glow.

Slaathara rushed past him to examine the wall. “It’s moon moss,” she exclaimed. The lizard ran further up the tunnel. “There’s more over here!”

So, they were headed in the right direction after all.

Digger leaned into Upooa, throwing the man’s arm around his shoulders again. “Time to get movin’, my big friend,” he said, heaving Upooa to his feet. “We’re nearly there. Don’t you be givin’ up on me now.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Upooa slurred, swaying a little but keeping his feet.

Trisha wedged herself under Upooa’s other arm and, with renewed vigor, they plodded on. The moss grew thicker and brighter with each step, as did their hope. Digger wouldn’t swear on it, but that feeling was a tangible thing. Even Upooa appeared the better for it. He eventually shrugged off their aid, though Digger stuck to his side lest he fall again.

In less than an hour, they looked upon a horizon that, almost literally, took Digger’s breath away.

“Holy shit,” Trisha breathed in amazement.

Digger felt there wasn’t much holy about shit, but he understood her sentiment, nonetheless. The cavern they looked down upon was so vast he could barely see the other side. And it was green. Lush fields and orchards stretched in every direction, dotted by small clusters of stone buildings. What looked like channels of waterways ran in orderly patterns across the landscape, traversed by wide stone bridges where cobbled streets intersected. The ceiling was a solid mass of moon moss that shone brighter than any he had seen.

“The moon,” Slaathara suddenly gasped and Digger followed her pointing finger to a huge bright opening on the farthest edge of the cavern. At first he didn’t understand what he was seeing, and then realized with astonishment that the growing dark bulge on the left side of the opening was an enormous mass moving through an even more enormous tunnel.

He watched in further amazement as the moon sped its way across the cavern opening. When the leading edge of the massive orb reached the center of the opening, the cavern began to darken. The fields rippled under a wind that came rushing in from the moon’s passage. Soon the moon filled the whole opening and the cavern darkened to something like twilight, even with the ceiling of moss. Cracks of brighter light filtered down through the ceiling, illuminating sections of the fields with splashes of glowing yellow white.

“This would be a good time for us to move, would it not?” Clarence muttered to him, almost like he didn’t want to break the mood. Digger shook himself, feeling a little guilty at being so caught up in the scenery, and looked back at Upooa who was leaning against the cavern entrance. The Orc looked like death warmed over. He wasn’t going to be standing for very long in his current condition.

Trisha was one step ahead of him. She tapped Slaathara on the arm, nodding her head toward Upooa. “We need to get moving.”

Upooa didn’t resist their help this time. With slow steps, they crept down a switchback path that led to the valley floor in the twilit glow. By the time they reached the bottom, the moon had cleared the opening, crawling up the shaft to the land above. Once it rose above the lip of the main chute, it would start to lighten again.

“Po-ran…you lazy tunnel scab! Why are you always the last to deliver?”

The barking voice came from around a stand of trees where the trail ended at a cobblestone road. They all froze. Digger scoured the area and then motioned for everyone to make for the trees. Practically dragging Upooa, he and Trisha made it to the stand and they slowly set him down as gently as possible to lean against the trunk of a tree. Digger’s heart beat wildly and he forced himself to breath normally until it settled.

There was muttering and the sound of scraping. Digger motioned to Trisha that he was going to take a look. Clarence looked appalled at the notion, but Trisha gave Digger a thumbs up and Slaathara motioned him to go. Treading on near silent feet, he skirted between the trees, following the sound of movement. The group of trees was small. In less than 50 yards, Digger saw a clearing. He looked up and scanned the tree canopy until he found what he was looking for. Crouching low, he made for a tree to his left and, keeping the trunk between himself and the clearing, he leapt onto the lowest branch. With practiced movements, he skipped from branch to branch, from tree to tree, until he overlooked the clearing.

Digger cocked his head in interest. A gaping black tunnel was gouged out of the side of the cavern. Before it was a wide clearing holding stacks of metal and wood pallets and large mesh-covered bushel baskets. A hook, arm, and pulley system was suspended before the tunnel. Two Rawg’Mai in gray tunics and trousers hauled the last of what looked like baskets of some kind of tuber out of a large handcart and placed it onto a pallet on the ground in front of the tunnel. Each worker gathered up two ropes on each side of the pallet, connecting them in the center with a large metal clasp.

Another Rawg’Mai, in the now familiar guard garb, used a lever to swing the arm of the pulley over the pallet, where the workers connected the ropes to the hook. Hauling down on another lever, the guard lifted the pallet off the ground. The workers pushed the pallet halfway into the tunnel. With a jerk, the pallet lifted slightly, slackening the lines. One of the workers hopped onto the pallet and released the hook, then scrambled down. The pallet remained suspended. They both gave the bundle of goods a heave and the whole thing shot into the chute and disappeared.

The guard looked down the cavern at the moon chute. “By the goddess’s cracked tail! The moon is nearly risen.” She scowled at the workers chewing on something that bulged the cheek of her snout, looking pointedly at the smaller of the two who stared at his feet, hands behind his back.

“If the priestess hadn’t vouched for your sorry tails, I would have fed you to the creatures long ago.” She spat a gob of dark liquid onto the stone at their feet. It landed with a glistening splat, spattering the small worker’s boots. With a grunt of satisfaction, she spun and marched off down the stone street. The two Rawg’Mai stood for a long moment, appearing to listen to the fading clack of the guard’s boots. When the footsteps faded into silence, the larger lizard started loading empty baskets into the handcart, growling as she went.

“If I were a guard, I’d chuck that sorry excuse of a lizard into the moon tunnel!” She heaved one of the baskets unnecessarily hard into the cart.

“I’m sorry, Tyril,” the smaller Rawg’Mai said, finally moving and shaking off his boot. “If Misla hadn’t gotten sick, you wouldn’t be stuck with me.”

“Your work with the herbs in the Priestess’s garden more than makes up for your lack of speed harvesting and Pintel knows it.”

A plan was building in Digger’s mind and this last comment decided it for him. He swung out of the tree and landed lightly near the two workers, holding his hands out in a placating gesture he hoped showed them he meant no harm.

Both lizards froze, looking at him in astonishment. Up close, they were both a remarkably similar color of faded brown.

“I don’t mean any harm,” Digger told them, holding his pose so he didn’t startle them further. “It’s just, I have a friend who is hurt and I could use some help.”

The larger of the two narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

“Are you running from the guards?”

Digger paused for a moment. In truth, they were running from the authorities, but not the ones this Rawg’Mai meant. Well, when in doubt, hit ‘em with the truth.

“We are runnin’ from the guards, but not ones from this level, I’m told.” Digger smiled. “At least, not yet.”

This, unfortunately, only made them look more suspicious.

“Just what level are you coming from?” The tall one was, apparently, doing all the talking.

Digger scrubbed his head. “I don’t rightly know, come to think of it. We came out through up there.” He pointed up the cavern wall to the dark opening that they could just barely see over the trees. The Rawg’Mais’ eyes widened more, if that was possible.

“Look,” he said, trying to look apologetic, “I would explain more, but my friend is on his last legs. You mentioned somethin’ about a priestess? I was hopin’ she could help him?”

The larger one shook herself a little like she was coming out of a daze and turned to her smaller companion.

“Po-ran, stay here. I’m going to see about his friend.” The smaller lizard looked like he might object, but clamped his mouth shut. The larger one waved Digger ahead, wanting him to lead the way. Digger obliged, looking back frequently to make sure she was following as he skirted the outside of the clump of trees.

In minutes, they approached his huddled group. Trisha jumped up from Upooa’s side, reaching for her weapon, but he waved her down.

“Hey, Blue,” Digger motioned Slaathara over. “I think our new friend could use a more familiar face.”

As Slaathara exited the trees, he saw the Rawg’Mai next to him relax a little. The brown lizard bowed slightly in her direction.

“I am Tyril,” she said.

“Slaathara,” the blue lizard bowed in turn.

Tyril looked a little confused, glancing back at Digger. Slaathara gave a small hiss of exasperation.

“Sometimes known as Blue,” she amended, giving Digger a long-suffering look. He tried not to grin.

“Our friend needs healing.” Slaathara gestured to Upooa, who looked even worse, if that was possible.

Tyril’s eyes widened when she looked upon the Orc, but she didn’t flee, which was a win to Digger. The brown lizard swallowed and then appeared to come to a sudden decision.

“Come with me,” she ordered him. “We will get the cart and take him to the temple. There are healers there who will know what to do.”

It didn’t take them long to load Upooa into the handcart. While there was ample room for more, no one wanted to add to the burden and elected to walk, even though both Tyril and Po-ran, the smaller Rawg’Mai, both insisted they didn’t mind. And the lizards resolutely declined Digger’s offer to help pull the cart.

At the first crossroad, they turned left and headed toward the moon tunnel opening. Tyril explained that this path was less populated and, given the time of moon passing, they were unlikely to meet anyone, let alone guards.

As they walked, Tyril kept up a steady stream of questions. The brown lizard reminded him of Healer back home. Healer was the doctor of Catcher Hollow and she could get a confession from a crow, so they said. Digger often felt that maybe Confessor might have been a more apt name for her, no matter that she could heal better than she could coax an admission of guilt. Like Healer, Tyril, with her steady voice and obvious interest, enticed them to spill their whole tale from start to finish. Although, for some reason, his group wasn’t very forthcoming with the details of how they found the chute that brought them here. Slaathara made it sound like it was a lucky accident and no one clarified. Not even Digger.

“So, you are seeking the surface now?” Tyril asked, turning the handcart onto a smaller cobbled road. They were heading in the direction of a large stone building that was cleverly built into the wall of the cavern on the far side of where they had started. It was much fancier than anything he had ever come across, almost like some of the government buildings he’d seen in photographs from his world. Or maybe some kind of temple, though he had never seen the like before.

“Yes,” answered Slaathara. “We’ll climb our way up the moon tunnel, if need be.” The look in her violet eyes suggested that she would much rather avoid that option. Digger glanced back at the moon tunnel which was now a bright opening again. Clarence was looking as well. The small man’s grave expression probably echoed his own. Digger couldn’t see how they could possibly scale those walls.

They entered into a garden area and the heady smell of herbs and flowering plants wafted up as they passed. A small group of Rawg’Mai worked the soil or clipped handfuls of herbs, deftly tying them together and putting them in baskets with practiced motions. Po-ran abruptly hailed one of the garden workers.

“Ready the sick room,” he called. Digger was a little surprised. Po-ran had hardly said a word during the whole trip. An unknown gray-clad worker scampered through the garden paths to the main road and ran ahead through a courtyard archway.

“Po-ran is a skilled herbalist,” Tyril said, noticing Digger’s surprise. “He will tend to your friend while I fetch the priestess.”

“Is the priestess your only healer,” Trisha asked, looking up at the archway as they passed under it.

“No. But she is the best we have.” Tyril and Po-ran stopped the cart near a doorway at the base of a two-story building. It was one of many buildings in a crescent shaped ring around the courtyard. The large center building dominated the others. Hewn from the cavern itself, it jutted out from the cavern wall and rose at least four stories high, hovering over the other buildings like a mother hen protecting her chicks.

While he was gawking, two Rawg’Mai in white tunics had appeared from somewhere and, with Trisha’s help, were lifting Upooa from the cart. Feeling guilty, Digger stepped aside as they carried him into the building and followed after.

They laid him on a cloth draped stone table in the center of the front room. Stone shelves nearly covered the two walls to the front and left, packed to bursting with glass bottles, metal boxes, hanging herbs and small bags. An arched doorway split the front shelves and Digger could see the edges of beds within. Po-ran worked at a stone counter to the right, upending a bottle into a glass cup and mixing in a yellowish powder with a stirring rod. He carried the mixture to the table, directing the two Rawg’Mai to lift Upooa.

“Drink,” he murmured. For one wild moment, Digger thought the green man would refuse, but he opened his mouth and dutifully drank the potion. The healers quickly removed the soiled bandaging and began to clean the wound with some kind of herbal wash.

“Is he going to be okay?” Trisha asked Po-ran anxiously when he returned to the counter.

“I gave him a strong dose of Fever Cure mixed with some yellow dock to cleanse the blood,” he answered, not looking at either of them as he busied himself with cleaning the cup and implements in a small basin. “He will need another dose in 12 hours.”

“But, I suspect he will need more than potions,” a new voice came from the doorway. A very tall, pale white, almost stately Rawg’Mai entered the sick room and Digger felt a subtle sense of awe filter through the room. The healers in white had stepped away from Upooa, their hands clasped in front of them, their heads bowed. He glanced at Po-ran to see him in the same pose. Trisha just looked sidelong at Digger and gave him a small shrug.

Slaathara, wariness stamped all over her face, gave the newcomer a short bow. “You must be the priestess.”

The pale lizard smiled, amusement giving her face a warmth her color never could. With a rustle of bright blue robes, the lizard bowed in return. “Priestess Kyth-ra. I would ask your names, but it appears my services are needed before niceties. Please excuse me.”

Practically gliding over to Upooa, she inspected the wound, then placed her fingers lightly on various points of his torso. With a nod, she closed her eyes and began to murmur under her breath, her hands forming intricate sigils in the air. Digger saw Slaathara and Clarence lean forward, watching her every move with an intensity that was almost indecent.

A blue gold glow built around Kyth-ra’s hands, almost lacy in appearance. She stopped her murmuring and movement and stood in place for a long moment. The glow continued to strengthen in hue and brightness. Finally, Kyth-ra placed her hands on either side of Upooa’s wound and the color swept out of her hands, bleeding into the Orc’s skin. The angry lines of red reversed their course, shrinking back to the line of the wound. The swollen flesh flattened and the purple bruising faded. Slowly, the wound began to stitch itself together. In moments, all that was left was the yellow and brown mottling of weeks’ old bruising and a thin red line where the skin seamed together.

The priestess looked up at them with a tired smile. “He will need rest and another dose of Po-ran’s elixir to ensure the infection is cleared, but he should recover nicely. So,” she said, gathering herself, “you must have some tea with me and tell me how so many Races of the Twelve have come to be at my humble temple.”

[ 41 ]

[World Region: A777D-B4983-567FA-AABD3-1267F3-8A8A8]

A FRISSON of expectation threaded its way down Clarence’s spine. Here was someone who truly knew magic and what it was capable of. He could see the almost giddy spring in Slaathara’s step as she followed the priestess into the main temple building; he, Trisha, and Digger right on her heels.

They mounted the stone steps, past a set of pillars and through huge double metal doors that were cast in cascading images of moons and plants. Clarence wanted to run his hands over the relief, but dutifully followed inside instead.

The main room was huge. A barrel-vaulted ceiling hung over a vast empty stone hall. A simple stone altar of polished white marble lay at the end; lantern-topped pink quartz pillars bookending the altar stone.

Instead of crossing the hall, they made a sharp right and mounted another set of wide spiraling stone stairs that swooped up to a second-floor landing and a closed metal door. The door opened on silent hinges and the priestess gestured for them to enter.

Clarence nearly wept. He finally found himself in something like civilization again.

Cushion topped chairs and settees were grouped on a deep red carpet around a low, polished metal table in a comfortably appointed sitting room. Lanterns hung on chains from the ceiling, casting the room in a warm yellow glow. A small built-in white stone shelf, full of books, abutted a wide window that looked over a patch of garden and a true wooden desk and stool was set on the other side. A vast tapestry hung on the wall opposite the window, depicting colorful abstract designs and a large silver moon. Another metal door lay in the far wall, presumably leading to private quarters for the priestess.

Clarence practically hummed as he took a seat on an embroidered cushion. A white clad attendant laid out plates of what looked like fruit, baked items and some kind of cheese before attending to steeping cups of fragrant tea. Kyth-ra sat back on a settee, watching them intently. When they were all served, she fixed her attention pointedly on Slaathara.

“You remind me a bit of myself many moons ago,” she smiled, taking a sip of her tea.

Slaathara appeared flummoxed. Clarence bit back a smile. He knew a manipulator when he saw one. At least, he did now. Those long days trekking through the tunnels with nothing but his own thoughts to stave off the boredom had led to some surprising revelations. One of which was something he knew all along, but never admitted to himself. He had let his wife manipulate him from the moment they met.

Every scene of his married life played out in his mind’s eye in those dank tunnels, like one of those depressing movies where the viewer knows what is going to happen, but is helpless to stop the inevitable. He had known it from the start, and he let it happen anyway. He still was not sure why. That, as Trisha would say, would take a whole lot of therapy.

“I’m confused,” Slaathara said, pointedly ignoring Kyth-ra’s comment. “How did all this come to be here?”

The priestess laughed; a surprisingly open, almost sultry sound. “Oh, we are the dirty little secret that keeps the upper level in power.” Clarence saw Digger and Trisha perk up. If they had not been particularly interested in what they were going to hear, they were now.

“On this side of the Cavern of Life, the moon has spent her energy, but we are near the surface. The radiating warmth from above,” she gestured to the ceiling, “keeps the moon moss energized and lit. The trade-off is that there is no true evening cycle this close to the surface.”

Kyth-ra rose and moved to the tapestry. “Jellaran society mostly lives on the leading side of the Cavern of Life so that the moon can bring the fresh winds and the light energy.” The priestess pointed to a section of the tapestry and Clarence felt a stirring sense of comprehension. Rather than abstract symbols, the tapestry was a map, of sorts, outlining the tunnel and level systems of Jellara. “The upper level of the ruling side is similar to here, with one exception. The light and heat from the passing new moon makes their climate more tropical. There are even daily rain showers from the moisture and shift in temperature. But, this is why we are taught no one lives on this side of the Cavern of Life.” She pointed to the lines surrounding the other side of the moon, where another system of caverns lay. “As our population grew and the upper levels solidified their power, it was soon realized that the few farming caverns on that side would not be enough to keep the upper levels in the lifestyle they were accustomed to and feed their working population.” The pale Rawg’Mai looked at them, her eyes crinkling with amusement. “It would be quite terrible if the Upper Levels had to work for their supper, would it not?”

“In their search for solutions, they found the ringing chutes that travel clockwise and counterclockwise from one side of the Cavern of Life to the other. They now had a way to quickly transport goods from the trailing side of the cavern and the consistent light offered nearly endless opportunities for food growth. And, in a fortuitous bit of luck for the Upper Level, these chutes only appear at the top and lowest levels of Jellara.”

“The Unclean,” Trisha muttered.

“Just so,” Kyth-ra nodded, resuming her seat. “What better way to keep a secret than to make an entire people anathema. Over the many subsequent years, I believe that knowledge has even faded from the Unclean’s memory.”

Trisha and Clarence exchanged a quick glance. Trisha gave the barest shake of her head. They were both thinking the same thing. No one needed to know about the little gray lizard that was spending the last of his days in comfort in an unsuspecting Unclean village.

“I don’t get it,” Trisha remarked, in part to cover their brief exchanged look, Clarence thought. “How do you populate the workers and guards and still keep these farming caverns a secret?”

“Criminals are sent here, never to return. Disgraced Upper Level guards are also sent here, never to return.” Kyth-ra gave them a rueful smile. “And wizards who have made missteps with the ruling class are sent here, never to return. It is a well-crafted dance of political intrigue that has been going on for centuries.”

“Surely that’s not enough people to work all these caverns,” Slaathara said dubiously, looking at the tapestry.

“You are correct, of course. Most of the workers you see today were actually born here. A whole subsect of our population, born into slavery, as it were.” Kyth-ra’s light, airy countenance took on a sad cast. “Each farming cavern has homes, markets, and even brothels. Workers have families, husbands, wives, children; just like any other Jellaran village, but they must work, and they can never leave. The tunnels are purposely filled with creatures to cut down anyone who tries to run. And the guards,” Kyth-ra’s snout screwed up into a sneer of dislike. “Let’s just say that the guards who find themselves here are bitter at their change in station and handed unlimited control of the area that is now their prison. It makes them fickle. One day they will bring a wounded worker here to be healed, the next they are tossing a perfectly hale worker into the tunnels as an example to the others.”

“Does every farming cavern have a temple?” Trisha asked, looking around the room with a touch of disapproval. Clarence wasn’t sure why. It was a beautiful place.

Kyth-ra must have picked up on the reason because she replied, “Yes, all of this,” she waved around the room, “is to pacify we disgraced wizards who find ourselves outcasts of society. We have a station of importance, a population to serve, we can even perform ceremonies. In exchange,” her golden eyes twinkled, “we don’t cross back and try to menace them with our magic.”

“There’s one thing I can’t figure,” Digger said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “It took us two days of chute travel to even get part of the way here. How do you transport the criminals and guards here and the food without things gettin’ all bottlenecked?”

“Oh, the chutes are never used for travel,” Kyth-ra laughed. “What a challenge that would be! No,” she said, standing again to point at the tapestry. “Only goods are transported through the chutes. People travel through tunnels between the ruling upper level and the farm levels.” She pointed to a series of straight lines that connected the two closest caverns from the ruling class side and the farming side. “It is only a few days travel at this closest point. The workers and guards then travel through the farm system to their assigned cavern.”

“They’ve tied up every loose end, haven’t they?” Slaathara said, sounding sad and angry at the same time.

“They’ve had many years to do so.” Kyth-ra nodded to Slaathara in sympathy.

They were all silent for a moment taking in what the priestess had told them. Clarence was astounded by the magnitude of the machinations the Upper Level went through to maintain its web of lies and intrigue.

“So,” Kyth-ra said, taking advantage of the silence, “if I have satisfied your curiosity enough for now, perhaps I could ask some questions of my own?”

Kyth-ra had an endless stream of questions. She was delighted to learn that he and Slaathara could both wield magic. She was less interested in how they had made their way to her temple and more interested in Digger, Clarence, and Trisha’s worlds and how they managed to get to Jellara in the first place, which led to a bit of awkwardness while they decided whether or not to tell her about the stone. Reluctantly, Trisha finally pulled the gemstone from her pocket, its swirling colors casting muted sparkles on her open palm. Kyth-ra leaned over it, intrigued, but was careful not to touch it.

“You think this small device is what is hopping you between worlds?” she asked.

“No doubt,” Clarence replied. “Though we have no idea how it works.”

Kyth-ra sat back and contemplated for a moment. “This is also why you wish to get to the surface, am I correct? To use the stone?”

Clarence suddenly felt a little unsettled. Slaathara must have felt the same way because she glowered at the priestess with stark suspicion.

“That is correct,” she answered hesitantly.

The white lizard waved off their suspicion. “That was one of the first things Tyril told me when she fetched me to heal your friend. She is a crafty one, in many ways,” she said, eyeing them with appraisal. “And one of the few who know I have a tunnel to the surface to gather a certain mineral for my ceremonies.”

Clarence stared at the priestess in surprise. He heard Slaathara suck in a startled breath. Kyth-ra just smiled.

“It is directly behind the altar in the ceremonial hall. When your companion is on his feet again, I will take you there.”

“And you don’t want to come with us when we leave?” Slaathara asked, clearly not convinced this lizard had their best interests at heart.

Kyth-ra laughed heartily. “No, not even remotely,” she answered amused. “I’m afraid I am a bit of a coward. And I like my comfort,” she said, sweeping her hand to suggest the room, the temple, and more. “Besides,” she continued, sobering. “I have people who depend on me. I can’t just leave them to the whims of the guards.”

“Speakin’ of the guards,” Digger cut in.

“They will not disturb you here.” Her eyes took on a dangerous gleam. “I have made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that they are not welcome to tarry here. In fact, I am told that they are afraid of me.” She gave a toothy grin that looked almost feral. Her easy manner evaporated, and Clarence had a sudden squirming feeling that this was not a wizard to cross.

“You must be very tired,” she sighed, seeming reluctant to end their conversation. “One of my attendants will lead you to the dorm quarters next to the sick room. There is a bath house behind the dorm if you would like to wash after your long journey.”

“A bath?” both he and Trisha blurted at the same time. The yearning to be clean nearly took Clarence’s breath away. His skin actually started to itch, like it couldn’t bear another minute without water and soap.

The priestess smiled indulgently, but held up a hand. “However, I was hoping that you, Clarence and Slaathara, would return in due time. I want to see where your skills lie. I may be able to give you some brief instruction.”

He and Slaathara may have been a little too enthusiastic in their response, but he did not care. Dismissed for the time being, they eagerly followed another white clad lizard. She stopped by the infirmary so they could check on Upooa. The healers had moved him to one of the beds in the recovery area. The big man appeared to be sleeping comfortably, considering the deep rumbling snore that wafted up from his inert form.

They were escorted next door to another two-story building. Passing through an open eating area, they crossed into another room and Clarence almost wept with joy.

“Beds!” he cried out with what he knew was overkill. He walked over to the bed that had his pack stowed next to it. “An honest to goodness, mattress and sheets, bed!” he exulted, flopping on top of it. It felt sooo good. He did not know why he was so pleased and surprised to have a bed of his own. He’d seen Upooa on one, after all.

“Are you done or do you and your bed need some time alone?” Trisha drawled over him, sounding on the verge of laughter.

He grunted, his face buried in the covers. “Would you actually leave me alone?” he queried in a muffled voice, not bothering to turn his head.

“Nope,” she laughed. “But that would give me dibs on the bath.”

“The bath!” Clarence exclaimed, shooting up from the bed. He took one look at Trisha and they were both racing each other out the back door. Trisha made it to the bath house first, of course. Steam billowed into the air when she opened the door. Clarence swooped in close after.

A deep stone pool sat in the middle of the room, filled with swirling deliciously hot water. Clarence groaned in delight.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m not waiting,” Trisha breathed and started throwing off her clothes. The water beckoned so strongly that Clarence did not give it a second thought. He started flinging his clothes with abandon, stopping short of removing his underwear.

He lowered himself into the water with another deep groan, settling onto a carved stone bench that sat under the water. Trisha was up to her chin across from him. The water swirled from some kind of current. He suspected this was a natural hot spring, gauging by the slight sulfuric tang in the air. Glancing through the steam, he saw bowls of what turned out to be a type of granular soap. He spent many happy moments soaping every inch of his body, sliding his underwear off under the water and scrubbing them as well.

Trisha sounded like she was doing the same, both studiously avoiding glancing at the other. They sat for a long time after their ablutions, watching the current carry away the soapy water.

As much as he wanted to stay in the warmth, however, the call of knowledge pulled at him. If Slaathara wanted to bathe, as well as meet with the priestess, he had to get moving. With a sigh, he pulled himself out of the water, finding towels stacked on benches lining the walls. He wrapped himself up, snagged his dirty clothes and padded back to his bed, the voice in his head surprised at his lack of modesty. Slaathara passed him on the way, heading to the bath house.

Pulling on his only other clothes, a spare set he had gotten when they resupplied in the Unclean village, he lay on top of the bed and sighed in contentment. He gave some thought to the suit he had tossed after their first raid on Slaathara’s level. The blue lizard had looked at his torn, stained and rumbled black suit trousers, dress shoes and splotched white dress shirt, his jacket having been left in Digger’s barn, and announced that no wizard would be caught dead in such garb. Trisha had pointed out that the clothes were probably exactly what a dead wizard would be wearing. Clarence smiled like he could not back then. His nondescript brown trousers and beige tunic were much more suited for his life now, especially the boots.

He drifted off to sleep only to be woken shortly after when Slaathara returned. An attendant led them to the priestess who was working in an herb garden sandwiched between the main temple and a long single-storied building.

The next few hours were a blur of information. He and Slaathara tried to soak in as much as they possibly could. They learned about and gathered herbs for potential potions, worked with Kyth-ra on how to get the most out of the spells they knew, what they would need to reach the next stages of spells, and so much more.

When she finally released them to get some true sleep, Clarence’s head felt so full it was almost like he couldn’t lift it. They joined Digger and Trisha for a meal before they all fell into their beds, buzzing with exhaustion.

He was woken a few hours later by the door to their room being slammed open. Looking through blurry eyes in the dim light, he saw Upooa glowering in the doorway, a healer bouncing around behind him.

“Oh, hey,” came Trisha’s sleepy voice. Clarence saw Trisha sit up, her blond hair a wild mass about her head. She had obviously forgotten to braid it before she slept. “Look who’s all bright and shiny this morning.”

Clarence raised an eyebrow as he turned to look back at Upooa, catching a glimpse of Digger grinning from where he lay in his bed.

“I tried to tell him you were well, but sleeping,” the muffled attendant’s voice came from behind the hulking Orc. “But he insisted on seeing you,” she finished apologetically.

“Fine,” Trisha groused, flopping back into her bed. “You’ve seen us. We’re still breathing. Now go back to bed so we can get some sleep.”

“I am not tired,” Upooa growled, stepping into the room.

“Then find a way to be broody in silence,” Trisha said, her voice muffled by the covers. Upooa’s lip twitched.

“There’s a bath house out back,” Digger suggested. Upooa looked mildly interested.

Slaathara sighed in exasperation. “We are glad you are well, Upooa. Now kindly find somewhere else to be.” She rolled over, punching her pillow a few times before settling.

He gave Upooa a small shrug and laid back. The Orc wandered out the back door and Clarence drifted back to sleep.

______________________________

He wasn’t sure what time of the Jellaran day it was when he finally woke. No one else was in the room. How long had he slept?

His clothes had been washed and lay in a neat pile on top of his pack. Someone must have come in and gathered them while they were sleeping. He felt like he should be disturbed that someone could come in and take his stuff without noticing, but all he could feel was grateful he had clean clothes.

He found the others sitting around the table in the other room, looking like they had just finished eating. Trisha had procured a comb from somewhere and was grimacing as she brushed out her hair.

“Where did you get that?” he asked Trisha as he loaded up a plate with fruit and some kind of cooked grain from bowls that he found on the table. Rawg’Mai did not have hair, as far as he knew.

Trisha looked at the comb and Clarence noticed that the tines were closer together and longer than a standard comb.

“I was told they use this to comb out plant fibers to make clothing.” She shrugged. “Whatever works.”

“The priestess is supplyin’ us with what she can for the journey,” Digger said, snagging what looked like a grape and popping it in his mouth. “I reckon we need to decide now how we intend to make the jump when we reach the surface.”

Clarence paused spooning in another mouthful of the cooked grains that tasted delightfully like oatmeal. “You are correct,” he said with sudden understanding. “Our jumps have been almost accidental until now.”

Digger nodded. “Trisha seems to be able to hold it just fine. All of us seem to be able to touch her while she carries it without us popping up somewhere else. I think it only activates when two people touch the stone.”

Slaathara tapped her fingers in thought. “And anyone who is touching the people who are touching the gemstone is taken with you?”

“That’s the idea, anyway,” Digger answered.

“So,” Upooa cut in, “we must be touching Trisha before one of us touches the stone.”

“I have been thinkin’ about this for quite a spell and that’s the only conclusion I can make.” Digger looked around at them. It was a very solid theory in Clarence’s mind. “Who wants to be the one who will activate the stone when we plan to go?”

“I vote for you,” Clarence said, shoveling in another spoonful of food. “You are the most level-headed among us,” he finished around the mouthful of grains.

Digger looked a little taken aback by his praise, but everyone else around the table was nodding.

“So, we are agreed,” Trisha said, clacking the comb on the table, and starting to braid her hair. “All of you latch onto me and then Digger will touch the stone in my hand to activate it.”

Everyone nodded again. Clarence felt a sense of excitement bordered with dread. They had a plan. In a little while, they would be sailing through that hell mouth again to another unknown world. He was about to say that anywhere was better than here, but there was no way of knowing. The last mouthful of food stuck in his throat. He looked at his plate sorrowfully and pushed it away.

Over the next hour, they resupplied. Kyth-ra was generous with her magic supplies and both he and Slaathara had to finally beg off taking any more because they simply couldn’t carry it.

Their feet made unnaturally loud noises on the polished stone floor of the ceremonial hall as they approached the altar. Kyth-ra stepped onto the dais and pulled back the end of a long blue and yellow tapestry that hung along the back wall. A narrow metal door had been installed in the stone. Passing the edge of the tapestry to Slaathara to hold, the priestess produced a key and unlocked the door, swinging it open on well-oiled hinges. A dark tunnel lay beyond.

“This opens up in about one hundred yards into another natural tunnel system,” she said quietly, her voice echoing slightly in the cavernous hall. “It has little moss so you will need to use your lanterns. Once in those tunnels, follow the markers at each intersection and you should get to the surface in about three hours.”

She waited while they lit lanterns. When they were ready, she watched them move into the tunnel, each of them murmuring heartfelt thanks as they passed.

“I might wish that your stay was longer,” she called after them, her voice low. “But I will just wish you good luck. May the light of the moon reach you, even here.” Then she shut the door and they were once again alone in a tunnel, with only the light of their lanterns to lead the way.

The smooth hewn tunnel they were in segued into the more rough-walled tunnel they were accustomed to. When they reached the first intersection where the tunnel split, an arrow was carved into the wall of the tunnel they were to follow. Each intersection was the same; an arrow pointing the way. Each tunnel angled ever upwards and the damp coolness of the underground world was gradually replaced by expanding heat and light. Soon they were able to extinguish and store their lanterns, the dusky light within the tunnels now bright enough to easily see where they were going.

The last tunnel ended at a set of stairs carved into the rock. For a moment they stood at the base, squinting up at the blinding yellow-white hole in the sky, watching the heat ripple across the opening. Sweating profusely under his clothes, Clarence had a sudden desire to run back into the tunnel behind him.

Upooa looked back at them once, then spun and charged up the stairs; almost like he needed a running start because he, too, felt the irrational desire to stay underground. They all hustled after and emerged into the shocking light and heat, blinking like moles. Clarence caught a glimpse of Slaathara, gaping at the endless rocky barren waste in the brightest light she had likely ever encountered. The moon hung above them, a huge strange almost fuzzy orb. It was already taking on a shine that practically rivalled the two suns that bobbed like small gaseous lanterns just above the horizon on either side of the blasted landscape.

“We won’t survive this heat for long,” Trisha gasped, ushering them to her. They crowded around, each of them clasping onto a shoulder or her left arm, fear and a little desperation making their hold tighter than it needed to be but no one daring to loosen their grip. Trisha pulled the gem from her pocket and held out her hand.

“Here we go,” Digger said grimly, slapping his hand over the stone.

The air erupted in a cloud of colors and they were gone. Nothing remained but motes of color on the searing breeze and footprints to show that they had ever reached the surface of Jellara.

[ 42 ]

[World Region: 2A765-38BC7-FF433-77432-A2D345-275E4]

HE groaned. The sound was almost a gurgling. He shifted his arm to lever himself up and for one wild moment he thought he had lost his appendage. Then he remembered the cybernetics.

He was conscious. Finally. He lay there for a while, wondering why he had so desperately wanted to wake up in this fractured world. Slowly, his mind caught up. Revenge. In the cold wan light, revenge didn’t seem enough to cover all that he had lost. It would have been the greatest kindness to have slipped into death while he dreamed.

But it seemed the universe held no kindness for the likes of him.

Grunting, he painstakingly pushed himself over, flopping on his back to stare at the yellow sky. The heads-up display in his right eye kept flickering on and off, like there was some kind of short in the neural net. His left hand shook as he reached over to touch where the ridge of the platinum plating met his skull. He felt the sting of raw skin and stared listlessly at the bright blood that smeared his fingers.

Shifting his head to the side, he looked out at the devastation around him. Just a few meters away, Markey’s dark eyes stared lifelessly back at him, the bottom half of his body gone. He should feel something for his lost friend, but all he felt was a buzzing emptiness.

He turned his head in the other direction and nearly uttered a croak of dismay. Just a yard away, a shredded mech suit was slumped in the debris, the canopy blown and a small gray creature slumped dead over the lip of the cockpit.

Lem slowly sat up, his head swimming. Blinking to clear his eyes, he struggled to swallow, his mouth dry and his throat raw. How long had he been out? His nose burned and he felt a trickle of blood seep down to his mouth. Obviously, it had been long enough for the caustic air to do some damage to his breathing passages.

Gritting his teeth, he staggered to his feet, only to gasp as a deep pain in his abdomen nearly made him collapse again. Internal bleeding, he diagnosed dully, clasping his left arm around his stomach. The few steps it took to reach the downed mech left him shaking with fatigue, but he leaned against the outer hull and pushed back the body of the dead creature. It flopped back, large grey head lolling to the side. Its huge blue eyes were half closed; its tiny mouth opened in a surprised looking “O”. It didn’t have much of a nose, just two slits above a slash of a mouth.

“So that’s what you bastards look like,” he grunted.

They weren’t what he imagined. When he thought of the enemy, he had this vague image of something huge and fanged; something that personified the death they rained down on his world, not this diminutive grey creature. Those who made it through the portal before Kit blew the facility spoke of black lightning snaking across the skies even before the attack. Then the holes opened and out they came; huge ships and smaller ones by the thousands bombarding the city domes with a barrage of weapons fire.

He collapsed next to the hulking ruin, leaning against the plasma cannon arm, watching the blink of the green ready light. The power cells were still working. This was good. When he caught his breath, he would turn the cannon on himself. There was no way he was going to make it to the portal rendezvous. He couldn’t be around when his enemies came to investigate the explosion.

Movement in the distance caught his eye. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he should have been more alarmed, but he just watched in muted detachment as one of the downed mechs lurched to its feet…and started coming his way. He glanced down at the arm of the plasma cannon and felt that, for once, the universe might be smiling on him. With a deep moan of effort, he hoisted the cannon into his lap and flicked the backup switch for the heads-up targeting display. Grasping the weapon with his cybernetic arm, he raised its massive bulk to get a lock on his enemy, screaming in pain and challenge.

He got tone and slapped his left hand onto the launch button. Volcanic orange light erupted from the cannon, tracing a trail of misty yellow light before hitting the advancing mech. The enemy exploded in a spray of shards, leaving nothing but one mechanical leg teetering for a suspended moment before toppling over.

Lem fell forward over the steaming cannon.

“See, Markey,” he whispered. “I told you I would get one.”

His eyes fell on the charge readout. It was powering up again, but slowly. His eyelids drooped and he forced them open. He couldn’t pass out now. There was this desperate belief at the edge of his thoughts that, should his enemies find him still alive, they would heal him just to torture him for what he knew.

But, his body wasn’t listening. He couldn’t focus his gaze on the power panel and his hands wouldn’t rise when he commanded them. He lifted his face to the horizon, even as his eyes began drifting lower.

The air before him rippled with a swirl of colored light that made patterns behind his eyelids as they closed. He could hear the sounds of thuds, grunts and coughing as bodies hit the ground and panic bit at the back of his mind. But his body had reached its limit. It wouldn’t respond to the threat. As his consciousness fled once again, the sound of a scream followed him into the deep.

[ 43 ]

[World Region: 2A765-38BC7-FF433-77432-A2D345-275E4]

THEY fell out of the air and collapsed in a heap on hard, dusty ground. Trisha managed to land wrong and got the wind knocked out of her. Getting to her hands and knees, she took in a deep gasping breath only to start coughing as caustic air entered her lungs. Where were they? Taking careful sips of air, she looked around through streaming eyes. Her heart beat a rapid double tap of dread.

They had landed in a war zone.

The rocky barren landscape stood within a scooped valley, littered with debris as far as she could see. The sky was a sickly yellow, interspersed with columns of thick oily smoke that rose from smoldering piles of rubble in unbroken lines without a breath of wind to disturb them. In the distance, over the valley’s ridge, she could see the outline of a once great city. The remains of giant skyscrapers bit at the sky like twisted and decaying teeth, partially capped by a shredded glass-like dome of staggering size. The whole thing struck her as a huge broken and burned out snow globe.

Closer, the ground was pitted with craters, twisted metal, chunks of concrete and over everything hung the acrid scent of chemicals mixed with the tang of blood and the scent of burning meat.

Just as the smell registered in her brain, Clarence started screaming. She jumped up in a panic, causing her to cough more. Struggling to simultaneously catch her breath and scope out the yelling wizard, she finally spotted the red-haired man scrambling on all fours away from what looked like just the top half of some creature, its torso ending in a trail of intestines.

She quickly took stock of everyone else. Digger and Upooa were both on their feet, looking around at the smoking piles of rubble with grim expressions. Upooa must have recovered from their landing the fastest because he had already pulled out his sword.

Slaathara was teetering to her feet, looking around her in horror. Clarence had stopped shrieking, but was shaking from head to toe and looking like he might vomit.

They most definitely did not want to stay in this world any longer than they had to, but Trisha wondered if the next would be any better. Since leaving Slaathara’s world, they had jumped four times. The first world they had jumped to was a burning desert, devoid of life and moisture worse than the surface of Slaathara’s world. They had jumped quickly to avoid frying to a crisp only to land in an endless swamp with undrinkable water, biting bugs the size of her fist, and glowing yellow-eyed creatures that hooted at them from the trees. They had jumped quickly again. The last jump had landed them on a tiny tropical island that seemed like a piece of paradise at first, but it was so small they cleared it of any food in two days.

And there were the erratic solar flares.

Trisha glanced at her hand. The scars had almost completely faded due to Slaathara’s healing. On the first day, they had found a cave and were checking it out to see if it would serve as a place to camp, when the sky outside suddenly brightened dramatically. She had reached out to grab the edge of the cave entrance to pull herself forward to see where the light was coming from. Her hand immediately began to blister with a sickening sizzling sound. It was so bad that, without the magic, she likely would have needed a skin graft.

Clarence noticed the foliage wasn’t frying though. It had some kind of protection against the searing rays. Upooa and Digger made dashes outside when the light was low to gather huge frond leaves that became an umbrella of sorts when they looked for food. Slaathara had kind of collapsed in on herself. When she had finally gotten a moment to really contemplate the fact that most lands lived under the wide-open sky, she succumbed to a fit of agoraphobia. The blue lizard had admitted to Trisha that, on an academic level, she understood she was being irrationally paranoid, but logic often took a backseat to fear. Luckily, there was a spring of fresh water in the cave, so they weren’t completely out of luck, but after three days, they decided it best to jump again.

Now this world looked like they had jumped into the tail end of a disastrous battle. Trisha was just about to gather the others for another jump, when she heard a noise to her left. She stiffened and looked over in time to see someone tip over on their side with a soft groan. With careful steps, she started toward the downed body.

“What are you doing?” Clarence rasped, coming to his feet.

“I think someone is alive over there,” she said low, reaching back to pull her nunchucks from her pack.

Digger and Upooa were by her side in moments. Trisha thought they might be able to jump to another world before they were caught in the crossfire of this unknown battle, but she wasn’t sure. She didn’t want someone taking a potshot at them when they jumped. Who knew what would happen? Besides, would the next world be any better or have any supplies at all? It was a long shot, but if people lived here, then maybe something might be collected in this world that could help them in the next.

She, Upooa, and Digger carefully picked their way past what looked like the wreck of some science fiction movie, all sleek metals, panels and gears torn to sharp shreds. Upooa went around behind the sci-fi relic. Digger stuck to her side.

She jerked to a stop when she glanced inside the opening of the machine. E.T. stared back at her. Not just any E.T., but a dead E.T. She shook her head, stunned for a moment. Little gray aliens were real?

Digger touched her arm lightly. She didn’t have to look at him to imagine his expression of concern. Snapping out of her surprise, she began moving again.

Edging around the tip of something that looked like a huge gun, she spied someone collapsed on their side, halfway under the weight of the weapon. And they were breathing.

“Slaathara…Clarence,” she croaked, turning to beckon the two over. “I think we found someone alive over here.”

Slaathara and Clarence looked reluctant, but it didn’t stop them from rushing over anyway. Upooa raised the heavy mechanical weapon, while Digger and Trisha carefully pulled the creature out and laid him flat on the ground.

The creature appeared remarkably dog-like, especially in the face. It had a leathery black tipped nose that was almost a snout. Its ears were nearer the top of its head, rather than the lower middle like a human’s, and they were a soft triangular shape. A smooth metal plate wound around part of its skull from the base of the right ear and disappeared somewhere behind the head. A very short, almost velvet, pelt of reddish brown hair covered every inch of skin she could see. Its arms were lanky and long, about the same length as its legs and one of the arms, from the shoulder to the tips of the fingers, was encased in a sleek metal, like it might be robotic.

“It looks almost like some kind of cyborg,” Clarence said. Trisha was actually thinking the same thing.

“I believe this is an Arphil; male, if I’m not mistaken,” Slaathara said, sounding fascinated despite the circumstances.

“What would that be?” Digger asked quietly, jerking his thumb to the thing in the machine. Slaathara stepped over and glanced in. “A Cheveroid,” she announced. “Undoubtedly.”

“Undoubtedly,” Trisha muttered. She supposed it was a good thing that Slaathara knew something about the races of these worlds, but would it help them figure out what to do next? “Who do you suppose is the bad guy and who is the good guy here?”

“I reckon they could be both,” Digger remarked sagely.

“He is not wrong,” Clarence said, peering at Trisha. “We have plenty of examples of wars being fought in our world where the lines between who is good or bad were blurred.”

Trisha nodded, thoughts tumbling after each other in her head. If they could just get some more information, it wouldn’t feel so much like they were at the whim of that crazy gemstone. She turned to Slaathara, a notion turning into a plan.

“I want you to heal him,” she said.

“You would have her waste her power on a potential enemy and a dying one at that?” Upooa grunted in surprise.

Slaathara paused for a moment, fingers tapping like she was trying to figure out where Trisha was going with this plan, while simultaneously avoiding glancing at the sky. “Upooa is correct. His wounds are dire. I’m not sure I could heal him.”

“Then use one of the toadstool potions as well.” Everyone, including Digger, balked at this. “Hear me out,” she continued, waving down their objections. “It’s possible that one of these races has the technological know-how to help us either understand the stone or that black thing that is trying to get at it.” She regarded the dog-like man in front of her. “They could even be the ones who are looking for the stone. If we heal him, we can maybe learn what’s going on and maybe, oh, I don’t know, figure out how to get home,” Trisha said, throwing out her hands.

Clarence turned toward the prone figure with a thoughtful expression.

“And if he turns out to be our enemy?” Upooa asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Then you get to pound him,” Trisha said. “And I won’t stand in your way.”

The big greenie gave her a delighted grin. His fierce look was almost enough to have her reconsider the whole crazy idea, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the right thing to do.

With a small roll of his shoulders, Clarence knelt down beside the creature, showing his endorsement for her plan with a remarkable lack of words. He ran light fingers over the dog creature’s wounds and pulled back the shredded front of his jumpsuit to show a distended and darkening abdomen.

“He has a head wound and what appears to be internal bleeding,” he announced soberly. “Plus, if he’s been in this air for long, his lungs are likely compromised. Speaking of breathing,” he said with an ironic cough. “We will not be in much better shape after too long in this air.”

Trisha tapped her lip in thought, looking around at the scattered rubble of mechanical flotsam. She had always been handy with cars and mechanics. Could there be something useful in this blasted junkyard that could help them?

“Start your first aid and healing,” she told Slaathara and Clarence. “I’m going to see if I can find something that might help with the air.”

“Just what do you expect to find?” Clarence said with more than a touch of exasperation.

“I don’t know! Look at all this sciency shit. They have to have something to help them counteract this smog.”

“Although, I may not know it when I see it,” she thought to herself as she turned to the downed machine next to them. She heard Slaathara start her chant.

Setting aside her pack, Trisha leaned over the main shell of the hulking piece of metal, a little unnerved by the creepy looking dead dude in it. She couldn’t get a good enough look inside though. Steeling her nerves, she hauled herself onto the edge and braced herself against a structural bar to scope out the inside.

She didn’t know what she was expecting to find, but an oxygen tank clamped to the inner hull was a little too much. She blinked at the tank with its plastic tube and tiny mask with the distinct feeling that she was hallucinating. When she reached out and released the clamps, the weight dragged her arm down. Hallelujah…it was real. Could she really be this lucky? She hoisted it up, the tank clattering against a panel of buttons and switches.

A grey arm clamped down on the tank and a bulbous E.T. head lolled toward her hissing. She shrieked and launched herself backward, flying off the machine to drop hard on the ground, the oxygen tank landing on her stomach, knocking the wind out of her again.

As she lay there gasping, Upooa jumped onto the machine, hauling out a limp gray figure and tossing it to the ground. It twitched feebly, its silver suit rustling eerily against the ground. Upooa stood over it, his sword poised to strike at the least provocation. She bit back a groan. Upooa was just protecting her, she knew, but throwing around the wounded wasn’t going to get them the answers they needed.

“Wait,” Trisha gasped, struggling to her feet. She approached the creature warily. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Digger step forward, staying far enough back to keep an eye on both them and Clarence and Slaathara.

Rubbing her bruised stomach, she stood over the small Cheveroid, feeling sorry for the creature. Its eyes blinked slowly and it was trying to speak. She knelt down beside it, wondering if she dare move it near the other creature in order to make it easier for Clarence and Slaathara to treat them both.

“Ka…” it said weakly.

“I don’t understand.” Giving up on being careful, she lifted the creature so it could sit up against her, easing its breathing.

It coughed, a gargling sound that made Trisha wince. “We are…the Ka.” It licked its tiny mouth, its voice wet and thick. “You never…had a chance.” Its hands started shaking. Then Trisha stiffened as the Cheveroid started to laugh, a weak coughing, but thoroughly chilling laugh.

Trisha scuttled out from behind the creature, letting it drop to the ground where it continued its sputtering, hardly audible laugh.

“Creepy,” Upooa grunted. “Isn’t that what you say?”

“Oh, yeah, that is definitely creepy,” Trisha looked up at the Orc. “Mind making sure Mister Creepy here doesn’t go anywhere? I think it’s time we got some answers from our doggy friend.”

Upooa nodded. Trisha picked up the tank and joined the others.

“I did a healing spell,” Slaathara told her. “He struggled a little when we forced the potion down him, but it was just reflex, I think. He should be coming around soon,” She didn’t look particularly hopeful.

“And that arm?” Clarence mused, rubbing a purpling bruise on his cheek. “It is stronger than it looks. Definitely some kind of powered enhancement, if I had to guess.”

Trisha told the two about what the Cheveroid had said and its nightmare laugh. Clarence wrinkled his brow, clearly disturbed by the idea of a half mad E.T. in their midst. She peered at the sleeping creature they were treating. Maybe Clarence was right? Maybe both of these groups of people were crazy warmongers?

She vacillated for a moment on whether or not to give more aid to the Arphil. Finally, with a mental shrug, she decided it was a little late to worry about that now. Pulling the air tank next to the creature’s head, she twisted the valve and tentatively sniffed the cold air that trickled from the tiny mask nozzle. It was either oxygen or purified air. It almost smelled sweet and eased the aching in her throat.

She placed the mask over the creature’s snout. In moments, his eyelids fluttered. With a sudden gasp, he sat up, his eyes wide and terrified. He scrambled back from them, bumping up against the arm of the destroyed machine.

“I will tell you nothing,” he croaked. His eyes struggled to track, and he could barely sit up, but he scrambled to lift the weapon that hung from the arm of the machine. With sharp panic, Trisha realized that the lights of the weapon were blinking brightly from some panel at its base.

“No,” she cried in desperation, but she needn’t have worried. Upooa had run over when the ruckus started and simply lifted the gun from the Arphil’s grip. Digger had jumped behind the man, flinging his arms around the man’s biceps and holding him in place.

The Arphil drooped in Digger’s arms, too weak to fight, but his eyes were defiant. “I will not give you more people to destroy,” he slurred. “Your great gaping black holes will plague no more lands by my hand!”

A chill ran down Trisha’s spine. Digger looked stunned. Clarence let out a low whooshing breath behind her. “That answers one question,” he murmured.

So, it was like Digger suspected. The black lightning that was following them was not a friendly force.

Slaathara turned to her. “The Ka? Isn’t that what you said this Cheveroid called themselves?” Trisha nodded. The blue lizard looked thoughtful again. “I wonder if that is some particular caste or tribe of Cheveroid.” Trisha looked at her blankly. “Well, surely not all Cheveroids are world destroying megalomaniacs,” she sniffed. “Not all Rawg’Mai are power hungry wizards, not all Arphils are what you called cyborgs and, I presume, not all humans are exactly like you?”

She had a point. Digger slowly released the Arphil. He sagged, his ears drooping and his breath labored. Trisha felt the weight of sympathy drag at her heart, but, from what he said, it sounded like he might have brought this on himself.

“I don’t know who you think we are,” she said, trying to catch his eye, “but we are not with those guys, if that makes any difference.” She pointed to the sprawled Cheveroid, whose chest rose and fell spastically. She shivered and wondered if he was still trying to laugh.

The Arphil just narrowed his eyes in disbelief.

“We’re not here to punish you either,” Digger added solemnly. “In case you really did help destroy this place.”

The dog-man looked taken aback, blinking in confusion. “I didn’t…” he started, shaking his head slowly and then wincing, propping his head on his hands like the effort to hold it up was too much.

“I found a way to activate the portal rods.” His voice was muffled, but it sounded incomprehensibly sad. “We found a beautiful world…water and trees, everything our people had lost.” He lifted his head, tears streamed down his cheeks. “I was supposed to save them,” he moaned with such heartfelt loss that tears sprang into Trisha’s own eyes.

“Who were you supposed to save?” she asked, afraid she already knew the answer.

“My family…my world,” he uttered, completely broken. Oof. Trisha’s heart practically snapped in two. Okay, dammit, they needed to help this guy!

She looked at the others a little helplessly. Digger sat himself near the Arphil, but not so close as to appear threatening.

“What are portal rods?” he asked.

The dog-man looked suspicious again. He swiped his eyes angrily with a shaky arm. “If you didn’t travel by a portal, how did you get here?”

Trisha felt like they were treading on dangerous ground again. “By something else…another way to travel.”

“Maybe through a black wormhole in the sky?” he accused.

“We’ve been running from that cursed black lightning,” Upooa growled.

The Arphil gave a disbelieving snort. Trisha sighed. There was no help for it. She pulled out the gemstone and held it out for him to see. Its colors appeared particularly muted in the yellow glow of this sky, but it still sparkled enough to make him emit an “Ah” of appreciation. He leaned forward to get a better look and Trisha closed her fingers over the stone and drew it away.

“Have you ever seen anything like this?” she asked.

“No,” he replied, shaking his head slowly. He looked at her speculatively; one eye vibrating like it couldn’t focus. “And you say this stone brought you here?”

She nodded.

“It could be some kind of receptacle for energy transference,” he mused to himself. “Or some kind of tesseract…”

Trisha’s heart gave a little leap of hope, but it was dashed with his next words.

“Whatever it is, you had best use it to leave this place,” he said with a croupy sigh that made him wince. “More of the creatures that destroyed my world will most certainly be here soon. You do not want to be here when they arrive.”

“My gut is tellin’ me you should come with us,” Digger said in his quiet way. “We could use yer know how.”

“See,” Trisha continued, latching onto Digger’s logic. “We need you. We have no idea how this thing works. We are barely keeping ahead of disaster!”

“And we want to go home,” Clarence said.

“And, we want to go home,” she repeated softly. “We didn’t ask to come here. They didn’t ask to come here,” she gestured to the others.

“I did,” Slaathara disagreed.

Trisha snorted an involuntary little laugh. That lizard. “It’s true, she did ask to come. Demanded it, even. I’m not sure she’s glad she came though.”

The Arphil had been watching her carefully this whole time, his face inscrutable. She sensed that his mood had shifted, but she couldn’t get a read on him.

“Where did you get the air canister?” he rasped. Trisha blinked, suddenly confused. What did that have to do with anything?

“I got it from inside the machine you’re leaning against,” she answered slowly, thinking maybe his wounds were making him loopy. She tucked the stone back into her pocket and watched the dog man with concern.

He looked thoughtfully at the machine for a moment and then turned to Digger. “I wonder if you could do something for me.” He didn’t wait for Digger’s response, just continued speaking in a pained breathy voice. “I want you to look in the cockpit of that mech unit for a box or container of some kind, probably about this big.” He held his hands about a foot apart. Digger cocked his head at him and nodded, jumping to his feet and springing onto the broken metal hull.

“Maybe just pull out anything you find,” the Arphil amended, coughing as he spoke louder. “I’ll sort what you find.”

“Okay,” Trisha said, a little nonplussed. “What’s going on? We just suddenly changed gears and I’m lost.”

Clarence shook his head in confusion also.

The Arphil gave her the tiniest smile. “We should all be taking regular breaths from that canister,” he told her, his breath sounding clogged. “And, if I am going to help you, I will need to be patched up a bit more.”

Trisha’s mouth dropped open a bit. A minute ago he was ready to send them on their way and now he wanted to help them? She decided it was better not to ask.

Slaathara, however, was not so trusting. “So, we are just going to trust this creature?” she asked, looking down her snout at the Arphil.

“Trisha said I could pound him if he turns against us,” Upooa shot a positively psychotic look at the dog-man. “That’s good enough for me,” he said, crossing his arms.

“But, you won’t come with us?” Digger asked.

To his credit, the Arphil looked a little ashamed. “I have my reasons for staying. And since you helped me, I will do what I can to help you.”

Trisha looked him over carefully. She was usually pretty good at spotting a con. Of course, she was more used to reading human faces, but this guy appeared to have an honest face.

“Slaathara…can you try to heal him again?” she asked. The blue lizard threw her an aggrieved expression, but stepped up and began her chanting. The dog-man looked suddenly wary as her hands began to glow.

“What kind of technology is this?” he asked, shrinking back a little.

“It’s magic,” Upooa answered, winking at Trisha as he gathered the items Digger was flinging from the lip of the mech.

“There’s no such thing as magic,” the Arphil scoffed. His eyes flew wide as the blue light from Slaathara’s hands spread out and sunk into his skin, lessening the purple bruising on his abdomen and sealing up more of the wound on his head.

Clarence snorted a laugh and leaned over Slaathara’s patient. “You have no idea how many times I have said those same words.” The Arphil wrinkled his snout at him, looking bemused.

Slaathara sagged back, fatigue written all over her face. She eyed Trisha a little helplessly.

“That’s all I can do for several hours, and he can’t take the last potion for close to twelve,” she said. “He needs days of rest and fresh air, neither of which we can give him.”

The Arphil, who was touching his head in amazement, turned to them. “This is remarkable! It may not have completely healed me, but I can feel the difference. And this power to heal comes directly from you?” he asked Slaathara. She nodded.

“I will have to investigate this,” the dog-man mused.

Speaking of dog-man…

“My name is Trisha,” she told him. The guy blinked at her and then smiled a true smile.

“Lem,” he said softly. “Lem Cotter.”

Upooa and Digger took that moment to plonk down what appeared to be a bunch of random crap in a pile next to him.

“So, Lem, what’s with the scrap pile?” she asked.

Lem explained as he sorted through the various bric-a-brac, opening containers and flinging away tubes and wires.

“The technology these beings use isn’t much different than our own. Their military mechs, in fact, appear to be very similar to the bio-dome repair mechs that we use…or used. When I saw the canister of air, it gave me an idea.”

“I was pretty surprised to find something so low-tech,” Trisha admitted.

Lem gave her a rueful look. “Simplicity is often what you need as a fail safe.”

Near the bottom of the pile, Lem uttered a grunt of recognition and pulled out a shallow box that could have been a shrunken briefcase. It was definitely low tech on the outside. There were two simple metal latches that he flicked open, spreading the lid, box, and contents on his lap.

Inside was a set of ten small metal canisters, bandages, packets, and a stainless steel device that looked for all the world like a small pistol. To Trisha’s eyes, it looked something like a first aid kit. Everyone leaned in to get a better look.

“What is that?” Digger asked, pointing to the canisters and the small gun.

“If I have guessed correctly, it is medicine and a transdermal injector,” Lem said, cocking his head sideways to look at the small symbols engraved on each canister. “I just need to figure out which one to use.”

“These three are stimulants, I believe,” he said, pointing to the first three that were settled into molded spaces in the container, each marked with a yellow plus symbol. “It’s similar to ours, if it is. And these might be pain meds,” Lem continued, pointing to three more marked with a red jagged line. The Arphil gave a little grunt of satisfaction when he got to the last four that were labeled with a green spiral. He snagged one of those, loaded it onto the top of the little steel pistol and held it to his neck.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Clarence yelled, waving his arms. “You have no idea if medicine for one of those creatures will work for you! And you don’t even know if you picked the right one!”

“Only one way to find out,” Lem said and pulled the trigger. There was a snapping hiss, and the pistol bucked a little. Lem grunted, his hand still poised with the gun at his neck, then his eyes rolled up in his head and he fell over backwards.

“Good lord,” Clarence yelped. “The fool just killed himself!”

Trisha rushed to Lem’s side, but Slaathara was already there. She shook her head after checking for a pulse. “No, I think he’s just unconscious again.”

“What do we do now?” Trisha asked a little exasperated. Could they carry an unconscious person when they jumped? She pulled out the stone, gesturing for the others to gather closer.

“Well,” Lem groaned, making Trisha jump and startling everyone as he unexpectedly sat up. “That packs a powerful punch.”

Trisha’s eyes widened in astonishment. Lem’s head wound was completely healed. He slowly got to his feet, shaking out his legs, swinging his arms and stretching his neck from side to side.

“They may be world destroying bastards, but they appear to have surpassed us with their universal remedy.” He turned to them. Everyone must have looked gob smacked because his expression became apologetic. “I didn’t mean to shock anyone.”

Digger rubbed his chin thoughtfully, looking from the medicine box to the scrap heap of mechs surrounding them. Trisha could practically see the wheels turning in his head. Upooa looked like he had just discovered buried treasure.

“You want to find more of these boxes, don’t you,” she sighed.

“They’d just be wasted on the dead,” Digger shrugged pragmatically.

“I did say I would try to help,” Lem told her. “These med kits will be beneficial for you.”

“I didn’t think your help would be setting yourself up as a lab rat,” she commented drily.

“See if you can find more of these air things, also” Slaathara said to Digger, seemingly unfazed by Lem’s one man drug trial. She took a quick sip of clean air and passed the canister to Clarence.

Taking that as a vote of approval, Digger and Upooa took off at a loping run for the nearest mech that looked the most intact. Trisha noted that they seemed less affected by the bad air. Lem settled back to the ground, causing Slaathara to hover over him. She might seem callous to the casual observer, but Trisha sensed the blue lizard cared more than she would admit.

The Arphil smiled softly up at her “No need for concern. I just got up too quickly. My brain is still trying to process the healing.”

Clarence immediately settled next to Lem and started peppering him with questions about the medicine. It shouldn’t have surprised her that Clarence was fascinated by something that would heal that fast. He wasn’t technically a hypochondriac, like she had teased, but he certainly had some kind of weird vibe with all things medical.

She listened idly for a few moments and was just about to find a patch of something to sit down on while they waited for Digger and Upooa when she saw Lem stiffen and go silent, his face riveted on a spot in the distance. She turned to see a silvery patch that looked like a shimmering arch out past the field of dead mechs. Small figures were moving near it.

“What the…” Trisha breathed. Lem gestured for her to crouch next to him.

“It’s them,” he rasped.

“How can you tell?” she whispered, squinting at the weird light. “There wasn’t that black lightening thing we usually see, and how can you possibly know at this distance?”

Lem tapped the side of his head that was wrapped in metal. “Just trust me. It’s them. They must use portals also.”

“We need to get out of here,” Clarence gasped, trying to rise, but Lem grabbed his arm and held him down, shaking his head. Trisha looked around for Digger and Upooa, but couldn’t see them anywhere. Slaathara’s eyes were wide and scared.

Lem uttered a low curse. “One of them is coming up fast. We need to hide.”

Trisha looked over as the small creatures spread out, making giant leaps across the land. Two were staying near the portal, but one was heading in their general direction. At the rate it was moving, it would be at their position in no time.

Keeping low, they scrambled behind the mech they had scavenged the med kit from and hunkered down. Trisha was about to move next to Lem to ask him if he had a plan, but Lem gave her a shushing gesture. He cocked his head to the side like he was listening to something. She stilled her breathing. She could hear it, too. Voices were coming from the mech.

The Arphil leaned closer, while Trisha practically pressed her ear to the hull. A faint, almost tinny sound was echoing from the inside of the mech.

“…the right wing to move toward that blasted building. Secure it until we can inspect it further.” The gravelly voice was faint, but clear. “We’re not here for our survivors, so don’t get distracted. Report any anomalies that you find. The source of that strange signal is the priority and nothing else.”

“Yes, commander,” a group of voices chorused in response.

Trisha’s heart made a spectacular splat into the bottom of her stomach and she clasped at the bulge in her pocket where the stone rested. She had a sick feeling that she knew what signal they were talking about.

“Commander Rand?” The second voice sounded hard and subtly feminine. “What exactly are we looking for?”

“Unclear, Ekido. Intelligence analysts tell us it is likely a small device, carried by one, but possibly more, individuals. Detain anyone you find alive that isn’t one of ours. The Ka have been chasing the signal across A’Kyria and every time our wormhole locks in, they jump. Now that they’ve jumped to a world-region we control, there’s a chance they won’t be anticipating us using a standard portal. That may work in our favor.”

“Acknowledged,” the hard voice said.

Trisha looked over at Clarence. He had moved closer to the mech to hear, and his eyes were huge in his dark face. He looked as scared as she felt.

“If you really can portal with that thing, now would be a good time,” Lem whispered.

“We can’t leave Digger and Upooa,” Slaathara objected as softly as she could. Clarence nodded emphatically, wiggling his fingers with a determined look like he was readying a spell. Trisha just hoped he didn’t go off half-cocked and give away their position.

She motioned Lem closer and muttered in his ear.“If you can really see that far, I need your eyes to find Digger and Upooa.”

She gestured to the far side of the mech. He nodded and together they crawled to the edge and lowered themselves flat on the ground, peering around the side at the lowest profile possible. She could just barely see the mech that Digger and Upooa had originally ran off to check. There wasn’t any sign of them.

Lem nudged her shoulder and pointed to the right. Digger had just popped out of the cockpit of another mech, tossing something to Upooa who had come around from the back. How were they going to get their attention without giving away both of their positions?

The Arphil motioned for Clarence and Slaathara to move closer.

“You see that string of wreckage?” he asked, pointing with small movements to piles of debris that sort of arced off in the direction of their friends. Trisha had a feeling where Lem was going with this.

“We are going to scramble from one pile to the next to get closer to your friends. I will keep an eye on our unwanted guests and tell you when to move.”

Trisha looked at Lem and had this sinking feeling that he was planning to wage a one-man war on his enemy once he got them to safety.

“Come with us,” she said earnestly. “You’re still wounded. You have no weapons. All you will be doing is giving them another target.” She paused, looking at the stubborn set of his jaw. She thought about the crazy laugh of the Cheveroid and shuddered. “Or worse. I have a feeling those crazy bastards could do worse.”

Lem’s eyes narrowed at her words. “Let’s get ready,” he whispered. It wasn’t a yes, but it also wasn’t a no.

The Arphil’s plan was as good of a plan as they were going to get. Clarence looked like he wanted to throw up, but readied to move anyway. Slaathara looked intense, but oddly calm, like she did this kind of thing all the time. Lem leveraged himself so he could scan the area as best he could without being seen. Trisha crouched, waiting for his signal.

“Now!” he whispered harshly.

And they ran, hunched over and trying not to stumble as they maneuvered around debris to the target pile of junk. Trying not to gasp and cough, they crouched behind their new hiding place and waited for a sign that they had been spotted.

Trisha strained her ears. There was no cry of warning, no blasts, or shouting. Lem motioned them to the other side of the pile and they crouched again, waiting for his signal.

After the second scramble, her lungs were on fire. Slaathara passed around the canister of air while they waited behind another blasted mech to see if they had been spotted. Trisha’s nerves were tighter than her aunt’s Botoxed face.

When they moved to the other side, Lem tapped Trisha on the arm and pointed to their next hiding spot. Relief sped through her as Digger’s red eyes peered at them from the pile of junk they were planning to run to. Upooa’s green face hovered above Digger’s, and Trisha could just see his grin as the two of them hunkered next to the wreck. It looked like they had either spotted the enemy and had the same idea; or had seen Trisha’s group skulking toward them and decided to be cautious.

Either way, it increased their odds of getting out together, but the space between them was still large.

“There’s just two of them,” Lem whispered in her ear. “They could probably move faster than the four of us. We should wave them over. Get your stone ready.”

Trisha nodded and retrieved the gemstone from her pocket, the colors softly whirling in her hand. Slaathara and Clarence gathered close as Lem scouted once again. She could barely see their two companions watching them carefully in the distance. Lem crouched back and waved in a beckoning motion toward Digger and Upooa.

The two paused for a moment and then, realizing the intent of Lem’s motioned, vaulted out into the open.

They had barely gotten half a dozen steps when a blast of laser fire left a crater right in front of them, halting their progress.

“Run,” Lem bellowed, urging them toward Digger and Upooa. Trisha scrambled up and charged. Clarence followed after with an extended shriek, like yelling at the top of his lungs was the only thing moving him forward.

Another blast shot in front of Trisha, knocking her backwards. A metal arm hauled her to her feet and Trisha realized the Arphil had followed them. He dragged her around the crater, the medkit clutched in his other hand. Her hand was clamped around the stone so tight that it ached.

More blasts pelted around them and Trisha vaguely wondered why they kept missing until she realized, as she gasped for air, that they obviously wanted them alive and separated. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the silver streak of one of the Ka bounding toward them at incredible speed.

She blundered into Upooa and would have fallen over again if he didn’t clutch her to him. Swiveling her head frantically in every direction, she tried to find the rest of their group. Clarence stumbled in, throwing himself forward like he was sliding into first base and clamped himself around one of her legs. Slaathara hooked an arm around Trisha’s left arm.

Digger jumped into view and clutched at her left wrist, while raising his other hand to slap it onto the gem once Trisha loosened her fingers enough for him to make contact.

Time slowed to a crawl. Trisha seemed to take in everything all at once: Upooa’s strong hands clamped on her shoulders; Digger’s determined look; Slaathara’s forehead pressed into her shoulder as she clutched her arm; Clarence so wrapped around her leg he was sitting on her foot…

…and Lem reaching his mechanical hand to lightly grasp the bicep of the arm that held the stone.

She looked out and up to see the fierce face of a Cheveroid in mid-leap, his hand reaching out in a grasping motion like he could stop the inevitable.

Trisha wished she could flip him off, but all she could manage was a brilliant smile before Digger’s hand made contact with the stone and they disappeared in a whirl of colored lights.

[ 44 ]

[World Region: 00001-00001-00001-00001-000001-00001]

LEM felt like he had been blasted out of the bunker again. His head swirled and his stomach was about to rebel…and someone was lying on top of him. A blue snout mumbled a curse near his ear. Carefully, he rose to his knees, helping the lizard mage sit up.

The snout turned into a small smile. “I see that, like me, you chose to follow this mad group.”

Lem shifted uncomfortably. For the life of him, he couldn’t pinpoint why he had felt compelled, at that last moment, to combine his fate with these people. Trisha grinned at him as she got to her feet. Lem looked back at the blue lizard. “Please forgive me, but I don’t know your name,” he murmured, feeling it was suddenly very important that he know this information, like it would ground him somehow.

“Slaathara,” the blue lizard grunted, sitting back on what turned out to be a smooth, white-tiled floor. Looking around him, Lem saw they were in a wide hallway; a wide white hallway. In fact, everything was a shade of gleaming white, from the ceiling to the walls to the floor. Even the doors were white.

“That’s a lot of white,” drawled the creature with the bright feather-like hair. “I’m Digger, by the way,” he smiled, his head cocked and watching Lem down a beaky nose.

“Upooa,” the big green man said, rising to his feet. Lem did a double take. He must have been in bad shape back on his world. He never noticed this creature had tusks.

“And I am Clarence,” came a small voice near the ground. “I am the guy in desperate need of some Dramamine.” Trisha let out a breathy laugh as the small dark man rolled to his feet with a groan.

“Is travel through your gemstone portal always this rough?” he asked, thinking of the brief disorientation that accompanied passage through the portal he had activated on his world.

“Actually, I think it’s getting worse,” Trisha grimaced. Watching her put the stone in her pocket and start picking up some of the loose gear strewn about from their fall, Lem felt unusually drawn to the pale creature. She was so earnest and yet playful, a little like his lost Shalalla.

He swallowed hard, looking away. Why would he give up a chance to exact a modicum of revenge? It would have been a salve for his battered soul, but he had traded revenge for a chance at what, exactly? The reasons baffled him and yet he had done it.

He looked around at the group as they gathered themselves. Maybe he did it to honor his lost family. The future he had promised them, the home that he wanted to give them was forever out of reach now. When Clarence and Trisha had spoken of their desire to get back home, something shifted inside of him. He couldn’t save his family, but maybe he could help these people find their way back to theirs. He could even protect his own people this way…by never trying to find them again.

“Where do you think we are?” Clarence asked, openly curious but just as obviously apprehensive.

Lem shook himself out of his reverie and looked around. “The doors appear mechanical,” Lem pointed out. “No doorknobs. They’re like the doors in the portal facility and bunker.”

“You don’t suppose this is a facility for the Ka, do you?” Trisha’s voice took on an edge.

Somehow, Lem didn’t think so, but they certainly couldn’t be too careful. Everyone was suddenly looking at him like they expected him to know what to do. Here he was, clearly a stranger amongst them. Their trust left him off-balance.

The logical part of his brain stepped in, realizing they were likely correct in expecting him to lead the way. He was assuredly more experienced with this level of technology, just from the little information he had gathered from them.

“I think it best we get out of the hallway,” he said. He had no sooner finished speaking when footsteps echoed from somewhere nearby. Choosing a door at random, he swept his hand over a glowing white light motion sensor that stretched from the top of the door frame to the floor, and gestured the others inside. In a crowded rush, they filed inside. Lem heard a muffled curse when someone banged into something inside; then he followed after, and the door whispered closed.

He waited, listening at the door, as the footsteps got louder. Tensing, he held his breath until the footsteps passed, receding down the hall.

Turning around, he saw Trisha rubbing her hip, having evidently banged into a curious platform that abutted a long metal counter.

“What’s with the mirrors?” Digger asked, pointing to the wall next to the door. Turning, he saw a row of mirrors, only about 3 feet tall, stretched along the base.

“It is for someone small,” Slaathara answered, tapping her fingertips together in a manner Lem found curious. She stopped to point to the platform. “Someone who needs a something to stand on to work at the table.”

“Sounds a bit like our little gray friend,” Digger said, raising an eyebrow.

“Creepy, homicidal, and vain? What a winning combination,” Trisha muttered.

“So, we are at some Cheveroid Ka base?” Clarence asked nervously.

Slaathara shook her head. “We don’t have enough evidence to make that assumption. And, I will point this out again; nothing I have read about the Races of the Twelve suggests that all Cheveroids are particularly bloodthirsty or avaricious.”

“Still, I don’t think we should take any chances,” Digger said. Trisha nodded in agreement.

Lem gazed around the room and spotted what could be a data device of some kind. He wandered over to the wide metal pedestal near the middle of the room. He ran his fingers over the symbol pad on the side and realized with a start that he could read the letters.

“I think I found something,” he murmured, tapping ‘Races of the Twelve’ into the console. Images of twelve beings appeared in a holographic display suspended above the flat top of the pedestal. The others gathered round, gazing at the images with varying degrees of surprise and awe.

“So, you are human,” Lem said, looking from the male human image on the hologram to Trisha and Clarence.

Trisha wrinkled her forehead. “For some reason I thought you already knew.”

Lem shook his head. “The Races of the Twelve is a fairy tale to my people. Until Slaathara mentioned the name just now, I guess I wasn’t in a state of mind to consider what kind of creatures you were.”

He flipped through the images, taking note of the races of his companions. It was truly fascinating to find that his childhood fairy tales were, in fact, loosely based on reality. There were even Dwarves and Elves, Gnomes and Bargwhy…Sintis-Men? - How incredible.

“Maybe you could use this thing to find out where we are?” Clarence suggested.

The human was right, of course. This was no time for idle curiosity. He tapped in a couple of search options, with no success, before he hit on something with “location map.”

An image of a bright shining yellow orb surrounded by multicolored orbs appeared above the pedestal. That was curious.

“Well, that’s definitely not our solar system,” Trisha said. “There you go, Clarence,” she pointed at the hologram. “Not on Earth.”

“What do you mean by ‘solar system’,” Lem asked, suddenly feeling like he may have been mistaken about the level of knowledge and technology these humans had.

Clarence peered at him through squinted eyes, like he wasn’t sure if Lem was trying to make a fool of him or not. “You have not heard of a solar system?” Clarence scoffed disbelieving. Lem gave him a blank look. What was the man talking about?

Sputtering a little, Clarence went on, “You know, a sun in the center and worlds orbit around it? Please tell me that with all of your technology, you know something as simple as that.”

Lem’s brain seized on that information and froze for a moment. Was that possible? Were there habitable worlds beyond A’Kyria? All of the probes they had sent out had traveled the endless mass of A’Kyria for years, never finding another habitable land, and they never thought to look up. Did they truly send probes in the wrong direction?

He tapped quickly on the pad, finding the controls to widen the view. More solar systems appeared, spreading off to the left of the original; everything to the right was endless uninterrupted void of black space. On a whim, he began scrolling into the dark void.

“What are you doing?” Trisha asked quietly. Lem didn’t answer, just kept sweeping the image further and further along the empty black.

“I think he broke it,” Clarence said under his breath.

Lem’s fingers flew over the controls, driving the hologram map further and further along what looked like entirely empty space. The distances were unimaginable. Just when he was about to stop, a bit of gray, almost indistinguishable from the black around it, appeared in the middle of the projection. He continued scrolling closer. Soon the dark gray filled the whole space. He kept zooming in. Bright yellow dots appeared in its midst. Choosing one dot, he zoomed in until he saw a small shining yellow sun suspended above the gray. A ring of blue, green, and brown land circled the sun in a thin strip; a ring of life near the sun’s light and warmth.

He stopped, a little stunned.

“I was correct,” Lem whispered in awe. “A’Kyria is one world.”

“What do you mean ‘one world’?” Trisha asked. By the sound of her voice, she seemed to almost be afraid of what his answer might be.

Lem zoomed out again so they could see the bright suns tucked in the gray. “These,” he said pointing to one of the bright spots, “are suns. They are points of life in an otherwise thick, flat inert substance called gray matter.” He pointed to the gray area surrounding the light. “We sent out probes to find other areas of life along the gray matter outside our suns. Ironic that we never considered sending them out into the empty black of space, but we would have fared no better. The distance to the closest solar system is beyond comprehension.”

Clarence shook his head vehemently. “No,” he barked. “No, this is not how worlds work!”

“It’s how this one does,” Slaathara said, a little too smugly, Lem thought. “I have long suspected that A’Kyria held many lands. If there are twelve races, where did the other races live? There had to be something more out there,” she ended emphatically.

“And you were correct.” Lem zoomed in to the sun he had picked first, showing the ring of living land. “This living land developed in the gray matter at the right distance from this sun to get light and warmth.” He squinted at the words at the top of the display that had shown up when he zoomed in on the living area.

“Huh,” he muttered, half to himself. “It appears that these areas are known as world regions by whoever runs this facility. They even have a classification number, but it’s too long to be a portal address.” He zoomed out and zoomed in on another bright area. The sun was dipping into the gray matter and another world region classification number showed above the image. “This sun looks like it is dropping into the gray matter, and that diamond shaped living land has a regular cycle of darkness.”

“My world, or world region,” he continued, scrolling along the bright lights and occasionally zooming in on one, “has three suns at each apex of a triangle. They orbit at different rates, so that at times they are all set, or all risen. That is how we get our seasons, by counting the days between full dark.” Out of curiosity, he zoomed out again until he saw A’Kyria as a wide strip of gray on the holographic monitor and traveled in one direction along it. The gray, with scattered bright spots, kept going and going and going, without end. “We saw the stars out in space, of course, but it never occurred to us that there might be worlds surrounding those distant suns.”

As the gray and suns continued to scroll past, Digger whistled low. “That’s a big world.”

Lem stopped scrolling, the image hovering over another sun, with a hint of tiny patches of green and blue amid the gray. Looking over at Trisha and Clarence, he noticed that the small man’s eyes were huge and his mouth was opening and closing without a sound.

“I think you broke his brain,” Trisha said. “To be honest, I think you broke mine, too.” She had a rattled, almost wild eyed, expression on her face.

The big Orc glowered at him. “I think we need to leave here,” he said succinctly.

Lem grudgingly tapped his way back to what he hoped was the main screen and moved away from the pedestal. Upooa was right, of course. If they were in hostile territory, they would have to leave soon.

“Let’s see if we can find out anything more before we bug out of here,” he suggested. They spread out around the room.

Lem, Clarence, and Slaathara gravitated to a wall of books on shiny metal shelves.

“It appears that these are all technical reference books,” Clarence said, sounding disappointed. Lem reached up and grabbed a book that caught his eye. Portal Theory and Transfer Dynamics it read in clinical type. Lem could feel his heart speed up in excitement. This is what he had worked for so many years to understand.

He spun around to ask if someone could carry the book in their pack and stopped short when his eye caught something else.

“What is it?” Slaathara said, concern edging her voice.

“Something very useful, if it is what I think it is,” he replied, moving over to a wide metal cubby filled with row upon row of… ”Portal rods,” he breathed.

“What is a portal rod?” Clarence asked, hefting one of the short black poles and looking at the control panel on the side with interest.

“They are how we found the new world,” Lem answered, his heart rate speeding up. “They can transport us to places similar to your stone. Does someone have a sack?”

Upooa yanked a large sack from his pack and handed it to him without question. Lem shoved in as many rods as he could.

“I think…” he started to say and then froze. Footsteps were approaching again.

“I think we’d better jump,” Trisha whispered, clapping her hand onto her pocket but her pocket flapped open, torn down one side. Her eyes went wide, and she whispered in a panic, “I’ve dropped it somewhere in here!”

The footsteps got louder.

“We have no time to search,” Upooa grunted. “We need to hide and then come back to find it. This way. There’s another door over here.”

The green man waved his arms wildly in front of the door to get it to open. It whispered to the left revealing a pitch-black interior, but they didn’t have time to consider its contents. Upooa ushered them inside, practically trodding on their heels in his haste to get inside.

Lem stumbled into blinding sunshine and stopped, Upooa grunting as he swerved to avoid running into him from behind. Confused, Lem spun around in time to see a tiny sliver of the room they had just left floating suspended above the ground. Then the door hissed closed and the room, the closet, and the door completely disappeared.

“Wh-what just happened,” Trisha stammered, looking stunned.

“Grass? Wait…where are we?” Clarence scowled, wrapping his arms around himself to stem off the chill breeze that brushed across the slope they were standing on.

“The door might have led through a one-way static portal,” Lem replied, looking around the immediate area, hoping to find some kind of pedestal device like the one in the room, but the sloping hill full of verdant grass was empty. “I suspect it is connected to the pedestal console, and they can shift the destination at will.” Lem felt a tug of longing for such profound technology. He shook off the feeling with mild annoyance at his lack of focus.

Next to him, Trisha suddenly covered her face and Lem was appalled to hear a soft sob echo up from her hands. Upooa was by her side in a moment, appearing concerned but looking helpless as to what to do.

“I’m so sorry, guys,” she cried softly, lifting up her head. Tears streamed down her face. “I lost the stone. Now we’re stuck here!”

“We’re not completely stranded,” he assured her, holding up the bag he was carrying. “I’ve got more than a dozen portal rods here and a book,” he waved the book in his other hand, “that will teach me all I need to know. All we have to do…” His eyes fell on the title and he stumbled to a halt.

“What’s wrong?” Slaathara asked, picking her way awkwardly over to him, her eyes curiously cast downward.

“The book,” he said in confusion. “I can no longer read the title. Can you?”

Slaathara gestured for the book, and he handed it over. She glanced through it, her frown deepening with each turn of a page.

“I cannot,” she said finally, handing the book to Clarence.

The dark man frowned also, flipping through the pages like he was willing himself to understand. “Neither can I,” Clarence finally confirmed, snapping the book shut with an expression of fear.

“Digger was right,” Trisha said, wiping her eyes and obviously trying to pull herself together.

“I was?” Digger asked, cocking his head like he was trying to remember.

“Well, one of us was right,” Trisha replied, throwing her hands in the air. “It was sometime during our world hopping when someone suggested that the stone made it possible for us to understand each other and read other languages. Now we know that’s true.” She paused for a moment, her eyes tearing up again. She swiped at them angrily. “And I lost it,” she snarled.

Digger walked up to Trisha and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said, leaning down to make her look him in the eye. “We’ve gotten this far. We’ll find our way here, too. I’d bet on it.”

“Obviously there’s more to it.” Lem was trying to wrap his head around the kind of tech that could possibly accomplish such a feat. “We can still understand each other, so it hasn’t affected our speech. Maybe it’s just…” his words were interrupted by a gasp from Clarence. The dark human began to scramble into his pack, pulling out a scroll of paper that he snapped open and perused. Just as suddenly, he rested back on his heels with a huge sigh of relief.

“I can still read my spells,” he breathed. “So maybe we can read other things after all.”

Slaathara shook her head. “I don’t think so. Spells are special. You need to use your energy and skill to write them so maybe they change with us or we understand them regardless of what language they are written in?”

“Maybe we can discuss the particulars of magic after we determine where we are?” Upooa growled.

Lem spun a slow circle. They were standing amongst a series of gentle hills that skirted a fertile valley full of trees and grass. They sloped ever upward to merge into the base of a ring of high, impossibly steep cliffs that surrounded the valley and…Lem blinked in surprise. A small moon was suspended in the sky inside the ring of rock. As he stared at it, he saw it moving incrementally along the ridge of mountains, apparently making a circuit of the valley.

“Yeah, that’s not weird or anything,” Trisha said, glancing at the moon and wiping away the last of her tears. “Well,” she said shakily, shrugging her shoulders to adjust her pack, “it can’t be any weirder than my life so far.”

Clarence snorted a laugh at the comment.

“Okay,” Trisha continued, scrubbing her hands on her face like she was trying to wash away more than her tears, then looked up at them with red cheeks. “Shall we investigate?”

“I don’t have anythin’ better to do,” Digger quipped. “And I would enjoy a bit of a walk in some trees,” he added, pointing to a spot in the distance where trees filled an area at the base of the sloping hills. Trisha smiled at that.

As they moved in the general direction of the trees, Lem considered the strange party he had come to be a part of. A tight, but warm, feeling blossomed in his chest. He welcomed it.

[ 45 ]

[World Region: 00001-00001-00001-00001-000001-00001]

THE door whispered open to admit a small grey creature in an elaborate scarlet robe. It paused before one of the curious small mirrors lining the base of the wall and preened in satisfaction. Its disproportionately large blue eyes winked at the reflection of its bulbous pearl-gray head and its tiny slit of a mouth quirked in a self-satisfied smile. With a nod, it made a move toward the next mirror when a glint of sparkling light caught its eye.

Frowning, it moved toward the table at the center of the room. The table was massive in comparison to the creature and yet it gloated at the fact that it could walk under the table without ducking.

Its frown deepened as it approached the source of the sparkle. With a harrumph of disgust, the creature snatched up the gem-like object and scuttled to the stairs that led to a platform along the table’s edge. With infinite care, he placed the egg-shaped rock into a convoluted metal stand. It clicked into place. With irritated fingers, it tapped a short tattoo on its wrist band, and then proceeded to pull brushes, picks and weird sundry tools from drawers that rose from the tabletop.

Before long, an enormous furry bear-like creature in immaculate white trousers and tunic strolled into the room.

“You summoned, oh great Batvic?” its deep voice drawled in slow, dry humor.

Batvic looked at this new creature with obvious annoyance. “As always, I fail to see the amusement, Menowaì,” he scowled. “Have you been in here recalibrating portal stones? Because, if you have, you have been deplorably irresponsible and sloppy! I found this one under the table…under the table, I tell you…and it is in abominable shape.”

Menowaì’s easy smile disappeared from his broad, amiable face. “I haven’t been anywhere near your lab. I have been investigating those portal system anomalies you wanted me to track.”

Batvic muttered under his breath and gestured to the stone. “Look at it! It is a mess. It looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in centuries and I will have to use another stone to simply set the base calibration. The harmonics are so misaligned it’s a wonder it hasn’t exploded. This is inexcusable.”

Batvic stomped down the steps and up another set to a gleaming metal cabinet. With a set of taps, the cabinet front slid open to reveal an array of similar sparkling gems nestled in precise pockets along the entire wall of the cabinet. Selecting one, Batvic closed the cabinet and turned a baleful blue eye on his coworker who appeared to have recovered his good humor.

“I tell you, Menowaì,” Batvic groused, “if I find the Travelers that let their portal stone get so damaged, I will yank their interstellar pass. They will never see another solar system for the rest of their lives!”

Batvic snatched a harmonic stabilizer from the table and set the disk-like object under the stand. He gently placed the new gem on the disk and with a subtle swipe along the disk’s side, Batvic activated the unit. A net of energy poured from the bottom stone and webbed around the suspended damaged one.

“There! That should hold it until I can get it cleaned enough to…” his words were interrupted by the entrance of a harried looking gnome in a rumpled tunic.

“My apologies, Batvic, but Menowaì is needed back at central station. The Cheveroid Ka are back.” Without a further word, the gnome dashed back out the door.

Menowaì gave Batvic a meaningful look. “It’s been many years since the Ka have tried to breach our defenses. I wonder what has brought them to our door now.”

Batvic grimaced. “My lost brethren are nothing if not persistent. Our Travelers’ reports show their technology is still no match for ours. They will not get through.”

“Those same reports show that their ability to discover new worlds in A’Kyria is increasing,” Menowaì pointed out. “If that is true, we may have no choice but to step in and deal with the threat.”

“Yes,” Batvic sighed, his prior irritation lost in light of the news. “It seems likely we will have to act beyond the small measures we have already put in place.” He gave Menowaì an ironic smile. “Once again, we scholars are called upon to save the universe. May the ancestors help us all.”

“They won’t be much help,” Menowaì said over his shoulder as he opened the door. “They’re dead.” He heard Batvic’s rusty chuckle at the old joke as Menowaì hustled down the hall to central station.

[ 46 ]

[World Region: 1ABCF-167F8-12121-11221-121212-6E7BC]

THEY had been walking about an hour when Clarence heard Lem suck in his breath. He looked up in time to see Lem shove his bag into Upooa’s arms with a hurried, “Can you hold this?” Without waiting for an answer, the Arphil took off, running along the slope with surprising speed. After a few yards he dropped to all fours and doubled his speed, quickly disappearing where the hill dropped into one of the shallow troughs of the rolling hills.

They all stood there stunned for a moment.

“Seems like our new friend is full of surprises,” Digger murmured as they watched Lem reappear on the next slope, presumably headed for a bunch of whitish rocks near a group of towering trees Clarence could see in the distance.

“I could do with less surprises,” Clarence sighed, eyeing the distance between them and the Arphil as it grew. Really? After all that had happened in the last few hours, they were going to have to go traipsing after a cyborg dog-man who got excited over rocks? All he wanted to do was sit still for a while…or a week.

“I’ve read that Arphils can run on all limbs, increasing their speed, but I never imagined I’d see it.” Slaathara squinted at Lem’s retreating figure, looking fascinated.

“You mean that’s normal?” Trisha asked with surprise.

“Of course it is,” Clarence groused. “Races of the Twelve, blah, blah, blah,” he continued, spinning on his heel to head off after their errant companion. He could practically feel the burning glare Slaathara was shooting in his direction as Upooa chuckled. He grinned.

When they crested the next hill, Clarence had to reassess his rocky outcrop theory. As they drew closer, the white blob turned into some kind of stone strewn area with a triangle, that turned into an arch, that turned into an…

“What is that?” Trisha’s words came out a little breathless.

By the time they reached Lem, they had crossed into a large area, maybe 40 square yards, of wide weathered paving stones and pillars in various sizes and stages of decay. Grass lined each seam between the pavement stones creating a grid of green and swirled yellow. The huge trees off to the left had started encroaching on the stone patio, their roots prying up the edges and cracking off bits of the tiles.

In the center of the area, the Arphil was looking at a chest-high panel imbedded into one of a massive pair of ivory tusks set on a stone platform to form an archway that towered over their heads. The tips of the tusks were bare inches from touching at the top and the base of each was ringed in a greenish coppery metal. The door of the panel was the same color as the tusks, maybe even the same material, but thin and without any hint of hinges. Clarence wondered how Lem even thought to look for it.

The Arphil turned to them, his face alight with a fervor that Clarence recognized. It was the rush of discovery. While Clarence may not have seen the expression on his own face, he knew the feeling keenly from those bygone days of research when he dreamed of toppling the academic world with his genius. Recalling the feeling now only brought a growling pang of discontent.

“Perhaps you could have given us an explanation before you ran off into unknown territory?” he said, venting his sudden nostalgia fueled frustration. Lem’s excited expression crumbled. He looked so much like a puppy that had been scolded that Clarence instantly regretted snapping at him.

“Knock it off, Clarence,” Trisha muttered, elbowing him sharply in the arm. He bit back a yelp of pain and glared at her, rubbing his arm to stop the sting.

“No, no, he’s right.” Lem shook his head, looking contrite. “I’m military-trained. I should know better than to abandon my team.”

So, they were a team now? That seemed a little presumptuous.

Slaathara walked over to the panel, tipping her head as she studied the inside.

“What manner of device is this?” she asked. “I don’t recognize any of these symbols.”

Lem perked up again, his scientific fascination immediately supplanting his previous awkwardness.

“It’s a portal. Unlike any I have ever seen. It has some elements that are similar to the portal rods, but it’s much older. Most likely ancient, given that there is no sign of a town or village in the area. Although, I caught a glimpse of an old building nearby that we will want to investigate, although it looked abandoned.”

Clarence looked in the direction Lem had pointed. He couldn’t see anything for the trees, but he spied a stone path winding through the trunks that he had missed on his first look. He assumed the building Lem spoke of lay down that path somewhere.

“Does it still work?” Upooa asked, pulling Clarence’s attention back to the group. The Orc stood alongside one of the tusks. He looked up and raised his arm above his head like he was gauging the portal’s height.

“I believe it does, yes,” Lem answered. “The symbol lights came on as soon as I opened the panel.”

“Perhaps we should use it,” Digger suggested. “It doesn’t look like we will find much in the way of general store here.”

Clarence had to agree with him. The enclosed valley was verdant with spring greenery and several sources of water, but there didn’t appear to be anything else but the possible abandoned structure Lem mentioned.

“We could.” Lem didn’t sound like he was enamored with the idea though.

“I hear a ‘but’ tucked in there somewhere,” Trisha sighed.

“But,” Lem shot Trisha a small smile, “it looks like it only goes to one place. Plus, if it’s as old as I think it is, there’s a good chance there won’t be much on the other side either.”

“If you’ve never seen anything like this, how do you know it only goes to one place?” Slaathara queried, looking down her snout at the Arphil with narrowed eyes. Suspicious lizard.

“Well, you see,” Lem said as he waved them over to the panel. “It only has seven symbols, instead of eight, and all of them are locked in place.”

Clarence peered inside the panel. The rectangular space within was expertly carved from the tusk material, probably machine tooled. A column of seven raised symbols took up the left of the space, illuminated in a glowing yellow-orange light from some unknown power source. To the right there was an oblong dark, glass-like insert that looked for all the world like the kind of hand scanners he had seen in movies.

Clarence shook his head, his frustration mounting again. “Okay, you are going to have to explain. I know a lot of information, but just looking at this is getting me nowhere.”

“Sorry, Lem,” Trisha agreed, looking at the Arphil in confusion. “I’m lost, too.”

“Right.” Lem scrubbed the top of his head with his bionic hand, grimaced, and replaced it with his organic one. “I haven’t had a moment to really explain much of anything.” He paused for a moment and then crossed over to where Upooa had set down the sack Lem had filled while they were in that odd, mirrored room. Digging inside, he pulled out one of the approximately two-foot-long black rods and carried it back to them.

“This,” he continued, “is a portal rod. You need two of these to create a portal to another land: one to enter the location of where you want to go and one that identifies the location of where you are.” He ran his left finger over a dark spot on the right of the clear glass-like panel at the bottom of the rod. A column of eight round edged square spaces lit up with glowing green symbols.

“I forgot about that,” Lem muttered. “Does someone have any paper?”

Slaathara rummaged in her pack and pulled out a scrap of paper and one of her writing utensils. They all watched curiously as Lem carefully copied the symbols from the rod. He looked up at them apologetically when he was done. “The rods keep a record of the last place the portal opened to. It occurred to me that we should record these symbols in case something happens to wipe out the sequence.”

“So, you have to have the right symbols in the correct order to take you to a destination?” Slaathara asked.

“Yes.” Lem pointed to the squares. “You tap each of these squares to find the symbol you are looking for. There are 32 characters to choose from in each of the eight spaces.”

“So, it’s like an address,” Trisha stated.

Lem nodded.

But finding the right addresses had to be like looking for a needle in a haystack. There was something like thirty-two to the power of eight possibilities. Clarence went a little cross-eyed trying to calculate the number and sputtered, “That is billions of possible combinations!”

“Over a trillion, actually,” Lem smiled.

“I can’t reckon much past a million,” Digger said softly, “but even that amount seems like a fairy story.”

Upooa frowned. “You would not have us believe that there is this “trillions” of civilizations out there, even on A’Kyria?”

“And you would be correct,” Lem said, running his finger across the pad to turn off the panel. “You have to tap in the addresses by hand so we spent months going through the symbols and only found a few civilizations in all that time. We kept those addresses as backup in case we couldn’t find a more suitable uninhabited land.”

“And you think we should use these portal rods to find a place to go next?” Slaathara asked. She didn’t sound very convinced.

“Yes. Unlike the stone, you can see the destination every time you enter an address. I could work through the addresses and hopefully come upon one that has a town or city that might be to our advantage or at least signs of active civilization.”

“I suppose so,” Trisha said. “The only issue would be supplies, but maybe we could find something in or around the building?” She did not sound particularly hopeful.

“There are signs of animals and there’s water,” Digger shrugged. “We should be comfortable here for a spell.”

Clarence bit back a sigh. He was heartily sick of scrounged food. A part of him was berating himself, saying he should be grateful to be alive. The other part wanted a hot shower and his mother’s fried chicken, both of which looked so far away they sounded like one of Digger’s fairy stories.

“Well, at least we have some time to see if this plan works,” Trisha said, plucking at her ripped pocket. “We no longer have the gem, so those Ka people can’t find us here. Silver lining, I suppose.”

Lem immediately looked pained, like he was suffering from gastrointestinal distress. Clarence felt his own stomach sink. He knew that look. “What are you not telling us?” he asked the Arphil grimly.

“The Ka appear to have the ability to detect the portal rods when they are active.”

There was a long silence as everyone stared at the Arphil.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Trisha sputtered, waving her hands and breaking the silence. “You want us to use a device that could bring those creepy, murderous bastards here?”

“It took months of us using the portal for them to find us.” Lem held out his hands in a placating gesture. “If I don’t find a suitable place in a couple of days, we’ll try this one.” He tapped his hand on the side of the tusk arch. “If there is no sign of civilization on the other side, like I suspect, we can try some more addresses on the rods at the new location.”

“And then what?” Slaathara pressed him.

Lem rubbed his head again like he might have run out of logic for his argument.

“We keep moving,” Upooa said matter-of-factly.

“Upooa’s got the right of it,” Digger pitched in. “If I’m gatherin’ this correctly, these Ka may have a tough time gettin’ at us if we’re movin’ around?”

Lem started nodding but was interrupted by Slaathara again.

“Why don’t we just go to your new world?” She peered at Lem, slowly tapping her fingers at the thought. “Surely you remember that series of symbols?”

Clarence watched Lem deflate, his face scrawled with such grief that even Clarence could almost feel it, like a heavy fog in the air.

“They,” Lem cleared his throat and tried again. “They wiped my memory of any reference to our new home,” he practically whispered.

Clarence wondered who “they” were. He was about to ask when a dark shadow crept over them. He looked up in a panic before noticing that the sun had dipped a third of the way behind the cliffs, extending a shadow over where they stood. Night was closing in.

“We should make camp,” Digger said in his soft drawl. “Then I think our friend here has a story to tell.”

They silently went about setting up camp, picking an area that formed a rough oval of broken or toppled pillars. It was almost second nature for the five of them by this point. Without a pack, Lem tried awkwardly to help the others before Trisha suggested he go with Upooa to look for firewood in the trees. Clarence would never tell her, but he envied Trisha’s easy way with people. She seemed to have a sixth sense of what they were thinking and why. Most of the time he felt like he didn’t have a clue, or worse, that everyone was out to get him. With Trisha’s superpower, his life would have been much different.

By the time Lem and Upooa had returned, the ever-practical Slaathara had divvied up their pack contents to come up with bedding for Lem. Clarence felt a little sour over losing a blanket. The gusty breeze never warmed. He was looking at a cold night on even colder ground.

Lem did appear more cheerful for having helped haul a truly stupendous pile of wood to their campsite and watched Upooa kill a large cloven-hooved rodent. Apparently, the big green guy just snatched the thing up in his huge hands as it ran past and summarily wrung the creature’s neck. Of course he did, Clarence snorted to himself. He alternately considered it barbaric and impressive as hell; that was another thing he wouldn’t be admitting out loud.

Darkness had engulfed the valley by the time they finished eating. As Clarence predicted, the air got markedly colder. He wished he could move the fallen pillar he was using as a seat closer to the fire. Lem sat across from him, staring into the flames like a man lost. Clarence wasn’t sure he wanted to know what could make a person look so hollow. Trisha was sitting cross-legged on a folded blanket, rubbing her palms over her knees as she looked at the Arphil in concern. Finally, she clasped her hands with a soft clap and said, “I just realized that we haven’t had any time to really introduce ourselves.” She smiled when Lem looked up at her. “I mean, you know my name, but not much else.”

Trisha went on to tell them about her life. Her mom leaving, her dad dying, gymnastics, her passion for cars, her crazy rich aunt, some guy named Chad, and more all tumbled together in an easy flow of words that belied the seriousness of her words. Upooa and Digger asked questions that made Clarence realize that they had heard some of this before. A familiar feeling crept over him; a desperate kind of loneliness he thought he had left behind in grade school. He felt left out.

Making friends was never easy for him. It struck Clarence that, even with all of the time they spent together hopping around A’Kyria and traveling the depths of Slaathara’s world, none of his companions had really opened up to him about their lives. As Digger joined in, talking about his work, expressing his concerns about his brother and his business and whether there would even be a life for him in N-Avia when he got back, Clarence wondered if any of them even cared to hear about his life. In the caves, he remembered long conversations about the differences in their worlds, but no one asked about his family, what he did for a living, or anything along those lines. Trisha was the only one who had attempted to get to know him back in the barn in Digger’s world, but that had broken into an argument about what they should do with the gemstone.

Slaathara had cleaned and tucked away their assortment of dishes while they talked. Now, she settled herself next to him on the pillar and started telling Lem about her life in Jellara. Clarence felt he knew just about enough of that world, thank you very much, but he didn’t interrupt. She did open up about her sudden aversion to open spaces and trying to distract herself from thinking about it. That Clarence could understand. How could you live your whole life underground and not be afraid of the vastness of the sky? Actually, if he pondered it too much, he could work himself up into a ball of anxiety over pretty much anything. He sighed.

“What of you?” Slaathara asked, poking her snout into his field of vision and making him jump. Everyone around the campfire was looking at him. He swallowed hard.

“Yeah, Clarence.” Trisha smiled at him, a little smugly, he thought. “You’re always spouting facts or complaints. Surely you have some kind of life back home.”

A jolt ran through his brain, an epiphany of sorts. Had he really never offered up any kind of information about himself?

“Well, I, uh…” he paused, trying to find something to say. He had a life. Didn’t he? “I am, uh, married. I might have mentioned that before. I have a job as an insurance adjuster…well, had a job anyway. They’ve probably replaced me by now. My dad passed away a few years ago and my mom went to live with my sister.” Was that it? Surely there was something more.

“I, well, I love antiquities and research about ancient civilizations…ancient Earth civilizations, to clarify. I used to really love gardening, and I was planning on becoming something like a more scholarly Indiana Jones. I used to study ancient languages, but it was not part of the plan.”

He growled out ‘plan’ like it was some kind of dirty word. The others around the fire appeared a little startled or uncomfortable or both. He sighed again. The story of his life.

“If you don’t like this plan you speak of, why haven’t you made a new one?” Slaathara peered at him intently. Anger surged up in him and then abruptly wafted away, leaving him feeling a little winded. Why hadn’t he made a new plan?

“I really do not know,” he answered with a touch of wonder. It wasn’t like he was trapped. Logic told him he had options. Did he really lack the imagination to envision a new life for himself? He felt slack-jawed and confused.

“It’s hard to realize your life isn’t what you thought it was,” Digger commented, poking a stick into the fire.

“Or when it’s taken from you.” Upooa’s low voice rumbled over the flames of the fire. “My Iris was my everything.”

“Was Iris your child?” Lem looked over at the Orc. Clarence couldn’t see the Arphil’s face, but he could hear the strained emotion in his voice.

Upooa nodded. “I never thought I could love someone so much. When she was taken from me, I made it my mission to destroy everything I could of the system that stole her from me.”

The green man looked so fierce and broken; no one dared ask him to elaborate. The silence stretched awkwardly until Lem tossed another log onto the fire.

“The portal was supposed to save us all,” he started softly. “We thought we planned for every contingency, but…” he shook his head. “There was no way of knowing, but that logic gives me no consolation. I was the one who discovered how to use the technology, so I alone am responsible for the deaths of billions.” Lem’s voice broke at those last words. Clarence knew this rationale was clearly a sign of bereavement rather than logic, but he kept his mouth shut and let the crackling of the fire fill the silence as Lem collected himself.

“Our world was dying. We predicted the loss of not just millions, but the complete failure of our civilization if we didn’t find a new world to colonize.” Lem went on to describe a situation that might have been the course of any world’s history if technology and greed overrode common sense and compassion. Hell, Clarence thought, it could easily have been Earth.

Lem’s civilization had a finite amount of live-able area. Their three suns outlined a scorching barrier to how far they could expand. So, groups of his people fought each other for every inch of arable dirt, for hundreds of years. As the technology got more advanced, they scourged huge swaths of land; entire cities were swallowed up by terrible weapons that poisoned the ground. The victors would sweep in, use technology to clean up the mess and claim it as their own, only to have bigger and “better” technology wipe them out in return.

At one point, the land simply refused to recover, and no amount of technological genius could replace what simply wasn’t there. They had burned their world to more than ashes; they sucked it dry.

The survivors got together and laid the groundwork for peace. They built dome cities and worked together to bring their civilization back from the brink. More than a hundred years passed before their scientists came to the realization that they were on borrowed time. No matter what they did, their world couldn’t sustain them for much longer.

They sent out probes across the grey matter of A’Kyria to find a new home, with no success. While digging through the rubble of old cities to salvage raw materials, they stumbled upon a bunker where they found the portal rods. Lem and his science team were given the task of determining what the rods did, if anything.

Lem discovered how to get into the inner workings of the devices. It didn’t take much tinkering to realize that the wiring to the crystal power cylinder was broken or shorted out on both. It was a simple fix. When they locked the two rods together and powered them on, they telescoped into an arch big enough to drive a truck through. After the first set of symbols was tentatively tapped into the spaces and a window opened up on land they had never set eyes on before, their course was set. They were determined to find a new beginning for their people.

“And we did, too,” Lem smiled sadly. “After months of promising, yet ultimately dangerous or unsuitable locations, we found the perfect place; hectares and hectares of unspoiled, undeveloped and safe land. It looked like our future.” He spoke this so low Clarence almost couldn’t hear him. “I’ve never felt hope that strong.”

Then, on the brink of that hope, the Ka came crashing in and wiped out Lem’s whole world. The Arphil told them how they had set up their base camp in the new location and were just about to start moving their families over when the Ka struck. Lem’s wife and daughter were killed almost instantly. His best friend incinerated the facility rather than let the Ka have it. Clarence shuddered at the absolute crushing unfairness of it all. To be so close to saving his people and having it yanked out from under him in such a brutal fashion.

“A little over 800 survived,” Lem sighed. “Maybe enough to start again. I don’t know.”

“How did you end up back in your old land?” Digger asked.

“I volunteered,” he chuckled hoarsely. It was a sour, bitter sound. “We had a backup bunker storing the information about our new home. We couldn’t leave it for the Ka to find. So, I let our scientists tinker on my body to give me a better chance of surviving long enough to destroy the bunker. I also let them wipe my memory of any hint of viable addresses in case I got caught by the enemy.”

He held up his cybernetic hand and studied it. The metal reflected the flickering of the firelight. “I fully expected, even wanted, to die there.”

“But we found you,” Trisha said.

Lem’s expression softened. “But you found me,” he repeated with a small, sad smile.

“Do you really think the portal is our best option?” Slaathara asked, her expression unreadable in the shifting light.

Lem considered her question for a moment. “Ask yourself if you can trust me after all that I have told you and all the mistakes I have made.” He looked down at his hands. “I will never again say that I can keep anyone safe. I don’t know if this is the right option, but it’s technology I know…and I believe it is our best chance of finding a way out of this situation we’re in.”

Upooa leaned back on his bedroll, his arms under his head. “I say we start tomorrow.”

It sounded like a terrible plan to Clarence, but none of the options appeared much better. He looked around at the others. They looked back. Then, one by one, they slowly nodded at each other.

“Looks like we start tomorrow,” Clarence sighed, his gut roiling with anxiety. He just knew he wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight.

“Tomorrow then,” Lem said in a hushed voice. “I’ll take first watch,” he offered, standing and walking past the light of the fire to stand near the arch. The rest settled into their blankets and bedrolls.

The strange moon, inexplicably locked in orbit around the valley, emitted a soft yellow-green glow as it crept along the cliff walls. Clarence watched its slow passage until exhaustion overtook him and he finally drifted off to sleep.

[ 47 ]

[World Region: 1ABCF-167F8-12121-11221-121212-6E7BC]

LEM watched the sky lighten in orange and pink folds behind the cliffs on the other side of the valley. He hadn’t slept much; just dozed really. But, then again, he didn’t feel fatigued. He suspected that the universal healing agent he had taken had something to do with that.

He probably could have let his companions sleep the whole night, but habit and training had him waking Upooa after four hours. He had wrapped himself up in his borrowed blankets and let his mind wander to thoughts of his family and friends. The pain wrapped around him like the blankets, and he embraced it. There had not been any time for grief. He let it swallow him, almost grateful to get lost in the past.

When the moon approached their camp area, Lem pushed aside memories in favor of curiosity. From the moment he had seen the orb, he had known it wasn’t natural or part of Slaathara’s curious magic. It was technological.

As it drew closer, Lem activated the magnification feature of his bionic eye. The moon was covered in a patchwork of glowing lichen, but underneath was a metal hull crisscrossed with two odd ring-like patterns. Other than that, the metal was smooth. There didn’t appear to be any suggestion of a hatch or door panel.

He tried to activate the surveillance feature of the eye, but that heads-up display kept glitching, shifting side to side, scratchy and blinking in and out. It made his head spin. He blinked to deactivate it. It would have been nice to get a power reading on the thing.

He systematically went through the other features of the eye. The targeting software appeared to be malfunctioning as well, but night vision was intact and so was the image capture software. Accessing the image display, he oriented his eye on the moon and recorded it. After a moment, he recalled the image from his neural prosthetic. The captured image floated before him in the gallery’s heads-up display, doubling the moon he saw with his natural eye.

The blow to the head he’d received when he blew the bunker must have damaged sections of his neural net. Without access to diagnostic tools, he had no way of knowing if it could be repaired.

Lem heard the soft, subtle sounds of the others waking. He sat up and watched for a moment as they went through what looked like a practice of habit. Digger stoked the fire while Slaathara gathered water from the nearby stream and Clarence pulled out food. Trisha took some time to stretch before rolling up her bedding and moving on to help the others pack up theirs. Upooa had put away his blankets and was off to the side, spinning and swinging his sword in a studied series of slow, careful movements while keeping watch on the surrounding area. Everything was done in a quiet, efficient manner that made Lem feel even more like an interloper to their unusual party.

He folded up his blankets and handed them back to Slaathara with a subdued “Thank you.” She just nodded, tucked the blankets in her pack and went back to stirring what looked like some kind of vegetable pottage made from dry ingredients. When it was done, an assortment of metal cups and bowls were handed around filled with the thick stew.

Lem blew on his and drank. The food was somewhat bland, but filling.

“I was thinkin’ that I should stay here today with our new friend,” Digger told them as they ate. “The rest of you could see what lies yonder.” He nodded his head toward the path that lead into the trees.

“Just you?” Clarence raised an eyebrow at the bird-man. “I thought I might be able to help Lem keep track of the symbols as he tried the addresses.”

“Nice try, Clarence.” Trisha smirked at the dark human. “You and Slaathara are the only ones who can help us find edible plants, remember? Not a chance that you get the cushy job of watching Lem’s back while he works.”

Clarence scowled at her. Digger rubbed the back of his neck, looking like he was trying to suppress a smile.

Lem cleared his throat to get their attention. “It may not be as easy a job as you might think. The portal is two way, so whatever is on the other side has a chance of getting through.”

Digger nodded like he had expected as much. Clarence paled a little, looking suddenly relieved that he wasn’t taken up on his offer.

“Perhaps I should stay?” Upooa said, fingering the hilt of his sword.

“I will let you choose that among yourselves,” Lem answered. “There were a few times when animals, insects, or other things made it through the portal, but it wasn’t frequent. This is primarily a precaution more than a guarantee that we may have to deal with unwanted company.”

They discussed the pros and cons for a few minutes, but ultimately decided to go with the Laquaran’s suggestion. The four who were going on the scavenging trip pulled sacks from their packs and grabbed their canteens. Meanwhile, Lem looked through the portal rods and chose the one he had activated last night and a second to complete the arch. When he turned around, he found everyone gathered behind him looking expectant. Lem nodded to himself. Of course they would want to see the portal activated.

He walked to a large space to the left of the ancient arch that was free of debris and touched the activation pads on both rods. He took a quick image capture of both addresses, feeling a little foolish about asking for paper the day before. With practiced movements, he snapped the ends together and twisted. The rods locked with a metallic hiss. Lem leaned over and set the left end of the connected rods on the ground with a gentle tap. They quivered for a moment then settled into the turf like they had grown roots. He let go of the rods and stepped back.

The green symbols on the bottom rod flashed three times and then reset into a new series before flashing the symbols once more. It had found and set the origin address for the valley. The lower rod began to extend in a series of ratcheting clacks, lifting the panel to about chest height before pausing the barest fraction and then ratcheting out the rest of the rod above the panel. Lem watched it stretch into the air, bowing slightly before it reached the apex where the top rod snapped down in a near 45-degree angle and started telescoping down toward the ground.

When the end met the stone tiles, there was a fast cascade of clicks and the telescoped metal solidified into a seamless whole. The arch stood some six meters wide and eight meters tall. Lem knew from experience that no amount of force could tip or break that frame. The symbols on the right panel flashed once and a milky white sheen rippled across the archway and shifted into an image of soft rolling hills covered in undulating waves of yellow grass against a purple blue sky.

Lem turned to look at his new companions and saw a wall of shocked expressions. It was so similar to the looks on his team’s faces when they first activated a portal on his world that he felt a sharp twinge of nostalgia twist his guts. He scrubbed his hand over his hair to cover his discomfort. “Yeah, it’s pretty impressive,” he muttered.

Gusts of wind blew through the portal opening, ruffling past his ears. He turned and scrutinized the landscape. While the air coming through the portal smelled clean, there were no roads or cleared ground. No buildings broke the horizon nor any smoke. There was no sign of habitation and, without any drones to survey further afield, they had to rely on what they saw through the archway.

“As beautiful as this place is, it isn’t what we are looking for.” He walked over to the panel on the right and tapped the top symbol. It blinked. He tapped it once more and it shifted to the next symbol. The set of green lights paused for a moment and then flashed once. The white sheen rippled across the surface again to coalesce into a baked desert, the ground cracked and heat pouring from the opening of the arch. He squinted into the heat. No life there. He tapped to another symbol and found a serene sea of endless water, rippling under a green sky. Lem had hoped that the last stored address might have been something they could use, but it looked like they would have to do this the hard way.

“Time to go,” Upooa stated abruptly, sounding like he had seen enough. He tucked his bag in his belt and headed toward the trees without waiting for the others. Clarence, Trisha, and Slaathara looked wistfully at the portal before finally pulling their eyes away and hurrying after their green companion.

Digger considered the portal for a moment, cocking his head to the side, before turning his appraising eyes on Lem. “This will take considerable patience.”

Lem felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. For some reason, he found himself liking this soft-spoken creature. He turned to the portal and tapped in the next address.

______________________________

The single sun was an hour or two from its zenith when Lem stepped back with a sigh, stretching his neck from side to side to work out the kinks. He had forgotten the fatigue and tedium of tapping in address after address.

He looked over at his companion. Digger crouched a couple of meters from the portal. His feet flat on the floor, he looked like he could happily hold that position for hours, his watchful gaze taking in the portal and the area around him.

They hadn’t said much as Lem tapped in the addresses. There was a certain amount of concentration involved and Digger appeared to innately understand silence was king for this operation.

Lem stretched his neck one more time and turned back to the portal. Something odd caught his eye. He leaned closer to the arch, scrutinizing the area where the tesseract field met the rod arch. A series of thin black lines flickered along the edge. Huh. He went around the back of the arch and looked through. As he had expected, he saw nothing but the shimmering milky white waves of the “back” of a portal rod tesseract field framed in the archway. He walked around the front again. The black lines were stretching further into the field image.

“Somethin’ wrong?” murmured Digger, standing and moving toward him.

“I don’t know.” Lem peered at the minute fine lines. One shot across the field, reaching for another tiny filament of black he could barely see. The hairs on the back of his neck rose and he took a step back. “I think we should…”

He didn’t finish his sentence before a fizzing series of snapping lights crackled through the center of the arch. The image of a glacial mountaintop shrunk to a pinpoint and a near soundless concussive force knocked him and Digger from their feet. When Lem scrambled back up, the archway was gone. In its place were the two rods; separated, panel displays completely dark, and the bases smoking slightly. He walked over and reached down with his left hand to pick one up, but stopped a fraction from the surface when he felt heat rising from the metal. If he had to take a guess, something had caused the power cylinder to overload.

He sat back on his heels and tapped his lip in thought. It was possible the rods were in the room where he found them because they were damaged and in need of repair. A spit of panic bubbled in his stomach. If that was the case, their chances of finding a suitable destination dwindled considerably.

Digger’s boots stepped into his view and Lem looked up at him.

“It doesn’t take an expert to know that wasn’t supposed to happen,” the Laquaran said, looking at the burned out rods.

“No,” Lem agreed. He tentatively touched the closest rod with his organic hand. It was still hot, but cool enough to the touch now, and the smoking had stopped. To be on the safe side, he picked it up with his cybernetic hand and stood, turning the device to inspect it. There wasn’t any external damage that he could see. He rubbed his finger across the panel. No lights filled the symbol squares. It was fried.

Gingerly, he picked up the second blown rod and walked them over to the campsite where he had left the bag. Setting the spent rods next to the bag, he rifled through the rest, trying to see if there was anything to distinguish whether or not they were damaged. He pulled one out and squinted at it. It looked perfectly normal to him. He thumbed the power and green symbols blinked on. Huh…nothing seemed…

His thought broke off as he noticed a quick flash of the top symbol. Weird. He knew he hadn’t tapped the square to input a new address. Carefully, he swung the rod in his hand. There it was again. The top symbol flashed at a specific point. He held it steady. The top light continued to blink off and on. Looking up, he tracked the position of the rod. It was pointing in the general direction of the stone path through the trees.

“Find somethin’?” Digger asked, crouching down next to him.

Lem nodded. “I’m not positive, but it looks like the rod is detecting some kind of signal from that direction.”

He swung the rod again in a slow sweep. Sure enough, the top symbol only flashed when pointing in the area of the path.

“Here, hold this,” he handed the rod to Digger. “I want to verify something.” Lem pulled out another rod, activated it and did another slow sweep in front of him. Yep, there was the blinking light. It wasn’t just a malfunction of one device.

“Is that why the portal blew up?” Digger swung the rod in front of him, looking at the blinking light with interest.

“I don’t know.” Lem looked back at the ancient portal, then towards the path before them. The ruin lay in that direction. He had a sudden feeling that the two were connected somehow, but he didn’t have enough information to even hazard a guess as to what that might be. Oh, but he wanted to find out!

Digger walked away a moment and came back with his canteen. “Looks like we’re takin’ a trip,” he drawled.

Lem stood, caught in a moment of indecision. As much as he wanted to investigate the rod phenomenon, should they really leave the camp unattended?

Digger appeared to sense Lem’s discomfort and why. “It’s a risk, for sure,” he said, nodding toward their camp, “but not a big one considerin’ where we are. That,” he continued, pointing to the rod, “is more important.”

And so, they headed down the trail, Digger lugging the bag of rods just in case.

The blinking light on the rod stayed true to direction, never wavering in indicating that something down the path was the source. In fact, as they drew closer, the blinking got incrementally faster. By the time they cleared the tall trees, the blinking had tripled its speed.

The path continued through an area of smaller trees and vegetation that grew in wild tangles, but also had an odd semblance of order to it. As he and Digger picked their way around the profuse weeds and occasional broken tree limbs in the path, Lem finally registered the resemblance. The trees were in uniform rows, like the orchards that used to inhabit his world’s farm domes.

Their destination was clearly visible now. A single-storied, though tall, stone building, more sturdy and whole than Lem originally anticipated, lay on the other side of the orchard. Much of the outside was covered in leafy vines and saplings from the orchard and other surrounding trees were crowding up against the walls.

The air of abandonment and neglect increased as he and Digger approached the entrance. A few areas of the outside wall were crumbling at the base, likely breached by creatures of some kind or fallen prey to the elements for lack of maintenance. The huge double doors stood ajar, the thick worn wood carved with square panels that were studded with wide round metal rivets that followed the panel pattern, as well as, the edges of the door. Lem peered into the gloom inside. Dust, rubbish and footprints trailed over the stone floor. Likely the rest of their team had been through here. It was light enough for him to see without trying to activate the night vision in his eye.

He and Digger stepped into the hallway. A sweep of the rod showed they should move forward, but he cast a curious glance into the room on their left. A plain wooden door was open and hung at an angle like the hinges were giving out. Multiple footprints scuffed in and out of the room. Inside were a table and two chairs, which were on their last legs, and piles of rubbish on the floor that had been picked through. Lem seriously doubted his companions had found anything of use in there, but of course they would have looked.

They didn’t move much beyond that room before a cry of pain echoed down the stone walls of the hallway. Digger snatched out his knife and pelted after the sound, Lem following close behind, navigating the passage that took a sharp jag to the left and then the right. As they ran up on another hallway that crossed theirs, Lem heard Trisha’s voice rise over their pounding steps.

“…why you’re arguing with me, Clarence! I’m not the dumbass who decided to fight those things.” They skidded to a halt before a set of open double doors across the hall to the left. To the left of the doorway, the stone wall bulged and a dark stain dribbled down the floor. They rushed into the room.

Slaathara chanted softly next to Upooa, who was lying on the floor. A nasty burn on his stomach was slowly healing in a haze of blue light, the outside edges curling into a web of light scars as it progressed. There was a splash of water to his right and Clarence yelped. Trisha was holding onto his forearm, pouring water from her canteen over a much smaller burn. She spun when she caught their presence out of the corner of her eye and sagged in relief when she recognized them.

Corpses of three strange creatures littered the large room. They were odd, beetle-like, somewhat flat black creatures a little over two meters in length, with six legs and…he moved closer to the one that had been smashed into the wall next to the door. Yes, his eyes weren’t deceiving him. They had three heads on thick stalk necks, each with two large black eyes, mandibles, and an odd funnel shaped mouth.

“Curious things.” Digger was crouched next to one in the center of the room that was missing a head. He prodded it once with his knife, the bag of rods set beside him.

“And curiously enough, they spit acid,” Trisha scowled.

“Acid spitters?” Digger looked at them more closely; almost like he was sorry he missed seeing them in action. Lem couldn’t blame him. They were fascinating.

“Call them what you want,” Trisha said, capping her water bottle. “It’s just lucky we stumbled on the fact that water neutralizes the acid or that hole in Mr. Can’t-Back-Down-From-A-Fight would have gone all the way through his stomach.”

Lem looked over at Upooa. The green man gave him a lopsided grin that was half-grimace. The burn on his stomach was now an angry reddish spider web of new scars and healing skin. Slaathara finished chanting and stood, making her way over to Clarence.

“Personally, I think you’re all gluttons for punishment, but since you have given me unprecedented practice in my healing spell, I’m inclined to let you beat yourselves up all you like.” The blue lizard gestured for Clarence to lift his arm. The dark human gave her a petulant look, but presented his forearm. Slaathara started chanting again, the blue light Lem had seen before building in intensity around and between her raised hands.

Upooa gently prodded his stomach and, presumably finding himself sound, rose to his feet.

“Why have you joined us?” the big man asked, gingerly leaning over to pick up his sword. “Have you found a place for us to travel to?”

Trisha looked at Lem with anticipation, hope in her eyes. He winced a little and shook his head.

“The portal blew up,” Digger said matter-of-factly, dusting his hands on his pants.

“It blew up?” Trisha blurted. Lem couldn’t decide if she sounded more dismayed or exasperated.

“Not exactly,” he assured her. “But it did malfunction and fry the two rods.”

“That is not much better,” Clarence groused. Slaathara had finished healing his burn. The outside of his forearm had a five centimeter ragged patch of raw fresh skin halfway between his hand and his elbow.

Lem turned his attention back to the portal device. “The rods appear to be picking up some kind of signal from this building,” he told them, holding up the one in his hand. The top light was flickering frantically now. “In fact…” He looked from the rod to the far wall of the room. He flicked the device to the right and the blinking stopped. Swinging it slowly back to the center, the light burst into action again.

The room was fairly large. At one time, it was a meeting place of some kind with a raised dais at the end, a plain altar stone atop it and a mural on the back wall that had long since faded into random patches of color.

Slaathara had walked over to stand next to him, peering at the rod with interest. “’In fact’ what? What is it that you see?”

Lem didn’t answer, just walked toward the dais. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he was probably being rude, but the sense that he was on the verge of discovering something monumental gripped him.

He stepped onto the low step and skirted the altar stone to stand before the mural. The symbol light was flickering so fast now that it had almost become a solid light again. Stepping up to the wall, he peered closely at the mortar that the mural had been painted on. Here and there, some of the mortar had crumbled away to show the seams of stone under it. He ran his biological hand over the wall, trying to detect any unusual aberration in the surface.

His hand felt a raised bulge in the mortar, almost a single horizontal line, and his breath caught. Carefully, he positioned his bionic hand over the line and gave it a sharp rap with his fist. Mortar crumbled for several centimeters to the left and right. He brushed it away to reveal a thin deep groove in the stone beneath.

Breathing faster now, he handed over the rod to a perplexed looking Digger and went back to knocking away the mortar along the bottom groove. When he had cleared a nearly two meter horizontal line, the line abruptly ended and started moving upward.

It was a panel of some kind.

He walked along the wall in both directions, trying to determine if there was some kind of control to open it or if he would have to excavate the whole thing by hand and bust through. Lem glanced around the rest of the room and realized that the stones that made up this section of the building were different than the stones that made up the outer wall and the hallway. These stones were large and smooth and crafted to fit tight together with no mortar.

Stepping back to get a better look, he bumped into the altar stone and had a sudden thought about the holographic pedestal at the facility the gem had taken them to. It was like the sky had opened in his mind. Could it be that simple?

He spun and started running his hand over the altar stone, tapping the top and sides. In his peripheral vision, he saw the others watching him closely. No one said a word, for which he was grateful.

His fingers ran under the lip of the capstone and caught the edge of a shallow carved depression. He crouched down to look. Just under the lip of the top was a circular indentation about the size of…

“Digger, can you hand me that rod?”

Digger proffered him the device and Lem spun it to look at one end, then he carefully set the end into the depression. It fit perfectly.

There was a small click and the top of the altar stone lifted like a clamshell on hydraulic hinges. Inside was a shallow square depression with a single black panel, just like the panel on the ancient arch.

He pressed his hand to the panel.

Behind him the wall shuddered. Spinning around, he saw the mural and mortar crumble away as the panel door shook to open. Finally, there was a rending crack and the panel pushed out from the wall, vibrated and shook again. A seam appeared in the middle, getting slightly wider and wider until the doors finally burst apart, sliding to either side on the wall. Inside was a map. Behind him, Lem heard someone breathe out a small gasp of awe.

The map was almost a perfect square, made of engraved metal. In the center was a simple lined depiction of the valley they found themselves in, complete with a round dot that signified the moon. Within the ring of mountains, was an arch that was lit in yellow-orange light. There were lit arch lights that spoked off in four main directions from the center of the valley, near the arch light.

“X marks the spot,” Trisha said in a hushed voice.

Lem wasn’t sure what she meant, but he was very clear on what the map represented.

“It’s a map of a system of portals.” Lem stepped up to touch the area in the center. “See, this is where we are. And that light here,” he tapped the lit arch, “is the portal we found.” He looked at the engraved lines that linked the lit arch icons.

“If I had to guess, I would say that this arch leads to this one.” He traced his finger along the line that went up and to the right to another lit arch. While the arch they found only had one line, and perhaps only one destination, the second arch had lines that branched off in three directions.

“Why are some of them dark?” Clarence asked. Lem hadn’t seen the human step to the left of him on the dais, but his face was alive with curiosity.

Lem scanned the map. Quite a few of the arches weren’t lit, including one of the three possible destinations from the next arch over.

“Perhaps they no longer work?” Slaathara posited.

“That would be my guess.” Lem followed the main line up to the upper right corner, which contained a larger arch icon. In fact, each corner of the square map had a larger icon.

“How many lands are we talkin’ here?” Digger asked, stepping onto the dais.

Standing back again to get a better view, Lem scrutinized the map engravings. Some looked like map symbols for mountains, hills and maybe plateaus. Others showed rivers and a massive ocean. If he hadn’t had any experience exploring new worlds, he might have made the mistake of thinking that each arch represented a new land within A’Kyria. As it stood now, he was nearly certain that this was all part of one land, almost meticulously organized into four sectors.

“I believe we are just looking at one land.” Lem stepped forward and pointed to the lines again. “It’s an internal system of travel, like roads from one town to the next.”

“Those are some fast roads,” Digger smiled.

“Absolutely.” Lem grinned over at the Arphil. “It’s also something I didn’t think was possible.”

“So you think each of these arches represents a town or something?” Trisha walked up to the map and ran her fingers over a lit arch. “If that’s the case, what does it mean that there isn’t anyone living here anymore?” She turned to look at Lem. “There hasn’t been anyone here for a long time.”

They were all quiet for a moment, looking over the map.

“We could be looking at a dead world,” Clarence said.

Lem wanted to say that he was wrong, but couldn’t. As fascinating as this was, it was possible they could travel the whole network and never see another soul. Plus, it was obvious that the level of technology that created the moon was no longer present when this building was abandoned. The table and chairs he saw earlier looked handcrafted; the panel had been mortared over to make way for a mural and there had been no signs of anything like indoor plumbing or other tech. Their chances of finding a civilization that could get them all home seemed slim.

“Will our enemies have noticed that you opened a portal here yet?” Upooa asked.

Something solid and heavy settled in Lem’s stomach. “It is possible.”

“If this is just one land, they could find us pretty fast with their magic.” The green man crossed his arms and scowled, like that was all that needed to be said.

“Yes,” Lem sighed. “It’s not magic as you know it, but their technology is formidable. We would have trouble hiding here if they chose to investigate.”

“So, our best option is to still try to find another land.” Trisha sounded unhappy, but resigned.

“It looks that way.” Lem wasn’t happy about it either. The more he used the portal rods, the greater the chance that their enemies would notice. At least they had a backup to get some distance away if they did show up. He wondered how long it would take the Ka to figure out the ancient portal and then quickly stomped on the thought. He was already walking a fine mental line between functionality and collapse. He needed to stay busy.

He walked to the side of the altar and took an image capture of the map, giving a quick explanation to everyone of that capability of his enhancements. There was one brief moment when he considered holding that information back, like the people before him might somehow wrest the tech away from him, but he shook his head and chose the path of trust. He had this sinking feeling that he would have to fight this battle over and over before he could really trust anyone again.

When he was done, he pressed his finger to the black glass pad in the altar and the panel doors closed once more in a shower of mortar. Anyone who knew what to look for would be able to find it easily, but there was no sense in advertising it. The altar cap swung down with a hiss and snapped shut.

They picked up the bags that the others had used to gather early spring berries, edible greens and roots. One bag had been stomped on in their battle with the acid bugs. Clarence gave it a sour look, but took it with him anyway.

On their way back to camp, they decided that their best course of action would be to get ready to move at a moment’s notice. Lem would use the rods to start looking for another place; they would divvy up the supplies and ready their packs.

The sun was past its zenith by the time they made it back to camp. Lem quickly set up a new portal and started tapping in addresses.

After a few moments though, he caught sight of the beginnings of the subtle black lines along the field edge. A familiar sinking feeling settled into his chest. It was the same feeling he felt each time a new world was deemed unsuitable for relocation.

“What’s wrong?” Trisha must have seen his expression and walked over.

“I wish I knew.” On a whim, he knelt over and picked up a small pebble from the ground, flicking it into the bottom corner of the tesseract field that showed a lonely landscape of scraggly desert bushes. The field suddenly sparked with a crackling sound and Lem winced, expecting the rods to overload like they did previously. When he fully opened his eyes, the pebble lay just inside the new land…smoking and slowly turning to ash.

He turned to Trisha, her eyes wide and her expression appalled. She had seen the rock too.

“Maybe I should turn this off,” he said, already moving to the panel.

“Yeah, maybe you should.”

He swiped his thumb over the activation panel. Nothing happened. He swiped it again and then several times. The portal remained open.

“I can’t turn it off.” He knew he sounded a little panicked.

“What’s going on?” Clarence called from the campsite.

“Lem can’t turn off the portal,” Trisha called back. Everyone moved toward the arch. “And it turned a rock to ash when he tossed it through.” The rest immediately stopped walking forward. If he wasn’t so concerned, Lem might have found it amusing.

He stood back, hands on his hips, staring at the portal panel. There was something he was missing, he could feel it. He glanced at the ancient portal, then down to the building below and back up to the tusk arch. The sinking feeling increased. Was it possible? Lem bared his teeth in frustration. Yes, he knew it was possible.

“You’ve got a weird look going on there, Lem,” Trisha interrupted. “Care to share with the class?”

He gestured for Trisha to follow him back to where the others stood, looking pensive and concerned. They had a right to be.

“I think I know what’s messing with the portal rods.” He pointed to the building below. “Remember the map? There is an internal portal system in this land. I think it’s interfering with the rod’s ability to create a stable tesseract field to an external location.”

“So, what do we do?” Clarence asked, his voice high with anxiety.

“The only option we have left.” Digger pointed toward the ancient arch.

Digger was right. They didn’t have much choice.

“It’s possible that, if we follow the internal system, I might be able to find something that would counteract the interference.” He shrugged. “No guarantees, of course, but like Digger said, it’s our only option at this point.”

“What do we do with this?” Slaathara said, gesturing to the portal rod arch. “If we leave it going, won’t it attract our enemies?”

“Yes,” Lem nodded, trying to keep panic from bubbling up. “But there’s nothing I can do.”

“We can leave now,” Upooa said. He turned, moving with sure, but unhurried steps back to camp to gather his belongings. The others paused only a moment before rushing off to get theirs.

With no pack of his own, Lem gathered up the sack with the rods, the book he could no longer read, and the med pack from the people who destroyed his world. There was something telling about that sad collection of items, but he refused to dwell on it.

He walked to the ancient arch, set down his sack, and pressed the depression next to the panel. It opened with a near soundless click. He studied the symbols and the oblong glass-like pad. He hadn’t had to activate anything to light up the symbols. Earlier he had assumed that just opening the panel turned on the inner components. He wasn’t quite sure how to trigger the tesseract field, but he suspected he just had to press his hand to the activation pad like he had with the map activation. His heart hammered as the others gathered a couple meters from the arch, looking hesitant like they were afraid that it would also burn them to ashes if they stood too close. Lem’s anxiety was of a different kind. What if it didn’t work?

He smacked his biological hand over the pad. The inner field of the arch shimmered and then turned black. Was that it? Lem squinted into the depths. Were those shapes on the other side? He wasn’t sure. Oddly, the light from the valley didn’t appear to penetrate the darkness.

“Did it open?” Slaathara called out.

Lem shrugged and reached down to grab a pebble to test the field. While he did, Upooa strolled up and blithely stuck his arm into the inky blackness. For a moment nothing happened and then Upooa’s face took on a curious expression. Without warning his whole body began to shake and Upooa let out a groan that built into an earthshattering roar of pain.

Trisha concurrently yelled, “Pull him out of there!” just as Clarence let loose with a scream of terror. Lem was about to launch himself forward to yank Upooa free when the big man pulled out his arm and turned to grin at his fellow companions. Upon seeing their horrified expressions, his grin almost immediately turned to a bellow of laughter. Soon the big oaf was bent over, howling with mirth as he pounded a fist to one knee. He straightened for a moment, sputtering a joyous “Your faces!” before leaning over and howling some more.

Lem stepped back, not sure what to think. He glanced at Trisha and almost recoiled at the murderous rage spitting from her eyes. She stomped up to Upooa, who continued to howl with laughter.

“You’re a dick,” she barked. Then she launched herself forward and shoulder checked the big green Orc. He let loose a yelp of surprise and fell over into the darkness. After a moment, Lem could hear his amused chuckle echoing back from wherever he landed.

Trisha hefted her pack into a more comfortable position and turned a baleful eye on the rest of them.

“Are we going or what?” she snapped and then stepped through the arch.

The others gathered their wits back together and followed one by one. Lem gave the valley, with its curious moon, one last look, then he clicked the panel shut and followed his strange companions into another dark unknown.

[ 48 ]

[World Region: 002A5-1BCD2-EF345-272B5-55D679-9C9DE]

COMMANDER Rand stared up at the decapitated head of ex-Base Commander Jenison. Jenison’s eyes were frozen in a state of wide surprise, like he still couldn’t quite believe things had gone so terribly wrong. His head was shrouded in a transparent stasis field, perched on a metal spike at the corner of the new base commander’s balcony. This almost made Rand’s demotions worth it.

Almost.

Rand never would have guessed that Jenison was such an easily manipulated, obsessive fool. As Unit Commander assigned to the acquisition, Rand sat on the sidelines with his team, ready for a go command that never came. Each time they got a lock on the strange new signal and started to open a wormhole, the signal disappeared. At one point, there was no trace of the signal for weeks. Rand’s team was reassigned to regular reconnaissance. Then, it popped back up again.

From there, the signal lead them on a merry chase, Jenison growing ever more unreasonable with each miss. Finally, he filled the ready room with mechs and called up a destroyer. They waited. Reports started coming in that there were more explosions and casualties at Acquisition 648, but before they could switch gears to send in reinforcements, the signal showed up at the same location.

Jenison scrambled Rand’s team to the nearest portal room with the directive to bring him the source of the signal or not bother returning.

Rand rested his face into his habitual stern expression. Like the original campaign in that world region, the signal recovery mission on 648 had gone poorly. He could still see the mocking smile on the human girl’s face mere meters from him. He made a bad call; let a fraction of his frustration fuel his decisions. In hindsight, he should not have insisted on acquiring the device himself. As he replayed the events over in his head, he saw how his presence hindered his team from firing more strategic shots lest they harm him.

In those protracted moments when he was airborne, driving toward the small group holding that flashing orb, to the time when he landed in the dust of their passage; he knew he had erred. It was plainly written all over the pale human’s face.

Ignoring Jenison’s directive to stay on 648, he had ushered his team back through the portal to the station. Rand was a deft enough negotiator to know his glimpse of the device was enough to prompt Jennison into keeping him and his team involved in the search.

When they arrived back at the station, the whole place was in an uproar. When the signal had blinked out again, Rand heard from a harassed portal tech that Jennison was raving about a Traveler conspiracy and had ordered the destroyer to approach the wormhole launch point. He commanded the ship to enter the event horizon at full grav power the next time the wormhole was opened.

Rand and his team made their way to the wormhole ready room just as the signal had been picked up again, this time at the known location of the Traveler’s compound. Jenison personally gave the order to form the wormhole and deploy the destroyer. Rand and the whole ready room watched in tense silence, followed by horrified fascination, as the destroyer charged for the wormhole, making it about a third of the way through before the event horizon started to destabilize. The entire base held its breath as the wormhole winked out and the back end of the destroyer fell to their sprawling city below.

Hours more passed before a portal was opened from the stricken ship to the designated base portal room. By that time, the fleet admiral had locked down the base and put Jenison under house arrest. The portal rods transported on the destroyer had all been damaged in transit and none of the crew could travel using them. They were only operational for communication. With the ship’s wormhole generator sheered in half by the closing wormhole and two-thirds of the crew dead or wounded, the destroyer was a drifting morgue in the making.

They had, however, managed to make it the incredible distance to the airspace outside the Traveler’s compound. Only a handful of their grav generators were operational enough to keep them afloat. The Travelers offered assistance. The acting captain asked if they should blow the destroyer before the Travelers moved in.

Without a word, the fleet admiral had simply walked away in obvious disgust and went directly to interrogating Jenison. Rand would have loved to be in the room to hear that conversation.

Now that the fervor had died down, things were getting back to business as usual. He dropped his eyes and looked over his team. They were good Chevs, loyal to the Ka and dedicated. All of them had volunteered to join his unit when he was demoted.

He looked up at Jennison’s head again and allowed himself a rare smile. After everything he had been through, all of the prejudice, all of the work, putting in three times more effort to get half as far as everyone else, he was at the bottom again. But he was alive…and he was no fool. He would fight his way back up, he and his troops.

A familiar croaking alarm broke through the ready room. A standard portal rod signal must have been detected at a world-region for a second time, which meant they had confirmation for a recon unit. Rand was all too ready to leave the drama, in-fighting, and that cursed signal, if it showed up again, for someone else to manage. He had a job to do and a career to restore.

It was go time.

He and the other nine members of his team stepped up to the metal ramp leading to the wormhole generation portal. A beam of black streamed to the designated area and spread into a shimmering obsidian event horizon.

Rand stepped up first, melting into the darkness. He felt the familiar pull in the middle of his stomach, his center stretched to its limit. Breath, blood, and thoughts froze for a moment, before the universe started moving again. Then he was stumbling onto icy snow, nearly pitching off a fathomless cliff. He slapped the side of his wrist and his boots activated, anchoring him to the edge. He growled a curse and stepped away, preparing to grab his men as they came through to keep them from falling. This is why he hated reconnaissance. There was no way of knowing what you were walking into.

By the time the wormhole disintegrated, the ten of them were wedged tightly against the cliffside with no room to maneuver, but Rand’s attention wasn’t focused on their precarious position. Below him lay a fertile valley completely enclosed by the cliffs upon which he stood. And in this valley was a moon that wasn’t a moon. It was tech unlike any he had seen before.

And not only that, but the source of the portal signal was impossibly close. According to his nav helmet, it lay shimmering behind a stand of trees in the middle of the valley.

It would take them considerable time to get down the cliff and across the valley, but Rand could almost feel victory easing into his grasp.

Bonus Story:

Ruu-an’s Rebellion

RUU-AN fiddled with a dent in his table and looked out his small window. He was to have guests…and they were late. At least, it felt like they were late. Britlo had refused to tell him who the mysterious second guest was. It was unwise to keep an old lizard in suspense. He could keel over from the strain. Plus, no good could come from keeping this old lizard waiting. He didn’t have many moons left, after all.

He scooted down from his stool and went to check his preparations for tea for perhaps the tenth time in as many minutes. The water was in the kettle; the kettle on the grate. The stove was set with raybark and three cups were prepped with dried brillmoss. He sighed. There was nothing more for him to do but wait.

He settled into his favorite reclining chair and stared at the door.

Moments later, he jerked awake at the sound of a knock. He must have dozed off again. Getting old was a tiresome job.

Grunting, he leveraged himself up and scuttled to the door, throwing it wide.

There, framed in his doorway was Kyth-ra; the stately pale priestess who was so kind to him when he was enslaved on the Farm Level. He blinked his eyes, surprised at the moisture gathering there. Getting old was a bother.

“Ruu-an,” she smiled, leaning down to look him in the eye. “I have missed you.”

Ruu-an lost track of when they got into his home. He couldn’t even remember making the tea. But here they were; he, Britlo, and Kyth-ra, gathered with their steaming cups. He hoped he made the tea well. The thought of handing bitter tea to Kyth-ra bothered him greatly.

The priestess took a sip, her bright eyes studying him over the rim of her cup. Ruu-an squirmed under her gaze, suddenly feeling like the restless child he had been so many years past.

Taking pity on him, Kyth-ra smiled and asked, “Do you know why I am here?”

Ruu-an snorted. “I don’t even know how you are here.”

“Do you not?” she asked, her smile never wavering.

Ruu-an’s eyes narrowed, a suspicion rushing up in his brain. “They told you,” he said, crossing his arms to hold in his fear. “I should never have told them. They ratted me out.”

Kyth-ra’s warm laugh washed over him and he felt the corners of his mouth lift. He had forgotten how lovely it was to be near her.

“Your unusual friends did indeed tell me about the passage between our levels, however,” she said leaning forward and looking at him earnestly. “They most definitely did not mention you. In fact, the harder I pressed them to learn how they came to know about the passage, the harder they worked to change the subject. It was a surprising development and one that made me even more certain to make the trip myself.”

Feeling a rush of relief, Ruu-an sank back in his chair, only to jerk upright when the full impact of her words reached him.

“You traveled the path?” he gasped. “But, my lady, the danger! The teeth and the legs and the dark…” he said, waving his hands at the black images he had scrawled on his wall.

A warm hand pressed lightly onto his knee, settling him instantly. He turned his gaze to hers.

“It is alright, my friend. My guards have spent many moons clearing the path and directing our people in the building of structures to ease the travel.”

“Your…guards?” he asked. His stomach sunk further. So, they had found him at last. He was to be brought back as a slave. His head drooped, snout resting on his chest. He’d always suspected this day would come.

Warm hands touched him again, this time lifting his face. He looked into the sincere, concerned eyes of his beloved priestess.

“Ruu-an, I am not here to bring you back, if that isn’t what you wish.” Her voice was as warm as her hands. “I just learned of your existence after meeting with Britlo.”

Ruu-an’s eyes sought out Britlo, hovering on the edge of her stool. If it wasn’t for the cup of tea, she might have wrung her hands.

“It is true, Ruu-an. She asked if I knew who discovered the passage and I told her.” The red lizard shifted under the weight of Ruu-an’s frown, but she stuck her snout out stubbornly as she set her cup aside. “Come now! She means you no harm. For many moons, I have known of the work being done in the passage. A few guards met with me late one night to inform me of their plans and advise me that the priestess would be making an appearance.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” Ruu-an asked. Kyth-ra had dropped her hands, but she remained close. Instead of feeling trapped, he found it a comfort.

“Would you have listened or would you have panicked?” Britlo asked, her eyes narrowing.

Ruu-an harrumphed and sat back in his chair. It was true that he got excitable at times, but that was no excuse to keep secrets from an old lizard. “Still, I should have been told,” he muttered.

The priestess patted his hand in sympathy. “There was much she couldn’t tell you until now,” she breathed. He felt a sense of excitement bubbling just below her calm exterior and he raised a wrinkled eyebrow at her.

Her ever-present smile got broader. “You see, I have a story to tell. And, if I remember correctly, the Ruu-an I knew loved a good story.”

“It’s true,” he grinned at her. “I do.”

Sitting back in her chair, the priestess tented her fingers and began her tale.

“It actually all started because of you,” she said, her velvety voice already taking on the cadence of intrigue. “Everyone knew you were a favorite of mine; the straight-speaking slave who had the ear of the priestess. I am afraid it made you a target of the more mean-minded guards.” Her eyes were sad and troubled as they looked at him.

“When I learned the guards had left you to the predations of the caverns, I was very angry with myself. I decided it was past time to make changes. Slowly, but surely, I started eliminating the guards who were not loyal to me. The untrustworthy were met with unfortunate accidents, transfers to other positions, or healings that didn’t quite finish the job.” Kyth-ra’s eyes had taken on a feral gleam. Ruu-an swallowed hard. The priestess seemed to have a newfound zest for pain, although he had known her to be someone you didn’t trifle with. If he didn’t hate them so, he would have felt sorry for the guards that raised her ire.

“Over time, a small group from our community and I dispatched all but a tiny handful of unsavory guards. Those left we kept on and surreptitiously paraded them before the Upper Level toadies when they made their semi-regular inspections.

And, once everything was to my satisfaction in my farming cavern, I secretly visited the wizards and heads of the other farming caverns, and did the same there.”

Kyth-ra leaned forward in her chair again and looked at Ruu-an intensely. “Everything is in place. All I was waiting for was a means to bring in the Unclean. You made that happen, Ruu-an. After all of these eons, you made it happen.”

“What did I make happen?” he asked, his voice quiet, but raspy in anticipation.

“Rebellion.” Kyth-ra practically said the word like a prayer, nourishing it with hope and fervor.

“Every farming cavern is waiting to finally take a stand against the Jellaran leaders. Britlo is working to bring in every village of the Unclean. It has taken a lot of careful planning, but we are on the brink of changing everything for the better.

That strange group of friends you sent me gave me hope that we could truly complete our work. All the Unclean ringing chutes had been collapsed, overrun with creatures, or lost to time. But seeing them let me know that, if they could make it through, then we could. It was the sign I needed that the time to move was close.”

Ruu-an sat in his chair, alternately wanting to weep with joy and cringe in dread. The Upper Level leaders were so powerful, so cruel. How could they defeat them?

Kyth-ra took his hand in hers. “I understand. All of this is terrifying. It took a long time to convince myself that this was the right thing to do. It took even longer to convince everyone else. But now, I believe we are unified more than any time in our history.”

“But, how can we possibly win?” He felt a craven coward just asking the question. Ruu-an blamed it on his age, but he couldn’t suppress the doubt that curled within him.

“I have watched Jellaran leaders become weaker and weaker with each passing season. Even their magic has become less formidable. And, should they prove stronger than we anticipate…we will starve them out.”

Ruu-an looked at the priestess’s determined face. “But, what about the rest of the levels? Will you starve them, too?”

She shook her head. “We are asking the Unclean to help us put in supply lines to the lower levels using the Unclean chutes. Only the ruling levels will feel the pangs of hunger,” Kyrth-ra said, “for perhaps the first time in their lives.”

Tapping his snout thoughtfully, he pondered everything she had told him. For her part, the priestess simply sat, her head cocked slightly as she watched him think.

“And,” he finally breathed softly, “what if we win? Will things really be better?”

Kyth-ra looked down at her folded hands in her lap for a moment before answering. “I want to believe they will,” she said, meeting his eyes. “There was a time when I was a part of Jellaran aristocracy. I would have told you then that I belonged there; that I was better than those below me.

But then I made a friend from the lower levels; a friend like you, that helped me see things differently. When I defended that friend and started questioning the system, I was cast out. Banned from returning.”

She stood and walked over to his wall of images. Tracing light fingers along one of the fanged creatures, she said, “I was bitter for a long time. Then a scrappy kid with no respect for authority and a penchant for speaking uncomfortable truths came into my life.” Kyth-ra turned to him and smiled.

“He showed me that I had a responsibility and a second chance to make the lives of those I ruled over better. Then your group of friends enlightened me further, in subtle ways, to what a world could look like when everyone was free.” The priestess walked over and kneeled next to his chair. “It won’t be easy. Things will go wrong. They always do. All I can promise is that I will do everything in my power to make Jellara a place where everyone can be free. All I know is that, when you disappeared, I felt like I had failed a friend once again.” Tears slid from her eyes and Ruu-an found his wrinkled calloused hand wiping them from her cheeks, still smooth and youthful from the magic she wielded despite her years.

Slightly embarrassed by this moment of tenderness, Ruu-an cleared his throat. “So,” he muttered. “When do we leave?”

“Leave?” Britlo said in confusion.

“If there’s going to be a revolution, I want to be a part of it,” he said, jutting out his lower snout in a way he knew made him look pugnacious.

“You can barely walk. How do you expect to get there?” the red lizard said in exasperation.

“I can make it anywhere.” Ruu-an pushed himself out of his chair and glared at the Rawg’Mai who had cared for him for so long, daring her to stop him.

Britlo looked at him for a moment and then threw her hands up in defeat. “I know that look. And I’m a big enough lizard to know when I’m beat. Let me see if I can get you a couple of bearers for the journey,” she said, rising from her stool.

“I can take care of that, Britlo,” Kyth-ra said, linking her arm in Ruu-an’s. “My guards and companions are more than capable.” She turned her head toward him. “I was so hoping you would be willing and able to come home. Is there anything you would like to bring with you? I can help you pack.”

Home. The word reverberated through his aging frame. He pulled away from her and looked around his small room, spinning in a slow circle. A smile crept onto his face.

“No…I don’t think there’s anything I’d like to take with me. It’s time for me to restart…again.” He grinned up at the priestess.

“That’s the thanks I get for my family taking care of you all these moons? You don’t even want to take a keepsake of our time together?” Britlo grumbled, walking over to open the door. Ruu-an leaned over and picked up his cup of tea, draining it in one gulp. “On second thought, I will take my favorite cup,” he chortled.

The priestess bit back a laugh and Britlo rolled her eyes before cracking a smile. “Figures I would get upstaged by the namesake of our revolution.”

Ruu-an froze and looked askance at the priestess. “It’s true,” she said, answering the question in his eyes. “The name of our movement is Ruu-an’s Rebellion. I found it quite suitable at the time.”

Ruu-an’s wrinkled snout broke into an even wider smile. “Ruu-an’s Rebellion…I like it.” He linked his arm through the priestess’s again and they strode through the door, a new spring in his step and his favorite cup in his hand.

“Let’s go home.”

Thank You!

We are so happy and grateful that you decided to join us on our epic portal adventure! It’s people like you that make our writing journey so worthwhile.

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Welcome to the World of A’Kyria

Did you know that the world of A’Kyria was designed for a tabletop role playing game of the same name?

Immerse yourself in a d100 based game system where the range of characters and adventures are as diverse and infinite as the world it is set in. This fluid system has twelve races, skill-based advancement, no occupation or rank restrictions, a three-range combat system, points to advance characters without having to wait to rank up, and more!

Welcome to A’Kyria…One World; Infinite Possibilities.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Ailene Lynn Ray is the pseudonym for a husband-and-wife writing team residing in Colorado. They currently live with their three children, two cats, random chickens, and whatever slithering or swimming pets their daughter has brought home. Alongside their best friend, they run a game development business called The OOGC (Our Own Game Company). When they aren’t collaborating on novels and games, they’re throwing out creative ideas to see what sticks. When they are not being creative, they are likely sleeping or dead…hopefully, the former.

To learn more about The OOGC, visit www.theoogc.com.