The First Adventure

by Mark Boutros

  Karl took deep breaths, stood and then stumbled through the forest, refusing to look back or dwell on being called ugly.

  Another dart whizzed past his left arm. He came to a steep slope, too steep to safely run down.

  The Fools gained ground, so he threw himself, rolled through mud, snapped twigs and made more noise than he should have.

  He lifted his head from the dirt. Faint puffs of smoke rose above some jagged trees. Karl limped towards the source and found a tavern with a sign on a pole that read, ‘This is a tavern. If you haven’t already figured that out by the generic tavern look of the place then you aren’t welcome.’ Maybe he could find help here, or hide. He turned back. The Fools reached the top of the slope.

  Karl pushed the poorly fitted wooden door open and scanned the dimly lit tavern for Fools.

  Two old, dark-skinned figures sat by a fireplace and drank from stone steins. The round man had a chaotic beard that didn't match the peace in his eyes, while the slender man appeared shrivelled, like he had sat on that stool for years and that ale was his every meal.

  A large, cloaked beast with his back to Karl sat by the dirt-covered windows that shut out the world, and a small stage suggested the tavern was once lively. No sign of that now.

  The Bar Witch, wearing a long green tunic, stood behind the bar opposite the entrance. Messy black hair obscured her white eyes and her gaunt, pale face was unwelcoming for someone who was meant to host people.

  ‘Please. You have to hide me,’ Karl said.

  ‘I don’t have to do anything.’ She crossed her arms. ‘Especially for someone in your state.’

  Karl noticed his shabby trousers were torn and burnt, his shirt stained with sweat, filth, mud and tears he dared not tell anyone he cried. ‘Please. They want to kill me!’

  The cloaked beast dragged his feet into the toilet bucket stalls.

  ‘Stop babbling, and either order a drink, or get out,’ Bar Witch said.

  Muffled conversation came from outside.

  The Fools.

  Karl ran and cowered behind the bar.

  ‘Oi! No coming behind here!’ Bar Witch nudged him away with her foot.

  ‘Please. You can’t let them find me. I’ve done nothing wrong.’

  ‘I’ll be the judge of that.’ Bar Witch switched her attention to the door.

  The Fools entered.

  Karl squeezed himself between two ale barrels; the stale scent stung his nostrils. He looked through a crack in the bar wood.

  Without a word, the Fools searched the tavern. One of them ran its spear along the wall, scraping the wood. It pried the point in-between planks to see if there was anything behind the wall.

  ‘Can I help you?’ Bar Witch said in a tone that suggested she was annoyed at the needless vandalism.

  The Fool with the dart shooter held up a parchment with a likeness of Karl sketched on it. ‘We’re looking for this man. His nose is a bit bigger.’

  Another Fool used its spear to scratch an itch on its cheek, drawing blood but not noticing.

  ‘And what do you want him for?’ Bar Witch asked.

  ‘He was rude to King Arazod.’

  ‘Oh. What a terrible crime. Who would be stupid enough to do that?’ Bar Witch chuckled.

  The Fool pointed to the parchment. ‘Him. So has he been in here? There’s gold in it for you.’

  ‘Gold?’ Bar Witch looked down.

  Karl stretched out his palm and showed her three gold pieces.

  ‘Lots of gold,’ the Fool said.

  Karl closed his fist and returned his pathetic offer to his pouch. Sweat dotted his forehead.

  ‘Hmm… I could really use some gold,’ Bar Witch said.

  Karl shut his eyes and his heart raced.

  ‘It would help me give this place a bit of a lift. Might bring some business back in.’

  Karl scanned for a weapon, but the only thing within reach was the tiny, hairy foot of a long-perished creature.

  ‘So have you seen him?’ the Fool asked.

  ‘Sadly not,’ Bar Witch replied.

  Karl pressed his hands to his face and breathed into them.

  ‘Frong?’ Bar Witch asked the filthy-bearded one.

  ‘No. Not seen anyone like that in a while,’ Frong replied in a slow, thoughtful voice. ‘What about you, Sags?’ Frong rubbed his shrivelled companion’s shoulder.

  Sags grunted.

  ‘That’s a no from him too,’ Frong said.

  ‘Hmm…’ The Fool looked at its fellow hunters then back towards Bar Witch. ‘If you do see him, stick him with this.’ It took a dart from its pouch and slammed it on the bar, above where Karl hid. ‘It’ll send him sleepy. Then tie him up, get word to Flowforn and we’ll come back. King Arazod wants him alive.’

  Karl felt a strange sense of relief at the news.

  ‘Of course,’ Bar Witch said.

  The Fools turned to leave. ‘Actually, must check everywhere.’ The leader pointed at the wooden door to the toilet buckets.

  ‘I wouldn’t,’ Bar Witch warned.

  ‘Ha! I knew it. You’re hiding him in there. Ooh, you tried to trick me, but no no no!’

  The door creaked open.

  ‘Fools!’ a voice boomed.

  ‘Run!’ the Fool yelled.

  The cloaked beast chased them out of the tavern.

  Bar Witch kicked the barrels for Karl to come out.

  ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you.’ Karl stood.

  ‘I didn’t do it for you. This place used to be full of people to entertain before Arazod destroyed the villages around here. So you’re lucky. He’s the only person I like less than strangers.’

  ‘Well I’d like to give you something to show my appreciation.’ Karl offered her the three gold coins, hoping it would buy him an ally.

  ‘No. Clear off. We don’t want any more disturbances.'

  ‘Please, you have to let me stay. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do out there.’ He dreaded being back in the forest.

  ‘Not my problem. Now go before we consider their reward.’

  Karl hoped for understanding from Frong and Sags but they turned away.

  Karl made his way towards the door. He turned back, but they had already forgotten about him. He took a few more steps and looked back again but they still didn’t care. He pushed the door open.

  ‘Hold on,’ Frong said. ‘I’d like to invite him to have a drink,’ he told Bar Witch.

  ‘Really?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s nice to have someone new to talk to.’

  ‘Fine, but if he says one thing that’s annoying he’s out.’ She grabbed a cloth, wiped the bar and mumbled, ‘Coming in here making demands, bringing chaos, stinking of mud…’

  Karl offered Frong an appreciative smile. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Our only rule is you have to tell us your story.’ Frong pulled up a stool.

  Karl told them everything. He hoped for sympathy but mostly got laughter from Bar Witch, who grabbed a stool and joined them. Karl considered leaving out the bit about being found in Lionbear dung and being from another world, but thought he had nothing to lose. ‘So… Any of you have any idea where there may be a portal to another world?’

  Sags grunted. Karl’s lack of mastery over the languages left him thinking that response was as useful as a hat at the bottom of the sea.

  ‘Any translators in the room?’ Karl asked.

  ‘He and me are the greatest adventurers in all of this land,’ Frong said with pride.

  Bar Witch laughed. ‘You’re the only adventurers!’

  Karl chuckled, wanting to fit in.

  Frong raised a finger. ‘Which, if you look in any rule book written on any topic, by definition, makes us the greatest.’

  Karl thought he could win Bar Witch’s approval. ‘It looks like the greatest adventure you’ve had is to the bottom of an ale barrel.’ He looked at her for approval, but she simply spat at his feet and dipped her cup in the barrel of ale by the table.

/>   ‘We’re retired.’ Frong looked at Sags who exhaled. They touched foreheads and Frong grabbed the back of Sags’ neck. ‘To Marlens,’ Frong said.

  Sags grunted.

  Karl was about to ask a question but Bar Witch shook her head and leaned in to him. ‘Their third member died in a volcano accident so they hung up the adventures. Probably best not to prod.’

  Karl nodded, appreciating the kindness.

  ‘As a two we’re not so good, but when we had Marlens we were incredible. My strength, Sags’ agility, and her potions and planning. She was one of the finest alchemists you could meet.’ Frong lowered his head.

  ‘I’m sorry…’ Karl scratched the back of his hand.

  Frong took a long swig of ale then looked Karl in the eyes as though the next words would be important. ‘But… as Sags was saying, there is a portal.’

  Karl leaned forward. ‘So they’ve not all been sealed by mages?’

  Frong chuckled. ‘Have you ever known anyone, anywhere, unless it involved counting or spelling, to do anything perfectly? Even if it’s nearly perfect, it’s still not perfect, so there is still an error somewhere.’

  ‘Mages sound pretty thorough though.’

  ‘Like everyone else they got tired, hungry, cranky. They were made to work every day and with no extra reward. Maybe they pictured going on a boat adventure to another land and just wanted to finish the job so lied about it.’

  ‘So you’re saying…’

  ‘If the stories are true, they did miss one.’

  Karl’s eyes widened, his heart filled with hope. ‘Where do I find it?'

  Sags grunted and Frong nodded in response. ‘Information like that comes at a price.’ Frong bit into his beard.

  ‘Of course it does.’ Karl huffed. He slammed gold coins on the table. ‘There.’

  ‘No. Sags would be most grateful if you could scrape his feet.’ Frong gestured to the disgusting task.

  ‘You’re joking?’

  Sags shook his head, lifted his feet onto a stool and wiggled his toes. Little patches of hair broke out of cracked skin and there were bumps of different, gloomy colours. It was like all the disease and filth from the world congregated on this tiny surface.

  ‘I’d do it but my arms aren’t what they used to be,’ Frong said. ‘And I can’t stand to see him in pain.’ He squeezed Sags’ hand.

  ‘I hate my life.’ Karl shuffled up to Sags’ feet. The thick, damp smell tickled his nose hairs and stung his eyes.

  Frong placed a wooden box of implements in front of Karl, ranging from sharp knives to a shovel. ‘Don’t enjoy it too much.’

  Karl thought about smashing the hammer through his own skull, when a shuffling outside caught everyone’s attention.

  The door opened and Karl had no chance of hiding. He grabbed the hammer, ready to defend himself, but terrified of doing so. He hoped it was the cloaked beast returning.

  His heart relaxed.

  Questions stood there in her shabby clothes and smiled at him. ‘Am I saying hello, Karl?’

  ‘Questions! Yes you are! Hello.’ Karl smiled and put the hammer down.

  She approached Karl and held out a letter. ‘Do you want this?’

  ‘I guess I do.’ He took it and unfolded it. ‘It’s from Princess Sabrinia.’ He hoped it was good news and read. ‘Dearest Karl, I’ve sent Questions to keep an eye on you and to help you on your quest. She’s the person I trust most, has read books on most of Hastovia and she’ll help you to find allies. She’s amazing, incredibly loyal, and has promised to do anything to help you and to keep you safe.’

  Questions smiled, touched by the words.

  Karl continued reading. ‘I’m sorry to have delivered the news the way I did. I wish I could have done it in person.’ Karl swallowed. ‘Good luck, and be careful. It’s a strange world out there.’

  Karl’s eyes welled up. Sabrinia’s words made it feel like she was present in his life again.

  ‘Is there anything I can help with?’ Questions asked.

  Karl rubbed his eyes. ‘To be honest, I’m exhausted, and I could really use someone to scrape this creature’s feet in my place. I’m sorry. I wouldn’t normally…’

  Questions took a fork from the box. She didn’t complain about the horror-drenched feet in front of her. She sat and scraped.

  ‘Are we going to go on an adventure, Karl?’

  ‘It seems that way’

  ‘Are we going to go on lots of adventures?’

  ‘Ideally not.’

  ‘Where are we going to go to?’

  ‘I don’t know yet.’

  ‘Why?’

  Karl refused to answer, hoping she’d stop.

  ‘Are we going to see the Dead Lands?’

  ‘I’m not an adventure planner.’ Karl huffed.

  'Why is your shirt so dirty?'

  This was going to take a while…

  The Origin of Questions

  All the Inquisos ever wanted was knowledge, acceptance, and love. They were puny, harmless people who lived in a tiny village called Inquiso, high on Mount Brohl in southernmost Flowfornia. Nobody ever bothered them, as there was nothing of note to see, nothing of value to steal and more importantly, it was far.

  If anyone accidentally ended up in Inquiso they would find themselves lost in a maze of innocent questioning that would dizzy them to the point of passing out or sometimes madness. On a list of destinations to visit, Inquiso didn’t even make the list.

  The cold season approached, and Questions’ father, the High Inquiso, Quizmal, a wiry and affectionate man, asked people to prepare. The cold season in Inquiso was terrible, and it had grown colder over the last few years. Wind clung onto people like a net and would freeze them solid if they weren’t wrapped up warm enough. The Inquisos had always managed by adding layers of wood to their homes, but this cold season, the Fools, under Arazod’s father’s rule had spread their territories, destroying the woodland. Supreme Man-Hawk Sarzo wanted to see everything as he flew. To him trees were a cover that needed removing.

  Without the woodland, the Inquisos couldn’t get the materials to repair their homes or light fires. Also, with the Fools roaming below they’d have to go further afield to find wood, increasing the risk of capture. Matters were made worse, because by only talking in questions everything took twice as long.

  Quizmal rang the Inquiso Bell, summoning everyone to the dining hut for a meeting. The winds already nipped at them.

  ‘Quizzical, can you go and get enough wood to burn until the hot times return?’ Quizmal ordered through a question.

  ‘Shall I?’ Quizzical asked, down on one knee to show his respect.

  ‘Can you?’

  ‘Would you like me to?’

  ‘Will you go now?’

  ‘Can I?’

  This continued for nine sunsets, and the winds grew colder. The Inquisos historically lacked confidence, and thus could never make a statement. Nods and shakes of the head worked for general conversation but not when it came to official orders. The laws could have benefited from a rewrite.

  Quizzical and Quizmal were in a deadly spiral of questioning. You could look back through history orbs to find there was never a mention of an Inquiso making a statement. They thought Quizzybell once did, but it turned out to be a long coughing fit. She died.

  Food supplies were low, and they were out of wood. Questions, at seven years old, could see what was coming and tried to help.

  ‘Should we be finding supplies to protect us?’ she asked.

  ‘Can you get that wood, Quizzical?’ Quizmal asked.

  Quizzical remained on one knee and didn’t respond. Questions nudged him and he fell to the floor, now an ice sculpture. It was too late, and the Inquisos would perish. Most tribes and species fall to disease, war, or famine, but the Inquisos’ death would come due to their inability to make a statement.

  Questions loved her father dearly, and he loved her even more. He would do anything to protect her and give her the
knowledge she craved. From old tales of monsters that once roamed the land, to maps through the ages and ancient foods people ate, Questions was never short of stories when her father was near. She wrote her favourites in her book called, Is This the Book of Tales? so she always had his words close. The tales were more a stream of questions than coherent stories, but Questions understood them and that’s all that mattered. She often looked out across Flowfornia from the peaks, imagining other lives in Hastovia through the tales she’d heard.

  As more Inquisos perished, Questions lay shivering in her hut. She feared she’d die before ever knowing a life outside of Inquiso.

  Quizmal knelt beside her, his skin blue. Old age was already against him, and he complained about the chill creeping through his veins, closing in on his heart. He likened it to a fleet of ships approaching a small island from all sides to attack. It was just a matter of time.

  ‘Do you know I love you, Questions?’ Quizmal wrapped her in his arms, trying to keep her warm.

  She nodded. ‘Are we going to die, Daddy?’

  Quizmal looked into her eyes. ‘Can you stay alive?’ He’d obviously meant to say, ‘Of course you won’t die.’ But that flaw struck again. No matter, Questions understood.

  She nodded again. ‘Can you not die too please?’

  Quizmal took the blanket from around his shoulders and covered Questions with it. He carried Questions to a part of the hut where the draft was weakest.

  ‘Daddy, can you answer me please?’ Questions asked.

  Smiling, he put Questions down in the corner. ‘Can you wait a moment?’

  He removed his cloak and threw it over Questions, ripping little eyeholes and a mouth hole for her. The wind beat against the hut.

  Quizmal removed what clothes he had left and wrapped them around Questions until she was a fat little ball of warmth. Only one of her hands, her eyes and mouth were visible.

  ‘Do you promise me when you find people you love, you will always look after them?’ He often reminded her that there was nothing more powerful than loyalty and love in the world.

  She touched his hand and blinked. ‘Where are you going?’

  Quizmal walked towards the hut entrance and stood there, blocking as much of the outside as he could. Questions knew what he was doing and tried to get up, but she was too heavy from all the clothes and she rolled around. She tried to call to him but couldn’t. He looked out at his village, wide-eyed, defiant. The wind did not take his life. He gave it up to protect his daughter.