by Larry Kollar
Chapter 2 – Far from Home
Lodrán and Chelinn looked around them wild-eyed, assaulted by sight and sound, trying to take it all in. Neither the many strange creatures they had seen, nor the battles they had fought, were enough to prepare them for the wild colors and noises beating at their eyes and ears. The scent of recent rain mingled with a less pleasant smell, a hint of something burned.
After a long minute, Lodrán looked behind him then gripped his friend’s arm. “An alley!” Chelinn took one last look around, then nodded and allowed Lodrán to pull him into the alley.
After the incomprehensible strangeness, the alley was a familiar if odorous comfort. They ducked behind a large box of some sort, giving them cover and some relief. Unhealthy puddles of standing water, close walls looming above, even the smell of decay, all combined to provide a touchpoint of familiarity. Noise from outside followed them into the alley, but muffled.
They spent several minutes looking around, catching their breath and their wits at last. Chelinn finally relaxed the grip on his sword. Lodrán grinned and swept an arm across the alley. “Some things can’t be changed, eh?”
“Hm.” The big warrior-mage rapped the green-painted box with a knuckle. “An alley is an alley. But details? Look. This box is made of iron.” He tapped a shiny spot near the top, where paint had flaked away. “See? Rust. And if my nose does not lie, it’s full of garbage.”
“What? That’s as much iron as we’d see in all of Anlayt or Roth’s Keep, and they… no.” Lodrán sized it up. “A box must have a lid. Or a door…” He pushed at a handle, and a panel slid aside wide enough to look in. “Ha! Whew. You’re right—what kind of fools would dedicate such wealth to garbage?”
“The kind of fools for whom iron is near as abundant as water?”
“Impossible. Nowhere in all of Termag is… um.” Lodrán turned to look at his comrade, the question he dared not ask plain on his face.
“Indeed. Wherever we are, we’re far from home.”
Lodrán peered around the side of the great metal box, shuddered, and crouched against the wall. “If I get a chance,” he panted, rubbing his healing leg, “I’ll kill that priest!”
“Too late.”
“What?”
“I’m sure you already killed him.” Chelinn looked grim. “You spitted him with your spear, right in the middle of his curse. Good thing—those Easterners do things differently, but if I’m right, he meant to send our living bodies straight to Hell. Instead, you disrupted him and we’re—wherever we are.”
“I’m not convinced this isn’t Hell!” Lodrán chewed his long mustache, as he often did when nervous or thinking. Instinct led him to crouch in the shadow of the box. Black garb, black hair, tall and thin, Lodrán was a shadow among shadows. Even knowing he was there, Chelinn found him hard to see.
“Courage, man. Hell would not have left us armed—” he patted his sword hilt— “nor provided this quiet alley for our retreat. This is no more Hell than it is Termag.” He sighed. “So much for the scrying-stone. That priest had the markings of an Oracle, and neither I nor Ak’koyr have much use for a dead Oracle. Well, the tide comes in, the tide goes out. Let us have another look at this world.”
After a minute, they retreated again to the shelter of the great iron garbage box. “What did you see?” Lodrán asked.
“A street of solid stone,” Chelinn told him. “Carriages of metal and glass, moving along it, without oxen pulling them. People inside the carriages. Lights flashing in patterns, and patterns have meaning. People walking around without weapons. And our alley. We’re in some kind of city. And you?”
“Storefronts. People walking unconcerned among the carriages. No armed patrols. This place reeks of a long peacetime.”
“At peace with others, perhaps,” said Chelinn. “But with itself? Hear that?” They paused to listen to a new sound, a wail they had never heard on Termag or any other world. It grew for a moment, then faded. “I don’t need to know the language to know that’s a distress cry. And whatever made it was moving fast.”
“Didn’t we hear it when we were looking around, too?” Chelinn nodded, and Lodrán continued, “Nobody looked concerned then. If we were watching the street now, nobody would do more than look around. I’d put a handful of octagons on that.”
“That’s a bet you’d win. Let me take one more look, then we’ll decide what to do.” Chelinn slipped around their shelter, leaving Lodrán to watch from the corner of the iron midden.
“Hey!” came a voice from behind. Lodrán stood, cursing himself for his inattention, and turned to face a wrinkled man carrying a bottle. Drunks don’t change much either, he thought.
“Shove off, punk,” the drunk grated, “this is my spot.”
“Sorry,” said Lodrán, marveling that he was able to understand the drunk. “We’re… we’re new in town. Can you share?”
“Shove off—whoa!” the drunk took two steps back, then fell on his backside, staring at the big man who came walking around the dumpster. He was tall, even taller than the skinny punk in black, with broad shoulders. A metal helmet covered most of his brown hair; what escaped out the back was pulled into a queue. A grey cloak covered most of his features, but metal peeked through here and there. Black leather boots, worn but tough, finished the ensemble.
“Is there a problem?” Chelinn glared down at the drunk, who fumbled at his bottle and took a long drink.
“Yeah. This punk is in my spot.”
Wine restores the spine. Chelinn grinned at the old saw, and the drunk suddenly looked less certain. “No worry,” he assured the drunk. “We’re moving on. Let’s go, Lodrán.”
“Damn’ foreigners,” the drunk muttered, as the two strangers departed. “Big Trouble and Bigger Trouble, that’s your names. I didn’t fight in Desert Storm to get pushed around by funny-talkin’ foreign troublemakers with weird names.” His quiet diatribe trailed off as he and his bottle got down to business.
“Moving on?” asked Lodrán, taking a deep breath before following Chelinn into the street. “Where to?”
“This way,” said Chelinn, turning right. “What do you see up there?”
“More city. More chaos.”
“No… look up.”
“Hm. The rainbow? Huh. There was a rainbow over Tirfa-Wold, too.”
“Indeed. A rainbow is a bridge between worlds. If we can get to it before it fades, we can cross it and get home. You coming?”
• • •
“I see the pattern now,” said Lodrán. His limp faded as Chelinn’s goop continued to heal his leg, and he walked quickly to keep up with Chelinn as they crossed an intersection. “Green means proceed. Red means wait.”
Chelinn nodded, watching the sky. Every once in a while, he would veer toward the street or a building, and Lodrán steered him straight. Pedestrians approaching got out of their way in a hurry; even looking distracted, and with a cloak covering his weapons, Chelinn cut an imposing figure. “Ah,” the warrior-mage grunted. “The magical forces of this world are similar to those of home and of other worlds. If we get near enough to the rainbow, I can anchor it and weave the spells to get us home.”
“If only we could use one of those carriages, we could get there a lot quicker, hey?” Lodrán caught himself chewing his mustache again, and made himself stop.
“If we knew how to steer it. You see any reins in there?”
Lodrán looked into one standing empty and quiet along the sidewalk. “No. But there’s a wheel, like on a ship. And levers. I wonder what they do?”
“By the time we figured it out, we could walk there. Let’s go. Rainbows won’t wait.”
One of the carriages rolled by. A rhythmic growling rumbled from the carriage as it passed, startling Lodrán. He turned and hustled to catch his friend. “I had a thought just now,” he said, chewing his mustache again.
“What?” Chelinn sounded distracted.
“Those carriages. What if they’re alive? With so much iron in
this world—they even use it for their middens!—could it gain life somehow? Or perhaps there’s some kind of magic that makes the carriages act alive? Maybe the people inside them don’t want to be there. Maybe the carriages ate them.”
Chelinn said nothing, continuing to watch the sky. He brushed against a tall pole—more iron of course, mere construction material—that arched over the street, supporting some kind of globe. He shook his head and focused on the sidewalk ahead of him. “We might not catch it,” he said, gesturing at the rainbow. “It’s too far away. As for the carriages? I don’t know. The carriage you looked into had a wheel and levers. So it needs to be controlled, no? As to how they move at all—it could be magic, or it could be principles we don’t understand.” Another carriage rolled past, rumbling and booming. “And what we don’t understand can be left to a less urgent moment, whenever possible.”
“You’re right,” grumbled Lodrán, “or would be, if we had anything better to do. Back home, we could hire a coach to take us somewhere. What power says that’s not possible here?”
“I’m sure it’s possible. But we have no idea how to find such a coach. And how would we pay one?”
“We have gold and silver.”
“But in the right weights?”
Lodrán grunted.
Chelinn sighed. “It’s gone.”
“What?”
“The rainbow.” Lodrán followed Chelinn’s gaze into the empty sky. Chelinn began to curse methodically, first in the two languages Lodrán knew, then several others he didn’t. Lodrán once heard that Chelinn learned the goblin-tongue because its curses were so eloquent and potent. That was likely true; Chelinn was fond of expressing himself.
“Well, you did say it was too far,” Lodrán pointed out. “And there will be other rains, no?”
“Surely,” Chelinn grumbled. “But there’s no telling when there will be another rainbow.” He shrugged. “Until then, I suppose we’ll have to make our way in this world as best we can.”
“Perhaps, with all their other wonders, they can create a rainbow for us?”
“Maybe.”
They walked in silence, crossing with other pedestrians, block by block. Then Lodrán pulled up short, grasping Chelinn’s arm. “Look!” He pointed across the street, at a storefront that had ornate but recognizable weapons hanging in the window. They were unable to read the sign above:
AGE OF HEROES
Games • Gifts • Comics
Chelinn studied the window for a moment. “Those weapons are for show more than use, I suspect,” he said. “But it’s the most hopeful thing I’ve seen yet. Let’s see what that place is. Perhaps they’ll understand us better than most.”
“Do you think they’ll understand us at all?”
“We could talk to the drunk. So I suspect they will.”
“Right!” Lodrán stepped off the curb, but a strong arm jerked him back.
“Wait!” said Chelinn. “You see anyone else crossing here? No? They cross at those lights. We might be violating some law, or inviting one of those carriages to run us down. Follow the lead of the natives.”
Lodrán shrugged, unable to overcome either Chelinn’s logic or his strength, and they continued to the next intersection. Over the shoulders of several other pedestrians, who gave Chelinn and Lodrán wary looks, they saw a pictogram of an outstretched hand picked out in shining red dots, flashing on and off. The Hand That Warns seemed to have the same meaning here, Lodrán thought. After a minute, carriages slowed and stopped in front of a white line crossing the street, then the red pictogram winked out and was replaced with a green one of a person, legs outstretched. The other pedestrians immediately stepped into the street, and Chelinn and Lodrán followed.
Across the street, they retraced their steps back to the promising shop window. They took a minute to study the weapons on display—up close, Chelinn’s assessment of their utility proved obviously true. Beyond the window were rows of shelves, too dim to make anything out. Colorful flyers hung in the window below the weapons.
“Shall we try this, then?” asked Lodrán.
“We’ve come this far,” Chelinn grumbled, “and we have nowhere better to go.” They walked through the door.
• • •
The door made a strange piercing chime noise as they entered, making Lodrán flinch. Behind a desk in the middle of the shop stood a soft-looking man. Merchants are the same here, too, he thought. His hair was somewhat darker than Chelinn’s, and streaked with grey; both hair and beard were unruly.
“Great outfits!” He gave them an enthusiastic grin. “You’re ready for the con this weekend, huh?”
“Con?” Lodrán considered the word. At home, the word meant either deceiver or opposed. The accents were strange and varied here, but most of the words made sense. Most of them.
“Fantasy South Con?” The merchant pushed a flyer across the desk. “You have to know about it.”
Lodrán picked up the flyer. He could not read the writing, but the artwork depicted a man—whose appearance reminded him of Chelinn, except this man was bare-chested—facing something that looked like a stylized dragon. Next to the man was a woman whose huge breasts threatened to burst through her armor. Both of them swung massive swords. The style was a little garish, but not unfamiliar. He looked up, remembering a word. “Fantasy?”
Chelinn stepped forward. “You know about magic, right?”
“Sure,” the merchant said. “We have the Bloodstorm decks and booster packs over there.” He pointed to a shelf nearby. “If you want individual cards, they’re in the display case around this side.”
Chelinn and Lodrán looked at each other. The individual words made sense, but put together? This merchant could have been speaking South Sea Islander.
“Uh, you guys look a little confused,” said the merchant. “Is there something I can help you with? I’d guess you’re in the right place, but… well, if you’re druggies, I’d just as soon you leave. I’ve got enough trouble right now.”
“That’s a good word,” said Chelinn. “We’re confused. We’ve had a rough day, and we’re new in town. We need someone who can help us out.”
“You here with the con, then? Advance publicity or something? I’d love to help you with that, especially if there’s a quid pro quo.”
“Just tell him, Chelinn,” Lodrán sighed. “I doubt it can make things any worse.”
“True.” The big man addressed the merchant. “We got blown here by a priest. I think he was trying to curse us to Hell, but my friend here disrupted the curse and we ended up here instead. Wherever here is. We were hoping to reach the rainbow before it dissipated, because I could use it to get us back home, but it’s gone. We saw the weapons in your window—even if they’re not really weapons—and we thought you might understand our situation.”
The merchant laughed. “Good one! Is that some kind of theme for the con? Makes sense—everyone goes home when it’s done.” He laughed again.
Before they could respond, the door made its strange noise again. Four young men stepped in, looking like they owned the place. The merchant’s laughter turned to a fearful anxiety. “Bad news.”
One of the four veered away into the shelves; the other three ignored Chelinn and faced the merchant. “What’s shakin’, nerd-boy?” one of them asked.
“Can I help you with something?” The merchant was careful to keep his voice neutral.
“Yeah,” the biggest one—obviously the leader—said. “Just hand over the cash register.”
At last, Chelinn thought, something familiar. Thugs robbing a merchant. “And why should he do that?” he growled. The three turned to face him, a tinge of fear swept away by contempt.
“Oh look,” the big one said to his friends. “A geek who thinks he’s tough in his dress-up!”
“Let’s see how tough he is,” another suggested. A device in his hand sprouted a tiny knife blade with a nasty snapping sound. They grinned and the others drew their weapons as Chelinn
took two steps back, hands raised.
“What are you doing?” Lodrán asked the youth stuffing his pockets with small packages.
“This don’t concern you, dip-weed,” the youth said.
“It does. You steal, but have no stealth. No style. You’re an embarrassment to the Silent Art.”
“Whatever. Shove off.” The youth pulled a small knife, in what Lodrán thought a clumsy maneuver. “Unless you want me to cut you a new smile.”
Lodrán’s dagger came to hand. To the youth, Lodrán flicked his hand and the weapon just… appeared. “Put those things back,” Lodrán ordered. “Or just leave them here on the floor. Unless you think you can take me.”
“Hey!” the youth yelled, taking a wide-eyed step back. “Over here!”
Chelinn’s hands came down, his sword Gonfanlon in one hand, dagger in the other.
The big thug snorted. “Like you can actually use those?”
Chelinn gave them a monstrous grin. The dagger flashed, and all three felt a draft and a stinging across their stomachs—they looked down, and saw their shirts slashed open. Blood oozed from a scratch across each of them. “I’m not the greatest swordsman on Termag, but I can indeed use these well enough. I suggest you go on your way. And don’t come back.”
The youth grinned at Lodrán as his friends rushed from the desk; the grin turned to a confused grimace as they ran through the front door. He took a step back, waving his pitiful knife at Lodrán. “Stay back!” he yelled.
“Just leave what you would steal, then you’re free to go.” Lodrán tossed his dagger back and forth between his hands, giving it a lazy twirl in flight. The youth watched this display with horrified fascination, then dropped his own knife and the stolen goods.
“Good.” Lodrán stepped out of the aisle, leaving the way out open. The youth bolted past him and out the door.
“Oh… I wondered what happened to the last one,” said Chelinn, still grinning. “I see you took care of him. Any trouble?”
Lodrán looked as if he wanted to spit. “Against that? I’ve faced dead men more dangerous.”
Chelinn chuckled and turned to the gaping merchant. “If they have any sense, that’s the last you’ll see of them.”
“You’re not hurt, are you?” Lodrán asked him.
The merchant shook his head. “No. But I’m not so sure they won’t come back. They’ll either bring guns, or torch the place some night.” He grinned. “But I kind of don’t care—that was amazing!” He gave Chelinn a goggle-eyed look. “When you swung that knife, I thought I was gonna have a bloody mess to clean up for sure! It might have been better that way—the police would ask questions I’d have a hard time answering, but at least I wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore. So who are you guys?”
“I am Chelinn sim Chell, scion of House Chelor of Dacia. I have been called both Captain and Madman, but I gave up one title and laugh at the other. This is my companion and friend, Lodrán sim Marl, of Ak’koyr, a practitioner of the Silent Art.”
“Of Roth’s Keep,” Lodrán corrected. “I was born in Ak’koyr, but I will not claim it as my heritage.”
“Dacia? Ak’koyr? Where the hell are they?”
“Our world we call Termag,” said Chelinn. “We’ve already concluded we’re somewhere else. What do you call your world?”
“Um… Earth. Or Terra. Oh, and I’m Chuck Robinson. This is my shop, Age of Heroes.” Chuck shook his head. “Damn. You two are awesome. Are you professional actors? I mean, you haven’t broken character once. I really appreciate you showing up when you did. I don’t know what they have against me, but…” He shrugged. “They’re gonna kill my business. My employees quit because of these guys, and I can’t blame them. But what are you gonna do when they come back with guns?”
“What are guns?” Lodrán asked. “Some kind of magic?”
Chuck threw up his hands. “Dudes. Time to drop the role-playing and get serious. Firearms. Handguns. Sawed-off shotguns, maybe. What do you have to beat those?”
“I am serious,” said Lodrán. “Chelinn can use magic to defeat them, but you need to tell him what they are.”
“Show me,” said Chelinn. “Explain what these ‘guns’ are, to the best of your ability. Lodrán, you look around. Study the wares our friend has to offer so you can help anyone who comes in. For now, we are his assistants.”
“Uh…” said Chuck. “There’s a bunch of paperwork. I’d have to get your Social Security numbers, fill out the I-9 forms—”
Chelinn waved away the objections. “You need our help, notable. And we need yours. We need a place to stay, someone to tell us about your world’s customs and so forth, and to take us to the next rainbow so we can return home.”
“All right, all right. I guess y’all will want supper and so on too, right?”
“I presume hunting is not allowed inside the city? Or cookfires? Then yes, we’ll need food. Now… to the task at hand?”
After about ten minutes, Chelinn called across the shop to Lodrán. “It’s some kind of projectile weapon,” he said. “A flash fire inside a confined space drives a small piece of metal at its victim. I’m not sure, neither is our host, but we think my armor would stop the less powerful kind. A magical shield should help with the others—”
The door chimed, but it was only a customer. Lodrán stepped forward. “May I help you?”
“Nah,” said the newcomer. He looked at the desk. “Hey Chuck! This is awesome, putting your employees in costume, but you need a wizard outfit for yourself! Did the order come in?”
“Just this morning, Phil,” said Chuck, bringing out a package from under the desk. “Why don’t you look it over?”
“Yeah, good idea.” Phil opened his package, while Chelinn looked on. Lodrán drifted to the window to watch the world go by. Although the glass was amazingly clear—perhaps it was magic that made it free of ripples and bubbles—it made the oddness beyond somehow more tolerable.
“Looks good,” said the customer, and looked at Chelinn. “Dude. That is one quality outfit. I know Chuck doesn’t sell anything that good. You look like you could’ve stepped off a movie set. Or out of a Dragonlance book.”
Chelinn nodded. “Thank you. It took a long time to… to assemble.”
“Yeah. Well, it was worth it. I hope I see y’all at the con; you’ll win best in show for sure!” He took his package and left.
The rest of the afternoon went without incident. Chelinn was keenly interested in the clocks and especially the computer, while Lodrán marveled at the lighting and Chuck’s cellphone. When “school let out,” as Chuck put it, the shop suddenly filled with children. This made Chelinn and Lodrán a little nervous, as they were not used to dealing with children and worried about what might happen if the four fools returned. But the children left after a while, to their relief.
When the clock on the desk displayed 6:00, the shop was quiet. “I’m going to grab us some supper,” said Chuck. “Chances are, there won’t be many customers in the next half hour. Maybe some browsers. If someone wants to buy something, just say you haven’t been trained on the registers, and have them wait a few minutes for me to come back.”
“And if the four fools come back?” Lodrán asked.
“Call 911. Tell them there’s a robbery.” Chuck lifted the receiver, and showed Lodrán the buttons to push.
Chelinn watched Chuck leave. He thought to himself, We will tell them there are four dead criminals to remove from the premises.
The next half-hour passed with only one person coming in. He complimented Chelinn’s “costume” and left without buying anything. Lodrán wandered the shelves, trying to make sense of the merchandise. Finally, Chuck emerged from the rear, carrying several large paper bags. “Supper! Such as it is,” he said. “Not home cooking, but—”
The door banged open and the four fools stormed in. “Hey Sword Geek!” the big thug yelled. “You wanna try your sword on this?”
Chelinn looked at the device in the fool�
�s hand—metal, of course. It looked like a pipe with a handle. “I suppose this is one of those ‘gun’ devices that I’ve been hearing about?”
“Duh. Hey, where’s your friend? We got some business with him too.”
“I’m sure you do. He’s behind you.”
They laughed. “Oldest trick in the book,” the big one said. “You think we’re dumb enough to fall for that?”
Chelinn shrugged. “You were stupid enough to return. I may be ignorant about much in this world, but I do know you are threatening my life—after I spared yours. Attack me now, and I will show no mercy.”
“You callin’ me stupid?” The thug grinned. “You’re just makin’ this easier and easier. Tommy, you get the cash. If the geek gives you any grief, cut him.”
“Sure—hey, where’s my switchblade?”
“Looking for these?” They turned; Lodrán pointed his dagger at his feet, where their knives lay, then back at them. “Come and get them. If you think you can.”
“Keep him busy,” their leader growled, “I’ll take care of Sword Geek first.” He turned to Chelinn and shot.
Chelinn winced at the horrific noise, but the three slugs fell at his feet. He picked one up, feeling the heat through his gloves. The other three turned at the sound of gunfire, and murmured fearfully at the sight.
The shooter fired again, then looked at Chelinn and saw icy fire in his eyes. “You were warned,” said Chelinn. A blue-white beam shot from his hand, and the thug died standing up, encased in an inch of ice, still pointing the gun. The other three screamed, and Chuck gasped.
“You three should die as well,” said Chelinn. “But if you do two things, you may live: take your friend away, and then leave this city. If I see you again, you die. Understand?” They nodded, wide-eyed. “Good. Don’t touch that ice unless you want to lose your hands. Use gloves.”
• • •
“Are you sure you don’t want this, noted Robinson?” Lodrán asked, holding up the last burger.
“I can’t believe you guys can eat after that,” said Chuck, looking a little pale. “You just killed someone. Sure, he deserved it, but…” he waved his hands.
Chelinn shrugged. “I’m not proud of killing him,” he said. “But as you say, noted Robinson, he deserved it. And you saw that I do not kill wantonly. His friends live on, and I would be surprised to hear from them further.” He chewed one of the sticks that the merchant called “french fries”—it was supposed to be a piece of potato, but tasted mostly of salt and oil—then turned to Lodrán. “If I didn’t know you… well, you’ll eat anything.” He opened his “burger” and stared at the supposed meat inside.
Lodrán returned the shrug. “In my youth, I had to eat anything or starve. Ak’koyr is unkind to its impoverished denizens.”
“Why do you keep calling me noted?” the merchant asked.
“It’s an honorific,” said Chelinn. “How does one address his employer in this world?”
Chuck thought, then laughed. “Oh! Mister Robinson. But just call me Chuck, okay? I’m not used to—to that.” He cocked his head. “How did you stop those bullets? They didn’t even hit your armor!”
“It was a projectile weapon, thus vulnerable to a simple spell of protection.” Chelinn shrugged. “The same spell I would use to stop an arrow or a thrown spear. Spells of protection are among the first a young sorcerer learns. Is that not so here?”
“There are no sorcerers in this world,” said Chuck, “not real ones, anyway. We’ve got Kevlar for stopping bullets, not magic. But if I didn’t see you… flash-freeze that dude, I’d figure you were still role-playing.” He scratched his head and reached for the last burger; Lodrán handed it over with a sigh. “You guys are the real deal, aren’t you?”
“This is no jape or jest,” said Chelinn. “I see now. The use of magic has long faded in this world, no longer needed as your wondrous devices have taken its place. It is naught but legend, I suspect. This Kevlar is a kind of armor, no? If it stops the projectile, then that particular spell is unneeded.”
“If you have it,” said Lodrán. “Those of Termag fortunate enough to have armor at hand—or a sorcerer—survive the arrows and spears. Those who do not…” He shrugged. “I suppose it is the same here.”
“Pretty much.” Chuck chewed his burger with growing enthusiasm. “I must be getting over the shock, because now I’m curious. Why did you use a freeze spell on that guy?”
“The Principle of Necessity,” said Chelinn, passing the rest of his french fries to Lodrán. “Had I simply cut him down, there would have been a bloody mess to clean up. You said the authorities here would frown on that, so using magic was necessary. Same with fire—not a wise choice in an enclosed space in any case. Ice was too clean a death for that bowgnoash, but as I said I had your property to consider. Hell may thaw him if it wishes.”
“What was that word you called him just now?”
“Ah, bowgnoash? It’s from the goblin-tongue. Its literal meaning is something unfit to eat. If you knew what food goblins consider acceptable, you’d understand how bad it has to be. They also use it to describe those of their own kind that they would disown, which is how I used it here.”
“Oh.” Chuck looked at his burger and put it down.
“This is all well and good,” said Lodrán, talking around the last of the french fries, “but night is coming on, and we need to find a place to stay. An inn, perhaps one that needs our silver enough that they’ll overlook our odd coinage—”
“No.” Chuck shook his head. “You two stay with me. I owe you that much.”
“Pull that strap across you, and snap the buckle into that slot,” said Chuck. “The car complains a lot if you don’t.”
“Maybe these things are torture devices,” Lodrán grumbled from the back, as Chelinn fumbled with the strap. Chelinn held his sword between his knees, and had to re-route the strap to not catch the scabbard.
“Sorry,” said Chuck. “The back seat isn’t too comfortable.”
“So I’ve learned.” Lodrán folded his tall, thin frame behind the driver’s seat, as there was no room between Chelinn’s seat and the back seat. “How long must we endure this?”
“Ten minutes, maybe. Traffic thins out before closing time, so we won’t be held up too much.”
“Thank the Hand.”
They said little else once Chuck started moving, only stared out the windows at the strange sights and marveling at the swift pace of the “car.” Strange music, interrupted by cheerful pitchmen, filled the interior. After a few stops and turns, Chuck turned off the road onto what he called the “driveway.” His house was easy to identify as such, even if huge for one person.
Chuck turned a small key, and the car went silent. Lodrán waited for Chuck to exit and tilt the seatback forward, then clambered out with little of his usual grace. Chelinn fumbled with the door handle, then finally opened his own door and emerged.
Inside: more wonders. Lights that did not smoke, water—hot and cold!—gushing at the turn of a knob, and something Chuck called the “tube.” The tube looked like a window about the size of a traveling puppeteer’s stage, but had no place for a puppeteer to crouch behind it. Yet it showed a frenetic display of images, changing as Chuck pressed a button on a separate device.
“You say you don’t have magic here?” Lodrán grumbled, unable to tear himself away.
“There’s a saying…” Chuck thought a moment. “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. A man named Arthur C. Clarke said that.”
“Is he a sage?”
“An author. That’s a storyteller. He wrote some stories about traveling between worlds, but in ships.”
Chelinn pushed away a mental image of his ship sailing from Termag to another world. “Do you have a—computer? Is that the word? Here?” Chelinn asked.
“Sure, why?”
“I wanted to see that weather display again. If we know when it will rain here again, I can be ready to find
a rainbow.”
Chuck laid the box of buttons down and led Chelinn to the den. “Here,” he said, pushing and tapping at another small box that Chuck had called a mouse at his store. Chelinn guessed that if it were truly a mouse, the cord would be its tail. A small drawing twirled in one corner, then the pictures representing weather fell into place on the window. “Ow,” said Chuck. “It’s Tuesday. It says here that the next chance of rain is Sunday, and that’s only thirty percent.”
“Which means?”
“You’re stuck here for a while.” Chuck shrugged. “If you guys want to help out at the store, you can live here as long as it takes. It shouldn’t be much more than a week, unless you can use your magic to bring a rain.”
Chelinn looked horrified. “It takes a certain kind of mage to cast weather magic and not have it go spectacularly wrong! I’m—oh. You wouldn’t know, would you?”
“When it comes to real magic, I’m even more lost than you guys are in this world.”
“And if it were not for you, noted—Mister Robinson, we would be thoroughly lost. And it would be most helpful if you could tell us—”
The living room suddenly filled with noise; it reminded Chelinn of the throbbing sounds coming from some of the cars on the street. He and Chuck dashed into the living room to find Lodrán gaping at scantily-clad women, gyrating on the tube. The box of buttons was in Lodrán’s hand, his thumb on one of the buttons. Chuck took the box and pressed it; the noise diminished but the women continued to twist. Then, the tube showed a man, pointing into the room, speaking words that made little sense.
“Lodrán!” Chelinn nudged the Silent Artist, but he stood watching until Chuck pressed a red button. The tube at last turned black and made neither sound nor image. “We’ll be here several days, maybe longer. Mister Robinson will teach us how to speak and act, so we don’t draw undue attention to ourselves until we can get home.”
“Will you two please just call me Chuck?”
• • •
“That’s not how a sorcerer dresses,” said Chelinn, standing in the shop and looking at Chuck’s “wizard robe.” It was a deep purple, spangled with yellow symbols representing stars and other shapes that Chuck called comets. A matching conical hat made him look triangular.
“Really? How do they dress then?”
“Not like that. More like Lodrán. Loose-fitting clothes, many pockets, boots, a colored sash to represent their primary element. A cloak for inclement weather.”
“This is how they dressed in our world, though,” Chuck protested.
“No wonder they disappeared,” Lodrán laughed.
Chelinn shrugged. “This world is not ours. If people here expect a mage to wear robes, then robed he shall be.”
Lodrán spread his hands. “And you, as usual, pretend to be the dumb muscle.”
Chuck pulled the cloth belt tight around his soft middle. “You know what? I could see that,” he said. “I guess some prejudices are universal.” He paused for a moment. “Do you think you could… you could teach me some real magic?”
“Only if you have the bent for it,” said Chelinn. “That’s the second of the Three Principles. Some people have a talent for storytelling or the longbow. Some can farm the rockiest ground and yet grow crops aplenty. Maybe that’s a kind of magic itself. It does seem that the children of farmers are well-represented as sorcerers.”
“Three Principles? What are those?”
Chelinn looked at the small clock on the desk; they would not open the store for a few more minutes. “The Principle of Necessity is first,” he said. “If you use magic unneeded, it almost always goes wrong. The power hasn’t faded in this world—I can feel and use it—so much as it’s been replaced by your devices. It’s simply unnecessary now. The second is called the Principle of Power—the power comes from you, or through you, by intent. The third is the Principle of Closure. If you begin something, you must end it as well. On those three principles are built the entire edifice of magic.”
“That makes sense,” said Chuck. “Now that I think about it, you mentioned that first principle before. It’s why you froze that guy.”
“Indeed.”
“So if I have the talent, what magic could you teach me? That hasn’t been replaced by technology.”
Chelinn shrugged. “I don’t suppose there are devices for locating things you have lost? No? A spell of finding is very useful, and one of the first that an apprentice sorcerer learns. Even here, you could find its use necessary from time to time. Necessity is a tricky thing, and sometimes depends on your situation.”
“You mean like if finding something quickly means the difference between life and death, versus just inconvenient?”
“Good, you do understand.” Chelinn smiled. “But there is necessity, and there is necessity, no? It need not rise to life and death—you may consider it necessary to find something that allows you to arrive on time for an important appointment. Even if you have no other way to find what you have lost, inconvenience is necessity enough.”
“Yeah. I’m always misplacing my car keys.”
“These?” Lodrán held up a key ring.
“Yeah—hey! I know those were in my pocket. How did you get them? I didn’t even feel it!”
Lodrán grinned. “I saw which pocket you put them in, and you were distracted talking to Chelinn. If I couldn’t take them with those advantages, I’d be thrown out of the safehouse.”
“It’s time to open the shop,” said Chelinn. “We’ll discuss this further later today.”
“Close your eyes,” Chelinn told Chuck. The after-school rush had come and gone, and Lodrán hung the CLOSED sign in the window. “Calm yourself, as much as possible. Now think about your keys, in as much detail as you can.”
“Okay.” Chuck closed his eyes. “Is the Principle of Necessity going to kick in for this?”
“What? No. Learning how to use magic is necessary for its use. A logical hoop, yes, but if not abused it is sufficient. Your keys. Do you see them?”
“Yeah.”
“In detail?”
“Yeah.”
Chelinn gave him a grim smile, unseen. “Good. Now look around them. What do you see?”
“Um… oh. A dull blue. Like the carpet. Yes, the carpet.”
“Very good. Without losing your vision of the keys, let the color take form.”
Chuck’s face wrinkled in a scowl for a moment. “All right. I see the weave of the carpet. So Lodrán put them on the floor somewhere.” He paused. “This is cool.”
“But where on the floor? Expand your vision a little more, if you can. Don’t lose what you have grasped already, though.”
“Ah. I see brown. Above and beside. Under one of the shelves, then, at one end.”
“Can you see which shelf?”
“I’m trying… ah!” Chuck opened his eyes and flapped his hands. “I lost it!”
“Not bad for your first attempt,” said Chelinn. You have at least a little talent, so it’s a matter of practice. Remember the Principle of Power—you have the ability, so don’t convince yourself it’s impossible. Even if you don’t pinpoint the location, you can often see enough to know where to look.”
“Speaking of the Principles, how does Closure apply to a spell of finding?”
“When you stop seeing, or find what you seek, then the spell is closed. You won’t lose something else to make up for what you found, if that’s what you’re thinking. But it’s a good question. It says you’re thinking about the Principles. Try it again.”
“I’m glad I’m doing something right, then.” Chuck closed his eyes. “Oh. It’s quicker this time.”
“You see your keys again?”
“Yeah. The corner of the shelf, too. I guess I need to zoom out…”
“Zoom out?”
“Sorry.” Chuck opened his eyes. “Like with my camera. To ‘zoom out’ is to include more background around your subject.”
“Ah. I should not have interrupted.”
“No problem.” Chuck again closed his eyes. “Keys. Carpet. Shelf. Zoom out… I can see the colors of the merchandise on the bottom shelf, but I can’t make out any words.”
“Reading is not what a spell of finding is about. Can you identify the merchandise by other means?”
“Yeah… it’s books! They’re too thick to be card packs, and I don’t put those on the bottom shelves anyway! Black covers, yellow covers… I think I can figure it out from here.” Chuck walked up a row of shelves, then stopped and bent. “And here they are!” He held up his keys.
“Well done!” Lodrán bowed.
“A pity,” said Chelinn. “You have the makings of a competent sorcerer, in a time when magic is rarely needed.”
“It’s still pretty awesome,” said Chuck.
