by William Cali
He was in a clearing, a flat mess of earth covered in bushes with prickly thorns and trees with thin branches, broad green leaves sticking out at the ends. The air was crisp and fresh. Pent could hear crickets chirping and birds singing in the distance. It was the middle of a lush forest. Flecks of dew on the grass twinkled in the sunlight.
He raised his hand over his brow like a visor.
“How is it so bright?” The sky was a cloudless, vibrant blue. His head throbbed; he lurched forward, trying not to lose control of his stomach. The sky, the trees, none of it made sense. He was in a pitch-black library moments ago, in the middle of the night.
Maybe I’m still drunk? That couldn’t be it, could it? He was off balance for sure, but this wasn’t drunk. He had been blackout drunk, and this wasn’t it. He was staring into the world with a clarity that confirmed he was sober.
Pent reached into his pockets, feeling around for any kind of clue. Everything seemed to be where he had left it. His fingers touched cold metal, and the jingle jangle sound in his pocket reminded him of Greg. Did that idiot slip something in my drink? He shook his head. Greg was a goof, but he wouldn’t do something like that to him. He was pretty sure anyway.
His feet were wet, he realized. The dampness of the grass had dyed his boots a dark brown color, as the moisture had seeped into his socks. He limped away from the tree and stopped in the center of the clearing. He glanced to the top of the trees and rubbed his shoulder. I didn’t imagine that. I didn’t imagine falling from the sky.
Pent took a deep breath, inhaling the richness of the forest. Dirt, dew, and grass; nothing that should have been new, but it felt so unfamiliar. No city grime, no exhaust fumes, no smell of cardboard or overturned beer bottles. Just unfiltered nature. It took him back to his childhood, to memories of camping with his friends. But even that wasn’t close to what he felt now. There were no human smells, no human sounds. No cars, no planes, no roads. No people.
There had to be some explanation for how he got here. And I’m not gonna find it standing here twiddling my thumbs. He clapped his hands together.
“Let’s make some moves.”
Pent picked the least densely packed area of green and walked towards it. He passed through the bush, thankful for his long-sleeved jacket. The thorns would have made short work of him without it. His journey was proving to be a challenge. The ground in front of him was uneven, and the heavy bush made it hard to not trip over the branches and holes he couldn’t see. Every half dozen steps a branch smacked him in the face. Flies kept buzzing in his ear, and he was pretty sure that he had stepped in some kind of animal excrement.
“Damn it.” He smeared his shoe against the side of a tree. Trees, trees, everywhere trees. He paused every few minutes to listen, hoping for a sign of activity. What, no one is traveling anywhere today? Somerville wasn’t the most exciting city, but on an average day, you could expect to hear a plane soaring above every now and again.
The bushes, when he examined them closely, were lush with thorns and bright blue berries. His stomach rumbled, but he fought against his urges. I ain’t no eagle scout, and I’m not gonna risk a trip to the hospital.
Still, he was hungry. And thirsty too. Only thing sloshing in my stomach are those beers. Speaking of… He found a spot in front of a tree—not a problem in a forest full of them—and relieved himself.
With an empty bladder, Pent set off, still not a clue where he had landed. After some time, he managed to find a less packed area of brush and waded through. He found himself in a clearing; there were trees, bushes, and more grass. He made his rounds, stepping here and there, stopping when he heard a crunch below his feet.
Shards of glass were scattered at the base of a tree.
Definitely not an eagle scout. He kicked the pieces of his phone to the side. “Damn it. This is where I started…”
* * *
Pent gave it another effort. He pulled out his Kershaw knife, marking a big X on the bark of every fourth tree he passed. He pushed into the thicker brush, carving his Xs and wiping sweat from his brow. Without his phone, he had no clue how long he had been out there, but it had to be over an hour. An hour out here in some random forest God knows where.
He was getting frustrated, tired, and he couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling that he was being followed. There was a rustling several yards behind him, but when he stopped moving the rustling stopped as well. The sound wasn’t constant; it faded in and out randomly and made Pent believe he was losing his mind.
But what if I’m not imagining that? What if there is something following me? Whatever it is, it’s big. Could be a fox, or a bear. He reached for his gun, slipping it out of the holster and taking it in his right hand, while switching his knife to the left. If that’s a bear out there, I could shoot it in the face with this and I’d only make it mad.
He felt like the rationalizing was making him feel even crazier. Bears don’t hunt people in the forest though, right? Maybe it’s a jaguar. Jaguars hunt people like this, maybe. He snorted at himself. A jaguar? In a forest in Virginia? What is wrong with me? Maybe this ain’t Virginia though. Doesn’t feel like Virginia. Damn, where the hell am I?
A root caught Pent’s toe and he nearly fell on his face as he tried to push past a branch. He stumbled out of the brush and into another clearing. It was different from the last. There was a large boulder with moss growing on one side and a river flowing right next to it. He was surprised he hadn’t heard the river before. It wasn’t raging, but the sound of flowing water stood out against the quiet of the empty forest.
Pent heard that shuffling behind him again. In this clearing there could be no mistake; there was something following him. He dashed forward, threw himself behind the boulder, then quickly turned and raised his gun towards the brush. I’ve shot targets before. But damn, this is nothing like that. He shook his head. It can’t be a person. Who else would be out here? It’s the middle of a damn forest…
A flash of a young man, lying face down in the ground. His face coated in blood. Sobs echoing through the night.
“Why else do you carry this damn thing,” Pent whispered to himself as he tightened his grip on the gun. “Gotta protect myself…”
He waited a moment, and then another. He controlled his breathing as well as he could, trying to ignore his pounding heart as it threatened to pop out of his chest. The seconds felt like hours. He didn’t dare to speak, but in his mind, he chanted: Come on. Come on. Come on!
He heard another rustle and fired blindly into the brush.
BAM!
The deafening explosion of sound tore through the air and made Pent wince. He could barely hear a shriek of terror sounding from the bush. A man cried out, “Oh lord!”
Pent’s eyes widened as a bearded man flopped out of the brush and into the clearing. He landed face down, his fingers thrust into the ground.
“A master of the mystical arts! Please spare me!”
Pent kept the gun trained on the stranger; he was startled but still on alert. “Don’t move, stay right there.”
The man froze up, immobilized either by fear or by command, Pent could not tell which.
“Who are you, what are you doing here?”
The quivering man, still face down on the ground, spoke without moving an inch. “I am Hanar. I… I… I’m merely searching for food! There is usually nothing else to be found in these parts.”
Pent’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not food, that doesn’t explain why you were following me.”
The man remained in his compromised position, not willing to move an inch.
“I pray that you’ll forgive me! My curiosity got the better of me. It is true that I came in search of food but imagine my surprise when I saw someone fall from the sky!” He let out a low whine. “I felt it wrong to stalk you, but I just could not help myself. Please take it in your heart to be merciful.”
“Uh…” Is this guy the nut, or am I? He’s raving like some kind of asylum patient. Pent glan
ced at the sky, above the treetops. I guess I did fall out of the sky though. And what is with that getup he’s wearing. The man had on a loose-fitting shirt made from a heavy fabric, boots of fur and a hat to match. Looks like one of those medieval reenactors.
“Alright get up, please, but don’t try anything funny.” Pent watched as the strange man slowly rose to his feet. He was about as tall as Pent, with maybe half the muscle mass. A long, red beard obscured his mouth and most of his facial features and matched a red bushy set of eyebrows and hair. Looks like Captain Morgan mixed with my dad. Minus the red hair. Pent sized him up but didn’t see what he had expected to find. “You don’t seem like you’re packing.”
“My lord?” The man was looking at him with one eyebrow raised.
Pent wiggled his gun in front of the man who had called himself Hanar.
“You hiding one of these, big guy?”
Hanar laughed awkwardly, amusement battling fear on his face. The laughter tugged at Pent’s nerves, and he tensed his finger around the trigger of the gun.
“I have no mystical abilities, lord. I’m just a lowly forager. No connection with the magical world, lord.”
“Alright, so let’s just stop with the ‘lord’ thing, alright?” Pent scratched his head. Medieval reenactor might be right. He’s got that goofy Euro accent to match. This had to be some kind of game. Hanar’s clothes, his accent, his tone, everything about this was wrong. “So, you came here to hunt, that’s your story?”
“Yes, my lor—Yes. Yes, that is my story.”
“So, if you came here to hunt, you know how to get out of here.”
“Oh, of course, you just need to fo—”
“You know what, I believe in showing and not telling. You can go ahead and lead me out of here. And don’t try to ditch me, I’m a good shot.” He waved the gun menacingly at Hanar as he spoke this last piece, and Hanar’s eyes widened in fear at the obvious threat.
Chapter Five
Pent could not help the feeling that his eyes were playing tricks on him. He had been sure that the forest was untouched by civilization, but within moments Hanar had led him onto a rough path. He was still swiping branches away from his face, but he did it without tripping over his feet.
Pent spoke, his gun still trained on Hanar’s back, following close behind: “How are you going through these woods so easily? I was tripping over my own feet just getting to the clearing.”
Hanar let out a boisterous laugh, and Pent pictured him on a pirate ship gripping a bottle of rum.
“I’ve spent a lot of time in these woods, from sunrise to sunset. I don’t suppose I could lose my way in these woods if I tried.” He hung still for a moment and then gestured to his right. “There’s a freshwater creek up ahead, one of my favorite spots. We should rest there for a moment.”
“Alright.” Pent followed Hanar through to the opening. The creek was clear and clean, and the water trickled and babbled, soothing Pent’s nerves. He exhaled and eased off the trigger. The ground here had been leveled and in the center was a circle of stones with darkened ash in the center—a fire pit.
Hanar shuffled over to a large stone, dropping a small pack made of leather and withdrawing a metal cup from it. He dipped the cup into the stream and drank from it, leaning his head back and wiping excess water from his face. Pent grimaced. Isn’t it a bad idea to drink creek water without boiling it first? I don’t care how clean it looks, that’s a good way to get worms.
Hanar waved his hand over a tree stump. “Perhaps you would care to sit? You must be tired after your harrowing journey.”
Pent narrowed his eyes at the bearded stranger. He was a bit jumpy and jarred still, but he couldn’t deny how tired he was either, so he sat on the stump, holding the gun in his lap. Each of his knuckles gave a satisfying crack as he stretched out his arms and wrung his fingers.
“Where are we, man?” His voice came out strained, betraying how tired and stressed he really was. “This air is so fresh, and I can’t hear any cars or planes or anything. We gotta be out in the mountains somewhere.” He trailed off, speaking this last more to himself than to Hanar, who only stared with a look of confusion on his face.
“I don’t quite follow some of what you’ve said. The Umbro Mountains lay far to the north. The dread lords of those chilly peaks are long gone, but, even in these safe times, I’ve heard haunting tales of them. These are the forests of Somerville.”
Pent laughed and said: “No they ain’t. Don’t play games with me, man. I’ve been to the forest. It’s been a hot minute, but I’ve been to the forest.” He wagged his finger in the air. “You can definitely hear car traffic from any of Somerville’s woods. These aren’t like any forests I’ve ever seen before.”
“Car traffic, car traffic. I have no idea what that is,” Hanar answered, scratching his beard.
“Alright, alright. I’m gonna assume you don’t have a phone on you. Just point me to the nearest road. Maybe I can flag someone down, test the limits of southern hospitality.”
Hanar smiled. “The nearest road goes north from Somerville. It is a day’s travel to Somerville from here, and a week’s travel on the road north to Castle Draemar.” He spoke this name darkly, and an obvious shiver ran through him.
“Castle Draemar?” Pent scoffed. “What is that, some kind of amusement park thing? There aren’t castles in America.” He frowned. “Aside from Disney, anyway.”
“This talk is doing nothing to ease my confusion. I am only understanding every other word you speak. Virginia? Disney? America?” He hung his head, staring at the ground by his feet. “This sounds of madness.”
Pent laughed. “Are YOU calling ME crazy? If you don’t know what America is, then where are we? What country is this then?”
“Country… the greater lands are known as Cinraia. But most don’t call it by that name. We might stand in this world, but we can only live in a single village at a time.”
A cold sweat washed over Pent. This is some kind of joke.
“Cinraia?” Pent said. The name on that book. It started with a “Cin,” but I couldn’t read those screwed up letters. “I’ve never heard of a country called that before. You’re saying we’re not in America? How about Europe, Europe has castles, right. Or are we in Asia? I’ve always wanted to visit…”
Pent caught himself rambling and stopped mid-sentence. He stared at Hanar, who frowned sympathetically.
“You seem confused. And perhaps a bit lost.”
Pent stood up in a rush and almost dropped the gun out of his lap.
“I’m confused? You just sat there and told me a bunch of complete nonsense, and I’m the confused one. Either you or me, one of us is crazy.”
“Perhaps neither of us is.” He regarded Pent with genuine concern. “You could use some rest, sitting down might be of some help.”
Pent ran his fingers through the curls of his hair. He tapped his foot on the ground. He folded his head into his arms. He rubbed his eyes with his fingers.
This has gotta be some kind of vivid dream, so much about this doesn’t make any sense. He studied Hanar, stared into his eyes. Okay, okay. Let’s just roll with this, Pent. If this is a dream, I’ll wake up soon enough. Let’s see where this takes us.
“So, we’re off to ‘Somerville’ then.” Pent curled his fingers into air quotes as he spoke the familiar city name. “Take me to your leader.”
Hanar glanced up at the sky.
“It’s far too late for us to complete that journey. I frequent this campsite often. It’s safer than it appears. We should rest for the night.” He stood abruptly. “I’d better bring the fire up if we don’t want to freeze tonight.”
* * *
Pent hunched over by the open flames, thankful to Hanar for the first time since they met. He had scooped up enough wood for the night in an instant. Pent was sure he had cut logs stored away, as he hadn’t seen Hanar use an axe at all.
Pent managed to return the favor and shocked Hanar with an act the be
arded stranger had never seen before. With a flick, a small flame burst forward from the tip of a green Bic lighter.
Hanar gasped. “Magic! You are truly one with the mystical arts!”
Pent chuckled. “I’m telling you, man, there’s nothing mystical about this.” He pointed at the rock Hanar had brought with him. “You use that thing to make fire, right? You strike it with your knife to make a spark?”
“Yes. I have wandered for some time but have never been able to bend magical forces to my will.” Hanar gripped the flint tightly, trembling. “I am humbled by your greatness. This stone is the fastest method I know of.”
Pent passed the lighter over to the bearded man, who handled it as delicately as a flower.
“This is the same thing, you flick this wheel with your thumb, and it makes a spark.”
Hanar did as Pent instructed, and gasped when the flame rose from his hand.
“Amazing!”
Pent reached over, plucked the lighter from Hanar’s reverent grip, and slipped it into his pocket.
“It seems like you can do the same thing with your flint, it’s just a little easier for me.” Pent frowned to himself. “I never got around to introducing myself. My name is Adrian Pent. My friends just call me Pent. Sorry for earlier, I was a bit shaken up by this whole thing.” Hanar smiled and nodded in silence.
They sat quietly by the fire for a time. Pent stared at the dancing flames and let his mind wander. What if it’s all true? What if this isn’t some lunatic’s fever dream or some kind of waking nightmare? I fell from the sky. My shoulder is still tender from the fall. Maybe it’s all true. A different world…
Pent patted himself down, feeling Greg’s keys in his pocket. My friends just call me Pent, but they’re in pretty short supply. What the hell are they thinking back in my world? What is Greg thinking? He cursed to himself. What is Momma thinking? Damn. She’s probably thinking I’m as no good as my dead-beat-ass dad. I’ve got to find some way back, she needs me.
