by R. E. Fisher
“I’m fine.”
“You sure?” Ollie asked. “Did you hit your head when we ejected? You could have gotten a concussion, you know.”
“I didn’t hit my head. Look at my helmet; there’s not a mark on it. Guess the adrenaline finally caught up with me. It’s been a busy day, you know.”
“Tell me, when was the last time it took ten minutes to wake you up?”
“Ten minutes?”
“Yeah, man; ten minutes. Are you sure you’re OK?”
“I’m fine; the adrenaline must have taken its toll,” Laz replied.
Knowing to let it go, Ollie dropped it. “You hungry?” he asked.
“Starving. What have we got?”
“Mmm…mmm, we have dried pork patties, grape jelly with crackers, apricots, and the pièce de résistance: Chiclets,” Ollie said, with the flourish of a French accent.
“Makes my mouth water.”
They sat around the fire discussing the lack of retrieval by the rescue teams. Each of them had their own scenarios as to what had happened, but they were close enough friends to be able to disagree without any acrimony toward one another. Their friendship had begun when they were both freshmen at the Air Force Academy at Colorado Springs. Laz had earned a spot at the academy on a football scholarship, while Ollie had reached the school via academics. They became fast friends from the start. As each sat back in their reverie, Ollie thought about his wife and what she must be going through—wondering where he was, if he was safe. He picked up the radio and began cycling through the frequencies. As if he was reading his mind, Laz looked over to Ollie and said, “She knows you’re all right, Hoss.”
Smiling, Ollie looked at his friend and uttered, “Thanks.”
Laz looked up at the few stars he could see through the trees and said, “I wish we could see enough of the sky to see where we were.”
“Maybe tomorrow we can get to the clearing by sundown.”
“Maybe,” Laz stated hopefully as he shook out the thin, metallic-looking blanket. He took off his shoulder holster and weapon and stretched out next to the fire. “You’ve got first watch.” Laz placed the survival kit under his head and faded off to sleep. Ollie looked up at the sky, thinking about what Laz had suggested.
Dmitri woke, shaking with fear. The pale moonlight only allowed him to see a shadowy figure of some sort about 100 yards from him. He pulled the Makarov toward him, and he could see the shadowy form stop. Dmitri moved his arm slowly in the direction of the shape. The shadow failed to move, so Dmitri took aim, closing his eyes as he pulled the trigger to avoid the night blindness that the muzzle flash would bring.
Dmitri opened his eyes, wondering why it hadn’t fired. He cycled out the round and tried taking aim at the figure. It was then he saw the figure rise and begin to move away from his campsite, slipping deeper into the shadows. Dmitri reached into the survival kit and pulled out the flashlight. Turning it on, he aimed it in the direction the figure had gone. The bright halogen bulb lit up the area where Dmitri thought the figure had run, but he saw nothing. He turned the flashlight toward the ground, where he ejected the round and picked it up. Turning the round on its end, he saw in the glow of the flashlight that the pistol’s hammer had indented the primer. Must be a bad round, he thought.
He pointed the weapon toward the direction he had last seen the shadowy figure, pulling the trigger again to make sure his weapon worked. Now frustrated and concerned, he removed the second round from the weapon to look at it. Since it, too, was indented on the primer where the hammer pin had struck, he realized he had either a malfunctioning weapon or a load of bad rounds. Either way, he wouldn’t be able to count on being able to defend himself with that weapon. He reached into the bag and pulled out the machete, as it was the only weapon he had left at that point.
He turned the flashlight off and waited for whoever—or whatever—it was to return. Every noise caused his paranoia to increase a little bit more. He considered taking another morphine tablet, since his leg was causing a severe dull, throbbing pain. The idea of falling asleep with someone out there was also too much of a concern. By dawn, his nerves combined with the pain were causing him to feel like a stranger, looking in on someone else. His sense of detachment was increasing with each passing moment. What he didn’t realize was that shock and infection were beginning to set in, causing his delirium and enhancing his fear.
Laz awakened Ollie at sunrise. As he rose, the dew’s condensation fell from the survival blanket, dripping down onto his legs and boots. A morning chill filled him, and he moved to stand next to the fire Laz had built. While he warmed up, he munched on a cracker covered in jelly and ate a packet of peaches. After he finished, he burned the plastic, creating a thick, black, oily-smelling smoke. Looking around, he asked, “Where are the chutes?”
“I figured we’d need those somewhere down the line, so I packed them up.”
“Good idea. I was thinking—if we had landed near the coast, wouldn’t the humidity be higher than it feels now?”
“Not if the fronts were moving toward the coast from inland. But then again, I’m not a weatherman.”
“All right; where do we go from here?”
“Since we don’t know exactly where we are, we don’t have a starting reference point. I think we should head east. We should hit a town or city along the coast, and if we don’t, we can follow a river or creek to a town. What do you think?”
“Sounds good to me.”
Ollie kicked dirt up over the fire, putting it out. Laz, having been raised in the country, cleaned the remainder of the campsite; when they were all through, no one could tell anyone had been there. Laz then pick up one of the bundled chutes and tossed it to his co-pilot. Ollie took the bundle and hung it over his shoulder by the rope strap Laz had tied onto it.
Laz took out the compass, watching the needle as it turned toward the north. He then faced east and said, “Wagons ho!”
The two friends began walking in the direction the sun had risen.
It was after 9:00 a.m. according to Dmitri’s watch, and the heat was becoming unbearable. Still looking around for his visitor, he had yet to see anything or anyone. The pain in his leg and face had increased, along with his paranoia. He leaned over, grabbed the parachute cord, and began pulling the chute toward him. He then tossed it over the angled seat and formed a makeshift tent, creating a small shaded shelter from the already blistering sun. He reached down and pulled out another morphine tablet, swallowing it with a small amount of his remaining water. With little else to do, he examined the surrounding area. It was flat and desolate, covered with nothing but sand and boulders. He noticed a group of high mountains off to the northwest. The tops of the mountains were covered with snow. He looked at the snow on the mountains and then at his half-empty water bottle, and his face broke into an ironic grin. He felt the medication begin to move the pain back a little, then he picked up the radio, cycling again through the frequencies outlined on his card. Without a response for twenty minutes, he decided to turn off the radio, not wanting to run the battery down any further. The medication, the heat, and the lack of sleep began to take its toll. He dozed off while lying in the shade of his makeshift canopy.
“What do you figure, about 10 miles?” Ollie asked.
“Yeah; that sounds about right.”
“And we haven’t seen anything or anyone yet. No roads, no firebreaks, no bottles or cigarette butts. When was the last time you saw anything this pristine this close to any coastline?”
“Look, you keep acting like you think we’re someplace other than on the east coast of Georgia. If you’ve got something to say, say it,” Laz stated. “I mean, look, we’ve always trusted one another; why change now?”
“All right; when we were in the air, we were also out over the water. We ejected over the water. We lost consciousness when we ejected, but what happened before we ejected? I looked at that plane that passed within a few yards of our cockpit, and I’m guessing I saw something you
didn’t.”
“And what would that be?”
“Hang on a second; stay with me on this. What do you remember happening just before we ejected?” Ollie begged.
“Nearly blacking out, yelling to eject. That’s about it.”
“Why did you think you were going to black out?”
“My vision went dark and came back. That’s when I decided we needed to eject.”
“What would you say if I told you that when you lost your vision for just a moment, at that same exact time I saw a hole get torn into the air between our two cockpits?”
“Right. Where were you during our physics classes?” Laz asked him.
“Forget that for right now. I know what I saw, man. I think somehow the two stasis fields generated some sort of a wormhole or something.”
“Are you crazy?”
“No; just listen! As we passed the Soviet plane, I swear I saw a hole where there were stars, planets, and space. I watched the hole expand from the area between our two planes and pass over both aircraft,” Ollie pointed out.
“Come on!”
“I’m serious, man; I know what I saw. I think we’re somewhere other than Earth.”
“Oh, please!”
Suddenly, a small figure popped out of nowhere to stand next to Ollie. The curious figure stood all of about three and a half feet tall. He was dressed in brown leather trousers and soft doeskin boots. He wore a brown leather vest over a bright green shirt. A tall cap sat crookedly on top of his head, hanging down to his shoulder; a small silver bell adorned the tip of the cap.
“He’s right, you know. You’re not on Earth.”
Laz jumped back and attempted to pull his pistol out of its shoulder holster, but before the barrel could clear the leather holster, the twin of the first creature popped out of thin air next to Laz. He was dressed in the same manner, the only exception being that he wore a bright green vest over a brown shirt.
Wagging his finger at Laz and shaking his head sideways, he uttered, “Uhh-uhh-uhhh!”
Laz suddenly found himself unable to move. He could blink and breathe, but he couldn’t move his arms or legs or even turn his head. Fear gripped him as his breathing increased rapidly.
“Stop!” Ollie shouted. “He’s scared, just like me.”
“But you didn’t try to attack us,” the first gnome stated. “Besides, we only came to find out what the loud booming noise was, and here you are. Two men not of the Rohrlands.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m Gnick, and that’s my brother Gnack. Next to your friend over there.”
“If I’m right, then, where are we?”
“You’re in the Forest of Stevernis. In the Elflands.”
“In the Elflands,” Gnack whispered mischievously, echoing his brother.
“What have you done to him?” Ollie asked
“A minor incantation. We can let him free if he promises to behave,” Gnack said as he looked at Laz. “Blink twice if you agree to behave. Remember, I can do it again, and I can make it permanent.”
Ollie looked at Laz, who had yet to even blink. Their eyes caught one another, and Ollie nodded his head up and down. Laz blinked his eyes twice and he could move again. He let go of his pistol and slid it back into its holster. He dropped his hand down to his side and gave his friend a look as if to say, Now what?
“Magic? You stopped him with magic?” Ollie asked.
“That surprises you, human?” Gnick asked.
“W...w... well, yeah.”
“Why? We know nothing of your world, but we have heard stories of humans like you who slip into our realm on rare occasion. I don’t know anything about Earth, but this is Rohrland.”
“Why do think some of your objects don’t work?” Gnick asked.
“How long have you been following us?” Laz asked.
“Since we saw you floating down after that loud bang. And long enough to have listened your stupid ramblings about a creature called Champ,” Gnack stated.
Shaken, Laz looked at the miniature human standing next to him. “What are you talking about?”
“You don’t think you fell asleep in broad daylight, do you? We needed to find out about you. We placed a sleep spell on you, and my brother here ‘suggested’ that you disclose something about where you’re from and what you want, but your friend here interrupted us,” Gnack said as he looked over to Ollie. “You’ve got a pretty good constitution, you know that? There aren’t many people who can resist one of our spells as much as you were able to.”
“That’s nice, but why didn’t you just...scratch that, you’re a third of our size; we probably wouldn’t have reacted any better. How do you know how to speak English?”
“We’re not. We’ve got a translate spell going. You’re speaking common, actually.” Upon seeing the look of confusion on their faces, he stated, “It’s a spell that takes what one says and paints a picture in the other person’s mind, and the words for those pictures are manifested in the recipient’s mind. After we spoke with your big friend there, his descriptions were enough for the spell to figure out the rest.”
Laz looked at Ollie and the two gnomes. The gnomes weren’t at all imposing, but the feelings of fear and helplessness that their spell had caused weren’t feelings he wanted to experience again. Besides, what other magic could they perform? Laz looked at Ollie. “Let me just try this out on you: we’re not on Earth, I’m standing here talking to two fictional munchkins who kind of put me to sleep, who sort of read my mind, who totally learned to understand a small amount of English; they cast a spell—which, coincidentally, learned the rest of our language for them—they froze me, unfroze me, they tell us they’ve heard of others who ‘have fallen into their realm,’ and all this to determine our intentions? Is that right? Is that about it?”
Ollie looked at his friend, who was maintaining his composure well, considering.
“Well, Hoss, if it’s an illusion, at least it’s one we’re having together,” Ollie offered, attempting to calm his friend.
He turned to the gnomes, who had moved close to one another, and asked, “What do we do now? How do we get back?”
The gnomes looked at one another, looked back at the human, and then both shrugged their shoulders in unison. “We don’t know.”
Gnick suggested, “Maybe someone in the human capital could help.”
“Where’s that?” Ollie asked.
“About ten days from here.”
“I hate to burst your bubble, Ollie, but according to these imps, they’re speaking to us while using magic. How do you think the rest of the people are going to be able to speak with us?”
Before Ollie had a chance to answer, Gnack walked over and stood in front of Laz. The gnome placed his fists on his hips and stared straight up at Laz. “You ought to be more careful with your use of the word ‘imp.’ In case you don’t know—which I gather you don’t—an imp is a larval type worm that grows into a sub-demon slave. It is used to become food for or to wait upon higher-level demons. They incubate in the lower planes of Asmordia, and are a result of a union between a—”
“I think he gets the point, brother.”
Laz looked down at the gnome. “I don’t believe any of this, but if it makes you feel any better, I won’t refer to you as an ‘imp’ again. Deal?”
“A wise decision,” Gnack stated as threateningly as a three-and-a-half-foot gnome could, pointing his finger at Laz.
The surreal scene played havoc with Laz’s sense of logic. He thought that the sense of shock he was experiencing was what lottery winners must find themselves wrestling with.
Laz waved his hands in the air. “This is all too weird! I need to sit down,” he said as he walked over to a tree and sat, leaning back against the smooth bark and closing his eyes. He stayed there with his eyes shut for almost five minutes. When he opened them, and saw his friend staring at him with a gnome standing on his left, its identical twin on his right, and all three standing with their hands
on their hips, the scene was so comical he had to laugh aloud.
“If I’m asleep, I’ll wake up; if I’m not, I guess I’ll have to get used to this. Which way?” he asked as he stood. They hiked south for the rest of the day, stopping only to fill their water bottles from several of the pristine creeks and lakes they passed.
Dmitri awoke with a start and found a man with a drawn sword standing over him, the sword’s point at his throat. He started to move his hand toward his machete, but he felt the point of the sword dig into the soft flesh of his throat, drawing blood. He stopped moving his hand and the sword drew back, but only slightly. The man reached down, pulled his Makarov pistol out of its holster, and tossed it to the side, then took the stainless-steel machete. He glanced at the machete, giving the pilot an approving look. They continued looking at one another, as if each were waiting for something more from the other. Dmitri observed that the man was wearing chain mail. It was bright silver with a bluish tinge. Dmitri thought he should have heard the man coming, but he hadn’t. He looked around and saw two other men with bows pointed at him. Those two were wearing what appeared to be leather armor.
The man with the sword kicked him, forcing him to roll over onto his stomach. He groaned in agony as he complied, feeling the sword tip pressing into his back between his shoulder blades. The blade tip held steady while one of the other men tied his arms and wrists behind his back. Then man grabbed him by the shoulder and rolled him over onto his back once more. He watched as one of the henchmen began putting all his survival equipment and his pistol into a burlap bag. The man with the blonde hair came back, leading a horse and four mules. Dmitri didn’t know much about horses, but he knew his was an excellent mount. The stallion was coal black, with a white mane and white boots. It was a beautiful horse, Dmitri thought. The saddle had been crafted of a dark leather of some sort with inlaid silver, and it looked as if it had scales in it. The pattern of the silver seemed to make sense to Dmitri, but he couldn’t tell why. He watched as the men in the black leather armor loaded his belongings, including the parachute, onto the mules. One of the men lifted Dmitri to his feet; as he was lifted, he tried to keep his balance on one leg and avoid screaming in agony at the same time. Unable to do either, he let out a loud groan as he collapsed back to the ground.
