by Jamie Davis
She held out the three coins in her hand.
"Take them. I've cast as spell on each to teleport you to wherever you'd like to begin your hiding. It will also allow me to notify you when I return and bring you to me so I may return your powers and talismans to you."
The three powerless wizards reached out and took their respective markers from Tildi's outstretched palm.
"When do you leave?" Bronwynn asked.
"I plan to leave immediately. There is no time like the present, and I have no desire to hold your power any longer than I have to."
Tildi crossed the room and climbed the steps to the conjuring dais. She walked to the center of the rune circle and turned to face her friends.
"I will move as quickly as I can, my friends. Thank you for trusting me with your gifts. I will not let you down."
A thick gray mist rose from the stones of the dais and swirled around Tildi's form, shrouding her form until the others could barely make her out through the mist.
"What is the name of this champion you've chosen to come and save our world? I would know for whom I sacrifice all in the name of," Ragnar called out as Tildi started to fade into the misty portal.
"His name is Hal, Hal Dix."
1
HAL DIX CHECKED the clock on the wall from his cubicle and sighed. It was still eleven thirty. If he didn't see the second hand rotating in regular ticks around the clock face, he'd have sworn the damned thing was broken. Fridays sucked in general, and this Friday dragged on in an endless stream of meaningless tasks, and he hadn't even reached his lunch break yet.
He returned his attention to the spreadsheet on the screen in front of him, trying to continue entering the numbers for this month's work order report. His heart wasn't in it though, and he clicked away from the spreadsheet's window down to the desktop on his computer, opening a new window with a document titled Application for Management Training.
Scanning the document's fields for the twentieth time that morning, Hal looked for any errors or entries that would stand out and keep him from entry into the management training program at Arrantis Technologies. He'd worked in their corporate IT help department on the phones for several years now. He'd earned the title of assistant manager, a meaningless addition to the nameplate on his cubicle. The promotion didn't even come with a raise.
The only way he was going to advance beyond where he was in this job was to apply for the company's management training program. Management trainees were groomed for the positions beyond the local help center. They became district managers or rose even higher in the corporate hierarchy. Rumors abounded that the company's CEO, Justin Thomas, had risen from the ranks through the management trainee program’s predecessor over a decade ago.
Hal didn't aspire to anything that high up. He merely wanted to advance so he could go home to his wife and tell her about his exciting day at the office for a change. Mona, his wife, was the picture of the rapidly advancing, world-traveling corporate executive and Hal felt like she was leaving him behind.
Hal and Mona had been college sweethearts. They'd married two weeks after they graduated and both thought they had the whole world ahead of them. Mona had landed the perfect engineering job while Hal struggled to find work with his English and Medieval History double major.
Eventually, it took his mother's help to land him a job at the IT help desk center for Arrantis because she told a friend at her tennis club he'd "always been good at computers." He'd tried to tell her he was a gamer and not technically an IT type but she either didn't care or didn't want to understand.
That had been five years ago. Now Hal and Mona had a two-year-old daughter. That and Mona's engineering earnings and rapid corporate rise had soon eclipsed the pitiful salary he earned at Arrantis. To say Hal was frustrated with his lot in life was a colossal understatement. He'd long ago decided he was the unluckiest person on the face of the earth.
Hal's attention returned to the screen, and he pressed the print shortcut on the keyboard. He got up and crossed to the monstrous printer/copier in the corner of the room. He didn't want anyone else finding his application in the printer tray before he got there. Hal's shoulders sank when he saw Barry Cross standing by the printer drinking his coffee.
Barry's sneer as Hal approached told him his manager and workplace nemesis had found the application.
"Hal, don't tell me you're applying for the Management Training Program again?" Barry asked holding up the papers so that Hal couldn't reach them without stretching. "What is this, the twelfth time you've applied? Don't you know when to quit?"
"It's thirteen times. Now give me the application, Barry," Hal said, trying to keep his voice low.
"Do you think you're better than me, Hal? Is that it?" Barry asked. "When are you going to realize you're the unluckiest person in the world and just give up. This application has about as much chance to be accepted this time as you have of staying married to that hottie of a wife you have. It's only a matter of time before she realizes how much better she can do. In fact, maybe I'll give her a call when I get off, or before I get off, if you know what I mean." Barry leered at him and smiled.
Hal ground his teeth and forced himself to ignore Barry's comments about Mona. Ever since he'd brought her to the office Christmas party, Barry teased him about how she had seriously settled when she picked him. Hal didn't need Barry to tell him what he already knew in his heart.
"Just give the application to me so I can put it into the interoffice mail bin, Barry. The rules say I can reapply every forty-five days."
"Yeah, but now you're just wasting paper," Barry said. "You've been turned down twelve times before. Hasn't anyone told you thirteen is an unlucky number? Hell, with your lousy luck, you'll probably get fired for bothering corporate with your constant substandard applications and wasting paper."
Hal didn't say anything. He stood on tiptoe and pulled the papers from Barry's outstretched hand while the other man laughed. Hal walked away and folded the papers into the pre-addressed envelope he'd brought with him. He arrived at the outgoing corporate mail bin and dropped the envelope in in the slot.
There, it was done. At least he'd accomplished something useful this morning.
Hal returned to his desk and pulled the spreadsheet up again, forcing himself to work on the boring task until the clock ticked around to noon and his lunch hour.
Locking his computer screen, and grabbing his lunch, Hal slid out of his chair and left his cubicle for the front doors.
He ignored the quiet titters from the group of call center employees clustered around Barry. The manager pointed in his direction and waved at Hal. When Hal gave a half wave in return, the whole group burst into laughter. He picked up his pace to a fast walk and plowed through the double glass doors leading to the building's lobby.
"I don't know why you let them get to you, Hal," a familiar voice behind him said. "They only get more satisfaction from seeing you upset."
"I know, Pam, but it's not easy when Barry piles on the way he does."
Pam was the middle-aged receptionist at the call center's front desk. She'd long taken on the role of office mom for most of the young recently graduated employees who worked there.
"Do you know why Barry acts the way he does, Hal?" Pam asked. "It's because he doesn't have the guts to apply for that program the way you do. I see all the outgoing corporate mail. He's never applied for upper management, and he's afraid you'll actually make it someday."
Hal shrugged and started edging towards the outer doors to the parking lot. He didn't feel like sticking around and sitting through one of Pam's signature pep talks. It wasn't like they didn't make him feel better. They did. The thing was, he didn't want to feel better right now. He wanted to have some time to mope a little bit.
Pushing the doors open, Hal squinted in the sudden bright sunlight in the parking lot. There was another reason why he wanted to get away quickly. Hal wanted to hit the flea market that set up across the street from his building
every Friday. There was a booth there run by a guy he'd met online. He sold used video games, and he was hoping to find a deal on a couple of titles he could play this weekend.
Mona and their baby, Cari, were headed out tonight to visit Mona's parents for a long weekend. Hal had told his wife he had to work on Saturday to get out of the trip and she'd bought it. Now he had the whole three-day holiday weekend to play video games and lounge around the house in his underwear. All he needed were a few games to try out and maybe get lost in to forget his troubles for a while.
Hal slid the shoulder strap from his lunch bag over his head and jogged across the parking lot until he reached the street in front of the Arrantis corporate park. He could see the tents and portable canopies of the multiple vendors assembled across the street. He hoped the guy with the table full of games was there again. He didn't show up every Friday.
Waiting for traffic to clear, Hal jogged across the street and started down the aisles of tables. People were selling DVDs, plastic housewares, tools, and even swords and knives.
Hal stopped briefly at the table with the swords and knives. He'd always wanted to buy one of the swords from the dealer but the good ones were a couple of hundred dollars each, and he knew Mona would be furious if he spent money on something like that. There was a matched set of double daggers with wire-wrapped hilts and high-quality carbon steel blades. They were only a hundred fifty for the set.
The vendor stepped up and handed Hal one of the daggers he'd been admiring.
"Take the dagger from the sheath, friend," the man said. He had an Australian accent. "I've seen you here before, mate. You know you won't find a finer short blade anywhere around these parts. I tell you what. If you buy the pair, I'll throw in the sheaths and a matching belt. You'll have quite the getup to add to your costume the next time you visit the Renaissance Faire."
"I don't think I can afford them right now," Hal said. He did pull the dagger from the sheath and tested the sharpened blade with his thumb. This guy always kept the blades really sharp which Hal always thought was strange for what would likely become ornaments on someone's wall.
"You can answer a question for me, though," Hal asked.
"Shoot," the man said. "I love questions from potential customers."
"Why do you keep the blades so sharp. Aren't you worried a customer's going to cut themselves?"
The blade vendor threw his head back and laughed. "How is that my fault, mate? If some noob comes by my booth and doesn't know how to handle themselves with a blade that's been forged for the real thing, it's on them if they cut themselves. I don't sell ornamental junk. Every one of these blades is meant for real world use, and my customers know that."
"I didn't mean any offense," Hal said putting the blade back in the sheath and handing it back to the man. "I was just wondering, that's all. They're all very nice weapons."
"They come from a simpler time and place when the strength and skill of a man or woman's sword arm determined how far they went in life. Sometimes I think we'd all be better off there."
"I don't disagree with you, sir," Hal said. "It would be nice to be in a place where your accomplishments were recognized and rewarded appropriately."
"I'll tell you what, kid," the sword vendor said. "I'll hold these for you for a week. You come back next Friday. If you still like them then, I'll let you have them for a third off the marked price."
"That's very generous of you, but I'm not sure they're for me," Hal said.
"Well, you think on it. I think they’re made for you. I'll be back here next Friday, and you can come by and see if they’ve grown on you."
Hal nodded his thanks and continued to walk down the row. He unzipped his lunch bag hanging from its strap and pulled out half of the turkey sandwich he'd brought from home. He munched on it while he walked along, looking for the game table among the assembled vendors.
Hal checked his watch and picked up the pace. He had to hurry up if he was going to get back to his desk before the end of his lunch hour.
He had some games to buy.
2
HAL MOVED through the rows of tables, threading his way between the crowd of lunchtime shoppers, until he arrived at the normal spot for the used game vendor. He got excited when he saw the game vendor's banner. It fluttered up ahead, hanging from the canopy erected over the table to provide shade in the open field full of tables.
The banner had the image of a game controller on it with the words "Ready, Player 2, Used Games For You!" written under it.
Hal ran up to the table, checking his watch once again. He had twenty-five minutes left in his lunch hour. That wasn't much time to shuffle through the games to find the few worth purchasing.
"Dave, tell me what you've got for me today," Hal said without looking up from the piles of used game cartridges on the table. "I don't have much time."
"Dave's not here" the short, stumpy woman manning the booth said, turning around to face her customer.
"Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to do that," Hal said stumbling over his words. "Uh, hi, I'm Hal. I was hoping Dave had some newer games in stock than usual so I could have something to play this weekend."
"Good afternoon, Hal," the woman said. "I'm Tildi."
She stepped up on a stool on the opposite side of the table and reached out, extending her hand. Hal leaned over the table and shook the strange woman's hand. Tildi had short brown hair, cropped close on the sides, but spiked up with some hair product up top. It was hard to gauge her age. She had streaks of gray hair, and her face looked wrinkled and weathered, but she moved around her booth nimbly enough.
"Where's Dave?" Hal asked. "I've never seen anyone else in his booth before."
"He was under the weather today and asked me to cover for him," Tildi said. "I’m an old friend, and I didn't have anything else going on today, so I came down here to help out."
"Oh," Hal said. He started flipping through the stacks of cartridges and boxes on the table, looking for something interesting to play that he hadn't already beaten. He also wanted to avoid making eye-contact during the awkward lull in the conversation.
"What kind of game are you looking for?" Tildi asked. "Perhaps I can find something for you."
"I usually play RPGs. That's a role-playing game," Hal explained for the older woman.
"I know what an RPG is, son." Tildi fixed him with a level stare.
"Uh, sure, sorry," Hal said, feeling awkward all over again. He redoubled his efforts to find a game and get out of here.
"There is something..." Tildi began. She stared at Hal, her eyes moving from head to toe, as if appraising his size for a t-shirt or something. "Uh, never mind. It's probably not for you. It's too new and experimental."
That caught his attention.
"What's experimental? What do you mean?" Hal asked. "I am willing to try out something new."
"No, I was wrong to bring it up," Tildi said. "It's something I shouldn't have brought with me in the first place. Dave would be angry with me for telling anyone about it."
"I won't tell him if you don't want me to," Hal said. "I can keep a secret."
Tildi hesitated for a moment then she turned and dug into her shoulder bag. She kept what she held in her hands hidden from view when she turned around. Moving back up to the table full of games, the tiny woman stepped up on her stool again and leaned forward.
"This is something that I just got my hands on, Hal. I don't think anyone else has anything like it. Dave doesn’t even know I have it yet."
"What is it?" Hal asked. She'd gotten him so curious about what she had, he'd forgotten about his limited time. He wanted to see what it was she had.
She beckoned him to lean even closer.
"It's a bootleg copy of "World of Fantasma" with all the planned supplement packs built in," Tildi whispered.
Hal was stunned. World of Fantasma was the most anticipated game release to come in years. It was supposed to be a completely open world allowing for unlimited quest and gaming op
portunities. Hal had been following the updates from the online forums on its scheduled release in a month.
If Tildi had a bootleg copy of the game ahead of schedule, it was worth its weight in gold. If it was real, there was no way he could afford it.
"How do I know it's real? I don't know you at all," Hal said. "You could be selling me a blank disc for all I know."
"You know Dave, right?" Tildi said. "This is his table, right?"
"Yeah, sure, but..."
"Then you know me. I'm here for Dave. I think he'd want me to share this with you. I only have the one copy, but you can have it if you want."
"How much?" Hal asked. He waited for the answer. There was no way he was going to be able to spring for this, even if it was real. He'd only come with thirty dollars in cash in his pocket.
"Well, most of the games here seem to be five or ten dollars," Tildi said. "But I know from your reaction that this is something special. So, it should probably be more than that."
Tildi hesitated and started to put the game away. "Maybe this was a bad idea. I shouldn't have brought it here. You should buy something else."
"No, I'll give you thirty dollars!" Hal blurted out. "It's all I have. I swear."
Tildi spun around and darted back to the table, fixing him with a steely gaze. Her stare made him feel like he was back in elementary school and he’d been caught passing notes.
"Once a bargain is struck, it cannot be undone, Hal Dix. You cannot back away from the responsibility you assume. Do you have the money?"
"Uh, sure, right here." Hal dug in his pocket and pulled out the small stack of folded bills while he pondered how she knew his last name.
Before he could react, she snatched the money from his hand and deposited the clear disc case in its place. The title "Fantasma" had been written in permanent marker directly on the disc.
"Hey, I hadn't made up my mind yet," Hal complained.
"All sales are final. I'm sorry. No returns," Tildi said. "Dave's policy, not mine." She pointed at the printed sign taped to the side of the table.
