The Guide

by Trudie Collins

  “Hello Sam.” He had a warm friendly voice, edged with stress. “You must be hungry. I will have some food sent up. When you have eaten, if you feel up to it, come to the kitchen and meet everyone.” He grinned slightly. “I think we owe you an explanation.” With that, he got up and left the room, leaving Sam feeling very confused. Why did her head hurt so much? She hadn’t drunk that much wine last night had she?

  Before long, there was a knock on the door and a young woman entered, carrying a tray laden with fresh bread, a bowl of delicious smelling broth and a cup of water. Smiling at Sam, she placed the tray on the table beside her.

  “Mama Rose said you need to regain your strength. Eat all of this and you will be out of bed in no time.” Her voice was vaguely familiar, as was her face.

  “Do I know you?” Sam asked, frowning.

  The young woman returned the frown. “I am Ellen. Best wait to speak to Bellak, or Tor,” she replied, before quickly leaving the room.

  Realising she was ravenous, Sam quickly grabbed the tray and started eating. Something was wrong. Why couldn’t she think clearly? Where was she? Why wasn’t she scared? As she ate, no answers came. The bowl was empty before she was even aware she had been eating. She returned the tray to the table and climbed back into the bed, determined to puzzle out where she was, and why. The minute her head touched the pillow, her eyes closed and sleep took her.

  When she awoke again, the sun was giving off an orange glow as it slipped from sight behind a nearby hill. Her head no longer hurt and her memory was beginning to return. She had been at Sally’s house, playing with a Ouija board. Then there was the camp fire and the circle of people, or was that just a dream? Maybe she drank too much and someone put her to bed, though she had no idea who, or where. And who was the girl with the food? Pulling back the covers, she was relieved to find she was still dressed in her black cotton trousers and blue, short sleeved blouse.

  Looking around the room, she spied her shoes in the corner, got out of bed and quickly slipped them on. Then she realised she needed to find a bathroom, urgently. A quick scan of the room showed only one door, but she had noticed a bedpan under the bed while she was putting on her shoes. She hadn’t used one of those since she last stayed at her grandmother’s old house, before she went to high school, but she was desperate enough to use one again now.

  Having an empty bladder made her feel a lot better. “Right,” she said to herself. “First I need to find out where I am. The how and the why can come later.” The view from the window showed nothing familiar, so she strode over to the door. It creaked slightly as she opened it, but a quick look told her nobody was around to hear it. Cooking smells, and the sound of raised voices, were coming from the back of the cottage, so she decided to explore the front first.

  The first room she entered was another bedroom, containing just a bed and a chair. No wardrobe. No mirror. No shelves. A number of neatly folded blankets were on the bed. Whoever lived here obviously lived alone, unless there were more bedrooms at the back.

  The only other room was the lounge. As soon as she entered, Sam felt there was something wrong, something missing. The room was nearly empty. While there was room for a sofa, only two chairs were present, neither of which looked very comfortable. A small wooden coffee table stood between them. She had been in the room a few minutes before she realised what was bothering her. There was nothing of the owner in the room. No photos of family or friends, no ornaments, no postcards sending holiday greetings. There wasn’t even a TV. If there had been magazines on the table, it could have been mistaken for a doctor’s waiting room.

  The solitary shelf contained a number of jars, each made from different colour glass. Curious, Sam crept closer, wondering if they were labelled. She didn’t hear the door slowly open behind her and almost screamed when a voice said, “How are you feeling?”

  Spinning around, she found herself looking at a vaguely familiar old woman. Images flashed in her mind. “You were by the fire. You made me drink something.”

  Mama Rose nodded, smiling. “Please, sit down child.” She pointed to one of the two chairs and took the other herself. “You must be full of questions.”

  Questions were indeed spinning around her head, but none made it to her lips. Three times she tried to speak, only to find she was not sure what she wanted to say. “This is a dream, isn’t it?” she finally asked.

  Mama Rose shook her head. “There is no point in my answering that. Saying yes will not make it so and saying no does not mean you are not dreaming my response.” Placing her hands in her lap, she continued. “How about this? I tell you everything I know about what is happening and you can decide if you are going to wake up or not.”

  “Sounds reasonable,” Sam replied, trying to get comfortable and failing.

  “Where to begin?” Mama Rose said to herself. “Where to begin?”

  “How about the beginning?”

  Mama Rose let out a small laugh. “Finding the beginning is one of the problems.” She stood up and walked toward the door, then paused, appearing to change her mind about something, and sat down again. “You may remember my name is Mama Rose, well that is what most people call me anyway. I am a witch.” She stopped, waiting for Sam to react, and seemed a little disappointed when she didn’t. “Tor, he was the man in your room when you first awoke, is on a quest. You will meet him again shortly. It is probably best if he explains it himself. The latest clue said he needed a guide from another world, so he came to see me. I cast a spell and brought you here.”

  Sam stared at her. “That tells me nothing. Where is here? Why me?” Something about what had just been said bothered her, but she pushed her apprehension aside to concentrate on getting answers.

  “Ah. I can only answer the first of those two questions I am afraid. Here, is my cottage, but I guess that is not what you mean. You are just north of Amdale, in Southland province.” Sam frowned again. Those names meant nothing to her.

  “What’s the nearest city?”

  “See that hill over there?” Mama Rose asked, pointing out of the window. “The other side of that is the Great Highway. Follow that for long enough and you will hit Camal.”

  That didn’t help. “Okay. Let’s go bigger. What country am I in?”

  “Mercia,” came the reply. Suddenly Sam realised what was bothering her.

  “Wait a minute,” she almost shouted. “Did you say a guide from another world?” Mama Rose nodded, causing Sam to laugh. “Now I know I’m asleep.” Relief flooded through her. “Let’s turn to the second question. If you cast the spell, why cast it at me?” Now that she knew she was dreaming, the answer didn’t really matter, but she was curious about where the dream was going.

  “It was not my doing,” Mama Rose said, slightly embarrassed. “I just called out the name Bellak gave me. I had no control over who was chosen.”

  “Then let’s go see Bellak.” Sam stood up and strode out of the room. It was amazing how brave you could be in a dream.

  “Wait,” Mama Rose shouted, getting up and chasing after her. “There is more you need to know first.”

  Sam ignored her and opened a door at the other end of the house. Shock stilled her, taking all strength from her legs. She would have fallen if strong arms had not grabbed her waist. The owner of the arms placed her in a chair and she looked around, trying hard to breathe. She was in a kitchen, much larger than was usual for the size of the cottage, sitting at an equally large wooden table. Other than her own, another six of the dozen chairs surrounding it were occupied. A few more people stood, pouring over what appeared to be a large map, placed in the centre of the table. Most were now staring at her, silently. But it was not the people that had startled her, but what was sitting in the corner of the room.

  “Is that a wolf?” she managed to stammer, once her breathing had recommenced. At the word ‘wolf’ the large grey animal got up and slowly padded toward her. Sam drew herself back as far as the chair would allow. By the time the wolf reached
her, she was visibly shaking. The scream that had been building in the back of her throat died as he gently laid his head in her lap and looked up at her with sorrowful eyes. With a still shaking hand, she stroked his fur while whispering, “Good doggy.”

  This was clearly a mistake as the wolf took it as an invitation to join her on the chair. She suddenly found her legs being crushed by 2 big paws while a hot, wet tongue washed her face.

  “Samson, get down,” a stern voice said, with authority. With obvious reluctance, the wolf returned to the floor and sulkily padded back to the corner, where he turned to look at Sam again.

  “Sorry about that,” the voice continued, though in a much gentler tone. Sam looked up at its owner. He was a tall, well built, man with a beard and stern brown eyes. She had seen him before somewhere.

  “You were in my room when I woke up.” It was a statement rather than a question.

  “Yes,” came the reply. “I am Tor. Let me take care of the introductions first, then explain why you are here.” He pointed to each person in the room in turn, going clockwise.

  The first was a young man, probably just past 20, with ginger hair and a slightly too large nose, which seemed to reduce in size when he smiled. He was called Seth and worked for Tor. He was an orphan and treated Tor as a cross between his father and his employer. Next to Seth was the largest man Sam had ever seen. He had to be well over 2 ½ meters tall and wide with it. He was standing, as none of the chairs were large enough to accommodate his oversized girth. He was leaning over the table and Sam was sure he would hit his head on the overhead beam if he straightened. Ban was a tayman, close cousins to the giants.

  Next to Ban sat his exact opposite. The ‘lady’ was tiny. And blue. A thin, almost see-through dress clung to her slender body, not quite hiding the faint hint of blue in her skin. Her long hair, navy dark enough to be mistaken for black, trailed down her back. Her eyes shone like sapphires, changing hue slightly as she smiled a welcome to Sam. River, being a water sprite, was one of the long lived races so guessing her age was impossible. “Do not mention that water sprites are related to the elves, they tend to be a little touchy about that,” Tor whispered, leaning close to Sam, but not so close that only she could hear. River immediately threw him a furious look, making him chuckle.

  The ‘man’ on River’s left was Oak, a tree sprite. He was a lot like River, except brown instead of blue. His long thin arms could easily be mistaken for small branches and his hair looked like it had a large number of small twigs in it. His dark brown eyes, combined with his frown, reflected his mood. He looked like a smile had never touched his face. A small grunt was all Sam got in the way of a greeting.

  A young lady sat on the table, legs folded. She wore tight fitting trousers and a matching tunic. “Ria is our little thief.” Tor threw her an affectionate smile. She stuck her tongue out at him.

  “Actually I am an acrobat,” she said, effortlessly raising and springing backward off the table, landing perfectly on both feet. “The fact that that helps me to get into supposedly highly secure places is irrelevant,” she added, with a cheeky grin on her face. She had the physique of an acrobat, long thin legs supporting a slim supple body. Her arms were thin yet obviously strong. She leapt into the air again, landing on the table in the same position she started in, without making a noise. Her long blonde hair, neatly tied back, fell across her shoulders. Within seconds it looked like she had not moved at all.

  Next came a face she recognised. “Ellen is a hearth witch. You could say she takes care of us. She cooks, cleans, mends and heals. I am not sure how far we would get without her.”

  When Ellen smiled, her whole face lit up. She had an inner beauty which, when combined with her classically pretty face, made her stunning, though she was obviously unaware of this fact. Her dark red hair was an almost perfect complement to her bright red eyes. She appeared no more then 20, though the wisdom in her face put her much older.

  “Hello again.” Her voice sounded almost musical.

  “You brought me food,” Sam replied. “Thank you.”

  “You are welcome. I hope it was alright. Mama Rose would not let me make anything else, saying it was the best thing to help you recover your strength quickly.”

  Tor quickly moved on. “The dwarf on the table is Grimmel. Do not let his grim disposition fool you. He is not as sour as he makes himself out to be.”

  “He is just like a teddy bear really, though not as cuddly.” The gentle smile Ellen flashed at him got a soft growl in return, but a smile was beginning to form under his beard.

  The next chair was taken by a lady dressed in fine clothes. She must have been closer to fifty than forty, but age had enhanced rather than eroded her features and her slim body showed no sign of the middle age fattening that affected a lot of women. A much younger man stood beside her, his hand resting on her shoulder affectionately. He had the bearing of a soldier, though he carried no obvious weapons. They were introduced as Liselle and her husband, Torrick.

  Leaning on the table, between two chairs, stood Patrick de Cowen, Lord of Shelton Island. As usual, he looked immaculate, dressed entirely in black silk. Tor declined to mention that he ‘died’ on a regular basis. That was information that could wait until later.

  The last seat was taken by an older man in a white robe. He had cloth wrapped around his eyes and had his head tilted slightly as he listened. His long grey hair reached almost to his waist, as did his beard.

  “Don’t tell me,” Sam said, pointing at him. “His name is Gandalf and he is a wizard.”

  At this, both Tor and the ‘wizard’ smiled. “No child,” came the soft reply. “I am no wizard, though I do have a talent that some think is magic. My name is Hurst.” He reached across the table with one hand, following the sound of her voice. “Take my hand child.” His voice was so soft and soothing that Sam willingly placed her hand in his. By the time she realised that Hurst may be dangerous, it was too late to withdraw it so she willed herself to stay calm, hoping she had not just made a mistake.

  Looking toward Tor, Hurst continued speaking. “She is wary of us, but not frightened. She thinks this is a dream from which she will wake when the wine she drank too much of begins to wear off.”

  Sam screamed and pulled her hand back. “How do you know that,” she asked, temporarily forgetting that in dreams anything is possible.

  “Sorry,” Hurst said gently. “I did not mean to startle you. By touching someone I am able to read their mind.” He lowered his head. “A talent I gained when I lost my sight,” he added ruefully, his hand reaching up to touch the bandage around his eyes. “I am the ‘blind man who can read’ that Tor had to find for one of the clues.”

  “Clues? What clues?” This was the first Sam had heard about clues. Clues to what? Where was her imagination taking her now?

  “I will explain about that later,” Tor said. “Let me finish the introductions first.”

  Standing at the head of the table was Bellak, looking very grumpy. “This is Bellak. He is the wizard of our team.”

  “We’ve met,” Sam said, somewhat unpleasantly. “Apparently I am supposed to be a man.”

  “Please accept my apologies if he has made you feel anything other than welcome. He takes some getting used to I am afraid. We need your help and he WILL be more agreeable from now on.” The WILL was obviously directed at Bellak, who just muttered under his breath and looked away.

  Noticing he was not present, Sam enquired about the young man she had resuscitated. Dallan had made a complete recovery and was currently in the garden, reading a book, having been sent to get some fresh air. His relationship to Tor was quickly explained, as were the circumstances surrounding his presence with the group. They were all grateful, except Bellak, who could not bring himself to even speak to Sam, let alone thank her. Ellen seemed particularly interested in how CPR was done, but Tor insisted that details would have to wait until later.

  “Now who is missing?” he asked, looking around. “Ha
wk is still in the basement. He will not appear until after the sun has gone down I am afraid. He has a problem with daylight. It is probably best to wait until you meet him before explaining further.” Most of the faces looked a little wary as soon as Hawk’s name was mentioned. Sam decided meeting him later rather than sooner was fine by her. What problem with daylight could he possibly have? “We do have another member of our party I would like to introduce you to sooner rather than later, though.” Almost as if bidden, a hand with three long fingers appeared from under the table, with what seemed to be a small black eye at the end of each digit, looking directly at Sam. “Ah there you are Modo. Please come out from under there.”

  The strangest creature Sam had ever seen slowly unfurled from its hiding place. There was no hair on the scaly body, which was covered with only a loin cloth. One large black eye looked unblinking at her, from the middle of its forehead. As the creature crept closer it closed the eye and the six eyes on its fingertips all opened. Sam squeezed as far back into her chair as she could, trying to get away from the monster. Just as it came within reach, it dropped to the ground, on one knee, and lowered its head.

  “I am very pleased to make your acquaintance mistress Sam,” it said in a rasping voice. “I am Modorian del Anvar, a vexen, from the wonderful island of Kileen. Please accept my humble service.”

  Sam looked at Tor, unsure what to do. “Do not worry,” he said gently. “He always talks like that to ladies. The language he uses when none are around though is another matter. As you can probably see, a vexen’s unusual eye configuration makes them extremely useful. He can see around corners or over walls simply by raising his hand. An excellent way of seeing without being seen.” Tor suddenly realised that Sam had gone pale and looked like she was about to vomit. “What is wrong?” he asked in a concerned tone.

  “Take me to her,” Hurst said. It almost sounded like a demand. He was quickly led to where Sam sat, looking as though she was about to lose consciousness. He gently laid his hands on her head. She made no move to resist, did not even acknowledge his presence. “She has suddenly gone very scared,” he announced. Slowly she took in a deep breath, much to Tor’s relief.