Escape: The Seam Travelers Book One

by Jason Nugent

  For years, he waited and hoped for word that the royal family was alive, or for any sign from the other world to let him know the children were safe. The not knowing drove him to near madness in that first year, but as Mortas tightened his control on the land and more of his troops set up barracks in the town and villages, he knew his decision to hide was right.

  It had been close to fifteen years since the children vanished and not a day went by that Phetrix didn’t think of them or how to bring them back and reclaim the throne for the rightful heirs. Samuel would take great care of the children, as would those he thrust into their care; Nordon and Nadina for Erthic and Alyanna for Elysande. They were loyal to the King and above all else, willing to go to a far away land, to a place alien to that of their home of Chavalon.

  Rain fell in cool drops and the wind blew harshly against his face. Phetrix pulled his cloak up over his bearded face to protect from the elements. Carefully, he joined the throngs of people vying for space in the market. Many arrived daily expecting deals for sale or trade and most left with neither.

  Black clad guards patrolled the streets, the snowflake of Mortas emblazoned on their armor. Phetrix avoided them as much as possible. He doubted after all this time any would remember what he looked like, but why take the chance?

  “Stop that boy!” one of the vendors yelled, pulling Phetrix’s attention their way. A boy close to twelve years old pushed his way through the crowd carrying an apple. Two guards soon joined the chase, closing on him fast.

  “Stupid people,” Phetrix grumbled. Mortas had controlled all food and wares throughout Chavalon and artificially kept the prices high, forcing many families into servitude to pay off their debts. No doubt the boy was from one of those families. Almost everyone was.

  Under his cloak, Phetrix waved a hand and cast a spell toward the guards, making a basket of rotting plums fall in front of them. They tripped over fruit-filled weavework and fell, slamming hard into the packed dirt ground. The boy turned back and laughed, but then slammed into another guard who had joined the pursuit from the opposite direction.

  “Damn,” Phetrix whispered. It was too late to save the boy without giving himself away. He had to let the guards take him. They’d probably beat him and add another five years of service onto his family, which would earn him an extra beating from his parents.

  It was against this evil he hoped to one day fight. If only he could bring the children back, if they were ready to lead and if they still lived.

  Hope gave him a reason to wake every day. It forced him to pray, to believe, to move forward as if Mortas would one day be overthrown.

  Phetrix shook his head and made his way toward the corner he claimed for himself to beg for alms.

  The rain came down harder making it difficult to see. Phetrix inched his way closer to the small store front at the corner hoping to stay as dry as possible while still able to see people walking his way.

  “Alms, alms for the poor,” he called out. He had a small wooden bowl he used for money laid out at his feet. At the moment it contained rain and a small coin he had placed there to seed the pot.

  “Alms, alms please.”

  Years ago he was a master mage in the service of the king. Reduced to begging, he clung to those memories filled with hope. His abilities with magic were stronger than ever, but alone without the heirs, he had to force his desire to use them deep within himself. Unlike earlier when he tried to give the boy a chance in the market, he rarely used his abilities outside his mountain lair. Within the cave, he was safe from prying eyes. He studied and practiced his craft relentlessly, waiting for the day when he’d use it on Mortas to bring the evil man down.

  To enhance his magic, he created magical talismans where he could store magic. If the time came when he needed to fight he wouldn’t have to worry about depleting his energy and strength. It was a long exhausting process, but would be worth the effort when the time arose for its use. So far he had a rod, a small ruby and a ring. He never carried those items with him to the village. If a guard ever confronted him he didn’t want to risk losing them. Not to mention the chance of having them stolen by any of the number of pickpockets and thieves that roamed the village. He hid the items in the cave behind protective wards only discernible by another mage.

  The day passed and the rain subsided, leaving muddy streets and an empty bowl. It was getting late. Phetrix grabbed the bowl, stuffing it inside his cloak, then left the village, headed for the narrow pass leading into the mountain and his home.

  As he left the village, a small pinpoint of light emerged in front of him. Resting about the height of a man and close to five horses away, it was a vibrant blue orb.

  “What is this?”

  Phetrix looked to either side, expecting one of Mortas’ mages to appear and trap him.

  The darkness around him gave him no indication who was there, if anyone.

  Phetrix moved closer to the light, wonder and anxiety growing within him.

  As he stood about an arms length away, the orb appeared about the size of his head. It glowed with a bluish hue and gave off a warmth. He peered closer and something moved inside.

  “What sorcery is this?” He stepped closer, wary of what he might find. He swore he saw Samuel flash by within the orb, followed by images of a boy and a girl, both about the age of what Erthuc and Elysande would be.

  “Is this . . . could this be . . . Samuel?”

  Phetrix shook with anticipation. Should he touch it? Where did it come from? Curious as to what it was, Phetrix reached out his hand and slowly inserted it into the orb. It rippled from where his hand entered, but he felt nothing other than a warmth spread over him.

  Then, he pushed his face into the light.

  Eighteen

  INSIDE THE BALL OF light, strange visions bombarded Phetrix. Immediately he yanked his face out and the warmth fell from him. He breathed erratically, trying to make sense of what he’d just seen.

  “This . . . this must be from Samuel.”

  Some of the images he saw reminded him of the time he crossed over long ago. Buildings looked similar and the wheeled chariots were like before. But the noise . . . the massive amounts of people . . . it overwhelmed him.

  “This had to have been sent for a reason. I must discover its meaning.”

  He checked around him in the forest, wary that a trap had been set by Mortas and his wicked mage Rhoden. If he ever caught that man, he’d unleash a fury of spells on him unlike any he’d ever known. Turning his back on the Order and his mentor was a sin Phetrix wasn’t ready to pardon.

  The dark of night would not let him discern if anyone were nearby. The ball of light moved, scaring Phetrix.

  “No! Don’t leave! I’ve not seen yet!”

  Tossing caution to the wind, he plunged his face and this time his entire body back into the warm light.

  Massive buildings screamed by, the blurry motion sickening him. Overhead, blue skies dotted with white clouds were broken by objects cutting their own white lines. Below, chariots blared and people yelled. It made his heart beat faster, worried that he’d been dropped into some sort of strange battle.

  The sickening motion stopped and he was left to drift lazily to the ground below.

  He landed outside a large building with a red cross painted on the side with words he didn’t understand. People in blue and green matching uniforms raced in and out. One of the chariots hurried past him with blue and red flashing candles on top and the same painted cross on the side. The people in green uniforms rushed to the chariot, opening the walls, and pulled out a man covered in blood laying on a moving table.

  None of the people seemed to notice him. His garb was considerably different than theirs; a black, dirty robe tied around the waist with a length of rope. His scraggly beard and long stringy hair much different than the closely cropped hair and beards of the men he watched. The women wore the same uniforms. The way they attended the bloody man made him think they were some sort of mages, heali
ng the sick and injured.

  Am I at a shrine? He thought. Carefully walking, no, floating toward the moving clear doors of the shrine, he entered.

  It was just as noisy inside as out. Men and women shouted at one another in words he understood. It was a different dialect than back home, but they were familiar.

  Then to his left, a man he recognized ran through the shrine and headed for two metal doors. He wore a uniform of gray and pushed something on the wall and the doors opened.

  “Samuel! Samuel, it’s me Phetrix!”

  The man never deviated from his task. Phetrix ran to him and entered the small room as the doors closed behind him. Samuel stood next to him nervously looking up at numbers that flashed on and off.

  “Samuel, it’s me. Don’t you recognize me?”

  Samuel acted as though no one was there. Phetrix reached out to grab his shoulder but his hand went through him like a spirit.

  “It’s but a vision. Is this real? Has it happened already? Is it a portent of things to come?”

  The room came to a halt and a ding sounded. Samuel walked right through him and entered another hall in the shrine. Phetrix ran after him, willing to see the vision through.

  Samuel turned a corner, spoke to a woman seated at a desk, and followed her to a room on the far left. He nodded and the woman went back to her desk.

  Samuel watched until she sat back down and then entered the room. Phetrix followed closely behind. He waved at a woman in the room to stay seated, then moved to a bed. A young man lay on the bed, eyes shut, a strange tube attached to his arm. Samuel moved straight for the bed. He placed a hand above the boy’s head and closed his eyes. His lips moved but whatever he said was too low to hear. His hand began to glow, first yellow then turning a bright red.

  Phetrix glanced back at the woman as Samuel placed hands on the man and mumbled words for a spell. Something about her was familiar. It hit him like a slap. It was Nadina. “Nadina,” Phetrix whispered. What was she doing here?

  More mature now, the young woman had grown into an attractive lady. But if seeing her now was like a slap, the sudden connection he made was a gut punch. He gasped and drifted to get a better look at the man. Then he saw him. Lying on the bed with a white sheet draped over his body.

  “By the Gods! Could it be? It had to be Erthic. It must, or why would Samuel send the globe of light, or be examining the body? Body. Did the boy still live? He studied the boy, now a grown man.

  Samuel spoke to Nadina. “Tell me what happened and what has been done here, so far.”

  The conversation lingered but Phetrix ignored it, moving closer to the man in the bed. He stepped to the right side, moving past a table with a screen similar to the one he’d seen when he first met Samuel in this strange world, but this one was black with green lines bouncing on it.

  Leaning over, he realized the man was alive. Then he opened his eyes and he knew—it was Erthic! The boy lived! Hope was alive!

  Then with a flash, he was ripped from the room, pulled through the shrine’s walls, and back into the sky until he fell on the hard ground in the black forest.

  The ball of light vanished, leaving nothing in its wake.

  “No! Come back! I have so many questions!”

  The sounds of the forest echoed his cries, but the vision was lost. Whoever sent it wanted him to know, the prince lived. Now, it was time to find the King and Queen and let them know their children were alive. The end of Mortas was at hand.

  Nineteen

  RHODEN NOSTER WALKED amongst the strange inhabitants of this amazing world as if he belonged. Dressed in a suit he'd purchased from a massive store, a department store he learned it was called, using a stolen charge card, he took in his surroundings, mentally marking certain standout landmarks, to find his way back again.

  Since discovering the seam, a task he’d spent the better part of fifteen years searching for, this was his third excursion into this new world. He’d learned a lot in those previous trips. Using his magic he’d been able to gain information from some of the denizens, thus understanding the process for purchasing his local attire. He blended in with the throngs of people that wandered the streets of what he now knew as a city named Chicago.

  Everywhere he looked people bustled around with no apparent purpose. Many kept their heads down averting their gaze from those around them. They stared or spoke into strange magical boxes, small enough to carry in one hand or slip into a pocket. Rhoden still hadn't fathomed their purpose, but had a feeling they had some magical property. Perhaps a form of magical protection from meeting the gaze of others on the street.

  With that in mind, he set his own magical barrier to prevent an assault. His mission was too important to be sidetracked. He stepped down a few inches onto a wider pathway and was startled by the blaring of one of the metal beasts the denizens of this world rode. He started and raised his hands to unleash a magical attack, but refrained at the last moment. As the beast sped past, the rider sent him some sort of magic in the form of hand gestures he did not recognize.

  This was truly a dangerous land. Despite gathering basic information, he had much to learn and understand, but so little time. His mission came first. Rhoden vowed that when all was complete and secure, he would return to this amazing world to study it in more depth. For although danger lurked everywhere, he was intrigued and awestruck by the sheer size. The unending amount of people, the shape and size of the structures, the unimaginable products displayed and sold at the various vendors’ shops as well as the strange food stuff the people shoved into their faces. Yes, this world frightened him a bit, but he was determined to understand it and eventually become its master.

  Because of his plans, he had yet to inform Mortas of his discovery. He would be forced to disclose that knowledge upon producing the heirs, but until then, he kept the secret. He needed contacts here. Minions to do his bidding and teach him about surviving here.

  Nothing and no one could stand in his way if he controlled the resources of this world, not even his lord and commander, Mortas Frost. At least for now. He smiled, imagining the look on the man's face when he, Rhoden dared challenge him, bringing the full might of this world down on him. Yes. It was a vision he could almost touch. But first things first. He had to find those two brat kids and return them to their own world. Which was the reason for his sojourn into this world. One of the seekers he sent forth had spotted one of them.

  Because of those previous trips, he had an inkling of what to expect. Hence, the clothes. He needed to fit in and his robes made him stand out, worse, to become a target. He feared the unknown even though he was fascinated. Until he knew more about their abilities, he didn't want to test his own skills against theirs in case their power was superior. For now he was content to walk among them and keep his head down.

  He crossed the wider surface and stepped up on the opposite side. The sections of buildings soared into the sky and looked endless. He had yet to see the end of this fortress. According to the signal he received, the Seeker was still a long way off. He stopped, ducking into a recessed doorway. With a wave of his hand and a few muttered words, Rhoden connected with the creature seeing through its eyes. It had little will of its own, serving at the bidding of the one who conjured it. The almost mindless creatures did what it was instructed to do and little more. However, they were the perfect minion. Silent, nearly invisible, extremely deadly, almost impossible to kill and when given a task, continued on until success or told to cease.

  This Seeker hovered over an enormous section of smaller buildings. Though similar in structure with their slanted roofs, green pastures in front and back and a metal beast sitting idly by, each had differences, their own individual look. Some were taller, some wider and in an assortment of colors, many of which Rhoden had never seen before.

  The house the Seeker focused on was smaller, white and had two metal beasts next to it. Rhoden wondered if the pasture was how the creatures were fed. He sent a mental command for the seeker to mov
e toward the rear of the building. It did so and the sight of two people sitting on a flat surface came into view. He dared not send the seeker lower for a better look. Although almost impossible to see at night, their translucent form did have a few observable features during the daylight, such as their black eyes, gray shaded brain and dark red heart.

  The Seeker stopped directly above the two forms, he recognized as the women of this species. One was older, both wore trousers as he did, but they were short enough to be smallclothes. Their white legs were bared and the shirts they wore exposed enough skin to be scandalous back home.

  He studied them for a moment, then instructed the Seeker to zero in on the younger woman. From this angle and distance Rhoden was unable to make a determination whether she was the one he sought, but nor could he rule it out. They had no description to use since they were babies when they were whisked away. They did have one telltale distinguishing feature that would make identification possible. However, those features lay hidden beneath the clothing, making a positive determination more difficult.

  Something slammed into him, sending him reeling backward, and he clutched at his face. His hand came away red. He glanced up to see the offending brute only to find he had walked into a tall metal pole. Without realizing, he had started walking even though his sight was attached to the Seeker. He cursed under his breath, allowed the rage to flow into his fingers and pointed them at the pole. It began to quake and with a screeching groan of protest, bent.