A Mage's Power (Journey to Chaos) (6 page)

“Is that what they call aliens here? And did they just call
a bird a 'steward'?!”

Gears clanked as the drawbridge slowly fell. Behind it was a
gate and behind that was a portcullis. Even after human and hawk crossed them
all, they had to wait in a kill zone while a second layer opened. When they
finally passed the fortifications, all of them slammed shut.

“You're an Otherworlder, not an alien,” Redstreak said. “And
he called me a steward because that's what I am. I'm in charge of the Rose
Forest. I'm the one they talk to if there's a problem, like someone brought by
the Fire Bringer.”

A man in armor approached the pair. Eric presumed him to be
some figure of authority since both were polished to a shine and trimmed with
gold.

“I am Lord Radic of Tinsopi, First Division of the Ataidar
Royal Guard. Currently in command of the North Gate and Surrounding Lands. I
welcome you to Roalt, capital of Ataidar.”

“I . . . uh . . . um. I am . . . uh,” Eric stuttered. Redstreak
sighed and hawed.

“Chief Redstreak, it is not polite to speak when not
everyone present can understand you.”

Redstreak glared briefly. “He's Eric Watley and he says the
Fire Bringer brought him here.”

Radic's eyes shot open.
“The Ambivalent Saboteur?”
Redstreak nodded.

“Is Tasio an important person here?” Eric asked.

“Don't say his name!” Radic shouted and Eric cowered. “My
apologies, Mr. Watley. The Trickster is a bringer of mischief. It all started
when he showed us how to make fire; he told us it made our lives better, but
also put our lives in danger. What kind of fire are you, Otherworlder?”

Eric's mouth opened, but no words came out.

“Easy, Radic. I think you broke his brain.”

“My apologies, Mr. Watley.” Radic bowed his head. “However,
it is important to track the actions of such a figure.”

“Oh, um . . . uh . . . okay . . .”

“Radic, I turn him over to you.” Redstreak spread his wings.

“Just a moment, Chief Redstreak.” Redstreak looked over his
shoulder, wings still spread. “I don't think Old Grey would appreciate you
leaving him at the gate.” Radic was grinning.

 
Are they friends?

“I escorted him out of my domain,” Redstreak argued. “As
chief, I am not required to do more.”

“Of course not—for Tariatlans. Our friend Mr. Watley is not
a Tariatlan, and so has no home,” Radic countered. “My city is no different to
him than your forest. Your escort is not over yet.” Redstreak dropped his
wings. “You know where to go, right?”

“Yes . . .I do . . .Come on . . .Eric.” Redstreak raised his
wings and took off again.

“Don't worry about Redstreak. He needs to get out more
often.” Radic said. “Now go after him or he'll leave you behind.”

Grudgingly, Redstreak led Eric into the city. The area
behind the gate was cleared and empty ground. There was nothing but the
gatehouse and a building that looked like barracks. It was a bleak place. Three
blocks away was the city proper and multi-story buildings stood on either side
of the street. They had glass windows, which puzzled Eric. Glass was too
expensive in the medieval era for commoner use.

 Further in, he heard a host of different voices and smelled
a great many scents: alley cats, domestic activity, and people shouting “BUNGO'S
BURRITOS!” The last group was pushing carts.
A residential area . . .that
would make these guys door salesmen.

Redstreak glided into an area bustling with activity. Stalls
and shops lined the streets and adults walked from one to the other. Children
played by evenly placed trees. Everywhere he looked, people were making a
living. What surprised him was that not all of these people were human.
Centaurs haggled over the price of apples, goblins shouted the daily specials
of their bakery, giants heaved bushels, and reptilian humanoids blew glass. All
of them roamed the market; shopping, talking and living.

“Where'd all these creatures come from?” Eric asked his
reluctant guide.

“Creatures? Oh yeah, ignorant Otherworlder. These
'creatures' have always been here. As long, or longer, than you humans.”

They walked past one area of commerce and into another until
an abrupt change in scenery. Beyond this block, there were no more shops
decorated with deals and logos. They were replaced by stately looking buildings
decorated only with the crest he saw on the city gate: the tiger, the fire, and
the sun. A sign crossing the divide proclaimed, “Purple Town of Royal Glory.”

Redstreak guided him to a building right behind the sign:
The Registration and Unemployment Office. It was a small building consisting of
only two visible rooms: one for waiting and another for management. The two
were connected by a window where someone would sit and talk. The walls of both
were painted a bright pink. Eric's first thought was that it was supposed to
cheer up the jobless. His second thought was that it was supposed to creep them
out so they wouldn't waste time.

The woman at the window had been attractive one hundred
years ago. Now her skin had more wrinkles than an unwashed shirt. “Name?”

“Umm . . .Eric Watley.”

“Residence?”

“I just got here. I'm from Earth.”

“Otherworlder- Threa.” She wrote that down. “How did you get
here?”

“Th-The Fire Bringer pulled me through a gate.” The woman
was so startled her skin cracked. Eric flinched at the sound.

“The Overturner of Fortune!?” Eric shrugged. “Previous
occupation, if any?”

Eric thought for a moment.
How to explain a 20th century
job to a pre-15th century unemployment clerk . . .
He was derailed by the
strangeness of a medieval society
having
an unemployment clerk. The old
woman cleared her throat and Eric realized he was ignoring her. Feeling
embarrassed, he apologized and explained.

“So it was delivery?” Eric shook his head.” Craftsman?”
Another head shake. “Designer or scholar?”

Again, Eric said, “No.”

“Then what are you?”

Eric's eyes widened.
Who are you? What are you? Why are
you?
The water's voice echoed in his mind. Eric looked at his lap and
muttered, “I don't know.”

The woman frowned and wrote “
N/A.
” “Any special
skills or abilities?”

“Umm . . .?” The woman wrote down something Eric couldn't
determine. Then she asked him about his hobbies. “I liked doing the crossword
in the newspaper . . .”

The clerk studied the page. “I think we may find a place for
you, Mr. Watley,” she said at last. “But first, you need to gain a working
understanding of our world. To do this, you will be placed in a public school
until you gain such an understanding. As a teenager . . .”

“Teenager?!” Eric shouted.

“Yes, that is what we call human beings between the ages of
third-teen and nine-teen years old,” the old woman said. “What term do they use
on your world?”

“I'm not one! I'm older!”

“You don't look it,” the woman said as she sorted papers.
Eric looked himself over and was astonished. He'd
shrunk
and didn't
notice.

“How . . .what?” Suddenly, he remembered the mind splitting
pain from the tunnel; it felt like his bones were breaking. In fact, they were
shrinking.
Did Tasio do this?! Why!? Why didn't I notice!?

“This may be unsettling, but something must have happened on
your way here.” She stacked the papers and handed them to Eric. “As I was
saying, you will go to a school with other teenagers. In the meantime, you will
live at the Silver Dragon Dormitory for the Displaced. You're very lucky; they
were full, but someone moved out just today.”

 Eric heard a chuckle at the back of his mind.  

The old woman turned to Redstreak, who was perched on the
back of a chair. “Chief Redstreak, if you wouldn't mind, please escort Mr.
Watley to the dormitory.”

Redstreak grumbled, “Fine.” The woman smiled politely and
thanked him.

How could I be a teenager again?
He was only a little
younger when his parents died. It brought a flood of awful memories; the worst
of which was identifying the bodies. It only got worse from there: moping led
to teasing, which led to isolation, which led getting shoved into lockers and
having his homework stolen.
Loser! Loser! Loser!

His big brother usually put a swift end to it, but he wasn't
as good with words. He couldn't convince Eric that he didn't deserve this
treatment. So Eric stayed in lockers so he wouldn't get shoved into another
one. He hid from everyone. Who would want to be friends with a loser?

Redstreak landed on a street lamp. “Hold up, Otherworlder.”

Traffic was obstructed by a giant lying in the middle of the
road. A middle-aged woman in a tunic, pants, and white cloak examined the
fallen giant with a younger man at her side. He wore a white belt. The woman
jumped onto the giant's stomach in a single leap and sniffed his mouth. She
made a face and fanned the air.

“He's only drunk!” she shouted to the gathered crowd. She
looked to the left, to the right, and then pulled a vial out of her sleeve.

“Captain!” She froze. “Is that one of your concoctions?”

“Of course not . . .” the woman replied shiftily. “ . . .I bought
it at the medicine man's house.” The man joined her on the giant's stomach and
held out his hand.

“May I see it, Captain?”

The woman clutched the vial to her chest and turned away. “No,
it's too powerful. The fumes will knock you out.”

The man crossed his arms. “It's Paticion urine, isn't it?”

“Whatever gave you that idea?”

The man sighed. “Captain, that stuff is dangerous.”

“In any other case . . .yes it would, but it's useful for
flushing alcohol out of a system.”

“Yes, as well as everything else in the system. You could
make him bleed out.”

“That could only happen to a human. Giants have too much
blood and too much weight.”

“No, you
think
they have too much blood and weight.”
The tone of the young man puzzled Eric. If she was his superior, why was he
scolding her like a little girl with her hand in the cookie jar? “You're
experimenting again.” The woman shifted uneasily. “Captain, you
can't
do
these things.”

“Well if I'm not getting paid to help him, I should get
something out of this!”

“Captain, it's NOT ethical,” the man said, his voice firm.

The woman rolled her eyes. “Ethical, semathical. Was the
Tasi-palics crisis ethical?” The man rubbed his forehead. She continued as if
she hadn't noticed. “No, but we discovered how to cure Manastina Reticos
intoxiscous, saving countless lives!”

Redstreak hawed in impatience. “Oh, are we holding you up?” she
asked. Redstreak nodded. The woman hunched over the giant. “Lieutenant, please
explain the situation to Mr. . . .”

“
Chief
Redstreak
of the Rose Forest Colony of
Red-tailed Hawks . . .and an Otherworlder.” 

The woman's eyes lit up. “An Otherworlder, you say?”

“Captain!” the young man shouted. “The giant.”

“Oh, right.” The woman stood up to her full height. “Lieutenant,
explain the situation to Chief Breadbeak and the Otherworlder while I handle
the giant.” The man didn't move.

“Captain, the vial please.” The woman was thoroughly
disgruntled, but she handed over the vial. Eric almost laughed; she looked like
she was returning stolen cookies!

 The man pocketed the vial, jumped off the giant, and made a
little bow of his head before Redstreak and Eric. “I am Dragon's Lair Squad Two
Lieutenant Jemas Wotan. Captain Hasina and I came across the giant on our way home
from Green Garden Herbs.” Eric noticed Hasina pull a second vial out of her
sleeve and hand a sheet of paper to the giant. He sloppily signed it and she
emptied the vial into his mouth. Just as Eric opened his own, Hasina flashed
him a look that chilled his insides and his mouth shut with a click. “The giant
blocked our path and so we stopped to assist him,” Jemas continued. “We
apologize if we caused you any inconvenience.”

“You could make up for it by taking this human to the Silver
Dragon dorms.”

“I would be glad to,” Jemas said and Redstreak spread his
wings. “But I will have to ask my captain first.” Redstreak dropped his wings
with an air of frustration.

 The giant yawned and stretched, pounding the street. As he
stood up, Eric saw a large smelly puddle where he lay.

“Hey, he's up!” Hasina cried. “I guess he didn't have as
much in him as we thought.”

Jemas slapped his forehead, muttering about looking for a
second vial. Hasina looked up from the giant and towards Eric, grinning.
What
could she see in me . . .to make her smile like that?

“Otherworlder, how would you like to be a vital member of a
groundbreaking research project?”

“Uh . . .” Eric didn't know what to make of the strange
lady's offer. He
did
need a job but the last time he did research, it
didn't end well. Besides, the woman scared him.

“Say no,” Jemas advised. “You'll be the subject of research.
Hence 'vital'.”

“Lieutenant Jemas!”

“Captain,” Jemas began, unaffected by her reprimand. “Do you
remember what happened the last time you used a sapient as a guinea pig?”

“I got permission from them!” Hasina protested. “And 'guinea
pig' is such a leading phrase; I didn't do anything
cruel
!” Eric noticed
that she omitted “unusual.” Jemas stared expectantly at his captain. “Leader
got mad,” Hasina said reluctantly.

“
And
you got the guild in trouble,” Jemas pointed
out.

“Excuse me!” Redstreak shouted. “Could one of you take this
human to the Silver Dragon Dorms? I have a colony to get back to.”

“I'm sorry, Chief Tedteek.” Eric thought he saw a vein poke
out of Redstreak's forehead. “But both the lieutenant and I are busy.” Hasina
lifted a vial containing a liquid that looked suspiciously like the waste on
the street. “Come along, Lieutenant.”