The taste of copper flooded the back of my mouth. The ugly man charged straight at me. I swallowed hard. My arms twitched. What was this moron’s problem? You didn’t make the team. Deal with it.

Footsteps, several of them, thundered toward me from behind. My friends, and new players likely attempting to intervene before the stranger reached me.

What could this idiot be thinking? What did he think he was going to accomplish?

Rather than retreat, I chose to walk forward off the mound, and straight at the man. Don’t show fear, I thought.

The stranger’s pace picked up, we were face to face in seconds.

“You!” He shouted.

He raised his fist, and thrust it into my right cheek.

In the adrenaline of the moment, I barely felt the blow.

“Hey!” Someone shouted from behind me.

Instinctively, I brought up my right arm, and I threw a heavy, clean punch directly into the center of the man’s face. An explosion of blood sprayed out from around my fist. His nose had flattened. His face was a pulpy mess.

The ugly, now even uglier, man screamed as he fell onto his backside in the infield grass. He had his hands up over his face. I stood over him with my heart pumping in my ears.

The crowd of players rushed in around me like a tidal bore. They swept the stranger up off the ground. Gak grabbed my arm to prevent me from swinging on the man again. I couldn’t help but notice one of the Quallon brothers attempt to swing a clenched fist at me. They were knocked over when Trevor rushed in from left field, and sent a lot of the guys scattering.

“Hey!” I shouted at the men carrying the stranger away. They stopped, and I got a good look at him.

“I don’t know your name,” I said, pointing at him. “I don’t want to know your name.”

Someone from the crowd began telling me the guy’s name, and I cut him off.

“I don’t care what his name is,” I yelled. And, again I focused in on him. “Don’t ever come back here. You hear me? Never. Matter of fact, I don’t want to ever see your face again. You come near me, we’re going to have problems. Got it?”

He gave what you could say passed for an affirmative nod. A gang of players then continued carrying him off the field. They didn’t stop there, and kept carrying the guy well off into the distance.

“Where are they taking him?” I asked Gak.

“Home,” Gak said. “Are you well?”

“I’m fine,” I said. My body shook with nerves.

“Are you well in the head?” Gak said.

I threw him a bemused look.

“Rider!” Someone hollered from near the home dugout. “Rider approaching!”

Sure enough, to the east, a man on horseback trotted into view.

After all the commotion with the idiot attacker, the players clustered together again. They moved like a herd of cattle to be near the shipping containers, as I rushed over there with Gak, Proctor, and Trevor to intercept the rider.

“Brother!” Shouted Clifford Summers, one of the team’s new utility infielders. He ran to greet the man on horseback.

The rider was dressed all in black, and his horse was black too. He looked like an executioner to me. But, then as he closed in on us he smiled broadly at the man running up to him.

“Cliff,” the rider said. “Thought you would still be here.”

I walked over, and the rider jumped down from his saddle.

Clifford motioned toward the man. “This is my brother, Wynn,” he said.

We grasped one another’s forearms. I still wasn’t a fan of their manner of shaking hands, but… when in Rome.

“I’ve come with a message,” Wynn said. He turned toward his saddle bag.

“What is it?” Clifford asked.

“It’s not for you,” Wynn said. He retrieved a small square of paper from his bag, and he passed it to me. “It’s for him.”

Clifford frowned. “How is that?” He said.

“It came to the gate,” Clifford said.

“The gate?” Gak said.

“Yes, a rider,” Clifford elaborated. “They visited the end of our bridge. Left a wooden box. This was inside.”

“Who was it?” I said.

Clifford shook his head. “No telling,” he said. “They left the box at the bridge’s end, and took their leave.”

“What is it?” Proctor said, motioning to the paper in my hand.

I glared down at the half crumpled parchment, and scrawled in black ink was my name, and then beneath that, a message comprising one word: FIRE.

“Fire,” I said. “Fire?”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it,” I said. “It says, ‘Adam Bridger’, and then the word ‘fire’.”

“Aye,” Gak muttered slowly, and he stroked his beard. “‘Tis a warning.”

“A warning?” I said. “From who?”

“Who else ya fool?” Dillard couldn’t help but interject with his two cents. “‘Tis Murphy Mountain, ain’t it? They’d be smoking over the loss of them men, ya?”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

“It’s not the dumbest theory I’ve ever heard,” I said. “But, you’d think they’d say more than this, wouldn’t you?”

The large group of players erupted into conversation all around us. Everyone had a theory.

“It’s a bloody dragon, is what it is,” Gak said. “We best be preparing ourselves.”

“No,” Denton said, “it’s not a dragon.”

“It says ‘fire’,” said another player, whose name escaped me in the moment, “what else would it be?”

“Which dragon is it?” Asked another player. “The ninth? Are we doomed? Where should we go?”

“Nowhere to go,” Gak said, “if it’s Jinsha. Jinsha represents the End.”

“We don’t know that it’s a dragon,” I said. “I think we might be getting carried away here. Why would a dragon send me a personal message like this? If a dragon was going to come here and attack us, wouldn’t it just come here… and attack us?”

This seemed to stop a lot of the chattering. The men looked at one another, confusion on their faces.

“So, what then?” Gak said. “We’re meant to build a fire? Or, you are?”

“Obviously, I don’t know,” I said. “But, we need to think about this logically, and not get carried away with conspiracy theories.”

“Cons… what?” Dillard said. “Theory? What are you on about?”

The bell at the top of the tall tower a few hundred meters off sounded out of nowhere. It’s urgent chime jolted the entire team. Everyone’s nerves were on a hair trigger.

“What now?” I said to Proctor.

Voices carried on the wind. People shouting from the tower. I couldn’t make out what they were saying.

“Hear that?” Said Trevor the giant. “There’s a bird. A strange bird. It’s coming.”

“A bloody dragon!” Dillard yelled. “I told ya!”

Half the team ran out toward center field. I don’t think they knew where they were going, they were just panicked.

“What should we do?” I said. “Should we go underground? Into the equipment bunker? Trevor, maybe take a bunch down into your place?”

The bell stopped ringing, but we jogged toward the underground bunkers anyway.

When the cluster of men in the outfield saw where we were headed, they ran back toward us.

“Wait!” Someone shouted.

“Someone’s coming!”

A young woman sauntered over from the base of the tower before most of us entered the equipment bunker. As she came closer, I could scarcely believe my eyes. She had a large gray exotic bird on her shoulder.

“Look at this thing, would ya?” She shouted as I walked to meet her.

“Wilda Weir,” she introduced herself, and we shook forearms. “This yours?”

I was delighted to see this beautiful bird with a large white and yellow plumage spiked atop its head.

“That’s an African Gray Parrot,” Proctor said. “Gorgeous animal.”

“Wow,” I said. “I don’t think I’ve ever met one in person.”

“Just flew up to the tower,” Wilda said. “Came to rest on me. Friendly beast.”

Suddenly, the bird flapped, and left her shoulder, and tried to come for me. I admit, I freaked out, and bolted away.

“It’s okay,” Proctor said, but he was speaking to the parrot. “Come here, sir.”

The parrot wheeled around, and came to rest on Proctor’s forearm as he held it out in front of him.

I turned back, having stopped running. I was embarrassed.

“You’re not afraid?” I said.

“Of this fine fellow?” Proctor said. “Hardly.”

“‘Tis the most curious bird,” Gak said. He and the rest of the medieval folk seemed wary of the parrot. They approached us with caution.

Wilda Weir, for her part, seemed unbothered, but she was only one.

“Should’ve seen my brothers when this thing flew up,” Wilda said. “Bunch of mice.”

The parrot appeared comfortable and calm on Proctor’s arm. It gave me a bit more confidence to come closer to the creature. He was so cute, I wanted to pet him. But, he also had a sharp beak.

“Will he bite me, you think?” I said.

“They do bite,” Proctor said. “But, usually defensively. I suspect if you keep a calm energy about you, you’ll be just fine.”

I stepped closer to the parrot. He blinked at me, and his beak opened slightly. But, it almost looked like he was smiling.

“You’re so pretty,” I said. “Where did you come from?”

“Ain’t seen a bird like that,” Dillard said. “Not never.”

“They’re not customary around here, I’d imagine,” Proctor said. “The climate doesn’t help.”

“What a strange thing,” I said. “Aren’t you beautiful?”

Then the parrot squeaked. His beak opened wider, and he spoke!

“Password,” the parrot said. It was unsettling how clear his English happened to be.

“Oh my,” Dillard said, and he shuddered. “Oh no, no, no.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Sorcery… this is!” Gak said.

He and many of the ball players retreated from us slowly.

“It speaks!” Dillard said. “The beast speaks!”

“‘Tis a witch,” Gak said. “A barbarian knows a witch when he sees one.”

“Password,” the bird squawked again.

“Odd isn’t it?” Proctor said. But, he had a relaxed smile. He and I both were amused by the reaction of everyone else.

“Password?” I said.

“What do you think that means?” Trevor said. He was the only stone age person, other than Wilda Weir, brave enough to stay near the gray parrot. “Strange word.”

“Do not trust the shapeshifter,” said one of the players. “The witch waits to smite you.”

“Stop,” I said to the men. “It’s not a witch. It’s a parrot. A bird.”

“Password,” the bird repeated.

I admit it took me longer to put two and two together than it should have. Finally, it dawned on me… the piece of paper in my hand.

“Ohhhh…” I groaned. “It’s this!”

I flashed the note over my head.

Proctor nodded. “Right,” he said.

“Password,” the cute parrot said.

I lowered my face closer to the critter. “Fire,” I said softly.

As soon as I said it, the parrot flapped its wings, and bobbed his head over and over.

“From the village of Blue Lake,” the bird said. His voice was so clear, and yet so child like, I just wanted to hug the thing.

“Bah, Blue Lake,” Dillard said with a sneer. “Been there once. Morons.”

“Seeking second baseman… trade,” the parrot said. “Willing to send an outfielder, plus two gold. Exchange.”

I laughed harder than I had in weeks.

“Amazing,” I said. “It came here with a trade offer.”

Proctor couldn’t help but smile too. “It’s unique,” he said. “I’ll give you that.”

“Exchange,” the parrot repeated.

“We’re going to need one of these,” I said.

“A parrot?” Proctor said.

I nodded. “If this is how they’re conducting trades in this world,” I said. “We need one. Where do you get African Gray Parrots around here?”

“Excellent question.”

Then my mind turned to the trade offer itself. Immediately, my mind snapped to the text roster I’d remembered from my vision. Guess who happened to be a second baseman? Right, one of those terrible Quallon brothers.

“Jorn Quallon,” I murmured to Proctor so that the man himself wouldn’t hear. “He plays second.”

“Yes,” Proctor said. “What’s your point?”

I raised my eyebrows, and he clued in.

“And?” Proctor said. “How do you suppose that would go over with the System?”

“Does it matter if it means I can get rid of one of those brothers?” I said.

“You might reconsider when the System metes out its punishment for getting rid of someone it demanded you place on your team,” Proctor said.

“Lower you voice,” I said. “I don’t want him to hear.”

“Still,” Proctor said. “Think about it. You want to reap the whirlwind? You trade that man, you might find yourself punished. And, harshly, I might add.”

I frowned at him. “They’re not going to harm me too bad,” I said, barely above a whisper. “It’s not like they’d kill me for trading away a stupid cannibal.”

Proctor pursed his lips, and he stroked the back of the parrot’s plumage.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” he said. “Think before you do anything rash.”