Jace was struggling to breath in his own private hell.  He felt like he was drowning, his head felt like it was splitting open, and his skin felt like it was going to burst open from the inside.  Nothing he could do would change the agony.  It was so great he couldn’t even shout and call for help from his guard. 

He fumbled with the pulse over and over again, as if in the hope merging with the pulse would resolve the problem, yet every time he started to merge with the pulse the level of pain would go up even higher.  A dim part of his mind started to put together a theory about what was happening to him, but it was so far outside his experiences in his life to this point, his desperate mind was unable to credit how likely it was.  He only knew it wasn’t poison.  He had tried to detoxify himself almost immediately.  He feared a plague, but it didn’t seem to be the case either. 

Rolling on his side he coughed and gasped for breath, completely unable to raise his voice.  It felt like something had a firm grasp of his throat and chest, or perhaps he suspect this might be what it was like to drown.  As he coughed he tasted something vile in his mouth and spat out more of the “black” substance oozing out of his pours.  His vision was growing blurry and his eyes hurt combining to give him the worst headache he had ever felt in his life.

Since coming to this world, he had been injured badly a number of times.  Broken bones, flayed flesh, it was to the point he felt like he was growing a rather high tolerance for pain.  But none of those experiences were quite as terrifying as this one.  In those horrible situations he didn’t feel like he was dying.  And though he did fear he would die, that’s not quite the same as fearing you WERE dying.  Well he felt like he was dying, and though the pain wasn’t that extreme, the fear certainly was. 

He no longer could really see out of his eyes, they throbbed in pain and as he struggled on the floor.  Alone in the dark, with nothing but his pain and fear he started gasping like a fish out of water.  Trying to force breath into his chest by taking mouthfuls of it.  The world started to grow darker and colder and he felt his thoughts start to drift a little, the pain grow a little distant and he suspected, deep in his heart if he passed out that would be the end. 

He felt something grab his shoulder, he couldn’t really tell who it was, but it was like a lifeline in the darkness, his hands clasping onto the wrist of ‘someone’.  He knew they’d have to be as blind as he currently was to not know he was in trouble, he wanted them to go for help, but he also didn’t want to be left alone dying in the dark.  So he held on with what little strength he had. 

His gasps for air were now the only noise thundering in his ears, they sounded like a death rattle to him.  He could barely get any air at all.  His hand lost strength as his consciousness drifted.  His last thought before his mind went blank was he thought he could hear Verna.

Shawey was crouching by the side of a path.  She desperately wanted some new clothing, what she was wearing was caked in mud, ripped in a number of places and basically falling apart.  It had been a brutal 6 weeks since her bad teleportation.  The Rock Devil had so frightened her she had fled from it, running through the dark grove of Wollumba plants, she didn’t even know if it was chasing her, and just as she was about to venture a glance behind her she ran right off the side of a cliff plummeting into the darkness.  She was certain she had died for the 2nd time in one night.

Fate however had other plans, as she, instead hit the surface of a river.  A rather deep river, and of course Shawey couldn’t swim.  In a dress, dragging her to the bottom, she ripped at the pulse and using it managed to create air for her lungs, it was enough air to give her long enough to get out of the dress, which was tangling her up and drowning her.  In the process, she lost her small focuses which Jace had made for her, lost the pulse and hit her head on a rock.

When she came to, she was on the side of the river, in her underthings.  It was a sharp pain in her leg which had woke her up, and panicking, her eyes snapped open, only to see her leg being gripped by the poisonous talons of a Giant Owl-like creature called a Flur’a’gah.  Her confusion cleared up instantly, and, without the aid of the focus burned the flying creature to death.  Cleansing the toxins out of her blood was simple, however she found without the focus it was almost impossible to channel at any distance from her skin.  It was mortifying to realize how much she depended upon those focuses.  And how easily she gave them up in the river.

It had been 6 weeks since then.  In that time she had almost froze to death more times then she could count.  Her underthings were not much for warmth.  She had been able to make water with her power, and getting food was simple.  Wollumba bark, as awful as it tasted was edible, if boiled, not to mention the hands full of other edible plants she had come across in her journey across country. 

This road however was the first sign of civilization she had seen since she started walking.  She was extremely cautious.  Civilization wasn’t necessary much safer than the wild.  She was about to step out from cover onto the road and pick a direction (at random) when she felt a thin blade placed on the side of her neck. 

“What have we here?”  A course male voice whispered into the air.  “Up on your feet girly.  You look like an escaped slave.”

Cursing to herself she stood slowly.  “I’m no slave.  No moon mark.”  She slowly turned to face him.  The man was dressed in shades of purple and red, he blended it rather well with the foliage.  His hair was grey and balding, thin and small, only a little bit taller than she was.  His mouth was free of teeth for the most part, making his thin lips draw back in, and his eyes were tilted, combined with his hooked nose he looked like a scraggly purple lizard.

The man’s eyes transversed her body lingering on the exposed skin.  “I suppose you’re not.  But you are shapely.  Where’s your husband?”

She sighed at the question.  Not even a half a year ago, this man would have been a nightmare for her.  Compared to the Flur’a’gah or the Rock Devil, or the moon vanishing in the middle of the night, he wasn’t a threat.  Still she didn’t want to make things too awkward, as he likely knew where civilization was.

“I’m a witch.”  She turned her palm over and a small flame sprung into being.  “I was stranded out here by a teleportation mistake when the moon vanished.”

The look on his face was priceless.  A moment ago, he was licking his lips as if thinking about the healthy young flesh he was going to be enjoying, now he looked like he was going to wet himself in fear.  “Um, yes, well miss.  What can I do for you?” The man’s tone changed immediately.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

“I need clothing.  And I need to know where I am.”

“Clothing, right, here.  Take this.”  He started digging through his pack, eventually pulling out a long moldy and stained cloak, then held it out to her. 

She grabbed the cloak, hiding the disgust on her face and knowing more proof of herself probably was necessary.  Holding the cloak, she channeled the glyph of water soaking it thoroughly.    She then used the glyph “squeeze” to press all the water and dirt out of the cloak.  Had she the focuses she probably could have used “clean” to actually clean the cloak.  But with her limitations this was about all she could do.  She then followed up with “Dry” and removed the remaining wetness from the material, and tossed it around her shoulders.

“Where are people?”

The man pointed south down the trail.  He was looking at the puddle of water with a look of fear on his face.

Nodding to herself, she started walking down the path. 

And right into an ambush.  She made it all of 20 yards before 40 men popped out of the underbrush.  Every one armed.  The footsteps of the lizard faced man sounded on the path behind her.  It looked like this promising day just turned sour.

Jace woke very slowly.  His head was resting on something soft, and he could breathe again.  ‘Breathe again?’  The thought brought the last misty memories back into focus.  With a start his eyes sprung open, what greeted him was a pair of yellow eyes on a beautiful face framed with red/orange flame like straight silky hair.  His tension drained.  Judging by the look on her face he could tell she was very worried for him.

Glancing around slowly he realized he was probably in his quarters of the keep.  There was a strange effeminate blonde haired man standing at the foot of his bed, and the blue haired Fairy girl was drifting around near Verna’s shoulder.  ‘Easol’ he vaguely recalled.

Speaking slowly and quietly he said to Verna, the pain in her eyes was cutting him a bit so he did the only thing he could think to boost her spirits without lying, “Nana, you found me?”

The worry and concern on Verna’s face melted into pure joy.  “You called me Nana.”

A small smile touched his mouth.  ‘This kindred woman was exceedingly simple sometimes.’ He thought to himself.

While most Americans might consider a nickname like ‘Nana’ to be almost grandmotherly, Jace never once thought along those lines.  He never called his grandmothers “Nana”, in his family they were “Grandma”; instead in his mind the name “Nana” was the name for a cat his neighbor had.  It’s was an adorably playful tiger stripped cat, that spent most of its 8-year life thinking it was a kitten.  To Jace the idea this cool seductive and beautiful woman had anything to do with a frisky playful kitty was almost impossible to put together in his mind, so he simply and stubbornly refused to call her by that pet name out of pure principle.  However, now he was seeing that smile on her face and the look in her eyes he almost regretted playing with the woman by not calling her by her preferred nickname all this time.

“[How long?]”  He spoke quietly in English, before noticing the look on her face, and repeated himself in her native tongue.   “How long was I out?”

“Two hours.”  Came the swift reply, this time instead of draconic it was in the common tongue.

He swiped his hand across his forehead, half expecting to see more of that black substance, however his fingers merely found dry skin.  “What happened?”

Verna hesitated a moment then her eyes glanced over to the unisex blonde human. 

The blonde smiled and spoke quietly, “Jaenin.  You would not know me naturally.  As ‘Nana’ informed me of your situation.” 

Jace glanced at Verna, and was surprised at the killing rage on her face.  

He went to reach for her hand, taking it in his, his actions felt awkward to him, as if his body wasn’t responding properly to what his mind was telling him to do.  When his hand touched hers, she broke the murderous gaze she had for this blonde fellow, and looked down at Jace again.  The switch from murderous intentions to that tender gaze threw him for a loop.  She never looked at him like that.  She would get mad at him, tease him, or be seductive toward him but this was the first time he saw something approaching “tender” or “loving” in her gaze.  It actually made him feel a bit uncomfortable as he never really thought of Verna as someone to “love”. 

Breaking the silence he spoke toward the boy Jaenin.  “I’m sure you and Verna have a history.  I don’t know what you did to make her so mad, or if she deserved it.  But can we cut through the [bullshit] um… I mean cut the crap?  How can I help you?  I’m gathering you’re here because you either saved me or want something and Verna by herself couldn’t stop you either way.”

The almost human - man Jaenin smiled, and spoke “Alright.  You are right, Verna couldn’t stop me.  Nor could you.  And you’re right, I helped you with your little problem.  It’s been a long time since I’ve seen something like that.  But I knew you were going to have it.  The problem I mean.  Which is why I came.”

“Alright.  Then you have my thanks.”  Jace spoke slowly.  He was thinking about what this thing Jaenin just said “problem” a problem he had seen before?  That implied he knew the cause, since he said he expected it to occur as well.

 The ‘man’ Jaenin nodded and then spoke, “I’m not here for your thanks.”

“Then how can I help you?”

“I’m not here for your help either.  I am here for a promise I made. A little over 23,482 years ago.  I can’t really be sure exactly how much longer past that it was.  After about 10,000 years it stops meaning much.  I made a promise to the last human to become a Grand Sorcerer to assist any humans who managed to become Sorcerers.  I owed him my life.  So, I agreed to help the next one.  Of course, who would have expected that he was the last till now?”

Jace silently waited for the creature to speak, knowing clearly that his first impression of this thing was it was not a human was completely correct.

“Do you not find that strange?  Why would sorcerers occur in every race but humans?”  He paused a long moment.  Obviously waiting for their answer to his question, Verna had an uncomfortable look on her face, which made Jace wonder if she knew the reason.

Frowning at the lack of an answer or even a guess the creature continued “What if I was to say it was because only humans could become Gods?”

That statement got the gears in Jace’s head turning, as he pieced through what he knew of this worlds history.  “Sometime around 20,000 years ago, the first gods showed up; history doesn’t record where they came from.  That would mean history intentionally didn’t record the truth.  Those gods warred for a time, great human kingdoms rose up, they enslaved the races and ruled the world, but they warred constantly, as the gods fought with each other. Then all of it stopped about 12,000 years ago.  The wars on this land and in the heavens, it all ended as the Grey Dragon King took over the continent, world even.  At the same time the Gods, who were so active vanished.  Until 2,000 years ago.  When the king was killed.  The oppression of human mages became standard with the Grey King, and human mages were sent off to Erindalle in the Sky, never to be seen again, and after the Grey king, the only thing that survived his kingdom was the wholesale slaughter of human mages by Fairies now.”  Jace spoke all of that out loud.  Then added in a flat tone.  “Are you saying the Gods killed every human capable of becoming a god, while they killed each other.   Then they coerced or raised up this Grey King to systemize the situation, and likely used the Fairies in the same manner.  NO the curse did the job for them.”  He felt his conclusion was far too cynical.  But the look on Jaenin’s face told him he might not be cynical enough.

“Mostly correct.  Actually, the Grey King never existed.  Oh, I mean sure he looked and sounded like a dragon.  But the Grey King was actually me.”