Chapter Eleven: A Woman Taken by the Wind
The grumbling, soaking giant, and thin young man followed the tall dark woman down a path to a small clearing in the middle of the valley. There, a small cabin sat beside a garden. Half a dozen of what appeared to be chickens, accepting their stone grey color, roamed listlessly around the wooden house.
Grenn relaxed his shoulders at the familiar sight. Everything was exactly the same as the last time he had been here. It had been a few years, but coming here was as comforting as returning to his own home. An unchanging place of safety. Even the resident, his old teacher, had not changed a single hair on her onyx-gilded head since the day he first met her. A fact that was as reassuring as it was disturbing.
“Why are you always so mean? I’m soaked here!” He called ahead to the woman leading the way to the cabin. “I was just expressing my concern since you never returned any of my messages. After all, living out here in the wilds, it would hardly be surprising if something were to happen to someone of your advanced a…” Grenn cut off as a miniature storm cloud appeared over his head, complete with miniature lightning bolts. “That’s a new trick. Haven’t seen that one before.” He deflected eyeing the cloud suspiciously.
“Grenn, if I were to just list off the tricks I have in my bag that you don’t know, that young child would be older than you by the time I finished.” The woman answered in a light and clear voice. “What is going on that you would bring such a young child here? Perhaps you want to bribe me by gifting me ingredients for one of my pies?” She pointedly stared at Marc with an evil grin.
“Stop, he’s likely scared enough as it is, and you’re never going to let that go are you? I was just a kid then.” Grenn waved his hands above his head as he spoke and the cloud broke apart into wisps of smoke. “And he’ll want you to know that he is not a child, that he is 19 years old.”
“Oh? Is he?” She looked at Marc again but this time with the fake sad/patronizing look you give to a child in a park explaining how he is going to be an astronaut or an F1 race car driver.
“And he’s a space magic user,” Grenn added casually.
Her look immediately froze into a serious gaze, probing every inch of Marc’s face. Then she looked back over at Grenn, who nodded grimly. “Hmmm. Let’s go inside and talk shall we?” The serious look vanished as if it was only a trick of the light and a carefree smile now formed an impenetrable mask on her face.
As they walked up the steps into the entrance of the cabin, she motioned for Marc and Grenn to enter first. “Grenn, can you stoke the fire?” Without waiting for a response, she stood silently for a moment just outside the doorway. As the giant moved towards a fireplace at the far side of the room, Marc looked out the doorway and noticed clouds rolling in and the little light that remained of the day was quickly fading. After a moment the fire was burning brightly and Grenn had lit a few candles and somehow found a towel. He was vigorously drying his hair when the woman came in and closed the door. Then she snapped her fingers and instantly mist started blowing off the giant man like he had a smoke machine under his clothes. In a moment the man was completely dry, including all the water that they had tracked into the house. “Hey! It freezes when you do it that way!” Grenn protested. He folded up the now-dry towel and placed it on a table near the fireplace.
“You were dripping all over my floor.” The woman complained. Then she moved over to a large table and started setting the table with plates and cups. “Come, I’ve made some stew that should warm you back up.” Then she moved over to the side and brought back a large pot and placed it in the center of the table.
Grenn quickly moved to the table and started to fill the bowls while the woman placed a large loaf in the center and began cutting off slices of the dark bread. Grenn motioned to Marc to sit down, then started on the stew.
The stew was sweet and salty, but with a lot of spices Marc could not identify. Something like a thicker French onion soup. There was also some unidentified meat, though it had a flavor that slightly reminded Marc of the roasted meat the man had shared at the campfire. Grenn was eating like a starved prisoner. Then he eyed the cup and then spoke in a meek-sounding whisper.
“So, any wine?”
The woman laughed heartily, then scolded him. “You show up out of nowhere dragging an unknown child… sorry, unknown stranger…” she cast a glance at Marc. “… to my home, then help yourself to my food like a starving bear then demand wine?” She beat the large man with an exasperated look while Grenn seemed to shrink a full foot in stature. “Water will suit you fine! How long have you been outside playing hunter anyway? What about Keri?” Marc noticed that the cups were full of water, but didn’t see a pitcher or remember her filling them.
“I was just out for a few days. Was heading back actually when I ran into this one. He was fighting off some bunnies with a stick.” Grenn shot Marc a smirk, then went back to inhaling his stew. “Keri’s back in the city with the kids.” He somehow managed to add with a full mouth.
“Ah yes, forgive me. I wasn’t expecting guests, and this rude boy is more like family, so I haven’t observed proper courtesy.” The woman stood up straight and bowed slightly with her right arm crossed over her chest and a hand placed pointing to her left shoulder. “I am Rynan, and this is my home. You are welcome here and safe within these walls as my guest.” Then she stood up and smiled at him with an expression that was equal parts kind and predatory.
Marc quickly rose and stammered “My… I’m… uh. I am Marc… My name is Marc, Marc Churchill… umm. Thanks for the stew…” Marc averted his gaze as the woman dissected him with her gaze. Then she motioned for him to sit and took her own chair. As he sat, Marc looked at her again and queried the interface.
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.
NAME: RYNAN RIVERWALL
AGE:
BASE LEVEL:
RACE:
AFFILIATIONS:
STATUS:
LEVEL UP YOUR INTERFACE TO GAIN MORE INFORMATION ABOUT RYNAN RIVERWALL.
!YOU HAVE ATTEMPTED TO INSPECT A PERSON OR AN ITEM WITH A STATUS THAT IS PROTECTED FROM APPRAISAL. INSPECTION IS NOT POSSIBLE.
----------------------------------------
Marc sat on a small bed in a room the size of a utility closet off the main room. The dinner had been quick and without much conversation. Rynan had offered the room to Marc and Grenn had taken the floor near the fire without a word. The tall mysterious woman had promised that they would talk in the morning after they had a chance to rest. After cleaning up Marc retired to the room and sat on the bed, fighting the fatigue he felt to organize his thoughts.
He was in another world. A world with powers and strange creatures. A world with real magic, magic that he would be able to learn. He noted that he felt oddly excited by the sudden change in his circumstances, but also reflected that he didn’t mourn the loss of his old life. He would not return home in this lifetime. He would never see his father or relatives again, never hang out at the Walmart or get another job, the more things he counted off, the more he realized that he didn’t care about any of that at all.
It was as if he was living a childhood dream of running away from home. In this case, however, he was leaving behind his old life, a job he hated, and coworkers who ranged from annoying to infuriating, family that was absent or irritating. The balance was made up of bills, the occasional jury duty summons, upkeep on his car, and cleaning the house. His poor financial situation meant that there wasn’t a lot he was invested in. He didn’t drink, had (mostly) quit smoking, didn’t own a computer or even a working cellphone and a vacation for him was typically a trip across the border to Juarez to update his wardrobe on the cheap and get some discount meds. Marc tried to come up with the things he would miss the most. He had no close friends, his car was junk, his house was a dump, and his most prized possession was probably his iPod, which he still had now tucked safely away in his inventory. He didn’t have a charger here though. There is probably not a Best Buy here either. Would they even have electricity? He realized that was a more practical question. The cabin didn’t seem to be on a power grid. Did they have plumbing? No toilets could be a problem.
Marc started to prioritize some tasks. Leveling up the interface would help him understand his situation better, but he wasn’t sure how that was done. It could be related to completing quests, but he didn’t have any control over that. He realized his lack of common sense in the world was going to be a big problem for him. So far he had met one person who seemed to be a decent person, but then again he had no idea what kind of values and morals people in this world had. The woman seemed to be kind, but also gave him chills, like a predator in the zoo. The fact that he couldn’t get much information from his inspection window concerned him, though he suspected that the interface recognized that she was a mage from the quest he was given as soon as they had gotten nearby. Did the interface want him to ask her for help?
What was the interface anyway? Was it some kind of communication tool so the Gods or whoever could communicate or spy on him? At times it was incredibly useful, then the next moment it seemed to mock him with destain. The interfaces for video games were usually very basic and gave useful information and access to items and skills, although they varied in ease of use. The windows and controls he had seen so far were familiar enough that he could almost remember which games had used those colors and fonts, and it was incredibly intuitive for him to use. It only took a few tries before he could easily reorganize the layout and access the different functions. It was almost as though he had designed the interface based on his own experiences with various games and his personal preferences. Except for the snarky tutorial messages that is.
Marc tried to send a mental query directly to the interface. “What is the interface?” He thought.
INTERFACE, NOUN
A: THE PLACE AT WHICH INDEPENDENT AND OFTEN UNRELATED SYSTEMS MEET AND ACT ON OR COMMUNICATE WITH EACH OTHER.
B: HOW INTERACTION OR COMMUNICATION IS ACHIEVED AT AN INTERFACE.
C: A SURFACE FORMING A COMMON BOUNDARY BETWEEN TWO BODIES, SPACES, or PHASES.
Not helpful Marc gritted his teeth and tried again. “How does this interface work?”
INFORMATION ON THE CREATION AND FUNCTIONALITY OF THE INTERFACE IS RESTRICTED. LEVEL UP YOUR INTERFACE TO GAIN ACCESS TO ADDITIONAL INFORMATION.
“Help?”
WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE HELP ON?
“What can you do?”
YOUR INQUIRY IS TOO VAGUE, PLEASE BE MORE SPECIFIC.
“What functions does the interface have?”
YOUR INQUIRY IS TOO VAGUE, PLEASE BE MORE SPECIFIC.
“List all commands.”
YOUR INQUIRY IS TOO VAGUE, PLEASE BE MORE SPECIFIC.
“Are you sentient?”
…
After several seconds this time, a reply finally appeared.
ARE YOU SENTIENT?
What? Marc was shocked by that response. “Yes, but is the interface sentient?”
CAN YOU PROVE YOU ARE SENTIENT?
“Look, I’m not going to play Philosophy 101 with some multi-dimensional brain computer thing. I just want to know what you are capable of.”
YOUR INQUIRY IS TOO VAGUE, PLEASE BE MORE SPECIFIC.
Marc was getting frustrated and the fatigue was getting to him. His eyelids were growing heavier by the second. Outside the door in the main room, he could hear some low voices. Grenn and Rynon were talking, but he couldn’t make out anything they were saying. While listening he closed his eyes and sleep overtook him.