Sitting in the dirt, I moved to the other side of the cell, where it is dryer. “What now?” I mumble to myself, looking around at pretty much nothing. Feels like there’s a stone floor under the dirt, my backside is getting numb. Don’t see anything across or down the hall except the stone wall. I think I am in a line of some cells, but I don’t see or hear anything. The cell I’m in is mostly walls. The door is made out of bars. A small opening on the opposite wall for air, too small to be a window. I don’t see or feel a keyhole in the cell door. No handle either. Probably opens with a stone, like how everything else works here.

I’m still a little mad about my hand. It seems fine now, but that really hurt. I laugh a little to myself ‘Stabben Cleric’, that’s funny. If I play one of those role-playing games with my kids, I’m going to have to play a ‘Stabbing Cleric’ and name him ‘Stabben’. Haha. He will have a little hidden knife that he likes to ‘stab’ things with.

After a while of trying to sleep, seems I can’t right now. Too many thoughts in my head about what happened by the church. Shows that I haven’t let the anger go. What Libelle said is bothering me too. Just like when you hear on the nightly news that another child has been hurt or killed. Makes me want to do something about it. I want to see Pixies swarm now too. I wonder if it’s like locusts out of a horror movie? What kind of class is King and Priest? Do I level or have skills?

“Status,” I say out loud.

“Menu,”

“Status Page”, “Skill”, “Skill list”, “Attributes”, “Spells”, “Spell list”.

Nothing. I think it was worth a try. It’s late and I’m starting to get tired again. I usually pray before I go to sleep. Not like I don’t have time right now.

“Lord, thank you for taking care of me, and my family. Thank you for always giving us food, clothing, money, and every good thing. Thank you for protecting us and keeping us. Please forgive me of my sins. I stand in the gap and intercede for everyone, to forgive all of us our sins and to bring us all to repentance. I plead the blood of the lamb and all the works of the cross for the forgiveness of our sins. Help for us to do and be what you want us to. I pray for all the children here and ask that you protect them and keep them.” Yawning, I usually get sleepy when I pray, I’m almost asleep now.

…

Cracking my eye open, I still want to sleep. Damn, how the hell is any light coming through that little opening enough to wake me up. I find myself lying in an awkward curl, on my side against the wall, with enough light coming through that little opening to wake me up. My back and side hurt. My neck hurts. But I’m blessed because there are no barking dogs and it’s quiet. “Oh God, I hate the barking dogs.” I don’t want to move, but as I inevitably do, the blood starts flowing to my arm and leg that are against the ground. The pain of the feeling of pins and needles in my foot and hand causes me to let out a groan as I roll onto my back. It’s near black in this cell, but whatever light is coming through the wall opening is waking me up.

“Do you still want to help the children?” As I dream, half asleep before I’m fully asleep again.

…

I don’t know if it was a few moments or an hour. Somewhere in between, my mind processed enough of the question for me to be mentally alert, with my eyes closed, lying on my back. Reaching out to the sides with my hands, I feel for my bed. It’s dirt. Speaking to myself as much as anyone else, I reply “Yeah, I want to do something about it.”

“Then I send you.”

As I lay there, I wrestle internally with whether God or something is talking to me, or I’m imagining it. I’m not hearing this through my ears, more like I’m having a conversation in my head. “Why me?” I ask.

“Because you are here and you want to help.”

I’d like to tell you that there is this fantastic thing happening, but it’s not. It’s quiet and still. I’m lying on my back in this dirt, staring up into this dark cell with just enough light coming out of that opening in the wall to wake me up. There is a knowing, inside of myself, that God is talking to me. Listening and thinking about how to describe it. I feel as if it is coming up out of my innermost self, my core being, like out of my abdomen or chest. It is small, peaceful, and rises in me until I understand it with my mind. It is so close, so close, to almost being like my own voice thinking and talking to myself in my head. If I wasn’t sitting in this cell for so long, I could have easily passed it off as a passing thought of my own. “Why now? Why talk to me now? Is it because I am here?” I ask.

If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

“I speak all the time. Specifically now, because to do what you seek, you would not have known or have been prepared. In three days, they will come again. Looking for and taking any children that they can.”

“Who’s they and why are they taking the children?” I ask.

“Another rift will be created near where you passed through before. Decide what you want to do.”

I lay there staring up at nothing, until a jailer walking by, opens the door. “Get Out!” is all he says, then continues walking. I know I have some options for what to do. I’m not sure yet what to do. Normally you're taught to go to the police and make a report. Let the police handle it, that’s what they’re paid for. I could find Talon and let the officer know what is going to happen.

I could go alone. Maybe sneak in someplace and rescue some children or stop children from being kidnapped. But I don’t know who, or how many. Probably get lost if I go too far. I don’t think going by myself is a good idea.

Maybe I can get people to help me. This place is a fantasy world. It would be like a campaign or a quest. Maybe there’s a Guild Hall and I could post a quest. See what kind of Adventures want to go with. Maybe find a magic wand, treasure, or something. “Haha” I snort as I amuse myself with the absurd and thoughts of Pixies swarming like WWII fighter planes.

“GET OUT!”

“AHHHH” I about crap my pants as I jump and try to roll out of the way. Landing into the adjacent wall because my legs don’t function yet, with the pain from the cold floor all night.

“OUT!” The Jailer isn’t tolerating me laying on the floor any longer. Grabs me by the closest shoulder, drags me out into the hallway, and gives me a toss in the direction he wants me to go. Damn, Dwarves are strong. I can see him now and I don’t think he was even making an effort in tossing me around.

“OUT!” He takes a step forward. I crawl and move the best I can while trying to walk and keep going. Finding some stairs, I head up and keep going until I’m out by the street.

*****

I stand outside for moments as my eyes adjust to the morning light and try to get some bearings of where I am.

Whispering Wind. “Doug.”

I hear my name. “Yes Lord?” I reply.

Whispering Wind. “Doug. What are you talking about? It’s Ava. Start walking. No talking. I don’t want anyone to know I’m directing you. You’re going to take that empty ring to The Crafter, then you’re on your own.”

Ava is giving me directions as I walk through the town. I can hear her, but I don’t think she is anywhere near. At least not that I can see. I don’t dare look around for her again. She, or something, already tased me once when I didn’t move. I seem to be heading toward the business or merchant district because I’m starting to see more storefronts and fewer homes.

Whispering Wind. “Stop. Go into this Taylor shop, on your left. Tell the Gnome that you are a filthy human who is in desperate need of repair and cleaning because of the lightless church. Give him the silver piece.”

I pause before what looks to be a business selling common clothes and some thin leathers. Heading inside, I stop about three steps in, as the door closes behind me with the ringing of a bell chime on the door. That setup must be something universal. I feel like I’m at some renaissance fair theme shop. “Coming” I hear from the back.

Stepping out from the back is a finely dress gnome, much like an older version of Marxist. He had an enthused look to greet his customer, but as he looked at me, he just rolled his eyes and lowered his head.

Out of the habit of pulling out my wallet, my hand finds a few coins that I didn’t know I had. A quick sort and I’m holding up a silver.

Looking back up at me. “We don’t do humans.” He says in a low even tone.

Is that racism I hear? Ha-ha, real racism? I smile as I make myself laugh. Oh God, I’m going to get myself in some real trouble one of these days if I don’t stop pushing it. I can feel the grin on my face as I wonder if the stereotypes about gnomes are true.

“Yes, I am a filthy human who is in desperate need of repair and cleaning because of the lightless church. If you are unable to help, would you direct me to someone that could?” He is glaring at me as I once again hold up the silver between my thumb and index finger, a single silver coin. Pausing for a moment, I slide the coins, showing him there are two.

“Friend, what you have heard is true. Normally we only provide these services for our members. Therefore I must ask for your discretion, as the church is not always tolerant of practices, that are not their own.” He has taken the coins and pulled out a wand, an actual Harry Potter-looking wand. I have not seen a wand before and my gut is telling me that he shouldn’t have or be using one either.

Holding my arm out, as if he was measuring me for a custom suit, he starts by the cuff of my sleeve. Working his way to my shoulder, then started on my other arm. It’s like watching some serious CGI as the material is cleaned and rewoven, looking new. About five minutes and he is done with everything, including my boots. Grabbing a box and standing on it, I feel the static through my hair first as he works from the top of my head down. Finishing up, he walks around me once, verifying his work. I can’t see everything that he has done, but right now I am seriously impressed.

“My apologies, but I will not be able to help you any further. The Guilds, The Unions, The Churches, The Royals, it’s all too political with what you can and cannot do. I’m sure someone, somewhere, would be offended…”

I ask. “I was directed in here to talk to someone called the crafter, is that you?”

He has just gotten a grin on his face. “If you think I’m The Crafter…” with a slow shake of his head in unbelief. “If anything, you were directed here to get yourself cleaned up and made presentable before speaking with him. I do things like that for a coin. You have no clue who you’re looking for. You’re looking for the Dwarven Runesmith and I would be amazed if he would make anything for you, or anyone else at this moment. You’re not going to find him crafting, he’s been patrolling the streets. Asking is not going to help you find him, but if you listen, those who know him have just been calling him ‘Officer’.”

I thank him and give him a quick scan of the displayed merchandise. A clothing retail store more than anything. Heading out, I turn left and continue in the direction I was going before I entered.