Chapter 2

“What do you mean you can’t?” I asked. “Can’t or won’t?”

“Neither?” the gray man said. “Do I have to spell it out for you? My Skill doesn’t work that way. I summon ogres. You’re a shrimpy little ogre, so I summoned you. That’s how it works.”

“Well what do you normally do when you’re done with them?”

The man arched up one eyebrow. “Done with them? When I’m done with them they’re usually dead. Just look around you.”

I did. What I saw was truly horrifying. Carnage. What had been a mostly-peaceful nature vista when I arrived was now covered in the gore of about six dead ogres and over three times their number in dead harpies. Most of the grassy field had been churned up to mud by the heavy footfalls of the ogres. Where the tree had been felled during the battle I could see that the nest had been thoroughly smashed; egg shells and yellow yolk was spread around among footprints I would have thought too large to be real even an hour ago. It looked like there’d been a few babies mixed in among the destroyed harpy nest which had been smashed just as ruthlessly. I tried not to look at them.

The trio of ogres that had knocked the tree over had been shredded to ribbons by the harpies. They almost looked like loose piles of butcher meat, with a few bones speckled in. The other casualties were far less gruesome. There was the ogre I’d watched get killed as well as two others that appeared to have been targeted at weak points like eyes and throats. Only two ogres were still standing, and one of those two was the largest of the group that had pulled up a tree to fight with. It was noticeably more heavily muscled than the others, had skin with a red tint to it instead of pale pink, and horns jutting from its forehead instead of tusks. It was the only ogre to have escaped the battle uninjured. The other one still on its feet had blood running down its neck from a minor laceration. There was one more ogre that had managed to push itself into an upright sitting position, but one of its legs had a deep gash. It didn’t look like it would ever walk again. None of the ogres seemed overly concerned by either their fellows that had died or even their own injuries.

Not a single harpy had survived. Their bodies were crumpled heaps, far more beautiful in death now that they could be appreciated without the fear of violence.

“These ogres just fight for you until they die?” I asked. “None of them ever want to go home?”

The man shrugged. “Most are too dumb to understand the concept. Sometimes, like with you, they stop listening and wander off. Whenever that happens I just summon more. I prefer to keep no more than three on hand unless I have a specific mission in mind. More than that and it’s a constant struggle to get them to listen.”

“You’re serious?” I asked. “You really can’t send me home? Surely other people can, right? This is a world of magic. If there’s someone summoning people from other worlds surely someone somewhere has figured out how to send them back.”

“Maybe. That’s not really my specialty, but I could introduce you to the people that do that sort of thing when we get back to town. By the way, what’s your name, kid? Or do you want me to just keep calling you ‘little ogre’?”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“My name is Vincent. Vincent Koutz,” I said. I stuck my hand out to shake. “And I’m not an ogre. I was just… pretending to be an ogre when your magic snatched me up.”

The gray man looked at my hand curiously. “Name’s Ferrith, but I go by Ferr. Why would you pretend to be an ogre? Sounds like getting summoned here was kind of your own fault to me.”

I ignored Ferrith’s little comment. It was obviously ridiculous to blame me for being sucked out of my normal life. I was tempted to give him a piece of my mind, but ultimately decided against it. As much as this guy’s self-centered personality was already starting to grate on me, I was barefoot on an alien world in the middle of nowhere; starting a fight with the only person around seemed like a stupid idea. I continued holding my hand out awkwardly when he didn’t shake it. He looked down at it, eyes squinting like he thought I was doing something weird. “Uh, where I come from people shake hands when they meet,” I explained.

“Okay,” Ferrith said flatly. “Well we don’t do that here. Why would you want to touch a stranger’s hand? That’s gross.” He didn’t take my hand. I finally gave up on the handshake, dropping my arm to my side, and feeling a tad foolish about it.

“To be honest, I don’t know why we do it,” I admitted. “It’s just one of those things…”

“Like pretending to be an ogre? Is that something a lot of people do where you’re from?”

“No, that was just a joke. A pretty stupid one, obviously.”

“Seems like a cursed joke to me,” Ferrith said. He leaned down to a dead harpy at his feet and started plucking feathers off its rear end. He held one up to the light, frowning as he gave it a close look.

“So, um, I might have a few questions for you,” I said carefully. I could already tell this Ferrith guy wasn’t blessed with an abundance of patience. This might be the most significant day in my life but for him it was just a Tuesday… or whatever people in this world called Tuesdays; they might not even have a calendar for all I knew. I decided I’d try to get to the most important questions first, in case he got sick of answering.

“I figured you would,” Ferrith said, discarding one of the feathers and carefully placing another into a hardened leather folding case he pulled from under his shirt. “The last talking ogre I had wouldn’t shut up with the questions. How about this, help me pluck tail feathers. They’re actually worth some money. Do that and I’ll answer all the questions you want.”

“Deal,” I said. I leaned down and yanked one from the rear of the harpy Ferrith had burned with a fireball. “Like this?” I asked.

Ferrith scowled. “No, they have to be in good condition. Look at the curling there,” he said, pointing at a spot where it’d been burned.

“Well then that entire harpy is no good,” I concluded, looking it over. I moved to one of the last two he’d cut up and got to plucking.

“That’s exactly why I try not to use that Fireball Brand more than I have to,” Ferrith said. “It’s worse with spiders, their venom sacks are actually worth a lot.”

“Brand?” I repeated. I’d heard Ferr mention the word “Skill” before too, but the emphasis he was putting on both words made me think it had a different meaning than what I was used to. “What’s a Brand? How’s it different from a Skill?” I asked. “Are they types of magic? Like real magic?”

Ferrith took the next batch of harpy feathers I handed him, giving them a close inspection. “Good, good,” he said, “these are nice and clean…” I cleared my throat. “Oh, right,” he continued. “What’s that you said about real magic?”

“Is that what these Skills and Brands you mentioned are?”

Ferrith blinked. “Real? You say that like there’s a fake type of magic. Is there fake magic where you come from?”

“Kind of,” I answered. “I mean, it’s real, but it’s only a way to trick people into thinking something extraordinary has happened. Like I might show you a coin then close it in my fist, but really I’m dropping it in my pocket, then I’ll open my hand again and you’ll think it disappeared. That sort of thing.”

“But it’s just in your pocket,” Ferrith said.

“Well I was just using that as an example. If you didn’t see me drop it in my pocket you’d think I teleported it or something. It’s supposed to be impressive.”

Ferrith snorted. “That’s all you have? That’s sad. You must live in mud huts and fight each other with sticks.”