None of the military gear was actually mine, so I returned it, to be used for any new recruits or just storage. I kept the makeshift sling they made for my arm, for obvious reasons. They accepted my resignation amicably, with little fuss, Yinea was surprised to learn I wouldn’t be returning to the hamlet.
“Do you have to leave?” Loran asked, sipping his beer as we three sat together. Alida sat across me, watching me quietly. “You could stay back at the hamlet for a while. You are our friend, and leaving with nine people only to return with two is depressing.” He glanced at Alida and muttered something I couldn’t hear under his breath.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know how long I have to do this.” I wasn’t sure the portals would stay open for an extended period, and I certainly wasn’t keen to test it now. “Give Raque my thanks for his help.” I hand them the small bag I came with. “There’s a small box in there, for him. Not to mention a few carvings for you, marked with your names.” A bird, herald of spring, for Alida, as well as a house guardian for Loran. I’d buried Trevor’s snake beside the mass grave during the night. Loran wordlessly took it, I glanced at Alida, who simply watched as I nodded once to them in farewell. The distance this time didn’t seem so far, I believe I could probably make it there in a few hours, even with the bad leg.
I stood in front of the source of the pull after about eight hours of trekking, stopping near a river to drink since there were no towns close by to contaminate it. It was a refreshing change from water-skins and beer, cool and clear. There was nothing before me, same as back then, without the pull I wouldn’t even have known it was there. Throwing a rock at it garnered no reaction, it almost felt like it shifted out of the way sometimes. Don’t think there’s anything else I can learn about it now. I thought, mentally sighing.
I reached out with my left hand. My body lurched sharply forward, and my vision went dark as pressure enveloped me. I found myself tossed onto the ground, stomach lurching, pain shooting from my right arm and left leg. I coughed a few times as some dust settled in my nose. Heck, where am I now? I thought. As I raised my head a sinking feeling began in my chest down to my abdomen. I was in an alley, looking out, skyscrapers loomed ahead, with chunks torn out and many broken windows. Some had started to fall, leaning against some of the closer buildings for support. The sky worried me as well, dark miasmic soup crowded out the sunlight, keeping the city dim and cold. People were rushing about, checking and caring for people at some first aid tents.
For a moment I saw something else, getting an uncomfortable sense that some kind of fog clumped ahead, around, and even besides me, it passed quickly, though it left me unnerved. I looked myself over, willing my mind to focus. While I was dressed in a tunic and breeches, they were low quality enough to look like a DIY job, the carving knife looking like a cheap knick-knack, and I had enough wounds to look like a survivor, though less from a disaster and more from an attack. Now the only issue was how foreign I looked and their culture.
There didn’t seem to be a particular ethnicity represented overall, good. I took a deep breath, exhaled, and walked over with a timid smile with disarming body language, learned from a book a very long time ago. It’s funny, I read the book to learn how to better understand people, but also because of a girl. I laughed inwardly. After that I was too conscious of the fact that it was possible to manipulate people using body language, even if skill was often involved.
[It is a valuable skill, integrating into the local populace, even as an awkward member, may prove useful in avoiding unwanted attention.] Page noted.
That’s why I’m using it, though it still discomfits me.
The aid workers saw me and moved me to the side for examination and treatment. Seeing the cross-stitched sutures of horse-hair the first aid worker, a man, frowned, but commented something, I sullenly noted that I didn’t understand a word. Why couldn’t any of the worlds I entered use English, or Chinese, heck, even Spanish?
[It seems your linguistic capability will be very much tested.] Page said, amused.
The man seemed dumbfounded for a while, before pointing at the wound and crudely miming medicine and refusal, before he pointed at some severely injured people lying down to the side. No medicine for the wound, likely due to triage. I nodded, at least that seemed universal. Until I find a world it isn’t. I sighed. Looking around, I tried to find someone who could teach me the language, after almost half a day I finally found a teacher, a more or less uninjured woman with a sullen demeanour.
Over the course of several years after learning with Raque I’d established a sort of quick way to learn basic grammar rules and vocabulary, assuming they used a language similar in structure to English. It was put into use now, and I compressed a few weeks of learning into a day, gaining a basic understanding of the language. I thanked her, and took my leave, shrugging off her protests.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
The streets were practically deserted, and I easily found a building for me to enter and examine, stepping over what was left of a broken wall. The damage in the buildings looked recent, the sides of the hole itself were colder than usual, and it seemed as though the wall had just shattered from cold. I slid myself down the hole diagonally, careful not to aggravate my injuries, into the chilly rubble below. I carefully shifted myself across the rubble, picking up pieces and looking through them.
They had definitely shattered, from thermal shock rather than force, the steel reinforcements had cracked the concrete as well. That can’t happen normally, it shouldn’t happen at all. I thought, concerned. I tried crushing the concrete in my hand to no avail. Makes sense, large enough, the brittleness from the shock didn’t weaken it enough, it’s not cold anymore either. Corpses were further in, massed over at an exit within the intact portion of the building, some had been shattered, pieces of melted flesh lying around the body, while with others their body shifted like rubber at my touch. I grimaced, feeling bile beginning to rise in my throat.
The pattern seemed to be like a cone shaped lance, stabbed straight through the wall, causing it to break apart. The weight had collapsed a few other floors down as well, those showed signs of stress break at the edges, and I’d wager the rubble at the bottom was in larger chunks. I shuddered, the quiet atmosphere somehow made the hole seem colder, and the darkness didn’t help, it was just good that the light could still faintly enter through the straight gap in the wall.
A sound began to become distinct as I moved further, a voice, I knelt down, turning side to side as I sought the source. At the edge of the fallen rubble, I found a hole. “Help.” A voice croaked hoarsely. “Can any… hear…” coughing interrupted the voice.
“Hello?” I spoke firmly down the hole. The voice became excited, babbling too fast for me to understand. I moved the rubble away quickly, brushing away the small pieces. I stopped for a moment, beginning to ask how deep they were down, and held my tongue when I realized how idiotic that was. I leaned down to listen, straining to hear what the person was saying. The feeling came again, and I felt my surroundings become clear even in the gloom, he was deep, maybe several feet down. Something was right in front of me, with the same pull, I stretched out my hand, pushing through.
A shout came from the hole, and I drew back in shock, the feeling of hair marking my fingers. What on earth? I shook my head and lay down, shouting. “Calm, leaving to find help.” The voice nervously croaked out his assent, and I scrambled out of the hole.
[Is something the matter?] Page queried, oblivious to what had happened, I hadn’t given him permission to take all nervous feedback, so he didn’t know that I had felt anything. It also means the sensation wasn’t visual or audial, since it does have access to those. I briskly walk to the first aid tents, informing them of the situation.
They couldn’t help me, too busy treating the wounded, but they did radio a small rescue team, made up of firefighters, and a few policemen, towards the building. I met up with them, and showed them where to start digging. They told me the bulk of their group was further north, which was apparently the site with the bulk of survivors. It would be a few hours before we managed to reach the man.
I focused as I worked, trying to see if I could achieve that same sense I had when I had “seen” through the rubble. I gave up partway, needing to keep my focus on shovelling, much harder now with my wounds, removing the sling for mobility. In the meantime, I explained the phenomenon to Page.
[That’s curious, I suspect you’re sticking around to see if that sense of yours was right?]
No doubt? No suspicions of hallucination or a loosened grip on reality?
[I facilitate, and I have seen no reason to believe you have sustained any brain injuries that could lead to such things, though human biology is not fully documented in my database.]
I nodded to myself, somewhat thankful for the reassurance. The work was easier with so many people around, and a door was revealed from the rubble, along the intact section. Exactly the right distance. I reached forward to turn the doorknob, and a man all but fell out. His leg is injured. I realized, and quickly reassessed once he entered the dim light. Pulped might be a more accurate assessment. I frowned. One of the rescue team came forward, lifting the man onto another’s waiting back.
I followed them over to the first aid tents, where the man was laid down and a helper began to treat his wounds. They winced when they saw his foot, though they did their best to treat it. The rescue team requested that I aid the effort, and though injured, I could still work, slowly, as I did my best not to aggravate my wounds. A girl brushed past me, clad in a red shirt with a white centre, and a pair of jeans. The aid workers greeted her with relief and delight etched into their faces, and guided her towards the critically wounded.
A doctor? I don’t see any supplies. She carried a small slender bag, but too small to hold all of the supplies one would need. I stalled, tracing her movements with my eyes as she pulled out a pendant and an amazingly detailed doll. Some members of the team looked back at me, before breaking out a small grin. “What’s the matter, never seen a Mender work before?” One called out. “Or is it just this one?” Some of their smiles grew wider. I paid them no heed, though some of the aid workers did turn to regard me with curious confusion for a short second.
Faint light began to emanate from the pendent, the girl kneeling beside the man we’d just brought in as she touched the doll’s foot. She closed her eyes then and the glow became slightly brighter. Flesh and bone began to reposition itself on the man’s foot, as skin grew over the resulting mass that slowly returned to a normal shape and size. Throughout this, the man never flinched, nor screamed in pain, he stared in fascination at what would, should, have left him a writhing, screaming mess of pain.
It was all over in a few minutes, skin, nails, bone and flesh all remoulded. She got up and walked to the next victim. I stopped watching, and briskly marched after the rescue team, still visible in the distance. I still had many questions for them.