Before Joseph knew it, a week had passed since his arrival at Prolo’s manor. A lavish room had been provided to him, along with the softest bed in creation. He hadn’t intended to stay quite this long without at least one trip back to Betty, but the progress he’d made in learning this new language made it hard to pull away. It wasn’t as if Prolo was forcing Joe to stay here anyhow, the young man had indicated that he may leave the manor whenever he liked. His guards only followed Joseph when he was exploring the manor, but they didn’t accompany him once he was out on the grounds. That, and the fact that the gate guards had prepared to open the gate for him whenever he had drawn close to it.
Joe was not a prisoner, he was a student… and a teacher. Both roles thrilled him as he both learned Faesh from and taught English to Prolo. The kid had a sharp mind and picked up on words quite quickly. Joseph, likewise, was learning Faesh fast. Sure, they didn’t know quite enough to hold a proper conversation yet, but some basics had been established.
“Knife!” Prolo shouted, pointing to the blade in Joseph’s tool belt, “Tou ou knife!”
“That’s right!” Joe shouted back emphatically, nodding his head before pointing at Prolo’s long black locks, “Ralsh hrai!”
Prolo reached over the table to pat Joseph on the shoulder, nodding to show that he was indeed correct. Ralsh meant ‘long’, hrail meant ‘hair’. They were both making very good progress here, and once more he gave thanks to God for guiding him to this friendly fella. Because of that chance meeting…
He now had a loose idea of what ‘Touvolder’ meant. It was a rough translation that Joseph had possibly misunderstood, but it seemed to mean ‘Otherworlder’ or ‘Outworlder’. Prolo had drawn a few sketches depicting the definition for him, or at least, Joseph assumed that was what he had been doing. The sketch lay between the two men, lost somewhere within the bundle of papers they had both accumulated in their study together.
This atrocious paper-pile lay stacked on the table the two shared, an abundance of quills and inkwells scattered beside it. It took a lot of ink to get this much mutual learning done, after all. He reached toward the pile, shuffling through it until once again he found the sketch Prolo had made. It depicted a circle, and another, rougher circle that almost appeared like a clenched fist. These images sat closely together, with an arrow drawn between the two circles with a tiny stick figure between the images.
The still-alien script of Faesh was scrawled above the sketch, more resembling shapes than letters. Prolo had pointed to it, and had repeated the phrase ‘Touvolder’ numerous times upon finishing his drawing. Joe was pretty sure the stick figure was supposed to be himself, with the clean circle being Earth and the rough circle being this world.
This did end up closing many of his previous hypotheses, but in turn it opened up new ones. Since the word ‘Touvolder’ existed, did that mean that other people from Earth had been here before? Was it common to see people such as Joseph, or was he an incredible rarity? He had a feeling that it was the latter, based on how Prolo had reacted to meeting him.
Strange though, that Prolo would assume that Joe was an Outworlder at a glance. Was it because he spoke a different language? That couldn’t be, surely there were other languages on this world besides Faesh. Assuming he was an Outworlder based on his differing tongue wasn’t likely. Maybe it was his gear and clothing? That could be it, considering this civilization was far behind Pre-End Earth in tech.
“Joseph, are…” Prolo struggled to say, leaning back in his chair as he paused to think, “Joseph, are… you… okily?”
Joe grinned and nodded, “Sure am bud, congrats on yer first sentence in Engllish, but ya screwed up saying ‘okay’. Close enough though, honestly.”
Prolo grinned back leaning his elbows on the table with a satisfied sigh. The bright light from the open window behind the young man was seemingly being absorbed by that pitch black hair of his. The studying continued throughout the day, until finally night fell. Even then the two continued their work, until their eyes became puffy and every sentence was spoken in yawns. Just as they were both about to call it a night, a man pushed his way into Prolo’s study, holding a large tome in his hands.
The fella looked a bit tired himself, and based on the wear on those boots and tears in his cloak, he’d been traveling for a while. A courier maybe? What was in the book that he needed to bring it to Prolo this late? The man bowed deeply before approaching, presenting the book to Prolo who took it with eager hands.
Joseph nearly stood from his seat as he saw the cover of the book, his eyes going wide as he read and understood the letters. The title of the book was simple but it made his heart nearly skip a beat.
All exhaustion left him as he rounded the table, leaning over Prolo as he read aloud, “English to Faesh.”
He couldn’t believe his eyes, here it was before him, the key to understanding the people of this world. Now both he and Prolo could learn at an even faster rate than before!
“English book!” Prolo shouted excitedly, flipping a gold coin to the weary courier, the gleaming coin seeming to erase the man's frown.
“Oooh buddy,” Joseph said, rubbing his hands together, “I don’t know how ya did it but you are the best!”
The courier’s eyes narrowed, glaring daggers at Joseph. It seemed as if he were suspicious of something. Did he think he was going to rob Prolo? He’d never seen this man before, but he was apparently in Prolo’s employ. It wasn’t strange to be a tad suspicious.
“Joseph ou esty English, on au Touvolder.” The lad said firmly, “Ou et ton gared Joseph en ouch ei law, osterban?”
“Sa ou lem, Res Pientershuld.” The man replied hastily, bowing deeply.
It sounded like a reprimanding from Prolo followed by an apology from the courier, based on those tones. Prolo dismissed the courier, who bowed and muttered assumed apologies before hurrying out of the chamber. Joe had seen this repeated with other staff in the household whenever he’d talked to them. Those eyes would narrow at him, as if considering something before Prolo would shut them down, sometimes in a tone that bordered on threatening. Was he protecting him from them? Ah well, he’d be able to find out soon after he read this book.
His eyes found the smaller text beneath the broad title, nearly having a laugh as he read aloud, “For unlucky world hopping idiots, by Craig Teller… published in the year of our Lord…” Joseph paused, “Nineteen twenty-four?”
This book was over a hundred years old, and apparently had been written by a man that had come here well before The End. Portal storms didn’t happen until the late twenty-twenties, so how was it that Craig had gotten taken here? Maybe Portal Storms had always existed, they were just few and far between in the old days. That could explain mysterious disappearances, such as the missing crew of the Marie Celeste or the Roanoke colonists. It was either that, or there existed yet another means of travel between the worlds.
His brow furrowed as he considered the possibility of returning to Earth. Would he really want to? This planet seemed just fine, perfectly livable… though that may change in the future if The End came for it. He’d worry about whether or not he would go home if that opportunity ever presented itself to him, for now though, he’d focus on learning Faesh. Then after that, he’d try and warn the locals about the fate of his world and how they can prepare for it. That sounded like a good goal to him, but he would need to keep in mind that most folk simply wouldn’t believe him.
Maybe his status as an Outworlder would lend credence to his claims? He’d need to discuss it with Prolo when they both became more fluent. He flipped open the book carefully so as to not tear the aging parchment, his eyes widening as he read the note Craig had left on the first page.
“If you were lucky to meet one of the more friendly locals of these lands, good for you,” It read, “I had no such fortune when I arrived. We Outworlders are usually just a means to an end for the natives of Faenor. If one has not immediately tried to sacrifice you to be a vessel for one of their gods, you can trust them, but be wary of anyone else! Do not let your true nature of being an Outworlder slip, or your life will become a living hell. Learn the language and become fluent in it, as all people of this land speak one single language, which as you have read on the cover, is Faesh. Hearing any sort of foreign tongue will out you as an Outworlder, so read this book and learn quickly, for your own sake. I have also written a sort of ‘Survival Guide’ for our kind here, hopefully you found that book along with this one, if not, just remember my warning.”
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
Joseph lifted his eyes from the pages to stare at Prolo, who stared back grinning, innocent as a puppy. Well… Prolo hadn’t tried to sacrifice Joseph the instant the two met, and indeed he was helping him to learn Faesh. Could it be because Prolo knew all this already and wanted Joe to survive? If so, he was a good kid with a better heart, nearly brought a tear to this old man’s eye. He owed Prolo an even bigger favor now, and he’d make sure to repay it by teaching him every lick of English he could.
This warning meant that those strange stares he’d been getting were a lot more dangerous then he had thought. Prolo had seemingly quashed any such notions once they arose, but that didn’t mean that he was out of the woods yet. Any of these folk could go behind his back to try and yoink Joe. Well, he’d like to see these bumpkins try. Joe was incredibly hard to yoink and kept himself armed and armored at all times, even when he was sleeping. He’d need to put extra barricades on the windows and doors of his chambers from now on.
Besides that, he now knew that gods existed here in Faenor, and that they wanted Outworlders as vessels. Well, he wasn’t gonna let no fourth rate deity make itself cozy in his head, there was only room for one God in his life and he wasn’t planning on adding any more. Now, the question here was why these gods wanted Outworlders in particular. Wouldn’t any mortal body be good enough for possession? There were potentially millions of options to choose from, so why go out of their way for someone like Joe?
He’d need to find that survival guide too, perhaps the reason could be found there. Of course, Joe could always ask Prolo once he fully learned Faesh. In fact, that just might be the safest way to find out, if he asked a different native why their gods needed Outworlders, that question in and of itself might rat him out. Prolo already knew what he was, so there’d be no risk of sacrification.
His brow furrowed. Was sacrification a real word? Eh, it didn’t matter.
Should he pull an all-nighter studying or should he get some rest? Prolo would probably stay awake with him if he did but the kid had been running himself ragged with these long studies. He was a growing boy and needed his beauty sleep. He patted Prolo’s shoulder and grinned before letting out a loud yawn.
“Bed time.” He said, eyes growing heavy.
“Bed time.” Prolo repeated, nodding before rubbing at tired eyes.
Right after they said that , a dim orange light could be seen through the window. Curious, Joe peeked out of the window to see a series of torches being held aloft by guards. These men were dressed in the same livery as the other guards posted here at Pientershuld manor, but there were around twenty of them in total, leading a large dark wagon forward through the gate.
“Who’s that?” Joseph asked, looking to Prolo before pointing out the wagon.
Prolo frowned, standing to peer out into the plaza. As soon as he saw the wagon, his face became deathly pale, “F-fasha et cabk om Relias!?” He exclaimed, backing away from the window, “Joseph et danger!”
Fasha? Morla had said that in reference to the man that had appeared to be her father. Did that mean that this stranger was Prolo’s old man? Well, if the kid was reacting like this to daddy dearest coming home, then that was bad news. Especially with Prolo saying that Joe would be in danger. He saw that old coot, Agdaler, move up to the wagon, dry washing his hands with that horrid grin on his face.
That bastard was about to rat Joseph out to Prolo’s dad! He’d kill Agdaler if the opportunity presented itself, but for now he needed to escape. Sure, he could kill the guards easily enough, but he’d rather not leave a horrible mess in his wake. This was where Prolo lived, and he didn’t want the young man getting in more trouble because of Joe. Before he could scramble out of the room though, Prolo put a hand on his shoulder, indicating a nearby shelf.
Prolo then moved, going to the bookcase before pulling free a large tome. He then brought it back to the table quickly, setting it down before beckoning him over and opening it to reveal that all the pages within were blank. Joe stared, perplexed for an instant before Prolo pointed to the book in his hands.
“Copy book,” He said, tapping the empty paper, “Give me other timm,” Prolo said, “You need veale. Ei ton lostrol Fasha.” He finished, pointing at the doorway the courier had left through.
Joseph’s eyes widened before he nodded. Daddy Pientershuld’s return had compromised his stay here, meaning that the manor was no longer a safe place for him to be. It seemed that Prolo wanted him to copy the contents of the book into this blank one, then to return it once the job was done. For all his help, it was the least Joe could do for Prolo. He’d do what was asked and copy the book for him, and bring it back when it was clear.
Joseph nodded, offering his hand to Prolo, who clasped it with his own. The two men gave a single firm shake before Joe said his farewells, leaving Prolo behind in his study. He walked quickly through the wide halls of the manor until finally he reached his bedchamber. He stopped to listen at the door before entering, but he heard nothing. He quickly rushed inside, moving over to his rucksack that sat by the foot of the plush bed. He’d kept it ready to grab in case he needed to get out of here quickly which, based off Prolo’s earlier tone, needed to happen now.
He slung on his bag before he snuck back into the room, shutting the door silently behind him before checking the hall. Once he saw that it was clear, he crept down the hall, toward the opposite end of the manor. There was a back entrance he could take that would lead to the gardens, from there he’d scale the wall and make way for Betty. Poor girl was probably lonely without him.
It was after he turned the corner that he heard yelling in Faesh, coming from his bedroom. Not familiar voices those, it looked like he got out just in time. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t just tell his men to lay off and leave Joe alone, they had been listening to him up until now hadn’t they? He shook his head, with daddy Pienturshuld back they had no reason to listen to Prolo any longer.
Well, he wasn’t gonna let himself be sold, eaten, or turned into a vessel for some two-bit god. He’d listen to Craig’s advice and be more cautious from now on. He had been so wonderfully lucky this far, hopefully that luck would hold out until he got home. He finally turned the corner, rushing the backdoor before pushing his way through it. The one guard posted in the garden jumped at his presence, bearing his spear at him before he saw who he was pointing it at.
“Et ou Joseph? Lou es nut masl dur.” He said with a relieved sigh.
You can’t slam the door was the rough translation, this guy hadn’t been instructed to catch Joe yet. Well, he wouldn’t let him look bad for daddy Pienturshuld. If Joe got away while he was posted back here in the garden, he could get in serious trouble… guess he’d have to do the guy a favor. Joseph walked over to him quickly, the guard’s brow furrowing in confusion at his speed.
“Et rea lo-” He began before Joe hooked him in the jaw.
The guard fell to the grass, his brain properly rattled. He’d be out for a while and he wouldn’t get in trouble for letting Joseph go unscathed. At least, he hoped that was the case. He rushed past the downed guard, approaching the tall rear wall. The stone was too smooth to scale, and with how loaded down he was, Joe doubted that he’d be able to jump high enough to grasp the ledge. That was fine, he had other options at his disposal.
Hanging from a loop in the back of his tool belt was a grappling hook, with a sharp steel hook at the end of its thick rope. He pulled it free, unfurling the hook before throwing it over the wall, pulling the rope until no slack remained. Now that it was secure, he began climbing, his feet braced against the wall on either side of the rope. It was always a bit nerve-wracking to use this thing, he’d never fully trusted climbing tools… but perhaps that was just because he was scared of falling.
It was when he reached the top that he heard shouting from within the manor, growing closer. He grunted as he heaved himself onto the ledge, tossing the grappling hook into the soft dirt on the outside of the wall. He’d loop it up properly when he was out of sight. He then hung down from the wall, gently easing himself down before finally releasing. It was a decent drop, but not enough to where he’d break anything… but when he became old again his knees would get their revenge.
They seemed to absorb the shock well, but he lost his balance and fell back on his rear, cursing silently before standing. He retrieved his grappling hook and moved deeper into the woods, directly away from the manor. Once they found out that he wasn’t on the property, they’d likely assume that he would return to the trail, best to wait them out until morning. A couple miles into the woods and a night behind a rock or under a bush and he’d be scott-free.
This was assuming they didn’t send men scouring the woods for him… maybe he should move a bit further away than that. He’d move around ten miles or so before looping back toward the trail, by then the men after him would be spread thin, allowing him an easier time avoiding them.
Once he returns to Betty, he’ll have a lot of studying to do.