The next morning, we were packed and ready to resume travel, though the destination hadn’t quite yet been set. Red had been settling some affairs about town before our departure, and only returned to the inn around when I’d finished making ready for the journey. Of course, that hadn’t taken that long; I spent most of the time he was out dozing. I slept too much in this world. Of all the instant-access information and communication with friends that I missed from my phone, insistent, personal alarms were becoming the most consistent sticking point. I didn’t like sleeping for eight hours a night. I spent plenty of my childhood in a time before the personal conveniences of immediately-accessible internet, so as weird as it was I could adapt to live without it, but forcing myself up with some kind of alarm had become such an intrinsic part of my wakeup ritual that it was hard to stay awake without it. Yes, someone from the inn’s staff knocked on my door at the appointed time, but that wasn’t enough this morning, and she had better responsibilities to attend to than standing outside my room and knocking every fifteen minutes to make sure I was awake. No, really awake.
“We got a small pit-stop to make once we cross the Astonian border,” Red announced, slipping a small pouch into my bag. “Just droppin’ off a package. No big.”
“Is this an illegal package?”
“Are you a guard?” He asked me very frankly, knowing full well the answer.
“No, I just like to know what to be prepared for.”
“That’s fair,” he paused to ensure the door was closed and dropped his voice a bit. “It ain’t illegal to have but some folks out there like to have a tight grip on the buying and selling of lucrative merchandise. Getting into Astonia with it isn’t the problem; it’s getting out of Teren Balt.”
“All right. What exactly are we not-smuggling?”
“Redgrass. It’s a pretty common herb deeper into Teren Balt, some people consider it invasive ‘cuz it ain’t so pretty, but it’s got a lotta medicinal properties.”
“Uh-huh,” I nodded, gathering up everything and putting it on my person. “Do people get high off of redgrass?”
“They can choose to,” Red retorted defensively. “I happen to be taking it to an apothecary, for your information. The House of Diamonds just likes to keep a monopoly on the market.”
“Do I want to know what the House of Diamonds is?”
“Yeah, probably,” Red sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Not now. Ask me again after we get to Astonia. They ain’t the boogeyman or anything, but just in case someone is listenin’… I don’t need the heat.”
“Understandable.” I thought about our situation for a second, then asked, “should I have, like, a sword or something? Y’know. For self-defense?”
"Do you know how to use a sword?” Red asked very genuinely.
“Not beyond the most basic principles of ‘stick the pointy end in the other guy’,” I confessed. “The grimoire says I know how to use throwing weapons.”
“Then we should get you some throwing weapons,” he nodded.
Purchasing said weapons was less eventful than I might’ve hoped. Honestly, adjusting to the wonders and mundanities of life in Barbavia was less enthralling and dramatic than fiction had led me to expect. We entered a store that sold weapons supplied by smiths who worked around the area, I picked five identical throwing knives and paid what seemed like a paltry ten gold for them, then we left and began our journey. No barrel-chested smith greeted me with a tour of his in-house custom-made wares, there was no extended experience of awe as I found a weapon that seemed to call to me as though it was meant for my hand. The experience felt a great deal more personal than a trip to Wal*Mart, but perhaps not as far away from stopping at the Cracker Barrel gift shop as I might’ve liked. Guy Ritchie would chop the whole ordeal together with whooshing sounds and a cash register cha-ching in a way that you’d get the point, but the scene would last less than sixty seconds. True to form, it felt like an afterthought by the time we were on the road North.
“So… Astonia, huh?” I broached after we’d been on the move for around an hour. I really should’ve gotten a walking stick. My back was feeling rough, bunched up in the lower muscle groups and moving stiffly. I kept my eyes on the trees in hopes I might spot a decent enough branch as we traveled, but so far had no luck.
“Yeah, sorry. Guess I never exactly explained the plan to ya,” Red sighed. “You wanna keep goin’ with this chainer thing, enter the tournament an’ win big, right?”
“I do,” I nodded solemnly. “Though I don’t think you’ve been very clear on what I get by winning. Money, obviously.”
“Money, yeah. Fame. ‘Notoriety’, maybe is a better way to put it. It’s a helluva thing to work your way to the top; the title of ‘Grand Champion’ don’t change hands very often. When you’re on the top, people wanna throw all kinds of stuff atcha. Endorsement deals, political power, feasts in your honor, intimate company… it ain’t quite like you got the world at your fingertips, but it puts ya up there.”
“And you don’t get anywhere near as much recognition for falling short.” Master Anatol’s casual dismissal of his accomplishments certainly painted a picture of how little came from climbing almost to the top.
“Eh, depends on the person,” Red shrugged. “Some folks can parlay themselves into a lesser version of the position, especially the ones that keep tryin’ at the tournament every year. It takes some doin’, but you can make a career out of losin’ the tournament.”
“I’m not really sure if that’s what I’m looking for.” Honestly, this venture was mostly born of curiosity. Magic likely brought me here, if I wanted to go back it would probably take magic as well. Being a successful competitive chainer would garner me enough celebrity to talk to magic people without paying out the nose. Failing that, I’d earn enough money to pay out the nose. But there was no real point to my decision; it was a plan with slightly more purpose than ‘it seemed like a good idea at the time’. “It just seems fun, I guess. Or… interesting, maybe. Something to do. Why do most people become chainers?”
“Money. Power. Same reason’s most people do anything. Some folks like the strategy an’ the sport of it, but most of ‘em lack the actual talent to link espers an’ build a team. It’s somethin’ else to prove your skill at, I guess. Like an archery contest or a chili cook-off. A way to prove to yourself an’ anyone else lookin’ that you’re the best there ever was.”
“I guess I haven’t really had that kind of desire since I was a teenager,” I mumbled absently. There was a really good-looking stick just off the path that had caught my attention, but upon attempting to retrieve it, I discovered it was oddly damp and sloughing off its bark, so I let it remain in the detritus.
“Well, hurry up an’ get it back. If this is the path you’re takin’ for whatever reason you’re takin’ it, you’re gonna need some iron in your spine.”
“I’d like to think I can go pretty far in this without being an egotistical jackass.” Most competitive people I’d run into after high school were in online games like Halo or League of Legends, and I had a difficult time seeing myself act like that. Only in my most petty moments had I any desire to ‘teabag’ someone, nevermind the kind of casual bullying found in chat.
“If that’s the conclusion you jump to on how a person’s gotta act to know their worth, then I’m sorry about how grimy successful people are on Earth.”
“Eh, I’m sure there’s plenty of people back home who are pleasant about their accomplishments. The loud, belligerent ones are just… louder.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Red chuckled. “So, anyhow. To qualify for the tournament you gotta make the circuit. There’s a coliseum in every country in Barbavia; Astonia, Teren Balt, Senta, Bizim, Marekaj, and the Earthscraper. You gotta beat the top chainer in each coliseum to qualify for the tournament, that person’s called a Gladiator. Big title, lotsa prestige. Not as much as the Grand Champion, but still, if you’re lookin’ to settle down someplace and have the talent for it, that’s a pretty good way to make a living and still be a part of the sport.” He waved his paw in the air to dismiss the smaller details and get himself back on track. “The tournament itself is held through Dryearth Run, just ‘cuz that’s the best compromise on travel for Barbavia in general.”
“Dryearth Run was last month?” I asked, trying to recall the details he’d parceled out to me through our travels so far.
“Yeah. So you got plenty of time to make the circuit an’ qualify.”
“Awesome!” I was both grateful for the dumb luck of arriving in Barbavia when I did, given my chosen vocation, and excited I’d get to see a good portion of the known world. “So… why start with Astonia? Why not stay in Teren Balt and take care of that first?”
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“Coupla reasons,” he mused. “First of all, you need more espers on your team. Regulation says you can have up to ten available to field at a time, but most professionals find the time split between training ten espers ain’t very efficient, so they stick to five or six. One is not gonna cut it, no matter how promising a fighter Wysteria is.” She croaked in agreement. “You get different espers with different abilities from different parts of the map. Like I said, the Esperwild is pretty similar to Barbavia, so the kinds of espers you’ll find in Astonia or Bizim are gonna be way different than the ones in Teren Balt on account’a the drastically different climates, an’ depending on what you settle on, more suited to take point in certain fights.”
“That makes sense.”
“Tch. You’d think it’d be basic frickin’ knowledge, but some chainers are stubborn. Whether it’s pride in their homeland or some sorta weird aesthetic theme they got goin’, you’re gonna run into all types of wackjob teams out there. Sometimes it pays off! You got a whole team that breathes fire an’ you’re fightin’ someone whose espers ain’t so good with fire, that’s gonna be an easy match. Most of the time the guy you’re up against is gonna try to have an answer for every contingency, though, an’ if you ain’t got an answer yourself, you’re gonna end up with a big score in the ‘L’ column.”
“So, diversity is the key,” I summarized. “It doesn’t matter if I have ten incredible terramor toads on my team if I’m fighting someone who has one esper who’s really good at fighting terramor toads.”
“Pretty much,” agreed Red, casting a cautious look around the forest. “The other thing is that Teren Balt can be a tough to place break into the competitive chainer gig for reasons similar to what I was talkin’ about before we left. Some folks like control more than power an’ money…”
“So, we make a trip around Barbavia and gather up espers, and hopefully by the time we get back to Teren Balt I’ll be competent enough to stand up to anyone trying to hold me back?”
“That’s the long and short of it,” he nodded. “The tournament’s in Senta this year, so that makes sense as the last stop. We had our choice between the deserts of Bizim to the South, and Astonia to the North. The blizzards are startin’ to get pretty rough again this time of year, but they ain’t at their worst, an’… Bizim is a lot. I would personally feel more comfortable about you goin’ in there with a little more worldly experience.”
“You’re the expert,” I held up my hands in surrender. “If you think I need to be more used to everything around here before heading into Bizim, I’ll take your word for it. Besides, Astonia has a pretty big magical culture, too, right?”
“There’s magic everywhere, chief,” Red corrected, “but they’re a bit more open about it, and less uptight than the balt. The thought that you might learn a thing or two did cross my mind.” His consideration made me smile, that he made this decision with while accounting for the fact I might like to learn a little magic. “Astonia’s also part of the Commonwealth, so things ain’t so wild an’ the laws ain’t that different. Less to get used to, compared to Bizim. Plus, here in about an hour we’re gonna leave this dusty-ass forest path and hit the Triangle Road.”
“Master Anatol mentioned the Triangle Road yesterday, something about Lion’s Head being off the beaten path from it?”
“Yeah, they were a pretty big-shot town until the Crucible came into power and started the Commonwealth. The White Lion Inn was centrally located on the safest path from Brum—that’s the capital of Astonia – to Yona Ceriba. But then they built Triangle Road, which is regularly patrolled, cleaned, and maintained on the government’s dime, and they don’t get so much traffic anymore. Triangle Road directly connects the three capitals, so it’s the path of least resistance; we ain’t likely to get mugged, we can sleep with guards watchin’ our backs, an’ the walkin’ itself is easier without stumblin’ over every wrinkle in the earth like we done so far.”
“Have I mentioned how grateful I am you decided to stick around?” My back muscles already felt a little less tight at the idea of smooth, level terrain. Well, no they didn’t. But placebo kicked in for just a moment and it was heaven.
“You’re welcome,” Red chuckled. “There’s enough people on it that we might be able to trade for food an’ sundries, too. Good way to make contacts, get news, an’ hear road stories.”
The picture Red painted in my mind seemed too fantastic, but altogether tantalizing. I could just imagine people from all walks of life, making their way to the next destination with exotic pack animals and carts whose details signified tidbits of trivia about their homelands. If Barbavia’s calendar was based on trade route tendencies it suggested that people did indeed travel more than I was used to seeing, even in fictional worlds. Then again, I’d been through rush hour traffic in Columbus and Cincinnati, nevermind a huge city like Atlanta. Would traversing the Triangle Road be more like waiting in a really long queue than actually walking? It wasn’t long before my curious daydreams found their confirmations; after rounding a corner past yet another copse of trees, our humble dirt road joined a brick-paved, timber-lined path that seemed like a veritable highway in comparison to where we’d been walking. After a dozen steps I could already feel the relief in my tired muscles and bones, even if the overall wear and tear of travel still sat heavy on me. I looked forward to being in town for a few days, perhaps longer than our stay in Lion’s Head, just for the chance to relax for a minute and feel well and truly ready for the next leg of the journey.
There were, of course, no shortage of places to rest along the road. The traders long-hauling between the major cities didn’t have much they wanted to barter, being as most of their goods were already sold and just needed to be brought to their destination, but there were pop-up shops in the back of carts hocking freshly-cooked food and curious wares. There were even a few small fields of well-appointed tents, furnished and private enough to be similar to renting a room at an inn. These, too, were temporary, as Red explained they weren’t expressly legal businesses and had to be ready to pack up and haul off when word came down the chain of a patrol making their way through. Of course, like anywhere else, there were those who looked the other way, or could be paid off to do so. Laws exist for a reason, but when you relegate their enforcement to those disinterested in doing so and disincentivized to care, you get the unflappable sort of questionable entrepreneur like the woman we rented a tent from for our first night on the road; a well-armed and armored man approached her stall with little more than a cough, and she put a pouch in his hand without so much as looking up from her book.
“It really depends on how high up the food chain they are,” Red explained as we were bedding down for the night. “Real guards of the commonwealth are outfitted enough to look important, an’ they put your average town guard to shame. The closer to the fringes of the wilderness and places where dangerous creatures are likely to attack, you’ll find the town guard just as well-equipped, but less inclined to give a damn about breaking minor laws since their job is to literally guard the citizens of the town from clear an’ present threats.”
“It’s kind of the other way around back home,” I chuckled. “There aren’t any monsters, so small-town cops are bored and hassle people just to do something, whereas in the big city there’s so much important crime to stop that lesser infractions tend to slip through the cracks.”
“Cops?”
“Um… police officers, is what we call the town guard, basically. ‘Cop’ is short for ‘copper’, as in ‘someone who captures’.”
“Oh, like coppin’ a feel,” he said a little too quickly. Red and I gave each other a look of mutual understanding and embarrassment. “I get what you’re sayin’, I meant.”
“Right. There’s a bunch of other stories about how the word came about, like it was from the badges and buttons they used to wear being made of copper, or it was an acronym for ‘constabulary on patrol’ and stuff like that, but if I’m remembering right, that’s the real one.”
“’Cops’,” he chuckled. “I like that.” It was strange that ‘cop’ of all words wasn’t a cognate in Barbavia, but I dismissed the idea to focus more on the warm joy of teaching my friend a new turn of phrase. “Anyhow, like I was sayin’, guards are kind of a variable dependin’ on your proximity to a major city or the wilderness. Further out you got Judges, who’re like supervisory arms of the Crucible for places that’re too far away from civilization, and beneath them are bailiffs, ‘cuz ain’t no way one guy can keep watch over a quarter of Teren Balt on his own.”
“Are they any different in terms of…” ‘corruption’ sounded too damning a word, especially when I was sympathetic to the plight of the people just trying to make a few gold, “… bribe-ability?”
“The same as anyone, I guess, but Judges don’t get appointed by accident and they’re picked directly by the Crucible, so they usually take their jobs pretty seriously. It ain’t worth tryin’, basically, unless you’re desperate and ain’t got no other option. Bailiffs are a different story; they’re appointed by the Judges and are usually locals like folks who stand out among the guard or hold political office and can still swing a sword or whatever. They’re a little more hit an’ miss, but they get the stereotype of being self-important and drunk on their modicum of power for a reason. Again, unless you know the bailiff you’re dealin’ with is willin’ to play ball, it’s best not to take unnecessary risks.”
“I like how you’re explaining the hierarchy of law enforcement officers after you’ve convinced me to break the law.” I put a little extra syrup into my voice, to make sure he knew I was ribbing him.
“These guys ain’t even the ones we need to watch out for yet,” he cautioned with a satisfied smile. “But if stick with me, chief, eventually you’ll give ‘em a reason to wanna clap you in irons.”
Sitting in a tent with my friends (both of whom were magical creatures from another plane) and talking about the crimes we would probably commit as part of our travels together felt like a realized dream. I never liked camping out on Earth; it was too rough and uncomfortable, with too much possibility for unexpected intrusions or even danger, which were basically my greatest barriers to committing more crime than pirating old Super Nintendo ROMs. The dual threats of inconvenience and punishment were enough to keep me safe inside my home, using my imagination to have adventures. When we played tabletop roleplaying games at that age, I was almost always the charming, dashing rogue. It was who I related to in media with your Jacks Sparrow and Kurts Wagner; the archetype I wanted to embody as a person. Instead, I ended up more Bilbo Baggins if he’d never met Gandalf, cozy in my home with a safe, predictable life where my worst trauma came from my own failures and the people I wrongly chose to put my faith in. Now, here I was, in the tent, in the company of a charming rogue who embodied so much of what I wanted to be, and he was happy to show me his world by so many definitions of the phrase. Every day felt like a new echelon of excitement. Emotional reactions from chemicals long dormant were dancing through my body. I liked stealing spells from Master Anatol under false pretenses, even if it was ultimately a low-stakes gig. I liked that we were smuggling curious herbs across territory lines to avoid what I had to assume was some kind of bedazzled mafia. I liked the danger, and the excitement of never truly knowing what was next. Maybe it would lead to me getting hurt, or even dying. Maybe I already had. For the time being the rush of adventure and discovery was enough to drive me forward, to see what wonders awaited in the next town, and experiment with the limits of my newfound power.