Chapter 8

Ben finished the last bit of cheese and with nothing else in sight, he wiped his hands in his jacket. Funny enough this sparked a memory of his doing the same thing on a battlefield. He could practically feel the blood staining his hands.

Waving the thought away, Ben tried to keep his mind blank and focused on the task at hand. He found that the best way to achieve that was to imagine a thicket of trees after a fresh snowfall. Maybe a bubbling brook half-frozen.

Ben knew that his attitude did not reflect the strangeness of the situation. By all accounts, he should be feeling scared or panicked. Stuck in another world with barely any instruction past that he needs to pass some vague test. But it didn't stick to him, nor did it bother him much. It felt almost wonderful. A fresh start, with a more exciting life story. What he saw when he passed through the gateway in the desert, he did not know if it was the future or some long-forgotten past, after all his memory was not to be trusted. All he could do was focus on summoning the will to keep going. Whatever else happened, it really was none of his business.

From the stuffy streets in the market quarter, from the inns and roadside stands to painted glass-window restaurants in the fancy part of town, Ben made his way down towards the water.

Livingston had a sizable harbor for a town this small, on account of the weapons and powder making their way through the rivers. And the merchants followed the money, which is how the town came to have expensive restaurants and high-end houses.

It was still late night, with the moon peeking out from behind the clouds. Nobody bothered Ben as he walked in plain view, just treading through the streets. He thought the severe-looking knight lady would put up more of an effort to find him. After all, he did assault the town doctor, that fellow that looked like an ungroomed circus bear. At the very least, he expected to be worried about his health.

He wondered if they got his name, and then remembered that he failed to even go through his pockets since he woke up and had no idea what might be on him. Quickly, Ben began to rifle through his pockets, finding various knick-knacks. There was his military service card, all the battles he had taken place in listed neatly under his rank and date of enlistment. The Hartland Hill battle was missing since he never made it back from going to give the dying mage water and so the clerk did not mark it.

To think it all started just because he wanted to make somebody's passing a little easier. And the man wanted him to pass on his family's magic to the next in line. Another mark on the record, as that was impossible now, what with being in a new world. Ben wondered if the things around his arms would eventually kill him if left unchecked. His blood had taken a golden tinge and the marks on his palms, from the fall, healed faster than they had any right to.

Ben decided not to think about it too hard and just shove it in a drawer in his mind, and shove that drawer in that little creek.

"Snowy forest, snowy forest," Ben said.

Sitting down on the dock, he took his boots and socks off. Slowly, he let his feet cool off in the water. Ben leaned until his back touched the dock. He stared at the sky, trying to see if he could find any familiar constellations but none existed. Few consolations in this new world.

Ben touched the side of his head, running his fingers over a small scar. He saw something at the moment when he passed between words. He saw it, but it did not make much sense, or at least the timeline didn't. Those things could not have happened in his own world. The words were wrong.

As for his wife, he could barely remember her, something which he attributed to his misuse of memory magic in the war, but now was concerned that it might all be part of the Witch test. It only she gave him more concrete instructions or at the very least, a guidebook.

The wraps around his forearms rose as if to reach towards the sky, spinning and colliding with each other, all in all, looking and acting quite unlike regular fabric, who had the habit of just lying there. Ben hoped they would prove useful sooner than later. Well, aside from knocking out the odd kitchen staff.

His feet beginning to feel cold, he decided to put his boots back on. He shook his feet as best he could in an attempt to dry them, hating the feel of wet feet in socks. But when Ben lifted one of his boots, a little bag came tumbling out.

"How did I not notice that pressing against my foot?" he asked the docks and the waves lapping at the beams, but they were unconcerned.

Picking up the small bag, he noticed that the clinking sound of metal inside. Opening it up, he found quite the collection of gold coins.

Ben picked one up, held it in the moonlight, and tried to read the inscription. "If only there was some better light," he complained.

As if they heard him, the wrappings on his left hand began to spark and catch fire. Ben was frozen for a few seconds, staring at his own burning arm, not quite understanding what he was seeing. After that, he began wildly waving it around trying to put it out before it burned him. But, the fire remained stubbornly alive. After realizing so would he, Ben calmed down since the fire provided no harm, only warmth, and light.

"That's nifty," he said to his forearm. "Good boy." The coins had the face of some royal or other, all of them sporting very weak chins. By the firelight, Ben could read the name under the portrait, Tellvarr. He struggled to remember if anyone in the Empire had that name in their bloodline.

After running down a few monarch's family trees, he relented and decided this must be a new addition, specific to this other world. As far as Ben could tell, most regular things had the same names, so did colors, so did the days(courtesy of a waiter yelling the day's specialties). Ben decided to keep a mental note of any differences he could find.

The sky was taking on a lighter color, precluding the coming of the sun. Voices bounced on the surface of the water, with the fishermen starting to go out, dragging their nets behind them, before throwing them in the boats.

Ben went to the closest and sturdiest-looking fishing vessel and began chatting with a fisherman, trying to get passage out of the town.

"We're going upstream." the fisherman said. "And we don't have an engine. If you want to tag along, you're going to need to row. That or I'll have to charge you badly. The extra weight will slow us down, and it's bad enough competition already what with every bastard and his pappy trying to make their catch."

"I got some money." said Ben, "But what the heck, I need the exercise." He patted the grumpy fisherman on the shoulder and jumped in the boat, waving at the others, undeterred by their early-morning frowns.

"I'm only going to charge you half a prince for the trip if that's alright." said the fisherman.

"Well, you probably should pay me, what with me being at the oars and everything, but alright." Ben shoved a hand in his chest pocket, found the bag of coins, grabbed one, and flicked it to the fisherman.

The man looked at it skeptically. "This is a king, a full one at that." He eyed Ben with suspicion. "You a tourist or something?"

"Yeah, sure," said Ben, smiling. It looked like nobody knew about his previous day escapades. He found the town to have either uncaring guards or really incompetent ones. Ben had not seen one wanted poster since he entered the harbor. He figured he was in the clear. If the fisherman wanted him to play the tourist, he would. Strictly speaking, Ben was the most tourist person in this entire world, seeing as he was furthest from home than any other.

If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

"I know I'm just a dumb tourist." said Ben, "But let's not try and drain my pockets anymore, alright?"

The fisherman brought the gold coin to his lips and bit it gently. "Why not," he said. "Your gold's real at least." He extended a hand, "I'm Harry." he said. "That over there's Steven," he pointed with his chin at the two others bringing equipment into the boat, "And Andrew."

Ben took off his coat and sat on a sea chest, pressing his hands against the oar to test its weight. He saw the two younger fishermen staring at his arms. He went to say something but the older man interrupted.

"Leave it, boys. None of our business." He then turned and shook his head at Ben. "Those wounds going to be a problem?"

"No, sir," Ben said.

One of the younger men turned to the other, smirking. "Look here, little goose, that one's so rich he's bleeding gold." Ben smiled to himself and wondered if he should push them both into the water.

They set off with all the other fishing vessels, the bigger ones going off into the open sea, with a few others heading off the coast. Whatever it was that the old man's ship was hunting, it lay in the higher places.

They went up the river. Ben watched the town noise and smoke vanish from sight with each oar stroke. He felt his arms and chest burning, the skin of his palms got chafed and then torn away.

Harry the fisherman stood at the wheel, his great beard swaying with the breeze and the sun shining off his bald head. Ben wondered how his brain did not get cooked by the sun in there.

Birds chirped and flew all about, in colorful fast lines. The morning breeze brought about a refreshing atmosphere, cutting away the sweat of the rowing.

"What are you fellows hunting anyway?" asked Ben. So far, he had not talked very much to the fishermen, not knowing much about boats, and finding fish generally disgusting, he tried his whole life to stay away. He did enjoy swimming, but knowing that fish were lurking about made it terrifying.

"Sea-wolves." said one of the younger fishermen. Ben forgot which one he was, Steven or Andrew. This one had a bit of a pot belly and was smoking furiously from a rolled cigarette. The other one was very tall and very thin, with the narrowest shoulders you'll ever see and a craggy and unkempt beard point every which way.

Ben wondered if they called fish the same as in his world. He decided to test the waters.

"So, you boys been in this business long?" he asked.

"What, fishing?" answered one of them.

Good, so it is called fishing over here as well.

"Yeah, you know, catching f... fi..." said Ben, narrowing his eyes and waiting, while he puffed away air at the oars.

The fishermen looked at one another and then shrugged. "You mean fish?"

"Damn it," growled Ben. There went that idea. Obviously, it was all more coincidental than not. The Witch in the big hat wouldn't send him to a world where the sky was purple and the sea was red, and wish were called something other than fish. Unless the test was for him to be committed to the loony bin. Although that might be the test, as much as Ben knew.

Maybe this was more of a mirror world than a completely different thing. A few choices go differently, fewer magic arts, more technology, blah blah, you end up speaking the same language but things are different enough to confuse you. That must be the test.

And now that he had figured it out, Ben awaited the big tree to come and drag him about. When nothing happened, he had to resume his rowing. With one epiphany scratched off the list, Ben added a new one, that he absolutely hated rowing.

His arms were dying, his chest was dead, and his butt hurt from sitting on the sea chest, which was just a very uncomfortable box, really, and not at all like sitting on somebody's chest. The worst part was that they did not even make it very far. He could still see the outskirts of the town. How big was this town anyway? He could've sworn they were further along.

Ben was about to start complaining when shots rang out from the town. The little town square clock tower was broken in half by an explosion and the clock fell in a shower of wood and stone.

Small flashes of blue light appeared as reflections on the river, to accompany the fire and the sounds of guns and swords.

Harry chewed and then spat out some brown over the side of the boat.

"Are we going back?" asked Ben.

"What are you crazy? We have a job to do. That's nothing to do with us." said Harry. "Alright, you've earned a break. Steve, take his spot for a while."

The younger man whined indignantly. "Why not Andy?"

"Because you're younger and stronger," said Harry. Andrew smirked and drank something from a flask, patting at his belly. "And dumber."

Ben got up and immediately collapsed, huffing and puffing. He dragged himself over to the side of the boat, getting the spray on his face. He wiped at his face with his palms and was surprised at the sting. It had been quite a while since Ben had done any continuous manual labor and now his body was paying the price for it.

Little calluses were showing up on the sides of his thumbs, and between the wrappings, he saw a few on his palms as well. Ben dipped his arms into the river and watched the bandages float like seaweed, speckled with gold that burst and vanished in the current.

Spikes poked out of the water a few feet from him. They twisted and vanished, the water clearing as they went.

"What was it that you were hunting again?" Ben asked, but his question remained unanswered, as the thing in the water lunged and sank its teeth in his arm.

The others scrammed and made noise going for their harpoons. Ben was unaware of all this, staring at two giant yellow eyes that looked at him with spite. He began punching the beast, but it was useless.

The sea-wolf snarled and shook its head, the scales on its head reflecting the blinding light of the sun. Ben braced himself, grabbing a rope with his free hand. The beast's tail scraped across the bow, tearing away the paint.

Harry, carrying a harpoon stepped forward and threw. The harpoon sunk in the big sea creature's mane, right above the heavily armored forehead. A great roar followed, and Ben was free to fall backward.

The beast thrashed in the water. The fishermen were busy typing the harpoon line, stopping the wolf from getting away.

Harry turned and shouted at the others. "Full sail! Let's dash him against the shore."

Andrew stumbled in the shaking boat, but made his way to the sail and unfurled it. As the vessel groaned and buckled, the sail filled with wind, and bore down the river current. The sea-wolf, pulled by the line and carried by the momentum skipped across the water and hit the rocky shore of the river.

Droplets of blood fell away like pearls for the rocks were sharp and the wolf's underbelly was soft.

Andrew rolled up the sail, while Steven threw down an anchor. Harry brought up another harpoon, and jumped from the boat, standing up to his knees in the bloody water. He looked down at the much suffering beast and brought down the harpoon with as much force as he could muster. The beast had the head of a wolf but the body of a water monster, slippery and green with a multitude of small appendages twisting at the bottom. It oozed a bright-gray liquid out of its mouth, and the stench of it rose in the morning air.

Once the beast stopped moving, Harry turned to Ben, scratching at his beard, "You'd make good bait, you know that?" The soldier, in turn, picked the sea-wolf fangs out of his arms, where they had broken against the enchanted wrappings, and stashed the fangs in his pocket. His arm appearing unharmed, he made a fist to confirm.

"No injuries, eh?" asked Harry. "That's not very strange, no siree." the old fisherman grumbled to himself.

"Oh, shove it," said Ben. "What kind of fishermen are you anyway? That," he pointed towards the fallen sea-wolf, "Does not look like any fish I've ever seen."

"I told you." said the old man, "Stiff competition out here. We do what we can to keep up."

Ben really wanted to ask for his coin back, but the sighting of a magic-powered ship traveling down the river stopped him in his tracks. As far as he could see, the giant billowing sails worked independently from the wind. There were two figures chained to the deck that waved their hands in coordinated dance and pushed the wind into the sails.

Cannons adored the sides of the ship, and carvings the prow. The sails had gold tailoring on them, denoting a dragon carrying a spear in its jaws. Armed men and women ran around the deck, carrying out orders.

Ben thought they would just pass them by, but the ship drew to a stop when it was close enough for its cannon to obliterate the small fishing vessel.

The captain's voice ordered the fishermen and Ben to stop. Flintlocks were pointed their way on the threat of death at any sudden movements.

Harry spoke through gritted teeth, nearly growling. "I'm gonna feed you your ears for this, you damned freak."

Ben laughed. "You think I had anything to do with this? Whoever they are, I bet we are far away from being friends."

As a rowboat approached the shore, Ben took in as large a breath as he could, and closed his eyes, to better enjoy the sun on his skin. When he opened his eyes, he was facing the barrel of a gun, a sailor in red and green garb holding a pair of irons.

"I hope those don't chafe," said Ben.