Jack opened his eyes. He lay in a grassy glade, beneath the shade of a spreading ash tree under a bright summer sun. He smelled water and fresh grass, and heard the chuckling of a stream somewhere nearby.

He didn’t feel any pain at all. That didn’t make any kind of sense. He turned his head slowly to take in his surroundings without moving anything else. There, to his left, was the stream. Just seeing it made him thirsty. To his right....

There was a naked girl relaxing against the side of the ash tree’s trunk, long, dark green, curly hair tumbling down her back. Which, he noticed now that he was paying attention, was also green. And ever so slightly translucent.

The whole of her, in fact, from the myrtle green of her hair to the tea green of her skin, to the sea green of her fingernails, were all shades of that same color. Including her emerald eyes, which were currently glaring at him from her scowling elfin face.

“Uhm...,” he ventured cautiously. “Hi?”

She crossed her arms and turned her head away with a toss of her hair. “Hmmph!” she grunted.

Okay, he decided. That’s the way it is, eh? He started to roll onto his side so he could get to his feet.

“Don’t move, you idiot!” she snapped, once more glaring at him, her skin tone darkening, her eyes glowing. “You’ll die if you move. Just stay still until help comes and I can see you gone from here!”

“What...?”

“Don’t talk to me!” she hissed. “Murderer! Monster! Treekiller!”

What the hell was she talking about?

* * *

Jack opened his eyes. Darkness and pain. How many times was this now? But he didn’t recognize the roof, and the place smelled of stale booze, rotting food, and rancid sweat. And death. He wrinkled his nose and stifled a sneeze.

Taking stock and considering the great heaping piles of pain, he decided he was probably still alive, although he didn’t see how. He was pretty sure he’d been dead. That sunny glade.... Not heaven as he’d have expected it, but nice enough, and definitely not of this world.

He became aware of a weight against his thigh and looked down. Spreading silver hair bisected by a band of orchid. Where the hell had she come from? And why was she sleeping on him?

“Finally awake, are we?” the whisper came from directly beside his right ear.

“What’s going on?” he whispered back. “Where am I, and how long was I out?” he flexed the fingers of his left hand. “And why am I still holding FoeSmite?”

“In order,” the mage answered. “The stationmaster’s cabin, four days, and because it was all that was keeping you alive for the first three.”

Now he did turn his head, looking into the glowing, button eyes of the little mage. “How’s that again?”

“You were drawing mana from the staff,” Luciandro informed him. “Don’t ask me how. Not enough to heal you, it nonetheless kept you from passing completely through death’s door until your friends arrived.”

He looked back to Tiarraluna, sleeping, her head turned slightly in his direction. Her face looked hollow and drawn.

“Friends?” he whispered, eyes drooping. “Plural?”

“Another adven—” but Luciandro didn’t finish. Jackson was already asleep.

The next time Jack’s eyes opened, both Luciandro and Tiarraluna were gone. What’s more, FoeSmite was leaning against the far wall propped up in the corner behind the doorway. There was light coming through the oiled leather window covering, and the door stood open, allowing bright sunlight to shine through.

For the second time since arriving on Mund, or was it the third, he was unsure of how much time had passed.

As he lay there quietly, a strange girl with black hair, and wearing a clean, homespun dress entered from the porch, carrying a shallow clay pot. She must not have noticed that he was awake, probably because she never so much as glanced towards the bed. She had eyes only for the staff in the corner.

“Oh,” she whispered, “there you are, aren’t you. So lovely, so powerful. I saw how you thrashed those bad men, yes I did. With your beautiful glow. Like an avenging angel. I brought you something to show you how much I appreciate you.”

Jack was still trying to work out what the hell she was going on about when she reached for the staff. He lurched upright, his arm lancing out to summon the deadly weapon before she could touch it. “No!” he yelled.

The girl whirled to face him, holding FoeSmite in one hand, the clay pot in the other. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “You’re awake. Jehsha, you gave me a fright. I’ll fetch the mages straight away.” She set the clay pot on the floor and placed FoeSmite’s butt inside before hurrying out into the yard.

Jack stared dumbfounded for a good minute and a half, before shaking his head and flopping back down onto the mattress. He hadn’t been able to understand much of what she’d been saying, but he could read body language and facial expressions as well as the next guy.

Able to crush tempered steel and shatter bone, he thought, chagrined. weak to flattery. Good to know.

He was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling by the time Tiarraluna came charging in, Luciandro on her shoulder. The lurch had cost him. Apparently, however long he’d been out, it hadn’t been long enough, and his stomach felt as though there was a sword blade still in it.

“Jack san,” Tiarraluna’s voice caught. “How do you feel?”

He looked up into her worried face and smiled in spite of himself, as his heart started thumping. “Alive?” he ventured hoarsely. “Not sure how, though. And it still feels like I should be dead.”

“You very nearly were,” she admonished. “Such that neither good Luciandro nor myself can understand how you are not.”

That caused him to raise an eyebrow. He remembered the ash tree and the naked green girl. “How many gods does Mund have?” he asked.

“Only Jehsha,” she answered, puzzled. “and Torhahm, the dark god of the demons, I suppose. Why? Does your world have more than that?”

He almost shrugged, but stopped himself. His memory of the fight was hazy, and he still wasn’t sure how torn up he might be. The pain washing through him suggested a lot. “Depends on who you ask,” he wheezed. “Even those who’ll say only one won’t always agree on who it might be. So, no naked green girls?”

Her eyes narrowed. “No, Jack san,” she whispered, voice even. “No naked girls of any sort. Why do you ask?”

He didn’t much like that look. Lot of information in that look that he wasn’t ready to acknowledge. “A dream, I suppose,” he said. “How bad is it?”

“Dreaming of naked green girls?” she asked archly. “Very bad, Jack san. Naked girls of any color are generally considered to be troublesome for such as you.”

It was at this point that it occurred to Jack that he was understanding every word she was saying, in spite of his having sent the translating ring back with her. Belatedly, he checked his right hand so see if she’d slipped it back on while he’d been out.

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That stopped him for awhile, as he examined the metal brace and the bandages that covered his forearm, wrist, most of his hand and all of his fingers save the thumb.

He looked up without saying anything.

“That Mauler fellow cut three of your fingers off at some point during your fight,” Luciandro informed him casually. “But we found them and put them back on.” Then, after a moment, “it will take some time, of course, before they’re fully healed, even with magical aid.”

He remembered Tiarraluna’s warning back during his guild testing. Accelerates natural healing. “How is it I don’t—? Never mind,” he allowed his hand to flop down on the bed, wincing as it struck the rough cloth.

He checked his left hand, and there it was, beside the focus the mice had made.

Tiarraluna gasped and leaned forward quickly, raising his tunic clear of what Jack realized was a spreading stain of crimson. Oh, the thought struck. That don’t look good!

“You must refrain from sudden movement,” Luciandro warned, as he leapt to the bed and moved to aid Tiarraluna.

They were at it for awhile as Jack lay back and let them work. At some point during this, he faded out again.

Darkness. No, not quite. There was a lamp on the far table, turned down until it gave off barely a glow. This time he made sure not to make any sudden moves. He turned his head slowly in that direction. Was that a huddled form laying atop the table beneath the lamp? “Hey,” he whispered, feeling his stomach pull uncomfortably.

“Shhh!” the figure returned with an oddly discordant tone. “The mages are asleep. You don’t want to wake them.”

“Meynardo?” he whispered back. “What’s wrong with your voice?”

The mouse leapt from tabletop to a chair and then to the floor. A moment later, he was climbing the blanket to the surface of the bed, bringing up beside Jack. He was different than Jack remembered. Taller. Less... mouse-like. And he was wearing pants and a shirt.

“What d’you think?”Meynardo asked when he saw Jack looking. “Millie made them for me.”

Jack nodded approvingly. “Now all you need is somebody too make you a pair of boots.”

There was another change. The difference between what Jack was hearing inside his head and what was coming out of Meynardo’s mouth were further apart. Not as bad as Osmando’s, but it still made Jack’s ears itch.

“I ranked up,” Meynardo’s excited whisper caused Jack to grin. “Several times, actually. I’m rank twelve now! Nearly to thirteen!”

“Good for you,” Jack congratulated him. “And thanks for saving my life out there.”

“Hey,” Meynardo waved him off. “What are friends for?”

“We get them all?” Jack wondered.

The smile was gone. “You killed all but four, and you came very close to killing their leader. Nice shot with the mage, by the way,” he added. “You caught him so off guard, I believe your arrow entered his mind before the thought he might need to raise a ward could.

“Three of them fled,” he continued. “I killed one of those. The spearman killed another. The third, I’m afraid, had the good sense to bolt so soon as he saw you, and was well gone before any of us had a chance to pursue. Oh, and the spearman finished off the leader.”

“Finished off—?” Jack frowned. “Damn! I thought I’d killed him.”

“He had a good number of healing items secreted here in the cabin,” Meynardo told him. “Otherwise you would have. You broke nearly every bone in his body.” then his smile returned. “On the other hand, once he... ah... no longer needed those healing items, we were able to use them to keep you alive until your friends came for you.”

“Yeah,” Jack frowned. “Friends again. I know Tiarraluna, but you said something about a spearman? I don’t know any spearmen.”

“No?” Meynardo straightened. “But he is from your guild, and is apparently a member of your party.”

“My part— Wait... did you get his name?”

“Cable,” the mouse told him. “Antel Cable.”

“Okay,” Jack nodded carefully. “I know who he is, I think. He was supposed to be gone on a quest. I suppose she found him in Mokkelton and corralled him into helping.”

“How are you feeling?” Meynardo asked.

“Like I got tossed off a tall cliff inside a bag of sharp knives,” Jack frowned. “And like I haven’t eaten since the last sentinel walked the land. I’m hungry enough to eat a raw buffalo with the skin on. Hooves and all.”

“The first, alas,” the mouse told him, “I can do nothing about. “The second, however,” he nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

With that, he turned and scampered down the blanket to race out into the night.

That same black haired girl showed up some short time later, bearing a tray, this time, rather than her clay pot. She brought it quietly to the bed and, with a quick curtsy, laid it on the blanket beside him.

Some sort of roasted meat cut into heavy slabs, thick slices of rough, dark bread and hunks of some off white, pungent cheese. And a mug that smelled almost like beer, if the term were sufficiently tortured and the beer sufficiently raw.

She brought a chair from the table and set it beside the bed, careful not to make too much noise.

“No,” he started to say. He wasn’t about to be fed like a baby by some strange girl. But when he moved his right hand, he remembered. Yeah, okay, he wasn’t cutting any meat or cheese with that hand. So he settled back with a defeated sigh, and let her feed him.

Meynardo settled himself on the far side of the tray, grinning like an idiot at the spectacle, while occasionally cutting free a piece of meat or cheese with his small knife.

“Six days,” the mouse told him around a mouthful of cheese. “You were going to ask how long, right?”

Jack narrowed his eyes. “Yeah,” he said. “Six days? Total, or since I last passed out?”

“Total,” Meynardo laughed. “You actually are getting better, I’m told.”

“You were dead,” the mouse told him seriously. “Make no mistake. “I heard Luciandro tell you that you were at death’s door? Jackson, you were inside death’s house, with your staff braced crossways against death’s front doorframe while death strove with all its might to drag you in by your ankles. According to Luciandro, the grip you had on that staff was all that kept your soul in this world.”

Cable introduced himself the next morning. He was so cheerful, Jack wanted to hate him just on general principles, but he couldn’t do it. He wondered idly what the man’s charisma stat was as the guy went on and on in his friendly, booming voice.

“Don’t worry, young sentinel,” Cable assured him within moments of meeting him. “The lion’s share of the experience for killing the Mauler is yours.”

“I didn’t....”

“I can’t believe you took out so many of those midranks by yourself. And Bear the Mauler? On your own? You have any idea what the bounty on that evil bastard’s head was?”

“Who....?”

“And those friends of yours,” Cable went on. “Where did you find them? I’ve never seen such high order constructs, and I traveled with the Hero’s army for five years.”

“About them....”

“Oh, but won’t old Bor Jonkins be tickled when you bring them to the guild hall!” Cable was still going, leaning back and slapping his knee. “I can just see his face when they completely ignore his famous demon trap and hie themselves right on between the bars to set up house in his back rooms!”

“I was going to....”

“Anyway,” Cable slapped him on his knee and stood, sweeping up the chair and sliding it towards the table on his way out. “I’ve been out here too long with the town largely unprotected. Got to ride back to Mokkelton and fetch that hairbrained wizard out here to pick up his infernal rolling dungeon, so I can get back to work. Jehsha knows I’m not driving the cursed trap collection back!”

“Yeah,” Jack sighed at the empty doorway out which the big rank thirty had vanished. “Nice talking to you.” He turned to his tiny translator and shook his head. Meynardo just shrugged.

By his ninth day in the noisome cabin, Jack was missing Rosaluna’s cottage. He was sick to death of the stench, the uncomfortable tick mattress, and most of all, the chamber pot. He made every effort to not think about how that particular enterprise had been handled during the six days before he’d awakened.

His tenth day was more eventful, and he had less time to bemoan the conditions of his medical imprisonment. Tiarraluna spent most of it fussing over him, tsking in a very familiar manner, before finally addressing him.

“The majority of your more minor wounds are well along towards being healed naturally,” she ordained. “And your four most dangerous wounds are sufficiently healed that it is probably safe for you to begin moving about, so long as you are careful. Your fingers will take longer.

"It is likely that we will be able to move you back to Mokkelton in another few days.

"You did extensive damage to your thigh by fighting on with a war arrow buried in it near to the bone, so do not put much weight on it, nor attempt to move quickly.

"Cable made you a crutch before he left. I suggest that... no, I insist that you use it. And please limit your movements to the absolutely vital.”

“Yes, mother,” Jack sighed, not bothering to look over for the scowl he was sure would be his reward. “How about fresh air, then?” he wondered. “Is crawling out of this stench a thing I might be allowed to consider vital?”

Her voice, when it came, was stern. Measured. “Your imagination rivals your battle prowess, Jack san,” she gritted. “Good Millicent has scoured this entire cabin to the bare wood in the time you have been here. That stench, I would hazard, is you.”

He squinted his eyes and ducked his shoulders before raising an arm and taking a sniff. “Okay, no. Rank as he was, it wasn’t him. But, looking around, he had to admit, it might not be the cabin either. It might even be a memory, associated with another time and place, and brought forth by the familiar pain of his wounds.

“Can I go outside anyway?” he asked in a pleading voice that was nearly genuine.

She settled back in her chair with a great, put upon sigh.“I am sorry this has taken so long,” she apologized stiffly. “But I am not primarily a healer. Normally, it would have been beyond me entirely, and I would not have been able to save you at all. But grandmother gave me a tome—”

“So I have the old woman to thank again?” he moaned.

Her eyes narrowed further. “That is a problem?”

“More debt piled on top of what I already owe,” he observed solemnly. “A debt I’ll already be a long lifetime repaying, and probably still come up short.”

She tilted her head, frowning. “What, exactly do you expect you owe her, Jack san?” she asked.

He looked at her like he was waiting for the punchline. “All she’s done for me—” he began.

“—She has done because she is incapable of doing otherwise,” Tiarraluna finished for him. “To act in any other way would be to ignore who she is.You owe her nothing. She expects nothing.”

He sighed quietly. He did owe her. He couldn’t let that go. But he wouldn’t push it. Not now, at least.

“Now,” she leaned in and regarded him sternly. “We must speak of your shiny new ring.”