Grant stood motionless as he recalled the horrific image of the burning house once more. The house from his vision and the house from the present overlaid themselves in his mind, and there was no doubt it was the same house. But as he compared them, he saw there were a few differences - other than the shrivelled, blackened bodies littered within. The one from his vision, for instance, had several rows of blooming pink roses underneath the sills that melted glass was pouring onto. The one he stood in front of, however, had a dozen tiny, marble statues of various animals, carved as though they were engaged in a series of one-on-one combats. There were other more subtle differences as well - the decoration on the door, the colour of the trim on the window frames. But for whatever reason, he felt certain - more certain than he had ever been of anything - that the house from his vision was a future version of the house he stood in front of.
Close, but not entirely correct, a voice whispered in his mind.
Grant started, looking around for the source of the voice. Seeing no one nearby, he frowned.
Don’t worry, we’ll talk soon, the voice reassured him. For now, tell no one what you saw.
Grant closed his eyes, sending his mind inwards as he had when trying to access his Source. Focusing in on the spot behind his eyes where he had felt the pulsing power before, he directed a thought towards it. Are you… actually speaking?
There was no response. Grant concentrated and attempted to draw some power, but immediately was overwhelmed by the piercing headache that he had experienced before. Wincing, he ceased the effort and opened his eyes. Seeing the house in front of him only brought back the memory of the gruesome sight he had glimpsed, so he turned deliberately away from it and studied the rest of the town in an effort to distract himself.
Ed’s house was near the back of the town, on a slightly raised plot of land, affording Grant a good view across the rest of the streets. He saw a number of new faces as the minutes ticked by, each dressed in a uniquely bizarre array of silks, leather, cotton, and even one woman who was dressed in an ornate yet flattering full suit of plate, that looked like it was ripped straight from the collective imagination of the internet. A few times he saw individuals making their way to or from the door on the crest of the hill that he had entered from. As he waited, a few things drew his attention. First and foremost, was that nowhere did he see any children. He and Kyra looked to be among the youngest individuals there, and while he doubted that the daily routines here resembled those back on Earth, for now he chalked that up to the possibility of schooling or some equivalent. The second thought that occurred was where all of these people got their clothes and food and other goods. As best as he could see, each house was purely residential, and nowhere did he see anyone carrying packages or transporting boxes. I guess… magic? I suppose ‘magic’ will be the answer to most of the questions I have over the next few days, he thought with a small chuckle. The final thing he noticed couldn’t just be explained by magic, however. From his vantage point at the back of the town, he could see a few of the incredible and impossible houses around him. Most of them seemed more or less normal, excepting their clearly magical construction, however at least a few that he could see were clearly unoccupied. Not just temporarily unoccupied while their owners were away, but more permanently. Two houses he could make out near him, one composed of what looked to be ice, and the other of ceramic with some kind of tribal artwork patterned over it, seemed to be on the verge of collapse. The ice house was clearly melting, and one room on the far side appeared to have melted clean off, and the ceramic house was cracked and the artwork was starting to fade, as though it had been exposed to the elements for too long.
Hearing footsteps behind him, Grant turned his attention back to the golden home as Kyra emerged.
“Come on,” she said, jerking her head behind her, “Ed is dying to meet you. He’ll have quite a few questions, and he can seem intense at times, but don’t get stressed or worried. Just tell the truth and everything will be fine.”
Grant started up the steps, sweat breaking out on his forehead despite her words. He wiped his clammy palms on his pants, pausing just before the door. “Before we go in, can I just ask? I couldn’t help but notice those houses that seem… broken, I guess. Why have they been left like that? They clearly need repairing,” he asked, pointing at the anomalies he had seen.
Kyra followed his finger, and a touch of sadness shadowed her face when she saw what he was pointing at. She sighed. “No, there’s nothing we can do for those. Nothing but wait.” She looked back at him as they resumed walking. “You’ll find out about those soon enough, actually. They’re related to one of Ed’s theories about your unusual arrival.”
Any other questions Grant had were chased away by the interior of the house they had stepped into. For a split second, he thought that he had stepped through a portal door instead of a normal one, but looking back he could tell that this wasn’t the case. The hallway they had entered was huge, as wide across as the entire building had seemed from the outside, and there were dozens of doors leading off into other rooms dotting the hall. It also continued on for dozens of metres more than the gold exterior had indicated was possible. A few of the doors were open, and through them Grant could see a variety of rooms, including a kitchen, an alchemy jab, and even what looked to be some kind of map room, walls, ceiling and floor covered with hand-drawn sketches. As they walked past the kitchen Grant glanced in before doing a double-take and pausing. A meal was being prepared, some kind of venison by the looks of the carcass being carved in the far corner, and Grant smelled a delicious cacophony of spices, some familiar, and some unknown. What had startled him so was the fact that the knives, pots, pans, spices and other utensils were all flying through the air unaided, carving strips of meat and tossing and stirring pots of sauce. The smell was sensational, and it brought a pang of longing to Grant as he once again remembered that he was stuck here, never again to eat at his favourite restaurant or enjoy a bottle or two of wine with his friends. The feeling of longing quickly faded though, and they continued their trek down the abnormally long hallway. A handful of paintings adorned the walls, hung between the doors, each a portrait of a different figure in front of what he presumed were their houses. One of the first paintings was drawn in front of the thick tree trunks that Fyodor had poked his head out of, but the woman portrayed in it was entirely unfamiliar. The paintings stopped after twenty or so, blank sections of wall stretching further ahead. Grant saw that two of the final paintings they passed featured the houses he had observed to be on the verge of collapse outside. Interesting, he thought, some kind of in-memoriam display, maybe? So Fyodor must have taken that house after the previous occupant died? But why has no one moved into the other empty houses?
The hallway came to an end at last, and Kyra stopped in front of the final door, this one facing down the length of the hallway instead of leading off to the side. She glanced back at him and gave him a reassuring smile before opening it, stepping back and gesturing him through.
Grant entered into a large, decadent sitting room. A fire burned on the far wall, set in an obsidian fireplace with ornate gold and silver decorations of flowers and trees surrounding it. A large chandelier hung overhead as well, although instead of holding candles it held a large number of dangling spheres of some kind of bright metal, softly glowing with warm white light. A thick fur rug lay in the centre of the room, surrounded by chaise lounges and thick, cushioned chairs. Grant’s jaw dropped open when he realised that instead of a bear or a great cat, the rug was the shaggy hide of a large dog, at least as big as a car, with three heads facing the door he had come through, mouths open in their final growl. He shuddered and averted his eyes from this terrifying display of taxidermy, focusing instead on the man standing by the wall, a glass of amber liquid held in his hand.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
He was tall, at least a head taller than Grant, who was no slouch in the height department, and looked fit without being overly large. He wore an old-fashioned three-piece suit with a top hat. The jacket was a striking black with gold trimming over a cream vest, reminiscent of the costumes Grant had seen in period pieces set in England in the 1800s. The ensemble was completed with a small gold chain that dangled across the vest into his pocket. A walking stick was leaning against the table closest to him, with an elaborate silver three-headed dog handle. His eyes were a bright grey, clashing with his sleek jet-black hair, complete with goatee set around a slightly pursed mouth.
Ed nodded to Kyra as she entered behind Grant, closing the door behind her, then studied him intently. His gaze was piercing but not unfriendly, and Grant was unsure whether he should say anything or stand in silence. A minute passed, then two, and just as Grant opened his mouth to say something, Ed spoke.
“I have summoned my fellow council members,” he said bluntly, his voice as deep and booming as his frame would suggest, with a strong English accent, “as I am sure they will want to hear the story of your arrival. It has been many years since there was a disruption such as you have encountered, and it would benefit all if we were to determine why you were attacked and why you lacked your abilities upon arrival. In the meantime, can I offer you a drink?”
He gestured to the table his cane leant against, which was stacked with many bottles of various coloured liquids. Grant looked at the array of options.
“I don’t suppose you have beer, do you?” he asked hopefully.
The corner of Ed’s mouth twitched upwards, and he flipped a hand towards the door they had just come through. The door swung smoothly open unassisted, and Grant turned just in time to see a dark glass bottle flying down the hallway towards his head at breakneck speed. He let out a yell and crouched down, hands darting up to cover his head. He waited a few seconds, but no sound of breaking glass came. Instead, he heard chuckling. He lowered his arms and raised his head, and saw to his embarrassment that the bottle had stopped in front of him, hovering above the floor perfectly still. He looked back at Ed. who raised his glass in a toast before downing the contents. Grant stood back up, ignoring Kyra’s ongoing chuckles with great dignity, before taking the bottle in his hand and uncorking it. He tipped the drink into his mouth and was immediately overwhelmed with the incredible flavour. He had expected a world such as this to have only the most rudimentary brewing techniques, but the beverage he held was one of the finest drinks he had ever tasted, the various fruity flavours, malt and hops complimenting each other perfectly. He drank the entire bottle in one pull, smacking his lips and sighing contentedly as he lowered the bottle.
“That was amazing!” he exclaimed, looking at Ed and Kyra. “How on earth did you manage to make one of the best beers I’ve… magic. I was going to say, how did you make one of the best beers I’ve ever had when you’ve been transported to a random world without electricity, but of course, the answer is ‘magic’. I thought to myself earlier that ‘because magic’ would be the answer to everything I find incredible here. I need to get used to that.”
Ed let out another chuckle. “Indeed it is. We may not have all the luxuries you are used to, but what we do have will in all likelihood surpass anything in the world we left behind.”
He waved a hand again, and the bottle in Grant’s hand began pulling itself slowly toward the hallway. Grant looked down at it, then back up at Ed, before holding the bottle in front of him and letting go. The bottle immediately shot off back towards wherever it had come from, and the door closed itself as it passed.
Ed refilled the glass with more of the amber liquid before taking up his cane and gesturing Grant towards the lounges in front of the fire. They sat down, with Kyra opting to sit on one of the chairs closest to the corner. Ed let out a relaxed sigh as he lay down, taking off his hat and settling down comfortably.
“Well,” he began, placing his drink on a side table, “before my fellow councillors arrive, allow me to welcome you to Sanctuary, and to the ranks of the Forsaken.”
“Forsaken?” Grant cut in, glancing back at Kyra, “Is that what you call yourselves? Seems a little… doom and gloom, given that Kyra said that you’re all still trying to get home.”
Ed’s mouth twitched again, and he glanced at Kyra as well. “Well, that is technically true, and certainly of the younger generation such as Kyra and you.” His gaze returned to Grant, and he let out a deep, world-weary sigh. “Most of us do wish to return home someday, and we bend a lot of our efforts to that goal. The name ‘Forsaken’ doesn’t mean that we have abandoned Earth, more that Earth has abandoned us. However, it is also true that some of us older folk are just… tired. Very, very tired. How old would you say I am?” he asked suddenly, the abrupt shift in the conversation taking Grant by surprise.
“Ummm,” Grant hedged, looking him over again, “maybe… thirty-five? Pushing forty?”
“Quite generous of you,” Ed responded, mouth twitching again but stopping short of a smile, “In fact, I was forty-three when I arrived here. I was a soldier for His Majesty King George the Third, stationed in the colonies.”
Grant stared at him. “But… that was over 200 years ago,” he said weakly.
“Quite so. Almost 250 years, if I recall. It was 2020 when you arrived, wasn’t it my dear?” Ed asked Kyra.
She nodded in the affirmative. “January 3rd, 2020,” she said softly.
Grant stared at Ed, mind whirling with the implications. Not only was the man in front of him ancient, but that also meant that despite the full efforts of dozens of incredibly powerful individuals, the secrets of escaping this world had evaded them for centuries. His head fell into his hands, and he began gasping deep, desperate breaths. “Oh god, ” he muttered, shaking his head, “I’m never getting out of here. We’re fucked, we’re all totally fucked.”
He felt a light tapping on the side of his head. Looking up, he saw another beer bottle and a glass with a finger of what Ed was drinking, both hovering in front of his face, Ed looking at him sympathetically. Grabbing the glass, he downed it in one gulp, the alcohol burning his throat and making him gasp breathlessly for a second, before grabbing the beer and taking a deep drink. The burn helped shake off the despair that had suddenly come over him, and he sat back up slowly, the hands clasped around the bottle still shaking slightly.
“Don’t worry son, happens to everyone,” Ed said softly.
“I cried for hours,” Kyra murmured.
“Most do,” Ed agreed. He glanced at Grant, who still looked shaken. He nodded to himself, before standing up and putting back on his hat. “Come, my dear,” he said, walking to the door. “Let us leave him for a minute. We will return in a moment with some stew, Grant.”
Kyra got up as well, and the two of them left, the door gently swinging shut behind them.
Now alone, Grant stared at the fire mindlessly, taking another pull from the beer. Its deliciousness wasn’t enough to distract him from the thoughts running through his head, however, until the voice he had heard earlier cut in. Don’t worry, it said, the suddenness causing Grant to jerk slightly and spill a few drops of his drink, you’re not stuck here. You’re special, and we’re going to get out. I promise you that.
Are you the reason I’m here? Grant asked it furiously, ignoring the promise it had made. Are you the one who brought me here? Ripped me away from my friends, my family, “- from my LIFE?” he shouted, unable to contain his anger any longer.
Quiet! The voice snapped. Grant could hear the fear and anger in that word alone. Don’t ever, ever talk to me out loud, you hear me? That is a sure way to get you killed. I swear to you, Grant Harrison Summers, you will see your friends and family again. Please, calm your mind, and whatever you do, DO NOT discuss my presence with anyone. You will understand everything tonight, just… trust me. Please.
The anger in Grant died down to a low simmer, the despair it had overpowered reappearing in its place. Fine, he thought, taking another sip of his drink, I’ll keep quiet for now. But by god, I had better like the answers you give me.
There was no response. Finishing his drink, Grant set it upon his side table, took a deep breath, and waited for Kyra and Ed to return.