James could feel how his back ached under the weight of the rucksack, his arms struggling to carry for much longer. The longer he carried it, the harder it was to walk down the rugged path through the forest. If he kept this up, he was bound to lose his footing and fall. The last thing he wanted was to spill or break whatever potions the shaman had packed into the sack.
“Can… Can we take a break?” James asked. His back was killing him, no matter how he shifted the bag’s contents, which seemed to get heavier by the minute. James had never sweated this much in his life, the stress on his body only making it worse.
“We’re only halfway there, but sure.” Dahlia looked back at James with an amused look. “Being as big as you are, I would expect you to do stuff like this in your world all the time,” she added, her eyes moving towards the shoddy path they were taking. The shaman stopped, and she placed her much smaller bag down.
“We’ll rest here,” Dahlia said to James, who obliged almost immediately.
He was careful not to outright drop the heavy bag, being as gentle as he could. As soon as the bag touched the ground, James collapsed on the dirt, trying to catch his breath. It’s not that he couldn’t handle the weight. The young man wasn’t in the worst shape before his summoning. He had gone semi-regularly to his local gym back home, lifting weights and keeping his weight in check.
The problem with his current situation stemmed from the fact that he was running on a few hours of sleep, with an aching body that had been through more than enough, and a mental state that was unchecked and probably on the edge of losing sanity.
“My world… is much more different from yours,” James panted out, his tone of voice bordering on hostile. The bag he was carrying wasn’t much help, either. It was filled with a multitude of items, making it difficult for him to hold right and downright impossible to carry comfortably.
“Do you carry down your stock to the town every day?” He asked, his breathing slowly going back to normal.
Dahlia shrugged. “Not every day, but I do carry my stock to the marketplace now and then. I suppose two times a month?” She shrugged again. James stared at the shaman before looking at the heavy bag that she had been carrying.
‘Even if it is two times a month, there’s no way in hell she can carry this bag to the town and back.’
James was beginning to wonder if he should go through the trouble of digging through the bag and seeing if she had placed heavy rocks.
“You never told me about your world,” Dahlia pointed out, interrupting the young man’s thoughts. She was looking at James, her amber irises now glinting with curiosity.
‘That’s right. I never really told her about myself outside of the fact that I’m not from here,’ James thought. He turned back in the direction of Dahlia’s hut, where he had left his father’s urn and earth clothes. Dahlia had already told him that he shouldn’t wear his earthly clothes since it would probably give his foreign identity away and cause the townsfolk to panic.
“Well, you never really asked,” James responded.
“Well, I’m asking now,” Dahlia shot back, a small smile on her lips. “Come on, tell me about Earth,” she prodded.
James frowned a bit, focusing on what he should tell her. Should he tell her about Nick? Monica?
‘No… she said my world, not my life story.’
James wasn’t ready to dump his entire life drama on the unsuspecting shaman. If anything, it’ll do nothing but make them both uncomfortable. He looked back at Dahlia, who watched with an interested look.
‘When you think about it, you’re technically Earth’s ambassador, representing everything about your world and its people. No pressure,’
“Well…” James closed his eyes and leaned back, his hand scratching at his beard.
The Otherworldly man would go on to talk about Earth for the next hour, explaining to Dahlia about how advanced humanity had gotten in his world, how they lived in much more sheltered lives, despite being significantly safer than they were centuries ago. He told her about how some countries managed peace around the world, even if it wasn’t perfect. Mentally, he had to sidestep the political conflicts that were still ongoing back home.
James eventually told Dahlia about phones and cars, technology and science. The marvels of modern technology. Despite his info dump on everything related to Earth, James knew that he wasn’t doing his world a favor during his explanations. He would often half-ass his explanations and presentation, definitely forgetting some points and facts.
Regardless, it got Dahlia hooked. Her eyes were wide with curiosity and wonder during the entire talk. She had asked many questions, often about what kind of magic those ‘computers’ and ‘cars’ used.
“Are they powered by runes? Perhaps smaller ones, seeing as they can be carried anywhere?” Dahlia asked excitedly.
“Well, that’s the thing. There is no magic in my world,” James answered. His response caused the shaman to make a confused face.
“No magic? What, are you saying these marvelous things run on faith and good intentions?” Dahlia looked like she was on the verge of laughing at James, a grin on her face as she stood back up. She grabbed the small bag she had been carrying earlier.
“There’s a sense of believability with the science and world peace you talked about, but no magic?” Dahlia shook her head in amusement. “Seems a little far-fetched, don’t you think?”
“Phones and computers are real,” James refuted. “I’m not exactly sure how the chips really work, but…”
“So you don’t know how they work? So they could be magic, then?”
“What? No, it’s just… I… well…”
“I’ve heard enough,” Dahlia dismissed with a laugh. “We should get moving. It’s going to be noon soon, and I don’t want to wade through the crowds at the marketplace.” She gestured towards James’ cargo, which sat waiting for him to pick it back up. James sighed as he stood back up, picking the heavy bag up.
‘I can’t really blame her for not believing me. If someone came to me last week telling me that they were from a world like this, I’d probably laugh and refer them to a psychiatric hospital.’
Without argument, James continued to follow Dahlia through the forest.
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Located on a nearly barren island with only a small forest and an unimpressive mountain for show, Yorktown didn’t seem like it had much to offer besides a limited supply of wood and fish. Yet, the locals had seemingly made the small town thrive for the past century, despite the population not growing much throughout the decades. Every council member would promise to expand the town into the forest that sprawled all across the island and mountain, yet would never have the chance or resources to fulfill that promise. It always was for the same reasons, with more people leaving the town to ‘find their purpose’ or most of the elderly dying from a wandering disease that usually came around every ten years.
Whatever the reason, Yorktown had somehow managed to keep its small population the same as always. This had made the island an unlikely target for many years, its nomadic state keeping it relatively out of the eyes of major clans and raider groups. Until now.
Unbeknownst to the small populace, two black and red ships sailed in its direction in search of an escaped prisoner who had taken refuge on the small island not too long ago. Said refugee was currently arriving at the said town, ignorant to the target he had marked onto this little island.
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Seamus already felt unwelcomed as soon as he stepped into Yorktown, its beaten pathways much more greeting than the locals. He felt nervous as he caught their looks, which ranged between judgmental and unwelcoming. It was clear that he was an outsider, one that had no business being here.
‘They’re probably wondering how I got here.’
Seamus kept his eyes forward as he walked on the cobblestone road. He had already been thinking of excuses to use whenever someone asked him how he had arrived here, but he couldn’t think of any actual excuses that wouldn’t raise any eyebrows. The only good one he had come up with was a shipwrecked story, but Seamus lacked the finesse and storytelling skills to sell that background.
‘What if they ask too many questions? I can’t possibly think of an answer to every single one.’
Seamus’ thoughts were interrupted when his stomach growled, the sound nearly scaring the daylights out of the paranoid man.
“Dammit,” he muttered loud. He felt his stomach lurch again. Seamus grimaced, wishing that he could find something to eat already. He dug into his pockets, taking out the single gold coin he had found on his way to the rowboats. It was a reminder to Seamus on how lucky he had been the last few days, since he had avoided death and capture multiple times.
‘The gods must be watching over me.’
Seamus clenched his fist around the precious coin. He was lucky. Very lucky. He pocketed the coin once he noticed that there were more people walking along the cobblestone path, most of them heading to what seemed like the center of town.
‘Maybe I can find some food there…’
Seamus curiously followed the stream of people, the clouded sun high above his head as noon approached.
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There were way more people in town than James had expected. Most of them were bunched up as they all streamed through the cobblestone streets of Yorktown, all of them having business somewhere and some place.
James had already lost count of how many times he had been bumped into whilst trying to navigate through. He had to stick close to Dahlia, the shaman taking point as she moved through the crowd like it was nothing.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
“Do all of these people live here?” James asked. He nearly dropped the shaman’s rucksack when a large bearded man bumped against him without apology.
“No, some come from the merchant ships that stop by here, others from their own boats,” Dahlia answered, obviously in discomfort as she pushed through the moving crowd of people.
“This many people? Is it daily?” James asked as he followed behind.
“No. There’s more than usual,” Dahlia admitted. “Must be because of Vindis. The floating city usually drifts close to Yorktown from time to time.”
James blinked, unsure if he heard the shaman right.
‘Floating city? How would that work?’
Before he could ask the shaman about the intricacies of such a thing, James was bumped into by a random stranger. Both men stumbled as a result, the rucksack on James’ shoulder almost dropping onto the cobbled road.
“Shit!” James cursed as he tried to keep his balance steady. The other man wasn’t so lucky. He had fallen onto the ground, nearly becoming trampled by the moving crowd.
“Are you alright?” James asked. He tried to help out, but the other man was quick to get on his feet. He was clearly younger than James, his timidness clear in his body language. He had black hair that was roughly shaped like a bowl, giving him a look that screamed ‘scribe’ or ‘scholar’. James was clearly taller than him, the difference of height between the two being around seven centimeters.
“Sorry!” the younger looking man apologized. “I’ll be on my way now!” he added quickly before he rushed off into the crowd. James was left dumbfounded by the quick interaction. He wasn’t sure what to think or say. Just as he was about to return to Dahlia, he spotted something shiny on the ground.
“Is that…?” James leaned down to where the man had fallen. He picked up whatever the man had dropped, his eyes widening as he inspected it. It was a gold coin the size of a quarter, shining as James turned it to the light. While worn out, he could still make out the face of some woman, possibly a Queen, on one side. The other side had a clear Phoenix, its flaming wings nearly rubbed out from time and use.
“James! Hurry up! We have to get to the marketplace now!” Dahlia’s voice snapped James out of his trance.
“Uh.. yeah, sure. Sorry,” James said. He discreetly pocketed the gold coin before following the shaman again.
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“Must be a busy day,” Havor muttered as he watched Yorktown’s shore buzz like a bee’s hive, ships and boats all docked by the harbor. He collapsed the spotting glass, handing it to Helen.
“You think Deimos gives a shit about collateral?” Helen asked venomously before storing the glass on her waist belt. Her neck was bruised from before, purple and black hand markings clearly visible on her pale skin. Havor wasn’t sure why Deimos didn’t outright kill her, but he knew better than to question his boss. Speaking of whom…
Havor looked to the left of Frostbite’s railing, spotting Deimos on Bloody Mary’s deck. The chieftain’s main ship was enormous, its size rivaling that of Serpent’s Bane, which now resided somewhere near the bottom of the sea. Bloody Mary was Deimos’ most prized possession, captured from an old king of a forgotten country many years ago. It had a headpiece of a screaming banshee, something that Deimos had custom made. It wasn’t far-fetched to say that Havor felt a bit of fear whenever he looked at the ship.
“Havor!” Deimos shouted, catching the bald marauder off guard. “Get your sails ready. We’ll be heading to the harbor once those ships clear out. Get your archers ready, too. We wouldn’t want any surprises.”
“Yes sir but…” Havor hesitated a little before daring to ask a question to the terrifying man, “What if the ships don’t clear out by evening?” He hoped that he wasn’t going to get an arrow to the jugular.
“They’ll be gone by the time we move in. That’s if our bandit friends aren’t lying.” Deimos’ hand grabbed the hair of one of the lowly pirates they had taken prisoner that morning. The bandit looked like shit, his face red and purple from whatever tactics Deimos had used to make him and his fellow pirates talk.
The bandit’s ship, if it could be called that, was currently nothing more than driftwood in the waters, ever since Bloody Mary had rammed into it. According to their ‘captain’, the group of bandits had been terrorizing the small island for a good couple of weeks, threatening them for coins and resources.
‘Lowly trash,’ Deimos had called them, comparing them to nothing more but gulls who prey on scraps and leftovers.
“Besides, if there are any ships left around, they’ll move when they see us. If they don’t… Well, there’s a reason why we have rams on our ships.” Deimos grinned and turned, throwing the bruised bandit to the side as he headed off to get his own ship ready. Havor looked back at the harbor in the distance, which looked like a speck in the distance.
He sighed and yelled to the crew behind him, “All hands! Ready the sails!”
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Seamus wandered the marketplace of Yorktown, his gaze moving from stall to stall. From dingy swords and worn gambesons to goods and spices. Each of them had something to sell, but none of it interested the young man one bit.
His stomach gurgled in anguish, letting Seamus know that he needed to eat something soon. He was already beginning to feel lightheaded. He silently cursed at himself for not eating back when he was in captivity. While the grog those marauders ate was disgustingly inedible, it would’ve at least given him some form of nourishment.
Seamus wandered the marketplace, his thoughts in the clouds as he looked around in desperation. He stopped when a certain smell reached his nostrils. It was one that made him involuntarily drool. The young man followed the scent, his hands shoving past the crowd. He didn’t care for the cursing or insults hurled in his direction. He only wanted to get his hands on some actual food.
Seamus managed to find himself in front of a certain stall, one that had displayed some delicious-looking meat pies. His mouth watered at the sight of the pies, his hands instinctively reaching for them.
Before he could grab one, his hands were whacked away by a stick. Seamus reeled back in pain and almost yelled a curse.
“Delphine’s ti–”
“Piss off!” An old woman reprimanded immediately. She brandished her stick as if it was a sword. “I’ll be damned before I let some random vagrant take a pie without paying! Now git!”
“Wait! Wait!” Seamus raised his arms in defense. “I–I’m a paying customer! I swear!”
The elder raised an eyebrow at that. “Really? I must be going blind then, because I could’ve sworn I saw some low life try to snatch what ain’t theirs!”
“I was… I just…” Seamus tried to come up with some excuse to justify his rash actions. “How much do you want? I’ll pay for the pie and my stupidity.” Seamus really didn’t want any more conflict. Not after everything he had just gone through. He’d rather resolved this quickly and civilly.
“Hrm,” the elderly woman muttered. “Fine. Ten silver for the pie and ten more for being a thieving little rat!”
“What?! That’s double!”
“It’s the price! Are you gonna pay up or am I going to have to get my hands dirty?”
“Alright! Alright! Twenty silver it is…” Seamus muttered as he reached into his pocket. The gold coin he had was a Queen piece, worth around fifty silver. Giving in to this lady would mean giving up almost half of it. The logical thing to do was to find another stall. That is, if there was time left.
The sun was almost down. The marketplace was already clearing out and most of the stalls were already starting to pack up. There was always the tavern, but Seamus didn’t want to risk eating nothing but moldy bread and raw potatoes. He hadn’t had a good meal in weeks. At this point, he’d pay the entire coin for just a decent meal.
Seamus felt his heart drop at the feeling of nothingness in his pocket. He reached into his other one and dug around, only to feel his finger poke out into the cold air. The coin was gone.
“No,” he muttered disbelievingly. “No no no!”
The old woman before him made a sour face, a sign that she had caught on to Seamus’ dilemma. “No money, no food. Now get out of here!”
“Please! I just need one! I’ll pay you back, promise!” Seamus begged. The old woman instead swung her stick at Seamus, shooing the young man away from her stall.
“Get on out of here! Come back when you actually have some money!” She shouted.
Seamus groaned and grumbled under his breath as he walked off. He could feel how his stomach twisted in on itself, desperate for something to digest. The young man felt helpless as he wandered through the dissipating marketplace.
“I’ll find a way to survive… I’ve always had,” Seamus muttered to himself as he disappeared into the crowd.
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“You can’t be serious…” James sighed in frustration. He was looking into the sack he had been lugging around, the one that was supposedly filled with Dahlia’s stock. Now that the shaman had sold all of it, James could finally see what laid at the bottom. To his disappointment and frustration, there were two sizable rocks weighing the whole thing down.
James looked to Dahlia, who was happily counting the silver and gold she had received that day. The two had been visiting shops and tents all day, selling off the shaman’s stock to butchers, doctors, tailors, apothecaries, and even a small adventuring group. James didn’t have time to take in the world around him, nor talk with the many interesting people he had seen around the marketplace and docks. He was only the muscle, carrying Dahlia’s stock and helping her sell it all.
It had taken a few hours, but they finally managed to sell off everything. In the end, they were left with a couple of bags of coins and two crates of supplies, along with a small barrel of liquor a foreign trader had given to them.
‘And two very big rocks…’
James wasn’t sure what to think. There was no reason for the shaman to even place these in the bag, outside of pushing his arms to their limits.
‘Is she testing me?’
James dumped the rocks onto the side of the cobbled road. His thoughts ran with questions and possible answers. Dahlia was a magic user. More specifically, a shaman who had dabbled in ritualistic magic. It was only natural that she would want to test and observe James.
The thought bothered the otherworldly man in a way he couldn’t describe. It almost felt as if he was just some guinea pig, a variable that needed to be stressed and tested.
“Are you hungry?”
“Huh?” James’ thoughts were interrupted by the shaman’s voice. He almost jumped at the sight of Dahlia, who was now much closer.
“You’ve been lugging my stock around all day, so you must be starving,” Dahlia pointed out. She was carrying the barrel of that foreign brew one of the traders paid with. “Maybe we can have a horn or two of this drink. Make it a fun night.”
“Uh… Yeah sure,” James muttered a response. He was almost happy at the thought of eating something that wasn’t made up of dry crackers and lukewarm water. The thought of good food back at the shaman’s home was quickly accompanied by a grim realization. “We’re going back to the hut, aren’t we?”
The idea of hiking uphill through the forest made his arms and legs ache. James had already exerted himself today, carrying the stock and navigating through the bustling marketplace. That wasn’t even mentioning the fact that he was running on only a couple of hours of sleep.
“Mhmm,” Dahlia hummed as she stacked the barrel on a crate. “I’d rather not waste my coin on a tavern room and moldy bread. Better we go back to my home.”
“Actually.” James dug into his pocket, his fingers brushing against the coin he had picked up earlier that day. He brought it out with a grin, showing the shaman the shining piece of currency. “You wouldn’t mind if I pay for it?”
“Is that a…?” Dahlia’s eyes widened. “That’s a Queen piece. Those are worth fifty silver! Where did you get this?” she asked in disbelief before she tried to reach for it.
James held it high, right outside the shaman’s reach. “You probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
Dahlia frowned. “Did you steal it?”
“Of course not! I found it on the ground,” James explained.
Dahlia narrowed her gaze and crossed her arms. The judging look was enough to make James feel an ounce of shame, despite technically telling the truth.
“I swear!” James reiterated.
Dahlia sighed and her form relaxed. “Fine. Are you sure you want to spend it on a night at the tavern?”
“Why? Is it expensive?” James asked as he tucked the coin into his pocket.
“No. Not at all.” Dahlia shook her head as she placed the crate and barrel on James’ open hands. “Just a… different experience is all.” She smiled innocently as she picked up the last of her supplies before heading off into the town.
James stared at her, unsure of what she meant. He was almost beginning to regret suggesting the tavern.
“Well, it can’t hurt to have a drink over there. Wish me the best of luck, I guess,” James murmured to himself before he followed Dahlia.