After a hearty meal, Nespolan led me out of the dining hall with his entourage. Along the way they continued gifting me with new words as we made the indoor trek to our next destination, wherever that was. My inquiries or input wouldn’t have mattered, and I wasn’t going to protest.
Their world was not exactly like the one I called home. Earlier I thought my fatigue was residual exhaustion from whatever happened. Now though, I could tell that something wasn’t quite right. It was harder for me to breathe as we continued to walk, forcing me to take more breaks. The abundance of stairs were especially miserable. I felt heavier. Actually, come to think of it, everything felt heavier than it should have.
Uncomfortable, but not unbearable. I would chalk this up to being another lucky upside I hadn’t really considered. What if this side of the portal did not have breathable air? What if it had crushing gravity? Yup, calling this one a win so far.
When the portal had appeared I didn’t believe what I saw at first. I couldn’t believe it. I had gotten home from work, showered, and was eating when I heard a humming sound. Loud droning, like a high voltage substation. I went to investigate and there it was - a damned portal. A tear in reality with a rippling, shimmering surface.
If anything I had tried when attempting to ‘test’ the portal had worked, I would have had more information before taking the plunge. Camera on a string, camera on a drone, random objects tied to things - none of it came back through the portal.
I went in blind, believing it to be a one-way trip. It was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up, no matter the risks. Yet, here I am - alive and walking around a castle of some sort in a different world. Win!
We left the castle, crossing a cobblestone courtyard with more than a dozen parked carriages. The stone building we were aiming toward, still within the castle grounds, was eight-ish stories tall and austere compared to the castle exterior behind us. More men and women in simple robes walked in and out of it almost constantly.
They were likely clergy, making this some sort of temple. None of which were words worth learning yet because I could be way off base.
The first floor was an open, cavernous room with large stairs at the far back side. Forty or so uniquely decorated alcoves were evenly spaced around the outer wall, each with a three meter statue carved or cast from an assortment of materials. If this was a place of worship, those would be idols to their many gods.
Walking up the stairs I could see that the second floor was almost the same as the first with different alcoves and statues. The third floor was different from the other two. A long four meter wide hall spanned from the stairs all the way to the front of the building with doors leading to individual rooms. Guards standing outside a single door snapped to attention as we approached.
Following Nespolan and the eldest robed guy, whose name I really needed to ask, we entered the room. Two of his personal guard followed us in while the rest of the entourage waited outside.
The room looked much the same as I remembered from the short time I was conscious, sans portal and robed bodies. My bags and grimoire were on the floor. Char marks and soot covered my belongings, the hulking red minotaur corpse, and spread out in a blast pattern. Dried blood splattered the walls and pooled about the floor.
Whatever happened, the minotaur’s face was obliterated in an outward spray of gore that painted the walls and shrine at the far side of the room beyond it. It appeared as if a bomb had gone off inside the creature’s mouth.
My memory of those short seconds was foggy, but I recalled swinging the grimoire. Thinking about it more, I remembered an explosion. How the hell I survived ground zero of something that nuked half that thing’s head, I still did not know. Rubbing the top of my bald head I had to wonder if they healed me somehow.
I knelt down to my oversized book and picked it up. It felt different in my hands but had not been damaged in the slightest. The grimoire thrummed with energy. Though I had never held a charged capacitor, that’s what came to mind. Powerful and dangerous.
Wiping away the thin layer of soot and minotaur bits, most of the runes on the cover were gone. Runes that I had put there myself over my adult lifespan since it was left to me by my grandfather. Where those missing symbols were previously there was now no markings at all.
The grimoire was more than just a large book, it held all we had come to learn of this lost language - if it was a language. The whole thing weighed more than twenty kilos normally. With the increased gravity it felt more twenty-five or thirty. Three leather buckles kept the book closed, matching the same leather strap on its spine that I often used to carry it.
Running my fingers across other runes I could feel that many were no longer inert symbols. At least half of the remaining characters held some sort of energy that was waiting to be released. “They do work!”
The validation that comes in the instant of such an epiphany is something I would not be able to put into words. That singular defining moment in time being the culmination of decades of work, more than a century altogether including the efforts of my forebears. At least some of the characters actually do something. They’re not just doodles or wild conspiracies of eccentric madmen, but are instead a representation of a long lost language or power.
Like learning the tongues of this world, it would still take time to learn what we had right and what we had wrong. I knew that much inherently as I inspected the grimoire. This door was now open and, like the portal which brought me here, I would be walking through.
Thinking about that portal gave me pause. It wasn’t here anymore. Until now the consequences of that fact had not registered. I was most likely stuck here. So be it. My mind had been made up whether this would be a one-way trip or not. This is to be the next step in my life’s work.
Inspecting my bags next, they were unharmed as well. The same layer of soot from the explosion coated my hiking pack and duffel bag. No burn marks, melting, or damage. It could mean that the explosion had limited effects or that the runes on my bags protected them from harm too.
Nespolan said something, breaking my reverie. He gestured with a nod that I should follow him back out of the room, presumably with my belongings. Picking it all up, I followed behind him. It took some serious effort as I hadn’t exactly packed light.
“Tell me we’re not hiking all the way back up there already,” I implored to precisely zero people present that could understand me. There were raised eyebrows, but that’s it. I looked at the monstrous corpse behind me one more time before leaving the room.
I had never killed anything before and did not feel remorseful about it now. Should I feel something? What if it was another of his guards? No, that couldn’t be right. That creature was attacking them.
With a sigh I followed the others up the stairs, laden with far too much gear. We reached the fourth floor, resembling the third. Fortunately, our destination was a door near the stairs.
Another large room with a large table. It wasn’t as large as the dining table, but probably weighed half a ton nonetheless. I would hate to be a laborer having to haul this heavy ass furniture around with all these damnable stairs.
The elder robed man and Nespolan spoke for a moment, then the old guy looked at me and nodded me over. He pulled a pouch off his belt and placed it on the table, then made a show of emptying it. Finally, he nodded to my bags and then to the table.
I pointed to myself, “Sully.”
Thinking for a moment he replied, “Dostark,” with a smile.
“Alright Dostark, you want to see what’s in my bags. I get it.” Setting the book down first, I got the bags onto the table with some grunting and effort. This was like going through airport security with a well packed set of luggage and being flagged for inspection. Like those horrible experiences, I was not looking forward to this tedious act. They could have easily killed me or gone through the bags themselves, so this felt like respect for my privacy while also trying to learn more about me.
The group of onlookers watched in rapt fascination as I took one item after another out and placed them on the table. Clothes, rations, survival tools, and various sundries were all placed on the table. Dostark, Nespolan, or one of the others got closer to look at them when I had finished, never touching or reaching toward my personal effects.
Another man in grey robes entered the room and placed the clothes I had been wearing on the table. My pants, shirt, and jacket were all fried - literally. Unlike my bags and grimoire, they had obviously not fared well from the encounter. The front of everything was mostly burned away and the sleeves of my jacket were gone, leaving me with a partially burned vest. My boots were mostly fine though, which felt like a bonus to be honest. How the hell was I still alive if that’s what happened to my clothes?
I had grouped the items so I could repack them again easier. Clothes together. Sleeping gear together. First aid supplies together. Electronics together. That was going to really blow their mind when I showed them the electronics… later. Who knows if anything I had would somehow cause them to view me as an evil heretic. Definitely something for another day.
A guard walked up to the table to inspect my gear. When he unsheathed his sword I was wary, but he was just using it to point to a section of stuff. His sword rested in front of one pile with a couple machetes, a hatchet, e-tool, and other survival tools. Out of everything present, he was pointing to what he recognized as weapons.
Carefully unsheathing one of the machetes, I held the handle toward him. After placing his sword on the table, he took the tool in hand and inspected it more closely. He was definitely impressed with the keen edge of the blade. Handle first, he returned it to me. It went back in its sheath and onto the table.
Guard guy said something to Nespolan and nodded toward that section of my gear. Nespolan thought about it for a moment and walked up with a sigh. I couldn’t understand the words he said to me, but I know he was asking if they could take those items.
All I could do was shrug and nod. If they were going to be hospitable and house me here for the moment, I couldn’t argue this. Not that I could argue with them effectively about anything frankly. It was within their power to toss me into a jail cell. An oubliette would be worse. This was better, so far.
Another guard came and picked up all the tools and said something to me with an approving nod, obviously placated. If we hadn’t just eaten I would have offered a couple of them some of the power bars. It might be good to wait until I could explain what they were without pantomiming or eating one when I did not need it.
I wasn’t pushed to give up anything else, though there was some interest in the electronics, clothes, and other objects. It was all foreign to them of course, so their curiosity was piqued. Respect for boundaries won versus almost any inquisitiveness for now. The sole other exception was my grimoire.
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
Each of the robed dudes walked up and scrutinized the cover of the book. They spoke more with one another about that than anything. More for me to talk about once we could have such a conversation.
It took some time, but I managed to cram everything but the camping tools back in the bags. Fortunately they didn’t know what a gun was, so I kept that.
*****
Greenskin servants were summoned and tasked with carrying everything for me, thankfully. The only thing I wouldn’t let go of was my grimoire, which was enough of a burden all the same. Back to the castle and more stairs.
Nespolan and the bulk of our entourage peeled off after only a couple floors and I was urged onward. Myself, the servants, Dostark, and some guards continued up the damned stairs.
Reaching the floor where I woke up took half an hour or more of grueling work, for me anyway. The patience of these people was legendary. No one else appeared to be so hindered and no one complained or said anything when I had to pause. I felt weak and exhausted the entire trip. These people needed to learn what elevators were. What would happen if I invented elevators for them?
“Sooley kotaya,” Dostark said as he opened the door to the room.
“Sully,” I said as I pointed to myself, then pushed my hands down toward the floor, “kotaya?”
He smiled and nodded. So, this was probably my room for now then and the word for room was likely kotaya. Not like we could discuss the specifics of my living arrangements, but I had nowhere else to go at the moment. All my hot dates were effectively cleared from my calendar and replaced.
The orcish servants placed everything gently at the foot of my bed and left without a word. I set the grimoire down on the desk, content that I was safe here. The guards took place outside my door and Dostark walked out, closing the door. I laid down on the edge of the gargantuan bed, passing out almost instantly.
*****
The same girl that was first in my room woke me up as the sun was setting. She led me to the dining hall again. Dostark and some others were present, but Nespolan was notably absent.
After dinner there was hot water in the tub and again, the same girl was present. At first I attempted to protest, but she insisted on bathing me. Oh well, could be worse.
Back to my Alaskan Emperor bed, I slept. Why an Alaskan Emperor's bed? Because California and kingdoms are smaller than Alaska and empires, that’s why. I thought it was funny and there was no one to judge my stupid joke.
Bright and early the next day I began unpacking and creating an inventory of all I had brought with me.
Inventory
* Romano Family Grimoire
* Containers: hiking pack with frame, large gym bag, eight dry boxes
* Clothing: ten sets (warm & cold weather), twenty sets of undergarments and socks, two jackets, poncho, four pair of gloves, two pairs of boots, pair of sandals
* Camping gear: compact tent, multi-layered sleeping bag, isolation mat, hygiene kit, two fire starter kits, box of waterproof matches, magnifying glass, two mirrors, nested cookware & utensil set, multi-tool, saw, roll of cord, roll of fishing line, fishing kit, binoculars, compass, two rolls of dry bags, three first aid kits (one-hundred piece, each), two quick dry towels
* Food & Water: ten stripped down military rations, fifty assorted power bars, various jerkies and trail mixes, four canteens, two boxes of water purification tablets, water purifying bottle, two water collection kits
* Electronics: 300 watt solar charger, 1000 watt portable power station (battery), emergency radio, laptop, tablet, cell phone, ten external SSD (20TB each; multiple full), three sports cameras, small posable tripods, mini-drone, micro projector, portable speaker, high powered flashlight, five camp lamps
* Weapons: pistol (one hundred rounds, two magazines, and holster)
* Miscellaneous: zip tie kit, three rolls of duct tape, writing gear (various pads & notebooks, pencils, pens, rubbing charcoal, etc), inscribing kit (for metal, stone, leather, & wood - inscribing, etching, & chiseling), two decks of cards
* Confiscated: two machetes, hatchet, e-tool / “survival shovel”, two large folding knives (15cm blade), two small folding knives (8cm blade)
“If only I had one of those bottomless bags we always had in our games,” I thought. With such a bag, and an inventory interface of some sort, all this would be much easier. Most of my gear was fairly lightweight by itself, but all of it together weighed a lot. If this happened when I was a kid I probably would have had a bag full of books instead of the electronics. As it was I only had the one physical book and terabytes worth of data.
My phone was the only thing I kept out while the rest was ‘hidden’ at the bottom of a chest beneath warm-weather clothes. I took pictures of everything in the room and the view from the balcony before stashing it away as well.
We settled into a routine over the following days. Dostark and a couple guards accompanied me everywhere I went, privy included. Big on respect for personal effects, not so much for personal space or privacy.
Though I found I could eat whenever I wanted, the others typically only ate two full meals a day with a couple light snacks in between. Free to wander within the castle grounds, I was barred from entering the city beyond. It remained distant and unknown, only seen from my balcony.
The adjacent room was also given to me and set up as a study. Whenever I wanted, Dostark would instruct me on speaking, reading, and writing their language. The region, country, kingdom, empire, or whatever was called Norvos and I was learning Norvosian. Going over maps I learned that Orya was the name of the city.
After the first week I was even gifted clothes that fit my height. Wearing what I brought earned me looks of disgust and derision from some. A small degree of that remained no matter what I wore. I am a foreigner who is significantly taller than everyone else, received special treatment, and did not know their language, customs, or culture. I was working on the last part, assholes. Roman isn’t learned in a day.
At the beginning of the second week I had grown frustrated and gesticulated while speaking in Norvosian. Dorstark yelled at and rebuked me, then almost dragged me out to the balcony. He placed me about four meters away and thrust his palm out at me a couple times before mimicking my earlier motions. There was a message here I wasn’t quite getting, which he surely read on my face.
Dorstark turned toward the city made some motions with his hands, muttered some words, and thrust his palm outward. Fire exploded from his hand and shot into the air with a loud whoomph. The concussion hit my chest. Intense heat from the ten meter flame forced me to turn away and step back.
“Wha… How? What?” I mumbled nonsensically, mouth agape in shock.
My tutor turned toward me with a strange grin and made the same gestures he had before shooting fucking fire out of his hand. I dove to the ground and covered my head. The laugh that followed was full and jovial. Not a hint of malice from my mentor.
I looked up and immediately understood. A light clicked on in my head. These people did not gesticulate because it was considered offensive. Not solely in the sense that it was obnoxious to point at someone. No, they took offense at being flagged with a weapon.
Standing, I nodded at him and reverently bowed my head. That was something I had seen many times thus far of their mannerisms that should convey my apology and acceptance. Dorstark nodded in acknowledgement.
Going to be more vigilant about not gesticulating in the future. Social faux pas aside, Dorstark just shot fire from his hands. Magic was real! Like a child pantomiming pulling a passing truck’s horn, I signed with my palm out into the air away from the castle like a cartoon character and gestured with my head toward him. And, like an awesome passing trucker, he obliged my inner juvenile. Instead of a horn, I was rewarded for my immaturity with a full minute of my own, personal, fantastic pyrotechnic display.
The portal from my world and minotaur ruining rune-splosion were amazing. I was still coming to terms with both of those being a facet of reality. This was an entirely different league. It is the difference between close-up card tricks and then watching someone make an elephant disappear on stage as a kid. Whole different ball game.
I have always been rather eager to learn languages. It was something I excelled at from a young age and gravitated toward. My newfound desire to acquire magical powers redoubled my passion to become fluent in Norvosian. Without it there would be no chance of being able to sling spells.
The following weeks were much the same. I wasn’t rewarded with any more grand magic shows, but I was rapped on the knuckles with a stick from time to time for gesticulating. And smacked on the back of my head for botching a new piece of Norvosian. And forced to write the same thing enough to fill a blackboard.
Dorstark guided my studies with the help of a dozen other robed dudes. As it turns out, the people in robes were almost all scholars, magi of some sort, or clergy. Collectively, these educated members of society were called the Resolute; which sounded far more impressive in Norvosian.
Groups of them sworn to a noble were their ‘argenti’ or contracted out. The colors of their robes demonstrated some cultural significance. The boring greys and earth tones were all clergy, scholars wore an assortment of blues and greens, whereas the remaining vibrant rainbow of hues were all casters.
Norvosian with Dorstark took up most of my time every day. Etiquette, culture, regional geography, and other subjects were sprinkled about the schedule. What free time I had left was consumed with studying and practicing with runes now that they actually worked. They should work anyway, but I still couldn’t figure it out. The pace was brutal, but I was ambitious to absorb all they would teach.
On more than one occasion I had the recurring thought, “If only this was a game.” Gaining skills, tackling quests, piling up loot, and adventuring would all be excellent to help guide me and break up the monotony. Not complaining about the situation exactly, just daydreaming about all the books I have read and games I have played.
The work was a grueling postdoctoral study of another world fully apart from our own. Enough things were comfortingly familiar that it was not an alien existence. Comparing it to my own history, the level of technology was roughly thirteenth or fourteenth century. Some facets were stunted; most notably being the medical field, supported heavily by apothecaries, alchemists, and magic. Other areas, like construction, were impressively ahead of what I expected.
Though some of the flora and fauna were the same, plenty of surprises kept me on my toes. While standing on my balcony one day, I discovered the gulls flying above the city were lower on the food chain than a larger reptilian albatross-like species. They were more like flying dinosaurs with a four meter wingspan. Pterodactyls. They were damned dinosaurs in all but name. I am certain there will be information to research from them as well. The higher gravity had to make an impact on their flight, right?
Learning these lands’ birds, and bees, would happen over time.
Every so often I would see Nespolan in the halls or we would share a meal, but never spoke. Dorstark conveyed to me that it was considered despicable to butcher the Norvosian language, especially among those with rank, title, or status.
As it happens, Nespolan is the king's sibling. Though the words and titles were different, they equated easily enough to a typical feudal hierarchy. I lucked out in that regard, having saved his life and all. Nespolan was not actually his first name either, it was Polan. Nes was a sort of family name, except they placed them before personal names and were never left unsaid for members of their nobility. Dorstark, a High Magister it turns out, would be Tark Dors by the naming conventions I was accustomed to.
Weeks gave way to months as I finally gained more than a tenuous grasp on all I was learning. I was eventually able to hold a conversation with fairly infrequent hiccups despite not being wholly fluent. Specific words, especially of the more esoteric things, would come in time.
Since the first day in this new world I started a journal and wrote in it every day, sometimes more than once. It felt important for me to document everything. This was how I discovered that there were eight days in a week and around thirty-five days a month here. Dorstark went over the four hundred and thirty-three day calendar with me after I asked.
One of the more disturbing revelations was that the partial covering of the balcony and bars spaced two meters apart were not just some design choice, but protected us from the ‘tayayash.’ That was what the giant flying lizards were called in Norvosian.
I grew accustomed to the air and gravity in time. The stairs were surely to blame. I ate more than everyone else here as well by about half again as much. A combination of contributing factors forced me to chow down more regularly than the locals, namely my larger size and putting on additional muscle from my self proclaimed title as Stair Master.
“Soon you will be ready to speak with Nespolan,” Dorstark announced at the end of an entire day filled with a battery of tests by the collected wise dudes and mentors. They didn’t call themselves the “wise dudes,” and I did not do so aloud for fear of being thwacked. I also hadn’t figured out the Norvosian word for ‘dudes’.