Chapter 5: A New World (Patreon)

Elliot’s first thought as he eased back to consciousness was that everything smelled of pine needles and wet earth. A soft breeze picked up, cool against his cheek, and for a second he was back at his family’s cabin in Vermont. It was summer, the lake was down the hill, and he’d soon be setting off into the woods with his sketchbook to draw anything that caught his interest.

Then he remembered.

His eyes shot open, taking in the towering trees overhead. They were evergreens, each easily twice the size of a similar tree on earth. Speckled ferns and broken boulders were scattered under the tree cover, and some kind of bird whistled in the distance.

“Bastard,” he wheezed, climbing slowly to his feet. “Sick bastard.”

As far south as south can go. His stomach felt like a rock, and he had to fight a rush of nausea. Oh God, how far is that? A prophecy? What’s happening?

Groaning softly, he stumbled close enough to one of the nearby trunks to lean on it for support. There was no time to delay—he’d made a promise. It was time to focus, get to safety, survive. He had to take action now while there were no obvious threats. But as much as he knew that, all he could think about was Rowan popping up in the middle of some strange city, all alone.

The man in black’s words repeated over and over in his mind. As far south as south can go. Elliot suppressed a sob, then knocked his head against the bark hard enough to hurt. Focus. You can’t fall apart right now. You have to get to safety, you promised.

The wind picked up, and he shivered. It was cooler than the world of mist, but far from the frigid Boston winter back home—more like late spring. 

Did he have a profession now? Would Rowan have access to hers right away? She’d need the advantage.

As the thought flashed through his mind, something shifted. A strange heat bloomed in his chest. It was pleasant at first, even slightly calming, but then the gentle warmth began to burn. 

Elliot collapsed to his knees, gasping. Heat became pain, and pain became an incandescence of agony. It felt like thin lines of molten steel had been threaded through his body. They would settle in place for an instant before snapping back into motion, like they were searching for a vessel that didn’t exist.

His thoughts tumbled, unable to fully form against the blistering discomfort. He fell to the forest floor, moss and dark soil against his face. What’s happening? Why? Under attack? Stop, please stop—

A wave of softness and silver broke over him and he sucked in a breath, the burning snuffed out instantly. Panic still clutched at his chest as he tried to process what was happening. What was that? Was it over? Was it about to start again? Oh God he really couldn’t handle it starting again, he had to do something—

Reality warped.

It was as if he’d opened a second pair of eyes. At the center of his torso an orange sphere was rotating, small and ringed with a black band of energy.

Beyond him, as if he was once again peering behind the curtain of the world, stood his salvation. A tower of energy barely perceptible in the distance, crowned by a blazing white star. It felt so far away he could barely make it out, but there was the vague sense of golden markings on its surface, forming some kind of pattern, and the silver softness was streaming down toward him through the expanse of emptiness between.

As he stared, trying to make any sense at all of what was happening, understanding arrived—whole and complete as if he’d known it forever.

The distant star was called the Beacon. An orange core designated him as a merchant, a fundamental pathway, and his profession was [Merchant of Antiquities].

Merchant of Antiquities? What, a magical antiques dealer?

And there was more. He had a skill—What was a skill? Was it…

Ah, I see.

It was called [Detailed Appraisal]: the ability to assess the origin, story, and value of a minor existence, with a primary focus on objects. There was no clarification about what constituted a minor existence.

Elliot collapsed back down to the thick bed of moss, panting for breath. Was that some kind of integration? Was Rowan going to have to suffer through the same thing?

As he lay pressed into the moss, smelling damp earth and decaying leaves, he realized there was crashing in the distance. Something was pounding across the ground, breaking branches, and moving fast in his direction.

Gathering up the shreds of will and focus that remained to him, Elliot dragged himself toward a nearby tangle of brush and vines that looked like it was dense enough to swallow him whole. The sound was approaching quickly and he pressed forward, scooting the last few feet with his belly flat to the ground to get under the edge of greenery.

What erupted from the heavy foliage a few seconds later was moving too fast for Elliot to do more than gather chaotic impressions. Thick black fur, hyena-like jaws dripping ropes of saliva, a quadrupedal frame the size of a rhinoceros but with the speed and grace of a tiger.

Whatever it was slammed down a few feet away and let out a harsh, guttural growl. It stayed still, sniffing the soil.

Elliot kept his mouth wide open, trying to breath as quietly as possible. He could barely make out the figure of the beast through the brambles. Which way was the wind blowing? Could it smell him? Why couldn’t I have owned a gun?

It let out a louder snort, and turned toward his stretch of brush.

There was something dripping down its left flank—blood? Why would it be bleeding? Elliot tensed his body, wrestling with the fact that the situation was completely out of his control, and his life on this new world might end up being measured in minutes.

More than fear, more even than grief, he felt a strange sense of embarrassment. Rowan had been right after all. The neutral start option was sounding better and better by the second. Too bad he’d never be able to tell her.

A flash of silver shot across the beast’s neck and it screamed, whipping its head to look off into the press of trees. Another beam flickered past its ankle, and this time Elliot had a clear enough view to see it draw blood. A shout  rang through the air, one that sounded human.

The monster whirled, charging off into the forest.

What?

Elliot’s brain was in danger of shutting down. There had simply been too many new, stress-inducing, and utterly incomprehensible things that had occurred in the last hour, and he hadn’t been a picture of stability leading into this mess. His heart felt like it was about to break out his ribs, and his vision was going white around the edges.

But someone had just drawn away an impossibly dangerous predator, saving him at the cost of endangering their own life. Someone was out there right now, running as fast as they could, the beast surging up behind them.

An instinct he’d never realized he possessed reared its head, and he realized, despite all logic, he couldn’t let this person fight the monster alone.

He jumped to his feet and began to sprint after the beast.

It was like running through the backcountry of northern Canada. The ground rolled, with dense clusters of ferns, granite boulders, and fallen logs breaking up the thick evergreen trunks all around him. Light came dimly through the canopy above.

The trail was easy to follow. Bark trailing off of trees, smashed branches, and thick gouges in the soil all pointed the way as easily as if there’d been a neon sign. Clearly his savior was fast, because Elliot made it at least several minutes without any sign of the beast having caught them.

Then he emerged into a large clearing and froze, shaking with adrenaline.

Rocky soil stretched for at least a hundred feet, with only a few scattered trees to provide cover. 

At the edge of the space, by one of those trees, stood a man who looked to be in his early twenties. Clad in undyed leathers and holding a large spear, he wore an expression of remarkable calm. His long brown hair was tied up in a knot above his head. Elliot breaking out from the trees caused him to glance over sharply, but he dismissed him equally as fast, fixing his eyes back on the predator.

The massive creature was thrashing in place a dozen feet away, its foot caught in some kind of snare. It bucked and kicked in a fury of rippling muscle and snapping jaws, but the rope was well-lashed to the branch of a nearby tree, and the trap held.

After watching for a moment the spear-wielder began to jog forward, keeping his weapon’s point aimed directly at the beast’s face. When he was about ten feet away he broke into a dead sprint.

The monster threw itself forward, roaring, but again came up sharply against the end of the rope, and the man’s spear darted forward like a heron’s beak to lash in and out of both the creature’s eyes. Elliot gasped, shocked at the grace and speed of the motion, and the beast reared back on its hind legs with an anguished keen. 

Maybe this had been a bit of a hasty decision. Both hunter and prey, whichever was which, seemed to be on a level Elliot couldn’t have reached in a million years, and it was hard to imagine himself making any kind of difference in a fight like this. But it still felt wrong to slink away. He hesitated, pulled between crouching down and running off.

With a sharp crack, the branch holding the rope broke.

The leather-clad man had been easing forward again, no doubt hoping to take advantage of the beast’s eyelessness to strike a killing blow, but with the restraint suddenly removed the creature let out a massive bellow and launched forward. The man leaped to the side, barely in time to avoid being crushed between jaws the size of his chest.

As soon as he hit the ground, the hunter whipped himself back up and began to sprint toward another tree. The beast was fast though, and despite its blindness, there was clearly nothing wrong with its other senses. It tore after the hunter.

The man reached the tree, leaping up a seemingly impossible distance to latch onto a branch ten feet in the air. The beast impacted the trunk immediately after, screeching in pain and confusion. Then it fixed its gaze upwards, turning its nose back and forth as it sucked in deep snorts of air.

Now or never. He just saved your life. Move.

Breaking into a run, Elliot aimed for the trailing end of the rope still attached to the beast’s leg. It snaked behind it for a good thirty feet, the hunter having clearly left plenty of loose coil when he knotted the original snare. There was a shard of stone sticking from the ground near enough to the rope’s tail, and if the beast stayed focused on the other man Elliot thought there was a chance he could re-tie it and get away clean. 

Or I’m deluding myself and I’m about to be eaten. 

A brisk wind was picking up, blowing so that he was upwind. Trying to push the doubt from his mind, he kept moving. If he could just stay quiet, if the wind didn’t shift, if, if, if—

Furious snarls and the cracks of massive paws on wood filled the air. Elliot slowed to an awkward jog as he approached, trying to keep his footsteps light. The beast seemed intent on the treed hunter, but it was only two dozen feet away.

Slowing to a crawl, he eased across the last few feet and gently raised the rope, pulling out the slack to reach the small boulder a few feet over. He took his time, trusting in the fact that the beast didn’t seem to be able to climb. Looping the end around the piece of jutting granite, he tied a quick double half-hitch. 

His cheeks flushed with triumph. The beast was still clawing at the tree, eyeless, and Elliot turned to pad away.

Then his foot caught on an almost-invisible root and he tumbled to the ground.

Everything seemed to slow. The monster twisted in place, head cocked, and sniffed deeply. The wind was shifting.

Elliot tried to control his breathing, but he felt as wired as he ever had, and his breath came in gasps no matter how much he tried to stay calm. The beast began to ease towards him.

Then the hunter fell from the tree, spear-first, flicking it towards the creature’s neck as he dropped in what seemed like a casual tap. For an instant nothing changed, then the site of contact erupted with blood. The beast let out a gurgling noise and folded to the ground, spasming weakly.

Elliot let out a soft moan, collapsed fully to the ground, and closed his eyes. He tried to take deep breaths, an image of the beast’s teeth fixed in his mind. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Something surged in his core, and his eyes shot open. He clutched at his chest, imagining a repeat of the burning pain from before, but instead all he felt was a light warmth. 

His focus turned inwards, and he perceived a change. Sticking from his core was a clear shard of something like metaphysical glass.

Before he could investigate further, he was distracted by the sight of the spearman’s face hovering a mere foot above his own, expression fixed in a cold scowl.

“What in the name of all the hells do you mean by interfering with my hunt?” The man snapped. “Explain yourself.”