George stared at his surroundings, somewhat disoriented by all the unfamiliarity. The open sky that did not distinguish day or night was one thing. But even the trees didn’t feel the same. He walked to the towering tree that had caught his eye. From a distance, it looked like an oak tree, with its thick trunk and spreading branches. But as he neared it, he realized that it wasn’t. The leaves were different, and there were no acorns. It was a different tree altogether and he didn’t recognize it at all. The tree had been growing beside what looked like a sentry’s hut. Perhaps when it was a sapling it was planted there with hopes of providing shade to those guardsmen standing at attention. But as there was no one to watch and trim it, the tree had become overbearing and the trunk and branches of the tree had pushed the stone structure out of the way of its growth.
It reminded George a little of the fallen kingdoms that he had come across on his travels. Ruins that were invaded by growing trees till you could see beautiful structures half manmade half grown. It was almost organic how the plants and buildings had grown and merged together, creating an almost wonderland of sorts. But he didn’t have time to reminiscence; he still did not know where he was or how to get back.
He looked around to get his bearings; the castle was behind him and much further ahead of him was another wall. Between the castle wall and the other wall George could see what appeared to be a town, long deserted and empty. Feeling vulnerable, he turned back to the castle, hoping to find some weapon he could use. While there were things that he did not recognise or understand in this place, a castle structure he did. It did not take him long to find what he hoped was the armoury. The door was closed and on it was an emblem he did not recognize: a winged lion wearing a crown with a sword and magic staff crossing each other behind it. He stared at the emblem and realized that the man in the portrait earlier also had this coat of arms engraved on his armour. He took it as the castle lord’s insignia.
Cautiously he pushed at the doors, praying that it was not locked or sealed by magic. He felt a resistance at first but before he could do anything, the doors opened, swinging apart with a slow, dignified gravity. He took a deep breath and stepped in. It was the armoury like he had guessed – that he had hoped. Swords, shields, spears and poleaxes lined up neatly, in racks and hung on the walls like decorations. As he walked in, there were even magic staves, beautifully carved and adorned with gems. The further in he walked, the more beautiful and precious the weapons were. George stopped and turned around. He only needed a weapon to defend himself, he wasn’t here to ransack somebody else’s treasures. He returned to the entrance and picked up a simple short sword. There were no adornments on either the hilt or the scabbard. At most it was a soldier’s sword, plain and serviceable. The blade gleamed as he pulled it from its scabbard, as if brand new and a total contrast to the ghostly, damaged and abandoned castle outside. It would do. He left and the doors closed behind him. He didn’t know why but he turned and bowed at the emblem; as thanks for lending him a weapon.
He made his way out of the castle again, aiming for the town; he wanted to make sense of what was going on. As far as he could tell, he had been transported from Sanctuary and was now in a place that looked nothing like earth. He hadn’t seen any animals or people but the plants here was unfamiliar, and looking at the weapons earlier, magic was a part of life, unlike on earth where some lucky few managed to encounter it and achieve immortality. He also couldn’t understand why the place was abandoned. The castle had fallen to disrepair but he wasn’t sure if it was from a battle like he had initially guessed.
He passed the guard hut again and stopped, turning around. He had a feeling that he was being watched but there was no hostility in the gaze. While he wanted to look for the person watching him, in hopes of getting answers, he realized that it would be pointless. He was on unknown territory while that person had the home advantage. He’d lose that person in an instant. Shaking his head with some regret, he made his way towards the town like he planned.
Halfway there, George stopped again. This time, there was a faint feeling of hostility and his scar had started itching. He walked forward again, a little slower and more alert. His palm resting on the pommel of the sword he had fastened to his side. There was a faint growl and he immediately switched to defence mode, gripping the sword and drawing it from its sheath. Immediately surrounding him was a pack of wolf-like creatures; they were larger than the wolves he was used to, with a lone horn on their forehead. Their hides were a deep midnight blue but George wasn’t sure if it was the natural colour of their fur. They had red eyes and were covered in a swirl of miasma; a sure sign that they were Arnitikós.
George sighed when he saw the creatures; he hated it when he had to fight pack animals. Being overwhelmed was no fun, especially since he wasn’t sure how these beasts behaved in a fight. He scanned the creatures, trying to locate the alpha. There were five of them, circling him as they snarled nonstop. He noticed one of the creatures was slightly larger and he was the one that appeared to be in control. George decided to aim for him; losing the leader would normally throw any team in disarray.
He ran forward, keeping his eyes on his target. The creatures all attacked at the same time but George nimbly avoided them, raising his sword at the alpha. He aimed a slash at the creature which it avoided. His eyebrows furrowed into a frown; these creatures were more agile than the ones he fought defending the club. However, the reason he chose a short sword was for its manoeuvrability; being lighter than a long or broad sword but with better reach than a dagger. He deftly dropped and caught the grip, now holding it in reverse. He swung his arm upwards, treating the sword like a slightly longer dagger. This time, his attack connected and there was a yelp as he landed a cut on the creature’s side. It wasn’t deep but it served as an effective warning against the other beasts. They continued to circle him, even more wary now. He again aimed for the injured alpha, intending to take down the chain of command.
The injured animal was unable to move as quickly and was stabbed by him. Pulling the sword out, he put the creature out of its misery with another stab to the head. There was a sudden howl and the other creatures retreated. George was bewildered now. Was this not the leader of the pack? He stared at the dead animal, wondering what he should do next.
He was honestly tired; he had been suspended in a space for who knows how long without food and water and only intermittent sleep to sustain him. He had been digging through rubble and wading through ice cold water before he found his way to the outside and now he had just fought some creatures that he suspected were Arnitikós but their behaviour was against the usual negative creatures he had fought. The fatigue he felt was not only to the body but also the mind. Having to stay alert for long periods of time meant that the exhaustion was all the way down to the bone.
He calmed down and took a deep breath, exhaled and retuned his senses. The scar did not ache, which meant that there was no danger for now. He would be better off trying to find a place to rest and refresh himself against the dangers he might face in the morning. He looked at the sky and wondered if there was such a thing as day and night here. The good news was: the air was rich with magic; he could at the very least use his cultivation technique to replenish his energies. Arnitikós were not edible anyway; not unless you want to be a bundle of rage or depression after that.
Unable to do anything else, George left the carcass behind and wanted to continue to explore the ghost town; look for clues on where he was, signs of human activity, food, shelter… anything.
He heard a rustle behind him and he turned around, senses alert once again. The dead wolf was gone. This was nothing like how the negative creatures worked at all. He walked back to where he had felled the beast and found a piece of rolled up parchment on the ground. Looking around guardedly, he picked it up. It was a map, with an ‘x’ marked on it. Looking at it, the ink on the ‘x’ was still a little damp. George was suspicious but decided to give the person the benefit of doubt because of the coat of arms he saw at the bottom corner of the map. It was the same winged lion as the one on the armoury door.
With no other leads, this was so far the only clue he had. He sensed that the person who left it had no ill intent so he decided to follow the map. Thankfully it was a simple enough map; with both the sun and moon in the sky, and no known constellations that he could see, George wasn’t sure of his north from his south. He again had to turn back, seeing as the chosen meeting point was in an area behind the castle. It felt like he was going around in circles but what choice did he have. He was no better than a puppet dancing in the palm of the puppeteer.
After a short trek into the forest behind the castle, he felt like he was passing a barrier before he came to a clearing with a small hut by a stream. The mossy trees grew overhead and made for a beautiful green canopy that kept most of the rain and sun out. There was a crackling fire in front of the hut and it complemented the gurgling stream, making a rather peaceful symphony with the rustling of leaves in the wind. It was enough for George to almost drop his guard.
“Ah, you’ve arrived. Good.” A voice broke the calm.
George turned and saw a man in a cloak walking towards him, the dead wolf on his shoulder. He stared. Aside from the length and colour of his hair, he looked exactly like the man in the portrait.
