Fantasy: The Beginning of the End

Fantasy: The Beginning of the End - Z. Smith - Part One: The End - Chapter Nine

I felt as though I were falling a great distance, and when my feet slammed into solid ground, I was sure I would crumple to the ground from the sheer force of the impact. And yet I found myself standing upright next to Darius, Leta, and our masked savior in the middle of quiet forest of tepid shadows. The twitter of fragile snow buntings merrily pierced the crisp arctic air, and a few of their breed half-flew, half-leapt from bony limb to bony limb. A gray, cloudy sky loomed over us; the placid sky gazed down indifferently at the impossibility which had just occurred under its domain as four beings had seemingly materialized from nothing in the middle of a forest.

I stood in awe for a short span of seconds before I doubled over and vomited, an intense and debilitating nausea overcoming me. Darius was in no better shape, though Leta appeared to be valiantly fighting the same urge. The magic-wielder, on the other hand, did not seem particularly concerned with our condition, and stalked off a short way to give us space.

"What did you do to them?" Leta managed to say, sounding as though she were holding back the contents of her stomach with every word. I appreciated her concern, though I was in no position to affect my gratitude.

"Don't worry," our companion assured her, waving off the question. "I had the same reaction the first time I jumped, too. Well, that's not really the right term for what we just did, but you get my meaning."

"I'm not sure I do," Leta nearly spat as I managed to straighten myself up. "What just happened, and where are we?"

"Easy, Princess," the masked boy said as he raised his pale hands defensively. "I just took us a short hop away from the Miserable Swamp and equally miserable sorcerer who was about to turn you and these fools into an Abomination. As to what happened, I performed a useful but rare spell called Okkoris to get us here; nothing more."

"So why are we sick to our stomachs?" Darius groaned, clutched his abdomen as I stood over him, my hands on his shoulders.

"Nothing but motion sickness, really," the magic-wielder shrugged. "Your bodies are just now realizing it. I expect the Princess has a higher resistance because she has magic flowing in her veins. But that's just a guess, really."

"Who are you?" I asked haggardly, disgusted by the sickly, acidic taste in my mouth but still managing to look at our savior.

"Names are unimportant," he replied flatly, "but if you must have one, you may call me the Stranger. At least, for now."

While I was certain the boy was the same one who stole my cadet badge back in Noran and saved Darius and me in Umarla, I realized that the mask he wore was a helmet in reality. The right side of the mask had a strange contraption where the right eye should have been; it reminded me of a series of revolving magnifying glasses one might use in a laboratory. Though the helm was white like the snow, a number of strange, golden glyphs, cogs, and strange signs were all built into the colorless visage. The only sign of the boy beneath was in the depths of a deep socket on the left side of the helmet; under an eternally serious, prominent brow was a glacial, blue eye gazing at us in mild amusement.

"That's not much of an introduction," Darius managed as he stood upright at last, spitting wistfully in the dead leaves below our feet.

"It'll have to do," the Stranger insisted shrewdly, crossing his arms and leaning against a bare tree. "Now, I have something of a request, and seeing as I just saved your skins, I hope you'll oblige me."

"We didn't ask to be saved," Leta reminded him coolly, though I was honestly willing to do anything in return for the boy; after all, this latest rescue made Darius and me even deeper in debt to this mysterious warrior.