Hands of Fate - Survivors of Flight AA214

Chapter 40

James

Day 40 of First Landing, Day 1 on the Road

Turns out, following the river north wasn’t quite the easy stroll we’d imagined. Rivers don’t run straight like a road, nor do they flow gently across endless plains. No, they twist and turn, cut through hills, and drag you along with them into every obstacle. Thankfully, the map and compass we lifted off those pirates kept us more or less heading northeast toward Kronfeldt.

Kronfeldt—the closest thing to a proper town near our little village of Thornhill. Shame my chatty prisoner Rjakk-jakk didn’t live long enough to spill more than the basics: mining town, edge of the Azure Reach wilds, that’s about all I got.

Our orders, from our beautiful leader Bianca was to see if we could strike a trade deal. Our secondary job? Espionage. We needed eyes on the folk living there and a better lay of the land we’ve ended up in.

My grasp on the local tongue—Lokan, they called it—was shaky at best, but it’d have to do. We weren’t planning on diving headfirst into the town just yet. The first stop was the outskirts, giving us a bit of time to get a read on the locals, pick up some useful phrases, and avoid making fools of ourselves.

Comet, my elk, huffed and puffed, clearly wasn’t thrilled about the rocky terrain. Poor lad was still young, barely the size of a mule, with fur that was charcoal with patches of tawny. Not as big as Orion’s beast, Rudolph, but a fair bit larger than Sophie’s Olive. Olive was a smaller, gray-furred cow, her coat muted compared to the bulls.

Rudolph was already sprouting little stubs of antlers, and the two bulls were squaring up for Olive’s attention whenever they got the chance. So, naturally, we had to keep them apart.

Thankfully, Orion kept ahead of us, busy scouting out the rough terrain and saving us from breaking our necks.

With Orion out of earshot, I finally had a moment to myself with the lovely Sophie.

And what a sight she was. Even now, Sophie’s eyes gleamed like onyx gems, and her raven hair flowed majestically in a short ponytail. Her pink lips glistened in a mischievous smile. Her black leather jacket and jeans clung to her form highlighting her long legs and curves.

Being thirty-two, I wasn’t young enough to know who Sophie was in the real world. She had quite the reputation as a socialite of some sort among the adult teens in the village.

“I feel like one of those American pioneers, venturing into uncharted territories, bracing ourselves for whatever challenges lie ahead,” I said with a touch of bemusement.

“This saddle is killing me,” Sophie moaned in a way that nearly gave me a heart attack. Oh, be still my beating heart. “I really should have practiced riding like you two before this.”

“’Tis no cause for concern, milady. You'll acquire the Riding skill before you know it," I said, my tone gentle yet confident.

“James, what do you do around camp?” Sophie asked abruptly.

“Me? I dabble in all sorts of things. I uncovered this language and questioned the prisoner,” I replied, a hint of defensiveness in my voice.

“No, what is your job?” Sophie had a slight smile but seemed to be calculating something, as if weighing me on a scale.

“I’m a Diplomat. I manage the affairs of the village,” I said, again defensively. This question was much easier in the real world when I had an important job as a legal translator in one of the biggest law firms in the country.

“Hmm…” Sophie’s smile turned into a slight frown, as if disappointed by my answer.

“I also… well, not me, but they assigned me to farming.”

“Are you in charge of farming, then?” Sophie’s smile returned as she twirled her silky hair in her fingers.

“Well… not entirely, love, but… You see, Samar is the head farmer, and you could say I’m her assistant manager, of sorts…”

“So, what crops do you plant? I know you plant wheat and potatoes so far. What else?” Sophie halted Olive to ride alongside me, a knowing smile on her face.

“We plant all sorts of things. Samar is currently trying to breed different types of plants out of wild mustard. Cauliflower and the like. Besides that, we’re also grafting firecracker berry bushes and some purple swamp flowers called Violet Mirespire. Orion has us planting garlic and onion.”

“Flowers, huh…” Sophie’s eyes twinkled. Her lips curled mischievously, as if she had a wicked idea.

“You’re thinking of roses, aren’t you? My dear, ask, and I shall grow you the most decadent roses you will ever see,” I bragged, puffing out my chest proudly, which caused Sophie to let out a soft laugh that melted my heart.

Oh, how lovely. It’s like we’re on our honeymoon.

Before I could chat further with the delightful Sophie, the dour cook returned. Orion appeared, holding two river trout by their tails. The fish were skewered clean through the tail with throwing knives, their blood trickling onto the ground beside Orion’s elk mount. A dark bird of some sort perched on Rudolph’s head, and the cook plucked out the fish’s eyeballs and fed it to the bird.

“I found a cave where we can spend the night, so we won’t have to set up a tent. It’ll be dark soon, so we can cook up these fish and continue tomorrow.” Orion said, stroking the bird on the head.

“Sounds lovely. I’ve had quite enough riding for today,” I sighed, rubbing my thighs.

The cave Orion led us to was perched on a grassy hill, its entrance obscured by trees bearing yellow blossoms. Their petals formed a soft carpet on the trail leading into the shadowed maw of the cave. Our elk companions, ever the cautious sort, shifted uneasily as we tethered them to the trees by the entrance.

Inside, Orion ignited a torch by using one of his magic rings, casting a flickering light over the cave’s interior. The illumination revealed an unsettling sight: bones scattered haphazardly across the floor. Most appeared to be bones belonging to humanoid creatures but with inhuman heads. The discovery put us immediately me on edge.

The cave was furnished with wolf-hide blankets spread out on the ground, and stumps of wood, fashioned into rudimentary stools, were neatly arranged against the walls. Charcoal drawings of elk, ducks, and wolves decorated the taupe-colored walls, while a bear skull rested ominously on a rock pedestal.

I reached for my cutlass while Sophie gripped her staff. Orion looked around before wandering out of the cave, leaving us staring and waiting for his orders. Soon, he returned with some firewood and threw it on the already dug firepit, left by whoever had inhabited this cave.

“What are you doing?” I asked him. “Shouldn’t we get a move on? This is some cave person’s place.”

“It’s too late. If they come back tonight, we’ll either ask them to stay or take it by force. I’m starting dinner,” Orion sighed. He ignited the tinder he gathered with a snap of his thumb on the ring on his middle finger. “Sophie, can you reach into your wagon and get us water, my copper wok, salt, and some hardtack?”

“T-take it by force? You’re having a laugh? Let’s just leave. We can set up camp somewhere else,” I said, worry creeping into my voice.

Sophie seemed not to hear my concerns and left to retrieve the items for Orion. Orion followed behind her after getting the fire going. When they came back, Orion had plates along with those yellow flower blossoms he harvested from the tree, among other herbs. Sophie placed the wok on the fire, and Orion filet the fish precisely before tossing them with water, some herbs, and salt. When he nearly finished steaming the fish, he added the yellow flower blossoms, which wilted, and three pieces of hardtack to rehydrate.

The whole time he cooked, I kept my fingers clenched tight around the hilt of my cutlass. Every scrape of rock and every drip of water echoed too loudly in the cave, setting my nerves on edge. I half-expected some bloody creature to burst from the shadows at any moment.

The plate of fish I was served had two carefully carved fillets on it, as did Sophie’s. It seemed Orion saved the more palatable cuts for us, which we ate happily, while he was eating the fish heads and necks, which, to his credit, he seemed to really enjoy.

Truthfully, I was getting tired of fish, but anything served by Orion seemed to taste better. I guessed that his skills in his class added an extra spice, as it were, to his dishes. The blossoms were vegetal with a bright, summery squash flavor. The fish itself was well-seasoned, though a bit plain if I were to say so myself. The rehydrated hardtack soaked up the broth's flavor, making it taste like a soggy fish croûton. Not that pleasant.

Still, it was probably the best we could do out here.

“I’ll take the first watch. You two get some rest. I’ll wake the next one up in four hours,” Orion said bluntly, putting away the dishes.

“I go to sleep pretty easily. I’ll take the second watch,” Sophie volunteered.

With that, our watch order was decided, and I settled down into the furs.

Despite lying on the comfortable furs in a non-cramped housing situation, unlike our shelters in Thornhill, I felt out of place here. I had gotten used to the less-than-ideal situation at Thornhill, and had come around to the idea that it was my home.

Now, more than ever, I felt a twinge of homesickness. I missed the company. I missed my fields. I missed the ocean breeze. The nights gathered around the mess hall where people would play checkers, talk, and socialize.

It felt intrusive to sleep in a bed of sorts made for someone else, but the day’s long ride had me beat, and sleep came easily to me.

In what felt like the blink of an eye after I’d closed them, I was jolted awake by the sharp caw of a bird and the rough grip of calloused hands shaking me. Before I could even gather my wits, a shadowy figure rushed past, shouting over their shoulder, “Get your sword. Protect the elk!”

Adrenaline poured through my veins, and I surged to my feet. I must have slept on a rock because I had a huge crick in my neck, but I bore through it as I reached for the pirate cutlass near me. My business jacket and dress pants had been replaced with wool pants and a cotton shirt. I quickly put on my leather armor, one of the many we looted from the pirates, and sprang out of the cave.

I heard the guttural calls of “Die!” in slurred Lokan, sounding as if a goat had cried it. More screams could be heard, and when I came outside, Orion had his dagger buried in a primitive creature with a pronounced brow ridge and jaundiced-looking skin. As the troglodyte died in Orion’s arm, its grip on the torch and club it held faltered, and the lit torch fell to the dirt below.

Sophie was bludgeoning another troglodyte creature down on the ground, bashing its skull over repeatedly. They both had one thumb-sized spiral horn protruding off-center from their foreheads. More whistles and sharp shrieks came from the forest. Our mounts were startled, the three elk snuggled against the tree they were hitched to, but they were unharmed.

Three torches were approaching the cave from between the trees. More wails in harsh Lokan shouted out for a response. I wasn’t an expert in the language yet, but from what I could tell, they were butchering the words and uttering nonsense along with them.

“Wait here. Guard the elk,” Orion ordered Sophie and me. I was more than willing to let him go.

My hands trembled on my cutlass while I picked up one of the fallen torches with my free hand. The two of us waited there, on guard, brimming with anxiety.

I crouched down to examine the troglodyte corpses. They were a grotesque hybrid of human and goat, standing upright like men. Their horns jutted awkwardly from their skulls, mismatched and misshapen, while their long, scraggly beards clung to patches of fur across their bodies. Their mouths were lined by a tangle of jagged incisors, each tooth seemingly defying the laws of dental alignment. Their faces were almost human, yet the sheep-like eyes, set far too wide, gave them an unnerving, skewed look—one eye not even pointed straight ahead.

Three lights flickered in the thick darkness of the forest getting brighter as they moved closer to our cave. I watched as the one on the far left extinguished with a sudden snap. Angry shouts erupted, but the torch in the center followed, snuffed out in silence. The last cry was abruptly cut off with a strangled gasp before the final light on the far right vanished. Moments later, a shadowy figure emerged from the gloom, stepping into the light of our torches.

Orion was carrying a looted wicker basket of what looked like tiny raspberries the color of violet. He walked past us and said, “I’m going back to sleep. Wake me up if something happens.”

We both let out a sigh of relief.

“I suppose it’s my turn for guard duty. I don’t think I can sleep all that well after that anyway,” I said, my voice shaking.

Sophie let out a yawn, stretched out like a cat, and waved me goodnight. “Goodnight then. Wake us up when the sun rises.”

In the morning, Orion cooked the berry he looted from the troglodytes into a sort of jam with some dried meat, and we spread it onto our hardtack. The result wasn’t bad. The salty and sweet notes reminded me of a ham and fig crostini. Now, if only I could get some brie and a nice Riesling, I would be set.

After a cup of tea, our adventures continued. As we rode toward our destination, I kept trying to stretch my neck to work out the crick in it.

We finally hit a roadblock when the river ran into a small lake fed by a two-story waterfall resting against a rocky cliff. We turned our mounts to the right of the waterfall, looking for another way up.

When we found a pathway that our elk could handle, we rounded back toward the elevated river and continued following it. After another day of riding, this time through some marshes, we found cover and made camp under the canopy of two willow trees with supplies from Sophie’s wagon, rather than squatting in the caves of primitives this time.

The next day, we rode past the marshes to find flat plains. We made good time as we found a dirt road by the river. Finally, we saw signs of civilization: a wooden fence closing off areas of barley and oats. Soon, we saw wooly goats the size of pigs grazing. The goats paid us no heed as we rode past them, though our elk noticeably displayed interest, turning their heads in curiosity, and we had to beckon them to keep riding forward.

Beyond them lay a rectangular farmhouse made of white bricks with a slate-gray roof. The windows had copper frames, and on one side was a huge archway leading inside the house like a pull-in garage. In the archway, on the grass, a farmer appeared to be milking one of the nannies into a metal bucket.

The farmer spotted us from a distance, wiped his hands on his smock, and stood to attention as if preparing to greet an important visitor. Although he stood on two feet like a man, his face and head were that of a mouse. His hands, though more human, were stubbier than one might expect.

I noticed Orion’s hand drift towards a throwing knife strapped to his apron. “I’ll handle this,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. “We can’t just cut our way through every confrontation. We’re here as merchants, remember?”

Orion gave a curt nod but kept his hand close to the knife, though he held it at his side rather than drawing it.

With that, I spurred my mount forward, butterflies fluttering in my stomach, and prepared to make my first contact with this strange new world.