To Save a World Ch. 03

Hi guys! So sorry for the long wait.

Third chapter! A new milestone (although everything is a milestone for me, so). I had fun writing this, as I feel this will set the story's general direction more firmly - but it also took me oh so long. So sorry for that, I hope it's worth the wait.

Once again, I do apologize for the errors that made it past my mediocre proof-reading skills, and thanks for reading my work. Comments are appreciated and nervously anticipated.

Enjoy!

* * *

Herry stared at the smoking remnants of his once prosperous caravan. His sister had burned about half of the wagons in her wake, her mastery of both force and process translating into utter havoc in her rage. The bulky slaver had always suspected that it was all too easy to lose control of such power -- but then again, he couldn't really blame her much. They both knew it wasn't really Serry or her magic that resulted to their downfall.

He slowly made his way to his supply wagon. It was the domain of Telen, his would-be quartermaster, an uncharacteristically number-wise Tann. Herry himself found the man odd. The Tann were strange enough, with their uncanny ways with horses and other livestock. But one who knew his numbers -- that was strange. He always made it a point to avoid the man whenever he could, but it seems there was no going around it this time.

But upon reaching his destination, he found out that it didn't really matter, because Telen was dead. And his supplies were gone.

He watched as the men who were supposed to be guarding it paled at the sight of him. And rightly so. Several weeks' worth of road provisions for their travel to Timberhouse -- and quite lavish, too, in anticipation of their gains -- gone.

Once again, it really wasn't entirely their fault. Herry understood that. The damned beastmen savages were hard to spot in the dark, slinking around like the unnatural dogs that they are -- and damned hard to kill, too. It wasn't their fault that they got caught up in catching two of the monsters, stupidly leaving their post to join the fun Forgetting to consider that there might be others which would target their stock.

No, it wasn't all their fault. Herry was the understanding sort. But still. He had to kill somebody.

The wagon was a squad, solid affair. Its thick doors lay open, the provisions within gone. He stared at the mpty space for a bit before reaching out. His large hand grasped the shoulder of a scrawny boy -- barely even a man, maybe in his first twenty years, maybe less. His sword looked too big for his body, dangling on his thigh in a sloppily set scabbard. The boy practically trembled as the large man neared him, towering over the cowered youth and making no mystery about his state of mind.

Herry didn't say a word -- he was never one for talking. In one motion he gripped both sides of the boy's head and used all of his body to twist all the way to the right, ending the motion with one savage jerk. He felt the initial resistance, the tear so much like snapping living branches, the finality of it deafening in the chaos of the wreckage. The young boy dropped to the ground, twitching, dead within seconds.

The slaver dusted his hands impassively, surveying the men around him as they tried to ignore what happened. The boy's body on the ground gave a pitiful twitch, then went still. Somebody may have to burn the corpse, but then they have no lack for fire nor fuel. Not today.

"You," he said to the air in front of him, not really addressing anyone, "How much supplies left?"

"Sir," A middle-aged man answered rigidly, bravely stepping out. A veteran, by the battle hardened, jaded looks of him. "They left a little bit of the hard bread and jerky. Cheese, some. Ale still there too, probably too hard to carry. We have food enough for a day. Maybe two, if we stretch it, Clent -" his eyes flicked to the dead boy on Herry's feet, "Clent took inventory. When he- uh, was alive, sir."

"And this Clent, when he was alive, was?"

The man swallowed. "He was Telen's assistant, sir. Took the boy under his wing, he did. Son of a friend in Searle hoping to-"

"How long for just three of us?"

The man blinked. "Sir?"

"How long will the remaining food last if there was only three of us?"

"Well -- I, I don't know."

"Your best guess, soldier."

"One week, more?" He paled when he realized the implications of what he was saying. "Sir-" he began to say.

But Herry was already walking away. "Pack up everything, soldier. Enough for four mounts."

"But sir, we would starv-"

"Better pack everything." He almost cheerfully called out, "Or it's going to be your neck next."

He didn't hear anything after that, but he was sure the man followed his orders. A broken neck is the ultimate charmer, he thought.

Herry set off to find his sister. She was always the smart one, sure -- but in times like these she always gets carried away by her rage. She was probably off slowly cooking the one beastman Kin that they managed to recaptured alive, not even bothering to extract necessary information about their targets. Oh, he was the calm one, all right. In times like these you had to grit your teeth and hunch your shoulders and slowly get back up.

He was patient enough to wait, after all. But patience did not exclude revenge. The first step for getting up on his feet was making sure the gruesome deaths of that bitch and those beastmen scum would be the only thing that's waiting for them at Timberhouse -- the only city they could possibly wind up in this distance from Searle.

And if they didn't make it, well, the Great Forest was probably better at killing things than him, anyway.

Whatever may happen, he won't be sleeping easy until he'd had some blood on his hands.

* * *

Aaron woke up in a strange, dark cave.

He wasn't even surprised when he did. Opening his eyes and seeing jagged, dropping points of rock was kind of a normal thing to him, all things considered. What with all the worlds-transfer-slash-severe-amnesia business. And magic. And anthropomorphic wolf-people. And almost dying several dozen times -- by magical fireball, no less!

Aaron gave a deep sigh. What has his life become? What is it going to become?

He didn't know, so he lay there.

He didn't know a lot of things, especially now. His missing memories called out to him in a mysterious, unspoken way. The young man didn't feel like he lost memories -- only when he decides to look for them does he not find them, otherwise he can function very well. He knows what ice cream is, and television, and computers and meatballs and Trump and cheeseburgers and all the accouterments of modern life.

But for fuck's ever-loving sake he couldn't remember a single, specific instance he slurped ice cream, or ate spaghetti. He could not remember the last show he watched, the last thing he did on a computer, what kind of clothes he wore. Aaron could barely remember his own face.

The knowledge he had of the reality that he came from had no personal context, no intimate connection to his identity. Like all the memories he acquired of the world he was in was still there, perfectly intact -- it was just himself that was missing.

The thought made him shudder. Missing from my own mind, he thought. How will I know what my life will become from here on out, when I don't even know who I am?

So he just lay there.

His back felt fine, surprisingly. He would have thought the stone floor of the cave would feel cold and hard, poking him in a million places. But he wasn't hurting -- so he was just staring. Staring at the jagged points of rock; ancient minerals solidified over hundreds of thousands of years. Or maybe not. Maybe he was simply in the maw of some great, earthen animal. Caught in between its strange, ancient jaws. Maybe any time now it's going to close, and chew, his body caught violently in between. Turning him into so much useless, lifeless chunks of meat and blood.

But wait. Wasn't he already dead?

That was why he was here, wasn't it? Memories resurfaced like it was trying to float from the bottom of a tub of molasses. He remembered a strong, punching, tearing sensation on his shoulder. He remembered falling, the taste of the cold earth on his lips. He remembered getting up, remembered staring at the barbed diamond arrowhead protruding from just below his collarbone. The foreign, metal thing glinted darkly in the new morning light, vividly colored with the deep crimson of fresh blood -- his blood

So, was this it? The arrow might have pierced his lung -- maybe even ended his life right where he fell down. Maybe looking back and seeing Herry from so far off was just his hallucination, his mind's way of coping with the fact that he was about to die.

The young man grinned weakly at the roof of the cave. Funny thing that would be -- dead and gone not even two complete days on a new, magical world. The old man Tar was probably regretting his decision to send him right then and there, rolling in his grave. Did magical wizards have graves? He didn't know. Maybe they just dissolved into billions of sparkling, semi-magical atoms, like that vision he first saw when he... arrived.

But was this it? Was this life after death -- lying alone in a cave strangely-lit cave, doing nothing? Would he stay here forever, watch as the stalagmites and stalactites met and fuse after millions and millions years and eventually consume this cave and leave him suspended in an unchanging eternity of blackness?

Was this it? Is this hell?

Aaron didn't know.

So he just lay there.

* * *

Lydia collapsed from exhaustion. Her lungs felt like they were suddenly too small for her body, unable to supply enough air though she was audibly panting, burning from the exertion. Her head rested on a rotting piece of log in the middle of the dark forest they had been desperately crashing through. She barely felt her limbs, could only feel a numb buzzing where her feet and arms would usually be, oblivious to the dozens of small cuts and abrasions that she would undoubtedly feel once she was rested enough to care.

But not now. Her eyes started to close, the cool, rotting softness of the log her head was resting on intensely comfortable to her overheated skin. She could smell the earthy odor of the material, and vaguely she thought that it would be bad if insects crawled up her nose and mouth while she was dead asleep. It didn't matter, though. There was nothing she could-

She groaned when she was bought back to reality be a strong, cruel shake. The strange creature was nudging her awake. The tired young woman groaned in protest, not having the energy to do much else. Her companion said something in her strange language, sounding nothing to Lydia but a series of throaty mumbling. Lydia's head swayed from side to side. No, she tried to say, I can't go on anymore.

The woman insisted, shaking her even more. A burst of anger made her strike at the offending hand, her brows furrowed as she glared at her offending partner.

But her anger immediately dissipated. The wolf woman was in as bad shape as she was, probably worse -- she's been the only one carrying the unconscious Aaron through the forest for a while now. Lydia stared for a bit, guilt suddenly boiling in her stomach. She stood up.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, dusting her torn clothes. She tried her best not to sway under the woman's stare. "I can still go on," she assured them both.

Her companion nodded, patting her shoulder hesitantly, as if afraid to scare her off. She said something that sounded reassuring and then motioned for her to move on. Lydia took a deep breath and started walking.

She didn't know for how long they've been walking, or how far they've come. All she knew was that it must have been several hours by now from the camp, but it was difficult to gauge when the sky is blocked by the thick canopy of leaves above them. Irregular spots of light splashed down on the forest floor here and there, letting her know that it must be at least close to midday.

The temperature inside the forest swiftly climbed as they headed deeper into it. Lydia would have thought that it would get colder, with all the shade from the hot sunlight, but she soon realized that the humidity and thickness of the air within the forest all served to maintain a warm temperature. She sweated freely in her oversized clothing, but she neither noticed nor cared, preoccupied as she was by forcing her way through the brambles and vines that caught her.

Lydia took a deep breath. The scent of the forest filled her, the green smell of vegetation and damp earth almost oppressive for her unaccustomed nose. She stumbled on a hidden root, barely righted herself, and moved on. A glance behind her further motivated her, seeing Aaron unconscious and the exhausted state of his bearer.

The woman plodded slowly behind Lydia, muscles straining unimaginably to drag the wounded young man with her through the forest. Her head was down, focused solely on her steps, her chest heaving. Her sleek fur was a large advantage in the environment, rebuffing the sharp edges and itchy surfaces of plants that surrounded them, but it was nullified by her charge. It seemed like all the tiny fingers of the forest conspired to hold on to the man, making the burden heavier as she had to pull him harder through the bushes.

Lydia's heart clenched as she looked at him.

He was definitely in bad shape. Lydia did not know much about wounds and medicine, but a hastily applied bandage made from her dirty cowl is by no means the proper cure to an arrow sticking right through his body. The way they were just dragging him through the forest floor did not help, either. He was still breathing, the last time they checked, but the situation could change at any moment. His injury was still bleeding, too.

But there was nothing else that they could do. They had to get away.

The young woman thought about the other possibilities. With their inexperience, it was might actually be all too easy to follow their path through the forest. They almost literally carved a straight path through untouched vegetation, leaving behind a trail easily visible for those who know how to look. With two women burdened with a wounded, unconscious man, she assumed it would not be difficult at all for Herry to begin a determined pursuit.

Or they could simply fall to the forest. She thought this was more likely. Why waste time and resources in pursuing them when there's very little chance of them surviving by themselves? She knew how the slaver thought, if only a bit. Herry wouldn't go after them in a fit of rage, he'd bide his time and wait for an opportunity. And if they died while he waited? Well, he would only lose the chance for revenge. He would be back in his routes in very little time.

Lydia considered herself one of the more successful among her kind in the city. She knew the ins and outs of Searle, where to get cheap food or, at worst, steal it. She once had about half a dozen places to retreat to, forgotten nooks and crannies of the cities, where she could sleep relatively safe from bullies and roaming authorities. But the young woman was absolutely helpless outside of the walls of the port city. She had never stepped a foot outside the walls, never even dreamed of situations like this.

Despite everything, she cracked a small smile. An adventure, huh. What an adventure this is turning out to be.

They walked at a steady pace, tearing through the jungle's grasping twigs and vines. Their labored breathing, the rustling of the various shrubs, vines and bushes that they disturbed in their wake, all served to add to the ruckus of life making itself known in this alien, green land.

Lydia's foot tripped over something, making her stumble and flail her hands. She regained her balance, resolved to pay more attention to where she is stepping. Only -- was it just her, or is it getting darker?

She stopped for a while, panting open-mouthed and swaying in her feet. Her companion said something in her language, her voice sounding like they both felt -- tired, utterly exhausted, barely clinging on to consciousness. Lydia looked back at the way they had come, but of course it was indistinguishable from everywhere else. Small trees so choked with other plants that they seemed to form the trees themselves. Undergrowth so thick that it clumped and shaped, like billowing, dark green clouds upon the earth. Vines that looked like webs spun by a multitude of drunken spiders weaving chaos, with explosions of color from wildflowers here and there.

It would have been beautiful, had they not been practically dying.

Only now, the colors were darker. The shadows seemed deeper where she could see, the sound of the forest inhabitants seemingly warning against the coming night -- had they been walking for that long already?

Suddenly she was sitting on the damp forest floor, not really having decided to. Her feet just gave out from underneath here, tired from the inexplicable exhaustions of her day, and since it felt good to not have to support her weight on her feet -- which, she just realized, were feeling very much an angry kind of buzzing numbness -- she thought it was a wonderful thing to do indeed. To sit on the forest floor, in the coming night.

The forest rapidly grew darker -- or was that just her eyes closing on their own? And what was that cold, damp feeling she felt on her cheeks, or the earthy smell of wet decaying things on her nose? She was just so tired.

A scraping sensation jolted her back to consciousness -- and it screamed only one thing at the tired woman; she was being dragged across the forest floor.

Of course she was, sleeping smack in the middle of the Great Forest with nothing to prevent anything from eating her up. She was basically walking food.

Another strong tug on her shoulder, jerking her whole prone body to the direction of whatever lair the creature was in. Her limbs were suddenly flailing, desperately throwing punches and kicks and praying to all the gods that she knew heard to make her land a hit and make the animal leave her alone, having just been free from slavery and having just fought her way out of her own, personal hell.

And then death. Eaten by an animal because of her carelessness, her only friend dead or dying out there in the bushes.

"T'ashe," a voice reached her, the unseen attacker keeping hold of her shoulder, "t'ashe, kr'an ji." It took her awhile to realize that the dragging had stopped, and that she was not being taken to a monster's lair to be eaten. The woman was simply moving her, probably failing to wake her up or just not bothering to, seeing how tired she was. The exhausted, gentle voice finally penetrated her brain, the frightening grip on her shoulder turning into a soothing caress on her back. The woman had crouched down with her, awkwardly patting her as she righted herself on the forest floor.

Hot tears fell down her cheeks without her realizing it, and suddenly she was choking back a sob. "I'm sorry," she shakily apologized, hurriedly wiping her eyes, as if afraid that crying would get her scolded. "I'm sorry, I can go on now," she told the woman.

The woman's strange eyes reflected what little light there was, so that in the darkening forest she looked nothing but a ghostly apparition crouching before her, twin dots of gold glowing in the light as her eyes. She had always been afraid and intimidated of her -- a creature from the legends she could only hear told of in merry, fantastical songs, who can shape the forces of nature to her will and raise mighty trees out of dead wood. The woman was so collected, assured, and driven, the primal force of her nature lending her a supernatural awe.