Chosen One Protective Services

Oatmeal.

Rusty smelled oatmeal.

Oatmeal and fire, and the thought of fire made him remember. Rusty sat bolt upright...

...then fell over, as a familiar pain ripped up his side. He would have screamed, but his throat was raw, and it was a shadow of how bad it had been before. So he just lay there on the stone, and blinked until his arm stopped throbbing.

Wait.

Stone?

“I am glad you woke, chosen one,” Terathon said, as he stirred the pot. The wizard was crouched over a small firepit, and the crumbling flagstones and broken walls that surrounded them were not the hill that Rusty had almost died on. And it was night. When had it turned to night?

“We have much to do, and little time,” the wizard continued. “But for now, eat.”

Rusty looked to his arm. A bandage wrapped around it, tied in a knot he didn't recognize. It hurt, but it was a dull ache, and Rusty stood, shaking, clutching his forearm, and moved to the fire. It was oatmeal, or some other kind of porridge, and it was the best thing he'd ever eaten.

Finally he put aside his bowl and the carved wooden stick that had served him as a spoon, and looked at Terathon. “Is this how things are?”

The wizard furrowed his brow. “Things?”

Rusty lifted his good arm, and gestured around at the ruins. He could vaguely make out the shadows of the swamp beyond, the massive trees and their hanging moss rippling in the wind. There were many stars, but no moon he could see.

“Not... this. You called this Eladria?”

“Elythia. That is the name of this world.”

“Not that. That's not the things. I mean... the monsters.”

“The Grach.”

“I guess? The scaled men?”

“Do not think of them as men. They are slaves to the dark lord, and they hate all that is good in this world. They seek to tear it down, to destroy all civilization.” Terathon gestured to the ground. “Mighty ancients built this fort, long ago. They fell to the Grach, who murdered and plundered them, and drove their remnants into hiding.”

Rusty swallowed. “Oh. Okay. I...” his mind flashed back to the circle of monsters, to the one who'd pointed his bow away, and argued with the others. “Why didn't they kill me?”

“They almost did.” The wizard took his staff, and pointed toward Rusty's arm. Rusty flinched. “There is no reasoning with them. There is no mercy in their hearts. When I displaced parts of them from their bodies, they were arguing over how best to cook you alive.”

Rusty's eyes went wide. “Holy shi— I mean, shucks!”

“Corn shucks?” The wizard frowned. “I should recast this spell, it translates oddly at times.”

“No, I mean... I guess it doesn't matter.” Rusty swallowed. Then his brain caught up with Terathon's words. “Displaced parts? What?”

“Ah...” Terathon nodded, as he dumped the last dregs of the pot out, and pulled out a waterskin, rinsing it and setting it aside to dry. “This is simpler to explain. And it ties into why I have brought you here, chosen one.”

“Rusty.”

“What? This spell definitely needs work.”

“No. My name is Rusty. Please call me that.”

Terathon looked him over.

And something about his gaze made Rusty want to shrink back a bit. There was... it was hard to put it into words, something he'd never seen in an adult's eyes before.

The wizard was... annoyed? No, that was the wrong word.

“Rusty, then,” Terathon said, his voice faintly resigned.

Did I do something wrong? Rusty wondered.

He didn't want to ask, though, in case the answer was “yes.” He was in a strange world, wearing only dirty underwear, and his arm felt like it would fall off any moment now. If the only person who was at all any kind of ally and mentor here told him that he'd messed up somehow, Rusty was pretty sure he was going to cry and that wasn't something men did. His father had taught him that, with his hand and his belt.

But if the wizard was upset, then he did not let it show in either his voice or his words.

“Rusty. Listen. I did not bring you here to teach you of the crimes of the Grach. I brought you here to teach you of magic.”

And immediately, Rusty forgot his wound, forgot his worry, and felt wonder creep into his mind. “Really?”

“Yes. Truly. There is much to learn, but little time, now. Listen well, and remember. In this world, all magic comes from runes. They grow in places where the world's magic collects, grow like crystals or flowers. And when they come to their ripest, they can be harvested.”

“What do they look like?”

The wizard raised his hand, and flame appeared on his fingertips. And at the same time, a red symbol flashed on his hand, all lines and curves and strange angles. Just as quickly it faded, before Rusty could get a good look at it.

“That was the rune of ignition,” Terathon said. “I sought it out, and found it in the darkness, glowing. And I tore a piece of it away, and drove it into my hand. For that is how you master a rune, by absorbing a part of it into your flesh, and into your chakra.”

“What's an Chakra?”

“It is...” the wizard frowned. “I cannot explain it. It is energy that collects in your soul. But know this, chosen one, to my trained eyes your chakra shines like a mighty sun. Given time and training, it might surpass my own.”

“Oh. Um, okay.” Rusty shifted. This was a strange idea. But then, he'd never gotten far in school work, maybe there was some concept or idea in advanced classes that would make this make sense.

Then his eyes shifted to Terathon's throat. “You have to stab them into yourself?”

“Indeed.”

“And you've got one on... your throat...”

Terathon smiled, and this smile wasn't so friendly. “Displacement is the greatest rune I hold. The strongest I ever found. I made sure to put it in a place where it could not be taken from me easily.”

“Oh...” Rusty whispered. “They can be taken?”

“We have no time for full explanations,” Terathon said, a bit too quickly. “But yes, of course. Chop off my hand, and I could not use the rune of ignition any more. That's what you need to know. So you must choose the place for your first rune carefully, that's the point I'm making there, chosen one.”

“First... I'm going to have to... okay.”

“Not your throat, or anywhere that might kill you, that's my advice,” Terathon said. “When you find the rune under here, aim for some place that can't be easily chopped off, but won't killyou if you aim poorly. Not into your skull, for example.”

“There's a rune under here?” Rusty blinked again.

The wizard rolled his eyes. “Were you not listening?”

“I was. I'm... sorry. Okay. I have to go get it and... put it in my body. Somewhere. Okay.” He swallowed. “Is there anything guarding it?”

“I doubt it,” Terathon said. “The ancients are dead, and this place has not the feel of a proper mana vault. And the Grach don't bother patrolling it. What's more, it feels minor to me, perhaps a rank three at best. No, I would be surprised if anything guards it.”

Rusty relaxed. He didn't want to seem like a coward in front of Terathon, but he had just had the worst day of his life. The brief fight on the hill showed him that he had no idea what he was doing in any kind of real fight. So this seemed good. “Okay,” he whispered. “Where's the door, or stairs, or whatever?”

“Do not be hasty,” Terathon said, but he nodded in approval, and offered a wide smile that pushed his beard out a bit. “You must rest and recover, first. Even the lower runes are a shock to the body, when they are mastered. Rest tonight, and in the morning...”

He stopped, and closed his eyes. “Shit.”

Rusty gasped in shock. An adult had CURSED in front of him?

Yeah, his brother did that all the time, but that was because Cyrus had been in the army. You were allowed to curse when you were military, Cyrus told him that and his brother knew everything.

“We don't have time any more,” Terathon said, standing to his full height, and dousing the fire with a wave of his hand and a flare of the rune. “Trouble comes for us, swiftly.”

“What? Is it more of the Groke?”

“Grach, and no. This is worse.” Terathon stared out into the night. Out and UP.

Rusty stared up too, and for a second, he thought he saw something flickering against the stars.

“Those who awaken their chakra can feel it in others,” Terathon said. “And there is a powerful one approaching. It must be a dark sorcerer. If they find you, they'll kill you. And I won't be able to stop them.”

“I... can we run?” Rusty asked. “Or hide?”

“I can hold them, for a time. Get inside, get the rune. Get out and travel by daylight, head south until you come to Lasthold.” Terathon whirled, and stabbed a finger to a dark spot on the ground. Then he drew a stick forth from the fire, and made its fire double in size with a motion. “Go! Hurry!”

There was panic in the wizard's voice.

And even more than the swearing, this got Rusty moving. The most competent man he'd ever met, the wizard who was teaching him magic was afraid.

Rusty took the torch and ran, arm throbbing every time his feet hit the flagstones, and he didn't stop until he came to the low stairs that descended into the earth like ribs in a dead thing's chest. He took them slowly, stopping only once to look back at Terathon.

Terathon met his eyes, and pointed. He mouthed one word, and Rusty didn't need to see his face clearly to get the gist of it. Rusty scrambled into the darkness, and took the stairs just as fast as he dared.

*****

If Rusty had stayed behind, if he had managed to hide and somehow stay undetected, he would have seen another wizard float down out of the sky, his robes flapping around him, undulating like some undersea creature swimming through the night. The man was younger, clean-shaven, and hatless, but those were definitely wizardly robes, and the spear he was holding could have been mistaken for a staff, in the dim light.

The man's robes were darker, blue so deep that it could be mistaken for black, as opposed to the plain brown that Terathon wore. But Rusty wouldn't have seen anything he would have expected to indicate a dark wizard. No spiky crowns, no sinister tattoos, no scars or disfigurements or pitch-black eyes, none of that.

Just a tired looking man, staring across the fire at Terathon.

After a tense moment, they spoke. Rusty wouldn't have understood the language, even if he'd stayed.

Once, the newcomer gestured to the sunken staircase, and Terathon smiled, bowed, and swept his arm toward it in an “after-you,” motion.

The newcomer hesitated, then shook his head. He pointed out into the swamp, and Terathon sighed, adjusted his hat, turned his back on the other wizard and started trudging across the stones.

The newcomer gave the stair one last look, considered... then looked back at Terathon, shook his head, and followed the wizard into the swamp.