“The Wanderer” (Chapter 1)

Chapter 1:

The Wanderer

            The Mother, a friend to all travelers, waiting where the first seeds were sown; At the center she rests, while the Garden grows.

            The glassware rattled with the passing of another train. Seated at the bar, I traced the words on the golden bracelet with my fingers. The final parting gift we received before being sent out into the unknown. A reminder to myself and all other Wanderers, that our destiny loomed over us in every decision we made and would be waiting for us in the Garden. If we ever actually found it that is. Something which- with every lap around reality -became more and more difficult for me to believe. The glow of the oil streetlamps lining the cobblestone road outside seeped in through the window beside me. The tavern itself was well lit. Lanterns hung about the four corners of the establishment, filling the tavern with a soft golden light.

            My head hurt and my mind felt a bit fuzzy, I raised my hand to signal for another drink.

            The barkeep, a young woman with brown hair and a freckled face, slid me another drink and a smile. I took the drink and returned the smile. Reaching into my coat I pulled out a dark glass vial. I pulled the cork from the top and dripped exactly two drops of the clear liquid into the glass. After one sip, my head started to feel much better. That was good. It was almost time to leave.

Finally.

I had spent enough time in this place. Not just the tavern, but this entire reality. Turning over every stone, speaking with anyone and everyone who might have answers and, as was customary, finding nothing. I couldn’t be sure how many times I had been here. In this city, in this place at this very time; even, it occurred to me, in this exact seat. It all blurred together. But I hoped this time would be the last. For better or worse.

Not unlike my fellow patrons waiting for the next train, I was waiting for the ideal moment to venture out toward the exit. And, judging by the moon, that moment was only a few minutes away. A few hundred yards from this tavern, beyond the town’s border, there would be a section of overgrowth at the edge of the forest. This overgrowth, while appearing inconspicuous to others, would be meaningful to me. That was where the exit was, my exit. Where the Gate to my next destination awaited me.

            Where it would lead me, I had only the faintest idea, but that hardly mattered. If I were so inclined, there was always my notebook. A dense book, bound in malleable leather, where the exits and entrances of each Gate were mapped out. You could thank the Mappers for that, charting the course so that Wanderers like myself could walk it centuries after the last of them had died out. Worthless bastards. Dying out and taking all the answers with them, couldn’t even bother to leave us a finished map. So much for the moniker…

Perhaps out of something as petty as spite, I decided not to check my notes. What good were they? I could figure out where I was once I got there. Knowing the destination never impacted my obligation nor my inclination to proceed along the path anyway. All it did was spoil the surprise. And when you’ve been walking in circles for as long as I have, any modicum of excitement or slightest subversion of my expectations, no matter how inconvenient, was appreciated.

            Walking in circles, in my experience, didn’t just make you dizzy, it made you dull. There’s that headache again. I took another swig of the drink. It burned, but I didn’t mind. Anything to shed the apathy.

            Take this tavern for instance.

The long black linen coats, stovepipe hats, and flowery dresses that surrounded me were a dramatic deviation from the attire of my native reality. We were centuries behind these people in both culture and technology. However, people at their core seldom change and all of it had an eerie familiarity to it. As if I had seen it all in a dream. A dream which was playing on loop in the recesses of my mind. But in actuality, it was because I had been here already, innumerable times in fact. The memories simply faded each time I left. Like vibrant colors drained by the sun, or rocks slowly beaten down by waves. All it takes is enough exposure, and eventually everything fades.

The many other customers looked at me with quiet discomfort. Afraid of what was different from themselves. No doubt observing the inked markings on my hands which ran up my forearms and out of sight beneath the rolled-up sleeves of my grey tunic. The markings covered most of my body below the neck. They were not grand tapestries, mind you, just scripture and symbols. Words which outlined the creed of my people, the creed of the Wanderers. Notes and promises which were too important to be left precariously within the pages of a notebook. Books could be dropped or lost, but not me. I knew exactly where I was; right here, in the same damn seat, making another lap around the same damn circle.

Round and round I went. A mouse running on a wheel.

            Most of the tattoos were just axioms and scripture, the only one of real importance was the one that would be most beguiling to the naked eye. On my chest was a large circle- or Cypher to be precise -which encased most of my left pectoral. It was a Cypher containing seven layers of successively smaller and more dense circles all contained within one rounded border. The circles were comprised of a series of glyphs, each a character from a variety of different alphabets spanning across reality. To this day I don’t know the meaning of every glyph, only that the very same Cypher rests atop the heart of every Wanderer.

            Seven circles. Seven of Nine, supposedly. The Mappers either all died before finding their way out of the Seventh Ring or, as the most faithful Wanderers believed, they deliberately left the Cypher unfinished. Either way, I had been scouring the Seventh Ring for longer than I could remember, and either case seemed just as likely.

            The murmur of the many tavern goers continued as they sat sipping their drinks and discussing the peculiar-looking man seated at the bar. While the markings were likely a topic of conversation it occurred to me that the most unnerving aspect of my outfit was likely the short sword strapped to my hip. No embroidery or artistic design, just a leather-wrapped hilt followed by twenty inches of sharp iron. No other patron in the tavern had one themselves. Judging by the technology, they were likely outdated here. It must have been off-putting. Imagine if I was still carrying my bow, that would have really sent them reeling.

            The only individual in the tavern who had bothered to approach me was, predictably, the barkeep.

            She walked over to my side of the bar. I say my side because, during the time that I had been waiting, any other patron who had been seated in the six chairs to my right had either moved down or left the bar altogether. The barkeep was scrubbing a mug and casting a look to the other patrons which said, Cut it out, he’s a paying customer like the rest of you.

            “You want another one, stranger? If you’d like it’s on the house. As an apology for their rude stares. Some folks just lack for manners.”

            I looked down at my mug and realized it was empty.

            “Sure, one more couldn’t hurt.”

            “Don’t be so sure.” She teased. “We make them strong here.”

            “I noticed.”

            “Sorry, if it’s a little bitter. Folks like them strong here.”

            I must have been too obvious.

            “It’s fine. You’ll never hear me complain about a strong drink. It did the trick.”

            “It tends to. Oftentimes a bit too well.” She flashed another coy smile. “Say, I’ve never seen you here before. You from out of town?”

            I smirked, “That obvious?”

            “Well, I…” She went to lie and decided against it. “Yes, I suppose it is obvious. I mean no offense.”

            “None taken.” I glanced at the rest of the room, all of them looking uneasily at me. “I’d say of everyone in here, you’re the only one trying to be inoffensive.”

            “Hmmm. Yes, well. Most folk just can’t help themselves. They see a stranger and assume it means danger.

“But not you.” I noted.

“I run a bar. If I was rude to every stranger who walked through, I wouldn’t do much business.”

I nodded, “I see your point.”

She pressed, “What brings you to town? You have any family out this way?”

            “No. No family. Just passing through actually.”

            “Passing through? At this time of night? We’ll be closing soon, and its frightful cold outside. Are you waiting for a train?”

“Not exactly.”

“Please tell me you don’t intend on walking home in that cold. Do you have a place to stay? If not…” She hesitated. “There’s an extra room upstairs.”

            She did her best to mask it but lies and half-truths had a way of catching my ear. She was concerned for my well-being the way any kind stranger might be, but there was a longing in her voice that she tried desperately to hide. There was no spare room, not even a spare bed. But I was welcome to hers if I’d like.

            I looked at her more intently, aiming my eyes directly into hers. For a moment her face glazed over, locked in a trance. Inside her eyes, which were a deep blue, I saw what I was looking for. I saw her. She was lonely, frightened, and- I dug deeper -married to an abusive spouse. I saw failed pregnancies, affairs, drunken outbursts, and emotional torment. And now I saw myself through her eyes, a handsome dark-eyed stranger, an opportunity to escape from it all for a night. I would not be the first or the last. My eyes fell from hers and found the bruises peeking out from under her sleeves.

She blinked a few times and then looked at me a little less certain than before. She pulled at her sleeves self-consciously. I had dug too deep; she was aware that something strange had happened.

I spoke kindly, “That’s sweet of you to offer, but I really can’t stay. And I’d hate to abuse your hospitality.”

Her face cracked, a disappointed smile that belied her hospitable tone.

“That’s a shame. At least let me get you some food then. Something warm before you head out into the cold. My treat.”

            I felt bad for her, and admittedly was quite tempted. As much by the promise of warm food as by her warm body. Although, the voice in my head dissuaded me.

            “No, Al. We’re going to be late.” It said. “There’s time enough for that later.”

“Sure, there’s always time.” I murmured.

She looked at me suspiciously, “What did you say?”

           I looked up at her again and politely declined her offer.

            “I said, no, thanks. I was just leaving. Got somewhere to be and I’m already late.”

            She held the crooked smile, “Well alright. Fortunately for you, it’s a calm night. Cold but calm. Safe travels, stranger. Hope you find your way.”

            “Don’t worry, I already know the way, that’s actually the problem, but The Mother Provides.” I recited the axiom; she gave me a confused nod.

            “Right, well, it was nice meeting you, Mister…”

            “Alistair.” I said. “Pleasure meeting you ma’am.”

            Turning away, I didn’t ask for her name. I knew I’d only forget it the moment I left.

            On my way out the door, I shot a final glance back at the many sets of eyes that were pinned to my back, all of them averted their gaze and cowered into their booths. Opening the door, the windswept up into my face, nipping at my nose. It was brisk outside, and my tunic supplied little relief. Instinctively, I pulled a long black linen jacket from the coat hook by the door on my way out. And, while I did not look back at the man to whom it belonged, I heard him stir in his seat before wisely deciding not to say anything.

            Something in my bones, call it intuition, told me I’d be needing it more than him.

            I exited out into the foggy streets of this strange city, in this even stranger time. I wouldn’t be here much longer but what little charm this place had in the day was snuffed out come nightfall. The gaslit streetlights did little to penetrate the fog which had descended onto the roadway in front of me. Not so much lending relief from the thick fog as lending the clouds an especially eerie orange glow. A horse and trolley buckled its way across the cobblestone streets just ahead, emerging from the fog and just as quickly disappearing back into it several yards down. Aside from their fanciful clothing and the gothic architecture, it was not dissimilar to the horse-drawn carts from my native world. As it passed me, the thick milky fog and dense night swelled into a mixture of greys which would have been opaque for most. But my senses were keen. As always, I could still find my way.

II

I stepped out into the street and set off toward where I knew the Gate would be. The golden bracelet on my wrist gently hummed as I drew closer to the edge of town. It didn’t take long for me to realize that something was amiss. In an instant, the shiver rushing through me grew more extreme, my hair stood on end, and sourceless anxiety rattled my bones. This was not the night air nipping at my flesh, there was someone else out here. Someone watching me.

            Instinct took over. Guided by nothing but feeling, my eyes tracked to the source of the disturbance, locking on a lone figure standing several yards out into the fog behind me. He was making his way across the cobblestone bridge which I had crossed only moments earlier. The spurs on his boots jangled into the night with every deliberate step. His face and features were obscured by a hood. I could only tell that he was male, in prime physical condition, and that his intentions were far from friendly. The feeling of insects crawling about my skin made the latter deduction painfully obvious. Like a pair of wolves crossing paths in the wild, predators could always recognize fellow predators. Even before he stepped into the light of the streetlamps, I knew who he was. Or, rather, what he was.

            A Shadow. An emissary of the end. A being meant to kill those who sought the Garden, preventing any from stopping The Decay as it consumed reality. More specifically, he was here to kill me.

            Covered in travel wear, a bandana about his mouth and thick black tar smeared about his eyes. He had an almost inhuman presence about him. This, I knew, was intentional. Even the way he carried himself, the sway in his hips and downward tilt of his chin, was more akin to a feline than a human. He was, in many ways, like me. Out of place and out of time. Compelled by some unspeakable truth that had carried him from wherever he came from originally to this ghastly place on this freezing night.

Strapped to his waist were a short sword, long dagger, and curved sickle.

            “Lovely night.” I called over to him. “Was wondering when you’d catch up. Thought maybe we’d meet a few worlds back.”

            He said nothing.

            “Not the talkative type, eh? Too bad. Usually, your kind doesn’t know when to shut the fuck up.”

            The Shadow tilted its head in the fog, like an animal working something out. This time I stepped forward, my expression worsening from faux friendly to cold and cruel.

            “Well then, come on. Let’s get this over with.” I drew my short sword. “I don’t have all night.”

            “So much for being on time…” The voice in my head lamented. “Just try and make it quick.”

            Their kind didn’t barter, didn’t make deals or heed cries of mercy. They were night stalkers. Beings mobilized for the sole purpose of hunting down my entire creed. They were sentinels, demons, even now his eyes sparkled yellow in the lamplight. I felt nothing as I approached him, only a desire to quiet this unsettling feeling needling into my skin. The feeling every Wanderer felt when in the presence of a Shadow. It was just one more chapter in an endless game of Cat and Mouse between us. Though, while the Shadows did the chasing, in my experience they were usually more rodent than feline.

            I twirled the blade loosely in my hand, carefully shifting my weight onto the balls of my feet. I was fluid, I was air. He was standing rigid, not moving, just staring at me. I was disappointed as I came within feet of him that he hadn’t even tried to defend himself. This wicked specter, appearing in the dead of night like death itself, had actually gotten my hopes up. But it was just more of the same; another body to add to the tally.

            Once I was within striking distance, I allowed myself a brief hesitation. Not hiding my disdain, I studied him askance. His guard was open, his feet flat, completely unbalanced. By now, any of the previous Shadows, of whom I had distant memories, would have run forward screaming. He was either a complete fool or the most confident killer I had ever met. Only one way to be sure…

            I stepped forward and let my hips guide my sword across his body. I found no purchase, nothing but fog and the cold night air. In an instant, he dropped nearly parallel to the ground, evading the strike, before springing off his hands and drawing his sword and sickle. With only a single move, he had taken the offensive. His strikes were blindingly quick, fortunately, it wasn’t sight that guided my hand. Acting on pure instinct, I blocked every slash and lunge, finding myself on the backfoot. He advanced, the same blank look in his fiery yellow eyes. His movements were visceral and sharp, but there was staggering dispassion to the way he fought.

            As though he hardly cared about the outcome, as though the ending had been written decades ago and he was simply playing it through to its natural conclusion.

            In the span of about three or four moves, he had already surpassed my expectations and, as far as I could remember, the ability of any of his kin. His footwork was impeccable, his form flawless, and his technique completely his own. It was clear that I would need to take back initiative before one of his strikes slipped past my defenses. Though such a thing had never happened to me before, the rising chill in the base of my skull, like a nightmare trying to claw its way from my mind and into the world of the living, alerted me that this was no ordinary opponent.

He looped two off-time strikes on either side of me. The short sword on the right and the sickle to my left. Despite the ferocity of his attacks, he left no openings in his defense. I would have to make my own. Parrying both blades I used the fraction of a second as he recovered to lunge forward into his midsection. Somehow, either by my being too slow or his being far faster than I expected, I hit nothing. The sickle came down hard onto my blade and pinned it to the cobblestone walkway. In a fraction of a moment, panic tightened my chest, and I pulled my blade free. Realizing as I did that he had been baiting me into an opening. He had planned this from the start. My eagerness and my lack of patience. I bounced back, hearing his short sword hissing through the fog as it slashed across my abdomen.

I withdrew a few feet from him.

The flurry had ended, we both stood opposite one another. Our eyes locked, mine wild and furious, his cold and tempered. I had lost my composure; I had been played. I hadn’t in all my worst nightmares believed there was a Shadow this fast or cunning. Perhaps it was just an illusion, just some sort of fear tactic. Many Shadows resorted to theatrics and sorcery when they knew themselves to be outmatched. But that was just pride talking and the dull pain burning through my side made that clear.

I looked down at my left side, a thin crimson gash was spreading across my now torn tunic. He had got me. I hadn’t hit him once, hadn’t done anything he didn’t already expect, but he had drawn blood. The blood began to spill from the wound, staining the linen of my grey tunic.

“Damnit…” I said aloud.

“Lovely night…” He mimicked. “What’s the matter, Wanderer? Not in the mood to talk?”

His voice was chilling, inhuman, and dry. Like fresh steel scraping together, it made my skin crawl. He just tilted his head and stared straight at me, his guard dropping again entirely, inviting another vengeful outburst from me. I decided, in my anger, to oblige him.

“Al, wait!” The voice in my head warned.

But I leaped forward…

To this day I’m not sure how I survived it. But it was the only thing running through my mind as I lurched and limped my way through the back alleys and toward the edge of town. The portal was not far, but if I was to see another day or another world, I needed to get there as fast as possible. I had, for the first time in my life, been utterly beaten. My pride, battered and broken, wanted desperately to assure me that I had been talented enough to hold my own; to fight and survive. But that was a lie. He had toyed with me. Played with me. In my rage, I had left openings in my defense. Just as I’m sure he anticipated. Where he might have delivered the killing blow, leaving me impaled on the cobblestone bridge gasping my last breath, he opted instead to bludgeon me with his hilt, his boot, or his elbows.

He was not so much trying to hunt me as trying to punish me. His aim was to humiliate me. And he succeeded. Maybe he had heard how many of his kind I had killed, maybe he just loathed all Wanderers and wanted to make sure they suffered. But again, the better part of me knew the real answer. He was like me. Bored and trapped in a destiny that had brought him round in circles for too long. He craved excitement, entertainment. Now, his cruel twisted heart found exactly that in me.

He would not kill me easy, would not rob himself of this mild distraction. He would hunt me to his heart’s content. He was the cat, and I the mouse. At any moment he could’ve ended it, but where was the fun in that? I was reduced to less than prey, I was a toy.

I exited the alleyways and dashed out into a clearing beyond the small city. Looking back, I saw that hooded phantasm following me. He was not running, not gliding across the grass like some spirit in the night, he was walking unhurriedly after me. If my mind had been clear of any fear or anger, if I had kept my composure, I would have likely realized that this was the type of theatrical wizardry I had expected earlier. There was no way he could have kept pace with me walking as he was. More likely, the way the fog twisted around him, swirling and swelling like a storm, and the way his eyes glowed like hot embers, was just an illusion brought about from a mastery of the Old Wisdom.

Still, for the first time in as long as I could remember, since before I was a Wanderer and was still only a man. I was afraid. Completely afraid.

At the edge of the forest there was a strange assortment of wildflowers and concentrated overgrowth forming a circular nest. That was my exit. Invisible to the naked eye. Only those who already knew what it was could have the faintest idea of its power. The golden bracelet on my wrist hummed as I drew closer. Rattling on my arm until, with one final frightened look back at my Shadow and his piercing yellow eyes, the bracelet shined bright, and everything fell away.

III

I was falling through space. Swimming in the night sky. Stars sparkled around me, shinning in the infinite darkness. I was weightless. Both flying and falling. Untethered and free, yet purposeful. Deliberate in my trajectory, but free of constricts. A vast nightscape enraptured me; untouched and unsullied, yet the path on which I was carried was an absolute one. At no other point did I feel certain of my convictions. In no other place did I feel closer to the Mother, than here. In this place, which was free of rationale, free of rules. The nexus between order and chaos. The thin tissue which connected each world to the next. These moments when I was floating weightless on the line between destiny and freedom, I finally felt at peace.

But these moments were fleeting.

One of the many stars surrounding me seemed to be falling toward me. It grew larger and brighter, its warmth extending out to meet me as I floated toward it. These stars, which were both infinitely smaller than me and unfathomably larger, were the portals into other worlds. This one falling toward me, dead ahead, was my next destination. The place where, I hoped, I might finally find the Garden or at least a new path. Though, even in this serene state, I knew it would likely be one more stop on this never-ending cycle.

I shut my eyes and felt reality drag me back into the waking world. The firm uncompromising hands of gravity pressed on my shoulders. Time, like a clock in my head, began to flow forward again. And finally, I felt the earth beneath my feet.

I opened my eyes to find a new world laid before me.