Part 4: Respite in Tilnabar

Aaron Connell rode east in the shadow of the mountains. He had survived transport to another world, a battle of wizards, the slaughter of his caravan, and the death of the bandit-queen who had taken him under his wing, but the boy from Earth was not out of danger yet.

As the sun set, Aaron spared a glance behind him. His two companions followed him, riding a single horse: Hurik, the young tailor, and Wenet, his lover, picked their way along the bleak terrain. They were both Nazhaki, a people despised in the city of Ptella where they had fled, their olive-colored skin tanned by the days spent beneath the sun. They wore rough bandit's clothes, good for the heat of the dry season: one-piece sleeveless tunics that hung down to their knees. Hurik wore a cudgel at his belt and his horse carried a bow and quiver.

Aaron was similarly attired. The days in the sun had turned his once-fair skin a rich bronze, and steely blue eyes glared from beneath wavy black hair. He had gained confidence in his travels, though his face was drawn and anxious. He kept one hand on a curved iron sword. The other held the horse's reins.

"I can see them!" Aaron said, twisting around to squint into the fading light. Four soldiers rode through the scrubland. They were Ptellan regulars armed with swords and axes, bucklers on their wrists, wearing flexible studded armor. They closed distance fast, intent on finishing the survivors from Lady Miacla's bandit fort. They were led by a man in a flowing green cape, his face hidden by a golden mask framed with horns and claws: Viskar, Wizard of Ptella. His staff glowed unnaturally, throwing shadows on the rock faces.

"We can't outrun them," Wenet called. Her tunic had ridden up to the tops of her thighs, revealing thin, elegant legs. Sweat plastered the rest of her tunic to her large breasts. She was not a warrior, but she had kept them hidden from pursuit in caves for two nights. Both nights, Aaron had stood guard while Hurik had fucked the girl. He was an unsophisticated lover, but he genuinely loved the girl and Aaron did not begrudge him. He only wanted a turn, but it had not come.

Aaron pulled himself back to the present as the riders rapidly closed range. "We can't fight them," he said. "We'll have to outrun them."

"Up the hillside," Wenet called. "Maybe they won't be able to follow."

Aaron spurred his horse forward. He was still no more than an average rider, and a single horse bore both his companions. The riders closed fast. Viskar raised his staff and a wall of fire leapt in front of Aaron. It was not hot, but the flash terrified his horse. The creature kicked frantically and Aaron fell. He grabbed the side of the saddle, but the horse bolted, leaving him on his knees flanked by large, broken rocks.

Hurik slowed and reached for his bow.

"Keep going!" Aaron cried. "Go, dammit!" He drew his sword and hid behind one of the rocks. Hurik, after a moment's hesitation, raced up the hill.

The riders quickly spotted Aaron. Two broke off to pick him up while the other three, including the wizard, forced their tired mounts up the mountainside. Aaron dodged and weaved, hoping to escape, but the riders quickly surrounded him. They approached on either side, both armed with long cavalry swords.

Aaron raised his blade, expecting to meet a quick end. But as the riders closed in a strange blue light spread across his body and he felt a terrible wrench. The blue light surrounded him, blinded him, and he felt himself falling as if the ground had given out.

Sight returned with a jolt and Aaron found himself lying on the ground. It looked and felt much like the ground he had left: parched, rocky, with the occasional bit of dry grass sticking up out of it. Aaron looked up a little more and saw runes on the ground, intricate swirling designs that formed a circle. He groaned. Not another one! Looking up more he saw a robe. He groaned again, then slowly stood up. This time, at least, he had retained his clothes, not to mention his sword.

The man who stood across from him entirely failed to impress. He wore a long red jacket and dirty white sandals. A hat, entirely un-wizardlike, was plastered on his head, a flat shapeless thing like a fisherman's cap. His skin was tanned and weathered, and a corncob pipe hung from his half-open mouth.

"About damn time," the man muttered. His eyes seemed a bit unfocused. His pipe bobbed on his lip.

"Why am I here and what do you want?" Aaron said. He stood up, his eyes cold.

"What do I want?" the man mumbled. "Well, that's a hard question to answer. A saner world, maybe a city or two not ruled by madmen, crazy gods and tyrants. But right now, I want you, buckaroo." The man smiled, which made his pipe fall to the ground. He absently retrieved it. "Now, my name is Turvis and I represent certain parties interested in you, first, and the world not falling into chaos, third. No, second."

"In case you don't know," Aaron said through gritted teeth, "right now my friends are being captured, maybe killed, by a wizard from Ptella."

"Viskar?" the man said. "Nah, I don't think so. Anyway, I've got a reason for bringing you here. Hey, you get to bang that Nazhaki number yet? You know, whassername?"

"Uh... no," Aaron said.

"Well, keep at it, lad! Anyway, I have a job for you."

"And why should I help you?" Aaron asked. He touched the ill-defined edge of the summoning circle and his hand stopped.

"'Cause if you don't, your world and this one are both fucked," Turvis said. That got Aaron's attention and the old wizard continued. "The moons of Yothis work like gates, each one leading to a different world. There are dozens of them, and we discover more every now and then. Without them, summoning is a lot harder, let me tell ya. You're from Earth, right?"

"Right," Aaron said.

"Ah, Earth. I've been there. Nice place. I was there years ago, back in the... 1920s, I think they called it. A glorious time, full of wonders and wealth. I suppose things stayed on, mm?"

"I... don't think so," Aaron said. "There was a depression, and then a war, some genocide. Nuclear bombs."

"Aw, fuck," Turvis said. "But anyway, the same thing could happen to both our worlds, and worse, and that's where you come in. Uxalan is spreading in the south. He's a force of Degeneration. Earth-critters represent Order, or something close enough. That means you can stand against him. I need you to head north to find a fellow demon of Order called Lord Ruby. I figure, you know, you're both Order demons, so you can... uh... talk. And stuff."

"I don't understand any of this," Aaron said. He rubbed his sweaty face, which only served to smear dust across it.

"Alright, son, here's the dealy. We wizards have a theory, if you will. We used to call it the Net of Pearls theory, but then 'Net of Pearls' became slang for gettin' fella-juice all over your gob, so now we call it the Linked Worlds Idea. Every world--Earth, Yothis, Monko--represents a single unique principle. These principles link up to one-another to create the universe."

"And Earth represents Order?" Aaron asked.

"No, it represents... well, there's no word in Low Quist. Or English. Let's call it 'Progress' or 'Evolution.' Purposeful change. Monko represents Order. Expect to be mistaken for a Monkoid a lot, since the principles are kind of similar, if you're stupid. But Shankar, Uxalan's world, represents Degeneration, and he's finally found his cosmic opposite: Earth. He's got grand ambitions. First, he's going to take over Yothis, and then he's going to use summoning magic to wipe out Earth. With Earth gone, Degeneracy conquers Progress and the whole fucking universe blows up."

"That sucks," Aaron said.

"Shit yeah, it sucks," Turvis said. "Which is why I need you to get to Lord Ruby, real fast."

"Then magic me there."

The man rubbed his face. "Can't, magic gets too crazy around you and around Lord Ruby. Can't even get you close. But I can help you set out. We're close to Tilnabar. Come on and I'll give you the grand tour."

"I can't," Aaron said. He waved his hand at the barrier.

"Hm? Oh, yeah." The wizard spoke a few words and the runes faded. "No trouble now, ya hear, and put that sword away. One word and poof, you're back to Earth."

"You can send me back?" Aaron asked, stepping out of the circle.

"Damn straight I can," Turvis said. "And once you're back you'll have about five years before the whole fuckin' planet blows up, so don't get any ideas or make any dumb requests."

"What about my friends?"

"Safe," the wizards said.

"But--?"

"Safe," Turvis said again, and said no more. They walked east, the wizard stumbling and chuckling occasionally--he was obviously not all there--until the mountain they were on sloped down into a low valley. To the south stretched yellow savanna spotted with gnarled black trees. The grasses and trees grew taller and more frequent to the north, until they melded together in a tangle of subtropical forest and jungle. The mountains separated two entire worlds, it seemed: looking down one slope, Aaron saw only parched rocks; looking the other way, he saw forests wrapped in mist.

A city lay directly in front of Aaron, an intricate nest of towers connected by bridges, its stone walls blood-hued in the setting sun. Tilnabar was a fortress-city, and it had not expanded beyond its walls, but had instead added an outer wall and grown high into the air. As Aaron approached, he realized how many people must live there. Though small by the standards of his home, Chicago, in a medieval world it was a Rome or Constantinople. The savannas, he saw, were cultivated farms, and even the jungles did not become true jungle until far from the city: nearby they were orchards of tall fruit trees, where leopard-sized cows grazed on low grass.

They reached the city gates late at night and guards let the wizard in, though Aaron felt their anxious eyes following him. Inside the city still bustled. Aaron heard a relentless drumming from a building to his right, and a glass wall to his left showed wealthy men and women in fine robes eating. It was the rest day, Turvis explained, refilling his pipe. Aaron was not allowed to linger, and Turvis practically had to spin him around when a gaggle of young women passed him. They wore feathered gowns that revealed their slim arms and elegant legs, sometimes their bare bellies, and feathers floated in their perfumed hair.

Turvis dragged Aaron along until they reached a poorer neighborhood where Aaron recognized the Nazhaki, who had evidently settled nicely in Tilnabar. It took only a few minutes to find Porot, Wenet's father, who had set up shop in one of the lower levels of a massive commercial tower. Porot, who had been grieving for his daughter, danced with joy when Turvis told him she was fine and being brought to the city by one of his servants. Aaron was also surprised, and relieved, that the old wizard actually had a plan of rescue, and got completely taken by surprise by Porot's crushing embrace. Aaron, not much of a dancer under the best circumstances, found himself whisked around the room by the ecstatic man.

Wenet and Hurik staggered in less than a half-hour later and both received a similar crushing embrace. Aaron saw, for a fleeting moment, a figure clothed all in gray, then it stepped out of the apartment and disappeared. Turvis laughed and raided Porot's liquor cabinet, coming back with a mingled drink of hard liquor that filled up a beer stein. He sat down on a wooden chair and waved Aaron over.

"You're smashed," the boy said. The man had taken out another pipe and was trying to sip between the two of them. Smoke formed a nimbus around him.

"I haven't even gotten into the good stuff," Turvis said. He admired Wenet's ass, cocking his head at an angle and ignoring her father's annoyed glare.

Aaron looked around. "So, I guess I'm not going home any time soon?" He raised a hopeful eyebrow.

"Oh, fuck no," Turvis said. "We're both in this for the long-term. So, you up for it?"

"For what, exactly? Finding this 'Ruby Lord'? Why me?"

"I already told you: I need someone who can speak his language. Order, patterns, all that. Besides, I can't exactly be here when Uxalan shows up, and I need someone to carry my bags."

"Shows up here?" Aaron asked.

"Oh, he's coming up fast, don't make any mistake," Turvis said. "But don't worry about these folks. The Nazhaki have weathered worse, and Uxalan (right now) is a conqueror, not a butcher. He's for organized dissolution. Speaking of which..." Turvis swallowed the rest of his drink. "So, since you're with me, I'd might as well do you a favor." He fumbled in the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a flat ivory carving in the shape of a bird.

"What's that?" Aaron said.

"You saw those lovely girls you passed on the street? This'll get you into their, ha, little party. Have a good time."

Aaron took the token and the pouch of coins Turvis handed him. "And why are you giving me this?" he asked. He couldn't help but smile, thinking of the pretty girls he had passed earlier.

"Because we've got a long journey ahead of us, because you might as well get some good traveling clothes, and because I prefer to draw out trouble now rather than later."

The old wizard also extended the offer to Hurik and Wenet (after Porot had gone to bed, of course), and though Hurik declined, Wenet was thrilled. Aaron was also thrilled to get the girl away from her paramour.

Aaron dropped some money on a quality traveling outfit, which was apparently "in"; a flamboyant little fellow picked out an appropriate costume while staring at Aaron's ass. The result was a carefully worked dark blue tunic, high-laced leather boots, an intricate belt where he could hang a sword (which he did not; no weapons were allowed on the streets), and a gray cloak. The result wasn't exactly dashing, but it looked good by local standards.

Aaron gasped when he saw his companion. Wenet had spent her money on a revealing red gown that complimented her dusky skin and showed off her impressive cleavage. The dress was short, barely reaching mid-thigh, and slits along the sides showed skin. Wenet hunched into it, trying to cover up all the exposed flesh without much luck. She blushed and shifted awkwardly.

"Wenet!" Aaron said, smiling like an idiot. "You look amazing. Ready for the party?"

The girl nodded, a bit reluctantly. Aaron took her hand and walked toward the celebration. He quizzed Wenet on what they could expect at the party, but despite fucking her boyfriend for the past few nights, she was still a "good girl" and had no insight to offer. So they walked down torch-lit streets until at last they reached a large mansion right along a main drag. Formed of massive gray blocks, it reflected neither torchlight nor the lights of the many moons. Aaron saw sleek, graceful figures as shadows behind the dark windows, and heard the percussion of massive drums and the blare of horns. The music was like nothing he had ever heard before, with strange half-tones and a rapidly changing beat, almost tribal in its intensity.

A man stood guard in front of the carved wooden door. He wore a silver helmet in the shape of a snarling dog, greaves, and a flexible metal skirt, but nothing more. He had the reek of "status symbol," Aaron thought, as he watched the man's oiled body ripple in the moonlight. He held a bronze hook-staff, more than enough to clobber anyone who sought entry.

A gaggle of young people stood around the man, shouting and pleading, but he only shook his armored head. Aaron approached and studied the would-be partygoers. They were young, a mix of boys and girls, dressed in colorful clothes, their faces painted garishly. Aaron's eyes fell upon one girl in particular. She was short and slender, with warm brown skin and wavy black hair that spilled down her back. She turned and held Aaron's gaze, and he saw that she had beautiful gray eyes framed by a button nose and full red lips. Swirling tattoos touched her cheeks and brow.

Wenet tugged on Aaron's shoulders and he stepped toward the intimidating guard, brandishing the bird-shaped token. The young people around him parted, muttering in frustration.

"You!" the guard said, pointing at Aaron and Wenet. "Get in." His voice echoed in the confines of his helmet.

The unfamiliar girl with the tattoos stepped toward Aaron, brushing his shoulder. She wore a sheer orange robe that revealed her slim, toned figure. Aaron stepped toward the opening door of the mansion, then spared another glance at the girl.

"And her too," he told the guard. The big man shrugged and waved them forward. The girl skipped forward and took Aaron's hand, and he walked into the party, smiling from ear to ear, one beautiful woman on each arm.

The party was like some sort of miraculous dreamscape, unlike anything Aaron had ever seen or imagined. The large, high-ceilinged room rippled with unfamiliar lights, glyphs of purple and green fire that raced up and down walls, rhythmically pulsating. Small, thin men, all wiry muscle and sweat, pounded on huge drums that lined one wall. The sound echoed over the heads of the partygoers, who were all young people, dancing, talking, and fooling around on low couches. Some stood around a long, low table where an inhuman, dwarf-like creature served drinks while eyeing the ladies.

Bronze cages hung from the ceiling. Aaron saw tiny humanoid figures in them, graceful women barely a foot high with blue, green, or silver skin and magnificent gossamer wings. They were naked, their tiny features perfectly proportioned, and they danced to the strange music with a mindless carnal energy. Aaron felt himself growing hard just looking at them. He calmed himself: that was dangerous in just a tunic.