The Wandering Inn: Volume 2, page 1
part #2 of The Wandering Inn Series
2.00
The inn was dark when the traveler first arrived. No – to begin with, she wasn’t really a traveler. She was a Runner, which was completely different.
And she wasn’t lost. Neither had she decided to visit the inn out of a need for sleep or food or even a burning desire to use the outhouse.
She just needed a place to think.
Ryoka cautiously pushed open the wooden door and paused a moment to let her eyes adjust. The inn was dark. The common room was almost as dark as the shadowed grasslands outside, illuminated only by the lone candle on one of the tables.
It flickered, and made the shadows dance as the door’s opening disturbed the solitary flame. Ryoka looked around. There was definitely an ambiance to the room which she was determined to ignore. Just because something looked creepy did not mean it was.
“Hello?”
Ryoka called cautiously as she stepped into the inn. She was already regretting coming back. She hadn’t intended to stay at this place – The Wandering Inn. In fact, she’d fully committed herself to running through the night rather than have to deal with annoying innkeepers who made comments about her bare feet.
Not fifteen minutes ago Ryoka had been despairing, exhausted, and full of anger and hatred towards nothing and everything. She wouldn’t have set foot in this inn even if it were the Taj Mahal.
Well, maybe if it were the Taj Mahal. But this run-down inn was no superstar hotel, and Ryoka had been ready to leave it behind and run on.
That was fifteen minutes ago.
A lot can happen in fifteen minutes. Ryoka glanced down at the iPhone in her hands and turned the screen off before she tucked it in her pocket. It wouldn’t do to scare the innkeeper with her phone.
If there was an innkeeper. The candle indicated life, but Ryoka didn’t see or hear anyone stirring even after she’d called.
Well. To enter or leave? Ryoka hated this kind of dilemma. She hated dealing with people, come to that. But she really, really needed a place to sit and process all of what had happened. And she was tired. They were all dead. She could run, but she couldn’t outrun what had happened.
So she stepped into the inn, calling out again.
“Is anyone there?”
It was the kind of generic question that deserved instant death if she were exploring an abandoned house or looking for monsters. Since she was looking for an innkeeper, it was probably fine.
There was still no answer. Ryoka frowned. Was the innkeeper out? It could be possible, but she’d expect a barmaid or someone to stay in the inn. At the very least, they’d lock the doors.
A dark suspicion crossed Ryoka’s mind and she stopped, looking around the empty room. An empty inn might mean something had emptied it, and recently. Had a monster crept in here? This place was near Liscor, and Liscor had recently been attacked. If a straggler had made its way in here…
She had no weapons. Well, nothing that was better than her hands and feet. But she did have magic. One spell, to be exact.
“[Light].”
Ryoka felt something go out of her as a shimmering orb of white light floated up from one of her hands. It cast the room into sudden, sharp relief as the shadows fled.
She looked around, searching for movement or shapes behind tables or chairs. There was nothing.
The room was empty. Ryoka’s eyes travelled to the staircase, and then the door behind the bar. She clenched one hand.
She’d never killed anything. Never—except maybe a Goblin. But something had attacked Liscor in the four days she’d been away. Something.
The undead. Ryoka imagined shambling zombies groaning and munching on brains, but that didn’t match with the devastation she’d seen walking into the city of Drakes and Gnolls. Entire buildings had been torn apart and the injuries she’d seen on those who hadn’t received healing were—
A sound made Ryoka freeze in place. Something.
A low—grunting sound. A rasping rumble. Ryoka’s heart beat faster. It was coming from the kitchen.
She crouched low and moved silently towards the open doorway. She stopped, her ear to one wall, heart pounding. Something was in there. Something big, by the sound of it. But it was also asleep.
Ryoka covered the ball of light with one hand, thinking. Step around the corner, take a look at what it was, and step away. If it came after her, she could be out the door in seconds.
Her hand tightened into a fist. Immediately Ryoka relaxed, keeping her hands loose and ready to punch. She counted to three in her head. Then she swiftly stepped into the kitchen, hands raised.
The room was dark. A thousand things leapt out at Ryoka at once. Cupboards, knives, silver wear, pottery stacked up, a bucket of water, an empty fireplace, and—
A girl sleeping on the ground.
Ryoka stopped. A girl lay sprawled on the kitchen floor, tangled in a pile of sheets and a bedroll. She was snoring quite loudly, oblivious to Ryoka’s presence. She opened her mouth and grunted or perhaps burped. It didn’t sound appropriate to her size.
Ryoka lowered her fists. She stared at the sleeping girl for a few seconds. She slapped herself hard on the forehead.
The loud crack of flesh on flesh made the girl on the ground sit bolt upright. Ryoka leapt back as the other girl looked around wildly.
“I’m up! Knight to F3!”
She tried to stand up, tangled in her sheets and tumbled over. She rolled upright. That’s when she saw Ryoka.
“Oh!”
For a moment the other girl gaped, and then she struggled to get up. Ryoka debated helping for an instant, and then let the other girl get up on her own.
When she was upright, Ryoka found herself looking at a girl close to her own age. She was shorter—shorter than Ryoka who was tall—and she had fair skin, hazel eyes and only the slightest orange tint to her light brown hair.
She blinked at Ryoka. Ryoka stared back. The girl opened her mouth, looked around, and then smiled weakly.
“Um. Hi?”
—-
She’d just put her head down for a minute. And then—well, she’d woken up and decided that it would be a better five minutes if she were in bed, so to speak. So Erin had wandered over to her bedroll in the kitchen. It wasn’t as if anyone had visited the inn today and Klbkch and the others were busy. She’d sent Toren out to harvest blue fruits, collect water, and generally stay out of her hair, so what was the harm in taking a thirty minute nap?
But somehow, Erin’s small one hour nap had ended up with her waking in near dusk with a terribly foggy head, stiff joints and a girl standing over her.
Erin stared. She had a guest. A tall guest. A female guest.
The person who’d woken her up was tall. She had dark hair, brown eyes—she looked Asian. But she was also tall, which was unusual. And she had a floating magic orb of light on one hand but Erin could only handle so much excitement at one time.
She had a terrible, terrible urge to say ‘konnichiwa’ to the girl, but fought it off with difficulty. Her second impulse was to say ‘ni hao’ or maybe ‘anyoung haseyo’, but she was pretty sure she’d mess up the pronunciation of all three greetings.
Erin could say hello in most languages, although that was pretty much the extent of her linguistic skill. She could say ‘checkmate’ and ‘check’ in almost every language, though. It came from many games against foreign players online and in person. She also knew a lot of bad words as a result, although she had no real idea what they meant. Usually she just knew enough to duck before the table got flipped.
But there was something incredibly Asian about the tall girl’s features, and it was even more pronounced by the fact that hers was the first non-European, non-furred or non-scaled face Erin had seen in this world.
“Um, hi.”
Speaking foreign languages to people hadn’t worked out well with Ceria, so it probably wouldn’t work here. Erin waved weakly at the other girl as she stepped back.
“…Mm.”
Was that a hello or just a grunt? The other girl stared around the dark kitchen as Erin scrambled for more words beyond ‘leave me alone I’m trying to sleep’. Right. She was awake and she had…a customer.
Erin had been a waitress for all of two weeks back when she’d had a part time job for the summer. That was about all of her job experience aside from working in chess tournaments as a referee. And that wasn’t work that was…chess.
But she had a definite feeling that falling asleep on the job wasn’t acceptable behavior. Even if she did own the inn.
“Hi.”
She tried again, and the other girl stared at her. Erin put her best smile on her face and waved at her guest.
“Sorry about that. Um. I was asleep. Can I help you?”
“Is this an inn?”
“What? Oh. Yes! Yes, this is an inn!”
Erin waved around the room airily, trying to gloss over the fact that half the inn was still damaged from the battle with the undead two days ago. The other girl stared at Erin.
“And you’re…the innkeeper?”
The innkeeper smiled nervously.
“Yes? I mean, yes. Can I—do you want something to eat? A place to sleep?”
“Something to eat.”
“Sure, sure! This way.”
Erin led the other girl back into the inn’s main room. The girl took a seat while Erin stood and fidgeted. After a moment the girl looked up.
“Do you have a menu?”
“Menu?”
Erin blin
“Um, it’s right there.”
She pointed and winced as her guest looked at the menu with all three items.
Pasta w/sausage and onions – 3 cp. per plate.
Blue juice – 2 cp. per glass.
Acid flies – 1 s. per plate
“…Acid flies?”
“They’re um, real flies. I drained the acid from them, but uh—”
“What’s blue juice?”
“It’s very sweet! It’s like orange—I mean, it’s like an orange except more blueberry. Sweeter. It’s a nice drink!”
Erin wondered whether she should mention there was more food she’d learned to cook. She could make soup! Random soup was what she called it, because she mainly just tossed ingredients in a pot and trusted to her [Basic Cooking] skill. It usually came up edible.
“I can uh, I can make bacon and eggs. Or—or ham. We’ve got ham and salad if you want it—”
“Pasta is fine. I’ll have that and a cup of blue…juice.”
“Okay, sure!”
Erin smiled. The other girl did not return the smile.
“I’ll um, I’ll get it.”
She had plenty of blue juice but not a lot of cups. Erin had tossed most of her cups and heavy objects at the undead. She finally found a good one and washed it out before filling it with juice.
The girl was still sitting at the table. She glanced up at Erin but said not a word as Erin put cup and silverware in front of her. Erin tried another smile, but the other girl’s face could have been carved from ice. She decided to go for broke and introduced herself.
“I’m Erin, by the way. Erin Solstice.”
“Mm.”
Erin waited, but the other girl’s name did not seem to be forthcoming. She stared down at the table, not even touching her drink. The other girl stared at the wood grain, but she seemed to be a thousand miles away.
She was very quiet. Erin hoped that wasn’t because she was planning to murder her with one of the forks.
—-
The world is shit. All things and everything in it are utter crap. But of course crap’s not a good enough word, is it? Death and despair rule everything. That’s how it’s always been and that’s how it will be.
Some days are like this. I’ve felt it before. Black depression. Anger. It’s easy to say the words, but to live it?
Every time I forget. Every time. I forget how twisted this damned world is and I relax. And then it gets me. It would be easier if I didn’t hope. If I just—
“Um. Is the juice okay? I have water if you want it. Boiled.”
I look up. The girl’s hovering over me again. Erin? She’s annoying. It would be easy to just toss the juice in her face and kick her until she stops talking.
A thin red line. I think that’s the only thing that separates me from madness some days. And some day, perhaps, it will disappear and I’ll lose it. It’s already broken once. I hurt my friends. And now they’re dead.
Not my fault. Of course. They went into the ruins. It was their fault, and guilt is only part of the grieving process. I know that. I probably couldn’t have done anything. They were dead days before I was even close to Liscor. It’s just that it hurts. More than anything I’ve felt in years.
I—
Wish I’d been with them.
“Um? Hello?”
I look up. Oh. Right. She asked me a question about my drink.
“It’s fine. Thank you.”
It’s not the innkeeper I’m mad at. I just can’t deal with her or anyone at the moment. How could I? The Horns of Hammerad. Gerial. Ceria. Calruz. Sostrom.
They’re all dead. I never even got to say goodbye.
Mercifully, the innkeeper retreats. She’s odd. A young girl out far from the city like this? Well, not too far but still. How does she survive? Do I even care?
I’m trying to think of something, anything, but the faces of the dead keep haunting me. I try not to let them, but I can’t help but wonder and regret. If I’d been with them, would I have spotted a trap? Would I have been able to run for help? If I’d been there, if I hadn’t run off. If I hadn’t been such a stupid idiot and picked a fight…
Without thinking I take a gulp from the cup in front of me and nearly choke. Sweet! It’s sweet and pulpy, and tastes—
It actually tastes good. Not like the alcoholic crap I have to drink in each tavern. It tastes like orange juice mixed with a blueberry shake mixed with high fructose corn syrup. All the good things that I love to hate.
It tastes a bit like home.
Just a bit. But I take another gulp and the sweetness is good. It’s not like the ice cream I had with Magnolia. It’s just plain old juice, and it’s good to have.
“Another cup?”
I nearly jump out of my skin. That girl is pretty damn silent. But—what the hell?
“Sure. How much for a pitcher?”
She blinks at me. Does she not even price her drinks? Well damn.
I open my runner’s pack and fish around. I’ve still got several gold coins and when I hold one up her eyes go wide.
“Um—”
“Just take whatever I eat out of that. I’ll have a pitcher of blue juice.”
“Blue juice? Pitcher? Coming right up.”
Hah. That did it. Money walks and talks and solves every problem. Even annoying innkeepers. Well, she might try to gouge me but what the hell. I don’t need money. What good would it do me?
The blue juice arrives in a satisfyingly full ceramic pitcher. Enough to drown me or have me peeing all night, but you know what? I don’t care. I fill up my cup and drink while the innkeeper girl goes off to do something which involves a lot of banging about and quiet swearing in the kitchen.
I rub at my face. A sweet drink. It shouldn’t help, but it does. Immensely. I’ve been living off of water and dry rations for the last…it must be eight days. Not exactly fun, but I’ve had worse.
But this makes things a little better. A little. And it restarts my brain a bit, takes me off the spiral of guilt. The Horns of Hammerad can wait. It hurts, but they’re gone. However terrible it might be, there’s something that takes priority even over that.
The call. What in the name of non-existent deities far and wide was that? I—
Everything has changed. I feel it. This world is different now, and the stakes have suddenly gotten a lot higher than my single life. Someone has walked into the small sandcastle of my understanding of the world and given it a damn good kick.
There are more people than just me in this world. From my world, I mean. There are more interdimensional travelers, more people from Earth*.
*Assuming people don’t call this place Earth, obviously. Stop belaboring the point. I know what I mean.
That chat. A—a messenger chat with magic? How is that possible?
Magic. Duh. Focus! Think. Try to think of what happened.
Well, it’s a good thing I used to read Youtube comments or I wouldn’t have been able to transform myself into an egotistical thirteen year-old with delusions of grammar. [batman] was a good foil, but I probably gave myself away there at the end. No matter; it had to be done.
First things first. In that conversation, a few important elements stood out. And above all the rest?
Kent Scott. Whoever that person was, he wasn’t from our world. He was…fishing for information. First and last names. No one else seemed to get that, but thanks to Teriarch I know that he was trying to use a [Scrying] spell.
And he got three names. Or was it two? In any case, that’s really bad. Can he teleport right over there? Is that even a spell? But if he knows the names, there’s nowhere in the world those people can hide, right?
Who is he? He was using Kent Scott as his name, which means he either tortured or killed the real Kent Scott. But how much does he know in that case? Enough to be hunting the rest of us down? Could he have figured out our locations from the magical chat? And if so—
“Oh hey, just wanted to let you know the pasta will be done in around ten minutes.”
The innkeeper pops her head out of the kitchen. Damn it. Who cares? But my stomach rumbles. Traitorous body. I nod at her. She’s exactly the kind of person I don’t really like hanging around. Just a bit too friendly and bubbly and clearly not that focused.
Okay, okay. What was I thinking about? Kent Scott. One part of the puzzle. What else? Oh yeah. Summoned heroes? People with a [Hero] class which hasn’t been heard of in centuries? That’s odd. Could we all have been summoned as a—a byproduct of that spell? Accidental side effects?
