Wait, is this even right? Is this the same story? Well, the characters seem to be generally the same. Where has Marchosias sent Lyden, and why can't he remember anything of his real life? He'll have to step up his game, if he's going to be able to protect his friends.
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
Chapter 18
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
A Land of Fantasy: Part 1
My eyes are slow to open, my head feeling full of cotton. Groggily I look up, seeing a partly cloudy sky above me, and find that I'm lying in a field of what appears to be wheat.
"How did I get here?" I mumble, sitting up and holding my head in my hands. The last few moments come to me as though through a haze. Did I piss someone off? Why do I feel as if I'd been so afraid? Ugh, I just can't seem to focus.
Gaining my feet, I check over myself, verifying my armor and sword are in place.
Wait. . . . Armor and a sword? Why doesn't that seem right. . .? My head hurts, and I decide to worry about that at another time. I know it's important, but I can't seem to care enough. I must have gotten really drunk last night, I decide. But then, how did I end up out here in the middle of nowhere?
The joints of my supple jerkin, made of thick brown leather, seem to be in order. My blade, Muramasa, feels tight in his sheath. Gently, I pull up on the hilt, clearing only a small portion of the chrome-like slightly curved blade. There is no mistaking the bloodthirsty feel of the blade, and I immediately shove him back home.
Shaking myself to get rid of the rotten feeling, I wish I could just leave the blade behind. Every time I've tried, however, I find it attached to my hip a little while later. The katana only stays off me when he knows I intend to put him back on later.
Shielding my eyes against the midday sun, I look off into the distance. Every direction looks the same, until I spot a small shack to the east.
Whatever happened to me seems to still be affecting me, as I trip over my own sword a few times before I can keep my feet under me. By the time I reach the shack however, I'm walking as if I've always had the sword on my hip. I still can't remember my past, other than that my sword is dangerous, and that I'm a wanderer. Well, all swords are dangerous, and right now I'm wondering where the hell I am.
Of course I've always had a sword on my hip. Why does everything seem so odd, as though my entire life is somehow skewed?
"What can I do for you, Stranger?" a gray haired man asks, coming around the side of the shack, an axe in his hands. He looks very tired, bags thick under his eyes, and a slump to his shoulders that bespeaks many weary years of life.
"Thomas?" I ask, thinking the man looks familiar, but the moment is gone before I can grasp it.
"Eh?" he looks at me in confusion. "How'd you know my name?" He hefts the axe again, a little more menacingly. I know he's no match for Muramasa and me, but I don't feel like feeding my sword.
"Sorry," I tell the wary man, raising my hands in front of me to show I mean no harm. "Just something that crossed my mind." My stomach growls, and I have no idea how long it's been since last I ate. "Say, you wouldn't have any work I could do for you in return for a bit of food, do you?"
He squints as he looks sharply at me, trying to decide if I'm a threat to him or not. I am, of course, but I try to act as if I'm not.
Finally he grunts before giving me an answer. "You look like a nice strong lad. I don't know why, but I feel as though I can trust you." He moves the axe to his shoulder, and I can see that it's rather dull. Kind of like the old man, I think, but don't know where that thought came from. "I've got some wheat that needs to be culled, and since the Lord of Light saw fit to give me a rebellious daughter, instead of a hardy son, I could use your help." He eyes Muramasa on my hip, and I can already see the wheels turning.
"I'm afraid my blade isn't fit for cutting wheat, but if you have a scythe I could borrow, I'll see what I can do with that," I tell him, before he can ask. He wouldn't like the consequences if I pulled my blade out.
He grunts again, and nods his head to the back of the shack. Heading back, I find a rusted scythe, and sigh. This is going to be a lot of work.
The farmer has to teach me how to properly use the blade, but I catch on quickly enough, and get lost in the work.
"Ho!" Thomas yells, thankfully pulling me from my thoughts. I'd been daydreaming about a strange orange carriage, winged women, and odd-looking houses. "Come, sit." He shows me a plate of food, and I drop the scythe where I'm at, rushing to him.
It's probably poisoned,
a voice says in my head, but I ignore it. Muramasa is always paranoid.
The food is simple fair, roots soaked in a simple broth, but as famished as I am I devour it quickly.
"You do good work," Thomas says, as he surveys his field. "Would you consider staying on? I don't have much, but I get by, and I can promise you'll never go hungry."
I laugh lightly, patting the hilt of Muramasa. The older man tenses at the gesture, but relaxes when I speak. "I'm afraid I have a different destiny," I tell him. "Maybe when I'm done with that, I'll come back. There are worse ways to retire, than with a good honest job."
"A destiny, huh?" he asks me. "I don't put much stock in those."
Kill him! Kill him now!
I thump the hilt, willing Muramasa to shut up.
"Normally I'd agree with you," I say, laughing to cover the action with the blade, "but I feel as if I have little choice."
"Thomas!" someone yells in a panic, and we both stand to look in the direction the voice had come from. I realize my right hand is tightly wrapped around Muramasa's hilt, and make a conscious effort to loosen my fingers. "Your daughter's been kidnapped!"
The old farmer begins to curse in earnest, spitting on the ground, before turning to the young boy that comes running up to us. "Who took her, Isaak?"
For some weird reason, I can't seem to make out any features on the boy's face. It's not that he doesn't have one, just that I can't seem to see it.
"I don't know, Thomas," the young faceless boy states, trying to catch his breath. "He must have been some lord, though, because he was dressed all fancy, and had a couple guards. He took your daughter from the inn and rode off with her on a large black stallion."
The older man looks sharply at the boy. "Go home Isaak. Thank you for telling me." He turns the boy around, and gives him a gentle shove.
"Are you going to go get her, Thomas? I know she can be annoying sometimes, but she always treated me well enough." There is genuine interest in the boys tone before he leaves.
