Chapter 8 - Village People, SC (Patreon)

“When I… appeared here, I was naked. Your son was helpful enough to spare me of embarrassment.”

The man threw a glance at his son and the child shrunk further back.

“Who are you and how did you come here? What do you want?

Wish I knew, man. A reasonable reaction. I’d already be lying dead and cold on the ground if this was back in my city. Now, do I lie some more? The safest is sticking with what I told the kids, I guess. I can’t believe being honest is my best bet, but I have too little to work with.

Sunday shuffled uneasily before speaking and the man’s grip on the spear tightened. “My name is Sunday. I fell from the sky.”

Great stuff, keep the honey flowing and you won’t get stabbed.

“Look, I know this looks bad.” Sunday waved his hands around. “But I assure you I was not summoned by whatever your kids tried, as much as I wish I’d been. Then I’d at least have something to go off from. I quite literally fell from the sky and ruined your roof. Sorry about that.”

The man looked toward the hole on the roof and then toward the circle beneath Sunday’s feet. “Accurate landing,” he said.

Sunday nodded, “I’m quite impressed myself. Last I remembered I was headed for a city, falling headfirst through the sky. Then I was here.”

“I called you over, to help!” Pearl protested.

Sunday was about to shake his head but stopped himself, eyeing the spear. “Maybe,” he said.

“Hun, what’s going on?” a voice called from behind the man. His body was blocking most of the door so Sunday couldn’t see beyond that. It was a female voice. His wife, probably. Some other voices were coming from further back too.

Shit, this is getting out of hand.

“Out, now. No sudden moves or I’ll poke you a new one!” the man barked.

Sunday complied. While his situation was bad, he was not that worried. Each step felt as if his body was waiting to burst with strength and speed. He hadn’t felt that good even at the end of his murder spree. Somewhere during the fall, between the strange city and this world, he had changed yet again. He didn’t know if it was one of the so-called gifts that were responsible or if it was part of the whole package. The one thing he was sure of was that he was here with purpose. The question remained, what was it? Apart from getting super strong, that is. He would do that even without having someone hunt him.

Stepping out of the shed led him to a whole new world. He briefly caught a glance of Pearl who was looking at her crude summoning circle with a frown but his attention was quickly whisked away. Having lived his whole life in the concrete jungle filled with constant noise from construction sites and vehicles, the small village before him was mesmerizing. Something straight out of a tale. It felt more real than the city he had been in too.

He saw the beginnings of the swampy terrain a bit further behind the crowd. Trees stood tall and wide, their branches intertwining as lovers. There were thick nets surrounding the perimeter of the village, stretching like a fence. Occasionally one of the attached bells would jingle softly. The twittering of various species was a constant background sound which Sunday found quite relaxing.

While it was beautiful and magical and all that, he briefly wondered why anyone would want to live in this place. It seemed quite dangerous too.

The huts amid the pools of shallow water stood on top of stilts, rising above the ground. They were made of shiny wood that looked quite well maintained, with no signs of rot or other water damage. It was interesting that the ground beneath his feet was solid and dry, creating a strange dichotomy between the terrains. The spots of dry seemed manmade and like a recent addition, rather than something formed naturally. Sunday didn’t know enough about swamps to bother with it.

He was more concerned with the new spears that had instantly neared his throat and softer parts. There were many women and men holding bows, although, from the looks of it, they’d have to take turns if they didn’t want to skewer their own. One or two were carrying swords.

The crowd was interesting. There were mostly humans of various shades, but there were also a few unmistakably undead ones among them. The undead were covered in wounds that seemed to be more a part of who they were than anything serious. There was no blood, and the flesh was clean and dark, at times revealing white bone.

Not one shared the features of Pearl, which was not that strange. Maybe her uncle was the only one? He kept running into orphans it seems.

Sunday’s eyes found the young girl. She looked defiant even under the gazes of the whole village. Her small hands were shaking, but she was hiding it well. That was respectable.

“Who are you, stranger?” an old undead man asked, making his way through the gathered crowd. He had one eye and a strange flat hat on top of his head that looked almost like a sieve or a similar tool. Few of the villagers bore similar hats, although each was unique. His skin was sickly green and a piece of his collarbone was sticking out.

Another person circled Sunday and went into the shed at the same time.

Sunday almost sighed, but he had to go through the motions for the third time.

“My name is Sunday, I fell from the sky, I don’t remember anything.”

I come from a city where corpses killed one another for strength. And before that, I was a thief who finally got an honest job. I’m not of this world but don’t tell anyone. Ah, I shouldn’t have let slip in front of the kids when they mentioned spells. I hope it doesn’t come up.

“Hmm. You look well. Young. From one of the clans, perhaps?”

Gasps came from around the crowd and some stepped back. Sunday noted that small detail for later. If there was later. Any information was good information for someone like him. If he looked like someone from the mentioned clans, then he would embrace the persona that came along as long as it was beneficial. His current body was on the thin side but it had a decent musculature and the skin was taut and healthy… for a dead man.

“I don’t know, sir,” he said.

The person that had gone into the shed returned, eyeing Sunday, before whispering something into the old undead’s ear.

“He –,” Pearl tried to speak, but a hand clamped on her mouth – it was a woman’s. The boy from earlier was grabbing at her skirts, looking scared. The mom, perhaps.

“If it is as you say, then we have quite a problem,” the old undead said.

“If you just point me toward the nearest town, I’ll be out of your hair.”

I will have a much easier time blending in and gathering information. From what I saw from the visions and during my fall this world is like the Middle Ages on steroids. It might be a good thing for me. And there’s magic!

There was a struggle as Pearl freed herself from the arms of the woman much to the latter’s dismay, and ran up next to Sunday.

“But you have to help find uncle, you have to!” Pearl said. Her tone was pulling at his heartstrings, but Sunday’s had heard it many times before. Not that he had become immune to it.

“Is that really why you…?” the boy’s father asked, letting the words drift off. Sunday caught on to that. There was guilt there.

“Yes, because all of you are too afraid!” Pearl yelled.

Her accusing tone shushed the few murmuring voices in the crowd. No one met her defiant gaze and no one spoke for a long while.

The one-eyed undead broke the silence first, his tone gentle as a breeze. “Pearl, child, we all want your uncle to return safe and sound. He was our only mage, and the only one capable of going deep into the swamp safely. We love him, and he is the pillar that lets our small community thrive here, hidden from the world. However, we cannot send a party out right now.”

“But he might be hurt! Why are you all such cowards?!” Pearl yelled; her hands balled in tiny fists.

The undead seemed to sigh but no breath came out. The crowd shuffled uncomfortably and a few younger men gripped their weapons tight, shame written on their faces. The old undead’s single eye suddenly started bouncing between Sunday and Pearl. Sunday could hear the gears turning as an idea that would solve everything for everyone came to life.

“We might have a solution to all of our problems,” he said.

Sunday didn’t like the change in the tone. No one from the crowd spoke again, as they intently listened to the old undead’s next words.

“My name is Hark, and by the grace of the people I’m the chief of our little village. I hope you understand our concern. It is not often that someone new comes around these parts,” he said, then turned to the crowd and lifted his arms, “Lower your weapons. He is no danger.”

The crowd followed the order without hesitation. The old chief’s words seemed enough for them. The arrows remained at the ready, and the spear tips would be back on him with just a flick of the wrist. It was just an illusion of safety.

I think I see where this is going. Two birds with one stone. It might be best to play into his hands for now, as much as I hate it. They won’t let me stay, and things might get violent if I say the wrong thing.

“I understand your reaction, believe me. I wish there was something I could say or do to convince you I’m no danger,” Sunday said, sounding sad, as he evaluated the crowd once again. There were too many, and all were looking at him as if waiting for a reason to gouge his heart out.

The Chief looked him in the eyes, and smiled, revealing yellow jagged teeth that had certainly seen better days.

“The closest city is many days away. There are trade routes where you could find a caravan to a town or a larger settlement, but they too are very far. Swamps are not a frequently visited place. We like it that way,” he said. “However, if you are to fulfill the purpose Pearl ‘summoned’ you here for, then upon your return we will show you the way and provide you with any knowledge you deem useful. Perhaps a map too.”

Ah, there it is. It’s more about getting rid of me and placating the girl for a while, than saving the uncle. Few of them hold hope for his survival, but they seem to care about little Pearl. It’s a smart solution. If I die out there, they won’t have to worry about me. If I stay, they will kill me. Either way, I’m fucked, and they’re trouble-free.

“Is the swamp dangerous?” Sunday asked.

“Yes!” the undead nodded without hesitation. At least he was honest about it. “That is why I’m willing to risk you, a stranger who claims to have fallen out of the sky. And everything we’ve seen suggests it’s indeed what happened. You wouldn’t have been able to sneak through the swamp naked and weaponless, without the help of spells. And you’re no mage. Unless…” Hark’s eyebrows gathered together, making the hollow of his missing eye move in a fascinating way.

“Unless what?” Sunday asked almost absentmindedly.

“Unless you have a talent.” The words caused a murmur to go through the crowd. Pearl was once again looking at Sunday as if he was a demon. If one looked at demons with childish wonder and admiration, that is. What was a demon either way?

Another word I know, but possibly means something entirely different in this world. Spells and talents so far.

There was a lot he had to figure out about himself and the strange experience in the city, and remaining alone in the swamp could at least prove to be a good opportunity for that. Even if the village people had a map, which he doubted judging by the state of things, they were not carrying it on any one person so swiping it and running was out of the question. The question now was, should he reveal his complete ignorance in front of the village, or not?

Sunday made sure to keep his face impassive. Any hesitation would be caught, if not by the Chief, by someone else in the large crowd. He doubted that the first explanation coming to mind would be that he was from another world.

“I doubt someone with talent would come here,” a woman’s voice said. She was human, dark of skin, dressed in a loose revealing dress. Various pouches and vials were hanging from her belt. “We have nothing to offer. There are spells in the swamp, but nothing great so far. Unless there’s some secret we don’t know about.” She raised an eyebrow.

“It might be a very specific talent,” a skinny man countered, sending a challenging look toward the woman. He was one of the few not holding any sort of weapon, instead standing with his hands crossed before his chest. “Flesh traders walk the paths, looking for prey... More might be coming after him!”

“And the moon will fall from the sky and warm your bed tonight. No one looking for slaves would come this far into the swamp. It is simply not good business,” the woman mocked while rolling her eyes.

“Then… He might be a worshipper, a betrayer.” the skinny man continued. Weapons rose and bowstrings went taut once again at the suggestion.

“Enough!” the Chief called. “Do not mention this anymore. I might be half blind and crippled, but I see and sense enough to trust my judgment!”

The woman’s smirk grew wider.