CHAPTER FIVE
Fellow Stranger
Dusk. Hank dropped an armload of firewood beside the sleeping mats Presto had supplied from his hat. He looked around. Everyone was busy making camp. Now was as good a time as any, he thought. He made eye contact with Diana and privately motioned her to follow him.
After a quick glance behind her, she slipped away to join him.
They walked toward the forest's edge together in silence, Hank preferring to wait until they were hidden by the trees before speaking. He was glad of the chance to talk to her alone. He had always valued Diana's insights, and he felt that now was definitely one of those times when he needed to hear them. When they were out of sight, they stopped. Propping himself against a tree trunk, he got right to the point.
"What did you think about what Donnova said?"
She looked at the ground, obviously still undecided on the matter herself. "I'm not sure what to think, Hank. She makes sense, as much as I hate to say it."
"Yeah," Hank said uneasily, looking away. "She definitely does not like Dungeon Master."
"I know! She's like Eric, only worse! And speaking of Eric, is it just me or is he edgier than usual these days?"
"You noticed that too, huh? I think he'll be OK. You know he's never handled being here as well as the rest of us."
"I don't know. . . . I think it's more than that. But, still, you'd think with Dungeon Master calling this our 'final quest,' he'd have cheered up a bit."
Hank shrugged. "Maybe he believes this time will turn out like all the others. And who knows? It might."
"We can't lose hope now. This time will be different. It has to." But Hank heard the unsureness in her voice.
He didn't want to think about what might happen if they were to fail this time. He wanted to believe that they were truly about to embark on their final quest that would end in their going home, but he had to admit to himself that he had his doubts. Every time a chance to get home ended in failure, he took it as a personal defeat. He was the leader, after all, and he'd seen his friends let down too many times. The nearer-misses were hardest, and Eric was the type to never let him forget each lost opportunity.
And then there was that look on Dungeon Master's face. He couldn't shake it from his mind. He couldn't help but feel there was something Dungeon Master was holding back. But most disturbing was the random element: Donnova. They didn't know her. How could they trust her? Even though it was Dungeon Master who brought them together, he couldn't feel comfortable after seeing how they got along — or rather, didn't.
He felt Diana's hand on his shoulder.
"We've got to stay positive about this, Hank. I know his attitude can be annoying sometimes. . . . Well, OK, most of the time. Just try not to let it get to you. Eric's just being Eric. And he's always been that way around Dungeon Master. He doesn't really mean it. But I get the feeling Donnova does."
Hank looked Diana in the eye. "She hates him."
She hesitated. "I wouldn't say that. She just—"
"You heard her, Diana. She called him the enemy. She hates him. I saw it in her eyes. Believe me, I know that look."
Hank immediately sensed Diana's concern at his words. He hadn't meant it to sound quite like it had. He was reminded of, and still regretted, having allowed his hatred to surface in front of his friends when he had decided to set out to kill Venger. He remembered how they had walked on eggshells around him for days after what happened in the Dragons' Graveyard.
I was aiming for his heart, if he even has one. Why the hell did I release him? If he finds out what we're doing, it's over, and it'll be all my fault.
"But try to see it from her side, Hank," Diana said, bringing him out of his brief reverie. "She's been here all alone; we've always had each other. I'd probably be bitter, too. Besides, we don't know what's happened between her and Dungeon Master in the past. We don't even know how long she's been here."
Hank sighed. "I guess you're right. It's not fair to judge her without knowing anything. I just don't like this. Dungeon Master said all our hopes are with that stone. And with the way she feels about him. . . ."
"She probably wants to get home just as much as we do. She'll do the right thing. Still, I'd be more comfortable if he'd given it to you."
"So would I. I just can't help but have a bad feeling about all this."
"I know what you mean."
Hank looked behind them and sighed. "We'd better get back."
When they returned from their talk, they found everyone sitting around a blazing campfire. Donnova's hair was brushed, the cut on her face had been cleaned, and her shirt — the color of dried blood, Hank thought — was as good as new. She sipped something hot from a cup as the rest of them ate. It looked like Presto had been busy.
Sheila, Bobby, and Uni to one side, Presto and Eric to the other, they listened intently as Donnova spoke. Diana took a place between Uni and Eric, straight across from Donnova. She left room for Hank, but he remained standing. They now listened, too.
"At first, I thought it luck. I wouldn't have been able to use the medallion at all if I hadn't been received by my Dark Patron on my homeworld. That's when I realized the Dungeon Master knew more about me than I liked."
"What do you mean 'Dark Patron'?" asked Sheila.
"It only means . . . well, it's part of our religion, you see. At birth, my people are pledged to different Dark deities by our parents, or by the family's priest, and hope to be received by one or more of them when we come of age," she explained.
"You mean you're evil?" Bobby blurted.
"Bobby!" Sheila scolded.
"Well, she said. . . . "
"Hey, don't knock it! Fight fire with fire, right?" said Presto. He looked up at Hank, who hadn't been there to hear the whole story. "She's beaten Venger single-handedly!"
Hank's eyes shot to Donnova, who looked a little put on the spot by such a vote of confidence.
"I've been lucky more times than not. I've done what I've had to do to survive here. I've learned how to take care of myself. I've had to, being on my own all this time. If the Dungeon Master had cared to introduce us sooner. . . ." She looked down into her cup. "But it didn't happen that way, did it?" she finished with a sour expression.
She now looked at Bobby and smiled. "Now, as for evil, young barbarian, nothing is ever as simple as 'good' and 'evil.' On occasion, I have been wronged by the Dungeon Master and spared by Venger."
"Venger has spared us before, too," Sheila was quick to say.
Hank didn't like how easily Sheila offered that information. He eyed her, feeling suddenly on alert.
"But Venger is evil. Dungeon Master said so," Bobby reminded them both.
"And do you always believe what the Dungeon Master tells you?" Donnova asked him.
"Yes."
Donnova leaned back, drawing in a long breath and slightly rolling her eyes. "Sometimes 'evil' only describes one who acts against a popular ideal. Is Venger always evil? Is Dungeon Master always good? Venger has, in the past, proven that he has some honor to him, and surely I'm not the only one who's been at the receiving end of the Dungeon Master's apathy."
Bobby cocked his head. "What's 'apathy'?"
She looked into the fire and her expression hardened. "It means that he does not always care to help when he so easily could," she answered as though an unpleasant example of such a time replayed in her mind.
"'Apathy' is Dungeon Master's middle name, if you ask me," Eric predictably threw in.
Donnova then looked into the eyes of each of the others, save Hank, who still stood, and grinned. "What if Venger sees us as the ones who are evil? We are trespassers here, whether we want to be or not."
Surprised looks from all around, but it was Presto who finally spoke. "That's ridiculous," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
"Yes, it is," Hank agreed in a severe tone.
At this, Donnova raised her head to find Hank glaring down at her. She returned the look at first, but then spread her arms and smiled. "Only a jest."
But Hank wasn't buying it. She was testing them, gaging their reactions. He was sure of it. But it was just a feeling. Nothing he could act on. He decided to let it go for now.
"So, how long have you been in the Realm, Donnova?" Diana asked, obviously trying to change the subject.
Hank finally sat down next to Sheila; Bobby moved to give him room.
Donnova turned her attention to Diana. "By the seasons . . . ," she began, looking thoughtfully to the sky, "nearly eight years."
"Eight years?" Presto said, sounding stunned. "We've only been here for— I don't know. Three?"
"That's a long time to be on your own," Sheila said.
"Any time spent in a place you don't want to be is too long," said Donnova ruefully.
Hank caught the private nod from Eric, which Donnova returned, and his bad feeling got just a little bit worse. But then something occurred to him.
"But we saw your sword within the past year. Did Dungeon Master just recently give it to you?" He had her sudden and complete attention now.
"Where did you see it?" She looked genuinely interested to know.
"That doesn't matter. We saw it," Hank said.
"I even sliced a big rock in half with it!" Bobby added. "Sort of."
"You don't trust me," she said, ignoring Bobby.
"I want to trust you. Just tell us how could it be in two places at one time?" Hank asked, as stern as before.
She hesitated, and Hank didn't like it. "I'm sure it wasn't. Who knows where the sword went when I tried to be rid of it? I never did," she said too casually for Hank's satisfaction.
"You're saying you tried to get rid of your weapon?" he asked incredulously.
Donnova nodded. "Yes. That's exactly what I mean. But it always returned to me, and so I still have it now," she said with a definite tone of wanting to end that line of conversation.
And so Hank let it end there. Instead, they ate and kept the topic to speculation about this "first prisoner" that they had to set free. They decided he must be very powerful to still be alive and able — no, possibly able — to send them all home.
They carefully avoided all talk about how great it would be to actually be home, to see friends and family again, but Hank knew they all were thinking about it.
They also questioned what might lie beyond Realm's Edge. Did the Realm just stop? Was there a "great wall"? The beginning of another realm? Nothing at all?
They would have talked the night away if Hank didn't bring it all to a close. "OK, guys, I know we're all wound up about what Dungeon Master said, but we have to get some sleep. If this really is our last chance to get home, we have to be ready for anything, so hit the sacks. I'm taking first watch."
"It's my night for first watch, Hank. Remember?" Diana said.
"I know. I'll wake you for second, alright?"
She gave him an understanding nod and went to lie down. One by one, the rest did the same.
Hank walked out a ways from the group, wanting to be alone while still keeping close. With his back to them, he took a seat on a slab of rock that had fallen and embedded itself in the ground. He knew he wouldn't have been able to sleep. He set his bow aside and pulled out the map Dungeon Master had given him. He looked it over carefully, memorizing it, and then looked out to the darkness southward.
He was still for a time. He mentally sent his mind out to scout ahead. He tried to picture the landmarks they should encounter along the way, his imagination giving him a bird's eye view of how their path may look in real life. He tried to get a sense for danger, the way he thought a psychic might do it. He wondered if the trip could be made without incident. He hoped so. This was it, their last chance. Everything had to be considered.
No mistakes, he told himself. Not this time. No matter what.
"No roads," a voice behind him said.
He flinched, nearly falling off the rock. He caught himself and snapped his head around. His heart thudded in his chest, but he did manage to stop a few choice words from making it past his lips. "What?" he said when he'd finally collected himself.
"The map," said Donnova, still hovering over him. "There aren't any roads from here to Realm's Edge. There aren't any roads anywhere. A bit odd, don't you think?"
He looked back at the map and made a conscious effort to steady his breathing. The adrenaline was slowly beginning to abate.
"There don't have to be roads. We don't need roads," he informed her.
"But there's a city right there, before that mountainous region," she said, pointing. "Surely, there are roads."
"Maybe whoever drew this didn't bother to put them in," he guessed.
"Why make a map if you don't intend to show paths from one place to another?" She pointed again at the map. "And if that's to scale, it's going to take many days to get there on foot. Let's hope we can get horses in that city. 'Uutresk,' does it say?"
Hank rolled the map and tucked it away. "Look. No offense, but did you come over here for a reason?"
She took a deep breath and nodded. "I did, actually." She sat next to him and swung herself around to face the same direction.
"I'm sorry I upset you earlier. I didn't mean to. I forget myself sometimes. It's rare that I sup with ones so young." She winced a bit, like she hadn't meant to word it that way. "Anyway, I'm sure my words can seem to lack a certain . . . chasteness, at times?"
She smiled. He didn't.
"Just please watch what you say, OK?" He threw a glance over his shoulder. "There's already one among us who can't keep his opinions to himself."
She looked, too. "Ah, yes, your dark-haired dissenter."
"Eric. He just wants to go home like the rest of us. We're all a bit tired of chasing portals."
Donnova laughed derisively. "I tired of chasing portals years ago. Let me guess, it always comes down to either going home or helping someone you've grown to care for, or some better cause — when it's not Venger personally ruining everything himself, of course."
Same boat, huh? he thought as he looked at her.
She nodded as though she heard his unspoken remark. "That's why I keep to myself, mostly. For me to befriend someone is to invite them to be used by the Dungeon Master in some scheme to keep me here.
"Oh, it comes off as coincidence, circumstance. But. . . ." She turned her face up to the sky, and they sat in silence for a moment.
"Why do you think we're here, Hank?"
He didn't answer right away. The truth was that he didn't know how to. So often in the past he'd asked himself that same question. So often he'd ended up deeply frustrated. If not to destroy Venger, then what? Why them, and not ones who already lived in the Realm? And what about all those times Dungeon Master tried to help them get home? Had he known each and every time that they wouldn't make it? Could it have been even worse than that? Had Dungeon Master ever actually helped them at all? Or had he intentionally kept them here, and only pretended to help them?
He remembered all the cryptic suggestions of a purpose and the life lessons. Maybe they weren't meant to go home at all. Ever.
Why are we here?
He squeezed his eyes shut and brought a hand up to rub his temple. The hand moved to rub his stiff neck before he let it fall back to his lap. "I don't know," he answered the only way he could. He could feel Donnova's scrutinizing gaze in his tensing neck muscles. He really wanted to be alone.
"But you thought you knew at one time," she said.
His mouth tightened, he didn't like being read like this. He took up his bow and stabbed the end into the ground. Fine, let's have this conversation.
Hank took a moment to find the words. "When we got here," he began, "and I mean that first crazy moment, the first thing we saw was Tiamat. Then Venger." He paused, almost smiled. "And rocks floating in the sky," he added as an afterthought. Then he shook his head as if to dismiss it out of irrelevance. "Anyway, we must have appeared right in the middle of a battle. Tiamat attacked us. That's when Dungeon Master showed up and gave us our weapons, and we used them. Then we saw Venger, and he attacked us, too. The he flew off with Tiamat right behind him." He paused. "It was like a bad dream, or a cruel joke."
"Cruel joke, indeed," Donnova echoed, after a pause.
Hank went on. "Well, it seemed obvious from the beginning that we were here to—"
"Rid the Realm of the forces of evil," she finished for him.
Hank nodded and sighed. "Yeah."
"And something's happened to make you doubt that?"
He hesitated. "Yes," he said, knowing she was expecting more of an answer.
"Care to tell me what it was?" she asked outright.
"No." He didn't want to talk about that. He wanted her to leave him alone.
"I see," she said, and rose to leave. "Well, I'll be off to bed then. Goodnight, Hank."
She rose and turned to leave, but there was something he had to know.
"Why did you try to get rid of your sword?" She turned back to him and he looked up at her. "We do all we can to keep our weapons with us. So, why?"
"You say, 'your sword.' Well, that's part of it. This sword belongs here, to this Realm. It is not mine . . . and yet it is. . . ."
"Now you're starting to sound like Dungeon Master."
"There's no need to be cruel," she said with a smile. But then she turned more serious. "Have you ever dreamed you were someone else with that same bow, fighting Venger or some other foe? — Ah, so you have." She laughed. "You have such handsome blue eyes, Hank, but they give so much away." Now she sighed. "I came to believe my sword . . . bound me to this Realm. And that is why I sought to be separated from it. I felt that . . . to continue to carry it . . . betrayed something in me. But I am willing to carry it once more, if it means we all go home."
Hank studied her. "Your eyes give away things, too." He paused, and she gave him a questioning look. "You don't believe any of us are going home, do you?"
She only looked at him for a moment, and then said, "Goodnight, Hank."
As she turned again to leave, Hank caught her chest with the point of his bow. She visibly stiffened, and then slowly turned her head in his direction. He was well aware of the threatening look he was giving her.
"We're all in this together, Donnova, and I expect us all to work as a team. I don't care where your loyalties lie. I'm responsible for my friends, and I won't let anything happen to them. I won't let this go wrong. Do we understand each other?"
"Of course," she replied.
Part of him wondered what the hell he was doing talking to her like this. It wasn't like him, was it? But at the same time, it felt good. Not exactly right, but good. He felt in control. She was older, but he was the leader here. He didn't have anything to prove, and he refused to be intimidated. All along, things had been a certain way, and he wasn't about to let them change now. She was the one who should have to work to get along with the group, not the other way around.
And he wasn't finished with her yet. "Now, where's the stone?" he asked. The virulence in his voice both shocked and stimulated him.
Not taking her eyes from his, she pulled the Sonant Stone from a pocket and showed it to him. "The Dungeon Master left it in my care. If you intend to take it. . . ."
"I'm not going to take it. I believe he gave it to you for a reason. I just don't want it found and taken if we happen to be captured along the way."
She eyed him lewdly. "Did you have a particular hiding place in mind?"
He tilted his head and scowled at her, not at all amused. "Just make sure you don't lose it, OK?"
Then, she did something that completely threw him off. She moved the bow's tip away from her chest, and started unbuttoning her shirt.
Hank couldn't stop his gaze from following her fingers on their way down. She stopped halfway and he watched as she pulled the fabric away from one breast. He didn't know what she was doing, but he did know that this was entirely inappropriate. He inwardly scolded himself for not saying or doing anything against it immediately. Sheila wasn't too far behind them not to see this if she simply rose and started in their direction. What if she was watching right now?
He couldn't help it, he had to glance back to see if they were observed. If he wasn't going to stop it, whatever it was, he had to at least make sure no one saw. He moved his head mere inches and cut his eyes as far as he could.
There was a flash of reflected moonlight. His attention was fully on Donnova once again, who had drawn her sword when his head was turned. Hank jumped up and instinctively brought up his bow, stopping just short of summoning an arrow.
"Jumpy, aren't we?" she said as she brought the sword up and guided the blade to her exposed flesh.
Hank stood there, not understanding what she was doing. Then, his eye caught the dark line of blood that began to ooze from the top of her shadowed breast. Aghast, he watched as she positioned the Sonant Stone along the bloody opening. He cringed as her intention became clear.
"Stop it!" he whispered urgently.
"Don't worry. I've done this before. Walked around with a key in my hip for months. I never lost that, and I don't intend to lose this." She eased the Sonant Stone into her breast with a stifled grunt and pressed her hand over the wound. "There. May I go now?"
He felt he should say something, but words escaped him. He simply nodded, and then watched as she made her way back to among his friends' sleeping forms to find her own place on the ground.
Only then did he realize how drained he felt. His mind was alert, his heart was still racing, but the rest of him wanted to collapse. He sat on the ground this time to lean against the rock. He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was sure he felt a headache coming on.
We're gonna make it, he told himself. I don't care how, but we've gotta get outta here!