Chapter 1: Bon Voyage

Bon Voyage

 

As everyone knows, all good adventure stories need their humble origins. Not only does it allow the reader a chance to learn important commonly known exposition with the narrator, but it also becomes the foundation of that character’s relatability as they progress further and further through whatever truly outrageous, ridiculous things they do.

 

This story, or as one could put it, the Logan Brewer story, starts in the back of the old local café Logan had worked at for years. Minutes earlier, he had just finished locking up at 9:28 P.M. Logan remembered because he had to include it in the closing report, along with the fact that they had sold exactly 19 croissants that day.

 

Logan was out back of this cafe, walking through the small tomato garden that the owner’s kept in the back, out to the alley. As is often the case outside of food establishments, the unholy smell of hot waste on a summer day had created a permeable bubble of stench he would be forced to walk through on his way out to the streets. Thankfully, Logan had always come prepared for traps.

 

Grabbing his deodorant from his work bag, Logan unpopped the top and held it up under his shirt. Then, ducking his nose down in there too, he casually strolled past the domain of the dumpsters to sweet sniffing freedom. In truth, the smell of heavily used old spice wasn’t a far cry better than compost, but in his mind Logan had successfully navigated the last obstacle on his way home, and now had smooth sailing ahead.

 

Skipping out of the alley he was saddling up next to the parked cars when Logan tripped on something and fell straight in the road. Directly in the path of an oncoming SUV which proceeded to pop his head like a grape.

 

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Now, they say when you die you get a short flashback of your whole life, regrets, accomplishments, and all that jazz. Maybe Logan died too quickly for that, or wasn’t worth the budget or something because he did not end up getting the lifetime highlight montage. Which honestly made him quite angry at the moment. All Logan got was a second to think, Damn.

 

Then everything went… err, away. Quite honestly Logan didn't have the linguistic skills to explain it. Or really a complete recollection of what was happening. Logan simply felt very small and warm, like the 5 minutes in the morning you let yourself slip back into your blankets before you get up for the day. And then just like those 5 minutes, he felt an inevitable pull on his being.

 

Logan tried to resist the strange sucking sensation, but he couldn’t hold out. Despite its description, the experience was less sensual and more soul-shaking and terrifying, being scooped out of what felt like the safest home he had ever known, so soon after experiencing death. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem Logan had a choice in the proceeding, as his being began to zip away faster and faster. 

 

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At first Logan’s impromptu voyage wasn’t too bad, but as the acceleration showed no signs of stopping it just as quickly started to wear on his core. Quite literally, as Logan could feel the outside of his being start to fray, becoming gradually more strained. This was alarming to Logan on multiple levels, because beyond this situation obviously seeming terrible and becoming more uncomfortable by the second, it also brought his current form to hand.

 

He was a sphere, or orb, of some sort. However, it was clear his spherical shape was because he was corded into himself, better described as the metaphysical version of some balled up laundry. Or, from Logan’s current perception that’s what he believed he was, as Logan clearly didn’t have any eyes, nerve endings, or even a brain with which to perceive things. Which may have been a good thing, because if Logan had a brain it would have already died again from the shock of the situation. It also probably let him not feel any of the feely things that people who die might feel, like regret over not accomplishing that much in a relatively short life of 26 years.

 

Just as the speed was starting to accumulate to the point Logan could feel his being unravel, an almighty shock flashed through him, and then an ironically thunderous impact, sending Logan fading from half felt sensation into the fitful sleep of regular old unconsciousness.

 

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As Old Jeremiah had lived in the Inaug Forest since he was known simply as Jeremiah, he had seen countless strange sights. Wild beasts with strange internal light, apparitions that seemingly vanished come the day, and talking fungi were just some of the more notable scenes he had been witness to in those woods. As he looked over his shoulder at the unexpected passenger in his rickety wagon however, he decided they didn’t quite hold a candle to the spectacle he had witnessed that night.

 

It had been as though the stars had shifted, creating a strange violet vortex that had spat out lashing winds and radiant light in equal measure. Old Jeremiah had never been an overly religious man, his faith in the scriptures built more on the trust the church was righteous more than any true belief, but on that night he found himself questioning if he should have taken the preacher's sermons more to heart.

 

Focusing on the present, Jeremiah examined the man laid out in the bed of his cart. He looked young, but that may have been because of the extreme lack of hair anywhere on his naked body. The man also had extremely pale skin, the sort that one was most likely to see on a person of noble heritage. However, making it unlikely he was of noble birth was the giant marking on the man's back. Although Jeremiah had never seen this marking, it vaguely reminded him of slave marking branded onto servants of nobles. 

 

How a slave had put on that mystic lightshow was beyond him, but if he ended up interfering in a Lord’s business he would regret it, while if he was shown to be helpful and useful, gifts and glory may fall upon him just as easily. In Old Jeremiah’s mind, the only option was to extend every courtesy to the mysterious stranger that had wound up in his lap.

 

And that started with getting him safely through the monster infested Inaug Forest back to his cottage on its edge. Turning his eyes back to the worn path, Old Jeremiah gripped the reigns. The Forest had begun singing its nightsong, which meant he had best get a move on, or risk the man in his cart not being the strangest thing he saw that night, or any night ever again. Because although he had lived next to the Inaug Forest his whole life, there was a reason Old Jeremiah lived next to the Forest, and not in it. He had no doubts that lurking in its depths were creatures capable of fighting the strongest men in the Kingdom of Austen to a standstill.

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