Ichiro was hallucinating. It was undeniable. The goddess in front of him floated supernaturally in mid-air which couldn't be something real. Also, he knew what had caused the hallucination: he had consumed some mysterious lettuce like plants, which he ate without caution due to his extreme hunger. Umm, and the final reason was that the goddess agreed.

  "Yeah, ok. It’s a Hallucination. An Hallucination? What is this language? English? Do you speak it good? Well? Fluently?"

  The goddess herself speaks awkwardly, as if it’s the first time she has ever used each word. She claims that she can speak every language. “The intersection of heavenly things upon the earth is effectively infinite!” Ichiro privately thinks that ‘infinite’ and ‘effectively infinite’ are very different things.

  "So you're not real. Alright. I'm going to stop talking to you."

  Ichiro got back to the business of trying to throw up. The plants he'd eaten might be poisonous as well as psychedelic, and they needed to come up. He was already not feeling well.

  "Oh, I'm real— just not really here. My celestial nature... Can you... Just stop that, you don't need to— JUST GROSS!"

  The goddess floats in front of Ichiro. Her voluminous white garments flap and blow tight across her heavenly body— gripped and pulled by a wind that isn't there.

  “O M G! Knock it off!”

  Ichiro took a break from putting his finger down his throat and sat there for a moment. Studying the goddess, she was a vision of beauty and grace. Physically she appeared to be a young woman, her extremely long hair shined of pale silver and gold. She possessed an air of importance and dignity that somehow made her feel timeless, completely eclipsing normal female attractiveness. The goddess was perfect.

  If she were a real woman, he would know better than to stare. Instead, Ichiro had to look away just so he could breathe. Looking at her entrancing face had literally caused his heart to stop mid beat. He gulped and gasped, looking safely at the ground.

  "Hallucination means that I'm dreaming you up. My imagination. So... not real."

  The goddess took a moment to furrow her brow and frown at Ichiro. She isn’t impressed by his unbelief.

  "Don’t be basic! I've only just now learned your cho baka language, and it's... annoying AF! Your vocabulary is so cringe. Hold on just a minute.”

  The goddess closed her eyes and floated in front of him motionless for a time. Still buffeted by the unfelt wind, her flowing robes and long hair flapped and waved erratically, but she was no longer fully present. Ichiro sat on the ground in front of her, feeling lost and confused. Minutes passed. She had put him on hold, sort of, and Ichiro became restless.

  He took a moment to reflect on his situation, again. He was in another world. It was a world that resembled Earth in a lot of general ways. Trees and grass and mountains and so on. There were clouds in the sky and a narrow stream flowed downhill, but everything was a little bit different. The plants, the animals, even the way the horizon met the sky was just not right.

  He had been transported to this place the day before. It wasn't a dream. He had already slept and woken here in this new world. He had pinched and slapped himself countless times. He couldn't believe it was true, but also how could he not believe what he was experiencing?

  When it happened, with the deafening flash of light and then waking up here, he'd gotten a little frightened. Where was he? Where was everyone? Eventually when it got dark he decided he'd sleep and then maybe he'd wake up and things would make sense again. Nope.

  There was a beautiful sunrise. Little green birds hopped from bush to bush singing him a wake up song. He was starving. He was cold and wet. Physically and mentally he was a mess. Wasn’t the sun coming up from the same place it had gone down last night? That wasn’t how it was supposed to work.

  Wherever he was it was a wilderness. He was surrounded by nature, which sounds nice, except that he wasn’t prepared in any way for that kind of situation. If he had a backpack full of camping supplies he might be able to enjoy himself. He might be able to deal with the emotional stress of whatever had happened.

  Instead, he thought he might starve or freeze to death. The confusion and physical stress he was enduring multiplied upon each other. And now, he was poisoned, or drugged, same thing. He could feel something strange right away when he started eating the plants, but he hadn’t stopped biting and chewing and swallowing because he was so hungry. It felt good to have something in his stomach. But now he was hallucinating. He felt nauseous.

  “Now, listen up! Focus! This is an eidolon, a mere fragment of my divine presence. How about… hologram? Does that make sense to your immature little brain?”

  The goddess had begun speaking again. Ichiro snapped to attention. Now, she had a different attitude, and was speaking in a different way. This time she sounded like an English teacher.

  "I know those words!”

  Ichiro protested. He definitely didn’t know what an eidolon was.

  “You have eaten the supplicant’s leaf, elevating your spirit to a more noticeable state. Do you understand? Good. I do not answer prayers. I’m here because you are an anomaly. That means: something that doesn’t belong.”

  Ichiro resumed the regurgitation process, this time unintentionally, spitting up a small amount of stomach acid onto the ground. His stomach was mostly empty, and it didn’t help. The nausea and light-headedness weren’t getting better.

  "Straighten up! Can you tell me why you’re here? You are a mystery, an enigma even to me. Which is why I’m here speaking this… English. I should be the one throwing up. It is a true abomination. You do not belong here in this Realm. You do not even belong to the infinite plain!"

  "Oh."

  Ichiro wiped some stuff off his face. He wasn’t really looking presentable but at least he thought he could explain.

  "I was Isekai'd. And you are my goddess."

  His brother had loved that genre of story. The Hero is taken to a fantasy world to fight the Demon Lord. A goddess aids him on his quest to save humanity from evil and destruction.

  "Isekai? Interesting. The other gentleman whom I summoned does not know this word. But you do. Perhaps you aren’t unintelligent after all. To be clear though, you weren’t summoned by me or any god of the outer reaches. So, why are you here?

  “Were you sent for some purpose? Were you exiled for crimes untold?”

  Ichiro considers the question. He has an idea, but it’s kind of crazy, and not one he wants to think about.

  Ichiro is 19 years old and is from Seattle. He’s smart and really good at baseball. He was a straight A student, and was a real All-American until his brother died. Since the accident things hadn’t been good. His parents were depressed or angry. Ichiro blamed himself.

  Very recently, he’d been struck by lightning. It had been kind of sudden, really. His mom would have deemed it an Act of God. Blasphemy had definitely been spoken. Was that it? Ichiro thought it could still just be a coincidence.

  "Actually, I don't really know why I'm here."

  It’s not like it was her business. He was only slowly coming around to the idea that the goddess was real, and not just a figment of his imagination.

  "Huh. Well I don't know either." The goddess announced. "But you don’t seem dangerous. Sort of normal, really. It was nice meeting you."

  The presence of the goddess began to fade away. Her billowing robes were swirled around by the unfelt and unheard wind, and she floated upward into the sky— slowly at first but picking up speed.

  "WAIT!" Ichiro shouted. "COME BACK!"

  He watched as the goddess dwindled to a single point, finally disappearing completely. He began to cry a little bit, his composure broken. Lost, and hungry, and alone, he felt the full weight of self pity. The self destructive thing to do in this situation is to take some drugs, and so Ichiro resumed eating the Celestial Leaf. It tasted like sweet peas and made your mouth tingle. Large quantities were known to cause vomiting.

  Ichiro stuffed his mouth like a competitive eater, leaves poking out the sides, his cheeks bulged. He couldn’t really bring himself to chew and swallow so he just sat there like that. Spit and leaf detritus dripped down to decorate his shirt. His head swam.

  "GROSS! Not like that! I thought we were done?" The goddess suddenly returned.

  Ichiro spit out the mouthful of leaf, to the side, and threw himself into a bow in front of the goddess on his hands and knees.

  "Goddess forgive me! I am a mere human, but..." He took a deep breath and focused on her feet. "It is traditional in this kind of situation for you to grant me a gift of some kind... and maybe a quest!"

  Ichiro needed help and guidance. If she just left him here in the wilderness he’d starve, or freeze to death! And didn’t she need help with the Demon Lord?

  "Traditional?" The goddess was skeptical about that. "This has never happened before. I was not the first Dominus of this Realm, nor the Architect, but I consider my knowledge complete. Does this… Isekai… happen often where you come from?"

  Ichiro opened his mouth to say 'yes' but then considered that it would be a bad idea to lie. Instead he resumed groveling, rocking back and forth on the ground.

  "Well, actually it does make a little sense." The goddess conceded. "One little blessing to welcome you. Declare yourself, and I will welcome you to the Realm.”

  After the goddess had gone Ichiro felt physically drained. The hallucinations had worn off and he just felt tired and weak. He was even more hungry than before but the thought of eating anything after his bad experience with the poisonous lettuce was unappealing. Maybe a corn-dog would feel safe, but there were no corn dogs to be had.

  Ichiro was still lost. There was no sign of civilization around him. He had no food or shelter and even his hat had a hole in it. The boy fingered the charred gap in the top of his Mariners cap. He had been arguing with his parents when it had happened. Struck by lightning and sent to another world. In a way it was… what he wanted.

  It was a melancholic sentiment which was unfair to his parents. They were probably mourning him now, another son lost. And Ichiro wasn’t a quitter. Leaving a bad situation wasn’t his style. He wanted a better world but he would have chosen to stay and fix the one he’d left.

  It wasn’t like he had a choice. Here he was, lost and alone. But if his parents were suffering from what had happened, at least Ichiro thought his brother would approve. An honest to goddess isekai scenario? Maybe all those anime weren’t as dumb as he had thought.

  Ichiro held out the gift he’d been given, her blessing. She had been real! What was her name? He had asked but she hadn’t said. Other questions had been answered, and then she changed his cellphone into a book.

  His Book of Blessings. It was small, but not as small as a cellphone. He could just barely jam it into his jeans pocket, so the size of a paperback novel. The flexible black leather cover was embossed with the terrifying visage of a devil. Edgy, and cool! The title page read in hand written gothic script:

  //Ichiro ~ World Exile//

  Now human child come here my favor claim

  Divine rewards give power to your name

  The masters price is small his gifts are vast

  Good souls embrace and hold this book of blessings fast

  Don’t lose it. It would act as his guidebook to, well, his new life. It wasn’t just a book, it was a magical book. It was incredible. What did it do? Ichiro flipped through it and quickly understood that it mostly duplicated the functionality of a smart phone. Somehow this was very exciting— you could see the ink shifting across the pages to display new information. Sure, a phone did the same thing, but a phone wasn’t magical!

  Of course, had asked why it had a scary face on the cover.

  “That is KORG”

  “KORG?”

  “The sleeping god.”

  “Why him?”

  Ichiro really liked the beautiful goddess. Wasn’t she going to be his protector and guide?

  “Do not ask about the affairs of gods! Celestial matters are beyond your understanding! Do you know why the gracious moon varies her pace through the heavens? Can you understand the dance of the constellations, or predict the path of the planets? Do you know where the Sun rests between it’s journeys?”

  Ichiro thought that maybe he did, but he merely apologized to mollify the goddess. “Sorry. My bad.”

  “I have disentangled myself of this Realm. There are other gods, choose another if you disdain KORG.”

  That settled things since I didn’t know any of these other gods. But who even was KORG? The horrifying face on the cover of his book was him. Fangs and horns and teeth and anger. A frightening god, he thought. She hadn’t explained, but the book had some clues. There was this poem.

  Oh KORG you sleep but still I beg succor

  This day provide a potent elixir

  You are the one who will again soon rule

  The Realm is ripe to squeeze like wine or wear like jewels

  And accompanying it there was a moving picture across on the facing page. It showed something like an Aztec pyramid. There was a crowd of emaciated and downtrodden people surrounding the temple. Then, a giant— KORG himself— appeared and sent his followers into a frenzy of worship. He was one hundred feet tall and he seated himself upon the giant temple which served as his throne.

  The huge figure sat there naked and proud, and he laughed gregariously. He slammed his fist into the pyramid, and torrents of liquid sprang forth, washing down the steps to the supplicants below. The weak and skinny (bony even with ribs sticking out) figures clamored forwards to reach the streams of different waters rushing forth, fighting and pushing their way to the front of the crowd where they threw themselves into the wine or milk, or whatever it was, drinking and bathing themselves in it. Immediately upon contact with KORG’s fluids they grew and thrived becoming healthy, fat, muscular, powerful, and even lustfully triumphant.

  The following pages had more poems that Ichiro skimmed because he didn’t love poetry.

  [Strength]

  Oh KORG your arm of might the strongest is

  Your foes you crush so ruthlessly with ease

  Glory and gold are laid before the strong

  Pour out your pow’r so I may feast a vict’ry song

  [Vigor]

  Oh KORG you fight your battles tirelessly

  None can out last out grow out breed ver’ly

  Lo even death and age you hold at bay

  Pour out your pow’r so I may heal my wounds today

  [Toughness]

  Oh KORG you are like ir’n in vuln’rable

  Nothing can hurt you harm or give trouble

  Your shoulders shrug when dragons rage is felt

  Pour out your pow’r so I may laugh as blows are dealt

  [Quickness]

  Oh KORG at once your ire like light’ning strikes

  At speed who cham-pi-ons mongoose or shrikes?

  A trick! it’s you who does this laurel lift

  Pour out your pow’r so I may move with steps aswift

  [Agility]

  Oh KORG your clumsiest walk a dance becomes

  The rhythms your heart beats are tantric drums

  All jugglers, acrobats envy your skill

  Pour out your pow’r so I may play the devil’s trill

  [Body]

  Oh KORG you are ideal in form and stance

  As women look entranc ‘ed by a glance

  Athletic abs and muscles all align

  Pour out your pow’r so I may gather maidens mine

  Taking stock, Ichiro noted that more had been changed than just his cellphone. There was a fat gold coin in his pocket instead of his debit card, and his lucky rabbit foot which he always wore for baseball games was now a convex medallion. The medallion bore KORG’s face again, which Ichiro considered to be sort of vulgar. Not something he would have chosen to wear, but there must have been a purpose for it. The concave side was smooth and could hold liquid.

  The book was suggestive enough. Maybe too suggestive. And Ichiro thought he understood the purpose of the poems. They were prayers. He didn’t feel very pious, I mean, did he even like the concept of the god KORG? But the words were right there on the page, and so he read them.

  Ichiro recited the prayer titled [Vigor] while holding up his tiny bowl shaped medallion.

  He said the prayer with very little conviction. He didn’t expect anything to happen, but at the same time he was beyond feeling any embarrassment or shame. He was very tired and hungry, and so there must have been at least a little sliver of hope in his heart that KORG the sleeping god would have some pity.

  With a flash and a puff of smoke KORG delivered his blessing to Ichiro’s waiting dish. It was a cloudy liquid that smelled of cinnamon and anise, the aromas blending with the ozone cloud into a eye watering assault. Ichiro suddenly began drinking on instinct, without thinking or questioning anything. After it had passed his lips he became aware of what had happened, and he gagged and swallowed and sputtered in surprise and disgust.

  How it tasted wasn’t important, bad probably, if you were going to describe it. What it delivered wasn’t flavor or even nourishment, it provided just what he really needed, energy, the strength to stand up and spit the remains of some vomit out of his mouth. There was a fire that had settled into his lungs, like he’d just taken a shot of strong whiskey.

  He suddenly felt fine, maybe better than fine. Besides the strength in his legs and the fire in his lungs he also had a change in attitude. He felt positive about things and his situation. Sure, he was lost, but when had that ever been a problem. Being lost was temporary.

  He could just follow the stream, but if he were on Earth, he would look for directions on his phone. Information was important. So instead of marching off towards the horizon he returned his attention to the magical book. Flipping through the pages he found one titled [Identification]. Maybe not the kind of information he needed, but he was curious about a few things.

  A gold bullion coin from the Rosette Kingdom. Minted in commemoration of military victories against the hordes of Khankharsalido. Obverse depicts King Mitropa I with trophies. Reverse depicts The Tree.

  The book gave him a description. The details didn’t mean a lot to him, just that certain things existed. It was shiny. If it was gold, he assumed it was valuable.

  “What’s up with this lettuce stuff?”

  He was feeling better now but there were still some lingering pangs. His stomach flipped around queasily.

  This vegetable is often called Ritual Leaf. It is known to cause hallucinations and is poisonous in large quantities, or if consumed regularly. Sometimes it is prepared as an extract or poultice to enhance the potency of religious ceremonies. Among humans other names include Orriana, Green Sip after the extract, or humorously as Lettuce Pray.

  Orriana is a common plant in this region and these specimens are unusually potent due to the ideal gravel soil and weather conditions this growing season as well as being nearly mature. Once mature the head of the plant opens and reproduces via a flowering stalk which is pleasantly aromatic but does not carry the mind altering effect of the leaves.

  Ritual Leaf of this quality might sell for one silver coin per bushel but it is not marketed locally due to low demand.

  In the Rosette Kingdom it has a poor reputation and is not consumed by the followers of The Tree. Despite it’s availability it is only rarely used as a recreational drug, and small, fringe cults are it’s main users.

  The flavor of the fresh leaf is said to be pleasant but ripens when picked to a foul stench. The Green Sip is very bitter and sulfurous but only…

  “Stop. That’s enough…” How much longer would it have gone on? There was some good information in there, stuff that he wouldn’t have thought to even ask about, but he didn’t really want to be an expert on lettuce.

  Ichiro recognized the value of what he had, though. He didn’t know anything about this world. Maybe this was common knowledge to people who lived here, but if he had known beforehand he could have avoided making himself sick. He focused on a scraggly bush and tried to activate the ability mentally. The book obliged and as he watched it wrote out in perfect cursive.

  You see before you a bush. Commonly referred to as just a ‘Thorn bush’. It is a common plant across both Eld and Deg…

  The bush wasn't really that thorny, Ichiro thought.

  This species of Thorn bush has more modestly sized thorns than it’s counterparts from the Eldwahu Continent. It is the preferred nesting environment of the small brown Chickadee…

  The book seemed to be reacting to his thoughts, and he realized he could even direct it’s descriptions! Ichiro's stomach growled. He was still feeling hungry and a bit light headed.

  The Thorn bush is not edible. It’s berries are not edible. It’s leaves are not edible. Nothing about the Thorn bush is edible.

  Ichiro sighed. The bush hadn’t looked good to eat, but maybe something around here was. What good was having a magical book if you just starved to death? He should try to find people. The existence of the Rosette Kingdom proved that people lived here. Was this the Rosette Kingdom? His eyes studied the surrounding landscape again.

  The Demonspine mountains are the largest mountain range in the entire Realm. Almost 5,000 miles in length they run along the anti-prime shores of the Degosli Continent. The interior of the Demon-spine range is largely unexplored…

  He shuddered involuntarily. The distant snowcapped peaks rose naked and sharp like a jagged knife in the distance. The mountains were clearly many miles away, but they looked huge. What was it about them that made him feel so small? He looked around in other directions. The whole landscape felt mysterious and beautiful, an entire world of potential waited in every direction, but it was the mountains that dominated.

  How far away were they, exactly, anyway? Ichiro wondered. It didn’t seem to be the right question for his wikipedia-like [Identify] app. He flipped a few more pages. Of course there was a [Map] included. There were actually four pages of maps, each subsequent one increased the level of zoom.

  The first map had four continents— the helpful ‘you are here’ pin was on the southern continent. And here, there was a compass rose, with directions that were labeled differently. There were seven main directions which were labeled I-VII, but not in order! Prime was ‘north’, II was sort of south-southeast. The four directions Ichiro was familiar with were labeled in smaller type with shortened versions of the continent names. South was DEG.

  The next page was devoted to Degosli. The Demonspine Mtns. were labeled, but nothing else aside from the pin. The next page was completely blank— it was labeled the Rosette Kingdom. He could see that he was on the western, no, DRA edge of it but there were no cities, rivers, or roads labeled. The final page showed his nearby surroundings.

  The landscape was hilly. The snow capped Demonspine Mountains loomed in the far distance. Dry grass was broken up by scraggly bushes and occasional ankle high cactus. He had to watch where he stepped to avoid the pain of their sharp needles. There were trees in the distance, as well as few along a small creek he had been following.

  He walked towards the mountains, which was also downhill from where he was standing. There was no visible sign of civilization, but he now expected to find some soon. The map in the book labeled the creek ‘Rocky Rill’ and after scrutinizing the landscape for awhile it had also grudgingly decided to draw in and label a road.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  One of his shoes had a hole melted through the sole. Presumably from the lightning. His baseball cap, similarly afflicted, was still functional as a visor but he kept having to stop to pull rocks out of his sneaker. So, he made slow progress. Still, it was only around noon when he reached what was really just a couple of ruts in the ground. A trodden down strip of grass grew forlornly between the two muddy depressions.

  It was no highway, it was nothing engineered or improved, just a path that had been worn through the landscape by use. Something you might drive a Jeep down. Or, like, a horse drawn wagon. There were hoof prints in the soil and some other presents, large turds, from some animal. It was a sign of civilization, just not modern civilization.

  This was the road to Tumas. Tumas was probably a town, but how was he supposed to know which direction to walk in? He couldn’t see it from here and it hadn’t shown up on the map. Perhaps it would be smart to pick a direction and go. Even if he didn’t find this Tumas, there would be other destinations.

  The problem was that he was tired. He wasn’t dead tired, but he was tired. The fire in his lungs had some limits. He tried praying for more but even though he was more passionate, more earnest, more fervent about it; now when he prayed nothing appeared in his little medallion/bowl. He tried licking the last sticky drops from the vessel, but there just wasn’t that much left.

  He wasn’t panicking though, he just needed a rest. The road gave him comfort, a sense of inevitability. It would take him somewhere. The day was warm now, and the sun had a cheering effect, and look, someone was riding a horse in the distance. They were coming towards him. Actually, there were two, no, three horses, two of them following obediently behind. Perhaps he could ask for a ride.

  When the rider was nearly to him Ichiro had a sudden uncomfortable realization. There was no chance this stranger could speak English. Ichiro was not good at other languages. He could count to ten in Spanish, and would probably recognize some words from Japanese, from watching anime with his brother. There wasn’t anything he could do except hope he was wrong. Perhaps they did speak English in this world?

  "Hello!" Ichiro waved as friendlily as he could.

  The man was wearing armor, overlapping leather panels accented with some metal pieces. He wore a wide sash of expensive looking black cloth around his waist, and something that caught Ichiro’s attention, a sword. This was the kind of man who would be at home in a fantasy novel or game, or maybe in a fantasy world if one existed. He had a rugged stubble on his rugged jaw, and he looked down at Ichiro like a man on a horse might look down on a yappy little dog.

  The man stopped his mount in front of Ichiro and said something unintelligible. He wasn’t mumbling. It wasn’t English.

  "Uhh, What? I’m sorry, I don’t understand. You don’t speak English? Do you?"

  The intimidating man said something else. A few words that didn’t sound particularly friendly.

  "Shit." Ichiro’s spirits were dismayed. He blamed the goddess for not thinking his situation through. In an isekai novel the language problem is always just ignored or conveniently explained away. In his situation though he was now deeply concerned that it would be a problem. “Stupid goddess. This is your fault!”

  As he cursed the goddess, well, perhaps she heard is words. Could it have been KORG? Wasn’t he asleep? In either case, the medallion that now hung around his neck instead of a lucky charm briefly glowed hot, searing his chest. Ichiro wasn’t badly burned, but it did hurt, and he jumped around in alarm trying to get the necklace off.

  "What’s wrong with you?" The man growled at him, like he was some kind of disgusting deformed fish being sold at a market.

  “Nothing I’m fine…” Ichiro examined the now cooling medallion and felt at his blistered skin. He’d be fine.

  “Ok. Glad you’re fine.” The man didn’t sound glad. But Ichiro realized happily that now he could understand.

  "Oh! Hi! Could you help? A little bit? I'm lost... and hungry?"

  It's hard to ask for help from a stranger. Ichiro sounded squeaky at first but didn’t have any choice but to push on. He really did need help. He could starve to death or something. His mortal concerns forced him to set aside his bewilderment about the book. He stuffed it into his pocket and focused on the rider.

  The man just sat his horse and looked Ichiro over. The baseball hat, long sleeved baseball shirt, and jeans looked strange to him. He didn’t really know what to think, except that it was true: Ichiro was clearly lost and needed his help.

  "I’ll take you into town."

  The man got down from his horse. It seemed like he wasn’t happy that this responsibility had fallen on him. He was a little shorter than Ichiro, but retained his intimidating quality. He pulled off an armored gauntlet to offer a handshake. "I'm Brox."

  "Thanks. I'm Ichiro. Thanks for stopping."

  Brox didn't reply to that, but walked over and began to work on the two pack animals that he had with him. The first one was carrying a load of bags and containers on it’s strong back. The second animal was carrying something that Ichiro couldn’t identify. To begin with he thought it was a deflated rubber raft or something, but quickly changed his mind when he saw the large mouth and teeth.

  It was a monster. A dead one. Its dark black, rubbery skin was swollen and ripped, and and its lips were pulled back, showing the many finger sized jagged teeth that haphazardly grew in every direction. The whole thing looked sort of mutilated, which made sense Ichiro thought, since it was dead. He couldn’t tell how many arms or legs the thing had, just that it seemed to have a strange anatomy and was draped limply over the patient beast of burden.

  Brox moved most of the saddlebags off of the second animal and strapped them on to his own mount, and a few on over the monster that Ichiro was studying. He worked quietly and efficiently, slapping the bags once he determined they were secure. When he was done rearranging things there was room for Ichiro to ride.

  "This is Fluffy."

  Brox handed him the reins to the descriptively named gorse. He also handed him a stick of what looked like beef jerky. Ichiro chewed on one end of the jerky. It was very tough, he didn’t know when he’d be able to swallow it, but just having it in his mouth was improving his blood sugar.

  Fluffy was not a horse, or donkey, or mule. Ichiro was not an expert on… livestock, but he would have called her a giant goat. She was giving him the side-eye as he chewed. Was she gonna go for a bite of jerky? To build rapport and trust he offered the animal half of the piece. She slurped it up with a long tongue and then hopped around gingerly in a circle. It was adorable and Ichiro wanted to give more, but he already had the rest in his mouth.

  Meanwhile, Brox hadn’t waited or even looked back. He was leading by example and steadily getting away down the road. Ichiro took this to mean ‘hurry up’ and so he did. He should have made a more deliberate attempt to climb atop the friendly beast but Ichiro thought it shouldn’t be much different from riding a horse. He’d never actually ridden a horse, but how hard could it be?

  Ichiro pulled himself up into the saddle, and then he immediately fell off and face planted in the road. He’d gotten tangled in the stirrup or something. He landed hard and it took a moment for what had happened to register in his brain. His body was numb, his mind was disoriented, and he was so tired. He just lay there until Fluffy started licking him.

  She let Ichiro get on again, and he tried a little harder to stay on top. He balanced uncomfortably in the saddle, feeling vulnerable and foolish. Satisfied that he was on top, Fluffy began to hurry along after her master, which she did in a bouncy sort of trot. Ichiro was barely able to hold on.

  For a few minutes Ichiro experienced a kind of terror and torture. He was out of control, about to land in the dirt again, his rear end smashing into the hard excuse for a saddle over and over. It got to the point where he was seriously considering jumping off. Then they caught up and Fluffy slowed down to a walk.

  Brox didn’t even turn to look. What was a traumatic event for Ichiro was nothing at all to the grizzled veteran. Was Ichiro the comic relief character to the hero, Brox? This man had killed a monster. With a sword probably! The monster looked grotesque and misshapen, how dangerous had it been? Probably pretty dangerous, actually, judging by the teeth which were big enough to kill.

  Ichiro had died, he was pretty sure. Hit by lightning. This transmigration was, or would be to many people, a dream scenario. I mean, it’s nice to just not be dead, but it also wasn’t that uncommon to daydream about starting over, and magical worlds. It made him think of his brother which then made him cry a little bit. Randy had loved fantasy novels and tv shows which was why Ichiro knew the tropes to begin with.

  In an anime Ichiro’s tragic backstory would come back as a flashback to give him some kind of super-determination at a crucial moment. Or, in any kind of formulaic long form story, perhaps, even, he would find out his brother was also somehow transmigrated as well. Ah, but there was some kind of catch, like maybe he was a villain or something. This wasn’t going to happen here, he knew.

  Ichiro felt completely cut off from his past, and thinking about it only made him sad. As he traveled quietly down the primitive narrow road on the back of a strange animal he began to question what was real. The grasses along the path, wildflowers, a flying snake, distant mountains… they were undeniably real. What if it were his memories that were the fantasy? He didn’t believe that, but he also could only move forward. Memories were… ephemeral.

  The day wore on uneventfully. The discomfort of riding a giant goat subsided. Ichiro began to feel safe and relax and his thoughts wandered. He had actually been a kind of hero, back on Earth. A sports star. His parents loved the Seattle Mariners, and Ichiro had been great at baseball. His twin brother refused to play, even though he was a great pitcher. Instead, Randy joined a kendo club and read manga.

  When Randy died Ichiro realized that he hadn’t been a hero at all. Sports didn’t matter. If he’d been a real hero his brother wouldn’t have died. His parents hated that he gave up baseball, that he started reading his brothers comic books and learned how to sword fight. It had been the source of constant arguments.

  This world was a new chance. Maybe not a chance to save his brother, but an opportunity to be the kind of person who could have made a real difference. A hero. Ichiro sat in the saddle and daydreamed. He was vaguely aware of the world around them as they plodded closer and closer to Tumas. He wanted to be a hero. Whatever that meant.

  No. Ichiro knew what he meant, but it was hard to put into words. Also, it was a far away goal.

  The landscape was mostly treeless broken hills, and after a steady five hours of riding they descended into a long and broad valley that stretched out for many miles of flat grassland. The town, their destination, was finally in sight nestled into the hills on the far side. There was a castle separate from the town standing atop a hill halfway across the valley. Tumas' Keep, owned by Baron Thjofur Calcel of the Rosette Kingdom.

  Ichiro learned a few things from his book as they drew closer to Tumas itself. He looked at the map, and identified some of the plants and animals that they passed out of curiosity. Brox had an entry as a feared mercenary, but no other people they passed were important enough for his book to bother describing.

  The valley was sprinkled with rural activity. They passed a sort-of-chicken farm, a large windmill and quite a few humble huts or cottages. There were people who could only be described as peasants. Dirty and poor, covered in filth, barefoot children and toothless adults made way for them on the road.

  Some of the children tried selling them eggs, or bread, and one had an eel that was still squirming. They would run alongside the gorses to show off their prizes. Brox ignored them completely. Ichiro was too tired, didn’t have any money, and could barely muster a smile for the little entrepreneurs.

  It took another hour of riding to cross the valley floor. Brox stopped to chat as they approached the city. Crowded with townspeople, it was built up chaotically along a two mile stretch of Silver Creek. There were a number of imposing stone structures and walled compounds as well as many wooden houses and humble thatched roof huts.

  "You have a place to go?"

  "No. I've never been here before."

  Ichiro was intimidated by the idea of being alone in the city. The residents hurried about their business in a way that seems to forsake friendliness. Somehow even though he’d wanted to seek out civilization, it was now more scary than being lost in the wilderness. He looked down at the dirt meekly.

  "Well, I'm picking up supplies and heading back out. I'll drop you off at The Tree. They'll feed you."

  Ichiro nodded. The Tree, sure, that sounded… okay.

  There were no wall around the town, but there was a sort of symbolic gate on the road at the point where packed dirt became smooth cobblestones. It was a checkpoint manned by well dressed guards who processed the traffic in and out of Tumas. Brox rode unresponsively past a backed up queue of peasants and annoyed townsfolk, straight to the front of the line.

  "How's the mining going, Brox?" A guard abandoned a waiting cart full of cabbages to turn his attention to the impatient mercenary.

  "Shitty."

  "Finding anything?"

  "I'm finding that my partners are small-time dirt-loving cowards."

  “What’s this?” The guard poked at the monster draped over Brox’s pack animal.

  “Grue.”

  “Really?”

  "Move Along." Brox says curtly.

  The guard frowned but walked over to Ichiro writing ‘1 monster corpse- grue?’ in his logbook. He wore a shiny helmet and a crisp looking white tabbard over well fitting chainmail. Despite being bossed around by Brox he had a commanding presence.

  "Name?"

  "Ichiro, Sir."

  "I found him on the road. I'm dropping him off at The Tree." Brox interjects, maybe to speed things along.

  "Alright, Ichiro-sir," The guard jokes "No panhandling, except on the bridge. Stay out of trouble."

  "Yessir."

  "Move Along." The guard declares, and pats Fluffy as he turns away.

  Tumas was from many angles a lovely town. The handmade craftsmanship was impossible to miss, from the tile or wooden shingled roofs, stone and timber framed walls, and even the expertly fit cobblestone streets, every inch of the town was unique and bespoke. The stalwart citizens all wore authentically tailored clothing. It wasn’t so much the lack of technology, but the absence of anything mass produced that gave Ichiro an undefinable but unshakable feeling of culture shock.

  The houses lining the street where they rode had two stories, many with shops on the bottom floor. There were also mansions, towers, and large institutional buildings that distinguished themselves with size and carved stone. In the streets productive craftsmen and honest working city folk mixed with wealthy nobles who could be identified by their rich clothing.

  There were also laborers, animals, children, all crowding and jostling their way down the busy avenue. Not everything was pleasant, the intense aromas and jarring sounds of the city were both exotic and alarming. It was too much for Ichiro to take in, and he realized that he must be gawking at every little thing like a tourist.

  Fluffy happily carried him along through the crowds to the end of the street. There was a giant mound, a hill, that was their destination and Brox helped him dismount safely. Ichiro stretched stiffly and looked around trepidatiously. He was sore from all the riding, but the journeys end meant that he was alone again.

  After thanking Brox and saying goodbye to Fluffy he joined a large group of poor and downtrodden individuals. Some were crippled, some were old, some might have been orphans. They all climbed the hill to the top where there was a compound of beautiful and colorful buildings.

  "The Tree protects and provides." That's what the monk said as he passed out the dinner meal to the destitute individuals in the temple's large courtyard. Ichiro felt strongly that he didn’t belong. He wasn’t a beggar, he just didn’t know where else to go. This was a one time thing for him, before he found his place in this world. Eating made Ichiro feel poor and humiliated, but the soup and bun he’d been given weren't enough for Ichiro's starved stomach so he swallowed his pride and went back for seconds.

  Eating the next bowl more slowly he tucked himself into a corner between two pieces of crumbled totemic monolith. The architecture of the temple compound reminded him of something. There were brightly painted pagodas of various sizes around a central courtyard, but the whole thing was built on top of something else. Something older.

  The hill wasn’t a hill at all. It was covered in accumulated dirt and overgrown with grass and bushes but it’s underlying shape was still apparent. In places black stone poked through. The elaborately carved stone outcroppings were stylized in the same way as the illustrations in his book. KORG’s throne and temple.

  This wasn’t the same one, Ichiro thought, but it belonged to the same family of architecture. Comparing it to something from Earth, it was like the bottom half of a Aztek pyramid. The top half, where the throne for the giant would have been, was now occupied by this other religious institution, The Tree.

  There was an actual tree there in the center of things. It was a good sized tree with huge frisbee sized oak leaves. It was impressive, but not godlike, not something you would worship. Ichiro thought it must be a symbol, maybe used like an altar for whatever religion these monks belonged to. Perhaps they worshiped trees as a concept, or just the god of trees.

  From his sheltered spot, Ichiro ate, watched, and began to feel better. He had been feeling out of place, like an outsider and he still felt lost and alone, but now he had a strange realization. These monks and their tree were not the original inhabitants of this holy site. This had been one of KORG’s temples in the (perhaps very distant) past, and even if Ichiro didn’t worship him exactly, he had some sort of connection through the pages of his magical book.

  Ichiro allowed himself to enjoy the beautiful setting; on Earth it would have to be some kind of famous tourist attraction. The buildings and gardens that inhabited the flat top of the ancient black stone super-structure were immaculately maintained. There was a sense of peace and safety inherent to the place which Ichiro appreciated, but he looked indignantly at some roots that were entangled with the crumbled ruins of a black stone totem. The tree was basically vandalizing this place.

  Perhaps his righteous annoyance was merely a product of his situation. Ichiro didn't have anywhere to go. It was more comfortable to be angry than afraid. He intentionally shed that emotion. It wouldn’t help him, and he should feel grateful instead for the food. Should he try to stay here? The monks seemed to be nice enough, after all. He watched a maimed boy, a teenager only a little younger than himself, finish eating his gruel one handed. He must have lost one of his hands in an accident, or something. It would be difficult to get a job like that in this kind of medieval society.

  A hunched old priest dressed in a fine white robe came out of the main building to have a word with the monks serving dinner. As he passed by, he greeted Ichiro with a warm nod. The other monks treated the old man with deference, it was clear he was a leader. Ichiro watched him: this was an approachable authority figure that he could ask for help. He would petition for guidance, and a place to stay the night. But first… Ichiro decided to see what the book said about him.

  The book began writing.

  Haalox, the Shrine Keepe

  But then it paused. It wouldn’t even finish the word ‘keeper’. Ichiro closed the book and reopened it but it was still stuck, frozen mid sentence. Frustrated, he put the book down and returned his attention to his surroundings. The old man, Haalox, had stopped his conversation and was looking around in confusion.

  Ichiro froze. He tried to breathe and not act like a deer caught in headlights. The priest had noticed and even thwarted the power of the goddesses gift. It looked like there might be trouble for a moment, but then the old man shook his head and gave up. Ichiro breathed a sigh of relief, he wouldn’t be caught.

  Still, he had the instinct to run. No, not run, he would sneak out, casual like. You don’t want to look like you’re keeping your distance. He would figure out a new destination on the street, surely there was someone or somewhere in town that would host a weary traveler for free. But then the now very intimidating priest began walking his way.

  The old man was probably just headed back the way he had come— back to the temple building, but Ichiro gulped, he couldn’t be sure that the Shrine Keeper hadn’t figured out the source of his interruption. Ichiro realized too late that he was staring. He had forgotten to play it cool and now the priest was standing over him.

  He stood up awkwardly, spilling the bowl to the ground as he did.

  "Excuse me... Father." He had to say something.

  "Yes?" The old man waited with… was it patience? or something else? Ichiro couldn’t read him.

  "Uhh. Thanks for the food.”

  Ichiro just decided to play it straight and act innocently.

  “I’m lost and far from home. I don’t know where to go. I need a place to… stay.”

  The Shrine Keeper listened politely. He must be at least eighty years old. He spoke slowly but confidently, and his words did matter.

  "The Tree protects and provides... child. We have room for you tonight, do not worry."

  "Thank you, Father. My name is Ichiro."

  "Call me Keeper. I am the Keeper of Tumas, but it is the Tree which protects and provides. Our evening observance is beginning soon, please join us. Do not feel obligated to make an offering, nothing is required."

  With that, the old man tottered off leaning on his cane, the other arm tucked behind giving support to his lower back.

  Soon, a smattering of people begin to arrive for the observance, replacing the beggars that have begun to leave. They take up positions sitting and kneeling around the tree. Some of them deposit coins in a box that has been brought out. Ichiro remained apart from the group, settling deeper into his spot near the perimeter, where he watched and waited.

  A procession of six or seven monks beating gently on drums preceded the Keeper who made his way to take up places under the branches of the central tree. There was singing and chanting and stuff. Ichiro followed along for a bit but lost interest in the repetitive material. He let the music fade to the background and watched the branches sway and rustle in an evening breeze.

  There was a beautiful sunset as the ceremony continued, and Ichiro began to notice something strange. The tree and it’s surroundings were bathed in a sort of directionless golden-yellow light. Was the tree glowing? Ichiro focused on the protecting leaves, the supporting branches, the luminescent bark. The tone of the worship changed, growing louder and faster as Ichiro became entranced by the tree.

  As darkness fell the magical light intensified. The singing and drumming gradually faded away, or at least Ichiro no longer noticed anything else that was happening. He was completely enthralled by the tree. Then he felt a tug. Not a physical pull, but something like an emotional plea. Ichiro was curious. The tree protects and provides and is a comfort to be near. He reached out tentatively towards the feeling, making himself available and giving himself to the ritual.

  The tree is hungry.

  Ichiro understood immediately when he made the spiritual contact. The tree wanted something. Ichiro did not want to feed the tree! He only wanted to… to… it was too late. The tree wasn't malevolent, necessarily, it was just incredibly powerful. He was like an ant compared to it's powerful spirit. What he wanted was irrelevant in it’s presence. He tried to pull away with all his strength, but The Tree had him.

  Ichiro had only felt this kind of terror and helplessness once before in his life. This time he didn’t give up. He struggled against the power sucking at his life force, but his very soul was being consumed. He began forgetting himself, where he was, why he was fighting, even who… he was.

  As his consciousness faded so did his will to fight.

  Ichiro felt himself dissolve. In the end, it was peaceful.

  His sacrifice took place unnoticed in a corner, his limp body sagged even deeper into the niche between crumbled columns. No had seen his plight, the drama that unfolded and the nightly ceremony continued normally. Pious worshipers eventually departed quietly down the steep temple steps and into the darkness. The monks retreated single file, their evening work finished. Two of them retrieved the large offering box, complaining quietly about its weight.