Arrows hissed over his head. He did not understand how he could hear them so clearly with the powerful clamor of battle all around him. He did not duck. They were his own archers’ arrows, sent to strike their enemies as the monsters charged his position. Rough-hewn swords clanged on shields, hoarse cries rang out. Cries of anger, cries of defiance and yes…cries of pain.

  These stuck in his ears as he moved among his soldiers in what felt like slow motion. He helped where he could, but he was no healer. Neither was he an overly talented warrior. But his presence encouraged them, his words bolstered their defense and stirred their hearts.

  Meanwhile, the earlier mocking words of the enemy commander who stood glaring across at him rankled his calm. The heat of his helmet stifled him. The press of bodies made him pant for breath. His sword and shield were heavy as he filled the gap left by a fallen comrade.

  ‘How will we escape this?’ He wondered, teeth gritted behind his visor. The enemy crashed against them again, growling and snarling. He had no answer. There was only the next sword stroke, the next step, the next breath to stoke the fire in his chest, or it would go out forever.

  “Your plan and what actually ends up happening usually aren’t the same thing.” —Anonymous

  Gainesville, Florida, USA, Earth

  January 25, 2025

  After checking his gear three times, Jasper still felt like he was missing something. That was normal though. He always got anxious with excitement when an event was coming up. The renaissance fair had finally arrived, and he would be wearing the studded leather armor he labored over for three weeks. Sadly, going to fairs was one of the few big occurrences in his life that still brought him joy. Between issues with family, struggling with grades in school leading to him dropping out, and the stress of running his own business, he just felt “like butter scraped over too much bread”, as Tolkien put it.

  He had lived in north Florida his whole life, except for a few years away at college in Mississippi. Becoming an appliance repair guy and running his own business was great for the most part. He got to work when he wanted, manage his own schedule and go on vacations. But the stress of not knowing when there would be jobs was getting to him. Brooksville, where he lived, was a nice place. But, as secluded and tightly-knit as the community he lived in was, Jasper wanted more. So, taking trips to fairs and conventions became his metaphorical lifeline.

  The world of fantasy brought him alive in ways he could not easily explain. The few times he considered it, he supposed the short answer would be that he wanted to get away from bad memories, and other worlds appealed to him. Most people either did not understand Jasper’s rather niche interests or were just put off by his manner.

  So, being the huge history nerd he was, Jasper became a member of his local Society for Creative Anachronism. The SCA was devoted to studying and recreating skills and culture from pre-17th century times. It was a special place for him. Jasper originally joined with the intent to simply be a member of the fighting community after watching several armored and fencing exhibitions as a teen. Over time, he grew to love the entire experience as a whole. He became competent in a variety of different areas; archery, leather working, carpentry, medieval survival skills, blacksmithing, and sewing.

  The fighters’ group was what Jasper truly enjoyed. The camaraderie of men and women who put on armor to test and improve their ability against one another was unlike anything he had found, even more special than when he played football in high school and college. His interest in thousands of years of warfare and combat came to life when he spent time with other members and with ordinary people who showed an interest in events. He got to discuss with others the hundreds of battles and campaigns of years’ past and greatly enjoyed learning from the modern “knights” and “dukes” in the SCA kingdom of which he was a member.

  That morning, he was not expecting to fight. Jasper stood in his bathroom and blew out a long breath. He opened the cabinet to retrieve various orange medicine bottles. He shook the appropriate number of tablets from each into his hand. He tossed back the antidepressants and antianxiety meds before downing half a glass of water.

  Bright blue eyes roamed over his appearance in the full-length hall mirror. At just over six feet tall, he cut a decent figure. He had gained weight since quitting football halfway through college, but he could not be called “fat”. Working hard in armor at fighting practice had kept his endurance up and his weight manageable. His skin was tanned and his cheeks bore a permanent flush from years in the sun. His thick brown hair was cut short on the sides and back with a section on top that fell to his shoulders. He felt that it gave him the air of a wild Viking. He had grown a decent beard as well, trimming it as best he could to copy the triangular style he admired. He had dimples beneath the beard that could barely be seen on the rare occasion when he genuinely smiled.

  His chosen garb for the first day of the weekend’s festivities was simple. It included the studded armor he had recently finished. Jasper was excited for the opportunity to show off his work. He was also curious to see if the weather would permit him to comfortably wear the heavier scale mail he had worked on for more than a year. He had been taught through observation and experience to pace himself when wearing heavier pieces in order to wear what he wanted but not strain his back or shoulders. That was a lesson he would not soon forget.

  Jasper had worked for quite a long time on the oiled leather shirt covered in copper-riveted washers, and he was quite pleased with the final product. On the vest section, a few rows of thick leather scales layered atop one another at the last row of rivets on the short sleeves and along the bottom finished the look. The washer studs flashed in the light, and the copper gave a lovely contrast in color. Beneath the armor, he wore a plain green long-sleeved tunic and rough brown trousers tucked into black leather boots. On his left hip was an unsharpened reproduction “Ulfberht” Viking sword, hanging in a custom sheath he made himself. The hand-stitched, tooled leather had an inset of tan and brown boa constrictor skin. Jasper grinned, patting the scabbard. It had taken longer to stitch the snakeskin into place than to assemble the armor he wore, and he was very proud of it. On his right hip hung a polished drinking horn etched with runes and a Viking compass. A satchel was slung crossways over his shoulder to carry his water, wallet, keys, phone and whatever small loot he decided to purchase.

  He did a slow turn to inspect himself one final time before loading up in the car and heading towards the fairgrounds. He had bought tickets ahead of time, so once he arrived, Jasper got in the VIP queue and showed them the QR code on his phone. They scanned him in and, after Jasper taped the bright band on his wrist in order to show which class of ticket he had purchased, he was on his way. The “guards” at the main gate welcomed him in character, and Jasper pasted on a cheery smile, raising a hand in salute.

  “Ho, friends! Hope there has been no trouble this way.”

  “No, traveler,” grinned one wearing a kettle helm, its wide brim shading him from the sun. “None but fair weather and fair maidens passed here!” His name was Greg, a friend of Jasper’s from the SCA. He enjoyed helping staff the local events and giving the kids a laugh when they came through the big plywood arches.

  “Thanks be, ser!” Jasper waved and made his way inside. He would freely admit that he had not been one for role playing early during his foray into fairs. He had thought it was childish at first, but grew to like the fun of pretending and putting on a show for kids and folks who enjoyed this version of medieval fantasy. Most players knew the reality of history was considerably darker than what they portrayed most of the time, but Jasper believed that getting people involved was worth the slight inaccuracies—much as it rankled the historian in him.

  He made his way through the front booths, saying hello to friends and visiting a few of the bigger exhibits, including the living chessboard he had helped run several times. It was a big draw for the audience. A costumed character represented each chess piece. The respective kings of both sides would order pieces about the large board painted on the ground. When one piece moved to take another, there would be a duel between them to determine the winner. It was great fun, always exciting when you were a player on the board, and the crowd would cheer for you.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  Jasper laughed as he passed. His friends, Luis and Ronda, were engaged in a flurry of dagger-on-sword as they moved around the board. Steel rang and Luis’ sword went flashing through the air. Watchers roared when Ronda flipped Luis with a skillful grip on his wrist. Ronda was made up and dressed in her typical early-Briton outfit: lots of furs, leather straps, and the like. Jasper shook his head and moved on towards the SCA fighters’ area. From the roped off section of grass and tents, the jingle of armor and the fighters' grunts of effort and pain drew him.

  “McKenna!” He looked up and found Lauren waving at him from one of the period-accurate tents. “Come on over! It’s hot, get some water.” She wore the popular renaissance clothing of the fencing group: puffy long sleeves, loose-fitting trousers, and light boots. Her rapier and fencing mask rested on the chair behind her.

  “Hey there!” He grinned and high-fived her as he took the cold water she offered. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you geared up, I’m glad you could make it this time.”

  “Yeah, Joseph and I have been dying to come back and hang out with everyone. We haven’t been practicing much except with one another, and we’ve gotten too good at reading each other.” She laughed easily, nodding at her husband preparing to face off with one of the other fencers.

  “Yeah, I plan on coming out tomorrow and fighting. I’m just mingling and shopping today.”

  “Sounds like a plan! I’ll see you tomorrow then, Jas. Stay hydrated.” She laughed and he raised the bottle she had handed him in a mock toast.

  “Rule 1: drink more than you think you need.”

  “You got it!” Jasper flashed her a smile and moved off toward more of the vendors’ booths. Many of them were regulars for this fair, and he knew he would have time to check them out later that weekend, so he investigated the other shops to see what had been added this year. As usual, there were lots of jewelry and clothing stalls, several he had never seen before, but something else caught his eye.

  A bit away from the long rows of shops and exhibitions was a structure built to resemble a fort. It was made primarily of wood beams and plywood. It seemed to be a kind of castle-themed maze with fabric and plywood walls. There was a small line of people waiting to go in, so he decided to check it out. There were a handful of staff and handlers milling around the entrance. One of them was standing at the gate blocking a lone kid from entering the maze.

  “C’mon, I want to go in!” The boy complained. “I already paid the toll!”

  “But you didn’t pay my toll,” the big man chortled. He wore a knight’s costume: faux chainmail under a tabard, a foam sword and the popular blue glass beer jug sold with a clasp to fasten to your belt. Jasper eyed that last item with some concern. It wasn’t good practice to have someone who was clearly drinking run a booth, particularly one open to children. The gruff man’s compatriots looked uneasy as well, but unwilling to step forward. Maybe this was the boss and they were worried about repercussions. Either way, the bully needed to be called out, and Jasper was more than willing to do it.

  “Ser!” He called, raising a hand to call their attention. The bully looked up lazily, but his coworkers had seen Jasper approach and seemed unsure. “Has this young warrior committed some crime to prevent his passage?”

  “He’s got to pay tha toll,” said the bully, and Jasper caught the scent of alcohol on his breath and had to stifle a gag.

  “I did!” Insisted the boy. “But he won’t let me through!”

  “Come now, surely he may pass if he has paid?” Jasper asked, trying for a smile at the lead guard, but he sneered at Jasper, his hand going to the fake sword on his hip.

  “What’re you gonna do about it, Viking?”

  ‘Maybe he’s playing it up a bit for the crowd?’ Jasper wondered and decided to go along. He fingered the hilt of his own weapon, raising his eyebrow and winking at the boy. “If you want to make the square and fight me, I will not argue. Though you will find me harder to beat than this young man.” Again, the guard’s pudgy face twisted into a mocking expression, and he barked a laugh.

  “Oh yeah, big man you are, challenging me with cold steel, an’ I only have this!” He drew the foam sword and waved it out to emphasize. It drooped pathetically. One of the bystanders sniggered but quickly stifled it with a cough. Another stepped forward, holding his own practice blade.

  “Lord Leroy, do take mine.” He offered with an amused twinkle in his eye. Jasper had to bite his lip in order to stop himself from laughing aloud at the drunk’s name. “Show this Northman we are not soft southern boys to be shoved about as they are accustomed.”

  “Hmm, fine! It’s been too long since I fought.” Leroy tossed aside his toy sword and snatched the other man’s blade. He made several passes with it, weighing the weapon in his hands. The man moved relatively well but seemed sluggish. Jasper put that down to the beer. Jasper could see the bulge of his arms as he tested the weapon he had been handed. Jasper winced slightly, considering what would happen if he made a clean hit on the man’s arm or leg. Taking into account his opponent’s inebriation, the Viking seriously contemplated finding the police officer he saw earlier. With his experience, however, Jasper thought he could handle him on his own. The man also seemed in relatively good spirits, likely still wanting to play the role, but his judgment was compromised.

  “First, second, or third touch?” Jasper asked, taking off his sword belt and flourishing his own sword, making it flash in the sun. He referred to the various rules they could fight by. Typically, a duel like this would be fought to the first touch on the torso but could go up to four touches if the competitors wanted to. For something like this, Jasper expected three touches at most.

  “I’m going to spit you like a pig!” Leroy growled. The man’s proclamation caught Jasper off guard, and he was wrong-footed when the bully attacked. Jasper barely deflected a vicious downward diagonal strike with the flat of his blade. There was a shocked intake of breath from those watching, and Jasper dodged to the right, evading a return cut.

  “My Lord!” One of the knights to his right yelled in horror.

  “He shouldn’ta got involved!” Leroy slurred. If Jasper had had the time to respond, he would likely have made some smart remark himself, but Leroy was faster than he had anticipated. Jasper was fully occupied fending off Leroy’s wild slashes and stabs which set the younger man on his back foot. The drunk’s sword flashed up at Jasper and he barely deflected the strike. Jasper thought it very unsportsmanlike to attack an unhelmed man’s head in an honor duel, but he was fully engaged at that point.

  It would have been difficult for Jasper to break away at that range, so he defended as best he was able. He would later admit to being somewhat swept up in the moment. They exchanged blows blade on blade, probing one another before Leroy feinted and struck at his head once more. Surprised by his sudden burst of speed, Jasper again nearly missed his parry. The swords connected with such force that Jasper’s own weapon smacked into the side of his head, stunning him. He staggered and tried to back away, using his gloved left hand to bat aside his opponent’s blade and take a few slashes at his midriff and left shoulder. His blade rang on chain mail and Leroy grunted under the blows, falling back.

  This gave Jasper pause in his stupor. He would have sworn the mail Leroy wore was not real, but he had no time to think about it. The knight’s return thrust to Jasper’s belly came fast, and the younger man had left himself open with a high strike to the knight’s arm. Without thinking, Jasper gripped his enemy’s blade with his left hand, and the sharp edge bit through the doeskin leather and into his fingers. The Viking called out in pain but had no time to think about the fact that Leroy’s dull blade had suddenly grown an edge. Jasper did not stop, stepping inside his enemy’s guard.

  Knowing his attacker wore mail, Jasper instinctively changed tactics. He adjusted his attack; he no longer slashed but used the point of his sword. He got close—closer than anyone would want to be in a fight like that—but he had hold of Leroy’s sword, and his own was free. Leroy gave a shout of surprise and attempted to block Jasper’s own thrust to his side with his own hand, but the younger man was too fast. Jasper’s sword point pierced mail, and flesh. Driven deep between his ribs and into his lung, Leroy let out a surprised yelp and staggered before collapsing to a knee. He gasped wetly for a moment before continuing to the ground in a heap, the Ulfberht sword lodged in his side. He lay still after a final gurgle, and Jasper gaped in horror at the body.

  “W-what?” He panted, his mind trying to clear the adrenaline and roaring of blood in his ears. The entire fight had taken less than two minutes. The knight who had given Leroy the sword came forward to retrieve it and Jasper’s from his side, wiping them on the dead man’s surcoat. He stood and offered Jasper his weapon hilt first.

  “You won fairly, warrior,” said the knight. “And I think we are well rid of him. He has been a terrible lord, and we are glad of a new one.” Jasper shook his head in confusion, clutching his wounded hand. He was suddenly fully aware of the blood slowly filling his glove. He looked around, and the sight he beheld was astoundingly different from where he thought he had been. The plywood fort walls were now stone, the fluttering fake torches blazed with real fire, and the unique stink of the nearby stable seemed quite authentic.

  Jasper shook his head, feeling dizzy. What had happened? Had one of Leroy’s strikes at his head landed? Had he been concussed? He sank to his knees and breathed heavily. The knight came to his side, supporting him with a hand on his shoulder.

  “Steady, Lord,” he said. “That was a nasty blow to the head you took, a miracle you stayed up as you did.” He waved to someone nearby, and a boy quickly came over. Was it a boy? He looked more like a short man to Jasper now. He could swear there was a beard on the boy’s face, but it was too dark to be sure. “Abel, fetch the physician at once!” The figure nodded and ran off.

  “What?” Jasper tried to stand, but felt woozy, stumbling and falling unceremoniously on his ass. “Whoa.” Darkness clouded in on his vision, and he felt like he was falling.

  “Lord? Where is that damn physician?!” Jasper could hear the knight talking faintly, but it was like listening through water. Then, he sank into complete and utter blackness.