Chapter 19: Chapter 18: An Evening of Counsel

They ran into troubles almost immediately. Now that Jack had a token and the few tradesmen with anything to offer were willing to sell to him, it turned out that equipping him would be a significantly more costly undertaking than they’d earlier imagined.

Bows, for instance. He could settle for a rank three longbow of forty pound draw or so and Tiarraluna would possibly have enough gold left for some cheap armor, if they could find any. Or he could purchase a rank five sixty pounder and go hunting bandits in his shirtsleeves. The one recurve they found was well beyond their current wherewithal, and the trader wouldn’t even allow Jack to test its draw without a show of gold beforehand.

As to armor, they determined that he could purchase either a worn set of rank four boiled leather that had seen better days but sort of fit and have enough left for the cheapest bow they’d found, or a better fitted coat of rank six brigandine and settle for a hunting bow that might or might not launch an arrow farther than he could sling a rock. And he’d be going out without a helmet, which he’d never liked.

“Perhaps we might speak again with uncle Mohrdrand after all,” Tiarraluna posited nervously as Jack was scowling down at a dented spangenhelm with visible rust along its edges and a price that seemed farcical even to an outsider.

He looked down at her, his face still hard.

“I would like to speak to him in any case,” she pressed. “Now that we know your class, he may have more advice.”

He tossed the helm back onto the plank table, causing the vendor to jump a bit and scowl back. “You think it makes that much difference?”

“I do,” she nodded. “You are a sentinel, Jack san,” she pointed out, causing the vendor’s eyes to widen. “That is an exceedingly rare class, and may well require special equipment. Equipment we might not find at all in a place such as Mokkelton.”

Jack heaved a great breath and, with a last scowl for the merchant, acquiesced. It wasn’t like they were going anywhere today in any case. The afternoon was waning, he was bone weary, and his stomach was grumbling.

They surprised Mohrdrand coming in through the back door as they entered through the front, as though he were himself only just returning. Then Tiarraluna did a double take and stopped in her tracks. “Is that grandmother’s bag?” she demanded.

The old wizard smiled and shook his head. “Yours,now, according to Rosaluna,” he chuckled. “With a tome’s worth of instructions and advice to go with it, to complement a heaping ration of stern warnings.”

“Whatever could have caused her to decide that?” she squeaked. “I... I have... I do not deserve such a prize. What shall she do without it?”

He shrugged. “Build a new one, I’d imagine,” he laughed. “In all probability, a much more powerful one. In any case, she was quite insistent that you have this one.” he moved forward and held the burgundy satchel out to the flummoxed girl where she stood rooted in his hallway.

She reached out and took it after a good while, holding it before her as though she couldn’t imagine what to do with it. Mohrdrand took her by the shoulders and led her to one of the chairs before the hearth, all but bending her knees for her to sit before he retreated to the kitchen.

Jack hung back, waiting to see what would come of this new development. It seemed pretty momentous, and looked to indicate a significant shift in the old woman’s stance on him. He’d already worked out that the old wizard must have visited the cottage while they’d been gone, but that was about all he’d worked out. He sidled around the distressed girl and took the seat she’d occupied the day prior. He was itching to get himself out to the stable and look for his pack, but that would now have to wait.

Mohrdrand returned to the room awhile later. He’d brewed coffee for Jack and tea for himself and Tiarraluna. He used the same tray and cart she’d used and took the same seat he’d occupied before. And then they sat in silence while Tiarraluna struggled to work out what was happening.

“What does this mean, Uncle?” she asked finally. “I do not understand.”

He smiled for her, warmly this time, and without mirth. “It means, child,” he said kindly, “that you have her blessing. You have her support insofar as she is able to support you.”

“In what?”

He chucked his head in Jack’s direction. “In your entanglement with the misplaced hero there,” he said not unkindly. “She is not happy about it,” he cautioned. “Very not happy. But she understands, and she loves you, and so she is doing what she is able.”

Then, while she stared down into the bag, he related his conversation with Rosaluna, and the old woman’s wishes. The high points, at least. There were yet secrets Rosaluna wished kept, and he would keep them. No mention of the strange weapon with the tiny copper quarrels, for instance.

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He explained the wards and the journal and the gold. That Jack was now her protector. And now he included Jack in on the conversation, conveying the warning and cautions.

While this was going on, the old cook let herself in and began preparing the evening meal.

As they ate, Tiarraluna seemed to regain herself somewhat. “Uncle?” she ventured at one point. “Jehsha saw Jack san.”

“I suspected as much,” the old wizard answered over the rim of his cup.

“Uncle,” she continued. “He is a—”

“Sentinel?” he asked, covering his grin with the cup.

She stopped dead, her mouth open. “You knew?”

“Your grandmother knew,” he corrected.

“I see,” she lowered her head. “Is there, I wonder, anything at all she does not know?”

“If so,” he laughed as he reached for the tea pot. “I haven’t discovered it in all the years I’ve known her.”

Jack, meanwhile, ate in silence. He was working things through in his own mind, completely irrespective of either of the Galbradia females. His urge to be on his way was battling his need to address the dangers facing the area surrounding Mokkelton. He was having to do casualty math, and that was a subject he’d never been able to tolerate. Who did he protect? Who did he save? And for each of them saved, how many others would perish? He was one man. He couldn’t be everywhere.

Mohrdrand’s eyes were going narrow, even as he bantered with the flustered girl. Jackson was cutting his food as though he were slaying an enemy, his face grim. He could almost read what was going through the boy’s mind. Rosaluna had been correct again, it would seem. The question was, how much could the boy stand before he started coming apart at the joints?

The table was cleared and the three of them back before the hearth, which had been lit and was a good long way into warming the room. Jackson had retreated more deeply into his funk, which even Tiarraluna had now noticed. It was time to address the dragon in the room.

“Jackson Grenell,” the old wizard shot the address like an arrow to pierce the boy’s concentration.

Jack looked up, his face closed off.

“What have you been told of sentinels?” the old man asked.

“Heroes’ heroes,” Jack said with no real feeling. “Fairy tale stuff. Rescuing princesses, that sort of nonsense.”

“Ah hah,” Mohrdrand nodded. “Balderdash, the lot of it.”

Both Jack’s and Tiarraluna’s eyes went round.

“And would it surprise you overmuch to hear that Rosaluna has claimed you to have been one most of your life?” Mohrdrand gestured with his freshly lighted pipe. “Not merely since this afternoon? Did you rescue many princesses in your old life, Jackson Grenell?”

Jack shook his head. “Yes it would, and no I didn’t”

“Sentinels were lunatics,” Mohrdrand went on forcefully. “Idiots who took the woes of the world onto their own shoulders of their own volition. Fools who believed that each and every life on Mund was their own personal responsibility. Sound familiar yet?”

Jack was flushing, his face closing down into hard planes.

“Jehsha blessed them because Jehsha loves fools, and they were useful and occasionally amusing.”

“Uncle!” Tiarraluna scolded. “That is blasphemy!”

“The truth is never blasphemy, child,” he chortled.

“Maybe not,” Jack’s voice matched his expression. “And maybe they were fools. Does that make their pain less valid? You think I want to torture myself like this? But if not me, who?”

Tiarraluna was looking at him strangely now, wondering what was going on. Looking back to the old wizard for answers.

“Where you are isn’t your fault, Jackson,” Mohrdrand insisted. “If anyone is to blame, it would be the gods. Those who allowed you to be hurled here without warning. Those who should have protected you at least until you’d gained the field.”

“You’d be surprised at how little that knowledge helps,” Jack replied with no great force.

“Then how about this?” the wizard ventured. “Our god, Jehsha, the god of Mund, has seen you. Acknowledged you. Blessed you.”

“I’m painfully aware,” Jack managed a bit of snark. “So what?”

“So,” Mohrdrand held out his hands, palms up, as though offering Jack a tray piled with reality. “You are now, for all your original goals, our hero as well, misplaced though you be.”

Jack’s expression didn’t change, nor did he offer comment.

“See here,” Mohrdrand tried. “Examine the facts of the situation you’re in.

“One. Here is where you are. On Mund. No amount of wishing will land you on this other world. You’re stuck, at least for the time being.

“Two. You have been made a hero of the land by the very god of our world. Perhaps not by your choice, but when do any of us get to choose when the gods decide to use us? Or where? Were you allowed a choice before the decision was made to send you to this other world? I think not.

“Three. The way ahead is long, and not one you will traverse in a short sprint. You’ve neither the money nor the skill. Nor will either be particularly easy or quick to gather. It will take you a long while. You may as well help some people along the way.

“Four. Inasmuch as the demon you were on your way to fight was strong enough to gain a march on the very gods, I would think that the stronger you were when finally you made landfall in his realm, the better, yes?”

Jack closed his eyes and lowered his head. Those were all good points. Back home, he’d been able to hold his personal demons at bay with the knowledge that he was utterly unable to do anything to help. That and keeping himself too occupied with things like video games, HEMA, and trade school to think. And the meds, of course. Couldn’t forget the meds. Meds which he no longer had access to.

Earth’s demon lords were too powerful, too far removed, and too well concealed behind their rank upon rank of minions, with their mountains of byzantine laws stymying even the most ardent challenger. Hell, even defending yourself against armed criminals was cause for arrest in the dystopian garbage dump the west was becoming, while the criminals often went free. The east was even worse. Hundreds of millions murdered by their own governments in the twentieth century alone, exclusive even of war.

Here, at least, he had the ability to do something, small though that something might be. What had that Burke guy said? ‘All that is required for evil to flourish is that good men do nothing.' And what had he been doing but nothing? Well, here was a place and time he could change that. Even if it wasn’t where he was supposed to be.

He opened his eyes and regarded the old wizard from beneath his brows. “Points taken,” he sighed. “I’ll try to take things as they come. Can’t promise anything, though.”

Mohrdrand shrugged. “Nor can I blame you,” he grinned.

“Now, what say we get the two of you ready for your first trial?”