Summoned! To Grimworld

Chapter 7: When Slavers Have Access to Your Character Sheet

Scrambling up from the stream, Marcus looked around in every direction. For an instant he saw motion in the direction of the sea, but it was probably nothing but the swaying heads of wild grains on the dunes. All the birds were making their usual sounds but from in among the bushes there was only silence when earlier there had been the sound of intermittent blows from a hammer. Had Sina noticed the new menu warning? Marcus very much hoped so.

As he ran towards their camp a human male stepped out from the line of trees: small; green jacket; a weapon cradled in his arms (shotgun?) and a very hostile glare. Having only a moment to gather an impression of authority, arrogance even, from the man's expression, Marcus turned and sprinted back towards the sea. He had not forgotten Sina, far from it. By running, he hoped to lead the slavers – there were surely more of them than just this man? ­– away from her.

As Marcus pounded over the soft soil, a whistling sound rushed upon him. A sharp memory filled his mind. Different legs, the scrawny ones of a child; knees with scabs on. His legs. The string of his kite had broken and it was impossibly high already. No matter how fast he ran, he would never hold that kite again. The pattern of the kite was bright orange with tiger stripes. Against the blue of the sky, it was stunningly beautiful and his heart ached at the thought it was already too late to save anything but the memory of the juxtaposition of those exact colours along with a deep sense of loss.

He came around to find four people standing over him. What?

Pain was pulsing in his head, lower left ribs and shins. It was difficult to breathe as a cord was wrapped tight around his torso, from hip to shoulder, pinning his arms against his body.

'Who are the Fins?' Shadows made it hard to see the man's face but this was the small guy Marcus had spotted at the forest edge. However long he'd been knocked out for, it had been sufficient for this man to walk over to where he lay on the first of the dunes. Where was Sina? Was she still safe?

The man kicked him in the hip, without malice but painfully all the same. 'Who are the Fins?'

Beside their leader a tall, dark-haired woman smirked. When she noticed that Marcus's eyes were on her, her scornful expression turned angry. 'Don't look at me, slave.'

Tempted as he was to stare back, Marcus knew better. There would be a time and a place to resist these captors. First though, he needed to understand them better.

'The Fins,' said the short man again, a note of impatience in his voice.

'Oh, the Fins. That's us,' Marcus remembered now, 'Fins' was the name that Sina had given their community. Was that fixed now on the planet's menus? Were they forever going to be the Fins? It wasn't so bad; it sounded like they were sharks.

'Where's your base?'

'At the crash site.'

'Crash site?'

'Our spaceship crashed in the forest.'

'Where?'

'About four hour's walk inland, following the stream. Then about thirty minutes to your right. You'll see the gap where the trees were destroyed.'

Marcus looked around the group; the other three – two women, one man – wore expressions that were mocking. He noticed too, how deferential they were to the man with the shotgun, how they checked with quick glances to see what their leader was doing.

'Are there many of you?' The man squatted down and Marcus could study his face. If he were to sketch the man, he would start with an X-shaped shadow centred on the nose. The top of the X were two sharp eyebrows and lines that were clearly more used to frowning than any other expression. The bottom of the X was a turned down mouth. This was a bitter and disappointed man. Also, when someone on Earth devoted themselves to decades of drinking – to knocking back spirits especially – their nose became scarlet and their face became lined in exactly this way. This was a man who liked his whiskey, or whatever they drank here. His eyes though were not dull, like those of alcoholic, no, they were glittering with what Marcus imagined might be fox-like cunning.