Velocity

3

Stepping through the portal felt like walking into a huge soap bubble. It was as if a membrane of some kind between the worlds stretched and spread, adhering slightly to my body, before it opened and allowed me to pass.

I found myself crouching in the fern-tree, and was suddenly struck by all the sounds and smells of a rain forest. I found the bole of the tree to be reasonably sturdy footing. The going was made difficult only by the innumerable giant fronds that brushed against my face and arms. I made my way to the nearest edge and spread the fronds to allow a view of the ground, some twenty feet below.

It was open earth and looked wet and damp. A few vines crawled their way over the forest floor, entwining themselves with the rope-like roots of the fern-trees. A black trail of ants, or some similar insect, was scaling the tree nearest to me.

Then I looked over my shoulder and got my first look at the window I had just come through. I don’t know what I expected. Maybe a shimmering image of the workshop, the way it would look through a heat-wave on hot asphalt. Maybe a glowing golden border around it that pulsed ominously like a Star-Trek prop. Instead I saw my uncle’s workshop, in perfect clarity, sort of super-imposed on the air. It was a two-dimensional rip in space. There wasn’t anything special about the borders either. It was almost weirder that way. No glowy blue edge. Just a perfect line, where one world ended and another began.

Enough tourism. I had a rescue mission to perform. There were no goblins in sight, but I could hear their snarls and chattering nearby. They had moved farther back from the beach, deeper into the fern-tree forest. I slung the rifle over my back and quickly found a route downward. The tree’s trunk was similar to a large squat palm. It’s scale-like surface afforded many handholds.

Once I had descended to the forest floor I unslung the rifle and looked back at the tree above me. I noted the heart-shaped twist of a root at the bottom of the tree and how far back it was from the beach. I also mentally marked a rock on the shoreline as a reference point. I had no desire to lose my way back to the one way I had to return home. After memorizing the spot, I turned and trotted deeper into the forest.

I didn’t have far to go. Jason had stopped yelling, but the noises made by the goblins left me plenty to home in on. As I approached the source of the sounds, I considered simply charging in and shooting everything in sight, Clint Eastwood style. But this seemed overly risky, as I had no real idea as to their numbers or how many bowmen might be stationed as sentries. With all the stealth I could manage, I found a thicket of brush near my goal and threaded my way into it. Within a few minutes I found a vantage point where I could spy on them without being seen. At least, that was my hope.

What I saw startled me. I expected to find Jason strapped securely to a stake with high piles of kindling at his feet, or perhaps a boiling cauldron nearby. Instead, he was strapped firmly into a harness that was suspended above a spear planted in the forest floor. The goblins were going to great effort to impale him. They were having considerable difficulty, however, as Jason was far too big and heavy for the harness, which was obviously fashioned for a goblin-sized victim. The trees overhead were thronged with goblins of all sizes and ages. Many of the goblins in the fern-trees were hauling on four leather straps and trying to maneuver Jason over the spear point. Jason was doing his best to foil their efforts by twisting and lurching. He was gagged, and all that came through the wad of moss and leaves in his mouth were snorts and choking sounds. His face shown with the sweat of his efforts. Drops of perspiration dribbled from the tip of his nose and from his brow. His eyes were wide pale orbs that carefully tracked the glinting metal tip of the spear point.

On the ground were only two warriors with bows and knives and one older-looking figure, even more bent and malformed than usual. This one appeared to be an elder and a leader of some sort, and gestured and chattered at those working with the harness with obvious impatience. I raised my rifle and put the bead just below the right ear of the old guy. I didn’t see any other options but to start firing before they managed to get Jason under control and put the broad stabbing point through his belly. My immediate plan was to drop the leader to cause some confusion.

But then, unexpectedly, the elderly goblin stepped forward and spoke to Jason in garbled English. “Human, you die now,” he croaked. “You boy-wizard and your evil will die with you.” With these words, he gestured to the goblins handling the straps to lower Jason onto the impaling spear. It seemed that the old guy had met my Uncle or some other human before. Someone who had not made a favorable impression.

I squeezed, putting one, two, and then three ounces of pressure on the trigger. But I realized all they had to do was drop Jason and it would all be over. “Chief!” I roared, deepening my voice for effect. “If you kill the boy-wizard I will kill you!”

The old goblin, startled, turned to face the thicket I was hiding in. The rest of the tribe followed suit. His old eyes wrinkled further as he squinted, trying to see the source of the voice. One of the warriors next to him pulled and released an arrow in my general direction. The arrow sailed into the brush twenty feet to my left, cutting through twigs and leaves. In immediate response I leveled my rifle and fired. A bullet punched through his cheek-bone and pierced his brain. He went down as if clubbed and lay shuddering on the forest floor.

The effect was similar to that of a leopard trotting out into the middle of a baboon troop. The goblins screamed and shook the fronds of their fern-trees anxiously. The females herded their young away from the scene, up into trees deeper in the forest. Several warriors dropped to the ground and took cover behind tree trunks and brush. Jason swayed precariously over the spear point in the commotion, but the chief signaled those holding him aloft to wait. The chief gazed down at the body of the fallen warrior and then raised his eyes back to the thicket.

“Human,” he said, “Show yourself.”

“Release him or die. And don’t move for cover or give the order to attack me, or I’ll start killing.”

As soon as I had finished this message, I began worming my way further back into the thicket and off to one side. I took up a new vantage point in a kneeling position. I didn’t want them to pin-point my location.

“If you kill me, you will be killed by my people. None of them can speak the language of humans,” the chief informed me.

I had to chew over that one. The old guy had some brains, I figured. If he was telling the truth and I killed him, then it would just be a blood-bath and Jason would be dead meat. I might become hamburger myself, in fact. I didn’t like the idea.

The chief, getting over his initial surprise, started talking again. I got the immediate impression that he liked the sound of his own voice. “Humans,” here he spat yellowish phlegm dramatically, “Bad for us. Always bad. They steal, they kill, they stink. They are cowards. You want boy-wizard, then come and talk with us.”

Craftily, the chief peered at the thicket, doubtless hoping that I would trot forward into easy bowshot. One bony hand rubbed the wrinkled green skin of his face. I noticed that while he talked to me, several of the warriors had faded from view and were doubtless moving through the forest to encircle me. I decided it was time for another demonstration. If I was going to keep control of the situation, I was going to have to keep them cowed.

I spotted a warrior on his belly, about forty yards off to my right moving between two fern-tree trunks. Not an easy shot. My first round splashed dirt in front of his nose. The rifle lurched in my hands and the spring-loaded clip neatly pushed another bullet up into the firing chamber. Fortunately, the first shot so surprised the goblin that he jumped up into a crouched position and started back for the cover of the tree he had just left, like a runner that has strayed too far from his base. I caught him between the shoulder-blades with two more quick shots. He was knocked ass-over-teakettle right into the base of the fern-tree he had been dashing for. He squealed for a while before he died, making me feel a little ill.

The others started pulling back after that. The chief didn’t look too happy. He shouted a few impatient orders and waved his hands. I guess that he had gotten the message, because the guys in the trees began to haul up on the straps suspending Jason. They moved him up and away from the spear point and then lowered him to the ground.

He came down sort of headfirst. I thought to myself that I’d never seen anyone so happy to have his face pushed into dirt. They cut him out of his harness with those long thin blades of theirs. Then he was up and running for the thicket, ripping and spitting moss out of his mouth. I started moving back, watching the goblins rather than Jason. But they didn’t seem to be interested in attacking us. They were pulling further back, fading into the forest.

Jason was limping a bit, as if one of his legs had gone to sleep, which seemed likely. As he reached the edge of the thicket and plunged into the sheltering greenery like a burning man diving into a cool lake, the panic started to leave his face.

“Steve!” he hissed, picking his way into the brush. “Steve, where are you, man? You’ve got a kiss coming!”