Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 69711 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69711 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
After a long, tense silence, he is the first to speak. “Who are you?”
“I’m Renee. Who are you?”
“Alkarvi. I’m in charge of this settlement.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” I figure it can’t hurt to be polite. Taking a deep breath, I ask the question that’s been weighing on me since I first opened my eyes and found myself here. “Where are we?”
“This is the settlement Solum, in the Kingdom of Pyreda.”
“Uh… right. Okay.” I pause a beat, wondering how the heck to phrase my next question without sounding like a fool. “And… er… Pyreda. Can’t say I’ve heard of it. What country are we in?”
He tilts his head. “Country?” he repeats, like it’s an unfamiliar concept to him.
“Yeah. See… I’m from Houston, which is in Texas. The United States?”
“Ah. Yes. This is the Kingdom of Pyreda, which is in Ulfaria.”
“So this country is called Ulfaria?”
“No. This planet is Ulfaria,” he corrects me calmly.
There’s a sudden swooping feeling in my gut as I try to absorb the magnitude of what I’m being told. So much for avoiding reality. White spots dance in my vision, and I wish there was something nearby I could collapse against. “Planet…” I mumble, my thoughts racing so fast now that I can’t keep up with them. I can’t be on another planet.
“How did you come to be here?” Alkarvi says.
“I don’t know. I just… woke up here.” I dig my nails into my palms to try and regain control over myself. “My memories are hazy. I think I ate too many mini microwave corn dogs last night and I’m dreaming all this.” I hope I’m dreaming it.
Alkarvi shakes his shaggy orange head. “No dream,” he says. “This is real.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.” I rub my eyes, which are burning from the smoky air.
“Who is she?” someone calls out from the back of the crowd.
For a long moment, Alkarvi stares at me. I can’t read his expression at all. At length, he turns to face the people behind him. They’re all impossibly tall, and they’re all tinted different colors of the rainbow with contrasting, swirling markings on their skin like tattoos.
Aliens. My mind whispers the word but I refuse to listen.
I’m probably in shock.
“Renee, from the Kingdom of Houston,” Alkarvi declares. The Kingdom of Houston. In any other circumstances, it would be funny. But I’m not laughing right now. There’s something in his tone… a new note of authority. “She was sent to us by Ulf himself, and it is clear why.”
“Why?” My voice is drowned out by all the others.
“For many, many moon-cycles, Pyreda has suffered. Unlike other blessed kingdoms—Aurum, Altrim, Arboron—we have no content and capable King. Instead, we have a Demon.”
The people all murmur what sounds like agreement at Alkarvi’s words.
“A Demon who is our king by birthright, but not where it matters: in deed!” The old guy is getting into his stride now, his voice rising, growing more vehement. “Not only does he refuse to be a true leader to us, he actively harms us! And when we ask ourselves why, there is only one answer: Krav The Demon King is displeased with us! Why else would he take our females, especially the young and lovely? Why else would he leave his people to fend for themselves, when Mount Vracor threatens to erupt?” He waves wildly at the volcano, which is steadily belching more thick gray smoke into the air. “He is a monster who never leaves his shadowy castle, and uses the burning lake to keep us away because he finds us so offensive!”
The murmurs of accord are now underscored with jeers, and the occasional squawk of objection.
“By sending this… this…” Alkarvi gestures at me, “Houstonii to us, Ulf is giving us a sign! We must offer her to His Evilness as a symbol of our devotion. As a sacrifice to pacify and please him!”
“Wait, what? A sacrifice?” Demon King sounds bad. His Evilness sounds even worse. I splutter, barely able to find words, but the villagers are beside themselves, shouting, Praise Ulf! and stamping their feet. Ulf must be a god to them.
“Let us bring him the offering now!” the elder continues, ignoring me.
“I’m not an offering, I’m not a sacrifice, and I’m not a fucking Houstonii—whatever the fuck that is!” I yell, sheer panic overcoming any attempt to be polite as I’m rushed by the mob.
Now I know how the witches felt in 17th-century Salem. Everything’s a blur as I’m seized and lifted by a bevy of strong hands, and dragged away from the village.
I buck and twist but don’t stand a chance against these impossibly strong, rainbow giants. “Please… please let me go,” I beg them. “I don’t want to be given to a demon.”
Not a statement I ever thought I’d say.
Is this shit actually happening? Or have I been roofied with the best hallucinogen known to man? I’m a forty-one-year-old physical therapist from Texas, not a student attending her first Burning Man festival.