Skyborne Raider

As I hover my torch closer, Astrid stops me with a shout. “No!”

She grabs my arm, lowering the torch, which is almost three times my height. A few sparks fall from the wobbly top, and the torch nearly slips from my grip.

“What?” I ask, puzzled.

“That’s a scroll. Don’t burn it. It might contain valuable information,” she says, her curiosity piqued.

Out of all the items on the table, this one seems the most valuable.

“Alright,” I reply.

“Seems like the fuzz burned off, and the wood isn’t dry enough to kindle. Back me up.”

I start moving backward cautiously, lowering the pole. Astrid backs me up, guiding my steps and, most importantly, the stairs.

Once outside, I lower the pole into the fire pit. Astrid crouches near the pit and blows gently, igniting the dried leaves on top and kindling the fire.

“Got it on the first try. Good job,” she smiles.

“Keep the fire going, Astrid. I’ll make some sturdy torches for the way back,” I tell her, briefly thinking about how to make one that will last long enough without cloth.

“We’ll deal with the scroll later,” I add, noticing the curiosity burning in her eyes. I wonder if she’s more curious about whether it contains valuable information or if it’s empty.

I find two pieces of wood about the size of a baseball bat. Using my hammer and a sharp stone, I split open the ends and stuff them with dry leaves and grass. That’ll do—two torches, one as a backup. My pockets are filled with spare dried leaves and small sticks.

“Dammit, girl, you really like fire. Does Mike know this?” I ask, shaking my head and laughing.

“What?” she says, twitching a bit as some flames almost lick her.

While I was not far off in the woods on the side of the road, she managed to throw everything into the fire pit.

“This will do. Let’s get inside already.” She urges.

Using the pole, I knock the silver pitcher off the table. It flies off and hits the stone floor, denting one side and deforming the ornamental holder. The old scroll rolls out, followed by some tiny black marbles. Astrid quickly picks up the scroll, ignoring the marbles.

“Since when does Mike know so much about cleaning animals and preparing meat?” I ask while trying to pry open the door of an old cupboard.

“They sometimes visit their distant family who live on the farm. He’s learned a thing or two there.”

“Right. Good for him. And good for us,” I say, maintaining small talk while almost sticking the pole through the hoop on the cupboard door.

*Creak* followed by *Clatter* and *Clangs*

The cupboard door flies open, and a lot of stuff falls out. Important stuff, but we ignore it for now. Iron plates, pitchers, cups, cutlery, bowls and a candle holder spill out.

“Divide this with me. My slots are already full,” I explain to Astrid while stuffing all the cutlery into my 16 available slots.

“Yes, yes… What is even… I can’t read these extra three lines.” She gazes closely at the parchment, turning it sideways and upside down.

“Black - hunting, caving, works at Night Palace - inside the walls of Night Palace.

Green - any minor wounds - use before sleep for best effect - snails.

Desert!#@#$%”#&$#$*&)$%(_#@++@_)_(#))*()#&$#&#&#$sert

%^@$%)#&$#$&$#&%#&)(@_)+@_#)(@+(%)&#&#$&#$#&$(...”

She reads aloud everything from the parchment except the garbled parts.

“Wow. Store. This. Carefully.” I’m suddenly overwhelmed by the information. It’s not much, but since we’ve been here, we’ve had to learn everything on our own.

“Night Palace? How cool does that sound! And hunting and caving?” My eyes light up, imagining what that recipe or list is.

“Any minor wounds, use before sleep. This must be something for healing. Why snails? Should we eat green snails or what?” I wonder aloud.

Astrid chuckles.

“I think the last part is where to find them… Inside the walls of Night Palace. And the third one starts with ‘Desert’ and ends with ‘sert.’ That should be something from the desert,” she notes.

“Good point, BUT. What green? Leaves, apples, snails, hamburgers? What black? And most importantly, what desert?” I keep guessing.

“We shouldn’t keep Mikey waiting. Let’s keep moving, Mark. We’ll figure this out later,” she reminds me of our true task and heads outside after stuffing her inventory with more dining supplies.

“Go ahead. I need to finish something here.”

There’s one thing I want to deal with, seriously. I can’t leave it here any longer.

Raising the pole made of three long sticks tied together with shoelaces, I carefully insert the end, now without a torch, into the hole in the massive chair.

Wiggling it carefully, I finally use enough strength to let it loose. The chair slides down the pole. I quickly tilt the pole so the sliding chair won’t smash into my head or arms. It hits the ground with a loud Thud but not hard enough to break. The drop afterward is only from about one-third of the original height.

As I move through the remains of the first broken chair, a small pop catches my attention. The silver pitcher, now deformed from the fall, contained more than just a scroll—about a handful of black matte berries. The closest berries I’ve seen to these were blueberries or elderberries.

“Black - hunting, caving, works at Night Palace - inside the walls of Night Palace,” I repeat the sentence from the scroll, recalling Astrid’s reading so clearly that it’s etched in my mind.

Sniff Nothing special, just smells a bit old. Taking a second whiff, my mind wanders to a place I’ve never been before—an old wooden church in Iceland, weathered by wind and sea air. I exchange the pitcher with all the berries I could collect for one fork, which I store in my left pocket.

I flip the massive chair onto its legs and hop in. It feels magnificent. Leather cushion, wide armrests, dark oiled wood, and lots of metal bound all around with decorative rivets. “Hell yeah! This isn’t a chair. This is a throne.”

“Markus, come on!” I hear Astrid calling from outside.

I open my inventory, crouch, and grab the massive throne with both hands. I lift it, my face turning red and sweaty, hoping I won’t get a hernia.

As the edge of the chair touches the last of the slots I left empty on purpose, suddenly all the weight is gone. My massive throne shrinks to the size of a palm and stores itself as a 3D miniature icon.

I quickly remove the shoelaces and disassemble the pole. Running out from the hall, I nearly trip and fall, forgetting my sneakers are super loose without shoelaces, which I’m holding in a tangle in my hand.

“Done?” asks the fire-loving girl, holding both of the torches I made, burning strong.

“Lighting these up was easy, and they seem to burn for a good amount of time. Good job making them,” she praises my creations.

After re-lacing our sneakers, we get moving.

We made it past the knight without any complications, carefully transporting both burning torches. One of them almost didn’t make it, but it’s still enough to kindle dry leaves. It was really a miracle.

Mike waves at us from the edge of the forest.

“Come in, I set up camp near the fake fire.”

In the meantime, he’s really prepared everything. Big chunks of fatty meat are stuck on sharp spits he’s sharpened with his sabre. Large steaks are cooking on flat stones, and there’s a fireplace close to the checkpoint fire.

A small pile of firewood—branches and tinder—sits nearby. I light it instantly by touching it with my torch.

“You’re just missing a long beard and a lumberjack shirt,” I tease him.

“How did you manage to bring it all here so fast?” Astrid asks, her eyes brightening with pride.

“We have the magic inventory.”

“Silly me, I keep forgetting about it,” she says, opening her inventory and taking out three shiny plates, pitchers, a candlestick with a half-burnt candle, and cutlery. Instinctively, she tries to store the torch inside without thinking twice.

It hisses as it goes out.

“Oh. It went out.”

Mike gives her a dumbfounded stare.

“Well, at least we learned something new,” she says, a little embarrassed.

“Speaking of learning, we found a scroll with some consumables and their effects—or at least we think so.”

Opening my inventory, I surprise Astrid. Taking out the dented pitcher, I tilt it toward her, showing the black berries inside.

“How? Where?” She opens her eyes wide.

“They were in it. I’d really like to try one,” I say, kind of asking for permission.

“You found them. Your risk.” She’s both curious and a bit afraid.

I sniff it once more, clean it on the cleanest part of my shirt, and bite into it.

“Aaaaaaargh!”