S01E01 - In Another World with my Daughter

I stomped down the stairs hoping my heavy footsteps would announce my presence before I reached the bottom, but my feet somehow matched the rhythm of the boomBoomBOOM bass that thumped from the entertainment centre and I stepped around the corner unheard.

Four teenage girls wearing brightly coloured pyjamas were huddled on a fake bearskin rug with their backs to me, engrossed with some video blaring from the big screen hanging on the wall.

I crept closer, curling my hands into claws and drawing them into a menacing pose next to my face. Crouching down behind them, I waited to be discovered.

My knees complained loudly as the music died.

Snap, crackle, pop. Old man in the room.

Their heads whipped around, eyes wide as they became aware of the creepy presence behind them. I roared, lurching towards them with my claws.

Shrieking, they scrambled backwards and a barrage of fluffy pillows impacted my face. “Impressive reaction time.” I thought, falling backwards onto my butt.

“DAAAAD!” Tracy yelled, snagging a more suitable weapon in the shape of an overstuffed teddybear and launching herself at me in a flurry of polyfill fury. Moments later I was surrounded and beaten senseless by the underaged horde.

“Arright! Arright! I give, I give!” I yelled, shielding my head while pillows impacted with surprising force.

Planting a foot on my chest, Tracy thrust the misshapen remains of her childhood into my face. “Do you yield, miscreant?” she said in a commanding voice. Wisps of strawberry blonde hair surrounded her head like a halo. She looked so much like her mother at that moment my heart stopped, filled with too much pain and loss to beat.

And then it did. And again. And it kept beating despite all the reasons why it shouldn’t.

“I yield, fair maiden,” I said, showing my empty hands. “I beg forgiveness and offer another hour of torture-music if you’ll turn down the volume.”

“I accept your offer, Demon-King” She said in an imperious voice. “But only on the condition that it includes more snackies.”

“That can be arrang…” the words died in my throat as the room was plunged into darkness. A golden glow filled the basement.

Struggling to my feet, I stared at the floor. A summoning circle sprang into existence, revolving like clockwork under our feet. “Get out!” I shouted, shoving my daughter towards the outer edge. She bounced off an invisible wall and fell to her knees, giving me a look of disbelief. Her friends, Dinah, Yvonne, and Paige looked at me as though I were insane.

“Calm down, Mr. Carter,” Yvonne said, her voice filled with excitement. “We’re being summoned.”

Dinah grabbed Tracy’s hand and pulled her to her feet, then linked hands with everyone else. Paige smiled at me. “It’s going to be okay,” she said. “We’re prepared for this. Everyone gets summoned.”

It’s true that everyone gets summoned sometime between the ages of 13 and 17. It’s a rite of passage. Get summoned to a fantasy world, gain fabulous mystic powers or gifts, defeat the Demon King and learn about responsibility, teamwork, duty, and all those other qualities that make you a good adult.

Everyone gets summoned. Except me. I was never summoned. I waited and watched as my friends vanished and reappeared, sometimes weeks or months later, and were hustled off to be debriefed. They would come back to school with some mystic, indefinable quality that made them different. They had faced death. Killed things. Killed *people*. And survived against the evil forces of the Demon King. Usually.

Because I was never summoned, it drove me into Other World research. Why was I different? Why was I rejected? Why was I unworthy of saving the world? It galled me. It ate away at me and yes, it made me a bit bitter.

But it also pushed me to learn everything I could about other worlds. Each one unique, but sharing various commonalities. A Demon King, usually not terribly bright. Magic, usually following one of a dozen different archetypes. Enchanted items and training, usually gifted by the summoners. And when the Demon King was defeated the children were returned home. Usually.

Sometimes they didn’t return home.

I stared at the summoning circle, picking out the runes that swept by in an ever increasing cycle. Runes that defined the origin universe. Alept, Carva, Epion, Pfi, Ometh. Living gods. Transmogrification. Ritual Magic. Residence. Final death.

Children returned home when the Demon King was defeated. They returned home when they were killed. But sometimes they didn’t. And in almost every case Ometh was present in the summoning circle. Ometh meant that their death was final, their souls went to whatever deity that powered the ceremony.

The world turned sideways.

I screamed soundlessly into the void, choking on the fabric of the universe. Stretched thin as spaghetti, I passed from one world to another while mystic forces transmogrified the fabric of my being. A small eternity later the pain lessened and I became aware of my own existence. Moments later, I was standing in another summoning circle and then I was glaring at the young woman with the glowing staff.

“Send us back this instant!” I bellowed, the force of my voice echoing around the stone chamber.

The clatter of armour rang loudly around me and I turned to see a dozen guards advancing with their swords drawn.

The woman held up her hand and the guards paused in their advance. “I am Mirna, Priestess of the Lady Avelan,” she said, her voice hesitant as if my outburst had ruined her practiced speech. “I greet you on behalf of the Lady and welcome you to the Kingdom of Cerise. I’m certain you have questions and …”

“Nope,” I interrupted. “You want my daughter and her friends to run off and fight the Demon King and it’s not going to happen. You can send us back. Now.”

“Your… daughter?” Mirna said, confusion evident on her face.

I turned back to the girls behind me and pointed to… an idealised version of Tracy and her friends wearing medieval clothing. They had grown taller and slimmer. Complexions had cleared. Hair turned into something glossy and silky like you’d see in a commercial. I paused, then grabbed Tracy’s arm and tugged her forward.

“My daughter.” I said. I could feel everyone staring at me, especially my daughter. I looked back at Tracy.

“What?” I grumped at her. “This is an Ometh-class summoning. You can really die here. Final death. Game over. I’m sorry I’m embarrassing you punkin, but this is not happening.”

Tracy reached up and poked my cheek.

“Stop that,” I snapped. “Is there nacho on my face or something?”

“You’re not old anymore,” she whispered in awe.

A quick self examination revealed that not only had my clothing been transmogrified, but my dad-bod had turned into a younger, idealised version of myself. Fat had converted into muscles. I had abs! I had pecs! My joints weren’t aching with onset arthritis! I felt twenty years younger.

Mirna cleared her throat. “You are the father of these girls?”

“No,” I answered, still running trembling fingers over abs that I didn’t possess in my home world. Had never possessed. “I’m Tracy’s father. And since her friends were sleeping over at our home, that makes me their legal guardian until they return home.”

“This is unusual,” Mirna said, fingers twisting nervously on her staff. “I’ll have to consult with the Lady Avelan. Until then…”

“No,” I interrupted again. “Home. Now.”

Dinah tugged on my sleeve. “Mr. Carter, it doesn’t work like that. They can’t send us home. Everyone knows this.” She said, explaining things like I was a child. “The summoning ritual binds us here until the Demon King is defeated. We are their only hope.”

I knew this, of course. I’m actually paid to know things like this, believe it or not. But in the heat of the moment I had blocked it, focused on getting my daughter and her friends to safety.

We were bound here until the Demon King was defeated, and there was no way to send us back. And because this was an Ometh-class world, the magical binding wouldn’t return us home when these bodies were killed, we would just be dead.

I ground my teeth in frustration.

Mirna offered me a watery smile.

Resigned to our fate, I gathered the girls and we stepped out of the circle.

Five guards marched in front of our group and five to the rear, surprisingly quiet in the stone corridor as we were escorted to our quarters. Mirna was surrounded by the giggling, overexcited girls answering their questions.

Yes, there are dragons. Yes, there are dragon riders. No, you can’t become a dragon rider …unless you swear fealty to the Demon King, Paige.

Yes, unicorns exist. No, they are not friendly, even if you really truly pinky swear you are a virgin, Yvonne.

Yes, Ogres, trolls, goblins, imps, devils, and other spawn of the Demon king also exist, Dinah. …along with enough deadly plant and animal life to make Australia jealous.

Yes, there’s magic. Yes, you can really learn it, Tracy. …if you practise really hard for a few years. You might be able to learn a few battle spells if you’re lucky, so practice hard during training.

And yes, there are peasants and nobles and an adventurer’s guild …and a thief’s guild (yes, thief’s not thieves), assassin’s guild, and enough dark cults to choke the ghost of H.P. Lovecraft.

I lagged behind the girls, trying not to gawk like an interdiminsional tourist. After we left the summoning chamber, we walked up a stone passage covered with runic inscriptions and big enough for a lorry. The iron bound doors were covered with more script. Unless I was mistaken, they wanted to make sure that anything summoned stayed inside unless they let it out on purpose.

Outside it was dark and the palace grounds and walls were lit with hundreds of flickering torches. Guards patrolled the walls and were professional enough not to gawk at the glowing ball of light that sprang into existence over Mirna’s head to guide us along the dim pathway. I did though. It was a variation on Doug’s mystic lantern. Named after the boy who contributed the knowledge to the Other World Research Division, of course. I doubt the mage who invented the spell was named Doug.

As we crunched along the loose gravel path I held out my hand, palm up, and spoke the long-form chant in a low voice.

“O Neighon, herald of the sky, sweep your wings and gather for me the silvery light which fills your domain. Appear before me: Mystic Lantern!”

My ears rang with a faint chime and a silvery globe appeared in my palm, delicate as a soap bubble. It pulsed weakly in time with my heartbeat.

Mirna whirled around violently, her staff appearing in front of my face as if it had always been there. “You’re a mage?” she demanded.

The luminous soap bubble popped in my hand.

I held my hands up defensively. “I’m not a mage. We don’t have magic in our world. I’m a researcher and study the knowledge brought back by the children you kidnap.”

“We don’t kidnap children.” Mirna scowled. “We summon heroes, and this is the first time in over a century that we needed to do so.”

‘Yeah,” I shrugged, pushing her staff away from my face with a finger. “Our world seems to be a nexus for every child thief in the universe.”

“How did you cast that spell?”

“I used a long-form chant, bypassing the ritual construction. I did expect something brighter though.”

“Do it again.”

I chanted again while everyone watched. Tracy’s eyes lit up like candles when the pathetic glowing soap bubble appeared in my palm.

“You can do magic!” she shouted. “That’s so fu*king awesome!”

“Language!” I pointed a finger at her nose.

“I don’t recognise Neighon,” Mirna said, ignoring my interaction with Tracy. “There is no sky herald, only Xeis father of the sky. He doesn’t have wings, but his flying steed Hastis does.”

Reaching into a hidden fold of her robe she produced a silver bracelet and quickly slid it onto my wrist. “Don’t do any more magic until we can see to your training.” She warned.

I discovered my new bracelet was not fashion optional. It refused to budge and floated around my wrist like Saturn’s rings.

I caught the girls glancing back at me while I fiddled with the bracelet and walked. Eventually I gave up and sulked, mad at myself for having been tricked so easily.

* * * * *

It was well after midnight when we arrived at our quarters in the west wing of the palace. The girls insisted on continuing their slumber party and gathered in one room. I insisted they get some sleep but allowed them to stay together.

There are very few instances of children being summoned by nefarious forces. The overwhelming majority are treated with respect bordering on worship, trained, educated, equipped, and only then are they shoved into mortal danger.

Until I was certain of Mirna, the King, the grand vizier, the captain of the guard, and a few dozen other obvious positions for a Demon King worshipper, I wasn’t going to relax. Having the girls together made it easy to grab them and go if things went south. I nearly suggested that we all sleep in the same room, but that was just creepy.

Half a dozen maids followed me into my chamber, quickly depositing a tray of fruit, pulling down the bedsheets, drawing a hot bath, banking the coals in the fireplace, and chasing away non-existent dust. I watched them scurry with some amusement until they were done and stood before me.

“Is there anything the Hero desires?” one asked low purr.

“Nope, I think that’s about it. Thanks.”

Unbuttoning the top button of her uniform, she winked and said “Are you sure? Anything the Hero desires is his.”

Oh Hell no.

I chased them out and stomped to Tracy’s room across the hallway. The girls were admiring their new clothing and appearance in the wall mirror when I flung the door open.

“I swear to God,” I growled. “If I catch any boys in here I will kill them and ground you. You girls understand? You got it?”

They nodded, wide eyed.

I slammed the door and scowled at the guard on duty outside their door. “I’m serious. I will gut any man I catch in my daughter’s bedroom.” He nodded, swallowing hard.

I yelled “Boo!” at the maids who were watching the spectacle and watched them scatter down the hall like autumn leaves.

Back in my suite I started berating myself for not insisting that Tracy was put in an adjoining suite. I kicked myself mentally for that oversight and resolved to do something about it, just as soon as I figured out where that annoying whirring noise was coming from.

The magic bracelet, of course. It was buzzing like a hornet’s nest while spinning in a complex pattern. I grabbed for the elusive thing again, pissed that I let Mirna leash me like a dog. It buzzed louder and slipped through my fingers like water.

Puzzled, I tried again, and again it flowed like mercury around my fingers. The buzzing died down as I fiddled with it and eventually it became solid enough to grasp. Around that time I grasped exactly what it was doing besides distracting me.

“Arright,” I said to myself. “Long-form rituals, short-form rituals, and some sort of psychic magic too. Or maybe just a distraction when someone gets mad and it helps them calm down. Guess we’ll learn more soon enough.”

The wall mirror revealed a younger, idealised version of me. Late 20s, just over two metres tall, ninety kilos of solid muscle. Full head of close cut sandy blond hair. Dangerously sexy five o’clock shadow.

Holy. Shit.

I have never looked this good. Ever. I’m not sure it’s even possible with surgery and a personal trainer. I have absolutely no pride — I stripped to get the full frontal view.

And now I’m feeling weird. It’s like staring at a stranger’s junk in the mirror and it’s disturbing on many levels. Leaving my transformed clothing on the floor I made for the bathroom.

It wasn’t until halfway through my bath that I thought about magic mirrors and swore vociferously, imagining some creep peeping at my daughter and her friends.

* * * * *

Sleep sprang on me like a cougar and dragged me down into a dream where I was Conan the Barbarian, surrounded on all sides by hordes of faceless men after my daughter. I slashed and hacked at them until my arms trembled, chanted long-form spells that shattered the heavens and scorched the earth, until they crashed over me like an angry sea and drowned me beneath their grasping hands.

Ever wake up and notice the ceiling doesn’t belong to you? Strange, isn’t it? It’s a nice ceiling, all inset squares trimmed in gold leaf and bordered with fancy scrollwork, but it’s not mine. I’m not sure if I like it or not. I crawled out of bed with a long sigh and flicked the buzzing bracelet on my wrist. It looked tarnished in the morning light.

I ruminated on the dream. Tracy is 16 now, considered an adult in many cultures and quite able to make some adult decisions. And I’m certainly not some sort of prudish, abusive father who is going to insist on virginity checks until she gets married. That’s just disgusting. I don’t need to protect her, she can say “NO” in multiple languages, including Jiu-Jitsu. When she’s ready to sleep with someone, that’s her business. It’s my business to make sure she is educated on the various risks, has access to protection, and murder anyone who thinks she’s a piece of meat. Which is a lesson she should probably learn on her own anyway. Some men are pigs. It’s better to learn that early so you can spot them and kick them in the balls when necessary. So why am I dreaming of mobs of faceless men chasing after her?

After my wife Tanya died nearly a decade ago I’d done my best to raise our daughter in a loving, non-judgmental, and most importantly, stable house. That meant I rarely dated and was very selective of who I dated. I wasn’t going to bring some crazy step-mother into her life and drive a wedge between us. Maybe I’m just not ready to fall in love again and I’m using my daughter as a shield to keep me from facing the reality that no one will replace Tanya. Old thoughts, really. I’ve been down this rabbit hole before. The reality is that I’m too scared of meeting someone and forgetting about Tanya. I’m afraid that she’ll fade into a warm memory instead of the sharp pain that I nurse like a bourbon.

How does one get over losing an arm? A leg? Their heart?

They get a prosthetic and get on with their life, that’s how.

I’m definitely hiding behind my daughter, terrified she will grow up and leave me behind. Summoning is a rite of passage. Every child goes through it. Every child, except me. I never faced responsibility for an entire world, fought a tangible evil, or mourned for friends lost in battle. I’m being forced to grow up, and it sucks.

The hardwood floor was cold underfoot as I searched around for my clothing, which had somehow gone missing while I was sleeping. I ground my teeth and looked around. Missing clothing, bathroom tidied, curtains pulled back from the huge windows. A feeling of vulnerability passed through my gut. I was totally unaware that someone had entered the room while I was sleeping. I felt violated in some strange, intangible way.

Checking the wardrobe for alternative clothing revealed some interesting choices for dress. Colourful, foppish designs assailed my eyes and I briefly wondered if the court jester had picked them out. Someone cleared their throat behind me. Looking over my shoulder I discovered one of the maids with an armful of clothing. She was definitely checking out my bum and I was reminded again exactly what kind of world we had been transported to — one where the maids were willing. I wonder what would happen if I decided to take her up on the offer.

The door burst open and four teenage girls skidded to a halt.

“OH MY GOD!” Tracy screamed, covering her eyes. “Dad, get dressed right now!” and with a bang, they vanished into the hallway just as quickly as they had appeared.

Yeah, looks like we’re that kind of universe.

The clothing the maid dropped off was actually what I had been summoned with, but transmogrified by passage through the circle. A loose white shirt, tied across the chest, with frilly bits at the cuff. Rugged leather trousers, sturdy riding boots, and undergarments that were not terribly scratchy. All I needed was a tri-corner hat and I’d look like a pirate. A sabre and eyepatch would definitely have me looking like a pirate. Funny thing is, I was wearing cotton sweatpants, an old tee shirt, and slippers when I was summoned. All hail the power of Transmogrification!

Breakfast was a fancy affair. Several servants were stationed nearby and Mirna was sitting with two strange men and another woman. I was late to join and settled in next to my daughter, directly across from what appeared to be a middle aged mage.

Absolutely nothing resembling coffee anywhere to be seen. Fruits, nuts, slices and cuts of meat, cheese and bread, yes. Wine and various types of juice was to be had in abundance, but no coffee. I complained loudly.

“Where’s the coffee?”

“What is coffee?” Mirna asked. “If you describe it, perhaps some can be located.”

“It’s a dark, bitter, liquid brewed from the roasted red beans of the coffee tree. Contains caffeine and other anti-grumpy chemicals.” Tracy said, grinning at me.

I grinned back. “Exactly what she said.”

“Kaldi” the servant standing behind me announced. “I’ll fetch some straight away.”

The middle-aged man next to Mirna spoke up. “Kaldi is expensive, even for a king. It must be imported from Aryssia, which lies on the other side of the Calmanian desert.”

I raised an eyebrow at him and looked him over. Unkempt brown hair hung around his ears and threatened to cover his green eyes. His goatee was threaded with silver and waxed to a point. “You are?”

“I am Magus Indred Formen Cansuil, and I’ll be your tutor if you actually possess the ability to work magic.”

“Oh, he can do magic alright,” Yvonne muttered around a mouthful of bread. “Lady Mirna nearly beat him with her stick.”

Paige elbowed Yvonne sharply. “You’re just jealous because you can’t do magic.”

“None of us can do magic.” Dinah chimed in. “We haven’t been taught yet.”

The magus cleared his throat. “Perhaps you can show me what you did last night?”

I held up my wrist. The bracelet was definitely tarnished. “I seem to have acquired a leash.” I said, staring at Mirna. She stared back, her face placid as a lake.

Waving a hand over my wrist, Magus Indred recovered the bracelet and examined it briefly before handing it to Mirna.

“Let’s see your trick.” He said with an irritating little smile.

Last night I used Neighon in the long-form ritual, but that spirit isn’t known in this world. The fact that anything at all occurred indicated that Neighon had enough power to manifest across worlds, which was research for another day. Xeis and Hastis seem to fulfill the role of Neighon, so instead of a single herald of the sky, we have a sky-father and his magic horse. I’ll just make a bit of a substitution.

Long form rituals only work because the caster imagines the rune work required for the magic. Short form is actually more physical work, requiring the ritual to be inscribed in an expensive spell book with expensive inks and bound with the leather of something that was probably really unhappy about parting with its hide.

You didn’t need an expensive spell book if you had a good imagination and memory, you could use charcoal and draw on the floor. You’d lose some of the material in the floor when the runes vaporised while channeling the power, but hey, as long as it’s not your floor, right?

I called up the runes in my mind. Since they tend to follow a similar structure across worlds, one can predict the shape of the rune with phonics. Just a little modification and I should have a working mystic lantern. I formed the circle in my mind, placed the runes in containment, and then filled it with belief. I’ve done this a million times inside my head. I’ve spent my entire life studying how other worlds work. I couldn’t feel any mystic power flowing from me, but everyone said that belief is the key. You have to believe in the spirits, believe in the effects, believe in yourself before anything will work.

Just because you’ve seen it work doesn’t matter. You need faith, and today I had oceans of faith.

“O Xeis, father of the sky, sweep the wings of Hastis and gather for me the golden light which fills your domain. Appear before me: Mystic Lantern!”

A blazing golden ball appeared in my palm. Something on the order of ten million candlepower burned across my retina before I could banish it. Crashing sounds and inventive curses filled my ears as I blinked away the glowing afterimage. I was only slightly worried that I had blinded myself. Surely they have healing magic, right?

“Will that do?” I deadpanned.

Indred leapt across the table and slapped me hard enough to rattle my teeth. “NEVER INVOKE BOTH ASPECTS!” he bellowed. “You damned idiot! You’re not a mage, you’re a hazard!”

He grabbed my left arm and forced another bracelet on it, this one golden. Muttering a few angry sounding words under his breath, he locked it on my wrist. I could feel the loss this time, the vampiric drain of some essence into my new leash.

“When the king is finished with this one, send him to my tower before he kills himself.”

The rest of breakfast passed awkwardly, but at least the coffee was good.