Darius Cunningham had made one wrong turn too many.
He wasn't sure what had possessed those officers to pick a school as a meeting place when taking bribes from local criminals, but they apparently didn't have the patience to wait until all the teachers had gone home before doing it. He had seen them, and they had seen him. He knew his life was forfeit if they caught him, though a twenty-year-old station wagon with its faux-wood side panels peeling off from the front was hardly the type of vehicle he would have chosen had he known he was going to have to make a fast getaway. He almost hadn't made it that far--his left knee, which he had injured twenty years ago during his first and only collegiate football game, reminded him why he hadn't done any running since then by nearly giving out on him at several points. Luckily, the wagon was an automatic, so he wouldn't have to use a clutch.
Bullets made holes in his windows as Darius fled. He had two police SUVs on his tail. The officers riding shotgun tried to ventilate his body while the drivers used the vehicles as weapons. Only the fact that the road was bumpier than Darius' last marriage kept him alive, by throwing off his foes' aim, and the fact that every few minutes a semi truck would appear on the other side kept them from trying a PIT maneuver. Eventually, one of them got the bright idea to take to the ditch and shoot out his right-side tires. Darius lost control of the car. Whether by accident or design, he went off the road just before the beginning of a bridge, and found himself doing a nose-dive into a rocky ravine.
The next thing he knew, he was underwater. His leg didn't hurt anymore, but his lungs burned with the need for air. He kicked for the surface and gasped as he broke through. A thunderstorm raged overhead as Darius tread water. Both banks were lined with trees, and he passed a stone bridge as the current carried him downstream. His current situation made no sense--he was hundreds of miles from any rivers that were more than waist deep in a good year. He saw a tree that had fallen across the river, reached up and grabbed it. With this for a handhold, he pulled himself to the nearer bank and crawled out. He found a large, hollow log and crawled inside to be out of the rain, then surrendered to something that wasn't quite unconsciousness, but didn't seem like wakefulness either.
In this strange, in-between state, he dreamed he was taking instruction in martial arts from Laurence Fishburne, who couldn't decide whether to dress as Morpheus or Mace Windu, and so had worn an outfit containing elements of both characters. Decades of instruction in seemingly everything from ninja and other martial-arts fighting to Navy SEAL unarmed combat ran through his mind as he lay there in the log, feeling as though his face had scarabs crawling around inside but unable to move or do anything about it. Along with martial-arts instruction came economic and linguistic lessons.
Volition finally returned just as the storm abated. He crawled out of the log feeling somehow energized. He felt like a whole new man.
Maybe I am, he thought, looking down at himself. Darius Cunningham had been over six feet in height since he was fifteen, with skin the color of dark chocolate and the muscles of a body builder, except for the legs, despite his age. Now, his skin was much lighter in color, though not white, and he could tell he was shorter. His muscles were powerful, but without a lot of bulk to slow him down. He moved experimentally, grabbing two walnuts out of a tree faster than a striking snake. He ran through a martial-arts warm-up routine, and laughed, until a long, black braid swung into view. He found a still puddle and looked down at his reflection. The face that stared back at him was of mixed Arab and Asian descent. He walked to the river, trying to get his bearings in more ways than one. The anvil of the thunderstorm rumbled off to his right, downriver, and a brisk wind was clearing the skies above. His eyes widened as he beheld the moons.
Moons, plural.
There was a tiny, unblemished white orb hanging in the sky like a ping-pong ball in front of a scarred, black giant with clearly-visible ice caps. In front of him, closer to the horizon, was a gray medium-sized one with crater patterns that reminded him of a kung-fu werewolf.
"Something tells me I'm not in Kansas anymore," he muttered.
"You've never been to Kansas," a voice responded. Darius whirled, and found himself face-to-face with the man from his--dream? "No, it was not a dream."
"Who are you?" Darius asked.
"We don't have names as you know them," a female voice said. A second being appeared without fanfare, smoke and mirrors, flashing lights or even sound. Darius remembered seeing her on the Internet--some J-pop idol or other, cute in a barely-legal kind of way. "Or bodies, for that matter. We borrowed these forms from your subconscious mind. The Preceptor can be as dry as burnt toast." She held out her hands, and a beaten leather pack appeared in them. This she gave to Darius. Inside, he found two changes of clothes, two katanas, one long and one short, and several easily-concealed throwing and hand weapons. The first change of clothes was ordinary, if Medieval: homespun tunic and trousers, brown leather boots, a boiled-leather vest, and a belt. The other was a black outfit closely tailored to fit his body, a black, knitted mask that left only his eyes visible, and dark boots. There was also a set of tools he had never seen before outside of that odd training, a reversible cloak that was black on one side and brown on the other, a waterskin, and a pouch with two dozen copper coins, four of them were twice the size of the rest, and a small silver piece.
"To keep things short, we will say that your essence, what Man chooses to designate 'soul,' the metaphysical pattern which differentiates sentient beings from mindless animals, has been transferred from your home experiment to this one and placed in a new body. You were chosen because you will do what is needed of your own free will, without us having to assign it to you as a mission,'" the Preceptor said. "It is better that way, for us and for you."
"Did you have to dunk me in the river?" Darius asked.
"That was where the body we chose for you was," the girl said. "It was relatively undamaged, hadn't been vacant long and works with your new skill set. We made some modifications while Preceptor was training you, but it was easier to start with something that was close to what we wanted already."
"Can I see my home star from here?" Darius asked as he put on the more ordinary clothing. He secreted the weapons into various places on his person, put the swords on his belt and the "ninja" clothes in the pack. He strapped the pack onto his back and put the cloak on over it. He found that there was a hidden pocket inside the leather vest, and put the silver coin and all but one of the larger copper pieces there.
"I'm afraid not," the Preceptor said. "You're not even in the same universe anymore. Magic is more plentiful and stable here than where you're from, because this universe is closer to the Wellspring. In case you're curious, there are other universes even closer, where magic can be as solid as stone."
"That's cool," Darius said. "Hey, where'd the girl go?" At some point, the being in the J-pop idol disguise had vanished without Darius noticing.
"Well, you can't expect her to hang around all day, can you?" the Preceptor asked. "You will find your way. The Bookseller will aid you when you need." With that, he vanished. Darius sighed and walked to the river. After taking a drink and filling his waterskin, he decided to head upstream. An hour later, he froze, staring in wonder as he caught sight of three dragons flying high overhead in the moonlight. The leader carried something in each of its forelegs, though at this distance it was hard to tell what. It was red with an orange underbelly, and its wings were striped with red and yellow. The second appeared to be a larger, bronze-colored dragon with gleaming tusks and a row of spines down its back which Darius could see even from here. The third was a blue dragon with sky-blue beneath to help it blend against the sky on fair days. Its body was tiny compared to its wings, and it seemed to soar with very little effort. It was a majestic sight, and Darius felt enriched by the experience.
He reached a bridge just before dawn, and the road served by this bridge provided a break in the trees through which he could watch the sun rise. He decided he didn't want to walk with the sun in his eyes all morning, so he turned west and crossed the bridge. He needn't have worried, however; the trees soon surrounded the road again and shaded it.
He heard someone moving in the woods nearby and put his hand at the hilt of the longer sword. The presence shadowed him for a quarter hour before Darius decided to have some fun. He slipped into the woods and got some brush between himself and his pursuer. He crept back a little way down the road. Two arrows whistled into the trees, and he knew the other was trying to flush him out. He picked up a rock and threw it, and it thudded near where the arrows had gone in. A sunburned man, built as Darius had been in his youth, crossed the road and started examining the ground. Darius circled around behind him, moving silently as the man followed Darius' tracks in the soil. He cut the thong which secured the man's pouch to his belt and quietly concealed the pouch before vanishing into the trees again. He found a tree he could climb quietly, and did so, taking an aerial view of the situation. The man was working alone as far as Darius could tell, and seemed perplexed by the circular trail. Darius jumped out of the tree as his quarry approached the bottom, landing on a broad pair of shoulders. The man went down, and the air went out of his lungs.
"Morning," Darius said. "Thanks for breaking my fall for me." He rolled off and grabbed a handful of wild blueberries from nearby, eating them nonchalantly as his foe rose to his feet.
"I'll break your neck for that!" his foe growled.
"For a brigand, you're not very good."
"Don't be like that," the brigand said. "Just hand over all your money, and nobody has to get hurt." Darius grinned and tossed the brigand the stolen pouch. "There, that's more like it!" the man said, pleased. Then he noticed the cut thong on his belt where his pouch used to be, and his heavy brows knit together. His eyes glared at Darius, and he was no longer pleased in the slightest. "You think you're clever, do ya?" The brigand drew a dagger with a twelve-inch blade, and Darius drew the shorter of his two swords. He dodged his foe's first blow and cut a rip in the man's right sleeve. "Oi!"
"You thought I was an easy mark because I'm small, didn't you?" Darius asked.
"Dodge this!" his foe roared, lashing out with his dagger again. Darius dodged to the other side this time, slicing the man's other sleeve and making a bloody cut in his bicep. While his foe was distracted by that, he went from the center and slit the tunic open down the front, also making another shallow cut just to the left of his navel. "What the hells?" He looked up at Darius, who had now drawn a dagger from his boot and was holding it in his left hand. The man let his pouch and dagger drop from his hands. "Damn ME!" he grumbled.
"Drop the bow and arrows," Darius ordered. The man obeyed. Darius backed him up against a tree and made him kick off his boots. He removed the laces and tied the man's hands together over a branch. He'd be able to get out of it, but it would take some time. Darius sheathed his blades, picked up the bow and arrows and took his leave, moving at a brisk jog down the road.
The bow was a longbow, very much like the Welsh longbow that was called the sniper rifle of Medieval times. He shot a couple of rabbits for practice, and picked up the bodies, cutting the arrows out with one of his knives. He continued his jog, carrying the dead rabbits in his hands, until he came across a mushroom patch. He knew that these were walnut mushrooms, a native fungus prized for its pleasant texture and nutty flavor. The stems were as wide as they were tall, and the caps were a good four inches in diameter. Laughing to himself, he picked the whole patch, save two, and put them in his bag. He also found some wild vegetables, though he avoided the more aromatic ones like wild onions. Seeing that the sun was going down, he started a fire, then skinned and cleaned his rabbits, stuffing them with mushrooms and wild vegetables, and using the arrows he'd killed them with to pin them closed and hold them in place. Fat dripped into the fire as the rabbits cooked. He put one of his mushrooms on a stick and roasted it whole, and ate it as a snack while he waited.
Once he'd finished his dinner of roasted stuffed rabbit, Darius banked his fire and curled up to sleep. He slept lightly, knowing that this wasn't his safe home in another world. This wasn't even an inn in a relatively civilized town. His sleep was undisturbed, however, and he put his fire out at dawn and resumed the road.
It was late on the second day he reached the town. There were two inns, a livery stable, a tanner, a dry goods store and a caravansary. There were two sets of stocks in the center of town. A man hung from a tree at the town limits. A sign hung around the man's ankle with a crudely-drawn picture of a horse. He walked into the tanner's and sold his two rabbit skins for a large copper each--and that because he had skinned the animals deftly, instead of "hacking them up like a lot of the ham-fisted broadsword-slingers around here," as the tanner readily complained. Darius took his earnings to the inn, and negotiated a price for lodging, then another price for some of the mushrooms in his bag, which made him a small silver piece richer than he'd been when he walked in. The innkeeper sent his son to change the bedding in Darius' room.
"Warm winter means lots of bugs, which is bad enough, but the bugs bring spiders, and we got some nasty ones around here. You check your boots before you put 'em back on, hear?"
"I will," Darius said. "Thank you." The innkeeper grunted once, then took almost a third of Darius' mushrooms into the back, which brought a feminine exclamation of delight from the other side of the swinging doors.
"Sounds like you made someone happy, eh, mate?" someone commented, accompanied by the laughter of his fellows.
"Good," Darius said, "there's little enough joy in the world that doesn't come at the expense of someone else."