TBOS 1.2 The Man Who Fell

A stick prodded Geoffrey's ribs, finding a spot directly between the bones. The pain was sharp, quick, unexpected. He rolled over and snapped at whoever was poking him.
"Get up Geoffrey," said Campren.
"Leave me alone. I want to sleep."
"It's the morning and I'm hungry. We need to get food." Campren continued to poke him.
"Find some yourself." Geoffrey pulled his sweater over his head, blocking the sun and the blond kid's face.
"If I can't buy it at a store, I don't know if I could figure it out. Twinkies don't grow on trees."
Geoffrey pushed himself up. His mouth tasted dirty, simultaneously sharp and fuzzy. Campren may have been hungry, but he'd need to clean his teeth as soon as possible. If only his younger self could see him, stiff joints and in need of brushed teeth. Creature comforts; he was spoiled and had no desire of living without them. He had lived through so many unpleasant periods of history, he determined that he deserved such luxuries as modern plumbing, toothpaste with fluoride and electric toothbrushes.
"I packed up camp," said Campren. He motioned to the pathetic possessions, most notably Geoffrey's violin case.
Geoffrey bolted up and rushed to his violin. "What did you do?" he said, his voice low and angry, monotone and frightening.
"I…I just moved your case. I didn't touch it, just moved the case!"
"Good," said Geoffrey. He opened up the case, inspecting his violin. Sure enough, Campren had spoken the truth. "Let's go."
They forged through the forest, looking for food. More accurately, Geoffrey foraged while Campren alternately swatted at Bird and tried to find edible plants. He wasn't terribly good at either. He was moody, apparently still peeved with Geoffrey for yelling at him. When it came to searching for food, he half-heartedly looked. Bird swooped around his head, as though debating whether or not Campren's hair would make a good nest.
The forest was unlike any that Geoffrey had encountered. It was a strange hybrid, partially tropical rainforest, partially deciduous. Being unfamiliar with edible rainforest plants, he was very much at a loss. After several hours of searching, they had a handful of nuts, berries and some fiddleheads.
"There's got to be a town around here somewhere," said Campren.
"And if there is, what are we going to do? Beg for food? We don't have any money. No one's going to be inclined to give us food unless we find some very generous soul and I am not stealing anything, not even a loaf of bread. I want to go home, not rot in some prison."
"Good point," said Campren. He sat down under a large oak tree. He pulled a sheaf of papers out of his coat. He sung at the bird with his roll of papers and missed.
"What's that?" Geoffrey asked. He couched beside Campren. He set down the violin case to the great relief of his arm.
"Dunno. The guy who sent me here gave it to me." He passed Geoffrey the papers.
"What did he look like?"
Campren shrugged, his narrow shoulders dropping heavily. "Um, short. He had his hair in dreadlocks. Wore overalls."
"Mudd," said Geoffrey. He glowered.
Campren raised an eyebrow. He managed to look even more exhausted than the day before. "What?"
"Mudd's what he calls himself. He came to my office and fed me a line about needing to fix the Book of Stories and that he needed my help because I was a storyteller a long time ago."
"He chose me because he couldn't find some Sir Gelderland or something."
Geoffrey flipped through the pamphlet. It seemed to be a manual of sorts, a travel guide to the Book of Stories.
"Welcome to the Book of Stories!" he read aloud. "We hope you enjoy your stay. The Book of Stories contains many adventures for you and your friends. Here, you can fight pirates, rescue beautiful princesses and slay fearsome beasts."
The pamphlet's tone was patronizingly earnest. He could just imagine it being read by an over cheery actor or children's show without the slightest trace of irony.
Geoffrey continued, "In the Book of Stories, you could be a great hero."
"I'm not a hero," said Campren. The bird squawked in agreement.
"Neither am I," said Geoffrey.
"You're a history professor. Doesn't that make you something like Indiana Jones?"
"I wish. I'm more like Henry Jones, Sr. Minus the being a horrible parent bit. I don't have any kids."
"But you know how to build a fire and find food and live off the land and stuff. That's got to count for something," Campren thought, his long fingers tapping on his arm, his long face wrought in contemplation. "Were you a Boy Scout or something?"
Geoffrey laughed. He wished he could have met Baden-Powell and let him know that his little group would move from wilderness survival and espionage techniques to…commonplace and rather dull. "Or something. Never saw the point of Scouts."
He failed to find anything fun in teaching a bunch of urban pyromaniacs how to light fires. Everyone just wanted to play video games these days. Even his coworkers at the College did. Every Friday, the History Department would face the English Department in a military shooter game. Geoffrey had been suspended after complaining that there needed to be dogfights one too many times.
Campren raised a hand to hit the bird. "What else does the book say?"
"Where was I?"
"The hero bit."
"Right. You could  be a great hero. There will be a series of events to test your heroism. There will be six challenges and once you complete the sixth, you will be rewarded with the Key."
"The key to what?"
"I don't know, it doesn't say. Here, take a look." Geoffrey passed the pages to Campren.
"I wonder if its treasure," said Campren.
"Gold and ambergris and all the gems of Araby," said Geoffrey. He wouldn't have to work. He could go on that trek through Europe he and Julia had talked about for years. Julia. Did she even know he was missing? Did any of his students care that he vanished? Probably not—it meant their papers were indefinitely postponed.
"Does it say what the first challenge is?" asked Geoffrey. He ate a couple of wild blueberries.
Campren shook his head. "Only that there is one. I hope it already passed. I'm not good with challenges."
His drawl began to grate on Geoffrey's nerves.

The two continued their wandering through the strange semi-tropical forest. After a few hours, they stopped for a few minutes rest. Geoffrey tuned his violin, anxious to play it, if only for a few minutes.
Campren kept watch. Every now and then, he would tense up, either from an unexpected noise, or Bird flying at his head again.
He rose, and slipped across the clearing. His eyes widened and his voice fell to a hoarse whisper. "Geoffrey? Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?" Geoffrey picked at the violin's strings, strumming out a jangling melody.
"There's something out there."
"Of course there is. We're in a forest in an old story book. There's always something in the forest. Could be a fawn, a werewolf or Robin Goodfellow. My money's on the latter."
Campren gulped. "Werewolf?"
Geoffrey didn't look up. "I haven't seen any. It's probably nothing to worry about."
A delicate girl stepped into their clearing. Campren shrieked at seeing her shadow. He relaxed, noticing that she was about thirteen. She wore a shift dress, and seemed to glow with moonbeams, despite it being afternoon. She looked at them with wide eyes. "Are you Gardevier, Hero of Vendersia?" she asked.
"No, I'm Geoffrey of Boston and this is Campren of..." He looked at Campren.
"South Carolina."
"Are you Gardevier, Hero of Vendersia?" she repeated.
"No," said Campren.
This scene repeated itself for a few minutes until Campren said, "Yes."
"Gardevier, I come from the Faerie Queen. She requests your presence at her Court," said the girl.
Campren's eyes met Geoffrey's. He nodded enthusiastically while the elder man shook his head with the same vigor. "Should we go?"
Geoffrey had no desire whatsoever to follow a creepy girl who claimed to be on a mission from the Faerie Queen. The thought never appealed to him, even back when it was common knowledge that faeries roamed the Earth. These days, he didn't believe it, and most definitely did not want to find out for himself. Before he could protest, Campren said, "Okay."
"Are you crazy?" Geoffrey said. "We don't know anything about this whole situation!"
The girl ignored him and said, "First you must purify your hearts."
"Purify my heart?" Geoffrey's mouth fell open. "Purify my heart? I'd like to take a shower and purify my body, thank you very much." He had spent years as a holy man, and she wanted him to purify his heart? He shook his head in disbelief. At this point, he was only concerned with two things: a hot shower and a one-way ticket back to his Brookline home.
"The Faerie Queen has requested your presence."
"I'm not going to visit the bloody Faerie Queen. I want to go home." Geoffrey planted his feet firmly.
"The Faerie Queen has requested your presence." Her inflection did not change. It was like talking to a broken record.
Geoffrey turned to Campren. The blond kid shrugged, his rolling shoulders receding like the tide leaving the shore.
"This is ridiculous," Geoffrey said. He crossed his arms.
"What, you aren't coming?" asked Campren.
Geoffrey shook his head in a slow, steady motion. "No."
"Why not?"
Geoffrey dropped his voice to a whisper, so the strange, unmoving child would not hear. "I have a bad feeling about this."
"I have just the opposite. I think this is the challenge, Geoffrey. I think whatever it is the pamphlet says I need to do to get the Key is hidden with the Faerie Queen. The name the girl used is the same name that Mudd called me before I ended up here. I think I'm supposed to do this, I'm supposed to be this hero guy. Or at least be like him, I dunno." Campren ended this wit a curt nod. This was the most decisive Geoffrey had seen him.
"This is where we split up, then. You take the high road, and I'll take the low road."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Campren blinked, confused.
"Nothing, just an old song. Best of luck to you." Geoffrey extended his hand. Campren shook it.
"Yeah, you too." The momentary certainty faded, and Campren looked as nervous as ever before.
"The Faerie Queen will see you now, for your heart is pure and good, and not your friend, for he is bitter and unprepared," said the girl. She took Campren by the hand and the two walked away.  Campren turned and waved good bye. Their outlines flickered, smudged, blurred, like drops of water into a pool . Geoffrey sneezed. When he opened his eyes again, they were gone.
Alone. Geoffrey sighed. He packed away the violin and continued walking through the forest. Bitter and unprepared? Hah. He didn't need an instruction manual. He could figure it out on his own. He was in charge of his own fate. Some quest in a book some dreadlocked kid sent him on didn't tell him otherwise. He was his own man. He didn't need challenges or Keys.
Geoffrey walked for a few more hours. He reached a wide, open space far too similar to where he and Campren camped the night before. There was the stone foundation, and the ashes of yesterday's fire. He sighed and turned to the forest, gathering more firewood. He had to go deeper into the underbrush than he did the day before. At least he would have a little light.
He rebuilt the fire, lighting it with the lighter he found in his pocket. He hadn't returned it. He hoped Campren didn't need it.
As he staved off hunger by playing his violin, he thought. He was stuck here, wherever here was, with no point or purpose. He might was well search for the Key, even if he thought quests were a bit ridiculous. Maybe it would help him get home.
Geoffrey stuck his hand into his back pocket. It was empty. He could have sworn his wallet had been there yesterday, even up to a couple of hours ago. The little thief. He hadn't seen the last of him, that was for sure.