Tabitha Truepenny stood before a pool a dozen feet across, the waters silver as elemental mercury. Teal, magenta, and violet of the Northern Lights reflected from its calm surface in swirling, dancing patterns. A gentle breeze swept over the Zen Family Estate nestled in the hills outside of Kyoto, Japan, the mild winter air cool against her cheeks. She wore sturdy clothing – denim and flannel and fleece – in drab shades so unlike her usual vibrant hues. Hiking boots replaced more stylish footwear, and a leather cord tied back locks of blonde hair accustomed to hanging in naturally flowing tresses. Over her back was slung a crossbody bag, a heavy nylon sack with just enough room for the gear she would need to begin her journey.
“You are ready, Miss Truepenny,” Mr. Zen said. He hovered, suspended over the mercurial pool by strange mystical forces Tabby had never been able to identify. Magic, certainly, but its origin and type eluded her, and she had seen none other use it. It seemed the province and purview of Zen Kajiro alone.
His words were less a question and more a command. It was time to enter the pool, to begin her adventure.
“I-” She began to speak, but her voice hitched, the words catching in her throat. Fear seized her, and she suddenly wanted nothing more than to turn and flee, run back to Paragon City, to her cousins, to her friends, to her life half a world away. For the briefest, barest of moments, the desire had her in its gasp, tugging at her, pulling her back to Rhode Island.
To what? she asked, and a voice answered, a sound that made Tabby gasp, her eyes flying wide.
To me, darling Tabitha, right where you belong. The voice dripped with want, with a deep, lustful need, with hunger. It sent a spark of sensation, of excitement defiled by horror, coursing up her spine, down her limbs, and Tabby lurched forward, toward the pool, determined now more than ever to see this through.
“I am,” she said, and without waiting for her mentor’s response, she waded in, the frigid water clinging to her, freezing her feet, her calves, her thighs.
Mr. Zen spoke, but unlike the Enochian tongue used by so many in the arcane community, the language was lost to time, and to those who lived within its bounds. The water juddered, a deep thrum rising from below its surface, then it churned, roiling around her. The fear returned, ice colder than the water wrapping its fingers around her heart, her lungs, her thoughts, but before she could release the scream building in her throat, a violent force yanked her underneath the whirlpool surface and into unexpected depths.
Into darkness.
There are an infinite number of moments between any two points in time, Mr Zen’s voice echoed in her mind. She remembered that lesson, one of her earliest from her childhood, and she felt this more keenly in the darkness than she ever had before. Time passed and it did not. She fell and she did not. Memories came and went as visions, both vivid and blurred, distant and only a stone’s throw away. Each one simultaneously bound her to this stark, featureless void and dragged her further downward into the unknown.
NEVEREALM, DAY 1
I woke laying on a bed of moss near a lake. I have no idea how long I was unconscious or asleep, but my clothes were dry, except for a couple damp patches where water pooled under me. The day began warm and grew warmer as the sun rose. By noon, I’d stripped off my flannel shirt, leaving me in a sweat-soaked chamise.
I found my pack only a short distance away. Some of the items in the outer pockets went missing sometime between Kyoto and this unexplored realm, but nothing too crucial. I packed everything with an eye toward redundancy, just like my Uncle Dave always taught me. Mr. Zen instructed me in the ways of magic, swordcraft, and philosophy. Uncle Dave gave me every other tool I needed to survive, and each minute I’m here, I find myself more of the notion that I’ll need his imparted knowledge as much as that of my mentor.
(For the record, I just reread those last two paragraphs. I don’t sound like that when I talk, do I?)
“The first thing to consider in a survival situation is where you’re gonna park your butt,” Uncle Dave would say, only he didn’t use the word butt.
Shelter. Food. Water. Those are the primal needs. Water is taken care of, thanks to the huge lake I’ve dubbed Lake Michaels. Ana would like that, I think. My pack contains enough MREs to keep me alive for a week while I get settled. I just need a place to stay.
Time to go chop wood.