Skye is the Limit by Phenomenal Pen (best time to read books txt) 📕

“NOOOOOOO!” Blacksmith screamed. That was only one of the many horrible sounds they heard as they were attacked with rapiers and maces.

Then silence.  

****

Blacksmith opened his eyes. They were on the rolling hills. He blinked. Mage was in front of him, safe and sound. He looked around and saw everyone else in various stages of waking. Everyone was accounted for. Everyone except Fairy.

Elf groaned. “Where are we?”

“Back at the starting point,” Blacksmith answered.

“You mean we’ve been here before?” she asked.

“Uh-huh.”

“It does seem familiar,” Warrior said uncertainly.

“How many times have we been here?” asked Ranger.

Blacksmith looked unsure so Mage answered instead of him: “Only once. This is our second time.”

“How many times do we need to keep doing this?”

“As many times as it takes,” Mage said, “till we reach a Save Point or complete the mission.”

“Or run out of time on the clock,” Warrior added.

“How much time do we have left?” Ranger asked Mage.

“It has now been 2 hours 37 minutes and 15 seconds inside SKYE, out of a maximum of 6 hours.”

“Close to half,” Ranger said thoughtfully. “Didn’t you say you had a map, Blacksmith? Let’s see it.”

“Right.”

Blacksmith dug into and groped around inside his satchel, which looked small outside but had incredibly vast space inside. They all heard a great deal of clinking and jangling because in their previous incarnation(!) Blacksmith had gathered the gold coins that they earned in the forest fight by placing the satchel’s mouth near them. The satchel sucked every last piece of coin like a magic vacuum cleaner, but the gold added neither bulk nor weight to the satchel.

At present, with a jubilant cry, Blacksmith took out a yellowed roll of parchment. They spread it out on the grass and placed stones on its corners to hold it in place.

The words were in some incomprehensible runic language but the drawings of hills and trees were universally understood. And if those weren’t enough, there was a 3-D scarlet tag floating like an upside-down teardrop perpendicular to the map. The tag said “YOU ARE HERE” and because it wasn’t part of the map, the Dreamwalkers actually looked up half-expecting to find some monster sign floating next to them. Fortunately, the tag confined itself on paper.     

“There’s no going around the forest,” Ranger said, skimming the tip of his index finger across the map.

As he did so, small labels appeared after his finger, indicating routes, distance, estimated travel time on either foot or horseback, terrain, ascent and so on. Taken aback, Ranger removed his finger as though burned. He had vague visions of futuristic handheld GPS devices but this was another thing entirely.

What sorcery is this? a gruff voice echoed in his head like déjà vu.

He cleared his throat and continued: “Past the forest, we turn northeast and continue to the Orc Mother’s Nest to rescue Fairy.”

He tapped the drawing and its runic label. A handy translation in familiar English (this time only 2-D text) appeared like ink blots and superseded the original writing. Ranger read aloud:

“Orc Mother’s Nest. Home to 100 Orc Slaves, 150 Orc Warriors, 5 Orc Drones, 2 Orc Princesses and 1 Queen. The Orcs delve deep underground and fashion their weapons of war amidst the boiling lava. They also domesticate magnificent flying reptiles called Nidhoggrs, which inhabit the bowels of the earth. Unwitting trespassers will likely never see the light of day again.”      

“Um, guys,” Warrior said, “I know we’re supposed to complete the quest and all but that sounds like Mission Impossible.”

Ranger dismissed the comment and set his eyes and finger on the mansion of Atom the Creator, in the far north. The ephemeral labels indicated 513 MILES AS THE CROW FLIES. 17 DAYS ON HORSEBACK, and that was excluding rest days, bad weather and terrain.

“On foot, our speed will be cut by half,” Ranger said to himself. “It is impossible.”

“That’s why we have Save Points,” Blacksmith pitched in, tracing his index finger from a northern exit of the forest. As he dragged his finger along the way to the Orc Mother’s Nest, a 3-D yellow shuriken of a star lit up on the map. Near it was the drawing of a wayside inn.

“Once we pass this spot, if anything happens to us, we respawn at this checkpoint and not come back all the way here on the rolling hills.”

“Even if we did manage to get to this Save Point,” Ranger argued, “it would still be, what, 350 miles to Heliopolis.”

“No, we rescue Fairy, remember?” Blacksmith corrected his trail. “From Orc Mother’s Nest, it’s actually about 400 miles.”  

“So? What are you trying to prove?”

“Nidhoggrs,” Blacksmith said rather impatiently, as though his point was obvious. “Dragons. We steal some and ride them to Heliopolis.”