War of the Portal Chapter 1

 

Chapter 1

It was Simon’s day off. All he wanted to do was buy a couple packs of his favorite card game at the game store, maybe draft a few games and hang out with his friends. Sure, it was weird for a tenured professor in the field of medieval linguistics and culture to be playing a trading card game, but he enjoyed it and did his best to connect with the twenty-somethings in his local game store. He had built the ultimate blue-green ramp deck the other day and wanted to try it.

Before heading to the shop, he decided to check out Times Square. Christmas 2015 was in full swing. The Rockefeller tree had been put up. Snow drifted peacefully to the streets. The place was as crowded with tourists as it always was.

Hands in pocket, Simon began reciting a lay in middle English. It was a pastime he had a habit of playing around with. After all, he had written his thesis on Beowulf.

The crowd flowed around him. Watching the advertising screens above him, he wondered if he was going to have the time to return to his family back in Wisconsin. Flights weren’t cheap this time of year and he didn’t know if he would make it through a ten hour drive.

Something felt wrong. The energy of the crowded tourist landmark changed. The air suddenly became crisp. It was as if the whole world had held its breath.

Four columns in the classic Greek style appeared out of shimmering light. A roof, comparable to the Parthenon, materialized on top. Something monstrous roared. Dragons—real dragons—spilled out of the opening, ridden by warriors in medieval armor.

A column of calvary marched out from beneath thew dragons.

“His elf sumti!” yelled the man wearing the most ornate hat. He held forth a sword of incredible craftsmanship.

The square panicked. Hundreds of people turned away from the invaders and fled. The horsemen galloped across the street, striking down the fleeing citizens and tourists.

There were hundreds of horsemen and at least two dozen dragons. The dragons set fire to the advertising boards and raked their claws through the windows of the skyscrapers.

Simon backed up slowly, unsure if he should take his eyes off the invaders.

A young woman stumbled and fell, crashing to the ground. A horseman headed straight for her, ready to trample her into the concrete.

Simon dashed for the woman and picked her up with the power of adrenaline. He sprinted away, carrying her, and turned into an alleyway where a dozen people were hiding.

“Move, move,” he shouted.

He let go of the girl. She was in hysterics, and couldn’t communicate.

Simon turned back towards the melee behind him. It was chaos. The dragons brought their fire breath weapons against the people who were unlucky or stupid enough to still be out in the open. Blood coated the square.

Simon decided that something needed to be done. He rushed out of the alleyway and into the center of the square. Two dozen horsemen turned to watch him.

Simon held out his hands. “Stop!” he yelled. “Please stop!”

The horsemen laughed in a way that felt foreign. They pointed their swords at Simon and began trotting towards him.

Simon held his ground. The horsemen began to circle him. They pointed their swords and continued to laugh. “Wis come it ta cursis?” said the one who appeared to be the leader.

Where is the military? Thought Simon, still holding out his hands.

A deep root took shelter in his mind. His knowledge of middle English history, his many thesis on the government of feudal France, his knowledge of the Hundred Years War.

He understood their language in a flash of inspiration.

“The otherworlder is a dunce,” said the captain. “He does not believe we shall kill him. For sure, he is merely a servant of the giants who built these glass towers.”

“I’m an American,” said Simon. “I don’t want trouble. If you go back peacefully to where you came from we will not have to kill you.”

Simon thought he heard helicopters. He just needed to hold them off for another minute. This understanding of their language was a godsend and he was not about to let it go to waste.

The captain pointed his sword at Simon. “Where are the giants?” he said. “We have come to defeat them, not their slaves.”

“There are no giants!” said Simon. “These are …” He recognized a hole in their language. “Skyscrapers,” he said, in English.

“Skyfrater?” said the captain. “What kind of childish babble is that?”

The helicopters were definitely coming. Their drone was now audible.

A dozen patrol cars swerved into the square. Cops got out and pointed their weapons.

One of the cops waved to Simon.

Simon gave them a thumbs-up sign.

“We have you surrounded,” said Simon. “Just give up. You don’t know what you’re dealing with. Please return to where you came from.”

“Hah!” said the captain. “The coward is trying to negotiate. We shall not stand to be lectured by a mere slave.”

The helicopters arrived. All at once six dragons ate the full brunt of a helicopter-mounted chaingun. The policemen also opened fire.

The hail of bullets chewed through the horsemen and dragon riders like through cheese. Their iron and steel armor were nothing against a fifty caliber machine gun and rockets.

The battle was over in five minutes. For the entire time Simon was rooted to the ground.

More police cars and fire trucks arrived. Police surrounded Simon.

Simon collapsed to the ground, fainting.

He woke up in a hospital bed. A nurse was standing in the corner of the room, holding a clipboard.

“What happened?” said Simon.

“Hum?” said the nurse. “I don’t understand you.”

Simon realized he was still speaking the language of the invaders. “I’m sorry. I was asking what happened.”

“You’re a hero,” said the nurse. “You stopped the invasion and saved countless lives.”

“Me? A hero?” said Simon. “How is that possible?”

“Who knows?” said the nurse. “Somehow you were able to communicate with them, and you managed to keep them from spreading out of Times Square.”

Simon’s colleague, Dr. Mason Jonson, entered the room followed by two military men and a doctor.

The military man extended his hand. “Major Dennis Elmore,” he said.

Simon shook his hand and was startled by the strength of the man’s grip.

“You’re a hero,” said Dennis. “We have footage of you singlehandedly stalling the invasion until the military could arrive.”

“It was only five minutes,” said Simon.

“We looked into your background. You are one of the premier researchers into medieval cultures in America.”

“Why does that matter?” said Simon.

“The world behind the portal, through which the invaders came, is medieval. We’ve sent scouts through the portal and they’ve brought back enough information for us to understand what we’re dealing with.” Dennis cleared his throat. “This is a portal to a real life fantasy world. And, for some reason, you are the only one who knows their language.”

“Well, I’ve studied a number of medieval languages, and they all just came together in my head when I was faced with those horsemen.”

“And that’s why we need you,” said Dennis. “We’ve sealed the gate with an emergency lockdown module. In two weeks we will be commencing a full-scale incursion into this place. You understand their language. We have interviewed every other person who came into contact with them and you’re the only one who can speak their language.”

“It just came to me,” said Simon. “I don’t know what I did.”

“Well, whatever it was, it will be of huge service to us during our eventual incursion.” Dennis’s phone rang. He sighed. “Looks like there are already protestors around the portal.” He took the call and left the room.

Mason looked a bit awkward. “They say you’re a hero,” he said.

“I heard,” Simon said.

“And I believe them,” said Mason. “You’ve always been brave. You had to have been to advance your theories on France’s golden period.”

“Well, I suppose so,” said Simon. He stood up from his bed. “I think I’m fine. I need to get home.”

“You live alone, right?” said Mason.

“I just need to lay my head somewhere that isn’t a hospital.”

Dennis came back into the room. “Looks like we’re in need of you already,” he said. “We’ve captured a living invader and we need a translator.”

Simon sighed. No sleep for him. “Okay,” he said. “I can’t refuse, can I?”

“You’ve been designated a beneficial asset by the military. You have no choice in this matter. You could protest, but the amount of effort that would take wouldn’t be worth it.”

Simon shrugged. “I suppose I’ll take this opportunity to spread knowledge about the usefulness of medieval scholarship.”

“Good attitude,” said Dennis. “We have a jeep waiting outside.”

Simon left the room with Dennis and Mason.

Mason had his hands in his pockets as he followed Simon and Dennis.

“Why are you here?” said Simon. “Did they rope you into this as well?”

“Yep,” said Mason.

Mason’s specialty was medieval metallurgy. He had advanced several prominent theories on the formation of bloom iron into implements.

The three of them left the hospital. Dennis saluted the jeep driver and got in. Simon and Mason climbed into the back.

Dennis looked into the backseat from his position beside the driver. “Dr. Jonson,” he said, “I want you to transcribe everything Dr. Bell translates during the interrogation.”

Bell was Simon’s last name. Dr. Simon Bell.

Simon was just glad that his degree was finally being recognized as useful.

They left Manhattan and headed to Fort Hamilton. Once they got there, they unloaded and were led into a nondescript concrete building.

In one of the rooms, a bloodied and bound soldier from beyond the portal was tied up.

“You bastards,” he said. “Where are the giants?”

“There are no giants,” Simon said.

Both Dennis and Mason turned their heads in surprise.

“I was doubtful,” said Mason, “But you really seem to understand him.”

Simon rubbed the back of his head. “I don’t know how it works. Language acquisition isn’t supposed to happen like this. It’s like magic.”

“You understand me, heathen?” said the soldier.

“What is your name?” Simon said.

“Brith,” said the soldier.

Simon was at a loss about what to say. Thankfully, Major Dennis stepped in.

“Translate this,” he said. “We do not want to harm you. Cooperate and you shall be taken home.”

Simon translated.

Brith spat. “You are heathens. I shall not believe you. Take me to the giants.”

“Again, there are no giants,” said Simon.

“What is he saying?” said Dennis.

“He keeps asking about giants,” said Simon. “He appears to think that they built all the tall buildings.”

“Tell him that it’s all human engineering.”

Simon translated.

Brith looked shocked. “It cannot be,” he said.

“Now ask him about his political affiliation,” said Dennis.

Simon translated.

“I am a vassal of Lord Gywimire,” said Brith. “And I am proud of it. You are nothing more than a peasant beneath his stride.”

Simon noticed that Brith used an euphemism that was untranslatable, something about goats and their milk. He shook his head.

“We do not want to harm you,” he said.

Brith spat again.

“Tell him that we are losing patience,” said Dennis. “And ask him why they attacked us.”

Brith sighed as Simon translated.

“We are conquerors,” said Brith. “We conquer. That is what we do. No less a world beyond the sacred hill.”

Simon translated.

Dennis rubbed his chin. “Ask him if his king or lord is friendly.”

Simon translated.

“Our lord will crush you,” said Brith. “You shall all be put beneath his foot.”

Simon translated, leaving out another strange aphorism.

Dennis shook his head. “Okay,” he said. He turned around. “That is all I have to say.”

He looked at me. “Try and figure him out while I call our analysts.”

He left the room, leaving me and Mason inside with the otherworlder.