Roadtrip

With a jolt, the old Golf rolled out onto the King’s Road, dust swirling up as the towers of the elven city slowly disappeared behind them.

The tires bumped over the uneven pavement, shot through with roots and riddled with holes.

The steering wheel buzzed faintly in Gus’s hands while outside, forests, gentle hills, and scattered farmsteads slid past.

Marcus pulled out his vape, furrowing his brow as he unscrewed the tiny tank window and held the bottle against it.

“Damn gremlins! They smoked nearly everything dry!” He turned the bottle in his hand, inspecting it. “At least I’ve still got half a bottle of cheesecake liquid left.”

He carefully dripped a few milliliters inside, inhaled deeply, and the sweet, heavy vapor instantly filled the car.

Caeriel squinted, waving a hand in front of her nose.

“What… by the gods… is that, and why does it smell like pastries?”

Marcus grinned, holding up the vape like a treasure. “This, Lady Caeriel, is a cheesecake you can smoke. Want a try?”

“No thank you, I’ll pass!” She pressed her lips together, then muttered under her breath: “…But now I feel like cake...”

After a few puffs, Marcus leaned forward and turned the radio dial.

Only static and crackle.

“Damn, too bad.”

“What did you expect?” Gus laughed. “The Elven Billboard Charts? There are no radio stations out here!”

With one hand, he opened the glove compartment and pulled out a pouch stuffed with scratched, scribbled-on CDs, handing it back to Marcus.

“Here, pick something.”

Marcus eagerly flipped through, chose one, slid it in, and after a short crackle, the first guitar riffs blasted through the car.

Caeriel sat bolt upright in the passenger seat, ears twitching, as her eyes followed every movement with more curiosity than suspicion, as if she were fascinated by all this strange technology.

“A machine… that makes music?” she whispered, barely audible.

Gus drummed along on the steering wheel, Marcus stuck his arm out the window, letting the wind rush between his fingers.

The sun stood high and shone bright through the windshield, and eventually, as if by accident, Caeriel reached into her pouch and felt the sunglasses Gus had once shown her.

She glanced around furtively, making sure no one was watching, then slowly lifted the shades and slipped them onto her nose.

And finally, as the bass grew louder and the melody more infectious, she began to nod her head ever so slightly to the rhythm.

Marcus noticed and grinned, ready to say something, but Gus quickly shook his head: don’t.

Still, he couldn’t hide a small smile.

The road carried them past small settlements.

Farmers paused as the rumbling car rolled by, children stared wide-eyed, and dogs barked furiously.

At a crossroads they stopped briefly to let a caravan pass: merchants with ox-drawn carts stacked with bolts of cloth, who made way in shock as the car roared by.

Mile after mile of landscape streamed past: golden fields, forests, rivers they crossed slowly over stone bridges.

The music pounded on, dust streamed behind them, and for a moment it felt as though they weren’t on a dangerous mission at all, but three travelers on a simple road trip into the unknown.

Eventually the road grew narrower, stone gave way to dirt, and the ground became rougher and rougher.

“Man, this is a hell of a bumpy ride!” Marcus shouted, jostled back and forth in the rear seat.

The music still thumped from the scratchy speakers, Gus’s hand dangled lazily out the window, while Caeriel in the passenger seat was finally losing her stiff posture.

Then suddenly, her expression shifted. 

Her eyes narrowed, her ears twitched, and she yanked the sunglasses off.

“Stop the machine,” she ordered sharply.

Gus blinked, easing off the gas reluctantly. “What’s wrong? You gotta pee?”

“Shut your mouth and stop!” Her gaze was fixed on the horizon.

Only then did Marcus and Gus follow her pointing finger.

Over the hills, a gray column of smoke was rising into the sky.

“It’s just some campfire,” Marcus muttered. “Maybe a barbecue.”

Caeriel gave no answer. Without another word, her face frozen, she stared at the smoke until Gus finally slowed the car to a crawl.

The closer they came, the clearer the stench became: not woodfire, but burned flesh and ash. A heavy smell, that clawed into throat and nose.

The first fields at the village’s edge lay charred, a gust of wind blowing glowing embers across what remained of the grain stalks.

Gus started to say, “Ugh, what the hell is that disgus-” But the words died in his throat when he saw the wreckage.

A cart lay overturned on its side, the wheels still smoking, doors ripped from their hinges, a dog sprawled lifeless in the ditch.

“…What… happened here?” Marcus whispered.

They pulled up in the village square and Caeriel immediately leapt out, silent, purposeful, her hand on her bow.

Marcus and Gus followed more slowly, their legs heavy, as though refusing to obey. 

A shutter creaked in the wind, ash spiraled across the street, somewhere a beam collapsed with a crash.

A small figure leaned against the wall of a house, eyes wide open, a dark arrow protruding from its chest and a carved wooden horse lay only steps away, half in the dirt, half in blood.

Their throats clenched as they took a step, then froze in place.

Gus swallowed hard, his hands trembling as they tightened unconsciously around the daggers at his belt.

Caeriel knelt beside another corpse, inspecting the wounds, the ground, the tracks in the dust. 

Her voice was calm, almost mechanical:

“Orcs. Just a few hours ago. Damn it… I was too late.”

For a heartbeat, something like guilt flickered across her face, but she quickly buried it behind a mask of professionalism.

Marcus turned away, hand clapped over his mouth, as if he might vomit.

Gus just stared, as if the world itself had frozen. His breathing came shallow, sweat glistening on his forehead.

A child lay in its mother’s arms, both pierced through by the same blade, flies already swarming the deadly wounds.

There was no joke, no punchline, only the crackle of collapsing beams.

Caeriel rose again, shoulders squared, her voice cold:

“This is the work of the Demon King. The one you promised to defeat.”

Marcus slowly lifted his gaze, while Gus pressed his lips together, muttering hoarsely:

“Fuck…”

For the first time since arriving in this world, both fell silent.