Chapter 7

Sol and Archer emerged in a barren wasteland at the bottom of a dried-up sea.

The ground was scarred by countless cracks. The sun blazed overhead, baking the earth and heating the air itself.

Before long, Archer could feel the heat even through his armor.

They both looked around.

There was nothing to see except distant mountains on the horizon.

“I suggest we wait until dark and travel at night,” Sol said.

“Agreed,” Archer replied.

The Painter examined his brush.

Its charge had been completely depleted.

He transferred it to his left hand and tried to erase some of the ground beneath his feet.

Nothing happened.

“That’s strange,” Archer said.

“You’re trying to restore its charge?” Sol asked.

“Yes,” Archer replied. “I want to erase some of the ground and recharge the brush, but it isn’t working.”

“Try erasing something else,” his advisor suggested.

Archer unfastened his breastplate and dropped the heavy piece of armor onto the ground.

He swept the brush across the metal.

This time, it worked.

Part of the metal breastplate disappeared.

“Interesting,” the Painter said.

He tried erasing the ground again.

This time, the brush worked.

Archer continued erasing the soil, hoping to replenish its charge, but after half a minute, the brush stopped working again.

He checked its charge.

It was completely empty.

“I have a theory,” Sol said.

“Yes?” Archer asked.

“Erasing any material consumes some of the brush’s charge,” the advisor explained. “Certain materials, such as iron, release a great deal of energy when erased. They produce enough to replace the charge consumed in erasing them, with energy left over to recharge the brush.

“Other materials, such as soil, release very little energy. Not enough to replace what the brush consumes in erasing them.

“So instead of recharging the brush, erasing them actually drains it.

“Do you understand?”

“I think so,” Archer said. “So not every material can be used to replenish the charge.”

“Exactly,” Sol replied.

“I’ll erase my armor,” Archer said. “That should restore some of the brush’s charge. Then I’ll create a small oasis where we can wait out the heat of the day.”

“Agreed,” the advisor said. “I’ll help you take off the armor.”

Together, they removed the ninety pounds of armor from Archer’s body. It took them about three minutes. Underneath the iron armor, he wore simple clothing.

Archer erased the entire suit with the brush.

Its charge partially replenished.

He transferred the brush to his right hand and painted half a dozen short palm trees with thick, leafy crowns, along with a small, shallow pool of water between them.

Then he walked into the pool, drenched himself with water, and sat down in the shade of the trees.

Sol, though unaffected by the heat, joined his companion in the shade.

“Next time,” Archer said, “when we teleport into an unknown world, we should bring plenty of supplies with us. Materials we can erase to restore more of the brush’s charge.”

“Agreed,” Sol said.

They remained there until nightfall.

When the sun finally sank below the horizon and darkness settled over the dried-up sea, Sol woke Archer, who had grown weary from the heat.

They got to their feet, erased the oasis, and set out.

Overhead, bands of pink and orange aurora shimmered across the night sky, casting a faint glow over the landscape.

The companions chose the direction of the setting sun and began to run.

But after only a couple of minutes, Archer stopped.

“Wait,” he said to Sol. “I think we can create some kind of vehicle.”

“Tell me more,” Sol said.

“A bicycle, for example.”

“What is that?” Sol asked.

“I’ll show you.”

Archer took out the brush and painted a lightweight aluminum bicycle.

“Show me how it works,” Sol said.

“Of course,” Archer replied.

Archer got on the bicycle and started riding.

He turned the pedals, the pedals moved the chain, and the chain turned the wheels.

The mechanism was brilliantly simple and remarkably efficient.

Archer rode circles around Sol as he explained:

“No fuel required. Instead of fuel, it uses the rider’s energy. And since you and I apparently have an endless supply of energy, we could theoretically keep riding forever.

“Unless the rubber tires melt in the daytime heat.”

“Let me try,” Sol said.

“Of course.”

Archer stopped, got off the bicycle, and handed it to his companion.

Sol took hold of it, sat on the seat, and stared down at the pedals.

“I don’t understand,” Sol said. “You have to maintain your balance?”

“Exactly,” Archer replied.

“How?” Sol asked.

“Well...” Archer said. “It’s just something you have to learn. I can’t really explain it in words.

“Let me help you balance at first, and then you’ll figure out how to do it yourself.”

“All right,” Sol said.

Archer took hold of the bicycle by the rear rack.

“Now lift your feet off the ground and start pedaling.”

Sol obeyed.

He began pedaling, and the bicycle moved forward.

But Sol kept staring down at the pedals.

“Sol, don’t look down. Look ahead. Look where you’re going.”

“Understood,” Sol replied and raised his eyes.

A moment later:

“I don’t understand. If I look ahead, I can’t see what the bicycle is doing.”

“You’re not supposed to see what the bicycle is doing,” Archer said, running behind him and holding on to the rear rack. “Just trust that everything is fine. Look ahead and keep pedaling.”

“Understood,” Sol said.

The advisor continued pedaling forward.

He experimented with turning the handlebars, and the bicycle changed direction.

“I understand,” Sol said.

“Good,” Archer replied. “I’m going to let go now, and you’ll ride on your own.”

“Understood,” the advisor repeated.

“Ready?” Archer asked.

“Ready.”

“Letting go.”

Archer released the bicycle.

Sol rode straight ahead for about fifteen feet—

then toppled over onto his left side.

“I don’t understand,” Sol said.

They tried again and again.

After about a dozen failed attempts, Sol finally managed to keep his balance.

His legs worked the pedals. His hands steered the handlebars. His eyes remained fixed on the road ahead.

Sol had learned to ride a bicycle.

“I understand!” the silver amulet exclaimed.

“Yes,” Archer admitted. “Now you do.”

Sol rode the bicycle while Archer sat on the rear rack, and together they made their way across the dried-up sea.

Hours passed.

Then, around the middle of the night, Sol spoke.

“Archer, I see a living object.”

“Where?”

Archer looked ahead, then from side to side, but saw nothing.

“In the sky above us,” Sol said.

Archer looked up and saw a bird soaring overhead with its wings outstretched.

“It’s just a bird,” Archer said.

“No, Archer,” Sol replied. “It’s a very large bird.

“There are two riders on its back.”

The Painter looked more closely.

His Glasses of Omniscience outlined the bird, then separately highlighted the two riders on its back.

The glasses identified all three, displaying their names, ages, professions, current actions, and current states of mind.

Under Current Action, the glasses read:

Pursuing target.

“Yes, I see them now,” Archer said. “The glasses say they’re pursuing a target.

“Think that target might be us?”

“Probably,” Sol replied. “What should we do?”

“They have an obvious advantage. We’re completely exposed down here,” Archer said. “I suggest we make contact.”

“Agreed.”

Sol stopped the bicycle.

He and Archer dismounted and stood watching the enormous bird in the sky.

Then Archer began waving at its riders.

“Wave, Sol,” Archer said. “We’re just friendly travelers.”

Sol looked at Archer, then back up at the sky.

He began waving too.

The bird suddenly plunged into a steep descent.

It rapidly closed the distance, reaching the travelers in barely fifteen seconds. It landed about thirty feet away, its enormous wings throwing clouds of dust into the air.

The rear rider leaped from the saddle on the bird’s back and landed on the ground.

He reached behind himself, drew a crossbow, and aimed it directly at Sol.

Then he began shouting something in an unfamiliar language.

Whatever he was saying, it sounded like a demand.

“Sol, don’t move,” Archer said. “I have a plan.”

“Understood,” the advisor replied.

“Klikar,” Archer said, loudly and confidently.

The crossbowman immediately aimed his weapon at Archer.

Archer continued.

“Klikar. Runki. Prannen,” he said, clearly and deliberately.

The man with the crossbow lowered his weapon slightly and asked something in a calmer voice.

“Arch-er,” Archer said slowly, placing a hand against his chest. “Arch-er.”

Then he slowly placed his hand on Sol’s shoulder.

“Sol. Sol.”

The second rider jumped down from the enormous bird and drew a machete.

“And now, Sol, we urgently need some kind of magical translation device,” Archer said.

“Create one,” Sol replied. “I’ll cover you.”

Archer slowly moved closer to Sol and positioned himself behind him, where the crossbowman couldn’t get a clear shot.

The riders began shouting something.

The Painter took out his brush and tried to calm himself as much as possible.

Magical translator, he thought.

He had no idea what such a translator should look like.

He simply trusted the brush and swept it through the air.

The brush began to paint.

Archer moved his hand, gradually tracing more and more of the device into existence.

Then the object materialized and fell to the ground.

The riders shouted even louder.

Archer could feel the situation rapidly approaching a breaking point.

He picked up the device and examined it.

It looked like a simple scroll, except that it bore an intricate polygonal pictogram surrounded by strange symbols and writing in an alphabet Archer had never seen before.

“I’m telling you one last time! Show me your hands!” the crossbowman shouted.

“Show us your hands!” yelled the man with the machete.

“We surrender!” Archer shouted. “We surrender! Don’t shoot!”

The riders immediately stopped shouting.

Archer stood and raised his hands.

“Sol, raise your hands,” Archer said.

Sol obeyed.

“What’s that in your hand?” the man with the machete called out.

“It’s a translator,” Archer replied. “It allows us to understand each other.”

“How do you know our names?” the man with the machete asked.

He appeared to be the leader of the two riders.

“I have a special device,” Archer said. “It lets me see people’s names.”

“Who are you?” the leader asked.

“We’re travelers from another world,” Archer replied.

“Travelers from another world!” the leader said with a laugh.

The crossbowman laughed too.

“All right, travelers,” the leader said. “What was that machine you were riding?”

“It’s called a bicycle. A simple mechanical device for traveling quickly. Nothing special.

“You can have it if you want.”

“No,” the leader said. “Keep it, Arch-er.

“We’re going back to the ship now to report you. The captain will want to meet you personally.

“Don’t go anywhere. If you leave, we may take it the wrong way.

“Is that clear?”

“Yes. I understand,” Archer said.

“Good. No sudden movements.

“Klikar, back in the saddle,” the leader ordered.

The crossbowman slung his weapon behind his back and climbed onto the enormous bird.

The leader put away his machete and mounted the bird as well.

“See you soon,” he said.

The bird beat its enormous wings and soared into the sky.

“What did they say?” Sol asked. “And what did you say to them?”

“Well...” Archer took a deep breath. “They said they’re coming back for us.

“They flew back to their ship. They have a captain there who wants to meet us personally.”

“And what do we think about that?” Sol asked.

“Sol, I think diplomacy will serve us better than conflict right now,” the Painter said.

He looked at the brush.

It had about one-third of its charge remaining.

“Just remember,” Sol said, “our combat skills should be enough to take down a lot of enemies.”

“Yes, Sol. Thank you for reminding me.”

“The problem will be if you get killed,” Sol continued. “Then we’ll be separated.

“You’ll reappear where the oasis was, while I’ll still be here—or on their ship.

“I would rather we not get separated.”

“Agreed,” the Painter said. “Maybe the brush can help with that too.

“We could try creating some kind of device that teleports you to me—or me to you.

“I’m just not sure there’s enough charge left.”

Archer showed Sol the brush.

“Then you’d be better off creating yourself some armor and trying not to die,” the advisor said.

“Yes. That’s probably the best solution.”

Archer began painting himself a full suit of iron armor.

About five hours passed before Sol noticed movement on the horizon.

“Something’s approaching,” the advisor said.

Archer looked in the same direction.

“It’s flying through the sky...” Archer said, puzzled.

“It appears so,” Sol replied.

The Glasses of Omniscience highlighted the unidentified flying object in the distance and displayed the following information:

Name: The Green Ripper.

Crew: 160.

Cannons: 40.

Target: The Painter.