When Riley opened his eyes, he found his face pressed into damp grass. The earthy scents of moss and decayed leaves helped revive him. Still, his head throbbed, ears rang, and limbs felt like they were made of lead.

  Blinking, Riley tried pushing himself up, but his arms weren’t strong enough. He glanced at the sky, which had somehow turned dark. It had been daylight moments before whatever sent him sprawling on the ground.

  Remember, he said to himself, willing something recognizable to rise from the bottom of a pond. But nothing surfaced.

  Riley finally got his arms to work and sat up, but too quickly. He vomited into the grass, trying not to get anything on his hands. But it was a dry heave. Hadn’t he eaten something recently?

  After wiping the spittle from his mouth with a sleeve, Riley looked around. He was alone in a glade surrounded by towering trees. Their branches stretched into the night sky as if trying to brush the stars with giant hands and interlaced fingers. A soft breeze tinged with the scent of pine rustled the leaves and needles overhead. Riley thought he detected the sound of a cooing bird or maybe a small ground animal. Other sounds came next, those of people and distant music.

  So he wasn’t in a wilderness. Which made sense. Hadn’t he passed houses not long ago? But there was no road to speak of. Not even a path.

  Riley made to stand but was startled by the pants he wore. He didn’t remember putting them on—brown leather—nor the matching boots. Did he even own such garments? His sleeves were tan fabric, coarse to the touch, and his shirt exposed his chest with a deep V off the neck. These definitely weren’t his clothes.

  Between the mounting confusion and frustration, Riley climbed to his feet and started to turn in circles. Where was he? And where were his parents?

  “Parents,” he whispered in recognition. It was the first word that made any sense to him… that connected him to something beyond his present. But it didn’t lead anywhere, like pulling on an endless thread, but it was a thread he recognized… a thread he could hold on to.

  Confused, frightened, but growing more determined, Riley stood and took a few calming breaths. He needed to move, to get out of these woods. After all, the only thing worse than facing the unknown was being trapped in it. And that’s how it felt being here—as if this forest had some strange desire to keep him captive. Maybe that was the presence playing tricks on him and clouding his memories.

  He moved to the glade’s edge and pushed aside a low-hanging branch. The woods beyond were darker still, but it was the direction of the music. Of a party. And they would have a phone.

  “A cell phone,” Riley said and then started to pat himself down. But his pockets were empty. All at once, the idea of using the device sent a chill down his spine, one of revulsion. He stared at his palms as if they were guilty of something.

  Someone bellowed in laughter, signaling the forest’s edge not far away. Either Riley’s hearing was returning or the house was closer than he thought. He tripped over a stick but caught himself against a tree trunk, legs clearly not working properly. The music was definitely getting louder, and Riley could make out a distant light between the trees.

  He eventually emerged from the forest and stepped into a narrow field lined with furrows painted in hues of deep blues and blacks. Riley set off across the field, the soft ground sinking underfoot, air heavy with the scent of wet earth. The night sounds of forest faded behind him, and before long he stepped from the field onto a rutted path formed by horses and wagons. Which felt odd, since he didn’t live near any farms. All the streets he’d known were smooth and painted… they were…

  He searched for the word.

  Paved.

  Ahead, moonlight glinted off something that was decidedly not natural—a stone bridge, quaint and short, with an arch that reminded him of one from a storybook. As he approached, he noticed a weathered wooden sign swinging gently in the night breeze. The faded letters read Lunewood Hollow. It didn’t ring a bell for him, but it was pleasant enough. Someone would have a phone, maybe even offer him a ride if he couldn’t wake his parents. Then he could get out of this place and back home.

  Crossing the bridge felt like passing through a veil. The atmosphere shifted subtly, as if welcoming him into a new realm. And there it was, sitting like a painting come alive in the glow of the moon and a scattering of lights: a small town, decidedly medieval in its architecture. Buildings of one and two stories, quaint with thatched roofs and stone walls, lined the cobblestone streets. Gardens bloomed despite the darkness, and a fountain gurgled in the town square, its water lit by lanterns hung around the perimeter.

  It looked as if the town were a relic, a forgotten slice of some distant past. Riley felt sure he would have heard about this place before… would have explored it on a class trip maybe. Unless of course it was some sort of monastery where they made beer or cheese. Those still existed, didn’t they? The peculiar thought of this town’s uniqueness gave Riley a twinge of hope. This place, as unreal as it seemed, was the first semi-normal landmark he’d encountered… a focal point in a world he didn’t understand.

  There was no one about, as far as he could tell. The only activity seemed to be coming from a pub at the far end of the square. The building was older than the others, its stones moss-covered and its roof a patchwork of repairs. Above the door swung a wooden sign, blackened by age and weathered to the point that its original wording was unreadable.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  Riley considered going inside. He was too young for such establishments normally, wasn’t he? So his gut said to stay clear. Who knew what kind of people lurked in there? But if he didn’t go in, who else would he ask for help? Riley would need to knock on a random person’s front door and risk waking them up. That was a sure way to get someone angry with him. On the upside, he might get answers if he found the right person. The barkeeper would be helpful, wouldn’t they?

  Gathering his resolve, Riley ignored his instincts and made his way toward the pub. Whatever he was going to do next, meeting people and finding help seemed like the logical first step. And besides, there was something comforting about the promise of a bustling pub, even if it sat in a town that felt like a place lost in time.

  The low-ceilinged room was littered with rough-hewn wooden tables and chairs, some far older than others. About as much could be said for the thirty-odd patrons who milled about the place too. The odors of stale beer, wood smoke, and sweat stung Riley’s nose. A fire crackled in a stone hearth surrounded by people with instruments and a cajoling group of drunken singers—the music he’d heard from the woods. They’re more off key than Dad, Riley thought.

  “Dad,” he repeated with a pang in his chest. He couldn’t see his father’s face or even remember his name…

  “You gonna order something or not, kid?” The barkeep’s voice snapped Riley out of his thoughts. A burly man with a grizzled beard and an arch in his back, that spoke of years hunched over fires and cutting boards, stared at Riley with an impatience born from a lifetime of dealing with drunks and misfits.

  “Sorry, I was just… wondering where I am?”

  “If you’re that drunk, then I have something top shelf to help you out.”

  “I’m not drunk.”

  This got a few laughs from those nearest him, plus a, “Yeah, neither am I,” from an old man slouched in a chair. “You’re twice as worse as I am half the time.”

  Riley took a stool at the bar. “I just need to know where I am. Please.”

  The barkeeper narrowed his eyes as he seemed to reconsider his opinion of Riley.

  “Backside Bellows, kid. Didn’t you see the sign?”

  “I meant more like, where is Lunewood Hollow?”

  The barkeeper chuckled. “You really are drunk. Now, buy something or leave. We’re no library.”

  Riley patted himself down. “I don’t have any money.”

  “Figures. Obscurios always land here penniless. What’s your name, kid?”

  “Riley.” He cleared his throat. “Riley, sir.”

  “Alright. Listen, Riley. If I were you, I’d turn yourself around, keep your head down, and go find some place more hospitable. You’re gonna wanna make sure that you…”

  Riley lost track of the instructions when his fingers brushed against something metallic in his pocket. He pulled out a thick coin that he’d never seen before—black with strange silver inscriptions and some sort of beast etched in the center. The moment Riley laid it on the counter, the barkeep’s eyes widened, and he whispered sharply.

  “You’ll put that away if you know what’s good for you.”

  “Please, sir. I just need to—”

  “What rank are you?”

  “Rank?”

  “Iron? Silver?” The barkeeper’s eyes searched Riley’s neck. “You’re not a jade are you?”

  This made the music stop, leaving only the sounds of the crackling fire and chair feet scuffing the floor.

  Riley’s stomach tightened. “Like I said, I just need information.”

  “Which will mean nothing if you’re dead.” The barkeeper’s eyes returned to the coin, and he used his grimy towel to push it back to Riley like he was afraid to touch it. “Put it away. Now.”

  Just then, Riley sensed people gathering behind him, and a man with sour breath slid onto the stool to his left. “What’cha got there, Obscurio? Looks shiny.”

  Riley instinctively pulled the coin close to his chest.

  To his right, another man said, “You get his manna too?”

  “What?”

  “The person you killed.”

  “Come off it, Hal,” said a woman directly behind Riley. “Look at him. He didn’t kill no one. Found it, is all. Got lucky.”

  “Seems he’s not the only one.” The man on the right reached for the coin.

  But the barkeeper caught him by the wrist. “Not tonight, Hal. Let the kid go.”

  Riley looked from the barkeeper to Hal. There was venom in the man’s eyes… something primal. Riley sensed more of the same in the others gathered around him. They were studying him like starving people might glare at a piece of meat. At the same time, Riley felt suddenly fatigued, like energy was slipping out of his chest, sliding between his ribs. It made him both hungry and winded at the same time.

  Perhaps sensing that Hal and the others weren’t going to give up so easily, the barkeeper added, “You don’t know who he is any more than I do. Don’t know his patron, his order, even his rank. And I don’t have to tell you the kind of fire that will rain down on all of us if you take someone out of turn. Understand?”

  Hal licked his lips, fingers still reaching for Riley’s coin but wrist held tight by the barkeeper.

  “I need an answer, Hal.”

  Finally, Hal relented and jerked his hand free. “Fine. But I’m gonna find where you live, kid. Find it and haunt it, you hear me? You don’t deserve that. And I know an obscurio when I see one. You’re not fooling anyone.” Hal pushed away from the bar and took his horde with him.

  “Now, you, get out,” the barkeeper said to Riley. “I won’t be able to stop them a second time, not without bloodshed. And I just had this place cleaned.”

  “But I—”

  “Now,” the man roared.

  Riley stumbled off the stool, still clutching the strange coin to his chest, and headed for the door. Behind him, he heard the barkeeper say, “Not a muscle, Hal. You want that fight, you take it outside of town, or I’ll give the mayor your head personally.”

  “Fine,” Hal replied and sounded like he spit on the floor. Then, with the tone of someone who sounded like they took pleasure from beating up the weak, he added, “I’ll give him a head start.”