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Ford replaced his skewed glasses, blinking as though he thought that might change the scenery. They had most definitely not been here a second ago.
Stan spoke before he could: “Where the hell are we?”
“You ask that like I would have an answer.”
“Well you’re the one who’s been through time and space, so-”
Stan kept speaking, but Ford ignored him. Maybe he had been through time and space before, but nothing he’d seen explained teleportation like this. Which was all well and good - having mysteries to solve was a delight - except it was rather frustrating not to know where you were. He pulled out his compass, but it only served to make him more confused. Wherever they were, it was pretty - though the tri-petal flowers dotting the field were something he was unfamiliar with.
“Are you listening to me, Sixer?” Stan released a frustrated huff. “You’re not even listening to me. Nice to know that my input doesn’t-”
“Is that smoke?” Ford perked up.
“Smoke?”
“There, through the trees.” What Ford had first thought to be a cloud he could now identify as a possible stream of smoke from a possible fire. Fire meant people and people meant information.
“I guess we follow that, then.”
Having been given all the permission he needed, Ford immediately started walking towards the treeline, Stan following with another huff.
“You really do just turn your brain off sometimes, Sixer, ya know that? You’re not the only person living on planet earth, which I would think you might have picked up on after having seen more of the universe than anybody.”
“We’re both stressed about being lost, Stanley; how about we find out where we are, and then we can bicker about this later?”
Ford received a grumbled assent.
***
The smoke was coming from the chimney of a picturesque - if somewhat randomly placed - cottage. Made of brick and covered in a spatter of climbing ivy, it was two stories high with a well-kept vegetable garden out front.
“Looks straight out of a fairytale,” Stan remarked, hand brushing over the leaves of a tomato plant that looked only a few days out from harvest time. He chuckled. “Whatcha wanna bet an old lady lives here?”
Resisting the urge to tell his twin to stop touching the goddamn plants, Ford rolled his eyes and said, “We’re old too, Stan.”
“Yeah, but we’re cool old, not cottage-in-the-forest old.”
Stopping on the doorstep, Ford gave Stan a look. “Because ‘Mystery Cottage’ just doesn’t have the same ring to it.” With that, smiling at Stan’s protests, Ford knocked on the wooden door.
Silence followed.
No footsteps came from within, no dogs barked.
“Guess they’re not home?” Stan said.
Ford pursed his lips. “If they’re not, they should be back soon. This garden is too manicured to be abandoned, not to mention the active fireplace. We can wait out here.”
“ You can wait out here.” Stan shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. “I’m gonna take a look around.”
It would have been too much to tell him not to; the little plot of land was pretty. In fact… “I’ll look around with you.” Might as well, if only for the sake of making sure Stanley didn’t do anything stupid.
With a shrug and a “suit yourself” from Stan, the twins rounded the cottage. The garden, it appeared, continued in what could be considered the backyard; a small fountain bubbled amidst berry bushes and carefully cultivated blossoms, all under a cloudless blue sky. It was, by all means, a tiny paradise among the trees.
So when Ford spotted a figure crouching among the plots, garden gloves covered in dirt from weeding, he froze.
“Uh… Hello?”
The figure - a man wearing a large sunhat and neural-colored work clothes - fumbled with his hand trowel and cursed loudly, shoulders raised to his ears in shock.
“Sorry for scaring you, sir, we’re lost.”
The man didn’t move.
Stan interrupted before Ford could continue, the corners of his mouth red from a few pilfered berries. “Oh you found the guy! Hey there, I’m Stan and this is Ford, we- Well we dunno how we got here, but-”
“You should leave,” the gardener said, revealing a deep, tired voice that betrayed, if not age, maturity. He rose from his place on the ground and wiped the dirt off his pants, head tilted so that his wide-brimmed hat obscured the top half of his face. “There’s a river south of here; if you follow it upstream, you’ll find more helpful people than me.”
“Yeah, that’s not creepy at all. You some kinda Hansel and Gretal cryptid?”
The gardener sighed. “I suppose I am a cryptid of a sort,” he admitted, and he turned his head up to face them.
Metal spikeheads filled the space where eyes should be, lighting strike tattoos wreathing the inhuman gaze.
And Ford was, despite everything, overwhelmed with a sense of calm. Well, “calm” was one way to describe it; in reality, his experience was less the presence of an emotion, and more the profound lack of any emotion at all. The flood of apathy slammed against him with a nearly dizzying force despite the fact that he knew, logically, the gardener and his metallic stare should have unnerved him.
“Congratulations,” said the creature, “you’ve met Ironeyes. If you run now, you just might live to tell the tale.”
With that, his emotions returned just as quickly as they had left, crashing back into him like a cold sheet of rain. Jarring as it was, however, Ford stood his ground; supernatural beings were nothing if not familiar to him and he doubted that a “monster” who lived in a pretty fairytale garden cottage was really a monster at all.
“That’s a bluff if I’ve ever seen one,” he said, keeping his eyes on the spikeheads facing him and making an effort to portray an air of non-threatening confidence. “We promise we’re not here to hurt you; actually, you might be just the person to help us. When we said we were lost… we’re fairly certain we arrived here by magical means.”
There was a pause and Ford suspected that the cryptid would have blinked if he could. (Stan, meanwhile, was looking incredibly confused) “Are you worldhoppers?” the gardener asked. “What planet are you from?”
“Earth.”
After considering for a moment, the gardener seemed to come to some sort of decision. “Come with me,” he said.
Ford and Stan made eye contact, too many questions to even begin asking swirling over their heads, but with a shrug from Ford, the two of them followed to enter through the back door of the cottage. The inside of the house was as cozy as the outside suggested. Ford might have wanted to look around if he wasn’t so curious. “We’re not on earth?” he asked, equal parts horrified and excited.
“You are not; this is the planet Scadrial.” The gardener removed his hat, revealing a shiny bald head. “My name is Marsh,” he said, wiping his dirty boots on a mat and tossing soiled garden gloves in a box. “I’m afraid I lack the answers you’re probably looking for, but luckily for you, I know someone who knows more than I do. Unfortunately, he’s a very busy man.”
Stan cursed, a sentiment Ford could agree with. “Well tell him to hurry the hell up, ‘cause we didn’t sign up for being stuck in some random place in the universe.”
“I know. I don’t envy your situation one bit. But in the meantime, I’ll help as much as I can. Take a seat at the table, I’ll make a meal while you tell me how you got here.”
“Well, uh-” Ford began.
“We were sailing, the water got all glowy, and now we’re here.”
That was one way to put it. “Yes. I’m Ford, by the way. He’s Stan, we’re twins.”
Marsh nodded. “I suppose it’s nice to meet you, though I regret the circumstances. I’m not sure how long it will be until Harmony can help you, but you’ll certainly have to stay the night. In the spirit of things, then, I suppose we may as well know a few things about each other. I am an agent of sorts, a servant and personal friend of this world’s god, Harmony.”
“What’s with the piercings and eye tats?” Stan asked. He had taken a seat, one arm on the table, his chin resting in his hand.
“An unfortunate remnant of a past life,” he said with a shrug. “And a reminder of the sacrifices we make for peace.”
“Cool. I’m Stan and I clearly don’t have enough magical trauma to be here.”
“Stan, you literally-” Ford sighed, pinching in the bridge of his nose.
“I didn’t say I had no magical trauma. I just survived mine without a pair of spikes through the skull or being possessed by a dream demon.”
Marsh perked up at this, but Ford just shook his head. “ Anyway. I’m a scientist with an interest in the supernatural. We’ve been sailing around the world the past few months, living out an old dream.”
“Ah. Sounds pleasant. I have a brother myself, though I doubt we could spend that long together without murdering each other.” He smiled grimly, pulling some fresh vegetables from a basket.
“Hey now, Sixer an’ I woulda done the same not too long ago. Never too late to make up.”
Ford nodded in agreement, but Marsh didn’t look convinced.
“We’ve never seen eye to eye, really. We still talk occasionally, but I’m honestly worried about arguing every time. I… I love him and I always have, but despite the great things he’s accomplished, I really worry about the man he’s become.” Marsh chuckled. “We’re both a few centuries old now and at some point, you just have to let go of the things you can’t change. Harmony is all about free will anyway, and I- Well, let’s just say I have a vested interest in that sort of thing.”
“How- May I ask how your world works?” Ford asked, a giddy curiosity in his tone.
“Oh here he goes,” Stan muttered.
“How involved is Harmony, your god? Is living for centuries normal, or are you and your brother special? And how in hell are you still alive with spikes through your head? This planet looks remarkably like earth… I would ask for details about how flora and fauna differ from the varieties I’m familiar with, but that would require a baseline that neither of us have. And that doesn’t even scratch the surface regarding- you said worldhoppers? That’s common?”
Marsh chuckled. “Harmony’s going to love talking to you. I don’t know much about worldhopping myself, but I guess I could share a bit about the spikes work if you’re that interested. Good way to pass the time at least.
“It’s rather complicated, but each of my spikes is charged with a certain amount of Investiture; magic, if you will. Part of that magic tells the body to rearrange itself to adapt to their presence. They are what has helped me live so long. Kelsier - my brother - is in a more complicated situation. He actually died a lifetime ago and brought himself back from the dead like the stubborn ass he is.” Marsh shook his head.
“Incredible…” Ford fumbled for a pen, leather journal already out on the table.
“Great, now he’ll never wanna leave.” Stan peeked at Ford’s scribbles and chuckled. “He’s drawin’ you.”
A real smile spread across Marsh’s face while Ford blushed. The smile, strangely enough, seemed to erase a large portion of his inhuman air. "I'm glad you feel comfortable here. I don't get visitors often so it's nice to talk to new people, even if the circumstances aren't the most ideal. Hopefully Harmony and I can get you home as soon as possible."