We'll be fine, I told myself after Kaci left. How hard can this be?

  Answer: not as easy as I would like.

  Although Siraj and I were able to create a fire easily enough, and we had long become used to the old-fashioned tents Kaci had gotten for us. After erecting their unwieldy frames and raising the canvas, Siraj and I started up a tiny fire, much like everyone else had. Some groups of tents ringed about in intimate circles, sharing a larger campfire, but many, like ours, took one of the smaller sandpits dotted about. Within minutes, Siraj had a small pot of water going and was throwing together some kind of savory-smelling stew. My stomach rumbled as I plopped down beside him.

  "Is it-"

  "Don't ask me if it is done," Siraj said in a deadpan voice. "It's not."

  "-going to have some meat in it?" I asked, changing my question at the last minute.

  "Yeah."

  "Sweet. I'm so hungry."

  "I know," Siraj chuckled. "Your stomach told me already."

  "You know why Kaci left us here?" I wondered aloud as I looked around. "There are a lot of… weird people here."

  "But there are people," Siraj noted. "Safety in numbers."

  "Yeah. I guess… in a world like this, it's better to not be alone." I recalled our short battle with the dark creature. "And we're both of us wet behind the ears in terms of this place. With magic and dark creatures and shadows and corruption going on. What a mess."

  "Yeah."

  "Who do you think those people are?" I asked.

  Siraj's gaze shifted, following my surreptitious gesture at a group of swarthy mean wearing a lot of leather. They had old-style helmets with colorful brush-like decorations on top. Noticing my gaze, one of the more stout men hawked and spat in my direction. My fists balled in response, but I knew better than to get up and start a fight. The last thing I wanted was to spend a night in the mist without Kaci. Or Siraj. Rolling his eyes, Siraj shook his head.

  "You don't know a Roman centurion when you see one?"

  "A what?" I stared at him in shock.

  "Pretty sure that man is a centurion. Old school," Siraj said. "I wouldn't mind him at my side."

  I grunted. We'd gathered here to rest, and clearly Kaci thought we would be safer surrounded by these strange folks. I was starting to think twice about the whole thing. If Siraj was correct, some of these people came from the past… and wasn't that kinda… weird?

  On the other hand, I reminded myself, you don't want to end up alone in the mist. Keep your trap shut, Max.

  The next morning, I woke to discover that the green canvas of my tent had lightened somewhat under the early morning rays of what counted for the sun in this odd world. Even more annoying—and worrying—were the sounds of chaos outside the tent. When I scrambled out to see what the hubbub was about, I realized that large clumps of the souls who had gathered at the mound were standing along the eastern edge, gazing into the distance. Sarif's tent, next to mine, rustled, and, after a moment, Sarif's tousled dark head of hair poked out.

  "Trouble," he said.

  "No shit," I grunted back.

  Since we had both agreed to sleep ready to go at any minute, it didn't take me long to gear up, secure my tent, and join the rest at the edge of the mound beyond the furthest ring of megaliths. Thanks to the sunlight and our relative height, it was easier to see than I had expected. That or something had shifted a little overnight. There was enough breakage in the crowds to note a distant village not far off. Wilsford Village, Kaci had called it. A stream of souls now moved toward us, racing forward with arms raised. Some were shouting. Others were waving their hands.

  "Villagers." guessed Siraj, handing me the binoculars he'd commandeered from our stash.

  I peered through the archaic-looking lenses and found myself agreeing. The people running toward us were poorly dressed in old-fashioned and worn tunics. Brown and grey, they seemed to melt into the wasteland that surrounded the mound and their town. Perhaps that was how they managed to survive out here. Or not. I shivered as I realized the panic written on the face of a grey-haired elderly woman clutching a young child.

  "What happened?" Someone was asking in accented in English.

  Other questions were posed in various languages. Many I didn't recognize.

  "They're asking the same thing," Siraj told me when I cast him an inquiring look.

  Of course he knew how to speak several languages. The bastard.

  The elderly lady spoke words I couldn't understand, but Siraj nodded. Stepping forward, he addressed her, drawing her attention. Was it… some kind of Arabic? Indian? It wasn't easy for me to tell. However, after speaking with her, Siraj let her go talk with some others who also seemed to understand her. I realized that certain men dressed in period war uniforms were clustered about me.

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  "Well, wha' abou' it, guv'nor?" asked one in a heavy British accent. "Wut's wrong wiv the lady?"

  "The mist descended from the mountains in alarming speed. It is an unnatural disaster… brought by an overlord."

  "Mother Mary," swore another man. "An overlor'? Wha's tha' supposed t'mean?"

  "A Lord of Darkness," mused Siraj aloud. "It does seem ominous. I think that if we go down, we may end up confronting something powerful. She mentioned a name, but…" His tanned brow furrowed, and he shook his head sharply. "Surely not."

  "What is it?" I asked.

  "C'mon, guv'nor," another said. "Spi' it out already!"

  Siraj hesitated and then added in a low voice: "This overlord descended from the east in the mist and has been harassing the village now for weeks. They dared not venture beyond their plots out of fear of banishment. Still, they struggled to meet the creature's demands."

  "Creature?"

  "I thought you said it was an overlor'."

  "Demands," I mused aloud. "So that's why she called it an overlord. It's trying to take over this area."

  "Levying taxes and all that good shit," Siraj said. "It sounds inconceivable. In a world like this?"

  "I've seen stranger, guv'nor," said the first man. "Them are the shadows, and the souls, and the magic and all them demons and angels as well."

  "Light and Dark Elves?" I asked, recalling Kaci's words.

  "Them future folks call'em tha', yeh. We call'em by wut they be—angels and demons."

  "That… did sound like a possibility when Kaci talked a little bit about the world," Siraj admitted to me. "It sounds crazy, I know."

  "My abuela and mom would have a fit if they found out I was hanging out with demons."

  "You aren't hanging out with demons though," Siraj pointed out. "Not if Kaci and I have our way, anyways."

  "True." I sighed. "So we gotta go hunt some demon? Did it have a name?"

  "Well, she did mention…" Siraj tipped his head and nodded slowly. "Now that we faced the inevitable, the name makes more sense now."

  "What did she call it?" I snapped.

  "Mammon."

  Mammon? You might as well call it Bob. I had no clue what Mammon was all about. What I did know was that Abuela was probably rolling in her grave. Back in the day, when I was just a small kid, she'd try to take me with her to church. It was one of those large stone buildings that are covered with weird statues and pretty glass windows that had all the funny pictures on them.

  I didn't get it. To be honest, I still don't get it, I had to admit to myself. On the other hand, Siraj seems to believe the old lady and the other villagers. They saw something. Some kind of dark overlord. It's like I'm trapped in a trippy Saturday morning cartoon, honestly. And we're gonna have to fight Mammon. Maybe. Great.

  Setting my worries aside, I focused on the tasks at hand. Siraj and I decided to band with the British sailors and soldiers, taking shifts and patrolling around the mound while another task force (a word Siraj used) approached Wilsford Village to help rescue any remaining elderly. I was initially less than happy to be left behind, but when rumors began to swirl around—about how Mammon's 'tax' involved draining souls of life force—I was beginning to see the wisdom of remaining close to the relative safety of the mound.

  "Not that the rumors are necessarily true," Siraj pointed out as he geared up for his trip to the village. "Still, we're going in well-armed. We'll be back before you know it."

  I nodded, slapped him on the arm, and gave him a brief wave before I set off for my own patrol.

  He'll be fine, I told myself as I marched along with Will from Hartfordshire. He's got some kind of experience, I think. I'm sure he'll survive.

  Comforting myself with reminders of how capable my new friend appeared, I completed my first set of patrols. Once I was free, I hung out with new comrades over a cauldron filled with some unknown, yet savory stew. After dinner, I joined the watch on the ridge of the hill. From our vantage point, we watched as the task force returned among the shifting shadows of dusk. Weary men approached us, accompanied by the village's refugees. At the rear, Siraj followed, ever vigilant.

  "No sign of him, yet," he said to me in quiet undertones. "But… we were being watched."

  "We've taken his people," I pointed out. "He's not going to let it stand."

  "Yeah." Siraj sighed and contemplated the now rather crowded hilltop. "He's coming. It's just a matter of time."

  "Time to set up the night watch." I waved to Will, encouraging him to draw closer. "The Brits will help."

  "We're going to need more help than that," Siraj said in a low tone. He glanced around at the mist that once again closed in with the night. "I hope she gets back… soon."