The pool was clear, letting in the sun's rays down to the slippery stones that sat at its bottom. A small current pulled Roger back towards the water-pillar, through a swarm of bright yellow fish that split apart and reformed into a school behind him. It was silent under the water, the deep pool insulating his ears from the noise of the water splashing off rocks as it ignored all laws of nature in its ascent of the cliff. The noise came back as he breached the surface, along with the chirps of birds from the woods surrounding. A few strokes brought him to the shore where he collapsed onto his back.
Immediately he regretted his decision and rolled onto his stomach, face full of grass and soaked for the second time that day. It was a sunny patch at least, so his shirt and shorts would dry. It was normal ground, from what he could see. Normal grass. The water felt the same as most water did. The fish were bright colored, but they weren't that odd looking from what he'd seen. And yet the water went up. Roger had to sit up and actually look at the cliff face to see it again. Seeing is believing, he thought to himself, but he kept staring.
The bacon in his Winnebago seemed very far off at that moment, and his stomach was quick to point it out. Still, there wasn't much he could do. Maybe touching was believing, actually. Walking over to the fantastic phenomena, he affirmed the lack of any real handholds or hidden paths back up in the stream water or the nearby vicinity. He stretched his hand out into the flow, but it wasn't strong enough to lift his arm, much less his whole body, not that he would risk it with the way it bounced off the rocks in a spray of mist that settled in a sparkling halo around the pillar of water. he couldn't do much about hunger, but dipping his head into the vertical stream he managed to quench his thirst. If he was lost, and the answer had to be that he was, considering the lack of anything like this on maps that he had seen, he might have to find food of his own, the fish perhaps. Well, maybe. They could be poisonous he supposed. That was what bright colors meant, right? And if they lived in the big open pool where birds should have easily gotten a free meal...better not to risk it. So that left exploration as the next best option. Sticking his tongue out at his reflection in the water pillar he turned back towards the streams entrance to the pool.
It took a minute to walk around the side, it being on the exact opposite shore, and when he got there he made a rather pleasant discovery. Dry, unattended, obviously not accounted for clothes were a warm, fuzzy blessing from beyond. They were a plain, white t-shirt and some blue jeans, no labels, and they looked like they would fit him. They were folded neatly atop a green bath towel, also folded, which itself sat atop a slightly curved rock that was just the right height to sit on and think. He did think, some about the clothes, and some about the backpack that was leaning against the rock. No brand name on that either. His clothes hung over a tree branch close by, soaking up the sunlight with the towel.
He hadn't opened the backpack. He wasn't sure he wanted to open the backpack. The clothes fit well. They fit like they'd been tailored for him. They were either a very very unlikely magical coincidence, or there was something fishy going on. Which brought him to the stranger who he had hosted last night as the impetus of all this. If he sat really still, he could feel a bit of the terror, the dread down deep inside of him, just sitting there like a lead marble. It wasn't usual, and even if he wasn't the cause, he was probably related. What are the odds that You go crazy in the woods, hit your head, and then make your way to a place where water doesn't obey gravity? Well, the crazy part sometimes happened. Not that badly though. Nothing to make him that scared had happened in a long time, and certainly nothing that made him that scared and that active. Maybe he was being kidnapped by aliens, and this was their little terrarium where they were waiting to see how long he would wander around and if he would try to get out. Maybe he had stumbled through into an alternate dimension where everything he thought was real was a lie. Maybe things were still normal and he had just hit his head harder than he thought. His back was still sore from the water impact though. Maybe there was bacon in the backpack.
His gaze alighted on the zipper. Would whoever put this here stuff it with some unspeakable evil after giving him new clothes and a towel? Well, maybe. Odds were against it, hopefully, and if they weren't, he'd at least know what type of place he was stuck in when he started running for his life. He nudged it with his foot. Nothing. So he pulled it between his legs and opened it. No unspeakable evil popped out. No smell of bacon either, though that may have been a bit too wishful thinking. Some sandwiches though. Looked like salami and swiss through the plastic baggy. Under those was what looked like a remote control, some rope, a knife, halfway between an army combat knife and a steak knife, a folded up map, and a note. First he ate the sandwiches, all three of them. If he cared to speculate, he would say that falling off things burnt a bunch of calories, along with being cold and walking around for half the day without breakfast. Not the best sandwiches he had tasted, honestly. The mayo was warmed up too much, and they could have used some tomato, but they were food.
The note read as follows.
"Dear Sir,
You, as a contact of Mr. J. Carmillion, participant in the upcoming event to take place in this Garden" Roger was not sure why garden was capitalized, or if this place was really a garden at all, "have been chosen to accompany and assist him in his upcoming test for the greater good of the realm.
Good Luck,
M."
This wasn't exactly helpful, he thought. He didn't even know a Mr. J. Carmillion. So that left two obvious options: the writer had in fact nabbed the wrong person to participate, or that he hadn't seen the last of the stranger. At this point, he was inclined to hope for a third option. Maybe a prank by some vagabond, stuffing some drugs into his stew earlier that night. Unlikely though, he tended to keep a close watch on his cooking pot. The map then? Maybe he could find out where he actually was.
It unfolded into an 18 inch square filled with a bunch of green, and some specks of brown, mostly. A small aerial view of the pool that was a good deal more useful than the rest of the map was along the right border of the map, complete with a red X labeled "you are here." It was not very big at all in comparison to the rest of the blurry map.
Perhaps it was water damaged? Nobody could think that this thing would be useful at. . .oh hello there. Roger blinked. The center of the map had resolved focus a bit to reveal a brown patch that some invisible hand helpfully labeled "campground." Well, at least he had a direction to go in. This would be a long walk, and from the scale, it might take until sundown. Maybe there would be bacon there, though?
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