by Etzoli
I pushed it out of my mind as I arrived home. Mom was still out, although not at work for once. She had the day off today, a special occasion, and she’d only have to work tonight. She’d promised to be home for dinner though. I wondered what she was up to as I tossed my bag in my room and grabbed the keys off my desk, before heading down to the garage. I flicked on the light, and there sat my father’s legacy.
It was intact, and it ran better than you might expect, but it sure looked like a hulk of scrap. The paint was chipped everywhere, the driver-side door was scratched up heavily, and the door to the bed had been stuck closed for fifteen years. Still, it was mine. After Dad had disappeared, Mom found all the papers signed over to her in the glove compartment. She had her own car, but once I’d gotten old enough, she’d taught me how to drive the truck.
Why had I been so ashamed of it? It was such a useful tool. I shuddered to think how much I’d avoided using it, out of a mixture of resentment of my father and a fear of judgment over its appearance. Why did I care so much? I was such an idiot back then. I’d walk an extra thirty minutes to get to basketball and home again rather than let anyone see my beat up old truck. I’d only even driven it to get groceries with Jen, or other small errands. Plus the one journey out to Cyraveil Park.
Now, it looked more like a trusted old workhorse than anything. It might not be winning any contests, but it didn’t deserve hate. I put a hand on the hood, feeling the solid metal under my fingertips.
For a moment, my memory flashed back, and my hand was upon not cold steel, but the warm mane of Haldammar, as he snorted loudly and pawed at the bloodied grass, while the stench of decay filled my nostrils and the sounds of the battlefield filled my ears with groans and the slick sounds of swords plunging into necks and between seams of armor.
Then I was back, and my finger jutted up against a slight chip in the paint on the side of the hood. I got in and opened the garage door. Through the rearview mirror, I spotted Jen hurrying inside, carrying her backpack close to her chest under the rain. She ran in through the front door, then came out to the garage a few minutes later, hopping in next to me.
“You remember how to drive this thing, right?”
In response, I turned on the engine and reverse out onto the street, as smoothly as if it had been yesterday. Jen raised her eyebrows. “Oookay, then.” She leaned away over the side of her seat, while I drove out onto the main road. Suddenly, she disappeared from the corner of my eye. “ Daphut! ”
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” she muttered. “Just forgot how twitchy that was.” Jen came back into my peripheral view, inching her seat back up to a reclined position. Her eyes slid closed. “I’m gonna take a reeeeal quick nap, selnou? Wake me up when we’re there.”
“It’s only a fifteen minute drive…”
“Plenty of time.”
I shrugged. When I glanced over, she did look tired. From what I remembered, music had always helped her fall asleep. I leaned forward and fiddled with the radio, trying to remember how to work it while I pulled in neatly between a minivan and a delivery truck at a red light. I got static, then after some experimenting with the dials, I got some pop music to start flowing. I would have switched it immediately, but I vaguely remembered this being one of Jen’s favorite songs.
As the beat grated through my worthless speakers, I rolled onto the highway and sped up. The truck groaned as it edged above fifty-five. I had one hand on the wheel and the other resting comfortably on the open window, letting the breeze waft over my arm. Periodic breaks in the clouds sent shafts of sunlight through the rain, and as I looked around I could see patches of a rainbow in the distance.
Without warning, the music shut off. I assumed it was the truck’s stereo taking a particularly bad bump, but then I saw Jen’s retracting hand a second later when I looked back to the road.
“What’s up?”
Jen just shook her head, closing her eyes again.
“I thought you loved that song.”
“I dunno,” she replied, eyes still shut. “Just not feeling it anymore, I guess.”
We drove the rest of the way in relative silence, only filled by the bucking of the truck and the engine noise as it bounced along down the poorly maintained patches of the highway.
***
“Jen.”
“… dasa dou vofas anala e kepar ta las shaval atel doues uveles, Naef. ” She was talking in her sleep. The only word I recognized was Naef, short for her friend Naeflin. I poked her in the shoulder, light as I could. She snapped awake, one hand flying down with lightning speed to grasp my wrist. Within a second, she’d let go, blinking furiously. “ To suuna dona? Oh, wait. Sorry. Dumb question.” She glanced around. After a few moments to adjust, she reached to unhook the seat belt, before noticing she’d never put it on. “…Whoops. Why didn’t you remind me?”
I glanced down and realized I hadn’t worn my either. Jen giggled. After a few seconds, I started laughing. We sat there, engine off in the parking lot of the grocery store, laughing uproariously for over a minute. It was such a small, silly thing, but for whatever reason it set us both off. Maybe it was just fatigue. Whatever the case, it lightened the mood significantly as we got out and walked into the store. I finally felt calm again, but I did wonder what Jen had been muttering in her sleep before I woke her.
She’d always talked in her sleep, as far back as I could remember. That part wasn’t new. It had always been in English though. It bothered me more than a little that she seemed to have traded it wholesale for Etoline. I could logically reason with myself that it was to be expected, but it put her just one more step removed from reality.
I didn’t want to just take it away from her. I could tell how important it was to her identity. Sometimes, it felt like she’d become an adopted foreigner, with an entirely different culture and upbringing than me, even though we’d spent sixteen years together here on Earth. I’d never understand what she’d gone through, and how she’d become the huntress I’d finally reunited with on opposite sides of a negotiating table in the secret cellar of a bordertown tavern.
As I walked behind her though, she seemed like a perfectly ordinary high school girl. More importantly, she looked like the girl whom I’d grown up with, spent every Christmas with, bought presents for, watched TV with, and cooked dinner for nearly every night. She was my sister.
I started down the aisles, following my normal cycle, picking up the usuals. Jen was in another aisle, presumably grabbing whatever she’d decided we were having for dinner. I’d promised, after all. There was no way she’d forget that.
To my surprise though, I’d picked up everything before she returned. I wandered aimlessly until I spotted her, staring intently at the shelves of bread.
“Did you find something you wanted?” I called out, walking up to join her. Jen didn’t answer. Her head moved slowly to the next loaf of bread in the aisle. “Uhh, Jen?”
“ Se develd . I’m learning over here.”
Curious, I leaned in, basket under my arm. “ What are you doing?”
She looked round, face growing pink. “Learning. Or… relearning, I guess.”
I examined the bread. It didn’t seem remarkable in the slightest—until I noticed they were all turned upside down, where Jen could read off the ingredients. “Names?”
“Forgot the word for bread, for one. Or cinnamon. Wheat, nuts, raisins, peanut butter.” Jen sighed. “Don’t make fun of me?”
“Could I ever honestly promise that?”
She snorted. “Okay, you got a point. Anyway, do you mind if I keep going for a bit? You’d be surprised how helpful this is.”
I shrugged. “It’s fine. Just remember we’ve gotta be back in time to cook before Mom gets home.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Jen waved me off.
I suddenly remembered what Jen had requested at lunch. I couldn’t deny I had a huge craving for cake as well. This store had a bakery attached, didn’t it? After a moment’s attempt at rem
embering where it might be, I gave up and began wandering the outer edge. I figured I’d run into it eventually.
Instead, I found something else. Someone else.
I almost ran into her coming around the corner of the aisle. It was bizarrely comical as I nearly knocked her over, too distracted by the sight of the deli and the thought of fresh ham for dinner. Cyraveil didn’t have pigs. I scrambled to help her back up to her feet, and realized with a shock it was Sara once again.
“Oh, hi,” I said awkwardly. “Uhh… sorry.”
She shook her head. “Totally my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
“Well, I wasn’t really either. We’ll call it a draw?”
“Sure,” she laughed. Her face was the kind that lit up completely when she did, wide smiles and sparkling eyes. It rekindled every spark of the crush I’d had from a smoldering ember into the flame it had once been, doused over the years as my mind got distracted by endless other concerns. This time around, I was determined to fan it into a true fire.
“Well anyway. If it’s all right with you, I’d like to run into you again sometime.”
“Oh?” Her eyes flashed with curiosity, even as she suppressed a smile at my bad line. So I was never the best at this sort of thing, on either side. I didn’t care anymore though. I just knew I wanted to spend more time with her.
“Are you busy Friday?” I asked, the plan already forming in my head.
“No. I don’t think so. Yeah, nope. I’m free.”
“Want to go out somewhere?”
Sara smiled, giving me a tiny nod. “Sure, Matt.”
“Cool. I’ll pick you up then.”
“Uhh,” Sara started, glancing around. That wasn’t part of the script in my head. A little pool of anxiety began forming in my mind.
“What’s up?”
“Oh! Nothing. Just, I’ll be walking home with Jen anyway. I might as well meet you at your place?” she said quickly. Was she embarrassed about something? Her eyes were darting around a lot. Avoiding something. I wasn’t sure what to read into it.
“All right.” I smiled, trying to convey it wasn’t a big deal. She returned it, and all the world seemed to get a bit lighter.
“So, you’re making dinner?” she asked casually.
“Jen told you?”
“Seemed super excited. Like, hyperbolically excited. Are you some kind of mega-chef?”
I shrugged. “I dabble.”
“Ah, playing it cool. Wise choice.” Sara grinned. “Maybe i’ll have to come over and try one of your meals sometime.”
“I dunno if I can handle the pressure of cooking for someone as good looking as you.”
Sara’s eyes glazed over momentarily. Her face flushed. “Save something for Friday,” she murmured.
I grinned. “Don’t worry. I’ve gotta head home now anyway.” I turned to leave, but Sara caught me by the hand. Despite her sudden urgency and shift in tone, it still sent a spark up through my skin, feeling that touch.
“Wait.” Her voice had changed. It was the tone I’d come to dread, concerned and serious and wrought with fear and confusion. It bespoke upcoming panic and horror, where terrible things were bound to happen. “Look, Jen told me not to say anything, but I’m worried about her.”
My fears were realized. Someone outside our group had learned what they shouldn’t. I tried to dial back my panic. Jen wasn’t an idiot. Smarter than me more often than not. She’d have had some reason to bring Sara into the fold, something we’d talk about as soon as we got home. On top of that, I didn’t know what Jen had told her exactly. I had to play this carefully.
“Worried how?” I asked, not too casually. The concerned older brother, that’s all I was.
“Have you noticed anything lately? Today in particular?”
I shrugged.
Sara frowned. “Oh come on, don’t give me that. You two are super close. Thick as thieves.”
“Occasionally with actual thieving.”
“Nothing.” That wasn’t a story I could share with Sara, although it was a pretty good highlight. Carl’s armory guards never saw us coming. “I mean, yeah, she’s been a bit different lately. But people change. Nothing can stay the same forever.”
“If you say so,” she sighed.
“Talking about me behind my back? For shame,” intoned Jen from somewhere nearby. Sara and I both jerked around, startled, but we didn’t see her anywhere.
“…Jen?” I asked to thin air, unsure where she was.
“Present,” she replied, poking her head over the top of the shelves from the next aisle.
I frowned. “Are you standing on the shelves?”
“Don’t worry about it.” Jen grinned. “You two are so cute, by the way. Finally going on a date after years of crushing on each other.”
My cheeks might as well have caught on fire. I’m sure I looked exactly as red as Sara became the next instant.
“Jenny, I—”
“Jen,” we corrected her automatically.
Sara shook her head in disbelief. “All of you are insane.”
“Also intelligent, insightful, and insyladanal ,” added Jen. “Also, Matt, don’t we need to get going?”
I nodded, grateful for the excuse to leave. “DId you figure out what we’re eating tonight?”
In response, Jen held up a plastic bottle. It caught the light of the lamps above just right, lighting up the semi-transparent amber liquid inside. She tossed it over and I caught it. A bottle of maple syrup.
“Pancakes it is.”
Chapter 6 — Carl
“Assuming Blake was a runaway then, where do we start?”
“Closest friends. Whoever he might confide in.”
“Don’t you mean whomever ?”
“Grammar? From you?”
“I woke up in school once or twice, fuck you very much.”
For some reason beyond my understanding, I’d ended up in class again after the disastrous conversation with Matt in the cafeteria. I guess my feet took me there on muscle memory alone, because I had no idea what class it actually was. I assumed it was right though, and the corkboard at the front had a little green index card pinned to it with “Carl Stokelson” written on it, showing where I was supposed to sit—right near the back and by the window, exactly where I’d prefer. Somewhere I could avoid attention and zone out watching the street, ignoring class entirely.
Which, of course, is what I ended up doing right away. The rest of the room became a bland, unfocused blur and dull hum. I couldn’t get the conversation with Matt out of my mind. It began with rage, waves of heat and frustration rolling through my face like someone were pressing hot pans to my cheeks. How could Matt be such an idiot about this? Blake was fine, and we were just wasting time when we should be out looking for him.
And Jen backed him up! Matt wasn’t always right. I was right as often as he was. After everything I’d done for Jen, you’d think she’d be more supportive. I’d rescued her, dammit all. Matt didn’t do shit for her while we were separated. If I hadn’t found her… If I hadn’t been in a position to get her released…
I shuddered. No one deserved to go through that hell.
The bell rang, and more students filed into the room in groups, talking and laughing. I glanced around, trying to pick up clues on what class this actually was. I saw maps on the wall, of Europe and the Americas and drilling down to specific countries. History, I guessed? I tried to dredge up everything I could remember of their history, but I couldn’t be sure which names and details were of Earth and which were of Cyraveil.
Were the Ostrogans the leaders of the revolt that overthrew the Western Roman Empire, plunging Italy into chaos? Did the Visigoths assassinate the last God-Kings of Laodrannen, paving the way for the enslavement of the Saenvalands and the economic miracle that brought the rough country back to the forefront of civilization? Was it the Cellman or the Medici family that first discovered—and were subsequently captured and tortured by—elves in the for
ests of the Sylvandar?
I sighed audibly. I’d figure it out on the fly. I didn’t really have any better options, and improvising under pressure had brought me a lot of success in the past.
Our teacher, who was barely older than I should have been, began lecturing in an upbeat, cheerful voice completely at odds with the subject matter. He seemed under the impression that speaking exuberantly might keep the attention of the students—as if he could compel their interest with just his voice . Such an amateur. I would have preferred a normal drone, so I could tune him out easier and ignore the class.
My eyes remained fixed on the street outside, but I wasn’t really looking at anything in particular anymore. My vision glazed over as I set myself adrift in memories. Anything that could take me away from this hell on earth—on the wrong Earth. I couldn’t properly vanish from the room or the lesson, but I found myself using it as a springboard to escape nonetheless. As the teacher began explaining something or other about the American Civil War, I remembered my own war.
No stories of battle, even from the most vivid storyteller, can prepare you for the real thing. The heat, sweat and grime as you stand on a battlefield for days and sometimes weeks, with blood cascading down limbs from arrowheads embedded in flesh, while swords and armor clash all around you. Sword fights aren’t anything like what you might expect either. No choreography or fancy, tricky footwork to be found on the battlefield. A real sword fight between two guys in full plate mail is like two mountains hurling themselves at each other. Slashing is useless, since it just bounces right off the plate. Your best bet is to try and get the point through a seam between the pieces, where it can slip through a weak point and into their flesh.
More often, though, I’d just see the stronger man bash the weaker into submission with a shield, or the flat of his blade, as many times as it took. Once someone went down, then you got to the messy business of actually killing them.
Full proper armor like that was rare though, reserved for the truly exceptional or exceedingly rich. More often, you’d just see groups torn down by hails of arrows while charging, or speared by men on horseback. Once you really got into the thick of it, you were just another face in a crowd of lightly armored men with pointy objects, doing their absolute best not to get stuck with anything.