by Unknown
Then his body betrayed him, his lips opening of their own accord, his lungs pulling fluid into his mouth and down his throat. He coughed violently, bubbles spewing from his nose. He took another breath in, water coursing down his windpipe and into his lungs, burning it as went. He flailed his legs uselessly, the world beginning to fade around him, his body going numb.
And then the tugging at his leg stopped, the weight there vanishing.
Kyle scrambled upward, his head bursting through the surface of the river. He coughed violently, water shooting out of his mouth and nose. He gasped for air, feeling more water trickle down his windpipe, and coughed again. Then he took another breath in, feeling air – sweet air! – rushing in.
Yes!
He took deep, gulping breaths, feeling life seep back into his limbs. The stars in the periphery of his vision faded, the burning in his chest subsiding. He stared up at the night sky above, just treading water and breathing.
I'm alive.
A giddiness came over him, a mad joy, and he laughed, his voice echoing in the cool night air.
I'm alive!
He felt a sudden bolt of fear, remembering the horrifying beast. He spun around in the water, his eyes darting across the rippling surface of the river, but saw nothing. It was gone...or was it?
Get out of the water, he told himself.
Kyle spotted the shore some thirty feet to his left, and swam toward it, the current pulling him further downstream. His toes scraped against mud and rocks below, and after a few more strokes he was able to get his feet under him. He stood, trudging slowly toward the shore. His legs wobbled as he made it out of the water, and he lowered himself onto his belly, resting his temple on the rough sand. He felt suddenly exhausted, the mere thought of continuing onward overwhelming.
It was then that the pain in his back returned, going from a mild burning to a sharp, throbbing pain. Kyle groaned, reaching around and feeling the center of his back. His fingertips dipped into a deep, moist crevice there, his pain suddenly worsening. He jerked his hand away, staring at his fingers.
They were covered in blood.
Kyle's heart pounded in his chest, a wave of nausea coming over him. He felt suddenly dizzy, his lips and fingertips tingling. He stared at his forearms, seeing the deep gashes in them, blood pouring from the wounds and staining the sand. His temples throbbed terribly, and he touched them, feeling slick blood trickling down his face.
Oh god oh god...
He clenched his teeth against the rising pain, his breath hissing in and out.
How can I be hurt? This is a dream!
Kyle reached around, pinching his own forearm...hard. The pain was sharp, and immediate. He felt a surge of panic, his pulse pounding in his ears.
This wasn't a dream...it was real!
* * *
Kyle lay there on the sandy shore of the river, his breath coming in short gasps. He dug his fingertips into the sand, gritting his teeth.
Don't panic, he ordered himself. That's what his Dad had told him to remember if he ever got hurt. Breathe.
He laid there, forcing himself to take slow, deep breaths.
Get up, he told himself.
Kyle slid his hands underneath him, pushing himself up onto his knees, then rising slowly to his feet. He staggered to one side, a wave of nausea coming over him. He caught himself, then took one step away from the river, and another. Ahead of him, the sandy banks of the river gave way to dense forest, the leaves on the trees no longer glowing as brightly against the steadily brightening sky. He continued forward, ignoring the twigs and small stones jabbing into the bottoms of his feet.
The ground on either side rose steeply, forming two rocky cliffs. A narrow dirt path snaked between them, and Kyle followed it. He felt something trickling down the back of his legs, and reached down, feeling slippery wetness there. When he withdrew his hand, it was covered in blood.
He stared at his soaked palm, feeling woozy.
He focused ahead, pushing forward through the narrow path, the cliffs on either side throwing cool shadows over him. The path widened over time, the cliff sides giving way to a field of tall, golden grass. Each blade was as broad as his palm, and easily a few feet taller than him. The grass grew so densely that it was impossible to see beyond it, forming a veritable wall in either direction as far as the eye could see. Kyle stopped before it, his head swimming. He licked his lips, having a sudden, desperate craving for ice-cold water. He imagined himself holding a tall glass, bringing it to his lips and feeling cool liquid pouring down his parched throat.
Focus.
Kyle pushed through the grass, parting it with his hands, leaving streaks of blood on the broad blades. He continued forward blindly; after a few minutes, the tall grass ended abruptly, opening up to reveal a broad dirt road, beyond which another line of tall golden grass waved in the wind. Kyle stepped onto the road, looking left, then right; it cut a swath through the grass on either side as far as the eye could see. He stood there, swaying a little, feeling as if his head were rising from his body.
Which way?
He looked up and down the road, his mind wandering. He shook his head, digging his fingernails into his arms.
Come on, he scolded himself. Think!
There was no sign of anyone on the road, and no buildings in the distance. No way to know which way was the right way to go to find help. But if he didn't choose soon...
He paused, then turned right, walking down the road. The sun rose behind him, sending a long shadow out in front of him. He shivered despite the warmth of its rays on his bare skin, feeling strangely disconnected from his body. He looked down, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other.
One, two, three, four…he counted his steps, building a rhythm. Five, six, seven, eight…
His left knee gave out suddenly, and he stumbled forward, landing face-first onto the dirt, his head bouncing off of the ground. Pain exploded from the center of his forehead, and a wave of nausea overtook him, bile pooling in his mouth. He swallowed it back with a shudder, pushing himself up from the packed dirt with his hands, then rising shakily to his feet.
He took a deep breath in, swaying slightly. Then he continued forward, putting one foot forward, then another.
His mind began to wander, and this time he let it. The pain in his back was gone now; he felt numb, as if his body belonged to someone else. Onward he shuffled, watching as the tall fields of sun-kissed grass on either side swayed majestically in the breeze, like waves in a golden sea. He closed his eyes, feeling that warm breeze glide over his bare skin, bringing a light, sweet scent to his nose.
After a few more minutes, his legs started to wobble, and he felt himself falling, his knees slamming into the ground, then his face. There was no pain this time. He felt nothing at all. He opened his eyes, turning his head to the side and staring at the long blades of grass dancing in the wind, sunlight glittering through them. It was hard to think now, hard to concentrate on anything.
I'm dying, he realized.
He closed his eyes, feeling himself drifting away. There was no fear, only exhaustion; an exhaustion so complete that he yearned for sleep. He gave into it, feeling his life slipping away.
Something cold and wet pressed onto his back, and then the world went black.
Chapter 3
Kyle opened his eyes, seeing a plain white ceiling above.
He yawned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Then he stiffened. How long had he slept for? He turned his head to glance at his alarm clock on his nightstand, but neither the clock nor the nightstand were there. He blinked, turning his head the other way. Still no clock...and no nightstand.
Kyle frowned, then sat up...or tried to. Pain shot up his spine, and he cried out, falling back onto the bed. He froze, gasping for breath.
What the...
He waited for the pain to subside, then rolled carefully onto one side, reaching around to feel his back. His fingers slid over something soft, like gauze. He pres
sed down on it, feeling immediate pain. Suddenly it came back to him; the wolf-like creature that had chased him. The pain as it had mauled him, slashing his arms and head with its deadly jaws.
It wasn't a dream!
A chill ran through him, goosebumps rising on his arms. He looked down, seeing bandages wrapped around his forearms...and his right calf. He turned his head slowly, scanning the room. It was all wrong. The walls were painted a faint yellow; his room at his dad's house was white. Fine paintings hung on the walls, an elegant wooden desk sitting in one corner. A glass of pale green liquid stood on the top of the desk, along with a few books.
Where am I?
Kyle pushed himself up into a sitting position carefully, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The movement sent stabbing pains through his back, which quickly turned into a gnawing ache. He sat there for a long moment, waiting for the pain to subside. He realized that he was wearing bright white pants, and that a neatly folded white shirt was laying on the edge of the bed. He reached for it gingerly, pulling the shirt on, wincing with every movement. Then he stood up.
More pain.
He breathed through it, clenching and unclenching his fists. Again the pain subsided. A window by the bed caught his eye, and he shuffled over to it. Sunlight poured through, making his eyes ache. Maybe twenty feet below, a huge green lawn extended far out into the distance, bordered by a white fence.
Where the heck am I?
Kyle turned away from the window, struck with the sudden urge to lay back down, to close his eyes and rest. He felt terribly weak, his mouth dry. He resisted the urge, spotting a partially open door opposite the bed. He paused, then walked up to it, cracking it open a bit more and peering out. There was a hallway beyond, with a closed door directly opposite his. The walls were a faint yellow, the same as his room, and the wooden floor was polished to a mirror shine. Kyle opened the door wider, glancing up and down the long hallway.
It was deserted.
He hesitated, then stepped into the hall. To his left was another closed door; to his right was a broad staircase. He walked to the edge of the stairs; they spiraled downward, a golden railing on either side.
Gathering his courage, he grabbed the railing with one hand, then went down the stairs until he'd reached the bottom of the stairwell. Beyond was another long hallway; rows of closed doors were on either wall, with a door at the end of the hallway some forty feet away. Unlike the others, this door was slightly open...but not enough that he could see past it. Kyle paused at the foot of the stairs, staring at the door, then turning to look back up the stairwell.
Without warning, the door at the end of the hallway burst open!
A man strode through the doorway into the hallway, then stopped abruptly, his eyes locking on Kyle. Kyle backpedaled, catching his heel on the stair behind him, and fell onto his butt. Pain shot up his spine, and he cried out, freezing in place.
The man continued to stare at Kyle. Kyle stared back, petrified; the man was dressed in a simple black shirt and black pants, with black boots polished to a mirror shine. He was older, with thick white hair in a crew cut, and an equally white goatee. He was strikingly handsome despite his age, and quite fit, his toned muscles showing through his clothes. He moved toward Kyle suddenly, striding down the hallway with surprising swiftness. Kyle barely had time to stand before the man was nearly upon him; the stranger stopped a few feet from Kyle, looking down at him with sharp brown eyes.
“Flarg maneli wizi?” the man asked.
Kyle blinked, then swallowed in a dry throat, his heart pounding in his chest. He tried to say something, but the words caught in his throat. The man's eyes narrowed, seeming to stare right through Kyle.
"Marpisi saduri?"
Kyle shook his head, shrugging his shoulders helplessly. The man frowned, then stepped forward, reaching out at Kyle with one hand. Kyle shrank backward, but the older man merely held his hand out, palm up. He gestured for Kyle to take it.
Kyle stared at that hand; it was wrinkled, with thick callouses at the base of each finger. The man in black smiled, bringing his outstretched hand a bit closer. The stranger's smile was surprisingly warm, and despite Kyle's better judgement, he found himself reaching out to grab the man's hand.
The stranger gripped Kyle's hand firmly, then turned around, striding back down the hallway toward the open door he'd come from. Kyle followed behind and to one side; the man let go of Kyle's hand as they passed through the doorway, entering the room beyond. It was a large room, tastefully but sparsely decorated, with a long, rectangular table in the center. The table was made of dark, polished wood, and was easily two dozen feet long. Intricate symbols had been carved into its thick, sturdy legs, with glittering gemstones imbedded in colorful patterns at the tabletop's edges. Huge paintings hung on the walls, flanked by life-size marble statues.
Kyle's gaze returned to the table. There were chairs lining its length; in one of them sat a man dressed entirely in golden armor. This man had short, dark brown hair and startlingly blue eyes. He looked to be in his thirties, but it was difficult to tell for sure. The man stared back at Kyle, his expression utterly flat.
The man in black walked up to the chair to the right of the golden-armored man, motioning for Kyle to sit down.
"Noxa sans ibis,” he urged.
Kyle hesitated, then obeyed, walking up to the chair and sitting down carefully. The man in black sat down in the seat next to Kyle's, reaching into his breast pocket and retrieving something small and yellow. He leaned forward then, reaching toward Kyle's right ear. Kyle jerked away reflexively, feeling immediate pain in his back as he did so.
Suddenly a cold, metallic arm wrapped around his neck from behind!
Kyle cried out, lurching forward, but the arm around his neck tightened, and something gripped the back of his head with terrible force, locking it in place. Kyle reached up with both hands, prying at the arm around his neck, but it was no use.
The man in black reached forward again, grabbing Kyle's right ear with one hand and pressing the yellow object into his earlobe with the other. Kyle felt a sudden, sharp pain there, and cried out again, reaching up to bat away the older man's hands. But he was too late; the man in black leaned back, resting one elbow on the tabletop and staring at Kyle with those intense brown eyes. A slight smirk curled his lips.
“Well then,” he stated. “That should do it. My name is Kalibar. What's yours?”
* * *
The arm around Kyle's neck slipped away, along with the hand on the back of his head. He swallowed, then raised a hand to his right earlobe. He felt something small and hard there. It throbbed slightly, and felt wet; when he looked at his fingertips, he saw they were smudged with blood.
Kyle returned his gaze to the older man – Kalibar – and saw that the man was still staring at him. Kyle blinked, realizing that he'd been asked a question, but unable to remember what it was.
"Sorry?" he managed, his voice cracking.
"What's your name, son?" Kalibar asked. His tone was patient, but his fingertips drummed on the tabletop. Kyle cleared his throat.
“Uh, Kyle” he replied, rubbing his bloody fingers on his pants. Kalibar's eyes darted down to the red streaks on Kyle's otherwise perfectly white pants, but his expression didn't change.
“Welcome to my home, Uh, Kyle,” he greeted.
“Um...my name is Kyle, not Uh, Kyle,” Kyle corrected, his cheeks flushing even more. Kalibar smirked ever-so-slightly.
"I know," he replied. "I was making a joke at your expense." Kyle smiled at Kalibar automatically, then realized that this wasn't a good thing.
"Do you know what that is?" Kalibar asked, pointing to Kyle's right ear. Kyle frowned, bringing his hand back up to his earlobe. It felt like there was a small earring there.
"An earring?" he ventured. The corner of Kalibar's mouth twitched.
"Think of it as a...universal translator," he corrected. "It understands the meaning behind spoken words, and that is what your ea
r registers.” Kalibar paused, seeing Kyle's blank stare, then added “So you can understand what anyone is saying, even if they don't speak the same language.”
Kyle stared at Kalibar mutely.
“The earring also allows me to understand what you're saying," Kalibar continued. "Now that we understand each other, tell me...where are you from?”
“Um," Kyle answered, "...Massachusetts.”
Kalibar stared at him blankly.
“You know, in the United States," Kyle continued. "...of America.”
Another blank stare.
“...on Earth?” Kyle added weakly. Kalibar frowned.
“I know the names and locations of every country in the known world," he replied authoritatively, "...but I've never heard of these places. Tell me, where is Urth?”
Kyle stared at Kalibar for a long moment. Then he realized that his mouth was hanging open, and he shut it with a click. The younger man wearing the golden armor stirred.
“Maybe he hit his head,” the man offered dryly. Kalibar glanced at the man.
“Kyle, this is Darius,” he introduced. Kyle turned to look at Darius, and saw the man staring back at him with those striking blue eyes. "He's one of my bodyguards," Kalibar explained. "If it weren't for him, you wouldn't be alive right now."
Kyle turned back to Darius, nodding slightly in thanks. The man just stared at him, not so much as blinking. Kyle squirmed in his seat, lowering his gaze to his lap.
"A farmer found you lying in the road three miles from here, as near to death as he'd ever seen," Kalibar continued. "He brought you here, to Bellingham, and Darius brought you to me." He frowned, leaning back in his chair. "And now I need to decide what I should do with you."
"Uh," Kyle mumbled. "...where am I?"