Revary

by Abigail Linhardt

  Even though he was being kind and reassuring, her heart still sank. “But this world,” she sighed. “I don’t want to give up my playing. It’s all I know. I have control there and it’s all so easy. Find the magic scroll, defeat the ogres, save some villagers. And then you celebrate.”

  “Sometimes, Clare,” Alexander sighed too, “we have to just make a list and then make a choice.”

  “But there is so much I want to do!” she pleaded.

  “Make a choice,” he replied. “Take some time off before college. Intern with an active geologist. Volunteer at a nature reserve or visit a kid’s home. Anything to help you decide. You have time.”

  “But I don’t. Mom and dad were engaged when they were my age with jobs and everything. I have nothing.”

  “But you want to.” His voice softened. “That’s what matters as a first step. And remember, you are not your parents. At all. You get to do something entirely different. Be glad you are not doomed to always do what your parents do or else this world would never advance. In fact, I took years off before school. I didn’t get my bachelor’s degree until I was twenty-five. Got my master’s at thirty. Know why I’m in such happiness?” She looked up into his eyes. “Because I worked my butt off in school. It took me that long to find something I really wanted to do. Something I wanted to work that hard for. That’s what you have to find out. What is worth your work, ideas, and effort? This world has a lot of chances for you to explore. It’s your time, Clare. It is your next seventy to eighty years you are planning out. Not anyone else’s. And,” he added. “I’m sorry you don’t have an adult to look up to. Maybe you are that adult?”

  “That’s confusing,” she said. She fixed her eyes back on the lake. “If I was my mentor, I’d say just finish high school and see what happens. There’s still a lot of time in this semester for me to screw up.”

  Alexander took a photo of the rising moon. “Or learn something brilliant.”

  “And grow up.”

  “Mature,” he corrected.

  “What’s the difference? Max said the same thing.” She waited while he inspected his work.

  “Sir James Barry asked that same question,” he sighed, disappointed with the lighting.

  “And what conclusion did he have?”

  He smiled up at the real moon, abandoning the one on his screen. “He made Wendy let Jane go to Neverland. Wendy never forgot, you see. She matured and got older, but she didn’t let Peter Pan go.”

  Chapter 8

  Return to the Planes

  Normally when given the weekend off by Heather and with no Sun Age plans, Clare would have slept in Saturday morning. But today, she had a mission. After a lecture from her mother on running off for so long, Clare had decided it was time to attempt a conscious cross over into the other world she had discovered. Something about the lake she had come across in the quarry with Professor LeGrand had rekindled her desire to see that world again. The same night, she hunted for loon sounds on her computer and downloaded some to fall asleep with. As the loons cried and howled all night, she imagined she was in that quarry, but it was outside of Calimorden. She had imagined creatures in the water, the elf, Prince Gwen, and even a kinder version of the dragon that had sent her back to her own world.

  She decided trying to find a way back couldn’t hurt.

  She slung her backpack onto her shoulders and peddled hard to make it to the mall just as it was opening. Using a map, she had looked up the quarry and saw it was only about three miles behind the mall and approximately six miles to the park where she and her friends played. On a bike on city pavement, that wasn’t a hard ride.

  She ran inside the glass doors and the smell of the mall overpowered her: the smell of the candle store, the movie theatre, and the cologne from the overpowering men’s clothing outlets. It was the smell of misery.

  Heather was just opening the store’s doors when Clare rushed up to them. The willowy woman smiled when she saw her young employee.

  “Greetings, Clare,” she said. “You do remember you have the day off?”

  “Yes,” Clare panted as she came in. She stared too long at Heather’s face because her blush was far too pink for her dark skin. Heather noticed her stare.

  “Oh, I know, child,” she sighed. “It’s like people conspire against us. No blush will do for my skin. Now, what can I help you with on your day off? You cannot miss the place that much,” she joked.

  “No, actually, I was hoping Flynn was in. I was thinking about the William Wallace sword he ordered. Not the claymore, but the replica.”

  Heather fixed Clare with a knowing smile. “What can a girl like you want with that thing?”

  Clare moved over to the crystal stand and began to shuffle through them. “I kind of wanted it. He said he’d order me a battle-ready one if I wanted.” She smiled, sticking her head out just enough for Heather to see. The woman laughed and pulled her dreadlocks up into a ponytail.

  “I can see in your aura you are glowing today, Clare,” she said. “And yet, it is fading in and out as though a veil is passing over you.” Heather blinked and frowned slightly. “Where are you going?”

  Times like these always made Clare wonder if Heather really did have supernatural abilities. She could read people exceptionally well, but every once in a while, she would say something like this that made one marvel.

  “I’m going skating with everyone later,” Clare tried to deflect the probe. “And I was wondering what crystal you recommend—”

  “For protection,” Heather finished for her. She came out from behind the counter and pulled a necklace off her own neck. “This is made of black tourmaline,” she said, handing it over to Clare. “Keep it for your travels.” Then she added with a sly smile, “So you do not fall down while skating. Cannot have any broken bones!”

  A smile spread across Clare’s face, dispelling the strange sensation from before. “Thank you.”

  Heather winked, held up one finger to tell Clare to wait, and disappeared behind the tribal curtain that led to the back room. In a moment she came back with a belt and scabbard with the sword in it she had wanted. She gasped when Heather handed it to her.

  “Oh, Heather, thank you!” She pounced on the woman with a hug of gratitude. “You already had it?”

  “Flynn ordered it last week. He knew you would need extra strength going into senior year so he put one on order. He says it is for the wall only. No swinging this around in your games in the woods. That could kill someone!”

  “Thank you!” Clare squealed again, hugging her boss.

  She dropped her backpack and slid the sword in, the end poking out the top but safely clad behind thick, sturdy leather. She slipped the black crystal over her head and tucked it into her shirt. She shrugged her pack on while smiling.

  “For freedom,” she said gleefully and skipped out the door. “Oh, and if anyone calls or comes by, tell them I’m at the quarry hunting a duck.”

  Chaining her bike to a pine tree, Clare circled around and found the quarry quickly. She was on the lower half this time, looking up at the cliff where she and Professor LeGrand had their inspiring conversation. It was still early in the morning and the loons were not out. Not wanting to get her new sword wet, she put her pack down near the rocky bank and ventured down toward the water.

  The bank was solid rock with a few loose areas she tried to avoid so as to not slip and hit her head. The water rose and fell, sometimes ten feet above the water and sometimes lapping the shore like a proper beach. She climbed up onto a rock jutting out over the water and looked across the lake to the higher perch. She reimagined standing up there and looking up at herself discovering the loons. Then her eyes followed those of her past self and gazed out over the darkened land that was her camp. By the end of autumn, it would be gone.

  “Only a few months left, Sun Age,” she sighed across the lake. “Why is it everything good and fun has to be destroyed?”

  “It’s fine, we need to grow up,” Al would
say.

  “We need to focus on real life,” Stella would agree.

  Clare groaned and stood up. Why was it that her oldest and dearest friends could not understand her desire to make life work the way she wanted it to? Her father had told her over and over to get a job that would pay the bills and make her comfortable. What he didn’t agree with was that she would be comfortable working as a poor artist or even a writer. LeGrand seemed happy and his clothes told her he wasn’t wealthy.

  There had to be a way to be happy and live satisfied. Why was everyone convinced there wasn’t? Like one had to make a choice between financial security or misery.

  “Make a choice,” Clare quoted LeGrand. “Can I choose what choice to make though?” she asked. “Does that make sense, professor? I choose to go back to Calimorden for now.”

  Still deep in contemplation, she leaped onto the next outcropping. When she landed, the ground suddenly crumbled out from under her! She screamed as her arms flew up and her fingers stretched out to grab hold of anything to stop her fall. In a painful slide from the crumbling rocks, Clare plummeted down into the icy water of the quarry basin.

  She sunk for a moment, her legs kicking down as she tried to propel herself up. Then, an undertow from nowhere swept her legs away and turned her upside down, filling her nose with cold water.

  Being shoved and tossed by the sudden rushing water, her head at last reached the surface and she gasped for air. It took a few more drowning turns for her to right herself and hold it that way. Between the white waves and the coughing, she saw she was rushing down a roaring river in the middle of a wood made of trees that could only be rivaled by redwoods. Movement on the shore just ahead made her survival instincts kick in and she waved her arms madly to the watchers.

  The sound of galloping hooves and deep, rough voices alerted her to a rush of running beasts. Thinking it may be the centaurs she had met, she called out again and screamed, “Help me!” while waving her arms.

  Gasping, she sucked in icy water, filling her lungs as she was toppled over again. Her nose burning from water, Clare thought she was done for when a strong, large hand grasped her ankle and heaved her out, turning her right side up at last. She coughed, spewing water all over the great chest of her savior as she clung to it, afraid to fall back in the water. Between coughing and blowing water from her nose, she could not see her rescuers until finished.

  Snot leaking from her nostrils and with red eyes, she turned her face up to the strong body that had grabbed her. Large, yellow eyes in a dark green-skinned face met hers. The nose was slightly pointed and the cheekbones were high, but the strangest thing was the mouth full of large, sharp teeth. She realized she was clutching the shoulder belt and long black mane of a broad shouldered, tall orc.

  Screaming, she leapt away from the creature and fell further than she expected, right onto her backside. The painful landing was not enough to make her hesitate and moan about her wounds. Everyone knew orcs were the villains. She scrambled to her feet, slipping on the wet river stones, and struggled a few paces away before dizziness made her fall over again. When she looked up, she faced a set of massive, black, shaggy horse’s hooves.

  Confused, she stood up slowly, expecting to see the orc mounted on a large muscled horse. Instead she saw the large, muscled body of a black horse that smoothly transitioned into the hairless, earthen-colored skin of an orc. Around the horse-orc’s waist was what looked like a massive claymore. Nothing but the longest broadsword would reach the victims of this tall beast.

  Clare stared and backed away slowly only to see she was surrounded. Her hand went instinctively down to her hip, but her sword was not there. Cursing, she realized she had left it on the beach in her pack, which had not fallen into the water with her. On all sides, tall centaur-orcs stared at her in confusion and curiosity overwhelmed her. She was a ranger again.

  She lifted her hands above her head. “My name is Clare. I’m not from around here.”

  The one who had pulled her out of the river, the least frightening of the entire group, came forward and stood beside the chief, who was distinguishable from his size and war paint. The orc leaned over and spoke to the chief in their own language, which sounded like sloppy German to Clare. When the chief nodded, his hand still resting on the claymore’s hilt, the other orc turned to her and spoke.

  “We are the norcan, one of many clans in the west of this plane. Where do you hail from?”

  Wondering how the creature spoke so she could understand, she timidly replied, “I hail from Earth. I am looking for Calimorden, the human kingdom.”

  At the mention of Calimorden, the other norcan growled in rage and weapons were drawn. The chief silenced them with a raised hand. He leaned over and spoke again to the orc. They conversed quietly and the discussion became very passionate with hand gestures until both turned their gaze on her.

  “You know our words,” the chief spoke at last. His voice was more orcish; low, gravely, and deadly sounding.

  “Uh, yeah,” Clare tried. “And you know mine?”

  “No,” the other orc said. “You speak to us in our own words. How is it you speak to us?”

  Clare realized then she must have been speaking norcan without knowing it! Deciding this was part of the magic of being an earthling, she grew in courage and stood her ground.

  “I am here to find Prince Gwen,” she said boldly. “I think. I mean, I don’t know where I am.” Her cheeks flushed again and in her mind, an image of her house flashed then vanished. Strangely, she didn’t find herself wondering about home; it meant nothing right now.

  The norcan all exchanged dark glances. The chief spoke again.

  “My son says you are not like the other humans of this plane. Is this true?”

  Not wanting to divulge all of her secrets at once, Clare thought it best to play it safe. The last thing she wanted to do was run for her life in a forest full of giant trees away from giant orcish centaurs.

  “I am here as a friend to all on this plane,” she said. “I was supposed to get a quest from Queen Zephyr, but a dragon interrupted while attempting to destroy the castle. I want to know if my friends survived.”

  Understanding dawned on the chief’s face. He crossed his arms over his chest and nodded. “Greylheim has been released by the dark wizards and their sorceresses. That is the dragon whom the great Umbra himself has sent out from the plane beyond the Nether.”

  “Oh, beyond the Nether,” Clare mused under breath. “That’s sounds even more lovely.”

  “Greylheim seeks out those who would disturb the plans of Umbra.”

  The norcan chief drew his claymore and approached Clare. He was trying to intimidate her with his size. She stood her ground and widened her stance, glaring up at him.

  “Hey now, what have I done?” she barked.

  “You are an ally of the humans!” the chief roared. “That makes you my enemy!”

  Not realizing the stupidity of the act, Clare reached up and swatted the flat of the sword away with her bare hand and scoffed.

  “I said I am a friend to all on this plane. I am at peace with the centaurs and an under elf.”

  “Under elves do not have friends,” the chief said. “They are a pestilence, unless mixed with herbs and a pungent sauce.”

  Clare’s mouth dropped open.

  “Taker her!” the chief ordered in a roaring voice.

  Clare only had enough time to take one dashing, unsteady step toward the woods before four strong hands seized her and bound her hands. Her ankles were tied and she was slung across the horseback of one of the other norcan. The one that had rescued her gave her the most fleeting glance of apology before following his chief into the woods.

  Clinging to the norcan for life as they dashed was probably not the best thing Clare could have done. She later thought she should have let go and made a run for it after slipping her bonds. But that probably would never have worked.

  When they cleared the trees, a vast prairie spread out b
efore her eyes. Little stone houses, some two or three stories tall, dotted the ocean of waving grass. At first she thought it was not the most defensible place on the plane, but realized these great beasts probably didn’t have many enemies willing to stand up to them. Beyond the norcan village was open range. Far in the distance were mountains. Clare couldn’t be sure, but they may have been the mountains that surrounded Calimorden.

  She was taken to a fenced bit of yard just outside the tree line far away from their homes and tied to the wooden stake in the center. This was where she was to stay until further notice.

  Struggling against the ropes pinched her skin and she realized they were made from leather braided together. Remembering the chief’s comment about having under elves with sauce, she prayed the ropes were not made from some creature that had feelings and the ability to talk. All the ideas she had about the norcan being good creatures vanished. Even what must have been norcan children looked vile and carried swords. A closer look at the houses showed that the roves were not thatched, but overlaid with some kind of flesh stitched together. The smell of the settlement reminded her of road kill. She thought about trying some magic again, but remembered the odd feeling that came with it. Perhaps her powers did have limits and that feeling was some kind of symptom. Too scared to try, she leaned her head back against the stake and sighed.

  The sun was setting. When it rose on her home, it set in this other world. In front of her, a few houses away, a large fire had been lit and the norcan were gathering around it. Words she could not distinguish were shouted and all the dark creatures raised their arms and yelled in jubilee. The chief called to the back of the crowd of norcan and summoned some guards to bring out their captives.