by A. L. Knorr
"Hello?" Jordan called as she put hand over hand and pulled herself up. The rungs were soft and a bit slimy and cool against her bare feet in spite of the heat of the day. There was no response to her call. She kept climbing.
"I'm coming up to help you," she said, just in case the person was able to hear her. "Help is on the way." She was speaking just as much to comfort herself as the stranger who was either dead or dying in her tree.
"Hang tight," she said, giving a borderline hysterical laugh at the unintentional pun. She clenched her eyes tight for a second. "Get a grip, Jordan."
The sound of fabric ripping, followed by that of something heavy sliding against the bark, made her gasp and peer around the trunk. The dangling arm had shifted lower and was joined by the shape of a head and then a shoulder. Hair hung down toward the earth. The thickness and the shape of the body made her certain the ‘something’ was a man. A man with longish hair.
"No. No, no, no," Jordan intoned, climbing faster.
The body slid slowly, almost languidly, over the branch and toward the ground.
Jordan fully extended her arm, groaning in the effort to reach him. It wasn’t enough. Her fingertips just brushed the skin of his bare arm as he gained speed and dropped from the branch. Jordan winced as the man hit a limb on the way down and then another, before landing on the grass at the foot of the oak with a dull thud.
"This isn't happening." Jordan peered down at the heap of arms and legs now on the ground beneath her. "This is crazy. I'm crazy. I've finally cracked." She reversed her direction, back down the tree. She mimicked Allan's voice as she descended. "Oh, sorry I forgot to mention. Your mother disappeared once before. Sorry about that, just slipped my mind." Rung by slippery rung she went. "That's alright, Dad," she went on with her little made-up dialogue, "it's just all I needed to become completely unhinged. Did you know that our oak tree is a semiconductor and can-" She stopped blathering when she dropped onto the ground, landing in a crouch next to the man.
With eyes as big as plates, Jordan took in the sight of the man—noting first the blood flowing freely from the cut above his left eye and then the strange bulge at his right shoulder. His shoulder was dislocated; she'd seen it happen to someone who had been bouldering at the indoor gym. Her next observation was his strange clothing. A brown leather vest that looked butter-soft encased his torso. How he got it on was a mystery. The front of it was made from a single piece of leather and was free from laces, buttons, zippers, or any other way of fastening it. It had seams up the sides under the arms, but they were tightly sewn, with no way to open them except with scissors. Soft leather pants wrapped around long legs and dark green leather boots came to just below his kneecaps. Straps across the front of his chest hung loose and disappeared underneath him. Two thinner straps wrapped around his right thigh, holding a sheath. The hilt of a blade protruded from it. His skin was deeply tanned and his shoulder-length hair was threaded with a few small braids. The top half of his hair was pulled away from his forehead, displaying a high widow's peak.
"Looks like you came off a Lord of the Rings set," Jordan muttered. "Let me guess; you're a stuntman and they aimed the catapult in the wrong direction? Poor dear.”
Jordan's body finally responded and she darted forward. Something glinted in the grass and she spied the locket where it had fallen from the swing. She snatched it up, feeling that it had now gone quiet. In one motion, she dropped the locket into the chest pocket of her shirt and put her fingers to the man's throat. His pulse was weak, but he was alive.
She bit off a scream at his sudden throaty groan. He mumbled some strange words and she bent to listen, but didn't hear anything that sounded like English. His eyes were still closed.
"What? I'm sorry, I can't understand you.” She chewed her lip, wondering what to do. She'd have to call for help, unless he soon woke up and was able stand on his own. There didn't appear to be anything wrong with his legs, but who knew? He could have broken every bone in his body, the way he hit the tree.
His eyelids fluttered and Jordan caught a glimpse of the iciest blue between his lashes. He gave a tortured moan and opened his eyes, but just barely.
"Hello," Jordan said, feeling stupid. "I think you've dislocated your shoulder."
His crystal-colored eyes tracked her through half-closed lids. "English," he croaked in a strange accent. He coughed and then inquired, "England?"
"Uh, America," she answered. He thinks he’s in England? Jordan felt adrenalin flood her limbs. Everything in her believed his question was authentic, but how could he be so lost?
He coughed again and lifted a brown hand to his shoulder. He groaned and one shoulder rose off the dirt as he twisted to try and get up. He clenched his teeth and let out a long growl of agony.
"Maybe you shouldn't move." Jordan put a hand out, but didn't touch him.
His face seemed to register some thought and he looked down; his eyes widened, as though he was looking for something important. His left hand found the straps across his chest and he reached around behind him with another loud grunt of pain. Then he leaned forward and Jordan saw his fingers grasp at a leather satchel that he shifted out from underneath him. He sighed in relief and flopped onto his back, keeping a hand on the satchel.
Jordan hovered at his side, not sure what to do with her hands. Her maternal instinct was kicking in and the desire to fix him up was growing fast and making her fingers twitch. But his foreign dress, his somewhat barbaric appearance, the accent she couldn't place and the faintly dangerous air about him; all of these things stayed her hand. He was exceptionally lean and his arms were vascular. Broad shoulders, slim hips and long legs made him look like some kind of athlete. A touch of sunburn on his nose and forehead and deeply golden skin, belied hours spent outside. "How do you feel?" Jordan asked.
"Like I hit a tree," he said in thickly-accented English. His voice was a deep rasp. Jordan wondered if it always sounded like that, or if he was sick. He put a questing hand on his right ribcage and probed there. He twisted to rise up again and this time he made it all the way to sitting. "I wonder," he said and then looked up at her, "if you might help me to stand?"
"Of course," she said. "But your shoulder-"
"I can put it back in," he said. "But I need to stand."
"Okay." She patted her shoulder and he put a hand on it. "I'm stronger than I look," she said. "Put your weight on me."
He gave a wheezing groan as he got to his feet. The bulge at his right shoulder looked worse when he was standing. The color in the man's face faded and he swayed on his feet. Jordan steadied him.
"If you tell me what to do, I can help," she suggested.
He grimaced, his face twisting into a one-eyed mask of pain. "Take my wrist and when I say to, help me lift my arm up quickly. The shoulder joint needs to go back into place."
Jordan faced him and took his right wrist. "Ready when you are."
He gave a coughing sound that almost sounded like a laugh. His icy blue eyes met her teal ones and she thought he might have smiled through his pain. "Three, two-"
They lifted together on “one,” and he bellowed and staggered, then bent over at the waist and groaned through clenched teeth.
That's when Jordan saw the short spears tucked into a small case at his back. Small silver blades fell from somewhere and scattered across the grass. Her eyes widened and she stepped back from him. "What are those for?"
He scooped them up and tucked them back into the small case. "Insurance," he groaned. As he straightened, the remaining pink drained from his cheeks and his eyes drifted shut.
Jordan stepped under him, half catching him as he fell. "Don't pass out again. Can you walk?"
He took a staggering step and the two made their way to the house like some strange injured beast. Jordan's hand shifted across his back and her fingers slid into a tear in the back of the man's vest. Finding her palm on bare skin, she gasped. He glanced down at her and his mouth seemed to quirk.
Did I d
o something funny? She held the back door open for him and got a glimpse of the back of his vest. More weirdness.
His vest wasn't torn. Two long seams ran down his back from the top of his shoulders all the way down to the bottom of the vest. The top and bottom of each seam were criss-crossed with leather stitching and tied. The center of each seam was open and she could see his shoulder blades through them. She narrowed her eyes and cocked her head. What purpose could those strange openings possibly serve?
Jordan helped him through the kitchen and into the parlor, where she deposited him on the sofa with a grunt.
"Just a few minutes’ rest," he said.
"I think you'll need a bit more than that," Jordan said. She went to the kitchen and filled a glass with water. Rummaging in the junk drawer, she grabbed a bottle of ibuprofen. The last things she grabbed before leaving the kitchen were an ice pack from the freezer and a clean cloth and bandage for the cut on his forehead. By the time Jordan had gotten back, the man had removed his leather bags and dropped them to the carpet beside him. He was lying with his right arm at his side, inert and his left forearm over his forehead. His eyes were open and focused on Jordan when she entered.
"What is your name?" he asked.
"Jordan," she crossed the carpet and set the drugs and the glass of water on the table near the couch. "And you?"
"Sol."
There was an awkward moment when they just stared at each other. Are we supposed to shake hands? she wondered. But Sol made no move to hold out a hand.
"And what did you do, Jordan?" was his next question. His face was pale but his eyes were sharp, appraising.
"I got you some water and some ice," she said. "And something for the pain."
"No, I mean, where am I and how did I get here?"
There was something in his tone that made Jordan frown. Is he accusing me of something? "Put this on your shoulder," Jordan said, handing him the ice pack. She ignored his tone and answered him with what she knew. "You are in the state of Virginia, not far outside of Richmond. How you got here?" She shrugged. "I was hoping you could tell me that."
"Were you messing with a portal?" he asked, slapping the ice onto his shoulder.
Jordan blinked. Her hand brushed against the locket in her pocket as she remembered the way it had jumped and hummed. Jordan felt the blood drain from her face and she sat in the chair at the end of the sofa. "A portal? Like a door? In a tree? What?" But there isn’t any such thing as portals. And portals to where? But deep inside, she knew he wasn't making it up. The string of sparks, the snapping electricity, they way he'd come out of nowhere. It was the only thing that made sense. Except it’s crazy. Isn’t it?
She felt his eyes on her, calculating. "You blundered it open, didn't you." It wasn't a question. He rubbed his left hand over his face. "Great," he said into his hand. He ran his hand down his face and tugged on his chin. "What were you doing right before the portal opened?"
Jordan wasn't sure what to say. Will he want to take the locket away from me if I tell him? But he seems to have the answers… "I was holding my mother's locket in my hand…" she trailed off.
"Did it hum?" he asked.
She nodded.
"Let me see it," he held out a hand.
"I'd rather not," she said. "It's important to me and I don't know you."
He gestured wide at the situation with his uninjured arm. "I'm in pain and laying on your couch. I'm not interested in stealing your relic. I just need to go back."
Jordan hesitated, but then reached into her shirt pocket and pulled out the locket. She held it up by the chain so he could see it.
"Put it in my palm," he said. "I won't take it from you."
She got up and stood over him, dangling the locket where he could reach it. She kept a firm grip on the chain.
His brown hand closed around the locket and he held it for several seconds before letting it go. He nodded. "Where did you get it?"
"My nanny gave it to me earlier today." She returned to the chair, dropping the locket back into the pocket on the front of her shirt.
"Your nanny?" He looked surprised.
"From when I was little, not now."
His eyes darted to the doorway. "Is she here now?"
"No, she-" Jordan's forearms prickled with goosebumps. "She's unreachable."
CHAPTER EIGHT
"Go back where?" Jordan asked, eyeing the leather satchels and the quiver of small spears on her carpet.
"Pardon me?"
"You said you ‘just need to go back’; go back where?"
"Oriceran," he said and, after a breath, "Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to open a portal?" he asked. "People die doing that. Or worse."
She blinked. "Worse than die?"
He shifted on the couch. Jordan noticed a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead. "And it’s bloody inconvenient," he mumbled. He reached for the water, downed the entire glass and set the soles of his boots on the floor as he sat upright. He set the ice pack on the table, grunted and got to his feet. He swayed there. His face looked drawn, disoriented. For a moment, he looked as though he could be any age – twenty, fifty, one hundred.
"Are you sure you should-" Jordan began.
He fell forward onto the carpet, limply, landing face-first with a thump. His arms were underneath him and his face was pressed into the floor. His back arched and those strange slashes in his vest gaped, showing the smooth skin and muscle underneath.
"Stand?" Jordan finished. She bent over his lumpy form, grasped his shoulder and pulled. With effort, she rolled him over; his forearms and hands untwisted and brushed against her chest as she put him on his back. "I'm just going to leave you here," she said, even though he clearly couldn't hear her. "I'm going to call for help and I'll be back. Maybe my dad will know what to do with you."
She put the icepack on Sol's forehead; the cut over his eye had begun leaking again. She blotted it with a tissue and left the room to find her phone. The manor hadn't had a landline in years. Who needed a landline when cell phones were so much more convenient?
She went up the stairs two at a time to her father’s memorabilia room, where she'd last seen her phone. She crossed the room to where she left it sitting on a library shelf, but froze when she heard the sound of the squeaky floorboard. She gasped and listened. Her hand flew to her empty chest pocket.
"Sol!" she belted, furious. He'd tricked her. The bum had taken her locket, fainting as a ruse. Her face flushed with heat, as much with embarrassment as with anger. The kitchen screen door slammed. Jordan bolted from her room, her phone forgotten. In her bare feet, she ran down the stairs, through the kitchen and out the back door. She flew across the back deck like an angel from Revelations; her eyes alight. She picked up a couple of splinters from the heat-baked wood on her way. Sol was already halfway across the yard; a glint of light off the locket dangling from his fist confirmed what he'd done like a soft slap in the face. She sprinted after him, now on the grass, making it lie down and bleed under her heels. Her head pounded with effort. She would be less angry if he'd stolen money, but steal a locket with a hand-painted picture of her mother inside?
Sol glanced back as the door behind Jordan slammed shut, then picked up the pace and ran for the tree, his gait stiff. Jordan increased her speed, her teeth clenched, as the gap closed between him and the tree. The snapping of electricity could already be heard as the two raced for the oak.
"Drop the locket," Jordan yelled. "Go, but drop the locket first!"
Sol's fist did not loosen. He looked back and saw Jordan closing in on him fast and his eyes widened. "Stop, Jordan!" The yellow sparks were sweeping up the tree branches and the bark was flickering and full of miniature, exploding stars. Sol spun his back to the oak and threw the locket at Jordan, straight at her face. Sol could see her looming teal eyes before him and feel the heat of the sparking portal behind him.
Putting her fist up, as fast as a striking snake, she caught the necklace, but not before she barrelled
into him. Reflexively, Sol's arms closed around her as she knocked the wind out of him and the two of them fell onto the roots of the oak.
Jordan's vision went black and the humming of an electric current became so loud her molars buzzed in the back of her head. She tried to scream and felt the tearing of sound at her throat, but she couldn’t hear her own cries. There was no sound but the zapping and humming of some giant, unrepentant monster made of energy. The pressure of the air increased, pressing in from every side, tightening, squeezing. Just when she thought that her very bones would grind into powder and her joints would break, the pressure and the sound of electricity died a sudden death. For a second, she heard the sound of whispering voices, thousands of them, all speaking over each other with urgency. They grew louder, none of them with any discernible words. Then they, too, stopped. Suddenly and finitely, there was a welcome silence.
A flash of bright light illuminated a blurred scene of green and blue and a sickening drop made her stomach vault into her mouth. She felt the ground come up under her feet, but too fast and at a strange angle. Her legs buckled and she fell, landing on her shoulder. The air whooshed out of her in a whacking gust and her body flipped over her head, her neck cracking and something popping. Momentum carried her and the ground dropped away beneath her like a bad joke, the angle growing sharper. She tumbled faster. Light and dark flashed by. She was jabbed, poked, bruised; everything was a blur of soft colors of sky and ground. She registered the sound of Sol thudding and grunting as he tumbled along beside her. Will we ever stop? Jordan thought when her hip clipped something unforgiving. Her hands flailed for purchase, but felt only the passing of plant stalks and twigs as she rolled by them like a stone more than happy to pick up speed.