Epilogue E-Book

Lily Lashley

• Herausgeber: Podium Publishing
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 546

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Three teenagers return from waging revolution in a magical dimension—but someone is missing—in this devastating fantasy fans are calling "a must read" and "an instant classic."   When Matt Westin opens his eyes, he's back on Earth—and seven years younger than when he went to sleep.    For the last seven years, Matt and his sister, Jen, along with friends Carl and Blake, have been in the fantasy world of Cyraveil, revolutionaries fighting to overthrow a dictatorial empire. Now they've suddenly returned to their quiet Oregon suburb, where they're expected to go to high school and act like normal American teenagers.   But after all this time and with the memory of war so fresh in their minds, how can they pretend to be kids again? And how can they settle for routine lives when they've experienced adventure and magic? One thing's for sure: they must keep their time in Cyraveil a secret. Nobody can know what happened to them there. Because one of the four didn't come home . . .   Only the survivors know Blake died back in Cyraveil, and with a missing teenager on the books, two detectives have launched an investigation. Can Matt, Jen, and Carl outsmart the authorities and learn to live as ordinary humans? Or somehow find their way back to the world in which they brought peace to an embattled land?   Winner of the 2018 NaNoWriMo Royal Road Challenge—with more than 400,000 views on RR—now available on Audible and wherever ebooks are sold!

Leseprobe

EPILOGUE

LILY LASHLEY

AKA ETZOLI

TO MY WOLF,

WITHOUT WHOM I WOULD STILL

BE LOST IN THE FOREST

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without prior written permission from Podium Publishing.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living, dead, or undead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2022 by Lily Lashley

Cover design by Podium Publishing

ISBN: 978-1-0394-0984-2

Published in 2022 by Podium Publishing, ULC

www.podiumaudio.com

Contents

Chapter 1 Matt

Chapter 2 Carl

Chapter 3 Jen

Chapter 4 Carl

Chapter 5 Matt

Chapter 6 Carl

Chapter 7 Jen

Chapter 8 Matt

Chapter 9 Jen

Chapter 10 Carl

Chapter 11 Matt

Chapter 12 Jen

Chapter 13 Carl

Chapter 14 Matt

Chapter 15 Jen

Chapter 16 Matt

Chapter 17 Carl

Chapter 18 Jen

Epilogue

Preview: Snipe

Afterword

About the Author

CHAPTER 1

MATT

When I woke up, I was seven years younger.

“Disoriented” didn’t even begin to describe my mind at that moment. My lungs rasped for air. I swallowed a long, deep breath, finally opening my eyes to the dark ceiling above. I sat up, leaning against the wall. Soft bedsheets wrapped snug around me, a stack of pillows propping me up. Everything felt wrong.

None of this should be here. I wasn’t supposed to be here.

I felt groggy and confused. My brain was still pulling itself together, trying to shape what was in front of my eyes into a coherent picture.

It was almost pitch-black in the room—my room, I reminded myself. This is my room. The only light source was a street lamp near the house, streaming through a curtained window. Long, dark shadows stretched the length of the floor, casting the room into segments of color and accentuating the voids filling the nooks and crannies. Everything looked familiar, exactly where I’d left it, as if I’d just stumbled out of a dream.

Had it all been a dream?

A strange feeling filled the air, something I hadn’t felt in a very long time. The faint hum and crackle of electricity. My computer. An actual electronic PC. I’d left it on that night. When we left, I’d been chatting with someone … Her face brushed against my mind, but it was a vague shape, an outline I couldn’t form into a complete picture. It had been a lifetime since we’d last spoken—or maybe no time at all, as it suddenly occurred to me.

I got out of bed and hurried to the computer. The chair rolled as I sat down. I’d forgotten it had wheels. I jabbed at the space bar on the keyboard, tapping impatiently. It was a cheap machine, something I’d gotten secondhand from Carl, and it always took a while to wake up. I hadn’t even turned it off, but I still had to wait while the disks inside rumbled to life and the fans spun back up to speed. The monitor gave a sharp crack, then finally sprang to life, colors washed out as the backlight slowly warmed up.

Right in the corner of the screen, exactly what I wanted. It was 1:32 a.m., on the sixth of October, 2010. It was a Wednesday.

Now I was even more confused. Years had gone by, right? I brought a hand to my face, very carefully. Something was missing. Everything felt smooth and foreign. It wasn’t my face anymore, not as I remembered it. Suddenly, my arms and legs felt so much weaker.

Was it all just a dream? A sickening, terrifying near-decade of my life, wholly imagined by the random quirks of my brain in a single night? All those life-and-death encounters, adventures, betrayals, romances? Battles and campaigns spanning years? Was that even possible?

I pulled up the browser window. I was still struggling to recall exactly what we’d been doing that night. I had to trust that the old me hadn’t cleaned up behind himself, had left clues that a skilled tracker could follow. Electronic clues this time, but it was the same basic idea. It was the closest thing I could think of to having a record of what had happened so many years ago …

No. It was just the night before. It had only been a few hours ago. I needed to remember that now.

The map to Cyraveil Park was still open. I remembered that much. I’d driven us out there in the truck Dad left me, the day he disappeared. We’d parked right on the edge of the woods, after I picked up our friends. I hadn’t wanted to go, but Blake’s enthusiasm was infectious. He’d seen something out there, and we had to see it too. Jen, listening in on the line downstairs, persuaded me to go.

Then Blake spotted a shadow flitting through the trees, and we followed.

Blake sprinted through the woods, and we followed as close as we could. He kept having to circle back around, shouting at us to follow him down a path only he could see. It was just like when we played ball together, and Blake was the one sprinting ahead of the play. He was always five steps ahead of where he was supposed to be.

When we crossed over, he was exactly the same … except he turned it into an asset. He was always five steps ahead of the enemy, doing things nobody else would dare. I’d used his insanity to win more than a few battles.

How much of that actually happened? How much of it was true?

More memories flooded my mind, along with the creeping poison of dread. The weight of what I’d done began to press harder on my mind, threatening to crush me entirely. I’d become something horrible. I’d been forced to make decisions with the lives of hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands hanging in the balance. I’d sacrificed allies, I’d lost friends. I’d come right to the edge of losing everything. Everyone. We’d only barely made it out the other side. I hated what I’d done, who I’d been.

Was there a way out?

The answer came. It was so simple and easy that I laughed aloud. I was home now. I was safe here. No one was hunting me anymore. Barely anyone even knew me. Nobody here would know what I’d done. If I’d even done it, for that matter.

There was a beautiful, golden path stretching out before me, one I could walk without delay. Without regret. I could finally return my life to the normal, simple place it belonged. No more fighting. Just normal life. I could hang out with friends, play basketball, let other people take control for a change. All I needed to do was … forget.

Even as I thought the words, I felt weight lift off my shoulders. I closed the map to Cyraveil on the screen, symbolically wiping it clean. The browser returned to the conversation I’d been having with a girl on the next tab. She had a reserved face, a guarded expression, like she was always hiding something behind her smile—but her eyes had that friendly intelligence, the kind that begged you to hang on to every word she said, even when they might be few and far between. Her voice was warm and passionate, the sort that could inspire armies to go to war.

We’d been talking in a private chat she’d invited me to. Scrolling back through the conversation, I’d been so casual and relaxed. I’d forgotten how to talk like that. These days, everything was either prepared and stuffy for the court, or rousing improvised speeches in the midst of a heated battle. I had no idea how to talk to someone just one-on-one anymore.

I shrugged it off. I’d figure it out. I could play anything awkward off as a joke, or just let her do all the talking. I could work around it.

I’d work around all of it. Everything would fall back into place. Nothing happened last night, after all. My life was perfectly normal. I was just some guy, a senior in high school. Nothing more.

I put the computer back to sleep. I figured I’d follow it to bed; after all, I had school in the morning.

After everything else, school sounded downright easy. I was almost looking forward to the mundanity of plain old classes. I was just about to hop back into bed when I heard rustling downstairs. Someone was moving around. My mother, I assumed—home late from work yet again. Her being late wasn’t exactly unusual, but I had a sudden desire to hug her. I’d missed her a lot.

I had forgotten how cold it got in our house, especially this late at night in October. I dug through my closet for my jacket. My favorite jacket. I savored how soft and warm it was. Another thing I’d missed for years.

Hours, I reminded myself. It’s only been a couple of hours.

I opened my door, flinching as it clicked loudly in protest. The handle had always done that if it was turned all the way. I usually remembered to stop before turning it too far. Just another item on the list of things I needed to remember. I’d have to start writing them down if this kept up. I closed the door behind me and headed downstairs, where the light in the kitchen had just clicked on.

Walking down the stairs felt like an eternity. I spent every step thinking through what I would say. If I’d even say anything. If I’d just pretend to come down for a drink, if I needed an excuse for being up so late on a school night. My mother wasn’t exactly the kind to get mad over us staying up late. She did her best to provide for us, but this was exactly the sort of evening where I’d be making dinner for all three of us, leaving hers in the fridge for whatever late hour she got home. I used to hate having to put away leftovers for her, and that she couldn’t be around to cook for us.

Tonight, I appreciated so much more what she’d done for us over the years. Mom might not have been there for dinner five nights a week, but what did that matter when she was working two full-time jobs every week to keep my sister and me healthy and in school? I don’t think I could have done as much. I’d learned a lot about cooking on the other side. Come the weekend, I’d treat her to a real feast—and tonight, I was going to remind her how great she really was.

I turned the corner to find not my mother, but the long brown hair of my little sister, Jennifer, poking over the door of the pantry she was digging through. She looked up surprised as I walked in. Bits of snack cake fell out of her hand and sprinkled the floor. I’d actually managed to sneak up on her somehow.

“Uhh … Hey, Jen,” I started awkwardly.

“ ‘Hey, Jen,’ ” she repeated slowly. “ ‘Hey, Jen?’ That’s it?”

“… Did you expect a speech or something?”

Jen frowned. “No, but … after all of that …”

“All of what?”

Jen’s mouth fell open, and I spotted a bit of the same snack cake dusting her teeth. I winced. Her eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. “You … you don’t remember?”

Her words were a sledgehammer. Even as the wall I’d hastily thrown up started to crumble away, I still wanted to deny it all. If only for a few more moments, I wanted to stay in that bliss. “Remember what?”

“God, Matt. To dou evv erreth kapavas, vis duralav.”

“Dou nara kapavas, Jen.”

The snatch of Etoline sprang unbidden from my mouth. Jen’s insult demanded some kind of answer. I couldn’t let it go. But as her face twisted in satisfaction, I felt the structure of comfortable ignorance I’d so hastily built crash down around me like a crumbling fort.

If Jen remembered … if she could speak Etoline … then it was real.

Cyraveil was real.

“That’s what I thought,” Jen said smugly. “Your pronunciation still sucks, by the way.” She picked up her snack off the floor and hopped onto the kitchen counter, inspecting it carefully. After a few moments, she bit into it. Her face lit up. “This tastes amazing. Matt, we need to buy like two hundred more of these. Right now.”

I leaned against the refrigerator, pressing my hands into my forehead. A headache was pounding into being, like a drummer building up to a crescendo in my temples.

“Headache?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“How long have you been awake?”

“Only a few minutes. You?”

“Half an hour, maybe? Don’t worry, it’ll pass—yup, here it comes,” she added, right as a massive wave of pain cascaded through my brain.

My skull felt like someone was trying to chop it in half repeatedly with a dull axe. I gripped the handle of the refrigerator door tight. I felt like I might collapse. My vision faded away, the kitchen light vanishing into a void of black terror. A faint voice followed me down, farther and farther as I descended into oblivion. It called to me, and I desperately wanted to answer, but all I could do was fall. I felt an impact that might have been a small earthquake, miles away, sending shivers up through my core.

I snapped back into being. The lights had returned. I was on the floor staring directly into the pale, buzzing bulb. I smelled chocolate. Jen’s snack. Her face was inches away, peering closely. As soon as I opened my eyes, she moved away to give me space.

“You good, Matt?”

I coughed, trying to clear my throat which was suddenly dry and raw. “Think so. Need a drink.”

“Any preference? There’s no sylvandine, but I could probably get you something harder if you want. I think Mom keeps some stuff on the top shelf in the garage.”

I sat up, grateful for the warm, hard exterior of the refrigerator. The pain had subsided a bit, and logic and reason were beginning to return. “Jen, we’re underage.”

“You’re twenty-five.”

“No, I’m eighteen. You’re sixteen. Didn’t you notice?”

Jen sighed. “Yeah … Like we never left.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of us spoke for a minute. I stood up, rummaging through the cabinets. I found the little bottle of ibuprofen and pulled out a pair of tablets. A quick glass of water later, and I was already feeling a little better. I sat down at the kitchen table and rested my head against the wall, waiting for the effects to kick in.

“Wish I’d thought of that,” Jen muttered.

“Huh?”

“Painkillers.” She held out her hand, and I passed her the bottle. “I kinda forgot they existed.”

“The wonders of modern medicine,” I murmured. I closed my eyes. The pain was still all too real. My brain felt like it was trying to push its way out of my skull with every huge pulse. I heard a car start up outside, and the engine noise felt like it was rattling through my eardrums from inches away.

My eyes flew back open as the realization set in.

“Jen, you can’t—”

“Nope. I tried as soon as the migraine hit me. No dice.”

She sighed and sat down across from me, bringing another pair of glasses filled with water. She slid one across the table, and I gulped it down gratefully. My throat still felt dry and parched, and the water was only doing so much to help.

“I guess that didn’t make it across.” Finding out Jen could no longer heal was a bit of a shock. It had been so useful. If Jen couldn’t cure us and keep Blake from getting himself killed in his crazier stunts … I’d have to plan around that limitation.

Wait. No, I wouldn’t. That part of my life was over. If I could help it, I’d never get into a situation again where I might need her abilities. I was going to live a peaceful, normal life—no matter what it took.

“I think it’s starting to die down now,” she spoke up, gulping down more water. “Are you as ridiculously thirsty as I am?”

Despite downing the entire glass, my mouth and throat still felt like the surface of a desert. I nodded.

“More water?”

“Sounds good.” I backed my chair into the corner, where I could lean against the wall more comfortably, and improvised a pillow by bunching up my jacket and propping it against my shoulder—just like I’d done a thousand times on the campaign. “You still seem better off than me.”

Jen shrugged, returning with another refill of water. “Maybe just ’cause I’ve been up longer. I got something to eat too.”

“Snacks.” I frowned. “You should be eating something more substantial.”

“Do you know how long it’s been since I had something chocolatey?”

“Yes.”

Jen sighed. “Stop being so down, Matt. We’re home. We’ve got electricity again. Running water!” As if on cue, a heavy truck drove past outside. The loose windows in our house rattled slightly. “Cars, Matt. Automobiles!” She stretched out the word, excitement laced in every syllable. “Planes, trains, hair dryers. Shampoo. Oh god, showers. Matt, we have hot showers again.”

“I get it, I get it.” I forced a smile onto my face. “It’s good to be home.”

“There you go.” Jen smiled. She gulped down the rest of her water and let out a satisfied breath. “Even the water tastes better.”

“It’s not like they had water filters.”

“Well, the Sylves did. We had this whole thing where they—”

I cut her off. “They filtered it with magic, yeah. You told me.” I didn’t want to hear any more than I absolutely had to. The sooner we returned to normal, the better. I’d indulge her for now, but it couldn’t last.

“Yeah. Cool shit,” Jen added, returning to the pantry to find another snack. My headache was steadily declining, freeing up more of my conscious brain for processing.

We could do this. Integrate back into the world. It would be tricky for a while, remembering exactly who we were seven years prior. There was no visible trace of our journey, but there were so many little things we had to watch out for. As far as I could tell, my body was exactly the same as the night we left—underwhelmingly so. I felt so much weaker and smaller, the finely toned muscle I’d built up vanishing overnight. Still, I remembered everything I’d been trained on, every single battle I’d bled through. If I had to get into a fight, I could hold my own.

I wasn’t getting into any fights though. I’d never been in one before we left and I definitely didn’t plan on starting a fight club now.

“Pass me some cookies, will you?” I asked. Jen tossed me the box, and I dug into them. She was right. I’d missed chocolate just as much. The cheap box of cookies tasted like heaven. I ate my way through a third of them, realizing how hungry I was with each fresh bite.

Jen filled up two glasses of milk and brought them over without even being asked. Compared to her reputation as a self-centered chatterbox, the Jen I knew was almost the inverse. She was incredibly perceptive; she just didn’t always act on it. We ate in silence, savoring the snacks. Jen kept glancing around the room as if she’d never seen it before, taking in every detail.

“So,” she started, finishing off the last cookie.

I nodded. “You’re right, we should get more of those.”

“More urgent things to talk about, Matt.”

I sighed, resigning myself to fate. Better to have it out now than later, I suppose—but Jen had other things on her mind than the events of the last week.

“Is this real?”

“Yes.”

“How can you be sure?” she asked, eyes squinting at him. “What about the time we had those visions, back in Helsevar?”

“Do you remember the pact I made?”

“Selnou.”

“Then you know as well as I do, this is for real.”

Jen nodded. “Okay, yeah. Guess the old bitch wasn’t lying.”

“I’m sure you meant to say witch.”

“You didn’t know her like I did,” Jen replied, grinning. “So … we’re home …” A melancholy look filled her face. “… Forever.”

I didn’t dare contradict her. Luckily, I was saved from having to answer as Jen leaped out of her chair and darted to the other side of the kitchen. I twisted around, confused, and saw the home phone lit up and about to ring. Jen picked it up just as the ringer was about to intrude on the peace and quiet.

“It’s Carl.”

This was another unwelcome development. I steeled myself for confrontation. “Can you put it on speaker?”

“Yeah, one sec.” Jen fiddled with the phone. “Crap. I don’t remember how.”

“What?”

“It’s been a while, okay?” She held it up to her ear. “Hey. Yeah, Carl, it’s me. Hang on. Shut up a second. How do I put this on speaker? … Button on the … okay, yeah.” She fumbled with a few buttons, and the faint white noise of the phone speaker filled up the kitchen. Jen set the phone down on the table. “Matt’s here too.”

Carl’s voice crackled out of the speaker, very low. He was avoiding making too much noise, lest he wake up his temperamental father. “We’re alive.”

“No shit, Carl,” said Jen. “Trying to be profound?”

“Shut up.” I could practically hear his face turning red through the phone. “Matt, you there?”

“I’m here.” Dread filled my entire mind, cascading as if a dam had suddenly burst wide open. I knew exactly what was coming next.

“Have either of you heard from Blake?”

Jen looked at me, her expression grim. She was waiting for me to answer.

I shook my head very slowly. “Carl …” I started.

“Hang on. Hear me out. We came back unchanged, right? So maybe—”

A sliver of hope. I didn’t dare entertain it. I was afraid—of what it might grow to become, and of how quickly it would be snuffed out. I had to take control, fast.

“Did you try calling him?”

“He doesn’t have a cell. I tried his house once, but no one answered. I didn’t want to try again. I don’t want to wake anybody up.” Carl was right. Blake’s parents were the nicest couple in the world, and every time I hung out there I felt jealous of his home—but his dad absolutely would not be okay with getting woken up at two in the morning.

“Then that’s all we can do for now.”

“But—” Carl’s voice rose slightly, getting louder.

“Carl,” I interrupted sharply. “Remember where you are. You’re eighteen. It’s a school night, and your dad’s asleep down the hall.” I tried to inject as much calm into my voice as I could muster. As it had so many times before, it worked. When Carl spoke next, his tone was low and subdued.

“So what do we do?”

“We go to school. Meet up at lunch tomorrow, like we always do. Jen, you’ll come sit with us.”

Jen nodded. “Okay. Sara can live without me for one lunch.”

“Good. Carl?”

“Yeah?”

“Cyraveil doesn’t exist.”

There was a pause. I waited, hoping Carl would understand and follow without question. There was only one way we’d all get through this without being locked up in an asylum. We had to fit back in as if we’d never left. Tell absolutely no one. I could do it. Jen could probably do it too, with some help—but Carl had changed so much more than I had, and in the opposite direction. I was ready for a challenge like this. The new Carl? If he still had his sword … I couldn’t be sure.

He finally answered. “Got it.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding in. Jen noticed it, looking at me curiously. She didn’t say anything, leaving Carl in the dark.

“Okay. Then we’ll see you tomorrow, Carl.”

“Tomorrow,” Carl acknowledged. “Hey, Jen. You still there?”

“Dov?” Jen leaned forward over the phone.

“Vei savi ilu dou, desve ta nal erreth. Syldae se valenda, selnou?”

“… Sure, Carl.” Jen looked slightly embarrassed, but it faded quickly. “Will do.”

“Okay. Night, guys.” The phone clicked off. I watched Jen carefully as she put the phone away, looking for her reaction.

“What was that about?” I asked. I only had a vague idea of what Carl had said. I’d never learned the language like he had, just a few useful phrases (and a few insults), and of course neither of us came even close to Jen.

“What? A guy can’t be nice and be concerned about me?” Jen replied.

“O-o-o-kay, forget I asked.” There was something there, but Jen made it clear I didn’t need to know it. As long as it didn’t affect us, it was her business.

“So … we just go back to school, then?” Jen changed the subject for me, to which I leaped gratefully.

“Yeah. Just be normal. Not that you ever were.”

Jen punched my shoulder in response. “You can do better than that.”

I laughed. “Give me a few days. I’ll bring back all the bad jokes.”

Jen grinned. It already felt like we were returning to normal. A few more little pushes and maybe we could slide completely into perfect mundanity. “So, what do you want for dinner tomorrow?”

“I dunno. What are you in the mood for?”

I shrugged. “Why don’t we just go to the grocery store after school and play it by ear? We can get anything you want.”

“Ooh. I might abuse that.” Jen’s face turned mischievous, but I’d meant what I said.

“Abuse all you want. It’s a special occasion.”

“The day the bad jokes returned?”

I laughed again. It felt warm and comforting, like the sun rising out of the darkness. I hadn’t had much to laugh about for a long while. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

“What on earth are you two doing up?” A groggy voice echoed from the hallway, followed by the front door clicking shut. Our mother had wandered in finally, her face looking like it was melting away from exhaustion. Her eyes were sunken and drowsy, and she was leaning against the wall. She dropped her bag on the floor.

“Mom!” Jen leaped out of her seat and rushed over, wrapping her in a bear hug. I stayed put, watching them both—but in truth, I felt the same joyous reaction as Jen in that moment. I’d never really been much for hugging her before … but everything was different now.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing, Mom,” Jen replied, and as her face pulled back, I saw tears forming in her eyes. “I’m just glad to see you.”

“Did something happen?” Mom’s eyes widened, becoming alert and adept. Even as tired as she was, the mere possibility something might be wrong with her daughter brought her to life. It was a trait I’d come to recognize in all three of us now, the adrenaline rush and the hyperaware state we all had mastered. Mom, like the two of us now, could be ready for anything, even on the brink of collapse.

“Nothing happened, Mom,” I answered. “We were just waiting for you to come home. I couldn’t sleep.”

She frowned, but with reassurances from both of us, her fatigue was beginning to win out over the adrenaline. Her eyes drooped again. “All right, Matthew. If you say so.”

“We’re fine. Time for bed for everyone, I think.”

“Come on, Mom,” Jen added. “I’ll help you upstairs.”

“Thanks, Jenny.” I’d forgotten, Jen was still going by Jenny seven years ago. She’d long since decided she hated it. As Jen half-carried our mother back down the hall, she twisted around and shot me a pained look. I grinned.

“Good night, Jenny,” I called. She rolled her eyes, before turning back to the stairs as they began to climb.

I cleaned up after our snack, putting away the milk and tossing the empty box of cookies.

I was actually looking forward to school tomorrow, as crazy as that might have sounded before we left. There were friends I hadn’t spoken to in nearly a decade, after all. Classes would be a bit harder to get back into. I was having a hard time remembering things like what rooms they were in, or where my locker was. I’d have to trust in physical memory to lead me to the right spots.

I could do it. I had to do it. The only way I could get my life back on track was if no one ever figured out what happened. Cyraveil was in the past, and if I could help it, it would stay there. Forever.

As I turned out the lights and headed back to my room, I saw Jen’s light click off as well. I closed my door, remembering to avoid the click this time, and crawled back into bed. Exhaustion had returned with a vengeance. I began to drift off almost immediately, but one nagging memory pushed its way back to the surface, keeping me awake just long enough to remember the ramifications.

The witch had told me a secret after we’d made our pact. Something I’d kept hidden deep inside my soul, that I dared not reveal to anyone. She’d told me how we could return to Cyraveil.

On my life, if I could help it, I’d never let any of us see that wretched land again.

CHAPTER 2

CARL

“Portman, what is this?”

“Sir.”

“You two got the call, you two take the case. You know the rotation. It’s that simple. Do you have a problem with that?”

“No, sir.”

“Look, I get it. It’s a teenage runaway. Pain in the ass, but someone’s gotta take care of it.”

“… Sir, if I understand correctly, the father is a personal friend?”

“I’m busy. Get to work.”

I tapped on the screen, ending the call with Matt’s last words still echoing in my ears. He was a dick sometimes, but he was usually pretty smart, and he was in charge for now. I wasn’t about to get answers at this hour. I definitely wasn’t sleeping anytime soon though—especially with the migraine that had plopped its ass down on my head.

I set the phone down and plugged it in to charge, leaning back in my chair and closing my eyes while the headache washed through my skull. The glow of the screens in front of me shone through my eyelids, irritating as hell. I lifted a foot and turned them off with my toe, one by one. Blessed darkness returned to the room, the only sound being the white noise of the case fans from my desktop. Any other day, they’d annoy me just as much, far louder than they needed to be—but today, I wanted something to blot out all the background noise.

I was back, and I hated every damn second of it. This world sucked.

Even the smell was wrong. It all smelled too clean, too fake. I already missed the deep forests and huge mountains, the castles and villages, the market square and the festivals. Yeah, it might’ve smelled like shit for a while, but eventually, it was actually kind of charming. It had way more character than my dusty room. And it had real people.

God, the people. At best, they were actually interesting, with stories to tell and lives that actually mattered. At worst … I had plenty of ways to deal with them.

Tomorrow was really going to suck. I’d never liked school much in the first place. It always seemed like a huge waste of time. I knew everything I needed to know already, but I had to sit through lectures and lessons, while teachers droned on and on. I had to wade through mounds of bullshit for the few nuggets of actual, useful information. The internet taught me more than they ever could.

There was a redeeming note in the despair settling into my mind. I had the internet again. Once you’ve lived without electricity for years, you really come to appreciate just what an incredible and awe-inspiring invention it really is. With a few taps on a plastic keyboard, I could communicate with virtually anyone, anywhere in the world, instantly.

Having just returned from a world where the fastest method of communication (barring risky and draining magical talent) was by horse back, the idea was mind-blowing. Coordinating groups of soldiers hundreds of miles apart into an effective fighting force was difficult enough on its own, and horses tire out faster than you might expect. The lands I’d helped conquer could attest to that.

While I was busy reminiscing about old campaigns, a fist rapped on my bedroom door.

Oh shit.

“Carl?”

Oh shit. It was my dad.

“Carl, what the hell are you doing up this late?”

Could I just pretend I was actually asleep? The lights were all off. I doubted he’d actually come in. It seemed like the best option.

“I heard you talking. You know you’re not allowed to be up this late.”

Just ignore him. Just keep ignoring him.

“We’ll be speaking about this tomorrow, young man.” I heard him walk away, heavy footfalls receding into the night.

Young man? Did he realize who he was talking to? I could—

No, wait. I couldn’t. I didn’t have that anymore.

Without warning, tears were already forming in my eyes. I was crying, silently. I’d been feeling it ever since I woke up. It had built up, slowly but surely, like the tide rolling in and the waves rising up the shore higher and higher. Everything I’d worked for, all the training I’d sweat and bled through … it was gone. I’d gone overnight from one of the most feared men in multiple kingdoms to … this.

I lifted an arm up and opened one eye, examining it. It was so skinny and frail. Sure, I could still lift a fair amount. I wasn’t exactly weak, but comparatively …

Something to work on, I decided. I brushed the tears out of my eyes. I leaned forward and turned the screens back on. It was time to get to work. I needed information. I needed to know exactly what had just happened.

I began jotting down notes. We’d apparently disappeared in one place and returned in another, with only a few hours passing in between. Seven years went by in that short time. We’d grown older, we’d changed physically and mentally, but the physical changes were totally gone. This could all be easily explained away by magic, for better or worse. Magic was real in Cyraveil, and had somehow leaked over and ensnared us in its web for seven long years—the seven best years of my life.

Dammit all.

I headed to the search engines, but as I suspected, it was mostly fruitless. Every variation on “Cyraveil” I could think of only brought me the results I expected: articles on the park and the forest inside. I skimmed them briefly, but nothing jumped out as a clue. I started assembling a folder of bookmarks anyway, just in case they were relevant in the future. I branched my searches out, adding in small details of the world on the other side, and received empty results, or vague connections to fantasy novels and games I already knew held nothing useful.

In a way though, I was glad. Despite years of neglect, I still knew my way around the internet. I might not be finding anything, but at least I knew how to not find anything. I delved deep into old forums and ancient message boards, hunting down posts from years past.

It almost felt like working with Reynir again, uncovering old scrolls deep in the castle vaults. That was one of the first things we bonded over, a deep fascination with the history of the Cellman Empire and the Saenvaland. We traced history back through the ages—his history, following his family back through the centuries to the first Cellman who finally broke the bonds of slavery and freed their country.

My country.

I was getting more desperate now, and with the desperation came a dose of paranoia. Matt was right about our need to be careful. If people didn’t believe us, we’d get locked away in an asylum for sure. I shuddered at the thought. The idea of being trapped in a colorless, faded building, clean and sterile, with no freedom and the world believing you to be a jibbering mess? I’d sooner kill myself.

But there was the other extreme. What if they did believe us? We could be hunted down by anyone. There were plenty of governments that might leap at the chance to exploit a whole new world full of valuable resources. And magic? What world power wouldn’t want magic on their side?

No, I had to cover my tracks. I kicked on every security measure I had available at the moment, routing my connections through multiple private networks and ensuring end-to-end encryption on everything. No one would know where my posts were coming from.

I started leaving replies to those abandoned posts on old fantasy message boards, those people who claimed to have truly traveled to other worlds. Few had any replies, most users assuming they were crazy or just trolling. I didn’t discount them just for having the wrong name of the world, or a few incorrect details. They might have been hiding themselves too, just as I was, or they could have gotten their information from ill-informed peasants and savages. On the truly ancient boards, those dating back past the turn of the millennium, I also sent emails when possible.

Having set everything in motion that I could, I turned the screens off once more and slid back into bed. My mind was still whirring as furiously as the fans in my machine. Even though only a few minutes had passed, I became irrationally irritated that my phone wasn’t immediately buzzing with results, emails flooding in from fellow travelers grateful and eager to connect with me. Sure, I could logically remind myself that it was past two in the morning here, and five in the morning on the East Coast where most of those boards were situated. Few of those respondents, if they even maintained their accounts anymore, were likely awake and trawling the boards at this hour.

I couldn’t help it. I needed to find anybody like me.

I tossed and turned for what felt like hours, as my phone remained stubbornly silent. Then, with a buzz and a jolt, I heard my phone slip off the desk and fall to the floor.

I leaped out of bed and grabbed it eagerly.

It was 7:00 a.m., and my alarm was going off.

I didn’t spend any time getting ready for school. I only had a little time, and I had plenty of other things I wanted to get done before I left.

Right away, I got back online, checking every post I’d made. No replies or updates yet, but that wasn’t surprising. I really just wanted the reassurance that I’d actually put the word out, that I hadn’t just dreamed it all. The internet didn’t lie.

Well, it did—frequently, and with gleeful malevolence—but it couldn’t just erase my postings from existence. Nothing could ever truly be deleted, after all.

My mind a little more at ease, I pulled out my phone and tried to compose myself for the one message I couldn’t send the night before. I scrolled through my contacts until I found Blake, far down the list thanks to his last name. Svartholm was such an awesome last name. I was jealous. Way better than Stokelson.

Hell, even Jen and Matt had better last names than me. “Matthew Westin” was plain, but with the right person behind it, you could be intimidating as shit. Having watched Matt at work, believe me, he was that right person. I was pretty good in my prime, but even if I were still at my best, I think I could take him to a draw. Not so much now, obviously.

Despite being Matt’s little sister, Jen had a different last name. Silverdale, same as her mother’s. Jennifer Silverdale. Even her name was beautiful. I didn’t know the story behind the discrepancy, but to be fair, I barely knew Jen existed before that night, and I didn’t meet the real Jen until about six years later.

I definitely regretted not getting to know her sooner. Hindsight’s a bitch.

Blake’s name matched his accent, born and bred in Sweden. He was my best friend, all the way back to the day his family had moved to Silicon Forest when he was ten. We met through an event at a tiny video game shop, when we’d both shown up for the new expansion on the same day. I’d spent years searching for him when we got split up, and now it felt like I was right back to those days again.

Blake’s father went to work pretty early in the morning, and his mother was a graveyard-shift nurse. Neither would be home in the early hours before school. I pressed call, and my phone started to connect through the wires to reach their home phone.

I imagined it ringing, echoing through their house. I could picture it perfectly—every step in the staircase, every twist and turn of the hallway upstairs. The carpet was dark green, the couches were pale blue. Blake’s cat was likely lounging on the landing halfway up the stairs, soaking in the sunlight. Sometimes I felt like I knew their house better than my own.

Blake never made it to the phone. As the ringer gave up in futility, I heard Adela’s voice through their answering machine.

“Thank you for calling the Svartholm residence. We aren’t in at the moment, so please leave a message and we’ll get back to you soon. Thanks!”

I reminded myself over and over that it meant nothing. Blake could have left already. I should have left for school myself by now. I was going to be late if I didn’t pick up the pace.

I had to leave a message though. I’d be dealing with more follow-up if I just left a blank message and my number in their caller-ID log. Better to just deflect it now.

“Hi, it’s Carl. I just needed to ask Blake something, but I guess he already left for school. Don’t mind me.”

I stood and went to pick up my bag. As my hand grasped the strap and tugged, I felt a sharp pain in my arm. I recoiled, staring at it blankly. My face grew hot as I realized what was happening. It was embarrassing, even if no one had witnessed my mistake.

Of course I couldn’t lift it. I wasn’t strong anymore. My brain hadn’t registered the loss of my muscles yet, the return to my weaker, younger body. I was trying to pick up a bag stuffed with multiple textbooks, my laptop, school supplies, notebooks. I had to put a lot more effort into it than I was used to.

The heat in my face turned into frustrated rage. I didn’t deserve this. I’d fought and bled for my accomplishments, for the power I’d gained. I’d been thrust back into the pathetic life I’d gotten so far away from. I shouldn’t be here. I don’t belong here anymore.

My father was already gone for work. My mother was in the backyard, weeding her garden. She’d left a lunch for me on the kitchen table. She waved at me through the window. I grabbed the brown paper bag and waved back, before turning to head out the door. I only had fifteen minutes to get to school now, and it was going to be a long jog.

Out the door, down the driveway, and onto the sidewalk. Suburbia was all around me, in all its bland glory. Garbage trucks billowed thick black smoke. A news chopper with heavy beating blades passed overhead. Hundreds of cars rumbled in the distance, filling the rush hour with their incessant moans. Every bit of noise annoyed me just a bit more. The few pleasant sounds, like the birds chirping and the wind rustling through the leaves that hadn’t fallen yet, were drowned out by a man doing woodwork with a table saw in his garage, with the door wide open. I glared at him as I walked by, but he didn’t look up. Blake, always proud of his own woodwork, would have given the man an earful over how much he was wasting.

Blake.

I’d been doing my best to avoid thinking about him. I’d voiced my vague hopes to Matt the night before, but I knew I still had to prepare myself mentally for the alternative. I didn’t expect to see him anytime soon. He rode the bus from the far side of town every day, and I wouldn’t likely see him until at least second period. Matt should run into him first, in first period. Matt would be able to coordinate him on the plan, and what we’d be doing next.

What was the plan, anyway? I hadn’t gotten that far yet. I’d checked while pulling on my clothes that morning, but I hadn’t gotten a response yet. Tonight I’d be able to do more digging, but the internet seemed to have failed me so far. The library would be my next stop. Something, somewhere, would have the answer for what had happened—and more importantly, how we could reverse it.

The walk to school was going more quickly than I expected, or wanted. Every turn and every street was still burned into my brain from the last few years I’d spent going to this stupid place.

As the school came into view, it became a symbol of everything I’d most hated about this world. My eyes scanned across the entire campus, taking in the sight once more. I thought I’d been rid of it forever. It had only been a nightmare, and even then it had faded completely over the years. To be confronted once more by the hell I’d escaped was almost overwhelming. If it wasn’t for Blake, Jen, and Matt, waiting inside, I wouldn’t have taken another step.

“Hey, Carl!”

I stiffened, but the voice wasn’t unfamiliar. It was Kyle, someone I used to consider a friend. Someone I’d forgotten, and definitely not the first reunion I was expecting today. I turned to greet him, and was handed a large thick book—a Dungeons & Dragons manual.

“Sorry it took so long to get this back,” said Kyle, panting. He’d apparently been sprinting to catch up with me. “Thanks. Having a hard copy was great for our session.”

“Sure.” I took off my backpack and slid it inside. It barely fit, but compared to some of the magic tomes I’d perused over the last seven years, it was practically a featherweight. Of course, with the arm strength I had now, it brought the weight on my shoulder to a threatening load. I’d have to ditch some of them when I got to my locker. I closed it up and kept walking.

Dungeons & Dragons. It seemed so … trite now. No amount of imagination and role-playing could possibly conjure up how terrifying a dragon was in reality. The searing heat of their breath, or the concussive bursts of wind with every wing flap. Awesome, in the most traditional sense of the word.

As for dungeons, I’d been in a few, and been the owner of a few more. They tended not to have any treasure, just the other notable T-words: torture, terror, and tyranny. Really not fun places to be. I avoided them whenever possible.

“You okay, man?” Kyle asked, falling in line beside me and jolting me out of my memories.

“What?”

“Nothin’. You’re just usually way more talkative.”

I didn’t respond for a moment. Was I? I’d tried to build up such a completely different image in Cyraveil. I had to struggle to remember who I was. Talking was something I usually let advisers and servants take care of. Silence was an incredibly versatile tool as a leader, and I’d mastered it over the years. Matt’s reminder crept back into my mind. We didn’t know if we were safe yet. I had to maintain some level of normality. “How was the session?”

“Load of crap. They got bogged down in arguments over rules during a single fight. Took us hours just to get through it. But having the book on hand helped. It was way easier to flip between actual pages than scroll around on an e-book.”

“Why not just open the e-book in multiple windows?”

“Because the software’s a piece of shit and wouldn’t let me?”

“You can override that, you know.”

“You can?”

“Selnou.”

Kyle stared at me. “Huh?”

Crap. Wrong language. I was used to talking with Jen. I’d slipped into the shorthand Etoline I’d picked up from her. “It’s easy. I’ll show you how sometime.”

“Cool.” Kyle glanced around, looking at the other gaggles of students heading in. The buses were pulling away already, and most of the kids who rode them were already inside. “Hey, you seen Blake anywhere?”

My throat tightened up. It took me a few seconds to pull it back together. “You know he rides the bus, right?”

“He does?”

“Yeah. He lives way out over on the other side of Mellbridge. Just off the exit ramp.”

“Oh. Huh. I just assumed he lived near here. I always see him walking this way.”

I shook my head. “He comes over to my place a lot.”

“Ah.”

We continued walking in silence for a bit. Kyle kept glancing around in random directions, like he was uncomfortable around me. It bothered me more than a little. We’d been friends for years, hadn’t we?

But I’d changed. I wasn’t me anymore. I’d gotten rid of that pathetic kid a long time ago. I’d replaced him with someone stronger. Someone worth being.

He reminded me of what I really needed to be doing. Who knew where my next clue might come from? No matter how unlikely, I had to pursue every possible avenue that came up.

“Hey, Kyle …” I started casually. “You know Cyraveil Park?”

“Yeah? What about it?” He didn’t sound suspicious, but I could tell

instantly. I’d interrogated a thousand people. I’d negotiated with the best diplomats and nobles in the country. It was all in his body language. The way his head subtly turned, how his eyes sped up just so. His posture slipped just a little, got defensive. He had something to hide, and he was terrible at it.

“You ever go down there at night?” I asked benignly.

“Uhh, why?”

“Just curious.”

Kyle swallowed audibly. He glanced around again. “Yeah, sometimes.”

Bingo. I was circling my opponent now, preparing to strike. Kyle was a pushover. He’d talk in seconds. I lowered my voice just slightly. Imperious. That was the tone, that’s what Reynir called it. “Spill it, Kyle.”

“…You won’t tell anyone, right?”

“ ’Course not.” What good would that do?

Embarrassment flared up in his face. “Me and Kersey sneak out there to … umm …”

Disappointment crashed into me like a mace. I’d hoped for something more than that. Now I just had a stuttering lovestruck kid, with nothing useful to tell me.

“Ah.” I clapped him on the shoulder. “Nice. She’s pretty cute. Good for you.”

I’d meant it genuinely, but I guess it came out condescending. Kyle became prickly. “Like you’ve done any better.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” I answered wistfully, remembering the woman in question.

Kyle rolled his eyes. “Three-dimensional females, dude.”

“More three-D than you. Hair like a glowing hearth and more curves than a roller coaster.” Also a killer with a spear and overwhelmingly racist, but he didn’t need to know that.

“What was this imaginary beauty’s name?”

“Aud Onundottir.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Fantasizing about Viking women?”

I laughed. To be honest, I had no idea how the Cellmans ended up with so many Nordic-style names. It wasn’t like they spoke anything besides English there (or as they referred to it, Linguen). It was one piece of their history I still wanted to uncover, probably buried in the pile of scrolls I’d taken from Reynir’s cellars before I left, waiting under my estate in Candir. “Nah, I’m over her.”

“Too odd for you?” Kyle grinned.

I sighed. “That pun got old years ago.”

“Nice to see you’re so loyal to your fantasy woman you stuck by her for years.”

“Hey, when I commit, I commit.” It was true, even if it did come back to bite me in the ass. Aud ended up leaving me, not the other way around. I was just grateful she hadn’t decided to put her spear through my spine before she’d taken off. “But we got off topic. Kersey, eh?”

Kyle’s expression twisted back into embarrassment fast. “Yeah.”

I couldn’t really remember the girl besides just her looks, but that wasn’t any reason I couldn’t be supportive. Kyle could use the boost. “She seems great for you. Congratulations.”

“Thanks, I guess?”

“You guys had sex yet?”

I didn’t think his face could get more red, but he proved me wrong. “… The hell, Carl?”

“What?”

Kyle shook his head. “Never mind.” He looked up as the five-minute bell rang. “Shit. I needed to get to class early today. See ya.” He sped off and passed through the front doors in a hurry, leaving me alone again.

Oh, right. I was part of the collective of nervous virgins again. I wasn’t supposed to be this confident or self-assured. To Kyle, I must have sounded like a completely different person at the end there.

Still, it went better than I’d expected. Maybe I could pick up right where I left off, without anybody noticing. I’d keep it cool at least until we figured out how to get back. I reached into the bag slung over my shoulder, thumbing through books and papers. I’d left everything in there the night before, ready for the next day. I was eternally grateful to my past self for the foresight, as I wouldn’t have had a clue what to bring today. Between that and my (admittedly vague) recollection of what classes I was taking seven years ago, I was reasonably confident I could bullshit my way through at least a few days of classes—just long enough for us to leave, I hoped.

I walked through the front door, and realized that was a ridiculous notion. Where the two wings of the school met, classrooms lined both sides, with only a room number to provide me any information. Every single one of them looked exactly the same to me.

I had absolutely no idea where my first class was.

CHAPTER 3

JEN

“Long day, West?”

“This shit was awful. Give me good news, Portman. What’s the verdict?”

“We’ll be taking the Svartholm case.”

“… Goddamnit. Do we have anything to go on, at least?”

“Not yet. The first twenty-four hours are the most important in an abduction though. We should get going.”

“You think it was a kidnapping?”

“We can’t rule out anything yet.”

Thank every single star in the sky and the realms beyond for texting. No, seriously, text messages on cell phones are the bomb. Might seem obvious to you, but being able to talk silently and quickly, and without all that mess of face-to-face expressions and emotions? That can be really wonderful sometimes.

More to the point, it’s all recorded.

I spent the entire morning combing through old text messages one-handed, while I chowed through a few pieces of toast. Sure, I still remembered (most of) my friends. I was never like Matt; I actually liked talking to people around me. But it was good to center my memory on where everything was at right now. Kersey was going through her “I hate all men” phase, Jane was going out with Steve, who Kari had a crush on (not that I’d ever tell him). Mitch’s band was breaking up over some stupid fight. My best friend, Sara, had been texting me all night and even now about some guy she met, and Aivallei Syldarei was getting married to—

Wait. That one didn’t fit. Aivallei didn’t go to my high school. For one, she was something like eighty years too old. Even if she still looked gorgeous. She insisted I was prettier, but we all knew that was an outright lie. I couldn’t possibly measure up to a Sylf princess. I couldn’t even measure up to half the girls in my grade. Pity she had to marry such a slob, but hey, nobody ever said political marriages were easy.

But that wasn’t my business anymore.

“Hey, Jen,” my brother’s voice echoed from the front hallway.

“Dov?”

“I’m heading out early. Can you wake Mom up?” I could hear him slipping on his shoes, squeaking against the wooden floor by the door.

“Okay. What’s up?”

“Told someone I’d meet up with them before school today.”

“Oooh, got a girlfriend?” I teased, still scrolling through my old texts.

“None of your business.”

“Aww,” I pouted. I got up and leaned around the corner to give him a look. “Won’t you tell me, duralav-hila?”

“Nope.”

“You know that means you do, right? You’re just making it obvious,” I snickered.

“If you say so. And, Jen?”

“What?”

Matt stood up straight, bundled up in his favorite jacket and with a backpack slung over his shoulder. He reached forward and pulled me into a hug. I stiffened, discomfort quickly rising. I pushed it away, even as the nausea clawed up through my chest, urging me to free myself from his arms. I consciously reminded myself he was just trying to be comforting and kind—that he was my brother, that he would never hurt me, that he was on my side—but the feelings remained. Not that I could ever tell him.

I leaned into his hug, putting my arms awkwardly around him in return. After a few seconds, he let go, and my anxiety slowly ebbed away.

“You know I never stopped looking for you, right?”

“Selnou,” I whispered.

He smiled, but it was in a sad, lonely way. It echoed my own feelings so exactly, I almost burst into tears on the spot. I’d gotten pretty good at hiding my emotions though, a vital tool of my profession. Emotions weren’t coming anywhere near my face. For now.

“Remember,” Matt intoned in his calm and careful voice, “Etoline doesn’t exist here either. I know it’s harder for you, but stick to English, yeah?”

I nodded. He opened the door and stepped outside, the world beyond waiting for us both to finally reemerge after so many years gone. “Don’t forget about Mom!” he called as he reached the sidewalk and vanished around the fence border.

He was right: it was harder for me. Let me be clear, I don’t mean that resentfully in any way. But after all those years, Linguen just didn’t feel like my native tongue anymore. Being surrounded by this now foreign language was the weirdest feeling after being plunged back into this world.

Yeah, I could understand