by Aaron Gansky
Oliver recognized him immediately. Captain Korodeth led the king’s network of spies and recon soldiers. Essentially, he filled the role of medieval CIA director. Because of this, his men moved swiftly and stealthily. Heavy armor hindered more than it helped. He and his soldiers wielded speed as a weapon.
“Find Sir Jaurru and bring him here immediately,” Ribillius said.
Oliver did not like the tone of the king’s voice. If Aiden had been pulled in the way Oliver and Lauren had been, he would be confused, and being summoned to an angry king could change the course of the game exponentially. It could ruin their chance of getting home.
“Father,” Lauren said. She sounded frightened but confident. “There must be good reason for Jaurru to be absent. Allow me to go with Captain Korodeth. My abilities may be needed.”
The king considered this and nodded. “Very well.”
“And Vicmorn should come as well. Perhaps he needs a monk’s prayers.”
Again, the king said, “Very well.”
Instantly, the three weaved their way through the back of the castle toward Jaurru’s personal quarters. Oliver used his prayer staff as a walking stick. With each step, the thick harspus rod tapped the cold stone floor. Relieved to be out of the throne room, he still battled his nerves. How would they explain this to Captain Korodeth? Would they be able to? Should they?
They walked quickly to the back of the castle, their footsteps echoing off stone walls. Oliver said a quick prayer, not to the god of the game, but to God, the real God. He could work here as easily as He could in their normal lives. In fact, He had probably brought them here. No other answer satisfied.
At the back of the castle, they jogged up seven flights of stairs. Ordinarily, the effort would have left him winded and weak-kneed, but it didn’t. He was as strong at the top of the stairs as he was at the bottom. In a moment of lucidity, he understood—though Vicmorn may look vaguely like Oliver, especially in the face, his thickly muscled body made Oliver’s look like limp spaghetti-noodles. He couldn’t imagine how excited Lauren would have been to wake up inside Indigo’s body.
“We check his room first,” Korodeth whispered, every bit as paranoid as she’d designed him. The daggers on his belt swished as he moved down the corridor with surprising quickness and stealth.
Once they arrived, Korodeth knocked on the door. “Jaurru!” he called.
A lump swelled in Oliver’s throat. Someone moved on the other side of the door, but he didn’t hear the heavy clanging of armor. “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not Jaurru.” The voice sounded irritated. Oliver recognized it as Aiden’s. Not good, at all.
Korodeth pounded again. “Jaurru, the king summons you! What mischief is this?”
Lauren said, “Perhaps his mind is under a spell. Perhaps his memory has come under attack.”
Perfect, he thought. What an improvisation. He’d have to follow her lead, think on his feet, improvise lines that may help get them back on track, back on the script. “I’ve seen this before,” he said. “At the monastery. Travelers come in, their memories cluttered and confused.”
“Are you able to help him?” Korodeth asked. He worked to sound concerned, but distrust lined the edges of his voice.
“Aye. But I must do so alone.”
Korodeth narrowed his eyes skeptically. “Young Vicmorn, you do not hold the same trust your father holds with us.”
“You trust my father, and he trusts me. As does King Ribillius, who sent for me by name. I will prove my trustworthiness in this small matter so you may see that I am trustworthy in more important matters.”
Korodeth eyed him, ever suspicious, but finally produced a black steel key from a ring on his belt. They’d hardly jangled as he’d moved down the hall, and Oliver had almost forgotten he wore them. Now, looking at the numerous keys to the castle on his belt, Oliver thought Korodeth looked like a medieval janitor. A particularly dangerous janitor at that.
Korodeth slipped the key in the lock and opened the door. Oliver slid in and the door closed behind him.
Jaurru’s quarters looked more like an armory than a bedroom. In addition to a straw practice dummy in one corner, several racks of swords, shields, and axes lined the walls. They gleamed in the light of the lesser sun, which poured in through a window on the east side of the room. Several skins lay carelessly piled on the redwood bed.
Aiden, dressed in loose fitting cotton pants and a light white shirt laced in the front, looked at Oliver. His face moved from confusion to rage and back. “Oliver?” He stared out a window overlooking the sprawling city beneath. “Seriously, bro. This is the weirdest dream ever.”
Oliver removed his hood slowly. “I don’t think this is a dream.” He set his staff on the bed.
“No way. This is a full-on dream. Or I took up drugs and don’t remember it.”
How could he explain this in a way Aiden could understand, especially since he couldn’t understand it himself? “It doesn’t feel real to you?”
“Of course it does. But it can’t be real. You’re a brain, aren’t you? You should know this is a dream.”
Oliver sighed, decided to take a different approach. “You ever take Theoretical Physics?”
Aiden turned away from the window. “They look like ants down there, bro. We’re pretty high up, aren’t we?”
“Seven stories, yes. But it doesn’t matter right now.”
“Nothing matters.” He ran his hands along the gray stone walls and took a sword down from the rack nearest the window. “In a few hours I’ll wake up and head to school. I’ll find you at lunch and tell you all about this trippy dream.” He twisted his wrist and the sword looped around to Aiden’s left. He repeated the motion on his right side. The sword moved through the air with a subtle whoosh. It moved in forward circles, then in reverse circles. “You and Lauren are working on some fantasy game, aren’t you? Wouldn’t it be a trip if this were your game? Like, if I predicted what your game would be like. I could totally give you some ideas from this dream.”
“We don’t need ideas. And yes, this is our game.” How strange to say it out loud, how clunky and awkward the words felt in his mouth. He cleared his throat. “You ever see a movie where people move through dimensions?”
“Sure. Love movies.” He put the sword back on the redwood rack.
“Ever see Tron?”
“Sure. Dude gets sucked into a video game.”
“I think that’s what happened to us.”
Aiden laughed loudly, as brash as Jaurru. “Sure, that makes much more sense than me having a dream. Why am I even talking to you? Maybe I’ll jump out the window here and fly around this place. Get a bird’s-eye view.” He turned back to the window, and Oliver caught him by the elbow.
In less than a second, Aiden reversed Oliver’s grip and threw him against the wall. Swords and axes clanged on the racks. Oliver impossibly caught himself against the wall with both hands and feet. In a split second of weightlessness, he leapt back at Aiden, his foot in front of him. It sliced through the air toward Aiden’s chest.
Aiden jumped out of the way at the last moment. He yanked a sword from the rack and spun around to face Oliver, the tip leveled at his neck.
Oliver moved on instinct. As Aiden lunged at him, his full weight behind the attack, Oliver ducked to one side, grabbed Aiden’s wrist, and pulled it under his other arm. He twisted the wrist until the blade broke free. In one fluid motion, he caught the hilt of the sword in his left hand and smacked Aiden in the ear with the flat of the blade.
Aiden stumbled back with a sneer and cupped his ear with his hand. He pulled it down to check for blood. “How in the world did you do that?”
“This isn’t a dream.”
Aiden grinned. “As long as you have my sword, I think I’ll take your word for it.”
Oliver let his breath out. He handed the sword back to Aiden and hoped to God Aiden wouldn’t attack him again. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. As stupid as it sounds,
I think we’ve slipped into some sort of alternate reality.”
Aiden kept his eyes on Oliver as he took the sword. “How can you be sure?”
“Because we created this place. Every detail, from the castle to the Fellian River, to the Monastery of the Monks of the Cerulean Order. I’ve spent the last seven years of my life creating a computer code to bring this world to life. But I didn’t anticipate it actually becoming real.”
“So this is your game?”
“It’s the only logical answer. I was running the Beta code last night, and then we three woke up here.”
“Three?”
“Lauren and I. And now you.” Oliver moved toward the door.
“Not cool, bro.”
“Seriously not cool. You have to understand, we didn’t mean for this to happen.”
Aiden lunged at Oliver, sword outstretched. He twisted his body in midair and barrel-rolled. Oliver hardly had time to move, and the edge of the blade caught the fabric of his robe.
Aiden, still airborne as he flew past Oliver, flipped forward, somersaulted in front of the door, reversed his grip on the sword, and stabbed backward behind him.
Again, Oliver had only seconds to react. He fell backward, and the tip of the blade came within inches of his chest. Oliver threw his hands over his head. “Take it easy!”
From outside the door, Korodeth called, “Is all well?”
Aiden dropped the sword. The cold metal clanged on the stone flooring. He took two steps away from the weapon and put his hands on his head. “I’m not going to lie. I almost killed you right then.”
Oliver whispered. “I know.” He stood up slowly and rubbed the back of his head. Every muscle tensed, ready to leap out the window if Aiden grabbed the sword again.
Aiden started pacing, his hands behind his head, fingers interlocked, as if he were about to explode into a long set of sit-ups. “Okay. Alright. Alternate reality. Sure. So why me? How did I end up here? Is everyone from North Chester here?”
“I don’t think so. I sure hope not.” Oliver picked up his prayer staff and held it tightly. If Aiden lost his cool again, he could use this as a simple means of defense—if he anticipated another random attack in time to save himself. “We modeled Jaurru’s character after you.”
Aiden’s eyebrows lifted. “Really? Why?”
Oliver had no interest in saying anything to anger him more, had no interest in staring down Jaurru’s blade again. “It was Lauren’s idea.” Immediately, he regretted it. He’d sold Lauren out for his own well-being. “And mine, too. We thought you fit the part.”
“Bro, you guys hardly know me. You don’t know my life.”
“You seem chivalrous. You seem honorable.”
He shook his head. “Thanks, I guess. So, how do we get home? Can’t you dial up a portal or something? Because I’d kind of like to get home. We got playoffs this week, and if I don’t make practice, coach won’t let me play.”
Oliver tugged at the amulet under his cloak. His eyes wandered off to the ceiling. Playoffs were the least of his worries, but Oliver didn’t want to tell him that. Instead, he said, “A portal’s not a bad idea. I hadn’t considered it before. If we can get The Book of Sealed Magic, maybe we can open a portal back to our world.”
“What are you talking about?”
Why hadn’t he thought of it earlier? It made sense—to beat the game, they had to conquer the Mage Lord and find the book. As speculative as it was, the portal idea had the most promise. And the idea gave them purpose, a definite goal to strive toward, and an excuse to follow the script. “I think I can get us home. You’re going to have to trust me, though. Get your armor on and grab your sword. Hurry. Stick close to me and Lauren and follow our lead.”
Aiden touched the suit of armor in the corner of the room opposite the bed. “You mean this isn’t some sort of medieval decoration?”
“It’s real enough. Real as everything else in this world.”
“Totally don’t even know how to put this thing on. Looks dangerous.”
Oliver moved back toward the door. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Unless you want me to stay and help.”
“No chance.” Looking at the suit again, he shook his head and said, “This is way messed up.”
Chapter Six
Because of this, Adonai changed the name of His chosen general from Raasnus, which means strong one in the old tongue, to Solous, which means righteous avenger. He would end the reign of the elves and punish their idolatry and wickedness. He would rule Adonai’s kingdom with wisdom and justice.
—The Book of the Ancients
WHEN AIDEN FINALLY CLANKED out of his room in his heavy armor, Lauren wanted to launch herself at him and throw her arms around him. The urge welled up equally from the Lauren part of her and from Indigo. But she restrained herself and kept her composure.
If she had thrown herself at him, it could have been a fatal mistake.
As the king’s personal guard, Jaurru wore a heavier, more ornate armor than the simple steel-clad soldiers in the throne room. While his still gleamed as brightly as theirs, his helmet sported three bladed ridges sweeping from the front to the back, each terminating in a gruesome point. The polished steel was painted with Alrujah’s purple in stripes along his arms and legs. The emblematic Razorbeak adorned his chest and kite-shaped shield. Bladed points extended from the joints of his elbows up the back of his arms, and similar tines pointed up from his knees. The shield itself had edges sharp as swords. The suit served as protection and as a weapon, an extension of the deadly skills of the soldier wearing it.
She couldn’t help but stare, though she told herself not to. What would happen if they made eye contact? He must hate her. He’d blame this mess on her. She’d insisted Jaurru look like Aiden, act like him, too. She could handle being ignored by him, but not being rejected.
“Are you well, Sir Jaurru?” Korodeth asked.
Aiden didn’t look as confused as she thought he might. “Sure, I guess,” he said.
“He is well now, Captain,” Oliver said.
“Good. The king summons you.” He turned on his heels and headed back toward the throne room.
Aiden’s eyes sauntered over her. “Lauren?”
She wanted to say yes but found her breath locked in her chest. Instead, she nodded.
“Wow,” he said. “You’re …”
Oliver said, “Let’s worry about that later, big guy. Right now, we’ve got a king to see.” He hurried after Korodeth toward the staircase.
Aiden clanked alongside Lauren, watching each of her movements. “I can’t even believe … I mean … wow.”
Not exactly the response she’d figured he’d have, but she’d take it, and not ask questions. Maybe Oliver hadn’t told Aiden it was her fault Aiden had been pulled into the game, too. Maybe he had, and Aiden didn’t care. Either way, she wouldn’t let this opportunity pass. She’d enjoy his stupefied, dumb-struckness.
Oliver and Korodeth, a few steps ahead of them, disappeared down the spiral staircase when she realized she’d not said a thing to him since he came out of his quarters. She should say something to break the increasingly awkward silence. “Nice armor.” The statement came out more as a question than anything.
“Yeah, it is. Pretty gruesome. Look, I don’t mean to stare. I’m sorry. You’re so different.” Aiden, with his long stride, took the steps two at a time.
She took the steps quickly, holding her cape up so she wouldn’t trip on it. “Believe me, I know.”
“And your dress.”
Instead of being flattered, irritation washed over her. For a minute, she almost wished she were fat again, so he’d learn to love her and not whatever digital body she’d given herself. So she shifted the conversation. She whispered, loud enough to be heard over the clanking of the armor, but quiet enough so Korodeth wouldn’t overhear.
“Okay, crash course, hot stuff.” Had she really said, “Hot Stuff”? She moved on quickly, hoping he wouldn’t catch h
er faux pas. “In this world, I’m Indigo, daughter of King Ribillius.”
“So you’re a princess? You’re wearing a very princess dress.”
“Keep your voice down,” she said, touching his arm. His armor was absolutely freezing. “Yes, I’m a princess. Anyway, the Mage Lord has …”
“The Maze Lord?”
“Mage, as in magic. Try to keep up. Anyway, he’s threatened my life, so I’m leaving the castle to hide somewhere. My dad doesn’t like the idea, but too bad for him.”
“Wait, your dad or the king?”
“Same guy.”
“Your real dad’s here, too?”
Lauren swallowed. “No, just listen. We’re almost there. We’re going to go in. Follow our lead. You’re Jaurru, the king’s personal guard. He’s going to send you with me to protect me, even though I don’t really need it because I can use magic. Or at least, I’m supposed to be able to. Haven’t quite got it figured out yet.”
“Okay,” he said. “Feels like you’re teaching me how to write an essay again,” he said and grinned.
“This is serious, Aiden.” The stairs flattened out, and they proceeded down the stone hallway to the throne room, quickening their pace to catch up with Korodeth and Oliver. “Try not to say too much. And if you do have to talk, try to at least sound like a medieval knight.”
“Got it,” he said.
The hallway of the castle expanded, and they passed through wide doors into the throne room. Aiden mimicked Korodeth’s bow. His eyes went wide, as if he were trying to do a dance he’d never seen before. Lauren bowed, but, true to his character, Oliver remained standing.
