Far From Home
He was being carried—that much was certain. All the evidence was there: he could feel a hard chest, strong arms carrying him, and when he just barely cracked one dull greenish blue eye open he could see that the ground was moving below him.
As far as he could tell, he was in a field. He could see trees in the distance, a small forest, and beyond that a very faint city. It definitely wasn't Cincinnati, either.
Quite a few times, he must have either dozed off or slipped back into unconsciousness; it was nearly dark by the time he cracked open his eyes again, and he felt sick. “S-sick,” he managed to choke out. “Feel...sick...”
“Hn.” He was set down, and immediately emptied his stomach. There was a small sound of disgust from behind him, and he looked down in hazy horror to see that he was puking up a vile greenish liquid. What the hell was going on? His arms began to weaken and finally crumpled below him, but a hand caught him by the torso and lifted him up with ease before he face-planted in his own vomit. Eww...
He passed out again a few minutes later; when he awakened once more, he felt a bit better, but ached all over. Sitting up in a bundle of blankets that seemed to be a makeshift bed, he looked around to see that his face-plant catcher was crouching by a small fire and cooking what seemed to be pancakes. The only problem? They exploded before the man could flip them, right into his face. Wiping it away and tossing the bits into the stream behind him, the young man swore and then began mixing more batter to try again.
The pancakes seemed ready to explode again when Charlie spoke up; he felt like he had swallowed a mouthful of gravel. “What...are you...doing?”
“Cooking.” Another small explosion. This time the man avoided it with deceptively swift moves. There was a glint of metallic shine, and Charlie followed it down to the man's side—and his heart jumped up into his throat as he saw that, on each of his ten belts, he had ammo and weapons galore.
“Y-you're armed,” he found himself stammering.
The man raised a thin, dark brown eyebrow. “I'm armed,” he acknowledged mildly.
That was when Charlie noticed his eyes, and felt his jaw drop. Orange—the man's eyes were large, sharply shaped and stern, and...well, orange. “I've died,” he said in a light-headed voice, and lay back down. He felt faint. “I've gone to hell or something.”
At that, he was rewarded with the most faintly amused look he had ever seen. “I'd...rather that not happen. I did save you...”
“You...saved me?” Charlie repeated, a bit stunned. It all clicked into place. “You're the one who saved me and—the others!” he cried. “Where are they? Are they all okay or what?”
“I am not sure.”
He looked up sharply. “W-what do you mean, you're 'not sure'?”
“I mean what I said.” The man fell silent once more, and Charlie frowned. Who was this person? Before he could ask, a plate of half-exploded pancakes was shoved into his hands. “Eat.”
“Thanks.” He grabbed the fork that was handed to him, and tucked in ravenously. He hadn't realized just how hungry he had truly been until now, and also seized the bottle of water when it was offered to him. Guzzeling down the water, he gave a contented sigh and went back to his meal. “How long have I been out of it?”
There was only silence, and when he looked up he saw that the man was...studying him. He stopped eating, apprehensive very suddenly, and then relaxed a bit when the observing glare shifted up to the sky. “Eight days.”
He froze. “Uh...whoa. Felt like an hour or something.”
“Being poisoned...will do that to you,” the man agreed in a strangely faltering voice. He nodded ever-so-slightly, and Charlie tilted his head.
“I was poisoned?” he asked in confusion. There was no reply, so he went on to his next question out of many. “What's your name?”
Again, it took at least five minutes to receive a reply. “Names are...unimportant.”
He blinked. “Unimportant?”
An eyebrow was raised in his direction. “Unimportant,” the man repeated slowly, deliberately, as if to make sure he wasn't misheard. Charlie scowled at him. “Have you any idea of what is important, young man?”
“Uh...” Charlie thought for a moment, and then shrugged. He didn't even know where he was, for God's sake.
“Staying alive,” said the older man firmly as he rolled up into his own blankets and closed his eyes, “is what's important. Now go to sleep,” he ordered, and it was as if a wave of exhausted suddenly washed through Charlie, numbing his senses and turning his bones to lead.
He slept.
***
“So where are we going?” Charlie asked yet again, almost running to keep up with the man's long strides.
Eyes narrowed slightly, the orange-eyed one glared at him, but Charlie only ignored the look—after three weeks now of continued walking and camping out in lands unknown to him (he had finally gotten used to the two moons in the sky) he was used to the Death Glare, as he had dubbed it with something close to admiration.
“Racel.”
He tilted his head, a habit he had when lightly confused. “Oh? And where's Racel?” he asked. Over the days, he had acquired something akin to his own strange little accent—it was nearly British, but somehow completely different. The pronounciations were all the same. It was the sound of the accent itself that set it apart. It was more smooth and steady.
The man sighed. “It's in Trellimein, Charlie,” he said shortly. “Home.”
Charlie smiled. “Oh, okay.” The man had spoken to him about where they were—he called it something like Utopia; he still couldn't quite remember—and he was slowly but steadily learning to know this new world.
“How are you holding up?” the man asked casually, as if questioning the weather. Charlie shrugged. He was feeling a lot better than he had before. Almost fine again. He still got aches and pains, and sometimes he still vomited the green stuff, but other than that he felt all right.
He told this to his new role model and mentor figure, who nodded once and fell silent. He was a very stoic, taciturn man, Charlie had noticed; he hardly ever talked, and still Charlie had no idea what his name was or even who—or what, he added ruefully—he was. “How long until we get to this place?” he inquired. “Racel, right?”
“Yes. Racel,” the man said quietly. He paused, and then closed his eyes briefly. “We'll be there by tomorrow night.”
Charlie beamed; he couldn't wait. The man had told him a little bit about the capitals, how truly amazing they were compared to Earth's towns and cities. Racel was the capital of Trellimein, he recalled with a smile. He was still learning, but it came to him far more quickly than he would have expected—strangely enough, he felt like he recognized this astonishing world.
When they stopped to eat, he risked asking again. “Hey,” he said, to call attention to the man. “What's your name?”
Silence, and then that small grunt the man seemed fond of. “Hn.”
“Huh?”
“It's—”
“It's important to me,” Charlie cut in, and grinned at him. “C'mon, tell me!”
He received a glare, but ignored it easily. Finally, with a resigned sigh, the man spoke up. “Altrius.”
Charlie blinked; he hadn't expected it to be this easy. “Pardon?”
The man spoke louder, sounding aggravated. “Altrius.” He pronounced it slowly, narrowing his eyes as if daring Charlie to say anything else. “The rest of the Company calls me Al. You may do so, if you wish.”
He smiled. “Epiliptika. So, like...what is the Company, anyway?”
“A group,” Altrius replied carefully. “Of demons.”
At that, the boy laughed. “Demons,” he scoffed, and nodded as if he believed the man. “Right.”
“You...believe me to be lying.”
“Pulling my leg is more like it.”
Altrius raised an eyebrow; it was equal to a large, amused smile when it came to him. “Oh?”
For a moment, there was an awkward silence, and Charlie waited for the man to make a near-smile beneath that tall, ridiculously cool looking collar. But it never came, and he finally felt his shoulders slump at the insanity of it all. “You're...not joking, are you?” he said lamely, at last.
“I don't believe so, no.”
Charlie nodded slowly, looking a bit as if he were about to start hyperventilating at any moment now. “Well,” he said with a small, I'm-getting-ready-to-bawl laugh, “this is...great.”
“Don't lie, Charlie.”
That was the final straw; all the overwhelming stress from the last few weeks of traveling, not knowing if the others were alive—not knowing if his parents were even alive—finally caught up to him, and he found himself sobbing uncontrollably. For a moment, Altrius just sat there, and then he slowly came over and held Charlie in his arms almost comfortingly. “I apologize.”
“For w-what?” Charlie hiccuped, and wiped his nose on his sweatshirt sleeve, shuddering slightly as he choked back another wail. God, he wanted to go home so badly...
Altrius frowned. “I made you upset,” he said. “And that was kind of wrong of me.”
Sniffling, Charlie shrugged and wiped his nose again. Altrius snapped his fingers, producing a tissue out of nowhere and handing it to him. He blew noisily. The tissue vanished; he blinked in surprise for a few seconds, and then brushed it off as a coincidence. “When can I go home?” he asked, swallowing hard and then brushing more tears away as they fell down onto his jeans and made wet spots. “I don't like it here. Well, I do, but...it's so...different.”
The man didn't answer, only made his “hn” noise and shrugged ever-so-slightly.
“Soon?” Charlie sniffled and then looked up at the sky. It looked almost like the same one he saw every day at home, but it was obviously different—more purple, the fluffy cream clouds looking more like they were out of a fantasy.
Too different to be much of a comfort.
“I don't know,” Altrius said at last, albeit quietly. Charlie felt him shake his head a bit as he repeated the words, sounding just as resigned as he was. But why? “I don't know.”
He drew in a deep, shuddering breath, and then released it after a moment with another small sob. It wasn't that he didn't know what had happened or where he really even was...but it was the fact that he might not ever go back that chilled him even more than his even own death ever could.
After a long while he was fine again, and they continued on at their set pace—he could see a large city on the horizon, but it faded away as the sun went down and the two moons, one large and one small, came out.
“Get down,” Altrius said sharply, near the end of their journey, and shoved him to the ground. Astonished, Charlie crawled away and hid behind a nearby rock in the somewhat sparse landscape. For a while, he stared at the lush green forest in the distance, wondering how the climate and appearance of the area could change so quickly, and finally Altrius stood up again and hauled Charlie to his feet. “All clear.”
“What happened?” Charlie asked curiously.
“A demon was nearby,” the man said shortly. “The bad kind. They're called Shadowspa—”
A sudden figure slammed into Charlie at high speed, and the two crashed immediately to the ground. Altrius, looking startled, whipped out his gun; then he stopped, looking slightly disapproving at the two identical boys rolling around in the dirt at his feet, screaming names with choked relief and hugging each other fiercely. Finally James helped Charlie to his feet again, and a few more people appeared.
Sammy was limping slightly, his gait a bit pained, but Emily looked almost perfectly fine, if not filthy and streaked with sweat. They cried out his name as soon as they caught sight of them, and sprinted over to join in the pile-o'-hugs. “Damn, Charlie!” Emily breathed, and gripped his arm tightly. “We thought you were dead!”
“Language,” a dark voice said instantly, and they looked up to meet the brilliant orange eyes of Altrius Dial. They all froze, looking terrified, but Charlie jumped up and grabbed Altrius's cloak reassuringly.
“It's okay!” he insisted. “Al is a friend. He saved us!”
James looked wary and a bit frightened, but slowly came forward and nodded timidly to Altrius. “Hi,” he said shyly, and the others murmured the same. Altrius narrowed his eyes slightly, studying them all in the same fashion that he had with Charlie on the first few days of meeting him for the first time, and Charlie felt that same sense of foreboding. Just like before, however, he shook it off easily.
“He doesn't talk much,” the boy explained, and shivered slightly; it had been growing so much colder over the days, and right now he could see his breath in the air. He then noticed, for the first time, that it had been very close winter the entire time. How hadn't he seen this at first? “He's a bit...antisocial.”
The others looked uneasy. “Is...he dangerous?” Emily asked in a small voice.
Charlie shook his head vigorously. “Oh, definitely not!” he exclaimed, and then paused with a frown. That was practically a lie. “Well,” he said slowly, “not to anybody nice.”
At that, Altrius made a small noise in the back of his throat, and Charlie recognized it as an almost-chuckle. Glad to s
ee that he had made the man laugh, he smiled again. “See? He's okay.”
Even so, they gave the man wary looks, and Charlie felt a chilling sensation—yet again, the feeling of foreboding was back. And this time, he knew with a sinking feeling, it was here to stay for a while.
***
Charlie finished the last of that night's meal, and swallowed the rest of his water. The others were eying the food a bit suspiciously, but gradually managed to eat it all before Altrius almost silently announced that it was time for bed, rolled up into his blankets and appointed Charlie as first watch—it was his turn—and fell asleep almost instantly.
Or so it seemed. Charlie had learned the hard way (he had attempted to steal from the man on his second week) that the man was not asleep at all, but only dozing mildly with his eyes just barely cracked open to ensure safety.
“Goodnight,” Charlie said to the others, and allowed a shivering Emily to curl up with him in his blankets while he kept watch. Draping an arm around her, he hummed a soft lullaby in her ear to help the girl fall asleep. Barely fifteen, almost a year younger than Charlie and the others, she was very small and looked like a fragile, pretty blonde doll. Smart people knew, however, that under her delicate and tiny exterior, she was a natural born fighter and had a ferocious temper.
Stupid people never seemed to realize this. One such experience had been almost three years ago, when Charlie had been in seventh grade. It was the year he had met Emily for the first time—the two had somehow just clicked instantly—and there was a boy that had been taunting her all week. Finally, having grown sick of him whispering insults to her during a science quiz, she had leaped to her feet and broken the boy's jaw with a single swing.
Charlie, wisely, had never ever had the nerve to cross her. Sammy himself had ended up with a fractured wrist a few months back, for not giving the girl the last piece of pizza.
Large brown eyes looked up at him from being snuggled against his chest, and then slowly closed. “Night, Charlie,” Emily whispered to him, casting Altrius one last untrustworthy glance before falling asleep.
A few hours later, Charlie slipped out of the covers and went to Altrius, gingerly shaking him awake for his watch. The man stood up instantly, looking like some sort of vampire with his pale skin and glowing eyes, and leaned against a tree. His bad posture was ever present as he folded his arms across his chest and stood silently on guard over the camp.
Rolling up into his blankets next to Emily once more, relieved to be back in the warmth and out of the crisp, chill air, he gave a small sigh and closed his eyes. Content with the world, he fell into a deep slumber that was only interrupted when the sun's first rays hit his face and forcefully roused him.
“Morning,” Sammy said cheerfully, and handed him some perfectly good pancakes. Altrius was looking pleased with himself, sitting by the fire. “Al finally managed to make pancakes.”
“They enjoy exploding in my face,” Altrius explained quietly, and Sammy grinned at him. Charlie wondered why the tall boy had suddenly accepted the man. But perhaps it was a simple trick, he realized after seeing the momentary shadow in Sammy's eyes as he glanced over at Al.
Sammy couldn't understand why he had such a strange aversion to this strange man named Altrius. He just hated him for some reason; he didn't believe him to be trustworthy, or even kind.
There was something strange about him. Something wrong.
They were nearly ready to go when Sammy took his first steps of the day, and went down in a heap a few meters away from where he had started. Wincing from the unbearable pain in his leg, he pulled it out in front of him and bit his bottom lip.
Expression unreadable as usual, Altrius kneeled down beside Charlie's friend and pulled out a strange piece of what seemed to be rune-engraved glass. He lifted it, and in a dazed moment of sudden insight, Charlie read the words “Heal 2” from what seemed to be within the strange runes. Blinking, rubbing his eyes, he looked again and found the words to be gone. Then there was a small blue glow that enveloped Sammy's leg; he winced for a moment, and then his eyes widened and flickered with disbelief as the pain evaporated.
“Better?” Altrius asked him, and pulled him to his feet. Sammy took a few experimental steps, and frowned.
“Yeah,” he said in amazement. The others, Emily more than the rest of them, were watching this strange scene with very wide eyes. “What did you do?”
Emily nodded, looking transfixed as she stared at the glass in Al's hand. “Yeah, seriously. What the crap is that? I mean, oh my Gawd.”
Altrius raised an eyebrow. “A Shard,” he said shortly, and began to stride away. The others followed curiously; Charlie walked right next to Altrius, holding onto a piece of his slightly torn, navy blue cloak/cape to help in his regular struggle to keep up with the man. “Magic.”
For a while, as they walked, they pondered that silently. Then, after a horrible few minutes of trying to work out what the man meant, they realized that he wasn't joking.
