#fourrealms

You know, sometimes life is a little weird. I'm sure everyone's thought that at some point, maybe you live for those twists and turns of fate. I don't know. What I do know, though, is that sometimes those twists can end our lives; immediately or by bending it beyond recognition, so that returning to it would mean only pain and confusion. Then again, there are those good twists; when you find something you'd been missing all along, or fate uncovers a path you thought long buried. I'm not sure yet how my twist in fate will affect my life in the long run. What I do know, though, is that it started one day, when fate involved me in something I never should have gotten mixed up in.

For what seems like the thousandth time, I palm my forehead, growling in frustration and mussing my hair. I sense movement across the table from me and look up, fingers tangled in my bangs, to see my friend Zander leaning across the table to look at my sketchbook before me, the source of my frustration. After a second of quizzical examination, he looks up, brows furrowed, asking a silent question.

“Ugh!” I shout, not even slightly disturbing the focus of the loud students in my huge art class, and slam my feet against the floor and surge to my feet. “That hand,” I begin, violently poking my sketchbook, nearly jamming my index finger at the first joint, “Is ruining my life.” The hand in question belongs to a dark clad warrior, and is grasping the reins of an equally dark horse. The warrior's eyes, of which my rendering is very good, if I do say so myself, are fixed on the viewer, and follows him, should he decide to escape that icy stare. I haven't sketched in a background yet, but I'm sure it should be something to off-set the deadly look of the warrior, perhaps a field of waving grass, or a calm pool at the base of a waterfall. Zander examines it for another minute, then shrugs.

“Sorry. Can't help. I'm not so good at hands myself,” I snort, walking around the table to examine my friend’s current masterpiece; an oil painting of a knight with an unsheathed sword across his knees, viewed from the lower left side, as he gazes up at the nearly completed stars. I look closer at the visible hand, the one not dropped to the knight's right side. As per Zander usual, it is drawn exceptionally well, close to photorealism standards, in fact.

“That, my friend, is not a 'not-so-good-at-hands hand. That is an 'I-can't-possibly-be-a-high-school-art-student-I've-taken-classes-since-the-day-I-was-born' hand.” Close to begging, I ask, “Can you please just sketch in a hand for me?” He rolls his eyes, trying to frown, but clearly proud of his drawing prowess.

“Sure. Fine. Bring it over here.” I walk back around the table and snatch my sketchbook, pencil, and eraser. When I put them down, it that order, in front of him, he glares up at me, raising the eraser.

“What?!” I ask, taking a step back, raising my hands above my head. “In case you make a mistake!” I explain quickly.

“I don't make mistakes,” Zander says, enraged, and throws it clear across the classroom. It sails over the heads of students and I'm afraid for a second that it will shatter the window on the other side (Zander has a very strong throwing arm) but just before it strikes, our art teacher, Mr. Charles, stands, a receives at blow from hardened rubber in the side of the face. I wince. Zander stands up quickly, the aura of impending doom compelling him to do so. I look at him smugly.

“Don't make mistakes, eh, mate?” He glowers at me.

“Shut up.” We look up to see our art teacher making his way across the room, murder written across his facial features, those not covered by his neat grey beard, that is. As he approaches, I realize he's looking at me. Well, duh, I was the one standing up. Of course he thinks I'm the one who did it.

“Miles.” He says. Even though he speaks quietly, and the room is loud, I hear him perfectly well. Stuttering, I glance around for Zander, to find he's somehow materialized at the other side of the room, leaning over another table to offer advice to a group of chattering girls. I'm giving him the face of really, bro? When Mr. Charles arrives. Even though he's glaring at me, I struggle to not laugh. The left side of his face is red and beginning to swell where Zander's flying death eraser hit it.  Seeing the edges of my mouth flick upwards in a smile, Mr. Charles frowns deeper. “Miles,” he says again, “I'm going to have to speak to your parents about this. I thought my earlier warning was enough.”

“Earlier...? Oh, right.” I think back to about a week ago, when another one of Zander's mishaps had gotten me in trouble. I frown. “Yes, we will need to talk.” I look over at my friend, stilling living it up, chatting with our classmates as though he'd done nothing wrong.

“I'll be calling you this evening. Make sure your parents are home.” And with that, he leaves to oversee the other students of his domain. Then I stalk over to Zander.

“Zander.” I say to his back. He does nothing, just keeps talking. The girls he's speaking with don't seem to notice me either, but that's nothing new. “Zander,” I say again, this time poking him. He looks over his shoulder, and seems surprised to see me. “We need to talk.” He nods and straightens.

“C'mon, Zander,” one of his new friends says, conveying so much drama in her voice it makes me want to vomit, “Stay here. Miles can wait.” She looks past my friend to me with the look of, drop dead, creature of the abyss. I'm actually surprised she knows my name. I can count the number of friends I have in this huge school with the fingers of one hand. I turn and walk away, wondering if Zander will follow or not. In the quietest corner of the room, I stop and look back. Surprisingly, he's decided to follow.

“What's up, man?” He asks, crossing his arms across his chest and leaning against the wall. Sometimes I can't stand it, that effortless sense of cool that surrounds him, affecting everything he's near, except me, apparently.

“Way to let me take the fall.” I say angrily. He winces, scratching the back of his head.

“Well...You know, I've got this reputation to uphold, and throwing erasers at my art teacher doesn't really fit into it...” He trails off, looking at me as though he's hoping for some kind of forgiveness.

“Yeah, like I can afford getting caught throwing an eraser at him.” Realizing my voice has risen, I stop and take a breath. “Look, man, this class is all I have. I'm not good at sports like you, I don't get good grades like you do, I'm not popular like you. Hell, I'm not even nice. Art is all I've ever been good at.” For a second, I think Zander is going to make an argument, try to convince me I'm more than that. Then he shakes his head.

“I'm not that popular.” He glances back at the full classroom. I follow his gaze, and see that a good quarter of the class is looking at us. Or rather him. I can't honestly blame the girls for fancying him. I don't think about it that often, but he does sort of look like a male model; tall, athletic, with bronzed skin and a shock of messy blonde hair. I'm pretty sure girls are into that sort of look. Tearing away my gaze, I look at my friend and shake my head.

“You just don't get it. Stop doing stupid stuff and blaming it on me. We'll be applying for university soon, and if my art grade drops, I'm screwed.” Zander nods, and I see just a hint of guilt in his eyes. Well, that's something, at least. He looks like he's about to speak when a massive shudder shakes the floor, sending anyone standing tumbling to the floor. Stunned, I lie still for a second, breathing in the typical art room dust of clay and graphite. I force myself to my hands and knees, gasping to regain the air knocked from my lungs. Zander's already on his feet, running across the classroom to the door. The classroom is in a state of chaos; unearthly strong wind tearing into the second story room through shattered windows, students running around in confusion, shocked to the point of not noticing considerable wounds sustained from broken glass. The tornado and fire alarms are both sounding, creating a cacophony of sound that clouds my thinking. I rise shakily to my feet, arms spread for extra balance, in case there are after shocks. Is it an earthquake? As far from a faultline as this? Not likely.  I scan the room full of panicking students, trying to find the teacher, but Mr. Charles is nowhere in sight. There, darting out the door! Why would he leave his classroom in such a time of crisis? A second later, Zander sprints from the room. Seeing nothing better to do, and also that the student council president has started creating some semblance of order, I race after him. As I run past the windows, the side of my face is pelted by icy droplets. Why? It had been sunny a minute before. I fling the classroom door open, and careen into Zander. He takes the accidental body slam about as well as a sunflower, and the two of us tumble to the floor once more.

“What are you doing?” He asks, pushing me off and jumping to his feet. He looks down at me, and his usual humour is so absent I'm actually scared of him. But humans do strange things when we're frightened. I push to my feet.

“I could ask you the same thing.” He rolls his eyes and turns away from me.

He mutters something in what sounds like Latin, “Joma nun umd,”  and makes a bizarre series of hand motions. All sounds but the klaxons and the wind die from within the classroom. Confused, I look through the window and see everyone slumped over their tables or crumpled in piles on the floor.

“Wha...Did you just...Is that...Are they...” I stammer, horrified. I swallow. “Are they dead? Did you just kill them?” Zander shakes his head, looking eager to go.

“That's just the Otkos Imd. Didn't you learn it in your first year?” I furrow my eyebrows and open my mouth to speak. He shakes his head, slapping his forehead, “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” He's not talking to me. “Sorry,” now he is, “I keep forgetting you aren't of the Four Realms.”

“Four Realms?” I ask. Then I shake my head. “Look, that doesn't matter. What's happening? Where's Mr. Charles going?” Zander scowls, looking down the hall, presumably the way the teacher ran.

“It's Nilo. I didn't think he would find us here, that's why the king and I fled to Earth.” Zander took a few running steps away from me, and came to a halt next to the nearest window. “SIPLLES!” He yells, making a movement like an uppercut punch. The glass shatters outward and once again that fierce wind tears in. Zander looks back at me. His clothing seems to be shimmering, and a second later he's clad in something completely different from his jeans and sweatshirt. He now wears heavy black boots with what I recognize as knife sheaths on the sides, grey trousers tucked in at the top. His hooded green vest falls to his mid thighs, which are clad in bronze plate metal, and is belted with thick leather at his waist. His arms, shoulders and chest are covered with singed and scratched bronze armour. Underneath are what look like tight black sleeves, which disappear into tight black gloves. But by far the most shocking thing about his new appearance is the massive broadsword strapped to his back. The two handed hilt and about ten inches of the blade stick up over his left shoulder, and another two feet is visible behind his right leg. “Are you coming?” He asks. I shake myself and point to the destroyed window, not speaking. He nods, a wicked grin spreading on his face.

And I nod. I know this sounds crazy, but I run and jump out the window. See, I've read lots of books about unknown magic and stuff like that, and I've yelled at the characters for not accepting the truth, that magic could exist, and that trusting someone would be the most effective means to an end. I don't want to be that guy, the one who throws a wrench in it by questioning. If there's one other thing that can be said about me aside from my artistic talents, it's that I trust, maybe a little too easily. And so, I jump. As soon as my feet don’t connect with anything and my flailing arms can grab hold of nothing, I realize what an idiot I am. “Zaaaannnnddddeeeerrrr!” I yell, part scared, part angry.

“Nitp imnees!" His voice shouts from above me. As though falling from a rock wall and landing in the harness, I stop falling so quickly and descend to the ground in a much more controlled way. When my feet hit the asphalt, I look up to see Zander land lightly next to me.

“Where?” I ask simply. He points, I turn, and mentally slap myself. There, of course, where a massive purple-black vortex is rising from the middle of the street. Every nerve in my body is telling me to turn and run like hell, but Zander has already begun sprinting off towards it. Swearing at my own stupidity, I run after him. The vortex seems to be shrinking, and somehow I know we have to reach it before it's gone. Just before we get there, another shock wave bursts from the vortex, sending Zander and I sprawling backwards. My head cracks against the asphalt painfully, and the last thing I hear is Zander shouting.

“Miles!”

It's Zander's quiet voice that wakes me up again. I think he has his hand pressed onto my temples. There's that strange language again, repeating the same thing, over and over again, “ Ir aer, jak oka am, ikev. Ir aer, jak oka am, ikev " I open my eyes, blinking in the bright sunlight. The world appears to be normal again. Had I imagined it all? Then I look at Zander, and see he's still got that sword. His eyes meet mine, and he grins.

“Looks like my healing magic's gotten better.” He says. Despite the situation, I grin.

“You mean you used iffy magic on me? You jerk.” We laugh for a little too long, the after effect of too much adrenaline. He rocks to his feet and I stand a second later, a little dizzy. I look back the way we had come, and see the broken windows. Glancing at my watch, I realize I'd only been out of it for a few minutes. When I look back at Zander, he looks like he's holding the weight of the world on his shoulders.  I frown.

“Now, we really need to talk.”

-----------

“Thanks,” I say to the waitress as she sets our coffee on the table. I wait until she's out of earshot before I speak again. “Alright, spill. Why are we in a coffee shop during school hours, acting like criminals? What was that earthquake? And the vortex? Where's Mr. Charles? Why did you have some sort of Renaissance festival cosplay? And how many languages do you speak?” I take a breath and take a gulp of my coffee, ignoring the fact that I'd just scalded my mouth and throat. Zander holds up his hands defensively, and I have a deja vu moment of a couple hours earlier.

“Woah, one question at a time.” He said it a bit too loudly, drawing the attention of the table next to us. Hunching his shoulders, he flips a few pages in his textbook, and the strangers look away, mumbling. He sips his coffee, and collects himself, then looks up. “I'm not from here.” He begins.

“Got that part, thanks,” I reply, looking out the window at the quiet down town streets.  I expect a remark, but he just keeps talking.

“I'm...the Second. It means I'm the King's right hand man. It's the second highest rank in my world, second only to the King.”

“Mr. Charles.” I guess. Zander nods. I realize this means he's actually King Charles, though I doubt Charles is his real name. I ask. Zander nods. Okay, so King Charles.

“I'm a bodyguard, chief advisor, general of our military, ambassador. I'm trained in everything you can imagine, and some things you can’t; duelling, archery, medicine, cooking, strategy, magic, the works.” I suddenly understand why he's so good at everything now. He's had to be. He looks at me, and I can tell he's daring me to question his last statement. I ask, just to humour him

“Magic?”

“Remember the incantation back at the school? That was Otkos Imd, puts people to sleep. It's the first spell I ever learned, because it's so easy.  See, I come from a world called the Four Realms. It's closer to the centre of the universe than Earth, so we have better control over magic than here on Earth. Of course, since I've trained all my life, I can still control it here.” He takes a breath and keeps talking. “I became the king's second when we were both seventeen.”

“Wait...what?” I shake my head. “You and Mr. Charles are the same age?” He nods.

“One of the perks of the job. The Second stops ageing, so when the King dies, we have the advantage of a new King with all the experience. Once I become King, I'll start ageing, and I'll have to choose a new Second.” I can't believe it. Mr. Charles was someone in the neighbourhood of sixty years old. And so, evidently, was Zander. The responsibility of living so long...It hits me like a hammer in my chest.

“So, the King's heirs don't take over?” Zander shakes his head.

“The King isn't allowed to have children.” He looks away. I look at him in a new light. All this he had allowed himself to be a part of, at the age of seventeen.

“Why were you chosen?” I ask. He laughs without humour.

“When I was young, my family was killed in a fire. My father was a knight, so I'd grown up near the castle. When they died, and I was left alone, I went into the service of the king. One day, I was delivering a message to the king when an assassin attacked. I really didn't think about it, I just turned and used the killing charm.” I'm not surprised he doesn't name it. “I wasn't fast enough, and the assassin had already loosed an arrow. I jumped in the way...And got hit.” He makes sure no one's looking, then tugs the neck of his t-shirt down, and points to a nasty looking white scar just above his heart. “I've got one just like it on my back.” He assures me. “I barely survived. And to thank me, the king named me Second. “ He shrugs. “I didn't really think it through, and agreed. And once you do, you can't back out of it until you die.”

“So...You don't age but you can be killed?” I ask.

“Yes. I can actually kill myself, if I want to, but that would curse someone else to the same fate. It's a vicious cycle.  The last time both the Second and King were killed at the same time, civil war broke out. It's been deemed the best system.” He finishes lamely. Neither of us speak for a long time.

At length, I ask. “Four Realms?”

“Levantar, Liana, Iavin, and Faltar. The kingdom sits in the middle, where the four great rivers meet. Levantar is all moorland and wind, Liana is forests and lush mountains. Easily the most beautiful. Except for the Daryk Forest. It's a thick expanse of trees that's said to be either haunted or charmed. In either case, never go there alone, and never at night. On the other side of it, there are the mountains, which you can see from anywhere in the Four Realms. Those are equally cursed.” Zander drops his hands into his lap and looks at them. “I lost a friend there.”

I don't push for details, but let him continue when he's ready. He breathes heavily through his nose a few times.

“Iavin is almost completely unpopulated. It's so hostile and rocky. You never know what will happen. One moment you're carefully picking your way over hills, the next you fall into a crevice and have to fight your way past a dragon. And the last, Faltar, is magic. So magical, humans can't stay there for long before turning into a tree.” I almost laugh at the matter-of-fact way he says it, but repress the urge when I see a tear shimmering in the corner of his eye. “That's why the trees in the Daryk Forest whisper. They are...Were...People. Trying to save others.” He gulps and lays his head on his arms. I see his shoulders shaking silently. Aw, crap. He's crying. I sit still for a moment, not knowing what to do. I glance outside, feeling as though my life is crumbling around me. Not once had I thought the people I saw walking down the street, or knew existed all over the world, weren't the only ones.

But I can't think about that now. I'm part of the problem, now, and I have to react the right way. I take a deep breath and lay a hand on Zander's shoulder. He doesn't look up, but his shoulders stop moving.

“What can I do.” He looks up now, eyes a little red.

“You don't have to do anything.” He says, voice muffled by his arms. “This is my fault, and my responsibility.” He sits up, wiping tears from his eyes. Despite his moment of emotional weakness, I think no less of him. In fact, it's good to see behind that shield of happy confidence. Maybe this is the real Zander. Thinking of this, I smile a little and shake my head.

“You know what I never understood? Why you became my friend. You seemed so...cool, and yet you decided to talk to me. I don't have a lot of good qualities, and I'm not sure how this will turn out, but you were there for me, so I'm going to be there for you. Whatever you need, ask.” He doesn't appear convinced. “Look, you've had all this responsibility for years. Your life was stolen from you, again, by something that wasn't meant to happen. Yet here you are. I don't pretend to be a philosopher, but if I know one thing, it's that friends don't let friends fall.” To my surprise, he says something.

“My time here on Earth...Has been the best of my life. It gave me the chance to slack off, to relax, and to realize the potential life has for people. Even someone like me. But that's over, and I need to return to my duties. Your place is here. I'll never belong.” I scowl, unexpectedly angry.

“You think I belong here? I've never belonged anywhere. I'm not good at anything, I have next to no friends, my parents don't care. Zander, I need a new life. Literally. Just tell me what we're doing.” After a long moment of silence, neither of us daring to break eye contact, he grins, tears welling up in his eyes again.

“We'll be going back to Four Realms, and try to sort this mess out. I'd be lying if I told you  it would be easy, or safe. This isn't like in those stories of cross world travelling, where if you die in the other world, you come back in your own.  And promise me something,” I nod, leaning forward. “You'll do what I tell you, even if it seems stupid. I know my way around the Four Realms. You've never been there.” It seems logical, so I nod.

“Excellent.” Zander stretches, smiling again, back to his old self. He stands, packing his stuff into his backpack. “No point wasting time,” He says, “We're heading over to my place. The portal will work best there. Frankly, I have no idea how his majesty was able to summon one. Maybe he just used Nilo's.” I mentally smack myself. I'd forgotten.

“Who is this Nilo anyway?” Zander stops moving and looks down at me.

“The King's brother. Tried to usurp him, so the King and I ran away. I'm assuming he took over once we left.” And that was it. That three sentence explanation was supposed to justify my leaving. Yet somehow I don't protest. Don't point out that Zander mentioned nothing of my going home before leaving. Not questioning if there will be a way to get back, I grab my belongings and follow Zander from the coffee shop. It's about a mile walk down the bustling afternoon streets to Zander's apartment. Though I'd been friends with him for about a year, I'd never actually visited his place. I'd just assumed he had really strict parents, or maybe his house was really messy. But I see why now. After we climb the stairs to the flat above a music shop, and open the door, I feel like a small electrical storm has decided to live on my skin. The tingling sensation gets stronger when I step across the threshold. I look around the sparsely furnished room,  eye caught by the rack of weapons sitting in one corner and a massive glass sphere in another. It emits a faint hum, and I sense that's the source of the odd feeling. Zander puts his stuff down at the small table, and I follow suit.

“So...How do we open a portal?” Zander ignores me and walks to the sphere. Laying his palm against it, he instantly is garbed in his outfit from before, sword and all. He gestures for me to come over. My curiosity is greater than my apprehension, and next I know, Zander is pressing my hand against the warm surface. I feel like I've just stepped into a warm shower, and a moment later, I look down to see my clothing has completely changed. I have a grey cloak that falls just past the tops of my folded top black boots, which keep the bottoms of my black trousers in place. I have a belted blue tunic over a loose shirt of a darker shade. I find a long knife in a sheath on my left hip. Additionally, a satchel that I find full of vials and bundles I assume to be food is slung across my chest. I don't have armor or a sword like Zander, but that's just as well, I'm not trained like he is.

“You've never looked better,” Zander says, smirking.

“I look like I stepped of the set of the Three Musketeers.” I say, lifting the corner of the cloak to test its weight.

“You'll fit right in.” He gestures for me to follow him into the second room of the small apartment. A small corner of the room is devoted to a cot, the rest is completely empty. Looking down at the floor, I understand why. Intricate designs in gold and silver decorate the entire surface. It takes only a moment for me to recognize Zander's work.

“I started this the day I arrived here, knowing I'd have to leave at some point. We'll need the same kind to get back, as well.”

“How long did this take?” I ask, stooping to trace the inlay.

“About seven months.” I freeze. Just now, it hits me how long I'll likely be away. I've never particularly liked my parents, how distant they always seem, but do they deserve for their only child to disappear? I shake my head. I've already made up my mind. If I'm to never return, so be it. I'll make my own path, either way.  “This particular portal is for two people only. Obviously, I didn't think you'd be coming with me.”

“If this takes so long to make, how did Nilo create one, and then disappear? And King Charles with him?” Zander scratches the back of his head.

“I guess I forgot to tell you. Nilo and Charles are both incredibly powerful sorcerers. Charles because he was the Second and Nilo because they were really close for most of their lives and the King taught him all he knew. Charles became the Second when he was twenty, but became King only three years later. Nilo was younger but now they're the same age.” I wave off Zander's continuing commentary, what I imagine is on the covers of tabloids in the Four Realms.

“Is there anything I need to know about getting there?” Zander shrugs. “I've only used a portal this far once before. I sort of blacked out, so I'm not sure what it feels like. I'm transporting us into my hide-away in Liana, though, so if we do pass out, we'll be safe. Hopefully.”

“Hopefully?” I ask incredulously.  Zander shrugs and propels me across the room.

“Stand here.” He says, placing me in a ten sided star pattern. He crosses and stands in its twin. “Don't move, don't say anything, and whatever you do, don't open your eyes.” I shut my eyes tightly, feeling my heart begin to speed up. Past the pounding in my ears, I hear Zander speak a few words that somehow don't seem adequate. “None samre jak cos jak opt umreflam!” I hear rustling fabric, and assume he's making some kind of gesture. The tingling feeling I've experienced since walking in here intensifies, making me feel as though I have hot water running down my body. I feel my feet leave the floor, or maybe the other way around. Am I flying or falling? Suddenly, my body in raked by fiery pain. I might be screaming, I might be completely frozen, I can't tell. It goes on like this for what seems like eons. I have no way to judge time. I feel my mind slipping into blackness. Death?

I slam into something hard. Daring not to open my eyes, I try to move. My  hand seems alright. I check my arms and legs, moving them cautiously. Taking a deep breath, I open my eyes. Dark green leaves that filter the sunlight into a dappled pattern meet my sore eyes. I know we've gone somewhere, it's almost winter back home, and all the leaves are gone. I struggle into a sitting position and look up at the sound of chuckling.

And there's Zander, sitting atop a stone wall, looking no worse for our time through a portal. He jumps to his feet, balancing easily on the narrow ledge, and spreads his arms to encompass our surroundings.