Eranithia: Prophecies: Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Where am I? Why can't I see? Why can't I move?! Jennifer! Where's Jennifer? She's still holding my hand...good. Don't let go, Mark, don't let go. You have to keep her close. You can't let anything happen to her. Stay awake. I can't breathe! No, I have to stay awake...for Jennifer...I can't...

Something wet dragged across Mark's face. Suddenly, he jumped up to a reclining position and saw forest animals scatter into their respectful hiding places; foxes in bushes, rabbits down their holes, squirrels up into the trees.

Looking around, Mark's head spun and he could feel his heart pulsing in his head. Pressing the heels of his hands into his temples, he tried to stop the dizziness and suppress the pain.

This must be what a hangover feels like, he thought to himself.

As the pain slowly subsided and the dizziness faded, he began to take notice of his surroundings more. The forest ground was very soft, and there were no pine needles to be seen. Everything about the place told Mark he'd been there before. He wondered if it was the same forest he'd dreamt about. The trees didn't seem as big as the ones in the dream, but they were certainly bigger than any trees he'd ever seen.

Jennifer! He screamed suddenly in his head. Twisting one way, then the other, he found Jennifer, lying in the grass as if she'd laid down to sleep. Mark's heart slowed and his breathing calmed as he saw she was unhurt.

Struggling to his feet and wavering from dizziness, he stood up to see where they were. He could not shake the familiarity he felt in these woods.

If this is the same place I dreamt about then maybe... Mark searched the surrounding area for the girl. Dang, he thought with disappointment.

Through the trees he saw the outskirts of a village. We should be able to find help there, he thought.

Kneeling down, Mark gently shook Jennifer to wake her. Moaning, she stirred from her unconscious sleep and looked around. Her squinting eyes began to widen as she took in the scene around her. Mark heard Jennifer lose control of her breathing. Suddenly, she was in his arms crying.

“Where are we? Where's the pool? The gym? Mark, what's going on?”

"Calm down, Jennifer. It's okay. We're okay," he repeated as he stroked her back.

"Where are we?" she asked, finally finding her voice again after a few minutes.

"I don't know, but it looks familiar. Like the woods I dreamed about last night, or whenever that was. I have no idea how long we've been out."

Pulling away, she looked around but avoided looking at him. She was hiding something.

Pointing behind him with his thumb he said, "There's a village over that way. We should try and find someone that can help us out."

Jennifer looked in the direction he pointed, then shook her head.

"I'm not going anywhere to talk to anybody I don't know. What if they try to kill us?" she exclaimed hysterically.

Mark thought she was overreacting slightly, but then he wondered why he wasn't as scared about things as Jennifer was.

"I don't think that's very likely,” he stated confidently. “I'm sure we look strange to them because of our clothes but we can't really help that."

"That's not very reassuring," she said crossing one arm across her chest and biting at her fingernails on the opposite hand. It was a nervous habit she'd picked up in junior high.

"There isn't a whole lot we can do. If we try and stay here, we'll never find our way back home or find food to eat. And we're also bound to be found out since we're so close to the village."

Mark could see she didn't like the idea, but he knew the prospect of not having any food or shelter wasn't something she wanted to deal with either. Jennifer took another uneasy look at the village. It was the only sign of human life. The structures looked human enough to Mark, anyway.

Jennifer dropped her arms in resignation and sighed, saying, "Fine, let's go. I've got a bad feeling about this, but I guess we really don't have a choice.”

Smiling as he walked up to Jennifer, Mark put his arm around her. "We'll be fine. I won't let anything bad happen to you," he reassured his sister.

With a weak smile Jennifer followed him through the forest. Each tree seemed to draw out Mark's curiosity more and more. Like he knew each one personally, as if the knowledge was in his blood.

Within ten minutes they reached the first of the wooden huts that lined a dirt road about thirty yards wide. Plenty of room for carriages, horsemen and pedestrians to occupy all at once.

Hammering drew Mark's attention to his left where he saw a man nailing wood panels to the roof of his house. He then noticed how the homes varied in size. A group of children came running out of one of the larger huts.

The size of the family must determine the size of the home, he thought.

Some homes had a second home built a short distance behind them. Mark had read about cultures of close knit families sharing land for generations. When a son in the family was preparing for marriage, we would build a home on his parent's property. As the older generations died, the first home, which would typically be the larger, would go to the next in line.

Further into the town, the style of everything changed. In this part of the village there were a variety of shops and a single pub. Mark watched as the villagers went from vendor to vendor, haggling prices for goods. A woman hung out of an upper window, shaking out a rug.

The shop owners must live in apartments above their shops, like in the Old West, Mark thought.

As they neared the busier parts of the village, the people began to notice them and the town seemed to freeze. Jennifer took Mark's hand, squeezing tightly. She saw it as well. People stared, unsure of what to make of them. Some looked curious, some confused. A little girl stopped a few feet from them after escaping from her mother. Mark smiled at the little girl and she waved shyly. Then the girl's mother rushed over and picked her up, scowling at Mark. Mark knew they were receiving this less-than-warm greeting because they were obviously strangers. Like he told Jennifer, their clothing was a dead giveaway. The clothes the villagers wore looked much like the medieval times in Europe to Mark, while they were in T-shirts, jeans and tennis shoes.

There was something else behind the dirty looks that he hadn't picked up on right away. Fear. They were afraid to see them. Why would they be afraid of two adolescents, strangers or not?

Taking a chance, Mark decided to ask someone for directions to where they could seek shelter. As he approached a fruit vendor the old man quickly closed the shutters to his cart and stood behind it out of sight. Mark's heart raced as his own fear attacked him. He'd never experienced such hostility before. Bullies hounding him for money was one thing, but to be completely shunned by a large group of people who stared at you in utter fear was another.

Then the crowd began to part. Mark heard before he saw. The jingling of armor. Four armed foot soldiers in light armor came towards them, surrounding Mark and his sister. The pressure Jennifer put on his arm tightened and looking down he saw that her knuckles had turned white. Mark squeezed her other hand a little tighter to assure her that he wasn't going to leave her side.

No words were exchanged between them and the soldiers. Mark assumed it would be best to just follow them, in hopes their cooperation would prove beneficial.

Mark looked at the soldiers out of the corner of his eye. Each was carrying a spear and were dressed in red tunics; their arms were bare aside from the black leather gloves. Their tunics came down below their belt line. They reminded Mark of Roman soldiers.

On their belts hung their swords, with a dagger on the opposite hip as a backup weapon. Their helms, which only covered their heads, was not those used in battle, so Mark assumed they were merely the policemen of the village and not military.

They were taken to the largest building in the village, at the end of the main road on the north end of town. There stood a building constructed of wood and stone, two stories tall with bars for windows at the lower level. As they entered, four empty holding cells awaited occupants across the room, each with a wooden cot held up by chains in the wall.

Mark hoped he wouldn't be separated from his sister so he could keep his promise to her. His hopes diminished, however, as they were ripped apart.

“NO!” Mark yelled as he started to fight the soldiers.

“Mark!” Jennifer screamed as she was picked up by one soldier and thrown into a cell. She landed hard, skinning her hands and banging a knee into the stone floor.

“Don't hurt her you-” his threat was cut off by a fist slamming into his stomach. As he fought to breathe, he watched Jennifer stagger to her feet. Despite the pain in his gut he was relieved to see she was okay.

“Mark, don't fight them,” she warned.

“You better listen to your girlfriend, kid,” one soldier sneered before punching him in the face. Mark saw spots and was in a daze, which made him stop fighting long enough to be thrown into a separate, but adjoining, cell from Jennifer's.

The soldiers threw him into his cell where he fell hard against the bars that separated him from his sister, hitting his head against one. Jennifer was at his side immediately, checking the already bruising skin on his face.

“Don't worry, Jen, I'm not going anywhere,” he said weakly.

Jennifer didn't say anything. She only rubbed the back of his head where he hit it against the bars.

After a few minutes a young guard, who didn't look much older than them, was put on guard duty. He was dressed similarly to the soldiers who had escorted them into the building, only without the weapons they carried. He carried a piece of parchment, a quill and a jar of ink. Setting his writing supplies down, he pulled over a wooden chair and faced them. He put the parchment on a smooth piece of wood then dipped his quill into the jar of ink.

“Welcome to 'check in',” he said laughing at his joke. Mark rolled his eyes at the bad joke, then staggered to his feet. He stood tall, wishing he could fight the guard. His head throbbed with pain from the way the soldiers' beatings.

Taking a quick glance around the cell, Mark saw that each cell had a small barred window which was only about six inches above his head. They were the windows he'd seen as they were brought to the building. He repressed a cough as he choked on the smell of urine and vomit. He guessed the cells were used more for the drunks in town than anything.

"We'll start with you, girlie," the guard said as he looked Jennifer up and down. Mark glared at him. "What is your name, pretty?"

Mark could feel her trembling even though she spoke with a steady voice. He took her hand trying to ease her fear.

"Jennifer."

"Jennifer? What kind of strange name is that? How do you spell Jennifer?"

"J-e-n-n-i-f-e-r."

"Strange, very strange indeed. Now, where are you from, Jennifer?"

"Um," she said.

Mark didn't know what to tell her as she looked at him for an answer. Looking at her, he shrugged, telling Jennifer he didn't know what to say either.

"California,” she finally said.

Under different circumstances Mark would have laughed at the guard's face. His mouth gaped open in a twisted fashion, one eye squinting as if trying to understand her gibberish. Jennifer sighed and spelled it for him as well.

"Very strange, very strange," he kept muttering over. "Where is this California?"

"I-I don't know how to tell you that since I don't know where we are right now."

"You don't know where you are? I suppose not. Strange clothes, strange name and you come from a place with a very strange name as well. Well, missy, you are in Trondil, a small village in Eranithia, under the rule of Arnath, King of Eranithia, one day to be Emperor of all the known world," he said, speaking proudly of his king.

Jennifer didn't say anything, and Mark couldn't blame her. Although, something sounded familiar about the name, he had no idea what the guy was talking about. Eranithia wasn't anything he'd learned about in school, though. He wondered if one of the fantasy books he'd read had a similar name. All that came to mind was Middle Earth and Narnia.

"I've never heard of Eranithia. I can't tell you where California is compared to here."

"Maybe you are from a different world then?" he laughed. Neither of them responded as he laughed at his apparently hilarious joke. Noticing their lack of laughter, he asked crossly, "Who is this boy you are with?"

"My brother."

"Brother? You seem very close to be siblings," he said motioning to their hands clasped firmly together.

"He's my brother and yes, we are very close. We're twins."

Mark's stomach twisted into a knot and the blood in his veins felt ice-cold as Jennifer said “twins.” He didn't know why the word sounded like a death sentence but he knew there was danger approaching. The guard's wide eyes and gaping mouth told Mark he was right.

"T-twins?" he stammered.

"Yes," Jennifer said slowly, her eyes squinting with confusion as she looked from the guard to her brother, seeking an answer for this sudden change in tone from the guard.

The guard attempted to shake off his sudden case of fear by turning to Mark, "What is your name?"

"Mark," he said. "Do you need me to spell it for you?" Mark asked with a hint of sarcasm as he glared at the guard.

"N-n-no," the guard stuttered, hastily writing down his name then tripped over his own feet as he ran out of the building.

Mark pulled his eyes away from the door that led outside and turned back to Jennifer. She was searching his eyes for answers. Her piercing look made him say, "I don't think you should have told him we were twins."

"What? Why not?" she asked, eyes growing wide with fear.

"I don't know, but my stomach dropped as soon as you said that we were."

"How was I supposed to know that?"

"You weren't. There was nothing you could've done,” he said, eying his surroundings again. He didn't know exactly what he was looking for, but he couldn't just stand there feeling helpless.

"What's going to happen to us?" she asked as tears formed in her eyes.

"I don't know, but I do know that we need to get out of here and soon."

Mark let go of her hand, looking around his cell for anything he could use as a weapon. There was nothing on the floor, not even a loose rock. He went to the chains in the wall that held up the cots and pulled at them. They wouldn't budge. What he would have done with the chains if he could pull them off, he had no idea. There wasn't even a thin shard of steel to try and pick the locks with.

Hearing Jennifer start to cry, Mark went back to her, grabbing her shoulder with a loving firmness. Then she reached through the bars to hug him. They stood that way for a couple of minutes until she finally pulled away from him. Mark saw her cheeks shining with tears. He wiped away a new tear rolling down her cheek and said, "I will get us out of here. Nothing bad will happen to you. I promise."

Just then, a well dressed man, who greatly resembled a short, fat version of the actor Sean Connery, in a red flowing robe entered the jail house. Trailing behind him was a shirtless man, well over six feet tall with bulging muscles. The only clothing he wore was black cowhide pants; black, thick, heavy leather boots; and a black executioner's mask.

The fat Sean Connery walked right up to their cells as the larger stood back a few feet. He was shorter than Mark and fat. Despite the man's weight, Mark thought he could handle him if he had to. The executioner was a different story.

Mark looked Sean Connery over some more, noticing the gray streaks invading his sea of black hair that was kept combed back. His gray beard was peppered with the original black, covering his entire face.

"Twins, eh?" was the first thing he asked them.

Mark nodded, his jaw was set in determination to show he couldn't be intimidated.

"From another world?" he asked, looking right at Mark.

Mark didn't answer. He feared that if he lied he'd be killed but he believed the truth wouldn't do well for them either.

"Think you're a strong lad? No matter what answer you give you will be taken to the king in the morning. I don't think you'd much like to answer to him. It wouldn't be prudent of you to keep quiet when questioned by the king, I should think." The short, fat man turned and began walking out of the building. "Shem, take the boy and loosen his tongue. If he doesn't speak after that, go to work on the girl. That may loosen his tongue."

"Yes," Mark said, hoping his answer would keep harm from coming to Jennifer.

"What was that?" Sean Connery asked, turning back around. His robe flew behind him like a cape as he returned to Mark's cell.

"I said yes."

"You are from another world?"

"We must be. If it isn't obvious to you based on our clothing and our names, that's not our fault." He regretted what he'd said, but he felt he must show no fear of this man, no matter what kind of power he wielded.

The man's mouth spread into a wide grin revealing a gold tooth. His small, beady, green eyes narrowed in on Mark's bright blue ones. His voice low, almost hissing like a snake, he said, "You may have saved your sister for now. But you may not be so lucky with the king." He stood up straight, then said in a louder voice, “Shem, beat the boy.”

Then, Sean Connery turned and walked out of the building, his robe fluttering behind him. If there was a man Mark could think of that resembled the devil, it was him. All he was missing were the horns, tail and pitchfork.

Shem took a few heavy steps forward Mark's cell. Mark was sure he could feel the floor shaking. He noticed many old scars on Shem's body and wondered if this man had spent many years of his life being tortured by men like the fat one who'd ordered Mark's beating. Looking into Shem's bloodthirsty eyes, he saw that hurting Mark would bring Shem great pleasure. Mark backed away from the cell door, unable to hide his fear this time. He had no way of defending himself, and Shem was more than twice his size.

Shem grabbed Mark by his T-shirt, but as soon as he did a deafening explosion knocked them to the ground, almost knocking them unconscious...

Wake up Mark, came a familiar voice. A girl's voice.

Jennifer? He thought.

No, the girl laughed, the girl from your dream. Serina. You need to wake up now, Mark. Get up.

Mark started to regain consciousness. The first thing he noticed was he was lying on the ground next to Shem. When he opened his eyes the room spun wildly. He closed his eyes tightly for a few seconds to control his spinning brain. When he finally began to regain control of himself he pushed himself up, twisting around, surveying the scene. Dust filled the air while stones, wood and steel bars were strewn about from the explosion. Mark wondered what could have caused it. Then Mark saw Jennifer lying in her cell, looking lifeless. He had to get to her quickly.

Mark looked at Shem. The large thug appeared unconscious as well, so Mark went for the keys. But Shem woke up when he felt the tug of the keys on his belt. Mark saw him stir so, jumping to his feet, he stepped back then kicked Shem as hard as he could in the face, knocking him out cold once again.

Mark ripped the keys off of Shem's belt, ran to Jennifer's cell, unlocked it and threw the door open. When he knelt at her side to wake her, he saw blood trickling from her ears and nose. He shook her to wake her, but he received no response. Mark's attention was captured by light from the setting sun as it spilled through a huge, gaping hole in the stone wall of the cell.

An escape! Picking Jennifer up, then stepping around brick and other debris, Mark carried her through the opening. Just outside of the hole in the wall stood a tall old man with long, light gray hair and a beard that matched in both color and length, falling to about his waist. Mark's first thought was this man looked just like Gandalf from, Lord of the Rings, but he knew Gandalf wasn't real.

"Quickly, follow me," the old man said.

Mark didn't hesitate. This was the first person in Eranithia to not look at them as if they were a disease, the first to actually help them.

The old man led him back into the woods they had come from. Then, after a few minutes of running, they came to a clearing that looked even more familiar than the one he'd woken up in a couple of hours ago. Mark picked a spot in the grass to lay Jennifer down. He wished he'd had something to use as a pillow for her.

"I've seen this before," Mark said to the old man as he stood and looked around.

The old wizard searched the trees around them before he spoke.

"So has your sister," he said in a whisper.

The old man began waving his staff in loops and circles. "We met in her dream," he continued his act of waving his staff as Mark sat next to Jennifer in the cool grass. He noticed it wasn't tall grass like in his dream, but it was still familiar to him. Like he'd been there before, but couldn't remember when.

"Was that you in the news report?" he asked suddenly.

"Yes."

"What about the girl?" Mark asked, pivoting to keep facing the wizard.

"What girl?"

"The girl from the news report. She was in my dream."

"Was she?" he asked. It wasn't a question as much as it was an interesting fact for him.

Mark didn't know what to say. He was in a new world, had been locked in a cell, threatened to be beaten, and was now sitting watching an old man wave a staff around. Mark knew he had to be a wizard of some kind.

Mark wanted to learn more about this old man, but fatigue was catching up with him. No longer was he worried about providing food and shelter for his sister. The old man who had saved them from being beaten and taken to the king, for who knows what reason, was now looking after them. Mark had a good feeling this wizard would feed them at some point as well.

Exhaustion swept over Mark like an ocean wave. His curiosity wouldn't even be enough to keep him awake now. He lay back in the cool grass, interlocking his fingers behind his head, staring at the sky. The moon hung high and bright in the sky, lighting up the entire meadow. Mark was amazed at how much light the moon could give when it was the only source of light around. He was also amazed at how quickly the sun had set. They had only been in Eranithia for around two or three hours. But then he realized he had no idea what time it was when they were dropped in Eranithia.

The old man continued walking the perimeter of the meadow, muttering to himself. Mark knew exactly what he was doing. He was setting up wards of protection so they wouldn't be found.

Mark sat up and checked on Jennifer again, but she was still out cold.

"Is Jennifer going to be okay?" he asked.

The old man didn't respond. Five minutes passed before he finished. When finally he was done, he pointed his staff at the ground, starting a fire in the grass. Then he moved his staff in a circle around the fire. The grass touched by his magic died, leaving dried soil to keep the fire from spreading. Then the old man pointed his staff at a tree and branches fell, landing in a neat stack a few feet from the fire.

"Put a couple of branches on the fire," he told Mark.

Mark looked at him in amazement for a few seconds before doing as he was told. Then he got up and went to the pile of branches, picking four choice pieces. His arms felt like they couldn't carry a thing, but he carried them over to the fire and placed them in the center.

"You should get some rest. The fire will keep us warm until we can all talk in the morning. Aside from a bad headache, which I will cure in the morning, your sister will be just fine."

His questions answered, Mark lay down on his side, staring at the fire. His eyes grew heavy as he began to process the day's events. Soon he was in a deep sleep, dreaming about a girl in a meadow, telling him to find someone named Seth.

Mark propped himself up on one elbow as the sounds and smells of sizzling meat woke him. Shortly after, he felt his muscles aching and stiff from yesterday's events. Sleeping on the ground didn't help much either. He looked at Jennifer laying a few feet away. Her face no longer bore the cuts and bruises from the explosion at the jail house. Her cheeks were slightly rosy under the dirt and soot smudged in random places.

As Mark sat up he noticed he felt a lot less lightheaded but stronger than he had the night before. Then he thought about yesterday's events. He'd carried Jennifer through the forest at almost his top speed to keep up with the wizard. Mark wondered how he was able to do that. Not that Jennifer was all that heavy, but she'd felt as light as the bags of flour his mother would make him carry in from the car.

The old man was stirring something inside a small black kettle. Mark watched with longing for whatever was inside. His stomach growled angrily, demanding sustenance.

"Good morning," the old man said in his deep, kind voice.

"Good morning," Mark responded. "What's for breakfast?"

The old man looked up at him, smiling and said, "Rabbit."

Mark stared at the kettle.

He must have had a disgusted look on his face because the old wizard said, "Don't worry, rabbit is very good meat. I know not many from your culture eat it, but it's very clean and lean meat," he said as he scooped some into a bowl for him.

"Where'd you get the kettle and stuff?"

The old man looked at him, his eyes growing slightly larger as his forehead wrinkled. Mark felt foolish for asking, especially when the old man answered, "I'm a wizard."

Mark chuckled as he took the bowl of stew from the old man. He'd read plenty of fantasy books to know what wizards could do. Mark stirred the rabbit stew then raised a spoonful to his mouth. The smell of the rabbit meat and spices invaded his nostrils, making his stomach growl even louder. Then he tasted the meat on the spoon, and surprisingly he enjoyed the taste.

Jennifer rose on one arm and looked around, her eyes squinting as she did. Then she sat up and looked at the old man sitting across the small fire from her; her eyes still squinting from having just woken up. She wrinkled her forehead as she studied him, then her eyes widened. Mark knew she'd recognized the old man from her dream. The dream she wouldn't admit to having.

"Good morning Jennifer," he said, handing her a bowl of rabbit stew.

She stared at the contents in her bowl for a full minute.

"Rabbit," Mark whispered leaning over towards her.

She snapped her head towards him, looking at him wide eyed.

"It's okay, sis. It's good," he said taking another bite. “Mmm.”

"Rabbit?" she said in a sad voice.

Mark laughed. Jennifer sounded like a little girl saddened by the death of a cute cuddly creature. She slapped his shoulder then stared at the meat in the bowl.

“Just eat it,” Mark said, fearing she was being rude to the man who'd saved them.

She pushed the meat around in her bowl, unsure if she should eat it or not. Then the old man spoke up.

"I believe introductions are in order. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Garandol. I am a prophet of Sol who is the God and Creator of Eranithia."

Garandol's words didn't clear anything up for them and the twinkle in his eyes told Mark he knew that, so he went on to explain why he was helping them.

"I broke you out of the jail last night because of a prophecy I gave one hundred years ago. 'A man of Sol will rescue them from the evil one's clutches.' Currently, Eranithia is under the control of an evil tyrant, named Arnath."

They stared at him for a couple of minutes while he waited patiently for their response. Jennifer was the first to say something.

"I'm really sorry, but we don't really care about any prophecy," Jennifer said. "We just want to get home. Right, Mark?"

Mark ignored her. He knew she was stills scared about having been pulled out of their own world and into another, and he didn't blame her. He wondered why he wasn't more frightened by this. But there was something about this place called Eranithia that made him want to stay. Maybe here it was possible to be whoever he wanted without any kind of ridicule or embarrassment. And at least here, if someone wanted to hurt you, they had a real reason.

"Mark?" Jennifer said nudging his elbow.

"What?"

"You want to go home right? To mom and dad? To..." she stopped herself. "You don't want to go back, do you?"

He didn't know how to answer. Jennifer was the only person who understood him and loved him for who he was. He wasn't even sure his parents understood him the way she did.

"You know what it's like for me back home. I just don't fit in there. I wasn't made for that place."

He could see the confusion and anger in her eyes, but he also knew she understood the truth in his words. Even though he meant what he said, he didn't want her upset either.

"Look, Jen. Nothing's been decided yet. Let's just see where this takes us, and when everything is done, we'll see."

Jennifer was upset with him, so she glared at Garandol, demanding, "How do we get home?"

"Only Sol has the power to do that."

"Then take us to him."

Garandol laughed and said, "That's impossible without Him coming to you. And he may just do that when this prophecy is fulfilled."

"I don't care about any prophecy," she yelled, standing up and throwing her arms in the air, her breakfast flying across the meadow. Garandol kindly filled a new bowl for her. "I just want to get home to my family...to my friends...to my bed."

"And to the horrible people who look down on me?" Mark asked sadly, knowing the words would cut into her.

Her head snapped towards him, her mouth open to speak but she had nothing to say.

"Those people you call your friends hate me. They only leave me alone because of you. They could care less about whether I went back or not. They'd probably think life was better off with me gone."

"You don't even know them," she said defiantly.

She's defending them? he thought, growing angry. His face and neck felt hot and he knew they were turning red.

"I know them well enough. I've heard you stick up for me, and I love you for it, but don't you realize just because you defend me it doesn't change their view of me?" Leaning over, his elbows on his knees and his head turned towards her he went on, "They still think the same about me. They just keep their mouth shut when you're around." Looking back at the fire, he said, "The only act of caring they would show is in comfort to you."

Mark was afraid to look at her. Instead he just picked a stick up off the ground and broke pieces off of it to throw into the fire. He waited for a verbal lashing, but silence screamed in his ears instead. Guilt began to eat at him so he started to apologize to her.

"Jen, it's okay-"

"No it's not," she interrupted him.

He thought she was going to give it to him this time so he closed his eyes as he braced himself for her delayed rebuke.

"You're right.”

His neck almost snapped as he looked up at her in shock.

“I just wish I would have seen it before. Maybe I did, but just ignored it. I'm sorry. But,” she sat down next to him again, putting a hand on his back, “wouldn't you at least want to come back for me?"

Mark looked at Garandol as if he just realized he was there. He felt a little embarrassed about this little spat but Garandol's narrowed eyes seemed to be studying them.

He looked back at Jennifer, "Of course I would want to stay with you. But, we have other things I'm sure we need to worry about right now."

"Yes, we all do," Garandol finally said. "The prophecies must be fulfilled."

"What is this prophecy?" Mark asked.

Garandol handed Jennifer her new bowl of rabbit stew. Then, as she began to eat, he sat up straight and said, “Now, mind you that prophecies aren't always very poetic. The prophecy says that when evil has plagued the land, Sol will send two strangers. Brother and sister they are twins, and together they will bring about peace again.”

Speechless, they stared at Garandol. Mark's mouth was wide open in awe that he was part of a prophecy. Then glancing at Jennifer, he saw that all she gave was a blank stare.

"You can't think that that's about us," she said.

Grinning to one side of his face, he said, "Do you see any other strangers from another land? Or twins? Brother and sister twins? It's pretty specific."

She ignored Mark's sarcasm, giving Garandol a cold stare. She was waiting for a response to her comment, cocking her head to one side. Mark was worried about the attitude Jennifer was giving Garandol, but looking at the old man, he could see it wasn't an issue. Garandol had a perpetual look of patience on his face.

Mark wondered if Garandol had gone through this kind of thing before. Strangers from another dimension coming in and not believing in a prophecy made about themselves. Mark could understand the doubt, though. One minute you're in your own world where you know where your place was, then you get sucked through space and time and end up in a different realm altogether and find out you're a huge part of their future. You learn that you'll probably end up in their history books one day.

Being a hero was something Mark had fantasized about in his daydreams. Heroism was the reason he joined that club with his friends. He'd wanted to learn to fight so he could be that hero he dreamed so much about. But he doubted what he'd learned in his world would be close to enough to be a hero in Eranithia. Fear and doubt began to sink into his gut as he wondered what was expected of him. Would he have to fight? Would he have to kill? What if he lost? Would he die here in Eranithia and never be able to return back to his home? He had to let Garandol know he was no hero.

"But regardless if it's about us or not, there's no way I am any kind of warrior. I run from kids bigger than me at school," Mark admitted.

Jennifer took this chance to pay Mark back for his sarcasm earlier, saying, "He could take them if he'd just stand up for himself. The kids aren't really bigger than him. One of them is fatter, but not bigger. Mark's much stronger than he admits. He trains for battles with his friends all the time."

Garandol's head raised an inch and his eyes twinkled at this bit of news. "Battles you say? What kind of battles?"

"Like the Dark Ages of our world. They get together with other groups and have battles."

Mark's face grew hot with embarrassment. He would get her back for this. "They're not real battles. We fight with fake weapons. There's no real danger unless someone doesn't know what they're doing and takes on someone they shouldn't."

"That's true in all battles. If you fight someone ultimately better than you it will be your downfall. But heroes are found in times like those. When someone is forced to take on a foe that is stronger than them, they are forced to find something from deeper within himself to win. That's how heroes are made."

They didn't know what else to say, but their eyelids began to grow heavy again. Yawning, they looked at each other a little confused. They'd just had a full night's sleep, and now they were exhausted again.

"Sleep now," he said, "for we have a long journey ahead of us."