Chapter Five: Forever Is A Long Time
Disclaimer: The usual I-own-nothing.
Imogen had been at Pirate's Swoop for two weeks before she finally stopped being surprised at the weird and wacky things surrounding her. She was finally able to understand why such a household could accept a stranger from another world dropping into their woods with so much ease. From what Alianne and Alan had told Imogen of the Immortals War, Tortallans were used to strange creatures that weren't supposed to be there showing up on their doorstep.
Imogen had become close friends with the twins as the two younger children had introduced her to the normal flow of palace life. She loved the way Alianne and Alan were either fiercely defending each other or equally fiercely arguing. Imogen realized early that each of the twins had their own distinct personality. Alianne was impish and quick, a joker to the core. Alan was quieter, the brains behind the mischief operation. He studied people carefully, noted their strengths and weaknesses, and filed away the information for later use.
On the other hand, Imogen did not like Thom at all. Though she had to admit he was very handsome, with his unruly red hair and a smile that would melt the average girl's heart, she was not the average girl. She also thought him a rude, arrogant, self-satisfied, derogatory imbecile. Their fierce arguments every time they met had become the talk of the palace and had grown in fury to the point where Alanna had forbidden them from speaking to each other more than was absolutely necessary at mealtimes.
"I know you two don't like each other, but that's no reason to torture us all with your babyish caterwauling," she had said, glaring at the two combatants.
In fact, it was because of Thom that Imogen was out on the fortifications surrounding Pirate's Swoop, watching the sunlight play across the cove and mulling over Thom's last comment to her.
"You had better learn to defend yourself in case I decide these insults are worthy of a duel," he had whispered dangerously in passing.
Imogen planned to do just that, but there was only one problem: she had never picked up a sword in her life, not even a fencing foil. She was a fair shot with a bow and could give as good as she got in a fistfight, but she knew absolutely nothing about sword fighting.
"Greetings, fair stranger from another land," said a voice behind her, startling her from her reverie. Spinning around, she saw Alan smirking at her, his hair tousled from his morning training session.
All of a sudden it was as though fireworks had gone off in Imogen's brain. Alan spent every morning training with the Lioness. Alan knew how to fight with a sword. Alan was her friend. Alan could teach her.
"Alan, I have a favor to ask," Imogen began. "You see, I need to learn swordplay. Could you teach me?"
Alan's mouth twitched. "My brother annoying you so much that you want to know how to kill him?" he teased. "Rest easy, Imogen, I'll teach you. Though it's going to be an experience teaching somebody two years older than me."
"Thanks, Alan. You're a treasure," Imogen said, standing up.
Alan smirked even more widely. "Let's see if you say that after being thrown around for an hour."
An hour later Imogen, bruised, bashed, and exhausted, made her weary way up to the castle, supported by Alan. True to his word, Alan had bashed Imogen around, which, though very painful, had its uses. She had learned many things not to do, but still didn't have a very clear idea of what she should do.
Thom and Alianne met them at the door. The girl's eyes were wide as saucers. "Mithros, Alan, what did you do to her?" she breathed. "It looks like you ran her through a clothes-press."
"He's trying to teach me sword fighting," Imogen gasped. "He just whacked me around for upwards of an hour."
Thom whistled in amazement. "You look like raw meat," he informed Imogen bluntly. "I didn't think it was possible for a human being to have so many bruises."
Imogen was too exhausted to do anything other than weakly shake her fist at her arch-nemesis. "I would kill you for that, but I feel like putty," she wheezed.
Alianne grabbed Imogen from the other side. "Come on, crazy one," she said. "Let's get you to your room."
Once Imogen was safely reinstated in her room (she fell asleep on her bed immediately, not even bothering to change from her dusty, sweaty attire) Alianne and Alan left her alone.
"Alan, are you sure she'll be all right?" Alianne asked as soon as the door was closed. "She looked pretty banged up."
Alan shook his head, a smile playing across his lips. "Don't worry, Alianne. She'll be all right. I was just the same after my first day of training. Gods, other than you I've never met a girl like that. I had to outright refuse to whack her again before she'd give in and stop. I pity Thom."
Imogen was awakened two hours later by someone shaking her gently. Groggily opening her eyes, she brushed aside her hair to see Alianne leaning over her. "Get up, Imogen," her friend whispered. "Master Numair's arrived, and he wants to speak to you. He's downstairs with my parents."
Imogen was suddenly wide awake. "Master Numair? Isn't he the man who was supposed to be finding out how I got here?"
Alianne nodded. "Hurry up, sleepy-head. You don't want to keep them waiting."
After Imogen was changed (which took a long time, since she was stiff from all her bruising) Alianne led her down to Lady Alanna's study. Both Baron George and Lady Alanna were there, along with a very tall man with black hair who Imogen assumed to be Master Numair. With an encouraging squeeze and eyes that looked suspiciously wet, Alianne left Imogen to his mercy.
"Ah, here is the culprit," Alanna said cheerfully. "Imogen, this is Master Numair Salmalin. Numair, this is Imogen Darcy."
Imogen inclined her head in acknowledgement and got straight to the point. "Do you know why I'm here and how I got here?
Numair chuckled. "Awfully direct, aren't you? As a matter of fact, I do. You might want to sit down, because it's rather a long story."
"I guess it begins about six thousand years ago. The god Loge, the joker, was getting bored. So many worlds had been created, ruled by so many different gods, and yet they all were separate. Loge decided to open up the gates between the worlds. It was chaos. The inhabitants of each world were mingling with others and it was impossible to keep disease from spreading. Raiders pillaged the lands, not caring whether it was their homeland or another world entirely. The gods were looking at the end of all life in all the worlds. They called a great council to decide what to do. Loge fought against it, but the gods decided to seal the gates. However, they could not disregard completely the wishes of one of their own, so they made a special deal for Loge - one mortal was to be exchanged between the worlds every three hundred years."
Imogen closed her eyes. "Me," she said simply.
Numair nodded. "You," he confirmed. "You arrived in Tortall on March 19, and three hundred years ago, a young boy disappeared from Tortall on March 19. It was a fair exchange, one of ours for one of yours."
"How do I get back?" Imogen asked, a feeling of dread building in her stomach.
The mage's eyes filled with sympathy. "My dear, Loge's transfers are permanent," he said gently. "You can't go back."
Imogen would never know exactly how she managed to get back to her room. She lay on her bed, the mage's words ringing in her head over and over. "Permanent…can't go back…permanent…can't go back…permanent." She had expected her stay in Tortall to be long, but forever?
*You disgusting god,* she thought savagely at Loge. *Mucking around with people's lives as though they're your playthings.*
*But they are* a voice said in her head. They are my playthings
In her mind's eye, Imogen saw Loge, with his orange hair and green robes. They are not, she hissed. A human life is not a toy of any, even a god. You foul deity, didn't you stop to consider the consequences of your actions? I thought I was mad. I could have been killed or imprisoned.
But you weren't, the god said You are safe. And do not lie to yourself, mortal. I saved you. You are happier here than you have ever been since you became an orphan. I brought you to a new life. You had no ties to Earth, no regrets, nothing to leave behind. Search your heart and your memory. What do you miss?
No, Imogen sobbed, No, stop, stop! She covered her eyes, but it was no good. In her head a progression of her most recent Earth memories began to play. She saw her parents lying dead in their coffins at their funeral, their graves with the plain white headstones. She saw the other girls taunting her, Belinda rummaging through her belongings, the torment, pain and unhappiness of her life at Saint Margaret's.
What do you miss? the god insisted.
Nothing! Imogen mentally shrieked at Loge. Nothing! Leave me be!
With a breath of wind, the god's presence was gone. Imogen fell face forwards on her bed, shaken by terrible, racking, gasping sobs.
Even if you have nothing to miss, forever is a long time.
And there it is, Chapter Five. It ends on a more serious note than the other chapters, but don't worry, Imogen will recover. She's a very resilient character. And a note to all Thom lovers - he will stop being such a pain soon. He plays a rather large part in later chapters. Goodbye, and I'll post again as soon as I possibly can.
