Chapter Four
Lana awoke with a pounding headache. Rolling over, she opened her eyes. Blinding sunlight assaulted her vision, and she quickly squeezed her eyes shut. Wait a minutewhy was there sunlight in her room? She'd left her curtains open, but the sun wouldn't shine like that, right in her eyes… and for that matter, why was she lying on cold, hard ground instead of in her bed?
She opened her eyes again, wincing as pain lanced her head. She felt the back of it and found a slight raised bump. Swell. Did she fall off the bed or something?
Of course, that still didn't explain why she was lying on the ground outdoors. She surveyed her surroundings, and it soon became apparent she must be having some bizarre dream. She was lying in a forest, obviously nowhere near Smallville since there weren't any forests within a hundred-mile radius of the place. The air felt different, toocrisper, clearer, with an edge that was never present at home, especially not this time of year.
Lana slowly raised herself to a sitting position. The accompanying rustle of fabric alerted her the she wasn't wearing her pajamas anymore. She was dressed in what looked like a medieval gown, colored a deep burgundy and made of a lustrous, expensive-looking fabric. Why, this is real silk! she observed, running her fingers over the fabric. She didn't think she'd ever worn anything made of real silk. This gown must've been obscenely expensive!
She also noticed a dagger tucked into her belt and a small purse that contained nothing but a few unrecognizable bold pieces. She couldn't help but be in awe of the resplendent, jewel-encrusted hilt of the dagger and the dazzling rings adorning her slim fingers. She had a sneaking suspicion those weren't rhinestones.
"Lana? Is that you?" Lana glanced up to see Gillian walking toward her, concern etched across her fair face. She was wearing a gown similar to Lana's, only hers was a deep shade of green.
"Gillian? What are you doing here?" Lana asked, rubbing her forehead. Man, if she was going to have a weird dream, couldn't it have at least included some Tylenol?
"I could ask the same of you."
"Well, you'd get the same answer… beats the hell out of me." Slowly she staggered to her feet. Her head seemed to clear a bit and the sunlight didn't hurt quite so much. "I take it you have no idea where we are, either, or why we're dressed like actors at Medieval Times?"
"One thing for sure, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore," was Gillian's dry answer. "We're in England, I can tell that much. I recognize my homeland. But what part of England, I don't know. To an extent all these forests look the same."
"Yeah, you could say the same about the cornfields back home." Lana dusted off her skirt and smoothed her hair. "Is this some bizarre reenactment by the Anachronism Society or something?"
"No, because those blokes are way too cheap to give us real silk gowns," Gillian said. "We get some rayon/acetate crap. And they zip up the back. This gown laces up. No zippers or buttons in sight."
Lana had just realized that as well. "I wonder if the coffee guy slipped something in my latte," she muttered. "This is one messed-up dream."
"Yeah, well, whatever he slipped in your coffee, I must've gotten it, too," Gillian remarked. "I don't know about you, but this is awfully detailed for a dream. I don't think I've ever noticed what my clothes are made of."
"Me, too," Lana admitted. She didn't remember this kind of detail in any of her dreams. Looking around, she noticed everything, from the distinct pine smell to the warbling bird calls to the various noises of forest creatures going about their daily routines. And she was struck by the lack of any sound of modern technology. No cars, to airplanes, nothing to indicate they were anywhere near civilization.
"Well, whether we're dreaming or not, we'd better figure out what's going on," Gillian said. "Just a few hours ago I was peacefully sleeping in my own bed, and then I woke up slumped over the saddle of a horse I'd never seen before."
"At least you didn't wake up with a pounding headache and a lump on the back of your head," Lana pointed out. "I must've fallen off my horse or something."
"OK, so we were going for a ride in the country, dressed like a couple of medievals. But I really want to know where I got this gown and jewelry from, and how much I paid for it. It rules, man."
"How can you think about clothes at a time like this?" Lana scanned the forest for a road, some sort of trail, anything that might lead them back to civilization. There seemed to end in sight to this interminable forest. She and Gillian were definitely lost.
"Wait a sec, I heard something," Gillian said. Lana stood still. A moment later, she heard a rustling sound in the underbrush. Gillian's hand edged toward the hilt of her dagger. Lana did the same, even though she hadn't the vaguest idea how she intended to use it.
It happened before she and Gillian could react. An arrow whistled past Lana's ear and buried itself in a tree trunk. Lana screamed. Gillian drew her dagger.
A crew of brigands burst out of the underbrush, malicious grins across their dirty, gap-toothed faces. A man who appeared to be their leader stepped forward. He was big and burly, with a matted beard and thick, frizzy red hair. "Methinks we found a couple of rich ladies," he drawled, eyeing Lana up and down. "That gown would look lovely on my wife."
At least that's what Lana thought he said, since it took her moment to realize he was speaking middle English.
What the hell was going on?
"Run!" Gillian exclaimed, bringing Lana back to her senses with a jolt. The two of them turned and raced heedlessly through the forest, not thinking about where they were going, just getting as far away as possible. Lana did not dare look back. Twigs and leaves scratched her face and tore at her clothing, but she barely noticed. Even with all the scrapes she'd gotten into in the past, she'd never felt such sheer, raw terror before. She didn't know where she was how she got there, and she might die before she ever figured it out!
Lana finally hazarded a glance over her shoulder, but could see nothing behind her but trees. Bad mistake. For when she turned around again, a man burst out of the bushes brandishing a sword. He advanced toward her, his dull eyes burning with deadly intent.
Lana skidded to a stop. Her breath scorched her throat, her heart pounding so fiercely it threatened to overwhelm her. She backed up one step, then another, until her back bumped against a tree trunk.
Her pursuer grinned. "Nowhere to run, gel… now come over real nice and easy like, and I'll make it quick."
All of a sudden the man stopped short, emitting an odd gurgling sound before his eyes glazed over and he crumpled in a lifeless heap at her feet. Lana shrieked and danced aside. She gazed in horror at the dagger protruding from his back, then glanced up to see Gillian regarding the body grimly. "Looks like I got something out of the Anachronism Societyspeak softly and know how to throw a knife."
Lana was still shaking. "Youyou just killed him!"
"Yeah, and he would've killed you if I didn't get to him first," said Gillian bluntly. "They're routiersbrigands that hide in the forest and rob any travelers unlucky enough to pass by. They wouldn't hesitate to kill for loot."
Lana shuddered. "This is a nightmare."
"No, it's the Middle Ages," Gillian said matter-of-factly. "Don't ask me how we got here, but either we're both having the same dream, or we've just experienced time travel."
"That's impossible."
"The evidence, it would seem, is to the contrary. But we'll worry about that later. Right now, we've got to get out of here before his friends arrive."
Just then, Lana heard the sounds of several people crashing through the underbrush. She wasted no time running after Gillian. She was exhausted, lungs burning and legs threatening to give out, but she knew that if she stopped it would mean death for sure. Soon she and Gillian came upon what appeared to be a small gully, a fallen tree spanning its width. They immediately started toward it.
Gillian made it across without incident, leaping safely to the other side. Lana did not fare so well. She was halfway across the log when her foot slid on a particular slippery patch of moss, and she found herself fighting to retain her balance.
"Lana!" Gillian yelled. An arrow whistled past her and buried itself in a tree trunk. Gillian ducked as another shaft flew toward them.
Lana stood frozen, afraid to move for fear of falling. A sickening crack sounded as the rotting wood began to give way beneath her feet.
So this is it, Lana thought, steeling herself. She'd managed to live through so many close shaves in the past. In the back of her mind she always worried that sooner or later her luck would run out. Looked like that time had finally arrived.
They say before you die your life flashes before your eyes. But oddly, there was only one thought racing through her mind: Clark, where are you?
"My lord, wake up! I think something's happening."
Clark tried to shut out the insistent voice. It was so comfortable here. He was lying on what felt like a soft, grassy plateau, the sun warm upon his face and the quiet sounds of the forest lulling him to sleep like a lullaby. He could stay here forever…
"My lord! Sir Kendrick!"
Fingers closed around his arm and tugged insistently. Reluctantly, Clark opened his eyes and scowled. "This better be good."
Stooped over him was a boy of about fourteen, with a pale complexion and a shock of messy brown hair. "What say you, my lord? I'm afraid I don't understand you."
It took a moment before Clark understood him. Why was the kid speaking in middle English? And for that matter, why was he dressed like a member of Gillian's Anachronism Society?
I'm just having some weird dream, he concluded. Last time I do homework right before bed.
"I know you wanted to take your nap, but I heard something a moment ago," the boy rushed on. "I think there may be routiers about."
What the hell were routiers? Whatever they were, they didn't sound good. "Uhh… routiers?"
"Aye, roughly a score of them, perhaps. I could've sworn I heard a lady scream."
Clark became alert. "A lady is in danger?"
"Possibly. We must make haste, if it is indeed so."
"Lead the way." Clark scrambled to his feet. It was then that he noticed what he was wearing: a brown tunic over some kind of undershirt, beige hose, and leather shoes with ridiculously pointy toes. He also wore a leather belt and scabbard, and he was willing to bet the blade it contained wasn't one of the blunted props in the university's theater department.
The boy stole through the forest with remarkable stealth, weaving among the trees as though he knew every inch of this land. Clark couldn't see how. Every part of the forest that he'd seen so far looked the same. It occurred to him to wonder what he was doing in a forest, seeing how there weren't a whole lot of them in Kansas, but the rest of his dream was so bizarre, this new twist somehow didn't faze him.
They emerged in a small clearing, where two horses were tethered to a stout tree. One of them was a medium-sized chestnut, the other a humungous warhorse. A destrier, he identified, recalling one of the random factoids he'd learned in Professor Arden's class. He wondered how he was going to pull this one off. He'd ridden a horse before, but wasn't particularly good at it, and had certainly never climbed astride one that huge.
The boy swung easily onto his chestnut, eyeing Clark expectantly. Gulping, he made his way over the warhorse. For such a fierce-looking animal, it surveyed him with surprisingly mellow brown eyes. Clark tried to recall everything he knew about riding in the span of a few seconds. He failed. In the end, he just grabbed at the saddle and hoisted himself awkwardly onto the horse's back, which was no easy task in those ridiculous pointy shoes.
Man, and I thought women's shoes were impractical, he reflected. He already had size-13 feet, and with the shoes he practically looked like Shaq.
In the meantime, the chestnut plodded along, the boy glancing about him for any signs of trouble. Clark urged his mount forward, trying not to look down. He hadn't ridden in years, and it was hard to get used to the monstrous horse's loping gait.
The boy stopped, and Clark followed his example. "I heard something, sir."
Clark strained to make out any unusual noises. His amplified hearing kicked in, and he thought he made out two female voices. And they were speaking in modern English!
"…it's the Middle Ages," a British-accented voice was saying. "Don't ask me how we got here, but either we're somehow both having the same dream or we've just experienced time travel."
"That's impossible," the second voice said.
Clark's heart rate leapt up. That was Lana!
"I think it's coming from that direction," he said, pointing. Praying he wouldn't screw up, he turned the destrier in the direction he had indicated.
Damn, I wish I didn't have to be riding this horse, masquerading as a human, he lamented. He could get there so much faster if he could just use his powers. But things were as they are, and he only hoped he could get to Lana and Gillian in time. He hoped they weren't in terrible danger.
Those hopes flew out the window a moment later, when a woman's scream rent the air. Clark would recognize that scream anywhere. Lana!
"Stay here," he barked at the boy, dismounting. "I, er, methinks the maid needs help." This medievalspeak would take some getting used to. Who'd have thought that watching Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves multiple times would pay off?
Disappearing into the trees, Clark threw a glance over his shoulder to make sure the boy wasn't watching. Then he took off, racing through the forest in an indiscernible blur.
Within seconds he skidded to a stop beside a gully. It was spanned by a fallen tree. On one side of the gully was Gillian, ducking behind a tree as a ragtag group of bandits fired arrows at her. Meanwhile, Lana stood on the log about halfway across, her features stricken by terror as the dead wood began to splinter and crack beneath her feet.
There was no time to think. Clark raced over to the gully and onto the log, dodging arrows. In a split-second he grabbed Lana and leaped to the other side, just as the log splintered and crashed onto the floor of the gully.
Meanwhile, arrows still whizzed overhead. Didn't these guys ever run out of ammo? Clark dove to the forest floor, shielding Lana with his body. One of the shafts passed by so closely, it clipped the hood of his tunic.
But his main concern was Lana. She lay sprawled beneath him, gazing up at him with wide, terrified jade-green eyes. Then gradually the terror faded, replaced by a relieved, knowing look.
"Clark," she murmured. "I know you'd come."
"I'll always come," he said. Tenderly, he brushed a strand of fine dark hair from her forehead. His fingers brushed her skin, traveled across the contours of her face and came to rest upon a silken cheek. He heard her sharp intake of breath, felt her tremble. His gaze fell upon her soft, full lips, parted slightly, only a breath away from his. He remembered all too well how it felt to kiss them. He was already painfully aware of the feel of her body beneath him, her curves molding to his, the warmth of her skin and the smell of her hair. Memories rushed through his mind, so exquisite and painful that for a moment he forgot about this strange dream, their near-death encounter, and the fact that brigands were firing arrows at them in some medieval forest.
Clark had no idea how long they would have been lying on the forest floor like that, if not for the sudden sound of hooves pounding the forest floor. Clark and Lana straightened up to glimpse several knights galloping through the forest toward the brigands. They wore chain mail, helms, and tabards bearing a black-and-crimson heraldry. Even their horses sported armor. Clark, Lana, and Gillian watched in horror as one of the knights slashed out with his sword, cleanly severing the head of one of the brigands. Lana shrieked as the head fell to the ground and rolled into the gully, leaving a trail of blood in its wake.
Even Clark had to turn away from the gruesome spectacle. Within moments the knights had dispatched the outlaws, at least half a dozen of them lying slain on the forest floor while a scant four or five survivors fled into the forest.
The knights' leader took off his helmet, eyeing the bodies in disgust. "Bloody routiers. What does it take to rid my land of those swine?"
He turned around, and Clark couldn't help but gasp. The knight was a spitting image of Lex! Well, except for his full mane of shaggy black hair, that is. Thick dark brows slashed across his forehead, his finely shaped mouth pulled into a taut, thin line.
His expression relaxed considerably when he sighted Clark and Lana. "Ah, Sir Kendrick, I should've known you'd show up in time to rescue the lady. I would have been most displeased if my future bride were to die at the hands of these God-cursed routiers."
Lana still couldn't get over the knight's resemblance to a certain bald millionaire. "Lex?" she gasped.
The heavy dark brows knit together. "Apparently you've sustained a head injury during your ordeal, my lady. Tis not Alexander, but his elder brother, Lothar."
Lothar of Blackwood. A flash of recognition came over Clark as he remembered that the boy had called him Kendrick. He hadn't paid much attention at the time, figuring it was part of his dream. But it was becoming increasingly clear to him that this was no dream. It was real, and some way or another, they had managed to travel back eight centuries to Langdon, England.
But that's impossible, logic told him. Yet how else could he explain how he woke up in the middle of a forest, surrounding by people who dressed like Medieval Times and spoke middle English? Either this was one hell of a reenactment, a tremendously elaborate joke, or they'd managed to defy all known laws of space/time and physics and jump through a wormhole without their knowledge.
Well, however they'd gotten here, the first order of business was somehow getting themselves out. Once they survived a day in the life of a medieval, they'd figure out a way to get back home again.
If they survived.