Chapter 1
One Year Later
~Jeremy
Remind me how I managed to get so caught up in my duties as a Portal Master and a battle mage in training that an entire year just completely disappeared from my memory?
Seriously though, anyone got an answer to that? I need an answer. ASAP.
Why?
I don't remember a single goddamn day of eighth grade. And freshmen year starts tomorrow.
I don't get it. I remember every little training session with the Skylanders, from running miles around the Citadel's main island to sparing with up to three of them on a simulated ice rink. Give me a map of Skylands and I can rattle off island names and their usual inhabitants without a problem. I've poured over so many volumes and ancient texts that I probably know Skylands' history better than Earth's. And it doesn't take much effort for me to remember every single smack on the head from seriously screwing up missions and tax returns.
I do remember holidays and vacations. That goes without saying.
But ask me who my favorite teacher was last year or a list of my classes and you'd be lucky to get a blank stare. I've got nothing. No lessons, no lectures, no weird lunch conversations that probably should not have happened in the first place. I don't remember learning...anything.
Okay, I remember band. And art class. And possibly geometry.
Well, at least if my teacher asks me to say a sentence in elvish, Arkeyan, or draconian, I'll be covered there.
"I call this masterpiece, Derp Face School ID," Ryan proudly displayed, whipping out a small flimsy plastic card covered in gaudy shades of blue and purple. On the right hand side showed a picture of a young teenager. Even through the unintentional grainy yellow filter, he still looked as white as a sheet. His sandy hair had been freshly trimmed and square glasses obscured light blue eyes. True to the title he had given it, the photo had captured him with his mouth open in mid-yawn. It was actually quite impressive; you could see his uvula if you squinted hard enough and had a good enough imagination.
Shaking my head, partially in amazement and partially in disbelief, I cracked a grin.
"How'd you manage to convince the photographer to keep that one?" I asked, one eyebrow raised and the other still unsure of what was really going on. With a stupidly wide grin on his face and a twinkle in his eye, Ryan tossed the card, letting it spin a few times in midair before catching it between two fingers.
"Eh, you know, drop a few 'I didn't get enough sleep last night, I'm in a hurry, the next one won't come out good anyways,' and the magic works itself," he shrugged, slipping the ID into one of his pockets. "How'd yours turn out?"
"About as well as you think," I replied, pulling out the piece of plastic. Ryan took a glance at the photograph and then back to me.
"Should I call up the church and ask for an exorcism? Cause it looks like you pissed off Satan."
"Knowing me, I probably did," I said, looking at another failed attempt at a decent school picture. My chestnut hair was flying out of my gray beanie, baby hairs surrounding my face in a fuzzy halo. Any color to my usually olive skin had been severely washed out, making me look whiter than a Northern Wisconsin blizzard. A severely wrinkled dark blue polo just barely hid the chain around my neck, with the music note pendant, bone white whistle, and small sword charm reflecting light directly into the camera lens.
Still, the fact that the my eyes would've shamed a ripe tomato into submission made everything else look positively tame in comparison. I present to you Jeremy Aronwen, possible vampire or demon host.
I'm not photogenic.
"If you start hearing voices in your head, get me their summoning chant, will you?" Ryan commented, laying back on the grass.
"Sure, if you don't mind getting a crap ton of candles and goat blood," I replied, looking up into the sky. The last remnants of summer could be seen in every direction. Puffy masses that looked resembled sheep's wool floated overhead, lazily drifting past without a care in the world. Every so often, a bird or two would soar along with the wind, turning in circles before tipping its wings and diving to the forest off in the distance. A gentle breeze blew past, swirling the warm air away from the ground and into the heavens above.
"Hard to believe we're gonna be high schoolers," Ryan sighed.
"I know, right?" I said, leaning back on my elbows. "Man, I could've sworn summer break just started yesterday."
"Speaking of break, where have you been?" he continued, giving me a sideways glance, eyes narrowed and eyebrows raised. "It's like you ditched your phone, changed your name, and fled to a different planet."
Well, he got two of the three correct.
"Oh, yeah, I lost my phone in a volcano. Long story, lots of lava and fire, my dad looked about ready to blow his top, the usual," I replied. Every single word of that statement was completely true. I had indeed lost my phone in a volcano. Or, rather, Boomer took it apart and used the spare wires and computer chips to complete a grenade while we were trapped under a pile of industrial strength cake.
Like I said. Long story.
"Suuuuuuuuure you did," Ryan deadpanned, rolling his eyes a little. "And the fact you're never at your house?"
"My job has me working more hours since we're really understaffed?" I offered to a blank stare.
"So understaffed that you can't take a day off for weeks on end? What the hell are you doing?"
"Leading a team of mythical heroes who protect a world of floating islands," I answered brightly. Ryan shook his head and closed his eyes, using his hands for a pillow.
"Are you high?"
"Do I look high?" I demanded.
"You look demon possessed, but that's just my opinion," he replied, yawning a little as sunlight hit his face. "Are you selling weed?"
"No."
"Heroin?"
"No."
"Meth?"
"No."
"Girls?"
"The hell is wrong with you?!"
"Lots of things," he chuckled. "I'm going to keep pestering you until I find out."
"Good thing I'm leaving for work," I said, jumping to my feet and stretching my arms to the sky. I took a deep breath in, letting the slightly humid summer air whoosh down my windpipes and fill up my lungs. My eyes caught the almost asleep form of my friend, the shade of a large oak tree shadowing him from the torso up. "See you tomorrow."
"See ya," he muttered tiredly, cracking one eye open. "Cocaine?"
"Asshat," I replied, walking out into the sunlight with a small spring in my step. The grass flattened under the soles of my shoes, making every plant of my feet feel light and bouncy. With every additional stride, the space between each footfall grew larger until I found myself jogging. It was a good pace, slow enough to not overtax my muscles, but fast enough to make me work to maintain the speed. My feet pounding the earth below me, I ran out of the park and into the main part of town.
I really do love my hometown of Minocqua, even with all its unusual quirks. Downtown is full of little shops and restaurants, all catered to the rich folks who come up from Illinois during the summer months. Coupled with huge forests, a million lakes, and a good climate, there's always something to do. The greatest part, in my opinion at least, is that it takes only a ten or fifteen minutes to walk anywhere. Five to seven if you're running. Sure, my town is small, but I wouldn't trade it for anywhere else. Plus, you get to know everyone pretty well.
Which is why a voice I had never heard of before stuck out worse than Drill Sargent in the Arcadian Timberlands.
"Let me through," a young female voice demanded to my left, her voice carrying despite her even tone. Her accent sounded as if she was from the West than the northern Midwest, her vowels flatter and lower and her overall speech just a little bit harsher. California maybe?
Focus, Jeremy. There's probably some stupidly rich tourist in trouble. This is not a time to be thinking about accents. Skidding to a halt, I stopped at the corner, nonchalantly looking down the street to my left.
Well, I definitely had no idea who the girl was, that was for sure. She was dressed too well for late summer in Northern Wisconsin, in a navy jacket that only went down to mid torso over a white blouse. The tips of combat boots stuck out from beneath long black pants. Around her neck was a scarf that looked like the night sky. The way she held herself, with her shoulders back and her chin stuck out, reminded me a little of the coyotes that sometimes can be heard in the dead of night: sleek, confident, and dangerous to mess with.
Apparently, the local meat heads didn't quite seem to pick up on that cue.
"Just wanted to say hi," the largest, oldest, and probably most stupid of the lot drawled, a sickening grin sweeping across his face and revealing yellow teeth. "Haven't seen you around here before. The name's Jackson."
"I already don't like you," the girl said flatly, shrugging her purse more firmly over her shoulder. "Now move. I have better places to be."
"Where do you think you're going?" one of the others sneered, planting an arm on the side of the building, blocking her path from the front. The third one came up behind her, preventing any escape from the rear. Jackson remained on her left. "We haven't finished introducing ourselves."
"Get out of my way," she growled, pushing his arm out of the way. In a flash, Jackson's hand shot out, his fist wrapping around the girl's arm. The girl jerked to a stop, giving him a glare that could make small animals freeze in fear. "Let. Go."
And this is where some part of me decided to play hero. I mean, it wasn't like I was dealing with a fire viper or a hydra. This couldn't be that difficult, right?
Right?
"Hey, Jackson!" I shouted, turning the corner and walking within punching distance. All four heads swiveled in my direction.
I wished I was facing the hydra or the fire viper. At least they were predicable.
There was no reason for me to be afraid of them. I'd faced armies of trolls with nothing more than a sword and a spell armored coat. I'd flung magic at drow witches on only four weeks of training. I'd gone toe to toe with Kaos and won, thought I did have some help there. If I was being honest, the gremlins of Stony Valley were more menacing than these knuckleheads.
The only difference?
I had been their personal victim throughout all of middle school.
Old fears die hard, it seems.
"Yes, Punching Bag?"
As do insulting nicknames.
"Leave her alone."
"Oh, I'm sorry," he spat. "Were you planning to take your girlfriend out for a little fun?" The other two members of his little posse roared with laughter, making lewd suggestions and gestures with their hands. The girl looked rather unamused. She didn't seem particularly insulted at Jackson's comment or at the jokes being made at her expense; in fact, she didn't even seem to care about the fact his hand was still around her arm. She did raise an eyebrow at me, though, her chocolate eyes darting around almost like a cat's.
"Doesn't really matter," I said as levelly as I could. "Either way, I can guarantee that if she isn't going to deck you, I will." I paused. "And I'm positive she can kick your ass into Canada."
The first swing was his. Bending my body to the left, I dodged a fist the size of my face, leaping to the side with my palms out. I struck out with the heel of my hand, driving it into the brute's shoulder. He grunted and threw another punch, this one aimed at my chest. My body almost moving on its own, I dropped to the ground, swinging a leg out. It made contact with his calf and he swore, giving me time to jump out of the way.
Birch bane, this guy was slow.
Perks of training with the world's three fastest elves.
A little more time on my side, I dared a glance over to the girl. I shouldn't have been worried. Now that she didn't have Jackson's grip on her arm, she was a whirling storm of death and pain. Her limbs were flying in a swarm of kicks, jabs, and punches, each one with more power and precision than the last. It was clear she had fought multiple opponents before, certainly more than once at that. With an elbow, she drove a blow into the stomach of one while slamming her foot into the side of another. A spin and both were thrown back.
So, I've either just met a trained martial artist or a teenage assassin.
Knowing my luck, it was probably the later.
A jab hit my shoulder and I was shocked back into my own fight. Rolling out of the way, I sprang to my feet, blocking the blows with my forearms. Apparently sensing my discomfort, Jackson sent his fists flying faster. I gritted my teeth. I wasn't used to fighting hand to hand. Several of Skyland's ninjas had taught me the basics of martial arts, but I felt extremely exposed without my sword. Even with a spell that shrank the magic weapon into a charm that was currently hanging around my neck, it wasn't like I could just pull a sword on the town bullies. That wouldn't be fair.
Plus, you know, probably illegal too.
That's the problem with being trained in weaponry; it doesn't do you much good when the only thing you have is your hands. I couldn't count on my skills as a battle mage to kick in either. Earth just didn't have enough magic for me to sustain it for longer than a minute. Being on Earth also ruled out using any spells, elemental magic, or my healing light.
Even if I didn't want to permanently hurt them, I needed a weapon. Fast.
Or this was going to end with a black eye, a bloody nose, and a very embarrassing story.
Trying to escape the punches aimed for my face, I backed up until I somehow found myself next to the girl. She was taking in deep breaths, her eyes scanning our three opponents at lightning speeds. Her gaze then darted over to me and we made eye contact. For that precious millisecond, neither of us broke away or blinked.
"Mind if I borrow your purse?"
"Be my guest." She dropped the bag off her shoulder and I grabbed the strap before it could fall to the ground. I wrapped the end around my wrist and spun it like a nunchuck. Yanking my arm down, I sent the purse into a circular motion before snapping it parallel to the ground. The bag smashed into Jackson's temple and he staggered, his balance gone. A kick sent him to the ground. Two more thuds sounded as the girl dropped the other two onto the pavement without a drop of emotion on her face.
Maybe the assassin guess wasn't too far off after all...
The girl looked at me with a sideways glance, her eyebrows scrunched together as if what had just occurred was more of an annoyance than anything else. She held out her hand.
"The b-"
"What's all that racket?" a gruff voice shouted from a nearby store. The two of us looked at the three bullies at our feet, at the door that was creaking open at a snail's pace, and then locked eyes. Apparently, we came to the same conclusion.
"Follow me," I mouthed. In synch, the two of us broke out into a dead sprint. I already knew she was in good shape but she had no trouble keeping pace with me. My pulse pounded into my eardrums, growing louder with every passing second. We had to get away. Every turn that I found I took, weaving between small buildings and ducking into alleyways, passing by small tchotchkes shops and candy stores. The girl said nothing but followed my every step, her boots pounding on the pavement below.
The erratic run finally lead the two of us to the forest at the edge of town. Adrenaline still pumping through my veins, I slowed down to a light jog, stopping just before the line of trees.
"We should be far enough by now," I told her, sitting on one of the logs, hard as a boulder after years of weathering and sunlight. "They won't come after us, or at least, I don't think they will. They were looking for an easy target, not someone who would fight back."
She remained as still as a statute. Away from the monstrous forms of the three brutes, I could see she was actually quite tall, with a well curved form. On top of her head was a mop of ebony curls just barely kept under control, cut off below her jawline. Her gaze was hard and calculating, and I got the impression that she didn't want to respond to my statement but felt obligated to answer anyways.
"You knew I could take all three," she finally said, folding her arms over each other. Her nails were painted in shadows, contrasting with her deathly pale skin. "Why did you step in? And if you say it was to make the fight more fair, I will turn you into mincemeat."
"Well, that was going to be my answer," I replied, scratching the back of my head. "I guess I just enjoy playing hero. And I wanted to see them on the receiving end of the blows for once."
"Revenge. I approve, Textbook."
"Textbook?"
"Your style," she said. "It was by the book. No tricks, no frills, no personalization. But it got the job done."
"Yeah, I'm not exactly a martial artist," I said with a small half smile. "I'm...you see...well, it's complicated." The girl raised an eyebrow, not saying a word. I shifted a little.
Good job genius. Now you have to tell her.
"I'm a sword fighter," I sighed, running a hand through my hair.
There was a brief moment of silence.
"Explains why you needed my purse," she replied rather matter-of-factly.
"Oh, right, thanks for letting me borrow it," I said, tossing her the bag. She caught it with one hand and slung it over her shoulder, adjusting the length of the strap until it once again laid flat against her side. "I apologize if I broke anything."
"I won't hold it against you."
"You don't think it's odd that I sword fight?"
"You don't think it's odd that I can take on two guys twice my size?"
"I've seen a lot weirder, believe me," I smiled, tilting my head a little. "I haven't seen you around here before."
"I'm from out of state," she answered. It was clear she wasn't going to elaborate any further. With one foot, she kicked at a small stone, sending it into the bushes.
"Well, welcome to Wisconsin," I said. "Do you like it here so far?"
"It's quieter and there are less people," she simply responded, looking up at the surrounding trees. By her tone, I took that to be a good thing. She glanced to a slender watch on her right wrist and then looked up to me. "I need to get back."
"Yeah, I need to get going too," I agreed, looking at my own watch.
Four-thirty. Half an hour late for a training session with Chop-Chop.
Welp. I'm dead.
In one smooth motion, I slid off the log and stood up, racking my brain for some excuse that Chop-Chop would accept. It wasn't working too well. "Come on, I'll show you th-"
"I'll be fine," she interrupted, brushing off my offer like a speck of dust. "It's not far."
"You sure?" I asked. "Town might not be large but you can still get lost if you don't know where you're going."
"I remember the way," she snapped, her voice almost a growl. "And I don't get lost."
"Fists-"
"What did you just call me?"
"Fists. You know, because you're a martial artist and you throw really good punches and I don't know your name," I blabbered on, letting the words run from my mouth before I had any chance to process what I was saying. I braced for a slap that never came. Instead, she just sniffed and folded her arms.
"I don't know yours either, Textbook," she retorted.
"Jeremy," I said, smiling a little and offering her a hand to shake.
"Miranda," she replied and shook it. It was a firm handshake, strong enough to consider a run to the nearest hospital for multiple fractures in my hand. No matter how much I wanted to though, I didn't let an ounce of discomfort show.
"You sure you don't want me to walk back with you?" I asked once we broke the handshake. "It's dangerous to go alone, you know." She snorted and rolled her eyes, reaching into her purse and pulling out her phone.
"Hilarious, old man, but I'm not Link," she quipped. "And I have a GPS." Without another word, she spun on her heels and marched off towards downtown, leaving me with my mouth ready to catch flies.
Miranda the martial artist.
I doubted that would be the last I saw of her.
And now to try and convince a skeletal warrior not to make me run a marathon while fighting off zombies.
Arasten slipped into the bath, letting the warm water soak into her tense muscles. Every bone in her body ached and she still felt somewhat nauseated from the earlier portal travel, so to have something as simple as a warm bath was a godsend. Picking up a bucket of water next to her, she dumped it over her head, the water running down her face and hair in little rivulets. She reached for a bar of soap and started scrubbing her skin down. The bathwater around her quickly turned to a rich brown, likely from a combination of dirt, machine oil, and ash.
Toppling a government certainly was dirty work.
After repeating this process several times, and emptying out the bathwater twice, she finally gave up and leaned back in the tub. Apparently, machine oil and regular store-bought bath soap don't exactly make a good combination. Oh well. No one was expecting her to look like a princess. With a small sigh, she sank down until just her head was above the surface of the water.
When did a warm bath become a normal occurrence to her, something that could be enjoyed at leisure without much effort? Heck, since when had she taken indoor plumbing for granted? She couldn't remember. What she could remember was the first time she had bathed in water this warm, Ninjini had to reassure her that her skin would not melt off. The warmth hadn't been appreciated then; it was stifling and the heat made it hard for her to breathe. Up until that point, she had only taken freezing cold showers, lukewarm if she was lucky.
She shivered.
Images flashed before her eyes.
A small shack of rusted metal on the edge of one of the Arkeyan's great cities, surrounded by several similar ones.
The faces of her parents and neighbors, smudged with dirt, their eyes sunken and devoid of life.
Working on one of the Arkeyan's killing machines, the tools provided to every other human slave in her grubby hands.
Stumbling into the home of the fay and meeting the twin sisters Lumina and Atra, who would become her closest friends.
Stolen books and manuals in her hands as she read by a dying kerosene lamp, trying to absorb knowledge that would help her escape this living hell.
Learning the twin sisters' greatest secret; they were both 'living batteries,' people whose natural energy could be converted into energy to power spells.
A strange circle of magic springing forth from her hands when a slave master tried to beat her.
Fire. Screaming. Death. Destruction.
Pursuit.
Arasten sat up, her breath coming in rapid gasps. Clutching her chest, she frantically looked around. The cerulean tiled walls of the bathing room gleamed back at her, scattering small amounts of enchanted light into all the corners and crevasses. Her nerves still shot, Arasten bowed her head and let the air out of her lungs. Every muscle in her body was trembling.
Oh right, that's why she had stopped thinking about her childhood.
It brought her back to a bad place.
Pulling the plug in the bottom of the tub, she stepped out of the now cooling water. She wrapped herself in a towel and caught her reflection in the mirror. A girl with dark, almond shaped eyes gazed back at her. Skin paler than snow, hair darker than midnight, a painfully thin frame, taller than average. And barely fifteen on top of that.
She didn't feel fifteen. Fifteen year olds were supposed to be chasing boys, wishing on stars, and arguing with their parents. Fifteen year olds weren't supposed to be on the run from the government and planning a revolution. Fifteen year olds weren't supposed to be infiltrators of cities and pilots of fighter jets. Fifteen year olds weren't supposed to be the last of their family line.
Then again, she wasn't supposed to be able to open up portals either, and she was throwing those out like a lonely bachelor at a strip club.
Drying off the rest of her skin, Arasten turned around, looking at a large mark on her back. It resembled a jagged silver butterfly, the tips of the wings stretching up her ribcage. The Shattering Sigil, long been used by rebel factions to show their commitment to a better world and to symbolize change. It was a symbol older than humans, than elves, than the Arkeyans, and probably the Darkness itself. The fact it had appeared on the day she summoned her first portal could not be a coincidence.
Someone was telling her to free Skylands.
From the moment the portal had sprung from her fingers, she knew she was not going to accept her fate as just another cog in the system. Her grandparents came to Skylands from Earth, the first generation of humans to set foot into this strange world of floating islands, looking for lands they could claim as their own. Her parents were enslaved by the Arkeyans, the beings taking advantage of her species' weak bodies and ignorance of magic, plucking them from their homes and turning them into complacent workers. Her generation was beaten into the ground, fully aware of what their 'masters' were capable of, and too scared to fight back.
She was not. Neither were any of her fellow rebels. Not that any of them had anything more than their lives to risk. Tree Rex's land was now a smoldering ruin. Bouncer's home was now an Arkeyan stronghold. Thumpback had given up on finding his old crew and ship. Swarm's people had cast him out, if only because he could no longer fit inside the hive. Ninjini and Crusher had been loners for years. Lumina and Atra's people were scattered to the four winds. As for her, well, she had nothing left to lose.
The Arkeyan Empire had once been great. They had protected Skylands from the Darkeness for millennia, something that no one could deny. But they had overstepped their bounds. Their control extended over almost every island in Skylands. They had enough firepower to level entire archipelagoes with the push of a button. Every rebel faction before them had utterly failed, crushed by the Arkeyan's robots and other machines. Chances of success were in hundredths of a percent.
She was counting on that small sliver. Because she knew they could win. Insanity or not, she and her fellow rebels had committed to this cause. The Arkeyan Empire was going to fall to a tree spirit, a robot, a rock golem, an oversized bee, a whale, an elf, a headless giant, a flying eyeball, a fire golem, two fae, and a human girl. Different as they might be, this was their world. This was their home. And it belonged to everyone, to each and every single Skylander.
Skylanders.
Arasten smiled a little to herself.
Now that was a name she could fight under.
Hey guys, welcome to the second chapter. As you can see, the first part of the story takes place exactly one year after 'Heroes' while the second part is a continuation of the events of the prologue, with Arasten being the protagonist. This is basically how the rest of the story will be progressing. I realize that none of the Skylanders have actually appeared but this will be fixed in the next chapter.
And yes, this story will be more Portal Master focused than 'Heroes.'
Thanks to those who reviewed! And please keep it up :)