The Northern Gate: Two Worlds

I. - The Transport Part 2

The rhythmic sound of water droplets falling onto the concrete floor woke her. Amy pried her eyes open. Her body was aching all over. Every time she lifted a muscle, it sent a sharp stabbing pain throughout her body. She looked around and saw she was no longer in the middle of nowhere; instead, she was under a blanket on a four-poster bed inside a cavernous room. The room had high stone walls and large glass windows. Sunshine was pouring through the glass directly to the bed where she was laid. She squinted against the light. A toppled flask sat atop the headboard, its contents spilling in drops to the floor.

What happened? Am I dead? Is this heaven?

She pinched her cheeks and felt a dull, throbbing pain. She tried to remember last night's events like a hungover girl trying to recall what had transpired during her drunkenness. Thinking of Mr. Robertsons and her lunch meeting, she was reminded of the strange day she had yesterday. She was just storming through Times Square when she was knocked over to the side, and then suddenly, she was no longer in New York. Her heart sped up as the memories of last night came flooding. She remembered being chased by strangers and being hit with a massive club by a gigantic ape. She swallowed the lump in her throat. It tasted bitter and coppery. Sitting up, pains and aches flared everywhere in her body. She lifted the blanket away from her and saw that she was now dressed in a purple nightgown made of a soft, lavish fabric. Where are my clothes?

She turned to the side and saw all her belongings neatly stacked on a wooden table beside the bed. Her suit was miraculously clean and folded. Her broken shoes were laid out beside her smartphone, bag, and briefcase. She reached for the phone. No Reception, 48% Battery, it said on the screen. She fumbled for her briefcase. She rushed to check Atomos and was half relieved it was still there and half dismayed that its battery ran out. Sighing, she continued checking her things and was glad that everything was intact and not a single item was missing. Her relief disappeared as fast as it came when she remembered she was still lost and was lying on someone else's bed. "What in the world is happening?" she blurted out.

A soft squeak resounded as the doors opened. Amy took a shoe from the table and clutched it in her hand like a knife. She lay back on the bed and draped the blanket over her head, ignoring all the pain that greeted her with every sudden movement. Her heart was drumming away in her chest like it wanted to get out of her body. She heard footsteps coming toward her. Under the covers, she saw the silhouette of a young woman putting something down on the bedside table. As the woman finished, she threw the blanket away and bolted upright, stiletto in hand pointed like a gun.

"Aaaahhhhh!" shrieked the young woman, dropping her tray to the floor. All of the colors drained out of her innocent face. She was dressed in what seemed like a servant's uniform. This close, Amy saw that the young woman was beautiful; her rust-colored hair highlighted her fair skin and cool, gray eyes.

"Your Grace, please, calm down," the servant said as she regained her composure. She picked up the tray from the floor and tidied herself. "Please put that shoe down, Your Grace. You're still not well enough to move," she said, blushing a bit.

As if on cue, a roaring pain shot from Amy’s left leg to her shoulder. She fell to her knees on the bed. The lady servant tried to reach out and help her. "No, no. D-don't touch me," she said in between breaths. "Wh-who are you? Why are you calling me 'Your Grace?' Wh-where am I?" she asked as her eyes started to water.

"Oh, forgive me, Your Grace," said the maiden, "I'm sorry if I upset you. I'll call Lady Mathilde.''

The court servant curtsied in front of her and scrambled to the door, quick as an eel. As soon as the door closed, Amy felt the exhaustion weigh on her. She lay down and covered herself with the blanket. Her fingers started shaking. She was breathing in gasps when she realized she was already crying. She tried to curl herself up into a ball, ignoring every bit of agonizing pain. Her legs were now against her chest. She put her arms around her knees, hugging herself as tightly as possible. She stifled a scream by biting into the blanket as her stiff legs throbbed. Her heart was speeding up, but her breathing was shallow.

Amy did her best to turn her crying into quiet sobs. She tried to think of other things to distract her from the pain. She thought of home, her office, and her cat, even her lunch meeting. As it turned out, thinking of home did not help. Tears still welled from her eyes. The pillow she laid her head on was drenched in saltwater. When she heard a knock on the door, she stopped sobbing and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Your Grace," said a deep, motherly voice. "It is I, Mathilde. I am coming in."

Amy poked her head out of the covers and saw an elderly woman approaching the bed. Lady Mathilde was as dark as the young woman was fair and was dressed just the same. Her graying hair was curled in elegant locks around her head. She was smiling at her, but Amy could see the concern on the lines on the elderly's forehead and around the eyes. She looked past Lady Mathilde's short stature and fell on a tall, armored man behind her.

"Your Grace," Lady Mathilde said. "I am with Ser Gideon. He was with you last night when the Avernatti attacked you."

"Avernatti?" Amy asked in confusion. "You mean the giant, murderous hairball with the club?"

"Yes, Your Grace," the tall figure answered. He stepped forward and went down on one knee.

The sunlight pouring from the window reflected on the man's armor that he appeared to be shining. He removed what seemed to her was a sort of helmet from his head, revealing the fullness of his face. Golden locks of hair poured out like a river as he swayed his head free of the gear. His hair seemed so soft it took most of her volition not to reach out and touch it. He looked at her straight. She has never seen eyes as blue as this man's. Back in New York, all the guys she knew had blue eyes. His were different. His eyes were the exact shade of the sea just before it rained. There was an unexplainable sadness to the way he looked, which she found endearing. She saw small but sharp scars on his face - one on his left cheekbone and another along his right jaw. She thought of the Greek sculptures of gods that they studied at the University and wondered for a moment if there was a god named Gideon.

"Your Grace," he said and drew his sword from his side, breaking her out of her stare. For a second, she thought that he was going to slice her open, that her eyes widened. Instead, he laid the sword flat on his hands like an offering to her. "Please forgive me, Duchess Amithiel, if I wasn't able to save you in time. As your Knight, I have failed you. If my punishment is death, I would keep my honor and accept it this day."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Amy exclaimed, sitting up. She raised her hands, palms facing the man and the elderly woman. "Hold it right there! No one is dying today, mister! Put that sword away. And for the record, I am not your Duchess Amithiel. You are mistaken. My name is Amy. Amy Johnson. And I am from New York, a-and I want to go home!"

Ser Gideon sheathed his sword, stood up, and looked at Mathilde, face scrunched up in confusion. They stared at each other for what seemed like a good ten seconds before turning to her.

"New York?" asked Mathilde. "I have never heard of such a place, Your Grace." Lady Mathilde reached out to Amy and put a hand on her throat to check on her pulse. "Oh, you poor thing. You must have been hit by that Avernatti real hard in the head. Oh, what strange things you say!"

"I am not crazy!" Amy protested. "I don't know who you are or where I am, but I am not 'Your Grace.'" She pushed back the tears trying to well in her eyes. The last thing she wanted was to ugly-cry in front of strangers in an unfamiliar place. "I want to go home," she said weakly.

"But," Lady Mathilde hesitated. "This is your home. This is your City under the Kingdom. Your husband, the Duke, is worried about you. He is now on his way back from the Royal Castle of Luxdale. Yes, he is."

"What?!" Amy thought her head was spinning. "I have a husband? I don't even have a boyfriend! I have been single since, since-" she paused. "Since birth," she finished softly. She could feel her blood warming her cheeks. She tried to downplay her embarrassment, but she knew her face already displayed her blushing. She turned her eyes away from them. "I don't understand," she resigned.

At that, Ser Gideon was speechless. From the corner of her eyes, Amy noticed that he hadn't moved a muscle since she denied his request for punishment. Under different circumstances, that thought would have been naughty, but she was too exhausted and confused that it didn't even matter. She felt something lay down beside her. It was Lady Mathilde sitting down on the bed.

"Oh, come here, my child," Mathilde said in a sweet voice, arms wide open. "Come, my child. I know this is hard."

Amy took to the elderly woman's arms and burrowed herself in her hug. The moment she rested her head on Mathilde's shoulder, tears burst like a waterfall from her eyes. Crying on a stranger's shoulder felt crazy, but it felt comforting. Lady Mathilde smelled of cinnamon and warm earth. Amy remembered the times when her mother would just listen to her bawl her heart out. It did not feel the same, but it was better than nothing.

"Hush, my child," the servant whispered to her ear, stroking her back and hair. "Everything will be fine," she added. “Everything will be fine.”

Lady Mathilde must have said something to Ser Gideon as Amy heard him walk away. She turned to look at him and saw that he was already near the door. His strides were long and fast yet graceful. She kept staring as he walked away, hoping he would look back somehow, but he didn't. She felt her heart skip a beat as he shut the door behind him. As the door closed, she thought that crying wouldn't help her. At this point, she realized that this was too elaborate to be a hallucination. Everything was real. She couldn't explain what was going on, but it was happening as she breathed. These people thought she was someone else. No amount of her truths shall convince them otherwise. These strangers knew her, the one she's mistaken for, at least. They lived all their lives here. They must know a way out. All she required was information. She knew these people had the answers. She just needed to ask the right questions. At that, she let go of the elderly's embrace.

"I'm sorry, Lady Mathilde," Amy murmured. "This must be hard for you, too. I couldn't remember anything before last night's events. Will you help me?" she looked into the elderly’s deep, brown eyes.

"Of course, Your Grace!" she responded. "Whatever you need, whatever you need." Mathilde stood up and curtsied. "Where shall I start?"

Amy felt a small smile appear on her face. "Uhm, where to start?" she asked. "Where are we? I mean, what is this place called? Who am I?"

Lady Mathilde seemed almost excited. "Your Grace, you are Duchess Amithiel of Castle Gustav," she said, smiling. "Welcome to your realm, Saphira, the City under the Great Kingdom of Noira."