Chapter 1 - Begin

  Arlo climbed to his feet and scanned his surroundings. Trees draped in ivy? Unkempt foliage? This wasn’t Rosie Denfield’s neatly mowed backyard. Where the hell was he? And . . . wait, who was he?

  Arlo Cross, he reminded himself. Twenty-eight and single. I live on Old Bethel Road and can’t afford the rent because Chloe left me last month for someone else. I do odd jobs for a pittance.

  Wincing, he massaged the base of his skull in an effort to rub away the throbbing headache. His eyeballs hurt when he squinted toward a shaft of sunlight filtering through the trees. Could that be Rosie Denfield’s backyard? Maybe he’d climbed the fence and wandered into the neighboring woods. Yet he had no recollection of doing so, and that scared him. What was the last thing he remembered? He’d arrived at the old lady’s house to clear out the shed for her, and then . . .

  A maelstrom of green light and sparks and flashing.

  And then . . .

  Then he’d woken up here, in the woods.

  Wearing somebody else’s clothing.

  This startling revelation took his breath away. What the—? He wore a pale-blue, one-piece, zip-up suit exactly like a mechanic’s coveralls, and a pair of unfamiliar boots. In his day job, he took on the role of carpenter, plumber, electrician, and all-round odd-job man, a veritable jack of all trades—but he was never a mechanic.

  The change of clothes concerned him more than the switch in location. Someone had undressed him! He clutched at his groin, suddenly aware he had no boxers underneath.

  What the hell?

  Breathing hard, he pushed through a clump of ferns, then frantically spun around, seeking a way out of the woods. The trees clustered together, their canopies thick. He had the increasing feeling this wasn’t the small patch of woods adjacent to Rosie Denfield’s home. It was bigger than that, an expansive forest. He could be anywhere.

  The shaft of light through the trees offered slightly more comfort than his current gloom, so he headed that way, hoping to spot a footpath.

  His mind whirled. What had happened? Someone had knocked him out cold and brought him to these woods? This forest? And switched his clothes?

  It made no sense. At least, not to him. A prank, maybe?

  The trickle of a stream caught his attention. And voices. They came from beyond the illuminated patch he headed toward, so he quickened his pace, eager to be out of this mess. Thorns snagged his baggy pants as he went. At least the boots fit well enough, covering his ankles and snugly laced, almost like he’d tied them himself. Which, of course, he hadn’t.

  “Where am I?” he demanded out loud in case the prankster was nearby.

  Then white light flared directly in front of him. Inexplicably, a two-foot square panel hovered at chest height. It shifted with him when he recoiled, perfectly in sync with his movements. He couldn’t shake it off no matter how much he darted from side to side. He paused again, heart thudding, as words formed within the glowing panel:

  Greetings, Arlo. Are you ready to play?

  At first he couldn’t get his lips to form a response. His throat had seized up. When he got a hold of himself, he swallowed and said, “What’s going on?”

  A slew of new words appeared under the first line:

  Welcome to Split Realms. You must complete three quests:

  1) Begin your skill development in the nearby Olde Village.

  2) Find a way to reach the fortified town of Midway on the cliff.

  3) Finally, seek the mysterious Pinnacle and make an important choice that will determine the future of the realm.

  TIP: Look out for the Crimson Cloak along the way. It has special powers that will come in handy!

  You are currently in Adventure Mode.

  SWITCH TO MULTIPLE CHOICE? [YES] [NO]

  Arlo stared at the floating screen, trying to make sense of it. The funny thing was, a nagging feeling at the back of his mind told him this was perfectly normal. No, not normal but . . . to be expected?

  He had to read the words four times before they sank in, but in the meantime, another part of his brain was busy trying to figure out how the holographic image worked. The brightly lit screen stuck with him no matter which way he twisted, as though attached to his waist by a selfie stick.

  He even checked to see if such a physical connection existed, but no, the screen floated independently. Yet it bobbed and turned exactly as he did. That’s pretty high-tech, he thought with a shiver.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  The last couple of lines puzzled him . . .

  SWITCH TO MULTIPLE CHOICE? [YES] [NO]

  3 . . . 2 . . .

  “Screw this!” he muttered. “I don’t care.”

  The screen bleeped, and the text changed:

  You have opted to remain in Adventure Mode. Enjoy!

  What the hell does that even mean?

  Before he could formulate any kind of response, the screen added:

  Find a mage pomelo to replenish your vitality.

  Arlo stared in annoyance. “Wow, you’re serious about this.” Raising his voice, he shouted off into the trees, “Are you kidding me? You think this is a game?”

  He tried and failed to walk around the screen; the damn thing remained steadfastly in his way, blocking his view ahead. Waving his arms through the brightly lit anomaly made no difference, nor did leaping back and forth. All he achieved was snagging his shirt on a thorn, which tore a small hole as he wrenched himself free. High-tech though it was, the screen quickly got on his last nerve.

  “Get out of my way!” he yelled. “Screen off!”

  To his surprise, the floating square of light abruptly flickered and vanished. He stood still for a moment, hardly daring to move.

  Then, curious, he muttered, “Screen on?”

  The white light flared into existence again. This time, all that remained on the screen was the hint about replenishing his vitality.

  “Screen off,” he said.

  And the hologram flickered and vanished.

  Arlo sighed. After some hesitation, he resumed his trek through the forest. His mind continued to whirl. A hologram? Huh. The extent of the prank impressed him. Knocking him out, relocation to a forest, a creepy change of clothes. And as for the hologram screen . . .

  Unease settled over him. It all seemed so elaborate. This was more than a simple prank. The hologram screen suggested something bigger.

  As he moved between the trees, the sound of distant voices grew louder. It was a general hubbub, a crowded place. Daylight shone bright ahead, and he forged onward, stamping through ferns and tripping on roots. Eventually, he burst out of the forest and blinked in the glare of the sun.

  He faced a sizable community of closely abutted stone cottages and cobblestone streets. Smoke drifted from crooked chimneys. Moss added a touch of vibrant color to the slate-tile rooftops.

  Definitely not Rosie Denfield’s neighborhood.

  His pulse quickened as he picked up a dirt path leading to a small town where, at an arched entryway, a wooden sign read OLDE VILLAGE. A groan escaped his throat at the sight of people dressed in medieval-style clothing, milling about like it was just another Thursday afternoon in fifteenth-century Europe.

  Arlo couldn’t stand renaissance fairs. But okay, so a European-themed town, some kind of tourist attraction. The overhanging eaves cast such deep shadows on both sides of the street that he bet everything remained gloomy even on bright, sunny days. The metal drainpipes and gutters were a dull-grey color, and carved gargoyles stuck out here and there, tongues protruding as if thirsty for rain.

  There were no ren fairs near where Arlo lived, that he knew of. He couldn’t get over how authentic everything and everyone looked. Not a single modern intrusion that he could see—no poorly disguised electrical wires, no wrong-period clothing choices, nothing. It was all so eerily realistic.

  “This isn’t happening,” he murmured.

  Yeah, it is. It’s supposed to be like this. You just have to remember.

  There was that nagging feeling again.

  Arlo walked among the people in a bit of a daze. Conversations echoed off the walls, but they abruptly died at the sight of him. A man, sweating and panting as he wheeled a wooden barrow filled with sacks of grain, halted with shock a second before he ran Arlo down. A woman hanging damp clothing on a line in a backyard froze and dropped a shirt on the ground when she glanced his way. A couple of kids ran laughing from one alley to another, then cried out and bolted.

  He came to an intersection and moved out from under the shadow of overhanging eaves. It meant shielding his eyes against the sun as he peered up at a towering cliff face beyond the rooftops. It couldn’t be too far away and had to be at least three hundred feet tall. Why anyone would build a village at the base of such a cliff was beyond him. What about the danger of falling rocks? He shuddered at the idea of boulders and rubble crashing down all around.

  He called out to a sandy-haired, blue-eyed young woman as she passed close by. “Excuse me? Where the hell are we?”

  She paused, gripped her basket of bread as if he intended to steal it, and fixed him with a wide-eyed gaze. She wore a tan-colored frock that hung almost to her ankles and a brown shawl over her shoulders.

  With a fearful expression, she opened her mouth to speak—but then a slight movement in Arlo’s periphery caught his attention. He tilted his head upward again, squinting in the glare and cursing his migraine. Something on the very top of the cliff moved . . .

  A boulder had come loose.

  No—a car had shot over the edge.

  “Oh my God,” he croaked.

  Wait, no. It was neither of those things. Instead of plummeting out of control, the oddly lozenge-shaped object began a graceful, spiraling descent. Not in freefall, but under power.

  “What the hell’s that?”

  The vehicle’s elongated surface glinted in the sunlight, accompanied by a faint, whining engine.

  The blue-eyed woman twisted around to look up. Then she exclaimed and dropped her basket. All at once, multiple screams filled the air. People took off running, glancing skyward as they went, jostling each other in their haste. Doors slammed, and the pitter-patter of feet quickly died away to leave an eerie silence.

  “Hey!” Arlo barked at the young woman. “What’s going on?”

  She paused to study him, her once fearful expression now tinged with curiosity. “If you’re not one of them, you should hide.” With that cryptic message, she ran away, leaving her upturned basket on the ground.

  “What the hell’s happening?” he growled, wincing at his worsening migraine.

  First a holographic screen, then a medieval village at the foot of a giant cliff, and now a flying car? And, judging by how quickly the streets had cleared, nothing good would come of this unexpected visit.

  The vehicle appeared to be aiming directly for a landing in the middle of the intersection where Arlo stood gawking. He backed off, then hurried around a corner out of sight.

  There, he crouched and waited, his vision blurring and headache pounding.