Dara, Page, and the Secrets of the Multiverse

▷ 7.1

The ceiling didn't make sense—that was the first thought that crept into Dara's mind. Sunlight poured from the shards of the plane's window, poking his eyes. A groan escaped his lips as his fingers deftly unfastened the seatbelt. What the hell has he been hit with? He shifted on his seat, making the pieces of glass on his lap and the floor clink against each other. It took a while, but his bearings returned after a few seconds of blinking and head shaking.

He cranked the handle of the cockpit's door, exhaling a sigh of relief when it snapped free. With a silent grunt, he climbed out of the seat. His gloved hands dug against the pointed shards of the window as he edged towards the wing, his boots clambering over the metal sheet.

A trail of warmth bled from his hairline, but that was about it. No bones broken; no tendons pulled. He was, by heaven's grace, alive and in one piece. He leaned over the wing, balancing his weight to avoid keeling over. A chain swung into the light, bearing a ring. It bounced against his chest when he drew back upon the sight of grass—a brief memory in a long span of events that brought him here.

He sank to his knees and slid off the wing, his boots touching down on the compact forest floor. Canopies shrouded his view of the sky, drowning the ground with dappled effects of leaves swaying with the untraceable wind. He dusted his camo pants, checking the gear on his belt. First aid kit, check. Flares, check. Lights, check. Batteries, check. Gun...check. He could never predict what lay ahead in this forest.

The grass crunched underfoot as he yanked the plane's other door to reveal the empty co-pilot seat. Like the shotgun seat of his equally beat-down car, it sported the only bag this hasty trip afforded him. It contained every essential a veteran quester like him could think of. Most of the things there haven't seen the outside world since he stashed them inside. He preferred it that way, since he needed to have all his things one snatch away.

He rummaged around the bag, giving everything a quick check. Should be good. Another sigh, releasing the tension on his gut and shoulders. Okay. How to get out of here...

A frown crept into his lips, fastening the corners down. He craned his neck to the sky. The canopies shielded most of his view of the sky, but through chance patches, gray to black clouds hovered like angry stepmoms. His mood soured further. If not for that stupid storm, he would be in the city proper by now. After that, it'd be a short hike to where Page's last trace was last registered by satellite.

Now, he was stuck in the middle of nowhere, on a mountain peak that other veteran questers in his university haven't even thought about setting foot on. Where the hell was this? His laggy phone GPS could help either. All the dim screen showed him was a spread of trees and the mountain's elevation, courtesy of the open satellite everyone used.

Onward, then. It was better to start moving than wait around for a forest predator to find him.

His memories of the crash lay in pieces. The events before that, however, remained clear. He was meeting one of their friends from university when the topic steered to Page. "How was he, by the way?" Richard, their common friend from their anthropology lectures, had said. "I don't see him often by the docks."

Page loved fishing, but ever since that problem, he resolved to stick by Dara's side, sometimes, a little too much. So, Dara had shrugged and leaned back on the muted cushion in the cafe. "He's fine. A bit absorbed in work, but expected," he replied. "Come on. He's Page."

Richard snorted. Before Dara came into the picture, those two went a long way back. "I know. Is that why he set off on an emergency expedition?" he said. "I heard the associates talking about it in the conference."

At that, Dara remembered frowning. "What expedition?" he demanded. "He told me he's going to an overseas lecture."

Richard cocked an eyebrow. "Let me guess—lover's quarrel?" He shook his head and waved a hand in the air—a dismissive gesture at that. "Hey, don't worry. It happens. But...yeah. It seems like he got direct approval from the Dean themselves. I imagine he's halfway there now."

Dara couldn't recall how he got home that day, but as he stepped into the foyer, he remembered feeling the sheer emptiness of it. Without Page, it was just a house. The next few days were spent with Dara phoning every professor he could reach just to get the tools he needed to track Page down. When he got the satellite readings of where the plane Page took, it only confirmed his greatest fears.

So, he packed in a hurry, giving his old friend in the ranch a quick holler. Dara shouldn't have told Page about that artifact. He shouldn't have told his boyfriend about the diagnosis either. It was still a few years; Dara would have had a ton of opportunities to break it to Page. Or with how progressive it was, perhaps, he wouldn't ever get to tell him. Not that it would give Dara any peace. Page would feel betrayed twice once Dara keeled over for seemingly no reason.

What was Dara supposed to do, then?

The satellite tracking of the aircraft Page borrowed showed Dara that he was right. Page aimed to get that artifact, the one rumored to grant its user eternal life. Dara remembered steering the plane towards the city in the valley, but a sudden storm warning rose from the east as if it was simply waiting for Dara to sail through it. And he did. He couldn't afford to waste more time. The longer Page was out here, the larger the possibility he'd find the artifact. A storm—that was all it was.

The whole situation was problematic for a number of things. One, the artifact was in a secluded part of the mountain, rumored to be in the ruins of an ancient temple built by an understudied civilization. Getting there alone and in haste would be close to suicide. And two, Dara was wary of the text that talked about it. Something about a curse and a riddle about life and death. Most academia experts believed it would grant eternal life, but translations could only blur the meaning more. With Page involved, Dara wasn't willing to risk a curse or some other bad thing such as prices to pay and all that ancient whatnot.

Page would get an earful once Dara found him—that much was certain.

So, with his jaw clenched and his nerves steeled for what was to come, Dara slung the bag on a shoulder and strode away from the smoke curling from the busted engine of his plane