AN: To those of you new to this story, I really hope you'll enjoy it. This won't (I hope, at least) turn out to be a 'one girl saves the world' type of thing. I also hope to make this much more enjoyable to read than the last version. Yes, this is entirely rewritten. To those who have read the old version, I tell you, this will be MUCH better.

---

"…Well, he certainly doesn’t sleep nekkid, Cat.”

“I figured that. He just doesn’t look like he’d sleep in just shorts.”

“You’re probably right. He sleeps with a shirt on.”

“My grandpa sleeps with a shirt on, Sam. He probably has more class than that.”

“He’s a teenage guy, Cat. To them, there’s no such thing as class. That’s just a white-knight fantasy of yours.”

Sixteen-year-old Catherine Herms flushed with embarrassment as her friend stated the bare and mostly obvious truth.

“Why are we having this conversation, anyway?” she said hastily, changing the subject.

The brunette named Samantha Orton shrugged.

“I dunno. Maybe because lunch period is too boring not to talk about the unknown among us?”

Cat rolled her eyes and took another bite of pizza. She gave her friend the courtesy of swallowing before she answered.

“Well, if some people would just pay more attention to certain other friends, it might not be so boring.”

They both had the same person in mind; Julianne. The Swedish girl liked to spend her lunches with her newest love interest rather than with her female friends, the traitor.

“What’s so great about Seth anyway?” Sam growled. “He’s an emo jerk. On top of that, I hear he’s been sleeping around…”

The rest of what Sam said disappeared into the bell signaling the end of lunch. Cat groaned, rolled her eyes, and angrily took up her plate.

“Lunch seems to get shorter every day!” she hissed.

“It’s because we’re having fun, remember, talking about your boyfriend’s sleeping habits.”

Catherine flushed again. “He’s not my boyfriend,” she mumbled.

“You’re right. He’s a lost cause, Cat. Doesn’t he graduate next year?” she replied matter-of-factly.

Cat’s face fell. Her own love interest, Jason, was a senior, and she a mere sophomore. She was friends with him, probably one of the few who weren’t ‘skater dudes’ or ‘dumb blondes,’ a fact she was actually very proud of. As little in common as one would think they would have, he put up with her, and she pined for his company. The fact that they made each other laugh, and he had no girlfriend, kept her hope going.

“He’ll only be in Florida.” She said half-heartedly. Sam rolled her eyes and sighed, walking back to class with her friend. To her credit, she said nothing. Cat was well aware that her friend was sure that no closer relationship could come out of the matter.

They endured French class in silence, speaking only when bidden to by the Madame, and then mostly in French. When the final bell of the day rang, the only thing on her mind was finishing the book she’d chosen to write a report on in English. Alder was a very special book. It was a present from her late father, and it wasn’t very thick, either. She expected to finish it soon.

Garret Herms died on tour in Afghanistan three years to the day, she remembered with a somber face, arriving home. She missed him terribly, as did her mother. For a long time, Cat was sure her mother would fall to pieces if they were to divorce, which, at times, she thought they might. It was only death that parted them, and her mother still held up their lives with dignity.

It was evening by the time she shut the door to her room and flopped down on the bed, taking up the ruffled tome. As always, before opening up the book, she had to marvel at the cover. The book certainly looked older than it was – published most recently in 1982.

Cat ran her hand down the spine of the book, her eyes flickering up to the title, printed in faded gold letters. She reveled in the feeling the leather enduced in her fingertips, feeling akin to a cat scratching a luxurious post. Suddenly, she stopped. Her eyes narrowed, and she moved her fingers over one blackened corner of the book. It was singed! Someone had singed a piece of the memory of her father! On top of that, she stopped, mid-thought, eyes riveted on the object. The closed pages – on the side of the book - filled with a shining wet patch of something of a crimson color. The girl swallowed bile as she realized that it was blood. With a yelp of alarm, she jumped up from her mattress and dropped the book on the floor. It fell open in the middle pages, but there was yet something wrong. The middle pages were blank, causing Cat to step back father, eyes wide with horror. Those pages had never been blank before! What was going on?

I’m never touching this book again…

A wave of weariness swept over Catherine, and she tottered on the brink of sleep. She didn’t want to fall to the floor in slumber – not now, anyway. She had to…had to…what was it she had to do? Something about…a book. Now, though, she couldn’t remember what.

Cat’s knees gave way, her eyes closed, and she crumpled on the floor.

It was as if she awoke, though her twenty-first-century sensibility told her she was only dreaming. She was floating now, drifting through a plane of shadow. She looked down at her own hand, strangely calm in this new dream. Her skin glowed with en ethereal luminescence, making the contrast between her and the surrounding darkness blurry. Some movement ahead made her look up in alarm. There were two figures approaching her, their flowing robes trailing off behind them as if they were walking on a floor. A man and a woman, they were, their calmness infecting her own anxiety. She, too, calmed down to give way to rational thought in this dream.

“You are Catherine?” the woman said, more of a statement than a question.

Cat, finding herself unable to speak, nodded assent. Something in her mind told her that she should be wigging out, but the rest of her conscious didn’t follow that.

The couple smiled, and the woman held out her hand.

“Come. Lend your strength.”

The question was vague, yet the woman’s need was plain in her voice. The pale arm she extended glowed as her own skin did, Cat noted, and the muscles in her arm told her to clasp that hand. She took in a sharp breath, and tentatively reached forth. She knew her hand was trembling, though she didn’t know why. A voice in the far recesses of her mind screamed protest, but she ignored it. No, not completely – she gave in to a little doubt. Oh, but their smiles radiated warmth and comfort. They must be safe, she thought.

As her hand made contact with the cold flesh of the woman’s, the couple disappeared, leaving Catherine alone in her world of black. Only, her world didn’t stay that way. The wind picked up, blowing up from her feet. Her auburn hair, not but just past shoulder length, flicked out around her head. Soon, by the little square of color she saw, assuming it to be the ground, it became apparent that the wind below hadn’t picked up – she was falling.

A scream ripped from her throat, her previous calm fading into hysteria. Her limbs flailed to no avail, and she still couldn’t find it in her to speak, as if only communicating her fear in words would save her. Scream, yes, she could do that, but speech was impossible. She was gradually falling faster, the wind whistling through her ears now roaring as she sped down toward a destination without detail. Her senses again fell into darkness, only to be roused again in what was akin to a loud thunderclap.

“Well, that’s the first time that happened.” Said an intelligent voice, surprised, yet intrigued.

“I didn’t know you could conjure girls. Do it again!” said another, less intelligent voice excitedly.

“You weren’t listening, were you?” asked the first voice with amusement.

“Why should I? Your big words confuse me.” Replied the second.

“Ow,” complained Cat, eyes scrunched shut, trying to clear the pain from her head enough to make sense of the conversation.

“It speaks!” commented a third voice, decidedly female, whereas the first two were male.

“In…t-two…languages, thanks...” Cat found herself saying, surprised at her own bold humor. The ache in her head was lessening.

The female chuckled. “And it has humor! I guess she’s no devil. Help her up, why don’t you, Hjeld?”

A hand, smooth and cultured, gripped her upper arm firmly and pulled her to her feet. Catherine wanted to open her eyes, but the lids seemed stuck together, as they did some mornings.

“M-my eyes…” she stammered, putting a hand to her face.

“Do they hurt?” asked the intelligent voice, suddenly much closer, meaning that he, Hjeld, was the one holding her.

“No…” she managed. “Stuck.”

The man chuckled, and, she thought, waved a hand over her eyelids. They felt clean and rested, allowing her to open her eyes. She jumped a little, just at suddenly being close to another human being. Hjeld, the first person she saw, had brown eyes and hair, the latter pulled back in a loose length of golden…twine, or whatever it was. His face was smooth and young, making him perhaps twenty or so, and was Eurasian in feature.

Looking around, she saw two other people, a man with dusty brown hair and a black woman, all standing in a little clearing, with what looked like a road off perhaps twenty feet away.

“Strange clothes,” the woman remarked coolly. “Not my choice in fashion…”

Cat looked down, comforted to see herself in her flared jeans and fitted black tee-shirt.

“Don’t you wear-” she started, looking up, but stopped suddenly. Where was she, some medieval carnival gone…she didn’t know what? There wasn’t a modern scrap between the three – Hjeld wore robes of some kind, the other man dark pants and a reddish tunic with a broad leather belt. The woman, wearing capris-length breeches and a sort of halter top looked most to Cat’s time, except that she wore two different shades of bark brown.

“Wear what?” Inquired the man in red. “I like what you have though; it shows the curves…”

“Pedophile,” Hjeld remarked only partly in reprieve. Cat caught his eyes dart for the briefest moment down the length of her body.

“You can let go now.” It occurred to her to say. The robed man complied quickly enough.

“What’s your name?” the black woman asked.

“Catherine Herms…” she replied vaguely, still musing over the situation.

The three exchanged sudden looks.

“I don’t know the family.” Hjeld said, almost with a pout.

“It’s not like you would.” The black woman said. “She’s obviously not from our little corner of the cosmos.”

“I still don’t see how someone of your…” Hjeld started, looking at the woman. She returned his gaze with a more piercing one.

“Class?” she offered stiffly. It was apparent to Cat that the subject had changed completely.

Hjeld looked distressed. “Nevermind.”

The woman looked away, seemingly satisfied.

“Well, I’m Lily, that one there is Calemarr, and our other friend is Hjeld – uh, what’s the family, friend?” she asked with an unnerving smile.

“Ehlod.” Came the simple reply.

“Ehlod.” Lily echoed, looking back at Catherine. “He’s nobility, see.”

Cat nodded out of habit, looking at them all with unease. She was afraid to ask where she was, lest she find out.

“I’m dreaming, right?” she asked, addressing no one in particular.

“I don’t think so.” Hjeld offered.

“I didn’t either…” she moaned. “I wish I were.”

“Where are you from?” Lily suddenly had the unfortunate foresight to ask.

“Augusta.” she answered, hoping there was such a place around here. By the muddled expressions of her companions, she supposed there wasn’t.

“Above nor below in this land called Alder is there such a place.” Hjeld commented grandly.

Cat closed her eyes, almost tempted to click her heels. “Now, that’s not cool…”