Chapter One

A dwarf. I was looking at a dwarf. Not a human with dwarfism, but a…a dyed-in-the-wool dwarf. You know – like Googli, or Dimwee, or whatever those guys’ names are in the wizard stories. He was wearing leather armor, too, and had an axe stuffed into his belt that was so big (the axe, not the belt), that I had to wonder if he was compensating somehow. He was also sitting on a stegosaur. I think. The dinosaur that looks like a rhinoceros on radiation-laced steroids? Anyhow, the gigantic thing was snorting at me (the stegosaur, not the dwarf), its spiked tail lashing back and forth behind it, and I have to admit I found myself suddenly needing a bathroom.

Okay, let me go back a bit here. I’m a human, not very tough, totally girly person who works for lawyers. I type for them. I file their papers. I get them coffee. I complain about them. I even answer their phones. That’s me. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to write home about unless you’re into that sort of thing. I’m single, twenty-three, and this is beginning to sound like a dating service application. Sorry. Dinosaurs and dwarves. Focus, Silver. Er, yeah, that’s me. Silver McFadden, and don’t ask me what my parents were smoking when they named me.

Right! So there I was, having a normal, oh-god-what-am-I-doing-here kind of day, and was getting ready to go to lunch after an uneventful morning of answering phones and typing various legal documents. I got up from my desk and grabbed my purse from the back of my chair, then turned to head for the door. Well, that never happened. Why? Because instead of standing in a plush law office, I was suddenly in a kind of forest that was absolutely lousy with foliage, and there in front of me was this dwarf chilling on a stegosaur.

Naturally, I shrieked. So did the dwarf for some reason. The stegosaur? No. Snorted, as previously noted, nothing more. For the moment. My next reaction, after disentangling my heart from my uvula, was to wonder if maybe I’d stood up too quickly and had passed out. That would explain this bizarre fantasy scene confronting me. Only it didn’t explain the rich aroma of dinosaur dung suddenly assaulting my nostrils as the horny bastard unexpectedly did its business right there on the path. Ew?

The dwarf recovered from its/his/her own shock and leaned forward to peer down at me from under eyebrows that looked like insanely tiny angora cats. I took a step back and returned the stare, absolutely positive that I looked nowhere near as threatening as I was trying to appear.

“Ha!” That was the dwarf. It followed this cryptic remark with, “Atrast vala!”

I think. At least that’s how it sounded. I responded with a clever, “Um, what?”

Some mumbling came from the region of its thick, curly red beard, and then a loud sigh. “Human?”

Well, that startled me! “Yes. How did you – ”

“What do you here?”

“Who are you – Yoda? Anyway, I have no idea how I even got here, so I can’t answer that.”

“Not Yoda. No dwarf is Yoda. Kalar.”

“Er, Kalar to you, too.”

“No, brainless human – Kalar!” This was followed by some meaningful chest-pounding.

“Ah, that’s your name! Okay. And hey, I’m not brainless! I wasn’t sure if you were saying – ”

“No talking! Human females have no worth to great dwarves. Keep silent unless answering questions!”

I proceeded to introduce him to a human four-letter word tucked nicely into a two-word phrase that ended in “you” and turned away. Jerk.

“Human! You die!”

I heard the stegosaur making a different sound behind me, a sound that translated into the helpful sentence, “Get the hell out of the way, stupid – you’re about to be trampled!” So I dove sideways into a convenient bush – ouch – right as the beast thundered past.

You know, I paid a huge percentage of my last paycheck for the outfit I was wearing, so it irked me ever so slightly that one of the sleeves had been torn at the shoulder seam by a nasty little bush-branch. The other little branches poking me in highly sensitive places didn’t improve my suddenly horrible mood, either. That dwarf – Kalar – had easily earned a place at the tippy-top of my Smush List. Not that I could smush the bugger if he was still sitting on the stegosaur. But that’s okay. I’m patient. He’ll have to get off eventually, I told myself, prying my backside off a particularly sharp branch as I stood once more, wondering where my purse had gotten to.

Then I reviewed my latest set of thoughts and realized that none of my reactions fit the situation. I should be gibbering in fear. I should be rolled into a quivering ball of moaning confusion. I should be –

“A fair maiden in distress?”

I shrieked again and spun around. This time, I was looking at a tall man who appeared to be in his early thirties. He was also cute (sorry, but he was). He seemed quite normal, except, well, yeah. The long blue robe covered with golden runes and his shiny black, hooded cloak and what I guess had to be a magic staff of some kind, detracted a bit from the “normal” thing. That and the vaguely pointed ears. I asked him about none of that, however, since I’d obviously gone temporarily insane.

“Distress. Sure. How do you know English?”

His beautiful green eyes widened in surprise. “English? Who is that? The dwarf, you mean? His name is Kalar, not English.”

Perhaps I’d whacked my cranium on the headboard when I’d gone to sleep last night… “No, the language. I speak English, but I don’t understand how you do, unless I’m imagining all of this.”

He frowned. He looked past me – which I hate. It makes me feel like something awful is about to creep up behind me and eat my head. But then his expression cleared. “Ah, I see. I speak Commontongue. I can only surmise your language shares its origin somehow.”

I stared up at him for a moment, then sat on the path. I hadn’t planned to do that, you know – my legs simply gave out. Not surprising, really.

“Are you injured?” His alarm was genuine as he knelt beside me.

“You smell amazingly good,” I observed – right before face-planting into his chest and passing out for real.

Chapter Two

Fast-forward with me, please. Aside from everything that happened while I was unconscious and therefore don’t know about (other than realizing upon waking up that someone had removed my torn clothing and dressed me in a kind of nightgown), the next several days consisted mainly of my recovery from an acute state of shock, finding out that I was still on earth but way, way, way in the past – which brought on another bout of shock – and learning that my host was a half-elf named Zoxan who could conjure up all sorts of cool magic stuff but couldn’t cook worth a darn. And that was probably the longest sentence I’ve ever written.

Oh. You’re reading my memoir, um, thingy in case you were wondering. Maybe you weren’t. Wondering, I mean. Whatever.

On my fourth day in Zoxan’s cottage, I finally mustered up the courage to ask him if he had any idea how I’d gotten here. Before answering, he made sure I was comfortably seated on the edge of the bed. I suppose he figured I’d pass out again. Then he got me a cup of water and dragged over a stool so he could sit facing me as he spoke.

“I don’t know what you have been taught about time,” he began. “Some compare it to cloth, some – ”

“Fabric, you mean.”

“No, cloth. In Commontongue, ‘fabric’ is a kind of fish.” He was clearly suppressing a giggle, and if fabric was a kind of fish to him, I could see why.

“Go on, please.”

“Yes. As I was saying, some compare time to cloth, while others say it is a stream. Some say time is a river, you see.”

Heaven forgive me, but I almost started singing “The Rose.” I nodded, controlling myself. “Ah. A river.”

“None of these conjectures are correct, though. My studies, and the research of many before me, point to time as an entity that moves in large blocks from one reality to the next, one era to another.”

“How?”

“No one knows, actually. But we do know that as it travels, it sometimes breaks into smaller blocks within itself which pick up objects or creatures or even intelligent life-forms, depositing these unsuspecting travelers elsewhere in time. This, I believe, is what happened to you, Silver.”

“So I got snagged by this sniveling little block of time, dragged across the continuum, and dropped off in your primeval forest, right?”

He put his head to one side and crossed his legs. “Yes, there most certainly are differences in our languages. But I think I take your meaning. You are, er, correct, it would appear, if I did understand you. Tell me what you know of history.”

Primordial ooze. Dinosaurs. Cavemen. Egypt. Greece. Rome. Wars. Barbarians. More wars. The formation of Europe. Eric the Red and Christopher Columbus. America. Yet more wars. The Declaration of Independence. Queen Victoria. Bolsheviks. Communism. Reagan. Walls coming down. And yes, our old friend, war. Terrorism, television, computers, the internet, on and on. When I was done, he shook his head and got up.

“I feared such things would eventually come to pass,” he mumbled, grabbing a wineskin from its hook on a nearby wall. Okay, all the walls were nearby, his cottage being unquestionably teeny.

After fortifying himself with the libation, he sat down again and explained that what we call “cavemen” were most likely half-orcs and maybe a troll-elf hybrid or two. Mind-boggling, really. He said they tended to live more in caves than anywhere else, mostly because they were too stupid to figure out how to build a dwelling. Their only form of entertainment, he added, was to capture members of weaker species and make them paint pictures on the walls depicting animals, hunting expeditions, and battles, then would stare at these works of “art,” deeply fascinated, as they ate the artists. It occurred to me that entertainment hadn’t progressed all that much over the millennia.

“Hey, look, is there any chance I can get back to my own time? And did you happen to find a purse?”

He had fallen silent and was staring at the tips of his gold-spangled blue shoes. He raised his gaze to meet mine. “Why would you want to go back? Your time doesn’t sound very appealing. So much violence, such complicated living conditions…things are much simpler and easier here.” Nothing about the purse.

I snorted. “Right! I can simply get stomped on by a gigantic reptile, or have my head thwanged off by a pissy dwarf. How appealing! No, thanks, Zoxan. Which reminds me – what in the world are you? I mean, you look human, but those ears!”

He sat straighter, and I could tell I’d offended him. “They are my mother’s ears!”

The look of horror on my face must have made it clear how that had sounded because he quickly added, “Not her ears, exactly. I mean they’re like hers. She’s an elf. A royal elf of the House of Gladdiah.”

“Which means nothing to me. Sorry. So you’re half elf, eh? May I assume your father is human?”

“You may. He was a knight.”

“Was. Is he dead?”

“No, retired.”

“Ah.”

We were silent for a while after that, but eventually he told me we had to go see someone – if I was honestly desirous of returning to my own time, he added. I mean, I don’t say “desirous” unless I’m reading a book out loud that has that word in it. Usually.

“What, eh, what should I wear?”

Now he looked confused. “Whatever do you mean?”

I looked down at the light blue gown. It was pretty, all flowy and sparkly here and there, but I was used to business outfits for work, jeans and tee-shirts after work, and normally wore nothing to bed. And that reminded me… “By the way, who changed my clothes?”

He gulped. For real. He actually turned pink and gulped.

“Oh, no you did not!”

“Well, there was no one else, you see, and your things were horribly torn and dirty, so I just…”

“I should smack you with a pterodactyl!” I had no idea if he knew what that was, nor did I care. In fact, if he hadn’t been so attractive, I probably would have killed him. Or kicked him very, very hard.

“Please, Silver, I was most respectful and didn’t, I mean, I didn’t touch anythin…” He trailed off, completely unable to continue.

I made a harrumphing noise and went outside, where I promptly had a hysterical laughing fit. The look on his face - !

Okay, enough. Once he’d recovered his dignity, he gathered supplies for our journey and off we went – on foot – to go see some old wizard or something. He was still muttering his words and wouldn’t look directly at me, so I missed most of what he said.

Halfway through our journey, I asked him how much he’d already known about the future. He mentioned something about prophecies and speculations by the great Sages, some of whom had apparently traveled back and forth in these bizarre time-blocks. He also told me that many of the things I’d told him lined up with what they had concluded about the coming ages based on research and prophecy. Nothing about the internet, though – they definitely hadn’t seen that one coming, maybe because there had been no predictions about Al Gore. Whatever.

We walked for four days, sleeping at roadside inns and avoiding the occasional barbarian and other warlike types populating the area. Our destination, I was glad to see, was a city. Surrounded by thick, grey stone walls, the timber, daub and stone buildings within looked safe and comfortable. The closer we got, the busier the road became. Many carts drawn by lizard-like creatures rattled along beside or past us. Men and women with various burdens strapped to their backs were heading in through the iron-clad wooden gates while others with lighter loads were coming out.

Once inside, Zoxan led me through narrow winding streets to a large, square building with tall, narrow windows glazed with deep blue glass. No one challenged us as we entered, but I had the feeling that once we’d passed the few individuals wandering about inside, they were stopping to stare after us. I began to feel odd in a creepy, uh-oh kind of way. Something was about to happen. I could sense it. Something strange. Something….

“Silver, I’d like to introduce you to my mentor, Folorion.”

“Huh?”

We had entered a wide alcove on the right side of the corridor near its end, and I found myself being regarded by someone who could have been the prototype for Merlin.

“Ah,” said the ancient-looking man, his grey-blue eyes narrowed. “I was wondering when you’d finally get here, young lady. You’ve kept us waiting for far too long.”

Chapter Three

I gaped for several long moments, during which time a fabulous array of sarcastic replies sashayed down the runway of my mind, begging to be used. “I must have overslept” was my favorite, with “I got off at the wrong era” running a close second. What finally came out was, “Heh?” Not exactly rapier-sharp repartee, but what the heck? A dusty old wizard in a black and purple-striped bathrobe had made it clear he’d been expecting me, and you could have blown me over with an escargot.

He turned away, no doubt ignoring my witty response, and yanked a gigantic book off the shelf behind him. Let me clarify. The book wasn’t, like, bigger than the wizard or anything (although that wouldn’t have surprised me); it was simply thick. Fat. Too many pages. That kind of gigantic. In fact, the poor guy nearly dropped it, but was able to haul it up onto the small table beside the shelf with a considerable amount of grunting. He opened it, turned a few pages, then a few more, and shouted, “Aha!”

He was making me nervous.

“You’re right here, my dear,” he said, beckoning me closer with one hand while pointing at the page with the other.

I took a tentative step toward him. “You, er, you aren’t going to turn me into a toad or anything, are you?”

Behind me, Zoxan made an odd choking noise.

“Why would I ever do that?” asked the wizard. “Besides, I wouldn’t know how to go about it. Please – you must look at this.”

I sighed and went the rest of the way. I still didn’t trust him, but if he was going to do something frightening or magical to me, surely the intervening two feet wouldn’t stop him. This book, by the way, was colorful in the extreme. When I finally stopped sidelong-glancing Folorion long enough to see what he was pointing at, I was immediately impressed with the artwork.

Inside an ornate border of flowers, trees, and…geesh…dinosaurs, an inner, oval frame made of runes surrounded a beautifully detailed painting of a girl. She was tall and slender, had long, pale blonde hair, dark blue eyes, and was wearing a somewhat sparkly blue gown. Behind her was a full-length mirror, and from the way one of her feet was emerging from within the glass, it was obvious she had come out of the mirror itself. I leaned down to get a better look at her face –

“Hey! That…that’s…what the heck!”

“You are the girl from the silver,” said Folorion, sounding a little smug, although I couldn’t think why.

“You mean the girl from the mirror.”

“The what?”

“My name is Silver, and that thing is a mirror – you know, a looking-glass?”

“It’s a silver, my child. But if that is also your name, it confirms everything.”

Yeah, like the dead-ringer drawing wasn’t confirmation enough. She was even wearing the same danged gown! “Okay, explain, please.”

“One of our Seers contributed the portrait to this volume, the Book of Tomorrow.”

“Sounds like something out of Disneyland.”

Folorion chuckled. “No, no, Walter wouldn’t have such a thing. A Land of Tomorrow, he said, or was it ‘Tomorrowland’ – can’t remember exactly.”

“What?! You know Walt Disney?”

“Of course, dear. He was one of the first to come through the silver.”

“I see.” I needed to sit down. “Tell me, what am I doing here?”

“We don’t really know.”

“What?” I seemed to be saying that a lot. “You knew I was coming but didn’t know why?”

“Well, usually our visitors are only here to give us information about the future. For instance, we know that one day the human race will take over completely, and the other races will go into permanent hiding. John Ronald Reuel told us about that.” He tucked his long hands into his sleeves and gave me a gentle smile.

John Ronald Reuel, John Ronald Reuel….J.R…..ack! J.R.R. Tolkein?! Well, ha! Middle Earth, of course!

“I see you know who I mean.”

“Er, sure. But wait. Why the whole mir- uh, silver thing? Didn’t I get here by way of some kind of time cube or something?”

“Yes, but you see, since all of life is a reflection of itself in some form or another, these blocks are four-dimensional silvers.”

My mind automatically corrected that to “four-dimensional mirrors,” but I can’t say the correction made me feel any better. “Oh. So now what?”

“You must speak before the Council of Wizards, Bards and Elders of the Sorcery Schools.”

“Must I, indeed!”

“Yes. Indeed.”

“And what, pray tell, am I going to speak about?”

“You will be introduced,” said Zoxan, startling me. I’d forgotten he was standing there. “Then you will tell them the year from which you came, and after that, they shall ask you questions, and you shall answer them.”

Why was I beginning to feel like a version of Alice who had somehow taken a wrong turn while falling down the rabbit-hole? Is that even possible? Whatever. “Fine. After that, may I go back home?”

Zoxan looked over my head at Folorion. Some kind of silent communication passed between them. They exchanged meaningful stares.

“I’m going to kick you both in the shins in a minute. Talk to me!”

“Oh, sorry, my dear,” said Folorion.

“Stop calling me that. My name is Silver.”

“Of course. Silver. The fact is,” continued the wizard through a sigh, “we simply do not know. Some of our visitors returned while others are yet here, still looking for a way back.”

That uh-oh feeling started crawling up my spine again. “How many?”

“Just a few.” The old fart was being evasive, and we all knew it.

“Just a few, you say. Can you count them on one hand?”

“Well…no. I don’t have enough fingers.”

“Two hands, then?”

He cleared his throat and asked Zoxan to help him get the Book back up onto shelf.

“Both hands and one foot?”

The wizard sighed again, and suddenly, from inside one sleeve, he whipped out a gnarled stick that I later concluded was a magic wand. He aimed it at me, said some words I didn’t understand, and I found myself believing I was two years old.

“Da cookie!” I exclaimed for no apparent reason.

“That’s right, dear.” Folorion patted me on the head. “I’ll give you a cookie if you sit down over there like a good little girl and be very, very quiet.”

“Want my foo-foo.”

“Your foo-foo?”

“Bunny foo-foo!”

A large, pink, stuffed rabbit appeared in my arms, and I went to the other side of the alcove, snuggled down against the wall, and squeezed the bunny rabbit, grinning happily. And for the next hour or so, life was good again.

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 04.04.2013

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