Prophecy of the Flame

by Lynn Hardy

  Eric is in his early to mid thirties, five foot ten, black, balding, skinny, and an altogether unremarkable guy. Like me, he was dressed in blue jeans and a white shirt with a blue sash around his waist. No way this is the same guy. But deep inside I know Eric is standing next to me although this guy is a twenty-something-year-old who could easily win the Mr. America contest: over six feet tall; smooth, midnight skin over broad, handsome features; full, sensuous lips; raven braids halfway down his back; and weightlifting shoulders. He’s wearing what would be a big hit at the Renaissance festival: an authentic breastplate over chain mail, complete with a set of gauntlets.

  “Who else would it be?” The question trails off as his mind registers the sound issuing forth. Eric’s voice has a distinct nasal ring, which is far different from the satiny smooth and honey sweet tone this man used.

  A shouting match ensues when the three other strangers standing with us in the center of this bizarre room recover their voices at the same time. A very, very short, black-bearded man—That’s Darren?—bellows to be heard over Eric. He is paralyzed by the deep rumbling of his own words.

  “What the…” begins the seven-foot, wire-thin man with alabaster skin. The soft, soprano tone of the man my brain insists is George silences the question.

  “Will everyone chill for a minute!” Chad steps into the middle of the group, trying to bring reason to a totally unreasonable situation.

  Now that voice I know! But the sandy-haired, short and stocky medical student is not standing before us. This man is much taller than the Chad of old, built like a quarterback, dirty blond hair darkened to a chestnut color, but it is still undeniably Chad. There is no mistaking the similarities in the face. It is as if an artist moved the best qualities—the kind, compassionate eyes, the straight nose—to a more suitable frame, merely touching up where needed.

  Something so familiar yet still completely unexplainable achieves the quiet Chad demands. No one dares intrude on the stillness as the unmistakable squeal of a rusty-hinged door echoes into the chamber like a scene from a bad horror flick.

  Carrying a metal pot with a wick burning in front of a shiny metal plate, a medieval guard steps through the dark doorway. My God, a stairway around the room… without even so much as a guardrail! Talk about a lawsuit waiting to happen!

  A robed man and a He-Man-looking character enter behind the quintessential soldier holding the antiquated lantern. Light glints off gleaming hilts. Are those swords made of metal?

  I shake my head, trying to dislodge the illusion. Surely if this were a dream, I would not be thinking in the archaic clichés Kyle teases me about? Everything, including my speech, would be more gothic.

  I strain to catch what the new arrivals are saying.

  “Merithin, nemdinn sund i minna enn korter getur petta ekki bidid?” My brow furrows with irritation as I realize the futility of eavesdropping.

  Another language. Really? You’ve got to be kidding me! I follow my gut instinct, sarcastically muttering words that blaze into being inside my head, “Holy crap and holy cow! That’s a foreign language they’re speaking now. What I don’t have and I really need is to know these words instantly.”

  Instinctually I lift my hand in the direction of the robed figure marching down the stairs. I finish the rhyme with a sigh emanating from the depths of my soul, “I am in a hurry and assume it’s fine, so copy the info from that mind to mine.”

  Fierce tingling, cascading from my head to my toes, causes my jaw to hang slack. My eyes widen when blue light arcs from my hand to the robed figure racing back to me before I blink an eye.

  “Your Highness, I assure you, the war council will be very interested in this,” the robed elder pleads with He-Man. “I think I have summoned what will be the answer to the demons plaguing our kingdom. I meditated on the need to conquer our foes then performed a scrying. I was shown these five warriors in the dream-state. I have never accomplished a seeking across the planes so quickly as when I sought and found these soldiers. I know I was destined to use my Summoning for this purpose.”

  “Merithin, what can five men do against the legions of demons besieging us?” The princely hulk sulks. “I have studied war all my life. I do not see how these five men, or even five hundred men, will be of that much assistance!”

  Thoughts fly quicker than Superman running from a kryptonite hailstorm. I can understand them. How? Was it that awful rhyme and that blue light? What else could it have been? Hold on a minute… I’m in a robe and carrying a staff while surrounded by an armed entourage…

  Our hosts have made it halfway down the stairs. I’m running out of time!

  “Humph.” My brow crinkles as a thought occurs. If I’m a mage with magical powers, how ‘bout another spell? It’s worth a shot.

  “Well, here I am and really confused,

  Things are a mess, I feel totally abused.

  I’m calling a ‘time-out’ as anyone would,

  Using my magic, as you know I should.

  Time will speed up, but only for me.

  Until I count deliberately, one two and three.”

  Intuitively I give another push from within. My thoughts center on the movie about the guy whose molecules sped up so fast that time around him seemed to stand still. An orgasmic tingling sensation turns my palms numb as energy surges through me. Gritting my teeth, I struggle to hold the desired effect firmly in mind as the power I have invoked slips and slides around me like a bundle of oily snakes. A blue flash tinges the world around me. A stab of pain slices through my skull, settling to a dull ache.

  I wipe sweat from my brow. That was close. If I had to hold on to it a second longer… My thoughts grind to a halt. I stare, transfixed by the torch on the wall. The flame in the sconce is moving slowly, too slowly. I can see it expanding then receding.

  “I did it! Oh… my… God… I really did it!” I shriek. The silence of the room, void of even the melody of the flickering flame, causes my voice to echo. An ache that blossomed in my skull with the slow-time spell grows with each rebounding sound.

  “Now that I have a little time let’s sort things out,” I mumble to no one in particular, trying to pinpoint the exact location of the pain that seems to encompass my entire head.

  Giving up on the ache that has settled into a throbbing pattern, I rack my brain for the last thing I can recall before that light blinded me. We’d just completed the first round of that game Kyle signed me up for. Kyle! I was looking at Kyle. A quick search reveals that my husband is not in the small round room.

  So Kyle’s gone, Chad looks different… Who are the rest of these guys? I take a closer look at my companions. A memory plows through my mind like a freight truck: I enter the orientation room, approaching a group of guys who will be my teammates for the weekend of live action role playing – LARPing. They introduce themselves as their favorite D&D characters.

  It couldn’t be… I step over to the reed-slender giant. My hand trembles as I move aside the white locks, revealing pointed ears, confirming my suspicions. When I take my hand away, the ivory strands stick straight out instead of falling back into place. It is George. Okay, this is too weird. Let’s see if I can wake up the others.

  “Like the guy with the watch,

  in the movie I’ve seen,

  I have gotta have help,

  from the rest of the team.

  So with a quick touch,

  unfreeze them I will,

  That way they can help me,

  the blanks to fill.”

  Energy caresses my senses like a dream lover. My hands begin to feel as if they are light as a cloud. An azure glow surrounds them, sinking into the skin. Even sounding like Yoda seems to work. My lips twist in a wry smile as the pounding in my skull multiplies. Why does it have to be pleasure and pain? I shake my head, trying to jar the ache out of place.

  Shrugging, I ignore the headache. I place my staff on the ground and begin one more rhyme.

  “To grab the spotlight when they awa
ke,

  A mirror from this staff I now make.”

  A bolt of blue arcs from my hand, encompassing the rod. I wince at the stab of fire striking into my skull like a blow to the head. Looks like pain wins over pleasure when I only use a little energy. I crack my eyes open to narrow slits in time to see the wood split down the middle, contorting and stretching. It rises from the ground, a gaping hole framed by oak. Blue fog congeals in the gap. In a matter of seconds, a six-foot-by-six-foot mirror stands in place of the staff.

  A migraine begins to throb behind my eyes as I stumble over to the group. My hand reaches for Chad first. At least I can reason with him. My fingers graze the hand he rests on his sword hilt. The small spark of power causes me to squint as I mumble, “Have we hit the Twilight Zone or what

  Rebecca, you okay?” I nod, wincing at the knife stabbing into my skull.

  Questions tumble out of his mouth like water from a broken dam. “You are so short. Where’d you get the shiny robe? How’d you change so fast?”

  The flow of confusion ebbs. He glances around the room, choking on whatever he was about to say. The frozen world renders him speechless.

  “I don’t think I’m shorter; you’re taller.” I pull him over to the mirror. Chad gapes like a newly caught bass. “Listen for a minute; that’s all I ask.”

  “If you can explain any of this, I am all ears.” The armored man’s eyes rove the reflection of his enhanced physique.

  “You remember our gaming characters: an elf, dwarf, and Prince Charming? Don’t our companions seem familiar? Did you hear the thunder and see that weird light?”

  I pause for a breath, grateful that the migraine is stabilizing into a manageable pattern. Chad gives a cautious nod, and I rush onward. “The guys on the stairs, I heard them talking. The robed one is a mage. I think the other is royalty. The mage said something about summoning us from another plane, as in dimension. Call me crazy, but I don’t think we are on Earth anymore.” Filling my lungs, I prepare more evidence.

  Before I can utter a syllable, I feel confusion ebbing from the man next to me as palpably as a shout of denial. Chad thrust his hands out before him. “Whoa, what do you mean you heard them? You can understand what they said? Whatever language they speak, it doesn’t sound like anything I have ever heard. I’ve traveled Europe and parts of Asia, know Latin and some French. The intonation is similar, but I can’t understand a word.”

  I nod encouragingly. “I used magic, actual, like, for-real magic, to learn their language. Look, I’ll wake the others from the time spell if you’ll keep them quiet long enough for me to explain what I have pieced together.”

  A knowing smile brightens Chad’s handsome features as we maneuver the mirror into place. I move from one familiar stranger to the next, tapping each in turn. My new ally trails behind, pointing out the mirror, making sure they notice their unrecognizable reflections.

  Mirror Scene

  “You guys want to know what the heck is going on?” Chad’s voice rings out as I wake George last. “Rebecca is one step ahead of us.”

  Taking a deep breath, I clear my throat, drawing their attention from the mirror. “I cast a spell to give us a few minutes to figure things out. Where we are I don’t know, but let me tell you what I do know. We have been summoned to this world by that mage”—I tilt my head toward the stairs—“across a transdimensional barrier. This kingdom is under attack. The mage’s meditation and scrying told him we are the answer to a war they can’t win on their own. So he brought us here.”

  “And how, oh wise one, do you know all this?” pipes up the same old, pessimistic George in a voice pitched a few octaves higher.

  “Take a look around. It should be obvious.” A sigh escapes while I attempt to rein in my impatience. Stepping in front of the mirror, I draw their attention to the object once more.

  “My gaming character for that hotel’s specialized version of live action role playing was an archmage. Chad was the master healer. Eric certainly lives up to ‘Charles, the Prince Charming.’ George, have you noticed your ears? The druid elf lives. And Darren, wasn’t your crusader a dwarf? Is this what you all envisioned your gaming characters to be?”

  Eric backs up a step, his eyes round as saucers, shaking his head in denial. “There was a bright light: Wham! I’m Charles – the person I’ve dreamed of being.”

  Eric looks over his shiny armor. His voice raises in panic.“I died… that’s it –I’m dead! It must’ve been a heart attack, or a stroke.” He looks around, “This has gotta be the strangest heaven ever… Gamer Heaven!”

  Darren marches toward Eric. The dwarf brings one sturdy boot down on Eric’s foot, hard. “Feel that? You ain’t dead! No way we all died at the same time. Now shut it and let the woman talk!”

  The rest of the puzzle falls into place. “Somehow the mage must have scryed and found us back on Earth. We were playing as warriors. When he pulled us from our dimension, the spell reconfigured us to fit this world according to the mind-set and powers of our adventure characters!” Sensing disbelief overwhelming the minds of some of my companions, I stumble in mid thought.

  “Like, whoa, man… That ain’t possible! Physical change, that’s just molecules rearranged.” Eric taps on his head. “But in here, movement, knowledge… that’s impossible! I couldn’t even score a hit on those stupid gremlins with a fake sword. Man, there ain’t no friggin’ way I’m a swordsman. You can’t gain instant knowledge, much less skills!” Eric’s cheery demeanor evaporates under the blazing glare of chaos that sorcery and magic invokes. “There gotta be a logical explanation. This is just a dream. That’s it… just a very realistic dream.”

  I recall Eric stating he was a program engineer. Science majors are so grounded in facts that explaining this world of magic to him is going to be a royal pain in the butt.

  “How do you think I figured out what they said? I used a spell to learn their language in less time than it has taken me to explain it to you.” I feel Eric’s pig-headed, logical stubbornness as tangibly as a shouted refusal. I grind my teeth, muttering, “Helvitis asni.” A smile lifts the corner of my lips at being able to call him a stupid fool in a foreign language I didn’t know a few minutes ago. The migraine continues to grow by the minute. Do they think I can hold this spell forever? We don’t have time for this crap…

  “Fine. You think this might be a dream. That’s understandable; after all, this is pretty surreal. But don’t start acting like this isn’t your life. If you charge up those stairs, trying to slice your way free of this dream, someone is bound to get in a lucky shot. Or maybe that mage has a lightning bolt with your name on it.” I jab Eric’s broad chest. “Will you feel the pain as cold steel pierces warm flesh, or will you wake up? Is there a chance, no matter how unlikely, that dead will be dead?” I pin him with my best motherly gaze then turn to include the rest of the gang. “Until we have absolute proof, we had better start acting like this is our reality.”

  I spin on my heel, pointing to our approaching host once again. “They brought us here to be some sort of heroes in a war we know nothing about. Until we find out exactly what is going on, we’d better get our act together and play the part of the people they expect us to be!”

  A knowing forms deep inside: high intuition points have granted me a certainty beyond certainty. “We were ready to use the characters we created for a weekend of fun. Now we’ve become those characters and we might be playing for our lives. We can’t afford to take the chance that this is not our new reality.”

  Eric nods, “If I wake up, then I’ll get a good laugh: Until I’m back in my real bed, better safe than dead.”

  Heads nod so I get down to business. “First off, we need to know everyone’s character strengths.”

  “Who died and made you the first woman president?” George manages to sound insulted, arrogant, and snide all at once. “We may be stuck in the Middle Ages, but we can still operate like a democracy. The first thing we should do is elect a leader, someone to
speak for us as a group. We should introduce ourselves and the characters we created, their strengths and their weaknesses. Then we will vote on who we think should represent us. I will go first.”

  “I received a promotion to assistant manager of our accounting department; that means I’ve got great people skills. I’m also at least ten years older than all of you: more world experience. Keep that in mind, too.

  “From now on I’m Allinon. As a druid, I have an affinity with nature. The magic I possess deals with living things as well as enhancing the properties of herbs. Right now I can tell by the crisp feel of the air that winter is almost at an end. I’m a master archer.” He taps a quiver of arrows on his back. Drawing his slender, delicate-looking sword for emphasis, he continues. “And a master swordsman. I have never handled a sword before, but this feels completely natural.” Sheathing the long blade, he smirks. “If the world has gone mad, it has taken me with it.”

  Chad steps up before Allinon can elaborate further. “Jamison the master healer. I’m also a master swordsman and master of the martial arts. This being my first gaming character, I hadn’t decided on anything else.”

  “I’m Charles,” says the dark swordsman, “a paladin with high charisma points. Like the typical paladin, my aura acts as a defensive barrier, slowing down attacks and reducing the damage I take in a fight. Also, I’m practically impossible to poison. Unlike the typical paladin, I can’t work even the most basic healing spell. Due to my character’s lack of… um… piousness.” His leer leaves no doubt that promiscuity held a large part in the penalization. “The gods have taken that ability from me. Life’s not all bad, though. I’ve worked at weapon skills instead and mastered all known weapons, even some my gaming group invented.”

  Darren speaks next. “Jerik the dwarf. No magic ‘cept what I use as master smith. Dwarves are incredibly resistant to sorcery and poison. That ax”—he points to the weapon strapped to his back—“is my weapon of mastery. My character has one unique ability: besides being able to enchant weapons, I’ve got a slight telepathic skill. Telepaths are almost unheard of in dwarves, but our Dungeon Master allowed an exception because of a history I wrote. The short version: Jerik comes from a colony of dwarves who’ve developed this trait. It can only be used with other telepaths.”