by Serena Rose
What…what was going on? Was my dream trying to make it seem like she was the author?
I didn’t ponder on it for long, because her kind eyes crinkled at the corners and she reached down to pat my dark, dark hair. I could smell the faint scent of caramel empanadas and ink on her wizened hand, and I pressed my head into her touch.
“I miss you,” I murmured, feeling the calm and certainty of her presence fill me.
“I miss you too, beba. But you’re about to blossom into everything you’re meant to be.”
“Am I, Abuela?”
She nodded, her long white hair bouncing out of her loose bun. “Yes, my darling. Just remember, you must open your eyes to see all. I am so proud of you.”
I reached up for her, longing to be pulled into a hug, but she faded into shadows and I slipped down into deep, deep slumber.
CHAPTER TWO
Someone had told me when I was younger that I would get used to chores. Apparently, I missed that part of growing up, because I still found my errands as tedious as I did when I was younger. To the bank for this. To the DMV for that. Just an endless list of things that were ninety percent busy work and one hundred percent soul crushing.
Thankfully, I ended up at the tourist trap I was hoping to catch just in time for the afternoon busk. It took me a few more minutes than I would have liked to find a spot, set up my change-cauldron and pull out my guitar, but I was all set and ready to go before losing too many opportunities to make a dime.
This time, instead of my usual upbeat fare, I settled on a melancholy aria that seemed to fit the wistful promises that often were carried by fresh spring breezes. My fingers plucked at the strings dolefully, and I drew out long, breathy notes as I sang of past lovers and broken dreams.
Thankfully, the crowd seemed fairly into it. Perhaps it was the vague unsettling that came with changing seasons, or apprehension at the changes inevitably coming with the warmer sun, but either way I ended my hour routine with fifteen more dollars than I was expecting. Not bad at all.
Quickly, I cleaned up and rushed off to find a nice place to eat and read before the dinner busk. I grabbed a chili dog, and gratefully found that there was no one in my little hidey hole.
It wasn’t really a hidey hole as much as it was a couple of very low branches under a luxurious weeping willow that were at perfect sitting and reclining height. I loved to perch myself on them, spread my legs out on the boughs, then lean against the strong trunk and rest. This time was no different and I settled into my spot, hanging my bag from a branch above and fishing the book back out.
Within seconds I was pulled back into the novel. I lost track of time as I sank into intrigue, politics and battles. Again, I found it strange to be routing against my own species, but it was clear that the rage-filled prince was dead set on the utter extinction of all fey. I was just getting to his plans of storming the main dragon keep, and the unveiling of his new weapon, when the words just stopped.
“What the hell?”
I muttered to myself, turning the page.
But that was blank too.
And the next.
And the next.
Angrily, I flipped through the rest of the book to see that it was all empty. It had totally left off mid-sentence!
I made several angry noises, and yanked my bag down to me. Whipping out my cell phone, I quickly searched for another copy of the book to buy. Clearly this was a misprint. But try as I might, I couldn’t find a single record of it online. Not on any book selling websites, forums, not even fanfiction. I found my anger turning to bewilderment and I shot the book an incredulous look.
“What on earth is happening?” I murmured, turning it over in my hands as I inspected it. As if the cover was going to reveal some sort of secret that would explain everything. But even investigating the author’s name revealed nothing. How could that be? Everything was on the internet nowadays.
Everything!
My temper boiling over, I shoved the book back into my messenger bag. In doing so, my eyes caught sight of the kamikaze leather-bound volume from the previous night. I was definitely not in the mood to move on from this unfinished world and get into a new series, and yet I found myself opening it anyway.
My Dearest Beba,
I paused, eyebrow raised. This had to be a coincidence. It made sense my Abuela would have Latina literature. It wasn’t like this was specifically talking to me.
I just want you to know that I am so very proud of you. And if you are reading this, I am terribly sorry that I have left you. But we are all given time to walk the earth, and I have been blessed enough to walk many.
My hands were shaking as my eyes ran across the weathered pages. This couldn’t be. Had Abuela written me a letter? But why would she bind it like a book? Did she have a book worth to say? Then why hide it on her shelf? Why not have it presented to me by the executor of the will?
And now that this is in your hands, you will too.
I will what? What was she talking about?
Soon everything will seem quite terrifying, and more than impossible. You will feel weak, and small and they will tell you that you are weak and small. But you are not. Greatness runs through your blood, you need only let it flow through you.
“What are you talking about, Abuela?” I murmured, turning the page, the half-finished book beside me long forgotten.
You will hear the call soon. The important thing is that you read all of this before you answer. This is no game you are entering, but rather an endless challenge of blood and bones. You must win. You must help them.
“What the hell is with all this cryptic talk. Who’s them? What call?” I knew I was yelling at a book, but the book was being particularly obnoxious. It was one thing to evoke the voice of my beloved dead Abuela, it was another to be purposefully mystifying.
As if in an answer, the book I had previously jammed into my bag fell out onto the ground. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes.
“Not you too,” I grumbled, swinging down to grab it. As I snatched it up, that same corner sliced my hand again and I let out a very long string of curses.
Righting myself in the tree, I held my finger as it dripped blood down onto both books. More curses, and I jammed the finger into my mouth as if sucking on it would somehow make it better.
But the damage was already done. Several droplets of scarlet red were now on my Abuela’s diary, soaking into the pages. I grabbed a napkin from my chili dog to wipe them away, but before I could, they were rapidly absorbed into the parchment. My mouth fell open, and chills ran up my spine. I was completely ready to throw the leather-bound novel as far as I could, when the pages suddenly began turning on their own, as if possessed.
I knew I should have been terrified. I was certainly perplexed. But I couldn’t help but feel an adrenalin-filled sort of elation as what was impossible became reality right before my eyes.
The pages continued to flip, faster and faster, until it finally settled on a spread towards the end. Cautiously, I looked it over to see that it looked like an illustration of a swirling pool of water.
To answer the call, blood is required. Spill the red from the anchor of that world, sharp and aged.
One can use a mirror, but risks destruction of themselves should the glass come too hard.
Water is best, with its ripples and constant force.
It will carry you there, and everywhere.
Find them. Save them.
Answer the call.
“What call?” I snapped again.
I was getting tired of asking questions that remained permanently unanswered, so I grabbed both books and put them as far down in my knapsack as I could. But at the last moment, I realized I should try to prevent any future injury to myself, and took the dagger-like lock off of the dragon novel.
Channeling all my anger into the sharp piece of bone or whatever it was, I threw it as far into the park as I could. Let some homeless person find it and sell it to a collector as a sudden boo
n. Or let a police officer confiscate it. I didn’t care. I just wanted it gone.
The dagger, however, seemed to have other ideas.
I heard a low whooshing sound and suddenly it was hurtling back for me. I tried to dodge, but it was so fast, so impossibly fast.
Pain blossomed in my shoulder, and it took me several moments to turn my head and see the weapon was sticking out of my own flesh.
Gasping, I stumbled out of the tree, my bag still tangled about my arms. Someone noticed me, and I heard them ask if I was okay, but I couldn’t answer. My mind was blank with pain and shock. How had it done that? I had thrown it. This was real. It couldn’t be real.
I felt hands trying to stop me, to sit me down, but I kept stumbling, kept pushing forward. I felt like if I stopped, I would die. And I didn’t want to die.
I wanted to live.
Suddenly there was no ground below me, and I felt myself toppling forward. My mind couldn’t put together what was happening until my face hit water, and that was right about when I remembered the park pond.
No. I didn’t want to drown. I didn’t want to hurt. I didn’t want to end like this.
I tried to pull myself up to the surface, but my body couldn’t move. I sank down, down, down into the dark, cold water. It was in that black wetness that I could practically hear my Abuela whisper the words from her book to me.
Blood is required.
Well…I was bleeding.
Water is best, with its ripples and constant force.
I was in water too.
With a sigh, I finally let go of the death tight grip I had on this reality. I no longer belonged here, and resigned myself with being swept away.
Except I wasn’t swept away.
As soon as I let go of my stranglehold on survival, the water swirled below me, coalescing in a spinning miasma of glowing blue. For the briefest of moments, I was confused, but that faded as the force pulled me to it. Irresistible. Unrelenting.
The call.
I didn’t fight as I was dragged closer and closer, until finally I was pulled through the event horizon.
My mind stopped trying to rationalize any of the situation, recognizing that there was no logic to what was happening. I tumbled through a space that I could not define as real or a dream. It seemed to take forever but at the same time, not even a single second.
I felt like I was stretched out between ages and realities, like too little frosting over too much cake. My mind split from itself, and was everywhere, yet nowhere. It was an incomprehensible jumble of oxymorons, and before I could decipher a single bit of it, I was spit out into a singular reality once more.
I let out a groan as I slammed down into the grass. Pain radiated throughout me again, but when I looked to my shoulder, the blade was gone. Startled once more, I sat up to see the dagger was in my hand, and the wound was rapidly closing, taking the pain with it.
“That…was unexpected,” I whispered to myself.
Slowly, I stood, and my head was not appreciative of it. I felt like I had the worst case of vertigo. Wincing against the bright sun, I looked around to see that I was in some sort of field somewhere. Taking a deep breath, I realized I could smell nothing of the city, or the sights I was used to. Just grass and fresh air.
…And maybe a little manure.
I took maybe one step, before a rock went hurtling right by my face and I came to a startled stop.
Looking around, I just barely managed to dodge another rock before seeing the source of the projectiles. What looked like several young men, armed with slingshots and shepherd’s crooks.
“Hey! Stop that!” I called out to them. Who even used slingshots anymore? What was this, the sixties?
“Witch!” one called, voice shrill and thick with an accent that I couldn’t place. “Sorceress!”
Ah, so it seemed that I hadn’t exactly been alone when I had been burped out…wherever I was. Judging by the bleating of sheep being carried to me on the wind, I hoped it wasn’t someplace far off, like Whales. I didn’t exactly have my passport handy.
Why was I worrying about passports when I just had been ripped through the fabric of reality itself? Why wasn’t I more upset and mind-boggled about everything that had just happened in the past few minutes? From the boomerang dagger, to my dip in the pond, to my instantaneous transport to who-knows-where and the sudden healing of my previous (probably) fatal wound?
I supposed my mind just couldn’t compute all of it at once, and so it was just dealing with the nuisance at hand. Which just so happened to be these rock-happy herders.
“Look, I know that seemed kinda crazy, but I promise there’s a reasonable explanation for it. If you could just get me to your closest phone, we can sort all this out.” I took a step towards them, but they just readied more rocks. I stopped, hands up by my head, and noticed that their clothing was pretty strange.
Almost...medieval.
That revelation gave me pause, just in time for several riders to crest the top of the hill and come barreling towards me. I stood, frozen, not quite sure what to do now as they circled me while giving a wide berth.
Once I was encircled, the shepherds finally dared to near me, running from where they had been ducking behind rocks.
“She’s a witch!” I heard what I guessed was their leader gasp breathlessly. “The lightning struck the earth and then she fell out in a rush of water!”
I looked up at the riders surrounding me, trying to make out the expression on their faces. They looked to all be strapping men, all experienced and slightly grizzled from the experience that comes with age.
“We saw the lightning as we returned from the hunt,” one said, his voice deep and gritty. Although his tone was flat, I heard the faintest sound of disbelief.
“What say you, woman, is this true?”
“Um…maybe?” I answered uncertainly. “To be entirely honest I’m not exactly sure how I got here.”
“And what are these strange garbs you are wearing?” another snapped. “And why are you soaked?”
“Again. Really don’t know. It would be really nice if you guys could take me back to civilization so I can get home. I promise, I don’t want to be any more in your hair than I have to.”
“Where is your home, witch?”
“First of all, stop calling me that. Second of all, the United States. Which I’m guessing I’m not there now, considering the accents.”
They all exchanged glances, and then tensions seemed to boil over without warning.
“She dares to speak to a man like an equal.”
“She wears trousers flush to the skin! It is indecent.”
“This is sorcery, plain as day. We should burn her and be done with it. Return her up to the sky that threw her down.”
But amidst the yelling, and jockeying to be heard, the original speaker slowly dismounted his horse and walked to me. He was tall, and impossibly broad, with a beard that no doubt had once been jet black, but was now grey about his jaw and mouth.
“I remember,” he murmured as he approached me. “I was but a child when it happened. There was a storm, a great and powerful one that shook the earth and stole away roofs as well as cattle.
“It was in my house that the lightning struck down, but it set no fire. Instead, there was a woman, just as you. With hair of the deepest, darkest ebony, and skin of golden brown. Eyes so green you swore they were the stars themselves, plucked from the sky.” The rest of the group fell quiet as he finally reached me, grey eyes looking down from where he towered over my form.
“She asked for food, and water. She said she had been traveling for too long, and was weak. I cared for her, and when she was strong enough to rest, she whispered a blessing in my ear.” His expression was unreadable, but I felt like I could almost see the scene play out before me.
“That blessing came with one important rule. I must help the next storm-born to be brought to our land.” To my utter surprise, the man knelt before me, large head bowed. “I
have waited long for your arrival, and as Chief of the Myvok clan, you are our guest.”
The other men tensed, seemingly just as surprised as I was, but I tried to recover as best I could.
“Uh, thanks, Chief Myvok.”
“Please, call me Leryk,” he said gravely, before standing up.
“Lyric? As in what’s written in a song?”
“I have never heard it compared that way, but yes, I suppose that is right.” To the chagrin of those around him, he offered me his hand. “Come. You shall ride with me to our village where we will look at that wound of yours.”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” I said, blushing slightly as I followed him to his horse.
“That is what our healer will decide.” With that he got onto his mount like it was the easiest thing in the world, and I could only stare up at him, open-mouthed.
If he thought it was odd, he didn’t say anything, and instead pulled me up to sit in front of him. The giant horse didn’t seem to be bothered by my added weight, but the insides of my thighs were certainly protesting at being stretched so far apart.
“Hold on,” he said, before grasping the reins in front of me and riding back over the hill at an easy pace.
As we rode along, the gravity of the situation began to descend on me.
I was a young girl, alone with a group of wild men in a time period that I was pretty sure was not my own. The only reason the massive old man was helping me was because I reminded him of some other magic lightning lady who had come before.
Somehow, in less than ten minutes, my life had changed irrevocably. And the farther we got from the fields, the more I had the feeling that I wasn’t going to survive it.
CHAPTER THREE
We rode for at least fifteen minutes or so before the first signs of the village loomed at the edge of my sight. And as we approached, my theories were confirmed. I was definitely not in my current time period at all. Houses were cobbled together from stone, and thatch, with everything speaking to a time long since passed before my generation.
