by Greg Curtis
“Yes! I'm here!” He gestured to the empty seat beside him. “And I'm here.” Then he turned and pointed at the seat on the other side. “And I'm here as well.”
“Shite!” Dariya swore as she finally understood what he was trying to tell her, and the irony in it. He really was talking to himself! It wasn't just a saying in his case. He wasn't speaking to an imaginary friend. He was literally talking to himself! This wasn't madness. It was something far beyond that.
“Don't be rude, Girl! Didn't your parents ever teach you better than that?”
“Balls!” Now she was being told off for swearing by a man who actually believed he was in three different places at once!
“Stop that, Girl! Now I've told you. If I don't remember it,” he placed his hand on his chest, “and I don't remember it,” he pointed to his right, “and I don't remember it,” he pointed to the other side, “then it didn't happen.”
“By the Lady!” Dariya had no idea how to even respond to that. Was there actually anything she could say that would break through his madness? She doubted it. His lunacy was all encompassing. But she had to try.
“There's no one there, Mortimer. But even if there was and he was you, he couldn't remember anything you don't.” Then she mentally kicked herself. She was trying to reason with someone a madman.
“No, I –” he gestured to his right, “remember things that will happen three weeks from now. And I –” he pointed to the other side, “remember things that will happen a month from now. And over there –” he pointed to another empty chair behind her, “I remember things that will happen a full year from now. And I don't remember Baen being dead. I remember him being alive. I remember seeing him yesterday – and also next year. You understand?”
“You're talking to other versions of yourself – from the future?” Dariya was glad she was sitting down, because otherwise she might have fallen! How did she even deal with madness of this level?!
“Yes!” He smiled. But then he frowned. “No!”
Maybe reason would help, she thought. Though really she knew, nothing would help. But for some reason she felt the need to try. “If you're talking to yourself from the future, and Baen's not dead, then you must know how he survived. Or what happened to him?”
“No.” He answered her glumly.
“Why not?”
“Because no one ever talks to me!”
Dariya threw her hands up in the air in frustration. He was talking to his future self but that future self didn't know anything because no one talked to him! It was beyond ridiculous! But then she remembered when she had last thought him mad he had directed her to a book. If he could see into the future then this might explain how. Perhaps he was right about the wizard. Maybe there was still little hope.
“I'll go and get you your lunch.” She stood up and headed for the stairway housing. “It's soup.”
“With crispy toast?” He looked up at her hopefully. “You know I like the toast – and well buttered!”
“Of course.” She sighed, and carried on. And this wasn't even the most challenging task of the day. This afternoon she had to go and take Millie for her walk, and she might be even crazier than Mortimer!
Maybe this was the answer to her problem she thought as she reached the stairs – her future and what she could do with it. She could care for half crazed Walkertons!
Chapter Thirty One
Exhaustion. That was the first thing Baen knew when he woke up. He was tired. Groggy as well and more than a little confused. His head was throbbing painfully and the world kept threatening to go spinning.. But mostly he was tired. Which seemed strange when he had just woken up.
At least though as he lay there in the straw, he had some memories floating back to him. Bad memories, but still enough to tell him a little of where he was and what had happened. He'd fallen from the sky! But why was he lying in straw? Or for that matter lying on such a strange angle? That he couldn't remember. But he was sure that this wasn't a bed. That he hadn't gone to bed.
He opened his eyes a little wider, something that they didn't want to do, and quickly spotted a bird staring back at him. A blurry crane. And that didn't make any sense. Until he tried to move and immediately started to slide down the straw.
That set him panicking and he instinctively grabbed hold of the straw to keep from slipping all the way out of his makeshift bed. All while the big bird in its nest stared at him curiously. But that sudden burst of alarm also woke him up fully. And when he finally managed to open his eyes wide enough to look around, it was to discover he was on a roof. A thatched roof.
“Shite!” He cursed quietly. He'd landed on a roof! How was he going to get down? And before anyone noticed him! But the answer came to him quickly enough when he remembered how he'd got here. He'd floated. He'd done something incredibly stupid and dangerous and enchanted himself until he weighed so little he could float like a balloon. He could have killed himself! But then he remembered the rest. He'd been falling to his death. There hadn't been much of a choice. Cook himself to death with his magic or hit the ground like a bullet. Neither option had been good. Except that as more memories came back to him, he realised he hadn't done it for that reason at all. Simply because he'd been cold and tumbling out of control. It wasn't exactly sage like thinking.
He also slowly remembered that he hadn't removed the enchantment. And sure enough when he finally dared to try it and pushed against the thatch underneath him, he discovered that he was still as light as air.
After that getting down was easy. He simply stood up – something that required almost no strength at all – slipped a little as he did so, and jumped. Landing was tricky as he discovered it was too easy to bounce almost as high as he'd fallen, but after three or four attempts at it, he got it right. Then he let the enchantment go and promptly collapsed to the ground. His legs had forgotten what it felt like to weigh as much as he did.
“Shite!” He cursed his stupidity.
“You all right Wizard?” a man called to him as he crawled back to his hands and knees.
“Fine!” Baen called back. He didn't even bother telling the man he wasn't a wizard. He was long past that point. Instead, he concentrated on standing up. Something he eventually managed with the aid of a fence. How come he was so weak?
After that he started surveying the world around him, trying to work out where he was.
And the first thing he discovered was that he was on a farm. He'd just jumped down from the farmhouse roof and was now standing in the front yard, staring at fields full of sheep and cattle.
“Where am I?” He asked the farmer who was standing a little distance from him with a pitchfork in his hands and a worried look on his grizzled face.
“Axleroad,” the man answered him nervously. “A little ways out of Wheating.”
“Thank you.” Baen pinched the top of his nose a little, hoping to squeeze away some of the pain. He didn't know where either of those places were. “And how long have I been here?”
“Two days. I was going to get you down but the ladder's broke.”
“Two days?” That seemed like a long time to leave a man lying on the roof.
“I thought you was dead,” the farmer explained. “Fell from one of them dirigibles. No point wasting time getting a dead man down. Rain brings 'em down in the end.”
“Of course,” Baen agreed with him. There was no point in disagreeing with the man. He was nervous enough already; why make him angry? Especially when he was clutching that pitchfork so tightly.
“I don't suppose you could spare a cup of tea?”
“Maeve!” The farmer yelled at the house without turning his head away. “Wizard wants tea!”
“He's a wizard?!” A woman's voice came out of the house. “Where's his wand?”
“Don't know, but he bounces and floats!”
Actually that was a point, Baen thought. Where was his staff? His rings? He felt naked without them. Instinctively he reached for them, lifting a hand and c
alling, and he felt them answer. But only just. Clearly they were a long way away. Probably back in the Hallows somewhere. Maybe in the Glade itself. But that couldn't be right. Because that was much too far away for his magic to reach. Maybe they'd also been dropped after he'd fallen from the net.
“What you doin?” The farmer asked him suspiciously.
“Just calling for my stuff. We're near the border with the Hallows?”
“Few leagues.”
“Good. Shouldn't be too long then.” He hoped. But really, he didn't know if they would be able to reach him. He might have to craft some new ones. He hoped not. Crafting a new staff would take him months. There were simply so many enchantments to place on it.
“You was in the Hallows?” The farmer's suspicion grew more pronounced.
“Flying over them. But I fell.”
“You was lucky. Them's witches' places. Demon beasts.” At that the man paused for a moment and seemed to consider something. “You ain't a witch?!”
“No. I'm not a witch.” Baen answered him quickly. He could see things going badly for him if he didn't. “Just gifted.”
“Gifted?” The farmer stared at him suspiciously.
“I don't mean you any harm,” Baen quickly told him. The man looked nervous. “I'll leave as soon as I can.” But how long would that take, he wondered? And would he have any strength?
The wife came out soon after that with a mug of tea, and Baen gratefully accepted it from her. He drank it down fast, and didn't mention that it was barely warm or complain about the chips in the mug. Aribeth might do that – she was fussy – he just wanted to get his thoughts back together. And after what the Fae had done to him, he suspected that wasn't going to be easy.
The tea helped, but still his head was pounding and things kept slipping in and out of focus. It was hard to concentrate on anything. But then even when he had been awake in his prison he hadn't really been that alert.
But some things he did remember. One above all else. Caris had been crying. He'd never made her cry before. He also thought that Nyri had been yelling at people at one point. She'd brought the book and then people had started arguing. He assumed that was the book of enchantments he'd got the spell from. After that someone had said something about banishing him. The ride in the net had followed and then the fall. None of the memories were particularly pleasant. But he had enough to work with. To piece what had happened back together.
When he did, one question stood clear. Why had they banished him? He couldn't quite remember. And for how long was he banished? Could he object? It was just so hard to concentrate.
“Thank you.” He handed the mug back to the wife. It was almost as bad as his aunt's tea but he was still grateful for it.
“I'm sorry for the trouble I've put you to,” he told the farmer. “I'll just head over there to the road and wait for my stuff.”
“It's alright,” the man answered him. But he kept his grip tight on the pitchfork.
With that Baen turned and headed down the path to the road and a tree with some large roots rising out of the ground. Ones that were high enough to make a seat. So he sat down on them, leaned back against the trunk and called for his stuff again. It was closer now, but still very far away.
But that was alright. He needed to rest. Baen closed his eyes, wished briefly that he knew where his hat was, and waited.
A couple of hours later it started arriving. He raised his hand and a few of his rings flew on to his fingers like bullets. It made him feel a little more like his old self again. Just the connection to his old enchantments seemed to help.
Next his pack came streaking across the sky, powered by the pull of the rings inside it. He couldn't help but notice as he gratefully grabbed it to him, that the farmer across the way was watching with a suspicious look on his face. Especially when he opened his pack and pulled his pistols and belts from it. He also found a rather stale and slightly mouldy oat bar to chew on. Trail mix that had seen better days. Still he ate it hungrily and didn't complain.
But only moments later his staff flew into his hands and he no longer cared. He had all his stuff – save his hat which wasn't enchanted. All that was left to do was to find his wheeler and go home. But that he remembered, was probably a long way away. He'd left it at the cliff where he'd fought the Duke and his old Fae tutor.
It was going to be a long walk, and he wasn't even completely sure of which way to go. But he set off to the north, figuring it would be in that general direction, and that he could use the time on the road to get his thoughts straight again. He was stronger, but not yet fully recovered. The walk would do him some good.
Then, when he was finally home, he could start to figure out what to do about everything else.
Chapter Thirty Two
He'd worked it out!
As she stared at the empty roosts, Dariya knew her cousin had finally worked out that the messages the pigeons carried were being changed on the way. It had to be why no more pigeons were arriving. Yesterday when no pigeons had turned up it could have simply been that he'd had no decrees to issue. Unlikely but possible. But two days in a row? No! He might not know where things had gone wrong since there were no soldiers marching up to her door, but he clearly now knew what had gone wrong.
The question was, what was he going to do about it? Up until now when he'd discovered that various towns and cities weren't doing what he commanded, his actions had been predictable and violent. As she should have expected. He'd found people to blame. Then there had been writs of execution sent. Forfeitures of estates. Demands for compensation and explanations. None of which thanks to her, had made it to their destinations. She guessed that that was about to change. The next few months were likely to be filled with messengers riding constantly from one end of the Realm to the other. And little by little everything that had been done by them, would start to be undone.
It was a pity. She thought the guards looked very fetching in their pink and blue uniforms, even if they did seem to scowl a lot more. It would be a shame when they got their old uniforms back. And the new flag looked good too as it floated from the rooftops and the dirigibles. She was actually proud of that. It added a splash of colour to a city that was rapidly becoming a forest.
Still, if J'bel was right and her uncle had been delivered to her cousin and was now likely sitting in a dungeon somewhere, things should slowly return to normal. The worst was over.
Maybe in time she could return to the Order? At least for a visit. She could take a look at her grave. Perhaps catch up with some friends. Or she could travel. That though would have to be after she'd delivered Mortimer and Millie to their family. Not that either of them would want to go. Mortimer sometimes talked about going back to his estate. But as she kept pointing out to him, that wasn't possible. His servants had left a while back so there was no one to care for him. His family had also left. The only people left in Cedar Heights that he knew were her and Millie. And if there was even a remote chance of moving Mortimer, Millie would never leave her jungle. Dariya considered it an eye sore. To Millie it was home.
The Lady only knew what things were like inside the house! She'd never gone past the front door. But she did accept that Millie had made some progress in clearing the front of the house. The front patio was free of weeds and the path leading to it as well. There was no outdoor furniture yet, as the woman still bent trees as she needed to, but maybe that would come in time.
What they needed Dariya thought as she headed over to the railing to watch the tree cutters work, chopping off branches and dragging them away, was a funeral for Baen. Or failing that since they didn't have a body, a service of some sort. Something that might shock the two of them back to reality. But she didn't know how to arrange that. She didn't even know if she should. Maybe it was kinder to leave them as they were.
“You don't look like a wizard!” One of the workmen called up to her from where he was perched in a tree, cutting off branches that were getting too close to the buildin
gs. It was a thankless task. Everything grew back within a few days and the workers would be forced to come back to cut the same branches all over again.
“There's no wizards here,” she called back. “Just me and a senile old fool.”
“I heard that!” Mortimer yelled at her.
“Good! Then at least you know what you are!” She retorted. Relations between the two of them were not good. He was simply so damned cranky! And crazy! Obviously living alone in a mansion with no one to speak to but servants to order around had not been good for him. He truly seemed to believe that everyone in the world had been put on it just to serve him. And his other selves of course.
“Ungrateful Girl!”
“And what do I have to be grateful for?” She turned around and fixed him with her most irritated stare. “The chance to serve you?!”
