

John Smith, World Jumper

Book One: Portal to Adventure

Copyright 2012

E. Patrick Dorris

Published by Smashwords

Chapter One

The world you know is but one of many. I do not mean this in the sense that astronomers are beginning to discuss; distant worlds around far away stars, possibly like our own or possibly not. The worlds I speak of are, how shall I put it, duplicates. Some of these realities seem closely intertwined, some only slightly similar to the Earth you know. But all are nearby, separated only by the differences between them.

The only way I can think of to describe these "Earths" is that they are like looking into a mirror, except that what you see is not a reflection, but another world. Add to that the myriad of depth visible, each scene behind the last, when you hold two mirrors facing each other, and you may be able to grasp the number of other worlds I am speaking.

I am neither a scientist, nor an engineer by trade, so if my description here or elsewhere is remiss in any empirical manner from reality the fault is mine alone. I can only describe what my senses tell me, or what those more learned than I have attempted to clarify for me.

How then do I speak of such things even in my limited manner? I speak from experience. I do not yet know how or why I have been given the ability, but I can and have made the transition between worlds on several occasions. What follows is my attempt to record for posterity what I have seen and done so far. Not because I am in any way special for my abilities, but so that someday when the bridge or bridges between worlds become easier to cross, my simple musings might help those in an undertaking of far more significance than my own wanderings.

In any event, the places and events described herein are as I remember them. If my memory is faulty, or fades with time, I offer, now, my humble apologies.

My story begins long ago. As I saw the last of the Great War veterans of this Earth pass on, their names trickling into obscurity, I cannot help but regret that although I was there my name shall not be counted among them.

I am an amnesiac. I do not know who my parents were, or remember anything but bits of my childhood, adolescence, or early adulthood. My limited recollection even after so many years is frustrating, but I have lived so much since my awakening that I cannot complain overmuch.

My military record lists my name as John Smith, a name assigned as an alternative when too many John Doe's were present at the morgue or in my case, luckily, the hospital. It has been my name, thanks to my Canadian nurse, since June 18th, 1918 when I awoke with no prior memories in a U.S. Military Base Hospital on the outskirts of Paris, France with a bandage wrapped around my head. I learned neither of the battle of Beleau Wood, nor that I had been found wandering that battlefield wounded and naked, for days after.

I am of average height and build, if a little on the athletic side. My brown hair becomes quite unruly if left long, and in keeping with longstanding military traditions I keep it shorn short, and my face clean shaven when practical. For those concerned with such things, my eyes are either blue or gray, depending on the light, or some say, my mood.

That I am in the prime of life is all I can say about my age. I assumed I was in my early 20's along with most of the other men I served with, but that assumption is quite probably false. In the decades since, I have not apparently aged one day. I remain as hale and hearty as ever, my face unlined by the passage of years.

If this un-aging is somehow linked to my abilities to cross worlds, learn languages remarkably quickly, and heal unnaturally fast, I cannot be sure, but I do think it highly likely. In any event, barring contact with someone who knows my past, the amnesia which blankets my memories stands as the single failure of my body to heal itself, and leaves any conjecture as to my origins and special powers just that.

As to whether I am or was, prior to that long ago day, a soldier by profession I cannot swear, but since my proclivity towards skills related to soldiering seems readily apparent, such an assumption is as likely as any I can think of.

My first personal recollection is of bright lights and a splitting headache. My second is of a pretty but serious-faced nurse gently dabbing, with a cool damp cloth, what little of my forehead was left exposed by the wrap on my head. As she noticed I was awake, she smiled gently but with a hint of something in her eyes. Was it recognition? Something did seem vaguely familiar about her, but at the time I assumed it was merely that she had been tending me for some time while I had been less than coherent. That assumption proved to be incorrect, as I will relate later, but it will suffice for now.

For some reason, over the next several days, various doctors found my case intriguing. My chart read "NN John Smith, service unknown, unit unknown. Diagnosis: Severe cranial trauma with inclusive shrapnel, inoperative, prognosis poor; disassociative shell shock, apparently normal personality." But from the way I was checked over from head to toe, poked and prodded, had lights flashed into my eyes, there was more to my case than I realized at the time.

When the sixth deceased patient in three days was pushed from the common room where I lay, a doctor came and sat down next to me. To this day I could not for the life of me tell you his name or give you a description of the man, other than that he was rather on the thin side and wore a surgeon's smock, laundered yet visibly bloodstained. Thankfully he considerately removed his thick operating apron before speaking with me. One of the smells I remember as disconcerting from that time is the coppery blood smell, poorly disguised by an alcohol wash, which seemed to follow those infernal aprons around.

He pretended to read my chart, but I could tell he was merely covering for an unsure bedside manner. After several seconds, he settled for a direct approach "I am afraid we cannot put things off any longer, we need to check your wound and change the dressing. Frankly, you've lost a sizeable chunk of your skull. Most of the shrapnel we couldn't risk removing. It's a miracle that you haven't developed a severe infection already, but it could happen at any time, or the shrapnel could shift..."

The doctor was starting to babble, so I interrupted him. "I've had worse." Why I said that, I hadn't a clue at the time. With what I know now, it makes more sense, but the doctor obviously took it as my attempt at humor. His laugh was strained. "Have you started to remember anything yet? Do you know your name or who your family is? If you take a turn for the worse, we should know whom to notify."

I thought for a minute, but nothing came of it, only a hazy fog. I shook my head gently. My nurse Lila, I now knew her name to be, wheeled an instrument tray over on a cart with squeaky metal wheels. Her face seemed even more impassive than usual but when she caught me looking at her the smallest of smiles crossed her mouth, and of more import, her eyes. That smile, one she shared on occasion, and seemingly only with me, brought me the first fleeting moments of joy I had known in my, as far as I was concerned, brief existence. Lila had pretty green eyes that were more suited to smiling than the pensive, tired-beyond-her-years look she usually wore. I couldn't blame her for her normal staid exterior, nor did I envy her for her place in this morbid institution. That slight change in her demeanor meant much to me.

The doctor carefully unwrapped the bandages from my skull. Occasionally I felt Lila's gentle fingers assisting. Blood had soaked the layers of gauze together and I heard, more than felt, the bandage being cut. After an indeterminate amount of time I felt something bounce off my shoulder and clank to the tile floor. Lila's sharp inhalation of surprise and the doctor's more reserved "Oh my," brought the distinct idea that I was a goner to the forefront of my thoughts.

Several seconds went by, seconds in which I waited for my world to fade into inevitable blackness. When I surprisingly remained conscious I noticed the distinct feeling of fingers probing my scalp, pushing gently on my intact skull. There was no pain.

"Someone must have gotten these charts mixed up," I heard the doctor exclaim. I raised my head and looked up. Lila shook her head, "No. I was there when they brought him into triage. He had a hole in his skull as big as this," she held her clenched fist up in an example. The doctor shook his head. Lila continued, becoming exasperated, "You saw the bandages Doctor; they were covered in blood and lymph. No one here mixed up the charts."

The Doctor raised his voice, "Then how can you explain this?" He tapped on my skull, right in the middle of a large hairless patch, where the hole should have been. Lila shook her head, "I can't."

I found myself temporarily ignored as they argued. Bending over, I fished around on the floor until my fingers closed on the object that had fallen, I assumed from my bandages. It was jagged, metallic. I tossed it into the examination tray with a clatter.

Argument forgotten, the Doctor stood, seized the shrapnel, picked up my chart, and strode purposefully out of the room. I turned at a light touch on the side of my head. Lila smiled as her fingers carefully traced the outline of stubbling hairs circling my former wound. Her eyes glistened slightly as she looked at mine, then away, embarrassed at her forwardness. She hesitated briefly before excusing her behavior, saying "I've never seen any wound heal this fast. It's well, some kind of a miracle."

"Thank you," I said awkwardly, of a sudden at a loss for words. Apparently I had brought her out of deep introspection. "What?" she asked. "Thank you for your concern." I added.

She was quiet for a second, looking at the floor. "So many men...boys really, this is their last, I mean, they come here and they die. Or they leave here maimed." I nodded sympathetically. Lila tucked an unruly strand of auburn hair back up under her nurse's cap before continuing, "Now you come here... I saw your head. You should be dead with all the others. I'm happy that you made it, really I am, but..."

"But what?" I prodded. Her response, sudden and emotional, surprised me. "All I can think about is that they are going to send you back into that, that meat grinder. I don't even know you, not from any of the other hundreds of faceless casualties that have come through here."

I am skilled at numerous things, calmly confident in dealing with many situations. The comforting, much less the understanding, of women is not one of them. If she had not leaned in and placed her head on my chest, I would have said something invariably bumbling in an attempt to reassure her. Instead, I contented myself with silence. I brought my hand up, and it seemed the most natural thing to squeeze her gently to me as she cried softly.

I will not bore you with minutiae concerning the next several days. Despite evidence to the contrary, the examining doctor's and Lila's testimony, I was relegated to a ward of suspected malingerers. Somehow, the hospital's administrative staff found it easier to consider that I was somehow responsible for either substituting myself for a mortally wounded soldier, or falsifying my chart once here, than to consider the seemingly unexplainable medical phenomena surrounding my brief convalescence from what should have been a fatal wound.

The psychiatrist assigned to evaluate me was not convinced of either my guilt or complicity in the matter. I stubbornly refused to exhibit any known or commonly faked symptoms of shell shock, other than the amnesia of my personal history. Although I could not remember any specifics of my own past, I was not ignorant of a significant portion of history in general. Several times during my interviews Doctor Barry would stop me and correct a minor aspect of my narration, always with a puzzled look on his face as if he were correcting some mischievous child who insisted that the sky was green when he knew full well it was not.

The best example I can remember of this was my insistence that of the two Punic wars, Rome had lost the first and soundly trounced Carthage in the second. Doctor Barry calmly corrected me, and his assertion that there had been in fact three wars with Carthage I accepted along with all his other corrections.

Errors in my memory of dry, moldering history however was not what led him to believe I was not suffering from any of the psychological maladies he had heretofore encountered during this war to end all wars. His opinion was formed by my insistence that, although I hadn't the faintest idea who I was or to which company I was assigned, and indeed whether I was even part of the United States forces, or much less whether I was Army or Marine, that I be allowed to get back in the fight as it were. Once he told me what was known concerning the circumstances and location where I had been injured, I insisted that I be allowed to help, and as soon as possible.

As there was no way anyone was going to make a charge of malingering or desertion stick, the problem became what to do with me. To make matters worse, none of the soldiers or marines who filed through to determine if they recognized any from among the several amnesiacs knew me. Other men were recognized and at least identified, whereas I remained an enigma.

Although my accent clearly marked me as American, my good doctor spent several hours investigating the possibility that I might be of another nationality. That proved to be a dead end as my German was so atrocious that no one who spoke that language could have pretended to be so un-fluent. Although by the end of his questioning, my German had improved somewhat, I still failed all recognition of words not first used by the doctor.

With French, he thought he had hit on a possibility, but while my skill with that language was passable, neither the French-Canadian, nor any of several French physicians or nurses could place my accent. One of the French doctors, a kind elderly gentleman who must have had a much broader set of life experiences than the others, noted that my usage seemed almost archaic, and that some words I frequently inserted into my sentences were completely incomprehensible to him.

In retrospect, this anomaly with languages, and other things recorded in this narrative should have given a clue to my later revealed abilities. The only reason I can give for not noticing or putting the pieces together at the time is quite simply that I wasn't looking. Frankly, I had other concerns.

But I am wandering too far from anything resembling an interesting story. I am sure that anyone still reading this is more interested in the wondrous places I have seen and the interesting characters, be they fair or foul, that I have encountered. The matter of my enlistment was resolved one day when a squad of US Marines marched smartly into the square, apparently on assignment to retrieve formerly hospitalized Marines recuperated enough and considered fit for duty.

I was able to watch them through the only slightly blurry, multi-paned windows made from leaded glass that lined the hallway where I was encouraged to exercise by Lila who for some reason continued to keep tabs on me even after I was moved from her ward. She would walk with me for a short while when on a break from her normal duties. Although I had little to discuss, I proved an adequate listener and she talked about her hometown and various more pleasant memories to distract her from life in a field hospital.

But I digress from my viewing of the Marines. Being sufficiently impressed with their military bearing I decided then and there to throw my lot in with them. Again, of the details following I do not wish to bore you. Suffice it to say that it was not without effort, and help, that I eventually became "re-assigned" to Company 4-6 4th Marine Expeditionary Force. Despite my acceptance into the unit, and feeling that I fit in there, my newfound occupation and accompanying camaraderie was to be short lived.

Much has been written about this First World War, from a broader and more informed perspective than I can give. I will not dwell on most of my experiences which were similar to those shared by millions of Marines and Soldiers. Two incidents, one of which only later became apparent was an example of my "world jumping" ability, as I have come to call it, suffice to advance my story.

Compared to what some have described as the sheer terror of charging across the crater scarred, muddy front lines, en masse, into machine gun and rifle fire, the "mopping up" operations I participated in with the 4th Marines through the forest of Belleau Wood were vastly different. It would have been peaceful walking through the mostly intact forest, except for the all too common sight and smell of dead men and dead horses, some bloated and stinking.

Broken artillery pieces and other military hardware littered the landscape. Once we came upon the still smoking wreck of a scout plane in a long yet narrow clearing. The canvas had all but burned away from the fuselage and both upper and lower wings. Upon closer inspection the right upper wing was missing except for a few burnt wooden supports and the loosely dangling support cables. Other than the wing damage, the blackened wooden frame was largely intact, as if the pilot had somehow grounded softly. What I imagined, however, as his heroic efforts in bringing his plane down were for naught. His body, horribly burned like the rest of the plane, sat rigid, still in the cockpit.

The gnawing tension of walking through such an environment, and attempting to keep ever vigilant for signs of living enemy, perhaps waiting in ambush, grated on the men in my platoon. I could see it in their faces as they walked carefully, ears listening for any sound of movement, at times hearing real noises, at other times hearing that which was not even there.

We had just crossed a small babbling stream when the first bullet struck Pvt. Hastings, who was walking some six feet in front of me, in the neck with a thunk. I remember thinking it strange that he seemed to fall in slow motion, when I noticed a movement to my left. Turning, I was surprised to see a bullet moving towards me, leaving a blur behind it as it raced towards me. Now it was not moving slowly by any means and I barely managed to throw myself out of the way in time, but the fact remains that one does not see bullets in mid-flight, or "dodge" them. At least that is what my rational mind told me later.

After an unsuccessful search for the sniper, I related my experience to the corporal in my squad who had seen action before. He reassured me that the mind plays tricks with perception and senses in combat, heightening some and dulling others. I thought no more on the matter for some time.

Although we had several engagements with straggling German units in the days that followed, nothing like that first experience happened again until we were en-route, ironically to the very hospital where I had convalesced. It was also, as you shall soon see, the end of my naive belief that the world I inhabited was unique.

Walking single file alongside a roadway, in the narrow strip of solid ground between the muddy vehicle ruts and the drainage ditch, I had the "privilege" of being last in line. This meant that I was tasked, informally, with minding any traffic approaching from behind and being the first to be muddily splashed should I not.

Not desirous of becoming any dirtier than I was already, I took this job seriously, ignoring the friendly banter coming from the front ranks. To my chagrin, as I looked back towards the approaching sound of an engine, I saw what I can only assume was a Ford Model T flatbed approaching at a high rate of speed. Not only was it traveling rapidly, but it was also swerving erratically to avoid potholes in the road and the driver seemed to be paying little attention to any pedestrian traffic. I saw a man on a bicycle, heading in the opposite direction as the truck missed being hit, by the narrowest of margins, and then only by riding into the ditch.

I shouted a warning as the truck careened towards us, making sure everyone heard me and was moving off the roadway before jumping over the ditch myself. As my luck would have it, I stumbled and ended up several steps into a field before I could catch my balance. Turning, I took a step back towards my squad. An embarrassed grin on my face, I heard a telltale clicking sound under my boot and looked reflexively down towards it. I thought briefly that stepping on a wayward land mine was quite an unglamorous way to die.

When nothing happened, I blinked and looked around. The men of my squad who were looking at me seemed stunned with surprise, the look frozen on their faces. I noticed the truck, swerving as if in slow motion. The engine noise was all wrong, deeper somehow, as if someone was playing a 78 speed phonograph record too slowly by holding pressure on the turntable.

Looking down, I saw a discarded sign lying in the grass. "Nice place for a minefield sign," I remember thinking. For some reason, until I saw that sign, I hadn't been thinking of the mine under my foot, so caught up was I in the altered sensations I was experiencing. I felt a strange upwards pressure lifting my foot, so I looked down at the ground again and saw a slight but visibly growing bulge in the ground.

I began to inhale sharply in surprise, but found that my breathing was restrained. The air seemed thicker somehow. Suddenly I knew without a doubt that the mine was in the process of exploding. My perception of time was somehow altered, my movement to a lesser extent. I also knew that despite the apparent slowness of the explosion, it would nonetheless tear me apart. It was not a pleasant prospect to consider, as slow as it seemed to be happening. I began to think that my mind was somehow working much faster than usual.

Looking around again, I searched vainly for options as the explosion bulged inexorably outward. With great difficulty I found that I could move a bit faster than the shock wave and lifted my foot out of the way, for the time being at least.

The noise from the truck had all but ceased and looking up I saw that while it was leaning slightly as if into a skid, in the brief time I was willing to devote to sightseeing, I could detect no forward motion in it.

Glancing behind me I noticed something else for the first time. A section of air, the best I can think of to describe it is a concave lens-like shape, some three feet across glowed and hummed faintly. Lens is a bit of a misnomer. While it was generally circular in shape, it actually had no distinct boundaries, instead fading gradually from the center.

I also use the terms glowed and hummed, but neither of those descriptions are really adequate. The perception was not solely visual or auditory, but somehow a combination of the two along with something else. What was that something else? I cannot say with any degree of certainty, but it reminded me of nothing so much as when one's neck hairs stand on end in response to an unknown fear. Only in this case there was no accompanying fear. The lens or disc was slanted at an angle of approximately forty-five degrees and through it the ground below appeared refracted slightly.

Another distortion, this one behind the first, was higher yet smaller and hung suspended at a different angle. The explosion continued to expand and as my options were uncomfortably limited I took a wild guess and chance. Since I was already leaning off balance, falling in slow motion away from the expanding blast, I jumped as well as I could off of my grounded foot and leaned backwards towards the closer lens, pulling both knees toward my chest.

It was an awkward position, made more awkward by the time I seemed to hang suspended in mid air as I drifted slowly downward towards the lens just ahead of the only slightly more slowly moving explosion. As soon as my back entered the disc, or I must assume when I entered the disc, things became radically different.

It felt as if I were spinning rapidly, end over end. That was disorienting enough, but a rainbow of lights flashed around my eyes, and my ears were washed in a sound that I can only describe as a hum. It was similar to the hum of a vacuum tube warming up, but imagine if you will that sound on many different frequencies simultaneously.

Luckily, I am not prone to motion sickness, or else I would have had a much rougher time of it. I may in fact have blacked out, but I cannot be certain, as distorted as my perceptions were.

For what seemed like several seconds, I was immersed in these sensations. Suddenly the spinning, lights, and sound stopped, only to be replaced by the feeling of falling. This new feeling was, thankfully at least, in one direction. I was somewhat surprised to land on my back, unhurt, legs up in the same position that I had started my fall through the lens. Still dizzy, I managed to open my eyes and lift my head enough to see that I was lying in the middle of a snow covered clearing. Strangely, the sensation of cold took several seconds to register as I struggled to rise.

Failing even in my effort to roll onto my side, I let my head rest, into the snow. Watching the steam of my breath rise into the gray sky, I attempted to gather my faculties. A snorting noise, behind me and above my head, startled me into action. Through some Herculean effort I managed to roll to my right and onto my hands and knees in order to face whatever was approaching.

The effort proved too strenuous in my weakened condition. I briefly caught a glimpse of a large, furry elephant-like creature standing not twenty feet from me with its ears flaring and trunk lifted into the air. Another smaller one stood cautiously behind the first.

Swirling stars rapidly clouded my vision and I sank back to the snow, unable to hold myself up any longer. I was completely spent. My vision faded as darkness engulfed me. I blacked out and knew nothing more.

Chapter Two

I awoke to the sensation of movement, mostly smooth with an occasional bump. I was wrapped, rather snugly, in what proved to be the fur lined pelts of some large animal. The platform on which I rode was slanted and I became gradually aware of a plodding regularity which must have been the footsteps of the beast which dragged me.

Warm and secure, with the sensation of monotonous movement underneath me, I was tired enough yet to drift off into that hazy state of pre-sleep when I felt something cold snake beneath the furs covering my face and quickly pull them off. The frigid air startled me, but as I opened my eyes the sight of a furry trunk, nostrils blowing warm air on my face as it descended, startled me more.

With the realization that I was restrained more tightly than I had thought, and was unable to raise my arms to ward off the enormous proboscis, I lay helplessly while it snuffled over my face. Not normally squeamish, I was nonetheless unable to contain a quite unmanly groan of protest.

Presently the trunk, or more accurately its owner, lost interest in me and as it left my face alone I was able to see more clearly. The trunk lifted and wrapped itself around a small tail which was attached to the beast that pulled me. I realized that my earlier vision of pachyderms had not been a mirage, and that these must be somehow tame. My thought that no theory had ever been advanced concerning the domestication of mammoths was set aside temporarily at least in the face of this quite empirical evidence. I do not know which disturbed me more, the idea of living mammoths, or the idea of tamed mammoths.

The fact that I was no longer in France, or at least not in the France that I had so briefly known, seemed less important to me than learning of where I was currently. Any speculation I began to entertain with my limited knowledge was cut short by a commanding, yet gentle female voice above me. The words were not immediately familiar, but the meaning became clear as my conveyance slowed to a stop. I heard an impact in the snow, followed by the sound of footsteps approaching to one side. Just as I prepared to get a glimpse of my rescuer or captor, of whom I was not certain, the following mammoth became interested in me again, probing again with its trunk. I turned my head in a vain attempt at keeping the thing away from my mouth and nose, sputtering in protest.

Feminine laughter followed, and if I am not mistaken, the beast was allowed to explore my face for a few seconds more before the laughter changed to a clear, "Tut, Tut," and a mittened hand pulled the trunk from my face. If I was expecting a clear view of whomever it was that stood above me, it was not to be. The cold was apparently a force to be reckoned with, and all I was able to see was a thick leather parka with a fur-lined hood. Narrow slit type eye protection, made from wood or bone covered her eyes and a cloth of some type concealed the rest of her face.

With deft quickness, I was re-wrapped and without delay, we started moving again. The fatigue which had not fully left me returned and I drifted back to sleep again, lulled by the gentle motion of the beasts as they plodded along. How long I slept, I cannot be certain, but when I awoke to a cold breeze on my face it was night. It was moonless and the overcast had cleared, leaving stars brilliantly shining as they do only in the wilderness or the middle of the ocean, far from the light of civilization. I was no longer moving.

The dark shape of the mammoth that had been towing me was still visible above my head, but of the curious one who disturbed my coverings, there was no sign. Neither was there any sign of my rescuer, as I hopefully decided to think of the one who rode the mammoth and seemed to at the least hold no malice towards me.

Feeling more energetic than I had been, and with nothing else to do, I began to work myself free of the furs covering me. Several straps secured me and my fur coverings, to the platform. Wiggling my arms out first, I was able to untie the closest one when things suddenly became more urgent.

The first indication I had that something had become amiss was agitation in the mammoth standing over me. I heard it inhale deeply as it sniffed the air, shuffling its feet anxiously. Redoubling my efforts, I freed the second strap and was able to sit up far enough to loosen the third.

I took a second to look around. Luckily my eyes had adjusted as well as could be expected to the darkness, and I saw several large four legged shapes moving through the darkness. With my legs free I stood, thankful that I still wore my fatigues and boots. However, other than the small knife I wore at my belt, my other equipment including my pack, rifle and other accoutrements was missing. They might have been inches away, but in the darkness I had no hope of finding them by sight.

Thinking rapidly, attempting to formulate some sort of strategy, I felt around the lower end of the fur lined platform which extended several feet further towards the ground. I was heartened to feel the frame outline of my backpack, but of my rifle or ammunition pouch there were no sign.

Much closer than I had expected, I heard a low growl, very canine, yet also distinctly from a large animal. Even as the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and not because of the cold, the mammoth decided it was done with waiting and began walking rapidly away. I followed the beast thinking being near such a large animal was preferable to facing unknown attackers alone. At the same time I wondered where the woman rider and other mammoth were.

My predicament seemed truly dire. I am not one to panic, but as other growls became audible in the darkness, interspersed with occasional perplexingly deep and voluminous barks, I must admit to coming close to doing so. Facing a known opponent when armed is one thing, facing an altogether different and unknown threat, when unarmed in the dark, is something else entirely.

What happened next both startled and puzzled me, although I could not tell you which one I experienced first. Over the growling beasts and trumpets of the mammoth came the sharp crack of a rifle. A bolt cycled rapidly, and the rifle cracked again before echoing into silence, muffled by the snow.

Other than the abrupt change to icebound winter and the disconcerting presence of the mammoths, I had no real perspective of how different a place I was truly in, so hearing the rifle shot was not as out of place to me as it should have been given what I saw of this world over the next several days. Hours before I had been in a reality where the sounds of gunfire and other explosions if not commonplace, were at least practically a part of daily life. Nonetheless, some dim part of my awareness realized even then that the sound of rifle discharge was non-sequitur.

Even as footfalls approached through the snow, the large canine creatures retreated. I hesitate to call them wolves because of their sheer size, but that name fits as well as any. Besides, I thought, the dim starlight might be up to its usual tricks with ones imagination.

My weakness of night vision was apparently not shared by my unknown savior. I had always thought myself as adequately equipped as any to see things in dim light, but as the fur clad figure appeared and stood before me, looking me over I felt slightly outclassed. If our positions had been reversed, I would have been forced to take a much more physical approach to examining my rescuee.

The one thing even my eyes could not miss was the large, lumbering shape of another mammoth. It followed behind the fur clad figure, non unlike a two-ton puppy. I chuckled at the thought, but was brought up short by the cold metal of my Springfield, or as my squad leader had called it, "United States Rifle, Caliber .30, Model 1903," being pushed against my chest at a slight angle from straight up and down. I grabbed it instinctively, and just as instinctively checked the action.

Even as I cycled the bolt, the figure brought up a fur clad arm and pointed towards the departing wolves. "Watch for them," came the simple instruction, and with it the realization that I was dealing with the same woman who had been escorting me thus far.

That I understood her words should have startled me, but for some reason it did not. What did raise a hint of curiosity in my mind several seconds later was that both her instruction and my response, "I will," were uttered in what upon reflection proved to be a dialect of the Greek language.

It actually surprised me more that I had understood and responded to her words well before I consciously realized what language she spoke. As she moved to sooth the larger mammoth, which slowed then stopped, I scanned as best I could, the darkness around us. Keeping my focus loose and moving, I fought the urge to attempt focusing on every dark shadow I thought I saw. Instead I concentrated on looking for movement.

Before many seconds had passed I quite realized why my companion was bundled up as she was. It was bone chillingly cold. My initial excitement and action had dampened my awareness somewhat, but when the thin layer of warmth that had surrounded me underneath my bed of furs was blown away by the first gust of wind, I became painfully aware of how unprotected I was from the weather.

It seemed even colder now than it had been upon my initial arrival onto the snow covered ground. Without hesitating, I walked to the travois and, setting my Springfield down, wrapped a fur around my shoulders. Thinking that would be sufficient to warm me, I reached down to pick up the rifle. The numb stiffness in my fingers as they clumsily closed on the wooden stock alarmed me somewhat.

I was in no condition to even cycle the bolt, much less shoot my rifle. Noticing my predicament, and having calmed down the mammoths, my fur covered companion returned to my side. "Day comes. We should be safe enough for now. Get back underneath until it warms. I do not have spare clothes."

Fumbling the rifle with me onto the travois, I adjusted the furs as best as I could. My coverage was apparently not good enough. With the same dexterous motion I had experienced earlier, I was bundled into the furs. This time however, I was not only propped up slightly, but also allowed enough freedom of movement to wield my rifle as effectively as possible from the back of a contrivance being dragged behind a mammoth. I hoped that I would not be called upon to do so.

Not knowing how much longer I was to travel in anonymity I risked a first question of my fur-clothed companion. "What is your name?" I said loudly enough to be heard above the muffling I felt her furs must provide. If my voice was hoarse from the cold air and lack of speech, she gave no sign as, turning back towards me, she briefly unwrapped the furs from her face.

I must have looked like I had seen a ghost or some other apparition, for she immediately pulled off one mitten and felt my forehead for signs of fever. The shock of seeing her face was so great that as she answered, her words could have added not one measure to my surprise. "My name is Layla. Why are you so upset? We are both of The People, and you could have been found by Others."

Of People and Others I had no concern. Standing before me, although wrapped for the weather with only a small part of her features revealed to me, was the spitting image of Lila, my nurse. As I dumbly sat, not even acknowledging her question, I realized that while this Layla was speaking in a different tongue than my nurse Lila, the timbre of their voices was the same, and her eyes exactly the same deep green hue.

Perhaps I had not fully come to terms with the still new idea that I was somewhere completely different than where I had started. All I can say is that up until then, the possibilities of where I was had been somewhat more limited in my mind. At that instant, when I saw a person who could only be another version of someone from the world I had only recently departed, my concept of the universe changed.

Unfortunately, as all too often seems to have become my lot in life, something happened which cut short a more thoughtful contemplation of my situation. Both mammoths raised their trunks and trumpeted in unison. Layla raised her head, looked around and then leapt to the side of the larger mammoth and climbed quickly onto the creature.

I was about to ask her what was happening when she prodded the rump of her mount with a curved stick she must have pulled off of the low platform that served as some sort of saddle on the mammoth. As it lurched away at a higher rate of speed than I had heretofore experienced from my ride, Layla pointed behind us to the right side and shouted, in a warning tone , "Others!" before quickly re-wrapping her face and securing herself into the seat with a leather strap.

Looking in the direction she had indicated, I strained for several seconds to see what she had pointed at, these Others, as she called them. When, several hundred yards behind us, they crested a slight ridge and became visible to me at last, I understood Layla's haste. Even though I had done so minutes before, I checked the action on my Springfield and began searching for my ammo pouches.

Chapter Three

It must have been awkward for me to root around underneath the bouncing furs of my travois with mostly numb fingers but frankly, I did not notice. My eyes were locked in awe on the strange shapes of the approaching creatures and their method of locomotion. It was several full seconds before my brain processed enough of what I saw to allow me to even comprehend it.

They were multi-limbed, although at this distance I could not tell how many limbs, with a slightly oblong central body. I hesitate to compare them to spiders or octopi, because neither description does them justice, but the two animals serve as points of reference.

Unlike arachnids, these creatures seemed at least as tall as a man, and perhaps half again more. The limbs extended out and downward from the body, spreading wide as they went. As far as I could tell the legs were flexible but without obvious joints.

Each set of limbs moved in a pattern I could not discern. The limbs alternated between being sinuous like a worm or snake when not bearing weight, to possessing a stilt-like rigidity when against the ground. To add to the strangeness of the movement the tips of the limbs also seemed to stretch toward the ground when preparing to step, and then retract away from it when lifting.

Of the details contained on the central body I could not recognize much at this distance. But one thing I could see was that, regardless of the terrain features the legs lifted them over, the bodies remained unnaturally stable. The only thing I can compare it to is the stability evidenced by a bird of prey in holding its head still when watching something from a great distance aloft while its wings and neck compensate for the buffeting of the wind.

Despite the fact that they were moving in our general direction, I got the distinct feeling that they were not as of yet aware of either Layla, the mammoths, or I. There were between ten and fifteen of the creatures, but not all of them were moving in the same direction. Periodically, one would stop and lower its body to the ground briefly before rising up and moving along a slightly different path.

I surmised that they were either grazing or searching for something, although initially I tended, out of optimism, toward the grazing hypothesis. Whatever they had been doing however, their behavior changed suddenly and dramatically when one of them came across the tracks of the mammoths.

Perhaps their initial slow pace had lulled me into the more relaxed state I had assumed while watching the creatures and observing their behavior. In any case, when their movement changed, it brought me out of my entrancement. At first one of them began moving rapidly up and down. If not for the legs, it would have reminded me of a ball bouncing.

The Others stopped briefly and mimicked the first one's behavior. I actually grinned, so comical it looked seeing the group bob up and down in unison. The grin was short lived however for, as a unit, they began moving towards us at a much higher rate of speed. Obviously, they were now quite aware of our presence. In short order, they would overtake us, and I could see no good coming from it.

"They're coming!" I shouted in warning. Layla must have heard me because she looked briefly back over her shoulder and reapplied the stick to the mammoth's flank. Personally, I did not think the animal needed or could heed any further encouragement as it already seemed to be going at full tilt. Indeed I noticed no increase in speed, despite Laylas' prodding.

I quickly came to the conclusion that we were fleeing for our lives. Not one to sit by passively, I raised my Springfield and did my best to draw a bead on the creature closest to us. It was a futile attempt, due to the bouncing of my platform, and after my third shot went wide of its target, I lowered the rifle.

The cluster of Others, had already closed half the distance between us, and I doubted that the mammoths could maintain their sprint much longer. I did the one thing that came to my mind. Furs and all, I rolled from my travois, tumbled sideways for some distance and came to a stop.

Between the cushion offered by the snow on the ground and the padding provided by the furs, I was none the worse for wear. The sudden tumble and stop from some twenty miles per hour left me a little dizzy, but I was otherwise unscathed. In the back of my mind I hoped that my ammunition belt had come off with me.

I do not consider myself either an unusually reckless or exceptionally brave individual. I quite easily admit that I felt fear in the split second before I left the temporary safety of the travois and put myself squarely in the path of our pursuers.

If you expect that next I stood, threw off my fur coverings and faced these Others standing tall to divert their attention, I am sorry to disappoint. Not only did the furs continue to provide warmth and insulation against the cold, both air and ground, but my prone position made aiming a much easier task. Also there was impinging upon my thoughts the idea that attracting the attention of more than ten creatures that were not hesitating to chase something the size of a full grown mammoth was at the very least imprudent.

Instead, I remained horizontal and directed aimed fire towards the creatures as they approached. I fired twice at the nearest target, but then was forced to reload. As I thumbed rounds into the rifle, the first creature slowed before stumbling from its feet and crashing to the ground. It rolled before stopping and I noticed briefly that its legs flailed in the air as if trying to gain purchase enough to continue pursuit.

The other creatures either did not notice, or chose to ignore their fallen companion. They simply moved around it and continued on. I finished reloading and cycled my bolt, chambering another round. They had not noticed me yet and continued, focused on the mammoth.

Devoting two rounds to each target, I shot as many of them as I could. I decided not to wait to see the effects of my shots before moving to the next creature. It was probably not the best course of action, but they were approaching rapidly and I did not think I could afford to shoot one target until it fell.

Before my rifle was empty again, a total of three of the creatures were thrashing on the ground with another still on its feet but spinning in circles as it scraped at its side in annoyance, presumably at the sting of one or more of my bullets.

The remaining eight or so still seemed not to have noticed me, so with nothing else to do I reloaded quickly under my furs. Thankfully, the ammo pouches and belt had been within easy reach. As the first few creatures ran around me, I regretted that I had not had time to fix my bayonet.

Then as one of them seemed on a direct collision course I realized I had overplayed my hand. Still constrained enough by the furs, there was no way I would even be able to roll out of the way in time. Even as I brought up my rifle in a vain attempt at a snap shot, I tensed in anticipation of being trampled.

I fired, also hoping briefly that I might again experience the time distortion phenomenon that had allowed me to escape danger previously and that also seemed to have brought me to this place. In that I was disappointed, and the beast continued running at me full tilt. My shot seemed to have no effect but luckily the creature moved right over me.

I threw myself flat onto my side, covering my head with one arm. As I had feared, one of the legs stepped right on me. Gritting my teeth, I expected to hear the crunch of broken ribs, but while I felt downward pressure from the limb, it was not excessive. The other merely stepped on me and continued past, chasing the mammoth, and Layla.

At least it continued for another fifteen or twenty feet, long enough for me to begin to feel lucky. Then it stopped, turned back to me and began approaching warily. The feeling of luck drained away quite rapidly.

Not having any strong desire to experience the creature's predator versus prey behavior first hand, I sat up and fired my rifle, working the bolt until the trigger clicked empty. At this close of a range I could not have missed.

I hadn't. As this creature fell to the ground its legs failed to twitch as the rest had. I felt instantly relieved, until I remembered the several of them that had run past me in pursuit of Layla.

I counted six, each of them now closer to Layla than to me. My shots brought down two more. While before I had hoped the creatures would not notice me, I now hoped they would.

My rifle empty again, I spent a second feeling in vain for another ammo pouch. Failing in that endeavor I sensed my options becoming limited. Layla had saved my life, and now hers was at risk. The very least I could do was give mine back in an attempt to save her.

Standing, and shrugging off the furs at last, I ran after the four remaining creatures that had now closed sufficiently on the mammoth to cause Layla to wheel it around and face her pursuers. For its part the mammoth looked ready, holding its tusks low and swinging them back and forth. The smaller, tuskless mammoth had been running in the lead, but now stood sheltered behind the larger pachyderm.

Weighing the choice between using my rifle as a club, an option I did not relish while I still had ammunition even if it were not readily accessible, and attacking with the puny belt knife still at my waist, I ran. Still vainly attempting to formulate some kind of plausible tactic, I was struck on the right arm from behind with a sickening crack and knocked sideways off of my feet. My rifle skidded off in a different direction. As I tumbled I caught a glimpse of one of the creatures behind me, with one limb outstretched towards me, still following through after striking me.

My mind stayed remarkably clear even as I realized that not only was my weapon laying some distance away in the snow, but my right arm was broken. Luckily, if you could call it that, my arm was still numb and I didn't have to worry about the distraction of pain, for now at least.

Charging four of the creatures without any plan, or even any effective weapons, had been dangerous. Standing face to face with one of them while crippled by a broken arm thrown in the mix brought a certain urgency to my predicament. I managed to unsheathe my belt knife with my left hand as I stood, a bit clumsily, without the use of my right arm.

I was now locked into my immediate situation and could spare no attention to the plight of Layla and the mammoths. Standing this close to the creature I noticed a few things briefly as I looked for targets my small blade might damage. Its body was covered by small, bumpy scales. Not inherently overlapping like a fish or snake, these scales nonetheless were able to allow the limbs and body to flex by temporarily crossing each other. However, which direction the scales crossed seemed determined by the direction and angle of movement, not by any predetermined patterns. They must have been attached near the center, instead of at the edge like a more typical reptilian scale.

The creature also stunk. At first, due to the landlocked wintry landscape, I did not identify the smell as it wrinkled my nose. Then I realized that it smelled like nothing so much as a pile of rotten seaweed.

It had two small eyes on either side of the body, in front of the forward most set of legs, but no discernible structure that might be considered a head separate from the body. There were also no visible mouth, ears or nose; although I guessed that any mouth was probably in the center, underneath the body.

All of these things I noticed in a second or two as I attempted to move away slowly at a slight angle to one side. The creature matched my pace however, and I gained no distance. I stopped and faced the thing, my pathetically small knife the only thing between it and me. When it reached for me, I at first thought I was once again perceiving things in that strange altered time rate as I had before escaping the landmine explosion. I realized, however, that it was just reaching very slowly, as my breathing was unrestricted and none of the other side effects of my odd ability were present.

I looked briefly at the small knife in my hand and decided against trying a random slash. The fact that I was not being trampled into the snow both puzzled and intrigued me, and although the approaching limb with its flexible tip did not in any way reassure me, neither did it fill me with fear.

Oddly, I also noticed that the coloration of the flesh in between the scales had changed color, from a dull red to a grayish khaki similar to my fatigues. When the limb touched me, it was with a light brushing contact over my broken arm. Although my arm had started throbbing, and I began to break out in a sweat that felt as if it must freeze to my face in the cold, I managed to stand still as it touched me.

The limb withdrew slowly and to my surprise the creature turned slightly to one side, revealing the wound my bullet had caused. The bluish substance that trickled through the opening I could only assume was its blood. The creatures' limb bent and it gently touched the area around the wound.

It was intelligent, and it was communicating with me. I stood dumbfounded as I struggled to come to some understanding of the strange psychology evidenced by this other who stood before me without apparent hostility after I had shot and wounded not only it but several of its companions, probably lethally in at least one instance. Quite abruptly, it turned and walked away, towards the several of its kind that lay on the ground.

The one that had fallen and lay still remained so, along with another also now motionless. Several of the rest, however, were successfully regaining a standing position although somewhat unsteadily. I remembered Layla.

Turning, I saw that her situation was no less strange than mine. She remained astride the mammoth, but between her and the four beings that had been pursuing her, a cloud of light grayish-brown smoke rose thickly, hugging the ground. As I watched she pulled an object out of a pouch strapped to the mammoth's side and hurled it towards her pursuers.

The creatures had already slowed near the smoke cloud, and stopped completely as they reached it. The object Layla had thrown arced through the air and landed slightly past the first smoke cloud. I heard a small popping noise and saw smoke billowing from it. This smoke was a darker shade of the same color than the first cloud. I quickly assumed another grenade had caused the initial smoke cloud as well.

My curiosity piqued, I momentarily forgot my precarious situation and I wondered at the technology required to produce such portable clouds of colored smoke. I had seen several instances of grenades producing white billowing smoke while with my Marine unit, but I had seen no colored smoke.

I had assumed, due to the use of the travois, primitive clothing, and presence of the fur covered mammoth-like creatures that I was in the past, during the Stone Age and surrounded by cave men. Other terms such as 'late Paleolithic,' and 'Pleistocene' flitted through my awareness, but failed to take hold.

The grenades made me question that assumption. Now that I was thinking along different lines, I remembered Laylas' puzzling familiarity of feature and her use of my rifle. I would have to question her about both should we escape unharmed from our current predicament.

With a throb my arm reminded me that it was broken, bringing me somewhat out of my shocked condition. I searched for and found my rifle lying in the snow a few yards from my encounter with the 'other.' Picking it up I set off towards Layla at the best pace my arm would allow.

I had no desire to stumble and by chance fall on my wounded limb, so a slow trot was all I managed. Layla saw me, and began frantically motioning me to her. I risked a glance over one shoulder and reassuringly saw no pursuit. Nor did the four creatures standing nearby hinder my passage.

I walked through the smoke, emerging next to Layla and the mammoths. I saw fear in the beasts' eyes as it looked back past me; clearly we were not yet safe. Layla confirmed this from atop her mount. "The smoke will only confuse them for a short while, we must flee." She seemed only then to notice my debilitated condition saying, "Oh, you are injured," almost as an afterthought.

She swung her legs over the saddle and lowered herself to the ground lithely. Turning to face me, she examined my arm and made note of my missing fur coverings. Seeing the empty travois she shook her head and cut it loose using a leather-bound chipped-stone blade. With several quiet spoken commands and prods with her curved stick, bade the mammoth to kneel, which it did. "Get on." She said curtly to me.

With only one good arm, and that encumbered with my rifle, I nonetheless managed to gain the top of the mammoth. Several footholds in the harness and saddle helped greatly, and once when I almost lost my balance, Layla firmly pushed me towards the top. I had only begun to settle myself in when Layla vaulted on behind me and with a sudden jerk, the mammoth stood upright.

I felt the cushion of her fur covered clothing (actually, the furs she wore were inverted, with the fur on the inside, and the smooth, tanned, and I assumed waterproofed, hide on the outside) against my back. I became acutely aware of my lack of coverings, coverings which now lay abandoned in the snow. As the mammoth started off again, at a fast walk, but slower than the sprint they had managed earlier, I noticed the cold even more as the now moving air chilled me to the bone.

Within a minute I began shivering uncontrollably and was near to either falling, dropping my rifle, or both. Then, just as my muddled thoughts began considering how nice it would be to just lay down in the quiet snow, the furs around Layla parted and enveloped me. I was drawn back against the warm and very female source of heat behind me as she wrapped me within her own parka and held me against her body. I must have been quite cold to the touch for I felt her shiver briefly in response to the contact. I was however too weak to protest and almost instantly lost awareness of anything other than that sheltering warmth.

How long I rode thus, I do not know. When I awoke with a jolt, the mammoth was increasing speed again, making the ride quite bumpy. I still held my rifle, and my right arm, although still sore, was not a source of agony any longer. In that second before remembering the direness of our predicament, I experienced my first flash of personal memory since before my head injury.

Unfortunately, it was so brief as to be of little practical use in helping to regain my identity. Probably triggered by the rough ride, I remembered myself as a small child being bounced on someone's knee. The sensation came first, followed by the sound of my own laughter as I rode up and down gleefully. The visual part came just before I was brought back to the present, and consisted of a room with a table near one wall with a simple earthenware bowl centered on the table.

Other details of the room remained unclear with the exception of a window in one wall above the table. There were roughly woven curtains of some sort tied open, but there was no frame or pane of glass. It was merely a hole through the wall to the outside. Frustratingly, although I felt my small hands firmly grasping the fingers of the person who held me safe while I bounced, I was facing away from him.

I came fully awake as the memory faded, dreamlike. The acceleration could only mean that Layla and I were still being pursued, and that our situation was desperate. I shrugged my head out from under Laylas' parka in order that I might get a better grasp of our situation.

As I inhaled the shockingly cold air, Layla noticed that I was stirring. "Good, you are still with me. I thought I might have to drop you to reduce weight when you would not wake up." I could not tell if her words were an attempt at humor, she said them so matter of factly.

I saw, not surprisingly, that we were still riding through low, hilly terrain. The trees were a bit more sparse than they had been, but the ground was still covered with snow. As we topped a gentle rise, I saw a huge grey expanse below demarked by the sudden ending of trees and snow.

Either it was the ocean, or a very large lake, for I could see no farther shore. Whichever it was, we were headed directly for it. Unless Layla knew of some terrain feature I could not see, we would soon be trapped against the shoreline of an impassable body of water. Wanting to have as much time as I could to consider our options, although at this point Layla seemed to be calling the shots as it were, I asked "Where are we going?"

Filling in answers to questions I had not even asked, she seemed to have an innate understanding of what I wanted to know tactically. "The Others are still following us, but I have managed to give us a little lead, thanks to Jeefa here." She slapped her hand on the side of the mammoth, as if to indicate what she was naming, then continued, "Unfortunately, it is not much of a lead. More of the Others have joined in the chase, perhaps twice the number you incapacitated."

"If I am correct, there should be a signal tower of the ancients, somewhere along the coastline near here. Hopefully it will be close enough for us to reach before being overtaken. There, if it is intact, we may find shelter, and a means to signal for help." My mind searched vainly for what a "signal tower of the ancients" could be, but with no point of reference, I drew a blank.

What Layla said next made slightly more sense, although I have learned to be sensitive to the context in which people are saying things. Making too many assumptions about new cultures has proven to be dangerous as you shall see later, but this was my first different world and I had much to learn. "What is your name, stranger? You already know mine, and you risked death to save my life. If you are not so lucky next time, I would know what you are called so that I may honor your sacrifice."

If given time to think on it, I might have chafed at her assumption that there would be a 'next time' of me risking my life to save hers. We were, however, in the midst of other pressing matters so I merely answered, "My name is John, John Smith." I have seldom thought on the matter, and it does not chafe. Without even knowing what she had risked to save me I would have, and have many times since, risked my life for her should circumstances dictate. Knowing what she did indeed risk has not changed that, although knowing what she would eventually give up for me has made me nigh on fanatical in my protection of her. But that is another story, and at this time, in this story, we barely knew one another. Let that suffice, for now.

"John," she said, and for some reason it pleased me to hear her say it. "It is a strange name, but thank you for it nonetheless." We rode in silence for several minutes with the freezing air blowing on my face. I ignored it as I scanned ahead for some indication of any kind of building, inhabitation, or even another terrain features we might use to our advantage. On the verge of angry frustration at the apparent total lack of providence even glancing at us in our plight, I prepared a vexing outburst of profanity surely unsuited for delicate ears.

Before I began the unseemly tirade, Layla pointed, shouting excitedly, "There it is! There it is! Look there, to the left of that snag." I followed her indicated direction with my gaze, and was with some difficulty, able to locate the dead tree standing forlorn at a distance towards the water and through the tree line. As she had said, to the left of the tree was a rounded tower, as gray as the ocean beyond, but clearly an artificial structure.

A glimmer of hope struggled to work its way through my pensiveness, for while I still clutched my rifle and now wore my ammunition belt loosely around my hips, I lamented the loss of my haversack since I had initially rolled off the travois to engage the rapidly approaching Others. It surely must have fallen with the furs into the snow and was now long gone. Nonetheless, the sight of even a potentially sturdy shelter ahead was heartening, to say the least.

I presumed Layla was looking back at our pursuers periodically, but as she was behind me, I could not risk losing my balance to look around her. It was frustrating, especially because she offered no updates on their location. I kept myself busy by watching the structure ahead and straining to detect any sign of habitation.

I saw nothing that would indicate any intelligent presence within or around the tower. I hoped that was a good thing, for we were drawing near enough to it to enable me to recognize that it was or had been some type of lighthouse. Its round base was topped with a platform, and was windowless for its entire height facing us. Locating a door would have to wait until we actually reached the building.

Suddenly Jeefa the mammoth drew up short, and not due to anything Layla had done. I looked and saw that the smaller mammoth, still with us, had also stopped. Looking down, I saw why. Quite abruptly the ground had changed from the snow covered grassy undergrowth to a variety of water worn stones, only partially obscured by snow, which stretched all the way to the tower.

Varying in volume from fist sized cobbles to barrel sized boulders and larger; the dark rocks were irregularly worn by the action of the waves. Clearly exposed by low tide, the rocks covered the shore the entire distance to the tower. They proved a daunting obstacle to the soft footed pachyderms. Realizing this, Layla quickly hopped off of Jeefa and I followed suit.

The rocks would be treacherous enough for the two of us on foot, but they would be a veritable deathtrap for the mammoths, if only by slowing them enough to allow the Others to overtake them. Even if they could reach the tower quickly, there was no guarantee that any opening would be large enough to admit them to shelter. Not stopping to consider that the same conditions might apply to us, Layla swatted the rumps of both mammoths, driving them away along the line between the forest and the shoreline and giving the tired beasts at least a running chance at survival.

As we picked our way as fast as possible around and between the rocks, I managed my first backwards glance towards our pursuit. Layla had, if anything, underestimated the number of creatures following us. Irregardless of my seemingly docile encounter with the wounded Other, I had no desire for a repeat encounter, especially with this many of them indefatigably after us.

The mammoths seemed of a similar mind and ran swiftly off, soon becoming lost to view amongst the trees. I wished them well as they had carried us faithfully for as long as they did with no complaint. I became painfully aware of the cold once again as I stepped into a small pool of water which instantly soaked through my boot and shot frozen needles of pain into my as yet un-numbed foot.

Layla forged ahead, seldom taking the time to look back now. While it saved her time, as the first of the Others reached the edge of the rocks and continued out into the open with no reduction in speed, it became clear we would not reach the tower in time. We were less than halfway to it, and the Others pace across the rocks was far greater than either of us could manage.

They gained on us with that eerie smoothness of motion I have mentioned previously. Their bodies stayed practically level while their legs navigated over the rocky shore. I calmly took aim, bringing my rifle up with my left hand and forcing my right arm to comply and work the bolt, regardless of the pain it caused.

Some would say I had resigned myself to my fate, thinking only of going out shooting. I beg to differ. I was there, and I guarantee that no thought of giving up crossed my mind. I simply continued to do anything that was in my power to increase the odds of our continued survival.

Still, looking back, it is obvious to me now how slim those odds were, and what the eventual outcome would have been, except for the arrival of the airship. I do not say airship in the quaint way early newspapermen referred to Zeppelins or other lighter-than-air craft. What I saw floating through the sky and moving towards us was without a doubt, a ship.

It was made from wood, planks running the length of the vessel from stem to stern, and from the keel to the deck railing. The planks overlapped clinker-built style, like a Viking long ship, and the prow was even capped with the carved head of a ferocious looking sea, or air, monster.

There, however, the similarities ended. For where a seagoing vessel has rigging to hold masts and tie down its sails, this ships rigging extended upwards to a number of giant billowing bags filled with some lighter than air gas, and contained en masse by a huge domed net

It had no tall masts per se, but extending from each side of the vessel were outriggers, and upon these spun giant propellers, giving the ship motive power. What caused them to spin, I could not tell.

The crew moved about on the rigging and ship quite like the deckhands of any sea bound vessel. The appeared human, but as they were dressed bulkily for the weather, I could not be certain. I did not think they were aware of Layla and I, but in this I was mistaken.

Their attention was directed towards the swarm of Others streaming out onto the rocks. Whether or not the ship carried large caliber fixed weapons was not obvious, but the crew rained down a veritable fusillade of small arms fire upon the multi-legged horde. Accurate or not, the sheer volume of fire proved deadly to the creatures and they fell quickly to the onslaught. Strangely, I noted that while numerous popping noises accompanied the weapons fire, no cordite haze drifted from the deck of the airship.

Scarce a minute, or perhaps two, had passed before none of the Others were left standing. The hail of death continued for another thirty seconds or so, but was re-directed towards any of the prone creatures that so much as twitched as it lay on the ground. Silence followed, punctuated by the cry of a single seagull in the distance.

The airship began a slow, graceful turn towards us. Slinging my rifle over one shoulder, I began to wave my uninjured arm in the air. I could not believe our good fortune. The death of so many creatures at once is a somber sight, but the feeling of relief in me that I was going to live another day was so great that I could not suppress a grin as I looked towards Layla. "That was what I call good timing. We are rescued!"

The look of concern that grew on her face puzzled me, then she shook her head and spoke, "Oh John, we most certainly are not rescued!" I looked back towards the ship and saw rope ladders being lowered over the side as the vessel approached. Above, on deck, I saw that instead of being stowed, the weapons which had so recently wreaked so much havoc amongst the Others were now pointed menacingly towards us.

Chapter Four

The ship hove to a short distance away and waited. I briefly considered that the crew was merely covering our retreat in case more Others should emerge from the tree-line, but the number of rope ladders being lowered did not encourage me. Two coils of rope, secured in some manner to the airship, were expertly dropped over the side. Ropes uncoiling as they fell, the ends snapped sharply several feet above the ground.

With a precision that could not have been an accident, two of the crew, these wearing what looked like darker, tighter fitting versions of the cold weather suits their compatriots sported, lowered themselves over the side in tandem, one to each line. That they were secured to the lines in some fashion was obvious by their rapid, sliding decent. What made their rappel even more unusual was that they faced the ground as they came, clearly more interested in seeing what was below than in assuming a more traditional seated position. My suspicion that they were from a highly trained, elite group was later corroborated.

Just short of the ground they slowed their descent and swung upright, landing confidently on their feet before stepping clear of the hanging ropes. One of men, as they now obviously were, drew back his hood and made a small but quite formal nod towards Layla. As he spoke, he kept his head inclined slightly, avoiding her gaze. "Princess."

With that one word, I looked at her in surprise. Layla had an inscrutable look about her, and shrugged her shoulders at my unspoken question.

The other man, standing silent and motionless until that instant, sprung upon me with far less civility. Lifting his gloved hand to strike me across the face with the back of it, he spoke with a stern tone, quite probably chastising me for some real or imagined affront towards Layla in her newly revealed status as royalty. His anger was clear by the look on his face, but I was unable to make out the words as they were somehow slurred and slow.

Then I realized what had happened. His hand was inching towards me at such a slow rate of speed that it would take a full minute to reach my face. I was somehow in that altered perceptive state as I had been before. This instance felt slightly different, as I did not feel quite as constrained in my own motion.

Looking around, I saw Layla, still dropping her shoulders out of their shrug, also moving with incredible slowness. The airship remained stationary above, but now the busy movements of its crew had all but stopped. As surprised as I was by this strange phenomenon, I actually laughed to myself. I had no idea how long I would remain in my current condition, so as a precaution I took a step to my left, out of the path of the backhand strike.

I noticed several of the disc-like portals at various positions and angles from my location, but none of them were the same as the one that had brought me to this world. It may seem strange to you that I spent time analyzing the portals with everything going on around me, but for some reason I have found that my mind becomes incredibly curious when I am in that altered time-rate. I also feel no sense of urgency, regardless of the situation I had been in seconds prior. But I digress.

I spent time looking around, and comparing the portals. Some were close by, others quite distant. They had differing color patterns, and some were very bright, others almost indistinguishable. In the end though, I had no real desire to go through one at this point. Despite Layla's newfound royal status, I was not assured of her safety.

Regardless of my annoying loss of memory, my various patterns of belief seem to have survived largely intact through my accident. I knew that I was not the kind of man to leave a companion in danger to preserve my own safety. I now considered Layla a companion, at the very least. I would stay and do my best to ensure that she was not mistreated at the hands of these men from the airship.

In the instant that my mind was made up on that issue, time resumed its normal course and somewhat abruptly I became disoriented. It was a lucky thing I had chosen to move when I had for the backhanded strike continued through the air, now at full speed, and missed me completely.

To his credit, the look of surprise on my attacker's face was as short lived as his inaction. He did not assume the puzzled look of incredulity that the majority of people would upon seeing a person suddenly shift several feet to one side in the blink of an eye, apparently without moving a muscle. He merely reacted as if I were a new target popping up at a shooting range. Granted, part of his response may have been generated by the conceit of one who believes himself superior in every way to those he deals with, but it was impressive nonetheless.

His next act revealed to me yet another skill in my possession that I had heretofore been unaware of. With quick, precise movements, he drew a narrow blade from its sheath strapped snugly to his waist and thigh. The blade was perhaps a bit over a foot long with a wicked point made for stabbing. As he stepped towards me, the point angled downward and he attempted to do just that.

His blade found only air as at the last second I turned slightly to the right and stepped off at an angle to the left. This happened without my conscious thought, indeed had I taken the time to think of a response I surely would have been stabbed. Just as quickly, as my left hand knocked his wrist away from me, my right hand, without regard to the pain it caused in my injured arm, chopped down onto his wrist, knocking the blade clean out of his hand and sending it spinning into the snow.

At this point, my mind caught up with my actions and I stopped myself just short of breaking his nose. I don't know quite why I stopped, but it may have had something to do with the snick I heard from the direction of the other guard and the strange looking pistol that appeared in his hand, pointed in my direction.

The beginnings of bewilderment which had been forming in my thoughts at the speed and accuracy of my fighting ability were quickly replaced by my narrow focus on that pistol. It may sound strange coming from someone claiming to have no memory, but I had never seen a pistol like the one he held. While I was instantly familiar, seemingly from some prior association for example, with the Springfield rifle slung over my shoulder, I knew just as quickly that this weapon was something totally new to me.

To be sure, it had a barrel, trigger, and a handgrip which allowed me to identify it as a type of projectile weapon. The part of the stock visible above the man's hand was smooth and darkly finished wood. Its other features were far different.

The barrel and each of several small tubular protuberances that emerged at different places from it and ran alongside were bronze colored and polished to a high sheen. Three cylinders sat atop the device, running two thirds of the gun's foot long length, and banded together in a triangular pattern.

The two bottom cylinders were of the same bronze color as the other metal parts. The third cylinder, seated atop the first two, had a distinctly darker, more coppery look. The other distinct difference that this pistol had to other firearms was the popping sound it made when fired, which the guard did presently.

Despite my detailed description of the weapon, I had spent no great deal of time examining it. I only go to such lengths so that you, the reader may in some way understand what I saw in that brief interval between the weapon being drawn and when it was fired, or discharged as I later learned, for there is no flame or powder involved in the process.

I did not initially feel any pain, and actually heard the thuds as the projectiles impacted my chest before any other sensation. Three or four times he shot, but in reality it makes no difference how many times. I started to step towards him, intent on ripping the gun from his grasp and fighting back somehow.

Managing two steps, my legs gave out and I pitched forward onto the rocks quite forcefully. Even my good arm failed to come to my aid and my head smacked against the ground with enough force to render me unconscious.

I quickly, or so I thought, pushed myself up to continue fighting. I must however have lain prone for some time and had been left quite ignored as a thin coating of ice even crackled off of my exposed skin as I rose. My head, where I had struck the ground, smarted and my chest felt greatly bruised where the bullets had stuck. To my surprise, my arm felt little pain. I bent and extended it, and found it moved almost normally through its range of motion. I paid these sensations no heed however, as dismayed; I saw only dim starlight over the waves in the distance.

It was night, and I believed I was alone. Layla, and her captors were gone. I had not only failed to protect her, but had also gotten myself into quite a predicament. I could make out dimly the shadow of the 'tower of the ancients' as Layla had called it, against the horizon.

That would be as good a destination as any, perhaps to find at least shelter while I planned what to do next and recovered my strength. My head was still more than a bit muddled from hitting the rock, and being shot did nothing to engender within me a feeling of joviality. I had taken no more than a few staggering steps toward the tower, however, when I heard a distant shout behind me.

Turning, I saw with some relief an airship secured to the ground closer to the treeline. It was itself dark of any light source, but the ring of fires on the ground below gave some illumination. I assumed it was the same ship as before, but not having many options in any case began to approach cautiously.

Figures moved busily around on the ground. I saw a laden wooden platform being lifted towards the airship by a block and tackle hanging from the ship. After a few seconds of contemplation, I realized what they were doing. They were butchering and collecting pieces of the Others they had killed.

Part of me was stunned that humans seemed to be using another presumably intelligent species as a food source or for some other industrial purpose, remembering my brief yet personal encounter with the Other who had not killed me when it could have. Then I remembered the fear shown by Layla at the prospect of being overtaken by the creatures.

I knew very little about this world or its cultures, so any speculation at this point was just that. I also had something else to devote my thoughts to, Layla's safety, and perhaps my own survival. Hopefully, the two were compatible goals.

While the ring of fires extended around the entire perimeter of the camp, I saw no sentries ocean-ward. Since this was my direction of approach, it made my task significantly easier. My movement toward the camp had loosened up my muscles somewhat, and although still chilled, I felt up for action should the need arise.

I crouched for a minute and examined my options now that I was closer. Since I had been left for dead by Layla's captor-guard, I did not expect my reception to be a warm one. Stealth was of the essence. I needed to find a way onto the vessel before it departed, and without being noticed. The difficulty in stowing away successfully upon a type of ship which I was totally unfamiliar with did not cross my mind yet, but perhaps it should have.

The only conceivable route unseen to the airship, which now hovered some fifty feet above, was clearly its mooring lines. The ladders which hung down for the crew to use were all well within the lit area and near to the busily active cargo platform. Getting aboard that way was not an option.

I began looking in detail at the several lines by which the ship was anchored to the ground. Although they extended away from the ship at an angle, and most of them were secured well outside the lighted area, it would be a dangerously visible climb. I needed a distraction, one that would keep the crew, both on the ship and on the ground, busy long enough for me to scale the rope.

My rifle was gone, presumably taken after I had been shot. It seemed my choices were limited, but then another opportunity presented itself. One of the workers, after depositing a jointly carried load of limbs onto the cargo platform, walked out of the camp almost directly towards me. No one seemed to be paying any attention to him, and he stopped a few yards away, to my left.

At first he lifted a small flask from inside a large slit-like pocket in his parka and brought it to his lips, tilting his head back briefly. Putting the flask away, he made a grunt of contentment and I thought he was finished and would begin moving back to his task before I could get close enough to take advantage of the situation. My luck held however, and he began fumbling with his pants.

Using the darkness and rocks as cover as best I could, I crept towards him as he relieved himself. Although I have undertaken combats of honor, fair fights as it were when the need arose, I had no trouble distinguishing this as a different situation, with different rules. I also freely admit to feeling no guilt or remorse at taking advantage of my situation and the unsuspecting sailor.

That being said, I did not kill him. As he finished his business and buckled his pants, he turned back towards the camp and raised his arms above his head in a stretch before starting back. With his vision even more limited now that he was facing the fire, and with his arms blocking his peripheral vision, I knew I would not have a better chance.

I kept crouched, moving as quickly as I could while keeping quiet. I was directly behind him when he lowered his arms, and rising up, I clamped one hand over his mouth and the other around his neck. From there I simply tucked in close and applied pressure to both sides of his neck until he went limp, his struggles ceasing quickly.

Choking is a fearful way to be subdued or killed, slow and filled with the anxiety of not being able to take a breath. Instead, I temporarily cut off the blood flow to his brain, causing him to fall unconscious in a few seconds, his thoughts blanketed in a foggy haze. I hoped it was less traumatic.

As I lowered him to the ground I released my grip on his neck and mouth. Placing my hand on him I felt the slow but steady pattern of his chest rising and falling as he resumed breathing normally. Divesting him of his parka, I realized that he was shorter than I, but not significantly so. Still, as I donned the fur lined jacket, it was a snug fit, as he was also of a more thin build. I noticed briefly that he was of a far more swarthy complexion than either Layla or the two guards who had bested me.

I decided at once not to attempt to fit into his pants or boots. Not only were his feet tiny, but in comparison to his torso, his legs were quite short. Wearing my own pants, I had to hope, would be better than trudging back to the camp wearing what in effect would look practically like knickers on me.

An afterthought, I pulled the flask out of the side pocket in the sailor's parka and sniffed it, verifying the strong alcohol content. Liberally sprinkled it over his mouth and chest, I laid it on him afterwards. I wondered briefly if he would admit to being overpowered in the dark, or keep it quiet. I hoped my dousing of him with his drink would bring doubt to his story. It was a tenuous hope, but I had little time to act, and even less to think of detailed, foolproof plans.

Mimicking his walk as near as I could, I made my way back towards the fires, intending to blend in and resume working. In the vein of my continued seeming good fortune, a foreman of sorts spotted me and gave me direction, "Khat, get over here and ride up with that load. We are done here. Tell them." While I could understand his words, I did not trust myself to be able to mimic his accent flawlessly enough not to arouse suspicion. His language was far more guttural and crude than any I was used to. Hoping a nod would suffice in reply; I did so, and approached the platform. In any case, he was already walking off to take care of some other matter.

A handler standing near the platform paid me no more heed than the foreman and I stepped on, wrapping my arm around a load line and holding on. Presently the load was lifted, in fits and starts, but not at any dangerous rate. Rising into the darkness, I muttered to myself, attempting to generate a passable copy of the foreman's words. The ride took perhaps two minutes and my disguise would soon be put to a more difficult test.

The load lifted until it was clear of the main deck, then sailors began hoisting on another line to swing the load to the ship. Trying to look as comfortably agile as a sailor with well developed sea legs, I jumped to the deck and away from the load. Luckily, the lack of light I had seen on the ship from a distance had been maintained, and only a few small portables lit the deck dimly.

I may have been overdoing it, but I bent my legs slightly as I walked, both to appear shorter and to duplicate the slightly bow-legged gait I noticed the crew affecting. Moving off, as if with a purpose, I pointed back casually at the load. Deciding fewer words would be better, I gave a simple message, "Last load," was all I said.

Again, no one seemed to be paying much attention, and my disguise held. I walked along the deck, hoping to be moving in a believable direction. I was torn between two conflicting desires, one to immediately find and free Layla, the other to find a hiding place, safe and warm, to recuperate and gather my strength.

I had no illusions that I would be able to fit in with the crew during the day, or upon any close inspection. With the realization that a rash charge of bravado at this point would most likely prove futile, I opted for caution. I would find a place to hole up, and creep around in the dark when the ship had assumed a more regular routine.

With most or all of the crew awake now, dealing with the storing and loading of the cargo from below, it was too chaotic to move freely. Later, when the tired men slept, and whichever unfortunates, probable discipline problems anyway, stood a lax night watch on deck, I would have my chance.

Unobserved, or so I thought, I ducked into a supply locker. Working my way through hanging ropes and tackle, I found my way to the back. With space at a premium, the very back of the locker was apparently on top of some other space. It narrowed greatly and left only crawling room, stacked as it was with dusty rope fragments and coarsely woven burlap sacks.

Thinking it was as good of a spot as I would find, I crawled in amongst the ropes, wriggling my way towards the back. Taking note of voices, seemingly directly below me, I moved slowly and carefully. To my surprise, I found a clear spot on the deck near the very back of the crawlspace.

Instead of grinning at my good fortune, the open space should have set me on alert. I do not however lay claim to always accurately assessing the potential danger of any situation. Finding a cork driven into the floor, I merely found it interesting. I pulled the cork out and found a narrow, but clear view into the room below.

Lamps, spherical with strangely non-flickering light lit the room dimly. Seated at a desk, near one of the lamps was a man, dressed in a tight fitting shirt, probably part of the undergarments worn with the parkas. Warm air came up through the hole, making it clear the space was heated.

Another man, this one presumably making a report, stood near the doorway and continued speaking to the seated man. I had pulled the cork up in the middle of their conversation and missed the first part. In any case, the conversation was inconsequential to my purposes, being a weighting and ballast report based on adjustments made for the on loading of the cargo of the Others.

Tired, I rolled away from the hole but left it unplugged so that I might benefit from the heat rising from below. I closed my eyes, intending merely to rest them for a minute, but drifted off instead, into a deep, dreamless sleep.

I slept for an indeterminate amount of time. When I awoke, I immediately knew that the ship was moving. Not only was a gentle motion present, but interspersed with the low groaning of timbers and creaking of ropes, I heard a droning noise, regular and stable. I assumed that final noise was caused by the propellers I had seen upon first sighting the vessel, and I was not incorrect.

For some reason, I remembered to replace the cork into its hole before crawling out of my cramped location into the larger locker. It was my intention to stretch my muscles briefly, exercising quietly before returning to my hiding place proper, as I saw light streaming through several small holes in the walls of the locker. It was still daylight, and not my chosen time to attempt moving about.

I did complete a series of simple exercises, suitable for the cramped situation when the door burst open. Sunlight streamed in, blinding me temporarily and causing me to shield my eyes with one hand. I also realized that the air outside was far warmer than it should have been. Not balmy by any means, it was nonetheless above freezing. I must have been unconscious for longer than I thought.

My eyes adjusted sufficiently for me to lower my hand and I did so. What I saw shocked me to the core of my being. Standing in the doorway, flanked by the two darkly garbed guards from earlier, was Layla.

Dressed differently than before, she was quite scantily clad. Her form fitting cloth, as it seemed to be a single long yet narrow piece, was wrapped around her in such a way as to accentuate various features and reveal hints of others. This cloth was held in place by a wrapping of a narrow strap or straps, offsetting the golden tones of the cloth with bright red lines.

That she was royalty was clear from the jeweled headband, along with various anklets and bracelets, but royalty garbed thusly, I had never imagined. Most disturbing however was the pistol in her hand, a duplicate of the one I was painfully familiar with. She was pointing it at me. With a sneer of contempt, she motioned me forward.

Stunned I numbly complied, stepping slowly forward. As the two guards grasped me roughly by the arms, Layla laughed. It was a cold, heartless laugh, and I could scarce imagine it coming from the woman who had done so much to save my life.

With that, she turned and walked onto the deck. Her words drifted back to me over her shoulder as she left, echoing in my head, "Curious little man, there is someone you need to meet." As if she had uttered some private joke, she laughed again and with no more warmth than before.

Chapter Five

As the two guards manhandled me onto the deck, it became obvious that we were travelling at a high rate of speed for a lighter than air craft. A quite noticeable apparent wind was blowing from forward. The initial warmth I had perceived upon the door to the storage locker opening now seemed to be an illusion generated by the stirring of warmer air within, and Layla's lack of cold weather clothing.

If my rescuer-turned-captor felt any degree of discomfiture from the wind or temperature she gave no sign, striding purposefully along the deck towards a larger hatch leading presumably toward the person I was to 'meet.' As I was brought along behind her I was able to glance around briefly at the ship and surroundings.

In actual operation the vessel did seem to be crewed largely as are sailing vessels. Occasionally I noticed men in the same cold weather suits I had seen earlier climbing ropes or ladders. They adjusted various line tensions, tied or untied knots, and moved ballast bags from one location to another.

This was all done quite efficiently and without obvious direction or any kind of supervision. Despite the overall primitiveness of the airship, the propeller mechanism looked to be reasonably complex. Geared drive shafts spun inside of protective housings, only visible when passing through an exposed bearing, or when I saw a crewman open an access panel briefly and refill a reservoir containing a liquid I can only surmise must have been a lubricant of some sort.

The shafts and gears seemed to be the only major exception to the overall wooden construction of the vessel, being made from a grayish metallic alloy of which I could not identify upon mere glimpses. Other smaller fittings, pulleys and pins were made of predominately bronze or copper alloys, as were the guns I had seen.

Of the landscape surrounding the ship, I paid little attention. The airship was, as I indicated previously, high in the air. It was of sufficient altitude that details of the surface were obscured both by distance, and by cloud cover. What I did see of the surface merely told me that the ship was over land and not water.

My sojourn on deck was however quite brief and soon my escorts and I were negotiating a steep ladder, as stairs are called in nautical terminology, down and into the skin of the ship. While the chill air outside had been somewhat invigorating, I was nonetheless glad to be out of the wind. My uplifted mood, slight though it was, soon turned to apprehension as I considered the probable outcome of my rapidly approaching 'meeting.'

Several possibilities flitted through my thoughts, but as none of them were remotely pleasant, or as it turned out, accurate, I will not elaborate on them. Suffice it to say that when I was roughly pushed through a doorway after Layla, and then thrown to the deck, what met my senses was completely unexpected. When I say I was taken aback, please remember what I had been through in the several days prior.

I had thought, until that point, that I was now beyond being surprised. My assumption proved incorrect as I raised my eyes from the floor and looked upon the figure seated in a rather large and well padded chair. The room was dimly lit from a single lantern, and even that was shaded with a cover which allowed only sickly yellowish beams to pervade the shadows in a limited manner. The faintest light from another source of illumination, this one flickering, provided scant additional lighting from another part of the room. It took my eyes several seconds to fully adjust to the gloom, and during each of those seconds I waited for my mind to stop playing tricks on me and reveal the shadowy figure reclining before me.

After I realized that my vision would get no better, I blinked several times to ensure nothing had gotten into my eyes. All during my acclimation to the dark room, the figure seemed content to study me, much as I was studying it. Not being chastised in any way for staring upon the visage, I began to push myself to my feet.

Apparently, although I was allowed to look, I was not to be allowed to stand. Several sharp blows to my back, and a kick to my ribs, informed me of this restriction and I desisted in my attempt to rise. Settling back to the floor, I resumed examination of my surroundings. Deciding that speaking out of turn might prove as unwelcome as my attempt to stand, I remained silent.

Besides the overstuffed chair, the room contained an equally sumptuous bed. Even in the dim lighting I could tell that the bedding arrayed atop of it was brightly colored. A small, well insulated brazier glowed dimly in the corner, providing heat to the room. Incongruously hanging from the wall and foot posts of the bed were several sets of chains and shackles, the purpose of which, I could only guess.

Of the seated figure, I should at least attempt a description. Notwithstanding the dimness of the room, there was certain vagueness about it that could not be ascribed to a lack of lighting alone. It was as if its edges were ill-defined, somehow fuzzy. It wore dark colored clothing, but not the sharp, smooth black that my captors wore.

Its garment was loose fitting, a robe perhaps, but tattered. As the figure began to stand, slowly and stiffly from the chair, the frayed ends of the robe and sleeves undulated slowly, as if being blown by a gentle breeze, yet no breeze was present. On stiff legs it took a step, then two, towards me.

I glanced to both sides, but the faces of my two guards remained impassive. Layla stood off to one side, eating small morsels from a bowl as if watching a stage show. Of the three who had brought me here, only Layla seemed to be paying attention to me as the dark, vague figure approached.

Strangely, it was at this time that I first noticed a smell which pervaded the room. A musty, earthy odor, yet at the same time dry and stale with a hint of eucalyptus, I initially ascribed it to several small punts of incense burning innocuously in the corners of the room. However, when the smell came to me more strongly as the figure moved out of the chair and approached, I reevaluated my assumption.

It came quite close, apparently unafraid, and looked down upon me. Only then did I get a fleeting glimpse of flesh beneath the shredded garment. That its skin possessed a gray color was obvious, even in the dim light. Although still somewhat out of focus, even this close, I could see that the skin had a dry, quite unappealing texture in addition to the unhealthy tone.

Nothing in my experience prepared me for the sensations which coursed through me as it spoke. Although the sound was unusual in and of itself, reminding me nothing so much as dry leaves in a pile scraping against one another while being raked, its voice had a more complex quality.

At the same time the sound reached my ears, I felt it speak through the rest of my body. The sensation was like a low vibration, similar to the beginnings of an earthquake; only this vibration struck me all over at once and did not originate in my feet. It took me some time just listening to the sounds and becoming accustomed to the unusual sensation before I was able to understand what it was saying.

It must have anticipated my delayed comprehension, because after speaking it stood quietly for a brief time before repeating its question several times in the same relaxed manner, showing no apparent irritation at my initial inability to understand. Eventually I grasped the phrase being repeated. It was simply, "Do you understand me?" As casually as I was able, considering the unusualness of the situation, I replied. "Yes, I understand you now."

It was at this juncture that I noticed the briefest rise in its inflection. It may be speculation, not totally unwarranted, but I thought I could detect the faintest hint of surprise in its voice. "So soon? Very well then." As it spoke more I noticed something else about its language use. It spoke at a very even tempo, and paused for an almost inordinately long time between utterances. I could almost imagine it taking in a long slow breath between sentences.

It leaned in closer, looking at me with small, dark eyes that were set deeply into sunken eye sockets upon its wrinkled, dry face. If I expected to smell a fetidly enhanced version of the odor that emanated from it as it exhaled and spoke I remained disappointed. I sensed no such change. It asked, dryly "I must know. Have you lain with my promised one?"

Denial on my lips, I looked to Layla with a questioning look. To my chagrin she merely stood, a look of mild amusement turning up the corners of her full lips. "He really has not guessed the truth yet," she said to no one in particular, although she did so meeting my gaze coolly.

"Enough," the crackled voice said, still the same timbre and lack of urgency as before. The only variance was an increase in the vibrational sensation the voice generated. That one minor modification was sufficient to confirm what I had already suspected. The dark figure was in charge, and used to being obeyed.

With an intensity I would not have believed in eyes so beady and sunken, this strange being stared at me. I realized that it was not going to repeat itself this time, and expected an answer. Not wanting to find out what would happen should I balk, I simply told it the truth. "No, I have not." It looked at me more closely, saying "We shall see."

I half expected it to raise a hand against me, to attempt to extract a different answer from me through coercion. So much was my expectation that I had to steel myself from flinching as it raised its hand. My fears proved unfounded, and the motion was merely the prelude to a summons, made in a beckoning motion. "Bring her in," it commanded.

The door to the chamber swung open behind me with a creak, but I did not dare to look away from the being standing so close in front of me. I heard a voice, respectfully from behind me say, "As you command Exalted One," followed by the sound of footsteps. Two guards, these wearing the same tight-black gear as the ones who stood at my side, entered. Between them they escorted a female garbed only in a form-fitting knitted garment that extended from her neck to her ankles. Her arms were completely sleeved and each leg was individually covered in a similar manner.

Her hair, wavy and extending loosely down to the middle of her back, was either light red or auburn. As the two guards led her past me, she turned her head towards me. Although the lighting was not good, and her hair fell in such a way as to conceal a sizeable part of her face there could be no mistaking who it was. No mistaking who it was, except that Layla stood several feet to my right.

Simple things escape my attention at times, as my eyes shot towards the unfettered and smirking version of the two women I realized something that should have been obvious to me before. The Layla, if that was even her name, whom had taken me captive on the ship possessed jet black hair. In all other respects they seemed physically identical.

Before I could begin to ponder the ramifications of two Laylas, three if I counted my Nurse Lila from what now seemed like so long ago, the one of them most recently arrived called out to me, "John!" It was the voice I knew, and with it she was asking for my help. My lesson against standing forgotten, or at the very least ignored, I sprang to the assistance of she who had come to my aid.

I rose without a plan other than to remove Layla from the clutches of the two who held her and led her towards the bed and resplendent shackles. Perhaps I should have considered our situation, and its unknowns, more carefully prior to acting. I had only taken a step and a half, and had not yet even stood upright, when my leg caught on something and I felt a too-warm hand push against my back to aid in my off balancing.

It seemed my unusual host was not above taking matters into his own hands should the need arise. As I fell face forward toward the deck, only a reflexive tuck on my part prevented me from slamming into the polished hardwood planking. Instead, I rolled smoothly on one shoulder and back to my feet.

I had considerably closed the gap between Layla and I, standing a mere pace from her. For the briefest of moments, I thought that my course of action might yield favorable results. I began stepping towards the nearest of Layla's two guards who was now turning to face the disturbance.

Someone behind me had acted just as fast as I had however and my hope was dashed. A dull thud reached my ears followed immediately by my vision becoming star-filled and fading away. The tingling shock from the blow to my head radiated down my limbs. My legs gave out from under me, and this time there were no reflexes to stop me from crashing to the deck. At least I scarcely felt the wooden impact of the flooring to my chest and side of my face.

My next sensation was of cold, icy water washing over me as I lay prone. Whether I had lain unconscious a second or for several minutes I do not know. Not that it matters significantly, as I was now receiving the full attention of everyone in the room. As the water ran away from me, yet leaving enough to soak me through to the skin of my torso, another quantity was poured over me, apparently to elicit some sort of response which I was too slow in giving.

This water felt fully as cold as the first application, and I lifted my head slightly in an attempt to ascertain its origin. A wooden bucket, bound with brass loops and woven cord, dangled from the hand of one of the black suited guards. As I sat up he felt the need to empty the remaining contents of the bucket at my face, and he allowed himself the luxury.

I managed to blink, but otherwise took the full brunt of the icy liquid full on my exposed skin. Apparently, my ability to perceive time at an altered rate was not triggered by the splashing of a bit of water, no matter how cold and uncomfortable. It was of little concern; Layla's safety was of greater import to me than avenging this instance of masochistic behavior. In any event, there would be time for that later, perhaps, should I survive.

"Enough!" Spoke the crackly voice, its sub-auditory vibration quite clearly present. Its annoyance proved to be not at the treatment of either Layla or I, but at the copious amount of water now sloshing around on the deck. "You will clean up that mess, and if the wood needs to be re-treated, you will see to it personally."

Looking sufficiently chastised for his carelessness, the one carrying the bucket managed to shoot me a malicious glare nonetheless. I will never understand how some people can blame others when they are called out for their own behavior, but in this case I knew that this one would be holding a grudge against me.

Noting the several brass and copper cylindered guns now pointed in my direction, I grudgingly became an unwilling voyeur in the unfolding spectacle. The two guards holding Layla's arms resumed leading, or more accurately dragging Layla towards the bed, for she did not go willingly.

Do not think for a second that the thought of another mad charge, ignoring the guns pointed at me, was not constantly in my thoughts. Indeed I had at this point already steeled myself to go out fighting in a vain attempt to reach Layla should the tableaux playing out before me go much further.

Once again, things did not develop as I expected them to. As the shackles and irons were clamped onto Layla's wrists and ankles, I was grasped roughly by my own shoulders and yanked to my feet. From there I was walked to the foot of the bed, seemingly to watch the proceedings, although for what sinister purpose I could not imagine.

It ran against my grain to see Layla restrained so, but I must admit that I admired the way that she kept silent. She physically struggled without abating until the last shackle was in place, but she did not waste her breath on either pleadings for them to desist, or more surprisingly on hurling invectives at them for their despicable activity.

Throughout the whole ordeal, which took perhaps a minute or two, Layla kept her eyes locked to mine, as if this somehow lent her strength. What happened next caused me to look at her in the same way. The guards at either side of me roughly tore at my garments, causing the buttons of my shirt to pop off.

After relieving me of my shirt, I felt my pants being cut away from behind. As they fell away, I stood quite naked. Layla's eyes did not shift one inch at this development, but widened slightly in surprise. At this point, dense though I am at times, I began to grasp what might be intended.

The wispy, gray leader walked toward the side of the bed, but turned to look at me. I noticed immediately the narrow, double edged blade in his hand as he absently began cutting away at Layla's garment at one shoulder. When he spoke, it became apparent how silent the room had become. "I will ask you once again, have you lain with my promised one?"

I could not conceive of what the correct answer would be in this situation. The truth, as I had already told him, seemed no better than a lie. I could not fathom what this creature was seeking. As I stood pondering, his knife cut lower, revealing more of Layla's smooth skin. As the blade cut the fibers, ever so slowly, the inherent tightness of the garment revealed itself as the narrow cut widened of its own volition upon the expansion caused by her breath.

Startled, I tensed as I felt a soft hand rest itself gently on one of my shoulders. Another reached under my arm to the other side and gently caressed my chest. A soft female voice, barely more than a breath on my cheek, reached my ear. As she spoke, her lips brushed my ear, soft and warm. It was the other "Layla."

As if anticipating my dilemma, she said in a sweet voice that turned almost pleading at the end, "Say that you have not been with my sister. You must say that you have not." With that, she disengaged from me and stepped back, but the tinkling laughter which came from behind me was anything but plaintive.

I was no closer to divining the answer than before. If anything I was more confused, and I must say a bit flustered by the contact with Layla's sister, as I now knew her to be. The solution was thrust upon me in any event, through no doing of my own.

The blade had worked its way beneath Layla's breast, leaving an "s" shaped cut in the woven fabric. Enough of the cloth had curled away that I knew he cared not for her modesty and intended to leave her as naked as I. I glanced around quickly at the guards, steeling myself for one final, and quite probably fatal act of defiance in Layla's defense.

The "Exalted One" continued cutting, exaggerating his curving pattern in a manner that made it clear he was in no hurry, and was also quite probably enjoying either the process or its effect on Layla or I. For some reason, as I glanced about, what finally triggered my burst into action was the leering smirk I saw on the face of the soldier holding my right arm.

As he continued his demeaning task, revealing all too much of Layla's body, the gray figure began speaking again, almost casually this time. He barely got beyond, "Very well then, I will take your silence as..." when I reached my limit of endurance. I took a sudden step backwards and forcefully brought my arms together in front of me. Still grasping my arms, but entranced by the restrained and quite shapely form being cruelly disrobed in front of them, they were taken completely by surprise.

Their heads smacked together with a satisfying thunk and they immediately loosened their grips on me and began to sink to the deck. At this most opportune moment, my unusual time dilation finally began again and the next several seconds took what I perceived to be a much longer span.

I first noticed that things were not progressing normally as my two former captors fell to the deck as if in slow motion. As I strained to look around and begin moving towards the guard standing nearest me by the side of the bed, the one who had kept his gun pointing at me, I realized that I was moving with even less effort than I had when last I experienced this phenomenon.

The thought even filtered through my thoughts that I must be regaining something, some ability I had lost in my initial accident on that battlefield in France. I wondered how many other facets of myself remained hidden from my knowledge or use, but only wondered briefly. As I have said before, when I am in that altered time rate I find myself to be more analytical than is normal for being in a crisis situation.

So I re-focused on the problem at hand, overpowering the guards, freeing Layla, and escaping. Ignoring the holstered guns of my now prone guards I grabbed instead their stabbing blades, one from each thigh sheath, and advanced on my first target.

As of yet, none of guards or the "Exalted One," seemed to be tracking my movement fast enough to be of any consequence. I did however have some apprehension that at least one of the occupants might discharge his firearm at me. The idea of attempting to dodge a bullet or bullets did not imbue me with confidence, so I ignored the thought.

I reached the first guard and, unceremoniously and quite unfairly, stabbed him directly to one side of his throat, aiming to open his artery. As I drew the blade back, evidence followed in extreme slow motion in the form of a bright crimson stream arcing from the small hole I had created. I was already vaulting over the bed, and Layla, in an attempt to reach the other guard before the stream of blood had become even three inches long.

Half way through the vault, my feet swinging over and my hands lifting me from the springy mattress that had nearly caused me to misjudge my acrobatic feat, a new problem arose, as if I were not already faced with enough challenge. Being within the ship, the knowledge that we were moving through the air had been diverted from my attention. The sight of one portal disc, then another, moving through the forward bulkhead and directly towards me gave me pause and reminded me that the ship was indeed still mobile.

I had not freed Layla, and could not allow myself to be ported to "safety" while she was still captive. The problem was, I was in mid-air with no leverage. The disc floated rapidly towards me, of course it was the ship moving and not the disc, but the relative description serves well enough. To my astonishment, time slowed down even more.

Presently, the room seemed even to dim slightly from the distortion and I was again moving as if in molasses. But I was moving, and managed somehow to tip the side of the bed as I passed causing me to spin as I inched through the air. It was barely enough, for as I spun, the first disc passed by me. The second however clipped my leg, sending the sensation of falling through me. It was nearly as disorienting as when I had passed through the first portal from the war in France, but thankfully, I was not carried through the portal as it floated past.

I saw that the discs moved with impunity through the other objects and people in the room, so apparently I was the only one who could see them, or be affected by them. Still I wondered as I tumbled toward the deck if I could bring something or someone through with me. After all, on my first journey, I had remained clothed and even armed.

I tumbled awkwardly to the deck and time accelerated slightly. Although a bit clumsily, I rose to my feet once again using my forward momentum and sliced the second guard twice, once on his inner thigh as I came up, the second upwards beneath his armpit in a circular motion. Somewhere, I had also learned how to use knives to deadly effect.

I noticed the guards moving slowly now, and I began for the first time to feel sluggish. There was seemingly a limit to how long I could maintain this state, and I felt I was fast approaching that limit. Unfortunately, I still had much to do. The gray one, and Layla's sister remained, and I had still not freed Layla.

I struggled on, movement becoming more difficult and slower by the instant. The room was fading now in earnest, although in my deepening haze, I believed it to be more an artifact of my exhaustion than anything else. In desperation, I hurled my bloody blade towards the chest of the "Exalted One," in the vain hopes that it might strike true.

As the first spun through the air I fell to one knee, somehow managing to throw the second blade from the numbing fingers of my left hand. Blackness began closing in rapidly as I saw with satisfaction that my first blade and then the second did indeed penetrate full into the chest of the gray one. The sound that followed, although muffled from both my fatigue and the residual time distortion, turned my satisfaction to anguish.

It was laughter. It laughed at me and perhaps it laughed at the blades protruding from its chest as if they were some kind of joke. Blackness engulfed me then, and I neither saw nor felt anything more.

Chapter Six

Usually, I have heard from others, when one is unconscious the passage of time seems brief. For example, after sitting down one might quite suddenly startle awake to find that while it was light outside when he first sat, it had suddenly become dark. I have indeed experienced similar phenomena, and can understand the feeling of abruptness.

This time in contrast, as I awoke I knew I had been insensible for substantially more than a few minutes. How I knew this, I cannot tell you, for I had no recollection of either dreams or semi-waking periods since falling to the wooden deck of the airship sometime prior. I simply knew I had been asleep for a significant duration.

Even barring my hunch, as it were, my surrounding would have brought me to the same realization momentarily. The dry warmth and gentle movement of the airship were gone, replaced disconcertingly by cold stone and damp, stale air. Even more disturbing was the discovery that my feet were shackled to a very short chain that was in turn secured to a ring set into the floor.

I was jailed. Not only was I alone, in a strange world and imprisoned, awaiting a fate unknown to me, but I had also been divested of my scant belongings. Instead of my uniform and remaining accoutrements, I was garbed in a scratchy, poorly fitting cloth that felt like nothing so much as a burlap sack with holes cut in it for my head and arms. Except for modesty I would have preferred to have been naked, for the coarsely woven fabric offered little in the way of warmth and as I mentioned previously, nothing in the way of comfort.

The cell was dark, so examining my place of confinement by sight would have to wait until another time. From the limited mobility offered by the chains securing my feet I was able to learn little else about the room, other than I could touch all four stone walls, and that a metallic door was set into one of them. If there was any mortar set between the stone walls, I could not feel it, so tight were the gaps. The floor seemed to be smooth and slightly slanted towards a small, barely three inch hole in the center of the room. Of the ceiling, I could tell nothing as it was quite out of my reach.

If it were not for the fact that I was being held within, I might have appreciated the solidness of construction. As it was, I felt over the room twice more to ensure I had missed nothing, then sat on the floor with my back to the wall. I sat and contemplated my experiences thus far.

First I ran through my head all that had happened to me during the brief time since awakening in the hospital. I pondered the strangeness of knowing that I was now in a totally different world. How long I sat in the darkness thinking, I do not know with any degree of accuracy, but it seemed a long time indeed before anything happened to distract me from my contemplation.

I had been alone long enough to grow both thirsty and hungry. That much I am sure of. In a way, I hoped the door would be thrown open to the blinding yet smoky glare of torchlight, and that guards would roughly haul me out to some other venue. It was disappointing to say the least when upon hearing footsteps approach outside the cell door, and seeing the faintest of light seep in around the doorframe and small barred window set out of my reach high on the door, all that happened was that a nearly floor level flap in the door swung outward from its hinged top and a bowl of something was set on the floor and shoved further into the cell using a pushing stick with a V shape on one end.

My mind, active as usual, thought briefly of attempting to grab the stick. But reasonably, I assumed it would get little but a severe beating for my efforts. I was still shackled to the floor, and a brittle stick would prove a pathetic weapon against what I assumed would be armor wearing guards. I quickly desisted from that line of thinking.

Before I even had a chance to adjust to the dim light that came through the small opening, it was slammed shut again. If it were possible, the darkness seemed even deeper than before now that I was reminded of vision, however briefly. The smell which reached me from that bowl was far from appetizing, even given my thirst and hunger, but I rationalized that it must provide at least a modicum of nutrition. Had my captors wanted me dead, simply ignoring me in this dungeon would have been an easier way of disposing of me, or so I thought at the time.

I made my way carefully through the darkness, feeling for the bowl gingerly. It tasted no better than it smelled, but proved to contain mostly liquid in any case. I was glad that I could not see the irregular chunks that floated within that liquid, and after attempting unsuccessfully to stomach one of them, settled on merely drinking the broth.

Eventually, I lost count of how many times I was fed in my cell. Sometime after many such feedings, I heard the telltale footsteps and the port was opened and left open. I could reach just far enough to push my bowl out of the port, as I discerned was the desired action on my part. The meals alternated between the vile soup I had been served first and a chunky porridge made from a conglomeration of grains I could not identify by taste. Of the two, the porridge was slightly more palatable, but clearly not made from grains that one would not even feed to his livestock. Noting an overwhelmingly moldy odor from the porridge on more than one occasion caused me to dump it down the floor opening rather than risk eating it.

Clearly, while I was not to starve overtly, no great effort was being made to ensure my health in any case. Either unable or unwilling, the food bringers totally ignored my entreaties for conversation. I heard other ports open and shut, but no other conversation ensued at any of them, at least not for some time. I attempted once to engage other inmates in conversation but was harshly reprimanded in whispered tones that I would cost all of us our food for several days at least. Thereafter silence reigned as I had no desire of being responsible for depriving my fellows, such as they anonymously were, of their meager rations.

You may wonder at why I spend so much effort in describing my meals. Quite frankly this was one of the most tedious and drawn out parts of my life. With the exception of when I... No I will not go into that here. Suffice it to say that there was simply nothing else to fill the void of time than the delivery of food.

Yes, I attempted to exercise and to maintain my flexibility as best as I could. I also kept my mind active with drills of imagination, but stopped short of creating conversations in my head with either real or imaginary persons. I felt for some reason that should I go down that path, I might very well exit this cell a gibbering idiot, thoroughly ensconced in my own world and quite insane.

Despite my best efforts, I was unable to trigger the opening of any portals through which I might affect my escape. In any case, as the chains shackled to my ankles proved resistant to my attempts at removing them, I feared what might happen should I be suspended by my legs partially though one of those gateways. Should one snap shut with parts of me on either side, I hypothesized that I would in all likelihood be bisected. I had no desire to test the reach of my healing ability in that manner

I never gave up hope that the door would someday open and I would be freed from this prison. The closest I came to despair was when I thought not of myself but of Layla and her fate. I could only hope that she was not in a similar situation as mine, and unbearably none worse.

Sitting in the dark, I grew to detest the filthiness of the place. My hair, beard and nails grew quite long. While I could do nothing about my hair, which annoyingly hung down to my shoulders in contrast to my preferred shortness, having nothing but time on my hands I took to using the only tool I had at my disposal on my finger and toe nails, the stone of my cell. Each day I checked by feel each of my nails and spent not a short interval carefully scraping them along the floor of my cell to keep them neat. It was not much, but it was something I could do and had control of.

Interestingly, while I lost any extra fat my body carried, I did not waste away as I expected. Clearly it was not the quality or amount of food I was being fed, but as to the cause of my maintained heath I could not guess, other than perhaps that it was somehow related my accelerated healing as my scalp and skull had done in France.

Another way in which this heartiness benefited me during this captivity was that I developed none of the infected sores as I should have from lying for so long on dank stone. I never, as far as I can tell, developed so much as an abrasion while chained to that floor, even around my ankles. The chains were uncomfortable; nevertheless they did not chafe me as I expected they would after such a long time in contact with my skin.

If I have in some way given you a feeling or idea as to the sheer tediousness of my time in that cell, then here I will cease to describe it. As long and drawn out as that interval seemed, I do not lie when I say that when the door to my cell finally opened, the chain securing me to the floor removed and I was led away from the cell that the entire experience became quite instantly but a single memory in my thoughts and I gave it no further consideration until dwelling on it long enough to write about it here.

I was led, more than a bit unstable on my feet from the long duration of not walking more than two steps, down the shadowy corridor and up a set of stairs into another world, or so it seemed at the time, so great was the difference in my surroundings. Once at the top of the stairs and through another door, this one wooden yet bound by bronze fittings, I stepped into blinding brightness. I was forced to actually close my eyes completely due to the intensity of the light, so long had I been immersed in stygian blackness. I walked for a distance totally blind before I was able to crack my eyes a bit and begin to look around. Luckily, my legs quickly remembered how to walk, and other than their hands grasping me by the arms for direction, my guards ceased to support me. I was thankful for that, for their support had not been gentle.

The first thing I saw, aside from my incongruously bare and dirty feet bracketed by the dark, boot-shod feet of my escorts, was the floor. It was inlaid in a quite complex pattern of what I could only assume was marble in various colors. Gradually I lifted my eyes higher and looked about as we moved down the corridor.

Ornate decorations, sculptures and paintings lined the walls to my left, but more breathtaking were the large windows to my right. Sunlight streamed into them, and through the windows I could see tree covered hills in the distance. What impressed me more however, was the sight of buildings, all lower than the one I was currently in, covering the hilly terrain nearby. I was in a city, and the first one I remember seeing.

The military compound in France had been near a town to be sure, but the wooden houses there, although multi-storied and colorful, were no comparison to the buildings I saw as I walked. The streets ran in a very orderly, straight pattern, like the spokes of a wheel radiating outward, the building I was in quite clearly the center of that hub. I could also see, at discrete distances down the hill, two circular walls completely blocking the streets and adding artificial boundaries to the city, the first perhaps not quite a mile distant. Due to the lessening degree of decline farther down the hill, I was able to see that buildings continued past the first wall at least. I could not be sure of what was beyond the second wall, other than patterns of cultivation on the gently sloping landscape outside of the city.

That there must have been gates of some sort was made obvious by the fact that the streets on one side of the first wall aligned perfectly with the ones on the outside of it. Due to the range of the first wall, I could not make out many features more distant.

The buildings themselves, from what I could see of the closer ones, were of similar design to one another. Three floors seemed to be the rule for the stone or perhaps concrete buildings, and covered balconies extended from both the streetwise and central sides of the buildings. They seemed to be built as a whole-block structure surrounded by adjacent streets with a central courtyard in the middle. Narrow archways from the streets apparently gave direct access to the central courtyards, while arched doorways led into the buildings themselves. Adding complexity to the layout, elevated bridges and archways crossed the road in many places, connecting one building to another and further adding to the interconnectedness of the city.

Plants and trees grew everywhere, from potted ones on the balconies to fully grown deciduous trees within the courtyards and along the streets. Even the flat rooftops sported gardens, some flowery, some obviously more oriented towards crops or vegetables. The thought crossed my mind that for some reason, snowfall was not a concern here. That puzzled me briefly as I remembered the steep roofs in France, and more recently the heavily snow covered frozen environment I had traveled through on beasts clearly acclimated to cold climes.

While the air around me was neither noticeably cold nor warm, apparently outside was at least slightly warmer. People walked around dressed in loose yet colorful clothing clearly designed for warm weather. Single piece tunics, covering from shoulders to almost knee length were most common, but variations leaving bare arms or with shorter leg covering were also present. I even spied an occasional bare-chested workman carrying a heavy load on his shoulders.

Despite these differences I knew that I was still in the same world as I had been, merely in a different location. Even if I had not guessed as much walking through the hallway, my guards and I passed an 'Exalted One,' replete with vague, blurred features, wispy clothing, and the faint smell of eucalyptus. It was flanked by the familiar black leather-suited guards with short wicked blades. The guards also wore the curious cylinder bearing pistols in holsters at their waists.

I wondered at the apparent positions of importance that these beings had amongst this otherwise human civilization. While they clearly bore a similarity to humans, they were also obviously not human. The truth of this, secret and protected by eons of tradition and obfuscation would prove much stranger than anything I could conceive at the time. My pondering was cut short by the simple arrival of my guards and I at the end of the hallway.

Two doors, three feet wide each and twice the height of a man stood closed in front of us. They were obviously gilt with polished bronze, and were flanked by two doormen holding spears with the butt ends against the floor. Each man had one arm behind his back with the other, holding the spear extended. The spear points leaned outward, completing the "parade rest" posture.

They wore smooth, highly polished bronze helmets. Nose guards bracketed by the converging sides of the helmet created a pattern similar to ancient Greek hoplite armor. The face openings however, were much wider than the Greek, allowing a clearer view of the face.

Their breastplates were also polished bronze, embossed with muscle patterns. However, both their arms and legs were covered with mere cloth, billowy black sleeves and loose fitting pants completed the outfits. Although the doormen seemed mostly ornamental, I could not help but notice that each wore long, rapier like blades at their waists. I assumed them to be proficient in their use.

As we approached, both doormen smartly brought the spears back against their bodies. One of the guards escorting me spoke to the doormen, not looking directly at the man, but keeping his gaze level and straight ahead through the doors. "We bring the prisoner as ordered, announce us."

Without answering, the doorman to our left turned and spoke into a small tube set into the wall behind him. I did not hear his words, but after a slight pause, both doors swung open smoothly, with a waft of warmer air from inside. The chamber inside was large and ornate, but windowless and dimly lit from several shielded lanterns and the glow of brazier fires from throughout the room.

As the guards led me forward, I was reminded strongly of the ambiance held by the compartment on the airship where I had encountered my first Exalted One. Being escorted by the same type of black leather-wearing guards equipped with short blades and pistols as on that prior occasion added to this feeling.

We walked slowly past four sets of smooth circular pillars, each flanked by a guard dressed as were the doormen outside. The pillars tapered slightly as they rose, with somewhat larger, yet still rounded bases and capitals. The tops of the pillars were shadowy in the darkness, but I thought I could detect arches in the ceiling above.

My feeling of déjà vu was completed upon seeing the wispy, vague figure seated upon the large, overly padded chair at the far end of the room. Next to it, in a chair slightly smaller and not quite as padded, sat Layla's sister. As I was pulled to a halt perhaps fifteen feet away, I noticed disconcertingly that protruding from the chest of the Exalted One were the hilts of two blades.

It was the same one I attacked previously and it had left my thrown blades where they struck, as some sort of macabre souvenirs. More disturbing than the fact it had left the blades in its flesh was that they caused it no apparent discomfort. I must have stared, for Layla's sister laughed softly at my bepuzzlement.

As in my previous encounter I was forced to the floor, a kneeling posture apparently sufficient. No audible sound accompanied it, but the deep multi-spectral vibration from the other seated figure could have been laughter as well, only more subdued. Then it spoke, "You like my keepsakes? I must thank you for them; they have been the source of much conversation."

Although its voice still possessed that dry-crackly sound that resonated across the range of my hearing, and possibly beyond, I detected a faint amusement in it this time. That feeling brought me no comfort, as I was reminded of nothing so much as a cat toying with its prey. Seeing Layla's sister, dressed in a loose fitting, yet sheer fabric, bound with straps in a similar fashion to when I had first seen her, stretch languorously back against her chair did nothing to reduce my feeling.

Quite unconsciously, or so I thought, she ran the fingers of one hand gently down the side of her neck, pausing near the middle of her chest. She looked at me, noticed my attention, and widened her eyes as if surprised. Removing her gaze from me, she looked down at her hand slowly. The smirk on her face as she looked back to me again revealed her behavior as anything but an accident. "Oh, I have missed you strange one."

She was alluring, in a quite forbidden way. I felt my face go hot in embarrassment at being so easily distracted by her wiles, and was thankful for the dim lighting and my rough beard. I reminded myself that she was without a doubt dangerous and not one to be trusted.

Refocusing my attention, I looked toward the slightly distorted figure in the other chair. As I could not think of an answer to its question, and assuming it to be rhetorical in any case, I attempted to direct the conversation in a way meaningful to me. "Where is Layla?"

My mind was anything but composed. I had been taken quite off guard by the totality of my circumstances, not to mention other distractions. I knew there must be some reason for my being brought here, other than merely to be toyed with, but I could not fathom what it might be. I did not have long to gather my wits when my question was, surprisingly, answered by the Exalted One.

"She is no longer your concern. She has been dealt with." Before I had time to wonder at what 'dealt with' meant, he continued. "It really was most amusing how vehemently she denied having relations with you. I almost believed her, until Laita got her to confess."

As he uttered the name, 'Laita,' he reached over and caressed the hair and cheek of the woman sitting next to him. She reached up and covered his scaly, dry hand with hers. "Yes, she was stubborn, but my sister always has been a bad liar." There was a game being played here, as before, and I had the disadvantage of not knowing the rules.

Any protest I might have uttered in Layla's defense was stilled in my throat by the sudden and obvious change in the demeanor or my captor. It stood from its cushions and pointed at me, strangely, with its little finger. As it spoke, it used the forceful effect of its voice which vibrated throughout my body. "What are you?"

It seemed a simple enough question, and I answered without thinking, "A man, like these guards, like the ones outside the door." Apparently, that was not the answer it wanted, and the shout which boomed from the Exalted One actually rocked me on my feet and hurt my ears. "No! Not like them." It quieted only slightly as it continued, "You bested several of my guards, including two of my elite Protectors, and moved so quickly that you could barely be seen. You survived on food contaminated enough to poison a sewer gajim and even thrived. No, there has never been a 'man' like you, not even in legend."

Its tone quieted further, until it reached normal levels again, still reverberating, but no longer uncomfortable. "So I ask again, what are you? Answer carefully. You have already committed crimes against me that are punishable by the Death of a Hundred Years, but I may delay, or even commute, imposition should you prove yourself useful to me."

I had no great desire to aid this one who had 'dealt with' Layla. I had not known her long, but she was steadfast in her efforts to aid me during that brief time. That I might have been the reason for harm coming to her was not easy to consider, and for some reason it was causing me more consternation with each passing second.

I looked slightly to my left in an attempt to assess my situation while deliberating on my response, and was rewarded by enough pressure from a blade in the hollow just below my right ear to announce its presence. I felt a knee snug itself against my back as a hand grasped my forehead from behind and held me back against hard leather. "Enough," came the command from my right, but then the voice whispered, "Please give me a reason to pith you."

The Exalted One lowered his arm and shrugged in a quite human gesture, only the inhale and exhale of an exasperated sigh missing. "There are also several area weapons, painful and messy, trained on you should you attempt another exhibition of your combat prowess." Continuing in what I could only assume was meant to be a soothing tone, still crackly, but quieter and the vibration somehow more harmonic, "I am trying to be reasonable. I want your abilities working for me; otherwise you will be eliminated, slowly and in agony."

Laita stood and stepped forward, "Please say you will work for us, you will be rewarded." This time she made no mocking smirk. Puzzled, but more resistant to her efforts due to my anger and frustration, I was nonetheless taken aback when the Exalted One continued the suggestion began by Laita, still in his soothing tone. "Yes, Laita has taken quite a liking to you. Is not my offer more pleasant than the alternative?" Laita looked at the Exalted One, smiling, "Oh I do hope he agrees to work for you, husband."

Despite the obviousness of the presence of some sort of formal relationship between the two during this and at my prior encounter, I had not made the connection. I remembered his references to Layla as his promised one, and realized that she had been intended to be his bride, as apparently Laita already was. Then it struck me what this being had offered me.

I knew immediately that I wanted no part of any such reward. I also knew that declining this offer outright would bring unpleasant results. "Yes, I will help you." I did my best to smile, and was again thankful for the beard and dim lighting, as it must have been obviously forced to any observant of such matters.

There are those who refuse to be deceitful, even under pain of death, men who hold to the truth in their hearts as a badge of honor for all to see. I hold such men in the highest regard, and respect them for dying honorable, truthful men. I tend to be of a slightly more practical bent and having no desire to die the 'Death of a Hundred Years,' either before or after I had determined Layla's fate. I lied.

While I thought it likely that Layla was dead, I refused to give up hope that she might live. I needed to find out, and if indeed she did live, do whatever it took to ensure her safety. If I were dead, or being tortured to death, I could do neither.

If either of the two saw through my deceit, they gave no sign. The Exalted One nodded, "Good, we will speak later, there is still much I will know about you." To the guards flanking me, he ordered, "Take him and have him cleaned up, dressed properly, and fed. Have him housed in the training barracks for now, but do not leave his side. I will summon him again. See that no harm comes to him, on my order."

"Yes, Exalted One." The guards replied in unison. Hoisting me to my feet, not roughly, they turned to lead me out of the door. I noticed they did not release their grips on my arms as we exited the chamber. I still was not trusted, but that was not surprising.

As we neared the entry doors, which stood open, the sonorous voice spoke from behind, bringing my guards and thusly me, to a halt. "Wait." It said, voice devoid of emotion. "Laita believes that he is not being truthful. Take him outside."

With that the guards noticeably tightened their grips on my arms. Instead of going straight through the hallway I had traveled from my cell, the led me through a series of doors to the left. This hallway had only small windows for lighting near the ceiling and I was afforded no view. I wondered whether this was a legitimate turn of events or if indeed I was still being played with, but I felt the result would be the same in either case and in no way favorable to me.

The gust of wind which struck me as I was led through a final door and outside was comfortable as I had predicted from my brief glimpse of the city through the windows. It was of similar temperature to the pillared chamber I had only recently exited, but was perhaps not as dry. Distracting me from enjoying the view and fresh air, the guards roughly yet efficiently bound my wrists together behind my back with a length of cord.

If I had chosen a moment sooner to resist I might have gained my freedom, temporarily, but they surprised me by moving suddenly to restrain me, one holding my arms firm in a lock despite my struggles, while the other tied them. To make matters worse, they also tied my ankles together, resulting in a more futile struggle from me. I actually managed to land an off balanced knee to the shoulder of one guard as he bent to tie my ankles.

My knee did little damage to the guard, and resulted only in me being thrown bodily to the ground with a thud to complete the wrapping of cord around my ankles. This done they lifted me to my feet and carried me to the very edge of the balcony as it were. Stone rails lined the sides of the elevated platform which protruded from the building we had exited, or more precisely lined two of the three sides. The edge they carried me to was protected in no such manner.

Looking down as much as I was able, I saw that from here the ground looked much farther below than it had to me from the windowed view from the safely of the corridor. In reality, it was the same distance, but I imagine it was exaggerated somewhat by both my awkward position and restricted ability to balance myself.

I am not normally afraid of heights. Being on the exposed deck of the airship at a much higher elevation had brought me no trepidation, however, I freely admit that I was in no way fond of my current position or elevation, and felt no small degree of apprehension. Whatever I felt inside myself, I did everything in my power not to let my fear show to these guards who would undoubtedly feed on it and harass me further. As it turned out, they needed no excuse to drive home the full precariousness of the danger inherent in my situation.

Several seconds passed as they leaned me out over the edge, taunting me with casual sounding questions such as, "How do you like the view?" or comments, "Nice day we're having," while they tilted me back and forth as if I were a human pendulum. On one occasion, one of them even missed his grip and I nearly tumbled off the ledge before he regained it.

A crowd began to gather below, and while I could see their features clearly, I had no illusions as to the height being great enough to be lethal, especially bound as I was. Such was my uneasiness that no thoughts of my time dilation or healing abilities came to me. I merely tried to keep my breathing steady as I was pushed back and forth. Seldom do I think that there is no way out of a situation, but this time, I really thought my options limited.

When Laita and the Exalted One came onto the balcony, bracketed by more of the black leathered guards, the crowd below reacted with a cheer. I noted a sort of rigid formality to it. As they said "Hail, Hail, Hail," repetitiously, all shouted in unison. Their voices were loud, but lacked any vigor. It was a mechanical, required response, not a spontaneous outpouring of enthusiasm.

Oblivious to the unspoken connotation of the cheer, the Exalted One waved at the crowd, bringing a halt to the cheering. While the natural lighting was much brighter than the interior chamber, if the Exalted One experienced any discomfort or malaise from the change I could not detect it. Seemingly, while it preferred the dry, warm darkness, it could function just as readily in other climes.

Walking to me in a staid, ceremonial way he shook his head. "I had not expected the crowd to grow so quickly this late in the day. It is most unfortunate." For a moment I thought the Exalted One was referring to having to restrain his behavior due to the crowd, but glancing down I saw something I had not noticed upon my last look. The crowd below stood just outside a clearly marked circular area of cobblestones.

While the cobblestones themselves were a light tannish color, near the center of the circle there was visible a faintly darker stain, almost rust or brown color. It was not regularly shaped, and in places I thought I even saw a splattered pattern emanating from the center.

The purpose of the place was becoming clearer to me now, and as the Exalted one continued speaking, it became quite obvious. "I had hoped merely to use this to threaten you into telling me the truth of your betrayal, so that with your confession in my ears I could enjoy every year of your death, each hundred of them. I have grown far too lenient over the past century or so, lenient and trusting. To think I almost believed you without verifying it."

At this he paused and waved to the crowd again, this time inciting a new round of cheers. Looking at Laita, he spoke again, "Thank you, my wife, for looking out for me. We will find another plaything for you, I promise." She looked up at him and nodded, surprisingly, a tear ran down her cheek. Why it was shed, I do not know to this day.

Once again, a wave to the crowd brought them silent; it was as if a switch had been thrown, on then off, then on, then off. The Exalted One took a step closer to me, practically leaning in so I could smell the eucalyptus odor, even with the outside breeze blowing across us. "So instead of my pleasure, I must think of my people first."

He paused, and not seeing how I could make things worse, I interjected, "How benevolent of you, and here I was thinking of you as a heartless tyrant." It was not the wittiest thing I could have said, but I was not at my most composed. In my defense, seeing those two knives sticking out of its chest, the heartless comment seemed an appropriate double entendre at the time. Unfortunately, however witty, my career as a vaudeville comedian seemed destined to be a short lived one.

Looking down at its chest and the protruding knives, the Exalted One laughed. Grasping each blade by the hilt, he pulled them out of his chest. There was no blood, only dry holes.

"You are quite correct about one thing, I am heartless, or more correctly my heart is not with me. But you misunderstand me. I cannot take you back inside to enjoy the Death of a Hundred Years, because that my people would not see. They would only see me not sending a condemned man to his death as proscribed. If they see me with that apparent weakness, they will not fear me as much. That, I cannot allow."

He was more sinister than I had thought, sickeningly so in fact, but as I was about to be thrown off the ledge I did not dwell overly much on it. I spoke again, not really expecting an answer, "Layla, does she live?" The exalted one ignored me, instead looking down at the blades in his hands briefly before raising them up and plunging them into my chest. The agony was intense and immediate, and my shout of pain turned quickly to a gurgle.

To one side, however, Laita stood, and while her expression was unreadable she looked me directly in the eyes and nodded. Layla lived, and in that instant I grinned, despite the pain of my labored breathing, despite the fact that the Exalted One shoved me backwards off of the ledge into the open space beyond. I grinned because I knew that Layla lived, and I grinned because the world began to slow down again. I was reminded of my difference from other men, and knew that I would live to find Layla. As I fell backwards from the ledge, I saw in slow motion the expression of surprise on the Exalted One's face. I knew in that instant that he could not fathom why I was grinning, and in what way I had beaten him.

My fall seemed to take a very long time, and I tumbled fully over once so that I could see the ground coming up to meet me along with the expressions frozen on the faces in the crowd. I even noticed shimmering portals around me as I fell, but none of them intersected my path. I thought briefly that I might fall into one visible against the ground below me, but I missed it by several feet.

Just before I impacted and felt pain throughout my body that made being stabbed seem like a pinprick, I pondered, in my accelerated way, what might happen were I to go through a portal this injured and bound? If I landed in water, would I drown? Would my body merely heal itself when the ropes rotted away and the knives rusted to nothing? Those questions would have to wait, as I hit the ground and felt not only the slow motion impact of my body compressing against the ground and my bones breaking, but also the final indignity of the knives in my chest being driven farther inside me and indeed sticking out from my back.

I will not bore you with the descriptions of fading to blackness again, as I tire of them as much as you do. That I lived is obvious in that I am relating my story at all. How I extracted myself from the predicament in which I found myself in upon awakening and what followed in my quest for Layla will have to wait, as I fear I have carried on for too long this time and my lids are heavy and I am in need of sleep.

Chapter Seven

I leave it to others to judge my fortune or lack thereof. It has been my experience that often a man cannot accurately determine whether a given situation either benefits him or the contrary until time has passed and it may be viewed from the perspective lens of looking backwards, taking into consideration the totality of his circumstances. So while you may judge my next awakening to be the height of misfortune, I ask you to wait until things may be viewed in a broader analysis.

I regained consciousness and immediately realized that I was unbound. Apparently my captors, or I suppose more correctly my executioners, were of a frugal nature as they did not see fit to send me into the afterlife with any of their supplies. I had been divested of everything, be it the rope which had bound my hands and feet, the knives that had been stabbed into my chest, or even the rough burlap garment that had been my only raiment during my incarceration.

While upon final retrospect I felt no great desire to be again in possession of the coarsely woven garment, I admit to a certain morbid disappointment upon feeling my chest and finding that the two blades had been removed. Rope, even in short lengths, can be quite useful, and I briefly lamented its loss as well before realizing that remaining tied would have been less than desirable.

Pushing myself up to a sitting position a bit stiffly, I examined my surroundings as well as possible. I saw thankfully that while it was dark, above me I could see stars in the sky. I was outside. A chilling breeze drifted over my skin, and though I shivered in reaction I noted that I did not feel unduly cold.

That I was no longer within the boundaries of the city was obvious both by the lack of either structures or artificial lighting nearby. In the distance, on the far side of several pine trees I could just make out the line of a raised roadway. It was the only evidence of civilization. Standing, intent on making my way to the roadway, I made a gruesome discovery.

Stepping forward in the darkness my foot landed on something I initially thought was a large rock with a slimy texture. I slipped almost falling, and then the smell struck me, rotten and putrid. My "dead" body had been dumped, unceremoniously, some distance outside the city, and in a location apparently frequently used for that purpose. I stopped short of reaching down to feel the "rock," for I had no desire to touch what I now suspected I would find laying on the ground.

I walked with more care towards the road, nevertheless I stepped several times on other bones, some of them bare, some still fleshy and attached to bodies. I am not weak of stomach, but the smell in combination with the texture of death under my bare feet caused me to fight to keep from gagging. Eventually, and none too soon, I made the roadway.

My relief at being finally away from that field of the dead was short lived however. Lining the opposite side of the road in both directions was a row of wooden crosses. The only seeming difference between the ancient custom of crucifixion as done on Earth and what I viewed, thankfully obscured by night, was the way the crosses were used, although both practices were clearly used as public examples of punishment.

Instead of a single person being hung with arms outstretched on either side of the crosspieces, two bodies hung on each occupied cross. Arms tied together at the wrist, and feet tied together at the ankle, each of the several bodies I saw hung diagonally from the end of the horizontal crosspiece toward the central support, forming a human "V" shape. Any reason that some of them were upright with their arms tied to the crosspiece while others were suspended by their ankles, I could only conjecture at. I supposed some difference in crime or punishment warranted alternate positioning.

My mood was dampened further by this insight into the mores of the civilization or at least one of the civilizations on this world. I looked both ways down the road in an attempt to determine the best direction to take. Thankfully at least none of the suspended bodies seemed as recently placed as some in the field of dead were. I also realized from an intellectual standpoint that I was lucky, as it were, not to have been hung on one of the crosses myself.

A low growl sounded from one direction down the road, and I quickly decided to head in the opposite direction. Not wishing to trigger any kind of pursuit response from whatever it was in the dark, I began walking casually along the road. Another growl sounded a distance to my left, from the general vicinity where I had awakened.

When a third, and then a forth growl, all from distinctly different directions reached my ears, I quickened my step. Looking back over my shoulder frequently, I weighed my options. While tending towards optimism in general, I have found that more often than not when dealing with dangerous situations it is beneficial to consider the worst thing that could happen and prepare accordingly.

I hoped that whatever lurked in the darkness merely saw me as competition for its food, not as prey. If they were scavengers, intent on partaking of the dead laying around, I would move off and leave them to their devices. However, as they growled around me, I felt the disturbing sensation of hairs rising and tingling on the back of my neck.

What I did next, I am not proud of. I do not hold in high esteem those who loot the dead, and in this situation I did somewhat worse. In my defense, I can only say that I was naked, unarmed, in the dark and surrounded by at least several unknown threats. Stopping briefly at one of the occupied crosses, I examined it quickly and found it far too sturdy to disassemble. In any case the pieces would have proven too bulky to wield, so I settled on the next available resource. Grasping one of the femurs from the nearest skeleton I yanked it free, testing its sturdiness with a thwack against the wooden cross.

The wood resounded loudly in the darkness, and while it vibrated in my hand, the bone held. I pulled the twin of the first bone from its anchor. This one proved more firmly attached and it took both of my hands to separate the ligaments, sending other parts of the now disarticulated skeleton clattering in various directions to the ground.

As I picked up the first bone, now holding one club-like femur in each hand, I heard repeated growling, now much closer. It seemed my cautious assessment of the danger had been accurate. I could only hope that the creatures in the darkness were more hungry than bloodthirsty, and that my resistance would cause them to move on to other, easier, prey.

With no readily apparent defensible positions I settled for stepping off the road and backing against the trunk of a larger pine. The road offered me more mobility, but I had no illusions of being able to outrun any pack of hunting animals and did not trust my senses in the dark enough to avoid being hamstrung from behind by a sneak attack. I did not have long to wait.

To say that I was relieved when the first animal edged towards me in the dim light, close enough to be recognized, is a bit of an overstatement. Still, after my brief encounter with the huge arachnid/crustacean like Others when I was newly arrived on this world I admit that the sight of the first wolf from this pack did lessen my apprehension somewhat.

Understand that when I say wolf, the description is only partially accurate. For whatever reason, it was slightly lighter now than it had been when Layla and I encountered the first canines upon the ice. I could see more of these beasts, discern more detail as it were. But as I had little to compare them to from before other than their size, and the sound of their growl, I could not be sure if they were the same species, for they were somewhat smaller than the ones from previously.

The beast was obviously of canine origin, and looked quite like a wolf. The main difference however was its size. I do not exaggerate when I say that it outweighed me, and by quite an amount. It was not in any great degree taller than other wolves, but it was stockier, with shorter legs and a wide, powerful looking face.

In any case, as it approached growling, two more came into view. When the closest one approached it crouched slightly and I feared it was readying to spring for my throat. I shouted and swung one of my improvised clubs towards the animal, but my show did not seem to give it pause in the least. They clearly were not afraid of humans, and I realized that my only chance was to drive one of them off by actually engaging in combat.

The only factor which seemed to be delaying their attack was my failure to flee. Somewhere at the edges of my thoughts was the awareness that running would be disastrous to me, and only cause them to attack both quickly and with vigor. Just as the nearest wolf bunched his rear legs under him, I lunged forward and using the full range of attack that the femur allowed me, I smashed downward at its nose.

The startled yelp which left the beast's throat told me that I had scored a hit, and I followed up immediately with a swing to the side of its head with my other club. The second hit struck with a satisfying thump, and while it did not knock the beast from its feet it did retreat, shaking its head as it did so. Backing to my tree I resumed my shouts in the hope that now, since I had proven to have bite, my noise would have more effect.

While the wolf I had struck stood out of range, the other two approached. Whether by accident or design, they came forward from different enough angles that I would not be able to engage both of them from my current position. I ceased shouting as it proved to have no more effect now than it had initially. My only options were to either engage both wolves at a disadvantage or move off from my cover in an attempt to stagger their attacks.

I chose to move off to the left and engage them one at a time, but felt exposed as I left the cover of the tree. Fighting the urge to focus on the nearest wolf with tunnel vision, I actually managed to keep my awareness behind me in case I was approached from that direction. Seemingly quick learners, my downward swing at the second wolf's nose met only air as it dodged back out of my reach.

Luckily, as it lunged towards me, the swing of my second club caught it on the side of its head just below one ear. As it was moving, my blow caught it off balance and the beast tumbled to one side. The third wolf followed close behind and leapt for my throat before I was able to ready for another swing.

For the first time in my recollection I somehow managed to recreate the altered time state that had heretofore been activated outside my awareness. As the wolf left the ground I felt a mild tingling, originating above my eyes and traveling through the center of my body and out each limb in a flash. I had not noticed that sensation before, and I knew suddenly that it was a critical step in controlling my power.

My thoughts sped up, and as the wolf reached a point halfway to me in the air, it slowed down, traveling through the air at a snail's pace. It was too close to allow me to lend any force to a swing so I threw myself backwards, bringing my arms up in front of me as it slipped smoothly overhead. Catching the wolf by its belly, my push sent me to the ground faster but also started the beast tumbling forward.

It landed flat on its back shortly after I did, although the loamy ground under the tree cushioned both of our falls. I quickly regained my footing while the wolf bounced slightly, continuing its roll. Glancing around, I noticed the first wolf I had struck was moving towards me again, and the second wolf that my bone club sent tumbling was regaining its feet.

Not knowing how much time I would be accelerated thusly, I perceived two options. One was that I could take advantage of my speed and put as much distance as possible between the wolves and I. The other action I could take was to attempt to disable the wolves as quickly as possible and then affect my escape.

While I should have made the choice quickly, in this instance my accelerated thought processes did not aid me. As I have said before, along with my quicker thinking also comes an enhanced awareness and curiosity. My brain seemingly worked harder to fill up the extra time it had been given. I have been inclined to believe that my confusion was due to my unfamiliarity with this special state. With practice I have since learned to process an incredible amount of information and make decisions in the blink of an eye.

As I looked between the wolves, attempting to decide upon my course of action I vacillated. Besides the appearance of several of the glowing portals which are ever present when I am in this altered time rate, a flood of other options invaded my consciousness. Several potential scenarios played on the screen of my mind, and with a sudden jolt I re-entered the normal flow of time.

I did not fall unconscious, and did not notice any undue feeling of fatigue. This could have been due to stimulation caused by my awareness of the wolves, now moving towards me at a normal speed. Not overly happy with the end result of my prior episode of time distortion, I nonetheless had few options. I was overmatched by the wolves and had no idea if there were more waiting just outside of my limited range of vision for an opportune time to attack.

Just as the nearest wolf began to lunge, this time towards my stomach, I imagined the tingling feeling I had felt just prior to time distorting itself mere seconds ago. Rewardingly, I again felt the tingle exit out the ends of my limbs just as everything slowed down. I stepped to one side, out of the way of the lunging wolf and intent on bringing one of my clubs down on its skull.

As I moved a strange thing happened, from the corner of my vision I saw an arrow gliding through the air. Moving more quickly at least relatively, than the wolf, I nevertheless saw the arrow quite clearly as it nearly struck my leg. It was large, perhaps a half inch in diameter and nearly three feet long. In reality, at this point I had no idea what had fired it, whether a hand drawn bow or even a ballista of sorts due to its size.

In any case I was glad that it missed me and impacted the wolf instead. Penetrating entirely through the neck of the wolf it stopped, sticking out from both sides in not quite equal lengths. Unsure of how fast the arrow would prove incapacitating, and being mid-arc in any case, I followed through with my swing and brought one club down squarely on top of the wolf's head.

I felt, and heard, the crunch of the beast's skull in slow motion, but didn't waste any of my time looking to see the result. At least two more wolves remained in close proximity. Still following behind the first, the only unwounded of the three began its slow motion leap at my throat.

They were nothing if not persistent. With all the frontal attacks against me, and having no strong desire to be hamstrung, I glanced behind me to ensure another wolf was not attempting to flank me. I noted with some surprise that there had indeed been a wolf coming at me from behind. That it now lay on the ground with an arrow protruding from its body cemented in my mind the idea that I currently had a benefactor.

For no other reason other than having not attempted it before, and feeling none of the fatigue that had overcome me during my prior episodes of time dilation, I attempted to sprint a short distance to gain a better position on the remaining wolves. If I had not been in a life or death situation, the results of my sprint might have seemed humorous. As I willed my legs to carry me as fast as possible and looked intently in the direction I wished to go I began moving very quickly, even for my enhanced perception.

It was almost as if my body moved faster than my accelerated brain could follow. If the dynamics of this are difficult to comprehend, do not trouble yourself with them. It took me some time to be able to describe to physicality of what happened to me, even in this limited manner. In effect, even though the wolves and things around me seemed to continue moving at a fraction of their normal rate and I had up until this time been only able to move marginally faster, I suddenly was able to move much faster.

In this instance my body moved at a rate I surmised must have been significantly greater even than I moved normally and more so relative to the motion in my surroundings. This indeed turned out to be the case, with one unfortunate side effect. My brain failed to keep up with my motion, and before I knew it I saw myself hurtling towards a tree in a blur.

Only luck kept me from injuriously smashing myself on that tree, and as I tried to stop I was forced to catch myself with my hands. So fast was I moving yet that when I impacted, the force stung my hands and I was only partially able to break my impact. While I managed to keep my head from striking the tree with any force, I paid for that by nearly having the wind knocked from me and did grunt from the sudden stop.

As I turned I noted with satisfaction that the leaping wolf was still in mid-air. The other wolf, the one I had struck in the jaw first was mid-stride and running towards me, giving chase, apparently nonplussed by my speed. Still, at my current location as long as the passage of time remained slowed, I had several seconds before it would reach me.

I watched what unfolded before me, becoming slightly detached from the situation, although things around me remained moving slowly. From my peripheral vision I saw another arrow emerge from behind a tree. I still had no clear view of the origin point for the arrows, but this one was clearly on an intersecting path with the running wolf.

With as much apparent time as I was given to witness the inevitable collision between wolf and arrow, and the resultant wounding of the animal that would take place, I almost forgot that the animal was in the process of attempting to kill me. I almost pitied the poor beast its fate. Then, without warning I snapped out of my altered time rate and everything sped up with a rush.

The running wolf took another stride before the large arrow struck its side, knocking it over, where it kicked and lay still. The leaping wolf landed, somewhat taken aback at having its target suddenly dart out of range, but oriented itself and quickly continued running in my direction. No other arrows were forthcoming, then I realized that I did not have time ponder my surroundings any longer.

Stepping to meet the wolf, I swung my clubs, the first one striking the top of it's head. In the split second the second club swept across and down towards the other side of the wolf's face, it yelped in protest at the initial injury. I misjudged the animal's velocity and instead of a head shot, the second club struck behind its shoulder.

Fortunately for me, this one had had enough, and regaining its balance as it turned clumsily aside apparently dazed somewhat, it ran off into the woods. Regardless of whether they had just been trying to kill me, I went to see to the other wolves. I am not one to let animals suffer, and it was not without a twinge of regret that I used my somewhat primitive tools to dispatch one of the two wolves that had not yet succumbed to its wounds.

Only when I had finished that did I look up and see my benefactor standing quietly, but with an arrow still knocked in his large bow, a trifle over ten paces away. He had a puzzled look on his face, but one that must have been mirrored in mine at the sight of him.

As for my confusion, it came mainly from the fact that standing before me was a caveman. Well, in most respects a caveman. He stood perhaps halfway between five and six feet, but was stocky and well-muscled. I noted with slight surprise that although he looked mildly bowlegged, he stood with a very upright posture and totally without the caveman slouch one sees in the museums, or at least was common to see as close to the turn of the century as I had been at the time.

He was slightly more hairy than the average man, but I must admit not outrageously so. The main difference in his facial features were that his nose was quite large and his chin somewhat receding. Covering the upper part of his body, and legs to mid-thigh was a sleeveless tunic of sorts, fashioned from cured animal hide and yet well crafted. Several leather pouches hung from his waist along with a stone knife bound to a bone handle.

As I stepped forward in curiosity he spoke, "You look like a flat-face but you move fast like a snow leopard." I must have continued staring blankly for several seconds more, because when I did not answer, the figure before me frowned and spoke again. "Ungh, look flat face. Move like cat. Like better me rock-brain talk?"

At this point I at least managed utter "Thank you for saving me, and no, you don't need to talk like a rock-brain. I've just never seen one of your kind alive..." when the smooth swiftness with which he drew back the arrow to his cheek, pointing the tip towards me as he did so, caught me off guard. Even as I realized what I had said, his voice became low and menacing "What do you mean, _never seen one of my kind alive_?"

Thinking quickly, I attempted to extricate myself from this worsening predicament. I decided not to offer too much information immediately at the risk of sounding unbelievable, merely saying, "I only meant that none of your people live nearby where I come from." I dropped my bone clubs from my hands and held my empty palms up, hoping he would correctly interpret my peaceful gesture.

He lowered the arrow, but shook his head as he did so. "You are lucky I find you amusing flat-face. My brother probably would have killed you already, or let the wolves do it. I am cursed with a nature protective of weaker things, and that is why you yet live."

I began to offer more in the way of explanation and in an attempt to placate my large rescuer. Even before I had uttered three words he yawned in a very human gesture and chided me, "Shhh, why is it that every flat-face I meet must chatter like an old woman at a butchering party? We can talk later, after you help me find my wayward thalach."

With that, he placed his knocked arrow back in its quiver and slung the bow over his shoulder before retrieving his other arrows. Pulling them carefully from the wolves, he examined the shafts carefully. Two were apparently in useable condition, while the other had cracked slightly, and was discarded. With no further communication, the strangely well-spoken caveman turned and began walking at an angle towards the opposite side of the road.

Not relishing another encounter with wolves, I followed, thankfully noticing the first hint of pre-dawn light in the sky. As an afterthought I darted back and retrieved my bone clubs. I do not know what real utility they might prove, but they made me feel more secure. I actually chuckled when I considered which one of the two of us looked more like a primitive in my current state, me tromping naked and unkempt through the woods with bone clubs over my shoulders or, the relatively well dressed figure sporting a bow and arrows.

We walked thus until it was quite fully daylight, the caveman paying me no further attention as he tracked his "thalach." Changing course several times we eventually came to a large clearing with a stream running through it. How far we had come from the road I was not certain, nor was I in any way assured of my ability to find my way back in any case. Any thought of regaining the road vanished, temporarily at least, when I stepped alongside the caveman as he halted at the edge of the forest and followed his gaze with mine.

Across the stream, standing near the far edge of the clearing were several of the largest deer I had ever seen. I say deer, because that is the animal they most resembled. They were however bigger than any elk, and the antlers on two of them were of a width that would have put a moose in its prime to shame. I may be guessing when I say that larger rack spread ten feet from tip to tip, but I do not think I was far from the actual measurement.

The idea that these animals were domesticated had not dawned on me, and even after the caveman halted, motioned me to him and whispered "thalach," while pointing towards the animals I still did not grasp the concept fully. What he did next however brought me to that awareness. He checked the wind, as a hunter would, but then looked to me and said "Wait here until I signal you. They will not recognize your smell, and you also carry some of the death scent. I will move until they can recognize me. When they become reassured you will join us."

Carefully moving around the edge of the clearing, he eventually positioned himself directly upwind of the creatures. Once in place he waited, I can only assume for the thalach to detect and recognize his scent. While he waited, I looked around a bit.

With daylight was fully upon us, I saw that the forest was more diverse than I had previously thought. Predominately needle leafed trees, there were a fair number of deciduous varieties as well, most of them still barren from the winter. A noticeable number however, were either budding or blooming already, lending a colorful contrast to the otherwise green woodland.

The thought struck me that either the city I had been in had been artificially warmer than the surrounding area, a concept quite beyond my capacity to explain, or I was some great distance from there again. But I did not think long on which it might be, as I was soon distracted by other events.

I saw no other large animals at this point, but birds of many varieties flitted about, chirping and squawking depending on their type. Watching one of the larger specimens as it flew across the clearing towards a tall, barren snag of a tree I spied a large airship gliding smoothly through the air at some height and distance.

It must have been flying with the wind for it sported several billowing sails from masts forward of the propeller supports. These masts and indeed the sails were a feature that had been missing from the first airship I had encountered, and I wondered if they were a deployable feature, used when advantageous. Differing from sea bound ships, the masts from which the sails hung rose from the deck in pairs, and slanted at somewhat greater than ninety degrees from each other. In effect the sails spread out from either side of the ship, providing a great deal of sheeting to the wind.

I watched it briefly, examining its curves and lines and comparing them in my head with the one I had seen prior. It was far enough that I could not discern any of the crew, and while similar to the ship on which I had ridden, it was clearly painted in a much more ostentatious manner.

Bright colors abounded, and no thought had seemingly been given to the clash between them. The hull was primarily green of a light shade, but interspersed in blotches were patches of both red and blue. Even its sails were colored in a similar pattern, although in somewhat more muted tones than the rest of the ship.

Interestingly I saw that several smaller vehicles, flyers of some type, flew in formation above the airship. Although at my distance, I could make out little detail, I could see that they were of a sleeker design than the larger vessel, and had neither masts nor sails. I surmised that they must be entirely driven by propeller, and designed for speed. Even the netted balloons above them were tapered at the ends adding somewhat to their limited streamlining.

Despite the novelty of what I was seeing, I would at this point have turned my gaze from the distant airborne vehicles due to my more pressing local concerns. I still stood quite naked with the exception of the two bone clubs slung over my shoulders, and I awaited some signal from my Neanderthal like companion that it was safe to approach him and his animals. However, just as I started to look downward, a flash of light caught my attention.

It was the first of a set of explosions forward of the large airship. The origin of the explosive effects was not obvious, but as they reminded me of nothing so much as the flack bursts I had seen over the battlefield in France, I surmised that they were ground based. In that assessment I proved to be incorrect, but for a brief instant I merely watched intently as secondary, larger and brighter explosions consumed the smoke puffs still hanging in the air from the initial bursts, much like fireworks in a festival display, but with more sinister effect.

As the large airship proved too cumbersome for its crew to maneuver in avoidance of the expanding fireballs, it sailed into the first of them with deleterious results. A portion of the hull and several sections of sail caught fire. Not only that, but the flames streaked upwards towards the lifting balloons, after having ignited the support lines as well.

It was then that I noticed the smaller fliers break formation and rise in pairs toward what I could only assume was the threat, although I still did not see it. Though I had myself ridden on one of the airships, the prospect of aerial combat between these graceful, balloon-suspended ships had not occurred to me. In my limited conscious experience with aerial war, I remember that balloons and dirigibles had quite quickly been relegated to limited scouting usage as they proved vulnerable targets for fixed wing aircraft.

Even assuming that no faster, more maneuverable aircraft existed in this world, I had trouble envisioning any kind of protracted use in combat of the type of airship I had seen, especially with their inherent vulnerabilities. Nevertheless, the tableaux as it played out in the sky above proved counter to my intuition. Only after the small fliers had climbed for almost a minute was I able to finally make out the other sky vessel.

Perhaps I had been overly distracted by the garish paint scheme of the now damaged airship, but in any case the attacking vessel was of a much different type. Clearly painted in such a way as to make detection more difficult, the aggressor's coloration was a mottled camouflage of subdued grays and faded blues. It was also larger than the other vessels and much streamlining was sacrificed in order to eliminate easily visible lines or even symmetrical curves. In shape, it was roughly cylindrical, as Earth zeppelins, but the ends were not tapered to any great extent.

The other significant difference in between this airship and the more familiarly patterned ones was that no external buoyancy devices existed. It moved so slowly and was of a size that I had no doubt that a large portion of its interior space was taken up with tanks or bladders of whatever lifting agent was being used by these vessels. Perhaps this then was a more advanced development designed to abrogate the frailty of the external balloons.

Whatever internal engineering the camouflaged vessel possessed would remain a mystery for now, so I watched as the battle unfolded. Some of you may be want to chastise me for not focusing more on the human tragedy of the situation. Quite possibly men, or other intelligent being were dying or would do so soon, should the fight continue.

In my defense I can only say that I have never been one for wailing and gnashing of teeth. Quite simply, I divide events into two categories; things I can change, and those I am powerless to influence. I waste as little time as possible worrying over things I cannot control. Granted, there are times when I have found myself either more or less influential than I suspected, but usually I am accurate in my assessment.

In this situation things were clearly outside of my sphere of influence, so I relegated myself to a dispassionate study of the scene before me. As the smaller fliers rose to engage the attacking vessel, small flashes of light emanated from their noses. These flashes were followed shortly by narrowly spaced impacts on the surface of their target. Other than faint puffs of smoke at the impact points, at this range I could see no obvious damage occurring.

Obviously outclassed, the fliers continued their assault bravely. I noticed they were attempting to position themselves above the other ship, which would among other things give their apparently vulnerable support balloons some protection. Of the six small craft, two of them fell from the sky, one plummeting rapidly as one or more of its support balloons burst dramatically in a ball of fire, the other falling more gracefully as its support was merely punctured, but failed to explode.

Accelerating as it fell, I noticed a single canopy of fabric open nearby and continue falling more slowly and in a seemingly guided fashion. I allowed myself a brief sense of relief as I assumed what I saw was an escape device used by the pilot of the damaged flier. The other four fliers continued attacking the larger ship, to little effect.

The colorful target of this attack was not idle during this encounter. Although it had sustained some damage, its crew were apparently at work controlling the damage to the best of their ability, for instead of flames on its deck and support lines, smoke drifted. In an apparent duplication of the strategy of the smaller fliers, this ship was also attempting to rise above the attacking airship, dropping ballast as it did so.

Despite its size, the larger vessel actually managed to rise faster than the smaller escorts. In short order all of the lighter than air craft were climbing. So rapid was their ascent that in the time that it took me to look across the clearing to check on the progress of the Neanderthal in his approach towards the deer, it became difficult to make out any details other than the outlines of the two larger ships. Any evidence of combat or even the presence of the smaller fliers was obscured by distance.

Of the pilot gliding down by parachute, there was also no sign. I saw no reason why he should not have made it down safely, so assumed as much. Fleetingly, I considered attempting to track him down, but realized that I was the stranger here, and were it not for a cave man as my guide, would probably be in more need of succor than he. The odds against finding someone who had landed in an unknown location at some distance, with me on foot, would be high in any event, so I dismissed the thought.

A low whistle brought my attention back to my current situation and location. I looked with surprise across the clearing where several of the huge deer stood facing the approaching cave man. With a human enough figure near the deer for scale, their size seemed even more impressive. I had been fairly close in my initial estimation of their girth, but if anything had been slightly on the conservative side.

Seeing the animals milling around him, even nuzzling at his clothing, reminded me of horses at feeding time. Indeed I saw the Neanderthal's hand several times reach into one of the pouches at his waist and hold out some small morsel which the animals readily accepted. I do not think I would have been surprised should he have vaulted onto a one of the beasts and ridden bareback to my location.

While he did not do so, I must say that the thought of riding one of the thalach lodged itself at the back of my consciousness. At a much later date I was able, out of necessity, to ride one of the animals myself. While my brief feat proved only a marginal success, it did serve to astonish the large clan of whom the one now placating the beasts was a member.

After a minute or so of feeding and stroking the animals, the Neanderthal looked towards me and waved. It was such a familiar gesture I could only assume the meaning was as it would have been for any other modern person. I returned the gesture and started cautiously forward.

Not wanting to give the beasts more reason to be apprehensive at the approach of a stranger, I dropped my bone clubs. The grassy ground of the clearing was still dew covered, and moving again after standing still made me realize that I was a bit chilled. A sudden breeze, colder than the standing air had been at the edge of the clearing, made me shiver.

I hoped that sometime soon, I would be able to acquire some sort of clothing, and resolved to ask the Neanderthal when I reached him. As it turned out, I did not have to. When I came within several yards, he motioned for me to stop and I did so. He rummaged briefly in what looked to be effectively a saddle bag slung on the haunch of one of the thalach.

Looking more closely at the animals as he did so, I noticed that several, but not all, of them wore at least harnesses of some type. Among the harnessed ones, two sported the haunch bags, and one of the others even dragged a travois behind it. These beasts were clearly more than a domesticated food source, and I wondered if the Neanderthals of this world had advanced in other ways as well. If my limited dialogue with, and the technology exhibited by, the only example of the species I had met thus far was any indication, I surmised that it was indeed the case, nor was I disappointed.

He pulled out a small wrapped bundle of something and approached me. First holding out a somewhat greasy scrap of fur lined hide he pantomimed a rubbing motion over his body as he spoke softly, "Rub this over your skin, it will make you more familiar to them." After I had done so, he handed me the remainder of the bundle, which proved to be a leather tunic of the same pattern as the one he wore, although slightly worse for wear. A set of pants and a pair of leather foot wraps fell to the ground as I shook the upper garment carefully to unravel it in preparation for putting it on.

As the last garment I had worn was the scratchy and ill insulated burlap while jailed, the softness and warmth of the cured leather felt positively luxurious. The pants were loose, but had several ingeniously positioned thongs with which I was, with some effort, able to use to snug then at least at my waist. I smiled my thanks as I secured the foot wraps to my feet in the best approximation I could manage of the way the Neanderthal wore his.

My total unfamiliarity with the clothing must have been obvious by my lack of coordination, as my efforts elicited a deep yet unmistakable chuckle from the cave man. "You dress like a young one! Are you one of those flat-faces who needs servants to feed and bathe them as well?" For some reason his statement struck me as highly absurd, and I burst out in laughter.

I managed to look around as if in surprise. Feeling quite jocular I replied, holding out a stray strap from my tunic, "Oh my, have you seen my manservant?" Apparently, he understood the humor, for he chucked me on the shoulder, nearly knocking me over and giving me first hand an example of his raw strength. Although my arm stung from the blow, I felt he had only used a fraction of the muscle power available to him, nor was I mistaken.

Rubbing my shoulder, I became more serious. "Thank you for the clothing, the styles are merely unfamiliar to me." He nodded, and I decided to change topics. While I felt no ill intent from him at being called flat-face, I had no desire to address this Neanderthal as 'Cave-dweller," or some other such appellation based on his appearance. "My name is _John_ and you are welcome to call me that. How do you prefer I address you?"

His voice was deep and rumbled awkwardly over my name a few times as he matched the sound in his head with the one he spoke, "Jun, Jaaahn, Joean. You have a strange name, even for a flat-face." I repeated it for him, more slowly, "John." This time he nodded as if he understood, "Jahn," he said with confidence, although the o was then and has been ever since, more of an a. You may call me "Frthrem."

In a repetition of his working through my name, I fear I fared no better than he, in the end settling for Threm, although I knew it wasn't quite right. Just as we had finished our little exchange I heard in the distance, although quite distinctly, a man's scream. Also obvious, as much as I knew it was a man screaming, I knew that it was filled with pure terror.

I looked to Threm, concerned. "We must help him." Threm shook his head which surprised me as he had readily helped me. "We are too far away, and it will be over before we reach him." I tried further, "But..." However, Threm cut me off, "That is not the scream of a man being attacked by wolves as you were, you must truly be a stranger here not to recognize that. It would not be wise to go there, and I have just recovered my thalach." Without hesitation I turned and began running in the direction of the scream. Looking once back over my shoulder I yelled "Wise or not, I must try."

As the shout seemed to come from the general direction of the downed pilot, I assumed it was he, and he was now clearly in grave danger. Being weaponless, I hoped Threm would follow with his bow, but was determined in any case to do what I could to help the unknown man.

Chapter Eight

As I ran across the clearing and entered the woods beyond, I glanced briefly behind me to determine whether or not Threm was following. While it was clear that he was moving in my direction, it took me a several moments to realize that he was moving in slow motion.

Apparently, as I had begun to run, time distorted as it had in other times of peril. I noted interestingly that in this case, it was not my danger that had triggered the shift. As I continued running I made a conscious effort to slow down somewhat, having no desire to outdistance Threm by any great amount.

While in the end I did leave him far behind, thus failing in my original intent, I did discover yet another interesting facet of my neophytic skill. Looking back it is interesting to me that I focused so much attention of what proved to be merely a side effect of the world jumping ability. I suppose it was because at this early stage I had experienced the time dilation more frequently than I had actually traveled through the disc-like energy portals, and hence had more situations to compare.

In any event, when I noticed Threm moving in slow motion, I also noticed the faint shimmering of energy portals. They were spread as they had been before, and hung at various angles. The difference this time was that they were very faint, almost translucent. As I slowed in my attempt to stay closer to Threm, I noticed that the portals became totally invisible.

Some hidden part of my brain, working faster than usual in this altered state, made a connection which snapped abruptly into my consciousness. It suddenly occurred to me that I might actually control the rate of time distortion by effort of will, and that at a certain acceleration, I might move freely without having to risk encountering an errant portal by accident.

I experimented briefly by running faster, but found that mere physical effort was not sufficient. I remembered vividly the concern I had felt upon hearing the distant gunfire, and the sense of urgency that I reach the pilot. When I combined that gut level feeling with my desire to move faster and simply allowed my muscles to respond without straining, the change in my speed was dramatic to say the least.

First, I noticed that everything became quieter. This turned out to be beneficial because even at a subdued volume, and at a much lower frequency, the sounds of my feet thudding into the ground were completely out of synch with my actual footsteps. It was as if I heard only one out of perhaps three or four impacts, and that not in concert with my foot hitting the ground. Even the sound of my breathing was distorted.

The sonic alteration was disconcerting enough, but as the portals became clearly visible once again, glowing brightly, the rest of my surroundings blurred slightly. It was in no way as dramatic as the change in what I heard, but in concert with the other changes left me with a feeling of unease.

The one thing which remained clear, despite their speed as they moved past me was the portals. I dodged around several, and ducked under another. My reflexes somehow keeping up with the increased rate at which I was moving. To my internal reckoning I only ran for a minute, or two at most, but trees sped by at an alarming rate.

Only once during my run did my perceptions of my surroundings duplicate the slow motion as had been the case in my prior episodes of time distortion. As I moved quickly through the woods, I leapt across a small brook. It was barely two feet wide and jumping really wasn't necessary, but I had no desire to slip in the mud or trip over a collapsing bank.

About halfway through my leap, the blur of vegetation around me stopped, and my arc through the air slowed to a snail's pace. It was a curious sensation, more like drifting through the air weightless than the sudden jarring lift of jumping at high speed. I actually looked around more closely at my surroundings to determine if I was under some new threat.

I almost missed the thing, as I was so intently looking for a charging beast, or hurling weapon. Dangling tenuously to the trunk of a tree some feet past the other side of the stream was a small patch of some sort of climbing plant. The plant had several blooms on it that in other circumstances I suppose would be considered pleasant.

The flowers were not what drew my attention however, for hovering in the air next to one of the flowers was a small bird. That I saw its wings outstretched and flapping slowly kept me from recognizing it at first. But as I landed softly on the bank and continued my run, there was no mistaking that the small animal was a humming bird.

So slowly was it moving in relation to me that I only saw the wings flap down and up once before I closed the several strides that brought me alongside the tree where it hovered. Then it was out of my sight and my run returned abruptly to the blindingly fast blur it had been before.

Although in all my time distortion episodes I usually have had ample time to consider numerous sensations and thoughts due to the rapid functioning of my mind, in this case I reached a juncture in my travel, one requiring my immediate consideration. It happened so quickly after crossing the stream that I was unable to devote any of my attention to the puzzle of why my perceptions had slowed for a tiny bird.

I am not a believer in fate, but other than providence I cannot explain how I managed to arrive directly at the site of the downed flier, or at least where he had landed. Catching a glimpse of something out of place ahead, I slowed to a walk and examined my surroundings. The act of slowing and looking around in a sweeping manner brought me back to the normal time rate.

I expected at least a brief bout of fatigue or disorientation, but surprisingly I experienced neither. Other than noticing for the first time the symptoms of normal exertion, namely my heart thumped a bit harder in my chest and I found myself breathing both deeply and rapidly, I was hearty and hale.

What had attracted my attention was the device the pilot had used to reach the ground after leaving his damaged flier. I assumed he still lived simply because nowhere in visible proximity did I see a body. Suspended from the broken branch of a pine snag, hung a large yet lightweight measure of cloth. It was wrapped around itself and I could not discern its overall shape, but small cords descended to a harness of some sort so I could guess its function.

For some reason my mind flashed to a memory of a silken scarf being dropped from a balcony by the hand of a tittering yet shy maiden. The scarf fluttered slowly downward as a parade of military men in full regalia marched underneath. Curiously, I viewed the scene as if I were across the street at a vantage point higher than even than that of the maiden. As the soldiers passed me, a command was shouted and they turned their heads towards me as one.

As suddenly as it had intruded into my thoughts, the memory left, leaving me confused about the vision but with less doubt concerning the purpose of the fluttering cloth before me. It would balloon outward during a fall, supporting below it a man in the harness, or anything else suspended by those thin yet assumedly strong cords. Of course it was a parachute, but the first one I had encountered. At times my amnesia leaves blanks in my recognition of simple objects, while in others I am quite familiar with something without knowing how.

In any case, seeing no sign of activity I approached, but remained cautious in doing so. I saw no immediate signs of struggle, no blood trails, no footprints other than that of the downed pilot. The harness was cut to release its occupant, but the single set of tracks leading away indicated to me that he had done so himself in order to extricate himself from the suspended position the harness occupied.

I looked behind me the way I had come. I could neither see nor hear any sign of Threm, and while I assumed he was following, I also knew that I could not wait in my rescue attempt or at least in a reconnoiter of the situation. As if to punctuate my thought process, a gunshot rang out quite nearby.

Strangely comforting in its familiarity, the sound nonetheless gave me pause as I turned my head side to side, listening for more. I started walking rapidly, following the tracks away from the tree when a second shot, and then a third sounded. I broke into a run, now surer of the direction from which the sound had come.

As I was becoming no stranger to odd circumstances and situations, I considered the possibility that it was the pilot being shot at by some heretofore unseen foe on the ground. However, that possibility seemed a remote one as I had seen no nearby signs of civilization or indeed even inhabitation and I discounted it. Running along, in keeping with the assumption that it was the pilot who was besieged by some animal attacker or attackers, and that he would be the focus of their attention, I made no great effort at stealth.

Perhaps I should have, for no sooner did I come around a dense bramble thicket into a small clearing than I was surrounded by a dozen or so smaller, nearly two feet tall, versions of the arachnid Others Layla and I had been chased by soon after my arrival on this world. I presumed that they were a variation of the large creatures, these more adapted to the warmer clime than the ones I had encountered in the glacial terrain, but they could have merely been younger specimens of the same species, so close was their overall resemblance in anything except size.

As on the larger creatures, they had oblong central bodies which bounced slightly when they moved on top of the numerous alternately rigid and flexible limbs. Two small eyes on either side of the creature's body were the same, and they were scaled in smaller versions of the variably overlapping plates as had the larger ones. They disconcertingly moved much more quickly than had the larger Others.

The pilot, wearing some kind of bulky flight suit apparently designed to provide insulation from colder air found at altitude also wore a helmet with a faceplate made up of darkened squares and rectangles of glass, like a three dimensional pane of stained glass designed to fit around one's head.

The thickness of the suit was apparently offering some modicum of protection from the numerous creatures' attacks, for while it was torn in several places and a dense padding was visible, I saw no blood. The pilot stood atop a large boulder with a quite normal looking pistol in one hand. I saw one of the creatures jump up and wrap its multiple legs around the pilot's closer leg and begin wriggling rapidly. Not wanting to risk a shot so close, or possibly being out of ammunition, the pilot struck the thing between its eyes several times with his pistol before the animal dropped off to the ground. It disappeared amongst the numerous other specimens of the animal surrounding the boulder in a throng. The beasts clambering upward towards the pilot in a chaotic mass, either climbing or jumping to reach the pilot. Luckily for him their efforts frequently proved counterproductive and one of the beasts would jump and impact a climber and both would fall.

I had no time to wave or greet the besieged pilot, for the immediacy of my situation struck me, as did my vulnerability. Not only was my clothing much thinner than that of the pilot, I was completely unarmed. I stepped back rapidly in an attempt to put some distance between the approaching creatures and myself, as some had now noticed and indeed taken an interest in me.

Even the bone clubs I had discarded prior to my run would have proved of some utility against the rapidly approaching animals, and I regretted their loss. I might have been able to acquire a substitute, be it a large rock or broken branch, but as I backed up my foot caught upon some protuberance and I tumbled backwards onto the ground. Before I had the chance even to push myself to a seated position, I felt the weight of impacts on my legs and torso, and the scrabbling of multiple legs surrounding those.

I was able to dislodge the creature from my chest with ease as it did not have time to wrap its tentacle-like legs around me for stability. In fact I hurled it some distance as I sat up, and watched it smack into a nearby tree with a thud. The ones on my legs were another story. I reached down and began a tugging war with one that had already curled quite tightly around my leg.

As I pulled against the animal, trying to dislodge it I felt the first bite on my other leg. It was not overly painful, and initially resembled more a mild electric shock than anything else. To my surprise the creature immediately dislodged itself and backed away several feet before beginning to watch me. While I was distracted by the unusual sensation of being bitten, the second creature was able to score another bite on my opposite leg. It dislodged itself and as it wriggled against my grip, attempting to escape, I hurled it away from me in frustration.

Curiously, while they still surrounded me, the other creatures did not attack. Then I realized why. The sensation of tingling that accompanied the bites was spreading along my legs, and more disconcertingly as the tingling spread it was followed by numbness and a feeling of heaviness. They had poisoned me, and apparently with a paralytic agent. Removing themselves from my limited range of attack, they simply had to wait me out.

Of course I had no intention of obligingly waiting for the poison to totally overcome me, so I struggled to regain my feet. Standing proved difficult. With numb legs not responding well to my instructions, I pulled along the ground and pushed myself upright against a tree. That limited movement in itself proved a exceptional effort, and I almost passed out. Whether from the effort or from the poison, I suppose it makes little difference.

The irony of my inglorious end struck my dimming brain. After all that I had been through, to fall poisoned while stupidly rushing unprepared in an attempt to rescue an unknown individual seemed the height of absurdity. My vision dimming, I forced my head to turn on its now rubbery neck to glance at the pilot I had come to assist.

Amazingly, although armed with nothing more than his apparently empty pistol, he had left his position atop the boulder and was wading through the horde of creatures towards me. They leapt on him in such great numbers that I wondered that he was not simply knocked to the ground. He bludgeoned with his pistol, tore at them with his free hand, twisting and spinning to dislodge them.

But for every one he shook, beat or threw off, another took its place. Only the thickness of his flight suit was protecting him from being poisoned as I had, and it was only a matter of time before it failed and he succumbed. Even with my consciousness fading, it was difficult for me to stomach the risk he was taking on my behalf.

However, my objection to his foolhardy action did not translate into an ability for me to do anything about it. I was not able to move at all now, my entire body quite numb. My head lolled to my chest, and I even lost the ability to focus my eyes. I knew I must fall soon, and be swarmed by the numerous creatures with beady black eyes that waited patiently for me to stop moving, but I rebelled against that inevitability.

My thoughts literally screamed in denial with the dwindling consciousness left to me before I passed out. My mind searched in vain for some small part of my body unaffected by the poison. I realized I had stopped breathing, and in that same instant also knew that my heart was going to stop. It would soon be over.

Normally I find close calls exhilarating. I found nothing exhilarating about what was happening to me. The idea of just fading off to darkness and the peace that would follow edged into my awareness. It would have been easy to give in at that moment, as there really was little or nothing I could do, easy to give in except for the scenes that flashed in front of my mind's eye.

I saw Layla, her green eyes looking at me in that trusting manner, even as she was being held captive and I fought unsuccessfully to save her. I could not give up without ensuring that she was truly safe. I saw the image of the downed pilot, struggling to reach me at risk to his life while futilely fighting off his attackers. I could not allow him to make that sacrifice while one cell of my body had the means to fight.

The problem was, other than my own fading internal dialogue, I could control nothing. I found myself wondering in a detached manner what was to be next. Would I just flicker out like a candle caught in a breeze, or would there be something after? I even waited in the darkness for the telltale light that was to guide me to the afterlife, so hopeless was my situation. The light did not come.

After an indeterminate time in the dark, of all things my hearing began to return. The low booming sound I heard must have been a voice, but it was distorted. I realized that even though I had no sensation of it, I had somehow become enmeshed in the slowed down time rate once again. The next to return was my sense of touch, starting in my stomach and radiating outward.

The first contact I felt was the ground underneath me, punctuated by a stick jabbing me in the chest from beneath. I must have fallen away from the tree while paralyzed and not realized it until now. As I lay on the ground, my muscles beginning to tingle with new life, I half expected to feel the bites of the creatures as they closed in on their now immobilized prey. That I did not caused me some concern, for if they were not focusing on me, it meant that all of the creatures must have diverted their attention to the downed pilot who was making an attempt to reach me.

I soon gained control of my limbs, although I felt weak and quite shaky. Nonetheless I pushed myself to my feet. My vision was still blurry, but as I blinked my eyes, it cleared somewhat. Before I could fully make things out, I took a wobbly step forward in the direction I guessed the pilot was.

The sound in my ears began to speed up, approaching a normal rate where I could understand it. My eyes cleared further and I saw that while I was facing generally in the direction of the pilot, I was moving in the wrong direction. As I stumbled in an attempt to correct my course, I noticed that he was in practically the same place he had been in prior to my blacking out.

I must have gone through the entire immobilization at an accelerated rate. Another step and I was feeling stronger and more stable. The creatures were indeed focusing on bringing the pilot down. As fast as he threw them off, more threatened to overwhelm him. I saw that even if none of them managed to bite him, thus injecting him with the poison that had immobilized me, their sheer numbers would soon knock him to the ground.

I shrugged off the last bit of numbness and rushed to his aid. I had nothing except my hands and feet, nor did I have time to acquire anything else to use as a weapon. I simply waded into the creatures and began kicking, grabbing and throwing. The creatures were not overly strong, nor were they heavy. Our main problem was the sheer number of them.

For one recently paralyzed and out of the fight as it were I accounted quite well for myself. I threw a number of the attackers against trees, which proved quite effective. Stomping on them also worked, and while I used that technique unhesitatingly, I did it without relish. Once through the outer scale plated skin, their insides proved distastefully squishy and clinging. That in itself did prove the sole deterrent, the rotting seaweed smell I had noticed emanating from the larger examples of the animals exuded nauseatingly from the squished bodies of these smaller ones.

Not only did it prove a bit inconvenient to clear the carcasses from my feet, having to kick forcefully several times in the air to do so, I noticed a distinct stinging sensation, as if their fluids were acidic. If fact, glancing briefly at my shoes and pants, I saw that they were looking a bit worse for wear as they bore the brunt of the acid.

Of course, none of that stopped me from continuing to throw and stomp with abandon. My intention was to follow through on my initial design to save the pilot. While a life or death struggle is not quite the ideal place to engage in casual conversation, the pilot, upon noticing me risen to my feet, ceased cursing at the creatures attacking him and addressed me in a remarkably calm manner, his voice registering none of the strain his body was under.

"I thought you were done for stranger. I do not know how you came to be here, but I thank you for the help." I don't know if my voice carried the same relaxed tone as his but I attempted it, for some reason finding humor in the grim dichotomy. I grinned, "I saw you fall from the sky, and heard you shooting after you had la...."

Pausing briefly to remove one the creatures that struck me directly in the face and was beginning to wrap itself around my head, I continued, "..Landed. I thought you might need some help." He nodded, the multi-faceted helmet he wore bobbing up and down once. "Not that I don't appreciate help, because I do, but you seem a bit ill-prepared to effect a rescue." His helmet protected him from the creature actually biting him, but as one of the remaining animals jumped onto his head, he was nonetheless forced to prioritize it in order to regain his field of vision.

I swung two of the beasts together in front of me, holding a leg or two of each and crashing them together using their own momentum. The whole mess was becoming quite tedious. Frankly, while their numbers were diminishing, it seemed we were tiring, losing our strength a bit faster than would be required to defeat them all. I answered while dislodging one of the animals from my thigh after it managed to deliver another painful sting. "I will try to remember that next time. Oh, and I apologize for making you give up your safer position."

The pilot was apparently getting frustrated with the situation as well because he grabbed two of the creatures by the legs and swung them over his head with both hands before flinging them farther than he had been typically and into a boulder where they crunched and fell to the ground. "Don't mention it, but if they don't give up soon we may have to fight our way to a better position."

He did not say how it could be accomplished, but I wasn't overly concerned about it myself. The most recent bite to my leg generated a brief sensation of tingling, nothing more. Apparently I had developed a resistance to the poison.

So engaged was I with the creatures immediately attacking that only gradually did I notice that their numbers were at last diminishing to what could be called a manageable level. Optimistically, I called out once again to the pilot, who had managed to advance several strides towards me as I did the same in his direction, "It looks like we might get the better of them after all!"

He failed to answer me, and it was then that I noticed him stagger a bit. One of the creatures had latched itself onto his right shoulder and his attempts to extricate it grew noticeably weaker as I watched. The only conclusion I could reach was that his suit had failed and that he had at last been poisoned. Fatigue alone could not have explained the rapid decline in his vigor.

Although fatigued myself, I strove again to push myself into time dilation as I felt the need to deal with the creatures in a more rapid fashion. As the world slowed down around me, I felt quite drained and knew I didn't have long to act. It was a gamble, but I felt the situation dire enough to risk it. If the combat wasn't resolved quickly, the pilot was done for.

I struck two of the creatures in mid-air as they were jumping at me. At first, I was a bit confused at their increased hardness. As I hit them my fists stung as if impacting something solid. They spun away from my fist in slow motion and I realized that it had something to do with the increase in my relative speed, or the decrease in theirs, or a combination of both. I am sure I did not understand fully the principle of physics involved, but I grasped enough to make use of this phenomenon in the future.

Looking around, I noticed that there were perhaps ten or fifteen of the beasts left. I weighed my options between attempting to defeat them all and simply grabbing the pilot and putting as much distance between us and them as possible. In retrospect, perhaps I should have taken the latter course, but I did not, and so must live with the consequences of my actions.

For the first time, and I credit this to the conflict between my fatigue and my stubborn desire to triumph, I was frustrated at the seemingly poorly thought out choices I had made during practically every dangerous encounter I had experienced since my awakening. While my choices seemed reasonable to me as I entered into action, the results often were leaving much to be desired.

I vowed to delve more deeply into my reasoning process and to train myself to reach more tactically sound strategies in the future, should I just get through this most immediate situation. As I moved amongst the creatures and continued causing as much damage as I was able, I refused to give in to exhaustion. The interesting side effect of my fatigue was that the time distortion around me was not constant, but varied between my being at normal speed in relation to the world around me to being accelerated in the extreme. It was as if my body knew how to conserve as much of whatever power it drew upon to achieve such speeds, even when I consciously did not.

I have since learned that controlling my speed through time is possible and that it saves me considerable fatigue, but this was prior to that knowledge. I could only observe what was happening, as my control was primitive in the extreme at this juncture in my development, or more correctly my re-training, as I was later to discover.

Before much longer the last two of the creatures lay quivering beside separate tree trunks. The world returned to normal, if a bit blurry due to my exhaustion. As I stepped to the pilot, who was just dropping to one knee, I saw the extent of the carnage around us. There must have been hundreds of the creatures, scattered and broken, lying dead or dying in our immediate vicinity.

I scanned quickly around and could not see any of the creatures in retreat. I pondered briefly how they could have been so single minded in their attack against us that none of them thought to escape, but more pressing was the condition of the pilot. While I had overcome the effects of being poisoned I did not intend to assume the same thing would happen to him. My increased ability to heal had already been demonstrated several times, and I had no reason to believe this did not extend to poisons as well. Indeed, even as I reached him, the pilot fell over onto his side.

I knelt down and unsecured the multi-lensed helmet, pulling it off gently. He was still conscious, and although his mouth was set narrowly in pain he looked up at me with piercing blue eyes. "You moved so fast...How?" I noticed his fingers fumbling with a pocket set on the side of this pants. "It must have been the poison effecting your perception," I replied, not wanting to explain while trying to save him. Time was a luxury he did not have. Reaching into the pocket his fingers were proving too numb to open, I pulled out a small box.

It was carved of wood and polished. One side was curved slightly to seat more comfortably against his leg. For all the smooth woodwork the latch was but a simple leather one, a loop on one side and a wooden peg on the other. I opened it in short order and found a series of small glass spheres within, each carefully nested in a felt-lined depression that was matched by another on the inside of the lid. The liquids were of varying colors and densities, perhaps ten in all but clearly in pairs of the same type.

Two of the spheres were shattered, and another was cracked and the contents had leaked out. I surmised that an antidote of some sort might be contained within, and asked as much. "Which one do you need?" So rapid was his decline that I was forced to lean in to hear his faint answer, a mumbled whisper, "blue."

I examined the box more closely, searching for a means to administer the liquid. My efforts were quickly rewarded with a button that released the top padding. Underneath was gray metal device. An open space was just big enough to fit one of the spheres, and two stubby needles, one adjustable by a small lever sat at opposing ends. With a longer needle at one end and plunger at the other, this was clearly the delivery system.

I gingerly took the remaining blue sphere out, as the other was unfortunately one of the broken ones. It proved to have two small holes sealed with wax or some other similar substance. Without significant deliberation I was able to match up the sealed holes to the needles in the open space and work the lever. One of the central needles smoothly punctured the wax and pushed the sphere down onto the opposing sharp protuberance as the lever snapped into place.

Glancing towards the pilot, I saw that I was to receive no additional advice concerning the administration of the antidote, if that was indeed what it was. He was completely unresponsive and breathing only shallowly. I feared I might already be too late, but knew I had nothing to lose by acting.

The remaining fabric covering his shoulder, the one where he had received the bite, was shredded. I tore it further away and stabbed the needle into his shoulder at the fleshiest part. The plunger depressed easily at my pressure, the blue liquid exiting the sphere and flowing into the pilot over several seconds.

I discarded the empty sphere and returned the syringe to its storage case before closing the box. As I didn't intend to leave the pilot, and not having any place to secure it on my person, I returned the box to his thigh pocket before adjusting his position slightly. Why I did so I am not sure, but for some reason it made sense to turn him onto his side and fold one of his arms under to support his head.

Quite rapidly his breathing strengthened, although he showed no signs of waking. I took a brief look around, walking deliberately in a circle around our location. A broken tree limb proved to be handy in dispatching the few remaining living, but crippled creatures.

My suspicion that none of them had attempted to retreat was confirmed during my exploration. In fact, in several instances I noted trails of bluish-green bodily fluids leading from where one or another of the creatures had impacted a rock or tree toward the central location where the pilot and I had made our stand. Even mortally wounded, they still tried to get at us instead of away. I was on the verge of revising my opinion of these smaller creatures being the same species as the larger ones from the ice, when I heard footsteps approaching.

Brandishing my stick, a pathetic weapon against anyone actually intent on doing me harm, I looked towards the sound. It was Threm. I was glad that he had chosen to follow me as I now had someone to help with the pilot. Not knowing precisely how long I had either run to reach the pilot or how long we had actually been engaged with the creatures I nevertheless surmised that Threm must have run near full tilt the entire way to us. Whether he had followed my track, the sound of battle, or a combination of both made no difference to me, he had found us in any case.

As he slowed to a walk upon seeing me, I noticed the expression on his face was initially severe, but relaxed somewhat as he approached. For all his size, he ran well and did not seem any the worse for wear after his overland trek. His bow, with an arrow knocked was in one hand. In the other hand was a stone knife that I had not seen before. It was dark, glasslike and shiny.

It was not the last time that I was glad to see his muscled frame, and I smiled as he approached. "The pilot was poisoned by whatever those are, but I gave him an antidote from his kit." I pointed around to the bodies, but Threm had already seen them, bending over to examine one of the more intact specimens on his way to the prone pilot.

He didn't speak in reply. Instead he tucked his knife into a hidden sheath, handed his bow and quiver of arrows to me and walked quickly to the pilot. Bending over Threm lifted the unconscious man and slung him over his shoulder as if he weighed but a trifle. I noticed that Threm's expression was if anything changing to one more serious than I had seen initially. This troubled me greatly.

"What's going on?" I asked. "We managed to defeat them all before you arrived, and I think he needs more help than the medicine I gave." Threm only shook his head. "You may have beaten these, but we must depart before the mother arrives." Without waiting for my reply, he turned and jogged rapidly into the forest in the general direction he had come, leaving me to my own devices briefly.

"Mother?" I mouthed more than spoke as he walked off. A loud crashing through the brush in the opposite direction from the one Threm had taken clarified things for me. I quickly scooped up the pilot's discarded pistol and ran after Threm. The crashing behind me grew louder and was punctuated by a shrill, warbling whistle.

Chapter Nine

I tucked the empty pistol into my belt. With naught but a bow for defense, although undoubtedly a strong one based on the thickness of it and the size of the arrows, my desire to avoid a direct confrontation with whatever it was snapping branches the size of my wrist with impunity as it hurried along behind me was no slight urge. Any exhaustion I had felt moments prior from my protracted combat with the horde of forest creatures evaporated quite naturally as my instinctual desire for self-preservation kicked in against this new threat. I made quite good time catching up to Threm and his burden, even without the aid of a temporally distorting event such as the one that had happened before I engaged the creatures.

If I am to be known as an honest man, then I must relay here that it was not without effort that I forced myself not to overtake Threm and the pilot I had so recently saved. Had I left them behind, any vestige of my personal honor would have been proven a farce. Enough pride remained in me that I could not allow that to happen, regardless of the consequences I might suffer.

I ran rearguard behind Threm, not close enough to risk a tumble that might send us both the ground, but not too far to enable me to help steady the burdened Neanderthal should he stumble. Glancing behind me at all too frequent intervals, I noted with some hope that nothing as yet was visible behind us. Perhaps the larger creature had paused upon reaching the clearing and finding the horde of slain younglings, as Threm had indicated they were.

Threm kept a pace that would have been respectable on open terrain and even had he not been burdened. Dodging clumps of undergrowth, leaping over smaller downed trees and rocks, and climbing over larger specimens, Threm and I ran for several hundred yards before slowing slightly. If I had been impressed by his running stamina before, after seeing only the terminus of his arrival at the clearing, I was doubly so upon witnessing him run encumbered through the forest. I found myself gasping for breath and while I didn't actually stumble, my clearance of the various obstacles we encountered was less than graceful.

We continued at a slower pace long enough for me to begin thinking it was not all that much of a reduction from our initial speed. My breathing came in ragged gasps and my leg muscles ached from the exertion. Whatever burst of energy I had received upon hearing the approaching creature back at the clearing was gone.

Short of actually tumbling to the ground and risk breaking Threm's bow, I slowed to a walk. He must have heard me break stride, for he slowed as well and turned towards me. I noticed that his chest was rising and falling in the manner of deeper breathing than normal, and several beads of sweat rolled down his forehead, but those were his only outward signs of exertion.

He held one finger to his lips in an unmistakable gesture for me to be quiet and gazed intently in the direction we had come, listening. I silenced my ragged breathing as best I could, although truth be told I was so spent that the effort brought stars to my eyes and I struggled to keep from passing out. Before long, Threm shook his head and spoke in a subdued tone, "I do not hear her, but their kind can move very quietly in the woods when they want to. We must go farther, but perhaps we can do so more carefully now."

In response I merely nodded and walked a few steps towards Threm and his burden. "Lead on," I croaked. Walking proved a welcome respite, despite the tension of believing we were pursued. In a short distance we reached a stream. I could only assume it was the same one I had leapt across earlier, but had no way of knowing.

Instead of crossing, Threm turned upstream and walked along the edge of the water, at times in the water, at times along the bank. When I saw him purposefully leaving large footprints and disturbing larger rocks in the water I realized what he was doing and waited, taking the slight opportunity to catch my breath and keep an eye out behind us. I wondered briefly if I would even be able to pull the hefty bow should the need arise, thankfully it did not.

After moving upstream a hundred paces or so, Threm added the finishing touches to his show by walking out of the stream on the same side he had entered it. He walked briefly out of sight before returning, carefully backtracking until reaching the stream bed. I wondered at such an elaborate deception for a creature, but then remembered the strange feeling of intelligence I had upon a close encounter with the snowbound version of these beings.

Thinking on those lines proved more puzzling to me than any of the strangeness I had seen. The snow Other had completely ignored, or at least not reacted to multiple casualties in its companions when it came face to face with me. But now Threm and I were apparently fleeing for our lives, and carrying the incapacitated pilot, from a version of the same creature. Clearly my newly acquired Neanderthal friend was concerned about the Forest Other being enraged at the killing of its offspring.

It quickly became apparent that no answer easily presented itself from my thoughts, and I relegated the puzzle to the ever growing collection of questions about this place that had been forming ever since my advent on this different world. But answers would of course have to wait until our escape was affected. I contented myself with scanning the forest behind us for any sign of pursuit.

More carefully this time, Threm returned to my position by walking carefully in the middle of the shallow stream. When he was almost upon me I entered the water and began walking just as carefully downstream, confident I knew what he intended. That he did not correct me affirmed my supposition.

The walk and the cool stream did much to revitalize me. I could not however shake the feeling that I had recovered from my fatigue much faster than resting alone accounted for. Ignoring the wandering thought, I focused on our present situation. As quickly as possible, I made my way while striving not to disturb the stream bed or make excessive splashing noises.

Eventually we came to an area where the woods and undergrowth began to thin somewhat and the ground seemed more firm. I heard Threm's deep voice behind me say "Jahn," and upon looking I saw that he was pointing to the bank on the opposite side of the stream than we had entered. I nodded to him and carefully chose an exit that I felt would support both Threm and his burden without creating undue sign.

We had been in the water long enough that our footwear was quite saturated with water. In another, less perilous situation the squishy, squeaky sound that the leather wraps created as water was forced out of them by walking once again on firm, dry ground might have been humorous to me. Threm apparently found it so as I surprisingly heard a low chuckle from behind me. "What?" I said as I turned to look at him. A grin on his face corroborated the chuckle, "Your feet make sounds like a duck."

At that I allowed myself to laugh, but not too loudly. Nonetheless, it relieved some of the tension I had been under. "Well my large friend, I would say the same for you, but in your case I don't believe there is a duck that has ever been hatched that would be large enough to quack so." At that he laughed as well, but quickly stopped and looked around.

"I must admit that he is getting heavy." As if to punctuate that statement he shifted the pilot slightly on his shoulder to adjust the weight, "Perhaps someplace a bit farther from the water." I led on. The ground sloped gently upwards from the stream, but began sloping downwards again after perhaps two hundred paces. Based on his breathing behind me I could tell that Threm was finally becoming fatigued.

It wasn't far enough by any means, at least not by my reckoning, but after another fifty or so paces down the far side of the slope we came to a rocky outcropping, barren except for some mosses and one small pine struggling to grow in a narrow crack. Threm carried the pilot around to the far side of the outcropping and laid him down as gently as possible. That done he sat down against the rock. Taking a water skin from his back, he took several swallows before handing it to me. I drank thirstily, thinking it possible to sneak back to the stream to refill the bag if needed.

By the time I tilted my head down and wiped my mouth, Threm was apparently fast asleep. His head leaned back on the rock, his eyes were closed and his breathing had slowed to a steady rhythm. I glanced down at the pilot and saw that he was still breathing regularly as well. I remember thinking that I should stay awake to stand guard as it were.

The next thing I knew, someone was shaking my shoulder and had a hand over my mouth to prevent me from speaking upon awakening. I opened my eyes and found that it was night. Only the faint moon glow allowed me to recognize Threm as the one whom had awakened me.

I nodded to him as indication of my wakefulness. He held his hand over my mouth for a second more, looking closer at my eyes to see that they were indeed open. His whisper as he released me was deep and resonant. "We must move deeper into the forest."

Assuming that he was referring to the giant arachnid-like creature that had been following us earlier, I suppressed a groan. I sat up slightly, expecting to be sore from the previous day's exertions, but found my muscles loose and responsive.

If Threm was any the worse for carrying the pilot, he gave no sign. As he moved to pick up the still unconscious man, I noticed that for one so large he could move quietly should he so choose. I picked up the bow as before but as I stood to follow Threm something brushed my shoulder.

On the verge of crying out in alarm I was checked by a sudden tightness under one arm that extended around to the other side of my neck. With an abruptness I found quite unnerving I was lifted clean off the ground and some distance into the air. All I managed was a croak of surprise, so quickly had I been lifted.

I reached up with my free hand and found my immediate suspicion to be true. I had been secured by a loop of rope of some sort and lifted bodily into the air. Threm turned and realized my predicament, but I was already too high for him to reach. Just as I saw my companion draw his obsidian blade, and I daresay he was planning on throwing it to sever the line which secured me, a second line looped quietly down around both he and the pilot. It was dark in color, so I almost missed it, but there was no mistaking the sudden lifting of the large Neanderthal from his feet.

Even with the pilot slung over his shoulder, Threm was in a better position to resist initially, given that he already had his knife at hand. I saw him start to saw vigorously at the offending rope before the both of us began rising rapidly and steadily away from the ground. As the tension increased on the rope holding me, I spun slightly in the air and lost sight of Threm in the darkness.

Until this point I had given little thought to what exactly was the source of the ropes that secured us. It could have been a platform in the trees or some such contrivance. However, our rapid ascent drew my attention to another possibility.

I looked upward and was not surprised to see the faint outline of a hull above us. Due to the fact that it was still some distance above me and apparently painted a dark color nearly matching the night, I could make out few details. I did note that the ship was running completely dark. No illumination of any sort shone from either the decks or the rigging. Any further analysis would have to wait.

In any event we rose some distance above the trees, and then seemed to come to a halt. At least that is was the lessening of both the tension of the rope around me and the cessation of most of the breeze blowing over me indicated. I caught a glimpse of Threm, still secured by the rope, hanging some distance below me. He must have decided against falling any great distance and desisted from severing the line which held him.

With a sporadic rhythm I felt the rope which secured me being tugged as I began moving slowly upwards again. In this instance, I felt certain that I was being pulled into the vessel of my unknown captors. I though briefly of actually using the great bow I held in my defense as I was pulled closer, but dismissed the idea. Were I to cause any significant amount of inconvenience to my captors it would me no great effort to merely drop me to the ground far below.

Of course, based on my previous survival of the fall from at least a hundred feet from the tower, there was a good chance I would survive this fall onto the softer soil and vegetation in the forest. Not only was that a chance I had no desire to take, but there were others for me to think about at this juncture, Threm and the pilot among them.

Thankfully, my ascent to the ship did not take long. Due to the awkward position of the rope, although I suppose I should be thankful it had not closed solely around my throat, I was forced to grasp it and pull myself up slightly to avoid passing out from the constriction on my neck. I accomplished this task with one hand for a short while before awkwardly slinging Threm's bow over one shoulder and adding my other hand to the effort.

As I rose, more details of the ship above became visible, although still of a limited nature. It was built in clinker fashion, as the first such air-ship I encountered had been. However, instead of being drawn up over the side on a boom, as the load of cargo and I had been hauled onto the other ship, interestingly a trap-door of sorts had been rigged on the very bottom of the hull. It was into this darkness that I was being drawn.

Once clear of the hull, and on the inside of the ship, the rope was pulled to one side with the use of a boat hook. There was a very dim glimmer from a globe that cast a reddish glow about the room, but owing to the dark clothing of those within, and a seemingly unnatural darkness of the scant areas of exposed skin, I could make out no details. Several pairs of hands grasped me and not only removed the rope from about me, but also held me quite securely while others divested me of the bow and quiver. I was roughly searched and the pilot's pistol was slipped from my belt.

At this point some people would begin asking foolish questions, such as "What are you doing," or insinuate in a demanding manner that the people who captured them "had no right" to do such a thing. I chose to keep my mouth shut, figuring that my captors would tell me exactly what they needed me to know, and no more, regardless of what I might say. In any event, I devoted my faculties to analyzing my surrounding for that which might prove useful in aiding my escape.

Once free of the rope and belongings, I was escorted by two dark figures towards a door at the rear of the compartment. As I did not struggle physically, my captors were not overly rough with me. They held me firmly and I had no doubt that they were armed should the need arise to subdue me. The door closed behind us before I was able to see whether or not Threm and the pilot had been lifted into the ship as well, but I had little doubt as to the future outcome in that regard.

The long room on the other side of the door was illuminated slightly more than the one previous. I could make out a series of flat bars, riveted in a square pattern, along one side of the room. A door to the cage was opened and I was thrust through it unceremoniously. As it clanged shut, I turned in an attempt to gain a better look at my captors, but gained little new information.

The two immediately walked back through the door from which they had brought me, and pulled it shut. I was left alone, or so I thought. I had started to survey my surroundings by testing the locking mechanism of the cage door when I was surprised to hear a deep, manly voice from the darkness, "Either you are very brave, or very foolish, to walk in here so confidently. If I had to warrant a guess, I would say that you simply do not know what is in store. Am I incorrect?"

I did not pause in my tactile examination of the enclosure as I replied calmly, "To be sure, other than the possibility of slavery of some sort, I have no idea what to expect. But I cannot conceive of any fate worthy enough to cause me to hang my head dejectedly while my shoulders slump in defeat. We still breathe do we not?"

His laugh was low and subdued, "Well, if breathing is all you desire, then you should be happy enough as a Kulthaka slave, for a time that is."

I grinned in the dim light and was about to retort in a somewhat braggartly fashion that I had no intention of being a slave when I heard a loud thud from the compartment aft. It was followed quickly by shouting and more thudding. If that was Threm, and he was taking a more direct approach to securing his freedom than I was, I had no choice but to attempt to aid him.

There was however, the inconvenient fact that a set of sturdy bars stood between my friend and I. I shook the metal door out of frustration causing it to clatter slightly but nothing more. Stepping back I kicked next to the latch with as much force as I could muster. This also had little to no effect, other than so send a jolt up my leg from the impact.

While I looked around for some sort of lever with which to force the door, I thought of the portals drifting through the air as I fought for Layla in the first airship I had been aboard. I admit that in retrospect the idea which came to my thoughts seemed reckless in the extreme, but at times one is left with few viable alternatives.

I ran to the end of the cage closest to the rear of the compartment and was thankful that there was sufficient clearance on the outside of the bars for what I had planned. It wasn't until I looked around in the other direction that I realized that not only had I already sped up in thought and action, merely by thinking of a previous such incident, but that an accommodating portal was drifting slowly towards me.

The angle of its approach was taking it directly towards me, and would pass it through the end of the cage. It seemed high enough to allow me access, and only one thing remained, to enter the portal.

Actually in this case, although I had only entered one portal prior to this, I was counting on several things of which I had no concrete evidence to bolster my hypotheses concerning. The first was that the disc shaped portal which I saw was truly unidirectional, meaning that no matter what angle I entered it from, it would act in the same manner. The undesirable alternative was that it might be like the end of a tunnel with only one angle of ingress. If I could only enter from one direction, then my attempt would most likely be fatal, or at the very least injurious in the extreme.

The other thing I was counting on as I grabbed onto a crossbar that I judged to be high enough was that I could pull myself out of the portal without transiting completely through it. Despite my accelerated state, I was barely able to position myself in time so that all of my body except my anchoring hand would actually contact the portal as it drifted closer.

In the initial rush of sensation, the humming, dizziness and disorientation as I entered the portal, I feared I would lose my grip completely and would fall through to wherever the portal would take me. I actually partially exited the portal on the other side and was surprised to say the least to find myself in broad daylight.

Disconcertingly, I was also dangling, apparently in mid-air, some distance from the ground. I hung thusly for only the briefest of moments before I was pulled back through the portal, and did not have much time to examine my surroundings. I did notice that the forest from Threm's world was absent and was replaced by hilly grassland dotted by large round shrubs. Several animals of various sizes grazed throughout the landscape, but I could not make out many details due to my elevation.

Just as I felt a pulling on my arm and my head began to rise into the glow I noticed something winged and very large drop from the sky onto one of the grazers. In the style of a bird of prey, but one over twenty feet long, it landed talons first on top of the hapless beast and drew it, kicking futilely, into the air. It had huge bat-like wings and I would swear it was covered in diamond shaped scales. This of course happened in slow motion, but was impressive nonetheless. I have no doubt that the winged creature was large enough to have lifted me into the air with as much ease as it demonstrated with its animal prey.

The disorientation as I passed through the portal was less severe as I went back through it, and I was glad of it. Nevertheless I was quite spent as I exited the portal, thankfully on the other side of the bars, but still within the same compartment. My plan had worked as well as I could have expected. I let go of the cage, my hand and arm somewhat sore from grasping it tightly, then collapsed to the floor.

I did not completely lose consciousness, but I admit that the floor was at that moment as comfortable as any bed, and nothing seemed quite as tempting as falling into a deep, relaxing sleep. Another thud through the wall reminded me of my mission, and I shook off my fatigue and climbed back to my feet.

The man's voice from inside the cage reached out to me, evidence that time had resumed its normal flow. "Now I understand! You are some kind of sorcerer, but with magic the likes of which I have never seen."

I did not answer, directing my effort toward reaching Threm, but I would return to free the man if I could. Already the sounds from the other room were diminishing, and I feared I might be too late. Several steps carried me to the door, and I flung it open without pausing to listen.

Jumping through, I steeled myself to engage those beyond with my bare hands and whatever else I could find close by. Only one figure stood near the opening in the floor, and it was Threm. He started at me, and then paused. "Jahn! I feared you had been captured." There was silence for a moment, as both of us realized we had each been endeavoring to rescue the other, and then we laughed.

Threm stepped forward and clapped me on the shoulder, "It appears you didn't need to be rescued after all. Perhaps I underestimated you?" I looked around and noticed that the lone body on the floor was that of the pilot. None of the other crewmen, those that had captured me, were still in the room. I also noticed that other than the door through which I had come, there was only one other exit.

A gust of air came through the open hatch on the floor as if to illustrate my thought. "Threm, you threw all those men out?" He shook his head, and shrugged apologetically "No, the last one jumped."

I was about to inquire further, when I noticed for the first time that Threm had not come through his ordeal unscathed. He was holding one of his fingers with his other hand. The finger seemed to be sticking out at an odd angle, and my initial thought was that it must be painful. Without a second's hesitation, Threm pulled in the finger and twisted it slightly. I heard the pop as it moved back into position.

Threm had not even grunted as he did it. He flexed his hand as if nothing had happened, opening and closing it several times. "I will have to bind that finger later. I think it might be sore for a while." I would have to discuss with him his tolerance for pain, at some point.

I stepped over to the open cargo hatch, intent on looking out after the crewmen Threm had disposed of. It was still quite black outside and I knelt down to get a closer look. Just then the loud pounding on the deck of several sets of footsteps sounded through the closed door to the cage room. I turned to look just as the handle started to turn, a warning to Threm coming to my lips. Just as I opened my mouth to speak, a hand shot out of the darkness below and grasped me by the throat and pulled me out into the night.

Chapter Ten

As I pitched forward out of the cargo hatch, the fingers that had clamped quite firmly on my throat abruptly released me. Apparently the hand's owner had grabbed me as an afterthought while climbing back into the airship, or else he thought me already disposed of. The fortunes must have been smiling on me for I had not quite tumbled completely over in the air when my flailing hand managed to catch the still dangling rope and arrest my plummet into the night.

My salvation was at the cost of some skin from my right hand. I slid for several feet before managing to grasp the rope with my other hand and bring myself to a halt. I ignored the burning sensation in my palm as I pulled myself up hand over hand, wrapping my feet around the rope and using them to push as well. Above me, the feet of my attacker disappeared into the square opening. That he made it completely into the airship unaccosted could only mean that Threm was otherwise engaged, perhaps with crewmen entering via the interior door.

Once again I was faced with having to make a rapid decision based on but little information. I knew that Threm had been quite handy at dispatching the initial crewmen who had hauled him into the airship, and I hoped he would continue to be as capable. The crewman climbing through the hatch disturbed me somewhat, causing me to wonder if he might flank my friend, but I assumed that Threm had seen me pulled through the hole. I hoped Threm would be on the lookout for a threat from that direction. In any case he was probably not expecting my return, believing I had fallen to my death.

With any luck the others within would also think the same of me. When I drew close enough to the underside of the vessel, I saw a potential means of reaching another part of it. Small metal rings spaced at regular intervals protruded from the hull. They would allow tethered crewmen to maneuver around in relative safety on the outside and bottom of the hull in order to inspect and repair it while underway. My aim was to use the rings myself in order to maneuver far enough away from the cargo hatch as to belay any lingering suspicion that I might still be alive, and to gain ingress to the ship at another location.

A screaming figure cart-wheeled out of the cargo hatch and into the night below. Threm was using the same tactic that had served him well in his first engagement. Seeing his success emboldened me to continue with my plan. Instead of pulling myself through the hatch, I grasped one of the metal loops closest to me and suspended myself from it.

I had no doubt that the loops would support me, but I must admit to some apprehension concerning my ability to climb from one to another as a fly on a wall. Having grasped the first loop, the necessity of letting go of the rope with my feet in order to secure my other hand to a different loop was a sore test of my determination.

The climb was far from easy, especially with one hand injured slightly. More than once I misjudged the distance to the next of the loops as I made my way towards the topside deck, causing me to dangle briefly by one hand as I re-secured my grip and tried again. When I was far enough up the side of the airship, I was able to use my feet as well, and I paused to take a welcome rest at that point. During my respite, I looked upward to choose a path over the rail that would be hopefully unoccupied.

I heard the fight within go on for some time while I climbed, placing my ear against the planking during each of several brief pauses in my ascent. I even heard a snippet of dialogue after the fighting had died off. Apparently, Threm had done no slight damage, before being overcome. "That one had better be worth it. He overcame five crewmen and managed to kill a mercenary. The crewmen will be difficult enough to do without, but now I have to pay a death-price as well, and for a sergeant."

I heard the dull smack of flesh being kicked, presumably poor Threm. My hunch was seemingly right that Threm was worth more alive than dead, but I was sorry nonetheless for his predicament. The next part of the conversation heartened me somewhat. My ruse had worked. "What of the other one?" A female voice, yet one with the tone of command, asked. The first voice answered, "He took flying lessons, and I fear he did no better at it than my men." I heard the female voice laugh then, but had no stomach to listen further.

My hands were growing tired and I knew I had to gain the deck soon or risk becoming fatigued enough to make a costly error while climbing. Pulling myself upwards, I drew as close to the rim of the deck as I dared before pausing once again. I listened, but heard no movement above me, and as no light shone either, I risked climbing the remaining distance.

Once to the wooden rail, it was a simple matter to pull myself over the top and onto the smooth planking beyond. Looking around, and listening intently I risked kneeling for several seconds in the open before scouting for better shelter. I wanted to rescue Threm immediately, but prudence told me that at the very least I would have to regain a significant amount of the vitality I had spent on my sojourn up the side of the ship.

After I recovered enough to at least crouch and move quietly, I began to more carefully examine my surroundings. Blackened ropes extended upwards from various reinforced points along the deck towards the gas bags above. I guessed that there would be at least one ladder extending to some sort of watch platform as well, but did not encounter it on this end of the ship.

Overall, the deck was quite clear. I noticed that the rings by which I had made my way along the sides of the airship were present along topside as well. Perhaps they served some purpose other than that which I had initially surmised, or perhaps the designers had envisioned the possibility that the deck might not always remain level.

At several locations, usually near the points where the rigging attached from the supports floating above, raised boxes broke the otherwise level area. That they were used for storage was clear, but I did not pause to investigate them further. Once, I came upon a person wandering the deck. The faint odor of his pipe reached me before any noise or light and forewarned me. On the alert, I was nevertheless barely able to dart behind one of the raised boxes before the glow from his pipe flared a mere several yards in front of me.

The only thing that saved me was that he seemed more intent on watching the star field as it drifted above, that and the slowness of his traverse across the deck. I skirted around the barrier until he was on the far side of it from me, but after that near encounter, I became even more cautious. Wanting to find a place both to rest and to cogitate on my strategy for not only freeing Threm but also the pilot, I redoubled my efforts at locating an out of the way place that I might be more at ease.

Strangely enough, that place presented itself when I glanced over the side of the airship upon one of my approaches in that direction. A small platform protruded from the side of the airship almost two yards below the level of the main deck. It was sheltered from above by a portion of the planking which at this location overhung the edge of the hull by two or three yards.

The platform was not totally enclosed, and I thought briefly that it might be used as a firing location in the event of a boarding activity. A small hatch in the deck revealed a ladder leading down to the seemingly secure area. I lowered myself through the hole and pulled the hatch shut on top of me.

The ladder was a short, easy climb, and I quickly found that the place was currently used for storage, coils of rope and small rough sacks, the contents of which I did not endeavor to determine. It seemed secure enough for my purposes, temporarily at least. I felt confident that nothing stored here would need to be retrieved in a pressing enough a manner as to require it be done by darkness.

I propped myself up in such a manner that I might rest my muscles from the climb and to prepare for what lie ahead, but was uncomfortable enough to keep me from falling asleep. No matter how tired I was, I was resolute in my determination not to leave Threm and the other prisoner any longer than necessary before affecting our escape.

In retrospect the plan which came to me was simple in the extreme, but one I hoped was just flexible enough to allow it to succeed. I did not think this vessel large enough to be a true slaver, being scarcely eight paces wide, and from what I could tell perhaps thirty paces in length. My plan hinged on the assumption that the below decks portions of the airship that I had not seen were filled with something other than men at arms. I was also hoping that Threm and the pilot were being kept in the same cage that I had been secured in briefly.

Both assumptions proved to be correct, although things did not turn out in the way I had foreseen. Seated in the dark I had no way of telling how much time had passed before I felt energetic enough to proceed. Twice while I waited on that platform I heard footsteps approach on the deck above, but in neither case was the hatch above me opened. Perhaps the crew of the ship were organized enough to set a roving patrol on the decks at night, or perhaps it was merely the pipe smoker or another of his kind that had come out for some night air. In any event I was not disturbed other than the apprehension which came upon me with the possibility of discovery.

Waiting until the sound of receding footsteps faded away I searched the platform quickly for a weapon of some sort. In truth I did not expect to find anything so elaborate as a blade, but would have been satisfied with even a length of wood that could have served as an improvised club. Unfortunately, nothing even remotely functional in that aspect presented itself. Until I could equip myself better, I made do with one of the lumpy sacks small enough to carry in one hand. It was heavy and probably capable of rendering someone unconscious if wielded with sufficient force.

I slung the bag over my shoulder and carefully returned to the deck above. On this instance I traversed the entire deck to a hatch near the after section without encountering anyone. I noticed disconcertingly that the sky had begun to lighten slightly in the pre-dawn, and hurried somewhat, realizing my time was becoming limited.

Thankfully the hatch was not secured from the inside. It pulled open quietly at my tugging, revealing a narrow steep ladder leading down to the interior. I entered slowly, closing the hatch behind me. A dimly glowing globe revealed only minimal details of my surroundings, but was enough to allow me to navigate the ladder quietly and without noisy incident.

Once at the bottom I realized that I was in the middle of a passage somewhat narrower than three feet. Two persons going in opposite directions would find it a tight squeeze, even when turned sideways. Continuing towards the rear of the ship I encountered a closed door and was reaching for the handle when I heard the sound of footsteps approaching from the other side. A second later, a voice seemingly in the middle of a conversation came through the door although I could not make out the words.

Making it to the ladder behind me and onto the deck above before I was discovered by those approaching seemed a remote possibility. Perhaps I could have attempted to distort my movement through time, but that option did not occur to me. I was, however flanked by two interior doors, presumably leading to a cabin on either side of the passageway. The one nearest me was locked from within, and I felt a degree of anxiety as I stepped towards the opposite door.

The second door proved to be unsecured and I wasted no time in entering the room and closing the door behind me. The room was dimmer even than the passageway, only the faintest of light entered through a small portal in the pre-dawn hour.

I fumbled in the dark and located a simple slide bar lock on the door which I wasted no time in using. The door secure, I turned to the interior of the room, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dimness. After several seconds, I heard a rustling noise from deeper within the room. The rustling was followed by the unexpected sound of a soft female voice in the darkness, "Come, let me warm you."

It was the last thing I had expected to hear, and as the footsteps passed by the doorway outside I knew my situation was precarious. I had no desire to give away my identity as a stranger by speaking, but I also had to prevent the woman in the room from setting the alarm.

I didn't know a thing about who she was expecting, and to be found out as an impostor in bed I surmised would risk a much more dangerous response from the woman. The thought also came to me that such an action would be out of character, a violation of some sort of moral code which I could not define fully, and indeed had not been aware of possessing, but one that impinged at the edges of my awareness.

In any event any attempt at deception was removed in an instant as the woman in the bed became suddenly visible to me holding a reddish light globe similar to the ones I had seen in other places on the airship. She had leaned up on one elbow, the other hand holding the globe aloft. She lay with linens covering her torso, but from the bareness of skin shown by her shoulders and arms she was in all likelihood unclothed beneath.

I had but a brief second to study her features, and I admit that to my embarrassment I did so instead of formulating a plan of action. In the reddish light, it was hard to distinguish anything about her skin, other than it looked smooth and supple. Her face was narrow and topped with a head of short hair of a light color. Our eyes met briefly and while her mouth had initially possessed a slight grin, that quickly changed to a frown.

I regained my wits and prepared myself to dart across the room in order to cover her mouth should she start to scream. That she kept her voice low surprised me greatly. "So, already he tires of me and sends another in his place?" Her inflection turned her utterance from a question into a resigned statement. She lowered her head briefly then shook it slowly back and forth.

Reminding myself that I was not as yet being searched for, or that at the very least I could assume as much with a reasonable degree of accuracy, I held my tongue. While I would have to correct this woman's opinion of me at some point, I chose to bide my time at least until the footsteps had faded away outside.

Quite abruptly she swung her legs from the edge of the bed to the deck and stood, her bedding discarded in a rumple on the mattress behind. I was thankful out of modesty that she was not naked as I had suspected, although the garments she wore left little to the imagination. They consisted of two separate pieces, both loose fitting yet brief. One covered her from her hips to the upper part of her thighs, barely, while the other wrapped scantily around her upper torso, concealing only slightly the symmetrical curves of her feminine anatomy.

I must have gawked in quite a doltish manner because she laughed quietly, "Come now, we both know why you are here. At least you are more pleasant to look at, and not as smelly." She walked over to me and ran a finger along the rough stitching along the neckline of the hide garment Threm had lent me. "But you really do need to do better than these."

I noticed briefly that she smelled faintly like some sort of flower, although one I could not name. It was quite a pleasant scent, and combined with the dim lighting of the room, the soft tickling of her finger on my chest, and the warmth of her closeness, I found myself becoming uncomfortable. This degree of closeness and intimacy as not something I did casually, not with a stranger.

As I rapidly considered ways to decline her advances, something she clearly would not expect of me, and something that would surely cause her to be alarmed. For why else then would I be in her room, except for some nefarious purpose? I was on the verge of grabbing her in a most ungentlemanly fashion to keep her silent when the latch on the door turned without warning and the door rattled rapidly in a staccato manner against the locking bar. The voice that carried from outside was low and guttural, and made little attempt at speaking in muted tones "Open the door, now!"

The instant and dramatic change in demeanor the sound of that voice brought about in my unwitting host took me quite off guard. In the blink of an eye she dashed the light globe towards the far wall. I managed to catch only the briefest glint of a blade darting towards me before the globe shattered against the wooden bulkhead, leaving the room in darkness.

I have no idea how close the blade came to me, for I wasted no time in throwing myself over backwards and tumbling out of the way. The only clue I had that time had slowed down around me was that the rattling of the door latch changed from its rapid tempo to a much deeper and slower banging.

My thoughts began racing as I considered the puzzlement I experienced at the sudden appearance of the slender blade in the hand of a nearly naked girl, where there seemed to be little enough place to hide anything even approaching its size. Before I had even tumbled over my shoulder to my feet again, luckily without hitting anything large enough to stop me, I had also decided upon an immediate plan of action.

I backed to the wall behind me and felt along it in the direction of the door, based on the periodic banging resonating through the wood. As long as the banging kept its slow, steady rhythm I felt little concern for the girl with the knife. It would take her some time to reach me, even if she knew exactly where I was.

My hand closed reassuringly on the wooden latch and I pulled it open without hesitating. Without allowing the man outside to react, I pulled the door open suddenly. A picture played through my mind of what it must have looked like from his perspective, the door going from closed and locked tight to standing wide open in front of him in half the blink of an eye.

What must have proven even more surprising to him was the hand that reached out of the darkness and pulled him into the room, quite suddenly. As he stumbled, off balance, in slow motion into the room, I darted around him and into the passageway, pulling the door shut behind me.

The narrow corridor was empty of other crewmen, and I hurried through it towards the rear of the airship. I intended to take as much advantage of my increased speed as I could, and also to put as much distance between myself and the sure-to-ensue drama I had left behind. The next room I entered must have been the ship's mess area, several small tables sat anchored to the deck, and a cooling cauldron of some kind of stew sat at one end of the room.

Of all the things I noticed when moving through altered time, my reaction to this this proved mildly amusing. As I strode quickly through the room, breaking into a run in the clear area, I caught a whiff of the concoction. It had a rich meaty smell, but also that of various herbs and vegetables. My stomach actually groaned in hunger as I passed. How long had it been since I had eaten?

Another narrow corridor, flanked by cabins as had been the one forward, lay aft of the mess area. My fortune held and I still encountered no one as I proceeded. The corridor met another at right angles, but a stairway also led downward in the direction I wanted to go. Still moving in my accelerated manner, or so I hoped, I swung into the space below by a handle suspended above the stairs, presumably there for that purpose.

As I lit upon the lower deck, I immediately realized I had entered a sleeping area. Hammocks hung two high from a series of floor to ceiling beams that stood at intervals around the room. Not all the hammocks were full, but enough of them were occupied to give me pause. As I snuck slowly through the room, carefully avoiding any of the men therein, I realized that time had resumed its normal rate by the sound of snoring in the room approaching its normal pitch.

I navigated the room without mishap, until I was next to the last set of hammocks. The bottom one was occupied, and as I passed it a hand shot out and grabbed me by one ankle. I nearly punched the man in the face, and was lining myself up to stoop over and do just that when he mumbled something incoherent and released my leg.

Relieved I took the two steps required to get to rear of this berthing and started to open a door leading aft when an alarm bell sounded, clearly but disconcertingly from somewhere forward, from the direction I had come. Men started to stir, but not before I was through the door and into a much shorter passage on the other side of it. This passage had a ladder leading from above, but also another door set into the wall aft. This door had a clearly painted set of bars on it; I hoped indicating the presence of the cage I had seen before.

The bell continued to sound, and even as I opened the final door, I was beginning to become concerned over being discovered. If the alarm was due to my prior intrusion into the occupied cabin, it must have been a more serious infraction than I had imagined.

The room beyond was indeed the caged one containing not only the mysterious man with the gravelly voice, but now Threm and the pilot who was seated, leaning against the wall. As I entered, Threm looked up, smiling broadly as he recognized me. "Jahn! I saw you pulled out of the hatch?"

I nodded, "It's a longer story than I think we have time for with that bell ringing." I moved to the cage door but found it, not surprisingly, secured. Threm guessed my intention and pointed towards the door through which we had both entered the ship not long ago. "When the bell started ringing, the guard from here went through that door," Threm noted in a helpful tone.

I nodded and moved toward the door, intent on opening it and stepping through. As my hand reached for the latch it lifted seemingly of its own accord and the door began swinging inward. Initially I was taken aback that someone would open a door with such slowness, but I quickly surmised that the flow of time had altered around me once again. The transition was so smooth as to be nearly imperceptible, and I resolved to remain vigilant to its arrival in the future so as not to be taken off guard and waste valuable time.

Although I was beginning to be able to control this time skewing, it still manifested itself more often than not during a period of crisis, especially when quick and deliberate action on my part would swing the odds of an otherwise untenable situation in my favor. This instance was no different, and as the door swing slowly inward I grasped it and pulled it towards me with as much vigor as I could muster, then satisfying myself that the crewman on the other side was off balanced and being pulled through the opening, I slammed it shut again.

The low pitched thud as the door struck the unfortunate man and flung him backwards into the room beyond completed the initial stage of my entry to retrieve the key which unlocked the cell containing my companions. I opened the door, fully this time, and darted into the room beyond. Such was my acceleration that the crewman I had struck with the door was still in the process of falling backwards through the air. The door had apparently impacted him with enough force to carry him completely off of his feet.

I dodged around his nearly horizontal form, finding it mildly amusing that had I wished I could have passed completely underneath the man as he floated through the air. Two steps took me to his shoulders when I noticed in retrospect that he was the very man I was looking for. A ring of keys dangled from his belt. I stopped myself short and snatched the keys.

With a detached interest I noticed that even the mild pull generated as I tugged at the keys had started him spinning away from me. He was in for a significantly more awkward landing than his backwards arc had previously indicated, but I did not trouble myself with it other than to kick a small crate out of the way from where I guessed he would land. Why I took even that small action I must attribute to the fact that although I held no compunction against any action I must take to free myself and my companions, I nonetheless held no overt malice towards the hapless airshipman.

Glancing around after I secured the keys in my hand I surveyed the remainder of the room. Two other crewmen stood over the now open hatch, which revealed further the beginnings of daylight beyond. One of them had turned his head towards the commotion I caused and his face was slowly forming a look of surprise. His hand rose, ever gradually towards the shoulder of the other crewman, this one apparently so intent on looking at something outside of the ship that he had not noticed my entrance.

I thought little of either until their movement began to speed perceptibly. The crewman looking in my direction stopped trying to gain the attention of his fellow and instead stood and stepped towards the interior wall. In an instant, before I could react fully, the falling crewman thudded to the deck and I heard the only slightly distorted sound of the alarm bell ring twice more in a normal tone before stopping.

Time was at its normal rate and my advantage deteriorated. I tried once to re-trigger my temporal acceleration, but was unable to do so. I noticed what must be the destination of the moving crewman. He was headed towards tube of some kind which ran from a rounded mouthpiece at shoulder level upward and through the overhead.

In an instant I realized that I could not allow him to reach the device. To make matters worse, the other crewman, the one still kneeling at the open hatch, became obviously aware of my presence, drew a short but curved knife from his belt and stood, stepping towards me.

Chapter Eleven

Two against one is never good odds, and the curved knife edged those odds even more in their favor. Some men may boast of their combat prowess in a grandiose manner, stating "Two against one, it was hardly a fair fight, for them!" I have never made such a braggartly statement, nor is it likely that I ever will as such is not my nature. But even in the midst of that difficult situation, I felt no great uncertainty as to the outcome.

Based on my narrative thus far, some may be inclined to believe that I rely on my unusual and quite dramatic abilities to extricate myself from any peril. However, while it is true that I do not hesitate to use those abilities, such as the time distortion I have heretofore described in great detail, I also must assert that it is in the manner of a tool, much like a carpenter uses a hammer or saw, and not in the totally reliant way a man with a broken leg uses a crutch. I only endeavor to clarify this matter so that anyone reading it will know that I am not restricted in my behavior as is the proverbial "one trick pony."

As it was still, in the grand scheme of things, only recently that I had lost my memory and then begun to gradually rediscover various skills and abilities which I possessed, it was still a surprise when a skill set outside my consciousness manifested itself. While not as implausible or dramatic as moving through time at a different rate, the hand to hand combat skills that were reflexively triggered on that airship were nonetheless quite useful.

I knew I must reach the crewmen moving towards what I assumed must be a speaking tube of sorts, and then deal with the knife wielder secondarily. I was only marginally closer to the first crewman, but two quick steps brought me within reach. At this point I had no conscious plan, and it was slightly disconcerting to have my body react to the situation from the perspective of an observer.

In the graceful yet trained manner I have since seen Asian fighters employ, my left foot shot out, arcing in the opposite direction of the running man and caught him square in his stomach. Scarce had he bent over when the second man thrust at me from the side with his knife, no doubt attempting impale me. I spun towards him, and at the same time knocked the knife from his hand and hit him several times in rapid succession with both of my hands, one after the other.

I can now do as much, and more with full knowledge of my actions, but at the time I could not tell you exactly where I struck him. The only thing I can say with any certainty is that when I turned towards him, but before my left foot even touched the ground, his eyes went blank and he fell to the deck, quite unconscious.

Still recovering from being struck by the door upon my initial entry into the room, the third crewman was just now pushing himself to a kneeling position from the deck. Although most unchivalrous of me, I didn't give him a chance to regain his feet before kicking him in the side of the head and sending him to the deck once more. I would have to ensure the three ceased to be a threat, but took an instant to toss the keys through the still open door, between the bars of the cage to Threm, who caught them deftly enough.

Once I saw the keys in Threms' hand I returned my attention to the incapacitated crewmen and contemplated what to do with them. A quick glance out the open hatch showed that the airship was descending over a town or city. Dim red lights in a circular pattern surrounding an open area almost directly below indicated a probable landing area, although one constructed so as not be visible from afar.

In any case, I did not seriously consider throwing the three out to their deaths as it was somehow distasteful to me in their helpless condition. I rendered the still gasping man unconscious as gently as I could and divested him of his clothing as he was the closest to my size. By the time I was finished, Threm entered assisting the weakened pilot to walk. The other man from the cage followed. He nodded when he saw me, "Sorceror, if you do not mind, I would take my chances escaping with you."

I nodded back to him, laughing "I am no sorcerer, but you are welcome nonetheless. I am John, this is Threm, and you are?" He accepted my extended hand, although somewhat hesitantly. "I am called Mak." I shook his hand, then released it, remaining aware of the need to move quickly and dispense with most pleasantries. "Very well then Mak, let's get out of here."

Threm quickly caught on to what I was doing and began removing the clothing from another of them in order to dress the pilot. In short order the pilot, the other escapee, and I were wearing the nondescript clothing of airshipmen leaving Threm in his own garments due to his size. We drug the three into the cage and quickly bound and gagged them before locking the gate.

Returning to the aft compartment, I looked down again through the hatch and saw that we were significantly closer to the ground than before, close enough in fact to distinguish figures moving along the ground in preparation for the landing, or docking as it were.

I began formulating a plan as I realized that the search most likely initiated from my encounter with the girl in the cabin must reach us soon. Attempting to hide on the ship successfully seemed a remote possibility due to our unfamiliarity with its layout, so I discarded that idea. Likewise, attempting to make our way upwards and flee via several of the suspension sacks seemed overly risky.

As I was pondering other options and about to ask Threm for his advice, the speaking tube whistled briefly, apparently triggered from elsewhere. No sooner had I stepped to it, flipped opened the whistling end cap than an irritated voice carried through the tube quite well, "Laggards! Get that guide-line lowered now or you're the first ballast I jettison when we lift off."

Even while I replied "Right Away Sir," through the speaking tube, I noticed that the deep voiced one was already moving, feeding a large rope, the looped end of which hung suspended over the open cargo hatch, out into the space below. Apparently, he had some knowledge not only of where we were going, but of airship operations as well. I decided to ask him about it later, should we manage to extricate ourselves.

I noticed something in very short order. Next to the cargo hatch, leaning against one wall was a wooden stretcher of sorts. It even had a hook which I surmised would fit through the loop in the line that Mak was starting to lower. Granted, the idea that began materializing in my thoughts was a tenuous one, but facing immediate discovery on the airship next to the disabled guards was not an option I relished.

"Mak, wait!" I pointed to the stretcher. "Threm, get the pilot on there." I explained my plan to them and both nodded in agreement, although Threm's nod I noticed was a tense one as he obviously held some reservations concerning the soundness of my proposal. "Do you have any other ideas?" I asked him in a friendly tone, affecting a smile despite my apprehension.

Threm retrieved the pilot and began securing him into the stretcher before answering. "If I had a better idea, I would tell you Jahn. It is clear that our options are limited and time is of the essence." I nodded and helped with one of the straps. Mak spent a second or two staring at Threm with a curious expression on his face, but then shook his head and went about retrieving some other items from the room.

I disliked leaving Threm on the airship, even for the short time it took to lower Mak, the pilot and I to the ground below, but he was the strongest of us, and my hand still smarted from sliding down the rope when I fell from the airship previously. "I will climb down as soon as you reach the ground." Threm tried to reassure me, "Do not worry, I am a good climber." Frankly it wasn't Threm's climbing ability that concerned me. I was more worried about what would happen once we reached the ground, especially once someone on the airship realized we had escaped or our subterfuge was revealed to those below.

It took perhaps a minute for the stretcher to complete its journey downward with Mak and I straddling on opposite sides for balance and holding the rope for support. But once there was truly no turning back, my nerves calmed somewhat and I began searching the area below for a likely escape route. One side of the landing area was well lit, and significantly more populated than the other side. I spent several seconds looking carefully in the other direction, towards the darker areas, with the idea that we would be noticed less that way before discarding the thought.

The pilot was wounded, and my plan hinged on us seeming a normal enough part of the airship landing to be able to get away right under their noses. I just hoped someone would direct Mak, Threm and I towards whatever passed for a hospital so that we could simply fade from the ground crew's focus.

When Mak and I landed, Mak would address whoever approached and simply tell them that he needed to get the 'injured crewmember' and I to the hospital right away, and that Threm would help carry the stretcher, as one of my hands had been burnt. I indicated the direction we should take with a nod to Mak, and he seemed to understand.

Seconds later we were on the ground. None of the ground crew waiting to receive and secure mooring lines paid us any mind, and I was relieved in that respect. However a man who was dressed in a different enough, and somewhat fancy manner, did take note and approach. He was followed closely by another man dressed in a plain tunic, but who carried a sheaf of papers and a writing instrument.

Mak straightened his clothing then unhesitatingly stepped toward the man. The fancy dressed man tapped Mak in the chest with a long pointer, similar to a riding crop in length but without the flexible end. His first words were accented in a manner that rendered them unintelligible to me, but as Mak replied, sounding notably confident despite our precarious situation, I caught their meaning. "We need to get that man to the infirmary," Mak said, pointing to the stretcher. "He requires immediate care."

The man pursed his lips and continued absentmindedly tapping Mak's chest with the pointer. "But you were not listed on the manifest or disembarkation voucher sent down?" As the man spoke he redirected the pointer at the papers held by his helper, tapping them instead. "This is highly irregular."

In a display of incredibly bad timing, horrific luck, or a combination of the two, Threm dropped the last foot or so to the ground behind me after lowering himself by the rope. "And WHO is he?" the man said, not missing a beat as he pointed his black stick at Threm.

Mak attempted to cover as best as he could, but I could hear his confidence waver a bit as he explained, "We need him to carry the stretcher, because this one's hand was burned... He needs care as well. The captain did not want to distract the..."

The man with the pointer turned away from Mak, obviously ignoring him and stepping towards me. He pushed the hand I had been dramatically favoring upwards with his pointer, in order to get a closer look. To my shock and apparently his, my hand was almost completely healed from the rope burn I had received only a short time ago.

He was obviously reticent to believe our story and I saw him take a deeper inhalation than usual as he turned his head, and feared he might be on the verge of summoning guards of some sort to detain us. Mak had done his best and had not convinced the man of our mission, so I opted for a more direct approach.

Willing myself into the state of temporal acceleration, I noticed one of the man's blinks slow to nearly a standstill and realized I had been successful. As quickly as I could I poked one finger an inch or so into the soft spot on the front of his throat, triggering him to cough and with the other hand punched him lightly in the stomach which I hoped would cause him to bend over. Before he started either reflexive action, my hands were back where they had started and I felt confident that no one, including the man would notice I had even moved.

Perhaps I became carried away, but I had developed an immediate dislike for the black pointer stick the man wielded as a symbol of authority. Before resuming normal time I reached out and broke the thing, leaving one end dangling loosely from the other. Then I allowed time to resume its normal course and stepped towards the man and placed a concerned hand on his shoulder as he bent over and began coughing. "You should get him some water." I said to his assistant.

Then I looked at Mak and Threm, trying to convey a sense of urgency with my eyes as well as my voice, "Come on, let's get him to the infirmary." My two companions picked up the stretcher and with me in the lead walked as quickly away from the coughing man as we were able.

We made it nearly all the way across the landing field to a series of low buildings before I heard the man regain his voice. "Stop them!" He cried out in a raspy half shout." Realizing that no one but him had been paying any attention to us I reigned in my proclivity to break into a run at that point and in a low voice said as much to my companions. "Easy... We remain part of the background for most of them. Keep the same pace until we round the corner."

We were only five feet from the corner when I heard the man cough again to clear his throat and say in a louder voice, "You idiots, the ones with the stretcher." Abandoning all pretenses Threm, Mak and I ran around the corner, into the city.

The street was, to my dismay, mostly deserted. While this allowed us to proceed unhindered, it also gave us no chance at cover, unless we could gain entrance to a nearby building or make it around another corner before those following us arrived at the street.

A two-wheeled flat cart pulled by a donkey approached us. The sound the wheels made as they compacted the dirt of the road contrasted with the gentle clomping sound of the animal's hooves. A man walked ahead of the beast, whistling lowly as he led the donkey along by a single tether.

The roadway was darker than the airstrip had been, but I could see that red orbs glowed dimly from posts spaced at fairly regular intervals along the roadway. The orbs themselves were each contained in a woven mesh enclosure, and post and all was topped by a shallow conical cover, shielding the lights from weather and preventing the lights from being visible from above.

Only a bit startled by our hurried movement, the man stopped whistling as we passed him and craned his neck around to follow our progress, but other than that took no action. I saw that his cart contained earthenware jugs of a consistent type and size, packed with straw between them and secured by only a low retaining rail. If the substance they contained was inflammable, a temporary barrier of flame might slow our pursuers, but as I had no fire source, the idea did not seem practical.

Several paces in front of Threm, who was carrying the front of the stretcher bearing the pilot, a door swung open and the figure of a man emerged partially, still facing inwards. A stream of invectives followed, uttered by an obviously upset female voice. The man was shoved backwards out the door, causing him to stumble and fall onto his buttocks in a most ungraceful manner. He started to rise with a yell and I saw him reach for a knife at his waist.

Even had I not been in dire circumstances and in need of finding shelter from the presumably quickly approaching pursuit I would have come to the woman's aid. With the open door also came an opportunity I could not pass up. As I moved towards the man with the knife, I called to Threm as loudly as I dared and pointed towards the door.

I reached the man before he began to straighten up and punched him squarely in the temple, knocking him back into the dirt and causing the knife to fall from his now numb fingers. I smoothly picked up the knife and held it; handle out, to the woman in the doorway, who was now staring at me in surprise.

I smiled at her in a friendly manner and asked, "Would you allow us in? My friend is injured and I promise no harm will come to you." In reality she was still contemplating my request, but when she took the knife from my hand I grasped her by both shoulders and guided her gently backwards into the building.

Threm and Mak followed behind me immediately, but as Mak started to kick the door shut behind him, I realized a critical flaw in my idea. Two flaws to be exact. One was the cart driver, and the other was the antagonistic man I had left in the street who would undoubtedly reveal our presence to the men from the airfield. "Wait!" I said to Mak, "See if there's a back way. I'll try to draw them off."

The woman seemed to be sizing up the situation, and at least had not yet decided we were a threat to her. As I moved to the front door again, seizing the handle and looking quickly out onto the street before closing it again, she at least decided to help Mak and Threm get out of some back way. "Come this way, quickly," I heard her say quietly yet urgently behind my back.

I was glad of that, for the street in front of the house was on the verge of becoming a very busy one due to our pursuit, and also because the formerly knife-wielding man I had punched seemed to be taking exception to my actions and was now shouting on the other side of the door. In an instant, I decided to deal with both situations at the same time and took a fraction of a second to compose myself and clear my head. The slightly increased resistance the door gave me as I pulled it open again and stepped into the street told me that I had succeeded in altering time around me.

I had to alter my course in order to dodge a glowing portal disc directly outside the doorway. If my reflexes had not been enhanced by the time dilation, I would have stepped directly into it. As it was, I skimmed the edge and in fact felt a strange tingling sensation as my leg passed through the very edge.

I paid it no mind, as I had more pressing matters at hand. The man I had punched was now standing and was mid-stride towards the door, his mouth open in the midst of another shout. I strode past him, and grabbed his collar as I did so. When I had pulled him off of his feet, and was dragging him along on his heels, I broke into a trot heading towards a mass of some seven men who had rounded the corner some forty yards away.

The cart and donkey had only moved half way to them, but as it was far to the right on the roadway, I avoided it easily. When I discovered that dragging the man on his heels was easier than I had expected, I increased my stride and began running. I had to move around one portal, this one so faint that I almost missed it, and duck under another one oriented nearly vertical. Compared to dealing with the portals when I was on the airship and their perceived relative motion, these stationary ones were simple to negotiate.

Several strides short of the seven men chasing us I turned sharply to the left, and as the fellow I was dragging began sliding sideways I released his collar, sending him crashing into the men in slow motion. Four of them were bowled over as I watched; barely starting to react to what to them was an indistinct blur of motion. The other three were another matter and I decided at that point that I had no desire to do them harm, at least not more than was needed to slow them down significantly.

The answer rested in the hands of one of the three still standing, or more accurately moving in slow motion. Since I had begun my approach they had taken perhaps one full stride and close inspection would have revealed their limbs moving along at a snail's pace. In any event, one of the three held a net, probably intended to aid in our capture, while the other two carried simple javelins or spears tipped with obviously sharp leaf-shaped heads made from a dark colored metal.

Without much delicacy I grabbed the net firmly and pulled it from the man's hands. It seemed like he was trying to follow me with his gaze, for it looked like his head turned to follow me, a look of surprise building on it, as I stepped away from him with the net now in my hands.

I flung the well-made mesh over the top of his head, managing to cover the other two to some extent. One after the other I shoved them quickly in a tumble, making a pile close to the other four already bowled over. Seeing coil of rope still in the hand of one of the men on the ground, I finalized my thought of securing them in order to delay them further.

The rope proved no more difficult to secure than the net had, and in length was sufficient to loop around all eight men twice with a little to spare. The extra length I quickly used to tie the ends together and snugged it tightly around the men. That completed I realized that little time had actually passed to allow Mak and Threm to make good their flight from the back of the woman's house.

I decided to give them a greater lead by causing a distraction in the opposite direction, and took several steps past the huddle of tied and netted men before I began to stagger from an enormous wave of fatigue that washed over me. I had overtaxed myself, and actually stumbled and fell to one knee as time lurched back to normal around me.

Even as my vision edged towards blackness I heard shouts from the men I had enmeshed on the ground, "What happened?" and "I saw him, it was a man." Inevitably, one of them noticed me just before I fell face first into the dirt, unable to alter my course or keep myself upright any longer. "There he is," was the last thing I heard before the blackness and silence of unconsciousness enveloped me.

An indeterminate time later, I was rudely awakened when someone dumped a bucketful of water over my head. Sputtering, I attempted to wipe the water from my face and eyes and found my hands securely fastened in shackles. I did have some range of motion, but not sufficient to reach my face. Blinking, I cleared my eyes as best I could.

I could see, but for a minute or so, my vision was blurry and my eyes stung from the water. In any case the room was dimly lit by several torches held onto the walls by metal sconces. I puzzled briefly at this apparent anachronism when the small light globes seemed so ubiquitous in this world, at least what I had seen so far. Several men stood around me wearing simple belted tunics and pants which extended only halfway below the knees. As my eyes cleared I saw that one of the men had gold or bronze colored trim sewn onto the edges of his tunic. I surmised, not incorrectly, that he was probably in charge.

Seeing that I was awake, he stepped towards me and leaned closer, as if to take a better look at me in the dim light. His breath smelled of garlic, some other spice I couldn't place, and more than a little alcohol. One of his eyes was a mass of milky white scar tissue, the reason obvious from the purple slash which crossed his eye socket. He stared at me through one beady black eye, turning his head slightly to do so.

"Doesn't look like anything special to me." He turned briefly towards the other men, shaking his head slightly. "Dodge this!" he said, raising his voice slightly, and cuffing me on the head hard enough to snap my head sideways. "Bah, you're not fast. They must have been trying to cover for being lazy." As if to illustrate his point, or just for the fun of it, he hit me on the other side of the head.

I declined to give him the satisfaction of wincing, or even grunting at the pain, but neither did I make any antagonistic remarks towards him, such as questioning his ability to hit any harder, although I must admit to wanting to. I kept my gaze and my expression neutral. Not getting any reaction from me, he quickly became bored. "Throw him in with the others."

Quite without preamble I was lifted to my feet and led out of the room. As my feet were still shackled I was only partly successful at matching the steps of my guards. Each of several times when I stumbled they lifted me back to my feet roughly, with some insult or other indicating my fault in the matter, and we continued. I don't know why prisons and jails always seem to prefer storage of prisoners deeper underground than the rest of the facilities, and this one was no exception.

The guards took me down a set of winding stairs and past a manned station consisting of a table, chairs and two additional bored looking jailers playing some sort of dice game. The cell itself was Spartan in the extreme. A set of narrow bars, of perhaps a three inch gap, separated the holding area from the hallway. The only air was provided by a narrow, perhaps half inch slit near the ceiling in two sections of the room. The floor provided the only seating, although several sets of chains, thankfully unused, provided additional standing room against several portions of the walls.

In the gloom, now only lit by even dimmer red globes than I had seen on the street, I noticed perhaps a dozen or more people seated despondently around the cell. They showed only minimal interest when they realized it was only a new addition to their numbers being escorted in, so great was their apathy.

I wondered how long they, and by inference I, were to remain there, and indeed what our final disposition was to be. Still shackled, as were most of the others, I was shoved through the door and left to my own devices. Once the guards departed however, several of the other prisoners showed moderately more interest at my advent.

Approaching cautiously, they eyed me for some time before speaking, one old man apparently taking on the role of spokesman for the group. "Stranger, you do not belong. You are in better health than any here, and if I am not mistaken, you do not carry the mark of the owned. I would think you a spy, but you would be the worst one yet, so poor is your disguise."

I held up my shackled hands as best I could, looking around for anyone I recognized, but hoping not to do so. "As far as I know, I am owned by no man, so even if I knew what this mark was... I would not have it."

As if to illustrate his point, the man pulled the neck of his rough spun tunic away from his neck, revealing a circular brand. Several of the other unshackled ones did the same, and a few with shackles managed to expose their marks also. I suspected specific ownership was determined by variation of the mark within the circle, but in the dim light I could not clearly identify details to any great extent.

As I was pondering the uneasy feeling which had started in the pit of my stomach, I heard a familiar female voice off to one side, "John?" It was a tentative question, from one truly unsure as to the answer, yet with a fair amount of hope couched in that one word. I turned to look, in reality disbelieving what my ears told me, but having to prove to myself that they were wrong.

It was Layla, the very woman who had first met me on my arrival to this world and done so much for me before being captured by the vile _exalted one_. The look on her face quickly changed from surprise, and more than a little of the disbelief that must have shown on mine, to a mixture of pleasure, relief and something else I couldn't place. Her first step towards me was rushed as if she was going to run, but then she stayed herself and walked. It was not, however a slow walk, and when she reached me she touched my face gently, her fingers brushing my skin tentatively in a way that made every nerve of mine come alive.

I raised my hands as far as the chains permitted, intent on grasping her hands in mine. They only made it a fraction of the way before being drawn up short. I do not know with any degree of assurance what I would have done had I been able to actually take her hands, but the slight widening of her eyes and the way they glistened in the dim light must have mirrored my own.

For what must have been several seconds, we merely stared at each other. In my case because for some reason I did not want to break the silent bond that had just formed between us. As to why she did not speak, I am not sure. Although I had done but little to earn any emotional feeling towards me on her part, nonetheless I felt something unexpected well up inside me.

The moment was broken in any case by the entrance of several guards, some with clubs, some with poles from which extended loops of rope. Had I been slightly less interested in them, and more observant in what was going on around me, I would have paid more attention to the majority of the other occupants who scuttled and scurried to the walls and corners of the room, crouching down to avoid notice and averting their gaze. My own erect posture and direct gaze earned me their immediate attention, for upon their entry I had positioned Layla behind me out of instinct.

One of the guards with a club approached me, raising his club as if to strike me. Perhaps I should have flinched, or cowered in imitation of the others, but the thought honestly never occurred to me at the time. Instead I stood as he feinted at my head, holding his gaze with my own. His next swing was no feint, and I ducked out of the way but took no other action.

I thought he would swing at me again, but he did not. Instead he spat a stream of greenish liquid from his mouth, no doubt created by a lump of something held against his lower jaw by his lip, and spoke "Spirit...and a bit of quickness, this one for the arena. Should be more entertaining than most of the recent fare." Immediately though, he ignored me and started looking around at the other prisoners.

"Where is the ' _princess'_?" he said quietly as he looked around. I stood still, but continued to look the guard in the eye as I kept Layla behind me. None of the other inmates gave any answer, but simply looked forlornly at the ground. The guard raised his club again; intent on striking me, but Layla stepped to one side revealing herself to him. "I am here." She said.

The guard stayed his hand, but I could have cared less, as he now knew the location of "the princess" and for some reason, this enraged me. I had no idea what they had in mind for her, but as I had been relegated to "the arena," I could only imagine hers as a more humiliating and possibly painful fate. I could have waited for better odds, for a more opportune moment, but I did not.

Instead, I simply punched to closest guard square in the jaw before he even had time to raise his club towards me. The other guards were either slow to act, or I was already slipping into my increased time rate. The first was merely reaching for his club when I stepped into him and twisted his arm away from the weapon with a dull snap. I did not even wait for him to react before I kicked one of the others in the groin in a most unsportsmanlike fashion and tripped the fourth against his own legs with the chains on my wrists, sending him crashing in slow motion to the ground.

Layla's face was lit with surprise as I turned towards her and grinned, but I wasted no time in conversation as I found keys to unlock my restraints on one of the guards and removed my shackles and manacles. Still moving faster than normal, I folded her gently over my shoulder and proceeding out of the open cell door. Whether I would be able to reach a safe location, or even attain egress from the building was unknown to me at the time. I merely acted out of instinct to protect one who I now knew I cared about.

I ran, her weight upon my shoulders negligible, through several doors and up a number or ramps, until finally we reached the exterior of the building. A dull red light illuminated our path, as it proved to be night again outside. Red orbs, set along the street on posts in a regular fashion gave us direction in the short term at least.

I set Layla down, realizing I was tiring, and wanting to maintain my strength should we be accosted. She appeared on the edge of engaging me in a dialogue of sorts, so I held a finger to my lips, and pointed in the direction I believed the airship was. Layla nodded briefly and we headed along the street, attempting to make good time, whilst also making every effort to be quiet.

For some time we traversed thus, I grasped her hand for the sole purpose of guiding her through the unknown streets as quickly as possible, or so I told myself. As I saw the shape of the airship ahead in the gloom, only separated by the width of several buildings, a clamor finally rose up behind us. I saw a collection of lights brighter than the mounted red orbs, and these lights were moving, wavering against the buildings we had passed. They spread out in various directions, but all too many of them seemed to be converging on the airship dock.

As Layla and I neared the landing, I also heard a commotion from that direction. My first though was that some sort of wireless communication of telegraph had been used to report the escape, and guards were simply moving to seal the area, but the yell that could have only come from the throat of Threm, my Neaderthaloid companion gave me some heart. Peering around the final corner, I grinned as I saw Threm striding through a hastily formed line of guards, throwing them aside with impunity. Mak was also accounting for himself well, if unexpectedly, by moving around behind the guards distracted by Threm and disabling them by various quick, effective and somewhat unsavory methods.

I noticed a small group of guards maintaining their distance from Threm, and saw them in unison raise several larger two handed versions of the pistols I had seen previously. These contained three much longer cylinders running along the barrels, which were longer, but not as long as one would expect for a rifle. As I disengaged my hand from Layla and ran towards the men, I moved so quickly into my faster time rate that I scarcely noticed it, except for the slowing of everything around me.

My first concern was Threm, who appeared to be the target of the musket men, as I thought of them due to their strange weapons. Mak was unfortunately on the verge of being struck from the side with the butt of a spear just as he finished snapping the neck of his current victim. I was past Mak, had re-aimed the spear so that it would miss him, and kicked a leg from under his attacker before Mak saw the spear coming. The tripped guard had not even started to fall when I covered the distance to the musket men so fast was I travelling in comparison.

As moving all of the muskets or men out of the way would have taken, as I had learned in prior time dilation, much effort and tired me greatly, possibly rendering me unable to secure Layla's safety and our escape, I elected to attempt something more subtle. As I walked past each man, I reached over and snapped from their guns the upper cylinders, the ones made of copper. When I was three men down the line, I noticed an unexpected, but beneficial effect of my action. The cylinders had been pressurized with a gas that billowed out quite opaquely as I separated them from the weapons. Even if I hadn't effectively disabled the weapons, which I had, the gas was going to obscure Threm and Mak as they attempted to reach the airship.

I continued along the line of muskets, and twisted the cylinders from the rest before returned to Layla. Since it seemed obvious that we all endeavored to execute an aerial escape, I decided to quickly secure Layla on the ship before returning to aid Threm and Mak, and hopefully the injured pilot, should he still be with them. I adjusted myself close to normal time for just long enough to pick Layla up and tell her my plan briefly before accelerating again. I ran rapidly towards the accommodation ladder which now hung from cargo bay of the airship.

Looking up, I saw no obvious signs of resistance from above, so with one hand around Layla, her arms around my neck, I began to climb one armed up the ladder. From my point of view the climb was agonizingly slow, so focused was I on catching each rung above as I let go of the one beneath it that I lost perspective of just how fast I was climbing in relation to everything going on around me.

By the time I gained the top of the ladder and helped Layla inside the ship, I was becoming quite fatigued. Each movement now took more effort, as if I was mired in mud. With so much still to do, I had no intention of submitting to the fatigue and falling unconscious this time, but I remained aware of what would ultimately result if I continued to exert myself at such a level.

I relaxed slightly, hoping that time would speed up around me, but no so much that I would become ineffective. It seemed to work to an extent, my sluggishness lessened, and as I set Layla down, I saw her begin to turn slightly. Everything was still moving slowly to me, but she moved faster than had the men below. I darted past her to the door, and braced it closed as best I could with a piece if timber and a crate.

I slowed to normal speed, and said "Wait here, I will be back soon," to Layla before leaping back to the ladder and moving down it as fast as I could, speeding myself through time as I went. The cloud from the disabled musket gas had not dissipated while I climbed down, nor had any of the participants on the ground moved in any great measure. Mak had made it to another of the guards and was just releasing the man to fall to the ground.

Threm was holding the last of the line of spearmen above his head and in the process of hurling him towards the still confused musket men. What concerned me most was a second line of muskets I had not noticed before, moving along the street towards the courtyard. Puffs of smoke let me know they had fired, but it wasn't until the first ball rolled towards me through the air that I realized they were shooting at me. I avoided being hit only by letting go with one hand and using my other hand and foot like a hinge, swinging away from the ladder.

I swung back and very nearly into the path of a second bullet. Several other projectiles drifted past me in the air, but I paid them little heed as I could tell they would not come close enough to be a threat. Before another volley was fired, I had reached the ground and began running towards the musket men, yet at an angle across the courtyard. Realizing that I might not be moving quickly enough to protect Threm and Mak from these new threats, I threw myself forward with a will. As time slowed around me further, I saw several flashes as the disc shaped portals appeared around me.

In this case, even as I was pondering several of the portals and how to negotiate around them, I was also developing a strategy to deal with the ten muskets, as I now counted clearly, being quite close. My mind was becoming more adept at not only thinking faster, but tackling more than one item simultaneously.

As I ran next to a coil of mooring line, in this case a rope of approximately one inch in diameter, I reached down and picked up one end, allowing it to trail behind me. Carrying it at once to the right and then behind the row of musket men, I turned my run to the left and directly behind them. Once I was just past the last of the men, after running completely behind them, I turned left again and kept running. During this entire stunt, they had moved only an inch or so in the process of reloading, and not a single man was tracking my progress.

The rope began to tighten itself against their legs, and the back row was pulled from their feet. I saw expressions of surprise begin on their faces as I looked backwards over my shoulder. I kept running and towing the rope behind me until all the men were either laying on the ground, or in the process of falling towards it. At this point, I dropped the rope and started back to the men to relieve them of their muskets, figuring that most of them would have at least loosened their grip in the sudden and unexpected fall to the ground, nor was I incorrect in that assumption.

Seconds, at least from my frame of reference, saw me in possession of ten muskets and running back towards the airship ladder. As Threm and Mak doggedly finishing with the last two of their accosters, I slowed to normal time to coordinate our departure with them, and to make sure they were aware it was I who aided them.

The transition was abrupt and jarring for me, more so than previously. I actually became so disoriented for a brief second that I dropped the muskets I carried, nearly falling forward on top of them in my efforts to regain my balance.

In any case I must not have taken long to recover, for the next thing I saw was Threm slapping his attacker on the side of the head, sending the man spinning through the air like a rag doll. As the man crumpled to the ground, I managed to speak loudly enough for the two of my companions to hear, "Threm, Mak! Do you have the pilot?"

Mak looked towards me suddenly, somewhat surprised at my sudden appearance. He must not have noticed me moving around quick as a flash so busy he had been with dispatching his own attackers.

Threm, on the other hand, remained remarkably composed and continued scanning the area looking for other threats. He nonetheless answered me quickly, giving me a grin and a nod as he looked briefly in my direction. "Jahn, I am glad you made it. The pilot is here, just inside that building."

My large friend indicated a doorway in the nearest of the buildings flanking the courtyard. "We should get moving, I do not think there will be much resistance onboard, as the guards seem to have been stationed below. I imagine the crew is off getting drunk somewhere."

I returned his nod, noting that Mak turned and started toward the warehouse door with little hesitation after his initial surprise at seeing me. I stepped to follow him, in order to retrieve the pilot, but felt suddenly dizzy again, my legs turning leaden as well. "Threm, help Mak," I managed to croak out as blackness began to envelop my vision. I fought it, and took a step forward, although it took a supreme effort on my part. Halfway into my next step, my knees collapsed and I hit the paving stones below with them.

I remember thinking briefly that it should have hurt to do so, but my body felt nothing as my vision continued to waver within the dark numbness that was enveloping my eyes and thoughts. I reached casually towards a wetness I felt on my chest, and touching that wet, I brought my hand shakily in front of my face. "Blood," the thought registered along with the realization that I had indeed been shot at some point during the conflict. With that I fell unfeeling to the paving stones below.

Chapter Twelve

I awoke feeling remarkably refreshed, a gentle feeling of motion along with the thrumming I recognized as the engine sound from the airship informed me that we had made our escape. From the cushioned bed where I lay, I looked out into blue sky with billowy white clouds drifting gently by. Smiling briefly, I sat up in the bed.

A tightness around my chest reminded me of the last thing I remembered before passing out, I had been shot. I looked down and saw a white bandage wrapped around my torso, some of it bloody. Curious, I touched the red area, feeling for the wound, as I felt no pain inside my body. Only a slight tenderness near the center was present, yet my thoughts were not muddled as if I had been given some sort of pain killing drug.

I unwrapped the bandage, growing more confident as I continued. The final layer revealed slightly blood soiled, but otherwise intact skin, with the slightest dimple in the middle. I found a small basin of water and was washing off this blood carefully with a clean section of the bandage when the door opened suddenly and Layla walked in.

Whether she was surprised to see me in my state of semi-undress or simply at my standing apparently unhurt in the middle of the room, I was unable to ascertain by the brief widening of her eyes, but in any case the bowl she carried clattered to the deck, shattering and splashing its contents along the floor.

"John," she said, her surprise rapidly turning to chagrin, "you shouldn't be out of bed, your wound." I looked down as if studying my chest, then looked back up at her and shrugged my shoulders, "It must have looked worse than it was, I feel tip top." While my colloquialism was lost on her, as evidenced by the puzzled look which crossed her face as I uttered it, she stepped closer and examined the wound site gently, shaking her head as she did so. "No, you were punctured here," she touched the dimple in my skin for illustration "and that was only yesterday. How did you heal so quickly?"

I answered her honestly, seeing no reason not to. "I do not know how, I only know that I heal faster than is normal. It may be related to the way I can move at such a high rate of speed, but that also is a mystery to me." I was about to go into my entire knowledge of what I could do, starting with my battlefield hospital experience of seemingly so long ago when I was interrupted by a whistle from a speaking tube near the door. Layla reached over and flipped up the hinged cap before speaking back into it. "What?" she asked, her face full of consternation. The echoing voice from the other end could be none other than Threm's "Princess, we have company. How is Jahn?" Layla answered back, "John is awake and apparently fine, we are on our way up."

Layla started out of the room and then paused. Crossing to a low dressing table, she picked up a white shirt and tossed it to me. "Here, put this on. It is cold up there." I pulled on the soft woven garment. While I slept, someone had replaced Threm's baggy and somewhat damaged leather pants with a set of thick yet soft canvas trousers, and it was into those that I tucked the tails of loose fitting shirt. I also located and pulled onto my feet a pair of soft black boots which had been positioned near the side of my bed.

My thoughts already pondering this "company" Threm was referring to, I conjured up an almost casual pursuit of a single airship of a similar type to the one we rode. At most I envisioned two or three smaller 'fast pursuit' craft. In any case I was completely taken aback when Layla and I reached the deck near Threm to see a veritable flotilla of no less than thirty craft.

They were of varying sizes, some small, some close to the same size as our vessel, but a disconcerting number of the airships were indeed larger than our own, and showed no slowness due to that greater bulk. It was quite a disheartening sight, but the expression Threm held, grim yet determined, gave me a glimmer of hope that the outcome might yet sway in our favor.

I spent several seconds contemplating possible reasons for so many ships to be following us, but gave it up as irrelevant. I paced from one side of the deck to the other, examining the landscape below but without any deep concentration as my thoughts turned towards our options. I must admit that at this juncture they seemed limited. Even my strange powers to alter the flow of time around me could not allow me to defeat thirty airships before they sent this one plunging to the ground, taking us with it to our dooms, or at least I thought so at the time.

I looked to Threm and Layla, who were both watching the approaching ships. "I do not suppose we can outfly them?" Threm shook his head, "The princess knows more about the engines than I, and she could not coax any more speed from them. If we could wake the airship pilot, he might know of something. But he fell fast asleep as soon as we boarded and will not awaken to any of our prompting."

Layla shook her head "He is still very frail, and I fear that using any medicine to stimulate him into wakefulness might kill him. Even in our peril I hesitate to use such measures, there must be something else we can do. If it were night, we might be able to jump ship, if we could get low enough, but with the daylight, nothing is hidden.

To punctuate the seriousness of our situation, the ship dropped a foot or so quite rapidly before readjusting in its harness. The deck now leaned slightly to one side. I looked up and saw one of the supporting balloons above had deflated and was now drifting downward on its tether towards the ship. I heard the crack of an explosion from the direction of the following airships, and saw another of the balloons begin to deflate rapidly. They were targeting our support bags, and I knew it would not be much longer, or many more bags, before our ship was no longer airworthy.

But, as my mind worked quickly around the situation, I realized that we had also been given an opportunity. I ran to the side of the airship, pointing to a feature I had noticed before, but had paid little attention to. A river meandered through the forest below, but at some distance, what looked like a small cloud hung along the rivers' path. "Is that a waterfall?" I asked.

Threm shielded his eyes from the sun with one hand and looked in the direction I had indicated. He stared briefly, then answered, "It is as likely as anything else, I have not spent much time looking at things from this altitude. Mak might know better."

Layla stepped to my side, "I think so, John. What do you have in mind?" She said, while resting her hand on my arm, standing very close as if for reassurance, or to reassure me. I thought quickly, as the other airships closed their distance and continued their barrage. "If we can dive towards that mist rapidly enough, then jettison ballast, we may be able to abandon ship without being noticed, and make our way along the river to somewhere safe. That is as long as those airships chase this craft while it rises out of control."

Mak, who had come upon me from behind unnoticed, said "Yes, that may be our only chance. As long as they don't notice us for long enough, a ground chase might prove over burdensome to them in this terrain. They might let us go as long as they recover the airship. In any case, we will be harder to find in the forest. I say we follow John's plan."

Threm nodded and Layla squeezed my arm in assent. I looked towards her and she smiled at me, then dropped her eyes briefly before speaking. "I cannot think of anything better, and I have no wish to return to the captivity of those pirates. But we will need supplies if we are to trek cross country to somewhere safe. Threm and I will gather stores from the ship while you and Mak pilot us towards the falls." She added another sentence, praising me and avowing her confidence in my abilities, but I shall not repeat it here. Suffice it to say that she and Threm were able to acquire a substantial amount of food and other necessities while Mak and I piloted the vessel.

Several times during our descent, I must admit that the constant battering from the guns of the following airships, both upon our buoyancy balloons and indeed, upon the very hull of the airship itself, shook my resolve that we would come through this ordeal unscathed. However, we eventually reached the mist covering the waterfall without lethal damage to either ourselves or to the airship.

My plan to drop from underneath and leave the airship to skyrocket upwards in a final appearance of attempting to flee was somewhat thwarted. As we neared the churning waters below, enough of the airbags had been punctured that Mak assured me no rapid ascent was possible, even if all available ballast were to be dumped. Mak and I made our way, nonetheless to the cargo hatch, to meet Layla and Threm as we had discussed previously.

By this time, the view below was obscured by near constant mist from the giant falls. Only occasionally was the churning water below visible, which was not heartening. But by this time, the only alternative was to remain with the airship and be recaptured, an alternative none of us wanted to take.

Explosions echoed through the hull, along with vibrations indicating their nearness to our location. Some tipped the deck to a most uncomfortable angle, necessitating that all of our pitiful party grasp various superstructure items in order to stay afoot. Layla grasped my arm, grasping me instead of the ship, for support.

When we were a mere five feet from the water, a particularly strong burst shook the vessel, not only slowing it by a substantial amount, but causing the cargo opening to submerge briefly into the water, and wetting all of us with a forceful splash. Layla fell into my arms, and grabbed me tightly.

I realized that if my plan were to have any chance of success, the airship would have to climb as rapidly as possible from its current location, to one of some elevation, and from there be boarded, causing enough of a delay to allow us to make good our escape into the countryside.

Then I realized that someone was going to have to stay behind, at least long enough to jettison all the ballast. I refused to think of asking any of my friends to sacrifice themselves, and somewhat halfheartedly told myself that I had a better chance than any of them at executing the ballast release and then surviving the farther fall.

I grasped Layla by the shoulders and spoke in a loud enough voice for all of them to hear. "You must jump now. I will lead them away, and then make good my escape once you are safe." Layla shook her head, and for some reason, her eyes moistened as she spoke. "No John, stay with us! You do not need to risk yourself so."

Threm was stone faced, and Mak merely nodded towards me. They saw the practicality of the matter, and would do as I asked. Something in my chest ached as I looked towards Layla again. I had to save her, whatever the cost. "Threm and Mak will look after you. I will return, I promise." I saw a tear run down her cheek as she nodded. Unable to bear more, I turned and ran from the compartment.

The trip to each of the ballast chambers took an inexplicably long time. Perhaps I ran through an altered time rate, perhaps I was merely overly focused on the now painful separation from Layla. Why I felt this way, I cannot explain, I can only relate that it was indeed more painful than anything I had experienced in my short life thus far. If I had considered any other option viable to save Layla, and my companions, I would have taken it gladly, if it would have allowed me to remain.

But I could conceive of nothing, so I made my way as quickly as possible to the sections of the ship containing the harness securing the weighted metal plating to the outside of the hull.

No sooner had I cut the bindings securing the ballast, than the airship surged upwards with a speed that nearly flung me to the deck. Apparently, Mak had been incorrect in his assumption that the airship could no longer climb rapidly. Maintaining my balance shakily, I made my way towards the quarterdeck.

Part of my plan was to steer the ship in a zigzag course until the last possible minute, not only to show those that followed that the ship was still in flight, but also giving my friends a bigger lead in their escape. As I rose from the mist, I began to feel the slightest confidence in my plan. I began to make small course corrections, and steer the airship in an apparently struggling zigzag pattern.

The part I hadn't thought of in advance became clear to me as once in the open air, the airship became buffeted once again by a great amount of fire from the following vessels. I climbed and zigzagged as much as possible, but eventually, enough of the airbags, and even the lines securing them were severed, to significantly slow the progress of my ship.

I felt reassured, thinking of the time I had bought Layla and my companions, but as the ships drew closer, I wondered at my own fate. I had no desire to repeat my captivity in the cold, dark cell of the exalted one, but my options were limited. As the airship rose I considered what would happen to me if I went through a gate at some altitude. Since they seemed to be in generally the same relative position to the surface of whatever place they led to, I had no desire to appear hundreds of feet above somewhere and fall to my death.

I even briefly considered jumping from the ship, lamenting not having secured the parachute from the downed pilot, but then surmising that even if a plethora of the devices were stored on this airship in case of emergency, using one would leave me a vulnerable and obvious target as I drifted downward. I decided that to chance my survival on the idea that my body could heal itself from a fall from my current elevation was untenable and rejected it.

Not wanting to leave Layla, Mak and Threm, but seeing no other option, I continued my attempts at evasion, but with increasing damage and burst airbags the airship became more sluggish with each passing minute. It was only a matter of time before I would be drifting helpless.

Indeed, within the next several minutes, I saw an airship dropping rapidly to overtake me and match course just above the remaining suspension balloons. I surmised it to be an attempt at boarding, and clenched my jaw in anticipation. I would have to hold my position as long as possible before fleeing, or be killed in the attempt.

I searched around for a boathook, or some other such implement, no weapons being handy. I soon found a stout pole with a curved metal point at one end. Holding it in both hands, I tested it briefly, swinging it side to side. It would have to do. Watching the approaching craft, I made my way to where I thought it would send over boarders, as best as I could, and waited.

I guessed correctly, and before long a line shot as if propelled from the deck above with some force and secured itself to the deck of my airship via a spike. I cut this first line with the knife Threm had given me...then a second and a third line shot downward and secured themselves to the deck. I managed to cut the closer one free, but the second brought a fully armed boarder and then another, before I could reach it.

I raised my boat hook, intent to sweep them from the deck, when I heard a click behind me. I had barely started to turn when I was hit from behind, I can only assume by one of the spheres shot by the gas cartridge weapons they carried. The pain of the impact flowed outward from the center of my back in a wave, knocking me from my feet and the boathook from my hands.

It felt as if I were on fire and being frozen simultaneously, which is quite an unpleasant experience and one I never wish to repeat. I managed to roll over slowly and saw more boarders armed with the cylinder bearing, sphere shooting pistols I had encountered previously.

As the pain subsided slightly one of the boarders approached, aiming his pistol at me as he did so. I noticed another airship drifting nearly level to the deck on which I stood, and on the deck, surrounded by armed guards and staring directly at me was an ornately garbed exalted one. Due to the distance between us I could not be sure whether or not it was the one who had caused me so much grief previously, but that question was answered when another figure stepped sensuously onto the deck next to it. Laita, Layla's enigmatic twin sister I could recognize easily, simply by her adornments or lack of them, and the way she carried herself.

Almost imperceptibly, the exalted one nodded in my direction. At first I was puzzled as to whether it could indeed be acknowledging me. That thought was short lived as the boarder next to me, I now assumed the leader of the boarders, nodded back to the exalted one, saying loudly "He's the one, orders are kill-on-sight."

He deftly tossed his drawn pistol to his off hand and drew a different weapon from a holster at his side. This, he pointed towards my head, but then waved it in the direction of one of the other boarders. "You, go and find the princess." As the pistol veered back towards my head, I acted, knowing finally that my time was up and I had no other options.

Time slowed around me at my effort. I pushed myself to my feet, intending to disarm the man, and cause as much mayhem as I could in order to distract them from their search for Layla for as long as possible.

Out of reflex, the leader pulled the trigger on his pistol, but the shot went wide. My fatigue as a result of the first sphere exploding against my back must have been greater than I had anticipated. No sooner had I begun to step towards him then I became dizzy and started to pass out. I would not be able to distract them any longer, or even make good any kind of escape if I did not act quickly.

As I saw his arm move to re-aim the pistol based on my movement, I willed myself further into dilated time. I knew this would cause me to pass out completely in a fraction of a second, but no other option seemed open to me if I was to save my life. I only hoped that I had given Layla, Threm and Mak enough time to conceal themselves effectively.

I began to see glowing portals all around me, drifting in opposition to the relative motion of the airship as it moved forward and down. Since then, I have been able to learn to recognize probable destinations for these portals based on their coloration, size and relative angle of intercept, but this early in my world jumping, everything was guesswork. Besides that, I was so nearly unconscious that it was all I could do to remain standing as I waited until a portal was nearly upon me. Then I leaned into it, or more accurately slumped into it, falling through even as I passed out.

When I awoke, I noticed that the temperature had changed. Wherever I was had become warmer by at least a score of degrees than upon the deck of the airship. The other thing I noticed first, before my equilibrium returned and I was able to orient myself was that the air was still, or at least far more still than it had been on the deck of the airship. I was lying on my back, on a floor. Cool tile from the feel of it.

My hearing returned as the humming present in the portal faded completely away, and I realized that a man was speaking to me in English, or at least the words were English. "Beat it Pal, this ain't no flop-house."

I blinked and opened my eyes as I sat up, still dizzy and realizing I could have been unconscious for some. A dim incandescent fixture lit the room from the center of the ceiling. Several ceramic sinks were fixed to one wall, with small mirrors above them. Along the other wall, ceramic urinals sat, evenly spaced. I pushed myself to standing, feeling a little disoriented and staggering a bit.

A large man in a vest and bow tie stood before me, arms crossed, his sleeves rolled up revealing beefy forearms. He held the stub of a cigar clenched between his teeth, but that didn't seem to prevent him from berating me further in his gravelly voice. "Get a wiggle on it, ragamuffins like you are bad for business." The stale smell of ammonia reached my nose, and I quickly searched for an exit. I felt him push me none to gently towards the door, once I found it, but he did not follow me, apparently trusting that I found him intimidating enough to follow his instructions without balking further.

The wooden door led to a carpeted hallway, which in turn took me into a smoky auditorium where a flickering moving picture shown upon the far wall while an orchestra played music to accompany the scene. Some sort of entertainment, but I turned and left, seeking other evidence of where I was, and an exit from the building.

I reached a glass doorway which led onto a crowded street. Noise and exhaust from the vehicles, mostly black travelling to and fro along the gray roadway mixed with the sound of talking pedestrians, themselves dressed in blacks and grays. The greater numbers of both men and women wore hats, the women's much more ornate than the men's few varieties. Words popped into my head, bowler, fedora, derby, as heads walked by wearing them. I was somewhere at least partially familiar to me.

I stepped towards the sidewalk, intent on picking a direction to take that would lead me to a less crowded area, one from which I could further examine my surroundings, when someone called to me from behind.

"John!" It was a female voice, and quite familiar. I turned, and could not stop the look of surprise from coming to my face as I saw Layla, she was safe, and I was instantly overjoyed. Then doubt intruded on my thoughts. Was it Layla, or Lila? She stood in the doorway to the theater wearing a red dress in stunning contrast to most of those around. Her hair was the same auburn I remembered from both women I had met, and her eyes the same deep green I would never forget. How this version came to know me was less important to me that second than the fact that she did. I took a step towards her, and she did likewise.

I risked calling her by the one of two names I knew, but the one more likely to be hers due to the technology I had seen since my arrival. "Lila?" Her smile indicated that I was correct in that at least, so I approached cautiously. "You treated me at the hospital near Belleau Woods?" I risked, not knowing what other tack to try.

Her smile assured me I was correct in this instance at least. "Yes! I am so glad you made it back." Her face turned sad, and she hid her mouth with her fingers briefly, "So many did not." Without thinking, I grabbed both of her shoulders gently in my hands and attempted to console her, "I made it back because of your help, and I don't know if I can thank you enough."

Even as I spoke, my mind was frantically reeling, trying to make sense of the rapid and jarring change in my circumstances. Lila made it easier, a point of attachment as I stood confused in strange surroundings.

She shook her head, and the one hand she placed upon my chest shook slightly. "No, I did what I could, but you risked so much for us. I should be thanking you!"

I smiled at her, but was still fumbling for words, about how we had both risked things when her face brightened and she flashed me a winning smile. "Are you hungry? Forgive my forwardness, but we never know what tomorrow will bring do we?" She looked down, almost shyly, as she waited for me to respond.

I don't know why such a lovely woman would wonder if an average joe like me would be willing to dine with her, whether or not she asked first, but I only hesitated in wonder for half a second before I reached down and gently raised her chin with my finger. "I am famished, and I can't think of anyone I would rather dine with. Do you have any idea where you would like to go?"

Her smile in response made all my concern over where I was, and indeed, all my previous trouble recede from my thoughts. It wouldn't have mattered if she had suggested going to the local soup kitchen. "I do!" she said spritely, and held up her arm for me to take, which I did, somewhat tenuously. I did not remember what to do consciously, but from somewhere my arm found the correct position.

As we left the block in front of the theater, I looked down at Lila and smiled. She looked up at me, and began to do the same when the squeal of tires from a nearby corner drew our attention. Windows down, the hardtop sedan raced towards the front of the theater, where we were standing. I had only seconds to recognize the rounded barrels and drum magazines pointing from the open windows as weapons before they began to flash and crack in the staccato rhythm of automatic weapons. Time slowed down, thankfully before the first bullets reached us, and I held Lila close as I dove towards the sidewalk. As we landed with my back towards the hit squad in order to offer Lila some modicum of protection, I noticed men had just emerged from the theater. They had pistols drawn, surrounding a man in a long trench coat. They were not faring as well as Lila and I, and bullets were impacting them in various locations and causing them to jerk awkwardly in response before they fell in slow motion towards the sidewalk.

Any thought of taking action other than what I could do in that instant to protect Lila faded from my mind. It seemed to me that we were mere bystanders in someone else's turf war, and I had no intention of putting myself in the middle of it. We merely waited things out prone on the sidewalk, and before long, the car sped away, squealing tires and belching exhaust.

That several men lay bleeding on the sidewalk a mere several paces away was the farthest thing from my mind as I helped Lila to her feet. "Are you hurt?" I asked, looking her over quickly for any injury. I saw none.

"No, I'm fine, what about you? We should get out of here." Lila suggested.

I couldn't have agreed with her more, but just as I was offering my arm so that we could do just that a man wearing a long and dark overcoat with matching fedora stepped from around a nearby cement column. "Where do youse think you're going?" He asked, punctuating his question by bringing a Thompson submachine gun from under his coat and aiming it at me.

The End

The adventures of John Smith, World Jumper will be continued in book two. John Smith, World Jumper Book Two: Portal to Peril. Thank you for reading this little adventure serial and homage to the pulp fiction and planetary romance of yesteryear. I hope you enjoy it, and comments and suggestions are always welcome.

Sincerely,

E.P. Dorris
