by Damien Lake
“Nothing in particular. I guess I always seem worried, especially if I’m letting my mind wander. There’s not much else to do while sitting by the back door, staring at nothing.” Marik sipped at the drink and watched her across the table. Simply listening to her voice was enjoyable. He liked talking to her, so, for the sake of conversation, said, “Earlier I ran through a problem I had back at home with an old book and a mirror. Just now I was picking at this ‘One Soul’ business.”
“Yes? What about.” She smiled that he had not dismissed her beliefs without thought, as he might be expected to. He liked the way she smiled.
“Well, I wasn’t so much thinking about that as about time,” he admitted, slightly embarrassed. He had never pondered philosophical thoughts overmuch, much less discussed them.
But Shalla saw nothing unusual in odd conversations. “That is a subject which receives much debate among us, ever since our order’s inception. Many of our greatest minds have studied the nature of time, though little of substance has been learned.”
“Kind of hard to study something that doesn’t exist.”
“Doesn’t exist?”
“I mean, how can you study something without a physical form?” The instant he said that he thought of the etheric plane, existing within the physical, yet at the same time nonexistent in the mortal plane. “I mean, something you can’t see?”
“Can you see the wind blowing through a springtime morning?”
“No, but I can feel it. You can feel the air too, like this.” He swept his hand back and forth.
Shalla’s smile took on a hint of amusement. “Since you can feel it, it must exist, yes? And since you can see this table, it too must therefor exist.”
“And you can’t taste time, or smell it either. So what’s left? How do you study it?”
“That time exists is not in question. Every person knows it to be true. As to what it is…that is where everyone varies. While time itself cannot be found, its effects are plain to see. For instance,” she said, plucking a pear from a bowl on the table. “Were I to leave this untouched for a candlemark, nothing would appear different. But, were I to come back in several days, the difference would be unmistakable. That is how you study time. Since you cannot study the thing, you must study its effects and consequences.”
“That’s away from what I was going to say.” Marik continued sipping at his cider. “I wasn’t trying to figure it out, only thinking about it generally.”
“In regards to the One Soul?”
“Only after a fashion. I was thinking about what you said, about how it might go back hundreds of years to be born in the past.”
“Or into the future,” she added.
“I haven’t bought into your theory,” he said, watching closely to see how she would react. “I’m not a very deep sort.”
She remained unfazed. “I would hardly expect a person to change their views based solely on the experience of a few days.”
He smiled back. “Mostly I wondered what the point would be. Why jump around like that?”
“That delves to the heart of many discussions on time’s nature. What is the difference between the present and yesterday? Why does the Soul revisit the ages countless times? It is unfortunate, but we are no closer to answering these questions. Many theories have been advanced.”
“What about ‘how does it do it’? That’s what really has me curious.”
“That, too, has been discussed. As to the answer, it depends on which theory on the nature of time you choose to place your faith in.” She placed her still half-full mug atop the table. “Many like to view time as a river.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “I’ve heard that phrase before.”
“But what does that mean, exactly? It hearkens to the flow of time, with one day following the next. A river is smooth, constant. The flow of the water is relentless, never ceasing. But that is merely comparing likenesses.”
“Like comparing carts to carriages.”
“Only to a point. In a very real sense, those two are the same, except one is nicer than the other. Since we know nothing of time’s true nature, all we can do is study its effect. If time is in fact a river, then certain river-like effects should also be in play.”
“Such as?”
“A river erodes the bed through which it runs. What would happen should the river of time erode through reality’s fabric?”
“I’d rather not think like that.”
“Nor I. Another point in debate is the flow. What if the flow’s direction should change? Does tomorrow exist downstream?”
“I should think so.”
“Not all believe that is the case. This theory has found many followers among us as it explains many of the One Soul’s mysteries.”
“I don’t see how.”
“Imagine if tomorrow exists upstream, rather than down. Every moment following the next is a struggle against the flow. Those who support this theory also believe that time affects the One Soul even between lives. Without a physical form, it is vastly subject to the currents, thus being swept away downstream. Many times it is pushed beyond the point at which it was last born, others not.”
“Wouldn’t that neuter the idea that the Soul is traveling from time to time in order learn whatever it’s trying to?” The discussion bore similarities to Tollaf’s lectures on magecraft and the etheric plane…in that Marik felt out of his depth. But speaking with Shalla was a great deal more enjoyable than enduring the old fart. Marik smiled, asking questions solely for the sake of keeping the silly conversation going.
“For the most part. That is why I don’t support this theory. Especially if magic, as I believe, is an ability the Soul has learned through the course of its existence. Time as a river would preclude mages from existing in the farther reaches of history.”
“And everyone around today would be mages,” Marik nodded.
“Here is a question of interest. What connects each moment of time?”
Marik frowned. “I’m sorry?”
“One second exists after the previous,” she said, raising one palm, then the next. “First one, then the next. Each moment happens after the one preceding it. But how long is the smallest unit of time? Where does one end and the next begin? What exists between the two?”
“Uh…” The conversation, as Tollaf’s lectures, suddenly induced a mild throb behind his temples. “Maybe it’s all of a piece. Like the river. Seconds and minutes are only measurements made by us mortals, after all.”
“Then how do you reach the next moment? If you flowed along with time, you would bob always with the same moments surrounding you, eternally existing within that one instant. You would never grow older, never move. It would not seem to last forever, because reaching an understanding occurs over time. You would be unable to think, and thus unable to realize the truth. Frozen forever in that single instant.”
“I don’t know.” He rubbed his temples. “What do you think?”
“Me?” She cocked her head. “I’m still undecided. I have not yet found a theory that wholly appeals to my logic.”
“Which one comes closest?”
“I suppose it would have to be the all-at-once theory, though there are ramifications I don’t agree with wholeheartedly.”
“You’ll have to explain that to me.”
The amusement in her smile deepened. “Why don’t you guess at that one.”
“I’ve always left the deeper thinking to others.”
“You should make the effort. Deep thinking is a wonderful way to discover facets to your nature you never guessed at.”
“Oh, I’ve worked my way through a brain buster or two before, but there was always a reason. We could spend all night talking about this or that idea. In the morning I’d still have to deal with my normal life, same as always.”
“Nothing is ever a waste of time, especially in the pursuit of knowledge. You may never have a need to know about the true nature of time, as there is little you could
do about it one way or the other. But the knowledge will always be there. The more you know, the better you exercise your mind, the greater you will succeed in life.”
He agreed with the sentiment only so far. For the sake of argument he stated, “I’m a swordsman. I don’t need to know much beyond how to swing my sword, think fast and use my body to its fullest.”
“Swordsmen also benefit from using their minds. I’d like to see how you handle ‘brain busters’.”
Marik remembered that a well-known trait of Urliel followers was that they enjoyed making others work for an answer. Well, it would still be three-quarters of a mark until Landon claimed the watch. He may as well kill the time. “All right. I’d start with the name. What was that you called it?”
“The all-at-once theory.” Her eyes twinkled.
“Yeah, that’s it. Since we were talking about why things happen one after the other when you threw that out, I’d have to assume it means those things happen ‘all-at-once’.” He frowned. “But that doesn’t make any sense at all.”
“Keep going.”
Marik continued frowning. He finished his cider while he considered. “If everything happened all at once, then everything would be a giant mess. Since everything doesn’t happen at once, then that’s not the case, except then the name doesn’t fit.” He rubbed his forehead from habit rather than any increase in his headache. “So everything happens at once, but then it doesn’t either.”
Shalla offered a hint. “Don’t forget the context in which we’ve discussed time’s nature.”
Marik stared at her in the dim light, feeling stupid. Then, “Right. The One Soul. Things are different for us mortals than for it. So, everything happens all at once for it, but not for us. But if it all happened at once, then why don’t we experience it all at once?” A phrase of Colbey’s abruptly sprang to mind. He said it aloud without thought. “You’re not seeing the forest for the trees.”
Shalla startled him by clapping three times. “That is very close to the heart of it. See? You can think clearly on complicated matters!”
What exactly had he figured out so cleverly? “Not usually. The only time I’m good at original thought is when it’s sure to annoy a certain old man.”
She disregarded the statement. “You are correct in that human perception is the key to time, under this theory. Imagine, “ Shalla continued, gesturing at the grain sacks in the corner, “a giant pot, as large as the city. It is filled to the brim with grain. If you were buried in the center, what would you see?”
“Grain.”
“Yes, of course. But only the grain directly before your eyes. The grain exists within the pot, all together, along with you. But you can only perceive the grain around you. The grain miles away might as well not exist for you. Thus is it with time. We exist within the entire mass, every moment of it surrounding us. But we can only perceive the moments nearest to us.”
“Then how do we arrive at the next moment? Are the gods standing above us with a giant ladle stirring the pot?” he asked as a joke.
“That may indeed be their true function,” Shalla answered seriously.
Marik shifted on his chair, glancing through the doorway into the hall while doing so. He wanted to compose his features so she could not see how humorous he found her straightforward manner. “I guess that would make it easy for the Soul to swim around in-between lives,” he said, his back to her. He heard the scrape of her lifting her mug from the tabletop.
“Yes and no, and that is the sticking point which causes me not to adopt the theory. Reaching to moments both future and past would be easy for the One Soul, but then why do we all constantly exist together?”
“You mean we’d all be swept away to different moments?” Marik mused, facing her with a steady expression. She leaned forward, her hands clasped in concentration.
“Exactly! If time was merely human perception, then all of us would travel in different directions. No two humans perceive anything in entirely the same manner. This would mean people you know today would drift off in other directions and you would never see them again.”
“There are plenty of people I’ve never run into twice,” Marik replied, then stopped. He blinked. Something was wrong. He could not say what, but something raised his neck hairs.
“But not those important to you, such as your family and closest friends. They, too, would be traveling different perceptionary paths from yours, and the theory does not explain such inconsistencies.”
“Yeah. I guess not.” Why in the hells were his instincts going on full alert? He glared hard, looking for the detail off-kilter from the others. She reached over to reclaim her cider.
The mug.
From the table!
Instant reaction to the sight made him seize his sword from the floor the same moment the alley door crashed inward. He dove from his seat, shouting while masked figures stormed through the splintered entrance.
“Look out!”
The blade failed to clear the sheath entirely. He swung his sword around in a rush to meet the attackers and the sheath flew from the end, missing the first masked figure by inches. Startled, the thug spun to see what had nearly hit him. It gave Marik an unobstructed opening. Marik dashed to take advantage of it, but the chair he’d sat on had bounced off the wall and tumbled across the floor. His feet struck the wooden legs.
He nearly tripped. Four enemies were in the room. The first two wielded swords while the others held long daggers. Marik registered this as a fifth entered the doorway, also armed with a knife.
His mind quickly analyzed the situation. He kicked the chair, then stepped back while his opponent grappled with it. Before the others could slide past the lead man, he slammed his weight against the table, ramming it against the wall. It blocked that side of the room along with the water barrel. Only a narrow corridor into the kitchen remained.
Furious, his masked foe booted the chair. It flew into the wall where it splintered. Both men diverted their attentions from the furniture to each other.
Marik lashed out with his sword. The confined room was a severe disadvantage. This would not remain a one-on-one beyond a few moments. His sword met the opposing blade. A moment later a counterstrike flew at his head. He raised his hilt and caught the shorter sword below the T-guard. Whoever this masked foe was he had speed on his side.
They traded blows, Marik only landing one for every two he received. He swung wildly, wrenching his sword across the room’s length, refusing to let any of them pass. A wordless shout bellowed from his lungs, a desperate call for his friends to get their miserable skins downstairs.
One knife man climbed atop the table and crawled. If he got down he would be able to strike at Marik’s back while he fended off the sword. With no mail on, he was acutely vulnerable.
Marik forced the thug’s sword into the sacks. Grain puffed up in a cloud, and Marik stepped to the left. His sword swung in a wide arc skimming the table’s surface. It would have seriously injured the knifeman if he had not been watching.
He jumped backward from all fours to escape the blade’s path. Marik struck the mug which had fallen over when he hit the table. The ceramic exploded and the thug toppled off the side. His leap had trapped him between the table and the barrel.
The other three were still near the door trying to get around the table. They would clear the passage in short order. Marik’s sword would not hold them back much longer.
He whirled to face the swordsman…and his heart stopped when he saw Shalla. She stood before the intruder, arms wide. The thug freed his sword from the sacks. It hovered level with Shalla’s stomach.
“You must stop!” she pleaded. “Every time you hurt another, you only hurt yourself! You must understand! Please, reconsider!”
In the past, time had slowed to a lethargic pace for Marik, cruel in its total revelation while robbing his ability to effect anything. It happened again.
He pushed hard with his legs, feeling the muscles exert their force
against the floor, leaping for Shalla. His arms fought to raise his sword. Flesh turned to lead, taking days to move an inch. Relentlessly, his mind shouted.
What is she doing? What is she doing? What in the hells does she think she’s doing?
He crossed half the distance,
only a few steps, only a few, why is this taking so long?
and watched in horror when the gleaming sword tip burst through her back.
Red blood sprayed, sheeting off the steel as water from glass. Her robe, always clean, became instantly sodden. The wetness was a disease spreading across her back.
“NO!”
Shalla collapsed ponderously, lazily, her legs unable to support her. Marik wanted to cut this bastard’s head from his body but Shalla was still between them. He heard feet running in the hallway and knew who it must be.
The masked man yanked back. He pulled the sword from her body. Marik struck with all his strength, hitting the opposing blade hard enough to force the murderer back.
Desperate hope fluttered within him; Marik dropped to his knees to examine Shalla when Kerwin leapt past him to assume combat. He grabbed fistfuls of brown robe and hauled her across the floor to shelter behind the table. His fingers clawed at the knotted cord holding the robe closed. Marik already knew what he would see. Beneath, her bare flesh had torn wide. No future remained to her without a true Healer of the utmost skill. The chances of finding one in the next ten seconds did not bear thinking about.
Marik looked into her eyes. He wanted to tell her she would pull through. Such a lie would not be believed…but it would also be unnecessary. Her eyes were wide, seeing nothing. His words would remain unheard. Gently, he placed his hands on her cheeks, hoping she would at least feel him as she died. Perhaps she might take small comfort from that.
She faded away. He watched her life ebb through his magesight. Sensitive to life energies as he had become, he could feel hers thinning. They left her as steam caught on the wind. Her life joined the mists in the etheric plane. Shalla was gone.
He laid her head down softly. Landon was behind him, striking at a thug attempting to cross the table. Shalla’s wide eyes stared at him. The bloody streaks left across her skin from his fingers when he closed them belied her apparent slumber.