Timothy seemed to ponder at her word choice. ���Perfect?��� he said, aloud but mostly to himself. ���That’s odd. It’s the same word my grandfather used to describe his strange recovery.���
And then Timothy arrived at this simple conclusion. ���Maybe we are,��� he said.
���What? Perfect?��� she asked, while leaping over an expansive crater in the ground. It was a distance that would have been impossible in other worlds, but here it seemed as natural as walking, so that one would hardly give it any thought at all.
���My dear…��� Barbara said, after Timothy made the jump as well. ���You do have a high opinion of yourself,��� she continued, slightly taunting him.
They stopped there, at the far edge of that crater, in the streets of that world, and Timothy rolled his eyes in a playful manner.
���No, you know what I mean,��� Timothy replied. ���I’m not saying, that I’m perfect [pointing at his chest, to show that he did not mean his personality, that his inner soul was perfect], although I am fantastic,��� he joked. ���I mean, our bodies… What if, in this world, our bodies are perfect? Think about it. How long have we been running?���
Barbara’s mind flashed back through her memories, realizing that they’d been running for nearly an hour, without the slightest bit of discomfort, and as strange as it is to believe something of that sort, she instantly knew it was true.
���We are, aren’t we?��� she said.
Tavora was no longer cold, but was sweating, and felt as if her heart could beat out of her chest. The noise of the wolf pack had lessened to nothing, but it did not mean that they were no longer hunting her. It only meant that they were not howling. And strangely she wished that they would, so that at least she could know how close they’d come.
Her footprints crunched in the snow, as she continued to follow after Myre’s cart tracks. How much farther? Could the town be just beyond the next bend, or beyond the next grouping of trees? Though each time it was not, and each time her hope fell away, and she was all the more wearied for hoping.
Her mouth had never felt more dry, and her limbs were as unstable as twine.
The snow had stopped falling entirely, and the moonlight shone through the sparse tree branches, flowing down to the forest floor beneath them. Tavora looked behind her as she ran stumbling and further out of breath, and saw that the moonlight had reflected on a pair of large eyes, sprinting toward her.
Howl!
Another howl rattled inside her bones. Through the treeline there were more eyes, closing in on all sides, surrounding her.
She could not run: both because of her exhaustion, and since she knew there was no escaping them.
A large wolf, the alpha, emerged from behind the trunk of a tree. This ravenous beast growled and snarled. It was as tall as a white picket fence, and tremendously more ferocious and more muscular than any breed of dog.
It crept closer and closer, showing its fangs, and crouched, readying itself to leap upon her. While the other wolves stood around her, their tongues lapping in a feverish hunger, until the leader of the pack would make his kill.
It lowered, preparing to strike, until Tavora pressed her medallion’s stone, a glittering energy spread outward from the necklace, and she was vanished.
Startled, the alpha shook its head, its face instantly bewildered. He howled in frustration, as the rest of the pack sniffed in the air. Yet Tavora stood absolutely still: Too afraid to breathe, afraid to make any noise at all.
Snarling, the alpha came closer, sniffing the air; His eyes had seen his hunt vanish, while his nose told him that his prey had not moved at all. And still it came closer, so that its nose nearly touched Tavora’s coat.
Out of instinct, mainly, she took a step away, and the wolf pack jumped backward. There had been the imprint, the sound, and the smell of a footprint, but nothing to make it. Tavora knew that she had tricked them, but that this would not last for long, that soon they would smell her out. And so she ran toward a low hanging branch, but the alpha followed quickly behind. She had the branch, but its fangs sunk into her thick winter coat, pulling her down, and dragging her toward the rest of the pack, awaiting their prey with terrifying appetites.
She struggled, pulling her arms free from the coat, and as soon as it left her body, the coat reappeared, and the wolves seeing this, ripped it apart in seconds, fervently looking for whatever lay inside of it, but finding not even a scrap of meat.
Though by the time they realized this trickery, Tavora was already pulling herself into the tree, and struggling with her weakened muscles to get to the high branches. This mighty tree, in summer, had been a full oak, but now its limbs were barren and Tavora could see the pack encircling its base. Although she was already far above them, and was safe, for now. But with no coat, and in the winter’s chill, she would not last long.
���Help!��� she called out into the night, and pressed on her stone again, so that she would reappear, in case anyone came to save her.
���Help! Someone, please…��� she yelled again, with a dry and fragile voice.
And lost, and alone, and almost certain she would die that night, Tavora did what she had least liked to do, she cried. Until her sobs became weaker, and more pitiful, and until the bitter cold began to feel oddly warm to her, and with a sad sigh, she closed her eyes, and the howl of wolves continued around her.
*
�� A ziggurat would be a tiered pyramid-like structure, with external winding steps.
�� Here I wrote ���miles��� so that it would not be confusing. Though, since Tavora was not from Earth, she did not think of distance in terms of miles, but instead using the Gleomean unit of measure, the throw ��� or the length that an archer can shoot a long bow.
Chapter Seventeen
The End of Summer
Summering in Paris was in every way as elegant and festive as Agatha hoped it would be, but that morning she’d left the city, accompanied by her husband, traveling in a rented car, on the dirt roads of the countryside. Thomas’s production had been set on hold for the day, because of the observance of some French national holiday; which happily provided the couple with a full day to visit an old friend, if they could just find the appropriate unnamed road, and that picturesque farmhouse hidden amongst vineyard-carved hillsides.
After some trying, and an extra quarter-tank of petrol��, they found the right town, making their way from one single-lane dirt road to another, until they ended up at his door.
���My, this is serene, isn’t it?��� Agatha said, exiting the vehicle.
���I’ll say… His letters don’t do enough for it,��� Thomas replied, staring out across the field, toward the lovely vineyard beyond. ���I’d very much like a grand tour… Speaking of which, where is the old fellow?���
���Pierre,��� Agatha called out, toward the direction of the barn and garden, but there was no reply.
���Pierre?��� she said again, as she gave a gentle knock on his cottage door.
They opened the door to let themselves in, yet still found no sign of him.
���I hope we haven’t missed him,��� Thomas said, after politely searching the downstairs of his home.
���Yes,��� Agatha replied. ���It’s a shame he hasn’t got a phone, to call ahead of time.���
After this, the Hayfield’s decided that it would be best to leave, heading back towards the main part of town, in hopes of finding him along the way. But first, they went to check the barn, just in case, as Agatha suggested. And it was a good thing that they had, for they found the old farmer lain down in a pile of hay, clutching his arm, and straining to breathe.
They rushed him into the house, making him comfortable on a sofa chair, fetching for him a warm blanket, and a glass of water, which seemed to help. Yet, the Hayfield’s both insisted that h
e let them take him to the hospital, though Pierre would have nothing of the sort.
So that, Thomas insisted all the more, saying that he would pay for everything, that money would be no object. Yet, even still, the old farmer would not listen.
���Can a hospital mend old age?��� Pierre said, speaking in eloquent French to Agatha, who acted as a translator for her husband.
���Yes, but tell him it could save his life,��� Thomas replied, so that Agatha would translate.
Although the old man waved off his concern.
���I’ve been alive,��� Pierre answered. ���I know what that is like.���
And with that, there was nothing left to do, but to sit with Pierre making him as comfortable as possible; And around lunch time, Agatha said she would make for him whatever food he’d wanted, which was fresh baked bread, with slices of cheese, and a mixture of herbs and olive oil, for dipping his bread into. That after tasting, he said was nearly as good as his wife would make, while she was still alive.
And what followed was a pleasant meal among friends, as if the shadow of death was not near to any of them.
*
�� Or gasoline, for the American.
Chapter Eighteen
Surprises
Still running through the emptied streets before nightfall, Timothy and Barbara came to the place that Timothy had seen from his spot on the tall tower that same morning. It was that place between the three ziggurats, that monumental building that lifted into the heavens like an ornate mountain. They came there just as the white sun of that world was beginning to touch the lower horizon.
Everything within this central portion of the city was surprisingly unaffected; The majestic triple pyramid-like buildings were not crumbled or battered at all, and encompassing the gleaming gold mountainous structure at their center was a stone wall, forty foot high, and as pristine as the day it was built.
Barbara and Timothy walked for some more minutes, traveling around the wall, until they found an opening. It was a double-doored gate that had been left open. Above the giant gate, standing with a foot upon each gatepost, was the colossal statue of a soldier, lifting a sword triumphantly above his head.
No place in Gleomu could compare to this. It shone gloriously, as it caught the light of the setting sun, so much in fact, that they could not help but to halt before entering, taking time to fully admire the statue and what Timothy guessed to be a palace, just beyond the gate.
���Such a shame, we couldn’t have seen the city when it was first built,��� Timothy said in awe.
���I know, can you imagine it?��� Barbara said. ���A city for as far as the eye can see, where everything is as beautiful as this.���
Yet, as they stood there gazing upon this place, and imagining a civilization that had passed away, they heard a noise that brought them back to reality; Both shrill and piercing, roaring and rumbling, with a cadence that terrified, right down to the soul.
And at once, they remembered that they ought to be hiding, and that their daylight was fading them.
���Here, help me push,��� Barbara shouted, as she strained and pulled at the mammoth weighty gate door. Its hinges began to creak, with a sound that made it seem as though those doors had not been moved for many years.
���On three,��� Timothy replied. ���One, two, three!���
Their muscles in full force, they pushed closed one side of the gate, as if they both had the strength of giants. Yet, the next door was even more difficult, but they managed at last. Though unfortunately, once the gate was pushed shut, they saw that there was no wooden beam at the back of the gate door to keep it closed, so that Timothy was forced to use the metal pole he’d found, to secure the gate, to shut themselves in for the night.
And by the golden-red sunset light, they came into the mountain-like structure, which had no door of its own, and was not, as Timothy had guessed, a palace. But was instead a massive open room, with ceilings so tall above them, that it seemed impossible. Along the sides, the surrounding walls, from floor to ceiling, were all segmented into evenly proportioned squares, and on each square segment there were strange markings carved into the stone face.
Spread throughout the floor of the room were masterful marble statues, and many white stone buildings, of various heights and splendor, but all fitted into an exact grid pattern, so that none of the buildings would stretch out beyond their allotted square. And there also seemed to be a hierarchy of importance amongst the white stone buildings: moving from the lesser buildings along the walls, and growing in height and prominence until they came to the exact center of the room, to a magnificent white building, all enclosed with a stone door on its front. It was unfathomably beautiful, and as big as the Parthenon, or the cathedral of Notre Dame.
After a few moments, Barbara spoke up. ���Well, this is obviously not a palace… Your Majesty,��� she said, poking fun at him for how sure of himself he’d been.
And although Timothy was the first to say it, they both knew what this place was, as soon as they saw it.
His face winced with a slight worry, because of where they’d now found themselves. ���Yes, I see that,��� Timothy answered, somewhat defensively. And then, with an ominous concern in his eyes, he said, ���It’s a mausoleum.���
Only seconds later, her eyes shot open, breath jumping in her lungs. She had not wished to fall asleep, and had done all she could to avoid it. Yet, the cold and the exhaustion of that night had become too much for her.
The tree shook and swayed in the tall branches, and someone or something was wrapping her in a coat. Yet, she felt no warmer. The cold had gone to her core, and it would take time to be worked out.
���You’ll die out here,��� the voice said.
Her mind was glazed in a fog, but still she could hear the growling and snapping of the wolves at the tree base. ���How could someone get past the wolves?��� she thought, assuming that to be impossible.
���Put your arms around my neck,��� the voice spoke again.
And as she did so, she felt weightless, as if she were flying. Though still, her vision was dim, and body barely strong enough to hold on as she flew through the winter sky. The cold wind struck her cheeks, so that she knew she was not dreaming.
And when she finally came to land, Tavora collapsed onto a dirt paved street, and awoke the next morning in a comfortable bed, as if the whole thing had been a dream.
Warmth, a blanket of knitted wool covering over her; And a boy, whom she could recognize, though not at first��, sat on a chair by her bed. He had golden armbands strapped around his forearms, and did not look very pleased at the moment.
���Good. You’re awake,��� he said, with a harsh and horrible bedside manner.
Tavora sat up in bed, to get a better sense of her surroundings: a white painted room, with expertly crafted furniture.
���Where are we?��� she asked the boy, whose name she knew to be Ata.
���We’re in the mayor’s house, in Bethharbor,��� he said, not caring to be polite about it. ���He was kind enough to offer up two of his guest rooms for us last night.���
Tavora did not like the skeptical way in which Ata looked at her. And though she had wondered occasionally about what it would be like to meet the prince from Earth, or his new flying friend (who were both the talk of all the young girls in Ismere), she was beginning to think that she would not, after all, appreciate their company.
So she went to reach for her boots, and suddenly realized, feeling her neckline, that her medallion had been taken.
���Hey, what have you done with my necklace?��� she asked.
���I took it,��� Ata replied, prodding her with his tone of voice. ���I unlatched it while you were sleeping.���
She gasped disgustedly. ���You have a lot of nerve… taking a
girl’s jewelry while she’s sleeping.���
Ata pulled the medallion from his coat pocket by the chain. ���Well, it’s not yours, is it?���
Tavora closed her mouth, tightening her lips, feeling caught.
���And I have a lot of nerve?��� Ata continued, the corners of his mouth raising up in anger. ���Tell me, did you steal the necklace from Barbara, before, or after you killed her?���
She was completely appalled by his accusations, and her face showed it. ���I didn’t kill anyone,��� she replied.
���Then who did?���
���No one did. I found it.���
���Where did you find it?��� Ata asked harshly, but Tavora didn’t answer, and so he asked again. ���Where?��� he said, leaning forward.
And this was when she saw her chance: Tavora had not meant to find the globe, but she had. She did not mean to steal the necklace, either, and now she was being accused of murder. She could take no more of it, so that as Ata leaned forward to accuse her, she pulled the chain from his hand. And, quickly thinking, she threw her wool blanket over his head, before pressing on the stone, and vanishing from sight.
And before Ata could pull the blanket off of himself, she leapt from her bed, picking her boots off the floor, and hit him in the head, as hard as she could.
It was not forceful enough to kill him, nor to render him unconscious, but it did smart terribly, and was completely disorienting.
���Oww!���Ata shouted, falling to the ground, still wrapped in that thick wool blanket. Tavora stopped at the door, looking down at him lying on the floor, and thought that that was such a terrible way to thank the person who’d only hours ago saved her life.
���I’m sorry I had to do that,��� she said. ���But I’m not a murderer. You’ll just have to trust that I’m on your side.���
And with that, she ran out of the doorway, holding her boots in her hand. ���And thank you for saving my life,��� she yelled, as she ran invisibly through the hallway, and out of the mayor’s home, into the morning time winter streets of Bethharbor, and once again without a coat.
The Histories of Earth, Books 1-4: In the Window Room, A Prince of Earth, All the Worlds of Men, and Worlds Unending Page 47