[An Epic Fantasy 01.0] Skip

by Perrin Briar

  “I’m not. That fur has lice.”

  Jera threw the fur aside, got to her feet and shook all over, patting down her body as if she could feel the lice on her. She stopped when she saw Elian’s expression.

  “You were joking,” she said.

  Elian smiled.

  “I hate you,” Jera said.

  She curled up beside the fire, without the buffaroo fur. Within moments she was snoring. Elian bent down and picked up the fur. He thought for a moment before draping it over Jera. He moved to the other side of the fire, watching Jera sleep. He lay down and soon fell asleep himself.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Jera awoke the next morning to a scritch-scratching sound like a mouse at a hard block of cheese. After tossing and turning for ten minutes she finally rolled over and looked up.

  Elian was crouched on the balls of his feet facing a tree. In one hand he had a knife and was etching something into its bark. Curls of wood and dust gathered into piles at his feet. He blew into the etching, leaving it empty. He stood up and appraised his work. It consisted of two vertical parallel lines and an oval top. Jera turned her head to the side but couldn’t make head nor tail of it.

  “What are you doing?” she said.

  Elian tucked his knife into its sheath at his waist.

  “It’s time we got going,” he said. “The sun’s up.”

  Birds chased one another between the tall trees that reached for the sky. Except they weren’t trees. In the bright light of day Jera saw they were thick bamboo canes with gnarled knuckles every few feet.

  The sunlight winked off the gentle stream, which made soothing trickling sounds over the pebbles on its bed. Jera got to her feet and almost fell back down. She braced herself with her hands on her knees. She had a stabbing sensation in her arms and legs.

  “Keep moving,” Elian said. “The pain will go away if you move.”

  Jera staggered over to the stream, fell to her knees, bent forward and splashed her face with ice-cold water. She spooned it into her mouth like she hadn’t drank in a month. Gasping for air, and with water trickling off her chin, she turned and sat for a moment, looking at the remains of their fire. Then she looked up at Elian.

  “Did yesterday really happen?” she said.

  “Getting captured by the centaurs, dressing up as a horse, and then escaping?” he said. “Yes, I’m afraid it did.”

  Jera nodded, and they were both silent for a moment.

  “What do we do today?” Jera said.

  Elian took out two small hollowed-out bamboo containers and dipped them in the water.

  “Today we go our separate ways,” he said.

  “Oh.”

  “I think it’s safer that way. They’ll be looking for a man and woman travelling together, not individually.”

  “Where will you go?” Jera said.

  “I’m not sure yet. Wherever the wind takes me. You?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve always wanted to travel the world. Maybe now’s the time.”

  Elian nodded. He handed one of the bamboo containers to Jera.

  “How about going back to Time?” he said.

  “I can’t go back there,” Jera said.

  “Why not? You have friends and family there. They’ll be worried about you.”

  “I can’t marry Richard. Not with knowing what kind of person he is.”

  “At least go back to see if your family feels the same way about him. They might have discovered the truth and thrown him out.”

  Jera nodded but said nothing.

  They broke camp and followed the stream uphill. The heat from the sun was blocked by wide leaves sprouting from the top of the bamboo stalks. Some of the bamboo had fallen to one side, and when the cool breeze blew, they banged against one another, making hollow thudding sounds like the beat of a drum.

  The stream bared right and rode a steep incline. The ground became rocky, and they slipped on the flint that rubbed against one another, spitting sparks. The bamboo forest melted away, the protective shade along with it, removing any protection from the harsh sunlight that beat down on them. They walked up the rocky face of a mountain, breaths coming hard and sweat running down their faces.

  Then the path grew flat and diverged into two paths. One wound around the mountain and disappeared over a sleep hill. The other wound between two large mountains that jutted up at the sky like the serrated edges of a blade. The area was shadowed and dark, the sunlight blocked by the mountains on either side. But Jera could still make out the heavy hulking lumps of large cylinder rocks amongst the debris.

  The shade felt cool and refreshing. Jera wiped the sweat from her face. She followed Elian’s sightline up at the huge boulders sat teetering on the rim of both mountains, as if they were peering down into the crevice waiting for them.

  “Do you think it’s safe?” Jera said.

  “I don’t know,” Elian said. “But we don’t need to go through it. We can take this path.”

  He took a step toward it.

  “I can’t believe I found you!” a voice said.

  Jera started, letting out a little scream that echoed through the crevice. Small rocks skittered down the mountainsides and came to a stop before them.

  “He said you would be here,” the man said, hopping over the rocks toward them. “But I never believed it!”

  The man hadn’t shaved in some time, and his clothes were wrinkled, slept-in and dirty. He had a wild-eyed appearance, as if always startled. He wore black. He had a single-strapped bag over one shoulder and led a horse by its reins toward them. He stopped when he saw a pistol in Elian’s hand where just a moment earlier it was empty.

  “Can we help you?” Elian said.

  His voice was steely hard and unwavering. The hand holding the pistol was relaxed, knuckles their natural colour and not whitened. The man held up his gloved hands in a gesture of surrender.

  “I’m just a messenger,” he said. “I have a message for you.”

  “Nice try,” Elian said, “but no one knows we’re here.”

  “One guy does,” the man said. “He wore a brown tunic and was old – really old, like a hundred or something. He told me you would be here. He said you might arrive in a day, or a week, or a month, or a year. He’s been sending me money to keep me here. Now you’re here I can finally leave!”

  Elian thought for a moment, his expression cold and unreadable.

  “I think we can trust him,” Jera said.

  “No,” Elian said. “Throw down your mailbag.”

  The man did.

  “Jera,” Elian said, “go through his bag, and tell me what you find.”

  Jera kneeled down and opened the bag.

  “A few packages,” she said. “Letters, mostly.”

  “Is there one for us?” Elian said.

  Jera looked.

  “Yes,” she said. “The address is: The Crevice, The Dreary Mountains.”

  She looked up at the messenger.

  “Is that where we are?” she said. “The Dreary Mountains?”

  The messenger nodded.

  “I was paid to be here to give you that letter,” he said. “That’s all. Can you point the pistol in another direction, please? You’re kind of making me nervous.”

  After a moment, Elian relented and lowered the gun.

  “May I?” the messenger said, pointing to the mailbag.

  Elian nodded. The messenger picked up the bag, slung it over his shoulder and turned away. His walk away was somewhat faster than his walk toward them. Elian didn’t relax until the messenger was gone from sight.

  “What does the letter say?” he said.

  Jera tore the letter open and started to read.

  “‘Dear Elian Stump and Jera Wythnos. I hope this letter finds you well. If it isn’t you, and has been intercepted by someone else I hope you realise the gravity of the situation and will do everything in your power to ensure the aforementioned persons receive this letter. And so now, I will return to
addressing Elian and Jera directly, even though it may not be them I’m currently addressing.

  “‘By now I’m sure you have a million questions. Or perhaps none, depending on how much you allow your mind to believe. I hope I can give you the facts you require, as well as tell you where you need to go next.

  “‘For you, time will have skipped forward. I don’t know how far, but it’s likely it was one week or more. But I am confident the skip was not more than one year because the clock will not last that long. Everyone else in the world will experience time skips too, though their experiences are unlikely to be longer than your own. I would like you to bear in mind that time cannot be skipped indefinitely. You have lived that time, you just haven’t lived it yet. And so you must go back and complete it at some point.

  “‘There are, I admit, many advantages to time skipping the way it is. We can see our future, and though we cannot change those events, we can however change how we get to them and how they affect us afterwards. But all of this is a sign that time itself is broken. Let me explain.

  “‘The clocktower, as you might have guessed, is not merely a clock. It is not only the centre of the town of Time, but the centre of a great deal more than that. You see, the clocktower has existed from the very beginning of time. It existed because it must exist. It is as permanent and endurable as the sky, the stars, and the sun. The clocktower is the centre of the universe, of all universes, and all things.

  “‘Time is an efficient machine. Everything must go as clockwork. But as a machine it is prone to faults and the ravages of time. And when those things start to break, time itself breaks, and we begin to experience time skips, moments of time that disappear, and then reappear at a later date. We cannot control it nor predict it. We can only try to fix it.

  “‘A great many years ago an ancient race discovered clock parts made from a material previously unknown to their kind. They realised they were pieces of the clocktower, pieces they did not need. Indeed, they were spare parts for a time when the clock was broken. They took the pieces and hid them, knowing that if anyone were to ever get their hands on them it would destroy the universe, and all its parallel brothers.

  “‘Each piece of the clock was entrusted to a different people. The Cog of Fate, the Chain of Destiny and the Wheel of Fortune. I have enclosed a map of the parts’ last-known locations. If my calculations are correct, you ought to be close to the Rumble Jungle. You ought to head through the crevice. To help you on your quest I have included clocks of my own design.’”

  Jera upended the envelope and two strange-looking contraptions fell out. The outer casing was cylindrical and made of gold wire. The clock face was long and rectangular in shape with the numbers ticking down on a cylinder mechanism. It was designed to cover the entire forearm. They slid their arms in through the hole and pulled the straps tight. The moving parts inside the device were visible, tiny cogs and chains that moved continuously and without respite.

  Jera continued reading the letter.

  “‘These watches are linked to the clocktower. Anytime there is great turmoil with the clocks, these watches will countdown to the end of the crisis. The top numbers display the day and time we currently exist in. No matter if time skips, it will always be on time. There is one for each of you. The bottom number is a countdown to the end of time. If you do not find the replacement pieces and get them back before this number reaches zero, the world, the universe, and everything we’ve ever known, is doomed. Time is the structure of the universe. Without it, everything will collapse and dissolve into nothingness. Not just our world, but all worlds in all dimensions. The fate of life, and of creation itself, lies in your hands.’”

  “No pressure,” Elian said.

  “‘Why you were chosen to be the ones to save us, I do not know,’” Jera read. “‘Though perhaps the reason for the universe’s choice will come to you in time. Time is what this is all about, and yet that is the very resource that we have so very little of. The longer you take in retrieving the parts, the worse the time skips will become.

  “‘There is but one option: you must find the replacement parts before it is too late. Please hurry, or the world we know will be doomed. By the way, all the events you skipped forward to will not be any later than the clock on your watches for the simple reason that the universe does not yet know if it will exist past that time. All the best, Ganol Nos A.K.A. Grandfather Time. P.S. I shall see you soon.’”

  Jera lowered the letter.

  “Wow,” Elian said. “That’s incredible.”

  “I know,” Jera said.

  They exchanged a look and then burst out laughing, their voices echoing through the crevice.

  “That’s the biggest load of centaur shit I’ve ever heard in my life!” Elian said between bouts of raucous laughter. “What does he think we are? Complete idiots? Can you believe this rubbish?”

  “Grandfather Time was always a little out there,” Jera said, wiping the tears of laughter from her face. “I suppose he must have finally lost it.”

  “I’ve managed to avoid responsibility my whole life,” Elian said. “I’m not about to start heading toward it now! We’re hardly the hero types! We’re the last people who should be out saving the world! No offence.”

  Jera held up her hands.

  “None taken,” she said.

  “Let’s leave it here,” Jera said. “I’m sure someone else will find it and take up the challenge. Which way does the map say we should go?’

  “Through this crevice,” Elian said.

  “Then let’s take the other path.”

  Elian turned and put the letter on a pedestal of rock and put a stone on top of it.

  “Aren’t you going to leave the watch too?” Jera said.

  “No,” he said, “I’ll keep this. Always nice to know when the end of the world is going to happen. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  They turned and walked up the steep incline that wrapped around the mountain.

  The letter, trapped beneath the rock, flapped in the wind.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  They emerged on a ledge of rock that poked out over a two hundred foot drop into a gorge below. The pathway split off in two directions, each winding around a bluff of rock.

  Jera stepped out onto the rock ledge and gasped. Great sheets of sunshine bore down on the valley from parched clouds that opened up to the west. Dark anvils the colour of alabaster rumbled in the distance, moving away from them. The snow-capped peaks of a mountain whose name for the moment escaped Jera, peered down at them through a haze of mist.

  “Not bad, is it?” Elian said.

  “It’s wonderful.”

  She beamed a smile that lit up her whole face, her blood red lips pinched and chilly in the cold, glowing like hot embers. Her hair blew around her face, but she didn’t care. She breathed in the scent of a thousand winds that enveloped the great expanse. She held up her arms and let nature take her in its icy grip and revelled in the way it made her heart beat like a drum.

  “I’ve always dreamed of what it would be like to look at something like this,” Jera said.

  The dark blue of the sea in the distance roiled and rolled and burbled against the distant slab of dirty yellow sand.

  “If you go that way,” Elian said, pointing to the rolling green hills in the distance, “you will eventually find home.”

  “I don’t even know if I can go home,” Jera said.

  “You should always make sure of where you can’t go before you figure out where you can.”

  Jera nodded.

  “All right,” she said.

  “Let’s not make it too tearful,” Elian said.

  “Ha. Yeah, right.”

  “Thanks for your help – such as it was.”

  “I guess this is goodbye.”

  Jera extended her hand.

  “Take care out there,” she said.

  They shook hands, the farewell of acquaintances, not friends. They parted and turned away
from one another.

  “Wait,” Elian said. “You should take this.”

  He reached into his pocket and took out three rings and a necklace. He handed them to her. Jera waved him off.

  “No,” she said. “They’re yours. Payment for services rendered.”

  “If you’re going to stand a chance of getting home you’re going to need money.”

  Jera hesitated before accepting them.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  A strong wind blew against them, ruffling their clothes and making them snap.

  “The wind,” Jera said, “it wants to carry us away.”

  “Yes. Rude to keep it waiting.”

  “It’s been surreal,” Elian said.

  “It has certainly been that,” Jera said.

  “Be careful out there,” Elian said. “Don’t talk to strangers and don’t under any circumstances approach them.”

  “What am I?” Jera said. “Eight years old?”

  Jera walked down one path, Elian another. As they parted, they both pushed down the churning sensation in their stomachs. Neither of them looked back.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The path turned a corner and was braced on either side by a single silver birch, then a smattering of trees like breadcrumbs, that grew to a thick forest. The wind whispered through the leaves and made soft shushing sounds. The sky had turned blood red, staining the white clouds pink. Jera breathed in the fresh air and let out a deep breath. The stream trickled over rocks and weaved between the trees, making its way down the natural slow decline.

  Butterflies flittered away, and then back toward one another in an endless choreographed dance. A bird chirruped and hopped on a branch high in the tree boughs. It flew down and landed on the ground not two yards from where Jera stood. It beat its foot on the ground, turned its head to one side, and then beat again. A worm wriggled up to the top. The bird seized it and flew away. Jera kept walking.

  Jera’s stomach rumbled. She went to a berry bush. There were many different colours. Red, blue, purple, and green. She plucked some berries of each colour and popped them in her mouth. The blue and purple berries were sweet, the red and green sour. They tasted good mashed together.