James Scotson - Planets Falling

“By gods of the forest Theo. It’s a little early to be dipping into the shine. Shouldn’t you be out snaring rabbits in the grassland?” I have to admit, he’s making me feel a bit nervous, the look on his face uncharacteristically grim.

“I’m sure it’s silliness. But you wouldn’t mind a little company on the way home? Besides, I’ve some news for Wenn. There be opportunities to the south that might be profitable for us.”

“Profit, hmm?” I’m thankful that we aren’t lingering on the topic of danger and winter. “Did your friend Bets find another jewelry shop in the rubble of the city?“

“Sprouter, you know better than that. We don’t make hazardous trips for something as silly as rare metals or rocks. The ruins provide raw material for all the tools we use. And you never seem to complain when we bring some paper and pencils back with us.”

“Theo, you’re a terrible liar. I know how much you can benefit by providing a bauble to a passing merchant. And the white rocks are not only pretty but great for cutting glass. It’s just that there is so much risk around those old structures. You know what happened to Robison and Franks. They were messing around in one of those glass boxes rather than gathering iron. And in a wink the rest of the crew was pulling what was left of them out of shards of glass and rock. There are still shreds of them in that heap. We all have to rely on each other. There’s no room for selfishness. And for you to drag Wenn into this—”

“Gods alive. You’re not my mother. Quit your nagging. Bets and I are capable of protecting ourselves.” Theo’s grinning like a weasel. “And I just want to borrow a horse from Wenn. You can keep caring for him while we’re away.”

“You are getting no horse from us.”

“We’ll see what Wenn has to say about that.”

“It is my house, not Wenn’s. I will have the final say, Theo. Be careful or you won’t be getting that barley you so love for making ale.”

The remainder of the trek is spent in silence.

We arrive at my home, a modest wooden building with a few rooms and a moss covered roof. My treasured apple trees line the path to the front door. The house has been a part of my mother’s family for generations. Wenn moved in with father and me when we married. The windows are dark and no smoke billows from the chimney. Wenn and father are either still in the shop or have stopped at Wagnet’s, the town pub and informal gathering place, for mead and shine before heading home. Theo bows to me and leaps into the street, heading toward Wagnet’s. I think he knows something that I don’t.

I gather some wood and conjure a small fire. I pop open a flask and pour the contents into a pewter cup, which I warm over the flames. The fumes of the drink engulf me and the cords of muscle in my back relax. The men can starve for all I care.

I drift to that placid night when the god appeared to me and father. The god loomed over us, even in the distance. I remember hearing a raspy whir before I could discern his physical features. The creature was flanked by six of the little green people. Father shifted and stared, so I was sure that I wasn’t hallucinating. Strangely, neither of us seemed to feel fear, but rather a mixture of comfort and curiosity at the sight.

“Hello, I’m Fromer,” the creature spoke in our tongue. He was at least twice as tall as me with thick, glossy black skin. His eyes were faceted, like those of a dragonfly, although his face was clearly like ours. A light emerald glow emanated from his body — the cool flame of a firefly. We waited anxiously for his next words. Strangely, he asked for tea. Before I turned to the house to brew a pot, it was clear that father could only see the god and not his emerald companions. The green people were sitting on the bench I’d just left, gazing at father with their heads tilted. Perhaps they were as curious about our reaction as we were about being confronted by a god walking out of the woods on such an otherwise ordinary night.

I quickly got the water to boil and headed back out to see the strange meeting. The god Fromer was perched on a tree stump with his chin in his hands. Father was guffawing. I’d never heard him laugh like that.

“Amy, my girl, come bring us the tea. Fromer here’s telling me a story about your granddad and your great uncle Aine. Turns out that they tried to steal a mule from Gringsville. They ended up being caught and forced to stand in the town square covered with manure and hay as punishment. Can you imagine? Your tight-laced, pain in the arse grandfather doing something like that?” He shook his head.

The stranger wore a buggy sort of bemused gaze on his face. He saw me with the pot and clapped his large hands in approval.

I poured the tea and shooed the green ones away. “Mister Fromer. Who are you? Where do you come from?”

Father interrupted, betraying his caution about being visited by a god. “Amy, don’t be rude to our guest here. I’m sure Fromer will be happy to tell us who he is in time.”

Our guest took a sip and chortled, a low rumbling in his chest. “Amy. I’m so very glad we finally meet. You can drop the formalities. I just go by the name Fromer if you don’t mind. It’s going to be a bit hard for me to explain who I am or what I’m doing here.” He paused and let the steam from the tea draw toward his chest. I wondered why it was going down there rather than into his nostrils. “I suppose I’m a traveler of sorts. I’ve had the opportunity to see things the way they really are and I’ve been lucky enough to be able to move through time like you move from your house to your beloved gardens.”

“You live forever,” I concluded aloud. That seemed logical for a god, I thought.

“No, Amy, not exactly. I’ll expire at some point. But I’ve had the chance to watch you, your distant ancestors, and even your grandchildren in this wonderful place.”

“That’s impossible.” I wasn’t impressed with a mortal god, although I was curious about all this talk of time travel.

Fromer grinned. “As impossible as a pea growing from a shriveled seed? Or a large black creature emerging from the woods? Amy, you know better than most.” He glanced at the green creatures milling about the yard — beings that my father could not see but were all too apparent to me.

“He’s a god, Amy. He can do those sorts of things,” my father said earnestly. “You can’t question these things. It’s beyond our understanding.”

I rolled my eyes in frustration. With time and effort, anything could be understood.

Fromer continued. “Back to my explanation. I’ve had a short time to watch snapshots — pictures — of your times since the end of the reign of humanity on earth. A close friend told me that the secret lies in your timeline here in your little village. You’d be quite impressed with the adversity your ancestors faced, especially during the early days. After sifting through it all, all the strands led to here at this time. So, here I am. This tea is excellent by the way.”

“Strands of time? You gods speak in riddles. Why do you describe time as strings?”

“Amy, it may be hard to imagine. But time and all this…” he opened his arms an impossible width, “are the same thing. Once upon a very, very long time ago, all of the earth below you and the stars above were squeezed into an impossibly small ball. The mass exploded and everything remained linked, no matter how far apart any bit is. Time, space, they depend on each other. I — I slipped through the cracks and exist outside that ball. You just live inside of it.”

I pondered this notion. Teacher and her kin spoke of this lore to us — knowledge left to us by the ancient ones before they angered the gods. Earth was a ball of water and dirt in an enormous void called space. The stars, moons, and sun were all hanging in that emptiness, wandering through the emptiness. Still, it was difficult for me to believe that all of it was scrunched into a little wad. “When did this ball blow up making everything?”