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—From the hidden volumes of the Ecliptic Scrolls
First Cycle of the Dark Queen Ashlu, sixth millennium BC.
“Out of the way, vermin!”
Ben reacted purely on reflex, scrambling to the side of the dirt path as three riders swathed in black galloped past on their gigantic warhorses.
Had he moved with less alacrity, he would have borne the stripes from the lead rider’s whip, in addition to being trampled under plate-sized hooves.
Ben righted himself and looked warily around, dusting himself off.
“Well, we’re not in Kansas anymore,” he muttered.
He didn’t know where he was, or what timeline he was in. He recognized none of the landmarks—forbiddingly jagged mountains in the distance, gray, cloudy skies, rudimentary roads, some sections laid with mud bricks, patches of what appeared to be agricultural land dotted with a few huts and roaming animals, and an imposing citadel cut into the side of the nearest mountain.
The riders certainly didn’t fly by in slow motion so Ben could analyze their clothing and appearance for clues, but he was left with a few distinct impressions.
One, the horses were ridiculously large. Bigger and taller than any horse he’d ever seen. Even the largest draft horses from modern day Europe.
(Though, based on Ere’s descriptions of his second quest to ancient Greece, Andros the centaur and his troops might have been of equivalent size.)
They didn’t wear harnesses or saddles, but their long manes and tails were meticulously groomed, gathered in tufted spikes along their necks, and cropped and braided against their rumps.
He thought he heard the clip clopping of horseshoes, but he couldn’t be sure. If memory served (and Ben had an almost photographic memory and retained images and impressions like a bottomless well), horseshoes didn’t appear until at least four hundred B.C. But somehow, that time frame didn’t fit.
Instinctively, something felt off.
Two, his brief glimpse and impression was that the riders were also above average in height and size, relative to his modern standards, that is. It made sense that they would be, in order to command such unnatural beasts so easily, and without modern riding equipment. They must be extremely strong.
Yet, according to all the history books and archeological research that Ben had come across, earlier humans were smaller due to nutrition, climate, and many other factors. In fact, up until the eighteenth century or thereabouts, the average height for men was under five and a half feet. Those riders had to have been over six feet to not look like midgets atop those godly steeds.
Already, he perceived so many contradictions that he felt even more disoriented by his travel through the Mirror Pond than his last quest at the Jade Emperor’s behest with Annie.
Three, he was apparently “vermin” in this time and place.
He looked down at himself to check his appearance.
He was outfitted in a loose tunic tied at the waist, no more than two pieces of rough cloth stitched together to drape over his shoulders and leave a hole for his head. His sides were left bare, for he wore nothing underneath.
A “skirt” of some sort made of the same cloth wrapped around his waist to cover his lower half, and his junk was pretty much flapping in the breeze given the lack of underwear. It felt both freeing and weird at the same time, especially since the coarse cloth already chafed against his ass and groin. Lastly, thin wooden slats were tied to his feet with ropes.
That was it. He had nothing else on his person. No money, no weapons, no other clues as to who he was supposed to be and what he was doing here.
One thing was clear: he didn’t rank high on the totem pole, if the quality of his attire and the riders’ reaction were any indication.
He turned in a circle, assessing the three-hundred-sixty-degree view for a sign, any sign, of where he should head toward, and what his purpose in this time might be.
At the base of the mountain where the citadel loomed, there was a cluster of abodes that resembled a village. That looked to be as good a starting point as any.
Surely, there’d be people there he could talk to. And since he understood what the rider had shouted at him earlier, he assumed he would be able to communicate just fine in this world.
Thus decided, he started walking at a brisk pace, hindered only by the discomfort of his primitive foot gear.
His stomach growled after a few minutes, reminding him that he’d missed breakfast that morning back in his own time and realm, and hadn’t eaten or drank anything since.
Altogether, it probably hadn’t been but a few hours since he leapt off of the Shield’s terrace rooftop and hitched a ride on demon Ere. But travel through time made him both hungry and nauseous. He needed to find shelter and sustenance, first and foremost, before harrying off to save the world.
He heaved an internal sigh, wishing that Ere or Annie were here so he could commiserate with them about these small trials.
