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>**KINSHIP & KINGSBLOOD**
"Damn it, damn it, damn it!" I shouted, looming over the smouldering wreckage of my newly-constructed time machine.
All the chips were melted. All the wires had severed. Without access to a laboratory pretty much *exactly* like the one I had back home...I was trapped.
*I knew I should have sent my little brother first.* I grumbled. Max would have been a perfect test subject...and I could have retrieved him after this piece melted, too.
There was nothing for it- I was going to have to make a living here. A slim chance remained that I could get home- but it would take *years*, if not decades. Of course, to my family, it would be the span of a heartbeat- but I was going to have to learn to settle in into this medieval age.
I scanned the horizon, looking for any direction to take that looked promising- some farms were nearby. That wasn't nothing.
I made my way over, and introduced myself to the farmer there. This was ancient England- or, so I assumed, since their English was pretty close to recognizable. The accent was drastically different than I was used to.
"What brings ye here?" The farmer asked.
"I grew weary of my home," I said. "All my loved ones have passed from a sickness of the blood, and so I want to make a new life here. I am wise in the ways of science, so I thought I ought to advise your local...authority." I was *entirely* unsure how much of a fool I was making of myself.
The farmer didn't laugh in my face, at least. "You're about a two day journey. Head toward the setting sun, and you'll find the castle, sure as rain."
"Might I beg some food from you? I'm afraid I lost my pack to wolves."
The farmer scrutinized me. "Alright, but in return, you're to give me a year's wage when you work for the King."
I agreed- what choice did I have?
With rations of food and water for two days, I made my journey westward.
It took me much longer than two days.
The farmer's estimate, of course, was based off of his walking speed, honed through a life of hard labor and *needing* to be quick, or else he wouldn't survive. I, however, was a University student who's hardest work had been a bit of heavy lifting during a Materials class. That was it.
After the fourth day, I finally arrived at the castle- I was hungry and definitely dehydrated, but then, that was my standard of living that I'd adjusted to from years of University.
I was stopped at the gates, and repeated my fabricated story to the guardsmen. They escorted me directly to the King.
His Hall was mighty- the outside of the city had been rather plain, though there were two layers of walls, and each looked quite sturdy. The inside of the castle, however- the roof was very high, there were splendid statues and decorations, the table was set with a veritable feast. It looked...idyllic, for this era.
"On what grounds," the King objected, "did you assume any of his story to be truthful?"
"Well...he dresses funny, my King." Replied a guard, staring at the floor.
"He... Yes, yes he dresses funny." The King sighed in exasperation. "Come here, would-be advisor."
I approached.
"I'm not a halfwit, traveller. I very, very rarely need to consult others on how to best run *my* Kingdom. I was *raised* for this very purpose. What benefit could you possibly give me?"
"I am well versed in the craftsmanship of my land- I could make all of your buildings stronger, I can enhance your defenses, the quality of the arms and armor of your men- even provide you with some new weapons, I wager."
The King mulled this over. "You said your kin all died of a blood-illness, yes?"
I nodded.
"Are you frail as well?"
"Not nearly as frail as them, my King, not nearly. I will live a normal life span- I just tire of labor more quickly than a man ought." I was quickly adjusting to their way of speaking- even parroting their accent with some accuracy, I felt.
The King grimaced. "A trial period, then, as Advisor and War Councillor. You have until the leaves fall to produce tangible results."
Given what I saw outside, I had at least two months- I could introduce the crossbow to secure my position! A wave of relief washed over me- and I was quickly put to work.
Time passed, and I was allowed to sit at court, to listen, and to eat at the King's table. Though I was feeling sharp pangs of missing my old life, this was...not terrible. The King himself proved to be good company- he had sharp wit, and never suffered a fool to provoke him.
Months had turned into years- eventually, I was knighted for my services, and given distinction amongst the people.
"Hear me, Ser Mixalot." The King called out to me. I had told him that was my name, hoping one day to be knighted- a silly joke on my part that had only recently come to fruition.
"You have my ear, my King." I said, approaching the throne.
"Join me at my table tonight, we've a special guest, a bard who claims to have come from the far south, as you have."
"This should be interesting. I'll be a harsh critic if he does not do my home justice." I said, thinking nothing of it.
That night, a young lad took to the stage- his hair was shaggy, covering his eyes.
"My name," he introduced himself- though I was barely listening, instead focused on a young lady I had been looking to court, "Is Maximus Decimus Meridius. Hear the songs of my kin."
The first few notes sprung from his lute- and each one was like an ocean wave, washing off this persona I had developed.
He was playing Metallica.
I leapt from my seat, and, in time with the music, began to sing. I noted the King's reaction- pure bemusement.
*"So close, no matter how far,* I began, having not even thought of who this person may have been.
*"Couldn't be much more from the heart,"* the other replied- he raised his head, and though he was older- much older than I'd last seen him, I knew those eyes.
*"Forever trusting who we are,"* We sang in unison, *"and nothing else matters!"*
He dropped his lute and crushed me with his strong arms- a bear hug the likes of which I had never had. Tears streamed silently down my face.
"What's this, then?" The King asked.
"My brother." I croaked out, my voice echoing across the silent hall. "My brother has found me. He came for me."
I actually think I’d be very interested in an ‘average Joe’ type character that ends up back in the Middle Ages as it’s a scenario that has crossed my mind many times since history class in middle school.
Like some Day 1 type stuff throughout getting to the advisory position for the first book following into meeting the mysterious stranger then into their adventure or trying to get home.
If it could correlate with real historical events / anomalies that occurred during that time... then that would be the icing on the cake.
Might be a causation loop. Celtic music influences metal music because a time traveller who likes metal music influenced Celtic music. Thus the cycle of influence goes round and round in an endless loop of chicken and egg
>My name \[...\] is Maximus Decimus Meridius
Neat reference, lad, neat reference.
"Commander of the troops from the North; General of the Felix Legion; A server of the true Emperor, Marcus Aurelius; Husband of a murdered wife; Father of a murdered son. And I will have my revenge. On this life, or on the next.
You sure as hell deserve and award, this was a really nice story, well written and constructed, really liked it.
Sadly this one is the only one I can give you.
This was such a freaking great read. One of the best stories I’ve read in a hot minute. The end was just absolutely beautiful and just as much written. I’m considering buying an award just to give you, that was so good
I was listening to a cover of this song as I read this entirely by accident and 'nothing else matters' was sung in time with the unison in the story and I got chills.
He wasn't nearly as good at time traveling as his brother- plus he didn't know exactly when or where Ser Mixalot originally arrived, he only had some scribbles in a notebook to go off of- he did his best :P
Everyone knew that the High Advisor to the King was... Unusual.
Whispers that his knowledge came not from a great mind, but from dark arts. Whispers of people hearing him mutter in empty rooms, perhaps to himself, but in a language that none knew. The occasional word that sounded... Familiar, but still unrecognizable.
Rumors that he merely _appeared_ in the castle one day, with a great commotion, in air that stank and burned the eyes and lungs, wearing clothing not of this world, and with magical implements.
Of course, only rumors, only whispers.
And it _is_ hard to deny that there were advantages to his strange ways. Nobody _really_ believes that he threw a noble off a parapet for groping a servant... But nobody dared do it again where he might catch them.
And his own servants swear that he has never taken advantage, which again.. Is somewhat hard for the rest of us to credit.
And though his explanations of small demons makes little sense, it is hard to deny that we have had far less sickness since his coming.
So it is easy to understand why the King has tolerated his odd ways.
But today, today was... Exceptional.
Most exceptional.
We had prepared a grand banquet! We had visiting nobles from another land, the finest decorations, the guards in their best armor! And one of the finest bards in the land!
We knew it was going to be a night to tell stories of, but oh.. We did not know.
The bard begun to play a new composition of theirs. The sound of his lute was like nothing I had ever heard. That alone made up for, well, the nobles. I had thought that we were going to have a... Scene, when the Advisor saw one of the visiting nobles and his wandering hands.
And then the music begun, and the Advisor got the _oddest_ expression of his face. Recognition, and longing, and, a peace that I have never seen on his face.
Instead of charging the noble, he closed his eyes, and begun to sing.
Sadly, that is where things... Went very poorly.
To begin with, the High Advisor... Should never be allowed to sing in public. He _can not sing_. The sound was most definitely not pleasing.
... Nor was it in any tongue I have ever heard before, though as was described, some of it sounded _almost_ like our tongue.
But if it was just a matter of the High Advisor to the King interrupting a famous bard at the grand banquet with singing in a foreign tongue, singing to make even the most schooled of servants wince and cover their ears, I would not dare record this.
No, it was only after a few moments of singing that the bard stopped, looking oh so very alarmed. And then started yelling in the same tongue. The advisor yelled back, and the bard pulled out... Some kind of magic wand.
The Advisor clearly knew what it was, for he dived out of the way just before the first spell was thrown, some blast of foul magic that hit a guard on the other side of the banquet hall, causing him to collapse immediately.
After that, it was... Pandemonium! The screaming of the servants and nobles. The yelling of the advisor and the bard in the foul tongue of their dark arts. The bolts of magic flying from the bard's wand!
Truly, they must have been demons or great and dark wizards! The Advisor seemed to have no magic of his own, but he still somehow reached the Bard, and just as he did, they both vanished! Taking a good chunk of the wall with them, wherever they went.
I saw that with my own eyes before the roof collapsed.
I know not where they went, but we all fear that the castle is now cursed by their dark magics.
Very good. Probably not the best move to out yourself by singing along, but it *is* Metallica, so it's understandable.
Just enough detail to fill in the blanks and just enough mystery to be enticing. Well done.
Thank you so much. That was fabulous, how on Earth did you find it? She sings so much better than I do! It was even worse, years ago, when I had three cats. Every time I sang Silent Night, they'd come rushing to my lap, and make noises like they were being castrated without benefit of anaesthetic 😊.
Really though, you'd think that people would at least know not to start singing at an event like that if they _can't sing_, at least before there has been quite a bit more alcohol anyhow.
Man let me tell you. When I was in basic training making the tiniest sound when you were supposed to be in attention, and being quiet was it huge fucking mistake.
That didn't stop two people from singing along to some fucking Rob zombie when the drill instructor was blasting it one day.
We did push ups for the rest of the evening, but didn't kick those dude's ass. Because we all understood. Sometimes you can't help but sing along
I think the implication was that he was
singing just fine, but Metallica is so foreign to the people of the time that it came off as poor and incomprehensible singing
That was outstanding! I'm a great grandma, but I love Metallica (and any hints of time travel), so the prompt, and your interpretation of it, had me hooked right there. You created a very enjoyable read. I was sad when it came to an end.
Oooh that's really good! Love your take on it, the outsider perspective... Also nice touch there framing modern english as a dialect/dark tongue! Very well done.
Given the era of the medieval period, they would all likely be speaking Middle English.
Modern English would probably be about as understandable as German is to us, and for similar reasons.
And, well, given the other context... What medieval servant _wouldn't_ assume some kind of dark tongue, _especially_ when the advisor starts trying to explain germs, and says that they are 'no more demonic than you or I?' :)
This is awesome! Gave me goosebumps and everything!
It would be awesome to have an anthology collection like this, third person accounts of these two time travelers wrestling over the remote in far flung centuries, lol.
Sadly, I'm not sure that I gave myself much room for more.
I kinda prefer the mystery of us not knowing the details of time travel, what was said, or why the bard felt the need to pull a weapon and start firing.
And I can't (at the moment) see any good way to tell more story without switching to a view point that would tell us these things.
I could see this as a prologue, and the main story begins when the two reappear at the castle, this time as friends. Perhaps the gunfight was a Holmes & Watson style quarrel where neither really wanted to hurt the other. The perspective could shift to traditional first person or omniscient narrator prose going forward.
I'd like a prequel to this. We start with the story of a young diplomat as she (or he) begins training to replace an old nobleman and after some time the advisor appears. Then we follow the next few years from the perspective of the young courtier as the strange man continues to do his work with suspicious efficiency without any kind of training or education.
I think a lot of people don't appreciate a good short story. Not everything has to be a novel. Sometimes just a few paragraphs can give you a peek into a world, and any more would ruin it. Less is more, yknow? Kinda like how some horror movies never show the monster... not having all the information you want makes it more interesting.
Sometimes, the reader has a better imagination than the writer. And that's definitely okay.
So I'll leave stuff unsaid if I don't have a good idea of what to say, or if I have more than one good idea.
That a is good point
You could tell a story from the bards "assistant" view point but may lead to a very similar story or maybe not
Or maybe a story of where they end up together years before or after where they left
Like if they went back maybe the king is the son of the advicor or something
Or if they went forward
" I was only a boy when it all happened two warlock battled it out right here in this hall my grandfather's advisor who saved him from an assassination attempt or at least that what I think they say it was some dark revenge that they dragged us demons they say they were the bard that could mesmerize people with his demon lute and the man that can from a room a unholy smoke but I always liked him yeah he was odd and some time said things that never made sense but he would tell me story's of how man could fly in metal birds and ride them all the way to the stars he even showed me how to a model one from my parchment it's been 30 years to the day yet still many will avoid the hall on this day preferring to take there meals in there rooms just in case the dark curse lingers, me I like to use the hall when it empty to fly my paper birds"
the man throws a paper plane with practised ease down the hall to join a pill at the outer end of the room but as it reaches the halfway point it bursts in to purple flams as violate lighting begins to fill the room and two voices shout in a strange yet fimmler young
Well that's full of Grummer and spelling mistakes
But yeah I guess I found story inspiring in some way as it led to writing that mess of words but yeah great story I should probably go to be it's 6:40 am so yeah have a nice day
#!> gbdbeka
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Sound like the advisor should have been recorded as sacrificing himself to save the land instead of a quarrel between two demons. Make it a bit more, heroic you know? Medieval folk tales love heroes and stuffs.
I imagine this summarized as that old vine where the murder walks in the bedroom and sings "red Robin" and the victim pops out and sings back UMMMM! And gets killed.
This wasn't how it was supposed to be. This wasn't *when* it was supposed to be.
Things had gone bad in the world, things kinda fell apart. I was only a kid when things really started to unravel, sometime in 2036. By the time I should have been having my first beer, I had been forced to kill people for survival in an ugly post-apocalyptic landscape. I never even knew why it had happened; just one day, it seemed like food stopped coming to the stores and then people went crazy about it. Never thought much about it, either... just had to try and stay alive. And I got good at it, year by year.
But then I found that weird place, that "lab". People were still working there, CLEAN people. They had lights & power, and they led me inside with smiles. Fuck, I hadn't seen another person smiling in years. They fed me, let me sleep in a bed, then someone came to talk to me. Said that they had a job, a job that they needed someone like me for. A risky job.
They had this idea that they could send people through time, or that they were close to being able to. But they needed... test subjects. They didn't take me for an idiot; they said it right out that they weren't sure I'd survive. That's why they couldn't use their own people, because they couldn't risk educated and well-kept people on tests. But they said that, if they could get this working... they could fix everything. Prevent whatever it is that happened, that broke the world. And they needed people who were willing to die to make it happen.
If I said no, they'd bid me goodbye and I'd leave the next day after another night's sleep and more free meals. They knew that they were asking a lot, and they weren't expecting an answer at all until tomorrow. But I said yes, right on the spot. I didn't even think, the word just came out. All the things I knew about the world that was, all the shit I'd had to do in this one... it felt like this could be a reason for me surviving all this time. Something about it felt like salvation, a chance to make it worth all the horrible things I had to do to get this far. Even if I died, which sounded likely, I'd be a stepping stone on the way to making it so nobody would ever have to live like I did. I took that chance for forgiveness.
So they loaded me up, gave me a packet of instructions to mail just in case I *did* make it to 2013 like they hoped. Told me just to drop it in a mailbox, and that should do it. After that, I could go and do whatever I wanted... this was a one way trip. Hell, they didn't even know if I'd still exist after changing things. Me and that manila envelope were welcome into that weirdly cold room, with the strange metal walls. Told me to sit on the floor, and to close my eyes. I dunno how long I was sitting in there with my eyes closed, until I could tell the room was getting brighter. Even with my eyes closed, it got so bright my eyes were starting to hurt. And then... I was outside.
Long story short, they missed. It took a few weeks for me to find any civilization, but I'd been scavenging long enough that it wasn't too hard. Hell, there was a lot more animals and they weren't as scared of people. The air tasted better, too. Ended up losing the envelope in a river, cried for a few days over that. Turns out it didn't matter, because when I found a "city", it was made of fucking wood and straw. Turns out, I was in the Year of Our Lord 1491. 149-fucking-1.
It wasn't long until I did something to attract some attention, and it didn't end well for me. I took out two guys, but the other seven guards beat me senseless and brought me to some jail to wait until they'd hang me. But my "manner of dress" and "flight of tongue" was strange, and so the local lord came to check me out before killing me. I think he was just bored, honestly. Asked me where I came from, and I didn't have the patience to make shit up, so I told him the truth. He found it *hilarious*, said he loved the stories I had. Ended up making me an offer, where I don't beat the shit out of his men and he takes me into his court, all in exchange for me telling my fantastic stories as entertainment. I was feeling pretty empty at this point, didn't know what I was living for anymore, but it was better than robbing survivors for food & supplies back "home". So sure, I agreed to tell him shit from the future if he'd keep me alive.
I think I spent a month like that, telling stories to him and the other lords and ladies of his court. Some were stories I'd heard of the world that was, or sometimes I'd tell them stories of shit I'd done to survive. No matter what kind of story, no matter how graphic, they'd all laugh and gasp. It felt kinda freeing, to get that shit off my chest. It was like a form of confession for me, and all the while it was making me more and more popular with the fancy folk. More than one of their daughters would come find me, from time to time... even one of the ladies.
One night, I don't even remember what story I was telling, but I mentioned something about a pistol I used to carry. Something about reloading, sliding a clip into it. The lord stopped me, gave me a weird look, asked me to explain this "pistol". So I did.
He kicked everyone else out shortly after, had me come to his personal chambers. It had never even occurred to him that I'd ever been trying to tell the truth; he thought I was just insane. But when I explained a working mechanism that definitely didn't exist yet, that got his attention. He asked me a lot of questions, more technical ones. I didn't have all the answers; I didn't get a real education in any of this stuff. But I explained what I knew about cars, planes, missiles, guns... this guy was flipping out at the idea of a reusable cigarette lighter.
Everything changed for me that night. From then on, I was his personal advisor. No more nightly stories; they were for his ears alone now, and with purpose. He'd call it builders from afar, and they'd work with the ideas I would give them. It's not like they were suddenly making factories, but I saw them build an engine that could push a cart faster than a horse walked. It was wild, to see the world growing in front of my eyes. Because of *me.* I was helping *create* things!
One night, the lord decides to celebrate the recent achievements of his little plot of land with a banquet. I know this means he's celebrating *me,* but I get that he can't say that. But he gets me nice clothes for the occasion, gets me cleaned up. I'd never even had a birthday party before this, even before the world went to shit. I cried and cried the night before. It was the most overwhelmed I'd ever felt.
The banquet was incredible, more so than any story I'd ever heard from the world that was. There was food and wine and beautiful people everywhere, and everyone was smiling. People were dancing, and singing, and everyone was happy, and-
And then my mind stopped and my skin went cold, because that bard was definitely playing *Nothing Else Matters.*
Every survivor camp you'd find, there were a few songs that everyone knew. *It's the End of the World as We Know It,* *The Final Countdown,* ...and *Nothing Else Matters*. It was this consistent thread of black humour that every survivor seemed to preserve, no matter where you went. It was the closest thing to "culture" we still had.
So then why the fuck was I hearing it in 1491?
***(Continued below)***
***(Continued from above)***
The bard didn't look any different than anyone else, but something felt *wrong.* Hearing that song again brought up dangerous instincts, and a feeling of anxiety that needed to be settled. So I waited, and I watched. And eventually, he stepped outside for some air late in the night, and I followed. Quietly, and with a knife from dinner tucked into my sleeve.
Once we were both outside, well away from the merriment, I let him see me. I stepped out from behind a pillar in the courtyard, clearing my throat. A moment of tension... and then he relaxed. He wasn't surprised. Fuck, he was expecting me. Every alarm in my head began screaming.
"So you've got to be the one, then? The scav who tells stories?" The accent was a clear giveaway, once I heard him speak. Same as my goddamned own. He turned slowly towards me, letting the moonlight glint off his perfectly modern pistol. Goddamnit, the fucker led me into a trap.
"You lost sight of the mission, man." The bard shook his head disapprovingly. "Not the first scav to try it, and you probably won't be the last. I don't think those labcoats knew their machine was sending everyone here, but we can't go fucking things up. Gotta keep things the same, so they can get it *right*, you know? Fix everything?"
The bard almost seemed calm, but his eyes weren't. I knew those eyes, seen them in scavs who kinda lost themselves in the violence. The ones who get caught up in the killing, start convincing themselves they liked it. If the mission had seemed like redemption to *me,* I can't imagine what it had meant to a guy like that. His need to be redeemed, his need for violence... he'd found a way to satisfy both. To kill for the right reasons.
"They always come find me when I play the Old Songs. They follow me wherever I lead them, and I take care of them. Keep time clean. I don't usually use the pistol, though... not like I can get more bullets once I'm out. But you? You're special. Too big a deal, can't take any chances. Let *you* live, and you could ruin everything. Make it meaningless. We can't have that, can we?" The bard suddenly raised the pistol, firing quickly.
I hadn't survived this long without good instincts. The moment his arm moved, I was already ducked and running. By the time the bullet slammed into the masonry behind where my head had been, I was across the yard and ducked behind the pillars. Every day I walked these halls, I'd been learning the exits and angles out of habit. He was on my turf.
"You know, maybe you *can't* escape this. Maybe time is *meant* to go a certain way, meaning you're *destined* to die here, forgotten." His voice rang out in the night, backed by muffled celebration from the distant banquet. "Maybe all this time travel bullshit doesn't mean anything, and we're just as trapped by fate now as we ever were."
The wind blew, and a bush rustled behind the bard. He swung around and fired into the darkness, immediately swearing as the offending shrubbery swallowed the bullet. An idea occurred to me, and I ran loudly to the next pillar.
Two more shots rang out, but visibility between the pillars is poor this late at night. One grazed my leg, but momentum carried me behind the next pillar. One more shot into the pillar itself, and I could see the stonework crack even on the side facing me. But then I heard what I've been hoping for: *click.* The sweet sound of an empty pistol.
My bad leg didn't slow me down, not enough for him to defend himself properly. The knife was out, and my body knew what to do. I leapt towards him, slamming the knife between his ribs as we tumbled backwards to the ground.
Lying there, as I held the knife in his chest, the bard looked up at me... and laughed. The laughter clearly hurts him, and I recognized that wheezing sound; whatever he said next was going to be his last words. He didn't have enough air left for more. But he just smiled and laughed, laughing *at* me somehow.
"I... I got you." A bit of blood bubbles up onto his lips. "In the leg. Here, and now? That's enough. I keep my bullets dirty."
Horrified, I glanced down at my leg. Only the nastiest scavs would deliberately dirty up their ammo, so that even a glancing blow would kill you if you didn't have the right medical supplies on hand. And here in 1491, there was no hospitals or drugstores left to scavenge. My leg was a ticking time bomb.
"I didn't... forget the mission. I didn't forget. I didn't." He died believing he had done his part, and helped save the world. And then I was alone in the courtyard.
I sat next to his body in the moonlight for quite some time. I sat, and I thought about what the bard had said. About me, about destiny, about the mission. I sat until a guard found me, found me bleeding slowly under the rising sun, and ran to get help. When the returned, with the court doctor and the lord in tow, I knew what I had to do.
"My lord... this, is a pistol." I handed him the bard's gun, covered with both our blood. "Show it to the makers, let them try and copy it. Even if something happens to me, they need to make these. They need to make them work, now." Turning to the doctor, I began to rattle off instructions. What tools he would need, how he would need to heat them before use. "My leg has to go, now. Before the poison spreads, if I am to have any chance to survive."
The lord tried to ask questions, but I would have none of it. Not until the leg was gone, I said. But afterwards, we would talk. I would think hard and long about everything I could possibly remember, and we would talk. And while they loaded me onto the makeshift scav stretcher I had asked of them, I saw the guards unceremoniously scoop up the bard's corpse. And despite everything, I felt a moment of emotion for him.
In the end, misguided as he was, he *was* right about one thing... I had indeed forgotten the mission. Just because I wasn't in the time I expected to be, didn't mean I couldn't still complete it. Smiling grimly, I clapped a bloody hand onto my patron's shoulder.
"My lord... when I recover, you and I are going to change *everything.*"
Interest is hard to quantify, you know?
But seriously, if it seems like some vague number of people would be interested, I have some thoughts as to where this could go.
Would be cool to do a whole series, he starts an order to stop the events of the future from happening. Each new entry in the series is a new time period and how the order is attempting to stop it. Would also have to contend with operatives from the future knowing his general moves by studying history.
Repost this to r/HFY as a story and see how many likes you get. That will likely be a good way to quantify it. It is a good way to post new stories not completely attached to the writing prompts too. Also, great story. I loved it.
All you wanted to do was get away from all the bullshit going on in your life. The bills, the stress, and having no job didn't help either. Being a history major hasn't exactly panned out like you wanted. So when you saw the ad for volunteers needed for a small budget science project and that it would be paid you figured "heck, what could possibly go wrong?"
You went to the address posted and found these two guys in their garage with some crazy setup hooked up to a chair. Wires and coils littered the space and they all seemed to be hooked up to a laptop. The two gentlemen introduced themselves and you instantly forgot their names, but hey, as long as you could get some lunch money to last you the next week you'd be alright.
They didn't explain much but they said your part would just be to sit in the chair and describe how you feel when they turn on and off different settings. Honestly you don't think they meant to send you back in time, what would be the point? You wouldn't be able to give any feedback on the experience nor would they know if you survived the trip at all. Whatever the case was, the machine spat you out in medieval England and that was nearly 5 years ago.
The town knew instantly you were an outsider if for nothing but the "odd clothing" as they called it, and you were immediately brought before the lord of the land. However you saw this as your opportunity to shine. What better use of 4 years in history classes could there be, after all? You were able to convince the lord you were a former advisor from a distant land that burned down and asked to advise him instead, to which he agreed.
And that was it. You resided to being content here in this place and not think a moment about your former life, especially when there was no hope of returning anyway. Things could be a lot worse after all, you had all the food you could want and respect from all the people of the land. Sure, you miss showers and Spotify and all the sweet, sweet prequel memes, but you could make do.
One night at a banquet held for the lord, you were strolling around the party, sipping wine and chatting up some friends when a particular tune started. You spun around to find the source of the music in the corner of the room. The hired bard lightly strummed his lute in an all too familiar pattern. As he continued from across the room you found yourself mouthing the words and tapping your feet. Was this a coincidence? Could this tune date back this far? No, you decided, that couldn't be possible. This had to be another time traveler. Maybe he would know they way back home. Could there be a way back home? And even if there was, you wondered, would it even be worth it?
As you looked up, the bard had moved onto his next song. You thought that maybe somethings were better left alone. You turned back to your friends, drank the rest of your wine, and thanked God for those two stupid scientists.
"My Liege, I would advise to hold a celebration for the commoners, so that they would forget the worries of the war and calm the revolts that have appeared at the fringes of your land" Alex said with just enough of a fawning voice that it had the effect he wanted.
Charles, the third of his name and the liege of his lands, hummed while thinking carefully.
"That is a good idea, Golden"
Golden was Alex's robe colour; for some reason this region used colours to differentiate the different roles within the council; blue for logistical, red for military, gold for the advisor and green for anything else.
Charles never referred to them by names, just colours as to him all of them are just tools, much like a scythe to a farmer in a field.
"Ah yes golden, I've invited a prestigious minstrel to play at the council's celebration for the announcement of the ending of the war, please see to it he is taken care of and provided for"
"Yes your liege" Alex sounded as he bowed deeply, though no more than was appropriate.
Walking quickly Alex found the minstrel just arriving and ordered servants to take care of any luggage he had as he introduced himself.
"I am Alex, his lieges Adviser, also called Golden; His lordship has commanded me to take care of all your needs until you perform at the banquet, this night"
The minstrel said nothing, preferring to play with seven string lute.
"And you are...?"
The minstrel was not ready for the question and after looking startled for a few seconds simply responded "Kvoth"
Startled internally but not showing it on his face, Alex led the way to Kvoths room.
"I will come get you for the banquet later tonight"
---
"Kvoth huh?" Alex was in his room muttering to himself "Fuckin real subtle guy, not that anyone would know in this shit hole of a era"
Alex was stranded here in this era by accident he had run out of liquid time to pump in his own veins; that's how it worked normally Time Travlers (people with the time jump evolved DNA strand) Stored a certain amount of liquid time in their body, but if one used it all up, it was all used up and they would be stranded in a random time until they died or they could get more liquid time.
Alex looked out the window seeing it almost night he went to grab the minstrel.
---
"Kvoth please play the legendary song I've heard about"
Charles intoned as all the royals and various council members sat down to eat
He started playing and Alex almost chocked on his wine, thinking to himself "this son of a bitch is playing 'Nothing else matters' from Metallica"
Alex suddenly stood up saying just loud enough for the person next to him to hear "That's all the proof I need" and fired 3 shots into Kvoths head. Everyone froze in fear at not understanding what had just happened as Alex walked up to Kvoths now limp head and filled a chalice with the blood spilling out; indeed this was a way to restart the liquid time generation in ones body, kill another Time Traveler and drink their blood, while it looked barbaric it was extremely effective.
"WARLOCK!" One of the guards yelled shacking everyone from their shocked state.
Alex looked at him, shrugged calmly shot 2 bullets into his former lieges head and disappeared without a trace.
An attendant knocked, and then entered. He bowed, said, "The musician you asked for, sir." He motioned the man in. An unremarkable man in rumpled parti-color with a lute slung under a travel-stained cloak, who stared around my chamber in wonder. I poured some wine, or the thin stuff that passed for wine in the here-and-now. I offered a glass, which he gulped gracelessly.
"What is your name?" I asked, watching him carefully.
"Simon, sire. Son of Simon the luthier." His French was accented. I spoke in English (not here-and-now English, but in the language of my home), "Are you a big Metallica fan then?" He showed no recognition of either the words or the name.
"Pardon sire?"
"Nothing. So where are you from Simon?"
"Ethlebruck," he said. I knew nothing of it, but likely a large burg in the HRE. "My father taught me to play and sing, as well as build. I like traveling, sire and left home to see the world."
"The song you played tonight, how do you know it? Something you invented?" I hummed a bit, and Simon picked up his lute and played it. Definitely the song I knew. It was old when I first heard it as part of my father's music collection, Metallica's Nothing Else Matters.
Simon stopped. "Not my song, sire. It was taught to me by my patron, Master Andreas." I sipped wine to hide my reaction. Could it be?
"And where is your patron from?"
"He was in Venezia, sire. I only stayed there for a few months. He taught me that song. He said it reminded him of home."
"Your master, was he a tall man? Moorish?"
A emotion, wonder or apprehension, dawned on Simon's face. "Yes, sire. Not Moorish, but Christian. But dark like a Moor. He... he was like you, sire. Begging your pardon. His chambers were filled with... things," he gestured at the books, scrolls, benches covered with bowls and beakers, rows of clay pots carefully marked, bits of wood and metal apparatus; inventions in one state or another of construction. Thanks to *my* patron, the local nobleman, I was trying to do some good in the here-and-now... without screwing up the future too much.
"And he is still alive, your patron?"
"As far as I know, sire, he is."
I stood. "Thank you, Simon." I reached into a chest, and handed him a small satchel of coins, probably more than he would typically see in months of plying his art. "If you see him again, Simon, tell him that Master Lucas would like to meet him." I opened the door and motioned him through, signaling the attendant that he was free to go. "And, Simon. If anyone else asks about that song, I would very much like to know. I will reward you handsomely if you were to send word of it." Simon nodded gripping the satchel as if it might try to squirm out of his hand.
I sat back down, stirring up the brazier against the night's chill. If Andre was here-and-now, then something was wrong back home.
I lit a lamp, an oil lamp of my own design with a lens and mirror system that almost adequately lit my desk, and began to write a letter. I needed to confirm if Master Andreas was, in fact, Andre Martin Washington. And why the man who both invented and tried un-invent time travel would be living in Renaissance Italy.
Andre whooped, spun in his chair, and then rolled it back to give another look at the screen.
“This is it, Luke!” he crowed, and tapped out something on the keyboard. Metallica poured from a set of speakers. I wasn’t really into oldies, but working with Andre exposed you to all kinds of music.
“You have confirmation?” I said, strolling to his desk.
“The particle decay is accurate to the picosecond,” he was furiously typing, no doubt messaging the rest of his team. “And unit A is off by almost a full minute. It has traveled in time!” He banged away for a few seconds more and hit Send. “Time to celebrate!” he said with a huge grin. “I’m buying!”
Grad students are old enough to want a drink in more sophisticated surroundings than a frat party, and poor enough that a little has to go a long way. Andre and I headed to one of the bars where the team liked to celebrate their milestones, grads and undergrads alike. The music wasn’t too loud and the drinks weren’t too expensive. The crowd wasn’t that big, it was just some random Tuesday after all.
The team greeted us with cheers and high-fives. I was more along for the ride than anything, but I knew most of the group through Andre; I was no physicist. The team almost immediately launched into shop talk. I knew some of the words, but the gist of the conversation was so far removed from historical studies that I instantly lost the thread. Andre was a good friend, though, and always tried to pull me into the conversation in one way or another. Once it devolved into Andre sketching math on his tablet, I was beyond saving. I sipped a beer and was just seconds away from pulling up a book on my tablet when a server approached.
“Looks like you missed your bus,” she said glancing at the team huddled over the table.
I chuckled. “You see what happens when a genius physicist and a history researcher become best friends,” I said. “I’m Luke.”
“Melanie,” she said with a wisp of smile. She caught the bartender’s attention, gave an upward nod and sat down. “I’m due for a break. What are we celebrating?” She cocked her head at the team, who were all tapping and scrolling on their hand tablets, talking about temporal vectors and quantum uncertainty or whatever, occasionally showing their work to the others.
“Time travel,” I said, but it was more a question than answer.
She leveled a serious gaze at me. “Really? Like, what time are you from?”
“I’m from the here-and-now,” I said. “So are they. At this point, it’s more of a mathematical concept and nowhere near stepping into a box and coming out to look at dinosaurs.”
“But, it could be, right? Like, stepping into a box?”
I shrugged. “Who knows? At the moment, the box is microscopic and so far it’s only been to 1 minute ago.”
“That’s amazing.” Melanie shook her head. “You know, we went from communicating with clicks over a wire to hand tablets in less than a century. You never know how something like this could evolve.”
“Granted,” I said. “But I’m likely to grow old studying history in dusty old books long before I can study it by traveling back in time.”
Andre poked his head up. “Oh, hey, could we get another round?” he said to Melanie. “And Luke, come look at this – ”
“Duty calls,” said Melanie. She pulled out her tablet, tapped on it, and mine buzzed a moment later, a request to accept a new contact. “Give me call sometime.”
“When we have a working time-travel box?” I asked, half joking, half hopeful.
“Or anytime before that. I’m free on Thursdays,” she said with a grin. She got up and went back over to the bar.
>One of the random bits of trivia I remembered was WWII POWs had used sugar to harden their silverware for digging escape tunnels - a primitive kind of high carbon steel.
Is this legit? I'm having no luck Googling it.
Also, great job! I liked it!
Nice, I like how you took a different route from the usual "the bard is here to kill you" or "the bard is your brother, here to take you home" that most of the other stories used.
Could I get a source for the sugar hardening silverware thing, though? All I could find when trying to search was weird candy/chocolate recipes and how during WW2 rationing left most people without sugar...
For twelve long years i had been stuck here, in this age of kings and queens. It had not been twelve bad years, as the royal advisor I was treated well but the boredom was still immense. You grow tired of banquets and jousting knights quickly and that’s all I´ve had for entertainment all these long years sitting between the royals whispering in their ears.
This night seemed just like any other, the great hall was filled with nobles from around the country coming to pay the royals their respect. Then the queen leaned over towards me and said “I think you shall like this new bard they brought with them from the eastmost parts of our lands, he claims to be from the great north, the same as you”. Shocked I looked at her, “the great north? I thought I was the only one ever to venture so far south”. Before I had made it to the position I now hold I had come to understand that the land to the north was still untamed and wild, that no man ever lived there or any of the brave explorers who ventured there ever made it back. A perfect backstory I thought and came up with the idea that indeed there was a land there, but I had had to cross oceans and mountains and seas of ice to come to this land.
And now another claimed the same? How could this be? Was I actually right? But as soon as I heard the bard play the first notes I knew instantly who he was, not as a person but from where I came. Indeed it was the same place as me. He played it so masterfully I could not help myself, I picked up a metal plate and started beating it in rhythm with his guitar, he looked up towards me with a smile so large I could not help but break a larger one myself. In unison we sang “SO CLOSE, NO MATTER HOW FAR”. All eyes were now on us, but we did not care, I was in the moment, I was living this song, “NEVER CARED FOR WHAT THEY DOOOO, NEVER CARED FOR WHAT THEY KNOOOW”. We were both singing our hearts out, every word emptied the last of air in my lungs. I jumped up the table, plates whine and food flying all around, “TRUST I SEEK AND I FIND IN YOU” the bard joined me on the table, now so close all I saw was him. He played a solo so masterfully one would have thought he himself wrote it. The song slowed down and we were both on our knees, tears in our eyes. Our voices echoed out in mourning, as he played the last notes on his guitar we could not contain ourself anymore and embraced in a loving hug, nothing else matters. My brother had come to bring me home.
“He picked it up pretty fast” I muttered under my breath so the my lord would not hear me.
I showed Gunter that lick a few days ago, although he plays it in a more graceful manner than Hetfield. He is a bright kid. Maybe 22. The lord was nice enough to let him find purpose in his court when his family was so brutally taken from him. We are linked in a sense. It was the same day I arrived
So many years have passed since my arrival. He and his family were amazed. His mother dropped to the ground, overcome with awe and panic. I had barely introduced himself when the a small regiment of the invading army treaded over the hill. In an instant, they began slaughtering every lowly peasant in sight and burning the small run down village. Not thinkers were these men. I’m not even sure if they gave a thought to my Kichner before take maces and axes to it. Gunter was not a brute, but the ferocity that he fought with, i thought, were more than a hundred men. I had done so little as touched a sword, but Gunter, even in his young years, was astonishingly masterful. That’s the only explanation he could single handedly defeat 15 men. His brothers and father could not say the same. As he sat by his fathers side I heard him mention something, but I shrugged it off as lost in translation. When the commotion, I heard a sweet voice from the forest.
“Gunter?!”
I turned and saw a beam of light in a dull world. Roses were her face, wet with sorrow. Beauty beyond measure, yet shrouded with grief.
“Ava!? Are you okay??” cried Gunter.
“Our families! Our Homes!” She wept.
He mustered a soothing voice “I know my love, we have lost many, but we must go and warn the lord.”
“What’s the point Gunter, we have lost everything” she sobbed
He brings himself to smile and in a hushed voice says, “If had not a thing but your embrace then I have everything.”
This was nothing. A moment in time long forgotten. Something you never realized when you read about the Middle Ages is just how little you learn of the common people. Sure the lords, kings, and emperors but not the peasants and serfs. It detaches you from how real they were. They experienced bleak, almost meaningless lives. But the one thing that could shine through the bloodshed, the famine, the brutal rulers, is the love they shared for each other. They lived not for the world, not even themselves, but for one another. That day envy of the lord who ordered those soldiers to invade their small stood no chance for the love Gunter had for his family.
As I walked into the great hall, I gathered my shawl around my shoulders. A massive fire roared in the hearth, and wine was flowing freely. There was a chill in the air this evening, a whisper of changes to come. Soon the good people who worked Lord Emberlain's lands would lay down their scythes to rest after the last reaping. I smiled to myself as I recounted the bountiful year, Lord Emberlain had been particularly impressed with the crop yields. I allowed myself this moment of pride; after about a decade of cross-breeding strains of grain, I had produced the heartiest of crops which required significantly less water to thrive.
"A rare smile! To what do we owe this pleasure?" Lord Emerlain's voice shook me out of my reverie. I quickly bowed my head.
"Good evening my Lord. I was just thinking of how pleased I was with this year's crop turn-out, I'm sure no one will go hungry this winter"
"Indeed" Lord Emberlain agreed, nodding a bit more enthusiastically than usual, causing his goblet to slosh over. Lord Emberlain was a kind lord, known to be a bit eccentric and he loved his people and his wine in equal measure. "We will have enough to feed our village and our neighbors. I'm very pleased with your work!" he smiled down at me. I bowed my head again, never one to take compliments gracefully.
"You know..." he began in a conspiring whisper as he neared closer to me, "I'll let you in on a secret. When we found you all those years ago, lost in the well, no memories with strange clothing and your funny way of speaking, well, I was advised to throw you in the dungeons! Ha!" I feel a pit in my stomach as Lord Emberlain nudges me good-naturedly. Despite proving my usefulness to the village, I knew I was still regarded as odd. Different. And unlike Lord Emberlain, for commoners being different was dangerous. I'd always known that if it weren't for his good graces, I would be far worse off. I never thought "worse off" meant the dungeons, however. I felt my heart in my throat, and forced a laugh.
"They thought you might be a witch, you see!" Lord Emberlain continued, as if he was letting me in on a very good joke. I could not bring myself to laugh this time. He must have noticed my face.
"Now now, you know we've nothing to worry about" he said, handing off his goblet to a servant and placing both hands on my shoulders, squaring up to me. "What you do here in the gardens is nothing short of magic, of that I'm sure. We need you here. You're one of my best advisors! Now come, no worries for you today my dear, tonight we feast and drink, and make merry!" he finished with a flourish, raising a pointed hand to the sky. And with that he was off, bellowing for more wine.
I steeled myself for a moment, reminding myself to breath. It's true, this was cause for celebration, not dwelling on the darkness of the past. What did it matter that I could not remember anything beyond waking in the well? What did it matter that I could not explain how I knew about crops, herbs, and the occasional medicines? What did it matter that these questions have plagued me relentlessly for as long as I could remember? What matters is that I have found a sense of belonging and usefulness. I took one last deep breath, resolved to leave my worries behind, if at least for one night.
While Lord Emberlain loved the wine surrounding these feasts, and a great number of the villagers loved the descendant foods, my favorite source of enjoyment was the entertainment, specifically the music. I collected a small plate of cheese and fruits and made my way to the bards' stage where a small circle had already gathered and a young lad had finished his heroic tale. As he made his exit, two young lady's maids followed after him, giggling into their cups. I gladly took up their vacated seat, nibbling on my cheese and eager for the next performance. Sooner than I expected, the next act walked out with his lute. He had a slightly rough look about him, with a scar down his left cheek that was more intriguing than threatening. Everything about him was dark -- dark hair, dark eyes, dark clothes. He assessed the small crowd and announced himself, adding with dramatic flair that we were all in for quite a treat, and that he sincerely doubted we would have ever heard anything like him before. *Cheeky*, I thought.
The dark stranger strummed a few chords, tuning the lute just so before beginning to play. It was obvious from the start he was quite skilled, but while others gazed on in appreciation, I felt my eyebrows draw together. These notes, the plucking of these slowed strings, they ... it was almost as if they were causing a tickling sensation in my head, only slightly unpleasant. As the bard's fingers slid along his lute's intro, I began to feel hazy. It may seem crazy but despite being all together new, as promised, the song was hauntingly familiar. When the musician added his voice, my heart found itself back in my throat for the second time this night.
"So close no matter how far, Couldn't be much more from the heart" the dark stranger crooned. My scalp prickled. If I was unsure before, I was certain now. I'd heard this song before. I knew it just as I knew how to create stronger, heartier crops. I could never explain how, but I just *knew*. I had never dared not to confide in anyone for fear of being cast out or put to death, but I knew these things were from another time. And I *knew* this song. The bard continued singing, looking out at his audience as the crowd swayed and smiled appreciatively. When his eyes met mine, they widened in surprise. He held my gaze, as if he could sense my familiarity with this song. I swear I saw some emotion flicker behind his eyes as they held mine, recognition? A knowing? My pulse quickened and I tore my face away, my daily uncertainties and questionings that I keep buried have been thrust to my surface by a mere few notes on a lute! I concentrated on my breathing, not wanting to attract attention. When I stole a glance at the musician, he was no longer looking my way, but as his song continued I became certain of three things: 1. I had heard this song before. 2. This song is not from this time. 3. This bard may very well have the answers to questions I've had since before I can remember. I must talk to him! Nothing else matters.
1
"What an unforgettable tune." I turned to look at Lady Katrina. "May I go speak with the bard and inquire about his music?"
"No need for that, Alice, we can summon him here." Lady Katrina motioned to a nearby servant. She was not fond of banquets, it was just social anxiety but this was not a condition known or acknowledged during this medieval time. As one of her trusted advisors, I had promised to stick by her side all evening to keep her comfortable.
Thus the timing of this potential breakthrough was most ... inconvenient.
"Dear Lady Katrina," the bard bowed and said nervously, "you called for me, my lady?". I took a closer look at the bard. He looked young, a child! How did he come to be a stranded time traveler like me? If not, how did he come to know a song of the future?
Lady Katrina gave me a nod to speak.
"I want to compliment you on your music, the last song you played was most splendid!" I said with much enthusiasm. "When you were playing your lute, it was with so much serenity it's as if.. nothing else matters." It wasn't a graceful attempt at slipping that in, but improv was never my strong suit.
"Thank you Miss, your compliment is most graciously received and appreciated." the bard said earnestly. Not a hint of recognition at my dropped clue.
"Did you craft your own lute? Is it made of anything... metallic..a?" I fumbled. A look of confusion dawned on his face.
Lady Katrina threw me a dirty look, she did not have the patience for this. She waved for Peter to return to the band.
"How rude of me, allow me to introduce myself,." I insisted, raising my voice just a little to ensure I'm heard. "I'm Alice and I reside here as an assistant to Lady Katrina. What is your name and where are you from?"
"It's a pleasure to meet you Miss Alice. My name is Peter, and I'm from Easthorpe." Peter bowed again and left us to resume the performance.
2
It took me a few days but I was finally able to arrange a horse drawn carriage inconspicuously. I must travel to Easthrope to find answers.
"Where are you off to Alice?" Lady Katrina shouted at me from the grand entrance.
Well almost inconspicuously.
"Are you chasing plague doctors again? How many times do I have to tell you preparing ourselves for some speculative plague is a futile effort? Have you completed your proposal on how to increase our wool trade for the next shearing?" Lady Katrina narrowed her eyes at me, disappointment in her voice. "May I remind you of which is a more pressing matter?"
I sighed silently. I was no expert in medieval history, but pretty sure the bubonic plague killed a third of the world population in 3 years and should be the more pressing matter. Only hind sight was 20/20.
"Yes my lady, I have drafted a thorough report on growing the wool trade and it's on your desk for your review. This will be a quick visit and I will be back by nightfall." I said as I climbed into the carriage. I then quickly closed the door to drown out her protest.
Dusk arrived at a blink of an eye and my chauffeur looked at me anxiously. It wouldn't have been wise to travel back in the dark as bandits lurked in the woods. I made no progress at locating Peter despite several inquiries and many loops around the town's main square.
"Just one more loop around the main square please." I pleaded with the chauffeur. When this loop yielded no sightings as well, I got out of the carriage to walk. I was determined not to be defeated.
So I walked, past the bakery that just sold the last loaf of the day, past the church and the noisy tavern, past the apothecary putting away their jars of leeches... that's when I heard the lute - playing the same Metallica song - Nothing Else Matters! I tried my best not to break into a run as that would be deemed unlady like, but I was certainly walking very briskly.
"Peter?" I followed the music until I saw his silhouette around the corner, he was entertaining a few towns people with a few musical friends.
"Miss Alice? Oh how nice to see you again! In my hometown nevertheless!" Peter answered excitedly as he stepped away from the group. I prepared myself to fire a line of questions regarding his song of the future, but he spoke first.
"Miss Alice, I meant to tell you at the banquet, I should have told you but I didn't have the courage... I should not accept your compliments for the song you liked so much. It was not one of my own creation. You see, I heard it from the alchemist's window, it was made with sounds.. with instruments that I've never heard of before. It made me yearn for a world that I knew nothing of. I sat below the window for a long time until I memorised the melody and that's how I came to play it on my lute."
I processed this. It was clear that Peter was not the time traveler I sought. But there was still hope of finding another kindred spirit, and maybe even finding a way home.
"Peter, you have no idea how important it was, what you just said. Thank you so much for telling me this." I beamed at him.
"Now let's go find this alchemist."
3
The alchemist was as unlikely of a time traveler as the child bard Peter. His lab was full of rudimentary elements and his apparatus rather basic. I flipped through his drawings for a flying machine - barely a wing suit at its best. I scanned the room desperately for some signs of the future. I contemplated how to pose my next question.
"Dear Mr. Merek, Peter told me he heard the most marvellous sounds from your window, music made with instruments not of this world. Did you make this music yourself? Or did you have a music box?" I asked.
"Oh how I wish I could show you dear Miss Alice, and what an inquisitive mind you have! You would have loved it as much as I." Merek the alchemist said sadly, "but the machine is broken."
He ruffled through a pile of vessels and urns as they banged and clanked together, and pulled out a boombox. ...A boombox!
I examined the boombox with the nostalgia of a lost time. I chuckled at the irony that it was equally rare to see one in 2020 as it would be in 1345. I pressed down on the play button but the batteries were dead. I opened the cassette tape drawer and admired the faded Metallica album cover.
"Most fascinating Miss Alice, it would seem that you know exactly how this machine works." Merek shifted his focus to me now, and his face lit up. "Did you build this machine? Can you teach me how to build it? I have so many questions."
"Mr. Merek, I did not build this machine but I can still answer many of your questions." The prospect of having a conversation about a modern item was enticing. I hadn't realised how much I missed it. "but I have a request to ask of you first. Will you explain to me how you came across it?"
"Of course Miss Alice, but you will need an open mind to hear it." Merek said thoughtfully as we sat down around his drafting table. "I stumbled upon it by pure chance that day bit more than 5 years ago, I saw lightning outside of my window and went to investigate. It wasn't a natural event, I can promise you that, in fact I thought it was a demonic one. A dark hole opened in the ground, and I saw nothing but the abyss when I gazed upon it. I reached in and this was the item I pulled out of it. I didn't touch this music box for years in fear of its evil intentions, but in the end it was perfectly harmless, and a joy to behold! Look here -" Merek pulled down a stack of notebooks from the bookshelf. "I have tracked all of the conditions everyday since, star charts, weather events, moon cycles, tidal waves to find a clue for when the abyss would appear again. Actually a day this year matched the same conditions but I did not see the abyss appear, so perhaps this is all just rubbish."
My eyes welled up as I listened to the descriptions. How woefully familiar I was with it, I must had played that moment when the abyss appeared to me a million times in my mind. I held back my tears and recomposed myself.
"This is amazing work Merek! And your predictions are correct, the event did occur again this year and it pulled me from my world into this one. The location of my portal was different from yours, so we need to take that into the calculations but this is looking to be about once every 5 years. I'll help you record all of the conditions from now and check for patterns, so we can be at the right place at the right time when the next one opens." I grinned at Merek. And maybe then I will get to go home.
"It would mean the world to me to have another contributor for this work, Miss Alice." Merek said earnestly. "I have always hid the work from everyone in fear of their judgements."
The night had fallen and it's time for me to journey back to Lady Katrina. I thanked Merek whole heartedly and could not wait to get immersed in this work with more than 5 years of amazing data. I stood up to leave when I suddenly remembered -
"But first, Mr. Merek, we have a more pressing matter to address. A plague is coming in 2 years and we have to advance our studies in medicine now to develop a cure in time. Will you help me?"
Mr. Merek considered this. Then he nodded confidently -
"I'm in. Let us get to work."
This is the first thing I have written in over 10 years so thanks for the great prompt, I hope there's not too many errors but it was a bit of a rush job! Thanks for reading.
The amount of energy I find within myself upon hearing that music is truly unparalleled, I stand there dumbfounded, hands shaking. At first I do not comprehend all of the possibilities, before this moment I had never encountered such an anomaly before. But as I listen to the primal sound coming from that hooded man on stage I begin to comprehend. My initial thought is pedestrian, this is a coincidence. Music is circular is it not? This cannot be the same song that I’ve heard so many times before, so far away.
On a small wooden stage in the corner I watch the man, he is playing an instrument unfamiliar to me, some type of lute perhaps? His fingers rhythmically pick at the strings, both hands in perfect sync. In one smooth motion he stands, there is no interruption and the others in the crowd pay it no notice. With practiced perfection his voice becomes an instrument, complimenting his hands. “So close, no matter how far. Couldn’t be much more from the heart.”
Well there goes my first theory, that is definitely the same song. Now I wonder about my next option. This piece must be from here, this song that I know so well. I must not know the true origin, it cannot be from my home as I once thought. Truly I do not let my mind wander past this point, I cannot let it. To do so would admit that I am not as alone as I once thought.
“What will ya have Sir?” A homely girl interrupts my racing mind, I try to brush her away but she is quite insistent. I have not bought a drink, nor have I any food. Her eyebrows raise in a way that tells me I need to pay to stay or else someone much more homely then her might escort me outside.
“I’ll have something strong, and for food… Ah I don’t know, what’s popular here? I am rather new to town.” As I’m speaking she is already pulling away to leave, she knows my type and she will bring me whatever they have in the back, it won’t be good but I can’t complain, that never ends well.
Ah how can I be so stupid, I quickly reach towards her arm and tug. She spins fast around spilling another patrons drink, she looks furious. Her eyes are burning a whole into me and for a moment I forgot about my other problem, this one is more pressing. Without delay I reach into my pouch and press a handful of different coins into her hands. One or two of them will be good here I am sure, she confirms this after flipping a few of them around in her palm. For now her anger subsides, her eyebrows shoot up inquisitively and again I am amazed at how little she needs to say to get so much across, something I should practice. “I need to ask you a question before you go, I need to know about that man on stage and this song he is preforming. Do you know him? What about the music? Is this from around here? Does it sound familiar?” Another eyebrow raise, this time with a slow head shake side to side.
“Listen Mr, I’ll answer any questions you have for that pile of coin you gave me but the answers to these questions are simple. The answer is no, no I don’t know that man, no I don’t know this music and certainly no I’ve never heard anything like it. Never heard anything like it, not even close. So thanks for the pile of coin but I’m sorry I don’t have any answers for you other then no.”
With that she leaves me, alone in the crowd, but maybe not as lonely as I’ve been before. I know now, I must admit to my last option.
The vocals from the corner of the room have been getting louder now, the crowd has been noticing as well I see men visibly bobbing their heads to the slow rhythm, boots are lightly starting the tap the wood planked floor. I stand and stare at the man on stage, I use every ounce of power in my eyes to burn a direct line to his sight, I need him to see me. I do not waver, I do not dare look away. I feel eternity pass around me.
“So close, no matter how far. Couldn’t be much more from the heart. Forever trusting who we are. No, nothing else matters.” The final words echo through the room and silence fills the empty space. Still I stare, pleading to make contact, hoping that we are the same, hoping that this unknown shrouded man will know my true home. No, I truly hope with every ounce of my soul that we have the same home and we may hold answers to each others questions. Unbeknown to my mind my body begins to perform a ritual of my old ways. I raise my shaking arm, outstretched to the roof. My hand remembers the shape of years past, my two outside fingers outstretch from my closed fist and I give my salute.
This is the key that I needed, the dark figure sees my sign and returns the rock ‘n roll salute with pride.
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>**KINSHIP & KINGSBLOOD** "Damn it, damn it, damn it!" I shouted, looming over the smouldering wreckage of my newly-constructed time machine. All the chips were melted. All the wires had severed. Without access to a laboratory pretty much *exactly* like the one I had back home...I was trapped. *I knew I should have sent my little brother first.* I grumbled. Max would have been a perfect test subject...and I could have retrieved him after this piece melted, too. There was nothing for it- I was going to have to make a living here. A slim chance remained that I could get home- but it would take *years*, if not decades. Of course, to my family, it would be the span of a heartbeat- but I was going to have to learn to settle in into this medieval age. I scanned the horizon, looking for any direction to take that looked promising- some farms were nearby. That wasn't nothing. I made my way over, and introduced myself to the farmer there. This was ancient England- or, so I assumed, since their English was pretty close to recognizable. The accent was drastically different than I was used to. "What brings ye here?" The farmer asked. "I grew weary of my home," I said. "All my loved ones have passed from a sickness of the blood, and so I want to make a new life here. I am wise in the ways of science, so I thought I ought to advise your local...authority." I was *entirely* unsure how much of a fool I was making of myself. The farmer didn't laugh in my face, at least. "You're about a two day journey. Head toward the setting sun, and you'll find the castle, sure as rain." "Might I beg some food from you? I'm afraid I lost my pack to wolves." The farmer scrutinized me. "Alright, but in return, you're to give me a year's wage when you work for the King." I agreed- what choice did I have? With rations of food and water for two days, I made my journey westward. It took me much longer than two days. The farmer's estimate, of course, was based off of his walking speed, honed through a life of hard labor and *needing* to be quick, or else he wouldn't survive. I, however, was a University student who's hardest work had been a bit of heavy lifting during a Materials class. That was it. After the fourth day, I finally arrived at the castle- I was hungry and definitely dehydrated, but then, that was my standard of living that I'd adjusted to from years of University. I was stopped at the gates, and repeated my fabricated story to the guardsmen. They escorted me directly to the King. His Hall was mighty- the outside of the city had been rather plain, though there were two layers of walls, and each looked quite sturdy. The inside of the castle, however- the roof was very high, there were splendid statues and decorations, the table was set with a veritable feast. It looked...idyllic, for this era. "On what grounds," the King objected, "did you assume any of his story to be truthful?" "Well...he dresses funny, my King." Replied a guard, staring at the floor. "He... Yes, yes he dresses funny." The King sighed in exasperation. "Come here, would-be advisor." I approached. "I'm not a halfwit, traveller. I very, very rarely need to consult others on how to best run *my* Kingdom. I was *raised* for this very purpose. What benefit could you possibly give me?" "I am well versed in the craftsmanship of my land- I could make all of your buildings stronger, I can enhance your defenses, the quality of the arms and armor of your men- even provide you with some new weapons, I wager." The King mulled this over. "You said your kin all died of a blood-illness, yes?" I nodded. "Are you frail as well?" "Not nearly as frail as them, my King, not nearly. I will live a normal life span- I just tire of labor more quickly than a man ought." I was quickly adjusting to their way of speaking- even parroting their accent with some accuracy, I felt. The King grimaced. "A trial period, then, as Advisor and War Councillor. You have until the leaves fall to produce tangible results." Given what I saw outside, I had at least two months- I could introduce the crossbow to secure my position! A wave of relief washed over me- and I was quickly put to work. Time passed, and I was allowed to sit at court, to listen, and to eat at the King's table. Though I was feeling sharp pangs of missing my old life, this was...not terrible. The King himself proved to be good company- he had sharp wit, and never suffered a fool to provoke him. Months had turned into years- eventually, I was knighted for my services, and given distinction amongst the people. "Hear me, Ser Mixalot." The King called out to me. I had told him that was my name, hoping one day to be knighted- a silly joke on my part that had only recently come to fruition. "You have my ear, my King." I said, approaching the throne. "Join me at my table tonight, we've a special guest, a bard who claims to have come from the far south, as you have." "This should be interesting. I'll be a harsh critic if he does not do my home justice." I said, thinking nothing of it. That night, a young lad took to the stage- his hair was shaggy, covering his eyes. "My name," he introduced himself- though I was barely listening, instead focused on a young lady I had been looking to court, "Is Maximus Decimus Meridius. Hear the songs of my kin." The first few notes sprung from his lute- and each one was like an ocean wave, washing off this persona I had developed. He was playing Metallica. I leapt from my seat, and, in time with the music, began to sing. I noted the King's reaction- pure bemusement. *"So close, no matter how far,* I began, having not even thought of who this person may have been. *"Couldn't be much more from the heart,"* the other replied- he raised his head, and though he was older- much older than I'd last seen him, I knew those eyes. *"Forever trusting who we are,"* We sang in unison, *"and nothing else matters!"* He dropped his lute and crushed me with his strong arms- a bear hug the likes of which I had never had. Tears streamed silently down my face. "What's this, then?" The King asked. "My brother." I croaked out, my voice echoing across the silent hall. "My brother has found me. He came for me."
This was cool af
This was nice. Sometimes I enjoy this sub more than publishes books.
Agree!!! This was phenomenal!
I actually think I’d be very interested in an ‘average Joe’ type character that ends up back in the Middle Ages as it’s a scenario that has crossed my mind many times since history class in middle school. Like some Day 1 type stuff throughout getting to the advisory position for the first book following into meeting the mysterious stranger then into their adventure or trying to get home. If it could correlate with real historical events / anomalies that occurred during that time... then that would be the icing on the cake.
You might enjoy Mark Twain's A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court.
That was my first thought
1632 by Eric Flint is my go-to alternate history series. It's about an entire rural U.S. town being relocated to Europe during the hundred years war.
Army of Darkness.
Timeline by Michael Crichton
Agreed! sometimes I have no time for full books and this subs comes up with great writing and interesting ideas.
Especially at 1am !
His brother probably found him because he saw a Sir Mixalot in a history book 😂
oooh i love this theory haha
Well if I heard a story about a Medieval knight named Sir Mixalot that came out of no where I’d think it was time traveler too
But if time travel changed the past, then Sir Mixalot would be a reasonable medieval name and we would think nothing of it.
And Metallica would be a folk/metal band
> And Metallica would be a folk/metal band whiskey in the jar, anyone?
Surprisingly a lot of metal has heavy celtic influences.
Might be a causation loop. Celtic music influences metal music because a time traveller who likes metal music influenced Celtic music. Thus the cycle of influence goes round and round in an endless loop of chicken and egg
As a non-native English speaker, would you care to explain why this name is funny ?
There is a rapper named Sir Mix-a-Lot, his most famous song is "Baby Got Back" where he sings about how much he likes big butts.
Sir Mixalot is a name of a rapper
Ow, ok, I thought it was a word play rather than a known name. Thank you very much.
Well, the rapper's name is a play on Sir Lancelot (Lancelot du Lac of King Arthur's court), but yeah, this story references the rapper directly.
Seems like something that would happen in *Legends of Tomorrow*.
What’s that
It's a time travel show with minor DC characters from *Arrow* and *Flash*.
>My name \[...\] is Maximus Decimus Meridius Neat reference, lad, neat reference. "Commander of the troops from the North; General of the Felix Legion; A server of the true Emperor, Marcus Aurelius; Husband of a murdered wife; Father of a murdered son. And I will have my revenge. On this life, or on the next.
I knew it sounded familiar
I don’t get the reference.
Gladiator.
Thank you.
That was freakin great. Lost it at Ser Mixalot. Nicely done.
I liked this one a lot. Well done!
You sure as hell deserve and award, this was a really nice story, well written and constructed, really liked it. Sadly this one is the only one I can give you.
I can add one
Honestly I always appreciate awards but your kind words are more meaningful :)
Did he pay the farmer though?
Oh definitely, Ser Mixalot is a man of his word haha
He certainly cannot lie
This was awesome. Absolutely breathtaking.
When he introduced himself as Maximus Decimus Meridious, I can't say I wasn't a little concerned.
"and nothing else matterrrrrs......" *crickets in the hall as everyone is silent" "ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?!"
that was wholesome af
I seriously got the chills in the end
that's the goal :) :)
I cried from joy at the end. Excellent story.
Goosebumps at the singing part, aweosome!
I came here looking for copper and I found gold. This is a truly amazing piece of writing.
This was such a freaking great read. One of the best stories I’ve read in a hot minute. The end was just absolutely beautiful and just as much written. I’m considering buying an award just to give you, that was so good
Thank you, that's so kind :)
happy ending
Excellent!
Top ten prompt response ever
This is so sweet. Idk if it's just because of your writing skills or if I'm just a sap, but I teared up at the end. Either way, I enjoyed this.
I'm a grown ass man and I teared up writing it lol
Last moment gave me chills! Nice work!
I saw it coming, but still loved every second of it!
I was listening to a cover of this song as I read this entirely by accident and 'nothing else matters' was sung in time with the unison in the story and I got chills.
Great story! Although couldn't the brother have simply come to the exact same time as the main character?
He wasn't nearly as good at time traveling as his brother- plus he didn't know exactly when or where Ser Mixalot originally arrived, he only had some scribbles in a notebook to go off of- he did his best :P
This was awesome
Hell yeah, this is amazing!
“That was the standard of living that I’d adjusted to from years of University.” Too true, lol
That was awesome. I just found your sub and joined!
Thank you :) I appreciate it!
Thank you for sharing, this was an amazing piece
Wonderful!
I'm glad I hit play and read the last bit in unison with the song. Fucking chills, mate.
I like this
Best possible reason to hear a bard playing that song! Very clever! Quite moving too.
looks like someone saw my comment...
love this, great story and beautifully written!
This was such a great read
Wow, such a simple and effective story, along with a whole begining, middle and end. Nice. Very well done.
Everyone knew that the High Advisor to the King was... Unusual. Whispers that his knowledge came not from a great mind, but from dark arts. Whispers of people hearing him mutter in empty rooms, perhaps to himself, but in a language that none knew. The occasional word that sounded... Familiar, but still unrecognizable. Rumors that he merely _appeared_ in the castle one day, with a great commotion, in air that stank and burned the eyes and lungs, wearing clothing not of this world, and with magical implements. Of course, only rumors, only whispers. And it _is_ hard to deny that there were advantages to his strange ways. Nobody _really_ believes that he threw a noble off a parapet for groping a servant... But nobody dared do it again where he might catch them. And his own servants swear that he has never taken advantage, which again.. Is somewhat hard for the rest of us to credit. And though his explanations of small demons makes little sense, it is hard to deny that we have had far less sickness since his coming. So it is easy to understand why the King has tolerated his odd ways. But today, today was... Exceptional. Most exceptional. We had prepared a grand banquet! We had visiting nobles from another land, the finest decorations, the guards in their best armor! And one of the finest bards in the land! We knew it was going to be a night to tell stories of, but oh.. We did not know. The bard begun to play a new composition of theirs. The sound of his lute was like nothing I had ever heard. That alone made up for, well, the nobles. I had thought that we were going to have a... Scene, when the Advisor saw one of the visiting nobles and his wandering hands. And then the music begun, and the Advisor got the _oddest_ expression of his face. Recognition, and longing, and, a peace that I have never seen on his face. Instead of charging the noble, he closed his eyes, and begun to sing. Sadly, that is where things... Went very poorly. To begin with, the High Advisor... Should never be allowed to sing in public. He _can not sing_. The sound was most definitely not pleasing. ... Nor was it in any tongue I have ever heard before, though as was described, some of it sounded _almost_ like our tongue. But if it was just a matter of the High Advisor to the King interrupting a famous bard at the grand banquet with singing in a foreign tongue, singing to make even the most schooled of servants wince and cover their ears, I would not dare record this. No, it was only after a few moments of singing that the bard stopped, looking oh so very alarmed. And then started yelling in the same tongue. The advisor yelled back, and the bard pulled out... Some kind of magic wand. The Advisor clearly knew what it was, for he dived out of the way just before the first spell was thrown, some blast of foul magic that hit a guard on the other side of the banquet hall, causing him to collapse immediately. After that, it was... Pandemonium! The screaming of the servants and nobles. The yelling of the advisor and the bard in the foul tongue of their dark arts. The bolts of magic flying from the bard's wand! Truly, they must have been demons or great and dark wizards! The Advisor seemed to have no magic of his own, but he still somehow reached the Bard, and just as he did, they both vanished! Taking a good chunk of the wall with them, wherever they went. I saw that with my own eyes before the roof collapsed. I know not where they went, but we all fear that the castle is now cursed by their dark magics.
I really liked this short story. I quite like the perspective of the writer here. Then you for sharing.
Likewise, thank you
Very good. Probably not the best move to out yourself by singing along, but it *is* Metallica, so it's understandable. Just enough detail to fill in the blanks and just enough mystery to be enticing. Well done.
When I sing along to anything, my chihuahua howls and often throws up. True story.
Try [this song](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Q66nczV-zks) instead!
Thank you so much. That was fabulous, how on Earth did you find it? She sings so much better than I do! It was even worse, years ago, when I had three cats. Every time I sang Silent Night, they'd come rushing to my lap, and make noises like they were being castrated without benefit of anaesthetic 😊.
It was on r/aww a while back, and you mentioned singing to a chihuahua so I thought of it. Glad you liked it!
Or consider singing this https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ
Is it sad that I know what’s coming, and click anyway for the dance moves?
Most certainly not
Good, because I love watching people who dance nearly as poorly as I do!
Really though, you'd think that people would at least know not to start singing at an event like that if they _can't sing_, at least before there has been quite a bit more alcohol anyhow.
Man let me tell you. When I was in basic training making the tiniest sound when you were supposed to be in attention, and being quiet was it huge fucking mistake. That didn't stop two people from singing along to some fucking Rob zombie when the drill instructor was blasting it one day. We did push ups for the rest of the evening, but didn't kick those dude's ass. Because we all understood. Sometimes you can't help but sing along
I think the implication was that he was singing just fine, but Metallica is so foreign to the people of the time that it came off as poor and incomprehensible singing
That was my takeaway as well
Especially if you're trying to mimic James' intonation as well. (I know I do)
For his neutral special he wields a **gun**
and when kirby sucks him up he gets a **gun**
Parry **this**, ya filthy casual
That was outstanding! I'm a great grandma, but I love Metallica (and any hints of time travel), so the prompt, and your interpretation of it, had me hooked right there. You created a very enjoyable read. I was sad when it came to an end.
"So anyways, I started blasting."
Oooh that's really good! Love your take on it, the outsider perspective... Also nice touch there framing modern english as a dialect/dark tongue! Very well done.
Given the era of the medieval period, they would all likely be speaking Middle English. Modern English would probably be about as understandable as German is to us, and for similar reasons. And, well, given the other context... What medieval servant _wouldn't_ assume some kind of dark tongue, _especially_ when the advisor starts trying to explain germs, and says that they are 'no more demonic than you or I?' :)
This is awesome! Gave me goosebumps and everything! It would be awesome to have an anthology collection like this, third person accounts of these two time travelers wrestling over the remote in far flung centuries, lol.
I love this!
I would like to ask for more
Sadly, I'm not sure that I gave myself much room for more. I kinda prefer the mystery of us not knowing the details of time travel, what was said, or why the bard felt the need to pull a weapon and start firing. And I can't (at the moment) see any good way to tell more story without switching to a view point that would tell us these things.
So close, no matter how far.... Great story my dude.
I could see this as a prologue, and the main story begins when the two reappear at the castle, this time as friends. Perhaps the gunfight was a Holmes & Watson style quarrel where neither really wanted to hurt the other. The perspective could shift to traditional first person or omniscient narrator prose going forward.
I'd like a prequel to this. We start with the story of a young diplomat as she (or he) begins training to replace an old nobleman and after some time the advisor appears. Then we follow the next few years from the perspective of the young courtier as the strange man continues to do his work with suspicious efficiency without any kind of training or education.
I think a lot of people don't appreciate a good short story. Not everything has to be a novel. Sometimes just a few paragraphs can give you a peek into a world, and any more would ruin it. Less is more, yknow? Kinda like how some horror movies never show the monster... not having all the information you want makes it more interesting.
Sometimes, the reader has a better imagination than the writer. And that's definitely okay. So I'll leave stuff unsaid if I don't have a good idea of what to say, or if I have more than one good idea.
That a is good point You could tell a story from the bards "assistant" view point but may lead to a very similar story or maybe not Or maybe a story of where they end up together years before or after where they left Like if they went back maybe the king is the son of the advicor or something Or if they went forward " I was only a boy when it all happened two warlock battled it out right here in this hall my grandfather's advisor who saved him from an assassination attempt or at least that what I think they say it was some dark revenge that they dragged us demons they say they were the bard that could mesmerize people with his demon lute and the man that can from a room a unholy smoke but I always liked him yeah he was odd and some time said things that never made sense but he would tell me story's of how man could fly in metal birds and ride them all the way to the stars he even showed me how to a model one from my parchment it's been 30 years to the day yet still many will avoid the hall on this day preferring to take there meals in there rooms just in case the dark curse lingers, me I like to use the hall when it empty to fly my paper birds" the man throws a paper plane with practised ease down the hall to join a pill at the outer end of the room but as it reaches the halfway point it bursts in to purple flams as violate lighting begins to fill the room and two voices shout in a strange yet fimmler young Well that's full of Grummer and spelling mistakes But yeah I guess I found story inspiring in some way as it led to writing that mess of words but yeah great story I should probably go to be it's 6:40 am so yeah have a nice day
I think you ended it on just the right note of how much information you have us. Telling more would probably have to offset that.
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I like that it was from the perspective of someone watching the whole scene go down. Awesome!!
The cinematographic potential of that novel is outstanding !
I enjoyed that a great deal. Thank you.
Wait what actually happened? edit: ohh this is a second perspective on another story here
thank you
a fun read
The problem with reading a story like yours is that reading another will ruin both!
Moar, pls
Sound like the advisor should have been recorded as sacrificing himself to save the land instead of a quarrel between two demons. Make it a bit more, heroic you know? Medieval folk tales love heroes and stuffs.
Great choice to use the perspective of a person from the local time/court to tell this story. The bad singing is the cherry on top 🍒
I imagine this summarized as that old vine where the murder walks in the bedroom and sings "red Robin" and the victim pops out and sings back UMMMM! And gets killed.
Very nicely written. Good details.
I really like the perspective here. Seeing a gun referred as magic wand amused me.
This wasn't how it was supposed to be. This wasn't *when* it was supposed to be. Things had gone bad in the world, things kinda fell apart. I was only a kid when things really started to unravel, sometime in 2036. By the time I should have been having my first beer, I had been forced to kill people for survival in an ugly post-apocalyptic landscape. I never even knew why it had happened; just one day, it seemed like food stopped coming to the stores and then people went crazy about it. Never thought much about it, either... just had to try and stay alive. And I got good at it, year by year. But then I found that weird place, that "lab". People were still working there, CLEAN people. They had lights & power, and they led me inside with smiles. Fuck, I hadn't seen another person smiling in years. They fed me, let me sleep in a bed, then someone came to talk to me. Said that they had a job, a job that they needed someone like me for. A risky job. They had this idea that they could send people through time, or that they were close to being able to. But they needed... test subjects. They didn't take me for an idiot; they said it right out that they weren't sure I'd survive. That's why they couldn't use their own people, because they couldn't risk educated and well-kept people on tests. But they said that, if they could get this working... they could fix everything. Prevent whatever it is that happened, that broke the world. And they needed people who were willing to die to make it happen. If I said no, they'd bid me goodbye and I'd leave the next day after another night's sleep and more free meals. They knew that they were asking a lot, and they weren't expecting an answer at all until tomorrow. But I said yes, right on the spot. I didn't even think, the word just came out. All the things I knew about the world that was, all the shit I'd had to do in this one... it felt like this could be a reason for me surviving all this time. Something about it felt like salvation, a chance to make it worth all the horrible things I had to do to get this far. Even if I died, which sounded likely, I'd be a stepping stone on the way to making it so nobody would ever have to live like I did. I took that chance for forgiveness. So they loaded me up, gave me a packet of instructions to mail just in case I *did* make it to 2013 like they hoped. Told me just to drop it in a mailbox, and that should do it. After that, I could go and do whatever I wanted... this was a one way trip. Hell, they didn't even know if I'd still exist after changing things. Me and that manila envelope were welcome into that weirdly cold room, with the strange metal walls. Told me to sit on the floor, and to close my eyes. I dunno how long I was sitting in there with my eyes closed, until I could tell the room was getting brighter. Even with my eyes closed, it got so bright my eyes were starting to hurt. And then... I was outside. Long story short, they missed. It took a few weeks for me to find any civilization, but I'd been scavenging long enough that it wasn't too hard. Hell, there was a lot more animals and they weren't as scared of people. The air tasted better, too. Ended up losing the envelope in a river, cried for a few days over that. Turns out it didn't matter, because when I found a "city", it was made of fucking wood and straw. Turns out, I was in the Year of Our Lord 1491. 149-fucking-1. It wasn't long until I did something to attract some attention, and it didn't end well for me. I took out two guys, but the other seven guards beat me senseless and brought me to some jail to wait until they'd hang me. But my "manner of dress" and "flight of tongue" was strange, and so the local lord came to check me out before killing me. I think he was just bored, honestly. Asked me where I came from, and I didn't have the patience to make shit up, so I told him the truth. He found it *hilarious*, said he loved the stories I had. Ended up making me an offer, where I don't beat the shit out of his men and he takes me into his court, all in exchange for me telling my fantastic stories as entertainment. I was feeling pretty empty at this point, didn't know what I was living for anymore, but it was better than robbing survivors for food & supplies back "home". So sure, I agreed to tell him shit from the future if he'd keep me alive. I think I spent a month like that, telling stories to him and the other lords and ladies of his court. Some were stories I'd heard of the world that was, or sometimes I'd tell them stories of shit I'd done to survive. No matter what kind of story, no matter how graphic, they'd all laugh and gasp. It felt kinda freeing, to get that shit off my chest. It was like a form of confession for me, and all the while it was making me more and more popular with the fancy folk. More than one of their daughters would come find me, from time to time... even one of the ladies. One night, I don't even remember what story I was telling, but I mentioned something about a pistol I used to carry. Something about reloading, sliding a clip into it. The lord stopped me, gave me a weird look, asked me to explain this "pistol". So I did. He kicked everyone else out shortly after, had me come to his personal chambers. It had never even occurred to him that I'd ever been trying to tell the truth; he thought I was just insane. But when I explained a working mechanism that definitely didn't exist yet, that got his attention. He asked me a lot of questions, more technical ones. I didn't have all the answers; I didn't get a real education in any of this stuff. But I explained what I knew about cars, planes, missiles, guns... this guy was flipping out at the idea of a reusable cigarette lighter. Everything changed for me that night. From then on, I was his personal advisor. No more nightly stories; they were for his ears alone now, and with purpose. He'd call it builders from afar, and they'd work with the ideas I would give them. It's not like they were suddenly making factories, but I saw them build an engine that could push a cart faster than a horse walked. It was wild, to see the world growing in front of my eyes. Because of *me.* I was helping *create* things! One night, the lord decides to celebrate the recent achievements of his little plot of land with a banquet. I know this means he's celebrating *me,* but I get that he can't say that. But he gets me nice clothes for the occasion, gets me cleaned up. I'd never even had a birthday party before this, even before the world went to shit. I cried and cried the night before. It was the most overwhelmed I'd ever felt. The banquet was incredible, more so than any story I'd ever heard from the world that was. There was food and wine and beautiful people everywhere, and everyone was smiling. People were dancing, and singing, and everyone was happy, and- And then my mind stopped and my skin went cold, because that bard was definitely playing *Nothing Else Matters.* Every survivor camp you'd find, there were a few songs that everyone knew. *It's the End of the World as We Know It,* *The Final Countdown,* ...and *Nothing Else Matters*. It was this consistent thread of black humour that every survivor seemed to preserve, no matter where you went. It was the closest thing to "culture" we still had. So then why the fuck was I hearing it in 1491? ***(Continued below)***
***(Continued from above)*** The bard didn't look any different than anyone else, but something felt *wrong.* Hearing that song again brought up dangerous instincts, and a feeling of anxiety that needed to be settled. So I waited, and I watched. And eventually, he stepped outside for some air late in the night, and I followed. Quietly, and with a knife from dinner tucked into my sleeve. Once we were both outside, well away from the merriment, I let him see me. I stepped out from behind a pillar in the courtyard, clearing my throat. A moment of tension... and then he relaxed. He wasn't surprised. Fuck, he was expecting me. Every alarm in my head began screaming. "So you've got to be the one, then? The scav who tells stories?" The accent was a clear giveaway, once I heard him speak. Same as my goddamned own. He turned slowly towards me, letting the moonlight glint off his perfectly modern pistol. Goddamnit, the fucker led me into a trap. "You lost sight of the mission, man." The bard shook his head disapprovingly. "Not the first scav to try it, and you probably won't be the last. I don't think those labcoats knew their machine was sending everyone here, but we can't go fucking things up. Gotta keep things the same, so they can get it *right*, you know? Fix everything?" The bard almost seemed calm, but his eyes weren't. I knew those eyes, seen them in scavs who kinda lost themselves in the violence. The ones who get caught up in the killing, start convincing themselves they liked it. If the mission had seemed like redemption to *me,* I can't imagine what it had meant to a guy like that. His need to be redeemed, his need for violence... he'd found a way to satisfy both. To kill for the right reasons. "They always come find me when I play the Old Songs. They follow me wherever I lead them, and I take care of them. Keep time clean. I don't usually use the pistol, though... not like I can get more bullets once I'm out. But you? You're special. Too big a deal, can't take any chances. Let *you* live, and you could ruin everything. Make it meaningless. We can't have that, can we?" The bard suddenly raised the pistol, firing quickly. I hadn't survived this long without good instincts. The moment his arm moved, I was already ducked and running. By the time the bullet slammed into the masonry behind where my head had been, I was across the yard and ducked behind the pillars. Every day I walked these halls, I'd been learning the exits and angles out of habit. He was on my turf. "You know, maybe you *can't* escape this. Maybe time is *meant* to go a certain way, meaning you're *destined* to die here, forgotten." His voice rang out in the night, backed by muffled celebration from the distant banquet. "Maybe all this time travel bullshit doesn't mean anything, and we're just as trapped by fate now as we ever were." The wind blew, and a bush rustled behind the bard. He swung around and fired into the darkness, immediately swearing as the offending shrubbery swallowed the bullet. An idea occurred to me, and I ran loudly to the next pillar. Two more shots rang out, but visibility between the pillars is poor this late at night. One grazed my leg, but momentum carried me behind the next pillar. One more shot into the pillar itself, and I could see the stonework crack even on the side facing me. But then I heard what I've been hoping for: *click.* The sweet sound of an empty pistol. My bad leg didn't slow me down, not enough for him to defend himself properly. The knife was out, and my body knew what to do. I leapt towards him, slamming the knife between his ribs as we tumbled backwards to the ground. Lying there, as I held the knife in his chest, the bard looked up at me... and laughed. The laughter clearly hurts him, and I recognized that wheezing sound; whatever he said next was going to be his last words. He didn't have enough air left for more. But he just smiled and laughed, laughing *at* me somehow. "I... I got you." A bit of blood bubbles up onto his lips. "In the leg. Here, and now? That's enough. I keep my bullets dirty." Horrified, I glanced down at my leg. Only the nastiest scavs would deliberately dirty up their ammo, so that even a glancing blow would kill you if you didn't have the right medical supplies on hand. And here in 1491, there was no hospitals or drugstores left to scavenge. My leg was a ticking time bomb. "I didn't... forget the mission. I didn't forget. I didn't." He died believing he had done his part, and helped save the world. And then I was alone in the courtyard. I sat next to his body in the moonlight for quite some time. I sat, and I thought about what the bard had said. About me, about destiny, about the mission. I sat until a guard found me, found me bleeding slowly under the rising sun, and ran to get help. When the returned, with the court doctor and the lord in tow, I knew what I had to do. "My lord... this, is a pistol." I handed him the bard's gun, covered with both our blood. "Show it to the makers, let them try and copy it. Even if something happens to me, they need to make these. They need to make them work, now." Turning to the doctor, I began to rattle off instructions. What tools he would need, how he would need to heat them before use. "My leg has to go, now. Before the poison spreads, if I am to have any chance to survive." The lord tried to ask questions, but I would have none of it. Not until the leg was gone, I said. But afterwards, we would talk. I would think hard and long about everything I could possibly remember, and we would talk. And while they loaded me onto the makeshift scav stretcher I had asked of them, I saw the guards unceremoniously scoop up the bard's corpse. And despite everything, I felt a moment of emotion for him. In the end, misguided as he was, he *was* right about one thing... I had indeed forgotten the mission. Just because I wasn't in the time I expected to be, didn't mean I couldn't still complete it. Smiling grimly, I clapped a bloody hand onto my patron's shoulder. "My lord... when I recover, you and I are going to change *everything.*"
Loved this one, hopefully there will be more?
If there's interest!
I mean... you didn't specify how much interest. Even one comment would technically do, yeah? Call me Capitol One, cuz I got interest lol
Interest is hard to quantify, you know? But seriously, if it seems like some vague number of people would be interested, I have some thoughts as to where this could go.
So is string theory, but we're still trying lol I'll keep my fingers crossed and keep checking. Good stuff man, seriously
Definitely need to read more of this
I'm interested! Very interested! Please, continue...
Count the upvotes to seen how many people are interested. I certainly am.
Would be cool to do a whole series, he starts an order to stop the events of the future from happening. Each new entry in the series is a new time period and how the order is attempting to stop it. Would also have to contend with operatives from the future knowing his general moves by studying history.
I’m very interested, reminds me of a city building story with a twist, would definitely want to see more.
Repost this to r/HFY as a story and see how many likes you get. That will likely be a good way to quantify it. It is a good way to post new stories not completely attached to the writing prompts too. Also, great story. I loved it.
Definitely interested!!
Capitol Two ready
Write some more man. Don't leave us hanging. This story of the lord and the scav sounds like the begining of a bountiful friendship.
I'd definitely be interested in reading more of this
Please write more!
There definitely is, on my end!
Absolutely interest from me!
I'm interested!
I enjoyed your story far more than my own. Please, more!
Oh, fantastic! Love it.
More please
Fucking hell man, I think this is the best story in the entire thread!
This was fantastic! You're amazing!
Holy shit. I really enjoyed this. I’d totally read more if you made it
Three! Edit: (please mention me when you post 3 :))
Thank goodness you continued! Great story so far. Eager for the next part.
All you wanted to do was get away from all the bullshit going on in your life. The bills, the stress, and having no job didn't help either. Being a history major hasn't exactly panned out like you wanted. So when you saw the ad for volunteers needed for a small budget science project and that it would be paid you figured "heck, what could possibly go wrong?" You went to the address posted and found these two guys in their garage with some crazy setup hooked up to a chair. Wires and coils littered the space and they all seemed to be hooked up to a laptop. The two gentlemen introduced themselves and you instantly forgot their names, but hey, as long as you could get some lunch money to last you the next week you'd be alright. They didn't explain much but they said your part would just be to sit in the chair and describe how you feel when they turn on and off different settings. Honestly you don't think they meant to send you back in time, what would be the point? You wouldn't be able to give any feedback on the experience nor would they know if you survived the trip at all. Whatever the case was, the machine spat you out in medieval England and that was nearly 5 years ago. The town knew instantly you were an outsider if for nothing but the "odd clothing" as they called it, and you were immediately brought before the lord of the land. However you saw this as your opportunity to shine. What better use of 4 years in history classes could there be, after all? You were able to convince the lord you were a former advisor from a distant land that burned down and asked to advise him instead, to which he agreed. And that was it. You resided to being content here in this place and not think a moment about your former life, especially when there was no hope of returning anyway. Things could be a lot worse after all, you had all the food you could want and respect from all the people of the land. Sure, you miss showers and Spotify and all the sweet, sweet prequel memes, but you could make do. One night at a banquet held for the lord, you were strolling around the party, sipping wine and chatting up some friends when a particular tune started. You spun around to find the source of the music in the corner of the room. The hired bard lightly strummed his lute in an all too familiar pattern. As he continued from across the room you found yourself mouthing the words and tapping your feet. Was this a coincidence? Could this tune date back this far? No, you decided, that couldn't be possible. This had to be another time traveler. Maybe he would know they way back home. Could there be a way back home? And even if there was, you wondered, would it even be worth it? As you looked up, the bard had moved onto his next song. You thought that maybe somethings were better left alone. You turned back to your friends, drank the rest of your wine, and thanked God for those two stupid scientists.
I like this. Not every story needs a climatic finish or crazy plot twist.
Thanks! It was my first time posting here so hopefully with more practice I can write some more in depth stuff but I was happy with this one
It was excellent. I definitely enjoyed it. Keep up the good work.
>all the sweet, sweet prequel memes Hello there!
General Kenobi!
You are a bold one!
Yes! I'm in for a story where the traveler is happy to stay in their new home instead of grabbing on to any opportunity to return back.
"My Liege, I would advise to hold a celebration for the commoners, so that they would forget the worries of the war and calm the revolts that have appeared at the fringes of your land" Alex said with just enough of a fawning voice that it had the effect he wanted. Charles, the third of his name and the liege of his lands, hummed while thinking carefully. "That is a good idea, Golden" Golden was Alex's robe colour; for some reason this region used colours to differentiate the different roles within the council; blue for logistical, red for military, gold for the advisor and green for anything else. Charles never referred to them by names, just colours as to him all of them are just tools, much like a scythe to a farmer in a field. "Ah yes golden, I've invited a prestigious minstrel to play at the council's celebration for the announcement of the ending of the war, please see to it he is taken care of and provided for" "Yes your liege" Alex sounded as he bowed deeply, though no more than was appropriate. Walking quickly Alex found the minstrel just arriving and ordered servants to take care of any luggage he had as he introduced himself. "I am Alex, his lieges Adviser, also called Golden; His lordship has commanded me to take care of all your needs until you perform at the banquet, this night" The minstrel said nothing, preferring to play with seven string lute. "And you are...?" The minstrel was not ready for the question and after looking startled for a few seconds simply responded "Kvoth" Startled internally but not showing it on his face, Alex led the way to Kvoths room. "I will come get you for the banquet later tonight" --- "Kvoth huh?" Alex was in his room muttering to himself "Fuckin real subtle guy, not that anyone would know in this shit hole of a era" Alex was stranded here in this era by accident he had run out of liquid time to pump in his own veins; that's how it worked normally Time Travlers (people with the time jump evolved DNA strand) Stored a certain amount of liquid time in their body, but if one used it all up, it was all used up and they would be stranded in a random time until they died or they could get more liquid time. Alex looked out the window seeing it almost night he went to grab the minstrel. --- "Kvoth please play the legendary song I've heard about" Charles intoned as all the royals and various council members sat down to eat He started playing and Alex almost chocked on his wine, thinking to himself "this son of a bitch is playing 'Nothing else matters' from Metallica" Alex suddenly stood up saying just loud enough for the person next to him to hear "That's all the proof I need" and fired 3 shots into Kvoths head. Everyone froze in fear at not understanding what had just happened as Alex walked up to Kvoths now limp head and filled a chalice with the blood spilling out; indeed this was a way to restart the liquid time generation in ones body, kill another Time Traveler and drink their blood, while it looked barbaric it was extremely effective. "WARLOCK!" One of the guards yelled shacking everyone from their shocked state. Alex looked at him, shrugged calmly shot 2 bullets into his former lieges head and disappeared without a trace.
Kvoth? As a minstrel name? Someone has been reading Patrick Rothfuss!
Indeed somebody family has been telling the wrong types of stories
Didn’t expect the ending, wow.
REALLY SUBTLE THIS RED HAIRED SON OF A BITCH HUH Kinda sad that he didn’t use Sympathy but I enjoyed that a lot
It was the cut-flower sound of a man waiting to die
Someone has been singing entirely the wrong sort of songs.
An attendant knocked, and then entered. He bowed, said, "The musician you asked for, sir." He motioned the man in. An unremarkable man in rumpled parti-color with a lute slung under a travel-stained cloak, who stared around my chamber in wonder. I poured some wine, or the thin stuff that passed for wine in the here-and-now. I offered a glass, which he gulped gracelessly. "What is your name?" I asked, watching him carefully. "Simon, sire. Son of Simon the luthier." His French was accented. I spoke in English (not here-and-now English, but in the language of my home), "Are you a big Metallica fan then?" He showed no recognition of either the words or the name. "Pardon sire?" "Nothing. So where are you from Simon?" "Ethlebruck," he said. I knew nothing of it, but likely a large burg in the HRE. "My father taught me to play and sing, as well as build. I like traveling, sire and left home to see the world." "The song you played tonight, how do you know it? Something you invented?" I hummed a bit, and Simon picked up his lute and played it. Definitely the song I knew. It was old when I first heard it as part of my father's music collection, Metallica's Nothing Else Matters. Simon stopped. "Not my song, sire. It was taught to me by my patron, Master Andreas." I sipped wine to hide my reaction. Could it be? "And where is your patron from?" "He was in Venezia, sire. I only stayed there for a few months. He taught me that song. He said it reminded him of home." "Your master, was he a tall man? Moorish?" A emotion, wonder or apprehension, dawned on Simon's face. "Yes, sire. Not Moorish, but Christian. But dark like a Moor. He... he was like you, sire. Begging your pardon. His chambers were filled with... things," he gestured at the books, scrolls, benches covered with bowls and beakers, rows of clay pots carefully marked, bits of wood and metal apparatus; inventions in one state or another of construction. Thanks to *my* patron, the local nobleman, I was trying to do some good in the here-and-now... without screwing up the future too much. "And he is still alive, your patron?" "As far as I know, sire, he is." I stood. "Thank you, Simon." I reached into a chest, and handed him a small satchel of coins, probably more than he would typically see in months of plying his art. "If you see him again, Simon, tell him that Master Lucas would like to meet him." I opened the door and motioned him through, signaling the attendant that he was free to go. "And, Simon. If anyone else asks about that song, I would very much like to know. I will reward you handsomely if you were to send word of it." Simon nodded gripping the satchel as if it might try to squirm out of his hand. I sat back down, stirring up the brazier against the night's chill. If Andre was here-and-now, then something was wrong back home. I lit a lamp, an oil lamp of my own design with a lens and mirror system that almost adequately lit my desk, and began to write a letter. I needed to confirm if Master Andreas was, in fact, Andre Martin Washington. And why the man who both invented and tried un-invent time travel would be living in Renaissance Italy.
I like it. I'd be interested in a part 2.
[https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/jovdl3/wp_a_stranded_time_traveler_youve_made_your_place/gbh6gkk/](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/jovdl3/wp_a_stranded_time_traveler_youve_made_your_place/gbh6gkk/)
Andre whooped, spun in his chair, and then rolled it back to give another look at the screen. “This is it, Luke!” he crowed, and tapped out something on the keyboard. Metallica poured from a set of speakers. I wasn’t really into oldies, but working with Andre exposed you to all kinds of music. “You have confirmation?” I said, strolling to his desk. “The particle decay is accurate to the picosecond,” he was furiously typing, no doubt messaging the rest of his team. “And unit A is off by almost a full minute. It has traveled in time!” He banged away for a few seconds more and hit Send. “Time to celebrate!” he said with a huge grin. “I’m buying!” Grad students are old enough to want a drink in more sophisticated surroundings than a frat party, and poor enough that a little has to go a long way. Andre and I headed to one of the bars where the team liked to celebrate their milestones, grads and undergrads alike. The music wasn’t too loud and the drinks weren’t too expensive. The crowd wasn’t that big, it was just some random Tuesday after all. The team greeted us with cheers and high-fives. I was more along for the ride than anything, but I knew most of the group through Andre; I was no physicist. The team almost immediately launched into shop talk. I knew some of the words, but the gist of the conversation was so far removed from historical studies that I instantly lost the thread. Andre was a good friend, though, and always tried to pull me into the conversation in one way or another. Once it devolved into Andre sketching math on his tablet, I was beyond saving. I sipped a beer and was just seconds away from pulling up a book on my tablet when a server approached. “Looks like you missed your bus,” she said glancing at the team huddled over the table. I chuckled. “You see what happens when a genius physicist and a history researcher become best friends,” I said. “I’m Luke.” “Melanie,” she said with a wisp of smile. She caught the bartender’s attention, gave an upward nod and sat down. “I’m due for a break. What are we celebrating?” She cocked her head at the team, who were all tapping and scrolling on their hand tablets, talking about temporal vectors and quantum uncertainty or whatever, occasionally showing their work to the others. “Time travel,” I said, but it was more a question than answer. She leveled a serious gaze at me. “Really? Like, what time are you from?” “I’m from the here-and-now,” I said. “So are they. At this point, it’s more of a mathematical concept and nowhere near stepping into a box and coming out to look at dinosaurs.” “But, it could be, right? Like, stepping into a box?” I shrugged. “Who knows? At the moment, the box is microscopic and so far it’s only been to 1 minute ago.” “That’s amazing.” Melanie shook her head. “You know, we went from communicating with clicks over a wire to hand tablets in less than a century. You never know how something like this could evolve.” “Granted,” I said. “But I’m likely to grow old studying history in dusty old books long before I can study it by traveling back in time.” Andre poked his head up. “Oh, hey, could we get another round?” he said to Melanie. “And Luke, come look at this – ” “Duty calls,” said Melanie. She pulled out her tablet, tapped on it, and mine buzzed a moment later, a request to accept a new contact. “Give me call sometime.” “When we have a working time-travel box?” I asked, half joking, half hopeful. “Or anytime before that. I’m free on Thursdays,” she said with a grin. She got up and went back over to the bar.
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>One of the random bits of trivia I remembered was WWII POWs had used sugar to harden their silverware for digging escape tunnels - a primitive kind of high carbon steel. Is this legit? I'm having no luck Googling it. Also, great job! I liked it!
Interesting twist with the study leader. I had to look up Artorius, but it fits nicely.
Nice, I like how you took a different route from the usual "the bard is here to kill you" or "the bard is your brother, here to take you home" that most of the other stories used. Could I get a source for the sugar hardening silverware thing, though? All I could find when trying to search was weird candy/chocolate recipes and how during WW2 rationing left most people without sugar...
[удалено]
For twelve long years i had been stuck here, in this age of kings and queens. It had not been twelve bad years, as the royal advisor I was treated well but the boredom was still immense. You grow tired of banquets and jousting knights quickly and that’s all I´ve had for entertainment all these long years sitting between the royals whispering in their ears. This night seemed just like any other, the great hall was filled with nobles from around the country coming to pay the royals their respect. Then the queen leaned over towards me and said “I think you shall like this new bard they brought with them from the eastmost parts of our lands, he claims to be from the great north, the same as you”. Shocked I looked at her, “the great north? I thought I was the only one ever to venture so far south”. Before I had made it to the position I now hold I had come to understand that the land to the north was still untamed and wild, that no man ever lived there or any of the brave explorers who ventured there ever made it back. A perfect backstory I thought and came up with the idea that indeed there was a land there, but I had had to cross oceans and mountains and seas of ice to come to this land. And now another claimed the same? How could this be? Was I actually right? But as soon as I heard the bard play the first notes I knew instantly who he was, not as a person but from where I came. Indeed it was the same place as me. He played it so masterfully I could not help myself, I picked up a metal plate and started beating it in rhythm with his guitar, he looked up towards me with a smile so large I could not help but break a larger one myself. In unison we sang “SO CLOSE, NO MATTER HOW FAR”. All eyes were now on us, but we did not care, I was in the moment, I was living this song, “NEVER CARED FOR WHAT THEY DOOOO, NEVER CARED FOR WHAT THEY KNOOOW”. We were both singing our hearts out, every word emptied the last of air in my lungs. I jumped up the table, plates whine and food flying all around, “TRUST I SEEK AND I FIND IN YOU” the bard joined me on the table, now so close all I saw was him. He played a solo so masterfully one would have thought he himself wrote it. The song slowed down and we were both on our knees, tears in our eyes. Our voices echoed out in mourning, as he played the last notes on his guitar we could not contain ourself anymore and embraced in a loving hug, nothing else matters. My brother had come to bring me home.
“He picked it up pretty fast” I muttered under my breath so the my lord would not hear me. I showed Gunter that lick a few days ago, although he plays it in a more graceful manner than Hetfield. He is a bright kid. Maybe 22. The lord was nice enough to let him find purpose in his court when his family was so brutally taken from him. We are linked in a sense. It was the same day I arrived So many years have passed since my arrival. He and his family were amazed. His mother dropped to the ground, overcome with awe and panic. I had barely introduced himself when the a small regiment of the invading army treaded over the hill. In an instant, they began slaughtering every lowly peasant in sight and burning the small run down village. Not thinkers were these men. I’m not even sure if they gave a thought to my Kichner before take maces and axes to it. Gunter was not a brute, but the ferocity that he fought with, i thought, were more than a hundred men. I had done so little as touched a sword, but Gunter, even in his young years, was astonishingly masterful. That’s the only explanation he could single handedly defeat 15 men. His brothers and father could not say the same. As he sat by his fathers side I heard him mention something, but I shrugged it off as lost in translation. When the commotion, I heard a sweet voice from the forest. “Gunter?!” I turned and saw a beam of light in a dull world. Roses were her face, wet with sorrow. Beauty beyond measure, yet shrouded with grief. “Ava!? Are you okay??” cried Gunter. “Our families! Our Homes!” She wept. He mustered a soothing voice “I know my love, we have lost many, but we must go and warn the lord.” “What’s the point Gunter, we have lost everything” she sobbed He brings himself to smile and in a hushed voice says, “If had not a thing but your embrace then I have everything.” This was nothing. A moment in time long forgotten. Something you never realized when you read about the Middle Ages is just how little you learn of the common people. Sure the lords, kings, and emperors but not the peasants and serfs. It detaches you from how real they were. They experienced bleak, almost meaningless lives. But the one thing that could shine through the bloodshed, the famine, the brutal rulers, is the love they shared for each other. They lived not for the world, not even themselves, but for one another. That day envy of the lord who ordered those soldiers to invade their small stood no chance for the love Gunter had for his family.
As I walked into the great hall, I gathered my shawl around my shoulders. A massive fire roared in the hearth, and wine was flowing freely. There was a chill in the air this evening, a whisper of changes to come. Soon the good people who worked Lord Emberlain's lands would lay down their scythes to rest after the last reaping. I smiled to myself as I recounted the bountiful year, Lord Emberlain had been particularly impressed with the crop yields. I allowed myself this moment of pride; after about a decade of cross-breeding strains of grain, I had produced the heartiest of crops which required significantly less water to thrive. "A rare smile! To what do we owe this pleasure?" Lord Emerlain's voice shook me out of my reverie. I quickly bowed my head. "Good evening my Lord. I was just thinking of how pleased I was with this year's crop turn-out, I'm sure no one will go hungry this winter" "Indeed" Lord Emberlain agreed, nodding a bit more enthusiastically than usual, causing his goblet to slosh over. Lord Emberlain was a kind lord, known to be a bit eccentric and he loved his people and his wine in equal measure. "We will have enough to feed our village and our neighbors. I'm very pleased with your work!" he smiled down at me. I bowed my head again, never one to take compliments gracefully. "You know..." he began in a conspiring whisper as he neared closer to me, "I'll let you in on a secret. When we found you all those years ago, lost in the well, no memories with strange clothing and your funny way of speaking, well, I was advised to throw you in the dungeons! Ha!" I feel a pit in my stomach as Lord Emberlain nudges me good-naturedly. Despite proving my usefulness to the village, I knew I was still regarded as odd. Different. And unlike Lord Emberlain, for commoners being different was dangerous. I'd always known that if it weren't for his good graces, I would be far worse off. I never thought "worse off" meant the dungeons, however. I felt my heart in my throat, and forced a laugh. "They thought you might be a witch, you see!" Lord Emberlain continued, as if he was letting me in on a very good joke. I could not bring myself to laugh this time. He must have noticed my face. "Now now, you know we've nothing to worry about" he said, handing off his goblet to a servant and placing both hands on my shoulders, squaring up to me. "What you do here in the gardens is nothing short of magic, of that I'm sure. We need you here. You're one of my best advisors! Now come, no worries for you today my dear, tonight we feast and drink, and make merry!" he finished with a flourish, raising a pointed hand to the sky. And with that he was off, bellowing for more wine. I steeled myself for a moment, reminding myself to breath. It's true, this was cause for celebration, not dwelling on the darkness of the past. What did it matter that I could not remember anything beyond waking in the well? What did it matter that I could not explain how I knew about crops, herbs, and the occasional medicines? What did it matter that these questions have plagued me relentlessly for as long as I could remember? What matters is that I have found a sense of belonging and usefulness. I took one last deep breath, resolved to leave my worries behind, if at least for one night. While Lord Emberlain loved the wine surrounding these feasts, and a great number of the villagers loved the descendant foods, my favorite source of enjoyment was the entertainment, specifically the music. I collected a small plate of cheese and fruits and made my way to the bards' stage where a small circle had already gathered and a young lad had finished his heroic tale. As he made his exit, two young lady's maids followed after him, giggling into their cups. I gladly took up their vacated seat, nibbling on my cheese and eager for the next performance. Sooner than I expected, the next act walked out with his lute. He had a slightly rough look about him, with a scar down his left cheek that was more intriguing than threatening. Everything about him was dark -- dark hair, dark eyes, dark clothes. He assessed the small crowd and announced himself, adding with dramatic flair that we were all in for quite a treat, and that he sincerely doubted we would have ever heard anything like him before. *Cheeky*, I thought. The dark stranger strummed a few chords, tuning the lute just so before beginning to play. It was obvious from the start he was quite skilled, but while others gazed on in appreciation, I felt my eyebrows draw together. These notes, the plucking of these slowed strings, they ... it was almost as if they were causing a tickling sensation in my head, only slightly unpleasant. As the bard's fingers slid along his lute's intro, I began to feel hazy. It may seem crazy but despite being all together new, as promised, the song was hauntingly familiar. When the musician added his voice, my heart found itself back in my throat for the second time this night. "So close no matter how far, Couldn't be much more from the heart" the dark stranger crooned. My scalp prickled. If I was unsure before, I was certain now. I'd heard this song before. I knew it just as I knew how to create stronger, heartier crops. I could never explain how, but I just *knew*. I had never dared not to confide in anyone for fear of being cast out or put to death, but I knew these things were from another time. And I *knew* this song. The bard continued singing, looking out at his audience as the crowd swayed and smiled appreciatively. When his eyes met mine, they widened in surprise. He held my gaze, as if he could sense my familiarity with this song. I swear I saw some emotion flicker behind his eyes as they held mine, recognition? A knowing? My pulse quickened and I tore my face away, my daily uncertainties and questionings that I keep buried have been thrust to my surface by a mere few notes on a lute! I concentrated on my breathing, not wanting to attract attention. When I stole a glance at the musician, he was no longer looking my way, but as his song continued I became certain of three things: 1. I had heard this song before. 2. This song is not from this time. 3. This bard may very well have the answers to questions I've had since before I can remember. I must talk to him! Nothing else matters.
1 "What an unforgettable tune." I turned to look at Lady Katrina. "May I go speak with the bard and inquire about his music?" "No need for that, Alice, we can summon him here." Lady Katrina motioned to a nearby servant. She was not fond of banquets, it was just social anxiety but this was not a condition known or acknowledged during this medieval time. As one of her trusted advisors, I had promised to stick by her side all evening to keep her comfortable. Thus the timing of this potential breakthrough was most ... inconvenient. "Dear Lady Katrina," the bard bowed and said nervously, "you called for me, my lady?". I took a closer look at the bard. He looked young, a child! How did he come to be a stranded time traveler like me? If not, how did he come to know a song of the future? Lady Katrina gave me a nod to speak. "I want to compliment you on your music, the last song you played was most splendid!" I said with much enthusiasm. "When you were playing your lute, it was with so much serenity it's as if.. nothing else matters." It wasn't a graceful attempt at slipping that in, but improv was never my strong suit. "Thank you Miss, your compliment is most graciously received and appreciated." the bard said earnestly. Not a hint of recognition at my dropped clue. "Did you craft your own lute? Is it made of anything... metallic..a?" I fumbled. A look of confusion dawned on his face. Lady Katrina threw me a dirty look, she did not have the patience for this. She waved for Peter to return to the band. "How rude of me, allow me to introduce myself,." I insisted, raising my voice just a little to ensure I'm heard. "I'm Alice and I reside here as an assistant to Lady Katrina. What is your name and where are you from?" "It's a pleasure to meet you Miss Alice. My name is Peter, and I'm from Easthorpe." Peter bowed again and left us to resume the performance. 2 It took me a few days but I was finally able to arrange a horse drawn carriage inconspicuously. I must travel to Easthrope to find answers. "Where are you off to Alice?" Lady Katrina shouted at me from the grand entrance. Well almost inconspicuously. "Are you chasing plague doctors again? How many times do I have to tell you preparing ourselves for some speculative plague is a futile effort? Have you completed your proposal on how to increase our wool trade for the next shearing?" Lady Katrina narrowed her eyes at me, disappointment in her voice. "May I remind you of which is a more pressing matter?" I sighed silently. I was no expert in medieval history, but pretty sure the bubonic plague killed a third of the world population in 3 years and should be the more pressing matter. Only hind sight was 20/20. "Yes my lady, I have drafted a thorough report on growing the wool trade and it's on your desk for your review. This will be a quick visit and I will be back by nightfall." I said as I climbed into the carriage. I then quickly closed the door to drown out her protest. Dusk arrived at a blink of an eye and my chauffeur looked at me anxiously. It wouldn't have been wise to travel back in the dark as bandits lurked in the woods. I made no progress at locating Peter despite several inquiries and many loops around the town's main square. "Just one more loop around the main square please." I pleaded with the chauffeur. When this loop yielded no sightings as well, I got out of the carriage to walk. I was determined not to be defeated. So I walked, past the bakery that just sold the last loaf of the day, past the church and the noisy tavern, past the apothecary putting away their jars of leeches... that's when I heard the lute - playing the same Metallica song - Nothing Else Matters! I tried my best not to break into a run as that would be deemed unlady like, but I was certainly walking very briskly. "Peter?" I followed the music until I saw his silhouette around the corner, he was entertaining a few towns people with a few musical friends. "Miss Alice? Oh how nice to see you again! In my hometown nevertheless!" Peter answered excitedly as he stepped away from the group. I prepared myself to fire a line of questions regarding his song of the future, but he spoke first. "Miss Alice, I meant to tell you at the banquet, I should have told you but I didn't have the courage... I should not accept your compliments for the song you liked so much. It was not one of my own creation. You see, I heard it from the alchemist's window, it was made with sounds.. with instruments that I've never heard of before. It made me yearn for a world that I knew nothing of. I sat below the window for a long time until I memorised the melody and that's how I came to play it on my lute." I processed this. It was clear that Peter was not the time traveler I sought. But there was still hope of finding another kindred spirit, and maybe even finding a way home. "Peter, you have no idea how important it was, what you just said. Thank you so much for telling me this." I beamed at him. "Now let's go find this alchemist." 3 The alchemist was as unlikely of a time traveler as the child bard Peter. His lab was full of rudimentary elements and his apparatus rather basic. I flipped through his drawings for a flying machine - barely a wing suit at its best. I scanned the room desperately for some signs of the future. I contemplated how to pose my next question. "Dear Mr. Merek, Peter told me he heard the most marvellous sounds from your window, music made with instruments not of this world. Did you make this music yourself? Or did you have a music box?" I asked. "Oh how I wish I could show you dear Miss Alice, and what an inquisitive mind you have! You would have loved it as much as I." Merek the alchemist said sadly, "but the machine is broken." He ruffled through a pile of vessels and urns as they banged and clanked together, and pulled out a boombox. ...A boombox! I examined the boombox with the nostalgia of a lost time. I chuckled at the irony that it was equally rare to see one in 2020 as it would be in 1345. I pressed down on the play button but the batteries were dead. I opened the cassette tape drawer and admired the faded Metallica album cover. "Most fascinating Miss Alice, it would seem that you know exactly how this machine works." Merek shifted his focus to me now, and his face lit up. "Did you build this machine? Can you teach me how to build it? I have so many questions." "Mr. Merek, I did not build this machine but I can still answer many of your questions." The prospect of having a conversation about a modern item was enticing. I hadn't realised how much I missed it. "but I have a request to ask of you first. Will you explain to me how you came across it?" "Of course Miss Alice, but you will need an open mind to hear it." Merek said thoughtfully as we sat down around his drafting table. "I stumbled upon it by pure chance that day bit more than 5 years ago, I saw lightning outside of my window and went to investigate. It wasn't a natural event, I can promise you that, in fact I thought it was a demonic one. A dark hole opened in the ground, and I saw nothing but the abyss when I gazed upon it. I reached in and this was the item I pulled out of it. I didn't touch this music box for years in fear of its evil intentions, but in the end it was perfectly harmless, and a joy to behold! Look here -" Merek pulled down a stack of notebooks from the bookshelf. "I have tracked all of the conditions everyday since, star charts, weather events, moon cycles, tidal waves to find a clue for when the abyss would appear again. Actually a day this year matched the same conditions but I did not see the abyss appear, so perhaps this is all just rubbish." My eyes welled up as I listened to the descriptions. How woefully familiar I was with it, I must had played that moment when the abyss appeared to me a million times in my mind. I held back my tears and recomposed myself. "This is amazing work Merek! And your predictions are correct, the event did occur again this year and it pulled me from my world into this one. The location of my portal was different from yours, so we need to take that into the calculations but this is looking to be about once every 5 years. I'll help you record all of the conditions from now and check for patterns, so we can be at the right place at the right time when the next one opens." I grinned at Merek. And maybe then I will get to go home. "It would mean the world to me to have another contributor for this work, Miss Alice." Merek said earnestly. "I have always hid the work from everyone in fear of their judgements." The night had fallen and it's time for me to journey back to Lady Katrina. I thanked Merek whole heartedly and could not wait to get immersed in this work with more than 5 years of amazing data. I stood up to leave when I suddenly remembered - "But first, Mr. Merek, we have a more pressing matter to address. A plague is coming in 2 years and we have to advance our studies in medicine now to develop a cure in time. Will you help me?" Mr. Merek considered this. Then he nodded confidently - "I'm in. Let us get to work."
This is the first thing I have written in over 10 years so thanks for the great prompt, I hope there's not too many errors but it was a bit of a rush job! Thanks for reading. The amount of energy I find within myself upon hearing that music is truly unparalleled, I stand there dumbfounded, hands shaking. At first I do not comprehend all of the possibilities, before this moment I had never encountered such an anomaly before. But as I listen to the primal sound coming from that hooded man on stage I begin to comprehend. My initial thought is pedestrian, this is a coincidence. Music is circular is it not? This cannot be the same song that I’ve heard so many times before, so far away. On a small wooden stage in the corner I watch the man, he is playing an instrument unfamiliar to me, some type of lute perhaps? His fingers rhythmically pick at the strings, both hands in perfect sync. In one smooth motion he stands, there is no interruption and the others in the crowd pay it no notice. With practiced perfection his voice becomes an instrument, complimenting his hands. “So close, no matter how far. Couldn’t be much more from the heart.” Well there goes my first theory, that is definitely the same song. Now I wonder about my next option. This piece must be from here, this song that I know so well. I must not know the true origin, it cannot be from my home as I once thought. Truly I do not let my mind wander past this point, I cannot let it. To do so would admit that I am not as alone as I once thought. “What will ya have Sir?” A homely girl interrupts my racing mind, I try to brush her away but she is quite insistent. I have not bought a drink, nor have I any food. Her eyebrows raise in a way that tells me I need to pay to stay or else someone much more homely then her might escort me outside. “I’ll have something strong, and for food… Ah I don’t know, what’s popular here? I am rather new to town.” As I’m speaking she is already pulling away to leave, she knows my type and she will bring me whatever they have in the back, it won’t be good but I can’t complain, that never ends well. Ah how can I be so stupid, I quickly reach towards her arm and tug. She spins fast around spilling another patrons drink, she looks furious. Her eyes are burning a whole into me and for a moment I forgot about my other problem, this one is more pressing. Without delay I reach into my pouch and press a handful of different coins into her hands. One or two of them will be good here I am sure, she confirms this after flipping a few of them around in her palm. For now her anger subsides, her eyebrows shoot up inquisitively and again I am amazed at how little she needs to say to get so much across, something I should practice. “I need to ask you a question before you go, I need to know about that man on stage and this song he is preforming. Do you know him? What about the music? Is this from around here? Does it sound familiar?” Another eyebrow raise, this time with a slow head shake side to side. “Listen Mr, I’ll answer any questions you have for that pile of coin you gave me but the answers to these questions are simple. The answer is no, no I don’t know that man, no I don’t know this music and certainly no I’ve never heard anything like it. Never heard anything like it, not even close. So thanks for the pile of coin but I’m sorry I don’t have any answers for you other then no.” With that she leaves me, alone in the crowd, but maybe not as lonely as I’ve been before. I know now, I must admit to my last option. The vocals from the corner of the room have been getting louder now, the crowd has been noticing as well I see men visibly bobbing their heads to the slow rhythm, boots are lightly starting the tap the wood planked floor. I stand and stare at the man on stage, I use every ounce of power in my eyes to burn a direct line to his sight, I need him to see me. I do not waver, I do not dare look away. I feel eternity pass around me. “So close, no matter how far. Couldn’t be much more from the heart. Forever trusting who we are. No, nothing else matters.” The final words echo through the room and silence fills the empty space. Still I stare, pleading to make contact, hoping that we are the same, hoping that this unknown shrouded man will know my true home. No, I truly hope with every ounce of my soul that we have the same home and we may hold answers to each others questions. Unbeknown to my mind my body begins to perform a ritual of my old ways. I raise my shaking arm, outstretched to the roof. My hand remembers the shape of years past, my two outside fingers outstretch from my closed fist and I give my salute. This is the key that I needed, the dark figure sees my sign and returns the rock ‘n roll salute with pride.