He kept his pace steady, but stopped and rested after a couple hours. There was a rock by the roadside and he settled himself onto it. The birds were flitting through the trees opposite him, pausing every once in a while on a thin branch. He didn’t know much about birds. These were small, brown, and there seemed to be a lot of them. They would twist their heads and look at him, give a little peep of exclamation, and then flutter away to another branch to look at him from another angle.
He contemplated the strangeness of being in another place that was so different, and so similar to his own world.
He walked on, losing track of the hours, losing track of himself in the forest. When he grew hungry, he asked the forest for food and he would come across a bush full of berries or a clump of large white mushrooms. When he got thirsty and his water container was empty, he asked for water and would walk until a small spring or stream crossed his path. What he couldn’t understand was whether the forest was creating these things for him on request or if they existed already and was just moving them into his path. Or if it was all just a coincidence.
The light was starting to get dimmer, and Daniel wondered if he would have to stop and make camp for another night when he noticed the sharp tang of burning wood in the air. As he continued along the path, it grew stronger, eventually getting to the point where his eyes stung slightly.
Anticipation grew within him as he noticed thick white smoke wafting through the trees up ahead. He must be getting close. Slowing his pace, he continued around a bend in the road, and then he was there.
Before him was a sight that was strange to his eyes-a large dirt mound, as wide as a house and about two stories in height. It was cylindrical but tapered towards the top where an open hole billowed smoke.
Standing near the large structure, leaning on a spade, was a tall, gnarled man who was nearly as knotted and twisted as the trees encircling the clearing. He had thick, corded forearms and large-knuckled hands. His hair was grey and his face was tanned and weathered. He wore a shirt and leggings of coarse green cloth and his shoes were carved out of wood.
Daniel edged nearer, stopping a good few yards off. “Hello,” he said hoarsely.
The old man didn’t turn right away, but when he did, it was only to cast a disinterested eye in his direction.
Daniel cleared his throat. “Are you the wood-burner?”
The other did not respond immediately. “You speak a strange tongue,” the man said after a time.
“I’m not from here.”
The elf’s eyes flicked up and down him. “You are one of the heavy people,” he stated.
Daniel looked down at himself apologetically. He didn’t know how to reply to this.
“Make yourself useful,” the man said abruptly. “Go and close the south flue. Take the pole over there.” He gestured to a small rack of tools set into a tree.
Daniel went over and selected a stick about his height that had a crude bronze hook inserted into one end. Then he walked around the large structure-which was giving off a fair amount of heat-until he found a small metal door sticking out of the baked mud. Inside a vertical stack of logs could be seen burning with a bright yellow glow.
He used the pole to nudge the flue closed. There was a latch that he lifted and let fall with a clack. Then he walked back and replaced the hook on the rack. He returned to stand near the woodburner and joined him in looking at the furnace in what he hoped was companionable silence.
“Kay Marrey sent me here,” Daniel said after a suitable interval. He didn’t get a reply or even as much as a twitch from the man. “He’s one of the Elves in Exile.”
“I know who Marrey is,” the man said slowly, evenly. “Young, excitable. Always running hither and thither.” He made a to-and-fro motion with one of his hands. “Where are you from?”
“I-don’t know what to call it, but it’s another world entirely.
Can you help me get back?”
“In some weeks there is a market where many tradesmen and travelers congregate. No doubt someone will point you the right way. Travel between worlds used to be very common, after all.”
“Is there any way I could find one sooner?”
The tall person shook his head. “It would take you longer to track one down. Best let them come here. Are you fit? Can you lift, chop, carry, climb?”
“I am as you see me,” Daniel responded, holding his arms out slightly. “And I will lift, chop, and carry as much and for as long as I am able. Climb, I’m not so sure, but I’ll give it a go.”
“May be possible to get a second mound up, then, before the trade.” The man straightened to what must have been eight feet in height. “We’ll see. I use what the forest gives me, and it’s given me you, so we’ll put you to work, won’t we?”
3
Freya came out of her sleep slowly, gradually becoming aware that she was slumped forward on a table. She hoisted herself upwards and looked around. She was in her office, sitting at her desk that was littered with page after page of complex numerical equations, all of them in her own handwriting. That was odd; she thought she was . . . somewhere else. It had become so easy for her to throw herself into her work, and she went so deep into it that sometimes she literally forgot where she was.
She sighed. When did she become a mathematician?
A large book lay open in front of her, propped against the windowsill. On the two facing pages were tables of letters and numbers listed in pairs, triplets, and quadruplets-in total about a hundred rows and a dozen columns. It was headed AKV STRINGS-NOMINATIVE.
There was a smaller but much older book also open in front of her that contained very small type. The right-hand page was in Greek and the left-hand page was in English. Her eyes went to the first paragraph and read:
Now, (the) wisdom belonging to afterthought, which is an aeon, thought a thought derived from herself, (from) the thinking of the invisible spirit, and (from) prior acquaintance. She wanted to show forth within herself an image without the spirit’s [will]; and her consort did not consent. And (she wished to do so) without his pondering: for the person of her maleness did not join in the consent; for she had not discovered that being which was in harmony with her . . .
Freya rubbed her eyes and tried to remember what the text was referring to. She had gotten so involved in decoding and recoding all the nominations that she had lost perspective on the context of the words. Or maybe it was best to keep going through the text mechanically and focus on the meaning of the uncoded text.
“How’s it coming?”
Freya jumped. The reverend was standing behind her, looking at her work.
“Oh, Peter-I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you were there.”
He smiled. “Perfectly alright. At least I know I’m not being a nuisance if you forget I’m even here. How is it coming?”
“Fine,” said Freya. “I’ve just finished breaking down and gridding the third chapter. Now I just have to look for patterns-that is the easiest part for me-and then retranslate. I should have the whole book done by the end of the month.”
“Good, good,” the reverend said, smiling. She could never tell how much he took in; he was always so sweet-natured.
“Can I get you anything?” she asked.
“No, no. I was just thinking that I should leave. You carry on.
I’ll see myself out.”
Freya went back to her work. She glanced over the different papers but found it difficult to see where she had left off. Why, exactly, was she doing this?
She looked at the clock. When was he getting back? It was starting to get dark. She knew she shouldn’t worry, but she couldn’t help it.