The Dehydrated Diaries: My Parched Voyages through time

By Freya Abbas

I never thought that the Ancients would bestow such an honour upon me. The time came for me to set out on a quest that would test me both physically and mentally. I was determined to make my idols proud as I set off on the long voyage, feeling like great adventurers such as Marco Polo or Leif Ericson must have felt. I learned things you never could learn within the limits of your own culture. There are some things you simply can not begin to understand without exploring it from a completely new eye. This is an account of my travels, starting from an aboriginal reserve in Ottawa. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Freya Abbas
• Release date: Jan 6, 2017
• ISBN: 9781508049838

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THE DEHYDRATED DIARIES

My Parched Voyages through time

Freya Abbas

¶

PRONOUN

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Copyright © 2017 by Freya Abbas

Interior design by Pronoun

Distribution by Pronoun

ISBN: 9781508049838

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1: Dancing with the Dead

Chapter 2: The Dehydrated Diaries

Chapter 3: These people will be the end of me

Chapter 4: Cultures of the past, unite!

Chapter 5: Clio is a muse too

Chapter 6: A man with a sword need never lack the means of life or death

Chapter 7: The Land of the Lotus Flower and Other Adventures

Chapter 8: All Aboard the Vinland, so that we can go to Vinland

Chapter 9: Your roads and your days have just begun

CHAPTER 1: DANCING WITH THE DEAD

~

Sunday, 26th October, 2014

Odawa (Ottawa), Kanata (Canada)

‘TWAS A FEW DAYS before all Hallows’ eve. All over the world, cultures would be celebrating and honouring their dead. The Satanists and devil worshippers would be carrying out their special black mass. The neo-pagan Celtics would be observing the fire ceremony called Samhain. In Mexico, people would be remembering the lives of their ancestors during dia de los muertos (day of the dead).

But alas, nothing special was going on in the city of Odawa, capital of Kanata. In a few nights, children in grotesque and horrifying costumes would be prowling the sidewalks from house to house and asking for free diabetes-causing pills in wrappers. For now though, most were asleep in their homes after a long day of costume shopping.

I was home alone in the dreary colonial city. I had been resting upon my couch, drinking melted chocolate with added chilli peppers in the indigenous Mexican way.

My parents wouldn’t be back anytime soon. They were away on one of their numerous business trips. This time, they had gone all the way to India to excavate at Mohenjodaro, the famous ruins of an ancient city dating back to the Indus valley civilization. My father was a historian and my mother was an archaeologist. Their careers required them to make many trips like that one which is why I was often home alone.

A few months ago, they had gone to Turkey to study Çatal Höyük, a neolithic age town. Another time they had gone to Iraq to help out in the shipping of ancient Mesopotamian artifacts to a museum here in Odawa, which is known by most people as ‘Ottawa’.

They were very happy about their careers and I was happy about it too, for it meant I could collect souvenirs that my parents brought back from all over the world.

I wanted to follow in my parents’ footsteps and have a career relating to ancient history too. The idea of immersing myself in the study of artifacts, events, and people from centuries past appealed to me. I would get paid to do what I usually do everyday for fun, surround myself in a room full of my parents’ textbooks and a small laptop computer for looking things up on the internet. As a historian, I would rarely leave my house unless if it were for the occasional visit to the museum for the purpose of swooning over Greco-Roman statues, which I do almost every weekend anyway. My source of income would be writing books and giving lectures.

Such a career path would be made easier for me because of my magic power.

That’s right, I have a magic power. It is one that bends the laws of nature.

I can revive people from the dead.

Before you get all excited about that, let me tell you that it has some serious restrictions. I can only revive people if they have been dead for at least a hundred years, so I can’t bring back anyone who I knew personally. I also can’t bring back any people who’s legacy has survived. This means that no individual mentioned in your history textbook can come back because they were famous people. I can only revive commoners like you and I, people who weren’t ancient rulers, celebrities, revolutionists, etc. I also needed access to an object the person had touched. All this made the power incredibly useless and difficult in most cases.

Suddenly, I heard a knock on the door. Who could that have been? I checked the time. It was 11 o’clock. I remember wondering what anyone would want at that late hour. My parents had warned me never to answer the door when I was home alone, but I got up and glanced through the peep hole to find out who it was anyway.

Outside, I saw a towering, heavily built, broad-chested man. He looked like he was on steroids and was incredibly hairy. You would think he was a giant if you’d ever saw him. He had blond hair that reached a little past his shoulders. This ‘too-long-for-a-man’ hair did not diminish his masculinity in any way. He had an 8-pack, a very impressive abdomen indeed. He was probably strong enough to lift me with one hand. He had a grand, blond beard. The most startling thing of all was that the only body-covering he had was a scant loincloth despite the bone-chilling temperature. His bare chest puffed up proudly.

I was glad I knew this man and that he was my ally, because if he wasn’t he could have killed me with his bare hands quite easily. He was none other than Ragnar Sigurdsson, a professional Viking warrior and marauder. My parents trusted this man and even allowed him to babysit me when I was younger.

I opened the door slowly, still perplexed by his late-night presence.

Despite his intimidating looks, he was quite friendly.

Greetings, Freya, he bowed deeply.

Hello, Ragnar. I really wasn’t expecting you at this hour.

My words came out in an intonation tone like a question. I was expecting for him to explain why he was standing almost naked in my house at 11 o’clock in the night.

I have brought you an ale jar to celebrate this special time of the year, he explained.

Ragnar was one of the men who I had revived from the dead with my magic power. I had been on a trip with my parents a few summers ago in Norway, a country that was proud of its Viking age. We were at the Viking ship museum at Oslo. It was where I had first discovered my powers. My parents had been observing the Gokstad ship, a rather handsome sailing vessel, one of the the best preserved Viking ships of all time. The ship was made with beautiful oak wood and numerous shields adorned either side of the ship. Back in 850 A.D, the ship would have had a crew of 34 including raiders, traders, navigators, etc. I touched the ship, even though we weren’t allowed to, and absent mindedly had said I wish a raider from that crew came back to life. I’ve always wanted to meet a Norse raider.

Suddenly, much to the astonishment of my parents and the distaste of the Norwegian scholars around me, I let out a scream. It felt like a dead person had come back to life and the effort of the involuntary magic had caused me a very painful headache. I stumbled backwards, bumping into some wooden artifacts and angering the Norwegians, who had kindly received us, even more. Hoping to take their eyesight somewhere else for a few seconds, I pointed at the ship and yelled look!! look!!

What happened then was absolutely crazy. It was the first time I saw Ragnar Sigurdson. We all heard him singing an ancient Norse battle song before we saw him. Slowly, he had flickered into place on the deck of the ship as if he were a holographic projection. Ragnar started rowing an oar of the ship as soon as he had appeared. Some people in the museum let out a bit of a scream at the sight too.

Gradually, Ragnar began to become more aware of his surroundings. It occurred to me that I might’ve revived someone who was dead simply by wishing for it and touching an object that he had touched. Ragnar might have been killed by an arrow, shot by someone on a different ship while Ragnar was rowing the Gokstad. He stopped singing, let go of the oar and turned to face the crowd