TIME DANCER II: And The Adventure Of Discovery

By Robert William Hult

After Bing Brown’s mentor dies, Bing realizes he is on his own against powerful and intelligent nemeses—Snitch and Snatch. The Potion of Invincibility still aids the young mage in transforming evil beings, but he finds it doesn’t work on non-evil things, severely limiting its use. Bing and Lila start studying magic in the cantr

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Mulberry Books
• Release date: Dec 20, 2019
• ISBN: 9781951742003

Robert William Hult

Robert William Hult has lived a long life filled with many different kinds of adventures. He has been a scholar, an explorer, a marine animal and bird trainer, an accomplished novelist, a retailer, and a submariner. Many of his exploits are the subjects of his novels. Robert believes not only in faith, but in total preparation, and if not for both, and an intervention here and there, some of his adventures surely would have ended in death. In fact, he has already survived a dozen near death experiences.

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Time Dancer

and the

ADVENTURE OF DISCOVERY

by Robert William Hult

Illustrated by Paul Gruwell

Acknowledgments

As I stated in Time Dancer One , although the characters in these stories are fictitious, the setting, the Met-how Valley, is a real place, known, loved, and visited by hundreds of thousands of people every year. For a hundred years, miners, farmers and foresters have called it, God’s High Country. Translated from the Salish language of the Native Americans who first settled the valley, Met-how means the gathering place or the meeting place , which is appropriate since Bing Brown, the hero of our stories, meets his first mentor, Tammud Tammur, in the Met-how Valley. Here is where the author spent more than half of his adult life, working and playing alongside local people. And although Bing spends a great deal of his time in the Fourth Dimension during his often exotic adventures, he always comes back to the Met-how Valley, the place he calls home, which the author did as well.

As in the first book in this series, I have changed some of the names of locations in the Met-how Valley so that future events do not significantly impact residents, current and future. For a long time, the Met-how Valley has been a mecca for cross-country skiers, mountaineers, hikers, hunters, fishermen, and tourists.

I wish to acknowledge Frances Fay Brewster, a loving, devoted companion for thirty years, who backed-up this work in many different ways. Frances passed in 2009.

I also wish to thank Stephen Frank Hult, a younger brother, who lives with me and has taken on many duties, which has allowed me the free time from some of my responsibilities to continue to work on the Time Dancer series of books.

As I wrote this complex story, I met a couple of wonderful illustrators. The first was Paul Gruwell, an ex-Disney and Hanna Barbera artist, who illustrated the first two black and white illustrations in Time Dancer One as well as those in this book. Before Paul died, he would draw and I would look over his shoulder, asking him to do this or that to a particular drawing.

My second illustrator, Rob Carlos, (Colorsmith.com) and I have worked over a decade together, producing many more illustrations. Rob colorized some of Paul’s work for a later edition of the Time Dancer series. The Time Dancer Trilogy, one of these future projects, will employ Rob’s colorized illustrations.

Robert William Hult

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Chapter One

The Way Station

B

ing Brown was dripping wet once again, clad only in a red bathing suit, and it appeared water might be a reoccurring theme in his life. This time, however, he enjoyed it. He had just waded out of the Chewack River, a meandering tributary of the Met-how River, gently flowing about a kilometer from his house. Another gorgeous, sunny fall day worked its magic on the cottonwood trees and aspen trees, turning their leaves golden.

Though the stream water was cold by autumn standards, salmon were spawning, and Memorial Campground One, where he lay on a white sandy beach, was deserted. In summer, this place would be packed with visitors to the Met-how Valley since another popular campground, Memorial Campground Two, was only a short stone’s throw away across the river.

Bing had been swimming with Chinook salmon of the fall run, which were finishing their spawning in the shallows of the Chewack River. Now, he drank in the sun’s intense rays. They felt so good on his cold body, his mind drifted to think about his last few days in the third and fourth dimensions.

So much had changed so fast. Buying a magic mirror at a yard sale, only a little over a week before, and a nisse-dwarf magician, barreling through the sky on a quest, only a few days ago, had changed his life dramatically, and had given meaning and purpose to it. A boy not yet fifteen, he knew things most grown men would never know, might not even contemplate—creatures like dragons, ghouls and gargoyles; people like shape-shifting evil wizards; an aged, kindly time dancer; and places not even understood—like Atlantis and Camelot in the Fourth Dimension, the spirit worlds of the sixth and seventh, and the eternal Tenth Dimension.

So, too, had Bing’s mode of transportation greatly improved. No longer was he a lonely mountain biker. Now he was a horseman with his own fabulous steed, a stallion who could outrun the fastest school bus, maybe even the fastest race car. No longer would he ever need to worry about getting from place to place in either dimension. Pegasus would always be at the ready. And thanks to his winged companion, landings had become pleasurable rather than awkward and painful.

Bing Brown had matured in other ways as quickly. Once the wildest and sneakiest of kids, he now knew the value of truth. As his mentor, Time Dancer, had said, Truth should be an ally, not a competitor. And Bing’s primary pleasures—his major preoccupations—were changing, also. Playing video games, poker, chess and basketball with his best friend, Jeff, had always been fun, but now he had an exciting job, a strange one for sure, this time dancing, he was still trying to understand. There was really no one except his parents and Princess Lila he could talk to about it. If he mentioned it to Jeff, he might get his buddy into serious trouble because Snitch, Snatch or some other creature known to them might become aware of Jeff and make his life miserable.

As Bing’s mind came back into present focus, he saw two nearly meter-long Chinook salmon slowly swimming together toward him. Both stopped in the shallows near his feet and remained there. As he watched them, he noticed they were barely moving. They remained stationary so long, in fact, he believed they were dying like so many of the others in the area. When he stood up and approached the salmon for a better view, they were lethargic and showed no inclination to move deeper into the stream. He felt sorry for them and thought what he might do to help them. Upstream and down, other salmon had already come ashore or were wedged between rocks in the river, their bodies in various states of decay.

Their last few hours ought to be peaceful, Bing reflected as he watched them. Both had their noses above water; both seemed to be breathing air. An idea came to him. With his hands, Bing hurriedly scooped out about ten gallons of soft sand near the river bank. Water rushed in to fill the void he had created. When he reached down to pick up the nearest big fish, it didn’t flinch at his touch.

Weird. These are wild salmon, aren’t they? Maybe this one just doesn’t have the strength to resist. Or, maybe somehow, he senses I’m trying to help him.

He laid the salmon in his holding area and watched it for a few minutes; it barely moved, barely breathed. He decided to try to help the other salmon as well. Stepping back into the stream, Bing maneuvered the other slippery salmon into his grasp and gently lifted it out of the water and into the pool. He watched both creatures as they lay together, inside flanks touching. The first fish raised his mouth slightly out of the water and said to the boy, Sir, you have done us a great service. Would you mind taking us to the Way Station?

Well now—this shook Bing right to his core since he had lived around salmon all of his life; none had ever talked to him. Non-humans had never talked any form of language to him, not even Pegasus, although he could magically interpret whatever the white-winged stallion uttered. But that was still a far cry from his being able to converse in English.

Angling his mouth toward the surface, the second salmon said, I would request the same, sir. If you do not help us, I fear we will become an easy meal for an eagle or two.

Doubly shaken, Bing thought, Maybe it’s the sun on the water. I’m hallucinating—real fish don’t talk—end of story. A furrow sprang to his brow as he sat slowly down cross-legged, continuing to observe them.

Are you having difficulty breathing? the first salmon asked his companion.

Yes, I am.

Me, too, said the first one. Perhaps, friend, he continued, slightly turning his head to yellow eyeball Bing, you could take us right away. There is not much oxygen in this little pool of yours, and besides that, my skin is drying out.

The one thing Bing did understand was breathing underwater. His experience as a greater amberjack had certainly taught him what it meant for water to be rushing past one’s gills. He decided, As long as they’re talking to me, I may as well talk back to them.

Okay. It’s for sure I can’t just let you die here, Bing said, breaking his silence. You’re right. Pretty soon, some eagle or mink, or weasel, or black bear will come along and gobble you up. You look a lot fresher than the other salmon round here.

I’m afraid we wouldn’t enjoy that much, said the second salmon.

Probably not, Bing replied. Why is it that you two look so pretty? I mean, all the other salmon who die around here are kind of brown, peeling and ugly looking.

Every minute, the area was being littered with more and more salmon corpses. They were the parents of the millions of red rubbery eggs already deposited in reds (salmon nests) everywhere in the shallows of the Chewack River. The scents of dead and dying salmon bodies were already attracting other wild animals.

In the distance downstream, a small black bear emerged from the forest, two bald eagles sat stiffly in the highest branches of a distant pine tree,and a large brown mink slowly swam upstream toward Bing’s position.

We aren’t dying like our schoolmates. A lucky few of us outlive our first mating phase. We’re just tired—very, very tired. It was a long, hard swim to get here. When we’ve rested, we’ll return to the Pacific Ocean if we don’t get eaten first. And if we aren’t then eaten in the sea by a shark, a seal, or a killer whale, or ensnared by a fisherman, we might even make it back here next year to spawn again. Then, we surely will die because none of us ever live beyond two mating seasons.

A short silence prevailed as Bing deliberated.

Would you consider helping us? asked the first salmon. We have nothing to offer you but our thanks.

The valley boy was certainly intrigued. Where is this Way Station place? I’ve never heard of it.

A quarter of a kilometer through the woods behind you, said the second salmon. There’s an old man there who helps distressed animals. The Way Station is a rehabilitation farm. When the animals he helps are recuperated, he returns them to their rightful place in nature.

Bing wasn’t convinced. If there was anything he was an expert at, it was who lived where in the Met-how Valley. He knew every farm; there was no such a place; if there was, he’d have known about it long ago. But the fish seemed so sure, and it was their life on the line.

Well, okay—if it exists, I’ll take you there, but I’ve sure never heard of it, he said. You should know that if you’re wrong, this will be the end for you. I couldn’t get you back here to the river fast enough to do you any good.

We understand, the first salmon replied.

Okay, let’s go and not waste any more time, said Bing. He bent down and placed a slippery salmon under each arm. They weighed about twelve pounds each. I’ll do my best not to drop you like someone used to do to me. He remembered rolling to a stop in weeds and water and shook the thoughts from his mind.

He walked off, reflecting, Man, this is the strangest thing I’ve ever done. He found a forest path. While walking along, he realized that Time Dancer was weighing heavily on his mind. He missed the old wizard; the way he said things; the way he did things; the times they had shared together.

Turning right, a direction given to him by the fish, Bing trod another path, still unsure of finding the Way Station. The location sounded like where the Zutter’s farm should be. The Zutters raised the best Nubian and alpine goats in the Met-how Valley. He grinned, visualizing the time when the Nubians had been playing king-of-the-mountain on a visitor’s sports car. In half an hour, they had severely pitted the hood and shredded the vinyl overlaying the metal top with their sharp cloven hooves.

Bing followed a deer trail that looked to be going in the right direction, happy that he didn’t have to step over logs and brush along the way. The trail was clear enough and well enough marked, in fact, that he had no trouble making double speed. Then he began to run along the path between tall, rough-barked Ponderosa pines. Eventually, the trail broke onto an expansive, grassy field where, in close proximity, he saw a black Morgan horse, a brown cow, a French alpine goat, a Columbian sheep, a mallard duck and a Canada goose.

The valley boy knew more about birds and horses than other kinds of creatures. He was familiar with mallards and the migratory Canada geese, which visited fields around the town of Winthrop, a kilometer or so to the west. He realized then that there was only one of each kind of animal, which made sense if they were sick and were getting well. If that were not true, there would be two Canada geese, since they usually mated for life.

In the distance ahead, Bing saw a rail fence. On the fence was posted a clearly marked rectangular wooden sign, on which were painted bold, red letters, fifteen centimeters high.

Bing stopped and read aloud. WAY STATION. Whoa. What a surprise— How could I be so wrong? Where’s the Zutter’s farm?

When he looked down at his charges, he saw they were both gasping for air. He didn’t bother quizzing them about how they had learned about the place.

A quarter kilometer off in the distance, he saw a white, one-story ramshackle farmhouse with wooden stairs leading to a door.

This sure doesn’t look anything like the Zutter farm.

The road leading to the house wound through a spacious grassy field. He decided on a shortcut. He made his way around a couple of huge gray rocks and ducked under a barbed wire fence, entering what he thought was probably the boundary of the property. He dismissed thoughts he might be trespassing. A short run and he stood within a hundred meters of the farmhouse.

He noticed a long, tall, rectangular metal building painted light blue, the same color as the sky, slightly opposite the house and about twenty meters away. It reminded him that the Zutter farm was different in another respect; their farm had a tall red barn to protect their livestock from inclement weather. He gleefully recalled rolling around in the hay while kissing the Zutter’s oldest daughter, Sarah.

Better go in there and see what we find, Bing said to the gasping fish. I can’t imagine he’d keep salmon in his bathtub, so, if there is something big enough for you guys, maybe a tank, I’ll bet the metal building is where it’ll be.

The salmon seemed to be getting decidedly heavier.

Bing cautiously rounded the building, not knowing what to expect. He hoped someone would be around the property, then he could ask what to do about his companions. He could explain they needed to be somewhere where they could rest and regain their strength. Finding what looked to be the only door on the building, he quickly stepped forward, freeing up two fingers so he could wrap them around the brass knob. The door opened smoothly backward. He peeked inside.

To the rescuer’s delight, the place had skylights. Bright sunshine outside filtered through the top of the building to the inside, radiating everywhere. A long, dark green marble counter ran down the center of the room. On the center of it sat the most beautiful, big, white microscope Bing had ever seen. It had two eyepieces and he immediately wanted to look through them, but getting his stressed companions some respite remained his first goal.

The aquarium tank he sought was simple to find. The opposite wall from where he had entered, ceiling to floor, was covered with terrariums and aquariums in a most unusual arrangement. Forty of them sat overlapping each other with little room to get anything in or out of them. There were all sizes of them—some were five-gallon; some were fifty-gallon; the five on the floor were five hundred gallon tanks. These and stout wooden shelving supported all the other tanks.

He decided frogs and lizards could live in the numerous smaller top tanks that looked to be terrariums. The middle tanks on the wall were both terrariums and aquariums and air hoses fed all the aquariums. Four of the five big tanks on the floor already contained individual species of trout—a rainbow, a cutthroat, a Dolly Varden, and a steelhead—all related fishes he had caught in the Met-how and Chewack rivers. More important than the size of the big tanks, however, was the fact that one of them was empty. It, too, had water in it, and a small pump refreshed it with air.

Bing had to ponder, Was this tank waiting for my fish?

He saw only one problem— If one of the big tanks on the bottom breaks, all the rest will tumble down. He decided it didn’t matter much. If I don’t get these salmon into one of them soon, they will die, anyway.

It seems things are going really well for you, Bing said to his charges. You’re both going into their big, empty bottom tank.

The first salmon could only manage, Good. The second salmon said nothing at all.

Since no one seemed to be caretaking the area, Bing confirmed his course of action and went swiftly to work, slipping one salmon, and then the other one into the bottom-most aquarium. Both fish turned to face him and long strings of bubbles came out of their mouths. He couldn’t hear what they were saying although he intuitively knew they were thanking him.

When Bing stood back to watch them, he saw a fully extended ladder resting near the aquariums, anchored by a rail to the ceiling. Renewed curiosity grabbed hold.

That must be how the caretaker gets to the topmost terrariums to get things in and out of them.

Checking on the salmon once more, seeing they were comfortable, Bing turned and began to climb the ladder to find out what was in the highest terrariums. As he did, he noticed that some of the tanks hadn’t been cleaned in quite a while. Algae grew thick on their inside glass panels.

Maybe I can get a job cleaning these things, he thought. They sure need it.

Many of the tanks were so dirty, he couldn’t see through them. As he looked into the tops of the terrariums to see what was in each one of them, plants moved back and forth, but he could see no animals. The higher he climbed, the same thing occurred.

I don’t get it. The animals up here aren’t invisible, are they?

The place was more and more intriguing the longer he looked into each tank.

There’s got to be something in here if the plants are moving. He finally gave up, sighed, and climbed back down the ladder. Strange place, he concluded, hands on his hips, looking around. I’ll ask somebody what’s going on.

While Bing checked the air hose from the pump going into the salmon’s tank, an orange and white tabby cat with four white feet walked into the metal building. Her long orange and white striped tail impatiently swished side to side as she saw the young boy bending over the tank.

Bing felt a new presence in the room. When he wheeled around, the cat jumped right up into his arms.

Hello! said the feline sharply. I am Ms. Friggins. I monitor this place. What are you doing in here?

Bing was shaken a third time, not only by the presence of the feline in his arms, but by her rough sounding voice. His male cat, Sparky, had grown old and died. He had looked a bit like her, but he had never spoken English to anyone.

The boy felt a gentle shake of his left shoulder.

Bing, wake up. You’ve slept much longer than you should. Your mother and I are worried about you.

He felt a sense of exhilaration as he woke up, as if he’d finished an important project. Dreamily, he opened his eyes. As the fog around them cleared, he saw his father’s dark, lean, handsome face leaning over him, displaying a troubled expression. At first, the son was disappointed. Everything that had just happened—the salmon, the Way Station, the cat—they had all been part of another of the lucid dreams he had been having.

How long have I been sleeping? asked Bing, stretching his arms toward the peaked knotty pine ceiling.

Nearly twenty-four hours, said his father. That’s way too long for a boy your age.

Promise— said Bing. I’ll be up in a few minutes. There are some things I’ve got to think through.

Okay, Bing, but if you’re not up in ten minutes, I’m coming back with a pitcher of ice water. That’s a promise, too. He sauntered out of the room. He could hear his father stepping down the wooden stairs.

The boy’s sluggish mind was muddled. What really did happen during the previous hours? Was Tammud a figment of my imagination—and Princess Lila—and Adabega—and Pegasus, too? Bing looked at his aching hands. He saw the forming blisters, a little watery at each core. When he squeezed his hands into fists, the blisters felt like small burning lumps of coal. He quickly relaxed both hands. No, building the corral was real enough if I’m not also imagining these blisters. He remembered being manic, then desperately tired, but actually finishing the circular fencing, three logs high. He could recall, too, the detailed conversations with his father as they constructed the corral.

Surely, they weren’t all just vivid dreams.

He rose to a sitting position, throwing the covers to the back of the bed. He remembered putting on striped boxer shorts after working in the corral. As soon as he had hit the bed, he was so tired he had crashed into a deep, peaceful slumber.

There’s really only one way out of this, he decided, rolling out of bed. I’ve just got to see what’s—who’s—in that corral.

None of the clothing was still on the floor where he had slipped out of them. He went to his built-in closet and swung open both doors. Clothing was also missing from hangers.

Hmm. Mom must be washing them. I wonder why. The hanging ones were already clean. He selected a fresh pair of blue jeans, a heavy pair of white sweat socks, and a green and white plaid flannel shirt, all of which he laid over one arm. In his other hand, he picked up another spare pair of tennis shoes from the closet floor. Glad I have three pairs.

Clothing in tow, he hurried over to Molly’s room across the upstairs hall. He saw that she had been playing with some of her porcelain-headed dolls. Three of them and an empty chair were sitting around a small pine table. Molly had been having a tea party. But she was absent; the dolls were having the party without her. Each one was seated in a clean dress, her hair curled and flowing over her shoulders, her right hand near a small teacup and saucer, as if preparing to drink from it.

Bing smiled as he passed by the table and went to the only window in the room. It overlooked the gently flowing Met-how River, a couple hundred meters away, and the corral he knew he had built with his father. As he began to dress, a huge grin swept across his face.

Wicked outrageous! The white horse! It is Pegasus!

Now the youngster was sure only the Way Station had been a dream. The rest of his adventures acquiring the ingredients to the Potion of Invincibility had been real. He had saved time from the evil maneuverings of the mendacious shape-shifter, Adabega.

What about Lila? She must be downstairs. Whew, what a time. I guess that means the long sleep really was because I was so beat. Building that corral must have been the last straw. He hurriedly put on his pants, socks and shoes, tying their laces. As he put his shirt on, buttoning it up, he moved toward the wooden staircase leading down to the living room.

Memories came flooding back like a rampaging river—the search for ingredients to the Potion of Invincibility; Camelot and the brave Bedivere; the hateful shape-shifter and his numerous disguises; ghouls, gargoyles and goblins; witches and warlocks; giant monitor lizards and rhinoceroses; the jaguar and the head hunters; the Cheops Pyramid and Anubis; the Judgment Hall and Osiris; Poseidon City and the oracle, Lucretius Tacticus; the dolphins and Kimberly; Adabega’s Castle and his malevolent Armies of Time. It had all been real and quite nearly disastrous. But what a wild, incredible adventure! He had never read anything like it, not even in comic books.

I’ve really slept twenty-four hours? Whoa. How long that would be in Fourth D time—a week—a month? His mind switched to another fast track. I need to find TD’s remains and bury them if animals haven’t already dragged them away. Lila will want to go. She’s probably with mom.

Visions of the girl filled his thoughts as he hurried out of Molly’s room and down the plank stairs leading to the front room. There he saw his father sitting in his brown, overstuffed leather armchair, reading the Methow Valley News.

Hearing his son coming, Peter looked up and folded the paper, laying it beside his chair. He wanted to give his son full attention.

Where’s Lila? asked the son, looking around expectantly.

She’s with your mother and Molly in town—shopping. It seems all your mother’s outfits are a bit too baggy for your young lady. Your mom decided she can’t remodel any of them since her sewing machine needs needles and a tune-up.

Oh, replied the son. How is Peg doing?

He seems to like the corral. Lila’s been tending to his needs while you’ve been hibernating.

Bing smiled. Yeah, I must have really needed the sleep to do it so long.

He looked around for The Book of Knowledge of Ages that hadn’t been in his room.

You haven’t seen a little black book about this big? he asked, using the distance between his thumb and his little finger, bending the others, to describe its size.

Lila said you’d want to know where it was. She took it with her.

Perfect. I have to say— it’s always good knowing something’s in her care.

I love her accent, said Peter.

Me, too, dad. It’s fun talking with her, isn’t it? She’s so smart.

Peter nodded. Speaking of talking, Bing, come and sit down. You were spinning another pretty good yarn when we were building that corral. I want you to tell me—just how much of it was really true?

Bing thought about sitting in his mom’s chair, the matching brown, overstuffed leather armchair that had sat opposite his dad’s for more than ten years. But now he had important things to do and wanted to get on with them.

Dad, you’re going to have to believe me from now on. Every word I spoke was the truth. I’m changing—physically and emotionally so fast. I feel older. I think it shows. If you’re really worried, Lila can and will confirm almost all my story. She was part of a lot of it.

She did, son—she did. I just wanted to hear it from your own lips. Some of it is so hard to comprehend—and you lived through the experiences. Well, I guess you deserve another full compliment of downtime. There was silence as Peter shook his head slowly. I guess you’re way beyond me trying to protect you anymore. And yes, I do see the physical changes. You’ve aged quite a bit actually. I hope that isn’t a consequence of what you’re doing.

It probably is. I don’t think you’ll ever have to protect me again. I’ve learned a lot about how to defend myself and Lila, too, in our wild, new world.

You didn’t exactly make it clear how far away this new world of yours is.

"It’s only a photon away, dad. You’ve just got to raise your body’s vibrational frequency one way or another. I’ve done it magically through a specially formulated potion. It’s really difficult for our minds to grasp that there’s another dimension within our reach, but that we can’t see it or touch it without special preparation—and a lot of help.

About the best analogy I can think of right now is, maybe, me and a starfish. Unless I pick one up, it wouldn’t know I exist—and maybe not even then. And they move so slow, a person can barely tell they move at all. I think maybe it’s that way between the third and fourth dimensions. We move really slowly compared to creatures who live in the fourth. Anyway, if I get a chance, I’ll bring you there so you can experience it for yourself. But not now. There’s some important things I’ve got to catch up on. I’m sure a lot of time has passed there since I’ve been gone. You get your news from the paper and television, dad, but I’ve got to get mine through direct contact, direct experience. That means I’ve got to go personally witness stuff. I hope you understand."

I’m trying, Bing. Believe me, I’m trying. Is that your next agenda? Going back to get news?

One of them, all right— The other is finding the remains of Lila’s father. We were so harried trying to avoid Adabega that we never had the chance to look for TD. I know Lila would want to go with me, but tell her I’ll be right back. I might even be back before she is. There’s no point in causing her more heart-ache. You would have loved TD, dad. He was such a smart, kind, unusual person. I’ve never met anybody like him. He taught me a lot so fast, and I’ll always be indebted to him. The least I can do is to find what’s left of him.

I understand that, son. Peter nodded. In a few seconds, he asked, I also wanted to ask you about your home schooling. When can we resume it?

That’s going to have to wait a while, dad. TD said I’d have to learn everything in that little black book to be an effective time dancer—my new job. It’s home schooling, too, just quite a bit different, but really important I’m finding out. As soon as Lila and I get through it, I’ll get back together with you and mom to continue my normal studies.

I take it, then, I can’t help you study what you need to know?

Not likely, dad— Lila and I will have to muddle through the time tome by ourselves. I have no idea how difficult it’s going to be, but TD said to study it intensively. I think everything he ever said to me was the truth, although I’m beginning to second guess a little. But whether everything he said is true or not, knowing what I know now, I would never let him down.

"You have grown up, son. I’m proud of you. I won’t pretend to understand everything you’ve told me, but I guess I can live with that. I’ve always known you were a bit different. I’ve always felt you could do great things. It sure seems as if you’ve found your calling. He snickered a bit. Even if it isn’t in our dimension."

Bing laughed, too. I’m going to approach this time dancing as an important job. TD said it was once an honored profession. It looks like I might have to put out a few fires of my own.

And what about making a living? Like getting paid for your work? asked Peter.

"I’ve already figured that out, dad. When I was back in Camelot, there were all kinds of things just lying around. Since everyone left or was eaten by Adabega, those things actually belong to Lila. With her gone, too, scavengers will eventually ransack the place. With her permission, I’m going to bring them back here.

Throughout history, dad, there are so many things left behind when people leave. Some of them are really valuable—like the tapestries hanging on the walls at Camelot. You know that a lot of fragile things disintegrate in time, but durable stuff is sometimes buried for years, waiting for someone to find. I think I’ll look for the fragile stuff. With special spells, I can time travel some of those things back here.

I can see you’ve been thinking, said Peter. Good. Very practical.

Yeah, my mind’s been spinning like a top out of control for days. We could set up a business—you, and me, and Lila and mom, of course. You could open up an e-Bay account on my computer. He thought about Pegasus in the corral. We could call it—um—yeah—funnierfarm. That’s beginning to suit this place. He laughed. I’ll collect the stuff and you sell it for whatever you think we can get for it. I’m going to be busy enough on my end. You get to handle whatever money we make. What do you think?

Hmm. Well now. Peter scratched the back of his left ear with a middle finger, envisioning possibilities. That’s something I never would have considered. What kind of things are you talking about?

Anything and everything, really—jewelry, rugs, swords—you name it. Anything I can transport, I guess.

If this is possible, it sounds like we ought to set up our own on-line store, too, said Peter. I know where I can buy a store-making program.

Whatever you think, dad. Whatever you have time for. Whatever makes you and mom happy. Okay?

Son, I’ll continue thinking about this while you’re gone.

Bing could feel all hundred million neurons in his father’s mind firing faster and faster. A good deal between him and his father was changing; everything between them felt more positive now that Bing knew he rode the truth train.

I need to see if I still have a horse, said the son, leaving his father to cogitate. Bing went to the refrigerator and looked around for something a flying horse might like to eat. The horse master picked out a couple of medium-sized carrots and proceeded out the kitchen door in the direction of the log corral.

On his way, whimsical names for an online store slowly started popping into his head. Trading Post seemed to want to hang permanently like a signpost. First Trading Post—Time Trading Post—no, that wouldn’t make any sense to anybody but me. Last —Last Time Trading Post—no, too long. Lasttradingpost.net— That might be ahead of the curve for a few years. Yep. That’s the name we’ll use. I’ll ask dad to see if there’s a domain available for it.

Pegasus saw his rider coming and raised his head from the hay he was eating. He nickered a greeting and came over to the side of the log corral and rested his white chin on the top ring of yellow logs.

Bing stroked the horse’s head and looked him in the left eye. Are you the same flying horse I left here yesterday?

Pegasus whinnied affirmation, nodding exuberantly.

Whew. Great. I understand you. I was beginning to think you were just a figment of my imagination. I had such a weird dream a little while ago. I’ll have to tell you about it. Maybe you can make something out of it.

Bing noticed the broken bale of hay his father had placed inside the corral.

I’m glad you eat something besides sawdust, Bing said, leaning over a rail to stroke the stallion’s left flank. The boy bent low under the middle-most row of the lodge pole pine rails and scooted between it and the bottom-most row. Getting closer to the stallion, Bing slowly stroked the horse’s muscular shoulder in wide clockwise circles.

It’s great you’re so intelligent. I’m learning to pay attention to all your little signs. They seem so sensible to me. You already seem to understand everything I say to you. I hope I can be as smart in understanding you. I’m going to have to figure out what you know.

Pegasus whinnied again, but in lower tones, eyeballing the carrots in Bing’s left hand.

Oh yeah, sure, these are for you. He gave them one by one to the horse, who promptly chewed them up and swallowed them right down.

What say we take a little trip? I imagine being stuck in that mirror all those years was no picnic. I would think a horse, especially a flying one, would want to stretch his wings.

This time Pegasus let loose a high volley of enthusiastic whinnying.

You agree, huh?

Pegasus knelt down on both front legs so Bing could easily mount. When the rider correctly positioned himself with his knees straddling and pressing against sturdy equine flanks, Pegasus stood up and looked toward the river. Bing grabbed a hunk of mane for an added measure of control.

I’m ready, said the rider, happy to be aboard again.

Pegasus took a couple of fast steps and completely cleared the corral fence. He trotted for several meters and then began flowing like the wind. Boy and horse melded into one. Bing reflected how much easier it was to ride a horse when it was running full speed.

Peter watched from the kitchen window, then went outside to stand on the patio. My son is turning out to be a surprising young man, he said to himself. His watchful eyes followed his son and the magnificent, galloping stallion. Peter then saw something he never thought was possible. Wings suddenly erupted from the horse’s flanks. Within seconds, horse and rider were airborne, catching thermals like an osprey. While continuing upwards, they passed and scared a trio of crows, which twisted awkwardly out of the way.

I’ll believe anything he says from now on, the father said to himself in rapt fascination.

Chapter Two

Retracing Steps

The place Time Dancer called the Timestream seemed nearly heavenly now that Bing and Pegasus were not being chased through it by the mendacious shape-shifting menace, Adabega. With The Other One— Pegasus—Bing’s means of transportation, and Lila finally out of danger, the novice time dancer and his sturdy stallion retraced their steps back to the place where the boy’s mentor, Tammud Tammur, had burst into flames. The duo found the bubbly Effervescent Meniscus, newly forming portals, and then saw the oval, rust-colored portal in the left-most part of avenue, leading to the modern Fourth Earth North Cascade Mountains of Washington State.

TEZ-CA-AB-RA-AF-RO-DAF-RO, said Bing, and both time dancers were drawn left, directly into the portal.

Once outside the vortex, they saw the paved highway that folded around Liberty Bell Mountain. They followed the same route Bing and TD had taken to chase Adabega when the mad monster still had Lila and the time tome in his talons. There, on a glacier before them, horse and rider saw the remnant imprints of Adabega’s huge clawed feet, long scaly tail, and body in the snow surrounded by his confirmation of building outlines that had been the mock Smithsonian Institution.

A quarter kilometer down the still snowy slope was the waterfall and the canyon the old time dancer had fallen into while he had been aflame. With a gentle knee command, Bing flew Pegasus to the base of the waterfall. There the boy saw something that he could not have seen before from the angle at which he had been turning in figure-eights with his teacher; it was a pool of water a quarter hectare in diameter into which the waterfall flowed.

Bing’s solemn mood changed to a joyful one. Peg, is it possible TD had a water landing? He’s always been fond of them. Maybe there’s a reason. Could it be he survived that fiery fall after all?

Pegasus whinnied and directed his rider to a sandy beach alongside the pool of dark blue water. The color alone told them the pool was deep. The explorers looked around for telltale signs TD might have gotten out alive—footprints on the sand or clothing left behind. There were no footprints; no sandal tracks, no robe, no hat; no hint at all the aged time dancer had even been there.

There’s one last thing to do, Peg. No matter how deep it is, I’m going diving. We’ve got to know if TD is down there somewhere.

Pegasus nodded, whinnying his approval.

Bing dismounted and stripped to his birthday suit. He waded into the shallows. This water is even colder than the stream water in my dream, Peg. Burr. He shivered while wading into the pool chest deep. He ducked his head down to give his body a chance to accommodate and began hyperventilating so he could stay down as long as possible. At that point, he remembered how TD had turned them both into a greater amberjacks. The wader wondered if it would be possible to turn himself into a trout. It would certainly be easier to explore the pool if I were a fish. There wouldn’t be a visual haze. A cold-blooded trout wouldn’t get hypothermia.

Dare to be creative was the maxim he remembered from the Hall of Ideas. There was no way to know whether it was possible to change unless he said the magic words. What is there to lose? If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work.

A day before he had turned a whole lot of evil into different shapes. There seemed no reason he couldn’t turn himself into something different. His mentor had done it and then returned to normal; Adabega had done it much of the time.

"HO-CUS PO-CUS," said Bing, thinking of the body form of a Dolly Varden, one of the largest of the carnivorous trouts. His body immediately changed and he sank into the pool. The water refreshed his gills and he was able to breathe easily. So much better—now the water is the perfect temperature. Through the lateral lines along each side of his body he could feel waves of sensation from the constant stream of water falling from the waterfall above. His vision was as crystal clear as the fluid he swam through.

He started exploring the shallows, but could find no sign of his teacher. His circular countercurrent path took him on a spiral into deeper and deeper water. Still he could find no sign of Tammud Tammur. The more he explored, the brighter was his mood.

If he isn’t here, he’s got to be somewhere else—maybe alive. But where?

He came across some small brown trout and had a sudden urge to eat a few of them.

I’d better get out of here before I find myself with a mouthful of fish and do some damage I don’t intend. He fought the hunger drive and swam rapidly up toward the surface where he thought about how to reverse the spell.

What is it that TD said? He tried logic. Let’s see— Since I’m not going back into the Time Stream, I can forget the abracadabra part. And since I’m not going through a portal, I can forget the directional afrodafro part. That leaves a reverse of hocus pocus. Easy enough.

This time he envisioned himself as a human being and invoked the catalyst, HO-CUS PO-CUS. As he broke surface, he returned to normal. How great is this? It works! he shouted to his horse, waiting patiently on the shore. "I can do some magic here in the Fourth Dimension, Peg—real magic!"

The horse watched Bing as he waded back through the shallows to shore and looked himself over.

Yep, I’m human again. No feathers, no scales, no fur; just skin. Thanks, TD, wherever you are. I’ll bet this is going to be real useful.

Bing walked slowly back over to his clothes. The sun still shone brightly through parted clouds and he brushed what water he could off his skin, using his flannel shirt to rub dry his legs. Finished, he put on his underwear and pants while looking up at the waterfall.

Our guy wasn’t anywhere in that pool and by his trajectory he must have landed in there. We’ve got something positive to tell Lila after all.

Pegasus responded with a long neigh and a toss of his head.

I’m glad, too, said the boy, sitting on the sandy ground to put on his socks and shoes. He stood up and wrapped his moist shirt around his shoulders.

But if he’s still alive, how do we find him?

Pegasus reared up, peddling his front feet high in the air, signifying that they had to return to the Time Stream.

And do what? said Bing, buttoning up his shirt and stuffing it in his jeans. A memory of the Ocean of Memories entered his mind. TD had mentioned that everyone’s memories were connected with everyone with whom they had once had contact.

The Ocean of Memories, Peg— That’s where we’re headed. If his memories are not there, he’s nowhere.

Employing a running jump, Bing sprang off the ground at the right moment and rear mounted his white horse. With the right catalyst, equine and human were immediately transported back into the Timestream. The avenue they traversed was familiar—reddish with a few mostly oval red and orange portals.

It had never occurred to Bing before, probably because he had never had time to think about it, but there was no natural day or night in this place called the Timestream; nor was there morning or afternoon; nor dawn, dusk or twilight. TD had said Snitch and Snatch rode the winds of time during twilight and dawn, but to Bing, yet, such times seemed nonexistent. There were, certainly, color and pattern sameness to certain corridors, but vast differences in the coloration and patterning of others.

There were huge differences, also, in the patterns and the coloration of avenues associated with special places, and in fact, color and pattern conundrums could exist everywhere there existed a distinguished or a peculiar place, and the young time traveler wondered why the Time Stream seemed so amazingly complex and diverse.

As the two time dancers traveled on, something different and special happened for Bing Brown. He sensed the fractal features of mountain ridges, valleys, canyons and vast caverns wherever he went all over the Time Stream. He didn’t appreciate it yet, but he was internalizing navigation. Tammud had said it would happen with experience. Bing could now perceive places he had never been and visualize places he had been more acutely. And almost instinctively now through knee commands alone, he guided Pegasus wherever he wanted the horse to go.

As TD had taught, Bing learned more about the color coding of the Timestream. As a consequence, wherever he went henceforth, he would know with certainty where he was going and where he was in relation to other avenues of time. To get wherever he wanted to go, he only had to recall which color combination existed along which corridor, where the corridor branched off into which color avenue, and which avenue branched off into which color zone. From now on, he would even intuitively know the time period a portal represented without entering it.

However, Bing Brown had not yet studied the time tome as he had intended to do where were revealed numerous spells that would simplify his finding of special places. Time-related catalysts written there would greatly speed up his travel from one location to another.

During this particular focus flight with Pegasus, Bing experienced several different kinds of epiphanies. These sudden comprehensions of the nature of dimensional reality arose from his new capabilities, which suggested some other event or possible idea.

One of these epiphanies concerned four dimensional thinking. Rather than think along one linear plane as he had always done, and had always been taught to do by school teachers, he began thinking backward and forward, upward and downward simultaneously. The effect created was that every line of thought he explored became a continuum of different directions of new possibilities. He was thinking adaptively, intellectually, the sure sign of a fully fledged time dancer.

All kinds of new continuous ideas were occurring to him. One came in the form labeled extrapolation. Bing remembered TD talking about it. His tutor had said that within a high degree of certainty, one could project future events from current events. But one had to always consider new technological breakthroughs or paradigm shifts when such prophesies were made.

It would have been possible for Adabega to have foreseen the future, if and only if, he had understood Bing’s new reshaping abilities. But, of course, the mad mage hadn’t grasped them until too late. As a result, he had underestimated how his own future would change so radically.

Unknown to Bing—yet—was the fact that his exploits and achievements were being discussed throughout the Fourth Dimension. An ordinary boy with a new twist of magic had beaten one of time’s most nefarious personalities. And not only had the teenage human beaten him, he had repeatedly shape-shifted the shape-shifter, and blown him possibly to smithereens. In every galaxy, on every inhabited planet, in every nook and cranny of time, witches and warlocks, dwarves, demons and dragons, ghouls, goblins, garvoids, gargoyles and tsunaks discussed and debated what the boy’s new abilities were going to mean to the rest of creation.

How would the young wizard use his incredible talent? Would he acquire a taste for power as Adabega had, and set upon a voyage of conquest, or, would he be benevolent and use his talents to benefit others as other time dancers had?

There had not been compassionate mage leadership since the first time dancers had established their Fraternal Order around 13,050 BCT (Before Current 4th Earth Time), nearly a half decade before the fall of Atlantis. Every civilized person living in the Fourth Dimension knew that Minimus and Lucretius had always been willing to lend a hand to whatever endeavor they thought would further justice and tranquility, or reduce tension and violence. Not until the First War in 10,500 BCT, had there been a true falling out between the time dancers, the anthros and the hybrids.

During that time, the time dancers’ trusting nature had nearly been their downfall. Adabega had found most of them rather easy pickings because rather than defend themselves, they tried to defeat his brand of selfishness by ignoring it. Passivity of this kind was all-to-often repeated through history and all-to-often taken great advantage of. Almost too late, time dancers had experienced that evil must be confronted directly, and in a timely manner to counter its worst agendas.

It had been Emperor Ming Huang and Jacques Nostradamus, who had finally discovered a practical remedy to the presence of evil. It had taken someone with a long-lived nature—a nisse-dwarf named Tammud Tammur, a legend among wizards, who had finally been able to put the philosophical foundations of fighting evil to the test. Although his first choice, Janek Johnson, had been a failure, Janek’s choice, Bing Brown, had been successful beyond anyone’s wildest imaginings. The young mage, who some called the boy who changes things, continued to be a source of nearly constant conversation.

Pegasus flew Bing into another familiar corridor, this one with a red background impregnated with multicolored lines and spots. Bing recognized the unique zone ahead and slowed their progress. As before, the spots and lines ended and the pair entered an area where huge pastel-colored eggs gently rolled on royal blue wavelets.

Yes, Peg, I know this place. All we need to do now is find the egg where the events in TD’s life are archived.

They continued circling orbs until a likeness of TD appeared.

Whoa, Peg. We’re here. Now—just hover.

Bing’s mere presence triggered a video in which Tammud Tammur’s life unfolded.

Bing heard the wizened wizard say, Remember—if you have the time, you can use time. You can learn anything. You can do anything. You can be anybody. But remember this too, lad: time is not the governor of your life; you are its governor. If you are not yet, you soon should be.

Nothing had sounded more like his mentor in the last day. The phrasing elated the boy. His teacher was definitely alive, speaking to him through the giant crysal egg from some other place, possibly some other part of the Fourth Dimension.

You aren’t dead, TD. I sense you aren’t. We’re looking hard for you. Where are you? This Timestream is so big and we’re so small. How are we going to find you?

The youngest time dancer was disappointed when there was no reply from the gray bearded face in the light blue orb.

If you aren’t strong enough to tell us, can you at least give us some sort of sign?

For a few seconds, Bing watched as Tammud waved his hands about as if conjuring something. Then, a rapid replay of Bing’s end time with Time Dancer appeared, beginning with their time dancing to find Lila at the cave in the North Cascade Mountains.

The vision depicted Adabega stepping out of the North Cascades gold mine-looking cave with Lila clutched in one clawed fist, the time tome clasped in the other. Adabega took off in flight.

In the replay, the wizard and his protégé’ followed the shape-changer through the winding canyon until the mad magician decided to land on the Silver Star Mountain glacier. Bing saw himself and his mentor flying figure-eights in the sky nearby. Then revealed to the boy wonder was the rest of the story.

When TD had burst into flames, he had forcefully pushed his student toward the maniacal dragon so the boy would land in the snow, instead of tumbling into the canyon below.

Bing recognized what happened and at that moment, while he was still in the air, but falling fast, he had instantaneously turned Adabega into the mock Smithsonian Institution. But Bing had also looked back to see his wizard mentor aflame, falling in a downward spiral beneath the cliff, out of sight.

The vision in the crystal depicted Bing landing on his back on the glacier in an area just below where massive multiplex buildings now covered much of the glacier’s snow. The angle of the action changed, revealing to Bing what he could not have witnessed for himself.

What he had not seen was TD falling adjacent to a wide waterfall that, only a quarter of a kilometer downhill, flowed beneath the glacier into a pool of water forty meters below. At the last second, TD had said, TEZ-CA-AB-RA-AF-RO-DA-FRO, and had shot straight into pool, where, at once, his flames had been extinguished.

What Bing and Pegasus witnessed next seemed beyond comprehension. The egg’s face focused on TD changing himself into a trout. Bing saw the fish swimming clockwise about in the pool, conserving what strength he had left. Nor did the replay end there. As the pair watched, they were enlightened by what happened next. After TD had partially recovered, he had shape-shifted himself again, this time into a green bullfrog, and he hopped out of the pool.

He quickly morphed into a black meter-long lizard, which looked around, flicking his split tongue in the air. When the lizard walked a few steps, he dragged a right hind leg.

Bing said sympathetically, You hurt yourself in that fall, didn’t you? But you didn’t die, thank God. You’re kind of trying to use some sort of evolution to try to repair yourself. Right? Clever, really clever—

All of a sudden, the limping lizard started growing fur. It changed into a large shrew-like creature with long jaws and many sharp teeth. The drawer-sized mammal became smaller, the size of a rat, which perplexed Bing.

What was that about? Are you trying to hide from someone?

The student kept watching, trying to figure out what TD would morph into next.

The shrew limped over to some nearby red willow and began rubbing his many small, sharp teeth back and forth along a bottom branch.

Aspirin, Bing realized. You need a pain reliever.

TDshrew remained there for a few minutes.

Then Bing witnessed a burly, black, gray and white raccoon crossing the slender shrew’s path. The raccoon, almost three times bulkier, stopped, approached and pawed at the shrew, and then tried to bite him. But in a bad mood, the shrew became the aggressor and hissed and barred its long jaws, exposing its many sharp teeth.

That’s it! Stand up for yourself, TD! Don’t let him bully you!

To Bing’s amazement and the raccoon’s, too, the shrew morphed into a coyote and all of a sudden the bigger claw was on a larger paw. The raccoon backed up, hunched its back like a frightened house cat, and gave a low, threatening growl. The bigger, taller coyote took a few steps forward. The raccoon turned tail and ran. The coyote, with a decided limp, but feeling better, playfully chased him.

The pursuit was on and it looked like TDcoyote was having a bit of fun. That was— until a big, sleek, forest brown cougar popped out of the bushes. Then it became a three-way race with the cougar chasing the coyote and the coyote chasing the quick, darting raccoon. The smart raccoon raced up the trunk of the nearest fir tree. TDcoyote ran for his life, his limp becoming more and more pronounced the longer he ran. Time and time again, the mountain lion tried to trip the canine by extending the dew claw on the inside of her left forefoot, but TDcoyote would swerve in the nick of time, avoiding it.

Morph into something bigger, TD! Be a bear! exclaimed Bing anxiously. A big black bear could fight off a cougar!

It looked like his mentor was nearing exhaustion and might expire at any second, he was