Five Extraordinary Stories

By M.M. Rumberg

5 Five extraordinary stories that will take you on an unforgettable ride.

The Golden Bracelet - A dying man finds a bracelet that changes his life or does it?

The Edge An abused woman finds a way to get even but what price must she pay?

The Valley at the End of the Earth A Native American man and woman fight for the right to love, but are forced to run and hide. What happens when fate catches up with them?

Modern Antiquities What happens when two people discover the distant past and try to live in it? If you could go back in time, would you?

Escape from Malaysia Two people fall in love and brazenly go against the traditions of their family and country. Could they have done anything differently?

Experience these five exciting stories stories that will stretch your imagination and force you to examine what you believe.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 28, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499028638

M.M. Rumberg

Mort is a retired U.S. Air Force Officer who served as a Rescue and Survival technician teaching escape and evasion and survival techniques to aircrew members. He survived a tour of duty in Vietnam and barely survived two tours in the Pentagon as a computer systems action officer. He was also an information technology consultant and a manager with a large international health care insurance company. He earned a Doctorate in Education and has been an adjunct professor of computer sciences for several universities and community colleges in the Washington, DC, area. Mort was a volunteer with the Alexandria, Virginia, Police Department and the Animal Welfare League of Alexandria. His novel, CodeName: Snake, The Evil We Kill, won a national award and several of his short stories have won national recognition. Now residing in California, he is busy working on several new novels and many short stories. Visit the author’s website: mmrumberg.com

Book preview

The Golden Bracelet

One

Tubes ran in and out of him. One tube fed oxygen into each nostril blocking the smell of the antiseptic odor of Pine Sol that permeated his bedroom where he lay in bed. Electrodes monitored his vital signs, beeping softly each time a white line blipped up and down. Even in his slightly drugged state he knew he was dying—perhaps he had a week left.

Restless, he glanced out the sliding glass door and was dismayed at the condition of his backyard. The grass was overgrown, and some plants were dying from lack of care…the same as him: neglected. Everyone was too busy to care for the yard; the yard he spent a lifetime tending. Drabness seemed to have settled over everything, including him. He shook his head and decided to end it all on his terms.

No one was around, like they ever were. He sat up slowly and with difficulty, reached over and turned off the monitor, briefly wondering if anyone would rush into the room. He pulled out the IV tubes, the catheter, and removed the electrodes attached to his chest, and the pulse oximeter from his index finger. Slowly, he managed to dress, putting on jeans, socks, tennis shoes, and a warm hoodie. Sure, he thought, they’d all come to my funeral, shed a tear, and say goodbye after I’m gone, but few came to see him while he was still here. Neglected.

With great effort, he slid open the sliding glass door and walked into the backyard, using an oak cane to steady himself. His weakened muscles and joints protested every step. Gray clouds blocked most of the sky. A faint stench of air pollution made him wrinkle his nose. Even the environment was neglected. Neglected…everything seemed to be neglected. He closed his eyes and raised his face to the few rays of sun, enjoying the warmth on his wrinkled, liver-spotted skin. Still, birds chirped, and their musical notes brought a smile to his face. He enjoyed watching a gray squirrel run along the top of the fence, its hippity-hopping a delight to see. His fingers touched some shrubs, and he appreciated the plants even if, like him, they were dying. Bent over, he walked slowly, accepting that he was at the end of his days.

He was drawn to a log near the backyard fence and sat down on it to rest, his breathing labored, tired from the exertion. Stray thoughts about his life flitted through his mind: his wife was gone, the children were grown and on their own, the grandkids were healthy and happy. He had been a doctor and had helped thousands of people. It’s been a good, full life, one I’m proud of, and given the chance, I’d do it all over again.

Then he looked down and saw it.

A small wooden box protruded from the dirt. He pushed it with the rubber tip of his cane, and it came free. The box was beautifully grained and so well polished that dirt did not adhere to it. His first thought was it was a presentation box for a very expensive watch. He bent over and brought the small box up to his lap and stared at it for several seconds, enjoying its smoothness and exquisite craftsmanship. At first it felt cool to his touch, but he soon became aware of a warmth that flowed through his body that the box seemed to trigger. A feeling of well-being washed over him. Then he opened the box. His eyes widened at what he saw: a gold bracelet on a black velvet cushion. Etched inside the lid were the following words:

Open wide the door

Close it, nevermore

Wear this bracelet, make a wish

Close your eyes, brightly vanish

But…

Close tight the door

Open it, nevermore

Leave it on, your wrist will burn

Take it off, never return

He stared at the lid, unsure what the words meant. How could someone lose a bracelet here in my yard? What should I do with it? What do the words refer to? It reads like a poem, a fairy tale. How strange. He read the poem several times trying to understand what it meant.

He sat up straight and, amazed, realized that his aches and pains were gone. The feeling of well-being still flowed through him, warming him. He shrugged and slipped the bracelet on his wrist and recited the poem, then closed his eyes and with the briefest of thoughts, a bright flash of white and yellow light encompassed him.

Two

He was on his back looking up at the sky—a deep, rich blue. Not even the wisp of a cloud. The air was fresh and cool. With hardly an effort, he stood and brushed himself off. He was in a meadow of soft heather; small white and pink flowers waved in the breeze. Then he noticed the wrinkles on his arms were gone—and so were the liver spots. He felt young and strong. And most important—he felt healthy. Where am I?

He laughed, fully appreciating the change in himself, and with his arms spread, turned in circles and danced among the flowers. I’m alive again. He bent over to pick up his cane, surprised to see that it wasn’t a cane anymore, but had straightened and lengthened. My cane is now a walking stick. How could that have happened? To his right he saw a narrow path and, curious, followed it, striding off into the nearby woods. He flexed his arms. I feel so strong. He smiled at the sound of crickets, the song of birds, the noises of forest life that surrounded him. What joy it brought him.

And then he saw the body of a young woman and rushed to her.

She wore a white top with a maroon and yellow tunic over a dark blue skirt. She moaned as he bent over her. Help me, she gasped. Her face was bloody as were her blouse and tunic. Blood had flowed onto her blond hair, and her eyes pleaded weakly for his help.

I will help you, he said, slipping his strong arms under her and lifting her. He was aware of damage he could do by lifting her, but she seemed to move all right, so he knew her neck or back wasn’t broken. Still, he was very careful. Again, he was surprised at how strong he felt. She seemed so light to him.

She winced in pain as he lifted her. My house…over there. She indicated the direction with a weak gesture of her arm and a glance.

The house was partly hidden in an area thick with trees and was no more than a small wooden cottage with a thatch roof. He carried her there and pushed the door. It was dark inside, but enough light entered from the doorway and a single window. Against the wall to the right was a narrow bed. He gently put her on it. In the center of the back wall was a fireplace. A few coals glowed from an almost burnt out fire. A bucket stood to one side of the fireplace. To the left of the fireplace was a table on which several towels were folded neatly. He carried the bucket to the bed, and using some of the towels, washed the blood from her face while checking for open wounds. He found several small cuts on her head. Next, he undid several buttons of her top and washed her neck. She wore a chemise under her shirt, which he pulled down slightly to wash her upper chest and look for more wounds..

Where do you hurt? he asked.

She could barely point, and moaned softly. My side, arm, and leg. Her words came with great pain and effort.

"I’m a doctor and I’ll help you, but I may have to remove these clothes. He had noticed the redness of her arm, but the other wounds were covered.

She barely could nod.

Her arm looked severely bruised, and he wrapped it carefully with a towel. Her leg also was severely bruised, and he wrapped that, too, making sure the cloth applied gentle pressure to the wounds. The towels will stabilize the wounds for now, he said. They may have to be splinted.

She looked at him from almost fully closed eyes.

The bleeding had stopped—a good sign. Then he closely examined her leg and arm. I think they’re broken. He immediately went outside and found several branches to use for splints. It took him a few minutes to fashion the splints and tie them with cloth strips torn from the towels. Not the best, but it’ll have to do.

She kept dozing off and waking. He looked around the small cottage for any medical supplies but failed to find any. He did find bread, cheese, tea, and some vegetables. Not much here, but I suppose the poor are lucky to have even that much. Hmm, maybe some tea would help. He added a few logs to the fire, carried the metal bucket outside, poured out the wash water, rinsed it, then filled it halfway from the small stream that flowed by the side of the house. He placed the bucket next to the fire, to heat the water to make tea. He cradled her head in his arm and fed her a slice of cheese and a little bread. She ate slowly, obviously in pain, and after some tea, soon fell into a deep sleep.

While she slept, he removed her tunic and blouse and washed them. Her skirt didn’t seem to have any blood on it, but it was torn in two places near the hem. Her hair still had blood in it, so he washed that as well. He examined her scalp to see if there were any more open wounds, but found none. He removed her sandals, figuring her feet would swell.

Finally, he sat in a chair and watched her sleep. Even with wounds marring her face, she is so beautiful. Who could have done this to her?

He heard a scratching noise above him. He looked up to see the thatch and figured that field mice lived up there. Then he noticed the dirt floor. Again, he explored the small house more carefully, looking for anything he could use to help her, but there wasn’t much. A dresser, a table and four chairs, and leaning against the entrance wall were some gardening implements: a shovel, hoe, and rake.

He held her hand for a while as she slept, trying to offer a little comfort to this severely beaten young woman. An hour later she awoke, moaning. She had a huge bruise on her side that indicated internal bleeding. She’ll need surgery, he thought. He didn’t know what made him do it, but he put his hands on the wound and closed his eyes. A slight tingling flowed through his fingers. Without knowing why, he hummed.

She gritted her teeth in pain as she watched him, and after perhaps, three minutes, gently touched his arm. What power you possess. You are a healer. My wound is no more. The pain in my side is gone. I cannot believe it. They punched me and kicked me and left me for dead. You have saved me.

He looked at her side. The bruise was gone and she no longer winced when he palpitated the wound area. Still not understanding what healing powers he had, he put his hands on her leg. A large bruise above the knee indicated internal bleeding and a possible bone fracture, but after several minutes that wound had also healed, the bruise and pain gone. Her arm was likewise treated. He was amazed at what he had done and looked at his hands as if he could see the power contained within.

Her left eye was swollen and partially closed, and purple and brown coloring had begun to fill her cheek and around her eye. Her lip was also split. That will need several stitches. Let me hold your face, he said. He placed his hands on each side of her face, closed his eyes and hummed. A few minutes later he removed his hands. The bruising was gone, the swelling had disappeared, and her split lip was healed. He was stunned at what had happened.

She felt her eye and smiled. Her tongue explored her lip where a few minutes ago it was split. She removed the splints and sat up, then stood, testing her wounds. I am grateful for your assistance, kind sir. I thank you. Then she suddenly realized that she was not wearing some of her clothes. She hurriedly pulled the blanket to her and wrapped herself in it.

I’m sorry, I did not intend to embarrass you. Your clothes are by the fire, drying. I washed the blood from them.

She placed her hand on his arm. Thank you.

It is my pleasure, Miss, but may I ask you a question?

Of course.

What happened to you, and where am I?

Her eyebrows arched and she smiled. It is two questions.

They laughed. He was taken by her laugh—so soft and lyrical.

Why, you are in my mother’s home. She has long since died, but I come here sometimes to be near her. It comforts me.

He nodded. I meant, where is this place? I am a stranger here and am lost.

I can see from your clothes that you are not from around here. You are in the Kingdom of Silarra. King Alonda is the rightful ruler, but…. She shook her head, looked down, and stayed silent.

Kingdom? What has happened?

She hesitated. Zildak is a renegade from another kingdom who now holds Silarra in terror. He dethroned King Alonda. Now he calls himself King Zildak, and the people cower in fear of him and his henchmen. He is trying to find King Alonda to kill him, but so far, the king has eluded him.

He was stunned. The Kingdom of Silarra? Where in the world is that? How did I get here? Wait…the poem and the bracelet. Could that be it? He checked his wrist and saw that he was wearing the bracelet.

She glanced at his wrist and saw the bracelet. It is unusual to see a man wearing jewelry.

He blinked his eyes several times, not believing this was real. He clasped the bracelet with his other hand, and remembered. He’d been sick and dying but somehow had been transformed, not only to another world, but also into a healer. Well, he was a doctor, a general practitioner, so a healer was pretty descriptive.

The poem once more flooded his mind:

Open wide the door

Close it, nevermore

Wear this bracelet, make a wish

Close your eyes, brightly vanish

But…

Close tight the door

Open it, nevermore

Leave it on, your wrist will burn

Take it off, never return

What does it all mean? I have to think this through. How do I get back? My family, my grandkids—what about them?

He patted his wrist, finally realizing that the bracelet, this magical bracelet, must have been the cause of his new powers, his new strength, and his transformation to this world. What do I do now?

His head was swimming with his growing understanding when the woman said, You asked two questions, kind sir. You asked what happened to me.

He nodded.

I was traveling from the city of Silarra to this, my hideaway house, when I was attacked by three of the evil king’s henchmen. They robbed me, beat me, and left me for dead, and I surely would be, if not for you. She reached out, took his hands in hers, and stared into his eyes. I thank you with all my heart. Then she raised his hands to her lips and kissed the back of each.

He knew the exact moment he fell in love with this lovely woman. It was when she stared into his eyes. The deep, bright blue had sent a flush of warmth through him, and now, the soft kisses on his hands took his breath away.

They stared at each other for several seconds, each unwilling to let go of this moment in which their souls intertwined. If time hadn’t stopped, surely their breathing had. Finally, they reluctantly dropped their hands, but the feelings lingered.

Sudden fatigue came upon him and his eyes drooped. Miss, I am sorry, but I am overwhelmed with tiredness. I have to sleep. He flopped into the chair and immediately fell into a deep sleep.

An hour later, he awoke to find himself in the bed. How did I get into the bed?

I carried you there.

Wow. You are a very strong woman.

No, it took me quite a while to get you there. You are very heavy. I surely thought you would wake, but you were so exhausted. I was surprised at how deeply you slept.

Well, thank you.

I must leave you now and return to my father and tell him what happened. He will be worried that I have been away for so long. She began to pack a small bundle.

I will accompany you. Such travel is obviously dangerous. He stretched and stood.

I am honored, kind sir, but it will be very dangerous for you. If they see you, they will surely kill you as they tried to do to me.

That may be, but I cannot let you travel alone. Such beauty as you possess must be protected. When he realized what he had said, he felt slightly embarrassed and, at the same time, found it funny that he had somehow adopted her way of talking.

Her eyes widened and a tiny smile appeared on her lips even as her face reddened slightly. She lowered her head and said, I thank you, kind sir.

Excuse me, Miss, but I do not know your name.

It is Elaina of Silarra.

He smiled. Elaina of Silarra. That is so beautiful, as beautiful as the person carrying it. My God. Where is this coming from?

She blushed. And your name?

I am Peter Malthus. I am so pleased to meet you.

She smiled in return. And I you, Peter of Malthus. I am surprised. I have not heard of Malthus. Is it far from here?

He thought that cute and smiled. No, I mean, yes. Uh, Malthus is my second name—my surname.

How is it that you have two names? Is that common where you are from?

Now he was surprised. Yes, everyone has two names, some even three or four.

Her mouth opened in surprise. So many names…it must be difficult to remember all of them.

Actually, it makes it easier. Then he thought about it and realized that wasn’t always the case, especially when people had similar names. Well, most of the time.

And where is it you are from, kind sir…I mean, Peter of Malthus?

I come from a different…uh, land, a far away land called America. It must be far away. I have no idea where this place is…or when.

I have never heard of such a place. Perhaps one day you will tell me of your America.

Never heard of America? I will look forward to that day, he said, softly.

Again, she blushed slightly. Come, Peter of Malthus of America, let us depart, for it shall soon be dark and we have far to go.

Elaina quickly finished packing the small bundle and they left. Peter only had his walking stick. He touched the bracelet on his wrist as they went out the door. It felt slightly warm.

They walked quickly along the path that soon connected to a wider, well-used dirt road. Ruts on both sides of the road indicated that wagons often traveled this way. As they walked, he glanced at her face. She’s so beautiful, he thought. I want to learn more about her.

Along the way, she, too, glanced at him, and flushed slightly at her thoughts. He is so handsome. Surely one so powerful a healer as he is already taken, probably by the queen of his America.

The sky was clear, but the light was growing dim. Day is ending, she said. Let us make a place for the night, for soon it will be dark. She turned off the road into the forest and stopped by a small clearing near a brook. This is a good place.

"Why don’t we continue by moonlight?’

Curfew. Zildak has harsh penalties for being caught during curfew.

He followed her, fascinated by her decisiveness. She certainly was used to making her own decisions, he thought. I like that.

Elaina unpacked her bundle and spread a large cloth on which she placed bread, cheese, two bell peppers, and two small wooden cups.

Peter gathered a bundle of twigs and began to build a fire.

Oh, no, she said, reaching out her hand in caution. A fire would be dangerous. The king’s henchmen might see it and attack us.

He was inclined to make the fire but decided that perhaps he should listen to her warning. He filled their cups from the brook and after their meager meal, cleared away the crumbs and prepared to settle in for the night. They gathered fallen pine branches and set them down to sleep on, a sort of mattress—several feet from each other.

The temperature had fallen and a chill had descended. Peter tried to fall asleep, but after a short time, realized he could not. Elaina, he said, softly, are you awake?

She turned toward him and said, Yes.

It is getting chilly. It might be more comfortable if we were closer together to conserve heat. What do you think?

She hesitated only slightly. I think you are right, and without hesitation, they moved the pine branches next to each other. Then she lay down right next to him, their sides touching.

Peter felt instant heat from her being so close. Rest your head on my arm. He slipped his left arm under her neck and pulled the large cloth over them like a blanket.

They stayed that way for several long seconds, then he said, Elaina, it might be warmer if we snuggled.

Snuggled?

Here, let me show you. He gently pushed her onto her left side, then spooned into her, resting his right arm over her waist. This is better. He saw her nod in agreement.

She grasped his arm with hers, and with a smile on her face, pulled his arm tighter to her, then closed her eyes to wait for sleep to come.

Peter also smiled, his face buried in her long, blond hair. He pressed his lips against her shoulder and neck, leaving a soft, gentle kiss on each. Even as she pulled his arm closer, he pulled her against him even more, and he, too, closed his eyes to await a most pleasant sleep.

Three

A little more than 100 yards away, three of Zildak’s soldiers rested after finishing their evening meal of gruel and bread. One of them took out a jug from his sleeping roll, took a large swig, and passed it to the man to his right. After the three emptied the jug, they fell into a stupor.

*     *     *

Morning came with a pleasant clamor of birdcalls, but sweet and musical as they were, Peter wished they had delayed for another thirty minutes before chirping, so he could continue holding Elaina, breathing her delicate scent. He felt refreshed even after having spent eight uncomfortable hours asleep on their pine branch mattresses on uneven ground. He smiled. Surely holding Elaina had eased his discomfort.

She slowly opened her eyes and smiled. They were facing each other, their faces only inches apart. He became aware that his arm, the one under her head, had fallen asleep. He slowly pulled it out from under her and waited for the tingling to begin. He didn’t have to wait long. Still, he dared not move his head, wanting to continue staring upon her beautiful face.

She put her arm over him and said, so softly he almost didn’t hear it, Good morning, kind sir. Peter of Malthus.

Good morning, pretty lady. Elaina of Silarra.

They smiled and suddenly, with barely a second’s hesitation, each leaned in and kissed, gently, tenderly.

*     *     *

The king’s guards awoke grunting and coughing, their eyes red and itchy, each nursing a headache. The brook was cold, and splashing their faces did little to make them feel better. They yawned, grunted, relieved themselves, and tried to stretch out the kinks and soreness in their bodies. Nothing worked, and their foul mood stayed with them, as did the sour taste in their mouths.

Their horses, restless, stamped their feet, eager to be on the way, but the guards were slow and clumsy, and smelled unpleasant. The horses reared back, pulled away from their tethers, and trotted off into the woods. The guards cursed and pursued them, slowed by their armament, stiffness, and pounding headaches.

Peter and Elaina heard the horses at the same time, and crouched behind a log. It may be Zildak’s men, she said, obviously frightened.

The three horses trotted up, stopped by the brook and drank, then walked over to where Peter and Elaina lay. The horses stared down at them, obviously curious at these two humans, their behavior so different from the three back in the woods.

Elaina looked up and smiled. She pulled a handful of long grass from the dirt and held it out toward one horse. He flared his nostrils at the pleasant smell of these people, then lowered his head and gingerly took the grass. Elaina stood and gently patted the horse’s muzzle. The other two horses moved closer to see what was happening. Peter saw what Elaina had done and did likewise with the two other horses. Now the five of them stood, apparently enjoying each other’s company, when a nasty yell shattered all the good feelings.

Hey, what the hell are you doing? Get away from those horses.

Who are you?

What are you doing here?

Say, isn’t that wench the one we saw yesterday?

Elaina slowly backed behind Peter and pulled his arm. They’re the ones who attacked me, she whispered. Let’s go. They’re dangerous.

But Peter stood his ground.

The three horses neighed, shied away, and retreated to the brook, wisely giving the humans space. Nervous, they stamped their feet and watched.

You haven’t answered us.

Peter stared at them, noting they were filthy and unkempt. He said nothing, which seemed to infuriate them.

I’m sure she’s the one we saw yesterday. What’s she doing here? And how come she looks like that? She should be dead.

The first soldier, the one who appeared to be in charge, took several steps closer. You must pay a tariff if you are to pass.

Peter still said nothing—just stood and watched.

The guard shrugged and walked toward him.

I wouldn’t come any closer, said Peter.

The leader, surprised at Peter’s remark, stopped, turned to the two soldiers behind him, and shared glances, then roared with laughter. And why should we listen to you?

Peter bent down and picked up his walking stick but said nothing.

Again, the soldiers roared with laughter. "Oh, yeah, this peasant is going

Reviews for Five Extraordinary Stories

[jenn.s · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

An interesting read. Certainly nothing you can't find to read about online these days, but at least it was well written. Most of the cases were centered in the UK and it contained quite a few terms that some readers might not be familiar with. Overall it was an entertaining read and would make a great coffee table addition.