The Aperture

By Charles Rocha

CIA Agent Connie Bain puts on a magical bracelet confiscated from a suspected terrorist and finds herself transported to a parallel universe, where she is unwittingly pressed into a quest to save the world from Chaos.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Charles Rocha
• Release date: Apr 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005270070

Charles Rocha

Charles Rocha is a graduate of Central Washington University in Ellensburg, Washington, with a B.A. in English and an M.A. in British Literature. Currently he works as an ESL instructor in the city of Dnipro, Ukraine. He has had stories and essays published in small journals and online story websites.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The Interrogation

Just settle down and make yourself comfortable, the red-headed woman said. You are under house arrest.

Would someone mind explaining to me what is going on here? Professor Gerald Layton asked his captors. Who are you people?

I am special agent Connie Bain, and this is my partner, William MacGregor. We work for the CIA. You just sit right where you are. We have a few questions we want to ask you.

You mean you broke down the door to my house just to ask me a few questions? Are you guys nuts?

Sorry about the door, Professor, but I think we have good reason to be here, she said, not quite answering the question. We’ve been keeping tabs on you for a few years now. Some of your actions have aroused the suspicions of my colleagues and me.

What are the charges?

Agent Bain smiled imperiously at her captive. It was evident to the professor that she enjoyed her work immensely.

Before I begin, I want you to know that we have evidence that one of your colleagues, a certain Dr. Kahlil, has been cooperating with Arab terrorists since he disappeared from sight two years ago. Our intelligence sources indicate that an Arab country, specifically one that I am not at liberty to mention at this stage, is in the process of constructing a nuclear device, conceivably to be used against Israel and other U.S.-friendly nations.

So what does this have to do with me? I haven’t seen the man in years. I have no idea where he is.

But you were friends. Right? Both of you graduated in the same year from M.I.T.

Yes, but what does that have to do with anything?

Agent Bain opened the thick file on the table between them and pulled out a printed document.

Did you not accept a collect call from Dr. Kahlil at 2:40 a.m. on June 23 of this year, originating from the country of Jordan?

Yes.

Who was it that you called?

Dr. Kahlil.

What did you two talk about?

It was a social call. He was just calling to see how I was. Somehow, he received word of what happened to my wife. He was concerned for me.

He was, huh? What else did you two talk about?

The professor shrugged. Nothing much. He mentioned doing contract work on some hydroelectric plant in Syria.

My ass, he’s working on a hydroelectric plant. Tell me what else you talked about.

The professor thought for a moment. I can’t remember.

What do you mean you can’t remember?

The man called me out of the blue at two in the morning, Professor Layton said. I was asleep. He woke me up. I barely remembered that he called until you reminded me.

I think he’s lying, MacGregor said.

Why are you asking me these questions? the professor said. If you had my line bugged, then you would have known what we said. So you tell me, what did we talk about?

Agent Bain sighed. She seemed somewhat vexed by this statement. She tapped on the file folder on the desk. This is your file, professor. We have proof that you have removed controlled materials from the science labs at the university where you teach. Some of these items are rather exotic, or even bizarre, to be used in a home environment.

Which items are you talking about?

She thumbed through the folder and flipped it open to a page. Well, it says here that you have taken vast quantities of hydrochloric acid, silver nitrate, molybdenum, electric generating equipment, a quantity of radium, methane, and most peculiarly, several tanks of chlorine. And this is just the beginning of the list. Agent Bain thumbed through three more pages of listed items. So what are you doing with these items on the premises of your home? Baking a cake? Inventing a new kind of light bulb? The agent paused for effect. Or perhaps, creating chemical weapons? Maybe a nice little bomb to help out your terrorist friend?

I don’t know what you’re talking about, the professor said.

Agent Bain eyed the professor like a cat that had cornered a mouse. Then you have some explaining to do. We have confiscated the equipment in your basement lab. Even as we speak, our boys are analyzing your equipment to find out what you’ve been doing down there.

Professor Layton sat up, alarmed. Stop them! You can’t let them touch anything!

Why not? Do you have something to hide?

You just can’t. I have a critical experiment in process, the pinnacle of over two years of work. It will all be ruined. And someone could be hurt.

Agent Bain cocked an eyebrow. "Who will be hurt? Our boys? Do you have explosives down there, professor?"

No, I don’t, but they may harm my experiment. The alignment of the equipment is very precise. It must not be disturbed.

But you just said someone could be hurt. Tell me. Who will be hurt?

I didn’t say that.

You did. Tell me, who will be hurt?

I can’t say.

Don’t play games with us, Professor Layton. You’d better tell us. If anyone is harmed, you will be held responsible.

At those words, the professor drew a long sigh. He gazed up at his interrogator. She stared down at him with her steely blue eyes. I can tell you, but you won’t believe me.

Try us, professor, she said, looking over at her partner. We have all night. Don’t we, Will?

The professor bit his lip. Okay. You wanted to know. Her name is Alyndia.

Alyndia? Agent Bain repeated the name, turning it over in her mind. She looked up at MacGregor. Do we have record of Professor Layton contacting an Alyndia? MacGregor shook his head. Connie returned her attention to the professor. Who is she?

Professor Layton looked away from the red-headed agent. "I told you, you are not going to believe me when I tell you who, or rather, what she is. You are going to think I am crazy."

Just tell me, professor. Who is Alyndia?

She is a sorceress.

A sorceress? Oh, really? A smile began at the corners of Agent Bain’s lips. Where is this sorceress? Is she here?

No, she lives in a world different from ours.

Agent Bain frowned upon hearing this. Like, in another dimension?

Yes, the professor replied. Something like that.

She sighed. Okay. Tell me more, professor.

Gladly. You see, in her world, the atmosphere is mostly chlorine and hydrogen instead of oxygen and nitrogen, as it is here. There, hydrochloric acid occurs naturally, as water does here. Her world even has vast oceans of hydrochloric acid, just as we have oceans of saltwater. Needless to say, their entire physiology is quite different from ours.

Professor, this sounds like something from a B-movie of the fifties. We are not playing games here. Now tell us the truth.

"I am telling you the truth," he said.

Agent Bain glanced up at MacGregor. He expressed neither amusement nor surprise. Agent Bain turned back to Professor Layton. Let’s say this Alyndia in the other dimension really exists. How did you contact her?

Professor Layton drew a heavy sigh. Where do I begin?

At the beginning. Where else?

It all started three years ago when my wife was involved in a car accident on Route 14, a week before her birthday.

The night of August the twentieth of— began Agent Bain.

I know, I know, the professor said, interrupting. You don’t need to remind me.

Just get to the part where you are using the controlled substances.

Okay. As you know, she went into a coma from her head injuries. They explained at the hospital that her head had gone through the windshield of the car and that she had suffered a skull fracture. Intracranial bleeding had left her brain-damaged. I verified their findings. Looking at her EEG, it was true. The professor’s voice cracked with emotion. That’s when I realized my beloved wife was never going to wake up.

Go on.

I was distraught from the accident. I could no longer sleep at night. I canceled the classes I taught at the university and began drinking—a little too much, I’m afraid. While she lay there hooked up to the life support equipment, more dead than alive, I felt bitter. I knew her soul had departed, but I could not let go of her. I threw myself into my work. Late one afternoon, I was working with powerful electromagnetic fields that I thought could be used to destroy cancerous cells in organs when, inadvertently, I created an aperture, if you would call it that. A portal to places unknown.

That’s when you first saw Alyndia, the agent said.

Yes. And I saw her quite clearly. She saw me, too. He smiled slightly. She had the most amused look on her face.

This sorceress: was she human?

That is a difficult question to answer, Professor Layton said. I can say with certainty that she has human form, but her race is human only in the relative sense. Their physiology is drastically different from ours. The professor’s face waxed into a smile as he visualized his beloved. But even in our world, she would be considered beautiful. She has long, black hair and a lovely face with these exquisite cheekbones. Her complexion has a greenish tinge, too, but this only adds to her beauty.

"How did she run across you? Did she just turn on her television to watch a rerun of Lost in Space and, poof, there you were?"

Professor Layton scowled at Agent Bain for her patronizing remark. You’re not taking me seriously.

You’re right, professor. I’m not, she said. But I’m doing my patient best to hear you out. Tell me how you two met. Did she build a contraption, too?

No. Alyndia doesn’t have any equipment that I’m aware of. Hers is a magic-based society. Her people rely on magic the same way we rely on technology, even for commonplace things. Using machines as we do is a foreign concept to them. The professor rested his hand on his chin as he thought. As a matter of fact, I don’t think I was even able to describe a television to her. Her Box of Tongues seemed to malfunction whenever I used technical terminology or whenever I named an object found in our world for which her language has no equivalent. Anyway, it was quite by accident that we encountered each other. She was trying out a special spell she had been researching when her image appeared within the solar-modulated magnetic field of my invention.

You mentioned she has a Box of Tongues. What’s that?

It’s a kind of real-time language translator, of sorts.

Really, now? What does it look like?

It’s an ornate-looking box about this big. The professor gave its approximate dimensions with his hands; it was about four inches square. She would set the box between us on the floor of the chamber. A fan-shaped curtain of rainbow-colored light projected from the box into the air. As our voices passed through the light, the box changed the sound of our words so that we could understand each other. We had many conversations this way. You know, Agent Bain, it’s fascinating to hear Alyndia describe her world. It’s nothing like ours, and yet our cultures have striking similarities.

Agent Bain sighed wearily. Professor, so far, I don’t believe a word of what you’ve told me.

But it’s the truth! I swear it!

Talk about the chlorine. Why are you storing chlorine gas in your basement?

I needed it for the chamber. After we widened the aperture enough so that she could physically pass into our world, I created a large, airtight glass chamber for her. In the early days, I filled the glass chamber with chlorine so that she could visit me in my lab. Later, I devised a chlorine gas re-circulator and filled the chamber with argon, an inert gas I knew would not react with either of our tissues. We wore face masks in the chamber to allow us to exist together in the chamber while breathing the atmosphere of our own worlds.

And she wears jewelry too? Agent Bain asked.

Professor Layton knotted his brow, suspicious and perplexed by her statement. Well, yes. Why are you asking?

Agent Bain reached into a plastic envelope and pulled out a shiny, heptagonal metal bracelet. Inscriptions of runes covered the flat outer sides of the bracelet. Have you seen this before, Professor?

You took that from my lab! Give me that!

Professor Layton reached for the bracelet. Agent Bain deftly moved it out of his reach. She turned the bracelet over in her hands, examining it. She let it hang from her index fingertip to gauge its weight.

It’s heavy. Feels like it’s made of nickel or maybe platinum.

Specifically, it’s made of iridium.

She raised her eyebrows at the professor. Iridium, you say? That’s a rare, expensive metal, and it looks like it took a lot of it to make this thing. Where did you get it?

Alyndia gave it to me in the argon chamber. It was her mother’s bracelet. The professor reached for the bracelet again. Give that to me. You don’t know what you have.

At that moment, a burn on the professor’s hand caught Agent Bain’s attention. Where did you get that burn on your hand?

The professor immediately withdrew his hand and self-consciously covered it with the other. I was exposed to her atmosphere.

You what?

Once, I reached through the aperture to hold her hand. For a moment, the atmospheres of our worlds mingled. The high concentration of chlorine in her atmosphere burned my skin. The professor cleared his throat. If you will recall, chlorine is corrosive to human skin and highly poisonous. The Germans used chlorine as a chemical weapon during the First World War.

Yes, I know that. What about her?

"She became ill when she breathed some of our nitrogen- and oxygen-rich atmosphere. Oxygen is bad for her, but not as much as chlorine is for us. I analyzed the samples of air from her world. Actually, she does have some oxygen and nitrogen in her atmosphere, but the percentages of both are far lower. Her atmosphere is also several times denser than ours."

Professor, I have to admit that I’m having trouble believing any of this.

Every word is the truth. I swear it.

Agent Bain sighed. Okay. What happened next?

He grinned sheepishly. I wasn’t expecting it at all, but I suppose I was vulnerable to it.

Just tell me what happened, she ordered.

We fell in love.

Agent Bain looked up at MacGregor. He shook his head. Agent Bain looked back at Professor Layton. You mean to tell me you fell in love with this—this space girl from another dimension?

Yes, I did. And I didn’t say anything about a space girl, he retorted. I said she was a sorceress.

Whatever you say, she said.

The professor continued. She is coming to this world to be with me.

How could she come here if our atmosphere is poisonous to her?

She will detach her spirit from her body and inhabit the body in this world, a spiritless vessel of someone who was very dear to me.

Your comatose wife?

The professor nodded once.

How could that be?

She said it was understood in her world that all living creatures in the universe have souls. These souls are almost as old as the universe itself. From what I understand, they are pure energy with self-awareness, not much more than that.

I follow you. Go on.

All right. At the time that life evolved on Earth, these souls wanted to manifest in the physical world, but there weren’t enough living vessels. So, they put their energies together and created an alternative world where they could live in the physical state. But this world was different from ours in that it was bound together with cosmic energy, something we here on Earth call ‘magic’. This proto-world never evolved past the primordial stage and still has its early atmosphere.

That’s where the chlorine comes in, right?

Yes. And that’s where Alyndia lives now. Alyndia has offered to join me in our world so that we can be together in the physical sense, but her physical form cannot survive here. To get around that, our plan is to transfer her soul energy into the vacated body of my beloved Marianne.

And what about Marianne? What if she wakes up and finds this Alyndia character inside of her?

She’ll never wake up. Alyndia assures me that my wife’s soul has vacated her body.

This is an outrageous story, professor, Agent Bain said. You don’t really expect us to believe any of this, do you?

The key, Agent Bain, is the iridium bracelet you took. Alyndia has a psychic fixation on it. Give it back to me so that I may slip it on to the wrist of my wife.

Agent Bain shook her head. I’m afraid I can’t do that, professor. The bracelet is evidence.

Evidence of what? I didn’t steal it from anywhere. It was given to me by Alyndia to guide her spirit into the right body.

Professor, in all the years I’ve been an agent with the CIA, I have heard some nutty stories, but this takes the cake as the nuttiest ever. Give me the real story now. Let’s talk about Dr. Khalil. How do you transport the materials to him?

"To hell with Dr. Khalil! And if you don’t believe what I told you is true, then you put the bracelet on my wife at the hospital so Alyndia can be with me."

Agent Bain clutched the shiny metal ring tightly in her hand as she held it out in plain view of the professor, taunting him with the sight of it. So what if I put the bracelet on your wife’s wrist at the hospital, and she doesn’t wake up from her coma? Will you then tell me the real story about the chemicals and the stolen lab equipment?

I maintain that I have told you the real story, Professor Layton said. Then he gave her a wry smile. Yes, Agent Bain. Put the bracelet on my wife, and then you may call me a liar, if you wish. Afterward, when you discover that I have been telling the truth, you will bring her back here to me. Okay?

Agent Bain glanced at Agent MacGregor. They nodded to each other and quietly exited the room.

What do you think, Connie? Agent MacGregor asked her in the hallway.

I was going to ask you the same.

I think he’s a kook.

He seems convinced of his own story.

Like I said, he’s a kook.

Well, we’re not getting anywhere with him. Suppose we go along with his fantasy for a while, take it to its logical conclusion, where it is disproved. Then he won’t have any basis for continuing with his story.

You really intend to put that bracelet on his wife?

She gazed down at the bracelet in her hand. What the hell?

Agents Bain and MacGregor reentered the room. Agent Bain stood looking down at the professor for a few moments, then she clucked her tongue.

All right, professor. It’s a deal. But remember, if your story does not check out, you have some serious explaining to do.

* * *

Agent Connie Bain followed the triage nurse down the hospital corridor and into the room on the sixth floor where Marianne Layton lay in state, connected to an array of life support machinery.

Here she is, Ms. Bain, the nurse said. Don’t expect a reaction from her. She’s been this way for the last few years.

Thank you, nurse.

The nurse smiled sweetly and left the room. Connie stood alone for a moment to take in her surroundings. In the subdued light, she noticed the room was filled with flowers sent there regularly by Professor Layton. In contrast to the cold, aseptic scent of the hospital, the air in this room smelled sweet with their nectar. Agent Bain walked over to the bedside and stared at the comatose woman. The room was silent save for the hiss from the respirator forcing air into the woman’s lungs and the slow, steady beep of the heart rate monitor. She gazed at Marianne Layton’s sunken, ashen, pale face and shook her head.

Connie pulled Marianne Layton’s emaciated arm from the side of the bed and let it hang over the edge. Feeling foolish about the whole affair, she reached into her coat pocket and withdrew the envelope containing the iridium bracelet with the strange runes. She turned the handsome, seven-angled bracelet over in her hands. She thought it would look wonderful on her. Its size was perfect. On a whim, she slipped the bracelet onto her wrist. She held it up to the light to get a better look at it. It was a lovely thing as it shone silvery, cheerful, and bright in the dreary hospital light. Because of the strange runes and its unusual shape, she had to admit the bracelet really did have an unearthly quality about it. After admiring it for a few moments, she decided to take it off and slip it on Marianne Layton’s limp arm, which was still hung over the hospital bed rail.

As Connie grasped the shiny iridium bracelet to remove it, she thought she felt an electric tingle where the bracelet touched the skin on her wrist. Out of curiosity and to ascertain that her mind was not playing tricks on her, she allowed the bracelet to remain. The tingle quickly subsided to be replaced by a gentle, unmistakable warmth that began at the bracelet and spread through her body. She felt as if someone was pouring a large vat of warm honey over her body, starting at her wrist. The feeling was profoundly pleasurable, almost orgasmic. She closed her eyes and let the soft warmth slowly spread. It filled her body to the ends of her fingers and toes, then rose upward past her shoulders and through her neck. The spreading warmth stopped suddenly at the base of her skull, as if some sort of barrier had been reached. The warmth in that area quickly escalated into a burning, intense pressure.

Oh!

Now the cool metal of the bracelet became abruptly hot. Connie felt an acute burning in her chest that seared up her throat like a hot poker. She clutched her throat and gasped for air, but found she couldn’t breathe. In desperation, she reached for the bracelet to remove it. Her body wouldn’t respond. Her body suddenly convulsed as though she’d received an electric shock. She collapsed to the floor.

Then she heard a slow ripping sound, like tearing cloth, that seemed to emanate from within her head. As the ripping sound continued, a strange sense of vertigo swept over her, followed by a creeping sensory numbness. Her vision began to blur, and spots appeared before her eyes. She realized she was losing consciousness. She fought off the lightheadedness with all her might. The ripping sound ceased, and the feeling of vertigo subsided somewhat. She found she could breathe again, but only with great effort. Her ribcage felt as if it were being squeezed in a giant vice. She cried out for help, but her throat issued only a feeble choking sound.

Again, her body convulsed, this time stronger than before. The room spun freely around her. The ripping sound resumed. The stench of burning flesh assaulted her nostrils. Now, she writhed on the floor helplessly, as though immolated, desperately struggling to regain control of her body. In her struggle, she inadvertently kicked over a small folding table. It fell to the floor with an enormous clatter. And then she lost consciousness.

A nurse in the hallway heard the racket and came running into the room. The red-headed woman she had led into the room earlier was now sprawled near the foot of Marianne Layton’s bed. The nurse quickly checked the woman’s vital signs. She no longer breathed and had gone into cardiac arrest. The nurse quickly pressed the alarm button on the wall and began CPR on the woman as the acrid odor of chlorine overtook the sweet scent of the flowers in the room.

Chapter 2

A Strange Kind of Kidnapping

Agent Connie Bain felt like she had fallen down a flight of stairs. And all was dark. She also had a splitting headache.

She opened her eyes and stared up at a high, arched ceiling. It was made of an orange stone, painted, organic, and lovely. It arced into a five-pointed arch at the center of the room. Where is this place? she wondered.

She sat up quickly, alarmed, and looked around. Her sense of direction spun in circles for a moment. She felt a tremendous head rush. She felt like she had been asleep for days. No doubt she had taken a nasty bump in the head. She wondered who had done this to her. She felt her head for bandages. There was no bandage, no discernible bump, but her hair felt like it had a different texture.

She waited for the vertigo to subside, then took a look around. She was lying on an incredibly soft bed in a woman’s bedroom. The air smelled sweet to her. She found it had a peculiar smell, a mixture of patchouli and bananas, but she liked it. Rectangular tables made of beveled, green-swirled marble lined the walls of the room. A strikingly pretty, ornate rug with diamond-shaped patterns flowed across the floor.

She studied the room in an attempt to decipher the origin of its decor. It wasn’t Oriental, it wasn’t Middle Eastern, and it wasn’t European, but something like all of those and, at the same time, like none of them. She slipped off the bed onto the ornate rug. The colors in the rug seemed excessively bright to her, so she tried not to look. She found that she was wearing an azure gown with two strips of lavender leather-like material that started at the shoulders and extended in two strips down to the base of the hem. The wide strips looked vaguely like suspenders, but they were more likely decorative in nature. She squeezed the azure fabric between her fingers. The material felt like it might be silk, but she was not sure. She noticed a difference in her hands. Though her hands were anatomically correct, they were not her hands. They were too delicate-looking to be hers; they were too lithe. Most strikingly, she now had long fingernails painted purple. This was most peculiar. If she really had been kidnapped, she wondered why her captors had gone through the trouble of applying false fingernails and then painting them purple. She understood the reason for being gagged and tied. Her training with the CIA had prepared her for that. But what’s with the purple fingernails? Then she wondered for a moment if she was only dreaming. Some things did not make sense.

Waiting for her on the floor at the bedside were a fancy-looking pair of shoes that appeared to be an accident of moccasins and patent brown leather loafers. They looked smaller than the shoes she normally wore, but her stocking-covered feet seemed smaller too. She slipped her feet into the footwear. They fit perfectly.

At once, she realized she was incredibly thirsty. Nearby were a basin and a crystal urn half filled with a clear liquid that she assumed was water. A row of cobalt-colored glasses lined a shelf above. She gradually realized there were a great many books in the room. A few of the runes on the books reminded her of those on the bracelet confiscated in Professor Layton’s lab. She poured herself a glass of the clear liquid. She brought it to her lips and took a deep drink. The liquid had no flavor, but the texture felt different in her mouth. It definitely wasn’t water, but it slaked her thirst just the same.

Connie poured herself another glass of the liquid and studied the books. She found she could read the runes on their spines: The Thxias Book of Astronomy, the Glzpell Torsas Book of Spiritual Lens Creation, and a large black book called God Breathed. The light was growing brighter outside, a light green glow.

Connie went to the window and drew back the gauzy violet curtain that covered it. The glass beyond was opaque, but the room was bathed in a bright blue-green light. She unclasped the latch on the window and pushed it open. It opened easily. She gazed out the window. She gasped at what she saw as the most beautiful sight she had ever seen. Before her stretched a lovely city of sparkling emerald towers, arches, and spires of silvery gold. Beyond was a string of ice-capped mountains. But the most lovely sight was a yellow sunrise framed by the richest shades of green and blue she had ever seen. The sunlight felt warm and soothing on her face.

She got down on her knees and stared out the window. Was this the place Professor Layton had told her about? If so, how did she get there? She tried to recall what had happened to bring her to the hallowed place where she now resided. The last thing she remembered was putting on the strange, heavy bracelet. Then everything went black.

She scanned the room for a telephone. Though there was no phone, she did see a plethora of oddball trinkets and other items scattered throughout the room. Whoever lived in the room was an avid reader and a pack rat.

Feeling hungry, she looked around the room for something to eat. Then she spotted a mirror set into the wall by the door. Did she dare want to see if her face had been altered? She thought she might as well. She stood up from the window and walked over to the mirror. For a few seconds, she thought she saw a stranger looking back at her in the mirror. The stranger had black hair with green highlights. Her cheeks were smooth, and her cheekbones were high and prominent. The complexion was fairly white with a tinge of green. Her eyes were sea green, and her lips had a strangely subdued shade of pink. Alarmed by the appearance of the stranger, Connie ducked away from the mirror. She looked back at it, wondering if it was actually a window of some sort. She raised herself to mirror level again. This time, it was her face she saw, albeit a bit pale. Relieved, she stood up again. Now she noticed a wide array of beads of all shapes and colors and thumbnail-sized plates interwoven within the strands of her hair. On closer inspection, she saw that many of the plates had cryptic runes on them. She surmised that it must have taken someone hours to weave the beads and plates into her hair.

Connie noticed she wore earrings too—three per lobe, small, loopy silver affairs. Not bad. She bared her teeth. Her nice teeth were unchanged, but with the bad taste in her mouth, she wished she had a toothbrush. She stood back from the mirror to get an overall picture of her body. To her dismay, she looked somewhat scrawnier than she remembered. She thought this was a peculiarity of the mirror until she squeezed her upper arm. Gone was her well-tuned, athletic figure. Now she was small-boned, lithe, and almost frail-looking, emaciated by comparison to the way she used to look. The azure robe she wore seemed to almost hang on her like a rag draped over a stick. She cradled the womanly flesh of her chest. Instead of the 34C she was used to, she felt only the slightest swell of her breasts. A chill of alarm ran through her. Either she had lost a lot of weight in the wrong places or someone had done breast reduction surgery on her. If surgery had been done, she did not feel residual soreness from the operation, nor were scars evident. In either case, she realized she must have been unconscious for a great length of time.

She picked up the glass and imbibed some more of the liquid, then went back to bed and sat down to think about her predicament. It occurred to her that someone wanted her to believe she was in the land Professor Layton told her about. If he were telling the truth, she was now breathing chlorine, and if the chemistry were correct, the clear liquid she was drinking was probably hydrochloric acid. She contemplated the liquid in the glass. She sniffed it; it had no smell at all. She took another sip from the glass. This time, she let the liquid rest on her tongue for a few seconds before swallowing. As far as she could tell, it possessed not even a slight acidic sour note. For all practical purposes, it was water. She laughed out loud at the fleeting belief that she might be drinking hydrochloric acid. She halted her laughter abruptly as the sound issued from her mouth. Her voice sounded much different. It was much lighter and softer. The rhythm of her laugh was different too. For an instant, all this startled her. Then she laughed again. She decided that maybe all of what she was experiencing was a hallucination. That would explain why she saw a stranger when she first viewed herself in the mirror. Her surroundings did seem to have an otherworldly, surreal quality about them. Perhaps she was back at her apartment, dreaming. Yes, that was it. She was dreaming it all up. Just wait until she told her partner, MacGregor, what she was seeing. She laughed some more, then fell back on the bed.

Just then, there came a rapping at the door to the room. She looked up, suddenly frightened. She did not reply. Did this dream also come with a cast of actors to act out some psycho-symbolism hidden deep within her subconscious? A number of packed bags sat by the door as though someone was about to embark on a trip. She waited. The rapping came again, more insistent than before.

Alyndia? Are you ready? a male voice asked from behind the door.

Where was Alyndia? she wondered. She looked around the room. There was no one else there but her.

Alyndia? the voice came again. Let’s go. They’re waiting for us.

The man’s words sounded strange and awkward. He wasn’t speaking English, yet she understood him just the same.

Alyndia’s not here, she said. Her own voice sounded foreign to her.

The metal latch flipped up, and the door opened. She saw a mature, slightly overweight man wearing a brown fur jacket and baggy leather trousers. His skin possessed a slight tinge of green. His hair was a light shade of brown, and his narrow face was framed by thick, dark eyebrows and a tuft of blue-black beard at the extreme end of his chin. He had a dull, scuffed-up metal breastplate strapped to his chest. He wore sandals and carried a small pack. He looked ready to travel. To her, he looked like a rejected extra from Monty Python’s Search for the Holy Grail, yet his face looked unmistakably familiar. She felt like she should know him; it was a feeling not unlike déjà vu.

When the man set eyes on her, his look hardened. Enough of this nonsense, Alyndia. Let us depart. The sooner we get this over with, the better.

"Are you calling me Alyndia?" She looked around the room once again to ascertain whether she was the one he was referring to.

You don’t see another Alyndia in the room, do you? he asked, his voice laden with irritation.

He bent over and started laboriously picking up her bags that were sitting by the door. She lazily leaned up against a table.

I think you are mistaking me for the wrong person.

On hearing this, he stopped picking up the bags and looked at her. What are you talking about?

You called me Alyndia. Right? I’m just stating that my name is not Alyndia.

He scrutinized her for a moment, shook his head, and resumed picking up the bags. While struggling to lift all the bags, he accidentally dropped one. He cursed. He tried to pick up the errant bag while struggling to maintain his grip on the others. You can help me with these, you know.

Why should I?

Because you are going on a quest and will need them.

I don’t know anything about a quest.

Alyndia, you cannot back out of it now. Have you so soon forgotten about your debt to the Academy?

I paid off my student loans years ago, Connie said. Furthermore, I don’t give a rat’s ass about any quest.

The man stopped lifting her bags and glared at her. His expression betrayed a mixture of surprise and anger. Since when do you speak with a foul tongue, Alyndia? Such language is not becoming of a lady sorceress.

A sorceress? Me? Connie let out a raucous laugh, or at least as raucous as her strange, new ultra-feminine voice would allow. I might be able to do a card trick for you.

You are obviously not in good spirits today. So be it. Let us go now. You have a task set before you. They are waiting for you in the street as we prattle. And if you do not go now, you can carry your own packs down the stairs.

Who are you? she asked. Just as this question left her lips, his name popped into her mind: Jalban. And he was her uncle. She did not know why she knew his name or his supposed relation to her, but it was most certainly him. At least the name seemed appropriate for him. Any more than that, and he was still a stranger to her.

Enough of these games. Alyndia, let us go now, he commanded.

She thought this over for a bit, then decided to go along with the ruse. She had nothing to lose. Besides, she somehow felt she could trust Jalban. She drew a long sigh and rose to her feet. When she did, she accidentally knocked over the cobalt-colored glass of clear liquid on the floor next to the bed. Oh! she said as the liquid flowed across the lovely carpet. Unsurprisingly, the liquid did not burn the carpet but merely soaked into it as it were water. If the liquid were acid, the rug would be smoldering by now. This was further proof that the liquid was not hydrochloric acid.

She picked up the bags Jalban could not carry and followed him down a mostly featureless hallway, past several doors. The building they were in seemed like a kind of low-rent tenement, and hers was a studio apartment within this tenement. She gathered that the person named Alyndia who occupied the apartment was not successful in whatever she did. They descended a flight of stairs and passed through a crescent-topped portal out into the street below.

There on the cobblestone streets was a bearded man who looked to be in his thirties, sitting on a big, shaggy-haired creature. The beast looked like a three-way cross between a horse, a camel, and a llama, with floppy ears and a large, bony bump on the bridge of its nose. It was all of these and yet none of them—it was called a hanyak! She could not say how she knew the proper name of this unfamiliar creature.

Connie turned her attention to the bearded man on the hanyak, just as she’d done with Jalban. She was sure she’d never met him before. After some time, Jalban introduced him to her as Rahl the Swordbearer, which Connie found an apt name since the man carried a sword. He was a tall, muscular man with a close-cropped beard, bushy, thick black eyebrows, and straight hair tied in a ponytail at his neck, the tail of which he kept draped over his left shoulder. His face had a dark, sun-burnt appearance. For his rough features, his nose was well-shaped, masculine, almost Roman, and ended with a slight natural flare. He was dressed for action; he wore a five-jointed breastplate, leg greaves, and high leather boots, and he had a full face helmet attached to the saddle of his hanyak, along with a spare sword to boot.

Without further hesitation, Jalban tied her packs to the spare hanyak. They mounted and started along the road called the Circle of the Elements that wound through the city called Roggentine, then they went down a smaller road called Potter’s Way. A colorful panorama of sights filled Connie’s eyes, and a swirling cacophony of alien sounds fell upon her ears.

She had some difficulty keeping herself steady on the beast she rode. She could not get over the sight of the creature. Ostensibly, it served the purpose of a horse, but it looked nothing like anything she had seen in any of the countless foreign countries she had visited in service for the CIA. The saddle was made of a material that looked like leather but felt more like slippery vinyl. An imitation leather saddle, she thought. It is very strange, just like everything else has been since I woke up this morning.

A man named Rahl rode up to her. She looked away from him while she pondered her situation. Lady, I hear you are a practitioner of magic.

Connie said nothing but continued to look ahead. On their right, they passed a bearded, fat merchant dressed in a green robe and a skinny prospective buyer dressed similarly, loudly bickering over the price of a brightly colored clay urn. The skinny buyer was interested in the large urn. The fat merchant proffered a smaller, less ornate urn for the price offered for the larger. As they traded insults interlaced with counteroffers, their words sounded strange, rough, and foreign to Connie’s mind, yet her ears understood them.

Foolish merchants, Rahl said of the two men after they had passed. So you lived in Roggentine all your life?

Connie frowned. How should she respond? Well, yes—I think, she replied, not knowing nor properly caring if this was the correct answer.

He gave her a slight grin. I’m from Dyandall.

Dyandall? she asked, feeling the words on her tongue. The name did not sound familiar at all.

"You probably haven’t heard of it unless you traded with the bardin, he added, reading her confounded expression. It’s a small village sixty leagues west of here."

"However far that is," she said.

It does not appear that you venture out very often, lady. I hear you are a sorceress. Would it be proper to ask you how long you’ve practiced magic.

How should I know? I don’t even know what the hell I’m doing here.

Rahl frowned at first, thinking she was being evasive. Still, he appreciated that in a lady.

A feisty sorceress, you are, he said. Not a common trait for one who practices magic. Which discipline are you? Are you one that can control animals?

Jalban broke in beside them. She is not that kind of sorceress. She’s a Prestidigitator of the Elements. And maybe she resents your uncouth manner in questioning her as you are.

Ah, the lady is an elemental sorceress, he said, disregarding Jalban. "Alyndia the elemental sorceress—one who searches for nodes beneath rotting logs in the forest," he added mirthfully.

Connie shook her head; the whole conversation was insane. She had no idea what he was talking about. It seemed like everyone in this place was a lunatic. She burst into a sudden burst of laughter at that thought. Once she started laughing, she could not stop. Jalban gave Connie a puzzled look, then shot Rahl a piercing look of consternation. Rahl returned the stare, and then he too broke out in laughter. This seemed to anger Jalban. He gave the hanyak a kick and rode slightly ahead of them.

They turned right off Potter Street and were now on the main street that seemed to bisect the city. Though this avenue was much wider than Potter Street, at fifty or so paces wide, going was slower. The cobblestone avenue was choked with rickety wood carts overloaded with goods, pulled by weary looking beasts of burden, tethered livestock animals, people carrying packs, and beasts of burden. The sides of the streets were lined with kiosks covered with brightly colored, open-sided square tents. Within these tents, merchants purveyed all sorts of items, including birdcages, ornate rugs, crystals, and wood figurines. Now the sun was rising higher in the lovely green sky, with only a few wispy clouds to the north. It became warm. Connie caught sight of huge, open wood gates in the high, whitewashed stone city walls.

Rahl rode last, behind their pack hanyak to watch for pickpockets. Next was Connie. Jalban rode ahead of them, cursing the unlucky souls who were blocking their path. Still, it was slow-going. Connie smiled to herself. Liam would make an excellent New York cab driver. Then she frowned. Where is New Jersey from here? She studied the architecture of the buildings, with their curved roofs and wavy glass windows. Most remarkable was the absence of telephone wires, radios, televisions, or even a simple western shirt or pair of jeans. There were no signs of aircraft in the sea-green sky; just a lone hawk or vulture circled high overhead. This was most certainly a backward country, almost medieval, a place where modern technology had not yet penetrated. Yet, despite the uncanny remoteness of the country, she was fluent in the language. She thought that perhaps some kind of mind control had taken place after she put on the bracelet. It was possible that Professor Layton was involved in some sort of covert organization that was based in this country. But why they should go through all the trouble to kidnap her and let her loose in this strange country was beyond her—her CIA training did not prepare her for this—and they even somehow altered her perception of the sky. Still, no matter their tactics, no matter what sort of mind games they played with her, no matter what they did to her, they would never, ever break her. She thought of jumping off the hanyak and dashing off into the crowd to lose Jalban and Rahl. She judged she could lose them easily in the throng. Possibly, she could locate a phone in a nearby city or village closer to civilization. Then she decided against it. If she were really a captive in this foreign land, then Jalban and Rahl were also the solutions to the quandary she found herself in. And what was this ‘Alyndia the Sorceress’ bullshit? Were they really in cahoots with Professor Layton? She decided to play along with their game to see where the situation led.

While she pondered her surroundings, she felt a sudden, visceral tug toward one of the kiosks. The thought of water became foremost in her mind. She instantly felt thirsty. She turned her head to look. There, she saw an old man sitting on a high chair. Hung from supports within his square tent were dozens of tiny, sealed, azure jugs. Connie halted the hanyak and stared at the kiosk, trying to fathom her attraction to the jugs. The old man seemed to notice her instantly. His weary, old eyes locked on hers. He gave her a wry, haughty, toothless smile. To Connie, it seemed as though he could read her, and he knew just what she needed. He climbed down from his high chair. He braced his feeble body with a staff, waiting for her with expectant eyes on a rude table ringed with the tiny jugs. She saw that the man was exceedingly short and hunched over. That’s why he sat on the high chair; it was so that he could survey the crowd, possibly for passersby like her who had a strange attraction to his wares.

She was just about to get down from the hanyak to go to the man when Jalban called out to her from ahead, just above the din of the crowd bustling around them. No, Alyndia! You can get your own later!

Connie turned to him. What?

We don’t have time for that, he said. You can find your own on the way there. Let’s go.

Jalban sounded like he meant business. She turned to the old man at the kiosk. His eyes were still locked on her. Connie fought an almost overpowering urge to go over to the man to discern from him the yearning she felt inside.

Alyndia! Jalban called to her again.

This time, she heard the anger in his voice.

Better get moving, Rahl said from behind her. He’s probably overpriced, anyway.

Reluctantly, Connie pulled her attention away from the man and started the hanyak forward behind the path cleared by Jalban ahead of them. She looked back longingly one last time at the man and the azure jugs. His eyes were still on her, a hurt expression on his face, before their visual connection was broken by the mass of flesh in the street. The acute thirst she felt subsided. Presently aware of this feeling, she kept feeling the nudge she felt at the kiosk. As they passed the numerous merchants, occasionally she felt a burning sensation of fire beneath her skin, then water again, buoyancy in her limbs, and then the gritty sense of someone lightly rubbing gritty sandpaper on her skin.

Finally, they reached the great wooden gates. Here, the throng thinned, and they could move more easily. Rahl guided the pack hanyak between him and Connie, and they rode forward three abreast.

On either side of the gate, just outside small, ornate shacks, the fresh-faced young men armed with halberds stood guarding the gates, collecting a tariff for those who entered without a writ of citizenship. There were eight sentinels in all, dressed brightly with shiny breastplates glinting in the sun. Each wore a giant plume of feathers in his metal helmet, with the top vaguely reminiscent of those helmets worn by the Spanish Conquistadors. Seven of the sentinels wore green feathers. One of them, presumably the leader, wore yellow. They passively watched those leaving through the gates. Somehow, Connie knew the men as lower-ranking members of the city garrison, although she did not know why she knew this fact. Jalban, Rahl, and Connie passed through the gates with no more than a slight nod to her from one of the green-plumed sentinels.

Connie expected the crowd to disperse far and wide once they left the city, but beyond the walls stood even more buildings with kiosks set up in front. A quick scan of the structures outside the walls revealed them to be less ostentatious and of lower quality than those located within the walls. The appearance of the crowd took a similar turn.

Immediately to the right, they passed three low, circular fountains arranged in a triangular pattern. At the edge of each fountain was a hand-crank pump made of brassy metal. A sign planted by one of the fountains displayed a semi-crude drawing of a hanyak with an X drawn through it. Townswomen waited at the fountain with their buckets, talking amicably among themselves. Two of the women, one plump one with striking green hair wearing a yellow and brown striped medieval-style dress, and the other, a thinner but less comely, bonneted version of the other, paused in their chat and smiled winsomely at Rahl.

Now they rode straight into the new throng. The sun felt hot on Connie’s shoulders and face. She spotted a floppy hat made of green reeds attached to a pack on the hanyak between them. Assuming it was hers, she plucked it off and stuck it on her head.

They traveled a short distance later. A skinny young boy wearing a threadbare smock rushed up to them, holding out his hand. He had lovely straight green hair, big green eyes, and a face with delicate features. Money, lady, he pleaded. My mother has a fever. She cannot move. I need money to take her to the temple of Thedamas.

Connie halted the hanyak. Why do you need money to take him to the temple? Why don’t you take him to the (?!) Connie drew a blank on the word doctor. She could not find the expression for the thought she meant to convey to describe a man who heals through scientifically proven processes. Something lower and more autonomous in her wanted to say healer or acolyte, but this spoken word did not seem to have an equivalent meaning to what she really wanted to say.

The boy gazed at her, seemingly trying to fathom her thoughts. Then he spoke again, his voice more pleading than before. Please, lady, if you could spare only a half-pence, I would be eternally grateful to you.

I very well doubt you need to take your mother to the temple, she said to the boy. "You should take her to a doctor instead."

The boy looked at her with a puzzled expression. "Who is doctor?"

Someone who heals you. I will give you money if you go to the doctor, but not if you’re going to squander it at the temple. I don’t believe in dumping money into religious causes.

The boy gave her another look of befuddlement, yet his hand remained outstretched. Connie reached into the leather bag that jangled from her belt.

Rahl rode up to them. What is your problem, child?

My mother is sick with a fever. I need money to take her to the temple.

Connie withdrew a shiny iridium coin amid the copper-colored coins from her purse to hand to the boy. When Rahl saw what she was going to do, he spoke up.

Alyndia! Don’t—!

But before he could say anything further, the boy jumped up and snatched the coin from her fingers. He looked down at the shiny and bright coin in the palm of his dirty hand. His eyes were wide with disbelief. Then he quickly bowed several times to her.

Thank you, lady! Thank you, lady! Thank you, lady!

Each time he bowed, he took another step backward. Then he ran away from them, disappearing into the crowd. Rahl shook his head, turned his hanyak around, and rode forward to join Jalban. The two waited for her a hundred paces up the street. Jalban glared at her as she approached but said nothing. Connie thought he looked disgusted with her.

The three continued onward. Neither of Connie’s companions said anything to her as they passed through the crowd. Eventually, both the crowd and the buildings thinned. After twenty minutes or so, the unimproved dirt road had become only a rutted path. Now there were more trees, of different varieties, none of which she recognized. She only knew they looked similar to pine. The woods were not especially dense, and she caught glimpses of an occasional hut or cottage in the trees some distance from the road. Surrounding some of these cottages were fenced-in areas containing peculiar-looking farm animals. Some of these creatures clucked, brayed strangely, or made other odd beastly sounds as they passed.

Now the sun was high on the horizon, and it became hot, but they were entering a more heavily wooded area, and the signs of habitation grew slight. Connie’s mind turned to the boy she’d encountered, with his green eyes and his plea for his mother. He was not unlike the street urchins she encountered during a six-month spy assignment in northern India she accepted early in her career. Posing as a British tourist, her task was to gather information on India’s nascent nuclear capabilities.

She rode up to Rahl, feeling self-satisfied at being able to help the child. She decided to gloat a bit.

I hope that child makes good use of that money I gave him. Can you believe he wanted to give it to a temple?

He may, he may not. You never know what he will use it for.

Connie detected some dismay towards her in his tone. She stopped riding. Hold on a minute, Rahl. Do you have a problem with someone helping out the poor?

Rahl stopped next to him. No, I don’t, he replied. It’s just what you gave him.

What do you mean?

What do I mean, you ask?

You think I didn’t give him enough?

Rahl let out a guffaw and started riding again. Connie quickly caught up with him.

Tell me what you mean.

"Isn’t that obvious to you? You gave him a rezni piece."

So? Connie didn’t follow what Rahl meant. She did not like his attitude. She wanted to kick him off his hanyak.

Don’t you know the value of money? A rezni is worth a month’s wages for the average freeman.

It is? Connie asked, feeling suddenly foolish at what she had done. She felt certain that the other grimy, copper colored coins in her purse were not worth nearly as much as the Rezni. She wondered how many more of those she had.

Yes, and sure, you have more of those, and I’m assuming you have all the confidence that the boy will make good use of the money.

Connie shook her head. She reached for her purse. He probably doesn’t even have a mother that he knows, she thought.

Liam chimed in. Maybe he has a father who sends him out for drinking money, and then flogs him when he doesn’t bring back enough at the end of the day.

Enough from you two already. I feel bad enough without you two adding to it. Connie said, vexed, as she sorted through and counted the coins in her purse. There were no more Reznis. How far away is this place we're going to? she asked weakly, spilling the coins back into her purse.

We should be there by tomorrow afternoon. Rahl answered.

Now what is it we’re supposed to be doing?

Jalban sighed. Alyndia, since you awoke this morning, you have been acting strangely. Why do you ask such foolish questions?

Then refresh my memory, Uncle Jalban, Connie said in the bitchiest tone she could coax from her newly slight voice. Jalban shook his head and rode ahead of her.

Rahl replied for him. We are going to the Castle Maray to assist in the repair of the Calphous Wall.

Connie winced. You mean we’re going all this way to fix somebody’s wall?

Rahl stared at her with ill-concealed dismay. Haven’t you heard of the Calphous Wall, the barrier to the Dark Realms? he asked her as if the question were the most obvious.

Nope.

Then I suppose you haven’t heard of the earth tremor that destroyed part of it.

Nope.

Didn’t you say you were from Roggentine?

I didn’t say I was from there.

Then what did you say?

Look, Rahl, Connie was going to say, then she eyed Jalban ahead of them. She lowered her voice. Look, Rahl, she began again, "I don’t know if you’re in on this, but I’m going to take a chance on you. Listen to me very carefully. My name is not Alyndia the Sorceress. My name is Connie Bain. I’m a citizen of the United States. I don’t know what I’m doing here. I think I’ve been drugged and kidnapped. I woke up this morning and