The Historian Had Gone Insane
Matthew Ryan Fischer
Wyatt put things bluntly, “The
Historian has gone insane.” Wyatt blinked, and then--
“What were we talking about?” asked
Nestor. He was alone in a room, but could have sworn he had been talking to
someone.
The Historian had written down so many
versions that he couldn’t keep the truth straight anymore. He had his books,
but his memory was a bit too fuzzy. When had time begun? The ancient past or
the far flung future? Time was all around if you knew how to look for it. He
could write it. Again. Change it. Mix it around. He had done it before. Nobody
knew the truth except him. If he could just remember it.
“Imagine surfing on a wave of radiant
energy, only instead of surfing on a surfboard and having any control, you’re
being pulled along the turbulent flow of gravity behind a wave, but it’s not
really a wave and instead it’s actually the very fabric of the space-time
continuum.”
It had been years, and Ares had been
busy, but he could still remember the surfing metaphor. Slipstreaming was
nothing like surfing, yet somehow the chaotic notion stuck with him. Time
worked different for him. He had been alive inside the stream, but he couldn’t
tell if he was young or old or if time was moving at all while he was inside
it. He could have been lost for ages. But those ages might have only been
seconds to somebody else.
He had been thrown out of the stream
because of a ripple effect. Someone had changed time and he had been bounced from
his ride. There was a blank hole missing from reality. A part of him had been
ripped out and lost, but he couldn’t tell what it was or what changed.
He was still breathing though, that was
good.
“Who are you?” asked the Librarian.
Ares was surprised to find himself in
the middle of a library.
“You’ll have to forgive me, but I’m
not totally sure what’s going on.”
“You just appeared out of thin air.”
“I know it might seem that way…” Ares
reached out, tried to find a wave to catch onto. If he could slip back into the
flow of time then he wouldn’t have to make up any terrible excuses for what was
happening.
No such luck. He had been cut off. The
strings of time had been broken and he was left disconnected.
“This might sound weird, but what do
you know about tweaking time?”
The Librarian stared at Ares for a
moment, lost in some deep thought. “Not enough. But I read about it in a book.”
“You don’t seem shocked.”
“You haven’t read some of the books I’ve
read.”
“Probably true. Why don’t you tell me
about them?”
“You’re the one who appeared out of
nowhere in my library. Perhaps we should start with you.”
Fair enough, thought Ares. But what
could he say. That he could tug at the strings of reality and change time
itself? That there was an energy that connected all of reality and that he had
been living inside its flow for god only knows how long? That someone had done
something to change time and the only way he knew that was the time change sent
an energy ripple throughout all reality? How was he going to explain that? This
librarian seemed at ease with the appearing from thin air, but there was only
so far Ares could push things.
The Historian wrote another line. Told
a little verse. Hummed a little tune. It was fun. He was having fun.
What book did you find, Nestor asked
no one in particular.
There had been a monk who read what he
shouldn’t have read and a secret unraveled. He thought he could change time. He
had no idea. The Historian wouldn’t let him do too much.
The longer Ares talked, the more it
seemed as if the Librarian believed every word he was saying, but more than
that, that he fully expected all of this to happen.
“I have a book I think you’ll want to read.
Have you heard of The Sibylline Prophesies? I think I always knew this day
would come…”
The Historian paused. Someone somewhere
was just out of reach and he couldn’t tell what they were doing. He could feel
it coming but couldn’t pinpoint where. Someone else was trying to change
things. Someone else was aware of him. He could write his way out of this, but
first he had to identify them. He had to do it quickly, before they had a
chance to write something of their own.
But where were they?
The Librarian led Ares to the lower
levels of The Stacks. They had very important research to begin.
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