I whipped my arm back, the motion coupled had me stumbling a few of steps back. “Nope.” I shook my head hard. “What the hell is that?” I backed away further.
Another few measured breaths, and I started to regain my wits. You’ve gone through worse. You’re a strong woman… and smart. You can figure out what’s going on. It’s probably a prank or some dream. But you got this. My lame attempt at a pep talk for myself made me roll my eyes. But I was right about one thing, I needed to figure out what was going on and where I was.
Wandering around the spot, trying to figure out what was going on, I picked up some of the foliage and rocks, sifted the dirt and examined the landscape. Everything looked similar to what I had seen before in a more dessert area, but here, the trees were more pointed. Grass, while sparse was more of a teal. Frankly, everything looked a little different. In my gut, I knew something was terribly off. I tried to soak in the energy around me but it too was different.
This couldn’t be real. I checked my phone, lifting it from the spilled contents of my purse that must have dropped when I landed. No service. Of course. With that, I gathered my few belongings that I had dropped and weaved my way through the trees, looking for signs of people and possibly an explanation of where or when I was, trying to stay as concealed as possible.
I needed to know the situation before I was willing to risk engaging another person. Call it street smarts. Call it survival. But growing up on the streets made me leery of people in general. People in a place some watery portal just bounced me to was on a whole other level in my book.
Staying close to the trees, I hadn’t gone far before seeing people moving about. But what I came across kept me staying out of sight. Armor. Lots of armor. So, not going anywhere near all that. I slunk back behind a tree that I could only describe as a small oak crossed with a cactus with its bark-covered trunk and branches that held green leaves. But those leaves were lined with similar, sharp needles that looked just like cacti needles. Great. Now I had to avoid fallen leaves and low hanging branches.
Staying hidden, I watched for a moment and observed my surroundings. Men, women and children wandered through what appeared to be a market area. Some were manning wooden and sod booths, selling everything from foods, clothing to trinkets. Kids played in the dirt roadways. People wandered about, chatting and purchasing goods, some bartering for trade. Most wore what I could only describe as a relaxed warrior style – leather pants and tops, thin cotton shirts, taller boots, arm braces, straps and buckles. Others wore long robes, loosely fitted that looked to allow for coverage from the sunlight but also, I assumed let the air flow easily. A few wore heavy armor, looking as if they had just rolled in from battle or were headed out to one while some women were dressed in long gowns, adorned with delicate accessories, their hair pulled up in curls and buns.
A hot breeze blew through the area as I worked to keep out of sight, deciding I needed to keep moving. My grey sweatpants, black Smithsonian sweatshirt and converse shoes a stark contrast to both the attire around me as well as the climate. Yet, I couldn’t see myself wearing what those I had observed had chosen. My curiosity was growing. I couldn’t tell if I was on some strange, historical military base or in the middle of a medieval re-enactment. Either way, something in my gut filled me with caution. And I wasn’t one to ignore my instincts.
A hand landed on my shoulder. I nearly jumped out of my skin as I turned, ready to fight. My fists came up, but instead of an armor-clad warrior, I found an elderly man's face. "Not from around here, are you?"
I lowered my fists and watched him cautiously. “Is it that obvious?” I pulled my bag around to hug it close, my eyes darting around the area.
“We do not get many people covered in ink. Especially not attractive women. Most of those with art on their skin are men… warriors. Warriors or they’re of some spiritual significance. Or some we simply do not speak of. Come.” He held out a cloak, offering it to me. “Come, put this on. I’ll take you to my house so you can change before you’re seen. Do not fall behind.”
He didn’t wait for either an argument or for me to agree as he began slipping the garment over my shoulders. Okay, so I guess I’m wearing this then. I held still, allowing him to slip the black, full-length cloak over my shoulders.
I pulled it around me completely before following him to a small cabin not far away. It was tucked in a cove near a crystal-clear pond. Trees surrounded the small yard that cradled a garden on one side. Stepping inside, I struggled not to ask if this was some joke. If my friends were playing some prank on me. I remembered sitting in a cabin similar in style on an elaborate film set a friend of mine worked on for a small budget movie. But everything in this one looked used, less like a prop. Plus, his accent was different than I had ever heard, but he was speaking English, even if a little
