O blackbird! sing me something well:
While all the neighbors shoot thee round,
I keep smooth plats of fruitful ground,
Where thou mayst warble, eat, and dwell.
Excerpt from The Blackbird by Lord Alfred Tennyson
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My eyes scanned the landscape. The village was in a shambles. The buildings, even though they were on fire, were very unlike the buildings in my world. I wondered what had started the fires, and automatically looked to the skies for dragons.
Soaring high above, through white rain clouds and black soot columns, giant stiff birds with strange wings and noses flew in a V-formation.
I touched Beck's shoulder, where he crouched on the dirt. "What are those birds? Did they start the fire?"
He looked up and squinted at the shapes. "Those aren't birds." His eyes widened.
I turned back and saw that the birds were dropping what looked like little dots from where we stood.
"Chan, we have to go." He grabbed my hand.
"Where are we going?"
"Away from here!" He pulled on my arm, urging me to run.
I lifted one side of my dress and ran after him.
He had no idea the the old doorframe from the antique shop would take him to a distant realm of fantasy where there was no indoor plumbing and certainly no wi-fi to speak of. If he had known, he wasn’t sure if he would have walked though that shimmering portal at all. But standing here, even freezing to death in the stables, talking to Chan, he wondered if maybe she was the reason he was here.
Back in his world, a techie geek was sexy in theory, but in practice? Perhaps not so much. Not many cute girls liked to hang out in the computer data server room at corporate offices. It was dusty. And hot. And there was always the possibility of breaking something just by turning around. Or getting electrocuted.
Beck stared at the ground from atop the enormous horse. He really didn’t want to meet the dirt any faster than necessary, but Chan was already too far off the road to call. No, he didn’t need help to get off of a horse. How hard could it be?
Fingers gripping the saddle horn, Beck leaned forward and brought one leg up. He rested it atop the horse. While adjusting his other shoe for balance, he lost track of his higher leg, and his body twisted. He reached out for something--anything--to grab. Finding nothing but air, he peeled backward off the side of the stallion and fell on his face.
The horse whinnied and sidestepped away.
Beck spat gravel from his mouth and tried to stand. His every sinew ached. “Thanks for nothing, Lester,” he muttered to the animal, who whinnied at him once more. Funny, he sounded like he was laughing at him. Or was that his pride turning into a cherry slushie?
"Stay alert, Princess.”
“Yes, indeed I will, Sir Joshue.”
It was the burly man’s turn to blush. “Please, Princess. You embarrass me.”
“Precisely what I intended then.”
Now that I looked closer, I could see that he wore some kind of decoration on his face. Two circles of metal with glass windows in them, perched on his nose and affixed to his head by two metal bars that wrapped around his ears. “This is curious,” I said, reaching for the adornment.
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