Chapter 5

“You shall not sell wood, trees, or orchards for money.”

The words of the Guardian, penned by Polan the scribe, year 3000

Lumber

They walked for about fifteen minutes in complete silence.

Oliver had so many questions but hadn’t the frame of mind to ask them, and Silas didn’t seem to be much of a talker anyway.

Magic is real, Oliver told himself again.

Accepting that fact was difficult, but it was more difficult to come to grips that he was in a different world. And Silas said he couldn’t get the magic to work to go back.

Will I ever go back? Oliver wondered.

A soft noise brought Oliver’s attention up from his shuffling feet and the forest floor. It was a soft, rhythmic pounding in the distance. The sound was constant and grew louder as they walked. Every other minute, there would be a loud boom, like a grenade had gone off. He finally grew curious enough to break the silence. “What’s that sound?”

“That,” Silas said as he led the way, “is the sound of Magen City’s outskirts. Not much farther now.” His pace quickened, eagerness in his voice.

Oliver furrowed his eyebrows. Magen City was the national capital in his world. Was it the same city? Was this an alternate universe? He’d lived there most of his life and he’d never heard a sound like the one he was hearing. As the two men walked over a hill, Oliver found the source of the sound.

It was the sound of a lumber camp.

In a wide clearing filled with hundreds of stumps, about fifty men were hard at work sawing and chopping the remaining trees to the ground. “Mages, I must be dreaming…” Oliver muttered.

He stopped in his tracks—even though he was at a safe distance—as a mighty tree creaked and leaned. Several of the workers pulled it down with ropes and shouted “Timber!” The tree slowly ripped free from its roots and careened to the ground, filling the forest with a magnificent, thundering roar. Oliver could feel the ground beneath him vibrate when the tree crashed against the ground.

Silas noticed Oliver had stopped walking and turned back at him. “Have you ever seen a tree fall before?” Oliver didn’t respond, too busy gawking at the scene before him. Silas crinkled his forehead. “Well, observe while you walk. We need to hurry to the city.”

Oliver eventually broke his gaze and caught up to Silas.

“Ho! General Silas returns!” one of the workers shouted, pointing his ax at them. In unison, the lumbermen put down their tools and screamed huzzahs, waving their hats in the air. A couple of the men, probably their bosses, ran up to greet them.

So, he really is a general of an army, Oliver thought.

“Captain Fields!” Silas said clapping a silver-bearded man in a warm embrace.

Oliver didn’t understand why the rounded man deserved the title; he looked more like an aged shepherd than he did a captain of war. He had no armor, no weapon. Just a brown walking staff in his hand. He wore green robes similar to Silas’. “Mighty Life, it’s great to see you, General!” Captain Fields said.

Oliver noticed that half a dozen men and women were dressed the same way and stood a distance off from the lumbermen as if they were there to protect them. Each carried a wooden staff with them, wielding them like dangerous weapons.

Silas looked around at all the relieved faces. “How long have I been gone?”

“Two weeks, sir,” Fields said. “We’d begun to worry.”

Silas’ eyebrows shot up. “Two weeks? Life, for me it was only a day!”

“So, you did make it then… to the Ascensions? What was it like?”

“I’ll have to tell you about it later. I…”

Captain Fields—along with everyone else—had turned their attention to Oliver, with wide eyes. They took in his suit, which looked nothing like what any of them wore.

“My lord,” Fields said, reverently falling to one knee, bringing a fist over his heart in a salute, and bowing his head. Like a slow breeze through a field of wheat, the others followed his lead, bowing before Oliver.

Too dumbfounded to speak, Oliver just stood there with his mouth open.

Silas didn’t bow with the rest, looking uncomfortable, as if he weren’t sure if he should allow this or not. “Captain,” he said. “I’m sorry, but we must make haste to the Justice Hall. I’ll need a report on everything that has occurred in the last two weeks.”

“Sir, Pinedale has fallen,” Captain Fields said, rising to his feet.

Silas froze.

“We received word just two days ago. I’m being sent to Cambium tomorrow to fortify the city from another attack.”

A somber feeling descended over the crowd, like a wet fog that gave everyone the chills. Except for Oliver; he’d never heard of Pinedale. He was still stunned that fifty people had just bowed down to him. Do they actually think I’m… the Guardian?

Silas looked at Oliver with a serious expression. “Let’s go.” The general walked off and Oliver followed close behind, trying to keep up with the tall man’s quick pace. Silas turned back. “Captain, do you have a spare staff? Feel naked without one.”

“Aye, there.” Fields pointed at a wagon near a stump. “Only got ash-willow staves and elm wands.”

“That’ll do.” He walked to the wagon full of sticks, short and long, and picked a long one up. He strode off, using it as a walking stick.

As they left, the crowd of lumbermen and robed warriors whispered excitedly with each other. Oliver heard a woman say, “Thank Life, we’re saved!”

“He’s shorter than I thought he’d be,” a man said.

Oliver shook his head, staring at Silas’ heels as he walked. “This is crazy,” he said. “They think I’m the Guardian? So, magic might be real—I’m just coming to terms with that—but me? The Guardian? That’s… just…crazy.” He swallowed. “Isn’t it?”

Silas glanced back at him over his shoulder, not slowing down. He hesitated to answer. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “I no longer believe you’re the Guardian. But if you are… then you’re definitely not what I expected.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes.

How could I possibly be the Guardian of Magic? Oliver thought, feeling another headache coming on. He lived thousands of years ago. Isn’t he part-god or something? Probably immortal. I’m not immortal. And he’s obviously a master of magic. I can’t do any magic. It’s just… ridiculous to think that I—especially me, a devout Secular—could be him!

“There she is,” Silas said, pausing at the top of a hill. “Magen City.”

Oliver walked up to the general’s side and looked down at the city that he should have recognized but didn’t.

Instead of the booming metropolis he knew, he saw an ancient and small yet thriving, bustling city. Huts made of wood and brick littered the outskirts while a large, stone palace stood tall in the center. A twenty-foot stone wall surrounded half the city with several thick gates. The other half of the city bordered the base of a lone mountain and a beautiful, freshwater lake that had two rivers feeding into it and one flowing out.

It was older—much older—than the Magen City Oliver grew up in, but it was still Magen City. Mount Spruce looked the same, except not snowcapped. Tree Valley Lake looked a little larger.

This is not a different world, Oliver realized. “Silas, what year is it?” he asked.

“I don’t know if you count years in the Ascensions the same as we do here. It seems like days in the Ascensions are years to us.”

“Please, just tell me.”

“It is precisely two thousand years since Life brought about the evolution of the first humans. Though, we simply call it the year 2000. Why is that important?”

The blood drained from Oliver’s face. He had to sit down on a nearby rock, feeling overwhelmed, letting the news sink in. Silas looked concerned. “What’s wrong?”

Oliver took a deep breath. “The war you spoke of. Is it against an evil man named Lennox?”

Silas gaped. “How…?”

“Silas… I’m not from another world.” Oliver spoke quietly, hardly believing his own words as they left his mouth. “I’m from the future.”