Chapter 8: Back to Reality

“I feel awful,” muttered Alfonso.

“Shh,” replied Marta. “You must whisper.”

“Where are we?” asked Alfonso softly.

“Nowhere good I’m afraid,” replied Marta with a weak smile. “I believe we’re in the southern foothills of the Urals. Middle of nowhere really.”

Alfonso sat up slowly. His entire body ached – his muscles, his bones, his joints, everything. He felt as if he’d been in a brawl with an angry mob.

“Do you feel like this every time you morph?” asked Alfonso. “Because if so, I don’t know how I’m going to do it.”

“Don’t worry,” said Marta, “It gets easier, but I won’t lie to you, it never feels great.”

“Okay,” said Alfonso with a sigh. “Any good news?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Marta. “I think we’re being followed. It’s probably been a few days.”

“Who?”

“Not sure exactly,” said Marta. “But there’s more than one.”

“Wonderful,” said Alfonso and he managed a wry smile. He was nonetheless in a better mood. His vision had returned fully, and this gave him confidence. He glanced around, surveying his surroundings. They were well hidden in a thicket of shrubs and tall grasses; and they were situated halfway up a steep rise, which offered a sweeping view across a rocky plain below. In the distance, Alfonso could see a narrow vertical line that looked like it might be a tower. Judging by the scale of this tower – how tall it stood in relation to everything else – Alfonso knew that it had to be quite large. Something about the whole scene seemed familiar.

“Strange, I feel like I’ve been here before,” said Alfonso. “But that’s impossible, right?”

“Maybe you saw it in a dream,” suggested Marta. “You know, when you were in your coma.”

“Yeah, could be,” replied Alfonso.

“That’s kind of what happened to Roya.”

“Who?”

“Roya,” explained Marta, “She was this other seer from Jasber – a girl seer like me.” Marta went on to explain how Roya had taken too much green ash and gone into a coma – after which, she did nothing and said nothing until, one day, she created a curious painting of a woman sleep-walking along the ledge of a building. “She begged to be taken to this place,” explained Marta. “She was convinced this place was a doorway – you know, her way out of the coma.”

“You think I needed to come to this exact spot to wake up?” asked Alfonso with a chortle. “Come on, really?”

“Didn’t you say, ‘I feel like I’ve been here before?’” asked Marta.

Alfonso looked off into the distance and stared again at the tower – or whatever it was. The sight of it gave him an uneasy feeling. He felt increasingly certain that he had dreamt of the place, but he couldn’t recall any of the details of the dream.

“So what’s the plan?” asked Alfonso.

Marta reached into her shirt and took a Pendant embedded with a number of emeralds. It was what the Abbot had given her.

“What’s that?” asked Alfonso.

“Our way home,” replied Marta.

“Home?”

“Back to Jasber,” said Marta. “I got it from the Abbot. We just need to burn it and they’ll come looking for us – the sweepers – they’ll find us.”

“No way,” said Alfonso. “Forget it.” That was the last thing that he wanted to do right now. “These are the same people who locked away my dad in the middle of a labyrinth for years – the same people who kept you locked up in a monastery where you had to sit in a chair all day and stare at a tree. Have you forgotten all that? You want to go back there? Are you crazy?”

“My mom and dad and brothers are there,” said Marta. “Besides, I’m done being seer. I plan to quit.”

“And you think they’ll let you?” asked Alfonso. “Marta, be honest with yourself.”

“I’m the seer,” she said stubbornly. “They need me. We’ll make a deal or something.”

“Look,” said Alfonso. “If that’s what you want to do, I’m not going to stop you, but I’m not coming with you.”

Marta studied her Pendant carefully. She appeared lost in thought, as if trying to make up her mind.

“You’re not going to make it without me,” she said finally.

“Look, I appreciate all that you’ve done for me, I really do,” said Alfonso. “But I think I can survive without the help of a nine-year-old pipsqueak.”

“Stand up!” said Marta. It wasn’t a request – it was an order.

“What?”

“You heard me – stand up!”

“Fine,” said Alfonso. With great effort, he rose to his feet. He felt weak and unsteady. “I’m standing,” declared Alfonso. “Okay?”

“Walk forward ten paces,” ordered Marta.

“Yes boss,” said Alfonso. He took one step forward and then another. His legs ached and his balance was off, but he managed. He took three or four more steps and then, rather abruptly, he felt exhausted. He could go no farther. He dropped to one knee and, as he did, a spasm of pain shot up his leg. He grabbed his thigh and felt that his muscles had dissipated and his skin was soft and saggy. “My legs... I’m an...” He stopped mid-sentence – his voice sounded like the croak of a frog.

“A very old man,” finished Marta. She couldn’t suppress a hint of satisfaction in her voice. “Ninety five, maybe ninety-eight. You’re a regular grandpa – probably even a great grandpa.”

“What do I do?” croaked Alfonso and, as he spoke, he became aware of the fact that he no longer had any teeth in his mouth. “Tell me.”

“That all depends,” said Marta. “How old do you want to be?”

“My real age,” croaked Alfonso.

“No,” said Marta. “I’ve already shown you how to do that. Why don’t you try for thirty-six?”

“Thirty-six?”

“Yes,” said Marta with a smile. “It’s a lucky number.”

“Fine, thirty-six then, but how?”

“The trick is to picture people around you at that age, like your wife,” said Marta. “Can you do that?”

“My wife,” croaked Alfonso. “What are you talking about?”

“Your kids, too,” added Marta. “You need to picture the whole scene – your wife, kids, dog, house – but start with your wife.” She smiled. “It should be someone with a pretty name, like Hannah or Victoria.”

“How can I?” asked Alfonso with exasperation. “How can I picture someone I’ve never met?”

“Of course you’ve met her,” said Marta with a smile. “You are a grandpa, you met her ages ago – you’re an old man now – just look at yourself. You’ve lived a long life. And all your memories are locked away in your head. It’s all there. You’ve just got to act your age.”

“How do I...” began Alfonso. He was gasping for breath. All of this talking had exhausted him. “How do I do that?”

“Breathe – that’s the key to everything,” said Marta softly. “Just breathe.”

“Breathe?”

“Yes,” said Marta. “Concentrate on your breath. It places you in the moment – at least that’s what the Abbot says. So you breathe in through the left nostril, hold it for four seconds, and breathe out through the right nostril. Then breathe in through your right nostril, hold it again – this time for eight seconds – and out through your left nostril. Repeat. Can you do that?”

Alfonso nodded. He concentrated intensely on his breathing. At first nothing happened. He just felt foolish. In fact, he nearly gave up, but he persisted for a few more minutes. Soon images started flickering through his brain – a boathouse on a misty river, a little blond girl in pigtails, a plate full of sushi at a fancy hotel, an old woman walking a poodle, children dressed as knights at a school play, and the images just kept coming. It was almost as if someone was pasting photographs into a giant album – at an astounding speed – and Alfonso suspected that the pictures were moments from his life. He came to understand that his brain was being filled with a lifetime of memories. After some time, the sound of Marta’s voice brought him back to his senses.

“Look for your wife,” said Marta. “It’s confusing when you are so old – there are so many memories – but she is there. You probably want to remember her when she is a young mother. That’d probably be when you are around thirty-six. I don’t know for sure. I’m just guessing. But when you see her, try to hold onto that image, and block out everything else.”

Marta watched Alfonso closely. He appeared to be deep in thought. His breathing was rapid, and his sallow, hairless arms were trembling. He stayed like this for several more minutes – and then it happened. In the blink of an eye, he morphed into a tall, muscular man with a suntanned face, a mop of shaggy brown hair, and a thick beard. He looked a few years shy of forty.

“Keep breathing like I told you,” said Marta. “In through the left nostril, hold, out through the right nostril. And keep at it – otherwise you’ll go right back to being grandpa.”

Alfonso nodded. He sat down, closed his eyes, crossed his legs, and continued with his breathing. “Good,” said Marta. “You’re holding your form. The longer you hold it, the easier it becomes to stay at that age. When you feel ready, I have some adult-size clothing that the monks from Jasber gave me. They should fit you more or less. But give yourself another few minutes to get used to being a tall guy with a beard.”

She laughed. “You look like one of those scary guys who spends all of his time at the alehouse in Jasber. Do you like drinking ale?”

Alfonso shooed her away with his hand.

Roughly ten more minutes passed and then, finally, Alfonso opened his eyes. When he did, he found himself staring at a woman in her late twenties who bore a striking resemblances to Marta.

“You morphed,” said Alfonso.

“I did,” said Marta. “I figured we’d travel faster if we were both around this age.”

Alfonso nodded.

“I think I figured something out,” said Alfonso, as he rose to his feet. He looked strong, healthy, and determined. “I want to visit that tower – the one off in the distance.”

“The one from your dream?”

“Yes,” said Alfonso.

“Okay,” said Marta, “I’ll go with you to the tower, then I want to head back to Jasber.”

Alfonso wiggled his fingers and moved his arms about – as if he were still getting used to feel of his own body.

“Weird isn’t it?” asked Marta.

“Yeah,” said Alfonso. “And by the way, I figured something else out.”

“What?”

“You’re not my wife,” said Alfonso.

“Yeah, I know,” said Marta with a smile. “You’re not that lucky.” She laughed merrily. “Come on, let’s go.”