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MY PLAN was not very well-thought-out. Things just kind of happened, most of which I attributed to sheer desperation. The easy part had been deciding on the method of transportation, especially since I started in a location where I had the advantage of being knowledgeable about the geography.
Having undergone two recent cliff dives, I couldn’t think of a better way to go. Wherever I was going was likely pretty far away. As for the details about the creator of the glasses, I still lacked confidence, but I figured that the inventor of this exact pair of travel glasses had to be a specific person. Someone, a particular individual, must have created them. In my mind I developed a character for that person who would become my destination.
I figured that inventors were intelligent and obviously ahead of their time, otherwise someone else would have come up with the idea before them. Surely the person who invented the marvel that I took from Valcas would be a genius and, well, inventive. Personally I hoped that the inventor would also be weak, frail and kind. I formed a picture in my mind of what this gentle-hearted mad scientist might look like.
A lingering vile thought made my stomach churn. What if Valcas was the creator of the glasses? I shook off that thought. It made me angry. Valcas was arrogant enough that if he had invented the glasses he would have told me. At least I hoped so. That and I hoped I had enough details to get to where I needed to go.
With my mind clearly focused on what I wanted to find, I began my first willful experience traveling with the glasses, neither as a means of escape nor as a prisoner of Valcas. I took in one last look at Uncle Al’s cottage and inhaled deeply. The smell of snow filled the air. It no longer felt like autumn, and this place no longer felt like home. As these feelings sunk in, I turned around and marched across the lawn surrounding the cottage, in the direction of the main road. Blades of grass glistened in their fresh coats of morning frost. Then they cracked and crinkled underneath the stomping of my feet.
I recited my search terms audibly as I walked, tightly gripping the travel glasses in my hand. “Genius. Inventive. Helpful,” I said. “Frail. Gentle. Old. Kind.” I hoped. I was pretty sure the travel glasses didn’t hear me speaking these words to it. They certainly weren’t saying anything back.
“Genius. Inventive. Helpful. Frail. Gentle. Old. Kind.” Reciting these words helped me to focus on my task rather than on my fear. Too bad I looked like some crazy person talking to a pair of glasses.
The main road was unusually vacant, even for the post-tourist season. I looked both ways before crossing. There wasn’t a single vehicle in sight. Still, I looked around again before climbing over the guardrail on the other side of the road. This side of the mountain was not supposed to be accessible to the public. Since living with Uncle Al, though, I’d found several trails that I’d secretly taken halfway up to the summit.
I climbed up a rocky trail with scattered tufts of grass. The higher I climbed, the colder it got. Wind blew wildly as I neared the highest point I knew that had a flat-edged cliff and the least amount of pointed rock jetting out of the sides. I walked out to the edge, tightened the straps that held on my backpack and slipped on the glasses. After another deep breath, I sprang forward into the empty white.
***
MY LANDING FELT AS natural as taking a stroll around the lake. I was not surprised to find myself in a dingy workshop. Neither was the elderly gentleman of slight build surprised to see an unexpected visitor. The inventor looked up from his work and cocked his head to the side.
“Well, hello there young miss. May I ask your name?”
My heart fluttered weakly as relief washed over me. “I—my name is Calla,” I nearly gasped out.
Vials filled with various colors and viscosities of liquid bubbled on burners of different shapes and sizes on a black slate-top lab table with wooden legs. The table sat in the middle of a shallow room, flanked by several mismatched wooden chairs. Pungent chemical odors tickled my nose and made my eyes water. “Are you a magician?” I blinked.
“Magician? Oh, I don’t practice magic.” He chuckled. “I invent technologies, many of which require me to develop my own tonics and tinctures. My name is Edgar.”
The inventor shakily rose from his seat, bowed slightly and then motioned toward my face. Droopy gray eyes squinted behind round lenses. “I see you are wearing my travel glasses. Might I ask how you retrieved them?” Edgar backed away from me slightly as he said this. I suspected that he was now a touch wary of me.
“I stole them from someone who tried to steal my life,” I admitted, my confidence building.
“And who would that be?” his frail voice inquired breathlessly, in a higher pitch, clearly expecting the worst.
I tried very hard to say “Valcas” without spitting out the word in disgust. I failed.
“Oh, Valcas.” Edgar sulked back down into his seat. “I’m so sorry for what must have happened to you.” His next question sounded a shade hopeful as he looked up at me over his glasses. “Is Valcas dead?”
“He was alive when I left, but his people may not like it when they find out there is no longer a bride for their new monarch. That breaks the rules. I’m not sure what the punishment is, but he seemed pretty worried about it.” I bit my lip, hoping that I hadn’t sounded too sarcastic.
Edgar nodded and excused himself to start tea at a crude stovetop he’d set up in his shop. “I hope you’ll join me. I’m sure we both have a lot to talk about.”
I slipped the glasses off my eyes and propped them on top of my head before helping Edgar clear off an end of the lab table large enough for two place settings. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until he mentioned food. My stomach grumbled even though most of what Edgar had cooking in the shop, his experiments, didn’t look or smell edible. We sat down to biscuits and strong herbal tea which he served using vintage teacups and saucers that appeared to be well worn. The biscuits were thick, hard and flavorless, but the tea was warming and provided some of the comfort that I sorely needed.
Our conversation felt like a dream. Perhaps this was a result of the fumes coming off of the experiments that bubbled in the small, poorly ventilated room. Maybe it was the fact that I’d just jumped off of a cliff after finding my home abandoned and covered in dust. While I was in this frame of mind, Edgar asked me to recount my story from the very beginning—how I met Valcas, my recent escape and how I appeared in his workshop. He let me go on without interruption, often frowning and shaking his head, sometimes even pulling at wisps of thinning white hair. By the time I finished my scathing review of all things Valcas, Edgar had stopped eating. His face paled.
“Edgar, are you okay?”
A thin sheen of sweat moistened his forehead. He looked like he was going to be sick.
“Valcas is my nephew.”