This is episode fifty of the novel, From Here To 1137 AD. If you would like to purchase From Here To 1137 AD, it is available on Amazon in Kindle format or paperback.
Thomas Sees Into The Future
“Let’s go to the far end of your property,” Tom suggested as they stepped into the field to the side of the house.
Thomas led the way, and they began walking in that direction.
“It seems you have prime property,” Tom said. “It is near your house.”
“My father was shrewd when it came to bartering,” Thomas said. “This is the property that Bouchard desired.”
“That certainly adds another layer of controversy to the dispute,” Tom said.
“What is it in this field that interests you?” Thomas asked as they strolled.
“I noticed a ravine when we walked at the far end of your property. I could not see how deep it was.”
“There is a stream at the bottom,” Thomas said. “It is the northern border of our property. It is deep. It never floods onto my field.”
“I want to go to an isolated place.”
“It is isolated,” Thomas confirmed.
“Good, let’s go there.”
They walked quietly. Thomas was mystified by Tom’s interest in the ravine and the stream. Tom looked over the bucolic farmland. The peacefulness of it seemed almost eerie. However, Tom became completely enchanted with the raw purpose of every patch of ground that only man and beast had trodden. The land never echoed the muffled sound of a gas-belching internal combustion engine, nor did it taste or smell its pollution.
They walked until coming upon the ravine. Struggling to keep from falling, they braced themselves with their hands against the bank.
“This is a good stream,” Tom smiled. “Do you fetch water from it?”
“Yes,” Thomas said, “and there are two wells in the village. You should see it after a heavy rain. It is swift and deep.”
“I’m going to take you someplace,” Tom said. “It may frighten you at first. Always keep in mind, you will always be safe, and nothing will happen to you.”
“You are sounding very strange,” Thomas said. “At times, your behavior makes me wonder if you are wooden.”
Tom half smiled. “I am not—at least I think I’m not.”
“Then, we are here, and from here, where are we going?” Thomas said as if speaking to a child.
“Relax, my friend,” Tom said and continued, “Brain, Instaport Thomas and me to the pod—now.”
Suddenly, Tom and Thomas stood in the Instaport station inside the pod. Thomas’s head jerked around. He held out his hands as if he expected to be attacked.
Tom held out his hands to calm Thomas. “Easy, relax. Remember, there is nothing to fear.”
“Where are we?” Thomas’s voice quavered.
Thomas became dizzy and leaned forward. Tom caught him in his arms before he fell to the floor. He dragged him to the couch in the lounge and sat him down.
Tom called out, “Replicator, six ounces of a 12th-century elixir, please.”
Tom hurried to the replicator. An elixir in a pewter mug waited for him.
“I guess when I said 12th century, you went all out.”
Tom poured a little into Thomas’s mouth. He suddenly revived.
“What is this? Where am I?” Thomas said in quiet wonderment as if in a dream.
“Have another good drink,” Tom said.
Thomas held the mug and had a good swallow. He coughed. “What is this?”
“It is spices and warm wine.”
Thomas sat upright and looked confused and wide-eyed around the pod. “I’ve never seen or dreamed of anything like this. From what country do you come, and does everyone live like this there?”
“Let me ask you something,” Tom said. “What do you think the village of Hanby and Morpeth and the castle of Whitford will look like in a hundred years?”
“I don’t know,” Thomas said.
“What about the people, do you think any who are now living will be alive?”
“No, that would be impossible,” Thomas said. “It would be all new people. It would be full of people who are not yet born. I suppose buildings would change. New people have new ideas.”
“Have you ever gone to the mill at the River Wansbeck?”
“I have gone with my father to take grain there,” Thomas said. “And I take grain there.”
“Just as you have gone ahead a hundred years, now think back a hundred years.”
“Nobody alive now would be alive then,” Thomas said. “Those who lived and were born then would be dead.”
“The mill on the River Wansbeck?” Tom said as a question.
“Yes,” Thomas said.
“It would not have been there then.”
“I knew that there was a time they had no water mills,” Thomas said.
“Now, think. What inventions will exist a hundred years from now that do not exist now?”
“I have no way of knowing,” Thomas said.
“What would you like to be invented?”
Thomas pondered briefly. He grinned. “A faster oxen.”
“That invention is an engine hundreds of years away from being invented,” Tom said. “On my farm, I use one. I can plow three hundred acres a day.”
“Never!” Thomas exclaimed.
“Brain,” Tom said, “bring down a screen and show a video of a tractor plowing a field in my era.”
A screen suspended on nothing appeared in front of them. A video of a tractor plowing a field appeared on the screen.
“What is that?” Thomas said. “Where are the oxen and horses?”
“That is the world I come from,” Tom said.
“It is not a place across the sea and mountains, it is hundreds of years from now?” Thomas asked with his mouth half agape.
“That’s right, Thomas. In fact, it is over eight hundred and fifty years from now.”
“So you are from there,” Thomas quietly concluded and nodded at the screen. “Then, why are you here?”
“That’s why I brought you here. If I explained it while walking in your field or sitting at your table, you would not have believed me.”
“I am still not sure,” Thomas said. “Maybe I’m the one who has woodenness.”
“I am aware you intend to duel Bouchard,” Tom said.
“I am,” Thomas said.
“He is a skilled swordsman, and you are a farmer.”
“I have been practicing,” Thomas said.
“With what?”
“I found an old sword,” Thomas said.
“And who has instructed you, and who have you sparred?”
“I know all the moves of a swordsman and have practiced them,” Thomas said confidently.
“But you have not actually faced another swordsman?”
“No,” Thomas said.
“You see,” Tom leaned close to Thomas, “that is why I am here. I have been sent to avenge your father’s murder. Your mother’s shame, I was not aware of it. I will duel Bouchard.”
“Are you a swordsman?” Thomas asked.
“Brain, replicate two 12th-century blunt swords.” Tom grinned at Thomas. “I don’t want anyone to get cut.”
Tom stood and walked to the Instaport. Two swords lay on the floor. Tom picked them up.
“Thomas, to your feet!”
Thomas stood, and Tom tossed one of the swords to him.
“Loosen up and prepare yourself,” Tom said.
Thomas stretched and made a few dueling moves.
“MAS,” Tom said telepathically, “Allow me to execute as a great swordsman.”
Tom held out the sword, relaxed and with minimal effort, he executed perfect thrusts and parries.
Tom turned to Thomas and said, “Are you ready?”
Thomas drew close and made a slashing move with his sword. Tom easily parried the sword aside. Thomas slashed in the other direction. With little effort, Tom turned aside. Thomas backed away and extended his arm at half-length. He thrusted and jabbed with the sword. Tom parried it to the floor and slowly moved his blunted sword across Thomas’s neck.
“If this were not a blunted sword, you would be dying,” Tom said dispassionately. “Your warm blood would be spurting like a fountain onto the floor.”
Tom removed Thomas’s sword from his hand. He tossed both of them into the Instaport. “Brain, have them disposed of.” And they faded away.
“You have come here to save my life?” Thomas inquired.
“I have come here to prevent you from challenging Bouchard,” Tom said.
“The rumors ahead of you were saying you would be exacting vengeance,” Thomas said.
“That is my plan.”
“If I am killed by Bouchard, my family stops here, is that right?” Thomas said.
“Very good. It is true.”
“And in this world that I live in, you will not exist when the engine you showed me exists.”
“Yes.”
“You are here for yourself and not for me,” Thomas stated deliberately.
“You have a son in your loins, your son will have a son, and his son will have a son. I am here for all of them also.”
“I understand,” Thomas said.
“For a sixteen-year-old lad, you have extraordinary insight.”
“My mother looked into your eyes and said she saw a son,” Thomas said, arranging thoughts as if arranging silverware at the king’s table.
“I found that incredibly fascinating,” Tom said. “I don’t know how she knew that.”
“In a sense,” Thomas said, “you are my son, is that so?”
“Yes. There’s over eight hundred years and more than thirty generations between us.”
“I’ll put this all in your hands,” Thomas said. “This is beyond what I can conjure in my mind.”
“I am concerned about your mother,” Tom said. “I may be able to help her physically, at least, for a while.”
“How can you help?” Thomas said.
“Brain!”
Thomas interrupted. “What or who is Brain?”
“I’ll explain it the best I can. But I am certain it will not satisfy your curiosity and leave you with more questions.”
“At least give me a chance,” Thomas said.
“It is an engine that thinks. It sees. It hears. It speaks. And like a brain, it stores information, like a book or a ledger.”
“Well,” Thomas said, “I asked. I still don’t understand. Now, about my mother.”
“Brain, did you by chance scan Lettice?”
“I knew you would be concerned, so a scan was performed,” Brain said. “She is suffering from several vitamin deficiencies. Certainly, depression appears to be the root cause of most of her afflictions. Any other maladies are not out of the ordinary for this century or her age. If not for the depression and vitamin deficiencies, she would be in reasonable health.”
“Can something be prepared for her?” Tom asked.
“Something can be replicated for her to drink that will be pleasing to her taste,” Brain said. “It should take effect in about ten minutes. And for the sake of informing Thomas, that’s the time it takes to walk four or five furlongs.”
“It seems time and distance are somehow intertwined,” Thomas said.
Tom curiously glanced sideways at Thomas. “I think you’re picking up on these things faster than I am.”
Thomas produced a crooked smile.
“Are you ready to return?” Tom asked.
“Yes,” Thomas said. “And we will have the potion for my mother?”
“Yes,” Brain said.
They stepped into the Instaport.
“The potion is in a container at your feet,” Brain said.
“Thank you,” Tom said.
“If Brain is an engine,” Thomas asked, “why did you thank it?” The watermill is an engine, and I do not speak to it. In fact, no one does.”
“True,” Tom smiled, “but if the watermill did talk, you would likely talk back, right?”
“I suppose I would,” Thomas said.
“I forgot to mention,” Tom said, “not a word of this to anyone, ever.”
“Not even the watermill,” Thomas said. “Someday he may talk.”
“Good one,” Tom grinned.
“Brain, we are ready. Now.”
