That’s Impossible
That's Impossible
Milo
I’m whipped through the walls of my home as if centuries-old bricks and timber are nothing more than a figment of my imagination.
Cold wind rushes through my hair as I fly through the streets of my neighbourhood.
It takes a moment to orient my body, and only when I’m some way over Wasena Park do I manage to fight my way upright.
But it’s not until I’m heading east along the Greenway that I understand this is some kind of astral travel.
Whatever force it is that’s directing me, it’s insistent. I pick up speed as I track the course of Roanoke River from several yards above. With the exception of my position while I travel, I have zero control over anything else.
Zooming further east at a dizzying rate, I pass the lowland areas filled with fords, creeks, and lakes, then beyond the reservoir, and the rapids, and across the state line into North Carolina.
Still, I don’t stop. Not when the river widens into the Albemarle Sound, and not even when the open ocean comes into view.
My heart pounds rabbit-fast inside my chest. Where the fuck am I going?
What if I end up all the way out in the ocean?
Can you drown if you’re astrally travelling?
What am I supposed to do? Relax into it, or fight against it?
Will I be returned home when it’s over?
Oh god, what if the Witches Council find out? Do they automatically know if a caster travelled?
Just when I fear I might be snatched out of the sky and eaten by a shark, I bank a hard right and slow into a descent above an island. Not just any island—the wooden sign I just passed read Fort Raleigh National Historic Site.
I remember visiting here as a kid once, but why am I here again now? What does any of this have to do with my spell?
The deep indigo sky bathes the visitor’s centre in shades of blue and purple. Slowing now, whatever guiding hand that brought me here eases, and I’m awarded agency over my body.
The wind no longer whips but gently blows, my heart no longer feels like it might burst but beats a steady rhythm, and I land with a soft crunch onto a wood-chipped path.
I reach out to touch the reconstructed log palisade, and let out a giddy laugh at its rough surface.
Despite having no idea how this happened, or why I’m here, it’s pretty cool.
Slowly, I look around, but the place is deserted.
Checking, I turn to look over my shoulder to where the parking lot is—empty—but when I turn back, the visitor’s centre has vanished.
All the buildings that I know exist here have now vanished.
Gone are the paved paths that lead to the waterfront theatre, the education buildings, cafes, information boards, and the ranger station.
In their place, are a host of perfect colonial-style buildings. It’s almost as if…
I shake my head. No, Milo, that’s impossible.
As I slowly walk along a well-trodden path that cuts through long grass, I take in the small collection of houses, a church, a fort, and a storehouse.
Realisation creeps up my spine and drags my shoulders into a protective hunch about my ears.
This isn’t Fort Raleigh the heritage site, but the original settlement of Roanoke Island.
I haven’t just travelled through space to a new location, but through time.
Ooops.
The smell of salt from the coast is strong here, and just as I’m wondering how to wake up from astral travel—temporal astral travel—I see a person.
Dressed in period-appropriate attire, some kind of dark-green woollen-looking breeches that end just below the knee and a simple shirt that’s topped with a matching woollen vest, he sets a dark hat firmly on his head then steps from a house to walk around the corner—where he disappears.
Stunned, I stand completely still as another man, dressed similarly, opens the door to the storehouse, and vanishes once he crosses the threshold. What’s happening?
More and more people appear around me, but none of them seem to notice my presence. Two women and a man enter the church, the man removing his hat as he steps through the doorway, and the women raise their long skirts to climb the steps without tripping.
Turning in a slow circle, I try to understand what I’m witnessing. A man carrying an age-cured boar’s leg upon his shoulder all but runs me off the narrow path, and I splutter a startled yelp.
“Good day to you, sir,” calls a young woman from a little further away.
I squint to focus on her. Is she speaking to me?
I look around, but no one else seems to acknowledge her either. Hesitant, I point to myself.
The young woman nods, then smiles, and when I awkwardly raise my hand in a sort-of-but-not-quite wave back, she lets out a relieved giggle and puts her hand over her heart.
“Oh, blessed be,” she exclaims.
Gathering up her skirt, she makes her way closer. “I’m so pleased someone finally heard me, it feels like I’ve been trying to break through this warding forever. I’m Miss Sarah Blackwood, may I know with whom I’m speaking?”
“Um… Milo. Milo Tobitt.” Uncertain if I should match how she speaks, I add, “Mister.”
“Tobitt, hmm.” Her brow pulls into a deep thinking line, but her eyes sparkle with joy. “I’m not familiar with that Family Line, but never mind, you’re clearly a very powerful sorcerer if you heard me when no one else ever has.”
“Sorcerer? You’re a witch?” I almost choke on my own tongue. Is this who pulled me through time?
“Shhh,” Sarah says, eyes darting to check for any passersby. She links her arm confidently through mine, and directs us away from the township. “Not so loud. But yes.”
I allow her to lead me in a bewildered sort of silence for a little while, noticing how she keeps sending furtive glances my way to take me in. Despite that I can see the thousand questions burning on the tip of the tongue she pokes out from between pursed lips, she says nothing.
Only when we reach a jetty, and are completely alone, does she say, “I don’t know how long we have, and so I need you to listen to me very carefully, Milo Tobitt. I need your help: the entire colony does.”