Chapter 9
"What if we get through to the other timeline, and then have to talk to someone?" Freya asked.
Devon looked at her sideways. "Do you mean, should we shoot first and ask questions later? I think that's how you Yanks put it."
She chuckled. "Yeah, that sounds like us. But I was also thinking maybe we could have a line prepared that sounds normal, maybe asking if the jailer is around?"
“Perhaps we'll get lucky, and there won't be any jailers at night. They probably didn't care what happened to accused witches.”
Freya became somber. She pictured her grandmother, who seemed to be sick, and her sister, who looked as if she'd lost 20 pounds she couldn't afford.
Hopefully, they could just break in, get that cell open, and finally get her family out, without any lasting complications.
And then they had to hope they could find that portal back to the correct timeline again. No pressure.
“You know what I'm most afraid of?" Freya said quietly.
"What's that?"
"I'm afraid we will never find the portal at all. That none of this stuff we've prepared for will be needed, that we don't have to worry about speaking seventeenth-century English… that we will just fail utterly and completely." An owl hooted. Leaves rustled in the wind.
Devon reached out and grasped her arm, pulling her to a stop and stepping into her space. He held both her arms, making eye contact. "There are no guarantees in life. All we can do is the very best we can. No one, not even your wrongly incarcerated family, can ask for more than that."
Freya took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I know that, but I just feel like I should keep trying, now that I have a little more information. I hadn't even thought of the possibility of time travel a few days ago.”
"No, you wouldn't have. Most people think that time travel is a myth."
"You don't?"
“Freya…” He gathered her in his arms and just held her gently. "I don't know what I don't know. All I can do is be open-minded. If they found their way back in time, perhaps we can too. If they spoke of a portal, maybe we will find it. All we can do is believe it’s possible and try."
Freya lay her head on his shoulder and held on a little tighter. She didn't want to say anything; she just wanted to hold onto hope. Devon had given her the most hope she’d had in months.
Devon’s warm arms were real and strong. He was right. They didn’t know what they didn’t know.
There was no reason not to hope… yet.
They resumed their journey along the river, scanning the air for any anomalies. At night, it wasn't easy to see what might be visible during the day, but darkness was what they needed to keep their existence as much of a secret as possible.
“Can you imagine how they must've felt when they were just walking along this river and suddenly wound up in a time period so long ago?" Devon mused.
“What's that?” Freya stopped walking and pointed to something in the air ahead and to the left. She skimmed her flashlight over the section and said, "What was that?”
“What did you see?"
"I'm not sure. I just thought there was something different over there. Some kind of movement that looked more like the river, as if it were reflected against a tree, but there was nothing, just air. It wasn’t a critter running along the ground or hopping around in the trees."
"Here, hold my hand. Walk right over to where you saw it."
She walked slowly toward the spot, holding tightly onto his hand.
He reached out his free hand in front of them, as if feeling for something airborne.
There was no indication of anything nearby. No rustling of wildlife on the ground or birds in the trees. Nothing but the river making the occasional burbling sound, but little else.
Suddenly, everything quieted. There was no sound, no wind. It seemed as if the air itself stood still. If Devon hadn't been holding onto her hand, she wouldn't have known where he went, because he simply disappeared.
Surprised, Freya dropped the flashlight.
Devon returned to her view, thank goodness, but everything seemed darker.
When she looked down for her flashlight, it was gone.
Scanning the earth and sky, she noted the moon seemed to have changed slightly.
It was almost full when they left. Now it was starting to wane.
"Oh, dear, I think something has changed. Did you notice?" Freya asked.
“I noticed a slight shift in sound and breeze as if there were none of either for a moment."
“Exactly," Freya said.
"Where's the flashlight?” Devon asked.
"I dropped it, and now I can't find it. I think it's on the other side.”
“Of the portal? So, you're saying we did make it through a portal of some kind?" Devon asked excitedly.
"That's the only explanation I can come up with for a flashlight going 'poof’. Well, other than that it might be right in front of me. I miss things sometimes."
He chuckled. “Let's examine the ground around ourselves and see if it just rolled a few feet.”
They squatted down and patted the earth around themselves and about six feet out in each direction. The ground wasn’t flat, so the flashlight wouldn't have rolled far.
At last, they stood up and shrugged. "I guess we left it back in the twenty-first century," Freya said.
"You know, I didn't really think this would happen. But here we are. I guess we will need to continue and see if we can find the place you're looking for."
"Yes, there's nothing on the other side of the river that I can see by the light of the moon, but hopefully we’ll find some kind of footbridge to take us over to the other side, because that's where the jail is," Freya said.
“Brilliant. I can't imagine that they walked through the water all the time with their ox carts and horses. So yes, let's look for that bridge."
They strolled on in silence, still holding hands, and if Freya weren't mistaken, their hands had become clammy. Her nerves were on hyper-alert. She was about to ask if they should take the tasers out of the sack when the clop of horses’ hooves on wood carried to their ears from far away.
Devon stopped. He whispered, "Did you hear that?"
"Yes. I think it was a horse." Freya said.
"Let's stick to the shadows but continue in this direction," Devon whispered. "I have the feeling we may be about to come upon that bridge."
Freya did hope that's what they both heard. The night was cold, and she didn't want to go for a swim in the river in December.
“I don’t remember a bridge being here,” Freya said.
“Perhaps it wasn’t in our time.”
Freya took a deep breath. "Talking about our time while in some other timeline is crazy. How do we know we’re not in the future? Or even further back? This is just nuts.”
“I know what you mean. Listen…”
Freya paused. “I don’t hear anything.”
“Exactly. The horse’s hooves aren’t making any noise. Either they crossed the bridge and are now on dirt, or…”
“Or what? It sprouted wings and flew the rest of the way?”
She couldn’t see Devon’s face, but she heard a low snicker.
Freya glanced behind her, as if the horseless rider were hiding, just waiting to sneak up on them.
“Let’s continue on. Quietly.”
Freya was almost afraid of the quiet. She could hear all her fears when nothing distracted her.
She wished she could appreciate the unspoiled beauty of this place.
Even just seeing the brilliant stars overhead without the light pollution of nearby streetlights and traffic should be appreciated.
Instead, so much unknown danger dampened her experience.
At last, they did indeed come upon a wooden bridge. It curved up and over the river, leaving room for a boat or raft to float under it.
“It looks safe enough to cross,” Devon whispered.
“If a horse made it, I guess we will.”
Still holding his hand, Freya lifted her long skirt with her other hand, so she didn’t trip over the hem as they walked up the slight incline. She tried to see the opposite side, but there was little to see. A curved dirt road disappeared around dense woods.
She took a fortifying breath and straightened her back. “I can do this. We can do this.”
He answered by squeezing her hand, which she took to mean, “Yes, I agree, but we should remain silent now.”
As much as she needed his reassuring voice and banter, she knew he was right.
Freya wished that she had brought blankets for her grandmother and sister when they found them, but if they didn’t get them out, that would only prove that they were witches, because they didn't have blankets before. The locals would assume they’d conjured them.
“I see it," Freya pointed ahead on the other side of the bridge. A gas lamp or candle was burning just outside the jail door. They hurried across the bridge as silently as they could and approached the building with trepidation.
Devon squeezed her hand and halted. She looked back at him questioningly. He opened the sack, handed her a taser, and took one for himself. She nodded in approval.