Chapter 1

James saw the strange stone structure and wondered, could he sense something running through it? It felt oddly like a power source, he didn’t know. He wondered if the reason he could feel it was his connection to magic through the Wishes and the Genie. It was in an out of the way area of the renaissance fair, somewhere that a lot of people frequented. It would make sense if it had some sort of power, something oddly like Stonehenge.

A woman appeared out of nowhere, walking up the hill to meet him. He turned to her and quirked up an eyebrow and asked her.

“So what does this thing do?”

“Place your hand upon the stone.”

James did, placing his hand upon the stone structure. He felt a vibration running through it up into his arm, then the air began to shimmer and, suddenly, he was not at the renaissance fair anymore.

No, he was in a forested area. Sure, most forests looked alike but this one seemed different somehow; he couldn’t put his finger on it. James took the sight in and realized what it was. It was evident that this area did not suffer the human disposition; the grass here prospered - it spread out before him on the ground where shrubs and saplings grew. As the wind blew through the trees, the blades seemed to move in its direction. Oddly, it reminded him of someone running their fingers through hair; while each blade of grass might be individual, they all moved as one. The trees were a cacophony of color, swaying and moving with the breeze that ran its fingers through them and the creatures that inhabited them seemed to sing in delight. The sun was high up in the sky and a few lazy clouds floated around.

He could smell rain on the horizon; in fact, he could taste it. He had always had a talent for being able to tell the weather and now it just seemed particularly heightened.

He felt connected as well. His senses were on high alert: he felt he could smell all of nature; his hearing picked up so much he had to filter it in his brain; and his vision was aware of every color and twitch in seemingly every direction. His ears were amazingly sensitive: up in the trees he could hear the millions of tiny sounds that emanated from them, even rustling of branches and leaves that touched each other; he heard the hum of insects creeping in the middle of the foliage and their slow, systematic chewing of leaves.

He was able to taste and smell thousands of odors in the air: the aroma of chlorophyll in stems and grass, the musky smell of the soil, the plants and the powerful pheromones of bees, the pungent scent of pollinated pistils and stamens.

“What the fuck,” as he lifted his hand up to shield his eyes he realized that he was actually carrying weapons, actual real life weapons. He paused and checked himself over, sensing that there were proper weapons here, not props like he had been carrying. He felt an actual hidden blade on his wrist and frowned, feeling its unfamiliar weight and practiced releasing and retracting it. He also noted that he had an actual bow and arrow on his back. The thing he had brought had been plastic, he took it off and pulled the string back and quirked an eyebrow up.

Shit now what did he do?

It was an amazing set of sensations but it was abruptly cut short because he heard a high-pitched wail. James whipped in its direction and began moving towards it. The shout was feminine in that way only women could shout. He frowned as he zeroed in on it, moving through the brush, ducking, dodging and staying out of the line of sight as the brush became woods. He saw three men giving chase to the poor woman.

They were wearing uniforms from the old Royal Army. This, he decided, was bad.

“Stop,” One of them barked at their prey, “Or we’ll fucking shoot.”

“Just shoot the cunt,” one of them shouted.

James raised his eyebrows. That was very unlike the army he knew of from history. They took good care of their prisoners and this act of random violence angered him to the core.

‘Gentlemen, my ass,’ he thought grimly.

They were moving too rapidly for him to do anything in his current spot, so he transgressed quickly through the cover offered him by the arboreal hodgepodge of foliage.

He had to hold in place briefly as they passed him at one point. With a sniff of his nose, he realized he could smell the cheap rum on their breath.

‘Strange, that I can tell that so clearly,’ he thought, even as the disjointed impressions made his head swim. The heightened awareness seemed to be instilling an unnatural calm upon him, but he didn’t stay quiescent. He knew he had to be close enough to intercede.

He realized he was aware of the somehow familiar, almost comforting, weight of a tomahawk on his hip. There was the impression of a brace of knives at the small of his back and the secure knowledge of a large hunting knife tied to his leg. The fact that they were there made him smile; the weapons felt comfortable, like they belonged, almost like they were tailored for him.

James increased to a dead run, the remaining distance between the redcoats and him were both a help and a hindrance. He knew he needed to close with them for his weapons to be most effective. As he neared the ten-yard mark, his hand moved as if of its own accord to grasp one of the small knives on his back.

In one fluid motion while still on the run, he drew the blade and hurled it at the nearest soldier. To his absolute amazement, the knife found its mark, hitting the soldier in the shoulder. As he closed the gap between them, James pulled out his Tomahawk and for a split second marvelled at how good it felt in his hand.

The howl of pain from his first target was the distraction James needed, and as the man’s two compatriots scanned the surrounding woods for enemies, James struck. Dashing from the trees in uncanny silence, he made the sprint to the injured redcoat, his tomahawk leading the way. And with a savage swing he felt the beard of the small axe tear into the hamstring of the soldier. With yet another agonized howl, the men in the group realized what was happened and started turning their attention away from the woman. As they turned, James pulled the long heavy knife off of his leg, and with a brutal well-placed thrust stabbed the redcoat up and under his collar bone. James twisted his hips as he did so. The resulting leverage this gave James forced the injured man back upright and presented the Brit’s upper body to his companions, shielding James. Sadly, for the man, his fellows had already drawn and fired their flintlocks. James grunted in satisfaction as he felt the balls impact the body now sagging onto him.

He felt the impact of the balls then spun the dead man off his shoulder. Dropping his tomahawk, James plucked the pistol from the loop in the dead man’s belt. He took aim and fired, the ball taking the closer shooter in the shoulder just as the soldier finished ramming a shot down the barrel of his Brown Bess. His companion was not far behind him in the action. Stooping quickly, James retrieved his tomahawk and ran the short distance across the clearing, knowing he had to close on the remaining armed man or this fight would have an unfortunate outcome for him.

Rolling out to the left of the redcoats, forcing the soldier with the loaded rifle to cross the body of his wounded companion in order to get a bead on him, James wielded his knife as he bounded to the remaining threat. He hooked the bayonet of the rifle with his sturdy blade, forcing the barrel up, away from himself and toward the chest of the wounded soldier. The now terrified target had just enough time to scream “NO!” before James slammed his boot into the elbow of his compatriot. The resulting impact causing the muscles to tense, and a reflex squeeze to occur.

The shot from close range was very loud. But James was very thankful for it. He was almost sure the sound of a man’s face being seared by flashing powder, a split second before a ball of lead shattered the bones of his skull, would have been more than he could have handled.

The shooter, horrified, dropped his rifle and ran.

He could let the man go, but the man might give some cock and bull story that would cause problems. It would be better for James if he died. Resigned to the need, James sighed and pulled out an arrow from his quiver, nocked it on the bow then pulled the string back and took aim. For a moment there was nothing but thought, concentration and the target.

He loosed the arrow and it leapt forwards, striking the man in the back just below the shoulder blades. The gout of blood erupting from the man’s mouth and nose telling him clearly, he had struck the heart and lung.

He had been standing there for only a few heartbeats when he was reminded of why he had turned three people into corpses.

“Who are you?”

James started and turned to her, seeing a tall and skinny woman with small but firm breasts. She wore modern day clothing and definitely not period clothing, she spoke differently as well. Her accent was much more refined than what one heard on the street normally.

“James Smith,” he said. “What about you?”

“C-Claire Randall,” she stuttered.

“We shouldn’t hang around here,” he sighed looking at the mess. “I’ve made a bit of a mess.”

She smiled. “Yes, I agree.”

“I won’t hurt you.”

“You promise,” she looked at him with her dark eyes.

He nodded. “You have my word as a gentleman.”

“More than these louts could say,” she kicked one of the bodies as she started to pace.

“Very true.”

“So any idea of where to go?”

She sighed. “No, not really,” she folded her arms. “You?”

“I don’t actually know where we are.”

“Where are you from?”

“America 2019.”

Her face slacked and her mouth opened, “Oh my.”

James cocked his head, “When are you from?”

“England 1945.”

James studied her for a moment, “Guess you’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

“So it would seem.”

Night fell. James pulled out his knife and tested it, noting that it was razor sharp and almost brand new. He got to work on a campsite. He created a couple of lean to’s for shelter, brushed twigs and stones out from under them, and set up bedding.

“Best if we don’t create a fire tonight,” he said. “I don’t know if there are any other patrols out there.”

She nodded. The night passed uneventfully.

In the morning, they walked towards the nearest town and James mentally thanked whatever relevant gods that they had put era-appropriate money in his small bag. It was enough to get what he needed: a room for the night and provisions for them for the next day. The man at the inn had another piece of beneficial information. The stable occasionally took people to the city for a reasonable cost.

In fact, his luck was in. In the morning, James was able to book a carriage to London. Before the morning was out, the two had met their driver and said coachman wasted no time with pleasantries. “Hop in and let’s be on our way,” he said perfunctorily. As James and Claire got into the carriage, he hefted up behind her, she slipped and fell back, but he grabbed her. They stood there pressed intimately against each other.

James’ heightened senses apparently also included a quick reaction in his groin. He was abashed to realized that her warm body was increasing blood flow there substantially.

“James,” she flushed.

“Miss Randall.”

“Please,” she said. “Call me Claire.”

He smiled.

“Sorry,” he coughed.

“It’s okay, it happens.”

“I’m pressed up against an attractive woman,” James said quietly. “I can’t help it.”

She nodded. “I know.”

She deliberately slid off him and his eyes fluttered. He had the decency to blush as he sat down, the trousers didn’t do anything to hide his boner in the slightest.

‘Oh my,’ she thought to herself as she saw his prominent bulge.

Fortunately, the journey took care of that problem as the carriage rattled around. James bumped his head and grumbled about cars and she smiled, agreeing with the sentiment and laughing as he got annoyed.

“I say,” James heard a shout. He woke with a snort and looked out.

There appeared to be a rather tall, butch looking woman. She wore thick, leather boots, black bodice, long black coat, hat on top and cane in hand. The dark garments seemed to complement her wiry physique.

“Hello there,” James shouted back, then bade the driver to stop the carriage.

The woman smiled as she walked closer, “I’m in a bit of a fuddle.”

“Oh?”

James moved out of the way as Claire looked out, the woman’s face lit up as she walked over and oddly James wondered if she was a lesbian.