The Theta Prophecy (4 page)

All of the boys lifted at the same time, raising the flagstone up to their hips and setting it down outside the hole they were digging.

Beneath them, where the smooth stone had been, was something none of the boys had been expecting. Their young minds had imagined riches beyond comprehension. Chests of gold. Cups filled with precious stones. What they saw, though, was nothing but more dirt.

“Dang it,” John yelled.

“Don’t let your pa hear you talk like that,” Anthony said.

Samuel kicked at the dirt under his feet. “What now?”

“Keep digging,” Daniel said. And while the other three boys began moving the rest of the flagstone out of the hole, that was exactly what he continued to do.

Year: Unknown

“Hmm,” the time traveler said, raising a hand and smiling as the five natives approached.

Saying hello or any other English word would be a waste of time—or possibly worse. For all he knew, “hello” was Mi’kmaq for “I’m here to kill you.” He hoped a friendly grunt was universal. The natives ignored his greeting, though, as well as the friendly wave he offered. The five men had raced across the shoreline toward him but, upon getting within thirty feet of their visitor, they slowed to a walk, unsure of what to do next. Each man carried a weapon but none of them pointed one at him. They didn’t speak, even amongst themselves, nor did they take their eyes off him. Step by step, the five men approached slowly, uncertainly, looking at the time traveler as if he really might be a god like the girl had said.

Even though he wasn’t superstitious, he could understand why these men might think him to be some supernatural being. After all, he had fallen out of the sky with a burst of light. If the natives had seen him come ashore in his stained burlap pants and shirt, they might have thought he him to be a wandering nomad, struggling to survive. But now, almost naked, in open defiance of the harsh weather, he might have unwittingly added to the sense that he was from another world.

“Hmm,” he said again, smiling, and the unassuming air he put forth seemed to put the men at ease.

Reassured that his words wouldn’t get him killed, he said hello. First in English, then Russian, and lastly Chinese. None of the languages brought about a reaction, and so he slipped back into basic grunts.

Instead of replying in grunts of their own, they remained silent, continuing to gaze at him, as if wondering if the person they had mistaken for a deity might actually be a simpleton. In every way, they were different than he had been taught in the Tyranny’s schools. They didn’t have necklaces made of human fingers. Their faces weren’t painted with blood.

Not only do they not look like savages
, the time traveler thought,
they all look better off than I do
.

Whereas the time traveler already had a five o’clock shadow, each of the natives had smooth cheeks. The time traveler’s stubble, along with his clothes, would have made him blend in with the masses of homeless men in one of the Tyranny’s bustling cities. Instead of having clothes that were too large or too small for them, patches covering the various holes, each of the five hunters or warriors or whatever they were, had perfectly sewn clothes made of fur and animal hides.

One of the natives said something to him, but the time traveler didn’t understand it. In response, he tapped his chest and said, “I am Anderson.” Then, opening his hands to them and pointing to himself again, repeated, “Anderson.”

“Anderson,” one of the natives said and the time traveler smiled. Then the man added, “Berzou,” and tapped himself on the chest.

Anderson smiled and pointed at the man: “Berzou.”

The men all relaxed. The bows, which had never been aimed directly at him, now dangled from each of their hands.

“March-eh,” said another native.

Anderson smiled and repeated the man’s name.

“Shvisveong,” another said, and Anderson repeated this back to the man as well.

The other two, Aris-stat and Chiasenson, didn’t want to be left out and introduced themselves in similar fashion. Anderson repeated their names as well. He had no idea how one would spell such names with an English alphabet—would the third native’s name be spelled Shuiseuong, Sveweswong, Shoov-E-Sue-Ong, or even something else?—but he felt he was off to a nice start all the same.

After he had repeated each name, the natives took turns pointing at their guest who had fallen from the sky and who was barely wearing any clothes, saying, “Anderson,” and smiling.

Once finished with the introductions, the natives motioned toward their village. Anderson nodded and began walking with them in that direction. Periodically, as they made their way between the ocean on the left and a line of trees to their right, one of the men would say something and Anderson would respond with a pleasant nod.

Most of the shore they walked across consisted of tiny pebbles, but every once in a while they would pass giant boulders, lone titans slowly battered by the endless waves. On the smaller rocks, tiny insects, some no larger than crickets, skittered over the wet rocks as they looked for food. Pelicans congregated along mounds of lava rock turned blue by the ocean salt and sun, ignoring the men to focus instead on the schools of fish making their way in the shallow waters.

Nearer the village, the forest’s edge receded back in an arc where the natives had chopped down spruce and pine to make a wider clearing for the center of their village. Houses dotted the land in no discernable semblance of uniformity, some built within feet of one another and others separated by an acre of open marsh.

As they entered the village, the five warriors nodded and offered various words to the locals. A woman with a scar running down from her eye all the way to her mouth put a blanket over Anderson’s shoulders. A teenage boy, with shoulders that jutted out to the sides like an Olympic swimmer’s, patted Anderson on the back and pointed to a duck that was being roasted over an open fire.

Anderson was unsure whether they still thought he might be some kind of deity or if they merely took him to be a normal visitor. He couldn’t have asked for a warmer welcome, though, and after a boy ran up to him with a cup of something warm and sweet to drink, he officially felt these people were his new friends.

Somewhere, in another time, his real family would no doubt be expecting a visit from the Tyranny’s men. Their crime? They were related to a suspected Thinker, someone who questioned the Tyranny’s motives and saw through its propaganda. But knowing how time worked, going back into the past to change the Theta Timeline would still be the best way to help them. Even if it meant that in his old reality, the two people he loved the most were dragged away by the Tyranny’s men and never seen or heard from again.

Every possible reality was playing itself out, with an infinite amount of new realities forming every second—one where Anderson never went back in time at all because the Tyranny’s men found out about their plans and killed him and the other Thinkers where they stood; another where Anderson happened upon a more suspicious tribe who didn’t welcome him into their village; and another where a brown bear saw him walk onto shore and ate him for dinner.

But people were only aware of one reality. All Anderson had to do was change this reality—the Theta Timeline—to prevent the Tyranny from being formed. His wife and son would grow up in a world without the Tyranny’s bombs going off all over the world, without people being forced through checkpoints just to get where they wanted to go. They wouldn’t have to know what it was like to watch people beaten and kicked merely because the security services could get away with it. They wouldn’t live their lives being afraid of what to say, knowing the Tyranny was listening to every word they said. They could truly be free.

It was why he and nine other men had lined up against a wall and taken the risk of dying.

A woman brought Anderson a wooden bowl filled with cloudy liquid that he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with. Maybe wash his hands? His feet? But when he put it to his nose and sniffed, the woman smiled and he knew he was supposed to eat whatever it was. It reminded him of a sink full of water after soaking greasy pots and pans. He sipped it, though, and smiled. The woman was delighted. If he had been wandering through the wilderness for days without food, he would have gulped the bowl’s contents in one long swallow. Instead, having just eaten breakfast only hours earlier, with his wife and son no less, he forced himself to sip politely and not to give away what he really thought of the soup.

Another woman offered to take his wet clothes, which he had bundled in a ball under his arm. Yet another brought him a pair of thick trousers, which he immediately put on.

Even the simplest of words offered by these women were lost on him. He could tell they were trying to use as few words as possible, but even basic things like “EE-wah,” Chitick,” and “froom” made no sense to him. In response, he would smile and say, “hello,” “thank you,” or “nice to meet you.” This would cause everyone near him, even the most stoic hunters, to break into laughter. And when they did, Anderson smiled and joined them, as if even he thought the sounds he was making were silly.

His first assumption, that he had been transported too far back in time to prevent the Tyranny, was confirmed by what he saw around the village. In addition to the wooden bowl he was eating out of, the natives’ tools were mostly made of stone and carved wood. There were some metal tools, but these were rare compared to the wood and stone varieties. There was no sign of plumbing or electricity—nothing resembling modern civilization.

Some of the women wore fancy necklaces and bracelets made out of what appeared to be gold, and some of the men had daggers with gold handles and intricate designs. But these would have existed hundreds of years before truly industrial technology arrived on these lands.

He knew he should be crestfallen, bordering on suicidal even, knowing that he had left his wife and son and it had all been for nothing. Those emotions would come in time, but for now they were crowded out by the fresh immediacy of his recent ordeal. Only an hour earlier he had been in a basement, hoping that he would be part of the thirty percent of time travelers who survived their departure. Part of the reason he was too overwhelmed to think about never seeing his family again was the sheer improbability that he had survived at all. He had fallen out of the sky. He had appeared in a foreign place in an unknown time. It was all too much. In the following weeks and months, he would have time to reflect on the choices he had made and would have time to decide if, given the chance, he would do it all over again. But as he watched a women carry his wet clothes to a giant stone, sniff them and cringe, then begin hanging them to allow them to dry, he couldn’t help but be overwhelmed with everything he was seeing for the first time.

All around him, children were working, contributing to the village’s wellbeing. The few elderly people he saw were followed everywhere they went by someone much younger, someone who helped them with whatever they needed.

As the sun started to go down, he was offered a thick blanket and directed to a hut at the village’s edge. Two other young men already had blankets on the floor. Anderson picked a vacant spot, unrolled his bedding, and joined them. When he next opened his eyes, the sun was coming up. The two young men were both gone and the village was already bustling with activity. Unsure of what he was supposed to do with himself, he stood aside and watched how the community functioned. After ten minutes, a young girl took him by the hand and pulled him over to where she was keeping a rabbit in a cage made of twigs.

“Very cute,” he said, and the girl giggled.

As the days went by, he picked up a few words here and there. He learned how to say hello and goodbye. He learned the Mi’kmaq words for birds, fire, water, and cold. What he noticed, however, was that the tribal people picked up English much quicker than he picked up their language even though he was immersed in their culture and they only had one person to learn from. The children were especially quick to understand. After a month, some of the children could carry on basic conversations with him, albeit in broken English, but it was still better than the few things he could say in their language.

One boy stopped to visit before going to help his father with some chores. “Nice meet you, Anderson,” he said.

“Have a good day,” replied Anderson, smiling.

“Is no much cold today,” a girl said.

“It is not very cold today,” he said, and the girl nodded. He was sure she would say it right the next time.

After a year, he was able to carry on limited conversations with people in the Mi’kmaq language. Some of the native children, however, had already learned to use English contractions and slang. Of course, there was plenty they could never understand just because their existence was limited to a coastal village hundreds of years before he was born. They would have no idea what he meant if he spoke of the Theta Timeline, the Tyranny, AeroCams, or anything else from his time.

So simple was their life that when he spoke of things outside their village, they accepted what he said as a fairy tale rather than someone’s reality.

“The evil Ruler kills everyone who disagrees with him,” he told a group of children who had gathered around him.

“But why?” one of the kids asked, and Anderson could tell they had no concept that someone would abuse the power they had been given. Their village leaders were selected to do what was best for the village and, because they always had, the children could not grasp the idea that leaders might instead be corrupt or serve their own self-interest.

“Some leaders don’t want what is best for the people,” he said. “They only want what is best for themselves.”

One of the boys had actually laughed at this before jumping up to go help his father hunt for rabbit. It was too unbelievable to be real.

A girl frowned and said, “Why people have a leader who is not good for them?”

He could tell them about laws for the sake of controlling people rather than protecting them. He could tell them about prisons that were hundreds of times larger than the entire Mi’kmaq village, where people were treated like animals. But these things would only confuse them even more. The children understood that they had basic rules they needed to follow if they wanted to be respected members of the tribe. That was all they were concerned with.