The Records of Time
A short story from The World Outside the Shell
Tamm stood alone in a field of sour-bleak flowers. He remembered the day he opened a book and read about his future adventures. “I wrote a memoir.” The water rushed in and the marsh was reborn.
He climbed a hill and sat at his desk.
The loud hum of wings broke the silence of the morning as a swarm of creatures passed overhead.
The colors varied, and the blue bug landed on the hill.
The Magnus Alae bug said, “And how did you write with such detail, before these things came to be?” He was a curious creature with ten legs, and two long arms rubbing together to mimic the sound of human speech. The wings were impressive, four transparent ribbons trailing behind the exoskeleton of the colorful sleek body.
The second Magnus Alae bug, was a smaller creature, light green, with a damaged wing.
“I lived the story as it was told.”
The blue Magnus Alae formed a sentence, and the triangular head spun in a slow full-turn as the spheres holding the crystal eyes focused on the man.
“And how did you survive all the bad things in the story?”
“I simply lived!”
The unusually quiet sister of the curious Magnus Alae, the blue bug, started laughing, but said nothing.
“Of course, not being dead helped when I decided to write a memoir.”
Tamm dropped his feather pen into an inkwell. The wind was picking up and he was frustrated by the near constant need to reach out and slap down pages as the yar-wind tried stealing them. “Go away, I have work to do!”
The silent moment of reflection passed without another word until a second Yellow Magnus Alae bug landed. “The green one is too independent and tried to sing alone.”
The green Magnus Alae bug, with a damaged wing caused by the intense gales of a recent yar-wind incident, left the group and did not return.
“Oh sorry!” said the yellow Magnus Ale bug, “I was rude. The strong gales blowing through the marshland, causing the passage of time to speed-up or slow-down are a danger us all.”
The wind stopped and calm silence filled the air, but the scorching heat of the sun brought an unwelcome return of the bog steam, a mist of clouds making the study of the wind direction a challenge.
The large desk was placed on a small island in a vast flat green plane of marshland to record the history of the world in the records of time. The infinite sea of pink skies lit the island with a soft glow. The pottery vase in the center of the desk was filled with the stems of flowering sour-bleak plants. The book on the desk was a record of the passage of time in the marshland, and direction of the yar-wind.
“And what happened to the sour-bleak plants?”
“The flowering plants need watering, always more watering, and I neglected them.”
“And how much water do the sour-bleak plants need? The plants grow in a marsh and water is everywhere.”
“Good question. All of the water!”
“And why are the plants called sour-bleak?”
“Have you tried eating one?”
The blue Magnus Alae bug were looking up into the sky, their ridiculously oversized heads tilted to the wind, and the large fully extended in the face of a roaring wind. “The yar-wind is back!”
“What a miserable afternoon,” said Tamm, “In the long years of my life in this marshland, taming the yar-wind to blow steady and slow the passage of time was my one success.”
The group Magnus Alae bugs replied in unison. “You have friends to keep you company.”
Tamm dropped a large paper weight onto a stack of papers, then slipped both arms into leather straps bolted securely to the furniture. “And I will be forever grateful. I wish to someday become a turtle, with the power of flight so I can drift on the wind inside as slow as the clouds drift on a summers day.”
The wind was so strong the frail old man lifted like a paper kite in the breeze, parallel to the ground. Soon, the wind calmed down and he returned to his writing as his office dropped to the ground on the crest of the hill.
The yellow Magnus Alae bug had taken flight and circled the desk.
Tamm looked up, worried about the ominous change of mood.
The hill collapsed into a sinkhole, filling with water and nearly drowning the old man. The lightning fast arms of three women in white robes reached out to rescue the man swimming in deep pool of green marsh water.
“We are the Magnus Alae bugs and our songs are known to stop the yar-winds.”
Tamm sighed and looked down into the sink-hole. “The yar-winds? I lost the desk and a full-days worth of memoir pages and deep thoughts!” The leather straps were still securely wrapped around his arms, the desk was not.
The tallest of the Magnus Alae bugs, a new arrival with red and brown blend of colors formed into triangle patterns said, “The writing was sad and filled with self-pity.”
“I write what I know.”
The tallest of the Magnus Alae bugs said, “I think you should write songs.”
The yellow Magnus Alae bug said, “I think we should hear you sing!”
“I cannot sing a note!”
The blue Magnus Alae bug said, “We read the chapter on the history of our kind and you have knowledge of our songs.”
The shortest Magnus Alae bug said, “I nearly died from shock at the mention of the annual spring concert!”
Tamm begged the bugs to drop him on a hilltop. “I want to thank you all, for saving me from the sink hole. I will praise you in the Records of Time, but I refuse to sing.”
The tallest of the Magnus Alae bugs instructed his friends to sing, and the song calmed the yar-winds, until without warning, the yar-winds rebelled and burst into a gale from all directions.
The sky darkened and lightning flashed, while a downpour of rain grounded the Magnus Alae bugs on the island, the ribbons of wings tucked into the body.
Tamm shouted for the winds to calm down so he could hear the song.
The sound of ribboned wings and song filled the air like a dream, then a familiar voice of a Magnus Alae bug called out, “And where do you live?”
Tamm said, “I live here.”
“And when did you move here?”
“I moved when it was time to move here,” said Tamm. He waited for the blue Magnus Alae bug to find a firm patch of ground on the island to land. The curious creature looked ready for another story.
The yar-wind was always no more than a light breeze, a whisper while the sun was sleeping.
The blue Magnus Alae bug said, “Why do you live on a hill?”
Tamm did not sleep. Time had no meaning. He laughed at the concepts. He said, “To avoid getting wet! The day will come when the marshlands are flooded and the world will be under water.”
The ground rumbled and glass shards rose high into the air marsh in every direction, reflecting the dim light of the soft glow from flowering sour-bleak plants.
Tamm was unmoved by the terrors of the marsh. “I record what I see and hear in these books.”
The tallest of the Magnus Alae bugs tucked into a ball and rolled off the hill into the marsh water. The sun rose the moment he vanished under the murky surface and the yar-wind returned with a vengeance. Tamm was blown three hills to the south and landed on his back.
The blue Magnus Alae bugs returned. “And where do you want the desk?”
Tamm looked up at a welcome swarm of Magnus Alae bugs hovering and holding the desk, covered in mud, dripping wet, and floating in the air. “The desk should be lifted onto a hill, please.”
The furniture was dropped onto the hill, narrowly missing Tamm who rolled backward into the marsh water. He pulled himself out using the long reeds of sour-bleak in the shallow water.
The now glowing with white light shards of mirror glass sunk into the waters of the marsh before mid-day, lighting the still waters from underneath.
The rolling balls of iron spikes crossed the marsh in the distance as Tamm returned to his writing. He started singing for no particular reason.
The stack of blank pages he needed were found in a small desk drawer, water stained and drying in the hot sun.
Tamm soon completed an summary of the events. “I was rescued from the depths of the water by good friends.”
The trees planted on the hills surrounding the marsh became a forest and the world was reborn.
The days of too much rain would not begin again for a very long time.
Tamm missed the Magnus Alae bugs. The taming of the yar-winds, through the long passage of time, caused the marshland to heal without the songs.
One day, the Magnus Alae bugs soared into the sky and vanished from the world. The comforting songs of the marshland were gone.
Tamm returned to his desk, held the pen over a blank page and wrote and short passage. “It appears to be a Tuesday, and I wish to become a turtle.”
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