Chapter 8: Hey Kids, Wanna See a Disembodied Hand?

For the second time in the last month Tim found himself in a very uncomfortable bush. Like last time, Tim was not in a bush by choice of course. He had just walked into the shade of the Burgundy-Woods when his intuition screamed at him. Perhaps it was the fact that for a beautiful tourist trap in the full colors of fall there were very few tourists around. Perhaps it was because the guy to his left seems a little too interested in those leaves by the bench. Perhaps it was because nobody seemed to be having a conversation. Whatever it was, something about the place made him very uneasy, so here he was, hiding in an evergreen bush like a buffoon. At least it smelled nice.

Tim was thoroughly embarrassed. All he really wanted was to find Demu and get out, but something made him stay in the bush and watch. As he waited there, awkwardly contorted around an evergreen branch, he saw yet another pair of buff men in all black march past him.

"Yup, that's a little odd. It must not be too bad, don't see any heroes. Army? Government people? Or a gang? Either way, they seem to be scaring off all the tourists, so I don't think they would like me either."

Yet despite his best efforts, Tim could not find even a hint of Demu's presence in the woods so far. Tim searched his memory and looked around carefully, but he just couldn't find anything.

"I guess if a temporal mage doesn't want to be found, they really can't be found," Tim mused to himself, "I doubt he's dead, he's too powerful for that. He's probably just hidden himself in some random era in time. That's what I'd do. Heck, it would probably take some kind of timey-wimey bullshit for him to even come back, nevertheless come into contact with me… I'm not sure why I thought he would go to this effort. Maybe I should just sneak out, since he's not here?"

Just as if those words were a cue to begin, a single, blue hand appeared behind one of the loitering men, tapping him on the shoulder. The man turned around and it waved cheekily, then punched him in the face. Tim stared, until he felt a faint, light weight fall onto the top of his hand.

"Huh. A note?"

Opening the note, he was immediately hit by the stench of sulfur and bad handwriting.

"Ugh, this clashes horribly with juniper. Ah! Here we go! It says 'Run…. to… the… forest… edge… you… fucking… idiot…'"

Tim's eyes widened with shock, at first to the rudeness, but then to the sudden realization that this was probably not a coincidence.

"Oohhh right, temporal mage. This note is probably for me then." Tim frowned, then panicked. "OH SHIT THIS NOTE IS FOR MEEEEEEE!" And he took off running towards the forest edge, ignoring the shouts of the guards trying to deal with the disembodied hand still… assaulting their friends.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Tim puked on the ground from sheer exhaustion, narrowly missing his shoes. His face was ashen.

"Ugh. Still so out of shape… Anyways, DEMU! YOU THERE BUDDY? I GOT SOME QUESTIONS FOR YOU," Tim shouted as he sat down to recover from losing his lunch. His shout echoed among the trees, loud and clear, though not quite as loud as the shouts he had left behind, still furious at the floating, blue hand that had attacked.

Suddenly, emanating softly from the trees next to Tim, a sheepish voice echoed out.

"Oi, oi, keep it down. Sorry for all the theatrics, but I know from experience that this is the only way of getting into contact with you that doesn't end with your head mounted on a pike on top of the city walls."

Tim turned around, facing his new visitor.

"Well, they certainly didn't lie. You really are a blue boi," Tim laughed, as the full form of what he assumed was Demu came into view. Wearing a complete set of scholars robes, the same kind as Tim was wearing, the rather tall navy-teal-colored man looked like a downright odd sight, even compared to the strange fashions some of the dwarves and gnomes would often take fancy to wearing in the city.

"Enough jokes," the blue man said, frowning. "We have little time. As you have guessed, I am Demu, and I wrote that book you discovered." Demu moved closer to Tim, making arcane gestures as the air shimmered with power. "I've locked this place in time for a few minutes, but it won't hold. Speak, boy, and be quick about it."

Even though Tim wanted nothing more than to ask about this amazing high-level magic that he would probably never see again, let alone be able to even think about casting, he looked Demu in the eye and swiftly ordered his thoughts.

"Okay, if that's the case, I'll be quick. Was that book you wrote true? Why did you write it? What do you expect me to do with this information? And," Tim hesitated before asking the last question, "why me? I'm no one. I'm no warrior and have no ability to cast magic. I don't even have money!"

"Are you accusing me of lying?!" Demu shouted, offended, then saw Tim's blank face. He sighed. "Look, kid, I wrote it so someone would eventually find it, read it, and do something about these heroes. Left unchecked, they could potentially become worse than any demon king. In fact, in some timelines, they already are at that point. Do what you will with the information, act or no, it matters not to me. There will always be timelines where my book is never found, and timelines where it was and it was acted on. All I do is provide the chance for some kind of action to be taken. Finally, as for your last question, I didn't choose you. No one chose you. You found the book, and nothing else matters. Only time will tell if you matter in the grand scheme of things."

As he faced the veritable deluge of answers, Tim nodded vapidly in response, no words coming to his tongue.

"Well, that should be all of your idiotic questions." Demu said, snapping his fingers. As he did so, Tim could feel the air return to normal. The blue-skinned man turned away from Tim, walking swiftly into a shimmer in the air without a backwards glance.

Well that was abrupt, but that answered most of the important questions. I suppose that was probably on purpose. If he really is a time traveler, he would know better than to interfere more than he has already. Thoughts racing through his head, Tim quickly located the main road and navigated back into Drassington, all the way to his hovel of a room.

With all that had happened that day, Tim could only stare out of the splintered wooden window in his room, mulling over everything in his mind. It's up to me to decide what to do with this. What do I do. If I leave this alone, and all these terrible things really are happening behind the scenes, I will never be able to live with myself. On the other hand, if I follow this… rabbit hole, I, as a normal person, stand a big chance of dying. These heroes are superhuman! The could squish me like an ant and no one would care!

Tim tapped his fingers on the windowsill, a nearly endless drumroll, just like the thoughts that pounded through his head at double-time. Live a life full of regret, simply going to work every day, and never truly making my parents proud, or live a much shorter life, likely full of fear, investigating these heroes and doing what I can to make things better. It was truly a hard choice, as all choices that change one's life forever will and must be, but just as Tim was starting to consider putting off the decision, a single memory jolted through his mind. That of a dirty alleyway, the one Tim had hidden in after he was chased out of the guard's barracks on his first day in the city. The memory constantly replayed itself in his mind, one single piece of it sticking out to him no matter how many times it replayed.

"That's right," Tim smiled, "that little shriveled weed. It lived on."

The constant drumming of his fingers on the windowsill immediately came to a stop. For the first time in a week, Tim knew exactly what to do. Exactly the path to move forward. No list, just one simple goal.

"I have to pick the trash off this city."