PART ONE: ANACHRONISM

Chapter XVII: The Magic Rock

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

"No, I didn't."

"How long are we going to carry on like this?" snapped Jack. "I know you disappeared. It was like magic. One moment you were there, and the next, you weren't. You didn't climb down into your apartment—your apartment doesn't even face that side of the building!"

"Yes, it does."

"No, it d— I'm not starting this again!"

Jack glowered at me, his hazel eyes flashing with irritation. I didn't want to make my cute new neighbor mad at me, but it wasn't like I could tell him the truth. People had seen me Skip before, but usually they wrote it off as a trick of the light. But there had been people like Jessica Harris who remembered the truth clearly. It seemed that Jack was one of those people as well. Memories surfaced of Jessica following me around at the end of senior year, demanding to know why I had vanished into thin air, while whispers had dogged us through the hallways. Not again. I couldn't do that again.

I darted for the stairwell.

"Hey!" Jack stepped between me and the exit.

I tried to go around him him, but Jack moved at the same time, shifting his position so I could escape.

"You can't leave," said Jack. "You haven't explained anything."

I tried to smile, though I think it came out more as a grimace. "I told you. I had to get my key out of my apartment."

"Bullshit."

"Did you just call bullshit on me?"

Jack scowled. "Yes, yes, I did. And what are you going to do about it?"

"Me? What am I going to do about it? I'm going to walk away." I pushed past him and strode across the roof to the stairwell. With more dramatic flair than necessary, I threw open the door, shot one last glare at Jack, and then slammed the door behind me.

I collapsed against the wall of the stairwell and took a deep breath. Man, why did I have to keep ruining my chances with the cute new neighbor? I wanted to flirt with him, not insult him and make him feel like he's crazy.

Still wallowing in self-pity, I headed to my apartment. Everything was exactly how I left it: clothes everywhere and a pot of cold, black coffee waiting for me. I pitched the old coffee down the sink before making myself a new pot. Fingers curled around a steaming mug, I sat down on the couch, surrounded by piles of semi-dirty laundry, and pondered my next move.

Gandalf was still dead, and Nick and Bonnie were still lost in Middle Earth.

I refused to let myself consider what could have happened to Nick and Bonnie in all this time. Nope, I had to keep those images away. Focus on Gandalf instead. I still wasn't sure how tp prevent his death. Aragorn had been right when he said there wasn't much I could do to stop Gandalf from fighting the balrog. The Fellowship had to pass through Moria, and Gandalf had to fight the balrog to save the rest of the Fellowship. But perhaps I could warn Pippin not to touch that stupid skeleton by the well. Maybe then the goblins wouldn't be alerted to our presence, and the balrog wouldn't come. Even if I wasn't one-hundred-percent certain that would work, warning one of the Fellowship seemed like the best plan of action.

I would have to Skip again. But when? Now? Jack was probably still on the roof, keeping a lookout for me. Under normal circumstances, I would give anything to have a cute guy looking for me… But not today. Today, I had a life to save.

I tossed a pair of pajama bottoms in the direction of the laundry basket. I should do some cleaning in the brief time that I was home.

How should I go about finding a member of the Fellowship? I could find a way to Skip besides the roof. Cars and trucks were always useful. Or maybe jumping off a bridge; I had never tried that one before. What else? Drowning. Guillotine. Gun (though I didn't really fancy trying that one). Or I could try jumping into a lion's den at the zoo. I'd be Skipping out of there real fast. I hoped.

I finished my coffee and headed for the kitchen, throwing a couple wrinkled t-shirts in the laundry basket on the way. I dropped the dirty mug in the sink. I planned to be a responsible adult and wash it, really, but instead I placed my hands on the counter and let out a long sigh.

The roof was the easiest and safest option, a tried and tested method. It'd been forty-five minutes since I'd left. Jack had to be pretty desperate (and pretty obsessed with me) to wait up there for forty-five minutes.

I tossed a pair of jeans into the laundry, took a quick shower to get all the ash and grime off me, and then after making sure I had the Sword Breaker in my boot, I headed back up to the roof. No sign of Jack. Good. I'd honestly be pretty worried about him if he'd waited an hour and a half for me to return.

The familiar concrete ledge waited for me. The closer I got, the slower I moved. My heart was racing by the time I put my right foot on the ledge. My whole body tensed as the left foot joined the right. I paused there for a second, trying to look up at the blue sky so that I wouldn't have to think about the long fall down. But, of course, my eyes betrayed me. I looked down. I could see the street below. There was a couple walking hand-in-hand along the sidewalk. Way down there.

Trying to ignore the agonizing fear that gripped my chest, I pictured Gandalf with his gray beard and blue hat. We hadn't been friends by any measure, but I knew Gandalf wasn't a bad person. He had wanted to protect Middle Earth from the might of Sauron. He had helped Thorin reclaim the Lonely Mountain. He had sacrificed himself for the Fellowship. He didn't deserve to die. Not when I might be able to prevent it. Maybe I couldn't, but I at least had to try. I had to.

This was for Gandalf. And Nick and Bonnie. Because I would find them some day.

I jumped.

Skip.

I landed in a tree. My arms and legs wrapped around the branch beneath me, and I clung on for dear life. The bark was smooth without many knots that could be used for handholds, but the branch was thick enough that I could easily stand up and walk across it—which I would've done if I hadn't opened my eyes and saw that the forest floor was a long, long, long way down.

Was the Skipping trying to kill me? Did it have some kind of twisted sense of humor?

I heard several shouts in a language I didn't understand. Once the dizziness had faded a little, I recognized it as Sindarin. I glanced up and saw several elves walking along the smooth branch, their bows drawn and aimed right at me.

"Don't just stand there and point your weapons at me," I cried. "Help!"

"Why should we aid an intruder?" asked one of the elves, now speaking in the common tongue.

"I'm not an intruder." I made the mistake of glancing down again. My head started spinning again, and it took effort to form words. "I didn't have a choice in coming here. I'm just passing through. Look, I'm friends with Thorin Oakenshield."

No response.

It took me a second to realize what I'd just said and who I'd just said it to. "Oh wait. He's a dwarf, that's not going to help me. Okay, I'm friends with Elladan and Elrohir."

The bows remained drawn.

"I'm friends with Aragorn," I said, growing desperate. "And Legolas and Frodo and Elrond—Oh, come on! You have to know him!"

Someone grabbed me by the back of my shirt and lifted me into the air. I shrieked. There was nothing stable beneath me, only a long fall down.

Oh God. They were going to drop me over the edge.

The elves said something to one another in Sindarin again. Then, one the elves lifted me onto his back. I wrenched my eyes shut. The bumpy piggyback ride seemed endless. Every second I was terrified to find myself falling endlessly.

At last, the elf placed me onto solid ground. I opened my eyes, one at a time, to find that I stood on the wooden platform of a flet. It was only then that I realized I had ended up in Lórien again. And while there was some comfort in knowing where I was in Middle Earth, the hundred foot drop below remained a nagging fear in my mind.

One of the elves gestured for me to follow. Fighting back the urge to vomit, I took the path through the flets one step at a time. The elves took a purposeful path through the trees. They seemed to be moving toward the center of the forest where the flets were built closer together and higher in the trees.

As we walked, it crossed my mind that they might be taking me to some elven prison hidden deep in Lórien as punishment for trespassing. I had spent more than enough time in the dark, dank cell of a Rohan prison (thank you for that, Third Marshal of the Riddermark), and I really had no desire to end up a connoisseur of Middle Earth jails.

"You know, you don't really have to do this," I said, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice. "You could just gently put me down on the forest floor, and let me go find Gandalf."

"Gandalf?" One of the elves glanced at me suspiciously. "You know Gandalf the Gray?"

"Oh, sure," I muttered. "That's the name that gets your attention."

"How are you acquainted with Gandalf?"

"Oh, you know, we're tight. Gandalf and I are BFFs." The idea was laughable, but I was willing to say just about anything to save myself from yet another jail cell. "I'm part of the inner circle of Gandalf's council."

"No, you are not."

The deep voice was familiar, and though it was not usually a voice I welcomed, for the first time, I was glad to hear it. Slowly, I looked up and saw that Gandalf stood on a flet not twelve feet away from me.

He was right there.

Right in front of me.

He looked the exact same as before… Well, almost. No longer a scruffy old man in gray rags, Gandalf had gone through a wardrobe change. His beard was white, his clothes were white, some of the wrinkles had disappeared. He had cleaned up and he looked good.

"Gandalf?" At first, I couldn't even say his name properly. Then, realizing that I wasn't hallucinating and that, by some luck or the will of the Skips, I had actually landed in the correct time and place, I cried, "Gandalf! You're here. Great. What time is it? But why are you white? What time is it? Have you gone through Moria yet?"

I did not think you would ever be so happy to see me," said Gandalf, leaning on his new white staff. "To answer your questions… Yes, the Fellowship has passed through Moria. I died two days ago after I slew the balrog."

"Oh." I stared at him and his new wardrobe. "Well, you've been busy, coming back from the dead and all. It's not like I've just been, you know, running away from dragons and crazy Dale soldiers and police officers and cute guys in an attempt to save your life. And you just come back from the dead. No big deal or anything."

"I have returned to this world," said Gandalf, continuing as if I had not spoken, "until my great task is done. I am now Gandalf the White—Saruman as he should have been."

"And you came to Lothlórien? The Fellowship was here…" I said, looking over my shoulder and half-expecting one of the hobbits to pop out from behind a tree branch.

"They departed yesterday," said Gandalf. "Gwaihir, the Lord of the Eagles, bore me here after he found me on the peak of Celebdil."

"Ambulance Eagles to the rescue," I said, nodding.

Gandalf sighed. "You have not changed a bit."

"Why thank you."

"That was not a compliment."

"And death has not changed you at all." I didn't meant it as a compliment either. Then, I added, "It is nice to know that you don't stay dead. I wasn't joking when I said I was running around trying to save your life."

Gandalf raised his brushy eyebrows and regarded me appraisingly. I don't think his opinion of me improved in the slightest despite my best efforts to save him. I don't even think he believed me. Though, to be fair, he did just overhear me lying through my teeth about us being BFFs.

After a moment, Gandalf said, "Come this way. There is someone you must meet."

Confused, I did what he asked. The elves followed us as he led me along the flets. I quickly realized that we were continuing in the same direction that the elves had been taking me, and I wondered if Gandalf intended to throw me in prison as well. I wouldn't put it past him.

Gandalf and the elves moved with ease, while I inched along the wood, trying my damnedest not to look down.

In an attempt to distract myself, I asked, "Did you really come back to life?"

"Yes."

"So, are you a zombie?"

Gandalf frowned. "That word is not known to me."

"A zombie is a reanimated corpse. But it isn't the same person as the one who died, and the zombie walks around with its arms stretched out in front of it and searching for brains." I demonstrated the proper zombie walk for Gandalf.

He stared at me.

"I thought it was funny," I muttered.

One of the elves scoffed just to let me know what he thought of my sense of humor.

"Seriously, though," I said, deciding it was best to ignore the rude elf, "how did you return to life?"

"Wizards are not the same as mortal men or even immortal elves," said Gandalf.

I scowled. "That doesn't explain anything."

"That is all your mortal mind can comprehend."

The elves snickered again, and I figured they and Gandalf were having some secret joke at my expense. Rather than giving them the satisfaction of seeing me lose my patience, I folded my arms across my chest and focused on not looking at the ground below.

"I have never gotten the chance to ask you," said Gandalf suddenly. "Why were you at the Inn of the Prancing Pony with Thorin Oakenshield?"

I blinked, surprised that Gandalf would ever bother to bring that up. At this point, it had taken place almost eighty years ago. "I Skip, you know that. I have no control over it."

"Yes, but why did he allow you to join our meeting about the reclaiming of Erebor." Gandalf watched me carefully, taking in my every hesitation. "The reclaiming of Erebor was a daunting quest, and Thorin kept the quest secret from all but his kin."

"I don't know," I said honestly. "I'd already known about the quest for the Lonely Mountain before Skipping to the Inn of the Prancing Pony. I'm sure Thorin just wanted to keep me around for entertainment. He likes making jokes at my expense, you know."

Slowly, Gandalf nodded. "Your guess is most likely correct."

I might have responded, but we had reached the edge of one of the flets and I finally saw that we were headed not to some Lórien prison. The path of connecting flets led up a hill to a massive tree of silver-gray bark. The mellorn tree was a tall as a sky-scraper, its leaves, newly forming with the coming of spring, were green on top and silver below, creating a canopy overhead that looked like a ceiling of moonlight.

It was Caras Galadhon. After all that Skipping and Skipping away at inopportune moments, I had finally reached the city of Lothlórien.

Elves walked among the flets, ascending and descending with the use of white ladders. They stopped what they were doing as I passed by, their eyes following me curiously. Gandalf and my captors led me along the flets, nudging me forward when I stopped to glance at the ground. Eventually, we reached long white staircase ascended the trunk of the mellorn, spiraling upward. The staircase led to another platform, this one larger and more decorated than any of the other flets. Silver vines formed walls and the writing of elves—not Sindarin but an older language—had been etched into the floor and pillars.

A solitary figure stood at the far end of the platform, a female elf dressed entirely in white. Her long, golden hair fell past her waist, and her snow-white dress ended in a long train. She turned as we approached and… of course she was ego-destroyingly beautiful. It wasn't fair that elves were all lovely and pretty—Why couldn't there be just one ugly elf? Or at least one average elf?

"This is the Lady Galadriel," Gandalf told me, "the Lady of Lothlórien."

"Oh." I waved awkwardly. "Hi."

Gandalf sighed as he turned to Galadriel and said, "My apologies. Manners are not her strength."

Galadriel bowed her head only slightly in acknowledgment of Gandalf's words. Then, she look at me and said, "Welcome, Senturiel, to Caras Galadhon."

"Okay, okay." I raised one hand in the air, palm facing her. "Hold the phone."

A slight frown crossed Galadriel's flawless face. "'Hold the phone'? I do not understand this expression."

"As is the case with many of her expressions," said Gandalf gravely.

"Stop," I said, demonstrating the hand gesture again. "It means stop. Because someone needs to explain. What does 'Senturiel' mean? All these elves keep calling me 'Senturiel', but no one will explain what 'Senturiel' is?" My eyes narrowed. "Are you making fun of me?"

Galadriel smiled kindly, and I realized that it was beneath her to make fun of me.

"The Senturiel was a gift," she explained, "given to the men of Númenor by the Valar. It was a stone of unending power that allowed the user to see the past, the future, and worlds beyond. Atanalcar, the youngest son of Elros, was the first to use the Senturiel. He alone knew the depths of its secrets and its power. And though he used it to protect Númenor, he would not speak of the wonders that he witnessed through the Senturiel."

Her expression turned grave. "Eventually, he was consumed by it, driven mad by the knowledge it gave him. The Senturiel was used at a terrible cost, and in the end, Atanalcar did not recognize even his own kin. He faded into a shadow, fearing the power of the Senturiel. It is not known what became of him."

"But when Senturiel appeared again before Tar-Amandil, one of the Kings of Númenor, he decided its knowledge was too great to be born. He chose to sealed away the stone in a safe, secret place. The Dúnedain, descendants of the people of Númenor, long concealed the existence of the Senturiel. They dared not use it. They dared not touch it. They kept it hidden from the world, fearing that it would destroy any who bore its power. But nothing can remain hidden forever."

"The Senturiel was rediscovered in the Second Age. Sauron came to power and rumor of the Senturiel reached his ears. He sought out the Senturiel, hoping to use its knowledge to spread his dominion. Fortunately, he did not succeed. The Dúnedain did not want the powers of the Senturiel to be misused, so they arranged for the stone to be brought Lothlórien for safekeeping. But it never reached Lothlórien. On the road, the stone was stolen. Elves and men waited for news of the stone, for news of Sauron's growing might, but there was not a sound. Since that day, the Senturiel has never been seen in Middle Earth. Whoever stole the Senturiel has not used it for ill or any great deeds. The stone remains forgotten, faded out of history and time."

Galadriel smiled fondly at me. "But now you have appeared, Ana Stonbit, you who come and go and speak of worlds beyond our knowledge. In the minds of men and dwarves, the Senturiel has been forgotten. But in the minds of the elves, it is a memory ever vibrant. The similarities between your powers and those of the Senturiel are too close to be mere coincidence. There is meaning behind your appearance in these troubled times."

I stared at Galadriel. And stared. And stared. And stared.

Finally, I asked, "So, basically, you're saying I am the equivalent of a magic rock?"

Gandalf pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Ana, the Senturiel is a gift given to the Númenóreans by the Valar in the First Age. It is a sacred and powerful object."

"Yeah, but it's a rock."

"Given to the Númenóreans by the Valar."

"I don't even know who the Valar are, so that doesn't really mean anything to me." I held my hands out in front of me, examining my short fingers. "No girl is going to be flattered by being called a rock. A magical rock, yes, but still a rock."

"The Valar are the spirits who created the world," said Gandalf.

"Still a rock."

"Ana." Gandalf's patience was wearing thin. "You have an inability to appreciate history."

"I'm sorry," I said. "But no matter how much history you put behind a rock—it is still a rock. Now, if it was a rock of gold, I might be a little more flattered." I looked at Galadriel hopefully.

"There are no records of the stone's appearance," said Galadriel, "only that it is a stone."

"Great," I muttered.

I glanced up and saw that both Galadriel and Gandalf stared at me. I'm not sure how to describe the emotion I could see in their gazes. It was almost expectant. Yeah, that's the right word. They expected something from me. Maybe they expected me to fulfill Atanalcar's role as some sort of protector of Middle Earth. I hoped not. Atanalcar was driven insane by the Senturiel. Did they really expect me to want to be this Senturiel? I had no interest in losing my mind. No. I just wanted to find Nick and Bonnie and then go back to normal—attending college, trying to hold onto a job, falling in love, and pretending that I didn't Skip to Middle Earth at random times. Maybe it wasn't the most healthy life, but it was my life. Not this. Not whatever Gandalf and Galadriel wanted from me. I wasn't an inanimate magic rock. I was a human being, and I couldn't give them what they wanted.

I shoved my hands into my jeans pockets and leaned back on my heels. I planned on explaining things clearly and succinctly to Gandalf and Galadriel, but, of course, being me, I had to start rambling the moment I opened my mouth:

"You know, this whole Senturiel thing sounds like a huge responsibility. You want someone stable and intelligent, and well, I'm not really the responsibility type. You should talk to my parents if you want references. I can't hold a job for more than a couple months—if I'm lucky. I can't keep dates. I can't even keep track of my own life. I don't need this whole driven mad, faded out of reality thing to weigh down on my shoulders. I think we should all pretend this never happened, and I'll go about my business, while you guys go find a new Senturiel. Someone who can handle the responsibility."

"The responsibility is already yours," said Galadriel. "We know not how you came by the powers of the Senturiel, but its powers are yours. Already the burdens of the Senturiel weigh down upon your shoulders.'

"No, they don't." I wiggled my shoulders. "See, my shoulders are as light as a feather. Nothing weighting them down. Free as a bird. See?"

"Your ability to deny the obvious is exceptional," muttered Gandalf.

"It's true." I nodded vehemently. "I'm extremely good at pretending bad things don't exist. And now you want me to—what?—save Middle Earth from whatever doom is coming. It's not going to happen. I don't want this, and you really need to find someone else to place your hopes on. "

"Poor child," said Galadriel softly.

"What?" My voice was a higher pitch than I intended. "Don't look at me like that. I'm not going crazy. I'm not like Atanalcar. I just Skip from place to place. That's it. I'm not crazy!" I look back and forth between Galadriel and Gandalf, my head spinning and pounding as I tried to calm the frantic energy that seemed to have taken over my body. "I'm not crazy."

Skip.