Thanks again to Faye Dartmouth for beta reading. I really appreciate those of you who are reading this story. It's kind of new territory for me in pretty much every sense of the phrase. So, let me know what I'm doing right, what I'm doing wrong, suggestions, criticism, anything; I'm all ears. Or eyes, since I'll be reading it on a computer screen.

Chapter Two "Ghosting Through History"

They're in a grassy field. Cutter looks around, but he can't find any familiar landmarks. They could be anywhere. Any time. He turns to Stephen who is also taking stock of their situation. He has that look in his eyes that says he's forming a plan. Cutter can't imagine where he's getting his information for that.

"Do you smell that?" Stephen asks.

"Smell what?" Cutter doesn't notice anything in particular.

"It doesn't smell like home."

Cutter inhales again. Something does seem off, but he can't say what. "Are you sure you remember what home smells like?"

"Yes."

Stephen starts walking away from the anomaly. Cutter has no choice but to follow, not even thinking of going back.

If anything, this world does seem more real than the last. There are birds and insects and the sky changes as the day wears on. It appears to be late afternoon. It's overcast, but thankfully not too cold. Cutter notices these things for the first time since showing up in the cage room. He feels alive again.

After a bit of a hike across the rolling hills that spread out before them, Cutter notices something else. He's hungry. He can feel the exertion of walking at Stephen's enthusiastic pace. This concerns him as much as it excites. They may be alive now, but that means they'll need food and shelter and rest, and there don't appear to be many opportunities for that in this world.

But Cutter waits to voice his worries. They could just be somewhere on the countryside. Civilisation might not be far away. If the fauna is any indication, there must at least be food and water somewhere nearby.

The silence now is a bit less uncomfortable than before. The animal noises and the wind help with that. It feels more like an invigorating trek across the moors than an attempt to come back from the dead. Though, Cutter thinks, he wouldn't know what that feels like, this being the first time he's tried.

Time begins to have meaning again. Dusk falls, and Cutter thinks now might be a good time to say what's been on his mind.

"We need to find food and shelter." He knows Stephen knows that, but he wants to be involved in decision making process at this point.

"That's why we're moving downhill," Stephen says.

"We are?"

"Do your toes hurt?"

"Yes. Why?"

"That's because we're going downhill. There's more likely to be water and settlements that way."

"And if it gets dark before we reach these hypothetical settlements?"

"We're getting close."

"How do you know?"

Stephen stops suddenly and turns to look at Cutter. "You've never questioned me about this before."

Cutter realises what he's been doing, and he feels bad. But there's something else. He's never been this concerned about survival, never doubted Stephen's skills even when he doubted everything else.

"I've never been dead before," he says, as if that explains it.

"So that's causing random personality shifts?" Stephen asks, defensively.

Cutter doesn't know how to respond. "Let's just keep going."

"Good idea."

Stephen starts off again, and Cutter can practically feel the condescension. Perhaps being alive again is having adverse effects on both of them.

~oOo~

It's almost too dark to see when Stephen notices lights in the distance. He picks up the pace a little, even though Cutter has already complained about how fast they're going. But there's something wrong. Stephen stops, and Cutter almost trips over him in the dark.

"Bloody—what are you doing?" Cutter snaps.

"That light look strange to you?" Stephen asks, ignoring the his friend's moodiness.

"No. It look like light. We should hurry."

"It's not artificial."

"Meaning?"

Stephen had hoped Cutter would come to the obvious conclusion himself. "It's firelight. We're not in our time."

"You mean to tell me we've come out in the past?" Cutter sounds disappointed and exhausted.

"That's what it looks like." Really, Stephen doesn't know. He doesn't know anything. "What do you want to do?"

Cutter sighs. "We still need food and a place to stay. We'll have to risk it."

Stephen is very uncomfortable with the idea, but he doesn't say so. "We should try not to attract too much attention to ourselves, though."

"Definitely," Cutter agrees.

Neither of them wants to alter the past. They can't obliterate their future before they even get there.

Stephen continues to lead the way, though he is somewhat less comfortable with the set up now. As terrible as Cutter is with social interaction, he had always had more patience with people than Stephen. And after what may have been months in solitude, Stephen isn't looking forward to meeting new people—especially if they happen to be from the middle ages.

As they approach what looks like a small village, Stephen lets Cutter move ahead of him. The place looks quiet, as if everyone has gone to bed, but there are a few people moving about between the small houses. Up close, it's clear that they have not returned to life in their own time. The houses are made of rough lumber with thatched roofs. The road through the centre of town is not so much a road as a swath of beaten dirt criss-crossed with wagon wheel ruts.

Stephen isn't sure why, but something about this place feels wrong, like a film set, a façade. Maybe this is just how time travel feels. Undead time travel. Or whatever.

Cutter stops in the middle of the road, and Stephen sees why. Someone is approaching them from what appears to be the town's largest building. It's an older man in a long brown cloak. His hair is receding and his beard almost reaches his belt. He carries a walking stick in one hand, and firelight flickers from a small torch in the other.

"You are here," he says. It's English, but it sounds different.

"You're expecting us?" Cutter asks. Stephen can see his wide eyes in the torchlight.

"Come in from the cold." The man gestures with his walking stick toward the building he came from. It does look warm and inviting.

Cutter follows the man, and while Stephen is suspicious of the whole thing, he goes along in silence. He'll follow Cutter into hell itself. It's always been that way.

~oOo~

Cutter feels Stephen's apprehension even as he tries to hide his own. As kind as the old man's invitation seems to be, it doesn't make sense. Here they are, two strangers with strange clothing and voices, still covered in their own blood, scarred too deeply to hide.

The man doesn't seem to notice. He leads them into a brightly lit building. Cutter thinks it may be the town hall or equivalent. Inside is a long rectangular room full of thick round tables. At the ends of the room are two massive fireplaces with hearths wide enough to sleep on. The floor is made from planks with bits of straw scattered about. Mangy looking dogs sleep by the fireplaces.

The hall is empty of people, save a small group of old men at a table near the wall. They all have large tankards of some kind of ale. They don't seem terribly interested as the first man leads Cutter and Stephen over to them.

He stops as they reach the table and turns to face the guests. "Long have we, the village elders, awaited you. Yet our patience must endure a longer interval, for you are weary and hungry. Eat here." He gestures to a table nearby where Cutter notices a pot of what looks like vegetable stew. "Then will we impart to you our troubles."

Not wanting to offend a generous host with questions, Cutter nods and moves over to the indicated table, which he notices is out of earshot of the group of elders. Once again, Stephen follows, but Cutter knows he does not like their situation. Right now, though, food seems more important than anything.

They eat in silence for a while. The food is less flavourful than they are used to, but it does the job. There are no utensils, so they eat with their hands. Cutter notices that Stephen keeps his eyes on the old men, even as he nearly inhales his supper.

As the gnawing hunger begins to wear down, Stephen is the first to speak. "What do you think he meant by 'troubles'?" His voice is low and dark.

"I don't know," Cutter replies. He honestly has no idea. "He seems to think we're here to help with something."

"Where would he get that idea?"

"Maybe we just look helpful?" It's a joke, but Stephen isn't in the mood for humour.

"We look frightful. He didn't care. He knew we were coming."

"I suppose they'll explain it all soon."

"What if it's some kind of trap?"

Cutter understands Stephen's concerns, but he's getting tired of questions he can't answer. "Then we'll just keep our eyes open. There's not much else we can do."

Stephen doesn't seem to like that answer, but he falls silent as he finishes the last of the food in his bowl. He's eating more slowly and deliberately now. Cutter just knows he's wondering if the food is poisoned. Not that there would be a point to that, but Stephen might be a little paranoid. Of anyone, he surely has the right to be.

Cutter finds that his appetite has significantly diminished since his little talk with Stephen, and now he waits for the old man to return. Looking around the room some more, Cutter notices a door at the far end. There is a long counter along that side of the room as well, and behind it are barrels and more empty tankards. Cutter is suddenly reminded of "Beowulf" and his barely passing marks in English Literature. He wonders if Sarah would know more about what time they've found themselves in. He realises it can't be that far back because the old man wasn't speaking Old English. It must at least be after the Romans invaded England—or was it the Normans? Cutter can't remember who or when that was. He thinks Stephen might know, but he doesn't ask.

It's all just as well because the old man returns and calls for someone to take away the empty dishes. A serving maid appears. She doesn't say anything or make eye contact with anyone as she picks up the bowls. Then the old man leads Cutter and Stephen over to the table where the elders have been speaking in hushed tones the whole time. He directs them to two empty chairs but remains standing.

"My friends, the prophecy has been fulfilled," the old man says.

Cutter begins to think this might be the start of a bad fantasy film.

"We have waited long for the coming of those who will defeat the beast," the old man goes on.

Beast? Cutter's mind is racing. They have a creature problem. That's why he and Stephen showed up in this time. A prophecy could be explained by someone going back in time. But who?

The old man looks at Cutter. "Tonight, you will rest in our hall." He gestures around the room. "At dawn you will travel north to the woods. There you will find the creature that has slain so many of our young men. Whatever weapons and supplies we can provide will be yours."

"What kind of beast?" Stephen asks. Cutter is a bit surprised that he got to the question first.

"It is like a bear," one of the other men said. "Yet far greater than any bear we have seen in all our days."

"Probably prehistoric," Cutter says. "There must be an anomaly in the woods."

Stephen nods, and all the elders stare at them, confused but Cutter's terms.

"There are doorways," Cutter explains. "Between different times in history. That's how we got here. This bear creature must have come through one of those doorways."

The men still seem confused, and more than a little unsettled, but they say no more on it. The first man, clearly the leader, leans on his walking stick.

"What does it eat?" Stephen asks.

"Everything," a third man says. "Sheep and cattle, people when we they get too close."

"Have you tracked it at all? Do you know its habits?"

The leader shakes his head. "The hunting parties were decimated, and none of the survivors have been able to tell us where to find the beast. There is a young man who will go with you on your journey. You will meet him and learn all you need to know in the morning. Now, you must rest."

The old men all rise from the table, and Cutter and Stephen follow suit. The leader gestures to the corner of the room where some thin mats have been laid on the floor near the fireplace. It doesn't look like the nicest place to sleep, but it's probably the best they have.

The old men leave, and Cutter moves over to their designated sleeping area. He sits on the hearth to remove his shoes. That's when he notices Stephen still standing by the table, arms crossed. It's darker now that the men have put out the torches, and only the light of the smouldering embers in the fireplace shows the scowl on Stephen's face.

"You'll have to sleep eventually," Cutter says.

"I know that," Stephen replies. "It's just been a while."

"I think you'll remember how."

Stephen moves closer to the corner of the room. "Does none of this give you pause?"

"I don't think we have room for hesitation here." Cutter sets his shoes on the warm stones. "If there's an anomaly in those woods, we need to find it."

"I know that. But I don't like this. What did they mean by a prophecy? Who could have known we would be here?"

"Someone must have come back. Maybe even one of us. This whole time travel thing gives me a headache."

"Is that all? Not the fact that we came back from the dead and people were expecting us?"

"There's not much we can do about it right now."

"We should just go find the anomaly now."

"In the dark? With no supplies or weapons? That sounds stupid and reckless, even for you." He shouldn't say that, but Cutter is tired and confused.

"And what if we get stuck here?" Stephen's voice raises. "What if the anomaly closes before we get there?"

"It's been open for a long time. It can last one more night."

"You don't know that."

"No. You're right. I don't. But I do know that it's a risk we'll have to take because trying to find it in the dark with no guidance whatsoever is a much greater risk."

"Fine." Stephen flops down on the mat, not bothering to take off his shoes. "If I get fleas, I'm blaming you."

Cutter smiles. "If you survive to complain about it, I think I can live with that."