#TimeTravelingGhost EP 10: Post 100: 1191, Nicosia, Cyprus

#Wss366 Red (maroon) #TimeTravelAuthors 05/17. Sleep habits/schedule

There was no time left to discuss my mask with Emily because a servant had arrived and was gesturing for me to follow.

The inside of the house was cool and dim, carrying the faint scent of cedar and lamp oil. The furniture was sturdy and well-crafted rather than ostentatious. A painted icon of the Virgin Mary hung in a corner with a small oil lamp burning beneath it, all in the Eastern style.

Some of my anxiety eased. I doubted they would have in-depth knowledge of the Western style, especially how a Copt might practice it. My foreign appearance would help hide any mistakes I made.

The scholar standing beside our host reinforced this impression.

Our host was a stout, gray-haired man wearing maroon robes over a pale tunic. Though he no longer carried a weapon, there was still caution in his eyes.

The scholar wore layered dark-blue robes; the edges faded from years of use. A small silver cross rested against his chest when he moved, and his gray-flecked beard forked neatly at the end. He looked nothing like the clean-shaven Latin priests I had seen in paintings.

He studied me with open suspicion before politely translating our host’s greeting.

“Welcome to the house of the Delphinas. You have come at an unfortunate hour, but we will honor you as best we are able, holy one.”

I bowed, offered a silent prayer toward the icon, and crossed myself in what I hoped was a convincing imitation of a wandering pilgrim. Three fingers for the Trinity. Left to right or right to left? Muscle memory took over. Better wrong than hesitant.

“The girl is watching from above,” Emily said. Her words blurred with the scholar’s next statement.

“We have prepared a room for you to rest and refresh yourself before dinner.”

While, as a ghost, I didn’t need to sleep, the break to discuss the situation with Emily would be welcome.

“May God bless you for your charity,” I said as I followed the scholar upstairs.

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#TimeTravelingGhost EP 10: Post 99: 1191, Nicosia, Cyprus

#Wss366 Cocktail #TimeTravelAuthors 05/13. Wednesday POST-SIZED snippet (optional word: peace)

While I waited for a servant to lead me inside, I consulted with Emily. The thought of an authentic local meal thrilled me, as did the idea that I could get someone to guide us to St. George’s Shrine later. That was if I could carry off this masquerade. The fact that my host and I didn’t speak the same language worked in my favor; while that I knew nothing about the Coptic faith ran against it. I could only hope that the scholar was as unfamiliar with their dogma as I was.

As if sensing my thoughts, Emily asked, “Do you think you can carry this off?”

“Yeah, I’m conversant with medieval Christian mysticism. I can always whip up a #cocktail of French and German metaphysical nonsense. That should work unless they’re familiar with Coptic beliefs. That’s what this robe is, Coptic. I’m more worried about what will happen when they find out I’m a woman. I have no idea how they’ll react to a holy matron instead of a holy man. It’s a rather chauvinistic era.”

“Aren’t they all?” The bitterness in her tone was clear.

I had to agree. Heaven knows there were still people who wanted to repeal a woman’s right to vote in my time. It never stopped. However, there were more pressing issues for me currently.

“I’ve got it, a mask and a holy vow,” I said.

I manifested a porcelain mask similar to the one Countess Bathory had used.

“What do you think?” I asked.

“Frightening. It’s too fancy. You want something more sacred and less sepulcher. Think humble poverty.”

“More of gravy and less of sepulcher,” I muttered. It was a joke that left Emily puzzling.

The Dickens reference may have gone over her head, but the image of the three Christmas ghosts spurred my imagination.

I reformed the mask into a crude wooden representation of Tiny Tim, a #peaceful but haunted smile on his face, combined with a crown of thorns.

Emily sighed and said, “It’ll do.”

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#TimeTravelingGhost EP 10: Post 98: 1191, Nicosia, Cyprus

#Wss366 gloss #TimeTravelAuthors 05/9. Saturday excerpt (optional word: hide/hidden)

Emily soon joined me in the courtyard. After the turbulent street filled with crowds, vendors, and beggars, the citrus-scented space was peaceful or should have been, if it hadn’t been for the cry of a young female voice, saying, “Oh… makaristos Agios Ilarionas… éna tháuma…”

I followed the sound and saw a girl of about ten wearing a white dress that matched the flowers dangling near her face. Her bright eyes and #glossy black hair were barely visible through the second-floor’s vines, where she #hid.

She continued, “Pappoú. “Pappoú. éna tháuma.”

“We’re in the soup now,” Emily said.

As we watched, a gray-haired man armed with a stout cudgel joined her. The girl spoke rapidly to him, gesticulating wildly.

After shooing her out of sight, he called down to us, “Pois eisai?”

I held my hands in the air and said in French, “We’re friends. We mean you no harm.”

The man’s face screwed up, puzzled, and then he shouted into the house. Another man appeared. I guessed he was a scholar from his somber black robes and lean countenance.

The two men spoke while Emily and I conferred. “What should we do?” I asked. “Time-trip to our meeting with the monk?” By “monk,” I meant our former guide.

“Wait,” she replied. “There’s a pattern of things going sideways when we do that.”

It was true. Twice now, tripping had put us in life-threatening positions. First, there’d been the meteor impact, and then there was the less-than-friendly reception we’d just experienced. It didn’t always happen, but it occurred enough to make one wary.

“Who are you?” the scholar called down in accented French.

“I am Bijou, a traveling pilgrim,” I said, bowing. “I mean you no harm. My only wish is to bless your house.”

Out of sight, I heard the girl say, “Pappoú. éna tháuma.”

“She says you performed a miracle, passing through a solid wall.” The man said, making a sign against the evil eye.

“It was God’s blessing upon a humble mendicant. I was seeking St. George’s shrine when outlaws tried to stop me. God is great, and many are his miracles.”

The two men conferred again, and while they did so, Emily addressed me. “Lying it on rather thick there aren’t you?”

“Better than being mistaken for a sorcerer,” I said, crossing myself as if uttering a prayer. “Besides, this is an age of wonders.”

Their conference over, the scholar called to me, “Holy one, would you bless our house by partaking a humble meal with us?”

“It would be my honor,” I said. Luck had finally smiled on me.

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Prince Charming Part 2
#FanFic WanderingWitch #SnowWhite
#Wss366 Hedge / #GreeneryDay Japan

Ahead, light streamed through a honeysuckle-draped arch. The air was sweet with their scent, buzzing with the song of bees.

“Hum,” I thought and then laughed at my pun. It looked as though there was a grassy clearing ahead. The sun would feel nice there. I could lie in the grass and eat the bread I’d bought at the last town. But wait, there was someone already there: a tall, handsome man standing next to a proud horse. The man’s elegant hunter’s outfit made it clear he was some kind of noble—“too bad.”

He looked up, smiling. “Have you come to see her too?”

“See who?” I asked and approached cautiously, peering through the grass to see what he was looking at.

There, in the middle of the clearing, was a crystal coffin. Inside was a woman wearing a brown peasant dress. Among the wilted remains of wildflowers that someone had placed on the lid was a bouquet of fresh roses.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” the man said. “I could stroke her hair all day.”

“Yes, it’s lovely,” I said. It was too: an amber-brown, lightened in streaks by the sun.

“And you are?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t want the Queen to hear I came here, so you can just call me Prince Charming. Many people do.”

“So you visit often, Prince Charming?” My sarcasm went unnoticed. I had met nobles like him before. Their charm chiefly resided in the threat of violence. That and the power to wave away such aggression as the victim’s fault.

I hadn’t failed to notice the short silver hunting sword at his side.

“Yes, she is so lovely. How can I resist? I’ve named her Snow White. Doesn’t she deserve it?”

“She is quite lovely, Your Highness. But I hear that if you kiss a sleep enchanted woman, she will wake. Have you tried that?”

“I’ve heard the same, but youth’s beauty fades with time. The lovely bride of today is a wrinkled hag tomorrow. I will let her sleep so she never fades. A gem forever brilliant for me to view.”

The poppies and bluebells nodded in agreement; whether to my ironic thoughts or his statement, I didn’t know.

The honeysuckle odor had suddenly cloyed, and clouds cast shadows on the grass.

I smiled and departed. I could eat my lunch elsewhere.

#TootFic #MicroFiction #FairyTale #Mythpunk #NMFic

#TimeTravelingGhost EP 10: Post 97: 1191, Nicosia, Cyprus

#Wss366 Odd #TimeTravelAuthors 05/3 Old buildings in your story

Chaos swirled all around us, making it just possible that we might escape detection. However, that slim chance plunged to zero, thanks to my clothes. If I had worn a neon sign, I couldn’t have been more obvious.

I manifested the religious robes of our guide. They were distinctive, but the hood hid my fair complexion and blonde hair. There was a risk that my act of “sorcery” would backfire, but capture by the Templars would have had an unfortunate ending. Ms. Dubois’ fate was an example of how ruthless the Lapan Cabal was.

The youth had backed us against a wall, and the two guards partially screened us from view. While the odds had improved, I still didn’t like them. Sorcery was my answer to correct that. It wouldn’t cause any harm since I had already broken that taboo.

“Find out what’s on the other side of this wall,” I said in English so Emily would understand. Then, turning to our guide, I resumed in French. “Where can we find you?”

“Tonight at St. George’s Shrine,” he answered. “God be with you.”

I didn’t have time to consider how odd his lack of surprise was. Instead, I focused on the soldiers pushing through the crowd. Their white surcoats with red Maltese crosses marked them as Knights of the Temple of Solomon. Despite their holy orders, they lay about themselves freely with swords and maces, unconcerned by the harm they caused.

A few moments later, Emily returned, saying, “It’s a courtyard surrounded by old buildings. I didn’t see anyone, so we should be safe there.”

Closing my eyes, I willed myself into insubstantiality. I had become quicker at it, but it was still tiring. Without waiting, I thrust my arms into the wall behind us, ignoring the unpleasant muddy sensation, and pushed my way through it.

On the far side, I collapsed onto the courtyard’s flagstones, panting. A glance revealed arches on the lower floor. Vines climbed these on trellises, draping red and white flowers along the second floor's veranda railing. A nearby lemon tree lightly perfumed the air.

I was safe for the moment.

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#TimeTravelingGhost EP 10: Post 96: 1191, Nicosia, Cyprus

**#Wss366 Shining #TimeTravelAuthors 04/29. Author's choice/promo

“Come,” said the hooded figure, beckoning toward the rear of the tavern. “They love not sorcerers here. Nor foreigners, as your clothes mark you.”

I followed him closely across the crowded floor, flanked by two guards. The murmur of complaint that continued wasn’t reassuring, but the crowd parted for our guide as if he were Moses at the Red Sea. As we reached an exit, he turned and addressed the room. While I didn’t understand the words, they silenced the complaints.

Beyond the door, we emerged into a dusty alley stinking of refuse or worse. Overhead, the sun blazed down, #shining hot enough to fry one’s brains. I wished I could change my clothes to the coarse linen tunics worn by my guards, but it seemed unwise to resort to “sorcery.” It was a balance between looking outlandish or confirming I was a sorceress. I made the obvious choice not to make things worse.

“We should hurry,” our host said in French. “The Franks will know of your arrival soon. They govern with Satan’s iron fist.”

I translated for Emily, who nodded and kept pace with us.

We threaded our way through twisted alleys, drawing suspicious stares and the occasional sign against the evil eye. The people we passed were of a swarthy cast, wearing loose robes, tunics, and turbans. They spoke a multitude of languages, none of which I understood.

There was a sense of tension and distrust beyond what our mere presence could explain. There were furtive glances up and down the street and hushed voices instead of gossip.

“Do you think we're in Nicosia?” Emily asked me.

“Are we in Nicosia?” I, in turn, asked our guide.

“Nicosia, 907 Anno Martyrum or 1191 by your calendar.”

“Yes,” I said to Emily. “And I think he knows we're time-travelers. Why else would he tell me the year?”

Emily nodded again, while my guards gave me an evil glare. The youth soon explained, “It is best not to speak the language of the invaders. Al-Malik Rīchārd is not well-loved.”

As he finished speaking, shouts and the sound of running feet broke the uneasy murmur of the street. Soon after, men ran past us in disorganized ones, twos, and threes. Cries of “Hoi Naítai,” “Hoi Phrángoi,” “Al-Faranj,” and “Fursān al-Haykal” filled the air.

My guards drew their daggers, and we turned to retreat, only to be met by the crowd surging back, milling about like trapped sheep.

“Alas!” our guide cried. "The Franks! We've been betrayed!"

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#TimeTravelingGhost EP 10: Post 95: 1191, Nicosia, Cyprus

#Wss366 Murmuration #TimeTravelAuthors 04/27. Message/moral of your story.

“Mágissa,” a male voice said next to my ear, and a breath heavy with garlic, wine, and rotting teeth washed over my face.

Time seemed to stop. Unable to turn my head, my eyes darted, looking for Emily. If I time-tripped without her, we might never meet again.

“Perímene,” a youthful voice commanded, and the knife relaxed a trifle. Then they fired off three sentences in rapid succession.

“Pois eisai?”

“Man anta?”

“Qui êtes-vous?”

The last was French for “Who are you?” and I replied in the same language, “We’re allies.”

I paused for a moment, considering my next sentence, lest I make a mistake.

Emily had taken my hand again, so I prepared to time-trip if I said the wrong thing.

We had asked to meet a friend, so I risked saying, “We are enemies of the Illuminati and the Templars.”

“You know of the Illuminated Ones and the demon lapan?” the youth replied.

The blade dug deeper, nicking into my throat.

“Some, but not much,” I replied.

“And you, spirit? Are you their enemy too? Speak truth, for I will know if you lie.”

Ignoring the trickle of blood where the knife had sliced me, I slowly turned my head to face the speaker. At the head of the table, beyond my captor, sat a slender figure in a long black robe. A black hood adorned with multiple crosses obscured their countenance.

“She doesn’t speak French,” I said. “So she can’t answer. But she is an ally too.”

“Why are you the Illuminated Ones enemy?” The questioner returned to me.

“Because they tried to kill me and because they work for tyrants. All their actions reek of evil. If you do not resist evil, then you are no better.”

“Afíste tous na fýgoun,” the youth said. The knife moved away from my throat as a #murmuration of protest arose around us.

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#TimeTravelingGhost EP 10: Post 94: 1191, Nicosia, Cyprus

#Wss366 Song #EllaFitzgerald’s birthday #TimeTravelAuthors 04/25. alert/observe/observant

Emily and I returned to our stateroom. Any private place would have done. It wasn’t as if we needed to sleep or pack, but it was convenient.

Before tripping, I made sure that we were still in agreement. “We're asking to meet a potential ally who will help us, correct?”

Emily nodded.

I took her hand, and we repeated together, “Take us to a friendly ally who can help us.” We skipped the conditionals; they hadn’t worked before and presented a complicating risk. If things were too dangerous wherever we ended up, we were ready to wish ourselves elsewhere.

The Titanic’s cabin faded gently. Whatever had caused our discomfort last time was no longer in effect. The stark whiteness was replaced by a crowded, dimly lit room with weathered wooden walls. I sat at a stained, unvarnished table. In the background, someone was singing a Greek #song. It was a smoky voice, a Greek Ella Fitzgerald, that matched the sultry atmosphere smelling of fresh bread, cooked grains and beans, as well as wine.

I took in all these details in an instant before finding a knife pressed to my throat. Despite being alert for trouble, I was caught off guard by the suddenness of it.

Flustered and panicked, I lost Emily’s hand before I could time-trip away.

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