"Ready?" asked the Hand.
"Can’t wait!" Annie replied, her eyes sparkling with excitement. The Hand and Annie were together in a small cave, where the other norns would not see them. A small torch crackled on the wall, producing what little illumination there was.
"You won’t feel a thing, I promise. Suddenly the scenery will shift, and you’ll be there. You may look different, and it may take you a while to learn their language. Good luck, little one!" The Hand disappeared.
Just before Annie, too, disappeared, she though about that term of endearment. She hadn’t been called that since she was a child.
Albia, Version 1.
In the kitchen, a warm fire crackled in a small stove, as it always did, not needing fuel or any kind of care. The Hatchery stood quiet, its doors closed, and the clock measured time with its tick tock.
Annie appeared next to a lift which seemed to be made out of bamboo and of a type similar to the ones she’d seen in the forest of Modern Albia. She staggered sideways, out of shock, and then looked up to get her bearings. The colours around her seemed oddly muted, with a golden sheen to them. The place looked deserted. She tried to take a step forward… and promptly fell over. Picking herself up, she realised her entire body had changed. Her waist length white hair (of which she’d always been proud) had shortened to a disorganised fuzz around her head. Her fur had lost the russet tinge, and become a mottled tan, except for her feet, which were a dark reddish brown. Two green bands decorated her wrists.
She took another cautious step, and this time managed to stay upright. So far, so good. Beyond the kitchen, she could see a small garden, with carrots growing in the thin soil. Seeing the carrots made her realise how hungry she had become during the preparations for the journey, and she walked rather stiltedly out of the hot, stuffy kitchen.
When she had eaten the carrot, she dropped it, and watched it turn back into a little sprout further down the patch. At least some things haven’t changed, she thought to herself with a pang of homesickness.
It was an idyllic place. Bees buzzed lazily over the beelacanth blossoms, and there was not a breath of breeze. Annie, of course, did not know that wind of any kind was absent from this world.
Where are all the other norns? She thought to herself, and continued right to explore for them.
There, nestling among the herbs, she found one. Almost.
The red and yellow striped egg throbbed, as the little norn inside twisted and turned in a bid for freedom. Finally, with Annie standing impatiently over it, the egg cracked, and a baby male norn was born.
"Em flib" It said, standing up and tapping its foot.
"What? Where are your parents little one?" Annie asked, hunkering down beside the tiny norn. There were obvious differences between what she thought of as ‘normal’ norns and this child. The limbs and body did not seem to be entirely of a piece, and the body colour was duller, except for the legs, which were a startling red.
"dis"
Annie tried to pick up the little norn, and found that either the norn was too heavy, or her new form was not strong enough.
"Em foo dat" said the baby, staring straight into her eyes. Annie, like all norn females of her time, could not resist.
"Oh all right! Come here, little one. What shall I call you? I know: Christoo. I know a norn called Chris in my world. He’s a very nice, handsome norn."
"coo"
Can you say it? Christoo!"
"coco"
"Christoo."
"Chrichri"
"Christoo."
"Chrithtoo"
"Christoo"
"Christoo"
"Good!" She reached down and tickled Christoo’s nose. He giggled.
"Gege" He replied. Annie giggled.
As time passed, Annie decided to teach Chris to speak. He learnt far faster than a norn of Modern Albia, but there were a few hiccups along the way:
"Christoo eat carrot"
"Christoo push dis"
"Carrot"
"Cawwot"
"Carrot"
"Carrot"-tickle.
"Christoo eat carrot"
"push carrot"
"No, eat carrot."
"Christoo eat carrot"-tickle, tickle.
"Eat toy!"
"No, Chris push toy!" Annie shook her head in despair. Were all prehistoric norns as contrary as this?
Even with the various annoyances of life in prehistoric Albia, Annie was beginning to enjoy herself. A long ignored maternal instinct had surfaced, and was being fulfilled. Christoo grew up, all of a sudden, one day, and was able to walk on two legs, rather than crawl. The change was so sudden it had startled Annie, but she just assumed it must be normal. Shortly after this, she had discovered a set of books that greatly speeded up the learning process, and also taught Annie the rules governing the prehistoric Nornish language. One day, however, everything changed, and very much for the worse.
Christoo and Annie were in the garden again, picking carrots, and giggling when occasionally the chosen carrot bounced away like a ball. Christoo suddenly looked up.
"look grendel." He said, his innocent eyes not showing any fear or understanding.
Did I hear correctly? She thought. The grendel, to her, was a myth, used to frighten children into eating their supper, a creature… from… the distant past? Hastily she looked behind her, to see the green hulking form, red eyes gleaming. The stink of it hit her as it came closer. Its eyes were fastened on the small form of Christoo.
"Christoo come lift" she commanded. Christoo, for once, did what she said, and wandered over to the kitchen lift.
"Christoo pull lift"
"Pull lift." he agreed, and ascended into the nursery, out of harm’s way. The grendel, now missing its first choice of target, shifted its malevolent gaze to Annie. Maybe, she thought, with her superior knowledge and intellect, she could beat the creature. Trapped in a corner as she was, she couldn’t run…
Pain pounded through her body as the grendel hit her again. She was being pummelled, and she was beginning to realise that superior intellect did not equal superior fighting power. Slowly, she could sense her strength being drained away, and it was becoming difficult to think of anything beyond the pain. She slapped back, with all the force her bruised body could muster, but the grendel just laughed and slapped her again.
Her awareness began to fade, along with her eyesight. Giving a small but heart rending cry, she curled up on the floor under the onslaught. Just before she passed out, she saw the lift descending from the nursery, carrying Christoo, who like all young norns, had been playing with the lift button.
"No…" she croaked, but as her vision faded, she knew it was too late for her to do anything about it, as the grendel lumbered over towards the child.
"Annie?" A voice. More felt than heard. It seemed to buzz around her head, leaving unpleasant echoes. She knew that voice.
"push norn" A small furry hand reached down and tickled her.
"push"
"norn" These voices were norns. Further off, a ball bouncing.
"Come Hand. Come toy." the first voice commanded, and feet scurried off into the distance.
"Annie? Can you hear me?" She moved her head slightly, making it ache. She felt stiff all over, and as she looked up, a wave of dizziness and nausea passed over her.
"Annie hurt." She cried plaintively.
"Annie push Hand"
"Annie, wake up now." The Hand gently tickled her. "The grendel’s gone."
Annie shook her head to clear it.
"When… grendel… the grendel attacked me!" She sat bolt upright, causing sparks to fly in front of her eyes.
"It’s gone. I got rid of it. I found the norns attacking it, and you and Christoo curled up side by side."
"I feel.. so sick." She muttered.
"The grendel secretes a poison. You got a bad dose. You’ll be all right, given time."
"And Christoo? What about Christoo?" A rising anxiety had her in its grip, as she remembered those last few nightmare seconds.
"Annie… I’m so sorry…" The Hand moved, and she saw that It had been obscuring the tiny, curled up corpse of the child she had known so well. He looked as if he was lost in pleasant dreams, except for the absence of any breathing.
"I didn’t get here in time, and he was so young." The Hand said sorrowfully.
"It wasn’t your fault." Annie replied dully. Her head felt so thick, as if she was unable to think properly.
"You looked after him very well. He was very happy. These norns do not have the maternal instinct you have."
"Can I bury him?"
"There is no graveyard in Prehistoric Albia. I will mark his passing though. I already have, in fact. His body will disappear soon. It’ll just vanish."
"I want… to stay with him." She said. It didn’t seem real. Nothing seemed real, and talking in Modern Nornish was proving more difficult than she though it would after speaking only Prehistoric for so long. She had to concentrate to remember every word.
"Very well. Get some rest. You need plenty of sleep, and food. You’re still not at all well." The Hand did not add that she was only alive due to constant energy injections. The fact that she had spoken in Prehistoric Nornish on waking vaguely worried It.
Annie sat and watched the child until it finally disappeared. Then she sat and watched the space where Christoo had died, hoping for darkness to come, and wondering why she couldn’t cry.
Darkness never did fall, though, and she never shed a tear.
When she was fully well again, she went off in search of the other norns. The Hand kept a quiet eye on her, but in reality she hardly remembered the little norn she had brought up from hatching. If the Hand had known this, It’d have been worried. Very worried indeed.
Annie, in the meantime, just wanted some company, and vaguely thought that there must be other norns around the place somewhere that she could play with. She wandered through the carrot patch, temporarily distracted by an odd carrot than bounced when she dropped it. Well nourished, she continued. When she reached the other side of the herb patch, she heard the tinkling of a piano, and the voices of norns.
"Emily push music"
"push"
"push norn"
"look music"
"Roger food."
"look"
Of course, she thought. I must speak prehistoric nornish to them, or they won’t understand me. She was quite pleased with this train of deductive thinking.
A ginger coloured male, with tiny horns and a dark mane of hair, walked over and kissed her.
"Get off!" she cried, and slapped him.
"Ow! Gege." he said, then, the slap forgotten, "Roger food."
A female, her hair tied back in a ponytail, and oddly coloured bright red lips, came over and tickled her. She tickled back, and they both giggled.
"Annie push norn."
"Push" said the female, and tickled Annie again. Annie liked this norn. Wonder what her name was?
"What?" asked Annie.
"Look" said the norn.
"What?"
"Look norn". Give me strength, thought Annie briefly.
"What?"
"Sophi look." Sophi finally said.
"Sophi yes." Said Annie, and tickled her.
Just then, the norn that had kissed Annie so against her will, Roger, coughed. Annie backed away in fear. She knew how a sick norn could pass on disease. She remembered… somewhere else? Where? Somewhere she had lived, where a disease has swept through the norns. Only two old norns had died, but everyone had been very ill, including her.
She picked up a spinning top, lying at her feet, and nonchalantly walked away.
"Sophi come toy!" she called.
"Sophi come." Sophi replied, and started to walk slowly away from Roger.
"Let’s get out of here! Annie muttered under her breath, coaxing her new found friend to come with her. Another norn behind her, a child with blond hair, starting coughing as well, and as they turned and ran, they saw the Hand swoop down to tend to the sick norns.
The Hand felt flustered and overworked. The Plague had spread to six norns, who It had managed to move into the basement by the still; quite an achievement with the stubborn, independent Prehistoric norns. It placed a heater down there, and watched over the coughing group of norns, trying to make them feed, and injecting them with drugs when needed. Eventually, the epidemic began to ebb, and some norns started to recover, when to the Hand’s horror, the virus mutated, and another sweep of disease blighted the norns. The Hand laboured on, determined to save them all, even the old and infirm.
Annie, in the meantime, was playing ball with Sophi. The norns played ball in a rather odd way; instead of bouncing or throwing it to one another, they both tried to bounce it at once, occasionally running away with it by way of variety. Annie could not remember being so happy, but then she could no longer remember very much at all.
"Annie run!" she screamed picking up the ball and heading for the kitchen. When she had been… where? Hadn’t she lived somewhere else once? Spoken another language? The thought was forgotten as the dropped ball bounced across the floor, recapturing her attention.
"Sophi push toy." Sophi said, racing into the kitchen with her arms outstretched to the ball. Annie tickled her nose.
"Annie push norn." The ball bounced erratically back the way they had come ,and they followed it, laughing, out into the sunlit garden.
"Annie"
It was a voice. A voice more felt that heard, one that was difficult to disobey. One even her melting mind remembered.
"Annie? Are you there?" She only understood once word of that: ‘Annie’. The Hand floated into view from beneath the ground.
"Hand" said Annie.
"What is it? Sorry I’ve away for so long. There was a bad plague. I saved them all though."
"Push Hand" Annie said.
The Hand felt the first stirrings of dread.
"Speak to me Annie!" It pleaded, tickling her head. "What’s wrong?"
"Hand" she repeated, reaching up to be tickled. Tickling was nice. All her thought processes were now along the lines of ‘this is nice’, ‘this is not so nice’.
"Oh, my God…" whispered the Hand.
"Gege" gurgled Annie.
"Annie run!" she suddenly shouted, running away from the Hand, a grin on her face. The Hand did not follow, and forgetting all about it, she found a music. Music was nice. She push it, enjoying the noise. Suddenly she disappeared from Albia. The piano played on forlornly for a few seconds, before silence fell again.