“Oh, goodness!” he breathed softly, unable to believe it. “It can’t be! My heart and soul…!”
He reached down hurriedly and examined himself all over. Yes, those were arms and legs and fingers and toes. His body was back! His human body! He patted wildly at himself, reaching inside his clothing. No fur, but skin, like any normal man! He was beginning to cry now, tears running down his cheeks. He scrambled for something to look into, finally grasping one of the silver buttons that fastened his ornate tunic. He peered down into its tiny, carved surface, and his breath caught in his throat.
It was his human face he found staring back at him, the face he had not seen in more than thirty years.
“It’s me!” he whispered, swallowing. “Look, Questor Thews, it’s really me! After all this time!”
He was crying so hard and at the same time laughing that he thought he might simply collapse. But Questor Thews reached forward and braced him with hands on both shoulders. “My old friend,” he declared in delight, and he was crying, too. “You’re back!”
Then, in a spontaneous and quite out of character display of affection, they were hugging and clapping each other on the back, rendered unable for the moment to speak a word.
The audience that had gathered while all this was going on watched uncertainly. It was sizable by now, drawn initially by the odd costumes and the obvious interest of the man and woman who had first approached, then held there by what everyone presumed was a drama of some sort being played out as open-air theater. Really, they were thinking, it was quite good, if somewhat inappropriate for the occasion.
There was a scattering of polite applause.
Abernathy continued to cling to Questor Thews, as if letting go would change him back again. He could feel the air and the sun’s warmth, and he could smell the food and hear the music as if he had never been able to do any of those things before in his life. If he could be born again, he thought, it would feel like this!
“What’s happened to us?” he managed finally, drawing away from the other’s grasp. “How did I change? How did it happen?”
Questor released him reluctantly, then shook his head, wispy hair sticking out all over the place, the result of his enthusiastic embrace. “I don’t know,” he declared wonderingly. “I don’t understand any of it. I thought we were dead!”
The crowd applauded some more. Abernathy became aware of them now, three and four deep all around the wizard and himself. He was startled in spite of himself—and deeply embarrassed. “Questor Thews, do something!” he demanded heatedly, gesturing at the knot of people ringing them.
The wizard glanced about in surprise but somehow managed to maintain his equanimity.
“Hello, there!” he greeted. “Can anyone tell us where we are?”
There was laughter from the crowd.
“Bumbershoot,” came a tall, lanky boy’s quick answer.
“Bumbershoot?” repeated Questor Thews doubtfully.
“Sure. You know, Bumbershoot, festival of the arts.” The boy grinned. He was enjoying whatever game it was they were playing.
“No, no, he means the city,” a burly fellow said. He was enjoying the game, too. “You’re in Seattle, Washington, fellows.”
“United States of America,” another voice added.
Other names and places were shouted out, spectators now having decided that this was an audience participation performance. Everyone was quite enthusiastic, and the crowd grew larger still.
“Questor!” Abernathy said sharply. “Do you realize where we are? We’re in the High Lord’s old world! We’ve been transported through the fairy mists once again!”
The wizard’s jaw dropped. “But how could that have happened? Nightshade meant to destroy us! What are we doing here?”
“Ask Scotty to beam you up!” someone shouted.
“Are they Trekkies?” someone else asked hopefully.
The crowd howled with laughter and engaged in some rhythmic clapping to urge the two on. The music from the pavilion had ceased momentarily, and it seemed as if everyone at the festival had suddenly converged on them, anxious for a new show. Belatedly, Abernathy realized that their unexpected appearance had been the trigger for all this attention, materializing as they had out of nowhere as if… well, as if by magic—which was exactly how they had gotten there, of course, but that was beside the point. This was Earth, the High Lord’s old world, and magic was not practiced here. Not tolerated, really. Not even believed in for the most part. The crowd thought the two were part of the festival, like the jugglers and the stilt walkers and what have you.