The weeks drifted past.

As Richard saw it, the Sphericals were spinning a tale in which he was both protagonist and audience. As such, their intent was to convey universal lessons about actions and interactions, choices and consequences (how Aristotelian of them). But what the cruxes of these lessons were, how they applied to him, and why he, a man of zero consequence, had been chosen to receive them and participate in them, remained a mystery.

He kept replaying the possibility that the entire experience was a fabrication, that his persecuted mind had seen no recourse but to lob a wrench into the gummed-up gears of Work, Home, Sleep, Repeat, bringing the system to screeching standstill. If this indeed had been the big idea, then it seemed logical that the spheres would go into hiding now that the Work section of machinery had been successfully sabotaged. But—for the last time—it wasn’t a fabrication.

Yes, granted, but we must explore all avenues…

Though he had never himself experimented, Richard was aware that LSD and other psychotropic substances often produced specific and linear hallucinations that were indistinguishable from consciousness. Could some lunatic have slipped acid into his Coke Zero as a spiteful goof? Could it be that simple? But who would do such a thing; why? how? And this does nothing to explain the parchment and the war gear. Tangible evidence! Could he have somehow acquired these objects while in thrall to some mad druggy dream?

And what about what the sphere “said” to him on the beach? Some answers (though not all) will come, but you must return and seek them out. He had been given an instruction, and he had chosen to ignore it. The idea of time-space portals was ludicrous enough, but talking time-space portals? Okay, fine, but what if the sphere was right? Since his adventure at sea, he had struggled to disregard the fire cave and longship and focus on opening doors to a new job, a stable future, a better life. But all of the doors that led to these “real” things had been locked, and he didn’t have a key. To open the spheres, he hadn’t needed a key. All he had to do was touch them.

One thing was certain. The “get a job, move on” strategy was a bust. As each day evaporated, the job search became less a necessity and more a waste of time. He couldn’t stop thinking about the floating balls of light and wondering when the next one would appear. Its soft white color burned behind his eyes, superseding his other four senses. This is how insanity begins, he thought, when obsession turns malignant. He decided it was finally time to seek the answers that he had been told were his to discover.

He retreated to the basement and sat in semi-darkness for over an hour, the sword and shield in his lap.

“So?” “Tomorrow.” “Right, tomorrow.” “I’ll have someone take a look at these. Get an informed opinion. Maybe that’s what I need to do.” “Okay.” “Sounds good.”

Richard fell asleep remembering a fairy story his father had imparted to him when he was a boy. On some nights Richard had been permitted to stay up past his bedtime to listen as Ivan, his naturally gruff voice sweetened with a vodka tonic, told the tale of the Legend of the Spice.

Next Chapter: Part Three: Diversions, Disgressions, Discoveries, Chapter IV