I rested in the shade of a grove of trees in a large green meadow scattered with wildflowers. High above me, a waving canopy of foliage was so densely lush that it blocked out the sky and the sunlight. A green-tinged natural light lit up the woodland, but I couldn't tell where it came from.
I lifted myself into a sitting position, my gaze fixed on the individual blades of grass beneath me. My senses had been astonishingly heightened; all previous notions of greenness, complexity, and texture became insignificant as the graceful fronds swayed in the breeze, paying homage to a perpetual present. The world was neither artificial nor cultivated by humans; it was wild, and it was alive. Next to me was a pool, and I gently dipped my fingers into the still water before reclining to rest my head on the soft grass, feeling a profound sense of contentment.
My thoughts stilled in this enchanted garden, allowing the voice of a woodland spirit to enter my mind. She told me of a goddess whose breath brought life to an Edenic paradise she had never seen with her own eyes. The goddess slept among the surface roots of a huge oak tree, in a dream, which was not a dream but another reality equal to this one.
She spent her waking hours in a wooden lodge, high in the snow-capped mountains of another world. It was a simple life, and she worked the fields with her family, with little time for leisure. The soil was fertile and met the humble needs of her and her parents, and she was content with her life, although the days were long.
As was customary in those regions, she retired early each night and knelt in prayer beside her familiar childhood bed before slipping between the soft linen sheets. She always slept peacefully and remained unaware of the roots of the oak tree that formed her couch in the real world.
The real world!
I laughed at the absurdity of it all and wanted to sleep forever, but something was nibbling at my ear. The sensation was pleasant at first, but then came a soft bite, and I raised a languid hand to brush away the small creature.
It bit hard again, and I yelped, forcing myself into a sitting position, but it grimly hung on my ear and bit again. I was now on my feet, and the hamster-like creature dropped to the woodland floor before scuttling away to rest in the shade of a nearby tree. I could not concentrate in my lethargic state, and my attention wandered, but then I remembered the bite and touched my ear; there was no blood.
The voice of Albert cut into my thoughts.
"Recognise this place, Peregrine?"
Startled, I shook my head, and it was a long moment before I could trust myself to speak.
"Albert, where are you? Why can't I see you?"
"I'm close; don't worry, Peregrine, I'm with you. Not in person, but inside your head."
"Where am I?"
A safe haven tucked away at the border between two locations within an inter-dimensional space. The hunt is underway, Peregrine, and you are the target. The agents of the evil armies know who you are and will stop at nothing to prevent you from reaching the end of your journey.
"This secret enclave is a paradise we christened Arcadia because of its pastoral beauty and harmony with nature, but you must not stay here too long, and if you succumb to its spell, you will never leave. But within the illusory beauty of Arcadia is a way of escape."
"Illusory? This is all an illusion."
"In part," he replied.
"Why can't you let me see this place as it is?"
"You couldn't take it, Peregrine. Not yet. There is nothing remotely like it in your experience that would provide a model for your brain. You might see nothing, or the horror of the alien imagery could send your neuron circuitry into overdrive and blow out the entire system. The shock would leave you dead or demented.
"Forget about it; we can look around this fortunate land together. See that rock over there? Before we go, just pop it into your rucksack, would you? I'll explain later."
The lush countryside now wore the delicate, golden hues of a summer afternoon, and the soft, springy ground beneath my feet had the texture of a silk carpet. I sensed the presence of Albert beside me and took comfort from his closeness. We walked at an easy pace, although I had no sensation of time passing, and ascended a steep hill without effort.
Upon reaching the summit, I observed a vast expanse of green terrain that, aside from its colour, bore no resemblance to grass. It extended to the horizon like a natural feature rather than an artificial one, yet the prairie was as smooth as the nap of a pool table, with no bumps or creases. On the surface, parallel rows of bronze discs extended in precise lines towards the horizon. The air was exceptionally clear, but I knew that the narrow band of visible light that allowed me to see the landscape only revealed a tiny part of what was really out there.
I yearned to experience the landscape in its full, unfamiliar grandeur, but even though Arcadia had granted me heightened sensitivity, my five limited senses only offered a partial glimpse of the true scene. It was a disheartening thought that there are higher beings with perceptions so finely attuned to the world outside that they can pierce the dark veil hiding reality with an understanding beyond ours.
Albert broke into my thoughts, and my anxieties eased.
"We need to go down there, Peregrine. Follow the path cut into the hillside."
The path was of a white, chalk-like substance, again wonderfully easy to walk on, and I soon reached the plain beneath. The glittering bronze discs arrayed before me resembled a vast regiment awaiting inspection.
I approached the first disc in the front row and saw that it was a shield; I recognised it as the Aspis of the ancient Greek Hoplites. I had some knowledge of ancient Greek history, but as Arcadia had sharpened my senses, it had also broadened my mind, and I accepted the gift with gratitude.
The shield bore the emblem of a winged goddess with the head of the Gorgon Medusa, her snake-like locks of hair able to turn anyone who dared to gaze upon her into stone. Other shields bore different emblems, but the one that caught my attention was the inverted V of the Greek letter lambda, the symbol of the elite Spartan Hoplites, one of the most fearsome infantry groups ever known.
The overwhelming beauty of the world before me was stunning. The precision and elegance of the scene exceeded anything I had ever seen before, but it was not just the size and scope of the spectacle; the designers had crafted the details to match my experience.
All the images I saw related to the cultural history of my species.
The designers had customised the background to meet my expectations, and it must be the same for every observer, no matter how dissimilar they are. I wondered idly what a Martian would have seen when their civilisation was in its pomp.
I could only speculate on the identities of the creators of this world and their godlike abilities. This was more than the product of super-advanced technology—it was power on a supernatural level.
But what was the purpose of these shields? I absent-mindedly reached down toward the disc at my feet. The sound of Albert shouting out in warning broke my reverie, and I withdrew my hand.
"Sorry, Albert, you should have known better. What exactly are these things?"
Albert replied in an unusually sharp tone.
"There is no time for questions. My time here is extremely limited. What you see here are portals to other worlds."
I looked around in astonishment. I had underestimated them once again and was still unable to come to terms with the scale of the operation.
"Every one of those shields is a portal to a different living world—every single one?"
"Yes, except for those; look to your left."
I saw that in every row, there were several circles made from brown, gauze-like material set in the ground that glowed with a dim light.
"Dry holes, dead worlds. Civilisations lost forever, countless billions of sentient entities, all dreams of the future extinguished in a fraction of a second," murmured Albert.
"How did it happen?"
"How does anything happen?" He said dismissively, before adopting a more purposeful tone.
"I want to show you how the shields work. Would you take the rock from your rucksack?"
I did as he asked, curious to see what was coming next.
"Place the rock in the centre of the shield and then stand well back. Understand?"
"Yes, but…"
"No buts, Peregrine. Just do it."
Walking over to the shield, I tentatively lowered the rock until it rested on the surface and quickly stepped away as the disc shot down the circular shaft that instantly opened below it. The inner walls of the shaft were metallic grey, coated with oil, resembling the greased cylinder of an engine, the circular shield functioning like a piston without rings.
This was undoubtedly a well-engineered machine, and I waited confidently for the return of the disc like a commuter at a tube station. Sure enough, it reappeared and came to a halt, back in its original position. The rock had vanished, but the disc was completely unchanged.
"Where has the rock gone?" I asked, like a wide-eyed child witnessing a conjuring trick at a birthday party.
"At this very moment," Albert said, "it could be in the hands, or equivalent, of an exotic creature standing on the shore of an alien sea who might be scratching one of his three heads and wondering, now, where the heck did that come from?
"That's it for now, then, Peregrine; are you ready to go on?"
"Albert, you must give me some more time to assimilate all this."
But he was gone; I was alone.