There was nothing.
Then, slowly fading into view, glittering crystals. They danced and sparkled and swirled around in perfect unison. The perfection and order were pure bliss. He gazed in awe at the ballet of light and dark. What with, he didn’t know—he was disembodied, floating in the void. He had no arms or legs or body or head…only a presence. Even so, he stretched out toward the lights. Almost imperceptibly, one of those crystals began drifting closer…and closer.
Suddenly, searing flame, biting ice, and pain. A scream echoed among the tiny points of light, but they took no notice and continued their peaceful dance in the tranquil darkness. The echoes did not fade for a long time.
He awoke with a gasp. He was lying face-down in the mud, and rain pattered down to create tiny pools in the earth. The cool rain, the soft rain, soothing away the tingling memory of recent pain. He did not know how long he luxuriated in the coolness before he opened his eyes and looked around himself.
It was dark—the waiting darkness of pre-dawn. The newly-ploughed field where he had arrived was nearly flooded. It stretched off about one hundred yards to a thatched-roof cottage and several out-buildings. Turning his head produced a sharp pain in the neck which made him wince, then try again, more slowly this time. In the distance he saw mountains, peaks shrouded in clouds, and a little nearer what looked to be a forest.
The rain let up, and a light mist began to rise off of the drenched earth. The cool turned cold, and the sky began to lighten. He had to find shelter soon, before he froze to death. Standing, he discovered that not only was he soaked to the skin and full of mud…he was soaked to the skin, covered in mud, and naked! He carefully picked his way across the field, occasionally losing his balance in the slippery mud. The scene might have been comical if only the danger of hypothermia was not so real.
The building that looked as if it might be a barn was actually relatively small—just big enough to house an animal or two and some farming tools. The lower level was a stone wall with wooden supports. The coarse stones were skillfully mortared together to form a solid base for the wooden second story. Vines and weeds tried to climb the stonework to the narrow windows up top.
But the lower level had no windows—good, a dark place to hide until he could decide what to do. The door was secured by a sliding wooden bolt. He reached out to grab the handle.
“Hold it right where you are.”