The six priests looked out across the ruins, then at each other.  They nodded and went to their knees, sending out their last formal prayer from this site.  This was all they had left.  Nothing and no one could or would stop them from praying to their Gods, but they'd now have to do it quietly.  The world as they knew it was ending and they had to move on and hide who and what they were.  One-by-one they got up and took off their outer robes, all but the last one.  He looked at them and shook his head.

            "I will not," he decided.  He looked at his brethren, then at the sunlit field.  "We should each take those of us who are faithful, the most faithful, the strongest and the weakest, and go.  We can hide."

            "Hades would protect you anyway," one of the others complained.  "Hestia can't come out to protect us."  He looked at his ruined temple, wanting to cry.  "I know not what we did wrong!" he said angrily.

            "Nothing was our fault, nor theirs.  The world had shifted and we must move on," the female standing among them noted quietly.  She took a deep breath.  "We must find ways of recognizing each other."

            The highest of high priests to Ares looked at them all.  "Brand you and yours with your God's marks.  That way we will know.  Keep them hidden wherever possible."

            "That's fairly stupid.  They can have us stripped and searched," the female complained.  "My Goddess doesn't allow others to see my flesh."

            "Then hide yourself well," he noted.  "Those who know will realize where the holiest of points are.  We'll head to our holiest of temples and regroup those waiting around.  As the times move on, we'll use our influences to keep ourselves safe and out of the world's view."  He bowed to them.  "Peace, brothers.  I'm off to gather the warriors."  He left, leaving them alone.

            The female shook her head.  "Apollo be praised along with my Goddess Athena.  We'll need it."  She looked at the others and they all nodded, it was a bold plan, one that could hold them through the centuries. They had to keep their prayers going or their Gods would die out.  That was not what the world needed.  They left, heading to find their followers and gather them quietly.  Any who couldn't be quiet weren't taken.  Those who had been devoted in their youth were taken and talked to.  The priests and priestesses went to their holier sites and gathered the things they needed, then headed to their homes to set up privately.  The world was not going to end with them.

            "Mom, the baby's puking orange stuff," a female voice called, totally breaking the mood.

            "Why is the baby puking orange stuff?" the author asked, trying to get back into the field with those valiant priests.

            A young teenage girl walked in, pushing her dreadlocks back over her shoulder and adjusting her eyebrow ring.  "I don't know.  Maybe because my idiot brother fed him orange Kool-Aid when he wasn't supposed to?  When's dinner since you're fully out now."

            "I…order Chinese," the mother complained.  "Get me some Moo Shoo."

            "Mother, the last time I did that, you complained," the daughter said irritably.  "I'm not getting chewed a new one because you forgot and went back to writing."

            The mother sighed and saved down her most current works, then turned to look at her daughter.  "I'm not going to yell at you, Giselle.  I'm just too tired to cook.  My latest book is sounding like a bad cliché."

            Giselle rolled her eyes.  "Mom, I don't know which is worse.  You when you're writing or dad when he's somewhen."

            "You know he doesn't really go some *when* right?" she prompted.

            "Mom, there's no other word that describes dad when he's on a dig.  He's somewhen.  Some other time and place long ago in the dirty and dusty past and that will hold his attention until the modern ideas of necessity start to spark into his head.  That's why you divorced him."

            "I remember quite well why I divorced your father, dear."

            "Mom, there's some strange dude on the law!" her son called.  "Why is the baby puking orange?"

            "Because you gave him the wrong stuff again!" Giselle called.  She muttered under her breath at how dumb her brother was.  "You're sure we get to have Chinese?"

            "Yeah, I'm sure.  Take the money from my purse."

            "While I'm in there, can I have a raise?"

            "For doing what?" the mother suggested dryly.

            The daughter gave her a knowing look.  "For being your editor-at-large, mother.  For doing the little things that you keep forgetting, like the laundry.  I only want five more bucks a week.  Please?"

            "Fine.  If we can afford it.

            "Thanks, mom.  Want me to see who the stranger is?"

            "Please, before your brother frisks him and mugs him."  She sighed and shut down her computer, going to check on the baby.  It wasn't anything unusual; she and orange Kool-Aid didn't get along.  Everyone in the house knew that but her brother still made her a bottle of it now and then.  Then again, at eighteen months, her daughter Mirabelle had some strange attraction to the color orange, no matter how sick it made her.  She got the baby cleaned up and redressed, then carried her out to the living room.  "Who was it?" she asked her son.

            "Some Military guy.  Army I think."  He shrugged and went back to his video game.  "What's for dinner?"

 "Food.  I'm going to poison you as research," she joked dryly.  She heard a shocked gasp and glared at the man in her doorway.  "What do you want and why are you here?  None of my children are old enough to be in the military, much less want to serve."

 "Ma'am, I come at the request of General Bodine."

 "Why?" she asked dryly.

 "Mom, tell this heretic that I was at the last anti-war rally," Giselle demanded. "That I even got arrested for it.

 "You did, dear.  I was quite proud of you."  She looked at the man's stripes.  "Sergeant, why are you here?  I don't know General Bodine, nor do I think he knows me."

            "Ma'am, are you aware of any people with blue skin?"

            She quirked up an eyebrow.  "Yes, why?" she asked.  The baby struggled so she let her down, watching as she wandered off.  "Watch your sister," she told her son, who only huffed and went to chase her.  "What's going on?"

            "Unfortunately ma'am, we've had another of those breeches," he said gently.  He pointed at the man on their lawn.

            "Mom, why is there a guy with blue skin and one big antenna on the lawn?" Giselle asked, looking at her mother.

            "Another one?"

            "Yes, ma'am," the sergeant said tiredly.  "Third this week.  We're not quite sure why but this one is yours?"

            "Um, yeah, what I'm working on right now actually."  She frowned and looked at her daughter.  "Did you read the new Empire piece?"

            "No, mother.  You haven't given it to me yet," she said patiently.  "Why is there a character from one of your stories on our lawn?"

            "Because someone believed strongly enough and he was called," she said.

            Giselle looked at her mother, then at the sergeant, who simply nodded.  "I want therapy.  You're going to have to get father to pay for some the next time he comes out of his time warp.  Because I now need therapy, mother.  Not to be trendy or cool, but I need therapy.  I desperately need therapy."

            "Oh, quit," her mother snorted.  "You're perfectly well adjusted, dear.  You don't need therapy."

            "Mother, there's a *character* sitting on our front lawn!" she yelled.  "This is one of those things that mean I need therapy!  I'm seeing things obviously."

            "Dear, you're not seeing things.  It can happen to any of us.  It's happened to a lot of writers as far as I know.  All it takes is a bit too much belief."  She looked at the military man, taking the papers and signing them. "How long?"

            "Hopefully within the next two weeks, ma'am.  Where is he from?"

            "My Empire series.  He's a Trigos."

            "Thank you. I'll tell General Bodine that.  He's just recently taken over this area when the last person retired."

            "You act like this is soooo normal," Giselle spat.

            "It is, dear. Most wildly popular authors keep a spare room in their houses for these things."  She looked at her.  "Behave or no raise."

            "Fine.  It's not like things get less expensive for girls my age."

            "Do we need more tampons?" she asked, looking confused.  "I just bought the biggest box I could."

            "No, mother.  There's other girl things I need," she said impatiently.  "What do I do with him?"

            "Take him up to the guest room, let him take a nap.  Order him some teriyaki chicken or something.  I'm sure he can handle it.  Well, I'm not sure if his species eats meat or not," she said thoughtfully.  "Thorn, dear, do you eat meat?  We're trying to decide on what to have for dinner."

            He just stared at her, then slowly nodded.

            She smiled.  "Thank you, dear.  Come in here, we can put you up for the night.  When did you come from, dear?" He looked really confused.  "Did the third Atham happen yet?" she asked.

            "There's a third?  Why is our God doing this to us!" he demanded.  "Who are you!"

            "Thorn, dear, here you're just a story," she said patiently, leading him to the living room.  "I'm the woman who writes your tales.  I'm a bard, like Leresa."  He shuddered.  "Unfortunately when someone believes this world's tales a bit too much, things can happen and the characters in them can be pulled.  You're not the first one, dear, and most bards down here seem to realize this could happen.  I've had it happen a time or two before.  Trust me."

            "You speak as if this were normal.  When do I go home?"

            "As soon as we can find who did it and get them to reverse it.  It shouldn't take too long, maybe a few weeks. Until then, you can borrow my spare room."

            "I was flying.  What of my ship?"

            "From what I understand, you'll go back to about the same spot, Thorn.  Your ship will be fine. I'll make sure of it."  He relaxed at that, their ships were their holy artifacts, passed down through the matrilineal bloodlines since time had started.  "Now, you just follow my eldest daughter up to the spare bedroom.  She will not bother you but my son may ask to give your weapons and skills looks of awe.  She'll show you where the bathing chamber is and all that as well."  He nodded, following the still fuming daughter.

            "Mom, if this happens all the time, then why doesn't anyone know about it and why is the military handling it?" her son asked.

            "Good question, Patrick, but think about it.  Who could handle elves one day and then superior warriors the next?"  He nodded, that was true.  "They can also get them all over the world to their appropriate authors, that way universes don't get mixed up.  It could cause a lot of tragedy if they got intermixed and none of us would like that.  So the military had to step in one too many times and just decided to take this duty over.  There's only a few in that office.  My first time came with your father."

            "Is that why Giselle's so odd?" her son joked.

            She pinched him.  "No, son, not that sort of first time.  Remind me to have another sex talk with you later."  He blushed and ducked his head, nodding.  "Thank you.  Your father read the Blood trilogy and got so involved that he brought back Sarah.  That's how I know what's going on.  It took us a while to figure out what had happened, we just woke up with her on the couch one morning looking like she was still dead. Which is why that's actually a quad instead of a trilogy," she mused.  "Your father explained it pretty well.  It's based on belief.  If you believe the characters and the universe you're reading in is real, and you believe it strongly enough, the characters can come to life, or be drawn, or however you want to think about it."

            "If dad did that, then there's got to be papers, right?"  Their  father wrote many papers on everything he had ever seen, done, or run into.

            "No, the military suggested strongly that there be no mention of this," she said patiently.  "They talked him into it but it has shown up in his works before.  He found a few ruins with mentions of people coming to life from the stories of that time.  He thinks that's how all those myths of the ancient Gods coming down to help people got started.  It takes that sort of belief to make it happen."

            "I'm still calling dad and getting him to pay for therapy," Giselle proclaimed from the stairway.  "Is that why we've always had a spare room?"  Her mother nodded.  "That's just…odd, mother.  I'm ordering Chinese now.  What'cha want, motor mouth?"

            "Sandwiches or what?" he asked through a yawn.

            "Clean your ears, Chinese," she sighed, rolling her eyes.  "Why me?"

            "Because you're so adorable," her mother cooed, pinching her on the cheek.  "Where's Mirabelle?"

            "Oops," Patrick muttered, going to find the baby.  He had been assigned, it was his job to find her.  He came back with the baby and the dog.  "She was trying to eat the dog food."

            "Those are for the puppy, not the baby,"  she chided, making her baby giggle at her.  "I mean it.  No more eating dog food.  It'll make you sick, kid."  She noticed their visitor was coming down the stairs.  "Did you remember to show him where the bathroom was, Giselle?"

            "Of course, mother."  She looked at their guest.  "Do you want chicken, pork, or beef?"

            "What?" he asked, looking confused again.

            "Um, Condrinth, Pala, or Tovan?" the author offered.

            "Tovan," he said firmly, nodding a bit.  Finally, something he understood!  It probably looked back on his mental prowess but he could live with that for now.  He'd make up a convincing lie later for his friends about how he had gotten the situation solved within moments and had stunned them with his brilliance.  The bard looked at him and he decided a better lie was in order.

            "Chicken," her mother told her.

            Giselle just nodded and went to call in the order.  The Chinese place knew them quite well.

            Patrick looked at their visitor.  "So, what's it like to ride on a ship in space?" he asked finally, trying to be polite.

            "It is our gift from our Gods," Thorn stated.

            "Wonderful.  Is it kinda pretty, is it really empty?  Is it cold?"

            "That depends on who you fly with," he admitted.  "At times it can be all of those things, the same as being grounded is."  He noticed how this bard was sitting and sat across from her, frowning at the soft nature of the seat.  "This is much different, yet nice.  I wish one of these on my ship."  He looked at her.  "May I?"

            "I'll see if I can get you to Wilfet," she promised. "Then you can pick up one of your own."

            "Thank you, bard.  May I know your name?"

            "Maria."

            "Thank you, Maria."  He bowed to her and to her son.  "Are you her spouse?"

            "Son, dude.  Son.  There's no way I'd ever marry a woman like my mother."

            "That's true, none of us will ever marry an archeologist or someone like mother," Giselle said as she came out of the kitchen with tea.  "I figured it was innocuous."

            "It is, thank you, dear," Maria said happily, taking her own glass.  "It's like Verbash."

            "Thank you," he said, nodding a bit and taking his own glass.  He drank.  "Cold."  He looked at it, then sipped it again.  "Much more mild as well."

            "That's because she's impatient," Patrick told him. "If she had let it steep longer, it'd be stronger.  Like the last time."  His sister smacked him across the back of the head.  "Hey!  Mom!"

            "Try to show some manners in front of the company, children," she sighed.  "Son, I'm surprised you didn't ask the guy if you could be like that guy from the show."

            "I did, he said it wasn't real but he was being really nervous when I mentioned it."

            "So either he hears that a lot or it's real," Giselle said dryly.  "Maybe we can send Dad to them.  I still want therapy, mother.  If only because you mentioned tampons in front of a big, huge, burly military guy."

            "Sorry, dear, I didn't mean to embarrass you," Maria sighed.  The doorbell rang.  "Someone go rob my purse and carry in the food."  Mirabelle tried to wiggle down to answer it too but she held her tightly.

            "May I?" Thorn asked.  "Our men take care of the children in my lands."  She handed the baby over and he smiled, quieting her and keeping her calm while the older girl brought in food.  "Is she in my world?"

            "There's one of each of them somewhere, but I think I put her among the Tumerin clans.  Wanted to marry out-clan?" she teased with a grin.

            "She is pretty but that would get my bloodline gift taken," he said seriously.

            Maria smiled at him.  "I'd let you have the son, but he's being a bit too heterosexual at the moment."

            "Mother, I like girls," he said firmly.  "I like how they smell and taste."

            Giselle winced and moved away from him.  "Remember, I don't need that renewed talk too, mom," she said quickly.  "I really don't."

            "I know, dear, but your brother and I are going to have a *long* talk tonight."  She gave her son a fond smile.  "You're never going to touch another person ever again when I'm done with you."

            "Mom, I have a girlfriend.  I was going to bring her over to meet you after you got done with this current book.  That way she thinks you're a bit closer to normal."

            "Bards are never normal but they are powerful," Thorn offered.

            "At least you weren't working on another romance," Giselle said fondly.

            "Actually, I am but it wasn't what I was working on today."

            "Please tell me it's not one of those where we'd have some half-dressed cute guy on the lawn?" Giselle moaned.  Her mother nodded. "Are we talking like the Wilma and Eugene one?"  Her mother nodded again.  "Eww!  I'm not proofreading that for you."

            "Dear, if you do go to therapy, that's what's going to be paying for it," she said dryly.  "You do what you have to do to make enough money to live off of.  You know that."  She looked at her son.  "You, on the other hand, forgot to mow the grass."

            "Mom, it's November, even if we don't have snow.  I'm not mowing the grass this late in the year.  I don't need to be laughed at by everyone who sees me."

            "Son, you're mowing the grass or you're going to buy a goat to do it for you."

            "Mom!"

            "Shut up!  Or else the next time I have to write pirate smut, I'll put you in as the helpless cabin boy!"

            "Ick!" he said, getting up and walking off.  "I'm going to wash my brain out now."

            "That's fine, dear.  While you're out there see if the lawnmower needs gas," she called.  She smiled at her daughter.  "How about you, dear?  Wanna be a maiden?"

            "No, mother," she said patiently.  "That would be another thought that would necessitate me going to therapy."  She stared her mother down.  "Though I was offered the chance to have a child for someone who's terminally ill.  That way his line continues."

            "No. Way. In. Hell."

            "That's what I thought you'd say," she said with a small smirk.  "He's got cancer and he doesn't want the line to totally die off so he's had some sperm frozen.  He wanted a good mother for the baby and he's an art guy."  Her mother raised an eyebrow.  "Henry. That cartoon guy."

            "I'm sorry to hear that.  He was always such a nice boy.  Do they think he'll recover?"

            "They said probably but the chemo would kill any future hope of children. That's why he hatched this plan with his parents.  They want the baby all to their own custody and everything, so it'd be like a surrogate."

            "No, dear.  Or else I'm sure I can find an even more icky sex talk about being pregnant than the last one."

            "Sure.  If not me, than maybe Meg.  She's thinking about it too.  I told him you'd kill me but he just smiled and said it was for a good cause."

            "I like the boy, he's a nice boy, but if I become a grandmother within the next ten years, you will regret it," she vowed.

            Thorn coughed.  "She is of adult age."

            "Not by this world's standards," Maria said firmly. "Down here that's eighteen.  She's only sixteen.  She is nowhere near ready to have children yet.  I did and look what happened to me," she told her daughter, who could only shudder in horror at the thought of living her mother's life.  "Got me, daughter?"

            "Yes, mom.  No kids for the next two decades."

            "Good girl," she praised.   The baby cooed at that.  "Yes, she's a good girl and you'll be just as good of a girl too, Mirabelle.  We love you."   She looked at the bag of food.  "Why aren't we eating?"

            "No plates," Giselle told her.

            "And?  Grab a fork.  It's tradition with Chinese food to eat it out of the carton."  She handed a fork and a carton that had stuff with chicken to Thorn, taking the baby back since she'd try to steal it from him.  "Eat."  She grabbed her own and dug in, whole Giselle ate more daintily.  "Maybe Vikings next time."

            "Mother," Giselle moaned.

            "Sorry, dear.  I hope none of them will appear too.  That way you're not taken hostage and ravished."

            "That's probably a good idea," she agreed.  "I'd hate to have to kill them and ruin your novel."

            Maria smiled greatly.  "That's my girl!"  Everyone smiled at that.  "You're so great!"

            Her son slunk back and grabbed his food, digging in quickly.  "My girlfriend's coming over Sunday.  Can you not write that day?"  She nodded.  "Thank you, mother.  And please try not to embarrass me.  I promise I won't have sex ever again if you don't embarrass me.  Not that I'd *ever* get sex ever again if you *do*, but can you try?"

            She kissed him on the side of the head.  "I'll try, son.  It'll be hard, but I won't bring out the dirty naked baby pictures or anything like that.  I might make sure she's on birth control but that's as far as I'd go."  He groaned but nodded.  "I still love you, even though you're pretending to be straight, son."

            "Mother, I like girls," he said firmly.  "You'll be meeting one and she can tell you how much I like girls and especially her.  Just don't traumatize us any more."  He ate another bite and frowned at Thorn.  "Don't worry, she'll coo over you.  She's just like that."

            Thorn nodded. "Is she a bard as well?"

            "I'd never date a woman like my mother," Patrick assured him.  "I'd go insane."

            Giselle nodded.  "Or more insane since you're already mostly there."  She went back to eating, letting the baby and the puppy beg her for some of her dinner.  She was a happy big sister that way.

            Maria smiled at Thorn and the rest of her brood.  She was sure they could get along for however long he was there.  Probably.  After all, she hadn't written him as a raping, pillaging, or looting pirate.  So her kids would be safe and she could use him as a muse.  It all worked out in the end.
 

The End.