Chapter 7: Pickled Fish and Possible Worlds

How far away did I come from? Chastity restated the question in her mind.

“I’m from far, far away. I got lost… and… uh…”

Chastity trailed off. She really didn’t know how to explain this, not even to herself. The group of onlookers shuffled awkwardly in the silence that followed.

“Now, now, dearie. Whatever the case, I’m sure you’re still out of sorts, what with you being half frozen out there and all. There’s no ‘urry to explain,” Mrs. Underfoot offered in a cheerful voice.

“Yes there is! We’re dying to know!” the mustachioed man retorted. “A strange-looking Tall Folk, with WEAPONS no less, wandering through the neighboring woods!”

“Shush, Mr. Pricklebush, and put out that pipe! All that smoke can’t be good for our guest in ‘er state of mending! Listen, this is mine and me mister’s ‘ouse–our spare room. You’re welcome to stay ‘ere until you get your strength back.”

Chastity nodded. She carefully looked over the men and women assembled around her bedside, each of them so startlingly small. How would she describe them?

I don’t think the term ‘midget’ is acceptable anymore, Chastity thought. Not politically correct. Vertically challenged? Little people? What is the right word?

It seemed, improbably, like the entire village had a medical condition similar to dwarfism.

“Excuse me, I don’t mean to offend. But can I ask you something?” she ventured.

“Ask anything you like dearie, except the recipe for my prize-winning goldenberry pie!”

“Are you all… dwarves?”

There was a moment of dead silence. Aside from the crackling fire, you could hear a pin drop.

Then the group burst out in uproarious laughter.

Chastity’s face flushed again. She was mortified. Had she said the wrong thing?

Some of the small folk were now rolling on their backs and slapping the ground, they were laughing so hard.

“Dwarves? Dwarves!?” one lady cried out between belly laughs that shook her whole body. “She thinks we’re DWARVES!”

Chastity wanted to pull the quilt over her head and disappear.

Mrs. Underfoot wiped tears from her cheeks, fighting to regain her composure as the laughter continued.

“Dwarves? He he… no, dearie. Not at all. He he… we’re halflings!”

Halflings?!

Finally the laughter subsided, although a few stray giggles could still be heard now and then. Mrs. Underfoot cleared her throat.

“We tend to think of ourselves as River Folk. There WAS a dwarf settlement not too far from ‘ere, but we don’t ‘ave much dealings with them nowadays. Come to think of it, ‘aven’t set eyes on a dwarf in several years. Anyhow, you should rest. I’ll get this lot of nosey neighbors out of your locks. I can take that cup, too,” Mrs. Underfoot took the empty cup from the chagrined Chastity. “Say, are you ‘ungry?”

Chastity’s stomach rumbled loudly.

“O, my! I’ll take that as a yes. I’m afraid we ‘aven’t got much, but we’re ‘appy to share what we do ‘ave. Where’s that Cucumber? O, get in ‘ere little Cucumber!”

Chastity thought Mrs. Underfoot was calling for a literal vegetable to be brought in, but soon a younger halfing with ruddy cheeks and floppy hair sauntered into the increasingly crowded room.

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“Here I am, Auntie.”

The young halfling was holding a jar. Mrs. Underfoot took it from him and twisted off the lid. Chastity’s nostrils were instantly hit with a smell even more pungent than the barley tea.

“Some pickled fish. My best batch yet!” the young halfling said, glowing with pride.

As the kind woman held the open jar out in front of Chastity, the scent became even more ferocious. Chastity’s stomach did a flip, and she couldn’t hide her alarmed reaction.

“What’s wrong with ‘er?” another halfling piped up. “Don’t she like trout?”

“No, no. It’s not that,” Chastity assured them, although she still didn’t reach for the jar. “I like seafood. I’m just not used to the cuisine of… this part of the world.”

“Well what do you usually eat where you’re from?” Mr. Pricklebush asked, incredulous.

“Uh… you know, hamburgers and hot dogs. Things like that…” she answered lamely.

Now it was the halflings’ turn to blanch.

Mrs. Underfoot slowly put the lid back on the jar (and slowly lowered her eyebrows) then turned to forcefully usher the others out of her spare bedroom.

“Now, now. You’ve all ‘ad your fill of curiosity for the day. Let the lady rest. I’m sure you’ve got enough to gossip about in the tavern till the next full moon. Out you go! And don’t let me catch you standing on each other’s shoulders to get a peek through the window again, or I’ll ‘ave me ‘usband after you with the broom!”

Before he left the room, Chastity overheard Mr. Pricklebush muttering, “Hot… dogs? I take back what I said, Pennybun, I think the tall lady might be a barbarian after all…”

ꭘ

Chastity slept for a long time. Despite the hunger pangs, the small cup of tea had done her some good. Mrs. Underfoot poked in now and then to tend to the small fire, checking the dampness of Chastity’s clothes.

At last, cool sunlight peeked through the window of the little room. A chilly night passed, giving way to a chilly morning.

Feeling much better, Chastity reflected on all that had happened and about the current state of her reality. There was no doubt about it: she had somehow been transported to another world–a sort of fantasy world, and was in a village populated by a race of (trademark-indistinct) halflings.

And what about the time period? Chastity thought back to classes she had taken on church history. The technology, architecture, and dress (or what she had seen so far) reminded her of the Middle Ages, although that in and of itself comprised a span of about a thousand years. Either way, this was probably before the invention of the printing press and modern antibiotics–and certain feminine hygiene items come to think of it. Chastity bit her lip. What would she do if ‘that time of the month’ rolled around and she was still stuck here?

She shook her head. One problem at a time. The fact was she had crossed over into a parallel dimension–a medieval fantasy world, and one that had rules like some kind of videogame.

But how is this possible? she wondered. Nothing in my studies, and nothing in my belief system for that matter, would explain this type of phenomenon. How is it possible that a whole other world exists? Does this not somehow violate everything I fundamentally believe in?

Wrestling with these mysteries, an idea came to her. One of the so-called ‘abilities’ listed on her Character Record.

“Recall knowledge… religion,” she whispered, not wanting anyone in the house to overhear and think she was talking to herself.

There was a chime, and a text box appeared in her vision.

[Recall Knowledge–Religion]

Chastity’s mind sharpened. Awareness of past lessons rushed through her like a flipping rolodex. The name of ‘Molina’ popped into her head.

Molina?

She suddenly flashed back to a lecture on the work of Luis de Molina, and it felt like she was right there, sitting in the front row of class, listening to the Professor’s voice.

“From the perspective of Molinism, God knows not only all necessary truths and all contingent truths, but also all counterfactual truths. Every possibility, and thus every possible world, exists within the mind of God. God chooses to actualize which reality serves the ultimate divine purpose. Yet there being a brain-boggling breadth of possible alternatives does not mean that God presides over chaos, for there may be transworld truths that persist across any actualized reality.”

Chastity blinked, returning to the present moment. The small bed. The crackling fire. The armor piled in the corner. The rush of mental clarity subsided.

Yes, Chastity thought. Whether or not I believed other worlds existed, every possible world MUST exist in some way within the imagination of God. And it seems that I have entered into one of those possible other worlds.

But the real question is… how do I get back?