Ayin's Time-Travelling Journey

"Ayin," his father said. "Ayin, wake up."

"No," Ayin said groggily. He rolled over and tried to bury his face in the mattress. "I'm tired."

"Ayin." His father's hand was on his shoulder, shaking him. "It's time for school."

"School is stupid," Ayin mumbled. "Why do I have to go? It won't help me find a wife or hunt animals or do anything useful."

"You need to learn to read and write." His father picked up a small book from the table beside the bed and waved it in front of Ayin's face. It had no words written on its pages, but Ayin knew what it was. He'd seen books before, in the library at the center of town; they were filled with stories about powerful warriors and mystical courtesans and beautiful princesses who lived in faraway lands, long ago. They were filled with pictures of amazing things that he'd never seen before: tall buildings made of glass and metal that could fly through the sky like birds; sleek black ships that sailed across vast oceans to distant continents; people walking around with strange devices that let them talk to each other from anywhere on Earth. His father was pointing at a page in one of those books now, at a drawing of a figure in flowing white robes, who held a staff in one hand and an open book in the other. Underneath it was written "TIMEKEEPER".

"Who is this?" his father asked. "Can you tell me?"

But Ayin didn't know. He shook his head sadly. The drawing looked like all the rest, like the hundreds of images he'd seen of strange-looking creatures called aliens or monsters or demons, which were supposed to be enemies of mankind - although nobody ever seemed entirely sure why they were considered enemies, since nobody had ever seen one alive. But there must be lots of them out there somewhere, because all those drawings were always accompanied by swords and armor and lots of angry faces. And so many of them were labeled as being from other times - which seemed like an odd thing to say, since how could someone be from another time if they didn't live now? - so Ayin supposed that must have been what those drawings meant too. At least he thought it did; sometimes he wasn't entirely sure about such things anymore, since he'd started learning about history instead of stories for kids. But even if he was wrong about all those things, he knew one thing for certain: none of them looked anything like the person drawn inside Timekeeper's book.

"Who is this?" his father repeated impatiently. "Can you tell me?"

"That's not how history works," Ayin protested sullenly. "The past isn't something you can just ask questions about."

"It is now," his father replied patiently as he turned another page. This one showed a group of different people sitting around a large table together; some had short hair and others wore brightly colored clothes and masks, while still more had long hair and covered their faces with cloaks, but all of them looked happy together as they shared food between themselves. "Because this is the future." He pointed at Timekeeper again on the opposite page . "And this is you." He pointed at himself . Then he pointed back and forth between both pictures earnestly . "So who is this?"

Ayin sighed heavily, then sat up in bed reluctantly . Nowadays almost everyone in town spoke English when they wanted to communicate with him instead of Berber or Tamazight or Fulani or any other local language; but his father refused to do so himself unless it was absolutely necessary, believing that speaking only Berber would give Ayin better chances of staying fluent in it as he grew older than mixing it with English or French first would . So there might not be anyone else around right now who could understand them talking together like this - except maybe Mr Aliyev next door, who'd learned Arabic because he'd grown up near Algiers during the war - but that wouldn't do either . So instead Ayin just gave his father an annoyed stare until he stopped pointing at everything . Then he stared some more until he finally gave up . Which wasn't very long at all . After all , nobody likes being stared at . Nobody especially likes being stared at by their own son . Especially when said son has already shown signs of developing telepathic powers that make him much more difficult to lie to than most children are . And especially if said son has recently begun asking questions about topics best left unquestioned in polite company .