Am I dead?
No. I can feel my limbs. They're numb. I can't move.
Oh God—I think my eyes have been plastered shut!
Stop. Keep calm. I can still breathe. Breathe. Think clearly. Have I been captured?
I remember I was in a house in Luxembourg. We heard the Jerries had counter-attacked, and were waiting for them to reach our position. Then what?
More feeling is coming back. Sheets. Pillow. A light breeze, like from a fan. I must be in a hospital.
There's something attached to my spine. I wonder what.
Wait—a sound. A doorknob turning. Footsteps. Maybe twelve or fifteen people, all walking together in a close group over wooden floorboards.
"Oh, the poor thing."
Someone's talking English! Thank God. That means I'm somewhere in Allied territory.
"You really think he'll survive something this dramatic, Princess?"
Princess?
"Whether he does or not, it is all we can do for him now."
Women's voices. Nurses, I suppose.
"I hate to say it, but I think it will be quite an improvement when it's finished."
Four distinct voices so far. They're easy to pick out. This last one sounds trans-Atlantic, like an American trying to sound British.
"Perhaps. But we must speak gently when he awakes. It will all be very difficult for him."
But I am awake. I try to move, but my extremities are like concrete. I try to speak, and manage a weak moan from somewhere low in my throat.
There's a small gasp from the first voice—the soft one. "Listen!" she says. Two pairs of feet quickly step closer to me. "I think he's awake already."
I double my effort, and this time manage to groan.
"Can you uncover his eyes?" the soft voice says.
Nothing I'd like better than that.
"I'm afraid it's not safe." This voice is warm and motherly, but there's a firm undertone. "As he is now, the shock may be too much. Come. We must let him rest."
I feel a breath on my left ear. "Don't worry," the soft voice says. "We'll come back. You're going to be all right."
The small crowd's footsteps move away. A door shuts.
What shock was she talking about? The shock from my injuries? Or from what I look like now?
How much of me is still here?
I heard four voices, but three or four times as many footfalls. Those other people must have been silently watching. Who were they? Why would so many people be interested in one patient?
One of them was addressed as "Princess." Must be a nickname.
* * *
Time passes—I can't tell how much. Between periods of dreamless sleep, I retrace my last memories before I got here. There was a huge counter-attack, and our front line had bulged inward, threatening to break. My unit was in an abandoned manor house, waiting for enemy armour we were told was on its way. Then, nothing. I didn't even hear any shooting. They say you don't hear the shot that hits you, but even so...
They check on me from time to time. Footsteps approach me—always in pairs—and sometimes whisper reassurances. It's often the soft voice, but sometimes it's the refined one or the motherly one. I wonder if I'll ever be able to see their faces.
After a while, I can move my limbs and head a bit. But my hands seem stuck together in solid fists, and my legs feel misshapen. The bones probably had to be fitted back together from several pieces.
Finally, I feel strong enough to sit up in bed, and would if I wasn't afraid of pulling too hard at whatever's on my spine. It feels like it's wired to the bone right below the shoulder blades. I'm not sure I want to see what's back there.
Some time passes before I'm able to form words again. They're arid and weak at first, but I practice forming them out loud, and am relieved to find myself quickly re-learning to speak. While doing this, I discover I'm missing a number of teeth from both plates, somewhere between the molars and incisors, and I have to form words differently to keep wind from whistling through the gaps.
The next time the soft voice checks in on me I ask for her name.
"Oh!" she says. "You can talk now. Thank goodness. How are you feeling?"
"Like I've been taken apart and put back together," I say.
"This is wonderful," she says. "Wait here. The Princess will want to know."
Wait? Well, what else am I supposed to do? For the first time in what must be weeks, I chuckle out loud.
A rapid, crowded clomping of feet tells me the group from before has come back. The motherly voice addresses me by name, and says:
"The time has come to uncover your eyes. Please don't be alarmed by what you see."
"Why?" I say. "What's happened?"
"It is difficult to explain, and you would not believe me. Forgive me, but I must show you."
There's an odd sound. I want to compare it to wind, or to chimes, but it's not really like anything I've ever heard. I feel a tingling where the plaster touches my face, and it begins to peel away. I'm excited, and a little afraid. What if I've been struck blind?
At last the covering is gone. Slowly, I crack my eyelids, wincing as white light breaks through. As my eyes adjust, I steel myself for the unexpected.
It doesn't help.
Huge eyes. Muzzles. Brightly colored hair all over the skin. Four of them, with four legs each. Instinctively, I try to scramble away. My muscles are stiff, and I only get as far as my bed's edge.
"What are you?" is say, as loudly as I can manage.
"Please, calm down." The soft voice belongs to one of these creatures—yellow, with wings. I had expected a pretty girl.
"No, I won't calm down! What the hell is going on?" I glance from one face to another. They seem concerned, but their large features make the expressions strange.
One of them—purple-coated, with wings behind its shoulders and a single horn on its head—steps forward cautiously. "It's okay," she says. "We're your friends."
"You're space aliens or some damn thing!"
"Well, honestly!" The trans-Atlantic voice belongs to a greyish-white creature that—my God—seems to be wearing makeup. "If we were going to hurt you, we would have done so by now."
That's true, but even so... "Well, answer my question!"
"Oh, for goodness' sake," she says. "Here, let me show you."
The spiraled horn on her head glows blue, and I hear that shimmering sound again. A hand mirror, also glowing blue, floats through the air and comes to a stop in front of me. In it, there's a creature like these others, but with smaller eyes, a larger snout, and a dark brown coat. As it looks back, its expression grows more horrified. I look down at my body. Where I had expected casts and bandages, I see nothing familiar at all. My feet and hands are now solid hooves, my knees bend back, and the thing attached to my spine is a pair of feathery wings, which now flare outward, seemingly of their own accord. A single horn protrudes from my forehead.
"What did you do to me?" I say in a strangled whisper.
"We saved your life." It's the motherly voice. The speaker is the tallest of the four creatures—bright white, and seemingly bleeding colours into thin air. For some reason, she reminds me of a swan. She approaches me as she speaks. "When I found you, your body was badly broken. We have given you a new one so that you may live."
"Why me?" The question is mostly rhetorical. If I weren't so shocked, I would be grateful, but as it is...
"We needed someone from another world," she says, "because his form and essence would not be restricted by the nature of our own. We chose a mortally wounded soldier because we could not in good conscience take someone whose time in his home universe had not yet ended."
I barely understand any of this, but I'll have to take what I can get. So I listen.
"Creatures native to this world are beholden to the laws of its magic," she says. "It takes years to turn a mortal into an alicorn, and then only when certain conditions are met. But outsiders are unconstrained by such laws. When transforming them, laws can be broken."
I'm lost, but I think the right answer is, "Why?"
"We have need of your help to defend our realm. But for now, do not let this trouble you. When you have regained your strength, we will teach you the powers of magic and flight."
Under better circumstances, this would have instantly grabbed my attention. But out of all the questions whirling through my head now, the loudest is: "Can you send me home?"
The white horse closes her eyes and bows her head. "I'm afraid that is impossible. The magic only works in one direction."
It only now occurs to me that this must be a dream. I close my eyes tight, trying to will myself awake. When I open them, it's just in time to see the four creatures exchanging meaningful glances. The three shorter ones turn to leave.
"For now, please try to rest," the white one says. "Tomorrow, we have much to do."
I turn over onto my side. "Leave me alone," I say weakly.
The soft click of a doorknob tells me I'm alone again, and the light above me switches off. I sit in the dark and try to think, but nothing makes sense anymore. Even the war made more sense than this. I wonder if we repelled the counterattack. I'll be reported as missing in action, of course. Back home, they'll hold onto hope that I might turn up. It will be months, or maybe even years, before they accept that I'm gone.
I'm not too proud to say I shed a few private tears at this.
Finally, stress and fear—and no doubt the rigor of this weird transformation—bring on exhaustion, and I decide to take my hostess's advice. It's difficult to get comfortable. The wings seem to have minds of their own, and only fold when finally I manage to calm down. I lay on my side, with my ugly new limbs sticking out in odd directions.
If I go to sleep here, maybe I'll wake up back in Europe, with the Jerries bearing down on me. Maybe not.
I wonder which would be worse.