By James Gonda.

Inspired by true events

I was a vintner, and the chores of the vineyard consumed my days. Pruning. Harvesting. Fermenting.

So, when I decided to excavate a new wine cellar beneath my home, I expected only sweat and dust.

It was a crisp morning when my shovel clanged against something hard. I brushed aside dirt and discovered a massive bone. Its surface was smooth to the touch. Then I unearthed more bones, each one larger than the last. It struck me like a thunderclap—these were mammoth bones!

News of my find spread throughout the region. The local media buzzed; the winery saw an influx of visitors to see the prehistoric relics. Amidst this hullabaloo, a woman named Alka slinked in. She claimed to be an archaeologist. “I’ve heard about your discovery,” she said. “May I see the bones?”

I took her to the cellar.

She examined skull pieces with a discerning eye. After a long silence, she turned to me. “These bones are not just remnants of the past. They are linked to something more significant.”

I had no idea what she was talking about.

“I belong to a society that studies temporal anomalies,” she said. “We investigate rifts in the fabric of time—portals that offer glimpses into different eras. These bones are connected to one such rift.”

I thought she was talking nonsense.

“I know it sounds unbelievable,” she said, “but I can prove it. Will you let me?”

Despite my skepticism, I agreed.

Alka produced a small, intricate device from her bag. It looked like a cross between a compass and an astrolabe. She positioned the gadget near the bone pit and began to manipulate its dials.

The air in the cellar grew heavy; a low hum filled the space. Then a shimmering portal opened before us, projecting a pale light. “Come,” she said, extending her hand. “We must step through together.”

I hesitated before deciding to play along.

When we crossed the threshold, everything dissolved into a swirling vortex of light. As the whirl of colors subsided, we were on a vast plain. Towering mammoths lumbered across the landscape. Nearby, a group of early humans—clad in furs and armed with spears—stalked their massive prey.

I watched as they coordinated their attack to bring down one of the beasts. After the mammoth fell and the hunters celebrated their victory, the vision began to blur and fade. I turned to Alka. “What the heck was that?”

“A scene from eons ago, she said. “The rift allows us to witness history. But we’re only observers—we cannot interact with the past.”

The portal closed and we found ourselves back in the cellar. I stood there, absorbed in the enormity of our experience. My crude hole in the ground felt like a nexus of unimaginable power.

Alka showed concern. “These rifts are delicate. Disturbances like our presence can exacerbate their instability. So, we need to monitor it to ensure it stabilizes. Then we must protect this site to prevent further disruptions.”

My life was suddenly upended.  

In the following days, I helped Alka set up equipment to monitor the rift. My cellar was transformed into a command center: screens with energy readings and charts that mapped temporal distortions. I tried to read about time anomalies and theoretical physics but found these subjects incomprehensible. Meanwhile, my hired man took over my tasks in the vineyard.

 One day during some down time I asked Alka how she got involved in this line of work. She smiled. “I’ve always been fascinated by time—how it shapes us, how we’re all just specks passing through. When I discovered these rifts, I thought I found the pulse of the universe. They’re also dangerous, and that attracted me. Any rift could unravel everything we are.”

Then without warning the cellar’s alarms blared. The rift’s energy had surged. The portal flickered, threatening to burst open. “We need to act now!” Alka shouted. I grabbed the temporal stabilizer and positioned it near the rift. Alka adjusted the controls. As it activated, the rift pulsed wildly, full of energy. Slowly, its fluctuations began to calm. The portal’s edges solidified, and the shimmering light faded. We watched, breathless, as the rift settled into a stable, dormant state. Alka turned to me. “We did it. For now.”

I was alone in the cellar the next day scanning energy readings when a spike caught my attention. The rift was beginning to fluctuate again. Panic surged through me. Without Alka’s supervision, I was unsure what to do. I grabbed the temporal stabilizer and adjusted the controls from memory. The rift’s energy swelled, and the shimmering light began to appear. I worked like a madman trying to calm it, but the fluctuations only intensified. Then the portal opened, and the swirling vortex manifested. Its pull was irresistible. Before too long I was back on the plain with the mammoths and hunters. A tall figure stood out. As I approached, he turned; I gasped in shock. The face looking back at me was my own. I cowered. The other me smiled. “Don’t fret, Wolfgang, I am you, but from a different starting point. The rift doesn’t just show the past; it creates different timelines. In my world Alka and I mastered the rifts and harnessed their power.” I was speechless. “Time is not linear—it’s a web of possibilities. The rift is a gateway. One can choose to follow the same path or forge a new one.” Then I was pulled back through the vortex and returned to the cellar. The stabilizer beeped; the rift was stable once again.

Alka rushed in. “What’s happened?”

I explained how I saw myself from another timeline.

Her eyes widened. “The scope and breath of these rifts are enormous.”  

My life took another turn—I became a caretaker of time. Past and present intertwine like vines on the trellis. Being a vintner gave me roots; time is now my vineyard, vast and beyond one’s imagination.