A Temporal Trust (The Temporal Book 2) (10 page)

With the device powered, it pressed the buttons in the order that the woman had instructed and waited. After a few minutes, a green light came on and it spoke in whispers, “Laady. Weee is here.” It held the box to its ear.

“You took an inordinate amount of time to make contact.”

It was the lady’s voice. Hearing it even with the knowledge that she was not present caused it to shudder.

It was doubly frightened. Speaking to her was frightening enough. Doing so within the Temporal’s lair made the task far more unpleasant. One wrong word or rash action and either side would end its life.

“Is the woman Suteko there?”

There were noises in the background; wind was blowing into the microphone. She was above ground and on the move.

“Yeesss. Shee spoke to uss.”

“Remember, she is a liar. She is a witch that can cast powerful spells to make you believe lies. You must not fall victim to her charm—be clever and gain her trust.”

“Yesss.”

There was an explosion in the background. The creature waited, unsure of what was happening.

“Well? What do you have to report?”

“There are at least five Temporal here. Wee is in small room. Wee hear nothing more.”

“Report again when you learn something important.”

“Yesss.”

“Remember, if you fail me, you will lust for the release of death. I’m risking much on you. Remove the power source and don’t contact me again unless you discover something useful.”

“Yesss.”

The Nephloc quickly disconnected the device before she could say anything else. As dangerous of an assignment as it was, a part of it felt safe. Yes, the Temporal wanted it dead and would kill it if it proved to not be useful, but death from her was far more unpleasant. At least here, it was safe from her. She would not dare attack it while the Temporal were around.

Sam’s still form was huddled over a world map. Beads of sweat rolled from his brow. As his fingers and eyes moved from country to country, Suteko occasionally swabbed his forehead with a handkerchief. Ian, who was standing next to him, ignored the huge map sprawled out over the table and looked directly at Sam’s face.

Sam’s appearance intensified—like the perfect determination of an Olympic athlete just prior to taking the gold.

Since Marcus disappeared an hour ago, he had not called or responded to repeated attempts to reach him. Their military contacts also were not able to find him.

There was a problem. Sam had sensed the attacks were not over. Even with the planes recalled, he knew Temporal were being tracked on foot by the enemy. People needed to be warned, but Marcus had the phone numbers and it seemed he had failed to warn some to stay away from their rendezvous locations. Sam sensed several Temporal were simply waiting unaware and expecting their flight.

Marcus had the complete list, but in his absence, Sam had begun working on reconstructing it including, when possible, each contact phone number. Suteko worked the phone as Sam discovered a new one. Just watching the Temporal was draining; Sam had already spent hours in intense concentration and this latest task took him beyond exhaustion.

Sam’s face paled as he spoke to those around the table. “I see her. I see Kaileen.” He looked up. “Suteko, try to get Marcus again.”

As Suteko lifted the phone to her ear, she asked, “Where is she?”

When Sam worked, it was like the mysterious and unknowable moment when the waking world gives way to sleep, but unlike a dream, he was fully cognizant of this transitional period. He could see images, people, and places far away as if he were viewing it in person. The incredibly vivid colors and heightened spatial depth made him wonder which reality was true.

He pointed to the map. “Northern Italy, I think. She’s moving fast. She is hard to pin down, but it is her.” Sam was back looking down, but Suteko could tell he was not merely seeing the paper map before his physical eyes. “She is above ground and in the open.”

As the third ring fell unanswered, Suteko’s features turned downward. “Kaileen could be attacking someone now. She wouldn’t risk being in the open for any other reason.”

“Yes. I see someone near her, one of ours. It’s...Maro. Maro is his name.”

“Italy...Yes, that will be Maro. And I’m sure Amato is with him. Can you find Marcus? I don’t have Maro or Amato’s contact information.”

Sam closed his eyes and focused his attention to a tighter radius. “I see...Marcus, he is here in DC. I don’t know what he is doing, but he is fine. Here is Maro’s contact info,” Sam said with his eyes still closed and head up. His hands scribbled numbers in the middle of the Pacific Ocean with a pen to the map.

Suteko dialed Maro and waited. After the fifth ring, she felt a growing sense of helplessness. Marcus had the contact information and also the knowledge and connections to make warning and the gathering of Temporal possible. He was off with Lieutenant Harrison to see the president and wasn’t responding to her constant calls. Her resolve was crumbling, but upon seeing the weight of guilt and pain evident in every line on Sam’s face, she forsook all self-pity and caressed Sam’s shoulder. She watched as some color returned to his face. “It will be all right, Sam.”

Sam didn’t look up, but a quick raise of an eyebrow told her he was listening.

“Why can’t you see Kaileen all the time?”

“I...don’t know. It is like she isn’t there and then she is. I think...she may have come up from the ground like our Nephloc spy, and if that is true, I can only see her in her current form and above ground. I can’t explain it, but this is definitely her. Suteko,” Sam said through opened, but bloodshot eyes. “You need to get intel from your little friend. Our people are dying.”

“I’m working on opening him up.”

“See what you can do and then get back to the phones. I don’t know how much longer I can stay functional, and I’d really like to pass out knowing they are all safe.”

Suteko kissed his forehead and then turned to visit the Nephloc.

The Nephloc spy had been increasingly flirting with insubordination. First, he had disobeyed a direct order to reinsert the communications device. Now, he was actively trying to recall memories from when he was human—an act punishable by death. The time with the Temporal, and in particular the meetings with Suteko, had awakened individualistic urges within him. For the first time since losing his humanity, he was thinking of himself in the first person and as his own being.

He heard the door unlock and then crack open. Through a tiny space between his fingers, he saw it was the woman Suteko. She had returned and only hours after the last visit.

“Hello, little one. May I speak with you?”

He said nothing, but kept a curious eye on the woman.

“Have you given any thought to helping us?”

He still said nothing. The back of his dark cloak rose and fell in cadence with his breathing.

“Wait here. I have something for you.”

He watched as she walked to the door. His right hand pinched at some rotted flesh hanging from his neck. He remembered that this had been a nervous habit of his as a human.
Another act of rebellion...
Following the High Lady’s instructions, he had only to be helpful enough to keep him here. Perhaps he hadn’t been helpful enough? Would the woman return with an instrument of torture?

She reappeared, holding something covered by a white cloth. She set it down in front of him and pulled the fabric away, revealing a basket with all manner of food in it. Fresh fruit, cheeses, nuts, and various vitamin rich vegetables were beautifully arranged in a small wicker basket.

As she stood and backed away, she said, “I will visit you again soon. I will not require you to help us, but at some point, they will not allow you to stay without you helping us somehow. Of course, you will be allowed to leave freely and without punishment. I do hope you’ll think of something that can help my friends.” Before closing the door, she said, “Knock on the door if you need anything. Goodbye, little one.”

His first thought was that the fruit might be poisoned and, after staring at the basket a few minutes, he was sure that was the case. There was a red apple on top of a banana that looked unnaturally delicious.

He realized she had given him the poison foods to weaken him. No doubt that hard man, Ian, would come in a few minutes later to drag his helpless body out for questioning and then...torture. Once in a weakened state, he would be made to betray the High Lady; betrayal meant several painful deaths before total annihilation, at least this is what she taught. The High Lady had threatened him as such and he knew her threats were not empty. And that would be in addition to whatever the Temporal would do to him.

He learned that the eagle—the High Lady’s spy—had told her of how the man, Ian, attacked his comrades mercilessly. She had warned him of that hard man. He did not want to meet that Temporal, but braced himself for what he knew would be inevitable. He waited half an hour, all the while alternating his gaze from the basket to the door. He had not come in such close contact with real food for years. But it was a trap—he knew it! He waited for the hard man to come in.

But no one came.

Cameras
.
They must be watching with cameras
, he thought. How foolish he had been earlier, making contact with the High Lady and not checking first for hidden cameras. Just the thought of the vile punishments they had in store for him made him shiver. And then the evil Temporal would tell on him. They would show the High Lady evidence of his disobedience.

After eyeing the deceitful fruit one last time, he got up and began feeling the walls for any bumps or crevices that might hide a camera or a microphone. He felt every inch he could reach twice, but found nothing. His eyes examined the ceiling; he saw nothing unusual and no place for hidden electronics.

Returning to the basket, he sat down utterly confused. With swift motions, he grabbed apples, bananas, kiwi, and oranges and threw them to the floor. Surely, something must be hidden underneath. In a moment, he held the basket upside down, empty. He closely examined each woven fiber of the wickerwork. There was nothing unnatural, nothing suspicious.

He looked at the fruit scattered around him. He grabbed the banana and, gripping it at both ends, ripped it in half. It was...a banana.

The smell was intoxicating. Sweet, mellow, and strong enough to weaken his resolve.

In the earth, deep where he resided, there were no plants, no vegetables, no fruits—only nutrients from the soil as well as stem and root tubers. In the semi-natural granular state, this was enough to sustain life, but pleasant it was not. All Nephloc food had the same brown-gray color and an earthy taste. Surfacing for the purpose of eating living green food was forbidden—but it was something many of the Nephloc did. The few that were caught were driven deeper into the earth, closer to the hot core. Since the temperature increased about a degree for every sixty feet in depth, punishment exceeding ten miles often meant death—a hot, painfully arid death.

There were no cameras. The hard man had not come. He looked at the banana in his two hands and did what came naturally. He devoured the sweet insides before beginning to gnaw on the peel. He stopped when he realized he had so much other food to choose from. Carefully, he set the remains of the banana peel in the basket aside for later and began to scratch at the apple. His teeth wouldn’t be strong enough to bite, but his fingernails could do most of the masticating to allow him to enjoy the taste of an apple once more.

Amato maneuvered the Ferrari down the serpentine road, slowing to a crawl with each dangerous curve. The destination was a small private airport in northern Italy, just outside Bolzano. A section of the Eastern Alps stood between them and their goal. The Stelvio Pass with its many hairpin turns and sharp drop-offs was their best route.

It would have been a magnificent scenery if not for the heavy rain, cloud cover, and the dark early morning sky. Only the light from the car and of a distant village broke the gray monotony.

A US Air Force jet would be waiting to take Amato and his master, Maro, to Marcus in DC. An ancient enemy had resurfaced, so Marcus believed. Maro had told him stories, but Amato had never experienced an evil Maro couldn’t handle. It was dark and rainy, but poor visibility was not the major concern even with this dangerous road. From what Marcus had said, a much greater danger was hunting them. They needed to be united in strength with other Temporal in Washington. Although he would have preferred a European rendezvous, it was the United States president who had offered asylum and aid, and that was where Marcus was waiting. It was a mystery to Amato and Maro what evil they faced, but when Marcus spoke, they knew it was wise to listen.

Amato was not Temporal, but his family had served the much younger looking Maro for six generations. Amato and his closest kin may have been the only humans to know of their existence prior to the recent revelation to a select group of world leaders by Marcus.

It would seem odd to an outsider that a man of Amato’s advanced age would offer his services to Maro who appeared to be several decades his junior and—except his car, a singular indulgence—a man of no obvious wealth. His villa, while well-kept and adequate, was tiny by modern standards—certainly not luxurious enough to warrant a butler.

But it wasn’t due to a lack of funds. Maro, like Marcus, had amassed great wealth over the centuries. And also like Marcus, he never flaunted it.

Out of the corner of his eye, Amato was startled to see Maro slump over. His master had his hand on his forehead and temples, fingers spread wide.

“What’s the matter?” Amato said with no little concern in his voice. He had seen his employer do this before, and this action had never resulted in happy news. “What vision have you seen?”

“No. No vision. Just darkness...the kind of darkness that blinds.”

Amato had slowed the Ferrari, but sped up when Maro flicked his fingers forward, indicating they should continue on.

Amato had to hug tightly to the mountain. While this portion of the Stelvio Pass was wide and forgiving, the cliff was not; there was no guardrail.

Through the slacking rain, the moon brightened, and in the corner of his eye, Amato saw Maro’s head fall once again.

“Stop, Amato.” Maro had decided to no longer ignore his own feelings.

Amato pumped the brakes roughly and brought the car to a halt, easing up to the side of the cliff.

“Marcus set this up, but something doesn’t feel right. I’m afraid…”

Amato shot a glance at Maro and frowned. Maro’s sudden silence and change of expression was unsettling.

“So, we do not go to Washington?”

“No, turn around, Amato. We will still go, but first, let us return home to get a few things for a more circumspect journey. I cannot help but feel we are heading into a trap.” Maro paused before adding, “I sense something…ancient.”

Amato had backed up off the road and was about to cut the wheel hard when a loud sound reverberated in the distance.

There, farther down the mountain was an explosion, the cause of the sound.

“Master, what is it?”

“I cannot tell, but I fear
that
was meant for us. We must leave.”

Amato obeyed and, completing the turn, he floored the gas, spitting out chunks of mud mixed with tiny rocks behind them.

Moments later, Amato looked down the mountain from out his window and said, “Master, I see light.”

Maro looked behind and realized they were under attack by a being with the power to reorganize time. This attacker would soon catch up with the car and a human driver that could only respond in real time.

Maro knew that the battle would be great and Amato would not be able to comprehend the actions within his human flow of time. A second to Amato could represent minutes for the attacker. The car would continue within the normal flow of time and the battle would be over before Amato could blink.

“Stop the car! Now!”

Hearing his master’s scream unnerved the elderly Amato. He slammed on the brakes, causing the car to fishtail slightly before halting. As Maro opened the door and slid out, he yelled his final command to his dear servant. “Get out of here! Call Marcus! Flee while you still can—Go!”

Keeping his eyes on the road, Amato bowed his head slightly, saying a prayer for his master as he put the car into gear.

As time slowed for Maro, he noticed the car moving forward, all too slowly. Amato was obeying his command, but would it be enough? He made a rash decision. It was up to him to take the fight to the attacker and give Amato enough time to escape and communicate with Marcus.

In the distant road below, he could see someone running. It was a woman. Maro remembered the ancient evil Marcus had told him about. Could it be that Kaileen had actually returned?

He would have preferred to wait for her to come to him; allowing her to tire may be his only advantage. But with Amato’s car still close, he needed to buy his loyal servant every last second he could. He needed to separate the battle from Amato’s location.

Maro looked over the ledge. There was a twenty foot drop to the next level of the winding road that was carved into the side of the mountain. He jumped, landing on the balls of his feet. Rolling forward, he distributed the shock to his shoulders and then his hip. Maro rose to his feet unharmed, waiting for Kaileen to make the turn ahead.

To Amato’s eyes from the rear view mirror, Maro’s motions were a blur, fading into the night. When he could no longer see his master, he turned his eyes forward and coaxed the car as fast as he felt the cliff would permit.

Maro saw Kaileen’s hands move, and from them shot out shiny metallic objects. Maro moved. He had only a moment to push time to a lower level, to slow it further. It wasn’t enough to be able to react to the projectiles adequately. One knife ripped through his left leg causing Maro to buckle and then fall midstride.

Kaileen was on him before he could scream from the pain. He found himself on the ground inches from the edge of the mountain looking up at the red-headed woman.

He knew to not look into her eyes, but the impulse was nearly irresistible. It was her; the woman, who like the sirens of lore, promised love but dealt out death. His strength left him. He was losing and would die if he could not wrestle free. She was physically stronger than he was and with his arms and legs pinned down, she had the advantage.

Then he remembered something Marcus had once said about Kaileen. Marcus had related how he’d defeated her hundreds of years before. It wasn’t by strength, but by the power of the goodness within his spirit.

She was screaming at him, but Maro couldn’t hear what she was saying. He was lost in the process of purifying his thoughts. He was out of time and out of other options. He let his body go limp, opening his eyes. She had her hands up holding something. He hadn’t even noticed that his arms were free. Her hands were coming down with a knife falling to his chest.

His eyes locked on hers.

The light from within his soul wasn’t much. It was like the tiny spark within itself that had only the potential of a raging blaze. But letting the purity of his essence escape, it quickly became apparent that the flame burned enough.

She shrieked and her hands flew to her eyes as if they were on fire. The knife hit some gravel an inch from Maro’s left ear. He was cognizant enough to push hard with his arms. She launched away from him, leaping not in reaction from the blow of Maro’s arms, but as a defensive retreat to give her eyes time to adjust. Whatever she had seen in his eyes was pure terror to her.

Maro had only a moment to decide. She would regain her sight and, empowered by her renewed anger, she would become an even greater threat. He looked up the mountain. He could no longer see Amato’s car. Amato would be safe.

Maro looked out in the distance off the road and saw only the black of night. The mountain was still several thousand feet in elevation. He was uncertain how far down the cliff fell to the next clearing or road layer, but he knew he had no other choice. Outrunning Kaileen was not an option. Fighting her, he would lose. There was no one around who could possibly give him aid. He could only go where she would not follow.

As he moved to the side and leaped into the open black air, he heard her scream in terrible volume. A moment later, the whoosh of the night air drowned out even that.

Through blurred eyes, Kaileen saw what the Temporal had done.

“Curse you! I could have given you everything you desire.”

It was a waste. She stood, brushing off the dirt from her arms and then rubbed her burning eyes. Her clothing was ruined. The friction from running in modified time and the scuffle with the Temporal had caused the fibers to weaken and then tear. She preferred natural clothing, but she could not be seen like this.

As she took off her shirt, shoes, and pants, in their place appeared jeans and a T-shirt. It was a morphic illusion, but no human could tell the difference, especially in this poor lighting. The Nikes were in good enough shape to be worn and she put them back on; they had held up well even during her run. Walking on morphic shoes was not pleasant on such abrasive asphalt and rocky shoulders.

She walked to the ledge and peered over. Even adjusting her eyes to various inhuman spectrums yielded nothing of interest. She could make out the rocks and the distant floor of the valley. But she could not see a body.

“Maro! I was offering you life! Why did you choose death?”

She turned around and began running downhill. She needed to get to the base of the mountain to find loose soil worthy of traveling. As she let the flow of time return to normal, she could hear sirens in the distance. It was time to move to the next target.