A Temporal Trust (The Temporal Book 2) (17 page)

Ian began to modulate. Touching Maro, he saw that he was also affecting Maro’s cells. Maro was unconscious and Ian had no idea if he would be able to survive a jump, but he was certain that they wouldn’t survive this hill much longer.

As the leader repositioned his sword for a downward thrust, one of the three Perazim grabbed Ian’s leg. Ian attempted an action he had only done once before, and not without a great expelling of energy. Matter from Ian’s back launched up as a cloud. This cloud was a part of Ian, but a part that he had disassembled and was now causing to twirl. Much like a tornado, a violent rotating column of air mixed with matter—Ian’s matter—extended upward and then in a sudden burst, in all directions.

Ian gritted his teeth—or at least the particles in motion that he envisioned to have been his teeth—and then pushed. The pent-up energy sent the particles out and then back in like a yo-yo. The effect was instantaneous and powerful, but not lethal.

All four Perazim, including the leader, were on their backs and at least twenty feet away. They had no understanding of what had just happened, but each were scrambling to get back to the attack.

Ian had bought himself seconds and he was exhausted. As the cells returned and reassembled into place, Ian took several deep breaths. His heaving chest surely was causing Maro much discomfort, but Ian couldn’t help that. He had to make the jump now. He couldn’t get to DC, not even if he was making the jump alone. But with Maro, his only hope was a random jump. The only concentration a random jump required was to keep him and Maro together. Without thought to the direction or destination, he would free up strength and concentration to keep them alive.

But it was a gamble.

The jump could plant them in the middle of a mountain. He would know before the materialization process completed, but he wasn’t sure if he had the strength for another jump even if it were to simply reposition their cells a few feet away.

Hearing the sounds of the approaching enemies, he let go. Maro and Ian dissipated instantly as three Perazim fell to empty ground.

In a fit of anger, the fourth Perazim—the leader—let loose its sword, severing the head of one of the three Perazim it commanded.

Ian didn’t materialize within a mountain. They were, however, several feet above ground. Ian realized his position quick enough to slow the materialization and drop their cells to the ground before finishing the reconstruction.

After making sure Maro and himself had everything that they’d had before the jump and in the right place, Ian rolled over and allowed his overtired mind to begin to slip into the world of dreams. He could not know where they were or even if Maro would make it. He used his last bit of energy to lift his head to look around for any sign of the enemy. He only saw trees being blown by a gentle breeze. Ian allowed his head to drop onto a bed of pine needles. Maro was still alive—as was he—but both of them were battle worn, wounded, and utterly exhausted.

Ian let out a smile, dropped his arms to the cool grass at his sides, and closed his eyes as a sweet blanket of blackness overtook him.

Ian found himself wondering precisely how this could be happening. He had witnessed the scene once before but what he was experiencing was not a memory. No, it was too vivid for that. Ian had the surreal realization that he was somewhere he couldn’t be. And yet he had to be in a dream—it simply had to be. The past was closed to him and nineteenth century Japan no longer existed.

He was standing on the crown of a wooden bridge near Kagoshima Castle. He was in the Satsuma domain at the dawn of the Meiji Period. There were passersby—all of whom were staring at the bewildered foreigner. He would no doubt look strange even back in England; he had just made a jump and was in the process of recovering. An elderly Japanese couple, seeing him on the bridge, turned around and quickly went back home.

Ian looked down at his arms. By the sleeves, he knew that he was wearing the old Union Army uniform that Marcus had appropriated for him so many years before.

Curiosity made him pull up his left arm’s sleeve a few inches. He earned a scar that ran from his elbow to his wrist during the Battle of the Somme in World War I. But that occurred after the last time he was experiencing what he was experiencing while at this location.

During that battle, the Germans had had the highland. They’d also had over a year and a half to build up their defenses. Worse, British intelligence had greatly underestimated the German strength. While crawling through no-man’s land, a soldier beside Ian had set off a crude land mine, sending enough shrapnel into Ian to kill a normal man.

Blinking back to reality—or at least the reality of whatever it was he was currently experiencing, he ran his fingers under the sleeve and over the smooth, bare skin of his left arm. The scar was not there.

He moved his hands to feel his cheeks. He had the muttonchops he had worn for so many decades during the nineteenth century.

If this was a dream, it was a very accurate dream.

Even still, his memory retained all subsequent events. He remembered he had been in DC. He had seen her...No doubt his current dream state had been influenced by Suteko’s presence. But every other physical or emotional aspect indicated that he was reliving his experience in Japan shortly after the fall of the shogunate.

Originally, he had been sent here by Marcus for one purpose only. The old man had spoken to him of a new Temporal in great need of help. How he found out about her, Ian didn’t know, but Marcus always seemed to know. Ian hadn’t wanted to go but at the old man’s insistence he relented. Someone needed his help and he knew that he alone could make the trip in time to be of aid.

He had been younger and more attuned to his body’s needs back then. He was now a mere shadow of what he once was. At that stage in his life, he was fit, mentally stable, and had only needed a few minutes to fully recover from even a large jump.

The jump. He remembered beyond seeing Suteko in DC. He had jumped somewhere...He had jumped to Italy to look for his friend.

Maro
.

He looked around for Maro. Ian was the only non-Japanese around—perhaps the only foreigner for a hundred miles. His eyes met a man’s pulling a cart of sweet potatoes. The merchant averted his eyes and quickened his pace.

Ian was just about to panic when the man with the potatoes moved and he saw her behind him.

She did not notice him at first. It appeared that she was the only person who did not see him. She seemed distracted and lost. A forlorn figure utterly alone in this crowd of strangers.

He felt his pocket—there was something there. Pulling out the booklet, he opened it up to see the Japanese characters. This had been written by Marcus and translated so she could know why he was here. Ian wasn’t quite sure what exactly was written on its pages. He couldn’t read or speak Japanese and over the past one hundred and fifty years, his Japanese hadn’t improved much.

It had to be a dream. Or perhaps some drug that was enhancing his memories, making them more real than they had been even in reality.

Or perhaps, there was a simpler explanation: he was dead and fully experiencing eternity.

But he was feeling the same emotions as he had back then. With just one look, he could see that she was lost, scared, and just as beautiful as she had been a hundred and fifty years ago; his only thought upon seeing this Japanese woman was his desire to give her his everything. He was suddenly embarrassed by his earlier anger at being assigned to this mission. In both cases, then and now, that anger completely vanished upon seeing her from that bridge.

He approached her cautiously. She looked up at him while they were still a dozen feet apart. He stopped. If she was frightened or apprehensive upon seeing this stranger and foreigner, her eyes and facial expressions did not show it. She just looked through him with eyes lost and without hope.

She stopped still when she noticed that he was heading directly for her.

“
Suteko-san, Ian to mōshimasu.
”

She continued to stand motionless and silent even as he introduced himself. She had a curious look on her face as she arched her head and crumpled her eyebrows in confusion.

Not wanting to repeat himself or to scare her away, he cautiously lifted his hand, showing her the notebook. Her eyes examined the object as if it was a puzzle or some fascinating but unknowable riddle. She didn’t reach for it and seeing that she was about to turn away, Ian said one of the few Japanese words that he knew. “
Yūjin desu.
” I’m a friend.

He turned the notebook toward her and opened the first page. Her eyes fell upon the characters and she immediately began reading as he held it up. Ian watched her eyes scan the vertical characters on the page. Her glance started up and then fell straight down, only to quickly jump up and then scan down the next line of text.

After a few moments of this, she thrust out both hands to receive the notebook with a meager bow. As she turned the page, Ian noticed a tear falling from one of her eyes. It was a solitary tear at first, but soon there was a fountain. Ian had to help her find a place to sit down and collect herself. She was learning that she was not alone in this world—she had nearly fainted with the realization. There were others like her and these people were ready and willing to help her.

Minutes passed as she read and reread the message. Finally, she kept the last page open for an extended amount of time, mouthing silently phrases for practice. Ian wasn’t sure what was written on it, but the style of characters for the last line was different from the rest. He would later learn that it was written in katakana, a syllabary mostly for writing foreign names and foreign words, words Marcus had written for her to express her thoughts to Ian.

Ian watched and did nothing to disturb her concentration while she read. His heart beat a little faster as he watched her slender fingers turn the pages. The Ian from the future knew what those fingers would do to him and yet even with that knowledge, he wanted nothing more than what was about to happen—to feel her touch. She held the book up and looked in his direction. He swallowed and looked into her eyes. In a heavy accent, she read the words on the page: “I want to go with you.”

Ian nodded and then pulled out another piece of paper. On it was written in Japanese, “How long do you need to prepare?”

Below the written question was a series of possible answers. The instructions Marcus had written indicated that she was to point to her answer so Ian would understand.

The choices were: one hour; one day; one week; one month.

She shook her head resolutely and simply said, “
Ima
.” The twenty-first century Ian knew this word, but still found himself fumbling in his other pocket for the Japanese dictionary just as he had in the nineteenth century. He quickly rediscovered what the word meant. She didn’t want to waste even an hour. She wanted to leave
now.
She had nothing here worth waiting for.

Ian stood and waived for her to follow him. He was looking for a less populous area to make the jump.

There was a wooded area behind a rice field not far from that wooden bridge. He led her there and did not stop until he was sure there would be no witnesses. Then, he turned to her and took her hands. She did not resist even as she felt the tingling sensation surge throughout her body.

As he began the cell modulation, he felt strange. He looked down. It was a soothing, desirable warmth flowing from her hands into his. He looked back up and her eyes bored into him in a way that both terrified and excited him.

Ian, the twenty-first century Ian, knew what was happening. She was a new Temporal and had not yet learned to control her gift. He was about to be bombarded with a kind of irresistible energy that would leave him poisoned with a hunger that could never be sated. It was all because of her touch, those delicate fingers wrapped around his rough hands. He would have a desire for her that could never be satisfied even if she consented. He was filled with a sense of comfortable, but overwhelming warmth and for that moment, nothing else existed but her.

They were moving too fast; Ian was far too distracted and felt drunk while behind the wheel. He was powerless around her and if he hadn’t known it back then, he knew it now; if he did not gain control quickly, they could end up at the bottom of this sea or, worse, beyond the atmosphere.

Ian opened his eyes and saw Suteko mouthing something. It must be Suteko. Behind her was a bright white light, keeping her face in shadows. He was astonished to see and hear something he knew did not happen before. She was saying his name. Suteko was calling for him.

“Ian! Ian!”

It was Suteko from beyond his dreams. She was calling.

Ian.

But the Suteko in his dreams was hundreds if not thousands of miles away.

“Ian!”

No.
It was not her voice. It was the voice of a woman, but it was not Suteko.

He opened his eyes once more and this time saw that the voice was that of a stranger shaking him and bidding him to wake.

Vered Karem had been one of the Temporal contacted by Marcus and warned that Kaileen was on the hunt. But she’d had a vision with a command; she was to stay in Beit She’an in northern Israel to await the coming of two other Temporal. Maro, she knew, but Ian was new to her. Vered had mild healing abilities and under her care, Maro had quickly recovered. She knew also of Suteko whose healing energy gift was far superior to her own. Hearing Suteko’s name uttered constantly by a feverous Ian had made her remember something Suteko had once told her. She had spoken of an Englishman who had taken her to Marcus. Vered hadn’t known the name, but even before Maro told her about their past, she knew it was him.

“Ian, you are safe.”

Ian blinked. “Maro?”

“Maro,” Vered shouted loud enough to carry her voice to the next room, but not so loud as to startle Ian. Maro came running in. He was dressed in new clothes that were slightly too large for his thin frame. If Ian had had the strength, he would have laughed. Maro appeared to be fine, but his face looked like he had followed Brer Rabbit in to the briar patch.

“Ah! Ian, you are awake. Are you well, my friend?”

“M…Maro?”

Ian let out a long sigh. “I...” He was piecing back the fragments of reality that had been shattered by a real-to-life dream. “I had a dream.”

“Yes, my friend. You were badly hurt and the jump took what little you had left. You cannot imagine how worried we were. You were out for hours.” Maro sat next to him. Ian only then realized he was lying on a very comfortable bed. “My friend,” Maro said as he took Ian’s right hand. “This is the second time you’ve saved my life. For that I owe you a debt I can never fully repay.”

Ian broke into a smile that animated Maro’s entire face.

“You can hardly count the first time. It was more of an accident than anything else.” A series of mild coughs caused Ian to pause before adding, “And besides, that was over three hundred years ago. Surely, there must be an expiration date for such matters!”

Ian had been there shortly after Maro’s Extending. Maro had been thought possessed by a devil when the villagers realized he virtually never slept and a deep cut from an axe head thrown from its haft had healed almost completely in an hour.

Ian made the jump in a place he had thought would be deserted, behind Maro’s winepress. It just so happened that his neighbors, on a mission to arrest Maro for practicing witchcraft, were approaching his house in secret—by way of Maro’s winepress. The sudden appearance of Ian had given the dozen or so men such a fright that they ran away, leaving their weapons and intentions behind.