The Loved and the Lost (3 page)

“The greetings done,
I must again assume the role of tutor,” Arimus said,
“and conclude Hansum's first time-travelling day
with a test back in time,
for his progress to be weighed.”

“Are you going back to Hansum's childhood again?” Lincoln asked. “Apparently I found toilet training traumatic.”

“Where are we going, Arimus?” Hansum asked.

“Again, this may be something you wish kept private,
for it is not a jest, but a serious test of
your mind's most vulnerable parts.”

“Nah, that's fine. You can tell me here. They're family.”

“Very good,” Arimus replied.
“I am taking Hansum back to 14
^th
-century Verona.”

“What?” both Lincoln and Shamira said with surprise.

“Why?” Hansum asked.

“You are the one most affected by personal loss.
To assume a History Camp time traveler's mantle
we must immediately gauge the stresses
you can handle.”

“You mean whether I can handle seeing Guilietta,” Hansum said.

“Just so, my boy, of course.
Guilietta is the key as to whether we may set you free
to relive and, what's more,
possibly change what's gone before.”

“Oh, dear Gia,” Shamira said, wide-eyed. “You're going to see Guil.”

“I wanna go,” Lincoln blurted.

“Me too,” Shamira added.

“But you have your own agendas.
Lincoln, you must practice your new art with Medeea
and Shamira, your studies of art.”

Lincoln turned and talked to the empty space beside him.

“Could we practice mind-delving back then, Medeea? Medeea says yes.”

“Who's he talking to?” Shamira asked.

“His mind-delving mentor,” Hansum said. “Only he can see her.”

“You're a mind-delver?” Kingsley asked. “Wow, you're not just a joker. I'm impressed.”

“Arimus, can we come with you?” Lincoln asked seriously.

“It's not a problem logistically,” Arimus told him.
“And all the souls there will seem unattended,
for out of phase we'll be suspended.”

“Hansum, do you mind if we tag along?” Lincoln asked.

“No, not at all. It would be good to have you all there for support. I don't want to pretend it won't be a challenge for me.”

“Then it's settled,” Arimus replied.
“And of those last words I'm glad,
for none could but notice your attempts to hide
the broil of emotions that in you reside.
Well done, my son.”

“Would it be all right if I came too?” Kingsley asked.

“I don't mind,” Hansum said. “Elder Arimus?”

Arimus put up a finger to give him a minute, and then touched a sub-dermal node on his temple. He mumbled for a few seconds, pausing and tilting his head, as if receiving information. Then he nodded and smiled.

“Kingsley, your dean and A.I. have given permission.
I have no objection, if you accept my authority
as the only condition.”

“Most assuredly, Elder Arimus,” Kingsley said.

“My gosh, we're going to see everyone again,” Shamira said. “I'm so excited. And Kingsley, we can go see all sorts of fantastic art and even watch some being made. I know every church and piece of art in Verona, and there's lots that hasn't survived that you'll see firsthand.”

“An art historian's dream,” Kingsley agreed. “That's why I joined.”

“Very well, then,” Arimus said.
“Some preparations first.
Give me a moment.”

Arimus touched his temple again and closed his eyes, communicating with some unseen and possibly faraway person, maybe in a different time. The others continued chatting.

“I wonder who we can mind-delve back then,” Lincoln thought aloud, and then he snapped his fingers. “Hey, how ‘bout Ugilino?”

“Oh, dear Gia,” Shamira laughed.

“I'm happy you guys are going to be there to help me through this,” Hansum said softly.

“Your back's covered, pal,” Lincoln replied, punching him playfully.

“Yes, we're all here for you, Hansum,” Shamira agreed, giving him another hug.

“Okay, Medeea. I'll ask her,” Lincoln said. “Shamira, Medeea wants me to ask you something privately,” and he came close and whispered in her ear. Shamira's eyes lit up.

“Sure,” Shamira said to the space near Lincoln. “Medeea, I'd love to be your friend.”

Lincoln took out the small hand-crafted bottle from his pocket and carefully poured a drop into the stopper.

“Medeea says, as friends, there won't be any deep mind-delving. You two will be able to share only what you want to say. And guys, Med apologizes, but the only males allowed to see her are her students, her family and elders, until she is married.” Kingsley gave Lincoln a wink. Shamira took the cap and downed the liquid.

“Wow,” she said when Medeea came into her mind's eye. “You're beautiful.”

“Thank you, Shamira. You too. You looked like a person I'd love as a friend. Guys are great, but . . .”

“Very well,” Arimus said, rejoining the conversation.
“The supplies have been sent to me. Gather round.”

Arimus reached into his cloak and took out a bundle wrapped in a handkerchief. He unfolded it and revealed four biscuits.

“Now, there's something familiar,” Lincoln observed.

“Besides giving back your ancient Italian speaking node,”
Arimus explained,
“these morsels of food are truly high tech.
They'll form two sub-dermals at the base of each neck.
The one on the left will whisk you back home to our base.
The one on the right will bring you in and out of phase.
These must only be used when a colleague is mired
in a situation where their circumstances are dire.”

“So, left whisks us back home to the 24
^th
-century and right brings us in and out of phase. But they're only to be used in emergencies,” Hansum recapped.

“Exactly. But coming out of phase, this trip does not include,
so we shouldn't have a fear of something going rude.”

Each took a biscuit and ate it. After a few seconds they could feel new implants developing at the bases of their necks.

“Now come and take a handful
of this cloak of mine.
It's about to call up a vortex of time.”

Arimus raised a hand and a whirling vortex formed around the huddled group. Within seconds, thousands of bright yellow spheres, the Sands of Time, appeared out of nowhere. Larger, translucent spheres followed, careening off of each other and whizzing right through the people they encountered. The ground beneath them began to fade, the image below became like something you would see when standing on a frozen pond, peering down at a different world through clear, frozen ice. Except, instead of fish, there was the long tunnel of yellow spheres, a blur speeding off down to a single point, into infinity.

“All right, my children. Let us . . .”

And what they were standing on, disappeared.

They fell.

If Hansum was going to succeed and be allowed the chance of saving Guilietta and the della Cappas, there was so much he needed to know about time travel. The other day he had asked Arimus a number of questions; how their bodies knew to stay balanced in the vortex, if they were going at the speed of light and, if they were traveling through folded time/space, why did it seem that they were falling straight? And how the heck could they stop so easily, alighting on the ground as smoothly as you pleased?

“All in due time.
If you pass your initial tests,
you will meet tutors from many futures.
They will share such knowledge with you,
although there is much they can't.”

“If I pass my initial tests? You don't sound confident that I'll succeed,” Hansum said, half joking.

“My job is not to give false confidence and
I would not be your mentor if I was not among your fans.
For soon the time of your testing will come, and I say,
if the whisper of a butterfly's wings unfurled
can influence the winds and change the world,
why not you?”

The image of the butterfly beating its wings and changing the course of the winds, and thus history, stayed with Hansum. He thought of it often.

‘And my time of testing is here,' Hansum thought as they streaked through the time tunnel, the deep rumble making crosstalk difficult.

Hansum looked around at the others, their arms out from their sides, all balancing themselves as they fell through time. Lincoln had a broad smile, like he was enjoying surfing a primo wave. Shamira was holding hands with the much larger Kingsley. The gentle giant was floating more gracefully than Hansum imagined someone his size could. Arimus too looked serene. Then he turned and looked straight at Hansum. He held a hand up, spreading all five fingers, then four, then three, then . . .

‘I'm going to see Guilietta,' Hansum thought. Suddenly his mind literally could not form thoughts.

Two fingers, one finger.

The last time Hansum saw the della Cappa home, it was an inferno. The Master, in his drunken grief over Guilietta's death, knocked over the brass oil lamp Hansum had given him, setting the straw floor, and then the house, on fire. Hansum and Lincoln tried to save the Master and Signora, but were dragged from the house by neighbors trying to arrest them. Within minutes the old structure was engulfed and flames were bursting through the second-floor bedroom window. This was where the dead Guilietta lay. In Hansum's last vision of the place, he and Lincoln were running for their lives. The butchers, Ugilino and Father Lurenzano were chasing them. Hansum had turned as he ran and had seen the pursuers silhouetted in the fireball of what had been his medieval family's home, now his wife's funeral pyre.

As Arimus's hand flashed one finger, Hansum closed his eyes. He had relived that terrible memory on a daily basis. And now, as he felt the quick deceleration, he feared what he would find when he opened them.

“We're here,” he heard Arimus say.
“But remember, we're out of phase.
Insubstantial to everything but the ground,
including the residents' gaze.”

Hansum opened his eyes, expecting to be standing in the street, but his first surprise was to find himself inside the house, not outside.

The interior of the della Cappa home was as it had been before being cleaned and aired — dull and dirty. It was also empty of people, except for the time travelers. The front door was ajar and a leaden light shone in through the crack. Yes, it had been a cloudy day when they first arrived. As Hansum's eyes adjusted to the dark, he could see the dust-covered table and the gray and black straw moldering on the ground. Looking up, he was surprised to see the ceiling lower than he remembered. He heard some chatter outside and then a shout from the second floor. The voices sounded familiar, but he couldn't make out what they were saying.

“Press your Italian implant node,” Arimus reminded.

As soon as he understood what was being said, Hansum knew exactly when they had arrived. It was Ugilino speaking.

“I had to swallow the coins you gave us, to hide them. I tell you, Father, if he did not have me, the devil would have him now.”

The “he” Ugilino was referring to came stomping down the steps from the second floor. Hansum turned and there was the Master, alive and as irascible as ever. Agistino bounded right through the five “out-of-phase” travelers, grabbed a piece of firewood from the hearth and shoved the front door open.

“Hey, you tell stories of your benefactor?” Agistino bellowed. Thwack!

“Come, let's to the outside,” Arimus said.

The elder ushered everyone toward the door but, instead of opening it, they all just walked through the wall and into the street, one of the benefits of being suspended out of phase.

They were all now standing on the cobblestones, watching Agistino beat Ugilino on the head with the piece of wood. Ugilino was already down on all fours, bleeding profusely from his scalp.

“It's the Ug-miester!” Lincoln shouted joyfully. “Yikers, that was a lot of blood.”

“Poor Ugi,” Shamira said. She took a step right next to the Master, looking up at him and trying to touch his arm. Her hand went through. “I've missed my second father so.”

“You three look different,” Kingsley observed. “Younger, yes, and more . . . naïve. But you did go through a lot.”

“You've no idea,” Lincoln said.

“Actually, I do,” Kingsley went on. “I watched your adventures on the Mists of Time Chronicles as a kid in school. It's still required viewing.” The three 24
^th
-century teens were surprised. “I had such a crush on Shamira as a ten-year-old.”

“You
stupido
! You idiot!” Agistino was still shouting and beating Ugilino.

The Arimus from the past, in the guise of Father Aaron, grabbed the Master's arm. “Peace, my son. Peace. He is only answering what . . .”

The older teens listened and watched their younger selves experiencing their first taste of the 14
^th
-century. The bleeding Ugilino crawled a safe distance and then got to his feet, a sheepish smile on his face. The Master was embarrassed and afraid the neighbors would learn how he had brought his family to such lowered circumstances. And then he exploded at Ugilino again when he suggested he was to become Agistino's son-in-law. Finally, to defuse the situation, Father Aaron sent Ugi to town to have his wound tended by the herbalist, Signora Baroni.