Die Back

by Richard Hacker

  Nikki sighed. "And your father never spoke of the contents of his notebook?"

  "No."

  "I'm not surprised." She crossed her arms with a shrug. "He never shared what he knew about the Alchimeía with me either. Knowing Thomas, I'm sure he was trying to protect us."

  Nikki's my friend. I should tell her what I know. "Nikki, the truth is…"

  "Yes?"

  His father’s notes said the Alchimeía held the answers for resetting the continuum to its original path—its Critical Path. Once he recovered the Alchįmeìa, he'd find out how Tobias inked forward, and use all of that knowledge to save his father, his mother, maybe help Jules remember the love they had for each other. No, he needed to wait before he shared this information, if he ever shared it. Dad spoke to me about the Alchimeía, not Nikki. There must be a reason.

  "The truth is, with everything spinning out of control, my whole focus was on fixing the continuum." He glanced at Jules and back to Nikki. "Getting you both back."

  Nikki picked her antique pocket watch up from the table, twisting its winding stem between thumb and forefinger. "It must have been truly horrible to force a shift like you did. I'm sorry I wasn't there."

  Addison folded his hands around Nikki's, which cradled her watch. "What could you have done? You vanished because of me. I let Maya manipulate me."

  She sighed. "Yes, but I could have protected you."

  He turned back to Jules standing beside them. "There's one more thing. I'm pretty sure someone inked Maya. I overheard Cameron speaking to Kairos." He didn't mention his suspicions about his mother, Rebecca, also in Maya's consciousness.

  The mention of Kairos shifted Nikki's response to focused interest. "Really? Now that would be a showstopper."

  Jules chimed in. "What are you two talking about?"

  Nikki set her watch back on its stand. "Aristotle described Kairos as the moment in time and space where Truth is manifest."

  "Okay. I see you paid attention in philosophy class."

  Nikki paced across the room, running a hand through her hair. "Grim Reaper Kairos, ma chère, is a shit storm on steroids. This person thinks he—or she, is the pivot point of the continuum, the fulcrum of the lever called Time. Even though we don't have an identity, we think Kairos may be from Tobias Faryndon's time. If Kairos did ink Maya, he got hold of the very thing Tobias formed the League to protect—the Five Pens of Johann."

  Jules asked, "What happened with Maya, Addison?"

  "My father trusted her, but she betrayed us all. In the end, I had to kill her. She had all five pens. If I hadn't stopped her, who knows what she would have done."

  Nikki grabbed a broom, sweeping shards of coffee cup into a pile on the floor. "She was a determined woman in both time continua."

  Addison asked, "Maya's here?"

  "The temporal flow offers some interesting twists and turns. You do know about Cameron, right?"

  "No, what about him?"

  Jules interrupted. "Nikki. Not like this."

  Addison glanced over to Jules, and back to Nikki. "What about my uncle?"

  "Well…I hate to tell you this, but the coroner's report came back. He went over to see your dad—"

  "He's dead, along with my dad?"

  "Yes. They both died last week. Remember the funerals, our conversations at the cafe?"

  He let the memory from this continuum flood into his consciousness. "Oh, yeah, of course."

  "We thought he had thrown your father down the stairs, then committed suicide. A bullet to the head. Now I'm wondering if he figured out Maya's plan to kill Thomas. Maybe he tried to stop her, but she made it look like a murder-suicide to cover her tracks."

  "So Maya's alive. Do we have her?"

  "Magnus tried, however, she was determined to go out with a bang. She stole his pen, but he managed to get a shot off. Right between the eyes. I think Magnus has been practicing at the range."

  How many realities were there where Maya had been shot in the head to stop her? Whether she had been inked or not, at least now she couldn't complete whatever sordid plan she had in mind in the other continuum. "So, she's dead. I can't help but think that's probably for the best, Nikki."

  "Yeah, well, when Magnus got to her he found a pen in one hand and a small notebook in the other. She had written a name."

  "Adolf?"

  Nikki paused, her face a question mark. "Oui. How did you know?"

  "She wrote Adolf in the other time continuum, too. You don't think—"

  "No. We haven't detected any anomalies. Hopefully, without a date, she inked herself down a blind alley into non-existence." They shared a silence. In both continua the battle had been a draw, but the War, the Inker War, raged on.

  Nikki leaned back against the counter, a pile of ceramic shards at her feet. "So you got the pens together and did a shift. Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? How did you know you wouldn't shift us into some dystopian continuum from hell?"

  "I know, Nikki. I know. But you weren't there."

  Sarcasm dripped from Nikki's words. "Really? Now, how did that happen?"

  "You know what I mean. Things were pretty bad. I didn't have a choice. And why are you complaining? You're here, aren't you? In fact, it seems to me you should be grateful."

  Nikki nodded, mocking Addison. "Oh, yes. Grateful."

  "Yeah. Not only did I correct the time continuum, but now you have a fully trained Inker."

  "All you've done is prove to me you're not ready for the responsibility of the pen, mon cher. If anyone's ready to be an Inker, it's Jules."

  "Jules? You've got to be kidding me."

  "Do I look like I'm kidding? Jules follows the rules, which is more than I can say about you. No, it's back to basics for you. We can't win against Kairos if you can't keep your pen in your pants. Are we copacetíc?"

  At some other time, maybe in some other time continuum, Addison figured he'd be extremely pissed. But with everything he had experienced, through so many lives, over so many years, he knew only happiness standing with the friendship of Nikki and the possibility of Jules in that moment. He anticipated Nikki would be railing on most of the next week. Addison laughed to himself. He never thought listening to Nikki rant would sound so very sweet.

  "Copacetic, my friend."

  About the Author

  Richard Hacker, lives and writes in Seattle, Washington after living many years in Austin, Texas. His published crime novels ride the thin line between fact and fiction in Texas. Along the way, his writing has been recognized by the Writer’s League of Texas and the Pacific Northwest Writers Association. Beyond writing he enjoys singing jazz, creating great food, visual art, and exploring the outdoors. DIEBACK is his first fantasy novel.

  www.richardhacker.com

  Follow the author on Facebook: www.facebook.com/RWHacker

  Book 2 of the Alchimeía

  Chapter One

  Body broken. Blood everywhere. An ancient western hemlock, my backrest—or a headstone. An overcast sky filters muted early morning light through a lush green forest canopy. Each pained breath clouds in cool, damp air. I fumble for paper. A pen. Faryndon’s alchemical ink. Leaves rustle, branches snap, footfalls race toward me. How did I get here, my own son intent on killing me?

  He approaches, chest heaving with fatigue, anguish contorting his face. He knows. Against his fear, he knows within this dying woman’s mind, my consciousness—the consciousness of his mother—loiters.

  Let me go, dear boy. Let me go.

  A hawk screams. The muzzle of his gun a dark tunnel of death. His tormented cry cut short by the forest. Against my will, Kairos forces a scratching of nib on paper. Alchemical ink flows. The mooring to this present loosens.

  Stay present. Just a moment longer. Gaze to my boy, now a man. “Goodbye, dear Addison.”

  Recognition flashes in his eyes. Yes, he knows. “Mom, stop. Please don’t make me do this.”

  My hand, compelled to write, sweeps across the page: Adolf. As in Hitler,
my master, Kairos’ next conquest. Egomania attracts. Shoot, Addison. Please.

  “MOM, NO!”

  A flash, an explosion, and then a bolt of searing pain tears into me. My mind rips apart from its host, her consciousness extinguished like a candle snuffed between two fingers. Kairos, entwined with my consciousness, floats free of space and time. His menacing darkness claws and grasps at me. I, we, plunge into nothingness, into the dark, spiraling into the past, weaving us into the mind of another…

  ***

  Jesus, I’m cold. I’m sitting in a hole in the ground, snow everywhere, my feet freezing inside black jack boots. I’ve got my fingers laced behind my head, like I’m a prisoner. What am I saying? I am a prisoner. My mind’s in a muddled haze. Who…am I?

  I was trapped in the mind a woman, her mind a host for my consciousness. I couldn’t escape. Kairos held me there, forced me to act against my boy. My son…Addison, tried to stop us with a bullet to my—well, to Maya’s head. Yes, it’s all coming back to me now.

  Within this German infantryman’s mind now, I peer up to pine boughs creaking with heavy, damp snow. So intent on seeing Addison one last time, I didn’t consider the consequences of subverting Kairos. He expects Berlin, not a forest. I shimmy against the frozen mud to my feet, Kairos’ voice rising in my throat.

  “Ich bin euer Führer! Das ist ein Skandal! Ich werde deinen Kopf für haben—”

  An angry man in a heavy wool coat gives me a quick rifle butt to the gut, sending me back to the ground gasping for air. He’s talking to me in American English.

  “You do that again you stinkin’ Kraut and I’ll shove my bayonet up your German ass. Now sit there and shut up." He looks left. “And you too.”

  I look over to a kid, maybe eighteen, a little younger than my Addison, huddled against frozen mud, his eyes about to leave their sockets in terror. He glances at me, his face begging me to be quiet. Dammit. Too many witnesses. Kairos will not be pleased. At least I’m not Hitler. When Addison shot the woman who was my host, I used the moment to gain a handhold in her mind against Kairos, shifting the pen’s intention away from the Führer to this Obersoldat in Hitler’s soon to be defeated Wermacht. The combustable mixture of Kairos’ anger explodes in my head with his ranting.

  Ich bin mir nicht klar Adolf, sie dumme Schlampe! I am not Adolf Hitler! You stupid bitch.

  I look to the boy soldier and our guard, but of course, they cannot hear our thoughts. “How could you force me to act against my son, Grimbald?” His real name is Cuthbert Grimbald, using the alias Kairos to keep him clear of League Inkers. “You promised if I helped you—”

  I promised I wouldn’t take his consciousness. For all the good it did me.

  “I could have killed him. My own son. Please, I’ll do anything you want, but please don’t ask me to hurt Addison.”

  You sabotage me at every turn, Rebecca. If I didn’t need your knowledge of the League I would scatter your consciousness across time. By God, I’ll do it anyway!

  “No! Please. I’m sorry. It’s just that when I saw him…it’s been so long. I—”

  Think about it, Rebecca. Didn’t you see his eyes when he squeezed the trigger? The boy, knowing you were in Maya, blew out your brains! Trust me, you no longer hold a place in his heart.

  “No! He still loves me, uh…. “

  My mind…compresses….a fist closing around me to darkness.

  “Please…stop.”

  You continue to defy me?

  “Please.”

  I cannot breathe, I cannot think.

  “Please…no…”

  My mind goes to some dark corner. A desolate loneliness enfolds me. All senses closed off, no space, no time, no sensation. Nothing. Nothing. Noth…

  He releases me. The world expands from a small, black hole, back to the Ardenne Forest. The boy still sits beside me in an almost fetal position. The icy cold air smells of pine and death.

  If you truly desire to save your son, do not test me again.

  “I’m sorry…Master Grimbald. Please believe me.”

  Quit groveling, but be very clear. If you fail me, I will not only make your conscious existence a living hell, I will do the same to your boy.

  “Yes, I understand.”

  Good. While your boy chased us across Seattle for the League’s precious pens, I had a revelation. Why seek the pens when I can have the knowledge of Faryndon’s alchemy—the Alchimeía?

  “But the Alchimeía is hidden from you.”

  Not for long.

  A lump in the snow catches my eye. A breeze blows snow from a German helmet. It’s a man, or part of a man, dead in the snow. God, I long to join him. Death. Eternal extinction. “What must I do?”

  First, you will provide for your own blood inking and my die back.

  “Must I?”

  “Yes. I have business in the 16th century before we meet again in 20th century Washington, DC. One more thing. Leave no trace behind here. The League has a way of finding us. This time they will find no lingering threads tying back to me.

  I glance at the boy and the GI, probably twenty years old. “They are innocents.”

  Their uniforms scream cannon fodder! Rebecca, you are an angel of mercy releasing their tortured souls from this frozen hell. Now, get on with it.

  The guard’s voice breaks into my awareness. “Jesus, you Krauts are something else. Blubbering like a baby. Hell, even the kid there ain’t cryin’.”

  I wipe tears away, already freezing on my cheeks. I take a deep breath. Pine, and a bare hint of burning wood from the last artillery barrage, floats in the chill air. A snow flake lands on my coat, the air and my coat so cold, it doesn’t melt. I remember my mother telling me how I was like a snowflake, unique. ‘There’s no one like you, Rebecca, no one like you in the whole wide world.’ Funny, I haven’t thought of her in centuries.

  I stand, stamping my feet to get feeling back into them.

  “Sit down, Kraut. I’m not going to warn you again.”

  He’s got his rifle pointed at me. The boy soldier snivels in German, begging me to sit. My GI guard glares at me, both angry and nervous, and I think a little scared.

  “Sit. Down!”

  I step toward him. He hesitates long enough for me to grab the muzzle of his gun. Panic fills his eyes. He thinks I’m trying to take it away from him. Instead, I hold the gun firmly, then heave my body toward him, making sure the muzzle is off-center. A shattered spine will do me no good. A blast deafens me, hot pain exploding in my abdomen, as the GI shouts and the boy soldier whimpers. The gun shot pushes me back a step, blood gushing from the wound. The GI watches me, watches the Kraut, die in front of him.

  “You shoulda just sat there, you stupid Kraut. Goddammit.”

  I put a hand to the wound, filling my palm with intestinal gore and blood. Seeing a dying man before him, he lowers his rifle. I close my eyes, gathering what little strength remains in this body, then open them and with a scream, lunge at him, reaching my target, his mouth, with a handful of blood. My alchemical passport to his consciousness. I slide down his body to frozen dirt at our feet.

  For a moment I live between worlds, Grimbald’s dark soul unwinding around my consciousness as he dies back. Then my lungs fill with Belgium’s cold, winter air. The German prisoner, my previous host, lies dead on the ground in a pool of freezing blood. I taste him on my lips, in my mouth. Hot. Earthy. The boy soldier cowers before me. I can see why. I must be a sight, the American GI all covered in blood, the German obersoldat dead beside him.

  He doesn’t look like Addison, but he does remind me of my son. So young. Trying to be so brave. I don’t want to do this, but it is expected. Please forgive me.

  I wipe the blood from my face, offer a tender smile, then kneel beside the boy. It seems to calm him down some.

  I am gentle, as I slip my knife between his ribs…and twist.