Time Jumpers

by Brandon Mull

  The guards studied where the chain was affixed to the wall, undid a lock, and slid the chain from Cole’s collar. The guard with the torch stepped out into the hall. The other motioned for Cole to follow.

  The guard without a torch slid a hood over Cole’s head.

  “Really?” Cole asked. “Isn’t it dark enough?”

  “You’re a top-priority prisoner,” the guard said. “We’re escorting you to a high-ranking official. We’ll be using some secret corridors. We have to keep the way secret.”

  The guard took Cole’s arm and led him forward. The guard did a good job warning Cole about upcoming obstacles and steps. For a long time they headed upward. Cole heard a couple of quick interactions with jailers. Then he sensed brighter light seeping through his hood. They walked for a time before it became dark again. More stairs. Endless stairs. Then several twists and turns and doorways.

  When the hood was finally removed, Cole stood in a spacious, opulent bedchamber. The huge four-poster bed had a canopy and velvet covers. Through the parted curtains, Cole beheld an aged man propped up on pillows, his complexion an unhealthy gray. Upon recognizing Cole, the man’s expression sharpened with sudden interest. “You.”

  Though they had met not too long ago, it took Cole a moment to recognize the man in the bed as Stafford Pemberton. With less hair, deeper wrinkles, slighter shoulders, and looser skin, the High King looked at least twenty years older.

  “Hello, Your Majesty,” Cole said.

  The king’s eyes darted to the guards. “Thank you. I require a private audience.” He might be old and sick, but he seemed alert.

  The guards immediately departed.

  A lone guard remained in a corner of the room, holding a crossbow. He was not one of the guards who had brought Cole from the cell.

  “No funny business,” Stafford warned. “Or Tuteo will put a quarrel in you. He is deaf and mute, and thus the perfect escort for private conferences.” Stafford began coughing, small at first, then louder and longer and wetter. As the fit wound down, he wiped his lips with a handkerchief. “Come closer. I cannot afford to shout.”

  Cole approached the bed.

  Stafford studied him. “I remember you. The errand boy. Rod, was it? What subterfuge is this? Why were you being held by Owandell with two of my daughters?”

  “I’ve been helping them,” Cole said. “Protecting them. My real name is Cole.”

  Stafford coughed again, eyes shut, chest heaving. He spat into his handkerchief and opened his eyes. “I am weary of the many schemers seeking personal advantage through my offspring. The Unseen want to justify a revolution. Owandell wants a coup. The hour has come to—” He became lost in another fit of coughing.

  Cole listened uncomfortably to the wet hacking.

  Stafford wiped his lips again and took several shallow breaths. “The hour has come to take action. I have remained dormant too long as my foes plot my demise. You are a member of the Unseen?”

  “Not a member,” Cole said. “I’m just helping your daughters.”

  “You misrepresented yourself, Cole. You offered a false name. To my face. Lying to the king is punishable by death. Why should I refrain from enforcing this law?”

  “Because a radiant deed shines forever,” Cole said.

  Stafford paled, his eyes widening. “Impossible. Where did you learn that phrase?”

  “You told it to me,” Cole said.

  Stafford’s eyes hardened. “My father spoke that phrase to a handful of people. All are long in their graves. Over my lifetime, I have uttered the phrase to three persons. None of them were you. And you would have been born long after the last of them died.”

  “You told me in the Cave of Memory,” Cole said.

  Stafford covered his mouth with a hand that was all tendons, wrinkles, and liver spots. “Intriguing. Plausible. An imprint of me resides there. An imprint left years ago. A secret portion of my history. A younger self, but me, and mentally sound. In some ways more than I am now. My imprint shared the phrase?”

  “You told me it could bring a reward,” Cole said.

  “I must have trusted and appreciated you immensely,” Stafford said. “Baffling. Unexpected. My daughters vouched for you. They warned that I needed to treat you kindly. Honor spoke of a rising threat, one only reported to me as a rumor so far. Nazeem. And a new name: Ramarro. The master who taught Owandell shapecraft.”

  “I met Ramarro,” Cole said. “In the echolands. I tried to keep him in prison. He got free. I slowed his return, but not permanently.”

  “Honor shared similar . . . shared similar . . .” Stafford turned away and began coughing again, frail shoulders heaving. He hawked up phlegm and spat into a handkerchief. “She expressed similar concerns.” His eyes looked watery. “Could you pass me the tonic on my nightstand?”

  A single stoppered vial rested on the bedside table. Cole handed it to the king. Stafford unstopped it, sniffed the contents, and winced. “Vile stuff. Meant to scare the sickness away, I suppose.” He took a long sip, swished it around his mouth, then swallowed. A sour grimace followed.

  “Nasty?” Cole asked.

  “Dreadful concoction,” Stafford said. “I should lend it to my interrogators. They’d have every secret out in no time. It eases the coughing, but the royal stomach and bowels pay a price. I was saying?”

  “Honor had similar concerns,” Cole reminded him.

  “A torivor of legend about to commence a reign of terror with the help of Owandell,” Stafford said. “Frankly it sounds absurd. Like fairy tales invented to frighten children. Or perhaps propaganda devised by Owandell to inspire awe.” He handed the vial to Cole, who replaced it on the nightstand. “You saw this torivor?”

  “Honor did too,” Cole said. “And others. In the echolands. He’s real. Send spies to the echolands. Lots of people there know about Nazeem.”

  “You believe you can stop this torivor?” Stafford asked.

  “Somebody has to,” Cole said.

  “Indeed,” Stafford said. “When you met me in the Cave of Memory, I take it you liked me?”

  “Yes,” Cole said.

  “What did you do for me? Why did I share the phrase with you? I intended to be supremely cautious as an imprint.”

  “The imprints can’t hold new memories,” Cole said. “Your imprint only recalled what he knew up until you left the cave.”

  “I’m aware how imprints function,” Stafford said.

  “I used rocks to spell out that you end up with Harmony,” Cole said. “So the imprint could remember.”

  Tears filled Stafford’s eyes. One took a crooked path down his wrinkled cheek. “I see. Clever boy. You found a weak spot. Yes, at the time, that would have meant everything to me. Why?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why the act of kindness? You have been protecting my daughters. You must have unfavorable feelings about me.”

  “You could say that.”

  “Then why?”

  Cole thought for a moment. “I liked the Stafford I met in the cave. He seemed like a good person.”

  Stafford shifted against his pillows. He coughed gently. “He was, Cole,” he whispered. “I was.” He stared at Cole uncertainly. “Would you believe that man is still inside me somewhere? Would you?”

  Cole shrugged. “I guess he has to be, right?”

  Stafford looked away. “I don’t know either, sometimes.”

  “I’m sorry,” Cole said.

  “I’m dying, Cole. You can see that.”

  “You look a lot older than the last time we met.”

  “The powers I borrowed prolonged my life,” Stafford said. He cleared his throat. “The shaping powers I stole from my own flesh and blood. They prolonged a certain youthfulness. As I lost my hold on those powers, the stolen years began to catch up with me. The aging accelerated the more power I lost. Now I only retain a small portion of Elegance’s power. I don’t know whether I will hang on until it departs. I have tried to keep my waning
health a secret. My rule has grown unstable enough without my enemies knowing I am bedridden.”

  “Have you had success?” Cole asked.

  “Probably not,” Stafford said. “I had eleven spies executed this year. Spies caught right here in the First Castle. If you catch eleven rats, how many more are still in the walls, raiding the pantry?”

  “Maybe a lot,” Cole said.

  “I’ve lost spies too,” Stafford said. “This year, no less than thirty, right here in Junction City. The majority taken by Owandell, no doubt. Hard to be sure. He is crafty. Cole, I am High King of the five kingdoms, I am dying, and there is not a single person I fully trust.”

  Cole winced. “That sounds terrible.”

  “And along you come with your radiant deed.”

  Cole said nothing.

  “You witnessed me as I was, Cole,” Stafford said softly. “I never meant to become who I am. I went on from that cave to win Harmony. And it was wonderful. And so intimidating. Children were born. All the unrest and problems and strife of five kingdoms and one capital flowed to my doorway. If you ever want to ensure your worst enemy never again enjoys a good night’s rest, make him a king. I was daunted, Cole. Overwhelmed. I was not up to the challenge. Owandell offered critical support.”

  Cole nodded to show he was listening.

  “Owandell gradually moved from the background of my life to the forefront,” Stafford continued. “Under his guidance I made the necessary connections to win Harmony. When the crown came to me younger than anyone expected, he quietly became my right hand. He reduced my burdens. He fixed problems great and small. He showed no interest in acclaim. I came to rely on him as I had never relied on anyone. And then, as my five daughters grew, and their abilities flourished, one day he made a suggestion.”

  “Take their powers,” Cole said.

  “Borrow them,” Stafford clarified. “The word was always ‘borrow.’ I had no idea borrowing shaping power was possible. Owandell assured me it could be done. Just for enough time to firmly establish my rule. To provide Harmony the strong husband she deserved. To grant my daughters the protection they needed. To give my subjects a monarch worth heeding. So many selfless reasons to commit a supremely selfish act.” Stafford shook his head. “I was struggling to lead Grand Shapers and councillors and other governors who were so much more powerful than me. I was insufficient. I had married into much more than I merited. Owandell offered a chance to become the man I should have been.”

  “And you took it.”

  Stafford gave a small nod. “And that marked the end of the man you met in the cave.”

  Cole stared at Stafford solemnly.

  “I did not know I would lose my daughters instead of protect them,” Stafford said. “I did not expect to destroy the trust of my wife. And . . . I never anticipated how much I would adore the power.”

  “Wow,” Cole said, surprised by the candor.

  “I have lived many years,” Stafford said. “I consolidated power as no other ruler of the Outskirts has done before. And . . . I lost my way. I see it now, as I wane. It’s like awakening from a delirium. I lost my way, Cole.”

  Cole gave a nod.

  “A king, even a High King, even a High King with astonishing powers, is just a man. Only a man. Subject to weaknesses and foolishness. He longs for the same basics any man longs for. He suffers from many of the same insecurities that torment other men. A king has resources, yes, and those resources can quench certain longings, but they can also be used to hide frailties. Those resources can conceal flaws. They can prevent certain wounds from being tended and healed. They can . . . Look at me! I’m rambling!”

  “It makes sense,” Cole said. “It’s so sad.”

  Stafford harrumphed. “I’m not looking for sympathy. I lived large, Cole. I threw an enormous shadow. Few ever lived larger. Whether feared or loved, my name was known in every corner of the land. My voice was heard. My presence was felt. None of the five kingdoms would be the same without me.” Stafford sniffed. “No man lives up to his ideals. No man. Not if he reflects deeply and honestly. We all have our failings. I lived very large, Cole. My failings were magnified. They became enormous.”

  Cole didn’t know how to respond.

  “The bitter truth? The starkest reality? If I could redo it all . . . I would have never taken their powers. I long to pretend it was worth it. I wish I could claim it was difficult but necessary—a brutal obligation of governance. The truth is I understood too late what my decision really meant. I would have rather been a mediocre king and a good husband, a good father. But I cannot go back. And I cannot repair what has been lost. Despite my regrets, when I felt the power leaving, I fought to keep it. Fought hard, Cole. It was torture to feel the power slipping away. The damage to my relationships had been done. And so I wanted to at least enjoy the spoils of my folly. They were all I had left.”

  “Maybe you can still help your family,” Cole said.

  “I never wished them harm,” Stafford said. “Through my darkest hours, my love remained constant. I realize that my actions shout louder than any words I can pronounce, but I never wished them harm. Not Harmony. Not my girls. They ever remained part of my calculations. I would help them now, if I could. Unfortunately, in this hour of gravest need, my capacity dwindles.”

  “Ramarro is real,” Cole said. “He is coming. You command a lot of people.”

  “I’ve engaged my forces,” Stafford said. “I turned Owandell into a fugitive to take my daughters from him. I know he is no longer my ally. I’ve known for years. I was not sure I could survive a war with him, even with my full powers. Now our precarious stalemate is broken. He will try to make me pay.”

  “Owandell is focused on his master,” Cole said.

  Stafford coughed softly. He sat up a little straighter. “You are more than I expected you to be, my boy. And I owe you a favor. Ask. You have the High King’s attention.”

  “Where are Honor and—”

  “Leave my daughters out of it,” Stafford interrupted. “They are quite safe. Including from me. I have neither the ability nor the inclination to disturb their powers again. And I will not have them drawn into more danger, regardless of their protests. Leave my daughters out of it and request your favor. I have many resources at my disposal. I have no objection to you pursuing the issue of Ramarro.”

  “I came here from Outside,” Cole said. “A place called Arizona.”

  “The latest group?” Stafford asked. “Did Ansel bring you?”

  “He brought a lot of my friends,” Cole said. “I slipped through to help them and got caught too. I’d like to find my friends.”

  The king frowned thoughtfully. “I do not know the locations of those slaves. None were powerful enough to be of serious interest to me. I have no objection to you finding them. The slaver Ansel would know. I received a report on Ansel. We had him in custody for a time. He has returned to Five Roads. I believe he is organizing another slaving excursion. Would you like to visit with him?”

  It made Cole sick to hear about another slaving excursion—another batch of innocent kids would be ripped from their homes and forgotten by their loved ones. And for Stafford it was just business as usual. Cole did not understand how anyone could permit slavery. And it was utterly incomprehensible to think of how a leader could let kidnapped children serve as the supply. But this was not the moment to fight this battle. “I can’t go to him yet,” Cole said. “I need to stop Ramarro first.”

  “Then what is your request?”

  “You don’t fully trust anyone who works for you,” Cole said.

  Stafford frowned, wrinkles sagging farther. “I do not.”

  “Will you free me?” Cole asked. “Let me go to Harmony for help?”

  Closing his eyes, Stafford took a couple of measured breaths. “Yes.” One eye opened. “And I will do better than that. I will make you my personal agent and give you my royal seal. You will outrank any general you meet. For as long as I wear the crown, y
ou will speak with my voice, command with my authority. I will cover any expenses you incur. How does that suit you?”

  “I can hardly believe it,” Cole said honestly.

  “Don’t be too grateful,” Stafford said. “You will be swimming in dangerous waters. Starting now, you are one of the few people I doubt will outlive me. Please prove me wrong.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  CHAPTER

  4

  VIOLET

  Cole entered Harmony’s private chambers clothed like a young lord. After assembling his outfit, a small team of servants had only let him dress himself at his insistence. Eight guards had escorted him to Harmony’s tower, and then the same old woman he recalled from a prior visit had admitted him to her chamber.

  The queen looked much as he remembered, tall and graceful, with some streaks of white in her auburn hair and a few worry lines on her lovely face. Hints of darkness under her eyes and a few stray hairs made her appear a little more tired than he had seen her. She looked Cole up and down suspiciously.

  “I see you are wearing the king’s seal,” Harmony said. “Are you the most fantastic spy of all time? Have you changed sides?”

  “The sides are shifting,” Cole said, fingering the medallion on his chest. “The High King knows I’ve been protecting your daughters. And he knows that won’t change.”

  “I am happy to see you are well,” Harmony said. “What news of my children?”

  Cole explained that as far as he knew, Constance was safe back in Zeropolis. He told how Mira, Honor, and Destiny had all made it out of the echolands. Then he related some details about the fight with Ramarro and how he, Honor, and Destiny were captured by Owandell.

  “That clarifies why Stafford sent his forces against Hakrel’s Castle,” Harmony said. “I wondered if he had finally lost all reason. But to retrieve Honor and Destiny . . . it makes sense. Do you know where Mira went after the echolands?”

  “Back to Necronum somewhere,” Cole said. “She was with some of our other friends. At least she’s not alone.”

  “And you are certain this Nazeem is actually a torivor?” Harmony asked. “Like Trillian?”