Time's Children

by D. B. Jackson

  “There was no one,” he said, but his denial lacked conviction.

  “I’ve known demons in my time,” she said. “Yous don’t live this long by the sea without meeting one or two.”

  “I can’t talk about this.”

  “Their kind aren’t to be trusted. They talk in half-truths, they bargain in bad faith, and they don’t give a fairy’s fart about the likes of us.”

  He straightened, looked her in the eye. “I’ll keep that in mind. And I won’t bring trouble to your door.”

  “More trouble, you mean. I’ve already got my share, and I’ve an inkling yous carry some wherever yous go.”

  Tobias didn’t answer.

  “Very well. G’night to yous both.” She shambled away.

  “Thank you, Kaarti. Again, my apologies.”

  She stopped and favored him with a rare smile. “Truth is, it weren’t so bad. Been a long time since I was up nights with a wee one.”

  Chapter 33

  10th Day of Kheraya’s Descent, Year 647

  Despite her promise to Droë that she would commence her search for Tobias before long, Mara remained in her own time. Not that there was much to hold her here. After she refused Nat’s invitation to join him in the upper courtyard, their friendship wilted. She and Hilta didn’t speak. Delvin was still recovering from the wounds to his back. And she wanted little to do with any of the other trainees.

  Trainees. Even thinking the word made her flinch.

  It should be novitiates.

  She had never felt more alone.

  She attempted no more Walks in the damp and dark of pre-dawn. She had mastered the ability as much as she could hope, and refused to expend more of her days with the exercises.

  She also avoided the courtyards at night, unwilling to risk another encounter with the Tirribin. At some point soon, she would make the journey. Until then, she didn’t wish to answer questions about her intentions.

  She kept her distance from Wansi, too. Each day, after working on her sextant, she stowed her tools with practiced care and fled the chamber with the rest of the trainees. She felt the Binder’s gaze upon her as she walked out of the room, unable to explain the guilt that plagued her.

  She attended her lessons, trained under Saffern’s approving eye, slumbered and woke when the other trainees did. To all outward appearances, she existed as memory told her she always had.

  All the while, her awareness of time’s discontinuity deepened, further alienating her from the life she knew. Everything she did – even lessons and training – struck her as frivolous, as luxuries she couldn’t afford.

  Feidys’s lessons on the current wars pounded at her like an assault. She absorbed every tidbit the mistress offered about the origins of the conflicts, but she could barely endure the discussions themselves. How could the others not see that all the mistress described for them should have been fiction? How could Feidys not understand this?

  Unable to speak of this with anyone, she pondered what she learned in isolation, when walking from one lesson to the next, or awaiting her turn to shoot on the training grounds, or lying in bed at night. She was desperate to glean something that would explain how a Walker could trigger such events.

  A Walker.

  Tobias.

  Her life had changed in this regard as well. She could picture him now; she had seen the two of them together. The image of their kiss remained with her, intruding upon her thoughts, her dreams, her purpose. She wanted to believe that if she Walked back so far, she would do so to change this future, to mend a rent in the fabric of history. But she would also be going back to find Tobias, to discover a friendship and, dare she hope, a love, that she should never have lost.

  If she could gather the courage to Walk so many years.

  Three nights after she Spanned across the courtyard with a chronofor in hand, she went to see Delvin in the infirmary.

  A few days before, the palace healer had made clear, quietly, that he could have visitors. Hilta, Mara knew, had gone several times. Nat had visited twice. Mara hadn’t intended to go at all, but his beating had forced her to practice Walking. Perhaps speaking with him would spur her to leave.

  Guards stood outside his door. They marked her approach, saying nothing, gripping their muskets. Their bayonets gleamed with light from the open windows. She wanted to scream at them to go away, but she ignored them and let herself into the room.

  He lay on his side with his back to the door. All the beds but his were empty. She closed the door and walked toward him.

  “That you?” he asked, no doubt meaning Hilta.

  “Wouldn’t anyone answer yes?”

  He craned his neck to look her way, his eyes wide.

  “Mar! What are you… I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “No, I don’t suppose.”

  She walked to the far side of his bed and sat in a chair. He looked wan and thinner than usual. He wore no shirt. Thick bandages covered his back. She wished the Two would strike down the chancellor where he stood. An unworthy thought, the priestess would tell her. She didn’t care.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked, after a brief but deeply uncomfortable silence.

  “Not too bad. The healer says I’ll be out of here in another few days.”

  “Why has it taken so long?”

  His gaze flitted away. “The chancellor wouldn’t let her use magick. Said that would be too easy on me.”

  Their conversation flagged again.

  “I’m sorry, Mar,” he said after some time. “What I did wasn’t… You didn’t deserve that.”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  He grinned. The old grin she remembered so well, from a past that shouldn’t have been real. “You could pretend it mattered a little.”

  Mara laughed.

  “Did you ever figure out what was bothering you that day?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “What was it?”

  “I’m not sure how to explain it. I was right in a way. I don’t belong here, and I think I know what to do about that. I can’t tell you more. I’m sorry.”

  He shook his head, eyes avoiding hers. “Don’t apologize. Not for anything.”

  For a third time, they lapsed into silence. Whatever had driven her here, she needed to go.

  “I’m not sure when I’ll see you again,” she said. It sounded strange, awkward, but she pressed on. “I wanted to say that… that I’ve missed you, and I hope the Two watch over you.”

  He looked at her as if she were mad. “I told you, I’m getting out in a few days.”

  “Right. I know. Anyway, I just wanted to come by and see how you were.” She stood, but remained in place. “Don’t steal any more food, all right?”

  “Sure,” he said, still frowning. “Whatever you say.”

  Mara left him, glancing his way once as she reached the door. He still lay on his side, his back to her. She let herself out of the room and hurried away from the soldiers.

  The following day, as Mara and the other trainees put away their tools and filed out of Wansi’s chamber, the Binder asked Mara to remain behind.

  Nat regarded her, guarded curiosity in his expression.

  Mara ignored him and detached herself from the group, letting the others step past her.

  When they were gone, Wansi told her to shut the door, and motioned her back to the table. Mara sat on the bench, her pulse galloping.

  “I’m sorry,” the Binder said. “You’ve avoided me for several days, and I’ve tried to honor your desire to be left alone. I don’t know what you’ve decided to do, but today I received word from the chancellor that a unit of Oaqamaran warriors will be arriving here this evening. They’re to be piloted to Vleros in the morning. As one of our senior Spanners, you’ll be expected to activate a tri-sextant on their behalf. I… I thought you should know.”

  She should have been terrified – and she was – but she felt relief as well. She couldn’t delay any longer; events had moved beyond her control
. “Then I’ll have to leave tonight.”

  Wansi straightened. “So you’ve decided. I thought perhaps you were still struggling with your decision.”

  Mara stood and wandered to the open window. “I was. Now…” She left the thought unfinished.

  “Have you practiced again?”

  “No. I’ve learned that I can Span while holding a chronofor, and I assume I can Walk with a sextant as well. That’s all I’ve done. I didn’t want to spend any more days.”

  “Understandable.”

  Mara’s laugh sounded bitter. “Is it? I’m contemplating a Walk of years. How can I worry about a day here and there?”

  “Would you Walk first and then Span, or the other way around?”

  She faced the Binder, irked that she would ask such a mundane question. “I hadn’t given it much thought.”

  “You should. The Walk is by far the more dangerous journey. It might be better to do it somewhere safe. A place where you have a friend.”

  “Are you offering to help me?”

  “I am. I’ve been in Windhome, with my workshop in this very chamber, for nearly twenty years: a longer time than you plan to Walk. We can’t be certain of exactly when you’ll arrive. It could be midnight. It could be in the middle of a lesson. But chances are I’ll be here. And I believe I’ve long had the proper temperament to take your arrival in stride, no matter when it occurs.”

  When Mara didn’t answer, the Binder’s brow furrowed. “Unless you had some other location in mind.”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “But you aren’t yet ready to make this choice.”

  She threw her arms wide. “When will I ever be ready? How am I supposed to prepare for something like this?”

  “I don’t know. Has the Tirribin been much help?”

  “I’ve been avoiding her, too.”

  “I see.”

  She thought she heard disapproval in the Binder’s tone. “You think I should go.”

  “I don’t, actually.”

  Mara stared.

  “Surprised you, didn’t I?” At Mara’s nod, she said, “Even as a young woman, I would never have done what you’re considering. The sacrifice is too great, the chance of success too remote. I would have been frightened beyond words, and I would have hidden behind that fear. All along I’ve known that you’re more likely to do this than not. I admire you.”

  “Even though I’m fated to fail?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You said my chance of success is remote.”

  “I meant that mine would be. Somehow, I think the odds are better for you.”

  Mara frowned. “You’re confusing me. First you said you didn’t think I should go. Now you’re telling me the opposite.”

  “I’m saying what I always have: this is your decision to make.”

  Mara gazed out the window again and brushed her hair back off her shoulders. “I can’t pilot those soldiers,” she said, her voice low. “The war shouldn’t be fought. Not like this. I don’t want any part of it.”

  “The last time we spoke, I mentioned that Mearlan IV was assassinated some fourteen years ago, ending the Hayncalde Supremacy in favor of Sheraigh’s line. The wars as we know them began around that time, and large numbers of tri-devices came into use soon after. That assassination may well have been the event that triggered all of this.”

  “I’ve thought the same thing,” Mara told her, “based on what we’ve learned from Feidys. But that makes no sense. Tobias was summoned to the court of Daerjen by their sovereign. We can’t know who exactly, but none of the choices seems likely. If Noak Sheraigh was already sovereign, he wouldn’t have needed to send him back to assassinate Mearlan. Certainly Mearlan wouldn’t plot his own death, and I can’t believe some other Hayncalde royal would destroy the family’s supremacy.”

  “Maybe it was coincidence, and the Walker’s actions had nothing to do with the assassination.”

  Mara rubbed her temples. “Thinking about this makes my head hurt.”

  Wansi smiled. “Indeed.”

  “Droë told me it was Tobias who changed history.”

  “Those were her words?”

  “No, but that was the essence of what she said. He went back in time, and it all changed as a result.”

  “Which brings us back to where we were. You have a choice to make. Quickly, it would seem.” She canted her head. “What matters to you more: this Walker, Tobias, and the discontinuity of time you’ve sensed, or the life you would leave behind were you to Walk so far?”

  Mara opened her mouth, closed it again. An instant later, tears cascaded from her eyes and sobs choked off her breathing. Wansi blinked, appearing nonplussed by what her question had unleashed.

  For some time, Mara couldn’t speak. Wansi approached her and patted her shoulder in awkward solicitude. When Mara finally regained some measure of composure, she dabbed her eyes and cheeks with the fringe of her sleeve and forced a smile that couldn’t have been convincing.

  “You’re all right?” Wansi asked.

  “Yes. I’m sorry.”

  “I think I should be apologizing to you.”

  “No, it’s not your fault, I just… Is it terrible to say that I don’t care about my life here?”

  “Not terrible,” the Binder said, measuring her words. “I’m not sure I believe you, though.”

  “It’s true.”

  “Your friends–”

  “My friends are fools.”

  Wansi raised an eyebrow.

  “All right, maybe that’s not fair to them. But there’s already this distance between all of them and me. No one knows what I’m feeling. None of them is even capable of understanding. I’m alone right now. And my family… I haven’t seen any of them in years.”

  “Then why did what I said affect you so?”

  More tears welled in her eyes. “Because I’m not ready yet to be an adult.” Her voice cracked on the last word, and sobs shook her again.

  “You don’t have to do this.”

  “Yes, I do,” she said through tears. “That’s why I’m so afraid. Look at what they did to Delvin. I can’t allow this to go on, and I can’t pretend I don’t know what’s happened.”

  “Going back in time might not stop the chancellor from hurting Mister Ruhj.”

  “You don’t understand. They’re not supposed to be here. Not the chancellor. Not the soldiers. We’re not supposed to be ruled by the Oaqamarans.”

  “You know this?”

  Did she know it? Could she be sure about any of it? In the end, she decided she did, and could.

  “Yes, I know it. That’s why I have to go back. But I’ve never been more scared to do anything.”

  The Binder grimaced. “You know I’ll help you in any way I can.”

  She bobbed her head, tears falling to the floor. “Thank you.”

  It took a qua’bell for Mara to stop crying. Wansi eyed her with sympathy, but held her tongue, which was probably for the best. Anything she said would probably have brought more tears.

  When Mara had calmed herself, the Binder said, “Your friends will be wondering where you are. You should return here this evening, after the meal. We’ll send you back then.”

  A shiver ran through Mara’s body. “All right. I might take a little longer to get here. I want to speak with Droë first.”

  “I believe that’s wise. You can bring her with you if you like. She might be able to help us.”

  Mara shook her head. “She won’t come, but she’ll speak to me alone.” She crossed to the door. Her hands shook and her teeth chattered, though the chamber was warm. “Thank you, again,” she said, looking back at the Binder.

  “I’m not sure I deserve your thanks. I’m making it easier for you to do something that may prove an awful mistake.”

  Mara had no reply. She opened the door and slipped out into the dim corridor.

  The girl’s summons sang in Droë’s mind like a plucked string on a harp. Even had she wanted to r
esist, she couldn’t have. Compulsion drew her from the between, blunting sensation, muffling sound, slowing vision to a mind-numbing crawl. She felt herself take form, growing solid, heavy, slow, though not by human measures. Drawing breath, she tasted the wind: vegetation, stone, brine, the acrid smoke of cooking fires, and humans, ripe with so many years.

  Moonlight rimed the grass in the courtyard and the palace stonework. Mara stood before her, out of sight of the soldiers on the ramparts. Her eyes were bright in her dark face and wind twisted her hair.

  “Another summons,” Droë said, testing her voice. It was always hard to speak at first. “You know there’s a price.”

  “Not for me.”

  Confidence in the words, resolve. The girl was changed, though not from Walking. Droë sensed no more displacement in her years.

  “You sound certain.”

  “I am. We’re partners in this. You named me a friend and told me your true name.”

  Droë’s mood soured further. She didn’t like being reminded. Her love for Tobias, and her desperate need to find him, had colored her judgment.

  “Even so. Nothing is free.”

  “I won’t–” The girl clamped her mouth against whatever she’d intended to say.

  I won’t give you years. That was what she’d been thinking. She was learning. After the promises Droë had made – to Tobias and to her – such a declaration would have angered her.

  Droë nodded. “Very good. You’re getting smarter. Still, there are other forms of payment.”

  “You like riddles.”

  She dismissed the suggestion with a brush of her fingers. “I don’t mean them, either.”

  “Then what?”

  Droë approached the girl and began to circle, her hands held behind her back. “What’s it like to kiss a boy?”

  The girl’s brow bunched. “What makes you think–”

  “I’ve seen you and your friends up there.” She pointed toward the upper reaches of the palace. “Boys and girls go there together. Sometimes girls are with girls and boys with boys, but always they kiss and touch each other. What’s that like?”

  Heat from the girl’s cheeks could have kindled damp wood.