In the background, Miyuki heard a high-pitched pulsating hum, an increasing rush of wind, and the snap-pop of static. She tried casting. A pod! Ceolwulf is taking a pod.
Angelo didn’t answer but said to Francisco, “We’re in toxic shock.”
Francisco wouldn’t know what that means, Miyuki thought.
Ah, Angelo cast, I see that our incoms are working.
Oh, please forgive me, sensei. I didn’t know—
You’re right, Angelo cast. Francisco doesn’t know, but he needs to hear reassurance.
She heard the windy-static pop-pop of another pod. This one was arriving. More Key’ari, she cast. She grabbed the scimitar-shaped stun-stick and stood up, trembling. Angelo tapped Ibrahim with his stun-tachi. Ibrahim’s eyes rolled back, and he collapsed on top of Eden.
“There,” Miyuki said aloud, “next to the first Key’ari pod.” She pointed to the outline of a domed object a little taller than a doorframe.
Another snap-popping wind started out of view behind the building.
“Two,” Miyuki said.
“Three,” Angelo said.
It would take several more minutes for their healing implants to flush out the toxins. She hadn’t even tested her kinesis implant yet and would have to rely on her standard training. She took in a long, relaxing breath as the pods materialized.
“Focus,” Angelo said as he stared ahead at the materializing pods.
“What should we do?” Francisco asked.
“Stand our ground until the end.”
The first pod materialized and the domed shell melted off. Professor MacAdam and the medical counselor Beset with two other Academe staff stepped off the pod platform.
Miyuki felt the tension drain from her shoulders, and she almost collapsed with exhaustion.
“Should we attack?” Francisco asked.
Angelo laughed. “Not unless you want to fail your first Academe class.”
Professor MacAdam strode around the fallen Key’ari. He clasped hands with Angelo. “He leaned held out his fist to Angelo, who bumped it with and they said together, “Nec Tempore Rugam.”
“Sorry we’re late,” MacAdam added in his Scottish accent. “The whole east side has blown apart with this Genghis Kahn fellow. Rifts popping up every which way, you can hardly keep your eyes from crossing. It’s a wonder the impasuko doesn’t kill us all. You know if they pull professors out on the field, then all hell has fallen upon us.” He turned to Miyuki and put his hands on his hips. “Well now, Miyuki, you didn’t need to go stunning all of Africa to prove you’re worthy.”
Miyuki bowed.
The other Sittiri started lifting the Key’ari onto stretchers and carry them back to the Key’ari’s pods.
Professor MacAdam held his hand out to Francisco. “And is he the One of Six?”
“Yes.” Angelo nodded.
“Aye, well, young lad, do you have any idea of what you’re getting yourself into?”
“Yes.” Francisco nodded.
“No.” Professor MacAdam laughed and slapped Francisco on his back. “No, you don’t, but you’re a bold one. I’ll hand you that.”
Angelo pointed at Eden. “Do you recognize him?”
“Barely,” Professor MacAdam said. “Is that Eden?” The hemorrhagic blotches on Eden’s face were so large and interconnected that only patches of clear skin remained. “It’s a pity the treaty prevents us from putting him out of his misery.”
Angelo tapped Eden with his stun-tachi. Eden’s eyes, almost completely black, slowly closed. His tremors stopped.
Francisco ripped off the end of his jellaba and picked the poison stone up with it.
“Careful!” Miyuki snapped.
He wrapped up the stone. “Angelo, can I keep this?”
“It was mine originally, but you may keep it. We’ll switch it back into a healing stone when we get to Neubawni.”
Professor MacAdam yelled over his shoulder, “Load this one up next.”
Francisco asked, “What’s to be done with them?”
“We’re the clean-up crew,” MacAdam said. “Eden and his lot are to be stripped of any Avar-Tek not implanted and sent to Andril Island, according to treaty. We can’t kill them and we can’t leave them here. They’ll all wake in an hour or so while we’ll be busy trying to revert these rifts.”
Angelo placed his hand on Francisco’s shoulder. “Welcome to the Sittiri. It will be my pleasure to take you to Neubawni.”
Francisco stared at him for a heartbeat and said, “I have to do something first.”
Chapter 57
Francisco
Toledo, Kingdom of Castile
Summer, Year of our Lord 1212
BEFORE THEY LEFT IN THE POD for Toledo, Angelo gave Francisco his old armor and sword. “I took the liberty of hiding these in my pod before I surrendered to the Almohads. We can command our pods remotely, and I brought it here.” While Francisco changed, Miyuki and Angelo altered their appearances into a noble woman and a French knight. To Francisco’s relief, neither of them changed their faces.
The trip to Toledo took less time than walking from the Emir’s stall to La Grande’s shop. Francisco walked the streets to Olivar’s bakery shop, followed by Angelo and Miyuki. It felt like a dream. It took weeks to get down to Africa and less than a minute to return. This cannot be real. Yet the pavement baked his feet, the fountain spray cooled his cheeks, the pungent odor of the tanneries on the west wind made his nose curl. He heard Tío’s faint call of “Agua” over the merchant’s haggling and the clang of the church bells. Toledo seemed so tiny now. It is good to be back home. Yet life had gone on without him. Toledo felt like the war never happened. The familiar felt foreign. He never did have a home here. He had friends, a place to sleep, and a skill to learn. Smithy? What is a smithy to a Sittiri? What is healing those beat up on the streets compared to healing rifts? I will still heal, but I will be able to do so much more. He laughed. And with a healing stone inside me, it will never be taken away and I will never lose it.
They arrived at the bakery. The door was closed. Francisco looked up at the sun. “We’re too late,” he said. He turned to Angelo. “He’s probably next door.”
Angelo nodded.
When Francisco started leading them into the Wayside Tavern, Miyuki pulled up short. “Sensei, should I stay out here?”
“Do you want me to take your tachi?”
She shook her head and followed them in.
Olivar sat near the back. “No,” he answered Francisco’s question. “I haven’t heard from Sancho since the crusade?”
As they left, Francisco asked Angelo, “Are you sure he survived the crusade?”
“I am only sure that he was alive when I left the field at Las Navas de Tolosa.”
Francisco stopped and turned. “Can I try one more place?”
“The swordsmith?”
Francisco shook his head. “Miyuki, would you check for him there? If I see La Grande, she may never let me go. I’m going to check the Jewish quarter.”
Miyuki bowed and headed for the smithy.
No one in the Jewish sector had heard of Sancho or anyone by his birth name, Moshe ben Shushan. Disappointed, Francisco and Angelo made their way back to the pod by way of the old Matón territory. Francisco had no idea where the boundaries were anymore or if the Matóns still existed. When they turned a corner in a narrow alley, Francisco heard the familiar sounds of a fight. Instinctively, he ran down the alley toward the noise. A cluster of six men and boys surrounded a crumpled form huddled on the ground against the wall. Francisco recognized two of the attackers as ones who attacked the girl he and Sancho saved: Laughing and Brute. Ramon was with them.
“Stop!” Francisco yelled.
“You!” Ramon yelled.
Francisco drew his sword.
“El Diablo!” Brute screamed.
They ran, except for Ramon, who after seeing he stood alone and seeing Angelo come around the corner behind Francisco, held up his hands.
“Hey, this man was just—”
Francisco stepped forward.
Ramon ran.
Francisco sheathed his sword. He walked up to the huddled, whimpering form and knelt beside it. It was a bundled miserable clump of rags facing the wall and curled up like a little kid with his hands held over his ears. Francisco couldn’t even tell if it was a man or woman. A shadow came up on the wall. Francisco turned. It was Angelo and he held out a healing stone in his hand. “Go ahead,” he said. “You won’t create a rift.”
Francisco took the stone and put his hand on the person’s shoulder. The miserable wretch rolled over and looked up through swollen eyes. Uncle Bernat. Francisco jumped back. His uncle looked worse than any street orphan he had seen.
“Francisco?” Uncle Bernat said.
“What are you doing here?” Francisco asked.
“I live here, you son of a cowardly dog. This is the fate you left me.”
“On the streets?”
“My life is in ruins because of you, thief.” Bernat tried to spit at him, but his mouth was parched. “Your manor lord in Las Largas took back your hovel; the King took my city houses; Galindo stole my business; and your friends there took my beer.”
Francisco reached into his pouch and pulled out the poison stone, swathed in the jellaba strip. He opened it up and stared at it.
Uncle Bernat grasped at it. “Give it to me.” He pushed himself up to extend his reach. “It’s mine!” Seized by a sudden spike of pain, Bernat pulled back and pressed his hand against his ribs. His eyes were aflame with hatred and want of the stone.
Through gritted teeth Francisco said, “You killed my parents.”
“No.” Bernat laughed. His laugh turned into a cough. “They did my job for me. But your brothers and sister were in the way. Yes, I killed them, and I’ll kill you too if you don’t give it to me.”
“Dear God, so help me,” Francisco said. “You deserve it.”
“Yes,” Uncle Bernat licked his cracked and bloody lips. “Yes, I do. Give it to me. It’s mine.”
Angelo kept silent.
Francisco sighed. “You are already getting what you need.” He batted Uncle Bernat’s hand aside. “God himself is giving you your last warning. Look at yourself. Let go of your lust and live.”
Uncle Bernat squinted at him. “Lust?”
“Blind fool.” Francisco covered the poison stone and thrust it into his pocket. He knelt next to his uncle and pressed Angelo’s healing stone against his uncle’s exposed chest.
Uncle Bernat’s eyes lit up. “You have another one? Give one to me. I’m your uncle.”
“Shut your mouth. I’m healing you.”
“Then say the prayer.”
“This is my prayer,” Francisco said. “God forgive you. I forgive you. Amen.”
Francisco stood up. He wiped tears from his cheeks. He hadn’t realized he was crying.
“That’s it?” Uncle Bernat asked. “You heal me and leave me? Alone? On the streets?”
A sense of a job well done overwhelmed both Francisco’s rage and his pity. “The rest is up to you,” he said and turned. He walked out of the alley with Angelo.
Angelo regarded him and said, “You are one of the best examples of true chivalry.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have seen many ages. This age of yours has its own sense of brutality mixed with honor, of poverty mixed with piety. Even among most of your nobility, arrogance follows bravery, but seeing this, the people of this age strive for a better standard: chivalry. In chivalry, the greatest warrior is known both for his fierceness in battle and his forbearance in victory, for his valor and humility. If you are modest, it demands your courage. If you are a brute, it demands your gentleness. This is the type of man or woman that the Sittiri need now: the chivalrous warrior, one who is brutal in battle and meek in peace. As we draw closer to the end of time, we will need an army of such warriors that are both tender and fierce in time of need. I dread the time when all men and women will become meek in battle and brutal in peace. I have seen you, Francisco, exemplify this high tradition of your age. You were not born with a tendency toward chivalry, but you are such a man now. You are no longer my squire; you are almost a knight.”
Chapter 58
Miyuki
Toledo, Kingdom of Castile
Local Date: 10 September 1212
MIYUKI, WITH HER NATURAL, YOUNG, Asian face and in the dress of a Castilian noble woman, stepped up to the counter in La Grande’s sword smithy. She smelt the acrid sent of hammered steel and heard the bellows in back. To the left, she recognized a lanky young man as Mateo, one of Francisco’s militia friends.
He stopped lining up ingots and yelled over his shoulder. “Customer!”
A plump ruddy face with frazzled, long hair and soot-covered cheeks poked out. “Customer?” La Grande said. “That ain’t no customer. That’s a lady.” She stepped out from behind the partition, rubbing her hands on a rag dirtier than her apron. She squinted at Miyuki as she approached. “A lady from parts unknown. You must be an ultra-Ultramontano.” She laughed a full hardy laugh that made her bosom swell under her apron. “Now, what can I be doing for you? We’ve had a drop in customers of late, so I’ll try my hand at forging just about anything.”
“I am looking for a young man named Sancho.”
La Grande’s face fell.
Mateo stopped lining up ingots and turned to her.
“Oh,” La Grande said. She reached under the counter and pulled out a rolled-up parchment sealed with red wax. “That baker boy left with a man last week who said if anyone strange comes looking for him, to give them this.” She handed it to Miyuki.
Miyuki examined the seal. She gasped. Pressed into the wax was the Key’ari emblem: a human eye encircled by a snake biting its tail. She cracked the seal with Mateo and La Grande watching. Inside the message in Vantu read: “One for one.”
Chapter 59
Ceolwulf
Alexandria, Egypt
Local Date: 6 Rabi ‘ath-Thani 609
“DANGEROUS, THEY CALL ME,” the Physician said, “and off balance, but both Key’ari and Sittiri use me when desperation demands it. And I’m the only one who knows how to guide the cor-abat.”57
Ceolwulf lay on the Physician’s surgical table staring up at the ceiling’s mosaic tiles. He rubbed his chest where the Physician removed the tracking module.
The Physician stuck his face into Ceolwulf’s personal space, almost nose to nose. His almond shaped Asian eyes blinked. He was a short man, almost half of Ceolwulf’s height. He had smooth skin but gray, almost white hair. “Tricky, it is,” he said “but the cor-abat has kept me alive these years with my wits intact. See?” He pulled at his tangled hair. “Wits. I have them and you don’t. Not yet.”
Ceolwulf sat up and stretched his neck. His feet dangled over the edge of the table. He looked around the physician’s lair. It was an eclectic mash of ancient instruments and newer books without any sense of order that he could see. The ceiling was low and models of the digestive tract and a cutaway of an eye and ear hung from the ceiling on strings. The Physician busied himself with cleaning and storing his surgical instruments.
“How long will it take my new froneesis implant to activate?” Ceolwulf asked.
“Activate your new brain? Two weeks, he-he,” the Physician shrugged, “or a year. Depends on how you use it. Some don’t have any brain at all. Use it or lose it.” The Physician stopped cleaning his instruments, turned on his heels and looked Ceolwulf in the eye. “Where did you say you came from?”
“A land called Northumbria.”
“The north-north?” The doctor responded with a forced courtesy smile. “I haven’t operated on a pureblood Anglo Saxon for years.”
Ceolwulf hopped off the table.
“So,” the Physician said, “you will go where from here?”
I will not tell someone like you. “North first, then northwest.” And I’m going south, you son of a musa
fretr.
The doctor folded his arms and said, “You know, Anglo-man, it is best to keep one’s mouth shut. I can read lies the way a sailor reads the trends of weather, and discern the truth from them.” He held up a finger. “To the south, you shall go, but your secret is safe with me.”
Ceolwulf considered killing the Physician to keep his destination secret. As a rogue with Avar-Tek, Ceolwulf knew he was bound by no treaties. Still, the Physician is my only link to good medicine.
The Physician waggled his finger at Ceolwulf. “No swimming for at least a week and avoid spicy food.”
“Will that help me integrate my new brain implant?”
“No, but my mother always told me that.”
Ceolwulf shook his head and walked toward the exit. He put his hand on the door latch and asked, “You have what you need?”
“Yes.” The Physician held up a thumb-sized vial, examining it. A crystal memory device clattered on the sides of the vial. “You have paid in full. Angelo's rotating encryption key is quite valuable.”
Ceolwulf opened the door and walked into the crowded Alexandrian streets.
Glossary
Al-Andalus: Muslim Spain or Islamic Iberia, which was ruled by a succession of caliphates and kingdoms from the time of the Muslim invasion in 711 to the surrender of the Emirate of Granada in 1492. At its fullest extent, Muslim forces occupied most of Iberia and pushed north across the Pyrenees Mountains. The remaining Christian forces pushed back, and a centuries-long aggression continued with national boundaries and allegiances in constant flux. In 1212 AD, this region was part of the Almohad Empire.
Al-Maghrib: a region of North Africa west of Egypt also known as Barbary Coast because of the Berber people who lived there. It occupies the coastal plains of modern Mauritania, Western Sahara, Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia, and Libya. In 1212 AD, this region was part of the Almohad Empire.
alcalde: (Spanish) a city official in Spanish medieval kingdoms; a municipal magistrate who acted as both a judge and mayor, elected annually by municipal council.
The Apprentice Stone (Shadows of Time Book 1) Page 33