The fragrance of the frying fish nearly brought tears to his eyes. He nudged the cooking filet on the flat rock to break the sear. The first one he’d eaten nearly raw. He could wait for this one.
But barely.
He ate all but two of the fish, but he cooked them all. As he watched the sun drop in the sky, he knew his fire at night would be all the more noticeable to anyone who might be living on the island, and while he knew they might not be unfriendly he was determined to connect on his own terms.
That meant a thorough search of the island to see if he was alone and, if so, a system of bonfires that might be seen by any passing ships. He had no idea if he was anywhere near a shipping lane, but for now it was as far as he could plan.
Tonight, he was full and he was alive. He put the fire out and watched the smoke dissipate against the darkening sky until there was no hint of it except for the scent of the fried fish in the air. He curled up against a wall of the cave. It led nowhere, looking like it had been carved more by sea and wind than by human hands. He slept.
The days after that passed quickly as if they were all one until he regretted not devising a system to keep track of them. He would awake, go to the lagoon and fish, sometimes swim and sun himself dry and then come back to his cave to build a fire and eat. He used his shirt to catch rainfall for his drinking water. He had nothing that could serve as a pot of any kind and all his explorations of the island had turned up nothing in the way of fruit or edible vegetation. He knew the lighter fluid wouldn’t last forever and, after what he determined was his second week on the island, he began to make fire without it.
The cut over his eye was healing lumpy and badly but it wasn’t infected. The same for the cut on his neck. His thoughts of Ella and Tater alternated between bolstering him and defeating him. As much as he tried to be optimistic that he would see them again, hold them again, another day would dawn in the mouth of his cave and another static blue ocean without boat or ship to interrupt its unending vista would greet him when he awoke.
***
The ship sat in the cove like something out of a Disney movie. Everything about it said fake. It was so authentic looking it wasn’t believable. From the tall black masts to the slack and tied sails, the holes in them easily visible from where Rowan watched, to the makeshift flag that fluttered from the tallest mast—black with a crudely drawn depiction of a skull and crossbones glaring bright white against the dark field.
It looked like something out of a reenactment exercise. When was the last time a ship like that had carried men or cargo on the sea? During the Civil War? What was it doing here? Were they making a movie?
Something about the ship and the men who clamored over its deck made Rowan stay hidden.
How can an old fashioned ship be dangerous? Who are those guys?
Rowan crept away from his vantage point until he was sure he wouldn’t be seen when he stood. He could hear the crew laughing, their words unintelligible but carried back to him on the wind.
How is it that I’ve longed for a ship to come for all these weeks and as soon as one does, I’m hiding under a bush?
For whatever reason, he didn’t feel good about grabbing their attention.
What if they’re the real thing? We’ve still got pirates in 2013, so why not back in 1925, he reasoned. It’s just…their ship is so…dated. What would a 1925 pirate be doing with a pirate ship that only ran by wind? They’d be blown out of the water by the first British frigate that came their way.
Unless they aren’t 1925 pirates.
Rowan shivered at the thought and instantly shook it from his mind.
You’ve been alone too long. You just jumped to crazy town.
Except he knew, crazy or not, it was possible.
What other indication did he have of the time? Could he have gone back in time and not know it? The first time he’d time traveled in Heidelberg he had no idea he was doing it.
Is that what happened to me when I fell over the side of the ship?
With no answers and now no food or fire, Rowan spent the rest of the day in his cave waiting for the ship to leave. Every morning for a week afterward, he crept to his vantage point to see that the ship was still anchored in the lagoon. And every morning as he returned to his cave, he became more and more convinced the people on that ship would not be friendly to him.
During the night following the third day of the ship’s arrival, when he couldn’t sleep, Rowan crept back to his vantage point and lay on his stomach watching the beach where a handful of men sat around a large bonfire. He could tell even from this distance that they were drinking. They were extremely loud, and when a fight broke out between two of them Rowan found he didn’t even flinch when he saw one of them pull an ancient pistol out of his belt and murder the other to howls of laughter from the rest of the men.
No. This was not the rescue he’d prayed for. His empty stomach ached as he made his way back to his cave.
The next morning, the ship was gone.
Rowan hurried back to his cave and snatched up his two fishing spears. He tried to remind himself to be quiet, that the ship might have left some of the crew behind, but his hunger was in charge now. He ran to the spot where the bonfire had been the night before, its charred remains cold now. As he passed it, he saw the stain of blood where the man had been slain. The crimson color had faded and spread in a wide swathe to show where the body had been dragged.
To the sea.
He went to his favorite rock that perched over the shallows and tried to keep his hands steady as he poised his spear.
Whoever they were—monsters, pirates from the past, or even just something I dreamed up in my own fevered mind—they’re gone now.
Rowan thought as he flung is spear into the water. It was amazing how food and your next meal soon took precedence over all the other things you thought were important in your life. For a moment, he considered cooking the fish right here, right now. He looked over his shoulder into the jungle. But no. They came once, they might again. He caught an even dozen, wrapping them carefully in the trousers he no longer wore, and carried them back to the cave.
The temptation to eat his catch cooked overrode his worry that they may have left men behind. That didn’t make sense. Why would they leave anyone here? On a deserted island? He made the fire—his first in three days—and cooked his entire catch of the day. That night he slept contented, full and warmed, and tried to think of nothing else—not even Ella and the baby—as he drifted off to sleep.
When they returned a week later, Rowan was fashioning a hammock on the opposite side of the island. Guessing it to be about four miles in width with no natural harbor on this side, he had built two towers of sticks and driftwood that would serve as bonfire signals when and if a ship passed. It meant moving to that side of the island and abandoning his cave, but after a month of no ship sightings he felt a change of plan was worth the loss.
It would be a longer walk to the lagoon to fish, but one thing he had plenty of was time. What was important was that he be close to one of the signal pyres in order to light it in plenty of time when he saw a passing ship. For this reason, if for no other, he saved the use of his lighter and continued making all his dinner fires the way he’d learned as an Eagle Scout—with friction.
It had been a good day. It had rained enough to fill the white shirt he used to catch water by his cave. He’d decided that it was the last thing he’d move and today was as good a day as any.
As he came up over the rise he saw the ship and instantly dropped to his stomach. He couldn’t be sure they hadn’t seen him but the few men who were on the beach didn’t seem to react as if they had.
His heart raced as he lay there, frozen, watching them. Shit!
Although he had no reason to believe they wouldn’t return, he’d hoped for longer. He watched two men in a dinghy at the bow of the ship. One of them jumped out and disappeared in the water. He came up with his hand stretched out. At first Rowan thought they might
be crabbing or trying to find bottom-feeders. Then he saw the other man hand the swimmer a tool of some kind before he disappeared again into the water.
They were repairing their ship.
Who except pirates would need to do that on an unchartered island?
As Rowan watched, he tried to see if there was anything about them that might reveal if they were from a different time than his own. Their clothing looked old-fashioned, but that could just be the typical attire for poor sailors in any timeline. He watched the men work on the ship until his eye was drawn to a figure on deck.
He was tall, dark, with a flowing robe and a low-slung belt. He wore a red scarf around his long hair. He stood on the deck with his hands on his hips, and even from this distance he exuded an air of absolute authority,
Everything but the eye patch, Rowan thought grimly.
Suddenly, two figures emerged from the jungle at a run. Rowan could see they were excited and the other men on the beach quickly gathered around them. He was surprised to see that they had gone into the island, and as he strained to make sense of their loud, eager voices, he saw one of them turn and point in the direction of his cave.
An icy needle of fear started in his spine and shot up to his brain.
Shit!
The white shirt hanging in front of the cave.
5
Cairo 1925
The ride home from the bazaar had been a quiet one. Halima thought taking a horse-drawn cart would distract Tater—and Ella too—but it only seemed to make things worse.
Ella’s eyes scanned the streets and shops as they passed through the old marketplace of 1925 Cairo.
“But it’s such good news, darling,” Halima said, rubbing a hand on Ella’s shoulder. “Effendi lives.”
“I know, I know,” Ella said. “But you’d be surprised how quickly the joy of learning that was replaced with the agony of knowing when he lives.
“It was a shock.”
“You could say that. He might as well be dead.”
“Shhh Ella. Stop that.”
“Stop that, Mommy!” Tater squirmed down from the seat between the two to get a better look out the window. Ella caught him and held him by the window.
“Thanks. I needed that,” she said. But her voice was devoid of humor.
Halima refused to give in to the anxiety that had threatened to engulf her ever since the word had come about Effendi.
“It’s just so hard to believe, looking out onto the world, seeing the blue sky, the birds, hearing the noises of our daily round…” Ella paused. “It’s just unimaginable to think that he’s not in this world.”
“But not dead,” Halima said firmly.
Ella turned to her. “I see what you’re doing, Halima,” she said.
“That is good, dearest. It makes doing it a little less difficult if you work with me.”
Ella looked back out the window and her eyes filled with tears. “Nowhere in this world,” she said softly. “Nowhere alive in this world.”
Halima took a breath and forced herself not to speak. She would allow Ella her indulgence for at least the time it took to ride back from the Old Cairo Market to their townhouse. She would grant her dearest friend at least that much time to grieve before being forced to act.
“You think I’m being melodramatic.”
“Of course I do not.”
“Something bad must have happened to him to have him…move out of our timeline.”
“He fell over the side of a ship.”
“Yeah. That would do it, I guess.” She paused. “Fell or was pushed.”
“In any case.”
“Olna said she saw signs that would place him in the eighteen hundreds. And since she already said Rowan and I tend to land in exact one-hundred year increments, that means July 10, 1825.”
Halima nodded solemnly, but inside she smiled. Her dear one didn’t even need to take the full time of the carriage ride to shake out of her dejection. Already she was putting the pieces together and thinking about what she must do.
“Where did they say they thought he went over?”
“Somewhere off the coast of Libya.”
“And that’s a huge area, isn’t it?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Ella pulled Tater up onto her lap and frowned. “What if he’s on an unchartered island? Olna said she saw a beach in her dream.”
“Did she see people?”
“She wasn’t clear about that.”
“A beach sounds like an island.”
“It does, doesn’t it?”
Tater was growing restless and Halima wanted Ella to focus on her burgeoning plan—and the future. She reached out to the child and he eagerly scrambled into her lap.
“I have to find out exactly when the lifeboat—and Rowan—was noticed as being missing,” Ella said. “That’ll at least give me a searchable area to work with. Were there any storms during the time he jumped ship?”
There was that nascent dry humor Halima had missed so much this last week. “Not that I know of,” she said.
“Olna said he’s in distress,” Ella said, looking back out the window as the carriage stopped to allow a motorized taxi to push ahead.
“That would not be surprising,” Halima said softly.
“No. I know. It’s just that…thinking of Rowan…you know…in distress…”
“It’s alright, dearest,” Halima said. “It’s going to be alright. Rowan is going to be alright.”
Ella turned to look at her for the first time since they’d climbed into the carriage. “Thank God for you, Halima. I don’t know how I’d get through any of this without you.”
Halima squeezed her hand and smiled. As the carriage pulled up to the townhouse, Halima noticed a look of resolution come into Ella’s face.
“He’s alive. I know when he is and I know roughly where he is.” She turned to look at Halima and her expression was replaced by a mien of growing panic.
Halima gathered Tater into her arms and wrenched open the carriage door. “I’ll make us a nice cup of tea, shall I?”
The tea helped. Tater agreeing to go down for his nap and then actually falling asleep helped even more.
Ella stood by the tallest window in the library’s townhouse and looked out onto the residential street. They missed the worst of the day’s heat. On a day like this, Ella often thought of the daily summer rains back home in Atlanta. She heard Halima reenter the room and turned toward her. “I can’t waste any more time.”
“You’re not. You’re thinking.”
“Processing, we used to call it back in 2013. Is there any more tea?” Ella walked to the coffee table but Halima was already pouring her a cup.
“In order to avoid mistakes,” Halima said, handing her the teacup, “it will be important for you to process all the facts before you act.”
“Olna said she can come up with forged documents for me,” Ella said, sinking into the couch cushions with her tea. A little spilled on her fingers but it was no longer hot. “She can give me forged entrées into 1825 society to help explain the fact I’m an unattached woman traveling alone.”
“That is good.”
“I’m guessing I have less than a month before the Americans come and escort me and Tater to the Cairo airport.”
“I believe they intend to return you home by ship.”
“My point is, it’s not just Rowan who’s pressed for time. If I’m going, I need to go now. God, Halima. Am I crazy?”
“No. But I fear we do need to talk about the main impediment to all of this. Before we can arrange your costumes for 1825 or sort out which jewels you’ll pawn for money...”
“Tater.” Ella set her cup on the coffee table. “You’re right. How the hell can I leave him? What’s the point of talking about this? I can’t leave him.”
Halima pushed a plate of date-nut cookies toward Ella and said nothing.
“But if I don’t go and at least try to get him back, then Tater goes forward in life
without a daddy. And if I leave and something happens, he’s an orphan.”
“It is a very big decision.”
“I can’t go. I can’t not go. How can I leave him?” Ella stood and began pacing. “Like my mother left me?”
“It’s not at all the same.”
“Maybe Rowan is trying to get back here, you know? What if I leave—risk everything—and then he shows up here at the townhouse next week?”
“Makes one wonder why he hasn’t done it already.”
Ella chewed a fingernail and turned back toward the window. “The only thing that has made me feel less like killing myself is making plans to go find him,” she said. “But when I think about all that that entails—abandoning my child—I feel worse than before. But what else can I do?”
Halima moved to Ella’s side and put her arms around her. Ella clung to the older woman. Her familiar scent, the solid, unyielding set of her shoulders seemed to give Ella strength. “What can I do, Halima?” she murmured as the tears trickled down her face.
Halima pulled a folded square of laundered linen from her pocket and dabbed at Ella’s face before pressing it into her hand. “You’ll do what you have to, dear one,” she said.
A moment passed and Ella said quietly, “I left word for Marvel about what’s happening. She’ll be cool with you staying here while I’m gone. When the Embassy comes for me, tell them that Tater and I are already gone and then make sure you don’t take Tater to the park after that, or any place else public.”
“I will, Ella.”
“If…if I don’t return…”
“You will.”
“But if I don’t…”
“I will surrender the child to Mrs. Spenser to be raised by her and Effendi Spenser.”
“No, Halima. I know Marvel and Josh will help you all they can but I want you raising Tater—even if you have to take him back to your village to do it. I’ll tell Marvel in a letter what I want. My will is going to leave everything to Tater, with you as his legal guardian.”
Race to World's End (Rowan and Ella Book 3) Page 5