Paralysis Paradox (Time Travel Through Past Lives Adventure Series Book 1)

by Sanders, Stewart

  ‘Because your father can be impetuous and stupid, driven by his pride, his lust, and his jealousy.’ My mother’s glistening eyes reflecting the burning candles all around us.

  Her response didn’t answer my question, but I now realised that she probably knew of some threat to Henry and me, and that is why she had become so protective. Both Henry and I had been such idiots. ‘We saw the knights arrive, someone else must have poisoned the guards mother.’

  ‘Indeed.’ She said simply. The old man stepped forward. ‘Richard, meet Adwoliu. He is a Saracen himself, yet also an Angevin king’s messenger,’ she said. ‘You’re not safe here, my son. My first duty is to protect you from whoever has taken Henry and left you for dead, so I’m sending you—’

  ‘Please, mother, no! Let me stay—’ I interrupted, until she placed her finger very gently over my lips.

  ‘Hush, you are both my son and my prince, so you will do as your mother wants and your queen commands. I am sending you to the one person I know will never hurt you.’

  ‘But what about Henry?’

  ‘With you safe, I will be free to exercise all my powers to find him. Do not worry; he is so valuable that I doubt harm will come to him. You must look after yourself now. Please understand that I need you to stay hidden. No one except this messenger and then the man I send you to will know your true identity, and it must stay like this until Henry is either safe or found dead!’

  ‘What?’ I rasped.

  ‘It is true. If things go awry and your brother is lost, then we may have to declare your whereabouts, as you will then be heir.’

  ‘But I could help find him!’

  ‘No, you need to go now,’ she said, before turning to the old man. ‘You have a suitable horse?’

  ‘I have chosen one the boy can handle. There will be some risk to this, my lady. I am not used to riding in company, and the child will slow me. And I have neither armour nor sword to defend him.’

  ‘Stealth is of the utmost importance, so your guile and experience in these matters count for much more. My son will be sensible and follow your instructions in all matters. Won’t you, Richard?’

  Adwoliu looked at me warily. Knowing my mother’s mind was made up, I got to my feet and was surprised to find him tall, as his demeanour had led me to believe he was shorter. His disparaging words did nothing but fill me with dread. Why would my mother entrust me to this man? I wondered if I should try to escape. As he turned to go, my mother caught hold of his sleeve and drew him back. I could sense the rest of the room hush and grow noisy again, as those who surrounded us tried to listen in, yet realised that no one wanted to appear to be listening.

  ‘Come on, Adwoliu, I know you have crossed far greater distances and in far more hostile lands!’ she whispered. The ends of her fingers brushed just for a moment against his. No one seemed to notice. Maybe it was just a trick of the low light.

  ‘Yes, but alone.’

  ‘No, not always alone!’ she said, her eyes cast down. I noticed how she always looked down when she said something to someone that she did not want to say. His eyes were scanning the room until she cupped her hands around his ear and whispered to him for quite some time. He stumbled back, his eyes now wet and distraught from whatever secret she had bestowed, but he bowed his leave again, stepped away, and waited. She looked up, held my cheeks and kissed me on my forehead.

  ‘Trust this man as you trust me, and you will stay safe,’ she said.

  I followed Adwoliu reluctantly through the parting soldiers and out into the bracing night air of the Anjou. A group of Duchy Flies was huddled to the side, cooking. I followed the old man past them and could smell the horses over the fragrance of their meal before I could see them.

  A tall, dark stallion waited, unsaddled, his hooves scratching impatiently at the earth as we approached. I could see his hide shining with sweat, as if in anticipation of the ride ahead. I felt instantly drawn to his power and dominance, but as soon as I got too close, his massive neck swung towards me and knocked me to the ground. The jar to my back from hitting the ground smarted, and I looked up, fearful that a hoof would follow. But instead of the agitated horse I expected to see, he seemed frozen. Adwoliu was next to him, his back to me and just as still. I scrambled to my feet, yet neither of them moved. Whatever he was doing, it was calming the horse. The old man spoke without turning to face me.

  ‘My horse has no master other than me. You may be a prince or a peasant, it is all the same to him, and he would tolerate neither. Do not approach him again.’

  ‘I have ridden every horse in my mother’s stable,’ I muttered. ‘Do not think to treat me like some provincial child accustomed only to a pony.’

  He turned round to face me square on and came so close that I could smell his breath: old, yet strangely familiar.

  ‘You foolish child. I am undertaking this journey only out of loyalty to my queen. I know you lie about your horsemanship as I know that your mother protects you like a pathetic little baby.’

  ‘I think you forget your place!’

  ‘Truth hurts doesn’t it?’ he said, his face still unbearably close. ‘Do as she commanded, and you will be safe. You are your mother’s third son, I suppose?’

  I turned and took a few steps back to the vintner house, but stopped as I noticed the Duchy Flies, feasting by their fire. A white horse, barely taller than a pony or myself, edged closer to my side as I realised in horror what the Duchy Flies were cooking. The fox cubs I had held with Yvette earlier, were now roasting on a spit. She and those cubs deserved better. I looked around and into the dark void of the open barn where they had lived their short lives.

  ‘Run and I will wager that you will be dead or ransomed before Shrovetide!’ goaded Adwoliu.

  Tears pricked my eyes as I realised nowhere was safe. Still, all I wanted to do was run. The old man patted the horse’s nose and whispered something. I had rarely seen a servant treated such in this life, let alone a horse. He turned and pointed at the pitiful white cheval that had edged yet again to be at my side.

  ‘Do the same to your little mare and we can be off!’ he said.

  I patted her on the soft down of her nose, mimicking Adwoliu, then turned to the old man.

  He smiled. ‘Stroke it; she’s so soft, is she not?’

  ‘Yes...but I was taught to be loud, to command a horse with fear...or they will be lazy?’

  ‘Intimidation is easy and works with any beast, so you can get them to do your bidding. But if you require more than that, if you need them to push themselves beyond their exhaustion, then you need devotion. Devotion is won with love and respect. Her name is Patience, by the way. I can see I’m going to have to learn much of that!’

  Patience was an Angevin cheval, taller than a pony, but not as magnificent as this messenger’s steed. I climbed up with ease. Adwoliu was already seated, patting the stallion’s neck.

  ‘Come now, you do the same, and then she will know you are ready.’

  ‘She likes me, I can feel it,’ I said hopefully.

  He smiled, with more amusement this time than disdain. ‘She is wise enough to sense your needs; learn from her. Enough now. We need to be off.’

  Side by side we rode along the road, an uncomfortable truce binding us together.

  ‘We will always ride tandem or with me in front. When I am in front, I will do this,’ he said, patting the right side of his horse’s rump, ‘if I want you to ride on my right side and I will pat the other side if I need you to ride the other side. Do you understand?’

  I nodded.

  ‘You’d better not be nodding; it is too dark for the eyes in the back of my head to see.’

  ‘Yes,’ I replied.

  ‘If I pat twice it means I need you to come beside me and to up the pace to a trot. You know how to make your horse trot?’

  ‘Of course!’ I sighed as he patted twice and I sped into a trot beside him. After about five minutes we turned off the road and began climbing a grassy verge up in
to a clearing.

  ‘I need you to wait here,’ Adwoliu said, dismounting.

  ‘On my own?’ I asked, scared again.

  ‘I have one more thing I must do, and you are not alone as long as you stay with these horses.’

  ‘But my mother commanded you to take care of me!’

  ‘She said to get you to your destination, not to coddle you, boy! You agreed to follow my instructions, did you not?’

  All I could do was nod as he vanished into the woods.

  I must have waited all of two minutes, but I could not bear it out there alone. The two horses stood silently beside each other, the mare clearly feeling protected by Adwoliu’s horse, so I crept off back to the road and started running back to the house. I ran as fast as I could, feeling that I could outrun anything frightening out here, be it man or monster.

  As I approached I could smell burning. As soon as the flame-engulfed vintner house came into view, I fell to my knees. Duchy Flies were running around it, shouting, and I heard soul-aching cries that pierced through the dark like burning arrows. I needed to get up—I needed to help. These soldiers, though, were carrying torches, rather than helping. Had it been they who had torched the place? Was my mother still inside? My whole body trembling, I watched mutely as the four of them gathered in a huddle. Within moments there were new gurgling yelps and screams as three of the soldiers fell back and appeared to spasm on the ground. These soldiers had been burning the vintner house, knowingly roasting its occupants. Seeing them fall back and die themselves, neither saddened nor gladdened me. It did however sicken me to witness so much pain.

  The remaining soldier turned and faced me, as I must have inadvertently let out a cry of my own.

  I commanded my legs to move, but it felt like they were feeble sticks, quite unable to respond. I could not believe that this was occurring again: some sick replay of what happened at Swanshurst Farm. There, a soldier with a rifle in front of a burning house, and me unarmed. Now, so similar. I had beaten the odds before. As Charlie I had managed to launch myself at that rifleman and he ended up having his brains blown out by Walter! If only I could bring him into this life.

  Somehow I found myself springing to my feet as I focused on this assailant. He was the same sergeant that my mother had commanded to stop anyone from leaving. Then as I could hear my heart beating, I felt the soft nose of my mare nuzzle into my left hand and the presence of Adwoliu’s stallion close by on my right. I felt taller surrounded by these horses. I was expecting to have to charge him at any moment, but the sergeant fell on bended knee and bowed.

  ‘My apologies, Your Highness, I did not recognise you.’

  ‘Clearly not; drop your weapon, soldier!’ I responded, as my whole body tensed, preparing to weave and dodge his parries...but they did not come. I paused, surprised both at his posture and that I could sound commanding, while inwardly terrified. ‘You bow to your prince, but what have you done to your queen?’

  ‘Nothing, the queen is well,’ he said, looking up. ‘I assure you—’

  But his words were cut short as a shadow flashed behind him and blood spurted out from the front of his neck. The sergeant’s lifeless body slumped forwards to reveal Adwoliu behind, withdrawing a stiletto blade. For a moment our eyes met, and I wondered if he would attack me next, but instead he sheathed his blade and strode towards his horse, patting my shoulder as he did so.

  ‘Brave lion,’ he said as he climbed astride his horse. ‘When I was a boy, my people were attacked, and I ran like buggery!’

  I stared at Hodierna’s little vintner house all ablaze, too late now for any screams to emerge, and then down at the dead sergeant, blood pooled around his corpse. ‘He was telling the truth, wasn’t he? My mother is alive and safe?’

  ‘Of course he was: he burnt that place by her order.’

  ‘And you killed him by her order too, is that so?’ Shaking, I climbed onto the waiting mare.

  ‘Yes, to protect you,’ he responded, patting his stallion’s rump twice. ‘You get that?’

  ‘I get that.’

  I started off straight into a trot, back along the road, beside him into the night. All those people cooked—to protect me. It still sickened me, but I understood why. This way no one knew if I was alive or dead, and I felt all the safer for it. I was glad, though, to see that sergeant die; somehow it seemed just.

  Justice for those fox cubs.

  Shattered Bones

  I was observing the scene through a lens again. My other lives had a waking up process—those moments when you get to remember who you really are and what life you are in. But this was different. It felt more like a yank than an awakening. As I had neither eyes nor eyelids, it was not even possible to close my eyes and give myself a moment.

  I did as I had learnt to do before and distanced myself from the carnage that I knew was below by blanking my mind. When I was close to it, I felt like I was part of it. I was expecting to hear that echoing voice any moment, commanding a ‘Reset’, so I could move into my next life, but it did not come. I remembered the mosque and carefully thought my intent: From afar, show me the mosque. I moved position only slightly. Now zoom in. It worked as my own visual field zoomed in. There was no doubting it any longer—I was a computer here, nothing more than a drone.

  I was looking at a mosque without a dome, simply ruins, which was to be expected, as I had watched its dome explode just the day before. But I had hoped this life might not be real at all and might simply be a repeating scene. An actual nightmare, fuelled by all the death I’d witnessed in the last few days. It was clear now though, that this was an actual life.

  I wondered why the dome had exploded and I started moving further away from the mosque below. The scene and the ground were shrinking at an increasing rate, as I started to spin around. A setting sun outlined the horizon, casting violet and amber shadows across distant cirrus clouds. All the time I could hear the infernal buzzing of motors around me as I proceeded ever upwards. The sky turned darker blue, and I spied some stars twinkling above the glowing horizon before I turned my view down.

  Now I was falling at an accelerating rate. This was the first time I had been scared for myself in this life, and somehow the realisation intensified my fear. Slow down, slow down, I thought as intensely as I could, and sure enough, my fall began to slow as I approached and hovered over a beach. I could see an old shipwreck at the one end, and below me were hundreds of bones mixed with some washed-up seaweed. Waves crashed over them as I heard a high-pitched whine resonate and build within me. It was followed by an invisible explosion below.

  A circular dust cloud expanded along the beach and over the sea. It dissipated much sooner over water, but I did notice that again the water seemed to steam and boil, just as it had when I watched the sideways tornado destroy all life in its path. The cloud cleared, and below me now was just white dust, and at the sea’s edge, a yellow-brown foam. All the bones were gone, pulverised by some pulse-weapon within me. I had asked why the mosque dome exploded, and I had been shown old bones on a beach. I could only ascertain that the dome itself had bones inside.

  More waves crashed in, washing away the dirty foam and much of the white dust, which blew along the beach in fine, white wisps. I felt the need to run again and started moving along the beach, faster and faster, skimming over the waves and darting over the sand. I smelt nothing. I went low enough to get splashed but never felt a thing. Yet I saw and heard and thought as well as in any life, despite these handicaps. I wanted to scream but couldn’t, so instead I accelerated, noting as I did that the beach was covered with many more bone piles and intermittent shipwrecks, evidence of life entwined with evidence of humanity. I left a trail of dust and sand behind me as I accelerated faster and faster, until the realisation hit me as hard as a sonic boom, which I passed through but was itself a non-event.

  I appreciated life, perhaps more than many I had encountered; yet my lives had me on an inescapable pathway to this horrific time where I had become
a weapon, destroying only life. An ironic destiny, one that Adwoliu would smirk at, no doubt. I wanted to think of something else. In my Vicky life, I would take myself to my happy garden whenever I felt really lonely. And this coastline was as lonely as any hell. I rose higher and within moments was back on the edge of space and then dropped again.

  I was surprised to see a dark world scattered with pale blue and yellow lights that started to grow around me, before I flew across a glistening lake and arrived in the garden of a stately home. I hovered at the exact point I would imagine standing in my happy garden, above some stone steps, looking down into flower beds, surrounded by statues. Beyond that, the lake I had just skimmed over. My happy garden was an imagined, tranquil place, but here it was before me. It was as real as anything in any life.

  Suddenly a loud siren started wailing, and bright white spotlights flickered on and illuminated the garden. The winged angel on a high column, the leaning man holding a sword and a shield. I looked down and noted there were seven steps. As a little girl I would imagine coming here to talk to my mother. She had died when I was six, but whenever I felt anxious I could come to my happy garden, run down these steps, and talk to her. If she were here now, I would run down them, but of course she was not.

  Against the stone walls was a single circular shadow that moved as if a lone planet against the backdrop of its brilliant sun. The circle I knew was me. No arms, no legs, not even wings. I heard buzzing behind, but I had become entranced by my ominous silhouette. Two more circles appeared on either side of me, and I heard them, joint voices but slightly crackled as if coming through on the radio.

  ‘Return, return, return...’ they repeated endlessly.

  ‘Where is this?’ I asked, still staring at the wall. Not wanting to look at them, for I felt sure that to see them would be to see myself. Then I heard another cackle and the voice that reminded me of Dr Koestler: