Kiss Across Kingdoms

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  The cot that Rafe led him to was a round one, half buried in the earth, with growing grass for a roof and a hole in the center for smoke to escape. There were no horses or farm animals nearby and no storage for grain. It was the sort of hut that the poorest of the poor considered a luxury.

  There was no door. A strip of heavy leather hung over the doorway. Rafe pushed it aside and they stepped down into the interior of the cot.

  The aromas of animals and human sweat were masked by the smoke. The fire burning in the middle of the room was the only light. It sat on the earth floor, with nothing surrounding it. There was a flat stone pushed up among the embers and a small cooking pot sitting on the stone. This family was so poor they did not have a tripod or stand to hang the pot over the fire with.

  As they entered, two children standing at the back of the cot turned to look at them, their eyes wide with fear. The older was a child of perhaps ten years of age. Alex could not guess the child’s gender. The younger was perhaps five years old, and dressed in the same sort of rough, stained tunic as the elder. They were both thin and dirty.

  “Efa,” Rafe said. “How is he?”

  The older child’s eyes seemed to grow even large. “He keeps talking. I don’t understand what he’s saying.”

  The girl Efa was standing next to a sleeping shelf made of piled stones and dirt, lifting it a foot above the ground. There was someone lying on it, moving restlessly.

  Alex stepped around the fire and over to the shelf. He looked at the two children staring up at him. Neither of them had moved out of the way. They were protecting the person lying on the shelf. “I am a physician,” he told them. “Let me see. I can help.”

  “It’s all right, Efa,” Rafe said quietly. “Alexander can help. Let him see Bran.”

  The younger child put their hand in Efa’s. Their eyes were the complete black of the pure Celt and they stared unblinkingly at Alex. Finally, Efa moved aside, pulling her sibling with her. Alex lowered himself to the ground, and looked at the patient.

  It was another child. The lad was perhaps twelve or thirteen years old, spindly and long in the leg. He was writhing on the thin cloth he laid upon, his eyes closed. Sweat dotted his face and had soaked through his rough tunic.

  He was cradling his left arm to his chest and where the hand should have been was a roughly bandaged stump. The rags of the bandage were dark with blood.

  Alex steeled himself against the pity and horror rising in him. That would not help Bran right now.

  Rafe came up beside him. “Bran and his brother and sister lost their parents over a year ago. Bran has been taking care of them since then. Five days ago, he heard there had been battle close by the dyke and he went to the battlefield to scavenge what he could find, to sell it for food. He was caught.”

  “And they cut off his hand for it,” Alex muttered. He looked up at Rafe. “I will need water, boiled for as long as you can. Twenty minutes at least. I will do my best, From the smell and his temperature, I suspect an infection has set in.”

  “Your best is far superior to every other man I know,” Rafe said, his voice low. He whirled and went to get the water.

  It was the start of a long night. Alex had brought cleansing salves and the herbs that would help with infection. When he questioned Efa, he established that Bran’s fever had held for two days. “By morning, the fever should break,” Alex said quietly to Rafe as they worked together to clean the great wound and stretch and stitch flesh over the stump.

  “And if it doesn’t?” Rafe murmured back.

  Alex just looked at him.

  Rafe sighed.

  A short while later, he took the rough bow and three arrows sitting at the door and went hunting for meat. Efa had confessed that Bran’s last catch had been eaten early yesterday morning. Bran had managed to snare a rabbit, even in his weakened and injured state. Alex suspected that was why the infection had set in.

  While he waited for the fever to subside, Alex helped Efa and Cefin clean out the cot, then made them curl up together on the other bed shelf. He dropped his cloak over the top of them and when he next turned to check on them, they were both sleeping soundly.

  He went outside and explored. There was a blunt ax and some logs that had been poorly stored. He dug out the driest of them from the pile, sharpened the ax on a stone and split more wood and took it inside. Then he built up the fire so that good hot coals would be ready for whatever catch Rafe came back with.

  Rafe returned not long before dawn. He carried a deer over his shoulders. “The marching army has driven everything away. I had to go a long way.” He dropped the carcass to the ground and used his belt to string it up from a tree. “Bran?” he asked as he stripped off his tunic and rolled up the sleeves of his undershirt. He started to skin the carcass.

  “I’ll know very soon,” Alex said and went inside.

  Bran’s fever had broken. He was cool to touch and was sleeping quietly. Alex inspected the new bandages once more. They were still clean and dry. So he woke Efa and explained to her how she should care for the wound until they could return. “It may be many days,” he added as she examined the pot of salve he was leaving behind. “I will come back to check on Bran and make sure the healing is progressing.”

  “Will he be able to work?” she asked. Her face was grave.

  Alex sighed. A ten year old in modern times would be more concerned about the latest designer jeans and Justin Beiber’s haircut. This child was completely focused on the survival equation. Would they be able to live if the eldest of them only had one hand?

  “There are ways to get along with only one hand,” he told her. “He will work slower than he used to, but with your help and with Cefin’s help, he will be able to work.”

  When Rafe brought in the meat, Efa turned to cooking it with a competent air.

  “Salt as much of it as you can for later, too,” Rafe told her.

  “There isn’t a lot of salt left,” she said.

  “We’ll bring back more,” Rafe told her.

  Alex left his cloak with them and he and Rafe walked back to the army camp, moving swiftly through the early dawn air.

  “I know them,” Rafe said, breaking the silence.

  “Clearly.”

  “I mean, I knew them before.” He frowned. “Time jumping screws up language completely. I mean, I remember them from when I lived through this time. I met them shortly before the Viking raid and we all escaped into England together.”

  “I see.” That explained the distress Rafe had been hiding when he had brought him here.

  “They were my first family,” Rafe added quietly.

  Alex stopped and looked at him.

  Rafe shrugged, trying to make light of it.

  “That is how you learned to like having a human family around you,” Alex said slowly. “You didn’t think it up for yourself. It happened accidentally.”

  Rafe nodded. His gaze was steady. “Only, Bran never lost a hand, Alex.”

  Alex started. “It’s happening differently this time…” he said slowly.

  “You thought you hadn’t changed anything,” Rafe said. “So did I. Yet things are happening that I don’t remember.”

  “We’re still marching to wage war on Chirbury,” Alex said. “If things are changing, it is only the smallest of changes and those changes are probably only because I am here and Sydney is here.”

  Rafe sighed. “Do you want to explain to me why you think changing anything at all is a good idea?”

  “Then you’re not angry, anymore?”

  “I wasn’t angry to start with!” Rafe cried. “I was scared! I still am! You’re fucking with something you have no idea how to control. At least give me some reason, some excuse for interfering in this way.”

  “Because I think I’m supposed to,” Alex told him.

  Rafe stared at him, his eyes wide. “What?”

  “I came through time with Marit’s help,” Alex said. “She pushed me across the timescape. I sa
w something while I was there. I saw…” He drew in a breath. “There were two time streams, Rafe. A big main artery and a little stream that branched off right here at this point in time. I don’t know how a stream just breaks off like that. When it does it creates…I think it creates an alternate history. I don’t understand the physics properly. Veris could probably give you chapter and verse on time and alternate universes and all the equations to go with it. I only know what I saw.”

  “This…right now…we’re in an alternate history?” Rafe asked flatly. He sounded completely unconvinced.

  “No, we’re at the point where the alternate history starts,” Alex said.

  “Because you’re starting it!” Rafe shouted. “Gods, Alex, don’t you get it? You’re changing things. Deliberately. Of course time is going to shoot off in another direction. You’re driving it that way. You!”

  Alex shook his head. “It was already there. I saw it.”

  “Because time isn’t linear,” Rafe shot back. “Damn it, you know this better than I do. You’ve spent hours floating over the timescape with the linear restrictions gone. You’ve seen time in its raw state. If history branches off into an alternate stream it’s because you’re going to make it do it. That’s why it was there. You were seeing your own future.” He swore again. “There’s just not enough words to say it properly. You saw it because you created it and now you’re getting to do it, because you did do it.”

  “No.” Alex shook his head. “It didn’t feel like that.”

  “Fuck!” Rafe clenched his fists. “You’re going to kill us all because of some stupid belief!”

  Alex stared at him. “Yes. That’s exactly what it is,” he said slowly. “I know what I know, Rafe. I believe it utterly. The branch, the alternate history, it was where we were before we jumped. Even before you and Sydney jumped. It wasn’t supposed to exist and it disappears, not too far ahead of the point where we are in normal time. I think that timeline ends because I’m supposed to change things. We change things. All three of us.”

  Rafe stared at him. His chest was rising and falling rapidly. Anger and fear, a breathless mix of it. “You’re asking me to just…trust you?”

  Alex sighed. “It’s called having faith.”

  “I don’t believe in gods. Or your god, either.”

  “Then believe in me.”

  Rafe just looked at him. Alex heard the wind overhead, the only thing making any noise anywhere in the night.

  After a long moment, Rafe turned and started walking again. “We’ll be late,” he muttered.

  “They’ll wait. Llewelyn won’t travel without his army physician,” Alex said, as calmly as he could.

  “This whole jump is turning into a free-for-all,” Rafe muttered. “A three ring circus on steroids. What the hell do I do now that things are changing on us?”

  Alex grabbed his arm. “A circus!” he said.

  Rafe glanced at his grip, then at him. “What of it?”

  “A circus arena. Gladiators.” Alex shook his arm. “That’s it!”

  Rafe rolled his eyes. “Gladiators died out a thousand years ago,” he pointed out.

  “Then it’s time we reinstituted them,” Alex said firmly, picking up speed. “If we’re supposed to change history, then let’s really change it!”

  Chapter Twelve

  “So, instead of fighting outside the walls of the burh, we fight inside?” Llewelyn asked. He still sounded deeply puzzled. Then he winced as the cart bumped and rattled.

  Alex coaxed Atiya into moving just a little bit closer to the cart as it progressed across the grassy plain. Offa’s Dyke was visible on the horizon. “You don’t fight at all, my lord. No one fights. Instead, the best fighters you have take part in arranged battles with the best fighters Aethelfreda can put forward, and everyone watches.”

  “Watch the fighting?”

  “Your fighters will be representing you and the strength of Powys. They fight for the honor of Powys and its King. Whoever wins the matches, the final victor, will decide how the matter is settled between you and Aethelfreda.”

  Llewelyn considered it.

  Siorus was walking his horse along the other side of the cart. “Do you know of the Roman arenas, then?” he asked sharply.

  Llewelyn looked at him, startled. “Like the arena at Caerleon?”

  “Yes, that is what made me think of this,” Alex said. “Except the Romans watched slaves fight each other for entertainment. You, though, want to measure the fighting strength of the Mercians and the army wants honor restored. A fight or a series of fights between the strongest warrior you can field and hers will let you have both. You can watch how Aethelfreda’s best fight.”

  “It is an interesting notion,” Llewelyn said slowly. “I do not know how it will be received among the men, however. They’re ready to fight. We are marching already.”

  “I could ride ahead,” Alex said. “I could reach Chirbury by sunset. I am an unarmed physician. They would let me speak to Aethelfreda and then I could propose settling the dispute this way.”

  “You?” Llewelyn laughed. “I know the temper of my men, Alexander of Cordoba. They would rather slit their own throats than have someone beg for mercy on their account.” He was speaking loudly, for everyone around him to hear.

  “It would not be begging,” Alex pointed out. He already knew he had lost the argument. Llewelyn on his own might have been persuaded, but he held power only via the good will of his army. He had to keep them placated and they wanted war.

  As soon as the king dismissed him, Alex dropped back along the line until he drew level with Rafe and the household retinue who had been drafted to fight.

  “The king did not agree,” Rafe guessed, looking at his face.

  Alex shook his head.

  “Perhaps it’s better that he did not,” Rafe said quietly.

  “Physician!” The call came from ahead. Siorus, astride his big war stallion, was cantering toward them. As the line reached his position, Siorus turned the horse and settled alongside them. He let the reins drop. The horse kept pace without his direction.

  “I would have words with you, Alexander,” Siorus said. He pointed to Rafe. “The scribe, too. He is working with you. Let’s move out.” He directed the stallion with his knees and it moved out of the line and took a path parallel with the marching army.

  Alex glanced at Rafe, then nudged Atiya into following Siorus’ horse. Rafe came behind with his borrowed mare. Atiya snorted as he pulled up beside Siorus.

  Siorus waited until Rafe was level with them. He turned to look at them, letting his stallion find its own way. “What exactly are you trying to do, the pair of you?”

  “I don’t understand what you are asking,” Alex said truthfully.

  “This campaign of yours for war games to decide a war. Your insistence upon defending Powys against an imaginary Viking invasion…. You are interfering with matters that are outside your realm of interest.”

  “Peace is not one of my interests?” Alex asked politely.

  “Don’t be a fool,” Siorus raged, his face suddenly red with anger. “You know exactly what it is I speak of.” He brought the tip of his heavy leather glove up to his mouth and touched the top of his lip, then slid it along to the other side. “You and I have no role in human affairs anymore.”

  Rafe let out a heavy exhalation. “That is your secret. I knew you were hiding something. I’ve just never been close enough to you to see it for myself.”

  “You gave yourself away with that miraculous recovery of yours,” Siorus said dryly. “You should have died decently and moved on.”

  “It’s not the way I remembered it happening,” Rafe said.

  “Rafe, shut up,” Alex said quickly. Siorus might be a vampire, but he was not a time traveler and didn’t know his own future.

  Rafe shrugged. “According to you, it doesn’t matter what I say.”

  Siorus was studying them both carefully. “My name is Cyrus,” he said slowly. “I
was born in Greece in the third century before the Christian king was martyred. I was an apprentice to Plato.”

  That made Cyrus one of the oldest vampires Alex had ever met. Even in this tenth century, he was as old as Veris and Brody were in their current lives. If he survived to the twenty-first century he would be venerable, indeed. “I’ve never heard of you,” Alex told him flatly.

  “Just as I have never heard of Alexander of Cordoba, or a Muslim physician wandering the lands, healing as he goes…and now I suspect I know why,” Siorus replied. “Plato had some strange ideas about time. When he was very drunk, I could sometimes get him to speak of the things he only suspected might be true about the world. He said that time was all around us, like air, without body or thought. If humans could put aside their corporeal reality, then they could dip into time at will.” Siorus gave them a dry smile, while Alex worked to keep his expression neutral and not react in any way.

  “Through the years I have heard rumors of a special sort of traveler. Only those of our kind speak of them, for these travelers come only from among our ranks. Travelers that go back into their pasts.”

  Rafe didn’t react, either, although Alex could feel his tension. He was almost vibrating with it.

  Siorus picked up the reins and directed his horse for a few steps. “You do not have to speak. Whether I have guessed right or not does not matter. What matters is that you both remember your place in this time. That place does not encompass influencing the affairs of men.” He took a firmer grip on his reins. “This will be my only warning.”

  Alex glanced at Rafe as Siorus galloped back to the king’s side.

  Rafe was frowning.

  “Do you know Cyrus?” Alex asked softly.

  Slowly, Rafe nodded. “He is on the Council. I have never met him, of course. He is one the most powerful of them.”

  Then Cyrus did survive to the twenty-first century. “He speaks as if he is already on the Council,” Alex said, watching Siorus lean over and speak to the King. “So much for not influencing human affairs. He’s only the King’s right hand man.”