by Claire Davon
He shook his head, his mouth set in a grim line. “I know. I believe you.” He slowed to a halt. “It’s just…” Words seemed difficult for him. His hands moved over her arms and collarbone in a repetitive motion. “The Traveler was always a myth to us, a legend to keep Guardians believing we were fighting for something. You were more a tale to keep us motivated than a real person. And now, now you’re here and your abilities…you have so much talent.” He looked at her, his dark eyes somber. “I’ve been a Guardian for five years and I thought I knew my place in this world. Keep the time stream safe. That was what we did and that was what I believed in. I preserved the purity of the events and took pride in what I did. Until you entered the picture. Then everything changed. I had protected something for no reason. Things have to change, we have to stop the Event, or everything we know dies. I am not sure what is relevant anymore. You shifted thirty five hundred years, something I did not believe possible without our devices.” He shook his head, his dark eyes troubled. He looked at a point on the wall, and then back at her.
“Come on, enough of this. You need to rest.” He smoothed her hair back and pressed a kiss against her forehead. “Sleep. I’ll keep watch.”
She wanted to keep talking, but he was right. Her eyelids drooped now that she was home and as safe as was possible, given the circumstances. Fiona closed her eyes, letting fatigue take her. Within moments, she was asleep.
#
Fiona woke a few hours later, feeling much more refreshed. Sunlight glinted past the blinds, telling her it was afternoon.
She looked over and saw Sonder sitting cross-legged on the bed, his posture alert and watchful, but not tense.
“Better?” he asked, uncoiling to move to the side of the bed.
“Yes,” she said, stretching and then yawning. “I feel human again.” The temporal displacement that had left her weak was gone, replaced by hunger. Her stomach rumbled. When was the last time she had eaten?
Fiona looked over at Sonder, and her nerve endings were suddenly filled with a different kind of hunger. There was a gleam in his eyes, something primal and very male.
She wanted to speak, but he kissed her, a hard kiss, his tongue plunging into her mouth. His hand at the back of her head held her still while his mouth took hers, staking his claim in a primitive way that was less future man and more possessive lover.
“I thought this might be it,” he said. “I thought, when you vanished into that fresco, that you had been taken and I would never see you again. I felt so helpless. I hated it.”
He kissed her again, hot and hard, his hands gripping hers next to her head, demanding, taking her mouth in a clear statement of ownership. He grunted, low and deep in his belly, and pulled away, resting his cheek against hers.
“I need to let you rest,” he said, but she could feel his penis against her thigh, its hard length stating his desire more than any words could. “You just came back from…” His voice trailed off when she freed one hand and ran it over his shoulder, his back and down over his buttocks. He moved, allowing her access to the center of him. “Fiona,” he gasped, and it seemed torn from him.
He was hard in her hands, the length of him pulsing against her palm, even through the cloth of his cargo shorts. Ugly things, those shorts, but they were also wide and roomy at the legs. Fiona slid her hand under the material and moved it upwards, seeing the white of his briefs. She knew that under those lay naked skin, a slice of heaven measured in inches.
He was still kissing her. At her moan, he penetrated deeper, his tongue seeking hers even while she sought his. He separated from her mouth and took her lower lip between his teeth, nipping the skin. His hands closed around her, drawing her to him. She felt his heat and skin in every pore of his body. He hardened further. She felt a puff of air against her ear, one second before his teeth captured her earlobe and tugged, a little less gently than the kisses before. Before she could catch her breath from the unexpected pleasure/pain of the caress his tongue stabbed into her ear. She shivered. With shaking hands she pulled at his shorts and Sonder reached down to push them down.
She felt his tongue against her mouth again, tracing once again, then penetrating her. With a flash of teeth, she captured his tongue. She felt his surprised movement, then his sudden, fiery response in the increased power of his desire. She released him and he filled her mouth, hands hard against her hair, holding her open to him, ravishing her mouth.
He bent down to lave one taut nipple with his tongue. The other followed, until she was once again twisting under his touch, the feel of his tongue and his teeth against her breasts almost too potent to be borne. Weaving her fingers through his hair, she felt her body buck underneath him, begging for more.
Without any further words he divested of her clothes. Then he laid her back down again. With his arm under her body he suckled her in a primal rhythm, until she was crying out blindly in need and passion. Her hands moved over him until she caught his penis between her palms and stroked.
He fitted himself inside her, and she felt his welcome intrusion as he moved all the way up in her until they were one.
It was too much, he was too much, and her body gave way, sagging underneath him. The release shuddered within her, making her writhe, until she arched against him, bucking like an untamed horse.
Sonder thrust, once, twice, again, and then the shivers of her climax caught him and he shuddered, his body clenching. They cried out as one and Fiona knew she was home.
Chapter 6
There was a knock on the door. Fiona frowned, but Sonder looked calm, as if the knock was expected.
“Company?”
He was yanking on the shorts he had discarded in their need to be with each other, and flashed a grin over his shoulder at Fiona.
“You know I can’t cook,” he explained, holding his hands out, more mischief than apology. “I’ve been getting the place up the street to bring me food while I searched for you. I didn’t want to take the time to leave the house. Plus, I knew you’d be hungry. Time travel does that and you, kale mou, have been very far away.”
Fiona looked at the Guardian equipment in the corner again. The belt and its buttons were dark, showing no signs of their recent use. That fact alone did nothing to reassure her. Even knowing she’d been back for a few hours and nothing had happened didn’t soothe her. A wave of panic sliced through her, setting her bloodstream on fire. To calm herself, she secured the image of the garden in London in her mind, fixing the escape point in her mind in case she needed it. The statues were reassuring to her, something she could easily jump to. Fiona glanced at the clock and saw that it was a little before one PM. Her stomach rumbled and she realized she was starving. Her inability to eat or drink anything in Akrotiri had left her hungry, a fact reinforced by the gurgle of her body. She didn’t know how much energy you burned flying through that kind of time, but judging from her empty, rumbling stomach, quite a bit. It would have been nice of the Voice to give her food along with knowledge. Maybe whoever they were didn’t eat food. Maybe they lived on air, or dust mites, or sunlight.
She wondered if those three people she’d met briefly were ever found. She’d like to find out who they were, if only to honor their memory. Fiona supposed there were worse destinies than having your image captured on frescos found thirty five hundred years after you died. They had been plucked out of time to meet with her, and then turned loose to face their fate. She would research the Minoan culture and find out what happened after the volcano and tsunami shattered everything. She owed it to those people and their memory. She hoped that what they said was true, that some of it survived in Egypt and the surrounding countries and incorporated into their ways. Then there was Ubar, the city she had seen destroyed. The role its destruction have in her learning was unknown, its link to Santorini and the Event unclear. It had been swallowed into the Earth, leaving little trace behind, just sand and shattered lives. It was similar to the desolation she and Rogald had witnessed when they went to the
aftermath of the Event. Fiona stopped her wayward thoughts. They were doing her no good and just beat at her head like small hammers, staccato feelings that repeated again and again.
She would need to know the answer to all of those questions, and more. She couldn’t go back to the old Akrotiri or Ubar, she sensed that. It was a one-time trip. Thirty five hundred years was too far even for her to jump, without help. She still didn’t know the limits of her power, but that had to be too far for her. It had been the power behind The Voice that had ensured she could get there and back. It was for its own purposes, of course, manipulating her to this task. For some reason she was their best hope of stopping the Event. Fiona felt a ripple at the responsibility of that task.
“Hold on,” Sonder was saying in response to the peal of the bell a second time. He grappled for his fallen wallet, which had slid under the low bed. Fiona rose as well, plucking her shirt from the floor. Her bra had only been shoved aside and not removed in their haste and she adjusted it before smoothing the shirt on over her body. She saw Sonder glance at her, clearly waiting until she was dressed. She located panties and shorts and pulled them on before nodding to Sonder.
He nodded, his eyes lit with satisfaction, a smirk on his face. Dropping a brief kiss on her nose, he waved the New England Patriots wallet she had given him in his hand and smiled.
“I love you naked,” he said huskily. “But I want to be the only one who sees you that way.”
She shivered at the look in his eyes. Maybe after they ate they could go a second round, explore each other’s bodies for a very long time. Fiona smiled to herself. The feeling of being so wanted, so cherished was still new to her. Even through the enormity of the task laid at her feet, the idea that this man was with her made her want to stretch like a cat in smug satisfaction.
Sonder went to the door. “Thanks,” Sonder said, yanking open the solid wood as he spoke. The aroma of falafel and hummus wafted in, bringing along with it the other smells of the island: the scents of fish and sea. Sunlight streamed in through the now open door, the fingers of yellow sliding across the floor, silhouetting the figure standing in the doorway. “I appreciate the service. How much do I owe…” He stuttered to a halt, staring at the person in front of him. “You…” he finished.
His last syllables came out harsh and wary, so out of context to his prior friendly words that Fiona looked over. She froze when she saw the person delivering the food, understanding at once the reason for Sonder’s changed behavior.
The teenager slouched in the doorway, looking bored and wary of these strange tourists he’d run into before. He held the takeaway bag in his hands, almost thrusting it towards Sonder. He was backlit in sunlight, the rays slanting through a mess of brown curls. His t-shirt was baggy and his boarder shorts were loose and low on his waist. It could have been worse, she thought, half in a daze. He could have chosen to wear his shorts halfway to his ankles.
“I…don’t you work at…” Sonder said, clearly trying to regain his composure. He was so stoic so much of the time that this was unlike him. Considering how unnerved she was, she could easily imagine how strange it was to see his former antagonist, the Liberator to his Guardian self, standing there, twenty years younger. It was like some crazy time warp. Fiona suddenly wondered what it would be like to see Sonder as a younger man, the way they were looking at the earlier version of Rogald. She shivered, the thought chilling her.
Rogald shrugged, and pushed his hair back. It fell loose and wild over his scalp, in too-long curls that would be cut very short later on, in the time frame that she knew him. The still rough planes of his face showed the man he would be, but it was like an unfinished sculpture before the creator put their final touches on it. He was chewing gum, this teenage incarnation of the Liberator, something she doubted he would ever do now.
“Yeah, I help the old folks with the café,” he said, with surliness in his voice. “These guys,” he held out the bag with the stenciled logo from the local eatery up the stairs, “They’re relatives too. Too many fucking families around here, and when they need something I’m related to them all. Especially where walking is involved. There’s so many steps on this fucking island. No decent place to board, just steps. Their kid had to go to Anafi today so they are making me go all around the damn island delivering shit. ‘You have to do it for Nana,’” Rogald mimicked, his voice savage. “‘She can’t climb anymore.’ They gave me a bike, a fucking bike. It’s got a bell and a basket, like I’m a freaking ten year old girl, but it doesn’t go everywhere. I’m not riding no damn donkey. ‘Donkey rides, get your donkey rides,’” he called out a flawless imitation of the donkey drovers who catered to tourists. “I can’t wait to get out of this place. Who goes to Anafi anyway? There’s nobody and nothing there, it’s just another rock like this place, but with less scenery. Anyway you cut it I’m stuck on a stupid island in the middle of nowhere for the summer. It sucks.”
As if he realized he’d said way too much, Rogald the teen clamped down on his gum. He pulled a cap out of his back pocket and put it on, the visor shielding his eyes. His expression changed, at once guarded and suspicious. Fiona crossed the room, wanting to study younger Rogald up close. It was weird to think that this kid was here, now and also was twenty years older, occupying more or less the same time frame, once in a while, anyway. She knew from experience that you couldn’t be in two places at the same time. It was good that the other Rogald wasn’t here right now. She thought it had to be a paradox. Briefly she wondered where the older version of the Liberator was at the moment.
The teen stood his ground, still holding the bag, as Fiona approached.
“Do you guys know my folks or something?” Rogald said suddenly, still holding the bag. He seemed to be in no hurry to release it, using it almost like a shield, or a totem. “Are you here to keep an eye on me?”
Sonder chuckled, and the teen whirled on him. “What?” he asked with sullen impatience.
“The arrogance of youth,” Sonder said, an indulgent tone in his voice. “We’re not here for you, Rogald. Not yet anyway.”
The teen’s eyes narrowed and his body stiffened.
“You guys are fucking weird.” He shifted his eyes away. “You sure you never met my folks? You seem kinda familiar.”
Fiona was looking at him, studying the lanky body and face, trying to compare the image of the Liberator she had known three months ago to this rawboned teen. It was like seeing an old picture of your parents. You knew somewhere in the back of your mind that your parents had once been young and hot, but you didn’t really think about it. Then you would see a photo album or something online, something from years ago, and realize that they had once been where you are now, with the promise of your future stretched before you.
What had Sonder been like as a boy? What was his Facebook like? He didn’t talk about the future, his former present, but she knew that much of it was the same. There was still the Internet, and America’s basic political system was the same, and computers were as prevalent as ever, but things were different from her time. She knew that the same problems that were in her time still existed, exacerbated by time and inaction. Global warming was a real thing and they were trying to combat losing coastal cities like Miami to the rising water. It was being kept at bay by seawalls and dikes similar to Amsterdam but she knew that man would eventually lose to the elements. Air pollution was an even bigger problem than it was in her time, and the population continued to grow, straining resources. But with all that, not much else had changed. She’d seen through her trip through time that man always lost to the ferocity of nature. The water would win, the air would get worse and eventually there would be too many people and not enough resources. Maybe all of those factors had helped cause the Event.
That didn’t make sense. The Voice wouldn’t have been so intent on making her see the time anomalies that caused disasters if that were the case. They would have shown her something else.
Now, looking at this teen who woul
d become a man, she vowed to learn much more about Sonder’s time than she had up until now. Judging from recent events, nothing the being behind the Voice did was random, so it had to have meaning. She had been drifting, enjoying Sonder and the present time, without thinking of the future, like the grasshopper who whistled in the summer and then had no provisions for the winter. She wondered why Sonder had let her. Surely he had to know the danger they faced.
Akrotiri and Ubar had jarred her into reality, awakened her to the deadly fact of what they were facing. It was time to get into action.
“Weird?” she said finally, and realized it was the first time she had spoken. “Yeah, I guess we are, to you. That’s adults for you. No, Rogald, we don’t know your parents.”
She looked out the window, and back at the clock, making a note of the time. Tomorrow would be soon enough to deal with this. A good night’s sleep and she would be ready to go, ready to face whatever had to happen next. Tomorrow she would get serious about whatever happened next, and start training for the future…the past…whatever it was. Tomorrow would be enough time to start figuring out the puzzle this Rogald created. The food that Rogald the younger was still holding smelled delicious and her stomach rumbled loudly, reminding her again of how far she’d traveled within the last day.
She looked again at Sonder’s Guardian equipment, wondering what he’d done with it, what it meant that he’d used it. He’d reassured her but then he had a habit of shielding her from harsh reality. They had seen no signs of Guardians, or Liberators, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything.
As if her thoughts had created them, there were the sounds of a whoosh and a roar. Out of nowhere Sonder’s equipment started jangling a discordant alarm and he whirled towards it. After a glance at Rogald he ran to the pile, snatching the belt up and snapping it around his waist.