Waging War

by April White

  Bas still held Archer’s shoulders as he studied his face. “It is you, but not you. What has happened?” When Archer didn’t immediately answer, I did – but I directed my response to Archer.

  “This is Bas. We met him in 1429 at Château Landon when we were on our way to Orléans to find Joan. He is a mixed-blood Descendant too, of Nature … and Death.” I tried not to hesitate between the two Family distinctions, but I knew my voice betrayed me. Then I turned to Bas.

  “This is Archer, my Archer, but he has no memory of having met you. He is from this time, and wasn’t on the trip to France with us … before.”

  Bas nodded, still studying Archer’s face. “I see. I am sorry to have been so familiar with your woman, given that you do not know me and know my friendship to be true. Please accept my apologies.”

  If Archer was startled by Bas’ heartfelt apology, he gave no indication. Instead he smiled and held out his hand to shake. “I apologize that I’m not yet the man you know. I look forward to making your acquaintance.” Time travel conversations were definitely a ten on the scale from one to weird.

  A huge grin lit up the Moor’s face and he shook Archer’s hand enthusiastically. He stepped back and gestured us inside the house. “Come, my friends, tell me your tales and I’ll tell mine. Let us begin this acquaintance that we be strangers no more.”

  It was hard not to be infected by Bas’ enthusiasm, especially as he clapped the guys on the shoulders and led us all into a warm kitchen full of the scents of cooking. I looked at Bas in surprise. “Why are you cooking? You don’t eat food.”

  “Ah, I don’t, but the little ones do, and they like my food better than the food Sister Agnes makes when she cares for them.” He leaned forward and dropped his voice as if he was revealing a great secret. “I use better spices.”

  Then he spotted the packages of meat. “Ah, what is this? You’ve brought the children gifts?”

  I explained how we’d hunted and cleaned the deer, and Bas nodded thoughtfully. “I think God would approve in the spirit of the laws, whether or not the letter has been upheld. These are interesting times, and God’s grace is found in the generosity of strangers.”

  He accepted the meat and immediately took it downstairs to the cold cellar where it would keep for another day or two before it had to be cooked. All three of us used the time to wash our hands in the old porcelain sink, and then Ringo started lifting the lids of pots and inhaling the delicious scents of the meal cooking on Bas’ stove, while I quietly filled Archer in on our fifteenth-century meeting with the Moorish priest. At least I thought he was still a priest, considering Marianne’s story about who was rescuing all the Jewish children and bringing them here. Archer seemed particularly intrigued by Bas’ commitment to studying a different world religion every century, and it was a reminder to me of Archer’s own ecclesiastical studies in 1888.

  When Bas returned, he washed his hands, then scooped out two bowls of stew from the pot on the stove and placed them in front of Ringo and me. “Eat,” he said in a warm, deep voice.

  I thought about being noble and declining so the kids would have more, but my belly was empty and I was getting a little light-headed from exhaustion. I thought I could probably do more to help keep the kids fed if I fed myself, so after a quick look at Ringo to make sure he was eating, I dug in.

  The stew was delicious, full of complex spices that tasted like I imagined a Moroccan spice store would smell. Bas watched us inhale his stew for a moment, then turned to Archer.

  “How have you come to be in France?”

  It seemed Archer had decided to trust Bas – maybe because of our history, or because of his relationship to God, or maybe just because of the way Bas had greeted him. He didn’t even hesitate to fill Bas in on his mission to help Nancy plan the targets for the Maquis disruptions of the 2nd SS Panzer Division’s progress to Normandy, and on his own work as a Bletchley Park codebreaker for the English.

  Bas’ experience as a man of various churches had likely placed him at the center of several of the great wars through history, and he seemed to instantly grasp the significance of everything Archer revealed. They discussed the Maquis’ plans for a few minutes, but he seemed most intrigued by the English secrecy around their codebreaking activities. “It’s a good long-term plan. This war won’t last forever, and if their enemies do not realize their codes have been broken, England retains the upper hand in diplomatic relations.”

  I picked up my empty bowl and went to the sink to wash it. “That’s exactly what happened. The Russians didn’t find out until the 1960s that their Lorenz code had been broken.”

  I didn’t really think about what I’d said until after the words were out, but the silence behind me betrayed my thoughtlessness. I spun to face the guys with a gasp. “I’m so sorry! I know better than to talk about my history like it’s yours.”

  Archer’s tone was gentle. “And usually for you, I would know the same history as you do.”

  Bas fixed his gaze on me. “I assume there is some anomaly that prevents the Archer I met in Château Landon from being here now? And how is it that you two are in this time and place?”

  I explained about the rule of time travel that prevents a person from being in the same time as himself, and then all three of us brought him up to speed about the possible cure for vampirism, our search for Tom Landers, and the possibility that he could be working with Hitler’s Werwolves.

  Bas asked a few questions for clarification, but mostly he just listened and absorbed what we told him. He sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of his chin in a way that reminded me of our friend Bishop Cleary. I almost looked at Archer for a private grin at the resemblance, then realized I was, yet again, having a memory that this Archer didn’t share.

  “Do you intend to take this cure, Archer?” Bas spoke directly to Archer, and his question surprised me. Of all the things we’d said, that was the first thing he focused on.

  “I don’t believe it is my choice to make yet.” Archer’s eyes didn’t waver from Bas’, and I could see Ringo’s eyes move back and forth between them like a tennis ball in a match.

  “Is it not? This is now the first you’ve heard of the possibility of a cure, and the things that are happening now will become part of your history when you are the man who can make that decision. Therefore, it seems to me that you do have a say – in this moment – about whether you will take that cure.”

  “I wouldn’t take it now, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Why not?” Bas leaned forward with keen interest.

  “Because whether it worked or not, I would die before I could be with Saira in her own time.”

  Bas smiled. “This is becoming a philosophical discussion of which I very much approve. What if, after you took the cure, Saira were to take you from this time and bring you forward with her to her own time. If, as you say, you would be dead of natural causes anyway, it should be possible, no? Then, you could live out a natural, human life with Saira in her time.”

  I interrupted whatever Archer had been about to say. “It wouldn’t work like that. If I took Archer out of his natural time, he would stop aging. Yes, he would potentially be human – if he survived the cure, which has a huge question mark attached – but he would essentially be immortal until he came back to what would have been his natural lifetime.”

  “Yer ma does it,” said Ringo. I wasn’t sure what point he was arguing, but for that matter, I wasn’t sure what point I was arguing either.

  Bas’ eyebrows rose questioningly, so I told him about my mother being out of time and her visits back to the nineteenth century every two years just to keep aging properly.

  “So, it could potentially be done,” he said finally.

  I narrowed my eyes, not sure where he was going with this. “Theoretically. Why?”

  Bas turned back to Archer. “If you removed the obstacle of a life without Saira from your choice, would you make the decision to become mortal again?”<
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  “Yes.” His answer came so quickly and so resolutely that my stomach clenched. Ringo shot me a told-you-so look, but I purposely ignored him and kept my eyes on Archer.

  “Why?” Bas asked the question that rang in my ears.

  Archer took a breath, started to speak, then cleared his throat and took another one. His gaze remained on Bas when he finally spoke. “There is something that happens when you know that life is finite: a desire for greatness, for whatever fleeting moments of brilliance you can leave in the world after you’re gone. And whether the end of your life is five years away or fifty, the fact that you just don’t know is a great motivator for not waiting to begin that thing that could potentially be your legacy. Whether it’s a work of art, or a scientific breakthrough, a good deed, or a child, leaving something of yourself for others to experience and remember is sometimes the greatest excuse to live a life that’s more than just crossing the distance between birth and death.”

  We all stared at Archer with varying degrees of surprise and respect. I had never heard him talk about leaving something behind, maybe because for him, there was no “behind.” He finally met my eyes again, and they seemed to search mine for my reaction. I smiled at him after a moment because it took effort to make my face do anything while my brain was spinning so fast.

  He seemed to take comfort in that smile.

  Bas finally broke the silence. “I would not take the cure.”

  Once again, the space filled with the silence of surprise. I was the first one to find my voice. “Why not?”

  “It is a similar answer to Archer’s, but from another side. I, too, am interested in this idea of a legacy. I am here now, despite your warnings about this war, Saira, because I cannot stand by and do nothing as people find unthinkable ways to destroy each other. I admit that I began my studies of God so many centuries ago for the purely selfish reason that I wanted to discover why He had allowed this thing to happen to me. Why He had put me in that alley in the medina with the man who stole my blood and infected my body with this scourge. But I found no answers to my personal question there, because I no longer believe God does anything.”

  Bas looked at the expressions on our faces and must have seen varying degrees of shock. “In many times, that statement would result in my very painful death by fire, and I shall tell you of my near death at the stake another time.” He smiled mischievously, and I suddenly realized how very young he must have been when he was turned. Certainly less than thirty, but given how few people even saw adulthood in the twelfth century, maybe he was closer to twenty-five.

  “Yeah, I want that story,” said Ringo, and Bas winked at him.

  “It’s a good one. But to my point. I have come to believe, through my studies, that it is not God who does things – good or evil, right or wrong, careless or thoughtful – it is men. Perhaps God was the creator, or perhaps God is the encompassment of generosity and love, and as such, acts as a beacon by which men can see the paths they choose.”

  He got up and began pacing the kitchen, his tall and well-built presence filling the space with more than just his frame. I could see that he would be an inspiring spiritual leader in whatever faith he practiced. “I have lived more than eight hundred years, and I have been able to touch many, many people’s lives with the idea that the doing of deeds comes naturally from who one is. First, one must be love and generosity in order that the doing of loving and generous things becomes as natural as taking breath.”

  Yeah, the man was a born spiritual leader. I could practically hear the “Amen, brother” declarations from the rafters.

  When Bas returned to his seat at the table, his face still glowed with the passion of his words. Archer leaned forward to speak.

  “You have found your calling, then, and it seems to give fuel to your deeds in a way that has sustained you through the centuries. It also seems to be a solitary calling – one that can be self-generated, rather than one that needs the goals and desires of another to fuel it. I believe that may be the difference between us, Bas.”

  Bas looked intrigued, and he cocked his head like a bird. I remembered he had been a Shifter Eagle before he was turned, and it was the first time I’d seen a sign of it in him. “Explain,” he said.

  Archer turned to me. “I have been alone in my life more years than I’ve spent days with you, and yet in all that time that I have only answered to my own calling, never have I been more truly called to … greatness, than when I’m with you.” He turned his attention back to Bas. “So, while I do see very clearly the idea that who we choose to be informs our actions, for me, this does not exist in a vacuum. The choices I make about who I am have the greatest meaning, and come from the most selfless place, when they are inspired by my love for her.”

  His words made my chest feel like it was filled with warm, fuzzy light, except then my brain started whispering, and the whisper grew to a shout, until finally I spoke, just to stop the noise in my head. I used careful, controlled words in a neutral tone in hopes that I could make sense of the thoughts pinging around my brain. “Archer, I can’t be your reason for being.”

  He arched an eyebrow, but I continued quickly. “It’s too much responsibility for one person to have over another. Some days I can barely make a decision for myself and have confidence it’s the right one. I don’t think I’m strong enough to be responsible for anyone else’s choices too.”

  Archer’s voice was gentle as he took my hands in his to make his point. “Saira, my choices are my own every time. None of them are your responsibility. This is not the thing I’m talking about though.”

  Ringo watched us both thoughtfully, and Bas got up to put a kettle onto the stove. Archer continued in a voice meant only for me. “Who you are, what you stand for, how you relate to the world around you inspires me. I find myself choosing paths that are right and good and generous because I believe they’re the ones you would choose, and I find greatness in myself because I aspire to be a man worthy to stand by your side.”

  He could see me about to protest again, so he continued quickly. “That’s not to say I have always made the right choice. There was a dark time just after the Great War when any choice at all was more than I could bear, so I hid, and I felt sorry for myself, and I chose no greatness at all. There have been times in my life when I hated – myself, Wilder, what I’ve become – but nothing in that hatred gave me the same feelings of worth, or of rightness, that choosing greatness does. Yes, I can choose to be great whether or not you are with me, but I don’t have to think about choosing greatness when I’m with you. I just do it.”

  Oh.

  Well.

  In that case …

  My brain went silent and all the protests left me in a whoosh. I was just working up something worthy to say when Ringo’s voice cut through my careful word-crafting.

  “Ladies and Gents, I believe it’s time to go. At least two of you are about to turn into pumpkins.” He stood to go, and I looked outside to see just the beginnings of pink in the sky.

  “I do have safe lodgings here, if you’d like, as well as at the church in town if you ever find yourself caught out.” Bas turned off the stove just as the kettle boiled, and poured the heated water into a tub in the sink. He then added some cold water and moved a washcloth and a sliver of soap to the counter next to it.

  Archer looked at both of us for a reaction, but when we didn’t give him one, he answered the question. “We’ll be fine tonight, but I appreciate the offer very much. If I may ask a question?”

  Bas had begun lathering the soap in his hands. “Of course.”

  “How are you able to be a nocturnal priest?”

  He lathered the soap and rubbed it over his fairly impressive jaw. Bas the Moor was a striking man. His size alone or the timbre of his voice would be enough to turn women’s … or men’s heads. Add to that the sheer magnetism of the man when he spoke passionately, and he was nearly irresistible.

  “I have pre-dawn services and sundown mass.
We’re a community of farmers, you see, so changing the church’s hours to suit theirs only made sense.” The mischievous smile was back as he lifted the washcloth to his face. “Forgive me for grooming in front of you. I need to be at church for the early risers.”

  There was a quick, single knock on the door. Three of us stiffened instinctively, Bas did not. “Come,” he said.

  The door creaked open carefully and a young face appeared. It was Rachel, the mechanic’s daughter I’d seen at her garage near the village square. She looked warily at the people gathered in Bas’ kitchen, but when her eyes found mine, they widened in surprise.

  Bas smiled at her. “Rachel, these are my friends. They’ve brought venison for the children. If you need some, please help yourself.”

  She answered him quickly in French, then gave us all a quick look before she ducked back out of the room. I didn’t even think to wonder that he had spoken to her in English. When the door had closed behind her, he said to us, “She stays with the children while I am at church until Sister Agnes can come.”

  “You’re the one who rescued them, right?” I asked Bas as we were taking our leave.

  His expression turned solemn. “As I said, I could no more stand by and do nothing than I could deny the existence of God. This place is where I was needed, so here I came.”

  Impulsively, I reached up and kissed the cheek he had just cleaned. “It’s really good to see you, Bas.”

  He gave us all a warm smile. “It is wonderful to be among friends.”

  We left the farmhouse in the silence of contemplation, which lingered even when we’d returned to Marianne’s farm. Archer took the last bundle of venison inside to her cellar while Ringo and I hid the bikes. We met in the barn over the bucket of water. Ringo’s wash was fairly cursory – more of a face and teeth kind of thing. Archer and I were more thorough, though less so than the previous night when we’d been alone.