East

by Lizzy Ford

  “I am not a cheat,” another man said calmly. “I only say I think this one is poison. This” he held up my crown “is not a trifle given to a man’s favorite concubine. Someone will be seeking for her, and any man caught with her will likely be punished.”

  All of them fell silent and looked at me. Rather than desire for a new toy, they regarded me with wariness.

  “Her body turning up in the morning in the stable will keep her from identifying us.”

  I strained against Broghun. The man with the phone seemed on board with this, and I reached for the gag to scream for Batu.

  Broghun shoved my arms down.

  “Then I will sell the right to kill her,” the hotel owner reasoned. “Or you can take your chances with her master.”

  “I’ll kill her for free!” one said and approached me.

  “And I will tell her master who did it. One of you will pay me for the privilege, or all of you will face his wrath. Whoever kills her, keeps this.” He held up the tiara.

  What a jackass. I’d never heard of people paying to off a witness. The old man was crafty – and doggedly opportunistic.

  “Five silvers!” one spat and threw the coins down.

  “This pearl alone is worth five times that,” the old man said with a frown. “Look at it. Look at the woman that’s yours for the night. As long as she ends up dead in the morning, what does it matter what happens to her?”

  What kind of logic was this?

  They began passing the tiara and its teardrop shaped pearl around so everyone could debate its quality. Just like that, I seemed to be forgotten. At least, for now. I twisted my wrists to test the bonds and tried once again to yank the gag out of my mouth with no luck. Broghun was keeping a tight watch on me.

  Starting to panic, I silently swore never to leave the spot Batu sentenced me to again, if I found some way to escape this time. My heart was pounding, and I looked once more in the direction of the man with the phone.

  He wasn’t even bidding on me. I had no idea what to do, if I was dragged out of here by some other asshole who wasn’t going to be reasoned with the way I might a fellow time traveler.

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Private trade!” the owner shouted.

  The person knocked once more.

  Broghun motioned for the man nearest the door to answer it. He did so, and my heart sank even further when I heard the quiet voice on the other side. I wanted to be rescued – but I didn’t want to witness another massacre.

  “Batu!” I tried to cry through the gag.

  He was already headed into the room. Before he crossed the threshold, the man who answered the door was on the floor, bleeding. The men in the room stood, and the sounds of swords scraping scabbards filled my ears.

  Blood sprayed me, and I closed my eyes, not wanting to see the bloodshed. Last night, I had convinced myself yet again Batu was kind of a cool guy.

  Every time sword sliced through flesh, or someone screamed, I flinched and reconsidered my opinion of the Mongol warrior. Warm droplets of blood landed on my face and exposed neck and hands. I tried to block out the sounds of murder, of men dying, and focused instead on not passing out.

  Broghun threw me to the side. I hit the floor and smashed into a bucket of excrement and god knew what else. My eyes opened, and I almost puked at the lumps and dark matter before me. Shaking off my hands, I didn’t dare risk getting the filth in my mouth by pulling off my gag.

  Someone almost stepped on me, and I scrambled out of the way to the side of the brick hearth to watch.

  I had never seen anyone move like Batu, and I doubted anyone else in all of space and time did. Power and agility, extreme focus combined with instinctive action. He mowed down the first four men in the room before one of them had a chance to strike him. The fourth and fifth made valiant attempts, but it was child’s play against a master or … lambs fending off a hungry wolf. Limbs and heads went flying. This time, I couldn’t look away, no matter how much blood sprayed the ceilings and walls.

  I owed him my life, and I had to get out of here. Away from a man who could not only stomach committing such brutality but joke around about it.

  When no one was left standing, he straightened from his position and gazed around.

  The spell broke, and I realized the man with the phone was on my side of the table, although he seemed to be missing his head. I cursed myself again. I should’ve tried to save his life somehow but I was enthralled in the horror of the massacre.

  Batu bent over the man nearest him. With no more thought than he gave saddling his horse, he began what I assumed was the Mongol method of double-tapping – making sure the enemy was dead by a shot to the head, or in this case, offing his head.

  Inching forward, I gripped a knife that had fallen near me. I flinched at the sound of his sword cleaving meat and bone but focused on sawing through my bonds. They came off easily, and I pulled the disgusting gag from my mouth.

  I bent over the body of the man with the phone and tugged at his belt to get to the device.

  And then I sat back, dismayed.

  It wasn’t a phone at all. It was a silver box whose front was dented up and back was lacquered, resembling a phone case.

  Am I that desperate? I had risked my life and Batu’s for … a jewelry box. I hadn’t doubted it was a phone, hadn’t thought twice about what it was I saw. I lunged after it with the desperation I’d been keeping a close lid on for so long.

  I gazed at the dead men around me and blinked back tears. I had been on the verge of breaking down and weeping since Taylor disappeared, but now didn’t seem any better of a time than the other moments of weakness.

  Batu met my gaze from the corner of the table. “There you are, Moonbeam.” He wasn’t at all concerned about the carnage or destruction around him.

  His calmness and the violence of my surroundings scared me, the way it always did. I rose and turned away, needing air, to flee, to escape him and this world I didn’t think I’d ever adjust to.

  I can’t do this. I started towards the door.

  “Do you think it wise to run, lamb?” His voice lowered into a soft growl.

  My hand dropped from the doorknob. I braced myself to have another knife thrown at me or for him to grab me.

  Neither happened. I remained where I was, about to flip out, but afraid of what he’d do if I did. I was too aware that I caused this massacre because I had mistaken a jewelry box for a phone.

  What was wrong with me? One moment, I didn’t think I’d want Carter to find me. The next, I was following strangers into a room where no one could hear me scream, chasing some mirage of a phone.

  Batu’s body heat reached me, and I realized he was standing quietly behind me, as if waiting to see what I’d do.

  “I’m sorry, Batu,” I murmured. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “Was it worth it?”

  I twisted to gaze up at him. “Was what worth it?”

  “Whatever it was that drew you here. I know they didn’t force you this far.” His dark eyes were on me. He had a way of peering into my soul without judging me, of making me think the man capable of massacring a room full of people wasn’t going to hurt one hair on my head. His weapons were sheathed, his breathing hard and even. If anything, he appeared concerned.

  “No, it wasn’t,” I said, thoughts on the slain. “I made a mistake. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  I really didn’t, except that I was shaken by the thought of spending the rest of my life here.

  Batu reached around me to open the door. Without speaking, we left the men where they’d fallen and emerged into the dining area once more. Rather than stop for more food, Batu continued out the door and into the night.

  “We aren’t staying?” I asked as he strode towards the stables.

  “It’s not wise when you’ve just slain the owner, ugly one.” He pointed out.

  I was surprised he wasn’t angry with me or upset my foolishnes
s had made him kill a room full of people.

  Moments later, we were leaving the trading post, headed into the night. The hand that got the full dose of the shit bucket was stinging. I unwrapped the bandages, doubting the filth-soaked linen was remotely good for my open wounds.

  I was hurting and not just physically. If anything, the traveling and wounds in my hands and arms were wearing down my ability to manage the sorrow, confusion and ache of losing my world, my family, my life.

  Desperation it is. It was creeping up on me, perhaps spurred on by exhaustion and the quiet days of travel. I slid into the deep, dark thoughts I’d been fighting since I left the eighteen forties.

  We rode for quite a while. I was guessing he wanted to put distance between us and the trading post, in case someone came after us. The night was cool, but I was soon shedding my over tunic, hot despite the breeze of early fall that tickled my hair. I threw my head back to gaze at the diamonds glittering in the black silk of a sky above. It was beautiful, raw.

  “What do you do, Moonbeam?” he asked curiously.

  I blinked and lowered my gaze from the sky. My horse had stopped, and I was leaning back precariously on its back. “I’m not sure.” I straightened. The pain in my arms and legs was gone, except for the cut in my hand that had been soaked with filth. I lifted it to my eyes, amazed by the stardust around it. Too hot, I fumbled to peel off another layer – and stopped.

  “Batu.”

  He was already headed back towards me. I struggled to focus on him.

  “You are not well,” he observed. His features were blurry.

  “I think I have an … infection.”

  With little finesse, he hauled me off my horse onto his. “We cannot stop here. I know a place where we’ll be safe close to here.”

  “Hot,” I complained and shifted in front of him.

  “No fussing, lamb,” he said, amused. He rested one hand on my clammy forehead. “You are fevered.”

  “Don’t cut off my hand,” I whispered.

  He said something else, but it slid through my thoughts and out. My eyes closed. I was overheating and beginning to shiver.

  This can’t be how it ends.

  Chapter Nine

  I went in and out of consciousness, restless sleep, visions of Batu leaning over me and fevered dreams. The dreams were always about Taylor or growing up in the house of my aunt and uncle. Adopted by them when I was young, I had been a member of their family as long as I could remember.

  I missed them. I missed Taylor.

  They might as well have never existed.

  My hand blazed with fiery pain, eclipsing the rest of my aches and pains a hundredfold.

  Stuck in the misery, new thoughts overtook me when the fever dreams finally receded. I witnessed Batu slaughter the men in the room over and over, envisioned Carter the night he sent me back in time. My mind was too jumbled and taxed to form any other coherent thought but this: for whatever reason, I was meant to be here. Whether or not I ever left wasn’t something I controlled or could count on, and I definitely couldn’t dive after every man wearing a jewelry box I mistook for a phone.

  Batu was right. One day, he might not be there, and I’d be killed in the drop of a hat.

  My future was therefore clearer: it was to survive the day to day of a world I couldn’t quiet grasp.

  This all slid away when genuine sleep claimed me. I sank into it gratefully and awoke when an evening breeze tickled the skin of my exposed arm.

  I was weak, hungry and fatigued. Sitting up, I registered the sound of a stream or small river first and the felt walls of the tent second. It was raining outside though the interior was dry.

  I absolutely reeked. The scent came from my clothing, left over from the refuse in the bucket at the trading post.

  “You are alive.” He sounded upbeat.

  I sat and gazed at my injured palm. It was still puffy and red but not alarmingly so. Doubting they had any sort of antibiotics in this time period, I studied it, puzzled. “How did you stop the infection?”

  “Urine.”

  I looked up at him. “What?”

  He gave me another odd look.

  “You peed on my hand?” I stared at it, horrified.

  “It will stop an infection. How do you not know this?”

  I couldn’t take my own smell or dwell too long on the idea he’d been peeing on my hand. Something within me snapped.

  Close to tears, I crawled out of the tent. I wore a tunic that reached my knees and nothing else, but I didn’t care. Half walking, half staggering through a chilly sheet of rain, I made it to the cold stream and waded in until it reached my waist. Flinging off the smelly tunic, I sat. Cold water covered my shoulders and lapped at my chin.

  “Can’t take this,” I whispered and began to scrub at my hands and arms, wanting the refuse and filth off me. “Can’t get home.” Rain and tears blurred my eyes. I was nearly too weak to stand. For the first time in my life, I considered how much easier it’d be to float away than spend another day struggling with my world and thoughts.

  I dunked my head and scrubbed at my scalp and hair without being able to clear my nose of the smell or my heart of the fear.

  I‘m never going home. I had considered the possibility before. With my body and mind fatigued, the thoughts were able to penetrate any sort of denial or hope between me and the reality of being stuck here, of never seeing my family again. The cage where I trapped my emotions for Taylor was cracked as well.

  I was never supposed to go home or be happy, not if Carter had his way.

  Then why did I want him to save me when I knew very well he wasn’t going to? I was better off starting a new life here, accepting the fact I’d never see my aunt again or join her for yoga and coffee on Saturday mornings.

  I was never going home. Ever. Not in any scenario, no matter what Taylor’s people promised me or how many pills Carter sent me to swallow. Taylor was gone, and so was my life.

  I didn’t have a chance to grieve for him. It suddenly seemed selfish not to have shed a few tears for the man who wanted to spend his life with me, who helped me when I needed it and forgave me knowing what I was going to do to him. After all, no one else but me would mourn him – and he deserved to be remembered.

  The emotions I’d been avoiding since I began my adventures washed over me, overwhelming my fatigued mind, and I began to cry. Sensing I wouldn’t be able to fight the onslaught of grief, I scooted back until I was safe on the bank, folded my arms around my shaking legs, and sobbed.

  Aware of Batu, I wasn’t able to push him away when he scooped me into his arms and walked through the rain back to the tent. I huddled and cried, shaking from cold and emotion.

  Moments later, he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into him, draping his tunic over me the way he had the other day. Instead of holding me between his inner and outer layers of clothing, I was in direct contact with his warm skin. I pushed my face into his chest, uncurling from my ball, and clung to him, sobbing my heart out.

  I fell into another, shorter fevered state complete with crazy dreams. It didn’t last long, and I awoke in the morning, possible a day or two later, weak but also far more energized than I had been the previous time. Pushing myself up, I checked my hand. It was bandaged, and I wore another long tunic, this one clean. My hair was in my face, and I nudged it back, too exhausted to braid it.

  Sun shone outside the tent. It was cool and bright with the scent of wet earth in the air.

  Batu wasn’t around. I was almost grateful; I wasn’t sure how to explain my breakdown. I rifled around until I found pants and my boots then left the tent. The horses were near the stream, though Batu wasn’t within sight. A fire had burnt out nearby, and his bow and arrow were seated on a tree stump.

  The sight of it reminded me of a newly formed resolution I made some time in my fevered state. I was going to try to make it in this world, which meant being … useful. My twenty first century skill set and Internet finesse were
wasted in a time when survival was the main focus. I hadn’t ever been camping before this or started a fire or hunted or done anything remotely helpful to me here.

  “At least I can speak languages.” It was my greatest asset to the thirteenth century, though in all honesty, it didn’t do me much good wandering the wilderness with Batu. I wasn’t helping him any.

  I had to prove to me my life was worth saving.

  Approaching his weapons, I picked up the bow again and looked it over. There had to be something I was missing about how to use it. I would’ve given anything for a Wikihow video or Wikipedia article on the mechanics of using a bow and arrow.

  I lowered it and gazed around with a shiver. What if he didn’t come back one day? How the hell was I going to survive this place?

  Clenching my jaw, I lifted the bow. “If a three year old can do this, I can,” I muttered. I positioned it the way he showed me and tried to draw it once more.

  In my weakened condition, I didn’t even make it the inch I had last time. I relaxed, repositioned my feet and then sucked in a deep breath, pulling with all my might.

  It was useless. I was useless. Frustrated, I picked up an arrow and tried again.

  “What do you do, goddess?” Batu’s quiet voice came from behind me. I didn’t hear his silent step and turned to see he had a quail and three rabbits strung together and hanging from his waist.

  “I need to learn to do things here,” I said.

  He lifted his catches. “Can you skin animals?”

  The sight of blood, and the dead animals, dismayed me. I was an animal lover. I ate meat but I didn’t think I could get through skinning a rabbit without breaking down into tears. “I can try,” I said with a half-hearted shrug.

  Batu laughed.

  “There must be something I can do,” I said, searching his features.

  He tossed the animals beside the fire and approached, reclaiming his bow and the arrow I’d attempted to notch. “You are not meant for such labors, goddess.”

  “How will I survive? What if something happens to you?” I searched his face, frowning. His dark eyes took in my features. He reached out and tilted my chin to peer into my eyes then lifted my bad hand to inspect it. “I can’t take care of myself the way everyone else here can.”