Himself.
Sera.
And a man and woman he’d never seen before.
It was only for an instant, but enough for Dak’s mind to explode with confusion. He was staring at himself, and the other version of him looked back with an odd expression of understanding. It was unnerving, confusing, and Dak didn’t like it one bit.
Then the sky ripped open and sucked them into the oblivion of a wormhole.
RIQ COULDN’T believe what he’d just seen. It happened so quickly he thought that he had to have imagined it, that he was seeing things in the moment before they were sucked into the wormhole.
He didn’t love the feeling of his body being pulled and stretched and compressed by a billion forces all at once, but at least he’d grown somewhat used to it. Not to mention the sounds and the lights and the wind that wasn’t really a wind. But he couldn’t help but feel sorry for Aristotle — who wasn’t exactly young and spry — as they traveled through the space-time continuum.
Like always, Riq had a hard time comprehending just how long it took for them to make the leap. Only moving three days, you’d think it would be a quicker warp than usual. But it didn’t always seem to work that way. Regardless, there was the mind-numbing intensity of it all, the world exploding and contracting and streaking all around him, and then it was over.
He tumbled onto a bed of short-cut grass, then slammed into a big green hedge with prickly leaves. The whole thing shook above him as if it were laughing. Dak’s foot smacked him in the face, and he heard Sera asking Aristotle if he was okay. The man coughed, then groaned, then laughed. He actually laughed.
Riq got to his feet and brushed himself off, relieved to see the great philosopher doing the same thing, all in one piece and with no obvious injuries. The man looked as excited as a kid at a birthday party, practically floating.
“Oh, if Plato could see me now!” he yelled, obviously forgetting that they were supposed to be on a stealthy mission to save his former student. “Aristotle, traveler of time!” Riq was pretty sure he’d never seen anything quite so ridiculous as the great philosopher dancing on his toes and making such a pronouncement.
Sera was smiling, and Riq instantly knew that she hadn’t seen what he’d seen. Dak couldn’t have looked any more opposite from her — troubled and confused — which meant that he had seen it.
Dak and Sera’s duplicates. And two strangers.
And no Riq.
What exactly did that mean?
“I hate to dampen the party atmosphere,” Riq said, “but we have to stop Tilda and I think Dak and I saw something that you guys didn’t.” He went on to describe what he’d seen.
Dak’s face was pale — seeing himself had obviously shaken him up a bit. “It was weird.” Riq had to admit that although the kid didn’t have his language expertise, that summed it up perfectly. Sera didn’t even bother with the standard doubtful comebacks.
“Who do you think the man and woman were?” she asked.
“Explain what they looked like,” Aristotle added, his elation from a moment earlier popped like a balloon.
It had only been an instant, but Riq could still see them in his mind. “The man had brown hair, tall. The lady had black hair, green eyes, thin face, some kind of weird jewel on a necklace around her neck.”
“Was it an amethyst?” the philosopher asked.
“Umm, no idea.” Riq was a translator, not a geologist. “But I think it was purple.”
Aristotle shrugged, a comical thing to see on such a great man. “An amethyst, then. The woman you saw was Olympias, Alexander’s mother. In fact, we may be meeting her any second now.” His eyes focused on something behind Riq’s shoulder.
Riq turned around and finally got a good glimpse of the space beyond the giant hedge he’d plowed into upon arrival. Before them lay a vast expanse of gardens — green grass and bushes and flowers and fountains and trees — all arranged in a maze of sorts that reminded him of something out of a fantasy novel. Beyond that there stood a massive house built in the Greek style, with pillars and frescoes and friezes. Small statues lined the walkway that led from the main fountain to the stairs below the back entrance to the palace.
Palace.
That’s definitely the right word, Riq thought. Alexander had some sweet digs.
“Philip is a rich man,” Aristotle said, looking on with the rest of them at the grand structure. “Let’s just say this is his way of keeping his former wife happy.”
Dak started to say something, but before he could even get one word out, a door burst open on the side of the palace and three men came charging out with swords in their hands. Three huge, vicious black dogs, barking and growling, followed on their heels, and then one of the guards shouted, his voice a boom of thunder.
“There they are! Appeared out of nowhere! Sic ’em, hounds, sic ’em!”
Dak had always thought dogs were cute. These things weren’t dogs. These things were big, hungry monsters that wanted to eat him alive. And with his luck, he would probably be the tastiest of his friends.
“Aristotle!” he yelled. “Tell them who we are!” He’d expected to fight Tilda, but not the people they’d come to save from her.
The philosopher appeared to think for a second about shouting at the men with the swords, but then gave up. Those nasty dogs were charging in way too fast.
“I think at times like this it may be wisest to run,” he said. Even on the cusp of death-by-slobbery-fangs, the dude sounded like a philosopher.
“Run!” Dak yelled, getting to the point a lot more quickly. But then he saw that Riq and Sera had already done that, heading for an area with a bunch of those tall hedges — maybe thinking they could find a place to hide. Aristotle took off after them, lifting his robes like a lady in a dress tiptoeing through a mud puddle. He was fast for an older guy.
Dak took a step to go in the same direction, but then the dogs were on him, seeming like they’d leapt ahead at an impossible speed. The beasts got between Dak and the rest of his friends, and to his chagrin they all decided they wanted to focus on the history nerd.
For some reason the words sweet meat ran through his head as he froze, staring at the hideous, slavering monsters, who stared right back at him, their thick throats vibrating with deep growls.
“Nice pups,” Dak said, slowly backing away. They inched forward, matching his movement, telling him with their eyes that he’d better stay put if he wanted to live another five minutes. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that the guards themselves were sprinting through the gardens, almost on him.
Dak held his hands up to the sky, as if someone had a gun pointed at him. “I’m a good guy!” he yelled. “I’m here to save —”
The dogs didn’t like him talking. All three of them jumped forward, jaws snapping.
A horrible shriek escaped Dak’s throat as adrenaline exploded inside of him. He dove to his left and rolled, barely avoiding the teeth of the lead dog. Then he was on his feet, scrambling around the corner of the original hedge they’d all rolled into when the Infinity Ring warped them there.
The howls and barks of the dogs sounded behind him, and he swore he could feel their breaths on the back of his neck. Dak ran as hard as he could, knowing that he had zero chance of outrunning the drooling monsters. He rounded another corner and saw a big stone dais that had a statue of Plato standing on top of it. It was his only chance.
He jumped onto a small square ledge at the bottom, then vaulted himself onto the dais itself. One of the dogs got the bottom of his robe in its mouth, but Dak was able to rip it free, then climb a little higher onto Plato, who didn’t seem to mind too much.
Dak was just high enough to stay alive. Below him, the dogs leapt and barked and snapped those sharp teeth at him.
“Nice pups,” Dak repeated, feeling about as ridiculous as he ever had before in his life. He wondered for a moment whether these beasts might be the ancestors of his old friend Vígi.
Just then one of th
e soldiers arrived — the others must have pursued Aristotle and his friends. The man was young, only nineteen or twenty by the look of it. Dark, curly hair covered his head, and eyes of steel — one blue and one brown — looked on Dak with anger. The guy had a breastplate that gleamed, and huge muscles in all the right places. One tough dude.
“I swear I’m a good guy,” Dak pleaded, his arms getting tired from clinging to the statue.
“I bet you are,” the guard responded. He hefted his bright, shiny, sharp sword and pointed it at Dak. “But I’ll never become Alexander the Great if I believe the lies of my enemies.”
Dak’s jaw dropped even as the man he was supposed to save stepped forward to kill him.
SERA WALKED briskly beside Aristotle, Riq, and two of the three guards who’d come bursting out of the house with the dogs. It hadn’t taken long for the philosopher to convince them that they meant no harm. But they still had a problem. There was no sign of Dak, and no sign of the dogs, who’d looked awfully hungry when they’d chased him through the gardens.
“I hope Dak isn’t dog food,” Riq muttered as they searched the hedges for their friend.
Sera smacked him on the arm. “Not funny.”
“It’s kinda funny,” he responded. When she gave him a look of death, he laughed. “Don’t worry. Do you really think they’d just let their dogs kill a young boy playing in the yard? I’m sure he’s —”
He stopped when they turned a corner of towering hedges and saw the scene before them. If Riq had thought things were funny before, now they might seem hilarious, though Sera just felt a swelling of relief.
Dak hung on a statue of a man, his hands gripping the arms and his legs wrapped around the torso. The dogs were at the base of the dais on which the statue stood, barking and chomping, slobber flinging in all directions. And then there was a soldier, tall and strong, holding a sword so that its tip rested right under Dak’s chin. But the guard was grinning, and it was obvious he had no intention of actually cutting the boy’s throat. The young man was probably just trying to teach a lesson, and maybe enjoying it a little too much.
“Alex,” Aristotle said in a commanding voice. “Put down that sword this instant! And call off these bloodthirsty dogs before someone gets a foot bitten off.”
Riq snickered beside Sera, and instead of smacking him this time she joined in, hoping Dak didn’t notice her laughing.
One of the other guards went up and barked some orders at the dogs — he actually sounded a lot like them — and they suddenly ran off, not seeming so violent anymore. Alex — and Sera could only assume that this was the person they’d come over two thousand years into the past to save — stepped back and lowered his sword, a huge smile spreading across his handsome face. Dark curls bounced as he swung his head to see his former tutor.
“Master,” he said. “You should really send word before you come to visit Mother and me.” His initial glee was dampened a bit by a dark look. “I also trust you’ll have an explanation as to why you appeared out of nowhere in the gardens behind our home.”
Aristotle walked forward and gave Alexander a big hug. “Of course, my boy. Of course. We’ll explain everything.” He took a step back, his hands still gripping the shoulders of his student. “But I just can’t tell you how happy I am to see you alive and well. My heart is soaring.”
Sera understood why he was showing so much emotion. Just an hour earlier he’d been told his most famous pupil had been killed, and yet here he stood now, safe and sound.
Alexander himself, of course, didn’t quite get it. “I just visited with you a month ago. And there’s not much around here that could hurt me besides some garden tools. Save your worries, master, for the day I go to battle with my father, the hegemon.”
When he spoke, Alexander had a grandness about him that impressed Sera. Even though he looked young, there was just something . . . majestic about him.
“Um, excuse me?”
Sera and everyone else looked at Dak, still hanging from the statue.
“The dogs are gone,” Riq said. “Is there a reason you’re still hanging up there like an ugly tree ornament?”
“Yes, actually. It was easy to get up here with dogs trying to bite me, but I’m not sure how to get back down. And as much as I love Plato . . .”
Riq and Sera stepped forward and provided footholds and balance as Dak climbed to the ground. Then the boy smoothed his clothes and heaved a big sigh.
“Tough work running from man-eating beasts,” he said. “You guys should try it sometime.”
They all stood silent for a moment, awkwardness hanging in the air like drapes. Then Aristotle finally broke the ice.
“Introductions!” he exclaimed, a little too excitedly. He cleared his throat, then proceeded to tell who was who, and of course Dak shook Alexander’s hand when it came to be his turn.
“I’ve always wanted to meet you,” Dak said. “Even though I didn’t honestly know a lot about you until the Hyst —”
“Very good, very good,” Aristotle interrupted. “Now that we’re all friends, let us retire to the palace and get comfortable. Alex, I don’t think I need to tell you that there’s a lot to talk about.”
The young man nodded, then finally sheathed his sword. “Yes, sounds like a fine plan, master. But I must warn you . . .”
“About what?” the philosopher prodded.
Alexander took a second to look at the people he’d just met. “I don’t think my mother is going to be very happy to see you.”
As pretty as the outside of Olympias’s palace was, the inside took Sera’s breath away. Alexander’s mother — or her decorator — had an obvious taste for the international. There was pottery from Egypt, rugs from Persia, bronze statues from Italy, furniture of all sizes and shapes, not one piece looking like it came from the same place as another. Sera wished she could transport the entire house into the future — she’d love to live in a place with so much variety and personality.
As for Olympias herself, she was as glamorous and beautiful as her palace.
Black hair hung to her waist, with ribbons and chains of silver and gold interwoven in intricate designs throughout. Her gown seemed to glow, white and shiny, which brought out her flawless olive skin and blazing green eyes. The amethyst mentioned earlier hung in the hollow of her neck. She even had perfect teeth, and Sera had the thought that it should be against some universal law for people to look so good.
“I did not invite you here,” she said to Aristotle after Alexander introduced them all to her. They were sitting in some kind of fancy parlor, with cushion-laden wooden furniture and colorful tapestries hanging on the walls. One huge window let in a burst of golden sunlight. Olympias was the only one standing, towering like the statue of Plato outside.
“No, you did not,” Aristotle said, surprisingly firm after the diss. “But I assure you we have vital reasons for being here. We only need a few moments of your time to explain.”
Not so much as a muscle twitched on the face of Olympias. “Time that I do not have.”
The philosopher finally stood to put himself on the same level as their hostess. “I would expect better treatment after all I’ve done for your son, my lady. I’ve come to learn of a threat that poses great danger to that very boy.” He glanced at Alexander, who sat quietly in a chair located in the corner of the room — he seemed to be analyzing every word, every movement, content to wait for more information. “I highly recommend you take a seat and hear us out.”
Olympias eyed the man, not moving for what seemed to Sera like a full hour. But then she finally smiled, acting as if she’d been doing so since the moment they met. After a brief nod of her head, she took a seat in the biggest chair in the room, one that was draped in silk and appeared to be made out of solid gold. She looked for all the world like a queen on her throne.
“Very well,” she said in a stately manner. Then her eyes found a spot on a couch, right next to Sera. “Please, sit.” Somehow she’d turned thin
gs around to make Aristotle seem like the obstinate one.
But the philosopher was unfazed. He plopped down ungracefully and started talking. “We’ve uncovered an assassination plot.”
For the first time, the lady’s demeanor broke a little — eyes widened in shock, a little tremor in her mouth. And Sera knew why. She probably thought Aristotle was talking about her plan to have King Philip murdered. But she recovered and waited to hear more.
“Someone wants your son dead, Olympias,” Aristotle continued. “And I can’t tell you why or how we know, but we do, and we know that she is coming here to do it. We must work together to prevent it from happening.”
“And why should I believe you?” Olympias responded. Sera wanted to growl like the dogs earlier — she really didn’t like this woman.
“Because you trusted me for years to tutor your son and raise him in the ways of wisdom and light. If you doubt me, or refuse to protect him, then I’d have to conclude that you have your own ill tidings planned for the very near future.”
The tension in the room was strung as tightly as a piano wire. Sera held her breath.
Olympias waited. And waited. And waited. She had the patience of a crocodile. Finally, she answered, and Sera didn’t know if she would ever breathe again when she heard the words.
“You must be talking about my new friend. The woman named Tilda.”
DAK WANTED to stand up, scream and yell, demand answers. But he was so stunned by what Olympias had said that he just sat there, staring at her. The others reacted the same. Alexander’s mother knew she’d gotten them good.
“She told me this might happen,” Olympias continued when no one questioned her statement. “We’ve been meeting at the market, and she’s become a very good friend. She’s so . . . different, with that red hair that shines in the sun like fired iron. I can hardly wait for our meetings. In fact, I’ve invited her to come and meet Alexander soon. It’s not often I allow guests into my home.”
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