Guardian of the Stone

by Amity Grays

  Now, just as he had that night, Professor Blaine stared back at him through the glass, only now they stood on opposite sides.

  Holding up a finger, the professor indicated he’d be a moment.

  A moment—life could change drastically in that small split second. A lesson Federic had learned the hard way. First, when the King’s graces had turned in a second through an unbelievable and unforgivable act of selfishness. And later, when a single leap had led him into a life he would never have imagined.

  When he’d taken Edeline into his arms and fled that night, it was with a heavy heart bare of all hope but one. He had hoped his faith was not in vain. And yes, he had questioned it, Lord forgive him, all the way to the shore.

  Leaping off the towering cliffs, he had braced himself for anything, but still not been prepared. A ferocious wind had pulled them into its grip, flinging them around and around against invisible walls. Peculiar shadows and tortured cries had run with them through the darkness until they landed in the light, a light like he had never seen, an artificial light made by man.

  It was a world both foreign and unimaginable. It was not Heaven nor was it Hell, but it was as shocking as either could have been. It was the future. And it, thereafter, became their home—his, Edeline’s, Braguard’s.

  Just as the priest had predicted, the Lord had taken them into his arms and carried them to safety. He’d placed them in the hands of modern day warriors, warriors who fought for honor and justice, warriors who fought in His holy name. It was one of those warriors who put them in contact with Father Tom. Perhaps that had always been the Lord’s plan. For the good father was truly God sent.

  He, and those who stood silently behind him, had provided Federic and Edeline everything they would need to survive in their new world: not just shelter and food, but a home, a job, and documentation to validate their existence. It wasn’t easy, and at times it was frightening. He thought he’d never learn their language or their ways. But now they were his and thankfully hers.

  From behind the glass, a young scientist handed the professor a clipboard and words were exchanged. Though Federic could hear none of it, the bottom line was written clearly within the lines now lying heavy across the professor’s forehead. The portal continued to weaken. Time was running out.

  “Miracles were never meant to be caged,” the professor had once said.

  He was right, and Federic was certain this miracle had served its purpose. It wasn’t all coincidence—the priest’s visions, the bridge through time, nor was it coincidence the men who stood at each end. The scientists could call it what they willed, but Federic knew what the portal really was. It was a means to an end. It had provided him and Edeline sanctuary in a world far away from their time, far away from those who would stop at nothing to obtain her power.

  Though now, in light of what has happened, he had to wonder if there truly was such a place. Past, present, future—none were as secure as man would like to believe.

  Federic took a weary breath.

  He would have to tell her. There remained no time in which to wait. If their efforts proved unsuccessful, somewhere within the next ten to fifteen days, his daughter would vanish into the past.

  Perhaps he should have told her years ago—the truth of her birth, of her heritage, of her role. But for many years, she had been too young and the truth too complicated. Then it had simply been too hard. He had raised her as his own, and he could love her no more even if it were his own blood which ran through her veins. And like any father, he wanted her to have it all—a happy childhood, a normal life.

  But some things were not his to give and others not his to take back.

  Behind him the door opened, and a young soldier walked in. Stepping forward to the observation window, he stopped beside Federic and stared through the glass.

  Federic quickly sized the young man up. In any century, he’d be recognized as a warrior. Large, well-defined muscles spread across his torso. He carried the kind of confidence and ego that had to be earned. It could never simply be portrayed.

  Piercing dark eyes turned toward Federic. He was sized up and judged under the same harsh appraisal as he’d bestowed on the young man. The soldier nodded, but his verdict was unclear. “Federic Depuis?”

  “I am,” he replied, offering the young man his hand.

  “Dane Walker, sir.” The soldier took his hand and held it firm.

  First impressions could be deceiving, but the soldier struck Federic as one of high caliber. With what the young man was in for, he certainly hoped it was true.

  On the other side of the glass, Professor Blaine ran his hands through his already ruffled hair, then handed his clipboard to the man at his side. He walked outside the lab and a couple seconds later walked into the glass-paneled room behind General Matthews.

  “I see you two have already met,” said the general, dropping an armload of ancient-style apparel onto the table at Dane’s side. Looking at Federic, he nodded toward Dane. “He’s the best there is. He’ll see everything gets put back in its appropriate place.”

  Federic grunted. One of the “everythings” getting put back in place would be his daughter—or her future self, that is. Those who took Edeline couldn’t have gotten her into the portal without the dating device. That device would ensure her return back to the future, a future which will have been altered, a future where she hopefully will have never been taken.

  The same would be true for the stone and the men responsible for the abduction. Once they realized Edeline had been brought back, they’d have no reason to stay. They’d return, and like Edeline, at a certain point merely vanish from the portal into their new realities.

  If all went as planned, the only one returning from the past would be Dane.

  One of the lab technicians tapped on the glass from inside the lab, then raised three fingers when the general looked his way.

  “Professor Blaine?”

  “It will do,” the Professor said, looking anything but certain.

  “I’d ask for a translation,” Dane said with a scowl, “but I’m not sure I want it.”

  The professor nodded in understanding. “In layman’s terms, the bars represent the strength of the connection between the two ends of the portal. It tracks a number of factors but mainly the movement of the particles which make up the walls within the portal.”

  “And strong walls have what kind of reading?”

  “Better than three.” Taking in and releasing a long breath, the professor’s typically confident stance seemed to waver. “It’s likely to be a rougher trip than you’re used to, but it will get you there.”

  “And back?”

  The professor exchanged an uncertain look with the general.

  “Never mind,” Dane said. “No choice. I get it.”

  “Just make it quick,” General Matthews said.

  “We know approximately when they landed and, of course, where,” added the professor, changing the subject. “They won’t expect to be followed, so that should give you the advantage.”

  “Sounds easy enough,” Dane said.

  Smiling at the young man’s confidence, the general picked up the pile of clothes lying on the table and handed them, along with a photo, to Dane. He pointed toward the dressing area.

  Dane hurried and dressed, then took a quick moment to study the photo. Soft blond curls surrounded a perfectly etched face. She was without a doubt beautiful, her blue eyes as soft and beckoning as her luscious red lips.

  He placed the picture down on the bench atop his discarded fatigues.

  The photo would have to remain behind, but it didn’t matter. The face was one he would never forget.

  Chapter Four

  HER LIDS FELT HEAVY, burdened by the weight of an internal fog. But Edeline was determined to see a world which had lost all clarity. Where was she, and how did she get there?

  A cooling breeze blew softly across her skin, carrying the unusual scents of fresh earth, musk, and forest. It was
enticing, comforting…strange. Managing to pull apart her lids, she caught a glimpse of clear blue sky.

  Bright!

  She flinched, and her eyes once again closed. With her head already aching, the light only served to intensify the pain. As the pain slightly dulled, the oddity of her circumstance emerged. What would she be doing outside? Where was her father? Why was her head so muddled and unclear?

  Attempting to turn away from the blinding light, she was surprised by the heaviness of her limbs. It seemed unlikely she’d be able to move, but she knew she had to try. Though exhaustion called her back to slumber, something else called to her very soul—an odd sense of belonging, an irrational sense of home. It was a feeling she desperately wanted to understand. For this place, wherever it was, seemed nothing like home.

  “Edeline?” A low whisper came as though in a dream. It tumbled in through her ears, but rumbled through her spirit. Like a physical touch, it warmed her inside and out. “Edeline, can you hear me?”

  Instinctively she smiled. Something about the deep, hushed voice simply pleased her. She wanted to see him, but her lids refused this time to open.

  “They’re coming back,” he said just as she picked up the sound of muffled voices and breaking twigs. “You’re going to be all right. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  There was a rustling of brush, then she sensed he was gone.

  This was crazy. It couldn’t be real.

  Comforted by the certainty it was no more than a dream and too tired to fight the exhaustion any longer, Edeline allowed herself to drift back into the darkness, awakening some time later to the sound of a distant battle. No doubt, her father was watching one of those horrible medieval dramas he loved so much.

  “Dad, turn it down,” she tried to yell, but the words came out muffled.

  The sounds continued.

  With great effort, she opened her eyes. “Dad?”

  “She’s waking up,” said an unfamiliar voice from the not-so-far distance.

  Long blades of grass swayed gently in front of her. Through their cover she could barely make out three distorted figures. It all seemed impossible, but it played real enough. The grass was vividly green, the smells quite definable, and her body undoubtedly sore. Yet her mind could make sense of none of it.

  One of the figures stood and headed her way.

  It was a man. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out what looked to be a syringe.

  Edeline’s head began to pound as her insides turned with fear. She forced her eyes to remain open.

  The man tapped the needle’s tip and lifted it high into the air to study its contents. He turned back toward the others. “This will keep her about six hours. Think that’s too long?”

  Fighting harder than ever to stay conscious, she cursed her helpless state. Panic pushed the loathsome taste of bile near the top of her throat. She had no idea what these strangers were planning, but none of this looked good.

  As the man stood there waiting for a reply that never came, the once refreshing wind blew a retched smell past her nostrils. If she’d had the energy, she’d likely have heaved.

  The world swirled and with it the man.

  Moaning her refusal to succumb to slumber, she felt herself losing the battle all the same.

  “Hey, darlin’,” said the stranger, grabbing her arm and searching for a vein. “A bit woozy, are we?”

  The sounds of anguished cries still rang somewhere in the background.

  Searching the man’s face in hopes of finding a memory, she found none. This had better be a dream, or she was in very serious trouble.

  She closed her eyes.

  The man chuckled. “That a girrr—”

  His grip tightened then released, leaving her arm to fall back to the ground.

  When she opened her eyes again, the man seemed to have changed forms. She blinked several times, but the figure did not clear. This was another person altogether.

  Deep brown eyes bore into hers. She reached up her hand to touch the handsome face, but the figure blurred, and her hand fell to her side. Slumber once again pulled her into the dark.

  Sitting atop a hill, high above and far out of sight from the battlefield below, Graham watched the bloody battle with undeniable fascination. They were like nothing he had ever seen, these Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ. Courageous, bold, fearless—no wonder they lived in infamy.

  “Amazing,” he said, unable to look away.

  “Their skills?” Farrell asked as they watched another knight plant his sword through his attacker.

  Graham shook his head. “Their audacity.”

  In the valley below, swords moved through the air with lightning speed as the warriors took one mighty blow after another. Their cries, along with those of their attackers, merged into one. The only way Graham was able to keep track of the victor was by the number of red crosses remaining on the battlefield. One by one the others fell until the field was clear of everyone but the three men in the boldly marked, white surcoats.

  He had heard the stories and even studied the warriors’ reign, but never would he have believed it if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes. These were the men of legends. These were the Knights Templar.

  “They had to have been outnumbered four to one,” Farrell said in disbelief. “I gave them no hope.”

  “They were the greatest warriors of all time. You’d be wise to never underestimate them. Isn’t that so, Mitchell?” Graham turned toward his friend. “Mitchell?” Lying motionless in the tall grass was his friend’s slim body. Graham’s heart skipped more than a beat. The girl had vanished.

  “She’s gone!”

  Pulling his gaze from the field below, Farrell looked back toward the small patch of green. “What the hell?”

  Graham hurried back toward Mitchell. Kneeling down beside him, he felt for a pulse. Beating slow but steady, it emerged. He had clearly been drugged. Not far from his friend’s unconscious body, Graham spotted the emptied syringe.

  “She’s jabbed him with his own needle,” he said in astonishment. Moving to his feet, he looked frantically around the countryside. “How did she manage it?”

  “Maybe her old man taught her a few tricks through the years.”

  It was a good guess. No doubt the aging warrior would be wary. The man had, after all, been charged with perhaps the greatest task of his time—perhaps of all time. They should have given that fact a bit more consideration, along with the fact that his charge was more than mere sugar and spice. The blood of a great warrior raged through her veins, not to mention the spirit and strength of a high priest.

  “Come on,” he said, motioning for Farrell’s help, “let’s move Mitchell into the bush and then go after her. She couldn’t possibly have gotten far.”

  Lifting Mitchell’s arms as Farrell grabbed his feet, Graham caught a flash of material falling toward the ground. “Hold up,” he ordered, bending down to retrieve the damp linen cloth which had fallen from Mitchell’s side. He pulled it toward him for a better look but dropped it immediately as a vile stench drifted past his airways. “It’s some kind of homemade chloroform.”

  “Chloroform? Where the hell did that come from?”

  “The Cavalry,” he replied. “It seems our little captive may have had a little help.”

  Graham’s gaze ran across the many surrounding hills. Behind them lay nothing but soft rolling hills; ahead, nothing but forest. Tall trees and deep chasms would provide plenty of places to hide. The game had taken a drastic turn.

  He nodded toward the field below. “There will be a few unmanned horses down there. Let’s see if we can catch a couple.”

  Chapter Five

  CUDDLING CLOSER TO THE WARMTH, Edeline buried her face against its solid surface. The horrid odor had gone, and in its place was the pleasing scent of worn leather and musk. Pulling in another deep breath, she found even more—the fresh fragrances of forest, a rejuvenating blast of clean air. She smiled, enjoying the moment along with the
gentle sway of a soft and steady gait.

  Gait!

  Her eyes flew open.

  Green was everywhere—green in the foliage, green of moss, green in the tall, thin trees which went up much further than she could see.

  Her stomach tightened. Her heart squeezed.

  Oh, dear Lord, I really am in a forest.

  She looked down.

  No doubt about it. That was a horse.

  What in the world is going on?

  She snuck a peek to her right. A black cloak spread across broad shoulders to fall loosely over a solid sheet of male. She swallowed. One thing she knew for certain—that was not her father’s chest.

  This is wrong. Everything is wrong.

  Pulling away from the wall of muscle, she stared in astonishment at the ruggedly handsome man before her. His face was square, with sharp lines defining a perfectly shaped nose and pleasantly masculine chin. Dark brows sat attractively above deep brown eyes wrapped in thick ebony lashes. A good day’s growth shadowed his jaw, adding an alluring but dangerous aura. Typically she would have found the man nothing short of striking, but there was nothing typical about the moment, nothing typical about being in a stranger’s arms.

  Dark piercing eyes looked down to meet hers.

  “Aaaah!” Her blood-curdling scream shattered the late afternoon’s calm, startling the man and causing him to jump.

  What had until then been an easygoing horse laid back its ears and began prancing around, snorting a warning it would soon leave them stranded.

  Grabbing tight to the reins, the rider worked to refocus the mount’s attention, quickly calming its troubled nerves. “Good girl,” he praised, leaning forward to stroke her long neck.

  Looking back toward Edeline, he caught her ready to let loose another cry.