Sam’s arm pops up, extending rigid above her head.
“Yes, Miss James.” The professor nods, his tangled hair jolts.
“Us. They have no knowledge of Wanderers.”
“Exactly!” The professor holds up his finger, pointing into the air with a plastic smile. “So, we’ll start with what the Normals theorize to be true, then we’ll add in the missing details!” He runs toward the contraption he’s been tinkering with, picks it up, and runs to the back of the class.
The library lights click off. The machine snaps on.
“I’ll have you enjoy a lecture from Mr. Albert Einstein, himself. A filmed lecture given in the 1920s at Princeton University on the Theory of Relativity,” he says with excitement.
A hologram buzzes in and out, sputtering blue electrical charges. The figure walks around the front of the class before its form completely solidifies. The man bears small resemblance to the Albert Einstein I’ve seen in photos. This man is much younger; the only similarity is his thick black mustache. He brushes his hand over his coarse salt-and-pepper hair and begins speaking with a heavy German accent.
::16::
History and Mythology
When we arrive for our next class, Wandering Histories and Mythologies, Mr. Attah Tash sits with his long dark legs crossed on a small, ornately carved pedestal, meditating. His hands rest, palm up, two fingertips touching. Three relics float at eye level before him. Together, the objects blaze, shimmering and sparkling.
Sam sits at the very front; her insightful eyes evaluate the small Indian man with thick black hair and a wide brow line. Surely she’s admiring his phenomenal abilities. The more experienced the Seer, the brighter a relic burns.
Students quietly sit on silk pillows scattered around the tiled floor. Bishop and I settle at the back of the intimate room. The space reminds me of the Moroccan restaurant he took me to in London. Just like he did that night on several occasions, he grabs my hand and plants a kiss on my palm. He gazes intently into my eyes, and I realize he’s thinking the same thing, which makes me smile.
When the class bell rings, Mr. Tash inhales an enormous breath, making his chest rise. His dark eyes flutter open, and he smiles. Even as he relaxes his meditative stance, the relics, which I can now see are pieces of chalk, continue their playful levitation, orbiting around his head like planets.
“Welcome, class,” he says, but continues to hold his pose.
“Whoa!” The class gasps in unison at the aged Seer’s control. I’ve heard rumors that well-developed Seers can control objects with levitation even in their waking states like telekinesis, but I’ve never seen it for myself.
One piece of chalk glides away from his body and lands, poised to write on the chalkboard. With only air to hold it up, it scratches the word, Gibeon, in capital letters across the surface.
“Washington, D.C., London, Paris, Bangkok, New Delhi—every state or country has its own capital. Gibeon is the Society of Wanderers’ capital,” Mr. Tash says, his voice rich with an Indian accent. “Some of you may have heard about it, but soon, as new members of the Society, you will make a pilgrimage there yourselves. This is one of the cities of a time. A place where your entire team can travel together.”
This information induces a cheer from the class.
“Yes, very exciting, indeed,” he agrees.
Mr. Tash walks to the edge of the chalkboard, where he positions himself into a new yoga pose. His hands rest palm to palm, and he raises them above his head, pointing skyward. Then he lifts one foot, anchoring it on his opposing thigh like a flamingo. “Please, class, stand and try the tree pose with me. A balanced and quiet mind is a disciplined one.”
Sam easily arranges herself in the awkward pose. Somehow, when I try, I’m leaning on Bishop, using him as a crutch. There are quick giggles around the room. Students bobble and fall over, then try the pose again.
Mr. Tash releases his stance and walks around to instruct each member.
“Seraphina, you must use your core, hold your stomach strong, and rely on yourself to keep this pose, not Mr. Bishop.” He gently straightens my body, pulling me away from Bishop. “Breathe as though meditating.” He demonstrates the proper technique.
I manage to hold the pose, which makes Mr. Tash smile. Though, while I should be concentrating, I can only think of how glad I am that Macey isn’t here. We’d collapse to the floor in laughter over a history class taught in conjunction with yoga.
“Yes, wonderful! You’ve got it! This will increase everyone’s strength, flexibility, and alignment,” Mr. Tash praises in a gentle voice.
“Gibeon’s the only place where time literally stands still. At any moment in history, no person knows the true position of Gibeon. Its secret location on earth randomly switches, never allowing it to latch on to any time zone.”
“How does an entire city move locations?” I ask. My pose wavers, and I lose my balance. My toes touch the ground. Quickly, I reestablish myself as a yoga tree.
“The relocation of the city is random and quite violent. Great forces of nature such as earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, hurricanes, and tsunamis often mask the geological shift,” he explains.
“The Grand Lodge, the capitol building, is where your oaths to the Society will take place.” He walks to the front of the class. The second piece of chalk leaves from circling his head and draws a detailed picture on the board.
“This,” Mr. Tash points to the new drawing, “is the Grand Lodge. It’s the most important building in the city of Gibeon, and it’s where governing decisions are made on behalf of the Society.”
The drawing is that of a ziggurat, a steeply pitched, stair-stepped building reminiscent of the ancient flat-topped pyramid-like temples in Chichen-Itza, Saqqara, and many other places throughout the world.
“As you can see here, Animates patrol every level of the building. They keep a watchful eye over the city and its numerous inhabitants, promoting balance and harmony among our kind.”
“Now, class, release your tree pose and please move to a high lunge.” Mr. Tash starts with his feet together, hands in a prayer, then he lunges backward, deepening himself into the pose, completely in control.
I rearrange my body into the easier pose. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Bishop teeter, almost losing his balance completely. I smile but try to remain focused.
“The history of Gibeon is a complicated one. The city itself was a gift from our Makers as a place for our kind to colonize on earth.
“At that time, the city of Gibeon did not move. For a thousand years, Wanderers lived happily in Gibeon. But it’s said that a young woman roamed past the limits of the city and befriended those of a nearby village of Normals. Although forbidden by our Makers, she taught the Normals our secrets: magic, weaponry, science, mathematics, farming, hunting, etc., giving them the keys to better themselves, and perhaps, become more evolved than was meant to be. She also fell in love with a Normal.
“This secretly continued for some time until the nearby town, whose rulers had become corrupt, drunk on their new knowledge acquired from the young girl, decided to attack Gibeon for its wealth of unlimited enlightenment.
“Gibeon, always peaceful, was suddenly occupied by Normals.
“The Makers immediately wiped out the new rulers and punished Gibeon’s inhabitants for the girl’s actions. Each was stripped of their powers—their wings, their magic, and their super-strength, whatever non-human power they possessed. But they bestowed on us a new ability—Wandering—so that we could time travel and always look back and learn from our mistakes. The Makers hoped that Wanderers would endeavor to become more evolved. And in dividing the ability between three persons—Wanderer, Seer, and Protector—each would have to consider their actions from many points of view.
“As further punishment, the Makers put Gibeon in motion, never allowing it to rest and move through time normally. So randomly, sometimes several times a day, the city moves violently as a reminder of their shortcomi
ngs and so that Normals would not find their location ever again.
“Of course, this is mythology. There are many different stories of our beginnings. Some Wanderers believe and some do not. Since then, Wanderers have left the limits of Gibeon, and mingled with Normals quite seamlessly. In doing so, many Wanderers have accepted the ways, religions, and customs of the Normals.”
“The city moving daily must lend some truth to the story,” Bishop remarks.
“Yes, Mr. Bishop, I completely agree. There are many truths to learn from our mythology,” says Mr. Tash with a wide smile.
“With your new wandering compasses from your oath package, you can travel to Gibeon. But please, when you finally make your pilgrimage, do not be shocked by the people visiting from various time periods. During my recent visit, I chatted with Jules Verne. Very exciting, indeed.”
This comment launches a new peppering of questions. Several minutes pass before Mr. Tash returns to his lecture.
“Now, please take out your wandering compasses,” Mr. Tash instructs.
I have yet to open my oath package, so I drag myself closer to Bishop. From his vest pocket, he pulls out a clear glass orb with a compass suspended in the middle. It hangs from a looped leather band, one that can easily fit around his wrist. The leather is decorated, embossed with the markings of a Protector, a scorpion. When I lean in to admire the compass’ face, I notice that the name, Gibeon, sits in the place of a north marker. Several names of other wandering cities are marked around the edges. These must be the other cities of time.
“I will teach you how to use these now.” Mr. Tash steps to the center of the room.
Students stack pillows at the wall and stand in a circle surrounding Mr. Tash.
“Pay close attention, class, to everything that I do. The compass can be used to travel back and forth from Gibeon. You cannot wander there normally because a life path cannot be connected with a location that moves, but you may wander normally from Gibeon, back home, if necessary.”
Mr. Tash stands with one bare foot in front of the other. His hand, positioned at his hip, holds the leather strap loosely around his wrist, compass tucked into his cupped fingers. With a quick flick of his hand, a bronze chain unwinds from around the compass like a yoyo, dropping the orb toward the floor.
“Keep the name Gibeon in your head as your keyword,” he reminds.
Mr. Tash rocks forward and back, changing his weight from one foot to the other. Near the floor, the compass moves with him, swinging like a pendulum. He flicks his wrist again, quicker this time, and the compass rotates in a complete circle at the end of the chain. The orb whirls in wide rotations repeatedly, building speed and creating a whipping sound, which intensifies into a wild buzz.
Mr. Tash’s body blurs, disconnecting with true time. And after a few seconds, he’s completely gone—vanished to Gibeon.
We stare at each other in shock. For me, it’s the first time I’ve seen someone wander without the aid of falling or running—the world, for once, not crashing, catapulting them into a wormhole.
Amazing.
A blur reappears, accompanied by the buzzing whirl of the compass. Mr. Tash’s body solidifies. While lost in my astonishment, the bell rings, signaling the end of class.
::17::
Defense Arts
I’m in the class I’d been dreading all summer, Defense Arts. Not because I don’t want to improve. Of course, I do, but I’m still not ready to reveal my improved abilities to Bishop. He’ll not only be hurt but he’ll easily figure out my plan—to go back and save my mom. That’s something I must do alone.
After changing into workout uniforms, a small group of students meets in the Defense Arts gymnasium. The person I really wish wasn’t here stands nearby, peering at her reflection in the mirrored wall, primping.
I look away from Perpetua, only to see another person I dislike.
“Hello, Sera.” Stu strolls over with his lanky, awkward walk. “You’re looking as lovely as ever, if you don’t mind me saying so.” He grabs his pockets, adjusting his pants. I instantly feel dirty, standing near him. His personality oozes an off-putting, slimy confidence.
“Actually, I mind,” says Bishop. He stands over us and crosses his arms, giving Stu a stern look.
“Whoa.” Stu holds up his palms in defense. “Hey, man. Just came over to say hi.” He retreats with false remorse, then quickly regains his overconfident swagger.
“Thanks for saving me.” I turn to Bishop.
“That’s what I’m here for,” he says and smiles.
“It just makes me angry to know that they’re back,” I complain. Bishop rubs the length of my arms. “Why would they do something like that? Does Terease really think they’re not a threat anymore?”
“No, I doubt it. But in this case, the Society made a trade for something they need, info on Cece’s whereabouts.”
“Have they even looked for her yet?” I’ve held out hope that I’ll hear about a raid on the Underground before it takes place. In my mind, I imagine sneaking out to join the raiding group—that, or eventually using the rosary to find my mom. Whichever comes first, it doesn’t matter. The result will be the same.
“Not as far as I know, but I’ll keep my ears open. I know I’ll sleep better when they aren’t a threat to you anymore,” Bishop says. “But not that it matters, Sera, I’ll never let anyone like that near you again.” He slides his finger under my chin to raise my lips level with his. He gives me the smallest, sweetest kiss.
“I guess,” I grumble, trying not to smile. His kisses disarm me. Even still, I really need to get the rosary necklace back from Turner. It would be nice to find my mom and never have to think about Cece and the Underground ever again. My next thought: contemplating how to sneak out of the apartment tonight, so I can square off with Hologram Turner. He will lose eventually.
“We’ll start today’s class with warm-ups. Then we’ll practice one-on-one combat,” announces Ms. Swift as she walks into the middle of the room. “Now everyone go ahead and spread out.” She directs us with her arms until we stand at an acceptable distance from one another.
She then drops to the floor, leading everyone through a prescribed stretching routine, advising us to do so before every class. She explains this will lengthen our muscles, warm them up, and help reduce injury.
“Now, I want everyone to partner with someone not on your team,” Ms. Swift says. I look around awkwardly, wishing Macey were here. Instead, I find Scarlett, the Seer who sits with our group at lunch.
With the help of Atticus Li, Ms. Swift demonstrates protecting yourself from an attacker who grabs you from behind. Atticus attacks Ms. Swift, throwing his arms around her neck. She twists, securing herself to his shoulder, then flips him over. He moans, lying on the floor in front of her. She hovers in a defensive crouched position. When she determines he’s down for good, she pops up with her hands on her hips.
Together, she and Atticus show the class two additional defensive moves.
“Now, try all three moves with your partner. Take turns playing the attacker,” Ms. Swift suggests.
I turn to Scarlett, feeling a little guilty about fighting the pixie-like girl. She doesn’t seem a bit nervous as she dances into position behind me.
“Ready?” she asks in a cheerful voice.
“Go,” I say, quickly trying to decide how hard I should be. Go easy.
I don’t even hear her running, but I know she’s coming. The hair on my arms stands on end. Something within me senses the danger. She jumps, grasping my back. Her arms and legs wrap around my body like a binding rope. Twisting my torso, I flip her. But when she doesn’t let go, I flop on top of her with a thud.
She moans.
I quickly jump up. “Are you okay?” I stretch out a hand to help her stand.
“You’re really strong. You almost yanked my arms out of the sockets.” She rubs her shoulders then rotates them like wings.
I wince. “Sorry.” I thought I was being car
eful.
We move on to the other moves. More gingerly this time, I dance around her, letting her win every time.
“Are you feeling okay?” Ms. Swift pats my shoulder in between matches.
“Yeah, why?” She looks at me as though she knows I can do better—much better.
She turns to the class. “All right, let’s switch partners.”
But this time, Ms. Swift rearranges the groups. Scarlett stands in front of Stu, and I, in front of Perpetua. Poor Scarlett; I cringe at her match-up. She looks over, pushes a blonde tress behind her ear, and gives me a worried smile.
She probably feels sorry for me, too. My feelings for Perpetua aren’t exactly a secret. I look over at Perpetua. She paces the floor, glaring at me.
Ms. Swift stands in the center of the room with her arms crossed over her gray jumpsuit. “All right, everyone. Try the routine again with your new partner.”
Perpetua looks over and gives me one of her evil little smiles. Maybe I can pulverize her while no one’s watching.
“I’ll attack first,” she says and settles into position.
My eyes quickly sweep the room. Every student, including Bishop, is focused on his or her match. It can’t hurt, just this once. I wrangle a smile.
The feeling of danger hits faster this time. Perpetua’s grip rips around my throat. As a Protector, her skills are far superior to Scarlett’s.
To confuse her, I deviate from the lesson. I grab her arm and twist to face her. I lift my knee to her stomach but in a blurred streak, she twists out of my grasp. Kick. Knee. Punch. Turn. Sweep. Flip. The motions repeat with the force of an earthquake. We’re locked in an even match until I consider what her weakness might be. I position myself for the final attack; one I know will end this.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Bishop stop to watch our match. And in that instant, I allow Perpetua to control the fight. After a few quick, painful movements, she victoriously stands over me, twisting my arm into submission and smashing my face into the mat with her foot.
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