Time's Demon

by D. B. Jackson

  “So what do you want?” the other woman asked, breaking another long pause.

  “What?”

  “You said before that I wanted to return to my Orzili, and you did, too, but there’s something you want more.”

  “To live, of course. I’ll give him up if it means you won’t take me away from us.” She wrinkled her brow at the wording, but went on. “There’s a way we can both have what we want. I thought of it when I was with the time demons.” She faltered. “I’ll try to remember.”

  “You don’t have to,” the other Lenna said, her voice hushed. “I think I know. It’s… It’s brilliant, really. And simple.”

  Their eyes met across the shadows and flickering light. She remembered their gazes locking earlier in the day, when everything in her mind exploded. This was different, and yet also the same. Recognition, fear, but tinged now with possibility.

  “I go forward in time, fourteen years,” the other Lenna said. “Back to where I belong. I use your chronofor to get there. You remain here, with my device, which will start to work the instant I leave. And – this is the difficult part – the Orzili in this time never knows.”

  She nodded, relieved that she didn’t have to explain. “We would exchange gowns before you go.”

  “Yes, of course. In my mind, you’re Lenna-in-red. You would have to become Lenna-in-blue.” She faced the flames. “There’s one problem.”

  When she didn’t answer, the other woman continued.

  “The other Lenna. The young one. As long as one of us is here, her chronofor won’t work. Eventually, I intended to return to my – our – time. At which point she would be able to Walk. You don’t plan to leave this time, and that traps her here. I remember those intervening years. On several occasions, Pemin sent us back to kill. She can’t do any of that if you’re here. Nor would she ever come back to this time to help Orzili with the Walker, which means that all of this changes.”

  Neither of them said anything. She stood by the food. The other Lenna remained by the hearth. When they did finally speak, it was to offer the same words, in unison.

  “There is one way.”

  Pain brought him back to his senses, a stomach-roiling pounding at the base of his skull. He forced his eyes open. The stars above him wheeled. He rolled onto his side, vomited, and flopped to his back again, eyes closed, every breath a hammer blow to his head.

  Lenna had done this to him. Not his Lenna. Not either of his Lennas. But still… Anyone else, and he would have vowed revenge. With her, he couldn’t.

  He didn’t know how much time had passed. It hadn’t been fully dark when they fought. It was now.

  “She spoke true.”

  He had his pistol out, full-cocked, and aimed before knew what he had done. Two children stood over him, starlight giving him a vague sense of their faces. A sickly odor emanated from them.

  “She said he was unconscious. He’s not.” A boy’s voice.

  The first words had been spoken by a girl.

  “Your pistol is useless against two of us.” The girl again. He kept his weapon leveled at her.

  “Would you care to test that?” he said, his voice thin. “You’re a fool. All humans are fools.”

  All humans…

  A demon then. Tirribin. Real fear crashed through him. She was right. His pistol was useless. Even if he shot one – difficult considering their speed – he couldn’t possibly shoot both.

  “A carpenter, I build without hammer or nail,

  A traveler, I journey without wheel or sail;

  An artist, my work is the most elegant lair,

  A hunter, I rely on the deadliest snare.”

  He blurted it out, giving them no time to attack.

  The demons stared at him, stunned by what he had said. Then they were consulting, their heads close together, their hands motioning so quickly they appeared to blur.

  He hadn’t bargained with them, which might have been a mistake. They wouldn’t allow him to leave, not until they solved the mystery or gave up and demanded the answer. At least, though, he had given himself time.

  He was dizzy still, but less than before. His head throbbed.

  She spoke true…

  The implications of the demon’s first words finally reached through his pain and disorientation. Had the crazed Lenna sent them? Had she tried to kill him?

  Could he blame her if she had?

  She believed he meant to kill her, and in a sense she was right. He couldn’t imagine any solution to this mess that allowed her to continue her own life. He would have preferred not to hurt Lenna in any form, but he wouldn’t risk the sanity of the woman he loved for this… this accident of history. The sooner his Lenna Walked back in time and ended this nightmare, the better for all of them. The confusion caused by the arrival of the third Lenna couldn’t go on.

  On the thought, he forced himself up, braced himself against the nearest boulder. The Tirribin glanced his way, before resuming their deliberations.

  He swallowed against a tide of nausea, and squeezed his eyes shut. Damn her. It was a long way back to the castle. He had his sextant with him, but he couldn’t endure even a short journey through the gap in his present condition.

  Voices from the south made the Tirribin straighten and blur to his side.

  “Tell us what it is,” the girl said, her voice high and taut.

  “You’ll let me live?”

  “The riddle instead of years.” The words rushed out of her. “A fair bargain. Please, the answer! Before they arrive!”

  He was tempted to deny them, but knew he would pay a cost for such a betrayal.

  “It’s a spider.”

  The Tirribin sighed as one.

  “A fine riddle,” the boy said, eyes closed in relish. “Our thanks.”

  They left before he could respond. He tracked their blurred forms for some distance, but soon lost them amid the boulders and shadows.

  He straightened, turned toward the voices. Sheraigh soldiers. He raised a hand in greeting and staggered forward to join them.

  They escorted him back to Castle Hayncalde and then to the healer, who used her magick to ease the pounding of his head and the dizziness. Within a bell of his arrival, the healer had completed her ministrations and ordered him to bed. Instead, he went to Lenna’s chamber.

  At her word, he entered and closed the door behind him.

  Lenna stood at the sight of him, laying aside the book she read. Candlelight gleamed in her dark eyes; fire glow warmed the blue of her gown.

  “Are you–” She broke off. “Did you find her?”

  “I did,” he said, joining her by the hearth. “She fought me off and fled. She sent Tirribin for me. I’m lucky to be alive.”

  “How did you escape them?”

  He smirked. “A riddle. The one you used when we were children.”

  “That was clever.”

  “Have you heard anything from the guards?”

  “No. I think she must have left the city.”

  “Or this time. Have you tried your chronofor again?”

  “Tried my… Yes, not long ago. It doesn’t work. She must still be in this time.”

  He narrowed his gaze. She seemed… odd, and she wouldn’t look him in the eye. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Lenna–”

  “I’m tired,” she said, and sounded it. “This day has… It’s unsettled me.”

  “I’m sure. It’s unsettled me, too.” He gripped her shoulders gently and kissed her brow. She smelled of woodsmoke and honeysuckle. “You should sleep. She can’t hide from us forever. I’ll speak with the captain of the guard tonight and have them extend their search beyond the city walls. We’ll find her, and then we’ll send you back to repair what’s been broken.”

  She responded with a faltering nod. No doubt she still blamed him for all that had happened. Maybe she had cause.

  “And… and after that,” he went on, “I’ll send you back to your own t
ime. As soon as I can. I promise.”

  “Thank you,” she said, her voice low. Still she wouldn’t look at him.

  He released her and stepped back to the door. “Sleep,” he said. “You’ll feel better come morning.”

  She nodded, thinned a smile. He left her.

  The memory came to her the moment he pressed his lips to her forehead. It shouldn’t have surprised her. From the instant the other Lenna left, everything had grown clearer. Of course this would follow.

  The reason she had Walked back these twelve days. The cause of all that had happened since her arrival.

  The time to share this with him had passed. She couldn’t tell him without revealing who she was and where the other Lenna had gone. And after all he had done and said, she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

  Still, she heard the words in her head, shouted in her own voice. He escapes! The Walker escapes from your dungeon!

  He didn’t deserve the warning, and so she wouldn’t give it. Time would reveal the truth of it soon enough.

  CHAPTER 19

  23rd Day of Kheraya’s Waking, Year 634

  After Maeli commanded her to leave Hayncalde, Droë considered calling for Tresz. He would bear her again; he had told her as much. She had no idea where to go, and no means of reaching another isle. Under the circumstances, the Shonla would gladly help her.

  She spotted the Shonla’s mist on the bay, drifting toward a ship. She needed only to sing. Lyrics danced on her tongue; a melody repeated itself in her mind. She kept it locked there.

  Pride.

  He would want to know what had happened, and she wouldn’t be able to tell the story without weeping. The cruelty of the other Tirribin, the condescension of the Arrokad – she didn’t wish to think about either. She wouldn’t speak of them.

  For centuries, she had lived alone, hunted alone, provided for herself in every way. She could do so again. Yes, she was hundreds of leagues from the isle she knew best. What did that matter? She was Tirribin, an Ancient. She needed no one.

  She crept back to the Daerjen wharves and stole onto a ship, hiding herself in the hold among sleeping men and women, the foul smells of humans surrounding her. None saw her or heard her. Her own smell was masked by those of the sailors. Humans were so often oblivious of the world around them, foolishly secure.

  She didn’t know where the ship would sail, and she didn’t care. Away from Hayncalde. Nothing else mattered to her. As long as they departed come the morning. She didn’t wish to be on these waters at night, in case the captain wasn’t wise enough to light torches on his deck. It would have been humiliating had Treszlish attacked the vessel with her aboard.

  The crew stirred at dawn and soon bustled above, readying the ship for the sea. She remained below, hidden, hungry. She didn’t like the slip and roll of voyaging. She would have traded the warmth of the hold for the cold of Tresz’s mists if it meant she could end this disorienting up and down and experience again the joy of flying with the Shonla.

  For all that day and two more, they sailed. Droë’s need for years consumed her. Time and again, she started to crawl from her hiding place, intending to feed on the nearest of the crew. On each occasion, fear of discovery stopped her. She could fight off the strongest humans. She might best three or five in a fight to the death. Against all of them, though, many armed with pistols and blades, she couldn’t hope to survive.

  But neither could she live long without feeding. Her gut ached. She struggled to keep her thoughts clear, to maintain her restraint. It was worst at night, her natural hunting time. She slept poorly when she slept at all. The aroma of so many years insinuated itself into every thought, every dream, every breath. She feared she might go mad with desire.

  Ironically, her one consolation also came at night, when couples retreated into the hold to take pleasure in one another. Love, the act and the emotion. Her fascination. Her obsession. It was here in abundance. Men and women, men and men, women and women. She had never seen or heard so much. It surrounded her, permeating the air much as the years did. Her kind saw well in the dark, and here, with humans writhing and panting all around her, every one of her senses was heightened. So, too, was her determination. For arousal did not follow fascination. It seemed it couldn’t, wasn’t part of her. She resolved anew to change that, and so was doubly eager to leave this vessel.

  Late on the third day, with daylight waning, the ship’s motion changed. Shouts from above. Sounds she didn’t understand. When she realized that the crew had furled their sails and taken up oars, she nearly cried out.

  Her relief didn’t last long. She listened, and even left her nook to determine where they were.

  Still not at a wharf. They had anchored the ship near a port, but, she gathered, would not approach the dock until the next morning.

  Men and women neared the hatch. She scrambled back to her hiding spot. Waited, watched, listened, dreamed, her desire for desire as keen as her hunger.

  Later, when all the humans in the hold had fallen asleep, Droë left her hiding place again and climbed onto the deck, making not a sound. Above, a few humans still prowled the ship. She kept out of sight, peered over the rail at the torches burning on the nearby wharves. The distance wasn’t great. Her kind didn’t like water, but she could swim if she had to. After she fed.

  A young woman stood near the ship’s prow, gazing toward the city. Easy prey, even for one as famished as Droë.

  She stalked, rushed the woman when she was near enough, clambered onto her back, clamped a hand over her mouth to muffle her screams. She rode the woman down to the deck, mouth at the sailor’s throat, sweet years on her tongue. She fed until the woman had nothing left to give. A man approached, wary, a blade in his hand.

  “Winn? That you?”

  Hungry still, Droë waited until he was close and then took his years as well. His struggles alerted others. She was sated now, and eager to get away. She climbed over the rail and down the side of the ship, and slipped into the water without a splash. Sailors on the deck of the vessel lit torches, cried out at the sight of their dead shipmates. Droë glided away in the inky waters, her strength restored. More torches burned. They would scour the hold and then the deck and then the hold again. No one on the ship would sleep this night.

  She swam silently, chilled by the brine, but pleased to be away. Her one fear was that she would find Tirribin in this city as well, wherever she was.

  She reached a stone-strewn strand some time later and dragged herself out of the cold surf, weary from swimming so far. As she scanned the shoreline and the city beyond, she saw much that struck her as familiar. The arc of the rocky coast, the soaring spire of the city’s sanctuary. She had been here, recently.

  “Rooktown,” she whispered. She was back on the isle of Rencyr, in the royal city, where she had been with Tresz not so long ago. She didn’t know whether to be frustrated or amused. In the end, she decided she was neither. It was a place, like any other, filled with prey and largely unknown to her.

  She made her way to the city gate, passed through at Tirribin speed, unnoticed by the guards, and set out through the lanes, searching for others of her kind. Since she had fed on the ship, she didn’t have to risk hunting in another’s territory. It took her a bell or two to pass at speed through most of the city’s streets. By the time she finished, she was hungry again, but also convinced that no Tirribin dwelt here. She could prey at will.

  She fed, found a lair in which to pass the day, hunted that next night and during the ones that followed. No other Tirribin appeared to disrupt the rhythm of her new life. For the first time since beginning her wanderings with Tresz, she had found contentment. She had abundant prey, a city to call her own. What more could one of her kind want?

  A great deal, she learned. For while she had found the ingredients necessary for contentment, true peace eluded her.

  She wanted to find Ujie again, to convince the Arrokad that she had been wrong about Droë’s desire to change. Or perhaps to be c
onvinced that she was the one who was wrong. She tried not to think of Tobias, or of her nights in the hold of that ship. Love was for humans. Companionship was something she had eschewed for much of her existence. The purpose that had driven her from Trevynisle – the transformation of her very being – terrified her. But it tantalized as well. Ujie’s words and admonitions implied that she could change, if she chose to do so.

  Arrokad were wise and knowledgeable, the acknowledged leaders of all the Ancients. Droë would have been foolish to dismiss Ujie’s cautions. And she hadn’t. Rather, the warnings had come too late and from too great a distance to stop her. Fearful though she was, she was also set on her course. This, she came to understand, was the source of her restlessness. She had made her choice, but apprehension stayed her.

  Diagnosis did not bring a cure. Not at first. Her fear proved stubborn, and she resented her own weakness. She was a predator, a Tirribin. She should have been immune to fear.

  An oversimplification, she knew, but true enough to make her ashamed.

  She continued to exist – to prowl and hunt and sleep and want. Until finally want overcame all.

  On the night she made up her mind to act, a hot wind blew out of the west, carrying the whisper of distant thunder and the smell of rain. She had hunted and fed. Now she wandered the lanes near the waterfront, restive as always. After a time, she realized that she wasn’t wandering so much as searching. She sought that young woman, the one she had seen give away love for a bit of coin, the one who had warned her off the streets.

  Have you ever loved any of them?

  Nah. If I had, I woulda held on with both hands.

  She thought of Tresz, of Ujie, even of Maeli and Teelo. She thought of the other woman, the Walker, who had spoken to her of Tobias and awakened within her this yearning. Though she preferred always to be alone, on this night she would have welcomed a conversation with any of them.