A BEGINNER'S GUIDE TO TIME TRAVEL
A draft: NaNoWriMo Challenge
6
I opened my eyes to see a sky full of stars. I turned my head to the left and felt a sharp shooting pain at the base of my skull.When I tried rolling over to my left side, I felt even more pain, so I tried to rolling the other way, finally managing to sit up. I lifted my left arm up, slowly, fighting through the pain. I reached up with my right hand and pulled my left hand, stretching my body and biting back the pain.
Every part of my body hurt, but at least there were no broken bones, I told myself. The last thing I needed was a broken bone. A broken arm, or leg, would mean the end of it for me. Broken ribs would slow me down. Bruises I could deal with, I told myself. I ran my hands down the length of my right leg, feeling the pain just above my knee. I could feel the swelling, and thought I must have twisted it somehow when I was spilled across the rocks. I’d have a limp, but hoped it wouldn’t slow me down too much.
I crawled up to the Ridgeline, looking over the edge. I don’t know what I was expecting to see. There were small spot fires still burning, but for the most part, everything had been destroyed. I doubted if there’d be survivors. Slavers usually don’t leave survivors. They take what they want—the women and children mostly—and kill everyone else. They have been known to take warriors for the arena, but that might as well be a death sentence from what I knew. A man’s life in the arena was worthless.
From what I’d learned over the years, most of the time if a child looks promising at an early age, he’s trained to fight in the arena. Those prisoners captured in the Wilds would be put up against the more mature children. It was part of the training experience. I wondered how many children they picked up. And the women? What would become of them?
Concubines, naturally, but also servants. Some of them would be domestics, others would work in the fields, some would be mated and those children taken from them and raised up to become soldiers.
And how do I know all this you ask? My father told me a great deal about the Great Wars of Amaroose. He’d been a soldier himself, he said, until he was left on the battlefield for dead. And he should’ve been dead, he told me. When the battles ended, the surviving soldiers would walk the plains of death and finish off those who were gravely wounded. If you were unable to stand and walk, you were killed.”
“But how did you get away?” I’d asked; I was thirteen summers by then.
It was the fourth year of him taking me along with him, moving from village to village selling wares he spent the winter crafting. He made weapons, as well as tools. He owned a large wheeled wagon that was pulled by four bisons. Large beasts, they were almost tame, and were patient when it came time for me to unhitch them from their burden.
“I slid into a pit beside the battlefield, under the cover of darkness, and made my way south, away from the noise and hubbub. I never looked back. I was one and twenty by then, already old for a battle-scarred and jaded soldier.”
“Where did you learn to be a huntsman?”
“I learned the hard way,” he’d laughed. “I starved.”
He was a good man. He taught me a great many things, and told me of the savage wars ripping the Northlands apart. He told me the history of the land, because he’d seen more of it than any other man I’d ever met. He told me of the slavers, and outlaw groups of soldiers—deserters—who would often sell the lone travellers they came across into bondage, or seek bounties for those who had escaped the slave camps. He told me to trust no one.
I finally made it to my feet and tried putting my weight on my right leg. There was a sharp, shooting pain, but I didn’t fall; it just hurt. I limped to where the burned out remains of the yurt stood, dragging the raft through the ashes. I put the one remaining pack inside, and sat on the side of the raft, trying to think of what to do next. The air was still heavy with the scent of death. I could smell it all around me. There’d be scavengers down below, picking through the remains; I could hear their barks and snarls in the stillness of the coming night. The morning would see small Outlaw bands, coming in to take whatever was left.
Jaleen was still alive, I told myself. Of that I was certain. Jarel was gone, and I felt a moment of regret that I hadn’t been there to protect him. But then, if I’d have been there with him, there was every likelihood that I’d be laying dead with him at the bottom of the Ridgeline. It felt as if I’d betrayed his memory though, thinking of myself, but I reminded myself my one objective now was finding, and freeing, Jaleen.
I made a quick decision and gathered everything that was salvageable, piling it in front of me, then flipped the raft with an effort, knowing it would keep me safe from any predators that might come slinking about through the night. In the morning, I’d go down into the valley and pick up the trail.
*
The night brought heavy clouds and rain that found little divots in the ground, letting cold water pool around me as I slept. In the morning, I quickly put my furs back on, but not before looking at my swollen knee. I tried to bend it, forcing it, and winced with the pain.
It doesn’t matter, I told myself. I’ll find a way.
I crawled out from under the raft, looking up at the dark grey clouds that settled across the Vandals, obscuring them from view. At least the rain was lighter. It was almost as if the clouds were forcing the cold down from the mountains. I looked at the small stream we’d floated down earlier, and started dragging the raft toward it. I didn’t know where it led to, and I didn’t care. We’d braved the rapids farther up, and I told myself there’d be little barring my way now. I pulled the raft into the water, tying the lead to a nearby tree as I stowed the gear inside.
I opened the pack to do a quick search for whatever food there might be, and found some dried tack. I chewed it, savouring the saltiness of it as I worked. I gathered my weapons, checked the quiver as I slid the halter over my head, restrung the long bow and pulled on it, testing it. I tied my baldric around my waist, and my sivic, as long as my forearm, tucked into the sheath hanging off the baldric.
“Are you sure you’re ready now?” a voice asked, and I turned around, my hand on the hilt of my sword, drawing it from its scabbard. I asked myself how it was possible I hadn’t heard them as they crept up on me, or caught their scent on the light wind.
“Who are you?” I asked.
There were two of them, a man and a woman. The man approached cautiously, his hands out to the side as he sat down on one of the large rocks, looking at me with a queer smile as he waited for the woman to step into the clearing. Neither one of them were dressed like anyone I’d ever seen before. They both had single garments that seemed to catch the dull morning light in a shimmer with each step they took. The woman’s hair was cropped short; a bright red, her face was thin with dark, violet eyes. She was quite stunning, which of course was distracting. She wore a belt around her waist, with weapons I’d only seen Outsiders wear. The weapons were same ones the Slavers used.
“Who are you?” I asked again.
“We’re here to help you,” the woman said.
“Help me? How can you help me? I don’t know you, and you certainly don’t know who I am, or where I’m even going,” I said.
“Sure we do,” the man said.
“You’re going to hunt down that Slaver army that just stole your qiza,” the woman said.
“And how would you know that?”
“Because’ve been watching you. That’s what we do,” she said. We’re Watchers.
“You’ve been watching me? Does that mean you watched them take Jaleen—or maybe you knew they were going to take her, and you did nothing because you’re with them? You watched them kill Jarel, and you didn’t warn him? Is that your idea of helping? Because you’re not doing a very good job of it, are you?”
“We can’t be seen to interfere,” the woman said.
“And yet, you want to help me?” I said, shaking my head and sheathing my sword. I turned my attention back to loading the raft.
“It’s a little more complicated than that.”
“Good. Because I don’t do complicated,” I said.
“I’m a Time Guardian,” she said, as if that explained it all.
“Is that supposed to mean something? Because I don’t know what a Time Guardian is.”
“I know you from a different time,” she said.
“Why did I know you were going to say something as ridiculous as that?”
“You’re not supposed to be here,” the man said. “We’re not supposed to be here,” he corrected himself.
“So which is it? You’re not supposed to be here, or is it us?”
“You and your qiza,” he said.
“Where are we supposed to be, if not here? I mean, I’ve been here my entire life. I was born here—so was she. And her name’s Jaleen by the way.”
“No! You weren’t supposed to be here,” the woman said, “Whittle was. But you’re not Whit.”
“I’m not?” I said. “Then who am I?”
“I told you, we’re from a different time,” the man said.
“And what time would that be?” I asked, dropping the rope I was holding and looking the man in the eye. If he was my brother, why didn’t he look like me? My hair’s golden, with insanely long curls any woman would be envious of, until they had them. My eyes are brown, while his are green. His hair’s brown, straight, cut like you’d expect an outlaw to look. And I have a beard.
“You come from the past,” the woman said.
“The past? I see. How did I get here then?”
“You came through a time portal,” she said. “It’s a rift in the space-time vortex.”
“The space-time vortex? Even if I knew what you were talking about, how come I don’t know I come from the past?”
“When the portal was opened, you were fleeing for your life, both of you,” she added. “We’d already made it through. But the other portal—”
“What other portal?” I asked.
“The one that was opened at the same time we left. It was from the future, with orders to kill you. It closed up because your qiza killed the two men coming through to carry out the orders That portal closed up, because the original users died. Look at you wrist,” she said. “At the bracelet.”
I looked down at my wrist and saw the thin band.
“Ever see that before?” she asked.
“My father gave it to me,” I said.
“Yes. But it was your father from the past that gave it to you. It wasn’t Zard.”
“You know my father’s name?”
“The bracelet was supposed to be synced to your DNA—”
“My what?”
“Doesn’t matter. It didn’t happen. But when the other portal opened—”
“Is that the one that just closed because whoever I was with killed the two men coming through? Or is this another portal?”
“When the other portal opened, you activated the bracelet and made your own portal.”
“I made a portal? With this?” I asked, holding my wrist up.
“You jumped through the one you made yourself. I don’t know how you did, but you did. It didn’t matter who was on the other side once you opened the portal. You jumped through and essentially became them. So now you’re Whit.”
“I’ve been a Whit for as long as I’ve known myself,” I smiled, hoping they would see the humour in it; they did not.
“Yes, here,” she said. “You’re Whit here. But the person on the other side of thaeportal? The one who opened it and is now a part of you subconscious? Well, he’s going to start remembering things, and when he does,” she shook her head.
“What kind of things?” I asked
“The past, for one thing; which, I suppose—in a strange sort of a way—he’d call his present—like this is your present,” she smiled.
Now who’s being witty?
“That’s good,” I said. “My past, his present; my present, his future. But this is where we say good-bye,” I said, stepping back into the water and untying the lead. Grabbing the front of the boat, I walked it downriver, toward me. I picked up the single steering oar and slid it into place.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” she said.
“I don’t seem to have a lot of options,” I said, pushing the raft out into the stream and stepping into it.
What was that all about?
Time portals and the future have never been high up on my list of topics for discussion. If I spoke of time at all with Jaleen, it was what we hoped we’d do with it. We were planning to have a family. At least three boys, I hoped, while she wanted four.
And a girl.
“Four boys?”
“They’ll be more capable of looking after their sister,” she smiled.
“And a girl?” I’d laughed.
“Of course.”
“And your reason for having a daughter?”
“So she can be a comfort to me in my old age.”
“For purely selfish reasons, then?”
“You can never say a woman who promises you four boys, is selfish. No one would believe you.”
“So tell me,” the woman said, sitting across from me, but watching the water as it picked up. “Do you know what’s ahead?”
“How did you—” I looked around, only to see the stream flowing around me. I was in the middle of what was now a river.
“Time Guardian, remember?” she said.
“And so you…just?”
“Moved through time,” she said. “But, I asked you if you know what’s ahead?”
“From the look of the way the water’s picking up, more rapids?”
“Yes.”
“This raft is made of tusker bladder, as well as its hide.”
“Tusker?”
“I thought you were from here? You should know what a Tusker is.”
“I probably know more about being from here than you ever will.”
“Okay. Where do they come from?”
“Are you seriously asking me for a history lesson?”
“Is that what this is?”
“You should concentrate on steering the boat.”
“It’s a raft.”
“Whatever.”
I steered us toward the centre of the stream. I could see submerged rocks with the trunks of tree jammed in between. I knew the raft would probably be able to face it, but why risk it? Like I said, tusker hide is the toughest around. And the bladders, even half full like they were last night, are almost impossible to puncture.
“So where do they come from?” I asked again.
She looked at me; she looked to be thinking.
I was watching the stream.
The water was picking up its pace; I could see little white caps of rushing water in the distance where the hidden rocks lay; there were swirls and eddies, too, and I could see the stream’s course dropping. The creek bed seemed to rise over our heads. The rocks along the creek bed were slick with green lichen. Some rocks looked black in the shadows, and I could see ice shards.
“What do you know of the history of this place?” she asked.
“Just that something happened long ago. So long ago, we forgot. My father told me that.”
“Zard was a wise man. He was lettered. Not many men I know of can claim to be lettered; not in this day and age.”
“So? What happened?”
“There were two natural events that happened at the same time. There was a volcano underground, at a place in the centre of what they once called the Americas. It was a large land mass, mostly gone now. It was the seat of a mighty country at one time. That volcano erupted. The underground seismic activity dislodged the tectonic plates under the oceans, and the lands shifted. The entire planet was dislodged. Now, did you understand any of that?”
“A volcano exploded and caused an earthquake,” I said.
“Your father?”
“He was a wise man,” I grinned.
“Those two singular events caused catastrophic results, which ended up destroying three quarters of the world’s population. Cities fell to the ground; some were swept out to sea by waves as tall as the buildings themselves. Crops were lost. The world froze because the sun failed to break through the multiple layers of ash that enveloped the world. Those cities used to have places were they kept animals from different parts of the world. Those animals were set free to roam the world in a mad search for food. Land bridges formed where once there was endless sea. The tuskers survived, and with no natural enemies, thrived. Predators from different lands survived. And yet, in the eye of time, it’s but a blink.”
“What’s that noise?” I asked.
“That’s the waterfall I was supposed to tell you about.”
“So why didn’t you?” I said, leaning on the steering oar and trying to get the raft out of the current.
“You asked me about tuskers. I forgot.”
“You forgot!”