Timelock

by David Klass

  The ninja blocks my blast with a deft parry of his scimitar, which acts as a light shield. He swings at me again as I regain my feet. This time I reverse direction and dart toward him. I slip inside the downward arc of his scimitar and sock him in the jaw.

  He goes over backward, and I start to raise my gun to finish him off. Then the crust beneath my feet explodes, launching me high into the air. I fall back hard to the ground, and land on the crown of my head.

  When I get groggily to my knees I see that it’s another ninja, come to help his friend. No, check that. Two more black-clad ninjas have come as reinforcements. So now there are three, all with weapons at the ready.

  No way I can fight them. I’m exhausted and reeling from the head injury. I crawl across the crust to Morgan, and cover him with my body. I throw away my gun, and grab Morgan’s and toss it away also. Then I raise my hands in the air and wait.

  The ninjas advance slowly from three sides, scimitars raised to slice me in half. Each of them moves gracefully, with the circling shuffle steps of a boxer. Their dark eyes glitter menacingly out of birdlike masks. As I lie there in helpless fear, waiting for the end to come, I suddenly remember something.

  This is exactly the way Eko looked when she first jumped down at me from the ceiling of the barn on the Outer Banks! She had the same shuffling step, the same birdlike mask, and even the same dispassionate look in her eye! These ninjas just might be the guardians of the hidden fortress of Dann!

  I rip off my mask and goggles. Toss them away. “Don’t kill me, I’m on your side. I’m one of you!” I shout, or at least try to shout. My throat is so dry that the words get sandpapered and come out in a whisper.

  The ninjas circle closer, weapons poised to strike.

  “I’M JACK DANIELSON,” I shout out again. “THE BEACON OF HOPE! DANN, DANN, DANIELSON. DON’T YOU GET IT?”

  But they don’t get it. I can feel the heat from their laser weapons. They’re almost within striking distance.

  I try one last time. “I’M CLOSE FRIENDS WITH EKO. BUDDIES WITH GISCO THE DOG. AND I’M A GODSON OF KIDAH, THE GREAT WIZARD. I CAME HERE TO FIND MIRA, MY MOTHER.”

  That does it. They stop, or at least hesitate.

  It’s true, Morgan shouts out telepathically, while lying on his back, writhing in pain, and slowly bleeding to death. You idiots just attacked your own last hope. He is the Prince of Dann, come home to save his father and defeat the Dark Army.

  The leader of the ninjas steps forward. He holds his scimitar high, ready to swipe down. Prove it or die.

  Morgan looks up at him. You must know the prophecy of Esaki. Look at his hands and his feet.

  I shuck my gloves and rip off my boots and dance around in agony on the blistering crust as I show them my missing finger and toe.

  They look me over, and I have the strangest sense that they are probing my scarred wounds with their minds, and somehow sensing Dargon and the Dark Lord.

  Then, of all the odd things that have happened to me in this nutty future world, the very strangest occurs. They don’t hack me apart with their scimitars. Rather they bow to me. Actually that’s not a strong enough word. They drop their weapons and sink to their knees and touch their bellies to the crust, prostrating themselves. “Forgive us, Young Lord,” their leader says. “We didn’t know you. All hail the mighty Prince of Dann!”

  15

  The mighty Prince of Dann is flickering like a candle in a windstorm. It could be exhaustion, dehydration, or sunstroke, or perhaps I’m experiencing a delayed reaction to being slithered over by living pollution, clashing with a giant scorpion, and bashing my head on the crust. For whatever reason, I’m fading in and out.

  Morgan is in even worse shape. I hear his pitiful wails, voiced and telepathic, as we are carried down dark, sloping passageways. The Gorm thinks he’s dying, and apparently he doesn’t intend to expire quietly. I wish I could help him, but I can barely keep my eyes open.

  There’s not much to see. I now understand why the last fortress of Dann has remained hidden—not only is it in a kill zone but it’s also completely subterranean. We’re already far beneath the crust, and still descending.

  I knew that people could be shape-shifters, but I didn’t know places could do it. But unless I’m delirious, the cave chambers shift their appearance constantly as we pass through them. Now they appear to glisten with ice, now they’re damp with water, now they’re sandy. Doorways we hurry through seal up behind us, and high ceilings lower as if to bury us and stop just above our heads.

  It’s a constantly shifting labyrinth, a maze that reinvents itself every few seconds. Even if someone discovered the surface entrance, he could never thread his way down to its heart.

  I start to glimpse people at the edges of chambers. Some of them are dressed like ninjas, with weapons and masks. Others look like priests and priestesses in white robes. They cautiously emerge from the shadows to have a look at us.

  Morgan has become quiet and still. He’s lost a lot of blood, and only the fact that his long arms are trembling gives me hope that he’s still alive.

  A white-robed figure walks up behind us. I see a short man with a strong face and large gray eyes. He reminds me of a male version of Eko.

  Help my friend, I beg him telepathically with my last energy. I hold out my arms to the Dannite priest. He’s in shock. He’s lost blood. He’s dying. He saved me, and since I’m your prince you have to save him.

  The man in white reaches out and touches me on the forehead, and it relaxes me. Then his finger flicks down to my neck, and I black out.

  I am floating through darkness.

  Now I am suspended in a bath of cool air.

  A blind old witch of a woman with long white hair and a horribly lined and pocked face is sitting before me, surveying me with sightless eyes. She doesn’t touch me, but I feel her mind reaching out to my mind, searching for an open door or window.

  I try to protect what’s mine, but I’m too weak to keep all my screens up. She’s a telepath extraordinaire, quick and powerful, and she finds an opening and slips inside. I feel her tiptoeing around in the library of my recollections, trying to authenticate me or debunk my story. She takes down a volume from this shelf and reads a bit and moves on. She works her way backward to my childhood, and then to my earliest memories from infancy.

  Are these my own thoughts or am I somehow seeing myself through her? A child cries at night, and a woman in a nightgown hurries in and tries her best to comfort him. It’s my bedroom in Hadley, and I’m standing in a crib, wailing like a lost soul. The woman who raised me as my mom strokes my face, but she can’t quiet me. The infant in the crib is in terrible pain, there’s an absence in his tiny heart that no amount of comforting can lessen.

  But then something does lessen it. Something makes the pain and loneliness dissolve. It’s a soothing sound, soft and lovely and familiar.

  I’m lying on my back in some kind of hospital bed. It’s dark in the room, but there’s a tiny light on by the door. A woman stands near me. She’s very beautiful, with long and lustrous black hair and eyes that appear to shine brightly one moment, and fade almost to nothing the next.

  Mira. She’s singing the lullaby I heard atop the Andes, when she stirred the winds to save me. She senses that I’ve opened my eyes, and steps forward.

  I have anticipated this moment for a long time. What should I say to the woman who abandoned me, and sent me back a thousand years to live a childhood that was a lie? Should I demand an explanation? Vent my rage at her for messing up my life?

  Now that the moment is at hand, I look back at her and open my mouth. I’m still very weak, but I force out a single word. “Mom?”

  She takes my hand and smiles down at me, and begins to weep silently. Her tears fall on my cheeks, or perhaps I’m crying, too. She bends and kisses me softly on the forehead, without ever stopping her sad and lovely song.

  16

  A grandmotherly woman with white hair to match her white robe sli
ps into my room with a deep bow, and begins spoonfeeding me breakfast.

  “You don’t have to bow,” I tell her with a smile. “A simple wave hello will do.”

  She doesn’t smile back or say a word. She looks a little frightened to be alone with me. I guess the prophecies make the Prince of Dann out to be a big deal.

  “How’s my friend?” I ask as I gulp down cereal. I’m famished. Even though these brown flakes have the flavor and consistency of cardboard, compared to wurfle egesta they’re divine. “Are you taking care of the Gorm? At least give me a nod to let me know he’s still alive.”

  She pauses and looks at me, but says nothing. When I finish the last spoonful of cardboard flakes she backs out of the room, bowing deeply.

  I try to sit up, but I’m too weak. Time passes.

  Then the door opens and my mother floats in. She moves even more gracefully than Eko. Her long black hair sweeps behind her like a cape.

  She closes the door so that we’re alone, and walks over to my bed. “How do you feel?”

  “I’ll be okay.” This isn’t like our tearful reconciliation the previous night, when I was floating in and out of consciousness. Now I’m wide-awake and full of questions. But she doesn’t say anything, and I’m not sure where to begin. “How’s Morgan?” I finally venture.

  “The Gorm?”

  She doesn’t say it contemptuously, but I sense that the Dannites look down on Gorms.

  “That’s right, my Gorm friend who saved my life.”

  “He’s stabilized.”

  “Please take care of him.”

  “We are,” she promises. “He saved more than just your life. If you had died on the crust, it would all be over.” She steps closer and her voice drops. “If I had lost you a second time, I would have just given up.”

  “You didn’t exactly lose me the first time,” I point out, my tone hardening a bit. “You sent me away.”

  “True,” she whispers. “I had studied the mysteries of Dann for years—the secrets of disciplining my mind against any eventuality. But when it happened I couldn’t control my grief. The night they sent you back, I tried to kill myself. I walked alone and unprotected on the crust, picturing you being raised by another woman, wondering if I had done the right thing.”

  “Why did you do it?”

  “The prophecies were clear. You and you alone could find Firestorm and save the earth.” She sits down on a chair next to my bed. “I know you have many questions. Go ahead and ask. I promise I’ll tell you the truth.”

  “Why didn’t you let me grow up first, and then send me back? I couldn’t find Firestorm when I was a baby.”

  “The Dark Army knew the prophecies about you. They started hunting for you the day you were born, in a world stripped barren of hiding places. Our scientists had just made the discovery that opened the door to time travel. The Dark Army hadn’t made that breakthrough yet. We knew if we sent you back right away, your guardians would have a few years’ head start. They could use the time to wash you clean, to hide you in a wild and overpopulated world.”

  I nod. Her answer makes sense. I plant my palms on the mattress and sit up with a great effort.

  “Don’t tire yourself out, Jair,” she whispers, gently propping a pillow behind me. “You need to sleep and regain your strength. We have important work to do very soon.”

  “My name is Jack, and I’d rather talk. It’s not every day you get to ask your mother the secrets of your life.”

  She gives me a sad smile. “I see you’re as bullheaded as your father.”

  “He’s the one who made the decision to send me back, right?”

  “We both made the decision, but I would never have had the strength to carry it out. Your father has an iron sense of duty.”

  “An iron sense of duty and he’s also bullheaded? Does he have any redeeming qualities?”

  Her smile brightens. “He’s strong, wise, gentle, and kind. A sense of duty, Jair, is not a character flaw.”

  “Mom, my name’s Jack. It rhymes with sent back. If my father had such an iron sense of duty, why didn’t he journey back into the past himself and find Firestorm? If I was the only one who could do it, why didn’t one of you come back with me, to raise me till I was ready?”

  “We would have loved to go back with you,” she says. “But when time travel first became possible, the crossing was perilous. Your father has a weak heart. Our doctors feared that he would not survive the journey. I was needed here, to take over the struggle and lead the Dannites if anything happened to him. And there was another reason: the Dark Army knew us both well. They could have scanned whole continents and found us. We sent you back with two guardians who the Dark Army couldn’t trace. They were able to make the journey safely and shelter you for years.”

  “Yes.” I nod. “They handled the whole charade with great skill. My entire childhood was a highly successful deception. Well done, Mom.”

  Mira gives me a pained look, and replies in a low, serious voice. “I understand your anger, but there was no choice and we all paid a price. I suffered for years. You grew up living a lie. And your father was captured soon after you were sent back. The energy pulse required for time travel betrayed his position to the Dark Army. I’ve carried on the fight alone, while he’s suffered terrible tortures. Now time has run out for all of us. The Omega Box has journeyed to the past and joined the Dark Lord.”

  I would like to keep the conversation focused on my own grievances, but I can’t stop myself from asking: “Who or what is the Omega Box?”

  “Both a who and a what. It’s a living doomsday device, built by the Jasai cult, with the power to wipe out all human life. The Omega Box was originally a machine, but it’s developed a consciousness and a will of its own. It’s thrown in its lot with the Dark Army. It wants to help them damage our earth in the past, so it can rule with them in the years to come.”

  “So it’s gone back in time to help the Dark Lord?”

  “Yes, they’re working together. The past world is being damaged at an accelerating rate, and Kidah cannot stop it. That damage a thousand years ago is having a ripple effect on this world. No human can survive much longer in this living hell, but the Dark Army mutants grow stronger and more numerous. They are now poised to achieve final victory, so they no longer have any need for your father. The date of his execution has been set.”

  I look back at her and whisper, “When?”

  “Five days. Will you put your anger aside and help me get him out?”

  I look up at her face and see fierce determination. She’s the Queen of Dann, and a loving wife, and she means business.

  “I’m sure he’s under guard, and the Dark Army has him locked up in a pretty secure spot,” I point out.

  “Yes, they have him in the tower cell of the Fortress of Aighar.” She almost shivers as she says it. “But every dungeon has a doorway. The fate of the world, past, present, and future, depends on our saving him. You are the beacon of hope, my son. You hold the only key.”

  17

  Deep in the heart of the labyrinth, my mother and I plan a daring prison break.

  I still have a million questions for her, not to mention tremendously mixed-up emotions of anger and sympathy, suspicion and closeness, but there’s no time for any of it. There are five days left before my dad’s execution. Every hour is precious.

  All of the remaining resources of the forces of Dann are at our disposal. This will be a make-or-break mission—the Dark Army has won the war and is closing in on this subterranean fortress. In a week or two, my mom informs me, Dark Army drones will locate it and crust-penetrating bombs will pulverize it. “However well we hide, no matter how deep we dig, their snake missiles will create earthquakes that turn our last hideout into a final tomb for mankind,” she explains. “I would rather die trying to save your father, and at least go down fighting.”

  I’m growing stronger by the hour. Whatever they’re feeding me must be packed with vitamins and nutrients.
Six hours ago I could barely sit up in bed, and now I hurry alongside her through seemingly endless corridors as we consult one strange expert after another.

  There is the computer wiz, who looks to be about fourteen years old. He strokes a watermelon-size orange sphere and holds his hands to either side. I’m reminded of the way Eko used a blue cube to forecast the weather and check for dangers on the Outer Banks.

  But this orange sphere is clearly some kind of supercomputer that requires a very special ability. Orange light from the sphere envelops the boy as my mother asks questions.

  “Show us the Fortress of Aighar,” she requests.

  Tangerine beams flash out through his eye sockets, mouth, and nose. They coalesce into 3-D images that rotate in midair. A hulking, grim structure takes shape; it looks like a medieval castle built by a mad rocket scientist.

  Instead of a moat with a drawbridge there’s a flowing river of what appears to be gaseous red acid that licks upward at the castle’s metallic walls. Those walls soar to incredible heights, and are topped with crenelated escarpments that have the ability to move—so many teeth ready to take a chomp out of unwanted airborne intruders.

  At the apex of the castle, inside the jawlike circle of embattlements, is a small, windowless tower. On its roof squats a guardian gargoyle with crimson eyes.

  “Where is the prisoner now?” my mother asks.

  The castle tower lights up bright green.

  For a moment I imagine my father in that tiny windowless prison, no doubt bound and blindfolded, counting down the hours to his execution.

  “Show us the route,” my mother commands.

  The fortress dwindles in size and recedes into the background as the hills and mountains that encircle it become visible. The view of the surrounding terrain telescopes till a vast plain appears, and beneath that desert a purple light flickers. I understand that the purple light signifies our current position. We must find a way to cross these formidable mountain barriers in five days if we are to rescue my father.