Time's Children

by D. B. Jackson

  She had no idea what her new secret purpose would demand of her, and so devoted herself anew to her training and studies, unwilling to be caught unprepared. Previously, she had studied and honed her swordsmanship and marksmanship because her teachers expected as much. She practiced Spanning because sometime soon the autarch would send more soldiers, with orders for Windhome’s Spanners to use their tri-sextants to pilot them to some new battlefield.

  Only now, in the wake of her encounter with the Tirribin, did Mara hone her skills for reasons of her own.

  She soon learned that she had a knack for blade work. The first day after she spoke to Droë, Saffern paired her with Hilta. Mara wasn’t sure if the weapons master did this intentionally, but it wouldn’t have surprised her. Their instructors, it often seemed, knew more about their lives outside of lessons than they let on.

  Whatever his thinking, Mara didn’t waste the opportunity. The instant he signaled for them to spar, she sprang into a frenzied attack, her sword a silver blur. Hilta stumbled back, parrying desperately, her eyes wide. Maybe she thought Mara actually intended to kill her. Mara hoped so.

  It took her no more than a tencount to disarm the girl and lay the edge of her blade against Hilta’s collarbone. Hilta was panting; Mara hadn’t broken a sweat.

  “Do you yield?”

  Hilta nodded.

  “That was entertaining,” Saffern said, joining them. He picked up Hilta’s sword and handed it to her. “This time, Miss Craik, why don’t you fight as well. That might make for a more satisfying duel.”

  “Yes, master,” she said, cheeks reddening.

  He stepped back. “Begin.”

  Mara attacked again, and though Hilta fought with more aplomb this time, it took Mara only a tencount to knock her weapon from her hand.

  Saffern considered Mara through narrowed eyes. “Miss Lijar, I think it’s time we paired you with someone new.”

  He summoned Nat, and had him work with Mara for the rest of the day. She had long thought of him as one of the best swordsmen in their group, and he proved a more formidable foe than Hilta. Yet Mara kept up with him. By the end of the session both of them were grinning, their faces and clothes sweaty.

  “I didn’t know you could fight like that,” he said.

  “Nor did I,” Saffern said from behind them before Mara could answer. “Thank you, Mister Bosmi. That will be all. A word please, Miss Lijar.”

  Nat bowed to the weapons master, cast a warning glance Mara’s way, and followed the others to Feidys’s chamber.

  Mara stood before Saffern, unsure of why she felt so nervous. She’d done nothing wrong. The weapons master eyed the palace walls, and the soldiers there, before lowering his gaze to hers.

  “Would you care to explain?”

  “Explain what, master?”

  A smirk crinkled the corners of his dark eyes. “Either you dislike Miss Craik even more than I would have guessed, or you’ve been practicing late at night, when no one is here.”

  “I haven’t been practicing,” she said.

  He laughed.

  “I also haven’t been working at my training as hard as I ought to. I thought I should do something about that.”

  “I’m glad,” Saffern said, his tone free of irony for once. “May I ask what prompted this change of heart?”

  “It was… about time.”

  He squinted again. “Very well. You may go.”

  Mara started away.

  “I’d like to see more of this in the days to come.”

  “You will,” she said over her shoulder. “I promise.”

  When not on the training ground, Mara gave particular attention to Feidys’s lectures on the current wars, and her lessons in history, politics, and finance. Somewhere in the past lay hidden an explanation for all that had happened to put Islevale in this future. Mara needed to find the point of inflection, the place where it all changed.

  Her newfound enthusiasm spilled over into her labors in the Binder’s chamber. Her work for Binder Tovorl wasn’t likely to shed much light on the mystery of what had happened to Droë’s friend, but the time she spent in the Binder’s workshop offered the best chance to learn more about what it meant to Walk into the past.

  Delvin and Hilta had taken to working side by side, and so Nat joined Mara at her table. He was quiet and kept to himself, which suited her. Occasionally she found herself watching Delvin and Hilta, not with anger or even jealousy, but with a hint of regret. Maybe if she had found a way to make him understand that first day, he wouldn’t have made her feel so foolish, and they could still be together. On the other hand, he appeared genuinely happy with Hilta, which made her question whether he’d ever been worth caring about.

  Several days after speaking with Droë, Mara was once again the last to leave the Binder’s chamber.

  “You’ve done fine work in recent days, Miss Lijar,” Mistress Tovorl said, as Mara tidied up her work bench.

  “Thank you, mistress.”

  “I wonder if you’ve figured out whatever it was that troubled you the last time we spoke.”

  A sector slipped from Mara’s fingers and clattered to the floor. She stooped to retrieve it, casting a guilty look at the Binder.

  Mistress Tovorl watched her, expectant. “I invited you to come back and discuss the matter when you’d gained a better understanding of what you felt. Or had you forgotten?”

  “I didn’t forget,” Mara said, setting the sector on the shelf and facing her.

  “Perhaps you’ve discussed it with others who were able to help you.”

  “One other. She was… I’m not sure how much she helped.”

  The Binder’s brow creased. “I warned you to take some care in sharing your perceptions.”

  “I did. I have. This… this individual approached me.”

  The creases deepened. “Approached you? Another trainee?”

  Mara shook her head.

  “Miss Lijar, if someone has approached you who doesn’t–”

  “It was a time demon.”

  Mistress Tovorl gaped at her, open-mouthed. At last she straightened, her shoulders dropping fractionally. “Well.” She gave a small shake of her head. “I certainly wasn’t expecting that.”

  “No, mistress.”

  “You know Tirribin can be dangerous. One is said to have killed a trainee many years ago, before I came to Windhome.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Surely you know that they prey on human life.”

  “This one… I don’t think she means to hurt me.”

  “Most demons are clever, and Tirribin are particularly deadly. You should be careful.”

  The ensuing silence stretched on for several moments.

  “Why would a Tirribin be interested in a Spanner?” the mistress finally asked, the question a sort of capitulation.

  “I have some time sense,” Mara said. “I can’t Walk. At least I don’t think I can. Yet it seems I know when time has been changed.”

  “Having time sense is not the same as…” She stopped, staring again. “‘When time has been changed,’” she repeated. Her characteristic lilt transformed the words, making them sound more ominous. She crossed to the door, opened it, and peered out into the corridor. After closing the door again, she faced Mara. “What exactly did the Tirribin tell you?” she asked in a whisper.

  Mara repeated as much as she could remember of her conversation with Droë, although she avoided mention of what the demon said about Tobias loving her. And her loving him.

  “So the Tirribin believes that we’re in the wrong future. And she sensed that you felt this as well. Is that right?”

  “Essentially, yes.”

  “Remarkable.”

  “She claimed that this all happened only a turn ago,” Mara said. “Or even less. For all I know, everything changed that first day. But how can that be? I have a lifetime of memories – and I have no memory of this person she talked about.”

  “The Walker, you mea
n?” At her nod, the Binder continued, “This is far from my realm of expertise. I make chronofors when they’re needed, and I understand the rudiments of time Walking. Separating one possible progression of history from another is beyond me.” She sat at her work bench and picked up the incomplete arc of a sextant. “Still, as I understand it, once a future has been altered, those who live in the future can’t recall any other historical path. If what the Tirribin says is true, our lives have shifted, perhaps dramatically, but we would have no knowledge of that. Rather, our memories would shift to reflect this new world we’re living in. Only those with the deepest time sense would be aware of the change.” She regarded Mara. “Your time sense may be limited, but it’s strong enough for you to perceive the disjunction between this future, and the past you once knew. And, of course, the Walker would know. He can see the changes he’s wrought, and he would remember both times.”

  “So he’d still remember me?” The words were out before she gave thought to what she was saying.

  The Binder arched an eyebrow. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  Mara blushed to the tips of her ears. “The time demon said that the Walker and I were friends.”

  “I see. Does this have anything to do with why Mister Ruhj and Miss Craik now spend so much time together?”

  “That was because he made fun of me that first day. I only learned about Tobias later.”

  Mistress Tovorl smiled. “You’ve been busy.”

  “Yes, mistress.”

  The Binder waved a hand. “When your fellow trainees are absent, you can call me Wansi.”

  “Thank you, mistress. Wansi.”

  Using the name should have been odd. She wouldn’t have dared call any of the other masters or mistresses by their given names. But saying it aloud came to her more naturally than anything she’d done since waking that first morning.

  “What is it?” the Binder asked.

  “I don’t know. Using your name – I think we must have done that in the other time. It felt… right.”

  Wansi eyed her, tapping a finger against tight lips. “You’re missing your midday meal, and I’m sorry for that. But I’d like to try something. Actually, I’d like you to try something.”

  She crossed to her desk and searched one of the drawers. Soon she gave a small cry of discovery and plucked an item from within. Clutching it in her hand, she pushed the drawer shut with her hip and walked to where Mara waited.

  Opening her hand, she held out a round device. At first glance, Mara thought it a golden chainwatch. The burnished face of this device, however, had been divided into three circles, with three corresponding stems rather than a single one.

  “A chronofor?”

  “Just so.”

  “I’m not a Walker.”

  “No,” Wansi said. “You’re not. You’re a Spanner, and an accomplished one. But there’s more to you than that. If there weren’t, you and I wouldn’t be having this conversation, and the Tirribin would never have approached you. Their kind are capricious, at times devious, but they don’t usually interact with humans, except to prey upon them, and matters of time are as weighty to them as matters of life and death are to you and me. Her willingness to speak with you tells me that your time sense is stronger even than you know.” She twitched the hand holding the chronofor. “Take it.”

  Mara lifted the time piece from Wansi’s palm. It was heavier than she’d expected, its gold back cool against her fingers.

  Wansi pointed to the three circles on the face. “Bells, days, turns. Each click of the appropriate stem is equal to a single unit. If you have enough ability with time, the chronofor should work much as your sextant does when you Span. If not, nothing will happen. It really is as simple as that.”

  “You want me to use this right now?”

  Wansi shrugged. “Why not?”

  “Well, because if I go back one bell – and I wouldn’t want to try more than that – I’ll appear here right in the middle of our work session. That seems like a bad idea.”

  The Binder twisted her lips to the side. “That was well-argued. Very well. Go eat. Join me here when the last of your lessons is done. We should be able to try this then.” Wansi took the chronofor from her and set it back in the drawer. “I’ll be waiting for you,” she said. A dismissal, and an order.

  “Yes, mistress,” Mara said.

  “Walkers are rare, Miss Lijar, and though the limitations on their powers have been made obvious with the spread of tri-devices, they are still coveted by royals. I wouldn’t want you to draw undue notice from servants of the autarch. Speak of this to no one.”

  Cold washed over Mara, like a sea wave in winter. She nodded and left.

  As on the day when she first realized something was wrong, Mara moved through the rest of her lessons in a sort of waking dream. She struggled to concentrate. The few Walkers she’d known had long since left the palace. Except for Tobias, of course, whom she didn’t remember. From what she’d heard, she gathered that the between for Walkers was much like the gulf for Spanners: a time of disorientation and sensory assault. She dreaded experiencing it.

  When she emerged from her final lesson – history, as it happened – cool shadows had fallen across the courtyards and a palette of fiery hues lit the western sky. She hastened to Wansi’s chamber, and after knocking and hearing the Binder call for her to enter, slipped inside.

  Despite the clear skies and the lovely breeze blowing off the bay, Wansi had her windows closed. The air in the workshop was over-warm and stale. A single candle burned on the work bench. The Binder worked on that same sextant, the ever-present loupe held to her eye, a glow of magick about her.

  “Lock the door,” she said, without looking up. “It wouldn’t do for someone to walk in on this.”

  Mara did as instructed.

  Still Wansi didn’t tear her attention from the sextant. “The chronofor is on the table at your spot. As with simple Spanning, you can’t be wearing any clothes when you Walk. You can pile your things there.” She pointed to the same table, keeping her gaze averted. A plain cotton robe, folded, sat next to the chronofor. “That robe has been there for some time now. If you go back a single bell, you should find it waiting for you. You can put it on when you arrive.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You have nothing to fear, Miss Lijar. I assure you.”

  Mara nodded, though Wansi had yet to look her way. After a moment’s hesitation, she shrugged off her robe and pulled off the rest of her clothes. Warm though she was, she shivered. She picked up the chronofor with a shaking hand.

  “The left-most stem is for bells,” Wansi said. “One click to the left ought to do it.”

  Mara turned the stem, the single click sounding as loud as a musket shot in the stillness of the chamber.

  “When you’re ready, depress the large stem at the top of the device. The between is rather unpleasant, worse than what you’ve been used to as a Spanner. Be prepared.”

  “Yes, all right.” Her voice shook.

  Wansi smiled, but studiously avoided a glance her way. “Courage, Mara. This might all be for naught.”

  Somehow Mara didn’t think so, but she swallowed her doubts. Taking a breath, she thumbed the central stem.

  Nothing.

  Mara blinked, her disappointment a knife in her gut: unexpected and more painful than she could have imagined. At some point since her earlier conversation with Wansi, she had decided that she wanted to go back. She wanted to find Tobias. She wanted to experience this other time she had lived and lost. More, she had believed that she could go back. Wansi was willing to trust her with a chronofor. Droë spoke to her as she would to a Walker. Surely those things meant something.

  “It didn’t–”

  That was all she got out. The knife in her belly became a grappling hook, carving through her flesh and yanking her back away from the Binder’s chamber, away from candlelight and the glow of dusk.

  Images flashed through her mind
like lightning; smells and tastes and noises buffeted her, a storm of sensation, different from the Spanning gulf, but familiar enough. She tried to take a calming breath, but couldn’t. No air here, which was new, unwelcome. Fear gripped her. She suppressed a scream, waited for this – the between, Wansi called it – to end. She wasn’t going far. A single bell. How long could it last?

  But she was new to Walking. For all she knew, she had erred in some way. What if she was lost forever in this airless nightmare of light and clamor? Fear tipped over into panic. She tried again to cry out, failed.

  It ended with dizzying abruptness. She stumbled out of the between and dropped to her knees. The floor was blessedly solid. She closed her eyes, inhaled once, twice, opened them again. The room pitched and rolled.

  “Apparently you’re a Walker as well as a Spanner.” The Binder’s voice.

  Mara didn’t yet trust herself to speak. She still held the chronofor, her fingers cramping around the rounded metal. She reached up to the table with her free hand, found the robe Wansi had left for her, and pulled it on.

  The Binder walked around the table and squatted beside her. “Are you all right?” Concern knitted her brows.

  Mara answered with a nod and tried to push herself to her feet. Upon standing, she swayed and might have fallen had Wansi not grasped her arm and steered her to the nearest stool. Wansi left her, returning a spirecount later bearing a cup of watered wine.

  “Just a sip,” she said. “I’ve seen this before. The first journey for a Walker is even worse than it is for a Spanner.”

  Mara drank, grimaced at the taste. Her stomach churned, but the wine stayed down. At last, she raised her gaze to Wansi’s.

  “You did it,” the Binder said.

  “I’m not sure I ever want to again.”

  “The version of you that will walk through that door in a short while might wish you would. From all I understand of Walkers, you don’t want to run into another you.”

  “I can’t go back yet. I need to rest.”

  “I understand. Sit, sip your wine.”

  Mara forced herself to drink some more.