By early evening, she could hardly keep her feet. She went to bed early, didn’t wake even when the other girls repaired to the dormitory, and slept through to her normal waking time. After that, she vowed to Walk back and forward only once in a single session.
Mara practiced with the chronofor several times more over the course of the following qua’turn, always managing to avoid wandering guards as she snuck to and from the chamber. Soon, she had graduated to Walks of two and even three bells. The betweens remained trials. The three bell Walk left her gasping for breath and so addled she almost couldn’t bring herself to Walk back. After a few more days, though, she had mastered that interval as well.
The first time she attempted a four bell Walk, she passed out upon reaching the earlier time, only to wake without any sense of how long she had been unconscious. No light entered the room from the gaps in the window shutters, so Mara knew that no one would be abroad in the palace, but she had no idea how to get back to her proper time. She couldn’t go forward the full four clicks; that much was clear. Should she go back three, or two? Panic flooded her heart, entirely different from the fear she experienced in the between. What would happen if she met herself in another time? Wansi’s warning had been vague but unsettling. She waited in the dark room, the spare robe draped across her shoulders. Eventually, she heard what she’d been waiting for: bells. They stopped after three chimes. At least now she had an idea of the time.
She waited, trying to gauge how long it had taken her to rise, make her way here, and Walk back. When she guessed that she’d waited long enough, she Walked forward three clicks.
The chamber was empty when she arrived, and her clothes were piled where she’d left them. She dressed and left the chamber, unsure of whether she wished to try again any time soon.
She hadn’t spoken to Wansi in private since the Binder gave her the chronofor. On this day, however, Wansi asked her to remain after she and the others had completed their work.
“You look tired,” the Binder said, as Mara stowed her tools.
She lifted a shoulder, avoiding the woman’s gaze.
“You’ve been practicing?”
“Yes.”
“Too much perhaps.”
“How can it be too much?” Mara asked, facing her. “Tobias might have gone back years. Today, for the first time, I went back four bells.”
Wansi’s eyes widened. “Four bells is impressive.”
“I fainted when I did it. When I woke, I didn’t know how far I needed to Walk to make it back.”
“Yet make it back you did. That, too, is impressive.”
“It’s nothing.” Mara shook her head, straightened a plane on her shelf. “These are like the first steps of a baby. I’m far from being able to do what I need to.”
“I suppose you are. That’s the life of a Walker. There are meaningful limitations on the amount of training you can do. You lose the time you Travel. If you were to Walk back an entire turn, and then return here, you would lose two turns of your life. You’d be that much older. You understand this, don’t you?”
“I do.”
“So any Walker, even the most skilled, can only have practiced so much. We’re given a finite amount of time in this world, Miss Lijar. You can’t spend too much of it in training, especially not if you intend to go back farther.”
A chill crept up the back of her neck. “Are you saying I’ve spent too much already?”
“Hardly. You look tired, not aged. I doubt you’ve spent more than a day or two. But those are days you can’t get back. You have to remember that.”
“Yes, mistress.”
“Have you seen the Tirribin again?”
“No. I’ve been too tired at night, and I practice in the early mornings. The rest of my days are taken up with lessons and by Master Saffern.”
“Of course.”
“Why do you ask?”
“Curiosity mostly. I wonder if she’s trying to discover when it was the Walker Traveled back, as I have been.”
“Do you know anything more?”
“A bit, yes. As you may recall from your studies, Daerjen’s previous sovereign, Mearlan IV, was assassinated a little over fourteen years ago, ending the Hayncalde Supremacy and giving power to Noak of Sheraigh. As it happens, that’s around the time when tri-devices came into use in Oaqamar. This strikes me as an interesting coincidence.”
Mara wilted. “Fourteen years?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“I can’t do that.”
“I’d be surprised if you could. I’m not sure how this other Walker managed it. He could have divided up his journey, although doing so creates its own set of problems, not least among them the simple truth that chronofors aren’t exact. There’s no telling when he might have emerged from the first leg of his journey.”
“I learned that the hard way – about a chronofor’s lack of precision, I mean.” Wansi frowned, but Mara waved off her questions. “It doesn’t matter.”
“You don’t have to go back,” Wansi said. “This remains your choice to make. I’ve told no one, and I trust you’ve kept the matter to yourself as well.” Mara nodded and the Binder opened her hands. “So you are free to do what you decide is best. If you believe this time we’re living in needs to be changed, and you have faith in your ability to Walk back that far, you can go. If you don’t, only the Tirribin and I will know of your choice, and I, for one, won’t think any worse of you.”
“Thank you.”
“May I see your chronofor?”
Mara hesitated, then reached into a pocket within her robe. As she’d grown more adept at Walking, she had taken to carrying the device with her. She wondered how Wansi knew.
The Binder took it from her and crossed to her work bench. Setting her loupe to her eye, she turned the chronofor over and opened its back; Mara wasn’t sure how.
She examined the device, reached for a tiny flat-tip, and made a few small adjustments, glow emanating from her hands as she worked. Then she snapped the golden case closed again, placed the loupe on the table, and handed Mara the chronofor.
“It looks fine. I tightened a spring, which may correct some of that imprecision you mentioned. It should work well for you, no matter how far back you Walk.”
“Again, my thanks.” Mara faltered. “I can Span, and I can Walk, but only if I can take both my sextant and my chronofor with me. I don’t know if that’s possible.”
The Binder quirked an eyebrow. “An interesting question. I don’t know either. The pure gold of the devices, and the powers we Binders impart to them, allow the devices to Travel. I’ve never known a Spanner to carry a chronofor, or a Walker to carry an aperture or a sextant. You’re rather unique in this regard. In theory, though, you should be able to carry both devices when you Span or Walk. Something for you to test before you make your decision.”
“Yes. May I–”
“You require a sextant.”
“Yes, mistress.”
Wansi indicated the shelf on which she kept sextants and apertures. “Choose one.” As Mara walked to the shelf, the Binder added, “For obvious reasons, I would prefer that no one hear of this.”
They shared a look, and Mara’s thoughts turned to Delvin, who remained in the palace infirmary, forced to lie at all times on his stomach or side.
“I understand.” She chose a sextant and slipped it into one of the ample pockets of her robe. “I keep having to thank you.”
“It may be that before this is over, we’ll be thanking you.” Wansi waved her toward the door. “Off with you, now.”
Mara started toward the door, only to halt and look back at the sound of her name.
Wansi’s features had paled. “Before you leave – if you choose to leave – please do me the courtesy of saying goodbye. Someone should know what you’ve done.”
“I will,” Mara said, and let herself out of the chamber.
That night, Mara waited for the older trainees to pair off in the upper courty
ard so that she could make her way unseen to the lower. Standing alone in an archway, she marked the procession of couples, and thought of Delvin and Hilta. Her jealousy had vanished that night in the lower courtyard as she watched Delvin’s beating. Now she would have given anything to see him, even with Hilta.
She didn’t hear Nat approach until he cleared his throat from just behind, making her jump.
“Nat! You scared me.”
“Sorry,” he said, acting more nervous than she had ever seen him. “I didn’t mean to. I was just… Well, I was wondering if maybe… Would you like to… I mean, I know that you and Delvin – I know you’re not with anyone – at least not anymore – and I thought maybe…”
At last, suppressing a grin, Mara took pity on him.
“Are you asking me to go with you to the upper courtyard?”
He stared off to the side, his shoulders hunched. “Not very well.”
She giggled.
“I was asking seriously.”
“I know. I’m not laughing at that, I’m just laughing at… I don’t know.”
“At me?”
“What brought this on, anyway?”
His shoulders rose and dipped. “I don’t know. We’ve been training together, and it’s been fun. You’re really pretty, and I just thought–”
“You think I’m pretty?”
He finally met her gaze long enough to frown at her as if she were mad. “Everyone does.”
She stepped forward and kissed his cheek. “Thank you. For the compliment and the invitation.”
“But you’re saying no.”
Maybe she was mad. Nat was handsome, funny, and smart. He’d always been nicer than most of the boys in the palace. And she had to admit that she’d been lonely this past ha’turn. She should have accepted the invitation. Certainly, she shouldn’t have been thinking about a boy she’d never met and couldn’t even picture in her mind. Yet there it was. She was going to tell Nat no because, based on a conversation with a Tirribin, she had given her heart to Tobias. If that wasn’t madness, what was?
“I’m afraid so,” she said. “I’m sorry. I need all the friends I can find right now, and I don’t want to risk losing you the way I did Delvin.”
Nat nodded, disappointment etched in the lines around his mouth and dark brown eyes. “I understand.”
“Thank you.”
“I suppose I’ll see you later. Tomorrow, I mean.”
“I’ll be there, ready to out-duel you again.”
A grin sprung to his lips. “We’ll see about that.” His expression soon sobered.
Mara left him there, unwilling to give him the chance to ask again.
She followed the contours of the walls to the lower courtyard, keeping to shadows, ducking into unobtrusive corners when she heard the approach of soldiers. Once she had convinced herself that none of the other trainees could see or hear her, that there were no masters or mistresses nearby, and that she was safe from guards, she spoke the Tirribin’s name.
Sooner than she expected, Droë appeared before her, yellow hair shining in the dim glow of a thousand stars.
“There’s a price for summoning a Tirribin,” the girl said, wraithlike eyes fixed on Mara. She took a step in her direction. “Are you prepared to pay?”
Mara held her ground. “Not in years.”
“How then? A riddle perhaps? My kind like riddles.”
“I know none.”
Annoyance flitted across the perfect features. “Then what? I don’t like games. Not about this.”
“I want to help you. I want to find Tobias and make the time line right again.”
Droë eased forward another step. “You’ve been Walking,” she said, her voice hushed. “I can read it in your years.”
The fear that first struck Mara in the Binder’s chamber returned in a rush. Maybe Wansi was wrong. Maybe she’d already spent too much of her life practicing. “What do you read?” she asked, her throat tight. “Am I that much older than I should be?”
The demon dismissed the question with a flick of her delicate fingers. “Of course not. You haven’t gone more than a few bells at a time. I can tell. But you’ve been Walking, and that’s something.”
“Does that mean you’ll accept my help as payment?”
The Tirribin’s expression turned sly. “What sort of help?”
“I can Walk back. And I can Span.”
“I know what you can do. What are you willing to do.”
“I’ll go back. Years, if I must. I’ll go to Daerjen.”
Guile gave way to confusion. “Why? You don’t even know him.”
“You say I do.”
“You haven’t seen him yet. I was going to show him to you before, when we talked.” She smiled, shrewd again, as changeable as an ocean wind. “Would you see him now?”
Mara had been ready to consent to this when they first spoke. She wouldn’t lose her nerve now. “If you’ll let me.”
Droë clapped her hands with a child’s delight.
Mara winced at the clap, fearing it would bring soldiers or Belvora.
“Why don’t the Belvora sense you?” she asked on the thought. “They’re drawn to magick, but they don’t seem to notice you.”
“They notice,” Droë said, glancing up toward the top of the walls. “They just don’t care. And they’re afraid of me.”
That gave Mara pause.
“They don’t belong here, either,” the Tirribin went on, still peering at the battlements. “There was one here not so long ago, right before Tobias left. He came alone, and he was killed, despite being cleverer than most of them. Aside from him, until this misfuture, there were no Belvora guarding your kind. The old chancellors would never have allowed it.” She eyed Mara again, her smile returning. “Never mind all that. You want me to show you Tobias.”
“No tricks,” Mara said, troubled by the demon’s eagerness. “I’m not offering you any years.”
Ire flashed in her pale eyes. “Rudeness again. I’ve already assured you that I won’t feed. Do you want to see him or not?”
“I do. And… I apologize.”
“Very well. Come here.”
Mara closed the distance between them, her breathing uneven. As she neared the Tirribin that same elusive odor reached her: rot, putrescence. She swallowed against her rising gorge.
“Close your eyes,” Droë said. “I’m going to touch your forehead. I promise I won’t harm you.”
She drew breath, closed her eyes. At the demon’s touch, she flinched. Droë’s fingers were as cold as dead fish. She steeled herself.
Then thoughts of the Tirribin fled her mind. A boy stood before her, his skin the color of hala wood. His hair, bronze like hers, shone with sunlight, as did his startling green eyes. He had smooth skin, full lips, a smile that seemed to burn a hole in her heart. The scene shifted. Night fell. She saw him in profile, his straight nose and strong chin outlined in moonlight. She saw herself step forward, tilt her face up to his, and kiss him. It was a long kiss; Mara could almost feel his lips on hers, his hands on her back.
Then she pulled away from him and said something the real Mara couldn’t hear. The vision dissolved. The demon removed her fingers from Mara’s brow.
Mara opened her eyes. The Tirribin stood close, gazing up at her.
“Do you remember him?”
She shook her head, still thinking about that kiss. “I don’t.”
“You wish you did.”
Mara didn’t deny it. “Will you let me help you?”
“You’re asking if we can work together.”
“I guess I am.”
“You won’t accuse me of wanting to feed on you?”
She bit back the first response that came to mind: a demand that Droë promise not to prey on her. The Tirribin had already sworn as much. “I promise.”
Droë lifted her chin toward the rest of the palace. “They’ll let you leave?”
“They won’t know until I’m gone.” She didn�
�t mention her promise to Wansi. That was between her and the Binder.
“I can’t go back in time,” Droë said. “I can’t Span. And no captain in Islevale will allow a… a time demon on his or her ship. All I can do for you is tell you what I know about Tobias and the path he was to follow when he left here.”
“Will you know me if we meet in the past?”
“You mean will I remember you if I’ve never met you before?”
Put that way, it sounded foolish. “I don’t suppose that’s possible.”
“No. But I’ll be able to read your years.”
“To tell me if the time I’m in is right or wrong?”
“Yes.”
“That would be helpful.”
“If you greet me by name, that will tell me that we’ve met. And if you tell me that you know my true name, I’ll know you for a… a friend.”
“You would share your true name with me?”
The demon looked away. “If you’ll swear not to tell anyone.”
“Of course.”
Droë beckoned her closer with a flutter of her fingers. Mara leaned in.
“It’s Droënalka,” she whispered.
Mara repeated the name and straightened. “Thank you. That’s pretty.”
“Even Tobias doesn’t know.”
“I won’t tell a soul. I swear it on the Two.”
The Tirribin appeared unmoved by this, but after a pause she nodded.
“There’s one more thing you can help me with, if you would.”
The demon regarded her, wary again. “What?”
“An experiment. I need you to watch for any humans who might come this way. I can’t be seen doing this.”
The Tirribin faltered, nodded a second time.
Mara stepped to the nearest archway, removed her robe, and took off her clothes.
“What are you doing?” Droë asked. She eased closer, eyeing Mara’s form with the curiosity of a child and the fascinated rapacity of a creature born to hunt.
Time's Children Page 24
