Time's Children

by D. B. Jackson

  Perhaps they were right. It wasn’t their way. Then again, neither was hunting alone.

  She came back to the promontory to look down on the ships, to take comfort in solitude, to ponder. She hadn’t intended to do more. And yet…

  “Treszlish.” The name crossed her lips before she gave thought to why, to what she wanted.

  Below, on Safsi Bay, a cloud of mist twisted and danced across the gentle swells, ignoring her. A summons didn’t work as well on Shonla.

  Droë hummed. She had no song in mind, but she made up a melody, and sent it forth in a voice both thin and piercing. A needle in the darkness. The mist turned, gathered, rose toward the headland.

  In moments it surrounded her, hiding the moon but aglow with its light. Droë shivered. A figure coalesced before her, tall, shadowed.

  “I prefer songs with words,” he said, in a voice like inky waters.

  “I know. I’m sorry. Next time.”

  “The hunting is good tonight. What do you want?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He canted his head and eased closer, so that she could see the hairless form, the thin lips and gleaming eyes. “You summoned me without purpose?”

  “I wanted to talk.”

  He bared his square teeth in what she took for a smile. “I am flattered.”

  She grinned in response.

  “So,” he said after a brief pause, “talk.”

  “Do your kind love?”

  “Love?” he repeated, eyes widening. “Do you love me, Tirribin?”

  She shook her head. “No. I love no one, but it seems I will in another time.”

  “That is beyond my knowing.”

  “I know. Answer me. Do your kind love?”

  “We love after a fashion. I have lain with my kind. Do Tirribin not?”

  “We don’t need to do so to reproduce. We don’t die, and so we have no need to make more. We simply are.”

  “Yet you say that you will love.”

  Droë’s cheeks warmed. “Not a Tirribin. A human.”

  He tucked his chin. “That is… unexpected. Why speak to me of this?”

  “I have no one else.” As soon as she spoke the words, she realized this wasn’t the reason. She hadn’t summoned him without purpose after all.

  “I’m sorry for that. But I know too little of your kind to be of help. And what I know of humans…” He opened his hands, the gesture bespeaking uncertainty. “I think you would tire of this creature before long. Then again, they don’t live long, so that might not be a problem.”

  “Perhaps,” she said, not because she agreed, but to keep him from saying more. “Can you help me leave this place?”

  He stared, eyes wide once more. “Three times now you have surprised me, this last most of all.”

  “Can you?”

  His face compressed into something resembling a scowl. “I don’t know. Where would you go?”

  She faltered. “Daerjen.”

  “That is a very long way.”

  “I know.”

  “Shonla travel alone. We don’t suffer companions of any sort.”

  “I know that as well.”

  The scowl grew more pronounced.

  “You’re cold now. I see your skin is roughened. If I were to bear you it would be like this constantly, for a long time. I can travel swiftly, but I need to feed, and I don’t journey in daylight.”

  “I don’t like daylight either. You know that. And I can feed, when you do. I’ll hunt on my own, away from your mists. I’ll warm myself then.”

  Tresz glared. She sensed he had run out of arguments. So she offered one of her own.

  “Time is wrong now. We’re in the early days of a misfuture. This will affect you and your kind as well.”

  “What kind of misfuture? How is it wrong?”

  Droë shrugged. “I can’t say. Events have been altered, but I’m blind to what might have been.”

  He growled deep in his chest. “I find Tirribin confounding. I don’t believe this is wise.”

  “I can sing for you. All night. I’ll sing song after song.”

  The Shonla stilled, ever a creature of prey. “You know many songs?”

  “I’ve lived for centuries, stalking sailors, merchants, humans in Windhome port. I’ve heard their songs, learned them.”

  He remained motionless, a dark mass in his shifting fog.

  Droë rubbed her arms. It was cold. Journeying with the Shonla would be a trial. Yet the more she contemplated the idea, the more attractive it grew. She had been on this little island for too many centuries. She was desperate for him to agree.

  “Very well,” Tresz said after a time, rousing himself with a small shudder. “I will bear you, and listen to your songs, and together we will hunt and explore new waters. I’ve been too long in the north.”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Droë said.

  The Shonla smiled. “Shall we hunt before we begin?”

  Droë nodded, excitement buzzing in her chest like a swarm of bees. Tresz knelt and indicated with a turn of his blunt hand that she should climb onto his back. She approached him, wary, uncertain. Not that she feared him. Shonla had always looked… slimy, like a fish.

  He wasn’t at all. His skin was cool and dry and smooth, more like a snake than anything else. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist. She recalled seeing human children ride their parents in this way. As he straightened, she decided she liked it.

  He walked to the promontory’s edge, stepped off, and dropped with alarming speed, the cloud tightening around them. Before they hit the rocks and surf below, their path altered and they glided out across the bay toward a ship. Droë laughed aloud, drawing an amused rumble from the Shonla.

  She was being rash, she knew. The girl had come back many years by her own reckoning to prevent a misfuture. By embarking on this journey together, by hunting along the way, she and Tresz would change the future themselves. Who knew what would come of their actions, their appetites?

  Then again, to Tirribin and Shonla the concerns of humans were trifles, fleeting and insignificant. And she had a purpose that even Tresz couldn’t know. Do I love him?

  What might it mean to become more than what she was, to change from this girl-thing to someone older, someone who could love?

  She couldn’t do this on her own, but she believed there were others who could help her. They, too, could be found in the south.

  Chapter 37

  30th Day of Sipar’s Settling, Year 633

  In the morning, after Tobias and Sofya broke their fast, Tobias again left the princess in Kaarti’s care, this time to make his way to the marketplace through another misting rain. During the night, he had made up his mind to leave Kaarti’s inn. They couldn’t remain in one place for long, and he feared the apparent safety of the Notch would prove illusory. He would buy food, gather Sofya and his belongings, and move on.

  In the market, he bought a sweet cake from one of the vendors to make himself less conspicuous. As he ate he walked a full circuit among the stalls, learning who sold what.

  After finishing his cake, he brushed his fingers on his trousers, and started toward the food vendor whose prices seemed most reasonable.

  “Good morning, Tobias,” said a voice from behind.

  He spun, reaching for his blade. He froze, blinked. Disbelief warred with joy. Gillian Ainfor stood before him, bobbed hair dampened by the rain, smile crinkling the lines around her blue eyes.

  He wanted to throw his arms around her, but among so many he didn’t dare.

  “You’re alive,” he whispered. “I thought for certain–”

  Her gaze traced his scars. “We managed to get away.”

  “We?”

  She quirked an eyebrow, sly, elusive. “Come with me.”

  She set out toward Outer Notch, and he followed. They walked by homes and shops, she half a pace ahead, neither of them speaking a word, or sharing a glance. Tobias cast a wary eye at each
shelter and every person they passed, but no one seemed interested in them. Gillian wore plain clothes in shades of dun. Only her lovely face would have drawn attention, and she kept her gaze fixed on the ground.

  They walked nearly to the open shelf at the mouth of the Notch, halting at a shelter that wasn’t far from the Seers’ establishment. It was unmarked and unobtrusive. She pushed aside the canvas and entered, holding it open for Tobias. He stepped through and straightened as Bexler Filt turned to face him, a planing tool in his hand.

  “Walker,” the Binder said. “Gillian thought she had recognized you. I’m delighted to see she was right.” His tone belied the words.

  “Binder Filt, it’s good to see you again.” Tobias stepped to the center of the shelter, taking in his surroundings. Two chairs flanked a table. A small cage holding a pair of pigeons rested on the floor. Otherwise it was empty. “What is this place?”

  The Binder looked past him to Gillian.

  “It belonged to my father,” she said, joining Tobias and hooking an arm through his. “He was a farrier in the city, and fell upon hard times. Even after he regained his business, he kept this. ‘You never know when luck will run out,’ he said. I suppose he saw it as a hedge against future troubles. When the Sheraighs came, this seemed the perfect place to hide.”

  “How did you escape?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “Good fortune. We were on our way to dinner when we heard the explosions. We rescued a few devices from the Binder’s workshop and fled.”

  “There was blood in the workshop that night. I saw it.”

  “What were you doing there?” Filt demanded.

  “I went hoping to find a chronofor.”

  “What’s the matter with yours?”

  “It was shattered in the attack.” His heart leapt, and he rounded on Filt. “I have the pieces with me! Can you can fix it?”

  “Yes, maybe,” he said, without enthusiasm.

  The first tickle of a warning touched Tobias’s mind. He thought he heard noise from the back of the shelter. The rain had intensified, though; he couldn’t tell what was real and what he imagined. He chanced a look at Gillian, but she was watching Filt.

  “I have only a few tools with me,” the Binder said. “But I can have a look at it.”

  “That can wait.” Gillian flashed that disarming smile. Tobias thought it strained. “Tell us how you got away.”

  He regarded them. “What about that blood?” He looked around again. “Where’s your wife, Binder?”

  “I fear she didn’t make it out of the castle.”

  “I’m sorry,” Tobias said. He had the distinct impression that his condolences were unnecessary.

  “You were in the hall with the sovereign and his family?” the minister prompted.

  “Yes. I… I pretended to be dead, and when the Sheraighs’ attention was elsewhere, I snuck out through the back.”

  “What about the princess?”

  He wanted to trust them. Half a bell before he would have, without hesitation. But that tickle had become a steady beat, like the pounding of war drums. Her question brought panic. He needed to get away, without revealing that Sofya still lived.

  “I assume she was lost with the others.”

  The corners of her mouth turned down in reproach. “Come now, Walker. You can do better than that.”

  “What makes you think she’s alive? Surely you’ve heard what I have: the entire family was killed.”

  Gillian and the Binder shared another glance. “Of course. We just–”

  “We hoped for the best,” Filt said.

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “Those are nasty scars,” the minister said. “Where did you get them?”

  Tobias swallowed. “I was in the dungeon, a ‘guest’ of the man who killed the sovereign.”

  Gillian tsked. “Yet here you stand, free, healed. You’ve been fortunate.”

  He almost said, I’ve had help, but thought better of it. “Yes, I suppose I have.”

  “Where have you been hiding since your escape?” Gillian asked. “Clearly here in the Notch. A boarding house perhaps?”

  Tobias tried to appear calm, but he felt as though Gillian had pressed cold steel against his throat.

  “No, I hadn’t any coin. Travelers can’t carry any, and I haven’t dared take a job. I’ve been depending on the kindness of strangers.”

  Her smile could have frozen Safsi Bay. “Well, you don’t have to do that anymore, do you? You’re welcome here.”

  “You’re too kind.”

  “Hardly.”

  “I have a few items to retrieve from where I’ve been staying most recently.”

  Filt quirked an eyebrow. “I thought a Traveler couldn’t carry anything.”

  “I took some items from the castle that night. A sword, two pistols, and two apertures from your workshop. Things I could barter if the need arose.”

  “How resourceful. Aren’t those items in your carry sack?” He lifted his chin in the direction of the pack Tobias carried.

  “Not all of them. I should be going.”

  “I don’t think so,” Gillian said. She had produced a pistol. Tobias wasn’t sure from where. She aimed it at his chest, her hand steady.

  “Let’s begin again,” Filt said. He crossed to Tobias and pulled the pack from his shoulder. “Where is the princess?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “You’re lying.” The Binder opened the carry sack and peered inside. “He was telling the truth about the pistols and devices. Though not about where he had them hidden.” He tossed the sack onto the floor, beyond Tobias’s reach.

  “You betrayed him, didn’t you?” Tobias said. “You plotted with House Sheraigh against Mearlan.”

  Gillian laughed. “For an intelligent boy, you have a great deal to learn about court politics.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “You’ll have to suss that out for yourself. And you’ll have time.” Her gaze flicked to the Binder. “Take him in back. We’ll tie him up.”

  Filt had drawn a pistol of his own and trained it on him as well. He tipped his head toward another curtain of canvas. “Back here.”

  He gave Tobias a wide berth, tracking him with the muzzle of his weapon. Tobias parted the curtain and stepped through. Again he halted, swaying. He had heard someone.

  A woman sat on a low pallet, her back against the rock face of the cavern. She was dark-skinned, like him, with bronze hair that fell about her shoulders. Her wrists and ankles were bound, and a cloth across her mouth kept her from speaking. She stared up at him with bright hazel eyes that he knew.

  As he approached, her eyes widened: recognition, acknowledgment, fear. She knew him as well.

  How could this be? Mara was a Spanner, not a Walker, and this woman had to be in her late twenties or early thirties. Just as you appear to be.

  “Mara?” he whispered.

  “Good, you do know her.”

  Tobias turned again. Gillian stood by the opening in the canvas, pistol in hand.

  “She claimed to know of you, but she says you’ve never met.”

  He didn’t gainsay her.

  “Aren’t we going to tie him up?” Filt asked.

  “Wait.” Gillian walked forward, halting just beyond Tobias’s reach. “She said they’d never met. But that was because time had changed. You know her, don’t you? She’s aged fourteen years, and still you knew her on sight.” She smiled. “I think we have a romance here, Bexler.”

  “So what?”

  She stepped past Tobias, drawing a curved blade that glinted with light from the front room.

  “So he might be interested in trading one life for another.” She knelt beside Mara, setting the blade at the base of Mara’s neck and gazing at Tobias. “The princess or the Traveler. Your choice.”

  “I’ve told you: I don’t know where the princess is. I thought she was dead until–”

  Gillian twitched her hand. No more. Mara gave a muffled cry. Blood dri
pped over the silver knife, staining her shirt.

  A tear slipped from Mara’s eye, but she stared back at Tobias. He perceived no plea in the look she gave him. Somehow she understood the stakes, and she was willing to die to protect the princess.

  “Don’t make me cut her again. There’s an artery near here, and if I nick it…” Gillian shrugged. “Now, where is she?”

  “I’m telling you, I don’t know.”

  She pressed the knife into Mara’s skin, drawing a moan and more blood.

  “I can lie,” Tobias said, allowing desperation to shade his tone. “I can tell you what I know you want to hear. But I don’t know where she is!”

  Filt looked from Tobias to Gillian. “Maybe he’s telling the truth.”

  “And maybe you’re a fool. He’s lying.”

  “I’m not!”

  “Orzili says you are.”

  Tobias held himself still, trying not to react.

  Gillian smiled. “I believe him more than I believe you. Now, where is she?”

  “Orzili’s wrong.”

  Gillian jerked her hand, slashing Mara across the cheek. Blood poured from the wound, which cut dangerously close to Mara’s eye. She was crying now, sobs shaking her body.

  “I grow tired of this, Walker. I can just as easily kill her and hurt you instead. Is that what you want?”

  “Yes! I mean, no, don’t kill her. Let her go. You can torture me all you like and I’ll still give you the same answer. The answer I gave Orzili again and again: I don’t know anything about the princess.” He pointed at Mara. “What I do know is that she has nothing to do with this. I don’t even know why she’s here.”

  “She seems to think she’s here to save the future, or some such nonsense. And no, I won’t release her.”

  “This is a waste of time,” Filt said, his voice tight. “Are you going to kill her, or should we tie him up and call for Orzili?”

  Gillian glared at Tobias for another moment. She gave Mara a needless shove and thrust herself off the pallet, pocketing her blade and aiming her pistol at Tobias again.

  “Tie him,” she said.

  Mara righted herself, her eyes on Tobias. He returned her gaze, hoping to communicate what he needed her to do.

  “Over here,” Filt said, waving Tobias toward the cavern’s back wall.