Storm Front: NA Fantasy/Time Travel (Tesla Time Travelers Book 3)

by Jen Greyson

  Ilif vanishes and Constantine wraps quietly on the door, then pushes it open. “The men are ready.”

  “Great.” I walk briskly out of the room, fired up from the altercation with Ilif. This is the perfect attitude to take into war. We hurry through the complex and I pull up short and curse when I see the horses.

  “Something wrong?”

  “Nope. Just forgot about the horses part.”

  “I’ve given you a fine mare. She’ll take care of you.” He leads me to a yellow-colored horse probably has a fancy name for its golden coat.

  I stomp to her neck. “Don’t try me today.” I poke her and she shakes her head, making her mane flop against my hand. “I’m not in the mood.”

  Behind me, Constantine chuckles. “Is this how you handle your horses where you’re from?”

  “I only ride when I’m here. It doesn’t go well.”

  I get on and he checks the tightness of all the straps holding me on, then mounts his own horse and we ride out. Darkness turns us into shadows racing through the night and I’m alert, wary of what I know is to come, having fought Viriato and his men before. I am confident in the team and trust the men beside me, but doesn’t ease the tightness in my stomach. I second-guess my decision to keep what I know from Constantine and the worry festers inside me.

  The horses gallop quickly over brush and fallen logs and mine does what she’s told, following along behind Constantine and not making any trouble. My ass slaps the saddle, but I manage to stay on, which is a serious accomplishment and I’m feeling better about her, giving her the occasional pat and compliment.

  We churn up dirt and decaying leaves, lending an ominous stench to this mission. After what could have been an hour, maybe two, Janus signals a halt. I scan the surrounding woods, but nothing moves—not I expected it to. Every attempt has been met with ambush and tonight should be no different. We dismount and the men unsheathe their weapons.

  I keep mine hidden at Constantine’s request from the stolen moments when we found time to talk during the ride. He'd asked again about the ability to kill with my lightning and I’d admitted in hurried statements I’d killed with it in the past. “If we need it tonight, will you unleash it?” he’d asked.

  “At your command,” I’d told him.

  We came up with a signal and I’d agreed if he gave it to me I’d electrify the lightning. I’m not sure what he’s considering but I assume it has something to do with what he’s tried against these men before and how he’s trained his own. I may know Viriato, but Constantine knows his men’s strengths and weaknesses far better than I do and now he’s trying to fit mine into the mix so we are a single, deadly unit instead of separate pieces.

  Our group moves swiftly through the undergrowth, the men guiding each other with hand signals and instinct while I’m stuck to Constantine’s side toward the rear. Brambles and thorns snag my clothes and yet again, I’m the loudest one in the bunch. Nervous, I check again over my shoulder to make sure the attack isn’t coming from direction.

  While I’m busy looking around, the men halt and crouch, disappearing beneath the tall shrubbery. We’re concealed from a few directions, but certainly not all. I strain to hear anything doesn’t fit the moonless night. Finally, the signal comes, but it’s too late.

  Attackers come in from every side, screaming, yelling, crashing through the brush. They come in waves, exploding from the trees, the brush, behind our horses.

  One—two—three for each man. A man rushes me with a mace, face blackened with grease and missing four front teeth. I’m unprepared for both the sight of him and the attack. Luckily, I’m not alone and Constantine shoves him away as he’s attacked by two others on his left. One smashes a heavy mallet into Constantine’s forearm and he swings around, brandishing his sword high and drawing across the man’s throat. I’m surrounded by blood and screams.

  I’ve been here before and must do my part.

  My lightning flares at my fingertips and I shout a warning to my men, one Constantine identified for us to use so we’d only catch the marauders off-guard. A second later, my bolts erupt into huge white, crackling ropes of lightning and I snap them across the backs of the attackers closest to me, taking out three. They scream in terror and pain but I continue forward, unleashing a weapon no one’s seen in battle.

  Our men use the surprise against their foes, mowing down eight—ten—a dozen. Bodies fall like logs, but they continue to erupt from our surroundings. I take down another two.

  Behind us, the horses are frantic, as unprepared for the crazed attackers as we were. They kick and fight and trample, catching both friend and foe beneath their hooves. We’re all fighting for our lives, yelling and fending off what we can.

  Soon every warrior is evenly paired and the men fight bravely, wielding their weapons as extensions of their bodies. I do the same.

  Steel and wood clashes. Leather armor takes abuse from maces and battle axes and nothing stands up to my lightning. I control it with an single-minded intensity, wrapping it between good guys to take out the bad, making it twist around wood to trip the ones who flee, electrifying swords to triple the killing power.

  Screams turn to grunts as we slowly gain the upper hand. We’ve taken injuries, but still they fight. Courageous as they are, we can’t maintain this intensity for long.

  “Evy! The coil,” Constantine shouts.

  I hold off my attacker with one hand, ignite another bolt, and throw it around the entire group, swinging my arm wide and circling three, then four, rings. The first hovers a foot off the ground, the next eighteen inches higher and they climb until I’ve stacked them above our heads. The attackers are scared… terrified. But they fight for a cause and it will not be bowed, not by my lightning. They power through their fear, challenging my men with every bit of courage they have.

  One of mine is wounded, taking a sword high across his shoulder. Panic erupts and I lose my hold on the coil as another man ducks the blow of a battle ax and falls into me. The ax misses him, but I'm right in its path.

  The sharp edge catches my shoulder blade as I twist away. The tip sneaks beneath my armor and slides along the edge like a filet knife, peeling my skin away from the bone. The force of the strike pounds into my bone, throwing me forward and nearly knocking me off my feet. I manage to stay upright, but I stumble to one knee and catch a protruding branch of a fallen log. Pushing up with my good arm, I stand and turn, throwing a ball of lightning in the direction of the attack. The bright ball hits the guy in the chest and Janus swings a sword through his abdomen, but has no time to check on me as he’s shoved from behind by one of our men defending against another attack.

  Constantine runs toward me, swinging his sword and taking out men. Still more attack. He's closer, but still too far away to save me. I’m on my own.

  I clench my teeth and tuck the injured arm against my side. It’s nearly useless and I can’t feel anything below my elbow.

  “Your lethal lightning,” Constantine yells beside me, thrusting his sword upward through a man’s stomach. “Use it now!”

  My vision blurs and I trip. Blades swing over my head and my lightning winks out as the adrenalin rush fades enough for searing fire to explode across my back. He's here, finally. My knees give but he catches me, then yanks me tight against him, lifting his sword to block an attacker.

  I take a shaky breath and wrap a thick band around all of us. He screams a command doesn’t translate. The men move as one, shoving their attacker with full force into my lightning. It pulls against me as the men fry on the electricity. I struggle to hold it still—to keep it alive. The force pulls me nearly away from Constantine’s body and I reach forward with my limp, injured arm and grab my other elbow, trying to steady it… To hold it… To keep me from being flung sideways by the electricity's power.

  “I can’t hold it,” I cry. Every breath unleashes fire throughout my body.

  His arm tightens, cinching me to him. He drops his sword at our feet and links his
fingers across my stomach, anchoring me. The attacking men fall…

  One.

  By one.

  By one.

  My bolt snaps back into my hand and I sag into Constantine. His men circle us, facing outward, protecting the injured. Three men have taken what might be fatal wounds, but they’re still alive.

  For the moment.

  The trip back for them will be hell. For me as well.

  A limp strand of lightning trickles from the palm of my injured side, dribbling to the ground and weaving between bloodied pools and broken blades of grass. I cannot control it as it flows away from me on a path of its own making. The men draw closer and we all watch intently as it winds around us then back to my feet. I find the strength to lift it a few feet off the ground and gather the men to me.

  I think of the training field where I first showed them. “Hold on.” The words are a guttural growl.

  They tense, the lightning flares, and blackness blinds me.

  I wake and stare at the ceiling, holding my breath until I confirm it’s not any of the drywalled, plastered, painted ceilings from my present. My heart is pounding with terror I’ve been flung back again at the end of a battle. I exhale, relieved I’m still in ancient Spain, then lift my arm to rub my eyes. “OH MY HOLY FUCK!” I scream as my entire back ignites like I’ve been doused in gasoline. “Ohmygod,” I whimper as the pain steals my air.

  Pain. So much blistering rage. Like every nerve’s been severed, it hurts so bad. Pain like my skin is ripping open with every movement. I gasp for breath and curse again. My fingers clench into fists and I pound the hard woolen blanket beneath me covers the cot.

  “You’re awake?” Constantine’s voice pierces my fog of agony.

  I force my eyes open, then close them and rub them with my good hand wiping away the tears. For a moment, I’m able to forget about my own injury and ask about the fear rising up inside my chest. “The men?”

  “Safe. Alive. More intimidated by you than they’d care to admit.” He steps into the room and slides a small wooden chair next to my bed. He’s in clean clothes and freshly showered, so we’ve been back for a while. He would have seen to everyone else before himself, including the horses. My worry I’ve missed Penya’s arrival is eclipsed by the torture wringing every nerve ending. Everything hurts. Blinking hurts.

  “Where am I?” My mouth is full of cotton and I try to wet my lips but they stick to the dry, cracked skin.

  “Here,” he says, handing me a small cup of water and ignoring my question. We must be in another part of the compound I haven’t seen. I try to sit up, but cry out and collapse back against the cot, clenching my teeth. “Easy.” He slides a gentle hand beneath my head and angles it so I can take a drink. “The pain will subside.”

  Too bad I’m not in an alteration, if I had been, that arc would have healed me. It’s nearly worth the risk of starting a new alteration so I don’t have to endure this, but I can’t risk missing Penya, not to heal. I groan. I can certainly see where side effect would be a benefit now I’m here and having to rely on ancient methods and medicine. I swallow and lift my chin away from the rim.

  He lowers my head then picks up a wet linen cloth and presses it to my forehead, still holding the cup in case I want more. The damp cloth feels good but does nothing to ease the pain.

  “I am as confounded as they are about what happened.”

  I wince as the pain flares again. “Me too.” Talking hurts. “I remember getting hit and taking out those men, but… Did I arc us back here? How did we get here?”

  He pays close attention to the cup as he sets it down then turns it half a rotation to the left. “No one is quite certain what occurred. The men and I were assessing the situation. We’d killed the immediate threat and needed to regroup, retreat, and care for the wounded. While we determined the next course of action, your lightning encircled us and next we knew, we stood in the center of the training grounds.” He clenches his jaw and looks away, then runs a hand through his hair and rubs his face. He is quiet for a long stretch, then his words are barely a whisper, “I would have lost men without your quick thinking. You saved them.” His eyes water and I blink back my own tears, overcome with the relief and gratitude I’ve finally, finally managed to save a life because of my abilities.

  “Well,” I say, desperate to lighten the mood and shove the overflow of emotions back down where they belong. “What’s the point of having a time traveler on the team if she can’t save your men?”

  “Your men.” Another voice says from across the room.

  Startled, I look up to see three of them standing in the doorway. My archer stands closest to the bed, his arm in a sling, face cut and bruised. Stuffing the emotions is no longer an option as tears fill my eyes and I can’t take a full breath. He says it again, but his voice is clogged with meaning. "Your men."

  “Yes,” I say quietly through the tightness in my own throat, owning the weight of the gift he’s given me. “You are my men.”

  Constantine stands slowly and touches two fingertips to my shoulder. “We’ll let you sleep.” He walks toward the door, trailing his fingers down my arm. I clutch them, and pain rockets through my body. “Stay,” I whisper.

  He looks at our hands and his jaw clenches again.

  The men slip away and I thread my fingers through his. “I’m scared.” Of the pain, of being without him, of losing him forever. “Stay with me?”

  He nods curtly, like he’s not entirely comfortable with the task and sits.

  I have to think of something will make him stay, but won’t make things awkward. My mind isn’t functioning like it’s supposed to. Right now, it’s committed to reminding me every half-second my back’s on fire. I need something else to focus on. “Tell me a story.”

  He snorts. “A story. What story would you hear?”

  “Something good.” My words slur. “Tell me about sailing when you were a kid… Your favorite time on the water.”

  He’s quiet and I open my eyes to find him staring at our hands, his thumb rubbing across the back of my knuckles. “Wouldn’t you rather tales of bravery and swordsmanship?”

  “No.” I already know all those stories. I want to know what he was like as a boy. We’ve never had time for pillow talk and I want it now, want him to share all those things made him the man I love. He scoots his chair closer and curls his other hand around my forearm and draws it close, then tucks my fist tight against his chest. My eyelids flutter sleepily as the pain finds an ebb I can manage.

  “My first boat was a ridiculous thing. A boy’s ship.” He smiles fondly. “But I loved her and did my best to keep her seaworthy. On this day I’d gone well beyond the boundaries and fishing vessels, needing to test both my own limits and those of my ship.”

  “How old were you?” I want to imagine him as a young boy, sandy-haired, wiry and eager to take on the world.

  “Eight or nine.” He smiles broadly.

  I return it and tuck my good hand beneath my cheek, settling into the story, comforted by his presence. I don’t want to fall asleep but my body is dragging me under so it can work on my wound. My lightning pulses through me, calling to me, reminding me the solution to my pain is one simple arc away into an alteration. But pain is a small price for this moment between us—his gentleness, his stories, his strong fingers curled around my arm and the swell of his chest against my skin, the security of his fingers threaded through mine. I sweep my thumb across the tip of his, rubbing it back and forth slowly, letting his nail slice across my fingerprint, changing the makeup of my identity.

  “That summer had been a stormy one and another threatened on the horizon, but I knew we could handle it, my boat and me. I sailed across the chop until I could see not a single fishing vessel. I stood at the bow, wind tugging at my clothes and my hair. That is the part I love most about sailing, misleading feeling of weightlessness when the sea below and the sky above collide, lifting the boat over the swells then tipping her over the backside. I have
yet to find a similar feeling.” He drops his head and brushes his lips against the back of my hand. “There are moments you make me feel way...” He looks at me. “Expecting the heady drop down the backside of a wave. It’s… curious.”

  I always feel way around him but my tongue is too thick, my breathing too shallow to answer. I squeeze his fingers and he returns to the story.

  “My boat and I had found a rhythm in the waves and I’d lost myself in the purity and simplicity of being a man against the sea. I sailed for hours, closer to the darkness, but within my limits. I lost sight of land, but didn’t worry I could find my way home again. Then, in the middle of a great sea, the wind quieted and the waves abated. As my mast no longer fluttered, I stood facing outward, gazing upon a sight unlike anything I’ve seen since. The dark clouds parted and a shaft of sunlight split the sky and sea, then the golden ray sliced through the middle of my boat, still waters around me. I was filled with a calm could only have come from the sea, one mirrored the desires of my sailor heart. That sight, feeling, everything about day has become the moment I recall when I seek peace and clarity—that vision, calm, oneness with my future and who I was in moment. I don’t have many of those things in my life, but in moment, the heavens gifted me with a treasure I’ve never forgotten.”

  He lifts my palm to his cheek and flattens it against his skin. His stubble pricks my hand. “Having you at my side, watching you save my men, fearing now for your health… These are all moments will stand with one.”