A Temporal Trust (The Temporal Book 2)

by Martin, CJ

  A few moments later, he saw three black robed beings appear at the base of the hill. Instead of walking in from behind a tree, they grew out of the bare earth as if they had been on an elevator. Maro watched with amazement as they increased in size until they were fully above ground.

  The three humanoid enemies stood at the base of the hill. He was unsure of their strength or their mission, but he didn’t like the odds. After appearing, the three moved together, forming a triangle, and then stopped. They wore black robes with some kind of metallic armor underneath. Maro could not see their faces even with their hoods lowered. Some kind of masking power was hiding their likenesses. Their intent, however, was clear. They were supernatural beings coming to harm him.

  And yet, they just stood there. Maro also did not move. He quieted his mind to listen to the echoes. Suddenly, he heard—or rather, felt—a physical disturbance directly underground. He turned around to face a fourth attacker who had traveled beneath him and materialized directly behind him.

  The creature was holding a long bronze blade. Its shape was an exotic mix between a sword and a sickle. As Maro admired its beautiful form, the sword was already in mid-swing.

  Maro had less than a second to react. He slowed time and began a countermove, but it wasn’t enough to stop the tip of the blade from ripping across his abdomen.

  Maro’s first instinct was to attack the one in front of him before the other three could come any closer. But as he twisted his torso to launch himself forward, the bloodied wound in his stomach shot powerful waves of pain to his brain. He crumpled to the ground. As he fell, his hands flew to his stomach where massive amounts of blood were escaping. His hands dammed the flow somewhat, but it also prevented him from blocking the boot of his attacker.

  The kick from the Perazim sent Maro flying down the hill toward the three other enemies. It wasn’t a particularly steep hill, but the momentum and Maro’s inability to use his arms and legs accurately made his downward fall swifter than it would have otherwise been.

  Maro’s eyes blurred; his ears were playing tricks—as he rolled downhill, each deep thud was followed by a high pitched whine that continued rising in pitch long after it should have gone away. His mind still thought about slowing time, but that took concentration and bodily relaxation. He could do neither.

  A few seconds later, he realized he was no longer moving; he could see nothing through his eyes. His ears had the same ringing, but it was constant now and overpowered any other sound.

  A rough hand grabbed his shirt lapels, forcing him to sit up somewhat. He could not see; he could not hear—beyond that ringing, but he knew his end was near. He was defenseless and his attacker was upon him.

  Just as he gave himself up for lost, he felt motion as his body simply dropped to the ground. It was as if his attacker had given up on his all-but-defeated prey.

  Ian had launched through the thin row of trees to see Maro under attack. Behind Maro, without his friend knowing, crept three other Perazim, moving in for the kill.

  Remembering Marcus’ warning concerning the creatures’ strength, he moved as lightly as he could, aiming to sneak behind the three Perazim undetected.

  Ian got a mere ten feet away from one of them when it turned its head.

  Realizing the advantage of surprise was nearly gone, Ian raised his weapon and fired four rapid shots into the head of the nearest Perazim. It stumbled backward, but soon regained its composure.

  Remembering Marcus’ words, Ian knew his firearm would not be good for anything but a distraction. He threw the gun into the Perazim’s face and leapt forward using every ounce of power from his muscular legs. He landed on his hands and swept his legs around. His feet, swinging high, caught the thigh of the Perazim whom he had shot.

  The Perazim was holding a long knife that sliced into the soft earth as he fell. The blade was now mere inches away from Ian’s feet.

  Ian bent his knees like an accordion, enabling him to both prepare for another jump and grab the knife. The inside of his right hand firmly gripped the handle. As he leapt toward the middle of the other two Perazim, his right arm swung wide and with great strength.

  Both Perazim had their attention now firmly on Ian, but the one to the right was closest to Ian’s position. The knife cut deep into cloth and some hard object beneath. The Perazim made no sound and didn’t appear to have experienced any pain from the cut.

  It was only momentary, but the shock Ian experienced from the Perazim’s lack of a reaction caused him to stumble. The enemy to the left took that opportunity to thrust its claw in the direction of Ian’s neck. Ian dodged, but it was not enough to prevent the claw from digging into the flesh of his left shoulder.

  The cry that came out of Ian’s mouth seemed to startle the Perazim around him. Seeing their response, he let out another cry even louder than before. He yelled once again—the pain made it natural but not effortless. Ian ignored the pain and pushed more voiced air through his lungs. The enemy seemed confused by the noises from this hurt Temporal. Ian wanted to use every advantage he had and his screaming seemed to be all that there was.

  His right fist plummeted into the chest of the Perazim to the left. There was a loud crack and the creature went flying backward a few feet. It rested in a small trench it had created.

  The other two Perazim had recovered and were reaching out for Ian. Seeing the fallen Perazim work his arms to stand, Ian realized there was little hope of defeating them physically. Even with the knife, he doubted he could pierce their armor and fill the void where their heart once was—whatever that meant. Marcus had been right. Whatever these creatures were, they were not the helpless and pitiful Nephloc he had encountered in DC.

  Ian looked up. Maro was being lifted up by his shirt. The Perazim had its sword drawn and was readying the death strike.

  “Perazim!” Ian’s voice was louder and more powerful than it had been when he screamed from pain. The physical pain was gone—his shoulder was in the process of healing—but Maro was about to be slaughtered.

  Much to Ian’s surprise, the Perazim dropped Maro and turned its attention to him.

  Now he had four attackers to deal with.

  A quick glance behind him showed the three others had regrouped and were walking toward him in a semi-circle. They were closing the noose.

  Two of them held a bladed weapon. The third had clenched fists, gloved and laced with razors. Ian was holding the fourth creature’s knife.

  “You are the Temporal known as Ian,” said the one that was standing over Maro’s motionless body. His voice was deep and resounding. “You are of particular interest to the powerful one.”

  Ian said nothing. He stood his ground after noticing the other three had stopped. They had blocked his exits and were waiting for the Perazim nearest to Maro, their leader, to give the attack signal.

  “I want him alive.” The Perazim leader said and then turned back to his prey, Maro.

  Ian took off. His screaming caused the leader to return his attention back to Ian. As Ian approached, the Perazim readied its weapon. Ian’s dagger would be no match for the strength of his opponent’s four-foot blade.

  He had but one hope. Ian distracted the enemy with a scream and broke for the narrow gap between the leader Perazim and the one behind him and to his right. As he ran up the hill, he could hear the footfalls and breathing of the three behind him, but more importantly, the leader was also following Ian’s lead. All four Perazim had their attention on Ian and away from the hurt—or possibly dead—Maro.

  Ian crossed his arms. His right hand held the dagger near his left armpit. His left arm thrust out and, once extended, he opened that empty hand wide as if throwing something from it. The Perazim leader reacted by pivoting on its feet so its chest would be less exposed and then slashing his sword hand down to block any projectile. The Perazim’s chest was now well protected, but the ruse had worked; Ian wasn’t aiming for his chest.

  Ian then let loose his right arm. The dagger flew into
the neck area that had become exposed by the creature’s downward defensive motion.

  Ian knew it would be nothing more than a distraction, but a distraction was all he needed. He took off with all the speed of a professional football player.

  Huddling over like he was about to sack the quarterback, Ian’s right shoulder slammed into the leader sending the enemy flying over and beyond Maro’s horizontal body. The jolt opened the wound on his left shoulder and reminded him of the intense pain from the earlier cut, but his focus was not lost.

  Ian saw Maro directly in front of him.

  There was a great possibility that he could end up hurting Maro more than helping—and that was if Maro was indeed even alive.

  The leader Perazim was back on its feet in an instant. After repositioning its grip, the sword sliced through the air making a whirling crystal-like sound. Ian dropped and rolled on top of Maro. The wind from the sword tickled the back of his ears.

  Ian began to modulate. Touching Maro, he saw that he was also affecting Maro’s cells. Maro was unconscious and Ian had no idea if he would be able to survive a jump, but he was certain that they wouldn’t survive this hill much longer.

  As the leader repositioned his sword for a downward thrust, one of the three Perazim grabbed Ian’s leg. Ian attempted an action he had only done once before, and not without a great expelling of energy. Matter from Ian’s back launched up as a cloud. This cloud was a part of Ian, but a part that he had disassembled and was now causing to twirl. Much like a tornado, a violent rotating column of air mixed with matter—Ian’s matter—extended upward and then in a sudden burst, in all directions.

  Ian gritted his teeth—or at least the particles in motion that he envisioned to have been his teeth—and then pushed. The pent-up energy sent the particles out and then back in like a yo-yo. The effect was instantaneous and powerful, but not lethal.

  All four Perazim, including the leader, were on their backs and at least twenty feet away. They had no understanding of what had just happened, but each were scrambling to get back to the attack.

  Ian had bought himself seconds and he was exhausted. As the cells returned and reassembled into place, Ian took several deep breaths. His heaving chest surely was causing Maro much discomfort, but Ian couldn’t help that. He had to make the jump now. He couldn’t get to DC, not even if he was making the jump alone. But with Maro, his only hope was a random jump. The only concentration a random jump required was to keep him and Maro together. Without thought to the direction or destination, he would free up strength and concentration to keep them alive.

  But it was a gamble.

  The jump could plant them in the middle of a mountain. He would know before the materialization process completed, but he wasn’t sure if he had the strength for another jump even if it were to simply reposition their cells a few feet away.

  Hearing the sounds of the approaching enemies, he let go. Maro and Ian dissipated instantly as three Perazim fell to empty ground.

  In a fit of anger, the fourth Perazim—the leader—let loose its sword, severing the head of one of the three Perazim it commanded.

  Ian didn’t materialize within a mountain. They were, however, several feet above ground. Ian realized his position quick enough to slow the materialization and drop their cells to the ground before finishing the reconstruction.

  After making sure Maro and himself had everything that they’d had before the jump and in the right place, Ian rolled over and allowed his overtired mind to begin to slip into the world of dreams. He could not know where they were or even if Maro would make it. He used his last bit of energy to lift his head to look around for any sign of the enemy. He only saw trees being blown by a gentle breeze. Ian allowed his head to drop onto a bed of pine needles. Maro was still alive—as was he—but both of them were battle worn, wounded, and utterly exhausted.

  Ian let out a smile, dropped his arms to the cool grass at his sides, and closed his eyes as a sweet blanket of blackness overtook him.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Ian found himself wondering precisely how this could be happening. He had witnessed the scene once before but what he was experiencing was not a memory. No, it was too vivid for that. Ian had the surreal realization that he was somewhere he couldn’t be. And yet he had to be in a dream—it simply had to be. The past was closed to him and nineteenth century Japan no longer existed.

  He was standing on the crown of a wooden bridge near Kagoshima Castle. He was in the Satsuma domain at the dawn of the Meiji Period. There were passersby—all of whom were staring at the bewildered foreigner. He would no doubt look strange even back in England; he had just made a jump and was in the process of recovering. An elderly Japanese couple, seeing him on the bridge, turned around and quickly went back home.

  Ian looked down at his arms. By the sleeves, he knew that he was wearing the old Union Army uniform that Marcus had appropriated for him so many years before.

  Curiosity made him pull up his left arm’s sleeve a few inches. He earned a scar that ran from his elbow to his wrist during the Battle of the Somme in World War I. But that occurred after the last time he was experiencing what he was experiencing while at this location.

  During that battle, the Germans had had the highland. They’d also had over a year and a half to build up their defenses. Worse, British intelligence had greatly underestimated the German strength. While crawling through no-man’s land, a soldier beside Ian had set off a crude land mine, sending enough shrapnel into Ian to kill a normal man.

  Blinking back to reality—or at least the reality of whatever it was he was currently experiencing, he ran his fingers under the sleeve and over the smooth, bare skin of his left arm. The scar was not there.

  He moved his hands to feel his cheeks. He had the muttonchops he had worn for so many decades during the nineteenth century.

  If this was a dream, it was a very accurate dream.

  Even still, his memory retained all subsequent events. He remembered he had been in DC. He had seen her...No doubt his current dream state had been influenced by Suteko’s presence. But every other physical or emotional aspect indicated that he was reliving his experience in Japan shortly after the fall of the shogunate.

  Originally, he had been sent here by Marcus for one purpose only. The old man had spoken to him of a new Temporal in great need of help. How he found out about her, Ian didn’t know, but Marcus always seemed to know. Ian hadn’t wanted to go but at the old man’s insistence he relented. Someone needed his help and he knew that he alone could make the trip in time to be of aid.

  He had been younger and more attuned to his body’s needs back then. He was now a mere shadow of what he once was. At that stage in his life, he was fit, mentally stable, and had only needed a few minutes to fully recover from even a large jump.

  The jump. He remembered beyond seeing Suteko in DC. He had jumped somewhere...He had jumped to Italy to look for his friend.

  Maro.

  He looked around for Maro. Ian was the only non-Japanese around—perhaps the only foreigner for a hundred miles. His eyes met a man’s pulling a cart of sweet potatoes. The merchant averted his eyes and quickened his pace.

  Ian was just about to panic when the man with the potatoes moved and he saw her behind him.

  She did not notice him at first. It appeared that she was the only person who did not see him. She seemed distracted and lost. A forlorn figure utterly alone in this crowd of strangers.

  He felt his pocket—there was something there. Pulling out the booklet, he opened it up to see the Japanese characters. This had been written by Marcus and translated so she could know why he was here. Ian wasn’t quite sure what exactly was written on its pages. He couldn’t read or speak Japanese and over the past one hundred and fifty years, his Japanese hadn’t improved much.

  It had to be a dream. Or perhaps some drug that was enhancing his memories, making them more real than they had been even in reality.

  Or perhaps, there was a s
impler explanation: he was dead and fully experiencing eternity.

  But he was feeling the same emotions as he had back then. With just one look, he could see that she was lost, scared, and just as beautiful as she had been a hundred and fifty years ago; his only thought upon seeing this Japanese woman was his desire to give her his everything. He was suddenly embarrassed by his earlier anger at being assigned to this mission. In both cases, then and now, that anger completely vanished upon seeing her from that bridge.

  He approached her cautiously. She looked up at him while they were still a dozen feet apart. He stopped. If she was frightened or apprehensive upon seeing this stranger and foreigner, her eyes and facial expressions did not show it. She just looked through him with eyes lost and without hope.

  She stopped still when she noticed that he was heading directly for her.

  “Suteko-san, Ian to mōshimasu.”

  She continued to stand motionless and silent even as he introduced himself. She had a curious look on her face as she arched her head and crumpled her eyebrows in confusion.

  Not wanting to repeat himself or to scare her away, he cautiously lifted his hand, showing her the notebook. Her eyes examined the object as if it was a puzzle or some fascinating but unknowable riddle. She didn’t reach for it and seeing that she was about to turn away, Ian said one of the few Japanese words that he knew. “Yūjin desu.” I’m a friend.

  He turned the notebook toward her and opened the first page. Her eyes fell upon the characters and she immediately began reading as he held it up. Ian watched her eyes scan the vertical characters on the page. Her glance started up and then fell straight down, only to quickly jump up and then scan down the next line of text.

  After a few moments of this, she thrust out both hands to receive the notebook with a meager bow. As she turned the page, Ian noticed a tear falling from one of her eyes. It was a solitary tear at first, but soon there was a fountain. Ian had to help her find a place to sit down and collect herself. She was learning that she was not alone in this world—she had nearly fainted with the realization. There were others like her and these people were ready and willing to help her.