Forgotten Ages (The Complete Series)

by Lindsay Buroker

  With the first page, she knew it was indeed a personal journal, one written in Middle Turgonian, the letters large and wobbly, as one might expect from an accounting written at sea. When she spotted the date at the top of the first entry, a flutter danced through her stomach. 17 Frost Moon, 342. The Turgonians had started their calendar after their first major acquisition on their new continent, fifty-five years after the Kyattese “After Colonizing” dates had begun. That meant her new find was from 397, the year of the missing book in the library.

  Tikaya settled onto her bed to read. It’d been more than ten years since she’d studied Old and Middle Turgonian, so it took a few moments to get into the rhythm, but she was soon skimming through the opening pages. Darkness descended outside her window, but she barely noticed.

  When a knock sounded at her door, it jarred her out of the world she’d delved into, and she almost dropped the book. Clanks and voices came from the yard out front. Tikaya leaped from her bed and checked the window.

  The family’s runabout had returned, its engine glowing a soft blue with the energy source that powered it. Her mother had opened the rear and was piling groceries into—Tikaya’s heart gave a relieved flip—Rias’s arms. The lizard-tracking device no longer adorned his wrist, and there was no sign of Yosis.

  She clenched a fist. “Good.”

  Mother said something, and Rias, arms laden with a crate and an impressive number of sacks, walked around the runabout. He gave it a long thoughtful look on his way to the front lanai. Tikaya wondered if he was dreaming up ways to improve upon the design or simply hoping he never had to ride in the thing again. With its wooden wheels, bamboo frame, and engine parts carved from—if memory served—whale bone, the vehicle must lack the finesse—and smoothness—to which he was accustomed.

  In the hallway, someone knocked again, this time with a swift sternness that suggested a reply should be prompt. Tikaya had hoped Rias might glance up at her window, but he didn’t see her, so she hustled toward the door. She almost opened it before realizing she still held the journal.

  “Just a moment,” Tikaya called. Her delays would seem suspicious, but she didn’t see a way around them. She searched for a safe place to stash the book. Given that someone was wandering about, locking doors, she didn’t want to leave it out. Unfortunately, unlike her brothers, she’d never hidden dirty posters, tobacco, or other parentally forbidden items in her room, so she’d never created a secret niche. When the knock came again, she resorted to stuffing the journal into her undergarments again. She grabbed a decorative sash for her waist, and then, to draw the eye from the area, a flamboyant flower brooch that she’d adored when she was eleven or twelve. It was garish but suitably distracting. “A girl needs to dress up when her beau comes to dinner after all.”

  Tikaya unlocked the door and strode into the hallway, an apology for the policewoman on her lips. But her father was the one standing there, scowling.

  “Do you know what the soup is doing?” he demanded.

  “Er.” She’d forgotten she left that pot on the cooktop. “Simmering?” she asked hopefully.

  “Boiling all over the place and making a mess in the kitchen.”

  “Sorry, Father. I’ll clean it up.” She wanted to add, “Right after I see Rias,” but the depth of that scowl suggested the addendum would be unwise.

  “You’ll sleep in your room tonight as well,” he growled and stomped toward the stairway. “Alone,” he added as he descended.

  Sighing, Tikaya hustled toward the stairs. It seemed she was catching up on the youthful indiscretions she’d forgotten to pursue as a teenager, including sneaking out and irritating one’s parents. The policewoman stood in the hall, her hands clasped behind her back as she imitated a potted plant. So lovely to have a witness for one’s life.

  By the time Tikaya cleaned up, the family had gathered around the table. With so many watching, she didn’t hug Rias, instead only gave him an awkward hand pat on her way past. She ate swiftly, hoping everyone would finish soon so she could excuse herself for a more private conversation with him, though she didn’t know how much she dared discuss with the policewoman still around.

  Ell didn’t show up for dinner, and she wondered where he was. As much as she hated to think suspicious thoughts about family members, the shiny new lock on the attic had her hackles up.

  Rias asked a few polite questions at dinner, and responded with a thankful smile whenever Mother included him in the conversation, but mostly he remained quiet. Given how often Father’s glower shifted in his direction, that wasn’t surprising.

  At one point, Rias asked his across-the-table seat mate Ky, “How long have your people had vehicles?”

  Tikaya’s brother shrugged. “Two or three centuries at least. They’re rare because it’s a lot of effort for a practitioner to Make a power supply. Most people ride bicycles or pull wagons with donkeys.”

  “That rickety vehicle is actually a sign of our family’s prosperity,” Tikaya said dryly.

  “Nothing wrong with our runabout,” Father said, sparing a new scowl for her.

  “No, sir,” Rias said. “If you were of a mind, you could make the ride smoother by installing…” He glanced at Tikaya and asked, “Shock absorbers?” in Turgonian.

  She offered an unwieldy translation. Her people didn’t have an equivalent, as far as she knew.

  “I could take a look at it and see if I can come up with something,” Rias offered.

  “That sounds lovely.” Mother’s voice held true pleasure, and she beamed a smile at him.

  For a few heartbeats, Father’s expression seemed to soften and turn speculative as well, but he shook his head, and the scowl climbed back onto his lips. “We don’t need any Turg improvements.”

  After that, the dinner conversation limped along. Tikaya was relieved when Mother dismissed the children and put an end to the moribund event. She couldn’t grab Rias’s arm and lead him to the back lanai fast enough. The policewoman trooped after, though Mother stopped her with a raised hand.

  “Dear, you look tired. Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll bring you a spot of rum cake?”

  The policewoman pointed at Tikaya. “I need to—”

  “Here now, you can see through the window from this chair. Won’t that do? It’s only polite to offer privacy to young couples.”

  Father appeared at Mother’s shoulder. “What are you doing? Devil’s spit, don’t help them.”

  “Come, Loilon,” Mother responded, “we’ve raised three children. Surely, you’ve learned that they’ll do what they wish, and it’s better to let them do it under a watchful eye than to force them to slink off into the night where they’ll get in trouble.”

  Tikaya thought Mother would give her a disapproving frown when she finished speaking, but she leaned around Father to eyeball Ky and Tikaya’s other brother, Kolio, instead.

  “What?” Ky asked innocently from the dining room.

  “We’ll discuss this further.” Father guided Mother away with a hand on her back.

  “Of course,” Mother said, something in her voice suggesting she wasn’t worried about coming out on top in the brewing argument.

  Grateful for her mother’s interference, Tikaya joined Rias in the courtyard. The fountain burbled, a half moon cast beams upon the water, and a soft breeze stirred the fronds of the plants and trees. A perfect evening for a little romance, but the questions that had been threatening to bubble over in Tikaya’s mind—similarly to the soup in the pot—spilled out as soon as they were alone.

  “Did the telepaths truly leave you alone? What’d the high minister say to you? Did he threaten you or did you reach an agreement? Where’s the tracking device? And Yosis? Is he done following you? Are you free to go wherever you wish? Are you truly giving up your dream of building a submarine?”

  “Hm.” Rias took Tikaya’s hand and led her to a stone bench. “This is our first private moment…” He glanced at the windows overlooking the courtyard, through which th
e policewoman and several of Tikaya’s teenaged cousins observed. “Rather, this our first semi-private moment, and you wish to interrogate me?”

  “Rias.” She gripped his forearm with both hands. “We can practice lip osculating later. If you tell me what happened with all those telepaths, I’ll show you what’s under my dress. As a Turgonian, I’m sure you’ll find it fascinating.”

  “Er, yes, as a man, I’m sure I will, but…”

  Tikaya rolled her eyes, shifted so her back faced the windows, and tugged his hand over so he could feel the outline of the book beneath her sash.

  “More intrigues? Very well, I shall endeavor to respond to your inquiries in an adequate manner.” Rias tilted his face toward the moon for a moment. “Yes, the telepaths left me alone, though I sensed a number of cursory probes as a few tried to gauge my top-level feelings. I don’t believe they learned much. There’s an advanced class at the academy for high-ranking officers as well as those who work in beyond-borders intelligence operations. It’s taught by an ex-Nurian wizard hunter. You learn a few rudimentary techniques for resisting mental interrogations.”

  “At a Turgonian academy? I didn’t think your people acknowledged that the mental sciences existed, much less that there’s a need to defend against them.”

  “They don’t openly, no. It’s a top-secret class. As to the rest of your questions, I do not know who the high minister was in contact with, but I must surmise that it was someone of influence. He didn’t look happy about it, but he removed the tracker and said I could walk around without an escort. The stipulation for my freedom was that I agreed not to build a submarine and that I promised to leave by the end of the month unless they recanted and invited me to stay.”

  “The… month?” Tikaya sagged against his side. “And they want you gone forever? I knew that’d be a possibility, but I’d thought—hoped—that… with time, my people would get used to having you around, and you’d at least be able to come back for frequent visits and…”

  “I did too. I didn’t want you to have to choose between me and the home you love, but I suspected this would be the case. That’s why…” Rias reached out and touched one of the fronds draping over the bench, brushing it gently—sadly?—with his thumb.

  “What?”

  “Why I haven’t asked you to marry me,” he said.

  “Oh.” Tikaya remembered him bringing up the subject once in a room full of bodies when she’d asked him to distract her from the grisly surroundings and some particularly taxing mental work. He’d been joking then, sort of, but she hadn’t forgotten that he’d mentioned it. But she was still trying to get used to the idea of sailing off and having adventures with him; she’d always wanted to raise a family here.

  Rias cleared his throat. “Given the lack of encouragement in that monosyllabic response, perhaps it’s just as well that I haven’t asked.”

  “No, no.” Tikaya leaned closer and kissed him. “I was thinking, sorry.”

  “I suppose I’ve learned by now that I’m not quite as intriguing as what goes on inside your head.”

  “That’s not true. All right, that’s not always true. These are just intriguing times. Let’s talk about our future together later, shall we? I do want to spend it with you. And I want to see what kind of potato-gun-making, lock-pick-wielding, bathtub-armada-creating children I might have with you. I’m just not certain I can see raising them on a submarine. Or without the support of my family. You sound like you might have been… trying to your mother.”

  “Me?” The shadows didn’t quite hide the magnitude to which Rias’s eyebrows climbed. “I wholeheartedly deny the likelihood of such an accusation. Of course… my denial might be less wholehearted were my mother not thousands of miles away and unlikely to chat with you any time soon.”

  “I’m actually composing a letter to her.” Tikaya was only teasing him, but perhaps it wasn’t such a bad idea. One ought to introduce oneself to one’s potential motherin-law, shouldn’t one?

  “You are? Then… why don’t I get back to answering your initial questions? Yes, let’s do that. I haven’t seen Yosis since this morning. He stalked off when he heard the high minister’s mandates. I did have the impression he wasn’t done with me. Jikaymar suggested I finish my ship swiftly, leaving unspoken the implication that unsavory things might happen to an ex-Turgonian commander who stayed around.”

  “So you’re building a ship now? Wouldn’t it be faster to simply spend a few more nights in the gambling hall and win enough to purchase one? You can’t possibly finish one from scratch by the deadline you’ve been given.”

  “I doubt it would be that easy—you can usually only win everyone’s money once before word gets around and people start avoiding you. Besides…” Rias glanced at the windows again and lowered his voice. “I haven’t given up on my submarine. I’m simply altering the design, so it’ll appear to be a surface-based craft.”

  “Ah ha, I knew you wouldn’t abandon that idea so easily.”

  “As to the build time, it’ll be tight, but I’ve recruited a crew of sorts to help. There are more ex-Turgonians living in the city than I would have guessed, many of them former marines who chose to marry a native and settle here, much like your Nurian neighbor. They’ve all proven willing to assist me so far.”

  “Not surprising. What about my cousin, Ell?” Tikaya asked, remembering the locked attic. “Has he been helping you?”

  “He has, yes.”

  “Keep an eye on him,” Tikaya said.

  “Oh?”

  “Just in case he’s someone’s eyes.”

  “I don’t get that sense from him, but I’ll be careful and compartmentalize my team.” Rias shifted his weight on the bench. “My new design is compact, so it won’t take as long to build as a warship or something of that size.”

  “Your… new design? You have one already? Didn’t you just learn that you had to change it this morning?”

  “Yes, I had time to revamp it on the ride out here. So long as the bumps I received to my head while sitting in your family’s conveyance didn’t cause damage that will render my calculating skills untrustworthy.”

  Tikaya snorted. “I knew you thought the runabout was awful.”

  “Just… incomplete.” Rias touched her sash. “Have I answered your questions adequately? Are you going to slap my hand if I slip it under your dress to see what you’re hiding?”

  “Have I ever?” Tikaya checked the window. The youngsters, perhaps bored by the dearth of physical activity, had disappeared, and only the policewoman remained. Unfortunately, she seemed to take her job seriously, and she watched them like dedicated surfers surveying the ocean for a promising wave. “We better put on a show for her,” Tikaya whispered. “Can you slip it out and take it to your hostel room?”

  Rias eyeballed his sleeveless shirt and clam diggers. “I suppose I can employ a similar method to yours, so long as nobody’s looking too closely at my groin area.”

  “Don’t walk past my mother on the way out.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. It’s a journal that was written over three hundred years ago by one of your countrymen. He’d retired from the military and was sailing on an exploration vessel. They were seeking gold, ancient treasures, and signs of some sort of lost colony. The latter intrigued me, because, for all that I’ve studied history, I hadn’t heard of any such thing. Do you know of it?”

  “It’s a fable,” Rias said, “one of many my mother read to me as a child. According to our history, there were eight waves of ships that left Nuria, all intending to colonize different parts of what’s now the Turgonian West Coast. After a generation or two of conquering, assimilating, and carving out places for themselves, they eventually found each other again and formed a central government. The history books claim that all of the original colony waves were accounted for, but the fable says that there were actually nine waves and that one never made it. The story tells of a great storm that forced the small fleet off course a
nd eventually sank the ships. Every now and then, someone goes looking for evidence of the lost colonists, because the fable also tells of priceless antiques that had been taken from the old world.” Rias shrugged. “I suspect it’s simply a tale kept alive by wistful treasure hunters.”

  “Many cultures have such stories,” Tikaya said, “some based on a grain of truth but some totally fantastical. I don’t know about a lost colony, but according to this journal, this exploration vessel was here in 397—that’s 342 by your calendar. It’d be an impressive coincidence if their quest didn’t have anything to do with the altered map and the missing government journal from that year.”

  “Did this countryman of mine find anything?” Rias asked. “How did the journal end up in… Where did you say you found it?”

  “Our attic. I’m—”

  A door banged, and Tikaya flinched.

  “It’s getting late,” Father said. “Finish up, send your… suitor home, and come to bed.”

  Suitor. That was an improvement. Maybe Mother had won the argument. The door thudded shut again. At least he was giving her a couple more minutes. “Ever notice how you’re always a child in the eyes of your parents? So long as you’re staying under their roof….”

  “I have experienced similar scenarios during my homecomings, yes.” Rias turned his shoulder and leaned in to stroke her face with one hand while resting the other on her thigh near the book. “It doesn’t matter how many military medals and accolades you receive; your mother still expects you to clear the table and take out the trash.”

  Tikaya might have chuckled, but her body had instantly grown aware of the warmth of his hand through her dress. “Er, yes, as I was saying, I didn’t get to read all of it before dinner, but the book will be safer with you.”

  “Safer?” Rias’s roaming fingers paused. “What do you mean?”

  Tikaya, aware that Father might be back out at any moment, gave him a quick synopsis of the afternoon’s events.