Lightning Rider (Lightning Rider Alterations)

by Jen Greyson

  Old people and their mismanagement of situations . . . some things never change.

  “Even now, I withhold things from you because I think it best.” She stares at me. “And I will continue to do so. But I can tell you that Constantine is far more involved than a warrior would usually be.”

  I almost laugh. “He’s anything but usual.”

  “I mean it as a recognition of his place in the universe,” she says. “He is important.”

  “Because of Viriato.”

  “Because of Aurelia.”

  “What?” I ask, on the verge of exploding.

  “I’ve already told you too much, but she may be a parallel alteration.”

  “Spill it.”

  “No. Not until I know for certain, and there is too much that needs doing for this alteration’s success. One at a time.”

  “If you don’t tell me, there’s not going to be a ‘this’ alteration. Besides, you know I’m a skilled enough rider to handle anything.”

  “Your skill at riding is what worries me.”

  She steps away, but I lunge in front of her and grab her arm. “Please, Penya. Tell me what happens with Aurelia. I won’t tell him, and I won’t alter anything.”

  She stops and turns. “Ilif’s work is far more advanced than I’d anticipated. There are pieces I haven’t yet assembled, but he’s referenced someone in the future who may be related to Aurelia. That’s the piece I’m trying to track down—and why I need him out of my business—so I can research for certain how Aurelia is related and how her life affects all aspects of the future we need. I fear Ilif wants her saved, too, but for the wrong reasons.”

  “And?”

  “And that’s all I’m telling you.” She stomps her foot, mashing the damp grass beneath her wide shoe.

  I stare. Whatever the rest of this secret is, she’s not going to tell me until she’s ready. She’s as malleable as granite.

  “Go, now, while Constantine is away, so you are here again when he returns. Until I know for certain, you must not help him save Aurelia.”

  My head snaps. “But—”

  “This is why I don’t tell you things.” She huffs and scowls. “You’re feeding the images you want, looking at things from your simple girl perspective instead of the impact of the alteration as a whole.”

  “No need to get nasty.”

  “This is serious.” She lays a hand on my arm and pierces me with that tough-abuelita gaze. “I know you care for Constantine. I care for him also, but his life is his own. We cannot erase every struggle from the lives of those we care for. Sometimes struggles make us who we are, especially the difficult ones. Without them, we are doughy loaves of uncooked bread. Constantine’s instincts, his warrior strength, all the pieces that make you admire him, come from overcoming his personal challenges. Take them away, and he’s not the same man. Remember that, niña.”

  “But I thought—”

  “What? That there’s another universe? A collection of all the right decisions we never made? A place to play out maybes and should-haves? A utopia where we make all the right choices and live the life we were born to live instead of this unfulfilled one?”

  I look away. Maybe.

  “Oh, niña, every decision is but a turn in the road. There is no such thing as right or wrong. Each time we make a choice, it spins off thousands of others. It’s how you react that determines your fulfillment. If you think a decision comes at a cost, that a different one was ‘right,’ you will always feel the pain of the lost choice. If instead you think of the ability to make a choice as a reward, and you make it with a heart of gratitude, that is where the fulfillment lies . . . in the beauty of the choice and the new landscape of life before you. When a decision evokes a feeling of giving up something, it will never feel like the ‘right’ one, and the regret of lost time and opportunity will strip the joy from the future. You must switch your viewing lens to see what you’re getting.”

  Without waiting for a response or rebuttal, she leaves me standing alone in the field.

  So much for that idea. I did want to believe there was a way to make all the right choices, to shift a timeline so it’s perfectly aligned with no regrets, no missed chances, no pain, no suffering. I wanted to believe this ability gave me the upper hand over the alterations. That I could take away pain.

  The sun tickles the treetops on its slow descent, and animal noises edge toward the grass on the field. I know Penya wants me out of here, but Constantine will be gone for at least the rest of the day, and I don’t want to go just yet. I kick a clod of dirt, startling a rabbit. As it bounds away and cowers at the edge of the field, I admit I’m stalling. Seems like the longer I’m here, the harder it is to leave each time.

  I let the creatures eat their dinner and wander from field to field, watching the men and trying not to disrupt them—they still act a little reverent around me, and it’s taking some getting used to. Only a handful of men have seen me train, have seen my weapon, but word travels fast around here, and I’ve found my place among them as a warrior. A few of them nod in greeting, but most of them are immersed in their own training, and I’m just another body wandering around. In the field farthest to the north, I perch on a small stone wall and watch two archers target practice. Puzzle pieces slide through the landscape of my mind. Penya gave me just enough information to send my curiosity into orbit.

  After the archers empty their quivers and leave the field, I head back toward the buildings. This is the first time Constantine has left me alone here, and I wonder if he at last believes I can defend myself.

  I complete the circuit past the stables and kitchen until I reach Anna’s door. I pause with my hand raised to knock, chiding myself for where my wandering has led. What a girl I’ve become. The door opens and Anna rushes out. We collide, and she wraps her petite arms around my waist.

  “Mygoodheavens!” she shouts.

  I straighten us both and step away. “I was just—”

  “Are you coming in? I’ve been hoping you would stop by. Things are getting so exciting around here, and I would love to learn how you do that with the lightning. Will you come in so we can talk, because I have so many questions to ask you, like did you like the armor? And the tunics? They look so nice on you. I have a little bit of tea and bread, would you like some?” She darts back into her studio, leaving me gaping in the hallway.

  My restlessness flees. Pausing on the threshold, I drum my fingers on the doorjamb and rethink my choice. Penya wanted me gone. But I’d like just a few minutes of girly companionship—even though a bigger reason for being here presses against my chest.

  I step into the brightly colored room and follow her to the back where she’s setting out small plates beneath the window. She’s chattering away, and I don’t think she’s stopped since she opened the door.

  “How are things going with Constantine? I know sometimes he can be overbearing, but inside he’s sweet. He doesn’t show that side to many people, especially here. I guess I see it because he’s always been so kind to me.”

  I ignore the surge in my heartbeat. The next words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. “What was he like?”

  She pushes a tiny cup toward me and lowers herself to the bench. Her voice softens and her frantic pace slows. “He’s eight years older than me, so there’s a lot I don’t remember, but he was always caring and protective.”

  As she settles herself, she picks up her own cup and rolls it between her hands. “I remember one time,” she says, laughing. “Our mother injured her leg and was supposed to be resting, but she was always so restless that it was difficult for her to sit still very long, so Constantine took it upon himself to stay with her and tell her stories. He must have spent nearly three days by her bed, making up the most outlandish tales, and when she made excuses and tried to rise, he doubled his efforts and acted out the stories.” She smiles at the memory. “I spent three days sitting outside her door, listening.”

  “Did she get better?�
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  She swirls her cup and inhales the fragrant vapors. “Thanks to his diligent stories. Though every now and then I’d find myself wishing one of us would get another injury so he’d slow down long enough to do it again. He wasn’t home much.” She sips her tea. “And then he became a soldier.”

  “How did you get here?” I ask.

  She lifts the cup and presses her lips against the rim. When she starts, her voice is quiet. “A disease raced through our small town, killing nearly everyone. I was visiting Constantine when it happened, and he never allowed me to leave after we got the news.”

  I cringe. “And your family?”

  “They all were killed, along with the man I was to marry.” Dark clouds pass over her smile and shadow her sunny disposition.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She waves my sympathy away and her smile returns. “We don’t always get what we set out for, do we?”

  A surprisingly intuitive statement.

  Clarity comes swiftly. How wrongly I’ve judged her. Her light attitude isn’t because she’s never seen heartbreak. It’s because she’s had everything ripped away and she understands today holds its own sweet joy, no matter what yesterday dished out or what’s on tomorrow’s horizon. She’s far smarter—and deeper—than I’ve given her credit for.

  I like her.

  “Are you happy?” I ask.

  She pauses. “I get to do things I do well. I serve an important purpose, and I get to be close to the only family I have left. It’s fulfilling. I miss Rome sometimes, but not always.” She sets her cup on the ledge. “What about you?”

  Am I happy? “I—I don’t know. I guess I haven’t had time to ponder it. Constantine trains me hard, and the man who is supposed to be helping me back home . . .”

  “Isn’t much help?”

  I peel my thumbnail. “No. I find myself second-guessing everything he tells me and trying to stay out of his way.”

  “Sounds like Constantine’s wife.”

  “She had to stay out of his way?”

  She laughs. “No. The other way around. She was a mean, hateful person. Her parents arranged the marriage, and there was someone else she preferred. It was an ugly time. And then she died.”

  Shock rolls over me. I don’t know why I cared, but I wanted him to have found some happiness in this life.

  “I don’t know how she ever got pregnant—they fought all the time.”

  A vision of an angry, naked Constantine flashes in my mind. Only a dead wife could resist him, even then.

  “But Aurelia, she was a different story.” Her voice lowers again. “Like a goddess, a tiny daughter of Jupiter. Constantine doted on her. She was his reason for living. When she died, well . . .” She smooths the fabric across her lap. “The rest of him died.”

  I nod, understanding what Penya was trying to tell me. “Leaving only a warrior.”

  “Yes.” Anna sips her tea and looks out the window. After a moment, she says softly, “He told me about the first time he saw you. He was quite . . . responsive . . . to you. I don’t think he’s ever forgotten that day.” She grins. “And now you’re here. Funny how things work.”

  Whoa. Not sure I wanted to know that. It was going to be hard enough to leave him without her dropping bombs like that in my lap.

  “Now he’s focused only on his work, and I barely ever see him.”

  With a heavy heart, I sigh. It’s time to go, before I get any more wrapped up in these people’s lives. I need to rip this bandage off quickly, not keep adding new layers of glue. “Speaking of which . . .” I set my cup and plate on the table ledge. “I’d better be going. He expects me back when he returns.”

  “Are you leaving again? With the lightning?”

  I nod.

  “Can I watch? Will you leave from here?”

  “I need to grab a few things from Constantine’s house, but I can come back.”

  “I really wish you’d teach me.”

  “Maybe.”

  She grins.

  I pause at the door. “I really am sorry about your family . . . and your fiancé.”

  “Life.” She shrugs a tiny shoulder and smiles.

  I like her a lot.

  I pull the door closed behind me and find my way back to Constantine’s before slipping off my tunic and setting it in a pile with my armor. I tug on my jeans and tee and swipe a long stick Constantine’s been using as a pointer on his map. I tap it once against the table and stroke its straight length, then my knuckles bend and flex, fitting the wood between my fingers until it twirls like a drumstick. As it spins, the soothing repetition relaxes me, and I breathe in everything about the room—the strength, the loneliness, the passion. So much contradiction.

  While I’m grateful for Anna’s secrets, they’ve done more damage to the sensitive underside of my heart. I may not have much time left here. After Viriato dies, there won’t be a reason to stay, not unless Penya’s right about there being more to this alteration. But if it’s Aurelia who’s important, I won’t be coming back here to Spain, but to her home in Rome. And who knows when Penya will figure out if I can even save her or not. Maybe there will be two or twenty alterations between this one and Aurelia’s.

  I breathe in the uniqueness of this place. I’ve grown quite fond of this Spain, and I want to see her flourish.

  I suppose there’s always the chance we won’t succeed and Viriato will claim another win. A chance I haven’t done enough. A chance this will be Constantine’s last battle.

  The image of war-torn Spain comes unbidden to my mind. How many more battles before that becomes the future? How long before these people I’ve come to know are living it?

  If Viriato wins and Spain defeats the Romans again, which of the men I’ve trained with will die? Will it be the archer who fired at me? Or one of the other men who helped me hone my skill?

  Will it be Constantine?

  Will we all stand around looking at each other and wonder what comes next? Will there be some awkward good-bye while I step away from the battle and send myself home? Will I have to see their lifeless bodies before I go?

  Constantine promised Viriato much that day in the glen as they postured. Viriato returned the promise. Watching them face off made one thing very clear—one of them will not come away from the battle alive. There’s just too much at stake for both of them. And their men.

  And for me.

  Somewhere along the way, I picked up Constantine’s cause. Now I will give my everything to see it through. Even though I’m not sure when I gave my commitment, it’s a tangible piece of my core. Viriato will not win. My men will give their last breath, and now I understand, because I will give mine, too. I stand aligned with Constantine, this man who’s trained me, who’s forced me to find my purpose.

  I will not waver now, even for a love for my home country.

  Constantine’s armor stands in the corner by the door, and as I step closer, my fingers slow until the makeshift drumstick stops spinning. I slide it into my back pocket and raise my hands to run my fingers across the breastplate, tracing the gashes and nicks. Who am I kidding? Love of country will always be eclipsed by another love—my love for Constantine. And I’d take him anywhen I could get him—here, Rome, wherever he spends his last days.

  He makes me be the best me. He draws it out by fair means or foul. He shows me the woman I’m meant to be. He did it for Anna, and she’s found peace and happiness in her life. He did it for me.

  I wander back to the map table and trace his handwriting with my fingertip. I don’t want to go back to my ordinary lifestyle. Everything is so different here, where actions are all that matter. Words mean nothing on a battlefield, and a win is not whether you live or die but how well you fought. It is simple.

  His belief in me propels me on to my next task, as distasteful as it may be.

  I turn to head back to Anna’s and gasp.

  Ilif stands in the doorway, a chilly demeanor shaping his posture. He’s wearing an ominous dark
gray suit and shirt, and his perfect coif is ruffled at the temples and crown, like he’s been running frazzled hands through it.

  “I was just coming home,” I say, feeling the need to explain.

  His chin dips, but otherwise he’s eerily still. “You’ve been here a long time.”

  “I’ve been . . . exploring.”

  “For what?”

  Though it seems like a simple question, the way he asks makes me think he knows exactly what I’ve been doing. I step away from Constantine’s table of maps.

  “Why are you here?” And how did you find me? Penya must have missed some of my residue. I don’t like that he’s been searching that hard.

  “Your father wanted me to come check on you.”

  Right. “How is he?”

  He pauses. “There are a few kinks to work out.”

  “Is he figuring out his lightning?”

  “Yes and no.” He steps inside, leaving the doorway open.

  Clearly he’s in no mood to give me the answers I need. “Fine. If you don’t want to tell me anything then you can go. Tell Papi I’m good. Or better yet, why don’t you go grab him and he can see for himself.”

  I groan inwardly that I didn’t leave when I was supposed to, and now I’ve blown it. Maybe if I keep him busy here, Penya will be satisfied that I’ve “occupied” him as she asked.

  “Your father’s alterations don’t work like yours. He’s limited where you are not.”

  “Was that a compliment?” Almost sounded like one.

  “Hardly. I only meant that your father follows instruction.”

  I roll my eyes. He stiffens.

  “What are you hoping to find with your explorations?” he asks again.

  “Actually, I’ve been training, not exploring. Constantine says there are dangerous men here I need to protect myself from.” I silently goad him into another one of our pissing contests so he’ll get mad and leave. “Do you think that’s true?”

  “Most definitely.” He closes the door and crosses the room.

  I sweep the area for a weapon, but there’s nothing nearby but a paring knife and a wooden bowl.