Time Catcher

by Cheree Peters

  Dust clouds the air as the procession moves along the path. The oak trees remind me of the mysterious young man I saw this morning and I wonder if he is watching me. We reach the north-east corner of the gardens, where the sturdy wooden podium awaits our arrival. As I disembark the carriage and walk to the platform, Francis by my side, a dark-skinned young girl sitting atop her father’s shoulders catches my attention. She is holding a sign that reads, ‘I love you Princess Althea’, with two sticklike figures. The parchment is ripped, the letters uneven and the paint outside the lines, but it is beautiful. I give her a giant smile and blow her a kiss. I cannot separate her cries from the crowd, but her mouth changes from a smile to a silent scream of delight. I climb the timber stairs on the side of the temporary podium, looking out over the excited crowd, wanting them to see my sincere happiness in that moment. Or at least, for my father to see.

  My happiness is short-lived. Flicking my eyes over the crowd, I see him, the young man from this morning. He stands unmoving in the excited crowd, his short black hair, uncommonly short for the Kingdom of Cardiff, is unruffled by the breeze. While I am used to seeing the odd person glare at me with disdain, he stares at me with hatred and revulsion. The hairs on the back of my neck rise and my back stiffens. I look away from his gaze, discomfited by its intensity. To my right, the lake glimmers in the sunlight, the breeze creating small ripples. I look back but the black-haired young man is not there.

  My father tugs down his deep-red military jacket, the uniform of the commander-in-chief of our kingdom’s armed forces. The jacket drips with gold braid and medals. Satisfied, he offers me his hand, displaying the long white scar which extends from the bottom of his palm across to his index finger. The last of the carriages pull around to park behind the podium and the jostling of the horses recedes as the crowd moves in closer. I look to Finn for encouragement, standing beside the podium with the other family members of delegates. While he travelled with his mother in the carriage, only delegates stand at the back of the podium.

  Father guides me to the left of the lone microphone, powered by a voltage pack. The people applaud when we perform our standard greeting: a bow from the king and an awkward curtsy from the princess. I stand nervously beside my father while he surveys the crowd benevolently, soaking up the cheers.

  He kisses my hand, reassuring me with a soft smile the crowd cannot see, his green eyes tender. He steps over to the microphone, raising his right hand. A hush falls over the crowd.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, happy Kingdom Day!’ his voice booms out. ‘Thank you for once again providing such a splendid atmosphere for this quarter’s parade!’ He speaks slowly, confidently. From his proud chest, to his self-assured smile, to his slow, practised wave, everything about him proclaims his right to be king of the kingdom. He did not pass down any of these mannerisms to me.

  He raises both his hands to quiet the cheering, his left hand turned in to hide the scar. ‘As you all know, I have a special announcement. Many have speculated, and today I shall silence all whispers and rumours.’

  A speculative murmur runs through the crowd and they inch closer, pushing against the sentinels and the barricades.

  ‘As your king, I have worked tirelessly to protect and safeguard the kingdom. Throughout the generations, the Manipulators have preyed upon honest, hard-working kingdom citizens, wreaking havoc on our way of life.’

  I resist frowning. I have heard about attacks – explosions in the North Quarter, assaults in the East – but the exaggerated quality of the rumours makes it difficult to get any sense of what is real and what is imagination. Last week, I overheard one of the servants tell another that when she was shopping at the markets a man had appeared out of nowhere before her. She said he snatched her bag, and left her bruised and battered. I found it odd that no one else saw the attack, although it happened in the crowded markets. But perhaps one of the Manipulators’ powers is invisibility? They could be anywhere.

  ‘We have long been working on a cure for the virus that has affected so many,’ Father continues, ‘but it is time to accept that these Manipulators simply cannot be helped. While some of you may have sympathy for their situation as outcasts and pathetic mutants, we must remember that the virus has taken control of them. Along with changing their genes and thus giving them unnatural powers, the virus has warped their very natures – making them despise and attack us for our very humanity. They are not like us and, therefore, the same rules cannot be applied to their kind.’

  The citizens cheer and call encouragement, and Father smiles and nods.

  ‘Our security measures have kept them at bay thus far. But we know that their powers grow stronger and we, in turn, must grow stronger to thwart any attempts on the lives of the citizens of this kingdom. With this in mind, it is with great pleasure that I announce that the long and hard work of our scientific team at the Jasper Institute has prospered. We have created a serum that disables the powers of Manipulators.’

  The crowd erupts into cheers and applause. My father savours the moment, almost as if he is soaking up the praise and letting it sink into his pores.

  From the front of the crowd, a factory worker screams, ‘Destroy those cack mongers, King Duncan!’

  Father raises his hand, hushing the crowd. ‘While we are finessing the serum, I want to assure you that I am overseeing all work. All steps are being taken to ensure the safety of my people – which is what matters to me most.’

  I do not know whether it is the citizens’ rabid approval of my father’s words or simply the almost painful volume of their cries that bothers me. Either way, my ears seem to tighten whenever the adoring public cheers and applauds.

  ‘I would like to invite Delegate Donoghue forward to briefly speak about security in the kingdom.’

  Finn’s mother steps forward, smiling sweetly at Duncan. ‘Thank you, Your Majesty. As some of you may be aware, the North Empire has continued to attack the kingdom and, as such, the armament conscription has increased. Words cannot express how grateful the king is for your loyalty and support.’

  ‘I am grateful to the armament, our defence force. The armament sentinels are stationed outside the safe confines of the Rampart, protecting the kingdom from the North Empire and the dangerous vagrants of the Wastelands – and from Manipulators.’

  A lady in the distance cries out, ‘My son, my son! You killed my son! ’ I locate her only by a sentinel dragging her out of the crowd, and out of view.

  ‘I would also like to remind you that all sentinels are here to protect you from the many dangers that threaten our wonderful kingdom,’ Delegate Donoghue continues, seemingly unaffected. ‘Please ensure you do not hinder the efforts of our brave sentinels in making this city a safer place.’

  I see movement to my left – the black-haired young man from before. I look at my father and then to the eight sentinels at the base of the platform in their knee-length crimson coats. Each sentinel’s hands are locked together across their fronts, centimetres from the maserlocks and batons resting at their hips. No one else seems to be fazed by the black-haired man. I steady myself on the hard wooden boards of the platform, watching him move slowly through the mass, eyes trained on my father.

  I take a small step forward and his dark eyes meet mine. I do not look away. He stumbles, never breaking my gaze. My father has moved back to the microphone but his words seem strangely slow, drawn-out and incomprehensible. The black-haired man and I stare at each other, and my wrist starts to tingle and my heart begins thumping. And then he breaks the spell, tearing his eyes away. Suddenly the noise explodes into my ears: my father’s speech once again understandable, the overwhelming shouts of the crowd. I follow the young man’s gaze to the other side of the crowd and I see him lock eyes with a blond-haired young man – the only face not turned to my father.

  The black-haired man is moving fast, pushing people out of the way. I take another step forward as sentinels start yelling at him to stop. A sentinel points the
long, slim grey barrel of his maserlock above the heads of the crowd and fires a pulsar. The people go into a frenzy, trampling each other in their efforts to escape. The black-haired man reaches the barrier and scrambles over the top, his green coat flaring in the breeze. My father is surrounded by sentinels but I step away, toward the edge of the platform.

  A sentinel raises his maserlock, sighting down the barrel, and takes aim at the black-haired man, who is almost upon the platform, a determined look on his face. The sentinel fires and a flash of blue appears from the young man’s raised left hand. The sentinels seem bewildered, as am I. The blue thing is like a light but denser, almost like a pulse of visible energy.

  My father jumps off the back of the platform as the man propels himself onto the wooden boards, sentinels rushing to him. Francis reaches me. Time seems to slow; I feel each of Francis’ fingers grip my left arm as he attempts to pull me away from the young man. Francis raises his maserlock and I hear a loud rushing sound.

  The blond-haired man is suddenly there, and swinging his fist into Francis’ jaw. Francis fires the maserlock, but he stumbles from the force of the punch and the pulsar shoots up into the air, and he lets go of me. I clutch the blond man’s arm, but I cannot prevent him from hitting Francis a second time, forcing my protector off the platform.

  More sentinels leap onto the podium as I stumble away, my left wrist tingling. I do not get far. The dark-haired man grabs me. We both turn our heads at a maserlock firing and I throw my hands up. The pulsar slowly rotates through the air – straight at me. It is only a foot away when a flash of blue light infuses the space in front of me, sending a gust of wind into my face. The young man lowers his left hand and the pulsar orb drops feebly to the ground. The blue light is gone and time is moving normally again. Have I slipped into another seizure? Is my mind imagining, or is this real?

  The black-haired young man steps in front of me, his dark eyes searching mine. I barely register his hand grasping my arm; I sink into the darkness of his eyes. I close my eyes to break contact.

  My stomach drops as a whirling sensation takes over my body. My feet have left the ground – or is it the other way around? The spinning in my head is unbearable; my mind is being juggled against my skull. I dare not open my eyes. I long for the comfort of my chambers, to be wrapped in my blankets away from this madness.

  Just as I think I am about to be sick, I feel the ground under my feet, the whirling has stopped and the yelling of the sentinels and turmoil of the crowd is no more. My arms are freed and no one is touching me, but I keep my eyes closed, trying to calm my stomach and my mind. I can hear the two young men whispering urgently to each other, but I can only focus on my breathing. I can hear an alarm ringing in the distance. I am definitely dreaming, I tell myself. This is just another dream-nightmare.

  Tentatively, I open my eyes, surprised to find myself in familiar surroundings: my bed, nicely made this morning by Lucy; my dresser to my right, golden coils surrounding the mirror on top – and the two young men who seized me at the platform.

  They stand a few metres from me, arguing quietly. The black-haired one is taller, perhaps a couple of years older than the blond young man. They are dressed strangely, not in kingdom style. The blond wears a long coat, similar to those of the sentinels except his is black with leather sleeves and a belt strapped diagonally across his torso. The emerald-green coat of the dark-haired young man hangs below his knees, and both of them wear dark pants and black lace-up boots.

  The tangled knots in my stomach feel impossible to unravel. The tingling in my wrist is constant and it’s hard to breathe, my throat constricted by fear. What will these men do to me? I will myself to move and take a step towards the door.

  ‘I don’t think so, Princess.’ The dark-haired one catches me by the arms, forcing me onto my dressing table chair.

  I run my fingertips over the chair’s arms, making sure it is real. The solid wood is smooth beneath my touch. It is real.

  Usually my room is a safe haven from the world. But two strangers who frighten – and fascinate – me, have invaded my sanctuary. How did we get here? They speak quietly to each other, with frequent, unfriendly glances at me. I only catch the occasional word – ‘vaulting, ‘warping’, ‘don’t know how …’. This is not a dream-nightmare. I am awake, and these young men are Manipulators.

  My breath comes in sharp, shallow bursts. No warnings from my father could prepare me for encountering actual Manipulators. Somehow being transported here, the flash of blue light deflecting the pulsars – their abilities are more powerful than I ever feared. The rumours are true.

  The dark-haired man raises his voice. ‘We can’t risk it! What would Vaughn say?’

  ‘We can’t just leave here empty-handed,’ replies the blond-haired one.

  They both turn to me.

  The dark-haired one eyes me up-and-down, and the hairs on the back of my neck rise once again. He rips off his emerald coat, throwing it across my bed. No wonder, he must have been warm for underneath it he wears a black jacket. Silver buttons decorate the lapels, buckles fasten each side of his waist, the elbows have black patches, and the shoulders sport useless black straps. ‘Listen, Eli,’ he says to his friend, ‘we can’t risk Vaulting to the wrong place again, you don’t have enough verve!’

  The blond man, Eli, looks at me for a moment longer. ‘I know, Jay.’ He returns his gaze to his fellow Manipulator. ‘But I want my revenge. You know what they took from me, from all of us!’

  My wrist is still tingling and it will not be rubbed away. My nerves getting the better of me, I stand up, hands shaking. ‘Who are you?’ I ask, my voice croaky.

  They gaze at me with loathing. The silence is only disrupted by distant echoes of an alarm – a warning that something is not right within the kingdom.

  I clear my throat. ‘Who are you?’

  Still no response. I am never ignored and it annoys me. I catch myself – how high and mighty of me. I remember the lessons I reluctantly take on ruling, and one in particular: how to command the attention of a room.

  I step forward and take a deep breath. ‘I said, who are you and why have you kidnapped me?’ My voice projects across the room, reminding me of my father.

  A snicker comes from the dark-haired man, Jay. ‘I think you’ve got it the wrong way around, princess, we’re the ones stuck in your room.’

  Eli takes a step forward. ‘How did you make us come here?’ he asks softly.

  Perhaps he is the crazy one, not me.

  ‘How the pex did we get here?’ he asks. ‘You brought us here; I want to know how!’

  He is definitely the crazy one.

  ‘How?’

  I stumble back into the chair, clutching it for balance. Jay’s stare lingers on me, his black eyes curious.

  ‘I . . . I do not understand what you mean.’

  ‘Yes, you do. You must!’ He advances towards me. ‘We were meant to Vault outside the Rampart and yet we are here. What special technology have you developed that allows you to use our Abilities against us?’

  ‘Vault?’ I wonder if my father and his scientists have invented something to affect the Manipulators’ powers. ‘What are you talking about?’

  He seizes my arms. ‘How have you been able to turn our Abilities against us? How has that cack-king done this?’

  ‘Do not speak of my father like–’

  ‘Your father and his father before him have tormented our kind for years!’

  ‘Your kind have tormented the kingdom for years!’

  ‘No, we haven’t! Concord lives peacefully! All we live for is safety.’

  ‘And food,’ Jay says in his deep voice.

  ‘Peacefully? Trying to kidnap me is peaceful?’

  Eli opens his mouth but remains silent. His eyes are a deep blue, like my own. His eyes trace my face and his anger subsides. His grip loosens and he says softly, ‘Who . . . who are you?’

  I look past him into Jay’s dark eyes, which glare at me.
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  ‘I know you.’ Eli’s voice is so soft I barely hear it.

  I look back into his blue eyes, searching. There is something familiar about him and the knots in my stomach loosen.

  Jay steps forward. ‘What are you talking about, Eli?’ he asks.

  ‘I know her.’ Eli searches my face for an answer. ‘I know you,’ he says to me, releasing my arms and stepping back.

  ‘C’mon, Eli, you don’t know her. How could you?’

  ‘I don’t know, Jay. There’s something about her. Can’t you see it?’

  ‘No, Eli, I can’t.’

  ‘I know you,’ Eli repeats, his forehead creasing.

  There is a banging at the door; the sentinels have found me.

  ‘Eli, we have to go.’

  ‘Not until I know who she is.’

  ‘You know who she is: she’s the princess we came to kidnap, but now have to leave her behind because we can’t risk ending up in the wrong place – again.’

  Eli seems determined to wait until I answer. But I have no answers for him.

  ‘Eli, now!’

  The door crashes inwards to the floorboards and the wailing siren invades my room – along with five sentinels, their maserlocks raised. I scream and turn away, putting my hands up in defence.

  Jay rumbles, ‘What the pex is going on?’

  I look back. The sentinels are frozen, stuck in time as if they were a photograph. My hands are still raised and I feel frozen too, and more confused than ever.

  ‘How did you do that?’ Jay demands, a contrast to Eli’s softness.

  I lower my arms. ‘I did nothing!’

  ‘Yes, yes, you did! I saw it on the platform and now here. It was you!’

  My mind races, but I know what he says is untrue. Jay and Eli are the Manipulators; clearly they must have frozen the sentinels.

  Something catches Eli’s eye. I follow his gaze to the twitching of a sentinel’s hands. The twitching increases and Eli takes a step away. ‘Ah, I think you’re right, Jay, we’d better go.’