Roam (Roam Series, Book One)

by Stedronsky, Kimberly

  “I was born in England in 1348. What was significant during that time, history major?”

  “Be specific, please. World trade? The Bubonic Plague? Several things were significant at that time.” I retorted, irritated by his patronizing tone.

  “Very good,” he said absently, and I noticed he was taking the back roads to the falls. “The Bubonic Plague- or Black Death- took the life of my mother, father, and my three siblings nineteen hours after my birth.”

  “I was adopted by a man named Henry Asher. My ability to survive the plague intrigued him. He was an alchemist. Do you know what that is?”

  His words were entrancing. I nodded. “A medieval… scientist,” I decided that ‘scientist’ was the best description.

  “Good,” he said, pride in his voice. He turned off the main road and made a right, following a winding lane shadowed with trees. I had been to Paine Falls once with Logan, but that was when my mother was alive. He turned to an uphill, gravel parking lot, easily choosing a spot. The lot was empty.

  “I don’t mean to interrupt, but if we’re going to play this history quiz game all afternoon, we should probably call this the long version.”

  He turned to me, eyes raised. A smile played on his lips. I froze as my gaze locked with his. “You’re so damned smart- and witty.”

  My breath caught in my throat. The events of the morning played through my mind, and for a moment I longed to feel his breath on my hair again.

  “I want you to know, before we get out of this car, that I have no intention of touching you. Not now, not ever. Just remember that, okay?”

  Disappointment felt like a balloon deflating in my chest. I was mortified with myself.

  “Okay- good,” I said tentatively. We both got out of the SUV, walking toward the path. The paved walkway through the thinly wooded area provided several benches to sit on and admire the waterfall before us.

  I had been wrong; even with the lack of significant rainfall, the waterfall was strong, rushing over the smooth rock slide and crushing the boulders below. I took a deep breath, inhaling the fresh water scent. He chose a secluded bench for us to sit on, tucked neatly in the woods.

  “Asher was pursuing the ‘elixir of life.’ This was a potion that offered eternal life- or youth- to whomever would drink from it. At that time, trying to discover the elixir was as common as searching for a winning lottery ticket. He trained me to be his assistant. I worked by his side, learning everything he could teach me about the universe, chemistry, astronomy, mythology…,” he sat back, crossing his legs so his ankle rested on his knee. “One night, fire was set to our cottage. Asher burned in his bed.”

  I gasped. “That’s horrible! Why would someone do that?”

  He watched the waterfall, unflinching. “Those same people, who employed us in secret, persecuted us in public. One moment we were scientists, the next, we were the right hand of the devil.”

  “Witchcraft?” I whispered. He nodded once.

  “But you escaped the fire?” I asked, trying to encourage him to continue. He looked lost in thought for a moment. I shifted to sit cross-legged on the bench, brushing some dirt off of my white shorts.

  “No, I also burned in my bed.”

  At first, I thought he was being sarcastic; finally, I realized he was completely serious. “You lived.”

  “I discovered my immortality on that night. I went into hiding until my twenty-seventh birthday. On that date, I met you.”

  Taken aback, I blinked, staring at him. “Me?”

  He turned to me, his eyes a deep ocean pool. “I met you on the road. I assumed you were a gypsy. You had piles of curly, red hair and those green eyes,” he smiled, glancing my way. I blushed involuntarily, self-conscious.

  “But you weren’t a gypsy. On that day, you explained to me what I’m about to explain to you. Still with me?”

  I must have had a skeptical look on my face. My thoughts were in disarray. “I’m trying, West, I really am.”

  His face softened when I said his name. “We are both immortals. I am a physical immortal- meaning that I am invulnerable to death. I stopped aging that day I met you on the road.”

  So, he’s twenty-seven. Or…, “You’re six hundred and ninety-one years old?”

  He turned to me, stunned. “Did you just do that in your head?”

  I rolled my eyes. “It’s not that difficult. Really. Was I a complete idiot in these other lives?”

  He chuckled, shrugging. “I’m just impressed.” He sounded like he wanted to elaborate, but he stopped. “Yes, I’m six hundred and ninety-one years old.”

  “And I’m not immortal- I nearly died once,” I added.

  “The yellow jackets.”

  A cold chill traced icy fingers down my spine. “And you knew that because…,”

  “Because I found you when you were six years old, Roam. I recognized you in the paper. You were in a regional spelling bee.”

  I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. He pointed to my hands, wringing together in my lap. “You press your hands together when you’re nervous.”

  I stopped, gripping the hem of my shorts. “I’m not nervous, I’m scared. Please, just continue.”

  “You’re afraid of me?” He asked, stoic. I shook my head.

  “No. I’m afraid of what you’re telling me.”

  He nodded, looking back at the waterfall. I followed his gaze, the rushing water immediately soothing to my psyche. “You are an immortal soul. You are born again. I knew you were here, in Ohio, because when you are born, these numbers appear with the coordinates of your birth. And- it hurts like hell.”

  He held out his arm. The numbers on his arm were not as distinct as mine, but they were there nonetheless. “When I locate you and when we touch, numbers appear on your arm. Both of us reaching for the key this morning was a mistake. I planned to not touch you until after I’d explained all of this, to prepare you and help you through the pain.”

  I slowly absorbed his words. “I am a very skeptical person,” I admitted carefully. “I wouldn’t trust you- or believe you- at all right now if some supernatural number tattoo hadn’t appeared on my arm this morning. So, as nice as your plan sounds, it wouldn’t have worked.”

  He shrugged, nodding. “Okay, then.”

  Questions lined up in my mind, waiting with their hands waving in the air like impatient students. “Coordinates. How long have coordinates- existed? How could you possibly know what you were looking at back then? Didn’t everyone believe that the world was flat?”

  He nodded, eyes raised. “Great question. Columbus did not prove the world was round. Plato and Aristotle already had well-formed ideas about the world being round, as early as 900 BC. Even before then, Greek astronomers created the cord system that we know today- the “lines” on the globe.”

  “That is advanced trigonometry.”

  “They were scholars with knowledge beyond their time. Asher had- and taught me- the polar coordinates well before Rene Descartes made them known to the world. By the time I was born, scholars, like Asher, were considered heretics.” He crossed his arms over his chest, looking at me appreciatively. “Please, continue. Your questions are impressive; I’ve never been asked to answer these- by you.”

  I shivered. “Why do my numbers match yours?”

  He ran his fingers through his sandy hair, and I knew immediately the worst was yet to come. “There are two who work against us. One is like you, born again and again with an immortal soul, and one is like me, physically immortal. They are evil, and their purpose is to see that we fail in our task. They are called the Alters.”

  “When we touch, the coordinates for the immortal soul Alter- the one like you- appear on your arm. This helps us identify the location of our enemy, and determine how much time we have.”

  “How much time we have to do what?” I asked, trying to beat away the skepticism that flooded my brain.

  He stood up, pacing to the railing that overlooked the falls. “This is u
sually the part that frightens you the most. Roam, I’m going to protect you- keep that in mind.”

  I nodded, standing up and walking to him. I leaned against the railing, thankful we were alone at the park. “Remember, I’m smarter- and I’m also witty. So- I got this. Just please- let’s have it before we have to officially title this ‘the dramatic version.’”

  He laughed, honest, relieved. “Right. Well, the end of the world is near, and our child is the only one who can stop it.”

  His words dug in. “Is this 2012-Mayan-End-of-the-World stuff? Seriously?”

  “No- nothing like that. This is… something else. We don’t know when it will happen, but we do know we have only seven chances to save this world. You told me that long ago, when I met you on that road.”

  “You’re losing me… Our child…?” I murmured, gripping the railing. “Okay, I’m panicking,” I admitted. I held my breath.

  “You always do. It’s the part about our child. Our child- the product of both you and I- is prophesized to save this world. And I have failed six times.”

  “Failed how?” I breathed, not comprehending.

  “I’ve let you die.”

  Chapter Seven

  “We have to have a child to save the world? OhmyGod I’m going to faint,” I breathed rapidly, feeling the webby shadows crawling into my eyes.

  “No you’re not,” he ordered, gripping my shoulders like vices. I gasped, cupping my hands over my mouth and nose. “Breathe, goddamnit.” I nodded, dragging slow, agonizing breaths. He released my shoulders after a few moments, leading me to the bench again. I dipped my head between my knees. “You would stop fainting if you would stop holding your breath,” he was irritated.

  “I need to go home!” I cried, finally feeling more grounded. “I don’t want anything to do with this!”

  I winced, knowing he was disappointed in my reaction. “Go get in the car,” he snapped.

  “I’m seventeen years old- this is crazy. Would you believe this, if you were me?” I begged, shaking my head, emphatic.

  He stalked to his vehicle. I tried to keep up with him. “It gets harder for you to believe every time I meet you. It’s the cynical world. You’ve been taught to resist anything that hasn’t been proven and written in those books. But, who do you think proved what you’re reading? Do you think that censorship didn’t exist in the medieval times? It was called religion.” He wrenched the passenger side door open, gesturing to the seat expectantly.

  “I just don’t understand- why me,” I stepped back, away from the car.

  “I don’t choose you. I find you.”

  I twisted my fingers, kicking at the gravel parking lot. “Why do you care about ‘saving the world’? What’s in it for you?”

  He looked interested. “That’s one you’ve never asked me before,” he admitted, nodding toward the SUV once more. “Getting in or not? Are we still talking?”

  “Yes, but don’t curse at me.” I narrowed my eyes. He slammed the door, crossing his arms over his broad chest. The sun was much lower in than when we had arrived. I realized both Logan and my dad were probably trying to call my phone. “And I need to text Logan to tell him I’ll be late.”

  Reaching through the open back window, he grabbed my book bag from the seat. He tossed the bag to me, and I caught it, thankful it was mostly empty. “Okay. And I won’t curse.”

  “Thank you.” I checked my phone, surprised to see no text messages waited for me. I texted Logan quickly.

  I’m fine, got caught researching, will call you later. ILY.

  When I pressed ‘send’ I realized West was reading over my shoulder. “ILY?” he asked.

  “I love you,” I clarified, sliding the phone into my back pocket.

  “Oh.” He gestured toward the bench. “After you.”

  After putting my phone back in my book bag and returning it to the car, I walked back to the bench and sat down, crossed legged again. “Well, what’s in it for you? Why do you care if the world ends?”

  “As much as I would like to claim it’s my sense of humanity, it’s not.” He sat down again. “If we succeed, I begin to age. And I live the remainder of my life as a mortal.”

  “And you want that,” I confirmed.

  He nodded.

  “You care for someone,” I guessed, watching the emotion darken his eyes.

  “For a long time, it was you.” He raised an eyebrow, glancing at me. “For every one of the six lives we’ve had together, I was convinced we would succeed. Until the one you dreamed about last night. After I…” his voice broke “…failed- in 1977, I realized that I would only have one chance left. And- I didn’t really care anymore.”

  “I met someone in 1994. I fell in love with her, but never told her about my immortality. We married; I left her, knowing you would be born again soon. Shortly after that, the numbers appeared.”

  “July 14, 1995.” I realized; my date of birth. He nodded. Irrational jealousy took me by surprise. I am jealous of a woman I have never known, from a story I barely believe? You’re losing it, Roam.

  “I knew it was inevitable. This time, though, I decided that if I couldn’t change the circumstances, I would change the method. I decided to find you earlier, younger, and make you a partner in this, rather than get emotionally involved.”

  “Like create a baby in a lab or something?” I suggested. He cringed.

  “No. I can’t watch you- or our unborn child- die again.” He looked lost in thought, almost remorseful. “There is another way. On the road that day, you told me that there was another way- in our last life together.” He gestured around us. “And here we are. You told me there were doors, which only you would know about, and these doors would take us to our past lives and give us the opportunity to change them.”

  He saw the confusion in my face. “I don’t know about any doors,” I shook my head, shrugging. “Are we talking about time travel? That’s- absurd.” I considered everything he had been telling me, and decided that maybe time travel was the least absurd of everything I’d learned today.

  “I didn’t just study history for twenty years. I studied science, more specifically scientific history. Astrology, mythology. Physics. Relativity and quantum mechanics.”

  “Subjects that Asher studied.”

  “Yes. Except for quantum mechanics- such a thing did not exist then. I don’t believe there is a way to time travel. But- I do believe you carry some type of knowledge specific to the prophecy- that you may not even know about yourself- and this knowledge will allow us to move through the past. To give us another chance.”

  I considered his words. He stared at me intently, as if encouraging me to admit I had some hidden, psychological past-altering talent. “I’m just- a normal person! I don’t have any answers- or secret codes or doors or- whatever,” I shook my head, shifting uncomfortable as my stomach growled. He heard it as well, and I flushed. “I’m sorry- I haven’t eaten all day.”

  “Roam, you need to eat. Let’s get you something,” he stood up, gesturing to his SUV. “There’s a little café around here, I just have to remember where…,”

  “If I don’t know about these magic doors, then what?” I insisted, ignoring him. “Are you telling me that there is some kind of evil man trying to find me and- and kill me?”

  He sighed, leaning against the railing. The waterfall behind him rushed, and I breathed deeply. Water comforts you.

  “I think that your dreams are not just a phenomenon, they are a tool. A way to discover the doors. I thought we’d have plenty of time to meet, learn, and analyze your dreams, until I saw your numbers.” He gestured to my arm, and I looked down at them again. “The Alter is here, and he is close to you.”

  “He?” I repeated. He nodded.

  “The Immortal Alter searches for his counterpart, just as I have to search for you. When they touch, the Soul Alter receives your coordinates. Troy’s purpose is…,” he looked at me gently, as if deciding whether to go on. “His purpose is to de
stroy you. And I’ve lost track of him.” He sounded disgusted with himself.

  “Troy?”

  “The Immortal Alter. He was in Saudi Arabia the last time I found him, in 2003.”

  “This Immortal Alter, he’s like me, he has no idea what’s going on until his Evil Big Brother comes to tell him? Then, they move into their dungeon together and start plotting my death?” I gripped my fingers until my knuckles cracked; nausea returned.

  “That’s… a creative way to put it, but yes, you’re right.”

  “West,” I sighed, shaking my head, defeated. “I can’t process all of this. I need to write it down. I need to see it to understand.”

  “I know. Books, pictures… you are a visual learner.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a brown, leather wallet. “I have something for you, when you’re ready. A picture of you from 1977. When you’re ready,” he repeated.

  “Show me.” I stood up, walking to him. My legs burned, asleep from my cross-legged position. He nodded, reaching into his wallet.

  He handed me a photograph. It was in color, a white frame surrounding the picture. The paper was thick, and the photo was a square, unlike the typical 4x6 photos I looked through in my mother’s albums.

  A woman, approximately twenty-seven years old, stared back at me. Her long, straight blonde hair was parted down the middle. She wore a floral-printed dress, the lapel very large. She smiled, teasing whoever was taking her photograph. The light was playing in her green eyes.

  She was me.

  “No,” I whispered, my stomach turning. “No… where did you get this?”

  “I took it,” he said gently.

  “This was my hair, in my dream,” I cried. “I look older…,”

  “Twenty.”

  Surprised, I looked again at the woman in the photograph. “What was my name? If I looked myself up on the internet, could I find myself?”