Tomorrow's Guardian

by Richard Denning

CHAPTER TWENTY–ONE – ALEXANDER THE GREAT

  The warriors gestured with their spears to a group of tents some distance away, indicating that the three of them should move in that direction. They started walking that way and as they drew closer Tom could see thousands more tents stretching far into the distance. He realised the ones he and his fellow Walkers were being herded towards were just part of a vast camp. It had been sited beside a river and was surrounded by a huge flat plain that vanished into the haze all around.

  It was hot – very hot. Tom was glad he was lightly dressed, as for an English summer, but even so he began to sweat. He had been to Spain once or twice with his parents on holiday, and on one occasion to Florida, but the heat here was far worse. Mary looked very weak and was visibly wilting. The temperature was much higher than any she would have experienced before in her lifetime. The Greeks, however, seemed not to notice the heat and moved lightly across the ground.

  As they were marched towards the camp it became gradually more distinct and, as the haze diminished, Tom was able to make out the details of the tents and their inhabitants, which he could now see moving about. They entered along a sort of avenue running right through the rows of tents, passing hundreds of men – some in armour and others taking their ease in lighter garments. Many were gathered around cook fires, roasting cuts of lamb or carcasses of birds suspended upon spits over the flames, or else baking bread laid out upon hot stones around the firesides. A squad of soldiers marching past in the opposite direction – perhaps taking their turn out on patrol – stared at the three Walkers with avid curiosity. One or two pointed at Septimus’ jeans and laughed, only to be reprimanded by their officer.

  Tom heard a sudden whinnying noise and turning his head saw half a dozen horses being led towards the river. One of them was fractious and kept kicking up dust as it gambolled along at the rear. A flash of sunlight beyond the horses drew Tom's gaze and he now saw a line of chariots parked up awaiting the attention of a carpenter, who was repairing a broken axle.

  “Where are we, Septimus?” whispered Tom. The Welshman gazed around and took a few minutes to answer.

  “It’s not really my specialist region or period, but I gather this is Persia and it’s about three hundred years or so BC. That camp is full of Greek soldiers – thousands of them – and they are going to conquer all these lands.”

  Puzzled, Tom did not respond. Where exactly was Persia? He raised an eyebrow at Septimus, who clearly thought he had said something significant, for he tutted and rolled his eyes.

  “Tommy, you need to read more history books. We are actually in what we now know as Iran, but it used to be Persia. Unless I’m very much mistaken, this army is commanded by Alexander the Great. They are embarked on the greatest campaign in history and won’t stop till they reach India. Which is all very fascinating and romantic or perhaps bloodthirsty, depending on your point of view, but does not alter the fact that we’re in dreadful danger. I’m drained, as are you. We need to get away and take Mary as well. So, there is a need to play for time to get our energy back.”

  They had reached the centre of the camp now. They were marched past groups of Greeks sitting in the shade of their tents avoiding the midday sun. Some were eating a little bread and olives or drinking wine. A few were playing games with dice. Most stopped and stared at Tom, Mary and Septimus and their modern clothes. The trio were marched into the heart of the camp and then made to stand in front of a large tent. One of the guards went in and a few minutes later a young man came out and asked them questions. Tom did not understand the words, but Septimus replied. The young man grew agitated and drew his sword, pointing it at Septimus’ throat. The Welshman’s eyes widened a little, but he kept on talking calmly and after a long pause, the young man thrust the sword back into the leather scabbard at his hip. Turning to the guards he muttered a few words and went back into the tent. Tom and his friends were then pushed into another tent and thrown to the ground. The guards glared at them for a moment then, after a few guttural comments and sniggered laughter, they left the tent.

  The three Walkers lay for a few moments, gathering their breath, before Tom asked, “What just happened: I thought you said they were going to kill us?”

  “Not today. I told them we were not spies but escaped slaves of their enemy, the Persians. I said we had worked in their capital and knew lots about their secrets and their army. I told them if they brought us writing material, I would draw them some maps of where the Persian armies were. He grew angry at that, as he did not believe a slave would be able to write, but I said we were merchants from the north – I thought that might account for our outlandish clothes – and that we had been captured by the Persians and forced to work for them.”

  “So, we are safe?” Tom asked.

  “Not entirely. We have until sunrise tomorrow to prepare our maps, or we die.”

  “What do you know about the Persian army and their secrets?”

  “No more than you, I was bluffing!” Septimus said with a helpless shrug.

  “Oh great! What happens when tomorrow he realises this?”

  “We must hope that you or I are strong enough to Walk us out of here to another time, or we’re dead.”

  “Septimus, I would just like to say that my life was pretty good before I met you. Now my parents are dead, my house is a ruin and I am going to be killed as a spy from a land I have never heard of two thousand years before I was not born!”

  “Yeah ... bit tedious isn’t it?”

  Tom was about to reply when a guard came in and threw down an armful of parchment, pens – at least, Tom assumed they were pens; they appeared to be made from hollow reeds sharpened to a point – and a flask of ink, and then left.

  “Septimus – where did you go to when you left the Professor’s office?” Tom asked the question that had been niggling since yesterday, but Septimus did not answer.

  “Not right now, Tommy, we’re in trouble. Your job is to rest and get back your strength. Even the ability to shift us a few hours might help. Lie down and go to sleep while I look busy and concoct some report for Alexander.”

  “Alexander! You mean that man was Alexander the Great?” Tom said, jerking up off the floor. Septimus smiled.

  “That’s right. See all the interesting places and famous people I take you to and all you do is complain! Now rest, Tommy boy,” Septimus ordered. “You too, Mary,” he added to the young woman.

  Tom and Mary tried to get comfortable on the hard ground. Tom closed his eyes, but before he could sleep, Mary asked a question.

  “Master Thomas ...”

  Tom opened his eyes and held up a hand. “Tom, it’s Tom, Mary. You don’t have to call me Master.”

  “Very well ... Master Tom, Mr Mason mentioned a name: ‘Redfeld’ was it? Who is he and why was he trying to kill you?”

  Tom rolled over and leant on one elbow to look at Mary. “It’s a long story, but I will give you short version ...” He took a deep breath and tried to explain. It was hard at times and Mary was confused by much of it. Phrases like ‘alternative reality’, ‘planes of existence’ or ‘universes’ were so far out of her world that Tom ground to a halt. Then, Septimus tried a different track.

  “Mary, have you ever seen any plays by William Shakespeare?” he asked, looking up from the parchment, the pen dripping blobs of ink onto the map he was attempting to draw.

  Mary thought for a moment then nodded. “Yes indeed, my Lord. My master paid for us all to go for a treat one year. It was ‘Midsummer Night’s Dream’, so it was.”

  “Splendid. So, you remember the fairies and enchanted creatures from fairyland?”

  “Oh yes!” Mary’s face lit up with a smile.

  “Well then, where is fairyland?” Septimus asked.

  Mary looked puzzled at that and took a long time to answer. “I suppose you would say all about us,” she finally responded, “save not here. It’s in dark corners and hidden in the woods and hills.”

  “So, it
’s another world really – don’t you agree – alongside our world with strange enchanted creatures in it?”

  Tom bit his lip and hoped that she would see where his friend was going with this. Mary’s face contorted, revealing a mental struggle with ideas that were very new to her, but she nodded her head in the end.

  “I think I start to understand what you are saying. This Twisted Reality is like fairyland?”

  “You get it now,” Septimus grinned. “And are these creatures in fairyland all good?”

  “Some are – but many are not. Many are evil and mischievous,” Mary this time responded quickly.

  “So think of this Twisted Reality like that and the inhabitants like elves and sprites – cunning and plotting and up to no good,” Septimus said.

  Mary looked thoughtful. “So Redfeld is some type of monster from another world?”

  “No,” Tom butted in, shaking his head. “No, he is just a human, like you and me, and like us he has powers.”

  “It seems to me,” said Mary with a shrug, “that you can be a monster, even if you are just a man.”

  Septimus looked up at that and nodded his head. “You are not wrong, lass, not wrong at all. Now, both of you try to sleep.”

  Settling back down, Tom found it was not hard to rest, he was exhausted and soon fell asleep. He was woken some time later by Septimus. A guard had returned and stood with a sword drawn at the tent flap. Tom gathered it was time to go and report to Alexander. Septimus was collecting the parchments on which he had drawn what looked like various landmarks. Some he had marked with maps, on others he had written lists. Tom wondered how much was fabricated and how much genuine.

  “How do you feel?” Septimus asked.

  “Less tired, certainly,” Tom answered.

  “Do you think you can Walk us out of here?”

  Tom tried imaging the clock as usual, but he still did not feel any link to time flowing around them.

  “Well?” the Welshman asked.

  “I’m not sure, at least ...” Tom stammered. Inside he began to panic, wondering if Redfeld had somehow managed to destroy his power. Or was it because he had left the ball and chain in the Professor’s office and no longer had a link to his own time?

  Septimus’ face was pale, “You mean, you can’t do it?”

  “Can you?” Tom asked in return. Septimus closed his eyes for a moment.

  “No,” he said after a pause, “I need to sleep to get my energy back and I stayed up working on these,” he said, lifting up the parchments.

  “What do we do?” Tom asked.

  “I will stall for time, you keep trying. Focus on that clock. Ignore all that happens about you in here,” Septimus ordered, pointing at the large tent they were being pushed into. Inside, half a dozen Greek lords stood around a map of Persia with Alexander at their centre. As they entered, the King addressed Septimus, who walked forward.

  Tom and Mary hung back. Mary was shivering in fear, despite the oppressive heat, but Tom studied the young King with renewed interest, surprised to note that he was quite short and whilst undeniably handsome, his face was actually quite girly looking and his build, though muscular, was slight. He did not look like he would become the greatest conqueror the world has ever known, thought Tom.

  Bowing, Septimus presented his reports and maps to Alexander, who looked over them. The minutes ticked by as he studied them, but then he let out a gasp of annoyance and screwed them together into a ball. For a moment he stood contemplating Tom and his companions then suddenly lost his temper and threw the parchments into Septimus’ face. The King snapped at the guards who leapt forward and seized the three of them.

  It was obvious that Septimus’ ruse had failed utterly and Tom was afraid they were about to be killed. He tried to put that out of his mind and concentrate on the job of getting a connection with the Flow of Time, frantically visualising his grandfather’s clock.

  They were dragged out of Alexander’s tent and marched roughly out onto a large open area in the centre of the camp. It was clearly a gathering point and could be used as a parade ground or for games and exercises. It could also be used as a place of execution. They were stood against some wooden posts and their hands tied with rope behind their backs. Then, a dozen archers marched out and forming a line facing the trio of suspected spies, notched arrows onto their bow strings and holding their weapons down by their sides, waited for orders.

  ‘We’re going to be used for target practice!’ Tom thought, his stomach turning to water.

  A guard officer bellowed an instruction and the archers raised their bows and pulled back the strings as they took aim. Tom desperately tried to find the Flow of Time, but he felt numb with terror and could not locate it.

  “Tom?”asked Septimus, his voice tense with anxiety.

  Tom shook his head and muttered a quick apology.

  The guard officer shouted a word that could only have been “Fire” and the archers released their arrows.

  Just then, Mary shouted out one word. “Wall!” she screamed at the top of her voice. The arrows flew through the air towards them, but only ten feet away they seemed to rebound off an invisible barrier. Some shattered into fragments, others deviated wildly and went hurtling away to plunge into the ground. There was silence for a moment as the archers stared in open–mouthed disbelief as the fragments of splintered wood and feathers drifted to earth. Then several of them dropped their bows and stepped backwards, utter terror now etched upon their faces. The officer rushed over and struck three of the men with the back of his sword and then pointed at the abandoned bows. Reluctantly, and with their terrified gaze fixed upon Tom and his companions, the archers reloaded and waited for the order to fire again.

  Sweat was pouring from Mary’s brow and she muttered, “I cannot hold up the wall for more than a few moments, Master.”

  Somehow, Mary had made a wall: a wall of frozen time. Beyond the wall, as on their side of it, time seemed to be moving normally, but within the barrier, time was frozen and nothing, it seemed, could penetrate.

  “Apolyo!” shouted the guard officer. Twelve more arrows leapt towards them and just as suddenly recoiled from the invisible barrier. This time the archers did not need to be ordered. They reloaded and were ready in a moment. Mary gave an exhausted groan and slumped down and Tom realised she could not hold the wall up for much longer.

  If the barrier fell, they were all dead!