Past Lives (The Past Lives Chronicles Book 1)

by Terry Cloutier

  Clovis and Gerald stood glaring at each other, and by their body language, she could tell they were moments away from fighting. She studied them critically. From what Claire knew of the two men, they were evenly matched and there was no guarantee who would come out the winner. Did she even care? Claire examined that thought, dissecting it like a frog in science class, piece by piece. She realized that a part of her actually hoped Clovis would kill Artturi, sending Gerald away from this timeline—and more importantly—away from Alodia. But what if Gerald won? What would happen afterward? Would he confess to her about what he’d been doing with Alodia—regardless of whether the bitch lived or not—or would he just keep sneaking around behind Claire’s back like the snake that he’d become?

  If he wins, you could kill him, Claire’s darkness whispered to her in a silken voice. Either way, we get him away from that woman.

  Claire paused, her eyes narrowing as she considered the idea. She knew she’d only be killing Artturi, after all, and that would be no great loss. But then, after Gerald was gone, she realized she’d be trapped here, maybe for many years, while he would be free in another timeline to go hound-dogging all he wanted. Claire shook her head. No, that wouldn’t do. She needed Gerald to win. Claire looked down at the two men with a new sense of urgency as they continued to talk.

  You could kill Frida if he dies, the darkness whispered, caressing her mind with soft, tantalizing words. That way, you can follow him and be free of this prison.

  Claire felt her heartbeat accelerating. The logic of the words being whispered in her head was undeniably tempting. But could she do it? Claire wavered as she pictured the day she’d found her mother lying in her bathtub in a pool of blood. A ball of loathing, resentment, and disgust welled up within her. No, never that! She would never resort to being the kind of coward her mother had turned out to be! Claire had made a promise to Gerald and herself long ago that no matter how bad things got, she’d never follow in her mother’s footsteps and take her own life. It was a promise she refused to break, even in the past—not even for Julie.

  Then we’ll do it another way, the darkness snapped, the words dripping with impatience. If Gerald dies, take that old man’s sword beside you and stab him with it. The others will cut you down, and then you’ll be free.

  Claire paused, considering, ignoring the horror coming from Frida. It wasn’t a bad idea, she realized. But what if Gerald won? Then what?

  Then you kill him and make the Romans kill you as well, the voice in her head whispered seductively. Then you and Gerald can start over somewhere else. Somewhere that slut can’t put a spell on him anymore.

  Claire felt the tenseness in her body slowly fading. That was it. That was the solution. Once she and Gerald were away from this place and time, then they could finally, once and for all, focus on their true purpose for being in the past. Alodia had woven some kind of a spell on Gerald, Claire understood now. It wasn’t his fault—it was that bitch’s. Once he was away from her, then everything would return to normal again. She was sure of it. Claire relaxed her grip on the wall, the anxiety she’d felt dissolving as she watched Gerald and Clovis circling each other warily. The decision had been made. Now it was just a question of which way the coin flipped. But either way, whether Gerald won or lost, she knew they were both done with this time.

  Claire watched her husband and Clovis with calmer eyes now as the darkness receded, its job done. Both men were standing in a crouched position, right legs forward, knives held blade up in their right hands. Both had their chins tucked into their chests, with their free hands held palms outward close to their bodies to protect their faces and major organs. They moved with caution as they circled, both men seeming to float on the balls of their feet, always careful to keep their bodies angled toward each other. Claire thought they could have been dancing if not for the lethal blades and promise of death gleaming in the eyes of the two men. Claire realized she was holding her breath, and she slowly let it out as she glanced toward the Romans, who were all leaning over the tower wall, watching in anticipation.

  “Have you ever seen anything like this before, Flavius?” the short Roman named Remus asked.

  “Once,” Flavius grunted. “A prick of a Centurion I knew years ago. He fought with knives just like this.”

  Claire heard one of the Romans gasp, and she felt her heart leap in her throat as Clovis suddenly leaped forward. The Teutone stabbed for Gerald’s stomach, moving in a blur. Gerald twisted aside in a practiced motion, chopping down with his free hand to knock the blow off course even as he slashed sideways with his own blade. Cheers and howls of dismay arose as Clovis staggered backward, clutching at his side where blood was already seeping from a gash. The Teutone grinned, looking unconcerned as he resumed his previous stance.

  “By the gods,” Flavius muttered beside her. Claire noticed his knuckles were white where he clutched the wooden railing in front of them. “Never have I seen such speed.” The older Roman glanced toward his companions. “Remind me never to cross swords with either of those two.”

  None of Flavius’ companions replied to that, though she saw both the tall one and the wounded man named Dario nod in agreement. Claire flicked her eyes toward Flavius’ sword, which sat high on his right hip attached to a leather belt. If Gerald lost, she knew even with surprise on her side, it would be next to impossible to draw the sword free before he stopped her. The Roman also had a dagger on his left side only inches from her right hand. That, she decided, was what she would go for. Killing Flavius wasn’t even the main goal, anyway. She just needed the other Romans to come to his defense and cut her down.

  “Oh!” Flavius hissed in dismay as Clovis caught Artturi with his knife high on the outside of his left hip.

  The two men broke apart, whirling away from each other. But Claire could tell by Gerald’s movements that the strike had done some damage, as his left leg was not moving as smoothly now as before. She studied Clovis, who looked relaxed and calm. The Teutone’s left side was smeared with blood, but so far, at least, the wound he’d taken didn’t appear to be affecting him.

  “Their barbarian is better than ours,” Remus said to no one in particular. The Roman hawked, then spat over the side of the platform. He glanced at Flavius and shrugged. “Good thing it doesn’t matter to us which one wins.”

  “We’ll see,” Flavius grunted in annoyance as Clovis and Gerald closed the distance between each other again.

  The two men were less than four feet apart when Clovis suddenly feinted for Gerald’s eyes, then, once his opponent lifted his free hand to block, slashed upward with the blade in a crisscross pattern. Gerald cried out, desperately retreating as his palm erupted in blood, then his left leg gave out beneath him and he tumbled to the ground. Clovis shouted in triumph and bounded forward to make the kill just as Gerald drew back his knife hand and threw his blade in desperation. The distance was only a few feet, and the weapon spun in the air once, then sunk halfway to the hilt in Clovis’ right shoulder. The Teutone shouted in pain, his own knife falling from suddenly nerveless fingers as Gerald scrambled to his feet. Clovis reached for the knife embedded in his flesh just as Gerald threw himself forward, knocking them both to the ground. The two men rolled end over end, spitting and cursing before Clovis managed to grasp Gerald’s hair with his left hand, smashing his head against the ground. Gerald lay stunned for a moment with Clovis on top of him as the Teutone warrior tore the knife from his shoulder with a quick motion. Claire could hear the man’s grunt of pain clearly from where she stood.

  But that momentary break was enough for Gerald to regain his senses, and he struck upward with his right fist, catching the Teutone on the cheek, splitting it open. Clovis’ head snapped back from the blow as Gerald twisted his body in the opposite direction, sending his adversary tumbling to the ground. Gerald growled and bounded to his feet, his face twisted with hatred as Clovis struggled to get to his hands and knees. Gerald cursed his adversary, then lashed out with a foot, catching the T
eutone squarely in the stomach. Clovis gasped, air exploding from his lungs as he collapsed onto his side and then rolled weakly onto his back. Gerald leaped upwards above the fallen man, using his weight and momentum as he punched downward into Clovis’ face while ramming his knee into the fallen man’s chest. Clovis’ nose erupted in a fountain of blood as Gerald struck him a second time, then a third, knocking the warrior flat, where he lay barely moving.

  Gerald wearily took the knife away from Clovis, then tossed it aside before he straddled the Teutone, holding his injured hand to his chest as he pressed his knees down on Clovis’ shoulders, pinning him in place. Clovis struggled weakly, only half-conscious as Gerald looked around at the now silent warriors watching. Gerald finally leaned down and said something to the Teutone, but his words were much too low for Claire to hear. Then he started to hit Clovis over and over again with rhythmic punches, with only the meaty smacks of each blow filling the silence outside the fortress. Finally, Caratacus put his hand on Gerald’s shoulder, letting him know that it was enough—Clovis was dead. Gerald struck the Teutone several more times before he sat back, his chest heaving with exhaustion. Then, with Caratacus’ help, he slowly stood and stepped away from the bloodied and battered corpse, limping back toward the Roman fortress.

  Claire closed her eyes, surprised at the overwhelming relief she felt in her chest that Gerald had won. Maybe there was another way, she suddenly thought, her resolve wavering as she watched him limp toward her. Perhaps the two of them could work things out and she didn’t need to kill him. The key was saving Julie, after all, she reasoned. She needed to focus on that first. Claire could never forgive Gerald for what he’d done. But she suddenly realized if they changed the past right now, here in the second century and Julie didn’t die, then Gerald would never go to prison—which meant his infidelity with Alodia would never happen.

  No! the darkness suddenly hissed, darting out from its hiding place like a striking snake. The words inside Claire’s head were filled with malice and hatred, spewing venom like acid in all directions, staining her insides. It won’t work, you stupid fool! Not with that woman around. You need Gerald to be focused on you and Julie, not that slut. Kill him! Kill him now and we can all move on from this place. Gerald will be different in the next timeline. Trust me.

  Claire opened her eyes, focusing on her husband again as Caratacus helped him walk while the Cimbrians cheered and the Teutones watched in sullen silence. The darkness was right as usual, she realized, feeling a hardness take over her. She needed to get Gerald’s attention on what mattered, and she couldn’t do that here with that slut around. Claire took a deep breath, her eyes cold and calculating as Gerald and Caratacus entered the Roman fort. She felt Frida desperately pleading for calm somewhere inside her. But the child’s emotions were suddenly cut off as the darkness swirled over her like a blanket, smothering everything but a single thought that resonated in Claire’s mind.

  Gerald Blackwood had to die.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CLAIRE

  Three days later, Claire still hadn’t found the right moment to kill her husband. The darkness inside her kept insisting that she was stalling—and maybe she was—Claire wasn’t sure. The Cimbri had given the survivors of the massacre several Roman horses and a two-wheeled supply cart with a canvas cover drawn by two monstrous creatures Claire remembered were called aurochs. The idea had initially been for Dario and Flavius to ride in the back of the wagon while they recovered from their wounds. Remus and Gervais would alternate riding point with Gerald while the other man drove the wagon. But Flavius had scoffed at the idea, stating that he was more than capable of scouting ahead with Gerald. The Roman had been there ever since.

  Claire suspected Flavius’ resolve had more to do with spending time alone with her husband than anything else, as the two men had become great friends these last few days, leaving her, as usual, forgotten. Claire had been relegated the task of taking care of Dario in the wagon, which she knew was going to be a waste of time despite her medical background. The Roman legionnaire had taken a slash from a sword across his chest, which his armor had mostly blocked. That wound didn’t concern Claire much. What did was a second, smaller one that she guessed had been caused by a spear that had punctured deep between Dario’s lower ribs on his right side. After three long days of rough travel, the legionnaire’s abdomen was now extended and painful to touch, which Claire knew could only mean internal bleeding.

  Dario lay on a bed of piled canvas that the Romans had salvaged from the fortress, and Claire took his pulse, shaking her head at the rapid, erratic beat. She knew by the look of him that the man’s blood pressure would be low as well, guessing that the spearhead had nicked his liver. In the twenty-first century, if caught soon enough, the wound could have been treated. But here, in the latter part of the second century, it was a death sentence. Dario mumbled something in his sleep, his head turning back and forth as he shivered. The Roman wouldn’t see another night, she knew. She sighed, feeling helpless as she turned her mind back to her main problem—getting her and Gerald away from this time.

  After the battle with Clovis, Gerald had returned to his previous ways when he was around her—which was to say he ignored her almost exclusively. Her husband spent the entire day with Flavius scouting their trail, then at night, slept apart from the rest of them only to reappear every morning when the sun rose to take his customary place in front. Gerald had retrieved his armor and weapons before they’d left the Roman fortress, and he now looked the part of a Cimbrian warrior again, with even his beard starting to grow back in.

  You can’t keep avoiding the issue, the darkness inside suddenly whispered, though the words were not as aggressive as they had been in recent days. A part of Claire’s mind knew her darkness was being more cautious lately, perhaps fearing that she might still have the power to banish it away again even without Gerald’s help. Claire wasn’t sure such a thing was possible now, or even if she wanted it to be. Julie needs our help, Claire. Think of your daughter. What could be more important than her? We need to save her. No more stalling!

  Claire closed her eyes as memories of her daughter flooded back to her. Julie had been a star athlete in school, winning medals in gymnastics, track and field, volleyball, and basketball. But then, not long after she’d turned sixteen, the stomach pains, diarrhea, and fevers had hit. Claire had feared it was Crohn’s disease, and those fears had turned out to be justified. They had initially tried steroids and diet change to help mitigate the effects of the disease, but Julie had a rare, severe case, and nothing seemed to work for long.

  By the time Julie was seventeen, her weight had dropped to the point where she weighed less than seventy pounds. Her grades had suffered as well, falling as fast as her weight, and eventually, Claire and Gerald were forced to pull their daughter out of school and finish her education at home. Then, when Julie turned nineteen, a miracle occurred, and the Crohn’s went into remission for three long, glorious years. Claire smiled fondly. Those years had been the best of her life, watching with pride as Julie blossomed into a happy, confident young woman. But then the Crohn’s had come roaring back, worse than ever, and her daughter had quite literally fallen apart, mentally as well as physically.

  Claire thought of the bowel and two intestine resections Julie had undergone, and all those days spent in the hospital filled with equal amounts of hope and despair. She shook her head at the waste of it all. In the end, DakCorp had taken her daughter away from her anyway. The cart suddenly jolted beneath Claire, bringing her back to the present as she heard a shout rise up from ahead. She turned, craning her neck to look past Remus, who sat on a small block of wood at the head of the wagon. There was only room for one man, so Gervais walked beside the aurochs, helping to guide them along with a thick branch and stern words. Remus cursed and hauled back on the reins while Gervais yanked on the harness of one of the aurochs, stopping the wagon with a squeak of axles.

  “What’s going on?” Remus gru
nted after a moment, his head turning back and forth as he studied the silent trees around them warily. “Was that Flavius?”

  “I’m not sure?” Gervais replied, resting his free hand on the hilt of his sword. “It might have been him.”

  Claire scurried forward on her hands and knees to get a better view. They were following a faint trail through a narrow meadow, with majestic, white-capped mountains ahead and dark trees rising to either side of them. The path took a turn about a hundred yards in front of the wagon, disappearing into the trees, with no sign of Gerald or Flavius anywhere.

  Gervais looked up at Remus, his face shiny with nervous sweat. “What do we do?”

  The short Roman licked his lips, pausing to glance up at the midday sun. “I’ll stay here with Dario and the girl. You go around that bend and see what’s happening.”

  “Why me?” Gervais asked with a whine in his voice.

  “Because I’m up here, and you’re down there,” Remus answered.

  “But what if some of those barbarians Artturi warned us about are waiting there for us?”

  Remus spat on the ground, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Then we’re all as good as dead anyway, so it won’t matter which one of us goes to look.”

  Gervais grumbled something under his breath, but he turned away anyway, drawing his sword as he followed the trail. Eventually, Claire lost sight of him around the bend, unconsciously holding her breath until the tall Roman reappeared moments later. He waved them onward, then disappeared back the way he’d come.

  “Well,” Remus said, snapping the reins and glancing down at Claire. “I guess we get to live a little while longer, eh girl?”