A Temporal Trust (The Temporal Book 2) (12 page)

“Little one, what do you think of Hikari?”

The Nephloc spy was still huddled in the darkness. He had slithered to a far corner the moment he heard the door open. It wasn’t so much that he was afraid of the woman or even any other Temporal—except the hard man, of course—but he wanted to avoid the painful light that the open door might usher in should it be daytime. There was a terrifying outside window in the hallway just outside the door.

“Hiikarii?” he said, lifting his head enough for one eye to peek in the woman’s direction. He looked beyond her and into the hallway. The corner of the window that he could see was dark. It was night. Relieved, he turned his attention to the speaker. Suteko was her name, he reminded himself. She was from Japan. In a different world, a different lifetime, he had once been to Japan.

Nearly forgotten and illicit memories of an existence long gone were returning as a flood. Conveyer-belt sushi restaurants, the warm shouting of “welcome!” to customers as they enter, the wonder of Japan’s long history with ninjas, samurai, and geisha—the memories and thoughts frightened him. It was wrong to remember, to cherish his memory, but he did and the woman’s presence only made him want to explore his memories more.

“Yes, Hikari. I think Hikari is a good name for you.”

He was quiet, hoping she would close the door. It wasn’t natural light and therefore not painful, but the hall light was on and this bothered the spy’s eye. What game was this Temporal playing? Why was she doing this? He knew there was only one thing she wanted from him: information. He would not betray the High Lady. She would not tolerate any deviation from the plan. He also knew that if the Temporal didn’t get some information soon—or the right information—there would be punishment. The High Lady had warned him. He was treading a dangerous and narrow path; a slight deviation on either side could be painful and...deadly.

And yet, assigning him a name didn’t seem to fit in his pat theory. What was she doing?

“Hikari, in Japanese, means ‘light.’ I think there is more light in you than darkness.”

The creature was silent.

“I want to understand you and offer you a second chance. People can change; people can become better than they are.”

“Wees not people.”

“But you once were.”

He was silent again.

She knelt down and softly touched the inch of exposed flesh on his right hand, the hand that was still covering his head as if bombs were falling.

A feeling of warmth bubbled within him. As before, it was a good warmth, the same warmth he had experienced the last time she had touched him. He hated himself for feeling desire—a desire to be touched...by a Temporal woman.

Then he remembered his mission. He had almost forgotten what the High Lady had said. She had commanded him to pretend, to be an actor. He was to pretend to like the Temporal; he was to pretend to want to join them. In his disgust upon seeing the Temporal up close, he had fallen back to the defensive act of seeking spatial and verbal distance from his captors. He must obey. He must act.

“Lady’s nice.” He lifted his head higher, attempting to smile. The flesh that still clung around his mouth cracked slightly. “Hiikarii is good.”

“Good. I’m glad. Is there anything I can get you?”

“Noo, lady. Temporals nice to usss.”

The Temporal woman smiled and removed her hand. He shivered slightly as the warmth vanished and the familiar cold returned.

“Well, Hikari, I have a present for you.”

He lifted his head entirely. He expected the woman to reel back in disgust. The lighting from the hallway was enough to illuminate his features. He could feel what little skin he had warm because of it. It was an incandescent bulb and therefore not painful. Natural light, on the other hand, would induce immediate burning and extreme pain. It was part of the process of removing his humanity. Light gave life; darkness was only embraced by death.

But he realized he wasn’t as fearful of the hall light as before. It was as if her touch was healing him even after contact was lifted.

He noticed that her smile did falter slightly, but it wasn’t from disgust or horror. It was closer to pity, but even that was laced with something else...compassion.

His face was a mixture of pale bone, black, and gray wizened skin. He had no nose to speak of and much of his eye socket had rotted. He couldn’t wait until all of his humanity would rot and fall off. Then he would be free of disgust, pity, and even compassion; he would be free of pain—that was the promise. Then, he would become Perazim—one of the named, respected, and proud—if he survived the initiation ceremony, of course. There were few who did.

“Dear Hikari, please stand.”

She stood and held out her hand. Without a moment’s thought, he gladly took it, eager to feel her warmth again.

He was not disappointed.

A pleasant feeling drifted through him like the sun had as a child, before the Changing. He remembered the snowy days, the bone-chilling cold. He was a kid—once again—running free in the streets of Chicago, throwing snowballs at his little sister. The snowball left a cold that bored through his gloves like nails to a board. And then the sun broke through, blessing and revitalizing all that entered within its healing domain. Her touch was like that.

He stood and his smile returned. This time, it wasn’t forced.

“I think you have been in this room long enough.” She gently pulled his hand and he reluctantly moved toward the door, following the woman.

A tornado of fear whisked away the smile. He was about to enter the hallway; he was about to enter the light. But as he followed, he realized he was not afraid of the light. Not while he was touched by her.

He moved closer to the lady’s side and hugged her leg. He was a diminutive representation of what he once had been. Barely standing to her waist, his humped over stance had his chin just above her knee. She placed her hand on his head. His scalp could feel her warm hands. It was the grandest sensation.

“Let’s go outside.”

At this point, he would do anything this woman said. He hated himself and knew that his spirit was betraying the High Lady, but it was the truth—and besides, if confronted about his actions, he could say he was acting. That had certainly been his intention. The Lady had wanted him to report on all he saw; leaving the room gave him ample opportunity to spy out the Temporal layout, their numbers, and objects they had around, and yet, all he wanted to do was look up at the Temporal woman whose leg he was hugging.

Holding on to her leg loosely and feeling her hand on his head, he hobbled to the door doing his best to match her stride. He could tell it was night. He could almost smell the outside air. He could smell the rich, oxygen-saturated soil.

She opened the door and he dashed outside. He had lost her touch, but the moonlight took the soothing warmth’s place. It was vastly inferior to her touch, but the moon had always been a healer to Nephloc. It was not direct sunlight, after all. Having been depleted of its terrible heat, the pale, blue light was a balm to the Nephloc’s wounds. It allowed them to once again use what remained of their natural sight.

He was suddenly distracted by the smell of a fresh patch of moist dirt and moss. In an instant, he was on the ground, digging. He filled his cupped hands with gloriously rich soil. Holding it up to the holes where his nose had once been, he took it all in, allowing it to spill over his chin and down his chest.

Then a thought crossed his mind. He could escape. He could leave right now. The patch of dirt in front of him—indeed, directly under him—was adequate for travel. He could leave now.

He let his toes sink a few inches into the soil. It was like dipping one’s toes into a cool spring on a blistering summer day—cool, refreshing, cleansing. He stopped. He remembered the lady Suteko’s touch. She was standing a few feet away on the hard concrete just watching. That warmth from her touch was unlike anything he had experienced before. He then remembered the High Lady’s threats and his mission. He pulled his feet back above ground.

“Hiikarii likes. Taaank you.”

Suteko walked behind the creature. Her hand stopped, hovering over his head. She looked on him with intense pity. He had been human once; she was now sure of it. He had been deceived and was now paying the price for his bad decisions. Hikari had his hood down, draping over his back. The few strands of remaining hair made him seem even more pitiable.

“You are welcome, Hikari. And I’m glad you like your name. Of course, if you remember your real name, please tell me.”

Information…
, the creature thought.
The Temporal wants our name. Wee will never give it...

Suteko was slightly taken back by the Nephloc’s sudden change in facial expression. He had seemed so happy to be outside that dark and dank room. But at the mention of his name, his face looked angered.

“It is fine. You don’t have to tell me your name. Hikari is just fine.”

He had a forced smile. “Foorgive usss. Wees want to stay with Temporal.”

For the first time this session, Suteko saw insincerity in his face as he spoke. There was a war within him, but at this moment, Hikari was on Kaileen’s side.

“I’m sorry to cut it short, but if you wish to remain with us, we must go back inside.”

“Yesss, lady.”

With reluctance, the creature followed Suteko back inside and to the same dark room. As she closed the door behind her, he realized he was alone and what he must do. Deep in his pockets, he felt the object. Pulling it out and reinserting the battery, he pushed a button causing a light to shine, softly illuminating the room. It was artificial and did not give off heat. It was not painful, not even to his eyes, but it did give him pause.

The Nephloc held the communications device up close. His fingers felt up and down the metallic rim. His eyes stared at that faint blue light. He stalled, mesmerized by the light. Only a second before, it had been eager to contact the High Lady. But then, he remembered her touch. Suteko, the Temporal, had a healing warmth that he now treasured above anything the High Lady could bestow, even the gift of becoming Perazim. The High Lady had nothing but cold death. She was cold; her grip was cold death; her eyes, deadly.

He put the device back into his cloak.
Yes. Yes. Yes. She can wait.

But then he thought of the pain that awaited him if the High Lady ever discovered that he had not been completely honest with all he knew. He pulled the device out again and summoned his master.

Dr. Bracker had led the investigation into who exactly had authorized Marcus’ detention and while he hadn’t discovered the source, he did manage to recover Marcus’ phone from White House security. Marcus was suspicious of Bracker after hearing General Gordon’s concerns, but he knew that every story has two sides. The man had found the missing phone and he had personally come to the Berkshire House to drop it off with a deep and apparently sincere apology.

The ringing of the recovered phone disturbed Marcus’ daily mediations. He often quieted his mind to listen to the echoes during times of stress or hardship. When all that can be done was done, it was best to listen to the echoes and simply let it all go.

“This is Marcus.”

He hated phones; he despised all technology that kept the mind from peace and freedom—the exceptions were the few machines designed to foster those positive attributes. His beloved automobile, for example, was liberty incarnate.

“Sir, this is Captain Morris, assistant to Admiral Hartling. Five of the planes were successfully boarded. One is due at Joint Base Andrews within the hour.”

“And how many were stopped?”

“Four that we know of.”

“I believe that accounts for all that weren’t called off. I am in contact with most of the others. When it is daylight, I want teams onsite to examine and report. But you must wait until daylight.”

“Understood.”

Marcus’ phone beeped, indicating another call. He looked at the screen to see it was a call from Italy.

“Captain, I have an incoming call.”

Marcus pressed a button and heard someone’s heavy breathing.

“This is Marcus.”

“Marcus, thank God. This is Amato. We were under attack.”

“Amato? Where’s Maro?”

“He...he commanded me to leave without him. I had to obey—I’ve never seen him so insistent. I cannot be sure why, but he had me go while he stayed to fight the attacker.”

“Undoubtedly to save your life and give you a chance to warn us. With your inability to slow time, there is little doubt that without his diversion she would have reached you.”

“She? Marcus, I’m on a pay phone and haven’t much time. I fear for my master’s life.”

“One moment, Amato.”

Placing the call on mute, Marcus yelled for Sam who was in the other room. Sam appeared a second later.

“Sam, Maro in Italy.” Marcus cupped the phone and whispered to Sam, “Is he still alive?”

Sam closed his eyes, wrinkling the outer edges deeper as his concentration progressed. Marcus watched his lips mouth the name over and over again.
Maro...Maro…

“Do you need a map?” Marcus knew his old friend on the phone was nervously waiting; he couldn’t read Sam’s face to know if he was stumped or just needed a few more seconds.

His eyes shut tight, Sam violently shook his upheld hand and continued wordlessly mouthing the name.

Just as Marcus was about to tell Amato he would get back to him, Sam’s eyes opened.

“Yes. He’s alive. I think he’s injured though.”

“Okay, now that you have his signature, monitor him and tell me if you find anything else. Amato, can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Maro is alive. We will send someone to fetch him immediately.”

“Then, he made contact with you?”

“Well, no. We are able to track him and confirm he is alive, but we have not heard from him.”

“Marcus, is that how they were able to find us?”

“No, I’m absolutely sure of it. The leak came elsewhere. Are you positive he hasn’t tried to make contact with you?”

“Yes, I had to go back to his residence to retrieve your number and a few other things. I checked messages and he has not called. I didn’t even know if he was alive. In fact, I feared the worst. Marcus, for the retrieval, can it be someone he trusts? Someone he knows? This military transport was ambushed. Someone in the military must want him dead.”

“Yes, we fear Kaileen has spies in the military. I will arrange something infinitely more discreet. He survived and has battled the demon witch, and we will not rest until he is safe. If he contacts you, tell him to travel during daylight and to fly commercially to DC. You do the same—tell no one. Do not even tell me your flight number or time of arrival. Until we discover the leak, we must be extra careful.”

“Understood. I’m heading to...an airport now.”

“Call only if you absolutely need something. Otherwise, keep your plans to yourself.”

Marcus closed his phone and called everyone to order.

“Listen up,” he said as the other Temporal and Lieutenant Harrison came together. “Maro, our friend in Italy, was attacked by Kaileen. He survived but is probably injured. His closest friend Amato has asked us to find him personally and I agree. At this point the only ones we can trust are in this room. We know that Sam and Suteko are of special interest to our enemies and Catherine is incapacitated. Therefore, in order to protect them, they must remain here. I shall go and bring back Maro.”

“No,” said Ian with a determined look on his face.

Marcus was afraid the group was about to splinter into factions. Ian was not making his intentions easy to read. It seemed certain that there would be another authority challenge.

“No?”

Holding up a pack of cigarettes, Ian pulled out a stick.

“I’ll go.”

Everyone turned to Ian as he leisurely lit the cigarette. He held the cigarette up precisely vertical in front of his face as if to examine the faded red embers.

“I know Maro. He trusts me. And I can get there much faster than you, old man.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Suteko said with a kind of concern in her voice that worried Sam. Her eyes were pleading.

“Time is not on our side. Kaileen knows about where Maro is and will be hunting him. I’m the only one who can get there immediately.”

Suteko was silent, but Sam sensed she was not happy with Ian’s decision. He felt a tinge of jealousy build as he realized she hadn’t been as alarmed when Marcus had said he was going.

“I didn’t want to suggest that,” said Marcus. “But you are the most natural choice. How soon can you leave?”

“Give me a weapon, some currency, a way to communicate with Sam, and a starting point.”

Ian looked at Sam. Sam managed a half smile that ended up looking more like a snarl.

“Just a moment,” said the lieutenant. He ran to his car outside and returned to hand Ian a large phone. “It’s a satellite phone and will work just about everywhere you’ll need to go. Give me a list of countries and fifteen minutes. I’ll prepare any documents and money that you may need.”

With money, local forms of ID, and the phone in hand, Ian stood outside preparing himself. Under his belt, he felt Harrison’s Beretta M9 rub against his back. He would have preferred an armor-piercing rocket launcher, but every ounce mattered. The lighter his equipment, the easier the jump would be.

“Be careful,” said Suteko. Suteko knew what awaited him on the other side, how shock would set in once his molecules rejoined themselves—if they rejoined at all. She had seen Ian do this before, and that was when he was younger and had a steadier mind. She was worried—very worried he would not come out the same.

“I always am.” Ian paused in thought. “Tell Catherine. Well, when she wakes up, tell her...”

Ian closed his eyes.

“Never mind.”

His body immediately started to modulate. It was almost imperceptible at first but every atom within and in contact with his body was in motion; the shifting of molecules increased by the second. Soon Sam was having a hard time focusing in on any part of Ian. He could sense the motion, but Ian was still standing in the same spot—or at least some of Ian was. As time passed, less and less of Ian was there.

Ian would momentarily be in northern Italy, just short of the Swiss border. He had made jumps much farther than this before—but not in the last century.

Suteko had seen him do this in the past. She had also been on the other side to receive him. Tired and broken, it was as if his soul had been ripped apart along with his body. The thought of what this jump could do to an already disturbed Ian horrified her.

The motion of Ian’s molecules soon became too rapid for even the eyes of the Temporal witnessing. There was a low cracking sound and, just like that, he was gone.

Marcus held his phone with a tight grip, waiting for the call. No one said a word. Sam, full of questions and without understanding what just happened, saw the serious expressions and joined the silent vigil. Suteko caught herself holding her breath.

The sudden ring startled even Sam.

“Ian?” Marcus answered before the first ring finished.

“I...I made it.”

For the three Temporal, it had been but a minute. For Ian had seemed much longer.

Once his cells separated, he’d had to herd them in a single direction much like a shepherd would his flock. But for this shepherd, it would be like having to manage a billion sheep while being chased by packs of hungry wolves.

Ian’s gift was the ability to move just under the speed of light. But he often thought of it as more of a curse. Ian was the only Temporal Marcus knew who couldn’t modify the flow of time. While he could move great distances in very little time, it took everything out of him. And as he aged, his accuracy suffered.

A single motion could result in a jump of hundreds or even thousands of miles. It had saved him many times during battle. And more than once, it had enabled him to sneak up on an unsuspecting enemy. Before meeting Suteko, when he was at the top of his game, he could materialize and within ten minutes be cognizant enough to crush the enemy. He had also used his gift, under Marcus’ authority, to aid and initiate new Temporal. His final assignment had been Suteko.

“Ian, this is Sam.” Marcus had given Sam a detailed map of northern Italy. “I see you now. Maro is nearby—perhaps only about ten miles away. He is currently northeast of your position.”

Ian silently cursed. Two hundred years before, he would have been a mere ten feet from Maro.

“Okay. I need to rest. I will contact you again before moving.”

“Understood,” said Marcus as he took possession of the phone. “Contact us when you are able.”

Amato had ended the phone call with Marcus but that did not end his nervousness. He was having trouble breathing. For years, he had suffered from a mild case of emphysema—a condition exacerbated by stress. He was currently experiencing the worst bout with stress in his life.

In all his seventy years, he could not recall a time when he was more fearful for his master’s life or his own. His father and grandfather had stories—tales of daring escapades during both great world wars. But his own service to Maro had been quiet, comfortable, and by comparison, mundane. Now, however, he was alone, separated from his master who, despite Marcus’ words, he believed to be dead.

After driving thirty minutes, he pulled over on the side of the road. Even after the car stopped, his hands remained tightly wrapped about the steering wheel. He had a naturally pale complexion, but looking at his hands, he saw the knuckles of an albino. Slowly, he drew in deeper and deeper breaths until he was able to pry his fingers from the steering wheel.