Keeper of the Black Stones (12 page)

“I have no right to ask you this, but if there's any chance to save my son, any way to make him see reason…” Doc must have shaken his head, because Fleming stopped mid-sentence.

“He's not coming back, is he?” he asked quietly.

Doc cleared his throat before he spoke. “John, I've tried. You know that I've tried. I don't know what he's doing, or why. But I truly believe that your son has made his decision. And I think that his actions are probably going to change the course of time.”

I waited until Doc and his friend left the house, then stumbled up the stairs to the surface. The vibrations in the ground were back, and it was freaking me out. They beat through my body, and made me feel likeas though my heart wasn't my own. It also felt as though something was calling to me. I didn't know what it was, but I didn't like it. I wanted to get away from the house, as quickly as possible. The basement opened up on the side of the house, so I didn't have to worry about running into them in the driveway. I looked around anyhow, wary of any sign of my grandfather, and quickly started the short walk to Paul's house. My mind was reeling, and my knees didn't want to support my legs. The passages in the journal might just be real. Doc might not be crazy, but completely sane. And shockingly casual about the reality he faced – government conspiracies, break-ins, a hypersensitive historical secret. A gateway into history. And a madman intent on taking advantage of all those things.

While my mind raced through the dangerous possibilities, and my place in the situation, my feet found their way down two blocks and over to the next street. I arrived at Paul's house without any memory of getting there, and found him in the yard raking up the leaves.

Paul glanced up at my dazed face, then did a double take. “What's wrong
with you?” he asked.

“I just heard the most unbelievably bizarre conversation of my life. And the scariest part is that I believe it's 100 percent true.”

Paul raised both eyebrows in surprise. “I assume you're going to give me a bit more to go on.”

“I overheard my grandfather talking to a friend of his a few minutes ago.”

“And…” Paul paused, waiting for an answer.

“Give me the most outrageous thing you can think of.”

“Like you actually hooking up with Beth Alger?” Paul asked. He smiled at the joke, but his grin died when I didn't smile back.

“Not even close,” I muttered. I proceeded to tell him everything, my words coming quicker as I talked. I started with the journal and went on to my conclusions, then pulled that into Doc's unexpected visit to our school today. I described what I'd heard in the basement. Every word of it. On the walk over, I'd decided that I couldn't handle something like this on my own. It was too big. Too complex, regardless of whether it was true or not. I needed Paul's quick mind and easy logic. Most of all, I needed his support. And I thought I might burst if I didn't tell him quickly.

“I don't know what to do,” I finished, fifteen minutes later. “But I think that I have to do
something
.”

Paul stood back and nodded his head, cataloguing the diatribe. He took several minutes with it, his eyes on the ground, in the trees, anywhere but on me. I held my breath, wondering if he was going to believe what I'd said.

Then he smiled again. “Time travel would not have been my first guess. I think you got me on that one.”

I shook my head, but felt a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. “Well at least I caught you off guard. But what am I going to do?”

Paul threw his arm around my shoulders and tugged me back toward my house. “I have absolutely no idea. But we'll figure something out. We always do.”

7

D
oc watched his friend's limousine drive out of view, then turned and made his way back to the kitchen table, where he sat down heavily. He poured himself a cup of coffee from the carafe and leaned back in the comfortable chair. His conversation with John Fleming had brought up a range of unwelcome emotions. When first introduced to the stones, he had thought that they promised proof of his Ribbon Theory, grand adventure, and an opportunity to touch the world as he never had before. To know the truth about what had happened in history, not just opinions distorted by time and personal bias, but actual fact. Now … everything had happened so quickly over the past three and a half months that he hardly knew what to think. For him, time had lost all meaning. Rather, it had taken on a whole new meaning. The most recent trip had marked nearly seventeen years spent in the past, though it had been only four months here. He still didn't understand the time conversion, though he was working on it. Either way, it meant that he had spent years in the past, compared to only months in the present. In many ways, he felt more comfortable there than he did here, at this point. There he had men, an army, power … a mission. There, he was working to save the world. Here, he was just another retired professor. A smart one, but still no one important. These were things that he could not explain to John, no matter how many times he tried. The confusion, the responsibility, the exhaustion…

Doc took another sip of coffee and examined the porcelain cup closely. This small teacup, so simple and unimportant, was just another example of something he'd always taken for granted. Something that John Fleming still took for granted. Simple forms of wealth. He looked around the small kitchen, noting the refrigerator, stove, and coffee maker. Integral parts of everyday life in the present, and yet people had survived quite well without
them, once. Once, things had progressed without that technology, according to a natural order.

The old man closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep, steadying breath. Everything was so different in the past. John thought that he was asking simple questions: how is my son? What is he doing? Can he be saved? Yet the truth … the truth was far from simple. Nicholas Fleming had changed his name to Lord Dresden several years ago, and had long forgotten his father and family. He, too, had stepped into a position of power, and used it to manipulate and twist those around him. He wanted to manipulate time itself, to serve his will. Doc hadn't been able to uncover the man's ultimate plans, but even if he did, he knew that he'd never be able to explain them to John. He also knew that he'd never be able to save Dresden. The last time the two met–the last time Doc had tried to save him–Dresden had almost succeeded in killing him. Doc closed his eyes and remembered. On that day, he'd thought that his luck had finally run out.

It was raining, but the heat rising from the ground made central England feel more like the South Pacific. The forest, which had received twice as much rainfall as usual in the past two months, was choked with overgrown brush and mud. Tree limbs flush with leaves arched skyward, creating a heavy canopy. The resulting gloom made following the small path nearly impossible. The Earl slapped at an insect the size of a small bird and cursed fifteenth-century travel, wondering about his decision to hunt down Lord Dresden. Then he shook his head. Second-guessing himself was becoming a bad habit, and it would get him in trouble at some point.

Suddenly Trigva brought his horse to an abrupt halt and held up his right hand. All forty-seven of the Earl's men followed Trigva's lead, and the column came to a shuffling halt. For nearly a minute no one spoke or moved, while Trigva remained rigid and vigilant, listening.

The Earl took the moment of silence to put his emotions in check. As the leader of the men he had to remain calm, no matter the situation, no matter the place. No matter how fiercely he questioned himself. He glanced up at the treetops, and saw that the clouds had moved on toward the south. Water continued to spill off the leaves, giving his men–and their horses–no respite, but at least they would get no more rain.

A twig snapped to his left, and he jumped. He had been warned on numerous occasions not to venture this deep into Chelmsford Forest, but on this occasion he'd had little choice. Sometimes risks had to be taken, the request of a friend had to be met. Sometimes blood had to be spilled. Fleming had asked him to save his son, and he felt that he had to try. Just once more.

After several minutes of waiting, the old warrior legged his horse forward several feet to reach Trigva.

“What do you see, my friend?” The Earl pitched his voice low, knowing the danger of the situation.

Trigva kept his eyes on the path in front of him and continued to listen, alert for any change in the scenery. “We're being watched, my Lord,” the large Dane replied quietly.

The Earl said nothing, though the hair on the back of his neck rose. Trigva was only telling him what he'd already realized–in trying to do the right thing, he'd walked right into a trap. There would be no escape from this forest. Not without bloodshed. He tried to look into the woods, but could see only swaying branches and tree trunks. He didn't have Trigva's senses as a tracker, and could hear nothing more than the hollow sound of the wind passing through the leaves and rushing over the path. Trigva's instincts were uncannily accurate, though, and the Earl hoped that his lieutenant knew where the enemy was. This man could smell trouble a mile away, and had saved his commander more than once.

“Dresden?” the Earl asked, speaking more to himself than to Trigva.

“Someone,” Trigva said with certainty. He continued to stare into the trees.

“Why don't we-”

The Earl's words were broken by a sharp whistling as arrows suddenly sliced through the air. A horrific scream sounded through the forest, and the Earl turned to see one of his men grab his chest and tumble backwards off his horse. Before he could register what had happened, another arrow cut through the evening air to rip through leather, cloth, and armor, and bury itself in the rib cage of one of the squires.

“SHIELDS!” the Earl shouted instinctively. He reached over his knee to grab his own wooden shield and pull it from the saddle. The heavy object came up to cover his chest and head just before another volley of arrows arrived. He felt the impact of at least four arrows as they met the surface of the shield.

“DISMOUNT and COVER!” someone shouted from the back of the column.

Horses screamed in panic as the men shouted warnings to one another. The Earl swung his leg over to dismount, but felt his horse stumble and rock back under him. The mare thrashed and began to fall, two arrows lodged deep in her neck. She was dead before she hit the ground.

The Earl jumped free of the animal as she fell, and found two of his knights already at his side. They grabbed his arms and ran for the cover of the forest, shielding his body with their own, and holding their shields before them.

When they got to deeper cover, the Earl saw that most of his men were already there. Trigva, along with several other knights, organized the soldiers, while the medics–new to this world and trained by the Earl–tended to the wounded. Arrows continued to rain down on the Earl's men for several minutes, peppering the path that they'd just traveled. Then they stopped, quite suddenly. No one moved or breathed. The trap was sprung, but now they must wait on their enemy to show himself.