Mirrored Time (A Time Archivist Novel Book 1) (22 page)

CHAP
TER TWENTY-EIGHT

J
OLTING AWAKE IN
BED, her heart raced with the panic of her dream. She was freezing, her pajamas damp with sweat. The sheets tangled around her feet like the ivy in her dream. With a tired shake of her head, she sat up to grab the sheets, only to stare at her scraped knees and muddy feet.

Her door flew open, and she scrambled to her feet on the mattress, just as Rafe charged into her room. When he saw the room was empty, he ran a hand through his hair, leaning forward to bounce on his toes.

“Sorry. I thought I heard something.”

Gwen pointed to the mud and blood on her knees. “I think you did.” Still standing on her bed, she shifted, aware of the thinness of her shirt. And how the damp material clung to her skin.

His gaze dropped to her knees. “Are you alright?”

Dropping to her bed with a thump, she crossed her arms over her chest in what she hoped was a nonchalant gesture. “Guess so. Hurts a little.” She shrugged one shoulder.

Making a soft sound, as if comforting a distressed animal, he moved closer. “Let me see …” He murmured as he skimmed his hand over the top of her knee.

Her skin burned under his touch. She sucked her breath in and held it, meeting his surprised gaze with wide eyes.

The world faded out around him, until her awareness of him was almost overwhelming. The heat of his skin; the shadow of stubble on his cheeks; the tiny flecks of gold in his eyes. And most of all, the curve of his bottom lip.

The moment was ruined by her hiccupping gasp to draw in breath.

As he snatched his hand from her knee, Gwen watched in fascinated silence as his cheeks turned red.
It’s kind of cute when he does it.

Clearing his throat, he backed away with his hands held high. “I’ll, um, go get breakfast started. Why don’t you get cleaned up?”

He disappeared around the corner before she could say ‘thank you.’ The moments she sat on her bed, staring in bemusement at the empty doorway, would remain her little secret.

When she could move again, she rushed through a shower but took the time to carefully clean and bandage her knees. The scent of coffee beckoned to her like a lover, and she threw on the first clean clothes she could find.

Almost through the door, she caught sight of her reflection. Her hair floated around her head in a messy and snarled halo.
That’s definitely not going to work.
She retraced her steps and spent a little more time making herself into a presentable human being.
Vanity, thy name is Gwen.

Then she thundered down the stairs, following the delicious aroma with the same devotion as a pilgrim heading towards holy ground.

Rafe batted her hands away when she tried to help him make breakfast, fussing around her like an old woman. So she sat at the kitchen table, her fingers curled around a hot mug. They both studiously avoided any mention of what happened in the bedroom. Rafe moved around the small kitchen with familiar ease. Piling up two heaping plates, he plopped one in front of her before sitting down at the table.

“So what do you remember?” The words were barely out of his mouth before he was digging into the heaping plate.

Her lips curled even as she told him about the dream, taking breaks to eat her own pancakes.
Far more delicately, of course. With the impeccable manners of a lady.

She choked on a too big piece of scrambled eggs.

“Do you think it’s part of the other dreams? Maybe the temple was the place you were trying to find when sleepwalking?” he asked around a mouthful of bacon.

She rubbed the lip of her coffee cup. The image from her test flashed in her mind of the shadow figure struggling to escape its prison. “I don’t think so. This was eerie, but I didn’t wake up feeling as terrified as I do from those dreams.”

He hesitated before asking her the next question. “Do you think it was your name?”

“It could have been.”
Although kind of horrifying that it’s on a coffin.
“Maybe I activated my compass. I was thinking about my real parents before I fell asleep.” She remembered what else she had been thinking of, and her gaze darted to Rafe’s lips before she looked away.
Best not to tell him what else I was thinking about.
“Rafe, the coffin, it was old.”

He didn’t seem to notice her embarrassment.
Thank the good Lord.

“What do you mean?”

She licked her lips. “The coffin looked ancient—everything did. If the name was supposed to be mine, if I travelled to where my real parents are buried …” She thought of the broken stone figures with a pang. “… then how am I living here and now?”

With a sigh, he stood up and made his way over to the sink, dumping out his coffee with a forlorn look as it swirled down the drain.

He came towards her, and she gripped her coffee cup protectively. “What are you doing?”

“We need Alistair.”

Alistair was silent, the worry and exhaustion evident in his bowed shoulders. Although she knew none of this was her fault, Gwen wished she could make everything less complicated for the man who was such a solid and dependable presence in her life. She relied so much on his calm logic and quiet concern.
And all I ever do is bring him more bad
news.

He rubbed his hands over his face, fingers rasping against the wiry hair of his beard. “Describe to me again the knife you saw.”

She held her hands about a foot apart. “It was about this long, silver, and the hilt was carved with a language I’ve never seen before.”

Alistair held her gaze, his eyes glowing with intensity. “And you said it disappeared when you touched it?”

Gwen nodded. “And then everything started to fall apart, like the city in the mirror Rafe was trapped in.”

Alistair made a humming noise in his throat.

The silence grew in the room, expanding like a balloon on the cusp of bursting. Rafe jerked up from his seat. “What’s going on, Alistair?” He cleared his throat. “Can you explain any of this?”

“Based on past events, I can speculate at what is occurring, although I can say nothing with any certainty.

Rafe stilled, his restless energy radiating from him like electricity. “Then speculate.”

He nodded, waving for Rafe to sit back down. “Please sit. This is a difficult enough story to tell without you pacing around like a child.”

Alistair didn’t start speaking until Rafe was back in his chair. “Max returned a set of memories to me, which I had asked him to remove a long time ago. I requested he return them to me should certain events ever occur.”

“What memories?” Judging by Alistair’s white-knuckled grip on his chair, Gwen didn’t need to ask whether they were good or bad.

“Among other things, the memories were of my wife’s death.” His voice sounded like it was being raked over gravel.

“How could you not remember how she died?” Rafe asked.

“The removal of my memories prevented me from questioning any blanks in what I remembered.” He dipped his head. “But if you would just let me explain …” He swallowed, making an expression as if the movement was painful.

A muscle in Rafe’s jaw clenched, but he murmured an apology.

“My wife was never a Guardian, although they relied on her to help them with certain events. When a nameless force began wreaking havoc on the time streams, they enlisted her help to find a way to stop him—” He cleared his throat. “—to stop Aeon.”

Rafe was the first to speak, his words exploding from his mouth in an angry rush. “You’ve dealt with Aeon before? And you failed to tell us something this important because?” His voice was scornful. Yet, under the anger, Gwen could detect fear.

Alistair winced, but he inclined his head as if accepting the rebuke. “I only just regained these memories myself. If you can control your outbursts, understandable as they may be …” he made a conciliatory gesture, “… I will tell you what I know.”

“With everything we are up against, it’s difficult to be
calm
.” Rafe said. There was a hidden current to the conversation Gwen could sense but not explain. It was evident in the panic that turned Rafe’s voice rough.

“Please continue, Alistair.” Her voice was soft.

“Although the Council never explained how Aeon could change time, they did explain what would happen should he remain free to continue his reign of terror. My wife and I worked as a team, researching ways to stop Aeon. It was my wife who found an ancient source written by the Archaics. It mentioned an artifact called a Kronos blade and a Tartarus prison. Both weapons were used in the final war between the Archaics. My wife was given the task of finding the blade. The prison was a type of a gateway, so I joined the Guardians in researching how to make such a thing a reality.”

“Since Aeon is trapped behind a mirror, I’m guessing the knife didn’t work.” Rafe said. “Too bad.”

Alistair sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Whatever my wife discovered, she refused to use the blade against Aeon. She convinced the Guardians the prison would be most successful. If each of the Guardians sacrificed a piece of their own power, it should have been enough to create the mirror.”

Gwen didn’t want to ask. “Should have been?”

“It wasn’t enough, of course.” He cleared his throat again. “My wife gave her life to make sure the protections on the mirror would hold. As consolation for my loss, the Guardians gave me control of the Archives.” His tone made it clear he didn’t think it was a fair trade.

“And the memories?” This time Rafe asked the question.

“I asked Max to remove the memory of how the prison was created. I couldn’t risk anyone being able to use the information I knew to set Aeon free. It would have made my wife’s sacrifice meaningless.” Alistair sighed. “Somehow, the protections on the mirror have weakened.”

“Alistair, I cannot begin to express how sorry I am for your loss.” She hated trite words of sympathy. What else was there to say?

He waved his hand, urging her to continue.

“How did the protections weaken? What does any of this have to do with my dream …” She faltered. “… my dream that wasn’t a dream.”

Rafe moved, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees. “And what about the knife?”

Alistair leaned back in his chair, relaxing his grip, and folding his arms over his chest. “I don’t know how the prison has weakened. As for the knife, Gwen, I believe Rafe explained to you how travelers cannot be killed by ordinary means.”

“He did.” However, it still made little sense to her.

“While it is true that we can still be injured, after an appropriate length of time, dependent on the injury, our bodies will heal themselves. There are, of course, weaknesses we possess, one of which being injury from a certain type of weapon,” Alistair said.

Rafe’s voice was low and worried. “The knife.”

“My wife discovered the true power of the Kronos blade, a knowledge she shared with me. The blade can overcome the magic of what we are and counteract whatever protections are weaved into our blood.”

“If it’s so powerful, why didn’t you use it to kill Aeon?” Gwen asked.

Alistair’s face was grim. “Believe me, Gwen, it was the option that I wished to pursue. However, I was overruled by both the Council and, more importantly, my wife. There was fear that the knife would not be powerful enough, so the prison was chosen over more direct methods.” He shrugged. “I still would have liked to be given the option to test the blade.”

“If the knife can counteract whatever protections we have in our blood, then by the same logic, could it counteract whatever protections were woven into the mirror? I know the knife disappeared when I touched it.” Her mind made the connection. “What if that mausoleum was another trap, and Aeon is trying to get me to find the Kronos blade. Your wife was a Locator, like me?”

“Yes.” Alistair’s expression was pained.

“Then I could find the blade, too.”

“Just so.” The room was quiet except for a soft curse of Rafe’s and the steady clicking of a clock on the mantle. Although it must have pained him to say such words, there was no hesitancy in his voice. “I believe it is time we speak with the Council.”

They all spoke little after Alistair’s solemn declaration. He led them to a room adorned with a single mirror. Aeon’s presence wasn’t affecting it like all the other mirrors.

There was something unnerving about the small mirror after all the other broken ones.
What made this mirror so special?
Aeon’s traps had been successful every time.
What if this is just another
trap?

Alistair’s face was gray and drawn. Even Rafe looked worried. She didn’t want to add another worry to the already endless list weighing down their shoulders. Plus, it was probably all in her mind. After all, she was the one who kept falling for Aeon’s deceptions. It was doubtful her gut instinct had any credibility anymore.
Look at my track record.

When Alistair activated the gateway, she followed him without a word. When the liquid silver snaked up her arm, a shudder ran down her spine.

C
HAPTER TWENTY-NINE

T
HE BUILDING IN
FRONT of them was plain and nondescript, not the type of architectural setting Gwen would have expected a secretive order of time travelers to gather in. Heavy rain poured down on them, but Alistair was frozen where he stood. It was Rafe who made the first move, opening the door and motioning them inside.

The interior wasn’t any more welcoming—cement walls, gray linoleum flooring. It reminded Gwen of a bunker more than anything. Perhaps, in the current situation, it was wise for the Guardian Council to be hiding in such a place.

They walked to a row of elevators, feet echoing in the empty space. With a soft ding, an elevator arrived, and they went inside the small car. Instead of a row of lights, there was a single button, which Rafe pressed. When the elevator started to move, the car lurched downwards.

Alistair still hadn’t spoken. In the reflection of the elevator, she could see the distorted image of his face. It looked as grim as she felt. She tried to think of everything she knew about the Guardians.

Cassian was the political firebrand, angry, vicious, and against Alistair in every way. Although he was only a pawn in the hands of a more powerful force. The twin monks, Jacob and Joshua, were more eerie than anything. She wouldn’t make the mistake of underestimating them. Nothing was ever just as it seemed anymore.

And then there was Max. Out of all the Guardians, he was the only one she trusted. Instead of trying to achieve his own political agenda, he was concerned about the dangers of the black mirror. She hoped the rest of the council members were more like him.

The elevator was still moving downward, and she shifted on her feet. She hated elevators. Rafe moved closer and took her hand. She smiled, thankful for the show of support.

The further the elevator descended, the more her anxiety grew. She remembered the mausoleum from the dream, the way the knife disappeared at her touch and the destruction of the mirrors in the Archives. There was no connecting link that she could verbalize, although she knew they were all tied together. Now, on her way to meet a group who made Alistair uncomfortable, her anxiety only grew.

The elevator ground to a jarring stop and the doors slid open with a mechanical hiss to reveal a large stone cavern. Gwen couldn’t think of any other word to describe it. Now here was the setting she expected to find the Guardians in.

As they stepped from the modern world into some far-gone era, Gwen marveled at her surroundings. The vaulted stone ceiling soared above them, carved with the same inspiration as a gothic cathedral. Even though the echoing stone was weathered with age, in observance to modern technology, the walls were fitted with electric lights.

Rafe’s hand tightened around hers. “Abandon hope, all ye who enter here.”

Alistair’s customary raised eyebrow was in place, but he radiated a nervous energy unlike him. “Sounds about right.”

At the soft sound of feet gliding over stone, Alistair turned to face the mouth of the corridor. “Here come the infantry.” With his arms crossed over his chest and his feet firmly placed, Alistair reminded her more of a world-weary knight than a soft-spoken academic.

Out of the gloom, the hooded figures of Brothers Jacob and Joshua approached them. Their gray figures further emphasized the gothic feeling of the surroundings. She wondered if it was a good sign the monks, and not Cassian, were sent to greet them. When their pale eyes, glinting from under their cowls, met hers, she shivered.
Perhaps not such a good sign after
all.

With unblinking gazes, they spoke, this time in unison and not in the weaving pattern she was used too. “The Council has been summoned, as requested. They wonder at the vanity of an Archiver who speaks with such power of command. Perhaps the roles created by the gods themselves have been reversed?” They turned their gaze to Alistair.

Instead of bowing under their hostility, he seemed to grow taller. “As welcoming as this all is, perhaps we can skip this little chat and proceed to the council?”

Gwen’s eyes widened, and she heard Rafe turn a laugh into a cough. Maybe Alistair was spending too much time with the younger man.

Another form materialized out of the dark. And when Gwen recognized Max, the tension bled from her shoulders. “As Guardian, I offer my protection over these travelers. In accordance with tradition, they must be given fair hearing.”

The monks spoke. “As you wish.” As one, they turned to walk with the muffled steps down the stone pathway. “Come this way.”

They fell in step behind the monks, Max whispering to them as they walked. “Someone failed to invite me to this little party. Alistair’s lucky he still has support on the Council.” A light glowed at the end of the path. Max lowered his voice further. “I’m not sure what we will walk into, but I will do my best to make sure you leave unscathed.”

The room they found themselves in was awe inspiring in its immensity. Gwen had thought the hallway’s ceilings were high. This room was towered over by a vaulted dome of such size that it was impossible to imagine the effort it must have taken to carve. The dome was stunning in its simplicity, carved with inlaid geometrical patterns that reminded Gwen of the ceiling of the Pantheon in Rome.

Then there was the flooring. It was made of smooth, cold marble of a thousand colors. It swirled and twisted in a complex pattern running like a river to the front of the room. For all the color that swirled at her feet, however, the room was an eerie place, devoid of any warmth or hope. It was filled with a waiting hush. The skin between Gwen’s shoulder blades itched with the feeling of being watched. The presence felt ancient.
And
angry.

On a raised platform sat a semicircle of ornate chairs, all of various colors and styles. Half of the chairs were empty, and the three seated individuals differed from each other in looks as much as the chairs. It was the middle figure that held Gwen’s attention.

His white hair was cut close to his skull, and his beard was just as severe. He sat ramrod straight, every inch of his posture screamed military background. When they first entered the room, he was speaking to Cassian, who stood at his side, looking up at him with an obedient expression.

When they walked towards the raised dais, the man’s ice-cold eyes met hers with a hostility that made her shiver. His gaze travelled over her body with a hungry contempt, and when he looked away, Gwen was left with the distinct impression she had been found lacking. The man ignored Rafe, and when his gaze settled on Alistair, they were full of mocking disdain.

“Alistair.” His voice was as cold as his pale blue eyes. “What a pleasant reunion.”

Alistair stopped in front of the chairs, nothing subservient in his stiff posture. “Solomon.” The name was clipped short, as if Alistair wanted to say it as quickly as possible. “I thought the entire Council would be gathered.”

Solomon shifted in his chair, looking down on them with all the bored superiority of a king. “Perhaps you wish to explain why you think you have the authority to demand this little meeting. You should be lucky that three of us condescended to answer your call to arms.”

Cassian turned to study them, his lips curling in a self-satisfied smirk. He sat down at Solomon’s feet, sitting back as if to enjoy the show between the two older men.

“Events have been set into motion that need to be addressed. The black mirror—”

Solomon interrupted him. “The black mirror? And you would be the expert to address us on such a subject? I would have thought that after what happened to your wife, you would be more hesitant to approach us with such a topic.” His smile was cruel and dark. “After all, it was your refusal to follow our plan that led to her death, was it not?”

So shocked by the allegation, Gwen opened her mouth to defend Alistair. Max placed his hand on her arm, and she looked at him in surprise. He shook his head, and she swallowed the angry denials that rose hot in her throat.

Alistair stiffened as if reeling from a physical blow. “What happened to—”

A tall woman stood, a frown marring her beautiful features. Flicking her long black hair behind her shoulder, she stepped off the platform and moved to stand next to Alistair. “Now is not the time to revisit such painful events. If the Archiver has approached us with a problem, perhaps we should listen to what he has to say instead of making unfounded accusations.”

Solomon leaned forward in his chair, eyes crackling with angry energy. “Unfounded? If your Archiver would have listened to us and lent his power to our cause, the blood of his precious wife wouldn’t still stain the—”

“Enough!” A shudder ran through Alistair’s frame.

The invisible presence felt gleeful. Gwen moved closer to Max, as if hoping to steal warmth from his tall frame.

“What happened in the past is no longer an issue. The protections around the black mirror are weakening now. It is something that must be dealt with.” A raw pain deepened Alistair’s voice.

A smaller Asian man, young and handsome, shifted in his chair. “You say the past is not an issue. Yet in the same breath, you tell us the protections of the mirror are weakening. You ask us to believe your refusal to join us so long ago has nothing to do with what is happening now?”

The dark-haired woman spoke, her voice patrician and cold. “Just because a few may purport to believe a certain theory about the past, Delun, does not make it true. Alistair warned us our individual sacrifices would not be enough to enforce the protections. He was right. Should we believe he was the determining factor? That his power was stronger than all of ours combined?”

Solomon leaned back in his chair. His face looked carved from stone. “Once again, you defend the Archiver, Moira, and once again, I ask: Do not your own personal feelings color your perception of the truth?”

Moira’s pale cheeks colored and her jaw clenched. Her voice was clear when she spoke. “Do they not color yours?”

Solomon jerked from his seat, his hand pointing at the woman before him. “You presume to question—”

Max stepped forward, his hands spread out before him. He moved over to stand next to Alistair, his tone respectful. “The past was a tragedy, and, as the Guardians teach, something that cannot be undone. The future, however, has not yet been set in stone. If the presence in the black mirror can be stopped, then that is worth overcoming old prejudices.”

Moira nodded at the dark-skinned man and, with a last look at Alistair, walked back to her chair. Solomon was quiet. With a flare of his nostrils, he sat down heavily.

Delun spoke, his gaze sliding uneasily over Solomon. “Archiver, if you would tell us why you’ve come …?”

Alistair shifted. And by the tense set of his jaw, Gwen wondered if he would refuse to speak. But in a firm voice, he began. He spoke of the destruction of the mirrors, of the trap set out for Rafe, and of Gwen’s own experiences in the mausoleum with the knife. Alistair was careful not to make any mention of her nightmares.

When Alistair finished, Solomon spoke, his tone mocking. “How do we know it is not her presence in the Archives that has let this thing free?”

Alistair stepped forward ready to speak. Max put a comforting hand on his shoulder and he closed his mouth. At the same time, Rafe stepped in front of her, as if shielding her from view would protect her from the naked hatred on Solomon’s face. Gwen wondered what she had done to deserve such hate from a man she had just met.

It was Moira who spoke next. “The connection is clear for anyone to see.”

Gwen’s brow furrowed.
What connection?
She moved to step around Rafe, but he held her back with a gentle arm. She looked at him, and he shook his head, urging her to stay silent.

“The connection cannot be overcome, although the protections can still be strengthened. If we were to repeat the original ceremony—”

Solomon interrupted Alistair. “The one that left your wife dying at your feet?”

Gwen thought Alistair’s jaw would break. “Please.” His gaze didn’t waver from Solomon’s. “What happened before cannot happen again. The original process should work to strengthen what has been put in place. It was my wife’s sacrifice that created the prison. Such a thing should not be necessary to fix what has been weakened.” He looked at each of the council members. “Please, do not let the past repeat itself. We have all lost too much.”

Solomon smiled. “Apparently not all of us.” He looked at Gwen.

Rafe broke his silence, and his voice was filled with all the mocking derision that Solomon’s held. “Authority and I have never gotten along, but I’ve never seen a greater bunch of antiquated hypocrites as you bunch. You pretend to serve the time streams, to offer your lives to protect those who know no better. Yet your pettiness and spite prevent you from seeing the danger when it is right in front of your face.”

Solomon glared. “Careful, boy. You have no power here. We tolerate you because of Alistair. Do not delude yourself into believing our tolerance is boundless.”

Rafe laughed. “You think I’m afraid of you? You think you have so much power because you sit where you do? Alistair believed you would help him stop what is coming. Apparently, he was wrong.” He laughed again, shaking his head in disbelief. “I’ve never seen a weaker group—”