The Loved and the Lost

Book #3 of
The Verona Trilogy

Lory S.
Kaufman

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

The Fiction Studio
P.O. Box 4613
Stamford, CT 06907

Copyright © 2012 by Lory Kaufman

Cover design and graphics by G.M. Landis Marketing

Print ISBN-13: 978-1-936558-53-7
E-book ISBN-13: 978-1-936558-54-4

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www.fictionstudiobooks.com

All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as provided by U.S.
Copyright Law. For information, address
The Fiction Studio.

First Printing: February 2013

Printed in The United States of America

For my children;
Jessica, Luke and Daniel

Once again, I'd like to thank my main editor, Lou Aronica, for his steady hand in guiding me through the first two books in
The Verona Trilogy,
The Lens and the Looker
and
The Bronze and the Brimstone
. His skills and experience was doubly important in the final book, helping make sure it kept the same intensity, making sure the characters remained fresh while maturing, and that it all ended in a satisfying way. It could have all been crazy-making, but Lou said just the right things at the right time and I thank him. Also, much gratitude and admiration is again due to my daughter, Jessica, for doing the first line editing, and also Virginia Bartley, for doing a great job on the copyediting on the final book. Also, my readers, Joanne Blais, author Tom Taylor and teacher Stephanie Taylor were invaluable in making sure I had a smooth-reading story.

Hansum had been watching his younger self for about an hour when Arimus said,

“See, my boy, it's not so hard,
and after a while it doesn't seem so odd.”

The elder from the 31
^st
-century was right. When Hansum arrived in his own past and saw his ten-year-old self playing in the commons of his 24
^th
-century home village, he got the oddest sensation. He felt queasy and dizzy. But as Arimus predicted, those sensations were soon replaced with a growing sense of what had made Hansum the young adult he now was.

“Self-knowledge, my boy, self-knowledge,” Arimus explained.
“You will go back in time and discover the whys and wherefores
that made your present therefores.”

The first lecture Hansum attended at the new History Camp Time Travel University was about students going back to see themselves during key childhood events. The aim was to rid these time-travel candidates of unresolved childhood issues.

“After all,” the visiting A.I. professor from the 31
^st
-century said, “on your travels through time, you will see many disturbing things, things that just don't happen in our modern worlds. Only strong, centered individuals will be able to accept and navigate through the less-than-civilized cultures of the past.”

“But I've experienced hard stuff,” Hansum said to Arimus after the class. “I survived the black plague, medieval battles with cannons, fights with poleaxes and swords, poisoners, lying, cheating and beatings. Can't I skip this part of the course and just get on with going back and saving Guilietta?”

“Calm, Hansum, be composed,” Arimus urged.
“You must be of calm and sound mind
in the new History Camp Time Travel Corps.
Your experiences in the past could be
an advantage to your advancement
or speed your exit out its door.
And there is no need for haste.
The past isn't going anyplace.”

So, Hansum practiced patience. Or at least the appearance of it. He became a model student, both academically, which surprised his family and past teachers, as well as physically. Those who aspired to be agents of History Camp's newly-formed Time Travel Council were put through an incredibly tough physical regimen. And now here he was with Arimus, on his first
official
trip back in time, observing his younger self.

The two hovered, slightly out of time phase, and thus unseen by his younger self. They watched in amusement as the ten-year-old Hansum once again stole out of his home without the knowledge of Charlene, his A.I. nanny. The older Hansum then heard his mentor chuckle.

“Oh my, look, my boy.
Approaching is a favorite scene of you.
Let's watch your younger self respond,
and see how actions of one day, lead to habits far beyond.”

“Oh, for Gia sakes!” Even Hansum had to smile.

The younger version of himself, already standing aloof and self-assured, was now puffing out his chest and assuming an even more affected posture. That's because two girls, thirteen-year-old Annadella and fourteen-year-old Darma, were walking up the path toward him. Hansum, at a mere decade, was tall for his age, as tall as these girls and, as soon as they got to him, each kissed him on opposite cheeks. The older Hansum chuckled at an episode he remembered, but was now seeing from a more mature perspective. The younger Hansum slid an arm around each slim, girlish waist and the three headed off to a stand of trees. The girls giggled and Hansum, like a peacock, strutted regally along.

The older Hansum stared at the girls, especially precocious Darma. Hansum remembered her through his ten-year-old eyes as so much more developed and womanly. But here she was, a long-legged and skinny child. But her eyes still looked the same, dangerous and potent.

Hansum remembered what happened next and looked up the path toward home. There she was. Charlene, Hansum's A.I. nanny, was steaming into view. He watched this memory-come-to-life, as the yellow orb caught up to his boyhood self and used her energy field to separate him from the girls.

Annadella and Darma giggled, but because Hansum didn't act embarrassed about being pulled away by his nanny, it made him even more worthy of pursuit. He watched his boyish self lock gazes with Darma, and saw how her piercing eyes seemed to say to him, ‘later'. He smiled his agreement and the edges of her lips went up. Their eyes remained locked as he was ushered away up the slate walkway.

The older Hansum and Arimus, out of phase and unseen, used the technical abilities of Arimus's A.I. cloak and began floating five feet from Charlene and the boy.

“I don't like that Darma's eyes,” they heard Charlene say to the younger Hansum.

The older Hansum remembered what his younger self thought about that comment.

‘I
do
like her eyes, and I'll be looking at them again tonight.'

Hansum perceived Arimus looking at him, but couldn't take his eyes off this vision from his past.

“Once your family knew their praises for your looks and talents
had gone to your head in the wrong way,
they modified their indulgences.
But their influence had flown.
Time would have to smooth the sharp edges
you had grown.
Time and . . . History Camp.”

Hansum started to say something. He opened his mouth, paused, and then closed it again. He continued watching Charlene cajole and push his younger self up the walkway.

“Once again it's time to fly,”

The elder placed his hand on Hansum's shoulder

“May I?”

Hansum nodded.

A moment later they were falling through a whirling vortex. They didn't have to jump into this one. Instead, a large cylinder of the Sands of Time streamed up from the ground and enveloped them. They fell in a controlled fashion through heavy air, moving their arms to keep balanced. As this was such a short trip through time it took only a few seconds before Hansum felt his feet touch solid ground. Looking around, he saw was back in the study of the home Arimus used when visiting the 24
^th
-century. Before them was a Mists of Time viewer, upon which was the scene they just left.

“I was such a little brat,” Hansum said, chuckling. “I can't remember if Charlene caught me later that night.”

“To this you can be witness. Observe.”

Arimus waved a hand in front of his Mists of Time viewer. The image broke up into a blur of tiny cubes and then reformed. It showed the scene later that night when ten-year-old Hansum quietly got off his levitation mattress and stole out of the house. The older Hansum shook his head as he watched the foolishness. The door to Arimus's study opened.

“Ah, look who's here,” Arimus said.
“Lincoln, welcome.
But Hansum, do you wish to share
the sight of this childish affair?”

“What? Oh, sure. It's kinda funny.”

“Though laughter is not what does grace your face.”

Lincoln entered and, standing next to Hansum, looked up at the hollow in the wall which housed the three-dimensional image. The youthful Hansum was once again sneaking out of his house and running, a big smile on his face, across the village commons toward the woods.

“Hey, you were a cute kid,” Lincoln said. “What were you there, twelve?”

“Nah, ten.”

“Hmmph,” the diminutive, though now well-muscled, Lincoln answered.

As young Hansum entered the woods, a girl's hand shot out from behind a tree and grabbed him. It was Darma.

“Holy Gia!” Lincoln said. “No way she's ten.”

“Thirteen,” Hansum said.

“Hey there, Hansum,” Darma said, taking a step very close to the younger boy.

“Hey, Darma,” the relaxed, self-assured ten-year-old Hansum answered. He didn't look anxious to start his petting session with Darma, who very obviously was. She looked at Hansum with her wicked and flirtatious smile. She stepped closer, her lips a whisper's breath from his. But Hansum didn't move. He just stood there, smiling and staring right back at the teenage girl. She then giggled and kissed him hard, quickly pulling back. They both laughed and Darma took the very young Hansum by the hand and pulled him further in the woods.

“Perchance we've seen enough,” Arimus suggested.

“Hey, it's just getting good,” Lincoln teased.

“Just puppy love,” Hansum said, turning and facing his friend.

“Oh, I think it probably got a little sportier that that,” Lincoln chuckled. Hansum shrugged, and there was a hint of embarrassment in his demeanor. “Don't sweat it, old buddy,” Lincoln said. “Just yesterday I got a load of my own behavior from just over a year ago. That sure put things in perspective.”

“I'm sure I don't have to mention,
This is the whole of the exercise's intention,” Arimus said.

“Where's Shamira?” Hansum asked. “I thought she was coming with you.”

“She's here, but someone followed her like a puppy dog. A very big puppy dog. Man, it's like those two are attached at the hip. They went to the community garden, saying they wanted to see the bee hives being brought out for pollination, but I think that was just a whatchamacallit, a euphemism.”

“Ah, yes, the sculptor, Kingsley,” Arimus recalled.
“I've heard the good word.”

“Yep,” Lincoln answered.

“Another artist?” Hansum asked. “I thought Shamira would have learned her lesson with Starini. Where'd she meet this one?”

“Kingsley Fine is a sculptor in
the same History Camp art historian course
as our Shamira,” Arimus said.
“You'll not find him of the same low character as Master Starini.
He's talented and a gentleman of the first order.”

“And he's hot,” Lincoln added.

“You think he's hot?” Hansum laughed.

“Don't get me wrong,
muchacho
. He doesn't do it for me that way. But let's say he makes you look average. Taller, bigger, and besides an artist, a real athlete. Champion rugby player, planet-wide. And he's a nice guy.”