The Loved and the Lost Page 9

  “All right then,” Marcon said. “Bill, besides your fight with Hansum being a mismatch, why were you so nervous? You knew your suit would protect you.”

  “When I saw that sharp edge coming at my neck, I just had a visceral reaction, I guess.” Bill said this, reliving the moment with a shudder. “But what really freaked me out was Hansum’s scar. When he touched it, I saw the Mists of Time Chronicle replay in my head, when Feltrino just stuck his blade,” he winced, “right through him . . . and laughed. And to see the results of that in person, it gives me the willies.”

  “Thanks for being so forthcoming, Bill,” Journeyman Marcon said, and then turned to Hansum. “I’ve noticed how you use that little scar trick before each bout.” Hansum gave a little smile. “Very effective . . . on a beginner. Do you think it would have any effect on . . . Feltrino say?” The smile on Hansum’s mouth reversed for a second, and then it reappeared.

  “Probably not, sir,” Hansum said. “It doesn’t with Alba either.”

  “Exactly,” Marcon said. “And I’d lose that other little thing you do, flipping your sword around. This is not a sporting class. There’s no point system. We teach real combat. It’s only blood and severed limbs that count. If any of you ever meet an opponent for real, you can’t be worrying about big ugly scars, or any other bluffs. A show of fierceness is not only to scare you, it’s a distraction. Half way through making a face, opponents may lunge,” he said jabbing his sword right at Larry, catching him off guard and stabbing him hard in the gut. “Zzwwitt!” He doubled over, a new red circle appearing. “And then sometimes they may act calm, so you don’t know what skills they have.” He said this taking a few nonchalant steps, and then swung his blade at Alba. Her wrist and arm moved effortlessly to parry or deflect the blow. “Very good,” he complimented.

  “Thanks,” she answered, and then winked at Hansum.

  “So train, be calm and don’t do anything stupid,” Marcon continued. “Because to do otherwise is to die or end up like this . . .” he said moving to Hansum and pulling down the neck of his tunic, “Or this,” he added, holding up his arm. Just below his wrist, Marcon sported his own scar. It completely encircled his forearm, where his wrist and hand had been reattached. “Training is teaching the body to do things automatically in emergencies. Okay, day after tomorrow we’re going to History Camp Castle Mamure. We’ll review fighting on parapets and long stone steps, plus review castle and fort design. Meet here at 05:00 and we’ll transport there together.”

  “Zippidy,” Larry exclaimed. “They’ve got a great Mussulman night club there!”

  “Yea! Party time!” Marta cried, waving her blade.

  Then all the other teens but one shouted. “All for one!” and they hoisted their weapons into a circle.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Hansum said calmly. “I won’t be able join you. I’ve got to make myself available for that Time Travel Council hearing . . . about the incident. I’m taking a transport to the capital in about an hour.”

  “Oh man, you don’t come to any of our parties,” Marta complained.

  “Yeah, but good luck,” Bill said, putting out his hand. “We’ll all be watching.”

  “It’s just a small meeting with Council elders. No big deal,” Hansum said.

  Hansum felt a hand on his arm. He looked and saw Alba’s long, shapely fingers grasping his bicep firmly. “But you’re coming back to class, aren’t you? I have to give you a chance to get even.”

  “I’ll be back,” Hansum said plainly.

  “Okay then, everyone go home,” Marcon said. “Hansum, can you spare a moment?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  The teens disbursed, all wishing Hansum well. He saw that Alba stopped and stood about fifty meters away, in the shade of a tree. She turned and stared patiently.

  “So, Hansum,” Marcon started. “Because of your situation, I’ve been keeping an eye on you.”

  “It seems everyone has, sir.”

  “Yes, you’ve become a bit of a celebrity. But also, you’ve been working extremely hard both physically and academically. After going through what you have, the new heart and all, most people would take a break.”

  “Have there been any problems with my performance or attitude, sir?”

  Marcon shook his head slowly, continuing to stare intently at Hansum. “On the contrary, your physical recovery is excellent. As for your emotions, you are always very . . . controlled.” Hansum looked at him, steadily. “One curious thing has been noted, though.”

  “What’s that, sir?”

  “Your family. Apparently you’ve been avoiding them. Any reason?”

  ‘Darned History Camp,’ Hansum thought. ‘Everyone and every part of the system talks to the others.’ He had hoped they wouldn’t notice.

  “No sir. I haven’t been avoiding them. I contact them every other day.”

  “But you’ve not visited for three weeks, even though they’ve asked you to.”

  How could Hansum tell him this was the one chink in his armor? He could keep it together and be the brave soldier, staying hyper-focused on his mission, if he didn’t go home. He knew if he saw his family, he might fall apart.

  “Sir, I’ve been very busy and home’s several thousand kilometers away. I admit I have an agenda. I’m not hiding that. I want to be ready to go back as soon as the time travel blackout is over. Arimus has sub-mitted my proposal for a mission to the Council and I’m hoping to hear their initial reaction when I’m in the capital at the inquest for . . . this,” he said, touching his chest.

  “Yes, I read your proposal. That’s what prompted me to have this talk.”

  “You read the proposal? But it hasn’t been made public yet.”

  “All your instructors have seen it, my boy. We have to know what’s in that head of yours.” Marcon tapped Hansum on the head with one of his thick fingers. It reminded Hansum of the time Baron da Pontremoli did that to him in the 14th-century.

  “But this, this head, we have only one like it in all the land,” the long-dead noble had told him.

  Hansum kept his frustration from showing and just nodded.

  “It’s a very — unique plan,” Marcon went on. “You can’t blame your instructors for being concerned we’re training you to do something like that.”

  Now Hansum gave his instructor one of his famous smiles.

  “There’s truly nothing to be concerned about, Journeyman Marcon. If this plan is approved and I succeed, you’ll still have a Hansum to train.” Marcon didn’t answer, but just stared at him coldly. “Now, if you will excuse me, sir, I have a transport to catch.” Hansum raised his sword to his chest in salute. Marcon nodded and returned the salute, giving Hansum leave to spin around and walk away. He moved at a good clip, since he had things to get done before the transport to Lincoln’s arrived. As he strode along, he saw Alba still watching him.

  “Hi,” she said as he approached. “Mind if I walk with you?”

  “Not at all, Alba,” Hansum replied. With her long, muscular limbs, she had no trouble keeping up. Hansum noticed, not for the first time, how her hands were feminine but large, wonderful to look at and perfect for holding a sword.

  “You were different today,” she said to Hansum as they walked. “When you and I were paired against each other, I could feel it. Your attack was much stronger and your footwork actually threw me off what your upper body was going to do.”

  “But not for long,” Hansum laughed. “You got through that quick enough with a move I hadn’t seen before.”

  “Yes, I did get through, but you had seen that move before.” Hansum stopped and turned towards her. Alba stopped too.

  “Really. When?” he asked, smiling.

  “If you don’t mind me saying, it’s a move I learned watching you in that fight by the river with Feltrino. When he was playing with you.”

  The smile left Hansum’s face, but he quickly forced it back on. “I didn’t know enough at the time to recognize moves and remember them.
It was lucky I had Pan that day.”

  “Anyway,” Alba continued. “I just want to say I enjoy working out with you.” And then the young woman lifted her hand and put it on Hansum’s chest. Hansum looked down at her long, beautiful hands, the tip of one finger resting on the scar peeking above his tunic. Her hands were shapely, but their dark skin and size were so different from the last woman who touched him tenderly like that, Guilietta. But Alba’s touch did spark something in him, and his pectoral muscles twitched. When he looked up, he saw her bright blue eyes staring at him.

  “Listen, Alba,” he said, a plaintive look on his face. “I’m not ready for that.”

  “I know,” Alba said softly. Everyone knew the tragical tale of Romero and Guilietta. “I guess I am ready, is all. Bad timing,” she added. “Maybe another time?” The young woman was looking for Hansum’s response. He stayed silent. She looked down for a second and then up again. She smiled. “So, see you when you get back?” Hansum gave a small, non-committal nod. Then Alba leaned in, gave Hansum a kiss on the cheek, turned and walked away.

  As Hansum watched her go, she looked back and lifted her sword, touching the hilt to her breast. Hansum saluted back, and then raised his arm in a wave. Alba laughed and bounded off in a run.

  ‘She’ll make a great Amazon,’ Hansum thought, and then he remembered. “Time,” and the image of a clock and his schedule popped into his head. “Oh boy, and I haven’t even packed yet.”

  Chapter 3

  Not being able to time travel had affected the school curriculum for all time travel apprentices, including Lincoln. It meant they received a lot more home study. Today Lincoln was supposed to be watching recordings of The Battle of Hastings and then compose a report showing all the participants’ points of view; nobles, military leaders, soldiers and civilians. Instead, he was spending the afternoon bouncing up and down on his levitation mattress while looking out the large window of his bedroom.

  Bouncing on his anti-gravity bed was something he had done this since childhood, and to the uninitiated it looked like he was bouncing on air. He claimed it helped him think, and he had a lot to think about just then.

  “Family!” he mumbled miserably, as he bounced up and down, up and down.

  Lincoln was so fixated he didn’t notice Medeea appear beside him, smiling and bouncing at the same rhythm. She bounced right around in front of him, to get his attention. Still no response.

  “Excuse me, sweetie. Can we talk?” she finally asked in his mind.

  “Wha?” Lincoln said, finally realizing he had company. They continued bouncing in unison.

  “Hello my darling,” Medeea continued. “We may not be able to time travel right now, but you were definitely in another world. A small energy credit for your thoughts?”

  “Oh, sorry Med,” Lincoln said, bending his knees to stop bouncing. Medeea slowed down too, in perfect synchronization.

  “What were you thinking so seriously about, bonbon?” Medeea asked.

  “What, you don’t know?”

  “I can read whatever is in that beautiful head of yours but, remember, we decided to keep a bit of the mystery up and . . . not be completely familiar.”

  “Oh. Right. That’s right. Yeah, yeah,” he laughed nervously. “Well, I guess I should tell ya before Hansum and Shamira get here, but . . . it’s just . . . well ya know . . .”

  “What, dear heart?”

  “My, uh, family, my Mom and my Nan . . .”

  Medeea’s smile broadened. “Your mother and grandmother? You told them about me? Wonderful. Go on.”

  “It’s just that, my Nan, well . . . Holy Gia, just delve me,” he said dispirited.

  Medeea, raising a finger to her temple, took in Lincoln’s complete mind. Her smile disappeared as the truth sunk in.

  “Your grandmother doesn’t like me?” she said, hurt showing in her eyes and exuding through every part of her mind. Feeling her disappointment, Lincoln tried to minimize it.

  “She doesn’t even know you, Medeea.”

  “Well, you and I have known each other for over a month now and you’ve just told her about me?”

  “Nan doesn’t live near here and I haven’t seen her much since going to History Camp last year. I told my mom though, and my dad.”

  Medeea put two fingers to her temples, a gesture of delving further.

  “You told them about me, as your delving mentor . . . but not ‘about’ me. And you ‘think’ they guessed the other stuff? Some boyfriend you are.”

  “Medeea, c’mon now. Fight fair. We’ve only been, you know, for a week now. I can’t tell them everything that happens in my life right when it happens. Let me get more . . . comfortable with things.”

  Medeea seemed to relax a bit and smiled. “It has only been a week, hasn’t it? Hmmm. Well, maybe we shouldn’t do this,” she said touching his chest lightly and walking her fingers suggestively across it, “until you feel more comfortable about . . . things.”

  Lincoln shivered involuntarily and laughed. “Medeea.”

  “And maybe, maybe I shouldn’t do this.” Suddenly, Medeea had an arm around Lincoln’s waist and he could feel the curves and softness of a young female body being pressed against his.

  “Ohhhhhhhhh,” he sighed. “That’s . . . that’s definitely not fighting fair.”

  “Oh, well then I definitely shouldn’t do this,” and her other hand was behind his neck, pulling his face close to hers. She stopped, his lips only a micron from hers. “Or . . .” Lincoln felt Medeea’s whispering breath on his lips and then the soft fullness of them pressing on his. He closed his eyes and felt their two bodies pressing hard together. He responded, embracing and kissing her back, nestling his mouth on hers. “I want you,” she murmured into his mouth, and a shiver sparkled in him, right from the tips of their touching tongues and down to his . . .

  “Lincoln?” he heard a male voice say. “What are you . . .”

  Lincoln froze and his eyes sprung open. Medeea was still in his embrace, but as he moved his eyes to the door, he saw Hansum standing with a look of confusion on his face. Lincoln realized how it must look. As only Lincoln could see Medeea, to Hansum, Lincoln was miming hugging and kissing someone. Another rush raced through Lincoln’s body, this time one of embarrassment. Lincoln pushed away from Medeea and fell back onto the bed. He bounced to his feet and stood there, looking back and forth between Hansum and Medeea, a confused look on his face.

  “Sorry pal,” Hansum said. “Your Mom and Nan said to just come up. If you’re going to do those things, you should lock the . . .”

  “I wasn’t . . .” Lincoln began, and then looked over at Medeea.

  “Lincoln, are you embarrassed by me?” Medeea asked.

  “I’m, I’m sorry,” he mumbled to Medeea, and then turned to Hansum. “I was just, I was just . . . Medeea and I . . .”

  “Medeea and you?” At first Hansum looked surprised, but then a smile came to his face. “Medeea . . . and you?”

  “Yes . . . no, not like that. She and I . . . we were just . . . she and I were just, uh . . .”

  “Kissing?” Hansum suggested.

  “Well, yes . . . no. Well . . . maybe . . . kinda . . . But how could we, no, not reall . . .”

  “You are embarrassed by me,” Medeea said, putting her hands on her hips.

  Hansum took another step toward Lincoln, continuing his tease. “Maybe? Kinda?”

  “Well, we were, but . . . but . . .” He was staring at Medeea, a look of terror on his face.

  “Whoa, buddy, it’s okay,” Hansum said in a conciliatory fashion. “Sorry to tease. And sorry to you too, Medeea,” he said, nodding to where he thought she must be. “Hey, I’ve walked a bit on the wild side a time or two. A great diversion and all part of growing . . .”

  “He thinks I’m some kind of diversion?”

  “ Hansum, stop trying to help me!” Lincoln said. “I’m doing poorly enough on my own.” Instead of speaking, he thought what he had to say next. “I’m sorr
y, Medeea. I’m really confused. I’m very close to my Nan and, if she is showing some old-fashioned prejudices, I can’t help it.”

  “You’d let your family say mean things about your girlfriend and not say anything back to them? And I have to find out about it by mind-delving, while you’ve been happy enough to do . . . what we’ve been doing.”

  “Medeea, this is all happening so fast,” Lincoln thought, perplexed. He stepped toward her, but she moved back, which made Lincoln stop. He looked over at Hansum, whose look was of a man watching a very odd pantomime.

  “Hey, listen, you two. I’ll go down and visit with your mom and Nan.”

  “You can tell him to stay,” Medeea said, miffed. “I’m the one leaving,” and with that, she disappeared in a way that reminded Lincoln of his old friend Pan, exiting in a puff of holographic smoke.

  “Medeea!” he called out loud, but it was too late. “Hold up, Hansum. You might as well stay. She’s gone.”

  Hansum turned around. “Gone? Where can she go? I thought she was . . .”

  “She’s not just in me. She has other friends and students she can go visit.”

  “And just what is going on between you two?” Lincoln made a face, like he didn’t know quite how to explain it. “Okay. Is it just fun or are you serious?” Hansum asked.

  “I think I’m serious, but when Mom told my Nan about Medeea . . . Nan kinda didn’t like it.”

  “Your Nan? The one I just met downstairs? She doesn’t look like a bigot. She looks really nice.”

  “She is . . .” Lincoln looked around, and then whispered, “But Nan just asked about an hour ago . . . what about grandchildren?”

  “She’s worried about grandchildren? Wow. That is pretty bigot-ed. Wow,” Hansum repeated unbelievingly. A woman’s voice called up from downstairs.

  “Boys, the rest of the guests will be here soon. Make sure you’re ready.”