Adam's Journey (The Aliomenti Saga - Book 8) Read online

  It didn’t take long.

  But he remained in place, letting his Energy swoop over the village. Elizabeth—who, like him, had recovered from the effects of the cayenne pepper she’d consumed—would know he remained here while his Energy remained. That continued presence, even if in the form of lingering wisps of energy, would provide his young half-sister with a deep sense of contentment and comfort.

  He had no issue with giving her a simple gift of that sort.

  Adam listened to the sounds of village life progressing along outside Maynard’s cabin: the hammering of metal, the chopping and chiseling of wood, the curses as newly baked bread was pulled from ovens with too little protection from the excessive heat. He heard the residents mingle in the common area around the well, coins clinking as residents purchased food for an evening meal, a draught of mead from a newcomer who specialized in the drink’s production, a new pair of boots for a man who worked in the fields beyond the forest, a new chair for someone who’d splintered the original for firewood inside their cabin some months back.

  The sounds gradually faded, and Adam was soon aware that all were sleeping.

  He reached out his Energy and activated their sleep centers, ensuring they stayed that way.

  But he left Elizabeth alone.

  He reached into Maynard’s mind and added memories of events the man hadn’t experienced… with some minor modifications. Maynard would wake believing he’d felt out of sorts the previous morning. He’d remember collecting Elizabeth and locating an odd looking, mildly spoiled piece of fruit on one of the shelves. He picked up the fruit and split it in half, offering the first half to the girl, smiling as he watched her eat. If Elizabeth turned magic in front of him, he’d reasoned, he would consume the other half, the only other source of magical power in their possession. If she merely suffered, he’d toss the spare piece back on the shelf, unconcerned that another might consume it, or that it might tarnish the effects of other foods stored in the area. The girl had a strange reaction—reddening of the skin and eyes, profuse sweating—and had cried insatiably. He believed she was faking the reaction, had convinced himself that he’d found the solution, and swallowed the other half of the fruit with minimal chewing.

  He remembered the pain he felt in learning that the girl hadn’t been pretending.

  He’d been left unable to function, unable to hunt or check his traps, unable to do anything but stagger back to his cabin and collapse upon his bed. When Maynard woke the next morning, he would remember the alternative reality fed to him by Adam… and he’d remember seeing Arthur’s disapproving glare.

  Maynard would explain away his sore muscles and general stiffness as a side effect of the rotten piece of fruit, though he’d be hard pressed to explain why Elizabeth would suffer none of the same maladies. He’d invent some theory, though, likely that his lack of chewing triggered a reaction in his much more muscular frame.

  Adam thought for a moment, remembering the terror the little girl felt at the thought of spending time with the real Maynard inside the Schola, and added an extra memory as a gift to his half-sister. Maynard would remember vowing to himself to never again go into the Schola and to never feed to anyone, nor himself eat, anything found inside.

  Adam put the coin purse back where he’d found it, collected the stretchable mirror, and detonated the final Energy Eater. He left the cottage and walked into the cool night air, closed the door behind him, and headed toward the Lowell’s cottage. He briefly considered walking inside and dropping the bag of zirple root under Elizabeth’s bed. He discarded that idea after recalling that he’d told her that the next time she saw Maynard, it would be Maynard. And unlike the others, she might wake up if the door to the cottage opened in the middle of this night.

  No sense confusing her.

  He trickled Energy into the Lowell cottage and found Elizabeth’s faint hum. Having located her bed, he pictured the spot in his mind and teleported the zirple root powder bag under her bed, just as he’d promised.

  As he floated back up to the sky and the waiting time machine, he implanted another memory that would become quite useful in the coming years, one that would explain why his father would one day return to some acclaim, rather than to scorn.

  Eva would now believe that, on her most recent trading trip, she’d been told by an innkeeper that her “brother” had traveled through the town in recent months. She’d remember him telling her that he missed his old friends, and to pass along the message that he was traveling and searching for answers to questions they all had, and that he’d return home to them once he found those answers. It would implant in the villagers’ minds the idea that the recently departed Adam hadn’t meant he’d never return, but that he’d instead gone in search of answers, looking for the solution in a manner he didn’t find so disagreeable.

  With everything as it should be in this specific time, Adam released the villagers from their forced sleep. They’d wake in the morning at a time typical for each of them, blissfully unaware that a man from the future had impersonated one of them and had provided to their most vulnerable resident information that would render her the most powerful of them all.

  He knew Elizabeth would use that knowledge well.

  And he knew that her first act would be similarly empowering Genevieve in the manner he’d provided her.

  He reached and entered the time machine, recognizing that with that thought came the only true decision point in his journey. It wasn’t technically required, but he’d prepared the necessary supplies for an optional act should he decide to follow through.

  His trip would go far more smoothly if he skipped that step; he’d be adding more variance to his plan, leading to a far greater possibility that he’d fail to complete one or more of the other not-yet-completed stops.

  But he’d now met his half-sister in this time, and couldn’t help but think of her as she existed in the future.

  And he knew that step wasn’t optional. If he skipped it, he’d feel guilt every time he saw Hope’s face for the remainder of what he hoped would be a very long life.

  He refilled the batteries, plugged in the coordinates, and jumped ahead in time, his decision made.

  It was time to save Genevieve’s life.

  ~~~26~~~

  1008 A.D.

  The time machine vanished into the space between times, while in the real world, events unfolded in real time.

  Elizabeth began feeding zirple root to her mother as recommended by the “friend of Adam” who’d told her the true formula for unlocking “magic” in any human being. Genevieve gradually noticed that she’d developed an enhanced ability to sense people’s true emotions. In some cases, she believed, she could even hear their thoughts. She confided this odd development in only one person, her daughter. She was afraid that the development of abilities she thought of as magic were a natural phenomenon, one that may occur spontaneously in dangerous people like Maynard and Arthur.

  Elizabeth told her about Adam’s “friend” visiting. It was this friend who provided her with the preferred two ingredient recipe for magic development, and explained that either ingredient alone would accomplish the same, either more quickly and with extreme discomfort, or quite slowly but pain-free. She told her mother that Adam thought he’d known the truth but didn’t realize the potency of the berries he’d given her. Given that she’d survived the dietary assault of Adam’s unintentionally potent effort, she had developed similar power shortly after and had been building that power over time. The friend had left behind a supply of the slower acting portion, and Genevieve learned that her daughter had been spiking her drink with the root of a bitter herb for several years.

  Genevieve was shocked, but happy for her daughter; the magic would give her the power to protect herself if needed. And she was happy about her own growing power; she was able to more accurately identify friend and foe among their neighbors.

  The village growth continued. Arthur and others recruited new residents into thei
r hidden home, and they continually expanded on their ability to produce goods sellable to neighboring towns and villages. They added new experts or more people with skills in areas such as military defense, the making of weaponry, and the production of wine and spirits to go along with their existing mead production. They added barrel makers and additional metalworkers.

  They also added additional cooks, bakers, and experts in hunting, trapping, foraging, food storage and preservation. With adequate numbers now able to provide for the food needs of the growing village, Arthur moved into an unofficial, full-time role as magistrate and administrator. He resolved disputes, collected and doled out favors, and amassed power and influence for himself in a patient, calculating manner. He continued to feed himself off money collected for his daughter’s work, and no one dared question the arrangement.

  The village grew wealthy and prospered. The idea of developing magic slowly became an amusement for rich people, who occasionally remembered what might be housed in the Schola. They found entertainment in tossing Arthur a few spare coins—they wouldn’t miss them—and enjoyed the sport of concocting the most pungent combinations still found in the walls of the Schola.

  None of them felt remorse or concern about any effects on the girl.

  The girl, for her part, secretly grew her Energy powers, learning new skills, enhancing others, and improving her ability to exercise her powers without detection.

  Her powers were often all that kept her alive.

  She was also aware that her only true friend, regardless of public airs otherwise, was her mother. She felt nothing for anyone else in the village, not Eva, not Arthur. They were just things.

  But Genevieve? Genevieve was the one person she could not lose. Her mother was her rock.

  Without her rock, she would crumble, broken.

  1015 A.D.

  The time machine reappeared outside the village.

  ~~~27~~~

  1015 A.D.

  He’d not put as much time and effort into this optional stop as he had with the others. It meant he didn’t have perfect information, that he’d have to break one of the rules he’d set for the other stops, and that no person living beyond his time machine departure to his next stop could see him or sense his presence. And that included Elizabeth, who by now would be thirteen years old, possessed of greater Energy capacity, and likely well aware that the magical powers extended beyond the mere ability to hear thoughts and sense emotions with perfect accuracy.

  Though he’d not done much prep work, he’d made one decision, one marked with large letters on the first page in the final section of his journal, the section reserved for this optional stop.

  He could not use his own likeness.

  If he succeeded, Genevieve would appear to die in this time, devastating her daughter and removing the woman from the eleventh century. He’d only do that if he could return to the twenty-third century with her. That meant she’d have to see him, hear him, and talk with him. And he looked just like his father, a man she knew all too well.

  Appearing in his natural form, a man physically his father’s twin, would make for awkward conversations.

  He’d thus use the persona he’d developed for their work back in the twenty-first century as they inserted themselves into the human timeline, as De Gray Estates neighbors, business partners, and employees of Will Stark. Cain Freeman had been a computing technology wizard, and he’d become quite familiar with the man’s physical characteristics.

  He almost didn’t need the mirror for this transformation, but he pulled it from the travel bag and set it up on the cabin window anyway. It took him little time; he knew Cain’s face almost as well as his own.

  It would give him something to do while he waited.

  Since he’d not confirmed he’d actually make this stop prior to departure, and his many other obligations left little time for optional activities, he’d not done his typical research around the precise date and time he’d need to arrive, accounting for any local era prep work he’d need to do. In his last stop, he’d needed extra time to change to Maynard’s form.

  In this case, he had no information about the exact date of Genevieve’s murder. He knew only that she’d died at some point during a six-week period in the year 1015.

  He also hadn’t really considered what he’d do with her once he’d saved her. That might prove awkward. He could think about that while he waited as well. He had the option of putting her into a deep sleep and letting her wake up on Eden in the twenty-third century. Or he could just wait until the war with the Aliomenti, which he suspected Will and Hope to launch soon after young Will traveled to the eleventh century. He discarded both as impractical for the same reason: Genevieve would starve to death if he died at any point prior to waking her. He wouldn’t be responsible for her death after saving her life. She needed to remain conscious outside normal sleep cycles.

  He pondered several other options, each less practical or realistic than the last, and even considered scrapping the stop and moving forward to his next stop. But he felt he owed it to his half-sister to see this through, especially now that he’d already arrived in the correct approximate time.

  He’d stick with the original plan.

  With no precise date of death, he’d need to find his own answers here in the past before he could take action. While he could limit time machine usage by sitting here and waiting until he watched Genevieve die, that meant he could live six full weeks in the past just finding the correct date to act. He’d still have more time lost completing his required tasks. He’d already started losing his sense of place in time, needing to periodically check his communicator and skim through the pictures of friends and loved ones. He’d end with the pictures he’d taken of a bloodied Will Stark and Smokey in the time machine, the gravest reminder of the importance of completing this mission successfully.

  And so it was he began a series of very brief stops, arriving each morning at the bathing spot in the Halwende just before sunrise, watching as the villagers arrived for their morning bath. If he didn’t see Genevieve, if the villagers’ body language and Elizabeth’s grief gave away the tragic events of the previous day, he’d know her exact date of death.

  And then he’d go back twenty-four hours and replay that day, this time pulling a living Genevieve out before her contemporaries murdered her and believed her dead. His eyes fell upon the cloning machine. He couldn’t just clone her now, because clones lived only three to five days; if he guessed wrong and the clone died… well, that was a change in history he’d struggle to repair.

  He had to pull the real Genevieve out of the village as near to her murder as possible to ensure her clone lived long enough to suffer the murder recorded by history.

  As he worked to shrink himself back to his normal size, he watched the sun peek over the horizon and bathe the land with its light, and the sky exploded with an array of brilliant colors. Age had dampened his memories of his childhood, when those colors were more easily noticeable before modern inventions like smog. The brilliant display distracted his attention as he suffered through the discomfort of shrinking himself back to normal size and reengineering his face.

  The first of the villagers appeared a few moments later, emerging from the trees and early morning fog. He scanned the crowd, wondering if he’d get lucky on the first day, then winced at his word choice. As if on cue, Genevieve emerged from the forest, trailed by Elizabeth, who’d grown much taller and matured since he’d last seen her a few hours earlier.

  He dipped his hand into the recharger and filled the batteries. He’d monitor battery capacity as he moved forward in time a day per hop, but suspected he’d probably not need to worry about another refill until he moved on to his next task. Single day hops consumed negligible amounts of electrical energy.

  He set his target coordinates forward one day and jumped forward, enjoying another sunrise from his perch two hundred feet above the ground. He once again saw Genevieve this morning.

 
He repeated the process for ten days, each time seeing Genevieve emerge from the forest alive and well. Each “day” consumed about an hour in real time for him, when combining the time required to move forward in time and to confirm Genevieve’s continued existence. After ten days of tracking, he decided to sleep after he finished his physical transformation to Cain.

  After a restful “night’s” sleep, he started the process once again. Genevieve remained alive throughout. His stomach growled, and he cracked open one of the prepackaged meals, heated it up with his Energy, and savored each bite. With his water supplies running low, he risked an overnight flight down to the river to refill the bottles after detonating an Energy Eater inside the cabin to mask his presence. He returned to the safety of the sealed cabin and purified the water with small bursts of Energy. After drinking two bottles, he slept again.

  The third day brought no more answers.

  Nor did the fourth.

  He began to despair. Had he miscalculated so badly that he was early by several months? By a year? How long would he spend in this spot as he lived the time? He’d already checked forty days, spending nearly a week of living time doing nothing but sitting in the time machine.

  Three days into his fifth “living day” of investigation, Genevieve didn’t appear for the morning bath.

  Adam sat up straighter and moved the time machine closer to the river, wondering if he’d missed her.

  He saw Elizabeth’s face, though, and knew he hadn’t. Her eyes told him everything he needed to know. Her eyes told him that her mother had been murdered in brutal fashion the day before, right before her eyes, and she knew she’d be forced to live with the killers for the rest of her life.

  Adam knew she’d do no such thing; a much better fate awaited her in the future. But he couldn’t do anything about the future now.