Die Back Read online

  We had been so intent on getting to Alexandria, we didn't spend any time talking about our die back. Our hosts do die today at the hands of Romans in the Library, only we're not in the Library.

  "Any ideas, Jules?"

  She looked over to the opening in the floor. "We could seal ourselves in the crypt."

  "Sounds like a very slow death. Besides, I'd have to put up with you until you bought the farm."

  She frowns. "What makes you think I'd die first?"

  "Okay, we've got a sword. We'll stab each other to death."

  "Brilliant, Einstein. I stab you into die back and now I'm standing here with a sword. Not sure if I can do the whole sipiku thing."

  "Right. Well, we've got to come up with something.”

  Shouting, footsteps, and clattering armor resound through the tower.

  Jules steps to the doorway, listening. "Soldiers."

  I move past her. "Follow me." We race to the outer passage just as a soldier enters the door. "Run!"

  Stone stairs wind up around the tower. My legs burn, the Roman breathing heavily behind me, his footfalls echoing off the stone walls. Gaining on us, his sword slaps stone at my feet. I suppose I could let him send me to die back, but choosing my death is the only thing I control right now. I turn, kicking my heel square into his chest, throwing him off balance. He falls backward down the stairs. Jules is around the bend. We keep going, both of us gasping for breath. The stone stairs turn to wood scaffolding. We keep climbing, the soldier and his comrades still giving chase. When I think I won't be able to take another step, my chest exploding, my legs on fire, we reach a landing which opens to a parapet over four hundred feet above Alexandria.

  We're both breathing hard, hands on our knees.

  "Jules."

  "Yeah."

  We've…we've got to… die back."

  "How?"

  "Jump."

  "Off…here?"

  "Yeah."

  "You're…crazy."

  "Yeah…Better than…Roman sword."

  She stands up, shoulders still heaving for breath. "Okay."

  Armor and footfalls boom through the tower, the sound becomes louder as the soldiers close in on us. We climb a waist high wall, standing side by side. Alexandria burns below us under a twilight sky, strangely beautiful in its destruction. I reach for Jules' trembling hand. She's scared, like me.

  "It'll be okay, Jules. In ten seconds we'll be present-side in Seattle."

  "God, I hate this part."

  Roman soldiers explode onto the parapet, shouting the Latin equivalent of "Stop or I'll shoot." No matter. Together, we fall, fall to the jagged rocks below…

  Goodnight, Jules

  Addison and Jules took in huge gulps of air, pushing themselves way from the table. Addison spoke first.

  "That was intense." He clamped his eyes shut to the sensation of every bone in his body exploding through his flesh. Thousands of probing needles lingered for a moment, then dissipated. "Crap. That's like one of those dreams where you're falling, only in this one you slam right into the ground. Jesus, that hurt!"

  They looked at each other, sharing a smile over their joint success. Jules took his hand with a squeeze. "I hope this space-time shift isn't too crazy. We'll meet back here, okay?"

  "Right back here."

  Climbing the steps to the safe room they entered a space looking like a high-tech control center for an international spy ring. A floor-to-ceiling flat screen covered the wall where shelves of binders had stood. The map had been replaced with a rotating, three-dimensional projection hovering four feet off the floor. A third wall housed racks of computers. In the middle of the room sat a composite-material jet black table.

  "Given the state of this place, it looks like we did a good job, Jules."

  "And we're both here. We either didn't shift the continuum or in this continuum we're both here."

  Addison scanned the room. "I'd say we shifted the continuum."

  "Yeah. It looks like your father created a link to the Tempos Refúgium archives." She passed a hand through the revolving projection of the earth, placing a finger on one of the points of light covering the globe's surface. A three-dimensional image rose from the black table, a woman's voice filling the space, her tone even and pleasant.

  "Mission 0413186001, Incogitata inked Samuel Jones. Encountered enemy agent attempting to kill John Wilkes Booth. Agent subdued and ripped. Time continuum validation. mission successful."

  Jules leaned into the table, as if looking more closely would reveal hidden information. "The League kept Booth alive so he could assassinate Lincoln?"

  "I guess maintaining the continuum means keeping things stable, even the bad stuff."

  "What about your father?"

  Addison touched Alexandria, Egypt. A semi-transparent screen appeared, floating to his right, listing two missions. He picked the one at the top.

  "Mission 02A720715 Memento and Renascentia inked librarian and slave boy, Great Library, Alexandria, Egypt. Encountered enemy agent resistance. Time continuum validation. Mission outcome: failed."

  She looked to Addison. "I don't understand."

  The display continued, her voice not hinting at the tragedy she communicated. "Additional report. Renascentia aka Agent Thomas Shaw killed in action Present-Side. Renascentia transferred to agent Addison Shaw."

  Addison stood frozen in shock. He had once again lost his father.

  "I'm sorry, Addy."

  "I can't believe it. We did everything right. Didn't we, Jules? We did everything right. Damn it!" He kicked a chair across the room.

  "Yeah, Addy. We did everything right. I guess your father knew he had to die to keep the continuum stable."

  He whirled around to her. "But it's not stable, is it? And why? Because I fucked it up!" His fist slammed into the table.

  "I was there too, you know. We did the best we could. We did what Nikki told us to do. I don't know what else we could have done"

  "Yeah, well, he's still dead."

  Addison grabbed his cane on the way out the door. Besides a dead father, in this continuum his damaged leg returned. He felt so tired. So damn tired. He wanted to find his father's bottle of scotch and just drink himself to numbness. However, he knew he'd feel better for a few hours, but the alcohol would wear off and he'd be waist-deep in crap again. He threw himself on the sofa, exhaustion overtaking him, and fell into a restless sleep.

  ***

  Jules didn't try to follow Addison. What could she say to him? What comfort could she bring? To lose a parent once had to be bad enough. But losing your father twice? She stayed in the safe room reviewing Alchi̱meía files linked to their Wright Brother's mission. Maybe something would float to the top, some lead about what to do next. What was it Addison had said about the Smithsonian? Something about an expedition Langley took to Peru. Why would he go to Peru? Were there any anomalies in South America? She went to the three-dimensional display. Taking a shot, she spoke out loud.

  "Anomalies."

  "Request denied. Please specify timeframe for anomaly analysis."

  "Anomalies within the last twenty-four hours."

  The globe spun around, a red light flashing over Peru. "Anomaly identified, originating in Peru, sixteenth century."

  How could Peru in the 1500's have anything to do with aviation at the turn of the twentieth century? After studying the documentation, she could see possibility. Charlie Taylor had been inked, but what about the man I bumped into at the hangar. What if he was another Inker and we got there too late? Could he have somehow taken the technology—maybe drawings or schematics—to sixteenth century Peru? But how?

  She considered waking Addison with the news, but thought better of it. They were both exhausted. Better to wait until tomorrow after they were rested to go over the file. She slipped Memento into her pocket for safe keeping. Weary from the day, she closed up the safe room, and strode through the time lock passage into the study. Separating the Verne and Jung texts to set the t
ime continuum lock, she closed the study door before walking into the living room. Addison had passed out on the sofa, cane still in his hands. Padding in silence across the room, she grabbed a throw blanket from beside the sofa. She leaned over him, carefully removing Addison's cane from his hands. He stirred, but didn't wake. You must be as exhausted as I feel. Unfolding the blanket, she laid it gently across him.

  She sat on the coffee table, studying him for some time. The rise and fall of his chest, the way his hair waved past his ear. She knew he thought the cane put a wall between himself and women. Jules couldn’t care less about the cane. His disability belied a strength, a courage, deep within him. Jules knew she gave him grief, maybe to hide her true feelings. Maybe to protect herself in case he didn't take her seriously. But she knew for certain, if circumstances required it, she'd put herself in harm's way for him—any day of the week.

  She leaned over, kissing him gently on the lips. His eyes opened partially, and his hand pressed her to him, sharing a deep, long kiss. She looked into his eyes, and gave him one more kiss on the forehead.

  Addison's voice was a whisper. "Goodnight, Jules."

  She rose to her feet. "Goodnight."

  Jules wasn't sure what had just happened, but they'd have time to figure it out tomorrow. Besides, they both needed some sleep. She stepped across the room, going upstairs to the guest room. Reaching for the door, her cell phone buzzed with a voicemail message.

  "Jules, dear, it's your mom." Her voice sounded tense, anxious. "Honey, no time to explain. Now listen to me. I may not be around much longer. We think someone is trailing behind us and I think they're after Specula, my pen." She sighed. "I should have told you about the pen and the League. I meant to. It's…complicated. Jules, you must hide. Do you hear me? You must hide until Renascentia contacts you. Do you understand? Trust no one. Only Renascentia." She paused, breathing erratically. Is she crying? "I'm sorry. I really am. I wish we had more time. Remember, wait for Renascentia…I love you."

  Jules pocketed her phone, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew Renascentia. He was sleeping in the living room. She had to wake him. Maybe together they could find a way to save her mother. She turned for the stairs, but a shadow blocked her path.

  ***

  Addison woke to morning sunlight sifting through the blinds and a pasty taste in his mouth. He didn't mean to sleep all night. Jules. Did she kiss me or was that just a dream? He held the tender image in his mind, savoring the touch of her lips. He needed an inking partner, but he knew there was more. A possibility of something greater, something beyond time, something enduring no matter what the future or the past held. Thinking of Jules, she was probably pacing, wondering when he would make an appearance. He walked into the study, and opened the time lock to the safe room. No Jules.

  He stepped into the hallway. "Jules." No answer. She's worse than me. Probably in bed snoring away. He made his way up the stairs, the guest bedroom door ajar. "Time to get up. Come on, Jules." He pushed his way in. If she was lying in bed naked, he figured at least he had tried to let her know he was coming in. "Jules, time to…"

  Jules, still in jeans and a tee shirt from the night before, lay in an awkward pile on the floor, a transparent shopping bag wrapped over her head. Her eyes stared blankly through clear plastic.

  Addison held his breath, as if hoping to make time stop, then surged forward. "Oh, my God. Jules?" He fell to the floor beside her. "Jules!"

  On his hands and knees, he pushed an overturned desk chair aside, pulling her into his arms, but she was gone, her flesh cold, her limbs stiff.

  "No, no, no."

  He tore the bag from her head. A single tear had smudged black mascara down her purple tinged cheek to whitened lips. He sat with her, holding her to his chest, rocking back and forth.

  "Please don't leave me, Jules. Please."

  Jagged glass wrapped tight around his heart. A pain, worse than anything he had experienced in his many die backs, made breathing difficult. They argued all the time, but he cared for her more than anyone he had ever known. Maybe he loved her. But now she was gone, like his father, like Nikki, like Beth.

  Gone.

  Atawallpa’s Bride

  I sit under a pacay tree, scrub-covered mountain ridges falling away as far as I can see. The world is very big, but right now all I care about is this pacay's long, dangling pods filled with sweet seeds. Green hummingbirds dart among white and yellow orchids nearby. The land is alive with the screeches and songs of birds and the constant rasping of cicadas. Our royal expedition, making its way for days on Capac Ñan, the Great Path, has crossed the Crisnejas River, and climbed through steep mountain trails, on our way to the hot baths near Cajamarca. We have stopped for the night on a ridge at one of the many way stations along our route. Apichu—Sweet Potato—a small, round woman, kneels beside me. She has been with me since Atawallpa, the Sun God, took me as his wife. Her eyes are kind.

  "¿Imaynallatag kasanki, Kushirimay?"

  "Walehllanpuni kasani." I am fine. How could I, Kushirimay, wife of the Sun God, not be fine? But this day I am not. I see girls I am told have, like me, celebrated ten harvests. They giggle with their games and help their mothers prepare meals. Apichu says the wife of the Sun God does not giggle or play games. Apichu says the wife of the Sun God never cooks a meal. I look past her to men in wool tunics and sandals unpacking sacks of food from llamas they brought with them on this journey. For some reason everything looks odd, like when we passed through the small village of my birth. The people looked like me, but their words and their food was not quite the same. Apichu says I'm tired from traveling and from the awesome glory of being Atahualpa's wife. Maybe so.

  My head feels fuzzy. Sometimes I turn, thinking someone follows close behind, but no one is ever there. Sometimes, away from the watchful gaze of Imperial warriors, Apichu does let me play. But this afternoon, with so many eyes on me, I can't play, but only sit here bored, watching the unpacking. I pick up a stick, scratching at the ground, carving small valleys in the dry earth. What's this? I lean over my stick to observe the funny shape I made in the dirt. 'J'. I know this shape. I know its name. Jay. I scratch more. 'U'. Yes, you. This is fun. 'L' I know these pictures. Ell. They mean something together. What? 'E'. Ee. The last picture squiggles like a snake. 'S' Ess. I know this. A name. Jay-you-ell-ee-ess. Jayewelee-ess. Jew-elez. No—Jules.

  Yes. Jules. I am Jules. I am an Inker. My god…I'm dead. I touch my face, my chest. I'm in the body of a ten-year-old girl. Addy. If my body hasn't been burned or buried, he might find my message. But he won't find me here on his own. I have to help him.

  Men carry baskets of food to a stone hearth, which women then open. The Emperor, our Sun God won't use a shelter built for regular people like the farmers who use these paths for trade. A group of builders raise the Sun God's tent of azure with gold threads through the weave. Others burn his used traveling clothes for today in a ceremonial fire, as is done each day, so holy is his presence. Women gather a root called arracacho, freeze-dried potatoes or chuño, dried meat known as charqui, and maize for a stew. Several men bring large bottle-shaped vases with pointed bottoms filled with chicha, a beer made from maize.

  Well-fed and warm in alpaca furs, my host Kushirimay feels at home with her fate as Atawallpa's wife. She's fine sitting here chewing coca with Apichu, listening to the taqui, the music of men playing a raucous tune on sikus, pan pipes made of hollow reeds, accompanied by the deep bass drumming of a goat-skin-covered wankara. The green coca leaves turn to mush in my mouth, my gums tingling to numbness. I have to get out of here. I must find Addy. I wait for Apichu to nod off before I make my move. Walking away from the camp, one of Atawallpa's guards shadows me—I'm sure wanting to protect the Emperor's bride with his life. I let him know that even though I'm a girl, I am the Sun God's wife and I require privacy to pee. He averts his eyes, turning away from me. I move into thick foliage, neither stopping nor looking back, only moving forward, away from Atawallpa and toward the s
ea. I'll have to be very careful. Kushirimay's consciousness reminds me of the dangers ahead. If Atawallpa goes all dominant male, he'll kill any man who touches me.

  My host is young, strong, and quick. I weave my way through heavy undergrowth, sneaking past outer camp guards armed with spears and bolas. Atawallpa heard of light-colored, hairy men coming across the water in the wind. He doesn't fear them. I suppose if you think you're a god, a few ghost men don’t scare you. However, he's not going to let foreigners, even hairy ones, cross the four corners of his world without his permission. We've been walking steadily toward the sea, so I will follow the Capac Ñan to find these hairy men. I am certain I will find Pizarro, and finding Pizarro, I will find Addy.

  ***

  Addison kissed her ashen lips. They were soft, but cold and lifeless. He stayed on the floor with Jules' body, grief and fear and regret washing over him. Why did I push her away when all I wanted was to hold her near? He took her hand, lifting it to his face, examining her fingers, hoping to find some essence of life before all of her faded away. Green ink stains against the ashen skin of her hand caught his eye. Of course she had inked to Alexandria with him, but this stain looked more recent. He noticed something in her partially open mouth. Something white. He laid her head gently on the floor and with a thumb and finger, pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from between her lips. He flattened the scrap of paper out on the floor. Handwriting. Kushirimay, October… The ink had bled from one side of the paper to the other. Could it be 8, 10, 16, 18? He examined the number closely, deciding on October 18, 1532

  A smile stuttered across his face. Although her corpse lay beside him, laughter welled up. Jules had inked before she was murdered! She was still out there, over five hundred years ago, but she existed. He didn't know how to get her back or if he'd be able to find her, but this scrap of paper gave him hope. He'd find her and he'd figure out a way to get her back.

  He went into the safe room, his father's computer systems and the Alchi̱meía tracking up on the screen. Of course. The Alchi̱meía would track Jules and know exactly where she could be found. A 3D projection of the globe sparkled with points of light, which he knew from last night were the geographic locations of specific inking missions. How would he ever find Jules among hundreds of inkings over the last two hundred years? Failing to find a keyboard to access the system, he touched the translucent projection hoping to activate a pull-down list of commands. Nothing.