Ides of March (Time Patrol) (12 page)

“What do you want?” Lightning flickered. The thunder came not long afterward, indicating the storm was getting closer.

“It is not what
I
want, but what
you
need,” Pandora said. She spun her Naga slamming the point into a body, holding up both empty hands. “We are sisters; we can work together. We are descended from what they call in this age Oracles or the Sibyls. We have always been here. Ever since the beginning.”

“Atlantis.”

“Yes. But men, they don’t listen. One of our sisters, Herophile, prophesized the Trojan War, but Achilles and the Greeks still sailed. That was the beginning of this conflict between east and west so many years ago. But we, our line, live a timeless existence, above the squabbles of men. Can’t you feel it?”

“I feel cold and there’s a storm coming,” Scout said.

“There is indeed a storm coming.”

Scout was wondering why Pandora hadn’t simply killed her.

“We live a timeless existence,” Pandora repeated.

“Right. Except you just told me the clock is ticking and time is short.”

Pandora didn’t rise to the bait. “Xerxes is a follower of Ahura Mazda. Do you know what that religion is?”

The data began to scroll in Scout’s brain. “No.”

“The followers believe that Ahura Mazda created seven worlds, all branching from him.” Pandora pointed at the other end of her Naga staff. “Seven is a number that comes up again and again. The oldest of the seven worlds is
Asha
, the Fire World. Fire is a sacred channel to eternal light. And to get to internal light, one must pass through infinite darkness.”

“Okay,” Scout said, tired of the mumbo-jumbo. “And that has what to do with what?”

“Do you know how those who follow Ahura Mazda believe the world will end?”

“You talking?”

“Humor is excellent protection against reality.”

“I’m in reality,” Scout said.

“Really?”

Scout had to admit Pandora did have another point, since she was standing on the helmets of two dead men, in 480 B.C., dressed as an oracle’s priestess, holding a Naga staff, inside of a time bubble before she was pulled back to her own time.

Pulled back if she were still alive. And for the first time, Scout wondered whether her body would be pulled back if she were dead? They’d gotten Ivar back but that was just before he had drowned.

The two Shadow agents she’d killed had simply crumbled inward to dust.

Then again, did it matter at that point past death what happened to the body?

Pandora wasn’t done yet. “According to that religion, the world will end with purification by fire. A great river of flame will flow across the land and consume everything. Land, ocean, man and creature even unto heaven and hell. The entire world will be scorched and the human race annihilated except for the chosen ones. The angels of white, also known as the light travelers.”

“Valkyries?”

“No.”

“Then what does all that mean?”

The Sibyl suddenly snatched her Naga staff, pulled it out of the body, and threw it, just past Scout’s left ear.

Scout dove to the right, twisting, landing on bodies. Seeing Pandora’s Naga hit a Valkyrie in the chest, piercing the white armor. Pandora was past Scout, grabbing the seven-headed snake hilt, twisting it, the blade tearing a huge gash in the armor.

The white figure was floating a foot above the bodies, arms extended, foot long blades on the end of each finger. The face was smooth white except for two red bulges where the eyes should be.

Scout leapt to her feet and slashed.

The tip of her Naga sliced the right side of Valkyrie, just under the right arm to the hip. With a screech, the Valkyrie abruptly jerked back, like a puppet on a string, up into the darkness and was gone.

Scout turned, to discover that the blade edge of Pandora’s Naga was on her neck.

“I could, right now, if I wanted to,” Pandora. “I could’ve before if I’d wanted to. Have you been taught the four stages of awareness?”

“What?” Scout was confused, not so much by the blade but the question.

“I can tell you haven’t been,” Pandora said. “Whoever is guiding you has been a poor instructor. There is so much you do not know that you should. You deserve better because I can sense what is dormant in you. Great power. Pure.

“The stages: First. Awareness of self. Second. Awareness of others. Third. Awareness of the world. And last, awareness beyond the world. We, the Sibyls, Seer, Oracles, whatever we are called in whatever era, live in the fourth stage, but you aren’t there yet. Not even close.”

Then Pandora surprised her, pulling the blade back. “We are kindred spirits. We need to work together to save the world.”

“I don’t think so,” Scout said.

“I saved you from the Valkyrie just now. Is that not proof of my intentions?”

“No,” Scout said, “because the Valkyrie was probably under your control.”

Pandora laughed. “I would expect no less from one of my sisters. It was not, I assure you but I cannot convince you, correct? But ponder this, my sister. What if I’ve already accomplished what I needed to, here and now? Then there is no conflict between us. We both work for the greater good. I will help you with your task.”

“Doubtful,” Scout said.

“One half hour,” Pandora said. “Be here in one half hour. It will still be well before dawn, when the men will begin the killing again. I will prove my intentions to you.”

Pandora vanished into the darkness.

Newburgh, New York, 1783 A.D.

EAGLE WASN’T THERE AND THEN HE
was there, but he’d sort of always been there. It was the best way to explain how he arrived, becoming part of his current time and place without fanfare or excitement among those around him. He was in the bubble of this day, not before, and hopefully he wouldn’t be here afterward.

A thought he held on to as the whip cut into the young woman’s back.

Tripped, he sprawled face down into straw covered dirt, hearing the whip strike home once more.

“Easy,” a deep voice hissed. “Easy.”

The hand belonged to an older black man, kneeling next to Eagle, shaking his head. Eagle looked back at the other four slaves, standing shoulder to shoulder, held back from helping by the invisible line of their status. No matter how much Eagle had prepared himself mentally for this role in this mission in the brief time he had, the reality of being thrust into this specific scenario had brought an instinctive reaction.

It is 1783 A.D. The world’s population is roughly 900 million humans, of which only 3.6 million are part of the fledgling United States (less than one half of one percent); of the 3.6 million, approximately 600,000 are slaves (eighteen percent) and 60,00 free blacks (one point five percent); the Montgoflier brothers ‘invent flight’, demonstrating the first balloon in front King Louis XVI and Queen Marie Antoinette (the birds were not as impressed); an English clergyman concludes that some stars might have enough gravity to prevent light from escaping and he calls them Dark Stars, later to be known as Black Holes; the Two-Headed Boy of Bengal is born and would die four years later; Laki, a volcanic fissure in Iceland, begins a series of eruptions that continue for eight months and spewed forth gas which killed over half of Iceland’s livestock, caused a famine which killed a quarter of Iceland’s humans and caused crop failures and drought around the world, killing an estimated six million people.

Some things change; some don’t.

“I do not take pleasure from this,” George Washington said. “It is the law and we must respect the law. It is what makes us a nation. You know this is only a last resort. But she did not attempt to just run away. She tried to go to the British carrying some of my correspondence. That is treason and I have had white men executed for less. I am being merciful.”

He gestured to the overseer. “That’s enough.” He stepped forward and looked at the other slaves. He gestured at the half-naked woman being unhooked by the oversee: “This is a waste and unnecessary.”

Unnecessary
, Eagle thought, taking a deep breath, trying to get his emotion under control. Washington might have executed white men for treason, but he didn’t own them, so he had no financial investment; killing a slave was wasting money.

Eagle got to his feet, the man who’d tripped him also stood. Eagle stole a glance. The other slave’s gazes were downcast, so he followed suit. A bit too late as Washington’s boots appeared in front of him. He could sense the man’s presence, his aura. One of those who commanded the room, or barn, they were in.

Eagle had to fight not to raise his eyes to look at the man who’d led this country to victory in the Revolution and would be its first President in six years. And was a slave-owner.

“Hercules?” Washington asked.

“Sir?” The man who’d tripped Eagle answered.

“Is everything under control?”

“Yes, sir. He just fell, sir. Not feeling well. Not a problem at all, sir. You know his head ain’t ever been right since the fire.”

“I want—” Washington began, but a voice called to him from outside

“General!”

Washington sighed and turned toward the barn door. “Yes?”

“Colonel Caldwell is waiting in headquarters, as requested, sir. And the officers are assembling at the New Building. General Gates is already there.”

Eagle gave a quick glance, not quick enough as Hercules sharply elbowed him. He caught a glimpse of Washington leaving the barn, accompanied by another officer.

“Get back to work,” the overseer ordered. “Hercules, take care of her.”

The other four slaves immediately dispersed. Eagle had no idea what his work was or where it was, so he remained in place.

“What is wrong with you?” Hercules demanded of Eagle. He was already moving toward the young woman. “Easy, girl, easy.”

Eagle followed him. “I’m sorry. Just lost my head for a second.”

“Get some of that axle grease.” Hercules pulled a clean piece of cloth out of his pocket.

Eagle was confused for a second, then saw a small bucket near one of the stalls. He brought it over. Hercules put his fingers in, pulled out a dab and gently began applying it to the open wounds.

“What about infection?” Eagle asked.

“You’re really not right in the head,” Hercules said. “That old beating coming back on you? The fire?” It was a question, but Eagle got the feeling they were suggestions for possible excuses.

The download confirmed that axle grease was a poor man’s, a slave’s, field expedient way of packing an open wound. It actually helped prevent infection.

Hercules was better dressed than Eagle. A black frock coat over a white shirt and black trousers, all relatively clean. His shoes were polished and, unlike Eagle’s, intact. His name, surprisingly, was in the download: the head cook at Mount Vernon, also known as Uncle Harkless. Technically, he would become the first head chef for the President of the United States in 1790, when Washington moved the capitol to Philadelphia and established the ‘President’s House’. Eagle found it interesting that despite his apparent subservient demeanor, Hercules escaped Mount Vernon in 1797 and disappeared from the annals of history and thus from the download.

“Must be,” Eagle said, running his hand over the scars scrolled on the right side of his skull.

“Now Nancy, you need be still,” he said to the woman.

She wasn’t paying attention to the ministrations on her back. A slight flinch was the only indication she felt the pain as Hercules packed the wounds. She was in her late teens, her skin black as coal, her face set in what appeared to be a permanent scowl.

“Get her blouse,” Hercules ordered.

Eagle fetched it. Hercules helped her stand up. Eagle held the blouse and carefully slipped it on as she extended one arm and then the other.

She shook off any further help, buttoning it herself.

Hercules moved to a position in front of her and reached out, none so gently, gripping her chin. “Listen here, girl. The Master is right. White men
have
been hung for what you did. I’ve seen it. You know Master’s a decent man. He took a chance bringing us up north with him. And you try to repay him by stealing and running?”

“No good man owns slaves, Uncle,” Nancy said, shaking his hand off her chin. “And this new country he’s fought to make? Not going to be any different. The British say any slave who comes to them will be free. And they ain’t gonna be around much longer in the City.”

“They say any slave who
fights
for them will be freed,” Hercules said. “Big difference. How you going to fight in a man’s war?”

“I was bringing them papers. They’d taken me in for that.”

“Don’t matter anyway.” Hercules shook his head. “This war is over.”

“Not over yet, or else why all the grumbling here?” Nancy gave a bitter laugh. “Why’d that man give me the papers to take to the British then, telling me they’d earn my freedom?”

“What man?” Hercules asked.

“Don’ matter,” Nancy said. “They say they’re fighting for freedom, yet we’re not going to see ours.”

“It’s called hypocrisy,” Eagle said.

Both of them turned to him. Eagle belatedly put a hand to his head. “My head isn’t right.”

“That’s for sure,” Hercules said. “You get on back and rest,” he said to Nancy. “I’ve got to go to the General.” He looked at Eagle. “You take her place in the General’s quarters today since you seem to want to be looking at everything and saying fancy words. Try some fancy words in there and you’d be getting a beating too.”

Hercules walked out, leaving Eagle with Nancy.

“What’s wrong with you,” Nancy said, as soon as he was gone.

“My head,“ Eagle began, but she cut him off.

“You don’t stand right,” Nancy said. “Uncle Harkless saw it, but don’ know what to think. He keeps what he sees real small and don’ see nothing he don’ want to that might cause him to use his God-given smarts.”

“Your back,” Eagle said, but was cut off once more.

Nancy pointed out the barn. “Get going. You keep acting like this, you’ll get worse than me. As the man say, we got to know our place.”