Redemption: Supernatural Time-Traveling Romance with Sci-fi and Metaphysics (15 page)

“Now leave me, priest.” he says,
tossing the scroll to Ra. “I tire of you and your love for this woman.”

“Thank you, Caesar,” says Ra, clutching
the scroll to his chest. “May Isis bless you in all you do, Divine Augustus.”

“Yes, yes.” Caligula flicks his
fingers lazily towards the door. “Get out.” And as Ra makes his way from the
throne room, the emperor calls out over his head, “Nobody in!” and then the
door swings shut and Caligula is cut off from Ra’s view.

~

I got it,
thinks Ra, kissing the
scroll.
Thanks and praise to you, O Isis!
I can save her!
Hurrying along the corridors that lead back to the entrance
to the palace, Ra realizes he does not have much time. According to Opilio, the
beast fights would begin that evening at the tenth hour back out on the Campus
Martius. The thought of trying to run that distance again is unthinkable, so as
Ra leaves the palace, he rushes towards the nearby stables, where he hires a
horse. It is expensive, but he doesn’t quibble over the price. He has only one
thought now, to save the woman he loves.

Alfreda! Alfreda! Alfreda!
The words
pound through Ra’s head in time with the horse’s hooves as it gallops across
the cobbles.
I love you, Alfreda! Fear
not, I’m coming for you. And when I have saved you, then I will get you your
freedom.
A smile flickers across the priest’s face as he considers the
wonder of their future together.

I will ask her to become my wife,
he
thinks, the idea sending a trill of delight through him.
She will move into the temple with me. She will be brought into the
order of Isis if she wants to. And though we could never have children, still
we can live together and grow old together. I will take care of her. We would
be happy together, we two. . .

“Come on!” he shouts, willing the
horse to go faster, despite the narrowness of streets as they wind around the
Capitoline Hill and heedless of the obstacles that litter their path. There is
so little time. Ra glances up to see the sun hanging low in the sky. It must
already be approaching the tenth hour and the time for the bloody spectacle to
begin. He mutters a prayer to Isis under his breath and strikes the horse
across its rump with his hand. “Faster, damn you!”

In response, the animal gives an
extra spurt of speed, but it is short lived. There, stretched out across the
cobbles, is the body of a large dog that someone has thrown out into the
street. It is quite dead and though it makes no movement, it spooks the horse,
which tries both to avoid it and jump over it at the same time. Its hooves slip
on one of the many patches of filth that litter the ground and its legs buckle
underneath. Before he knows what is happening, Ra is thrown from the animal as
it crashes down onto the cobbles. The loud snap of one of its legs breaking,
echoing off the nearby buildings, is the last thing the priest hears before his
temple strikes the ground, knocking him out.

He comes to quickly, bursting
into consciousness at the searing pain in his leg. He lifts up his head to look
and sees that it is stuck underneath the horse.

“Get off me!” he shouts, kicking
out with his free leg, but it is no use. The horse cannot move. Instead Ra
listens to its last, ragged breaths as the
animal
’s life
ebbs away and he notices a pool of blood spreading out from beneath it. Clearly
the horse has fallen on something sharp, a rock perhaps or a discarded blade.
Either way, it makes no difference to Ra. He must free himself and continue on
foot, and so he pushes with all his strength, trying to free his trapped leg.

Blessed Isis, please help me! I must save her!

Even as he thinks these words
something suddenly gives and, inch by inch, he drags his leg free from the dead
horse. He feels it carefully and, though his leg is bruised and sore, there is
nothing broken. As quickly as he can, Ra scrambles to his feet and heads off
again towards the Campus Martius, stopping briefly to check he still has the
scroll intact in his purse.

Soon the narrow, cobbled streets
give way to the broader dirt tracks that head out through the Servian Wall to
the northwest of the city. The heat of the previous weeks has baked these roads
to the hardness of marble, with large cracks in the surface and deep grooves
cut by the many carts going back and forth to the plain. Many times Ra
stumbles, even falling on one occasion, causing him to sprain his wrist. The
setting sun, together with his tears, which are now flowing freely, nearly
blinds him. And yet he keeps on going, spurred on by his love and his
desperation to save Alfreda.

His heart is hammering against
his ribs, harder than ever, until suddenly, as he finally catches sight of the
makeshift arena across the Campus, a searing pain unlike anything he has ever
experienced slices through his chest. It quickly spreads down along his arm and
upwards into his throat, making it difficult for him to breath. Desperately
trying to draw air into his lungs, he keeps going, placing one foot in front of
the other again and again. The pain is almost overwhelming and it is
increasingly hard to breathe.

He drops to his knees and, as his
mouth opens and closes in an effort to feed his body with the air it needs, Ra
is reminded of one sunny afternoon as a seven or eight-year-old boy, when his
uncle showed him how to catch fish in the Nile near his home in Egypt. He
recalls the glint of the sun on the water and the pull of the fish as it caught
on the line. He remembers his delight as, with the help of his uncle, he pulled
the struggling creature from the water and held its slippery body tightly in
his hands. But most of all he recalls the fish’s mouth opening and closing,
opening and closing, desperate to draw in the oxygen that will keep it alive.

I’m like a fish out of water,
he
thinks, and realizes he is lying on the ground, thrashing around much as that
fish had done.
Alfreda!
Despite the
pain still coursing through his body, Ra tries to sit up but feels too weak to
move.
O Isis, help me! Give me strength
to carry on.

With an almost superhuman effort,
he manages to get onto his knees and then clamber unsteadily to his feet. Still
trying to catch his breath, but finding the struggle beginning to ease, he
starts running again with a curious, lopsided gait.

After what feels like an
eternity, Ra arrives at the arena and barely pauses as he scrabbles for a
handful of coins in his purse and throws them towards the guards. As quickly as
he can Ra makes his way towards the barrier which separates the audience from
the fighters and peers over to see what is going on. All around him, the shout
of the crowd tells him what he already knows, the spectacle has already begun!

Ra grips the rail to steady
himself and looks down into the arena. Almost immediately he spots Alfreda, her
golden hair pulled back into a ponytail, her slender body covered by a short
tunic and her face set in a fearless snarl as she squares up to one of the
beasts, a lion at least twice her size. Ra’s breath catches and the pain in his
chest bursts into agony once again, but he cannot tear his eyes away from the
Briton.

She looks so small,
he thinks as he
watches her slash out at the lion with a short sword.
If only I had got here sooner.
As another wave of pain slices
through him, he feels the scroll slip from his fingers and fall to the arena
floor where it is quickly trampled beneath the feet of a large man, trying
desperately to fend off two massive dogs.

As the pain in his chest reaches
its peak and he finds himself sliding down the barrier, he holds on, desperate
to keep his eyes on the woman he loves. “Oh Alfreda,” Ra whispers, tears
streaming down his face. The last thing he sees before the life leaves his body
is the light of the sinking sun glinting from the beautiful emerald embedded in
the bracelet that still clings to Alfreda’s wrist.
Alfreda, my love.
And then, as Ra falls to the ground, the light
fades and is gone.

Chicago, U.S.A. 2045

A
nn blinked her eyes open, her hand over her heart, still feeling
the pain in her chest. For a moment the sense of sorrow and loss seemed as if it
would engulf her, but it passed as she realized she was not in danger, it was
only her vision.

“That’s right, my dear,” came the
cracked voice of the psychic. “Breathe it in deeply.”

Slowly, Ann turned her head to
see that the old woman had lit one of her strange candles again and the scent
helped to calm her nerves.

“And that was?” asked Ann,
catching her breath at last.

“Another glimpse of your past,
another of the lives that make up your one, whole life stream.”

“I see.” Ann nodded, a frown
creasing her forehead for a moment. “So that was what? My second life?”

The psychic sat back, a knowing
smile on her face. “As you saw, my dear.”

“And what does it mean? Are you
saying I saw myself die… a second time?”

“That’s simply part of the chain
of reincarnation, something that stretches out behind and before us all.”

Ann, feeling her normal self once
again, turned and sat up on the couch facing the psychic. “Please,” she said. “Tell
me more.”

“It’s quite simple, my dear.
Birth is not a beginning. Death is not an end. There is existence without
limitation, continuity without a starting-point or terminus.”

“Right…” said Ann, not sounding
entirely certain. “So what exactly is this chain of reincarnation?”

The old woman held out her hands
in an expansive gesture. “We call it a chain,” she explained, “because we are
all trapped in this cycle of birth and death.”

“Trapped?”

“Exactly. . . until the release
when a person gains redemption.”

Part Three

COURAGE

Chapter Fourteen

I
don’t think so,” said Ann, peering over her menu. “They’ve never
really appealed to me.”

She and Michael were sitting in
the Fleur-de-Lis, a snug
French restaurant on
the edge of the city. Shunning the hi-tech computerized service of their
competitors, the Fleur-de-Lis insisted on the traditional card menus, candlelit
tables and human waiting staff. As such it was one of the coziest restaurants
in Chicago, setting itself apart as a destination for couples only, and all the
tables were for two.

Michael smiled behind his menu. “Are
you telling me you’ve never had frogs’ legs? My dear, you haven’t lived!”

“Oh, I’ve lived alright,” said
Ann, thinking back to her latest session with the psychic a few days earlier. “And
I’m fairly sure eating amphibian limbs is not a necessary ingredient for life.”

“Fair enough. But I’m still going
to give them a go. Have you chosen your main?”

“Yes,” said Ann, laying the menu
gently on the table. “I’m ready to order.”

As if at a signal a waiter
appeared, his notepad and pencil at the ready.

Having taken their order, the
waiter took their menus and sidled away to the kitchen. Michael leant back in
his chair and smiled at Ann over his glass of Chateau Latour Pauillac 2000, the
finest French wine the Fleur-de-Lis had to offer.

“You look stunning tonight, Ann,”
he said, gazing at her approvingly. And it was true. Inspired by thoughts of
Egypt, she had colored her hair a deep blue-black with a “Just For One Night”
dye, and gathered it up in a long ponytail held in place with a silver ribbon.
Her outfit was in the vintage style that was all the rage at the moment, a
short black top, which offered glimpses of her silver embroidered bra, flared
black trousers picked out at the bottom with silver thread and secured with a
wide silver belt. The outfit was finished off with silver high heels and
handbag and, as Michael took this all in, he was intrigued to see the silver up
and down her body slowly change to a deep gold. He leant forward to get a
better look as the gold changed back to silver again and was enveloped in the
scent of Ann’s Je T’Aime perfume.

“I match my partner,” said Ann,
gesturing to Michael’s dark-blue suit and shirt, which suited him very well. As
he reached out to take her hand, she also noted that the white gold Rolex
fastened to his watch matched the chain around his neck, nestling against his
perfectly tanned skin. He leaned his head forward and kissed her hand.

Ann laughed. “Just like in the
movies!”

“Except
this
movie,” he said, looking intently at her as he stroked the
back of her hand, “is just for the two of us.”

After what may have been an hour,
or just a few seconds, Ann lowered her eyes, becoming aware of the music that
was playing.

“Such a beautiful song,” she
said.

“Ah yes. An old Joe Dassin song,
I believe.” Michael cocked his head to listen. “Et si tu n’existais pas”. Do
you know what it means in English?”

“No. I’m lousy at French.
Something about love?”

“Sure. It’s about true love. It’s
called, ‘And if you didn’t exist’.”

 
Michael gazed deep into Ann’s eyes and they both sat in
silence for a while.

“Well,” he said, finally breaking
the silence and waving expansively at the surroundings with his free hand, “this
is certainly a nice restaurant. I’ve never been here before.”

“Me neither.”

“Come on!” said Michael with a
mischievous look. “You must have been here before with one of your
other
men.”

“What other men?” Ann raised her
eyebrows at the suggestion. “I can’t even remember the last time I went on a
date with another man.”

“I can’t believe it. A gorgeous
lady like you. You must have plenty of suitors trying to win your affection.”

“Maybe,” she said. “But I’ve been
busy. No time for extra-curricular activities.”

Michael looked at her for a
while, a shrewd look on his face. Eventually he said, “No. I think there’s
something more to it than that. Something happened, didn’t it? Won’t you tell
me?”

“There’s nothing to tell, really,”
said Ann, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly. “There was a guy, before I
moved to Chicago, but he was no good for me. Everyone said he’d let me down in
the end, and it turned out they were right.”

“Then he was a fool! It’s his
loss, my dear. You deserve someone who will love you with all of his being,
with a love that even death cannot overcome.”

“I don’t know,” said Ann,
frowning slightly as she sipped her wine. “I’m not sure I can imagine such a
love.”

“Well, I don’t want you to have
to imagine it. I want you to experience it!” Michael paused a moment,
considering. “It reminds me of a story told of Isis.”

Ann’s eyes widened in surprise at
this mention of the Egyptian goddess and
she almost choked on
her drink. She continued to listen in silence
.

“It is said,” Michael continued, “that
when her lover Osiris was murdered by Seti, the god of storms, she spent many
years traveling the world, gathering up the strewn parts of his body. When
finally she had found them all she used her magic to restore him to life again.
Now that is true love, my dear. That is what I want for you.”

“That would certainly be
something! How do you know these things?” asked Ann.

“It comes with the job. We
archaeologists have to know all about the theology of the cultures we study,
Egyptian, Greek, Roman, even the gods of the Stone Age.”

As they ate their meal together,
Michael regaled Ann with the stories of ancient gods and goddesses, stories of
love and war, of life and death, and she listened in fascination. When finally
their desserts arrived, Michael asked her about her childhood.

“Well, there’s not much to tell,
really,” she said. “I was raised in one of the lovely old houses in Manhattan,
within walking distance of Central Park. My parents adopted me when I was very
little, though I only found that out when I turned eighteen. They were great
parents, so warm and caring.”

Michael leaned back in his chair,
giving Ann his full attention as he enjoyed his white chocolate mousse. He
nodded, encouraging her to continue.

“We used to have family
gatherings every Sunday, with dinner followed by a walk around the neighborhood
or the park. We would be hand-in-hand, with me in the middle skipping along and
sometimes being swung up into the air. And we’d go to the movies and dad would
buy us all ice creams, popcorns and candies.” She smiled at the memory, pausing
to taste her cheesecake with a latticework of raspberry coulis.

“It sounds delightful,” said
Michael, savoring his coffee laced with Hennessy Paradis. “So what was the most
exciting thing about your childhood?”

“Exciting?” Ann considered this
as she sipped at her golden drink, Chateau d' Yquem 2010. “It would probably be
exploring my parents’ library. It fascinated me every time I entered the place.
I can remember wheeling around a stepladder, easily twice my height, and
standing on tiptoe to reach up for the thickest, heaviest tome on the top
shelf.”

Michael laughed. “A proper high-risk-taker!”

“Am I indeed?” said Anne with a
smile.

“Oh yes!” he said, taking her
hand again and raising it to his lips. “And I love it!”

She blushed as he kissed her
knuckle, and she noticed that nearby couples were taking surreptitious glances
at them. Such an old-fashioned gesture, but touching, all the same.

“So what made you climb that
ladder?” he asked, ignoring the onlookers.

“I just wanted to read all the
books that filled up the library. They fascinated me.”

“And were you successful?”

Ann shook her head. “Hardly.
There were thousands of books in there! But I read as many as I could.”

“So what happened to your passion
for books?” asked Michael, leaning forward, elbows on the table. “Why didn’t
you choose to become a librarian or something?”

“Funnily enough, it was because
of the books. I found myself drawn to Science Fiction novels. I loved them all,
from H G Wells and Jules Verne to Isaac Asimov and Ray Bradbury. And as I read
them, I found that my real passion was for technology, the really cutting edge
stuff. And so I naturally ended up becoming a developer of robotics products
and solutions.”

“Of course. I’ve seen your AI
products. They’re very impressive!”

“Yes, they are. And now I am a
head of the sales and marketing of these products at A.I.I.”

She pulled the E-A device from
her temporarily gold handbag and held it in her hand. “The E-A is my latest and
most favorite project, a completely automated, intelligent Electronic
Assistant.”

“It’s fascinating,” said Michael,
placing a hand on her free one. “Absolutely fascinating!” Ann was overcome by a
sudden urge to tell him about all of the strange things that had been going on
in her life. Looking into his eyes, at that moment, she had the overwhelming
feeling that there was nothing she couldn’t tell him.
But I can’t,
she argued with herself.
He’ll think I’m crazy!
So she let the moment pass, though as soon
as it had, she couldn’t help feeling a tiny twinge of regret.

After dinner they hailed a cab to
take them to the city center and headed to Windermere’s, the city’s most
stylish night club, which was situated on the crowning floor of one of the
city’s newest skyscrapers. Here, among the nouveau riche and the high-flyers of
Chicago society, Ann and Michael danced together, far above the world. Around
them the lights of the city spread out in all directions, and Ann felt at peace
for a while, held in Michael’s strong arms, her cheek brushing against his,
their bodies pressed close together. Pulling her head back slightly to look
into his eyes, she found herself struck even more than before at how handsome
he was. The ceiling lights glistened off his fair hair, a strand of which fell
across one eye, reminding her slightly of Nina’s unruly
curl
.
His eyes were a deep blue and she felt a curious desire to fall into them, to
be lost in their depths, to be kept safe there forever. But more than his
looks, there was something about him that drew her in. There was something about
the way he looked at her and spoke to her, the way he held her hand and her
gaze that made her feel safe, as though, at last, here was a man she could
really trust. She thought back to her younger days in the metropolitan jungle
of New York City and the guys she had dated then. They had never looked into
her eyes in a way that made her feel treasured, or communicated security by
simply holding her hand. They had been a disappointing mix of mommy’s boys,
spoilt and pampered and scared, who knew nothing of a woman’s needs or anything
beyond their own little lives, and thrill-seekers, only interested in fast cars
and even faster sex, believing themselves to be great lovers rather than the
frustrating waste of time they really were. They didn’t even compare to a real
man like Michael.

As the song came to an end, Ann
was surprised to hear the DJ slip in an old number she hadn’t heard in years.
It was a hit from the eighties, long before she was born—in this life at
least—but she knew it all the same: ‘Never Let Me Down Again’ by a band
called Depeche Mode. On the screen that took up an entire wall of the
nightclub, the 3D image of the band appeared, singing the words she was
surprised to find she remembered.

She started to dance, pulling
away from Michael slightly. As Michael watched her, his mouth dropped open. She
looked stunning. She was a fantastic dancer with an amazing body and flying
long hair, and many of the guys hanging around the dance floor stopped to watch
her as well. Slowly, she drew closer and closer to Michael, looking deeply into
his eyes as she sang. Sliding an arm around her waist he drew Ann close to him,
still holding her gaze, joining in the singing
.

“Trust me, my
dear
Ann
,” he said, his voice serious and assuring. “I will never let you
down.” Ann looked up at him.
Tonight is
the night
, she thought to herself. The moment grew longer, but Michael made
no move to do anything. Still, it wasn’t as awkward of a moment as it might
have been. His eyes were filled with such warmth and understanding that she
couldn’t feel embarrassed, even though eventually he pulled his arm away and
led her back to their drinks.

That night, as Ann slipped
between the sheets of her bed, she smiled as she thought of her evening. Had
she at last found a man who would love her, really love her? Someone she could
love in return? Someone she could spend the rest of her life with, or at least
this
life with?
She
stretched out across the expanse of the bed, feeling its emptiness, but
recognizing, for the very first time, that there was no corroding emptiness
inside of her anymore. “Am I in love with him?”

It was with thoughts such as
these that she drifted slowly off to sleep. Her night, however, was disturbed
again by the same strange dream that had plagued her before and she woke
feeling a terrible sense of loss and anxiety, afraid of the spiral that held
her in its grip, and haunted by the sadness of her past lives.