Waging War (37 page)

I interrupted whatever Archer had been about
to say. “It wouldn’t work like that. If I took Archer out of his
natural time, he would stop aging. Yes, he would potentially be
human – if he survived the cure, which has a huge question mark
attached – but he would essentially be immortal until he came back
to what would have been his natural lifetime.”

“Yer ma does it,” said Ringo. I wasn’t sure
what point he was arguing, but for that matter, I wasn’t sure what
point I was arguing either.

Bas’ eyebrows rose questioningly, so I told
him about my mother being out of time and her visits back to the
nineteenth century every two years just to keep aging properly.

“So, it could potentially be done,” he said
finally.

I narrowed my eyes, not sure where he was
going with this. “Theoretically. Why?”

Bas turned back to Archer. “If you removed
the obstacle of a life without Saira from your choice, would you
make the decision to become mortal again?”

“Yes.” His answer came so quickly and so
resolutely that my stomach clenched. Ringo shot me a told-you-so
look, but I purposely ignored him and kept my eyes on Archer.

“Why?” Bas asked the question that rang in
my ears.

Archer took a breath, started to speak, then
cleared his throat and took another one. His gaze remained on Bas
when he finally spoke. “There is something that happens when you
know that life is finite: a desire for greatness, for whatever
fleeting moments of brilliance you can leave in the world after
you’re gone. And whether the end of your life is five years away or
fifty, the fact that you just don’t know is a great motivator for
not waiting to begin that thing that could potentially be your
legacy. Whether it’s a work of art, or a scientific breakthrough, a
good deed, or a child, leaving something of yourself for others to
experience and remember is sometimes the greatest excuse to live a
life that’s more than just crossing the distance between birth and
death.”

We all stared at Archer with varying degrees
of surprise and respect. I had never heard him talk about leaving
something behind, maybe because for him, there was no “behind.” He
finally met my eyes again, and they seemed to search mine for my
reaction. I smiled at him after a moment because it took effort to
make my face do anything while my brain was spinning so fast.

He seemed to take comfort in that smile.

Bas finally broke the silence. “I would not
take the cure.”

Once again, the space filled with the
silence of surprise. I was the first one to find my voice. “Why
not?”

“It is a similar answer to Archer’s, but
from another side. I, too, am interested in this idea of a legacy.
I am here now, despite your warnings about this war, Saira, because
I cannot stand by and do nothing as people find unthinkable ways to
destroy each other. I admit that I began my studies of God so many
centuries ago for the purely selfish reason that I wanted to
discover why He had allowed this thing to happen to me. Why He had
put me in that alley in the medina with the man who stole my blood
and infected my body with this scourge. But I found no answers to
my personal question there, because I no longer believe God
does
anything.”

Bas looked at the expressions on our faces
and must have seen varying degrees of shock. “In many times, that
statement would result in my very painful death by fire, and I
shall tell you of my near death at the stake another time.” He
smiled mischievously, and I suddenly realized how very young he
must have been when he was turned. Certainly less than thirty, but
given how few people even saw adulthood in the twelfth century,
maybe he was closer to twenty-five.

“Yeah, I want that story,” said Ringo, and
Bas winked at him.

“It’s a good one. But to my point. I have
come to believe, through my studies, that it is not God who
does
things – good or evil, right or wrong, careless or
thoughtful – it is men. Perhaps God was the creator, or perhaps God
is the encompassment of generosity and love, and as such, acts as a
beacon by which men can see the paths they choose.”

He got up and began pacing the kitchen, his
tall and well-built presence filling the space with more than just
his frame. I could see that he would be an inspiring spiritual
leader in whatever faith he practiced. “I have lived more than
eight hundred years, and I have been able to touch many, many
people’s lives with the idea that the doing of deeds comes
naturally from who one
is
. First, one must
be
love
and generosity in order that the doing of loving and generous
things becomes as natural as taking breath.”

Yeah, the man was a born spiritual leader. I
could practically hear the “Amen, brother” declarations from the
rafters.

When Bas returned to his seat at the table,
his face still glowed with the passion of his words. Archer leaned
forward to speak.

“You have found your calling, then, and it
seems to give fuel to your deeds in a way that has sustained you
through the centuries. It also seems to be a solitary calling – one
that can be self-generated, rather than one that needs the goals
and desires of another to fuel it. I believe that may be the
difference between us, Bas.”

Bas looked intrigued, and he cocked his head
like a bird. I remembered he had been a Shifter Eagle before he was
turned, and it was the first time I’d seen a sign of it in him.
“Explain,” he said.

Archer turned to me. “I have been alone in
my life more years than I’ve spent days with you, and yet in all
that time that I have only answered to my own calling, never have I
been more truly called to … greatness, than when I’m with you.” He
turned his attention back to Bas. “So, while I do see very clearly
the idea that who we choose to
be
informs our actions, for
me, this does not exist in a vacuum. The choices I make about who I
am
have the greatest meaning, and come from the most
selfless place, when they are inspired by my love for her.”

His words made my chest feel like it was
filled with warm, fuzzy light, except then my brain started
whispering, and the whisper grew to a shout, until finally I spoke,
just to stop the noise in my head. I used careful, controlled words
in a neutral tone in hopes that I could make sense of the thoughts
pinging around my brain. “Archer, I can’t be your reason for
being.”

He arched an eyebrow, but I continued
quickly. “It’s too much responsibility for one person to have over
another. Some days I can barely make a decision for myself and have
confidence it’s the right one. I don’t think I’m strong enough to
be responsible for anyone else’s choices too.”

Archer’s voice was gentle as he took my
hands in his to make his point. “Saira, my choices are my own every
time. None of them are your responsibility. This is not the thing
I’m talking about though.”

Ringo watched us both thoughtfully, and Bas
got up to put a kettle onto the stove. Archer continued in a voice
meant only for me. “Who you are, what you stand for, how you relate
to the world around you inspires me. I find myself choosing paths
that are right and good and generous because I believe they’re the
ones you would choose, and I find greatness in myself because I
aspire to be a man worthy to stand by your side.”

He could see me about to protest again, so
he continued quickly. “That’s not to say I have always made the
right choice. There was a dark time just after the Great War when
any choice at all was more than I could bear, so I hid, and I felt
sorry for myself, and I chose no greatness at all. There have been
times in my life when I hated – myself, Wilder, what I’ve become –
but nothing in that hatred gave me the same feelings of worth, or
of
rightness
, that choosing greatness does. Yes, I can
choose to be great whether or not you are with me, but I don’t have
to think about choosing greatness when I’m with you. I just do
it.”

Oh.

Well.

In that case …

My brain went silent and all the protests
left me in a whoosh. I was just working up something worthy to say
when Ringo’s voice cut through my careful word-crafting.

“Ladies and Gents, I believe it’s time to
go. At least two of you are about to turn into pumpkins.” He stood
to go, and I looked outside to see just the beginnings of pink in
the sky.

“I do have safe lodgings here, if you’d
like, as well as at the church in town if you ever find yourself
caught out.” Bas turned off the stove just as the kettle boiled,
and poured the heated water into a tub in the sink. He then added
some cold water and moved a washcloth and a sliver of soap to the
counter next to it.

Archer looked at both of us for a reaction,
but when we didn’t give him one, he answered the question. “We’ll
be fine tonight, but I appreciate the offer very much. If I may ask
a question?”

Bas had begun lathering the soap in his
hands. “Of course.”

“How are you able to be a nocturnal
priest?”

He lathered the soap and rubbed it over his
fairly impressive jaw. Bas the Moor was a striking man. His size
alone or the timbre of his voice would be enough to turn women’s …
or men’s heads. Add to that the sheer magnetism of the man when he
spoke passionately, and he was nearly irresistible.

“I have pre-dawn services and sundown mass.
We’re a community of farmers, you see, so changing the church’s
hours to suit theirs only made sense.” The mischievous smile was
back as he lifted the washcloth to his face. “Forgive me for
grooming in front of you. I need to be at church for the early
risers.”

There was a quick, single knock on the door.
Three of us stiffened instinctively, Bas did not. “Come,” he
said.

The door creaked open carefully and a young
face appeared. It was Rachel, the mechanic’s daughter I’d seen at
her garage near the village square. She looked warily at the people
gathered in Bas’ kitchen, but when her eyes found mine, they
widened in surprise.

Bas smiled at her. “Rachel, these are my
friends. They’ve brought venison for the children. If you need
some, please help yourself.”

She answered him quickly in French, then
gave us all a quick look before she ducked back out of the room. I
didn’t even think to wonder that he had spoken to her in English.
When the door had closed behind her, he said to us, “She stays with
the children while I am at church until Sister Agnes can come.”

“You’re the one who rescued them, right?” I
asked Bas as we were taking our leave.

His expression turned solemn. “As I said, I
could no more stand by and do nothing than I could deny the
existence of God. This place is where I was needed, so here I
came.”

Impulsively, I reached up and kissed the
cheek he had just cleaned. “It’s really good to see you, Bas.”

He gave us all a warm smile. “It is
wonderful to be among friends.”

We left the farmhouse in the silence of
contemplation, which lingered even when we’d returned to Marianne’s
farm. Archer took the last bundle of venison inside to her cellar
while Ringo and I hid the bikes. We met in the barn over the bucket
of water. Ringo’s wash was fairly cursory – more of a face and
teeth kind of thing. Archer and I were more thorough, though less
so than the previous night when we’d been alone.

Finally, when Ringo had gone to his bed of
rushes, and we had snuggled down into ours, I turned to Archer and
whispered, “Don’t choose things just because you think I’d want
them. If you want something, no matter how I might feel about it,
please choose it.”

Archer kissed my forehead and then tucked me
into his chest. He didn’t say the words my Archer would have said,
so I did it for him. “I love you,” I whispered.

The tightening of his arms was the only clue
that he’d heard me.

Dreams

The church was filled with people. Women
carried babies in their arms while small children clung to their
skirts. A young woman pleaded with a soldier at the door. He held
his rifle in both hands and stared straight ahead as if he couldn’t
see her or hear her cries.

Bas stood at the altar in his priest’s
robes, directing women with prams to safe places against the walls.
Saira was gathering little boys around her and quietly leading them
to the door behind the altar in the south transept which Bas had
shown us was the way to his sleeping crypt. She was careful to
avoid the eyes of the soldiers who were filing into the nave, and
kept her motions small so they didn’t attract attention.

I was the only other man in the church
besides Bas, and he’d given me a set of ecclesiastical robes with
which to masquerade myself. I was helping some of the young women
with babies slip behind the altar to hide in the space between it
and the wall. There were fifteen soldiers in the church now, all of
them grim-faced and silent as they held their rifles at the ready.
They wore the uniforms of the German SS, and they had the dead eyes
of boys who have seen things that men should never know.