Ashes of Time (The After Cilmeri Series) (9 page)

Or rather, he knew he couldn’t.

As Callum got into Art’s truck, he looked
worriedly at Cassie. “For the first time it occurs to me that Jones
could be wrong. What if we roused everyone and it’s a mistake?”

“
Has Mark ever been
mistaken?” she said. “Have the flashes ever
not
been someone traveling forward or
back?”

“
No.” Callum racked the
seat all the way back, which put him halfway between Cassie in the
back seat and her grandfather sitting in front of her. Art drove a
big Dodge extended cab truck, beaten and battered but still running
after twenty years.

“
If Mark is wrong about
this,” Cassie said, “my family will blame you, and you’ll be teased
every Thanksgiving for the rest of your life for taking us on a
snipe hunt.”

“
Oh, ta,” Callum said,
though on second thought, it might be good to give them something
to tease him about besides his accent. As the truck hummed down the
road, leading the other trucks, Callum sighed and stretched out his
legs.

Thanksgiving dinner was taking place at the
house of one of Cassie’s aunts, somewhat south of Highway 84, which
ran through the northern part of Oregon. The caravan of trucks
crossed the motorway on a flyover, and then Art pulled into the
truck stop next to the casino. Cassie stuck her head between the
seats. “What are you doing, Tilla?” That was the Umatilla word for
‘grandfather’, which Callum knew from past visits.

“
If we’re driving up
Meacham Creek, we need gas to make it there and back,” Art
said.

Callum exited the truck with Art. Courtesy
said that he should be pumping—and paying—for the petrol, but Art
brushed away his credit card. “It’s on me. I know how worried
Cassie is about your friends. I can see it in her eyes.”

“
Thank you,” Callum said.
“And thank you for helping us find them.”

“
We haven’t found them
yet.”

Callum scanned the skyline to the east. “We
will.” The words came out a bit harsher and more guttural than he
intended, and he returned his gaze to Art’s face.

The two men studied each other for a second
before Art said, “You should know by now there’s nothing Cassie’s
family wouldn’t do for her.” And then he smirked. “And maybe for
you.”

Callum dared to ask, “Do you mean I’ve
proved myself?”

“
I see how you take care of
her.” Art slotted the nozzle into the petrol tank.

Callum laughed, genuinely relieved at his
words. “Don’t let Cassie hear you say that.”

Art shot Callum an amused look. As an elder
in an Indian tribe, Art was no stranger to strong women. He was
also being far more talkative than usual, and in the last five
minutes he was two for two in facial expressions Callum had never
seen on him before.

Petrol acquired, Callum and Art returned to
their seats in Art’s truck. The other trucks circled around, each
driven by an uncle or cousin, and fell into line as they headed
north past the casino to the crossroads at Mission. The convenience
store was still open, with a few customers pulling into the car
park as Art turned the corner onto the road heading east.

Callum kept his eye on the map on his mobile
phone. It was calculating and recalculating the miles they had to
travel to reach the spot where the flash had occurred. The twenty
miles would end up being more like thirty before they could pull
off the road and continue towards the site on foot.

Then Cassie said, “Wait! Wait!” She shook
Callum’s shoulder to get his attention.

“
What is it?” He turned to
look at her.

Art had sped up after turning right, but now
he glanced back at Cassie too. She peered through the rear window.
The only thing moving within a mile were the people in the car
park, which was lit by four streetlights. “Turn around,
Grandfather. Please.”

As usual, Art didn’t expend words that he
didn’t have to use, just flipped on his turn signal and executed a
five-point turn in the middle of the street. The other trucks
behind him slowed and waited until they could turn around too. A
few seconds later, Art turned into the convenience store car park,
just as a woman in a long dress and a cloak pushed through the
front door.

“
It’s them!” Cassie jiggled
Callum’s seat.

Callum had the door open before Art braked
the truck, and his feet hit the ground a second later.

“
Meg!” Cassie slammed the
passenger seat forward and scrambled out behind Callum.

It had been Meg who’d pushed through the
front door of the shop, and she stood on the sidewalk, a bag of
crisps and a bottle of water in her hands. Callum had stopped too,
one hand on the doorframe as he’d come around it, hardly daring to
believe that Meg was really standing on the pavement in front of
them. Cassie barreled past her husband and flung her arms around
her friend. “I’m so glad to see you!”

Both women were laughing and crying at the
same time. Anna had still been in the shop, and she tumbled out the
door. Somehow, Callum crossed the distance from Art’s truck to the
pavement, and the four companions wrapped their arms around each
other and held on.

Looking over the top of the women’s heads,
Callum saw Art and the man in whose truck Anna and Meg had arrived
meet and shake hands. As was usually the case with tribal elders,
Art’s handshake was gentle, hardly a handshake at all by English
standards, and then Art patted the man’s upper arm as if they knew
each other well.

Meanwhile, Cassie’s other relatives had
climbed out of their trucks and gathered around to be introduced to
Meg and Anna. Two years ago when she’d returned to the modern world
with Callum, Cassie had left it up to her grandfather to explain
where she’d been for five years. Callum was pretty sure he hadn’t
told anybody anything but the vaguest truth. Certainly the time
traveling to the Middle Ages part had been left out.

Callum released the women, who showed no
signs of letting go of each other, and walked to where Art and his
friend stood. “Thank you.” Callum held out his hand to the
stranger.

“
No problem.” As Art
introduced Callum to Jim, they shook hands more like Callum was
used to, with a firm grip that was almost a test of manhood. “I was
happy to help.”

“
Where did you find them?”
Callum said.

“
On the road,” Jim said.
“Hitchhiking.”

Callum grimaced. “I appreciate you picking
them up. That would have been a long walk to Mission.”

Jim nodded. “Good thing you showed up when
you did. Meg wanted me to leave them here. I didn’t want to do
that, but I couldn’t force them back into the truck if they didn’t
want to go.”

Callum read curiosity in Jim’s eyes, but
after neither Callum nor Art explained what was going on, Jim
nodded his head at Art. “I’ll be off.”

“
Thanks again,” Callum
said.

“
Glad it all worked out,”
Jim said.

Art watched Jim go and then turned to
Callum. “Does this mean Cassie will be leaving again? With you?
With them?”

“
I think so,” Callum said.
“I go where she goes, so it’s probably a better question to ask
her.”

Art looked at Callum for a long count of
ten, his gaze back to impassive, and then he nodded. “I like who
she became there. I like who she is when she’s with you.”

Callum blinked. That was as high a praise as
he could ever imagine receiving from Art.

Then Art raised a hand, and somehow that
small motion brought everyone’s attention to him. “Dinner’s
waiting.”

Chapter Six

November 1291

David

A
nna and Mom had been gone for two hours. The family’s
situation remained unchanged, but reality had set in, and the
people at Rhuddlan had recovered from their initial shock. The
family was eating the rest of their meal in the great hall,
attempting to put a brave face on the disaster. Hopefully, David’s
calm response had helped to ease people’s worries, but still, it
was going to be the talk of Gwynedd for days, if not weeks, to
come. Longer if Mom and Anna didn’t return quickly.

David sat on the dais, watching his people
and contemplating the great secret his family had been keeping
these last nine years. All that time, David had walked a fine line
between modern man and medieval lord, and with Mom and Anna’s
disappearance, reconciling the two wasn’t getting any easier.

David glanced at his father, who was sitting
back in his chair, eating no more than David. David caught his eye
and then reached out a hand to his cup and lifted it to him in a
silent toast, as he had before Marty had come. Dad drank as well,
though like David, he wouldn’t drink much tonight. David had
learned—eventually, but he’d learned—that a king couldn’t afford to
allow wine to cloud his judgment. And especially not tonight, not
with Mom gone and war on the horizon.

Arthur played at David’s feet with a wooden
horse that one of David’s men-at-arms had whittled for him. Arthur
knew horses and carts and carriages, but David couldn’t help
thinking that his birthright was equally cars and trains and
spaceships. He spoke American to Arthur, while Lili spoke Welsh and
his nanny spoke English. Until those words tonight, claiming his
name, Arthur had barely spoken any of them beyond ‘ma’ and ‘ta’,
which was an abbreviated Welsh word for father, ‘tad’.

Mom insisted that Arthur would speak when he
deemed it necessary, and David knew his son was perfectly bright in
other ways. He just couldn’t help wondering, if they’d lived in the
modern world, if a doctor wouldn’t have been able to explain what
was wrong with him, if anything was wrong with him at all.

How would David know? And how would David
know the right time tell Arthur that his father had been born in a
distant world where there were planes, trains, and automobiles?
Where men had landed on the moon? How did he tell him of a land
where men didn’t wear swords or ride horses into battle as he would
be expected to? How was David to teach his son to be the King of
England he needed to become, while making sure Arthur was a man
whose mind could encompass far more than that?

The time traveling was a secret from the
world at large lest one of them—more likely Anna, Bronwen, or
Mom—be labeled a witch in this superstitious age. So David couldn’t
speak of it to Arthur, for fear that he would inadvertently betray
the truth. Admittedly, Arthur wasn’t talking now, but who was to
say that his seven-year-old future self wouldn’t want to talk to a
friend about his father’s hidden green minivan because he didn’t
understand why he shouldn’t? When did keeping secrets from the rest
of the world become keeping secrets from his son?

“
Don’t watch your people so
closely,” Lili said, leaning in to speak low in David’s ear.
“You’re making them nervous.”

“
They are giving me more
space than usual,” he agreed.

She shook her head. “They were doing that
already.”

“
Were they? I didn’t
notice.”

“
They remember the Prince
of Wales you once were and wonder if the King of England they see
before them is the same person or a different beast entirely.
They’re wary, especially now that you’ve sent your mother and
sister to Afalon.”

“
I didn’t send—”

Lili shot her husband a withering look. “You
sent them to Afalon to save them from Marty.”

“
Okay, okay.” David sat
back in his seat. “It isn’t what I told them, but it’s what I mean
them to think.”

It was only then, as David watched Arthur
put his head close to Cadell’s, the two boys communicating in
whatever fashion worked for them, that he recognized the evidence
before him. What might be possible for Arthur stood right in front
of him in the shape of his nephew. Cadell, like Arthur, was a child
of two worlds and knew it because Anna had never tried to hide who
she was from her children. And if Cadell had a certain swagger and
confidence beyond his years, David could hardly begrudge the
result.

Lili patted his arm.
“Arthur is
fine
. We
all are. You’ll know the right time to tell him.”

David’s eyes widened in mock horror. “You’ve
been reading my mind!”

She kissed his cheek. He had an urge to grab
her and kiss her for a lot longer, but there were too many people
in the room. Her eyelashes flared as she read his thoughts
again.

“
Afalon is real, Dafydd,”
Dad said from the other side of Lili. “Don’t run from it or
yourself. This is who you are.”

“
Your people used to love
you, Dafydd. They want to still,” Lili added. “Let them. Show them
you’re the same boy who came to them when he was fourteen and won
their hearts inside of a week.”

“
It wasn’t exactly a week,”
David said, but at another one of her looks, he stopped arguing. Of
course she was right. She always was. “Perhaps I should mingle.”
Standing, David bent to Arthur and swung him onto his hip. Arthur
gave a squeal and put an arm around his father’s neck, coming along
willingly as David strolled from the dais. Small children were the
perfect icebreaker. David made his way among the tables, greeting
people as he should have greeted them earlier.

One man told a tale to his neighbors about
that first battle David had fought against King Edward when he was
fourteen; another lamented his gout; a third complained that his
neighbor had moved a boundary stone. Everybody wanted to talk to
him, and as the evening progressed and tongues loosened, David felt
a real warmth directed at him.