Lightning Rider (26 page)

Warrior screams echo through the field. With a low, sweeping kick, he knocks my feet out from underneath me and I roll, throwing three bolts in rapid succession as my back hits the dirt. They connect with his chest, launching him in the air. As the flash strips away my vision, I let out another yell and scramble to my feet.

On his back in the dirt, Constantine hasn’t moved since I struck him. The energy should have only pushed him off-balance. It has every other time. An angry welt slices across both his biceps. Strips of skin peek through charred bits of his tunic across his chest. His fingers curl loosely around the hilt of his sword, barely keeping it balanced on its edge. I ease closer, waiting for him to spring up and come at me.

He doesn’t move.

“Constantine?” My voice cracks. I lean over him, trailing slithering bolts from each hand.

The sword tips and falls to the dirt. He makes no move to stop it.

Panicked, I collapse and press my ear to his chest and listen. His heart beats its steady rhythm, and he breathes out a big sigh. “Hopeless.”

“Why? What? Are you dying? I didn’t mean to strike you so hard, but you attacked me. I thought you would duck.”

“No, you. You’re hopeless. No warrior collapses at the side of their opponent and weeps on his chest. You move in for the final blow. I thought you were going to try to kill me this time.”

“I’m not weeping.” Especially now that he’s making fun of me. Jerk.

“You would have, had I given you more time.” He sits up. “Always attack to kill. Always.”

“I’d rather not.”

“You must defend with the intent to kill.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”

He stands and pulls me to my feet. “This is not a matter to joke about.”

“So why do you keep bringing it up?”

“Because a day may come when you have no choice.”

“I don’t really see that happening.”

We walk to the end of the training field where Penya stands watching. “Have you told her?” she asks.

I look between them. “Told me what?”

“I must leave,” Constantine says.

“
Niña
, we need you to check on Ilif, keep him busy at your father’s house.” 

More secrets. “Why? What are you up to?”

“We must hurry,” she says.

I throw up my hands. “Are you ever going to tell me the whole truth?”

“Not today.”

Constantine wraps his fingers around my upper arm. “I’ll be back. Can you return to now if you leave?”

I search his face for what they’re not telling me. “Probably.”

He sighs and gives Penya a sideways glance. “I must risk it.” 

“What’s going on?” I step to Penya. “What aren’t you telling me?”

She ignores me and addresses Constantine. “Go.”

He looks back to me and pauses, his lips pressed tight together like he’s trying to keep the words from escaping. I wait, but then he turns and hurries away, his long strides eating up the path until he vanishes around the corner.

“I should stay,” I say, turning back to Penya.

“It will be fine. You won’t miss the alteration.”

I snort. “Not sure I’m needed.”

“Alterations aren’t always about burning buildings and speeding trains. Sometimes they’re simple matters of information. A pinprick of knowledge, a subtle shove in a different direction. That you are still here leads me to believe your participation is not yet complete and you will be needed during the final exchange. I don’t know what part you’ll have to play, but the mission must succeed this time. It must.”

There it is, the layer of secrecy. “Why won’t you tell me the rest of the story?”

“Soon. Details are still missing. That’s why I need you to occupy Ilif.”

“What does my occupying Ilif have to do with the missing details? You’re going to have to give me something. One, you know I’m terrible at faking, especially when it comes to him. Two, I’ve earned it. None of you are exactly easy to put up with.”

She purses her lips and taps her foot.

I cross my arms.

“Viriato is only part of the alteration.”

My eyes pop wide. “What?”

“Ilif believes he knows the other half and what needs to happen to further contort the future to suit him. I need to find out what else he knows before he can interfere with both and keep us from succeeding. But the answers will take me a while to find because he’s keeping the information well hidden. You need to buy me time and keep him busy.”

“You sure have a funny way of earning my cooperation.” I huff.

“There is much I’ve kept from you, and I still have good reasons for doing so. Most first alterations are simple. This one . . .” She crosses and uncrosses her arms. “The layers and complexity of this arc would have challenged even the most experienced rider.”

“How long have you known?”

“Several years.”

So many people who knew so much about me—about Papi—and no one bothered to tell either of us. And still she’s keeping secrets. For my own good.

“I knew the rider who took this on would have to be uncommonly talented. I didn’t believe you were her the first few times we met, and for that, I apologize. I could have handled this better . . . could have started informing you earlier.” She waves her hand at the air, dismissing the mistake.

Old people and their mismanagement of situations . . . some things never change.

“Even now, I withhold things from you because I think it best.” She stares at me. “And I will continue to do so. But I can tell you that Constantine is far more involved than a warrior would usually be.”

I almost laugh. “He’s anything but usual.”

“I mean it as a recognition of his place in the universe,” she says. “He is important.”

“Because of Viriato.”

“Because of Aurelia.”

“What?” I ask, on the verge of exploding. 

“I’ve already told you too much, but she may be a parallel alteration.”

“Spill it.”

“No. Not until I know for certain, and there is too much that needs doing for this alteration’s success. One at a time.”

“If you don’t tell me, there’s not going to be a ‘this’ alteration. Besides, you know I’m a skilled enough rider to handle anything.”

“Your skill at riding is what worries me.”

She steps away, but I lunge in front of her and grab her arm. “Please, Penya. Tell me what happens with Aurelia. I won’t tell him, and I won’t alter anything.”

She stops and turns. “Ilif’s work is far more advanced than I’d anticipated. There are pieces I haven’t yet assembled, but he’s referenced someone in the future who may be related to Aurelia. That’s the piece I’m trying to track down—and why I need him out of my business—so I can research for certain how Aurelia is related and how her life affects all aspects of the future we need. I fear Ilif wants her saved, too, but for the wrong reasons.”

“And?”

“And that’s all I’m telling you.” She stomps her foot, mashing the damp grass beneath her wide shoe.

I stare. Whatever the rest of this secret is, she’s not going to tell me until she’s ready. She’s as malleable as granite. 

“Go, now, while Constantine is away, so you are here again when he returns. Until I know for certain, you must not help him save Aurelia.”

My head snaps. “But—”

“This is why I don’t tell you things.” She huffs and scowls. “You’re feeding the images you want, looking at things from your simple girl perspective instead of the impact of the alteration as a whole.”

“No need to get nasty.”

“This is serious.” She lays a hand on my arm and pierces me with that tough-abuelita gaze. “I know you care for Constantine. I care for him also, but his life is his own. We cannot erase every struggle from the lives of those we care for. Sometimes struggles make us who we are, especially the difficult ones. Without them, we are doughy loaves of uncooked bread. Constantine’s instincts, his warrior strength, all the pieces that make you admire him, come from overcoming his personal challenges. Take them away, and he’s not the same man. Remember that,
niña
.”

“But I thought—”

“What? That there’s another universe? A collection of all the right decisions we never made? A place to play out maybes and should-haves? A utopia where we make all the right choices and live the life we were born to live instead of this unfulfilled one?”

I look away. Maybe.

“Oh,
niña
, every decision is but a turn in the road. There is no such thing as right or wrong. Each time we make a choice, it spins off thousands of others. It’s how you react that determines your fulfillment. If you think a decision comes at a cost, that a different one was ‘right,’ you will always feel the pain of the lost choice. If instead you think of the ability to make a choice as a reward, and you make it with a heart of gratitude, that is where the fulfillment lies . . . in the beauty of the choice and the new landscape of life before you. When a decision evokes a feeling of giving up something, it will never feel like the ‘right’ one, and the regret of lost time and opportunity will strip the joy from the future. You must switch your viewing lens to see what you’re getting.”

Without waiting for a response or rebuttal, she leaves me standing alone in the field.

So much for that idea. I did want to believe there was a way to make all the right choices, to shift a timeline so it’s perfectly aligned with no regrets, no missed chances, no pain, no suffering. I wanted to believe this ability gave me the upper hand over the alterations. That
I
could take away pain.

The sun tickles the treetops on its slow descent, and animal noises edge toward the grass on the field. I know Penya wants me out of here, but Constantine will be gone for at least the rest of the day, and I don’t want to go just yet. I kick a clod of dirt, startling a rabbit. As it bounds away and cowers at the edge of the field, I admit I’m stalling. Seems like the longer I’m here, the harder it is to leave each time.

I let the creatures eat their dinner and wander from field to field, watching the men and trying not to disrupt them—they still act a little reverent around me, and it’s taking some getting used to. Only a handful of men have seen me train, have seen my weapon, but word travels fast around here, and I’ve found my place among them as a warrior. A few of them nod in greeting, but most of them are immersed in their own training, and I’m just another body wandering around. In the field farthest to the north, I perch on a small stone wall and watch two archers target practice. Puzzle pieces slide through the landscape of my mind. Penya gave me just enough information to send my curiosity into orbit.

After the archers empty their quivers and leave the field, I head back toward the buildings. This is the first time Constantine has left me alone here, and I wonder if he at last believes I can defend myself.

I complete the circuit past the stables and kitchen until I reach Anna’s door. I pause with my hand raised to knock, chiding myself for where my wandering has led. What a girl I’ve become. The door opens and Anna rushes out. We collide, and she wraps her petite arms around my waist.

“Mygoodheavens!” she shouts.

I straighten us both and step away. “I was just—”

“Are you coming in? I’ve been hoping you would stop by. Things are getting so exciting around here, and I would love to learn how you do that with the lightning. Will you come in so we can talk, because I have so many questions to ask you, like did you like the armor? And the tunics? They look so nice on you. I have a little bit of tea and bread, would you like some?” She darts back into her studio, leaving me gaping in the hallway.

My restlessness flees. Pausing on the threshold, I drum my fingers on the doorjamb and rethink my choice. Penya wanted me gone. But I’d like just a few minutes of girly companionship—even though a bigger reason for being here presses against my chest.

I step into the brightly colored room and follow her to the back where she’s setting out small plates beneath the window. She’s chattering away, and I don’t think she’s stopped since she opened the door.

“How are things going with Constantine? I know sometimes he can be overbearing, but inside he’s sweet. He doesn’t show that side to many people, especially here. I guess I see it because he’s always been so kind to me.”

I ignore the surge in my heartbeat. The next words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. “What was he like?”

She pushes a tiny cup toward me and lowers herself to the bench. Her voice softens and her frantic pace slows. “He’s eight years older than me, so there’s a lot I don’t remember, but he was always caring and protective.”

As she settles herself, she picks up her own cup and rolls it between her hands. “I remember one time,” she says, laughing. “Our mother injured her leg and was supposed to be resting, but she was always so restless that it was difficult for her to sit still very long, so Constantine took it upon himself to stay with her and tell her stories. He must have spent nearly three days by her bed, making up the most outlandish tales, and when she made excuses and tried to rise, he doubled his efforts and acted out the stories.” She smiles at the memory. “I spent three days sitting outside her door, listening.”

“Did she get better?”

She swirls her cup and inhales the fragrant vapors. “Thanks to his diligent stories. Though every now and then I’d find myself wishing one of us would get another injury so he’d slow down long enough to do it again. He wasn’t home much.” She sips her tea. “And then he became a soldier.”

“How did you get here?” I ask.

She lifts the cup and presses her lips against the rim. When she starts, her voice is quiet. “A disease raced through our small town, killing nearly everyone. I was visiting Constantine when it happened, and he never allowed me to leave after we got the news.”

I cringe. “And your family?”

“They all were killed, along with the man I was to marry.” Dark clouds pass over her smile and shadow her sunny disposition.

“I’m sorry.”

She waves my sympathy away and her smile returns. “We don’t always get what we set out for, do we?”

A surprisingly intuitive statement.