Mirrored Time (A Time Archivist Novel Book 1) (23 page)

Solomon growled. “You will be quiet.”

“Or what? You hide in your little underground chamber pretending at a power that you no longer have. You preach doctrine that is incorrect, yet you refuse to see the truth of what is happening.”

“I said enough!”

Rafe shook his head. “Look around you. Your world is crumbling at your feet, and you refuse to help the one person who may know how to stop it. Pathetic.”

Solomon curled up a fist and slammed it into the arm of the chair he sat in. “Enough!” Gone were the smooth cultured tones. Instead, his words were harsh and guttural, colored with an ancient accent that brought a chill to Gwen’s skin.

Cassian stood, his lips curling in vicious glee. “May I remind you of what stands before us?”

Rafe smirked at the small form. “Pardon?”

“Not only has the Archiver performed a test without the sanctioning of the Council, an important artifact was stolen from us as well.”

Moira stood up, her face ashen. “We’ve discussed this and determined—”

Cassian spun on his feet, glaring at the tall woman. “You’ve determined nothing. The Council vested me with the power to serve as the physical embodiment of the protector of the time streams. I say these two represent a threat to all Guardians and should be stripped of their power.”

Max stepped forward, his face worried. “You do not have the authority to take the power from the Archiver. That must be discussed by the entire Council.”

Cassian smiled, and Gwen saw, with a shiver, that it mirrored the expression on Solomon’s face. “Maybe not, although I have the power to set such a thing in motion. And there is one here who is not an Archiver.” He turned to Solomon, looking no more than a trained dog begging for a treat. “Council leader, there is a man who stands before you who has betrayed the Guardians, whose presence is a danger to the time streams, and who must be stopped at all means.”

Solomon’s lips continued to curl. Moira stepped forward, her hand slashing through the air. “Are we going to let political agendas overcome what is happening here? Have you heard nothing of what Alistair said? The Archives are being destroyed, the protections—”

Solomon turned to her, his voice cold but civil. “That is enough, Lady Moira. Your concerns will be met at the next scheduled gathering.”

While it was difficult to know whose side he was on, Delun looked distressed. “Solomon, that is not for months.”

Solomon smiled politely. “As leader of this Council, this is my decision to make. We shall decide on what to do about the black mirror and our Archiver at the next meeting. And oh …” His eyes brightened as if he remembered something, “… arrest the other one.”

Cassian hopped down the stairs, face shining with triumph. “My pleasure.” He motioned for Jacob and Joshua.

“No!” Her voice cried out in the echoing room, and she rushed to stand in front of Rafe. The two monks stopped in front of her, looking at her with indifferent mirrored faces. Solomon’s face was white with anger, and below him, Cassian smirked with a glinting light in his eyes, waiting for her to make the step that would put her in a cell next to Rafe.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Alistair stiffen and turn towards her, as if to warn her to be careful in her actions. She didn’t care about any of them. Her focus was on one person alone.

Turning her back on them all, she looked with wide eyes into Rafe’s face. “Rafe, you can’t.”

He cupped her face with one hand. “It’s all right. I’ll be fine. You and Alistair will get everything straightened out.”

She choked against her panic. “Please.”

He made a soft humming noise to interrupt her, rubbing his thumb across her cheek before letting her go. “You’ve got to let me go now.
It’s all right.
I’ve been in worse cages than anything they can think up.”

She shook her head. The thought he would be in the hands of the Guardians filled her with a worry she couldn’t explain. And there were still too many things unsaid, too many things undone.

For once, she acted on what she wanted, not caring what anyone would think or how she would look. Grabbing him by the collar, she pulled his face towards hers. Her hands gripped his shirt, and when her lips met his, they were soft and gentle. The world ceased to exist, and it was the two of them. She touched her forehead to his, trying not to cry.

“Gwen.” His voice was a soft whisper, full of all the unvoiced promises they had never said.

With a breath more like a sob, she stepped away from him and squared her shoulders. “I’ll come back for you.”

His serious gaze held hers, before a smirk pulled at his lips. “I’m counting on it.”

He was the first to turn away, raising an eyebrow at the two guards that stood silent next to him. “Coming boys, or do I have to arrest myself?” Jacob and Joshua trailed after him.

“Well,” Solomon leaned back in his chair, face smug, “how touching. I think I might have shed a tear.”

Gwen’s face burned, but she didn’t answer him. There would be no point.

“Was there anything else you wanted, Alistair? I believe this meeting was very productive.”

Next to Solomon, Moira was white-faced and angry. Delun fidgeted in his seat. Yet neither of the council members chose to speak against Solomon.

Alistair bowed his head. “I won’t give up, Solomon.”

Solomon’s answering sneer was as cold as ice. “Oh, I should hope not, old friend.”

With his spine held straight, Alistair turned to leave. He whispered a few quiet words to Max before motioning for Gwen to follow him.

She hesitated but followed him from the room.
What other choice do I have?
The laughter of the invisible presence rang loud in her ears.

C
HAPTER THIRTY

T
HE WALK OUT
OF the underground chamber was quiet. With each step, Gwen fought the urge to go rushing back and find Rafe. He wasn’t safe in the hands of the Guardians.
He should be with
us.

When the elevator doors closed in front of them, Alistair’s shoulders sagged, and he braced himself against the metal doors.

“Alistair?”

He closed his eyes, and a shudder wracked his frame. “I am sorry, Gwen. I have failed you.”

“I don’t understand what happened with Rafe—with any of it.”

He sighed. “Solomon and I have a less than pleasant past. It was enough to prevent him from allowing the Council to help us.” The elevator pinged and slid opened.

They paused in the lobby, the gray cement walls looking more dismal than before. “What I did not tell you before is that, when the Council proposed their course of action, I was against it. My wife believed we had no other choice. She left when I was asleep. I arrived in time to see her sacrifice herself to make sure the protections would hold fast.” He blew out a shaky breath. “There are those on the Council who believe it was my reluctance that made her final step a necessity.” He gave her a sad smile. “There are times I agree with them.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Alistair. You were only trying to do what you thought best.”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes, and Gwen knew he didn’t believe her. “We should return home. Perhaps we can find another course of action that does not depend on the Guardians’ help for success.” His smile was a little stronger. “All hope is not lost yet. We can find a way.”

She didn’t know if she believed him, although she smiled back anyway. When his hand closed over her upper arm, she closed her eyes. And taking her compass, she brought them home.

They opened their eyes to chaos. The front office was ripped apart. Books lay torn and scattered. The furniture lay in shattered pieces on the floor. The door to the Archives was closed. Its dented and scratched appearance revealed the battle fought against it.

Alistair jumped towards the door, touching it as if he needed physical proof it was still standing.

“Alistair, what happened?” Gwen surveyed the damage around her, horrified at what she saw.

“The Archives will not open to anyone who does not belong there. Whoever did this was not able to get in. He walked around the room as if confused by the destruction around him. “I don’t understand what the motive would be for attacking this office. There’s no hidden power here—” His words were cut off when a small form darted from Gwen’s office, rushing at Alistair.

Alistair hissed when something dug into his side, and Gwen moved to rush forward.

Seymour’s eyes gleamed, and he licked his lips. Alistair must have shifted because Seymour dug the gun tighter into his side. “Careful, careful.”

Alistair’s calm gaze locked with hers. “Gwen.”

She reached for her compass, though every part of her felt like it would be betraying Alistair to leave.

Another shove of the gun, and Alistair hissed again. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, little miss.”

“It won’t kill—” His words were cut off by a grunt of pain.

Seymour laughed, his glinting eyes staring hard into Gwen’s. “It won’t kill him; he’s right. However, it will make a lovely little mess in this office. You sure you can find help and get back here quick enough?”

Gwen’s hand tightened on her compass. She hesitated. After everything, she didn’t want to lose Alistair.
What do I do?
“Alistair?”

Seymour shoved him forward so he fell to his knees. This time the gun was pressed to his temple. “He tell you what happens when a traveler gets shot in the head? He may survive, but he won’t remember your pretty little face anymore.” His laugh slithered over her spine. “Too bad he isn’t as easy to kill as the other one. What was her name again?” With his free hand, he dug around in his pocket, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. “Oh yes, Margaret.” With another sick laugh, he threw the paper at her feet.

It felt like ice water had been poured down her back. Gwen dropped her compass. “What did you say?” A ringing pierced her ears.

“Read it. Read it.” He laughed like an over-excited child.

“Gwen, don’t.”

She paid Alistair little mind as she bent down to pick up the crumpled piece of paper. As she unfolded it with shaking hands, she tried to understand what she read.
I’m so happy to tell you … remission … getting better.
Swallowing against the bile rising in her throat, she stared at Seymour. “What is this?”

“My master thought you needed a little more motivation to find where the Kronos blade was hidden. I knew your aunt’s death would be just the neat little trick.” He mock whispered into Alistair’s ear. “Too bad the old broad was getting better. Who knew? Thought maybe I was doing her a favor.”

Alistair’s face was gray, and Gwen watched with fascination as a muscle jumped in his jaw.

Her gaze focused on the gleaming silver of the gun, still pressed against Alistair’s temple. She couldn’t think about Maggie.
Not now. Or I’ll fall
apart.

Her eyes watered, and she bit her cheek. There was the taste of blood on her tongue, and she was calm enough to speak. “What do you want?”

Seymour shook his head, smiling gleefully. “It’s not what I want; it’s what my master wants.”

“What does Aeon—?”

He raised his free hand to his lips, shushing her like a child would playing a game. “No, no, that would be telling. It’s a surprise, isn’t it?” He tilted his head to his side, and then the playfulness was gone. “Come here.”

When she hesitated, he unlocked the safety with a click that echoed through the still room. “Don’t make me ask again.”

She met Alistair’s gaze. “I’m sorry.” Stepping toward Seymour, she straightened her shoulders as he reached towards her. When the edges of her vision started to go black, she accepted it with a sob.

She was back in the labyrinth, although this one was different from the one in her test. Of all the possibilities that had run through her mind when Seymour had run his fingers across her forehead, she didn’t think she would open her eyes to the view in front of her.

Fear threatened to paralyze her. The stakes were too high. Alistair’s life was on the line, and it was too important to risk by delaying over unnamed fears. The maze in front of her was a dry and waterless thing. A hollow wind blew through the endless pathways, sounding like the cries of restless ghosts.

The echo of her footsteps bounced around her making it sound like her steps were being shadowed by invisible followers. There was the persistent feeling of being watched, and she paused before she went around each turn, peering around the wall to see if there was someone waiting for her on the other side.

The watching presence had the same feel as it did when she visited the underground chamber of the Guardians. Now it was overlaid with something else. Before it had been a sleepy, waiting thing; now it was filled with a restless, tense expectancy. It flavored the air around her, filling her up with a buzzing energy. All she wanted was to scream and release the tension.

Still, she continued her careful path through the maze. A part of her worried over the wisdom of such a strategy, but there was no other option. She could only see where it would take her.

The sound of a child’s laughter echoed down the path, and she swirled, facing emptiness all around her. Foolish as the thought may be, the space felt haunted—by restless memories and broken dreams. She shivered as another haunted blast of wind swirled by her feet. With it was the sound of dead leaves being blown over dry ground and the same hollow moaning, too low to make out words, although the emotion of desperation was clear enough.

She continued her slow deliberate pace, only to pause so abruptly she tripped over her own feet. A pair of wide green eyes peered at her from behind the corner. The boy was young, with dark hair that fell over his forehead and into his eyes. He had a sharp nose and a pointed chin. The severity that may have made his face look too old was countered by the wide mischievousness of his smile.

She had seen this face before.
Lost too soon. Never forgotten.
The boy in front of her was the statue in the mausoleum brought to life. And that wasn’t the first time she had seen the little boy.
My nightmares.
The boy played a central role in each one.

Something cried out in the distance, a desolate broken sound that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. With another laugh, the boy vanished around the corner.

“No, wait!” She rushed after him, following his laughing form as he weaved through the walled pathways. This time she knew she needed to save him. She couldn’t fail again. A dead end loomed in front of her. She must have lost him.

With a frustrated cry, she slammed her hand into the wall. It was as if she could hear the clock ticking in her mind, feel the time slipping away from her as the danger to Alistair grew. And she was stuck in this damned maze chasing ghosts and getting herself more lost.

A soft sound drew her attention, and she turned around to see the boy looking at her. “You don’t belong here.” His soft child’s voice was overlaid with something deeper and older.

“You don’t either.”
Not
here.

Those green eyes, so familiar, watched her. An ancient creature that had been alone for far too long. The boy shrugged, now acting his age. He touched the wall next to him, watching his fingers streak over the crumbling wall. His childlike shyness after the earlier look was startling. “Can I show you a secret?”

Gwen bit back an automatic yes. Although what stood in front of her looked like a child, she remembered Cassian. He may look like a child too, and his appearance had caused her to underestimate the hatred and rage that had been boiling inside of him. And because of him, Rafe was locked up when she could use his help. The little face may look innocent, but things were not always what they seemed.

“What is it?”

He sneaked a look at her from underneath his hair. “I’m not supposed to say.”

Another gust of wind came blowing down the path, brushing at his hair and curling around her feet. The sound of the wind was so heartbreaking, she took a subconscious step forward. She thought of the mausoleum, the little boy’s mirror image, and her own name carved into the rock. For better or worse, she was connected to him.

She took another small step, raising her hands up to show she meant no harm, when the little boy looked as if was about to run. “What’s your name?”

He eyed her, and, in the mercurial moods of a child, was no longer plagued by shyness. “Ben.”

She smiled. “Hello, Ben; my name is Gwendolyn.”

He wrinkled his nose and stepped closer to her. “That’s a silly name.”

“I know, isn’t it?” His words reminded her so much of Rafe it hurt. So much was depending on her actions. She kneeled down on the ground to bring herself closer to eye level with the boy. “Do you think—” Her words were interrupted by a loud rushing wind, no longer the gentle sad thing. It slammed through the paths of the maze, rocking her back on her heels. She found her arms full of a shaking little body, and she hugged Ben without conscious thought. “What was that?”

She felt more than saw his head shake against her shoulder. “Please, Ben?”

Scared green eyes met hers.
I know why they look familiar.
They were the same shape and shade as hers. That it was her name in the mausoleum no longer seemed so implausible.

“He’s angry. I’m not supposed to show people the way out.” His little body quivered in her arms.

“My friend is in trouble, and I need to get out of this maze. If you could be very brave, do you think you can show me how?” She took hold of his shoulders. “I promise I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

His tiny shoulders squared, and his eyes once again looked older than his years. “This way.” His voice was whisper soft as he darted from her arms and around the corner, peering back around the corner when she didn’t follow him. “Come on!”