Of Scars and Secrets (Time Walkers Tales Book 2)

8

The early morning chill nipped at Connor”s skin as he waited outside his home, the Cape Cod-style house bathed in the soft glow of dawn. His breath formed clouds in the cool air, each one dissipating as quickly as it appeared. The peace of the morning was broken by the familiar sound of Derek”s car pulling into the driveway, its engine a low rumble that seemed out of place in the quiet suburb. Connor sighed, his chest tight. As much as it hurt, he made it clear he wanted nothing to do with Derek. So why was he there?

“I need to talk to you,” Derek called out, his tone careful.

“I thought I made it clear. I’m not interested in anything you have to say.” Did Derek really think he could pull up, offer to talk, and things could go back as they were?

The car stopped, and Derek leaned over, pushing open the door. “Look, there are things you need to know before you leave with Emmy.”

“Why would I listen to anything you have to say?” Connor shot back.

“If you want Emmy to live, you’ll listen.”

Connor turned abruptly, placing a hand on the door. He glared at the occupant, his temper flaring. There was only one thing that could sway him, and Derek knew exactly how to push his buttons.

“Five minutes. That’s it,” Connor growled. He slid into the passenger seat, closing the door behind him with a thud that felt final. “You can drop me off at the hospital. I’m meeting Em there.”

“That’s more than five minutes,” Derek muttered.

“Consider it a parting gift,” Connor snapped. He looked out the window, the neighborhood houses passing by in a blur, and then glared at Derek. “Have at it. What do you think I need to know?”

Derek’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. “I know where you’re going. When you get there, there will be a storm, and you’ll be short on food. You will make a decision to go to a friendly Indian tribe to make a trade.”

Connor’s chest tightened. He did not know all the details of what would happen in the past. How did Derek know these things? “And if I do, what then?”

“Do not take Emmy with you,” Derek said quietly. His gaze remained steady on the road, as if his thoughts pained him. “Leave her behind. They are a danger to her. Don’t let her anywhere near them.”

His throat was dry. He knew it would not be an easy journey, to return to the past where he was born, and he was aware it might be dangerous. As for a singular threat to his sister, however, that was another matter. He had no way of knowing if Derek was being honest, or if it was a ploy to get them to stay.

“Why should I believe anything you say?” he asked.

Derek sighed. “Because if I wanted to hurt you, I would have sent my father here years ago. I didn’t, Connor. I never told him anything of use. I lived here, alone in this time, and I betrayed my own father to keep you and Emmy safe. Christ, that has to count for something.”

That was a fact Connor could not deny. Derek had every opportunity to betray them, yet he remained in their lives for years, living a simple life, building a future. The ties between them were not so simple—they were unequivocally complicated. And in all truth, Connor did not want to look upon him as an enemy.

He glanced at Derek, the tension releasing from his shoulders. It did not matter anymore, after all. They were leaving, and they would never see Derek again. And how could he explain it to Emmy, without making her doubt the journey they must make?

“Em will want to say goodbye to you. Maybe you could come by later tonight,” he said quietly. He made the rash decision, the words spilling forth, and he could not take them back. After all, Derek was there at the bidding of his kinsmen, just as Connor and Emmy would return to the past at the bidding of their mother. They were all pawns in the games of other Blooded Ones.

Connor saw Derek’s throat contract, and the gleam of regret heavy in his gaze. Derek nodded, his brows crumpled.

“Yeah, I’ll do that. I will,” he said solemnly. “Thank you—it means everything to me. To say goodbye, I mean.”

As they drove, there was silence for a long while, and then, as they neared the turn off for the interstate, they simply picked up a casual conversation. Derek started mindlessly talking about the weather, and Connor politely replied in kind. Connor did not fight it. He would rather make frivolous jabber as if their friendship was unchanged, than acknowledge the underlying elephant in the room.

Soon the tone turned to their shared history, to the bloodline that connected them and the centuries of conflict that had shaped their families. ”You know,” Connor mused, ”in another life, we could have been brothers. No Klassen and Cameron feud to keep us apart.”

Derek”s laughter filled the car, a sound tinged with regret. ”Yeah, that would have been something. Running through the highlands, causing trouble without a care in the world.”

The nostalgia was a brief respite from the tension that lay between them, a reminder of what could have been if fate had dealt them a different hand.

Their drive took a detour down a back road to the interstate, a road muddled with pot holes and loose gravel. It was there they spotted the stranded motorist, a lone figure standing beside a car with what appeared to be a flat tire.

Without a word, they both agreed to pull over, the innate decency that bound them as friends, as men, urging them to help.

As they approached the vehicle, the situation unfolded with a speed that left him reeling. The supposed motorist was a decoy, the flat tire a trap set by criminals lying in wait.

Gunshots shattered the morning”s tranquility, the echo of the bullets a grim punctuation to their good intentions. Derek was hit in the arm, a sharp pain that drew a curse from his lips. Connor, however, wasn”t so lucky. The bullet that found him was unerring, a mortal wound to the chest that brought him to his knees.

Panic set in as Derek scrambled to apply pressure to the wound, his voice a frantic babble as he dialed 911. But Connor knew the truth that Derek was unwilling to accept—this wound was beyond the help of paramedics.

As his vision blurred and his consciousness waned, his mind was filled with regret. Not for his own life, but for the duty left unfulfilled, for his sister, for Nicholas, for a future he would never see. No. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. It wasn’t his time yet.

”I wasn”t supposed to die here,” he gasped, each breath a labor. The irony of facing his end on a quiet road, far from the battlefields of his ancestors, was not lost on him.

Derek”s face, etched with fear, was the last thing Connor saw before darkness claimed him. In those final moments, he allowed himself to hope that Ronan”s words were true, that his death here was not the end but a beginning of something more. He said I would wake as an immortal. He said I would live forever.

And with that, Connor let go, the weight of centuries lifting as he succumbed to the eternal embrace of death, his final breath a whisper lost in the wind.

He watched from a place above as it happened, seeming to float above his body, and he could not tear his eyes away once his own flesh started to mend. Nipping and stretching, jagged edges merging together, it was as if tiny needles jabbed at his chest while the breath of life surged back into his body. His ribcage expanded, nearly pulling him upward off the gurney, but then a gentle unseen force eased him down. Over and over his lungs filled and emptied, breathing but not breathing as his broken body healed from inside out.

The gravity of what it meant suddenly crashed down upon him. All the stories mother told them were true. All those years he spent listening to her tales, fearing that his mother was stone-cold crazy. Yet he had memories of his childhood at Eastview, of living a seventeenth century life, and he knew, in his heart, his mother was not insane. She was merely tortured by grief, by the tantalizing thought she could still change things to save their father, and the knowledge of the magical blood in her veins drove her to her end. The enormity of the power he could wield hit him full on like a punch to the gut.

Mother was right. His sister had an important role to play in the twisted game of time. Emmy’s infant blood, collected in a vial by their mother on the day she was born, her blood could heal the dead.

And she had used it to heal his wound. She did not know he was immortal. When he was shot, she panicked and used her magical blood, when that blood was intended to save a life in the past—the life of their father.

Connor’s eyes fluttered open. He said nothing at first, his gaze traveling warily from the ceiling down towards his chest. When his eyes met hers, he thought she might burst into tears.

“Emmy,” he whispered. “What did you do?”

Her throat tightened. “I saved you.”

“You used your blood.” It wasn’t for me, he wanted to scream.

His response was more of a statement than anything, his accusation hanging heavy in the air between them. She nodded, staring back at him with a defiant glare.

He was dead. Then she poured her newborn blood on him, and he stopped being dead. Mother did not lie when she explained the history of their ancestors, of all those that had the sacred blood in their veins. Although he grew up with the knowledge of what both he and his sister were born to do, Connor had never expected it to happen in the present day. The sheer impossibility of being brought back to life wasn’t something one could truly grasp in the span of a few moments, nor something he might ever believe was real if it had not just happened to him.

“I’d do it again,” she said.

Connor uttered a sigh. With a shockingly swift motion he sat up on the gurney, dropping his long bare legs over the edge to dangle. One hand drifted to his chest, where he clutched his newly mended skin for a long moment.

“We have to go. I know you did what you thought you had to do, but this changes our plans,” he said. She had no understanding of what she had done, but he would not let it be the end. He shifted his weight and stood up, the slap of his bare feet on the tile floor echoing through the dimly lit room.

“We can go somewhere else. Start over. Like our parents did before –”

“It’s too late for that now and you know it. It’s time for us to go. We can’t put it off any longer,” Connor replied.

Emmy took a pair of scrub bottoms from the linen cart in the corner and handed them to Connor, and he quickly dressed. Clearly she had not considered the aftermath of her choice when she broke open the ampule and saved him. Now that it was done, they had to leave. There was no way to explain what had happened, and no way to return to the life they had built in the present.

“Fine. You’re going to have to go out the rear service door. I’ll distract everyone out front as long as I can,” she said. “I’ll meet you back at the house. My bag is in the back of my closet. I assume you’re packed?”

“Of course I’m packed,” he said, his voice tinged with annoyance. “I’ve been ready, Emmy. You’ve just forced our hand with this stunt.” He ran his hand through his thick blond hair, shaking his head with a bit of a wince. Dried blood flaked off his skin as he moved. His chest ached, a dull, throbbing, surging with each breath. He imagined it might take some time before he fully recovered. After all, only minutes before, he had been dead.

“Like I’d let you die and leave me to figure this out all alone!” Emmy shot back.

“Nice,” he muttered. “But thank you.” He planted a quick kiss on her forehead and she smiled, biting back a harsh retort.

With a last glance at her and a flash of a surly grin, he went towards the rear service entrance. As he pulled on the door handle, he heard footsteps and turned around. Derek stood there, staring wide-eyed at him.

“W-what the hell is going on?” Derek stammered. “Connor?”

Connor paused, perched half-way out through the swinging rear door. He pivoted slowly, his shoulders tensed.

“Derek –” Emmy stammered. She looked helplessly at Connor. When Connor turned fully around and faced them he thought Derek was going to pass out. The color drained from his skin and he could see the perspiration stand out on his face. Along his neck Connor could see his veins tighten like the string of a bow, and Emmy held onto him when he tried to brush past her.

“You – you were dead. I saw you. Dead. Dead on that table!” Derek said, his voice cracking. As much as Derek, one of their own kind, knew about time travel and the power in their veins, it was clear he never witnessed a healing by a Blooded One’s infant blood.

“Listen to me,” Emmy demanded. She placed one hand flat on Derek’s chest and the other gently on his face, turning his chin with her thumb. “Derek, you have to listen to me. We don’t have much time. We can’t stay here.”

Connor watched, wordless, as his sister tried to get Derek to calm down. Derek seemed to focus on her for a moment. His wild eyes met hers and she nodded.

“Your pendant is missing. The one with the vial,” Derek said. His voice was somewhat calmer when he spoke as if suddenly he was arranging the pieces of a puzzle into a reasonable pattern. “So it’s true. Your mother wasn’t crazy.”

“No, she wasn’t,” Connor interrupted, placing a hand on Derek’s shoulder. “And we can’t stay here any longer. Are you done losing your shit yet? ‘Cause we could really use your help.”

Derek flinched and switched his gaze to Connor’s chest. His panicked stare eased somewhat, and the truth of it settled in. Connor was now sure that Derek never witnessed the act of healing the dead, and he was somehow comforted by the fact that they were both on equal footing in that respect.

“It really healed you? Her blood fixed it, just like – like that?” Derek replied.

“Yeah. Just like that,” Connor agreed.

An unspoken agreement was reached between Derek and Connor in that long moment, and Connor was ready to believe that Derek was an ally, not an enemy. He wanted desperately to believe that his best friend would not betray them. He needed to believe it.

Derek met his gaze for a long moment.

“Then you two need to get out of here,” Derek said. “Connor, you go out the back. I’ll take Emmy home. We need to hurry. I can stall them, but they’re going to notice the missing body by shift change if it doesn’t end up in the morgue.”

Derek and Connor clasped hands.

“Thank you, brother,” Connor said. Derek nodded. The color was restored to his face and he seemed to shake off the insanity of the situation.

It was time to leave.

Next to the front door was Emmy’s grey backpack. Connor was ready for them, dressed in fresh clothes and emanating the picture of perfect health. Derek watched them, a pensive crease across his knotted brow.

“You’d better sit down for this,” Connor instructed. Emmy nodded mutely, taking a seat on the edge of an ottoman. Connor dropped to one knee in front of her and took her hand into his, turning the palm upwards and splaying her fingers wide. Emmy let out a nervous chuckle when she saw the Sharpie marker he held, but tried to pull her hand away when she saw what he meant to do.

“You can’t mark me with that!” she said, pulling her hand back.

“Of course I can. It doesn’t matter how the mark gets there – just that it’s there!” Connor shot back. When he snatched her hand again, she curled her fingers into a fist.

“No,” she said. “Do it the right way. The way our mother taught you. With the knife.” It wasn’t every day that a brother needed to carve a rune mark into his sister’s hand to send her through time, and he wasn’t sure it made a difference, but she was adamant.

“Emmy, no,” he protested.

“Just do it. Stop being an idiot. If we’re going to do this – if we’re really going to do it – then I want to do it right. I don’t want to end up in the wrong place. And I don’t ever recall mother saying you could just draw the rune on my hand with a Sharpie. She said you have to carve it with a knife. So stop being a sissy and just do it.”

Connor muttered a curse and reached for his pack. She was stubborn, but she was right. When he drew the antique dagger from the side pocket, Derek stepped forward and grabbed his wrist.

“Wait a second! Is this the only way? There must be something else you can do,” Derek insisted.

“’Fraid not. You heard her. She’s probably right. We don’t want to screw this up. Might as well just do it the right way,” Connor replied. Hell, if she insisted, he’d damn well do it the old-fashioned way.

Emmy thrust her hand forward in offering to her brother, squeezing her eyes shut. Derek put his arm around her shoulders and held her still while Connor worked, and in a blessed few seconds it was over. With one eye slightly open, she peered down at the bloody rune mark carved into her left hand.

“That’s it?” she asked.

“Yeah, that’s it. Now put it on me,” he replied, handing her the knife. With a quick look at her own palm for reference, she committed the image to memory and went to work on Connor’s palm.

He was not as squeamish as she was, and it did not take her long to finish. Derek surveyed them in silence, his eyes wide and near panicked when Connor once again rifled through his pack. Emmy slid the straps of her grey sport backpack over her shoulders and tightened it, blood running freely from her new wound until Connor placed the Bloodstone pendant around her neck. He read it was the most common means of travel. The knife he was given by their father was different; Bloodstone weapons were spelled, and could be used by the bearer. A raw stone, however, was useful, as it would bond to the bearer, like a personal talisman for time travel.

“If we are lost to each other, never let anyone see that stone. It belongs to you now. Keep it hidden, and trust no one. Any man can be corrupted when faced with the power you have in your blood.” He glanced briefly at Derek, meeting his gaze, and was reassured when his friend did not look away.

“We won’t be parted,” she argued. Connor would have no part in her defiance, however, and he grasped her hand firmly in response.

“This mark is more dangerous than the others. It sends you to where you are meant to be, but it may not be the same place for both of us. I know where you will go. My place in all of this is not so certain. So promise me you’ll stay safe,” he demanded.

“Fine. Of course. I promise,” she replied.

Connor nodded to Derek and adjusted Emmy’s hand so that their fingers were tightly entwined. With his other hand, he gripped the hilt of the bloodstone dagger, and knew it was not likely he would ever see Derek again.

“Goodbye, Derek,” Emmy whispered.

Connor said nothing, all words rendered useless.

When he woke, it was on his ass on the ground, and it was wet. He rolled over onto his side when his stomach lurched, fighting the urge to vomit, and instead let the ripples of a dry-heave clench his guts. He did not recall the first time he traveled as a boy, but it was unnerving, to say the least. He wondered how Nicholas managed to do it with such frequency, in such a flippant manner, jumping through time on a whim whenever the mood struck him.

He scanned the area for his sister, and found her hunched over on the ground.

“Emmy?”

She turned her head slightly, still not quite done with her episode of vomiting.

“We made it,” she replied. Exactly where they made it to remained to be seen, but for now it was enough to know they would face it together.

Above them, a flock of black birds surged across the sky, rustling the trees with their sudden flight. He sat up, and rubbed his eyes. A coating of sweet pine needle sap stained his hands, mixed in with the crusted blood, and he winced at the strong scent and burn where it smeared on his abraded face. He could hear the roar of rushing water nearby, and he rolled over and scrambled to his feet.

“My pack is missing,” Connor said. He ran his hands through his thick blond hair, turning in circles to search the area, rank frustration displayed on his face.

“It can’t be far. It couldn’t just disappear, could it?” Emmy replied.

“I don’t know,” he said.

They stood in the middle of a wide clearing, encircled by clusters of tall trees. Scattered cat-tail grasses waved in the whisper of cool early evening breeze and the shadow of the setting sun danced along the tree lines. It was impossible to know where they were by the landscape before them, but he was fairly certain the sun set the same way in any time. Soon nightfall would be upon them, so they had little precious time to spare if they wanted to find shelter.

Emmy pointed to a break in the clearing. It looked like his pack lying on the ground, but he could not be certain.

“I think I see it,” she said, taking off towards it.

“Emmy, wait a second!” Connor objected. The last thing he needed was to see his impetuous sister run off into the woods, as god only knew where they were.

She ignored his suggestion, as usual, too intent on recovering his pack. The ground was a bit more loose and deep closer to the trees, turning into a sandy path at the mouth of the woods. With a triumphant grin, she picked up Connor’s pack, turning towards him, holding it up.

“See? It’s right here. We didn’t lose it,” she said, thrusting the bag into his hands. He took the bag but his eyes were fixed on something behind her.

Nestled along a wall of flaking slate stone was a small mud and stud cottage built into the rock. One end of the thatched roof was caved in where an overhang sheltered a stack of loose rotted firewood and the wood plank front door hung cock-eyed from one rusted hinge.

“I guess this is where we’re meant to be,” Connor said. “At least for now.”

He brushed past her and approached the house. He tugged on the door and promptly pulled it clear off the hinge, knocking him backward a few steps until he regained his balance. He leaned the door against the frame and stepped inside.

“You can’t be serious,” she called out. “We’re supposed to be in Smithfield in April of 1656. I know I wasn’t the best history student, but this doesn’t look like anything like a town.” He grinned, shrugging his shoulders.

“Well, right now we need a place to stay, ‘cause it smells like snow to me,” he replied. He wiped his dusty hands off on his jeans and joined her, pointing with one hand at a spot behind her. “Finding shelter is our priority today. We’ll figure out exactly where Smithfield is later. And besides, I don’t think the owner is going to mind if we hole up here for a bit.”

On the side of the cottage, close to what looked like a small pile of rubble, was a row of headstones. As they approached, he could see words carved into the first stone, but they were crumbling away and difficult to decipher in the fading light so he had to squint.

Thomas Emry

1655

It was not an absolute answer to what time they had arrived in, but he assumed it was fairly close. It was a good enough clue for him. There were two small graves next to him, both of which had a mound of loose fresh soil on top. There were no names on the smaller stones, only a singular cross carved on each, and he was sure they were both graves of small children.

“I guess they won’t mind,” Emmy said softly. He watched his sister, her eyes mournful, and it struck him how painfully linked they all were.

How many events in history were irrevocably linked to other events? He could not help wondering if the sequence of events had some greater meaning, some sort of spindly thread tying them all together in some way. The notion that he was meant to bring his sister to the past, to fulfill her destiny and live her life with her husband and children, was a sobering one. Connor knew he would die a horrible death in the past, but nevertheless, he still chose to go. How could he not go, knowing what he knew now? The life of her son, Nicholas, depended on it. His sister’s son had become like his own son, and Connor could avoid his destiny no more than day could avoid turning into night.

It was his duty, bound by the ancient blood in his veins and secured on the deathbed of their mother. Connor promised to bring Emmy home, because his mother was certain that Emmy’s destiny was linked securely in the past. And now, knowing Nicholas, Connor was sure of it, as well.

“I think you’re right. It does smell like snow,” Emmy said.

There was no question, a storm was brewing. It did smell like snow, and they needed to find shelter. It was pretty clear that the previous owners would not mind their intrusion. And there was no doubt that they had arrived exactly where they were supposed to be.