Ricochet Through Time (Echo Trilogy Book 3) (14 page)

With a howl—a roar—I spun around and ran straight for the cliff’s edge.

And leapt.

Well, I jumped off a cliff and didn’t die. So that’s good.

In spite of Aset’s assurances that I would arrive safely at my next destination, as I hurtled toward the crashing waves and jagged rocks at the bottom of the cliff, I was convinced I was done for. I may have even had a small heart attack. But I didn’t die.

I emerged from the miasma of swirling At in the middle of a rolling field of tall, golden grass. It was such a serene pastoral scene—lovely squat trees lining the field in small clumps and a clear blue sky overhead, the sun shining and cheerful—that I gave in to the weakness in my knees and collapsed to the ground. I rolled onto my back, splaying my arms out to either side, and allowed myself a moment to simply breathe.

A few perfect puffy white clouds hung overhead, floating lazily across the sky. Beneath me, the earth was dry and warm from soaking up the sunshine, and as my heartbeat slowed and the adrenaline left my system, my cozy earthen cradle lulled my overtaxed mind and body into a peaceful daze. I closed my eyes, basking in the sun’s gentle caress and listening to the soft shush-shush of the swaying grass and the friendly, chirping songs of the birds perched in the trees nearby.

For seconds, minutes, or hours—it all felt the same to me—I drifted in that lazy half-sleep.

“
Non ti muovere
.” Though I didn’t understand the words, I recognized the voice—Heru.

My eyes popped open, and I started to sit up. I halted abruptly when the tip of a sword pierced my skin just below my collarbone, but my eyes continued their journey upward, seeking out Heru’s face. He was little more than a dark silhouette, but the sight of him still elicited a gut reaction from me, and the corners of my mouth lifted.

His hair wasn’t quite as long as it had been in the nineteenth century—or
would
be—but it still reached past his chin and swayed gracefully when he moved. He wore clothing that gave little indication to the time period—leather trousers, a loose-fitting white linen shirt, and a structured leather coat that appeared almost armor-like, despite hanging open.

I lowered myself back down to the ground to put some distance between my skin and that sharp blade. “You cannot possibly know how glad I am to see you,” I told him in the original tongue, wagering it was our only common language in this time.

He tilted his head to the side and stared down at me. The point of his blade didn’t move closer to me, but he didn’t pull it away, either. “Have we met before?” he asked, also speaking in the original tongue.

I studied his shadowed features for a moment, then settled on a more cautious route than full disclosure. “Perhaps we have met, and you have forgotten me.”

His gaze traced the lines and contours of my face, then continued onward down the length of my body until he reached my bare feet. “Not likely.” His focus returned to my face. “Had we met previously, I would most certainly remember a woman such as yourself.”

A blush crept up my neck and heated my cheeks. I shook my head. “Not if I made you forget,” I said, testing the waters. How much could I tell this Heru without scaring him off? I couldn’t rely on using photos from my phone as proof this time—the battery had died weeks ago, even though I’d rarely turned it on.

Heru’s eyebrows rose. “You claim to have such power over the memories of others?”

“Perhaps.” I looked from him to the point of his sword and back.

“And might this power be connected to your ability to appear out of thin air?”

My eyes widened. I hadn’t realized he’d seen my arrival. “Yes, the two are connected.”

“Curious.” Finally, Heru withdrew his sword and sheathed it in the scabbard hanging at his hip, though his attention never left my face. “I will take you to my home, and you will explain how such things are possible.” He offered me his hand, and I reached out, letting him pull me up to my feet. His skin burned against my frozen fingers, and I found myself reluctant to release his hand.

Heru released mine and touched the backs of his fingers to my arm, then to the side of my neck. “You are nearly frozen. How can that be?”

“I—before I appeared here, I was somewhere quite cold.”

He glanced up at the clear, sunny sky, then looked at me, slowly shaking his head. “I find myself quite eager to hear your tale, mistress Nejerette. You are quite the intriguing one.”

“So . . . you believe me?”

“I cannot explain how you came to be here, and I am not willing to discard that which I have witnessed with my own two eyes simply because your sudden appearance defies all logical explanation.” Heru turned and started across the field. “Come.”

I stared after him for a moment, then followed, jogging to catch up. The earth was soft beneath my bare feet, a stray twig or stone poking me only a few times.

“You seem to have lost your shoes, mistress,” Heru said when I fell into step beside him.

“Lex,” I said. “My name is Lex.”

He frowned thoughtfully. “A curious name for a curious woman.”

“It is short for ‘Alexandra.’”

“And your shoes?”

“Oh. I, um, sort of left them behind.” In my frantic mind, I’d been thinking ahead to the eventuality that the twins’ power
didn’t
kick in before I hit the churning sea, and on the off chance that I survived the fall, I thought my boots would only drag me down. “It is complicated,” I added.

“I have no doubt. I am Heru.”

“I know who you are,” I admitted. “Can you tell me where we are? And
when
?”

He laughed, the sound low and deep. “As I said, I find myself quite eager to hear your tale. But to answer your questions, the year is 1481.” He stopped and turned around, motioning for me to do the same. “And we are on the hills just south of the river Arno.”

I turned around. “Oh,” I breathed, dumbstruck as I took in the sight of fifteenth-century Florence spread out below. Smoke billowed up from chimneys on thousands of clay-tiled roofs within the sprawling walled city, and a string of gracefully arched bridges spanned the curving river, reminding me so much of the At bridges in the Oasis. “This is incredible.”

“Is it?”

I nodded, tongue paralyzed.

“How fascinating.” Heru placed his hand against the curve of my lower back, and electricity zinged up my spine. “Let us away, mis—Lex. My home is not far, and I think sitting by the hearth would serve you well.”

“Yes, of course.” I turned back around and didn’t balk when Heru offered me his arm. I hooked my hand in the crook, grateful for the added support. Honestly, I wasn’t sure I had the strength to keep going without it. I felt dead on my feet, and from the sidelong glances Heru kept throwing my way, I looked it, too.

Some fifteen minutes later, we approached a large, three-story Tuscan farmhouse constructed of gray stone. It was surrounded by all sorts of cultivated, growing things—an orchard curving around one side, a vineyard stretching out down a rolling slope beyond the fruit trees, and a lush vegetable garden surrounding a circular stone fountain. An older man and woman, both gray-haired with skin as tan as leather, moved among the rows, crouching down as they tended their garden. It was a beautiful scene, though I imagined theirs had to be a hard way of life. Hard, but fulfilling.

I fully expected to pass this little bit of rural heaven right on by and head for Heru’s no doubt grand estate. Which is why I kept walking down the dirt road when Heru veered off to the right. His pull on my arm redirected me, and I found myself drawn along a wide pathway lined by verdant olive trees that led straight to the stone farmhouse.

“
This
is your home?” I asked, unable to hide the hint of skepticism from my voice.

“At present.” Heru eyed me. “Are you disappointed?”

“No, I just—” I smiled. “This is incredible . . . just not what I expected.”

Heru grunted a laugh. “I admit, I have a reputation for having a taste for luxury, and it’s true that I rarely deny myself anything, but every few decades, I find myself losing interest in even the most extravagant of pleasures.”

“Ennui,” I said in English.

“
Ennui
,” Heru repeated. “I do not know this word. To what language does it belong?”

“English,” I said. “Though not precisely the English you would be familiar with. It refers to a sense of deep dissatisfaction and weariness, which seems an appropriate thing to feel when one’s life spans as much time as yours has.”

“Ennui,” Heru repeated, then nodded. “When the
ennui
becomes unbearable, I find myself yearning for this life—the chance to work with my hands until they become callused and to live off food that I coaxed from the earth with water and attention . . . to feel a sense of purpose and accomplishment . . .”

“It brings you back to the Oasis,” I guessed, recalling the way he’d worked with his family there, sunrise to sunset, keeping their home running and their land productive. “To how your life used to be.”

Heru stopped just before the pathway opened up to the garden and turned to me, a hand gripping either of my arms. “How could you possibly know that?”

Because I was there,
I didn’t say. It seemed like the wrong way to start my rather complicated story, assuming I even chose to share it with him. Again. “It will make sense once you know who I am and how I came to be here,” I said. But suddenly, the idea of explaining everything—explaining
us
—to him all over again seemed so far beyond my current capability that I started to tear up.

Heru’s eyes searched mine, golden and penetrating. “Perhaps, but as eager as I am to hear your tale, it will have to wait.” His gaze slid lower. “You have yet to heal,” he said, and I realized he was staring at the cut below my collarbone. The one caused by his sword. I’d forgotten all about it.

“Yes, well . . .” I looked away, staring without seeing at the older man weeding on the far side of the garden. Explaining the reason I wasn’t healing like a normal Nejerette would be just as complicated as everything else he wanted to know.

“You are wearier than I realized.”

Heru guided me past the garden and onto a patio paved with uneven, time-worn stones. He led me through the broad, arched doorway set in the center of the wall and into a high-ceilinged room with exposed beams, whitewashed walls, and terra-cotta floor tiles. There was a large stone fireplace set in the interior wall, the broad wooden mantel stretching across the top matching the rough beams overhead. A pair of padded wooden armchairs were arranged near the fireplace, a small, squat table between them holding a ceramic pitcher and a pair of matching goblets. A carved wooden bench that looked like it doubled as a chest set against the far wall appeared to be the only other seating in the sparsely furnished room.

Heru paused, his gaze lingering on the armchairs before the dormant fireplace, then shook his head almost imperceptibly and turned instead toward the steep, narrow stairway leading up to the second floor. Gently, he pushed me ahead of him.

I started up the stairs, feet dragging. The worn stone steps were neither standard height nor as even as I was used to, and I missed a step twice, the second time tripping on my skirt when I tried to catch myself. Heru reacted with inhuman speed, his arm snaking around my waist to keep me from falling forward onto the higher steps. His body pressed against me from behind, his hand splayed over my belly.

I held my breath, waiting for the inevitable. Because there was no way he couldn’t feel the slight but noticeable bulge in my abdomen now that his hand was actually
on
it.

“Forgive me, mistress, but can it be possible—”

“Yes,” I said, tensing. “I am with child.”

He was quiet for a few seconds. “Indeed, you are.” He righted me quickly but kept a firm hold on the side of my waist and on my elbow. “Then it is even more pressing that you rest.”

We reached the hallway at the top of the stairs without further incident and passed by mirroring doorways on the left and right. A second doorway on the right revealed another, narrower staircase.

Heru stopped before the opening. “Apologies, but the other rooms are occupied by my daughter and her family, and I feel most comfortable housing you in my own personal quarters. I could carry you up, if you prefer it . . .”

“No, no, I can make it.”

It was slow going, but I made it up those damn stairs. And when I crested the top, my knee gave out.

Heru caught me before I hit the floor and picked me up easily with an arm under my knees and one behind my shoulders. “Almost there,” he whispered.

He laid me in a bed—his bed, I realized in the sluggish recesses of my mind—and while I fought that final losing battle with exhaustion, I thought I felt his fingertips trailing over my forehead and across my cheekbone, brushing hair from my face.

Whether or not it was a trick of my tired mind, his gentle touch was one hell of a nice send-off into the land of dreams.

***

“And that is when you found me,” I said, rubbing the tender skin around the cut under my collarbone absentmindedly. Speaking in the original tongue had come to be our go-to method of communication. The language was constant, as unchanging as the people who spoke it. “As I said, it is a long, complicated story.”