"I know what you're probably thinking. Time travel? Really? Not only does it sound crazy, but it reeks of narrative bankruptcy as well. Lazy storytelling, am I right? Shark f***ing jumped. And speaking of lazy," Salim said as he wiped his finger across the top of Varla's hearth, frowning, "You really need to get a housekeeper in here, Spike."
The Brooklyn boy could barely comprehend what this giant stranger, eclipsing the fireplace with his sheer size and bulk, was telling him. It didn't help that Spike was three-sheets to the wind after drinking too damn much to calm his nerves. He suddenly hoped Varla's upholstered couch would eat him alive.
Spike groaned, still coming to terms with the fact that his manager was not only one of the shadowy figures working against (or for) Firebird, but that he was a damn time magi as well, and maybe even a 2,000 year old mummy...if he'd understood his wild story correctly (which he could barley believe, even now).
"But Varla's book told me that the Temporis glyph doesn't exist any more!" Spike said, holding on to the couch's arm like a ship in a torrid sea.
Spike blinked. Suddenly, Salim was sitting next to him, arms crossed. "Hmm, that so!"
"Gah!" Spike yelped. "Don't...don't do that!"
"I was proving a point. From your perspective, it looks like I have super speed. But really it's that I can slow down the movement of time around me." He made a graceful motion with his giant hands, the rings on his fingers reflecting in the firelight. "Time isn't really what most people think it is, nor does it work or move in a linear fashion. And don't cut me off and tell me it's a ball of wibbly-wobbly-timey-whimey stuff."
"I wasn't."
"Good. It's really just a vibration and flow of quantum particles and matter, all dancing in the right order. My glyph allows me to vibrate a little bit faster than those. Those little...er...timey-bits leave traces, like memories imprinted on film."
"Is...timey bits the scientific term?"
"Do you have a better one, boy who once got stuck in a bathroom stall because he couldn't figure out how locks work."
"THAT WAS ONE TIME!"
"I can travel into the past via mental projection. However, I cannot actually change anything. What's done is done."
Spike took a deep breath. "So, that's time travel. Like...watching a movie?"
Salim shrugged, and helped himself to one of the expensive brandies Varla had told Spike not to touch if he valued his fingers. He poured himself a glass. "I can take people along with me. In fact, if I am trying to suss out a specific timeline, it helps to have a passenger along who experienced it themselves." He took a sip. "I'll give you ten bucks if you can guess what passenger I need."
Spike turned green. "Me?"
He looked down and found a crisp, ten dollar bill in his hand. "Gah! Salim!"
"Man of my words, habibi," the giant said. He'd since ditched his ring gear, his lavish, golden robes and neck adornments, for his usual tailored suit. Thank the Goddess for it--he would have been even more distracting, with all his muscles on display.
"Why are you doing all this?" Spike asked, slowly sobering up. "You say you aren't working with firebird. But why not tell Aradia what you're doing?"
"Well, having broken the enchantment I'd woven with the Eye of Osiris, I effectively have just come out and told the world who I am. I needed to operate in the shadows, Spike. And with all these double agents out there, I couldn't exactly trust Aradia with this knowledge. In fact, I'm worried about the safety of the Chalices being held there--but that's a problem for a little later. Truth is, small friend, I've looked into all the timelines. Whatever Semyon wants with those Chalices...it doesn't lead to anything good."
Spike swallowed. "What happens?"
"Do you really want me to tell you?"
Spike sighed. "I mean, will it stress me out any more than this conversation?"
"I can't see everything--Semyon's Eye of Set blinds me to his personal futures. But I see all the possibilities around him. In some outcomes, war. Worse than the Great War. Magick unleashed the likes the world has never seen, with him as some kind of God Emperor figure. In other outcomes, natural disasters, magick run amok. People often talk about the end of the world like it's some massive catastrophe that will wipe everything clean. Here's the thing I've learned in my life, Spike, and I've done a lot of living. We humans are tenacious, little dirt babies. Sure, a global cataclysm might do most of us in. But not all of us. We know how to survive. And let's talk about all the other extinctions that have occurred in Earth's history."
He nodded to the wall. A small cockroach skittered into the corner. "You think creatures like that are gross and useless. Jokes on you. That thing has been around since before our common ancestors crawled out of the primordial goop. And it will be here after we're gone too.
"Of course, it's not like humanity hasn't experienced apocalypses before. Take the first peoples of this continent. After the Albans rocked up, their world pretty much ended. But they're still here. Ask that hunk, Robbie, on his perspective. Him and his folk have been living in the post-apocalypse for more than two centuries now. Let alone all the other people who've been taken over and subjugated and cololinzed. I know everything about that, Spike. It's why I'm trying to stop it from happening again. I want a good future. For us all."
Spike wasn't sure he could process all of this information. "Why pick me? Hell, I'm not even a spellbreaker anymore."
"Sure you are, and do you really think you're gone for good?" Salim laughed, finishing his drink in one gulp. "Colt's a fickle man. But you're the kid who doesn't stay down. Don't need the Eye of Osiristo see all the realities where you find your footing again. And as for why 'you'? Well..." He scratched his head. "It was gonna be you or Cian."
"Ugh." Spike rolled his eyes. "Of course."
"There's certain people out there--quite a few, in fact--who pull people, situations, events towards them. It's nothing as woo woo as 'fate'. Some people just find themselves involved in a lot of other's people's lives. You're one of those guys, Spike. People are drawn to you. Which means, you're kind of like an intersection on the temporal highway. Path of least resistance to getting what I want."
Spike searched Varla's ornate rug for meaning. "Like what Joseph always say about the red threads tangling up in other people's lives?"
"Bingo. I mean, it makes sense, right? Look how many people love you, Spike! You're a star. All those connections you've made. Friendships." Salim wiggled his eyebrows. "Hookups."
"Yeah there were lot of those," Spike said, proudly. Everything Salim told him made sense, technically speaking, and his power was undeniable. Still, it threw Spike for a loop. He sat back against the arm rest, intentionally putting more space between himself and the magi. "First spellbreaker too? Damn. It's crazy. I...I remember all your matches now." He blushed. "I thought you were so hot. Maybe that's why I like muscle guys."
Salim smiled, genuinely at that. "I'd flex for you, but I'd rip the suit."
And I'd rip my pants. "Still, I was really angry when you beat Colt."
"Hey! Don't be a mark. It was fair and square. Well, unless you want to be a little bitch over how my powers work. But it was all in good fun, and I do love the guy. Why do you think I helped fund the GSA and watched your backs this whole time? The world might be a bleak place, Spike, but I know the value of loyalty. And on that note..." He stood, heading towards the fireplace. "This is where I need your help."
Spike flinched. Salim could really turn from silly to serious at break-neck speeds. "To...go back in time. Does it hurt? Is it scary?"
"Nah. Well, maybe I'm just used to it. It's like a living dream. Or I guess, like a drug trip, but you're way more aware of your surroundings." He pat his chest. "And you'll have me there too. You can't change the past, Spike. And I say that not as an assurance, but a warning, too. Seeing or experiencing an old event...it can sometimes be a bit 'triggering' as you kids say."
Suddenly, Spike thought of his parents. Was it possible to visit them? See their faces? Hear their voices? He immediately pushed the thought out of his head. None of this felt 'right' to him, anyway. "And...why are we doing this again?" I miss when I used to beat up guys and sat on their heads. Not doing all this sci-fi crap.
Salim picked up the stoker and pushed another log onto the fire, sparks crackling. "Semyon has the Eye of Set, another artefact crafted by my people. It effectively blinds others to seeing what you're doing in the past, present, or future. I may be the only time magi, but you'd be foolish for thinking there aren't other folks out there who can see the future, in a sense."
"Like...who?
"Oracles. Ascetics. The rare dime-store psychic who isn't a total charlatan. The spectres that that US and Russians likely have in their black ops departments--I know as sure as hell that Aradia has one or two prognosticators on staff." Salim stepped forward, knowingly. "Even a passing vagrant on the street might have the power."
A chill crept across Spike's neck. "And someone who could see what Semyon is doing..."
"The man does a great job of keeping just enough under the radar and allowing others to do his dirty work. He hides in the open. Aradia has kept tabs on him for a few years now, but he's as slimy as they come." Salim smiled, thoughtfully to himself. "But I'm good, Spike. Even though I honestly have no idea what he's really planning, I know he's tipped his hand once, and you and I were both present for it. You know how, in scary movies, the terrorized housewife goes down to the library and dips into the microfiche archives to find the old news article explaining why her house is haunted?"
Spike shook his head.
"Ok, well that's basically what we're doing here." He held his hand out to Spike, as if grabbing for something. "I can sense it, Spike. Somewhere along your timeline, there's a point where our future selves have crossed paths. And that's likely where we want to go."
Spike nearly fell off the couch. "WAIT. Hold up. No friggin' way. Our future selves have already gone into the past? Deadass?"
"You can't change what's already happened, Spike. BUT. If one crosses their own timeline they may experience something like...a sort of temporal 'echo'. Surely there must have been a moment where you heard a voice you knew wasn't your own."
"YES!" Spike blurted out. He broke into a cold sweat. "The last year or so. Wait. Does that mean...I've already decided to go with you and do this crazy s***?"
That knowing smile across Salim's attractive lips creeped Spike out to no end. "Not necessarily. Time is fluid. But...I have a feeling you've already agreed. Because you know the danger Firebird presents. And you'll do anything to protect those you love. That's your strength, Spike Waterford. And, perhaps, your weakness..."
Something about the way Salim spoke reminded Spike a little of Vahni Rage, or any number of sinister heels he'd fought before. It turned his blood to ice. And yet, Spike felt he could trust Salim. Innately. Plus, it wasn't like he was doing anything else interesting with his life right now.
Why not experience time travel?
Just like riding the Cyclone at Coney Island, Spike told himself, mustering up the courage. "I'm doing this for the other fellas'," Spike said. "They believed in me, even when I didn't believe in me. I know Firebird ain't s***, but I want them gone. Enough messin' with my friends."
"That's the Sailor I was looking for," Salim said. He looked at the fire. "We'll want to wait for this to die down. Wouldn't want a fire to break out while our consciousness is wandering the corridors of time."
Spike would rather rip the band aid off now, than sit and perseverate over all the things that could go wrong with magick like that. He was beyond his depth. Somehow, though, he knew that going along with this would lead him back to the GSA, and back to Buck.
---
Spike lifted his head off Salim's chest. Both men were clothed. Still, it was nice to have human contact again. The man was like a giant, living body pillow. Warm. And he smelled great, too. Spike even caught him, through moments of sleep, brushing his hair from his face, tenderly. The man had always looked sad, Spike thought, when nobody was watching him.
Then, Spike remembered his story. It could take one great loss in someone's lifetime to break their heart for good. Imagine countless losses.
How could someone like that go on living, and stay sane?
"Ready?" Salim said, sitting up from the bed. He motioned to the carpet, cleared of furniture.
Spike looked over at the funky, modern clock on Varla's living room wall. It was almost dawn. A blue, dull glow over the buildings in the distance outside the living room window corroborated this.
Heart beating fast, Spike laid down on his back next to Salim. Salim held his hand, and took a deep breath.
"It's remarkable how little flash-bang there is when you do this," Salim said, casually. Too casually, for Spike's liking. "It's like falling asleep, or crossing over into a dream. One minute you're here..."
Spike's eyes fell on the clock in the kitchen. Something about it nagged at his brain. The minute hand. It was moving slow. No, not just slow, backwards.
"And the next..."
Backwards, very fast.
"Salim..." Spike said. "I feel...drunnnnNNNnnGGGnggGGGGGGGGGGGG......."
"And then I had to tell Kengo why I was keeping a whole plantain under my pillow," Spike said, doubled over and laughing as he walked along the snowy, pine-needle covered path. "I had to lie through my Goddess-damn teeth. I think he knew, but he didn't want to..."
Salim, a few paces ahead, looked over his shoulder at Spike. "Yep? Is this the point when you realize..."
Spike blinked. He looked around the forest clearing. It was quiet. Cold. No, not cold. The idea of cold. This was a dream. A remarkably lucid dream. Wherever he and Salim were standing, it was beautiful, forested, and old.
Spike looked down at his hands. There was nothing there.
"I'm...FRIGGIN' INVISIBLE?"
"You can't see yourself. It's just how it works."
"But I can see you."
"Yeah, because I'm good at these things. Now, come on."
Without room to argue, Spike followed the suited Salim (a weird contrast with the old growth forest around them) down the snowy path.
"Uh...second question."
Salim sighed. "Yes."
"If I'm not like...a physical being anymore, then how come my mind, or soul, or whatever is walking along solid ground. Like, wouldn't I just fall through the earth or get stuck in a tree or some sh**?"
"Because your mind knows to abide by the physical limitations of the reality it's been confined in for most of your existence."
"...What?"
"Don't worry about it. Hmmm."
"Hm!? I don't like 'Hmm.'" Spike looked around the woods. "Where are we, anyway? I've never been here. This isn't 'my' past. Is this...yours?"
"Does this look like Egypt to you, habibi?"
"My guy, I don't know, it's not like I've friggin' TIME TRAVELLED BEFORE!"
Salim didn't look concerned at all, which pissed Spike off even more. He nodded up ahead, at a break in the trees. "There."
Spike followed his eyes. "Uh...okay. That's...a castle."
Or, what Spike took for a castle anyway. The fortress was high walled, and covered in bronze minarets, looking more like something from the Middle East, by Spike's reckoning. It was so far removed from any architecture that Spike had ever known, that he felt a pit in his stomach (or spirit, rather) from the growing unfamiliarity.
Salim sensed his unease, and his smile only widened. "Looks like we're not in Brooklyn anymore, Toto." He stuck his finger in his mouth, wetting it, and then held it skyward. "Hmmm. 14th century...no, wait...12th century. And judging from the foliage, cold, and Steppe influenced architecture, I'm going to say....middle-of-nowhere, Russia."
Spike didn't have it in him to argue. "Of course."
"I may have made a small miscalculation. But that said, I don't think we're in the wrong place. Er...time." He moved forward, towards the fortress city. "Come on, skippy. Let's play tourist."
Spike groaned. "My name ain't skippy! It's Spike." He sighed. Still couldn't see his body. "This sucks. I don't even speak Russian!"
"There's a good chance they speak a completely different dialect anyway," Salim said. "But you're in luck. I speak several Indo-European languages. While we can't interact directly with the ghosts of the past--which is probably for the best, as I imagine we'd quickly find our heads on pikes outside the city gates--we can listen in. Temporal eavesdropping! Isn't that just juicy?"
But Spike had tuned out. He was much more interested in what lay just over the horizon, a black wave that was moving rapidly closer to their location. What Spike had mistaken for the sound of distant wind, was the was the sound of hundreds of horses galloping towards the city. Now, Spike could even make out the glint of cold sun on metal. Armor. Soldiers on horseback.
"Beginner's luck!" Salim declared. Once again, he was way too excited for Spike's comfort. "You landed us in a good, old fashioned pillaging, Spike!"
Without form, Spike felt his shoulders slacken and his head hang low. Suddenly, the prospect of indefinitely working at a pizzeria in Brooklyn, instead of the current alternative, seemed much more appealing...
No comments:
Post a Comment