Lightning Rider (21 page)

“You would give it up, then?” Her tone stokes my anger.

“Seems like a whole lot of work, and now you think I should start offing people who get in our way.” My lightning is swelling, threatening to consume me if I don’t calm down.

“Fine. If you can’t use the weapon as it was intended, you cannot benefit fully, and you weren’t meant for this position. Ilif is right.”

“Maybe he is!” About a lot of things. “I happen to agree with him that it
is
about saving an individual. Besides, we weren’t in an alteration, back at that camp—”

“You’re always in an alteration!”

“No. Viriato is the alteration. Not those guys who attacked us. They had nothing to do with what I’m here for!” Sparks shoot from my fingertips, and the release helps me ratchet down the anger a fraction.

“I won’t kill random people. Not if there’s any way to prevent it. We can’t know what that guy’s life will mean seven centuries from now, who his offspring will become. Maybe it’s about them raising great children who raise great children who raise great children.” I fist my hands. “It’s always about the individual, even a wild-eyed assassin.”

She considers my words and smiles. “You’re learning. There may be hope for you after all.”

My anger deflates. “I think I made the right choice. By getting us out of there, I saved at least four lives. And I’d do it again. If part of my life’s purpose is to ensure mass numbers of people die because their goals conflict with ours, I won’t be a part of this.”

“You cannot go home.”

“There’s some future there, maybe not the one I left, but I’ll figure it out. I’m standing at the top of a slippery slope. If I agree to this, there’s no going back.”

“Do you really think you haven’t passed that point already? You think Ilif will walk away now that he’s found you? Leave you in peace?”

She has a point. Ilif will keep pushing my father. He’ll happily leave me alone, but that won’t stop events from unfolding with or without my hand in them.

“Ilif is not who he seems. I cannot tell you more, but there are reasons why I’ve worked to erase your residue while you’re here. I will keep him off your trail as long as I can, but I may not always be around to follow after you. When he learns what you’ve impacted here, there will be repercussions, and you will need what I can teach you. You will need what Constantine can teach you. And there may come a moment when you must choose between your life and a stranger’s here in this time. You cannot deny the dangers that lurk here, dangers that don’t exist in the safe neighborhoods of your birth time.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“A lot,” she says with a laugh. “I’ve given you all you can handle right now. Patience.”

I waver. They want to hear that I’m all in, that I’ll use this power to its fullest extent, that I’ll do anything for the cause. But at the same time, she’s hiding information I may need. Learning from Penya and Constantine is not the same as trusting them. They’re willing to train me, and for that, I’m willing to play along. But for now, they need to think I’m wavering, that they need to keep feeding me information to convince me.

“You cannot stand with one foot on each timeline,” Penya says. “This is not a decision you can make at the last minute. You must face one direction, one history, and make the decisions that must be made to see that future realized.”

“I’d like some time.” To figure out what you’re not telling me.

“There is none.”

“Time traveler.” I tap my chest. “All the time I need.” I don’t restrain the sarcasm.

“No. Time does not work like that once the alteration has begun. You cannot bounce back and forth on the timeline however you choose. It is speeding you toward the alteration, and there is nothing you can do to stop it.”

“Not true. I’ve already come and gone in different times.”

Penya plunges her fists into her hips. “No. Always forward. Think,
niña
. The first time, you went too far and saw Spain without the alteration, the next time you met Constantine, then again five years later. This time you arrived a week later still. If you leave again, you will only arrive closer to the night Viriato is to die.”

I stumble backward. I really thought I could push pause, take off for a while, and let things settle until I could figure them out. “I can’t make a decision like this in a few minutes.”

“You agreed to kill Viriato,” Constantine says, unable to bear my hesitation any longer.

I spin around, overwhelmed and frustrated. “No.
You
agreed to kill Viriato. I agreed to help you.”

“Then what is the difference?”

“I—well—” I stammer and scowl. “There’s a difference.”

“So minute it cannot be seen.”

“Big enough to matter.”

“Will you stop me from killing Viriato?” he asks.

I match his glare. “What choice do I have?”

“None.” His voice is deep, like the shadows surrounding him. “Will you use your lightning as a weapon?”

“I did use it. I used it to save your life!”

“No, you delayed my death. There’s a difference.”

“Not to me.”

“Then you are a bigger fool than I thought. You will have to kill your man from the glen, and I will have to kill mine. Only now you’ll have no idea when he’s coming, what weapon he’ll choose, or where he’ll attack. By not killing him when you had the upper hand and the better weapon, you’ve given him the advantage.”

He moves in front of me until our bodies almost touch. I have to tip my head back to see him. “I would do it again.”

He presses closer, trying to intimidate me with his size. “Then you are of no use.”

“Liar.”

“Commit to do whatever is necessary when the time comes, even if it means killing.”

“Why? You still haven’t told me why he has to die. You’ve given me vague answers. I want the rest. Now.”

He bares his teeth. “I’ve given you more than enough.”

“Not even close. You’ve given me why
you
think he should be exterminated.” I fist my hands and squeeze tiny lightning stress-balls. “You can do the killing. When you’re ready to give me answers, and
if
I accept them, I’ll help you. But he won’t die by my hand.”

He stares for a long minute, then stomps to the fire. “This is why I don’t teach women. They’re too unstable.”

“Oh shut up,” I say. “You’re a piece of work yourself.”

“I can leash my emotions,” he says to the fire, his hands punctuating his frustration. “You are all over the place. One minute you’re willing to aid my cause, and the next you’re stomping off because I’ve hurt your feelings. You already made this choice.”

“You—”

Penya touches my arm and moves me away from Constantine. Her voice is as soft as her touch. “I know this is difficult,
niña
. We’ve thrown a lot at you, and a weaker person would have run long before now. Do not let fear rise up now. I know your future.
You
know your future, you’ve witnessed it. Spain must fall to Rome. Here. Now. Viriato’s death is crucial. You’re intertwined with Constantine’s mission to stop him. Beyond that, I have no answers for you. One day, perhaps, but to have that conversation today would only muddy what is barely becoming clear to you.

“The greatest lesson you can learn from these alterations is trust that beyond what you can possibly know in your limited slice of the picture, something bigger is guiding you. You are in the right place, doing the right thing. I no longer question the validity of alterations. They are always right, always necessary, even when the means to obtaining them may war with our beliefs, both internal and social. One thing I can promise you, in the moment when time stands still and the alteration shifts the universe, you will know without hesitation that you’re doing the right thing.”

“Well that’s something,” I say.

Her hand moves to my cheek, “I’ve been waiting years to intercept you, guide you, and train you so you might claim your birthright.” She wraps her other hand around my arm, barely gripping me with her cool, light touch. “You’ve read the prophecy. Do not deny what it contains because the morals taught to you by your current century are getting in the way.”

“But—”

She shushes me. “This is a different time. Men die every day, sometimes for good reasons, sometimes not. Constantine will do everything he can to lead the mission and end Viriato. Perhaps you will not see it happen as you wish, but we must know you will finish it if something happens to Constantine or his men.”

“Why can’t he take another warrior?” I want to whine, “Why me?” again, but her softness is a tenuous spider silk.

“He’s tried.
We’ve
tried. I’ve guided him for years, waiting for a rider. When one didn’t come and Viriato continued to gather more troops and thwart Constantine’s best efforts, we tried different things. I tried teaching him how to travel . . .”

“You did?”

“It didn’t work.” She waves the question away. “When Viriato attempted his attack last week, I knew he would be separated from his army and badly injured in the battle, giving Constantine and his men a chance to end him. When you arrived a few days before, I thought we were at the alteration.”

“So why not keep me here?”

“I made a poor choice. But no matter what Constantine says,
niña
, he cannot succeed without you. Train with him, let him teach you. Learn from him and open your heart to the woman you are meant to be.”

I prefer her jabs and short words to this kindness she’s showing me. It’s more honest. This feels like a desperate attempt to convince me to dive into a cesspool of destruction hidden beneath a bubble bath of niceness.

“I will train with him, even though I don’t know how we’ll ever get close to Viriato.”

“Leave that to me,” Constantine says. “Penya, finish with her so I can complete the mission and get her out of my life.”

Chapter 16

Constantine slams another log on the fire and stabs at it. Probably visualizing my forehead.

“We’re almost done,” Penya says. “I have one last thing.”

He grumbles and collapses onto his bench, glowering.

These two exhaust me. I glance around for a seat. Technically it’s been days since I slept, mere hours for them, and the adrenaline is wearing off. “Do we have to do it now?” I ask.

“There is no time for waiting, and I fear you will accidentally screw something up if I don’t.”

I sigh and lean against the table. “Things you could have mentioned before now.”

“I didn’t realize how aggressively the alteration would move you forward through time. What I said before was true. You must accomplish certain things every time you travel to manage the excess energy that isn’t used up during each arc. Part of the energy becomes a unique signature you leave behind—the residue Ilif uses track you—and that I erase upon your arrival here each time. When you learn how to manifest it in other ways, your signature and the amount of excess energy will dwindle. But there is always a”—she glances at Constantine—“payment required for every energy transfer used during the arc. Either you choose, or the energy will choose on its own behalf.”

“Payment?” I stiffen. I don’t like where this is headed. At her description, a microthought nags just outside my reach again, teasing me to grab at it.

“Energy must transfer. It is a condition that must always exist. It cannot be diffused, only exchanged. When lightning strikes, even in its simplest form, it must ground and the energy must go somewhere.”

“Why wouldn’t Ilif tell me this?”

“He’s not what he seems,
niña
. You must remember that always,” she says. “The energy finds a way to balance itself. Sometimes by diffusing itself and manifesting things in . . . creative ways.”

“How do I choose?”

“It’s different for each rider. You must discover for yourself how to manage the energy.”

She pauses as I digest the information. There’s a piece I can’t quite sort through. I let the words swizzle around in my brain, and my head drops forward. My eyes burn from lack of sleep, and none of my thoughts is crisp. I draw them into focus, but then they slip away. What she’s telling me about lightning and energy hovers around details I tried to forget from my quantum physics class. At the thought of school, my brain brings up a tidbit from a different class, a microscopic morsel about electrochemical issues with the brain and the strong tie to memory retention.

I jerk my head up as the puzzle pieces slam together. “Constantine, tell me about the time Aurelia learned to walk.”

His mood changes instantly, and he smiles. “Ah, I—” His face goes blank.

Even though I expect it, nothing could have prepared me for the flood of guilt at his confusion.

He looks lost. “I can’t remember.”

My voice quiet, I fill in the blanks. “She was wearing a white dress, her wispy hair flying wild around her head. She squealed when she saw you come home. You bent down, and she walked across the room to you.”

His jaw goes slack.

I turn to Penya. “It’s choosing.”

Penya purses her lips. “How many other memories have you stolen?”

“How was I supposed to know this would happen?”

“How many?”

I quickly tally them. The little girl, the maid, the attacker, the horse, three from Constantine. “Seven.”

“This is not good. Every time you arc with Constantine you will steal one of his memories. Unless you can find a way to protect his mind.”

“I can defend myself against her.”

“Maybe,” Penya says. “Are you willing to take the chance?”

He shrugs. “The benefits outweigh my pointless memories.”

I widen my eyes. His coldness catches me off guard, and I don’t understand how he could want to win more than he wants to remember his daughter’s life.

“You don’t get to choose the memory, Constantine,” Penya says. “What if it’s one related to the mission?”

“Do we have a choice?” His voice is exhausted.

They’re talking about me like I’m a plague they must endure.

I step behind the door to Constantine’s small room and unlatch hooks on my armor, a war raging inside me. They need me to succeed but might pay a steep price for my participation. And not just them but strangers as well. What would happen if I arced to the middle of a concert or a coliseum of people? Would I gather one from everyone? Do they stay with me forever, blending with mine until I can no longer discern my own past?