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  The lack of modern amenities added to my frustration and fear. I went to the stream, washed my hands, discarded my heavy over tunic and began a slow yoga routine to help my poor aching muscles as well as my frantic mind.

  The bubbling brook distracted me from my misery, along with the gentle routine I used to perform with my aunt in her backyard. She had been a diehard yoga practitioner. I started out doing it to help me recover from hangovers and ended up taking a class four times a week the last two years of college.

  College. What a waste. At least I don’t have to worry about repaying my student loans.

  Pushing the thought aside, I concentrated on my practice. I was pleased my body cooperated and closed my eyes. The first rays of dawn soon warmed my face. I continued with one of my one-hour routines, needing the temporary escape from my situation.

  I still didn’t understand Carter’s purpose in sending me to the Old West, aside from uncreating Taylor. The importance of Flowers in history was also lost on me, and I hoped she was doing well. Batu seemed to think she would be safe, though I wasn’t certain yet I trusted him with everything. He took my physical safety to heart but I had no other real influence on him. For all I knew, he took her somewhere and killed her the way he had everyone else we’d met.

  It was scary not to know much about my fate, my purpose. I had once considered not knowing my major in college a crisis, but that was a joke compared to the life I lived now.

  The rising sun began to push back the chill of morning. I finished my routine and opened my eyes.

  I was facing the small camp, which Batu had packed up. The horses were saddled and waiting. He sat on a boulder nearby, watching me and chewing on a chunk of meat. While still hurting, my lower body was definitely moving better off after the yoga.

  “What is this you do?” he asked again. Unlike his uncle, he didn’t accuse me of a magic spell.

  “It’s called yoga,” I said and swiped my tunic from the ground. “It helps me focus my mind and helps my hurt body.”

  “It is a dance?”

  “Not really. It’s … kind of how like you sing. It’s an interpretation of nature.”

  “It is quite beautiful to see.”

  Of all the potential comments I’d expect, this was not one of them. I looked up to see if he was teasing. He didn’t seem to be. His dark eyes were on me, and all traces of his wounds from the day before were gone. Warmth rose to my cheeks, and I was momentarily quiet, unable to figure out why butterflies leapt to life in my blood from the knowledge he had watched me – and found it beautiful.

  “Thank you,” I said at last. “Everyone does it where I am from.”

  “Your people dance from place to place and mine ride.” The corner of his mouth pulled up in a half smile.

  I rolled my eyes at him.

  He stood and motioned to my horse. “Are you prepared?”

  “Ugh, no. My legs and ass hurt.”

  He laughed.

  I got the feeling sometimes women – or maybe people of this time in general? – didn’t talk the way I did around him. I climbed onto my horse reluctantly. My butt was tender, and I settled into the hard saddle with a hiss.

  “How does your magic heal me but not you?” he asked as he mounted.

  Rub it in, jerk. “I don’t know,” I said through clenched teeth. “I’m not supposed to be able to heal anyone.”

  “Then how can you?”

  Because some madman dropped me into a coma that lasted nearly a century. There was no way to explain it that wouldn’t sound stupid aloud, even to my ears. But I sought some response.

  Batu led us to the northeast once more. He slowed until I drew abreast of him and handed me a chunk of dried meat and a bladder of milk. I ate and sipped, putting together the least crazy story I could about why I could heal.

  “I met your grandparents and then was put to sleep for seventy years,” I began. “To keep my body … alive and unhurt during the time, someone put the … uh, magic in my blood. It’s slowly leaving my body now. Soon, I won’t be able to heal anyone.”

  He listened while his restless eyes took in our surroundings. “Who is Taylor?”

  Jolted by the name, my breath caught.

  Batu glanced at me. “You spoke to him in your sleep.”

  My jaw clenched. I stared at the sky without really seeing it for a long moment, my emotions churning. “What else did I say?” I asked tersely.

  “Not much. You said, Forgive me, Taylor, over and over.”

  My heart ached in response to the sorrowful sentiment.

  You made a difference, Josie. Taylor’s final words killed me to recall. I did make a difference – but an awful one I’d do whatever I could to fix, if I ever had the chance.

  Batu took the milk back. I shifted, returning to my physical body. “I don’t want to talk about him,” I said. “Please.”

  “He is dead.”

  I didn’t respond.

  “You were too sad for him not to be.”

  “Batu!” I snapped, trying his grandmother’s way of dealing with a warrior since asking him nicely didn’t seem to work.

  “Very well, goddess.”

  We rode in silence until the weather grew warm enough for me to shed my outer layer. Batu appeared to know the direction despite there being no road or trail guiding us. The hilly plains were beginning to level out, though patches of trees, streams and ponds continued to punctuate the landscape at intervals. We were never far from water, and it dawned on me he was using the water sources as his guides.

  “You said something about herding last night,” I said, breaking the quiet. “Did you herd sheep?”

  “I was raised in a war camp. Every child of the steppe is taught the skills of our forefathers: the bow, horses, herding and hunting. The army travels with its own herds of horses, sheep and goats. Children take care of them until they are old enough to learn to fight.”

  “You were serious last night about a fussy lamb,” I said. I was almost disappointed not to have been … special for a moment. Did he really think of me as a sheep or some other animal?

  “If a lamb is lost or left by its mother, the herder must find it and care for it. Placing it here helps.” He patted his chest. “It appears to work on fussy goddesses as well.”

  “I wasn’t fussy.” The image of him caring for a lamb and then loping over the horizon to collect ears almost made me smile in bafflement. “You are nice to a lamb but you kill everyone else.”

  “Lambs provide wool when they are older.”

  “True. So the kids in a war camp take care of animals, learn to fight and are taught survival.”

  “Yes.”

  “War is awful.”

  “It, too, is necessary. The Eternal Blue Sky has declared all four corners of the world are ours. We must ride out and claim them.”

  “You really believe that?” I peered at him.

  “It is true. Look what we have done in a hundred years. We claimed the east and west and everything in between.”

  It doesn’t last. I didn’t know much about this time period, but it was no great leap to assume time wore away the Mongols’ hold on the known world the way it had every other great civilization.

  “You are a good warrior,” I observed, somewhat disturbed to recall how good he was.

  “I am my clan’s champion. Only the greatest warrior is chosen as a guardian.”

  “I know it’s an honor but … wouldn’t you rather be at war with everyone else?”

  “Father Sky has blessed me with this fate. I am grateful for it.”

  He wasn’t like me. He didn’t question why things unfolded the way they did.

  “Although …” He trailed off.

  “Although what?”

  “I have no wife. No sons.”

  “Do you want a family?”

  He gave me another of his odd looks. “Do you not?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Warriors do not generally live long. I chose to
become a guardian instead of marrying,” he explained.

  “I understand that. You’re always at war,” I said. “So you worry you won’t have a family.”

  “At times.”

  I wasn’t expecting his candid response. It left me feeling a little more … confused about who he really was or rather, how he could have such extremes.

  “Taylor was my husband,” I said quietly. “I was married to him for a few days before he died. I don’t think I want a family. It’s too easy to lose someone, and it hurts when you do.”

  “It is the nature of things, goddess,” he said.

  “Well, I don’t like it. I won’t be married again.”

  “Neither will I, as long as you are alive.”

  “Sorry, Batu.”

  “I have no regrets, ugly one.”

  “I’m not ugly!”

  “I know.” He smiled without looking at me.

  I wasn’t certain how to take his response. Part of me wanted to double check and make sure I’d heard him right while the other part of me screamed about not getting attached or involved with anyone in this world.

  Deciding to go with silence, I slid back into my thoughts for a while before turning my attention to my surroundings. The four horses trailed us the way he said they would, and we traveled from water source to water source through green grasses towards snowcapped mountains in the distance.

  “What season is this, Batu?” I asked, struck by the notion I had no clue what day it was let alone the time of year.

  “Late summer. The nights will start to become too cold to sleep without a fire.”

  I recalled when I landed originally in the Mongol Empire. It was so cold, breathing hurt. I assumed it was winter.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To the steppe where I was raised.”

  “Why there?”

  “Because it is home.”

  “No more wars for you?”

  “My time will be spent watching over you, goddess, unless you choose to vanish once more.”

  “Which I can’t do.”

  “My home is far from the wars and the men who will hunt you. To reach us, they will navigate territory that does not welcome strangers and pass through many steppe people.”

  It was a smart plan to place layers of protection between anyone like his uncle and me. It seemed to fit Batu’s desire to return home, too. At the heart of the Empire, no one could reach me.

  Except maybe Carter.

  Chapter Eight

  We rode throughout the day, stopped for the night in a thatch of forest, and continued for another two days.

  On the fourth day, we continued past night fall. I expected him to stop in another field or at the edge of a forest or somewhere similar, but he continued. Soon after dark fell, a clump of around five buildings came into view. One was far larger than the others, and light and sound spilled from the windows.

  “What is this?” I asked.

  “Traders’ post and inn.” Batu glanced at me and then leaned over to tug up my hood. “Keep your face hidden. You draw attention.”

  I pulled it the rest of the way. The closer we got, the less I liked the idea of a hotel of this kind. It was very … rough. Not only did it smell of waste and unwashed bodies, but the mix of people weren’t what I expected. Mongols I recognized by their clothing, though some appeared European or Chinese, but it was the men who looked like bandits or scruffy, shifty-eyed thieves who concerned me.

  “Are we staying here?” I asked when Batu stopped at the stables beside the post.

  “We are,” he confirmed. He dismounted and handed over the reins to a stable boy. “There is little crime here, goddess. The Khan’s code is enforced strictly.”

  I didn’t ask, but I suspected the punishment for every infraction was probably death. Dismounting, I bit back a groan of pain after the day on the horse and limped to Batu.

  “We will eat here,” he said and began walking towards the loud inn. “I have a trade to conduct and then we will rest.”

  The moment we set foot in the inn, I decided there was nothing on the planet that would dissuade me from his orders this time. The roughened crowd was eating stew or meat and drinking wine and ale. Boisterously drunk or busy eating, the place reeked of humanity, and everyone was armed. I crowded Batu as he wove through the men towards an unoccupied table in corner.

  Sitting, I huddled more deeply into my hood and gazed around.

  “Wait here,” he told me.

  I watched him navigate the crowd to the window of the kitchens. Batu returned a few moments later with bowls of stew, bread and wine. He set them down and sat, eating quickly, his eyes never still as he observed the people around us.

  I ate more slowly. The stew meat was tough and chewy though there were some unidentifiable spices in it. Batu wolfed down his food and sat back with a glance at the food I’d barely started.

  “You do not leave your seat, Moonbeam,” he told me firmly.

  I nodded. Without another warning, he stood and strode to a doorway leading past the open floor of the dining area into the hotel part of the inn. He disappeared, and I paused in my eating, not liking the fact he was gone.

  Shaking out my concern, I picked up the warm bowl of stew with both hands – they didn’t have spoons – and sipped the broth. Where the meat was better off swallowed than chewed, the broth had a good flavor. The bread was basic and a little stale while the wine was stronger than I was accustomed to.

  All things considered, it wasn’t a bad dinner. I sat back to watch the rough world around me. No women were present, which I was guessing was probably a good thing. This crowd didn’t seem like the kind to deal well with women.

  The men at the table beside me rose, and my attention shifted to them. They wore a mix of clothing, the heavy wool of the Mongols mixed with faded silks and furs. They appeared to be wealthy traders, and the gleam of one’s silver belt sparkled in the light of the hearth and torches. Several pouches dangled from his belt, weapons and …

  … A cell phone.

  I blinked and looked again. It looked a lot like a silver iPhone.

  Jarred by the idea, I sat up straighter to get a better look, but he had turned away and started towards the hotel side of the inn. He and his companions didn’t look any different than the others around me.

  Neither did Taylor. My short-lived husband had fit in perfectly with the rest of the men from the eighteen hundreds.

  The man with the phone disappeared down a hallway. I stood, adrenaline pumping and Batu’s warning in my head. After a brief hesitation, I started through the crowd. I was small enough that most people didn’t notice me, and those that did looked away after a glance in my direction. Tugging the hood forward, I sneaked peeks at those around me while hurrying as fast as I could to the entrance into the hotel area.

  Stepping into a wooden hallway, I saw the man with the phone disappear into a room towards the end of the corridor, accompanied by the others. I hastened down the hall and paused outside the open door. They had stepped into a private meeting room, complete with another roughly hewn table and chairs, a hearth and pitcher of wine.

  I ducked behind the doorway and stayed out of sight, listening closely in case they were time travelers talking about their adventures.

  If they were, they weren’t discussing it. Their conversations centered around trade. One man was displaying goods the others were negotiating for. Some of my conviction began to wane, and I frowned. It was always possible only one of them was a traveler like me and was there on business.

  “Who are you?”

  I whirled and stared at the man before me. His eyes were narrowed, his hand on the hilt of a dagger.

  “No one,” I murmured. “I was lost.” I stepped away.

  At the sound of my voice, his gaze sharpened. He snatched my arm and hauled me into the room with the others, all but slinging me onto their table. I caught myself with my injured hands and suppressed a groan at the streak of hot pain.
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  The others stared at me then the other man, surprised. One of them yanked my hood back, and that seemed to unfreeze them.

  “What is this?” one asked and wrenched the tiara off my head. “This pearl is of great quality.”

  “She’s dressed like a Mongol,” another said.

  Several other made cruder comments, and I straightened and took a step back. “Excuse me. I did not mean to intrude.”

  “You speak when spoken to, whore!” The man nearest me snapped and slapped me hard.

  Startled, I rested a hand against my stinging cheek.

  “Who do you belong to?” another demanded.

  “No one.” I backpedaled, only to run into the man who tossed me into the room.

  He closed the door behind him, and I started to suspect this was not going to end well. Cursing myself silently, I debated what to say or do.

  “By all rights, she is under my roof and therefore mine,” an older man who looked to be in his sixties declared and stood. “But I will sell her for a fair price.”

  Sell?

  At first, I thought the men were as taken aback as I was. They were quiet for a long moment, exchanging looks, before one slapped a hand on the table containing misshapen silver coins.

  “Broghun, tie her up!” the owner of the hotel ordered.

  The man behind me grabbed me.

  “No, wait! I’m here with –” I objected and yanked away.

  He slapped me, this time hard enough to make my head spin.

  And then the sense of detachment crept upon me.

  Not now! I ordered my tired mind. I started to fade … and struggled to concentrate on my senses the way Batu told me to. Stuck in my internal war, I was vaguely aware of having my hands tied and my mouth gagged. I couldn’t utter a single word anyway, not when I was in this horrible stage of detachment.

  “You cheat!” one of the men shouted and smashed his fists into the table.

  His outburst pulled me out of my mind, and I took in what had happened during the moments I was indisposed. I was being held by the man named Broghun. His back was to one wall and his arm around my throat while he watched the bidding war. The rag wrapped around my head for a gag tasted foul.