Last Silk Blot

  The Last Silk Blot

  Time of Death: Book #6

  Written by Josh Anderson

  Copyright © 2016 by Abdo Consulting Group, Inc.

  Published by EPIC Press™

  PO Box 398166

  Minneapolis, MN 55439

  All rights reserved.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  International copyrights reserved in all countries.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without

  written permission from the publisher. EPIC Press™ is trademark

  and logo of Abdo Consulting Group, Inc.

  Cover design by Dorothy Toth

  Images for cover art obtained from iStockPhoto.com

  Edited by Ramey Temple

  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

  Anderson, Josh.

  The last silk blot / Josh Anderson.

  p. cm. — (Time of death ; #6)

  Summary: When Kyle and Allaire travel outside the walls of the time tunnel, they meet Kyle’s ancient ancestor, and their journey takes a turn that he could have never anticipated. Now, with everything on the line, Kyle must revisit the demons of the past one final time if he was any hope of leaving them behind once and for all.

  ISBN 978-1-68076-069-9 (hardcover)

  1. Time travel—Fiction. 2. Traffic accidents—Fiction. 3. Life change events—Fiction. 4. Interpersonal relations—Fiction. 5. Conduct of life—Fiction.

  6. Guilt—Fiction. 7. Self-acceptance—Fiction. 8. Young adult fiction. I. Title.

  [Fic]—dc23

  2015903989

  This digital document has been produced by Nord Compo.

  To Mom,

  Watching you achieve your dreams

  inspired me to chase my own.

  CHAPTER 1

  About ten thousand years ago in Serica

  Simyon used his knee to push one of the larger hogs away from the runt. He’d learned that if he didn’t hover over the smallest animal in the stone pig enclosure, she wouldn’t get to eat at all and would likely die. He called the little pig “Delilah” and empathized with her place as the smallest member of her family.

  “You know, Father will only kill her sooner if you make her fat,” Umar said with a laugh. He sat across the pen, against the low stone wall, mindlessly tossing pebbles into the dirt in front of him.

  Simyon shrugged. His older brother didn’t understand. He never did. “Hey!” Simyon said, pushing away another big male hog with designs on Delilah’s feed.

  Once he was confident she’d gotten enough to eat, Simyon continued to the other feed baskets, filling them with scraps—mostly discarded garbage from their village. Simyon liked that hogs weren’t picky like people.

  When he heard a noise in the dirt behind him, Simyon turned and saw that Umar was tossing rocks in Delilah’s direction. He didn’t even look like he was getting any great joy from it, until Simyon took notice, of course.

  “Stop it,” Simyon said, blotting his head with the green handkerchief their father had given him.

  Umar tossed another rock at the small pig.

  Simyon’s brother didn’t even look his way. He’d picked up the tactic from his father, the head of their village, and a member of the Serican council. When he didn’t like what one of the villagers said to him, his father proudly explained, the easiest solution was to avoid responding directly. “Talk only to the larger issues,” their father would proclaim. “Never the trivialities.” Simyon knew Delilah was a triviality to his brother.

  He was about to tell Umar to stop again, but instead, Simyon picked up a rock at his feet and threw it toward Umar. Simyon had good enough aim to make sure he didn’t hit his brother, but he made sure to land the rock close enough to make his point.

  Now Umar took the stones and pebbles of various sizes he’d collected in his hand, reared back and threw them at Simyon, who turned his face away instinctively. Only a few small pebbles hit Simyon, the rest landing harmlessly in the dirt behind him. Umar never hesitated to be the aggressor, but he could turn his opinion of himself into that of the aggrieved party just as quickly.

  Seconds after Simyon turned back to their joint duty of minding the hogs, Umar ran at him and tackled him from the side, sending the pigs scurrying away. Simyon had to be very careful about raising a hand to his older brother. Regardless of how justifiable, their father had put younger Serican men to death before for “lifting fists” to the heirs of their families. First-born sons were, in many ways, considered a cut above their siblings, and the rules were different for them.

  Simyon tried to protect himself as they rolled on the ground. His brother was weak, but he had to let Umar get the upper hand and perhaps get a few punches in, before Simyon could even consider fighting back. Simyon rolled onto his back. As he did, though, he noticed that the wooden gate to the hog enclosure was open. “Wait!” Simyon screamed as his brother wound up to punch him in the face. Before he could speak, Umar delivered a punch to his left cheek, which rattled Simyon’s head. Their father would actually be proud of Umar for disciplining his two-years-younger brother. The matter at hand leading to their fight would never be discussed.

  After the momentary shock of the punch to the face faded, Simyon yelled to his brother again and pointed at the gate. “Wait! Look!”

  Umar stood up slowly—like he did everything—and the young men watched as Delilah and the largest male hog ran to the grass outside.

  Simyon ran out of the enclosure after them, waited for his brother behind him, and then shut and latched the gate. They each grabbed a swine herder’s stick as they watched the hogs race across the field in the direction of Serican Point.

  “Run!” Simyon called out, pulling his brother by the shirt. “Father will whip us if we—”

  “You’re such a fool,” Umar answered, again following after his younger brother.

  They ran after the hogs, but the spooked animals sped further ahead every second. Simyon felt regret as he ran. Knowing the animals could be spooked so easily, he never should’ve let the matter with Umar escalate in the enclosure. Why did I throw that rock? he thought to himself. He’d let much larger indignities go before. There was something about watching his brother take aim at defenseless Delilah, who had to take it from her own kind as well, that reminded Simyon of how much he wished his brother was not his brother.

  They barely kept the hogs in sight as they chased behind them. The animals were still headed straight toward Serican Point, the sound of the sacred river below getting louder as the brothers got closer.

  Simyon and Umar were going to have no choice but to try to corner the hogs at one of the cliff edges. But, when they reached the natural stone arch leading into Serican Point, Umar stopped running.

  “Let’s wait for them here,” Umar said.

  “Wait? It could be days,” Simyon said. “What will we tell Father? He’ll come to get the large one for slaughter soon. Perhaps this afternoon.” The consequence for losing the hogs would be much worse than leaving the family’s property without their father’s permission.

  “You care more about the small one,” Umar said,“because you’re weak. Even our sister thinks so.”

  Simyon passed through the natural doorway to Serican Point. “Fine. You stay here. I’ll chase them in this direction. Can you handle both of them?”

  “Of course I can herd two swine, you idiot,” Umar said, holding his swine herder’s stick in front of him as if he thought Simyon had forgotten he had it.

  Simyon walked in the direction of the hogs on the thinning landscape in front of him. To his left and right were sheer cliffs. Beneath the right side of the cliff were the jagged, chalky rocks commonly seen throughout the Serican landscape. The ar
ea was completely inaccessible by humans, but now and then someone gazing down at the rocks might catch sight of wild mountain goats. On the left, there was an equally long drop that led to the sacred river rushing below. Even though their father’s property practically overlooked it, neither of them had ever swam or bathed in it. One of the first rules their father ever gave the boys was that no person was ever allowed to touch the water of sacred river. Their father was not one to explain his rules, but the boys knew that they weren’t the only ones bound by this rule. Throughout Serica, entering the sacred river was known to be among the worst transgressions a person could commit.

  The large hog was sniffing the grass right at the edge of the right side of the cliff. Simyon was afraid of spooking the animal too much and sending it running off the cliff to its death on the rocks below. It wasn’t impossible that a hog could accidentally walk off a cliff, which would enrage their father, who would trade portions of the pig to other villagers in exchange for other food and family necessities. Simyon also had no confidence in Umar taking any responsibility at all if they lost one of the animals.

  Just as Simyon wondered whether the large hog might actually walk over the cliff, he saw Delilah, even more dangerously close to the edge, but on the left side, over the water. He looked toward the larger hog and knew that it should be the priority. It was nearly ready for slaughter and if they could only save one, their father would be less furious if they lost Delilah than the larger hog.

  But Simyon walked slowly toward the smaller pig, hoping to loop further toward the pointed edge of the cliff before she took notice of him. He could then hook around her with his stick and try to guide her toward the stone arch.

  Just as he tried passing quietly by Delilah, he heard footsteps behind him and turned to see Umar with a panicked look on his face. If his brother could mess something up for him, it inevitably would come to pass.

  “It’s Father” Umar said. “He’s heading toward the pig pen.”

  Simyon tried to think. Their father would probably be able to easily coax both hogs back to the enclosure, but the beatings for the boys, especially Simyon, if Umar could find a way to pin this completely on him, would be severe. Still, though, it would be better than losing the pigs. “Call for him!”

  “Are you crazy?” Umar asked, smirking at Simyon. “No. Father will respect us only if we clean up our own mess.”

  Umar ran toward the larger hog, swineherd’s stick in his hand. The large male looked up when he heard Umar’s footsteps and the pig shuffled to the side. Simyon cringed when Umar stumbled, causing the hog to rear up on its back legs. As it did, its back legs dug into the unstable grass right at the cliff face and Simyon watched the dirt fall backward down to the rocks below. An instant later, the hog’s back legs slipped from the cliff, and in a flash, the large male was gone. Simyon ran toward his brother, and the two of them crept carefully toward the edge.

  The large hog was on its side, dead, nearly fifty feet down. “I can climb,” Simyon said, but he knew he could not.

  “You’re such a fool,” Umar said. “We need to go.”

  “Where?” Simyon asked.

  “Anywhere,” Umar answered. “If we deny being responsible, Father may suspect. But he won’t punish us.”

  Umar was right. Their father could be brutal in meting out punishment, not only to the villagers over whom he presided, but to his family as well. But, given his official position, he had rules to follow, and he never punished anyone without clear evidence of wrongdoing.

  Umar ran to the other side of Serican Point and looked down to the river. When he ran over, Delilah started back toward the stone arch, heading in the direction of the pig enclosure. “If father sees her running back from this direction, he’ll come here looking for us.”

  Simyon was glad to see Delilah heading back. He wracked his brain for what they could do to avoid punishment. Being whipped was so excruciating that it inspired all manner of creativity to avoid it.

  “The river is deep,” Umar said. “We would survive the jump.”

  Simyon looked down at the sacred river. He’d never considered its depth, only the impossibility of ever going in it. “How do you know the river is deep?”

  Umar looked at him and wrinkled his brow. “I don’t know. I just do.”

  “You’ve been in the sacred river?” Simyon asked.

  “Don’t be so quick to believe Father’s stories,” Umar said.

  Simyon watched as Delilah went all the way through the stone arch. Their father would come this way soon. “It’s not just Father. No one goes into the sacred river, Umar.” Simyon wasn’t so sure he believed that his brother had gone in before. While Umar wasn’t exactly diligent about following the rules, he also wasn’t brave.

  Simyon looked down at the strong current of the river rushing away from their village. To escape from their father’s detection now, jumping might be their only option. Simyon looked toward the stone arch, and then down again. He shook his head. “We should just admit what happened.”

  Umar smiled at him. “You’ll go back by yourself then. Later, I’ll tell him I had nothing to do with this. I’ll tell him this happened because you were trying to make love to the little pig.”

  “He won’t believe you,” Simyon said, disgusted by his brother, but not surprised.

  “It won’t matter, second son,” Umar answered, still smirking. “You’ll be there admitting guilt, and I’ll come back in an hour and deny everything . . . It’s time for a bath anyway.”

  Simyon looked at his brother, but could barely summon rage anymore. He was so used to being angry with Umar, it was just the prevailing emotion he carried into their interactions.

  “Don’t be such a fool,” Umar said. Then he stepped back a few steps, looked at his brother once more, and ran off the edge of the cliff toward the water below.

  Simyon watched his brother’s body plummet through the air. A few seconds later, Umar popped up in the river waving his arms, the current in the water already pulling him east. Simyon couldn’t believe his brother was in the sacred river. They’d pretended as children to throw their enemies down there to watch their skin burn off. But, there was Umar, safe as he could be, given the strong current in the river.

  Simyon looked again toward the stone arch. He touched the spot on the back of his leg that still hurt from one of father’s whippings months ago. He took a few steps back. He knew the longer he thought about it, the more likely it was that he’d just talk himself out of jumping. He closed his eyes and ran full speed until there was no more of Serican Point beneath his feet. The fall felt endless as he clenched and waited to hit the cold water. As soon as he did, he felt sure he’d made a mistake. Following Umar was never the best choice.

  Once Simyon popped back up to the surface of the river, he spotted Umar, holding onto a boulder poking out from the river’s surface. Simyon grabbed onto it as well. The river didn’t feel any different to him than the Coquish River where they normally bathed, except for the pull being a bit stronger.

  “I’m surprised,” Umar said, panting a bit. “You’re usually so weak.”

  Simyon ignored the insult and held tightly to the boulder. His let his legs give in to the pull of the river while he clung to his spot with his arms.

  Umar pointed at a spot on the riverbank. “Let’s go.”

  “Hold on,” Simyon answered. “Let’s rest a minute. Look at the pull over there. What if we go to the other side? We can take the bridge down the way over the river.”

  “Weakling,” Umar said, shaking his head. “That would take twice as much time.” He jumped out into the river.

  Simyon wanted to stay close in the strong current, and he followed his brother.

  As soon as he started swimming, he knew they were never going to hit their target. Simyon saw Umar’s head go under the water, and then pop up. He was spinning in some sort of circular current, turning again and again. He saw the look of panic on his face and Simyon swam toward him, hoping
he could pull him out of it.

  But when Simyon reached Umar, he started spinning too. It was like a twisting wind, but inside the water. After about a minute of fruitlessly trying to swim out of this strange circular current, Simyon felt the water pulling him underneath. He took as big a breath as he could and had no choice but to submit. Father was right all along, Simyon thought to himself.

  He felt sad that his mother would never know what happened to him if he drowned here and his body never washed up. The Seres were not a culture that mourned or remarked much about death. Mostly, they just waited for it expectantly. It was irrelevant to the dead, but sometimes hard on the close relations of the deceased, who were expected to move on from their grief quickly.

  Once he was pulled underneath the water, his arms and legs fighting against the pull, Simyon felt like he was freefalling, moving much too quickly to be in the water, he thought. He screamed and surprisingly, could hear himself clearly. He even opened his eyes, and instead of feeling the burn of river water, he saw only a silver blur passing by. He had the same feeling he had when jumping from the cliff, except this time it felt endless. After feeling like he was freefalling for several minutes, Simyon wondered if he were dead and would experience this falling sensation for the rest of eternity.

  When Simyon woke up later, on his back in the sand, inside a deep trench in the ground, he had no idea how long he’d been unconscious. He looked next to him and Umar was laying there as well, also beginning to sit up, as if awakening from a long and deep sleep. It was bright out, but he couldn’t see the sun, and noticed that the sky had a purple wash over it, like an extreme sunset.

  “What happened?” Umar asked, the normal assuredness in his voice gone.

  Simyon stood up, but had no words to offer his brother. He looked up over the edge of the trench they were in and saw the water on one side and more sand on the other side, leading to a grassy hill. This looked nothing like anywhere he knew of in Serica.

  “You’re not in Serica,” a voice above them said, as if it had been listening to Simyon’s thoughts.