Not waiting for an answer, I ranted on. “I’llneverget over what I learned about my mother, the woman who raised me and cared for me. She tried tokillme, don’t you see? Shehatedme. She was too busy whoring through time to have any love left for me. And now, I plan on hating her for the rest of my days. I wantnothingto do with her. Hell, maybe she even planned this whole thing.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Marcellious’ forehead furrowed.
I waved my arms over my head. “Maybe she and Balthazar had a personal commitment to one another. He knew she birthed me. Mom would disappear all the time on her expeditions to dig up ‘artifacts.’” I made quotation marks around the word artifacts, and my lip pulled back in a sneer. “She probably snuck away to be with him andfuckher main lover, Balthazar. And then they’d scheme.”
I rubbed my hands together. “Yes, I’ll bet they schemed on how to destroy me should I escape my mother’s wrath. I’ll bet Mom begged him to break me. This was probably all her doing.”
“Olivia, do you know how crazy and delusional you sound? You’ve become unhinged,” Marcellious said. He spun on his heel to go.
I glanced at the knife sheathed at his waistband. “Wait!”
“What for?” He glanced over his shoulder.
I struck like a snake and snatched the blade from its holder.
“Olivia, what are you doing?” He lunged for the knife, but I held it out of reach.
“What I should have done a long time ago. I flung my head forward and bent at the hips so my hair fell before me. Then, gripping it like a ponytail, I cut at least ten inches off in one swift move.
“Olivia!” Marcellious seized the blade from my hand. “Fuck. What have you done now?”
“I’m getting rid of the memory of my mother. She lived in the ends of my hair. I’ve never cut it. She’s dead to me, and now I’ve sliced her from my head.” I held up the thick locks of hair like I was holding the enemy’s scalp. “Here lies Mom, destroyer of lives, whore to the masses!”
I waved my hair like a flag before flinging it away.
A breeze caught my hair and scattered it along.
“Fly free!” I called to the floating wisps. “Begone from my life.”
I whirled to face Marcellious. “There. See? I have no mother any longer.” I slashed my hand across my neck. “She’sdeadto me.Dead! Do you hear me?”
“Yeah, I hear you. You’re insane. That’s what you are. Let me know when you’re ready to devise a plan.” He yanked the knife from my hand, sheathed it, and continued.
“We don’t need a plan,” I called after him. “I’m done. We’re not going to find the damn journal.”
I turned and faced the foothills where a few sparse trees stood. Further past them were more trees. It wasn’t a dense forest, not by any means. But it was a welcome relief from the unceasing grasslands we usually trekked across, so I decided to explore.
I followed the edge of the winding creek. The sound of gurgling water tumbling over the rocks used to soothe me but no more. Now it sounded harsh, like drumbeats pounding out a rhythm for the end of life as I knew it.
As I entered the wooded area, I was reminded of Seattle. My life in Seattle was nothing more than a dream, the stuff of fiction. In fact, as I recalled it, I began to wonder if it was all some make-believe fantasy. Did I ever really live there? Was Moon Lee even real? Was Papa? Tristan? Anyone from my past?
Life as a time traveler wreaked havoc on the brain. When you’d lived in several historical periods, as I had now, the fabric of so-called “reality” seemed tenuous. And now that I’d experienced so much devastating loss, my very hold on sanity was questionable, at best.
Exhausted from my short jaunt, I stopped to rest at the side of the stream, plunking my behind on a smooth rock. As was my norm, I began to cry. I’d become so weak I was literally a stranger to myself. That glimpse of myself in the creek earlier was a total shocker. I used to train long and hard. Hours were spent in the gym honing my skills and teaching people how to defend themselves. I’d been so proud of myself. I was a warrior, an unstoppable force.
Now I could barely climb a hill without having to stop to rest. How sad and tragic my life had become.
A rustling sounded in the woods up ahead, and I stiffened in alarm. I was too weak to ward off even an attack from a child. What if it was the Kiowa? I’d be dead in a matter of seconds.
I held my breath, afraid to move, to breathe, to do anything that might alert the intruder to my presence.
A figure picked his way through the woods, moving slowly.
I wondered if the same darkness had rescued Roman and stroked my head two weeks ago. But no, this approaching stranger walked slightly hunched over like an old man.
The weak winter sunlight pushed through the clouds overhead, sending streaks of light through the bare branches of the trees. The light beams landed on him, illuminating his features.
I stared in disbelief. Was this a trick of my eyes? Had Balthazar sent this conjured image to fuck with my mind even more?
