Redemption: Supernatural Time-Traveling Romance with Sci-fi and Metaphysics Read online

  “Food good!” she says, pushing the food into her mouth with her fingers.

  When Mi’s hunger is finally satisfied, Bagra encourages her to lie down and, tired and aching from her long journey, she soon finds herself drifting into a deep sleep.

  ~

  In the days that follow, Mi finds herself quickly settling into life with this new tribe. At first, it all seems very different. Like the men who brought her here, the people have lighter, less hairy skin than her own, and their faces have softer, friendlier features. Although they hunt large game, there are also smaller animals that live with the tribe, creatures that look like small buffalo and antelopes, all of which seem contented to stay here among the humans.

  Good land, she thinks, smiling at all she sees. Good food. Good cave huts. Good home. Mi and Wu safe here.

  Although the tribe has the forest nearby, they also grow their own plants, tall grasses that provide them with grain for a curious food that looks like a large stone, referred to as ‘bread’, and various tasty herbs and roots. Above all these wonders, however, Mi finds herself most fascinated by the fire.

  Baby of Sky God, she thinks, watching the women bring it to life, rubbing long, dry sticks together in a way that Mi finds impossible to mimic. And before long, this fire is born, bright and hot, providing warmth during the cold of the night, and light in the darkness of the huts. It even gives protection to the tribe, as the wild animals are afraid to approach the fire, and even the animals in the village keep a wary distance from it. In addition to the bread and plants, the people eat meat, but not raw as Mi’s people did. Instead, they cut the flesh into pieces and heat it on stones placed in the fire or in special, stone-hard bags called “pots”, together with herbs, roots and water.

  For most of the time, Mi stays close to Bagra, who is one of the leading women in the tribe. Bagra teaches Mi about everything around, showing her how to grind the grains harvested from the tall grass, how to use a bone needle to stitch together animal skins and the special fabric made by some of the other women, and teaching her new words.

  “Stones,” says Bagra, as she shows her the equipment for making flour.

  “Stones,” Mi repeats, running a finger across the rough surface.

  “Grain.”

  Mi takes a handful of the wheat, letting it run through her fingers. “Grain,” she repeats, watching, fascinated, as Bagra pours the wheat between the stones, turning one on top of the other, crushing and splitting the grains.

  “Flour,” says Bagra, lifting the stones apart to show her the coarse, white powder.

  Mi touches it. “Make bread?”

  “Make bread,” says Bagra, smiling at how quickly Mi takes in the information. Mi finds herself able to pick up the strange language of the tribe fairly quickly and she enjoys learning the meanings of their words.

  Her own people mostly communicated with gestures and used only a handful of sounds, but here, they have many words with which to describe the things around them.

  One afternoon, Mi watches a woman making one of the pots from the soft, brown clay that is collected near the shore of the lake.

  “Pot!” she says, pointing excitedly as the woman takes a large lump of clay and begins to roll it out on a wooden plate, using her fingers skillfully to form the sides of the pot. When she is happy with the shape, the woman lifts the vessel carefully and places it close to the fire to harden it, before reaching for another piece of clay.

  “Show?” asks Mi eagerly, sitting down next to her. The woman looks up and nods, passing her a lump of the soft clay together with a wooden plate.

  Delighted, Mi begins to copy the woman’s actions, rolling out the clay and shaping it with her fingers.

  “Not hard!” says the woman as Mi tears the edge of the clay. She reaches out and pinches the gap closed and gestures for her to continue. “Soft touch.”

  Mi nods. “Soft touch.”

  The woman watches, impressed at how quickly Mi picks up the skill, working quickly and confidently.

  “Good pot!” she says, as she takes Mi’s work and places it by the fire.

  Mi is alarmed at this attempt to burn her creation and tries to snatch it away. “No!”

  “Fire make pot hard,” says the woman, placing it back next to the fire.

  “Hard?” Mi frowns. “Like stone?”

  The woman nods. “Like stone. Good pot!”

  That evening Mi enjoys using her pot to cook some grain and vegetables for Bagra and herself.

  ~

  Days and nights in the village pass quickly for Mi as she busies herself settling in. One afternoon, as she is helping the other women folk to make bread, Bagra walks over and sits next to her.

  “You know hunt?” says the older woman. Immediately Mi is reminded of the hunt that took her precious Lu from her and turned her world upside down. She shakes her head to dispel the thoughts.

  “Yes,” she says.

  “Soon big hunt. Many buffalo beyond forest.” Bagra waves a hand in the direction of the wood, indicating the plains beyond. “Feast, big feast!”

  “Feast?” say Mi, unfamiliar with the word.

  “Feast. Much food! We make ready… come.” Bagra leads Mi to the tent where the empty water skins are kept and sends her to the river to fill them.

  As she is busily filling the bags, she suddenly becomes aware of a sound coming from the direction of the forest. Wild animal? She keeps as still as possible, while slowly turning to look. But instead of some dangerous beast, there is a man there, practicing his hunting skills. With his spear held steadily in his hand he looks so handsome and strong that Mi forgets what she is doing. The bag she is holding slips to the ground, spilling its water onto the grass. She stands up to get a better view of the man and steps onto a large twig, which snaps loudly beneath her foot. The hunter turns his head at the sound and his eyes meet those of Mi. Her breath catches as she stares at him. Like my Lu, she thinks. Certainly he is powerful and noble just like Lu was, and yet in looks he is very different. Suddenly self-conscious and confused by the strange feelings stirring inside her, she hurries away, hiding herself in the rushes at the river’s edge.

  As she glances down at the water, she catches a glimpse of her face reflected in the calm surface, and is painfully aware of how different she is compared to him and all these smooth-skinned people. She looks down at her arms. Too much hair, she decides. Mi cut hair!

  After filling the remaining water bags, she hurries back to the village and dumps them by the fence. Going to the place where the women are hard at work skinning a number of animal carcasses with sharp, thin stones, she selects one of the sharpest and ducks into her tent. Mi tests out the flint, running the edge downwards along her left forearm. Despite the keenness of the blade, it isn’t easy to cut her thick hair, but she repeats the action, trying to shave her whole arm. Unfortunately, after much time and effort, some hair still remains on her arm and her skin is bleeding in some places. As she wipes away the blood with a frown, she is startled by the sound of muffled laughter behind her. She spins round to see Bagra standing in the entrance to her hut, holding her hat over her mouth in an attempt to conceal her amusement. Embarrassed, Mi drops the flint and quickly hides her shaved arm behind her.

  “Come, Mi,” says Bagra, beckoning her to follow. She leads Mi to her own tent and, when they are both inside, she picks up a couple of pots, one containing a dark-green powder and the other water. Using a stick to mix a small amount of the powder with some water, Bagra leans across and smears the paste onto Mi’s right arm. Mi looks at it, frowning, before widening her eyes in amazement. The hair is melting away as she watches. After a few moments, Bagra wipes off the paste with a piece of cloth, leaving behind a patch of slightly red, but hair-free, skin.

  “Red goes,” says Bagra airily, then hands Mi the stick. “You do it now.”

  When Mi finally emerges from the tent, her face, arms, chest and legs are all completely free of hair. Hair gone, she thinks, feeling much be
tter about herself. Smooth like tribe! Look like tribe! Her thoughts are drawn back to the man she saw by the river and smiles. Find mate in tribe!

  ~

  A few days later is the feast to mark the start of the hunting season. With clear skin, and a number of bright flowers woven into her hair, Mi is in high spirits. Bagra has helped her to make a dress using some of the special fabric made by the women of the tribe, and as she slips it on, Mi feels beautiful. At the feast she keeps her eyes open for the hunter she had seen by the river. When she finally spots him, Mi finds him watching her.

  He likes me, she thinks. No hair good!

  As he catches her eye he smiles, and she finds the shyness of that first meeting has been replaced with a new-found confidence. She walks towards him and he gets quickly to his feet, making his way to meet her.

  “You dance?” he asks, but Mi only shrugs at the unfamiliar word, so the man turns and points to a dancing couple nearby. Mi smiles in understanding and nods her head, and, as the tribe sings their hunting songs, the man takes her in his strong arms and they dance together. It has been so long since she has felt a man’s embrace, Mi delights in the sensation. At last Mi knows this is the place she has been looking for, the new home where Wu can live in safety with her. Soon she will bring him here. Smiling at the thought, she nestles against his chest, her arms wrapped around his powerful body.

  “Lu,” she whispers, the sound drowned by the singing. “My Lu.”

  ~

  In the morning the adult men leave for the hunt. As she watches them, Mi is reminded of the day Lu left for that fatal hunt. No Zo here, she reminds herself. No bad hunt. Mi is enjoying staying here with these friendly people, and it will not be long now before she can go and fetch Wu to live with her. That will have to wait for now, though, as the men set out with their food, water and weapons towards the forest and the great plains beyond. It is not yet safe to leave.

  Mi spends the morning grinding seeds with some of the other women, enjoying the warm breeze coming from the desert.

  Wu like this place, she thinks. He come here. Grow big. Grow strong, like Lu. As Mi thinks of Lu, she feels a stab of pain in her heart, but it is not as bad as it once was, and her memories of him are a great comfort while she is apart from her son.

  Her thoughts are interrupted by a strange sound that drifts to her on the breeze, a distant scream like a dying animal that causes the women to look up in concern. For a moment they hear nothing, but then the cry comes again, louder this time before it is suddenly cut off.

  “Danger!” shouts one of the women nearby, and Mi turns to see her pointing towards the desert. Mi stands up and shields her eyes from the Sky God’s glare, peering into the distance. Suddenly she can see them, men running into the village through the broken far side of the fence. Men with weapons.

  “Quick!” says Bagra, pointing urgently to a nearby hut. “Arrows!”

  Leaving their work, the women hurry to grab the few bows that have not been taken for the hunt and begin to fire arrows at the men. At first they fall short. The men are too far away, though their war cries of “Hai! Hai!” sound alarmingly close.

  “Look!” says Bagra, appearing at Mi’s elbow. “Bad men come!” Sure enough, as she looks across the village, the first of the attackers come into view. They are carrying wooden cudgels, spears and flint axes, primitive weapons, but effective in close combat.

  “No!” shouts Mi as she watches one of the men drag a young woman from a hut by her hair and strike her a deadly blow with his ax.

  Bagra thrusts a bow towards her. “Take. Shoot men!” But Mi shakes her head, unused to these strange, new weapons. Instead she snatches up a large rock from a pile of flints and holds it ready.

  The attackers are fast and very aggressive in their hunt, and they are too many for the few women and children in the village. They cut quickly through their prey, littering the ground with their bodies. The air is filled with the sound of battle cries and the wailing of the wounded. As they get closer, though, they come in range of the women’s arrows and it is not long before the first attacker falls, struck above the eye, the flint arrowhead bursting through his skull. But the supply of missiles quickly runs out, and Bagra calls to the women.

  “Run!” she says, a note of fear in her voice as she gestures towards the opening that leads to the forest. “Run and hide!”

  Firing the last of their arrows, the women hurry through the fence and down the hill towards the distant trees. Mi is one of the last to go through and, as she does so, she glances back quickly over her shoulder at the attackers. An elderly woman hobbles out from behind a hut, a small child clutched in her arms.

  “Come!” shouts Mi, but as she watches as a large man jumps out in front of the woman and cuts her down with a swift blow from his club.

  “No!” shouts Mi and hurls the rock that is still clutched in her hand. It glances off the man’s shoulder and he turns to look at her. With an icy dread, Mi recognizes him. “No!” she shouts again, though this time it is in fear and disbelief. As the man faces her, she sees the three long scars on his cheek, the marks of a tiger’s paw. No, she thinks. Zo here! When their eyes meet she sees a look of triumph flash across his face, quickly replaced by one of aggression.

  “My Mi!” he roars, tossing his club to one side and snatching a spear from one of his fellows. Mi turns, then, and runs, terror spurring her on down the hill and towards the forest at a dizzying pace.

  Down by the trees, Bagra has stopped to let the others pass.

  “Hide in trees,” she says, pointing up into the nearby branches. “Make no sound.”

  Arriving shortly after the last of the women disappear into the shadows, Mi is ushered in by Bagra.

  “Hide, Mi!” says the older woman and Mi runs past her. “Make no. . .” Her voice is cut off by a dull thud and Mi stops, wondering what it is. Turning round, she sees Bagra gripping a long stick that seems to be growing from her chest. At first Mi doesn’t understand what has happened, but then she realizes it is a spear. Zo’s weapon has passed right through Bagra’s body, sticking out a hand’s width from her back. Mi hurries back to her and wrenches out the spear, but it doesn’t help. Instead Bagra sags to the ground, blood gushing between her fingers as she presses them against the wound in her chest.

  “Go,” she says, her voice weak and harsh.

  Mi shakes her head. “No. You live!”

  “Go, Mi,” says Bagra again, coughing and spitting blood onto the ground. “Go!”

  Bagra’s head slumps onto the ground and her hands fall limp by her side. A thin trickle of blood escapes from the corner of her mouth and her eyes stare up, seeing nothing. Bagra is dead. With tears in her eyes, Mi stands up, still clutching the spear, and sees Zo staring from some distance away.

  “Mine!” he yells, his voice gloating as he taps his chest. The look on his face reminds her of the day before that hunt, when he attacked her as she came out of the lake, a look of desire and hunger.

  Zo not kill me, she realizes. Zo take me. This is what he has always wanted, to have her as his own, as his slave.

  “No!” she shouts, brandishing the spear. “Zo not take Mi!”

  “You mine,” says Zo, his voice almost a hiss as he advances on her.

  Quickly, she thinks, placing the butt of the spear on the ground. Or he take me! She rests the other end against her chest pointing directly at her heart. She knows what she must do.

  “No!” shouts Zo, realizing her intention. His face contorts with rage as he runs towards her. “You not do it!”

  “Wu!” she cries, a final, short prayer to the Sky God to take care of her son. Then she pushes with all her weight against the spear, still wet with Bagra’s blood. The point pierces skin and flesh, plunging deep into her heart. A sharp pain grips her from within, and as the life drains from Mi’s body, she sees the grimace of anger and disappointment on Zo’s face.

  “You not take Mi!” she whispers. The sharp pain is like fire in Mi’s chest as
her body grows weak and she falls to the ground. “You not take…”

  Chicago, U.S.A. 2045

  Chapter Seven

  Ann woke up with a start, her hands pressed against her chest and the sound of someone crying out in her ears.

  “What happened?” she said, her heart beating fast and her breath coming in short, quick bursts. “Who was that screaming?”

  The psychic didn’t have time to answer as Nina burst into the room.

  “What happened, darling?” she said, hurrying across to the couch where Ann lay. “Why were you screaming?”

  “I wasn’t.” Ann looked in confusion from her friend to the psychic and back again. “Was I?”

  “It’s alright, my dear,” said the psychic soothingly. She reached out and picked up a box of matches from the coffee table, slipping one out and using it to light a candle. Immediately it began to produce a cloud of thick, dark smoke, which Ann half expected to smell like burning tires. To her surprise the scent was delicate and soothing, unlike anything she had experienced before. “That’s it, breathe it in gently. You’ve been on a long journey.”

  “I certainly feel like I have,” said Ann, sitting up and running a hand across her forehead. “And I’m drenched in sweat. How long was I out for?”

  “Oh, an hour or so.”

  “What? That can’t be right. I feel like I’ve been away for months, or weeks at least.”

  “It’s true, sweetie,” said Nina, placing a friendly hand on her shoulder. She quickly removed it again though, when she felt how damp Ann’s blouse was, and wiped it absent-mindedly on the back of the couch. “I’ve only been out of the room for just over sixty minutes, though it felt like a lot longer. You know,” she added, turning to the psychic, “you really need to put a few glossy magazines in there or maybe an entertainment enter or something. You don’t want your guests dying of boredom!”