The Grandson of Father Time

“That’s the best word I could come up with,” Chaz said when I raised my eyebrows.  “It’s, well, kind of complicated.  But that’s not the problem.”

 “You’re sure he’s near?”

“Yes.  It’s like with you.  I sense people I’m closely connected to.”

“Then let’s go,” I said.  He hesitated and I nailed the reason.  “You would totally go running off to save him if I wasn’t here.  In fact, I bet you’re planning on dropping me off and hurrying back here.”

His cheeks turned to frosted glass, a sign that he was blushing and I was right.  We had an interesting staring contest; I glared and he tried to avoid eye contact.  I finally grabbed his head and forced him to look at me until he conceded defeat.

“We’ll look,” Chaz nodded.  “But if it gets too dangerous I’m getting you out of here.”

I nodded and pulled back from Chaz as we left our hiding place.  He held my hand and led the way.  Unlike with hours, it seemed that finding people was a little more accurate and his range was farther.  Chaz would pause now and again, but never for long.  The paper tree forest was getting thicker and thicker and I was beginning to feel like a thief myself as we started sneaking through.

Chaz tapped my shoulder and pointed just a little to our right.  I was actually surprised that I spotted the cabin immediately.  It nearly blended in with the surrounding trees.  The cabin was a strange combination of cardboard, papier-mâché, and a painter’s canvas.  From the distance it looked about the size of a shed, but it was actually about the size of a townhouse.

The moment we had spotted the cabin it was like someone had turned on the stealth button.  We carefully moved through the trees, trying to make as little noise as possible as we neared one of the front corners.  There could be anything from one guard to the entire group of bad guys ready to pounce on us.  It didn’t look like the later option, but it didn’t look like just one either.

“Boeman!” someone inside the cabin yelled and we froze.  “You’re not to go near the Time brat.”

Sitting on the rail of the cabin’s front porch, a man threw knives at a target painted on the cabin’s outside wall.  “Iznot my fault he was bein’ stubborn.  ‘Sides, I’m bored of babysittin’.”

A strange, almost bird-like, creature limped to the open door.  He stayed in the shadows but spat at the sunlight as if it were the plague.  Boeman, the man on the porch, looked more human in appearance, aside from clawed hands and obvious fangs.  Both loved the color black, evident as every article of clothing was the darkest shades possible.

“Another thing,” the bird-like man snapped.  “Stop throwing crap at the wall.”

“Wow, Slokha,” Boeman laughed.  “Yer soundin’ like a real priss.”

“What did you call me?” Slokha hissed.

“Whatcha gonna do about it?” Boeman taunted.

“Please don’t fight,” came a small voice as a black Labrador trotted around from the back.

“Stay outta this, Rode,” Boeman snapped.

Rode transformed from a puppy to a person and stood between the older men, pleading at them with his red eyes.  “If you two get in a fight, again, I’ll be the one who gets in trouble.”

I was fascinated with the whole exchange, but I think I was more amused by the entire scene.  When Boeman and Slokha had started really arguing, the side window slid open and a person carefully crawled out.  When Chaz tensed, I knew it was the Timewight that he had mentioned.  What I hadn’t expected was for the Timewight to look like a high school teenager, nor had I expected him to have sloppy, blood stained bandages wrapped around him.

We were closer to the Timewight and rescuing him when he was already escaping seemed easy enough.  The problem was that we were a long ways away from a portal point, we were tired, the Timewight was injured, and the bridge was out.  But being at a disadvantage was the typical good guy odds.  Hopefully we’d be able to pull an unplanned miracle off

“He’s trying to escape again,” Rode sighed as he cocked his head when the prisoner collapsed.

“Mills!” Chaz yelled as he pulled me from our hiding place and straight toward the Timewight.

“That’s a…” Slokha started, then Boeman interrupted with a harsh laugh as he balanced a knife in his hand.  “Good Ol’ Time’s grand brat is a little criminal himself.”