The Silent Guardian — Chapter 10, Part 2: Dahr-khoday
This installment is part of The Silent Guardian, a time-travel science-fiction novel. Browse the serialized novel archive. Previous: Chapter 10, Part 1: Sachu.
My guess was not incredibly accurate. This is the late Northern Wei period, somewhere around 527 CE, over seven hundred years after my mission.
As I glance over the relics again, a turquoise luminescence catches my awareness. The talisman hangs from the edge of the stall. Two opposing spirals locked in an eternal loop etch its surface. This is the exact item that once belonged to General Tiberius Cassianus. The glow intensifies when I near it. I forgot how alluring its call was.
The merchant’s smile widens into something more of a grimace. “It calls to you, traveler,” he says as though he is speaking of a curse rather than an object. “It has a way of finding people and things that walk between times.”
He reaches out, plucking the talisman from its place. He holds it out toward me. “Go on, take it. It wants you.”
I hesitate. The talisman is no ordinary trinket. I reach out, my fingers closing around it. It’s warm to the touch, almost alive, pulsating against my palm. I feel compelled to keep the item.
I take the parchment back from him. Who are you? Where did you get this?
The merchant chuckles softly. “My name is unimportant. The talisman’s origins are older than you or I can imagine. Some say it comes from the space between seconds, where time itself was born. Others say an ancient order of some kind.”
I doubt that I will get a straight answer from this guy. I know Tiberius once held this relic.
“A compass,” the merchant continues, his tone trickling with malice. “For those lost in the currents of time. A guide, or perhaps a trap, if not careful. It depends on the choices you make.”
My grip tightens around the talisman. I fight to keep my expression stoic while trying to figure out what this trinket is.
“You stand at a crossroads, traveler,” he whispers, leaning forward. “The guardian, the wanderer, the fool who seeks to bind what should be free.” His voice grows colder. “Tell me, what will you do when you find the family you’ve forgotten?”
His words freeze me in place. What does this merchant mean? I know my family—my mother didn’t care about me. My father broke my bones. That’s all there is. To whom does he refer? Philip?
I force a nod, slipping the talisman into a pocket under my tunic. His words have unsettled me, but showing it is a weakness. I must not show anything other than indifference.
He leans back, folding his arms into the sleeves of his coat. “Very well,” he murmurs. He drifts away as though dismissing me. “Use the talisman as you see fit. It may guide you. Or it might bring you right back here.” Something sinister shrouds him once again. “When you are ready, of course.”
With that, he retreats into the depths of his stall, leaving me standing amid the bustling market. I take one last look at him, wondering about his cryptic words. The family you’ve forgotten.
When I step away from the stall, the talisman’s pulse mirrors the rhythm of my heartbeat. The object is alive and attuned to me. It resonates with my body, seemingly aware of how I feel. How did the merchant explain it? It has a way of finding people and things that walk between times.
Could it be that time travel knocks people out of sync with the natural rhythm of the universe? Like plucking a guitar string in the wrong key, a displaced traveler would vibrate at a slightly different frequency, creating tiny ripples in spacetime. The talisman could be calibrated to sense those ripples—a temporal resonance. A quiet hum that only something designed to listen for it would pick up.
The talisman may act akin to a spectrum analyzer, measuring frequencies that are out of sync. If a traveler is slightly out of phase with the present, the device resonates with your mismatch, zeroing in on whatever shouldn’t be here and now. That would explain why it feels alive in my hand. It is listening for those echoes from another time.
The market swallows me with activity: vendors continue to shout, coins clink, and children weave their laughter through clusters of shoppers. The air is thick with the scent of spices, incense, and humanity—an oppressive mix that sifts in from all sides.
I keep my pace steady. Each step carries me deeper into the mob. My unease doesn’t fade. Not while in Sachu. I peer around the crowd, searching for the source of my apprehension. The faces blur together, indistinct in the shifting light of the market.
Then I see him. A figure draped in dirty robes stands near a fruit stall, obscured by the bustling crowd. His posture is as rigid as a drawn bow. His dark complexion contrasts sharply with his vivid green eyes—an unusual combination in Sachu. The talisman’s pulse quickens. Its heat intensifies until it threatens to scorch through my cloak.
The figure turns, a hood lowered to his brow. Two words escape his lips: “Dahr-khoday.”
The words strike my interest. I have never heard anyone use the term before, but I latch onto its Pahlavi etymology: Master of Eternal Time.
Pahlavi? Here in Sachu? It’s not a common language in these markets. My hand brushes against the talisman. Its heat is almost unbearable.
Dahr-khoday. The word refuses to fade. Is it an accusation? Introduction? Perhaps it is a warning or prophecy. The world is never short on dollar store prophets.
I force myself to keep walking. I don’t dare look back. I don’t want any more problems on this trip. Cold crawls up my neck, icy fingers tracing my spine.
The talisman’s quickened pulse continues. I weave through the crowd, staring at the exit at the far end of the market. The noise fades into a dull roar. I move swiftly, resisting the urge to glance back.
The edge of the market comes into view. The talisman’s heat fades as I leave the crowd behind, hoping for a moment to collect myself. I turn and see him. The figure stands at the far end of the street, staring at me.
It’s not until the sounds of the market have dimmed behind me that I finally allow myself to relax. I keep walking, each step putting distance between me and whatever danger lurks back there. This talisman might be helpful.
Continue with Chapter 11, Part 1: The Brooch. New installments publish daily at 5:00 AM.
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