The River of No Return

This epoch. Times of war. Times of famine. Times of wealth and happiness. The mood of an era. What is stronger than that?”
    “Is that what you do to us, those of us who jump and never learn the truth? You drown us in the new era, so that we never reach our potential?”
    The Russian’s eyes snapped back to focus on Nick. “I have not thought of it that way,” he said. “You make it sound bad. I believe that it is humane, what we do. But yes. Exactly. We drown Guild members in their new time.”
    “And I came up for air, didn’t I? For the first time, back in 2013, when you stepped on my foot in the drawing room. I was feeling backwards. I was looking at the mantel and seeing the place where it was chipped. I was beginning to touch the past.”
    Arkady nodded, smiling. “You have many feelings, Nick Davenant. You are a passionate man, behind that solid English garden wall. It is good. But you stirred time then with your longing for your home. Also, do you remember? You stirred time in the car when we were passing Castle Dar. You are not trained—probably you could not have jumped. But imagine if you had? A man enters the past in midair, sitting two feet above the ground, and traveling at thirty miles an hour.” He laughed. “Road pizza!”
    Nick stared at the fire. His talent wanted to express itself, it wanted to be trained. But they were keeping him ignorant.
    Arkady reached across the space between their two chairs and gripped Nick’s shoulder. “My friend,” he said. “Do you think I like it? The lies and the secrets? I do not like it. But believe me, it is the only way. The past must stay the past, Nick.”
    “Why?”
    “To protect the future.” Arkady spoke with conviction, and with the frustration of a teacher for a willfully stupid student. “It is obvious.”
    “But why ? Why is the future so precious?”
    Arkady shook his head. “My priest,” he said, and his voice was strangely loving. “Simply believe.”
    “I am no priest.”
    Arkady sat back. “No, you are not a priest. And belief is not simple. But try. I ask you: Stay afloat. Remember. This era wants to drown you, wants to claim you. Swim in the river. But do not drown. We are here to fight the Ofan, and I don’t want to lose you to your marquessing. You are Nick Davenant, of the Guild.”
    Nick looked for a moment into Arkady’s pale eyes, then nodded. Yes. He could feel it now. The strong pull to be someone he might have been, to be swept away, to be the Marquess of Blackdown, marquess, war hero, protector of women, benevolent master—and nothing else. At first it would feel good to let go. It would feel good to forget Nick Davenant, forget the twenty-first century, forget the blasted Guild. But Arkady was right. It would be to drown in his personal tempest. “‘Those are pearls that were his eyes. . . . Sea nymphs hourly ring his knell.’”
    Arkady stood up, suddenly all energy. “Enough of this! I can smell him, on the wind, our Ofan whom we have come so far to find. He is somewhere nearby. But he is lying low. Who can he be? All day I listen to the peasants, talking of you. They talk of nothing else. How sad that you lost your memory, how wonderful that you are returned, how glad your poor mother will be. I hear nothing, nothing at all to help me.”
    Nick swirled the brandy in his glass. “Perhaps I am Ofan.”
    Arkady whirled and pointed a long finger at Nick. “Do not joke about such a thing. The Ofan!” Arkady spat the word out. “They killed my daughter, did I tell you?”
    Nick whistled a low note. “No, you most certainly did not.”
    “Well.” The Russian passed a hand over his face. “They did. My poor Eréndira. But. It is in the past.”
    “How terrible for you and Alice. I’m so very sorry.”
    “She was not also Alice’s daughter. She was born before I knew my Alice. Eréndira was the child of a lover I had in South America, how shall I say—many, many years ago. She was a brilliant girl. . . .” Arkady blew his breath out through his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. “But enough of that. Enough.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “My brother, it is I who am sorry to burden you with this long-ago pain of mine. But now you know. We do not joke about them. If the Ofan are trying to set up their business here and now, in little Stoke Canon, I will find them.”
    Neither man spoke for a long while. Nick stared into the shifting light of the embers, and Arkady, standing, stared through the