Horse? Karl thought.

“By the Angel…” he muttered. “You!” he yelled. “You killed Fink! Oh, Fink—I—I…”

But the man just barked at him. “Who are you, and how did you come here?” he demanded, leaning over Karl’s bed.

Looking past the symbols flashing on the man’s visor, he could see the fellow was a Trentoner.

“Why… why is a T-Trentoner wearing Mewnee script,” Karl said, “unless he’s a traitor?” He tightened his chest. “What is this place? Who are you?”

“Mewnee script?” the man said.

The woman turned to him. “I think he means the kanji on the equipment; your armor, the consoles, etc.”

The man furrowed his brow at Karl. “That? It’s just DAISHU.”

“W-What?” Karl didn’t know what a dye-shoe was, but it sounded like a Mewnee word.

“Listen,” the man said, “I’m the one asking the questions here.” He pressed his thumb to his chest.

“For fuck’s sake, Lt. Colonel,” the short, oddly dressed woman said, after letting out a cough and a groan, “he’s a time traveler! He’s not gonna have a fucking clue about how things work here.”

“T-Time travel?” Karl asked, hesitantly. “What?”

The woman stepped closer, only to take one step back, as if she’d broken a rule. Karl gasped in quiet horror as he made out the details of her face.

Her eyes were bloodshot, only with black instead of red. Her skin was sickly and wan, even worse than what you’d see on someone with darkpox. Inky streaks ran beneath the skin of her neck, like lightning made of Night, just like the ones on the demons from before.

“Guy,” she said, “what year is it?”

“W-What?” Karl stammered. “What year?”

“Church calendar,” the woman said.

“By the Church’s calendars,” Karl said, “it is uh… uh… one thousand, six-hundred, twenty-five years since Angelfall,” he answered. “One thousand, six-hundred and twenty-five years?”

He couldn’t remember if one was supposed to say the and or not.

“The year is two-thousand twenty after Angelfall,” she replied. “That makes you three-hundred ninety-five years out of date.” She coughed, clearly in terrible pain. Even clearing her throat afterwards made her wince. “That’s what time travel is,” she said. “You fucking travel through time.”

“How is…?” Karl stammered, unable to find his words. “How?”

It would definitely explain why his surroundings were so strange.

Swallowing hard, Karl turned to his jailers. “What have you…” he bit his lip. “What have you done to my friends?” Unable to point with his arms, he gestured his head toward Geoffrey, and then Bever. “And where’s Fink?”

“Fink?” the Lt. Colonel asked.

“The horse!” Karl said, on the verge of tears. “H-He was as brave as any of us—braver than me. S-So much braver.” Trembling, Karl lowered his head. “He deserves a proper burial.”

Would they even believe that? he thought.

Karl wished he was a better speaker, if only for Fink’s sake.

Karl knew that most people thought very little of him, and, most of the time, they were right. His father said he was all the dregs of his mother’s womb. His brothers had gotten the lion’s share of good qualities, leaving him to be the whipping boy eternal. Where his brothers succeeded, Karl failed. Where they earned praise, he earned mockery and scorn, and it was hard for him not to think he deserved it. It made life easiest for him when he was alone, even though he hated being alone. It just reminded him of all the things he wished he could do, but couldn’t.

For years, Fink had kept him company, And now, he was gone.

Karl wept. “He was my friend!”

“Your… friend?” the soldier said, caught off guard.

However unfamiliar the surroundings might have been to him, Karl recognized the expression on the Lt. Colonel’s face. The confusion. The pity. He’d seen it on so many others.

Why couldn’t they listen to his words, and hear them for what they were?

Geoffrey would have been able to persuade them in a trice.

It only made him feel that much more ashamed for crying. He knew his father would have lambasted him for crying over a dead horse.

Men didn’t cry over animals.

But it was how Karl felt, and, if nothing else, he wanted to be true to his feelings. Being honest was one of the few things Karl could do, and he refused to let that be taken from him.

Before he’d met Geoffrey, if anyone had known Karl, it was as the boy with the horse. Fink was Karl’s first, best, and dearest friend. He was kind and true—larger than life, even, like a creature from the pages of a chivalric romance. He’d befriended the stallion as a child, when Fink was but a foal among the many newborns in the Prestingham stables. He’d fed him oats and carrots, and had scratched his head and cleaned his pen. Fink was the best foal in the lot, and, within a matter of weeks, he’d bite anyone who tried to come near him unless Karl was there.

Like him, Fink had a nervous disposition, but the two friends supported one another. Karl doubted he would have survived basic military training without Fink’s support.

Having a friend had given Karl a reason to live.

When Karl had told his father he was going off to war, Markus had forced him to take Fink with him.

He probably would have been butchered if he hadn’t taken him.

And look what it got him, Karl thought.

“I think the Lieutenant had the horse taken to the lab,” the Lt. Colonel said, only to shake his head and scowl. “I’m glad you have questions, boy, but it’s our ass that’s on the line!” he said, pointing at himself again. “So,” he continued, “either you tell me something that I can tell my commanding officers to help us understand what the fuck is going on here and what we need to do, or you and your ‘comrades’ are probably gonna end up on a dissection table or in a microwave or something!” He glared at Karl, and then at the nurse. “Do either of you have any explanation for what happened back in the lobby? For any of it?”

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Karl exhaled sharply. “I want to know my friends are safe! I…” He glared at them. “I won’t… I won’t tell you anything until they’re safe!”

As far as Karl could tell, these strangers didn’t seem to have any intentions of harming him—or, if they did, they were very good at hiding it. And yet, despite that, they weren’t going to let him leave of his own free will. Future or not, for his own safety, and for his comrades, he couldn’t take the risk that these were Mewnee agents—spies; torturers, perhaps. Nighttouched Sakuragi liked to put the heads of captured rebels on display in villages and towns, mounted atop nageenata blades. Captured Crusaders were put on display outside Elpeck’s gates, to strike fear into the capital and its people.

But, as brutal as the Mewnees were to Trentoners, they were even crueler to their own. Any Mewnees who converted to the faith would be tortured until they recanted their conversion, blaspheming against the Angel and the Bond. Any priest brave enough to preach the Godhead’s word among those beasteaten foreigners was sure to die a slow, painful death.

Geoffrey once said he’d lost his younger brother that way.

“Your companions have not been harmed,” the Lt. Colonel said. “They’ve only been drugged. It’s in your best interest to coöperate with us.”

Karl felt unsure about nearly everything—himself, his future, his purpose.

His worth.

But that was nothing new.

Sitting up as best as he could, Karl looked the Lt. Colonel in the eyes.

“I’ll ask you again,” the Lt. Colonel said. “Do you know anything about time travel or the zombies?”

“If I did…” Karl asked, “what would you do if… if I told you?”

Karl’s father was always worried about what would happen. Insecurity was Markus Prestingham’s lot in life. Unlike Geoffrey and the other commanders, whose status came from the nobility of their bloodlines, the Prestinghams of Elpeck had gained their power through commerce, back in Karl’s grandfather’s day. As long as the wealth kept flowing, the Prestinghams could stand shoulder to shoulder with the Peers of the realm. A single wrong move, and all of it would be gone, so there could be no room for error in the Prestingham house.

Karl heard his father’s words echo in his head, as if the man was speaking to him right then and there.

“You are a shadow, boy. You don’t have the brains for the trade, nor the piety needed for the priesthood, and you’re three births too late to inherit my wealth. I would pauperize myself before I paid enough to bribe the clergy or the Peers to give you a sinecure. No one wants an embarrassment in their halls.” He’d scoffed. “For all their corruption, at least the Luminers have charisma on their side.”

Markus Prestingham was an empire unto himself. Karl could never remember having seen his father wearing anything other than sumptuous, richly dyed clothes—his round cap, his doublet, even the frills of his hose. A sword would have made for a better father.

That’s why Karl had turned to the Crusade. It was his last chance to save himself from a life of pity. And, perhaps, find his courage.

The nurse spoke up before the Lt. Colonel could answer. “Lt. Colonel Kaplan, sir,” she said, “would you mind if I led the questioning? I’ve been wanting to talk to a time-traveler ever since my experience in the elevator.” She turned to face Karl. “Tell me your name, son.”

“Karl Prestingham,” he answered, “s-son of Markus Prestingham… of the Prestingham Wainwrights… of Elpeck.”

The nurse coughed. “Never heard of you.” A couple more stains blotted the translucent mask beneath her see-through visor.

“I…” Karl lowered his gaze. “I’ve never met anyone who hadn’t…” he swallowed hard, “who hadn’t heard of… father.” He sighed.

Why was talking to people so hard? Geoffrey had helped him get better, but now…

Was it all for nothing? He thought.

“How old are you?” the nurse asked.

“Seven-and-ten, ma’am,” Karl said, “though I…” he gulped, “I’m closer to eight. Eight and ten, I m-mean. Eight and ten.”

Karl frowned, remembering the way Eylon and Bever had laughed at him when he’d told them his age. They hadn’t been laughing at his years, but at the meek expression he’d had on his face when he’d told them.

“Closer to eight’s the fair truth, isn’t it?” Eylon had said. “You’re a damned nursery-rat, and pampered one at that!”

Karl’s memory of the words seemed oddly vivid.

Karl knew he wasn’t the best soldier. He wasn’t strong like Bever, or sleek and swift, like Morgan. His body bespoke his temperament: soft and pudgy. His older brothers called him Porky. As children, they’d pinched his cheeks and poked his flanks, snorting at him as if he was a hog in the sty.

“Any man can prove his mettle in war,” Geoffrey had told him. “It is what he does in times of peace that shows the world his true worth.”

“I’m Nurse Kaylin,” the woman said. She nodded.

The words jerked Karl out of his memories.

“What were you doing before you ended up here?” Kaylin asked.

“F-Fighting,” Karl said.

“For?” the nurse asked.

“Our homeland, m-ma’am.”

Her eyebrows raised, though not in surprise. “Against the Munine?”

Karl nodded.

“Well, Karl,” the nurse said, “I have news for you, both good and bad. The good news is, you won the war. Trenton is a free country, and you’re in it. You’re in West Elpeck Medical Center, in Elpeck. Of course, you probably know it better as the Templar Hospital.”

The war was won…? Karl thought. “This,” he shook his head, “this is the Templar Hospital?”

Kaylin nodded, and then continued. “The bad news is, your fuckin’ victory is four hundred years in the past, and we’re fighting a new war now, a real beasteaten banger.”

“You say…” Karl felt his eyes widen. He felt like was going to vomit. An acrid taste soured his mouth as he shook his head and scowled. “Why? How could you say we won? They…” He tried to point at their clothing, only to struggle uselessly against his restraints. “Look at what your clothes! You… you’re covered with their strange language! These…” he sputtered. “Mewnee goods,” he said. “These are Mewnee goods, aren’t they?” Karl wanted to make the Bond-sign, but with his hands bound, he could not. It made him feel unclean. “Why are they still here? They’re beasts!”

Karl had always been distant from the conflict. His father didn’t care who ran the country, as long as it was stable, and safe for trade. Karl had picked up Geoffrey’s sentiments, proud to share common feelings with the man he idolized. Even now, his anger came from worrying about what Geoffrey would think if he learned the war was won, yet the Mewnee hadn’t left.

“Kid,” the Lt. Colonel said, “DAISHU is everywhere…”

Nurse Kaylin glared at the man so fiercely, Karl worried some future power would smite him where he stood.

Karl shivered. “Have they returned?” he asked. “Oh, no…” He shook his head. “Please, say it isn’t so. Everyone…” Karl shook his head. “Geoffrey was always afraid they would return, even… even if we did send them back… back, across the sea. Is that…?” He trembled. “Did they put the black lightning in your skin? Is that why those people… is that why they turned into demons?”

The Lt. Colonel shook his head. “If only it were that simple. No, Karl, we’re up against a plague, and, in all likelihood, the Last Days themselves.”

“W-What?” Karl said, in a soft, stunned voice.

“Kid, please,” the nurse said, coughing more, “tell me what you know. You’re not the only one who’s traveled through time. It happened to me, too, several days ago. I think… I think something’s happening. Maybe it really is the Last Days, or maybe it’s something else, I don’t fucking know.” She groaned. “If you tell us what you know, I’ll give you a way to answer all of your questions for yourself. It is the fuckin’ future, after all. We have the technology.”

Karl looked over Nurse Kaylin’s shoulders to Geoffrey’s unconscious figure on the bed behind her.

“You said my friends are drugged,” Karl said. “Please, wake them. Rub the sleep from their eyes.” He looked down at the ground, rife with shame. “I don’t want to be alone,” he added, softly.

At times, Karl wished joining the cause hadn’t started to uncover his missing mettle. Through camaraderie with Geoffrey, Fink, and the others, Karl had found pieces of the inner strength he’d so desperately lacked, but he was still in the middle of changing for the better. Now, without his companions by his side, he felt hapless all over again, as if all his change for the better had suddenly come undone.

It made him wonder: had it ever even been there at all? Or was it just a delusion?

Lt. Colonel Kaplan nodded. “If you tell me what you know about this time-travel business,” he glanced at the nurse, “I’ll gladly have your colleagues taken out of sedation.”

“They will likely…” Karl nodded worrisomely, “they will be startled. Very startled.”

“Then I’ll leave it to you to calm them.”

“That, I… I can do…” Karl said, “…I think,” though he feared it was a lie. How would Geoffrey Athelmarch, Second Count of Seasweep react to learning that, even four centuries into the future, the Mewnees still held their homeland in their grip?

Only the Moonlight Queen would know.