CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The black is short like before, a quick trip, but unlike the past several hops, when we arrive, we are no longer overlooking the large valley, but on a different slope surrounded by woods. And by we, I mean Scout, myself, and the Mongol soldier who grabbed my arm just as we winked out. Apparently a simple touch is more than enough to come along for the ride.
The soldier’s hand remains locked around my wrist until he realizes that everything around him is not as he thinks it should be. He backs away, his eyes wide, and then he draws his sword and starts reciting something that has a pattern like a poem or, more likely, a prayer. Scout and I are unable to hear the end of it, though, as Lidia jumps again, and we leave the soldier behind.
We are back in a pattern of short time hops, our position changing no more than twenty or so feet from the first to the last.
Finally we stop long enough to work our way to a nearby clearing. From there we can see a mountain pass below us, the same pass that started at the valley churned up by the Mongols. I know this for a fact because the army is below us, too. But though it’s barely midday, the mass of soldiers isn’t on the move. Instead, they seem to have made camp.
The slope between us and them is thankfully steeper than the one before, and in places almost vertical, and while I stay alert for the sound of soldiers on watch, I’m confident the terrain provides us relative safety.
This is as much as Lidia allows us to see before we travel backward twenty-four hours. We are in the same spot, but instead of thousands of camped soldiers below, there are only a few hundred, those in the lead milling around while the others gradually catch up.
Jump, ahead this time, eight hours.
The sun is getting low, and deep shadows cover the pass. But it’s not so dark that I can’t see that the number of soldiers has swelled.
Backward jump, ten hours. It’s late morning. There are no soldiers below us yet, but I can hear the rumble of the horses coming. Depending on how fast they’re moving, I think the head of the army could be anywhere from ten minutes to an hour away.
The tracking map shows me that Lidia is just a little more than a hundred yards from our position.
“We have to keep moving,” I say. I nod to my right. “That way.”
I’m surprised, though probably shouldn’t be, by the fact Scout isn’t bombarding me with questions. He’s obviously grasped the seriousness of the situation and has chosen to help instead of hinder. I’m strangely proud of this, like a parent of a deserving child.
Many of the trees around us are scarred, and the ground is covered by deadwood and new growth. A fire has moved through here in the last few years, and the rejuvenation is in full flourish. Unfortunately this slows our progress, as there’s no clear straight shot to Lidia’s position.
A small clearing, no more than thirty feet across, gives us another glimpse at the pass as the first soldiers are riding into view, their pace steady and unhurried, confident even. And why not? No one has defeated them since before Genghis Khan rose to power.
We are about to press on when I detect a flurry of activity coming up the pass. Half a dozen horsemen are riding fast along the edge of the advancing army, and don’t stop until they reach the soldiers at the forefront. Conversations are held and the force begins to stop.
This is the start of the camp of men we have already witnessed, I realize, so I’m not in the slightest bit shocked when the world disappears again.
Six jumps in all, each giving us a new vantage point, but we stayed nowhere long enough for Scout and me to get any closer to Lidia. When we finally arrive at a spot we don’t almost immediately jump from, I check the time and location. We’ve gone backward again, this time to 8:00 a.m. that same morning, and have retreated along the pass about a third of the way back in the direction of the valley.
Below us is the army again. From its appearance, I would guess we are near the back end of the mass of soldiers. Out of the dust that followed the Mongols emerge a couple dozen riders moving fast. I think at first they must be part of the group we just witnessed stopping those at the front of the parade, but instead of heading to the side, they gallop straight down the middle, the soldiers in front of them parting to let them through.
Clearly this is unusual. Though we are too far away to see the expression on anyone’s face, the way the men who have parted begin to cluster in small groups after the riders have gone by evokes a sense of confusion.
I pause as the reality of what I’m witnessing hits me. This must be it, the moment when the Mongol tide that’s poised to wash over Europe receives the news that stops it literally in its tracks. I’m positive these are the messengers who have come all the way from the Mongol homeland bearing the news of Ögedei’s death.
The riders stop when they come to a group of soldiers who stand their ground. My guess is that they have reached the leaders of the army. Minutes pass, minutes Scout and I could be using to gain ground on Lidia, but I can’t tear my gaze away, and neither can he. This is a monumentally historic moment.
Suddenly from the gathering, several mounted soldiers break from the group. They ride to the edge of the still-moving column and then take off along the side toward the front of the pack. They must be the riders we saw farther down the pass.
If I had any doubt before what we have been witnessing, it’s gone now.
After I nudge Scout, we move back into the woods and close to within a hundred feet of Lidia before we jump again.
We arrive all the way back at the familiar spot where the wide valley funnels into the pass, exactly an hour and a half earlier than the moment in time we had been at moments before. A small group of riders is in the valley no more than ten minutes from the pass’s entrance. From their clothing I recognize them as the messengers.
Barely ten seconds after I realize this, Lidia starts us on a series of jumps. It’s immediately clear that we’re following the riders farther and farther back into the valley — in a sense, watching a real-life movie in reverse.
Most major events in history are caused by many elements coming together at once. Remove one of these elements, and the outcome may not change at all. But on rare occasions, there is what Sir Gregory once referred to as a switch moment. A single event that, if either prevented or allowed, results in two massively divergent time lines. One is the Cahill switch I found in 1775. And in the valley below us, I realize, rides another even more devastating switch.
Lidia doesn’t need to contend with the whole Mongol army to keep them marching on. She need only stop the messengers from reaching them. If that happens, the Mongols will continue sweeping across Europe, and by the time their leaders back home send more messengers, it will likely be too late. This switch, though, will not be nearly as easy to flip as the one that allowed Iffy’s world to come into existence.
When we finally stop our quick jumps, it’s nighttime. A near-full moon provides more than enough illumination, however, to see that the valley is gone.
We seem to be in a group of rolling hills, dotted with trees. Scout and I are at the bottom of a slope just a few yards away from a rutted trail that could have just as easily been made by wild animals as by man. I can smell smoke in the air, coming from a campfire or fireplace, but as I take a quick look around, I’m unable to locate the source.
The chaser says it’s 11:00 p.m. I check Lidia’s position. She’s directly ahead of us, but on the move again. She’s traveling at an angle that roughly parallels the path, so we use it to follow her.
The smell of smoke grows stronger, and I worry that she’s going to walk us directly into the messengers’ camp. I have no desire to interact with the Mongols again.