Promotion (Metatron's Army, Book 11)

By Elizabeth Maxim

Time. Through pain and sacrifice, Commander Christine Baker has come to understand her nemesis.

Lives in mists. A damp and cloying embrace.

Has hands. With invisible grasping fingers that brush against the soul.

Heals all wounds. A temporal anomaly holds the promise of saving the man she loves.

Forces Terrible Choices. In grasping the chance for a cure, Christine risks reigniting a centuries old war she was born to end, and in embracing the cure, she must let go of the man.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elizabeth Maxim
• Release date: Jun 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463122051

Elizabeth Maxim

If Elizabeth were to map her life’s journey, it would resemble the chaos of a Pac-Man game but out of this chaos came the foundation for her stories. She draws from knowledge, personal experience, and imagination in creating strong independent characters who steer their own destiny... often with a little help from love.Elizabeth studied alternative medicine with an MD for several years before earning a doctorate of philosophy in that field. She also holds a bachelor's degree in holistic childcare. Currently living in the Pacific Northwest, she is the author of multiple books, fiction and nonfiction, as well as two blog sites.You can follow Elizabeth at elizabethmaxim.com.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Promotion: What happens when a pawn reaches the 8th rank. Then it must be changed for a piece: a queen, rook, bishop, or knight of the same color (player's choice).

2009

Eol, Vetria System

Water Tower Apartments – Rooftop

Time.

Heals all wounds. Has hands. Lives in mists.

Taking a drag of the electronic cigarette she tried never to be without, Commander Christine Baker looked up at the stars and considered that she could personally attest to the veracity of that last bit. There was definitely a such thing as the mists of time. She’d been in its swirling embrace.

As for hands. According to her former fiancé, who was facing Time Distortion Sickness by trying a rather unconventional treatment, those mists grasped, pulling with invisible fingers at his sanity, if not his very soul.

And healing? According to the Iconoclast, the bastard responsible for her love being pulled through an artificial time gate, all you had to do was go to a timeline where whatever caused you pain didn’t exist because it never happened. All it cost was your soul. Oh, and your sanity because most individuals who traveled to dimensions not their own ended up with Time Distortion Sickness, where madness was an inevitability and premature death likely.

There were those who were unaffected. Light Beings were able to travel dimensions without any repercussions, as were certain individuals who had inherited the ability from Light Being ancestors, or, as in her case, had it spliced into their DNA.

Of the individuals who had immunity to TDS, the Azlaans had stepped forward and offered to do what they could for the man she was to have married.

"We can’t make any promises. We’ve never tried this on anyone who was not Azlaan."

Raza, the Azlaan prince, had been as honest as he could given he couldn’t be forthcoming about what, exactly, it was they would be trying.

"We understand your concern for the commander’s welfare, but we ask that you stay away for at least two weeks."

Due to a screwed-up twist of fate – that she had a total meltdown over his situation two weeks after he started the treatment – it ended up being close to six before she’d gotten herself to the Azlaan healing compound to check on him.

"We need to see Ryn."

She’d been surprised to learn that Ryn, the Azlaan Energy Tracker in charge of Corus’ rescue, had taken over his care in place of Ryella, the Azlaan Master Healer. Anxious to see how her former fiancé was doing with a treatment no one was certain would work, she hadn’t asked why they felt it necessary to switch, though she’d been curious.

"She needs to see."

After speaking with Corus, she’d come up with a theory. He didn’t trust Ryella. Honestly, she couldn’t blame him.

She and the Master Healer had never gotten along. The Azlaan had a grudge against off-worlders and Dynamic personnel in particular. That she and Corus were both graduates, and employees of the elite military school meant she and the healer were at odds more often than not. Still, the woman did set aside her prejudices long enough to treat Dynamic staff and students which meant the shrew had her grudging respect.

"Thank you for waiting. I know it was hard for you."

Ryella’s tone had been filled with unexpected compassion. Not trusting the sincerity, she’d given a nod of acknowledgement – no need to be rude - and turned to the Azlaan warrior who was an extended part of Metatron’s Army, the team she put together to find and destroy the artificial time gates causing so much turmoil.

"I’ll take you in and I’ll leave you alone with him but know this. If I sense any trouble, any distress, any hint that your presence is harming him, I will pull you out."

"Out of what?"

Neither Azlaan had responded. Now she knew why. It was one of those things you had to experience to understand.

After bidding her to remember that it was still early in the process, Ryella left her with Ryn, who’d taken her deep into the misty forests that ran behind the warrior compound he called home. They stopped once to drink water from an icy stream then proceeded to a section of forest enshrouded in a thick white fog.

"He’s in there."

For several long moments she stared at the warrior she’d come to trust. When he volunteered nothing further, she stepped into the dense mist, continuing on until she came to a clearing.

Taking another drag on the cigarette, Christine thought back to her initial impressions of the man she loved and lost when he was sucked through an artificial time gate. Since he was not a Light Being, nor one of the few species who could travel between dimensions without falling ill, she’d known that if and when he ever made it back to his native dimension, he would face Time Distortion Sickness.

"Are you telling me you can cure him?"

The Azlaans had been tight-lipped about the therapy they proposed, had made no promises of its effectiveness.

"This will be the first time we try it with a non-Azlaan. It may not work."

What made it a no-brainer to try wasn’t simply that the alternative was for Corus to live in an institution on Sola while he mentally deteriorated and passed away before his time.

"I feel okay when Raza is around."

Certain Azlaans were able to erect temporal energy fields around other species. It maintained an equilibrium that enabled them to avoid the worst of the symptoms.

"Even if I were to sew myself into his uniform I could not keep him from feeling the symptoms."

"Then why take him to Azlaan?"

From what little the Azlaan prince and his cousin were willing to divulge, Christine got the impression that due to a unique energy field on the planet, what Raza was able to do would be amplified dramatically.

"But he couldn’t leave, right? If he was stable because of the planet, he couldn’t leave."

It hadn’t been just the planet, either.

"He needs to live at the warrior compound."

Which was located next to the healer’s compound.

"Ryella can do what I do."

They were offering Corus a chance at a normal life. Or, as normal as anyone with Time Distortion Sickness could have. More, they were offering him the possibility of a cure.

"We have no idea if it will work."

But it beat the hell out of the alternative. There’d been only one problem.

"I don’t trade sex for a cure."

It was a foregone conclusion that she and Corus wouldn’t - couldn’t - pick up where they’d left off. He had to focus on his recovery, and she had more responsibilities than she wanted to acknowledge, including to the man she’d been set to marry before his life went sideways. That he’d been working for her when it happened deepened the sense of responsibility.

"You have to focus on your recovery."

They’d both known there was no way either of them could do what they needed to do if she married him out of a sense of obligation. So, they promised each other they would move forward.

"I’m always going to love you, Christine. Don’t ask me to do otherwise."

"I would never and just so you know, that goes both ways."

Yes, she loved him, but it wasn’t the kind of love that would sustain a marriage. Not anymore. Reality had set in. It took two years, but reality had finally set in.

"Promise me you’ll move forward?"

"I will but I will also be checking on you."

"I would expect nothing less."

That he’d given her that mischievous smile she loved so much almost sent her over the edge. It was only because she managed to dredge up some bit of strength from some pit of darkness that she’d been able to hold it together while she walked out the door.

* * *

The Tactical Instructor’s sudden appearance at the far side of the clearing had been a shock. He’d gained a bit of weight and his hair was longer. It looked good on him. What she hadn’t been prepared for was the haunted look in his eyes.

She’d stood at the opposite end of the clearing, unsure what to do. Then, without warning, he’d looked up and straight at her.

"Christine."

For several moments they simply looked at each other. Finally, she’d approached, ready to leave if he had a bad reaction to her presence.

"Is it okay if I’m here? I can -."

"Yes. It’s – I’m glad to see you."

When his eyes momentarily defocused, it had been all she could do not to put a hand to her mouth. Was this what Ryn thought was progress?

"I get – I get confused in here."

"In here?"

"I – don’t -."

She’d fought tears as she watched him struggle to put into words what was happening to him.

Taking another drag on the cigarette, she remembered how before he spoke again, he’d begun sanding a large piece of wood wedged in a vice.

"Okay, I can talk now."

The carpentry project, the methodical repetition of the sanding, apparently helped him focus.

"I’m not always like this, Christine."

He’d gone on to explain that when he went back to the warrior compound, he felt good.

"I feel like myself for the most part."

"That must come with challenges as well, though, right?"

"You could say that."

He’d smiled briefly, then told her that for every week in the mists, he could spend three days out.

"I understand that eventually, I’ll be able to spend one day a week in and three weeks out. It should only get better from there."

She’d quickly seen more than the disorientation was bothering him.

"Can you tell me what’s wrong?"

"I hate being in here. I - the mist. It’s alive. I know that sounds crazy and I have felt crazy more often than not, but it’s alive. I feel like it’s sucking my soul from me."

Not sure how to respond, she’d elected to be a sounding board.

"The first two weeks in here? I thought I was going mad. I – it was bad."

"Were you alone?"

"You are never alone in here."

He’d pointed a hand that trembled at the white fog and snapped that it was alive and just waiting to feed off his soul.

"Have you talked to them about it?"

"Of course!"

"And they tell you it’s part of the process?"

"Yes."

"And you feel better when you leave this place? For a little while?"

"Yes."

She wasn’t sure if using logic would help him or make him angry, but she thought by talking to the part of him that was still the Dynamic soldier, he would – if not feel better – hold on to whatever good there was to hold onto, no matter how small. Hope.

"So, Ryn."

The look he sent her told her he hadn’t been fooled for one second by her casual question.

"I told you, I don’t trade my body for health."

The venom with which he’d spoken surprised her, even if it was understandable. He, too, had lost, and more than just his fiancée.

"Did they say the anger is okay? Is it therapeutic for you or is it harmful?"

He’d looked at her for several long moments, thrown his tools, and stomped off. For a minute she’d wondered if he was going to walk into the mists on the far side of the clearing, but he’d turned, stalked back.

"Do you have any idea what it’s like not knowing whether what you see or what you touch, is real? Do you?"

"Yes."

He’d snapped his mouth shut, glared, and in that moment, she saw perhaps by taking his anger – allowing him to aim it at her – she could help not only the situation, but the healer, who didn’t deserve his wrath.

"I do know."

He’d kicked the sawhorse hard enough to send everything toppling. Still pissed, he’d picked up the wood, thrown it against a nearby boulder where it proceeded to crack, splintered pieces flying in multiple directions. Her eyes had tracked the largest piece as it landed on a pile of wood shards.

"You can’t! You can’t possibly come in here and tell me you know -."

"Why don’t you ask me?"

"What?"

"Why don’t you ask me how it is I think I know?"

A glance over her shoulder showed them to still be alone, though she was certain Ryn was close.

"Fine. Tell me what you think you know."

Interestingly, the anger seemed to help him focus. The little bit of wariness she’d seen in his eyes was gone and it was as if she was talking to the man she’d known years ago.

"When I first came to Dynamic. Before I met you. Alexander used to take me to the illusionary plane. Do you remember I told you about it?"

"Yeah."

"I could never tell if it was real or it was a dream. And not knowing was making me crazy. I was exhausted because I was going to school at Dynamic during the day and doing energy school at night."

"Energy school?"

"The illusionary plane. I was studying this orb thing."

She’d withdrawn a necklace she received as a gift on Earth.

"Protect you."

It was a square of ivory on which Metatron’s cube had been carved.

"What’s so special about that?"

"I was studying a three- dimensional model of it on that plane. I guess you could say I was studying a four-dimensional model of it because it had to do with time. The trouble was, I began to lose the ability to distinguish between what was real and what was a dream."

He hadn’t said anything, but she had his attention. He was listening. And, if his eyes were any indication, understanding.

"I told you I saw Xavier die, right? That at the time I thought it was some kind of fucked-up dream? It was real. It happened on the illusionary plane. Do you know what that did to me when I figured out that that damned dimension is real? Talk about a fucking head screw!"

He’d tilted his head, looked at her as if he wasn’t quite sure what to make of her foul language, then began methodically setting up the sawhorse again. She’d waited while he got another piece of wood.

"What I never told you, Corus, is that Dynamic wasn’t the first place I interacted with that energy plane."

"I know, you saw Xavier die."

"No. He came to me."

"Xavier?"

"Yes."

The Light Being was sent to Earth with her when she was an infant, to protect her from whoever had tried to assassinate her on her home planet of Ivar. The objective had always been for him to bring her back to Vetria, but he died before he could tell her the truth about her origins.

"When he died before he was able to tell me the truth? It made it all but impossible to get me to come back. I knew Alexander but didn’t trust him."

"I don’t trust Ryella."

"I get that. Let me finish."

"Fine."

She understood why he’d thrown the Azlaan healer in her face. He’d always wondered about her relationship with the Energy Shifter known as Xavier and while he’d told her he believed her that they hadn’t been intimate, she’d always known he was jealous. Why, she couldn’t have said since he was dead and they’d never been intimate, but there it was. To throw Ryella at her was an act of anger stemming from pain.

"Next thing I know, I’m having these – dreams – only they weren’t dreams."

"Yeah?"

"Xavier was in them, asking me to come to Dynamic. To help him."

"I thought he was dead."

"So did I! The dreams got ugly."

CHAPTER TWO

She’d stopped short of telling him Xavier tried to use seduction to get her cooperation.

"I absolutely thought I was losing my mind."

"Well -."

"Wait!"

"Okay."

"Back at Dynamic? I realized how badly I’d been manipulated. Xavier was dead. That I’d dreamt of him made me believe Alexander manipulated my feelings for him – that trust – to set me up. That he was the one overseeing my education on the illusionary plane made it all the more likely. Then the damned dream became real, in a terrible, horrible, scary way."

"How?"

"One night while I was studying the orb, I got so angry. I was sick of the lies. I was sick of not knowing what really happened to my friend. My rage pushed me out of the illusionary plane but I took part of it with me."

"What do you mean?"

"You’ve seen what happens with my eyes, right?"

"The metal color? There’s metal in your eyes?"

"No. And not the metal. Before the metal there was this – these white lines that were the energy lines from that orb."

She’d handed him the ivory pendant.

"I don’t remember seeing white lines in your eyes."

"They only showed up when I was really pissed. By the time we were together, I had more or less mastered my temper."

And when she couldn’t, she’d done everything in her power to disappear until she got it under control.

"The metal?"

"That happened after that incident at the Council Headquarters."

Where she’d been shot with an inciter ray and the Light Being it was meant for – having been hit by a secondary shot - energetically crawled inside of her.

"You haven’t lived until you hear voices in your head."

"Christine -."

"Voices that are ostensibly guiding you but hell, you don’t even know if they’re real, let alone whether or not you can trust them."

"Kalach?" he replied, letting out a long breath.

"And Metatron."

He’d stared at the amulet in his hands, looked at her as if she was nuts, which, by that time, she was truly feeling.

"I assume it’s him, though he’s never given me his name. It isn’t Kalach or any other Light Being."

"I had no idea. Why didn’t you tell me?"

She’d scoffed, the sound harsh, abrasive.

"So you could echo my own concerns that I was going crazy? That I’d lost touch with reality?"

"In the cave. You said a voice guided you out. I’d always thought it was Kalach."

"It served a purpose to let everyone think so."

"I’m sorry. I – you’re right. You do know. Do you still have problems with this illusionary plane and the voice?"

She’d sensed a desire – no, a need – for reassurance that it would get better.

"No. I’ve learned that the voices who counsel me are sincere in helping me. And I see the illusionary plane for what it is. Energy that, like this location, serves a purpose."

"You think I should try to get used to this?"

"I think you might want to talk to Ryn about what, exactly, this mist is, what it’s doing to you, and why you feel like it’s sucking energy from you."

He snorted. Energy? It’s sucking my soul, Christine. My core.

"Which is energy. We’re all energy beings, Corus. All of us. When he made to argue, she held up a hand. Learn about it so you can use it to your advantage. Master it."

"What do you suggest?"

"Ryn’s an Energy Tracker. He can teach you."

"I don’t know if -."

"You don’t trust him either?"

"I – I don’t know what to think."

Recognizing his feelings might be an extension of the mental fugue associated with TDS, she’d known she had to tread very carefully.

"Why don’t you ask him about the mist and the effect? Based on his answer, you’ll know what to do next."

"I’ll know what to do next? I get confused, damn it!"

"Corus, I think you can trust your feelings. If you don’t feel right after he answers, contact me."

"What if I don’t remember to?"

"Why wouldn’t you?"

"I don’t know."

"You mean because you think they would manipulate you? Is that what you think is going on in here?"

"I don’t know!"

"Corus, do you want to stop the treatment?"

"No!"

"Why not, if it’s making you feel crazy?"

"Because it’s helping me, damn it!"

"Is it?"

"YES!"

"I think it is too."

She’d seen in that outburst that he was still Corus. In fact, he was more Corus than he’d seemed when she’d first been allowed to see him after his rescue.

"How about if I come back in a week and we talk again?"

* * *

That week was yesterday.

"I’m glad to see you, Christine."

"Yeah?"

"You’re good for me."

Not sure how to interpret the comment and not wanting to muddy up the waters since their relationship was basically over, she nodded, said nothing.

"I was so mad when you left. I broke three more pieces of wood before I could bring myself to not be angry."

"With me."

"Yeah with you! You made me think! You made me -. Damn you, you made me hope!"

Taking another drag on the cigarette, which she’d refilled with pargo, a harmless herb that relaxed the mind, if not the body, she recalled the light in his eyes when he snapped at her.

"Hope? That it will get better?"

"Yes!"

"It will."

She believed it because after the initial visit, she’d had a long discussion with the Energy Tracker.

"Tell me everything."

There’d been no need to discuss what she would do to the planet if he didn’t comply.

"Corus, I needed to know."

The relief that settled over him let her know he was counting on her to have his back. She’d reminded herself she had to be objective. This was about him, what he needed.

Do you remember that you feel better when you leave? That it’s getting better?

"Yes."

"It is. For real. Ryn showed me the chart of your acuity tests. They are definitely improving. Corus, you’re getting better. I know it seems fucked up right now, but it is getting better. You are getting better."

She’d used the f-bomb because he would know it was Christine talking to him and not some hallucination.

"You also made me realize I can trust the Azlaans."

She’d given a great deal of thought to his anger, considered how she could redirect it away from those who didn’t deserve it. Or, the one someone. She could see why he’d be pissed at Ryn. The Energy Tracker was with him when they were attacked, and he was sucked through the damned gate. Even if Corus understood Ryn was