“Into what?”
“Into your past, and who you truly are,” Lovecraft said. “And for that matter, who Hickok and Geronimo really are, as well.” He placed his hands flat on the desk, leaned toward Blade, and grinned like the proverbial cat that had just eaten a canary. “Would you like to hear more?”
CHAPTER 11
Like many in the Family, Blade was never very curious about his surname. Why would he be, when surnames were so rarely used? Most were called by their first name until their Naming. After the ceremony, the one they had picked was how they were known.
From what Blade gathered, though, surnames were quite common before the Big Blast. People were called Mr.-or-Ms-whoever. Or they were bestowed titles, such as Senator or President or CEO.
Kurt Carpenter wanted none of that in the Family. No titles. No false trappings of power. No aggrandizement of any kind. Family members must be treated as equals.
Blade couldn’t remember when he was first told his surname. He imagined it had been imparted to him when he was a small boy, but since they never used it, he’d hardly given it any mind.
“Do you realize,” Lovecraft now remarked, “that I am undoubtedly the only person in the Family who knows the given names of everyone in the Home?”
Blade shrugged. “It’s good that someone does, I suppose.”
“My interest in your given name perked considerably when I learned the identity of the Mountain Man you spent time with when Thanatos sent you and your friends back in time.”
“Nate King,” Blade said.
“Nathaniel King, to be precise.” Lovecraft said. Sitting back, he made a teepee of his fingers and placed them under his chin. “Surely you wondered about that?”
“A lot was happening. I had more important things to worry about. Like staying alive.”
Lovecraft nodded. “Understandable. But it must have seemed…..odd. What did you do? Chalk it up to coincidence?”
Blade straightened in his chair. “You’re saying it wasn’t?”
“You were born Michael King, were you not?”
“So? Thanatos sent us back centures. Back then there must have been a lot of people with the name King. Hundreds, probably.”
“More likely thousands.”
“There you go. A lot of us never use our given names. I haven’t used mine in decades. To be honest, I chalked it up to a fluke.”
“In this particular instance, it wasn’t.”
Blade was dumfounded.
“I’ve checked and double-checked the genealogy files, looking for mistakes I might have made. But it’s there, as plain as can be.” Lovecraft tapped the antique leather-bound book. “Like a number of Mountain Men, Nate King kept a journal. Here it is. How your father acquired it, I will never know. But in conjunction with other documents and records, I feel confident in saying that Nathaniel King was, in fact, an ancestor of yours.”
“Wow,” was all Blade could think of to say.
“Exactly. In defiance of all probability, the time machine sent you back to the exact locale where your ancestor lived. I find that intriguing. Don’t you?”
Blade was trying to wrap his head around the bizarreness of it all. “How so?”
“The odds are astronomical.”
“You’re saying that Thanatos deliberately sent us there? That he somehow knew Nate King was part of my family tree?” Blade shook his head. “That’s impossible.”
“If you say so.” Lovecraft smiled and ran his hand over the leather volume. “You should read this sometime. Nate King was much like you. Very devoted to his loved ones, to his family and friends.” Lovecraft stared out through the open door at the library proper. “In the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries, there was a writer who did a paperback series based on this journal. The series was called Wilderness.”
Blade nodded at the paperbacks on the desk. “Are those some of the books?”
“No.” Lovecraft picked one up and held it so Blade could see the cover. “This is another series by the same writer. It’s called White Apache.” A strange expression came over him. “It’s about a man called Clay Taggart, who goes on raids with an Apache band.”
“Taggart?” Blade said, and an electric shock ran through him. “But that’s….”
“Yes,” Lovecraft said. “That happens to be Geronimo’s given name on his father’s side. As you well know, his mother was a Flathead. It was she who gave him the name Lone Elk at birth. At his Naming he chose Geronimo. I”d always wondered wy. Now I think I know.” Lovecraft looked at the cover himself. “Now I ask you. How is it that the same writer did series based on both your ancestors?”
Blade was at a complete loss. “What are you suggesting?”
“I’m not done.” Lovecraft set down the book and tapped the manila folder. “This is a record of Hickok’s family tree. His given name is Nathan Shannon. As best we can establish, his lineage on his father’s side goes back to Arkansas, to the Shannon family. Specifically, a woman by the name of Cassie Shannon.” Lovecraft paused. “Or possibly her twin brother, Chace. We’re not entirely sure. The records aren’t as complete as we would like.” He paused again. “His mother’s side has been traced to a young lady called Courtney Hewitt, an early member of the Family.” He picked up a different paperback. “And guess what?”
Blade came out of his chair and snatched the book from the Chronicler’s hand. “Another series by the same writer?”
“Amazingly enough, yes. The author wrote a lot of them, from what we can tell. This one was called the Blood Feud series.”
“On another of our ancestors?”
“Intriguing, is it not?”
“How can this be?”
“I’m at a loss,” Lovecraft admitted. “It defies logic to blame it on coincidence. Which is why I felt it important that you know. This time travel business must be more complicated than we imagine.”
Blade looked at the leather-bound volume and at the White Apache paperback and then at the book in his hand. “You can say that again.”
CHAPTER 12
The Time Chamber, as they had dubbed it, buzzed with activity. Under Tesla’s guidance, assistants scurried about verifying that MABEL was as ready as she would ever be.
A.l.v.i.s hovered
