Chapter 6

I Buried You.

Oliver woke to a dull, rhythmic throbbing in his arm. He was in a warm cave, surrounded by the smell of wet peat moss and smoke. It was dark, but the fire kissed the walls and showed the fingers of the river that had carved this place from stone. He remembered it like a child remembers a nightmare for years afterward, with a strange nostalgia and a healthy fear.

His father and Sara were here this time, making the nightmare become real. Robert had one hand planted on Oliver's shoulder, holding a leaf poultice in place, and Sara was on his other side. She looked so much smaller in this cave, pale and shaky, and angry, and sort of nauseas, all at the same time. It was just the three of them, and the attention shifted to him the moment he opened his eyes. Robert said something but it was lost to the crackling fire, to the blood roaring through his head. Something was missing. Yao Fei.

The chest was in the corner, propped open, with pouches of herbs resting in a nest of supplies. Oliver recognized the leaves on his shoulder for their medicinal purpose, but realized Yao Fei had never given him a name for them.

Finally the voices came through.

"How do you feel? Can you hear me?"

Robert sounded eager and afraid. It reminded Oliver of the first time his father had arrived at the hospital after one of his car accidents, three days after he turned sixteen. He had a way with his voice, muting the rage, letting the concern pour out.

"I tried to stop him but he was too strong," Sara was saying, in the middle of a long explanation of how they got there. "He just picked your dad up and he said you were hurt and-"

"Look at me, son," Robert encouraged, taking Oliver by the cheek and staring intently at him, like he could diagnose his woes from the shade of his eyes. "Can you talk? Do you need water?"

Oliver groaned, just to get them both to stop talking. His head throbbed along with his arm. He tried to steady himself, because it felt like he had lost time. Robert had more color in his face, and a clean bandage around his upper arm. Sara was more lively than she had been on the beach and she was wearing a pair of baggy shorts along with his shirt now. He was also ravenous and his throat was raspy.

He tried to speak, but he only coughed violently.

Robert put a canteen to his lips as soon as the coughing ended, holding it up for him to gulp water until he was breathless. When he eased it down, he whispered, "Slowly, now."

Oliver coughed again, but it was wet this time and he managed to find his voice afterward. "How long… how long was I out?"

Robert and Sara exchanged a glance, and Sara said, "Maybe two days."

"Maybe?"

"We've been in here, mostly. When he brought us here, I could barely stand up." Robert glanced at the cave entrance, shrouded in hanging lichen, and frowned uncertainly. "He shot you with an arrow, Oliver. Do you remember that?"

Oliver glanced at his shoulder again. How could he forget? "Sort of."

"But he did this," Robert motioned to his bandaged arm, and then between himself and Sara, "And he brought us food. But he never says anything. He said something to Sara."

"He said you were hurt," Sara clarified, "But nothing else."

"I tried to ask if he had a boat, or some way to contact the mainland," Robert added. "Nothing. The guy is a brick wall. I don't know where we are, how far off course that storm took us."

Oliver knew both of those things, but he kept it to himself for the moment. Instead he gently pushed away his father's hand and peeled back the poultice to get a look at his wound. It was identical to the one he had gotten his first time on the island, only on the opposite shoulder. It was oozing blood and a bit of greenish liquid from the poultice. Scar tissue was already reaching out from the corners, trying to mend the hole. He winced, feeling the flesh shear together inside.

"He brought us here, out of the weather," Robert concluded.

If his father was angry, he was hiding it very well. He was in survival mode, groping for a way out, but his money was no good on this hellish island.

"What did you mean on the beach, Ollie?" Sara leaned closer, much more afraid than Robert. She was the only one who wasn't currently injured, but she looked the weakest from the journey.

Oliver didn't know what to say to her, but he didn't have time to answer anyway. Yao Fei strode into the cave, dressed in tattered greens with that hood drawn up over his head. He dropped a few pouches on the ground near his box, and then threw his hood back, showing that mop of thick black hair, those intense eyes, that searching expression.

He was seeing a ghost, standing there in the flesh. He could pinpoint the place on his head where the bullet had gone through, when Yao Fei was killed right in front of Oliver and his daughter Shado. He could see the blood oozing out, and that surprised glaze over his eyes.

Yao Fei drew his bow and aimed it at Oliver, standing three or four feet away. He spoke Mandarin, "Who are you?"

Robert spoke before he could, "We have money, billions, if you can get us home. We just need a boat, or a plane, or some way to make contact."

Oliver knew it was futile, that Yao Fei was a prisoner on this island and the only people who could get them home weren't interested in strangers knowing about their operation. But he let his father speak, and gathered his courage. He was going to tell Yao Fei the truth. The man would probably think he was crazy, but he was a disciple of the mystic arts through his mentor, and his heritage. Surely there was some way to convince him.

When Robert stopped, Oliver started.

He spoke Mandarin, keeping his eyes on Yao Fei and ignoring the puzzled looks on the faces of his companions. Soon they would have to know the truth too.

"Yao Fei… I knew you once, but it was… like a dream. We were friends."

He was already losing the archer. Yao Fei looked doubtful. He had his bow strung and ready to shoot, and he held it there in suspended animation, not even swaying.

"I swear I'm not lying, and I'm not crazy. I was sent here… back here… from the future. Something terrible happens and I was sent back to stop it."

Yao Fei crouched, releasing the tension on his arrow and separating it from the bow. He placed them both on the ground, his hand over them, and peered long into Oliver. He finally said, softly, "You are feverish from the wound."

Oliver was feeling a little warm, but he persisted, "No, no. I knew your daughter, Shado," – at that, Yao Fei cocked an eyebrow, and scowled – "I knew Shado. She was my friend. She taught me this language, and how to shoot an arrow. You… you were taught by Talia, the daughter of the demon. She taught me, too."

Oliver sounded like a child. He was just a college dropout with a baby face all over again.

He persisted anyway.

"I was sent back to change things." He spoke English now out of habit, but Yao Fei would understand it. "We were friends, brothers. You saved my life last time, too."

Yao Fei slowly shook his head, rising, and turned away from them.

Robert put his hand on Oliver's forehead, concern in the crinkles of his eyes, "Son, you need to eat and drink. You have a little fever."

Oliver jerked away from his father, sending a jolt through his shoulder, and said, "Please. You have to believe me."

Yao Fei spoke English this time, "Sleep."

Robert brightened, "You do speak English!"

Yao Fei gave Robert a look just short of disdain, and didn't bother responding. He looked at Oliver again, and switched languages, "We will talk again when you have rested, and you will tell me the truth." Despite his words, he seemed painfully intrigued by what Oliver had said, even disturbed. Oliver had used personal details for just that reason. How many people in the world knew that he had trained under Talia? How many Americans spoke perfect Mandarin? He had to have his doubts. Doubt was all Oliver needed.

"What did he say?" Sara dared, once Yao Fei had left the cave again.

Oliver laid his head back against the rock he was propped on, shutting his eyes.

Robert chose a different path, "Oliver, where did you learn Chinese?"

"You said you were going to see an old friend, when you left the beach," Sara said.

"It's a long story. A really long story." Oliver drew in a sharp breath, trying to work past the pain, but it was starting to take over. His father dabbed the poultice again and it faded for an instant. "Dad… keep doing that."

Robert did as he asked, but pursued his questions, "Did you know that man?"

"I… I used to." Oliver sighed as the poultice sent a wave of cold through his arm. It was getting easier to talk, but harder to think of the right answers for their questions. He decided again on blunt honesty. "He was my friend, the first time I was here."

"What do you mean?" Robert paused, and the pain returned.

Oliver opened his eyes and found his father's eyes boring into him. "I… I was here before. I was here, and the Queen's Gambit sank, and you died." He got stuck on that, and repeated it, "You died, Dad. I buried you. But now I'm back, and I have a chance to fix this, to fix everything."

Robert shook his head like Yao Fei had. "You need to rest, Oliver."

"I'm telling the truth." Oliver groaned as Robert hauled him sideways, and lay him flat on the ground. "You believe me, right, Sara?"

She blinked, folding her arms around herself protectively, "Ollie…"

"Just rest, please." Robert sat by him, brushing his hair away from his face, and using the poultice dutifully until the pain faded again. "Just rest for now. I'll get us out of here, I promise."

Oliver closed his eyes again. "You can't. We're trapped. I buried you."

"You'll be okay, son." Robert was whispering to him now, or Oliver had already fallen asleep and he was just dreaming of his voice. "Nothing is going to happen to us. I'll keep you safe."

Who will keep you safe, then?