Good Morning, Lovelies!
Thank you so much to Mel and Pamela!
X
BELLA
30 September 1347
The Black Sea
Bella had never woken on a boat before.
She knew that was what had happened, even before she'd opened her eyes. The ship was rocking, and there were distinct noises of creaking and water slapping against boards that were foreign but identifiable.
The motion was nauseating, and she sat up, trying to suck in a deep breath to steady herself. She'd fallen asleep in a remote Brazilian town in the year 1954, but the dark cold dampness of her new scene told her she was far from the Amazon now.
"Who are you?"
She looked up, still dizzy from the swaying, to see a young woman staring at her, a baby wrapped up in her arms. She could feel the slight buzz at the base of her skull that told her the translator her maman had installed on her as a child was kicking in now.
"Where are we?" she asked, her voice a rasp.
The woman blinked. "Aboard a vessel sailing to Messina."
Bella frowned, trying to recall the location. "Sicily," she said to herself.
"How did you get aboard?" the woman asked.
Bella looked at her. It seemed she was sitting on a pile of nets. They smelled faintly of salt, and Bella wondered if she might be on the Black Sea.
"How long until we come to port?" she asked, looking at the woman.
The woman's eyes went wide. "Who are you?" she asked again, her voice thin and shaking.
Bella let out a breath. Right, she would need to address this first before anything else. "You can call me Bella. I don't mean you any harm. Truly." Bella had learned long ago how to address frightened people upon her sudden and unexpected arrival into a time and place. "What's your name?"
The woman swallowed, looking anxious. "Tamar," she said finally.
"That's a beautiful name."
Tamar's head tilted, a small smile coming over her face. "I'm named after the great ruler, mepe mepeta."
Bella's neck fizzed as her brain translated the phrase. King of kings.
"That's an honorable name," she said softly.
Tamar nodded, looking more at ease. "Tell me, how you managed to come aboard."
Bella sighed. "In truth, I do not know," she admitted, her mind flashing not for the first time to the precarious nature of her life. She had no inkling of how and why she was a traveler, though it was something she often thought of.
"What sort of ship is this?" Bella asked.
"Trade ship," Tamar told her.
Bella frowned. "You don't look much like a trader."
Tamar swallowed hard. "I am part of the cargo," she whispered, her voice small.
Bella's stomach churned. "How old are you, Tamar?"
The girl—for that was truly what she was—looked at Bella, tears in her eyes. "Seventeen summers have passed now since my birth," she said.
Bella gulped and nodded.
"I'm the same age," Bella guessed. In truth, she'd mostly lost track of how old she was, but her mental tally had her somewhere around seventeen, give or take a few months. "Is that your baby?"
Tamar looked at the swaddle in her arms and nodded. "George," she said. "After our beloved saint."
Bella let out a gentle breath. "How long have you and George been aboard?"
Tamar shook her head. "Only a few days."
Bella's mind began to work, trying to suss out when and where she was. She examined the ship, trying to look for clues, but in the damp darkness, there was not much to go on. Even Tamar had little knowledge when Bella asked her directly.
It wasn't until that evening when men came down to feed Tamar that Bella got any further clues. She eyed the turbans the men wore, tried to pinpoint when and where in history she'd seen them before. The men were surprised by Bella's arrival, but they didn't hesitate to secure her as cargo, just like Tamar.
It was fine with Bella, for now, for she knew that she needed to bide her time. She'd be able to free herself and Tamar once they got to land; she was sure of it.
Until then, she was satisfied to wait.
But time was not an asset here.
The first time Bella saw death aboard the ship was two days after she'd arrived. A sailor stumbled down the stairs to the hatch where they were being kept, swearing as he walked. Bella noticed he was limping, and she frowned.
"Are you injured?" she asked as he came to toss their food to them.
"Who gave you permission to speak?" the man snapped, his voice weak despite the anger in his eyes. Bella's gaze traveled over him, saw the festering pustules forming on swollen sections of the man's skin, and her eyes widened.
"You're sick," she breathed, sliding back farther from him.
"Shut up," the man snarled. He stomped off again, and Bella turned to Tamar.
"Don't touch anything. That man is very sick."
Tamar looked frightened but nodded, her arms pulling tighter around little George.
By nightfall, the man had died, and several more men had come down with fever.
The Black Plague had come aboard.
Bella and Tamar were abandoned by the crew, who were more concerned with staying alive rather than keeping their cargo that way. For two days, they stayed locked up without food or water, praying that someone would come release them from the hold.
It was pointless though. No one came, and soon, Tamar was showing signs of sickness herself.
"Please," Tamar begged, handing Bella the baby. "Please, keep him safe."
Bella opened her mouth, wanting to promise she could, but unable to guarantee such a thing. "I'll do everything I can," Bella said instead.
Tamar was dead within a day, her infectious corpse left in their small hold with Bella and the baby.
It was horror like Bella had never known, the sights and smells of Tamar's decaying infected body burned so bright and terrible into Bella's mind.
Bella clung to the baby, trying to imagine a world in which he would live beyond this moment in time.
She couldn't.
When she woke up in 1792 Germany a few days later, she was still clutching the blanket George had been wrapped in before he had died in her arms.
Bella had never known heartbreak worse then when that child had died. She vowed that it would be a pain she would never again find.
In case it was unclear, this is a flashback for Bella, not her current timeline.