The Searchers: Awakening [Book 1]

Toronto, October 28, 2156

The city was drowning. It came from the dark clouds stacking themselves into gigantic towers across the sky, from the drains, and — Bence Varga was certain of this — from Toronto’s very sewers. The dampness burrowed into his clothes and nested there like a stubborn parasite he couldn’t shake loose. With the moisture came the cold, stiffening his fingers, making his limbs sluggish and reluctant. Still, he stayed put in his spot near the main road.

The blonde man pulled his broken, grey wool coat tighter around himself. A day like any other — lost, and not destined to be found again, like everything else on the city’s streets.

He smiled to himself briefly. Nothing here was meant to be found, he thought with grim satisfaction before his gaze lifted again. Perhaps many of the homeless who haunted the dark alleyways didn’t want to be discovered either.

Bence shook his head and clumsily raked his wet blonde hair back with his fingers. He could feel the small knots that had formed over the past few weeks. Just because he had no proper place to stay didn’t mean he had to look unkempt. He refused to look like one of the others — those who had long since given up and would never find a way out of the cardboard box they called home. No, he had bigger plans for his life. Someday he’d live in a large house that belonged to him alone. Yes, someday...

A young woman in a neat dark-green dress with a yellow umbrella walked past and tossed a coin into the old tin can in front of him. A loud clink rang out as the coin found its way inside.

“Thank you, Ma’am!” he called after the young lady with a smile. A little more change and he’d be able to treat himself to a warm dinner. Finally, no more bread with patches of mould — a wonderfully hot soup, or a hot dog. He noticed his mouth watering, but the moment his trembling fingers reached into the rusty tin to fish out the coin, more fell in. This time it was banknotes — not just one, but several. Hundred-dollar bills rained into his rusted can until it overflowed. In his entire life he had never seen so much money in one place.

Bence looked up in a panic at the man showering him with wealth.

The stranger looked, on the surface, completely ordinary. His dark blonde hair was soaked through from the rain and plastered to his forehead, which was creased in deep furrows. Everything about him screamed middle-class office worker — but his ice-blue eyes told Bence something else entirely. The stranger’s piercing gaze, fixed suddenly and directly on his face, frightened him so badly that he wanted nothing more than to run.

“I can’t possibly accept this, Sir. It’s far too much!” Bence quickly grabbed at the money, took as much as he could hold, and thrust it back toward the generous stranger. His frozen fingers trembled — this time from fear. Unknown people never gave out large sums of cash without wanting something in return, and Bence had no intention of doing some middle-class thug’s dirty work only to end up behind bars.

“What would you say if I showed you a way to get far more wealth than those few bills you’re clinging to so desperately?” The stranger’s voice was dark. Try as he might, Bence couldn’t find a single crack of weakness in it.

“I’d say you’re offering your fortune to the wrong man,” he answered, his voice trembling. “Because I have no intention of doing anything illegal for you.”

The stranger laughed. “Who says I’m asking for a crime in return? Maybe I simply like you, my dear Bence Varga, and for that reason alone I want to make you into something that could change the course of history. Not yours or mine — the entire world’s. I can offer you power over time itself.”

Bence jumped to his feet. How did the stranger know his name? Every instinct told him to run, because in the end it didn’t matter how this guy had found that out. This was too big for him. This blonde man knew —

“I wouldn’t run if I were you, little one.” The stranger’s face twisted into a mask of madness. “If you run, you’ll wake up in a hospital tomorrow morning. Two police officers will be standing outside your door, guarding you — because you’ll be accused of murdering a beautiful woman who happens to be the daughter of the man who owns this city. You’ll rot away somewhere, alone, with no way out.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Bence shook his head in confusion. This stranger wasn’t normal, and he frightened him more than he would ever admit.

“I’m a Searcher, young friend. We travel through time, and in doing so we have the power to know everything that will happen — or already has.” The stranger shrugged with bored ease. He seemed to have told this story before. “I can tell you all of it because, where I come from, it’s already happened.”

“And why would I want to become a time traveller?” In his years on the streets, Bence had heard a great deal of nonsense, but he’d never been pestered by a supposed time traveller before. All of it sounded so utterly mad that he couldn’t help but laugh. “A time traveller who wants to make me one too. No offence, my friend, but that sounds absolutely absurd.” His trembling fingers moved across his rain-soaked face. “And what exactly do you get out of it? A bonus on your next paycheck?”

“Everyone who receives something must also give something up.” With a sweeping gesture, the stranger gestured at Bence’s clothing. “You stole that coat from someone who froze to death because of it. In this world — past or future — nothing comes free. I’ll make you a Searcher, a time traveller like myself, and give you more wealth than you could ever spend. But in exchange, I want something in return.”

The stranger reached his hand into his coat pocket. It seemed the cold was finally getting to him too — or at least Bence thought so.

“What could I possibly have to give you?” Though he hadn’t meant to, the words came out carrying too much bitterness. Even if the story this blonde man was spinning was absolute nonsense, he’d still been glad of the distraction. But it was slowly becoming ridiculous. Bence hungered for wealth — but he didn’t want it handed to him on a silver platter. Especially not from a madman who believed himself to be a time traveller.

The blonde stranger curled his lips into a smile of absolute certainty. Then, in one swift motion, he pulled a pistol from his coat pocket, its barrel finding its way to Bence’s chest within seconds. “Quite simple, Bence Varga. I’ll take your old life,” the tall stranger said, “and in return, you’ll get a new one.” And he pulled the trigger.