Twists of Time

By S. R. Cronin

Uncover the startling truth before time runs out in this complex search for an ancient treasure.

Alex is a former basketball player who has always been able to bend time. These days he teaches physics and parents three quirky children alongside his unusual wife.

When the administration at his high school wants to reignite its history with organized hate groups and return to an era of white supremacy, Alex can no longer remain the quiet bystander. He must stand up and fight for what he believes is right.

Further complications arise when Stan, an old high school rival, needs Alex's code-cracking skills. Just when Alex has his hands full at school, he's drawn into a treasure hunt. Stan and a handful of ex-grad students lost an obsidian box years ago containing instructions to find an important discovery. As they reconstruct what happened the night the artifact went missing, they need Alex's help to find the last two hidden relics containing the remaining clues to the treasure.

As both of Alex's situations grow more dire, it becomes clear he must tap into the abilities he left behind. Can he manipulate time for the people and causes he cares about most?

• Language: English
• Publisher: S. R. Cronin
• Release date: Jun 4, 2013
• ISBN: 9780985156152

S. R. Cronin

Hi. I’m Sherrie Cronin, the author of a collection of six speculative fiction novels known as 46. Ascending. I’m now in the process of publishing a historical fantasy series called The War Stories of the Seven Troublesome Sisters. A quick look at the synopses of my books makes it obvious I’m fascinated by people achieving the astonishing by developing abilities they barely knew they had.I’ve made a lot of stops along the way to writing these novels. I’ve lived in seven cities, visited forty-six countries, and worked as a waitress, technical writer, and geophysicist. Now I answer a hot-line. Along the way, I’ve lost several cats but acquired a husband who still loves me and three kids who’ve grown up just fine, both despite how odd I am.All my life I’ve wanted to either tell these kinds of stories or be Chief Science Officer on the Starship Enterprise. These days I live and write in the mountains of Western North Carolina, where I admit I occasionally check my phone for a message from Captain Picard, just in case.Learn about the new series at https://troublesome7sisters.xyz/.

Book preview

1. Time to Act

When the time came, she knew it, just like her father promised she would. Her rulers became less cautious with the strangers, allowing their priests to walk unaccompanied throughout the city. Nimah's neighbors began to greet the invaders instead of hiding from them and the invaders responded with warmth.

The warmth chilled, of course, once they realized they wouldn't get their way. When Nimah's king announced he'd decided not to convert to the new religion, the strangers responded by sending soldiers to convert him by force.

The day on which you must act will be right after their first attack, her father said before he died. In the days since, Nimah had prepared herself and her two sons for what they must do.

She was of the Kan Ek, an ancient race whose rulers were descended from the Gods. She knew that once, generations ago, there had been many cities and more wealth, but not, as far as Nimah was concerned, more greatness. Lives were stringently controlled back then, with cruel penalties for those who failed or wandered astray.

Many of that time believed the Maya would be important forever. Nimah had studied their texts. Then, over hundreds of years, famines, droughts and wars brought endless hard times to the seemingly invincible people. Nimah had read of how they were forced to huddle together for strength as their world shrank. Finally, her people's realm encompassed only the area around Tayasal, a beautiful town on majestic Lake Peten Itza.

Once they were isolated, her people developed more flexible ways. Nimah thought they became an older race, one filled with more wisdom and compassion.

Outsiders were of three types now. Some were Maya hailing from smaller surviving communities. No longer enemies, they were welcomed and information was exchanged. Not so with the Xiu Maya, from the Northwest. Before Nimah was born they had grown weary of fighting the strangers and joined forces with them. They were not to be trusted and were never welcomed.

Then, there were the strangers themselves, the new people. Not so new, really, seeing as they'd been here before her great-grandmother. They called themselves Spaniards. At first they wanted gold and treasures, but over the last generation they'd become increasingly eager to take land and cities as well.

The response in Tayasal had been to lay low, to appear to have nothing and tell the strangers little. It had worked well for five generations as the Spanish sought riches elsewhere, but it appeared they'd run out of other places to seek treasure. Any day now, they would overrun Nimah's people, just as they'd attacked her king. She had to act.

Her husband's strength would have been helpful on this day, but he was taken by illness five years ago. In the intervening years, her sons had grown. At twelve and ten they were close enough to men to assume their roles in this family obligation.

She woke her boys and gave them breakfast as she went over the instructions. Today, the three of them would take the largest and heaviest of her three boxes and hide it in a small cave on the other side of the lake. Nimah had found the perfect place months ago, and had spent weeks preparing the hiding spot and the document she would place in the box.

Tomorrow she would say goodbye to Ichik, her oldest child, and send him towards the rising sun. He was larger and could better carry the heavier of the two remaining boxes. In that direction were flatlands and friendlier people, and Nimah thought the boy would have the easier journey. This would be good, because for all that she loved Ichik she knew he was a bit lazy. He had a calmer, meeker animal spirit guiding him and would never make a fighter. She needed him to walk until the land ended. Nimah had no idea what the boy would find there, but she hoped it was not something that would require him to be fierce.

On the day after, Nimah would send Balam, her second son, off to the setting sun with the smallest box of the three. This boy was still slight in stature, but powerful in spirit. Nimah would instruct him to journey to the land's edge, make a home there, and guard the box he had brought for as long as he lived. His children and their children were to do the same.

Thus each boy and his descendants would keep safe a valuable piece of the puzzle, as Nimah's father had asked. Nimah and her eight-year-old daughter would devote their lives to protecting the biggest box, the one hidden in the cave. Her daughter's children would do the same.

One day, Nimah's father had promised, all of his descendants would be freed from this burden and the three boxes would be reunited. When it was time.

Few other family members knew about Nimah's task. Those who did assumed her father had entrusted her, a daughter, with this important job because of her clever mind for puzzles. Nimah suspected it was for more reasons than that. Underneath her love of riddles, Nimah was a self-disciplined woman. She, among all her father's children, could follow instructions through to the tiniest detail, and she would. Her actions would honor her father, and be for the sake of the descendants of all of the Maya.

The day was hot and muggy as Nimah and her two boys made the short hike to the cave while Nimah's daughter watched the house. Nimah knew the boys were hiding their fears. She'd never been more proud of them then on this day when she was about to say goodbye to them both forever.

They helped her carry her burden, and watched in silence while she opened the thin, beautifully carved obsidian box she'd spent so much of her adult life designing and creating. Inside was a paper made from the fig tree, prepared and soaked with her best preservative. Nimah smoothed the paper as she looked at it one last time. Neither boy spoke until her oldest son read the words at the top of the page. He started to laugh.

The greatest treasure ever? Ichik said raising an eyebrow. Don't you think you exaggerate, mom?

No. Nimah shook her head. I don't. I don't think so at all.

February 1981

2. Two Altered Futures

Alex Zeitman was sitting on the bench, itching to get put in the game. It was his senior year, dammit, and one of his last chances to play. He'd had a good run playing college ball, and been a starter for much of his junior year. Okay, so he wasn't a phenom at scoring, but he was a solid point guard and the coach who'd recruited him to this small college outside of Austin had known it.

The new coach wasn't as fond of Alex's style, preferring the flash of a sophomore who scored often. As Alex's senior year unwound, he spent more time on the bench.

Just let me out there, he muttered under his breath, but there were only four minutes left in the game and his team was down twelve points.

Zeitman! Alex jumped up when the coach called his name. Three minutes and fifty-three seconds. Okay. Let's see how much good I can do.

As he hustled on to the court, the noise of the crowd softened in his head. Alex focused on the sound of his own heart pounding. He moved into position as the rhythm of his heartbeat kept time, like a metronome, while the play of the game slowed down around him, as it always did. He began to match his movements to the rhythm of the sport he loved so well. Dribble. Pass. Catch. His hands, always soft, had a magnetic attraction to the ball. Jump. Pivot. Turn. His feet, usually light, almost danced on the court. Alex could feel the energy grow and he knew, now that he had his chance, he was going to be on fire.

Then he had the ball. He took the inbound's pass down the court and penetrated the defense with his dribble. There was an open teammate on his left. Alex made a perfect pass. Score. His teammates pressured the ball in the backcourt. Double-team, deflection and Alex had a steal. He saw a man open down court. Pass and score. Time for more pressure. The ball was loose on the floor, and squirted out from the bodies around it. Alex grabbed it, took two dribbles and scored. Two minutes and fourteen seconds left and now the Panthers only trailed by six and the noise level was rising. Alex grinned. Should have taken me off the bench sooner.

A wildly thrown pass came his way and he jumped high to get it. An opponent charged into him while Alex was twisting in the air. He felt time slow down more as he fought to recover his equilibrium and land squarely on both feet. He would have, because he was uncommonly good at not getting injured, but in the split second before his right foot touched the ground, a teammate crashed into him hard from behind. The impact twisted him as he came down on the inside of his right foot. His leg bent fast and wrong, folding under him. As the rest of his body hit the ground, the searing pain in his knee let him know his evening was over. Shit, shit, shit. He crumpled onto the floor as nausea overtook him before he blacked out.

Later, leg elevated and packed in ice, he was taken to a local emergency room where a busy doctor informed him more than just his evening had ended. His ACL had been ruptured, and he was done for the short remainder of his college basketball career.

The hospital staff settled him into a room, insisting on keeping him overnight for observation. Several teammates and even the coach came by to offer their sympathy as he waited for the pain medication to kick in. As the last of them left, Alex took a hard look at his hopes for playing pro ball abroad before he moved on to coaching high school.

The doctor said his injury was severe, but a lengthy program of rehabilitation was an option. With no professional team to pick up the expense, though, how could he justify money for the sort of surgery and rehab it would take? He hadn't been that good. Even worse, he'd be prone to knee injuries for the rest of his career.

So Alex Zeitman lay with his sandy-colored head on a hospital pillow as he let go of a dream. Crowds would never again cheer as he flew down the basketball court, or be amazed as his sturdy, lightly freckled hands performed spectacular physical feats. Even at twenty-two, though, Alex had a sensible streak. Tomorrow seemed bleak, but he'd figure out another plan. The good news was things could only get better.

******

A few miles away, the future had never looked brighter for college senior Stan Drexler, as he stared at the acceptance letter in his hand. Unbelievable. Grad school, with a full ride. Four, five, maybe six years learning from some of the greatest experts in the field, studying the one thing that, for whatever reason, had fascinated him since he was a small boy.

He was going to get to travel to Guatemala and spend years looking for undiscovered Maya artifacts in the Lake Quexil area. No, he wasn't just going to be allowed to do it. He was going to be paid to do it. And then? They were going to call him Doctor Stan Drexler and probably pay him even more money to keep doing it.

It was almost too good to be true. Stan hoped he wasn't misleading himself about how wonderful this life would be and how much he would enjoy his work. Even at twenty-two, Stan had a sensible streak. Tomorrow seemed perfect, but there would be drawbacks. There always were. It scared him a little that things were so good, they could only get worse.

February 1993

3. The Word for Treasure

When Dr. Stan Drexler saw the shiny black corner of the stone box twelve years later, his heart skipped a beat.

For over a decade he had unearthed dozens of clay pots and hundreds of shards of pottery from small excavation sites near Lake Peten Itza. Some had been informative. A few finds had even been interesting, at least to another anthropologist. Nothing had ever lived up to his dreams as a young grad student driven to discover something fascinating about the civilization that had, once upon a time, so thoroughly mesmerized him.

These days, of course, he held less lofty dreams as he supervised grad students of his own, letting the willing young men and women dig into the muck, watching them sweat hard as they swatted at bugs while they dug into the earth.

Slow down, he'd caution them. That pottery shard is our next publication. They'd chuckle along, because they knew no one ever found something significant. Until today.

They'd been ready to pack it up, having already stayed an hour longer than planned. He was tired, and he knew the students were exhausted and hungry. Excitement grew as his two most eager, Nelson and Shelby, wriggled the artifact free from the earth. Stan thought it had been deliberately buried, as the remnants of a possible protective cloth fell from it and part of the muddy rotting material landed on Shelby's shoe. She flinched, then winced again when two of the boys laughed at her.

Stan gave the boys, Jake and Kyle, his best grow up look, then moved in to inspect his prize.

It was a thin box, shaped almost like a triangle. Odd, actually. One end of the triangle was cut off, to give it four sides, making it technically a what? A trapezoid? It was the size of a coffee table book. Stan's trained eye put it at post-Classic Maya, so at least after 1200 A.D. It was made mostly from black obsidian, and carved with incredible detail. Small pieces of what appeared to be jade and agate had been worked into the finished product. The rich colors became more visible as Nelson, for once hushed and not showing off his knowledge, wiped the dirt off with a soft cloth.

It's so beautiful, Jennifer gushed, and it was. The more Nelson cleaned it, the more the elaborate hieroglyphs and designs adorning all sides showed up. As the lid wobbled under Nelson's touch, Jake, his chief smart ass, turned to Stan.

Can we open it?

That's why we're here. Stan enjoyed hearing genuine amazement from the boy. Maybe he'd make an archeologist yet. Nelson stepped back to let his professor do the honors.

In spite of the wobble, the lid was stuck. Stan suspected the box hadn't been disturbed since it was buried several hundred years ago. He tried loosening it with his fingernails and finally pulled out his pocketknife and pried.

The lid gave way, and Stan had to steady his own breathing as he lifted it off and laid it aside. In complete silence, Maya expert Dr. Stan Drexler and his five best graduate students stared at a piece of light yellow paper the size and shape of the inside of the box. It was the proverbial message in a bottle, sent from an unknown Maya hundreds of years in the past.

Do you think it is part of a codex? Kyle asked, alluding to the few remaining pieces of actual Maya books displayed in libraries around the world.

Stan shook his head. This was only a single sheet. The Maya were known for their advanced ways of preserving paper, so the page had fared well and was absolutely covered in hieroglyphs. Stan suspected it was made from fig wood and coated in some preservative, like the coda themselves. He studied it with his hands in the air. He wouldn't have dreamed of touching it.

What's it say? Shelby asked.

I have no idea, Stan lied. I think it's late post-classical; it's not a dialect I know. This sort of thing usually tends to be about astronomy and about their gods.

Shelby nodded and squinted harder at the document.

Stan replaced the lid and laid a large canvas bag over the box to protect it. In a bright, end-of-discussion tone he said, "Okay, enough excitement for today. We'll leave the box in situ and, like the good archeologists we are, we won't disturb it further. Tomorrow, we'll photograph and describe in excruciating detail. It's going to be a good day. Tonight, I'll make phone calls and get more experts down here. Congratulations boys and girls. You've probably just witnessed one of the biggest finds of your career."

Great. Kyle laughed. It's downhill from here. With a sympathetic shrug back, Stan herded his students towards the two trucks.

As Stan stood outside the cave while his students packed up the gear, he had no trouble understanding why the owner of the box had chosen to bury it here. It was a beautiful spot, on high ground above a stream with a pretty little waterfall made all the more lovely by the surrounding lush greenery and rocks. He considered posting two of the students as guards for the night. Which two? They all needed dinner and sleep and he needed every one them alert tomorrow.

Then he had another thought. They'd been digging at this site for weeks and no one in the area had been the least bit interested. Perhaps guarding the site was the worst way of raising suspicion. Better to leave the box as it was found.

******

Almost a thousand miles to the north, a Maya descendant named Ixchel fretted that women who were eight-months pregnant should not make eighteen-hour trips in a car. Yet, as an only child whose parents needed her, what was she to do? Flying posed a greater risk, and while the airlines would get her there in time, it would be to face her father's death and her mother's grief alone. Going by car meant her husband Raul would take her and be there to hold her hand.

There was a second reason for driving. She wanted Raul and his dependable van to be available as a vehicle of mercy. Ixchel hoped to persuade her mother to do the unthinkable. She wanted to check her father out of the horrible cancer clinic in Houston. It had sucked away her parents' savings and provided no cure. She wanted to put her father in the back of Raul's van and drive him home. There he could die in his own bed surrounded by his loved ones. Her mother could be comforted by her family. Her father's body could be laid to rest in its proper plot, buried by his pastor, near his parents and ancestors.

She didn't know much about the legalities of transporting a body, but Ixchel doubted her mother had the money left to fly her father's corpse home, and she suspected one wasn't allowed to drive off with the deceased. One could drive off with the nearly deceased for free, though, couldn't they?

In fact, her poor father only had to live through being discharged from the hospital and getting into the van. After that, crossing the border back into Mexico wouldn't be a problem. Officials were on the lookout for live Mexicans coming in, not dead ones going out.

She hadn't mentioned this plan to either her mother or her husband. No sense stirring up agitation until she looked her father in the eye and knew if this was what he wanted. If it was, and Ixchel was certain she could tell, then she planned to persuade all.

Only here they were in Matamoros, two-thirds of the way to Houston. They were spending the night at a hotel before crossing into the U.S. in the morning, and she was having labor pains.

Raul had the television blaring. She wanted to scream at him. Maybe it was nerves, not real labor pains. Ixchel closed her eyes, did her best to shut out the television, the couple yelling next door, the baby crying down the hall.

Breathe. You have a fine plan and it will all be okay. Breathe.

Unfortunately, no matter how slowly you breathe, both birth and death are notoriously difficult to plan around.

******

Stan tried to control his enthusiasm the next morning as he woofed down breakfast at the hotel and supervised loading the trucks. The department head had chastised him by phone last night for even opening the box, and for doing as little as brushing off the dirt. Stan expected that and was willing to take the criticism. He hadn't spent twelve years of his life swatting mosquitoes to let some senior faculty member fly down here and do all the honors. This was his research. These were his kids. They deserved their moment in the sun. Yesterday, he'd taken it.

Today, however, they'd back off and show restraint, as they photographed and measured while they waited for more expertise before anything else was disturbed.

There was lightness in Stan's step as he helped unload the two trucks and made his way to the cave's small entrance.

You first, Dr. Drexler, Nelson said.

Stan wasn't even all the way in when he noticed mud tracks he was sure neither he nor his students had made.

No! Surely we didn't have intruders last night.

He looked around. Everything else they'd found over the last few days was undisturbed. Only the ornate box and its half disintegrated cloth covering were gone, as if they'd never existed.

You've got to be kidding. Locals? For christsakes, did one of my students tell somebody? Or maybe one of them is that good at reading hieroglyphics from this region.

Dr. Stan Drexler, of course, was quite good at it. He'd studied nothing but for years. Even though he'd only gotten a quick glance, there are certain words anyone who's ever loved archeology knows in the culture where they have expertise. Treasure is one. Even higher on the list is any phrase translating as the greatest treasure ever.

******

The contractions came and went through the night and by morning Raul wanted to take her to the hospital in Matamoros. Ixchel was sweating and moaning in pain. She agreed, but insisted on calling her mother in Houston first. They found a pay phone and amassed all their coins.

Inez answered from her husband's room. Hours, she whispered to her daughter. Maybe not even that long, they say.

I can't leave my mother to face this alone. I should have come days sooner. I had no idea he was so close to dying.

Ixchel didn't even mention labor to her mother, but asked her to plead with her father to hold on for a few hours more. Ixchel would be there in six. Maybe less if Raul would drive fast.

The man at the border peered in through the window at the highly pregnant woman clutching a pillow while she breathed deeply and tears streamed out of her eyes.

You need to take her back to Mexico to have that baby.

Raul shook his head. I am trying. She will not go. Raul tried to explain about the dying father in Houston, but the border guard was busy trying to explain about the illegalities of entering the U.S. to give birth. Pretty soon both men were raising their voices at each other, insisting this was important and the other was not listening.

Meanwhile, an increasingly agitated Ixchel tried to get her husband's attention. The third time her husband brushed her off, she gave up and instinctively squatted on the seat of the car, her entire mind focused on the hard work her body was doing. As the argument between the two men escalated into actual shouting, Ixchel let out a shriek of her own that stopped all discussion.

Raul turned to Ixchel as she let loose a second yell that changed into something between a grunt and a moan. She repeated the sound again while the two baffled men saw a mass of red liquid hit the cloth upholstery. A panic-filled Raul reached over and managed to catch his baby before it landed on his front seat.

Oh good Lord, the border guard said in disgust. He'd never seen a birth and hoped he never did again.

Now can we please get to her father before he dies? the exasperated Raul asked as he raised his blood covered hands to show the guard the healthy screaming baby boy. Allow a dying man to meet his only grandson.

Get her checked out at a clinic on the way. The border guard shook his head in disbelief as he waved the couple, no as he waved the family, on through.

April 2009

4. One Stupid Decision

Everyday Alex watched the consequences of making poor choices. As a high school teacher, he saw student's indignation as smoking weed in a school bathroom or copying a friend's paper yielded trouble. As a result, Alex avoided stupid decisions. Yet here he stood, shivering and dripping wet, thinking how one well-intended but boneheaded choice could now destroy his life.

A hundred yards upstream, the canoe he'd been thrown out of remained trapped against a mound of branches and debris as the fast water of a cresting river pushed it hard against the wall of logs and twigs. Ken, the shop teacher at his school and an outdoor enthusiast, stood next to him. As Ken's wife Sara searched Ken's pack for a dry jacket to offer Alex, Ken's look of silent worry grew.

They all three knew Alex's wife Lola was out there under water. As she failed to surface, Ken seemed to be measuring the seconds while Alex fought his growing panic.

Lola loved canoeing. She loved any outdoor adventure. Alex, who had little use for such, had been trying to do something nice for his wife. After twenty-five years of marriage, he knew Lola was restless for things she'd loved as a young woman and Alex wanted to see her happy. When he found out Ken and Sara wanted another couple to join them on this outing, it had seemed like the perfect gift.

Ten minutes on this wild river had proved they were in over their heads. They'd made the decision to go a little further down river to an easy pullout and call it a day. That was reasonable.

Then they'd been drawn into this strainer.

Now, where the hell was Lola? Alex wanted to scream the question as he saw a grim-faced Ken move downstream towards his own canoe. A former river guide, he was the only one of the three with the skills to try to rescue her. If she was somehow pinned under their canoe, Alex could not image how Ken could get her free.

Plus, Lola hated being under water. She couldn't handle not being able to breath. Alex knew how claustrophobic his otherwise daring wife was, and had watched her frustration as she tried to learn to scuba but couldn't stay calm when submerged. By now she'd almost certainly gulped giant swallows of icy water into her lungs.

Then, there she was. Alert, wide brown eyes and coppery brown hair popped up about sixty yards upstream. All three of them shouted before the current sucked her back under. Alex felt his own breathing return, knowing she was alive. Seconds later she popped up again, moving towards them, but this time she was coughing hard. Alex looked closer. She didn't have her life jacket on.

She was in the middle of the river now, moving fast. Ken started walking downstream hoping to intercept, but Alex thought she was coughing too hard to even try to make her way to shore. Hell, she can barely swim. He looked around for anything he could grab quickly.

Alex, get back here! Sara yelled it as she saw Alex start to wade out into the fast cold water, a canoe paddle in his hand.

Alex, no! Ken joined in as well from his position downstream.

All Alex could think of was he damn well had to make sure he did everything he could to make this right.

Then he noticed how wide the river was. How far to the center Lola was and how fast she was moving. How slow his own progress in the deep cold water was going to be. He realized he'd never make it to her in time. She'd flail on past, dozens of feet away from him, and none of them would have any

Reviews for Twists of Time

[londalocs · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

As she did in y1 Cronin offers a unique blend of mystery, history, adventure, and fantasy. The Zeitman family is again at the center of the plot. Alex Zeitman has the envious ability to bend time but never realized how strong his abilities were until now. Just a mild mannered physics teacher, no one would suspect that he has these superhuman skills. However exciting, there is more to the story than just time bending. It opens with a 1696 flashback of a Mayan society already besieged with the influences of the Spaniards. Nimah and her children have an enormous task to carry out. They are be destined to protect and deliver a great secret to future generations. There is ever more here. Cronin also deals with several social issues including racism and immigration. She does so in a way that does not feel preachy or condescending. All of these themes are woven together into quite an adventurous story, and the pieces fall into place quite nicely in the end. My only issue with the book would be the large number of minor characters. I found that there were several characters that I just didn't care much about, and I had a hard time not skimming over parts of the story that involved them.All in all an entertaining book and I look forward to reading c3 next. Solid 3.5 stars----------------------------------------------------------Book provided by author through Librarything.com My review is unbiased.

[weelinda · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Well I most say wonderful story a lot of hate, love, fun, laughter, and more hate but loved this book a good story the characters and story lines where well thought out and delivered with grace and some characters with the power to make you hate them your self but if you wish to read this wonderful book you will not be disappointed you did with all that said my humble thanks to the amazing author Sherrie Cronin and keep the good works of art coming and I will be looking out for more of her work with all that said keep smiling and happy reading to you all with love from wee me.xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

[summers1630 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Great for fans of sci-fi. Great for casual sci-fi readers.Great for anyone, really.z2 is one of those novels that stays with you. It is written intelligently, and the plot is never boring.5/5 stars!

[scistarz · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Thought-provoking, intriguing, enjoyable, emotional....this book is definitely worth a read.

[darthdeverell · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Let me begin this review with a thought experiment worthy of Sherrie Cronin’s character Alex Zeitman: Is Z2 science fiction? True, it has many of the elements of science fiction including time travel, telepathy, and changelings. The epilogue even takes place in the not-too-distant future. Despite these science fiction devices, however, the book is more of a family drama, focused on its characters than it is on the science fiction elements. The book is slow to start, but Cronin’s flashbacks at the beginning help set up the backstory for the adult characters. Once the story begins in earnest, the dual narrative of ancient mystery and a teacher’s attempts to combat racism in his community quickly engross the reader. Cronin exceeds at portraying the human dynamics so that character interactions feel natural rather than staged. Even the interconnectedness of her various characters, an element that may have read as a cheap narrative device, feels natural and adds, at different times, both humour and drama to her story. The various discussions of physics, mathematics, immigration, and racism are all well-researched and Cronin deftly interweaves them into her story (additionally, her bibliography is a nice touch and demonstrates how she blended factual history into a fictional narrative). In sum, the book is an enjoyable read full of great human elements with a wonderfully satisfying ending.