Read Online On Etruscan Time by Tracy Barrett - Free Book Online

around to see who was talking. Nobody. He must be imagining things again. He leaned back against the rock, trailing his fingers in the dirt, which was already dry after last night’s downpour. The soft dust felt almost cool. He let his eyes half close, and the shimmering of the land in the sunshine grew even more pronounced.
    He realized that once again he wasn’t hearing anything—no birds, not a squirrel. None of the stray dogs he’d seen in the village seemed to want to come out into the heat. He must be too far from the dig to hear the chatter of the archaeologists.
    It wasn’t completely silent, though. The stream made a small rippling sound. And there must be a house on the other side of the hill, or behind some trees, because once again he heard the small sound of a stringed instrument. It sounded as if someone was practicing the guitar, but he couldn’t see where it was coming from. The music was high and sweet and oddly unsettling. He leaned back and listened, feeling like it was pulling him, tugging him to someplace far away. It felt so delicious that he allowed himself to be pulled. Just for a minute, he thought as he let himself drift.
    He was jolted back into alertness by a movement in the trees. A dog or something, he thought. But he didn’t hear anything, and surely a dog would make some noise. It must have been his imagination, he decided. Then he saw it again. Now it looked like someone was walking toward him. He sat still in the shadow of the rock, hoping whoever it was would go away. He didn’t feel like making the effort to talk to anyone, especially if they didn’t speak English. But the shape kept moving toward him.
    As the figure approached, Hector could see that it was a boy with straight black hair. He sat up taller and squinted. The boy’s clothes were weird—some sort of long white shirt and a pouch hanging around his neck that flopped on his chest as he walked. He looked familiar. Had Hector seen him in the town? No, he hadn’t seen anyone there near his age except for some of the archaeologists. This kid couldn’t be an archaeologist. Then it came to him. This was the boy who had been sitting on top of the arch, who had later shown up in his dream. It was a little embarrassing to see a stranger he had dreamed about, even though there was no way the other boy would know about that.
    The boy walked up without speaking and sat down by the stream. He fixed his dark eyes on Hector, his thin brown arms wrapped around his shins. He looked so cool in that robe that Hector felt fussy and overdressed in his shorts with all their pockets, his shoes with multiple laces, his striped shirt.
    The boy sat in silence, still looking at Hector with large, unblinking eyes. Hector cleared his throat. He felt like he had to say something, but before he could speak, the other boy said, “I can’t take you to the future. But I can take you to the past.”
    â€œWhat?” Hector asked, startled.
    â€œYou wanted to see the future,” the boy said. “I can’t take you there. But I can take you to the past.”
    This must be another dream, Hector thought. But it feels so real. As real as that dream about the midnight walk to the dig, and falling into the trench.
    â€œWho are you?” Hector asked.
    â€œArath,” said the boy.
    â€œWhat kind of name is that? German?”
    â€œNo,” the boy answered. “It’s Rashna.”
    â€œRashna?” Hector asked. “You mean like ancient Etruscan?” The boy nodded. “Why did your parents give you an Etruscan name?”
    â€œBecause I am Etruscan,” the boy said matter-of-factly.
    â€œBut I thought the Etruscans died thousands of years ago?”
    â€œWell, I lived here thousands of years ago. But I haven’t died.”
    â€œYou’re nuts,” Hector said nervously. “You can’t be thousands of years old.”
    â€œOh, no,” the boy