The Mongol Ascension: A Jump in Time Novel, Book Three

Also by Andrew Varga

The Last Saxon King

A Jump in Time Novel, Book One

The Celtic Deception

A Jump in Time Novel, Book Two

IMBRIFEX BOOKS

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THE MONGOL ASCENSION: A JUMP IN TIME NOVEL, BOOK THREE

Copyright ©2024 by Andrew Varga. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations used in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

IMBRIFEX® is a registered trademark of Flattop Productions, Inc.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Varga, Andrew, 1969- author.

Title: The Mongol ascension / Andrew Varga.

Description: First edition. | Las Vegas, NV : Imbrifex Books, 2024. |

Series: A jump in time ; book 3 | Audience: Ages 12-18. | Audience:

Grades 7-9. | Summary: To stop a band of rogue time jumpers from taking

over the world, teens Dan and Sam jump back in time to 1179 Mongolia

where they are up against the clock to save the Mongol Empire.

Identifiers: LCCN 2023036527 (print) | LCCN 2023036528 (ebook) | ISBN

9781955307048 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781955307079 (paperback) | ISBN

9781955307055 (epub) | ISBN 9781955307062

Subjects: CYAC: Time travel--Fiction. | Mongolia--History--To

1500--Fiction. | LCGFT: Historical fiction. | Novels.

Classification: LCC PZ7.1.V39635 Mo 2024 (print) | LCC PZ7.1.V39635

(ebook) | DDC [Fic]--dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023036527

LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023036528

Cover design: Jason Heuer

Book design: John Hall Design Group

Author photo: Andrew Johnson

Typeset in ITC Berkeley Oldstyle

Printed in the United States of America

Distributed by Publishers Group West

First Edition: September 2024

For my mom and dad,

who started me on my historical journey,

and to all the teachers who guided me along the way.

And, as always, for Pam, Leah, Arawn, and Calvin

Qara’atu tuk-ïyan sacuba bi

Qara buqa-yin arasun-niyar büriksen bürkiren büküi dawutu kö’ürge-ben deletbe bi

Qara qurdun-iyan unuba bi

Qatangqu de’el-iyen emüsbe bi

Qatan jida-ban bariba bi

Qatqurasutu sumun-iyan onolaba bi

Qa’at-Merkit-tür qadquldun morilaya

I have made offerings to the long spear-tipped banner

I have beaten the bellowing drum made of the black bull’s hide

I have mounted my swift black horse

I have put on my strong clothing

I have grasped my iron-tipped spear

I have set my peach-bark arrow

Let us ride against the Qa’at-Merkits

Secret History of the Mongols, chapter 106

Anonymous author, thirteenth century

Chapter 1

My phone vibrated on the cafeteria table, its rumble barely audible over the wall of noise surrounding me. After a morning spent cooped up inside classrooms, it felt like every single kid in my high school was shouting, laughing, slamming chairs, and generally being as rowdy as freakin’ possible. I glanced at the screen, expecting spam, but startled when I saw the name: J. Patenall .

No way!

I couldn’t miss this call. I covered one ear with a hand, trying to block out the noise as I moved to a quieter corner.

Hello? I answered, my eyes sweeping the room to make sure no one was listening in. Who was I kidding, though? Seven months into the school year, and I was still the new kid. No one knew me, and no one cared what I did.

Hello, this is Professor Patenall. Is this Dan? He sounded fairly disinterested. He probably figured I was just another one of his students begging for an extension.

Yes, Dan Renfrew.

Renfrew? Are you . . . in one of my classes?

Now came the hard part—keeping him from hanging up. No, I—my dad was James Renfrew. He died a few months ago. You might have been at the funeral. Not that I could remember—Dad’s funeral had been one big blur of faces and names.

Oh, yes, of course . . . I could hear the hesitation in his voice. I’m so sorry about your father. I was horrified to hear of his passing. He was an esteemed colleague. How may I help you?

I was wondering if I could ask you about things related to his tattoo? The same tattoo that I have and . . . uh . . . I think you might have also?

No. No, I can’t help you. A note of panic crept into his voice. Please don’t ever call me again. Click.

I exhaled slowly as my shoulders sagged. What is wrong with these people? I unfolded the worn piece of notepaper that I kept in my back pocket and found Professor Patenall’s name among the countless crossed out ones. A few quick strokes of a pen and his name matched all the others. When I first started out, they had just been names in Dad’s personal notebook, most of them with addresses in far-off locations. Hours of internet stalking had given me email addresses and phone numbers, but all had led to the same crappy result. Most of the people I’d connected with legitimately had no clue about my dad’s tattoo and what it meant, which had led to some really awkward conversations where I tried not to sound like a weirdo. But then there had been a few like Patenall, clearly ex-time jumpers, who’d hung up as soon as I even tiptoed toward talking about time-jumping. I couldn’t blame them for being scared, but why wouldn’t they help me? After all, our lives had all been ruined by the same man—Congressman Victor Stahl.

Only three names remained on my list. I’d emailed them weeks ago but none of them had gotten back to me. Luckily one of them—Professor Gervers—worked at the same university my dad used to work at. Time to skip all the useless phone calls and emails and go for a face-to-face meeting.

I spun around, intent on finding a quieter spot outside the cafeteria, and ran straight into a tall, black-haired guy, knocking him to the ground. Oh, geez! I’m really sorry, I sputtered as I offered him a hand up.

He swiped my hand aside with an irritated wave and pulled himself to his feet. Three other guys appeared instantly by his side. Did you see what this moron just did? he asked them, his lip curling into a sneer.

Yeah, I saw it. He was right in your face, one of his friends replied.

Crap . . .

Of all the people to run into. Nick Fraser was a walking cliché: star varsity linebacker, rich, popular, threw the wildest parties. I didn’t get invited to any of them, of course, but there was no escaping hearing about them. Nick was also the biggest bully in the school, which somehow increased his popularity, at least among the lucky ones who weren’t his targets. His three sidekicks, Amir, Kyle, and Devon, were almost as obnoxious as Nick but without the rich parents. Together, they were the closest thing this school had to royalty.

It was an accident. I tried to sound sincere even though I knew it wouldn’t matter.

I’ll show you an accident, Nick growled as he dusted himself off.

Anyone else in this school would probably feel threatened. I’d seen guys actually get on their knees and beg Nick for forgiveness. But pretty much since birth my dad had trained me in martial arts and medieval weapons, so a handful of idiots with attitude didn’t scare me. Whatever. Look, I said I’m sorry. We’re done.

Who is this guy? Nick asked, jerking his thumb in my direction.

Amir flicked his fingers dismissively. Dan Renfrew. He’s the guy whose dad died last semester. It was on the announcements.

Oh, right. Nick stepped up to me so that our bodies were almost touching. He was taller than me, but not by much. He probably thought getting so close would be intimidating, but the only thing scary about him was his breath. Watch your step, Renfrew, or there’s going to be another funeral in your family.

I snorted and pushed past him and his friends. I had better things to do than listen to this idiot. I stepped out into the hall and the noise of the cafeteria faded behind me. Leaning against a wall of blue lockers, I found the number I’d saved in my phone. After about ten minutes of navigating the school’s automated call system, I finally managed to speak to a real person who told me that the professor had open office hours today between three and four.

Perfect.

I’d drive to the university right after school. The big question was: did Professor Gervers actually know anything about time-jumping, or was he just another normal person like so many others on my list?

When the last bell finally rang, I tore off to my locker, grabbed my backpack, then raced down the steps leading outside. Little clumps of dirty snow still clung to the ground in some spots, but for the most part the grass was a muddy brown mess. The walkways were dry, though, and I dodged past the other kids on the way to the student lot across the road.

As soon as I stepped past the chain-link fence that marked the edge of school property, I knew I was in for trouble. Nick was leaning against a tree, arms crossed in front of him and an arrogant grin on his face. A crowd of kids milled around him, obviously waiting.

Not now . . .

I ignored him and continued toward the street.

Nick stepped in front of me while the crowd merged into a circle around us. I had no choice but to stop.

You owe me, Renfrew, Nick growled, his eyes narrowing into slits.

I glanced at my phone. I had half an hour.

Thinking of calling your dad for help? Nick asked. I don’t think he’s going to answer.

A chorus of oooohs came from the crowd, followed by a rush of chuckles.

Really? Dead parents are funny now?

My life had been pure hell since Dad died. The last thing I needed was attitude from some moron who thought he was king of the school. I relaxed my breathing and dropped my hands to my sides, ready for whatever this fool was going to bring. Nick thought I was one more weak target he could push around, but he’d picked the wrong guy.

Nick gave me a smirk. You going to cry, Renfrew?

Look, I’ve got somewhere to be. Can we speed this up? I turned around in a slow circle, scanning the crowd. As expected, spaced in even intervals were Nick’s three friends. I pointed to them one by one. I know you guys are going to jump me as soon as Nick looks even slightly in trouble, so can you at least step out front so I can see you?

Amir, Kyle, and Devon exchanged confused glances as they stepped forward. I dropped my backpack and pulled off my hoodie. It was too baggy to fight in, and someone could yank my hood or sleeves and drag me down.

You’re pretty cocky for someone about to get his ass kicked, Nick said.

And you talk pretty tough for a guy who needs half the football team to help him beat up one guy.

Nick’s face turned red as the crowd started laughing. That’s it, Renfrew. You’re dead!

Let’s go, I said in a voice devoid of emotion.

In some primal part of Nick’s brain, something must have finally clicked. His smug expression disappeared, and he looked hesitant. He was used to people cowering.

I wasn’t cowering.

Although I’d only jumped through time twice, I’d already been beaten, kicked, stabbed, attacked by Norman cavalry, and enslaved by ancient Romans. Nothing Nick and his friends could dole out would amount to more than a light workout compared to all of that.

Kick his ass, Nick, a girl yelled. I didn’t recognize her, and I had no clue what I’d done to deserve her wrath. Others shouted encouragement, their phones held up, ready to capture the moment.

Nick seemed to find his courage in the crowd. He puffed his chest out and paced in front of me, performing for his audience. You disrespected me in the cafeteria, Renfrew. He jabbed his finger in my direction. No one disrespects me.

I glanced one more time at my phone and put it in my back pocket. Can we skip the speeches? You’re really starting to bore me.

Nick wheeled and threw a punch, trying to catch me unaware. I’d expected as much from a guy like him. I ducked and his arm sailed over my head. Before he could recover, my fist whipped out and caught him in the nose. I stepped into the punch, driving it with all my strength. Cartilage cracked, and Nick collapsed to his knees, both hands clutching his nose as blood streamed through his fingers.

One down, three to go.

If they were smart, they’d use their football skills and tackle me. I needed to take them down before they figured that out—or before any of the rest of the football team decided to jump in.

Amir closed in and threw a wild punch at me. I blocked his swing and kicked him in the groin. Dirty fighting on my part, but given the numbers, all rules were off. Amir’s eyes bugged out and he crumpled forward, gripping his crotch.

Before he hit the ground, I spun to the side. I didn’t want to stand still long enough to give them an easy target. A quick chop to the throat took Devon down, and he lay on the sidewalk, his face turning red as he coughed and choked.

Kyle gaped at me, all his swagger gone. His eyes darted from me to his friends on the ground, then back to me.

The crowd had grown silent. No one moved.

We done here? I asked.

He nodded timidly.

Good. I picked up my hoodie and my backpack and pushed through the crowd. They parted quickly.

I started up Dad’s old Audi and turned right out of the parking lot. Hopefully the traffic wouldn’t be bad. More importantly, I hoped Professor Gervers actually knew something.

Pangs of guilt and sadness churned inside my chest as I drove through campus toward the Humanities building. Dad had worked at the university for as long as I could remember, but I’d hardly ever visited—I’d thought the place was old and boring, like him. Maybe if I’d shown more interest in him and his work, he might have let me in on the family secret, instead of leaving me totally clueless about time-jumping.

I parked and walked across the muddy green, past gray trees still bare from winter, until I reached a low brown building. None of the students seemed to care as I strode down the tiled hallways, scanning the nameplates on the doors.

I stood outside Professor Gervers’s doorway for a minute, exhaling slowly in an attempt to get my heart rate down while wiping my sweaty palms on my pants. Once I was satisfied that I could have a conversation without looking like I was about to pass out, I knocked twice.

Come in.

I entered a small office with a large desk in the middle of the room. Piles of books and papers covered every surface, with the clutter extending all around the room. Stacks of papers towered from the floor and every wall was covered by bookshelves. The place smelled musty, as if the window hadn’t been opened in a decade.

Professor Gervers sat behind the desk, hunched over a book. He was around my dad’s age, with grayish hair and glasses, and a tan cardigan over his dress shirt. He looked more like a librarian than a time jumper. But who was I to judge? I doubted anyone would look at me and imagine that Fixer of Glitches in the Time Stream was a line on my resume.

The professor glanced up from his book and waved me to the one empty chair. How can I help you? he asked, returning his attention to the book.

Hi, Professor Gervers. I tossed my backpack on the floor and sat down, the wooden chair creaking noisily underneath me. I hope you can give me some information.

That is a rather general request, he said without looking up. He scribbled some notes on a notepad and then snapped his book shut.

I’m Dan Renfrew. James Renfrew was my dad.

The pen dropped from his fingers, and he looked up sharply, his distracted expression replaced by focused fear. You can’t be here! he said, his voice sounding near hysterical. I can’t talk to you.

Why? Why won’t anyone talk to me?

There’s nothing to talk about. I think you should leave. He reached for the office phone on his desk.

Before he could react, I jumped up, grabbed his arm, and pulled back his sleeve, revealing a tattoo of a four-pointed star within a circle on his forearm. The mark of a time jumper.

I let go of his arm and pulled back my own sleeve, showing him the same tattoo.

Professor Gervers replaced the phone in its cradle. I cannot help you, he said, almost pleading with me. I just can’t.

But why? You and my father worked in the same department. You were probably friends. Why won’t you help me?

He licked his lips and glanced up at the top corner of his bookshelf, a bead of sweat now trickling down one side of his face. I have a family . . . a wife and two daughters. Please leave, he begged.

This guy was beyond scared; he was terrified, and not just for himself, but for his family also. Victor’s plot to rule the world didn’t allow for any loose ends—my dad was proof of that. But for the first time, it occurred to me that those who had meekly handed over their time-travel devices to Victor, hoping that they’d be safe from his threats, still lived in fear. Victor had probably bugged this guy’s office, maybe even his home. One wrong word and the professor or someone in his family would suffer. Finally, all the rejection I’d been getting over the past few weeks made sense.

Sorry, I mumbled. I won’t bother you again.

Professor Gervers mouthed the words thank you and then half escorted, half pushed me toward the door. I’d barely made it out of his office before the door slammed behind me.

Another failure. I trudged down the hall, trying to figure out my next steps. My great dream of finding other time jumpers to help me fight Victor was just that—a dream. None of them were willing to talk to me. I desperately needed help. But where was I going to get it?

The double doors leading outside were just ahead when I heard someone running behind me. I turned around to see a guy only a few years older than me, wearing a university sweatshirt.

Wait! he said as he slowed to a stop. He handed me my backpack. You forgot this.

Thanks. I slung the bag over my shoulder and headed out the door.

Back at home, I tossed my backpack on the coffee table and flopped onto the couch. Unfortunately, Victor wasn’t my only problem; I also had homework. Dad had homeschooled me until this year, meaning I knew more history than my history teachers and I was acing my Latin class. Math, however, was a totally different beast. Dad had made sure I could count out my change at the grocery store and do basic arithmetic, but that was it—and it worked for me. But apparently the school system believed I needed more than that.

First rule of homework: Create a good work environment.

Snack? Check.

Drink? Check.

TV? Definitely.

I pulled out my math notes, ready to begin a mind-numbing evening of homework, when a piece of paper sticking out from between the pages caught my eye. It looked like a torn sheet from a notebook.

Thursday 9 p.m. 295 Williams St. Back door. Make sure you’re not followed!

My heart nearly skipped a beat. This had to be from Professor Gervers! Despite his fears, he was going to meet with me!

There was only one person I could share this news with. But not from here. Professor Gervers wasn’t the only one paranoid about being watched. I knew for sure that Victor had broken into my apartment at least once. And, despite the fact that I’d never found a bug in my place, I still wasn’t a hundred percent sure that he wasn’t spying on me somehow.

I ran out of my condo and into the little room that held the floor’s garbage chute. After a quick check down the hall to make sure no one was coming, I pulled out my phone. Sam answered after two rings. Even though I’d been on two time jumps with her, texted her constantly every day, and found every excuse to video chat with her, my heart still beat faster at seeing her again. Behind her, almost obscured by her wavy red hair, was the familiar background of her bedroom.

Hey. Is it safe to talk? I asked.

Yeah, Mom’s at bingo and my dumb stepdad went out with his stupid friends. Her green eyes glanced around the screen. Where are you?

Garbage room. Doesn’t matter, I said, keeping my voice low, but barely containing my enthusiasm. I made contact!

With what? She raised an eyebrow and looked at me quizzically. Aliens?

No! Another time jumper. As I began telling her about the meeting with Professor Gervers, her eyes grew wider and wider. And when I got to the part about Thursday night. In an alley behind a building downtown, I stopped myself. Okay, yeah, I hear it. But I don’t think it’s a trap. He worked with my dad. They were probably friends.

Sam cocked her head to the side and gave me the are-you-freakin’-serious look that I knew too well. Should I remind you again how much friendship means to these bastards? Didn’t Victor say he was your dad’s friend?

I winced as the horrible memory of last summer flashed through my mind. Me coming home to find Victor and Dad fighting in the living room. Victor stabbing Dad in the chest with a sword. And Dad using his last bit of strength to toss me a strange metal rod that ended up sending me back in time. I’ll be careful, I said quietly.

How about you meet in public? That would be a lot safer. Typical Sam, always expecting the worst. Unfortunately, she was usually right.

He won’t do it. The guy’s terrified of Victor. I know it’s risky; that’s why I’m telling you. You’re my backup if anything goes wrong.

Backup? She gaped at me. What do you expect me to do from Virginia? The best I can do is call the police if you go missing. And they won’t do squat until you’ve been gone for at least a full day. You’ll probably be dead by then.

Who else am I going to ask? I literally have no friends. You’re the only person I can trust.

Sam exhaled loudly and rolled her eyes. I think this is a terrible idea, but I know you’re going to do it anyway. So just be careful, okay? If anything feels the slightest bit wrong, run like hell. And send me the exact details of where you’re going to be, and live stream the whole thing.

Don’t worry. I’ll be careful. So . . . how are you? I asked, shifting to a more casual tone. Our chats were always the best part of my day.

Sam gestured behind her. The usual. Homework piling up, and I have work in an hour. How about you?

The same, except double the homework and none of the real work. I did get into a fight today.

The other guy okay?

Guys, plural. Four of them jumped me because I bumped into one of them during lunch. I think a broken nose was probably the worst of it.

I still don’t understand why you bother going to school. Why don’t you just chill and live off the money your dad left you?

Because that money is going to run out at some point—and then what? Do I take my nonexistent diploma, and my education in dead languages and history, and try to find a job? I snorted. No matter how much I hate school, I still need to go. And the classes aren’t that bad . . . except for math.

Sam grinned. It’s better than fighting Romans.

Sometimes I’m not so sure.

I have to go, Dan. My homework won’t finish itself. Be careful, okay? Whatever you do, don’t trust this guy.

I tried to think of some witty response but came up blank. Don’t worry, I won’t.

She gave me a quick wave, then the screen went black. I headed back to the condo and sank into the couch. Was Sam right? Was I about to walk into a trap? Underneath the nerdy-professor clothing, was Professor Gervers really a cold-blooded killer?

In two days, I’d find out. Until then, math was waiting for me.

Chapter 2

The next day, as soon as I pulled into the student lot and stepped out of the car, I could feel a change in people’s attitudes. Since last fall, when I’d first started at this school, I’d been pretty much invisible. But now I was the guy who had punched out Nick Fraser and his gang in less than a minute. Instead of carelessly bumping into me as they passed, people gave me a wide berth on the sidewalk. The girls who leaned against the fence, having a smoke before school, smiled at me and nodded, when before they wouldn’t bother looking my way. A little spring entered my step. It felt good to be recognized.

But as the day wore on, my newfound fame grew annoying. In the