Time out of Time

by Maureen Doyle McQuerry

  Nothing. He tried again, then again and again, until finally he produced a few small squeaks and drones. Perspiration ran down his face. The squeaks began to resemble a melody. Timothy couldn’t look down and play at the same time, so he looked straight ahead, toward the lowering sun, playing as the sky melted from blue to rose.

  Jessica followed Julian’s gaze and looked up into the sky. It was difficult to see anything in the swirling dust, but she heard the first few notes. Then, as she craned her neck upward, she saw the most amazing sight: Gwydon was descending through a cloud of dust while a piper wearing a crown rode on his back.

  Julian let out a shout of triumph, and Nom cried out, “Knew they’d make it, sure as sure!”

  To Jessica’s even greater surprise, the piper, who looked so tall and sure as he rode on the wolf’s back, was Timothy.

  When the first notes reached the forest, the newly woken trees became alert. They murmured to one another in voices hoarse with disuse, “The Pipes of War!” Trunks straightened. Limbs stretched. The murmurs strengthened, turning to song. The sound of their voices rose in crashing waves. Soon a terrifying chorus rose from the woods. The trees sang an old marching song that had not been heard for hundreds of years. And with their terrible voices came a great wrenching as the strongest and most able of them pulled their roots from the ground. Trees marched toward the Market.

  And the people of the Market who had escaped both the toad and snake cowered once more, thinking an even greater evil was upon them. The great trees fell in behind the Greenman, who urged them forward into battle. The first in line were the alders, followed by the long-haired willows. Thorny wild roses and prickly brambles clung to their trunks like armor. The forest advanced. And on the edge of the crowd, a barefoot girl watched the trees’ progress. Even in the swirling dust, she glowed.

  The music of the pipes disturbed those who had taken refuge in the dark, murky places of the forest and unsettled them like fur rubbed the wrong way. They stirred in their hiding places, unable to keep still. Bats and boars, great spiders and snakes, toads and lizards flew, crept, and crawled to join the crested snake and black toad.

  From Timothy’s position in the sky on Gwydon’s strong back, it looked as if the entire forest was on the move. As the first trees reached the Market, the toad leapt at the front row of alders. The fissure in the earth widened. Giant toads, spiders, and many-legged centipedes, as large or as long as a full-grown man, crawled out. Alders struck out with stout limbs and trampled creatures that crawled and slithered. But the trees’ movements were slow. It was easy to escape the powerful limbs by dodging their swings.

  The snake, still carrying Balor, wrapped itself around the thick trunk of a willow and sent it crashing to the earth. Balor appeared to have regained his strength. He slashed at the willow’s fronds with an axe. He chopped and hacked branches. The mighty elms marched in and stood as shields for the people of the Market who had returned to fight.

  Gwydon dipped lower; they were almost to the ground.

  Jessica tried to make her way to the spot where Timothy and Gwydon were about to land, but her path was blocked by brambles and by toads hopping in every direction. All around her the people of the Market swung axes and swords or even simple boards. They thrust with knives or pitchforks, using whatever they could find to defend the Market. Most humans fought side by side with the trees, but a few joined Balor.

  Jessica was blocked on every side, without a weapon, defenseless. Nom had rushed off with a shout, ready to battle with his bare hands if necessary, as if there was nothing he loved more than a good fight. And Julian, well, she had no idea where he had gone.

  Her face was scratched by a traveling alder with a berry bush wrapped around its trunk for protection. Something furry rubbed against her skin: a giant brown spider had slid a long furred leg around her ankle. She screamed and shook her leg, but the spider’s hairy hold did not loosen as it strove to bite her. Grabbing a sharp rock, Jessica gouged at the hairy leg. A pale orange ooze trickled across her shoe. A hawthorn came to her aid and efficiently severed the spider’s leg with a thorny branch. Then, with sturdy limbs, it pummeled the fat, hairy body. Splats of sticky goo spattered Jessica’s face and arms, and she felt her stomach rise into her mouth. She kicked the spider’s severed limb away from her ankle and was sick on the dry, dusty ground.

  The landing was difficult. Still wearing his crown and holding the pipes, Timothy jolted from the wolf’s back and landed in a heap in the dirt. Just beyond him the battle swirled. He grabbed the pipes with one hand and drew back in surprise as Gwydon, growling and snapping, shoved him with a cold nose toward the battle.

  The noise was awful: the groans of dying creatures, the clashing of wood and metal, the shouts and screams—it was nearly impossible to make sense of anything he saw or heard. It was nothing like reading about a battle in a book. Everything was moving so quickly about him that there was no time to decide on a course of action. By his side Gwydon bared his teeth, the fur on his neck rising. His growl started as a low rumble, then crescendoed as he leapt snapping into the fray.

  Timothy stuffed the pipes under the limb of a fallen alder tree, making sure they were well hidden by foliage. He had no weapon. How could he defend himself? How could he join the battle? He grabbed a rock. It was heavy in his palm but not too heavy. He had a good throwing arm, his skill honed by years of skipping stones on any body of water he came across. He looked around and saw that a mammoth spider had cornered a young woman against a caravan. She bravely swung a short fence post at the beast, but it advanced, relentlessly. Taking aim, Timothy let the rock fly. Bull’s-eye! The creature toppled and lay still. The woman waved her thanks before heading back into the thick of the battle.

  Then out of the chaos stepped Julian.

  “Impressive shot, but I suggest you arm yourself more effectively,” he said simply, handing Timothy a short sword. “I set this sword aside for you. It’s smaller than most.”

  The sword was heavy, but the grip fit Timothy’s hand well. He had never swung a real sword before, but he didn’t have time to think, and that may have been just as well. Another great spider scuttled toward him. Without pausing to think, he thrust his sword forward and felt flesh give way. The spider toppled sideways, legs twitching, while a substance as thick as yellow custard oozed from its side. Sickened, Timothy used two hands to pull the sword from the body. Sweat ran into his eyes. He saw Julian, a blur of motion, fighting expertly by his side. Wielding a real short sword was different than slashing in virtual reality. His arm throbbed with every blow. An arrow whizzed past him. Timothy dodged to the left, right into the path of a flailing axe. With a thunk, the axe struck the thick limb of an oak that had thrust its way forward to shield him. A wave of relief washed over Timothy. Without pausing, the oak tree lumbered on, the axe still lodged in a muscled limb.

  The battle became a blur of hacking, slicing, and dodging. Just when he thought the sword would fall from his weary hands, Timothy heard a child’s cry. A large spotted toad had wrapped its tongue around a boy five or six years old. Grasping his sword with both hands, Timothy slashed at the toad’s nearest leg in a swift arc. He missed. The sword struck the ground, jarring his aching arms, while the toad struck out with one of its many claws, slicing into Timothy’s leg. Timothy swallowed a yelp. Sweat blinded him. He thrust upward as the toad hovered over him, the blade this time meeting flesh. The toad dropped the child, and Timothy yanked back the sword, preparing to strike again. The toad slashed a powerful leg toward Timothy, but the strike fell short. Its thick, fleshy body quivered, its round eyes bulging. Still it did not fall.

  At Timothy’s feet, the child cowered. Timothy’s leg stung bitterly where the toad had slashed it with its claw. The toad again flicked its long black tongue toward the young boy. The tongue was flecked with white foam, and the toad labored to breathe as its fat sides wheezed in and out. Desperate to get the child out of harm’s way, Timothy grabbed him by one arm. The boy began to
howl.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” Timothy cried. With the other hand he kept his sword ready, pointed at the heaving black body of the toad. “You have to get out of here!”

  The toad gave a feeble hop, striking out with one leg.

  “Run!” Timothy shouted. In frustration, he gave the boy a shove, and that was all it took. The boy ran in the direction of the caravans, crying for his mother.

  The long black tongue wound itself around Timothy’s ankle, pulling him off balance. He floundered, righted himself, and, reeling with pain, sliced the tongue in two. The toad lurched sideways, the severed tongue still protruding from its fleshy lips, and collapsed in the dirt.

  Timothy plunged his sword into the dying toad and withdrew it with shaking hands. He was breathing hard. His pants stuck to his injured leg, and his right arm throbbed. Now, in the thick of the fighting, Julian was nowhere to be seen. Nor was Gwydon. Which side was winning?

  A rumbling shook the ground. Oak trees had formed a line, creating an impassable shield. They moved forward as a unit, trampling toads and spiders in their wake. Timothy wanted to cheer, but he was too tired, and his mouth was as dry as old leaves.

  Wiping the sweat from his face, he looked for Balor and spotted him many yards away, riding the snake, surrounded by an army of venomous spiders. If there was some way to take down the one-eyed man, the battle might be won! But who could stand up to Balor and his Evil Eye?

  Crack! Wood splintered on a nearby caravan. Timothy swiveled. Tristan had recovered from Balor’s attack and returned with his pistol. This time his target was Balor. Crouching behind a fallen tree, Tristan aimed at the snake Balor rode. But he wasn’t close enough to get a good shot at the moving target.

  The faintest whiff of something acrid caught Timothy’s attention . . . smoke! A lazy curl of it rose from the far side of the Market. Then, closer, a gorse bush crackled into flame, followed by a young pear tree. Fire blazed from several locations at once. Balor had found a way to turn back the trees! Fire could change the course of the battle.

  Timothy turned and saw Julian once again. He battled a spider yards away, oblivious of a wild boar covered with stiff black fur that was charging straight toward him. It was easily three hundred pounds, and sharp tusks curled from above its mouth. Timothy ran into the boar’s path. With no time to draw his aching arm back fully, Timothy’s defensive blow was shallow, just piercing the boar’s flesh. But it was enough to deflect the creature from impaling him.

  A tusk grazed his side. Timothy staggered back, a fiery river of pain flowing down his body. His sword protruded, shallowly, from the boar’s side. The animal squealed, twisted, and charged again. Defenseless, Timothy tried to run, but his feet wouldn’t obey his brain. He staggered. The boar grunted. Timothy collapsed on the ground, something warm and sticky trickling down under his shirt. He covered his head with his arms and buried his face in the dirt. Timothy waited to be trampled. Nothing happened. He raised his head. Julian was facing off with the boar, driving it back with his sword.

  Timothy pushed himself upright. The smoke from the burning trees made him wheeze and choke. He staggered from the boar’s path. Without a weapon he was useless. He moved his right arm carefully. When it touched his side, his arm came away sticky with blood.

  In the madness of battle, it was easy to forget why he had returned to the Market. Where was Sarah? Had she been swallowed or trampled? How would an ermine survive in the midst of the chaos? Pain made his thoughts fuzzy. His legs felt thick and heavy, too ponderous to move.

  Painfully, he inched his way to the large alder where he had stashed the Uilleann pipes. The tree lay fallen outside the ring of battle. He curled between the branches, pressing his back against the trunk, hoping the leaves and branches would protect him from view. If he could just rest for a moment, he would fight again. His thoughts whirled. The fire would have to be stopped before it decimated the trees. But how? There was a word for putting out fires, but he was too tired to think. As his eyes closed, the word danced just beyond reach. As usual, when searching for just the right word, he pictured Scrabble tiles, the smooth wood and black letters. Quench, Timothy thought, twenty points. He must find a way to quench the flames. He could do that without a sword. He would move in just a minute, but in the branches of the alder, the world began to swirl. How much blood had he lost? Not enough to feel this bad, Timothy thought. His thoughts were confused; they flickered like an old black-and-white movie and then went out.

  THE HEALER

  N HER SLEEP, curled in the roots of the oak tree, Sarah smelled the acrid scent of smoke and heard the sound of thunder. It woke her, nose twitching, and filled her with an overpowering need to flee. The thunder wasn’t coming from the sky; it shook the forest floor. As she wormed her way out of her dry den, her tree began to sway. With a tremendous groan, the oak pulled its roots from deep in the earth and took a mighty step forward. Sarah scampered out of its way while sniffing the air. Which way should she run?

  Two squirrels scampered past, chittering in high voices. Keeping low to the ground, she ran after them. Noise and smoke billowed from every direction. Trees and bushes were awake and moving. A lone deer fled past in the opposite direction. Sarah hesitated, caught in confusion.

  She began to run faster now but blindly, a flash of white among the browns and greens of the forest. Her heart beat fast with fear. Bushes burst into flame as she passed, nearly singeing her coat.

  Dusk was falling, but that would be no help to a small white ermine. Even in the darkness she was an easy target.

  Jessica longed to be part of the battle. She caught brief glimpses of Timothy or Gwydon, and once she saw Nom riding in the branches of a giant oak. What good was the ruby necklace or its magical powers, she wondered bitterly, if she didn’t know what they were?

  She grabbed a large flat stone and searched for a target. It took all her might to throw the stone, but it found its mark. A large spider flew backward, flattened by the blow. Heartened, Jessica looked around for another weapon and saw instead a gaggle of white waddling into the midst of the battle. It was the geese, honking and hissing, pinching and pulling. The goose woman trudged behind, clucking like one of her own geese and brandishing her herding stick. There was a peculiar gleam in her eye and a quiver of arrows on her back.

  “Ah, just who I was looking for. We’d better get busy.” The goose woman hummed as she pulled out an arrow and fitted it to the bow at her side. Jessica’s heart surged. She was ready to fight, and here was Cerridwyn to show her how.

  “You’ll need that necklace now.” Cerridwyn nodded toward the filigreed chain with the single red stone that Jessica wore.

  Jessica eagerly eyed the arrow in Cerridwyn’s hands. She remembered how Cerridwyn had taught Sarah to shoot an arrow into the midst of battle. Jessica was ready to learn.

  “The necklace is the sign of a Healer, and the Healer’s job isn’t to fight,” Cerridwyn said. “Only a Healer can truly own the necklace. That’s why it never would have done Tristan any good at all. But when a Healer wears it . . . ah, well, that’s a different matter. It helps the process.”

  “But I thought I was supposed to learn from you! And you have a bow and arrows!” Jessica exclaimed, looking longingly at the bow. “I thought I inherited your power and skill!”

  The goose woman, who was looking more like Cerridwyn with every passing minute, replied, “You have inherited power and skill, but it will not look the same in you as it does in me. The Light only makes you more of who you truly are. You have your own gifts. We’re both working toward the same ends, in our own ways.”

  “What do you mean?” Jessica gazed out longingly over the battlefield, thinking that fighting looked glorious and that healing was always left to the girls.

  “If you are going to do useful work, you have to recognize your own gifts,” Cerridwyn insisted. “We don’t choose gifts, Jessica. They are given. Healing can be the most difficult work of all.”

  “But I don�
�t know how to heal!” Jessica cried, the knot of disappointment nearly choking her.

  The transformation was complete now. Where the goose woman had been, Cerridwyn now stood tall with flaming hair framing a stern face. “Give me your hands.”

  Reluctantly, Jessica stretched out her cold hands. Cerridwyn clasped them in her large palms. A warm current flowed from them.

  “The work will not be easy. It may even exhaust you. Each time you heal, you will lose a little of your own strength. But you will never be emptied.” Then Cerridwyn bent down and kissed the top of Jessica’s head. “Try it now, child.”

  Jessica bent over a broken birch sapling that lay a few feet away. Her hands closed hesitantly around the smooth white bark. Although her hands felt warm against the cool bark, nothing happened. She looked up at Cerridwyn, but the woman’s eyes were on the birch tree. With a shiver, the broken trunk straightened. A chill ran down Jessica’s arms as if all the warmth had left her body through her hands. Her breath caught. She looked at her hands, opening and closing them. They looked no different than they ever had.

  The geese had stopped their clamoring and waddled in a white gaggle into the dusk. Cerridwyn spoke as she raised her bow. “You have found one of your gifts, and that’s no small thing.” She frowned across the battlefield as if searching for the best target. “But even healing and arrows are of little use against fire. If something isn’t done soon, the battle will be lost. What we really need now is a storm.”

  With that, Cerridwyn let fly an arrow into the sky. A small puff of wind lifted the hair off Jessica’s neck.

  Sarah was surrounded by fire. No matter which way she ran, she faced a wall of flames. Instinctively, she began to dig with sharp claws, making a burrow in the soil to protect herself from the encroaching heat. Not all of the forest was aflame yet, but it wouldn’t be long before the fire spread.