Time out of Time

by Maureen Doyle McQuerry

  Just as he turned to look at McMorn, Sarah screamed from behind.

  “Timothy—look out!”

  THE BULL

  TARTLED, TIMOTHY jerked his head up. From across the field, an enormous black shape with horns was eyeing him and pawing the ground. A bull! He shoved the stone back in his pocket. The fence and safety were at least a hundred feet off. Timothy urged his cold legs to run. But before he could move, the bull charged. With a burst of adrenaline Timothy sprinted for the fence, slid mid-stride, and landed hard on his side. Cold mud smeared his jeans. He scrambled to get up. His hands were slick with mud. His lungs wheezed for breath.

  With one slippery hand, Timothy grabbed the sturdy gatepost, steadied himself, and swung both legs over. He landed with a jarring thump on the other side of the fence. The bull trotted to a stop and snorted, so close that Timothy could feel its hot breath. It was not a glorious way for a Filidh to start his quest. At least the map was still safe in the pack on his back.

  The bull then turned its attention to the small group still in the middle of the pasture. Mr. McMorn, Sarah, and Jessica stood frozen. The animal blocked their way to the gate. It cocked its head to take in the new threat, snorted, and pawed the ground.

  “Don’t worry about getting to the gate. Just get over the fence any way you can. Move slowly.” Mr. McMorn’s voice was tight and low.

  Timothy dropped his pack and looked for a rock to throw. With luck his arm wouldn’t fail him now. He moved several yards down the fence line.

  Still the bull stood, its eyes fixed on the girls.

  Jessica kept her gaze fixed on Timothy rather than the bull. She took one tentative step in his direction. The bull moved its head to follow her.

  “No, Jess. Don’t come toward me. Go toward the gate!” Timothy called out.

  At the sound of his voice, the bull turned its massive head, but only briefly. It snorted, and its breath formed a white cloud in the cold air.

  Then Timothy shouted. He lobbed the rock he’d found toward the beast. It smacked the animal’s flank with a thud. The great animal swiveled its head again to look at Timothy, then took a few steps toward him. Now to keep its attention. Timothy flapped his arms and yelled, “Run now!”

  Jessica, Sarah, and McMorn dashed toward the gate. With every stride, Timothy could see their feet slip. The bull charged toward them. Timothy ran to swing the gate open. Jessica careened through and Sarah and McMorn slid right behind.

  Bending forward, Jessica rested her elbows on her knees.

  Timothy shoved the gate closed just as the bull’s lowered head crashed into the wooden rails. Sarah screamed. The fence shook but held.

  Jessica sank down onto the muddy ground. The bull, with a satisfied snort, shook its head and walked back into the field.

  “Quick thinking, lad.” McMorn looked closely at Timothy. “You saved us all. I didn’t know of a bull or see it in the fog, or I’d never have taken you this way.” His voice was warm, but the eyes that met Timothy’s were bleak. The group rested for a few minutes, catching their breath as the bull trotted across the field.

  The farm track now became an upward trail winding through heather. In the distance, woods and hillsides changed the landscape. As Mr. McMorn promised, there was a small reader board with information about the site. Timothy was the only one who stopped to look at it.

  “That’s Pitmiddle Wood. Not far from here is the Long Man’s Grave.” Mr. McMorn’s strides were brisk.

  “The Pitmiddle was on the sign, but it didn’t mention a grave,” Timothy said. With every step his cold, muddy pants clung to his legs.

  McMorn nodded. “It’s an unmarked stone slab right below the cliff of the Black Hill. Supposedly he was an exceptionally tall man, a horse trader, who regularly visited an annual fair. One year, after the fair was taken down, the long man’s tent remained, but no one ever saw him again. The stone was placed where his tent had stood.”

  McMorn stopped, and Timothy, following closely on the narrow trail, was forced to stop as well. Patches of fog still clung like cobwebs to the ground. Timothy could hear the girls’ chattering just behind them. McMorn lowered his voice.

  “Some believe that is where the original Stone of Destiny was buried when it was stolen and taken to England. You’ve heard of our famous stone, no doubt?” Timothy found it difficult to swallow.

  “It’s nonsense, of course. The Stone of Destiny is not in the Long Man’s Grave.” McMorn turned his back on Timothy and continued the climb.

  The path wound upward now between heather and gorse frosted with white. They walked in silence, McMorn slightly in the lead, with Timothy, then Jessica, then Sarah behind. Each time Timothy slowed his pace in hopes of speaking privately with the girls, McMorn matched his stride. The countryside mirrored their silence. The snow had mostly melted, but the air was damp and sharp. No birds called in the cold morning.

  Dunsinane Hill was bare of trees. Heather softened the hill’s flanks, while tussocks of grass and hummocks covered the summit. Just like the lumpy head of a bald man, Timothy thought. The fortress was located, according to McMorn, on a little green knoll on the narrow summit of the hill surrounded by a series of terraces. As the way grew steeper, Timothy felt winded. A large puddle seeped across the path. And he was glad when McMorn stopped, squatted, and cupped some of the clear water in his hands. “Macbeth’s well.” He lifted his hands to his mouth and took a long swallow.

  “That’s a well?” Jessica looked skeptically at the puddle as the girls came up from behind.

  “It’s a natural spring, and it never runs dry.”

  Sarah squatted next to Mr. McMorn. “Is it really Macbeth’s well? Did he really drink from here?”

  “That’s what tradition says. Tradition isn’t always the truth in fact, but it’s often the truth in essence.” He stood and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Was Lady Macbeth really unable to wash the blood from her hands? Not in reality, but in essence it’s true.” He pointed up the hill. “The remains of the lower fortification are just ahead.”

  Timothy knelt down, pretending to drink from the spring. “Here, Sarah, try it.”

  “But it’s in the mud.” She wrinkled her nose.

  “Stay here a minute,” Timothy whispered. He glanced up to make sure McMorn was out of earshot. “You’ve got to do something to let me get away and explore. McMorn won’t leave my side. Keep pretending to be interested in Macbeth.”

  “Okay, I’ll try.”

  Timothy straightened up and wiped his mouth.

  Jessica looked back over her shoulder. Sarah came from behind, passing Timothy and Jessica to gain McMorn’s side. “Tell me about the fortifications. Have there been any recent excavations?”

  It was his chance. Timothy skirted past Sarah and McMorn, who had paused to answer her questions. The melting snow had made the ground soft in places. In others, rocks pushed through the soil like bones. The hill had the feel of a living thing, and somewhere, here on this hill, was the very Stone of Destiny that he was meant to find. But so many people had hiked here before him; how could the stone remain hidden?

  He was above the fog now. It lay in thin blankets on the valleys and farmland. He could hear McMorn’s voice from below, explaining to Sarah in great detail about the lower fortifications. Timothy paused behind a hummock, slid off his pack, and pulled out the Pont’s map.

  Electra watched from the bottom of the valley as the three children and the tall, dark man climbed the treeless hill. There was a lonely farm near the flank of the hill, and a woman came out of the stone house, wiping her hands on her apron. The door banged, and a boy carrying a milking pail followed her out. Across the field, cows and a bull munched on grass. The sound of a car headed to Collace broke the stillness. Two hikers appeared at the bottom of the trail, one a ginger-haired boy and the other a girl, thin and long-legged.

  Electra watched all this in silence. The world was hushed and white with fog. There was no sign that Christmas had passed, that the
Light had once again, as every year, triumphed over the Dark. This time, Electra knew that much still hung in the balance. And once again a strange rawness filled her. What would happen to the children?

  THE CUPPED STONES

  GUESS I WAS expecting more.” Jessica looked across the summit of the hill. She had caught up with Timothy while McMorn explained early excavations to Sarah. “You know, walls and pieces of fort. But this all just looks like lumps of earth on a hill to me.” Her voice was wistful.

  Timothy, too, had trouble imagining King Macbeth’s castle. He realized, though, that the location was perfect for defense: There was an unobstructed view in every direction. To the northeast the rugged face of Black Hill loomed over them, and to the southeast the trees of Pitmiddle Wood rose like spires through the fog. An invading army would have little chance of mounting a surprise attack. “Quick, Jessica, before McMorn climbs up here.”

  They bent over the map, while Jessica read the tree code aloud:

  “On Dunsinane . . .

  Against the clock . . .

  Cupped stones to the Black . . .

  Remember, against the clock means counterclockwise, so we need to start walking around the top of the hill looking for cupped stones.”

  “They’re somewhere on the west wall of the defenses.” Timothy pulled out the compass and opened it. “Over this way.” Then Timothy started to laugh.

  “What’s so funny? And how do you know that?” The wind whipped the words from Jessica’s mouth. She hunched her shoulders against the cold and frowned at Timothy.

  “That reader board at the bottom of the hill. It said there are ancient cupped stones on the west side. They’re even older than the Iron Age fortress.” He rerolled the map and zipped it back into his pack.

  “Cupped stones to the Black,” Jessica muttered.

  Timothy could no longer hear the drone of McMorn’s voice. “We’ve got to hurry. Where are those cupped stones?”

  They were moving along the rimmed earth forming the western wall of the defenses, looking carefully at each stone. The old walls were only slightly raised, and the ground was pocked with depressions. Within the stone wall, the earth was soft, and in several places it had caved in where the soil was especially wet. Hummocky, Timothy thought, twenty-four points. The perfect way to describe the lumpy hilltop.

  From somewhere just below, Timothy heard McMorn’s voice again, lecturing. “There are three concentric lines of defense around the summit of the knoll. The innermost is a massive stone wall that’s been pillaged over the years. Within the walls were circular stone huts.”

  His voice was getting closer. Why couldn’t they find the cupped stones? Timothy slid behind one of the many large rocks so that he was out of sight.

  “Get down, Jess. They’re right below us.”

  McMorn’s voice drifted up. “Where have your brother and Jessica gone? I prefer that we all stay together.”

  “I’m sure he’s just up ahead. I think I saw them go this way,” Sarah offered.

  Timothy couldn’t see which way she pointed, but he hoped it wasn’t in his direction. If Jessica had any sense, she was hiding now, just like he was. He counted to twenty, resting his head against cold stone, and listened carefully as the voices faded. Then he peered over the rock. The top of the rock dipped in. A depression in the middle was smooth and hollowed like a . . . like a cup! “Jess, over here! I think I’ve found it.” He didn’t dare raise his voice above a loud whisper. He called again. “Jessica!” In moments, she was at his side. “See here? This rock is hollowed.”

  Jessica ran a mittened hand over the top of the rock. She moved to the slightly smaller stone nearby. “This one, too—it’s cupped on top! Timothy, we’ve found them!”

  Success tasted good. Timothy’s face broke into a smile. “The Black. That’s got to be the Black Hill.” They both looked at the dark mountain that loomed over Dunsinane to the east.

  “Okay, then, we go directly east from here. You’d better check the compass.”

  Timothy could hear the excitement in Jessica’s voice. “Yeah, the Black Hill is directly east.” He stuck the compass back into his pocket. Impulsively, he grabbed her hand. “Come on!”

  Keeping low to the ground, they scurried straight east across the grassy mounds toward the far side of the inner wall and the Black Hill. As they crossed into the center of the old fort, the ground became even softer and wetter. Mud squished over the top of Timothy’s shoes. The fog was spreading again; damp white tendrils crawled up the side of Dunsinane.

  “Timothy, Jessica, where are you?” McMorn’s voice boomed out impatiently. He was too close. There wouldn’t be any time to look. Timothy looked at Jessica. She grinned as if she could read his mind, droplets of fog sparkling on her curls. She dropped his hand and ran in the opposite direction.

  “I’m over here,” she called out.

  Crouched low behind a hummock, Timothy smiled. That was one of the things he liked best about Jessica; you didn’t have to explain everything to her. She understood right away. She was giving him the chance he needed by leading McMorn in the wrong direction. But he wouldn’t have much time.

  “Where is Timothy?”

  Timothy heard McMorn, but he couldn’t catch Jessica’s low reply. It didn’t matter; he knew she would find a way to stall the man. Timothy was moving now, crablike, toward the eastern part of the interior. His hands were sticky with mud, his pant legs thoroughly soaked. The damp seemed to inhabit him. If only he could stand up and look around, but it was too risky. He crept sideways and paused. He’d have to run the next few feet; there were no hummocks to give him cover. Over the top of a green mound, he could see McMorn’s profile and the two girls. Sarah was pointing at something in the distance.

  Still keeping low, Timothy ran, but the muddied ground was slick. He slipped and slithered into a crater, his pack bouncing on his back. The depression was about four feet deep, and Timothy scrabbled against the slippery sides to pull himself out. Snowmelt had collected, leaving the bottom a soupy mess that covered his shoes. Timothy grabbed at a tuft of dried grass to pull himself up. It came loose in his hands, and he fell back. With a sucking sound, the earth beneath him gave way. Timothy clawed at the muddy grass as the earth swallowed him.

  He hadn’t fallen far, no more than another six feet, when he hit dry ground. He was somewhere below the surface of Dunsinane—in a chamber deliberately lined with stone!

  Timothy stood up. In the semidarkness, he felt rough-hewn stones. He reached up and could touch the ceiling of the space with his hand. He spread his arms. The place was about six feet wide and just under that in height. The light was very dim, seeping in like drops of water from the ragged opening above him. On every side, the chamber melted into shadows. He shuffled forward a few feet until his shin collided hard with a loose rock against a wall. Ouch! Still running his hands along the wall, Timothy crept forward. The chamber opened into a narrower tunnel, and the tunnel led into darkness.

  “Timothy!” Sarah’s voice was anxious and far away.

  Electra watched as the two new hikers made their way to the top of the hill. The ginger-haired boy and the thin girl stood watching the other three. The fog was coming in fast. Too fast. It was not a natural fog, she thought, but a fog of purpose, sent to obscure. She thought again about the thin, dark-haired girl. And she recalled that when she had last seen her, the girl was walking with Balor, arm in arm.

  Timothy should have had time by now to look for the Stone of Destiny at the east side of the fort, Jessica thought, but not much. She had done her best, but McMorn had been impossible to distract. Then two things happened that worked in their favor. The fog, which had all but disappeared earlier, came rushing back into the valleys, climbing up the hill to meet the lowering clouds. Visibility had dropped. Now she could see only a few yards into the distance. Good cover for Timothy, but it made McMorn more nervous. He repeatedly called for Timothy, as did Sarah.

  Two hikers emerged out of the fog.
And they weren’t just any two hikers. The first one was Tam. Jessica’s heart raced, and blood flushed her face as she remembered his kiss under the mistletoe. How had he found her here? This couldn’t be another coincidence! Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell must have told him where they were. Now she’d have a chance to ask him how he’d managed to get home in the ice storm.

  Then she noticed the person with him. His companion was a girl, a tall, thin girl with long dark hair topped by a purple wool cap. She was Tam’s age or a little older. Jessica felt her words of greeting die on her lips as the girl slipped her arm through Tam’s and laughed. The damp chill from the fog crept up Jessica’s legs and settled deep in her bones.

  “What a surprise, running into you again!” Tam raised his eyebrows as if he were indeed surprised to see them.

  “Oh, come on. Who told you where we were? That’s way too many coincidences for me.” Sarah pulled her knit hat down over her ears.

  Tam held up his hand. “Okay, I confess. I did go looking for all of you this morning. I wanted to apologize for leaving so abruptly on Sowans Nicht, but I was desperate to get the car fixed. Your folks told me where you were headed today.” He looked over at Jessica and smiled. She tried to smile back, but it felt as if her face were frozen. “And this is my big sister, Morgan. Home visiting for the holidays.”

  Jessica felt the smile thaw on her face.

  “This is Sarah and Jessica and—” Tam looked in Mr. McMorn’s direction.

  For the first time, Jessica noticed that Mr. McMorn had not said a word. In fact, he looked positively threatening. If looks could kill, she thought.

  “Brian McMorn.” He didn’t extend a hand.

  “Nice to meet you,” Jessica said to Morgan, and she meant it now that she realized the girl was Tam’s sister.