Time of the Draig

by Lisa Dawn Wadler

  “I’m dealing.” To avoid being caught in her lie, her eyes gazed at the rocks she sat upon. A crack ran through the outcropping at a surprisingly straight angle. She stared and mumbled, “Can you even seal the crack or only cover it up?”

  Boomer chided, “Not now, Sam.”

  “I need to go in. I need to work. There is something I missed, something incredibly large.” As if on cue, her hand opened and closed and opened and closed.

  “After Jeff and I determine you are safe at Faolan’s, you can. But not one minute before we say,” Boomer replied.

  She rose from the rocks. “Then let’s get going.”

  The sun had reached midday height in the clear sky. Faolan had called out that his keep would be seen over the next rise. Samantha could smell the tang of salty sea air. She shifted the pack on her back and noticed that the men had quieted. While everyone had agreed to the destination, the apprehension had become palpable.

  Jeff acknowledged it. “Seems like we have some campers with a case of the butterflies.”

  As he spoke, they stood on the hill that brought the destination into sight. From the hillside, Samantha could see the keep ahead on another small hill. The stone and wood structure was surrounded by tall stonewalls, and the sea was visible in the distance. A village sat nestled in the shallow valley below the keep. She turned to Jeff. “Break it down for me.”

  His eyes scanned the area. “Good defensible position with a line of sight to the surrounding countryside. The walls are high enough to provide security, and the wooden gate appears thick and solid from the distance. The village appears quiet and non-threatening. The well at the center seems to be the focal point of activity. I don’t smell a major hygiene issue, but I would like to find out what is done with human waste as a precaution.”

  “Agreed,” Samantha said. “Do you sense any type of threat to the men?”

  “Negative,” Jeff answered as he pointed to three men walking toward them. “Here’s the welcome wagon, and there are no swords on their backs or sides. I’m assuming the men who rode ahead with the animals were given orders to approach without weaponry. Though we have no idea what’s waiting behind those stone walls.”

  As Faolan approached, he said, “All that awaits is my hospitality.”

  Samantha could see the perceived insult written on his face. She asked, “Would you be slightly suspicious if you were us?”

  He laughed. “Never. I would follow you anywhere, Samantha.” With a wink, he walked ahead to greet his men.

  She couldn’t hear the conversation, but it was obvious instructions were given. As he walked back to her with the new men at his side, introductions were made, and Faolan took a wooden cup from one of the men.

  He held it out to her and said loud enough for all to hear, “Major Samantha, you and your men are bid welcome to my lands. May my walls provide the safety you crave, may my table provide bounty to sustain you, may my lands be seen as your own, and may you only find joy by my side.” He held the cup out to her but caught her hesitation. Faolan turned the offer into a toast and raised the cup to his lips. Only after a large swallow did he again offer the cup to her.

  She took the offering into her hands. “Your offer of hospitality is most gracious. We thank you for all and will endeavor to be worthy of your trust.” Samantha had attended enough ceremonial occasions with her father to know a decent reply. She took a swallow of the wine, and the cup was returned to Faolan.

  “Please go with my men and rest within my hall. All has been made ready for you.” With that said, he removed an object from his saddlebag and turned toward the village.

  Samantha saw the dagger in his hand and immediately knew the intention: somewhere in the village a family member waited to hear that Robert wouldn’t be coming home.

  She called to her men. “Laird Faolan is in need of an honor guard. Who goes with me to stand for a fallen man?” She nodded her satisfaction when every last man stood at attention.

  With a hand signal, the men marched at her back. The levity was gone as feet stepped in rhythm in a once time-honored custom.

  As she walked by his side, Faolan asked, “Why are you coming with me?”

  “It used to be our way to honor those who died in service. His family should know his loss is felt by those who fought by his side,” Samantha answered.

  Faolan smiled. “‘Tis a fine custom. You do me much honor walking into the village at my side.”

  Samantha thought to ask if everyone assumed she was still going to be his wife, but she didn’t. She instinctively already knew the answer and knew they needed to set the record straight. Instead of confronting him, she asked, “Whom does Robert leave behind?”

  Faolan replied, “A wife, a small lad, and a child yet to be born.”

  She cringed and asked, “What happens to them now?”

  “They are my responsibility. I will see food set upon the table and ensure they have all needed. Surely your people do the same?”

  If only that had been the case. Even before the war, there had been so many left without what they needed because of death or injury due to service. It had become her father’s main focus to right that wrong. The war had started before he could make any real changes. The United Forces didn’t do anything for families left behind, not that they did much for the general population either.

  She answered simply, “We never did enough.”

  It was somewhat disappointing that the cottage they sought was on the edge of the village. Even with the task at hand, Samantha wanted to see more of the village. The structures, while small, were built in an orderly fashion. Each one had a small side yard that contained enough space for a laundry line and an outdoor fire pit. The buildings were a combination of stone and wood, and all seemed in good repair, if not of newer construction. Though the path they walked was damp, it appeared to be from rain and not the expected sewage. In all, the place seemed surprisingly tidy and well-maintained.

  Many called out a greeting to Faolan, but none approached. She didn’t blame them. She figured her men must have appeared threatening.

  Faolan stopped and knocked on a solid door. A woman answered. She appeared to be around Samantha’s age. She wore a long dress of green, her long blond hair was tied in a simple braid, and her eyes showed recent tears. Samantha also noted the woman was at least seven months pregnant.

  Before Faolan had a chance to speak, she said, “Baine came this morn and told me.”

  “Alyssone, your Robert fought with great strength.” He held out the dagger and said, “I am sorry for your loss. Ken that all you need I will provide.”

  The woman, Alyssone, answered, “I ken it and thank you.” A wracked cough sounded behind her, and she added, “Please excuse me. Wee Roden is ill, and I must tend him.”

  Before another word was spoken, Samantha felt Boomer’s hand on her shoulder. He whispered in her ear, “Private Miller heard that cough. He’s chomping at the bit to get in there.”

  Samantha turned to see the request on Miller’s face and said to Alyssone, “I have a fine healer. May he come in and see your son?”

  The hesitation was clear on her face. Faolan added, “The healer, Miller, tended my own wounds. He is verra skilled.”

  Alyssone nodded her consent, and Miller pushed his way to the door with his med kit in hand.

  Samantha took another glance into the small but tidy cottage. “Private, this a clean personal dwelling. Remove those muddy boots before you enter.”

  As the private removed his boots, Alyssone looked at Samantha. “Are you going to join him?”

  Samantha saw the fear in the tear-stained eyes. With a nod, Boomer took her pack, and she removed her boots. The air in the cottage was scented with mint and something else she couldn’t name. A small pot boiled over the fireplace. That must be the s
ource of the aroma, she mused.

  Alyssone led Miller into a side room, and Samantha followed as far as the doorway. A small boy with dark hair lay in the bed. As another cough wracked his tiny frame, she felt Faolan at her back. While Miller asked the mother questions, Faolan spoke.

  He asked, “Do you believe your healer can help him?”

  “I hope so.” The answer surprised her. The act was meddling with the past and would change the fabric of time. Given the barking quality of the cough, she was certain the child would most likely be destined to an extremely short life in a world with no medications. Her gaze stuck on the small boy, and compassion stirred in her heart. How can I not try to save his life?

  Miller sat on the bed and held the scanner over the child. He frowned and reported, “Three-year-old boy with bronchial pneumonia.”

  “Do you have the supplies needed?” Samantha asked.

  “I do, but you need to know I can’t replace the antibiotics,” Miller replied.

  As thoughts of timelines, interference, and repercussions danced in her mind, Samantha saw the pain on Alyssone’s face. “Treat the boy.” Immediately Faolan had her hand raised to his lips and placed a kiss to her palm. The touch of his lips was brief, yet the tingle lingered.

  He whispered, “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. Even with the treatment, the child still needs rest and care,” Samantha said and then turned to Miller. “Why are you standing still? Do what you can and then meet us at the keep. I want a full report on the child’s condition. Make sure Alyssone is healthy. All of this stress can’t be good for her.”

  She walked to the front door and called to her men who waited dutifully outside. “I want someone to keep an eye on Miller.”

  Mark stepped forward. “I’ve got his back.”

  Somehow that didn’t surprise her, with a child as the focus. “Good man.”

  Faolan joined her outside and told the woman to seek whatever she needed from his stores and turned back to Samantha. “Already you treat my people as your own. ‘Tis a fine beginning.” Before she could reply, he called out to her men, “Come, to the comfort of my hall.”

  Chapter 9

  Samantha blinked in the dim light of the hall. They had entered via a large wooden outer door and then, within five paces, a second set of doors. The room was made of uneven stone blocks and had a floor to match. On the far side of the room, a massive fireplace sat empty, though a few torches that hung along the walls were lit. Long tables with bench seats filled the room. Only one exit was visible, a corridor that led into what she presumed was the kitchen. That deduction had come compliments of a woman who carried a tray of food into the hall.

  If she and her men were stunned by the surroundings, the residents of the keep matched the emotion. All noise and conversation ended as they entered. The several men who rose upon their entry stood like statues, and the apparent serving women froze in place. I bet I could hear a pin drop. She had no doubt the sound waves would echo in her ear.

  Faolan’s voice broke the silent void. “Welcome to my hall. Please set your packs aside and be at ease.” He asked Samantha, “‘Tis how you command the men to rest?”

  She blinked several times at the foreign setting before she answered, “Close.” She turned to the men. “At ease, men. Packs against the wall. It looks like lunch is being served.”

  As she set her pack along the wall adjacent to the front door, Jeff marveled, “This is like a movie set or something.”

  With a smile and silent agreement for the comment, she ordered, “Break it down, Captain.”

  Jeff stood a little straighter and assessed their surroundings. “Given my weak knowledge of history this must be the central gathering place for the household. I would have expected rushes on the floor to collect debris, but the room is spotless. There is a stairway to the right that I assume leads to the second floor that was visible on approach. The door to the left must be to a food prep area.

  This appears to be the only portion of the building made of stone. The outer buildings and second floor appear to be made of wood, like additions after main construction. The locals seem too intimidated by our arrival to be a latent attack force. There is no hint of a threat, though the food could be a possibility.”

  As if on cue, an old woman with silver gray hair entered from the kitchens. She said, “My food is fresh and quite tasty if I do say so. The only threat is if you continue insulting what I spent the morning making for you.”

  Faolan’s laughter filled the hall, and he swept the old woman off her feet in a massive hug. “Put me down and introduce me already,” she scolded him.

  Faolan led the woman to stand in front of Samantha, Jeff, and Boomer. Samantha could see the wrinkles on her skin and a frame that stood straight even with advanced age.

  Faolan said, “Gran, I present Major Samantha, Captain Jeff, and Sergeant Boomer.” His eyes turned to hers as he continued, “‘Tis is my grandmother, Dana.”

  Dana spoke first. “If this is a rescue mission, you are over fifty years too late.”

  Never in her life had Samantha ever felt like fainting, until that moment. Boomer’s hands on her shoulders were the only things holding her upright.

  “Could you repeat that?” Jeff asked, clearly stunned by the statement.

  “I said you’re a bit late to rescue me,” Dana said as her eyes surveyed the men. “We can talk while we eat. Trust me when I say poison is not something I’m fond of in my cooking. It ruins the flavor.” The woman led the men to the table. “We weren’t sure exactly when you would arrive, so it’s a cold meal complete with my smoked meats, fresh cheese, and the bread is right out of the oven.”

  Samantha knew her feet followed, but she moved as if in a trance. Boomer forced her legs over the bench and made her sit.

  He whispered, “Keep your shit together, Sam.”

  She nodded at Boomer and turned to the old woman. “Dana, what do you mean a rescue?” Yet she didn’t really want an answer.

  Faolan placed a plate loaded with food in front of her. “Are you unwell?”

  Samantha never answered the question as Dana sat across from her and Jeff sat next to the old woman. Someone handed her a cup, and she took a drink without tasting whatever the cup held.

  “I asked if you were sent here to rescue me,” Dana repeated.

  It was Jeff who answered. “No, ma’am. We had no idea you were here. But I think now may be a great time to tell us who you are and where you’re from.”

  Dana laughed and said, “Really? You’re in my home. You start.”

  Jeff gave a light version of their story: When they were from, a war that ravaged the world, an object of power that needed to be captured, and a crash landing into the time period. He followed it up with the complete version of how they met Faolan.

  “After that you came home with him? You must be desperate,” Dana said. She fixed a glare on Faolan and scolded him once more. “What in the hell were you thinking? How dare you try to buy a woman!”

  “Gran, I thought . . .” Faolan began.

  “No, you didn’t think, you fool. Or maybe you were thinking with the small brain you men seem so fond of consulting for advice,” Dana continued as the men chuckled around her. “You are supposed to be better than the barbarian stock you came from.”

  “Dana, where are you from?” Jeff asked.

  “Apparently we come from different places. I came from . . . well, let me think . . . maybe I left Arizona nine or ten years later than you, but there had been no world war. I mean there was always a small war somewhere but nothing that large. The Arizona I left had a government.”

  Samantha broke her silence. “How did you arrive here?”

  With an expression that dared Samantha to listen, Dana asked, “Would you believe some kind of ma
gical door?”

  The blood ran cold through her veins. Her mind raced with potential reasons, and her fingers itched for the keyboard of the laptop. “Would you please explain in a bit more detail?”

  As Dana spoke of being chased down a dark road at night, Samantha’s hands opened and closed and opened and closed. She continued with a description of a light in the distance and the sight of what she assumed were bikers in that light. Dana needed help so she ran into the light.

  “People always said bikers were the meanest-looking nice people on the planet. The ones that ate at my diner had always been so sweet, and great tippers,” Dana explained. “I ran through the door and remember falling flat on my face with dizziness. The hand that lifted me up didn’t belong to a biker . . . it was Faolan’s grandfather.”

  Samantha gripped the edge of the table and clarified, “There was no war in your time, and you ran through a door and wound up here fifty-plus years ago.”

  “Honey, you don’t look well. Do you need to lie down?” Dana asked with clear concern in her voice.

  “No!” Samantha barked. “This is too important. Are you certain?” A silent prayer echoed in her mind that the old woman was delusional.

  Dana said, “I may be old, and some days I forget why I walk into a room, but I know where I came from and how I got here.”

  Again the world swam for Samantha. The implication of timeline violations crashed around her as she again surveyed the room. Recalling her conversation with Efraim, she asked, “How many changes would you say you made to this place?”

  Dana sat back and grinned with pure satisfaction on her face. “A lot, and all of them were needed.” She said as she began the very long list. “This place was beyond filthy when I was brought here as a prisoner. The food was rancid, and the kitchen was no better than an outhouse.”