Temple of Indra's Witch

by Rachael Stapleton

  “I’ll never give up on ye, Aeval.” his voice was a strangled whisper. “Don’t ye give up on me, either.”

  He laid her back down and placed the heel of one hand over the center of her chest and began the chest compressions, stopping only when he reached thirty to check her airways. There was no chest motion, no normal breath sounds. He knew he had to do it harder, but if he broke her chest bone here and now in this time, it would be a death sentence.

  “Please, God.” He screamed. “Lord, just let me feel that breath on my cheek. I’ll do anythin’, I swear it.”

  He’d have to give her mouth to mouth again but the tears were streaming down his face and he could barely get his own breath.

  He rocked her in his arms, and a sob choked him. Wait … That wasn’t him that sobbed.

  She struggled in his arms, choking and gagging on the river water until it all came out.

  “Aeval, you’re alive!”

  He pulled back and stared into the much younger and yet all-too-familiar baby blues.

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Hang the Wolf

  Before I knew what was happening, someone was holding me firmly by the shoulders, drawing me in. A mouth came down on mine. At first my mind went blank with shock, but the searing heat of soft lips demanded a response. I opened myself up, all thoughts fleeing as a whirl of sensations swept over me.

  Warmth. I only knew one man who could make me feel this way. Everywhere he touched—with his mouth, his hands—left a trail of sizzling heat. His tongue delved into my mouth, demanding, sparring with my own. His arms encircled me, holding me to him, tighter, practically lifting me off the ground. My own arms wound around his neck, accepting him, giving him my all. I felt the hardness of him, muscle and bone, through the layers of burdensome cloth, and a sob rose within me.

  He might look like that boy with the chestnut-colored hair, but this was my Cullen. As if to prove it, he made a sound in his throat that only an Irishman could make.

  “Ye canna leave me again, Aeval,” he said, and then he began to kiss me, my eyelids and my temples, raining kisses upon me as though I were the most precious and sacred of things.

  I twisted my fingers into his hair, opening my mouth to his.

  He moved from lips to neck to brow and back again, feverish and rough, his fingers bruising my waist. “Ye canna leave me,” he said over and over again. “I will protect ye. Never again will ye leave me, lass. Promise me.”

  He pulled me tight to him and I cried out—my chest was unbelievably sore. Still, the kiss went from hot to on fire, almost out of control.

  “Swear it,” he groaned, his lips to my ear.

  “I swear.”

  This wasn’t the electricity between kids but it was the kind of chemistry between people who fit together, a kind of awareness beyond the norm. Any sense of myself dissipated in the overwhelming, sweet insistence of our bodies, a connection beyond thought.

  Cullen broke away, looking down at me with confusion in his eyes, as though he’d never seen me before.

  He ran one hand through his hair. “I missed ye so much, Aeval.”

  I just stared at him, trying to catch my breath.

  “I didn’t think I’d ever really see ye again.” He reached out to touch my swollen lips, a vulnerable look on his face.

  I put my hand up to his cheek which was normally so whiskery, missing the raspy feeling against my palm.

  “Kiss me again, but be gentle. I’m in a lot of pain.”

  “I…I will be gentle. I’m sorry. This isn’t a dream, right?” he said. “Promise me.”

  I shook my head. “If it is, then I never want to wake up.”

  He kissed me again and then I broke away.

  “We’ve got to save Elena. They’re hanging her at noon. There!” I said and pointed at the Castle that loomed over us.

  He jerked me forward to run, still holding hands, and that’s when I felt the searing pain inside. I stopped short.

  “What is it, Aeval?”

  “I don’t know—burning stabbing pain—I think you cracked one of my ribs, or maybe it’s just bruised. It hurts…maybe this is a sign. They’ll overpower us, Cullen. Elena was meant to die, maybe we shouldn’t meddle. Maybe we should just find a way home.”

  “We can’t go home! Not without Alana.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Cullen gripped my shoulders.

  “In this life, Alana is yer mother. ‘Tis something to do with the curse. We travelled back here together but we were separated. I’m assumin’ she’s in the body of yer mother, since I ended up in the body of my past life, and since yer mother is about to hang … I can only assume the worst.”

  My legs started pumping before Cullen had even let go. I could no longer feel the pain inside. It’s unexplainable the surge of energy that takes over when your baby—no matter how old—is in mortal danger.

  I didn’t understand any of it but I wasn’t stopping or slowing to find out, and thankfully Cullen was on the same page. There wasn’t a second to waste.

  It felt like forever, but we finally broke through the trees and made it into the open. I bent forward and caught my breath. Then we began running again. A mass of villagers had gathered and swarmed around the Gallows like a mob of angry bees. Men were dressed in thick felt trousers, with wide belts and tiny funnel-shaped hats, and the women in gathered skirts and headscarves. The air snapped with vibrations of hate.

  There she was, trapped center stage, like the lead in some awful horror movie. Her head was still high, though she wore a look of confusion.

  “Cullen! If she dies here, then she might really die. I—”

  “Don’t go there, Aeval! We’re gonna save her.”

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  Backstabber

  “Stand aside, lads,” Cullen called, as he pushed through the crowd, towing me closely behind him.

  “Cullen,” I whispered, “Costin speaks formally—lose the accent.”

  He squeezed my hand and whispered. “Aye, like my dreams. I will, Aeval, I will.” Then he let go of me and stepped to the front of the crowd, using both his fingers to whistle.

  The sound was ear piercing, but I’d never been so glad to hear it.

  “I know what Alexandra has told you, but I’m here to bear witness that, this is nothing more than a pack of lies spun by my mother, heartbroken with grief over the loss of her own.”

  I pushed my way forward and the platform came into complete view. My heart lurched when I saw Elena, and then it burned with hatred as my eyes found Alexandra. She was standing next to her father and the hangman. Every fiber in my body wanted to run up there and attack.

  The crowd jeered after Cullen spoke. Then another voice broke through. “It’s true. My son speaks the truth.”

  My head turned along with the rest of the crowd as if on swivels. The man I recognized as Vilhem spoke up. His eyes were red rimmed and his fists were clenched. “Please, Alexandra.”

  I stepped forward to Cullen’s side and in hushed but desperate tones warned him of Alexandra and her betrayal. I’d seen just how far this woman’s compassion went.

  “Don’t worry, Aeval. We’ve a plan. That’s Sandra—she came with Alana and I to help.”

  Panic surged within me. Never in all my years had I wanted to commit violence against someone so much. “That evil conniving witch is the reason I’m here. You can’t trust her.” I turned to charge the platform but Cullen grabbed my arm.

  “Hold on there—give her a chance.”

  I tugged my arm back and glared in frustration. He had no idea just who she was.

  Vilhem went on, pleading to the crowd. “My wife is mad with grief and knows not what she’s done. Please, Alexandra, don’t take an innocent life, it will taint your soul.”

  “Vilhem cannot be trusted,” one man called to the others in a coarse voice. ”He’s been bewitched by his whore!”

  The crowd turned their eyes to Elena, who furrowed her brow and pu
rsed her lips at the accusation—a look that, in the eyes of a blood-thirsty mob, probably seemed defiant and proud but, to the eye of a mother, was a typical rebellious teenage girl.

  I could control myself no longer. Sandra Brun or Alexandra—whoever she was—was doing nothing.

  “I’m sorry, Cullen, but that’s my baby up there.” I whispered and charged forward.

  I’d no sooner reached the platform then Alexandra’s name flew out of my mouth. “Say something, damn it!” My arms were pumping and I shook like a wild animal. “This is your fault.” Even to my own ears, I sounded like a raving lunatic.

  For a moment I could have sworn that fear crossed that smug face of hers.

  “The witch’s daughter—I rather hoped you’d been disposed of,” Gyorgy said loudly. “Do come forward and join your mother.”

  “My mother is innocent, I swear it,” I said, swinging my gaze to Alexandra, who now squirmed uncomfortably.

  “I highly doubt that,” Gyorgy responded.

  I turned to Alexandra, who was still just standing there—saying nothing—like a useless statue. “I swear to you, Sandra, if one hair on her head is harmed, I’ll kill you.”

  “Is that a curse, witch? Do you curse my daughter?” Gyorgy replied. “String her up too.”

  The crowd roared.

  “We only have the one rope Sir,” the hangman replied.

  I could hear Vilhem shouting. I backed away, keeping to the left, drawing the crowd and the eyes away from the platform. As I did it I searched the crowd for Cullen, praying that he’d follow my lead and use the opportunity to rescue Alana. Now if I could create a bigger distraction, giving him the opportunity to cut her loose and run.

  The hangman crossed the platform just as I’d hoped and hastened down the steps after me.

  “She’ll swing next,” he said as he closed the gap between us.

  I began to fight.

  “Alexandra, that’s my daughter, dammit. If you love me, if you’ve ever loved me, please save her.” Vilhelm shouted.

  Sandra stared at her husband Vilhem, and her eyes flashed dark. I looked to Cullen and I could see that even he was beginning to panic. Sandra was being taken over by Alexandra’s jealousy. Cullen never should have trusted that woman. She was about to betray us once again.

  The mob closed ranks around Vilhem and a fight broke out. This was how he died. There was no way to save him.

  “Stop!” Alexandra shouted. “Leave my husband alone! He is correct. This woman that we’re about to hang, Elena, she is innocent.”

  My mouth dropped open along with many others.

  “Alexandra!” Gyorgy chided. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m asking—no, begging, Father—that you let both of them go.” Alexandra practically choked on her words. “Please, if you love me, please, you’ll let these innocent women go. I was mad with grief when I told you those lies but I see clearly now.”

  Gyorgy flicked his hand to the hangman. “Release the women. I’ll speak with my daughter privately.”

  I released the breath I’d been holding. Alexandra had come through. Elena would be set free and we could try and find our way back home or learn to live together in the past—although the idea of remaining here with my daughter in the role of my mother was disconcerting. There would be a power struggle to say the least. So, then again, perhaps it was not too different from home. This explained many of our differences.

  The Priest shouted before Alana could be freed. “Just one minute, Sir. Let us not be hasty. The witch admitted guilt.”

  The crowd stilled as the Priest came forward, leaning heavily upon a staff and wearing a white cloth tied about his head. “I’ll not stand by and see a murdering witch set free, simply because your spoiled daughter has had a change of heart—most likely to keep her sniveling, fornicating sinner of a husband happy.”

  “Hold your tongue,” Gyorgy intoned, “I am in charge here.”

  “Hang the witch,” someone called.

  Cullen stepped forward—a man in a sixteen-year-old boy’s body. He faced the Priest squarely and the Priest squirmed. “She did not truly confess. We all know she only agreed to those lies to save her daughter, to save Sofia from your wrath!”

  The Priest’s laughter was low and frightening. Harsh and raspy, that sound made gooseflesh rise on my nape. “That’s not the way this works. I declare that woman is a witch and I will see her sent to hell.”

  Suddenly he lunged forward, kicking the stool from under Elena and lunged at me. I jumped back, gasping as I felt something sharp brush past my midsection. I slipped, but before he could stab me, Sandra Brun—Alexandra—tackled him from behind. It sent them both stumbling forward. He went to his knees, and I turned to run to Alana who thankfully had been cut down and was now in Cullen’s arms. I followed him out of the crowd which parted for us like the red sea. They were too entwined in the drama that was unfolding on the platform.

  I reached out and grabbed Alana’s limp hand. The grief sucked at me like quicksand, pulled me under, choked me. Now I knew how Cullen had felt when he’d rescued me not even an hour before.

  She hadn’t strangled long but had the fall snapped her neck. Cullen laid her on the ground ten feet away from the crowd and I put my ear to her chest, listening for a heartbeat. My own heart pounded in my ears.

  “Move over, Aeval,” Cullen commanded and took over assessing our baby who lay in the body of a grown woman. Cullen put his cheek to her mouth. “She’s breathing.” He lifted her wrist. “But her pulse is weak.”

  The shouting and banging from the Gallows grew louder.

  “My God, no!” Gyorgy bellowed and both Cullen and I turned.

  Cullen took off like a shot to protect Alexandra. I watched with tears in my eyes as he held her up. When he let her go, I could see that blood oozed from Alexandra’s mouth and the front of her dressed was soaked. He clearly couldn’t help her and she pushed him away.

  She then pressed a palm hard against her stomach. “You stabbed me,” she said to the Priest, but the words were slurred, and she sank to the floor. “Jesus Christ, you’re supposed to be a man of peace and you stabbed me, your own lover.”

  Gyorgy’s face was devoid of color. He approached the scene like a zombie. “What have you done?”

  The Priest was crying now. “I’m sorry, Sir,” he whispered holding his hands up to her father.

  “Time to go,” Cullen said and scooped Alana up into his arms. I hurried along in his wake as we made our way away from the crowd and into the woods.

  I glanced back just as we disappeared into the surrounding forest. Cullen continued on like a man on a mission but I watched from behind a tree.

  Gyorgy signaled the guard approaching from behind and the Priests words were cut off as his neck was snapped like a twig. Sandra’s stepfather then fell to his knees; he cradled Alexandra’s head in his lap. “Someone must pay.” He screamed.

  I hurried and caught up to Cullen who was resting against a tree. Sweat dripped from his brow.

  “Is she—” I couldn’t bring myself to say the word dead. Vomit rose up in my throat and I bent to the side.

  “God, no, Aeval. Relax. She’s still breathin’. She’s just unconscious.”

  “Thank God,” I said peppering her face with kisses.

  “I’m tired,” Cullen said. “But they’ll be in search of us now. If they catch us, they might not harm me because they think I’m Gyorgy’s grandson but they’ll slay Alana on sight.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  I felt a chill in my bones.

  “I haven’t a bloody clue. Sandra said she knew how to send us back and now she’s dead.” His voice trailed off. “We best keep movin’.” And he started forward again, his words tugging me into motion.

  “Let me carry her for a bit. You’re tired.” I said.

  Cullen paused and laughter rang out. I couldn’t help but laugh too. Were we delirious?

  “Aeval, it’s hard enough carrying h
er—don’t be makin’ me laugh.”

  I giggled a few more times and then sighed. It felt so good to see him, to be with him. “Still, I’m serious. I’ve carried Alana many a time.”

  “To bed, maybe—five years ago. Besides, have ye looked in a mirror lately? She’s double your size, for heaven’s sake, can you not see that?”

  He was right. The reddish wolf, Elena Maria Catargiu-Obrenovic had more in common with my husband than myself. She was a tall woman with a broad frame; it was easy to imagine what Alana might look like in fifteen years.

  My chest and ribs hurt now. It began slowly, as if my brain finally registered my near drowning earlier, and then the pain grew sharper, hotter. I was sure something was broken but I managed to continue sloughing along, dropping one foot ahead of the other, for Alana’s sake. We needed to find shelter.

  We trudged on and, eventually, I surfaced enough to ask, “Where are we?”

  Cullen turned his head sharply, his steps ceasing all at once, but he did not remark on my finally having spoken.

  “I think I recognize this place,” I explained. “Is this our cottage—Elena and Sophia’s?”

  “We’ve been on the move for twenty minutes,” he said, his eyes intense, probing mine. “I don’t think your cottage was that far away.”

  Chapter Seventy

  My Best friend’s Keeper

  We knocked on the cottage door and when no one answered, we took the liberty of breaking and entering. How much more trouble could we get ourselves into? The first thing I noticed was a wooden table—topped with three candles and an open book.

  “Is that The Book of Rochus?” Cullen questioned, still holding Alana in his arms.

  “Could it be?” I said, doing a double-take.

  I walked to the table. There was a quill pen and an ink bottle to the right of it.