Time Knot

by M. C. Morison

  “Drum creator?”

  “Yes. The visions of our northern kin are written on drum skins. When these drums are played the power of the story is reawakened or so they say. That is why this parchment is circular. See. Here is where the stitching went.” Signy pointed to tiny holes perforating the edge of the parchment.

  “And the writing?”

  “Father taught both Garral and me to write. He loved the sound of our Sami language and its power to convey the hidden mysteries of stories. He’d quickly learned our language in his trading and knew the value of being able to record the written word. He taught Garral before moving south with your nana.”

  “Why didn’t Garral come as well?”

  “He was a man by then, having seen sixteen summers. He stayed with his father’s family. They needed his strength and skills.”

  Signy spread out the parchment, moving Håkan’s beer mug. She tapped the writing at the centre of the drum skin.

  “These are the words that came to him in a sweat-lodge trance. He made the drum and played it into power. After a time he sent it to me here. It arrived the day of your birth. He told the bearer it was for my second boy. I’d not seen him then or heard from him for nearly fifteen years. But he knew somehow I was pregnant and with a boy. That’s the sort of power he had or has, assuming he’s still alive.”

  “But what does it say?”

  “Look closely, Håkan. See the central writing is surrounded by eleven figures. And to one side a small mountain is drawn.”

  Håkan felt fire jab its way through his limbs. The room came and went around him. He took a deep breath and leant forward on the sturdy wood of the table.

  “It’s Torsberg and our Circle.”

  Party Time

  England – about now

  “How come you were invited to this party?”

  Juliette was fixing her make up in the bathroom, as I applied copious gel to my hair.

  “Sorry, sis, if you think I’ll be an embarrassment. I won’t cramp your style.”

  I took hold of her bra strap and pulled it a little so it snapped against her back.

  “Don’t DO that!” said Juliette. “Ooh, you’re so irritating.”

  Juliette drew a line under her eye. I ran a comb through my hair, achieving the casual but neat look. I squinted at a white head that had appeared near the tip of my nose.

  “Blast.”

  “I can put a dab of make-up on that if you want.”

  “No, I’ll just squeeze it,” I said, and used a flannel and water as hot as I could bear. The method worked. Juliette pulled a face.

  “So,” she said, “how come, little brother? Who asked you?”

  “The guy holding the party, Sebstian … Sebatane—”

  “Sebastian!”

  “Yep, Seb. He sort of invited me. Not that I know him, but he’s still at the school that Bishop came … Charles Bishop came from. The Hospital School or something.”

  “Christ’s Hospital,” said Juliette. She applied glistening lipstick, made a kiss mark on a tissue and then added, “I nearly took a scholarship there.”

  “I thought it was a boy’s school,” I said, noting the way Juliette had managed to remind me of her academic precocity.

  “It was. A long time ago. But they let in girls, naturally, to improve their results.”

  “So why didn’t you go?”

  “Oh, I didn’t want to dress up in medieval garb with all those buttons down the front, and that funny white thing hanging like a limp tongue at your neck.”

  “Oh, they come from that school, do they, the people we see in Hammerford Carfax sometimes? The boys in blue skirts?”

  “Not skirts, gowns.”

  “I don’t blame you, Jules. Hammerford High is much more your thing. No uniform at all for years twelve and up.” I used my comb to spike my hair.

  “But Jolyon is throwing the party isn’t he?”

  “I think both brothers are. Seb is a good mate of Charles’s. Will your … will Lucian be going?”

  Juliette looked up at me from her perch on the bathroom stool and nodded. I’d the impression she just might not need to use the blusher, whatever that is. She cleared her throat.

  “Jolyon and Lucian were also at school together before Lucian went to Scrivener’s. They were in the same fencing team.”

  I nodded. Something about Lucian weirded me out but I couldn’t have said what. He’d been nice as pie to me the few times we’d spoken.

  “When do you want me to pick you up, kids?” asked my dad, as he drove past the Town Hall.

  “It’s okay, Daddy,” said Juliette, “we’ll walk back.”

  “All right then, but no calls in the wee small hours, please. Mum made a particular point that you must be back before one in the morning.”

  Given that the party was not even starting until nine o’clock that seemed a bit draconian.

  However, neither of us had said yes. I’d a suspicion that Juliette would be coming home with Lucian; I’d be wandering the cold, wet streets of Hammerford on my own.

  We crunched over the gravel in front of the imposing house. Jolyon, a tall boy with longish dark hair and a self-satisfied smile, greeted us at the door. He ushered us in, paying particular attention to Juliette, and showed us where we could leave our coats. The large front room had a scattering of people, most of whom I didn’t know, and pulsed with some rapper doing his thing. We placed the cake Mum had made on a table already chock-a-block with salads, bowls of nuts and crisps and lots of tiny pork pies. Mum had created the cake with its layers of cream and raspberries topped with meringue – my favourite.

  Jolyon murmured something in Juliette’s ear, smiled to himself and glided off. We approached the kitchen via a passageway full of pictures of horses held by grooms.

  The kitchen bubbled with a hubbub of chatter. My mega-sized bottles of coke and fizzy orange joined the forest of wine bottles and the tub of ice and beer. Juliette helped herself to a half beaker of wine and I took a plastic cup of coke, having snaffled a piece of ice from the beer tub. We squeezed our way out of the kitchen and into the relative calm of the passageway. Down the hall, the rapper stopped rapping. Juliette took a sip of her drink while I investigated the painting of a man in a bottle-green coat standing by a tall, dark-brown horse. He had an angled top hat on his head. Cool dude.

  “I’ll be back in a jiffy.” Juliette, a tad furtive, headed towards the hallway and the stairs.

  I wandered past more horse paintings into the front room. Techno music thumped out of a couple of humongous speakers. Small candles and a lava-light struggled to defeat the darkness.

  In the murk I wasn’t sure if I knew anyone. Splayed on the settee were a few boys from Scrivener’s but they weren’t in my class. One of them gave me a slight nod but not enough of a welcome for me to join them. I found a chair and plonked myself down. A group of girls by the fireplace responded to a story with fierce giggles. I practised various lines in my head I might use if I went over to them.

  “Hello, I’m Rhory, who are…”

  “Hi. You’re cute. Fancy a dance…”

  “Hey gorgeous, Look who just walked into your…”

  I sipped my coke, took a breath and remained seated.

  Two boys and three girls were dancing rather half-heartedly, not quite with each other. I could’ve joined them. I liked dancing. But I remained on my chair, lit by the lava-light.

  Official announcement: I’d joined the wall-flower club. I was a lemon. I leaned back in the chair, let the music swirl about me and closed my eyes.

  The experience in the park had unnerved me. I’d thought a lot about Ariane, the girl in the dark-green gown. She’d known my real name and the names of Shoshan and Dimitris, my companions in time travel. When she’d moved the object on the table in front of her – the sword pommel – I’d found myself leaving the warmth of her tower for a bone-chilling snowy waste.

  Is she in charge of everything? Am I part of a game of three-dime
nsional chess across time? I’ve seen her before, I’m sure of it.

  “Are you sleeping, mate?”

  I looked up to find Charles Bishop looking down on me with an amused smile on his face. His puffy right eye showed where Calvin had thumped him.

  “Not really, Charles, just thinking. But how are you after your … after the…”

  He pulled a quizzical face and said, “After the prizefight? I’ll certainly watch myself around Calvin in the future. He’s not here, is he?”

  “No. I don’t think he knows Sebastian.”

  Someone came up behind Charles carrying two drinks. She had her wavy brown hair gathered back with a hairband. She looked exactly like Ariane, the girl in the tower.

  Caroline

  “Are you all right for a drink, Rhory?” said the Ariane look-alike.

  I nodded, like one of those silly toy animals people keep in the back window of their car.

  “You okay? Looks like you’ve seen a ghost. It’s only my sister, you know,” said Charles.

  “I know, I know. Really nice to see you. It was just for a moment—”

  “That you thought I was someone else,” said the girl.

  She didn’t say it as a question, rather she was making a statement. Charles went off in search of drinks.

  She stood there rocking sideways from foot to foot, a half smile on her face. I struggled to remember her name.

  She began to turn away as I blurted out, “Caroline!” I’d finally remembered.

  “Yes?”

  “Er … um, is Natasha coming, do you know? You said you were a friend of hers.”

  She nodded, her eyebrows arching slightly. “I think she’s off with her mother, clearing out some old lady’s house.”

  I did more of my nodding-dog act.

  “Oh my goodness, you mean Aunt Bridget.”

  Caroline frowned a little. “I don’t think Natasha told me her name.”

  I stood up, nearly spilling my coke. I’d just realised that I had to speak to my cousin.

  “I’m going to have to make a call. I don’t know if I can get a signal here. I must speak to Natasha.” I started to walk between the groups of kids holding drinks and chatting.

  “I dreamt about you the other night, you know.” I only just caught the meaning of her words through the blather of the music.

  I stopped. Caroline was staring at the carpet with her hands clasped in front of her. She frowned even more.

  “Oh. That must have been pretty boring.”

  My innards contracted. This conversation wasn’t going well.

  Caroline looked at me, raising her eyes rather than her face. She shrugged.

  “Actually, it was a really clear dream. I’ve dreamt about the room before, and a really unusual table, but I’ve never seen anyone in the room – ‘til this time.”

  I didn’t say anything. Panic crawled around inside me. I didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t get me into all sorts of difficulties. Anyway, the noise level meant we could hardly hear each other, and I didn’t want to shout.

  Caroline continued, “In other dreams, I’ve even been able to walk over and look out the windows. The tower is near a harbour. Strange ships with huge sails come in and out or are rowed by loads of sailors.”

  I knew the room she meant. She’d dreamt herself into the same room I found myself in, when I entered the bandstand.

  She looked me straight in my eyes. “I saw you in that room. We talked about something but I can’t quite remember. Then I saw you standing in some snow with a wild boar right behind you.”

  “I’ve got you a drink,” said Charles, who had taken all this time to get to the kitchen and back.

  I still didn’t know what to say. Caroline had just added an extra tangle in the threads of my life. Up to now I’d only had to deal with people from the past; now I had found someone else dreaming of the past, only this time it was my past as well.

  I took a deep breath and moved closer to Caroline. I caught a whiff of her perfume. Something tangy and sweet. “I have dreams, but sometimes those dreams—”

  “Do you think we ought to help ourselves to some food?” said Charles. “I think it might get busy quite soon, there are still people pouring into the house.”

  We looked over to where a queue had formed by the table. We decided to join them, preventing me exploring the visions Caroline and I shared.

  Half a sausage roll later, I remembered that I must speak with Natasha. I left my food in the protection of the Bishop brother and sister and found a good signal from my mobile just outside. I couldn’t get Natasha to pick up, and left a longish voicemail message, reminding her to look for the key and to search for the old journal that had been hidden in the commode. I reminded my resourceful cousin that the commode had been changed into a drinks cabinet, and had a locked drawer that would be easy to miss if you didn’t know it was there.

  When I came back in, I could hear two drum rhythms. The first came from the front room where Lady Gaga or someone similar belted out a disco beat. Higher up in the house I thought I could pick out a simple rhythm from a drum set. I had to go and look.

  The wide stairs curved up to the first floor. The wall had framed photographs all the way up. Every picture showed a woman standing near a famous landmark. The women changed but the landmarks were entirely recognisable, like the Eiffel Tower, the Leaning Tower of Pisa or the Colosseum. I guessed that Jolyon and Sebastian’s mother or father fancied themselves as a photographer. On the first landing I clocked that the percussion sounds came from higher up in the house. I found a narrower staircase and made my way up.

  In a small room at the top of the house a fantastic full drum set clustered in the corner. I’d once done a drumming course when we went on a family break to Center Parcs. Out of the ten or so kids who followed that course I’d been far and away the best. Even though I was only eleven at the time, Tom the instructor had said I ought to be in a group.

  Someone was tickling away in a half-hearted manner on one of the kettledrums. I asked if I could have a go.

  “Yeah, why not,” said a boy with red hair, a squarish face and freckles.

  “You sure?” I said.

  “Yep. Sure. They’re mine. I’m Seb. Who’re you?”

  “I’m Rhory.”

  He frowned slightly before responding. “Juliette’s brother?”

  I nodded.

  “I better be nice to you then. My brother Jolyon fancies her to bits.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. She seemed to have this thing for Lucian. Where was my sister anyway? I hadn’t seen her for ages.

  I sat down and surveyed the kit. Nice one. Sparkly purple sides and silvery adjustments. I could tell no one had played it much.

  The kettledrum at the side didn’t match the rest and had the rich tone I’d heard all the way to the bottom of the house. I eased my foot onto the bass drum pedal and started to work up a beat: boom, boom ba-boom. The toms had been tightened to give a sharp staccato and the ride cymbal produced a satisfying swish of sound. I twiddled a stick around in my right hand, and tried out the floor tom-tom.

  Seb and the boy who had been fiddling around with the kit stood nodding in time to the beat that was now flowing nicely. I closed my eyes and let myself feel my way into the rhythm. The thump, crash and patter of sound filled the room. When I next opened my eyes I could see several other people had come in. I hardly registered them as I built to a thundering climax, ending with a blast of sound from the crash cymbal. Yeah. Boom boom, yeah. Crash.

  I looked up. The door had filled with faces. Lucian stood there, his blond hair a corona of golden glow from the hall light behind him. Juliette nestled in beside him.

  “Rhory,” said Lucian, “that’s really, really good. I didn’t know you could play so well.”

  “You can see why Mum refuses to let him get a set though,” said my sister, smiling. I could see I’d managed to impress even her. She’d never bothered to come and hear me play when we
had stayed at Center Parcs, so she didn’t really know what I could do.

  As I made my way back down the stairs, Lucian called after me that I might be needed later. I nodded but my mind had filled with the plate of uneaten food downstairs, including a large slice of my mum’s pudding, and also the problem of how to talk with Caroline. I looked at my watch. Gee, I must have left Charles and her for ages.

  The Blonde Lady

  The front room had become a sea of bobbing bodies in a murk of low lighting. A well-known anthem filled the room and everyone sang along as they twisted and writhed. Groups of boys danced with boys and girls with girls, but some couples appeared stuck by glue and unable to separate no matter how much they wriggled. I made my way over to the chair where I’d left my food with Charles. My food peeked out from under the seat. Someone else sat on the seat, a girl of about fifteen perched on his knee. She wobbled up and down in time to the music. My mum’s pudding had vanished.

  I made my way to the food table. All the plates had gone. So had most of the food. A smashed raspberry smeared on our cooking dish showed where the pudding had once been. I found a slightly dried-up cheese sandwich on white bread and a few crisps and balanced them on a paper napkin.

  Three girls stood near the doorway into the hall. I could just make out Caroline. Her face caught the light every now and then when one of her friends moved. Her spooky likeness to the Ariane girl in my bandstand vision was – well – spooky. I’d no explanation. One of her friends poked her and pointed in my direction. Caroline shrugged and walked out of the room. She didn’t look my way. The other two girls hunched their shoulders and whispered. They both looked over at me. I could feel a red glow creeping up my face and felt mildly sick.

  “Hey, Rhory. Brucie. Come on, mate, come and dance.”

  Some of my classmates had arrived and were in a gaggle gyrating away at the street end of the room. I joined them for a bit, and we all grinned at one another, wiggled around, became serious, tried to look cool, failed and grinned again. When J. Lo or Jessie J or some other diva finished, I mumbled something about a drink and headed for the kitchen.