Time Knot

by M. C. Morison

  ‘No, my brave friend. I cannot slip through the byways of time. That is your gift. Mine is different. I can hear thoughts quite clearly, perhaps more even than you. Thoughts at a distance. Thoughts being thought leagues away and even, if I have … it’s best you don’t stare at me like a startled hound.’

  I turned my head and looked at the other boys. Most were asleep except for the blond-haired boy who looked straight at me. I smiled and received a toothy grin in return. I got up, trying hard to keep my legs from shaking. I walked over to Shelley’s look-alike. The girl, or woman more precisely, had dropped her head once more but as I approached she raised the ladle and threatened me with it, whilst making strange groaning noises. The blond boy said something. I turned.

  ‘Don’t speak back to the boy. You are mute, remember. You must never speak. Your life depends on it.’

  I looked at the lad quizzically, giving a shrug and raising my eyebrows. He spoke again. This time the ideas registered.

  ‘She’s a vixen and controls the water. She gave one boy a black eye when he tried to take the ladle off her. She’s mute though. No tongue. Just as well. She’ll be sold cheap to some cat-house.’

  I didn’t realise catteries needed slaves or even existed in ancient Alexandria. That’s one for the history books then.

  ‘You must approach on your knees,’ said the boy.

  I did so, and when my body knelt between the ladle-bearer and the boy, she winked at me, and took a deep scoop from the jar.

  ‘Don’t worry, Rhory. The water is fresh and comes from our own well. You won’t need to use the turd pot every few moments.’

  I drank the sweet water. My sense of almost total panic had begun to subside. She refilled the ladle and I passed it to my new friend. As he drank she pulled a biscuit from the folds of her clothes.

  ‘Hide this. Eat it when you can. You need your strength. Don’t trust Cupid there. He knows too much for a boy of his age but doesn’t know how to hide his thoughts.’

  I took the ladle back from Cupid, and returned to the boys’ side of the pen. I pretended to sleep but the drumming of my heart wouldn’t let me do more than doze. Cupid slumped down where he could watch all the other boys, but sleep did overtake him eventually. As the sky began to turn a sickly pale green, I managed to eat the biscuit. Nothing had ever tasted so good. Not even dried reindeer.

  Sold to the Highest Bidder

  The shout brought me wide-awake. A man with oiled legs and a whip stood nearby, offering kicks to any boys still sleeping. I made it to my feet before his boot reached me. He had a deep scar on one side of his face. An old gladiator perhaps? The thought that I might end up in some sandy pen with lions and crocodiles as my last companions threatened to return the biscuit to the straw at my feet. Sunlight streamed into our cage. It didn’t improve the smell of the privy and I nearly gagged.

  They grabbed the boy just behind me and led him outside. A noisy throng of thirty or so people stared up at a low stage, where the boy stood shaking and hugging himself. A fat man sat at a table, his head with all the hairy elegance of an egg. His smile would have put a toad to shame. In his right hand he had a short stick made of something white, perhaps ivory. He spoke, toad-like, to the audience. I concentrated. Numbers came in with other ideas like ‘not enough’ and ‘rich fool, I’ll make a good profit on him.’ We were being auctioned. At the edge of the crowd stood two tall black men flanking a shorter man with dark wavy hair held in place by some sort of grips. He wore make-up. He had a scroll in his hand and kept referring to it. He spoke rapidly to one of his black companions.

  “Not this one, I think. Too cowardly.”

  A glistening on the boy’s leg showed he’d wet himself. Probably didn’t fancy the awful stench of the privy. I didn’t blame him and wondered if I could avoid being sold by—

  ‘Rhory! Watch your thoughts. You’re not the only Hearer here.’

  Worse than school. Even my thoughts were being monitored.

  ‘Remember, whatever happens, don’t talk or open your mouth. You are meant to have no tongue.’

  For a while only girls were paraded. One, a particularly pretty girl, had to drop her dress. I dropped my eyes. I wanted to kick the man at the table. Drooling toad. I’d seen her back. It had a red welt across it.

  Scar-face grabbed my arm and pulled me forward. Faces looked at me expectantly. The last time that had happened before an audience I’d been playing a cow in the school play of Noah. No after-play party this time. One of the black men came forward. I looked back and forth between him and the other black guy. Blooming heck, they were twins. He turned and nodded to his brother. Their smaller white friend raised his scroll a fraction and the bidding started.

  Someone shouted out a question. Scar-face grabbed my hair and yanked my face back. His hands, not as gentle as the dentist from hell, squeezed my cheeks and a finger went into my mouth. I tasted a mixture of orange and sweat.

  He laughed. Cuffed me as though I was a naughty nephew. His words came out separately and very clear, clear enough for me to get exactly what he said.

  “He’s mute. No tongue. Good as a secretary if he can write or a bed-chamber servant.”

  Neither of those appealed. Someone hooted with laughter. Couldn’t I just go home?

  What just happened? I mean, like, the guy’s just lied. He’s on my side.

  The black twins and their boss were in a huddle talking rapidly. Someone made a bid. The bald-headed man looked across in surprise. One of the black guys tried to see who was bidding.

  “That’s a month’s wages.”

  “Must be him then.”

  “Or a trick.”

  “Sold.”

  Scar-face dragged me over to a man with a trim beard and a robe that went partly over his head, sort of Life of Brian style, Juliette’s favourite Monty Python film. My new master spoke rapidly to Scar-face. Scar-face mounted the platform and whispered in Egg-head’s ear. He looked up, turned his head and spat. He pointed his ivory cane towards the girl with dark hair, near the water butt.

  “Lot 24 withdrawn from sale,” announced Egg-head, his toad-like mouth turning down. “A tenth of her book value will be charged anyway.”

  When the woman who’d protected me arrived, she looked at me and smiled a tiny smile.

  ‘Keep your head down. It’s best you’re forgotten.’

  Four men who looked like they might be out-of-work wrestlers, arrived with a strange box held by two long poles supported by their shoulders. The bearded man hustled me inside with sharp incomprehensible words. Once he was seated, the swaying contraption moved and soon we left the chatter of the square far behind.

  Then we stopped. This time the man spoke much more distinctly, through a gap in the curtains, asking if we were being followed. Apparently we were not.

  “I’m Maimonides,” he said. He leaned over and touched my shoulder. He nodded and smiled. “This is indeed a blessed, most blessed day. Long prophesied.”

  I offered him a quivery smile.

  “Our friend has to walk outside. We’re watched and must remain careful. Her name is Myrna. She is from the Hyperborean Lands and carries their great gifts, the gifts of Abaris and Hu and Hesus.”

  As I tried to make sense of what that might mean the box on poles bumped down. Maimonides, exited quite nimbly for a man of his age. He helped me down. We stood in a courtyard flooded with sunlight. A fountain splashed and sparkled in the middle. Three girls sat perched on the edge of a stone seat looking at me in the way teenage girls look at Boy Bands. I expected them to scream any moment. Next to them sat Håkan. His legs were stretched out in front of him and he held out a plate to me.

  “Come on, Rhory,” he said in Swedish, “have a fig. Only don’t speak, as you have no tongue.” His face cracked into a smile. Myrna smiled and squeezed my arm. The girls came over and looked at me as though I was about to explain the secrets of eternal youth and good looks. I think that was the point at which I fainted.

  A Vision
in the Snow

  The mysterious boy now slept in the room shared with Håkan. Myrna had used some herbs to revive him and said he’d simply become exhausted and not to worry, he hadn’t caught any pestilence. A long sleep would renew him, she’d added.

  Nysa allowed the sunlight to warm her and she enjoyed the play of light through her closed eyelids while sitting in Maimonides’ garden. Cat rubbed against her legs.

  Much had happened since she’d traversed the Labyrinth and joined the Sisterhood. Last night she’d met up with all of Hypatia’s dancers and musicians and processed to the Geometric Room. As the Time Knot revolved slowly she’d danced, allowing the flowing shadows and pulsing sunlight to be her guide. The dancing reached a crescendo after about half an hour, when her legs began to ache. For her at least, the room started to fade. Moving and swaying, she could see a land far below her feet. Great white plains were broken up by huge groves of tall, dark-green trees unlike anything she had ever seen before. Nysa knew the area was colder than even the worst winter day in Alexandria. Two years ago, snow had fallen, settling like flour on all the great temples. Only the oldest people could remember it happening before. She’d collected it into sling shots and thrown some at Khloe. But the country she could see now had to be far, far colder.

  Below her, a fire burned and dark tents caught some of the light. Two figures emerged from the bigger tent, followed by three tiny women. One of these women, with snow-white hair, looked up and Nysa felt her presence. The figures started playing music, one drumming and one blowing a strange set of pipes. Boys. Only boys. But they drew closer, or Nysa descended towards them.

  A crash of a tambour and Nysa had returned to the room with its rippling shadows.

  “I saw him. He’s nearly here, except there are two of them.” Nysa waved her hands about. “They are dressed so strangely.”

  “They approach,” said Anastasia. “I saw them too and a great beast with dark fur and huge claws.”

  “Come,” said Hypatia. “Angelos, please guide all our musicians back to the shore. Leave the clothing, two lots of clothing, as instructed. Girls, we must gather in the Library.”

  Nysa knew that meant a meeting of the Sisterhood would take place.

  They went swiftly through the door into the Labyrinth Library and were soon in the ceremonial room beneath. With cloaks on and gathered in a simple circle, Hypatia led them in a beautiful chant, and then they sat, keeping the portals of time ajar, as Hypatia put it. Not much time passed, thought Nysa, before Angelos came in and said the two boys had arrived safely, and a certain Magnus had them in his care.

  “Come,” said Hypatia, “it’s all going as it should. Myrna is already where she needs to be, poor thing, and you girls…” she nodded towards where Nysa stood with Devorah and Anastasia, “…need to make haste to go to Devorah’s home.”

  Somehow, Nysa and her friends reached Devorah’s house before the boy from the snowy northlands. Hypatia explained he would have no common language with them and they must show him kindness. He arrived, riding with the stranger Nysa had seen before, the one on the black horse; the one who managed to disappear when he wanted to. This time the man entered the courtyard, and dismounted, before helping the boy to descend from the dark stallion. The boy seemed perfectly at ease, for someone who has just crossed from one aeon to another.

  “His name is Håkan. HOR-KAN.” He emphasised how it should be pronounced. “He will speak through his friend when they’re reunited. For now it’s well to keep him within this compound.”

  Maimonides emerged and spoke quietly with the stranger.

  “Make our guest some food,” the Jew instructed Devorah’s mother, who hovered nearby. “I must away to the Temple of Serapis. There are one or two slaves there of great interest. Not least my own helpmate.” The mysterious rider and Devorah’s father left together.

  They’d all taken a very early breakfast – or late dinner – and the boy with pale hair had eaten for two, if not three. He now appeared wide-awake, and once the sun came up decided to amuse them by walking around the courtyard on his hands and managing to do a complete back somersault from a standing position. Devorah had just rewarded him with more figs when Myrna arrived with the boy from the far west, who promptly fainted.

  “We’ll be slaves.”

  The next two days passed in a kind of dream. Two of the three girls left, leaving the smallest of them, Devorah, to look after us. I tried to communicate with her using my thoughts but she couldn’t catch anything. I could follow her thoughts, though, and with sign language we managed fine. Of Myrna, the Shelley look-alike, I saw little. She left the compound early both days and when she returned, joined the elderly owner of the house, Maimonides, in his room.

  “Why do you think we’re here?” asked Håkan when we finished our breakfast, a rather bizarre mixture of fish with honey cakes.

  “I don’t know. We must have a special link with one of the girls. I thought it must be Myrna, but now I’m not sure. It would help if we could find out what year it is.”

  “Year?”

  “You know. If it’s before or after the Common Era.”

  “The what?”

  “The Common … the year Jesus was born.”

  “Are we in Israel? Will we see him?” Håkan’s eyes took on the same intensity as when he played his wailing bagpipes.

  “No. We’re in Egypt, I think. Well, I know. In the city built by Alexander the Great.”

  “The general who cut the Gordian Knot?”

  “Yes. That one. But I think we’re not in his time but later. In fact we must be because Devorah spoke yesterday about the Christians leading riots.”

  Håkan nodded. He could follow her thoughts as well, although I think he missed more than I did. We were sitting on one of the stone benches in the courtyard, talking softly as we might be overheard even with the high walls surrounding us. Mind you, not many people in ancient Egypt spoke fluent Swedish, so we were probably safe. A cat sprang onto my lap, making me jump.

  “Hello, Cat,” I said, and received a nudge from a cold wet nose for my pains.

  The gate opened and Myrna came in accompanied by two girls, the same two girls I’d keeled over in front of. Not a great way to impress the opposite sex.

  Myrna smiled across at the two of us.

  ‘There’s much to plan. We have to act fast. Nysa will explain to you.’

  She came over and looked from me to Håkan and back again. Her eyes smiled. Myrna shrugged slightly and sighed.

  ‘Listen well. Much depends on how you all do.’ Myrna turned and beckoned to the two girls. They came and stood by the bench where we sat.

  “I’m Nysa,” said the girl with shortish curly brown hair, “and this is Anastasia.” She pointed to her taller friend, who had dark hair falling halfway down her back. Nysa’s wide-set brown eyes flitted between Håkan and me. She bit her lip. Anastasia said something far too fast for me to follow her thoughts as she spoke. Nysa leant back and folded her arms. Anastasia said something more, and I caught the word ‘Devorah’. She laughed and passed into the shade of the colonnade before entering the house.

  Nysa perched herself at the end of our bench and half-turned to face us. Her arms were still folded. She had a woollen dress in dark blue, with geometric shapes embroidered near the bottom. Her pale leather boots were spotted with dry mud.

  ‘We have to go on a journey. It’s to save the important teachings. You will need to meet The Lady. We’ll be slaves. It’s dangerous. But it’s okay. I think.’

  Håkan, sitting closer to Nysa, glanced at me. His puzzled expression matched my own feelings, though I expected I had picked up more of Nysa’s ideas than he had.

  Nysa laced her fingers and stretched her arms.

  ‘I saw you both in a vision.’

  “Oh, right,” I responded in Swedish. I stood up to face them both, talking slowly so both she and Håkan could follow. “What did you see?”

  ‘You were playing the drums. And you were pl
aying something dreadful on a sheep’s skin or something.’ She grinned at Håkan, who frowned and then laughed. ‘You were near a great group of horned beasts, where tall dark trees grow. And watching you stood a massive monster with dark hair and great claws.’

  “Yes. That was us,” I said, “just before we came here. And the monster was a bear.”

  I put my hands on my hips and then, realising I looked like a nerd, put them down again. “How old are you?”

  ‘I’ve just entered my fourteenth year.’

  “Me too, more or less. And also Håkan.”

  “What journey? Where are we going?” asked Håkan.

  ‘I’m not sure. The Lady – sorry Hypatia – she will explain. It involves the secret library. Last night the sword was stolen. That’s a sign. The fanatics want to destroy everything. We must pretend we are slaves, and smuggle the teachings. There’s a prophecy. Hypatia will explain.’

  Just as well, I thought, and then realised my thoughts were like speaking out aloud to Nysa.

  A wave of sadness crossed her face.

  ‘I don’t really understand either – I just know it’s important. It has to be us young ones. We are the only ones who can find the Hall. I’m sorry I can’t explain it better. I don’t really understand it, except we must do it. For the Ladies of the Feather. Well for everyone, actually. It has to be soon – maybe tonight.’

  Myrna and the other two girls emerged from the house. Maimonides followed them.

  “Come,” he said in his own language.

  We followed him into a room that ran the length of one side of the courtyard and extended two stories high. At the far end, a mezzanine floor with a balustrade, like a wide minstrel’s gallery, protruded several metres into the room. On a table lay Håkan’s bagpipes that he’d brought with him from Sweden, and also the Sami drum that I must have carried across the great stretches of time. I’d no memory of holding it when we arrived in the harbour, but then it had been a weird evening all round. Our Sami clothes were neatly folded nearby. Sun streamed in from a window above the mezzanine through an open space in the wall that, from its rough edges, appeared to have been recently knocked through. A large irregular structure, swathed in cloth, stood on this upper floor.