The Chronicles of the Tempus

by K. A. S. Quinn

  It was ten minutes past eleven. The Light Brigade – all 661, man and horse – moved down the valley slope.

  ‘I scarcely believe the evidence of my senses!’ William Howard Russell exclaimed. ‘The charge is on. The Light Brigade will have to ride all the way through the valley, between row after row of Russian cannon, and riflemen. Surely that handful of men is not going to charge an army in position?’ The plateau was almost silent, the spectators frozen in horror.

  The cavalry advanced in two lines, quickening their pace as they closed towards the enemy. Suddenly Katie could see Jack astride Embarr: his heels up in his stirrups, blue eyes ablaze, shouting. Next to him was Nolan, waving his sword and urging them on. The Light Brigade broke into a gallop as the first shells exploded. Faster and faster they went, as cannonballs tore the earth on every side and musket fire pierced from on high. The might of the Russians belched forth, a flood of smoke and flame. Then Katie could see only chaos and carnage – the men on the ground, dead or dying, horses flying, wounded or riderless across the plain.

  Above them the skies flashed and swirled. At first Katie thought it was the firepower of the battle. But as she stared upwards, she could make out forms, shapes that mirrored the conflict below. What was happening in the heavens above? Then she knew. Her terrible dreams were coming true. This was not one battle, but two. Yes, the Russians were fighting the British. And yes, it had to do with Sultans and holy places, with trade and Empire. But it was also about Lucia and Belzen, the Verus and the Malum. High up towards the sun was a battle for the entire future of this world, being fought by those from another. It was a battle over nothing less than the possibility of eternal peace or the damnation of endless war. The time had come.

  Lucia swept through the skies, her brightness piercing the black clouds. She sailed through the winds and opened her arms wide, using her light as a weapon. And then dark enfolded Lucia; she was wrapped, almost suffocated in the cloak of Lord Belzen. The elements around them took sides, scorching sun followed by brutal gales. Hail pelted the crowds below. The spectators, the war tourists, scrambled for cover. They had no idea what was happening. Next to Katie, the Little Angel trembled. Was this the war to end the world?

  Even the raging heavens above could not halt the Light Brigade. With a sweep of flashing steel circling their heads, and with a cheer which was many a noble fellow’s death cry, they rushed onwards. Soon they were amongst the guns, sabres flashing, cutting down the Russians gunners where they stood. Then turning, the Light Brigade reformed. They were going back over the same ground, littered with their dead and dying, and with the Russian weapons above still blazing. Katie wrenched her eyes from the storm above to the valley below. She was looking frantically for Jack. Mary Seacole seemed to be saying some kind of prayer or chant as she fingered the amulet hung around her neck.

  ‘This is lunacy,’ William Howard Russell repeated over and over. ‘Lunacy. They can’t sustain –’

  He was cut off by an unearthly shriek. It was the Little Angel. She stood, pale as death, wringing her hands. ‘They cannot face the cannon fire again. It will be a massacre. Oh the lives, the poor young lives! It was Nolan, I know it. He is but the messenger. I know who brings the message. I know who lies behind Nolan. I will end this!’

  Before Katie could stop her, the Little Angel was over the ridge and down the hill, heading into the battle itself. How she travelled such a distance at such speed, Katie did not know, but the Little Angel was within reach of the back lines. This was dangerous enough. Coming towards the Little Angel Katie could see a very young soldier, mounted on a midnight black horse. He still wore the long fair curls of childhood. It was Felix.

  Katie looked at Mary Seacole, and could see understanding dawning in her eyes. ‘God preserve me,’ Mary Seacole breathed, ‘The Little Angel, she is the child who brings peace.’ It was as if a curtain had been lifted. The Little Angel, Katie and Felix: the child who brings peace, the child who brings war and peace, and the child who brings the war to end the world. The Chosen, the Tempus. Was it as Lucia had predicted? Were they to fight each other now? From where Katie stood it looked as if Felix, sword in hand, was about to strike down the Little Angel, condemning the world to everlasting war.

  Katie had long wondered what her purpose was. What should she do? For a long moment she panicked, toyed with the idea of doing nothing, staying put, seeing how things played out. She was not British or Russian. She wasn’t part of the Verus, or the Malum. Neither of these wars was really hers. Didn’t she have the right to protect herself? Someone else was sure to sort things out. But then she felt sickened by her own thoughts. It was up to her. The Little Angel must not die in this battle. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her skirts and, holding tight to the walking stick, she plunged down the hill.

  William Howard Russell reached out to stop her, but Mary Seacole stayed his arm. ‘She is the Chosen,’ Mary Seacole said, clutching the amulet around her neck, rubbing her finger along its opening. ‘Florence told me this might happen. She must go.’

  As Katie raced towards the battle, the smoke was almost blinding. She struggled across the ground, knee-deep in the wounded and dying, looking up at the clashing armies. Horses and men were falling from every side. Dragging her way through the dirt and dust and blood, she caught up with the Little Angel. From every direction she was vulnerable, rifle fire, cannonballs, steel sabres and the thrashing hooves of terrified horses. But somehow none of this was as dangerous as Felix. Katie tried to drag the Little Angel out of the melee, ‘You must save yourself,’ she shouted into her ear.

  ‘I will save them all,’ the Little Angel cried back – and Katie realized she was heading purposefully towards the mouths of the Russian cannons.

  Then Felix reared above them, a ghastly sight. His eyes were dead, trance-like. He was not a child or an adult – he was a being possessed by evil. As Katie stared up, Felix’s curls became whiter and the light around him was unnaturally bright. But then it deepened to a dark purple-grey, like a diseased wound. There was terrible power, beyond Felix, in the skies above them. The longer she looked at Felix, the more he led her to a dark and strange place, a place she did not wish to be. Beyond him, above the horses, the men, the bullets and the cannonballs, the strange flashing white of the Verus grappled with the blackness of the Malum. ‘Peace will be cut down,’ she thought, ‘the world will end. This world and many worlds.’

  She tore her gaze from Felix and, grabbing the Little Angel’s arm, began to drag her away. The death of the Little Angel would bring victory to the Malum. She had to stop Felix. Could she break his trance, or at least catch his attention? Was there any way to free him from this possession? If only he had human feelings. Was there anything she could say or do that would catch the attention of the real Felix, the child within? He was too far gone for human happiness or love. Was there anything left? Could she, perhaps, make him angry?

  Katie remembered the day in the Palace gardens. He’d been furious when accused of playing with toy boats. His anger had been a very human emotion, so typical of a growing boy. He didn’t want to be a child, playing with babyish things. It had hurt him. That is where he was vulnerable. Katie was still clutching the walking stick. She lifted it high and waved it at Felix.

  ‘Baby!’ she screamed. ‘Felix, you are a baby – and a coward! Fighting a girl instead of the Russians. Wah! Wah! Felix is a baby!’

  His dead gaze had fixed on the Little Angel, but now he turned so sharply that his horse reared into the hideous sky, bubbling with purple and black. ‘You!’ he raged. ‘You are the weak one, to make your choice, to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with that girl! I am no baby. I am a man, a warrior! Just watch how I can strike you down!’ He raised his sabre, and with a swoop, plunged towards Katie. For a split second Katie stared, the blade flashing down.

  ‘He will cut me in two,’ she thought. ‘But he must not kill the Little Angel.’ Was it worth living in a world without peace? She’d fought so hard, perhaps this wa
s the time for surrender and oblivion. Had she done enough, in sacrificing herself to save the Little Angel?

  The tip of Felix’s sword sliced down, heading straight for Katie’s heart. But then it froze, just at the top of her bodice. It wavered, struggling to reach Katie, to tear through her. Then it stopped, juddered, and shattered into a million pieces. Katie just had time to see Felix’s face against the great flashing light of the sky, contorted and covered in messy tears. He was indeed crying, like a baby. What magic had shielded her in that final moment?

  She could see almost nothing. The Light Brigade had turned and galloped back up the valley. They could not stop to avoid two girls, half-swooning, directly in their path. She saw the Little Angel go down, knocked unconscious by a vicious kick from a retreating horse. And then she was hit herself, and was sprawling backwards, into darkness. Again her mind changed, and her final conscious thoughts were of rebellion. ‘I will NOT,’ the words sang within her, ‘I WILL NOT GIVE UP.’

  When she finally came to, the world was a different place altogether. The great light of Lucia was gone from the sky, as was the poisonous black of Lord Belzen. Cannon smoke drifted across the floor of the valley, but there was not a cloud in the sky. The battle was over. But who had won? Katie turned her head to find Mary Seacole at her side, the great ornamental amulet pressed against Katie’s heart.

  ‘You were bowled over by a charging horse,’ she explained in her low sing-song voice. ‘My, but that animal knocked the wind out of you. You’ll be fine, though, child, you’ll be fine.’

  ‘But the Little Angel!’ Katie cried. ‘Has she been killed? Will the world really . . . ’

  ‘It was touch and go,’ Mary Seacole said. ‘She’s been hurt badly – trampled underfoot. Mr Russell has taken her – carried her all the way to the field hospital. If she mends, we’ll take her on to the Scutari hospital. There’s no one Florence can’t patch up.’

  Mary Seacole gave Katie a curious look. ‘I notice you’re not asking about yourself. Well, it’s a miracle you are sitting up right now,’ she said to Katie, whistling low. ‘If anyone should have been killed, it’s you, child. But that letter you’re carrying in your bodice has some fine magic. Young Felix couldn’t pierce it. Don’t worry, I didn’t take your mama’s letter, just had a peek when I was checking you for breaks and bleeds.’

  Katie looked about her, to a sad and sorry sight. Strewn across the valley were the dead and dying. Horses with their guts spewing out, men lying face-down, their hair matted in blood. Even more frightening were the living, crying out for help, for anything to stop the pain. ‘I have my mules here,’ Mary Seacole said, ‘and I have my work cut out. You make your way up the hill, child, and rest. I could be here for hours.’

  Katie got to her feet. Already the smell of gunpowder was overlaid with the stench of death. ‘I think I’m fine,’ she said. ‘I’ll stay and work with you.’ She dreaded it, but she needed to know if Jack was lying there, in need of help. Mary Seacole looked at her with affection. ‘You sure are one fine young woman,’ she said, and handed Katie a canteen filled with water, a sponge and a tin basin. ‘They’re raving with thirst, some of them,’ she said. ‘Find the ones you think will live. Give them a drink, and wash their wounds before the gangrene sets in.’

  All afternoon Katie moved among the broken men. Time and again she returned to Mary Seacole to fill her canteen and rinse her sponge. When they ran out of water, she washed her hands with sherry, and ladled it into the men’s mouths. ‘Probably better for them at this point,’ Mary Seacole commented. ‘They’ve been lying in the sun a long, long time and they’re sinking fast. Best make their last moments more comfortable.’

  They were not alone on the battlefield. Medics from the different regiments heaved the wounded onto stretchers and carried them to the field hospital. The wives of the cavalry came streaming down the hills, calling for their men, willing them to be alive. And then there were those less generous. The scavengers, picking through the bodies, looking for medals, coins – anything a dead man might not value. They took weapons, rifled through pockets, pulled rings from limp and lifeless fingers. Not far from Katie, a filthy urchin was cutting buttons from a dead man’s uniform. As she looked closer, she noticed the child was opening the corpse’s mouth, looking for gold fillings. She shuddered and turned away, not wanting to see what happened next.

  ‘Katie, come quickly,’ Mary Seacole called. She ran over, thinking Mary Seacole must need help, but slowed once she saw the look on her face. ‘Come, my dear,’ she said gently. ‘There is no more I can do for this young man, not in this life. I can only do what I can at the very end. And I think he would rather spend his time with you.’ Katie knew what she would see and, kneeling down, she took Jack’s hand.

  ‘Jack, it’s Katie,’ she said softly. ‘I wish I could be James and Grace too.’

  ‘And Riordan,’ he said, barely audible, ‘I would love to see that round little face. And beautiful Grace. And James, my dear brother. He will do great things, that brother of mine.’

  Katie knew this was not the moment to cry. She must not break down. ‘Where does it hurt?’ she asked. ‘How can I help?’

  ‘It’s such a strange pain,’ he said. ‘At first it was awful, but now it comes in waves, and after each one I feel a bit better, though so weak.’ He stopped talking, as the pain moved through his body, and he twitched and gasped and closed his eyes. For a moment Katie feared he had died, but then he opened his eyes.

  ‘It was terrible,’ he told her. ‘Not like I thought it would be. We were so excited, at the charge, but then it all went wrong.’

  ‘Don’t talk,’ Katie said. ‘It will just tire you.’

  ‘But I must,’ he answered. ‘You must know, everyone must know. Nolan was wrong; he knew it. He led us the wrong way. I was next to Nolan when a shell hit him. He screamed like a child.’

  Katie shuddered. ‘Jack, I think Nolan had been led astray. I think he’d been used. I’ll explain it all when you are better, when you are well.’

  Jack’s mind began to cloud, his voice to ramble. ‘Where is Embarr? The smoke, the noise, it was dreadful. The men were dropping. Ahead of me, Captain Allread fell, I could see his brains on the ground. A cannonball hit my sergeant; his head went clean off. But oh, Katie, he carried on, like the headless horseman, for thirty yards, upright in the saddle, his lance at the charge, firmly gripped under the right arm. And then I felt this piercing, this burning, and I was down, and the horses thundered over me.’

  Jack began to gasp, his breathing shallow and quick. Katie lifted his head into her lap, and smoothed back his hair. A grimace of pain passed over his face, and his eyes were frightened. But his head and face were untouched by his injuries; he was still the young handsome man she was just getting to know. She shifted him slightly, to try and make him comfortable, and realized he was lying in a pool of his own blood. ‘I’ll get Mary Seacole back,’ she said. ‘I’ll get the medics, to put you on a stretcher. We’ll take you back to Scutari. We have the best nurse in the history of the world there. Trust me, I know these things. She can make you well.’

  With a faint smile, he tried to reach up, but was too weak. ‘You are quite the girl,’ he whispered. ‘There isn’t another like you, in any place or any time, as you say.’

  Katie took his hand, and kissed it. She tried to smile back at him, but panic was rising up in her. Jack needed help, and not the kind that she could give. What did Mary Seacole mean – ‘I can only do what I can at the very end’? Katie needed her now.

  The day was still beautiful, not one cloud in the sky. ‘I know what happened,’ Jack said, ‘we charged the wrong way, towards the wrong guns.’ His body twitched again and he cried out. Katie bent down, resting her cheek against his, trying to soothe him in any way she could. And then Jack grew very still. The pain seemed to leave his body. For a moment Katie thought, ‘he is recovering; he will survive.’ Then, with a lurch, she realized it wasn’t just the pain that was ebbing away
, it was his life’s blood.

  ‘Oh Katie,’ he whispered, ‘someone has blundered.’ The agony and terror drained from his face. He turned his gaze from her and looked straight up, his bright blue eyes meeting the flat blue of the sky. And as Katie watched, his eyes became as blank as the arch of colour above them.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Plain Facts

  The days that followed were a blur for Katie. Vaguely, she remembered Jack in her arms, and Mary Seacole swooping down, taking him from her. Mary Seacole had opened the amulet, the vessel around her neck, and held it to Jack’s lips, then pressed it against his heart and head. She chanted softly, and Katie heard the same words she had heard in her dreams, on the eve of the battle.

  Lost for now, but found again, in another place and another time. Tempus fugit, libertati viam facere. Time flies, making a road to freedom.

  Sealing the flask shut, Mary Seacole kissed his forehead and closed his eyes. ‘I can only do it at the end. And I have done what I can,’ she told Katie. ‘You will thank me one day.’

  But it seemed to Katie that, for all the chanting, Mary Seacole had not done much. Jack was still dead. Amidst all the carnage, chaos and confusion, decisions still had to be made. There was no question of Jack’s body being shipped home. So many soldiers had been killed; and many, especially those of lower ranks, were buried together. William Howard Russell used his influence and charm to obtain a separate grave and headstone for Jack. He was buried on Cathcart’s Hill, within striking distance of Sebastopol. The city was still under siege.

  The Little Angel lay in the field hospital, and even before she could sit up, Mary Seacole whisked her, and the Countess Fidelia, to the British Hotel. ‘I believe in Florence Nightingale with all my soul,’ Mary Seacole said to Katie, ‘and Florence has told me to bring this child back to her.’ Once she had built up some strength, the Little Angel was stretchered onto a hospital ship to Scutari. The military baulked at this: only soldiers were allowed on these ships. But again William Howard Russell used his contacts. Not only the Little Angel, but Katie too, was able to board the ship.