Arrows of Time

by Kim Falconer

  He played for hours, though his lips went dry and his fingers ached. He played until all thought and turmoil vanished from his mind and he became the notes that rose from the flute, drifting over the land and into the distant haze. As he finished a lengthy tune, drawing breath to begin another, he paused. The crows took off, a mass exodus. Everything went still. Even the insects had stopped buzzing. An eerie silence rang in his ears. He started a new tune when suddenly the mountain answered back with a deep bass rumble of its own.

  ‘Demon’s brother,’ he whispered. ‘Not a shaker.’ He pulled the flute away from his lips and jumped up, bracing against the cliff face. He thrust his instrument into his backpack, his knees flexing with each rising tremor. The ground rocked. He shouldered his pack, tightened the straps and raised a fist to the mountain. ‘What did I do to deserve this?’

  There was no direct answer, but the ground rolled in waves underfoot. He ran into the marsh, coursing for the highest ground he could find. At the base of a wide-girthed oak he stopped to catch his breath. The mud rose around his legs; a swell of black sludge was heading towards him. He scrambled up the tree, sticking to the centre branches, outer limbs snapping and breaking at the slightest touch.

  High up the tree, he levelled his eyes at the mountain in time to see the cave tumble in on itself, shooting a geyser of dust out of its mouth as it collapsed in a heap of rubble. When the dust settled, he saw that the tree wasn’t the only thing that had escaped the landslide. A dark figure charged out into the swamp, and at her side was an enormous tabby—bigger than he could imagine. Shane steadied himself on his perch, the oak shuddering beneath his weight. They were headed straight for him.

  ‘What, Dray. What do you see up there?’ Rosette felt his hackles rise, his neck tightening. Her hand went to the hilt of her sword. She slowed her breath and tuned her thoughts and awareness to the immediate surroundings. If there was anyone nearby, they were masking their energy effectively. She couldn’t spot them.

  There’s someone perched in the tree…like a stooping vulture.

  A bird?

  No, but they’re pretending to be one.

  Where?

  Above and to the left. See?

  Rosette looked up through the oak branches, squinting. When she spotted him, she drew her sword. ‘Hey! You up there. Why don’t you come down?’

  There was a reply, though Rosette had no idea what it meant. The language was strange, full of consonants and clicks, though the man’s voice sounded deep and inquiring. Nice timbre.

  ‘Drayco, did you catch any of that?’

  Not a word.

  ‘Great. Where the heck is Jarrod when we need him the most? He’d have the entire dialect catalogued by now.’ She craned her neck. ‘We mean you no harm.’ This time she spoke more slowly, hoping the tone of her voice would transmit a sense of safety and welcome.

  The man answered. Though unintelligible, his words sounded a little more quizzical, not menacing. He kept talking.

  ‘Sheesh. Once you get this guy started, there’s no end.’

  Her familiar flicked his tail. The same may be said of you, Maudi.

  ‘Do you think so?’

  I do.

  She listened to the man in the tree. He carried on, sentence after sentence until, amid the garble, she thought she recognised a word. It sounded like Rosette.

  How could he know my name?

  Maybe if you can get him down here, we’ll find out. I don’t know his words, but I can read his body language.

  She turned back to the tree. ‘That’s me. I’m Rosette.’ She said the name very slowly. ‘R-o-s-e-t-t-e. Come down, please.’

  After more dialogue, his questioning sounds and her coaxing, there was movement in the tree. He was climbing down. Rosette got a good look at him as he descended. He was armed with a long sword, broader than hers, like a Corsanon blade, though he was dressed more like a hunter than a warrior. Clearly camouflage was a priority, though his eyes stood out. There was no camouflaging them. They were a most vivid blue, like a cloudless autumn sky. He’d be considered handsome if he stopped screwing up his face.

  She stepped back from the trunk, giving him room, and hoped it would look like a sign of friendship. He’d stopped his descent about head-high and nodded towards Drayco. His hackles were still up and he sniffed the air around the man’s boots.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry. He’s okay…as long as you are,’ Rosette said. ‘This is Drayco, a temple cat from the Dumarkian Woods.’

  Probably meaningless to him, Maudi, given the foreign language.

  I’m reassuring him. It’s the sound that counts.

  He’s not a stray dog, you know.

  She ignored Drayco’s last observation and gestured to the man. ‘Keep your sword sheathed and we’ll all get along fine,’ she called out.

  That doesn’t seem to be encouraging him, Maudi. Drayco’s voice rippled with humour as he licked his chops.

  ‘Neither does that,’ she said, stroking down the hackles. ‘Can you close your mouth, at least?’

  I will, if you put away your sword.

  Good point. She sheathed her blade and smiled up at those spectacular blue eyes, her palms open.

  Finally, he swung both legs out and pushed off the limb to land splat in the mud next to Rosette. He stared at her, then the feline, his hand never leaving his sword hilt.

  ‘I didn’t know a tabby could get that big,’ he said, pulling his gaze from Drayco to focus on Rosette.

  ‘I’ve no idea what you just said, but I can assure you there’s no threat here, unless it resides in you.’

  I don’t think he got that, Maudi. Drayco gingerly sat down on the firmest ground he could find and began to purr.

  ‘Now that he might understand,’ Rosette said, smiling. She looked at the man and watched his face lighten briefly as the rumbling sound of Drayco’s purr filled the air.

  ‘I prefer dogs,’ he said. ‘But your beast is impressive, in size anyway. He seems almost intelligent.’

  I don’t like the look of him, Maudi.

  Let’s give him a chance. She smiled. ‘I’ve no idea what you mean.’ She said the words slowly. ‘But I take that tone as an alliance.’

  ‘I’m called Shane, second marshal of the border scouts. I’m guessing you two are the friends that Jarrod was waiting for. You got out of that cave just in time.’

  Rosette had been concentrating on the words, unable to grasp any of them, until she heard him say Jarrod.

  ‘Jarrod! Have you seen Jarrod?’

  ‘Jarrod.’ He nodded. ‘He asked me to wait for you.’ He fished the pendant out of his pocket and handed it to her.

  She snatched it from his grip. ‘Jarrod gave you this?’ she said. ‘To pass to me?’

  She scrutinised the charm before tucking it between her breasts. ‘Where is he? Where did he go? Is he all right? Did he give you any message for me?’

  The man looked perplexed.

  Too much, Maudi. Too much. He’s clearly met Jarrod. He’s probably going to take us to him. Remember, you said to give him a chance.

  You’re right. Rosette took a deep breath and reached out her hand. ‘I’m Rosette,’ she said, placing her free hand over her heart and repeating her name. ‘Rosette. And this is Drayco.’

  ‘Shane,’ he said, giving a trickster’s smile, like a man who knew more than he was telling.

  She liked that. He took her hand and held it for a moment. ‘Rosette.’ He said her name with that strange accent of his. ‘Drayco?’ He nodded to the temple cat.

  ‘Yes, that’s it. And you’re Shawn?’

  ‘Shane.’ He articulated more slowly, a genuine smile now transforming his face.

  ‘Shane, is it? Well, Shane, can you take us to Jarrod?’

  He nodded at her and Drayco. ‘You best come with me if you want to find Jarrod.’

  What do you think, Dray?

  He feels okay. But…

  But what?

  Something’s weird.
<
br />   Rosette looked around at the putrid landscape. The mysterious man adjusted his pack and motioned her to follow.

  ‘No kidding,’ she said, before stepping out after him. ‘Let’s go.’

  EARTH—TIME: BACKWARD

  CHAPTER 5

  Startled by the nurse, Everett looked up from his digital display. Didn’t anyone knock any more? ‘What now?’

  ‘The Jane Doe, Dr Kelly. She’s cyanotic.’ The nurse turned her hand-held monitor towards him.

  He checked the figures on the way to the ward. ‘How long has she had trouble breathing?’

  ‘The last hour. We were going to buzz you but…’

  He silenced her with a look and quickened his pace.

  The Jane Doe was still unconscious, her breath shallow, her skin grey. ‘Bag her, oxygen wide open. What’s that scent?’

  ‘Doctor?’

  ‘Can’t you smell it? Fragrant, like…’

  The nurse took a deep breath. ‘Roses?’

  Everett frowned. ‘Yes, like roses,’ he said. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘I remember it from the bio-museum. Been there more than once. Amazing how you can remember a smell…’

  Everett tapped the top of another display screen. ‘What’s wrong with the heart monitor?’

  The nurse flipped a switch and rapid beeps filled the room. ‘We were turning her…’

  ‘Keep it on all the time, Hally,’ he said, shooting a glance towards the open door. ‘No exceptions.’

  ‘She’s tacky at 190, Dr Kelly,’ she said.

  Everett studied the screen, blue lines on a black background that traced the outline of mountain peaks and irregular valleys. It was going too fast.

  ‘The P waves are doubling up. We might be overdosing her,’ he said.

  ‘She’s had the recommended rate.’

  ‘Not recommended for her, it seems.’ He listened to his patient’s lungs, his stethoscope sliding over the wings of a lion embedded in her skin. The detailed image covered her upper thorax, the wings extending towards her clavicles. The lion’s heart was directly over her own. Sweat beaded on his forehead. She was a strange woman with no ID. He couldn’t keep her hidden from Admin forever. ‘She’s got wet rales,’ he said. ‘On both sides. Damn.’

  ‘Doctor?’

  ‘Look it up in your Historical Pathology manual. Rales are bubbly lung noises heard on inspiration. Come listen. The pulmonary alveoli are filling with fluid.’

  Hally listened with her stethoscope. ‘Pneumonia again?’ she asked. ‘From aspiration?’

  ‘It doesn’t make sense.’ He shook his head. ‘Sit her up and turn off the fluids. She’s drowning.’

  ‘It can’t be an infection,’ Hally said, clamping the intravenous drip. ‘She’s been irradiated.’ Her eyes went wide. ‘Unless it’s a new outbreak.’

  ‘What’s her temp?’

  She switched the screen to an alternate diagnostic display. ‘Elevated again,’ she said. ‘Forty degrees Celsius.’

  ‘Cold packs, stat, and get some help. I want the temp down immediately. No convulsions this time.’

  ‘She’s like a teaching hospital’s dream, isn’t she, doctor? Everything that can go wrong…’

  ‘Just cool her down,’ Everett said, scribbling notes into the digital chart. He felt a prickle down his spine as he wrote.

  ‘Dr Kelly.’ A woman stuck her head in the room. ‘Do you have a minute?’

  Everett cursed under his breath. Bad timing. He covered his patient’s chest and forced a smile as he waved the chief resident in. She was a small woman with a chiselled, porcelain face like an antique china doll, but her energy boomed out from her diminutive frame—loud, officious and intimidating.

  ‘Dr Snead,’ he said. ‘It’s a pleasure to see you.’

  ‘Don’t start by lying, Everett. I came to find out what you’re doing in here. I’ve heard rumours.’

  ‘I’m treating my patient,’ he said as he turned to watch the heart monitor. He felt his own pulse pounding along with the accelerated beats of his patient. He slipped the stethoscope under the sheet.

  Hally and two other nurses lined the patient’s bare arms and legs with cold packs. The chief resident crossed the room with a clipped stride, stopping to read the digital displays.

  ‘What do you mean, rumours?’ he asked.

  ‘There was talk,’ she said, turning to the patient. She pulled back the sheet and sucked in her breath. ‘And I see it’s true.’ She pointed at the winged lion. ‘Explain that, will you, Dr Kelly?’

  He cleared his throat. ‘They call them tattoos.’

  ‘Tattoos?’ She said the word as if it had a bad taste. ‘Who are they?’

  ‘Various ancient cultures. The original reference to this kind of body art is “tatuing”.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘To make a mark.’

  She raised her brows. ‘They certainly made their mark on her. Why was it done?’

  ‘No one knows for certain.’

  ‘Best guess?’

  ‘Perhaps it was a sign of membership or rank, connection to the clan.’

  ‘Clan?’

  ‘A cohesive group.’

  She huffed.

  ‘Tattooing was most likely a sacred ritual, the body art symbolic of initiation of some kind. The artist possessed the skill to weave the spirit of the image into the body.’ He watched her face. ‘According to ancient traditions.’

  ‘Which ancient traditions?’

  ‘Pacific Islands, Egyptian.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Five thousand BCE, or more.’

  ‘You’re not suggesting that’s where she got this work, are you, Dr Kelly?’

  ‘I’m not suggesting anything. I don’t know who did this, or where she comes from.’

  Dr Snead flipped the sheet back and turned to Everett. ‘I didn’t come here to talk about ancient history.’

  ‘What, then?’

  ‘Admin’s been alerted. You’re working on a Jane Doe, Everett.’

  ‘Her identity is…’

  ‘Not on the chart.’ She crossed her arms. ‘Why not?’

  Everett stalled, making notations on his digital file. ‘Hally, start her on gentacore-50, 500mg IV, t.i.d. and monitor her temp Q every fifteen minutes. I’ll be right back.’ He nodded to his nurse and ushered the chief resident out of the room. ‘She has no ID,’ he said, leaning in close.

  ‘Exactly. You know the rules, Dr Kelly. No ID, no treatment.’ When he didn’t respond, she went on. ‘This is an Allied States hospital that follows the procedures. If you can’t justify treating her to me, I can’t justify it to Admin.’

  ‘She needs treatment.’

  ‘No ID, Everett. Move her on.’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘I’m saying ship her off to the Donor ward, stat. She can live there indefinitely.’

  He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘You have a limited concept of the word “live”, Dr Snead. She’ll never communicate again if she goes to Donor.’

  ‘You don’t know that.’

  ‘It’s a safe bet.’

  She narrowed her eyes. ‘And?’

  ‘Aren’t you the least bit curious where she comes from? This case presents so many questions. How could she have survived to maturity without ID, and why can’t we wake her up for more than a few moments at a time? Why aren’t any of our treatments that work one hundred percent of the time on one hundred percent of the world population working on her? What does that tell you, Francis?’

  ‘Are you suggesting she’s not from this world?’

  ‘Of course not. I’m saying that if we don’t keep treating her, we’ll never know. This is a teaching hospital, and we’ve got a great case. Do you really want to let it go?’

  Dr Snead tightened her jaw. ‘You aren’t getting it. No ID means one of two things: itinerant or Borderlands. She’s too clean to have been brought up on the streets, and ASSIST has strict policies in either case. It’s not an opti
on, Everett. Shift her. If you don’t, I will. She’s delegated to donor status as of now.’ She flipped open her digital notepad and made an entry. ‘That’s it. Done.’

  ‘She’ll die there.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Everett. No one dies there. No one dies anywhere. They rest until we find a cure.’

  ‘You mean they rest while we slowly relieve them of all their vital organs.’

  ‘This isn’t a philosophical debate; it’s a medical decision. Get her off my ward, now.’

  He clasped his hands together. ‘You’ll need an order from Admin for that. I’m going to fight you on this one. I’ll keep trying to revive her until I see the paperwork.’

  ‘You’re pushing it too far.’

  He exhaled. ‘I’m aware of that.’

  ‘So move her!’ She held his eyes for a moment before heading down the hall.

  Not until I have to. He straightened his shoulders and returned to his patient. ‘Hally, we need another complete set of diagnostics, and get me Lucy J in Labs.’

  ‘Are we running out of time, Dr Kelly?’

  He listened again to Jane Doe’s heart. ‘It would seem so.’

  EARTH & GAELA—TIME: FORWARD

  CHAPTER 6

  An’ Lawrence didn’t move. His eyes were unfocused, and though he was aware of each sword pointed at him, front, back and side, his shoulders were relaxed, his body fluid. Stripped to the waist, his weapon in a guard position, he felt the serpent tattoos on his arms come alive, as if they too were watching, waiting. The thunder eagle protecting his back was all but screaming defiance. He kept his eyes hooded and drew in a breath. Sweat poured down his chest, mingling with the red dust, streaking his skin.

  ‘Again,’ he said, bellowing the command.

  Four students rushed in at once, their war cries filling the air. He took a small step to the side and allowed three of them to pass. Their practice swords swung wide of the mark as they struggled to avoid colliding with each other. The fourth, a Lupin named Teg, had more cunning. Waiting a fraction of a second, he had attacked with a right-handed strike, his blade aiming to slice from above the left clavicle to the right hip. An’ Lawrence dropped to one knee. He thrust his sword arm up, his blade becoming a horizontal block. The Lupin’s strike hit near the hilt, sliding down the length of his sword to the ground. As it glanced off, An’ Lawrence stepped forward, swinging his arm in an arc and striking downward. He stopped as the wooden practice blade cracked the top of his student’s shoulder. Teg dropped to both knees, his sword arm out of control, the blade digging into the ground