Arrows of Time

by Kim Falconer

  Everett found Jane Doe by matching up the digital readout the tech gave him. He set up his tray, placing the instruments in a neat row, and popped the lid. ‘Now, my mystery girl. Let’s see if I can discover what the lab could not.’

  EARTH & GAELA—TIME: FORWARD

  CHAPTER 24

  Nell stood at the edge of the road, checking both ways. It was deserted, save for a small rabbit frozen in mid-stride, paralysed by their sudden arrival. Torgan dropped, flattening himself into the grass, his tail snapping back and forth, haunches bunching.

  ‘Not now, love,’ Nell said, smiling at her familiar. ‘We’ve got to get to Treeon before sunset.’

  ‘Straight into the enemy camp, is it?’ Jarrod asked.

  ‘We need to do some scouting.’

  ‘I thought scouting implied stealth,’ Shane said.

  ‘I don’t think it will be necessary yet.’

  ‘Yet?’ Jarrod asked.

  She brushed grass seeds from the hem of her long dress. ‘Open books are not always so easy to read.’

  Selene frowned at that, but Jarrod laughed. ‘So we are going as…what, may I ask?’ he asked.

  ‘Visiting witches from beyond the Dumar gorge. We’re here for Beltane.’

  ‘From the Forest of Vesper? Romanon Bay?’ He smiled. ‘You timed that rather well.’

  ‘I’m getting the hang of it.’

  Selene crossed her arms. ‘What in demon’s fire is Beltane?’

  ‘One of the Sabbats, a spring fire festival,’ Nell answered, condescendingly. ‘A time to honour the vegetation gods and the great mystery.’

  ‘Wonderful,’ Selene said, looking out into the distance, her lips pursed.

  ‘Festivals usually have an element of merriment to them,’ Shane said, leaning closer to her. ‘Especially those involving fertility rites and…’

  ‘I know.’ She pushed him back. ‘I’d like a clear view of what I’m walking into and so far all I hear is snips and snags.’

  ‘You want a clear picture?’ Nell said. ‘Think of markets, feasting, bonfires and dancing. What’s the riddle in that?’

  Selene looked at Jarrod, who nodded an affirmation. ‘There’ll be music and horse races, demonstrations. Sword work too.’ Jarrod stared at Selene’s weapon. ‘That’s not going to go down well, though. You best let me carry it.’

  She put her hand on the hilt. ‘Not a chance. I won’t go unarmed.’

  ‘Then you’ll not go at all,’ Nell said. ‘We want to blend, not stand out like wolves among the chooks. Do you fancy arrest and imprisonment?’

  ‘Let them try. They won’t touch me.’ She gripped the hilt of her weapon.

  ‘Selene,’ Shane said. ‘It’ll be all right.’

  He offered her a drink from his water bag. She ignored it.

  ‘I’ll mind it well for you,’ Jarrod said, his eyes level with hers, arms out to receive her blade. ‘We really can’t manage this if you’re carrying a sword.’

  She kept her lips pressed tight while undoing her belt. ‘You best look after her.’ She kissed the scabbard and handed it to Jarrod.

  He bowed to her and took the blade. ‘Thank you.’

  Nell smoothed her dress over her hips and shouldered her pack. ‘Are we all ready now?’

  Selene grumbled. ‘Ready enough.’

  Nell opened out her arms as she stepped onto the road. ‘Can I remind you all that this is a festive time of year and we’re travellers who enjoy such things?’ She twirled around, her head back, face to the sun. Torgan bounded beside her.

  ‘Witches know how to have fun? Is that it?’ Selene asked, her face still frowning as she watched Jarrod strap on her sword.

  ‘I can’t speak for them all, but I certainly do,’ Nell said.

  ‘In that case,’ Shane smiled, pulling a low whistle from his pack, ‘I’d best give us a tune.’

  He glanced at Selene before he started to play. ‘This one’s new—something I picked up in Gaela.’ His lips closed around the whistle and a dance of sound filled the air.

  The rabbit bolted, Torgan taking off after it as Nell’s laughter rang out. Selene scowled.

  ‘Come now,’ Nell said, leading them down the road. ‘To Beltane!’ Nell kept smiling, but she let her mind drift to her familiar. She couldn’t see the temple cat in the tall grass, but she could hear him cutting left and right and doubling back through the pasture. The quarry was giving him quite a run. When they crested the first hill, Torgan emerged from the hayfield and joined them. Did you get it, Torgan?

  No, but very close.

  Never mind. There will be roast meats at Treeon.

  I’m hungry now…

  Lucky we’ll be there soon, then!

  ‘How far is it?’ Selene asked as they stood on the crest.

  Nell surveyed the ridges and valleys that rolled out before them, squinting into the distance. She pointed a long, tattooed finger towards a cleft between the hills. ‘There they are. Can you see?’

  ‘See what?’ Selene said. She wrinkled her nose and shaded her eyes.

  ‘I’ve got them,’ Jarrod said, his face relaxed. ‘They’re out filling baskets with wild flowers. It wouldn’t hurt for us to do the same.’

  ‘Pick flowers?’ Selene said.

  ‘Exactly.’ Nell was sparkling. ‘We can’t arrive unadorned.’

  ‘You think I’m going to carry flowers?’

  ‘You’ll be wearing them, Selene, preferably in your hair and along your bosom if possible.’ Nell considered her for a moment. ‘You do have bosoms somewhere under there, don’t you?’

  ‘Uh-oh…’ Shane whispered.

  Selene glared at Nell before tossing aside her pack and pulling her jersey over her head. She wadded up the thick material and stuffed it into her bag. Underneath she wore a tight-fitting bodice of sky-blue satin laced up the front with a black silk cord. She threw back her shoulders and planted her hands on her hips. At the top of her left breast was a single rose tattoo, entwined with a small black serpent.

  ‘So you do,’ Nell laughed. ‘Lovely—and already adorned, I see.’ She waltzed out into the grass, searching for patches of purple daisies. ‘Come on, then. A few flowers won’t hurt. This colour is perfect for your hair.’

  Selene didn’t respond.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Shane said. ‘This isn’t so bad. Poppies and chamomile blooms are everywhere, and look at the red daisies and yellow morning bells. They’re beautiful, don’t you think?’

  Selene still didn’t budge. ‘When did you become a botanist?’ She stood with her feet wide apart, her hands crossed in front of her, a snarl on her face.

  ‘You’ll be stunning,’ Jarrod said, leaning towards her. ‘And it shows you love the floral goddess, so come on!’ He tugged at her hand and pulled her into the field, catching up with Nell.

  ‘Another tune, my bard?’ Nell said to Shane. She bent her head towards Selene. ‘We know he won’t need encouragement.’

  Selene’s lips parted in a half smile.

  ‘None at all,’ she answered.

  Nell gave her hand a squeeze before picking an armful of sunshine poppies.

  When they passed through the gates of Treeon Temple, Jarrod felt a chill, as if the breeze had fingers. He didn’t look directly at Nell but saw from the corner of his eye that she’d felt it too. Her temple cat bristled, his hackles rising briefly before they folded back into a smooth veneer of rust-red and black shine. Nell would have cautioned the creature—act easy, stay loose. He took the advice himself. They must all appear to be immersed in the Beltane reverie—eyes and ears alert, outer appearance carefree. He told himself they could pull it off.

  He walked beside Nell, Torgan between them, and Selene and Shane followed. The couple from Tensar appeared to be over their tensions for the moment. They held hands, whistling a jig. He sensed it was an act, though a convincing one. Others who passed nodded and winked, singing out greetings, though none called Nell by name. Jarrod waved back. Oddly, Nell was not recognis
ed by anyone. When he turned to her with a question on his face, he saw why. The witch had spun a glamour, and a fine one at that.

  The shape of her body hadn’t changed. It was still strong, sensual and lithe, but her face belonged to a younger woman, a girl in her late teens, with hair as purple as ripe forest berries, tied in ribbons of bright red. Her eyes were no longer dark hazel but emerald gems, and her skin was white like fresh cream. She skipped along as they passed the bards and dancers, tossing about yellow flower petals from her basket. She was definitely blending in, touching the shoulders or arms of young men as they passed, laughing when they stopped to kiss her cheeks. She shone like the sun, radiating joy and anticipation—a girl thrilled with the prospects of Beltane eve.

  ‘Where are the maypoles?’ she called out to a group of mentors gathered in front of a candle maker’s stall.

  ‘On the training grounds,’ a woman replied, smiling back. ‘The dances are sure to be starting soon.’

  Nell sang out her thanks and led them all to an apple juice stand. Stacked on either side of a bench were crates of apples, both red and green. Two barefooted lads were at the press, a large wooden vat with a handle on top, twisting the lid down, round and round, continuously pressing out the sweet cider as the apples were crushed between the wooden plates. She paid them a few coins and collected four mugs from the bench, filling them with sticky juice directly from the tap. She passed them around, lifting her mug in a toast, clicking rims with the others. Hiding her lips as she spoke, she said, ‘We need to get as close to the High Priest as possible. Follow my lead.’

  Selene leaned towards her. ‘I thought we were here to listen, to measure the mood,’ she said, also speaking with her mug held to her lips. ‘What are you up to?’

  ‘We’ll be listening, of course. I want to see how he is received, up close. I want to see their faces.’

  Jarrod felt the chill again and saw Nell falter. She put down her empty mug and gripped the edge of the table. She recovered, smiling at the boys. He tossed an extra coin into their coffer and refilled her mug. She quaffed it and brightened.

  Are you all right? Jarrod asked.

  ‘Let’s find the poles!’ she called out, not answering his mental message. Her voice rose over the crowd. ‘I want to dance.’

  Are you ignoring me, Nell, or not hearing me? He forced a smile. I’m not sure which is worse.

  She gave no indication of awareness. Jarrod exchanged looks with Selene and Shane as Nell skipped ahead. Selene gripped his arm, inclining her head towards a group of women who were coming their way. The light breeze had blown open their robes, revealing thin curved swords at their hips, hilts studded with lapis stones smooth against the black leather wraps.

  ‘Do you notice something amiss?’ Selene whispered to Jarrod. ‘Perhaps a bit of incongruence?’ She didn’t wait for a response. ‘These women are carrying swords—fine ones, too. I thought Nell said they were banned.’

  ‘Leave this to me,’ he said. ‘We don’t want to draw attention.’ Jarrod quickened his pace to catch up with Nell. He caught her waist, drawing her into his body, his arm around her shoulder as they danced along. He tightened his grip, smiling to passers-by as he felt her flinch. ‘I’m a little confused, Nellion.’

  ‘How so?’ she asked. Her face was beaming out towards the crowd, but she stiffened in his embrace.

  ‘There are mentors wielding swords, Nell. Women.’ He tossed his head back behind him. ‘A lot of them. Would you like to explain?’

  ‘I’m as surprised as you,’ she said, her glamour shifting for a second. She slipped out from under his arm and made to twirl away.

  He caught her hand and pulled her back. ‘That isn’t quite enough of an explanation.’

  She let out a giggle and kissed his cheek, her hand wiggling out of his like a slippery fish. ‘There they are,’ she shouted. ‘The ribbon poles! Hurry.’ She ran ahead, pushing through the crowd to join the maypole dancers. ‘There’s room for us,’ she said, waving them in.

  Poles were planted in the close-cropped grass of the training grounds. They stood tall, streams of rainbow ribbons sprouting from their tops, fluttering against the bright blue sky. A raised platform stood nearby, banners snapping in the wind. There the bards assembled, ready to play. As they approached, the sound of fiddles filled the air, backed by the driving rhythm of guitars, mandolins and bouzoukis. Percussion instruments joined in with the low thump of wooden drums, pounding out a syncopated beat, accompanied by a jangle of shakers, bells and tambourines. The crowd tapped their feet and clapped their hands, contributing accents with sticks and castanets. A chorus of flutes, pipes and whistles wove in and out of the melody, raising the energy higher with their sweet, lilting tones. The ground shook beneath Jarrod’s feet as people jumped up and down, many crowding the poles, leaping to grasp the wafting ribbons.

  A couple emerged from the crowd, holding hands and flashing smiles towards everyone. A wave of cheers rose, following them as they approached the other dancers. Nell pushed in, Jarrod fast behind her, until they were next to the couple at the main pole, grasping for ribbons.

  What are you up to, Nell? Is this your priest?

  Again she either did not hear him, or pretended not to. When the dance began he saw Selene and Shane moving in the opposite direction as they began weaving the ribbons in and out in time to the music. He skipped along, ducking under one arm and over the next, in and out, over and under, as the colourful streamers twisted round and round the pole.

  ‘What do you make of this?’ Shane whispered to Jarrod as he whisked past him.

  Selene followed, mumbling her concerns as she slipped between Jarrod and the pole. ‘That witch is up to something more than she’s telling. I’m sure of it. I want my sword back.’

  ‘Keep your eyes open,’ Jarrod said at the next pass, though it wasn’t necessary. They both looked alert, nervous. ‘Be ready for anything.’

  Jarrod kept Nell in full view. She was only one step in front of him, holding a yellow ribbon, her arm extended as she danced along. She slowed with the music at the end of the tune. The pole was laced with rainbow streamers, each of the dancers tethered close to the centre. He took a deep breath, about to exhale in relief, when he caught a glint of steel. ‘Nell!’ he shouted, leaping forward. ‘Don’t’

  Nell was on the man before Jarrod could do anything. When she stepped aside, she dropped her blade, red and wet in the short green grass. The band stopped and the oblivious crowd broke into cheers. Nell turned away, her glamour gone.

  Screams rose around them, the shrill sound cutting through the applause. The man, who had come so lightly to the dance, his partner laughing at his side, doubled over, collapsed to his knees and fell face down. Nell let go of her basket, the bright flower petals spilling over the blood seeping from his wound. They rested for a moment on the dark pool before the yellow centres turned black and sank under the slick surface.

  Before Jarrod could grab her, Nell threw back her head and sent a blast of energy from her body, repelling all who closed in. In a whirl of light, she morphed; the backlash of her transformation knocked him down. She emerged from the shock wave as a black hawk, streaking skyward. The raptor shrieked in a high-pitched whistle that sent Torgan tearing across the field. The familiar shadowed his mistress high above, climbing out of the Temple valley.

  The woman was cradling the dead man in her lap, tears streaming down her face. One hand was on his cheek, the other pressed hard against the wound. Her fingers were red, blood gushing out between them. Jarrod turned around, following the hawk’s flight until it disappeared. Then he saw the guards.

  Shane and Selene backed into him, half-a-dozen swords pointing at their throats. In front of him he faced a similar barrage. Suddenly, the area was empty of other dancers, save the victim and his companion. Jarrod lifted his arms over his head. ‘Tio,’ he whispered. ‘I give up.’ He was in no position to fight.

  Selene hissed into his ear. ‘When we get out of this, I’
m going to kill that bitch!’

  ‘Not if I can do it first.’ Jarrod stared at the blades, leaning into Shane and Selene, pressing back to avoid the metal tips. He didn’t doubt the guards’ intentions. They’d happily carve him up for fish bait if given the slightest provocation. Maybe even without it. Fortunately they were having trouble controlling the crowd—the chaos around them kept any clear order from being delivered. At his feet the dead man bled out. The crowd was wailing his name, ‘Corvey, Corvey’. The woman who held the lifeless body spoke to the guards. They referred to her as the High Priestess Le Saint.

  So much for Nell’s ‘accident’ story. The woman seemed in perfect health. ‘Get them out of here,’ she screamed, her bloody finger pointing towards Jarrod.

  The guards shoved Shane and Selene forward, grabbed their packs and weapons and marched them down towards the main temple. By now the crowd had become hysterical. The news was travelling fast. People were pressing in, shouting to make way for healers and more guards, but seemingly reluctant to take their own advice. They did part in front of the captives, though, some staring wide-eyed and others hissing and spitting. Corvey was well loved. His death would be avenged, Jarrod felt sure of that.

  ‘Keep moving,’ the guard said, pushing him forward.

  The prisoners walked with their hands on top of their heads, fingers laced. They were herded up the steps of the temple and along the side walkway until they came to a set of stairs leading down. The light vanished into a black pit and Jarrod smiled to himself. Perfect, he thought, wishing he could communicate their good luck to the others. He knew this labyrinth, with all its twists and turns. At least, he did on his Gaela.

  They were led down the spiral stairwell. It opened into a rock-hewn chamber. Jarrod frowned. This was new. The stone walls were damp, the air musty. Jarrod kept his heart rate steady as they approached a room with no windows and only a single door. They were directed to enter and sit with their backs to the wall. One of the guards dumped their packs and weapons on the ground, tipping the contents into a pile.