Arrows of Time (32 page)

‘One hour and ten minutes. Even if you get her back, her brain activity is nil,’ a nurse said.

‘I don’t think the Donor unit will complain,’ he answered. ‘Clear again.’

After another twenty minutes of resuscitation, Everett looked at Richards. The attending looked shocked, but she gave a nod. He put down the paddles and snapped off his gloves. His team fell silent and the drone of the flat line warning sounded through the room. He cleared his throat. ‘Time of death,’ he said. His eyes went to the wall clock. ‘11.07.’ The heart monitor’s alarm was like a death knell, one that had not rung in over a century. ‘Turn that thing off,’ he said, letting his gloves fall to the floor.

A nurse flipped the switch and clamped the IVs. Another pulled a sheet over the patient’s head. ‘What do we do now?’ she asked as everyone stared at the corpse.

‘Call Cryo, stat,’ Everett said as he walked away. ‘This isn’t over yet.’

‘
W
hat do you make of it, Teg?’ Kreshkali touched him on the shoulder. He’d been hunched over the chart all afternoon, taking notes and checking equations, getting reference books down from the shelves and bookmarking pages. There were stacks of them around him, like towers in a desert landscape. She’d watched his progress, flickering in and out of his mind, following his tracks as she worked on charts of her own. He was receptive, a quick study. The connection exhilarated her. He was every bit as astute as her last pupil, only there was something else—a charisma that kept her enthused no matter how long the tutorials.

It wasn’t that Teg’s magnetism was any more potent than Rosette’s—that girl was sunshine in a bottle. But Teg was not her daughter. He was male, through and through, whelped in the time of the Sea-goat. His energy was earthy and sensual, appealing in such a diffident way. Capricorn, the Sea-goat! Such depths.

She smiled. It was a complex and wily deity, the god of Capricorn. He could coincide with a rise to the heights of material ambition while simultaneously plumbing the depths of inner worlds and metaphysical thought—a mystic and a pragmatist embodied in one sensual, alluring and erotic body. Right now it was the erotic nature that intrigued her, though she knew better than to confuse the boundary between teacher and student, at least during the apprenticeship stage. She sighed. What made him enticing was his utter lack of awareness of her as a woman—either that or he had incredible control, an attribute also linked to Capricorn, but not known for its abundance in Lupins. Interesting combination. She laughed to herself. She would know.

‘Something funny?’ he asked, putting down his pen and closing the text. His dark eyes lifted to meet hers.

She whisked the query away with her hand, shielding her mind. ‘What did you discover?’

‘As a horary chart,’ he said, his voice smooth and deep, ‘it’s radical and fit to read. There is an answer here but…’

‘Go on?’

‘I don’t think we’re asking the right question.’

She lifted her chin. ‘Are you suggesting the chart knows what the “right” question is?’

He nodded, a faint smile forming on his lips.

‘How can that be? Any astrological chart is a representation of a moment in time, the interpretation made through a symbol system that derives meaning from planetary motions. How can it “know” anything?’

I take it that’s not a rhetorical question?

His thought entered her mind in spite of her shield. It didn’t surprise her.
You take it correctly.

‘Not just planetary motions,’ he answered aloud. ‘Precise and prescribed planetary motions that coincide
with equally precise and detailed events. As above, so below…’

‘What do you mean by events?’

‘Inner and outer experiences. Every instance of time carries with it all the possibilities of that moment, past, present and future. The thought, the question, asked at a precise moment, contains its history, its current state, and its potential outcomes. In that sense, it contains the “answer”, which is simply an understanding of its essence. The two are inseparable.’

‘Excellent,’ she said. ‘Good work, Teg. Anything else?’

‘Such as?’

‘The reference to “knowing”?’

He shifted his weight. ‘It’s not so much about sentience as we understand it, but about synchronicity.’

She slipped into the chair opposite him and leaned forward. ‘Synchronicity? And what do we know about that?’

‘The man who formulated the notion.’ He frowned for a moment, staring at her. ‘What was his name? A twentieth-century thinker.’

Jung.

‘Jung! Carl Jung. He used the term to describe the paradoxical occurrence of events that are tied together without obvious cause, yet linked through intrinsic meaning.’

‘Meaning? To whom?’

‘To the person experiencing it, of course. A kind of coincidence in time of two or more otherwise unrelated events that share a similar significance.’

‘And the operant word here?’

‘Time…and acausal.’

‘That’s two words.’

‘I need two. In horary astrology, time is what matters, but the frame of reference is meaningless without a deeper understanding of causality.’

‘How so?’

‘In Earth’s past, it was believed that reality was based on causal mechanics. They called it…’ He tapped the side of his head, thinking. ‘Newtonian! The principle of cause and effect that informed their notion of reality. Things that happened
caused
what happened next.’

‘Example?’

‘The sun rises; light appears. The moon orbits the Earth; the tides ebb and flow.’ He closed his eyes.
I kiss you and you smile.

Kreshkali jolted. He hadn’t sent that last thought, but she caught it anyway. Or did she imagine it? She stared at his face until he looked up.

‘What?’

A trick of my mind, then.
She ran her hand across the tablecloth, smoothing it. ‘Continue, Teg.’

‘A seed is watered; the plant grows.’

‘And in the astrological model?’ she asked, keeping her voice steady. ‘In magic and quantum theory? What informs causality in these disciplines?’

‘Causality takes a different shape, more like Jung’s synchronicity, though it was never widely accepted on Earth.’

‘Why not?’

‘Stuck on Newton, I guess. Paradigm shifts don’t come easy.’

‘Not when you say it like that.’

He nodded. ‘And that’s how they said it, perpetuating another limiting belief.’

‘Why was it so hard to accept?’

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘In the synchronicity model, one event does not cause another but coincides or participates in a way that is meaningful. That was so far outside the mainstream, post-enlightenment persuasion, it couldn’t be grasped.’

‘Better.’

He smiled fully, showing even white teeth. ‘The problem with this chart, though,’ he said, turning to it again, ‘is that the moment in time and its synchronistic relationship to us is pure in essence, but when we translate it into our daily language, it falls short.’

‘What do you mean? The language is limited?’ she asked.

‘I think the language we use to frame our thoughts is imperfect; they all are. And in this case, it is unable to express the quality of the moment as we experience it. There is an answer here, but we aren’t asking the question.’

‘Are you saying our language is flawed?’

He shook his head. ‘Not flawed, but incomplete. Limited.’

‘In what way? Vocabulary, context, connotation?’

‘All those, but I was thinking more of hidden limitations.’

‘Which represent?’

‘The biases.’

‘Now we’re getting there,’ she whispered. She leaned back, taking a sip from her mug. The tea had gone cold, but she didn’t get up to refresh it. The sun was slanting in from the west, rays of golden light splashing over the table and landing on his hand as it held the edge of the chart. She studied his fingers, long and smooth, gracefully curved, holding the paper as if it were a flower, or a rare bird. She coughed. ‘What would those biases be, Teg?’

He kept his eye on her until the hairs on the back of her neck rose. ‘The obvious ones are social,’ he said, returning his attention to the chart. ‘The expectations and assumptions of our various clans and circles.’

‘Examples?’

His lips curled. ‘Propriety.’ He winked. ‘Particularly when in the presence of one’s mentor.’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘Interesting thread, Teg. What else?’

‘Gender issues.’ He held her gaze.

‘Historically or currently?’

‘Historically for starters. In Earth’s past, the denigration of women has been widespread. A few centuries ago things were changing for females—for both genders really—and a non-gendered equality started to form. That was before the wars and ASSIST-mediated controls. After that, the Hammer of Witches…’ He made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat ‘Was revived, sending humanity into the Dark Ages, again.’ He kept his eyes on hers. ‘How’d you ever survive?’

She straightened. ‘You don’t want to know.’

‘I do. Really.’

She flicked crumbs from the tablecloth. ‘Later, maybe. Please continue.’

‘On Gaela, it’s different—genders are equal, at least in the temples, though race is not.’

‘Interesting, isn’t it? On Gaela I come into my own as a woman and a witch, but there as a Lupin you’re considered as
other
.’

‘Everywhere I’m
other
,’ he said, his voice a whisper.

‘Not at Temple Los Loma.’

‘Sometimes.’

‘Never here, in my sacred space.’

He brightened. ‘No, not here…not with you.’

She drained her mug and stood. ‘Done and well done. Time for a break. You’ve been cooped up for hours.’

‘I don’t mind.’ He turned to the window; the sun was a deep red, merging with the horizon. ‘It’ll be a good night for hunting. No wind.’

‘The north hills?’

‘Aye. Join me?’

She followed his gaze. ‘I’d like that.’

His head turned slowly to her, the smile barely perceptible on his face. ‘Lead the way.’

An’ Lawrence studied his familiar. She paced under the palm fronds, her coat dappled by the noonday sun.
Scylla, my beauty, what’s wrong?

She didn’t answer, but her bobtail twitched.

Are you sensing danger?
He asked the question softly, a gentle touch to her mind. It was like brushing up against a beehive.

Shush, Rowan. I’m trying to hear him. It’s very faint. Very far away.

An’ Lawrence stiffened.
Who’s very far away? Scylla?

‘I thought you were going to make us some tea?’ Kreshkali said, looking up from her books. She blinked at An’ Lawrence, letting her eyes drift past him to his familiar. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Something’s up with Scylla,’ he said.

‘Can you be more specific?’

‘She’s trying to hear someone.’ He dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘She wants us to be quiet.’

They were in Kreshkali’s apartment, on the ground floor of Temple Los Loma, the southern side of the manor. The day was hot and the breeze did little to displace the thick air, even though the doors and windows were open. Heat waves wafted up from the ground and the potted plants drooped.

‘She’s going to pace a trench in my garden,’ Kali said. She moved to the kitchen and rinsed out the teapot. ‘Can’t she tell you who’s got her upset?’

‘Give me a minute.’

Scylla continued to stride up and down the length of the patio. Like a lion, her shoulder blades dipped and rose with each step, her nails clicking on the stepping
stones. She held straight to her course until forced to weave around a large terracotta herb pot brimming with basil, coriander, mint and lemon balm. She stopped inches from the gravel pathway lined with flowing lobelia, turned back on her haunches and headed for her starting point. Back and forth, back and forth she went, the shade of the young date palms dappling her coat.

‘Anything?’ Kreshkali asked as she measured herbs with a small spoon.

‘All I get is that she’s upset, and straining to hear a message.’ He didn’t need to add that anything upsetting his familiar upset him as well. She would know. She had links of her own, some with creatures he’d never seen, but he knew she had them. He exhaled slowly, easing the tension in his neck.

Scylla suddenly sat on her haunches and tilted her nose at the sky. She let out a yowl that set every hair on his body standing on end.

Kreshkali dropped the teapot and it shattered on the tile floor. ‘What in a Watcher’s underworld is that about?’ she asked, staring at the feline. She picked up the shards of porcelain. ‘I’ve never heard her do that before.’

‘I have.’

‘When?’

‘Just after we stormed ASSIST.’

‘When Rosette was hit?’

He nodded.

Kreshkali stood up, her eyes unfocused.

‘Who are you talking to?’ An’ Lawrence asked.

She opened her eyes wide. ‘I was checking the borders. We’re secure.’

‘The Three Sisters?’ he asked.

‘And Teg.’

He looked away. ‘No one at the gates? No intrusion?’

‘We’re all right. It’s not Los Loma.’

‘Someone might be coming through the portal. Can you keep a watch there?’ he asked.

‘I’ve got it covered.’ She dried her hands on a towel. ‘Can’t you follow her thoughts, Rowan?’

‘Not yet. It’s too disjointed. I’m not sure she even follows them. She’s telling me to wait.’ He crossed his arms. ‘Who are you talking to now?’

‘No one.’

He held her gaze for a moment; her eyes were like steel. ‘It looked like you were talking to someone.’

‘Looks can be deceiving.’

He squatted at his familiar’s side. ‘Easy, my lovely. I can’t understand any of this in such a rush.’ He held her face in both hands, her white whiskers tickling his wrists.

‘It’s a message?’ Kali asked. ‘Has she heard from them?’

An’ Lawrence didn’t answer. He stood up, his face drained of colour.