Arrows of Time (40 page)

He nodded, his lips tight. ‘I did.’

‘And are you ready to roll over, Sword Master?’

His knuckles went white as he gripped the hilt of his weapon. ‘I am.’ He said it like an oath.

‘It’s expedient, Rowan. Please play along. I don’t want any surprises.’

Before he could answer, half-a-dozen riders crested the hill behind them, creating billows of dust, dirt brown against the green fields. The one in the lead drew his sword when he spotted them and Kali moved her hands away from her sides, letting the hood fall back from her head, her cloak slipping to reveal her shoulder. An’ Lawrence stood, his legs wide apart, arms crossed. When the riders were on them, they skidded to a halt, the horses’ haunches tucking neatly beneath them. They circled, swords drawn.

Kreshkali beamed a smile. ‘Looking for someone, are you?’ she asked the captain.

‘The High Priestess Le Saint requests your immediate presence,’ he said, his horse blowing after the hard sprint.

He rode a copper-coloured palomino, tall and well proportioned. Her flaxen mane fell in rippling waves as she tossed her head. Kreshkali’s eyes drifted over the mare, thinking she would be a fine addition to their growing herd at Temple Los Loma.

‘Fabulous animal,’ she said.

The guard sheathed his sword and dismounted. He had light hair himself, and broad shoulders. He was stripped to the waist save for a leather vest and a round shield slung on his back. His blue eyes flashed.

‘You hold priestess rank,’ he said. It was a statement, not a question. He was studying the tattoos on her hands and followed the line of her arm to her shoulder which bore the symbol of Treeon Temple—the serpent-entwined tree. As he studied An’ Lawrence, his jaw began to work. ‘I’ve been at Treeon all my life,’ he said. ‘I would not forget either of you.’

‘Thank you,’ Kreshkali said. ‘We’ve been away for some time.’

The guard levelled his sword at her throat. ‘Drop the glamour, witch. You have not deceived me.’

Mistress?

It’s fine, Teg. Keep going.

A flash of silver caught the corner of her eye.
‘
Rowan, don’t!’ she screamed.

An’ Lawrence’s reaction was instant. He had his sword drawn and the clash of steel rang over the hills. His unexpected uppercut had disarmed his opponent, but before he could follow through with a downward stroke to the man’s neck, Kali threw her hands into the air and released a blast of her own.

‘Consisto statim!’ she bellowed to the sky.
Stop! Immediately!
She repeated the words again underneath her breath. ‘Consisto statim. Consisto statim…’

Kali! What’s happened?
Teg’s voice rang in her head, but she had no time to respond. She needed to defuse the situation before An’ Lawrence flayed their fastest way into the labyrinths beneath Treeon Temple in two.

A blue haze rose around her, like the curtains of the aurora borealis, the northern lights. It expanded until
it was engulfing the guards in a glowing orb. Their motions were stopped, captured like a painting, a scene frozen in time. Only Kreshkali and An’ Lawrence were free to move about them.

Four of the horses were caught rearing like statues, their riders spurring them forward. The brandished swords were dull, slate-blue in the pulsing haze. Kreshkali slowly exhaled, keeping the spell in place as she stepped away from a horse inches from running her down. The animal was immobile, locked in a charge. The rider’s face was contorted, his sword arcing down towards her shoulders. An’ Lawrence stepped to the side as well, ducking under a striking hoof poised to cleave his head in two.

‘What were you thinking?’ she shouted at him, her face hot.

‘What was
I
thinking? I suppose you wanted me to let him split your head open?’

‘I had it under control.’

‘You had us plummeting towards the underworld, is what you had. He was going to use that blade, Kali. I just saved your life.’

‘And now we’re in a bigger mess,’ she yelled as she retrieved the captain’s weapon from the ground.

‘Bigger than death?’ An’ Lawrence asked. ‘You’re mad!’

Kreshkali looked at the guards; an eerie silence enveloped them along with the haze. A breeze caught the nearest horse’s mane. It floated like strands of seaweed in a tidal pool. Other than that, the scene was dead still.

‘This is not my idea of “roll over and let us be captured”, Rowan. What are we going to do now?’

Do you need me? Shall I come back?
Teg’s voice entered her thoughts again. It sounded like he was running.

I’m not sure yet. We’ve had a little situation here. Give me a moment.

An’ Lawrence sheathed his sword. ‘How long will this last?’ he asked, tilting his head towards the motionless scene.

‘About thirty more seconds.’

‘Can you fog their recall?’

‘You don’t ask for much, do you? There’re six of them, and the horses.’

He raised his eyebrows.

‘I can manage it.’

‘Then jump on that palomino. Quickly! I’ll calm the horses as soon as they come to. You take care of the men.’ He vaulted onto a chestnut whose rider was standing up in the stirrups, leaning forward over his mount’s neck. He gently took the sword from the guard’s grip and sheathed it before nodding to Kreshkali.

She returned the captain’s sword to his scabbard and vaulted onto the palomino. The horse had her front hooves off the ground in a low rear, making it hard to stay seated. Sweat dripped from her brow. There were only seconds left.

‘Do it.’ An’ Lawrence waved her on.

With one hand gripping the mare’s mane, she spread her fingers wide, sending out a deep hum from the back of her throat. The sound built up, then, as if struck by lightning, the entire scene reanimated, the guards and horses bursting back to life. She wove her calming spell, mingling it with a mild confusion. The other horses came down from their wild rear and stopped short, jolting the riders before they could sink into their saddles. The palomino did the same, but Kali was ready for it. She smoothed her cloak and lifted her chin, beaming a smile. The captain scratched the back of his neck, touching his sword hilt as he turned to face her.

‘We’re ready then?’ Kreshkali said. ‘Off to an audience with Le Saint?’ She sat forward on the horse, giving him room to mount up behind her.

The captain looked about him as he drew the reins over the mare’s neck. The concern on his face didn’t lift.

‘Treeon?’ she encouraged. ‘We’d like to meet with Le Saint about this ghastly business. We have news, remember?’

‘Of course I do.’ He eyed An’ Lawrence before shortening the reins. He swung up behind Kreshkali, a smooth and practised movement, his arms enclosing her waist as he turned the mare back the way they’d come. His guards followed and they headed out at an easy jog. She glanced at An’ Lawrence riding behind the guard on the chestnut mare. His face was grim.

She tuned into Teg.
We’re on our way.

Same plan, Mistress?

That’s right.

You had me scared.

She exhaled.
Everything’s fine now.
She noticed An’ Lawrence’s fingers twitching and hoped very much she was right.

Le Saint stood before them, her hands clasped tight, her pearl dress saturated with blood. The hem was torn; wilted daisies clung to the edges, falling to the floor when she paced. Her feet were bare, the toenails painted a dark red, but not as dark as the dried blood around her ankles. Her hair fell in golden ringlets, and her eyes were a slate blue, like the centre of orchids. They bore into Jarrod, unblinking.

‘I am High Priestess Le Saint,’ she said, after he and his companions had given their names. ‘Tell me, where are you from?’

Jarrod shrugged one shoulder slightly. ‘A different
place, High Priestess.’ He offered no other explanation and she drew in a deep breath.

‘A different place, or is it time?’

‘Both.’

‘And the witch in your company? The murderer?’ Her voice was flat, devoid of any emotion or emphasis.

‘She’s from another place again.’

Le Saint paused to survey Shane and Selene. ‘And they also, I gather.’

He nodded.

‘But you’ve all converged here, in my time, my temple…my Beltane. For what reason, other than death?’

‘We hoped to restore balance to another future.’

‘By murdering Corvey?’

‘That was not my intention.’

She blew air over her lips. ‘Yet it is the result. Couldn’t you foresee it?’

He considered, wondering for a moment why he hadn’t been aware of the probability of Nell’s actions. As quantum sentient, he could predict—in a deterministic fashion—all the myriad outcomes of any given set of events and observe them simultaneously in superposition to each other. It’s what he did. How could he have missed this? ‘It seems I was deceived,’ he said, his brow furrowing.

She looked down at the bloodstains on her hands and rubbed them. ‘It seems I was as well.’ She drew in another deep breath. ‘And now I must decide where the truth lies. Corvey may or may not have brewed a spell that was best broken. My people are not going to hail you and that indigo witch as heroes either way. You’ve cast a shadow on our Beltane, and a shadow on my sovereignty. It doesn’t bode well.’

‘We sought to protect your sovereignty.’

‘I don’t like your methods.’

‘It wasn’t my best solution, I assure you,’ Jarrod said.

‘Yet here we are.’ She turned her gaze towards the high arched windows to the west. ‘For good or ill?’ she said as if speaking to someone far away.

He shrugged both shoulders this time. ‘The results are yet to be seen.’

‘With that established, can you speak plainly, both of you?’ Selene blurted out, her voice gathering momentum as she continued. ‘I’m tired of these allusions to what’s right or wrong, best or worst. Either lock us up or set us free, but leave off with the damned mystery. Demons, is this how all you witches communicate?’ She snapped her mouth shut at a wave of Le Saint’s hand.

‘I can see this doesn’t concern you,’ the High Priestess said.

Selene gathered her breath, about to respond, but Shane pulled her back, shaking his head. An apprentice entered the chamber before anyone could say more. Her feet were bare and her footfalls silent. She closed the gap between them in seconds, her robe flowing out behind her.

‘High Priestess,’ she said, dipping her head and waiting for acknowledgment.

‘Have they found her?’ Le Saint asked.

‘Not yet, but they’ve brought someone else.’ She paused, taking in Jarrod and his companions.

‘Who else?’ Le Saint drew her attention back.

‘There was a couple heading south on the Corsanon road. Apparently they are out for a Beltane hunt.’

‘That’s not uncommon.’

‘Not in itself, but these two are…unusual.’

‘In what way?’

‘They bear the marks of Treeon.’

‘Again, not uncommon.’

‘The ancient ones,’ her apprentice said in a whisper. ‘From the old records.’

The High Priestess faltered, but recomposed herself quickly. ‘And do we know what they’re hunting for?’ Her eyes drifted to Jarrod.

‘They’re here now, if you care to see them,’ the apprentice said.

‘Show them in, thank you.’ The High Priestess pushed her hair back and tied it with a band from her wrist. ‘Let’s see if this is anyone you know, shall we?’

G
rayson stood over the stainless steel table, staring at the crystals. They were like tiny diamonds covering Rosette’s bare skin. She was grey, a sunless sky; her eyes were black holes, staring at the ceiling, unblinking. The colours of her newest tattoo seemed painted on, no longer a part of the living canvas of her skin but a thing apart, foreign. A wave of nausea rose in his throat. He trembled, reaching out to touch her cheek.

Everett stopped him. ‘Mustn’t contaminate,’ he said.

Grayson could feel the man staring at him. He couldn’t bring himself to pull his eyes away from Rosette.

‘This is your missing friend?’ Everett asked, slowly closing the vat.

Grayson continued to stare while Everett snapped the lid shut. When he finally looked up, his face was streaming with tears. ‘How did it happen?’ he asked.

‘Not here,’ Everett said, handing him a small digital screen.

Everett glanced at the tech station before guiding Grayson towards the doors. Grayson read the contents of the screen and handed it back, tightening the collar of the pathology jacket Everett had given him. He lengthened his stride. The two walked out of the ward with only a brief nod to the tech.

Grayson waited for the elevator door to slide shut before speaking. ‘When can you release her?’ he asked as they began the descent to ground level.

Everett frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I want to take her home.’

‘Not a possibility. Admin’s logged her now. She’s quite a novelty. I’ve got thirty-six hours to effect a cure before she goes to donor status.’

Grayson felt another wave of nausea rise up into his throat. ‘Effect a cure?’

‘If I can find out what stopped her heart, I can ameliorate and reanimate.’

Grayson let out his breath. ‘That’s all fine for the body, but what about her spirit?’

A tone sounded. Ground floor. Everett held the elevator doors open, allowing Grayson to exit first. They walked down the hall, deserted now in the early hours of the morning, and out into the crisp metallic air.

‘I’m not sure I follow. Do you mean spirit in the sense of the pre-enlightenment notions?’ Everett asked.

‘Do your pre-enlightenment notions include a divine life force—source energy—that inhabits the body-vehicle. Energy that cannot be created or destroyed?’

‘That’s about right, if my history is correct.’

‘Then yes, that’s what I mean.’

Everett laughed, cutting it short as he registered the look on Grayson’s face. ‘Sorry. I didn’t realise you were
serious. The existence of a soul or spirit prior to or after the life of the body was disproved centuries ago.’