Arrows of Time (8 page)

He’d been on the edge of the mountain for three days—their longest separation yet—and still there was no sign of Rosette and Drayco. This wasn’t the first time they’d travelled to an unknown world,
responding to the call of the Entities—guardians of the portals. So far, he and Rosette, and her enigmatic familiar, had come through together, seconds apart. Time had been on their side. But not any more. He flicked dust from his leggings and stared at the swamp.

He understood the physics of it, the slowing down of dimensional space perception. It was an illusion, though an extremely convincing one. It had happened to him and Janis Richter all those hundreds of years ago when they stumbled onto Gaela and hid his CPU in the gorge above Corsanon. His eyebrows narrowed at the memory. Just like then, he had no idea where he was now. As far as he could tell, this world was his own, thousands of years ago. Or perhaps it was really another world altogether, thousands of light years away. There was no knowing. Not yet. Not until he had a look around, and that wasn’t going to happen until Rosette arrived.

A snapping twig cut short his thoughts. He didn’t move, didn’t shift his eyes, but heightened his awareness, stretching it out in all directions like an invisible web. He kept his hands resting together in his lap, his shoulders relaxed, eyes soft behind closed lids. Soon he could hear branches giving way to bipedal travellers, two of them by the sound of it. Their boots slogged through the mud, the low buzz of their voices mellifluous in his head. The language was unrecognisable. He guessed they were about a mile off and would take some time to arrive, if they were coming this way at all. Jarrod suspected they were.

He waited, unmoving, sinking deeper into meditation, letting the sounds and smells of his immediate environment fade away. When he opened his eyes, a man and a woman stood before him, fixing him with dark stares and drawn swords. He assessed
them both and turned to the female. ‘Greetings,’ Jarrod said, his lips lifting into a smile. The tone of his voice was like sunshine.

‘Who are you and what are you doing here?’ the woman asked. Her sword remained directed at him, like an extension of her arm. The dull light that filtered through the clouds bounced off the edge of her blade and hit his eyes, making him squint.
Clever.

The woman spoke with confidence and assertion. There was a sternness to her that suggested she would not hesitate to maim—or kill. Jarrod suspected she was not much older than Rosette, perhaps in her late twenties. Her body was wiry with long limbs, clad in leather pants and vest. Her hair was a short, spiky brown, her eyes green like Gaela’s North Sea—quite a contrast to the drab background of this world. She wore a black cloak flung back from her shoulders and clasped at the neck with a silver image of the moon. Her long fingers wrapped around the hilt of her sword like vines around a branch.
What a focused soul
, he thought.
She’ll have to meet Rosette.

‘Answer me,’ the woman said. Her voice became more challenging as she raised her sword slightly, moving the refracted light back into his eyes. The hem of her sleeve fell back as her arm lifted, revealing the edges of a dark tattoo. It looked like the head of a serpent or a reptile, its mouth open, hissing.

Jarrod processed the words she spoke, considering her syntax and inflections, creating a new database for the language. It had vaguely familiar components. Ancient Babylonian Earth? He would have to research that. ‘I’m a traveller, waiting for my companion,’ he answered back in her own tongue. ‘Who are you?’

She lowered her sword enough to drop the glare from his eyes. ‘I am Selene, first marshal of the border scouts.’

Jarrod nodded his head, about to speak.

‘State your name and placement,’ the man cut in, holding the tip of his sword an arm’s length from Jarrod’s throat. He was taller than Selene—just—with a lithe, muscular build. His arms were bare from the shoulders down, and both were etched in tattoos of flames that licked up towards his face. His eyes were vivid blue, a colour beyond anything in this murky world. His sandy hair was cropped short except for a long thin braid that fell from the nape of his neck to his waist.

Drayco! Are you through the portal?

There was no reply.

‘Name and placement?’ the man repeated, stepping a fraction closer.

‘My name’s Jarrod Cossica. I’m not from around here, so the “placement” query is unanswerable.’ He watched as the two of them seemed to confer without sound or gesture, wondering if they were telepathic. He tuned in, but couldn’t hear their thoughts.
Interesting
…

‘Where are you from, Jarrod Cossica, and how did you learn our language if you are, as you say, “not from around here”?’ Selene asked, her voice more curious now than challenging. He could imagine it being quite lilting, if she wanted it to be. She shifted her stance.

‘If you speak our dialect, you have a placement,’ the man said, interrupting her again. ‘Answer.’

There was no hint of a lilt in his voice. The man’s irritation was transparent, though Jarrod couldn’t work out if it was towards him or Selene. He seemed to be scowling at them both. Jarrod’s eyes went soft, focused on nothing and everything at once. As he took a deep breath, he turned to the man, expanding his energy field towards him. He held him immobile until
the other finally lowered his sword, a quizzical expression on his face.

‘My name is Shane,’ he said.

‘Thank you.’ Jarrod turned back to Selene. ‘I’m recently from Gaela, a long way away. I came here to…’

‘Did you come from there?’ she asked, nodding towards the mouth of the cave.

A race of interrupters, it seems.

‘Yes, I came to…’

‘Then I know why you’re here,’ she said, looking past him into the depths of the mountain. She sheathed her sword and nodded for Shane to do the same. ‘It’s him.’

‘How can you be sure?’

‘Who else could he be? Besides, you felt it, didn’t you?’

The man grimaced at her for some time before finally nodding.

‘We called you,’ she said, bringing her attention back to Jarrod.

He kept his face expressionless. Something wasn’t right. She couldn’t have been the one that called them. She wasn’t telepathic.

‘You need to come with me,’ Selene said. The words were not an invitation.

‘As I mentioned earlier,’ Jarrod replied, slowly standing up as he spoke. He brushed the dust from his hands while looking her in the eye. ‘I’m waiting for my friends. I don’t want to abandon them.’

‘You said you had one companion.’

‘Yes, I did, but it’s actually one, plus one other.’ Jarrod shot another mental thought to Drayco.
Where are you two?
Again there was no reply. They’d either not arrived yet, or had arrived elsewhere.
Accept it, Cossica, and move on. It’s not going to solve itself in this moment.

‘He’ll wait for them,’ Selene said, tilting her head towards Shane. The other man stiffened, his face contorting as he stared back at her. It was obvious he didn’t like the idea at all, but the look in Selene’s eyes didn’t change. ‘I’m sure it won’t be long,’ she added.

‘What if it is?’ Shane asked.

‘You can practise one of those instruments you always have with you.’ Her tone was dismissive.

‘How long have you been waiting?’ he asked Jarrod.

‘A few days.’

‘So it couldn’t be much longer,’ she said. ‘Good news.’

Shane stood firm for a moment before sheathing his sword. The scowl on his face didn’t lift. He was not Jarrod’s first pick for Rosette’s welcoming party.

‘We need you now,’ Selene said to Jarrod. ‘Follow me.’

Jarrod had no desire to leave this man waiting for Rosette. She’d probably carve him to shreds before they’d exchanged two words—not that she would understand his language, or he hers. Still, he did look like he could handle himself, and Selene had a sense of urgency. He made a decision instantly from an infinite array of possibilities. ‘I’d like to leave a token for my companion, unless either of you have a notepad and pen?’

Neither did.

‘Her name is Rosette and she’ll be coming out of that cave some time soon. Her, and her familiar.’

Shane looked quizzical. ‘Familiar?’ He said the word as if it prickled his mouth. ‘What’s that?’

‘A temple cat…a large one.’

Shane shook his head.

‘I think he means
tabby cat
,’ Selene replied, her voice softening with the last word.

Jarrod smiled. ‘Yes, a tabby, more or less. More, really. He has no stripes, though. All black,’ Jarrod said. He held his hand hip-high. ‘And larger.’

‘Larger?’

‘A big beast.’

Shane wrinkled his nose.

‘Not a cat lover?’ Jarrod rubbed the back of his neck.
Good luck.
‘Take this. It’ll help,’ Jarrod said, untying his pendant. He looked at it briefly. It was a silver falcon, wings outstretched and inlaid with turquoise. The wingtips curved upward, forming a semicircle topped by a brilliant ruby sun.

Handing it to Shane, he said, ‘It will persuade her to come with you, assuring her that you’ll know where I am. I don’t think you’ll be able to communicate, unless she can hit your frequency.’

‘Frequency?’ Shane said, looking at the small falcon and rubbing his thumb over the face of the sun.

‘Your mind speech.’

Shane shrugged before slipping the charm into his breast pocket. ‘I don’t have a mind speech.’

‘Then the pendant will help, as long as she doesn’t think you took it from me by force.’

Shane spun around to Selene, about to speak.

‘Let’s go,’ she said, avoiding eye contact with either of them. She adjusted her belt and headed out into the swamp, not looking to see if Jarrod followed.

Shane stared after them as they waded into the fog. It hovered knee-deep above the swamp, rising in wisps that dissipated before touching the misshapen branches and clouds of gnats and flies. If he could bore holes into them with his eyes, he would. He didn’t look away until they’d disappeared.

Perfect. Now I’m to be doorman to some foreigner who’s most likely going to attack before I speak my name. And what did he mean, ‘larger’ tabby?
He brushed the flies away from his face—a futile exercise. This day was not going as planned. Nothing close.

Early that morning, he’d volunteered to walk the borders with Selene. He regularly jumped at any chance for her company, love having that insatiable urge towards proximity that cannot otherwise be explained. It certainly wasn’t a pleasant experience, being with the woman. She was sharp, like fine-cut glass, and she used her wit as a barrier against his desires, his suggestions, his lust. There was no way in. Not for him. Every day he awoke hoping she might open up, and every night he fell asleep disappointed, miserable. He hated it and loved it in equal measure—a demon forever swallowing its tail.

Today Selene had proved aloof, as always, her proficient, detached manner impossible to penetrate with any kind of warmth or meaningful exchange. The more she deflected his efforts, the more sullen he’d become, until he’d finally given up his overtures reduced to glares and grumbles. Inevitably he found himself wishing he was far from the stinking border marshes, far from his ice-cold Selene, in a warm pub, drinking beer and playing tunes with other bards. Now that she was gone, it seemed he had been granted half his wish. He was far from her, but it didn’t help. Nothing did.

He turned his back to the cave and slid down the granite face until he sat on the ground, his head resting against the wall. There was no warmth in the rock, and no comfort in the view. A flock of crows circled above. They alighted in several of the trees, their squawks and caws filling the foul air with earsplitting noise.

He rummaged in his pack and brought out his flute. The creases in his forehead softened as he began to play, the music wafting sweet and brisk over the bog, drowning out the incessant hum of insects and competing with the crows. As he played, the pinch in
his heart began to lessen and his spirits lightened, just a little.

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.