Timeless (21 page)

“You’ll have to check the train schedule. I
think several run out daily, but I’m not sure how often,” she
finished matter-of-factly, idly pointed to the hotel computers.
There were only two of them, and everyone wanted to check email to
let their parents know they’d arrived safely.

That will take forever, I thought, cringing.
I needed to know now so I could make my plans.

I saw a phone in the lobby. I asked the
attendant to look up the station number and decided to call.

Getting there would be easy, but how long
would it take? I called for the schedule and then took out the
itinerary that Mr. Dean had distributed on the plane. I decided to
have a headache as the first part of my story and would ask Annie
to tell Mr. Dean that I’d be in bed for the day tomorrow. Mr. Dean
had decided to renege on his promise to let me go visit “relatives”
by myself, despite the forged note from my Aunt. I thought at first
that he’d called Aunt Jo after all, but she never said a word to
me.

It would be difficult to get away, but I
wasn’t going to wait for a more opportune time. We were only in
London for a few days before moving on to Paris and Rome, where
we’d take a flight back. I didn’t have any time to lose.

Annie wanted to come, believing my story
about exploring some ruins I’d read about near Stonehenge. She was
always up for something adventurous.

“No,” I told her firmly.“It’s something I
need to do alone.”

“But you’re just going to explore some old
stones,” she complained.

I explained that I had a special historical
interest in Stonehenge, which wasn’t too far from the castle in my
dreams. I hoped that someone could help me once I was there. I knew
it wasn’t the best plan, but how could I ask someone to help me
find a place that had been in ruins even in the thirteenth
century?

“You’ll just be bored,” I said, which would
have been true if I’d been going to Stonehenge. Annie wasn’t all
that interested in history.

“Besides,” I continued, “somebody has to
cover for me. I’ll do it for you in Paris, okay?”

“Oh, okay. But what’s the fun of an adventure
without someone to share it?” she grumbled.

Ben came up to us in the lobby. He’d
overheard the last part of our conversation.

“I want to come,” he said firmly.

“No. Absolutely not,” I replied. That’s just
what I needed—to bring Damien, my new love, to the present with
Ben, my old love.

“Emily, you’ve never been anywhere besides
Colorado or Florida in your entire life. I don’t see you going all
over England by yourself,” he argued.

“I’m not going all over England. I’m just
going to one part of England. And I’m not stupid, thank you very
much,” I shot back.

“Emily, you know that’s not what I meant,” he
said, exchanging a look with Annie, who shrugged at him.

“Well, forget it,” I said.

“I’ll tell Mr. Dean,” he threatened.

“That’s low, Ben. Give me some credit, okay?
I’ve been planning this for months now,” I said, worried that he
might actually follow through on his threat.

He looked hurt.

“Alright,” he said, “but I hope you know what
you’re doing.”

He turned to go upstairs, and I felt
relieved. I had my schedule set for the next day. I could hardly
wait.

Chapter Eleven

"Touching Eternity"

Here, the intersection of the timeless
moment

Is England and nowhere. Never and always.

T. S. Eliot, “Little Gidding”

Stonehenge looked mystical, timeless. I’d
remembered some of the landscape from the dream, but it appeared
like a magical place, with the fog hanging low over the ground,
clinging to the large stones that stood mysteriously erect, defying
the powers of human explanation to explain their appearance. I had
my own theories about them, believing that those ancient pagans
were probably witches. I knew how they’d moved the stones.

Sheep dotted the surrounding fields of
Salisbury, creating a pastoral scene that looked as if it belonged
to a faraway time, which, of course, it did to me. I surveyed the
patchwork quilt of earth spread before me in varying shades of
green and smiled. I felt close to the past here, and for the first
time, I thought I might actually succeed in casting my spell.
Nowhere else on earth seem better attuned for it.

Most tourists took the bus to see the city
and its famous cathedral, which had the tallest spire in England,
or to visit Stonehenge. I definitely knew I needed to go toward the
stones. I guessed that the castle—or what was left of it—would not
be too far away, and I hoped the bus driver could give me
directions before I disembarked. I was not disappointed.

I waited for the tourists to leave and then
paused before getting off too.

“Yes?” the drive asked me politely.

“I was wondering,” I began, taking a gamble.
“Could you tell me if Montavere Castle is nearby?”

He paused and scratched his head.

“Don’t believe I’ve heard of it,” he
replied.

I suppose I had to expect that. It had been
almost eight hundred years, and the registry had listed it having
been destroyed.

“Oh…” I paused, thinking a moment. “How about
any ruins to a castle or a small chapel near this area?” I
asked.

He continued to look at me, puzzled. I knew
it was a long shot.

“Maybe you have the wrong part of England? We
got castles aplenty here, but I can’t say I’ve…no, wait,” he said,
suddenly thoughtful.

I looked at him hopefully.

“It’s been years since anyone’s talked about
it, but there are ruins not too far from here—it might have once
been a castle, but I can’t say for sure.”

“How far away is it?” I asked excitedly.

“Oh, a good ten minutes, at least, by bus,”
he answered.

My shoulders slumped. It was farther than I’d
originally thought to walk there, likely a good ten miles.

I thanked him, asked about the general
direction of where I was heading and got off at the tourist center
at Stonehenge. I decided I’d have to use my power if I was going to
get anywhere. I was determined that the next bus I saw would take
me to the ruins of Montavere Castle.

I sat down to concentrate. It was good
practice, I thought, for what was to come.

A few minutes later, a red bus came into
view. It carried no passengers. The driver pulled to the stop, and
I got on.

The driver sat as if waiting for others who
never arrived, and then we were off, passing first a few houses
before heading off the main road. He didn’t say a word to me, and I
concentrated on the place in my dream, hoping to navigate us
mentally.

We took a bumpier road where it looked as if
few, if any, regularly traveled. The two people we did meet by the
side of the road stopped to stare at the bus, clearly puzzled to
see us in this remote area. We’d left any paved roads behind us
some time ago.

On our way, we had to stop once for a cow
grazing. The driver honked his horn, and she finally ambled over
enough for us to get around her.

A few miles further on and the road ended
abruptly. I could see woods ahead.

“This is as far as I can take you. The castle
is through there,” the driver told me in a faraway voice that
sounded just a little too creepy for comfort. Had I conjured him
from somewhere? It was a frightening thought what I could do with
this power.

He pointed to the woods, indicating that I’d
have to travel on foot to get there.

“Thanks,” I said, getting up and seeing a
sign that read “Pike’s Woods.”

I paused before getting off the bus.

“Why is it called Pike’s Woods?” I asked. I
hadn’t remembered the forest having a name in my dream, but I knew
it had been a very long time ago.

“Fellow named Pike went into the woods about
fifty years ago. He never came back out,” he answered.

I gulped.

“Oh.”

“You be careful, miss. It’s wild out there,”
he warned.

“Thanks. I will.”

I climbed out of the bus and stood facing the
woods. I took a few steps and then suddenly turned back. The bus
had vanished behind the mist.

I guess I’ll have to go now, I thought,
mentally preparing myself to enter the dark forest.

I felt an immediate sensation of having
entered my dream. Dread plagued me, and I fought the urge to run
away. I walked slowly towards the darkness, climbing over fallen
tree trunks and thorny brush as I entered. The nettles caught at my
jacket and face, sometimes scraping my skin. I’d had the foresight,
at least, to pin up my hair. I’d remembered it catching on low
handing branches in my dream.

I had no idea which direction to take, but I
felt a strong urge guiding my footsteps. I knew where I needed to
go, and I trusted my instincts, remembering what Ramona had told
about the other time travelers.

I walked through the forest for some time, an
eerie silence pervading the area around me, as though nature had
lost its voice—no birds sang, no insects chirped. Just as I thought
I’d started going in circles, the woods thinned, and there it
stood, looming above me in the mist, Montavere Castle. The ruins
sat atop a small hill, all but forgotten by humanity. Nearly eight
hundred years was a long time, I reminded myself.

I eagerly climbed the hill, searching around
the partially standing exterior wall of the castle for the door—or
some clue to the entrance—leading to the secret passage. The wall
tapered off to a few stones scattered among the rising grass. Time
had forgotten the castle and what it hid below.

I doubled back and climbed through an opening
in the walls, picking my way carefully. The sense of apprehension
became much stronger the further in I climbed, and I couldn’t help
but feel disappointed that so much of what I’d remembered seemed to
have vanished.

A winding staircase led upwards, and judging
from the angle of the castle, it had to be the North Tower. An
internal compass seemed to guide my steps onward. I tried climbing
a few steps, but they cracked, nearly breaking off entirely when I
shifted my weight on them. I slowly made my way back down and
crossed the large space I imagined to be the hall, standing where I
felt sure the dais had once stood. I closed my eyes, letting my
intuition guide me in the direction that Damien and I had taken
when we’d tried to make our escape. Despite my certain knowledge of
some rooms, I couldn’t get my exact bearings. Whatever was under
this castle would be difficult, if not impossible, to find. And I
didn’t want to be trapped beneath the castle, the remains of which
looked like they could crumble at any time if I made one wrong
step. I thought about using my power, but somehow I didn’t want to
disrupt what time had done to the stones. I might be able to
recreate the structure totally from memory, but that would also
leave me drained. I had to save my energy for the task ahead.

As I passed under an arch, I felt something
hit me from behind. Stumbling, I fell headlong onto the stones
below, a gash opening from my forehead. Looking around, I saw that
a gargoyle had broken off, its evil leer turned in my direction. I
quickly turned away, only to face another one staring at me.
Visibly shaking, I ran to the opening where I’d entered the castle,
the blood streaming. Disoriented and not a little shaken, I felt
glad to leave the castle behind. Wiping my head with my shirt, I
headed in the direction of the woods, deciding to try the chapel
next. I stopped, closing my eyes again to allow my intuitive sense
of direction to guide me.

I entered the dark forest from a different
angle this time, feeling surer that these woods exactly matched the
ones I’d remembered and dreamed about. I felt a sense of fear and
urgency draw me onward, and I knew, after a few minutes, that I was
close to the clearing that led to the chapel ruins.

I stopped short when I saw a small pond,
realizing that I’d begun to hold my breath. The feeling of hysteria
rose up in me, and I worked hard to push it down. My fear of water
nearly compelled me to run in the opposite direction, but I forced
myself to move on. I passed by the pond hastily, knowing the last
time I’d seen it was the day I died in 1216.

The chapel should appear just beyond the
clearing—the site, at least, must have remained unchanged, even if
the ruins hadn’t.

Though it had begun as a cloudy, rainy day,
the sun had finally emerged while I’d gone to find the church in
the woods, which opened to reveal the clearing. The small pocket of
light gladdened my heart. I rushed to stand in the circle, raising
my face to the sun and closing my eyes to soak up the warmth from
above. It helped to mitigate the sense of danger I’d felt near the
water where I’d met my death before. This alone was a place I knew,
a place of remembered happiness, of hours in Damien’s arms. It gave
me the courage to return to the dark forest and search for the
chapel.

What I came across shortly thereafter were
not the ruins of the chapel where we’d pledged our love but an
actual chapel, obviously rebuilt from stone and standing in the
place I remembered.

That’s odd, I thought. I was sure I had the
right place. My heart sped up when I saw it, and I felt the
strangest sensations as I approached the entrance.

I pushed the heavy wooden door and entered
the church, a small stone edifice that reminded me of pictures I’d
found of gothic churches built during the thirteenth century. I
took a cautious step in, then another.

“Hello?” I called out tentatively.

A man who looked like a priest glanced up.
He’d been stacking brochures on the table behind the last row of
pews.

“Are you lost? Can I help you?” he asked
politely.

“Oh! Hello!” I said, startled.“I was
wondering,” I continued, recovering quickly, “could you tell me how
old this church is?”