The Time Corps Chronicles (Complete Series)

by Heather Blackwood

  If the owl was her aspect, what did that tell her? How could this ability prove useful?

  But before she could give it much thought, she realized that she was not alone. A crow descended from above and she swerved sideways, so it only clipped her outstretched wing. She flapped to regain her balance and turned back to look behind her, for she was certain that was where the crow now was. He rose up behind her and darted toward her tail. She pulled up, but the thing struck her, hard enough to pull a few feathers out. They floated downward toward the earth.

  Well, if this terrible creature thought it could intimidate her, it could think again. She was twice its size, and she had both a sharp beak and wicked talons at her disposal. She dove for the ground, an old human instinct perhaps, but she felt safer closer to the earth. Then, as the crow plunged down after her, she pulled up, letting it pass her. She dove for it, talons outstretched, but it darted away, veering off to one side and leaving her. For a moment, she thought she heard it whisper something, but that had to be a trick of the wind.

  “Fine then, leave, you cowardly thing,” she said.

  The sky was growing lighter and she wanted to be indoors now, back where she was safe. She flew fast, scanning the rooftops and streets for familiar landmarks, but she was unused to viewing the area from this height. Ah, there was the park, so the Time Corps house was only a few blocks away.

  She had almost reached the house when the crows came. There were four of them, and they cawed and shrieked as they flew at her. One tore at her right wing while another pecked her on the back of the head, hard. She barreled toward the ground, flapping frantically and twisting, trying to regain her equilibrium, but no sooner would she stabilize herself than another crow would tear at her.

  “This is not your place, daughter of the grey-eyed one,” one of them screamed, and Astrid turned her head so quickly she almost lost her balance.

  The other crows took up a chorus of “dark-flyer,” “silent-wing,” and “night-hunter,” as they pelted her.

  She kept racing for home, dipping lower and lower, tearing at the crows with beak and talons whenever she got the chance.

  Then, a fifth crow approached, but as it got closer, she noted its size. A raven.

  “Out with you, vermin!” he shouted and flew over Astrid’s back, colliding directly with one of the crows. She knew his voice. The others attacked him and Astrid spun around. Now things were more even. It was still four against two, but she and Huginn were larger and stronger birds.

  After Huginn dipped and dive-bombed them twice and Astrid got two nice hunks of flesh in her talons, the crows flew away.

  “Too many ravens,” shouted one. “Two too many!” And then they flapped away and were gone.

  “Better get inside,” said Huginn.

  She followed him to the house, memorizing the lay of the land, and they both flew in her bedroom window.

  “How did you find me?” asked Astrid.

  “I was out a little while ago and found Diego in the tree by your window. He mentioned that you were an owl. It didn’t make any sense until I saw those crows after you.”

  She hopped across the bedroom floor, talons sticking in the carpet, and now Sister was up, eying her with curiosity and a little fear.

  “It’s me, Astrid,” she said. “This is my aspect.”

  “Can you change back?” signed Sister.

  Astrid hoped so. She thought of how she willed herself to open Doors and did the same for her physical form. A moment later, she was a woman again, albeit a nude one. She’d have to remember that little difficulty if she ever wanted to change form in front of others. She dressed and checked the time: 6:35.

  That meant it would be 8:35 in Nebraska. She texted Jeff, “It’s an owl,” and set her phone down. She had no shyness about revealing her aspect. She needed all the help she could get, and she instinctively trusted Jeff.

  A minute later, he texted back. “We can work with that. Shakespeare once wrote: ‘They say the owl was a baker’s daughter. Lord, we know what we are, but know not what we may be.’”

  Chapter 19

  After the excitement at dawn, Huginn needed a nap. But the birds outside made him uneasy and his mind was too filled with ideas for him to rest. In the past, the birds had given him no trouble. But he was not a psychopomp, and something about Astrid seemed to bring out the worst in them. The crows were typically decent neighbors though they were occasionally rude. But they had never turned violent before.

  Frieda and Diego chased a lizard under the sofa, poking their little paws at it and then scampering around to the other side to reach for it again. They had already pulled the tail off the thing, and they paused from their hunt to bat it around the floor and chew on it. Sister crinkled up her nose in disgust, but Huginn understood the desire. The kittens had to learn to hunt somewhere, and until they learned not to talk in front of humans, they needed to hunt indoors or in the backyard.

  “You look beautiful,” signed Sister to Pangur Ban. “Like an Egyptian cat picture in my book.” The white cat sat on the windowsill, her form tall and lean, paws neatly side by side, her tail curled elegantly around her feet.

  Sister was referring to one of her history textbooks, and as Huginn had sat with her for many lessons, he saw the similarity to the image in the book. The photograph was of a statuette of a black cat, but that was the only difference.

  Pangur Ban squeezed her eyes shut in pleasure, and Huginn wondered if he ought to compliment her more often. He had never thought of her as a vain creature, but he also knew that all beings liked being told they were beautiful. He would try to remember to do it more often.

  And then another thought surfaced, another memory. He sat still, waiting for it to form, knowing he could not grasp at it without it vanishing like smoke. He had seen a white cat like Pangur Ban before, one seated in just that fashion. But it was not alive. Not dead either. No, it had been a sculpture like the one in the book. But he had seen this statue in person. In front of the figure had sat a wide, shallow, black marble bowl, carved around the edges with letters in his own Norse language, which he could read, and words in other scripts, ones that looked strange and unearthly. What had the words said? He could not recall.

  “Godda snake!” cried Frieda, smashing the lizard down with her front paws. It wriggled free, and Diego tore off after it into the kitchen, closely followed by his sister. A few minutes later, Frieda returned to the living room in triumph, a limp lizard dangling from her jaws.

  Huginn wondered how he had remembered the cat statue so clearly. He remembered so few things, but that memory and the memory of the couple walking through the village had been so clear. It troubled him.

  That evening, he found Julius in the study, looking over the information on the cave painting that Hazel had brought back.

  “Any progress?” asked Huginn.

  “Sadly, none,” said Julius.

  Huginn hopped across the floor and flapped up onto the corner of the desk and then explained that a few memories had returned to him, bright and clear.

  After a few moments of consideration, Julius said, “Your memories seem to be triggered by people you know, Sister and Santiago walking together and now Pangur Ban sitting.” He rose to close the door.

  “I suppose so,” said Huginn.

  “Have you had any other memories return?”

  “Only a few, involving things of little consequence. Tiny things.”

  The chair creaked as Julius lowered himself into it. The man regarded Huginn with an odd look.

  “Do you remember your brother?”

  A little jolt of recognition went through Huginn, but then it was gone. “I think I had a brother. I feel like I did. But I can’t remember him.”

  “I think he might have kept your memories,” said Julius gently.

&nbs
p; “Like Pangur Ban? She helps me remember so many things. I can come up with ideas, but I can’t retain things.”

  Julius closed a few of the books that lay open on his desk, and then he stacked up his notes and put his pens and pencils into the desk drawer. Huginn sensed he was putting off saying something, and so he waited.

  “I was never sure,” said Julius. “I was never certain of who you were. I know that like Pangur Ban, you are long-lived, and your original name was probably Huginn. But I didn’t know if you were one of the twin ravens, or if you simply had taken that name on your own. Someone might have given the name to you and you don’t remember. Without your memory, we really can’t know much about where you came from or who you are.”

  “But you said you think I had a brother.”

  “You might have. There were twin ravens, Huginn and Munnin. Thought and Memory. And you are very, very good at coming up with thoughts. Your ideas and plans have guaranteed many a successful mission.”

  “So you believe I may be one of the twin ravens?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Then where is my brother?”

  “I haven’t the faintest notion. For all I know, he might be dead.”

  But Huginn wondered. When the crows had attacked him and Astrid, one had said there were too many ravens. Two too many.

  Chapter 20

  Astrid had heard of the ship Skidbladnir, of course. It was legendary among the members of the Time Corps, many of whom had been passengers. But she had never seen it in person, nor had she seen Hazel, or Captain Dubois rather, unfold the thing and bring it to life.

  It was two thirty in the morning, when the world was quiet and asleep, and they stood at the marina where the dark ships bobbed silently in their slips. Astrid supposed some of the boats could hold sleeping people, but Yukiko was with them, and though the Kitsune was now tailless in her fox form, her ability to create illusions was intact. She could conceal the group if needed, or at least confuse any witnesses.

  Mr. Escobar, the capuchin first mate, handed Hazel a small folded brown cloth from within his vest pocket. Hazel walked to the end of the dock, knelt and unfolded it. Immediately, it grew into a miniature Viking ship. She dropped the small ship, no bigger than a toy, into the water, and within moments it expanded to full size. The thing was magnificent, not in a new and polished way, for the ship had seen battles and showed signs of its age, but beautiful in the way that elegant things of old were. They were made with care, and loved. This ship, in her way, might even love back, for the ship called Skidbladnir was alive.

  “Please lower the gangplank,” said Hazel, and the ship obeyed.

  Hazel climbed aboard, followed by the few members of her monkey crew who had accompanied her to the Time Corps house. They carried the crate with Neil’s dead body in it and took it below decks. The Professor had driven them to the marina, and the monkeys returned to the SUV to retrieve an extra time machine. One machine was built into Skidbladnir, but having an extra allowed flexibility. As unorganized as the Time Corps tended to be, Astrid had to admit that they did attempt to be prepared. Finally, Yukiko, Pangur Ban and Huginn climbed on board with Astrid bringing up the rear.

  “The crew is on Santa Maria Island,” said Huginn to Astrid, landing on the gunwale beside her. “We’ll pick them up and then leave.”

  As one of the Channel Islands, Santa Maria Island was close to the coastline, not visible to the unaided eye except on exceptionally clear days, but easily accessible by boat. Some of the other islands were inhabited, but not Santa Maria. The place was strange, and people preferred not to go there. The Professor had once told Astrid that in some of the other worlds, the island did not exist at all.

  The ship sailed slowly without its full crew, and they stopped at the island to gather them, ending their shore leave. Once on board, the crew took their places at the sails, as the wind was strong and there was no need for them at the oars. They picked up speed, heading south.

  “Where are we going to sleep?” Astrid asked Huginn, setting her rucksack on the deck. “And where should I put my things? The ship isn’t deep enough to have room for everyone.”

  “In the old days, we slept on deck. But this ship has room below, more room than it would seem. She’s special.”

  Huginn and Astrid stayed at the front of the ship, next to the carved wooden dragon head, while the others went below decks to settle into their quarters or perhaps, in the case of Pangur Ban, to see if there were any mice in the cargo hold. Astrid leaned over the railing, watching the water strike the sharp point of the boat’s prow, and break into white froth, churning past them.

  “You’ve never been on a ship before, have you?” Huginn asked her.

  “Not one like this.”

  “The best place to ride is up at the top of the mast,” he said.

  For a moment, she didn’t understand the implication, and she thought he was merely making conversation. Then it occurred to her that he was sharing something important with her.

  “The wind isn’t too strong up there?”

  “It is, but in a good way. Care to join me?”

  She scanned the sky for gulls, and spotting some, pointed them out to Huginn.

  “I don’t think they will bother us,” he said. “They’re not as intelligent as crows, and they’re only territorial if it affects their stomachs. Besides, they’re far off and we’re moving fast.”

  She took a few steps from the prow and changed into an owl, then pushed her clothing into a pile with her feet. She took off, and just as Huginn had told her, the wind was strong. But she was no fledgling sparrow, and she landed on the angled rigging at the very top of the mast. Huginn joined her.

  “You’re right,” she said, taking in the flat line of the horizon, a darker line against a dark blue sky. The faint lights of humanity winked at her from the shore and a broad stripe of white moonlight undulated on the water. “It is lovely up here.”

  “You have a fine aspect,” he said. “Better than the dull black dogs and horses and things that your kind typically take as aspects.”

  “You remember that information?”

  “Swiss cheese has holes, but there are solid bits to it too. My memories seem to be improving a little lately. Once you get flying a bit more, I think you’ll enjoy it. I think you will like hunting as well. Pangur Ban takes great pleasure in it.”

  “I can’t eat meat, remember? I was born Unseelie.”

  “Ah yes,” he said. “Well, it will be nice to have a fellow bird on the team.”

  “I’m not part of the Time Corps.”

  “Ah, of course not. I forgot.”

  “But you’re sort of like me. We are both birds of death, in our own ways,” said Astrid.

  “Yeah, ravens and death. Pecking out eyes. Eating the corpses off the field of war. Desecrating the bodies. It’s the way of my kind.”

  “Sounds like a blast,” she said and eyed the seagulls in the distance. “Tell me, why did the crows call me those names?”

  “I’m not certain. If I had to guess, I’d say they can sense that you’re different from other owls. They don’t want anything related to death near them. They might feel that you’re out of place.”

  “Unnatural, you mean.”

  “In fact, you’re quite the opposite. But still, no animal loves death.”

  “Can all animals talk?”

  “No. Some, like Pangur Ban and me can speak with anyone. Some can only speak with other animals, some only with their own kind, some not at all. But they all will avoid death.”

  “I don’t feel like death. Dark and evil.”

  “Death isn’t evil. I mean, war and eye-pecking and corpse-eating aren’t so pleasant for your kind. Humans, I mean. But death, that’s not so bad. We’re all part of the world in the capacity we’re given. Yo
u can be what you are without too much angst, if you choose. You can find your place and be at peace with being a part of death. And you don’t ever have to eat any corpses or peck out any eyes.”

  “I just—I thought I was just going to go to art school and have a regular existence. I thought my life would be different.”

  “So do you feel you are too big or too small in the grand scheme of things?” he asked.

  It was a good question, but neither answer seemed accurate to her.

  “It’s just that this is not the life I would have chosen for myself,” she said.

  “It rarely is.”

  Chapter 21

  Astrid was asleep below decks when her phone dinged. She leaned over the edge of her rope hammock to grab the phone that rested on the shelf built into the wall and almost tipped herself onto the ground. Yukiko breathed quietly in her sleep in the hammock next to her. Astrid fumbled in the dark, squinting at the screen to make out the words. Before she could finish reading them, a man stood in the entry to their tiny shared quarters.

  “You ready?” whispered Robin, glancing at Yukiko.

  “We have a psychopomp job?” Astrid whispered back.

  “Yes, and I’m supposed to train you. I sent a text, but these things are time-sensitive, so we have to hurry.”

  “What time is it?” she muttered, slipping on her sneakers and pulling a jacket over her pajamas.

  “No idea,” said Robin. “It’s lunchtime at home. But this won’t take too long.”

  Astrid shoved her phone into her jacket pocket and followed him through the Door he created. They stepped through into a shabby apartment smelling of cigarette smoke and stale air.

  “Jeff told me that he already took you on a training job,” said Robin.