Seeds of Time

by K. C. Dyer

  SEEDS OF TIME

  For Meaghan Jean, the reader,

  and for Audrey Jean, who read to both of us.

  SEEDS OF TIME

  kc dyer

  Copyright © kc dyer, 2002

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise (except for brief passages for purposes of review) without the prior permission of Dundurn Press. Permission to photocopy should be requested from the Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency.

  Editor: Barry Jowett

  Copy-Editor: Andrea Pruss

  Design: Jennifer Scott

  Printer: Webcom

  National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Data

  Dyer, K. C

  Seeds of time / K.C. Dyer.

  ISBN 1-55002-414-0

  I. Title.

  PS8557.Y474S4 2002 jC813’.6 C2002-902281-9 PR9199.4.D94S4 2002

  1 2 3 4 5 06 05 04 03 02

  We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council for our publishing program. We also acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program and The Association for the Export of Canadian Books, and the Government of Ontario through the Ontario Book Publishers Tax Credit program.

  Care has been taken to trace the ownership of copyright material used in this book. The author and the publisher welcome any information enabling them to rectify any references or credit in subsequent editions.

  J. Kirk Howard, President

  Printed and bound in Canada. Printed on recycled paper. www.dundurn.com

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  A girl, a beginning, a terrible start,

  A school guards a cliff, dark and old...

  A brief gleam of brightness, a light in the dark,

  Argument, friendship grown cold.

  Some questions, a lesson, a taste of black death,

  A strange shattered home on the shore,

  Portraits and secrets, a bully bereft,

  A sad tale never spoken before.

  Mystery deep, contraband under rocks,

  A surprise in the cliffs near the tide,

  A journey, new terrors, a horrible shock,

  A face old and new for a guide.

  Ancient world with young eyes,

  black and sick, plagued with fear,

  Attempted kidnap, run or die.

  Return and regret...

  ...Glyphs aglow, secret shared,

  Travellers three, side by side.

  Ainslie, a tour; and a call to the feast,

  Chief of the Guard in his prime,

  A traitor unveiled, a secret released,

  A battle, two friends lost in time.

  When hours mean days, a race must rule all,

  Voices, the dark and the sea,

  Return to the past. Who is safe? Who did fall?

  A message, a life legacy.

  One last long journey home...

  ... a fight on the shore,

  Little hope for a life lost to crime,

  A short talk in a cave, a new school is born,

  Could the future hold more seeds of time...?

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I owe an enormous debt of gratitude to the readers and writers in my life, for it is their encouragement that has made this book possible. Thanks to my friends Linda and David Horspool, Meghan Wray, Penny McDonald, and Deborah Anderson, and to Jim Cummings’s class at Gleneagles School for the patient listening, discussion, and reading that went into making this book. I am grateful to the members of the CompuServe Literary Forum and the North Shore Writers’ Association for their sharp eyes and warm guidance, and to the wonderful Canadian writers Marsha Skrypuch and Shelley Hrdlitschka for their generous and gracious support. Special thanks go out to Barry Jowett for his hard work and kind words. And thanks most of all to Meaghan and Peter for the unwavering love they give to their baggy-eyed mother, the midnight writer.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The wheels of the Volvo spat gravel as they pulled into what looked like a country lane.

  “I hope this is the correct turn,” Dr. Connor muttered. “They did say there wouldn’t be a school sign.” The only indication on the highway was a small notice reading PRIVATE ROAD. The road turned out to be a long, winding driveway into the school grounds. The breeze that had been blowing all morning stirred the green and wine-coloured leaves of the maples and cherries lining the drive, but the ornamental trees blocked out much of the view of the grounds.

  Darrell felt a sudden sense of panic. “Mom, this place seems so weird. Wouldn’t you rather have me with you this summer? I don’t need to go to an art school over the summer break. I’ll just bring my supplies and follow you around. What could be more inspirational to an artist than spending the summer in Europe?”

  Dr. Connor shook her head firmly. “I’m sorry, Darrell. If this were a sightseeing trip or even a business trip with conventional hours I would love to have you with me.” She gripped the wheel and glanced at Darrell. “I hate being away from you for any length of time, sweetheart.”

  Darrell pounded her fist on her knee, furious. “Don’t call me sweetheart! That was Dad’s name for me. I hate it when you call me that.” Her hands were shaking, and she looked out the window, her eyes hot.

  Dr. Connor bit her lip and then reached over and took Darrell’s hand. “This symposium is run by Doctors Without Borders, Darrell. It’s an intensive four-week session that involves surgical observations during the day and lectures at night. I just won’t have any free time. Besides,” she added, glancing sideways at Darrell’s red face, “the last time we talked about this, you said you were ready to have some time on your own. School’s been out for two weeks already, and we agreed that this summer school would be the perfect compromise.” She rubbed Darrell’s arm. “It’s close to home, a chance to work on your favourite subject, and it’s something to do away from your own school and, er, friends ...” she finished lamely.

  “That’s just your way of saying that I no longer have any friends,” Darrell said stonily. She yanked her arm out of her mother’s grasp. “Some great friends they must have been to begin with, too.”

  Dr. Connor’s face reddened. “Darrell, we can’t change the past. You are angry, and you have a right to be. But don’t blame your friends for not sticking around. After the accident, you lost something. I don’t know what it is ... your sense of humour, or something. You seem so angry all the time now. You’ve scared all your friends away.”

  Darrell stared furiously at her feet while her mother fished between the seats and pulled a pamphlet out from the pile of papers stuffed against the hand brake. Still watching the road, she held out the pamphlet.

  “It’s time for you to join the world again, Darrell. This camp is a chance to make some new friends. And you won’t be entirely alone. Kate Clancy is going to be there, too.”

  Darrell looked sharply at her mother. “I haven’t spoken to Kate since the accident, Mom. She probably doesn’t even remember who I am.”

  Dr. Connor sighed. “Of course she remembers you, Darrell. When I ran into her mother at the hospital last month, she told me about this summer school. She said she was sending Kate and she thought you might be interested, too.”<
br />
  Darrell leaned back in her seat and rubbed the brace on her right leg absently.

  “Why would Kate want to go to an art school over the summer? She hates art! She only loves computers. She’s always carrying that laptop around with her. She even takes notes on it in school. There is nothing about an art school that she’d like.”

  A buzzing sound filled the car, and Dr. Connor reached over and flipped off her cell phone impatiently. “It’s not just an art school, Darrell.” She pointed to the pamphlet in Darrell’s hand. “Look, I talked at great length to the principal last week, and it sounds like a fabulous place. I trust the judgment of Kate’s mother. And remember,” she added, “I’m only in Europe for a month. If you really hate the place, I’ll come and get you as soon as I get back. You can spend the rest of August at home when I go back to work.”

  Darrell sighed. She stuck her charcoal pencil behind her ear and craned her neck to see through the trees. Her drawing pad lay cast aside on the car seat, a half-completed landscape on the open page. A large backpack sat on the floor of the front seat, jammed full of art supplies.

  “This place seems like it’s in the middle of nowhere,” she complained. “I can’t see anything except a lot of trees.”

  “Relax, Darrell, we’re almost there. The school is supposed to be right on the water, so I’m sure there will be more than just trees to look at.” Darrell’s mother checked her watch impatiently. The car bounced along a little faster than was strictly necessary, spewing gravel as they rounded the turns. They swept around a final, sharp corner and the buildings of Eagle Glen School emerged in front of them.

  The driveway circled right up to the front door of a grey building, which appeared to be an old lodge surrounded by outbuildings of various shapes and sizes. Behind the buildings, a scant hundred metres of winding paths led down a series of bluffs to the beach. Darrell stepped out of the car and looked around, feeling wary. The quiet, with only the sounds of the wind and the surf, leant an air of desertion to the grounds of the school. She couldn’t see any trace of human habitation. A small sign of painted iron, supported by two low posts, was the only indication they had indeed found Eagle Glen School.

  In spite of the warm day, Darrell shivered as the wind murmured through the leaves. The sound of the waves on the shore resonated, though she stood more than a hundred metres away. Her mother stepped out of the car and, seemingly oblivious to the strange quiet, walked purposefully into the building. The grey, weathered door closed smoothly behind her, and Darrell stood alone.

  She started to follow her mother inside but paused to have a look at her surroundings. The grounds of the school were long and narrow, clinging to the small flat area between the shore and the mountains that rose behind.

  The buildings themselves seemed very old and were mostly of cedar, weathered silver and grey. The main building loomed in front of her. It was chiefly constructed of old, grey logs, chinked together tightly against the weather. Several annexes of different shapes and building materials had been added to the original structure over the years. Darrell knew from reading the registration pamphlet that the building itself had originally been a hunting lodge and had transformed through various incarnations into a tourist hostel, a church seminary, and even a hospital for a time. Of all the additions, the most interesting and strange were two round stone towers, one at each end of the school. The towers were a product of the building’s era as a hospital during the First World War, and they gave quiet strength to the structure as it stood guard, overlooking the waters of the fjord.

  Darrell jumped as a large raven cawed loudly. It fluttered down to sit near her on a tree branch, looking her over boldly with a bright, black eye. She looked back with some curiosity. She had never seen a raven of this tremendous size before. Darrell knew that mountain ravens were much bigger than the city crows she was used to, but this one must be the king of them all. She stared back at the raven until he spread his massive wings and, with two great thrusts, was gone, following the wind up into the mountains.

  A movement at the corner of her eye interrupted her meditation, and she turned to see the front door opening. Darrell realized she had been holding her breath.

  Her mother emerged with a tall, trimly dressed man who looked surprisingly like a painting Darrell had seen of Leonardo da Vinci as a young man: neatly clipped brown beard, balding head, clever eyes. The resemblance was remarkable.

  Darrell smoothed her sweater and nervously tucked her windblown hair back into her ponytail.

  The man stepped forward and, smiling warmly, proffered his hand.

  “You must be Darrell,” he said. “I’m Arthur Gill. Your mother has signed your registration papers.”

  “More like commitment papers,” Darrell muttered, her lip curling.

  Mr. Gill acted as though he had not heard Darrell’s remark and continued. “I am the artist in residence at Eagle Glen this summer.” He looked keenly at Darrell. “I have examined some of your work, and I am very pleased to finally meet the person behind the artistry.”

  Darrell didn’t know quite how to reply.

  “I’m sure you’ll find the location of this school will inspire your muse,” he said. Darrell looked questioningly at her mother, standing just behind the artist. Janice Connor shrugged, and Arthur Gill continued smoothly. “Since orientation isn’t until tomorrow, you may want to take some time to make yourself at home here. I will arrange for a staff member to show you around.”

  Carrying a bag in each hand, he turned toward the front doors.

  “If you will just follow me,” he said, “I’ll show you to the main office.” Darrell scooped up her backpack and, with a black glance at her mother, followed Arthur Gill’s retreating back. As they reached the main building, Arthur Gill carefully set the bags to one side of the front door and gallantly swept it open for Darrell and her mother.

  Clutching her backpack with its precious contents, Darrell led the way into the building that would be her home for the rest of the summer.

  The following hour was a blur. Darrell and her mother found themselves swept through the dark interior of the building by a small, round woman named Louise Follett who worked in the office. Mrs. Follett, clearly uncomfortable with leaving the sanctuary of her orderly desk, fairly flew through the school, with Darrell and Dr. Connor in tow. Darrell’s head was spinning, and the classrooms left little impression, until they arrived at the art studio.

  It was located at the base of one of the round towers that Darrell had seen from outside. The room was large and completely encased in curved panes of leaded glass. The sun had slipped above the mountains behind the school, and the art studio was flooded with warm summer sunlight, glinting off the taps, brushes, easels, and other equipment that filled the room.

  For the first time that day, Darrell felt her heart lift as she looked around delightedly, admiring the wide variety of art supplies.

  “I’m afraid I don’t know much about this studio,” Mrs. Follett twittered. “I’m certainly more comfortable in the kitchens and the regular classrooms.”

  Janice Connor watched her daughter’s face with a relieved smile. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Follett,” she said. “I’m sure Darrell will be able to find her way around this room without any difficulty at all.”

  After a few moments more in the wonderful studio, Mrs. Follett hustled Darrell and her mother quickly through the top floor dormitories and down to the office. She sat back in her chair with a sigh of satisfaction and, duty done with the premature arrivals, set happily to filing registration papers.

  Dr. Connor reached her arm around Darrell’s shoulders for a quick hug. “I’m afraid that I have to leave now, darling,” she said, glancing at her watch. “I have a final patient to see this afternoon, and then I have to catch my plane this evening.”

  Darrell’s happiness from the art studio evaporated. She looked morosely at her mother. “Bye,” she said, without expression.

  “Darrell, don’t be like that! Yo
u saw the art studio. It’s not going to be that bad, and if it is, I’ll be home in a month. You can tough it out until then. We’ll make some special time to be together in August, I promise.”

  Darrell opened her mouth to reply but stopped at the feel of a warm hand on her shoulder.

  “Welcome to Eagle Glen, Darrell,” said a quiet voice from the dark hall. “I am Professor Myrtle Tooth, principal of the school.”

  Darrell found herself shaking hands with a woman very near her own height, with iron-grey hair and clear green eyes.

  Professor Tooth nodded at Darrell and turned to Dr. Connor. “I trust that Mrs. Follett has given you her specialty whirlwind tour of our campus?”

  Dr. Connor laughed. “Yes, I think we saw everything we need to for now. Mrs. Follett said that Darrell’s things have been sent up to her room and we had a good look around the building.” She looked fondly at her still glowering daughter. “Darrell was especially impressed with the art studio.”

  Professor Myrtle Tooth smiled and looked straight into Darrell’s eyes. Her voice held an unmistakable note of command, though she spoke quietly. “I’m sure you’ll find this a very special place, Darrell. By the end of your stay here, you may even find the art studio is one of the least interesting elements of this school. There are many subjects to interest an enquiring mind at Eagle Glen.”

  Darrell looked puzzled, and her mother spoke up. “That may be true, Professor Tooth, but Darrell’s greatest love is her artwork.”

  Myrtle Tooth, her eyes on Darrell, smiled. “Eagle Glen is a wonderful school, Dr. Connor, and many of our students have found their lives enriched in ways they never expected.” She nodded goodbye, turned away, and walked into the office and through a door behind Mrs. Follett.

  Darrell turned in fury to face her mother. “What was that all about, Mom? I don’t want to be forced to take a bunch of subjects I’m not interested in. I have to do enough of that during the school year at home.”

  Janice headed out the front door and walked to her car with Darrell trailing behind her. “It’s going to be okay, sweetie,” she said. “Professor Tooth told me that the first day is spent touring the various courses offered, and after that you get to make your own choice as to the classes you want to take.” She slid behind the wheel of her car. “I’ll call you from Brussels tomorrow night and you can tell me all about it.” Blowing a kiss that Darrell did not return, she pulled back out onto the driveway, pausing only to let another car drive in, and, with a spray of gravel, she was gone.