The Tirnano - Book 1 'FINN'

by Peter Emmerson

  Jeanne picked up the phone again, her face drawn. “I’m gonna have to get Paul out of this.” She dialled a number, “Hi Mike, it’s me - I know you’re not due to have Paul until next week, but something pretty dire has come up, and I’d like to get him out of here soon as. - Where is he? - At your Mum’s.” she listened to him for a moment before cutting in… “No, I can’t bring him down to you, - and no, I can’t explain, - watch the news and work it out for yourself. Can you take him a bit early? - Good; I’ll call Paul and let him know; give me a shout when you can get up here. - Thanks, Bye.”

  Jeanne swore as she replaced the receiver, “Why does he always succeed in winding me up? - don’t answer that.”

  Tom had sat quietly through the exchange, “I wasn’t going to say a word.”

  “Good.”

  Jeanne phoned Paul and explained her predicament to him, he seemed happy enough that his father was going to pick him up early, “Nan’s doing roast chicken and chips tonight Mum, wants to know if you’ll be home for some?”

  “I don’t really know darling, - pop your Nan on, I want a word. Love you.”

  She explained as much as she could to Mike’s mother, and thanking her for looking after Paul, closed the connection.

  “That was probably monitored by at least half the world’s press, but who gives a …..”

  “Only half?” Tom laughed.

  “I wonder if we can get a chopper to bring John Wilson in. If the paps find out about him, they’ll hound him to death.”

  “I’ll get on it.” Tom picked up his own extension, “Secure line please,” he said to Ops.

  Jeanne plugged her memory stick into her PC, “I’m gonna get to the bottom of this,” she muttered.

  Tom was on a secure line to the RAF at Lossiemouth. After a while he looked up and smiled at Jeanne, “Got one. Be about an hour, now all I gotta do is find our elusive Pimpernel. Get him to meet with them.”

  “Come, look at this,” Jeanne said suddenly. She rewound the screen images until she reached the correct time, “Here we go, you can see the top of the hill, this is about two minutes before the accident, no vehicles, now watch, - there! See that mist building up? You can still see the hill top, nothing enters it, now, watch closely, see there’s the Tanker, and here comes Yvonne in the opposite direction, out of the haar. There see. Wait … there - there’s our little lady, leaping onto the road in front of Yvonne. She brakes - the female hops the Armco, smack right in front of the Tanker, - whoa, that was close, good job that driver had his wits about him or we’d’ve had squished Boggart,” she looked up at him, leaning awfully close over her shoulder; close enough mister. … “What you think?”

  He said nothing, holding his position for a long moment, Jeanne could swear he was drinking in the smell of her hair; she gave an involuntary shiver of delight.

  “I’m going to access archives, might take a while, have you had any luck getting hold of John yet?” the moment dissolved.

  “I’m on it, don’t fret.” He moved back to his workstation, his voice brusque, his movements stiff.

  Jeanne logged onto the Grampian Police safety camera site, searched until she found, then scrolled through the Grampian Police entries for Muchall’s bend. Keying in January 2000, she moved the date on to the twentieth; the day Yvonne claimed to have been travelling the road, and selected a time span between 2:00 and 3:00PM. Double clicking to open the video file she chose double speed and allowed the recording to play. The pictures were rough and grainy.

  Nothing like the crystal clear piccies of today.

  At two-twenty-three she saw Yvonne’s car appear at the top of the hill, disappear into a mist bank and not reappear, she ran it back and played again at normal speed, exactly the same result.

  “Gotcher!” she shouted.

  Tom returned to her side for another look, this time he kept his distance. Oops, I must have bruised his ego.

  “So that proves something happened to transport Yvonne, eleven years into her future, our present. I think whatever it was that time-slipped her. (Did I just invent a new phrase there?) Anyway whatever it was, it also allowed our little lady to come through from wherever it was she came from.”

  “I’m still with you, and it sounds plausible, and no, someone else invented it already.”

  “Alright, smarty-pants - anything to add?”

  “Not right now, I need to sap my head around this whole thing. It’s getting crazy, I guess if I wasn’t so closely involved, I’d say it was seriously unreal. - I’m going to the roof, to pick Wilson up, he should be here soon,” said Tom.

  “Okay, take it easy up there.”

  “Why, you care now?”

  “Of course I do, take ages to bring someone else up to speed.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Aye.” And that’s all I’m letting you know for now, Mi-lado.

  10.

  JOHN'S STORY

  Turner Institute.

  Aberdeen.

  April 2011

  “Let’s go and see our visitors.” Jeanne couldn’t contain herself any longer; the chit-chat over coffee was getting them nowhere. John was holding something back, clearly apprehensive about something. His voice hesitant, his hand massaging a little too pronounced; his ankles crossed and locked.

  She ushered the two men out of her office and along the corridor, John’s bearing clearly told of his military background, his back straight, his steps measured, his head held up. She walked behind them, observing the Scot as Tom led the way.

  He stood silently for a moment at the observation panel, watching the male who had resumed his place, sitting on the floor.

  “Can I go in?” he asked Jeanne.

  “Don’t see any reason why not, might give him a bit of a lift, he’s been a bit quiet for the last hour or so,” she looked hard at the little male who unusually, hadn’t even acknowledged their presence.

  John and Jeanne entered the room, Jeanne sat on the bed. The little male looked up at John standing in front of him, and then towards Jeanne. He gave a quick flick of the fingers of his left hand.

  John replied with a three click sequence.

  The little male sprang to his feet. With a flurry of gestures, finger shapes and clicks he looked deep into John’s eyes.

  John responded with a flood of his own, he then sat alongside Jeanne. His eyes were sparkling with excitement.

  “His name is Finn, he is fifteen years old, and he’s from the Tirnano caves.”

  “How the devil…?” Jeanne was dumbfounded.

  “I lived with his clan for four years.”

  “Now, we are going to talk, Mr. Wilson - long and hard. You have information and knowledge that is of national importance.”

  “I guess.”

  “Can you give a running commentary when you talk to him from now on?” Jeanne’s voice was shaking as the impact of what he had said hit home. “Did I hear you say you had lived with them for four years?”

  The tall Scot nodded. “I did, and, believe it or not, I kept a journal to prove it. If you like, when we’re done here, I’ll fetch it for you.” He smiled awkwardly. “I never mind sharing with a pretty lady, and the insights you may glean about these little guys might be helpful. Sound good?”

  Catching Jeanne’s grateful nod, he then turned back to Finn, speaking aloud as he signed, ‘My name is John. You may know me as Madder John. I greet you Finn. How is it that you came to be away from the clan caves?’

  The little creature sprang to a position of attention and fisted his forehead in a strange salute, John replied with a like salute of his own. He spoke the words as they conversed.

  ‘I was on my trial, crossing an ice field, to check a trap I had set for deer, when I was chased by many humans in a huge yellow flying creature, I thought I was to be eaten. They captured me and have kept me inside this cave.’

  ‘Why had you no weapons with you?’

  ‘It was the third day of my trial, on the second, I had to hide fro
m a Vamp attack; they found my camp and took everything I had.’

  ‘You have heard of me, how?’

  ‘Our history tells of how you led our people to the caves.’

  ‘Your history?’

  ‘Yes, our history tells us of Madder John.’

  ‘How long ago were the caves first lived in?’

  ‘Nearly two hundred years’

  “Good God,” exclaimed John, his voice had been hushed as he relayed all that passed between them. He took Finn’s hands into his own, and quietly allowed the Tirnano youth to investigate his features with his long tongue. “They have no concept of lying or untruths, so will accept everything they are told as being the truth.”

  “Why?” Jeanne asked.

  “Because to an extent they can read each other’s thoughts, they join tongues; well, they place their tongues into each other’s mouths and can then communicate intimately.”

  “I guess that would wipe out lying,” said Tom through the partly opened door.

  “I was sure that’s what he was doing with the female,” said Jeanne “is Amy with her?”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” cut in the uniformed guard, standing beside Tom.

  “Thanks, shall we take a little stroll. Find out her name, and what they are calling the baby.”

  John made a number of signs to Finn, and then spoke to the others, “I knew you had a female, Yvonne told me about her, but I had no idea of a baby.” John sounded shocked, almost as shocked as he had been when Finn had informed him of the time difference.

  Finn signed.

  “He says the female’s name is - let me work this out - I think it would sound something like ‘Kesha’ or ‘Casha.’ They have no name for the baby.”

  “Wow! - God, I sound like Paul, but I’ll say it again - Wow! - This is just wonderful.” She turned to the guard, “Are we still on Lockdown 1, Corporal?”

  “Yes Ma’am, crowd is even bigger now that a load of civilians are joining the press, it’s getting a little nasty, and we might be upping it to Lockdown 2, if it gets any worse.”

  “Damn, - sorry John but I think we better postpone our visit to see Kesha and the baby, I need to speak to London, Tom will show you where to drop your stuff and get something to eat. I’ll be in my office. Give me about twenty minutes.”

  Both Tom and John watched as her trim figure made its way down the corridor, her high heels clicking on the hard flooring.”

  “Husband must have been a damn fool,” said Tom, “that’s one sweet little cutie. - C’mon let’s go and eat something greasy.”

  John signed to Finn, the young Tirnano replied with a number of clicks and finger shapes.

  “He says they need to get outside, or they are going to be seriously ill, he would also like some meat, cooked on an open fire, if that’s possible, the little lady is more used to fish, he says, baked.”

  Tom picked up the phone and dialled ops, he passed on all that John had said about food, the on duty operator laughed when Tom mentioned going outside, “Take a look at the monitor down the corridor from you,” he said.

  “Why does he need to go outside?” Tom said to John.

  “To take a dump, they are both in serious pain.”

  “Can’t you explain the intricacies of the loo to him?”

  “I’ll try.” John returned to the room. With a number of finger signs and gestures, and finally a demonstration of urinating, and sitting on the toilet pan, which had Tom and the guards in hysterics, John convinced the little creature that he could ‘go’ inside ‘the cave’.

  “Perhaps a little modesty screen for them both, might not go amiss, he says he needs to tell her what to do.”

  “Okay, I’ll sort that,” said the guard.

  “Finn also needs to converse with the female on another matter, can you arrange for them to have a few minutes together - in the absence of Dr McLennan, I’m authorising it, is that okay?”

  “I guess so Doc, but I’ll still have to run it past ops.”

  “That’s fine, but it must be soon.”

  The two men, deep in conversation, made their way to the little in-house restaurant.

  11.

  THE DECISION

  Turner Institute.

  Aberdeen.

  April 2011

  Jeanne was in a heated dialogue with her Commander in London when they returned. She waved her free hand, motioning them to sit and continued; “So that’s your final word, no one cares about the condition this woman is in, or how her life is going to pan out. No assistance to mentally prepare her for the traumatic reunion she will have when she finally meets up again with her children - well I think it stinks!”

  With a curt “Goodbye,” Jeanne cut the conversation.

  “I guess I’ve seriously blotted my copy book now, still it was worth a try,” she said to the two men who were watching wide eyed.

  “Remind me not to get her riled,” Tom said to the tall Scot.

  “So John, what do you think about, what was it – Finn? You called him, what do you think of him?”

  “He’s a courageous youngster, but then they all were. I’ve never known any other creatures that are so prepared to face extreme danger and terrible adversity, without ever once turning away. What gets me though, is the time difference of two hundred years that Finn mentioned.”

  The phone on Jeanne’s desk rang; it was ops. “Okay, good, how long before they are cleared? - That’s great! Let me know when we can go home, - no probs thanks.” Her disjointed conversation made little sense to the two men, however from her expression it was good news.

  “A press release from London has gone out, the story is that it was a variation of a harp seal that had made its way inland a few hundred metres,” she raised her eyebrows in disbelief, “and independent DNA analysis from both Europe and the States confirms it.”

  “Area 51 all over again,” said Tom wryly.

  “Anyway, ops will let us know when we are free to go home, it seems the crowd is dispersing, I better phone my ex and let him know the panic is off, he’s gonna be slightly miffed, but I really don’t care.”

  “Can I go to see the female?” asked John.

  “Sure - Tom?”

  Tom rose with a compassionate look at Jeanne who was about to pick up the phone again. “You alright?” His voice echoed his look.

  “Aye, I’m going to pick up my wain and then see if I can find the bottom of a bottle of red.”

  “Okay, see you in the morning, sleep tight.”

  Jeanne didn’t notice Tom’s lingering backward glance as the two men left the room.

  12.

  WINTERGREEN EVANS

  Evan's Farm

  Oklahoma.

  April 2011

  “Macy! Macy! Macy!”

  The twins’ cries were shrill, loud. Obnoxious. Enough so that on the third try, with a particularly piercing shriek; they finally managed to penetrate the fog hovering around their older sister’s head. It was no actual fog of clouds and mist, but a fog comprised of bloody swordfights, daring knights, vile trolls, and feisty princesses. A fog inspired by the book sixteen-year-old Wintergreen Evans, or Winn, as she was more commonly known, sprawled belly-down on her bed to peruse.

  “Now what are those kids up to?” the teen grumbled to herself, flipping page 48 to reveal a stunning watercolour illustration of Sir Terrance, the book’s hero, about to impale Reegiss, the chief hunter troll, on his lance.

  “Macy! Maccccyyyyy!”

  Try as she might to ignore them, the twins were not letting up. Miffed, hating to be torn from her novel’s imaginary world, Winn finally pushed herself off the red and white Hawaiian print coverlet, closing ‘Once Upon a Troll’ with a snap.

  “Macy’s on the phone with Chad,” she hollered in the general direction of the open window.

  “Maccccyyyyy!”

  They hadn’t heard.

  “Dang them kids.”

  Rising, she dropped her novel on the bed and stomped barefoot across the
wooden floor.

  “Hey,” she shouted, leaning on the window frame to put herself closer to the screen. At the cry, identical red heads belonging to the twins, Emma and Andrew, snapped her way. “What’s the big idea, you two? I’m trying to read.”