But it was more than that. Since her bond with Lord Dominie, she’d felt different too. Different inside, in her core, her personality. Parts of the old Wintergreen Evans had been stripped away. Like gold refined in a fire, she’d emerged a stronger, braver, and hopefully wiser, and better person. Much of it was thanks to her dragon she was sure. Lord Dominie feared nothing, except, perhaps, injury to or loss of her, Winn; Mira’s Purple, his daughter; or Cherandilla, the beautiful Gold Queen Mira had first rescued, his mate.
She was pretty sure some of the dragon’s calm temperament must’ve been imparted to her. And his fierce battle bloodlust? Well, they’d yet to actually fight together, besides hunting expeditions, but Mira assured her it would more than likely come. To that end, the Purple Rider had worked hard to instil self-discipline of steel in Winn, so she wouldn’t give herself over to bestial excess that would do more harm than good in future battles.
Certainly, although she was learning, changing continually, she no carbon copy of Mira, and she said as much to Paul who smirked.
“Mira, huh? I should’ve known. You two get more alike every day.”
Winn tilted her chair back on two legs, dropping a hand to the tabletop to maintain her balance. “You think? In what ways?”
“Well.” Dr. Jeanne’s son used his fingers to tick off a list. “Your whole attitude, posture, and outlook have changed. Remember how you used to spend all your time reading? Now you’re more concerned with fitness and exercise and training.
“Further, when you do train, your style is getting to be so much like Mira’s that it’s scary. Pretty obvious to all of us that she’s your mentor. When you two train together, it’s almost like, - like seeing twins out there, and what with your matching clothes and all. Although her hair has purple streaks and yours red: not to mention her eyes are violet and yours are turning kind of a dusky rose-red.”
“That’s a nice way to put it,” Winn chuckled.
To tell the truth, she’d freaked out a little when she’d seen the physical changes bonding with Lord Dominie had wrought. Mira’s deep purple hair streaks and violet eyes were unique but lovely. When she’d figured out her hair would have red streaks, and-heaven forbid - her eyes turn red as well, Winn had worried. Might she look like some sort of alien freak? Fortunately, as Paul had said, instead of a bright orange-red, her hair streaks were a deep rosy hue that complemented, in an odd way, rather than detracted from her appearance. Her eyes were the same, rarer than Mira’s unquestionably, but still pretty, in their own way.
Or so she thought.
“You even talk kind of like Mira. Not that you use her word choice, although you do talk a little more old-fashioned than some of us. But your voice is changing, getting deeper and firmer than it used to be. Plus,” he concluded, “you know how some of Mira’s movements are a little, um, a bit dragon-like?”
“The bond between Mira and her purple carries over in strange ways,” Winn agreed, nodding wisely.
“Yeah, well, you’re starting to do that too. Not near as obvious as she does: I guess you haven’t spent enough time with your Red to pick up that many of his traits. I mean, it’s really subtle, but I can see traces of it. I’m pretty sure in time it will be pronounced, just like it is with Mira.”
“I can’t say that’s an unpleasant thought.” Winn pushed back her chair with a scrape, rose. “I’ve got to be running out to the training fields. Supposed to meet Mira out there. We leave in the morning, you know, and I think she wants to get in a final practice session.”
Paul stood too. “Hey Winn ...”
“What?” She threw a glance over her shoulder.
“Well,” the kid shuffled his feet, “I’ve just been wondering something.”
Winn stopped. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”
Paul stopped his squirming to look her in the eye. “When do I get to meet your dragon, huh?”
Winn smiled softly, warmed by the thought of her beloved, waiting for her on the other side. “Soon, Paul, I promise. When we all meet up, you’ll be the first to get a real introduction.”
“Way cool!”
He pumped his fist in the air, making Winn laugh. “Glad you’re so excited.”
“Oh I am. I’m gonna go find my mum and tell her right now.”
“You do that.”
Grinning, she watched Paul dash away, then turned, heading for the doors leading out of the mess hall and walked confidently to the training fields beyond.
49.
ONE SHORT STEP
Craigdendarroch Farm
July 2011
Day dawned: bright, crisp, chill. Mira, warm in tunic, leggings, breeches, and jacket, weapons and pack skilfully strapped about her person in ways guaranteed not to restrict freedom of movement, surveyed the group. Gathered on the knoll were Winn, Paul, Jeanne, Tom, Case, Shelby, O’Rourke, Finn, Kesha, Ny-Mo, and the remainder of the non military contingent, fourteen, including her.
A lucky thing, she smiled inwardly. Thirteen was a bad number: hopefully her added presence would dispel any clouds of ill luck overhanging the mission. If there were any. But then, on a mission so strange, so spectacular, so susceptible to failure, surely there had to be. Well, if it so occurred, mayhap the diversity of talent, race, and age would aid in counterbalancing it.
Technically, Jeanne or Case should have been standing here in her position, fronting the group, apex of the people assembled in a loose triangle on the hill’s crown. Neither of them had seemed particularly eager, however for the honour. Instead, Jeanne pressed close to the Tom’s side. Unless her sharp eyes deceived her, Mira judged that they held hands, the action hidden by the proximity of their bodies. Nor was that all they shared.
Last night, she had glimpsed them returning late. Late at an hour when both should have been acquiring the rest required for such a dangerous mission. This morning, as she and Jeanne checked the packs a final time Mira espied a glittering chain peeking out from beneath Jeanne’s tunic. At one interval, it had swung free, catching rays of fading starlight. Insufficient light to judge with any sureness, but the Purple Rider was near certain swinging from that chain was a simple golden band, a ring, supporting a round diamond.
Well, if they had found love was not of her concern. So long as the need to protect one another did not interfere with duty to their remaining comrades, it might even prove an asset. As for the ring and late night arrival, it was obvious the two wished to maintain their secrecy. Mira was not one to deny them. For the present, what they did and shared was their own.
And, as for the issue of leadership, Mira understood. Experienced in the ways of their own world with its fantastical machinery and inventions, the notion of being transported through the dimension of time nevertheless left them uneasy. Leadership, at least for this day, had fallen naturally upon Mira’s shoulder. The dragon-bonded warrior had assumed it as nothing less than her duty, just as she assumed the task of addressing them all before departure.
The military personnel seventy five American Special Forces and an equal number of British SAS were either mounted or sat behind teams of horses, pulling the equipment loaded wagons, were drawn up behind the civilian leaders. They would follow through the tear as soon as the fourteen had opened the link.
Though they were not heading into battle - yet - she imagined it felt so to those whom she would lead across the divide. Save for Ny-mo, Kesha, and Finn, all of whom had some experience in this unique method of transportation, radiating from each stalwart warrior-traveller she sensed an undercurrent of rioting nerves. Up to her, then, to say something to allay those fears: just as her former master, Baron Daniel, had oftentimes addressed his men before leading them into an exceptionally hazardous mission.
She was no minstrel with centuries old ballads of heroism embedded in mind, throat, and lyre strings: therein lay the difficulty. She was no historian, well-versed in deeds of courage from ages past. Nor was she truly a leader of men, by birthright or skills. No, she was but a woman whom time
, destiny, magic, and the M’ntar had thrust into the position of Purple Rider. Due to this standing, her fellow warriors seemed to look upon her as she had once esteemed the Baron.
Her unworthiness aside, Mira allowed her violet eyes to travel slowly across the assembly, meeting each pair of eyes, silently transmitting words of comfort, encouragement, and hope into each heart. Only Winn could reply in similar fashion, but she was confident each person - if not hearing distinctly - then at least understood the sensations her words were meant to evoke.
At last, opening her lips, she said, “The day dawns, and the sun rises. I need not speak aloud of the gravity of our task; we bear its weight upon our shoulders, in our hearts. What I will say, therefore, is this.”
Ears were tuned to her every word, practically pricked like those of attentive horses.
“Obey your leaders.” With a nod, she singled out Jeanne, Tom, Ny-mo. No need to signify herself; they had placed her in her position, and would not soon forget that. “Trust your fellow, leave no comrade behind. Fear not to give your lives in defence, but take no risks that place your life in unnecessary peril.
“Remember,” she concluded, “each of you has been chosen for a specific skill or purpose. We are, each of us, vital to this army, to this cause.”
Almost, she added, “As we fall, so falls the world,” but decided against it. After all, she’d promised not to speak of the depth of the mission’s gravity.
Instead, she nodded curtly. “No more need be said.” Mira swung her gaze to Jeanne. “Lady, It is time we were off.”
Jeanne, as Mira had known she would, left Tom Pinkerton’s side and stepped forward to take over. “Right. Case, you and Shelby over there with Mira; Ny-mo goes with you. Tom, Winn, Paul, and Finn, with me, please. Mira-”
Receiving her orders, Mira obediently fell in with the others. Jeanne’s ability to organize was a rare asset, one that would serve their unit well. When all were assembled, including the military personnel, according to Jeanne’s directives. The MI5 agent studied their formation, nodded to signal she approved, then glanced once more to Mira.
“Ready?”
The Purple Rider smiled softly. “Indeed I am.”
Are you?
“Very well.” Jeanne reached out to clasp Paul’s hand with her left, Winn’s with her right. Mira followed suit: O’Rourke on her right, John Wilson on her left.
Without being told, the remainder of the group fell in with the example set until all fourteen, in two separate groups of seven, were linked by hands-and minds, for each had been thoroughly trained by both M’ntar riders in this next step. Splitting their full consciousness between the persons whose hands they clasped had come easier to some than others, noticeably the Cronin and Brosynan more than the humans, - but Mira would not consent to this step before all were sufficiently linked. This would ensure a clear, even step through time.
Once she discerned with that level of consciousness through which filtered slim shafts of the perception of others that the seven in her group were sufficiently focused, Mira called out to Winn.
We are prepared.
Same here.
Ready, then?
I was born ready.
Winn’s enthusiasm made her grin, but at the same time pricked her mentally with a reminder that Wintergreen Evans, though the Rider of the Red, was still very young and much untried.
Never mind that now. She will do her part, as will we all.
Retraining her focus, she addressed her counterpart a final time. Very well, then. Let us proceed. On the count of three…
She sensed, more than felt, Winn’s mental and magical powers tensing for this spring across time and space.
One…
Steady, she readied herself privately. Steady, focus, steady now…
Two…
John Wilson offered her hand a nearly imperceptible squeeze. Bolstering himself or her?
Three!
As one, both M’ntar riders yielded themselves to the full sway of their powers and stepped forward in union with their group: trained for this precise instant. Just as the rising sun crested the top of the hill, the leaders of the world’s most unique strike force left modern reality behind. The tear opened, the fourteen strode either confidently or hesitantly depending on experience and age through the connection, disappearing into the vivid pink and orange sunrise splashed across the awakening sky.
That was the cue for the enlisted forces who spurred their mounts and followed. The tenuous link between two worlds held open by the combined mind powers of two M'ntar, the two plains warriors; Finn and Ny-mo, and two young girls born almost a millennium apart, closed silently behind the last man.
The End of
The Tirnano - Book One - 'Finn'
THE HOLBORN INCIDENT
The Anakim, Children of the Watchers
THE SOUTHERN PLAINS
After crossing the vast Southern plains, that endless, no-man’s land, they finally arrived at the ocean. The Southern plains were clean. No sign had been discovered of The Un-cursed.
One hundred and forty three nights without break they had ridden, searching. Now, mounts worn out and troopers exhausted, they surveyed the violent black seas.
The Anakim, the Children of the Watchers were sealed, bound within the southern plains; the patrol was tasked to break that binding. They turned towards the north, towards the land their masters coveted.
Avoiding the rocky outcrops, the nocturnal six legged Gurts, their steeds, were forced to leap unnaturally, assuming an irregular bounding gait rather than their usual ground-eating lope. Were it not for the neck ties and ankle straps between the first and second sets of legs which their riders gripped tightly, the troopers would have been unseated at the first bound. The strictly nocturnal Gurts, holding no allegiances, would have galloped away across the plains, leaving the Anakim to continue their patrol on foot.
The open plains were not the mounts’ natural habitat, nor did the troopers care overmuch for the terrain. Like the Anakim, the Gurts had been spawned by the Nephillim in the fires of the shellac pits of Dilkadek, secreted within the deep, dark shadows of the mountain gorges of Crasatul, a place not spoken about in casual conversation, far to the West of the flat lands through which they now journeyed.
Samlazaz, the Anikim leader called a halt; the first tinge of dawn had begun to creep over the distant horizon. The Gurts formed a circle and hunkered down creating a tight group, swiftly digging holes for their heads with massive front paws; they assumed rock form and buried their heads in the ground.
Deep rumbling snores commenced.
“Kokablel!” shouted Samlazaz.
Kokablel, one foot trapped by the all too swift collapse of his now dead to the world Gurt, was kicking the beast with the other in an attempt to free himself. Frustrated, he slipped his eating knife from its sheath and sliced the tie with the stained blade. He pulled his foot free with a curse.
“Yes Sir,” he answered, assuming a semblance of attention.
“Go rustle up some fresh victuals.”
“Yes Sir.”
Kokablel snatched his collecting pouch from his saddle roll, unpacked it and slipped the strap across one shoulder. He gave the Gurt another kick for good measure as he picked his way amongst the ring of snoring brown boulders.
“Make it snappy. Would be nice to eat sometime,” growled Samlazaz.
“Bog off,” muttered Kokablel under his breath, hoping he wasn’t overheard. He knew the ill tempered troop leader would have him on food patrol or worse forevermore.
Luck was with him. At least, regarding Samlazaz, he hadn’t heard. In other ways... Well.
Kokablel stomped angrily away from the clutch of his fellows, who were making ready to adopt rock form, joining their Gurts in sleeping the hot, bright daylight hours away. He’d paced no more than a few hundred strides from the assembly when he willed his senses to begin initiating a search. Catching a whiff, the trace of a tear, he stood and began waving his arms
in the prescribed manner. At the third attempt he caught hold of an open edge. Reaching inside, Kokablel pulled it, and stepped through.
Holborn Circus
London, England.
September 2008.
A red object smashed into him. High as his knee its impact almost knocking him from his feet. All around were hollow rocks, hills, and mountains full of bright lights... and tasty worms.
They scurried from him. Fast, but not fast enough. How he would feast. He delighted in their taste.
The red rock began to spurt a warm, fluid over his foot. He rolled his head down his leg, to where his limb had been struck by the thing and licked, tasting. It was created from rocks, many different categories of rock, but rocks all the same. Rocks and silicates that had been melted in fire and their shapes altered.
The Tirnano - Book 1 'FINN' Page 33