I sighed, slouching and stretching my legs. While I was looking forward to going home, I was disappointed I couldn’t help watch Cheyenne anymore. Her world was about to be totally shaken up, and I wanted to be there for her. Colt would be around, sure, but I wasn’t sure he’d understand. He’d never had his freedom taken away like me, after all.
The overhead speaker crackled, and the captain spoke. They were about to show the safety announcements. As the video ran, I closed my eyes. I’d seen it plenty of times before. Still, my worries about Cheyenne wouldn’t go away. Alexis was right—the news that she was a Timeless would overwhelm her, and I feared how she would cope. It wasn’t like with me and Colt. We’d both known we were Timeless from the moment we could understand words. So we’d been prepared for the change when it had finally come.
Cheyenne, though, wouldn’t know what to expect. Heck, even we wouldn’t. Callon had told me once that the most powerful Timeless went through the most life-threatening transformations. And since we didn’t know who Cheyenne’s real parents were, we’d have no idea what her transformation would be like…
The engines rumbled, and I opened my eyes. The plane was about to take off. It was going to be a long trip, with a four-hour layover in Chicago. I was expecting to land in Dublin just after midday tomorrow, where Ryan would be waiting to pick me up.
I smiled. I’d always got on well with him, just like his father. The Campbell’s had been the caretakers of the O’Shea estate for generations. Our family had protected them in the darker moments of Ireland’s turbulent history, and in return they looked after the manor for us. They knew about the Timeless and were sworn to secrecy. Only recently Ryan had taken over, as Robert, his father, had taken ill and couldn’t perform his duties. He’d been doing a great job, too. He’d sounded surprised when I told him I’d be returning already, and even more so when I said Callon and Colt would be joining me later. It would be the first time since Dad’s death that the three of us would be there together.
The plane lights dimmed, and I wrapped the provided blanket around me. The memory of that day still lingered, even after all these years. At the time I was only twenty-eight years old—newly Timeless. Apart from my brothers, Dad, or Kieran as everyone else knew him, was my only family. Mom had disappeared shortly after I was born, and I’d never seen her again. So I was pretty attached to Dad. He taught me so many things, and helped me through my transformation.
I shuddered. That had been the most awful experience of my life. At first it had started with shooting pains in my calves, but eventually my legs became totally paralyzed from the hip down. I’d been in a wheelchair for weeks, and Callon had thought I’d caught polio as they’d been a recent epidemic. I wasn’t so sure as I felt different, however, I never thought I’d be able to walk again. But Dad encouraged me, and didn’t doubt once that I’d pull through. He helped with my physical exercises every day, slowly building back my strength. And then a miracle happened. I’d finally managed to stand for the first time, and had been determined to try walking again. I’d been so focused on reaching the end of the hall, I suddenly ended up there. And that was when I realized my Timeless power was jumping. Dad had been prouder than ever, as that had been Mom’s power, and it was one of the happiest moments I could remember.
It hadn’t always been easy, though. In the years before I was due to transform, Dad had been terrified for my safety. He had every right to be, as he and Adalmund, Qaysean’s father, were our leaders in the war against the Sarac. That made his family a prime target for our enemies. Already he’d lost Callon’s mother in the fighting, and he was pretty sure my mom had met a similar fate, too. So, between his three sons, I was the most vulnerable. Callon was already involved in their strategy meetings and decisions, and Colt was just never around, preferring his travels abroad to shouldering responsibility for the war.
So I spent years locked up in the manor. I wasn’t allowed out past the grounds or the lake, and someone was always watching me. He even amended the enchantment, making it physically impossible for me to step over my prison boundary. It had been the toughest time of my life, especially when I lost the ability to walk. I’d been really miserable, jealous that Colt could do whatever he wished and never get punished, while I was stuck.
Once I’d transformed, though, I was freed, and had gotten into more than enough trouble to make up for my lost years. I spent some time abroad, and helped where I could on the front lines.
But then, a month or so after my twenty-eighth birthday, the worst happened. Callon had been due to attend a meeting with Adalmund and Qaysean regarding a captured spy. When Dad found out, he insisted that he go instead, as he was very friendly with Adalmund and knew that Callon and Qaysean didn’t always get along as easily. Callon had no reason to say no, and so he stayed behind while Dad left with a small escort.
It turned out to be a trap. One of Callon’s most trusted friends, the one who’d arranged the meeting, had actually planned an ambush. Dad and the four who went with him fought valiantly, but they were completely outnumbered and not a single one survived. The attackers then sent us a message, the paper splattered with our father’s blood, informing us of what had happened, and what fate awaited if we continued to resist.
We were all devastated, and none more so than Callon. The attack had been meant for him, and he could never get over his guilt for letting Dad take his place. On top of that, our alliance with the Kvech was weaker, as Dad and Adalmund had been very close. Callon’s friendship with Qaysean just wasn’t as strong.
For almost four years after this, Callon spiraled into a depression. He could just about help Qaysean with battle plans, but each day grew harder and harder. He started to shut himself in his room for long periods, refusing to eat or rest. He stopped reading his journals, and started to let his medical skills slip. Eventually Qaysean grew impatient with this, and started taking major decisions by himself. Callon had less and less involvement, until he’d almost dropped out of the picture completely. The other clans began to frown on us for failing in our duties, particularly as Colt continued to spend long periods away from home, and I was simply too young and inexperienced to know how to lead.
Callon’s condition only worsened, no matter what we tried. It got to the point where he stopped talking to us altogether, and we wouldn’t see him for days on end. One night we heard a noise, so Colt and I broke in to his room. We found him on the floor, an empty syringe in his hand and huge quantities of empty morphine vials in his bathroom. Thankfully Dex had been around at the time, and we’d been lucky to bring him back.
After that, one of us had to stay with him at all times, and we also hid his medical bag. He never tried that again, but still, nothing seemed to snap him out of it. We became desperate, fearing for his safety, and whether we’d ever see the old Callon again.
In the end, though, Callon made the decision on his own. He knew better than anyone how he was acting, and how much harm he was doing to himself and his family. He was guilty for not taking his responsibilities as Consilador leader, and knew that he couldn’t mope around forever. So he announced he was going to leave the O’Shea manor for good, and co-ordinate things from an outpost in Montana.
The news shocked everyone, but we knew it had to be this way, otherwise Callon would never make peace with what had happened to Dad. He’d left for Montana almost right away, and Colt had followed shortly after. I’d ended up staying, as the place was still too much my home for me to abandon it so freely. It had hurt, though, seeing my family scatter in such a short period. And Callon made good on his promise; he hadn’t returned home in almost one hundred and fifty years.
Now, for the sake of Cheyenne, he was going to forsake the past and break that oath.
I could only pray the memories wouldn’t come back to haunt us.
“Welcome back, Danny-boy!”
I smiled as I caught sight of Ryan, who waved at me from the arrivals lounge. There was no mistaking that thick Irish accent. He was d
ressed in a dark coat and carried a large black umbrella. His chin was stubbled, and his sandy-blonde hair had been slicked back.
“Good to see you too, Ryan,” I said, tipping my fedora. Ryan laughed, and hurried over to take my suitcase.
“Good flight?” he asked, leading me through the crowd towards the short-stay parking lot.
“Not bad,” I replied, as we walked past the automatic doors and into the crisp, rainy air. The sky was gray, and the roads slick with moisture. No different to the usual weather, then. “How have things been here?”
“Wet,” Ryan grinned, heading towards his car. He threw open the trunk and dumped my cases inside, then gestured me to sit. “You must’ve enjoyed the weather in Idaho.”
“Wasn’t as damp, that’s for sure,” I said, taking the passenger seat.
“Got that right,” Ryan answered. “It’s been chilly, too. In fact, over winter I found a crack in the heating pipes in the manor, so I’ve just spent a fortune fixing the boiler. Should all be working fine, now.”
I nodded, watching as we reversed out, then weaved through the maze of signs to exit the airport. The rain pelted the windshield, and Ryan had to turn the wipers to maximum speed. It was a long drive to the manor, and we’d have to go carefully because of the slippery conditions. I wasn’t in any rush, though. From the sounds of it, Ryan seemed to have the manor taken care of from a maintenance point of view. I just needed to make sure the areas we wouldn’t want Cheyenne wandering were locked, and all the secret passages were out of her reach.
The scenery was a hazy blur of green and gray, and I made some small talk with Ryan to pass the journey. His father was recovering from a recent chest infection, and his youngest daughter had just started school. Also, along with the boiler repair, he’d had to replace a couple of the carpets because of a water leak. Otherwise the place was pretty much as I’d left it.
What weighed on my mind, though, was the state of the enchantment. Only the Consilador leader could renew it, and thanks to Callon’s vow, the barrier was in very poor shape, as Dad had been the last one to repair it. I didn’t know exactly how the spell worked, but none of Marcus’s forces had ever managed to break through. I’d gone on patrols before and see the dead Tresez that had come too close, which was more than enough proof for me. Eventually Marcus had stopped trying, and moved his attention elsewhere.
Now, though, cracks were appearing, making the illusions less potent and the barrier easier to breach. So far, because of what we’d been doing in Sagle, Marcus’s eyes were focused there, but if he ever considered trying to attack the manor again, this would be his perfect chance. I’d have to wait for Callon to restore the magic to its former glory, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t do other things to help in the meantime.
As Ryan pulled into the country road, the enchantment’s presence hit me. A tingling feeling rippled down my spine for a second, then vanished as we crossed through. That worried me, as I’d not been able to sense the spell when I left last time. The magic must have weakened a lot in my absence. I could only hope Callon’s preparations in Sagle would be done quickly, before the whole thing failed altogether.
Ryan dropped me at the main entrance, tossing me a brass key, then drove off to park around the back. I stood there in the rain for a moment, staring at the ancient building. It had been a long time since we’d welcomed a guest on these grounds. And though I knew Cheyenne loved antique styles, I guessed she wouldn’t appreciate it if everything was that old-fashioned.
I jumped to the front door and unlocked it. The enormous old oak creaked open, and I stepped into a hallway that stretched into darkness. I flicked on a light, and my shoes clacked on the marble floor. Yup, the place hadn’t changed one bit. The mahogany furnishings were finely polished, the crystal chandelier sparkled, and the air smelt fresh and rich. Only the carpet in the front room was a lighter shade of cream than I remembered. Portraits of my ancestors stared from the walls, but I ignored them, heading for the stairs.
My first port of call was my room. I was a little tired from all the flying and was looking forward to a nap. As usual when I’d not been around, the room was completely spotless. Fresh sheets had been laid across the bed, the desk was tidy, and my iPod dock was propped against the bay window. I plucked my iPod from my pocket and slotted it in, finding a local music station, then flopped onto my bed. It was good to be home.
As I lay there, I began to figure out what I had to do. First, I’d need to sort out Cheyenne’s room, and maybe get Ryan’s wife to do some shopping for the essentials she might need. Then I’d have to check the rooms. Callon had said he wanted to use the biggest guest room as a medical bay, ready for Cheyenne’s transformation. Also, the library needed sorting, as I’d have to make sure the connecting passages were secure. I didn’t need Cheyenne getting lost in her new environment.
I dozed quietly for a few hours. When I woke, the evening news was being broadcast through the radio. Yawning, I combed back my hair with my fingers. That was something I did envy my brothers for; they never seemed to need as much sleep as I did. Once I’d cleaned myself up, I ventured downstairs. A small bite to eat and then I’d get started.
Ryan had stocked the kitchen well in advance, yet despite the extensive choice I opted for a simple sandwich and a coffee. I’d save room for a proper dinner later. Once my stomach was satisfied, I walked back up the stairs towards the smaller guest rooms. Knowing Cheyenne loved to daydream, I picked the bedroom which also opened onto the balcony. At least if she was shut indoors all the time she’d have a nice view of the lake.
Furniture was pretty sparse, so I made a brief mental list of what would need moving around. Some chairs, another bedside table and dresser should just about do it. I’d get Ryan to help me set things up later. Satisfied with my choice for Cheyenne’s accommodation, I jumped back outside and down the stairs. It was time to explore the rooms.
I opened a heavy iron-studded door, and headed into another corridor. The right side had windows hidden from the outside by tall shrubbery, and I caught sight of the lake beneath the dark sky. The rain had stopped, and I spotted the forest stretched around it, a black shadow on the horizon.
As I ventured deeper inside, I checked the doors, making sure they were all still locked. Between them were more portraits, dating back almost four hundred years. I didn’t really give them a second glance, but when I came to the hidden library’s entrance, my eyes were caught by the final one.
It showed a lady with dark hair and hazel eyes, dressed in an emerald green dress. Her hair was made into a bun, and she had a warm, smiling face. Her hands were folded into her lap, and she wore a silver ring with a specific pattern on it.
My hand left the library door-handle, and I studied the picture. I traced the outline of the ring’s design, thoughtful. I swore it looked familiar, but I couldn’t quite place where I’d seen it before. Yet if it had made me pause, it had to be something I’d only noticed recently.
Then it clicked. This ring was identical to Cheyenne’s!
My eyes widened. Did that mean…no, she couldn’t be Consilador. I knew that for certain. Nobody in our clan had married or had children in the last fifty years, and Cheyenne was only eighteen. Besides, Callon would’ve known about her right away if that was the case. Still, why did we have a portrait of someone who had the same ring in our manor?
I held a hand to my forehead. Come on, think Daniel! This was a huge clue staring me in the face and I needed to figure it out. Callon would know the answer for sure, but I guessed he already had his own ideas about who Cheyenne really was. Either way, I could definitely confirm Cheyenne had a clan ring.
The question was, which clan did it belong to?
I glanced back to the library door. We had a very good archive charting our family history, and it dated back centuries. If I could find out more about this mysterious woman, I might be able to figure out who Cheyenne’s birth parents were. At the very least I wanted an explanation for the similar rings.
Plan in mind, I studied the name and date below the portrait, then entered the library. The smell of old leather and pages choked me as I opened the door, and my eyes watered. It could definitely do with some ventilation. Coughing on the dust, I scanned the book spines. The front bookcases were all of Callon’s old anatomy books, untouched for years, so I headed further inside. Eventually, after wading through old storybooks and maps, I discovered the family archives at the back. They were grouped in sets of years, and I soon found what I was looking for. Typically, it was high up on the top shelf. I’d need the ladder to reach it.
The ladder was tucked in the far corner, so I dragged it across the shelves. The brass wheels screeched, not having been oiled for a while. I clenched my teeth against the noise, hoping the wooden rungs had fared better. Securing the clips, I raced upwards, and snatched the book free. The ladder groaned beneath me. Before I could head back down, it suddenly broke beneath my feet. Yelping, I managed to jump, avoiding hitting my head, but I still landed clumsily on my backside. Ouch! My face flushed with embarrassment. Good thing nobody was around to witness that.
A couple of other books had also fallen with the one I’d picked, so I gathered them up and put them on a nearby desk. I’d replace them later. Opening the journal I’d wanted, I flipped through, walking over to the couch beside the window. By now it was too dark, so I switched on the reading lamp.
The book was a detailed historical account of what had been going on in the O’Shea household at the time. Some parts of the ink had smudged, but I was able to read through most of it. Finally I came across the name of the woman I’d seen beneath the portrait. She was one of my ancestors, and had lived during the time of the Great Plague of Europe. She’d been betrothed to an O’Shea, and only two of her seven children survived past the age of twelve. I scrolled through the text, not really paying much attention to the specifics, when I found the answer.
She was originally from the Servak clan.
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