Both of her friends looked like they were halfway between exploding with excitement and about to do something really important. The two girls moved Nysa around until they stood with Anastasia at the front and Devorah at the back. They gave Nysa a small, lit lamp to hold.
“Put your hand on my right shoulder,” said Anastasia. Nysa did so, and felt Devorah place her hand on her shoulder in turn. They walked to one of the doors. After knocking, the door that had no handle on their side opened.
Anastasia led her two friends into a room that lay beneath the circular library. Directly below where the Apis bull would be above them stood a granite block bearing flowers in bloom, surrounded by a circle of women, all in long robes. Braziers, on tall stands, cast a warm light all over the chamber. A sweet fragrance filled the air. Each wall held different types of decoration, Egyptian at the far end with Greek figures coming next, at the wall that must face the sea and the lighthouse.
Opposite, a single figure sat cross-legged under a tree, clad in robes of dusty yellow, his eyes closed. A nearby deer bowed its head towards the praying man. Nysa was directed to place her single lamp on a low square block of stone a cubit or so from the taller granite altar. As she did, she noticed it held a finely incised image of a central circle, with six circles gathered around it.
Nysa looked up, straight into the eyes of her sister Khloe, standing on the far side of the flowers, her face lovely in the soft light from the braziers. Khloe nodded. On one side of her stood Hypatia, her calm face unreadable, on the other, the slave girl Myrna. All the women – Nysa reckoned there must be ten or eleven of them – had pale grey cloaks, gathered at their shoulders and covering much of their white linen robes.
“Welcome, Novitiate. Welcome, Nysa. Welcome, Sister,” said her sister.
“Welcome, Novitiate. Welcome, Nysa. Welcome, Sister,” said Hypatia.
Myrna looked at her, her eyes fiery in the reflected light. The same words just spoken out loud repeated inside her breast.
‘You are truly One Who Hears. Say what you have just heard within the sanctum of your mind.’
Nysa repeated the words she’d heard: “You are truly one who hears.”
Everyone smiled. Hypatia nodded.
“It is well, Novitiate. You have entered the realm of the dead and found your way through. You are now indeed one of us.”
The ceremony proceeded for some more time, with several of the women moving gracefully around the central altar, as Hypatia spoke words of great beauty. Water was sprinkled and fresh incense ignited.
Hypatia came and stood in front of Nysa. Devorah and Anastasia stood at each side of her facing their teacher.
“Look around you Nysa, my Sister. For even as these sacred images convey the essence of the great spiritual movements of our time, so does the teaching of the Holy Ones surround you at all times.”
Guided by Anastasia, Nysa looked at each wall in turn. Behind her, with the door set to one side, she recognised Christian imagery, including the Fish of the Nazarene and the Winged Lion.
“All the Great Ways contain Great Truths, Nysa. And in truth they are but One Way.”
A woman Nysa did not know came forward carrying a grey cloak.
Silently, Hypatia fixed the cloak around her, pointing out the embroidered feather on the shoulder that matched all the others in the room.
“We are the Ladies of the Feather. Our Founder’s words can still be found in the quietest parts of our souls. And our great Teacher on the Ways of Time is one close to you. She has many names. The Lady of the Blue Lotus. The Servant of Neith. But you will know her as we do, simply as Shoshan.”
As Hypatia said these words Nysa recalled the presence of a girl about her own age as she made her way through the labyrinth of the Library above them. For just a moment warmth spread through her heart as though she had found once more a long-lost friend.
Anastasia and Devorah left the circle and returned moments later each bearing a box decorated with inlays.
“Here is our token, Sister. Keep it safe. Show it when needed to those who should know. It marks you as one who has mastered the first coil of time.”
Hypatia opened the box and removed a large coin. She placed it in Nysa’s left palm.
Khloe returned the empty box to Devorah and took the second, slightly larger box from Anastasia.
“My Sister –” Khloe smiled at Nysa, her watering eyes softened and full of love – “these sacred emblems are yours. You are now their Guardian, even as you are a Companion and a Seed of Life. Keep them safe until you find, eventually, one who may secure their passage onwards in time.”
Khloe and the three girls emerged into the pale green light of early dawn. Angelos, who’d been sitting in the garden area in front of the palace, stood and bowed slightly towards the group of girls. He sheathed a sword.
“Mother and Father,” said Nysa, “they have no idea where I am. They—”
“Are over there,” said Khloe.
Nysa looked across the narrow stretch of water to the harbour. Two figures stood by a palanquin.
“They knew all along?”
“We all did,” said Devorah. “Hypatia spoke to your parents just as she spoke to mine. Membership of Our Sisterhood is respected by the wise of all faiths here. My father stays here in part because of the teachings guarded by the Sisters of the Feather.”
“As do we all, sister, who is now my Sister.”
Khloe made a movement with her hands to indicate two different types of sister. “Come. We’ll get some breakfast at the harbour. You look like you’re about to faint.”
“You knew all along, Khloe, and you said nothing?”
“We each have to come to the sisterhood by our own path, Nysa. I joined at about your age. I think the priestesses of Isis and our own dear Hypatia wondered if I might be one of the seeds on the Golden Thread that runs from past to future. But I cannot hear within in the way you do. For me, Myrna has to write things down. Occasionally I pick up thoughts but they are vague and uncertain. We know from ancient records held within our own Labyrinth Library, written by the great Shoshan herself, that all the Companions of Time have inner hearing. It is one of their marks.”
“But that only started with me so recently,” said Nysa.
“True.” Her sister smiled and sat next to Nysa on the bed in her room. “The day you heard Myrna, when you were at Devorah’s house dancing, was a day we quietly celebrated. But you still had to find your way through the Labyrinth. That is also a test of your readiness and ability to join the sisterhood.”
Khloe placed her hand over her sister’s.
“The time is coming soon when the Sisterhood will have to step into the shadows. Our protection within the sanctity of the temples of Isis won’t last much longer. We know that. Our greatest seers have predicted this time. They see the coming era as a period of deep night, with only a few stars of brilliance to light the way for those travellers seeking the path. Yet our knowledge will never be lost, for we know the Golden Thread stretches unbroken before us, as long as we all play our part as we should.”
“Did you know of these ancient treasures?” asked Nysa, opening the larger of the two boxes: a beautiful work of art in itself, decorated with an exquisite picture of a hawk-headed god. He bore a sun disk above his head and crossed rippling blue water in a narrow boat.
“No. Not until you showed you could Hear. I told Hypatia. She produced this box that she’d been given, as its guardian, from Father’s mother.”
Khloe stroked the picture on the box with her fingertip. She smiled at Nysa.
“Grandmother died before you were born, but I just about remember her and her remarkable eyes. Hypatia held the box in trust, as she was sure that the Seed would be found within our family.” Khloe felt inside the folds of her robe and produced a key. She handed it to her sister. “Neither of our parents is directly connected with the sisterhood. I think Mother attempted the labyrinth as a young woman, but called for the help of Hermes
thrice, and never tried again.”
Nysa unlocked the box and withdrew two soft leather pouches. One contained a flawless rendition of a scarab beetle in pale jade, hanging on a golden chain. The other held ten small spheres of polished stone.
“I have duties, Nysa. Mother is preparing a special feast today, for tomorrow we must fast, drinking only water. The sisterhood is to do a ritual of utmost importance and you will be needed there.”
For a long time Nysa sat very still. Everything still felt somewhat unreal. She’d no idea what it really meant to be a Seed or Companion or any of these things. But the pale jewel lying on the soft wool cover of her bed comforted her. She counted the spheres. Ten. She knew about the teachings of the great sage Pythagoras and his Tetractys. Hypatia had shown the sublime meaning of the triangular shape that could be simply made by arranging the points in rows, with one at the top and four at the bottom.
She picked up the scarab jewel. Her hand warmed and a flux of energy spread through her. She closed her eyes. At first she sensed nothing except the comforting weight of the jewel resting in her palm. Meaningless smudges of dark and pale shapes played on her eyelids. Then a face appeared as though a torch had illumined it in a waking dream.
‘You are the girl who spoke to me in the Labyrinth,’ thought Nysa.
‘Yes. We are now truly connected. You have found me in good time, sister and country-mate.’
The girl smiled, her large eyes, emphasised with dark make-up, sparkled.
‘On the morrow you must open a crack in the pathways of time. You now have the power. I will be standing just behind you.’
The image faded. The girl’s beautiful smile had warmed Nysa through and through. She quietly slipped her treasures back in their bags and stowed the enamelled box, with its Horus motif, deep in her clothes chest.
Reindeer Days
Sweden – about 1520
“They’re from the far north,” said Håkan to me, as we watched our rescuers trussing up our would-be captors. “Mother’s related to these people because her mother was Sami. My grandmother had Garal with her first husband and then was left a widow. Mother says my grandfather fell in love with her for her great beauty.”
I nodded. Everything had happened so fast I’d not had time to catch my breath. Of course I knew about the Sami. Nowadays in Sweden and Norway, to call them Laplanders is considered rude or downright racist. I thought they lived beyond the Arctic circle. Surely we couldn’t have walked that far. It might feel like we had walked from Land’s End to John O’Groats and further, but that far north, in winter, we would be knee-deep in snow geese and polar bears. Here fir trees still dominated the landscape and craggy rocks covered with lichen were not under permafrost.
Signy and the man who called her sister had stared at each other for a long time. She’d wept a little and spoken softly to him. The other hunters had made short work of the three nut-jobs who’d tried to rob us. I was sort of glad they hadn’t ended up hanging from a branch, although I’m not at all sure they would have been that kind to us. Now they stood, trussed up with thick cords, their legs hobbled, their gloves firmly bound on, making picking knots even beyond Houdini. Some grey-haired wag with little tattoos on his face had suggested tying them in a circle facing outwards, so when they walked one of them would always be walking backwards.
“Why are you here?” Signy asked her brother. “How did you know to find us? We were almost lost, just walking by the North Star and hoping for the best.”
“Look at the trees,” said her half-brother, Garral, pointing to the craggy hill rising above our heads. At the top, three incredibly tall fir trees stood, a landmark for miles in each direction. “This hill is called Storsberg, the Queen’s Hill. Some think it means a Swedish Queen or a Danish one, but it is sacred to Frig, Queen of Asgard. The drum showed this very hill when Håkan was born, remember?”
Signy shook her head. She’d clearly forgotten or maybe never realised. If we hadn’t been accosted by the Danish captain, would we have come this way? I didn’t know. It seemed sort of random to me. But here were Signy’s tribe ready and waiting, and because of them Pudding-Basin, his dad and their thin friend were going to have to hop, skip and jump for a very long time to get home, if they were to avoid a painful death by freezing.
Large flakes of snow started to descend. The sky, hardly bright with the dawn, had darkened again and looked snow-laden.
Garral studied each of us in turn. He deployed that type of x-ray vision that seems to judge a person from the bones outwards. Taller than the rest, with a deep tan and weathered face, he’d the stance of a man whom even wolves avoid in the forest. His blue hat, round like a large pillbox, had stitching in bright yellow, ear flaps and strange folds on the top. It added substantially to his height. His long, light tan-coloured-jacket had myriad tiny pieces of embroidery forming intricate patterns. A tight belt at waist height caused it to flare into a short skirt, but not in any namby-pamby way. At his throat, a necklace of long teeth added to his warrior street-cred. His thick dark trousers ended in knee-high boots, like all the men.
“Bring them with us,” said Garral, who appeared to be the group’s leader. The big blond guy started to protest, but fell quiet when a spear ended up tickling distance from his nose. We set off on a side track, down from the hill. For the first time for ages I began to feel we might be safe. The men around us were mainly small, with highly embroidered leather jackets and large hats. Their spears looked well able to tackle polar bears and I’d seen how effective they were, when using a bow and arrow. We reached a copse of trees. Two men emerged, their bows nocked with arrows. They nodded at Garral.
“We’ll leave straight away,” he said. “The snow will cover our tracks and we’ll be like ghosts who come and leave no mark. Hold them for one thousand heartbeats and then let them go. From here it will take most of the day for them to get back where they live. And I wouldn’t have them die, though they deserve it.”
Something snorted. We moved through the trees to a clearing. There stood a small herd of the biggest reindeer I’d ever seen. Three or four had huge antlers and tossed their heads up and down. They were all attached to sleds by bright leather straps that reached around their chunky middles. None had a red nose that I could make out.
Moments later we were gliding along over the snow, with flakes settling down all around us. Apart from the soft rhythm of the reindeers’ hooves, and the swoosh of the sled runners, we were surrounded by grey silence. My Sami – he didn’t tell me his name – didn’t talk. I leaned back against the front of his chunky jacket after he’d sat down on the sled and given me a rather toothless grin. He held the steering straps for the sled and I squeezed in in front of him. Thick and slightly smelly pelts kept us warm. Even with low visibility we bounded along at a fair pace. Garral knew one snow drift from another, apparently, and occasionally shouted when we changed direction. I wondered about the three men doing the six-legged race back up the steep track and then their long walk home. Well, they deserved it for the way they had treated Eira.
Trees passed by, sometimes close and sometimes blurry in the distance, just visible through a haze of feathery snowflakes. Garral made dramatic changes of direction several times early on. I guessed this was to confuse any possible pursuit. But with the steady snow and the speed of our four-legged transport, we were surely leaving any hunters far behind.
The Perils of Berries
Garral called a halt. The snow had thinned but not quite stopped. Near where the reindeer stood, shuffling and snorting, a great rock rose out of the edge of a hillside. Garral led the other men in gathering green pine fronds. He and Signy placed the first evergreen branches on the snow, starting to make a crescent shape around the rock. At first I could see nothing too special about this grey stone emerging from the snow. But it had drama, almost as though it had a life of its own. The colouring, cracks and shape suggested a language ancient and forgotten. The snow had settled on the top of the rock but didn’t cover
its lichen smudged face. Håkan and I laid our branches together, near the edge of the crescent, and Eira laid hers next to mine. Signy stood watching as the other men added their branches. When all had become still once more, she nodded, smiled a tight smile at Garral and returned to her sled. No one said anything.
The sky gradually lightened and we stopped once more. My driver, who had definite need of a shave, opened a leather pouch and offered it to me. Inside were berries, chilly but not frozen. They burst into flavour in my mouth, tasting bitter at first and then releasing a faint sweetness. From another bag he took something that looked like old bark. He nodded, offering the stringy bit of wood with his half dozen teeth breaking into a serrated smile.
“It’s dry reindeer meat,” said Håkan. “Chew it well or you will get a really sore tummy.”
I did. Old bootlaces might have been softer. The meat didn’t soften quickly, but eventually the strong flavour filled my mouth. Once it had gone from chewy to swallowable, I did just that and down it went. A few more berries, and another bit of tough reindeer and we were off again.
The travelling became hypnotic. The snowscape glided by. It had stopped snowing entirely and patches of blue sky hinted at the possibility of sun. The air remained incredibly cold, but no wind meant no wind-chill factor. We drew up near a huge tree stump, which, judging by the large number of tree rings, might have been around when the Vikings wore horns on their helmets. Once more we honoured this place with fronds from fir trees.
Garral called Håkan and me over; his blue eyes were cold and flat as a frozen lake. He stared at us both as though searching for whether we’d really done our homework or not. I wouldn’t have lied to this man.
“Go,” he said.
A feathery coldness of fear spread out from my stomach.
“It’s not good to arrive without gifts. Collect berries from within this part of the forest. They are renowned. Collect them in this bag. Be quick. We cannot wait long.”
Time Knot Page 27