by Kim Falconer
Yes, Scylla, they do. But this key is lost.
Are you sure?
He hesitated. Not when you say it like that. ‘There wouldn’t be a key, would there?’ he asked Kreshkali. ‘Or a way around?’
She shook her head. The fence stretched out for as far as the eye could see in both directions. ‘Not today. Not for us. We could climb over, but that would mean leaving the horses behind. Not an option.’
More howls wafted on the wind.
‘Don’t tell me they have the key?’
‘It’s a possibility,’ she answered. ‘He had to entrust it to someone.’
Another shadow darted behind a boulder, or was it the same one? It moved too quickly to tell. Scylla leapt up, growling. Her hackles spiked, making her appear double in size. Kreshkali brushed dust from her hands before stroking the feline’s head. ‘It’s all right, Scylla. The Lupins don’t want to hurt you.’
The feline hissed. Really? Is that why my fine white belly fur still bears a scar from a Lupin blade? What kind of wonderland does she live in, Rowan?
‘What’d she say?’ Kreshkali asked, her hands on her hips.
‘Pardon?’
‘I can tell she’s talking to you.’
He coughed. ‘It’s hard to translate.’
‘Give me the highlights.’
‘She…disagrees.’
‘I can imagine.’ Kali laughed. ‘Let me put it this way, Scylla. The Lupins don’t want to hurt you any more.’
Scylla turned her head away.
‘Let me see what I can do,’ Kali said, stroking the temple cat again before turning towards the gate. She pushed up her sleeves and lifted the thick twists of chain that looped the central post. She touched the locks gently, as if they were small creatures. ‘What’s your secret, my little ones?’ she asked. ‘Why so tight? Don’t you recognise me? A child from the one who made you? Come now. Won’t you let us pass?’
An’ Lawrence screwed up his face as he retrieved the axe and brushed bits of rock from the blade. The edge looked like jagged teeth. ‘It’s a lock, Kali. Not a stray cat. You can’t coax it into…’
‘Shush.’
Her eyes softened. All her focus went into the padlocks. As she held them, she released a warm wave of energy that surrounded the metal. Particles of light hovered like fireflies around her hands. Thunder rumbled on the horizon. In the stillness that followed, the locks clicked, letting go their hold. She unwound the chain and gave the gate a shove, swinging it as wide as her smile.
An’ Lawrence crossed his arms. ‘Done, and well done,’ he said. ‘Can I ask why we didn’t do that in the first place?’
‘I like watching you sweat.’ She winked as she strode through the ancient iron gate. ‘Let’s hurry along, Rowan. We need to water the horses, and the Lupins are following, you know.’
‘Of course,’ he said, biting the words. ‘And while I get our mounts, might you be so kind as to tune in and see if there’s a banishing spell on the estate? I wouldn’t want to be turned to stone on such a lovely afternoon simply because I don’t have the right sort of look about me.’
‘More like the right sort of DNA, I imagine.’
‘That too, then.’
She sighed. ‘I already did.’
‘And?’
‘Luka Paree must have laid down a ripper.’
He slowed in his tracks. ‘Can you dispel it?’
‘It’s a little more complex than that. I don’t know what we’re up against, really. It’s very old magic.’
‘Great.’ He untied the horses. ‘Can you at least lock the gate behind us?’
Kreshkali stared into the distance, not answering. An’ Lawrence led the horses through the gateway, his eyes on the woman.
‘The Lupins?’ he prompted. ‘What’s your call? Shall we lock them out?’
‘They have a right to be here too. You know that.’
He had more than one argument ready, but as he looked behind him, he nodded and mounted up. ‘Lead the way, Kreshkali. We, and the dark demons of the underworld, shall follow.’
She offered neither smile nor frown but turned her mare towards the west and trotted on.
Kreshkali jogged beside the Sword Master, her mind tuning in to him. He was adjusting rather well considering recent events. He’d met his grown daughter—one he’d never known—for the first time, been swept from his world to a place both foreign and hostile, battled the technologies of ASSIST and taken up the challenge of expanding the tattered coven in what was left of this harsh, post-technological world. Now she was asking him to accept the Lupins—the strange shape-shifting creatures of her ancestor’s creation—as eagerly as one might take on a litter of hunting dogs. And they were far from that. Not bad for a man with his moon in the fixed sign of the Scorpion. Change didn’t come easy for such a placement, nor did letting go of grudges, but he’d handled it with near effortlessness—if you didn’t count the grumbles, scowls and derogatory comments.
She pulled out her compass again and then redirected them slightly more to the southwest. They travelled in companionable silence. The subtle breeze was lifting the heat of the day and erasing the tensions from the recent earthquake.
‘Here come your minions,’ An’ Lawrence said, pointing skyward. ‘Looks like they’ve got news.’
The Three Sisters, blue-black ravens from Gaela who had taken quite happily to this other world, swooped and darted overhead. Unlike most visitors, they found delight in the strange, decimated and unpredictable environment. They whooshed past her, cawing out like mad pipers, flapping and blustering. She laughed. They were definitely excited about something. She hoped it was more than a rotting carcass on the other side of the hill. ‘What have you found, my beauties?’
‘Probably a chunk of obsidian shaped like a wing,’ An’ Lawrence said. ‘Or an old cow skull.’
‘I think it’s more than that this time.’
Temple halls! Big ones! Many trees. Live trees. Many nests! All very old but still fresh. Everything shiny and bright. Water too. Drink and bath and frolic. Come quick, ride hard and see with your own eyes, Mistress! Glorious home!
They cawed their news, diving by the riders a few more times before shooting off.
We follow, my lovelies!
‘I take it they spotted something significant?’ An’ Lawrence asked.
‘Indeed.’
‘The manor?’
‘Seems so.’
‘It still stands?’
‘It does, at least from their point of view.’
‘They’d be excited by a rubbish heap.’
She raised her eyebrows at him and he chuckled.
‘I meant, that’s great news. I can’t wait to see for myself!’
‘Thank you, but it would be more convincing without the sarcasm.’ She smiled in spite of his expression.
After looking for remnants of a road and finding nothing but endless packed clay and rocks, she wondered how easy it would be to find Paree’s mansion in the thousands of rolling acres. Wherever the road had been, it was now buried under rock or lost to erosion. Cracks cut through the land and there was no sign of the trees that used to line the old driveway. Of course, there were very few trees left in this region, so it wasn’t much of a surprise. Still, she believed that on her ancestor’s estate both flora and fauna would be preserved. There was enough energy in this land to preserve the whole world—and from the sound of the Three Sisters, it had protected the estate at least. Of more immediate interest, there was water—and that meant survival. They really were running low.
‘It does feel like something substantial ahead,’ An Lawrence said. This time the positivity in his voice was genuine.
‘I agree!’ She’d not known how she would ever locate the mansion until she found the picture in her mother’s diary—a treasure and a boon—though the image itself was of little help. The world had seen much change since the photo was taken. Nothing was recognisable. The lush trees that led the way, exploding in
purple blossoms and feathery green leaves, weren’t even a memory for her generation. Yet the image had been passed down their family line for more than reasons of nostalgia.
She still recalled the thrill she’d experienced when she’d turned the photograph over and read the back. The message was cryptic, it had to be, but it contained all the information needed to locate the estate—for one who knew how to interpret it.
Luka Michelle Paree
January 30, 2054
05:55:23
151 W 13:23
33 N 52:11
She had guessed immediately it was not her ancestor’s birth data she was looking at. Although of interest, that information wouldn’t lead to the estate. The latitude and longitude would be of no help either, as all such coordinates had altered with the first plate-shift. But the data was there to find the Paree mansion. She was sure of it. Her ancestor wouldn’t have left a set of coordinates just by chance. It had to be the data for a horary chart, an effective horoscope map that would lead right to the front door, no matter how much the terrain had changed—providing whoever had written the coordinates had asked the right question.
She’d drawn up the chart using the Draconic zodiac—a system based not on the vernal equinox as in Western astrology, but on the lunar nodes—studying the rulerships and aspects before plotting a path that led, eventually, to the gates surrounding the estate of Dr Luka Paree. Because magnetic north had shifted by twenty degrees since the data was written, she had to keep recalibrating her alignment, but that fortuitous earthquake had shot them out of the canyons in the right direction. The fence line led to the gate and beyond the gate would be the manor estate. What condition was it in? By the sound of the Three Sisters’ cackling, it would be everything she hoped for.
As they wound their way down a steep grade and trotted up the next hill, the manor house came into view and her face lit up like a sunrise. ‘Rowan!’ She reached out to grip his arm.
There, in a shallow valley, was the Paree estate, a white sandstone manor in a red sea desert, an oasis frozen in time, immune to the beating suffered by the surrounding land. The two-storey mansion had a domed stained-glass roof over one wing and turrets rising above the balcony windows. Flowerboxes overflowed with trailing red roses, and smooth-branched gum trees swayed like guardians at the inner gates. The front entrance was paved with terracotta tiles. Wide steps led down from the front doors to a courtyard fountain which spouted crystal-clear water over a prancing black onyx stallion.
Kreshkali squeezed the Sword Master’s hand tighter. ‘It’s so like Diablai,’ she whispered.
‘Uncanny.’
A stone wall surrounded the grounds, graced with flowering shrubs and broad, shady oaks. On the opposite side of the courtyard were the stables, built for warm weather with open box stalls and breezeways. Stone-paved driveways led to and from other buildings. It was a storybook setting, a valley sleeping under a spell, waiting patiently to be awakened—vibrant in the afternoon light. And there were so many trees! Kreshkali’s eyes welled. Live trees on Earth! Oaks with dark green leaves and pale jacarandas bare of leaf but covered in purple blossoms, weeping willows and figs, paperbark eucalypts and yellow blooming acacias, all offered a welcome reprieve from the sun. Everywhere, flowers displayed their colours like strutting roosters—a view she’d never seen this side of Gaela.
‘It’s beautiful,’ An’ Lawrence said, bringing his horse to a halt. ‘Your Earth really is beautiful.’
‘I never thought I’d hear you say that.’
‘Me neither, but this is extraordinary. It reminds me of Timbali Temple in the spring.’
Kreshkali let the tears spill down her face. ‘There must be an underground water source,’ she said, wiping her eyes. ‘Look at the colour of the grass.’ She pointed to the rolling paddocks behind the stables and orchard.
‘Grass alone would be a marvel in this desert, but that’s as green as the Southern Cusca Plains, and there are acres of it.’
The horses tugged at the reins, tossing their heads. Scylla bounded down the lane, scampering in spite of the heat. Water! Mice! Joy!
‘It might be the last oasis on Earth,’ An’ Lawrence said, allowing his horse to follow Scylla.
The fountain water looked pure, and a trough next to the hitching posts ran clear and clean, the water flowing through like a stream, its source as yet undetected. Garden sculptures stood straight and regal as if the earth hadn’t rocked and belched beneath them.
‘It’s been protected,’ Kreshkali said.
They followed Scylla, jogging down the lane that led to the inner gates. They were wide open and welcoming.
‘Clearly a spell,’ An’ Lawrence agreed as he dismounted, leading his horse towards the manor entrance.
‘I’d like to know what it is,’ Kreshkali murmured. She felt the air with her fingertips.
‘Can you work it out?’
‘Maybe.’
They stopped at the hitching posts, the horses plunging their muzzles into the water, sipping at a frantic rate. An’ Lawrence lifted their heads after every few swallows to slow them down. ‘We’ve got to watch they don’t get colic in that pasture,’ he said, pointing towards the fields. ‘I’ve never seen clover so green.’
Kreshkali helped unsaddle the horses and rub them down, checking their hooves for stones. ‘That paddock looks like the best bet.’ She indicated a small corral, knee-deep in pale green rye grass with a few tassels of oats.
‘That will keep their minds off the Lupins, at least,’ she said, leading the horses towards the enclosure and releasing them. The animals didn’t take more than one step forward before setting into the grass. She had to give them a shove, slapping their rumps, in order to close the gates behind them.
‘But will it keep the Lupins’ mind off our horses?’
‘I don’t think they’re here for food, Rowan.’
‘I hope you’re right.’
Kali turned towards the manor house. ‘Shall we investigate?’
‘We’d better bring provisions.’ He looked the place up and down. ‘It could take hours to explore. There’s room for a whole village here.’
‘It’s perfect.’ She smiled, grabbing two green packets from the saddlebags. ‘Just what I’ve been hoping for.’
‘Tell me you’ve something other than those vile nutries?’ he said, wrinkling his nose.
‘You’re as fussy as Rosette.’ She laughed. ‘This is all we have left, unless you would care to hunt.’
As if in answer, a not-too-distant howl sounded on the wind.
‘I think I’ll explore the manor first,’ he said.
The massive doors were locked, but she coaxed them as she had the main gate, with a bit of charm and love. The handle seemed to awaken with her touch. ‘Thank you, darlings,’ she said, pushing the door open.
The outer door frames had faded to grey, bleached and weathered by the passing centuries, but once over the threshold the rich tones and hues jumped out to meet them. The walls were white marble veined with lapis, a sky blue shot with gold. The archway and door were made of dark polished teak, and the brass latches shone with a golden glow. Finely woven rugs covered the Spanish tiles, a layer of dust muting the colours beneath. She crossed the entranceway, leaving boot prints in the fine film. An’ Lawrence and Scylla followed more slowly—Scylla sniffing her way in.
‘We need to find the library,’ Kreshkali said, gazing at the ceiling. ‘It’s probably upstairs.’
‘Where do you think the kitchen is?’ An’ Lawrence asked as he examined the pictures lining the hall.
Kreshkali joined him. They were engaging images that drew the eye towards the centre of each lively scene—picnics in lush woodlands, a pool full of waterlilies and nymphs. And there was one of charging warhorses, their riders carrying off two voluptuous nude women, much to their apparent delight.
‘You’re that hungry?’ she asked, pulling her eyes away from the paintings.
‘Starving.’
/> She tossed him a nutri and he caught it without looking. ‘Eat up.’
Scylla sniffed the nutri and sneezed.
‘I might explore in this direction,’ he said, waving towards the other side of the hall. ‘There has to be something better here than this green glue.’
‘I imagine there’s a sizable pantry, Rowan, but I doubt it will still be stocked, at least not with anything edible.’
‘I’m not so sure. There’s a palpable spell on the whole estate—the trees, water sources, ground untouched by quakes. How else could it have survived? I’m guessing everything has been preserved—books, equipment, medicaments, weapons and food.’
‘Perhaps,’ Kreshkali said. She’d spotted a letter on a table near the stairwell. She picked up the envelope and blew off the dust, frowning at the address before opening it. ‘Worth a look,’ she said, not taking her eyes from the letter.
‘You’re not hungry?’
‘Maybe. Just something I need to check.’ Her head came up when he chuckled. ‘What?’
‘You’ve come home, haven’t you?’
She glanced down the hallway and back to him. ‘As close as I’ve ever been.’
‘What spell are you brewing, Kali? You’ve got that look…’
She returned to examining the letter. ‘Pardon?’
‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘I’m checking out this side.’ His heels clicked across the tiles as he headed towards the left wing. Scylla sneezed again and followed him, her soft pads not making a sound though they left prints on the dusty rugs.
Kreshkali slipped the letter into her pocket. Isn’t that just interesting! They thought of everything. She strode down the hall, looking into the rooms that branched out on either side of the long corridor. There was a massive dining hall that seated over one hundred, the long tables and high-backed chairs buried under a heavy covering of dust but otherwise sound. She swiped the dusty table with her finger to reveal the gleam underneath, a rich oak finish. The grain swirled like a waterway, creating beautiful patterns in the wood. Exquisite. She’d never seen a wooden table on Earth before, let alone one so large. The last had been made—and destroyed—before she’d been born.