The Soul of Time

by Jennifer Macaire

  A red line was forming on Alexander’s throat.

  He was looking at me. His lips were moving but too slowly for me to understand what he was trying to say. He was caught in the same frozen moment as everyone else. Everyone was a prisoner except for Paul and me. Even Voltarrix was trapped like a fly in amber.

  He hadn’t expected Paul and me to resist. He had no way of knowing who we really were, and what rules governed us. His eyes slowly widened in shock.

  When I reached Alexander, after what seemed like an eternity of running, I used the razor to cut the ropes holding him upright. I saw what I needed to know. Alexander was caught in time, he didn’t move, but the ropes fell slowly as if they were floating through thick honey. My actions created their own reactions.

  Alexander’s throat was cut. Voltarrix was holding a copper bowl in his hand. He wanted to collect the blood.

  I finally understood what he did, and how he did it. He was moving. Slowly, to be sure, but he could force himself to move. His sacrifices would last for ages. The victim died for hours.

  The strange thing was that time had no effect on our thoughts. My thoughts worked as rapidly as ever, perhaps even faster because of the panic gripping me.

  Voltarrix held a knife in his other hand, and it was moving. He wanted to finish the sacrifice, but Paul was too quick. Paul held a shining shield – the one his father had given him – and he thrust it at the druid. The knife’s stab that was meant to slit Alexander’s belly open was deflected by bronze.

  My hands flew to Alexander’s throat, and I wrapped cloth I’d torn from my dress tightly around his neck. The edges of the wound gaped, but there was no time to spare. Before the blood splashed down his chest in a scarlet wash, we had to get back up the hill.

  I screamed words at Paul. My voice came out weird and twisted, slowed by the forces of time and the strange vacuum we were in, but he understood what I needed. We sat Alexander on the shield and placed his arms around our necks. He was helpless to move, but using the shield as a seat, we could carry him. We lifted him and set off at a run towards the group of women standing like statues. When we passed through the double ring of druids my breath caught in my throat. I could feel their anger and their power. They wielded their minds like weapons at us. Their thoughts rained upon us like blows, then we were through the outer circle and they ceased.

  My heart was hammering so wildly I thought it would explode. Black spots danced in front of my eyes. Everything was unnaturally silent; all I could hear was my breath whistling in my throat. My feet hitting the ground made no noise at all, and everything I touched felt strange, as if I were a ghost.

  Voltarrix was staring, incredulous. His features twisted with rage and he started to raise his arms to the sky. It was slow, so slow. The knife in his hand described a shining arc towards the heavens. His muscles and tendons stood out like cords in the fierce effort he made to move. His eyes were as red as the bloody sun and glowed eerily.

  Paul and I ran through the nettles, but even they were caught in time. They didn’t release their venom and we received no stings. It was like pushing through a grove of brittle silk. Leaves beneath our feet swirled like slow water. Stems we pushed back stayed in that position, weirdly out of shape. Grass bent and stayed bent. We left a gaping trail through the undergrowth, but I could feel neither stem nor leaf. Nothing left an impression on our skin. Even the weight of the shield with Alexander upon it, was like a feather. Out of the timeline, in a sort of parallel world, we were almost superhuman. Nothing touched us, and we were as strong as Titans.

  At the base of the cliff, we lay Alexander across the shield. His torso fit on it, his legs and arms dangled from the sides. I climbed up first, reaching down to catch the round edge of the shield and heave Alexander up. Paul scrambled past me, and then I pushed while he pulled. The ground beneath us felt elastic, even the rocks were springy to the touch. I could dig my fingers into the granite. It gave like rubber.

  We kept going upwards, alternately pushing and pulling, and our progress was equal to the power of Voltarrix’s arms. We were halfway up the hill when I glanced back at him. His arms were straight out at his sides, his eyes blazing with madness. After that I stopped looking back. He frightened me too much.

  The earth beneath us began to tremble. Paul slipped, but I caught the shield and held on. It had a thick, rolled edge, just right for getting a good grip. Alexander lay upon it like a white statue. His eyes were closed, the skin around his mouth and nose was crusted with dried blood. I had no idea what he’d suffered before we rescued him. I only hoped we weren’t too late.

  One last heave, and he was sliding onto the ledge where Plexis lay, frozen in time.

  Then Voltarrix’s hands met above his head.

  There was a clap of thunder that flattened us to the ground. Blood spurted from our noses, ears, and from Alexander’s throat. However, I was ready. So was Plexis. He couldn’t move, but he could think. When the thunder subsided, I spit out a mouthful of blood and shouted. He didn’t waste time asking questions.

  As soon as time was released, Plexis tore open his sewing kit. He was always mending something. His needles were always threaded and ready, neat in their case. Now we used them to sew up Alexander’s neck, holding the wound closed, wiping his blood away with the backs of our hands. It was soon done. Voltarrix hadn’t cut any major blood vessels; death was to have come slowly. Thankfully, the cut was shallow.

  Plexis stared in stupefaction. ‘I never saw that before,’ he said finally, referring to the stitches. They didn’t exist in his time. Wounds were cauterized with white-hot metal.

  He’d watched me start and then he’d taken over, sewing with the small, neat stitches he always used and knotting carefully after each one. Afterwards, he’d slumped to the ground, his head next to Alexander’s. They looked like two cadavers covered in blood.

  I leaned over the ledge and started to shake. It was all too much. The shock was making my head spin. My hands were ice. I trembled violently. I hung onto the edge and I stared down in the valley where everything was utter pandemonium.

  A swarm of women and children were fleeing up the path I’d made. In a moment we’d have fifty people upon us.

  The Roman soldiers and the men of Orce were fighting the druids, and the fight seemed even. I caught sight of Demos, towering above the rest, and Nearchus, his golden hair flashing in the ever-setting sun. The druids were like wild animals with their painted bodies and wolf-skin capes. They had iron swords and shields, and the sound of clanging metal was like bells ringing and ringing. It was deafening. As I watched, a druid lost an arm to a heavy swipe by Demos. The sight made me feel faint. I took a deep breath and turned to my son. He was sitting with his legs drawn up to his chest, his hands clasped hard around his knees.

  ‘Are you all right?’ I asked.

  ‘No.’ He shook his head, making teardrops fly. ‘I’m so afraid. I hate Voltarrix. He killed my father. I saw him kill my father.’ He was trying to make himself as small as possible. His voice was thin as wire.

  ‘Your father is not dead, and Demos will kill that horrible man,’ I said, moving towards him slowly, carefully. I moved slowly because I didn’t want to startle him. He was in shock. His whole body was cold and his hands and feet were marbled white and blue.

  Carefully, gently, I draped a wool blanket around his shoulders. ‘You’re free. And you helped save your father. We’re all together, look around you. Plexis is here and I’m here. Your father is here. He’ll get better, I swear to you. The wound was awful to see but it wasn’t deep. It will heal quickly.’ I spoke in a soft whisper, rubbing his back and shoulders, finally gathering him in my arms and letting my tears wet his hair. ‘Oh Paul, my little Paul. You’ve grown so big. Look at you,’ I drew a ragged breath. ‘You’re nearly as tall as I am. Oh Paul, my sweet Paul. I love you so much.’

  He stopped shivering and his arms crept around my neck. ‘I won’t go back to the pit. I’d sooner die. Promise me we won’t g
o back.’

  ‘I promise.’ I spoke fiercely.

  ‘Cerberus is dead.’ His voice broke and finally he began to sob. Huge racking sobs that shook his whole body.

  Cerberus was his hound puppy. My face twisted, thinking of how much my son adored his dog. ‘Paul, hush, hush baby. I’m so sorry. Poor Cerberus. Please don’t cry. Wipe your eyes. We have to leave. We have to leave now. Somehow we have to get back to Orce with the people.’

  ‘What people?’ Paul asked in a small whisper.

  ‘These people.’ The women started clambering over the ledge. They said nothing. Their faces were blank with shock and fear. Most had red welts from nettles, some held children. I saw the twin boys clutched tightly in their mother’s arms, and the little girl, saved from the sacrifice, held tightly by her mother.

  The people climbed onto the ledge and stopped to face me. One by one, they knelt at my feet, pressing their foreheads to the moss. They touched Paul on the shoulder, they bowed to Plexis, and then they walked silently past Alexander’s body, reaching down to touch him on his hair, his cloak, or his feet.

  Alexander was still unconscious, but his chest moved slightly with each breath. He was lying on the shield, his purple cloak tucked around him. Plexis washed his wound with marigold water and bound it with a clean strip of cloth. I thought Alexander’s neck would heal if it didn’t become infected.

  Paul and I were still shocked. The women from the village didn’t look much better. Everyone was pale and tearful. Plexis took over. He stood up and gathered his cloak around him.

  ‘We’re leaving now before the fighting is done,’ he said. ‘We will walk in single file. Carry your children, walk as quickly as you can, and make no noise.’

  I stood up on unsteady feet and looked down at my husband. I had no strength left. I couldn’t lift him again. My hands, when I grasped the edge of the shield, slipped off. Tears rolled down my cheeks. Then a hand touched my shoulder.

  I looked up, and through a blur of tears, saw Phaleria. She was hard to miss with her bright copper hair. I smiled then, though my tears fell even faster. I hugged her hard. She held onto me. Her strength was so reassuring. When she’d managed to calm me down, she smoothed my hair from my face and grinned. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll carry your husband,’ she whispered. My shoulders slumped with relief.

  Plexis watched us, an unreadable expression on his face. I looked away, shaken. I’d seen him look like that once before, in India, when Alexander had been struck by an arrow in the chest. I longed to reassure him, to tell him it looked far worse than it was, but I had no more energy left. Besides, I knew I would never be able to sound convincing. I was terrified.

  A tall woman nodded at me. Two other women were lined up behind her. Without a sound, they bent down and picked up the shield., Holding it between them, they carried Alexander as they followed Plexis.

  I trailed just behind them, behind me was Paul. After us came mothers with young children in their arms, and bringing up the rear were four women armed with light spears.

  They were all Valerians. The other tribe, the smaller, darker people, with high cheekbones and slanted eyes, faded into the forest and took a different route. They were heading north, to their own territory. Before leaving, they bowed to me and touched Alexander reverently, as if he were something holy.

  We walked five hours without stopping. Plexis kept a steady pace. Before we were too tired, we halted at the side of a stream. The women didn’t waste time asking questions. One started a fire, two went to gather wood, and three went fishing with the spears they carried. Several others disappeared into the underbrush. One dug a latrine pit, and another started digging for edible roots. They all knew exactly what they had to do. The children were just as well disciplined. They used the latrine, washed in the stream, and sat down quietly and stayed out of the way. A row of seven children, ranging in ages from about nine months old to six, sat with fingers in their mouths, staring at Paul, Phaleria, Alexander, and me.

  Well, I was used to it. I smiled at them and received wide-eyed looks in return. Then I knelt next to Alexander. He was still unconscious. I tucked his cloak warmly around his shoulders and sat back on my heels putting my hands over my face. It was wet with tears and sticky with blood. With a sigh I got up and went to the stream to wash. Alexander needed rest. I wanted to boil water to sterilize bandages and make nice, hot soup.

  When I finished washing the best I could in the shallow brook, I wandered back to the camp. Fish had been caught and several women, including Phaleria, were preparing dinner.

  I sat next to Phaleria, busy cutting fish into little pieces.

  ‘What happened?’ I asked.

  ‘When?’ She tilted her head to the side. ‘Right after you left that night?’

  ‘Well, yes.’

  ‘We sailed out to the open sea, pursued by the dragon boat. They caught up with us easily, although I did manage to lead them a merry chase through some islands off the coast. When I was sure we could no longer flee, I surrendered and let them come aboard.’ She grimaced. ‘I thought that once they saw we didn’t have Iskander or Paul with us, they would leave.’ Her hands flew, chopping up the fish. When she was done, she tipped the meat onto a large leaf. The woman next to her skewered them on a slender branch and set it over the fire.

  ‘But they didn’t.’ I watched as she picked up another fish and expertly gutted it.

  ‘No, they sank my ship.’ There was real regret in her voice, and I stared at her in consternation.

  ‘But that was the ship you grew up on! It was your home!’ I cried.

  ‘I know.’ Her pretty mouth twisted. ‘We were taken aboard the dragon boat, who knows why. They should have thrown us overboard, but they didn’t.’

  ‘They should have tossed you overboard?’ I stared some more.

  ‘Well, yes. Because as soon as their guard was down, we attacked them and threw their bodies into the sea.’ She shook her head. ‘They thought I was just another helpless female.’ Her mouth twisted again, but this time it didn’t look so pretty. ‘They actually thought they could rape me!’

  ‘Phaleria!’

  ‘Well, I showed them.’ Her voice was grim. Luckily there were only seven of them, and six of us. A fair fight.’ She shook her bloody knife in front of her face, scowling, then went back to preparing the food. The fish she was holding was gutted and sliced up in no time.

  ‘I’m glad you won,’ I said.

  ‘Me too.’ She shrugged. ‘When we got back to the fjord, the other half of the druids had already left to hunt you, and more were coming in by sea. We hid the dragon boat and went by land to Orce. I spoke to the wise woman. When she heard that the great Iskander had been kidnapped, she ordered the villagers to go after him. Axiom managed to buy a small company of Roman guards, and they led us.’

  ‘They would,’ I said with a wry grin. Then I realized what she’d said. ‘You called him the great Iskander,’ I said uneasily. ‘Why?’

  ‘Maybe you think I’m as blind as the wise woman?’ she asked, reaching for another fish.

  ‘I didn’t say that …’

  ‘She told me,’ said Phaleria matter-of-factly. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t say anything to anyone. How many people would believe it anyway?’ She held the last fish on the ground in front of her and flicked off the fins, scales, and head with deft motions of her knife.

  I looked over at Alexander, lying still as death on the ground. ‘No one, if they saw him now. But when he’s fit, I think anyone would believe it.’ Phaleria leaned forward to catch my words, spoken in a mere breath.

  She nodded. ‘You’re right. When he’s well, he emits a sort of radiance. I saw it right away. I think if he’d asked me to sail off the edge of the earth I would, just for one of his smiles.’ She finished cutting up the trout and wiped her hands on the grass.

  I nodded; most people felt that way about him. ‘There are people who know who he is. Yovanix overheard Demos talking with Nearchus and Alexander about thei
r battles. And the wise woman guessed, though how she did so is beyond me.’

  ‘She says he is golden,’ said Phaleria, with a shrug. She smiled thinly. ‘She said the same for your son, for Paul. She said she wants to see him when he gets back to Orce.’

  ‘She was so sure we’d rescue him?’ I asked. ‘She is a wise woman. She sees places we haven’t been to yet.’

  I had just about had it with wise-women who sensed auras and druids who twisted time. Thinking about that raised goose bumps up and down my arms. I suppressed a shudder. ‘Well, he’s no longer the Great Iskander. He’s just Alexander, and he’s hurt. He needs to get back to Orce as quickly as possible.’

  ‘Great Iskander or not, he’ll have to make the voyage like the rest of us, through marsh and forest, over mountain and plain. And hope the Eaters of the Dead don’t catch us before we’re ready to fight again.’

  ‘Who? The Eaters of the Dead? Why?’

  ‘Because,’ she said grimly, ‘they will be following us.’ She held her knife tightly in her hands, then, with a frown, wiped its blade with a piece of torn cloth.

  Chapter Eleven

  Alexander woke up and tried to sit, but he was far too weak. His hands flew to his throat and he touched the bandage we had put there. His face became even paler than before, but he didn’t faint. Instead he took a deep breath, experimenting, and then he whispered, ‘Thank Zeus’, before smiling at us.

  I smiled back, and then flung myself on him, holding him so tightly he could hardly breath.

  ‘Ashley,’ he whispered.

  ‘How do you feel?’ I asked, not letting go.

  ‘Shaky. Dirty. Hungry. Weak. My neck hurts like Hades. What happened?’

  ‘We’ll tell you later. I’ve heated some water. Do you want me to wash you?’

  He grinned. ‘You women are always giving baths to the heroes in the stories, aren’t you?’ He was referring to my preference for The Odyssey, a story we used to read aloud to each other.

  ‘Either that or weaving with our looms,’ I said with a dazzling smile. ‘Oh, Alex, I was so worried about you.’