Across Time Part 5

The whole thing made her stomach lurch and bubble, so she opened the storeroom door, set the keys on the shelf, and grabbed a second pack of rollers, just like the ones she had tossed her father.

Inhaling deeply, she took three long strides out of the storeroom and turned to the wall.

The door was gone.

"Oh c.r.a.p," Jessie said, leaning against the banister. Her stomach jumped and gurgled and she felt bile trying to rise in her throat. She wasn't stoned and she wasn't crazy, so what in the h.e.l.l was going on here? For a moment, she considered running out of the house and down to Madame Ceara's, but then she remembered the old woman's *

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words. She needed courage. She needed to do something she hadn't done in a long time; she needed to believe in herself. She needed to be brave. She knew what she'd seen. She could not doubt herself.

Retrieving the solitary key, Jessie dropped the package of rollers back on the shelf before turning the skeleton key over in her hand. It was warm, and by the looks of it, appeared to be the original that came with the house. There was very little wear on the teeth, and no grooves on it from overuse or metal on metal cuts that her ill-fitting house keys had had in California. Maybe this wasn't even the right key. Maybe, when she went back, the door would be gone again, as if the house were playing some sort of game with her. Maybe the voices Daniel kept hearing were really there. Maybe, maybe, maybe. One can't cook with maybes.

Exhaling loudly, gripping the old key as if it, too, might disappear, Jessie stepped outside the storeroom and faced the numberless door.

"It's there," she whispered, taking a step toward the door. The key seemed to be growing warmer in her hand, but that was impossible.

Impossible? A door that appears at whim was impossible. A glowing key? h.e.l.l, at this point, anything seemed possible.

Turning the key over in the palm of her hand, Jessie felt a rush of adrenaline sweep over her. Her scalp tingled, the bottom of her feet itched, and a cold chill ran up and down her spine. Trying not to be afraid, Jessie decided she had nothing to lose at this point and plunged the key into the lock.

It could have been anything, really; an empty storeroom, an unused bedroom, an old water closet that had been boarded up, or even a clothes closet. Jessie could have accepted any of those. She could have even accepted something as out there as a treasure room or attic that hid some heinous crime of the eighteenth century.

But to open the third story door to find an oak grove doused in the light glow of dusk made Jessie question her sanity and her otherwise tenuous grasp of reality. Her mind screamed at her feet to turn and run and forget that she had ever seen the door, but her heart kept her rooted there, like Madame's stare. She was afraid to move, afraid not to.

"Alrighty then," she said softly, taking a step into the room/forest, *

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for it was, indeed, the forest floor her feet touched. Turning to look back, to make sure that the hallway was still a hallway, Jessie was surprised at how calm she felt. Yes, the hallway was right there, but what would happen if her parents returned home and saw . . . saw what? Could they see this as well? Did they need the key in order to open the door? For that matter, would the door even be there?

Reaching out, as if she were no longer in her own body, Jessie closed the door behind her. And when she turned back to the forest, she looked down at herself and realized she was wearing a white robe, a familiar white robe. Her robe. But how could that be? She owned a bathrobe, but not the kind she wore now. This robe, her robe, had a hood, and it fit her perfectly. Glancing up from her robe, she realized that she also knew where she was. This was the edge of McFarlane's property, where the ancient oak trees had managed to escape the saws of the intruders. Yes, this was McFarlane's land, as surely as her robe was the priestess robe she had donned years before. Funny, but for a moment there, she thought . . . what had she thought? What had she come to the edge of the forest to do?

Peering into the distance, she noticed fires burning brightly. Old man McFarlane did not mind the others on his land as long as he knew they were there to preserve, not destroy it. She remembered that much-but why had she forgotten it for a moment?

Shaking her head, she followed the firelight through the trees- walking upon the soft moss that lay like a carpet beneath her feet. Of course! Now she remembered! A ritual was being performed, and she had left it to-to what? Odd, how she had seemed confused, as if the spirits and sprites had been playing tricks on her. Walking through the dense forest, Cate inwardly smiled. She knew every inch of McFarlane's grove even when darkness was beginning to fall and the dryads were out playing pranks on the unsuspecting. The great oaks, a symbol of her strength, nay, her very strength itself, towered above her protecting her like a blanket. She loved these woods; loved how alive she felt whenever she was within them.

As Cate slipped through the forest, she could see the orange and yellow blaze of the bonfire as it burned higher and higher. All around *

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the fire were Druid priests and priestesses like her, wearing the white robes and chanting the hymns and prayers intended to see the quester safely home. When she emerged from the forest, all of the Druids turned to stare at her.

"Hold your questions," came a familiar voice that caused Cate to turn to it. The voice belonged to Maeve, her dearest friend and head priestess. Maeve strode over to Cate in such a manner that made her appear as if she were floating on the wind. When she stopped in front of Cate, she smiled softly, her gray eyes filled with deep concern. "Are you all right, Catie?" Maeve whispered, a catch in her throat. "You look . . . unlike yourself."

Cate looked up at her much taller friend and nodded. Something had happened, but she couldn't quite remember what it was. Was this ritual for her? Why could she not remember?

Maeve pulled a torch from the ground and held it close to Cate's face so she could see her better. "You do not remember, do you?"

Cate frowned, then glanced over Maeve's shoulder at the dozen or so other Druids who waited for her to speak. Looking back into Maeve's face, Cate shook her head. "I do not."

Maeve turned and handed the torch to another priest, who wordlessly took it and stepped back. Maeve stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Cate, crus.h.i.+ng her to her chest. "It is all right," she whispered, still clutching Cate. "As long as you are returned safely, that is all that matters."

Cate pulled away and peered into those wise, gray eyes that had seen so much and taught her even more in their years together as priestesses of the Art. But for the life of her, Cate could not remember why Maeve would be so desperately relieved to see her.

"Returned? Have I been gone?"

Suddenly, a much taller Druid, perhaps by at least two hands, strode out of the darkness. In his left hand was a large carved stick with the Ogham letters carved neatly onto the handle. Maeve stepped away to allow the priest closer access to Cate. "She does not remember the quest, Lachlan."

The priest known as Lachlan towered over Cate, his clear blue eyes *

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blazing as he studied her. She could not remember a time when she had been able to discern the color of his eyes; so often they had seemed colorless one minute, and fiery orange the next. But right now, they were a clear, light blue, and they were doing more than looking at her-they were probing her. "Do you not remember, Cate?"

Cate wanted to please them. She had always wanted to please them, so she closed her eyes and opened her mind, listening to the crackling of the fire, the leaves as they rubbed against each other on the trees, and the breathing of the two people she loved most in the world.

Remember . . . remember . . . The only thing she could see were two crystal blue eyes telling her to remember. What was it everyone wanted her to remember? And why could she not?

Remembering was most of the Initiate's task during the first ten years of Druidic training. Over twenty-thousand verses were to be memorized; including stories, poems, verses, myths, folklore and prayers. Remembering was of utmost importance to the Druids, for it was they who pa.s.sed the histories down from generation to generation.

And now, it appeared that everyone wanted her to remember-but what was it? Slowly shaking her head, Cate sighed in frustration. "I am sorry, Lachlan, but I do not know what it is you want me to remember."

Lachlan abruptly turned from her and spoke directly to Maeve.

"She does not remember. What good does this do us if she cannot even remember why we sent her?"

"Give her time." Maeve's voice was soft yet commanding.

"We do not have the luxury of time! Our destruction is imminent.

I thought you said she was the best we have."

Maeve glanced over at Cate, who looked befuddled. "Lachlan,"

Maeve began, "Cate is exceptional, and you know as much. Please, give her some time to recall. What we have asked her to do is not something we can take for granted or bend to our will. It is the first time we have sent her through. It will get easier each time. Be patient." Maeve reached out and lightly touched Lachlan's broad shoulders.

For a Druid priest, he was incredibly fit and strong. Broad shoulders melted into a tapered waist even the folds of robes couldn't disguise. Beneath the hood lay a shock of curly black hair that hung *

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to his shoulders when not under the hood, which was seldom, since he always had it up to acknowledge when he was working. His body was lean because of the little food he fed himself, but it wasn't just his physical prowess that made people watch him as he walked by, it was his carriage; Lachlan had a royal gait and blue eyes that mesmerized everyone who looked at him. He was well-liked and very well-respected in the village of Fennel, and was known throughout the lands of the Iceni and Ordovices. The Silures were his people, and they were fiercely devoted to him and Maeve, and they deferred to him on almost every communal issue.

So it would have been strange if any of the villagers had witnessed Maeve touching the priest, especially when his hood was up, but Maeve, they all knew, was different. He held something deep for her, and seldom denied her anything. It had been that way between them from the very start.

"I trust I need not remind you how precious every pa.s.sing moment is, Maeve. If she cannot remember, there are others we can prepare for the journey. Perhaps Angus or Quinn will find what we need, what we must know to survive. If she cannot remember, perhaps they will have better fortune."

Maeve bowed her head, her hood slipping forward to completely cover her face. She showed her deference to Lachlan's words by keeping her head bowed for longer than was necessary. It was for show only.

"Thank you, Lachlan, but I believe in Catie's abilities. You have twice seen her use her sight, and you know that her powers get stronger every day. She can and will get us what we need. You must have patience."

Cate could stand it no longer. "Maeve, what is going on? Have I done something?"

"Shh. Come with me." Maeve began to retrace Cate's steps back into the woods, her arm around her waist. When they finally reached the three ma.s.sive oak trees exactly twelve feet apart and in a perfect triangle, they stopped. They both felt the change in energy as they neared the three trees. The air suddenly came to life, crackling and spitting, as if energized by some unseen force.

"Do you remember walking through these oaks, Catie?"

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Cate looked at the triangle, felt the intense energy, and tried to recall the ritual that had Lachlan speaking to her and throwing a fiery liquid at her prior to sending her into these woods. Lachlan was a master of alchemy, but Cate could not remember what it was that he had sprinkled on her.

"I remember Lachlan preparing me for . . . a quest of some sort.

It is all so very foggy." Cate's head felt heavy. "I am so sorry if I have disappointed you."

Maeve nodded and rubbed Cate's back. "You never disappoint me, Catie."

"He sent me to the woods to enter the Forbidden Forest so that I could-" Cate thought hard, seeing these icy blue eyes boring into her brain. They weren't just staring at her; they were trying to communicate something to her. "So that . . . so that I could gather the information needed in order to save us. Yes! That is it."

"Yes." Maeve hugged Cate tightly. "I knew you could do it, Catie."

Cate shook her head, and her hood came off, revealing bright red hair. "We sent three of us to find out how to keep the Romans from destroying us. Angus, Quinn and I went through the Sacred Place in the Forbidden Forest hoping to find out . . ."

Maeve swallowed hard. "Find out what?"

Cate sighed. "How to save ourselves from the destruction that is approaching."

"And? What is that destructive power?" Maeve pressed closer, her breath smelling of the mint leaves she so often chewed.

Cate started to pace. "The Romans-Angus saw them coming- crus.h.i.+ng us-chasing us, burning and raping us. Quinn saw them utterly destroying all that we know, all that we've built, all that is important to us. So, Lachlan sent three of us through the Sacred Place hoping our spirits would travel ahead."

"Because?"

Cate stopped pacing. "Because of our belief in time."

Maeve nodded. "Tell me, Catie. What have you learned about the concept of time?"

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"Lachlan says-"

"No, Catie, what do you think? You are the one going forward in time? What did you learn about time and our plan to use it to save us?"

Cate inhaled deeply and gazed at the triangle of the Sacred Place.

The oak trees were so old, it took five Druids holding hands to be able to encircle one trunk. Mistletoe hung in enormous bunches from the tallest point, and the cracks in the thick bark were deep creva.s.ses- home to other creatures.

Running her hand over the rough bark, she still felt the memories from her trip lingering in the back of her mind. It was frustrating not to be able to recall it wholly. "Time does not exist on a continuum or a single linear line. Multiple times exist at the same moment. My soul was transported into the future so I might be able to gather enough information and historical data to save us from being crushed under the heel of the Romans."

Maeve smiled proudly. "Excellent. Then you remember much of what you were taught."

Cate nodded. "I remember well who I am. I am having a very hard time remembering where I went and who I was once I got there. It is terribly frustrating."

"I can imagine."

"But I do know my soul went somewhere strange and quite foreign."

"Your eternal soul went to you in another time-a time we know little about."

Cate shook her head, suddenly feeling the same tingling as when she'd first stepped into the center of the triangle. "But Lachlan is right, Maeve. We do not have time. I must remember what I experienced.

My soul was transported, indeed, as Lachlan and others before him professed. It is all true. The soul comes and goes-it lives on beyond the body."

"Do you mean-"

Cate nodded. "I was someone else. It is as we have always thought.

The soul does not die."

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"Others have tried what you did Catie, but few returned. There are stories and tales, of course, but no one in our life has successfully gone through and returned. Lachlan will be so thrilled." Maeve walked with her arm around Cate's waist as they slowly made their way back to the middle of the grove. Lachlan met them halfway back.

"Well?"

Maeve kept Cate close to her side. "She is beginning to have vague remembrances, Lachlan, but nothing definitive yet."

Lachlan waited. He was not a patient man, but he knew enough not to press Cate, for fear of Maeve's disapproval. She could be frighteningly protective of the little woman next to her.

Cate inhaled deeply. She was so tired and her head was pounding.

"My spirit did, indeed, travel far into the future, but there, I remember nothing of who I am or what my purpose might be. I have no memory of this past, aye, no knowledge of it, either."

"Then how could you know?"

"Because . . . deep down, I was within the sh.e.l.l of the being that now has my soul, but that being . . . she has no concept of time, of history, of the past, of anything. What little she knows is fuzzy and unclear. I think that is the reason my head aches. She lives in a haze."

Maeve nodded. "You have a different purpose in the future realm, Catie. The being which houses your soul knows not the import of listening to herself and realizing that the voice she hears is real. She has forgotten who she was. Lachlan believes this is common; the soul is not the mind and remembers quite differently."

Cate shrugged. "I do not know what she thinks or feels, Maeve, only that I do not know yet how to master my movement into her. I felt so lost. It was all so very . . . odd. I existed as if I were only able to watch this young woman live her life. I . . . shared the body with my spirit, which has lived well over three thousand years."

Maeve's hand covered her mouth in awe. "Three thousand . . . can that be?"