Chapter 4
Elodie roused slowly, like a free diver rising up from the depths of the ocean.
She became aware of warmth first. From the tips of her toes right up to the top of her head she felt snug and comfortable.
Dimly, she remembered strange dreams. Something about a willow tree, a storm, and ending up in a strange place.
The memory of these dreams brought a stab of unease but it lasted only a moment before being chased away by another memory.
Strong arms. A gentle voice. A sense of being safe.
Slowly, she blinked her eyes open. A faint ache throbbed behind her eyes like a hangover, but Elodie couldn’t remember drinking. She’d been to a meeting with Cross Construction. And she’d—
Oh, hell. She’d resigned. She’d told them to stuff their job when she’d realized what kind of company they really were. And then she’d gone to the meeting at the community center. And then she’d gone into the yard, seen that strange shimmery arch and then...
She lurched upright with a cry only to discover that she was not in her bedroom as she’d expected.
In fact, she didn’t know where she was. She was sitting up in a narrow bed on a lumpy mattress that felt like it was stuffed with straw.
A plain, rustic room surrounded her, with thick wooden beams holding up the ceiling, a flagstone floor, and a large hearth on the far wall in which a fire was crackling.
No. This could not be happening. It had been a dream! Just a stupid dream!
A curtain in the far corner was suddenly pulled back and a woman entered carrying a mortar and pestle.
She was perhaps in her fifties and was wearing an old-fashioned dress with a tartan shawl draped over her shoulders.
Her graying hair was bound into two plaits that were coiled and pinned to the back of her head.
“Ah!” she said when she saw Elodie sitting up. “Ye are awake! Good.”
Elodie had to stifle a yelp. Who was this woman? She didn’t seem in the least surprised to find Elodie lying in her bed. Elodie on the other hand, felt her eyes widening and her mouth dropping open in shocked surprise. She clutched the blanket to her chest and croaked, “Who are you?”
The woman perched on a three-legged stool at the side of the bed, placing the pestle and mortar on the floor by her feet.
“My name is Faye,” she said. “I’m a healer.” She had a Highland accent so thick that Elodie had to concentrate to make out her words.
“Uh. I’m Elodie. Why...why am I here?”
“I was hoping ye might be able to tell me that,” Faye said with a wry smile. “Ye fell and hit yer head. Been unconscious all afternoon.” She cocked her head, eyes flicking over Elodie. “How do ye feel? Any nausea?”
Elodie shook her head.
“Pain?”
Elodie touched her forehead and winced. It felt tender and she could feel a bump there.
Faye batted her fingers away irritably. “Dinna poke at it! Ye have quite the egg on yer forehead, lass, but that will heal given time. Any pain anywhere else?”
“I’ve got a bit of a headache.”
“Aye, I would expect that. Dizziness?”
Elodie shook her head.
“Good. That’s good.”
Faye got up and carried the pestle and mortar over to a rickety table next to the fire. She scraped a sticky green paste out of it into a clay cup and added water from a kettle over the fire.
Elodie watched her every movement, hardly daring to breathe. She’d hit her head? Was that why everything had gone so weird? She’d been walking down a hill, looking for a road or somebody with a phone.
Wait. Walking down a hill? She’d been in the community center only moments before that. And then she’d seen those strange images through the arch formed by the willow branches and she’d stepped into them.
Stepped through to...
She couldn’t finish the thought. Her pulse went skittering. “Where am I?” she asked, hearing the shrill, hysteria-tinged tone of her voice. “What am I doing here?”
Faye stirred the concoction in the mug and turned to face her. “Ye mean ye dinna know? Ye weren’t looking for this place?”
“Looking for it? How could I be looking for it? I was just at the community center. We were planning the protest for tomorrow. I said I’d lock up the center after everybody left. Now I don’t know where I am! What the hell has happened to me?”
She threw back the blankets and swung her feet out of bed. It was only then that she realized she was dressed in a long linen nightgown that reached from her neck to her toes.
“Where are my clothes?” she cried.
“Yer clothes were wet through, lass. I had to get ye out of them so ye didnae catch yer death.”
Clutching the edge of the bed for support, Elodie tried to stand. A wave of dizziness went through her, making the room sway dangerously, and she sat down heavily, pressing a hand to her forehead.
Faye was at her side in an instant. “Lie down,” she instructed. “Ye aren’t fit to get out of bed yet. Here, drink this. It will help ye feel better.” She held the cup towards Elodie.
“No,” Elodie muttered. “I have to go. This is crazy. Crazy.”
“Aye, it may be,” Faye replied. “But things will seem better after some rest. Do as I say. Drink this. It will help with the headache.”
Elodie eyed the cup dubiously. A voice in the back of her head was shouting that she most definitely should not be drinking things offered to her by some strange woman she didn’t know, who lived in a rustic little cottage that looked like it might belong to a witch in some child’s tale.
But her headache was getting worse, making her feel sick and dizzy. How could she figure out what had happened to her if she couldn’t think straight?
She took the cup and downed the contents in one go. It tasted vile and for a horrified second she thought she might bring it straight back up again, but after a few moments her stomach began to settle.
Faye was watching her intently. “Better?”
Elodie didn’t answer immediately. Then she noticed a slight lessening of the pain behind her eyes. The dizziness receded a bit as well.
“Yes,” she admitted. “Better.”
“Good. Now lie down and sleep. Ye’ll feel better for it, I promise ye.”
“No,” Elodie muttered. “No sleep. Have to get...” But she was suddenly feeling very sleepy. Her eyes drooped and she couldn’t quite remember what it was she had to do.
“That’s it,” Faye said, taking her shoulder and pushing her gently down onto the bed.
Elodie didn’t resist. As her head hit the lumpy pillow, sleep was already pulling her under.
THE WATER HISSED, SENDING up gouts of steam as Ronan plunged the glowing piece of metal into the barrel, allowing it to cool a little.
After only a few seconds he pulled it out again and inspected his handiwork.
The blade was forming nicely, curved with a tang at one end to allow it to be fitted to a handle.
When it was finished, it would make a half decent scythe but it would need more tempering if it was to last longer than a season.
He shoved it back into the glowing heart of the forge, allowed it to heat up again, then pulled it back out. Using the tongs, he carried the blade over to his anvil and laid it on the top.
Selecting one of his hammers from the rack on the wall, he bent and squinted along the length of the blade, deciding where to strike. Then he swung the hammer and struck, a ringing sound filling the smithy as sparks flew from the molten metal.
As always, he lost himself in the work. His muscles responded almost without thought as he swung the hammer over and over, the metallic ring echoing in tandem with his heartbeat.
He was so lost in the work in fact, that he didn’t notice that the smithy door had opened and someone had entered, until the sound of someone clearing their throat reached him above the ring of the hammer.
He looked up. Faye stood by the door, arms crossed, foot tapping irritably. Ronan put the hammer down.
“Thought I’d find ye here,” Faye observed.
Ronan raised an eyebrow. “Where else would I be? I am the village’s smith after all.”
Faye snorted. “Ye are a little more than that, I reckon.”
Ronan waved this statement away. “Why are ye here? Has something happened to the lass?”
“The lass is fine. She woke up briefly but is sleeping again now. But I’d like ye to come take a look at her. There’s something mighty strange about our new guest.”
Pausing only to take off his apron and pull a shirt over his bare torso, Ronan followed Faye out of the smithy, through the village, and back to her house.
Inside, they found the lass asleep, just as Faye had said.
She looked no different from the last time Ronan had seen her although her hair was beginning to dry and there was a bit more color in her cheeks.
“What did ye want to show me?”
Faye marched over to the bed and threw back the blanket. “This.”
She lifted the lass’s arm and held it up for Ronan’s examination.
A wide silver bracelet circled her wrist. In the center of the bracelet sat a flat square disk that looked like it might be made of glass.
Beneath the glass were numbers. Right now those numbers said 15:22.
But even as he watched, the numbers changed to 15:23.
Despite himself, Ronan backed up a step.
What on earth was it? Some kind of time piece?
As a boy he’d seen clocks, time pieces that only the wealthy could afford, but this looked nothing like those.
Those had hands that marked out the time and tiny gears that moved them.
He saw none of that in the device strapped to the lass’s arm.
How could the numbers just change like that?
“I see,” he said.
“I hope ye do,” Faye replied. “Her jewelry already marks her out as a noblewoman, but this? This is something else entirely. I’ve never seen anything like it.
Perhaps it’s one of those new inventions from Italy.
Anyone who can afford something like this must be wealthy indeed.
And any wealthy noblewoman is likely to have a husband out looking for her.
A husband who might not take too kindly to finding her here with us. ”