Time to Heal: A Kindred Tales Novel: Brides of the Kindred Page 2

  “Oh no!” Caroline exclaimed. “It’s one of those creepy Tick-Tock servants! I hate those things.”

  As she had observed herself during her trip to Richard and Emmeline’s world, the Terran version of the Victorian Era was considerably more “steam-punk” than Earth’s had been. There were wind-up carriages that ran on clock-work and steam as well as other inventions which were uniquely Terran. One of those was the creepy Tick-Tocks.

  Molded entirely of brass, the mechanical servants had glowing yellow eyes and a large key embedded in their backs, which enabled them to be wound up and set in motion for service. One of the weirdest things about them was that they all had the same, high, tinny voice which issued from a speaker-plate in their chests. They were completely loyal to their masters—and completely lacking in any kind of reason or compassion.

  “Yes? How may I help you?” the Tick-Tock butler asked Emmeline, who was staring at him with a dismayed expression on her pretty face.

  “I…I…” She licked her lips nervously and then lifted her chin higher. Clearly she wasn’t giving up on her quest to see her baby. “I am Emmeline Hastings—daughter of Lord and Lady Hastings,” she told the mechanical butler. “I am here to visit my son, James Henry Terrence Hastings. Let me in.”

  The butler seemed to consider this for a moment, it’s yellow, lamp-like eyes flashing as it thought. After a moment, it answered.

  “Negative. I have specific instructions not to allow Emmeline Hastings into the house.”

  “What? Who told you that?” Emmeline demanded.

  The butler paused again. “Instructions given by Lady Hastings herself. Such instructions can only be overridden by Lord Hastings, who has not addressed the matter. So the order stands. Emmeline Hastings is not to enter the house.”

  An angry, stubborn look came over Emmeline’s delicate features.

  “I used to live here and you have my son in there—let me in!” she exclaimed and attempted to push past the butler, who was blocking the doorway.

  But she might as well have tried to push past a stone wall. The Tick-Tock butler was completely unmoving and its broad brass shoulders left no room for her to squeeze past.

  “Please!” Emmeline begged, giving up her attempt to force her way in. “Please, if I could just see him for a moment.”

  As though to punctuate her plea, a thin, wailing suddenly came drifting out the open doorway. It sounded as though someone had opened the nursery door and now baby Jamie could be heard, crying inconsolably.

  “That’s him! I can hear him and he sounds sick!” Emmeline exclaimed. “Please—please just let me see him for a moment!”

  But her passionate pleas fell on deaf ears.

  “Negative,” the Tick-Tock butler said. “Emmeline Hastings is not to enter the house under any circumstances. Good day.”

  Then it shut the door in Emmeline’s face, cutting off the thin wailing of her baby abruptly.

  For a moment, Emmeline just stood there looking at the door as though she couldn’t believe what had happened. Then she turned abruptly away, but not before Caroline saw the brightness of unshed tears in her eyes.

  “Oh, poor thing! How dare they turn her away like that? It’s her baby!” Sophie exclaimed indignantly.

  “I know, but she gave up the rights to him in order that he could be raised in Hastings Hall as the ward of a Viscount instead of in a brothel as the son of a prostitute,” Caroline said sadly. “I think she felt it was a trade that would benefit her baby in the long run, but right now it looks like she’s regretting her choice.”

  “Poor thing,” Sophie said again. “She looks like her heart is breaking!”

  Indeed, Emmeline’s shoulders were shaking as she covered her face with her daintily gloved hands. For a moment Caroline was afraid she was going to have a break-down right there at the door of her former house.

  And who could blame her if she did? She was a young mother who was being refused access to her own child. A child she could hear crying in the background and who might be ill. It was a terrible situation.

  “Where is the protector the Goddess promised her?” Caroline demanded, impotent rage over poor Emmeline’s plight filling her. “Richard said that was why he wasn’t allowed to go back to his own world and take care of Emmeline himself because the Goddess was sending someone else. So where is he?”

  “I don’t kn—” Sophie began but just then both women gave a low gasp because the scene on PORTAL’s window had abruptly changed.

  Like a TV switching channels, Emmeline’s world disappeared and a whole new one took its place.

  Instead of the bluish-purple skies of Terra, Caroline and Sophie were suddenly staring at a vast, dim cavern. In the center of the cavern, was a large oval table, big enough to seat at least fifty people, Caroline estimated. And that was about the number seated there—only they weren’t seated, they were up and shouting at each other.

  In the middle of the table, glowing with a sickly greenish light, was a huge crystal that looked to be almost as tall as a man. Looking at it closely, Caroline saw that it had a large crack, running down the middle of it and parts of it had chipped away. Was that what all the strange people were arguing about?

  “Who are those people? Some kind of barbarians?” Sophie breathed in her ear. “This looks like something out of one of those old Sword and Sorcery movies.”

  “I don’t know who they are,” Caroline answered, but she had to admit that was exactly what they looked like.

  There were both men and women at the table and all of them dressed in leather skins. Some of the men had war-paint on their faces and the women—who were every bit as big and muscular as the men—had feathers and beads woven into their long hair.

  After studying them for a moment, Caroline saw that they appeared to be divided into several obvious factions. The women kept together in one group, and then there was a group of males who appeared to have long, dagger-like fangs, rather like a saber-tooth tiger. Another group had deep, velvety brown skin and slitted golden eyes like a cat’s. A fourth group appeared to have scars all over their bodies, as though they had all been in terrible fights.

  “There—that’s him!” Sophie exclaimed excitedly, pointing at PORTAL’s window. “That’s the one the Goddess showed us!”

  “What? Who? What are you talking about?” Caroline asked eagerly.

  “That guy there—sitting beside the really old man with the long white hair and the staff.” Sophie went a little closer, though she was careful to stay behind the black safety line, and pointed. “That’s the guy the Goddess showed us when she promised to send a protector to Emmeline!”

  Caroline looked where she was pointing and saw a tall, muscular warrior with scars all over his body—it was easy to see them, since his broad chest was bare and he was only wearing a leather loincloth wrapped around his lean hips. The scars were large, jagged, and prominent—silver-white lines that crossed his dark tan skin like streaks of lightning. One bisected his face diagonally, marching from the right side of his forehead across the bridge of his nose and crossing his left cheek just under the eye.

  And speaking of his eyes, it was difficult to tell because of the dim lighting, but they almost seemed to glow. Were his pupils white instead of black? Caroline couldn’t tell, but it certainly looked like it. The light pupils gave his gaze a piercing, foreboding look that sent a shiver down her spine.

  But his eyes and his scars weren’t the only thing that was frightening about him. The warrior also had a five-sided sword as long as his body strapped to his back. When one of the fanged warriors leaned across the table and shouted in his face, he drew it with a ringing sound of metal-on-metal and held it easily between them, as though in silent threat.

  “Look at that thing,” Sophie muttered. “It must weigh fifty or sixty pounds but he’s holding it like it’s as light as an ice cream cone.”

  “Well I’m pretty sure that particular ice cream cone would slice your tongue in half if you tried to lick it,” Caroline murmured back. “Bad idea.”

  “Shhh—the old guy is talking!” Sophie exclaimed.

  Indeed, the white-haired man seated beside the huge, scarred warrior suddenly stood and banged his staff on the floor, creating a booming sound.

  “Enough!” he announced in a surprisingly strong voice for a man who looked to be in his eighties or nineties. “As Speaker and Shaman for the Esk’hara Kindred, I must protest this threat of violence. Skahr,” he told the scarred warrior standing beside him. “Put your great-sword away. We will have no bloodshed at this Council.”

  “I do not know what besides bloodshed will settle these conflicts,” one of the cat-eyed warriors purred in a deep, silky voice. “We appear to have difficulties which can no longer be settled by talking, Old One.”

  “If the male clans would stop invading our territory, we would be well content,” one of the women exclaimed. “How many times must we say that we wish no contact with you?”

  “Your lands are flush against ours,” the saber-toothed warrior replied. “How can we help it if our flocks sometimes cross over into your valley? Have you no tolerance at all?”

  “Not for males!” the woman, who had long red hair braided with feathers, snapped back. “You must not—”

  “Hold, hold!” the old man exclaimed. “This is what I am talking about—whenever we get together for a parley, it always turns to talk of war and strife. But it was not always so. The Clans used to get along together—to respect each other and work for the common good.”

  “Times have changed,” purred one of the cat-eyed warriors. “We have changed, Old One.”

  “No, we have not!” the old man said stoutly. “The peoples of the Four Clans are much the same as they ever were. What has changed is the P
eace Crystal. It is sick—cracked. And in order to bring peace back to our peoples, it must be healed.”

  The warrior woman with the long red hair put a hand on her full hip.

  “And how do you propose to do that, Old One?” she demanded. “The Crystal is cracked and has been breaking apart for generations. Have not every one of our Clans tried every sort of magic to heal it? What can you do now that has not been done before?”

  “Something new,” the old man said mysteriously. “I had a visitation last night,” he continued. “A visitation from the Goddess herself.”

  There were gasps from some of the others seated around the table as well as exclamations of wide-eyed surprise.

  “Well?” purred the cat-eyed warrior who seemed to be the leader of his Clan. “What did she say, Old One?”

  The old man’s eyes closed reverently and he lifted his face, as though looking into the Heavens.

  “She gave to me a prophecy,” he said in his hoarse but strong voice. “Listen well.”

  “That which is broken

  Must be made whole

  To heal the Crystal

  You must heal the soul

  Choose he among you

  Who has never been bested

  Send him between worlds

  To find one who is tested

  She is a maiden, pure of heart

  From that which she loves

  She has been forced to part

  You shall know her at once

  For she is the one

  Who can beat any male

  Under the sun

  Bring her back at once

  To the room of Clans

  On the Crystal of Peace

  She must lay her hands

  Only then will

  Your Peace be made whole

  To heal the Crystal

  You must heal the soul.”

  “That is a deep prophecy indeed,” one of the saber-toothed warriors remarked. “But what does it mean?”

  “I believe it means we must choose a champion,” the cat-eyed warrior purred. “But how we are to send him between worlds, I do not know.”

  “I do,” the old man said. “The Goddess told me that a shard of the Crystal would be given to me and by its magic, he who we choose would be sent where he needed to go.”

  “A shard of the Peace Crystal? But I thought you wished to heal it—not break it apart further?” the warrior woman with the long red hair objected.

  “It and all the other missing pieces shall be restored when the maiden the prophecy speaks of puts her hands upon it and heals it,” the old Shaman said confidently. “Watch.”

  Holding out a hand, he leaned across the table and pressed his fingertips to the side of the cracked Crystal. The Crystal pulsed weakly, turning briefly from the sickly greenish shade to a deep, rich purple. As it did so, a shard about the length and width of a finger flaked quietly off its side and fell into the Shaman’s palm.

  At this, there was a hushed murmur of amazement all around the table. Clearly this wasn’t a usual occurrence and something special had just happened.

  The old man rose to his full height and held out the shard of Crystal, which glowed a faint yellow, for all to see.

  “Now,” he said. “To choose our champion. I would nominate my apprentice, Skahr.” He nodded at the tall, scarred warrior with the enormous sword.

  At once there were complaints.

  “Why should one of the Esk’hara Kindred go?” the saber-tooth leader demanded. “We of the Fang Kindred have just as much right to try and fulfill the prophecy.”

  “And what of the Kittrix Clan?” the cat-eyed leader demanded. “Why was one of our number not chosen?”

  “I say there is no need for a male champion at all,” the red-haired leader of the Women’s Clan declared. “The prophecy speaks of finding a maiden who can beat any male under the sun—I am she! I can best you all!”

  “Not me, you cannot, Maeve.” The warrior called Skahr spoke for the first time and Caroline thought that she had never heard such a deep, velvety voice before. A midnight-colored voice, she thought to herself, if that made any sense.

  The red-haired warrior woman started to protest but Skahr held up a hand to stop her.

  “You cannot best me,” he told her simply. Not as though he was bragging, but just stating a fact. “You tried at the Solstice Festival last summer—I still have the scars to prove it,” he added, pointing to his face. “If any other had fought you so, you would have been scarred for life. Only because it is a trait of my people to wear the scars we inflict upon our opponents rather than the marks of the blows they inflict upon us, are you unmarked and you know it.”

  Maeve looked at him angrily for a moment, then sat back down at the oval table with a scowl on her face. Clearly he was speaking the truth.

  “In fact,” Skahr went on, raising his voice, “None of you can best me, though many have tried. “I have not lost a combat match for these past ten cycles.”

  Again he didn’t sound like he was boasting, Caroline thought, just laying the facts on the table. The rest of the Clans seemed to think so too.

  “All right,” the cat-eyed leader drawled at last, frowning. “We will acknowledge that Skahr is to be our champion. But how is he to open a door between worlds? I have never seen magic that could do that, however strong it was.”

  “I believe that the shard of Crystal which was given to me, will act to open the doorway,” the old Shaman said firmly. “And the Goddess also told me that it will lead Skahr to the maiden we need—the only one who can heal the Peace Crystal.”

  Turning solemnly to the huge warrior, he removed a leather thong from around his neck and looped it securely around the finger-sized yellowish-green shard.

  “Take this and wear it near your heart,” he said, handing it over. “It will lead you to the female our Clans need to heal the Crystal.”

  “Yes, Old One.” Skahr bowed his head respectfully and slipped the crystal over his head. It rested against his broad, bare chest where it flashed deep purple briefly, before going back to the pale yellow-green color.

  “But what of the rest of the prophecy?” Maeve stopped sulking long enough to ask. “It speaks about ‘healing the soul’ twice. How is Skahr to do that? Whose soul must he heal? What does it mean?”

  “Alas, I do not understand the entire prophecy myself,” the old Shaman admitted. “But I trust the Goddess to guide Skahr in his quest to bring peace to our Clans once more. That is all I can say.”

  Skahr nodded formally.

  “I thank you, Old One,” he said in that deep, midnight voice of his. “I shall not fail you.”

  “Good. Then leave in peace with the love and wisdom of the Goddess to guide you,” the Shaman answered. “Go now.”

  “I will do as you say,” Skahr answered. Wrapping one big hand around the crystal, he murmured something Caroline couldn’t quite catch, though it sounded very like a prayer.

  “What—is he supposed to leave from here—from the Council room under the Sacred Hill?” one of the other warriors protested. “Shouldn’t he at least go outside and look for a doorway to the other worlds there?”

  But just then, a glowing dot flew from the tip of the crystal and hovered in front of Skahr’s face. To Caroline, it looked like a little red spark, just at his eye-level. As she and Sophie and all of the Clansmen and women on the other side of the window watched, the little red spark began to move. It traced a path in the air, leaving a glowing golden line behind it, then it made a sharp corner and began to go down, still trailing the golden line.

  “What’s it doing?” Sophie murmured as they watched breathlessly.

  “I don’t know—oh look, it changed direction again!” Caroline whispered.

  “And again,” Sophie said. “Look—I think it might be forming some kind of window or door. And see—it’s rectangular, just like the PORTAL’s window is!”

  Caroline saw, with growing unease, that she was right. Not only that, but the glowing golden window the red spark had formed in the air of the council room lined up exactly with the brass frame of PORTAL’s window too.