Across Time Part 15

100 *101.

Mussing up his hair, Jessie said, "Goodnight, sport."

"G'night, Jess."

When Jessie's head hit the pillow, she lay there wide-awake while committee meetings raged on in her head. So much was happening so fast, she could barely catch her breath. In the blink of an eye, she'd gone from not wanting anyone to want or need her, to having people in different worlds thousands of years away needing her. It was all so weird; she didn't quite know what to think.

How it felt, however, now that surprised her. Need had always implied obligation, but this wasn't how she felt. This felt . . .

comforting, as if being needed gave her a sense of belonging, a place to be. This gave her life purpose, and she hadn't had that before. It felt good knowing there was more to life than high school. Exhaling loudly, Jessie rolled over and stared out the window. There were worlds out there where people lived believing they were alone in the universe. But they weren't. She wasn't.

And that felt better than anything she'd ever experienced.

Feeling the beginning of sleep creep around her, Jessie could see the back of a white robe fluttering in the slight breeze.

White robe? Was that Cate?

Cate awoke feeling better than she had in days. After breaking her fast, was.h.i.+ng her face and praying, she walked out to a beautiful and glorious morning that wrapped warm arms around her bringing her to life. The village was already bustling with activity as the wine and oil merchants peddled their wares to the market goers, and cooking food wafted through the air. The cobbler waved to her as she stepped out into the rut-lined street. A rare glimpse of sun warmed her back as she watched an aging donkey slowly clip-clop by. Some days, it was just so wonderful to be alive.

Stretching, she saw Maeve buying something from the local weaver.

It was difficult for Maeve to complete the transaction because everyone knew and loved her and always stopped to say good morn to her or offer her some fruit or vegetables.

100 *101.

Cate watched her from afar, as she had done so many mornings, and felt more than the warmth from the sun flood her insides. Eight years older than Cate, Maeve had arrived ten years ago on a trade s.h.i.+p from Gaul. The moment she stepped from the boat, the village of Fennel embraced her like a long lost daughter. Wearing long, colorful silk robes that flowed around her like living sea creatures, she appeared to float off the deck of the battered boat. Cate wasn't the only one who thought her a G.o.ddess that day. There was something so very different about her that a group of boys scooted off to the woods in search of Lachlan, who was out gathering herbs and working with two of the Vates.

By the time Lachlan made it back to the village, Maeve had already been dubbed priestess from the mysterious land of Gaul, who had come here on a special journey of a spiritual nature. Farmers thought her a good omen. Rumors, stories and myths were quickly abundant that night, as word spread that the woman who walked on water had bought and paid for the house on the hill overlooking the lake.

Those last rumors were true. Cate had seen her pay handsomely for the large four-room house once owned by the miller. Cate had followed her there, and when the transaction was over, Maeve suddenly whirled around and captured thirteen-year-old Cate with those gray cat eyes, riveting her to the very spot where she stood.

"Women on this island," Maeve began, staring into Cate's eyes, "are the most powerful women in the world. Do not ever, ever allow anyone to take your power from you."

Wide-eyed, Cate could barely manage a nod as the gray-eyed stranger placed a warm hand on top of Cate's head. "Show me to the one named Lachlan."

Maeve had come to study under Lachlan, a most powerful and influential Druid on the island. He had just completed his twenty years of study under Branwen, and was regarded by other clan leaders as one you wanted as your ally. Lachlan was, by nature, a very stoic young man, with a loyal heart, a sharp eye and a commanding tongue. He had also fallen under Maeve's spell, and broken not a few of the rules by allowing newcomers into the sacred circle. Fortunately for Lachlan, *

102 *103.

Maeve was so adored by so many, this never proved to be a problem.

The village of Fennel felt grateful and lucky to have a woman so self- possessed and strong among its priests and priestesses. Her healing skills were evident during her first week in Fennel when she aided the healing of a broken bone of a boy who had fallen from a horse. Her gifts were seen early and openly, and the villagers regarded her with awe.

Cate was no different. She had spent much of Maeve's first days just watching her come and go. Maeve spent a great deal of time on the lake, often with her face upturned toward the light. She seemed to revel in the calm, seeking out the quieter areas of the lake in which to meditate and pray. What young Cate did not know was how often Maeve had been watching her.

The second week Maeve was there she had been walking around the lake on the side nearest the falcon's nest when she stopped, glanced up at the sky and sighed. Then, whirling around, a behavior Cate would eventually become accustomed to, Maeve pointed up at Cate, who was wedged between two gigantic branches high in an oak. "Is there a purpose to these observations of yours?"

Cate hastily scrambled down the oak tree. "No. Yes. Well-not really-"

"One can hardly answer no, yes and maybe to one question, unless that question contains a riddle. I do not believe I asked you a riddle, although I could be mistaken. Shall we try again?"

"I mean no intrusion," Cate said, bowing ever so slightly. "I enjoy studying people and wondering what they are thinking."

Maeve raised an eyebrow. The air about her seemed to crackle with energy. "Oh? Then perhaps you can tell me what it was I was thinking."

Cate started to answer, but Maeve held up her hand. "Never speak without thinking, never think without feeling, and never feel without trusting."

Cate, big-eyed, nodded and closed her mouth.

"It is always a mistake to blurt out one's malformed thoughts and ideas. Words, and the very act of uttering them, give them power beyond anything you might imagine. So think before you speak."

102 *103.

"I have yet to deduce your thoughts," Cate said quietly.

"Then what is it you think you might know, little one?"

Cate felt a blush rise to her cheeks. It wasn't just those gray eyes boring a hole into her that made her nervous, it was everything about her; the way she walked, her tone of voice, the complete command she had of the very air around her. "You were looking deep into yourself for answers. That is all I can tell."

"Tell, or see? Have you the sight, little watcher?"

Cate shook her head. "I do not think so." She pulled herself erect.

"I plan to become a warrior."

Maeve's lips turned up slightly. "Oh, do you now?"

Cate nodded and pointed to her dagger. "I have many skills for warrioring. I've learned how to wield a broadsword, a poleax and a dagger."

"To what end?"

Cate appeared perplexed by the question. "For protection, of course."

"And of what are you afraid?"

Cate wondered why it was that every time Maeve asked a question, she became unsure of herself. "I am not."

Maeve raised her eyebrows. "Then why would you need to protect yourself?"

"Aren't there many dangers out in the world?"

Maeve walked toward the water, the direction she'd been heading before she spied Cate. "Perhaps more than many and fewer than none.

I believe the true dangers lurk in here." Maeve tapped her temple.

"Oftimes, the greatest dangers come from within."

Cate followed her toward the river, not because she wanted to, which she did, but because she felt compelled. At this moment, she knew one thing above all else: she would follow this woman into a spewing volcano.

Stopping suddenly, Maeve turned to face her. "Do you understand my meaning?"

Cate nodded, not at all sure she did. "I think so."

"Explain it to me."

104 *105.

Cate inhaled deeply. This, she knew, was a test. If she failed, Maeve might never speak to her again for fear she was too stupid or weak. That would devastate her for reasons she knew not. Squaring her shoulders, she gave it her best try. "Dangers from within are self-doubt, over- confidence, arrogance, fear and . . . anger."

Maeve's lips turned up slightly, giving Cate her first pa.s.sing grade.

"Very good."

"There are more. Many more." Cate wanted to please.

"Yes, there are. And why would these be more dangerous than, say, a wolf or a Roman soldier?"

Cate was ready. "Those I named could keep you from defeating any opponent, regardless of your physical advantage. One cannot win a battle with a foe if self-doubt exists in one's heart." She had learned this from Liam.

"So then, is it more advantageous to possess a sharp mind or a sharp sword?"

"Both."

Maeve grinned. "Perhaps. However, should you have both, then, might not a moment come when you must choose which to use first?

What then, little watcher? How would one make the correct choice?"

Cate thought hard, feeling those gray eyes upon her. "Choose your strongest weapon first. Always first."

"And which weapon would that be?"

"Your mind. Always your mind. And if that does not work, then you can use your sword."

Maeve continued on toward the lake. "Excellent. There is no subst.i.tution for being prepared. Only when we are truly prepared can we defeat our enemy." Whirling around so quickly she knocked Cate off balance, Maeve grabbed hold of her and brought her closer. "And to be so prepared, you must know who your enemies are. Do you, Catie McEwen, know who your enemies are?"

Cate shook her head slowly, too stunned to speak.

"Then how shall you ever be prepared?"

"I . . . I do not have any."

"No?" Maeve picked up a pebble and tossed it into the calm lake.

104 *105.

"If you are that reed over there, will the ripple from the pebble reach you?"

"Of course. Look now. The reed sways."

"But the pebble landed so far from it. How is it that the reed could be so affected? And, is it affected by the pebble or the ripple? Which one is to blame?"

Cate studied the ripples, the swaying reed, and the spot at which the pebble entered. Maeve's questions created a clarity of vision and thought that enabled Cate to see her answers before she spoke them.

"The stone need not touch the reed in order to affect it. The ripple is a result of the pebble's actions, but the swaying of the reed is a result of the ripple. They are intricately connected."

"Exactly. And it is this lesson, above all others, that you must remember, for there will come a day when the ripples reach you and you must understand that it is the stone which is ultimately affecting you and not just the ripples. You must always, always, look beyond the ripples for the cause of them."

That day of reckoning was nearing, and Cate had spent the last ten years working with the Vates and Lachlan to prepare them for the moment when the pebble splashed down. The Vates studied the processes of death and regeneration and explored the Druidic relations.h.i.+p with their ancestors by seeking the wisdom of the night, of dreams, and of the moon. They conversed with these ancestors in order to receive knowledge or prophecy of the future. In those ten years, Cate had easily discarded her desire to be a warrior for her chosen craft. At the age of fourteen, she began her training for the craft, but before she could share her joyous news with her family, they were killed by a band of Roman soldiers roaming the countryside looking to cause trouble.

Her mother, father and brave Liam had died for the few items not worth stealing at the hands of men who didn't need any of it.

Cate had wanted to hate those men and all things Roman. She had wanted to mount a horse and ride after them, picking them off one-by- one as Liam had shown her how to do. But when her grief subsided, so too, did her anger, and she was left with the hollowness and void only family can fill.

106 *107.

The news of her family's demise would have destroyed Cate when she was younger, but she was no longer alone in the world, and Maeve and Lachlan took tender care of her, even going so far as to make sure Cate could keep her father's house.

Cate owed Maeve and Lachlan so much for the truly wonderful life she had been living for the past ten years, that even if she had not had the horrible vision about Maeve, she would have gladly volunteered to be the one to step through the portal. She owed them that much; perhaps far more than that.

But she had had the vision, and others, on that rare, sunny day in the woods. She told Lachlan and Maeve that she dreamt of a young girl who would be able to provide them with the answers they needed in order to escape the ripples that were headed their way.

"You've had a dream, have you?" Lachlan asked, his eyes darting over to Maeve; Maeve, the one woman he wanted but would never have. Her gifts, her powers aided his strength and his hold on Fennel as their spiritual guide, but he would never reach the depths he wanted with her. She was a closed book to him, never to be read, not even a glance.

"She's the one, Lachlan," Maeve had whispered quietly upon the telling of the dream. "I have always known it was so, but I have been waiting for her to know it."

And so, Cate did, and it was that knowing that drove them now.

It was the knowledge Cate and Lachlan shared that had become the reason for everything they did. It was the last thing they thought about each night and the first thing they thought of when they awoke. It was the chain that bound them, and they had sworn to each other to protect a people who had no idea of the size of the ripple that was heading toward them.

When Maeve finally made her way down the road, Cate waited patiently for the last villager to say her good mornings. It was an inspiring morning, and closing her eyes to the sun, she let her mind wander away to places and corners where she suspected Jessie lurked, listening, learning, and trying to uncover just what it was Cate needed of her. Yes, Jessie was there, or had been; residual spiritual aura could *

106 *107.

be seen as well as felt if one had the sight. And Cate most a.s.suredly had that. It was odd to think that she now carried within her memories of events that had not yet transpired, but the more she allowed herself to accept them, the more easily they were becoming a part of who she was.

Because Jessie was so young, her thoughts, feelings and memories were tender, if not tenuous. It was Jessie's feelings for the boy that touched Cate the most, and she could practically see his smiling face.

Maybe it was because she, too, had once had a brother she adored, but he was older and able to care for himself. This boy in Jessie's life . . .