Arrows of Time - Kim Falconer [19]
La Makee stood outside the portal, checking her pack. The sun was setting, turning the redwoods to gold. A ground fog rolled in. It hovered knee-deep around her boots like a carpet of cloud. Jays and magpies scattered as her familiar, a Lemur raven, landed in the sacred oak beside her. He cawed, shuffling and reshuffling his dark wings before letting them settle against his back. His head cocked sideways, waiting.
‘Nearly ready, Woca. Are you?’
He answered with a burst of short raspy caws. Her golden warhorse breathed softly at her side, warm puffs of air coming from his nostrils. The animal sighed and rubbed his head on her shoulder, nearly knocking her over. Golden hairs clung to her black cloak.
‘Hold still, Amarillo. I’m thinking.’ As she checked the saddlebags, the raven cawed again.
Think fast, Mistress. Your apprentice comes.
‘Demons.’ She raised her hand and around them fell an invisible blanket, a glamour that hid the witch, her horse and the raven. It rippled for a moment like a fine net made of dew, before vanishing and taking all traces of their presence with it. Quiet, my lovelies. Until the girl passes.
Her apprentice sang, a sweet lilting voice that rose to the canopy, sound waves seeking the sky above the treetops. She walked right by Makee and her companions, wandering deeper into the forest, gathering herbs and mushrooms, unaware and unconcerned.
And she calls herself a witch?
The point of the glamour, Mistress, was to make us undetectable.
She didn’t so much as twitch!
A testimony to your expertise in glamour weaving?
Perhaps. Makee didn’t know whether she felt relief or annoyance. The girl should have been more aware. But then, she hadn’t actually met her yet—it was before her time. She wasn’t completely to blame for her lack of attentiveness. Makee laughed to herself.
Relief, Mistress. It’s best we are not found by anyone from Treeon Temple, past, present or future, if this plan of yours is to work.
You’re right, my gorgeous one. Relief it is. Makee let the glamour down and disappeared into the portal, the warhorse and raven in tow. ‘Now it begins,’ she said, stroking Amarillo’s crest. ‘Kreshkali isn’t the only witch who can run between the worlds, and now we know hers is not the only time.’
The raven cawed, flapping his wings.
‘Take us back,’ she whispered, her hand brushing over the plasma. ‘Take us to old Corsanon. There’s a woman called Jaynan I have to find!’ She chanted a spell, twisting it and folding it in on itself until it covered the glowing rock. ‘Who shall pass, pass not with guile. Who shall try, shall only fail…’ Purple strands of energy jumped out, hitting her palm and zapping like a lightning strike. She jerked her hand back and rubbed her fingers. The smell of burnt flesh filled the corridor. Amarillo reared; his iron-shod hooves clipped the edge of the rock wall and sparks flew. ‘Easy, lad.’ She soothed the stallion. ‘You don’t want to bring the roof down on us.’
The portal swirled, streams of light dancing in spiral patterns.
Will the corridors run true, Mistress? Without one of the blood? The Lemur raven settled on the back of Amarillo’s saddle.
‘One of the blood!’ She spat the words.
Will they? he persisted.
‘We’re about to find out, Woca. We’ll either land where I intend, or…’
Or?
‘We’re lost in the corridors forever.’
TENSAR—TIME: CIRCULAR
CHAPTER 4
Rosette inched her way forward, peering into the dark. She kept her breath soft, her steps guarded, unsure of the footing. Her fingers groped along the wall, chunks of rock breaking loose, crumbling in her hands. She coughed in the dust. This place was new—she felt certain she’d never been here before, but still she had a strange feeling of déjà vu.
‘Drayco? Can you see anything?’ she whispered, resting her hand on the temple cat’s back.
I see everything. Drayco’s voice reverberated in her mind, warm and deep, a soothing balm in the dry atmosphere of the cave.
She patted his head. ‘Like what, for instance? Can you describe it to me?’ She couldn’t see her fingertips when she