Strange Attractors - Kim Falconer [133]
When she’d left Teg and the scouts, she’d flown high, following the Goregan River to its outlet on the North Seas. It snaked beneath her, a shimmering light, the fringing willows mere tassels of green far below, the farmlands a patchwork quilt with crops and orchards crisscrossed with brown dirt roads. On reaching the coast, the waves looked like thin white threads hugging a motionless shore but as she rode the thermals down, the sea came to life. It crashed hard against the cliffs, the offshore wind blowing froth from the peaks.
She back-winged onto a large twist of driftwood and shifted to her human form. It took her a day to reach the township of Dumarka by foot, following the sandy coastline to the west. She stayed the night in the local inn, buying the horse first thing in the morning. No one had followed and she felt confident her journey to the temple was not being tracked.
The sun warmed her face and the smell of pines filled the air. She turned down the forest road that wound its way to the temple—a place that never existed in her time save as ruins when she crossed over from the sewers under Half Moon Bay. ‘Not then, but you are certainly here now,’ she said, marvelling at the sight.
She took in the magnificence of the temple grounds. The bridges arching the stream, the close-clipped grass and the wide steps to the temple courtyard made the dark woods look like a mythical realm. Flags whipped in the wind, lashing the sky with purple and red streamers identical to the illustrations she’d seen in the ancient textbooks. The archives had it right, for the most part. What she hadn’t remembered from the depictions were the high towers on either side of the gate. Perhaps Temple Dumarka was more prepared for assault than she had imagined. She had only one thought as she eased her horse to a halt. Goddess of the woods, please don’t let my visit be their ruin.
Playing with history was risky business. One never knew when the best intentions would change the course of a river, a child’s life or a world’s destiny. She dismounted, studying the woman who approached. She wasn’t dressed like a guard but wore leggings and boots. A rag hung from her hip pocket.
She reached for the reins. ‘I’ll mind your mount,’ she said.
‘Thank you.’ Kreshkali patted the horse’s shoulder. ‘Easy on the water, please. We’ve ridden hard this morning.’
‘In a rush to see me, High Priestess?’
Kreshkali turned at the voice. Descending the steps was a woman of extraordinary beauty. She wore a long fern-coloured dress that flowed like the sea behind her. Kreshkali didn’t think the woman’s feet actually touched the ground as she glided towards her. ‘I am,’ Kreshkali replied, drawing in her breath as the temple cats appeared.
Rosette had talked about her experience at Temple Dumarka but to see the felines parade down the stairs towards her was something she hadn’t been prepared for. They were magnificent—long-bodied with sleek dark coats of black and rust, and one a charcoal grey with black bands and no tail. She held out her hand in the traditional greeting, introducing herself. ‘Kreshkali, High Priestess of Temple Los Loma and friend of Dumarka.’
‘Saphon, High Priestess of Temple Dumarka. This is Noel, my familiar.’ She touched the back of the grey temple cat. ‘Welcome to our home.’
Kreshkali kept her face smooth, her mind shield tight. She wished the Three Sisters were here to confirm her suspicions, but this woman, this High Priestess Saphon, had the same look about her as Le Saint. The same wide eyes and dark hair. Those traits are not so rare, she reminded herself. Still…She followed the High Priestess up the steps.
‘We’ll have tea on the back terrace, under the shade of the redwoods. You will tell me of your need and I will