Strange Attractors (62 page)

E
verett didn’t move. He sat in a clearing above a waterfall, his eyes hooded. Regina sat opposite him on the other side of the fire. She wore a simple orange sarong around her hips and her dark hair fell over her breasts. She placed a log from the sacred journey tree on the coals; the smoke plumed about them, its pungent odour filling the air. Warmth from the flames hit his face and he closed his eyes. The spirit journey began.

In the form of a black eagle, he flew high above the canopy, above the tallest palms, up to the mountain peaks and higher. He flew above the clouds where the air was icy and the wind ripped over his wings in great gusts. Higher still he went, into a whirling vortex in the sky. The clouds parted and he could see billions of stars twinkling in the indigo universe. The eagle knew where to go and Everett didn’t question.

Moments later he plunged back into the world beneath the clouds. Only this was not his jungle forest, nor was it the ghost city of the Allied States far beyond the Borderlands. He flew straight down into a desert, where a central city rose up like an island in a sea of yellow sand. A battle raged. A young man was shot. He saw him fall. A girl came and buried him, and then she was gone.

He lingered by the graveside, watching the spirit rise from the ground. It passed through him, around him, on its way out of the world. He flew with it, until he lost track of its essence. He sighed and circled high over the land, searching for the girl.

He followed a path that took him across the desert, through the mountains and into the long corridors that separate the worlds. She burst out into a battle scene and he feared for her. He tried to get her attention, get her to safety. But she kept running until she entered the corridors again, a blue light pulsing in her hand. A Lemur raven followed, the scream of her deafening. He knew that spirit. It was the thief. The demon who’d stolen the children.

He dropped his wings to his side and dove, talons outstretched, knocking the other bird back before she reached the corridor. With massive downstrokes, he gained altitude again and shot into the portal behind the girl.

She was safe now. He could guide her home. He perched nearby, watching her catch her breath, willing the portal to take them back—back to the land of her birth. She had to ask for it though. It had to come from her. He watched, breathless, waiting for a sign. And then she spoke.

‘Take me somewhere I can call home.’

Shaea came out of the portal, her cloak strapped to her pack. A wave of warmth embraced her and she took a deep breath. The scent of wet grass, banana fronds and ripe papaya filled the air. The sun was overhead, a yellow haze in the cornflower sky. She slung her boots over her shoulder and headed down the path, the smile on her face as high and undaunted as the mountain peaks.

Colourful birds chattered behind her, drowning out her laughter, but she giggled anyway. Someone was coming up the road and she knew she should be cautious but she couldn’t manage it. Something felt completely right about this place—the smell of it and the sounds. She didn’t care for prudence. She couldn’t feel fear. The woman waved, her face kind, arms graceful. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a black bird winging towards the forest, its call warm, welcoming. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, striding towards the woman and her wide-open arms.

‘Welcome home, dear Shaea. Oh, how we’ve missed you.’ The woman embraced her, circling her tight.

Shaea melted. ‘I’ve missed you too.’

‘Whoa,’ Rosette said. As soon as the word left her lips her horse’s head disappeared into the tall oat grass. ‘Hold on, Cheetah!’ She pulled the mare up. ‘Not with the bit in your mouth.’

‘She’s taking time to train,’ Jarrod said, stopping his horse beside her.

‘Worth every minute, though.’ Rosette dismounted then slipped off the bridle and replaced it with a halter. She loosened the girth a notch and ran up her stirrups,
taking the saddlebags down before letting the mare graze. Jarrod had done the same; Wren, his copper-red mare, was already up to her ears in the feed, a golden palomino filly at her side. ‘It’s a great spot you’ve picked.’ He slipped his arm around her waist. ‘The perfect view.’

She followed his gaze across the gorge to the sheer slopes of Los Loma Prieta. ‘I wanted to bask in our achievement.’ She turned back the way they’d come; the mountain track was fringed in gold poppies and deep purple violets. ‘I want everyone to bask. Are they coming?’

‘Bards, scribes, mentors, apprentices, elders and toddlers, they’re all on their way.’

Timbali Temple is crossing the pass and Treeon’s right behind them, Maudi. Bangeesh is already here. Everyone’s ready to celebrate.

‘It will take their breath away, Drayco. I know it does mine.’

They walked to the edge of the gorge, the breeze rippling across the grass like an invisible hand. A herd of grunnies dotted the valley, black specks on a golden carpet. Across the way, carved from the side of the mountain, stood Temple Los Loma Prieta in all her glory.

‘We did it,’ Rosette said.

Jarrod turned her face to his and kissed her. ‘It’s magnificent,’ he whispered, not letting her go.

The cliffs were terraced, the wide steps sprouting tall maples, crimson in the early autumn. Birch, elm and cherry trees hugged the slopes and hanging baskets of late-blooming orchids and fairy ferns lined the archways. The temple itself formed a relief out of the side of the mountain, the towers, balconies and spiralling steps cut from white granite and blue-veined
marble. On top of the turrets, flags snapped in the wind—orange and yellow, black, red, purple and green. The main windows were two storeys high, the bell tower twice as tall.

‘And that’s only the entrance,’ Rosette said, finding his hand and lacing her fingers in his.

The catacombs of Los Loma lay beyond the cliff face, lit to the depths with mirrors, the long hallways and many rooms refurbished—a place of reverie, craft, initiation and apprenticeship.

‘Temple Los Loma is the star in Gaela’s crown,’ he said.

She squeezed his hand and brought it to her lips.

Music floated on the wind and they turned. Clay was setting the bards up at the base of a knoll, and tunes echoed through the mountain valley. She smiled then her hands lifted over her head and she started clapping and dancing. Clay joined them, still strumming his guitar while he chatted. ‘Perfect acoustics up here,’ he said, beaming.

‘I see that.’ Rosette smiled. ‘Not the same without Shane, though.’

‘I miss his flute already. Any word?’

‘No, but I escorted him back myself,’ Jarrod said. ‘He’s safe and sound in Tensar.’ He chuckled. ‘Selene and a young fiddle player were there to meet him.’

‘The right Tensar then?’

Rosette gave Clay’s shoulder a playful shove. ‘I think so. And don’t complain. If we sent you back to your
right
time, you’d be dead.’ She laughed.

‘I’m not complaining!’ He slapped the guitar as he strummed, shifting the bards into a driving syncopated rhythm. Rosette surveyed the festival grounds. ‘Where’s Annadusa? Grayson?’

Maluka’s head came up. ‘They’re coming.’

‘Will there be enough food? Are the tables here?’ Rosette shaded her eyes and looked up the path. ‘I don’t see them.’

‘Relax, my queen.’ Jarrod kissed her cheek.

‘Our first equinox as a fully recognised temple! If Kreshkali and Teg don’t get back in time…’

Behind, Maudi.

Rosette spun around.

‘You keep grinning like that and you’ll burst,’ Kali said as she came up the pathway. Teg was at her side, his face serene, eyes dancing.

‘You’re back! I was worried you wouldn’t make it.’ She hugged her mother, kissing her soundly.

‘And miss the first official celebration? No chance.’

Rosette leaned towards Teg, kissing his cheeks, one and the other, and his lips. ‘Anything?’ she whispered. ‘Could you get through at all?’

Kreshkali shook her head. ‘It’s sealed off.’ She gripped her hand. ‘We’ll talk of it later. Today is for joy, appreciation, and the lightness of being. Come! Our guests arrive. Let’s show them how to feast and dance!’

Bards from the other temples joined Clay’s group, the music rising to the clouds. Tables were set up, spread with food and drink, and a picket line was strung for the visitors’ horses. There were tubs of apple cider being pressed on the spot, wines from Cusca Vally and coffee from Oldosia. A huge pot of Avanchak was simmering over the fires and whole salmon from the Terse River, wrapped in leaves, were baking in the coals. Fruit, bread, rolls, butter and cheese were pushed back to make room for the delicacies brought from each temple. More horses were picketed, and familiars rushed in—ravens, hawks and canines.

‘How do you grow the grass so rich?’ a temple witch from Timbali asked as she led a string of horses past.

‘Good intentions,’ Rosette said, laughing.

The day burst into celebration and when the sun dropped low—the slanting rays turning the mountains red—they moved the whole fete inside. The halls under the mountain rocked with dance and song. Towards midnight, Rosette found Kreshkali in her old chamber, the one Rosette escaped from before she knew who her mother was. The light was soft, obscuring the mosaic tiles that decorated the walls. Steam wafted from the bathing pool and candles floated near the steps. Kali was curled in a bed of cushions. Teg rose from her side and stretched.

‘Rosette, you have that look,’ Kreshkali said.

‘What look?’

‘Like you’ve had enough of the company.’

Rosette laughed as she picked up an empty glass. Teg filled it and they sat together, Drayco peering into the water, watching the candles float by.

‘We agreed I’d spend winter in the cottage,’ Rosette said. ‘The work’s done here and I’d like some time for quiet study.’

‘Jarrod going with you?’

‘He is.’ She grinned. ‘I didn’t even have to ask.’

‘You’ve my blessing then, as long as you don’t go running into walls. Earth’s closed, at least for now. Teg and I tried. There’s no way in.’

‘Agreed.’ She took a sip of the deep red merlot, a bottle from the year she was born. ‘But you can’t hear yourself there at all? You don’t know what’s happening to Nell, to Earth?’

‘Nothing.’ Kreshkali shook her head. ‘It seems the open corridors are what allowed me to know what the left hand was doing, so to speak.’

‘I thought that too. It’s something I plan to study more. There is so much we still don’t understand about
the corridors. And if Earth has perished…if Shaea and Passillo are lost forever…’

‘We have to trust it, Rosette,’ Teg said. ‘Shaea may be lost but Nell and An’ Lawrence chose to stay back because they had an intention. They believed it would work. If there’s a way to get through, they will find it.’

‘There is always a way,’ Kreshkali said, hugging them both. ‘I don’t know how, but I know we’ll get a message, and we’ll find Shaea and the spell too.’

Nellion leaned over the rows of strawberries, planting out the last of the fresh runners. The ground was warm, the earth rich and porous from its top dressing of ash. ‘We’ll have bumper crops for decades,’ she said to the Three Sisters.

No hunger! No worry!

‘There’s plenty enough for everyone, isn’t there, lovelies?’

The ravens preened their wing feathers, revealing soft grey down beneath glossy black mantles. As one, they took flight, shooting towards the corn fields that edged the green pastures. A small herd of horses grazed nearby, mostly golden palominos, their manes and tails lifting in the breeze. Bells rang as the milk goats clustered around blackberry patches, kids leaping in the air, jumping over each other. ‘Save some for us, you gluttons!’ Nell called to them. ‘I want to make jam for winter.’

‘If we have a winter.’ An’ Lawrence came up the row of strawberries, his bare feet silent in the soft dirt. ‘This is the warmest autumn I can remember.’

‘It’s not Gaela, love.’ Nell took his hand and he hoisted her up. ‘And Earth is mild as a lamb these days. Where’s Mamá?’

‘Behind the stables. She’s taking them for their first hunt. I thought you’d like to join us.’

‘I wouldn’t miss it!’ Nell carried her basket on her hip, her other arm going around An’ Lawrence’s waist. They strolled past the central fountain; the grounds were raked smooth and the water crystal clear as it sprayed the marble statues. Flower baskets were full of bright blooms and sapling trees grew where old ones had fallen. Zero nodded from the training ground as he drilled the sword students, the last of the survivors from Half Moon Bay. When she reached the stables her face lit up. ‘Oh how I wish Rosette and Drayco could see this.’ Her eyes welled.

An’ Lawrence squeezed her hand, letting go as one of the cubs spotted him. The little black ball of fur came streaking forward, misjudging the distance and slamming into the Sword Master’s legs. He recovered and climbed up An’ Lawrence as if he were a tree.

‘Ouch! Stop! Claws, little Gratanach! You’re shredding me.’

The cub was jet black with a white star on his chest and streaks of tabby grey on his legs, as if he wore stripy pants. His paws were huge, out of proportion to the rest of his body, and his tail, like his mother’s, was bobbed. An’ Lawrence gave Gratanach a pat before peeling him off his chest and sending him back to his litter mates. Scylla strolled towards him, still heavy with milk, her ears a little droopy. Half a dozen cubs ran about her, hiding behind the hitching posts, then launching an attack and tumbling over themselves to get to An’ Lawrence.

‘Surely you won’t bond with them all?’ Nell said, kneeling down to scoop a small rust-coloured female into her arms. ‘Do they speak to you?’

He shook his head. ‘Scylla says they will choose, if at all, in the spring, as is the way with her line.’

‘That’s a relief.’ She straightened, putting the cub up on her shoulders. It draped like a shawl, a long ringed tail waving in the breeze. ‘Let’s go, Scylla. I’ll help you teach these tykes to hunt.’ She turned to An’ Lawrence. ‘Horses?’

‘I’ll saddle up. Just keep an eye on Gratanach. He’s a wanderer! I had to bail him out of the attic yesterday, and he was trapped under the stable floorboards last week.’