The Mark of a Druid
Rhonda R Carpenter
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2008 by Rhonda R Carpenter
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. This is a work of fiction. Name, characters, places and incidents either are a product of the author's imagination or are used factiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locals is entirely coincidental. Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any Web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
www.themarkofadruid.com
ISBN: 978-0-595-52336-8 (pbk)
ISBN:978-0-595-51328-4(cloth)
ISBN: 978-0-595-62392-1 (ebk)
Dedicated to all the angels on earth and those who are beyond our gaze, because they hear our desires and come to our aid--expecting nothing, they pour light into the dark spaces of our souls and show us the way. When blessed pay it forward and you shall remain blessed.
Acknowledgments
To my forum, this book would not have happened without your encouragement; you know who you are. To my husband, sons, and Amie who believed in me totally, Arlene for holding my hand, to my soul sisters, the three R's, and finally to Rod, Janet, my Mom, and Ashley D. Kuhre editor extraordinaire thank you is not enough, so I offer my eternal gratitude. Cover Art graciously provided by Amie Perry-Reavis 2008.
Chapter 1
The Morning Of
Naked, except for a tattered woolen blanket, she shivered. Dying ash encrusted embers were all that remained of the fire. Her heavy lids fought to stay open as the haze of what she assumed was sleep slowly lessened. Realization slapped at a foggy mind as Eve forced herself to look around. This was not her house--not her fireplace.
"I must be dreaming," Eve murmured as she rubbed her eyes and fought to sit up.
Her legs tingled with thousands of invisible pins and needles. Her body ached with cold stiffness. Her mind reeled. How had she come to be lying in such a curious position, on a hard packed dirt floor? In a house--a house she didn't even recognize.
Eve's vision adjusted, and she noticed a small stack of kindling by the hearth. She reached with trembling hands and managed after long moments to stir the dying embers, gingerly coaxing them into tenuous flames. She fed the coals slowly. The smell of wood burning mingled with a twinge of something sweet that nagged at the fringes of Eve's awareness. The syrupy taste that lingered in her mouth was indistinguishable, but quickly she let it go. There were more important things to consider. The fire flickered. A warning flashed in her mind. Too late to reconsider her hasty action in building a fire. She wondered how long it might be until someone came to investigate. Questions closed in on her. Where was she? How did she get here? Her wrists ached all the way to the bone. She held her hands closer to the pathetic excuse for a fire and stared in disbelief at the reddened torn skin, mingled shades of blue and green that encircled both wrists.
This looks like. … No it can't be. … Rope burns? Was I restrained? Or worse? What's going on?
Normally manicured fingernails were split and cracked, and encrusted with filth. The palms of her hands were callused and rough. Her knees were bruised and scraped. She ran her hands down her shins, dried blood flaked away as she rubbed the feeling back into her legs and feet--feet that did not look like her own. Her always smoothly shaven legs were covered with fine blondish hairs that could only have been from months of growth. It didn't seem to her that she'd been sexually assaulted, but she was naked.
Frantically, Eve scanned the room. There wasn't even a switch on the wall. Where the hell was she?
The room itself was small and dark except for the flicker of the low fire in the hearth, which was doing little to light the room and more to cast huge shadows around it. There was only a single window that looked to be boarded up or heavily shuttered. Eve willed an uncooperative body to move. She pulled the blanket around her tightly, dragging herself to unsteady feet with a groan that did not do justice to the great effort of mind and muscle it took to just stand. She stepped awkwardly toward the window. The dead feeling in her legs subsided as she moved across the room. No light shone through the boards, not even from between the cracks. She wondered if it was dark outside. In the glow of the fire, she searched for something, anything recognizable. There was a small table made of dark, crudely fashioned planks.
On it sat a short, thick candle made of a deep, golden wax. On the floor across the small room, almost in the corner, was a shadowed bundle. It seemed familiar. Where had she seen it before? Her head hurt. The smell from the fire struck her as odd as she moved toward the only thing that sparked her memory. But something stopped her before she could reach the shadowy bundle. Eve found herself staring into the fire. The warmth of it was now beginning to fill the room, and she let it wash over her. The unseen waves of heat warmed her near naked body.
I'd be warmer if I had my clothes. Where are they? For that matter, wheream I?
Everything grew foggy then blurred as all these questions, and more, swirled around her dulled brain. She felt queasy. The throbbing in her head made her dizzy. Weakness swept over her followed by a tremor of terror.
This isn't right. None of this is right.
Her heart pounded in her chest. Its heavy beat rang in her ears." Alright, Eve, get a grip," she muttered. But even her own name felt tainted. "Close your eyes and this will go away."
As her eyes closed, fragmented remembrances flooded her mind; flashing vivid images of a violent sea, the rocking motions of being aboard ship, the smell of salt air, a crack of lightning, a man with golden eyes, a pointing finger attached to a tattooed hand, and then the taste of licorice.
I've got to be dreaming! Think, Eve. Yes, your name is Eve--Eve McCormick. You live in Los Angeles. Think! This is not your house, and by the looks of this place it is not like any house you've ever seen.
Eve opened her eyes in the vain hope that she would see a pristine white ceiling, but one look at the roof made it clear none of this nightmare had gone away. The ceiling was thatched, the walls were wood planking with something stuffed between each joint.
I must still be dreaming--dreaming of waking up from a dream, so none of this is real. Please, God, tell me none of this is real!
She waited. God didn't answer. "Damnit… you're a scientist, act like one! Maybe it's a lucid dream. What did that last book I read say again? If you're aware on a conscious level that you're dreaming, it is important to remember that you have control. Yea. Right! Control. So, if this is a dream, all I have to do is wake myself up." The blanket was still draped over her shoulders. She closed her eyes and chanted in a low voice.
"Eve, wake up! Eve, wake up, you're dreaming."
The internal shout rang in her ears and at that moment there was a tugging sensation, like a fishing line pulled at her navel. The tugging became stronger and stronger. She could feel herself moving forward toward the fire. Its heat grew hotter on her skin. There was a stabbing, burning pain in her right shoulder, as if a hot poker had drilled through to her back.
****
Eve's eyelids shot open. She was breathless. With blurred vision and a groggy mind, she focused on the clock. Five-thirty a.m. Relief washed over her as she gripped the flannel sheets and down comforter for security. Her great grandma's antique wardrobe stood across the room. In the distance through the open window, the sky grew lighter. Her cat, Cosmo, stretched and walked over her chest as though she were part of the bed instead of his companion. Then he jumped to the floor and meowed as he looked over his shoulder at her. Eve threw back the covers to the chill of morning air. Cosmo yowled. She knew what he was thinking.
If she is up, that means food. Come on, feed me!
The floor was cool beneath her feet. She reached for her robe and for an instant there seemed to be bruises and torn skin at her wrists. Eve blinked in disbelief. When she opened them again there were no marks, but she felt a very strong tingling sensation. No marks, no bruises, no calluses or broken nails. Her recently manicured nails glistened in the dawn light with the shiny, clear polish that lay over ten white French tips.
She pulled on her robe and stepped into the warm slippers at the foot of her queen-sized bed.
"That was a weird dream, Coz! I need to write this one down."
Eve descended the steps to the kitchen still a bit shaken. As the cat sat at his dish impatiently waiting for his breakfast, Eve reached for the coffee pot. "Coz, you'll have to hold on." She patted his head.
I need coffee--strong, hot, coffee. I won't be going back to sleep after… that.
After setting up the coffee maker, she opened a can of cat food. The sound alone sent Coz into impatient meows as though he hadn't been fed in days. She grinned as she filled his bowl.
"Always starving, aren't you?"
While the coffee was brewing, she went to find her journal. Scanning the living room, she saw it on the table. Eve sat in her favorite chair with pen in hand.
How am I going to explain this one? I dreamed of waking up from a dream, in a house I did not recognize, and was obviously in another century. I was naked and had rope burns on my wrists.
She looked down at her wrists, absent-mindedly letting her fingers stroke the areas that were still tingling.
"Nope, no rope burns here," she mumbled a reassurance.
Then Eve began to record everything she remembered. Still feeling disturbed by the images left swimming around in her mind, she didn't even hear the coffee pot sputter its completion. She wrote page after page. The dream seemed so real, she thought, making one final note at the bottom of the page.
Lucid dreaming? Analyze this one!
Eve closed the journal and headed for the coffee pot. Coz wrapped himself between her legs almost toppling her to the kitchen floor. She reached down, picked him up, scratched his chin then let him sit on the counter.
She poured her coffee and added just enough cream to turn the contents of the cup the perfect shade of beige.
Gazing off into space, Eve finished the first cup of coffee with vivid pictures sweeping through her mind: a wild ocean, amber eyes, flashes of lighting and the taste of licorice. Then she realized the sun was completely up.
She poured her next cup and headed for the shower. The hot, steamy bathroom left the mirror clouded--a sure sign she'd not been the good, drought-conscious Southern Californian today.
Eve opened the door in time to hear the alarm clock sounding in the bedroom upstairs. She trotted up the steps. She wasn't one who heard the alarm clock on the first ring, and usually not even the second. The snooze bar would be getting a much needed break this morning. Since Eve was up early, she decided she might as well get to work. With the clock silenced, her attention was drawn to the door of its audiocassette side. It was open. The tape inside was one that a research partner had given her. Eve flipped the door closed.
I don't remember using this. Coz must've bumped it.
She stepped into sweats, threw a tee-shirt over her head, and walked across the hall to her office. Eve considered it more of a sanctuary. She flipped on the computer and lit a candle with a smile on her face.
As a clinical hypnotherapist doing research and running a private practice, Eve did a great deal of work online. Her time was her own and that was a freedom that not many people enjoyed. She grinned knowing that she could never have had this kind of flexibility in a nine-to-five. The project's grant would expire in several months, so she had cut her clinic time to two days a week. This left lots of time to write the research papers, correlate the data and run the online support group that kept her private practice alive.
She sat at her desk. A flash of light caught her eye, and the vivid images from that morning once again flooded her memory. She wondered at this dream, questioned its meaning, whether it had one at all. Could it have been the flicker of a past experience, or maybe a strange premonition? For as long as she could remember, a good number of her dreams had been prophetic in nature.
Five years ago, she had dreamt of the research project, and within a month she had assembled a team and submitted the necessary grant proposals. On the other hand, maybe what happened meant nothing at all. With a strained, conscious effort, Eve pushed the memory out of her mind.
She savored her coffee as the computer booted up. Cosmo made himself comfortable on top of the monitor. His pale orange-ringed tail slowly swayed from side-to-side then hung in the center of the screen.
"Coz, would you like to get your tail out of the way?" Eve chided as she lifted his tail and tucked it around him. She could only hope it would stay where she'd put it. Responding to e-mail was always the start of her work day. She just never knew who was going to be interested in her work. The requests for information about the project had primarily come from the United States; however, she'd been concentrating the web site's advertising to target the United Kingdom in hopes of expanding the diversity of the participants.
"Well, Coz, it looks like a good day. The bulk is from the U.K. The new search engine submissions seem to be working."
Eve responded to the e-mails sending the standard forms that would need to be completed with an explanation of the project. She figured that out of twenty requests for information the research team would probably end up with five good candidates--maybe less. When enough interest was generated, a trip overseas would be scheduled. Her spirits lifted at the thought.
She clicked the icon that opened her computer journal and made a few notes. This was a daily habit she had started along with the project. After thousands of hypnotic past life regressions, the group was much closer to an explanation now than at the start of the project five years ago.
Things were different then. Eve had just finished her degree. She and David were still together. She was sure then that it would be easy to prove that past life experiences were just an alternative way for the subconscious mind to deal with everyday life. However, the group had actually confirmed the existence of about fifteen percent of the regressions completed to date. That was an astounding number. The work was always interesting, but lately it was becoming more and more exciting. The confirmations were founded in facts: names, dates, locations, birth and death records. These had all repeatedly verified the experiences in a significant number of the participants. The work was profound, there was no doubt about that. Integration of the past life experience was now a big part of the work. While it was unnecessary for the project's success, it seemed to clearly help the clients, giving them insights into their daily lives. With her notes in order, she did a quick review.
"There seems to be a common thread between the subjects' present life situations and what comes forward during the regressions. Sometimes it seems as if the subconscious mind is accessing a huge database of lifetimes, and other times the information that comes out is vague and symbolic.
I don't foresee any major problems with our funding being extended, not the grants anyway. Just in case, we should start working on the funding process next month."
She glanced at the clock. It was almost ten and there was just enough time to grab another cup of coffee before she had to get dressed. She walked down the steps to the kitchen and poured the last of the day's caffeine, then stroked the cat. Coz seemed to think she was going to feed him again.
The little savage had the appetite of a tiger instead of a shorthaired American feline. When he realized she was not going to refill the bowl, his tail shot into the air as he stormed away with a meow. Eve trotted back up the steps thinking, who needs a stair master? She opened her organizer to check the schedule for this afternoon. Clinic time till seven or so was blocked out.
"This is going to be a long day," she murmured, dropping the organizer into the briefcase by the door. The screen saver scrolled a random affirmation on her screen.
"Today, I listen to my inner wisdom, trusting it to lead me where I need to go." She laughed. "As long as it leads me home."
The little doorbell sound on her computer signaled a new e-mail. She clicked the icon for mail and read.
Dear Ms. McCormick,
I recently read your outstanding article on the past life research project. I would be quite interested in participating. Please send the information necessary, and advise as to how I could take part in the study. I very much look forward to your response.
Cheers,
Ryerson Sanders
1014 Breconshire L2
Abergavenny, United Kingdom NP3 8XY
Eve typed a fast response, attached the standard forms to the outgoing e-mail, and clicked the send button. She watched the tiny blue arrow on the screen disappear, reappear and then disappear completely. She shut down the computer and walked to the bedroom to dress for the clinic. For the two days a week that she saw research subjects, a suit was a requirement.
"Well, Coz? What do you think? The long navy blue jacket with the light gray pants? I know, you could care less."
She smiled down at her furry friend, knowing that she would not get a response but feeling the need to talk to someone other than herself. It had been so lonely without David around. All the hostility he exuded since their break up made working with him uncomfortable.
She twisted her long, sandy hair into a French knot as she walked outside. She locked the metal screen door and stepped off the porch. Then she heard the telephone ring.
"Shit, just my luck!"
She dropped the briefcase, stuck the key in the lock and twisted until the door swung open. She ran for the telephone, smacked her shin on the corner of the chair and cursed under her breath. She hopped across the living room on one foot and grabbed the receiver.
"This is Eve McCormick. May I help you?" she sputtered through clenched teeth.
She heard the most attractive English accent say, "Yes, yes, you most certainly can. My name is Ryerson Sanders. I am quite interested in your research project. I received your return correspondence today via e-mail and thought I would save us both some time and ring you up."
Why do they always think they can save time by calling? I'll still have to review the forms before making a decision.
"Of course, yes, I remember your e-mail. You're in the U.K. right?"
"Wales actually--I've a business trip scheduled to Southern California the end of March, you see…"
"Excuse me, Mr. Sanders, for interrupting, but have you completed the forms and sent them back yet?"
"Not at all, I am currently working on the forms and study profile that you so kindly provided. You will have them returned to you within the hour. Would you be interested in setting up a series of regressions with me during my upcoming stay?"
"Hold on one moment, Mr. Sanders, I'll get my organizer." Eve rolled her eyes, set the receiver down and hobbled for the briefcase that she had dropped on the porch, pulled out the organizer and went back to the phone. "The last three weeks in March," she muttered flipping through the pages. "I'm not available until almost the middle of the month. Are you planning on being in the Los Angeles area for long?"
"I will be arriving in Los Angeles on the tenth and will be staying through the eighth of April and then it is back home."
"I must tell you I don't normally set appointments without reviewing the forms first. But since you are calling from halfway around the world…"
"If you prefer to wait it is not a problem, Ms. McCormick. I am just extremely interested in this subject and feel that I may be a good candidate, or at the very least a good subject."
There was something in his tone, a sense of urgency that struck her as eerie or maybe even familiar. She wasn't sure. "All right then," Eve said, "let's set up the first session tentatively for the fifteenth at two. I'll review your forms and study your profile tonight. If you meet the criteria, I'll send you a set of dates. Will that be okay with you?"
"Two o'clock on the fifteenth is smashing. Thank you for your time."
"Great, then I'll e-mail you tonight and we can go from there. Have a wonderful day–night, rather, Mr. Sanders. It was nice to have spoken with you."
As Eve put the receiver back in the cradle and walked out the door, once more, the dream flooded back into her mind. There was a flash of lightning and a dark-haired man with golden eyes hovering on the edge of her memory.
She shook it off and tried to clear the image, but it hung there, strong and vivid. He had chiseled features, glaring golden eyes, black, wild and windblown hair. With a swift intake of breath Eve shook her head again, intent on thinking of anything but him. But there he was again. This man frightened her, excited her, and his image captivated her. She climbed into the Ford Explorer. Its engine purred as she drove up the street.
The intensity that woke her swept through her mind again and again. The long hour and half drive to the valley was spent in creeping gridlock traffic. No matter what she did, she was unable to shake the feeling of dread, confusion and helplessness that the dream had left in its wake. She flipped on the radio and rifled through her briefcase, finding nothing to occupy her mind. She even rolled down the window and took a few deep breaths. Then Eve gave up and allowed the images to drift in and out of conscious thought.
Chapter 2
The Clinic
Eve pulled into the parking lot at just after one o'clock, leaving plenty of time
before her first client was due. "Good afternoon, Manny." Eve waved to the security attendant as she passed through the gate.
"Afternoon, Ms. McCormick," he said with a nod.
She parked the Explorer and gathered her things. Briefcase in hand, she entered the building. The elevator doors slid open at the fifth floor, and Eve walked the familiar hallway to Suite 521.
"Hey, Eve, you sure are early today. Your first client is not due for an hour. Would you like the rundown of this afternoon's subjects?" The exuberant voice of Lori Katz, the project's administrative assistant, filled the room. Eve smiled and dropped the briefcase on the floor by her feet. She leaned on the almost chest-high counter and said, "Good afternoon, Lori, sure. How was the week, anything interesting to report?"
As always, Lori's bright, blue eyes gleamed at the prospect of filling Eve in on the regression work from the week and any gossip in the building. Eve was never sure how Lori knew everything that happened, but she seemed to, and that was a great quality in an assistant.
Lori handed Eve her messages. A stack of small pink slips of paper meticulously filled in correctly. The third in the stack was a call from her old professor, now her mentor and best friend. Andrea McMurray, Ph.D., and her pre-teen son, Richard, held a special place in Eve's heart. Eve read the note.
Just want to catch up on the project. Are you available for dinner tomorrow night?
Eve smiled at the thought. It had been two months since they'd talked, really talked.
"You have a two, three, four, and a five today," Lori said. "Can I get you some water? Oh, yes, and David left you this." She handed Eve a cassette tape with a sticky note attached to it.
Eve, this is great background music. Is it possible for us to have dinner? I have some things I need to go over with you. David.
"No, I will get the water myself, thanks Lori. But will you leave David a note to call me? I'll be in my office. Let me know when Charles Aggner arrives for his session."
Eve strolled down the hall past several offices – "Samantha Page," "David Landrum," "Lisa Montgomery" read the plates--glancing in each only to find them empty and dark. James Forest's office was brightly lit and Eve poked her head around the corner.
"Hey, Evie," said James. "I've got some great news!"
"What's up?"
"Yesterday we got another confirmation. Not that I doubted that reincarnation was real, mind you," he said, with a wink of a blue-green eye.
"Want to tell me now or save it for the meeting next week?"
"I'm still firming up the copies of the death certificate. I just wanted you to know we were adding to the numbers."
"I'll get all the details at the meeting, right?" "Absolutely, no question about it," he said, the corner of his mouth twisted into a crooked smile. It crinkled his forehead and caused brown hair to fall into his eyes.
"Great, I have a call to make. Are you in all day?" Eve asked, turning toward the hall.
"Nope, out about three-ish"
"Okay, have a good day."
Eve went into her office without stopping again. It was not much to look at, but it was hers. She dropped her things on the small desk and swiveled the office chair out of her way so she could turn on the desk lamp. Dim light filtered through the room. An overstuffed recliner against the opposite wall awaited her next client. The absence of windows was what she liked about the space. It kept the lighting control simple. She grabbed some water from the kitchenette and returned to her desk. Eve picked up the telephone and dialed Andrea's cell number.
"Hello," answered Andrea.
"Hey, you, I got your message. I'd love to have dinner tomorrow. What time?"
"How about I pick you up at six? We can catch up then. I hear your work is progressing."
"Really, from whom?"
"David Landrum called me last week. He said that things were moving along in the right direction. He had some music he wanted me to listen to. Something to do with inducing alpha brain waves," she said.
"Yes, well, he seems of late to be very interested in the background filler music and how it might affect trance. Funny he should call you, though. I'll tell you all about our progress tomorrow. Oh, Andrea, tell that young man of yours Aunt Eve said, 'Hi.' See you at six?"
"Six it is. Great, see you then, my friend."
Hanging up the phone, Eve envisioned Andrea with her auburn curls highlighting effervescent emerald eyes and a sparkling smile that exposed a single dimple on her right cheek.
This will be a lot of fun.
Charles was early, as usual. An interesting man in his late sixties, he had suffered from an annoying eye twitch for as long as he could remember. Charles had his first session last year. He was a retired engineer for the Army Corps of Engineers and had provided at least four different lifetimes, each of which had helped him in some way in his present life. However, he still had the twitch.
"Hi, Charles, take a seat. I'm going to start the tape now." Eve smiled and waved him toward the recliner.
"Hello, Eve. Will we be working on this twitch?" He let his hand graze the right side of his face.
"Yes, sir, just like I promised." Eve gathered the required information for the study and went straight to work.
He relaxed into the recliner, pushed all the way back and made himself comfortable. Eve dimmed the light and went into her standard patter.
"First, take a long, deep breath and let it out with a sigh…" She heard him do so. "Good. Now imagine a stairway with twenty-one steps, each one taking you deeper and deeper, all the way to the hallway of life." She paused to give him time to envision it. "Good."
Counting him down the stairs one by one, she saw the signs of hypnosis clearly on his face. His jaw went slack and rapid eye movement increased.
"Totally relaxed. That's right. Now, one of the doorways or portals that line the hallway will draw your attention. It may appear to be different from the others. One of that door will take you to the life in which you will learn why you have the twitch."
One never knows where the client is going. It could be this lifetime or another, but it's always interesting, she thought.
"When you have the door, nod your head." She paused and waited for him to do so. Once he did, she continued. "Good. Now, Charles, before you open the door and go inside, take a deep breath. This is a place of wisdom, and you will receive your answers here. Now open the door and tell me what you see."
He began to describe the vision he saw behind closed eyes. "It is a field of wheat, tall and golden."
"Good. Now look down at the ground and tell me what you see."
"I have bare feet… and I'm a girl!" His voice revealed his surprise.
"How old are you?" Eve asked. His response came in a higher, female tone.
"I'm sixteen. My name is Sarah Godfrey Ramsey."
"Good, Sarah, you're doing great. Tell me, Sarah, what is happening now?"
"I'm watching them as they are harvest the wheat, stacking it into bundles. I am watching. I brought dinner for Henry."
"Who is Henry, Sarah?"
"He is my husband."
"Good. Tell me, what year is it?"
"1902… September."
"Good, where are you?"
"I am in a field."
"Yes," Eve said, with a smile. Of course she's in a field. She almost slapped her forehead. "Where is this field?"
"In Kansas… Troy County, Kansas."
"What happens next, Sarah?"
"They are stacking wheat in a cart. Oh, God! No, Henry!" Her voice came from Charles' body in a scream of fear.
Making a note of the names and location, Eve also noted the sheer terror in the high-pitched female voice. Charles's body remained perfectly relaxed, even the twitch was not present in his facial muscles. Eve evened her tone, letting the natural, soothing qualities of her voice resonate as she spoke.
"What's happening now, Sarah?"
"The horses – t-they reared and the cart fell on him. Oh, my God! No, Henry, Henry!"
"Take a deep breath and tell me what's happening now, Sarah."
"I'm running to the cart. My skirts tangle in the way of my feet and I fall. I hit my face on a stone."
"What happens next?" Eve asked, noting the faint muscular twitch near the corner of his right eye.
"I drag myself to my knees. My face is twitching and my eye is blinking from the blood.... Oh, Henry. No. Please let him be unharmed! I am trying to run but the other men stop me, holding me back. All I can do is watch, kicking and crying. Tom, our neighbor, releases the harness from the cart. He is tying a rope onto the harness and moving the horses around to the opposite side of the cart. Tom ties the other end of the rope to the cart, and slaps the horses. They strain on their haunches; the cart is pulled back onto its wheels. The wheat bales fall to the ground around Henry. One of the men holding me releases his grasp. I get free. I run forward, screaming, No, no, is he alive, Tom? Is he alive? Please let him be alive. Sarah's plea ended in a soft whisper. As I reach him, I can see that he is not breathing. I kneel down beside him and cry. Tom touches my shoulder and says, "Sarah, there is nothing to do. He's gone. You're bleeding, child. Come, I'll take you to Margery. We will take care of Henry."
With chills running down her back, Eve noted his facial expression, the tone of his voice, and his demeanor. She continued. "Take a deep breath and go even deeper now. View the experience of this lifetime from beginning to end. Tell me what was important in her life."
Very slowly, Charles' normal voice replied, "Sarah never remarried after he died. Her face was scarred from the fall. She was left with a twitch in her right eye. No one wanted her, although it didn't matter to her. He was the only man she ever loved. Sarah died of consumption not more than two years after him."
"Take another deep breath. You're doing great. Scan your body from top to bottom." Eve noted the time period of Sarah's death, 1904 or 05, and made a side note about the cause. "Charles, are you holding Sarah anywhere in your body?"
"Yes!" he said, sounding startled at the idea that he could be holding her physical memory inside his body. "I am holding her in my right eye."
Eve was not at all surprised by his response. "Good, Charles. I want you to release the twitch, as long as it is for your highest good. Tell me what happens when the light comes upon Sarah."
Tears streamed down his face, catching in the wrinkles beside his closed eyes. "She is smiling and waving at me, thanking me for remembering her. She is fading into the light."
"Good… Very good, Charles. Take a deep breath and begin to slowly come back to the room. Zero. Coming back." Eve took a drink of water. "One." she paused, watching Charles's face for any signs of resistance. "Two." She reached for a tissue box sitting next to her. She continued to count, slowly, until she reached five. "Eyes open, wide-awake, feeling great, perfect from head to toe. Good job!" He sat for a long moment and Eve watched the hypnotic state slip away from his features. "How are you feeling?" She handed him a tissue and he wiped his face.
He didn't answer for long moments, then he gathered himself and sat up. He looked up at her wide eyed and said, "Yes, Better than ever." he smiled. "That was the most incredible experience I've ever had, Eve. It was so real! I have lots of information."
Eve handed him the clipboard, and turned the dimmer switch slowly to an acceptable level for writing. He began to fill out the forms that would close the session. She casually watched his face. Not once in the fifteen minutes it took him to fill out the forms did his eye twitch. They made his next appointment and he left the office free of the tic that he had carried for all those years.
"Lori, did you notice his eye wasn't twitching?" Eve said with satisfaction, handing over the closing documents that all clients completed after a session.
"Sorry, no. I was on the phone." Lori took the forms and started glancing over them. "Eve, look at this. He gave the exact date of death on a 'Sarah Godfrey Ramsey'! This one looks to be easily researchable." She waved the papers at Eve with a grin.
"Date? He didn't give me a date." Eve snatched the forms from Lori's hand with a Cheshire-cat grin. "It never ceases to amaze me that they don't tell you everything that they've experienced in a trance. This is a great way for us to get even more data." She scanned the rest of what Charles had written with interest. "Look, he even remembered the date of Tom's death! Be sure that Beth runs him, too, and let me know as soon as she gets confirmation in hand." Eve handed the forms over. She was confident about Lori being right that this would be an easy confirmation.
"I will, O' Great One," Lori laughed. It seemed oddly familiar, but Eve was sure Lori had never called her that before. She felt like she should be remembering something, but could not get her mind around what it would be. Maybe it was Lori's tone that made Eve uncomfortable.
"I'll be in my office, O' Great and Powerful Assistant," Eve giggled. "Let me know when my next client gets here."
As she turned toward her office, that morning's dream flooded back into her mind. Eve sat at her desk and slipped the tape David had left for her into the cassette player. The sounds of a soft, lilting flute gently filled the room. Lori's words rang in her head.
O' Great One.
Eve placed her head in her hands, feeling dizzy. The lightheadedness rushed over her in waves. She closed her eyes. Her stomach heaved. Eve thought she was going to be sick. Inconsistent shapes in shades of purple and gold flashed on her retinas. Eve had the oddest sensation of movement. Then it seemed as if all turned grey and hazy. She struggled to open her eyes, but the harder she tried, the tighter they closed--until Eve gave up.
****
The moon waxed, turn full, then waned and was reborn anew after Canute's announcement that he was not Aileann's father and she still did not believe him. Granted, he, the great man, the would-be king, had seen the village settled. Likely the only thing that would keep them alive in the coming months. She could not understand how he could leave them to the wilds of the Welsh countryside with its dense forests and rocky terrain. Growing anything would be a challenge one of the farmers had pointed out to him. But the complaint fell on deaf ears.
Every family, no matter its station, fashioned round wattle and daub houses, each with a circular fire pit in its center. The village had come a very long way in such a short time. The central house would be completed in the morning when the last of the roof was thatched and tarred. The villagers were exhausted. The children gathered firewood for the evening meal. A arrow blessed by the gods snagged a deer and fresh venison soaked in goat's milk had been divided and distributed to each hearth.
Dubgilla was helping a man who had cut his hand earlier in the day while Eithen and Aileann carried the torches to the house. There were still no beds constructed, but Aileann had managed to gather a large quantity of pine needles for stuffing the sleeping mats.
She lit the fire and settled the cooking pot over the flames, adding in the wild onions she had discovered earlier in the day. Then she placed the meat inside the pot to braise. Eithen sang as they filled the sleeping mats.
"What is that song, Eithen?"
"I don't know, Aileann. I am making it up."
"It's very pretty. Hum louder?" she asked, grinning at her younger sister. Eithen smiled back at her and raised the volume of her tune. Aileann flipped the meat over and then knelt to help with the stuffing. Soon, the sisters were both humming Eithen's wordless tune and giggling at one another. The singing, however, came to an abrupt stop when the door swung open and their father stepped inside. Eithen ran toward him, and Aileann watched him lift her sister into the air, cradling her in his arms and whispering to her softly that he needed mead. Aileann stood to fetch it for him so he would not have to release her little sister. She knew that it would be a very long time before Eithen would feel the safety of his arms around her again. Aileann handed him the horned cup filled to the rim with honeyed brew. He did not acknowledge her with anything more than a grunt, never meeting her eyes. He drank deeply and set Eithen on the floor, patting her on the bottom as she went back to work stuffing the mats.
Aileann tended dinner and refilled his cup several times before Dubgilla came in with an armload of lavender and a jug. She set these on the rough, planked table. The old healer seemed bothered by the presence of the girls' father, but said nothing to him.
The smell of venison cooking filled the room and the rumbling of her father's stomach made Aileann realize she was hungry. Dubgilla stuck her nose above the pot and inhaled deeply.
"O Great One, where did you get the onions?" said Dubgilla.
"O Great One," Aileann's father mumbled, casting Dubgilla a threatening look. She straightened her spine and glared back at him.
"I found them along with a good-sized patch of wild carrots, just beyond the trees to the north, Dubgilla." Aileann smiled to herself about the find.
There had been no time to make bread, but Aileann felt good about the meal as she laid it out on the table. Her father had not eaten with them since their arrival to this new place. They ate in silence.
"The ships are making ready to sail within the setting of two suns," he said as he pushed the empty wooden plate back from his place at the table.
"How long will you be gone, Father?" Eithen asked, wiping her chin on her sleeve. Aileann already knew the answer, but bit her bottom lip and waited for him to speak.
"It will be a very long time, Eithen. I must fight for the throne if I am to follow in my father's place. While I am gone, Dubgilla will tend to you. By the time you become a woman, I shall be king."
Aileann had always been Eithen's formal caretaker. That is how her mother had wanted it. The thought of his last statement to her that he was not her father brought tears to her eyes. She quickly rose to clear the table so that her father would not see her as weak. She would not let him see her cry. Dubgilla followed her, placing her hand on the girl's shoulder, gently pressing her thumb into the birthmark as she leaned forward and whispered in the young girl's ear.
"Child, you are still her guardian, until the time comes that you must seek your destiny. Fret not, O Great One." The old woman's eyes twinkled with the love and understanding of a mother, which is what Dubgilla had been to Aileann since the death of her own mother, Aroc, and the birth of her sister, Eithen. Aileann could not recall a time that she had not known Dubgilla.
Taking in the old healer's words, Aileann rolled her shoulders back with pride and she finished cleaning up from the meal. Eithen stayed and spoke with her father, but Aileann drove his voice from her mind with the song her mother had sung to her when she was small.
****
The sound of the telephone ringing came as if it were lightning striking steel. A single word sounded in Eve's head. Father. The dizziness faded as she answered the phone. "Yes," she said, reaching for the water on the desk.
"Eve, Cheryl Harding is here. Would you like me to send her back?"
"Cheryl? She isn't due here 'til five o'clock." Eve glanced at the clock.
It was five. God, where had the time gone? For that matter, where had she gone?
"Are you okay? Your three and four both cancelled, I just didn't bother you. You looked like you were fighting a headache last time I stuck my head in your office."
"Yes, I'm fine. Thanks, Lori." Eve still felt a bit dizzy. "Send her back." She sat the phone in the cradle and wondered about the last two hours. Had she been asleep? It didn't matter Eve could not afford to have her mind on anything but her client. She pushed the disorientation to the back of her mind to be dealt with later, then stood and moved to the door to greet Cheryl.
"Cheryl, how are you?"
"I'm well, and you?"
"Better than usual," she lied. "Ready to begin? Take a seat in the recliner," she said, motioning to the chair as she swapped the tapes in the cassette player. "I'll just start the tape and we can do the intake." Cheryl sat down and arranged her long skirt around her ankles.
"All right, push all the way back in the chair," Eve said. "Make yourself comfortable and take a long, deep breath." She ambled through her normal patter, and soon Cheryl was standing before a doorway in the hall of life. Eve made several notes as she told Cheryl to open the door and look at the ground. Her client's response was immediate.
"I am standing on stone, wearing lightweight sandals on my feet and a bracelet in the shape of a jaguar on my arm. I am over-looking a great stone city."
"Are you male or female? " Eve asked.
"I am female."
"How old are you?"
"I don't know."
Hmmm, that's not good. Eve made a note. It's hard to track someone if they don't know how old they are.
"It is time," Cheryl whispered as if to herself.
"What is it time for? What may I call you?"
This time, Cheryl spoke in a language Eve did not understand. She glanced at the tape to be sure it was recording.
"I need to speak with Cheryl."
Cheryl's voice crept out of the broken dialect. "I am here, Eve."
"Cheryl, you can now have this experience in English. Do you understand?"
"Yes. I understand."
"Good. Take a deep breath and tell me what I can call you."
"There was a great storm in the year of my birth. The wind howled and the rains fell. The crops drowned. When I was born, the rain stopped and the sun returned to us, but the wind continued to blow, so they named me Wind." Eve made a note of the name but feared there would be no way to track it down. "Good, Wind. Where are you?"
"I am in Chichen Itza. My people are preparing for the feast of Chac-Xib-Chac."
Okay, this one is going to be impossible to prove. Eve jotted down all of the names, spelling them phonetically, and made a note to get the tape to a linguist. If the language is in current use, maybe it could be identified. "What is happening now?" Eve asked.
"I am to take the sacrifice to the Well of Souls, and she is to be given to the priest."
"Tell me what happens next."
"I am standing at the altar. The priest is raising his knife. I can see that the herbs have worked, for there is no fear in the young girl's eyes. I must stop this. No more can we kill our young women. There are too few of us."
"What do you do?"
"Nothing. It is too late to stop the blade from cutting open her chest. His aim is true. The blood and air are flowing from her body in a rush. Her eyes widen as the life seeps from her. He grasps her still beating heart, cuts it from her chest. Then with clear deliberation, he turns to the crowd, holding it up as far as his arm will reach. The blood is everywhere, on him, on the stones, on the child, and I allow myself a single tear. The high priest holds her heart to his mouth and bites down. Muscle rips, blood spews across the front of my gown. He drinks her life force. He places the remains into the bowl in my trembling hands. I pass the bowl to the elders and regret my lack of action. The High Priest lets the axe fall to his victim's throat, and the child's head severs in one stroke of his blade.
I reach into the warmth of the bloody pool gathered on the stone altar. Lifting my hand to my face, I smear the blood across my cheek and down my throat to my heart. I vow in this moment never to let anyone harm another child. The Bearers of Souls fling her lifeless body into the sacred well, so that the child can make her way to the underworld. The lifeless head is being shown to all present, and I, myself, am the one to toss it into the well."
Eve shivered at the images and felt her stomach churn at Cheryl's words. She wrote what Cheryl said as fast as she could, knowing that this lifetime was likely unverifiable by the standard means of date or death certificate. However, the foreign language fascinated her.
Cheryl's body movements and hand gestures were clear examples of the happenings she was experiencing in trance. Eve noted all of them and asked her final questions.
"Wind, how do you come to help Cheryl at this time in her life?"
"She must heed the oath."
"Cheryl, how can you do this?"
Cheryl's voice was strong and clear. "I," she said, "will make the call."
"What call, Cheryl?"
"My neighbor is a mean and vicious man who drinks to excess. On the weekends, I've heard his rantings and believe that he beats his children. I've hesitated on many occasions to call the authorities."
"Good. So you will make the call."
"Yes."
At once, her body became less rigid. Eve brought Cheryl out of trance with a simple count from zero to five. While Eve finished the closing documents, Cheryl said little. Eve understood why she was quiet. The experience was very traumatic for them both, and Eve was not even seeing what Cheryl was. Eve walked her to the front desk. She made her next appointment and said her goodbyes.
"Tell me, Lori," Eve said, leaning on the reception counter, "was I sitting up when you came by my office? Did I say anything?"
Lori tilted her head sideways, thinking. "Ah yes," she said, "you had your head in your hands. I didn't hear you say anything. Why?"
"No reason." That morning's dream flooded her mind as she gathered her things to go home. She left determined to rip that dream apart.
Chapter 3
Ryerson Sanders
Ryerson Sanders set the telephone down, a twinge of hope at the edge of his mind. Could this be the way to stop his dreams? He was running out of other ideas. He wondered if Eve McCormick would be able to help. Could it be possible that he was dreaming of a past life?
The leather chair tilted as Ryerson arched his back, arms overhead. His knuckles brushed the sapphire velvet draperies and he swiveled so that he could watch the sun set over Sugar Loaf Mountain in the distance. A deep breath was followed by a mournful sigh. A familiar feeling of incompleteness swept over him.
He turned from the window just as the streetlight flickered to life. The lamp's glow shone through the window, highlighting the classically designed desk. A long finger trailed across the beveled edge and followed a spiral pattern of burled oak stained a deep shade of cherry. He smiled remembering the painstaking care with which he'd chosen the custom desk. He'd had it specially made for the room's unique narrow shape. Lifting a folder, he took two steps to one of the oak bookshelves lining the walls from floor to ceiling.
His eyes moved over the shelving. To his left, every nook and cranny was filled to over-flowing with User Manuals and "hard copy," as he called it. On the right was an extensive collection of model ships. These held his gaze. He lifted the Viking longship, and inspected the intricately carved dragon prow and colorful sail. After placing the boat back in its stand, a satisfied sigh escaped his lips. What was once a small library, and in some respects still was, presented challenges in its conversion to a home office. He smiled, glancing over his shoulder at his accomplishment. The room had been a labor of love, just like his ships.
Every thought was filled with possibility. His dreams nagged him into a search of every possible meaning. The fragmented remembrances that filled six long months of tormented nights and haunted every waking hour made it increasingly difficult for him to concentrate. His life's work, the consulting jobs and Internet communications development business, was suffering and he didn't know if he cared any more. He walked down the long, narrow hall to the kitchen for some tea.
His body turned toward the kitchen but his mind turned toward his small company, Ryerson Partners, and the offer he'd received from an Americanbased Fortune 500 firm. We'll see how good the offer really is in March. The trip to Los Angeles is only weeks away.
At the thought of California, a flood of images cascaded through his mind. He'd often been a wolf most often. But in one dream, though, he had been a very young boy on a ship with a group of travelers and a pretty, white-haired woman who held him on one knee and a babe on the other. The dreams of being a druid, a sailor and a warrior were becoming more common. All of Ryerson's dreams had come in dribs and drabs and never made real sense. The inescapable need to review them was constant. These visions were lifelike even in his waking states – they were too real. Whatever it was had to stop. Something in his gut said the answers were near. He hoped that were true.
Last week he'd stumbled across Eve McCormick's web site while surfing the web. He stopped when he saw her picture. He couldn't take his eyes off her face. It was the lift of her chin, the tilt of her head, her eyes--it all seemed so damned familiar. He wasn't sure and yet, he'd contacted her to see if she could help him. Even if she couldn't, he had to meet her. Envisioning her face, he poured the tea and absent-mindedly reached for the sugar bowl.
Empty… He stepped into the pantry still picturing Eve. The corner of the shelf above met his skull with bone-cracking violence.
"Damn. Bloody effing hell!" he cursed while he tore the top off the box and dropped a single cube into the cup. Rubbing his head, he walked back to his office. He quickly completed the forms and pressed send on the e-mail to Eve McCormick. Yawning, he pushed back from the desk and turned off his computer. He dragged himself to bed, exhausted and desperately wanting a dream-free night.
His last thought was of her voice.
****
A full moon shone overhead as Adhamh walked through the trees. The ground was soft from spring rain, and the smell of the river was carried on the night's cool breeze.
Adhamh's task would be simple enough if he could find her. His only charge was to watch the girl while she entered the sacred world of spirit. He knew the veil would be lifted this night. Arthfael told him to make his way to the standing stone circle, wait for the girl and see her home safely without interference. Adhamh was still unsure as to why he must be the one to follow this girl. Nevertheless, Arthfael had insisted it was of great importance that Adhamh should do so without complaint. Adhamh had learned to listen critically during his years of training with the old druid.
As a respected leader and High Druid, Arthfael did not take kindly to being questioned. Adhamh had lived with the old druid since his father had fostered him at the age of four winters. Arthfael was held in the highest regard for his wisdom, and his ability to shift forms. The many clan chieftains of the region often sought his interpretation of Brehon law. As the head of his noble order, warriors and adventurers from distant lands owed him debt, in kind, for his services.
It seemed the older Adhamh became, the fewer druid folk there were in the forest. All of those who lived close were like his family, and as he had grown each of them had added knowledge to his training. Adhamh had mastered nearly every aspect of Druidry, from the ancient rites of elemental magic and rudimentary herb lore to the basic handling of a weapon. Although he openly felt inadequate to fill the role of warrior, he knew that his training was not yet complete. Maybe it never would be, for Adhamh had a need to learn, a desire to understand all things was insatiable. There was only one milestone left before he could move on to the next phase of his training and that was the making of his manhood. This rite of passage would soon be upon him.
Arthfael and Adhamh lived on the northwest tip of the River Thames, in a small but well-maintained fort nestled at the edge of an ancient grove of oak and birch. Adhamh had thirteen winters in Dale. The years of training had not been easy, and there was much more to learn, but he was close to becoming a man. Arthfael was always testing his thought and logic. Each test had increased his depth of control and the measure of his readiness. As a man, he would have new privileges and new responsibilities that did not include the old druid's games. He would be recognized among his father's people as a man. He straightened his back, squared his shoulders, and set his mind to the task at hand.