At the sight of the slim instrument, Suzanne had to look away. She couldn't watch as Master Melchor incised the wound, allowing the pus to drain into a towel. Fortunately, it was over quickly and Akken'ar did not appear to suffer. More poultices were applied, drawing the infection, but Melchor still appeared grave.

  The prince began to thrash, becoming increasingly incoherent. Suzanne's heart cried out for him. After achieving his greatest victory defeating the skags, it was a cruel irony that he might not survive to realize it. Never had she felt so helpless and frightened.

  Master Melchor turned to her. “My lady, would you have the servants bring more clean cloths and cold water. We must try to cool his fever."

  Suzanne limped from the prince's bedchamber, giving swift orders to the attending servants. She paced about the room, frantically thinking of a way to help Akken'ar. He must not die! Not him, not after what he'd been through. It was such a simple wound, but a skag's bite was as poisonous as a viper's and the infection had spread quickly. If it had happened in her time...

  Frustration made her angry and filled with despair. After a thousand years, mankind's cumulative medical knowledge had regressed to poultices and ointments.

  Alone, she took the liberty of inspecting Akken'ar's outer chamber. Like his tent in the mountains, there were few furnishings attesting to the prince's affinity for simplicity. A rack of swords had been placed near the window. Next to it stood a magnificent table made from a dark wood that served as a desk. There were a few items on it: a small stack of papers, an inkwell and pens, a book bound in black leather.

  Suzanne picked it up and was surprised to discover it was a book of poetry, by a poet she did not know. She flipped to the title page and noted that the book had been printed a few hundred years ago—741 A.C. The poetry itself was simple, sometimes poorly composed and spelled, but filled with longing for peace and order, as ‘in the beforetimes, when all was green and good.'

  Suzanne read a few more pages, when the book fell open naturally to a much-worn section. Between the pages she found an ancient photograph, cracked and faded, but definitely taken before the Cataclysms. A tall, handsome man in a military uniform stood on the front lawn before a trim house, his arm around a smiling woman with dark hair and gentle eyes. In front of them was a little boy, about ten years old, dark-haired like the woman, but slender like the man. Susan turned the brittle photo over. In faded ink, someone had written, “My father, Major Tom Akkers and mom, Elise. July 4, 20.... “There was no name for the boy and the last two figures in the date were smudged.

  Suzanne smiled. Major Akkers. Possibly Akken'ar's ancestor. And a military man. She carefully returned the precious photo to the book and set it on the table.

  She jumped when two anxious servants entered the room carrying a stack of clean towels and a large pitcher of water.

  "Thank you. Please take them to Master Melchor.” She followed the servants into the bedchamber, making sure they obeyed her instructions. When they left, she approached the Healer. “How can I help?” she asked.

  "My apprentices are exhausted. They've been up nearly all night and need some rest. You could help by sponging down the prince's skin. He's much too hot."

  Suzanne nodded and sat by Akken'ar's bed, assuming one of the apprentice's duties. Akken'ar stirred restlessly, his head moving back and forth as he fought the fever. Suzanne touched the cool, wet cloth to the side of his face, his forehead and throat, hoping it would calm him. Tentative at first, she soon began sponging his skin with firm strokes, determined to bring down his body temperature so he could rest. His left arm was still an angry red, but not quite as swollen as it was before.

  A sheet had been draped across the lower half of his body, allowing her and Master Melchor to place wet cloths over his chest. It seemed to help for a time, as Akken'ar's movements grew less frantic, but Suzanne could see it wouldn't be enough. The prince began muttering incoherently.

  The Master Healer shook has head slowly. “I've done all I can. I've applied more kohr root ointment to the wound, but now it is all up to him."

  "You can't give up so easily!"

  "He's becoming delirious. I'm sorry, my lady, but I've seen these wounds before. The bite of a skag is nearly always fatal. We will probably lose him."

  Suzanne stood, panic shattering her ability to remain calm. “No. I can't accept that."

  "You will have to, soon, my lady. His fever is still very high."

  She began to pace again, limping on her sore leg. Desperation made her grasp for the slightest thread of hope. If she could just go back, she might find something that would help him. Maybe something simple like aspirin. She stopped suddenly. She'd had a root canal last summer and there was a half a bottle of an antibiotic in her bathroom cabinet.

  "I have to go back,” she said.

  Master Melchor looked at her, startled. “Your pardon, my lady? Back? Where?"

  "To Knife Edge Pass. I have to go back through the Pass to my own time."

  "That is madness! Master Jonovar told me of your claim about coming from the past, but..."

  "I came through it once, I can go back again."

  "You already did.” The Master Healer stood and tossed a rag into a basin on the table by the bed. “Master Jonovar also told me what happened to poor Kyrk. Going to the Pass is useless."

  Suzanne whirled on Melchor, fists clenched. “I'm not going to let Akken'ar die! Not if I can help it.” She glanced at him stirring restlessly on the bed. “Keep him alive Master Healer, until I return."

  Before Master Melchor could answer, she sped out of the bedchamber, hobbling as fast as she could to her own rooms. She had to find Zykov or Nathan; someone had to help her get to the Pass before it was dark.

  Once in her chamber she tore open the wardrobe. She'd need her cloak and she'd have to wear the warmest dress, since her jeans had been torn to shreds by the skag.

  How are you going to do this? her mind whispered. What if you don't make it? Master Melchor could be right; you could wind up like Dr. Kyrk—simply on the other side of the rocks.

  I'm the Wordsayer, she thought angrily. I came from the past, I can go back.

  Miri entered the room from the bath chamber. “You are here, my lady. How is Prince Akken'ar?"

  "Worse,” she snapped.

  "Oh, I—"

  "Help me change, Miri,” Suzanne ordered brusquely.

  "Ch-ch-change? I don't understand."

  "Just do it, Miri. Please. I'll need the red velvet dress. It's the warmest."

  "Where are you going?” Miri's plain face was a mask of worry.

  "Home."

  Without another word, Miri helped her change into the lovely dress that had once been Princess Kiamma's. Somehow, it seemed right wearing a garment that had once belonged to Akken'ar's wife, as if Kiamma were going with her. Suzanne reached for her cloak and swung it around her shoulders, then felt the pockets for her gloves. Her fingers brushed against something solid inside the folds of the dress. She had forgotten all about it; the Tearstone remained in her pocket since the night she read the Sacred Text. She pulled it out and looked at it resting in her palm. It had to be the key to her entire adventure. If Dane had not given it to her, she never would have stepped through the Pass above Curly's Bar, and she knew she didn't have it with her the night Kyrk dragged her back through Knife Edge Pass. This odd little object was going to get her home.

  She shoved into her pocket and hurried out to find Zykov.

  * * * *

  ALTHOUGH WEARY FROM the fight with the skags, it took General Zykov and three warriors less than two hours to lead Suzanne up the shortcut trail on horseback to Knife Edge Pass. By the time they arrived, it was early afternoon. The snow was melting and the warmth from the sun was becoming uncomfortably hot.

  The general helped her down from her horse. “Are you certain you don't want one of my men to go with you?” he asked.

  "No, I must do this myself. Besides, I don't think your men would enjoy what they might see on the other side."

  Zykov merely shrugged. “Hopefully, there are no skags."

  "If all goes as well, I'm certain there will be no skags on the other side."

  The general had voiced no opinion about where Suzanne had originally come from; he appeared not to care. What he clearly cared about was Prince Akken'ar surviving the skag bite. Suzanne tried to explain to him what she hoped to find, on ‘the other side.'

  "You find what it is that will help our prince. Later, we will discuss where you come from, eh?” He grinned at her, his single eye twinkling.

  Suzanne handed the reins to Zykov. “If I don't return before the sun sets, you will know I have failed and that I can't come back."

  Zykov nodded somberly.

  "And, if Akken'ar survives, please tell him goodbye for me,” she added. “And that..."

  She dared not say anything more to the general or his men. Her tears were just beneath the surface. One word and she would collapse into uncontrollable crying. She turned and faced the two spires of Knife Edge Pass. It was difficult to imagine that eleven days ago, Prince Akken'ar had found her at this exact spot. The poorly spelled plaque was still bolted into the nearby rock.

  Suzanne pulled the Tearstone from her pocket. Holding it tightly in her hand, she felt its familiar coolness chill her palm. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and stepped into the fissure. In eight steps she was through to the other side.

  What if she was wrong...? Slowly, she opened her eyes, afraid of what she would see.

  The first thing she noticed was that Curly's bar was just as she had left it and the snow had nearly melted from the parking lot. The second thing, was that her car was gone—undoubtedly impounded. Relief forced the air from her lungs in a soft whoosh. She'd made it; she was back.

  Suzanne resisted the temptation to run back through the fissure to see if General Zykov and his men were there, but quickly squelched that idea. She dared not risk upsetting the strange anomaly or unbalancing the unknown force that allowed her to pass through time as if she were simply crossing the street. Beyond the massive rock formation was another world, hundreds of lifetimes away.

  Wearing a velvet embroidered gown in the middle of Curly's parking lot looked decidedly out-of-place, but she needed to use the nearest telephone. The patrons inside Curly's bar would just have to have to get over it. Besides, she'd rather look like a character in Hamlet, than a biker babe.

  The noise of country western music and the stink of cigarette smoke assaulted her the moment she stepped inside Splitrock Bar. All conversation ceased as the handful of customers gaped at her.

  Well, at least she wasn't carrying a sword.

  Curly stepped from behind the bar. “You lookin’ for something, lady?” he asked.

  Suzanne shook her head. Without using the respectful ‘my,’ the word ‘lady,’ coming from Curly's lips, sounded like an insult rather than a courtesy.

  "I was hoping I might use your phone."

  Curly pointed to the payphone in the back corner. She gathered her heavy skirts and hurried past bearded men wearing black leather with chrome chains dangling from their belts. Having not seen a telephone in over a week, the receiver felt strange in her hand, like a forbidden object. She punched 9-1-1 and prayed the operator would connect her to the county sheriff's office.

  "9-1-1, what is your emergency?"

  "Please connect me to the sheriff's department."

  "What is your emergency?” the dispatcher asked again.

  "I need to speak with Sheriff McKenna."

  "I cannot help you unless you state your emergency."

  Suzanne took a deep, calming breath. Idiot woman. “Okay. This is an emergency. Sheriff McKenna needs to come to Splitrock Bar before I take a sword and slit my throat.” She slammed the receiver down and hurried through the bar, outside, into the blinding bright sunshine.

  "Bad drugs,” she heard someone at the bar mutter.

  In less than ten minutes, Dane's gleaming SUV with its flashing rack of lights and whipping radio antennas screeched to a halt in front of the bar. Dane jumped out, not even slamming the vehicle door shut.

  Suzanne had to smile. It was so good to see him again. At first he didn't recognize her. He stopped, then snatched the sunglasses from his eyes.

  "God Almighty! Suzanne!"

  "Yes, Dane, it's me.” She ran up to him and almost threw her arms around his neck.

  "When I got the dispatch, I came as fast as I could ... I mean, I didn't know ... I thought you were another nut."

  "Close.” She grinned.

  He took in the gray cloak and the richly embroidered gown. “Where have you been? I mean, what's with the getup?"

  "I don't have a lot of time, Dane, and I can't tell you everything, but you've got to take me home. Now."

  He struggled to answer her for a moment. “Suzanne, you've been missing for over ten days. There have been search parties out combing the woods looking for you; you've been on TV. Everyone thinks you've been kidnapped by some psycho serial-killer."

  She held up her hands. “I'm fine. Really. Please take me home. On the way, I'll try to explain a few things."

  Dane's worried look slowly changed to reluctant consent. “Okay. Get in. This had better be damn good!"

  On the way to her house, she began by pulling the Tearstone out of her pocket. “It started with this, Dane."

  During the short drive back to her house, Suzanne related the extraordinary events after she had gone through Splitrock. Explaining the Cataclysms was the most difficult and she could tell he was having trouble accepting it.

  "That's pretty hard to believe,” he said skeptically. “Especially the part about those ... skag-things."

  She looked out the car window, watching the forest slip by. “I know, but it's true.” Suzanne could scarcely understand it herself. The entire journey seemed like a strange dream. Perhaps it was. After all, she reasoned, Alice's adventure in Wonderland had been a dream.

  When Dane stopped the car, Suzanne gazed longingly at her home—her refuge from the world. She opened the car door and slid out, but a sudden stab of pain reminded her that the wound on her leg was not a dream. Akken'ar's wound was probably worse. She had to go back.

  She opened the door and stepped inside her house, feeling like a stranger who was just seeing it for the first time. But everything was exactly as she left had it, except the bird feeders were empty.

  "The place should be okay,” Dane said. “I kept an eye on it while you were gone."

  "Thanks.” Suzanne limped slowly into the kitchen and noticed that Legolas’ automatic feeder was also empty. She hastily refilled it, hoping she would see her cat before she returned.

  Dane headed back outside. “I'll wait for you in the car."

  Finding the antibiotic took some time since she couldn't remember if she had left it in a drawer in her bedroom or stashed it under the sink in the bathroom. It was in neither place. She finally found it in a kitchen cupboard, behind the white vinegar and a tin of cloves. She checked the plastic container and noted the expiration date. It was valid, but how much should she give Akken'ar? She pocketed the bottle. She'd think about that when she returned ... if he was still alive.

  Anxious to return to Ironhold, Suzanne hurried through house and out the front door. She stopped and turned around, taking in every detail of her charming little house, burning them into her memory like a hot iron. She might not see her home again.

  "I think we should get going,” Dane called to her.

  Suzanne clambered awkwardly into the large SUV and almost sat on a heavy black flashlight. Fumbling with her cloak and the heavy folds of velvet, she wedged the flashlight between her seat and the door. “Okay, let's go back. I need to be there before it gets dark."

  Dane hesitated. “I think we ought to get you checked out first ... have someone look at your leg."

  She looked at him. “What do you mean? I can't go anywhere. I have to get back to Splitrock."

  He didn't answer, but drove the SUV down her narrow drive to the paved road.

  "Dane! You have to take me back to Curly's!"

  "All right, maybe tomorrow,” he said in a calming voice. “But right now, I think you should see a doctor."

  "I don't want to see a doctor; I don't need to see a doctor. I need to get back to Splitrock. A man's life depends on it."

  When he didn't answer, Suzanne suddenly realized what Dane was doing. “You don't believe me, do you?"

  "Suzanne..."

  "You have no intention of ever taking me back.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Some friend you've turned out to be.” She glared at him, at his neatly pressed uniform, the shotgun bracketed into the floor of the car ... his badge. All the symbols of his job and responsibilities.

  She watched him radio in his location then advise dispatch where he was heading. Evergreen Mountain Hospital ... and they had a psychiatric ward.

  Furious, she sat helplessly as he sped through Black Elk. “You can't do this, Dane—hold me against my will. I'm not crazy and I haven't committed a crime.” Yet, she thought angrily.

  "I'm doing this for your own good. Once I get you checked out, you can do whatever you want."

  "What I want is for you to drive me back to Splitrock Pass. Please, Dane."

  "Let's get you some help."

  Suzanne reached for his arm. “Dane, stop. I need to talk to you, right now."

  The sheriff obliged her by pulling over to the side of the road and parking the car. He turned in the seat to face her. “All right. I'm listening."

  "But you don't believe a word I've said."

  "Suzanne, I want to believe you, but—you've got a great imagination..."

  Her voice turned cold. “You think I made this up, like some fantasy story I'm going to write. I didn't. How could I? Even in my wildest imagination, I could never have dreamed up what I've seen or what has happened to me.” She looked away from him, too angry to continue.

  He held up his hands. “Okay, let's say you did experience what you say happened to you. How do you explain this to everyone?"

  "I don't. Why should I? It's nobody's business. Besides no one knows but you."

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22