Counting Down

COUNTING DOWN

Copyright © 2012 Lilah Boone.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.

Prophesies referenced from the
Kolbrin
Bible. © 2012, Your Own World, Inc. NV USA. All Rights Reserved. Used with permission.

Cover design and artwork by Lisa Barbero.

www.lisabarbero.com

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Whitestone Village, Bronze Age Europe, 1587
BCE

S
omething was coming and Callum knew it wouldn’t be much longer before whatever it was arrived. It was his job to know what lay ahead, to prophesize and foretell the future of his people.

From an early age the natural world showed him patterns that other eyes overlooked. He saw the future in the stars, in the movement of the moon, and the rhythm of the sun. For this reason the priests of the tribe had taken him into their service as a young boy. For many years they trained him to harness his gifts and by the time manhood was upon him, Callum of Whitestone was the Keeper of Time.

Still, nature remained at times aloof, keeping her secrets just out of sight. Callum spent his time studying the patterns, interpreting the starlight, and deciphering the old paintings in the caves and barrows. Yet still he wasn’t sure exactly what change was coming or how to prepare for it.

He stood, staring into the night and opening up his mind to the visions that often came. But nothing spoke to him. Even the trees, with their subtle wisdom, were not whispering to him tonight. With a frustrated sigh he tightened the cloak around his shoulders and began the short walk home. His family would be waiting for him, refusing to sleep until he returned. The children would want stories and his wife would want his arms around her in the night.

Callum’s thoughts were on his wife as his feet stepped across the sod covered ground, picturing her face alight with a smile as he entered their home. She would have a hot cup of tea in her hand, made from the herbs that grew around their home. She would welcome him with a kiss, and his worries would wash away like sand from the shore.

He had known Aislynn since they were infants. They were born on the same day in the same village. Together they had run in the fields of wildflowers, up over the hills until they reached the stone laden coast where the ocean broke and misted upon the land.

Before Callum was f
ifteen
years old the priests had discovered him. On one early autumn day they had taken him onto the small island sanctuary to pursue the years of study required to join their ranks. There were rituals to memorize, mysteries to contemplate, and gods to honor. Callum had not wanted to leave. Not because he would miss his mother and his brothers, but because he would miss the little girl who was his best friend.

Three years passed before Callum was brought back to the village to attend his first midsummer rights as an adult. He remembered the anticipation of seeing her again, of knowing she would be among the women who stood around the fires searching to take a mate under the summer moon.

He had feared she would not recognize him, that she would choose someone else in the village who had caught her eye while he was away. It had been near torture for him to consider such an idea. Even as a child he had known she was the one he wanted to be with forever.

On that warm summer night he took his place with the priests, lighting the sacred fires and reciting the words he had worked to commit to memory for years. As he stood in the center of the circle, he could feel her presence, knew she was watching him.

The celebrations began as the full moon rose over the fields. Song permeated the night and the sound of drumming echoed the ancient rhythm of the Earth and her people. Callum’s heart matched that rhythm, his eyes scanning the ring of people around the blazing fire. Faces lit up with the warm glow of embers and the passion of the season.

He examined each woman, watched her move in time to the drummers. Would he know her face? he thought. Would she have the same light in her eyes he remembered from their days as children; the light that had followed him to the Priests Cove and haunted his every breath.

Several couples headed off into the night to lie in the tall grasses along the edge of the ritual field. Where was she? Had she forgotten about him? Had she fallen in love with someone else? Suddenly a presence was behind him, a hand reaching forward to take his. With a polite rejection waiting on his tongue, he began to turn. And then the fingers laced through his, locking together like they were made from the same flesh.

Aislynn stood before him, taking the breath from his lungs, the words from his lips. She said nothing and when he finally opened his mouth to speak she surprised him with a kiss.

Back in the present, Callum stepped into the warmth of his home. Ten years had passed since that kiss and still he anticipated each one that followed with eagerness.

She met him at the door, his infant son on her hip, waiting as he removed his cloak before handing him his cup. Her kiss was sweet, comfortable, yet held a tone of the night ahead.

His twin daughters came running, latching onto his legs like two very large burdock seeds. He laughed, bent down to them. “Shouldn’t you two be sleeping?”

They giggled in unison, Esree answering him with his own smile shining on her face. “Papa you know we cannot sleep without one of your stories.”

He scooped them up, one in each arm. They were getting far too big to carry, but Callum wasn’t ready for them to grow up. He would carry them as long as he was able. “What story would you like tonight then?”

Together they answered him. “The one about the swans, Papa. Tell us the long necked swan story.”

He smiled, set them down on the bed they shared. “The Tale of the Swan again?” His face held feigned shock which quickly turned to a chuckle. “Alright then. Settle in my little blossoms.”

He began the story, glancing beside him at Aislynn swaying the baby to sleep in her arms. She touched his shoulder, smoothed his hair and ran a tickling thumb over the back of his neck.

With the children asleep and in their beds, Callum stoked the fire and sipped from the cup in his hands.

“Your brothers are going hunting tomorrow,” Aislynn said. “Were you planning on going with them?”

He kept his eyes on the dancing fire. “I had considered it, but there is more work to do. I was planning on going to the caves again.”

“The prophecies are not going anywhere, Love. They are already ancient and will only be a little more so if you wait one day.” She touched his shoulder. “You should go, enjoy yourself. I know how you miss them.”

His hand met hers, caressed her knuckles. “Perhaps you’re right. We could use meat this winter.”

He pressed her palms to his lips, caught the scent of the bread she had been baking all day. He smiled to himself and turned back to the fire. “You’ve been baking.”

“Hmm. We needed bread.”

He chuckled to himself at the annoyed tone in her voice. She hated to bake. In fact, she hated cooking all together. His wife would rather be smelting metal by the fire, working and shaping cast strips into jewelry.

Callum had made her wooden molds and bartered with the metal smiths in the village to make sure she had the right tools. Once a month they made a trip to the next village to trade her work for woven cloth, skins, pottery, and other necessities.

He looked down to admire the works in progress she kept on the stones in front of the hearth. “I like this one,” he said raising a bracelet set with sea worn stones into the light.

He didn’t have to look at her to know she was smiling. “I thought you would,” she said. “It was made for you.”

She took his wrist, fashioned the cool metal cuff around his forearm and laced the leather straps that would hold it in place. Her eyes appraised the piece, scanning over it with scrutiny. “It should be thicker.”

Callum squeezed her hand. “It’s perfect. You craft lovely things.”

She smiled then, cupped his face, and laid a kiss to his cheek. “We should sleep.”

“Sleep comes later,” he whispered and tenderly brushed his lips against hers.

He felt her mouth curve into a smile against his. “Much later.”

Wednesday, December 12th 2012, 11:22pm

"C
ome on Abby. You mean the world to me, Baby. I know we can work this out.”

Abigail Connelly looked down at the lacy, obnoxiously purple and extremely well padded bra between her fingers
. U
nceremoniously
, she
toss
ed
it on to the second hand coffee table that stood between her and her live-in boyfriend, Alex Peterson.

She
felt surprisingly calm and maybe even a little
numb. A kind of bland indifference settled over her chest. She wasn’t going to scream or yell and she certainly was not going to cry.

“No I don’t think so.” Her face was blank. “We’re done. It’s never going to work out between us.”

Alex opened his mouth in what could only have been described as an act of incredulous amazement. “You can’t really be serious? Baby, please. This thing between me and…”

“Miss Lilac Miracle Bra?”

“Yeah. Shit. I mean no. Whatever. It didn’t mean anything to me, Baby. I swear. It was just a mistake. Honestly, it didn’t mean a thing.”

“It never does.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “You cheated on me Alex. After only one year you couldn’t keep it in your damn pants. Did you really think I would just say it was no big deal, give you a second chance, and leap into your waiting arms like nothing happened?”

Alex moved around the table to Abby. His eyes were pleading and, to Abby’s surprise, completely sincere.

It was Abby’s curse to notice such things like unspoken sincerity. She was ever observant, always watching. Even when she didn’t want to see, she took in everything.