Through the Kisandra Prism (35 page)

Authors: Jack Challis

BOOK: Through the Kisandra Prism

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They quickly swim, unafraid, towards the Medusa Shape-shifter disguised as a giant Galla Quall, flashing blue and playfully chase it in a graceful spiral; a spiral that disappears from view into the depths of the bottomless abyss. Blodwyn hoped the Medusa would keep its word!

Chapter Twenty Seven
Time Catches up! Tala Pandy 1925

Unbelieving, she gazed down at the giggling stream;

at her unusual, enchanted reflection.

Was it a trick of the dancing light on the ripples flow?

Or the smiling sun’s fickle deflection?

‘It is now time for your last and personal adventure young Terasil,’ says Admiral Sebus.

‘How long have I got?’ Blodwyn asks.

‘Until time catches you up!’ Sebus answers.

‘Will it hurt?’ she asks.

‘No,’ the alien answers, ‘it will be just a sensation…Time is never too angry to be passed for such a short period.’

Blodwyn took the space-chariot; the Cambrian Mountains were easy to spot, she followed the mountain chain from Llanberis Pass over mount Snowden under cloak. After flying over Plas Mynach Castle, Cader Idriss came into view; she knew she was nearly home: 1925 AD.

It was mid-November, a warm dry, golden autumn day. Not only were rich gold, russet and brown splashed in the trees, these colors also spilled to the ground carpeting it in varying autumnal shades. She landed behind the big rock that bordered the mountain path.

This was the big rock that the Silky had lured the Bully Caddoc Morgan to; where the Fairy Queen and the three Tartarus Hobs had taught Caddoc a hard lesson; one of them had bit his leg. ‘A nasty dog-bite,’ confirmed Dr Tudor. They rode him up and down the mountain until his chunky leg could take no more…: “like a bloody donkey” he sobbed to Sergeant Thomas and Doctor Tudor at the police station. ‘And then this little flying thing stung me on the arse… and grinned at me – it hurt like bloody hell!’ The bully had moaned between the tears.

‘Does my Caddoc need counseling doctor?’ asked Mrs Morgan.

‘I will give him counseling with the back of my hand,’ says Sergeant Thomas, ‘if he swears again.’

‘Well I am sorry to tell you Caddoc,’ announces Dr Tudor…with a certain amount of satisfaction… ‘This rabies injection is also hurt like hell Caddoc!’ Sergeant Thomas smiled and took a big bite from a thick ham and tomato sandwich. Those events were still to happen all those years in the future.

Blodwyn had dressed as best as she could for the occasion, so as not to stick out from the crowd. She wore a long summer dress with a sensible wooly vest underneath out of sight: “there was not point catching a death!” Blodwyn had thought. Keeping to the mountain path she noticed people in the woods gathering chestnuts; none paid her any unusual attention, being too busy collecting the sweet nuts for winter consumption.

A dirty-faced swineherd sitting on a rock by the path grinned at her through brown teeth; his grubby red face topped by a do-it-yourself sheep- shear, basin-cut. His herd of pigs was rooting under the small mountain oaks for acorns and gave her hardly a glance.

Blodwyn stopped at the enchanted glen, it was just as lovely and enchanting then as it was in the twentieth first century later on; she could hear the rippling rill. The Fairy Queen at that time was a lovely young Scot living in another beautiful Glen, in the distant purple-tinged mountains of Scotland. And of course there was no small clearing where Bryn Jones the Wino would later doss down… being over forty years old Bryn was not even born then… strong lager was not even invented then.

Blodwyn crossed the ford – it looked exactly the same as it was in the early 2000 when she and Myfanwy Jenkins would play there as children. She followed the river path towards the town. Everything looked smaller, the buildings – even the people she passed seemed to have shrunk; she was now a stranger even though she would live here all her life, all those years in the future.

The cobbles of the main street were filthy and full of horse-drawn carriages of one description or another; everyone looked a little dowdy and in good need of soap and water. People now stopped and regarded her suspiciously. “Who was this stranger in her freshly laundered frock… how did she get it so clean… was she a witch?!” They whispered possibilities to each other. Perhaps the vibrant modern colors of her dress attracted attention or perhaps her physical size and general cleanliness just stood out?

Blodwyn soon left the main road of the tiny little Welsh town of Tala Pandy. Some dirty-looking urchins followed her in an insolent manner; interrupting their game of football with a blown up cows bladder, they swore at her in Welsh; perhaps thinking she was English. She gave them a lively mouthful in their native tongue! They quickly scurried back to kicking their obscene looking football.

Back on the riverbank she passed the house that the Jenkins’ would live in one day in the future; it was the biggest, most impressive in the whole village. She could not wait to see their small holding – what it was like all those years ago. Rounding a bend it stood in front of her: Blodwyn was disappointed.

A small, drab cottage surrounded by a traditional cottage garden, which in summer’s prime would have looked lovely. Withered stalks of lupines and foxgloves stood rotting, gaunt and gloomy. Once colourful sweet-scented trailing petunias now hung in brown stringy clusters like untidy rook nests.

All the once bright border plants were now victims of the last frost. In a neat carefully tended vegetable patch stood straight lines of thick winter leeks, sprouts and cabbage and high mounds of potatoes, their dead plants hanging limply like long, dead, rotting witches fingers erupting from burial mounds! There were no stone out-buildings, just a pigsty to the rear. A dilapidated barn stood at one side, its timbers worn and beaten.

A movement in the vegetable patch caught her eye; a tall flame haired girl stood upright from her labors: it was her young Grandmother! The striking young woman was probably the same age as her. This was definitely the dancing young girl who had approached her in True Arcadia and had held her hand with detached affection, as if she was not quite sure as to their family connection. The young girl who had gone back to her feminine prime from the withered ninety five year-old after her recent death.

Blodwyn walked silently then stops, suddenly afraid of eye contact like a wild animal that stays still, not wishing discovery! But the young woman, like all country folk, was always aware of her surrounding and who or what entered her line of vision… she faced her future granddaughter. Their eyes met!

The young woman studied her confidently from head to toe; but made no comment. If Blodwyn was expecting recognition, or some emotional reunion she was mistaken; after all, how could the young woman know of their close kinship? There were so many questions Blodwyn wanted to ask; so many things she wanted to tell the young girl looking at her… like that she was named after her. Was her dad’s Irish grandfather inside the cottage or were they still courting?

The young woman regarded Blodwyn first with curiosity in a rather cold and confident way: then smiled. Perhaps she noticed their physical similarities. She then returned to her labors. Their meeting was over!

Blodwyn carried on; what else could she do – how could she engage in conversation, how could she answer any questions – how could she explain her presence. She carried on to the enchanted pool, surrounded by silver birch and mountain rowan (the fairy tree) it looked exactly the same.

Lifting her frock she waded into the pool; it had suddenly come to her how to make good use of the gold given to her by the Sillian. She buried the two gold statues fashioned by the Ora Pellas into the base of the bank, a foot from a large rock on the bank that was still there in modern time. She also buried the bright red stone the Stabasade had offered her for a drink of her blood!

Blodwyn took the lonely way back and hoped the distant ancestors of the Galla Qualls would be safe in the hands of the Worm-eaters and the Medusa. She paused at the pool after the Goose girl’s Weir. She looked down into the still, clear pool and smiled; a reflection smiled back: it was not her reflection. She looked down in the water again the young Flame-haired girl she had seen earlier in the garden was smiling at her. The reflection in the water reached out a hand as if to touch her…Blodwyn responded. She suddenly felt a strange sensation; the kind of pleasant sensation you get before a sneeze – her hand only touched water: time had caught up with her! All those weeks she had taken off her life when traveling back in time had also caught her up; she was now her exact age: sweet seventeen.

‘Blodwyn!’ she heard her Mother call from downstairs. ‘If I have to call you again… it’s the wooden spoon for you my girl… seventeen or not!’

Blodwyn smiled she was back in her home again.

The End

Brian Devereux is hereby identified as author of this

work in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs

and Patents Act 1988

ISBN : 978-1-908596-18-5 in epub format

The book cover picture is copyright to Brian Devereux