Timewatch (32 page)

“I could tell you,” said Bryanna in a voice that radiated power and sent a rush of energy down J.J.'s spine, “how the Archdruid taught me how to remember the old wisdom and access memories of the far past. I have been teaching Bran how to do this. Very few of us are left who can do the remembering. So you see why it is so important that you and Bran leave this place. You both have much to do in this lifetime.”

“What have I to do with it?” asked Devonna in a high, strained voice.

“Your womb shall bring forth those who have chosen to remember, those who will teach others to remember also. For this you were born, Devonna.”

“You mean we're getting married?” asked J.J.

It was a dazzling thought.

“Not if you linger here overlong,” said Bryanna. Turning to Devonna, she asked, “What is your decision in this matter?”

Devonna came over to him and took his hand. Bran was one lucky guy!

“I have had doubts about the sacrifices to be made, but I had to be sure,” she said, looking up at him. “I will go wherever you wish.”

“When you reach Ireland, Bran—the real Bran—will be returned to you,” said Bryanna. “I shall give you some food and coins, which you can hide in your garments. No one must know that you are setting out on a journey. When the moon is up, you must leave. Much trouble is coming to this place. Now go and rest. I shall speak to you later before you go.”

J.J. turned to Bryanna and asked, “Aren't you coming with us?”

She shook her head. “I have much to do here,” she said.

Feeling suddenly shy, J.J. nodded. Then looking at Devonna, his fears fell away. He'd get her safely to Ireland, but he hoped it wouldn't be too soon. She was one gutsy girl; he wanted to get to know her a lot better.

CHAPTER 41

Dusty and sore from riding without stirrups or proper saddles on the horses that Bryanna had given them, Devonna and he traveled by night and hid out during the day.

Following the trade routes controlled by the Druids, sometimes they were able to stay at one of the Druid sanctuaries that lined the route. The mention of Bryanna's name was all that was needed to ensure lavish hospitality, more lavish than he would have liked.

One night, after traveling for several hours, they came upon a sanctuary where a group of young Celts, dressed in tunics and brightly colored cloaks and wearing masses of gold jewelry, invited him and Devonna to eat with them. The men sported weird hairstyles, looking something like lions' manes, stiffened and bleached by lime.

Sitting down, he received a nasty shock when he noticed the table's centerpiece, a man's head embalmed in some sort of oil. The guy sitting opposite him gave him all the grisly details of how he had killed the man during a raid, even standing up and pulling down his trousers to show him the long jagged scar on his thigh where the warrior had wounded him during the fight.

Just when he was getting to really like these people, he'd find out something that his 20th-century mind balked at. Delving into Bran's subconscious, he discovered that the human head held an important religious significance: it was thought to be the symbol of divinity, a place where the soul lived. To preserve the head was a mark of profound respect.

It turned out to be quite a party! He pigged out on some pork dishes and barley cakes and drank a little too much of the booze—an expensive wine from Gaul, he was told—poured out of bronze jugs decorated with animal heads. Usually, he didn't drink. A few times he had sneaked a beer or two with the guys. Back home in Canada, where the drinking age was 18 years old, he wouldn't be legally old enough to drink for another two years. But here at his age, you were a man and expected to fight and drink with the best of them.

You had to be careful about refusing the food and wine offered to you. Fights broke out over the silliest arguments. These guys were really touchy, especially about anything concerning their honor. When the fight was over, though, the guys would good-naturedly patch up their wounds and carry on with the singing or whatever. So he'd been real polite to his hosts and hostesses.

The women, he noticed, could be just as quarrelsome as the men, who treated them like equals. According to Devonna, women could divorce their husbands, hold land, and even act as war chieftains. Talk about women's liberation! J.J. got the feeling that Crystal would fit right in here. She was smart and had an air of self-confidence he'd noticed right away.

Much later, after most of the Celts were sacked out snoring on the floor, a woman led him and Devonna to a corner of the room, where obviously they were supposed to bunk in together, bed being some skins stuffed with straw.

Feeling a little silly about the whole thing, he took off his sandals and, still wearing his clothes, lay down on the skins. In a few moments he could feel Devonna snuggling in next to him and his body becoming aroused. He lay rigid. Maybe she'd go to sleep soon. In all fairness to Bran, he couldn't make a pass at his girl, not when he was borrowing the other guy's body. Sighing, he tried to adjust his position on the lumpy skins. A lot of sleep he was going to get!

“Are you awake, Bran?” whispered Devonna.

“Yeah.”

“Did you enjoy the feast?”

“I had a great time.”

He jumped. She was tickling him.

Without thinking he turned and pinned her down so she couldn't move. A stray beam of moonlight showed her grinning up at him. Then she moved suggestively underneath him. That did things to him he was sure she couldn't help but notice. Good thing it was fairly dark so she couldn't see him blushing.

Conscious only of his need to touch her, he reached out tentatively and stroked her neck. His fingers came into contact with something hard.

“Where'd you get that necklace?”

“You—Bran—gave it to me before …”

Instinctively, he pulled away. She caressed his cheek and said softly, “Oh, Bran! Now that I am no longer to be the May Queen, it is not necessary for me to remain a virgin.”

She looked at him expectantly, her lips parted slightly, and lifted toward him. Then she reached up and took out the enameled combs that held her hair in place. Her hair, smelling of herbs, fell in waves around her.

“But Bran …” he protested feebly.

“ … is here.”

She wound her arms around his neck and drew him down on top of her. He didn't need any more invitation than that. Maybe she wouldn't guess that it was his first time, too.

“Well, you won't need this on,” he said, lifting off the necklace. “Or this, either,” he continued, his hands fumbling with her robe.

Giggling, Devonna began pulling at his clothes. “Nor you,” she said pertly.

Finally, there was nothing at all between them, only warm, smooth skin melding together.

“Oh, Bran,” she whispered, “the gods have made me the most fortunate of women.”

Plunging his hands into the springy mass of her hair, he pulled her even closer to him.

And then he stopped thinking as her wine-flavored lips met his, intoxicating him even more. He became a creature of feeling, guided by instinct, thrusting inside Devonna, surges of ecstasy coursing through him as she moaned and murmured little endearments.

As fast as it had peaked, the tide of his passion ebbed.

“Devonna?” he whispered, wondering if she had felt so … so blessed as he. It had not been just an act of physical passion, but a kind of sacrament, a holy union sealed with their lovemaking.

In response, she hugged him with a tenderness that made him want to cradle her in his arms forever. They lay like that for a long time until he finally fell asleep.

CHAPTER 42

Something was nibbling on his ear. He shook his head and looked up groggily.

Already dressed, Devonna was bending over him. “Bellenos has ridden his chariot out of the sky already,” she said. “We must go now.”

He must have been really tired to sleep so late. Pulling Devonna down on top of him, he kissed her soundly.

“No time for that now,” she murmured. “But later …”

He got up then, reluctantly, and they continued making their way west.

Luckily for them, Devonna had traveled this route once before with her father, an artist working with gold and bronze, who had been famous for creating everything from jewelry to cups and other fine things. His work had brought him in close contact with Druids, who controlled the traffic in these things and bought much of his work for offerings to the gods.

It was after she had returned from her foster parents to live permanently with her own parents that she had met Mabon, who had ordered a golden cup from her father. Shortly afterward, her father had fallen sick of a wasting disease that had made him progressively weaker and thinner until he had died. A few months later, while giving birth to a stillborn son, her mother, too, had died.

Devonna's foster parents had welcomed her back. She had lived there with them until Mabon had invited her to become the May Queen. She had accepted the honor and then traveled with Kunagnos to the great sanctuary at Vernemeton, where the feast of Beltane would occur in a few weeks.

They were getting close to the coast now, staying well away from the legionary fort of Deva, which was on a river only a short march from the sea. No sense in attracting attention to themselves.

When Devonna became quieter than usual, J.J. was worried and asked her what was wrong. She said that she was homesick for her tribe, the Deceanglis, who lived around there, and for her foster parents. But visiting them could be dangerous. During the past year, the area had seen a lot of fighting between the tribe and the Romans.

They'd been relieved when they'd passed into the land of the Ordovices. It was hilly, even mountainous in places. They'd had to walk much of the way after that to spare the poor horses, which were limping by then.

They'd come across very few people: some miners, shovels and picks over their shoulders, going to work in the mines, which provided iron and copper in this region and some other travelers who looked closely at them but said little.

Devonna had said that the Ordovices had been fighting the Romans for so long that they were suspicious of all strangers.

Their food supplies had dwindled pretty fast. Along the way, Devonna managed to kill a couple of rabbits with her sling. After watching her put a stone into the strip of leather, whirl it around her head a few times, and let fly with unerring aim, he'd told her that back in his home time she'd be a natural for the Olympic rifle team. Her eyes had lit up with a warmth that made him ache with longing for her, and then she'd asked a million questions about his home. He was careful not to tell her much. All the science fiction stories he'd ever read warned against that. Even small stuff could have a big impact on future events. He was supposed to do his part to make sure that the timeline was stabilized, not change history.

Devonna was a great companion and smart, too. She knew things about living off the land that had to put her right up there with the best wilderness guide.

He had never seen anyone who could imitate birdcalls like she could. Once, she even called to her a flock of little birds, which flew down and perched in a bush.

She knew how to manage people, too—like him. Knowing that he'd have to leave her soon was producing in him an agony of feeling that he was afraid to tell her about. So he was abrupt with her sometimes when he wanted to be tender, and wound up acting very businesslike with her—or trying to. Pretending that they were only casual friends was pretty hard, especially when they were constantly together. She refused to take his moods seriously and would tease him until he laughed.

Like the time he had slipped on some wet rocks and fallen down a short muddy slope. Devonna had laughed like crazy and then gone plunging down the slope after him, falling on top of him. He was pretty sure that she had fallen on purpose because that girl was as sure-footed as a cat.

He tried to push Devonna off, but she was almost as strong as he was and just wound herself around him.

“Hey, look, someone's coming.”

Devonna fell for it. As she took a quick peek, she relaxed her grip on him. Practicing a judo throw his father had taught him, he threw her off and ran up the slope. She followed him and near the top threw herself at him, catching him by the ankle. They both went tumbling down the slope, landing in a heap together at the bottom. They both laughed so hard that tears rolled down their faces.

When he could get his breath back, he said, “You're scaring the horses, Devonna.”

“Those old nags. They're enjoying themselves grazing. We could enjoy ourselves, too,” said Devonna, giving him one of those teasing looks that made him blush.

“Romans could be around. We'd better move it.”

Devonna made a face at him and pulled his ear, but she peeled herself off him, then ran up the slope and vaulted onto her horse.

Almost too soon for both of them, they stood on the shore and looked across the strait to Mona. As they gazed at the great Druid sanctuary touched by the flames of a sinking sun, J.J. was struck by a sense of intense urgency. Devonna must have felt it, too, because they both turned at the same time and almost ran over to a fisherman mending his nets. At first the old man didn't want to take them across the strait, but his muttering about an army massing some miles away made them all the more determined to go. After paying what Devonna said was an outrageous price and further reducing their dwindling supply of coins, the fisherman finally took them across to the island.

The whole place was buzzing with activity. Rumors were flying everywhere. Their request to see the Archdruid was denied until Devonna showed Bryanna's ring to an older man, who questioned them closely about where they'd received it. When Devonna said that they preferred to talk about it to the Archdruid, the man finally granted their request.