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Her mouth had dried to a desert, so all Alex could do was nod in response.
Much too soon Professor Carswell was seated comfortably in the plush recliner directly in front of the curved, glass-walled booth Alex had secretly christened the Glass Coffin. Alex stood inside the booth, holding the rabbit and trying to keep her breathing even. She was marveling at how utterly relaxed the professor looked, when the small hairs on her forearms began to tingle and then lift. She’d just tightened her grip on the rabbit when the pain hit. A terrible agony sizzled through her body. Waves of power made the air around her ripple as if she were in a whirlwind. Don’t fight this! Alex reminded herself. It’s like a wave you’re supposed to ride. But she had never done any surfing. She tried to concentrate on the professor—to focus on the fact that the woman looked calm. Everything must be fine. Carswell knew what she was doing. Everything was going to be okay.
A cloud of light built around Alex, and as she closed her eyes against the incredible brightness and clutched the rabbit to her, she began to feel weightless. She was telling herself not to think about the fact that that lightness meant her molecules were beginning to temporarily disconnect from each other when she felt as if she was being sucked up into the ceiling. As everything went black, Thumper’s panicked scream joined her own.
The vertigo was worse than Alex had thought it would be, and she stayed on her knees, bent over and trembling while she sucked in air. Just as Carswell had said, she was wearing a cloak, though how the professor managed to twine sine waves to create clothing was as mind-boggling as time travel itself. Alex still had the rabbit in her arms, and it was definitely alive, because she could feel it shaking.
Then the voices penetrated through the ringing in her ears.
“What is it?”
“A vision!”
“Aye! An apparition!”
“Is she a spirit?”
“Protect Boudica! Shield the queen from the apparition!”
Then a woman’s voice lifted above the others. It was filled with confidence and command. “Rise and explain who you are, be you spirit or flesh.”
Alex drew a deep breath and prayed silently to whatever god or goddess existed in this time that she could stay on her feet and make her voice work.
She stood up slowly, giving herself a chance to adapt to the dizziness, and kept her arms wrapped around the rabbit, hidden within her cloak. Alex didn’t open her eyes until she was fairly sure she wasn’t going to fall over.
The first thing she saw was a woman who blazed with power. Boudica—it had to be the queen—stood not twenty feet in front of her. She had more thick red hair than Alex had ever seen on anyone. Her clothes were of supple leather, intricately embroidered with brightly colored thread in complex knots and designs. They wrapped snuggly around her tall, athletic body. The tunic left most of her thighs bare. Flat-heeled leather boots that came to her knees were trimmed in fox fur, as was the cloak she was wearing. She had jeweled bracelets on her wrists and biceps, and around her neck was a thick ring of twisted gold that had stones inlayed on both ends. The words Torque—ancient symbol of royalty, whispered through Alex’s mind.
Yes! This had to be the queen. Alex lifted her chin and met the woman’s cold green eyes.
“Queen Boudica, I am Blonwen, priestess of Andraste. The goddess has sent me here, saving me from the carnage at Mona, so that I might show you her favor.” Alex had to pause as the people surrounding them broke into excited shouts.
Boudica raised one hand and easily silenced everyone.
“This is, indeed, a sign from Andraste, as I just evoked the blessing of the goddess on the battle to come.”
“I bring news for that battle,” Alex said quickly, picking up the thread of the lines she’d memorized back in the lab. “Andraste would have you follow the path she leads, and she has sent her sacred hare to show you the way!” With a flourish that would have made Professor Carswell proud, Alex threw back her cloak, exposing the white rabbit. The people gasped and Alex tossed the bunny to her feet, then held her breath. But as usual, Carswell was spot on. The rabbit leaped forward and ran straight for Boudica. The queen didn’t move, but her eyes widened as the hare raced for her. Then, at the last moment, it dodged to the right, coming so close to the queen that it brushed the folds of her cloak, before it darted off into the darkening forest behind them.
No one made a sound for a moment, and then Boudica’s face broke into a fierce grin. “The hare makes for Londinium, and so shall we!” She raised her fist in the air as the people shouted in joyful agreement.
Alex was almost positive she was going to be sick.
“Sit, Priestess! You look barely able to stay on your feet.” Boudica strode to Alex and put a firm hand under her elbow. “Aedan! Why do you stand and stare like a waterless carp? Aid me with Andraste’s servant.”
A man who looked as if he could scare croup out of babies just by glancing at them hurried over. He practically lifted Alex off her feet in his haste to get her to an odd looking chair set to the right of an intricately carved piece that was obviously a throne.
“Bring the priestess food and mead!” Boudica barked, and other men scrambled to do her bidding.
Soon a bronze goblet was handed to Alex. Gratefully, she sipped it and then, delighted with the sweet strong taste of mead, gulped thirstily. The cup was quickly refilled and a bronze platter of hot meat and hunks of bread put in front of her, and Alex, feeling as if she hadn’t eaten in days, went to work shoving food into her mouth.
Even though she had just materialized from thin air, had let loose a sacred rabbit and was now seated to the right of the queen, talk went on around her without anyone quizzing her about where, when, how or why. So as she ate, Alex surreptitiously studied the ancient Celts.
The professor had told her they were a tall people, but her flat textbook description didn’t begin to do them justice. They were savagely beautiful. Tall, yes, but also sleek and athletic. The women were bold looking, with thick ropes of braided hair in all the shades from the blondest of blond to Boudica’s striking fire red. The men were muscular giants, dangerous and sharp-eyed. Everyone wore brightly colored clothing—tunics, trousers and cloaks. Many items were as intricately embroidered as Boudica’s leathers.
At the sight of a man whose face was decorated with the sapphire woad design, Alex felt a snap of recognition, and her heart thudded almost painfully in her chest. But the design wasn’t of graceful S swirls. Instead it was in the shape of a dragon, the tattooed tail wrapping the warrior’s neck. But even though it wasn’t the image from her dreams, Alex’s appetite was gone.
“Better now?” Boudica asked, leaning toward her so that the two of them could speak intimately, while the men and women around them talked and threw curious glances their way.
“Yes, thank you,” Alex said.
Boudica glanced at the half-eaten food on the platter Alex had set aside. “So, you are not a spirit, for though they can take human form and appear corporeal, they can not take in nourishment from this world.”
“I promise you I’m not a spirit.”
“But you are magical, and you must be greatly beloved of Andraste. It was a most unusual and magical thing, that the goddess made you appear to me this night. I will dedicate to Andraste the first blood my sword drinks from the liver of my first kill in the battle to come.”
Not sure what to say, Alex nodded, hoping she looked pleased at the gruesome picture the queen painted.
“Word came to us that the Roman governor Suetonius slaughtered those of the sacred Isle of Mona.”
Alex tried to look as confident as possible as she said, “Suetonius did lead the killing on Mona. I was lucky that the goddess saved me.”
Boudica had been studying her carefully. Finally she said, “I knew the goddess would not allow this desecration to go unpunished. Andraste saving you and bringing you to me shows me I have been following the right path all along.”
As the queen spoke her gaze traveled beyond Alex to a place close to the fire where two young girls sat on thick pallets of furs. Both were beautiful, and Alex noticed one of them had hair the exact shade of Boudica’s. The youngest of the two was maybe eleven or twelve. She stared into the campfire, leaving food untouched on the platter in front of her. The older girl, as if sensing Boudica’s gaze, turned her head slowly and looked at the queen. Alex was struck by the dark circles under her eyes, and her haunted expression.
With a start of recognition, Alex realized these two girls must be the queen’s daughters. She remembered the story Carswell had told her about Boudica’s husband dying, and passing the torque of leadership on to his wife. The new queen of the Iceni had been reigning peacefully under a treaty with Rome signed by her husband when, without warning, the Roman tax collector, Catus Decius, attacked her—had her beaten in front of her people, and her young daughters publicly raped. Enraged, Boudica had rallied the Celts against Roman oppression.
Alex had thought the story a gruesome one when Carswell had told it to her, but coming face-to-face with the living people of legend was much different than history being retold in a laboratory. The girls were so young! And so obviously terribly damaged.
“I believe you’re doing the right thing,” Alex surprised herself by saying.
The queen’s smile was sad as she gazed at her daughters. “The goddess is with me and she will truly help us drive the vile Romans from our sacred land.”
Alex knew what would happen to this woman—that she would have victory over the Romans, but only a shortlived one. Her fate was to fall with her people, after which the Romans would subjugate the Celts for many years. But at that moment Alex felt herself caught up in Boudica’s passion, and she suddenly wished the queen could be victorious.
Boudica’s green eyes blazed and her face was framed by her brilliant red hair, which caught the glow of the campfire as if it, too, were made of flame. She looks like a goddess—like nothing in this world or any other could defeat her.
One of Boudica’s men spoke to her and the queen briefly turned her attention from her daughters. It was then Alex saw the firelight reflect on more than her glimmering hair. The golden torque at her neck flashed, pulling Alex’s gaze down—and she felt her eyes widened. There, in the half circle of braided gold that nestled against Boudica’s fair skin, wasn’t a large jewel, as she had at first thought. It was the medallion she had been sent to retrieve.
Chapter 6
Alex was staring at her torque when Boudica turned back to her. Without speaking, the queen looked at her for a long moment, and then her hand went up to touch the neck piece of braided gold.
“Sometimes I still believe I feel the warmth of my husband’s skin through it,” she said softly. “I touch it and remember how like this torque he was—beautiful and strong.”
“What is that medallion in the end of it?” Alex blurted. Then she quickly shut her mouth, worried that she’d said something inappropriate, or worse, something she should have already known.
But Boudica appeared unfazed. Her fingers found the medallion, tracing over the raised pattern. “It is an ancient image of the stars. It was thought to be a powerful talisman in my family, and was passed from mother to daughter until it, and its mate, came to me. When I wed Prasutagus I had both pieces set in his torque as a wedding gift.” The queen paused, stroking the object as she stared into the fire.
Then Alex’s mind caught up with what Boudica had said, and her gaze snapped back to the torque. Her stomach tightened as she saw that, sure enough, the medallion was only half of what Carswell had shown her—as if the original had been broken in two. She looked at the other end of the torque and felt the breath rush out of her as she saw that something was missing.
“It’s gone!” Alex gasped.
“Aye, it is indeed, but I shall retrieve it if I have to cut it from that monster’s body.”
“A monster took it?” Alex was utterly confused.
“Aye, a monster in the form of a Roman tax collector.” Boudica’s blazing green eyes seemed to pierce Alex. “You know that I was beaten and my daughters raped.”
It wasn’t a question, but Alex nodded and said solemnly, “I do.”
“The monster who ordered it was Catus Decius, a Roman tax collector. When his soldiers were beating me, the medallion came loose. Catus took it, saying it was payment owed to Rome by the Queen of the Iceni. He said my daughters’ virginity was payment owed to Rome, too.” Boudica curled her lip in a vicious sneer. “I will find him in Londinium and take back my medallion, as well as the payment Rome owes me for defiling my children.” The queen put her hand on Alex’s shoulder, gripping tightly. “And now with a magically given priestess of Andraste by my side, I know I cannot fail to exact vengeance for the wrongs committed against me and my people. You will stay with me, will you not? You must march to Londinium with us.”
“I’m here to support you. I’ll come to Londinium,” she assured her quickly. “I want to be there when you get your medallion back.”
How different it was to see the living, breathing Boudica than it had been to be briefed about her, Alex thought. Until moments ago, this mission had been one that had been imposed upon her—one that, other than solving the mystery of the man with the swirling woad, she didn’t particularly care about. But meeting the queen and remaining unconnected to her was impossible, especially as Alex knew all too well the tragic end that awaited her.
“Ah, I am glad to hear it.” Boudica leaned a little closer and lowered her voice. “Welcome, Blonwen. The goddess must have known that, though I am surrounded by warriors, I have truly felt alone since Prasutagus’s death. It will be good to have a priestess as my confidente.”
Alex couldn’t speak. At that moment Boudica wasn’t an ancient queen, long dead and, except for readers of moldy history books, mostly forgotten. She was a woman, younger than Alex at this point in time, and one who needed a friend. As she tried to think of something priestesslike and wise to say, a flicker of movement beside Boudica caught her attention. A man suddenly appeared, not more than two feet away from the queen. He was dressed in a heavily embroidered tunic, and his hair was as brightly blond as Boudica’s was red. He was a giant of a man, with thick muscles and an expression so fierce and frightening that Alex automatically recoiled as he shouted at her, “You must help Boudica!”
“What is it, Blonwen? What troubles you? Is it an ill omen?” the queen said, turning to look around her at what might have drawn Alex’s attention.
The warriors nearby, standing just far enough away to allow Boudica and the newly arrived priestess privacy to talk, were instantly alerted by their queen’s words.
Of course, Alex hadn’t needed to see Boudica’s nonreaction to the appearance of the man to know he was a ghost—she could tell from her first glimpse of his semitransparent body. Okay, Alex told herself sternly, I’m a priestess. It’s normal that I can talk to ghosts. She cleared her throat and said, “No, it’s not a bad omen. It’s just a spirit telling me to help you, which is actually a good omen because that is what I intend to do.”
There was a hush in the campsite as every eye turned to her.
“I know you are more than what you seem and that you come here for reasons other than to be the queen’s confidente, but you must help her,” the ghost exclaimed. Though he was speaking to Alex, his eyes never left Boudica.
The queen didn’t look nervous or scared, as modern people usually did when they found out Alex was seeing a ghost. Boudica looked calm and more than a little curious. “What else does the spirit say?” she asked.
“Tell her the boy who first kissed her under the hawthorn blossoms on Beltane Eve tells her to stay strong,” said the ghost.
Alex swallowed hard and turned to the queen. “He says that the boy who kissed you under the hawthorn blossoms on Beltane Eve wants you to stay strong.”
Boudica’s eyes widened as the people around her murmured under their breath. Alex thought she could hear the words Soul Speaker being whispered through the campsite.
“Where is he?” Boudica asked in a voice that sounded choked.
“There, right beside you.”
As the crowd around them watched, talking in hushed tones, their queen turned slowly to where Alex pointed, and said, “Forgive me, my love, for not keeping them safe.”
Alex’s gaze automatically found Boudica’s daughters, who were still sitting, silent and white faced, beside the fire.
“You are not to blame, and you will avenge them,” said the ghost.
“He doesn’t blame you,” Alex told Boudica, though she couldn’t make herself repeat his words of vengeance. She knew all too well that Boudica wouldn’t avenge her daughters’ rapes; rather, the war would end in her death and the subjugation of her people.
“It is with my daughters that you must help her, Soul Speaker,” said the apparition, as if he read her mind. “Farewell for now.” Before he disappeared completely, Boudica’s husband put out a transparent hand to touch her cheek, and then he vanished.
“He’s gone now,” Alex said to Boudica, who had her own hand pressed against the cheek her husband’s ghost had just caressed.
“So you are a Soul Speaker as well as a priestess of Andraste,” said the man Boudica had earlier called Aedan.
“Yes, I am,” she replied.
“My father died last winter. It was sudden. I did not—” The big Celt’s words broke off and he looked down at his hand, which was gripping the hilt of the short sword hanging from a scabbard at his waist. “I did not have time to bid him farewell. If—if you could call him here, to you, so that I might speak with him one last time, I would, indeed, be in your debt.”
Alex suppressed a sigh. “I can’t do that,” she said.
Aedan’s nervous look turned dark. “You refuse my request?”
“You don’t understand. I’m not refusing to help you, I just can’t. I don’t call spirits, they come to me.”
The warrior frowned. “What kind of Soul Speaker are you?”
Alex didn’t know what else to say but the truth. “I’m a very tired one.”
“Enough, Aedan! Have we been so tainted by the Romans that we forget the rules of hospitality?”
“No, my queen,” the man said, bowing his head. He sounded contrite, but Alex noticed he kept sending her chilly looks.
“The ways of Andraste are often mysterious—her path difficult and long. She has sent her priestess here to help direct our steps, and not to perform for us like a tamed dog.” As she spoke, Boudica’s eyes swept the crowd, coming to rest on her daughters. Her stern face softened. “Mirain and Una, show Blonwen to our tent. She is as weary as the two of you look.”
The girls got up obediently and walked over to their mother.
“Rest well tonight. The march tomorrow will be long and there will be time for you and me to talk then,” Boudica said to Alex.
Alex stood up and then, not sure of correct protocol, followed her instincts and bowed to the queen with what she hoped was at least a little grace. Boudica kissed her daughters, called for more mead, and was staring silently into the fire as Alex followed the girls into the night, which wasn’t as dark and impossible to navigate as she would have imagined, thanks to the many campfires dotting the area.
Tents were mostly hides and lines draped from the sides of carts and staked to the ground either with polls or wooden spikes. The camp seemed huge, and was bustling with activity. The sounds of women laughing and men talking carried on the night air with the fragrant scent of roasting meat. All in all it wasn’t as crude as Alex had expected. The people, for the most part, weren’t dirty barbarians. They were actually attractive and pretty healthy looking. There wasn’t opulence and riches scattered about, but everyone seemed well-fed, and the horses and other animals she caught glimpses of appeared fat and happy.
She was still gawking around when she realized the girls had stopped in front of a large tent. This one wasn’t draped off the side of a wagon. It was freestanding, with tall poles in the middle and at its five sides. An old woman was tending a cheery campfire burning close enough to the open entrance to cast light within, but not too close to fill the tent with smoke.
The younger of the two girls gestured for Alex to go inside, which she did gratefully. She didn’t think she’d ever been so exhausted in her life. That’s something I’m reporting on when I get back—this time travel thing is hard work. The next traveler should be told she’s going to be dead on her feet. Unless it’s just me…crap, it’s probably just me—
“Priestess, did you not hear me?”
Alex mentally shook herself and focused on the older of the two girls. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m more tired than I thought. What did you say?”
“This is your pallet. If you need anything, Rosin, who keeps the fire, will aid you.”
“Thank you. I don’t need anything. Except which of you is Mirain and which is Una?”
“I am Mirain,” said the older girl. “My sister is Una.”
“Mirain and Una, it’s nice to meet you. Thank you for showing me here and being so nice to me.”
“Our mother believes in the old ways,” was all Mirain said. Una didn’t speak at all.
After a few awkward moments, Alex turned to her pallet, which was a lovely, thick pile of furs. She pulled off her cloak and tried not to gape at the beautifully embroidered tunic that was revealed under it. Wow! It just seemed so impossible that Carswell could make all of this happen with her mind! Alex curled up on the pallet, using her cloak as a blanket. Just before she closed her eyes, she called across the tent to where Mirain and Una had curled together like puppies. “Good night, girls.”
There was a pause and then Mirain said, “Good night, Priestess.”
“I don’t believe you are from the goddess,” said a small voice that Alex knew had to belong to Una.
The girl’s words made her stomach tighten, but her reply was purposefully calm. “You don’t? Why not?”
“Because I don’t believe there is a goddess.”
“Shh, Una. Mother wouldn’t like it if she heard you say that,” Mirain said quickly. “Sleep now. Mornings are always better than nights, remember?”
“I remember too much.” Una’s whisper carried to Alex.
Alex wanted to say something profound and priestesslike, but she wasn’t actually a priestess and she sure didn’t know how to talk to a damaged teenager. Hell, it didn’t seem that long ago that she’d been a damaged kid herself! Feeling overwhelmed and incompetent, she finally let exhaustion take over, and she slept.
That night, Alex didn’t dream at all.
Chapter 7
It made her feel foolish, but the first thought she had when she woke up was he didn’t come to me in my dreams. The second thought was where the hell am I? And then all of her mind woke up and Alex remembered—Briton—AD 60 Boudica’s camp.
“Wake up, sleepy bugaboo! Time’s awastin’ and the queen is callin’ for ye!”
Alex scrubbed her eyes with her fists and looked up into the face of a true crone. “Rosin?” she asked, remembering the name Mirain had given her before she’d slept.
“Aye! I be Rosin. Boudica wants ye. Ye’d best take this and get movin’.” The old woman handed her two slices of bread with a thick piece of fabulously greasy ham stuck between them, and a bronze cup of sweet, strong mead.
“Thank you,” Alex muttered. She scrambled to her feet, straightened her clothes, attempted to tame her hair and then hurried out of the tent, bread and meat in hand.