Echoes from a Time Passage: Book 2

By Susannah MacDonald

Engaged in the task of sorting his father’s documents after his sudden death, Rieyniz Xanders uncovers something curious in Markas’s journal entries; ‘The Eternal Darkness still prevails. This is the greatest shock.’ He then has a disturbing dream: a strange face appears with a voice, “Your sister…your sister…in England.” Rieyniz resolves to sail through a spoken of but unknown plane divide at sea to find this mysterious woman. Assisted by the woman he loves, Vessel-Master Deshka, and supported by the leader of their faith, Renoulf, who is also haunted by a vision, Rieyniz braves the vortex of churning elements to reach the Earth plane, the vortex delivering them not off the coast of England, but Scotland.
May, incarcerated in a psychiatric institution from babyhood, knows she is not ‘mental’. Sharp-minded and intelligent, she adopts a strategy of pretending to be simple-minded, but her caregiver and educator, Sheila, knows otherwise. While still a young child, a face appears in her mind; his name is Anubis… but this face is not an Egyptian god but someone else. Throughout her childhood, his mysterious presence is with her. Now a young adult, May watches a political dictatorship rise in England, and when the institution’s caregivers suddenly disappear, she knows she has to get out. Following the voice of Anubis, May is reunited with Sheila who helps her escape to Scotland. There, she receives another vision – a beautiful, unusual man whom May calls her ‘Selkie’ stepping out of the waves, shedding his sealskin.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jul 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781528982856

Susannah MacDonald

Susannah MacDonald is an artist, illustrator, writer, poet, and art teacher. She lives in Takapuna, Auckland, with her husband and fellow artist, Alan. Susannah has a special interest in mythology and alternative theologies. She draws inspiration from the natural world, all creatures great and small, seismology, volcanology and the concept of plate tectonics, which formed the basis of her degree in visual arts, and which provided added inspiration her writing. Susannah has an extensive background in both the visual arts and music and is a spiritual counsellor.

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About the Author

Susannah MacDonald is an artist, illustrator, cartoonist, writer, poet and teacher of art and flute. She lives in Takapuna, Auckland, with her husband and fellow artist, Alan. Susannah has a special interest in mythology and alternative theologies. She draws inspiration from the natural world, all creatures great and small, seismology, volcanology, and the concept of plate tectonics, which formed the basis of her degree in visual arts and which provided added inspiration for this book.

Susannah has an extensive background in both the visual arts and music, education, and is a spiritual counsellor.

Dedication

To ‘They that go down to the sea in ships’. – Psalm 107

Copyright Information ©

Susannah MacDonald (2021)

The right of Susannah MacDonald to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781528982849 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781528982856 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published (2021)

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd

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Canary Wharf

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E14 5LQ

Acknowledgement

I wish to thank my husband, fellow artist, writer and philosopher, Alan MacDonald, for his unconditional support. I wish to also thank my friends, colleagues and family members for their support and encouragement.

The Book of Rieyniz

Chapter 1

1

I was fifteen in Earth years when I found my father’s diary. He had been dead for four Earth years or as we call it eight seasons, and I remember his passing as vividly today as I did the day after. The wind was howling in a dismal sky as we walked through the lane of trees of the Way of the Underworld to the place of Departure. Here we gathered in a grieving circle and Grandfather Xanvieria held my hand. I remember the warmth through my glove. I remember the sadness in his dark eyes, as his Earth wife, my beloved step-grandmother Cristobel, laid her head on his shoulder. The voice of Aunty Rieyna touched my ears then dissipated, as the mourners circled the body laid out surrounded by urns of Father’s favourite plants.

My Aunty Rieyna was the priestess responsible for the Temple Service for the conducting of souls over to the next realm. How terribly painful it must have been to bury her Little Wayward Brother as she called him – he, His Holiness and spiritual guide of our people. It was only afterwards that I remembered Aunty Rieyna singing in her glorious voice, music which Uncle Axzis had composed especially for the funeral, and as she sang, the mourners joined in the refrain which she alone had composed:

‘He who joined Worlds in God’s name

May it please God that he be taken to

The holiest of Holies.’

The gentle voice of my honorary Australis Uncle Carl softly floated over my shoulder, ‘God will give you courage, Ray.’ He gave my shoulder a tender squeeze, and as I wondered why I couldn’t really hear the music, something hit me and I began to sob. Poor Father. Grandfather drew me close. I did not need to look up to know that he wept as bitterly as I.

At the end of the official time of mourning, I was assigned the task with Grandfather to begin the work of going through Father’s literature and most precious belongings, which were still in special niches in the wall of his study in the administration wing of Temple.

The Temple was quite new. After the Plagues, and then the Great Cataclysm, Father told me that many people came in from the various regions of Ezskiasia to Xanders’ city area and region, where a new city was built on the ruins of the old one. That included the Temple, which was designed by Grandfather, and the Honourable Axza, father of Uncle Axzis. Even as a little child, I was awed by the beauty of the stained crystal ceiling and the inlaid floors. Grandfather said that designing and constructing these floors and ceilings was perfect work for people having endured such ghastly experiences.

As I dodged priests and priestesses going about their business, in what Mother insisted on calling the Halls of Wisdom, I felt as if Father was looking down on me as I strode along in the direction of his old study. So on reaching the huge circular vestibule, I paused and gazed up at the ceiling, and beams from the Stars of Light cast colours – red, blue, green and gold – onto my face. I imagined that Father must be in the blue, his favourite colour. I hoped so. He often said that it reminded him of the skies in Australis. Oh, I missed him so much. Grandfather and I had been named his executors, much to Mother’s annoyance, but I couldn’t help that. He would have had his reasons.

I thought about something else which Grandfather had reminded me of lately, as I bounded up the wide, white-stone staircase. The other wonderful work, Grandfather had pointed out, was the revival of Temple Dancing. I sometimes went to fairs on God’s Day, where people sold specialty foods and the various tribal people performed their dances. We children were always invited to join in, and even as a little boy, I loved dancing, joining Father and the other men in their vigorous dances which were accompanied by loud wind instruments and huge drums. My poor little sisters on the other hand used to shriek and block their ears, so the women always took them by the hand and bid them join in the women’s dances, which dried their tears and made them hiss with joy.

Ever since I was very little, I had a favourite pastime. I used to love watching Father training the Temple Dancers, for he himself was a wonderful dancer, telling me stories of his life on the Earth Plane, the dancers and how they used to travel from region to region performing something called Echoes from a Time Passage. Uncle Carl called him a virtuoso and a genius, comparing Father with his students who, I was told, were all very gifted themselves, so it wasn’t long before I was able to match Uncle Carl’s words with what I observed.

To my child’s eyes, Father seemed to me to be weightless and his movements created pictures in the air. I wondered if anyone else could see the pictures, until Aunty Rieyna said, ‘Irena… could you paint that?’ We had been watching a full-dress rehearsal for a sacred performance for God’s Birthday celebrations. I sat in the Temple gallery between my two aunts glancing from one to another, fascinated by their comments. Then Aunty Rieyna said what she said, and I knew that they too could see what I could see.

Today the afternoon was warm and still. I unlocked the study door, and stepped into the fragrant silence. I, almost with reverence, approached the niches in the wall and reached for the first set of documents. Not sure where to begin, I laid out the pile of papers. Begin at the beginning, I thought… one page at a time.

Each span, or days as Uncle Carl still called them, I returned to my task when my lessons were over. Father was orderly but there were many items out of his usual order. I read them carefully and filed each in its appropriate sleeve. On yet another warm still afternoon, I was bent on my task of starting to collate another batch of Father’s documents, when I heard a familiar voice:

‘Rieyniz?’

It was Grandfather. The Temple management had assigned the study over to us for as long as we needed it, so it was now our space. I heard a gentle knock on the door frame. I looked up in something of a daze. After all, I had been hard at work at my task for several time spans, and as fascinating as the task was, I found myself overwhelmed by a sensation of my head lifting off, as I read Father’s theses and writings.

‘Grandfather,’ I said, feeling my spirits lift.

I rose to embrace him, after which he held me at arm’s length for a moment, a special approving look in his eyes, reserved for me alone I’m sure.

‘How is my favourite grandson?’

He said that to each of his grandsons – Sphenz, little Dusti and I – so it was a bit of a joke.

I thought at that moment of my two little sisters who got up my snout. I chided myself for being too impatient with them, as I chided myself for something else and it was this, in my grief I was going through a rather rough phase of resenting my mother for, it seemed to me, not grieving properly for Father. I smouldered. At his funeral she had hung back, and I thought it was because she didn’t care. I watched her, surrounded by mourners offering their condolences, but she had lowered her veil, so that I couldn’t make out her expression as she spoke with them.

‘Poor X’Asta,’ I heard my aunt say, ‘she is so lost.’

I didn’t believe her, and now I still smouldered on.

But as I greeted Grandfather, I felt I would have to resolve this before I got much older and started my priestly studies. It would never do to begin those with this anger hanging over me. Father had often preached on the dangers of giving into the effects of anger. I recalled his making humorous observations to the effect, but his message, as the congregants hissed with amusement, was anything but funny. However, his rather delightful manner of delivery got the point across, without anyone stalking out of Temple with their snout out of joint.

‘I am doing very well, Favourite Grandfather. But I found something odd among the documents.’

‘What have you found, dear boy?’ asked Grandfather, seating himself by the window. The light streamed in through its tinted panes, rendering his grey hair a streaky mixture of violet and gold.

‘I have found this disc,’ I said, ‘but I don’t know how to play it on our machine.’

‘Let me see,’ said Grandfather. I handed the curious iridescent object to him. ‘Oh yes – these things. Goodness… they really do come out of God’s basket of ancientness. Very well. I will see if there is a machine in the archives which will play this.’

He turned the disc over in his hands, looking at it carefully as he read the inscription near the spindle hole.

‘Hmmm,’ he said, ‘do you mind if I take this with me? I’ll bring it back, I promise.’

‘No, of course not,’ I said.

I was due to have dinner with my cousin Sphenz, Uncle Axzis, and Aunty Rieyna that evening. I loved it when we four had time to ourselves. Dusti, Sphenz’ little brother would have been fed and soon tucked up in bed. Aunty Rieyna said that no one could have a sane conversation with a small child at the dinner table.

Mother wouldn’t have approved, of course, but then she never would – on all counts. She believed small children should always partake of adult company and conversation. She also had the greatest difficulty with how much I enjoyed the company of Father’s sister and Uncle Axzis, his best friend. Mother, despite having the title of Her Holiness, by virtue of being married to Father, found that the real Her Holiness was my mystic aunt. I didn’t know if it made her angry or sad, and in the middle of my grieving all I could feel was rage.

Mother was a priestess and teacher, and therefore entitled to her position, but right now, there was not very much about her which I would deem holy. But I realised with a jolt that I had lapsed into my bad habit of castigating Mother in my mind. Here I go again, I said to myself – that is not fair. She is holy, I chided inwardly and mulled over what I knew about her work, as I strode across the park in the direction of Aunty Rieyna’s and Uncle Axzis’ house. Her speciality was education of young children and at that she excelled. Perhaps that is why Father married her. He would have considered that to be a most holy vocation, as did Grandfather and Aunty Rieyna. So, I kept my muzzle shut.

I entertained some vague idea that being holy equated with a sort of syrupy gentleness which didn’t fit Mother, who was a stern disciplinarian. The little children under her thumb, scuttled to their mats whenever Mother entered the classrooms, but would run with delight towards her when they were all out of doors for dance, or similar activities, clutching at her hands and skirts, and gazing up at her in delight. She loved them and they loved her. It was a paradox to my simplistic mind.

I crossed the Temple Community compound to the cosy house in front of me. Like the Temple, the home of my aunt and uncle was comparatively new and built to Grandfather’s designs, as was most of the rebuild. It was airy and spacious within, all rooms leading to a beautiful inner courtyard and garden. My relations greeted me with joy, my cousin Sphenz bounding out of his study to meet me. He was older than I, but always treated me as if we were the same age.

Aunty Rieyna brought a sleepy little Dusti through to say goodbye to Cousin Rieyniz. He snuggled against his mother’s shoulder, chewing his cuddly rug. I shook his tiny hand and then Rieyna took him into his pod.

After prayers, what came now was the best part of the evening, and Aunty Rieyna’s delicious food. We reclined in the courtyard enjoying the warm evening air, and as we talked and ate, a strange question popped out of my mouth, as much a surprise to me as it was to the others.

‘Aunty Rieyna,’ I asked innocently, ‘Who was April?’

Everyone looked at me, each wearing a different expression of perplexity. Aunty Rieyna raised her brow-ridges and looked at Uncle Axzis. Silence hung uncertainly in the air.

‘It is really no secret,’ said Uncle Axzis at last, ‘I know we had an agreement to not mention her name for the sake of your mother, but April was Markas’ second wife and the love of his life. I – we – knew her very well. She was a principal ballet dancer in our Earth Company, and came from the Australasian Federation. Well, the Island of England originally. During the time she lived here, she was regarded as a holy woman who had special powers. It was true. She did.’

I stared at Axzis. The stones dropped in a clattering heap in my head.

‘Oh, Healer April – I have heard of her. She was Father’s wife? What happened to her – how… er… did she die?’

‘Yes, she was Markas’ wife. It was very sad. The atmosphere on Ezskiasia did not agree with her constitution at all. She was all right at first, working hard, healing people and dancing of course. Then she seemed to slowly run out of energy, not even able to dance in the end. Then all of a sudden, she became ill, and there was nothing the physicians could do for her. Poor Markas… he was never the same after that.’

‘But why didn’t anyone outside of the family say anything to me? It’s not fair! The place is seething with gossips…’

‘Markas was always regarded with awe,’ said my aunt. ‘People never gossiped about him – ever.’

‘Even in the time leading up to his death, when his moods took him out of circulation,’ said Axzis, ‘no one gossiped, or wanted to know why he disappeared for spans at a time.’

Axzis fell silent. A flying creature flew overhead in the dimming sky, winging its way to its nest. The Star lamps flickered on. A sweet scent from one of Aunty Rieyna’s clumps of flowers wafted towards me.

‘He became very distant and sometimes angry,’ said Aunty Rieyna. She missed her Little Wayward Brother very much. ‘I used to see him in one of his black moods, just staring into space. In those times his eyes looked like stones. I felt sorry for you all when he got into those moods.’

I wanted to say, ‘I don’t remember those… he was a wonderful father to me… I loved him!’ But I didn’t for I could see that my companions loved him too, and even if he had been different after the death of this woman, they would always love him. But as if he read my thoughts, Uncle Axzis said,

‘But he never took his moods out on you or anybody else. He loved you children very much. I so enjoyed watching the way he played with you.’

Afterwards, I reflected on what I had heard, as I crossed the compound to my mother’s house. I paused for a moment to look up at the Stars of Darkness – those glistening orbs, the guardians of our Order of Eternal Darkness. I thought of Father. I thought of the faceless woman.

I opened the front door and slipped quietly inside so as not to disturb Mother. As I removed my boots in the annex, I glanced down at the boots belonging to my little sisters and a strange wave of tenderness swept over me. There were Betsa’s boots, one with the toe turned in, the other upside down, next to those of Thela, neat and tidy as their owner. I must learn to love them, I thought, because the Prophet tells us that caring for our siblings is as the Creator cares for us, his children. I reflected that to the Creator, we were just like the children I despairingly rolled my eyes over – making a lot of noise and always falling over.

Mother appeared in the doorway as I left the annex and entered the hallway. She looked at me severely, and a strange thought crossed my mind that Grandmother Betsa must have regarded Father thus. I didn’t know why this crossed my mind, but as it did so something like cosmic fingers crept up my spine and into the back of my head.

‘Hello, Mother,’ I said cheerfully, throwing my arm over her shoulder, as we went into the sitting room.

‘Don’t!’ she said, shrugging me off. Then she looked up at me and said, ‘I’m sorry dear, I have had rather an anxious day with Grandmother.’

‘Another bad turn?’ I asked.

Mother nodded. Her mother, my Grandmother, had suffered greatly in the cataclysms in our land. It was long before my time of course, but she and Grandfather had been prisoners of the notorious Abbot Plski, in the same way that Uncle Axzis’ honoured father and mother had been. But Uncle Axzis’ parents were strong-minded people as tough as Fan Tree nuts, whereas my mother’s parents were just ordinary folk. They were intelligent and hardworking, but they lacked the mental strength and inner grit, common to certain scholarly families, and the likes of Grandfather Xanvieria. I learnt that Grandmother had a late child while imprisoned but as with this kind of gestation later in life, the child died as it was born a long time before it was due. I felt sorry for Grandmother just then. Mother told me recently that Grandmother almost died. When I told Grandfather Xanvieria, he said:

‘My word, things have changed over the years!’

‘Grandfather?’

‘Women never spoke of such things to men, even to the menfolk in the family in your father’s youth. It began to change when he was first betrothed… hmm… he would have been the same age as you. Grandmother Betsa would have been scandalised to think of your mother telling you about such a subject.’

‘What do you think?’ I asked, bemused.

‘Oh, I think it is a good thing,’ said Grandfather, ‘more like the way things are on the Earth plane, though from what Grandmother Cristobel says, it wasn’t always like that.’

Mother turned from me to order my sisters to bed. They were arguing fractiously. Everyone says that teachers’ children are troublesome. Everyone is right. I listened impatiently as I always did, ready to snap at them in my usual bossy-big-brother manner, then suddenly my irritation evaporated. Goddess must have given me a Heavenly clip around the head. I said to them:

‘If you are quick, I will tell you a story about a princess, and a god who came down from Heaven.’

They paused in their squabbling and stared at me. Mother, with a nod of approval said:

‘Yes, a folk tale…’

‘Come on girls,’ I said.

After I had tucked them in, and sat on a cushion between their two sleeping platforms, I began a story with Father’s Earth wife in my head, and tried to imagine someone so beautiful she defied description, and a strange man falling out of the sky. Each night I embellished the story for my sisters, but instead of some drama, such as they would study at school, I turned it into a comedy – a funny god and a ridiculous princess. My sisters hissed themselves to sleep night after night.

It was not long after my breakthrough at home, for which I thanked the Prophet, that Grandfather returned Father’s disc, along with a machine which he found, and which he would have used to transfer his data back and forth. But instead of it being old and battered, it was in spotless condition and worked perfectly.

‘I don’t know when he started collecting data on this, but it seems it was quite some time ago. The strange thing is that the last entry is not long before he died. You’d better read it for yourself. I hope you won’t be disturbed by it. I was. It is so uncommonly explicit and frank. If you had been anyone else, I would have pretended that I couldn’t access the content, but you are rather a special youth… try to read with a detached mind.’

I read and read. Locked in the office, I read something which would have done justice to a piece of what used to be called Mystic Fiction. But it was not fiction. Grandfather slipped in from time to time to confer with me.

‘What do you make of it all?’ he asked me.

‘It reads like a book of fantasy,’ I said. ‘I can’t believe that Father said he was not a writer, because…’ Here I faltered. Then finding my voice again, I said: ‘I’m surprised how the narrative stops dead after you all returned to Earth, and the creation of the new Lightline ballet. There are a few references to returning here. All I can find after that, are some jottings of when you came home again. Father says very little about anything or anyone. I suppose he was so very busy with his new position.’

‘Quite right,’ Grandfather replied. ‘His role of His Holiness and his devotion to Madame April completely absorbed him. Have you got to the part after she died?’

‘No,’ I said warily.

‘Keep reading,’ said Grandfather, ‘and come to me if you are unduly distressed by anything.’

I was very glad that it was vacation time at the Temple school, otherwise my studies of the natural world and scripture would have been severely disrupted. As it was, I was barely able to concentrate on the prayers and readings in Temple each morning. I read till late into the dark span. I told my little sisters some more of the absurd princess and funny god, then crossed the compound, out the gate and thence to the study. It was a short and pleasant walk to the Temple. Night creatures chirped in the Fan Tree branches which rattled and hissed above me in the darkness. Once comfortably settled in the study, I went on with my reading. Mother remonstrated with me, but I told her that Father’s effects were taking a long time to sort.

One evening, I came across an appendix on the disc. Father had written ‘Life is all black. All is dead. This is the Eternal Darkness. I think I know now.’ Then there I spotted something off to the side of the page. I read, ’See appendix.’

I searched until I found it. I read the first one, I must remarry. Why God? So much pain. Underneath this I read: There are only one or two… I presumed he meant suitable young women for him to consider. I was right. She is X’Asta. (Mother.) Oh God. A nice girl. A clever girl. I don’t love her. I don’t even like her. She… Here he broke off. I went back to his diary to see if there was anything after the reference to the Eternal Darkness. There was a comment: A pleasant wedding day. Then another entry, Happiness. I have a son. God has blessed me. He will not die. No – I didn’t, I thought. Then there was another entry much, much later: a dear little daughter. We will call her Betsa. X’Asta not so well. I will bring her some plants for her growing room. She loves them. I was strangely moved. It was the first reference to any tenderness towards Mother. There followed another long gap in time between this entry and the next, for I read then: another sweet little girl. More plants for X’Asta. Then I read: ‘Appendix.’ So, I turned the page and read, The Eternal Darkness still prevails. This is the greatest shock. Whatever did he mean by that? Last night I met with April in the Eternal Realms. I said I would be there soon.

This was the last entry anywhere. I could go no further on my own with this. I hurried across the grassy lawn, to Grandfather’s house. He answered the door and seeing my expression, had a quiet word with Grandmother Cristobel. Hand on my shoulder, he followed me back to the study. Together we went through the entries. I hoped it wouldn’t upset Grandfather too much but I know he was very moved, for every so often he dabbed his eyes.

‘You know,’ he said slowly, ‘before your father went to Earth, none of us ever wept. We only wailed. It is something described in scripture, but we had no experience of it. Can you imagine that?’ He shook his head sadly, then turning to the entry in the appendix, tapped it with his finger saying: ‘Your dear father was found dead in the forest. He was lying among the ferns on his back, eyes open, gazing up into the sky. We found him there – Grandmother Cristobel, Uncle Axzis and I. By now we had accessed the ability to weep… we did… all of us…’

I did not know what to say. My voice stuck in my throat, as I turned the document over and over in my hands. I remembered vividly at the time, the school principal coming to fetch me from class himself, and as we made for his study, telling me to be very brave. Then afterwards, all I could remember were the wails of grief as we all gathered in Temple. At last I found my voice and said,

‘Poor Grandfather.’

I felt his hand on my shoulder. When I looked up, Grandfather was gazing out to the hills beyond the Temple and its compound, his expression as distance as Father’s would have been, when he was found.

That evening I dined with him and Grandmother Cristobel. Grandmother Cristobel was very clever at making very good dinners out of the simple ingredients she had in her kitchen. I remember Father telling me that after the Cataclysm, most of our crops were destroyed, and it had taken a good deal of searching for a long time to find supplies of seeds which could be grown for food. At times, I learned that the people were close to starvation. Had it not been for the creatures and plants from the sea and rivers, they would have surely died. By and by, Father said, those of us who were farmers or had farming experience, were able to start their own farms to grow enough to feed us all.

‘Yes,’ said Grandfather, ‘but we must never forget the farmers in distant regions who could still farm. They were life savers. I well remember the feeling as we all watched herds of food beasts arriving in Xanders Region. Then there were the fishers. At first, they sailed out to sea in anything that would float. They were so brave and resourceful. That market we are so used to down at the wharves, didn’t exist when Markas was a young man. A market opened for all the people living on the outer islands’ communities. They were very happy with the precious minerals and metals from Xanders Region mines in exchange for sea-creatures, and we all got used to the strangest foods imaginable.’

I knew what he meant, because Mother used to buy these disgusting-looking grey and pink things, which were never eaten when Father was my age, and which had more legs than I could count. They tasted very good when I was finally persuaded to slice off a tentacle and try one. I knew about these things of course, but I loved to hear Grandfather talk about it all. He brought the stories to life far better than any accounts in school books.

I recalled Father saying, ‘I grew very thin,’ with a twinkle in his grey eyes. He had been far from fat in the first place.

So, now at dinner time, I enjoyed an evening meal with my grandparents in their tastefully decorated house. On the walls were paintings by Aunt Irena. She had chosen to paint scenes of Uncle Carl’s homelands and as long as I could remember, I had been transfixed by the rich colours and landscapes which were not so very different from ours on Ezskiasia.

Aunt Irena also painted images which I was not allowed to look at as a child, for they were still considered rather indecent by Ezskiasian standards. I learned that she had been about to be locked up in a place for the insane, because she painted people pleasuring. But she had escaped, and fallen through a Time Passage where Uncle Carl found her. Because I had grown up with these Earth people in my midst, and was familiar with my family’s Earth persona, I saw nothing strange in that, or about them. But Grandfather told me that this had not always been the case.

‘Oh, dear me, no,’ Grandfather recently said, ‘if you think that is odd, you will like the accounts of an Earth woman artist who fell through to our side. She was found, then protected by the Inner Circle men, for if she hadn’t been, I hate to think what would have happened to her. She managed to get back to Earth somehow, taking an Inner Circle man with her. He was reputed to be her lover.’ To my slightly shocked expression he added, ‘Well it does happen of course. Do you remember my Inner Circle friend from university? Remember how she had only ever been with women and then she… er… jumped ship as Uncle Carl would say, to the man who became her husband?’

I nodded, saying that I remembered them very well. They had both passed into Spirit but I had happy recollections of them bringing sticky treats for me when I was little and making all manner of jokes that they knew a child would hiss over. Now as I studied the features of my neat, tiny Grandmother Cristobel from Ethiopia on Earth, I wondered about this artist Earth woman. I wondered if it was her very difference which made her man swap from other men, to her.

Cristobel’s dark eyes, as dark as Grandfather’s, wore a tender, proud smile as she placed the dish of fragrant roots swimming in a rich sauce on the table. She smiled at me, and I beamed back unable to smile like an Earth person, but she knew what my expression meant.

‘Thank you, Grandmother,’ I said, for she had prepared the dish I liked best. When I was little, I pointed to the other kinds of vegetables in the sauce and Cristobel said, ‘We call those mushrooms where I come from,’ and I said, ‘Those grow on dead trees.’ Grandmother Cristobel just smiled her Earth smile and told me it was Nature’s way of eating up the left-over trees for God. I remembered hissing loudly.

‘Anything for our Rieyniz,’ she returned, seating herself and passing the ladle to Grandfather. Hissing, I reminded her of the tree-eaters.

‘Then we eat the mushrooms,’ I said, ‘so we must be tree-eaters as well.’

‘In a roundabout way I suppose,’ said Grandmother, her eyes twinkling.

As we ate, Grandfather and I told her what we had found while going through Father’s belongings.

‘It is a revelation,’ I said, ‘I keep seeing another person to the one I knew… or at least I