The Time Road: Part 2: the Changeling Warriors

By Doug Wilson

Peter and Siobhan are reunited, as their growing skills can benefit serious crises of the past. For this they are wanted at Lindisfarne when the Vikings attack in AD 796. The Time Road takes them back from today, with a pause to improve their fighting skills with William Sargent, the greatest knight of all, and their bowman ship with an aging Robin Hood. By the time they reach Lindisfarne, the Vikings have killed many of the monks and stolen treasures. The two young warriors travel by Grace OMalleys galleon to Viking land. There they have to fight their way through to a prison where Merriline has been captured. The battles are terrifying, but with their skill to become invisible and their enhanced fighting talents, Peter and Siobhan eventually rescue the great, but not necessarily grateful, wizard. Meantime, the battle between good and evil is heightening up. The next target is the late fourth-century England, where Saxons continue to invade and kill.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris NZ
• Release date: Sep 5, 2017
• ISBN: 9781499099966

Doug Wilson

DOUG WILSON is a member of the Society for American Baseball Research and has written several books on baseball., including Pudge, The Bird, and Brooks. An ophthalmologist by day, Wilson has been a life-long baseball fanatic. He played baseball through college; however, his grade point average was higher than his batting average and he was forced to go to medical school to make a living. He and his wife, Kathy, have three children and live in Columbus, Indiana.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

REUNITED

W AS IT ALWAYS going to be like this? A life in the zone between normality and the world of wizards, goblins, leprechauns, terrible faery horses, Powers of Evil, Perpetrators of Despair and Colluders of Corrup tion?

Peter Wanderer was fighting for his life.

His fingers were scrabbling… desperate for a handhold. His feet slipped on the rocky face, dripping wet from the towering waves breaking over him.

He looked down, heart pounding.

Just the flat vertical face of the rock and swirling sheets of black ocean, gathering to throw another charge at the rock. The waves swept up, higher and higher. Spray raced off the waves… an explosion, drenching him as he hugged the rock wall.

He knew he was going to die.

The wind caught his jacket, billowing it out behind him like a sail – trying to rip him off the rock face. Using a little purchase from his knees to wedge himself slightly upward, his fingers felt a ledge; not a big ledge, but just enough to hold.

Straining every fibre in his aching muscles, he dragged himself another tiny, painful fraction towards the summit. A large black-backed gull flew at him, fluttering its wings as it tried to bat him off the rock. Was it nesting – did it think he was invading its territory? He tried to ignore it and pressed higher, inch by desperate inch.

The summit was close, its shadow above his head as he struggled against the wind, the huge waves, the sea spray and the diving gull. The black-back had a mate. Now there were two of them, flapping around his head, then diving to frighten him away.

One of his feet felt a tiny ridge. He tested it and then, hands and face bleeding from banging and scraping against the cruel surface, pushed himself up so first his nose, and then his eyes moved over the rocky peak. He looked over…

He started suddenly. Another nightmare. He was drenched, but not with sea spray – instead his own sweat soaked the sheets. Balgorly Rock, that godforsaken hellhole in the wild ocean where he had found the Golden Harp, but both the Rock and the harp had almost killed him. Would he ever forget? And the battles. The bloodshed. The same nightmare came every few weeks, without warning. What did it mean?

Climbing out of bed, he went downstairs into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water, now wide awake. Shivering slightly, he sat at the table, his head bowed. What was he waiting for? He had no idea.

Changelings inhabit an uncomfortable space between worlds, living since infancy as humans, but with Irish faery ancestry. Once they have been awakened to their true identity, they are forever on call – waiting for the next summons, waiting to put their lives on the line again, in the never-ending battle against evil.

And until their awakening, they have no idea how different they really are, or how their lives will unfold in ways they never imagined. It happened that way for Peter Wanderer and Siobhan Kelly, when an innocent holiday for an English boy on an island just off the Irish Coast turned into a living breathing nightmare – and he found himself the surprise saviour of the Sanctuarians, a Faery Army fighting against Catharnac, the re-awoken leader of a faction of the Army of Despair – one of the Miasma of Evil. His new friend on the island, Siobhan Kelly, discovered she was the reincarnation of Fianna Brogouh, the most feared and accomplished warrior of the faery world. Together they had learned the truth of their faery origin – and were beginning to realise they had special skills and powers – even if they didn’t yet know how to control them.

Living in reality was tough. But which reality? They knew the Miasma of Evil, a global world of fear and carrion corruption, had its tentacles everywhere, in both worlds. Its terrible leader, the Dark Prince, was directing his forces to spread their version of hate and horror. The battle with Catharnach, in the mythical realm of Faery had been a sideshow. Well, not really a sideshow – after all, Peter had almost died, but this was just the beginning, a wee scrap on the edges. There was a long way to go to reach the centre… and none of it would be easy.

One year on and Peter Wanderer had changed. He was bigger, older… but even more isolated, unsettled and alone. His fourteenth birthday had come and gone, without any fuss – he’d turned down his mother’s attempts to give him a party. Parties were for babies – and he’d led an army into battle. What use were candles on a cake when you’d seen the fires of hell?

Peter knew he needed to be stronger, both physically and mentally. It was his heritage, his destiny… the call would come again – and soon. His faery powers had grown enough for him to know it wouldn’t be long, and he needed to be ready this time. So he worked at it, spending a great deal of time at the pool. As a result his shoulders were broader, his muscles were toned and his swimming was good. Better than good.

You need to do a few more lengths today Peter – after all, the competition is this Saturday. Coach Martin was always on about more lengths, but Peter knew he was the best for his age by a league.

Nah, I’ve done enough. I’m ready for Saturday. He sounded offhand, even a bit grumpy, but he was a loner and chose swimming so he didn’t have to talk much with other people; his head was underwater most of the time. Suited him just fine.

One of the other swimmers called out to him. Hey Pete, there’s a party at Tony’s after the competition. Want to come? Sally’ll be there. You know the one I mean – Sally with the big bazookas. Paul Merryweather was always setting up parties, but Peter was resistant. Paul kept trying though, after all, the girls all wanted to see more of Peter. He was an enigma – and an attractive one.

I’ll see. Peter was his usual non-committal self. Mind you, Sally was OK, in fact he thought she was more than OK – but then so did most of the boys at school.

They were really big.

The events a year ago on Inishbofin had disturbed him profoundly, and he was struggling to cope with his secret knowledge. He didn’t know who he was or what he was. The only person he could share any of this with was Siobhan, and he texted her each day, to the puzzlement of his mother.

Are you still sending texts to that Irish girl? She must be getting sick of them by now. Made no difference. Text, text, text. Should I take away his mobile phone? His mother was starting to become concerned as she saw her son grow more and more isolated every day. Be hard to get it away from him. Best not to create that battle.

Then the best message arrived:

I’m coming to England to stay with Ma’s best friend. Can I stay with you for a couple of days on the way? Ma says I can if it’s OK with your ma.

Did he want her to stay? Of course he did. But having brushed off his mother he had to change his style and approach. He steeled himself for a be nice to mother campaign. It was exhausting. Table clearing, bedroom tidied without asking, help with shopping, hair slicked down, clothes folded. Days of it.

Finally his mother cracked. Peter, what’s going on? What do you want? It’s not like you to be so helpful.

He wriggled, he squirmed, he struggled, eventually asking if Siobhan could stay. She’s going to see her ma’s best friend near Nottingham. So it would just be the two days. He looked anxious.

My goodness, he’s actually blushing! His mother was astonished. Eventually she smiled, suddenly understanding. Of course she can.

Peter silently mouthed Yes! and punched the air. Her ma will send you a letter to check.

That would be nice.

A letter came the following week. Mrs Kelly was as keen to send Siobhan as Peter was to see his friend. She wrote about how close the pair were, and how good it would be for them to meet again, as she and Mr Kelly thoroughly approved of Peter, such a nice, friendly boy.

Mrs Wanderer raised her eyebrows. Peter? Nice and friendly? Maybe there was hope for her surly, grumpy, non-communicative teenager after all.

It was decided. Siobhan would be arriving the same day as the end of term school dance. Peter had already decided not to go, but Mrs Wanderer had other ideas. Trust me Peter – what young girl wouldn’t want to go? And besides, it’ll be good for you to get out and mix more with your schoolmates.

He let himself be convinced – after all, as his mother reminded him, she’d been a girl once so she’d have a better idea than him what Siobhan might like. Reluctantly he told the social monitor, Grace Links, he’d be coming after all.

Grace was a year older than him, and nice enough. That’s great Peter. Will you be bringing anyone?

He blushed, despite his best effort to look cool and indifferent. Just a family friend. From Ireland.

Grace laughed. Long way to come for a school dance.

Oh no… she’s not coming specially – she’ll be here anyway.

Grace just smiled.

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Four weeks to go. Then three, then two. Siobhan was flying to Stanstead Airport, not far from their home in Chelmsford. On arrival day Peter was ready long before his mother had the car out of the garage.

We won’t miss her – for goodness sake Peter – calm down.

But she’ll be nervous if we’re not there to meet her – she’s only a kid after all and she’s coming a long way.

But I thought she was the same age as you – does that mean you’re just a kid too? She grinned wickedly, as he tried to wriggle out of that one.

Eventually they departed. The huge terminal at Stanstead was easy to see as they drove up, all glass and steel. Car parked and Peter hustled inside looking for the Ryanair Arrivals. She was coming via Dublin. They were 30 minutes early so stood around watching the parade of people coming in from everywhere, many from holidays in Spain, or Morocco, or Greece, or Malta, or Portugal or somewhere warm. His mother looked at some of the young girls walking past and began to wonder just what she was going to meet. Maybe the girl was a punk or a thunk or an emo or a goth – or heaven forbid, some bizarre cult, or even into drugs… She shuddered and pulled herself together. Don’t be ridiculous Annie Wanderer – your own sister said the girl was fine. Stop inventing things to worry about!

Plane has landed the monitor read. More waiting, as other passengers emerged with bags and parcels. Tears and laughs and hugs … but no Siobhan. Peter was getting anxious and jumping from one foot to another. Had she missed the plane?

"Peter, how will we know your friend? Teenage girls can change their appearance in a year – she might have coloured her hair, or cut it… are you sure you’ll recognise her?

He shrugged, looking again at the crowd of passengers collecting their bags. Someone tapped him on the shoulder

Don’t you want to know me then, English Boy?

He turned around and there she was … but not the Siobhan he knew. Twelve months ago she had been a skinny Irish kid – now he was looking at an elegant, beautiful young woman. Peter was stunned. Green eyes sparkling with laughter, her thick dark hair was longer, and she flicked it back over her shoulder. Taller and more rounded than he remembered, her jeans were tight, in all the right places and worn with a soft green sweater, high-heeled boots and a green beret at a jaunty angle. Not punk, not gothic. A faery princess… and a warrior.

Well, don’t just stand there like an eedjit. Where’s me hug?

Peter flung his arms around her and she burst out laughing.

That’s more like it! It’s so good to see you.

When she finally let him go, she turned to Peter’s astonished mother.

You must be Mrs Wanderer. I’m Siobhan.

Now Annie Wanderer was an Essex woman and far too controlled for surprises. But Siobhan knocked her out. Her Peter, with such a beautiful young woman? What exactly had gone on in Ireland last year? She was meant to be fourteen but looked much older … all her protective motherly hackles rose. But she smiled and shook Siobhan’s hand, every sense on red alert. Tall, willowy, fluid, moving like a cat; no, more dangerous than that, a leopard. Men in the airport looked at the tall girl as they walked towards the car. Hi darling!

Ah get away with you, back to your wife and kids now. She joked and grinned as if this was something that happened to her everyday.

Peter laughed. Hey Siobahn, that one just walked into a window.

Siobhan grinned back. "Oh don’t be worrying about him – he’ll get over it!

Annie Wanderer’s eyes were like saucers. Finally she found her manners, and her tongue.

Hullo my dear – I’m Annie Wanderer. Peter’s been so looking forward to your visit.

Not as much as I have, I’ll be bound. Her melodious Irish lilt was mesmerising and Annie thought she saw something in the girl’s clear green eyes that said Don’t worry, Mrs Wanderer, he’ll be safe with me…

And with that a hesitant friendship began.

He’s me best friend and always will be, said Siobhan.

While Mrs Wanderer saw a graceful, beautiful young girl, Peter saw Fianna Brogouh, the faery warrior who had battled the evil brute Catharnac on Inishbofin.

Siobhan saw her dearest friend… the only person who shared her secret. And while she didn’t know why she had to come to England… there had been a call. They were needed again.

At Chelmsford there was shopping to do, walking around the town centre.

So much bigger than home, observed Siobhan, looking at the High Street stores and admiring the clothes and the other teenagers, some with green hair, some with Mohawks, some with orange hair, some with spiked hair, and some with no hair. In designer shops she admired boots, tops, jeans, scarves and had to be pulled away, else she might have spent the day and the farm.

Eventually they arrived home to the usual bustle of parcels and bags. Siobhan was shown to the spare room upstairs.

I love your house, Mrs Wanderer. It’s way bigger than ours on the Island.

Call me Annie, dear. It’s big for the two of us but until Peter’s father died it was just right.

Siobhan dipped her head. I was sorry to hear about that, when Peter told me. He misses his da something terrible, you know.

For a brief moment Annie looked stricken, then quickly pulled herself back together. We both do, my dear.

Peter was quickly banished to the corner store for some milk and bread. Siobhan had Mrs Wanderer confused; she could be both girl and young woman. As they chatted they slowly warmed to each other and Siobhan was helping Annie with lunch when they began to talk about how Peter had changed. Annie couldn’t resist.

What did happen on Inishbofin last year – Peter seems so different now.

Siobhan looked thoughful. "Well, that’s hard to say. We met some strange friends and they left.