Time to Heal Read online

  “I don’t kn—” Sophie began but just then both women gave a low gasp because the scene on PORTAL’s window had abruptly changed.

  Like a TV switching channels, Emmeline’s world disappeared and a whole new one took its place.

  Instead of the bluish-purple skies of Terra, Caroline and Sophie were suddenly staring at a vast, dim cavern. In the center of the cavern, was a large oval table, big enough to seat at least fifty people, Caroline estimated. And that was about the number seated there—only they weren’t seated, they were up and shouting at each other.

  In the middle of the table, glowing with a sickly greenish light, was a huge crystal that looked to be almost as tall as a man. Looking at it closely, Caroline saw that it had a large crack, running down the middle of it and parts of it had chipped away. Was that what all the strange people were arguing about?

  “Who are those people? Some kind of barbarians?” Sophie breathed in her ear. “This looks like something out of one of those old Sword and Sorcery movies.”

  “I don’t know who they are,” Caroline answered, but she had to admit that was exactly what they looked like.

  There were both men and women at the table and all of them dressed in leather skins. Some of the men had war-paint on their faces and the women—who were every bit as big and muscular as the men—had feathers and beads woven into their long hair.

  After studying them for a moment, Caroline saw that they appeared to be divided into several obvious factions. The women kept together in one group, and then there was a group of males who appeared to have long, dagger-like fangs, rather like a saber-tooth tiger. Another group had deep, velvety brown skin and slitted golden eyes like a cat’s. A fourth group appeared to have scars all over their bodies, as though they had all been in terrible fights.

  “There—that’s him!” Sophie exclaimed excitedly, pointing at PORTAL’s window. “That’s the one the Goddess showed us!”

  “What? Who? What are you talking about?” Caroline asked eagerly.

  “That guy there—sitting beside the really old man with the long white hair and the staff.” Sophie went a little closer, though she was careful to stay behind the black safety line, and pointed. “That’s the guy the Goddess showed us when she promised to send a protector to Emmeline!”

  Caroline looked where she was pointing and saw a tall, muscular warrior with scars all over his body—it was easy to see them, since his broad chest was bare and he was only wearing a leather loincloth wrapped around his lean hips. The scars were large, jagged, and prominent—silver-white lines that crossed his dark tan skin like streaks of lightning. One bisected his face diagonally, marching from the right side of his forehead across the bridge of his nose and crossing his left cheek just under the eye.

  And speaking of his eyes, it was difficult to tell because of the dim lighting, but they almost seemed to glow. Were his pupils white instead of black? Caroline couldn’t tell, but it certainly looked like it. The light pupils gave his gaze a piercing, foreboding look that sent a shiver down her spine.

  But his eyes and his scars weren’t the only thing that was frightening about him. The warrior also had a five-sided sword as long as his body strapped to his back. When one of the fanged warriors leaned across the table and shouted in his face, he drew it with a ringing sound of metal-on-metal and held it easily between them, as though in silent threat.

  “Look at that thing,” Sophie muttered. “It must weigh fifty or sixty pounds but he’s holding it like it’s as light as an ice cream cone.”

  “Well I’m pretty sure that particular ice cream cone would slice your tongue in half if you tried to lick it,” Caroline murmured back. “Bad idea.”

  “Shhh—the old guy is talking!” Sophie exclaimed.

  Indeed, the white-haired man seated beside the huge, scarred warrior suddenly stood and banged his staff on the floor, creating a booming sound.

  “Enough!” he announced in a surprisingly strong voice for a man who looked to be in his eighties or nineties. “As Speaker and Shaman for the Esk’hara Kindred, I must protest this threat of violence. Skahr,” he told the scarred warrior standing beside him. “Put your great-sword away. We will have no bloodshed at this Council.”

  “I do not know what besides bloodshed will settle these conflicts,” one of the cat-eyed warriors purred in a deep, silky voice. “We appear to have difficulties which can no longer be settled by talking, Old One.”

  “If the male clans would stop invading our territory, we would be well content,” one of the women exclaimed. “How many times must we say that we wish no contact with you?”

  “Your lands are flush against ours,” the saber-toothed warrior replied. “How can we help it if our flocks sometimes cross over into your valley? Have you no tolerance at all?”

  “Not for males!” the woman, who had long red hair braided with feathers, snapped back. “You must not—”

  “Hold, hold!” the old man exclaimed. “This is what I am talking about—whenever we get together for a parley, it always turns to talk of war and strife. But it was not always so. The Clans used to get along together—to respect each other and work for the common good.”

  “Times have changed,” purred one of the cat-eyed warriors. “We have changed, Old One.”

  “No, we have not!” the old man said stoutly. “The peoples of the Four Clans are much the same as they ever were. What has changed is the Peace Crystal. It is sick—cracked. And in order to bring peace back to our peoples, it must be healed.”

  The warrior woman with the long red hair put a hand on her full hip.

  “And how do you propose to do that, Old One?” she demanded. “The Crystal is cracked and has been breaking apart for generations. Have not every one of our Clans tried every sort of magic to heal it? What can you do now that has not been done before?”

  “Something new,” the old man said mysteriously. “I had a visitation last night,” he continued. “A visitation from the Goddess herself.”

  There were gasps from some of the others seated around the table as well as exclamations of wide-eyed surprise.

  “Well?” purred the cat-eyed warrior who seemed to be the leader of his Clan. “What did she say, Old One?”

  The old man’s eyes closed reverently and he lifted his face, as though looking into the Heavens.

  “She gave to me a prophecy,” he said in his hoarse but strong voice. “Listen well.”

  “That which is broken

  Must be made whole

  To heal the Crystal

  You must heal the soul

  Choose he among you

  Who has never been bested

  Send him between worlds

  To find one who is tested

  She is a maiden, pure of heart

  From that which she loves

  She has been forced to part

  You shall know her at once

  For she is the one

  Who can beat any male

  Under the sun

  Bring her back at once

  To the room of Clans

  On the Crystal of Peace

  She must lay her hands

  Only then will

  Your Peace be made whole

  To heal the Crystal

  You must heal the soul.”

  * * *

  “That is a deep prophecy indeed,” one of the saber-toothed warriors remarked. “But what does it mean?”

  “I believe it means we must choose a champion,” the cat-eyed warrior purred. “But how we are to send him between worlds, I do not know.”

  “I do,” the old man said. “The Goddess told me that a shard of the Crystal would be given to me and by its magic, he who we choose would be sent where he needed to go.”

  “A shard of the Peace Crystal? But I thought you wished to heal it—not break it apart further?” the warrior woman with the long red hair objected.

  “It and all the other missing pieces shall be restored when the maiden the prophecy speaks o