11

ROMANS AND PICTS

WILL’S HEART GAVE A VIOLENT leap, and he ducked. The window snapped shut.

“Better try again, farther off,” said Nan.

“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” Will muttered. His heart raced; his headache had returned. How many times today had he opened a window into a new time? Seven? Eight?

“Well, excuse me for wanting to keep you from getting punched!” Nan said hotly.

“Sorry,” Will mumbled, backing up out of Breet’s way. The ponies had shied at the noise; Breet ran to calm them with Pictish endearments. Will glanced up the wooded slope behind him. “Breet, you’d better take the chariot up the hill. Go far enough away that the Romans won’t see you through the trees. I’ll come up and open a window into your time in a little while.”

“In a while?” Breet’s voice scaled up fiercely. “My people need the news I bring! You know what they will do—kill everyone—”

“But we have to get Gormlaith,” Nan soothed. “It won’t take a minute.”

“You’d make my people wait while you rescue a dog?” The color on Breet’s cheeks rose dangerously high.

“No worries,” Will interrupted hastily. “I can open the time window to almost the moment we left, see? Your people will hardly wait a minute.”

“Then send me through now and get the dog later!”

Will leaned his forehead against the trunk of a tree. He didn’t want to climb the hill to send Breet home, then have to come all the way back for Gormlaith.… Besides, it was completely unnecessary.

“Do as I say!” Breet shrieked. “I am the daughter of a chieftain!”

“Oh, give it a rest,” Nan snapped. “And don’t you dare!” She knocked aside Breet’s whip, which had begun to rise. “Do you want to go home, or not?”

The blood drained from Breet’s face; the blue painted spirals stood out weirdly on skin suddenly pale. She lowered her whip.

Will looked straight into Breet’s gray eyes. “I will get you back in time, I promise.”

Breet bit her lip. Without a word, she clucked to the horses and led them up the hill.

Nan turned to Will. “Are you all right?”

Will shrugged. “It’s harder and harder to keep the window open. My head starts to hurt.… Listen, let’s just get this over with. I want to go home and sleep.”

He backed up, a good distance from where the angry Roman had been, and let his eyes glaze over as he stared into space. It was surprisingly difficult to relax. He could not forget that Roman fist; what if it was a spear next time?

The window wasn’t opening. Will took in a breath and let it out. Maybe his eyes were focusing too sharply, watching for danger. He deliberately slackened the tension in his body and tried again.

The threadlike tracks of his passage through time emerged at last, glimmering faintly at the edges of his vision. There. That one. Will gently pushed the worry to the back of his mind, and opened the window.

There was a thick tree just ahead. Good—it would block any stray spears. Slowly Will turned until he saw the Roman tents, bright in the high afternoon sun. Some of the men were building a sort of tall fence with sharpened spikes. There was the centurion with his red-crested helmet, drawing in the dirt with a stick while two other soldiers looked on. Battle plans, maybe. Something glinted at his shoulder—a sort of curved pin, holding the folds of his cloak together.

But where was the guard who had almost put a fist through the time window? Will continued to turn his head slowly to the right. Then he stopped.

Behind him, Nan gasped. “Why is that guard hitting that poor man?”

“He must be one of their slaves,” Will said slowly. “Captured in battle, I guess.” He watched, feeling sick, as the spindly man on the ground wiped his bloody nose with the back of his hand and struggled to his feet.

The angry Roman guard let loose with a string of words Will didn’t understand. Then, amid the babble, he heard clearly the word janitor.

The slave picked up a bucket at his feet and went trudging off to one of the tents.

“Janitor?” said Will.

“Maybe it’s a Latin word,” Nan said. “You know, what the Romans spoke? At school, they told us we still use a lot of Latin words today. Like, uh, gymnasium. And auditorium. And janitor, I suppose, and—”

“Gormlaith!” said Will.

“No, Gormlaith isn’t Latin,” Nan corrected.

“The dog, you dumbwit! Look there, by the corner of the tent the slave just passed.” Will turned the window slightly. There, in a triangular bit of shade, a large creamy dog lay with her head on her paws.

Nan’s fingers dug into Will’s shoulder as the angry Roman guard moved toward the dog. “If he hurts Gormly, I swear I’m going to kill him.”

But the guard only stooped to fondle the dog’s head. Gormlaith scrambled to her feet, pulling against the rope that tied her. The guard disappeared into the tent, laughing.

Nan made a sound remarkably like a snarl. “Right, that scunner isn’t touching my dog again. Let’s get her.”

They moved forward slowly, Will concentrating on keeping the picture focused, Nan trying not to step on Will’s heels. They reached the dog and paused, irresolute.

“I’ll call her,” said Nan. “Then she’ll jump through.”

“She can’t hear us, remember? The sound and sight only goes in one direction—”

Nan suddenly stuck her head through the window.

“No!” Will protested, but Nan couldn’t hear him with her head on the other side.

“Gormlaith!” Nan reached a hand through and tugged on the rope. “Come!”

Will tried desperately to keep his focus around Nan’s shifting head and shoulders. He couldn’t let the window shut when her head was hanging out there in another time.

Gormlaith’s glad snuff at Nan’s voice changed in an instant to a fearful whine. She backed up, pulling at the rope to get as far from the disembodied head as possible. In the distance, Will saw movement as a Roman turned toward the dog—and Nan’s head.

Sweat from Will’s forehead dripped down onto his lashes and hung there, trembling. He groped for the back of Nan’s collar and yanked hard.

Her head came back, but her hand was still through the window, gripping the rope. Now Will could hear someone shouting on the other side.

“Let go!” he urged.

“Come on, you—Gormless!” Nan tugged at the rope, but the dog tugged harder.

“Pull—your hand—in now,” Will said through his teeth. He kept focus with a shaking effort; it felt as if an iron band were pressing around his forehead. He couldn’t hold out much longer.

Desperately Will clamped his hand around Nan’s wrist and used all his strength for a last, violent yank. He fell on his back, and Nan tumbled on top of him.

“Why did you do that?” she cried. “Gormly was going to come in a minute!”

Breathless, Will pointed. Four inches of rope still dangled from her fist. The end had been cleanly cut, as if by the sharpest of knives.

“Oh…,” said Nan.

“It would have cut your hand right off if I hadn’t pulled.” Will sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Next time, listen, will you? I can’t keep that window open forever!”

“You don’t have to get stroppy about it.” Nan’s voice was sulky.

Will glared at her. “Fine. Next time, get yourself cut in two, see if I care!”

Nan tried to return the glare, but her eyes filled in spite of her. She turned away, sniffling. “It’s just—she’s my dog, and I don’t know how to get her back.”

Will brushed the dirt off his knees. “Okay,” he said heavily. “I’ll open a window for a few seconds, so we can see what happened to her. Then I’ll close it, and we can think what to do. All right?”

Nan sniffled again and nodded.

Will’s head felt like a split melon, but he managed to get the window open again after three attempts. He tried for the moment after the rope had been cut and was just in time to see Gormlaith’s hindquarters as she dodged through the camp and tore off up the hill, the long rope flapping and jouncing behind her. Will shut the window with relief. “No one followed her. She went up the hill—I saw where. Let’s go take care of Breet and then find Gormly and go home. All right?”

Nan nodded, gulping. “But hurry—we don’t know how fast time is moving, back there. Remember how a year went by for Jamie, while only an afternoon passed for us?”

“Only because I wasn’t used to opening the window. I didn’t know how to zero in on the time.” Will had a feeling there was more to it than that, but he couldn’t think what.

He trudged up the hill after Nan. On this very soil, two thousand years in the past, Romans were beating their slaves and preparing for war. But here in the twenty-first century, the woods were quiet and green, and the path was worn smooth by the feet of hikers. Behind him, in the distance, he could hear faint shouts from the reenactors, and the sound of clashing swords mixed with laughter and the happy shrieks of children. Everyone was having a grand time playing Romans and Picts. Will was consumed with longing to stay in this time, his own time, where things were peaceful and battles were pretend …

Except they weren’t always. Not in the place where his mother was. Not in lots of places.

Will winced. He was so tired. He didn’t want to think about the world with all its troubles, past and present and yet to come; there was so little he could do about any of it. Nothing at all, really—

No, that wasn’t right. He had done something. And in spite of the ache that always came at the thought of his mother, the ache that never quite went away, there was a lightness in him, too. Because he had done what his father had asked. He’d taken care of Jamie.

It was a small thing, maybe, compared to all the problems in the world, but it would not seem small to his mother or his father. And though his parents would never know how difficult it had been, Will knew. And if the old man at the well—Sir David—was right, then God knew, too. Somehow that was a comfort.

Will glanced over his shoulder. He couldn’t see Castle Menzies through the trees, but it was there all the same, and his little brother was safe inside it, sleeping. Now if only Will could get Breet back to the Picts, and find Gormlaith and bring her home, he would never, ever go back in time again.

“Don’t step in the hole,” Nan said suddenly.

Will blinked and came out of his daydream. There, at his feet, was the hole Jamie and Gormlaith had dug, with a trowel stuck beside it in a pile of earth. Next to it was Nan’s satchel where she had dropped it, with a corner of the Magic Eyeball book poking out the top. And still on the ground was the Roman pin—Jamie’s “stabber”—and next to it, the penknife Nan had dropped. No one had disturbed anything.

“Look, there’s Breet,” said Nan, pointing.

The brightly painted chariot was screened from the base of the hill, where the Roman camp would be when Breet went back to her own time; she had chosen her spot well. The ponies whickered softly, pawing the ground as if anxious to get going. Breet left the reins looped around a tree and trotted back to grip their hands so they could speak together. “I want to go back to my people now.”

“I’m going to send you.” Will looked around to get his bearings. “Okay, the Roman camp was just about there.” He pointed down the hill and to the right. “And the last I saw Gormlaith, she was running up here, but more to the left, I think.”

Breet’s head reared back. “My people come before your dog!”

“I’m just working everything out in advance,” Will explained. “I don’t want to keep the window open while we figure out what’s next. It hurts my head if it’s open too long, and it’s bad if I accidentally close the window at the wrong time.” Will glanced at Nan.

“Really bad,” Nan agreed fervently.

“So here’s my idea. Breet, you stand by the horses’ heads and wait for my signal. When the window opens, lead them through—they’ll go more quietly that way.”

“Yes,” said Breet.

Will went on. “I’m going to open a window to a few seconds after Gormlaith’s rope was cut. That’s as early as I can go, and it should be enough time for you to get back and stop your people from—you know.”

Breet nodded grimly.

“You won’t see the time window because you won’t be touching me. But I’ll make it big enough for the chariot to go through, like before. When you hear me shout your name, just walk straight ahead. There might be a sort of strange look to the air; go right through it and you’ll be back in your own time.”

“Then drive straight over the hill and down the other side, and back to my village to tell my father all that I have seen!” Breet’s face was triumphant.

“But what about Gormlaith?” Nan twisted her fingers together.

“I’m coming to that. As soon as Breet makes it all the way through, I’ll turn the window to face the Roman camp. We should see Gormly running up the hill toward us. You’ll have to call her—”

“What, stick my head through again?” Nan looked worried. “Are you sure? I don’t want to get beheaded.… Anyway, Gormly didn’t even come the last time I did that. I think she was scared to see my head just floating there.”

Will hesitated. He did not want to send Nan into danger, but he couldn’t see any way out of it if they wanted to get Gormlaith back. “You’d better go all the way through the window to call her. It won’t take a minute,” he added, hoping it was true. “Even if the Romans hear you, they won’t be able to get up the hill fast enough to do anything.”

Nan swallowed.

“Unless you have a better idea?” Will asked hastily.

“No,” Nan said in a small voice. “I’ll do it.”

“Ah—you are brave, like my people!” The gap between Breet’s teeth showed as she grinned. “I wish you could come back to my village; I’d paint you with warrior patterns. But I can give you this.” She wriggled off her iron armband with a quick motion and put it into Nan’s hands. “It will bring you protection.”

“Thanks!” said Nan, pushing it onto her arm.

“Yeah, thanks,” Will said. “And good luck!”

Nan traced the curving iron with her finger as Breet trotted off to the ponies. “Will, promise not to leave me there?”

“Of course I won’t!”

“I know you wouldn’t do it on purpose. But what if something goes wrong and you can’t keep the window open anymore? Promise you won’t just shut it and come back for me later. Promise me you’ll come through right that minute.”

Will sighed. Nobody seemed to really understand that he had the time window thing under control now. If something did go wrong, it would actually be better to shut the window, think up a plan, gather any weapons or whatever he needed, and then open it again to the exact second he’d left—

“Please?” Nan begged.

“All right,” said Will. “But I won’t have to,” he added hurriedly. “It’s a good plan. It ought to work perfectly.”

Breet was in position, the reins in her hands and her head turned, waiting. Will took a deep breath and allowed his gaze to blur. Now that he’d had time to rest his eyes, his head didn’t hurt so much, and Nan’s armband, so close to him, was a powerful connection to the past. The threadlike tracks of his passage through time became stronger, glimmering faintly at the edge of his vision. There, right there, was a clear trace to the moment when he had last opened the window—a jagged sort of track that felt like fear.

“Better hurry,” Nan murmured at his elbow. “Breet looks like she’s having trouble keeping the horses still. Why aren’t you facing her?”

“Just checking to make sure I’ve got the right time.… Yes!” he breathed. “There’s Gormly, see? Her rope has just been cut, and she’s running from the Roman tent up the hill toward us—”

“Oh, brilliant,” said Nan with fervor.

A bubbling elation fluttered in Will’s chest. He had opened it perfectly. Slowly he turned his head, bringing the window around toward Breet; the stout trees of Pictish times moved past one by one. He was going to do it—it was all going to work—

There was a sudden movement in the window, low down. Will caught a glimpse of a broad black-and-white snout emerging from a wide hole in the ground, followed by two bright eyes. Nan gave a faint shriek and clutched his shoulder. The picture blurred slightly, and Will made a heroic effort to snap it back into focus.

“Don’t do that!” he said through his teeth. “You almost made me lose the window!” His headache, never really gone, grew into a dull pressure behind his eyes. The light through the window seemed to have dimmed—was his vision going?

“Sorry,” said Nan. “It startled me, that’s all.”

“What was it?” Will stopped the motion of his head long enough to look at the hole. It was largish—over a foot wide—but the creature was gone.

“That same badger Gormly chased before, I think.” Nan glanced up the hill to where Breet was waiting patiently to go back to her own time. “Never mind, it’s gone. How are your eyes doing? Can you make the window big enough for the chariot?”

“Yes.” Will ignored the strain in the small muscles of his eyes; he tried to forget about the pulse that was beginning to throb at his temples. Just a little more effort, and he would be done with Time Sight forever.

Slowly, with infinite care, he enlarged the window. When it was big enough for Breet to drive through, he carefully slid it through the air until it was directly in front of the girl and her chariot.

“Breet, go!” he shouted, wincing as the sound pierced his head.

The blue-painted girl looked at them steadily for a long moment. Then she joined her hands together in a double fist and thumped them against her chest.

“We’ll miss you, too!” Nan called, waving.

“She can’t understand you anymore,” Will said.

“I don’t care. She knows what I mean. Oh, good-bye!” Nan cried.

Breet raised her hand in a tentative wave, and her teeth flashed in a sudden grin. Then, calmly and without fuss, she walked the horses through into her own time and was gone.

Will pulled the window gently around in the other direction. “Your turn now, Nan,” he said, holding the focus steady in spite of the pain. He could do this. It was only for a minute more.

“But where’s Gormlaith?” She peered past his shoulder.

“Oh, for—” Will bit off a word and held his focus with determined concentration. The dog should have been right there.…

Will turned slowly in a circle, searching. He blinked quickly, moistening his eyes, keeping the focus intact.

“There! What was that?” Nan pointed. “Go back a bit.”

“What?” Will couldn’t see anything but a rock and some pine branches … wait. Something was sticking out behind the rock. Something pale and feathery; it almost looked like Gormlaith’s tail, but it wasn’t wagging. It wasn’t moving at all.

“Something’s wrong,” Will said slowly. His eyes, already strained, began to burn. “She was running up the hill just a minute ago. What could have happened in that time?”

“Get closer!” Nan’s hand gripped his elbow, urging him on, guiding his steps.

Will paced forward over the rough ground, his headache growing fiercer with every step. He longed to close the window, but he couldn’t, not until they knew if the dog was dead or alive. He stepped around the rock. Nan gasped.

The rope the Romans had put on Gormlaith was tangled around the pine tree and caught in the low-reaching branches. The dog had clearly tried to free herself but had only succeeded in getting one leg caught up inside her collar, a strange, wide leather affair with metal spikes. She lay almost flat, with her head lifted slightly at a strained angle, and her eyes were closed.

“Gormly!” Nan breathed. In an instant she was through the window and ducking under the branches, crawling on her hands and knees to Gormlaith’s head.

The dog opened her eyes, dull and glazed with pain. In that moment, Will noticed that the earth all around her hind legs was gashed deep, as if she had scrabbled mightily with her paws for a very long time.

Nan was having trouble. She dragged the heavy dog a few inches forward, to slacken the tight rope, but as soon as Gormly got more air, she began to struggle. Will’s head felt like a gong beating, but in spite of the pain, he could see that the more the dog struggled, the tighter the rope grew and the more impossible it was for Nan to untangle.

Why didn’t she use her penknife? As if Nan had heard his thoughts, her hand fumbled in her pocket, but came out empty. She looked up, despairing, in the general direction of the window. “It’s gone!”

Suddenly Will remembered where it was.

Warily, slowly, he turned around, keeping his focus on the Pictish forest but losing his view of Nan and Gormlaith. He felt strangely guilty for turning his back on them, but he was still keeping the window open. He slid his feet forward, carefully feeling the ground ahead, never able to look down. The hole Jamie had dug should be just … about … here.…

He felt around with his foot for what seemed like an eternity. At last his toe dipped into a depression, and he knelt with great care to grope with his hand. He had to use all his concentration to keep the window open now.… His fingers closed around smooth metal, and his thumb felt a sharp edge.

He stood, he turned, barely hanging on to his focus. He had planned to toss the knife through to Nan, but he could hardly see anymore. Black dots swirled in his vision, and he was nauseated from pain. He had only a few seconds left, and he had promised.…

Will stepped into the time of the Romans and Picts, and stumbled toward the pine tree where Nan and Gormlaith still struggled. “Here,” he gasped, pressing the knife into Nan’s outstretched hand. Then he fell to his knees and was sick.

When at last he lifted his head, it was the light he noticed first. Slanting in low from the west, it furred the leaves on the hill with gold. Then, in a moment, the golden shafts were gone and the forest turned somber. Will looked to the upper branches to see the sun still lighting the treetops. That, too, would go in another minute.

How could the sun be setting? His head felt full of nails, and he was half-dazed, but he was sure it had been midafternoon when Gormlaith had run away from the Romans.

A few steps away, Nan cradled Gormlaith’s head in her lap. The dog’s chest rose and fell in reassuring rhythm, and her brown eyes, no longer glazed with pain, were fixed on Nan’s. The rope and spiked collar lay curled in the pine needles that covered the ground.

“She’s breathing fine now,” Nan said in a low voice. “Let’s get out of here before any more Romans come.”

Will ripped up a handful of grass to wipe his mouth and scanned the surrounding forest. “Wait.” He squinted at the bit of brightly painted wood showing through a gap in the trees. “Isn’t that Breet’s chariot? Why hasn’t she gone back to the hill fort?”

“How would I know? I’ve been busy with Gormlaith!” Nan frowned. “Hurry up—open a window to our time!”

Just thinking about opening a window made the spots swirl in front of Will’s eyes again. He couldn’t do it—not yet. “I need a minute,” he said, glancing again at the bit of painted wood farther up the hill. “And I want to check on something.”

“Are you crazy?” Nan hissed. “Come back here!” But Will was already gone, slipping quietly from tree to tree as he moved toward the painted chariot. He was almost there when suddenly a hand was clapped over his mouth and his arms were pinned to his sides.

“You!” said his captor.

It was the tattooed man with the wolfskin cape; his chest scars were plain even in the dwindling light. “I thought you had gone,” the warrior said, releasing his hold. “Have you come to bring your magic to aid us in battle?”

“Husha!” said another Pict near him. Will looked around. Hidden among the shadows and behind trees were the forms of other tattooed Picts, women as well as men. Of course. They had planned to storm the Roman camp at sunset.

Some extra time must have slipped by, somehow, when Will had opened the window into Pictish time. He remembered how the window had blurred for a moment when the badger had startled him, coming out of its hole.

Breet was speaking to her father in low but clear tones. “Yes, I saw the ruins that you saw,” she said, “but listen to me. The hill fort was only deserted because our people had built bigger, better dwellings.”

“And how do you know this?” the chieftain demanded.

Breet raked a hand through her hair, dragging it back from her forehead. “Will took me there, with his magic. I have seen chariots like smoking dragons, racing faster than the fastest horses, over roads as smooth as a pool of water on a windless day.”

There was a low murmur from the listening Picts. Will’s eye was caught by the gleam of a strange brass object on top of what looked like a pole. He squinted and decided it was a boar’s head—or something like it.

“I have seen proud dwellings, towering high above the trees, many times the height of our tallest hut, built of stone squared like Roman walls, yet built by our people they tell me—built on the very spot of that Roman camp!” Breet pointed down the hill.

“Is this possible?” whispered the Pict standing next to Will.

“And I have spoken with a man of that time, Father. He told me—” She flung back her head, her face alight. “He said that the Romans may have beaten us on the open plain, at the Battle of the Bloody Hands, but that they could not win among these, our own hills, where we can attack without warning and retreat into hidden places where they cannot follow. They will be gone soon, Father!”

The chieftain’s eyes seemed to grow darker. “And you believed this man?”

Breet clasped her hands and thumped them on her chest. “As much as I believe you. He was a wise man, a druid, I think, one of our descendants; I looked him in the eye, and there was no lie in him. He swore it, Father! In one or two winters, no more than three, he said the Romans will abandon the fort at Inchtuthil and never trouble us again!”

The chieftain’s face lit up with a fierce joy. “Then we fight, not to destruction, but to victory!” He raised his spear and shook it. All around him, his warriors did the same, silently but with a sort of breathing exaltation.

The chieftain lowered his spear and looked around the circle of waiting Picts. “When the carnyx sounds, strike your blows, then disperse into the hidden glens and caves. They will follow, but they will not follow far, for they do not know this land as we do. We will meet again at moonset and strike another blow when they expect it not!”

A low, fierce growl went around the circle. The man holding the brass boar’s head lifted it higher.

The chieftain turned to Breet. “Though some may die today, not all will die. Take this news back to your mother, Breet. Tell her that no life need be taken in the village. Then stay with her, and stay safely.”

Breet pouted. “But I want to come back and join the battle. We are not like the Romans; our women can fight.”

“Strong women,” said her father quietly, “will always join in the fighting, if they are not caring for children or the old and sick. But you are still just a girl.”

“I’m a strong girl,” Breet insisted.

Her father’s voice was stern. “You are brave, my daughter, but you have your task, and your orders. Go now, go silently—and if the gods are kind, we will meet again!”

Will hurried back to Nan and Gormlaith. He had to open a window before the battle started.

Down between the tents, torches were being lit; a Roman guard stared up the hill as if looking for someone. Will squatted behind the boulder, breathing quickly.

Gormlaith was on her feet now, whining, and Nan used all her strength to hang on to the dog. “Can you open it now?” she begged. “It’s hard to hold Gormly, and I think the Romans might have heard her.”

Will nodded. He was not exactly calm, and his head still hurt, but once he got the window open, they only needed a few seconds to get through.

He shut his eyes, took a breath, and opened them again. The trees around him blurred as he focused, not on anything he could see, but on what he couldn’t. The air before him wavered slightly—the gossamer threads of their movements through time shimmered, faint and golden in the dusk. There. There.

In the back of his mind, he was aware of increasing noise—a rumble, a vague sound of movement, a voice shouting—but no matter, he had the window to their own time open. There, through the window, was Nan’s satchel with the Magic Eyeball book still half tumbling out; there was the hole again where Jamie had unearthed the helmet.

“Now,” he said urgently. “Go on through.”

BRRRAAAANNNGGGH! BRANG-RANG-RAAANNNGGH!

The noise, wild and brazen, bellowed through the trees like the sound of a metallic beast in a furious rage. Will clenched his jaw and stifled an almost uncontrollable instinct to turn around and look. “Now, Nan!”

“I can’t!” Nan had both arms locked around the dog’s midsection. “Gormly’s scared, she’s trying to run off! And I’m not touching you, I can’t even see the window—”

“It’s right in front of me. Nan, shove her through!”

Gormlaith squirmed as Nan tried to push her. Suddenly the dog turned around, breaking Nan’s hold, and anxiously licked the girl’s face. Nan laughed wildly.

“Are you insane?” Will demanded. “Laughing, at a time like this?”

“No,” Nan gasped, “but I just figured out what to do—Gormly, stay!” she said firmly in the dog’s ear. Startled, Gormlaith froze for a moment. “Fetch!” Nan cried, and threw a pinecone straight through the window that led to their own time.

Gormlaith leaped after it, her tail flying as she cleared the window.

The thunder of charging warriors was loud in Will’s ears. “GO!” he shouted, but suddenly Nan yanked hard at Will’s shirt. The window disappeared as she pulled him down behind the rock and a spear whizzed by where his head had been.

A man holding a long sort of trumpet that ended in a brass beast’s head strode past, blowing fiercely into the mouthpiece, his cheeks distended. Will clapped his hands over his ears as the bellowing sound seemed to pierce to his bones. That had to be the carnyx—the “great loud beast horn” that Breet had described. It was supposed to strike the fear of death into Pictish enemies. Will wasn’t an enemy, but he was terrified all the same.

Hooves pounded, shaking the earth; there was a whinny like a scream, rising above the brazen howl of the carnyx. Will and Nan huddled together behind the boulder as a horse reared above them, its helmeted Roman rider fighting to control it. Then, faster than Will could take it in, a spear flashed, blood spurted, and the Roman rider toppled, his cloak tearing loose from its pin. His bronze helmet fell off, hit the ground with a clang, and rolled into the badger’s hole.

Nan was saying something; her mouth moved, but Will could hear nothing over the roar of battle. He pulled at her, and they crawled away through the undergrowth.

“That’s the helmet Jamie found!” Nan said breathlessly. “It rolled into that hole—and stayed there for two thousand years! And his cloak pin, too!”

Will was shaken to his core. Breet had been right—the reenactors’ battle was nothing like a real one. “We’ve got to get to a safe place,” he said. “A quiet place.”

Nan glanced over her shoulder. “Let’s go to Saint David’s Well.”

“Will it still be there?” Will wondered aloud, but he staggered after his cousin up the path. The well was there. The flat stone slabs were not yet placed, but the water brimmed up over earth and moss, and the sheer cliff and the apron of turf were just the same. The cup-marked stone they had picnicked on was there, too, and Will sat down upon it, breathing hard, his knees strangely weak.

Nan looked nervously over her shoulder. “At least Gormly’s safe. Better open a window for us now.”

“Just … let me catch my breath.”

“Do it fast,” Nan advised. “I hear someone coming.”

Will’s hands pressed down hard on the rock as he tried to concentrate. He glanced involuntarily to one side as two tattooed warriors raced silently past them up the path. Were the Picts dispersing already?

Nan’s hand on his shoulder was shaking, as if she had a chill. “Aren’t you going to stand up so we can walk through?”

Will got to his feet with reluctance. He felt as if his muscles had turned to water; he longed to sit back down on the cup-marked stone. He had the strangest feeling that the stone itself was exerting a force, drawing him back.… He took a few steps away from the stone and shook his head, to clear it. Now he could hear the sound of someone running—louder, coming closer, with creaking leather and the clank of metal armor—

“Hurry!” Nan’s whisper was hoarse in his ear.

“I can’t find the right time.” Will searched frantically for the shimmering golden threads, the feeling that said “now,” the sense that he had homed in on the moment he wanted, but something—something strong—seemed to be tugging him in another direction.

“It doesn’t have to be the perfect time—just get us out of here!” Nan’s fingers clutched his shoulder.

The air shimmered faintly. The window came into focus—faded out—came in again. There were no golden threads there, yet something dragged at him like strong hands, pulling in spite of his resistance.

“Now!” Nan squeaked as a Roman appeared at the head of the path.

Will gave in, and the window opened. Nan sprang through it. Will dived after her, rolling on the ground, and lay there, panting.

The sky above him was a dark slate-gray, with a glimmer of pink in the east, and the earth beneath was cold and prickly with early-morning frost. He sat up and rubbed his arms, already covered with goose bumps.

And there was a boy, dressed in skins with a rough fiber torc around his neck, staring at them with his back to a tree.