Time to Take Another Road

“Dubh’s away for a few days.” Sorcha set two pints on the table and hunkered down beside Estrada.

“Fuck.” Estrada cracked his knuckles, and Sorcha rolled her eyes. How could she be so composed? A gnawing sensation in his gut told him things were off. Could she not feel it?

Conall returned, picked up one pint, and shoved the other in front of Estrada.

“The barman says he left Saturday,” she continued. “Apparently, his aunt took sick, and he went to see her.”

“Where?” Estrada growled.

“Inner Hebrides. That’s all he knows.”

“And there’s no way to contact him?”

Sorcha shook her head. “I think we should get a hotel room tonight and head to Argyll tomorrow. Remember, we still have to see Dylan’s grandfather and pick up my things in Kilmartin Glen. The Wee Pict might be back by the time we return.”

Conall raised his eyebrows. “The Wee Pict?”

“The Picts were one of the first tribes here in Scotland,” Sorcha said. “Dubh’s mother’s a Pict and his father’s de Danann.”

“He has power then.” Conall looked impressed.

“Aye, and you’re finally going to meet someone who’s actually fey.” Like Ruairí, Conall was sure that she and Estrada were fey when they’d met. Their tattoos were proof.

“What if he’s not back?” Estrada broke out in a sweat despite the air conditioning.

“Then we’ll leave him a note and go on without him.”

Scowling, Estrada picked up the pint. “But I need him.”

Sorcha raised her hands to show that she had no quick fix. “Didn’t you tell me he came to Lucy’s birthday party?”

“Yes, but that’s not until August, and I need him now.”

The three of them shared a hotel room that night with two double beds. Estrada rolled onto his side and kept his distance from Conall. His memory of his first experience with Michael was too fresh, too visceral, too potent, and he wanted to hold it as long as he could.

In the morning, Conall caught Estrada just as they were about to climb into the Land Rover. “You’ve changed,” he said accusingly. The dark circles under his eyes revealed his lack of sleep.

“I’m sorry, but I’m human, and these vampires have Michael in their thrall.” He shook his head and left it at that.

“You haven’t been the same since you spoke to him.”

Estrada exhaled loudly. “Michael’s turning faster than I expected, which means we’re running out of time.” He clenched his fists. “Fuck. I keep trying to make things right and they keep going wrong.” Caught on the edge of despair, he’d no magic to turn things around.

Conall clutched Estrada’s fist and brought it to his lips. “When you rise above the water, there’s comfort in the sun.”

Estrada huffed. He couldn’t always discern the bard’s cryptic lines. “I’m still that grieving man caught beneath the waves. Is that what you mean?”

As Sorcha started the car, Conall opened the front door. “I mean only that you are not alone. Your kisses gave me comfort.”

That last line stung. In an effort not to hurt Conall, Estrada had done that very thing.

“Wait.” Estrada drew Conall to his chest, held the bard’s jaw in his hands, and gave him a long, soft kiss. “You’re right, man. I shouldn’t close off like I do. We’re in this together and our kisses give me comfort, too.”

The three-hour drive to Kilmartin Glen felt like the beginning of a summer adventure for Sorcha, rather than the end. As they drove north, the sun rose across forested peaks to the east, blanketing the Land Rover in newfound hope. Though Estrada brooded over Dubh’s disappearance, she felt elated to be back in Argyll. At Clachan, the A83 veered south, and they cruised the spectacular shore of Loch Fyne all the way into Lochgilphead.

At the T-juncture, she stopped the car. “Right or left?”

Estrada glanced up at the sign. “Lochgilphead. I remember this place. Dylan was in jail here.”

“Aye for a while, until they moved him to Greenock. South is Tarbert and Dylan’s granddad. North is Kilmartin Glen. Where should we go first?”

“If we’re this close, let’s check on your camp,” Estrada said. “Did you leave a large crew there?”

“No. Truth is, Meritaten’s broad collar was my big find. When I went on the lecture tour, most of the diggers left. There were only a handful of us by Beltane. A few students might have shown up since then, but I don’t expect to see too many hands. Diggers who are looking for summer experiences want an active site with an archaeologist who’s there to teach them.”

Sorcha parked off the A816 and they walked through the farmer’s fields toward the place where she’d left her camp. As they crested the hill and gazed down into the valley, the creek glistened in the sunlight, but the field was empty except for a flock of sheep cavorting among the stones.

Sorcha held a hand to her heart. “Feck. They’ve gone.”

“Where? And what about your stuff?”

Unperturbed by Sorcha’s latest problem, Conall laid on the grass and gazed up at the cloudless sky. “The Goddess thrives here. Can you hear the land buzz beneath us?”

Estrada pulled his lips into a frown, and Sorcha touched his tense forearm. “I’m sorry. I’m a feckin eejit. I should have called this morning from Glasgow.” She shook her head and pulled out her mobile. “I really didn’t think they’d leave.”

She punched in the number and counted the rings as she stared down into the empty valley. Just as she was about to hang up, someone answered. “Emma?”

“Sorcha? My god. Where have you been? We’ve been so worried.”

“I left in a rush. Family emergency. I should have called before now.”

“So, you’re safe. Where are you?”

“Actually, I’m standing atop the hill, looking down on an empty field. I expect it was you who packed up my stuff?”

“Aye. Everything’s safely stowed. We waited a month, and several hands got offers for summer work, so . . .”

“No bother, Emma, but I need my personal items.”

“Oh, aye. Your lock box is here in my bedroom.”

“Tarbert, is it?”

“Aye, at my ma’s place.”

“We’ll be there in half an hour. Text the address to this mobile, will yeah?”

“Of course, and I’ll put the kettle on.”

“Mind if I drive?” Estrada said. “I think I can manage even though the wheel’s on the wrong side and everyone’s driving in the wrong lane.”

“That doesn’t instill confidence,” Sorcha said, then tossed him the keys and climbed into the back seat. “Emma texted me her address. We’ll need to stop there first to pick up my stuff.”

Conall’s eyes widened when he heard a British voice on the GPS, giving driving instructions as they pulled into the fishing village.

Estrada wasn’t sure what to expect. Last summer, he’d stayed here with Dermot McBride while he worked to get Dylan out of jail. His granddad was a wonderful old guy, and Estrada didn’t quite know how to tell him his grandson had stayed in Iron Age Ireland, so he’d never see him again. But he’d made a promise he intended to keep.

He dropped Sorcha off at Emma’s and drove up Pier Road with Conall. After pulling into the car park across from Piper’s Dream, he got out and looked up the driveway at the gray brick house with its stone steps. He remembered sitting on those steps drinking coffee with Dermot just about a year ago. The first thing he noticed was that the sign was gone.

Two kids were playing with a remote-control car on the sidewalk. Estrada glanced at Conall to gauge his reaction, but the bard just shook his head. He’d become accustomed to seeing things that made no sense at all.

“My ma’s at the shops,” a young pig-tailed girl said as they walked up the path.

“You live here?” Estrada asked.

She nodded her head vigorously.

“I’m looking for Mr. McBride.”

She shrugged and yelled at her friend, who’d crashed the car into a tree.

Conall touched Estrada’s arm. “What should we do?”

“Wait and see if her mom knows anything about Dylan’s granddad. I can’t just drive away without knowing what happened.”

They sat on a stone bench overlooking the harbor and watched the white boats bob and dip on the slow waves. One day, he could imagine himself living in a place like this, where time went in and out with the tides. But this was not that day.

Estrada turned to Conall. “Something’s been bothering me since we came back through the wormhole.”

“Tell me.”

“Cernunnos kept warning us not to change history. But what if Dylan’s decision to stay in Croghan changed everything? What if he doesn’t exist? What if his grandfather doesn’t exist?”

Conall thought for a moment. “But Dylan did exist. He came to Croghan with you. I met him.”

“That’s true, but he would have died after that, after we left. And, if he died two thousand years ago, how could he have been here last summer working with Sorcha in Kilmartin Glen? And if he wasn’t here, and didn’t get arrested for murder, how do I know Sorcha?” Estrada felt a sharp pain in his chest and raised a hand to rub it. “God, I feel like I’m having a heart attack.”

Conall put his arm around Estrada’s shoulder and drew him in. “The gods present us with many mysteries but also bestow blessings.”

Estrada took a few deep breaths, then stood and stared up at the house. Right now, he felt trapped in a rabbit hole of infinite possibilities, and he was terrified which tunnel to take. His churning gut told him that something was horribly wrong.

“Time is not a straight line with an arrowhead that points in one direction.” Conall traced a spiral on the palm of his hand. “We are here and here and here, and we slip through time and space.”

“I know. I know. The Between. I’m about to test that theory.” An older model red SUV pulled in beside the Land Rover, and a woman got out and started unloading grocery bags. “Hello,” Estrada said. “Sorry to bother you. We’re looking for Dermot McBride.”

She glanced back blankly.

“I stayed here with him last summer.” He watched her face closely to see if she remembered the name McBride.

“Ach now, I think you’ve got the wrong house. These old fisherman’s cottages look much alike.”

The dizziness caught Estrada by surprise, and he swayed. Was it really happening? If Dylan never existed, what else had changed? He felt Conall’s powerful arm around him. It was all that held him from falling down that rabbit hole again.

“Did you ever hear of Dylan McBride? He lived in Tarbert and was arrested for murder last summer.” Estrada had to know how bad this really was.

“Murder, you say. I don’t think I’d have missed something like that. I watch all the true crime shows, you know?” She pursed her lips, then shook her head. “No, I can’t say as I know a McBride. We moved here six years ago. Inherited the cottage from my uncle.”

“Mom!” the young girl shouted from across the road.

“Can we help you with your bags?” Though he heard Conall’s voice, Estrada was in a daze.

“Ach, no. I’ll manage with Becca’s help.” She turned to Estrada. “Maybe ask at the post office. They’ll have a better sense of who’s come and gone.”

Estrada nodded, then climbed into the driver’s seat of the Land Rover and slammed his hands against the wheel. He stared out over Loch Fyne and tried to decide his next move. Conall got in and sat silently, waiting. He loved that about the bard. He felt no need to fill the silence with talk and only spoke when he had something important to say.

“I can’t think about time travel anymore. It fucks with my head. I have to go with my gut.”

Conall touched Estrada’s hand. “And what does your gut say?”

“Bring Dylan back from Croghan. That’s what it says. Conjure Cernunnos here at the Ballymeanoch Stones where I first met him and convince him to take me back. There are too many threads connecting Dylan’s life to mine. I can’t risk anything else going wrong.”

Sorcha and Emma were sitting in front of the white-washed house on deck chairs when they drove up. She hugged the young, blonde woman, picked up two duffle bags, and tossed them into the back seat.

“Hey Estrada.” As Emma flashed him a smile, she flushed. “Make sure you call me when you need an extra pair of hands,” she reminded Sorcha.

“You’re first on my list, and thanks again for taking such good care of my stuff. I’ll be up with a horse trailer to get the tent and clear out your shed as soon as I can.”

Sorcha crawled into the back seat of the Land Rover and clutched the canvas backpack on her lap. “Right so. It feels good to hold my stuff. If we leave now, we’ll be back in Glasgow by suppertime.”

“We’ve had a change of plan,” Estrada said as he backed out of the driveway.

Sorcha was still arguing with him when he pulled off the A816 into the car park.

“Look. I have to do this. I can’t risk anything else going wrong. Please just trust me, Sorcha.”

“Cernunnos and I didn’t part pals,” she said.

Estrada turned off the key and opened the car door. “You don’t have to come. I can do this alone. Wait here, and I’ll be back as soon as I can with Dylan.”

Conall was already getting out of the car. “I’m coming. Where you go, I go.”

Estrada leaned over the hood. “What if you coming through the wormhole into this time was another mistake? What if you were meant to stay in Croghan?”

Head held high, the bard stared into Estrada’s eyes. “My destiny is with you.”

“Does Cernunnos know that?” This from Sorcha, who’d climbed out of the back seat and stood with her hands on her hips.

“I really think you should wait here, Sorcha. You can’t risk getting stranded back in Croghan.”

“Neither can you.”

“But I’m not pregnant.”

“Point taken.” Sorcha threw her arms around Estrada. “Remember to be explicit with Cernunnos. He must take you back to a time after Ana is dead. If you go before . . . Well, you know what a bitch she is.” She sniffed back tears. “And go to a place close to the blacksmith’s house. Get in and out as quickly as you can, with no complications.”

“Right. No complications. Let’s just hope I can convince Dylan to come back with me.”