Sentinel (24 page)

Jessica glided from the room. The uncountable years of waiting and wondering suddenly seemed to have flashed by. What had she been doing with herself all that time? It was an unnerving thought.

The woman shook herself. The time had come to face down one particular demon from her past. Purposefully, she moved down the hall, ignoring the sightless eyes of the statues as she passed them, ignoring also the blinding light of the setting sun as it sliced in through the windows. Soon enough she came to a little unlit stairway and ascended to the first floor.

Jessica could feel a change in herself. Those pockets of moments she’d shared with the boy had stirred memories. With them came pains that Jessica thought she had banished forever. Unpleasant jolts from years long lost were surfacing; ghoulish reminders of the time that she had come from.

The woman shuddered.

There were things that she yearned to forget, to bury forever, but such escape was denied her. While she quietly shouldered the burdens of her past, the demands of the present grew ever more pregnant in her mind.

Winding her way down the landing, Jessica passed a large open dining area. A lavish table had been laid with polished silver cutlery. The dying sunlight spilled in through the balcony doors, and the filtered blue light curved across the intricate display. It almost seemed the table had been set for an eerie midnight dinner party. Jessica almost giggled at the uncanny notion. But she resisted. Now was not the time.

Finally the woman came to the door she had been seeking. It was already open a fraction; another had recently entered. Bracing herself, Jessica nudged open the door and moved inside.

She felt like she had stepped into a painting of the past. The bedroom remained unaffected by the time that had steadily progressed beyond its walls; nothing had been touched during its prior resident’s absence. The air was heavy with the scent of herbs and dried flowers, and a glittering dust lay over all.

It was a noble room lavishly furnished. Rich indigo curtains adorned the tall, slender windows, and were fashioned in loops about the four-poster bed. The ceiling was made of leather mache and a sizeable armchair had been set by the window. At its side was a little round table with half-finished embroidery resting on top.

Jessica regarded the room with fascination. It had been an age since she last set foot in here. Back when Isabel had first disappeared, the same night that Jessica had encountered the raven, she had lain across this bed and sobbed for her mentor, as if an outpouring of emotion might bring her back. After that terrible night, she had closed the door and never returned. It was as if closing the door had created a vacuum, and time had stopped within.

The room had been waiting; it seemed to know that one day Isabel would return.

Except the black cat was nowhere to be seen.

“Isabel?” Jessica ventured softly.

There was a muted shuffling sound, but Jessica couldn’t tell where it was coming from. Then a voice said: “Leave me be, child.”

Jessica realised that the voice was coming from near the armchair. “Isabel, where are you?”

“I wish to be alone,” grumbled the aged voice. “Leave me where I might wallow in my misery.”

Jessica’s eyebrows rose. “Wallow?” she demanded. “The Isabel I once knew would wallow in nothing, least of all self-pity.”

“Have I no cause for self-pity?” Isabel regaled. Finally Jessica could see her. There, in the gap between the bottom of a monstrous wardrobe and the floor, the faint light picked out the thin whiskers of a cat.

“Wallow, indeed,” it muttered. “I shall wallow all that I wish, and I would quite prefer to do it alone!”

“That much at least has not changed,” Jessica mitigated, allowing herself a sly smile. “You were never much for company.”

The eyes under the wardrobe closed dejectedly and the cat rested its head on its front paws. Jessica reclined into the armchair.

“You wish to be alone,” she mused, glancing at the half-completed embroidery resting on the table-top. It depicted a scenic summer’s day, except the flowers sat waiting to have their petals stitched with colour, and a wheeling bird in the cross-hatched blue sky had only half a wing. “You have no questions for me whatsoever? Not one?”

There came no response.

“You wouldn’t believe how the world has changed in your absence,” Jessica continued conversationally, taking up the embroidery and threading a petal. “It’s been five hundred years. There are no horses and carriages. Now they have busses and cars and trains. They even have vehicles that can fly. And then there’s space. Can you believe they put a man on the moon?”

“Impossible,” Isabel grunted.

“In our time, perhaps, but not now. There’s technology now. People can’t live without it. It’s berserk, and also quite wonderful. There’s surgery, proper surgeons, not the barbarians of our time. They save lives with machines and medicine.”

“Save lives? So Man has finally accomplished his ambition to become God.”

“If that’s how you want to look at it,” Jessica responded mildly. “It isn’t Man you should be concerned with, though. The agents of the Dark Prophets are rousing, even now Sentinel voices are being silenced by their blades.”

“You should have left me dead,” the cat said wearily.

“Maybe I should have!” Jessica erupted. She slammed the embroidery down on the table. “Maybe I should’ve left you rotting in that room for another five hundred years – it might have improved your mood!”

The cat emitted a low growl. “You’ve got your wits back this evening,” it observed.

“What do you mean?” Jessica asked.

“Only this afternoon you were ranting at the boy and carrying on like a lunatic,” Isabel said drearily.

Jessica’s shoulders sagged and she trembled slightly. “I…” she murmured. “I have moments, I think...” Then, regretting her earlier outburst, she added quietly: “Isabel, I’m sorry. I know this isn’t ideal, exactly. But you’re here now. And… I want to atone for what happened that night. The night you died.”

“Leave it in the past,” came the cracked reply.

“It’s not that easy,” Jessica maintained. She brushed her fingers over the soft silk of her dress, a clean one, not the muddy embarrassment she’d found herself in earlier. “The guilt over that night has never left me. I feel like some of me died with you.”

“Leave it in the past,” Isabel repeated, almost tenderly this time. “You were not responsible for your actions. I… forgive you.”

Jessica shivered, her old mentor’s words chipping at the centuries-held remorse, though they could never relieve it completely. She blinked back the tears, determining to change the subject.

“You’ve met Nicholas,” she said.

“The boy?” Isabel’s haughtiness returned. “You’re a fool to have a child in the house.”

“He’s not just any child,” Jessica said casually, reclining back in the armchair. “He’s the one Esus has searched for.”

As Jessica had expected, that got the creature’s attention. Without thinking, Isabel emerged, startled, from under the wardrobe. “Him?” she ventured. “The curly-haired nuisance with the quick temper? He’s the one Esus talked about all those years hence?”

Jessica nodded, her expression brightening. How odd it was to see her old mentor’s voice speaking through the cat. This wasn’t what she had planned, but it was something. Maybe everything was going to be okay after all. With Isabel back, the odds had tipped ever so slightly in their favour. Isabel knew things that maybe even Esus didn’t.

“Esus is certain?” the cat asked.

“As certain as he can be,” Jessica said. “And the boy’s actions speak for themselves. There’s no doubt he’s no ordinary child.”

“Then all is not lost,” Isabel barked. “We finally have him. We must begin training at once!” Rallied by the news, the cat forgot her misery and hopped up onto the bed, the fading sunlight picking out the white in her fur. She clawed at the bed sheets absentmindedly.

“He needs time,” Jessica cautioned.

“Time?” Isabel scoffed. “Have we not wasted enough of it?”

“He’s not yet sixteen,” Jessica reasoned, “and he’s only recently suffered a terrible loss. His parents. He’s new to the Sentinel calling. Apply pressure now and he may break.”

“If he breaks, he’s not the one.”

“We have time enough,” Jessica persevered. “Still Esus searches for the other. She remains lost to us. But Nicholas could prove pivotal in that regard.” She raised herself from the seat and turned to peer out of the window, resting a hand on the windowsill. “We must tread with care. Even the smallest stumble could result in ruin. You must acclimatise yourself, this world is far removed from the one you remember.”

“Not only the world has changed,” Isabel noted, scrutinising the girl at the window.

“Five hundred years will do that to a person.” Jessica smiled sadly. “Let me tell you about Nicholas.”

*

Nicholas yawned and stretched out on the sofa. He rubbed at his eyes. How long had he slept for? The clock above the fireplace read five past six. He’d been out for almost three hours. That was strange even for him. The house seemed to have that effect, though – it was so hushed here that it was easy to nod off. It almost invited it.

As Nicholas pulled himself up, he knocked something off the sofa onto the floor. It was a volume of
The Sentinel Chronicles
. Several other books were scattered around the boy. He’d taken them all from the library that he’d stumbled across after his encounter with Jessica and the cat. Each tome was full of strange tales that he found almost impossible to believe, tales of battles and monsters. The detail was almost forensic.

Stranger still, despite the library being filled with volumes of
The Sentinel Chronicles
, there only seemed to be one period of time not covered by the dusty digest. The Sentinels seemed to have commenced recording their history in the year 1600, and that massive library was rammed with row upon row of leather-bound tomes, some spanning entire years, others mere months. From 1600 until present day, though, only August 1997 was missing. Nicholas wouldn’t have noticed, except for the fact that he was born in that very month.

At first, the boy had shrugged off the coincidence, but he couldn’t let it lie. Why that month, out of all the months since 1600? What could have happened in August 1997 to cause a sudden break in the records? Of course, it was possible that particular volume had simply gone missing, lost to time. But the coincidence felt significant somehow.

Nicholas pushed a hand through his dark, curly hair and yawned again. What now? He was bored of reading. Maybe he’d go find the cat – though he didn’t fancy another tongue-lashing. He didn’t remember ever feeling so tired in his life. He needed fresh air.

Except Jessica had forbidden him from leaving the house. Where was she now, though? He’d not seen her since the garden, an encounter that had left him unsettled and confused. She hadn’t seemed herself at all – right down to that strange, child-like voice. Being under Jessica’s care suddenly didn’t feel quite so safe. Nicholas was annoyed; more oddness, more secrets and more things that he wasn’t being told. Maybe it was time he had a few secrets of his own. Maybe he’d go outside and simply neglect to tell Jessica. It was only fair.

Energised by this new, insidious idea, Nicholas left the parlour and went to the entrance hall. Without hesitating, he moved to the oak front door and went to draw back the bolts.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

A prickly voice rang out behind him.

Nicholas froze. He turned slowly and there was the cat, perched on a small mauve armchair in the corner, squinting at him with sallow eyes as sharp and bright as that detestable voice.

“There’s something–” Nicholas started, then realised there was no point in lying. “I fancy a bit of fresh air is all.”

“Out of the question,” Isabel retorted. “You’re not to leave the house, I’m sure you’ve been told.”

“You going to stop me?” Nicholas challenged. He reached for the door handle.

“Ungrateful urchin!”

Nicholas cried out as claws raked into his ankle, and he fell away from the door, rubbing at his leg where the cat had scratched him.

“You– you scratched me!” he yelled at the animal, which had now seated itself directly in front of the door.

“You gave me no option,” Isabel replied indifferently.

“You can’t do that! You can’t just attack people for no reason!”

“You’re not to leave the house,” Isabel repeated.

Nicholas clenched his fists, barely able to control his anger.

“In my day, children did as they were bid,” Isabel maintained gravely.

“At least I’m not a bitter old woman who spent her entire life locked up in this house hating everybody and everything!” Nicholas jibed back.

The cat faltered. “How did you–?” Isabel began, but Nicholas had seized on her surprise and pushed past her, shoving her aside with his foot as he drew back a big, heavy bolt and flung the front door open. A freezing flurry of air blasted him in the face, but Nicholas didn’t stop, rushing out to meet the twilight world.

Trudging into the snowy countryside, Nicholas’s heart hammered in his chest. He’d been cooped up for so long that the fresh air made him dizzy. It felt good, though; so good that he nearly didn’t feel the cold. Pulling the sleeves of his jumper down, the boy clenched them in his fists and stomped off into the countryside. He knew he was being foolish, that Jessica had warned him against leaving the house, but he couldn’t stand it any longer. The house made him tired and lethargic, and he felt like he was forgetting things. Important things like his parents, his life before this madness.