The three met in the study the next evening after dinner to start working on the translations. "Today was great, you two," Kaitlyn smiled, settling into one of the desk chairs. "Very relaxing. I'm just sorry about the, uh . . . yeah, that," she finished lamely.
"Don't worry about it. We weren't expecting that, but it's okay. Poor kid will probably be pretty shook up for a while but I don't think he'll pull anything like that again." Janice's eyes glinted with amusement. "God, I can't believe you did that! I appreciate the gesture, but I still can't believe you did that!"
"I couldn't help it," Kaitlyn apologized laughingly. "He was pissing me off!"
They'd cut a fairly interesting figure walking around the city-not that a genteel Southern belle in the company of a leather-jacketed, cigar-smoking Yankee woman and a shady-looking, trenchcoated character who could have been one of J. Edgar Hoover's G-men looked odd at
, mind you. Still, most people had left them alone.
Except for a thirteen-year-old boy who had noticed how closely Mel and Janice stuck together. He'd started tagging along after them, whispering epithets in their direction. They'd studiously ignored him at first, but after about five minutes of "Hey dykes!" and constant snickering, their patience had begun to wear thin.
It was about at that point that Kaitlyn, walking a little bit off to the side, had stopped and confronted the boy, freezing him to attention with a snap of her fingers. "I'm sorry, but you got a reason for harassing my friends here?" Fire had flashed dangerously in her dark brown eyes, challenging him to explain himself. "'Cause quite frankly, boy, you're gettin' on my nerves. You're being a rude, annoying, pathetic little shit and you're lucky you're still on your feet right now."
"They're what?" Kaitlyn had spat out the words. "Something you got a problem with that's really none of your business? Making assumptions is a dangerous pastime, boy."
He'd blustered nervously, "Yeah, well, your . . . your . . . your mother wears army boots!"
Kaitlyn had snorted contemptuously. "Kid, that was a lame comeback,
the one wearing the army boots, and if you keep this shit up, you're going to find one of them up your ass. Now get the fuck out of here." She'd gestured abruptly as he scurried off.
Anger still smoldering in her eyes, she'd turned back to Mel and Janice. "Sorry about that."
"Whatever possessed you to yell at that boy?" Mel asked.
"Nobody treats my friends like that," Kaitlyn replied simply. "But anyway, let's get to work translating here, shall we?"
"You're on, kid," Janice said with a smile. She selected one of the smaller scrolls and pushed it across the large desk toward Kaitlyn. "This one was kind of separate from the others. We figured it might be kind of a preface or something like that."
"Good place to start." Kaitlyn took the scroll and bent over it, narrowing her eyes in concentration. "Wow, I can see why you panicked when you first saw these. Whoever wrote these had a very indiosyncratic form of handwriting. Insular's really not that far off from the Roman alphabet, but this person was pretty stylistic about it. I need a minute to get a feel for his or her handwriting."
She scanned over the scroll for a few minutes before she announced, "Okay, got it. I had to figure out a few of the transliterations that were a bit tricky, but you'll
this." Translating directly from the scroll, and quickly transcribing as she did so, she began to read.
I, Olwen of Diganhwy, in accordance with the traditions of my ancestry, write this. Preserved here within these scrolls lies a portion of the history in which my foremother, Rhonwyn of Caer Dyvi, was privileged to play a part; namely, an account from the lives of the Amazon bard, Gabrielle of Poteidaia, and of the Warrior Princess, Xena of Amphipolis, in the far-off land of Greece. By the gift of Cerridwen, I put down these writings for future generations-for Rhonwyn, in traversing the paths of the Otherworld, foresaw that they would one day find their way into the hands of those who would discover how to unlock their true power.
These are the accounts of a dark time. Where there exists light, there also exists darkness, and the light does not always prevail. The account of the Rift, then, is a story of hatred and betrayal, of friendship sundered, of overwhelming darkness. It is a story of fear, resentment, and tremendous struggle. It was during this time that Gabrielle and Xena faced their deepest hatreds of each other, unleashing a storm of darkness that threatened to forever tear them apart.
Yet the account of the Rift is also a story of victory, of a journey undertaken and a relationship restored. For the Rift is one of the darkest chapters to exist in the history of a love that burned-and burns still, for a love such as this can never die-with a purity and intensity to rival the greatest Beltane blaze. It is by going through the fire that we emerge stronger; it is by weathering the storm that we truly grow. And so the Rift was a crucial time in the relationship between the bard and the warrior, a time in which, for good or for ill, the future of their lives hinged.
This account exists as told by Gabrielle herself to Rhonwyn of Caer Dyvi. It was Gabrielle's wish that the knowledge contained herein be carefully hidden away and passed down until the time was right for it to be revealed. To that end, powerful enchantments have been placed upon them, and we of the Order feel confident that those who are meant to unlock their mysteries will be the ones to find these scrolls.
Kaitlyn blew out a long breath. "That's it," she said. "I hate translating right off the page. It's exhausting. Damn long-winded Celts." She smiled.
"There's that Rift again," murmured Mel. "At least now we know we're probably going to find out a lot more about it."
"That's for sure," Kaitlyn agreed. "And it sure as hell doesn't sound like a happy story."
"You bet your ass it doesn't," Janice said. "Mel, have you shown her that last scroll of Gabrielle's that you translated?"
"No, but it's right here . . ." Mel rifled through a few papers and handed the copy of their last translated scroll to Kaitlyn, who read through it quickly.
"Hello," Kaitlyn commented. "Whatever this Rift was, it looks like the death of Xena's son had a lot to do with it. But whose funeral pyre is the second one? And what is it that Xena trusted Gabrielle with that ended in Solan's death?"
"We haven't found that out yet. But it sounds like all the answers to that will be in this scrollcase," Janice replied, tapping the scrollcase lightly with a pencil. "You know what, though? Now I really want to know who Rhonwyn is. Obviously Gabrielle trusted her enough to keep the history of the Rift safe. But how the hell does she figure into all this?"
Kaitlyn's eyes suddenly went wide. "
" She bolted up from the chair and ran down the hall. Janice and Mel barely had time to exchange surprised looks before the young linguist returned, breathless, holding a small golden case in her hands.
Hands trembling, Kaitlyn set the case down on the table. "This is the case of documents that was passed down to me by my family. It's ancient and extremely valuable. I've never opened it; I was waiting until the time was right."
It was a beautiful little box, extremely well-preserved, carved in the intricate knotwork design that was the trademark of the Celts. Kaitlyn pointed to some script engraved in the center of the lid. "See that?" she asked, her voice cracking with excitement. "The inscription. It says, 'The Lifesong of Rhonwyn of Caer Dyvi.'
"Open it up," Janice whispered. "Open the case." She reached for Mel's hand, gripping it tightly, both of them feeling the electricity of the moment; both of them knew that this whole situation was going to grow far bigger than either of them had ever anticipated.
Kaitlyn reached for the case, her hands still shaking, and carefully undid the ancient latches that held it shut. They stuck a bit with the resistance that came of centuries of being undisturbed, and the linguist's fingers faltered for a moment as a tide of emotions threatened to overwhelm her. With a deep breath and a new burst of effort, though, the latches came undone, and Kaitlyn slowly opened the lid of the case.
Inside the case rested a small sheaf of ancient parchments, and atop the parchments lay an elaborate golden amulet, a Celtic knot, set with an amethyst in the middle.
Kaitlyn lifted the amulet out gently and lay it on the table, then extracted the top parchment from the case with care, laying it next to the already opened scroll from which she'd just translated. She looked it over. "The writing's different, but that's no surprise; that scroll is newer than this. But the dialect and syntax are the same, as the idiomatic expressions seem to be . . ."
"Let's translate it then," Janice urged. "Maybe we can find out how Rhonwyn figures into Xena and Gabrielle's adventures."
"Yeah . . . in a bit . . ." Kaitlyn sat down in the chair, still numb with surprise. "Let me recover first, yeah?" She exhaled noisily and shut her eyes. "
Gods, but I need a cigarette. I'm going outside for a few minutes . . ." With that, she got up and stumbled out of the study.
A few moments later, Mel and Janice heard the door shut, and exchanged slightly worried looks.
"Is she going to be all right? Janice, I think maybe you'd better go after her." Mel's blue eyes held a touch of concern.
"Yeah . . . yeah, I better." The archaeologist hurriedly got up and went to join Kaitlyn out on the porch.
"Hey." Kaitlyn looked up over her shoulder to see Janice standing in the doorway. "You okay, kid?"
"Oh hey, Janice. Yeah, I'll be fine . . . I just need a minute or two."
"Mind if I join you?" Janice sat down on the steps next to Kaitlyn, wrapping her arms around her knees.
The linguist laughed softly. "Not at all." She pulled her cigarette case out of her shirt pocket, fished her lighter out of her left hip pocket, and popped the case open. Extracting a Dunhill, she put it between her teeth and lit up before holding the case out to Janice. "Care for one?"
"You betcha." Janice took the proffered cigarette and lighter. The two of them puffed away contentedly for a few moments before the archaeologist spoke, breaking the silence.
"You seemed pretty shaken up," she began awkwardly. Not sure what exactly to say, she took another drag off the cigarette instead, watching the smoke spiral up into the light above the door.
"I was," Kaitlyn confirmed. Much to Janice's surprise, the younger woman produced a silver hip flask, opened it, and took a gulp of whatever it contained. "Making that connection in there just now . . . it really rocked me."
She raised the cigarette to her lips, pulled in a significant amount of smoke, and exhaled slowly, sending a long thin thread of smoke up toward the stars. "You see, Janice . . . for you, your whole life has been permeated by the Xena Scrolls. First your father's search for them, and then your own, and then actually discovering them and finding out what they mean. That's like what it was for me."
Janice looked at her curiously. "What do you mean?"
Taking another pull from the flask, Kaitlyn explained, "From the time I was a child, I heard stories about that ancient case and about my Celtic ancestor. And so I knew from an early age what I wanted to do with my life. Everything I've ever done has gone toward unlocking the mystery of this Celt who somehow ended up in my family tree-my studies in school, my hobbies, everything. Between sheer curiosity and this unexplainable inner
something that draws me to Celtic studies, that case has really dominated my life." She paused, staring off into the darkness.
"But then-two years ago, I learned of your work with the Xena Scrolls. And they began to possess me, really. They were constantly on my mind, almost as much as my own work. It's strange, nothing else has ever taken so much control over my thoughts. That's why I felt compelled to study your work. I had a strange feeling it would lead me to something. I guess I was right. I just never dreamed that my lifelong obsession and my recent one would end up being intertwined somehow."
"Where's your family?" The sudden inclusion of a third voice startled them. The voice was Mel's, and the two turned in surprise to see that she had joined them on the porch. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to intrude, but you're always talking about your ancestors and the stories that have been passed on to you . . . "
"My parents are in England somewhere." Kaitlyn's voice was heavy, bitter. "I haven't seen them since well before the war. In fact, I haven't seen them since I was a sophomore at Williams. They . . . did not approve of the way I live my life, and they were also rather resentful that I decided to go to Harvard for graduate school, and not to Princeton like they wanted me to. So, basically, I told them that if they couldn't handle it, they had no obligation to have anything to do with me. They took me up on that. And the rest of my family is back in the Philippines. Needless to say, communicating with them is a bit difficult these days."
"Oh . . . I'm so sorry, Kaitlyn," Mel whispered.
The girl shrugged and took another gulp from her flask. "Nothing to be sorry about. It's not your fault they couldn't handle the situation. I'm not responsible for their viewpoint, and neither are you. They just couldn't reconcile themselves to the fact that their only daughter turned out to prefer men's clothes and women's company, and write and perform folk songs in her spare time, to boot. In their eyes I was just another crazy liberal, and crazy liberals get short shrift in my family." She eyed her cigarette, judged that there was one last drag's worth of smoke left in it, and took it before tossing the butt into the driveway. Capping her hip flask and putting it back in her pocket, she stood up. "Well, we should go back in the house. No sense in us all getting sick sitting out here. It's late."
Janice discarded her cigarette and got to her feet as well. "You're right. Let's get inside."
"Time to get back to translating," Mel agreed, shutting the door behind them as they all filed back into the house. "Kaitlyn, that scroll's waiting for you."
* * *
Hear, o those to whom these words will one day be addressed. I sing the lifesong of Rhonwyn of Caer Dyvi, wanderer, warrior,
beirdd, and one-time
derwydd; let those who will, hear it.
The day that Rhonwyn was born into this westerly tribe of the Cymry, the
awen descended upon the
derwydd of Balach's clan, and he foretold a future of both tempest and glory for the babe. Indeed did the prophecy of the Otherworld come true, for Rhonwyn displayed early an aptitude for learning that far surpassed that of others her age; in equal measure she showed a tendency to challenge that which was expected of her.
And so it was that Rhonwyn donned the green robe of the
ovydd and undertook the learning of the ancient ways.
* * *
"That was short," Janice remarked.
"Yeah, they're all short. They're all fragments. I'm damned sure that it continues throughout the rest of the parchments." Kaitlyn laid the parchment down and shook her head.
"What were all those words you didn't translate?" Mel asked.
"Oh, yeah, those. It's out of habit, I tend not to translate those unless it's for the final version of something public. I just like the sound of the Welsh." The linguist shook her head. "I'll be
damned!"
Janice and Mel each arched an eyebrow at her, and she quickly explained. "
Derwydd translates, essentially, as 'druid.' The
awen is . . . well, it's hard to explain. The best I can do is describe it as a state of divine inspiration. It's sort of a gateway to the Otherworld; a form of spiritual insight that engenders prophecy and wisdom. Apparently Rhonwyn became an
ovydd, or an ovate; ovates are apprentice druids."
Kaitlyn chuckled. "Now I see where I get it from. Being unorthodox must run in the family. Women didn't often join the Druidic order, you see. And when they did, well, the Celts believed that like energy speaks unto like. Magickal energy is most effective when masculine and feminine energy don't mix. I wish I knew what the prophecy was. It must have been something, to cause the clan's druid to allow her to study."
She tapped the parchment lightly. "Looks like this ancestor of mine was a bard as well; that's what
beirdd refers to."
"A bard? Like Gabrielle?" Janice was interested now. Though at first she had been disappointed to find that she was related to the young girl from Poteidaia, she had come to terms with her ancestry over the past three years.
"Sort of," Kaitlyn replied, tapping her pencil thoughtfully against her lips. "The Celtic bards were scholars, specializing in music and poetry, and the art of the songspell. They were also students of history and the fine arts, and learned in natural lore. Well-trained
beirdd could read almost anything through the signs given in nature. Their job was to travel and gather news and information, to spread it, and to preserve and proliferate the culture." She paused and shook her head again. "I'll be
damned," she repeated. "That's really unusual."
"What is?" Mel asked.
"Rhonwyn's described as a wanderer, a warrior,
and a bard. Not to mention a 'one-time' druid. That's odd. To perform warfare or murder was one of the three conditions under which a druid could be unseated, according to the Book of Pheryllt. Reverence for life was pivotal to the Druidic way of thinking . . ."
"So that's probably why she's called a one-time druid," Mel reasoned. "She probably did get unseated for being willing to fight."
"Maybe, but that doesn't explain why she's still awarded the title of bard." Kaitlyn shook her head. "Bards were part of the Druidic order. I guess we'd have to translate further into this to find out. I'll do that sometime later . . . I came here to help you with the scrolls, not to find out about my own family history."
"Sounds like a fair deal," Janice acknowledged, secretly relieved that their work wouldn't be sidetracked. "But hey, in your free time, go ahead and work all you want on those. We're not going to keep you working nonstop, you know."
Kaitlyn smiled. "I know." She turned her attention to the ancient amulet that lay on the table. It was small, not more than perhaps an inch and a half in diameter, but the intricacy of the knotwork woven into the metal was breathtaking. The young linguist traced its design gently with the tip of one finger and smiled. She looked up at Janice and Mel, and with awe in her voice, she said, "It's a shield of Cerridwen. The keeper of the cauldron of wisdom, the mother of the great bard Taliesin, and the goddess of poets."
"It's beautiful," Mel murmured admiringly as she placed a hand on Kaitlyn's shoulder. "You ought to have a chain put on that, Kaitlyn. Wear it. It belongs in your family."
Kaitlyn fingered the Celtic knot. "You think so?"
"Yeah, you should," Janice agreed, coming up next to her partner. "It suits you, I think." The archaeologist's green eyes glinted with an idea. "If Cerridwen is the patron of poets, then it's perfect for a young student of Celtic culture who happens to be a musician as well."
Mel looked at the amulet. "You know," she remarked, "I've got just the thing. I'll be right back." She hurried from the room and returned shortly with a length of sturdy leather cord. Gently, she looped it through the eyelet that protruded from the ancient amulet, seemingly a seamless part of the knotwork. Knotting the ends together, she turned to Kaitlyn and slipped the cord around the younger woman's neck.
Kaitlyn looked down at the golden amulet that hung down over her blue silk tie and smiled. "It feels right, somehow. Though it just doesn't look right with the tie . . ." She loosened her tie, undid her collar, and tucked the amulet beneath her shirt before rebuttoning her collar and fixing her tie again. "Some day when I feel less formal, I'll flaunt it." She flashed her friends a crooked grin.
"It suits you," Janice repeated with an emphatic nod. A thought occurred to her. "Passed down in the family from one bard to another. It's perfect."
"Somehow, I feel . . . different," Kaitlyn commented. "Might just be a figment of my imagination, or maybe it's a connection with my past . . . maybe I'm tapping into some of that magickal energy I never learned to harness. But anyway, enough of this . . . we've got scrolls to translate!"
Chapter Eleven
They worked late into the night, Mel and Janice taking turns transcribing what Kaitlyn read out loud from the scrolls. By the time midnight came and fatigue threatened to wreak havoc with their work, they had managed to salvage a couple more sketchy moments of the Rift. Through Gabrielle's words, written in Rhonwyn's hand, the three now knew something about the Amazon bard being dragged several miles on horseback by her best friend. They had not yet, however, found out the motivations behind what Janice had called the Gab Drag-or wanted to, that is, until Mel and Kaitlyn had both given her disgusted looks.
"I have such an awful time believing that," Mel murmured tiredly, leaning back in her chair. "How
could Xena do something so horrible and painful to Gabrielle? Poor Gabrielle-what she must have gone through . . ."
Kaitlyn suppressed a yawn, just barely. "It's all in that last scroll you translated, Mel . . . something to do with the death of Xena's son. I read your translation of Gabrielle's 'Orphan of War' scroll, and judging from that, I can understand how his death triggered a nasty emotional backlash from Xena. I mean, think about it-all the circumstances involved in his birth and Xena's giving him up to the Centaurs. And what she went through just to gain his trust as a friend."
"Do we even know if she ever told him the truth? That she was his mother?" Janice wondered, lounging on the couch and half-asleep.
Mel shook her head. "It's not in any of the work we've translated so far."
"Assuming she didn't, that would set off some major guilt issues, I'd think," Kaitlyn put in. She started to say more, but a yawn cut her off. Janice and Mel soon joined in with yawns of their own.
"I always said it was contagious." Janice rubbed a hand over her face tiredly. "I think that's our cue to go to sleep . . ." She got up and made her way to Mel's side, pulling the taller woman out of her chair.
Kaitlyn got to her feet and staggered out of the study, taking the ancient golden case with her as she went. "I wholeheartedly agree. Good night, you two lovebirds. We'll work on this in the morning."
Despite her fatigue, Kaitlyn slept fitfully that night, troubled by nagging sensations that something was amiss. She didn't dream the way she usually did; instead, abstract yet powerful sensations of danger coursed through her mind, causing her to toss restlessly in her bed. The sensations grew stronger and stronger, finally jarring the linguist into wakefulness. Gasping, she ran a hand over her face-she was drenched in a cold sweat.
Outside the window, a soft rustling noise was heard, and Kaitlyn sat bolt upright in bed. Sitting in the darkness, she forced herself to calm her breathing and listened attentively. The rustling continued, growing closer. Swearing under her breath, Kaitlyn slipped out of bed and crept silently to the window. As she approached, she could make out voices whispering, almost inaudibly. Most of the words were muffled by the glass and the curtain, but Kaitlyn managed to make out a few phrases.
"Don't . . . right one . . ."
" . . . bigger window, idiot . . ."
" . . . just grab . . . and leave . . . destroy them later . . ."
Two voices, Kaitlyn thought.
And they're after . . . what? She listened to the rustling of the footsteps as they continued, fading away.
Fading away . . . in the direction of the study. The scrolls! She was out the door and down the hallway like a shot, sprinting silently in her bare feet.
No time to run upstairs and warn Janice and Mel, she thought, her mind working frantically.
Shit! What to do? Well, there's always the quick and easy route-beat the shit out of them and ask questions later. But I don't know how big of something I'm getting myself into here . . . don't want Mel and Janice to get caught up in it if someone tries to get back at me later. Best to just scare them off . . .
She fumbled around inside the doorway to the study and flicked on the lights, then ran to the front door, the kitchen, and the parlor, and turned the lights on there, as well. Then, just to make sure, she crouched silently in the doorway of the study watching intently. Two figures in black approached the large window that faced into the driveway, crossed into the light, then quickly drew back into the shadows. Kaitlyn strained her ears, and caught a muffled curse from one of the figures. She tensed and reached up to grasp the letter opener that lay on the small table near the door. She'd use it if she had to.
Several minutes passed and nothing happened. Kaitlyn worried that they'd found another way to get in, but held her ground, listening carefully for any signs of a forced entry. Nothing but silence rewarded her vigilance, though. She thought for a moment, turned the study lights out, and stood in the doorway, gripping the letter opener. Squinting into the sudden darkness, she forced her eyes to focus, and watched the window for signs of movement.
Sure enough, after a few minutes of waiting, two forms could barely be made out creeping into view. They paused in front of the window, and Kaitlyn flicked the lights back on. Her eyesight protested vigorously, and she could barely see.
The two figures froze momentarily at the sight of the intense young woman standing grimly in the doorway, some sort of blade clenched in her hand. This time, Kaitlyn could hear their words clearly enough.
"Damn! There's someone awake!" The two figures fled.
Kaitlyn ran to the window and watched as they ran down the driveway and clambered over the gate. She put the letter opener down on the desk and ran her fingers through her sleep-rumpled hair. "Fuck," she said aloud. "This is
not good." With a sigh, she turned and headed for the stairs, leaving the lights on behind her.
The knock on the door awoke Mel first, and she groaned and got out of bed, wrapping herself in her robe as she went to the door. "Kaitlyn?" she whispered, suppressing a flicker of annoyance. "What is it?"
"Mel, I'm so sorry to wake you up," the student replied in low, urgent tones. She stood in the doorway, holding the case containing Rhonwyn's lifesong in her hands. "It's important, though . . . I hate to do this, but can you wake Janice up?"
"Too late," Janice grunted, getting up and joining Mel at the door. "This sure as hell
better be important, Kaitlyn," she warned.
Kaitlyn sighed and leaned against the doorframe. "Trust me. It is. We need to store this-and
all the scrolls and translations you have-in the safest place in the house.
Now."
Mel glanced at the clock. "At four-thirty in the morning, Kaitlyn?" At any decent time of day, she would have panicked, but she was just too exhausted to do much more than absorb the statement with a vague sort of disbelief.
"Yes, at four-thirty in the morning," Kaitlyn replied, her words clipped and forceful. "Look, I woke up and heard people moving around the house. I don't know how they managed to get past the gates, but they were stupid enough to go by my window. They went straight for the study."
"
What?" Mel gasped, any trace of irritation gone.
"Shit!" Janice shook off her grogginess. "They're after the scrolls, aren't they?" She clenched her fists, gritting her teeth. "Oh, gods fucking damn it, can't we unearth just one set of scrolls, just
once, without having some pack of damn bastards or other get in the way?" She punched the wall, and immediately regretted it.
"Sorry, but yeah, I think so." Kaitlyn glanced about her agitatedly. "I couldn't make out much of what they were saying, but I caught the phrase 'destroy them later' when they were trying to sneak by my room. I managed to scare them off, but we're really going to have to be on our guard now."
Mel put a hand on Janice's arm. "The basement safe."
Her lover nodded grimly. "That's what I was about to say."
Within half an hour, every scroll, every scrap of translation, was carefully stowed away in the walk-in safe that took up half of the basement.
"Fuckin' A, you'd never know this was here! How the hell'd you wind up with something like this? Handy thing, too," Kaitlyn marveled.
"My great-grandfather had it put in when the house was built," Mel explained. "With all the valuable items in the family, he thought it was necessary."
"He was right," Janice muttered, shutting the safe and sliding the concealing panel in front of the door. She sighed and rested her forehead against the wall. "Dammit. This job can be such a pain in the ass sometimes. Did you get a good look at the bastards who tried to get in?" She glanced at Kaitlyn, looking much older than her twenty-seven years.
The younger woman shook her head. "In between the lights going on and off so much, my eyes barely got time to focus. I couldn't see for shit. Sounded like two men, though. Well, there were two, I know that much-voices were kinda deep so I'm guessing they were both male. But hot damn-this is annoying!"
Janice looked at her bleakly. "Yes, it is. And I'm going back to bed."
Kaitlyn's jaw cracked audibly as she yawned. "Ow. I second that motion."
"I never made a motion, stupid."
"Do I look like I give a flying fuck? It was figurative."
"I know. And I was making a joke."
"So was I."
"Oh."
Mel calmly waited until the exchange was over, then announced, "Neither of you has a wonderful sense of humor after a middle-of-the-night crisis situation. I suggest that we all go back to bed now."
Without another word, they all trudged off to their respective bedrooms.
In the master bedroom, Mel slipped under the covers and just lay with her eyes shut. Next to her, Janice quietly loaded her Magnum .44 and placed it by the bedside.
Downstairs, Kaitlyn put a fresh cartridge into her Colt .45 automatic and chambered a round, then reholstered the pistol and hung the shoulder harness over the bedpost just by her head.
Nobody slept well for the rest of the night.
Chapter Twelve
"A week and a half." Kaitlyn drained the last of her glass of bourbon and set the tumbler down on the kitchen table. "It's been a damned week and a half since that scare with the scrolls, and not a sign of trouble since. Fuck it all, my nerves are going to fry!"
Things had been uneasy around the Pappas estate, to say the least, since the would-be robbery attempt of eleven days ago. Janice and Kaitlyn were never without their firearms, and Mel had instructed the grounds staff to stay alert. All in all, they tried not to think about it too much, but they all agreed that the added security, as much as they hated it, was necessary.
"They probably figured we weren't going to leave the scrolls anywhere vulnerable after you caught them at it. And they're probably working on a backup plan now." Janice finished her own drink, refilled her glass, and poured Kaitlyn another round without asking.
"Well, at least we're still getting work done in the meantime," Mel pointed out. "I declare, I'm as jumpy as a rabbit, but we have been making progress."
"By Cernunnos's horns, it's a miracle," muttered Kaitlyn darkly, lighting up a cigarette. "With as paranoid as we've all been lately, I can't believe we're still managing to make so much headway on the scrolls." Working downstairs in the more secretive laboratory, they had managed to translate three more of what they had dubbed the Rift Scrolls.
Janice clipped the end of her cigar and lit it. "It's a pain in the ass having to deal with the safe so much," she growled.
Kaitlyn snorted and blew a puff of smoke at her colleague. "Better than losing the scrolls."
"Obviously," Janice conceded, taking a gulp of her bourbon. "Goddamn, I wish this Rift were making more sense!"
Mel patted her lover's hand gently. "It'll make more sense when we get finished with the scrolls, dear." She finished off her drink but decided not to have a second. "All the pieces of this puzzle should be there."
"I hope so." Janice exhaled a mouthful of smoke, taking care, as always, not to blow it in Mel's direction-a habit she'd quickly picked up after meeting the translator, and one which Kaitlyn was, fortunately, also learning. Mel, for her part, sat by the partially-opened window. "This whole thing about China is confusing the hell out of me so far. I can't see where it fits into the story."
"My guess is that it's a precursor to the Rift itself." Kaitlyn took a gulp of bourbon. "We know that the Rift is about betrayal. And they betrayed each other in China-Xena lied to Gabrielle about killing Ming T'ien . . ."
"And Gabrielle turned her over to Ming T'ien in the first place," Mel jumped in. "Poor girl, she was just trying to do the right thing, but she got them into a very bad situation."
Janice gestured with her cigar. "To say the least. Hey, Kaitlyn . . ." The archaeologist decided to change the subject for a bit. "Find out any more about Rhonwyn?"
Kaitlyn grinned. "You betcha." She flipped to the middle of the notebook she'd placed on the table. "It's kind of weird-after that first parchment, the tone of what I'm now calling 'The Lifesong of the Renegade Bard' changes drastically. It goes to the first-person and completely drops all traces of formality in its syntax. Damn . . . I'm telling you, it's . . . well, it seems strange that it's so close to what we'd consider contemporary language. This is what I did last night-I translated it to reflect a more modern type of language structure. Listen to this."
* * *
Looking back now, it's hard to believe that I was ever the wide-eyed young girl in those green ovate's robes. So much has changed since then. So many years have passed. I have seen so much, endured so much, learned so much in the years since I was first initiated into the Druidic ways.
Look with me now, at the child I was then; look at the innocent who entered into the ancient ways, utterly unaware of the prophecies that hinged upon her life. See the child who never dreamed of the avenues that lay open for her, far past the confines of Balach's clan. See the apprentice who took her first fledgling steps toward tapping into magickal skills of much greater magnitude than anyone could have foreseen.
What would have happened if my future had been known to the Learned Brotherhood?
The answer to that question is one I don't care to relish.
My first teacher, Cuall, the bard of our clan, told me that many things about my future were heavily shrouded from sight when he walked the paths of the Otherworld in his heart.
That explains his shock when, years later, I announced that I could not agree with the rigidity of the prohibition on warfare, and departed on an aimless journey that eventually took me far from Ynys Prydein, equipped with my Druidic knowledge, my magickal skills, and a rudimentary knowledge of combat techniques. True, the role of a bard entailed traveling, and the gathering and spreading of information, but the brethren of the Order simply could not reconcile this with my willingness to enter a fight when I deemed it necessary. It was the greatest, but far from the first, of the many conflicts I had with Cuall and the Druids. I always was something of a free thinker.
I wonder if they knew what would become of me?
* * *
"That's a damned good question," Janice remarked. "Hell,
I want to know what became of her. Kaitlyn!" she whined. "Is that all you've translated?"
Kaitlyn nodded. "I was getting tired."
"Well, I want to know what happens too," Mel said. "We may be one step closer to making the connection. You know, I think that we may soon find out how Rhonwyn got to Greece-and how she knew Xena and Gabrielle-and more about what this Rift is all about."
Chapter Thirteen
Janice stood outside Kaitlyn's closed bedroom door and hesitated just a moment before knocking. Then, raising her hand, she rapped twice, firmly.
"Come on in," Kaitlyn called.
Janice poked her head through the doorway to see the linguist, wearing an old pair of army fatigues and a dark grey tank top, with the ancient amulet around her neck, standing in the center of the room, going through an intense, carefully choreographed sequence of punches, kicks, and blocks. She hesitated. "Am I interrupting something?"
Kaitlyn flicked a stray lock of black hair back from her forehead and shook her head. "Nah. Quit standing in the doorway, will ya? You gonna come in or not?"
The archaeologist shrugged, took that as a no, and stepped into the room. "What are you up to?"
"Just getting some practice in." Kaitlyn spoke through gritted teeth as she spun to deliver a powerful back kick. "Can't explain it but I've just got this crazy driving feeling that I should be. Maybe just all the tension building up from the paranoia about those guys who came to steal the scrolls."
"You're damn good at this stuff," Janice observed. "Where'd you pick up martial arts?"
"Freshman year of college. Can't say I'm an expert but I know enough to put to some practical use."
"Ever come in handy?"
Kaitlyn looked at Janice and laughed as she repeated the sequence she'd just done. "What, are you kidding? With the life I go through? It's saved my ass more times than I care to think about."
"I don't get it," Janice spoke up. "What kind of life have you had that you've had to mix it up so many times?"
The dark-haired student stopped mid-routine and gave Janice a quizzical look. "Janice, do you think that because I'm a big-city kid and I dress the part?"
"Yeah." Janice spoke the word a split second before she realized that it was true. "Yeah, I do. I guess I ought to know by now not to go by first impressions." She laughed softly. "If I had . . . well, I guess Mel and I wouldn't be together now."
"Oh?" Kaitlyn gave her a curious look.
Janice nodded. "When I first met her . . . she was this complete innocent, a sheltered Southern girl who just blundered onto my dig site with no real idea of what she was getting into. She got on my nerves at first-I thought she was so clueless. I mean, who in their right mind would show up at a dig in heels and an expensive dress? Although . . . " A smile twitched at the corner of Janice's mouth. "She did look pretty damn hot in that thing. Those legs . . ."
Kaitlyn finished off her routine and sat on the edge of the bed. "How'd you two get together, anyway?"
"Long story. I was attracted to her from the start and I knew it-even though she did get on my nerves a bit. Mel hung around me for a while like she was in awe, like I was her big bad protector and her hero or something like that. It took us a while to realize that we were really equals, even though our talents were in completely different fields. She has a grip on ancient Greek that I'll never have, and none of my cynicism. And yeah, I know I'm more assertive than she is, but she's got so much subtlety and finesse and class . . ." She trailed off as she noticed Kaitlyn chuckling softly. "What?"
The girl smiled. "Sounds just like a description of another couple I read about once, that's all. But anyway, back to what I was saying earlier: do you seriously have a hard time picturing me having to get down and dirty with people?"
Janice just nodded.
"It's the trenchcoat, isn't it? And the tie?" Kaitlyn looked amused, and indicated her current attire. "This help to dispel that image any?"
"Yeah, a bit. I guess so. Mind if I sit down?" Janice indicated the desk chair.
"Go for it." Kaitlyn waved her hand in the direction of the chair. She waited until her friend had taken a seat. "Let me explain something to you. I learned to be tough at a young age because the other kids were always picking on me. It's clichéd but it's true. I was constantly coming home with ripped clothes and bruises and stuff. It's something that followed me my whole life. Listen, I got into Harvard purely on academic merit. And I literally had to fight my way to the top. The guys at Williams felt threatened by the dyke who sat at the front of the class and turned in a more solid job than they did, every time. So I got threatened a lot. They'd come after me between classes, whatever, trying to intimidate me. I wasn't about to let them. So it was learn to stick up for myself, or give up everything I'd ever worked for. And if you have to ask me which I chose I just might have to deck you, Janice." A sparkle of mirth danced in the linguist's dark brown eyes.
Janice held her hands up in a mock gesture of surrender. "All right, you win!" She grew more serious. "Look, I have to tell you, I feel a lot better about this whole situation, knowing that if it comes to having to fight, I won't have to worry about you. It's Mel that I . . ." She looked away in a vain attempt to hide the flood of emotion that crossed her face.
"I know," Kaitlyn said quickly. "You're really lucky, Janice, I hope you know that. Mel's an incredible woman. But hey-if she's a descendant of Xena, I've got a feeling she can handle herself pretty well. Hanging around you all the time, it probably rubbed off on her," she pointed out with a wink.
Despite her fear, Janice had to laugh at that. "It's not really handling herself that I'm worried about. But if something happens to her . . ."
"With you around? Come on, Janice, you'd move heaven and earth to keep her out of danger, I know that much. And I may not have as much of a stake in it as you do, but I'll throw in to help look out for her. I can see how much she means to you." Kaitlyn's expression was earnest, serious, yet tinged with an almost imperceptible sadness.
"Thanks, Kaitlyn. I appreciate it." The archaeologist smiled. "Hey!" she exclaimed, as her eye fell on Kaitlyn's shoulder holster. "I never got a close look at your gun before . . . is that a military-issue Colt?"
"Sure is. Modified and customized a bit, but yeah."
Janice gaped. "How did you get a hold of that?"
"Same place I got the jeep, and these pants, and the boots. I got recruited for a while there. Right before I got into Harvard." She spoke the words with a casual disinterest.
"You! In the army? They recruited you?"
"And kicked me out about four months later, yeah."
"What for?"
Kaitlyn smirked. "Drill sergeant at boot camp was coming on to me. I wouldn't let him, so he eventually threw me to the wolves. Not that I minded. I would've much rather spent the time working on music and studying. I picked up some useful techniques and gear out of the whole experience though, so I don't complain too much."
Janice just shook her head. "Full of surprises, aren't you?"
"Predictability is boring, Janice. I derive much more amusement from surprising the hell out of people. Keeps them guessing." Kaitlyn grinned.
Another knock sounded against the door. "Come on in," Kaitlyn called.
It was Mel. "Oh, there you are, Janice," the translator exclaimed. "I've been looking for you. But since you're here . . . I just wanted to tell you both that we've been invited to a dinner at the University on Saturday night."
"Dinner?" Kaitlyn looked surprised. "Saturday night? That's tomorrow!"
Janice groaned. "Another one?"
Kaitlyn gave her a withering look. "Another what?"
"Benefit dinner for the archaeology department," Mel explained. "Which means we're all invited."
"Me included? I'm not involved with the archaeology department here!" The young linguist was confused.
"Well, being that you're working with us on this project, and we are connected to the department, Kaitlyn, you're covered by the University as well, as far as expenses for the project go," Mel told her.
Kaitlyn blinked. "Oh. Well, uh, I guess that's a good thing. Good thing I brought some dress clothes too, I guess. Wait a sec-if it's a benefit dinner, don't we have to pay?"
"Naw, everyone else just pays to come ask us questions and shit," Janice smirked. "We just eat and pretend to be sociable and answer a few questions. They're really not that bad."
"I can live with that," Kaitlyn responded. "But hang on a moment-if they ask any questions about what we're working on now, what do we tell them?"
Mel put a hand to her mouth. "Oh dear, I hadn't thought of that."
Janice stood up and paced around the floor. "Shit. I guess we just tell them as little as possible. That you're here to help us with some cultural references that popped up in some of the scrolls we're working on. If they ask more we just make it up as we go along. And stay really vague."
"Works for me," Kaitlyn agreed. "I don't want this whole thing jeopardized any further."
Mel glanced uneasily from her lover to her friend. "There is one more thing I have to tell you . . . there's going to be a, er, special guest at the dinner."
Janice stopped dead in her tracks to stare at Mel. "Oh, no."
"Oh no what?" Kaitlyn yelped, exasperated. "Now what's the bad news? Would one of you two care to fill me in here?" She flopped backwards onto the mattress and covered her face with her pillow.
"'Oh no' as in someone we really don't like is going to be there." Mel grimaced. "The guest of honor, as a matter of fact."
"Him?" Janice clapped a hand to her forehead. "I don't believe it."
The linguist sat up and glowered at her friends. "Him who?!? Dammit, Janice, Mel, explain to me who the hell it is that you don't like who's going to be there! By Bran's head, you're driving me insane!"
"Henry Jones, Junior." Janice's tone was bleak. "Mel and I don't like him very much. In fact, I downright hate him."
"Oh, no." This time it was Kaitlyn's turn. "You've got to be kidding. He hates me."
"He hates you? What did you do to him?" Mel looked amused despite herself.
"Took him up on a dare at a local bar near Williams one weekend, my senior year of college. He was visiting friends, claimed he could outdrink anyone there. He didn't outdrink me." Kaitlyn snickered at the memory. "I staggered back to my dorm around four in the morning, so wasted I could barely open the door. I think I left him curled up around one of the bar stools and snoring soundly. He wasn't very amused, although everyone else was. He's not a bad guy really, just a little full of himself sometimes. What's your beef with the guy?"
Janice mouthed a silent "Damn," staring in surprise at Kaitlyn. What the hell will this kid surprise us with next? she wondered. "Differences of opinion, mostly," she stammered. "We disagree enough that it's hard to be civil, and besides that, he used to be jealous that I could pick up more girls in one night than he could." She flushed a bright crimson at the sight of Mel's arched eyebrow and added, "Of course, that was a few years ago . . ."
"Old Indy doesn't let up a grudge very easily, does he?" Kaitlyn remarked dryly.
"Neither does Janice," Mel laughed, wrapping her arms around the archaeologist. "She's still mad at him because he tried to flirt with me once. I think she's still madder about it than I am!"
A sudden defensive look crossed Kaitlyn's face. "I am not wearing a dress, by the way."
"Believe me," Mel drawled, "I gave up on trying to get Janice to wear them long ago. I'm not even trying." She studiously ignored the archaeologist's amused snort.
The hall clock chimed then, nine times. "Damn, it's getting late," Janice murmured.
"So it is," agreed Kaitlyn. "While we're all convened here, how about we look over a copy of what I managed to translate today?" Mel and Janice assented wordlessly, and she walked over to the small bathroom in her suite, wiping the sweat from her face and neck with a towel before returning to stretch out on her bed. She picked up the notebook that lay open across the pillow. "The scroll and the original translation are back in the safe, by the way. This one is pretty interesting. It also really annoys me in a way-there's something wrong with the timeline that's fucking with my head but I can't quite figure out how. I think it's something about Caesar being there that just doesn't seem right. Dammit! That's annoying!"
"Oh, that's not the first time that's happened," Janice remarked, stretching out across the foot of Kaitlyn's bed. "Don't worry about it. Let's find out what you translated now." She smiled up at Mel, who came to sit down next to her.
"You got it. This scroll-it's entitled 'The Deliverer'-is one that comes after the China scrolls, I believe-the ones entitled 'The Debt.' I'm kind of partial to it now, because apparently Xena and Gabrielle wound up in the British Isles, which Gabrielle refers to as 'Britannia.' There's references to a god named Dahak that I couldn't place at first. He's some weird deity out of Zoroastrianism, I think, but I'm not sure. Anyway, here's what she wrote about it. I'm telling you now, this is heavy stuff. It's not pretty, and you're not going to like what happens. This was some difficult shit to translate, I'll tell you that." A faint trace of envy outlined Kaitlyn's features as she looked up at her friends from over the edge of her notebook and began to read.
* * *
Hanging up there on that cross in Britannia, crucified by Caesar's orders, was one of the most terrifying moments of my life-terrifying not only because of the brutality of its very nature, but because of what followed. When I look back on it now, I realize that the true terror was yet to follow. Next to me, also tied to a cross, was the enigmatic priest Khrafstar, whose zeal and fervor for his "One God" had impressed me so much. Now we were both to be executed.
"Your legs are to be broken," the Roman captain informed me with vicious glee. "He said that it would mean something to Xena."
Xena! How could I forget? You told me that story-of your own years-past encounter with Caesar, your betrayal and crucifixion at his hands, and your rescue by the slave girl, M'Lila. I still can't say what broke my heart more: the painful memories of the time I thought you dead, stirred up by those words, or the thought that I was to become an unwilling party to Caesar's revenge against you, the one true love of my heart.
But you saved me then. For a few fleeting moments I knew doubt and despair, but you saved me then, just as you always had. When you sprang out of hiding and cut me down, I wondered how I could have ever doubted you. I berated myself for not believing that you would always come for me, for thinking that you would ever abandon me.
Was that my folly?
You left me behind with Khrafstar at the temple while you and Boadicea went off, bent on your singleminded quest to take revenge on Caesar. It was then that the true nightmare began. How could I have been taken in by this eager young man? I was swayed by his talk of light, of faith, of a One God, and I followed him straight into a cunning trap-the trap of the dark god Dahak.
They tied Khrafstar to the altar as if to sacrifice him, and I remember clearly the horror that I felt-surely no god of light and kindness would require the sacrifice of an innocent soul and the shedding of blood in order to enter the world! I tried to free him, but Meridian returned. And I killed her. It seemed so frighteningly easy-turn, thrust the dagger up into her stomach . . .
Xena once told me, "Once you kill, everything changes. Everything." I never truly understood that until I was standing there in the temple of Dahak, my hands awash for the first time in the hot crimson waves of another human being's lifeblood, Khrafstar's wicked smile burning my vision and his words ringing in my ears:
"Thank you, Gabrielle. You were going to help bring Dahak into this world. He needed a sacrifice-and not just one of flesh and blood. He wanted your purity-your innocence of evil-and you just gave it to him. This world, and all who are on it, will be no more. The new kingdom of Dahak will rule. And you, Gabrielle, will bring it to us."
Oh gods-had my one action truly done all this? My mind went back to the early times of my travels with Xena, back to those days when I was still the youthful innocent, the tagalong, the child in need of protection; those days before she came to see me as an equal and we both realized our great love for each other in its full measure. I remembered the ripples on the pond as she tossed pebbles into it. One act could have devastating consequences. What had I done?
The horror did not end there. Xena, my beloved warrior, came to save me again. But at what cost? The blood innocence she had so fiercely tried to preserve was gone now, cruelly ripped away for the dark purpose of bringing an evil being into the world. And as she battled with the demon that Khrafstar had become-or rather, the manifestation of what he truly was inside-I was engulfed in living flames. The flames of Dahak himself. Dahak, who implanted in me the seed of a child, though at the time I was unaware of that fact; the seed of the Rift, though, had already been sown.
Yes, in the end, Xena saved me again. But as I told her, everything truly had changed-everything.
* * *
"He raped her!" Janice's voice was shocked. "That fucking pissant bastard of a would-be god-he raped her!" She usually prided herself on her professionalism, but this was her ancestor they were talking about, and she couldn't help but feel, well . . . protective.
Mel, equally shocked by the events Gabrielle had described in this latest scroll, glanced helplessly at Kaitlyn, then at Janice. "Oh my," she whispered. "Oh my . . ." She reached out and took Janice's hand, drawing strength from the contact.
Kaitlyn herself was in shock. "I translated this?" she whispered disbelievingly to herself in barely audible tones. Dear gods-what kind of skill did Gabrielle have, that can have such a powerful impact on us? What a bard she must have been!
"One thing's for sure," she rasped. "We know she survived it. She made it through, or these scrolls would never have been completed . . . remember what Olwen wrote in the introduction to the Rift Scrolls? They made it through." She repeated the words to herself silently, thoroughly jarred by this turn of events.
Janice was the first to recover from the spell Gabrielle's scroll had wrought on them all. "Well," she announced, a little too briskly, "I think that's enough for tonight. I'm ready for bed, I think . . . good night, Kaitlyn. You're doing an incredible job here. I just want you to know that. C'mon, sweetie, you coming?" She and Mel got up and moved toward the door.
Kaitlyn forced a smile. "Good night, you two. Rest up, we've got that dinner party tomorrow . . ."
"G'night, Kaitlyn," Mel replied, her arm wrapped snugly around Janice's waist as they moved for the door, brushing a kiss across the top of her lover's reddish-gold head. The gesture was intimate and loving, and inexpressibly touching.
Wordlessly, Kaitlyn watched them go. With a sigh, she stripped off the army fatigues and changed into a pair of boxer shorts, and crawled into bed with her notebook, a pen, and the third of Rhonwyn's parchments. She flipped on the bedside radio and turned on some soft jazz, and then proceeded to work feverishly into the early morning hours, losing the nagging twinge of jealousy among the words of the ancient text.
Continued in Chapter Fourteen
The Athenaeum's Scroll Archive