The Spirit Rose Page 11

  “Yeah, that’s one of the arguments the lawyer will be making,” said Mr. Marchand. “In the meantime, it’s been giving Uncle Gareth and Aunt Augusta big-time stress. Especially Uncle Gareth. He thought he could get them to back off without having to worry your aunt, but keeping it to himself wasn’t good for him.”

  “Is he going to be okay?” asked Dane.

  “He should be, provided he can rest properly,” Mrs. Marchand replied. “And there’s no reason he can’t. The university can get someone to take over his upcoming classes, and your granddad can help Aunt Augusta sort out this adoption business.” She sighed. “I wish we could be more supportive. I feel guilty about going home the day after tomorrow.”

  “Me too,” said Mr. Marchand, “but at least Gareth’ll be able to come back to a more tranquil house than he’s had of late.”

  “Do we have to go home?” Paige asked.

  “Yes. School’s starting up again, remember? And I still have some post production work to do on my medieval documentary. Who knows, this might be the one that wins an award and puts me on the road to fame and fortune.”

  “You’re already pretty well known, Dad.”

  “I’m known to you, sweetie. Maybe even—dare I think it—admired by you, but I could do with some more industry recognition too. And accompanying financial reward. Especially if our house gets flooded and our insurance won’t cover restoration.” He stood up. “Fortunately, I have some potential backers for the allergy project. Doctor Bindal’s nephew knows some people who might be interested. I said I’d meet with him this morning.” He glanced at his wife. “You can call me if anything changes with Gareth.”

  With that he went out, leaving his children feeling bewildered.

  “Why’s Dad worried about our house getting flooded?” Paige inquired. Living close to a creek, their parents did have those concerns during the spring run-off, but not at the end of summer, when the more likely hazard was forest fires.

  Her mother gave her a strange look. “Because of the weeks and weeks of rain the Okanagan Valley’s had. You must remember how hard it was coming down the day we left.” Since Paige and Dane remembered nothing of the kind, they simply stared at her as she went on. “Don’t fret. The neighbours are keeping an eye on our place and piling up sandbags for us. We’ll take any further steps that are necessary when we get home. Right now, I think I’ll go make beds. You should try to find something to do as well. It will keep your mind off things.”

  “Can we play games on your laptop?” Paige asked as she rose from the table.

  “Yes, until I come back down. Then I’ll have to have it. I’ve got some notes to add to the research file for my next book.” She sighed. “In keeping with what your father said about fame and fortune, maybe I’ll finally get a bestseller.”

  “Finally get?” Dane echoed after she’d gone upstairs. “What’s she talking about? Almost all her books have been bestsellers. And Dad—he made it sound like he hadn’t ever won any film awards, and you know he’s won dozens. As for that stuff about the rain…hey, what are you doing? Mum said we could play games, not go on the Internet.”

  “Yeah, well, Mum’s upstairs, and I want to check something out. Three somethings, actually. Her, Dad, and the weather back home.”

  She called up the weather report first, and learned that weeks of heavy rainfall had indeed resulted in flood warnings for the Okanagan, which appeared to be the only region experiencing it. She then typed in her father’s name. Only a few film sites carried his profile, and made no reference to awards or other indicators of prominence in his field. It was the same with their mother, a modest list of published books, but nothing to suggest the name Britannia Hollingsworth Marchand was especially well known.

  “This is crazy,” said Dane. “Their careers were rock solid when we left Canada. They can’t have just suddenly become nonentities. Unless…” he paused, thinking. “Unless we did something in another time that caused things to change for them in our time.”

  Paige shook her head. “We didn’t. I’m sure we didn’t. If we had, there’d have been indications of it before now. Nothing was any different here when we came back from the middle ages, or when we came back from Victorian times, either. Things started to change…let’s see…I think they started change around the time we found out about Sir Magnus’s Keeper Pieces going missing. Earlier on, do you remember hearing Dad say how being obsessive about work had been good for his career?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, by the time we were eating lunch with the Wolverton-Hernes, he was talking like his career was just so-so. From riches to rags in just a few hours.”

  “That’s right. And the flooding thing just came up today. If they’d been worried about it before we’d have heard them talking or seen them going online for updates, like you just did.”

  Paige shut down the laptop and went to the telephone.

  Dane followed her. “Who are you calling?”

  “Uncle Edmond.”

  When he answered, Paige said, “Hi, Uncle Edmond. This is going to sound weird, but how are Mum and Dad doing in their careers? Would you say they were both what people call successful?”

  “I would,” Uncle Edmond replied.

  “And when Mum called you up just before we left Canada, didn’t she say we’d had it hot and dry for so long, she’d be glad to have a bit of British rain?”

  “She did.”

  “Okay. Can you now please ask Auntie Norah those same questions?”

  “All right.” He sounded mystified. When he returned to the phone, he sounded even more mystified. “In response to question one, she says they’re both so talented, they really should have gained more recognition by now. In response to question two, she says your mother was expressing flood concerns when she rang up. Neither of which is in keeping with how I remember things being.”

  “Or how we remember things being. Certain aspects of our lives have changed, Uncle Edmond, and only people connected to the medallion seem to know it. What do you think’s going on?”

  “I’ve no idea. Let me talk to your grandfather. He stayed the night, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, but he took Jack to the hospital to see Uncle Gareth.”

  “Oh. Well, when he gets back, have him bring the three of you over to Grantie’s. We definitely have to talk and see if the two diviners can divine anything.”

  But, as Jack and his mother rode home in the back of Granddad’s car, Jack’s mind was not on divination. It was on his father’s collapse.

  “Such a relief to know Gareth can come home soon,” Granny said from the front passenger seat. “But you’ll have your work cut out for you getting him to take things easy and not get upset about anything, Gus.”

  “Upset about what?” demanded Jack, giving his mother a sharp look. “He got upset over the “Danny Boy” song, but he told me that was because you once thought about calling me Daniel, and might have if Dane’s name hadn’t been so similar. He tried to make out he was just feeling sentimental, but there’s got to be more to it than that.” He paused and gave her another challenging look. “There is, isn’t there, Mummy?”

  She didn’t answer for a moment. Then, “Yes, darling, there is. And I suppose it is time you knew what’s happening. Stop at the park, will you, Dad?”

  At the park they found a secluded bench and Granny and Granddad went off somewhere, allegedly to look at flowers.

  She started by telling him the adoption story he had heard many times. Then she added the new twist. “When Ashleigh and Kyle gave you up, I think they truly meant to have no further contact with you, but…well, they were very young back then, and now…now they want to meet you.”

  Jack stared at her, aghast. “Well, I don’t want to meet them!”

  She nodded. “Daddy thought you might feel like that. He told them it would be better to wait until you’re older. Unfortunately, they don’t agree.”

  “They’ll jolly well have to, because I won’t do it. Y
ou’re my mummy. The only one I want. And Daddy’s my daddy. What if I met them, and once they saw me, they decided to take me back from you? You said they couldn’t. When I asked you that when I was little, you said they couldn’t.” His voice rose, tinged with panic.

  “They can’t.” His mother folded him into her arms. “Your adoption was completely legal. Once issued, adoption orders are hardly ever reversed, and since both sides had solicitors and counselling, it’s highly unlikely a court would reverse yours.”

  “Then make them go away. Please, Mummy? Please?”

  “We will. It’ll be all right. I’ve only told you so I can, in all honesty, say you aren’t ready for a meeting. Once I have, I’m sure they’ll put it off for a few years.”

  “I won’t be ready then, either,” he said, burrowing into her shoulder.

  “Well, that will be for you to decide, love.” She patted his back. “Right now it’s for grown-ups. Daddy will be home in a day or two. By then it’ll probably all be resolved and we’ll be able to concentrate on getting him to rest and get well. The most important thing right now is to make sure he doesn’t worry about anything. Such as you being worried. And you don’t have to be. There really isn’t anything to worry about, and, if Daddy thinks you’re all right, he’ll be all right.” She grimaced. “Perhaps we should get him one of those T-Shirts with that slogan from the war, KEEP CALM AND CARRY ON.”

  Jack took his head off her shoulder. “He hates T-shirts.”

  “Well, he’ll have to get better then, won’t he? So he can take it down the charity shop.”

  Jack managed a wobbly smile. When grown-ups said there was nothing to worry about, there usually wasn’t. But sometimes there was, and when he got back home and spoke with his cousins, he realized there might even be more to worry about than he’d thought.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Granddad’s offer to take the children over to Rosebank for the rest of the day met with approval from the other adults, whose poorly concealed eagerness indicated they had much to discuss, and preferred not to discuss it in their presence.

  “As long as Grantie’s not feeling worn-out after yesterday,” Mrs. Marchand amended as they went out the door. “Bring them back if she is.”

  She wasn’t, but as they sat in her sitting room trying to make sense of how, and why, certain aspects of their lives had become distorted, she admitted to feeling extremely frustrated. “A higher level example of the interference we were talking about before, I’ll wager.”

  “Me too,” said Paige. “But where’s it coming from?”

  “I think I know.” Since he was not a diviner, it amused Dane to see the others look at him in surprise. “It’s not an insight or anything. Leastways, not mine. It’s something in Rosalina’s story—the scene in the cave, where the statue breaks apart.”

  The Little Rose Tree was on the low table in front of him. He picked it up and went carefully through its pages, mindful of its age. “Yes, here. It says, when the eagle statue broke into pieces, the wicked sorcerer caught hold of one of the shards. And later on it says the youth was afraid the sorcerer would make bad use of that shard. Maybe he is making bad use of it.”

  “How?” Paige demanded. “He’s been dead for like a gazillion years.”

  “In our time. But travelling into the past like we have, we know that past, present, and future coincide. Even though the people we connected to died long before our time, we were still able to join them in theirs. We even brought two of them forward into ours. What if Rosalina’s wicked sorcerer can come forward in time too? Or, if he can’t, what if he can still somehow do something to influence a future time from his own time?”

  “Now there’s a disquieting thought,” muttered Uncle Edmond.

  “It’s more than a thought,” said Granddad. “That, or something like it, is a reality—a dangerous reality.” He looked at the children. “Quite aside from the disturbing changes to life in the here and now, you three have had some narrow escapes while in the past. Too narrow to risk another jaunt there anytime soon.”

  “What are you saying?” cried Paige. “That we can’t use the medallion anymore?”

  Dane and Jack looked equally dismayed.

  Granddad shifted uncomfortably. “It would be better if you didn’t.”

  “They have to,” said Granite Etta. “You were the one who proclaimed us the restorer’s line, Avery. As part of such, it’s their duty to use the medallion, just as it’s been the duty of countless others before them. If an ancestor of ours committed himself—and his descendants—to Varteni’s cause, we stand committed. Family honour demands it. I made my contribution, and you two made yours. So did your mother, albeit briefly. Now it’s their turn, and if they don’t happen to meet up with Varteni either, their children must try. And so on, and so on, until the girl is free and can set about fulfilling her destiny.”

  “Even if the forces keeping her from it have begun to target those who are, as you put it, committed to her cause?”

  “Yes, because he—and I say ‘he’ because, like Dane, I think this is the sorcerer’s work —wouldn’t bother unless we were getting close to the point where Varteni’s rescue is possible,” said Uncle Edmond. “I don’t say we’ll get in on that, because according to Rosalina, the end of her tale can’t come about until there are five living generations of medallion users. We have the five generations, but since the fourth one didn’t get to use it, we don’t meet the other requirement.” He sighed regretfully. “That’s too bad, but serves as proof of our adversary’s capabilities. He’s scored against us by keeping our five generations from fully thwarting him. But that doesn’t mean that somewhere down the line—the restorer’s line—the next five can’t. If Paige and the boys get to be as old as Grantie, and their great-great-grandchildren make up the fifth generation, the rescue of Varteni can still happen. But it can only happen if those generations keep moving towards that end by going into the past to help children in trouble.”

  “If Paige and the boys come under attack again, they might not get to be much older than they are now, never mind Grantie’s age,” Granddad rejoined.

  “We’ll be careful, Granddad,” Paige promised. “Really careful. And we won’t be able to go anywhere for a while anyway. We’re flying home in a couple of days. We won’t be back with Jack until Christmas.”

  “If we’re still coming at Christmas,” said Dane. “That could have changed too. If we’re not as well-off as we were, Dad might think we can’t afford it.”

  “I can,” Grantie Etta assured him. “Unless my fortunes have crumbled too, and I just don’t know it yet. Remind me to have a word with my solicitor.”

  Granddad frowned. “Don’t joke about it, Grantie. We still don’t know exactly what we’re up against here. And until we do, the children shouldn’t be making any more time trips.”

  “They won’t be, until Paige and Dane get back,” said Uncle Edmond. “By then we might know what we’re up against. I suppose you haven’t had a chance to look for Aurea-Rose’s box over at Mother’s?”

  “No, but I asked her to look. She said she’d let me know if she found anything.”

  Almost on cue, his cell phone rang.

  He always carried a pen and notebook and, halfway through the conversation, he pulled them out and wrote something down. “All right, Mother. Thank you. Please keep looking.” He clicked the phone off and looked round at the others. “She’s found the sketch books, but not the box of sayings. She’s remembered a couple more, though. One’s short, just — ‘Stay strong against all wrong.’ The other’s quite lengthy, a verse that runs thus.” He read from his notebook.

  “‘Favour is shown to those who ponder,

  Ones informed will seldom wander.

  Nor will any who try too soon

  Or for whom it be not opportune.

  But the rest must try to serve

  The troubled ones they shall observe.

  Since only if their paths run true,

&nb
sp; Can the rose tree bloom anew.

  And most will find but little threat,

  In helping those who be beset.

  For others bound by mystic powers,

  Cannot move until the hour,

  The final seekers start the course,

  That leads at last unto the source.

  Then danger lurks at every turn,

  And stout must be the hearts that earn,

  The chance to challenge what must not be,

  And, through their strength, restore the trees.’”

  “I don’t believe this,” Paige groaned. “First a symbolic story with two cryptic rhymes, and now a corny caution and another cryptic rhyme.” She stood up and started to stomp dramatically around the room. “If this sorcerer guy is as big a threat to Varteni as has been implied, it doesn’t seem too practical to keep the people trying to help her from getting on with the job because they have to stop and work out some incomprehensible warning or instruction. Why didn’t one of those diviners-who-came-before-us just get a pen, quill, or whatever was used back in their day, and write down something like, ‘If you want to save Varteni, listen up! Do this, this, and this, and good things will happen. Do this, this, and this, and bad things will happen. Here’s a list.’”

  “The manner of communication is indeed irksome, but I dare say it’s meant to keep non-medallion users from figuring out things they shouldn’t,” said Uncle Edmond.

  “Yeah, well, there’s not much point if we can’t figure them out either.”

  “I agree,” said Granddad. “But figure them out we must. Once interpreted, they might shed some light on what’s been going on lately and tell us what to do about it.”

  “The story’s sketches might help,” said Grantie Etta.

  “We’ll be getting them soon. Mother said only one sketch book has relevance and she’s asked Trevor’s crew to bring it to us. They’re off home tomorrow and are at the cottage making their farewells. In the meantime, let’s analyse the latest verse. The first bit’s not too hard. Favour being shown to those who ponder means, as we’ve come to realize, that medallion users have to work things out for themselves and can’t ‘wander’ unless they do. Neither can those for whom it’s not opportune, as in safe. Like Mother. And you,” he added for the children’s benefit.