Crystal Souls

CRYSTAL SOULS

Ross Richdale

ISBN 978-1-877438-61-5

When Jasmin is caught in the terrorist attack on the London underground in 2005, her terrified thoughts help her, as do similar thoughts for Katherine in the year 1310, Trudie in 1874, Giselle in 1945 and Zarine in 2374. They are all awoken in 2341 as electrical charges contained within crystal balls. With Zarine's knowledge and the base's computer, they are given new physical bodies and find that they are identical in appearance.

They must find out about themselves and also ward off the spunoids, a spider like intelligent species who are at war with humanoids in this world.

Why are they there and why did they all suffer a terrorizing attack before arriving? And is their own future being controlled by something else in the vast universe that transcends time and space?

CHAPTER 1

In the Year of our Lord 1310, the mighty Chartbroke Castle that dominated the Northumberland countryside for two hundred years was under attack. The notorious Black Clan were not Scottish invaders supporting Robert Bruce in the real sense for they were not interested in Scottish nationalism or opposing King Edward II but believed, if that could be the word, in total anarchy. The entire ruling classes, either Scottish or English were to be overcome. The clan had been declared a poisonous outlaw organization on both sides of the border with all members of the private army condemned to immediate dead by beheading when they were caught.

This, of course did the inhabitants of Chartbroke Village no good for the enemy had nothing to lose. The village was razed on the first day of the attack and the inhabitants unlucky enough to be caught before reaching the security within the castle walls were lined up and slaughtered on the spot. The only locals spared from instant slaughter were young women that took the chieftain's eye. They were dragged away and suffered a fate, it was rumoured, worse than if they had been killed on the spot.

The news that filtered through from other defeated castles in the region was that the aristocrats suffered an even worse fate. The women at Castle Breem to the east had forced to watch their love ones being tortured and beheaded before they themselves were violated by the chieftains and handed onto ordinary clansmen to use as they saw fit until they were finally put to the sword.

Lady Katherine DeLane pulled a strand of hair from her eyes and gazed out the window of the third floor of Chartbroke Castle's kitchen tower. Black smoke hung over the remains of the village below and even at this height, the stench of burning bodies filled the air.  Worse though, was the eastern wall that had finally crumbled under a vicious assault of a continuous barrage of boulders after a dozen catapults had homed in on it. The castle archers had gone, with most, Katherine assumed, dead or injured. The boiling oil that had held the enemy trying to scale the walls at bay on the western wall was depleted and it was now all hand to hand combat with the local swordsmen being forced back. Hundreds of bearded enemy swarmed in with vicious weapons that completely ignored any protocols of combat. Knives, swords, spiked balls on chains and long wooden clubs decimated the defenders.

There was an ear-shattering crunch. Katherine turned and gasped. The main gate burst open and, with a roar of triumph, the second wave of barbarians entered the forecourt. Their cries turned to shrieks of agony as the last cauldron of boiling oil was released from the gatehouse. In complete disregard of their scorched and wounded comrades, those behind just pushed them aside and charged forward. Within seconds, the defenders were overwhelmed. Blood covered the courtyard and bodies lay everywhere, including that of her husband, Lord Chartbroke. It had been reported to her a few moments earlier that he had been hit in the back by an arrow when he tried to flee towards the kitchen gate with his mistress. This was typical of the man who had treated her with distain from almost the first day of their marriage.

Lady Mary Sunnex was slaughtered, My Lady but we must move on. The servant girl who spoke looked terrified with wide eyes and trembling chin.

Where Molly? Katherine whispered. Where can we go?

Our original plan might work, My Lady. Molly gulped as another piercing scream rent the air. This side of the castle is still firm.

Of course. We'll head to the top.

The kitchen tower was to the rear of the octagonal shaped castle and was the smallest of the five towers. It rose five floors and opened out onto a balcony covered in netting stretched up to an inner pole like a massive pavilion. Beneath this was an opened courtyard with a wooden shutter in the outer wall. When opened, there was access to a hoist with an attached rope wrapped around a large wooden wheel. When unwound, a large basket could be lowered to the ground below and loaded with essential food supplies for the castle.

The desperate plan put forward a few days earlier when Katherine had refused to leave the castle and take her chances in the woods a quarter of a mile away, was to use this hoist to make a final escape.  It was doomed to failure for even if she reached the ground; the chance of her remaining undiscovered as she headed for the woods was paramount zero.

Katherine knew the odds and had already decided that rather than surrender to the indignities of gang rape and torture she would jump, hope God would forgive her the sin of taking her own life and admit her into heaven. Her two daughters had been evacuated a month before so at least they were safe.

Molly led her up the spiral stairway and out into the open. Katherine gasped for the netting had gone and the whole area was still smouldering from the remains of a fire. One of the enemy's fireballs must have made a direct hit. There was no wheel of rope, no hoist or even the shutter but just scorched and charred walls.

Oh, My Lady, Molly sobbed. I am so sorry.

It would not have worked anyway, Katherine whispered. Did you shut and place bars on the lower doors?

Yes. All three, My Lady. They won't stop them for long, I'm afraid.

No, you are right but we'll secure this last door.

The pair pushed the oaken doorway at the top of the stairwell and dropped a large beam down between the iron hooks. It would take half a dozen men with a battering ram to break through. In the confined stairway outside there was little room for the men so they were secure for the moment. However, in the long term...

Now what, My Lady? Molly's words reflected Katherine's thoughts.

Katherine smiled. You can start by calling me by my chosen name, Molly. I doubt if anyone would want to be a member of the aristocracy after this day in Chartbroke.

Molly nodded and bit on her lip. We could swap clothes, my ... I mean... Katherine.

And why should we do that?

The rumours.  A servant girl will be despoiled by dozens of men but she may survive. A lady of your station will be subjected to cruelty and atrocities that even the devil could not devise.

You'd do that for me?

Molly blinked and tears ran down the inside of her nose. You paid my bondage fee to free me from virtual slavery and brought me here as your servant. The last few months have been heaven on Earth, more than I ever deserve. Perhaps the Good Lord had set this path for me so you could survive this evil day.

Perhaps, but it is not necessary. I do not intend to surrender to anyone, now or ever.

Oh My Lady, Molly gasped. You don't mean... Her voice trailed off.

In these desperate circumstances I'm sure God will forgive us.

Us?

Oh Molly, I am sorry. It is not for me to enforce my decision onto you. You are free to choose your own fate. As you just said, you may survive and move on to live a full and wonderful life.

Molly nodded, stepped forward into Katherine's arms and they both quietly sobbed, not as lady and servant, but two young women both in their twenties who remained friends in these violent times. Katherine stroked Molly's hair and offered words of comfort she did not herself believe.

Without warning, a sharp pain vibrated through her mind. She inhaled and felt woozy. From nowhere it seemed, a fog descended around her and the felling turned to light-headedness not unlike the extreme intoxication she had suffered at the Christmas Grand Ball when a barrel of The King's Wine had been consumed far too quickly. Katherine smiled as memories of carnal knowledge, not with her husband but Hartwell, the man she really loved, filled her mind.

KATHERINE'S MIND JERKED back to the present situation when she began to float upwards.

Float!

She screamed but no sound came from her mouth. She looked down and saw herself in her long green frock. Her untied hair streamed out in the wind as her other self held the slim Molly in her white smock and faded blue underskirt. The pair were ten feet below her. Yes, the once mighty walls that were now crumbled and the blazing courtyard buildings sunk away below her.

It was a dream. It must be a dream and she would wake up in the bed with Hartwell beside her.

But it wasn't! Katherine watched the vision of herself and Molly disappear in a cloud of black smoke. She could see the ruined village beyond and barbarians like ants moving towards the castle.  The horizon of low green hills tipped and she could now see only the blue sky above the smoke and the summer sun blazing down.

But there was more. Above her was a bubble, like one that the washer lady produced when she added soap to a cauldron of hot water and stirred it ready to wash their clothes. The bubble was transparent, yet it wasn't. She could see in it but not through it. Inside lightning flashed blue and jagged but there was no thunder, no sound of any sort. Katherine felt strangely lethargic and at peace as the bubble opened like a giant clam and she floated inside.

CHAPTER 2

By November 1874 the immigrant ship Cospatrick was south of Cape Horn and almost half way through its journey from London, England to Auckland, New Zealand at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean. It was a typical passenger ship of the era, a teak-built sailing-ship, of over a thousand tonnes in size, sixty metres in length, ten metres wide, and seven metres depth of hold. Almost everything aboard was constructed of timber with the ship made waterproof by using tar-sealed joints. Even the sails were tarred to protect them from the salt spray. On board, four hundred and twenty-nine passengers were heading for a new life in the growing British colony.

The sea was not as rough as it had been over the previous two weeks in the South Atlantic but still rolled and made every timber creak on the main passenger deck. Trudie Brown was glad her husband Michael and herself had a cabin of their own; even if it was so small they could not pass each other inside. She felt woozy but not as bad as Michael who had spent most of the journey on his bunk feeling seasick. It was after ten and pitch dark in the claustrophobic cabin when she slipped in after a brief walk on the deck. Michael's snores from the lower bunk made her feel relieved. The night before he had hardly had any sleep and, of course, she had had little herself.

She grinned as she found their trunk in the darkness, pulled out her nightgown and changed. This was an art she had learned to do over the two months at sea, as was her quick climb up to the top bunk. It was hot and stuffy so she only pulled the sheet up around herself and thought about Michael. They had married a week before they left England and the thought of the new life they would have more than made up for the discomfort of ship life. Trudie smiled at the thought of her name. Brown was almost as common as Smith in English society and a far cry of her maiden name, a rather longwinded Mortington. She had loved Michael since they went to primary school and now with them both a ripe old age of twenty-two, she looked forward to their own life away from his dominating mother and her own aloof parents. Mind you, when her parents and siblings waved goodbye while the band played along the quay as the Cospatrick moved away from the London dock she felt like jumping overboard and swimming ashore.

She resisted the urge to sit up and brush her hair for to do so meant she'd receive a bang on the forehead by the beam a sadistic designer had placed directly over her pillow. Instead, she rolled sideways, faced the inky blackness of the nearby wall and drifted into a contented sleep.

A CLANKING BELL AND smell of smoke awoke her. 

Something's wrong, Michael cried. That's the fire bell!

My clothes! Trudie gasped as she jumped down from the top bunk into Michael's arms.

There's no time. We have to get on deck.

Trudie found herself pulled into the passageway where screaming passengers; all in night attire pushed and shoved towards the narrow ladder, their closest escape route.

Fire! Women and children! Women and children! a crewman shouted as the ship lurched and everyone crashed sideways into a wall.

Go! Michael screamed to Trudie.

No. I will not leave you! The whole interior was now lit by flickering yellow light and she could see the panic stricken faces of her fellow passengers. She found herself squeezed in beside the crewman. What's happening? she cried.

The captain's trying to bring the ship around before the wind to stop the fire reaching the sails, Ma'am.

The ship lurched and everyone fell in the opposite direction. Passengers ahead screamed and Trudie saw the fire for the first time. Tiny air vents along the companionway had flames shooting out. Within seconds, the frames around began to burn and thick black smoke poured everywhere as the sealing tar caught fire and began to crackle.

Her eyes stung and she already found every breath sucked in the putrid smoke. She coughed and spluttered but staggered on with her hand firmly in Michael's. A large man almost squeezed Trudie aside until Michael grabbed his arm and, none too lightly swung him around.

You let my wife through or, by God, I'll break your bloody arm.

The terrified man nodded and stood aside. Michael let him go grabbed Trudie and lifted her up the adjacent ladder. She gripped the rungs and made her way up with Michael right behind.

Bastard, the man Michael had just had words with snarled and grabbed his leg. Using your wife to help you out.

Trudie glanced down to see Michael kicked his opponent away and scrambled up behind her before anyone else behind could pull him back. She reached the deck to the sound of screams and silhouettes of people moving everywhere in a state of complete confusion.  The entire front of the ship was afire with bellowing flames and black smoke that hid the stars.

Again, the ship shuddered and pitched to the right. Trudie grabbed a rope and only just managed to stop herself from being hurled away. She watched in utter horror, as another woman nearby was not so lucky. This woman slipped, hit the side of the guardrail just as the ship lurched back, was flipped over and tossed, screaming though the air. Her white nightdress bellowed out and she vanished from sight. Bloodcurdling shrieks were cut off as a wave surged up and hit the ship.

Michael! Trudie whimpered. What's happening?

The ship's not turning. I'd say they've lost the steering. Oh hell...

Trudie gasped and stared up. The foremost sail was afire. Within seconds, it was a wall of flames. Huge sparks and pieces of burning canvas rose into the air and floated back towards them,

The ship was facing the wrong way and the wind blew the flames back.

To the stern! someone shouted. Get back. For God's sake get back!

Everyone turned and pushing, gasping bodies surrounded Trudie as everyone charged back in a blind panic. There were no crew in sight and any resemblance of order had vanished.

Trudie stumbled and would have been trampled by those behind if Michael had not seized her in his arms and dived sideways under a protruding bulkhead. He knelled over her shaking body and for a moment, they were safe from the other passengers thundering by.

Again, the ship lurched and clouds of smoke encircled them. Coughing and with tears streaming from her eyes Trudie managed to crawl up and look out over the flaming deck. They were on the starboard side close to where a lifeboat, filled to capacity with women and children was suspended out over the waves.

You should be there, Michael cried in Trudie's ear.

And leave you? she retorted.

She clung on as the ship's stern dipped in a trough between the waves and watched the davits lower the overcrowded lifeboat down. However, just as the craft reached the water, another wave crashed in, hit it from the side and the whole craft capsized. Everyone, probably sixty or more people simply disappeared into the water.

Oh Michael, Trudie sobbed.

But their troubles were not over. The flaming fore and mizzen masts fell over the side in quick succession, carrying before them dozens of shrieking passengers who were caught in the ropes, crossbars and flaming sails. Screams and shrieks of sheer torture were again cut mercifully short when the masts hit the sea and disappeared beneath the next wave.

There are other lifeboats towards the stern, Even though Michael yelled, Trudie could hardly hear him above the caterwaul of explosions, screams and falling timbers. We can't stay here.

The passengers had gone by the time Trudie crawled out and stood up. The sight, though, was worse, far worse than anything she could possibly imagine.  The front of the ship was a wall of flame, there were no sails and bellowing smoke was everywhere. It was scorching hot and even though not directly touched by the fire, Trudie saw her right arms begin to blister and the skin sort of curl up. Excruciating pain struck and she realized her whole right arm was burning. But it wasn't alight!

A globule of searing hot tar had dropped down from above onto her arm. She was being scolded by a temperature hotter than boiling water. Her nightgown was drenched by saltwater but the frail material had saved more of her body from being scolded.

Out over the water she could see people thrashing around. Cries of help, pain or just hysterical emotion sounded remote and distant. Nobody was there to help, though and with every wave that surged by, less people were left afloat.

We're cut off, my love, Michael shouted. We have to jump.

We'll drown! Trudie screamed. Look out there, Michael. Nobody's surviving. There were a dozen there before the last wave. She shook her head to drive away tears of pain and despair. Now there are two.

Look out beyond the light, Michael screamed and turned her around with his arms.

There,