Mandy Munro

Ellie stood at the closed door. A bead of sweat slid down her neck. It wasn’t from the heat.

A kookaburra laughed from the backyard. A fly buzzed in the hallway. No sound came from within the training room, but that didn’t mean it was empty.

She rolled her shoulders. The left scapula was bruised, as was her hip from yesterday’s session. Move faster or pay the price.

She let out a silent breath and listened harder.

She could choose not to do this, but then again, maybe not with Dad’s mood. It was the same mood that surrounded him when he smashed gung-ho Australian SAS recruits into submission. Not submission; annihilation. Dad was the unofficial Special Forces quality check. None of her friends believed her soft-spoken father could be so brutal. Well, maybe Zach did after Dad threw the knife at him when he thought Zach was flirting. Dad swore he was joking.

Her heart calmed. If Dad was inside, then he must be meditating.

She pushed the door open. Sunlight streamed through the glass wall from the courtyard into the room. There was nothing between her and the blood red wall at the far end except the training mat sunk into the floor. She’d spent a lot of time on that floor.

She strode in, fists clenched. Dad’s combat staff—a 2-metre-long giant—was still in the rack on the wall to her left. Hers, a neat length of oak, was next to it. The glass lid on the knife cabinet was down. No one was here. Why then, did her neck prickle?

She loved Dad to bits, but the hyper alert state he’d drilled her to manifest whenever she was in the training room did her head in. It was like he thought one day it would be a battle zone—her battle zone. If Mum had been here—

She gritted her teeth. Mum would have been patient.

Ellie flicked the ceiling fans to high. The temperature was well above thirty degrees. She twisted her hair into a tight knot and scrunched the band around it. She reached for her combat staff—

A hood yanked over her head.

What the hell! She could see nothing. She thrust her hand to her neck, gasping. The cord pulled tight. Shit, her throat. Her bloody assailant dragged her sideways. She wrenched the cord.

God, she couldn’t breathe!

Ellie lurched and jabbed with her right fist. Her knuckles hit bone.

‘Damn you, girl!’

Jasper. Dad’s latest recruit.

The cord pulled tighter. Ellie screeched and clawed the hood with both hands. He was trying to kill her. Dad had made him snap!

Her back smacked the knife cabinet. She groaned and twisted. If she could see, she’d smash the glass.

‘Focus, Ellie.’ Dad’s voice was to the right. The observer position. ‘Close your eyes and use your other senses. Focus on the fire that’s behind your eyelids like you’re wearing night goggles. Feel where Jasper is.’

‘He’s strangling me,’ she gasped, her teeth clenched. He really was. Red spots were in front of her eyes, even though the hood shrouded her in darkness.

‘Trust yourself, Ellie. If you let go of one sense, you’ll open another. You have skill and talent, but self-trust is the enabler.’

Self-preservation was her enabler.

She punched her knee upwards. Jasper collapsed silently; he wasn’t a crier like the other recruits.

The pressure on her throat released. Ellie coughed and inhaled and yanked off the hood. Breathing was a gift.

She blinked in the sunlight. The buzzed-headed recruit lurched out of the room with his hands between his legs.

‘That’s a fail, Jasper,’ Dad called. His words carried the soft lilt of his Scottish accent.

‘Yes, sir,’ Jasper wheezed. The front door slammed.

Dad watched her with his combat staff at the ready; he was always ready. At thirty-eight, he was the youngest and fittest of all her friends’ dads, but his three self-stated passions kept the most persistent single mums at bay. She came first and then it was a tie between fighting and archaeology, although there’d been times when her ranking felt disputable.

Ellie rubbed her throat, glaring. ‘It was a stupid test, Dad. You might have been an orphan in a backwater town, but people aren’t going to jump me blindfolded on the streets of Sydney.’

‘There are many ways to die, Ellie.’ His expression was unmoved as he twisted his staff.

She snatched hers from the rack. ‘In case you’ve forgotten, I’m going to be a doctor and not joining the Special Forces. Why do you keep testing me?’ She spun the staff in a complex figure-eight.

Dad grunted. ‘You’re eighteen tomorrow and you’ll make your own choices. I won’t always be there for you, and sometimes the only person you can depend on is you. I need to know you will trust yourself.’ There was an uncharacteristic hitch in his last words.

So that was it. Dad was worried. It had been the two of them for a long time. He wasn’t good at the emotional stuff, but sometimes he really surprised her.

Ellie grinned; she knew how to get him out of this. ‘You built me strong, Dad, and you know I can whip your butt.’

It wasn’t true, but she was getting closer—the gym classes with Zach were paying off.

Is that so?’ Dad chortled.

He came at her fast, his staff a blur. She blocked, twisted, and struck.

He hissed.

‘Come on, move faster, old man,’ Ellie teased.

She should have known better; Dad was bathed in sunlight—his equivalent to a shot of coffee. He smirked. The blow happened in slow motion; his best ones always did. He aimed his staff at her chest.

She knew what to do, but—

A fist of energy punched her, and she flew backwards onto the mat. The air went out of her.

Ellie groaned and stared at the ceiling fan. When would she learn?

‘Are you okay?’ Dad sounded contrite. He collapsed beside her.

Ellie laughed. ‘Battle weary, but fine.’ She rubbed her chest. ‘I don’t know how you did that. You always manage to pull something out when you need it.’

He grunted. ‘The only limits are in your mind. You could have blocked me. You just have to trust yourself. One day it will matter.’

Dad was a warrior and a philosopher. He spoke of history as though he’d lived it, and talked of the future as though he’d seen it. It often unnerved her, but it was just him.

They breathed in silence. They always ended training with meditation.

Ellie’s heart thumped slower. Dad worried she was growing up. Tomorrow made her an adult.

‘Would you stop time if you could, Dad?’

‘If you could stop time, you wouldn’t tell anyone.’ His tone was vehement.

Ellie turned her head to stare. The white flecks in Dad’s navy eyes swirled like exploding galaxies. He sat up and scrunched his knees to his chest. She scrambled and did the same.

She was confused. ‘It wasn’t quite what I meant.’

The panic in his eyes eased; he exhaled. ‘I know. You asked if I would stop time to hold on to a moment? The answer is no, doing that would have consequences. A better question would be to ask if I would change anything about my life, or your life, so our time was different?’

Ellie nodded. Mum’s death had been a constant shadow over their lives.

Dad’s lips pressed into a firm line, and his brow furrowed. ‘I wouldn’t change anything. I just value time more. I miss your mum every day and I cherish every minute I have you, but tomorrow life changes.’

She raised her eyebrow. ‘How so?’

‘When you turn eighteen, time and your choices become your responsibility. Life is precious. A single moment in time can mean a life for someone else based on the choices you make. You must understand your responsibilities so you can control them, so you are not controlled by others.’

Dad hated authority. He wouldn’t tell her what he went through growing up, but there were some nasty people involved. His approach to life hinged on three things: self-discipline gave you control, knowledge gave you power, authority could take it away from you. When the military came to him, it was dad calling the shots, not the other way around.

Ellie squeezed his arm. ‘I will be fine, Dad. No one is going to control me. You made sure of that.’

His throat bobbed, and he stared into the courtyard.

Ellie nudged the subject in another direction. ‘So, the solstice is at 9:23 tomorrow morning, which is a very civilised hour.’ She smiled. ‘You won’t need to wake me for the present opening.’

Dad sniffed and chuckled softly. ‘Yeah, the 3.48 AM solstice last year was a bit rough. Your mother would have been proud to see you rise that early.’

‘It’s not something I’d miss,’ Ellie breathed.

They both knew that. Ellie had been born at the exact moment of the summer solstice and opening Mum’s presents on the solstice had been a last request.

‘Ellie, there’s—’

Dad’s phone rang.

He got to his feet and held his hand out to her. ‘Sorry, Sweetie. I’m expecting some urgent results. Let’s chat later.’

She waved his hand aside. ‘It’s fine, Dad.’

His hand stayed out. The stars in his navy eyes threatened to swirl again. ‘Please allow your dad to help his girl one last time before she becomes an adult.’

‘O-kaay,’ she laughed, and let him pull her up.

Dad answered his phone. Ellie put her staff on the rack and wiped her forehead. The red paint on the walls felt oppressive; white would have been her choice.

‘The petrosphere came back dated as 3200 BC... and the chemical analysis?’

Ellie smiled. A confirmed Neolithic find was always thrilling.

She slid the door to the courtyard open. Dad had put his glasses on and scanned his phone. The co-ordinates of Mum’s star he’d tattooed below the birthmark on his left forearm glistened in the sunlight.

‘It conducts energy, but it’s not quartz…’ he spoke rapidly, pacing. ‘… then if it’s not from a meteorite and its stone, it’s got to be marinite… Yes, I know that’s not found on Earth.’

Ellie frowned. Dad didn’t usually argue with lab technicians.

‘Check the silicon to oxygen ratio…’

Sweat trickled down her back; too hot. She stepped into the courtyard and breathed the cooler air. The waterfall cascading over the inner wall was one of Dad’s best design features.

‘The archaeology team in the Orkneys has found another Aletheia stone.’

Ellie turned. Dad stood in the doorway; he grinned like a kid.

Aletheia, in ancient Greek, meant the revealing of truth. The ancient stone balls Dad insisted on calling truth stones, were from Stonehenge times. She tried to stay open-minded about his theories.

‘Sounds cool, Dad!’

‘I’m going to the university to video call the Orkney team. I won’t be home tonight.’

Ellie shrugged. ‘That’s fine, I’ve got the late shift at the cinema, anyway.’ Her eyes narrowed; he looked guilty. ‘You’ll be home in the morning, right?’

Dad pocketed his phone. ‘Set your alarm for the solstice and I’ll make sure you have your presents.’

This was unthinkable.

‘You can’t miss it, Dad.’

He kissed her cheek but didn’t look at her. ‘I promise I won’t miss the solstice.’

#

Ellie grabbed her phone and stopped the shrill alarm. One of these days, she’d change it to something that didn’t give her a heart attack. It was 9:05 AM—last night’s shift was a killer.

She sat up and scanned the messages. Several from Nina and Zach, none from Dad. But a post-it-note with ‘I’ll call you xox’ was stuck to her bedside lamp and a silk jewellery pouch and a card lay next to her pillow.

Marvellous. She’d been usurped by a crappy old stone.

The solstice was at 9:23, so she still had time. Ellie picked up the card. It was a simple white note, and all Dad had written was ‘The mark of Time is yours now’.

Everything Dad said had meaning. He viewed time religiously. Time was a responsibility, and you had to make time to give time. It sucked that he hadn’t given her time on her birthday, but giving her the mark of Time?

She had a theory.

Ellie opened the pouch and pulled out a small glass vial. She laughed. It was like an old-fashioned light globe with a pile of translucent threads in the bulb. It wasn’t very time-like except maybe he’d bought it in an antique store.

She tipped the pouch and a silver necklace with a triangular pendant slipped out.

Nice! The Neolithic triple spiral was the mark of Time and according to archaeologists, of which Dad was one, the three continuous spirals symbolised the Past, the Present and the Future. The spirals were carved on a stone at the heart of the Newgrange passage tomb in Ireland. She’d spent her tenth birthday waiting for the first rays of the winter solstice sunrise to shine down the passage and illuminate them.

The triskelion, as Dad liked to call it, was remarkably similar to the birthmark on his left forearm. She clasped the necklace around her neck. She sometimes called him “Time Lord” just to annoy him.

Her phone rang, and the Doctor Who Tardis flashed on the screen. It was 9:13 AM. She jumped out of bed, flicked the phone to speaker, and tossed it on the quilt.

‘Hey, Dad. Thanks for the presents.’

She grabbed a top and running shorts from the drawer and pulled them on.

‘So, you like the necklace?’ Dad’s accent was thick; he was pleased.

Ellie glanced in her mirror. ‘Yeah, it’s perfect. I’ve got it on. The mark of Time is mine, eh?’

‘As best I could give you.’ His voice was gruff. ‘There’s another present on your desk chair, but you’ve got to hurry.’

She pulled back the chair. A pair of hiking boots sat on top of an emerald and white ski jacket with matching pants. She picked up a boot; it was fleece lined.

‘They’re great, Dad, but you do know it’s summer, right?’

He chuckled. ‘It’s always winter somewhere. Put them on so you can open Mum’s present wearing them.’

Ellie groaned. The sun was already across the floorboards. This was his revenge for making him sit in his new wetsuit on his birthday. ‘I’m going to boil!’

‘Fair’s fair.’

She laughed. ‘Give me a sec.’

Ellie pulled the ski pants over her shorts and tugged the boots on. She was hot already. The ski jacket slipped on easily. She left it unzipped and stood in front of the mirror. Dad had chosen well: the jacket was the same green as her eyes.

‘Time is ticking, Ellie.’

‘I’m on my way.’ She grabbed the phone and galloped down the stairs.

Sunlight streamed down the hallway to the family portrait at the end. Even though Mum had cancer, her green eyes were vivid as she laughed at some joke Dad had made. Dad’s arm was around Mum, and he had a goofy grin. And Ellie stood between them, all smiles because it was her eighth birthday. Mum’s accident at the cliff was a month later.

‘I’m eighteen, Mum.’ Ellie touched the picture as she went by.

She put the phone to her ear. ‘I’m in the kitchen, Dad.’

‘Good. I’ve rigged the security camera above the back door so I can see you.’

Really? He went to all that effort?

‘You could have just been here.’

‘I couldn’t… I’m sorry.’ Dad’s breath hitched. ‘I promised I wouldn’t miss it, and this was the best way.’

She sighed. There was no point arguing. ‘Yeah, I know.’

‘You’d better get moving.’ His voice was urgent. ‘This year is special. It’s the last present Mum left you.’

Her heart sank. The bag of gifts Mum left behind had seemed bottomless—she’d been determined to go to her grave organised.

Ellie swallowed and opened the back door. The welcome bell jingled.

‘Happy Birthday, Ellie.’ Dad’s voice sounded flat. ‘The presents are in the stone circle. Open the box first, and then the bundle on the solstice. You’ve got five minutes.’

He hung up.

She had a bad feeling as she ran across the backyard to the stone circle Dad had built under the jacaranda tree. The old tree was losing its flowers late and Mum’s sandstone bench was in a sea of purple. A small box and a yellow velvet bundle were on the seat—Mum’s last gifts.

Ellie sat with the phone next to her and picked up the box. The torn label read ‘Property of Professor Logan Kairos. Orkney College UHI, Scotland. Date: 21 December—’

The bad feeling intensified. Ellie lifted the flaps. A speckled stone ball sat in a wad of bubble wrap. The Aletheia stone.

Ellie frowned at the flashing red light on the security camera over the back door. No wonder Dad watched from his office. This was crazy. The package couldn’t have come overnight from the Orkneys. Why was he giving her this?

Her phone chirped with a text. You can ask questions later. Pick up the stone. Close your eyes and think of Mum.

Ellie’s eyebrows shot up. He was joking, right?

Another text arrived. Try not to drop it.

She scowled. Now he was just being offensive. He’d trained her to be careful with artefacts.

The stone sparkled in the sun as she lifted it out. She’d had some odd solstice present openings before, but this was the strangest.

She held it in her palm and closed her eyes. Mum’s green eyes were easy to picture.

‘My name is Elandai Estra Rosalyn-Kairos, and this is a message for my daughter, Elanora Estra Kairos, on her eighteenth birthday.’