Free Spiral: Book One of the Spiral in Time by Judith Schara Page B

sun was warm, but her wide-brimmed, canvas hat kept out sun or rain.
    Then the path entered the ramparts, a steeper, confusing set of earthworks that surrounded the entire site. It grew harder to stay steady on the slick mud. The air smelled of wet vegetation and animal droppings. Aubrey led the way as they navigated the many turns between the high, earthen mounds built to defend the hillfort above.
    He stopped for a moment to catch his breath, and pointed above his head.
    “Anyone coming through this maze was picked off by defenders on stone platforms high above the path. Some of the ancient warriors used sling shots, lethal weapons in trained hands.” Aubrey started off again, trudging upward on the twisting path.
    Germaine’s neck prickled and the middle of her back felt sensitive. She felt someone watching her and turned. Another hiker stood poised far above on the top of the rampart—a scruffy looking, red-haired boy of thirteen or so. What was he doing up here? Probably one of the demonstrators.
    Something whizzed by her face. Germaine looked back and saw the boy again. He was swinging something around his head.
    A stone flew toward her! She ducked and slipped on the muddy path, falling to her hands and knees. Another stone flew past her head. When she looked up again, he was gone. Angry, she stood and tried to rub off the worst of the mud. What was that child trying to do? He aimed at her! Germaine remembered Aubrey’s story about the hillfort’s defenders and felt uneasy. And vulnerable.
    At least the book was protected. She picked up the pack and looked for Aubrey. He was far ahead now. His hat in hand, fanning his face, Aubrey’s pink head shone in the sun as he disappeared over the top of the path. She hurried to catch up.
    At last, she reached the top of the final rampart, and was out in the open with only the sky above. A broad footpath ran along the top of the inner perimeter. The breeze she had felt pushing against her back on the way up, now swept over the top, blowing the grass on the footpath flat. Long streaks of clouds scudded across a wind-swept sky, remnants of last night’s storm system.
    Still nervous, she looked around for the delinquent boy. But she was alone. Aubrey had waved and gone on ahead, striding toward the excavation site in the grassy middle of the hillfort, a covered area surrounded by field tents.
    She drew a deep breath of the clean air and turned around slowly, admiring the view from this high perspective. Down below were neatly marked fields, pale gold and brown, like stitched pieces of mending. Thin patches of dark green forest edged some of the straw-colored rectangles. A few fields showed the bright green of early summer crops sprouting in the mild English air. She could see Dorchester off to one side, the horizon hazy there with the blur of modern life. A road leading toward the town had small cars moving along, all reduced to toys on the large, grand landscape. The chaos and confusion of the people down below in the car park didn’t reach up here.
    She climbed down from the top of the earthen rampart and started walking toward the tents. The rampart created a protective barrier. Down below it, the tall grass barely rippled in the faint breeze. The air seemed muffled, just the sound of the wind passing high overhead. She stopped and listened intently, not even sure what she thought she might hear.
    The trained archaeologist in her looked around, trying to imagine the meadow as it once was. There were no clues. It was empty. Yet people had lived and died here for six thousand years.
    And loved, whispered a voice in her head—a woman’s voice. He is gone.
    Then someone was crying, faint and far away.
    It faded into the distance.
    Germaine looked around, shaking her head. There was absolutely no one nearby. She was imagining things. “What is happening to me—am I losing my mind?” She wondered out loud. First, she was attacked by a boy who disappeared, and now she was