Page 1 of The Gods Time Forgot

One

Somewhere between the light and the dark, a woman got lost, and as the earth closed in around her, she wondered what she’d done to deserve it.

She wriggled her fingers, loosening the dirt, feeling it burrow between her nails as she searched for release.

“Emma? Emma, are you out here?” Distant muffled calls came from somewhere aboveground.

She stopped struggling to listen.

“Emma, where are you?”

She considered answering but wasn’t sure they were talking to her. Her stomach knotted. Why couldn’t she remember her name? She closed her eyes, retreating into the vacant depths of her mind. Why couldn’t she remember anything?

“Emma?” The voice sounded closer.

Her name could be Emma, she supposed, and certainly they wouldn’t be against helping a woman out of a hole even if she wasn’t the one they were looking for.

“I’m here,” she answered, choking on the dirt. “I’m here!”

Wedged so tight into this narrow passageway, she could hardly breathe. Digging her knees deeper into the dirt, she tried to push herself forward. Pebbles and bits of clay fell all around her. It was so much effort for such little reward. If she didn’t free herself soon, she was going to suffocate.

“Where are you?” the voice called to her, sounding closer.

“Here,” she coughed out, unsure if she’d even made a sound.

This time she drove her elbows into the dirt, her body moving infinitesimally closer to the slip of light that would offer her both freedom and a deep breath.

She wondered what this hole looked like to people not in it. Would they even notice it in the ground? Or would they walk right past her body as she lay rotting with her feet dangling above the cave she’d tried to crawl out of?

No, she wouldn’t let that happen, she told herself. Buried and forgotten was not to be her fate. Her hands clawed at the dirt while she shimmied herself upward with her knees, her elbows chafing against the soil that enclosed her.

She pulled and pushed until finally the pressure on her chest started to lift. The dirt and gravel loosened beneath her. She was almost out. One last desperate pull and she was free.

Gasping for the air she’d recently taken for granted, she rolled onto the grass and faced the darkening sky. How did she end up here? She turned her head to glance at the triangular hole she’d just crawled out from and the mound of grass above it. From the outside, one would never suspect a massive cave rested beneath.

She hadn’t a clue what would have prompted her to enter such a thing.

Her body still trembling from the exertion, she sat up. Her shaking hands as dirty and bloodied as her tattered dress.

While her breathing steadied, she took in more of her surroundings. The forest around her was lush and thriving. A creek cut through the trees. Upon seeing the water, her throat burned with need.

She rose to her feet, shuffling to where the creek had pooled, backed up against the rocks. The water was still, a perfect mirror image of the woods around her. It called to her, offering to quench her thirst and cleanse her soul.

She knelt before it, cupping the cool water with her hands and lifting it to her lips. At the same moment an image flooded her mind.

“My darling sister, ever the fool.”

She looked up to find who had spoken.

“Have you no sense of self? No respect for our sisterhood?” Languid, the sable-haired woman lay against the rocks, letting her fingers dance in the water.

The fairer woman frowned upon hearing the harsh words but did not offer a rebuttal nor speak up in her defense.

She took another sip, the image of the women still clear in her mind. They were draped in long flowing gowns, belted at the waist, sitting by the water, and she was one of them.

The water trickled down her chin and the length of her arms as the forest came back into focus. She sat back on her knees, looking around her, noting the similarities of the world she saw now and the one she saw in her mind. The pool of water was the same, but the fauna was different. The trees here were taller, the brush thicker but still so eerily similar.

Thinking about the sisterhood the woman had mentioned, she dipped her hands in the water once more. She didn’t know of any sisterhood. At least, she couldn’t remember one.

“No! You cannot touch the water! It’s cursed,” a woman shouted at her, the same voice she heard calling for Emma.

She turned to find a petite woman with a pallid complexion wearing a terrified look and a drab gown much different than the garments of the women she had seen in her mind’s eye.

“Oh, Emma.” Relief washed over the woman’s face as she ran toward her. “You’re all right.” She let out a deep breath. “What happened? What are you wearing?”

“I’m not Emma.” She shook her head, though she wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure about anything.

Concern filled the woman’s eyes. “It’s all right now. Just come with me.” She took a small step forward with her hands out, speaking the way one would to a frightened child.

The sound of men’s voices carried through the trees as they crashed through the underbrush. “Emma Harrington?” they yelled. “Where are you, Emma?”

She went rigid at the sound of their menacing shouts.

“She’s over here,” the woman called.

There was chaos in the trees. Snapping branches, grunting and panting. They were coming for her.

She took a step backward, her heels dipping into the cool water behind her, her vision growing cloudy once more.

She hovered on the water’s edge, wishing for a way to go back and undo it, to prevent what was yet to come.

He came up behind her, settling his arms around her waist. She leaned into his embrace, pressing her cheek against his, wondering if this would be the last time.

“Rua, love, what’s on your mind?” he whispered, his warm breath tickling her ear. Playfully, he nipped at her earlobe while his right hand slipped beneath her tunic, gliding across her collarbone.

Guilt gnashing at her insides, she answered, “Nothing of consequence.”

He stopped, hearing the lie.

She could not turn to face him. He took a step back, removing his warmth.

Rua dove under the water, absorbing its power, feeding her misguided soul.

“No! Stop! What are you doing?” the woman shouted.

She came back to reality, finding herself standing in the water, submerged from the waist down, her filthy gown clinging to her legs. The temperature was cool but welcome against her sweaty skin.

“Emma, get out of there!”

“My name’s Rua,” she said, lifting her head as she stepped out of the water. Her body moved slowly, jolting with every labored step as though the water could not bear to let her leave.

The woman gave her an odd look. “Okay, Rua, I’m Mara.”

Rua didn’t care that Mara didn’t believe her. When the name left her mouth, she felt in her bones it was the truth.

Half a dozen men approached them, out of breath and burly, flanking Mara on both sides. Rua’s heart raced at the sight of them all.

Their collective shouts of, “Here, she’s here!” quickly turned to grimaces and looks of horror. “What in the bloody hell is she doing out here?”

Cornered between the men and the water, there was nowhere for her to go.

“She’s wounded!” one man shouted.

Confused, Rua looked down at her half-soaked gown, covered in a mixture of blood and earth. She touched her stomach. Her hands didn’t drip with blood, but they were stained. Her body was sore, but she wasn’t hurt.

Forgetting his hesitance, a man rushed toward her, the rest following in step.

“It’s going to be all right,” Mara said, stepping aside to let them pass.

“No,” Rua said, trying to keep the men back from her. She wasn’t Emma. She didn’t need to go with them. “Don’t touch me,” she snapped, yanking her arm back as a man tried to grab hold of her.

He reached for her again, careful not to step on the slick rocks, and she swatted him away. Irritated, he nodded to the others. They skulked toward her, trapping her between them and the water.

“Let’s not make a fuss now. Your mother’s waiting for you,” the closest man said.

Mother? She didn’t have a mother.

Flustered, she retreated farther into the water. The men looked on with terror in their eyes, as though she might burst into flames and drag them all to hell.

Using it to her advantage, she splashed the water at them with a quick swipe of her hand. A sizzling sound filled the air, followed by a collective roar as the water made contact with their flesh. Alarmed, she looked at her own skin, wondering why it didn’t affect her the same.

She waited a moment, watching the man closest to her writhe in pain. The water had burned through his shirt and blistered his skin. She looked at her own hands. Nothing but the remnant tint of blood.

And then she ran.

“Don’t let her get away!”

She ran and ran, unsure of where she was going or how she was going to find her way out of the woods. She was exhausted, drained, and hungry, and desperately racking her brain for answers.

A hollow ache drummed in her chest. Why couldn’t she remember anything about her life? She thought of the blurry memories, of the woman with two sisters and a man who seemingly loved her. Was that her life, or was it this one?

And then the woods cleared, immediately and without warning.

Rua stumbled onto a freshly mowed patch of lawn, expansive and luxurious. She stepped forward, taking cautious steps toward the tremendous mansion that abutted the garden. So out of place in her disgusting gown, she felt like she was dirtying the grass.

As she approached the home, she noticed the many servants who’d stopped to stare. They pointed and whispered.

“Emma!” a woman standing on the limestone veranda shouted down to her with a coldness that sent a chill down Rua’s back. “Heavens above, what happened to you?” The woman glided down the dozens of steps toward her, past the fountain and the statues. She was serene in a cream-colored gown and a sleek bun. Not a wrinkle in sight. “Where have you been?” Her face was stern, her tone the same.

“I believe there’s been a misunderstanding. I’m not sure who Emma is, but—”

The woman’s eyes widened as she looked around to see who might’ve heard the admission. “Do not utter another word.”

The men who’d been searching for Emma emerged from the forest. The one with the severe burn marks on his chest was being propped up by two other men, his feet dragging on the ground as they walked.

The servants had returned to busying themselves, though Rua guessed their ears were wide open.

“You’re not well. You need to lie down.” The woman waved someone forward. Rua turned to see that it was Mara.

“Get her up to her chambers immediately. Let no one see her, and keep her quiet. Burn these clothes.”

“Yes, Mrs. Harrington.” Mara nodded, waiting for Rua, but she was glued to the spot.

“My name is not Emma.” Could they not see that she was a different person?

“Yes, you said that, and I advise you to stop,” Mrs. Harrington said, as though Rua’s very existence were an inconvenience.

Rua turned back to face the woods and thought of the hole she’d barely managed to crawl out of. The way it constricted her every breath, squeezing tighter and tighter until there was no more air.

She looked down at the blood on her hands. Was it hers? She couldn’t remember what had happened. Her heart began to beat a little faster, and her pulse drummed in her ears.

What were her choices but to run or to find out why they thought she was Emma?

“Your imprudence is a disease.” Mrs. Harrington’s lip curled in disgust. “Get up to your bedchamber. Now.”

Rua bristled at Mrs. Harrington’s apparent distaste for who she thought she was—her daughter, Emma.

“A word, Mrs. Harrington?” an older gentleman in a dirty suit and sweat on his brow interrupted as he walked up the steps toward them. Rua recognized him from the woods. He eyed her nervously, then stopped.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Mrs. Harrington huffed, turning to Rua. “This is what you’ve done to this family.” She gestured toward the man too afraid to come any closer. “This is the effects of your pestiferous reputation,” she snapped before walking over to him.

Rua watched as they talked, whispering and casting sidelong glances her way. She wondered if she shouldn’t just run and take her chances in the woods. The water, however poisonous, soothed her. She longed to dive beneath its surface, to be weightless and calm, but as she thought the words, a dark fog crept into her periphery. Its cold grasp settled over her senses as she began to sway, pulling her toward oblivion.

Rua’s eyes flew open as a loud crack of thunder shook the room. She stared up at the ceiling, a ceiling with a glittering chandelier covered in gold detail and little painted flowers, a ceiling that she’d never seen before.

She sat up and scanned the massive, unfamiliar room. With every sweep of her gaze, she grew more disturbed.

All possible surfaces, save for the wood floors, were a pink-flowered spectacle. The sheets, the walls, the light fixtures, the furniture—all of it. Nothing had ever looked so heinous.

Jumping off the bed, Rua ran over to the tall, rectangular window, whose panes were pushed outward. The heavy curtains obstructed most of the narrow frame. There was no breeze, only stagnant, humid air. She tucked the curtain behind the gold-braided tieback and glanced at the garden below her, guessing it was morning. The birds were quiet, slow to begin their chirping, the sun not quite up. Surely this intangible sense of stillness marked a new day.

She had a clear view of the woods. The full memory of her ordeal weighed heavy on her chest. Anxious, she turned back to the room with no idea of what she was going to do next.

Rua walked back to the bed, tracing her hand along the white oak frame. As her mind tried and failed to come up with a plan, a half-completed painting on an easel caught her eye. She approached the sad-looking subject with red hair, freckled pale skin, and vacant green eyes and hesitated. A portrait of her. No, not her, but someone who looked just like her. Exactly like her.

A duplicate.

She reached out to touch it.

“Emma, I’m so glad to see you back. I was so worried.”

Rua pulled her hand back.

Hovering on the fringes of the doorway was the maid, Mara. “Your mother asked to be informed the minute you woke,” she said, her tone apologetic, as she left to fetch the matriarch.

Rua said nothing and turned back to look at the painting, understanding now why they called her Emma. The resemblance was uncanny, and she was suddenly unsure of why she thought she wasn’t Emma. She couldn’t remember a thing about her life, as though her existence prior to this moment was so inconsequential that she’d simply forgotten it. Her fingers grazed Emma’s portrait, sliding gently down the painted hair. Could she be Emma?

Unsettled, she turned to the gilded mirror resting on the vanity, praying that looking upon her reflection might reveal some answers.

Disappointment flared in her chest.

She looked like the woman in the painting, from the auburn streaks to the green of her eyes, but she herself was altogether unfamiliar. A hollowed-out version Rua didn’t recognize.

She tugged at the high neck of her itchy sleepwear. Her skin was red from the irritation. She noticed that her hands had been cleaned as they traveled over her bodice, getting lost in the multitude of layers.

She lifted her skirt, feeling the weight of the rich fabric, and noticed a mark on her ankle. An odd shape, it was silver from age and had a swirling pattern. She wondered if it was intentional or a pretty scar.

Hurried steps rushed toward the room, and Rua dropped her skirts as though caught red-handed. But what reason should she have to hide a mark on her ankle?

“Emma, darling, you’re up.” Mrs. Harrington’s voice was soft and new, as if the last time she’d spoken to Rua she hadn’t been snarling. “Might we start by you telling me where you have been?” she asked while also directing Mara to a chair by the doorway.

“What do you mean?” Rua mumbled as she looked back at her reflection in the mirror, lost in a room that wasn’t hers with only the vague feeling that she was somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be.

“What do you mean, what do I mean? You disappeared two nights ago,” Mrs. Harrington snapped.

Had Emma gone missing the same time Rua had appeared?

“I don’t remember.” It was the truth, but it wasn’t good enough—for either of them.

Another servant stopped outside the room. “Dr. Bloom has arrived, Mrs. Harrington.”

“I don’t need a doctor,” Rua insisted.

“And the sky isn’t blue,” Mrs. Harrington scoffed before leaving.

Rua groaned and leaned against the bed. All of this—she glanced around the decorated room, at her nightgown, at Mara the maid—it didn’t belong to her. It wasn’t her life. And it was this innate knowledge that left her flooded with a terrible sense of unease.

Mara spoke up from her post by the door. “The doctor will be round any moment, but tell me what happened?” She reached out her arm and pushed the door shut.

There was a gentle presence about Mara. No judgment, only genuine concern.

Rua wanted to ask her how it was possible that she’d taken the place of another woman, but she settled on, “Tell me where I am.”

“Your country estate.”

“But where?” Rua begged.

Mara’s eyes widened with concern. “Conleth Falls, New York.”

“New York,” Rua repeated. She closed her eyes and tried to remember something about her life. Something that would tell her why she was here.

She forced herself to recall the women from that brief memory, the one that mentioned sisterhood. But she was already losing the image her mind had conjured; their features were nothing more than a blur. She was beginning to doubt she’d even remembered it correctly. What if she’d been seeing the women through Emma’s eyes? Or if it was all a dream and none of it real?

No. She looked around. Everything here felt wrong.

But she remembered the feel of the man’s arms wrapping around her waist as she stared into the water. The water that burned everyone but her. She closed her eyes. She could still feel him now. A shiver crept up her back. She couldn’t even picture his face. How could she think it was real?

Rua moved to the chair beside the window and watched as a butterfly fluttered past her window.

The unfinished painting depicted a woman who had been restrained to the point of obedience. That was not who Rua felt she was, though how could she really know? She had no tangible memories of her past.

More troubling, how could Mrs. Harrington not know? Wouldn’t a mother know her daughter? Unless Rua was her daughter.

No. Rua pushed the thought away. She wouldn’t entertain it.

The door swung open, and through it came an unfamiliar man carrying a brown leather bag, followed by Mrs. Harrington.

“Hello, Miss Harrington. How are we feeling today?”

Rua looked at the doctor, who set his bag down on the dresser, and then back out the window. She shut her eyes.

“Badb, you must leave her be.”

“And why must I do that, Nemain?” Badb pushed past her, knocking her shoulder into their gentler sister’s side.

Nemain looked apologetically to Rua as Badb approached. Rua bristled, riddled with contempt, devastated by the loss.

“There is nothing that can come between us, sister.” Badb stretched her arms out wide, leering over the hillside. “We are all that matters in this world. I love you. You must see that now.”

After what they’d just done—after what Badb had made Rua do? How dare she speak of love. Rua let out a sob.

“I have done this for us,” Badb said, desperate to make Rua believe it. She cupped Rua’s cheek, blood lust swirling in the gold of her eyes. “I will protect you, always.”

Lies. Rua jerked her head away.

“Miss Harrington.” The doctor cleared his throat. “I said take these.” Rua was surprised to find him standing in front of her. “These will make you feel infinitely better,” he said, holding out two pills.

“I don’t want them.” She folded her hands in her lap, her mind too fixated on the women she’d seen in her mind, the ones she’d considered sisters.

Mrs. Harrington’s nostrils flared as she pursed her lips and glared at the doctor. “Do you see?”

He frowned, nodding in agreement. “She has suffered a great deal of trauma. This kind of confusion is to be expected after a fall down such a flight of stairs. I don’t doubt that with a few more days of rest, your daughter will be right as rain.”

“A fall down the stairs?” Rua looked to a despairing Mrs. Harrington, wondering why she was lying to the doctor. “I didn’t fall down the stairs.” Or was this something that had happened to Emma?

“My daughter hit her head so hard she’s lost all her sense.” Mrs. Harrington cut her off. “I’m beginning to think a sanitarium is our only option.”

“Perhaps she just needs some sleep, Mrs. Harrington, like the doctor said,” Mara was bold enough to interject on Rua’s behalf. “I will sit with her.”

Mrs. Harrington’s eyes narrowed, her lips twitching, as though Mara had offended her by speaking.

“I’m not your daughter. I am not Emma,” Rua blurted out, tired of repeating herself. Mrs. Harrington had no authority to commit her.

“Emma!” Mrs. Harrington was seething. “You are my daughter. On that you cannot argue.”

“I’m telling you that my name is Rua.” She wouldn’t let them take the one thing she knew to be true. “I’m not your daughter. I have never met you before.” Her raging frustration fueling her disorientation.

“Mrs. Harrington, this is a very delicate situation. You must do your best not to upset the girl,” the doctor warned.

“I can hear you, you know,” Rua snapped, with half a mind to smash the miniature vase sitting on her side table.

The doctor muttered something under his breath, rummaging through his bag.

“Emma.” Mrs. Harrington’s voice was a low whisper, a warning. But Rua didn’t care. She didn’t care if the doctor thought she was crazy. She didn’t care about Emma’s reputation. She was not her.

“Stop calling me Emma!” Rua shouted, standing up from her chair.

“Enough!” Mrs. Harrington shouted back. All pretense of sympathy was gone; her expression had turned indignant.

Rua noted the change in the air. It was instantaneous. There was no masking the hostility.

Mrs. Harrington and Dr. Bloom exchanged a glance, prompting a nod from a sorry-looking Mara. Mrs. Harrington gestured to someone outside in the hallway, and two male servants entered.

“What’s going on?” Rua took a nervous step forward, but Dr. Bloom pushed her back down with a firm grip, his hand digging into her shoulder. Anger flared at the uninvited touch. “Get your hands off of me,” she hissed, jerking herself away, but the doctor squeezed tighter.

“Hold her arms,” he said to the men. “She’ll need a sedative,” he muttered.

“No! What are you doing?” she screamed, thrashing against their grip.

Mrs. Harrington gave a little yelp as a crack of thunder ricocheted around the room.

A flash of lightning, then more thunder. The windowpanes rattled outside, swinging open and shut, sending the curtains from their ties and the drapery ends tossing about the room. In all the commotion, the vase was knocked from the side table, shattering against the hardwood floor.

A sweet whiff of almonds filled Rua’s nostrils. The familiar scent like a dagger in her chest. She struggled against the men to find the bouquet of meadowsweet lying on the floor. She hadn’t noticed it in the room before.

“Hold her steady,” the doctor said as he laid a medical tool kit flat on the vanity.

Terror coursed through her. Something horrible was coming. She could see it in Mrs. Harrington’s sudden relief.

Rua admonished herself, wishing she’d been level-headed enough to stay silent. She’d seen the portrait of Emma with her own eyes, so why had she thought she could convince Mrs. Harrington she was anyone else? Pure thickheadedness.

And now Rua was going to be sedated because she’d been combative, but she needed Mrs. Harrington to understand that she knew better now. She wasn’t going to fight her on this any longer. She had learned her lesson.

Desperate, she turned back to Mrs. Harrington, tears filling her eyes. “Please? Don’t let him do this. I’m sorry. I just want to go home.” Rua’s voice trailed off in a whimper as she realized she didn’t know where home was.

Mrs. Harrington looked down at her with horror. “You are home. My god!”

The harshness reignited Rua’s panic. Like a wild animal, she kicked and screamed, anything to save herself.

“Hurry!” Mrs. Harrington cried, turning to the doctor.

Oxygen left Rua’s lungs as her fear incapacitated her. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t speak. All she could do was watch as a terrifying brass syringe hovered above her.

Every muscle in her body tensed. She wanted to cry out, to tell them she could be their Emma, but it was too late.

The needle pierced her skin, taking with it her consciousness.