A Stone in Time

  A STONE IN TIME

  MÓRDHA STONE CHRONICLES, BOOK 1

  KIM ALLRED

  STORM COAST PUBLISHING, LLC

  Contents

  Foreword

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Keeper of Stones

  About the Author

  A Stone in Time

  Mórdha Stone Chronicles, Book 1

  Kim Allred

  Published by Storm Coast Publishing, LLC

  Copyright © 2018 by Kim Allred

  Cover Design by Amanda Kelsey of Razzle Dazzle Design

  EPub edition May 2018

  ISBN 978-1732241107

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means including electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents, and dialogue are either drawn from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or publisher.

  For Dad.

  It took me a while, but I finally got here.

  Life is either a daring adventure or nothing.

  Helen Keller

  1

  AJ Moore inched higher up the seaside cliff, ignoring the craggy rocks of the Oregon shoreline that glistened with salty spray. A horn from a nearby boat pierced the sound of the early morning surf, cutting through the screeching of the feeding gulls. She tuned out the warring cacophony, the mental connection with her favorite cliff circulating like a mystical chant. Grasping the familiar rock signaling the end of the climb, AJ heaved her straining body over the edge, satisfaction forcing a smile on her face. Her brazen act, daring a forbidden climb that ended on private property, quelled the rebellious demons that haunted her since her father’s death.

  She wrapped her arms around her legs, bracing herself against the chilled morning air. She watched the sky brighten, the waves shimmering toward the shore as she breathed in the rich smell of salt, sea, and decayed fish. AJ loved alpine starts, the predawn setting of a climb, the sounds of the coast filling the air, encouraging signs of life. The ocean, the danger, and the strenuous exertion on her body brought an inner peace and a true sense of herself she could find no other way since the death of her father.

  His unexpected death, a heart attack leading to a car accident, left her world tilted, sometimes past the point of recognition. Her grief had passed, but his irreplaceable loss had left her hollow. His job to guide her left unfinished.

  Her family and friends couldn’t grasp why AJ had taken climbing lessons, and they would be mortified if they knew how frequently she climbed this wall. But somehow, this place brought her closer to her father. She closed her eyes and let the salty air fill her lungs, the warmth of the morning sun touch her shoulders, and the screams of the gulls penetrate her soul.

  After a few moments of peaceful meditation, calmness restoring her inner core, she deliberated her descent. She peered out to the sea below, the view stretching for miles in both directions. To her surprise, a large patch of dense fog rolled in from across the distant waves, covering the sea. Fog could come and go quickly at the shore, yet there hadn’t been any hint of precipitation on her drive to the coast or during her climb.

  Still somewhat amazed by the speed of the mist, she could only stare at the marvel, a scene she’d never witnessed before. Something from below caught her eye, materializing out of the fog. At first, she couldn’t make sense of what she saw, and she leaned forward and squinted. Tall masts pierced the veil of fog, some kind of ship making its way north.

  A second later, AJ noticed the myriad ropes draped from the mast, moving gently with the surge of the ship. The sails were down, tied against the arms of the masts, and for a moment, she wondered what powered the ship. Then a ghostly figure appeared, standing on the deck, one hand braced against the tall mast, as if magically steering the ship by sheer touch alone. She blinked. The image faded into the mist.

  The fog surged to the beach, riding the waves. It bolted up the cliff and smothered her like a heavy blanket. She remained sitting, her forehead wrinkled, perplexed at the rapidity of this fog. Something else nagged, more than the quickness of its arrival or the glimpse of the wraithlike ship. She couldn’t hear anything, not the waves hitting the shore, nor the gulls frenzied with morning feeding.

  She closed her eyes, straining to hear a sound, goose bumps rising on her skin, although the temperature hadn’t changed. Discomfort wormed through her, not quite panic, more a sense of being out of place. She didn’t want to stand, no longer aware of the cliff’s edge, although it had been directly in front of her seconds before.

  Without warning, she heard a horn in the distance, and her body arched toward the new warmth on her face. Her eyes popped open, and she shielded them with her arm, warding off the sudden glare from the reflection of sun on ocean. Accustomed to the light once more, she turned around, searching for the fog that had enveloped her moments before, but saw nothing. Not one sign the mist had ever been there.

  She glanced out to sea, searching for the sailing vessel, but the ocean appeared deserted except for the gulls. No ship. The whole odd experience lasted no more than a minute or two. Where had the ship gone? There were no sails to power it, and even with a motor, it couldn’t have vanished from view. Her sense of calm shattered, she chided herself for losing her self-control over a strange bit of fog and what surely must have been a trick of her imagination. She shook herself. Her descent still lay ahead of her. Standing on shaky legs, she looked around once more, saw nothing of the mysterious fog or ship, and prepared the rope for the rappel down the wall.

  The mist settled around the old house that sat fifty yards from the cliff. Considered a mansion back in its day, the house had fallen into disrepair, remaining vacant for many years. The owner couldn’t find a buyer, even with its perfect location on the coast. The dawn light captured the sky and contrasting ocean waters, reflecting them off the tall windows that filled the back of the house, a common architectural feature for contemporary homes, but unusual for its time. The mist rolled in like a freight train, yet tendrils of fog could be seen within the mist, transparent fingers drifting with no particular direction of movement, as if searching for something. Sound all but disappeared, but the temperature never changed as one would expect, no chilling of the air, no dampness from the mist, just the perception that one was standing in a thick bank of fog.

  After a few minutes, the mist vanished. The sun once more shed warmth and light on the grasses and trees that landscaped the yard of
the house and framed the woman sitting on the edge of the cliff, her short brown tresses stirring gently in the light breeze.

  The tall man, dressed in a long black coat, his dark hair slicked back, appeared under a large spruce tree in the yard. He didn’t move when the woman at the top of the cliff turned to glance around. A sigh of relief shuddered through him, unseen in the shadows.

  She stood, ran her fingers through her hair, gave a last look around, and shrugged her shoulders. The lean muscles along her tall frame stretched when she pulled the rope up from the cliff to lie on the ground next to her. The end of the rope slid into a metal device she attached to a tree, which she tugged several times to confirm the strength of the connection. Placing her back to the edge, hands tight on the rope, she took a step backward and disappeared from view.

  Transfixed by the woman’s calm demeanor, he surveyed his surroundings and crept to the cliff. He peered over the edge and spotted the woman already a third of the way down. She stopped every few feet to remove metal devices from the crevice that ran down the wall. Impressed by her quick, deliberate movements and mesmerized by her skill, he watched until her foot touched land. He stepped back when she looked up to pull the rope to her. Once the rope disappeared from the anchor at the man’s feet, he cautiously peeked over the ledge. The woman finished tying the rope to her pack before she disappeared around a large rock.

  Turning from the cliff, the stranger studied the new landscape, reveling in the combined smells of ocean and firs, and listened to the birds bustling about their day. He hadn’t traveled as far as he’d expected, and the revelation made him smile as he strolled toward the house.

  2

  Two Weeks Later

  AJ ripped the blouse off and replaced it on its hanger, shoving it back into the closet among the array of other neatly hanging items. She turned to her dresser, sighing as she picked out the same sweater she always seemed to wear to these family gatherings, like a well-worn security blanket, a reminder of who she was in the middle of the foreign landscape.

  "Did you ever notice there's not much action in this town?" Stella eyed her friend over the top of a newspaper, her forehead scrunched in thought. “The blouse would have been just fine.” She had propped herself on AJ’s bed, thumbing through the Baywood Herald. She closed the paper and tossed it, the inside contents slipping out to sprawl across the bed.

  "I suppose you would like to have a murder or two to liven things up." AJ smiled, running her hand over the top of an old wooden box before opening it and picking out a pair of earrings.

  "You know it couldn't hurt, but no one nice. Some drug kingpin or abusive husband would be sufficient." Stella returned a smug smile and stretched, like a cat slowly waking up to change position. She tossed her shoulder-length auburn hair and watched AJ complete her adornments.

  "Always the optimist." AJ pulled out the top tray of the box and let her fingers run through the pile of jewelry lying below. She picked up a necklace with a large marbled stone mounted in the middle of an ornate silver setting and laid it against the sweater, the accompanying silver chain thick and clunky. She touched the stone, rubbing her thumb over it as she eyed herself in the mirror. Shaking her head, she dropped it back into the box, selecting a thin gold chain with a locket. Giving herself one last perusal in the mirror, she shrugged and closed the box. "Thanks for the wake-up call. I didn’t mean to fall asleep."

  “You need to slow down. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but lately you're even wearing me out.” Stella sat up and gave AJ a critical once-over. “I liked the silver necklace. Have I seen that one before? It has a unique stone."

  “It was just a catnap that got away from me.” AJ shoved on her boots and headed out the door. “I found the necklace at an estate sale a month or so ago. The chain is too heavy for me, and I haven’t had time to replace it.”

  "It would look great on me.” Stella followed AJ down the hall. Not thin but not exactly overweight, Stella’s ample frame carried all the right curves. She used a selection of flamboyant colors and fashions to bring out the best of her enviable figure, turning heads from both genders. “Why do I always have to be the one to make sure you follow through on your commitments? You know I'm not the best at keeping my own appointments.”

  AJ rolled her eyes. "When was the last time you were late for anything? I'm not sure why you even keep a day planner since your entire schedule is ingrained in that head of yours. And I didn't ask you to babysit me."

  AJ kept her small corner apartment tidy. The walls, painted slate blue, sprouted dozens of wall hangings ranging from abstract to picturesque. White casings bordered the windows with blinds rarely shut. Unimpeded by neighboring buildings, her view from the third floor displayed an overgrown nature park, stretching a good quarter mile before ending at a cozy outdoor amphitheater. She paid more for this view, and it was worth every penny, although she complained to the landlord so he wouldn't think he could easily raise the rent.

  The living area overflowed with various sizes and styles of bookcases filled with aged manuscripts, books, magazines, and knickknacks that spoke of history. These small treasures unearthed as a result of AJ's favorite pastime, her small weekend excursions picking through garage or estate sales in search of the past. A few chairs and side tables sat scattered between the bookcases. Some remained as she had found them. Others had been repaired and stained or painted, depending on the type of wood or her mood at the time.

  AJ's diverse tastes ran through her entire two-bedroom apartment, with one room functioning as her study, filled with even more bookcases. This room focused on two center pieces. A vintage printer’s cabinet, used as a desk, sat against a wall, looking insulted with a laptop and small printer marring its distinguished past. The second piece hung on the other side of the room next to a pastel-yellow chaise. The large painting portrayed a small girl with her dog, standing in a spring meadow with the calm blue sea below. The girl, cast in a hazy morning light, held a bouquet of yellow and white daisies in her hand. Her other hand rested on the dog's head. The painting had been a discovery of her father's. He said it reminded him of her even though she’d never owned a dog. She no longer cared why it made her father think of her—the portrait created a refuge, a strong warm hand that comforted her each time she sank onto the chaise, reading stories of yesteryear from treasured books.

  AJ walked past the living room, wishing they had time to sit and catch up on their day, but she was already late. She picked up her purse and waited at the front door for her friend to pass, annoyed with herself for being ungrateful. They were, after all, her own family issues. After locking up behind them, AJ leaned her head against the door and blew out a deep breath. Settled, she turned and followed Stella to their cars.

  "Do you want to stop for a quick drink first?" Stella leaned against her sporty red convertible, the top up as it was most of the year.

  AJ hovered against her own car, a small white Subaru, perfect for hauling her consignment store treasures. She gazed out to the west, able to catch glimpses of the ocean through the trees and buildings. After a short, almost inaudible sigh, she shook her head. "No, I'm already late." She slid a glance at Stella. "You didn't have to come over just to make sure I'd go."

  "I wouldn't have to if you had a permanent date. You've been going solo for a long time."

  "I could say the same of you."

  "True. But my family get-togethers don't have as much drama." Stella stared back at her, her face softening, the humor gone. "That's what friends do, we have each other's back. I know you don't like these get-togethers. Think of me as your talisman, wishing you well on your journey." Stella unlocked her door and turned to get in the car.

  AJ's body relaxed from the tension that had been building all day. She touched Stella's shoulder. "Thanks."

  Stella pulled away from the curb, flashing a smile and a wave before slipping into traffic. AJ let out another deep sigh, searched for her own keys, and slumped into the driver's seat.

 
; 3

  Sounds exploded from the house, threatening to burst the door open before AJ could reach for the knob. She braced herself and pushed her way in. Three small children raced past her. Feet thundered on the cherrywood floor and up the stairs, while screams of “Give it back” and shrieks of laughter assaulted her ears.

  The house, an old Cape Cod, carried a coastal style that AJ’s mother extended inside, decorated with the same colors Helen had used forever. Yellows, blues and whites combined to battle the gray skies of Oregon winters and prevent the gloom from creeping into her home. The midsize foyer yielded to a wide staircase, framed by family travel pictures that ascended the wall on the left, a white rail banister on the right. Turning her back on the door to her father’s study, unchanged over the years, AJ moved into the large living area, an open interior design that swept through the rest of the house.

  Her mother’s effortless talent always amazed her, the more eclectic taste a stark contrast to her own. Artfully arranged seating areas combined chairs and sofas with the perfect mix of formal and cozy. Several large windows, edged with custom linen drapes, teased muted light from the dull spring day. Crown molding ran along the ceilings, painted a soft white to accent the yellow of the walls, emphasizing the bookcases and table-tops, subtly mixed with classic ornaments and interesting curios purchased during the family’s exotic vacations. The unique pieces, gradually and carefully selected by AJ’s father, confronted her each time she walked into the house. Helen had arranged each favored piece to fit perfectly in the room.