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    Winds of Time: The After Cilmeri Series, #1.5
    Winds of Time: The After Cilmeri Series, #1.5
    Winds of Time: The After Cilmeri Series, #1.5
    Ebook92 pages1 hourThe After Cilmeri Series

    Winds of Time: The After Cilmeri Series, #1.5

    By Sarah Woodbury

    4.5/5

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    About this ebook

    Meg had thought that taking a commuter flight from Pasco, Washington to Boise, Idaho would be a simple matter. But nothing is simple for Meg when it comes to travel, and especially not when she finds herself in the Middle Ages again instead of in a plane crash on a mountain side in Oregon.

    And when the pilot takes off without her in a quest to return to the twenty-first century, Meg will need every last bit of maturity and knowledge she gained in the sixteen years she spent in the modern world—to survive even a day in this one.

    **A note from the author: This short novel was started many years ago, as part of Footsteps in Time. When it came down to it, however, the story didn't fit with what was happening with David and Anna and had to be put aside. Happily, I am now able to share, in ebook form, the story of Meg's return to the Middle Ages. Thus, Winds of Time takes place between Part 1 and Part 2 of Footsteps in Time. I think you will enjoy Winds of Time more if you read Footsteps in Time first. Diolch yn fawr (thank you)!

    –Sarah

    Complete Series reading order: Daughter of Time, Footsteps in Time, Winds of Time, Prince of Time, Crossroads in Time, Children of Time, Exiles in Time, Castaways in Time, Ashes of Time, Warden of Time, Guardians of Time, Masters of Time, Outpost in Time, Shades of Time, Champions of Time, Refuge in Time, Unbroken in Time, Outcasts in Time, Hidden in Time, Legacy of Time. Also, This Small Corner of Time: The After Cilmeri Series Companion.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherThe Morgan-Stanwood Publishing Group
    Release dateFeb 9, 2012
    ISBN9781386384427
    Winds of Time: The After Cilmeri Series, #1.5
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    Author

    Sarah Woodbury

    With over a million books sold to date, Sarah Woodbury is the author of more than forty novels, all set in medieval Wales. Although an anthropologist by training, and then a full-time homeschooling mom for twenty years, she began writing fiction when the stories in her head overflowed and demanded that she let them out. While her ancestry is Welsh, she only visited Wales for the first time at university. She has been in love with the country, language, and people ever since. She even convinced her husband to give all four of their children Welsh names. Sarah is a member of the Historical Novelists Fiction Cooperative (HFAC), the Historical Novel Society (HNS), and Novelists, Inc. (NINC). She makes her home in Oregon. Please follow her online at www.sarahwoodbury.com or https://www.facebook.com/sarahwoodburybooks

    Read more from Sarah Woodbury

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      Book preview

      Winds of Time - Sarah Woodbury

      Chapter One

      ––––––––

      I wrapped my arms around my waist and leaned forward, trying to control my nausea as the plane shuddered and jerked. The pilot put out a hand to steady me, and then quickly moved it back to the controls.

      My God, Meg! he said. What just happened? We should be dead on that mountain! Now, I can’t raise anyone on the radio—nothing but static—and I’m flying by the seat of my pants here. The electronics are good, but what I can see of the terrain looks totally wrong. I don’t understand it!

      Just put her down if you can, Marty, I said. We can figure out what’s going on when we land.

      Put her down? Where! And then he screeched. The trees he’d been flying over gave way to a heavy sea, rolling beneath us.

      Jesus Christ! Marty circled the plane back towards land.

      I said nothing, just looked out the window at the country below, my chin in my hand. The fog was not as thick now, but it limited visibility to a quarter-mile. There were no houses or towns in sight and the land appeared rocky all the way down to the shoreline.

      Where in the hell are we? Marty said.

      As we were supposed to be flying over the mountains of Oregon right now, I could understand his bewilderment. I swallowed hard. The environment, if not the land itself, looked familiar to me.

      The Middle Ages ... again.

      I decided this fact wouldn’t comfort Marty in the slightest.

      Fly south, Marty, I said, after he circled the plane for a third time.

      I could make out the sun, trying to shine through the fog. It sat very high in the sky and made me think we were in the same late summer we’d left in Oregon, temporally anyway. Wild-eyed, Marty turned the plane as I had asked. We flew on, unspeaking. The land rolled away below us. The rocky coastline gave way to a hilly, grass-covered terrain, interspersed with stands of trees. Everything was beautifully green. The patches of ground we could see didn’t include a city.

      We’re going to run out of fuel soon, Marty said, his voice so quiet I almost couldn’t hear him over the drone of the plane. When that happens, what do you propose we do?

      I sighed. Just put her down. Find a field. Hopefully people live among these trees, though I don’t see any smoke.

      Smoke, Marty said. I gather I’m not looking to follow the power lines?

      I’m afraid there won’t be any power lines.

      You do know where we are, Marty said. What’s going on here?

      I turned to look at him. This has happened to me before, I said, enunciating as clearly as I could. I can’t explain it, but I’m afraid we’ve been displaced in space and time, to a world not our own.

      Marty scoffed his disbelief. You’re kidding me! Then, he looked through the windscreen at the pristine landscape over which we were flying. You aren’t kidding me?

      I shook my head, no happier with this new reality than Marty, but I’d come to terms with the possibility of it long ago. Sixteen years ago, I lived in thirteenth century Wales for close to a year. I fear that we’re back again, though whether in the same country or a different one, hundreds of years earlier or later, I don’t know.

      Marty gripped the yoke so hard his knuckles turned white. Just then, the fog thinned, revealing a small lake with a clearing next to it that looked like it could be a possible landing site. Without another word, Marty circled the little plane, lowering it to the ground as he did so. With only a few bumps in the grassy clearing, he landed and brought the plane to a halt. With a twist of his wrist, he turned off the engine, and we were quiet.

      I think I saw power lines to the north, just as we landed, he said.

      No, Marty. You didn’t.

      I did. I know it.

      I chose not to wait for further recriminations or questions I wasn’t ready to answer, and wrenched the door handle. Pushing it open, I hopped out and hauled my backpack from the seat behind me. The lake lay a few yards to my right and was as clear as any I’d ever seen. Grasses grew almost to the water’s edge, and wildflowers covered the hills around us. I took in a deep breath and gazed up at the sky, now as clear as the air I breathed. The fog was gone. And what did that fog represent? The fog of confusion? The mists of time? I had no answers for Marty.

      Before we landed, I too had noticed something in the distance that looked manmade, though not power lines. Hoping to spot it again, I shouldered my pack and took off at a brisk walk, following the south side of the lake. After fifty yards or so, I angled away from the lake and headed up a small hill that formed the south side of the little valley. Another ten minutes of hard walking brought me to the top. I stopped and turned to look back at the plane, with Marty still seated inside. Then I gazed in the opposite direction, and my heart skipped a beat. A long, stone wall stretched from east to west in front of me.

      Dear God, it’s Hadrian’s wall.

      I sagged to my knees. This was too much. It was bad enough to be in the Middle Ages again, but worse to find myself so far from Wales. I would have to cross miles of open country to reach Llywelyn, if he still lived in this world. Even if he’d changed the future as I’d urged, Llywelyn still might not have survived Cilmeri. The thought terrified me, and hysterical laughter bubbled up in my throat. I tried hard never to think of him as a person, a human being whom I loved. I’d spent the last sixteen years studying his world, all the while pretending to know much less of him than I really did.

      My time with Llywelyn had taken on the quality of a dream. If not for the very real existence of David, I could have told myself my journey to his time had never happened.

      That first meeting with Llywelyn occurred shortly after my husband’s funeral. I lost control of my Honda Civic on a country road in the middle of winter, with Anna in the back seat. The road had been slippery, and as I came to a stop sign, at the very place my husband had died, the car skidded sideways. Instead of hitting the hill that rose up beside the road,

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