Seeds of Time by K. C. Dyer

Lord thirteen hundred and fifty.”
    Darrell had to stop and catch her breath for a moment. Everything had pointed to this, but she was still having trouble grasping the reality of all she could see around her. Somehow, she had journeyed more than six hundred years back in time.
    She looked around the village as it spread out around her. It was primarily small buildings, many with straw roofs and wattle and daub construction. The streets were cobbled, and a few thin horses and oxen could be seen, generally pulling carts. She did not notice anybody riding horses; most walked at the heads of their animals as they pulled carts loaded with straw or rocks. A few skinny dogs ran through the lanes, and one ran up to bark at Delaney.
    Darrell was startled by the contrast between Delaney and the other dogs. In spite of Delaney’s thin and dirty appearance, he still had a gleam in his eye and a jaunt to his tail. The barking dog was gaunt, obviouslystarving. Darrell could see every bone of his spine protruding through the painfully thin fur on his back. Even his bark lacked vigour, and he turned and crept away at a quiet word from Luke.
    A couple of fat cats slunk by, and after the scrawny dogs the sight almost made Darrell smile.
At least the cats are doing well,
she thought, with some irony.
    The cobbled lanes were filthy, with gutters running with sewage. Twice, Darrell and Luke had to scurry out of the way as women threw washtubs of dirty water into the street, and once they narrowly missed being hit by a load of kitchen garbage tossed out a window.
    â€œWhere are all the ill people?” Darrell asked.
    â€œAs people fall ill, they return to their homes to die. The dead are taken to the village square to be burned.”
    Darrell swallowed. “Could we go there?”
    Luke looked disgusted. “Why there? All ye’ll see are the dead, and many flies and rats. Even the village gravedigger cannot help ye, because he too has died of this terrible plague.”
    â€œI don’t want to go in, I just want to have a look at the place. I need to be sure that I’m right.” Luke agreed reluctantly, and they made their way toward the village square.
    They could smell the place long before they could see it. The masks that they had donned earlier were no help against the stench of death and burning. Lukewould not enter the square, but stopped and leaned against a wall. Darrell, fighting the urge to retch, walked closer to the home of the now deceased gravedigger.
    Three bodies lay on the ground, looking pitiful and small in death, mercifully hidden under old sacking. But as Darrell watched, a man staggered into the yard, bearing a small bundle in his arms.
    â€œSomeone help me,” he called piteously. “Please help me! My child is not well.”
    Darrell instinctively stepped out into the square, but a woman brushed her aside and bustled up to the man.
    â€œI’ll take her, Alexander. Ye need to sit down and rest. Please, sit here, I will get ye a drink.”
    The man turned grateful eyes on the woman as he slid to sit on a rough-hewn wooden bench outside the house. “Please check her, Abbie,” he said hoarsely. “I think her breathing is better now. She is resting more easily.”
    Darrell watched as the woman laid the tiny lifeless body beside the other three on the ground.
    â€œI’m sure she’ll be fine, Alexander,” Abbie said soothingly. “Let’s walk ye home, to get some rest.” She gave the man a drink and then led him out of the square, supporting him on her shoulder as she passed Darrell and Luke. Darrell could hear the laboured breathing of the man as he walked by and could see the telltale swelling under his jaw. The woman’s eyes met Darrell’sas they passed, and she smiled kindly, though she herself looked ready to drop.
    â€œShe is Abbie, the village midwife,” whispered Luke, after they had passed. “How she is still on her