Someone Else's War

Cosy slowburn fantasy / historical fantasy / portal fantasy Bent on finding a way home against all odds, Rosa plans a route around the world looking for inspiration and wisdom from folk with the 'old knowledge', but it is the late 1930's, the world is heading for all out war – and Rosa's unusual behavior and abilities have not gone unnoticed by British Intelligence. As Rosa finds herself embroiled in the thick of, what she considers to be someone else's war, she unexpectedly finds herself running into tantalising hints of her own world on the other side of the Veil, but these connections always seem to be just out of her grasp.

Prologue Plymouth – October 1932: Rosa lay in the hospital bed in despair, her cheeks pale, but damp from spent tears. How could this have happened? she asked herself over and over again. Her limbs were leaden and she could barely lift her head from the pillow still, even though it had been six days since she’d awoken. A catastrophe may have been averted, but at what cost to herself? She put her hand to her throat – the pendant was no longer there. Of course not, it was destroyed in the wake. It was an odd thing really, for so many years she’d rejected the gift of the necklet leaving it in a drawer. Not inclined to explore the conundrum it posed, yet not ready to rid herself of it either. If only she had. But what would that have meant for both this world and mine? Rosa thought back to the day she had received the pendant; she’d been only nine years old at the time… “The shaman has gifted this to you,” said the Brythona warrior, Afon. He handed her a small, beautifully worked silver pendant, in the form of a teardrop, on a leather thong “one day you will have need of it.” Rosa turned it over in her hand studying the unusual designs. “What do you mean, I will have need of it?” she asked, but Afon and the other warrior, Bran, just bobbed their heads and left. Rosa called after them, but they were already gone – melted into the landscape. She then turned to her Ma, who just shrugged; she didn’t recognise anything about the artefact either. “Keep it safe Rosa,” Heather had said, “the shaman would not send a mere trinket all this way for you, I’m sure its meaning will become clear one day.” Well, it certainly did become clear! Rosa sat up in bed. There was a cup of tea on the cabinet beside her, though she hadn’t noticed who’d brought it. She sipped the rather muddy, lukewarm fluid and screwed up her face. How many times do I have to tell them not to put milk in my tea? she thought grumpily. She drifted back into reverie… Rosa recalled the day, many years later, when a messenger, Gil was his name, had arrived from Bronwyn’s Glen to inform her she’d been summoned by the shaman back to the mountains. That was the start of a chain of events that ultimately led her here. Despite all the things that had happened in her life, she couldn’t remember a time when she felt so wretched or so sorry for herself. Rosa gazed through the window. The autumn rains and dark grey sky did nothing to lift her spirits. The ward sister came in. “It seems you are to be discharged tomorrow Miss McIain. Do you have anyone that can pick you up and take you home?” Rosa stared at the nurse for a moment. Home, she thought, no, there’s no one that can take me there, not any more, not ever. Another wave of despair sliced through her, the ache in her heart so much more raw than the ache in her body, but she simply said, “No. Would you order me a taxi please?”