Freya's Quest (13 page)

Along with the ordinary walkers one might expect, two more unconventional groups were in evidence. The first was a war-gaming society, and every now and then, we could hear the cries of mock battles. Then, some of them emerged through the trees, authentically dressed in Anglo-Saxon attire and wielding fake axes and swords.

The other group was the band of motorcyclists we sought. Down near the river, there was a meadow of parked Triumphs, Nortons, BSAs and other makes from a bygone age, some sporting weird handlebars and assorted customizations. The men and women who owned and rode these machines must have numbered about thirty. All were dressed in black leathers, the backs of their jackets displaying the gremlin chapter motif Emily had shown me the day before yesterday. Some lay around on the ground, much the worse for drink and drugs. Others were servicing or cleaning their bikes.

‘Freya, you sure this is the right group?’

‘Don’t worry,’ I whispered, ‘we’ve definitely come to the right place.’

A giant of a man strode forward, full of purpose, his face mean and battle-scarred. ‘Don’t wan’ anyone ’roun’ ’ere. Keep
awfft
!’

‘We wouldn’t ordinarily intrude on you people, but one of you’s expecting us….Emily Faversham?’

The man appeared puzzled at first, tugging at his mammoth-like beard. ‘Oh, yea mean Emmy, the one from up road?’

Dylan nodded.

‘Well, she’s my girl. Be’ave yousself.’ He did not wait for a reply, but walked straight over to a weather-beaten tent.

Moments later, a woman appeared.

Dylan was about to ask her where Emily was when the awful truth dawned on him – she was standing right in front of him.

His jaw dropped.

‘What’s the matter, Dylan? Don’t you like the new me?’ She stared at him with a vacant smile, posing to show off her new look.

Her lovely jet-black hair had all but gone. Most of her head was shaved to the skin. The remnants of her hair were elevated in a number of long spikes in a fusion of purple and orange. Silver rings ran all the way down the sides of her ears to the lobes. Two silver studs pierced either side of her nose, with connecting chains to her ears. Her eyes were heavily made-up in black, forming patterns which complemented her hairstyle. She wore a cross and chain around her neck; a black miniskirt upon which even more chains were mounted; and a dirty-white T-shirt torn for fashionable effect, and so tight as to suggest piercings to the navel and nipples.

When she realized Dylan was too dazed to speak, she merely took his hand and guided him up the slope and into the trees. They stopped in a blasted-out enclave, an old relic of quarrying.

The giant-man, unimpressed, retreated to his tent.

I was left wondering whether to follow Dylan and Emily, or wait within the camp. I decided on the latter. Before too long Dylan came pounding down the slope. I went up to meet him, but he thrust past me.

‘What’s the matter?’

He didn’t answer.

I went to find Emily. She was lying prone on the ground on her front. Her skirt had risen enough for me to realize she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. There were partially revealed tattoos, of what looked like dragons, on each buttock.

She struggled to her feet, brushing off the dust. ‘Well, Freya. What do you think?’

Having surveyed her beautiful body, scarred by what she had recently done, I couldn’t find the words to answer.

There were also poorly applied tattoos on her upper arms, crude motifs with the name “Judd” appearing on both. Her forearms were a mass of fresh razor-blade cuts.

‘What else did you do to upset Dylan so much?’

‘I showed him this,’ she replied, with a mischievous grin, lifting up the front of her skirt.

I looked between her legs in disbelief. She had several piercings here as well. She had also had her pubic hair dyed bright green; and tattooed on her skin directly above this area was the caption:

KEEP OFF THE GRASS

She pulled her skirt back down and grimaced. ‘I had to show him. He was angry. Threw me to the ground.’

‘I’m not surprised! You don’t do things by halves, do you?’

‘No. But it had to be extreme. It was the only way to be free of him.’

‘I don’t understand?’

‘Well, let me put it this way. He’s tried to groom me into a new Sera, just like Mum. I can’t take it any more. Now I’ve shattered the image, I can go for good. He won’t try to follow me now.’

She kissed me and gave me a hug. ‘I wish you well. But be careful.’

I nodded.

‘Please go, now. Judd will be waiting.’

I said my farewells. She followed me down the hillside. I turned to see her in the arms of the giant-man, then walked off to find Dylan.

I found him on the riverbank, his eyes cast upon the eddying waters.

He betrayed no hint of emotion.

And he remained reticent as we walked back to the Land Rover.

DYLAN GRIPPED THE steering wheel, staring with intensity, yet his face devoid of all expression. He did not seem to be concentrating on the road. He was lost in his own world. This frightened me, as he had floored the accelerator from the moment he’d pulled away from the Grange bridge and had kept it there ever since, despite the twisting nature of the route.

‘Slow down, Dylan. For Christ’s sake, slow down!’ I screamed, as he veered the Land Rover over to the wrong side of the road.

He did not respond. Instead, he maintained his rigid, zombie-like state.

‘Dylan, come on! You’re worrying me now.’

Still he continued, even more reckless than before.

I waved my hands in front of his face and tugged at the sleeve of his coat.

He shot a glance at me. A haunted, wild glance. A glance which became a sustained stare that pierced right through me.

I was silenced and he ostensibly returned his attention to the road ahead.

A car, swerving to avoid us, honking its horn in fury, was enough to make me act once more. I unclipped my seat belt and hauled myself into his lap. I rammed my foot down on the brake pedal, and tried to yank up the handbrake.

I felt the whole vehicle shudder, then skew sideways.

Dylan let the steering freewheel.

There was a great thud and the caving in of glass on my side. I was hurled across his lap, then down over his legs into the footwell.

The impact broke Dylan’s trance.

He screamed. I could feel his legs struggling to work the pedals under my weight. His hands were also back on the steering wheel, fighting to regain control.

Luckily, the Land Rover was brought to a stop without further damage.

I lay motionless for a while, feeling blood trickling down my face.

‘What the fuck’s got into you! You could’ve killed us!’ He was yelling at me, as if he had no recollection of his foolhardy behaviour.

He lifted me up and placed me back upon my seat. I clutched at my head, feeling nauseous.

‘It was you, you fool. Not me!’

He sat back, gasping for air, his face drained of all colour. ‘I don’t remember.’

As I recovered, I was filled with anger. I opened the door and stepped outside. I couldn’t say what I might’ve done if I’d stayed in the cab.

I paced up and down, still holding my head, surveying the damage to the vehicle. The panels had received a battering, although the tree in the hedge had come off worse with huge gouges through its bark. I checked all four wheels, then opened the driver’s door.

‘Budge over. I’m driving.’

Dylan responded meekly, doing as he was told without comment.

I wiped the blood from my face with the front of my T-shirt, collected myself together and started the vehicle. I drove off, slowly at first, listening for any signs of damage. Apart from the passenger door rattling, my confidence rose as there appeared to be nothing else to worry about.

I’m not sure how I managed to navigate the vehicle successfully to the old mill. I can only remember arriving there and stumbling into the arms of one of Dylan’s mechanics.

Dylan walked off towards the mill house, oblivious to my plight.

Veronica came out of the door, looking concerned. She extended her arms to greet Dylan, but he simply barged past her. ‘Get the fuck out of my way!’

The front door slammed.

As Veronica came over to me instead, the lounge window shattered and a chair clattered over the courtyard cobbles. A few china ornaments soon followed.

Veronica ordered the mechanic to find his workmate and together they headed into the house.

I could hear raised voices from inside.

‘Don’t worry, pet. He’s just having one of his moods.’ Veronica’s words didn’t reassure me.

Dylan stormed out of the house again and ran over to the old waterwheel. ‘And we won’t be needing this any more!’

‘No, Dylan! Not that!’

But it was too late. It wasn’t until the object was flying through the air and glinting that I realized it was the medallion. It disappeared with a plop into the millpond.

‘No….! Veronica shrieked and ran over to him, but he was making his escape. ‘That was valuable!’ I thought for a moment she was going to jump in after it. But she slumped against the wall and cried.

I also felt sad for its loss, having been so instrumental in its recovery. At least I’d made a detailed sketch of it, which would help my ongoing research.

I walked over to her, but I felt queasy. She had to steady me as I approached, clutching my head.

‘Let’s look at you. Ooh, that’s nasty!’ She brought out a handkerchief, licked it and began to work on a gash near the hairline of my forehead.

I felt my legs buckle and I lost consciousness.

When I awoke, I was in the back of an ambulance on the way to the local hospital. There followed a lengthy wait for an X-ray and various doctors spent the afternoon coming and going from my trolleyside until giving me the all clear. They kept me in overnight, however, to be on the safe side.

This gave me some time to assess where I was on my quest to discover the real Dylan. Yet again, I’d placed myself in danger, this time as a direct result of his strange behaviour. It only intrigued me further. But I wasn’t certain I wanted to go on.

Once I’d recovered sufficiently, I took the opportunity to call John. However, I only got the answering machine, so had to leave a message.

Veronica came to collect me the next morning, bringing flowers and fruit from Dylan. She led me downstairs and into the car park. Then she walked me over to an Austin A35 van, its bodywork stripped in readiness for a respray. She helped me inside and soon we were heading back to the mill house.

‘How’re you feeling?’

‘OK. My head’s a little sore, but there’s no real harm done.’

‘Thank goodness.’

She seemed genuine for the first time since I’d met her.

‘Can you tell me what happened?’

‘Yes. Dylan was driving like a maniac. It was frightening. I tried to reason with him, but he didn’t respond. We crashed.’

‘I see. I thought you must’ve been driving.’

‘No. Didn’t he tell you?’

‘He’s told me nothing. He rarely does when he gets into this state. Backtrack for me. What was happening before this?’

‘We went to see Emily. To say goodbye. She looked very different.’

‘Yes, I know. She came to see me yesterday evening. It disturbed me as well, I can tell you. I cried all night. This explains everything.’

I rubbed my head, the stitches in the wound itching. ‘That’s not all. I found this painting in the stables a few days ago. The one of your husband painted by Seraphina.’

Veronica pulled the Austin over to the side of the road. ‘Christ! I thought that’d been lost years ago. I must ask Dylan for it.’

‘I’m afraid you can’t. When Janis found out he still had it, she burnt it.’

‘What!’ All her compassion ebbed out of her face. ‘Wait till I get my hands on her!’

She manoeuvred the car back out onto the road. She said nothing more until we arrived at the mill. She helped me back inside the house. Workmen were busy reglazing the lounge window. She sat me down on the sofa and laid a blanket over me.

‘Some tea, I think,’ she said, seeing how disturbed I appeared when I studied my surroundings. There was a large pile of broken pottery and glass shards in one corner, carefully swept up ready for disposal. Books lay strewn across the floor. Pictures had been replaced on the wall, but most had lost their glass.

By the time Veronica returned, I was on my hands and knees, piling up the books and other items.

‘You shouldn’t be doing that. You need to rest.’

‘No, I’d like to. You’ve helped me. Now let me do the same for you.’

She smiled. ‘OK, if you’re sure. We can do it together. But make sure you stop if it gets too much.’

‘Thanks for your concern. Dylan really went wild, didn’t he?’

‘Yes. It’s rare for him to get into such a state….But when he does, it invariably takes on this destructive form.’ When she noticed my mounting concern, she qualified her statement by saying: ‘His violence is always taken out on objects, not people.’

I tried to digest this as she poured out the tea. ‘Shame about the medallion.’