Miriam's Talisman (17 page)

‘I think we should put a stop to this,' Paul whispered.

‘Shush. He said we were not to interrupt.'

‘A shout, the ring of hooves on rock…Through the smoke, a black stallion—Elwyn? Praise the gods. No, the enemy! The horseman bears down upon me. The wing of a bird in flight? 'Tis the sharp edge of an axe. No! I hear a scream and the ground is rushing towards me. The scream dies in my throat.'

Malcolm slumped forward onto the table, still clinging to the silver around my neck, pulling me with him. Paul was up from his chair and clambering around to where we struggled to support Malcolm's body. He was still muttering.

‘Lightning…in my head…black lightning. Perhaps it is pain. The earth is soft and warm…I press my face into its wetness. And that smell, the blood smell. The blood of my clansman was cold—this is warm and flowing. It must be mine. Will he come in time? Something is moving nearby…something small, snuffling and scratching. Oh, sweet Dana, don't let me die where there are rats …'

Then Malcolm fell silent. I think he lost consciousness.

‘Open a window, get some air in here.' Suddenly Paul was there, lifting him.

I was pushed aside. The spell was shattered as electric light flooded the room. Malcolm was still slumped in his dining chair and Paul was forcing his eyelids apart, feeling his pulse.

‘He's in shock. Fetch something warm—blankets.'

Ruth ran from the room. Angie and Eddie cleared a space and helped manoeuvre Malcolm into an armchair. I backed towards the door.

‘I'm sorry,' I whispered, but no one was listening.
What if he dies? I thought. It will be my fault. After what seemed an eternity he groaned and tried to pull himself upright.

‘Malcolm, can you hear me?' Paul was using his professional voice.

‘Yes. Yes, I hear you.' He gripped Paul's shoulder with trembling fingers. ‘Please don't leave me. Please.' He sounded terrified.

‘No, we're all here. We won't leave you.' Angie's face was pale and her hands were shaking.

Ruth had come back into the room carrying a quilt. ‘Here, let's put this round you. Would a hot drink help? Shall I put some coffee on?'

‘Yes,' said Paul, ‘good idea.'

Ruth left the room again. Paul was still kneeling beside Malcolm, holding his wrist.

Angie put a hand on Malcolm's shoulder. ‘What happened? What went wrong?' she asked. ‘Can you remember any of it?'

‘Not now!' Paul snapped.

But Malcolm was trying to answer. He clutched at Paul's sweater, kneading at it and twisting it out of shape.

‘I don't know. There was a battlefield. My head, a dreadful pain. And then…oh, God, how long have I been away?'

‘Only a few moments. You're not hurt but you need to rest. Just take it easy.'

‘A few moments? Can't be. It seemed…forever, and yet no time. There was a woman. I remember that. I think she died.'

‘Yes,' said Angie, ‘there was some sort of battle. Swords and horses, bodies everywhere. She was looking for her
brothers. Then someone whacked her with an axe.'

‘That's right.' Malcolm lifted his hand to his head. ‘God, I can still feel it. Then everything closed in on me, like a black cloud. That's when she must have died. That was bad enough. But what happened next, that was worse, far, far worse.'

‘There was more?'

‘I became someone else. Someone, or something. I was a man, but not a man. And I existed and yet I didn't exist. Didn't I say anything?'

‘No. We didn't know about anyone else, did we?' Ruth looked around for corroboration. ‘The woman said something about rats and then it was like you fainted.'

‘That's right,' said Eddie, ‘but you weren't out long—couldn't have been more than a minute. What happened? Can you remember where you were?'

‘Nowhere. That's where I was, nowhere. An endless tunnel of…nothing. I was alone. Like a bird, flying, but there was no land to fly over and no sky to fall through. I flew on for ever and ever, yet I knew I could never move. And I would always be alone. I never want to be in that place again.' Then he lowered his head onto Paul's shoulder and muffled sobs shook his body.

Coffee arrived and Paul had to prise Malcolm's fingers loose and coax him to take a drink. Gradually he came back to us, but he remained pale and shaken.

‘I'm sorry, folks. It's not usually like this. I've never experienced anything so powerful.'

‘It's me who should be sorry.' Angie knelt beside him, holding his hand. ‘I feel awful about this. We should never have pushed you into it.'

‘It's OK, love, occupational hazard. Though not one I'd
ever want to experience again in a hurry.'

‘Who do you think those people were?'

‘Some sort of ancient tribe, hill fort dwellers it seemed like. Iceni, maybe, or Celts. Obviously that thing is very old, so God only knows what it's been through. But that doesn't explain what happened afterwards, that emptiness. It's that pendant. There's something…I don't know, something wrong with it.'

‘I wonder who he was, the one she was waiting for?' Eddie was pouring coffee and handing it around.

‘That name: Dana.' I found my voice at last. ‘I've heard it before.'

‘Isn't she some kind of Pagan goddess?' said Eddie.

‘Yes, that's right. I remember Miriam talking about her.'

‘I might have known we'd get back to Miriam sooner or later.' Paul spat the words at me.

‘Oh, Paul, that's not fair, I just said…I didn't know this was going to happen.'

‘I told you not to wear that thing. Now you see what damage it's done.'

‘Oh Paul, for pity's sake, you don't even believe in this sort of thing. You're just using it as an excuse to get at me.'

‘I'm sorry, Chloe, but I have to agree with Paul.' Malcolm's voice was steady now and his eyes full of concern. ‘I don't think you should be wearing it. I tell you, nothing would induce me to touch that thing again.'

‘No, you're right, I don't believe in all this psychic nonsense.' Paul was standing now. ‘But ever since Miriam died, ever since you've been wearing that necklace, you've changed. You've become moody, irrational. Nothing I say
or do is right. Hannah thinks your attachment to Miriam is becoming an obsession. She thinks you're living out some kind of fantasy, that you think you're Miriam. You're even starting to look like her. And it all comes back to that damned thing round your neck.'

‘Hannah thinks. So you've been talking with Hannah, have you? Discussing me?'

‘Well, of course I've talked to Hannah. I had to talk to someone. I've been worried sick about you. We both have.'

‘Hannah has always hated Miriam, you know that. And so have you. You're plotting together. Trying to take her away from me.'

‘Now you're being paranoid.'

‘You just can't bear to think of me having anything of my own, anything that might take my attention away from you. It's not a wife you want, it's a bloody audience.'

Paul looked down, his eyes suddenly tired and defeated. ‘Chloe, I don't think I know you any more.'

‘No, you don't. In fact, I don't think you ever did.'

I had to get away from him, from them all. I threw myself at the door, struggling with the handle that refused to turn. Then suddenly it flew open and I stumbled through. It slammed behind me and I was alone in the dimness of the hallway.

I stood at the bottom of the stairs, clinging to the banister. The staircase swayed above me. How much wine had I drunk? I couldn't remember. I could hear their voices through the closed door and knew they were talking about me. Paul would be telling them things, private things, justifying his accusations while I was unable to defend myself. Tears of anger scalded my face. There was my
bag on the hall table. And then my hand was searching for the car key. They were making too much noise to hear the sound of the front door latch opening and closing. The rain was heavier now. I'd parked the car a few yards from the house, far enough away that they wouldn't hear the engine turning. Rubbing tears and rain from my eyes, I switched on the wipers.

The road swam into focus as I pulled away from the kerb.

G
OD ONLY KNOWS
what I thought I was doing.

I was heading for the cottage, but
why
I had no idea. I knew I'd had too much to drink and I was driving too fast. In fact I shouldn't have been driving at all, but that only seemed to make it even more urgent. The windscreen wipers beat water from side to side. I wiped my streaming eyes with the back of my hand.

All I remember of the journey was the lights. At first it was the lights in the city streets. They spangled through the lashing downpour and dazzled me. Coloured neon signs reflected luminous, coiling snakes on the wet tarmac, while the beams of oncoming cars wavered and warped like spectres against the blackness. Then I was away from the main roads with only Fifi's headlights to guide me through the chicane of sudden walls and looming trees. An occasional street lamp confirmed the way, a token of civilisation in a lost world.

I thought I knew this road so well, but suddenly all I could see was that tree, its giant arms waving frantically, warning me to stop. My head was thrown back against the seat and there were bright lights all around me—
little fairy lights—and the sound of tinkling music. Everything was happening slowly and it took me a while to realise that I was being showered by fragments of shattered windscreen. A moment later all was darkness and silence; there was only me and the rain.

I don't know how long I sat there. No cars passed and no one came. I wasn't sure if I was injured or not, but nothing seemed to hurt. Eventually I realised that I must do something. I can remember the sharp coldness as I opened the car door. Fragments of glass scattered like confetti as I fell to my knees in the mud. I managed to pull myself up. No, I wasn't injured, but Fifi was badly damaged. I ran my hand over the front wing where the metal was crumpled, and flakes of paint stuck to my wet fingers.

I had to reach the cottage; there was nowhere else for me to go in this unreal world. But the rain was real enough. As I stumbled through the darkness, it stung my face and hands like a thousand wicked needles. I tried to follow the grass verge, slipping on mud and twisting my feet in puddled holes. The thin satin dress quickly became a sodden burden that dragged cold against my skin. My eyes were fixed on the next street lamp, then the next. Surely it couldn't be far now, just around the next curve in the lane, just a hundred yards more.

Then, there it was ahead, a square of gold, a lighted window. But how could that be? I'd left the rooms dark and empty. Miriam of course. Miriam was there. She would make everything all right. But she couldn't be there, could she? And yet there was that warm glow to welcome me and I knew I would be safe. Branches snatched and tore
at my hair as I tugged at the gate and tumbled onto the front path. My frozen hands scrabbled through my bag in search of the door key. But as I reached the door it opened wide and the warmth of candlelight flowed out to envelop me and take me in.

‘Fifi's all broken,' I blurted out. ‘It's all my fault. I was such a bitch!'

‘Shush! It's all right. You're safe now.' His arms went around me and the coolness of his jaw rubbed against my temple. I clung to his neck, shivering.

‘They were only trying to be kind and I spoiled it for everyone. It was like I was someone else. Like, there was someone inside me, making me drink all that wine so they could get out and…and he'll never speak to me again! Oh, God, he hasn't rung, has he? If he comes here I don't want to see him!'

‘Nobody has rung and no one will come looking for you. I promise. They won't even know you went out.'

‘How do you know that? I never said …'

‘Well you're obviously running away, aren't you?'

‘Yes, but—'

‘And, I would judge by your appearance, not very successfully.' He held me at arm's length and pulled the ragged tails of wet hair from my face. ‘You look like a cat that's been for a swim.'

‘But what about the car? I'll have to call a garage or something.'

‘Nothing that can't keep until the morning.'

‘But—'

‘The car will be fine. You are not to worry. I promise you, all will be well. You do believe me, don't you? Say you believe me.' He looked straight at me with those
yellow eyes and I couldn't look away.

‘Yes, I suppose so.' I was exhausted and it was too easy to give in.

He rubbed my icy hands between his. ‘You're shivering. Come on, this way.'

We went through to where a log fire cracked and spat. Candles were set anywhere there was a space and the room was a magical cave of shimmering light. A blanket was draped over Miriam's chair and cushions heaped on the floor.

‘Here, use this.' He handed me a towel from a pile warming by the hearth. ‘That dress is wet through. You'd best take it off.'

I looked down, realising that I had dripped a trail all through the house.

‘Oh, I'm sorry. I must have …' About to apologise for making him wet, I reached out and laid my hand on his shoulder. His clothes felt bone-dry. Yet, I knew I had leant my body against his. Before I could say any more he was behind me, unfastening the buttons. Then I felt a tugging. The dress had become caught up with the chain and Iolair worked to disentangle it.

I expected, perhaps I even hoped, that he would ask for the talisman again. I think if he had, at that moment I would have given it to him, despite my promise to Miriam. It had only caused trouble—Hannah and now Malcolm; at least Paul was right about that. But Iolair didn't ask. It was as if he had forgotten all about it.

‘Malcolm. He was there tonight, he did some sort of psychic reading on it. He said there was something wrong with it. That it was bad somehow.' No response. ‘He said I shouldn't be wearing it. I'm beginning to think he's
right.' Still nothing. ‘You seem to know about it. What do you think?'