Miriam's Talisman (20 page)

He kissed the top of my head. I moved my face up to his but he held me away.

‘No, it's too soon. There are things you need to know first.'

Hot blood flushed my cheeks. Had I misunderstood, misread the signs? I drew away from him and pulled the blanket tight around my shoulders. There was an awkward silence. Then it was almost as if I felt his mood shift.

‘I have a gift for you.' He smiled as he spoke and everything was easy between us again.

‘What sort of gift? Where is it?'

‘You have to close your eyes to see it.'

I thought it was some sort of game, but I did as I was told. He held me close to him, softly humming that slow tune, the one that Miriam loved so much. It laid the gentle coverlet of sleep over me. I do not think he spoke and yet I heard his voice.

‘There are things only I can show you. You must come with me. I will guide you.' His gentle music filled my head. Then there was darkness and I must have dreamed, though I'm not sure. Even now I can recall every sensation. I kept changing, becoming one thing and then another, transformed into their very essence, as if I had entered into the soul of nature itself.

At first all I was aware of was rhythm and motion, blood pumping, limbs straining and wrenching, one wing-beat,
another, and another, flying, soaring. I was not alone. Someone—a bird—moved beside me. His wings were broad and they swept long and hard. His feathers were brown and his eyes golden. His rhythm was stronger than mine and he drove the air beneath my wings, lifting me, holding me to the sky as the morning sunlight poured down upon us. What I felt was pure joy, as if this was why I existed, to leave the earth turning far beneath and lay my wings upon the wind
.

And then it was as if I became the wind, no shape or form, just an endless dance. I knew that I could play, could tease dandelion clocks and ruffle the feathers of roosters. But I was also the roaring, raging blast that curdles foam on the rocks and I laughed as I ripped branches from trees, pulling their fibres until they screamed
.

Then I became a tree, born in darkness, season upon season, reaching, straining for light, until the yearly night drew me, weeping, back into the ground. I went down into the earth itself, churning and slowly turning the rich, rotting life to feed the roots that twisted through me, feeding on the black juice of my body. As the earth I was greedy, devouring all I was given, then returned it, reformed and renewed
.

Lying on the ground beneath fronds of bracken, I was small and trembling. I was some little creature and I found I could snuffle the soil and read signs on the wind. But I also felt fear, a driving fear that made me hide in burrows, flee from the terror of—I don't know what. I only knew that it pursued and that I had to run—run from the cracking of bones, the slashing of flesh and the splashing of blood …

And suddenly I was the hunter with the salt taste of gore upon my tongue, fresh and warm as it dripped from my
mouth. Then somehow I was the blood, the blood that flows and carries life, that pours onto the earth, blood flowing like rivers, sweeping to the ocean
.

I was the sea, in it and part of it, on a journey that knew no arrival, only the endless movement of current and tide. And I was strong, so strong that I could grind the rocks and tear the mountains from their high places
.

Stillness. Solitude. I was stone, a rock cracked by the sun and punished by the tide, but I could change nothing. I was a mountain and I witnessed the ages pass and I knew it all
.

Then I was far above the mountain again with the warmth of the sun on my wings, and the other one, he was beside me, with the light turning his body to gold. The earth was spread out below me and I was a tiny splinter of life. The joy of flight and the sun's orb of gold were all that existed
.

In the end I was the sun, a golden blindness that sees everything. Like the light, I was in all things and all things were in me. I was the length and the breadth and the depth, the single point where all things meet. I was everything that had ever been or will be, and I said it over and over like a mantra: I am, I am, I am …

I awoke suddenly. I was alone. He had gone.

The tattered fragments of the dream still hung around me, momentarily transforming familiar surroundings into an alien landscape. A grey morning light suffused the room. Gradually, my consciousness latched on to mundane things: discarded teacups, looming bookcases, cold ash powdering the hearth. I tried to move and pain shot through my protesting muscles. The blanket had slipped
down and my shoulders were icy cold. I pulled it about me, and as it moved something fluttered from my lap. A feather, a small brown feather, flecked with gold.

The room gradually lightened. I remained in the armchair, running my finger along the edge of the tiny plume. There was a difference within me, a shifting of perception. I gazed at the burnt-out wood and knew the tracks where the fire had eaten its life away, and sensed the emptiness. The pale dawn filtered through the window as on any other morning. Yet I could discern, in the subtle texture of this light, the hesitancy that distinguished it from that of the bright noon.

I was aware of being part of these things; myself and yet no longer separated. I remembered Miriam telling me how I would have to learn to touch the spirit of a thing in order to know it. Perhaps this was what she meant.

Eventually I stirred, wrapped the blanket around me and went into the kitchen intending to make coffee. Instead, I stood gazing out over the orchard. It had been the longest night; yesterday was now a thousand years beyond my reach. I turned the little feather between my fingers.

There was no going back.

B
Y MIDDAY
I
WAS BACK
at the house in town. Thank God both Angie and Ruth were out and I could leave a note. Far easier than verbal explanations. Coward's way out, I told myself, but what could I say to them anyway? How could I explain to them what I couldn't explain to myself?

It was just a few hours since I had woken from that strange dream, but twice already the world had jolted on its axis. Twice, within a few hours, all the little pieces in the kaleidoscope had shifted again and still the picture made no sense. No, better just to make a run for it.

But I'm going too fast, getting ahead of myself.

For a long time I stood in the kitchen at the cottage, gazing out at the orchard, desperate to capture each precious sensation, locking it safely inside me before it melted into the day. Then, somehow, the decision was made; there was no choice really. But there were things I would have to do.

The first was to make that coffee.

Then there was Fifi. I couldn't just abandon her, besides it was only a matter of time before the police came looking for me. Still wrapped in the blanket I carried my mug
through to the sitting room. The first few gulps gave me a kick-start before I forced myself to reach for the telephone and the unreality of the mundane world. A search through my bag had proven fruitless, so I assumed the keys were still in the ignition. My friendly neighbourhood garage man said he would sort it all out right away, I was to leave it all to him.

Then I noticed that the answering machine was flashing. By now they must have realised I was missing and where I had run to. I was surprised Paul hadn't come after me. I made myself press the playback, resisting the irrational urge to hide behind the door.

‘Chloe, Greg Uson here. Just thought I'd give you a reminder. If you possibly could drop by soon we can sort out that paperwork. Sorry to push you, but it is important. I'll try to make it as painless as possible.'

That was the only message.

I wasn't sure if I was relieved or disappointed. Iolair had said they wouldn't notice I was gone. He had promised. But that was last night and it was now nine in the morning. Surely someone had missed me? Never mind, I had other things to think about. I ordered a taxi for ten o'clock, then bathed and dressed in one of Miriam's soft, flowing shirts and some old denim jeans. I pinned up my hair and found a string of jade beads, tucking the talisman inside my shirt. The taxi arrived on time.

The lane, still wet from the previous night's rain, sparkled in the morning sun as the cab wheels sprayed muddy puddles over the grass verges. My stomach tightened as we neared the curve in the road. There it was: that bend and that tree. And there were the skid marks, two deep gouges cutting parallel arcs across the grass. There was no sign of Fifi.

‘It's Susan, isn't it? I don't know if you remember me, Cliohna Blackthorn. Greg asked me to call in. I'm afraid I haven't a proper appointment.'

‘Yes, I do remember.' But she sounded unsure and paused a moment before she spoke again. ‘Well, if you don't mind waiting ten minutes. There's a client with him now, but I know he's anxious to see you.'

It had been just over a week since I was last there, but it could have been a hundred years ago. I tried to sit on the leather sofa as I had done then. There was a pile of magazines nearby, but the words had no meaning and the pictures were just blobs of colour. Instead I paced about the room, touching things, pulling books from the shelves and replacing them. Susan attempted to look as if she were concentrating on her work, but I knew she was watching me. It seemed a long time before the inner door opened and a mousy woman in a headscarf shuffled out. Greg's square shoulders loomed behind her and he smiled and ushered me in.

‘You got my message? Good! I've done most of the work, just need signatures really. But rather a lot of them. Coffee?'

‘Yes, Greg, I'd love some. And, before you ask, I'll say yes to the brandy too.'

‘Greg, is it? What happened to Uncle?'

‘Some things you grow out of.'

He paused, eyebrows raised as he looked at me. ‘You've changed, you know. There's something different.'

‘Don't tell me: I look like Miriam?'

‘Yes, you do, but it's not just that. You seem…older.
It suits you. You also look tired. Here, you're going to need this. And this.' He handed me a brandy glass and a fountain pen. He was about to light up a cigar when I said I would rather he didn't smoke. He hesitated, gave me a long look, then closed the lid on the table lighter.

The procession of papers seemed endless, most of it beyond my understanding. There was the transference of deeds for the cottage. I was expecting that and felt a shiver of satisfaction as I flourished the signature that made it my own. Then there were the various holdings, shares and bonds that left me thoroughly bewildered, to say nothing of royalties. She seemed to have a number of accounts, all for different purposes, none of which I understood. Greg tried to explain it all. He was very patient. I was very bored. I had been only half-listening, remembering the coldness of the rain and the dancing firelight, the little feather in my pocket. I was impatient to get back to the cottage. It wouldn't take long to collect my stuff. The sooner I left Greg, the sooner I could go around to the town house and start packing.