Time's Legacy (17 page)

The voice behind her some time later made her jump. ‘Excuse me? Bella thought you might need some advice about crystals?’

Abi turned and found herself looking at a tall well-built woman with clouds of silver hair. Dressed in a floor-length embroidered skirt and a black sweater Athena, like her assistant, was wearing copious amounts of jewellery, but instead of looking over the top and stereotyped it just seemed glorious. Abi smiled. It was as though the woman’s deep grey eyes could look straight into her soul.

‘Athena?’ she said. ‘So, one of your parents was a classicist. Homer, am I right?’

Athena raised her eyebrows. ‘Impressive. Not many people recognise the allusion. The grey-eyed goddess, that’s me!’ She grinned. ‘Not my parents, actually. They christened me Elizabeth. No, the name came later.’ They smiled at each other. Abi nodded. She took a deep breath. ‘Yes, I gather you might be able to help me.’ This was no time for embarrassment or prevarication. ‘I seem to have been left the most amazing crystal by my mother.’

Before she had got very far with the story Athena had held up her hand. The silver bangles on her wrist jangled. ‘I think we need to go somewhere we can sit down,’ she said firmly. ‘Follow me.’ Five minutes later they were settled in the coffee shop next door, Abi in front of a frothy cappuccino, Athena with a cup of green tea. The shop was crowded and warm and cheerful. Strangely enough, even though there was noise all around them they seemed to be sitting in their own oasis of quiet as Abi poured out her tale. When she had finished she sat back, sipping her coffee. The only fact that she had left out was her own calling. She had a feeling that declaring oneself a priest, even a lapsed priest, of the Church of England, might not go down too well in this environment.

Athena seemed lost in thought. At last she raised her eyes to Abi’s and smiled. ‘When I was a student I trained at the Royal College of Art. Then I decided I wanted to become a jeweller. I designed stuff which went all round the world. Precious stones. Gold. But then I came down here on a visit back in the seventies and I found an alternative man – the one who named me Athena – and,’ she smiled, ‘I was drawn in to the whole Glastonbury thing. The man moved on, but I didn’t. I bought the shop and I began to work with lines of less expensive jewellery – semi-precious stones. Crystals. Working with them I began to open to them without even realising what was happening. Crystals are here to teach us; to heal; to enlighten. All natural stones are, of course. It is part of their nature, but rock crystals are special. Their purity combined with their earthiness makes them very powerful.’ She took a sip of tea. ‘There are people who have analysed them, categorised them. People who claim to have channelled information which has come from the ancient masters of Atlantis.’ She was staring down at the tablecloth, her voice matter of fact.

Abi waited. The woman had an air of serene confidence which she envied deeply. She was, Abi guessed, nearer sixty than the forty she had originally guessed at – she must be if she had come here in the seventies. ‘Crystals come into my shop in all sorts of states of,’ Athena hesitated, ‘I was going to say mind.’ She looked up and smiled. Abi found herself smiling back. ‘But that is right. That is what it is. Some are traumatised by the way they have been blasted from their rock beds. Some are frightened. Some are angry. Some have been calmed and reassured by wherever it is they have been; most are wise. Wise with natural wisdom. Some contain memories which they have picked up on their travels and others have been programmed.’ She held Abi’s gaze. ‘My guess is that yours is one of those. From what you say yours is a natural crystal ball. Maybe it is a natural crystal from this country. It hasn’t come from far away. And it is not telling you its own story. It is telling you the story of this Roman family and that implies that someone in that family had the knowledge and the desire to implant those memories. And there must have been a reason for that. They were not just recording a daily diary. There must be some piece of information there which is important. So important that they wanted it remembered forever.

Abi shook her head. ‘I don’t know what to say. It’s all too extraordinary.’

Athena laughed. ‘Heavy, too, I dare say. Don’t try and rationalise it. Play with the ideas for a while. See if you think they fit. The thing to bear in mind is that it is you who is the catalyst here. You are making it work. Your mother obviously knew how as well. She seems to have tested you to see what would happen and, satisfied that you could do it, she left it to you to find out whatever it is you need to know.’ She paused. ‘I don’t think she was necessarily going to tell you anything else, Abi. I can see you feel that her death somehow prevented her from letting you into the big secret. Maybe she wanted you to find it out for yourself.’ Another sip. ‘You are inhibited by your own fear and doubt and incredulity as we all are at first when we come across something like this. The intelligence of our programming; the science we have been taught; the whole atmosphere of disbelief in our culture. It all adds up to make it so hard for us to open ourselves to the unexplained. Let yourself get used to it.’

‘And you really think it could switch on my higher powers?’ Abi tried to keep the ironical inverted commas out of her voice. ‘Would it have told me the same story if I was still in Cambridge? Or would it have picked up something else over there?’ She was still trying to rationalise – she couldn’t help herself.

‘Ask it. But remember to listen for the answer with an open mind.’

‘Mummy did come from near here. She was born in Priddy.’ Abi was still trying to pursue the rational approach.

‘Remember there is no such thing as coincidence. Perhaps the crystal led you here.’

No, it was the bishop. Abi bit the words back in time. But of course, Athena was right. Her mother’s mother had given Laura the crystal. And
her
mother’s mother before that, judging by the note. The bishop too had been born in the Mendips. She was here because he knew these people; because the Cavendishes too had lived here for generations. It was all wheels within wheels.

Her coffee was finished. Suddenly she realised that they were going to have to leave and she didn’t want the conversation to be over. Athena was in some strange way a kindred spirit. She liked her.

‘Would it affect the crystal if someone else touched it?’

Athena shrugged. ‘You said your father threw it out of the window.’

Abi nodded sadly. ‘I was wondering whether I could show it to you.’

‘You are looking for someone to make sense of it for you, Abi,’ Athena said gently. ‘It is better if you do that yourself. You have to have the courage of your own convictions. There may be more to this quest than just looking at a story. You may be drawn in. There may be a job for you to do.’

Abi grimaced. She gave a deep sigh. Athena frowned. ‘I’m always here if you want a chat. Where did you say you were staying?’

‘With a family called Cavendish. At Woodley Manor on the Wells Road.’

Athena nodded. ‘I know Justin.’

Abi’s eyes widened. ‘He dropped in this morning.’

‘Really?’ Athena seemed astonished.

‘Mat and Cal were out.’ Abi rubbed her forehead. She was feeling her way. She didn’t want to gossip but on the other hand perhaps Athena was a friend of the family. She hoped so.

Athena laughed. It was a deep throaty chuckle. ‘Justin and Mat have never got on. They come from two different planets.’ She hesitated. ‘A word to the wise. Be careful of Justin.’ She leaned forward on her elbows, cupping her chin in her hands. ‘So, Abi, how do you fit in with the family? You didn’t say.’

‘I was having man problems. A…’ She hesitated. ‘A friend suggested I come down to stay for a few weeks while I got my head together.’

‘I see.’ Athena glanced up at her face thoughtfully. ‘And what did you say you do for a living?’

‘I didn’t.’ Abi bit her lip. She didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t lie to this woman, but on the other hand if she told her Athena would probably get up and walk out. Almost certainly she was a pagan if she was anything at all and pagans in her experience did not like Christian priests. There were several students who called themselves pagan on her beat in the parish at home. They had made their feelings abundantly clear. Her church was to blame for witch burnings, for the crusades, for the Inquisition, for the persecution of women in general, for every real and perceived iniquity which had been enforced against the feminist cause, for destroying the planet, for burning the rain forest, for exploiting animals. The list went on and on. And most of the accusations, she had to admit, were to some extent based on real attitudes and real stances which from time to time various elements within the Christian church had embraced with so much misguided fervour. Not all, she wanted to say. Not today. Not me. It was not what Jesus wanted. It never mattered. She was tarred with the Christian brush. They never let her go any further with her self-justification. She looked at Athena and shrugged. ‘I resigned from my last job. I’m unemployed at the moment.’ That at least was true. Athena nodded. Abi had a feeling she knew that this was not the whole story but for now she was prepared to let it lie. ‘I hope we meet again. I will come into the shop next time I come to Glastonbury,’ she went on quickly. ‘I’ve so much enjoyed our talk.’

Athena smiled. ‘Me too.’ She stood up, and to Abi’s surprise leaned across to give her a warm hug. ‘Relax, Abi. Listen to your heart. Stop worrying about what everyone else thinks.’ Again she seemed to have read Abi’s thoughts. ‘Be your own woman!’

The crystal was still there on the window sill. Abi gazed at it for a few minutes, then she picked it up. Carefully rewrapping it in its cotton bag she laid it in a drawer hidden under some jerseys. Then she knelt down by her bed and began to pray.

Mora lay back on her elbows and stared up at the sky. She had fair skin and red-gold hair, bound into a heavy plait which she wore twisted round her head. Her eyes were slate-blue. Wearing a brown woollen cloak, she gave the impression of a slender flower emerging from the dead leaves of winter. ‘Was it ever this beautiful in your country?’ She threw a glance at her companion.

Yeshua was sitting a few yards away from her, staring down from the hillside across the glittering sunlit waters of the reedy mere spread out beneath them. He smiled. ‘Every country I have visited has its own beauty.’ He reached for the jug at his feet and drank a few sips of the sweet local cider. ‘Some are hot with desert sands; some are green and full of forests or grassy plains. Some have mountains so high you cannot see the top. They have snows all the year round. But here, yes, there is a special beauty. The water is everywhere. Your sunlight is soft, your mists beguiling, the smell of apple blossom enchanting.’ His eyes were deep warm brown. She could see he was laughing at her.

‘Pass me the jug.’

Standing up, he brought it over. He was a tall, slim man with light olive skin and dark brown wavy hair. Between them lay two woven bags, full of packets of dried herbs, their pharmacopoeia and medicine chest. ‘We must get on.’ Drinking her fill, Mora rammed the stopper back into the jug. ‘We need to be at the fisherman’s house before the sun begins to drop. I need good light to examine his wife. She has a canker in her breast.’ She shook her head. ‘I have tried everything. I’m afraid all I can do is relieve her pain. Maybe you can do something.’ She was beginning to have great faith in this young man’s powers of healing. He was a student and a teacher, who had travelled far across the seas to study with the druid priests of the Pretannic Islands and on arrival in Afalon had been assigned to her care by her father, Fergus, the archdruid, to watch and help her as she carried out her duties as a healer. More often than not however, their roles had been reversed. She it was who was watching and learning from him. He had not studied medicine. He did not use herbs as she did. He worked through instinct and through prayer. He examined a patient, and considered the nature of the illness, and sometimes he held his hands over the wound, or he ran his fingers across a sore stomach or laid his palms gently on an aching head and bade the illness go. She had tried it secretly. It didn’t seem to work for her.

The message from the fishing village had come as they were setting off towards home after several days moving sometimes in rain, sometimes in sunlight, amongst the homesteads and farms in the foothills to the east of their watery home. They would barely make it before dark.

Trefor was waiting for them at the door to his house, his face lined with sorrow. ‘It is too late, Mora. She’s gone.’

He turned and led the way inside, gesturing towards the bed by the fire. His wife lay there, her eyes closed, her face white as marble.

Mora sighed. ‘I’m so sorry.’ She had already guessed as much. The lonely call of the curlew across the marshes had signalled a death. She knelt at the bedside and touched the woman’s face. It was ice cold. ‘At least she is free of pain, now,’ she said sadly. ‘And she is with the ancestors where there is no fear or anguish. You will see her again.’ She looked up at him.

Trefor nodded. He shrugged his great shoulders miserably. ‘Who will look after the children?’

‘You will find yourself a new wife, my friend.’ She rose to her feet and laid a hand on his arm. Behind her Yeshua stepped forward and bent over the cold body. He laid a hand on the woman’s forehead for a moment, then he too shook his head sadly.

‘Who are you?’ Trefor had swung round suddenly as he saw the stranger stoop over his wife. ‘Don’t you touch her.’ He looked afraid.

Mora stepped forward. ‘Peace, Trefor. This is Yeshua, one of the students at the college. He is a healer like me.’ She frowned at Yeshua. ‘There is nothing we can do.’

Yeshua nodded and stood away from the woman’s body. ‘I’m sorry. I had no intention of upsetting you.’ He smiled regretfully. ‘She was a beautiful woman.’ Mora saw the older man frown, hearing the strange accent. But the meaning of his words were clear and he nodded sadly, reassured.

Behind them three small faces had appeared at the doorway. Yeshua turned. He walked over to them and in moments they had come trustingly into his arms. It was a long time before they let him depart. Mora gave an inner smile. Wherever they went he attracted children. They seemed to adore him unreservedly, begging for stories, queuing for the little models of animals and birds he whittled for them with his knife, reassured when they were sad, comforted when they were in pain.