Time's Legacy (39 page)

‘Hello?’ He was very near her, and she saw him shake his head as if clearing a buzzing in his ears. He was looking straight at her now. He had bright, searching brown eyes; not warm brown, like Yeshua, but hard, the colour of hazelnuts, his hair was reddish and his complexion florid. He could sense her there. She cowered down, not moving, like a small animal freezing before a weasel.

‘Bloody place!’ She heard his words clearly. They meant nothing to her. He turned away from her at last and looked back up towards the summit before him. It was a steep climb to the top from here and he was already out of breath. She could hear him panting, almost feel the beat of the blood in his ears. Then at last he was back on the path and once more following it towards the top. He had cut across the serpent path. He was following some track she hadn’t noticed before. There were steps in it, a well trodden way. She frowned, still not daring to move. Once he was out of sight she would retrace her steps towards the bottom of the hill. She had no desire to be up there with a stranger in that sacred place. Now her fear was receding and her senses were once more working, she could feel his anger and his fury as tangible streaks across the air around her. Why would he go up there if he was so afraid? She glanced up towards the menhir and frowned. For a fraction of a second she could see what he could see, the man from the other world. A tall square tower on the place where the ancient stone had stood. Then it was gone, a grey shimmer in the sunlight, no more.

Kier had driven back overnight. He shouldn’t have come. The bishop had expressly forbidden it but he couldn’t keep away. Ever since his interview he had tried to put Abi and her affairs out of his mind but his conscience wouldn’t rest. She was in danger. Of that he was sure. It wasn’t her fault, but her natural psychic ability had driven her into the arms of the worst possible situation. David Paxman still didn’t understand how stupid it was to send her down here, to Glastonbury! Of all the places on earth he could have sent her, this was the last he should have chosen.

He completed the final scramble to the top of the Tor and stood looking round, trying to regain his breath. After the interview with the bishop and then the long tiring drive through heavy traffic his head was spinning and he felt tense and unhappy. After he had parked the car he sat for a long time wondering what to do next. He wasn’t sure what had made him head for the Tor. It seemed the perfect place to clear his head. High. Windy. Full of sunlight. There were several people up there when he arrived on top. The usual eclectic mix. Dog walkers. Hippies. He turned down his mouth, glancing at three young women in white robes. They were giggling and he suspected it was out of extreme embarrassment as they realised how silly they looked. A couple of ramblers. He eyed their state of the art rambling poles and heavy laced boots with extreme disfavour. Did they think this was the Matterhorn? There were a couple of earnest men. He classified them as probably academic, but who could tell. They might be astrologers on a day out from Mars. He snorted to himself. The day was clear. He could see for miles. He went and stood, his back to the wall of the tower, hands in pockets, feeling his hair being swept back by the sharp cold wind, then he frowned. How strange that on a day like today, there were still patches of mist on the lower slopes of the hill. He moved round to look down at the path he had followed upwards, seeing small groups of people slowly wending their way up and down. No mist. Not anywhere. It must have dispersed in the wind.

He found himself a place where he could sit in the comparative shelter of the lee side of the tower, and began to think out his strategy. He had to get the wretched crystal ball away from Abi. He shuddered at the thought. And he had to get Abi away from Glastonbury. The bishop was not going to help; and nor obviously was Ben Cavendish. A fine spiritual adviser he was turning out to be. The rest of the Cavendish family were going to be no use either, and that third brother was especially dangerous. He had recognised the type. Absolute certainty was always dangerous; absolute certainty in a religious fanatic of whatever persuasion was lethal. He snorted again. Druid indeed. What in God’s name did the man think he was playing at? He was presumably educated. Of sound mind. Yet he was no better than those girls, who were now decorating themselves with little wreaths of ivy, giggling even more as the wind tugged playfully at their hair and wound green tendrils into their eyes.

What he had to do was persuade Abi to come with him back to Cambridge. But how? He began to gnaw the knuckle of his thumb. She wasn’t going to listen to him. He couldn’t threaten her. She was a strong woman. She knew her own mind. Could he lure her in some way? He shook his head slowly. What could he offer? She wasn’t interested in him romantically, that was for sure. Supposing he told her that David wanted her to go back? But that would be a lie. He closed his eyes. ‘Please, God, tell me what to do. Help me make the right decision here.’

The right decision was of course to do nothing. To leave well alone and go away.

They were sitting side by side on the bench in the sunshine. Abi threw a quick glance at Justin out of the corner of her eye. She had been careful once more to keep a safe distance between them. He was sitting absolutely still, eyes closed and she had the feeling that he was listening. She said nothing. The stone was resting in her lap. Was it her imagination or did she sense a change in it? Almost as if it too was listening. She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. What was it Ben had said to her?

‘“My daughter, in time of illness do not be remiss, but pray to the Lord and he will heal you. Keep clear of wrong-doing, amend your ways, And cleanse your heart from all sin.”’

But surely sitting here, with this man, was not a sin. She couldn’t picture him as a killer. Or even as some kind of sorcerer. She didn’t sense anything evil about him at all. Arrogance, maybe. But Ben would not have summoned him if he was truly dangerous. She thought back to her first meeting with Ben as her religious advisor. He had given her the tools to keep her safe. It was up to her to use them. ‘You feel uncomfortable. You are uncertain. I can only suggest you pray. Surround yourself with the love of God. If you feel you shouldn’t be doing this, Abi. Stop. Recite the Breastplate. “Christ in quiet, Christ in danger, Christ in mouth of friend and stranger”, remember?’

Abi opened her eyes to find Justin looking at her. There was a speculative glint in his eye. ‘If you are uncomfortable with this, Abi, stop now.’

It was an uncanny echo of her thoughts. She shrugged. ‘I don’t know much about druids.’

‘It’s a term, that’s all. A title that appeals to people.’

A title that you gave yourself, or did you train to be one?’

He grinned. ‘I have trained. But it takes a thousand lifetimes, so I’m not there yet. In ancient times the training of a druid was said to take twenty years and yes, by that measure I am, as it were, qualified.’ He smiled. ‘Your next question is going to be, do I practise human sacrifice. The answer is no.’

She gave a shocked little laugh. ‘Actually, that hadn’t occurred to me, but I’m pleased to hear it.’

‘Is there anything else bothering you?’

She shook her head meekly. ‘Ben has vouched for you. That is enough.’

It was his turn to laugh out loud. ‘I fear his recommendation would be ringed with caveats, but we will find that out as we proceed. I don’t think there is much I can teach you, to be honest, as I take it you are not seeking training as a druid yourself. You obviously have a natural propensity to see beyond the normal range. You listen and you don’t panic. What is preventing you from being able to step fully into your experiences is your own in-built monitor. That comes from conditioning. No doubt at school you learned to keep quiet about any so-called psychic experiences you might have had as you would have been mocked. Sadly that is inevitable. I am sure it is the same at a training college. The less sensitive brethren in any community always trumpet their scorn of anything they don’t understand. Sadly they are also inevitably the majority, so they win by default unless you are exceptionally tough or learn to use your talents to entertain them in some way, which devalues the experience but usually gets them off your back. The threat of being more powerful than they are usually frightens bullies enough to stop them.’

‘That sounds as if you are speaking from experience,’ Abi said softly.

He grimaced. ‘Public school is not a place for the sensitive, to my mind.’ He leaned back with a sigh. ‘In your case, whatever your experiences as a child and as a student, they will have been more than reinforced by your training at theological college. I cannot understand why the church as a spiritual body, which has within its own creed the words “I believe in one God, maker of all things, visible and invisible,” then goes on to deny the existence of a huge portion of the so-called invisible world. Well, no, I lie. I can understand it only too well. It is a matter of control. They want to keep the masses battened down and in ignorance. But it is something you have to learn to put behind you if you want to explore the invisible world. You already know it is all too visible to people who can see a slightly wider than average spectrum. Your church acknowledges the existence of angels, as do Jews and Muslims. Hindus have Devas. Use that belief to give you permission to see and to believe. Otherwise you will never get beyond your own inhibitions. Do not fear any of this contradicts or conflicts with your beliefs. It doesn’t.’

‘Wow.’ Abi shook her head. ‘That is telling me.’ It was what Athena had said, after all.

‘You needed telling.’

‘So, where do I go from here?’

‘That’s up to you. You are on your own from here.’

‘You mean, that’s it. That’s the extent of your help?’

‘That’s it. You can do the rest yourself.’

‘And the stone?’ She held it out in her cupped hands.

‘The vibration of the crystal has been programmed, either by accident or deliberately – probably the latter – to hold a story. If you believe in computers, you can believe in crystals. Accessing information is marginally easier than with a computer in my experience. Suspend disbelief. Keep calm and quiet. Empty your mind and wait. It is unlikely to crash or slow down or pause while Windows updates.’

She laughed. ‘That does please me. I think I could feel more comfortable with prehistoric technology.’

‘And by prehistoric you mean?’

‘Its technical meaning. Pre-written history.’

He nodded. ‘OK. You pass the test. I think you can be left in charge of your stone. Which is something very beautiful and special. I would say magical if I didn’t think the word would freak you out.’

‘Magickal spelled with a k in the middle?’ She cocked her head to one side with a small grin.

‘Never!’ He stood up. ‘I spell my magic the right way. I don’t need whimsy. When your friend, Mora, tries to speak to you, allow it to happen and reply naturally. You will find there is a knack to it. It might not come at once, but keep trying. Be calm. Don’t be afraid. Maintain a degree of serenity. The rest will follow.’

He turned and walked away across the lawn. She sat still gazing down at the crystal and realised she was almost disappointed that he had left so abruptly. She was beginning to enjoy their verbal sparring. Looking up again she watched him surreptitiously as he walked around the side of the house and out of sight. Not once did he look back.

Romanus was sitting by the fire whittling a stick with his knife. He was listening to the sounds coming from behind the screens which separated off his sister’s sleeping room. Sorcha was sponging Petra with warm water, changing her bedgown and laying her back as gently as she could onto the sheets of the bed. Romanus put his hands over his ears as he heard Petra crying out with pain. She tried so hard to be brave. He could picture her biting back the sounds, clutching at Sorcha’s arm, desperate to keep her agony from her mother. He glanced at the doorway. Lydia was outside with Flavius. He could hear their raised voices. Again and again she was begging him to leave, to go back home, to abandon his stupid quest for this man, Yeshua. His attention was abruptly brought back into the room as Sorcha appeared, a bowl of warm water in her hand, a towel over her arm. She looked pale and upset. ‘Go and talk to your sister, Romanus. See if you can take her mind off her pain,’ she whispered. She went to the doorway and threw out the water. ‘I can’t bear to see her like this. I don’t know what to do. Your poor mother spent the whole night sitting up with her.’

Romanus climbed to his feet. He looked down at the piece of wood he had been carving and with a grimace tossed it into the fire. Ramming his knife back into the sheath at his belt he went through to Petra’s small room. ‘Hey. How are you?’ He sat down on the stool by her bed. ‘Do you want your gifted brother to sing for you?’ He grinned. It was a standing joke between them. She could sing. He couldn’t. Not a note. She shook her head, blinking back tears. He leaned forward and took her hands between his. Tending for his adored sister had given him surprising gentleness for a boy. ‘Poor you. I wish I could do something.’

‘Can you fetch Mora?’ Her voice was husky. ‘Mora and her healer friend. She said he would be able to help me.’ She tried to smile. ‘Please, Rom.’

He scowled. ‘I’m not sure I can.’ He had been thinking about Flavius’ command all night.

‘Why?’ Glancing up he saw the panic in her eyes.

He looked away. ‘I don’t know if she’s there.’

‘She is. I heard Uncle Flavius tell Mama. He told her to send for them, but Mama felt we should wait. She doesn’t want to ask too many favours at the druid school, I don’t know why.’ Her eyes filled with tears.

‘Because we can’t pay them back. Because I wanted to go there to study and I’ve told her I don’t want to any more.’ He looked away from her shamefacedly. He wanted more than anything to go with Flavius back to Rome and then on to Judea. He couldn’t tell them that though. Not any of them, not even Petra. And he was ashamed of wanting to go. Of wanting to go with a man who was planning to murder the one person who could help his sister. His hands tightened over her swollen fingers and he heard her gasp of pain. ‘I’m sorry.’ He released them guiltily. ‘Oh Petra, I don’t know what to do.’