Time's Legacy (45 page)

‘Mora?’

It was a moment before she looked up to meet his gaze. She shook her head.

He nodded slowly. ‘I think I know.’

‘You will one day be the most famous man of all time,’ she whispered.

He smiled. ‘At least I escape the clutches of Flavius.’

She swallowed. ‘For now.’

‘And you. Did you see the future for yourself?’

She pushed him away. ‘Come on, we have to get down to the boat. There is no point in waiting for the light to go. It will be even easier for him to jump on us!’

‘Mora?’ He caught her hand. ‘What happens to you?’

‘We don’t see our own destiny,’ she said, with a brave attempt at a smile. ‘That is kept from us by the gods!’

He frowned. ‘Mora – ’

‘I know. Your god does not recognise our gods. Well, maybe in some things our gods know best. The gods of the rain and mist, the gods of the restless ocean, the gods of the sacred well…’ Suddenly she was crying.

He took her hands and drew her to him, then he put his arms around her. ‘Mora, my little love.’

She buried her face in his chest again and stayed there for a long time. Then at last she raised her head. ‘Come on. To the boat.’

Abi was staring into the fire. The kitchen was deserted, she realised. The others had gone. Not even the dogs were there. Wearily she stood up. Had she been asleep? Was that a dream? She couldn’t tell the difference sometimes between her dreams and the visions which happened when she was awake. She noticed the cup of coffee on the table. It was cold. Beside it there was a note.

Abi! Didn’t want to wake you. Mat rang. His car had broken down. I’ve taken the dogs and gone to fetch him. Back soon. If you go over to St Mary’s, Lock yourself in. Be vigilant!! C xx

Abi glanced at her watch. It was three p.m. She looked up at the window as a squall of rain swept across the garden and smacked against the glass and she shivered. Part of her wanted to stay indoors, but another part wanted to go back to the church. In spite of Kier she loved it there and it was there that Mora had tried to speak to her. Besides, she wanted to see if she could sense what Ben and Justin had done.

She sighed. What if Kier’s exorcism had driven Mora away? What then? She had to find out. And where was Cynan, who had been on his way to help them? She took her jacket down from the hook near the door and pulled it on. Then cautiously she opened the door. A blast of wind hit her. Leaves were racing round the garden in spirals, mini whirlwinds of scarlet and yellow. The sky was grey and heavy with bulging clouds. Trees bent and whipped before the wind, their leaves streaming out, some falling, whipped away, others hanging on in streamers of carmine and scarlet and ochre. Closing the door behind her she rammed her hands into her pockets and leaning into the wind, she walked resolutely across the garden. The place seemed deserted. She kept her eyes skinned for Kier, searching the corners and shadows behind tree trunks and bushes, turning round every so often to look behind her, refusing to give in to her insane urge to turn and run for it back to the house where she could lock herself in and build up the fire and wait there until the others came back.

The walk down through the orchard seemed steeper than usual in the face of the wind and she felt herself breathless as she reached the lych-gate. Above her, the squat grey church was huddling down behind its yews, used to the wild weather. Abi ducked into the porch, looking round. Anyone could be hiding behind those huge old trees with their impenetrable arms flung wide. The wind whistled through the foliage, tearing the flowers someone had laid on an ancient grave near the gate out of their container and whipping them away to lie at the foot of the hedge. It was as she pushed the door and heard it creak as it opened that she realised that this was where he would be hiding. Her heart seemed to stop beating for several seconds as she peered in. All was silent. ‘Kier?’ Her own voice seemed like an intrusion, a sacrilege as she called out, and heard the silence echo back. She went in and pulled the door to behind her, glad to be out of the wind. In here the quiet was almost shocking. She felt in her pocket for her matches – she had borrowed a box several days ago to make sure she would always be able to light the candles when she got there – and she went to the candelabra which stood near the font, lighting the six candles, throwing flickering light up into the roof beams. Only when she was completely satisfied that there was no sign of Kier did she go back to the door and draw the rusty wrought iron bolt across.

It took a long time for the atmosphere to grow still. She sat with her eyes fixed on the window as the light in the eastern sky faded, feeling her way into the silence. Ben had obviously done a good job. She could sense his prayers weaving around her, restoring the tranquillity of the place. As it grew dark she got up from her chair and walked up to the altar. She lit those candles too, then she knelt down. It was hard to voice the words of the prayer. Dear Jesus. Is it you? Are you Yeshua? Did you come here, to this peaceful place? Did you meet treachery and mayhem here as well as good and learned men? Did you meet a woman here whom you felt you could love…The words faded. She couldn’t speak them out loud. She sensed a ripple of movement in the air above her head and looked up. Nothing. She knelt in silence, trying to still her own thoughts, listening, waiting.

It was full dark when at last she stood up. There had been no answer to her prayers, no words, no ghosts. She felt in her pocket for her torch and extinguished all the candles one by one before making her way back to the door by the wavering beam of the torch. Her hand on the bolt, she paused. Supposing he was outside, waiting for her? She switched off the torch and waited in the dark, listening. She could hear the wind roaring across the levels behind the church, moaning in the yew trees, hissing through the oaks by the lych-gate. She couldn’t think how she had been unaware of it before. Cautiously she wriggled the bolt back and twisted the ring handle to lift the latch. She could feel her anger simmering again. How dare this one man intimidate her to this extent? What rights did he think he had over her? How could he be allowed to get away with stalking her to the point of making her life a misery? Well, it wasn’t going to go on. Tomorrow she would go to the police and make a formal complaint. She stepped outside and pulled the door closed behind her, then, pulling the collar of her jacket up around her ears, she headed down the path towards the lych-gate.

‘She’s gone out!’ Cal was on the phone to Ben. ‘I cannot believe she would be so stupid! Well, I can actually. To the point where I left her a note telling her to lock herself in if she went over to St Mary’s. And now it’s dark, and I’m worried!’

‘She’s a stubborn woman,’ Ben said ruefully. ‘Huge amounts of charm and so much to give to the church, but very wilful. And now –’ He stopped mid-sentence.

‘And now?’

‘Jesus. Here.’

‘You think she has flipped?’

There was a wry laugh from the other end of the phone. ‘I don’t know what to think, to be honest. I have been questioning myself. Why do I find it completely OK to believe in Romans and druids and other assorted ghosts, but not My Lord? How do we know he didn’t come here? He had to be somewhere in the missing years. He had the whole world to choose from and plenty of time to visit every corner of it if he so wished.’

‘What’s the official version?’ Cal put the phone to the other ear and walked over to flip the switch on the kettle. She glanced at the clock and frowned. It had been dark for over an hour now. Mat was walking over to the church with the dogs and a large torch and the wind was getting stronger every second.

‘That he studied to be a rabbi, I suppose.’

‘And suddenly popped up out of nowhere to be the Messiah?’ She shrugged. ‘Surely someone would have noticed him getting more and more learned and charismatic over the years.’

‘Perhaps they did. It’s just that none of the official versions of the gospels which have come down to us tell us about it.’ Ben sighed. ‘She hasn’t gone out in her car, I suppose?’

‘No, it’s still there!’

‘I just hope Kier didn’t come back, I genuinely fear for that man’s sanity.’

She heard a muttered aside, then Ben came back on the line. ‘Sorry, Cal. I’ve got to go. Call me, please, the second you hear anything.’

Cal sighed. She made herself a cup of instant coffee and went to sit down beside the fire, staring into the flames. If she was a druid she would be able to read the messages there, she thought idly. She would know where Abi was. She would know what had happened, and whether Mora and Jesus had made it to safety in the end.

Abruptly she put down her coffee mug and stood up again. She might not be a druid, but she knew someone who was and maybe by now he was back on the end of the phone.

‘Justin, where are you?’

‘I’m back home.’ He sounded exhausted. ‘For goodness sake, Cal, you haven’t lost her again!’

‘She’s gone, Just. I know it’s stupid but we couldn’t keep her locked up. I just wondered whether she had come with you?’

There was a moment of silence the other end of the phone. ‘You know she didn’t. I left alone.’

‘I know.’ Her voice fell. ‘But for all I know you might have met up later. No. Silly idea. It’s just that I’m so worried. Kier is still wandering around. He really scares me.’

‘And my indomitable brother is…?’

‘Out looking for her with the dogs. He’s gone over to St Mary’s, just to make sure.’

‘Then he will probably find her there.’

‘You couldn’t look into the fire and do some scrying could you?’

There was a moment’s astonished silence. Then Justin laughed. ‘Did I just hear you right?’

‘Please, Justin. I know you can do it.’

‘You think so.’

‘Yes.’

There was an other chuckle. ‘Ring me when you find her, Cal!’

She looked at the receiver and banged it down in exasperation. He had hung up on her.

Back in Wells, in the lounge of the pub after his meal, a coffee and a small dish containing two chocolate truffles in front of him on the low table, a local guide-book open on his knee, Kier began to gather his thoughts into some sort of a plan. The trouble was that Abi was surrounded by people who seemed to have made it their mission in life to thwart him in his desire to save her from herself. It wasn’t their fault. They thought they were doing the right thing. They had believed her when she told them he was pestering her. He glanced up as someone sat down at the far end of the same low sofa, nudging the table and inadvertently slopping some of his coffee into the saucer. The man apologised profusely, offering to buy him another coffee and there were several minutes of general palaver before he sat down and allowed Kier to settle down to his own thoughts again. The room was very pleasant. A low hum of conversation from the people around him, the sweet smell of logs from the large open fire, were seductive. Reassuring. He blinked several times to keep himself awake.

He had to get Abi away from the Cavendish family and somewhere where he could speak to her, and have even half a chance of persuading her of the danger she was putting herself in. He shivered as he thought about Justin Cavendish. Before he came out, he had dug his notebook out of the bottom of his bag in the hotel bedroom and Googled Justin on the off chance. Somewhat to his surprise, there had been several entries. He scrolled though them with interest. Justin was the author of two books, one a history of local folklore, little more really than a themed guidebook. The other was a book on the ancient druids. This sounded far more academic. He looked it up on Amazon. Four and a half stars. Loads of reviews, nearly all respectful and even laudatory. The man seemed to have been attached to Oxford University at some point and he was also part-author of a book on druid philosophy with another Oxford graduate, Meryn Jones. Kier didn’t bother to look that one up. He went back to Google. There he found newspaper references to the death of a young woman, Sunny Wake-Richards. She had, in the last stages of terminal cancer, left hospital to embrace various complimentary therapies, including spiritual healing. He frowned. Justin Cavendish had been called as a witness at the subsequent inquest after the family had accused various alternative practitioners of hastening her death. The police had investigated and said there was no case to answer, that Sunny had left hospital of her own free will, without coercion, but Sunny’s mother had stood up in court and accused Justin of murder.

Kier raised an eyebrow. So, he had given up a lectureship at Oxford University to become a spiritual healer. There were lots of advertisements for second hand copies of his books listed, but no website, no other articles, no comments. He was about to shut the laptop when he decided he might as well look up Justin’s co-author, Meryn Jones and here he struck gold. Another list of books – these druids didn’t seem to be able to keep out of print these days! But far better, he found an article which had been written about Meryn in a Scottish Sunday newspaper two years before. It described him as shaman, druid priest, author, mystic and psychic investigator and it mentioned that he had moved to Scotland via the USA from Mid Wales where he had lived near Hay-on-Wye and where his co-author and colleague, Justin Cavendish, still lived. Kier snorted with derision. ‘So, Justin, my friend, this is the kind of company you keep,’ he murmured softly. Justin, who had targeted Abi Rutherford, who because of her ordination as a priest in the church would be a trophy he could never have dreamed of.

He leaned forward to sip his coffee and picked up one of the chocolates in the dish in front of him. It was rich and delicious. A plan had begun to form in his head. It would need some careful thought, and organisation, but he thought he could pull it off, and once he had Abi would be safe where no-one would find her. In the meantime he would keep out of sight. It wouldn’t take long for them to let down their guard. They would imagine he had given up and gone away. A couple more days would do no harm if it meant he could help her in the end, and in the interim he would surround her with prayer, find out where Justin was based, and take steps to ensure that he never interfered with any God-fearing Christian ever again.