Time’s Legacy

13

Kier had driven faster than he had ever driven in his life after Cal caught him in Abi’s bedroom. His face hot with humiliation, he threw himself into the driving seat and accelerated out of the gate, his seatbelt flapping, turning onto the road almost under the wheels of another car which hooted violently. Heading towards Glastonbury he slowed down slightly as he reached the first roundabout then he headed on into the town, keeping going resolutely until at last he pulled into the coach park outside the abbey. There he sat for a long time, his head resting on his hands on the steering wheel. He knew her room was at the front, he had seen her there at the window, but once inside he had only found it by accident. It was the second he had looked into and he had recognised the jacket thrown on the bed. At least he hadn’t touched anything. Never again would he put himself in such a stupid, insane position. How could he have even thought to do it? Why had he listened to Professor Rutherford? The man was obviously deranged. A magic stone indeed. A bewitched, stupid, magic stone. ‘You have to find it. You have to get hold of it and dispose of it.’ The man’s voice echoed in his head. Stupid.

When at last he looked up he stayed where he was, staring blankly out of the windscreen. It was some ten minutes later that he saw a man striding across the car park away from him. It was Justin Cavendish. Kier frowned, watching. He was heading towards the entrance to the abbey.

Opening the car door Kier climbed out, intrigued. Where he was going? He glanced round, spotting the pay and display meter only feet from his car and cursed under his breath. Knowing his luck he would be clamped if he didn’t buy a ticket. He scrabbled in his pocket for change as Justin disappeared out of sight, following a high stone wall at the back of the car park. Seconds later Kier had slapped a ticket inside his windscreen and ran to follow, keeping far enough back to stay out of sight. Justin was going into the abbey; into a sacred Christian place. Why? Kier followed cautiously, close enough to hear him exchange cheerful banter with the woman inside the ticket kiosk; he obviously knew her. His curiosity piqued, he crept after him. Justin turned right into the museum. Kier paid for his own ticket and followed him at a safe distance, listening to the sound of monks chanting in the distance as he made for a display cabinet and ducked behind it. He was consumed with curiosity about what Justin was doing here, but he didn’t want him to turn round and spot him. After all, he had shamed and humiliated him in front of Abi. Another surge of anger shot through him and he clenched his fists, forcing himself to breathe steadily. He had to know what the man was doing in here. He peered round the glass case. Justin was standing staring at something in another display. Moments later he turned and headed for the doors that led out into the abbey grounds. Kier watched him from the window. He was walking slowly along the path which led towards the west end of the abbey ruins and in seconds he had disappeared behind a stone pier. Kier let himself out of the museum and hurried after him.

The grounds seemed very empty. He felt exposed as he walked past the huge wooden cross which stood by the path and headed towards the archway where Justin had disappeared, hoping the man wouldn’t reappear suddenly in front of him. He stood and looked at the notice which informed him that this was the Lady Chapel, then he ducked inside the archway and cautiously he made his way down the steps into the open area of the chapel itself. It was deserted. He stared round. At the east end there was an altar, under a roof area but here the place was completely open, the high ruined walls soaring up towards the open sky. He was suddenly regretting the impulse which had brought him charging in in Justin’s wake.

‘I take it that you are looking for me.’ The voice came from immediately behind him.

He spun round. Justin was standing in the shadow of the wall, his arms folded. He regarded Kier with what appeared to be an expression of calm interest. He was dressed in shabby moleskin trousers and a dark green much-worn Barbour with frayed pockets and cuffs and yet he made Kier feel like an ingénue schoolboy caught in the act of perpetrating some pathetic little felony. Kier felt his face colour with embarrassment. ‘I saw you in the distance, yes.’

‘And you felt we had unfinished business.’ Out here Justin seemed far more in his element than in the kitchen at Woodley.

‘I suppose I did, yes.’ Kier shrugged. Perhaps Justin was right and that was his real motive. ‘You interfered in matters which were not your concern.’

Justin smiled. He was a good-looking man, with a shock of fair hair and a weatherbeaten face which seemed to indicate an outdoor life. He exuded a quiet confidence as he stood without moving, his arms still folded. ‘Abi made them so.’

‘What is she to you?’ Kier felt a surge of jealousy as the man used her name.

‘Nothing at all,’ Justin said quietly. ‘I barely know her.’

‘Then why were you there?’

‘As I believe I told you, Woodley is my house. At least, I share its ownership with my brothers. Abi therefore is in a sense my guest. She is there by invitation, you, it seemed were not. If she wanted you out of there, it was for me to see that her wishes were adhered to.’

Kier glanced up as a jackdaw settled high in the tracery of a ruined window behind Justin. It looked down at them, head on one side, then it called loudly, the sound echoing round the chapel walls.

Justin smiled. ‘My friend has come to remind me that it grows late. If we have no further business to settle you will have to excuse me. If on the other hand you are spoiling for a fight, then I would ask you to follow me outside. We stand here on holy ground, and I am sure you would be as reluctant as me to brawl on it.’

Kier felt himself colouring again. ‘I have no intention of brawling anywhere.’

‘Good.’ Justin grinned at him. ‘Then I will bid you farewell.’ He bowed slightly and moved towards the steps which led up out of the chapel.

Kier stayed where he was. ‘Wait!’ His voice brought Justin up short. ‘What did you come in here for?’

Justin turned and surveyed him. ‘I saw you sitting in your car. I thought I would see if you followed me.’

Kier’s mouth dropped open. ‘You knew I was there all along?’

Justin inclined his head slightly. ‘I saw you turn in as I came round the corner from the high street.’

Above them the jackdaw called again. The urgency of its cry echoed round the walls. Justin acknowledged the sound with a raised hand and turned away. This time Kier remained silent.

He had begun to shake violently. Sweating with fear he glanced up at the bird. It had gone.

‘I was going to ring Justin myself, but I thought, maybe, it was better coming from you.’ Abi had phoned Ben straight after breakfast the next day. Inadvertently she had overlapped with the B & B guests and found herself seated at table with two sets of strangers. They were going to spend the day in Glastonbury and listening to their enthusiastic plans reminded her exactly how romantic this place was. Their interest was all in King Arthur. They were going to go straight to the abbey to lay flowers on his grave, then later they were going to head over to Cadbury Castle which may or may not have been Camelot. Abi had excused herself from the table with a smile and headed for her room. Ben was right. It was very easy to get sucked into all this. Something to do with the atmosphere, the light, slanting across the low-lying fields, the mists which wreathed the magical island which was Avalon.

‘Any more signs of Kier?’ Ben asked over the phone.

‘Not after he ran out of here yesterday, no. I doubt even he would come back soon after that debacle.’ She laughed bitterly. ‘And he must guess that I would have hidden the stone somewhere else by now. If that is what he was after.’

‘And I take it you have?’

‘Yes.’ She laughed again. ‘Cal found me the perfect spot.’

‘Good. Well, don’t tell me in case he comes and tries to torture it out of me.’ Ben sounded amused. ‘I’ll try this number and see if I can reach Justin. Then I’ll call you back, OK?’

‘OK. Ben, about Justin – ’

But Ben had rung off.

Abi reached for her jacket. Slipping the phone into her pocket she let herself out of the room and hesitated for a moment. Cal had made sure she had a key but it went completely against the grain to lock her door. Eventually she left it. She ran down the stairs and headed out into the garden. The morning was grey and cold. The mist still hung across the lawn as she walked towards the archway. She paused for only a second then she headed down towards the orchard and the church. She was halfway there when the phone rang. She groped for it. ‘Ben?’

‘I left a message for him,’ Ben said. ‘I’ll call you when – if – he gets back to me, OK?’

She felt a moment of disappointment. She may not have liked the man, but at the moment he seemed to be the answer to her problems. She shrugged. ‘Thanks for trying, Ben.’

‘That’s all right. Come over if you feel you want to. I’m going to spend the day working on my sermon for tomorrow. And, Abi. Remember. Surround yourself with prayer, my dear. Whatever is going on here, protect yourself. We don’t know exactly who your Mora is, do we.’

Abi stared down at the phone in her hand after she had switched it off. What did he mean? Did he think Mora was some kind of evil entity? Mora, who was Jesus’ friend and mentor.

If she was.

She was standing in the orchard and she looked round with a shiver. A cold wind was cutting through the trees, tearing off the golden leaves, shaking off one or two last small wrinkled apples.

Justin was unloading his car when his mobile rang. He juggled a couple of boxes, put them down and fished in his pocket. Glancing at the number he grimaced and switched it off. Then he went back to his parcels, lugging the first towards the door. Ty Mawr was a small, white-washed stone cottage, built close to a ridge of the Black Mountains. If he turned his back on the door and surveyed the view he could see a vast swathe of the Wye Valley laid out like a panoramic map far below. Behind him the hills unfolded ridge upon ridge up towards distant flat-topped summits, shrouded in cloud. He took a deep breath of the cold clean air and smiled to himself. He was always happy to come home.

He stacked his purchases on the table in the centre of the room. Food, writing materials, the necessities of life. Then came the books from Woodley. Some half-dozen this time. Methodically he put everything away, lit the fire in the large old fireplace, and went out to the lean-to shed at the side of the building where the postman left anything that came for him when he was away. There were two packets from Amazon. He smiled with satisfaction and taking them indoors set them on his desk to open later. A glance out of the window showed rain coming in from the north-east. In ten minutes or so it would be pouring down, slanting across the garden, isolating him in a grey pall. Before it arrived there was just time to glance at the garden. He let himself out of the back door and went to stand at its centre, silently greeting the plants, apologising for days of neglect. Then and only then did he fish in his pocket and glance again at his phone. He wasn’t sure why he even had his brothers’ numbers stored in its memory. Some atavistic acknowledgement of connection, he supposed. More interesting was why Ben had rung him. His thumb hovered over the delete option, then at last he gave way to curiosity and held it to his ear.

‘Justin, I believe you’ve met Abi Rutherford. She’s staying with Mat and Cal at the moment. She has what I suspect is a very major problem. Paranormal. Possession. I’m not sure what is going on here. I should be able to deal with it, but I don’t think I can. Not alone. It seems to have pre-Christian elements.’ There was a slight hesitation as though he wasn’t sure how to word his message. ‘I gather you’re in the area. I’d really like it if you could drop in. Thanks, mate.’

Mate! Justin snorted.

The first drops of rain were falling as he pocketed the phone and went back indoors. Walking over to his desk he picked up the first of the parcels from Amazon and began to unpack yet more books.

Abi sat for a long time in the church. She wasn’t praying. Meditating perhaps, her eyes fixed on the east window with its enigmatic portrayal of the crucified Christ. It was dull this morning, the colours drab and cold. His face was impassive. Not agonised. Not pleading. Not angry. Blank. She sighed, ramming her hands down into her jacket pockets. The church was cold and very silent and smelled of beeswax from the candle she had lit last time she was in here. She should go over to Ben’s. Talk things through with him. Not just about Mora, but about her future. And Kier. Abi closed her eyes. When she opened them again Mora was standing on the chancel steps in front of her. Abi blinked a couple of times, holding her breath. Mora was still there. She was shadowy, insubstantial, and yet Abi could not see through her. The folds of her dress seemed to stir slightly, as though in a draught. Abi could see the plaited girdle at her waist, the enamelled clasps which held her cloak at the throat, her hand, slim sensitive fingers, holding a fold of the material just below the clasps as though she was afraid the garment might slip off her shoulders. Her knuckles were white.

Abi’s mouth had gone dry. She didn’t dare move. It occurred to her that Mora was as frightened as she was. She didn’t take her eyes off her. Each time she had seen her before Mora had vanished when she looked away. This time she was determined to keep the woman in focus, to hold her there by sheer willpower. She opened her mouth to speak and found the words dying on her lips. She tried again. ‘Mora?’ It came out as a whisper. The woman was still there. She saw a reaction in her face. A slight frown. Eye contact. An effort to speak. Maybe to understand. Slowly Mora was holding out her hand towards her. ‘Mora, talk to me.’

For a moment the two women were immovable, facing each other, straining across some divide too deep, too impenetrable to cross. Mora reached out her hands and the expression on her face was one of despair. Help me. Had she really said those words, or had Abi imagined them? ‘Mora! Wait!’ Abi called out, but slowly Mora was beginning to fade before her eyes. ‘No!’ Abi stood up. ‘Wait. Don’t go. We can do this!’ Throwing herself out of the chair she reached out, her hands clawing at the space where Mora had been standing. There was nothing there but a slight frisson of cold in the air.

Abi stood still. She was trembling, she realised suddenly. She turned round slowly, studying the church, searching every corner as though expecting Mora to appear behind her, in the aisle, or near the old stone font. There was no-one there. The silence was absolute. It was some time before she slowly realised that she was becoming aware of sounds around her again. The moan of the wind outside; a branch tapping on a window, a rustle from a flower arrangement on a window sill. She swung round, in time to see a small mouse poking through the leaves, looking for berries and ears of corn in the autumnal arrangement. She smiled. Mora had gone. Reality had reasserted itself. Time was moving smoothly forward again.

She had to scrabble through the leaf mould to find the small hidden hollow at the base of the ancient oak tree. The Serpent Stone was there where she had left it, tucked at the back in the darkness. She pulled it out, wrapped in its cotton bag. The material was damp and stained from the hiding place and the crystal was cold. She knelt there on the damp grass staring down at it, fully conscious for the first time of the generations of women who must have held it as she did and who, maybe, had seen the same things she had seen and felt the same emotions and she found she was near to tears.

Then the story came back.

Mora had stirred the fire in the centre of the woodcutter’s hut into life. She piled on twigs and small logs from the pile near the door and set the iron pot of water from the spring on the trivet over the flame. Then she glanced across at Yeshua. He had folded back the man’s blankets and was running his hands gently over the twisted leg. ‘How is he?’

‘Feverish. Delirious. He is drifting in and out of consciousness and he doesn’t know we’re here, which is as well. I will set the leg quickly while he is asleep.’ He glanced up. ‘Where is the man’s daughter? She should be here!’

Mora shrugged. ‘She went to fetch help. When we didn’t come perhaps she went out again.’

She had heard the irritation in his voice, seen once again the flash of anger. She smiled quietly to herself. The first thing he had done when they entered the hut was to go out again to fetch the thirsty man some water. His anger when he had found the broken cup had been formidable. She had watched him control it firmly as gently he raised Sean’s head and allowed him to sip from one of the bowls they carried in their pack.

She searched through the pouches of herbs in her bundle, concentrating on the infusion she would make when the water had heated. Behind her she heard the man groan, the grating of bones as Yeshua manipulated the leg, the gentle, reassuring words he spoke as he cleaned the wound and bound the leg straight. She glanced round. Yeshua was sitting beside the man now, his eyes closed, his hands resting on the man’s forehead in blessing. She smiled. He wouldn’t need her infusion now. He probably wouldn’t even need a bandage. Yeshua’s blessing was enough.

It was as they sat together in a silence broken only by the cracking of twigs as the fire licked higher, that she became aware that all was not well outside. She tensed, withdrawing her concentration from the fire, letting her attention expand, listening beyond the licking flames. Someone was out there. Someone hiding. She heard the urgent warning alarm of a wren, then the sharp pinking note of a chaffinch. She glanced across at Yeshua. His eyes were closed. He was praying. Silently she rose to her feet and went over to the doorway and peered out. The area in front of the little house was a clearing in the middle of which was a ring of blackened stones, with ash lying heaped in the centre. Obviously the woodman preferred to do his cooking outside. Mora glanced round. She and Yeshua had left their walking staffs leaning against the side of the house as they ducked inside. From here she couldn’t reach them without going out. The birds were silent now, waiting. Someone was out there. Not the woodsman’s daughter. She would have come in at once and made herself known. No, this was danger. She could feel the skin on the back of her neck prickling. There was a movement behind her and she looked round hastily, putting her finger to her lips. Yeshua came over and stood behind her. ‘There is someone out there,’ she whispered. ‘Someone who means us harm.’

He frowned. Behind them the sick man stirred and groaned, his head moving from side to side in his dream. Mora glanced at Yeshua. ‘What do we do?’

He moved a couple of paces back into the hut and groped around in the wood pile. Seconds later he was back beside her, a sturdy makeshift club in his hand. ‘You wait with him. I’ll go and see,’ he whispered.

‘No!’ She caught at his sleeve. ‘It is you he wants.’

He looked at her, his brown eyes on hers. ‘You know this?’

She nodded. ‘A flash. A knowing. Don’t go out there.’

‘I have to go out there at some point, Mora,’ he said quietly. ‘Now is as good a time as any.’

Ducking out of the doorway he stood up, hefting the piece of wood in his hand. There was another moment’s silence, then a rustling from the bushes nearby. The branches parted and Flavius straightened up as he emerged into view. He was holding a drawn sword. ‘So, we meet at last.’ He took two paces towards Yeshua and stopped. ‘Our Jewish king, dressed like a peasant and covered in ash!’ He laughed grimly. Behind them Mora hid in the doorway out of sight, looking round desperately for a weapon. She glanced at the wood pile, then at the woodcutter behind the fire. He was sitting up, watching her. In the light of the flames she saw his face. He was clear-eyed and he gestured towards his pack which was lying in the darkness beyond the reach of the flames. She crept back towards him and taking hold of it pulled it towards the light. He leaned across and opened it. Inside there was a sharp bronze knife. He pulled it out and handed it to her. With a quick gesture he ran his finger across his own throat and then pointed to the doorway. Gripping the handle tightly she ran back and looked out again. Yeshua hadn’t moved. Flavius was standing about six paces from him, the short Roman sword held out in front of him. He was enjoying the moment. She could see it in his eyes. A cat with a mouse.

‘The time hasn’t come, my friend,’ Yeshua said quietly. His attention was fixed on Flavius. ‘My end has been foreseen by the prophets, and it is not now. Not here.’ His anger had gone to be replaced by calm confidence.

Flavius smiled. ‘Prophets can be wrong.’ He transferred the sword lightly from his right hand to his left and then back again. ‘Have you done your work with the sick man?’

Yeshua nodded. ‘He is healed.’

‘Pity. Then I will have to kill him as well. We want no witnesses here. It suits my purposes that you quietly disappear in the wilds of Britannia. History and your prophets will have to acknowledge that this time they got it wrong. There will be no word that you ever came to this country.’ His glance shifted past Yeshua for a moment, towards the hut. ‘Is Mora there too? It is sad but she also will have to die -’

‘No!’ There was an explosion of movement behind Flavius as Romanus hurled himself out of the bushes. ‘You can’t kill Mora. I won’t let you.’

Mora stepped outside, the knife in her hand. ‘And nor will I, Romanus!’ That one moment of distraction was all it needed.

Yeshua stepped forward, his club upraised and struck the sword from Flavius’s hand. ‘Enough!’ he shouted. ‘You are not going to interfere with my destiny or with the destiny of these innocent people.’ His face was white with anger again, his careful calm gone. ‘You are an evil man with no conscience and no shame! I will not let you hurt anyone here.’ His eyes narrowed with the fury that had gripped him.

Flavius staggered back, cradling his broken hand against his stomach. It was Romanus who picked up his sword. The boy’s face was white. ‘You were going to kill Mora.’ It seemed to be the only thing that had registered.

Flavius looked down at him with an expression of complete contempt. He snatched his sword from the boy’s hand, then he turned and began to walk away. Several paces on he paused and looked back. ‘I will do my duty to my Emperor,’ he called. ‘This may not after all be the time or place, but do not think you will escape me.’

Seconds later they heard the thud of hoofbeats on the ground, rapidly receding into the distance. They looked at each other.

‘Why?’ Mora gasped. ‘Why did he try to kill you? I don’t understand!’ She was trembling violently. The knife had fallen from her hand.

‘I didn’t realise what he was going to do,’ Romanus said miserably. ‘At least, he told me, but I didn’t believe it.’ The boy’s eyes filled with tears. ‘He said you were a traitor. Then he said you were a king.’ He brushed the tears away with the back of his hand. He was looking at Yeshua with curiosity and something like awe.

‘A king? I thought you told me your father was a carpenter and a mason and an architect!’ Mora put in. Her face was white. She turned to Romanus, Yeshua’s antecedents forgotten in the wave of indignation that swept over her. ‘You told him we would be here and you brought him here. You betrayed us. Why?’

Romanus looked devastated. ‘He made me come. He makes it hard to refuse. My head was in a muddle.’

Yeshua stepped forward and put his hand on the frightened boy’s shoulder. ‘I have a feeling it would be hard for anyone to refuse Flavius. Don’t blame him, Mora. You did the right thing in the end, Romanus, when you shouted. You saved our lives.’

Mora shook her head. ‘I still don’t understand. Why would he want to kill you? He’s a stranger. I thought he was Gaius Primus’s brother.’

‘He is his brother,’ Romanus said. ‘He’s my uncle. He came here all the way from a place called Sepphoris in Galilee, specially to find Yeshua.’

‘And kill him!’ Mora was distraught. ‘Why?’

Yeshua walked over and put his arm round her shoulders. ‘It’s complicated,’ he said. ‘I will explain when we get back. For now, we came here for a purpose. Come, let’s see how our patient does. We need to find his daughter to take care of him, then Romanus can come back with us. We have a long walk ahead of us.’

‘He was completely better,’ Romanus said as they walked down the track later. ‘His leg wasn’t broken any more.’ He was staring at Yeshua with something like hero worship.

‘No, it wasn’t. It was as if it had never been broken.’ Mora too kept glancing at him. ‘That was more than just a healer’s job. That was magic. The goddess Bride could not have done better.’

‘You are right, she couldn’t.’ Yeshua smiled. He rumpled Romanus’s hair. ‘It was God’s work. All I did was line up the bones, that was all.’

‘No, it was more than that.’ Mora was still looking at him, eyes narrowed. ‘I could not have done what you did today.’ They had left the man sitting up by the fire, drinking his daughter’s hot broth. She had returned at last just after Flavius left, explaining that a message purporting to come from Mora had sent her all the way back to the island, delaying her and keeping her away from her father. She was however carrying a bow and two skinned hares for the pot. She too had stared at her father’s leg in something like awe.

‘But it was broken in at least three places. The bone was protruding.’ She looked from Mora to Yeshua and back.

Yeshua shook his head. ‘Maybe it was not as bad as it looked.’ He hesitated. ‘As I said, it was God’s work. I prayed and He healed him. But your father will need nursing. The shock will return tomorrow so he should rest and drink more of your broth.’

It was growing late when they at last regained the lower ground, heading south towards home. At one point Mora stumbled on the track and dropped her bag. Yeshua lifted her to her feet. ‘Take care. You are tired.’

She shook her head. ‘I’m all right. We will be at Lydia’s soon.’

‘Will Flavius be there?’ Romanus looked up anxiously. Not for the first time he seemed uncertain.

Yeshua and Mora glanced at each other. ‘It’s possible,’ Mora said eventually.

‘Then you mustn’t come home with me.’ The boy straightened his shoulders, looking at Yeshua. ‘You must stay away from him.’ He looked at Mora pleadingly. ‘Mustn’t he?’

She nodded. ‘We have to avoid your house until we are sure that he has gone. I still can’t believe that happened today. The man is mad to think he can get away with such a wicked deed. He wouldn’t escape with his life if the people round here heard he had so flouted the laws of hospitality. Surely, he must realise,’ she added hopefully, ‘that he can never go back to his brother’s house. Mustn’t he?’ She glanced across at Yeshua.

‘I don’t think we can be sure about anything,’ Yeshua replied. ‘Supposing he has gone back. Would the boy be safe? He won’t exact revenge on him?’

Mora’s hands tightened on Romanus’s shoulders. ‘Perhaps you should come back to the island with us.’

Romanus shook his head. ‘My mother will be so worried if I don’t go home. I went without telling her this morning. Besides,’ he added bravely, ‘Uncle Flavius won’t hurt me.’

They both looked at him doubtfully. Mora shook her head. ‘That was wrong of you, to go without telling anyone. If something had happened to you, how would anyone have known where to look?’ she said gently.

He shrugged. ‘I was with Uncle Flavius.’

‘Exactly.’ She gave his shoulder a squeeze. She sighed. ‘Will you be all right if we leave you here? It is only a short step home for you and from here we can take the hidden trackway over the mere.’ She looked at him closely. ‘You haven’t told Flavius about the hidden ways through the marsh, have you?’

The boy shook his head vehemently.

‘When you brought him to see me before, you didn’t bring him that way?’

Romanus shook his head again. ‘I took him in the boat.’

She nodded in relief. ‘That was well done. We can take no chances.’ She glanced around in the dark. ‘I don’t feel him near -’

‘He isn’t,’ Yeshua said. ‘We are safe for now. May God’s blessing be on you, Romanus,’ he added quietly. He reached over and touched the boy’s head. ‘And may He keep you in His hand.’

‘Abi? Abi, are you all right?’

Abi was kneeling in the wet leaves, the crystal still between her hands. She looked up. Cal was standing a few feet away from her, holding a torch. It was dark.

But Mora was still there, standing in the shadows, looking at Abi, her hands outstretched. There was no sign now of Yeshua or Romanus.

Help us. You must help us. You have to tell the story…

‘Abi?’ Cal touched her arm. ‘Are you OK?’

Mora was still there, but she was fading. Abi reached out, grasping at the air. Already the figure had gone, fading back into the dark. In seconds the night was empty.

She looked up at Cal, her eyes blank. ‘I’m fine.’ She staggered stiffly to her feet. She was clutching the crystal, her fingers rigid with cold. ‘Let me put it back. The tree kept it safe, just as you said it would.’ She was shivering. How long had she been kneeling there as the evening drew into night? She had no idea. Behind them the house was ablaze with lights. They spilled out across the grass, drilling pools in the gathering mist. Tucking the crystal out of sight again and covering it with dry leaves, she followed Cal back inside and went upstairs to have a hot bath to soak the ache of cold out of her knees.

It was about nine o’clock when Ben rang her. ‘Justin just got back to me,’ he said. ‘He’s agreed to come tomorrow to talk to you. Can you be here about ten?’

She bit her lip. Was this what she really wanted? ‘Abi?’ Ben’s anxious voice rang in her ear. ‘Can you make it?’

‘Yes,’ she said at last. ‘Yes, of course.’

Athena was sitting on the sofa in her living room, once more attired in her red dragon dressing gown, her bare feet tucked up under her. She was reading one of the books on crystals from her shop. She leaned forward and took another sip from the whisky glass on the table, hearing the ice cubes chink companionably as she set it down again. Outside she could hear voices and laughter from the courtyard below. Someone let out a shout and she heard a glass breaking on the paving stones. She sighed and picked up the book again. Did she believe in ghosts? Did she believe in the goddess? Did she believe in Atlantis? If she did, she read, it was possible that the priestesses of Atlantis used crystals as repositories of their wisdom. Sort of primitive tape-recorders. No, not primitive. Up to the mark. The latest thing. Crystal technology. Was that it? Was that what Abi’s crystal was? A record of past events, events so momentous that someone had felt they should be dictated into the rock and kept forever. She thumbed through the pages. There were dozens of photographs of all the different crystals and their structures. Complicated, intricate, multi-formed. Then came the instructions on how to decode them. Ah, that was the rub, of course. How to decode the secrets. Something Abi seemed to have stumbled on by accident, and now seemed to have lost. Perhaps she had just switched off the machine. Reaching for the glass she took another sip. Tim had always hated her drinking whisky. It was man’s drink, he used to say. She gave a rueful smile and raised the glass in a toast to the dear departed. ‘My drink still, my dear, and I’m all the better for it,’ she said out loud. ‘Unlike you, it seems.’ She let the book drop on her lap. ‘Bloody crystals.’

Abi woke to find the eastern sky flooded with crimson. She lay in bed staring towards the window, still lost in her dream, but already it was going. ‘Red sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning,’ the words ran through her head like a mantra as she recalled the vision of the sacred spring on the hillside beneath the ancient yews. And this had been a dream, she was sure of it. And yet.

Mora and Yeshua had been standing at the foot of a processional way. Abi could see it stretching through an avenue of yew trees winding through the ancient orchards up towards the Tor. There was a mist hanging over the fenland, shrouding the reedy waters. Mora glanced at Yeshua and smiled as she recognised the distant look in his eyes. So much about him was familiar to her now, the mysticism, the tendency to dream, the profound inner life, the constant need to pray and then the sudden mood swings when anger and frustration bubbled up in the face of the injustices and pain they saw around them.

‘It’s time to go,’ she said gently. She walked up to him and, facing him, took his hands in hers. ‘Yeshua?’

He was far away. He didn’t seem to realise she was there. With a fond smile she raised the hands to her lips and dropped a gentle kiss on them. Then she gasped. His hands were sticky with blood. There were gaping wounds in his wrists, blood was pouring down his palms. ‘Yeshua!’ She couldn’t hold back her cry of distress.

He blinked and looked down at her, focusing on her face, seeing her dismay. Slowly pulling his hands out of her grip he reached up and touched her face. ‘Mora?’ The blood had vanished. ‘What is it?’

She shook her head, too upset to speak, turning her head away. Out there on the waters of the mere a stray beam of sunlight pierced the mist, highlighting the ripples to a glittering carpet. ‘You saw something?’

‘Nothing. I saw nothing.’ She blinked away the tears.

He moved round slightly so he was facing her again and she felt his gaze on her face. She refused to meet his eyes and after a moment he sighed. She felt his finger touch her cheek, stroking away a tear. ‘The time has come for me to go home, Mora,’ he said after another moment’s silence. ‘Joseph will soon be arriving in Axiom. I have to go and speak to your father and tell him.’

Somehow she forced a smile. ‘He is going to miss you. He looks forward to your talks together, your exchange of stories.

He nodded. ‘The way of your people, to instruct with stories and poems. Never to write the important things down. It intrigues me. There are clear messages there in the stories for everyone and yet only the initiates understand the hidden meanings. We write down our laws and our histories, the rules of our religion. You remember yours.’ He sighed. ‘Sometimes by writing things down they are cast in stone. That is not always good either.’

She nodded. She lifted her hand and put it over his, where it lay on her shoulder. She felt the muscles and bones, the strong sinews under her fingers, warm and vibrant, without scars, and she quickly brushed away another tear.

Abi slipped out of bed and went to kneel by the window, watching the crimson light flood across the sky. Through Mora’s eyes she had seen a vision of Jesus’ wounds. Out there, on the hillside above the Chalice Well, a druid priestess had touched the hands of Jesus and traced the wounds of the Crucifixion with her finger; felt his blood warm on her hands. Awed, she closed her eyes and began to pray.

It was half an hour later that she was interrupted by a quiet tap on the door. It was Cal. ‘I don’t know if you want to have breakfast before the B & B guests appear? Up to you.’

Abi was out of the house by nine, glancing up at the stormy sky. The old saw was right. It was going to rain. Already the wind was tearing at the leaves, whirling them into the air, and heavy clouds were racing in, piling up into threatening masses over the Mendips. The first heavy raindrops began to fall as she headed for the car.

Justin was already at the Rectory, closeted with Ben in his study. Janet let Abi in and took her coat from her. She had managed to get soaked in the short run from the car. She shook back her hair and ran her fingers through it in an attempt to restore it to some kind of order. She saw her hostess glance at it.

‘Wild weather!’ Janet said brightly. ‘Come in. They are waiting for you.’ Her sudden look of disapproval as she opened the door led Abi to suspect she was not one of Justin Cavendish’s fans either.

Justin was sprawled in one of the fireside chairs, Ben standing with his back to the hearth. Spits of rain were hissing on the logs behind him.

Justin climbed to his feet. ‘Come and get warm.’

‘I’ve been telling Justin a little about the background to your case, Abi,’ Ben said. He glanced at the window as a squall threw leaves against it from the lawn.

‘My case?’ Abi took Justin’s chair. She shivered.

‘Your situation would be a better way of describing it,’ Justin said thoughtfully. He was standing looking down at her.

‘And am I allowed to know what your exact qualifications are for being wheeled in as consultant to my “situation”?’ Abi asked. She was feeling uncomfortable under his intense gaze. Her hair was dripping down her neck. What she wanted was a towel and a hot drink, not an instant launch into theological dispute.

‘My exact qualifications?’ Justin grinned. ‘I don’t know. What has my big brother told you about me? Both my big brothers, come to that. Mat, I can guarantee, would have had nothing good to contribute to my CV. I’d be interested to know how Ben described me.’

Ben grimaced. ‘I’m not sure that I did. Beyond saying that you were the expert on matters of an occult nature. What I do is sometimes called deliverance; maybe for you it is something similar?’

Justin moved back and sat down in the free armchair. ‘The word occult always has pejorative overtones I find. And deliverance implies that someone or something feels they need to be delivered. So, can we get our definitions straight before we start? To my mind, most Christians who think they are seeing Jesus Christ in a vision of some kind would be rejoicing and clamouring for more, not sending for the nearest druid to stop it happening.’

Abi stared at him. ‘Druid?’ she echoed blankly.

‘Ah. So you didn’t even tell her that, big brother?’ Justin looked at Ben.

Ben shrugged. ‘I hadn’t got round to it, no.’

‘So, you are a full-paid-up pagan,’ Abi said slowly.

Justin grinned. ‘Ah, now that would also be leaping to conclusions. In Christian circles pagan is a bit of an iffy term.’

‘In Cambridge where I was a curate there are a lot of pagans,’ she went on thoughtfully. ‘Some were viciously hostile to Christians, others were interested in talking, seeking for areas of mutual understanding.’

Justin inclined his head. ‘Then put me down as one of the latter.’ He sat forward on the edge of his chair. ‘I think in this case, though, it is my areas of expertise which are needed, not narrow definitions of what I may or may not believe. I am trained in various techniques, shall we call them, which are for whatever reason not often available to Christian ministers. Soul retrieval. Shamanic travelling. There are Christians who do these things. My brother is not one of them, bless his heart,’ he glanced at Ben, ‘and neither, obviously is the Reverend Scott. He and I met and had a little chat after our first encounter at Woodley, and since then I have been hearing about some more of his exploits. I gather it is his interference in your life which has caused you so much grief with his accusations that what you are experiencing is in some way evil.’

Abi smiled doubtfully. ‘I think you’ve put the case very succinctly.’ She frowned. ‘Where did you meet him?’

‘In Glastonbury. There is no need to worry. It was accidental and no blood was spilled.’ He smiled mischievously.

‘If he was rude, I’m sorry.’

‘He is not your responsibility, Abi. That much is clear.’ He paused. ‘Now, having heard my qualifications for helping you, you haven’t as yet run screaming for the door, crossing yourself in horror.’

‘No. Not yet. I’m finding my experience very positive.’

‘Good. Then we have a basis for proceeding.’ Justin turned to Ben. ‘If you could lever Janet’s ear from the far side of the door and get her to make Abi and me some coffee, then you and she can go out for the day. That will give us a chance to talk.’

Ben scowled. ‘There is no need to be offensive, Justin.’

‘No?’ Justin rose to his feet and in three strides he was across the room. He pulled open the door. Janet was outside in the hall, a duster in her hand. She looked flustered. ‘Is everything all right in there?’

‘Everything, my dear sister-in-law.’ Justin looked down at her coldly. ‘Coffee, if you please.’

‘Justin, you are being gratuitously unpleasant!’ Ben stood up too. ‘All you had to do was to ask me to leave you alone. If that is all right with Abi?’ He turned to her.

Abi looked from one brother to the other in dismay. The tension was crackling between them suddenly. ‘I think I would rather that Ben stayed,’ she said after a moment. ‘If you don’t mind.’

‘Ye gods!’ Justin looked skywards. ‘I can’t work like that. Do you want to learn or not?’

‘I don’t know what I want to learn,’ Abi retorted. ‘I don’t know what you are offering.’ She had been on the point of telling them about her dream; about the vision of the stigmata. Glad now that she hadn’t, she looked at the two men again. ‘All I want to know is how to control these visions I’m having. How to switch them on and off, and what significance my mother’s crystal rock has. Nothing else. I don’t want to learn shamanic drumming or druid rituals or whatever else it was you mentioned.’ She too stood up. She looked from one man to the other with a sudden surge of resentment. ‘In fact, I don’t want to learn anything. I am sick to death of men telling me what to believe and how to do it! First my father, then Kier and now you two. I think we’ll leave it now. I’m going.’ She made for the door.

Justin swung round. He caught her arm. ‘Wait, Abi -’

‘No!’ She wrenched her arm free. ‘No, I won’t wait. I want nothing more to do with this. It was a bad idea. I have no intention of getting involved in the Cavendish family row, whatever it may be. In fact I can see clearly what it is about. You seem to enjoy making a mockery of as many people as possible, Justin. Well, count me out. I’m going back to Woodley.’

She didn’t wait to see what they did. Grabbing her coat from the hall stand she opened the front door and stormed out into the rain.

The abbey car park was almost empty. Turning in, Abi parked and sat still. She was still shaking from head to foot with fury. She wasn’t sure why she had come straight here. Perhaps because she hadn’t wanted to go to Woodley and have to explain her sudden return to Cal; she hadn’t wanted to go to Athena’s either. There was nowhere else she could go. She sat back miserably and closed her eyes.

When at last she had calmed down she climbed out and headed in towards the ruins. The Lady Chapel was empty. Rain splattered down on the stone and dripped from the ancient walls all around her. She stood there shivering, staring up at the broken arches of the windows with their drooping adornment of late valerian. Jesus was here. He had to be. He was everywhere. So why couldn’t she feel him? Suddenly there were tears in her eyes.

‘You look a bit wet.’ The cheerful voice behind her shocked her out of her thoughts. She turned to see an elderly man standing a few feet from her. He was wearing a long stockman’s coat and a broad-brimmed hat. He had a neat white beard. She managed a smile. ‘It suddenly didn’t seem such a good idea to come in here.’

‘It’s always a good idea to come here.’ He looked at her shrewdly. ‘Give it a few minutes and its peace will begin to work. Put the day behind you. Don’t try and sort it all out in your head, just let it happen by itself.’ He grinned and rather rakishly touched the brim of his hat. Then he turned and left, walking steadily through the rain up the steps which led out onto the grass and out of sight. Abi found herself smiling. That at least was good advice. The best yet today. She felt a shiver of excitement. The interruption, the comment of a stranger had indeed cleared her head. The lines of one of her favourite hymns were running through her head:

Be still for the presence of the Lord

The Holy one is here…

We stand on holy ground

‘We stand on holy ground,’ she whispered the words out loud. Suddenly, standing there in the rain, between one moment and the next, she could feel it all around her, the holiness and the magic of this place.

Athena was in the shop. She had a set of small tools spread out on the counter in front of her and seemed to be working on an amber brooch, twisting silver wire into an intricate knot. ‘Hello.’ She looked up.

Abi stopped in her tracks. ‘You’re busy.’

‘No, I’ve nearly finished.’ Athena laid down the pair of narrow pliers. ‘You look like a drowned rat. I take it you were hoping for a hot drink and somewhere warm?’

Abi shrugged. ‘That would be nice. Maybe I am. But above all I want to know about Justin Cavendish.’

‘Why?’

Abi told her what had happened.

Ten minutes later Athena tucked her tools into their soft suede roll, locked away the piece she was working on and closed the shop – ‘No-one is coming in this afternoon anyway in this weather – ’ and they were once again on the green sofa in the cafe two doors up.

‘Are you sure you want to know?’ Athena ventured.

Abi nodded. It was warm and comfortable in the café, pleasantly noisy, the overlay of quiet chatter backed by a soundtrack of some sort of Celtic harp music. She warmed her hands on the mug of hot tea in front of her. ‘I need to know. It’s not just curiosity. Not now. It may be that he can help me.’

‘You don’t need help, Abi. Not his nor anyone else’s,’ Athena repeated firmly. ‘How many times do I have to tell you?’

‘I do need help. I haven’t the courage to do it alone.’

‘Do what?’ Athena pushed herself forward to the edge of the seat. ‘What is it you need to do so badly, Abi?’

‘Find out what it is that Mora is trying to tell me. She is trying to say something to me. And before you ask, yes, I have tried to talk to her. I have tried to have some kind of to and fro with her. She sees me and she wants me to listen. I’m not afraid of her or of what I am seeing. I’m prepared to try anything. I don’t think it’s evil. I don’t think I’m dealing with demons. We are just in two different places and there is some sort of barrier in between us.’ She put down her mug. ‘This is not just a ghost story, Athena.’

Athena was sitting back on the sofa now, her cup cradled between her hands. She was studying the reflection of the lights on the surface of her green tea. She sighed. ‘Don’t trust Justin, Abi.’

Abi studied her face. ‘Why?’ she said at last.

‘Just don’t.’

‘I know you don’t like him now, but he must have been a friend of yours once.’

Athena shook her head. ‘Once perhaps.’

‘So, what happened?’

‘Let’s say he can be dangerous.’ Athena sat back and folded her arms.

‘I think you need to tell me,’ Abi said quietly. ‘After all, Ben seems to trust him.’

There was another pause, then Athena sat forward. ‘OK.’ She held Abi’s gaze. ‘Justin caused the death of someone very close to me. Not deliberately. He was trying to help her, but he was in way over his head and he killed her.’

Abi stared at her. She felt a shiver pass right through her body. For a moment she was incapable of speech. It was several seconds before she could ask, ‘How?’

Athena looked up. ‘I don’t want to talk about it. I’m sorry. Just keep away from him, Abi.’