Beltane

by Alys West

  Tanya pushed her chair from the table and stood up. “I guess I’d better go and get ready for my healing.”

  Penny gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t let my experiences of karmic wave put you off. Just make sure you drink lots of water before and after the healing.”

  “Oh, okay,” Tanya said and then she grinned. “But I’ve got a date this evening. What’s he going to think if I only drink water?”

  Zoe looked up. “With Dave?”

  “Yes.” Tanya’s face was bright with excitement. “Because I’m leaving tomorrow, he’s skipping cricket training so he can take me out tonight.”

  “That’s great. Where are you going?” Zoe said.

  “Somewhere he knows in Wells. He’s picking me up at seven.”

  Zoe smiled. “I hope you have a great time.”

  There was silence for a few moments after Tanya left then Penny said, “What are you doing today?”

  “I’m going to look for the Lady of the Lake,” Zoe replied which, of course, led to explaining her reasons for coming to Glastonbury. Soon Penny and Tony were suggesting sites connected to Arthurian legend that she should draw. While she made mental notes of the places they mentioned she wondered if subconsciously she’d already decided to stay.

  “There’s a walk along the River Brue that gives a good view of the Tor,” Penny said, leaning towards Zoe. “When you see the view over the Levels it’s easy to imagine Glastonbury as the Isle of Avalon. We’re walking into town this morning. We could show you where the walk starts if you like?”

  “That would be really helpful. If you’re sure I’m not putting you out?” Zoe said.

  “Not at all.” Tony glanced at his watch. “Can you be ready in about ten minutes?”

  “No problem. I’ll meet you in the garden if that’s alright?”

  She drained her coffee cup and headed through the kitchen. In the hall she caught sight of the broken husk of the Green Man’s tree and, after a quick glance over her shoulder, hurried into the garden. The carpet of green leaves was slippery beneath her feet. Twigs snapped as she trod on them. A blustery wind swirled debris around her ankles.

  The Green Man’s tree had been cleft down the middle into two shattered halves joined only by the root system. Resting her hand on the bark, she craned forward to peer through the V formed by the bisected trunk. The wood in the centre of each half had been roughly hollowed out. It looked bizarrely like someone had started to make a canoe from the trunk without bothering to fell the tree first.

  Zoe stepped back to look at the Green Man’s face. She wanted a final moment with him before the chainsaws moved in. He’d been her lucky charm. If she decided to stay then she would miss his handsome face.

  It wasn’t there. In its place was an oval that had been ripped in two as the trunk had split. She reached up to touch the half of the oval closest to her. The bark felt strangely soft beneath her fingers. It was as if the Green Man had been erased by the storm. But that was impossible. Of all the things lightning could do, removing a carving wasn’t one of them. The fear and uneasiness she’d felt since arriving here, that had magnified when she found the doll last night, formed into a churning ball of nausea in the pit of her stomach.

  She waited, hoping for the same sense of reassurance that she’d felt when she talked to the Green Man. Instead the queasiness intensified. Goosebumps broke out on the back of her neck. Abruptly and absurdly she wanted to cry. Turning her back on the broken ruin of the tree she hurried into the house.

  Back in her room the sketches of the mystery man lay where she’d left them on her unmade bed. It was obvious from the conversation at breakfast that she couldn’t leave them there. She slipped them into her portfolio and then, prompted by the obscure sense of fear that the Green Man’s missing face had produced, she looked around for somewhere to hide it. Under the bed was the only possibility and she slid it as far as she could reach.

  Hurriedly she shoved her pencil case, sketchpad and umbrella in her bag. After glancing at the overcast skies she screwed up her cagoule and pushed that in too. She really hoped she wasn’t going to have to wear it. It was the world’s least flattering garment. Grabbing the bulging bag, she ran down the stairs, through the porch and into the garden. Then she stopped.

  Maeve stood by the Green Man’s tree talking to two men. A chainsaw rested on the grass by the feet of the taller man. He was a good-looking guy, broad shouldered with chin length brown hair. A skinny lad in his late teens leaned on a rake, obviously bored. “I want the wood cut into logs that I can use for a fire,” Maeve said.

  Zoe stepped back into the open door of the porch – out of Maeve’s line of sight – and checked her watch. What was keeping Penny and Tony? They’d said ten minutes and it was nearer fifteen.

  “There’s one more thing, Dylan,” Maeve said. “I want you to find something for me. Something that was on the tree but that has gone missing since the explosion.”

  Zoe peered around the door frame. “It’s a small doll, about so high.” Maeve’s fingers moved a couple of inches apart. “Made of wood and cloth and wrapped in bark.”

  Shit! The doll! How had she forgotten about it? For a second, she stared at the figures on the lawn as if they were actors in a play.

  “In all of this, you want us to find a doll?” Dylan said, his voice incredulous.

  “Yes, it’s of great sentimental value. There’ll be a bonus for you and Kyle.” Zoe heard Maeve say as she turned and ran through the porch.

  She stopped abruptly when she saw Penny and Tony coming down the stairs in a clatter of walking boots. “Sorry, we’re a bit late. Are you ready to go?” Tony said.

  “I…I just forgot something. I’ll only be a minute,” Zoe said. “I’ll catch you up.”

  “Are you alright?” Penny said. “You look a bit pale.”

  “Yes. Fine,” Zoe called as she sprinted up the stairs.

  She slammed the door shut behind her and strode to the chest of drawers. Yanking open the top drawer she pulled the doll out. She’d expected it would have lost its power overnight. That the bright light of day would be a reality check to her silly, drunken fears.

  Only it wasn’t. The doll’s roughly scrawled face leered at her. Its miniature arms and legs hung limply, twisted from imprisonment in the bark binding. Even at ten thirty on a grey, Monday morning and nursing a hangover, it was still the freakiest thing she’d ever seen in real life. She had to get it out of here before Maeve found out she’d taken it. And worse, hacked it apart with her scissors. She stuffed the doll into the depths of her bag and ran for the door.

  * * *

  Maeve walked slowly across the lawn, pausing to pluck the heads from broken flowers. Earlier, not long after dawn had unobtrusively crept across the sunless sky, she’d inspected the damage. It was cruelly, mercilessly extensive. Her spring flowers obliterated, the pond leaking and choked with foliage, shrubs and rose bushes crushed. Years of hard work wiped out in a single moment. In the gentle early morning light she sat by the pond and let grief wash over her. Other women would have cried. Maeve hadn’t wept in decades. She didn’t now.

  Fury had tempered the grief. Her loss was far greater than the devastation that surrounded her. But she wouldn’t mourn until it was certain that what had been lost could not be recovered.

  Returning to her office she threw her sunglasses on the desk. It took a massive effort of will to stay upright. Every step sent jolts of agony through her body. Sunlight felt like needles in her eyeballs. The exhaustion from yesterday had been compounded by a night without rest and the brutal backlash that had overwhelmed her when the spell on the tree had recoiled.

  At the moment of explosion, pain had ripped a scream from her throat, buckled her legs and almost rendered her senseless. Struggling to retain consciousness, she’d fought against her growing awareness of the tree’s destruction. Crawling over to the window and hauling herself up, she’d been desperate for her sense of disaster to be dispelled.

&nbs
p; It hadn’t been. The garden was destroyed. The Beltane sacrifice was lost. For a while after that she’d been beyond control. In the cool light of day she somewhat regretted that. It had resulted in unnecessary questions from her guests. When the exquisite release of destruction had waned, she’d become aware that she was dangerously weakened. She’d dragged herself, using stick and wall as support, to Helena’s room. The girl slept soundly which had made it easy to take what she needed. She’d been careful to limit herself. She needed Helena to be able to do her work and there would be a further boost in the morning.

  Hearing the roar of the chainsaw Maeve’s hand moved to rest on the black leather cover of her grimoire. She had to find out what had caused the catastrophe. Only then could she formulate a plan to regain what she’d lost.

  The defences that she’d placed on the boundaries of her property remained intact. An inspection of the tree had revealed that lightning was a convenient explanation but not the actual cause. She’d taken the precaution of adding a few scorch marks to the trunk to add veracity.

  Her hours of deliberation since first light had proved inconclusive. She needed the poppet. Dylan and Kyle had to find it. With the poppet in her hands she could identify the force that had destroyed the tree.

  After glancing at the clock she left the office, walked through the house to the French windows and along the path to the garden wing. More slowly than usual she prepared the treatment room. Lighting candles, putting the anodyne New Age music on the CD player, plumping the pillows on the couch.

  She heard a tentative tap on the door. Opening it, she welcomed Tanya. The girl stood hesitantly in the doorway, fidgeting with the zip on her hooded top. Pressing her lips together, Maeve explained what would happen during the healing. When Tanya was settled on the couch with a soft fleece blanket over her, Maeve asked her to close her eyes. Repeating the same mantras again and again, she emphasised the most important word. “Relax, you’re safe here. Relax and engage with the healing energy.”

  As Tanya’s breathing slowed, Maeve placed her hands a centimetre above her guest’s forehead and concentrated on Tanya’s aura. A dirty brown overlaid her energy field showing that, despite all the time she’d spent listening to the girl whinge about her broken relationship, Tanya continued to hold on to negative emotions. Maeve’s hands moved up and down stirring the air above Tanya’s body. As the negativity was removed, Tanya’s aura glowed in swirls of bright orange and emerald green.

  Maeve smiled. That was exactly what she needed.

  Chapter 5

  Leaving the cafe Finn headed for the bank hoping that his tramp-like appearance wouldn’t count against him. The girl behind the counter was pretty but not too bright. It took him twenty minutes to convince her that although his debit card had expired he was the same Finn McCloud named on his account and it was not contrary to bank procedures to give him access to his money.

  Back on the High Street he spotted a bus heading for Street and jumped on it. He knew from his visit in October that it was impossible to buy anything practical in Glastonbury. The shopping village in Street had a couple of decent outdoor shops and he quickly purchased a complete change of clothes, spares to keep him going for at least a week, new boots and a small rucksack. In a cubicle in the toilets he stripped off, placed his hands over the gash on his chest and closed his eyes. When he looked down the cut had shrunk to a thin pink line. He did the same with the wound on his thigh until sweat poured down his face. Too much, too soon, he realised. His other injuries would have to wait. After putting on his new clothes, he shoved his old kit in the bin and packed his old boots and the spares in his rucksack.

  He decided to walk back to Glastonbury. It was only a couple of miles. He needed the earth beneath his feet. To feel, however weakly, the connection to its energy.

  Ignoring the busy main road, he took a route that cut across the Somerset Levels. He soon realised that his mind was much keener on this walk than his body. His legs were stiff. After ten minutes his back started to ache. He slowed his pace, his stride shortened by the tightness in his muscles.

  When he reached the river he followed it and saw the Tor in front of him. An uncomfortable reminder of the mistakes he’d made. Blind, stupid mistakes that could easily have been fatal. It was only the knowledge that Cat had escaped that made him any less furious with himself.

  He would have to ring both his sister and his Mum when he got back to Glastonbury. He was being a prat to have put it off this long. But he wasn’t ready to deal with their reactions. At least there was no pressure to contact his father. Six months without contact would barely be noticed.

  On the path ahead of him was a figure. Drawing closer he was surprised to see a young woman sitting on the ground. As he got nearer he saw that she stared at the Tor for long moments before bending her head to a book resting on her bent knees. He realised that she was drawing. She was so intent that he didn’t want to disturb her even by walking past. He was in no hurry. It was no big deal to wait a while.

  Finn had been lucky enough to see otters frolicking off the Outer Hebrides, elephants bathing in Botswana and humpback whales in the icy waters of Alaska. This woman was as fascinating to watch as the best of them. Her left hand moved swiftly over the paper, then stopped and hovered, while she studied the view in front of her. The wind teased at her long brown hair, plucking tendrils from her ponytail and blowing them around her face. The coat she sat on flapped in the breeze. She was oblivious to these distractions.

  Drizzle started to fall. The woman held out her palm and looked up at the overcast skies. Standing, she picked her coat from the ground. The wind caught the waterproof making it billow and as she fought to hold it her sketchpad fell from her hand. Three sheets of white paper blew in tumbling arcs towards the river. Finn focused his mind and reached out to stop them.

  * * *

  Zoe tried to grab the pages but she was much too slow. She dropped her coat and ran, knowing as she did that it was hopeless. The sketches were a dozen steps ahead of her heading inexorably towards the river.

  But then the pages stopped. Miraculously, as if they’d hit an invisible wall, they fell on the very edge of the river bank. She dashed to catch them before another gust caught them. She’d not be that lucky twice.

  A tall man, in black fleece and jeans with a rucksack on his back, strode towards them. He reached the pictures before she did, bent to pick them up. As he straightened she thought I know you from somewhere.

  “Have you lost something?” The man smiled as he held the sketches out to her. A quick, ready smile.

  “Thanks. I thought there was no way they weren’t going in the river. Thanks for grabbing them.”

  “No problem. Seems like the Lady of the Lake is just trying to get back to the water.” The man’s smile widened into a grin.

  “You recognised her?”

  “Sure. How many other women lurk in lakes brandishing swords?”

  “Sorry. That must have sounded like a really silly question.” Heat crept over her cheeks. “It’s just that I’m illustrating a children’s book about King Arthur. And, to be honest, it’s not been going very well. So it’s great that you recognised the Lady of the Lake straight away. Makes me think I’m doing something right after all.”

  “I’m no expert on art or King Arthur but they look good to me,” the man said.

  Zoe pushed damp hair from her eyes and stole a glance at him. He was looking past her, his gaze fixed on the path as if he was about to walk away. The silence was on the edge of becoming uncomfortable when he said, “I’m Finn, by the way.”

  “Hi. I’m Zoe.” She smiled up at him. Boy, was he tall! He looked to be in his late twenties. The dark circles under his eyes and his pallid skin made him look exhausted. He had a bruise on one cheekbone and a plaster above his left eye.

  Her coat, lifted by the wind, suddenly turned clumsy cartwheels across the path. “Oh my God!” Zoe said, trying ineffectually to grab it. Finn ran forward on long, stron
g legs and caught it. Seeing him grimace, she found herself wondering if his injuries weren’t only on his face.

  “Thanks again.” Zoe laughed to cover her embarrassment. “I want you to know that I don’t usually have this many problems with my possessions.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Do you want to put this on?” Finn held the cagoule out for her.

  It was a delightfully gentlemanly gesture. Only problem was she really didn’t want him to see her in it. But as the thin drizzling rain had become persistent she decided it would seem ridiculous to refuse. “Yes, thanks,” she murmured. Aware of Finn’s closeness, she slipped her arms into the sleeves.

  “But you haven’t got a coat. You’re going to get soaked. You can borrow my umbrella if you like?” Zoe slid her pad - now safely enclosing her sketches - inside her bag and rummaged until she found a pink and purple umbrella.

  “Thanks, but it’s not my colour,” Finn said. “You use it. I don’t mind getting wet. I’m used to being outside in all weathers.” Rain slid over his cheekbones and soaked into his hair until it looked almost black. She stared at him. Why did she feel like she’d seen his face somewhere before?

  Opening her umbrella she tried to remember where. The wind caught it and blew it inside out. Finn reached up, grabbed one side and pulled it the right way round. “Careful or you’ll take off.”

  Zoe tried to close it but the umbrella resisted. Finn moved to stand between her and the wind. Immediately it collapsed. Zoe kept her head down as she stuffed it back in her bag. “Thanks,” she muttered.

  “No problem.” His voice sounded different. She glanced up and saw he was trying not to laugh. “I’m glad you’re enjoying this! I couldn’t be more embarrassed.”

  “If you’re going back to Glastonbury I’ll walk with you. Just in case anything else you own decides to blow away.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem.” Finn laughed. Zoe glared at him. He laughed harder. It was a deep, rich sound and annoyingly infectious. Her frown faltered and then she found she was laughing.