Sands of Time
Page 33
In her mind’s eye she conjured again the picture of the power station, so close along the coast. Its great white dome would be easily visible from the edge of the sea.
As she climbed out into the bitter dawn, the bottle was in her hand. ‘OK. Come on. I’ll show you where we’re going. More powerful than anything you ever dreamed of.’ It was windy here. Her hair whipped round her face. She paused, half expecting the rear door of the car to open. It didn’t. There was no sound. Nodding grimly she turned towards the sea wall, and searching for a gap set off into the teeth of the wind down across the pebbled beach.
The tide was nearly high; it hurtled in against the pebbles with a rattle of falling stones and shingle and she stood for a moment staring at it, dazed by the noise. In front of her the sky had begun to turn red. Along the coast the dome reflected the hint of blood.
It was bitterly cold. She stared round, to see if Carstairs was following her. There was no sign of him. Her fingers tightened round the bottle.
Stray shreds of mist were drifting in off the sea.
Suddenly she began to run down towards the tide line, the pebbles shifting and lurching beneath her feet. She was there. He couldn’t stop her now.
In her hand one of the last drops of moisture worked its way through the wrapping in her hand to dampen her fingers in the wind. Above her head a cloud seemed to coalesce and waver. She sensed its presence. Stopping she whirled round in time to see two figures, white, wispy in the dawn light. They towered over her, arms outstretched towards her. She could feel their anguish – and their anger. ‘Oh God, the priests! They know what I’m going to do!’ Clutching the bottle to her she backed away, terrified. They were coming towards her. They were growing in strength. Their mutual enmity forgotten, they were intent on one thing – the small bottle in Anna’s hand and the final few drops of its precious contents. In a moment they would envelop her.
‘No!’ Her scream rang out into the roar of the sea and was echoed by the cry of a gull. A small trickle of moisture ran up her arm. It was warm. Healing. Blessed.
Hold on to it. Don’t let them have it!
Carstairs’ voice was strong.
Save it, Anna. Keep it for us!
Inside the bottle the last drop of liquid seeped past the cork. And was blown away in the wind. As their final echoing shrieks of despair dissipated into silence the two figures began to fade. The last traces of mist vanished over the sea.
Anna took a deep breath. She was only yards from the water. They couldn’t stop her. No one could stop her now.
‘Can you feel it? The power?’ she cried. ‘Over there. Along the coast? And here. Even better, here in the sea! This is where the bottle belongs! This is where it is going! To follow the priests into oblivion!’ Running down across the last strip of pebbles she headed for the waves.
No! Stop!
Suddenly he seemed to realise what she had in mind. She felt a blow on her shoulder. She spun round as fingers grasped her wrist. The bottle was being wrestled from her hand. The bubble wrap tore free and she saw it bowling away along the shingle as the bottle slipped from her grasp and fell amongst the stones. Without a second’s thought she swooped on it and falling to her knees she picked up a large smooth stone. She had forgotten the danger. She had forgotten to be afraid. Her only thought was to prevent Roger Carstairs snatching the bottle from her. At all costs she had to stop him from getting it. Lifting her arm she brought the stone down on the bottle with all her strength.
No!
His scream of anguish was appalling as the glass splintered, and suddenly the whole world seemed to stand still. The wind dropped. The sea grew silent. She knelt there on the stones staring down at the small patch of broken glass. Amongst the splinters, a few damp grains of sand sifted, ran down into the shingle and disappeared.
Anna cringed, waiting.
Nothing happened. No explosion. No Egyptian goddess. No archangels. No high priests. As the last touch of moisture evaporated into the air the power was gone. On the horizon the sky was blazing, but it was a silent sunrise.
Then slowly she became aware of the sound of the sea again. And the wind. A gust blew past her and the final grains of Egyptian sand disappeared. The crunched slivers of glass settled in amongst the stones and vanished. In a few moments the rising tide would come and obliterate the spot. She climbed to her feet and watched as the sea crashed in up the beach, swirling, clean. Purifying.
A gull flew up the beach past her, its eerie cry echoing in the wind.
It seems you win, Anna.
He was still there.
‘The priests have gone.’ She was defiant; triumphant.
Indeed they have. The breath of Isis sustained them. They were always beyond my command.
‘You thought something would happen, didn’t you? You thought the whole world would blow up!’ Shaking as much from cold as fear, she was staring down at the line of waves breaking on the shore at her feet. She had already lost sight of the place where the bottle had broken.
Indeed I did. As did you. Which makes you a brave woman. A worthy descendant of my Louisa. There was a pause. But a foolish one. Did you think to thwart me so easily? I will find the power I need. One day.
She turned. There was still no sign of him. The beach was empty. ‘What is it you want power for? You still haven’t told me.’
Nor will I! But when I have it the whole world will hear once again of Roger Carstairs!
She shuddered.
And so will you, Anna. So will you. But in the meantime, maybe after all you are the right woman for my great-great grandson. You could make a man of him.
Anna was staring out to sea, her hands wedged into her pockets.
On the horizon a crimson segment of sun was beginning to show.
‘Do you remember the Egyptian dawn?’ she whispered. ‘The birth of the Sun God, Ra?’
But the tears of Isis had vanished; there was no place any longer for Egyptian magic in this cold land on the edge of the world. In seconds the rising sun was swallowed by a line of black cloud. The crimson path of light in the sea was extinguished; the water turned grey. Sizewell power station vanished in the drifting mist.
There was a quiet chuckle. She turned. It sounded so close. So real. Then she felt him. His hands were on her shoulders. His lips on hers.
So. The god has gone too. For now. Goodbye. Good luck, my dear. She could feel his breath on her cheek. Smell the sweet pomade. We could have been so good together. It is a shame we weren’t born in the same century, Mrs Fox. A great shame. But I will return for you one day. Make no mistake about that. The voice was fading to a whisper. Until then, farewell.
And the voice was gone.
Only the sound of the shift and suck of the tide on the beach and the cry of gulls broke the cold silence of the dawn.
19
When Toby and Phyllis and Serena arrived it had been full daylight for a while. Anna was sitting on the sea wall, her hands in her pockets, her coat collar turned up around her neck. The tide was at its height, gentler now, lapping at the seaweed and shells which marked its highest point. Soon it would start its retreat and draw back across the beach, leaving it sparkling and clean.
Anna looked up as they approached. She smiled wearily. ‘It’s all over. The bottle has gone.’
They stopped in their tracks. ‘Are you sure?’ It was Toby who voiced the thought they all shared.
She nodded. ‘I smashed it.’
‘And what happened?’
‘Nothing! The tears of Isis had evaporated. All there was left inside were a few grains of sand.’
‘And Carstairs?’ Toby scanned her face anxiously.
She frowned. ‘Carstairs has gone too.’ Stiffly she rose to her feet. ‘He left you a message before he went.’
Toby frowned. He braced himself visibly. ‘What was it?’
‘He seemed to think you and I had a future together.’ She reached out and took his hand. ‘He gave us his blessing; he said he thoug
ht a Shelley woman could make a man of you!’
‘What?’ For a moment his face was a picture of indignation. Then it relaxed and he reached out towards her and drew her into his arms. ‘She might at that,’ he said softly. ‘She just might, if she could ever grow to trust me again.’
She smiled. ‘I trust you, Toby.’
As they kissed in the ice cold wind Serena and Phyllis exchanged glances.
‘Yes!’ Phyllis raised her thumb in triumph.
Nestling into Toby’s arms Anna clung to him tightly. The rest of Lord Carstairs’ final message she would keep to herself.
The Storyteller
I am a storyteller.
I sit by the fire
With the night at my back
And wait for you to come.
I am a storyteller.
One by one you draw near
And sit down in the shadows
Silently
To wait
For the weaving of words.
I am a storyteller.
I paint pictures in your head
Which dance and spin and live
And change the world into mirrored glass.
I am a storyteller.
I conjure the sea
And juggle the stars.
I deal the cards
I cut the pack.
And captive, with a shiver,
You glance over your shoulder
Into the night.
I am a storyteller.
I hold the strings in my hand.
I command your tears and I let you laugh
And you hold your breath as I weave my
tale.
I am a storyteller.
Silent. Alone, I watch others play.
From the shadows
I peer into warm lighted windows
Unnoticed. Outside. On my own.
I am a storyteller.
I hold the reins.
I knit with emotion
At the foot of the blade.
Splashed by your blood
I tell them your history.
Then I turn back again
Into anonymity and silence.
I am a storyteller.
You must listen with care.
I can banish your boredom
And teach you to listen.
But when I finish
I will no longer be there.
I am a storyteller.
When the fire flames die
At last I am quiet.
You go back to your houses;
To the lights and the noise.
And I fade back
Into the dark.
About the Author
SANDS OF TIME
Barbara Erskine is the author of Lady of Hay, which has sold well over a million copies worldwide, Kingdom of Shadows, Encounters and Child of the Phoenix, which was based on the story of one of her own ancestors. Midnight is a Lonely Place and House of Echoes were short- listed for the W H Smith Thumping Good Read awards of 1995 and 1997 respectively and were followed by Distant Voices and On the Edge of Darkness. Her most recent novels, Whispers in the Sand and Hiding From the Light were both Sunday Times top ten bestsellers. Barbara Erskine’s novels have been translated into thirty languages.
Barbara Erskine has a degree in mediaeval Scottish history from Edinburgh University. She and her family divide their time between the Welsh borders and their home near the coast of North Essex.
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Praise for Barbara Erskine:
‘Barbara Erskine’s storytelling talent is undeniable’
The Times
‘Her forte is mood, atmosphere and toe-curling frisson.’
ELIZABETH BUCHAN, Sunday Times
By the same author
LADY OF HAY
KINGDOM OF SHADOWS
ENCOUNTERS (Short stories)
CHILD OF THE PHOENIX
MIDNIGHT IS A LONELY PLACE
HOUSE OF ECHOES
DISTANT VOICES (Short stories)
ON THE EDGE OF DARKNESS
WHISPERS IN THE SAND
HIDING FROM THE LIGHT
Copyright
HarperCollinsPublishers
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Hammersmith, London W6 8JB
www.harpercollins.co.uk
First published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2003
Copyright © Barbara Erskine 2003
and as follows:
‘Lost in the Temple’ (Woman and Home) 2000;
‘What Price Magic?’ (Candis) 2000;
‘Second Sight’ (YOU Magazine) 1996;
‘The Cottage Kitchen’ (Woman’s Weekly) 1997;
‘Barney’ (Candis) 1999;
‘First Class Travel’ (Candis) 2001.
Barbara Erskine asserts the moral right to
be identified as the author of this work
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EPub Edition © MARCH 2009 ISBN: 9780007320981
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