Lamp Black, Wolf Grey

by Paula Brackston

  “Trust me, I won’t be trying anything like that again!” She paused, looking for the right words. “Actually, there was something else I wanted to talk to you about. Something happened. Something I don’t understand, or even quite believe, and yet I know that it did happen. I thought you might be able to help me make sense of it.”

  Anwen nodded again but this time said nothing.

  “I was on my own in the studio when I heard a noise,” Laura went on. “And I sort of sensed something, someone, was behind me.” She hesitated. However real the encounter had seemed to her, she still felt ridiculous trying to talk about it. Even to Anwen.

  “He spoke to you?” Anwen asked.

  Laura looked at her closely. It was almost as if the old woman had been expecting something like this. She did not seem in the least bit surprised. “Yes,” she said. “He spoke to me. And … he touched me.”

  Anwen nodded, “So you believe he is real now, then, don’t you? How simple folk can be. You thought your mind was playing tricks, yet you are quite happy to believe what your fingertips tell you. Where does your true sense lie, Laura? In your mind or in your body?”

  Laura was thrown by the question. She had been ready for Anwen to be astonished, amazed even, and for her to question what had happened. She had not expected her to be so quick to accept what she was being told, and then to be berated for not believing Merlin was real until she had touched him.

  “This is hard for me, Anwen. I’m doing my best to convince myself I am not losing my mind. There are a lot of other things going on at home just now. Difficult things.”

  “Ah.” A shadow passed over Anwen’s dimpled features. “You’re speaking of Rhys.”

  “Not just Rhys. I know you don’t approve. And after the spell…” she said, rubbing her brow, feeling suddenly achingly tired. “Actually, its over between us. There never was anything really, at least, nothing that mattered. I was stupid. Stupid.”

  “Have you told him that yet?”

  “No. It’s not a good time. As I said, there are other things going on, my friend had a bad accident. He’s in hospital…”

  “For one who is able to see what others cannot, my girl, you are very poor at seeing what is plainer than the nose on my face!” Anwen’s sharpness was in such contrast to her gentleness of seconds before that Laura spilled half her tea into her saucer.

  “Please, don’t talk in riddles, Anwen. Not today. I know I’m probably being dim, but I need your help. Can we talk about Rhys another time?”

  “Open your eyes! These things are all one and the same, all connected in the most elemental of ways. You might as well waste your time separating the clouds from the sky as separating those two men.”

  Laura shook her head. “None of this makes any sense. You think Rhys and Merlin are the same person?”

  “What I think doesn’t count for tuppence. It’s what Rhys thinks that matters. That’s what makes him do the things he does.”

  Laura put down her tea with a sigh, feeling utterly confused.

  The old woman seemed to sense her despair. She leaned back in the armchair, letting her cup and saucer rest in her ample lap.

  “I know you came here for answers, Laura, but there are some things you have to discover for yourself. But, still, I meant what I said. You have nothing to fear from the wizard. He has sought you out because your destiny and his are bound together.”

  “How on earth can that be?” Laura asked. “Why me? I’m a city girl, I don’t come from here. I don’t believe in spooks or ghouls or things that go bump in the night. I’ve never experienced anything remotely supernatural in my life before. Why would some long dead, mythological ghost want anything to do with me?”

  “There’s that word ghost again.” Anwen tutted and shook her head. “Pour me another cup, and I will try to make things clear for you.”

  She did as she was asked then leaned forward, elbows on her knees, desperate to hear what the curious creature in front of her had to say.

  “You probably heard about Merlin many years ago. Storybooks, was it? History lessons? That thing over there?” She waved a pudgy hand at the television Laura had not, until that moment, noticed lurking under a tea towel in the corner of the room.

  “I suppose so,” she said. “I’ve known who he was for as long as I can remember.”

  “Exactly! And before that someone else knew about him all their lives. And after you others will read about him, too. And so he goes on. Don’t you see? As long as his story is alive, then so is he. People who exist in stories and legends can never die, not if those stories continue to be told, in whatever way, from generation to generation. I’ll wager you tell stories to those two young pups up at the house.”

  “William and Hamish? Yes, they love to be read to.”

  “Of course they do. What was the last tale you shared?”

  Laura cast her mind back to the previous evening. “Hansel and Gretel,” she said.

  “Oh those two! They’ve been about a fair number of years. And they will still be with us when your boys are telling their story to their children. Don’t you see?”

  “Well, yes, I see that the story still exists. But not the people in it. You surely can’t mean every character from every book is running around somewhere on some sort of endless loop.”

  “Not every story. Just the good ones,” she said with a little chuckle. “The ones that mean something. The ones that get passed on, that stand the test of time. Myths, if you like. Legends.”

  “OK, if I accept that idea, why haven’t I been tripping over golden geese and Red Riding Hood and God knows who for years? Why just Merlin? And why now?”

  “Better ask, why here?”

  “Here? This place? All this has something to do with my moving here?”

  “You said yourself you never experienced anything similar before you came here. All stories are rooted in a place. A landscape. It’s the magic ground where the characters live their lives. And some people, if they spend time in those places, if they are really lucky and maybe just a little bit special, with a special way of seeing, well, they can see the wonderful characters around them, forever living out their story, year after year, century after century, never growing old. Never dying.”

  Laura was quiet for a moment, trying to take in what the old woman was telling her. She was very sure if someone had tried to get her to believe such a theory six months ago she would have laughed at them. But now, after what had happened, after actually meeting Merlin … There had to be an explanation, why not this one? A thought occurred to her.

  “But, you said our destinies were linked somehow. Mine and Merlin’s. That sounds like more than just tapping into this … this other world that’s going on here. I didn’t go looking for him. He found me.”

  The old woman smiled at this, her dimples deepening.

  “Now you’re beginning to see things for yourself, cariad!”

  “But why? Why would he seek me out?”

  “To know the answer to that, Laura, you must look to his story.”

  “But there are so many different ones. People have been writing stories about him for centuries. Where do I start?”

  “I always find it’s a good idea to start out from wherever you are in the first place.”

  “Now you’re talking in riddles again.”

  Anwen laughed, her whole body wobbling like a blancmange, her apron strings threatening to snap at any moment. “You’ll work things out, eventually,” she said. “I have faith in you.”

  “I don’t know why.”

  “I trust Merlin’s judgment. He has chosen you. That’s all the recommendation I need.”

  “You speak as if you know him.” Laura’s face lit up suddenly. “Do you see him, too, Anwen? Is that it? Does he talk to you? Oh, please tell me he does—then I won’t feel quite so much like I’m going completely mad.”

  Anwen pursed her lips and said nothing. She closed her eyes and appeared to be deep in thought. The silen
ce was so long Laura began to think she might have fallen asleep. Then, suddenly, her eyes sprang open again, her beady gaze fixed on Laura.

  “Let me ask you something, Laura. What is the thing you long for most in this world, the thing that would make your heart sing and your life shine?”

  Laura hesitated. She was certain that Anwen already knew the answer to this; she knew so much about her.

  “A child,” she said at last, her strained voice giving away the constant emotion that went with the subject.

  “Some people, clever people, sharp, quick-witted people, will see that need. They will recognize your longing as both your strength and your weakness. Your strength because disappointment and heartbreak have made you tougher and more determined. Your weakness because you could be made to do almost anything to get what you want. Your task, my dear, is to see who truly has the answer to your prayers. Even if it is a different answer from the one you expect.” Anwen pushed at the arms of the chair and rose slowly to her feet. “Now, if you’ll forgive me, I’ve chores to be doing.”

  “Of course.” Laura stood up and gathered her things. She could see the old woman was tired, but there were still so many things she wanted to talk to her about. “Can I call again? Would you mind? You’ve been so helpful, and there’s really no one else I can turn to.”

  “Well, of course, you’re quite wrong about that. But, yes, you come and see me again. I enjoy our little chats.”

  As they reached the front door, Laura remembered the corn dolly.

  “That corn dolly you gave me, Anwen, it was to protect me. It was to protect me from Rhys, wasn’t it?”

  “I think, in your heart, you already knew who it is you have to fear,” said Anwen. Before Laura could question her further she had disappeared inside the house and shut the door.

  11

  THAT EVENING LAURA was poor company. She knew she should be spending more time with Dan, and with Steph, but her conversation with Anwen was still spinning around in her head. After supper she gathered together all the books she had on Merlin and on local legends and settled down in a corner of the sitting room. Dan was trying to watch a documentary on snow leopards. Steph, unable to sit still, was in the kitchen emptying the dishwasher. Dan had got a good fire going and opened the doors of the wood-burning stove, the very sight of the flames being warming. Laura wondered how many other women had sat in that same spot, gazing into the fire, searching for answers. She picked up one of her books and flicked through the pages. It felt like an impossible task, looking for clues in so many thousands of words. It was all very well Anwen saying she needed to discover things for herself, but it would have been a lot simpler if she could have just explained things plainly. There were two questions in particular Laura dearly wanted to know the answers to. First, why had Merlin chosen to show himself to her, to make contact? Anwen had said she would find what she needed to know if she looked to his story, but Laura was worried she might not see the reason even if it were on the page in front of her. The second thing that would not go away was Anwen’s insistence that someone was a threat to Laura. She had seemed to suggest that it was Rhys, but could that really be true? He might not want their affair to end, and Laura had already accepted the fact that he might react badly and tell Dan everything. But beyond that, a threat? A danger? She shook her head and went back to the book.

  A sudden burst of laughter made her look up. It was a rare sound in the house now. Dan had given up on his program and joined Steph in the kitchen. Through the open door Laura could see the two of them enjoying a small joke. As Steph’s laughter subsided she wiped away a tear or two. Dan stepped forward and put his arms around her, pulling her close in a friendly, comforting embrace. She thought how lucky she was to have such a caring and sensitive man for a husband. The thought made a small knot of guilt tighten in her stomach. She sighed and forced herself to concentrate.

  Local legend had it that Merlin had spent a summer in the area before going on to Camelot and the court of King Arthur. He had lived high in the mountains, and the more Laura read, the more she was convinced the dwelling described as his was in fact Rhys’s croft. She paused, looking into the flames once more. So, not her own house. What was his connection with Penlan? She read on. The story told how Merlin had fallen in love with a local girl, the daughter of a breeder of horses. Her name was Megan, and she had returned Merlin’s affections. However, the local noble, and her employer, Lord Geraint ap Gruffydd, had a feud with Merlin and tried to have him killed. Laura turned the page. Her hand shot to her mouth to stifle a cry. There was a picture she had not noticed before. It was small, only a quarter of a page, but still the detail was clear. It showed Merlin kneeling on the ground, in his arms a young girl, clearly either dead or dying. The girl had fine, angular features, long limbs, and waist-length, wavy auburn hair. She resembled Laura so closely it could have been her own portrait. Looking at the picture Laura realized how much her own appearance had altered since arriving at Penlan. Who or what had brought that about? Rhys? Merlin? The place itself? In any case, the result had been to transform her from city artist to the image of a medieval heroine. The image of this girl. Merlin’s lover. As Laura turned the book a little to allow more light to fall on the illustration something slipped from the pages and fluttered to the floor. She picked it up. It was half a white envelope, torn lengthways to make a bookmark. Laura checked the cover of the book again. It was one of the ones she had borrowed from Rhys’s collection. She studied the grubby strip of paper, cursing the fact that she had let it drop out before seeing what page it had been marking. The name Rhys Fisher was typed on the front, along with a Cardiff address she did not recognize. She was about to throw it in the stove when something in the words of the red postmark on the envelope caught her eye. The print was quite faded and faint, but still readable. Lawnsdale Hospital, it said on the first line, then, underneath in smaller letters, Peterborough Mental Health Trust.

  “Something riveting?” Dan asked, handing her a fresh glass of wine.

  Laura snapped the book shut with the bookmark inside it, hoping she did not look as shaken as she felt.

  “Oh, more local history. Helps me paint the place, the more I know about it.” She took the glass from him, wondering if she would ever be able to explain to him the real reasons for her interest—and fighting growing anxiety at what the envelope could mean.

  “I forgot to mention,” Dan’s tone was light, but his expression gave away his concern, “Penny rang earlier. While you were in the bath.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. She was keen to speak to you.”

  “Must have been, phoning so late.”

  “She said she’s left messages endlessly. You haven’t been returning her calls.”

  “I’ve had a lot on my mind lately. We all have.”

  “Of course, but…”

  “But what?” she snapped, not enjoying having Dan mention something she already felt a niggling guilt about. She knew Penny had been phoning, but hadn’t the gumption to call her. What was she supposed to say? She was miles off from being ready for the show, and she wouldn’t be able to lie to Penny about it.

  “I think she’s a bit concerned,” Dan said gently. “You know, the show being only a few weeks away. And she hasn’t seen your new work yet, and…”

  “Yes, OK, don’t go on.”

  “I wasn’t. But she does have a point. You’re usually so much more together about your exhibitions. This time you seem to be getting more stressed out and grouchy and not getting any actual work done.” He sighed, shaking his head. “So much for a more peaceful life in the countryside. Whatever happened to that rural idyll you talked me into?”

  “Dan, why don’t you come right out and say it?”

  “Say what?”

  “That moving out here was all my idea. That if we’d stayed in London none of this would have happened.”

  “Nobody is blaming you.”

  “Aren’t they? Aren’t you? Just because you do
n’t actually say it doesn’t mean you aren’t thinking it.”

  “OK!” Dan was shouting now. “OK, if that’s the conversation you want then let’s have it! Yes, this place was what you wanted—your idea, your dream. And no, I didn’t want to come here, but I was prepared to give it a go because you wanted it so badly.”

  “Give it a go? You spend more time in London than you do here. You haven’t done anything about looking for a job nearby.”

  “No, I haven’t, and d’you know why? Because I reckon that if I wait long enough you’ll get bored with all this rustic living crap and come to your senses. Then we can buy a house back in London and get on with our lives again.”

  “I knew it! You never intended to commit to this move. You were just pretending, waiting for me to get some … some whim out of my system!”

  “What choice did you give me? You were never going to be satisfied until you’d bought a place like this and dragged us out here. I told you from the beginning I didn’t like the idea, but you wouldn’t listen. What Laura wants, Laura damn well gets!”

  Laura opened her mouth to respond but in that instant all the fight went out of her and she felt close to tears. Head down, she pushed past Dan and strode upstairs.

  Later, as they were getting undressed, Dan came to stand close behind her. He stretched out a tentative hand and touched her hair.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean it. Any of it.”

  “Please be straight with me, Dan.”

  “I am. I do want this to work. I just need a bit more time. And, well, what with Angus…”

  “I know.”

  There was a moment of silence. Laura found herself wishing he would just let the whole thing drop. She really didn’t feel up to a serious discussion about their future plans. Her head was too full already to take in anything more.

  Dan leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling gently into the back of her neck.

  “I really am sorry,” he whispered. “I’ll make it up to you.”