by Jane Godman
“Ah, yes.” His eyes flickered over Ceri with mild interest. “It transpires, however, that I don’t have a daughter, after all. Just a minor matter that Christina omitted to mention to either of us, brother dear. You look shocked, which leads me to believe that Christina was telling the truth—not one of her favourite pastimes—when she assured me that was the case. She had already burned all her bridges with you, Gethin, and entered wholeheartedly into a liaison with me when she found out she was expecting. So deciding that one twin was as good as another…” An unholy smile flickered across his face. “Which was simply not true of us, was it, dear brother? She threw herself into the whole pregnant-on the-wedding-night-baby-born-early thing. Christina should have been on the stage.” His face hardened. “But I bear you no grudges. Indeed, let me be the first to offer my congratulations, my dear Gethin. So sad that you will have no time to get to know your daughter in this life.”
“When did Christina tell you this?” Gethin asked.
“Oh, a few months ago, brother dear. I expect I might have got round to mentioning it to you sooner or later. It has hardly been the most pressing matter on my mind recently, you understand.”
“But Christina rang me the day of the crash, and she was afraid of something,” Gethin’s lips were tight and pale with pain.
“She never could mind her own business,” Bryn said tersely. “She heard rumours and kept prying and poking around until she uncovered the story of the letter. All the silly bitch cared about was her position as a diplomat’s wife! But, of course, once she knew it all, she had to go. I couldn’t trust her to keep that yapping mouth closed.” His expression was mildly annoyed. “It was just a question of how. And then she announced her intention of flying back here, running to the waiting arms of her first love. The poor sap who was her latest lover got more than he bargained for when he offered to drive her to the airport, I can tell you.”
“And I suppose you, having faked your death so successfully, have a new identity lined up in the Fatherland? Once you have located the letter?” Gethin asked.
“Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I do,” Bryn agreed. “But whether I take that up, or whether it turns out I have been wandering the continent in a state of amnesia these last few months, rather depends on the outcome of this enchanting encounter. I may just regain my faculties and return—the grieving widower—to my valley home.” He turned those pain-veiled eyes back to me. “Which is why I need that letter, Miss Divine.”
“I’ve already told him,” I said firmly, gesturing to Fischer, who stood to one side, listening to the exchange with a detached air. “I don’t have it. I didn’t even know it existed until tonight.”
“Then, since I am fairly sure it is there somewhere, Taran House must burn again,” he said, ignoring my gasp of horror. “Come now, Miss Divine, this foolish sentiment over bricks and mortar does you no credit! It is not the house that matters, it is the location.”
“No,” I shook my head. “You are wrong. Taran House has reclaimed the land on which it stands and stamped its own graceful memories on this valley.” I sounded like Reverend Lewis, and I was proud of the fact.
“How dreadfully poetic,” he drawled in a voice of extreme boredom. “Nevertheless, consider this to be in the nature of an ultimatum. Hand over the letter, or this place of hauntings and sorrows that you seem to love so much will be no more.”
I turned to look at Gethin, my eyes beseeching him to believe me. A slight softening of the expression around his own eyes told me that he did. The fog, creeping in on silent haunches, was waist high now. Its eerie, milky sheen illuminated our faces with an opaque glow. Rising from its swirling depths, a sour, deathly perfume stung my nostrils. I sensed that Ceri could feel it, but Gethin and Fischer appeared not to notice. I knew that Bryn Taran, the Hunter, must be aware of it, too.
“What do you propose to do now, mein Herr?” Bryn turned away from me to Fischer.
“Shoot them,” Fischer replied without emotion.
“German efficiency.” Bryn cocked an indulgent eyebrow toward Gethin and said, in a soft undertone, “You can’t beat it, brother dear. If you weren’t about to die, I’d advise you to go back and tell your government colleagues not to bother trying. Of course, Fischer here thinks I don’t know that he also has orders to shoot me once the letter has been found. So dreadfully predictable, these Teutonic types.” Turning back to Fischer, he said, “I have another, rather more creative, solution, old chap. One which, moreover, won’t leave any messy loose ends such as bodies with bullets in them lying around on the mountainside.”
He raised his head, the veins standing proud in the taut skin of his neck. The expression on his face revealed he was caught in a no-man’s-land between pain and ecstasy. I understood his intention and a cold hand of dread seized me.
“You are evil,” I cried out despairingly.
“You say it like it’s a bad thing.” He shook his head sadly at me and then turned back in mute supplication to the skies. But there was nothing heavenly about his stance or his motive.
I wondered if we could stop him from calling forth the lights and the visions within them, but Ceri shook her head. “They are already here,” she said out loud, and Gethin stared down at her. Ceri raised a hand into the swirling, glowing vapours. “I can feel them.”
Within the shroud of mist, the mysterious lights danced and flew. Gradually, the indistinct shapes became ghostly forms. Incandescent wraiths wailed and wrung despairing hands, proud knights held bloodied swords aloft and nameless unearthly creatures hissed to us their tales of living death. One group, larger and clearer than the rest, formed into a gliding, snarling pack of hellhounds and began to advance. Their eyes glowed with hell’s own fire, and they shivered with hunger and despair.
“You can’t control them,” I warned Bryn.
His expression was loathsome and gloating. “Perhaps I don’t want to. I belong to them. Or do they own me? It’s the same thing. There is a certain glorious symmetry about ending it this way.”
I held Ceri close on one side and Gethin leaned heavily on the other. We clung together in terror. Another dog mounted the ridge and ran toward us. This one was huge and black as midnight. It immediately took up a protective stance in front of us. But this warm, solid shape was no phantom. Gratefully, I placed my hand on the soft fur of Shucky’s head.
“I told you he would come.” Ceri’s voice whispered to the inner reaches of my mind.
The onslaught continued. Shrieking mad curses at the skies, the deathly figures whirled and played while the bloodthirsty hounds edged ever closer. One of the pack broke the formation and darted toward us, but Shucky stood his ground, hackles rising proudly, a low warning growl vibrating through him. The creature slunk away and turned instead toward Fischer and Bryn Taran. Spitting hatred, the others followed its lead. Fischer began to back nervously away, heading for the mountain path.
“Stand your ground, you fool!” Bryn yelled above the brutal baying. “If they scent fear, you are lost.” But the words were ripped from him and flung aside in the fury. Fischer, blind panic stamped across his features, broke into a run. The hell-curs, driven to a point beyond frenzy, flew at him. I turned Ceri’s face into my side so that she could not see, but nothing could protect her from the sounds of the dogs ripping the flesh from Fischer’s screaming body. When they had finished with him, his lifeless form was enfolded into the cold embrace of the lights. Far from slaking their hunger, the pack was maddened by its shared bloodlust.
Bryn Taran sank to his knees, raising his hands in entreaty. His face betrayed his supreme arrogance, his belief that his unearthly master would protect him. But he had not revered the huntsmen. By attempting to use the hunt for his own evil purposes, he had not honoured the souls of the dead. Too late, he realised what we already knew. Their retribution would be awful. And final. He covered his face with his hands. It was not a prayer he muttered as they descended upon him; the invocation he offered up to Satan was no protecti
on. This assault was quicker. The dogs had rehearsed on Fischer and their skills were finely honed now. Bryn Taran did not last long once the pack leader had sunk its teeth into his throat. The savage throng left the bloody pulp of his undead body and returned to us, circling hungrily, teeth bared to show their dripping, crimson fangs. Shucky drew himself up to his full height, and Gethin tried to push Ceri and me into the cottage. I shook my head; the noise was too great for words. The cottage walls would not protect us. Our only hope lay not in physical strength or stone barriers, but in the psychic power we shared.
“They will retreat if we show them our respect,” I told Ceri quietly, without words. Hands clasped, we stepped forward and faced the dogs. Shucky stayed a pace or two in front of us, his deep growl rumbling through the ground. And, just as we had done when we summoned the lights, Ceri and I began to think them back to whence they came. A howl of protest rent the night sky as the pagan shades sensed our intention. Two of the dogs dived at us and I felt, rather than saw, Gethin move to get between them and us. Shucky was there before him. He hurled himself upon the maddened creatures and a wild death fight ensued. The lights began to flicker and fade. Shrieks became moans and then whispers. The lord of the hunt gave his command and the thunderous hounds retreated back into their phosphorescent mist. Bryn Taran, a look of confusion on his ravaged features, rose and joined the throng of undead followers. A welcome cloak of silence and darkness fell.
Poor Shucky’s lifeless body was flung carelessly down in brutal agony at our feet. The hellhounds had exacted an absolute, ghastly retribution.
“The legend was right,” I said tearfully, stooping to stroke his silky ears. “One of us did not survive the night.”
“Don’t cry, Lilly.” Ceri knelt and pressed a kiss to Shucky’s head. “He has done what he came here to do. He protected us when we needed him. Now he’ll go and help someone else.”
Our attention was drawn away from our devoted friend as Gethin staggered and then pitched forward onto his knees. I hurried over to him, relieved to find that my makeshift dressings were still in place and the bleeding seemed to have stopped. But how on earth was I to get him down into the valley and to safety? His eyelids fluttered weakly, as I pondered this question and, with an effort, I managed to support him back into the cottage. He was shivering uncontrollably now. I slid my own jacket off and draped it around his shoulders, but it made no difference. He was close to losing consciousness when Ceri called out that she could see lights at the edge of the ridge.
“What now?” I muttered crossly. “I suppose Herr Hitler himself is here to demand that blasted letter from me.” My words penetrated the blanket of Gethin’s pain and a trace of his old smile flickered. Heartened, I went to the door. I never expected to be quite so happy to see Vidor’s cavernous features, which were grimly accentuated by the light of the torch he carried. He was followed by two Romany youths.
“Anika, she see the bad lights and say we must find you,” one of them said, “She much worry.”
I supervised as, between them, they lifted Gethin and began to carry him carefully down the slope. I hesitated, not quite ready to follow them. I couldn’t leave Shucky alone up here. But, when I turned to where he had fallen, the gallant dog’s body had vanished.
Chapter Twelve
Gethin’s eyes were closed and I thought he was asleep. He wasn’t. “I’m not going to hospital,” he informed the doctor.
“Knives are dangerous things,” the doctor told him sternly, as though he might have stabbed himself as a bit of a lark.
“There are other even more dangerous things in this house,” Gethin informed him, opening one eye and looking directly at me.
We left him to sleep, and the doctor told me that Gethin had been very lucky. You should have been with us on the mountain, if you think that, I wanted to say. But, of course, I didn’t. He brought a nurse from Dolgellau with him, and she was going to stay and look after Gethin for a few days. The doctor decided—given Gethin’s strongly voiced opposition to the idea—that admitting him to hospital wouldn’t be of any benefit. But, he warned me sternly, he wasn’t going to rule it out if he wasn’t recovering well enough at home.
“Well, he’s lost a great deal of blood. He’ll be weak as a kitten for a while and have a heroic-looking scar, but no vital spot was touched.” The doctor packed up his bag, nodded to me and left. Gethin had maintained his story that he had stumbled and fallen onto the knife I had been holding.
Later that day, I took Ceri in to see Gethin. He looked pale and tired, but a trace of his devastating smile dawned when he saw us. Father and daughter looked long and hard at each other, as though they were seeing each other for the first time, which—in a way—they were.
“Ceri, when Bryn said what he did, about me being your father…” She nodded, her eyes as endlessly dark as the night sky. “Is there anything you want to ask me about that?” Gethin’s voice was painstakingly gentle.
“There is actually,” Ceri said shyly, lowering her eyes.
“Go ahead,” he said encouragingly.
“Can I have a pony?”
I bit back the sudden laughter that bubbled onto my tongue. She may not be entirely untouched by the events she had witnessed on the mountain, but Ceri was a survivor. I knew she would be fine. Gethin, despite the pain it caused him, had great difficulty stopping his shoulders from shaking with silent mirth. Promising that he would give her request careful consideration, I sent her off in search of Anika. The gypsies were packing up, ready to leave. Taran House was preparing for more change.
“So,” I asked, pulling a chair up to the side of the bed, when Ceri had skipped out. “When you started coming to the Felicia, it wasn’t to see me?”
Gethin laughed. “Well in a way it was,” he pointed out in a conciliatory manner. “After all, I knew you were friends with Ricky Brett, and that he was likely to be mixed up in it all.”
“I hoped you kept coming because you liked me.” I decided a bit of fishing for compliments might be in order. There were some difficult things still to be said between us.
“Oh, I did. I liked you very much, and as I got to know you better, those feelings grew,” he replied, and the light in his eyes reassured me somewhat. His expression became serious. “I asked you this once before, but this time I want an honest answer. What brought you here, Lilly?”
“If you had asked me that yesterday, I would have said that Ceri brought me.” The words came out in a rush, and I waited to see what his reaction would be. He remained impassive. “I’ve given it a lot of thought, so, bear with me,” I pleaded, and he gave a brief nod. “You see, Ceri and I recognised each other when we first met—we’d been seeing each other in our dreams. Well, in our nightmares to be exact. And even before I met her, the very first time you mentioned your niece, I felt a pull toward her that was…” I floundered for the right word. “Irresistible.” It still seemed inadequate. “I can’t explain it. I expect someone who knows about such things would say we were on the same psychic wavelength. Sometimes we even share the same thoughts. I think she called to me because I was needed here, but she wasn’t conscious of doing it. And it seemed, soon after I arrived, that Ceri was in danger. It was as if I was meant to be here, to protect her. Or so I thought. Shucky came for the same reason. There was a psychic call for help coming out from this house and we both responded.” I risked a glance up at him, but his expression hadn’t changed. “But, you see, Ceri wasn’t the person in the most danger. I was. Only I didn’t know it. I had no idea that they were looking for this letter.” I plunged on with my explanation. “If it wasn’t for Taran House and all the things you told me about its ley lines and position in the valley and the lights we might never have met up. It acted as a sort of catalyst. And, because of the house, when we did come together, we were strong enough to defeat evil. This power we have is strongest in Ceri because she has been at the house for longer. Bryn knew its power, too, but he thought, because he could feel that his powers we
re stronger in the valley, he could win.” I drew a breath. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this to you…”
“Go on,” he said curtly.
“I don’t believe that the house wanted Bryn—wanted evil—to win.” There, I’d said it. And it sounded every bit as foolish out loud as it did in my head. “Reverend Lewis told me that evil could thrive here, but so could good.”
“So you think the house is alive? Sentient?” he asked.
I shook my head impatiently. “No. But I do think it has more supernatural presence than most houses, and I feel really strongly that Taran House is meant to be a good place. And it needed me—us—to help it.”
“And was Maxie Bauer part of this psychic plot? After all, it was he who told me you were looking for a job.”
“That was just typical of Maxie.” I frowned. “I know you aren’t supposed to speak ill of the dead, but sending me to Taran Valley and then pretending I had the letter, well, they were just examples of the sort of mischief and intrigue Maxie loved. He knew you and the Nazis were hunting for the same letter. That would have appealed to his puckish sense of humour. And I suppose he thought it might deflect attention away from him if you were both focused on me and on looking for it here.” I hesitated. “Can I ask you a question now?” He nodded. “In the cottage, how did you know what I meant when I asked who was coming? You said ‘the Hunter,’ but that was our name for him, mine and Ceri’s….”
He was silent for a long time, his expression unfathomable. “I’ve fought against it all my life,” he said quietly. “I thought, at first, that everyone could see the hunters within the lights. It was only as I grew up that I realised that wasn’t the case. It was the reason Bryn hated me so much. Oh, he had ‘the eye’ as well, but it was much stronger in me. When he found that out, he was enraged. It was the one thing he couldn’t take away from me, no matter how hard he tried. But I decided I didn’t want it, and over time I just shut it out. Until last night, until you needed me.”
