“Who was that woman down there, anyway?” Anne asked.
“Joanne Katter wrote about the return of the goddess in the early eighties,” Michael explained.
“She doesn’t look that old,” Anne said.
“True. Her face and her views haven’t changed much since then,” Michael said. “It was good work for the time.”
Anne sat back in her chair and folded her arms. “So men are the problem.”
Garth barked a short laugh and looked at Michael. “It’s a lucky thing to be in love with a Le Clair woman.”
This melted the last of Michael’s reserve. “I couldn’t agree more. I am sorry for your loss.”
Garth bit his lip and shook his head in a gesture growing familiar to Anne. “She told me this might happen.”
Anne leaned forward. “Her murder or White Spring drying up?”
“She felt that something was building to a crisis, something begun a long time ago.” Garth looked across the hall to the study. “That’s why she started looking into the past. She said she was searching for the other end.”
“Of what?”
Garth shook his head. “When she left for New York, she wanted to try more trance work with Elizabeth and her group.” His eyes filled with tears. “They got to her before she could finish it.”
Anne reached for Michael. The room filled with shadows as the sun sank. Garth took a breath to speak, then shook his head and closed his eyes again. “How could I not have known?” he whispered.
“Maybe because she never fully left you. She must still be with you spiritually and so you never felt an absence.” Anne switched on a lamp. Amber light from the stained glass shade lit Garth’s rugged face, wet with tears.
“I’ll go make some tea.” Michael walked into the kitchen.
Anne spoke in a soft voice. “We’ve all lost someone. First Cynthia, then my brother Thomas. Last week, Michael’s spiritual mentor was shot in New York. He’s just home from the funeral.”
Garth opened his eyes and looked at her, the soft look in his brown eyes hardening. “Did they all die at the hands of the same man?”
Anne shuddered at the memory of her first meeting with Cagliostro. “At his orders.”
“I should have killed him when I had the chance.” Garth stared at his large, rough hands.
“You know him, too?”
He nodded, not looking up. “Everyone in the magical world knows Cagliostro. We just can’t figure out why his deeds haven’t caught up with him yet.”
Michael came back with a tray laden with mugs, glasses, and a squat bottle of Irish whiskey. “I thought we needed something stronger than tea.”
Garth wiped his face with the corner of his sleeve and nodded at Anne. “I told you I’d like this man of yours.”
Michael poured a finger for each of them and held his glass in the air. “For the ones we have lost.”
“Hear, hear.” Garth knocked back his drink and grimaced. “Ah. That’s better. Where were we, then?”
“White Spring is failing.” Anne ticked the problems off on her fingers. “Alexander Cagliostro is stealing Atlantean crystals for God knows what nefarious purpose. Cynthia was having visions of ancient Atlantis and passing them off as fiction.”
“What’s the connection?” Michael asked.
Garth’s eyes lit up. “Let’s see that crystal.”
Anne pulled off the necklace and offered it to him.
Garth’s eyes widened. “I can handle it?”
She hesitated. “Is there a reason you shouldn’t?”
“Magical tools are often attuned to their user. It can muddy the energy to hand them around.”
Anne looked at Michael questioningly, but he said, “These stones are strong. They seem to be immune to disruption.”
Garth sat forward. “Did you say stones, as in more than one?”
“Well, yes.” Michael reached for the chain holding his own crystal, but didn’t find it. “I must have left it on the bedside table.” He got up and headed upstairs.
“I’d be careful. I’m not sure I trust that housekeeper,” Anne called after him.
Garth’s eyes darted to her.
Michael returned and laid his own stone next to Anne’s on the ottoman.
Garth bent to examine them, but still didn’t touch or even breathe on them. “How can it be that you two hold such similar artifacts?”
“You know the history of the crystals?” Anne asked.
“Only Cynthia’s. She said a group in America held another in trust.”
“Mine,” Michael confirmed.
“She mentioned a legend that said there were more. She went to look for one in Egypt before she flew to New York, but I never held out much hope she would find it.”
“We found them all,” Michael said.
“They found us, more like,” Anne murmured.
Garth sat back in his chair and stared at them. He gulped down more whiskey. “I must hear about this.”
As succinctly as he could, Michael told him the story of their adventure in Egypt, with Anne chiming in from time to time to add a few details. After they finished, Garth sat in silence for what seemed like a long time. Finally he spoke. “You’ve brought a massive surge of stellar energy into the earth. White Spring’s flow was strong for a few days afterward, then it became erratic again, and now it’s slowed to a drip.”
Michael and Anne nodded their agreement.
“There are two parts to this. First, I’d say your ceremony in Egypt was not the only action needed to bring in the Awakening, as you call it…if indeed any human action can affect such large cycles. Granted, we’ve seen some improvements in the world situation, but…something else must have disturbed the grid and it’s showing up in White Spring.”
“Hasn’t the flow been erratic for a couple of years?” Michael asked.
“True.” Garth ran his forefinger around the rim of his whiskey glass. After a moment, he surfaced from his thoughts. “There’s one sure way to find out.”
“How?” Anne asked.
He pointed at her crystal. “This stone started the flow again.”
“I didn’t really do anything. It was the key’s idea.”
“Now we have two keys,” Garth said. “I suggest we put them in the lock and turn them.”
“Yes,” Michael said. “We can try to pick up the exact nature of the disturbance.”
Garth got up and retrieved his cell phone from his jacket. “Bran should have gathered the group by now. Let’s just hope that dimwit isn’t holding her ceremony down there.”
Anne hid a smile; the pressure eroded Garth’s normally diplomatic nature.
“Even if there’s a crowd now, surely they won’t stay all night,” Michael said. “Sometimes this type of ceremony is best done late. Much quieter.”
Garth clapped Michael on the shoulder. “Good man.” He went into the study across the hall. Anne and Michael only heard snippets of his conversation. Minutes later, he returned, his face determined. “She’s down there with her group. We’ll do our work at midnight. I’ll come back for you.”
“She’ll take the credit,” Anne said.
Garth nodded. “All the better to keep ourselves hidden.”
* * * *
Close to midnight, Anne opened the front door to Garth’s knock. He made an imposing figure dressed in ceremonial robes such a deep purple they were almost black. Anne found a black robe with red silk in Cynthia’s meditation room and decided to wear it for the occasion. Garth bit his lip when he caught sight of her, then gave her a nod of approval. Michael wore all black.
They walked down the street to the squat building that housed White Springs. The wooden door stood open. A set of rickety old stairs that led to an upper level d
ivided the concrete square in the middle. “We’ve cleaned out the remains of the restaurant, but that’s all so far,” Garth said in an undertone. They made their way toward the back right hand corner where a huddle of people stood, some in long ceremonial robes variously decorated with Masonic symbols, pentagrams, and Templar and Celtic crosses. Others wore corduroy pants or jeans with flannel shirts. All stood in bare feet, and Anne kicked off her own shoes.
Bran stepped forward. “Everyone who could make it has come.”
“Excellent.” Garth rubbed his hands together. “You want to use this corner, then?”
“The abbot’s sacrifice will aid our work,” Bran said.
Garth nodded then seemed to remember Anne and Michael, whom he introduced to the group. Nods and murmurs welcomed them. A couple of women from Joanne’s group smiled at Anne rather conspiratorially, she thought. Garth took Bran aside to discuss the ritual.
“What did he mean by the abbot’s sacrifice?” Anne asked.
“Ah, that’d be Richard Whyting, the last Abbot of Glastonbury,” one man answered. “He was hung on top of the Tor by order of King Henry VIII, but they cut him down afore he died, ya see.” He smiled gleefully, revealing tobacco-stained teeth. “They thought the Tor was too holy to commit murder on. Brought him down here and cut him into quarters right on this spot.” He nodded as if the import of this fact was self-evident.
“What a death,” Michael said.
Their informant nodded again, satisfied with his response.
“I don’t get it,” Anne whispered, but the acoustics of the room echoed her words back to everyone.
“He was a sacred sacrifice, ya see,” the man explained. “Like in the old days when a king died for the good of all.” He struck the back wall with the palm of his hand. “Right here at the opening of the cave.”
“His life force was offered to the divine forces,” Michael said. “When the fertility of the land and herds waned, the old King sacrificed himself in a sacred ceremony, and a young and virile man replaced him. At least, that’s the popular understanding.”
Several of the men nodded, looking as if they would offer themselves on the spot. Anne shuddered and reached for Michael’s hand.
“Let’s find ourselves a comfortable spot.” Garth’s voice rang out.
Anne settled between Michael and a woman she didn’t know on a kind of concrete curb that ran around the room. She took her crystal key in her hand and waited.
Bran drew out a short dagger and flourished it in the air at each of the quadrants, reinforcing the sacred space, much as Grandmother Elizabeth had during her first such ritual on the winter solstice last year. He added a chant, singing vowel sounds for each direction. A female voice joined him at a descant. By the time Bran stopped, Anne was deep in trance. The walls of the concrete building melted, giving way to living earth veined with the roots of trees and bushes. Farther in, clustered crystals shone in the dark tunnel that opened in the back. Wet rock reflected moonlight and the light of ancient torches. She steadied herself and surrendered to the crystal in her hand. It sat quiet, waiting.
Garth began to speak about the White Spring, Merlin, and the sacred entrance to the Crystal Cave. Eventually his words turned into a croon and the key in Anne’s hand came to life. It reached out with a stream of energy and nudged Michael’s, and the two entwined their life force. The small stone grew heavier and heavier until she had to lay her hands on the floor and let the earth support its weight, but the stones both wanted to touch the floor. Michael laid his down first and Anne moved hers next to it. They touched, and a burst of light blinded her.
She woke inside a small hut, coughing from the wood fire in the hearth. Something stirred behind her. She turned. An old woman sat in the corner behind a low table. A milky film covered her open eyes. The woman groped in front of her with claw-like hands. “You have come at last,” her voice rasped. Her breath came in labored bursts. “The time grows short, Anne Morgan Le Clair.”
Anne jerked violently at the sound of her name, but the crone shushed her. “Listen to me. You must return what Megan let loose.”
Anne woke to water gushing all around her. It rose quickly, covering her mouth. She sputtered and coughed. Someone pulled her head up.
“Get the key.” She recognized Michael’s voice. “It’s all right. You can pick it up.”
Rough hands chaffed hers. Someone pulled her hair from her face, then kissed her. The warmth and urgency of those lips brought her all the way back. She looked around wildly. Water cascaded through the concrete conduits, then overflowed and spread across the floor in transparent sheets that sparkled in the torch light. No, it was a candle.
Anne stood in the midst of cheers for White Spring. Some lay in the water, splashing like children. Others sang their thanks to the Tor, to Bridget, to the gods and goddesses in general, to Gwyn ap Nudd, the King of the Fairies. Garth grabbed a large goblet from the altar, dipped it into the gushing flood and passed it around from mouth to mouth.
Michael still held her. “Are you okay?”
She nodded, pushed the rest of her wet hair behind her ears. “I guess it worked.”
Bran arrived in front of her, holding the crystal key by its chain, and offered it to her as if he were giving her the Grail itself. He bowed low when she took it, then bowed to Michael. “To the Lord and Lady, who have given us back our spring.”
“Everyone did it.” Anne took her crystal back and put it around her neck. “And there’s more to do.”
“Yes,” Garth was there suddenly, “but for now this is enough.” He offered her the goblet. The sacred water of White Spring never tasted so sweet.
Chapter Fifteen
The next morning, Anne woke to the smell of coffee and the sound of male voices coming from downstairs. Feeling groggy, she stood in the hot shower, letting the water wash over her, remembering the wealth of wet she awoke to the night before. Michael took her home to recover more fully, while Garth stayed behind to talk with the group. She dressed quickly and went downstairs, the squeaky step protesting her weight. Michael and Garth sat at the kitchen table, heads together. It reminded her of Egypt, where she would arrive for breakfast to find Michael and Tahir deep in conversation.
“Queen Anne.” Garth lifted his cup to salute her. His eyes were red and puffy. “How are you this fine morning?”
“Good, thank you.” She squinted, unaccustomed to the bright sun. “Why do I keep passing out? I’m just like that woman in the ‘Perils of Pauline’ tied to the railroad tracks, always needing to be rescued.”
“Quite the contrary.” Garth slammed his mug down with such force that it slopped coffee all over the table. “It is you who have rescued us. Twice now.”
Anne grabbed a kitchen towel and tossed it to Michael, who mopped up the spill. She poured herself some coffee and sat down at the table. The Tor rose in the sun outside the window. “Tell me everything.”
“It is you who must tell us what you experienced,” Garth said. He sounded a bit tipsy, but it probably came from being up all night.
“But—” she started to protest.
“Yours is the missing piece. Afterwards we’ll tell you everything, I promise.” Michael’s voice was soft.
“Oh, all right.” She took a big gulp of coffee and told them about waking up in the Morgen’s hut and the message she received.
“Who is this Megan?” Garth asked.
“A character from Cynthia’s book.” Anne tucked her damp hair behind her ears. “I guess she’s not just a character.”
“So it would seem,” Garth said.
“Do you know what she meant?” Michael asked.
Anne shook her head. “There’s really nothing in the story so far that matches this. Megan went to her initiation, got sent to work in the Crystal Matrix Chamber and then on to Avalon.”
“Let’s look at the manuscript.” Michael started to get up.
“Wait a minute,” Anne protested. “You promised to tell me what else happened.”
“Fair enough.” Garth chuckled. “Even though we flooded the spring house last night, I’ve set a watch on the well. I’m not sure we’re done with this by a long shot.”
“I’m surprised,” Anne said. “Our results seemed pretty spectacular. I thought we’d float away.”
Garth’s eyebrows drew together. “Exactly. I don’t trust these extremes. Michael, my man?”
“Want a pasty? Garth went by Burns the Bread this morning.”
Anne shook her head. Her stomach didn’t seem to have joined her in this dimension yet.
“Speak up,” Garth said. He seemed accustomed to command. Anne wondered if he was in the military.
“I saw Robert.” Michael’s eyes shone.
“Why didn’t you tell me last night?”
“You were dead on your feet. I let you be.”
Anne reached a hand across the table. “What did he say?”
“No words. He radiated light. He looked so happy.” Michael squeezed her hand. “He handed me a Tarot card…the Wheel of Fortune. The wheel on the card spun in my hand and turned to gold.”
Garth nodded, a satisfied smile on his face.
“Meaning?” Anne asked.
“That our task is fated, but more than that, we are turning the wheel and moving into a new era. Human society will be rearranged.”
“What about you, Mister Buddha?” Anne addressed herself to Garth then winked at Michael. “He never talks.”
“My gift is not the visions of the Le Clairs,” Garth said. “I’m more tactile. I experience energy through touch.” He paused until Anne got antsy.
“And?” she urged.
He chuckled. “The energy of the Tor was fractured, as if the dimensions were bleeding into each other. We’ve almost got it realigned.”
“Almost,” Anne repeated.
He nodded. “I find it difficult to put into words.”
Beneath the Hallowed Hill Page 20
