`Is that where you've come from?'
A picture of a brilliant sun shining on a landscape of forests and mountains came and went leaving a lingering image that said:
Home.
`Is it far?'
The distance that was expressed caused Vikki to cry out at what her mind automatically rejected in self-defence. The image was fleeting, snatched away as if those who had projected it understood the distress it could cause.
`Why have you come?'
It was more than merely a sensation of loneliness that overwhelmed Vikki; it was utter desolation of the spirit, terrible in its intensity, frightening in its consequence. Like the concept of the awesome distance to Sirius, the emotion was banished the instant it was expressed before she had a chance to fully understand. She crossed herself, more out of fear than any religious belief. Why did you do that?
She concentrated on the meaning of the gesture and felt her immature thinking suddenly shaped into a deeper meaning that was quickly sucked from her. She sensed that her gesture was appreciated. And then she was spoken to clearly with perfectly formed words:
We will be sending a man to you who will explain but he is not yet ready.
`I don't understand.'
We will call you when he is ready. You will understand then.
The clarity of the reply emboldened Vikki to venture the question that was now uppermost in her mind. `Did you make my new hand?'
`Just what the hell do you think you're playing at?'
The images withdrew with a suddenness that left Vikki clutching frantically at an implosion of nothingness. She whirled around to be blinded and transfixed by a powerful flashlight.
`I said, what the hell are you playing at?' The voice was harsh, demanding. Nevertheless she decided to brazen it out.
`Nothing.'
`Name?'
`Boadicia.'
`It's Vikki Taylor,' said another voice. She couldn't place it at first and then realized that it belonged to the Fool. The flashlight snapped out and two morris police confronted her. Their white blouses shone like ghostly shrouds in the moonlight. The skull-shaped silver bells on their bell pads and shoes had been muted so that they could move unheard. Vikki was scared, but at least they weren't the feared Government blackshirts.
`What are you doing out at this time, Vikki?' The Fool's voice was not unfriendly.
`It's such a hot night -- I thought I'd go for a swim.'
`Fully clothed?' demanded the first morris man.
Feeling somewhat foolish, Vikki squelched onto dry land. The morris police Range Rover was parked about 100 metres away. She agreed with the first morris man that she shouldn't be out at night and invited them to sue her.
`We saw you when you tried to hide outside Temple Farm,' said the Fool.
`What's going to happen to me?'
`For starters, you're under arrest.'
`No,' said the Fool. `We'll run her home. I owe her a favour.'
`We have to account for every bloody eggcup of diesel!' the Fool's colleague protested.
`She doesn't live far,' said the Fool. `Come with us, Vikki.'
`Thanks, but I can walk.'
`You will come with us!' snapped the Fool.
Ten minutes later the Range Rover dropped Vikki at the end of her lane. During the short drive, she had persuaded the morris police not to tell her mother. They watched her to be sure that she kept her promise to go straight home.
The dawn chorus was in its stride when she reached her bedroom. Sarah was still sound asleep, sprawled on her back. Vikki edged around the beds to the window and leaned out. Sirius was much dimmer now that dawn was commandeering the eastern sky.
She stared at the fading star in wonder. They had come all that way just to end up submerged deep in the silt at the bottom of a lake. Why? And yet she felt that she knew the reason; the clarity had slipped away; now it was a shadowy, ill-defined concept, flitting furtively just beyond her grasp around the margins of her understanding. Who was the man they would be sending? Would she recognise him? Did they want her to be the messenger? To announce his coming? She looked down at her left hand. And why had they singled her out to make her whole? So many unanswered questions.
She tried to clear her mind and concentrated hard on Pentworth Lake, begging for answers.
None came.
She marshalled her powers of concentration and forced herself to think of one question:
`Did you make my hand? Please give me an answer.'
None come.
An owl hooted.
`Please! I must know! Did you make my new hand? Is it permanent? Will you take it away from me?'
Silence.
Perhaps she had imagined the episode at the lake?
But her recollection of the startling clarity of their voice to tell her that a man was coming, the state of her mud-caked, sodden trainers, and a thousand itchy mosquito bites told a different story. She changed into her nightdress and returned to bed -- the sheets and pillow now blissfully cool. She stared up at the ceiling, fingered her crucifix with her wonderful left hand and prayed for an answer to the questions that were now a torment.
None came.
But there was always tomorrow.
THE END
Temple of the Winds Page 34
