by Andy Jarvis
“Where?”
Henry pointed to the floor. “Somewhere deep. Deep beyond our imagination. Somewhere cavernous where lost spirits and the fallen souls dwell.”
Baz gasped out loud then started breathing in heavy pants.
“Shhh,” whispered Henry. “There is no need to fear at present. You must understand that it was Isabel’s will that utilised the power, and also her will that protected you. There was purpose behind that. Isabel wanted the child discovered, as she wanted it preserved long years until the person she chose would come to find it. It seems that one of you or both of you have been chosen. But now that the child is found, and the truth or part of it is known, Isabel wants to pass over to where she belongs. But either the entity will not let go, or Isabel chooses not to go.”
“Where is she now?” I asked. “And what about the light, is it there now? Is it a protecting light, or something dangerous like Baz says?”
“Isabel’s soul runs in the deep places now. She musters her strength for the conflict with the thing that holds her to this earth. The light of the Window is not there now, but there is an energy that hums like a generator idling it’s time until called upon to its task. Its energy is cast over you both like a veil that protects from the other force. You cannot see it, but it is there. I see it. Sometimes it is weaker as the other gathers its strength, but Isabel is strong willed and fights its power.”
Baz began to hold his breath in short bursts, slowly breathing out after a few seconds.
“Are you alright, bud?” I asked.
“I’m fine.” Baz puffed, taking another deep breath and slowly releasing it in a long sigh. “It’s just that it’s a lot to take in, all this. It’s not really what I was expecting when we came here tonight.”
“That’s fine,” said Henry. “I fully understand. It must all sound so insane to a couple of city boys like yourselves.”
“There’s something I still don’t quite understand,” said Baz. “Us, I can understand, what you said about Isabel wanting the child’s body finding makes sense to me, but what about the others? Where do Silas and Mrs. Braithwaite come in? The only connection we can figure out is that they were descendants of the original conspirators, the old Parish Council that sent Isabel to her doom. Why would she appear to them and not anyone else in the church?”
“Forgiveness,” said Henry. “Both these people have carried a great burden of guilt over the years. A guilt for something they had no control over, but still a feeling of anguish that their forefathers could even contemplate such a thing. For Mrs. Braithwaite it is a burden of shame on her family that she has carried to the point of breakdown. And for Silas, he carries a hatred for his father and Reverend John’s father that still lies deep within him. Isabel has cast her light upon them. Silas has stood in that light and known that he is forgiven."
“And Mrs. Braithwaite?” I asked.
“The poor soul,” Henry sighed. “She has seen but been afraid. It happens. Spirits can appear to individuals when others cannot see, but they cannot judge the reaction of the living. Sometimes the relatives of the deceased are rejoiced and comforted by the appearance of loved ones. But these appearances are rare, for the spirits know that the living are sometimes taken aback and are afraid.”
“Alright, but why is Isabel’s energy and light focused at that particular spot?”
Henry pondered for a long while. I got the distinct impression that he hadn’t a clue for an answer but was making something up in his mind. He waved his hand slowly over the candle flame, making it flicker gently as he spoke:
“For a long time I puzzled over that very question as I inspected the Window that first day. It occurred to me that it may be something in the symbolism of the image that attracted Isabel. Perhaps that she was trying to say something about it or draw attention to the injustice of her past life. But in the end I realised that the answer was more obvious. It is quite simply the light.”
“The light?” said Baz. “Yeah, we know about the light. Sorry, but I’m confused?”
Henry held his palms out over the candle. “The light is where Isabel wishes to go. The light on the Window-without-Adam is at its strongest. The southeast wall catches the morning sun unobstructed by trees, grime and the corrosion of time on the older windows. The rays of life burst through at their strongest into a dark place. The sun, the mother of all creation on earth, where we all come from, is where she wishes to return. But she cannot go. That which holds her to this earth will not let her. By day Isabel’s will is strong. She focuses her will on the sunlight, wishing to be released. But by night there begins a conflict of wills with that to which she has become attached. That which wishes to drag her into the abyss. Then Isabel uses her will, to use the power of her captor for her own purpose, the power over natural forces. She creates these things that we have seen: mist that can traverse of its own will, rainbows of light in dark places. All these things Isabel has created from a combination of her own will, and that to which she is bound. This conflict has lasted many years. How this unholy liaison began I don’t know, but I am here to find out and put it right.”
“This is crazy,” I said. “How do you know all this? Is this the gift Arden was on about, you talk to ghosts and stuff?”
“I cannot converse with the dead. The spirits often try to make contact, as you have already discovered. I sense only what is in the spirits heart. I look into what is there and know their desire, their soul, but only if they let me. It is not a language. You cannot ask questions about the world of the spirits.”
Henry paused briefly, meditating on the flickering light of the candle. “Tell me what you believe. Do you believe in God?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“I’m beginning to hope there is one,” added Baz.
“Don’t you find it strange that all cultures throughout the world, through the ages, have believed in a power of creation? All have their own interpretation, but the belief is the same, of a force that created all things. Humanity did not get these ideas from each other, but found them in isolation from one race to another. Even where an ocean divides them they have still realised that life was created by an unseen force, whatever they may name it.”
“You’re beginning to sound like Reverend John now,” I said.
“My beliefs and Reverend John’s both have a wisdom that withstands time. However, if you place the books of religion on the earth outside, the words are soon lost to the sun, the rain and the wind. My belief is the wind. The stars, the ground upon which I walk, the air I breathe. These things are forever. The words of man are finite. There are things in this world that are older than man, older than the earth itself.”
Henry paused again. The candle flickered from a short draft of air. The sound of a bat stirred in the rafters and Baz looked up nervously. A short, barely detectable, vibration ran through the floor as though a car had passed in a tunnel beneath us. A wagon passing, out on the main road away from the village, I thought it must have been.
“Already it stirs, but chooses to wait,” said Henry.
Nice timing, I thought.
“What are you going to do?” whispered Baz, looking up towards the bat noise. “How are you going to get rid of it?”
“Patience. It knows not what to do. It’s merely preparing itself. It’s unsure.”
“So, what gives then?” I said. “What exactly is it, this thing you’re on about?”
“Do you believe in legacies?” asked Henry.
“Oh sure, you mean like Reverend John goes on about; leaving something for your kids, or leaving the earth in a fit state for future generations.”
“That is what is so good about Reverend John,” said Henry. “He believes much the same as me. He believes that the world isn’t just a dumping ground on the way to a better life in the hereafter, and that Paradise, as he calls it, should be created here on earth. That is good. I share that belief. He believes in the here and now, and in his own way, that the earth spirit wi
ll die if it is poisoned by greed and envy. Reverend John knows this, he truly feels it and does his best to remedy the loss of charity in mankind. But unlike Reverend John, I believe that the earth, the trees, the animals, the wind even, all these things have a soul. As we take from them we must offer something in return. I live simply, giving thanks to the sun, the leaves and grass and all living things.
“But there are also bad spirits in the world that take without thought, without thanks. They think only of themselves and feeding their own greed. Our modern world of technology gives access to every form of deviation. This should be a world of good, with bounty enough to feed the world several times over, but instead it has instilled greed in people. The true way of life, the simplicity of human needs as Reverend John so rightly preaches, is lost. Although we live in an age of plenty we are still poor spiritually. The Serpent has appeared as a result of this greed in the human race.”
“The Serpent?” whispered Baz, leaning forward into the candlelight, his eyes wide as teacups. “What Serpent?”
“They are Serpents much the same as in Reverend John’s teachings and sermons.”
“You’re talking symbolically now, surely, aren’t you?” I said. “I mean, like the Serpent in the Bible is supposed to be just a representation of sin, right?”
“No!” Henry hissed. “The Serpent is very real, although not usually in physical form. We see the work of the Serpent each day, in the killing fields of the African continent, the Middle East, and here even, in the gangs and drug barons that rule over innocent lives. But he can be made physical by those that wish him to appear. The greed in mankind gives him strength and he rises. There are those with bad in their hearts that wish to summon him and do his work in return for things that are not meant to be for mankind.”
“Things?” I said. “What things do you mean?”
“Eternity of life. The lives of men are meant to be finite, but the Serpent offers continued life in his service. He gives his servants the power of control over the minds of other mortals, to do as they please. They lead men into war and destruction through greed and envy. But the Serpent also lies. The life of service leads to the dark places of the earth in a spirit netherworld, where once enticed he will never release the soul.”
Baz renewed his deep breathing and sat twiddling his feet and drumming his fingers nervously. “But what’s your part in this?” he panted.
“I shall tell you,” Henry began. “My great, great grandfather once fell from grace with the church. He had the gift of perception from an early age and could see things. He knew that things would happen before they did. It was not that he could predict the future, but had visions of things that were soon to happen. When his mother consulted the church the priest was outraged and decreed that it was the work of the devil. My ancestor ran away rather than allow the family to be outcasts. He felt drawn for an answer to his gift and left, wandering the lone places of the earth until he was taken in by a simple travelling clan. They understood his gift, had seen it before and nurtured it and told him of their own worships and the ways of the earth spirit, or the horned god.”
“The horned god?” Baz gasped. “You don’t mean…”
“No, not Satan,” Henry assured. “He is known in our lore as the ‘Father.’ He is the lord of the seasons, harvest, land of the dead, the sky, animals, mountains, lust, powers of destruction and regeneration. He is the aspect of creation.
“But besides the earth spirit there was also Ankou, who appears as either man or skeleton. He is said to wear a shadow as a black robe which conceals his face. Ankou manifests on earth when the first person of the new year dies. He is charged with collecting the other souls of the year before he can go with them to the afterlife. But Ankou also manifests as a beast, walking the forest and moors, or slithering in the meadows as a snake. In the guise of a serpent he speaks to men, tempting them into making war and stealing from his brothers. Ankou collects the souls of those passed over that have listened to him, taking them to his underworld where the corrupted spirits do his work. He thirsts for souls.”
After a long silence I spoke: “Well, it’s all very nice sat around in the dark telling spooky stories, but I really don’t see what you’re driving at. You’re not trying to tell us that some mythical being from primitive folklore has just happened to raid Reverend John’s patch; surely not?”
“I doubt that this thing could be Ankou,” said Henry. “Had it been, I believe your souls would have been wholly consumed the day the mist surrounded you in the church. Instead, the entity merely assessed you for its own purpose. It believes that Isabel is using you to gain her freedom. I do believe, however, that this is an emissary or a serpent of Ankou, and one of considerable importance to be able to harness natural forces. But Isabel is strong willed and keeps it in check. She watches over you as would a guardian angel, as she watches over Reverend John and Silas.”
“So, you still haven’t explained your part in it?” I said. “If Isabel is using me or Baz, where do you come in?”
“This is my legacy,” said Henry. “My family said to me that I also had that gift of my great, great grandfather. I was the first in many generations to show it. But I already knew that I was different and could see that which others couldn't, but I never understood its purpose. My family believed that my ancestor had been sent, assigned by the earth spirit himself, to seek out the lairs of Ankou’s demons wherever they may be. That is what my ancestor did, but his work was never completed, and as I grew up my family explained to me the auras I could see around men. And now it seems that you also have a vision.”
“A vision?” I said.
“To have seen Isabel is a gift that others haven’t been given.”
“I don’t know about all this. If you’re trying to tell us that this tale relates to what’s happening here then you’ve got to forgive me for being sceptical. I’m not sure what I believe these days. The vision of Isabel is one thing, and that mist? I really don’t know. It’s testing me, I admit, but this stuff about mythical creatures, releasing evil serpents? I’m having real difficulty here.”
“Wait, wait a minute,” said Baz. “What did Silas say that day in church? You remember, Ed.”
“About what?”
“His dream, remember? He said he dreamt about an evil coming to the village, descending in a mist, only it was in a time before the church, just Druid-like people. And that verse he said to you in the allotment that day.”
“That’s right, he did,” I said. “It’s weird isn’t it, but it’s got to be coincidence. Surely you’re not suggesting there’s a connection between that and Henry’s story? It’s just too far-fetched, if you don’t mind me saying.”
“We all have a certain gift,” said Henry. “But few understand it, let alone recognise it. You in particular, Ed, have premonitions, if I’m not mistaken.”
“What do you mean?”
Henry stared at me intensely for several moments. “I think you know what I mean. Isabel invades your dreams. She tries to communicate. She wishes to leave the place to which she is tied. You know these things. She has told you as such in her own way.”
“Well…yeah, of course,” I said. “I’ve had dreams about her, but that’s just normal considering what we’ve seen. Don’t try and tell us this is anything more than a guess. And even Baz had a nightmare about the whole thing too.”
“You both have foreseen that which has yet to happen. I know this to be true.”
I was getting impatient. “But I’ve just told you that. I’ve just told you already that Baz had a bad dream. That doesn’t mean anything, no matter how you interpret it. Even Reverend John said it was perfectly normal to have weird dreams after what we’ve been through.”
“You also have a desire to break from your past. Your dreams tell you so.”
“Sure, but any astrologer will tell us that,” I said. “It’s a common statement in any horoscope column in the newspapers. So what?”
“Dreams can b
e visions of things to come, or of things long past. Silas told me of his vision, and I believe him. Perhaps his dream has told him of the arrival of Ankou many years ago, in a time before the memory of this village. Perhaps it was a place where men were once spiritually at one with the elements, the natural forces and worshipped them. And perhaps Ankou corrupted them. I do not know for certain, but I do know this: Silas has foreseen something as a very young child, but has misunderstood its meaning. What is more important is that he may already have seen the manifestation of his vision, but he either hides this fact or strives to wipe it from his mind.”
“That must be why he was acting so weird,” said Baz. “Like when he gave you those mandrakes in the allotment that day, remember Ed? Reverend John just dismissed it as him being a bit eccentric and misguided. He said Silas was the village idiot at first, but Silas said they were to help you ward off evil. Then he said later, when we were in church that day when Isabel appeared, that he learned about them in some Mediterranean country.”
“Ah yes, the mandrakes” said Henry. “Supposedly a love potion, an aphrodisiac according to ancient scholars. It has, however, much more lore surrounding it. The mandrake has been used in the past by various cultures, including witches, for different practices. Like most symbols, it’s whatever you want it to be. Take the crucifix, for example. It is a powerful symbol, but it is the bearer that gives it that power through his belief. That belief is sensed by the malign spirit, and it weakens its will, as it realises that the symbol is a reflection of what is in the bearer’s heart. It may be that Silas has seen the mandrake used as such in the past. That is why he would put so much faith in its power.”
“I can see why Reverend John dismissed it all as hocus-pocus,” I said. “It’s that sort of belief that sealed the fate of Isabel.”
Henry sat silent for a moment. “I agree, and understand your scepticism, but Silas has gained a belief in the power of mandrake from somewhere, but not from where he says. It may be that Silas has seen more than he can understand. Or perhaps he does understand, but chooses not to say.”
