“I’m Beth,” the Canadian smiled. Taryn knew she was Canadian because she had patches of the northern country’s flag sewn onto her backpack-a backpack that was taller than her.
“I’m Lucy,” the redhead supplied. She was quieter but her smile was sweet. She was sitting on the edge of her bed and Taryn noticed that she was reading Stephen King’s Bag of Bones.
“That’s a great book,” Taryn commented. “I re-read it at least once a year.”
Lucy smiled and relaxed. “Me too. And so does my boyfriend.”
“I’m actually partly here because of a book,” Taryn said, feeling abnormally chatty. “Mists of Avalon?”
Lucy’s eyes lit up. “I love that one! It’s one of the reasons I started looking into Wicca.”
Beth popped up from her bottom bunk and grinned. “Me too! And one of the reasons why my boyfriend and I are here as well.”
Taryn looked around. She didn’t see any other luggage. “Where is your boyfriend?”
“Oh, he’s staying in another room. They won’t let us, you know, stay co-ed because it’s kind of rude to the other people,” Beth explained.
“Same here,” Lucy said, raising her hand.
“Well I don’t care,” Taryn shrugged. “They can stay in here with us if they want.”
Beth’s face lit up from ear to ear. “Yeah? You don’t mind?”
Taryn shook her head.
And, just like that, she made friends with two Wiccans on their annual pilgrimage to Glastonbury.
***
Taryn had never been to a place like Glastonbury before. She had lunch in a pub called King Arthur’s. She stopped in a gift shop that carried Bibles and rosaries down one side and crystal balls and incense down the other. A small pagan parade filed down the street during lunch; she passed a woman making the sign of a cross before a yew tree on her stroll through the Glastonbury Abbey.
Taryn walked through the Abbey ruins, taking in the majestic broken structures with glee. She tried imagining what it would’ve looked like in its former grandeur and teared up when she stood before Arthur and Guinevere’s gravesite, even though she knew nothing lay below.
And she tried taking pictures with Miss Dixie, just to see if the past would come to life for her. What kind of a ghost hunter would she be if she didn’t try?
To her disappointment, nothing happened.
Taryn hiked to the top of Glastonbury Tor, that tall hill that rose over the town. Once up there, she ducked inside the tower with several other tourists when an impromptu rain storm hit and she took pictures of the glistening valley below when the rain came to a screeching halt.
She stood at the top and tried to imagine what it would’ve liked many years ago when the land had been filled with lakes and the Tor was part of a small island in the middle. And as she watched a few brave tourists carefully tread the labyrinth around the hillside, faces set firmly in concentration, she tried to pretend that she was the Lady of Avalon, able to part the mists with the few right words and gestures.
It wasn’t foggy that day. Indeed, the air was crisp and clear. The grass sparkled from the rain and, on her way back down, she took her time, enjoying the cool breeze on her face and the happiness of being on her own and having an adventure.
She was halfway down the Tor when she heard the footsteps behind her. Taryn paid no attention to them at first but when they quickened, she moved over to the side to let the person pass. Rather than moving past her, however, she heard the footsteps come to a halt behind her and then felt the touch of a foreign hand on her shoulder.
When she paused and turned, she was face to face with a stocky man with curly, gray hair.
“It’s time,” he declared gravely. His unlined face was somber. He was subdued in his dark slacks and dark top and pale face. His only color came from his silver hair and deep blue eyes.
“Time for what?” she whispered. Taryn suddenly felt as though everyone in the world had disappeared, leaving them alone on the side of the Tor. Time itself seemed to stop or, rather, it continued to speed around them but the two of them remained trapped in it.
“You know why you’re here,” he replied. He placed his hand on her shoulder and sighed with something that might just have been regret. “Why they were all there.”
“Who are you?” she asked.
“It’s not time for fear,” he said, ignoring her question. “You won’t be alone.”
Then, with great tenderness, he leaned forward and placed a kiss on her cheek. His lips were cold and soft.
Before Taryn could respond again, he was shuffling past her and the world was once again awake, busily moving around her as though nothing had happened.
***
With a few more hours left in the afternoon, Taryn parked herself on a bench in the Chalice Garden. She’d strolled through the flowery paths for half an hour but, after the long hike up the Tor and back, her legs were bothering her. She was trying to hold off on using her medicine until she returned to the hostel. Sometimes it made her sick and she didn’t want to be puking in public.
The wrought iron bench was located just a few feet away from the Chalice Well and the little pond it fed into. She could hear other tourists holding their cups beneath the spigot, hoping for cures (or at least good luck) that the legendary water source supposedly held.
In her backpack she had a couple of souvenirs she’d picked up at the Abbey’s gift shop, as well as a T-shirt bought from a store in town. She was also carrying Iona’s diary.
Now, Taryn removed it from the sack and studied the sheets of glossy white paper. There weren’t many pages, perhaps twenty-five in all. They’d planned on reading them when they got back to the house but then the mess had happened with Paul and nobody was in the mood after that. Nicki, looking beat, had retired to her room where she’d stayed the rest of the evening. Shawn had gone off for a walk. In fact, Taryn had lost sight of them and never had the chance to tell them of her change of plans, although she’d sent Nicki a text from Miriam’s car.
Taryn peeked at the pages. The snaky handwriting was hard to read but, thankfully, it wasn’t in old Welsh all they’d all feared. Nicki’s Welsh was shaky at best.
She felt a little disloyal to read the diary now, without them, but something was compelling her. Perhaps it was the relaxing sound of the running water behind her. Or maybe it was the soft warmth of the sun beating down on her shoulders. Or the scent of the pink cabbage roses that climbed the trellis to her left. Regardless, she felt like she was in a safe place. And the diary needed to be read. It might, after all, offer something important. She’d apologize when she returned.
So, with a drink balancing next to her on the bench, her legs folded under her, and a few hours left before the park closed, Taryn smoothed out the copied pages and began to read.
Chapter Thirty-One
October 2
Father died today. I stood in my window and watched him fall from the stallion. I could no nothing but continue to stand and weep while others rushed to him and attempted to bring him back to life. I would have spent the rest of my days in my room but there were decisions to make and so I was called upon.
I am not sure how I shall bear it.
October 7
I left the house for the first time in a fortnight. Ceredigion House was first a prison to me but is now a sanctuary. I cannot possibly think of leaving it now, as has been suggested. I hear Father’s footsteps at night, pacing the corrido. I hear the beautiful music of my mother’s piano in the early morning hours. I know that the dead never truly leave us so how am I to leave him?
The moor is cold and bare. The leaves on the trees are dead. Everything reminds me of dead hands, devoid of flesh, reaching for me with every step I take.
Still, I find solace on the moor. There is no happiness there at the moment, nothing to make me smile. Simply rolling land of nothingness and that is what fills me-nothingness. I longed for someone or something to understand me, and so it does.
&n
bsp; October 17
Today a messenger arrived with news from Amlodd. He will be arriving in one week’s time. Our arrangement holds true, even without Father’s presence-or perhaps because of it.
I have not laid eyes on Amlodd since we were young children and once played together on the lawn and in the attics. He has sent word that he feels compelled to honor our arrangement, even without Father’s presence. They say I should be thankful for such an arrangement, that another will almost certainly never come my way. I imagine they speak truth. I know him not but even a stranger is preferable to spending the rest of my days in Yorkshire. At least with Amlodd I shall be allowed to remain at Ceredigion House.
October 26
I continue to take over my mother’s duties in regards to the Cup here at Ceredigion House. The guests arrive far less frequently now. They are suspicious of me, not altogether accepting Father’s death as truth. I ensure that they are well tended to and leave with visions of what’s expected. I shall continue to carry out my mother’s duties until I am no longer able.
November 1
Amlodd’s presence is a welcomed one. I did not expect to enjoy his company so thoroughly. The darkness of the house feels brighter and even the gloominess of the moor has lifted. There are days when I miss such things but I understand the importance of happiness.
We spend much of our days together. He is a handsome fellow and has grown into the long, thin limbs and shocking red hair he had as a boy. Our friendship quickly renewed with vigor, even after spending so much time apart.
After our noonday meal we go for walks along the paths in the forest and by the lake. We took a boat ride today with a lunch on the far side of the lake. Yesterday I took him upon the moors and he laughed with delight at a deer that didn’t appear to be inconvenienced by us in the slightest. Sensing his sweet nature and good humor perhaps, it walked right up to us and sniffed wetly at his cloak. I teased him of being part animal and he called me a “cat”, always mischievous and having many different lives.
November 5
Amlodd and I will commence the wedding ceremony at Christmas. Uncle George and his family will visit us and oversee the festivities. I didn’t think I could want to see Ceredigion House gay and with merriment again but now I find myself anticipating it.
November 9
Our dear harpist, who’d only come to stay on here full time, departed from this world this morning. The poor dear was not long meant for this world at his age and health but I had hoped he would remain with us for awhile longer. How I will miss his warm smile and the beautiful music he spun for us. I am only happy that Amlodd is here with me to grieve. I know that it would be much harder for me if he were not.
November 14
Today I was informed that the village is suspicious of me. There has been talk of my wickedness, of the way I cause the deaths of those around me. Oh, if they only knew! To have caused the death of my mother and father! I would never. If only they knew the truth, the real truth. If I could tell them.
But I cannot.
My serving girl, Anwen, revealed their wicked gossip to me. She shed tears over the foolishness and pleaded my innocence but they claimed she was cursed, that I had placed her under an evil spell.
Filled with hurt and anger, I could no longer stay inside those hard, cold walls. I ran out the front doors, forgetting my cape, and ran through the garden and to the moor. I didn’t think I would ever stop. The wind was blowing something fierce. I ran and ran, my hair blowing wildly back from my face and my heart beating madly, until I could no longer catch my breath. Then I collapsed to the ground and wept as though I’d never shed a tear before. The rain began then and soaked me through and through. I didn’t try to move. I desired the cold, wet drops and the gray skies. I wanted more and so I cried for them, asked the sky to offer more of what it had.
It must have heard my cries because the rain came down ferociously then. I was cold and wet but I wasn’t scared. No, instead I felt a fire burning deep inside my heart. For a moment I felt less alone, that whatever was above me had heard me and was listening to what I said. I lifted my hand and let the water run through my fingers. For the first time in my life, I felt a part of the world around me.
At last, Amlodd found me. He wrapped a cloak around my shoulders and helped me back to Ceredigion House. Anwen and the others helped me to bed but Amlodd stayed with me and entertained me through the night with poetry and song.
November 16
Such terrible happenings last night! Garym had expressed a fear of the stable horses only one week ago. The doctor was called and declared it a fever, but said it would soon pass. Last night however, while most everyone in the house was asleep, the horses went mad! They broke through the stable doors and went into the garden, trampling the winter vegetables in their path. Those closeby said there was white foam coming from their mouths and that their eyes were red and wild from madness. Oh, to think of my sweet Gwar being in such a condition! I could not imagine. How many sweet hours we’ve spent together on the paths in the forest! And now she, and the others, are gone. They’ve spent all morning digging holes for them in the ground. Ground made wet and muddy from the rains.
We have no answers for their sickness. The servants are looking at me, however, and I see the accusations in their eyes. I will continue to think of Father and Mother and hold my head up high.
November 21
Oh, how glad am I to have Amlodd with me. He has been right by my side through it all. Perhaps we have not always acted in the most proper of ways but it does not matter. We are to be married, after all. Just thinking of him brings a smile to my face. He understands my thoughts and my pleasures, knowing when I long to hear music and when I need to be left alone. He knows which songs amuse me, which stories I enjoy reading, and what topics I yearn to discuss the most. Other than Anwen and Father, he is the closest thing I have ever had to a friend. It is fortunate that I am to marry someone of such fine character. Not every woman is so blessed.
November 27
I closed myself inside my private room today and spoke of the burdens on my mind. My dear companion, Freckles, departed. First Gwar and now Freckles in such a small amount of time. I suspect she was poisoned, a terrible way to leave this world. I do not know who could have done such a thing. No one is willing to look me in the eye, save Anwen.
In my special place I spoke and spoke until my voice was weak. If only I could shirk my duties and no longer be part of such a thing. That is not possible, I have learned. I must continue. My work is important.
I know of the Revival going on across the land. Father said it had little to do with us. I have certainly never felt a draw to such things or powers. I do not think of what I do as holy or any other word I hear the servants using. But outside, in the forest and on the moor, I fell closer to the world around me. I feel a power inside of me. I wonder if perhaps it is all connected in some way.
I must not speak of these things to anyone. They will continue to call it witchery.
December 1
The servants are preparing the house and grounds for the holiday festivities. I have never been particularly happy at the sight of Uncle George and his family but now I welcome their stay for it means Amlodd and I will soon be married. The house is full of gaiety and song.
December 3
Amlodd has been in a dark mood. He received a message and it has troubled him deeply. He will not discuss the contents with me and it’s flared my temper to have such a thing kept from my ears. I feel that if it troubles him then it concerns me as well.
December 5
Today my world changed forever. I learned of a secret, a horribly wonderful secret. I shared it with Anwen and then thought to share it with Amlodd as well. I sought him at the stable yard and in the garden but was unable to find him. Garym is still angry with me about the horses. I fear he blames me still. He would not answer my inquisition to Amlodd’s whereabouts and our exchange erupted into an argument. I am not proud of th
e way I carried myself.
When Amlodd found me in the music room hours later, my enthusiasm had waned. I realized that before I could tell him I had to share all of me with him. So I told him the truth. I told him the truth of my mother, of Father. Of the horses and Freckles and all of those others who had come before. Of my mother. I told him that it would continue through me, to any child we might conceive.
I could not read Amlodd’s face. I thought his love was unconditional. I trusted in our friendship. He had little to say, however. He simply kissed me forehead, squeezed my shoulders, and walked away, leaving me alone.
December 7
Amlodd is gone. He has left. There was no departing note. My world is gone.
December 9
There will be no festivities at Ceredigion House. All decorating has come to an end. I have heard tales of an inquisition. George will not be traveling from Yorkshire now. I have no one to stand for me. I am alone.
January 2
Bloody Moor: A Ghost Story (Taryn's Camera Book 8) Page 17
