Heart of the Hill

by Andrea Spalding

  He could even see it. The evening sunlight caught the ridges round the hillside, highlighting the edges of the ancient spiral path. A ray of hope flickered in his heart. The ridges were only partial. In many places they dipped and slipped, or were washed away with miniature landslides. Sometimes they disappeared, leaving only a stretch of smooth steep hillside. It was impossible to figure out.

  Relief filled him. If the path was missing, he couldn’t walk it. He didn’t have to face Vivienne.

  “The path’s damaged. I can’t walk it. No one can.” His voice trembled.

  “Steady the buffs,” Mr. Smythe replied as he negotiated the rough field. “I’ll teach you how to find it. Can you see two white stones? The entrance is between them.”

  “There are white stones everywhere,” muttered Adam. He kicked a small one.

  “No, waist-high boulders.” Mr. Smythe held out his arms to demonstrate. “One above the other, sunk into the side of the hill.”

  Chantel darted across the field and up the first part of the slope. “Like these?” She disappeared behind a rock and popped out the other side. “There’s another one almost the same size, kind of behind it.”

  Mr. Smythe loped across the slope to join her.

  Adam ground his teeth, his fear submerged by a sudden flash of anger. Trust his pesky little sister to spot the entrance first. How dare she? This was supposed to be his task. Even though he was scared spitless, it was his task.

  “Get out of there,” he yelled as he ran over. “If that’s the entrance, it might be dangerous.”

  Chantel stood her ground. “You’re not the boss of me, Adam Maxwell.”

  Adam lunged forward, but Mr. Smythe grabbed his arm. “Not this way. Not in anger.” He turned to Chantel.

  “Adam may be right, my dear.”

  Chantel pulled a face at Adam but stepped obediently from between the stones.

  “‘Enter the Labyrinth only with a pure heart.’ Isn’t that what Myrddin said?” Mr. Smythe looked at the two children anxiously. “I don’t feel the magic. I’m not even sure I believe all I’ve heard, but strange things are certainly happening, so we better do as we’re told. Agreed?”

  Adam and Chantel nodded.

  “I will teach you to dowse, Adam, so you can find your way along the spiral path. Dowsing, or divining, is an ancient skill that people still use to find water, but other things can be found too.”

  “Like old pathways?” said Adam.

  “Like old pathways,” agreed Mr. Smythe. “Once you’ve got the hang of it, we’ll wait for you at the top of the Tor, by the tower.”

  “Guess I’ll sing from the tower,” said Chantel. “That’s what Myrddin said I was to do. So you’ll hear me on your way up.”

  Adam rolled his eyes.

  “Are you ready, Adam?” said Mr. Smythe. “Do you have the thorn twig?”

  Adam fumbled inside his backpack and pulled it out.

  “Hold the twig in front of you like this.” Mr. Smythe showed how to grasp the short ends of the Y so the stem poked out in front of them.

  He handed the twig over and watched as Adam copied him.

  “Concentrate and tell the thorn what you’re looking for.”

  Adam laughed nervously. “You’re joking, right?”

  “No. Tell the thorn you are looking for the Labyrinth, then approach the entrance between the rocks,” said Mr. Smythe.

  Adam shook his head and handed the thorn back to Mr. Smythe. “You first.”

  Mr. Smythe held the ends of the Y and aimed the tip in front of himself. His lips moved silently as he walked between the two white stones. Suddenly the twig seemed to quiver and shake. Mr. Smythe’s knuckles turned white as he tightened his grip on the ends to control the shaking. He turned his body slowly, following the twist of the twig until it lay calmly in his hands again, pointing straight ahead, vibrating gently.

  “See that? The thorn was sensing the direction,” called Mr. Smythe. “I’ve aligned my body with the path, and now I can move forward until the twig twists again to show me the next change of direction.”

  “What does he think I am, stupid?” Adam whispered to Chantel. “He’s making the twig move.” But as the words tumbled out, something in his heart twisted and he wished he could unsay them.

  Chantel didn’t meet his eyes.

  “Come on Adam, your turn.” Mr. Smythe acted as though he hadn’t heard Adam’s comment. He stepped away from the Labyrinth and held out the twig.

  Adam took it, reluctantly, and lifted his eyes up to the older man.

  “I’m sorry, Sir. I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m… I’m … just really scared.”

  Mr. Smythe’s face softened, and he smiled at Adam.

  “Takes a man to admit that, son, and it’s understandable. Do you need a minute to pull yourself together?”

  “No. I better get on with it.” Adam grasped the Y ends of the twig and took a deep breath. “I need to … to… follow the Labyrinth’s spiral path,” he muttered. He stopped, feeling stupid again.

  “Go on … walk forward, between the entrance stones as you speak,” said Mr. Smythe.

  “Nothing’s happening,” protested Adam.

  Mr. Smythe waved him on.

  Adam took a deep breath. “Okay, okay.” He stretched out his arms and looked down at the twig again. “Take me to your leader.”

  Chantel shouted with laughter, and Mr. Smythe chuckled.

  Adam gave a twisted grin. “Sorry. I couldn’t resist.” He shook himself and grasped the twig once more. “Take me through the Labyrinth to the Crystal Cave,” he said seriously and stepped between the entrance stones.

  Still nothing happened.

  Confused, Adam looked toward Mr. Smythe who gestured him on.

  Adam concentrated again on the twig and took several steps forward. A tingling began in his palms and shot up his arms. The twig quivered.

  Adam stumbled. “Hey,” he said as he recovered. “My hands tickle.”

  Chantel grinned and gave a sigh of relief.

  “Good,” said Mr. Smythe. “You’re sensing the energy from the path. What happens if you swing to one side?”

  Adam turned sideways. “The tingling gets less, and the twig stops quivering, but I can feel it trying to pull me back.”

  “What about turning the other way?”

  Adam turned to face uphill. “The same thing, but it’s pulling me back in the opposite direction.” He faced across the slope again. “The tickling’s back,” he called out. “Amazing!” He began to walk, following the pull of the thorn twig. The sensation was so intriguing that his fear receded and the world faded away as the thorn drew him forward and his feet followed.

  Inside the Tor, Earth Magic stirred again for the first time in over two thousand years. The Crystal Cave flickered with sparks of light. A Magic Child was treading the sacred Spiral Labyrinth, and Vivienne was preoccupied with Zorianna!

  Adam lost track of time and space as he climbed the Tor. At first he whispered to the thorn and himself. “Follow the tingling. Step to the side. Over that tussock. Avoid the rabbit hole. Oops, watch out for the land slip. Uh-uh, I’ve turned too far. I’ve lost it. Good, the tingling’s back.”

  The thorn guided him slowly around and around the sides of the hill, sometimes doubling back, but always winding upward. Eventually he stopped talking and focused entirely on the intensity of the feeling. Always he held the image of the Crystal Cave in his mind. As he wound upward, the image became stronger and clearer.

  Chantel and Mr. Smythe watched from the field as Adam crisscrossed the slope above them.

  “Is he in a trance?” asked Chantel uneasily. “It’s like he doesn’t know we’re here anymore?”

  “He doesn’t. He’s divining, working an ancient meditative art.” Mr. Smythe patted Chantel’s shoulder. “Don’t be scared, that’s what’s supposed to happen. Come on. We’ll drive to the far side of the hill, climb the steps and watch his progress from the summit.”

&nbs
p; Chantel began to follow but paused at the top of the stile to watch Adam again. She waved, but he didn’t respond.

  A fragment of an old song her mom would sing at bedtime popped unbidden into Chantel’s head. “I’ll see you again,” she sang softly, “in all the old familiar places.” The sweet notes hung in the air.

  Adam hesitated, as though the music momentarily penetrated his consciousness, then he continued on, disappearing around the side of the hill.

  Chantel jumped off the stile and hurried to the car.

  Back at Myrddin’s house, Holly drifted into dreamworld. She was floating like a feather cradled by curls of mist. She glimpsed water below as the mist shredded and parted. Tiny waves swelled and flattened, and Holly followed their rhythm, up and down, up and down, relaxing into a deep, deep, sleep.

  Suddenly her fever rose, and Holly’s body grew hot, then cold: a mind-numbing, bone-chilling cold.

  The howl of the wind roused her. She shivered. The mist was cold and damp. The waves below frothed around a rocky outcrop and beat across the stony beach of a dark and forbidding island.

  The island drew her like a magnet.

  Holly didn’t want to go. She resisted, flapping her arms to regain height and control. She tried to turn her body and fly back into sleep, but the mist thickened and roped around her, restricting movement.

  Hidden in the shadow of the cliff below, a dark figure spun the mist into threads and reeled her in.

  Owen’s dreamself flew in and out of the mists of sleep until he sensed Holly’s presence. He followed her. It was pretty boring. She was aimlessly drifting through clouds and over a body of water. He flapped along behind her, livening up the dream with an occasional dive or roll down to the water and back up again. He saw the island before Holly did and gave a subdued cheer. Maybe now her dream would become more interesting.

  “Uh-oh,” he murmured as Holly suddenly twisted, turned and kicked, as though fighting against something. He watched as the mist thickened around her, and she was drawn down and tumbled onto the island’s shore. He spotted two cloaked figures waiting in the shadows, one reeling Holly in, the second watching. They stepped forward as Holly sprawled on the pebbles.

  Owen glided silently through the mist and landed on the hilltop above them. He concealed himself behind a crag.

  The taller of the cloaked figures smirked. “I told you my powers were strong. Here comes your proof, Vivienne. I entered this child’s dreams.” Zorianna drew her cloak more closely around her body and shuddered. “Though why the child dreamed of the Tor this far back in time I do not know. What a miserable place it was, always wet.”

  “This is the time of the Lake Villages, when the Tor was a island sanctuary called Avalon. The child came here when she walked my labyrinth. It is still in her mind,” said Vivienne.

  “No matter. Watch me take control.” Zorianna stretched out her hand and beckoned with a long finger.

  Holly’s body jerked, and her head and shoulders raised from the beach. She looked toward the two figures, shuddered and dropped back again.

  “See! Do I not keep my promise?” hissed Zorianna. “The girl is under my control. There lies your replacement, Vivienne. Feed her with crumbs of power and soon you will taste freedom, and I will have the first of many humans under my command.” She beckoned Holly again.

  Vivienne said nothing but watched with interest as Holly’s body jerked liked a robot and tried to rise.

  Holly felt stiff and clumsy. The cold seeped through her skin and chilled her bones. Even her blood ran slow. She pressed her hands into the pebbles, forced her shoulders up and made an effort to bend her stiff knees so she was crawling. She stopped as a wave of nausea made her retch.

  Nothing made sense. She remembered returning from the doctor’s and falling asleep in the guest bedroom at Myrddin’s house. She remembered floating through mist. But where was she now, and why was she feeling so wretched? Why did she feel like a puppet on a string?

  Her body jerked again.

  She was a puppet! Somebody was making her body move!

  A wave of hot anger thrust her to her feet. This was a nightmare. Who was jerking her around?

  Shivering, Holly turned toward the cliff. Two cloaked figures lurked in the deep shadow. Another wave of anger gave her some strength. “Who do you think you are, pulling me from the dream-mist like a fish on a line?” she demanded. “Where am I? What do you want of me?” She shook sand and gravel out of her curls with hands that trembled, but her eyes glared.

  A faint smile hovered on Vivienne’s lips. Zorianna had yet to experience cantankerous humans and their concept of free choice. This might prove amusing.

  Owen watched from the crags. “Go easy, Holly,” he muttered. “I’m not sure who you’re dreaming about, but those two women look nasty.” He drew back behind the rock and tried to think of a way to help. I wish I could ask Myrddin about them, he thought. Memory of Myrddin’s words rang through his head: “Watch over her from a distance. Do not approach or interfere unless she calls for assistance.”

  Owen peered down again. Holly wasn’t asking for help yet; she was just plain mad. He gave a little grin. Holly didn’t get mad very often, but when she did, boy, was she stubborn!

  “The girl resists. How dare she?” said Zorianna.

  Vivienne smirked. “Humans are complex beings. It might be better if we make her dream more comfortable. Then she will relax.” She stepped forward. “Welcome, child.”

  Holly swayed, a puzzled look on her face.

  “Come,” encouraged Vivienne. “Let us show you the wonders of this place, but first you need food and warmth, for your journey was long.” She gestured toward a cleft in the cliff behind her.

  “Do I know you?” Holly rubbed her forehead. “Your voice…it sounds familiar.” She looked up and down the dark shore. “Where am I? Who are you?”

  “That is not important right now,” snapped Zorianna.

  “What is important is that you are here. Come!” With a swirl of her cloak Zorianna led the way into the cleft.

  Holly stood her ground.

  Angrily Zorianna turned and lifted her arm again, but Vivienne stepped between her and Holly. “Persuasion, not persecution,” she murmured, then called across to Holly again. “Come child. Eat and rest before you continue.”

  The smell of roasting chicken stole across the beach.

  Holly’s mouth watered. She had not eaten for hours.

  Vivienne gestured toward the cave entrance, and Holly glimpsed the flicker of fire inside.

  An icy wind blew, and waves splashed around Holly’s feet. She edged farther up the beach. The wind strengthened, and soon the waves were crashing and hissing around her.

  Once more the smell of roasting chicken assailed her nostrils, and the promise of warmth and comfort flickered from the cleft. Holly followed the women inside.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  LOST IN THE PAST

  Owen groaned as Holly disappeared into the cleft. “Stupid move, Holly. How the heck am I supposed to observe you now?”

  He waited for a few moments, peering down from the rocky crag. Neither Holly nor the two cloaked women reappeared. Cussing under his breath, he began to scramble down the treacherous slope. He paused. “Hey, this is a dream, I can fly.” He stretched out his arms and half jumped, half flew to the ground and peered into the cleft.

  A low murmur of voices floated out, but no footsteps seemed to be coming his way. He slipped inside.

  It was dank and miserable in the narrow crack between the rocks, almost as cold as outside. Owen was baffled. What on earth had made Holly follow the women? Suddenly the smell of roast chicken hit his nose, and he understood. Following the smell, he edged along the wall until he came to a large cavern.

  The cavern was full of light and heat. Holly sat in a velvet chair and warmed her hands at a roaring fire that curled up a natural chimney in the cavern wall. She watched as the two women divested themselves of their cloaks. The women were
beautiful, neither young nor old, but both with an ageless beauty, one fair and one dark. Holly stared and tried to smooth her tangled curls.

  Vivienne noticed and laughed.

  “You are a windswept waif, aren’t you?”

  Holly’s hand dropped. She shrank back into the chair as though she’d been slapped.

  In the middle of the cavern stood a gigantic oak table covered with dishes. A sizzling chicken waited to be carved flanked by a platter of roast potatoes, a dish of peas and a jug of gravy. Farther down the table an apple pie waited.

  Everything smelt delicious. Holly licked her lips.

  Owen peered into the cavern from behind a large rock. He frowned as he watched Holly warm herself at the fire. Something was wrong. The scene he was observing was hazy. The edges of the furniture were fuzzy, shimmering like a mirage. He also noticed a weird tension between the two women. He watched. They exchanged glances and looked at the food over and over, staring intently at Holly when she wasn’t looking. They were waiting for something to happen.

  Owen tensed. What if something was wrong with the food? What if it was poisoned? But why would these women want to poison Holly? He prepared to warn her with a blast of mindspeak, but stopped himself just in time. If he used mindspeak these magical women might sense it. He mouthed a warning, desperately trying to project it toward his sister. “Watch it, Holly.”

  Holly was oblivious.

  “You may eat,” said Vivienne, settling into a chair at the table. She motioned Holly to sit beside her and carved a slice of fragrant chicken. She placed it on Holly’s plate.

  Zorianna glided to the place set on Holly’s other side and offered her the platter of potatoes.

  Holly piled her plate. The smells filled her nostrils, and the warmth relaxed her body. She sighed with pleasure and leaned back to enjoy the moment.

  “What are you waiting for?” hissed Zorianna. “Eat.”