THE SILENCE OF THE STONES: Will the secrets written in the stones destroy a young woman's world? The runes are cast. Who will die?

by Rebecca Bryn

  She stopped at the garage and bought cake, it seemed more awkward going empty-handed than going with a bribe, and headed into the hills. Clynderwen: Greg had mentioned Station Road to the police officer. She followed the line of the railway, parked near the station, and walked.

  Knocking on doors finally produced results. ‘You want the farm at the end, dear.’

  ‘Of course, a farm. Thank you.’ She drove to the end of the lane and into a yard.

  A tall man with grey, curly hair looked up from working on a tractor wheel. ‘You lost?’

  ‘I’m looking for James Reece.’

  ‘You don’t look like police. Reporter?’

  ‘No, neither. I’m Alana Harper. My… aunt was Siân Ap Dafydd. I know your son, Greg.’

  The man shifted a wrench to his left hand, wiped his right one on his overalls and held it out in greeting. ‘I knew your aunt. I was sorry to hear she’d died.’

  She shook the offered hand. It was work-calloused and grimy. ‘I hoped we could talk.’ She proffered a paper bag. ‘I brought cake.’

  He smiled. ‘Can’t really refuse now, can I? I’ll get Irene to put the kettle on. Come up to the house.’

  A plump woman in a floral apron busied getting what looked like the best crockery from a cabinet. James introduced them. ‘This is Irene, my wife. Cariad, this is Alana, a friend of Greg’s. She’s brought cake.’

  Irene put plates on the kitchen table. ‘Sit down, love. James has told me all about Greg. I’m looking forward to meeting him. How do you know him?’

  ‘He came to Coed-y-Cwm, looking for his mother. I live there, in my aunt’s cottage. I’m afraid I didn’t make him very welcome…’ She glanced at James, not sure how much she should say.

  James nodded. ‘Irene knows about Nerys and the children.

  ‘Nerys was also convicted of the abduction and murder of Cadi… my half-sister. When I discovered he’d lost his sister, too, we found we had something in common.’

  Irene put a teapot on a mat on the table. ‘It was a sad business. Very sad.’

  James raised an eyebrow. ‘So what did you want to talk about, young lady?’

  ‘You’re not going to like it.’

  ‘Hence the cake?’ He smiled. ‘Go ahead. Nothing you say can be worse than what we’ve been through, already.’

  ‘The police have been to see you?’

  ‘The bones they found? Another child. I can’t believe they’re anything to do with Nerys.’

  Irene sliced cake. ‘Jim still thinks she’s innocent, don’t you, love?’

  ‘She was a good mother, despite what the papers would have you think.’

  She stirred sugar into her tea. ‘James, you were at the trial?’

  ‘I didn’t miss a single day.’

  ‘Who testified against her?’

  ‘That wasn’t a question I was expecting. Let me see.’ He scratched his nose. ‘Your Aunt Siân, for one. Then there was Mair Parry and Non Richards. And Bronwen Stevens.’

  ‘You do realise they’re all dead?’

  ‘All of them? Bronwen, too?’

  ‘About a year ago, according to Greg’s friend, Maddy.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Maddy. Greg’s young lady. Nice girl.’

  ‘Who else testified against her?’

  ‘The woman who lived opposite us. Next to Siân. Peroxide blonde, false eyelashes.’

  ‘Elin?’

  ‘Elin Davis, That’s the one.’

  ‘Who else?’

  ‘Non’s cousin. Can’t remember her name, but she died years back. Mair’s sisters, Catrin and Bridget. Catrin lives near Cardigan, married a farmer: Welsh Blacks. Bridget moved abroad. She married a Greek. Then there was Betsan Pugh.’

  ‘Betsan still lives in Coed-y-Cwm. Harriet, my neighbour, pointed her out to me, once. I’ve seen her across the green, but I’ve never spoken to her.’

  Irene put her cup carefully in its saucer. ‘Why bring all this up, now?’

  ‘I think your husband is right. I don’t believe Nerys was guilty.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘I can’t tell you, not yet, but that isn’t the point.’

  James sighed. ‘It’s a belief that’s thirty years too late. Nerys lost her freedom, her life, her family, everything she cared about. If her innocence isn’t the point, what is?’

  ‘Are you sure there’s no one else who gave evidence against Nerys?’

  James pursed his lips. ‘They were all chapel goers, I remember that. It was a long time ago. It’s a small village… after Tom died, virtually all the women took against Nerys. Ask any of them.’

  She hesitated. ‘James, if Nerys is innocent, then these women all lied on oath.’

  He nodded. ‘It was a conspiracy.’

  ‘If Nerys is innocent… She’s had thirty years to plan her revenge.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Maddy doesn’t think the recent deaths are accidental. The police think the fire at Mair’s house could be arson.’

  James leaned forward. ‘You think Nerys is responsible?’

  ‘Did she have an interest in the occult? Tarot cards… runes, anything of that nature?’

  ‘No, she was chapel, too. She poo-pooed that sort of thing.’

  ‘And you have no idea where she might be living?’

  ‘None at all.’

  She tried another tack. ‘If she is responsible for the deaths, then she’s no longer innocent. These women, all of them that are still alive, are in danger.’

  ‘That’s ludicrous.’

  ‘What has she got left to lose?’

  James leaned back in his chair. ‘She’d think she has nothing left to lose. She doesn’t know Greg is trying to find her.’

  She stared into the bottom of her empty teacup. A scattering of tea-leaves made a shape like a skull. It wasn’t just Nerys who worried her: if the women who’d perjured themselves knew she had evidence that she, Cadi, was alive… to what lengths would they go to silence her?

  Chapter Eighteen

  Alana threw herself into her work. Easter was early this year, and two galleries had agreed to display her paintings. For the moment, the sculpture had to take a back seat while she earned hard cash and established a reputation. The wider the portfolio she had to impress the Arts Council, the more likely she was to get funding: the sooner she got funding the sooner she’d have a home fit for Saffy. If she went to the police: if Nerys was found… if the perjurers…

  Ultramarine Blue blended on her palette with Brown Madder, one of her favourite mood combinations. Storm clouds mirrored the turbulence in her mind. If Nerys, if it were Nerys daubing runes on her door, didn’t get her first, it would be easy for one of Siân and Mum’s co-conspirators to kill her and blame her death on Greg’s mother. They’d got away with it once, already.

  A touch of white on a smaller brush described wind-topped waves far out to sea. She should leave Coed-y-Cwm until this was over, but where could she go? Dad didn’t need her wrecking his new relationship, she wasn’t speaking to Mum, and Greg and Maddy’s relationship would fare better without her. There was no-one she could safely confide in.

  A hint of yellow brought sunshine to a patch of sea lit by the sun. Cadi: her name carved in runes on the stones had to be coincidence. Cadi was an old Welsh name… It could easily have been there for another Cadi, hundreds of years in the past, and nothing whatever to do with her. The tall stone looked like an ancient grave-marker, and would be an inviting choice for the more recent, clandestine burial of the unknown child.

  Her name, Cadi, meant pure, chaste: she’d looked it up. She was far from either: despoiled, selfish, her whole life a web of deceit. Mum’s lies explained so much but how could she trust her, knowing what she’d done? She’d left Saffy with her and not worried about her, until now, but Siân had trusted her sister with her only daughter, too.

  A dash of purple laid cloud shadow over blue-green ocean. Siân had given her away rather than leave Dafydd. Ho
w could a mother do that to her child?

  Paint dripped from her brush onto the floor as she agonised. She’d given up Saffy: was that really so different? She’d had no intention of telling Saffy who her father was, but she wanted better than lies and deceit for her. She smiled: Saffy had called her Mummy. It was important the child knew who she was. Important she knew she was loved, especially by her.

  She went back into her palette with a clean, moist brush: the distant blue-grey headland gave way to closer, more forbidding cliffs. It came down to whether she was going to the police.

  She scratched her forehead with an Ultramarine finger. Greg’s dark eyes haunted her dreams. She had the power to clear his mother of a murder, and set his and James’s minds to rest, but Nerys’ life was already ruined and, in clearing her, she’d implicate her own family in a cruel deception: both her parents would likely go to jail. If she was publicly cleared would it prevent further deaths? Either way, the only outcome for Nerys was being shut up in a loony bin.

  The finger of guilt pointed, but on whom did it really rest? Dafydd, for being a drunkard, Siân for being too weak to leave him, Mum and Dad for joining the silent conspiracy, Coed-y-Cwm for harbouring perjurers or Nerys’ father for pre-programming vulnerable young minds with the idea that Nerys was wicked, and possessed of the devil? Or should she blame the Calvinist faith for teaching assured redemption and demoniac possession to a man who needed little justification for his perversions? Not that Calvinists were worse than any other religion in offering easy solutions to assuage the guilt of the unredeemable. She’d stick to her small gods.

  Who else had known about Cadi? Mair? Non? All those who’d perjured themselves? Thirty years locked away for a crime she didn’t commit: thirty years to brood. The more she thought about it, the more certain she became: somewhere out there, Nerys was still planning her revenge.

  ***

  The newspaper and a pile of post lay on the doormat. Rhiannon bent to retrieve it. Several days’ junk mail and a gardening catalogue. The headlines on the front page of the local rag stopped her short. Unidentified bones found in ancient stone circle.

  Her intake of breath brought Nerys. What is it, Rhiannon?

  ‘The bones the police found at Cerrig o’ Týr.’

  It was an accident.

  ‘They’re not Bethan or Cadi's.’

  Silence.

  ‘Who’s are they, Nerys?’

  I can’t remember.

  ‘What do you mean, you can’t remember?’

  It was a long time ago.

  ‘You said it was Cadi buried in the circle.’

  Maybe I was wrong.

  ‘You told me you were innocent… I’ve done terrible things to right that wrong.’

  I didn’t ask you to. I cautioned you against it.

  ‘Please, tell me you didn’t kill Cadi and Bethan, or this other child.’

  I murdered no one. I am innocent of murder. I can’t lie to you, can I?

  ‘You can lie to yourself, Nerys.’

  You can’t keep me shut away, forever, Rhiannon.

  She strengthened her resolve. ‘How many times do I have to say this, Nerys? I’m not shutting you away. I’m taking control to protect you… someone has to.’

  I will find a way, one day.

  You’re mean, Rhiannon. Lowrie’s voice, petulant.

  We only want our lives back.

  She clamped her hands to her ears to stop the voices. ‘Shut up. Shut up!’

  We won’t shut up, will we, Lowrie? You’re hoping we’ll fade away and die. That would suit you, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘I’m not listening to you. I don’t have to listen to you. Go away.’

  You’re a bad woman, Rhiannon. You’re wicked.

  She hurried outside and slammed the door behind her. There had been a time when Nerys had barely spoken to her, now she hardly ever let her be. Nerys was her conscience troubling her, that was all. She pushed the thought away: she was doing this for Nerys… Putting the twelve where they belonged. Elin had got off lightly, too lightly.

  She took a deep breath and went back inside to face her conscience. She needed to do a telling for Elin. The pouch of runes wasn’t in its usual place. She searched drawers and cupboards. She was sure she’d put it away. Her journal lay open on the dresser. It was a habit she’d borrowed from Nerys, who’d begun keeping one as part of her therapy when she was in the psychiatric unit. They’d grown closer during that time. There was a childish drawing of a house with black windows and two chimneys, and the last entry wasn’t in her handwriting. The tellings are poppycock. Have thrown away the runes.

  ‘Nerys!’ She searched the kitchen bin. ‘Where did you put the runes?’

  Silence.

  ‘I know you’ve thrown them away.’

  The silence had a stubborn, determined feel.

  ‘Damn you, Nerys.’

  It’s all rubbish. You put your own meaning into what falls.

  ‘Of course, I do. It’s how it works. The runes relate to the question I ask… the results are what they mean to me… how I interpret them.’

  So do me a telling. Prove it.

  ‘Tell me where you’ve put them and I will.’

  They’re in the dustbin.

  ‘You never go outside.’

  Lowrie put them there for me.

  ‘You let Lowrie out by herself? I thought we’d agreed… Nerys, don’t you know how dangerous that is? Suppose someone had seen her, spoken to her? Are you trying to jeopardise everything?’

  The silence sulked.

  ‘I’ll fetch the runes.’

  She spread a clean white cloth on the table and felt inside the pouch, waiting for the right runes to come to hand. ‘A three-rune Norn-casting, I think, Nerys.’

  Norn?

  ‘The Norns were Norse goddesses of fate. Urdh was goddess of the past, Verdhandi, goddess of the present and Skuld was goddess of the future. Fate, or wyrd, was important in the psychology of the ancients.’ She laid out the runes in a row. ‘Othila and Mannaz, both from Tyr’s aett. And Uruz at the right is from Freyr’s aett. Do you see?’

  Yes, I see, but what’s it supposed to mean?

  ‘Patience. Othila represents the past, Mannaz, the present, and Uruz the future outcome if you continue on your present path. Now, let’s see. Týr is a war leader. He represents the spirit of the just.’

  Justice? The voice held a snort of derision.

  ‘You see, already the runes speak to you. Othila, now, is a rune of inheritance. Discarding old ways in order to move forward. It symbolises mental and spiritual heritage, property, old traditions and family values.’

  I lost my family. All I inherited was grief.

  ‘It also means the freeing of an individual from a group or clan, fundamental ideas and spiritual values.’

  Incarceration was hardly freedom.

  ‘But you were freed, so Othila speaks true.’ She let her mind wander across the rune’s meanings. ‘Something may have to be given up, or lost, in order to acquire property or an estate, the wise use of resources is indicated.’

  What else is there for me to give up? You are all I have left.

  Was that threat she heard in Nerys’ tone? ‘I look after you, protect you. You and Lowrie need me.’

  What else do the runes say?

  Did she detect a tad of interest? ‘Mannaz is where you are, now. It’s a rune sacred to Odin, the all-father. It’s about mankind and what sets humans apart. It suggests taking the middle path. It also refers to family matters.’

  Lowrie is family.

  ‘She is, and she’s a little, so we must look after her. We are all family.’

  We have no choice in the matter. I shall have to make amends for your actions.

  ‘Why?’ I’ve done nothing the worthies didn’t deserve, have I?’ She shook off the accusation of guilt. ‘Mannaz also signifies a connection to others, mutual joy, intelligence, memory and culture.’

  We are connected.


  ‘We are.’

  What else? I sense there is more.

  ‘A desire for change.’

  No-one could desire change more.

  ‘Maybe this won’t be forever. But you do see that Mannaz speaks true, as well?’

  Maybe I judged in haste. What of my future? Do I have a future?

  She stroked Nerys’ mind with a gentle hand. ‘We have a future together, don’t we?’

  Uruz?

  ‘Uruz is from Freyr’s aett. Freyr is goddess of fertility and increase.’

  A snort of laughter. A bit late in life to get pregnant.

  ‘Hush.’ Uruz, and what it held for Nerys’ future, worried her. ‘Uruz is sacred to Thor, God of thunder and strength. It’s a rune of creativity and sexual energy.’

  Not much chance of that, these days.

  ‘Be serious, Nerys. Uruz also represents the death of a cycle, out with the old and in with the new.’

  Change will come?

  ‘It would seem so. It may also indicate a dark period with material loss, or the loss of a person, but new opportunities will arise from this.’

  Maybe you’ll have to let me out. Maybe you’ll have to let Lowrie out, too. Maybe your time is drawing to a close. Take care, Rhiannon. Change is coming if Uruz also speaks true.

  She swept the runes into their pouch and shut them away in the dresser drawer. Nerys was becoming stronger, and the telling had confirmed that. She didn’t voice the rest of the telling: Uruz was indicative of tests, and greed, and unpredictable power. She waited until Nerys slept before she cast the runes for Elin.

  ***

  Alana tapped her fingers as she waited for the computer screen to wake. She had a website to build, photographs of her work to upload, and a Facebook page to create if she was to spark interest in her work.

  Twenty-one unread e-mails awaited her, to go with the fifteen missed and ignored calls on her mobile. All were from Mum and all said much the same thing: they culminated in a desperate plea.

  Alana, please think this through. Don’t go to the police. If you won’t stay silent for me, think of your dad, think of Saffy.

  She tapped a reply. Stop ringing and e-mailing me. I’ll make the right decision when I know what it is. I won’t succumb to blackmail.