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 felt sorry for Stuart, but it was no less than Elin deserved. Liar, whore, outcast.

  She sat back at the table and rested her head in her hands. She was tired, bone tired; fighting Nerys and Lowrie’s increasing demands took most of her strength. Hating Elin, and the rest of the twelve, took the rest. The sound of car tyres drawing to a halt on the chippings outside sent her back to the window. A dark grey car turned and parked behind the locksmith’s van, and a man and a woman got out. She rotated the rune again. The man, she recognised: he’d visited Alana twice. They knocked on Stuart and Elin’s door.

  The rune’s edges dug into her palm: Elin was guilty of more than adultery. She pulled on a coat and shoes, pushed the rune into her pocket and hurried outside. She hadn’t seen Pryderi today: she could look for him while she waited. She called his name as she walked across the green, and got as close to Stuart’s front window as she dared. The voices were muted and she couldn’t catch more than an odd word.

  The front door opened and she moved away quickly. ‘Pryderi! Puss, puss, puss.’

  Stuart looked to be in shock. The man and woman walked towards The Haggard. Something had happened, and it involved Alana. Positive developments. Things were coming to a head.

  ***

  Alana chewed her knuckle as she waited for Tony to digest what she’d told him.

  He rubbed his cheek in a confused motion. ‘So the aunt and uncle you didn’t know existed are your parents. You’re parents are your aunt and uncle and they abducted you and are part of a conspiracy of silence. Not only are you not you, but you’re dead, and some poor sod, who’s done 30 years for your murder, and didn’t, is out on a revenge killing-spree.’

  ‘That’s about it, except at least one of the women who put her away knows who I am, and may be out to get me before I get her, because she now knows I know what she did.’ She paused to catch a breath. ‘If Nerys doesn’t do the job for her because of what Siân did. And, if Elin’s concocted a tale about me being responsible for these latest deaths, the police could be here any minute.’

  ‘You do realise how far-fetched that sounds?’

  ‘I did say I was confused, imperfect and full of contradictions.’

  He shook his head slowly from side to side.

  ‘Tony, what am I supposed to do? If I go the police about Elin and the others, tell them who I really am, Mum and Dad could get a prison sentence. And if I don’t, I’m as guilty of conspiracy. Nerys’ name will never be cleared and Greg… did I tell you about Greg?’

  ‘I have a feeling you’re about to.’

  ‘Greg is Nerys’ son.’ She fiddled with her fingers, remembering eyes as deep as peat pools. ‘He was born in Holloway and adopted away. He came looking for his birth mother when he heard she’d been released. He doesn’t deserve to spend his life thinking she’s a murderer, when… if she isn’t. And the police do think Siân, Mair and Non’s deaths were accidental, an awful coincidence.’

  ‘But you don’t?’

  ‘I don’t know what to think, anymore. It’s all circumstantial.’

  ‘This Greg…’

  She jumped at a knock on the door, and backed away from it.

  ‘You can’t avoid this, Alana. The truth will come out, sooner or later, and it’s better it was sooner. It will be okay.’ He opened the door.

  She recognised the police officer. She barely resisted the urge to hold out her wrists for handcuffs. ‘Come in.’

  The officer nodded. ‘Miss Harper.’ He raised an eyebrow at Tony.

  ‘This is Tony Maskell, a friend from Leicester.’

  ‘DC Flowers.’ He nodded again. ‘Mr Maskell. Miss Harper, I understand you spoke to Mrs Elin Davis this morning?’

  The lump in her throat almost choked her. ‘Yes, I did, but…’

  ‘Can you tell me what happened?’

  ‘Stuart and Elin were having an argument. He threw her out, suitcases and all. I asked her where she was going to go.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘She said she didn’t have anywhere.’

  ‘Did she give any indication of what she was planning to do?’

  Why were they playing cat and mouse? They surely knew by now. ‘I asked if she couldn’t go to Reverend Thomas, apparently they’d been having a thing, but she said no. She was a bit odd. Said something about being one of God’s chosen.’

  ‘Her husband said she’s very religious.’

  Tony gestured impatience. ‘What’s this about, DC Flowers?’

  ‘Did Mrs Davis threaten to do anything?’

  She sank onto the settee, her legs too weak to hold her. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Her husband, Stuart, said she threatened something.’

  But Stuart had shut the door on them: he hadn’t heard their conversation, the not-so-veiled threats. ‘Oh… you mean… yes. She said she’d kill herself, and then he’d be sorry. He told her he didn’t care if she jumped off a cliff.’ Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘She didn’t…’

  Tony reached for her hand and squeezed it. ‘Are you saying Mrs Davis has committed suicide?’

  ‘The body of a woman has been found on the beach at Caerfai.’

  ‘It’s Elin, isn’t it?’

  ‘It hasn’t been formally identified, yet. What you’ve told us confirms what Mr Davis said. His wife was in a distressed state. Thank you, Miss Harper. I’m sorry to have troubled you.’ He handed her a card. ‘If you think of anything else, give me a call.’

  That was it?

  ‘Glad we could help, DC Flowers.’ Tony opened the door and showed them out.

  She was shaking. ‘Oh, God. I threatened her, Tony. I told her I knew what she’d done. She was terrified, said she’d rather be dead than sent to jail. I killed Elin.’

  ***

  ‘I should be going.’ Tony stared at his watch as if he couldn’t wait to get back to Leicester, and sanity.

  Alana sighed inwardly. She and Tony didn’t stand a chance. Mike and Saffy would always come between them. ‘You’re not travelling back tonight?’

  ‘It’s either that, or find a B&B and that won’t be easy at Easter, at short notice.’

  ‘You could stay here. Go back in the morning. You must be knackered.’

  ‘It’s not that I don’t want to.’ He looked around. ‘I could help you clean up the rest of this mess.’

  ‘There’s no need, really. I shall make more before I’m done.’ The sculptures were almost finished, but she didn’t want her precious time with Tony spent shovelling and sweeping. ‘No strings. I’ll sleep on the sofa. I’ll only worry if you drive when you’re tired, and it hasn’t been an easy day.’

  ‘You can say that again.’ His expression softened. ‘You feeling better, now? If Elin killed herself, it isn’t down to you, you do know that? She was the guilty one.’

  ‘So you keep saying. I suppose you’re right. I still think I was the last straw.’

  ‘You weren’t to know that. She goaded you. She…’

  ‘What are you going to do about Mike?’

  ‘I’m going to confront him. What happens then I haven’t decided.’

  ‘He’ll tell you I asked for it’ She suppressed a shudder. ‘Gagging for it, were his exact words.’

  ‘I told you, I don’t believe that. I want to hear him admit the truth.’

  ‘And if he doesn’t?’

  Tony’s knuckles showed white. ‘He will.’

  ‘Don’t do anything you’ll regret, please. He’s your brother. Your dad needs you both right now.’

  ‘I can’t ignore what he’s done. I won’t ignore it.’

  ‘We have to try to move on, if we can.’ The mountain blocking their paths seemed insurmountable.

  ‘What’s she like?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Your daughter… Mike’s daughter.’

  ‘Mum says she looks like me at that age. Tony, don’t torture yourself thinking about Saffy, not now. I know how hard this is for you. I’m not asking anything of you, but st
ay tonight, please. I don’t want to be alone.’

  She moved into his arms, and let him bury his face in her hair. His chest heaved with suppressed sobs. ‘I hate him for what he’s done to you.’

  ‘It’s okay, Tony. It’s okay.’ She hated Mike, too, for what he’d done to them. Home felt so heart-stoppingly close, yet so impossibly far away.

  Chapter Twenty

  The police tape thrummed in the wind, a shaft of sporadic sunshine picking it out brightly against the sullen dawn sky. Rhiannon ducked under it and walked to the edge of the cliff. Below her, surf crashed onto the rocks. She licked salt from her lips. Elin had stood here. What had been her thoughts in the moments before her leap to God? Had she felt fear? Remorse? Had she even thought of Nerys?

  Nerys: everything she’d done, she’d done for her, and now she conspired with Lowrie, her little, to challenge her supremacy.

  She held out her arms, fists clenched, and threw back her head revelling in the primal power of the elements. Wind and fate had combined to help her rid the world of Elin Davis: liar, cheat and whore.

  Thunder grumbled off to the south, the sound appearing to bounce off the cliffs. She was one with the storm. She absorbed its power, opening her hands and feeling the tingle of electricity through her fingertips. She made the lightning sign of Sowilo in the air before her: the sun rune brought clarity of vision. Ansuz, the sign of Odin, followed, described almost as a dance in slow-motion.

  Odin, God of wind and spirit, blessed her. Harmony and order would be hers. Joy would be hers. Wisdom and psychic power would be hers. New beginnings, messengers, signals and gifts: all would be hers. Ansuz brought the divine breath, the sacred ash: the world tree. Lightning rent the sky, briefly illuminating the dark swell of the ocean, and making her scalp prickle and the hair on the backs of her hands stand up. Indestructible, all-knowing, she erased Nerys and Lowrie from her mind, and took no heed of its warnings.

  A strong south-westerly blew roiling clouds over her head. On the horizon a paler band of day promised the storm’s end. She lowered her arms and turned away at last. Elin was being laid to rest, today. She wanted to be there to spit on her grave.

  ***

  Rhiannon smiled as she read the article she’d cut from the local paper. Village of Death in Chapel Sex-Scandal Suicide. Oh, how they loved their headlines. How little they knew. Her conscience was clear: she hadn’t pushed Elin over the cliff, the truth had.

  She walked to the chapel with a spring in her step, luxuriating in her inner silence. At last, there was no petulant chiding from Nerys, no silly sobbing from Lowrie. They were dead and gone, their ghosts laid to rest. She was free! There was nothing now to stop her doing as she wished.

  Reverend Thomas, leaning against the lectern, looked ill. Stuart was conspicuous by his absence. Mrs Thomas sat, stoically supportive, in her usual place in the front row. The seats where Non and Mair and Siân would have sat were empty, as if the remaining congregation feared death was contagious.

  She chose a seat at the back, where she could watch people arriving and leaving. Alana found a place by Harriet, on the far side of the chapel, and sat with her head bowed.

  Two rows in front of her, Betsan Pugh huddled into her fur collar. Afraid? She should be. She’d been thinking about Betsan a lot since Elin died. And Catrin who, she’d discovered, lived up the coast in St Dogmaels. They weren’t the last of the twelve left alive, the others were proving elusive to track down, but she’d find every last one of them if it took the rest of her life.

  Reverend Thomas stumbled through the service, less eloquent than at Non or Mair’s. The cortege travelled the short distance to the cemetery, the villagers following behind on foot. A mound of sandy soil was covered by green pseudo-grass, the oblong hole similarly lined: the reality of death cloaked for easier consumption. When was death ever easy?

  Betsan glanced across at Alana, who looked away quickly as if uncomfortable with the scrutiny. Betsan adjusted her hat and pulled her collar higher. They obviously knew one another, but what did Betsan know about the girl that she didn’t?

  She gathered saliva in her mouth, waiting for the opportunity to do what she’d come to do, unseen by those who might question her act. She expected Nerys to express an opinion. Nerys was gone: the silence brought cold to the pit of her stomach, an ache to her heart: emptiness. Was this the lonely that made Lowrie cry, shut in her perpetual darkness? The lonely Nerys hated, imprisoned and wrenched from her family? She’d never known how lonely felt. She’d never been alone.

  ***

  Friday again, and Maddy would disappear soon, like she always did, without a word of explanation.

  ‘I’m mad about you, Maddy.’ Greg paced his bedroom.

  He couldn’t just come out and say it: she made an excuse every time he tried to get close, or told him what a good match he and Alana were. He liked Alana, he liked her a lot, and the mutual attraction was there, he’d felt it, but it was Maddy who’d got under his skin. Maddy, who kept him awake at night. Maddy, whose annoyingly impulsive habits drove him to distraction. Maddy, whose presence he lived for and being so close to her, and having to stay so far away, was driving him mad.

  What he needed was a grand romantic gesture, something that would show her how much he loved her, and his mind was a total blank.

  The phone rang, Maddy was having a shower so he hurried to answer it. ‘Maddy Wilder’s house.’

  ‘This is Vill Erikson. Tell Hilda not to be late.’ The voice sounded foreign, peremptory. ‘And Christian is expecting her to wear the red dress he bought her.’

  ‘I think you have the wrong number.’ The dialling tone sounded in his ear.

  ‘Who was that?’ Maddy emerged from the bathroom, towelling her hair. It had remnants of purple and green, which matched her skin-tight purple jeans and green top.

  ‘Wrong number. They wanted Hilda, whoever she is. Do you know a Hilda?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Someone called Christian will be disappointed.’

  She stopped drying her hair. ‘Why?’

  ‘He wanted her to wear the red dress. Chap who phoned sounded like a pimp. Do you think Hilda is a prostitute?’

  ‘Why does a woman wearing a dress someone has bought her make her a prostitute? Maybe Christian’s a romantic.’ Maddy disappeared, muttering.

  Christian had given him an idea. He could buy Maddy something. Was underwear too obvious? Maybe the internet would give him an idea.

  Maddy shouted from the hallway. ‘See you later, Greg.’

  ‘You won’t be late?’ He closed his laptop lid and went into the hall. ‘You haven’t forgotten it’s an early start tonight.’ She’d changed her clothes. She was wearing a red dress and it looked brand new.

  ‘I’ll be on time.’ She flushed. ‘What?’

  ‘I haven’t seen that dress before. You don’t usually wear red.’

  ‘So? I didn’t know I had to run my wardrobe by you before I went out.’

  ‘You don’t.’ He didn’t like the vision that was forming. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘It’s none of your business.’

  ‘Maddy…’ The thought of her with another man was more than he could bear. ‘Maddy, I love you. Surely you know that by now.’

  She didn’t flinch. ‘But you don’t trust me.’

  ‘Isn’t it me you don’t trust?’

  Maddy’s shoulders slumped. ‘Greg, I love you, too, but I can’t take the chance…’

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘Being hurt. You hurting Christian. I’ve been let down before, badly let down.’

  ‘Why would… Who’s Christian?’

  ‘You said you loved me.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘What about Alana? I’ve seen the way you look at each other.’

  ‘I can’t deny there’s something about her. She’s beautiful, talented and I admire her freedom of spirit… but you’re beautiful and talented, too. You have spirit.’

  ‘You’re ready
to drop everything the second you think she’s in trouble.’

  ‘I can’t explain, except that I feel the need to look after her. I suppose it’s because of what Nerys did, or was convicted of doing. I feel responsible.’

  ‘It’s not down to you.’

  ‘I know. Maddy, it’s you I love. I’ve loved you since the first time we sang together in the underground. I’d do anything for you, but don’t leave me guessing, please, Maddy.’

  Her eyes sparkled, but her smile seemed sad, somehow ‘If you come with me, you’re making a lifetime commitment. If Christian likes you, this will be your Friday, for the rest of his life. You have to be certain about me.’

  ‘I am. I couldn’t be more certain.’

  ‘Whatever happens?’

  ‘What can happen?’

  ‘Don’t make promises you can’t keep, please.’

  ‘I promise.’

  ‘Then come with me. It’s time you met Christian.’

  ***

  A tube ride across London brought them to Hackney. A bus deposited them a short walk from a large three-storey Victorian building.

  ‘Where are we?’

  ‘Christian’s home. Come on, we mustn’t keep him waiting. He gets… angry.’

  Maddy pressed the intercom. ‘Maddy Wilder to see Christian.’ A lock clicked and she opened the door. Inside, the wide hallway smelt clean and warm. Wheelchairs stood in a row to one side, and a lift door stood open. A man approached. ‘Hi, Maddy. Christian’s in the day room.’

  Wheelchairs suggested this wasn’t a secure unit, despite the lock on the door. ‘Is this a residential home?’

  ‘And a respite-care centre. Christian comes here every Thursday to Sunday. It gives Dad a break.’

  ‘Christian’s a relation?’

  ‘My little brother.’

  ‘And the chap I spoke to, this Vill Erikson, is your father?’

  Maddy nodded. ‘Will. William Eiriksson.’ She spelt it for him. ‘Hilda is his pet name for me.’

  ‘Christian’s disabled?’

  ‘Mum died in childbirth.’

  ‘When you were seven.’

  ‘Christian suffered oxygen deprivation. It left him with severe learning difficulties. He’s obsessive, compulsive as well.’