The Master of Prophecy (The Sawyl Gwilym Chronicles Book 2)

by Benjamin Ford

  *

  Dessert was as much of a delicious success as the main course had been, and after the meal was over, they all remained seated around the dining table, laughing and joking as they consumed yet another bottle of wine.

  Matthew knew he had consumed a little too much wine when he stood up to go to the toilet, and almost fell over. Usually, he stopped drinking wine after two glasses; never having been particularly good at holding his drink, he knew two glasses made him merry, three made him dizzy, four made him drunk and five made him sick.

  Thus far, he had consumed three larger-than-average-size glasses of wine, and had placed a hand over the glass as Theo prepared to refill it. In the past, Theo would have made some callously caustic comment about letting his hair down and loosening up, if Matthew said he had drunk enough so soon, but in a display of his emotional and mental change, Theo said nothing, merely moving on to refill everyone else’s glasses.

  When Matthew stumbled, Theo caught his arm, supporting him. ‘I think we ought to get you home,’ he said with a wry smile and a twinkle in his eyes.

  Matthew agreed, and turned to Rachel. ‘I do hope you won’t think us terribly rude if we take our leave of you now?’

  Rachel smiled. ‘Not at all. It was a pleasure to meet you, Matthew. I do hope you decide to remain at Four Oaks, and if you do, I hope we see a lot more of you in the future.’

  Matthew came over to kiss her on each cheek. ‘Thank you for the wonderful evening, Mrs Schofield. Dinner was delicious. ‘Compliments to the chef,’ he said, glancing at Joyce before returning his attention to Rachel. ‘I believe we shall be seeing quite a lot more of each other.’

  Theo kissed Rachel too, and then his mother. ‘I take it you’re staying on with Rachel for a few more days?’

  ‘Yes. I have no immediate plans for returning to Portsmouth. Rachel has graciously allowed me to stay here indefinitely.’ Joyce turned to Rachel with a sheepish smile. ‘Though I promise not to outstay my welcome!’

  Rachel chuckled, maintaining that she did not feel Joyce could ever outstay the welcome of any host. She showed the two young men to the door after they had both relieved themselves, and when they were gone, she returned to her other guests.

  ‘Okay, cards on the table,’ she said as she took her seat once more beside Joyce. She glanced across the table at Louise and Phil. ‘Did Peter sense anything else from Matthew during the course of the evening?’

  Phil admitted that Peter had not; the only thing of which he remained certain was that the spirit hiding within Matthew Silverthorne was that of a young girl, perhaps eleven years of age at the time of her death, and she was confused and truly terrified.

  ‘Someone has pursued her from her previous life,’ Louise reasoned, ‘perhaps the very person who killed her? Maybe her pursuer is Sawyl Gwilym?’

  ‘I don’t think so, Louise.’ Rachel turned to Joyce. ‘Joyce, why did Peter Neville believe that you have some answers to this?’

  Sighing, Joyce recounted the events that had transpired during her visit to Four Oaks yesterday; about how the mysterious Hrothgar appeared, stating that he was there to protect his child. ‘It would seem to me,’ she concluded, ‘that this child, this girl within Matthew, is Hrothgar’s daughter.’

  ‘So who exactly is Hrothgar?’

  ‘I don’t know, Rachel. It’s not a name I’ve encountered before, and to be quite honest with you, I was a little too freaked out at chatting with a spirit to think of asking any questions.’

  It was a sentiment with which Rachel could completely empathise. Fifteen years ago, when she had witnessed both Louise and her brother, Allan, being taken over within the space of a day, she had been freaked herself. Since learning of the impending return of Sawyl Gwilym, she frequently found herself wishing for the return of the strange glowing white Seer, Thaumaturgia Anathemas, to reveal more about what was going on.

  There had, however, been no sight nor sound of the Seer; she was clearly more respectful of the living than certain other individuals who seemed to think it quite all right to pop up at any given moment, claiming to have an inkling of what was going on, but ultimately revealing nothing. Rachel found Peter Neville’s reticence profoundly annoying, and his constant, quite arbitrary willingness to take control of Phil altogether more alarming, though she decided to keep those worrying thoughts to herself for the moment. Perhaps Peter knew little more than the rest of them; maybe he was hiding something? Rachel was uncertain, but despite everything that had happened fifteen years ago, something troubled her, and the worry would not let go.

  ‘Does Peter know who Hrothgar is?’ she asked.

  ‘His spirit is far older than mine,’ Peter said, pushing Phil to one side. ‘He predates my own time by several centuries. He is not an evil man, but evil has pursued him and his progeny.’

  ‘His daughter, you mean?’

  ‘Yes, Rachel. This evil means to kill again, to right a terrible wrong from centuries past. It will do no good, for the truth has yet to be revealed.’

  ‘What truth?’ demanded Rachel. ‘For Heaven’s sake, stop speaking in riddles. If you know what’s going on, just tell us!’

  ‘I am bound by ancient laws to preserve the flow of time. I may not interfere, though I may interact. I may guide, but not advise. I am a mere observer; a guardian to ensure history follows its proper course, whether that course be good or bad.’

  Louise and Rachel glanced at one another. What Peter had just said echoed words spoken by Thaumaturgia at Ravenscreag fifteen years ago. ‘You are not human, are you?’ Louise gasped.

  ‘I am a spirit entity. I once held corporeal form, but in my own time, we have shed such encumbrances. I am from a time far into your future; I am from a place other than this realm of yours.’

  ‘You come from the same place as Thaumaturgia Anathemas, don’t you?’ gasped Rachel as a few pieces of the unfolding mystery slowly slipped into place, even though they left her none the wiser. ‘And the same place as Sawyl Gwilym!’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So, that’s how you have such knowledge about what’s going to happen; you have seen it all before, because to you it is history!’

  ‘Louise, I fear I have said too much already. It is best that you do not try to understand what I have divulged here today. You must trust that I tell you only what you need to know for your own protection, and that what I choose not to reveal is to protect you also. As Isabella was chosen as protector to your daughter, Rachel, so I have been chosen as protector to you all.’

  ‘All of us? Just you to protect us all?’

  ‘Yes, Rachel, just me.’

  ‘Are we all in imminent danger then?’

  ‘I cannot answer that, Louise. History must run its course; predestined events, both good and bad, must come to pass, and it is down to we Guardians of Time to ensure nobody interferes in the nature of things.’

  ‘But Sawyl Gwilym is definitely returning?’ asked Rachel.

  ‘He will attempt a resurrection of his spirit, yes. However, because he is an anomaly and should not be here, we Guardians cannot tell in whose body he will return. Only by actually seeing an anomalous spirit can we tell that it should not be here.’

  ‘So how do you know Sawyl Gwilym will return?’ demanded Rachel frostily.

  ‘He is one of our brethren. When the young woman Wilma died, his spirit should have returned to the place whence it came. It did not. It has therefore been decreed that his spirit lingers still within this realm of yours, awaiting a chance to return to life. That is why I have been sent back, to keep watch.’

  ‘Surely you should be keeping watch at Ravenscreag, then?’ suggested Rachel. ‘After all, that’s where Wilma was killed, so surely that’s where that vile abomination’s spirit will return?’

  Peter nodded. ‘That is so, but I searched Ravenscreag upon my initial return, shortly after Gloria departed for her new life, and found no sign of him. He somehow escaped Ravenscreag Hall.’ He stared hard at Rachel. ‘I think yo
u can guess what that implies!’

  Rachel understood his meaning, as did Louise, but neither was willing to believe it could be true.

  ‘What does it imply?’ asked Joyce quietly, not entirely certain she had a full grasp on the situation.

  ‘What it means, Joyce,’ sighed Rachel sadly, ‘is that one of us who was up at Ravenscreag for Gloria’s wedding brought Sawyl’s spirit down with us. He could have been in any one of us without our knowledge, and so now, he could be anywhere.’

  ‘Wouldn’t he still be inside whoever he came down with?’

  ‘That’s doubtful, Joyce. If he’s from the same realm as Peter, then he would know for sure that someone would be sent after him to defeat him again. He would make haste his departure from that body and escape to another. We interact with so many people on a daily basis, quite often with people we don’t even know, as well as friends and relatives. Like I said – he could be anywhere!’

  *

  In the dark of night, the incumbent spirit was surprised at the ease with which entry into Four Oaks was gained. The front door was unlocked, presumably so that the new owner could return at a later hour, without the necessity of awakening the old man.

  Easy access did not translate into a false sense of security, however, and the spirit made certain the youth kept alert whilst he proceeded with his plan.

  The youth’s hand stroked the wall of the hallway with near reverence, almost with a vague familiarity.

  It be most agreeable to see my home. The house has changed little since last I did see it.

  The youth did not respond. Having surrendered to complete supplication, no freewill remained.

  The host could see, smell and hear everything that went on, and could immediately make the spirit aware of what was sensed, but had no way of real communication.

  There was movement from above, and the spirit glanced upwards. A slight smile twitched the corners of the host’s mouth.

  This be too easy!

  The host’s legs carried the incumbent spirit to the kitchen, where a hand firmly grasped one of the large carving knives from the drainer. Glancing at the reflection in the stainless steel blade, grinning in triumph, the face staring back might have been the youth’s, but the spirit saw his own true countenance, as he recalled it from memory, so many centuries ago.

  Revenge has been a long time in the making, but shall now be swift and final. There shall be no mistakes this time, Hrothgar. This time thou shalt die afore thou might interfere. This time, I shall live again, and thou shalt not stop me!

  Abruptly, the youth turned, propelled from the kitchen by the incumbent spirit, and slowly climbed the stairs.

  Roger was making so much noise as he rummaged in the cupboard in Matthew’s room that he almost did not hear the creak of a footstep on the stairs. He froze, horrified that his son should have returned so early to catch him red-handed.

  As quietly as he could, he closed the cupboard door, not bothering to make some effort at putting its contents back the way he found them, and crept towards the door. Matthew had yet to appear, so perhaps he had first gone to the bathroom.

  ‘Saved by the need to pee,’ whispered Roger as he opened the door surreptitiously. Peering through the crack, he could see no one on the landing and so snapped off the bedroom light, slipped from the room, and closed the door silently behind him.

  He realised there was someone standing behind him, but by the time he turned to see the blade of the carving knife flashing towards him, it was too late.

  Part T wo

  All Hallow’s Eve

  1560

  They had been betrothed for three years, and the day of Matilda Wystan and Obadiah Ridley’s wedding had come at last.

  It was a day of great merriment for the whole village, not least for Sarah and James Wystan, who had thought their daughter might never marry. A marriage into the Ridley family would finally legitimize their status within the village of Elendale, and rid them of the stigma that tainted them following the trial and execution some twenty years earlier of James’s father, Cecil, a convicted smuggler.

  Obadiah’s family lived on the very outskirts of the village, in the impressive house named Four Oaks. His brother and sister-in-law ran the main house, ruling over the elderly widow, Eleanor Ridley, with a rod of iron, while Obadiah chose to live in the coach house near the main gate. Although he loathed Cecily with a vengeance, since his brother Nicholas, the elder by five years, was now the Master of the house, Obadiah chose an easy life. The only reason he remained at the coach house instead of moving far away was to maintain a close watch on his elderly mother, of whom he was inordinately fond.

  Not one for taking long walks, something compelled him to take up his mother’s suggestion one morning three years earlier, and in spite of the fear it instilled within him, he found himself walking along the dirt track through Dead Man’s Wood, heading along the valley floor in the general direction of Ashfield, the neighbouring village.

  He knew the local tales, which told of the mysterious Witch of the Woods, and he knew of the legendary Warlock of Wicca Hill, both of whom were once rumoured to live within the boundaries of the forest, along with Elen, the mythical wood nymph who allegedly gave Elendale its name.

  He had never believed in any of the stories, yet for some reason shied away from the area his entire life. Whether there was any truth to the rumours or not, Dead Man’s Wood was by far the creepiest place he had been through, and could but wonder what had possessed him to make such a journey that day.

  When he saw movement coming towards him, his heart quickened its pace with increasing unease, though his rational mind told him nothing bad was going to happen in broad daylight. He was glad it was early winter, for the trees were naked enough to allow light through to the ground, and he was grateful that the day was dry, for the ground was slippery enough beneath his feet.

  The young woman who approached along the track from the opposite direction was simply the most heavenly creature he had ever been privileged to set eyes on, and his heart quickened its pace further still with sudden desire.

  Her long flaxen hair trailed gently behind her in the mid-morning breeze; her breath, and that of her two spaniels, hung on the air like mists rising from warming frosty ground.

  They greeted each other cordially yet warily, and somehow found themselves standing in the middle of Dead Man’s Wood, striking up an initially banal conversation, yet one that increased with laughter as they became comfortable with both one another and their surroundings.

  She revealed her name to be Matilda Wystan; that she was native to the village of Ashfield; that she had never before ventured beyond the boundary of her village, and certainly not into the depths of the forbidden woods. Yet she had for some reason felt compelled to do so that very morning, just as Obadiah had, following his mother’s suggestion, and the pair felt it was their destiny to be together.

  When Matilda returned home to her parents, she revealed to them the strange events of the day. Both were aghast that she should have put her mortal soul in jeopardy by entering the accursed Dead Man’s Wood. Even in daylight, it was a no-go area as far as they were concerned, and were grateful that she had survived the ordeal.

  When she told them the name of the young man whom she had encountered, and the place he lived, their anger diminished.

  James Wystan knew the secrets that lay buried away deep within the bowels of Four Oaks, and knew this to be a sign of repentance for the misdeeds of his father.

  When Cecil Wystan had been arrested for smuggling, few people within the village were surprised, since smuggling was rumoured to be rife in the locale. The River Dryad ran through the valley, connecting with the tidal river Rother, which wended its way out to the coast. Smugglers, well known for use of the River Rother as their trading route, also used its many tributaries, including the Dryad.

  James believed no ill of his father; there had never been any indication that Cecil had killed anyone whilst smuggling,
and if no one had been harmed then as far as James was concerned there was no problem. Cecil had been convicted after contraband was discovered secreted within the gardens of the Wystan family home, and was shot dead as he tried to escape the guards who came to take him away.

  Justice was served; the guards left the Wystan family alone, though they became pariahs within the village, mostly because Cecil had been foolhardy enough to maintain a list of the other smugglers from the village, which had been discovered about his person after his death, and they had been arrested in his stead.

  Life was not the same for the Wystan family after that. For several long years in the wilderness, the other villagers made life hell for them, until Margaret Wystan’s death left only her son, James, his wife, Sarah, and their daughter, Matilda.

  Shortly after his mother’s death, James happened upon his father’s secreted journals. At the time of Cecil’s arrest and death, James had cursed the fact that his father was educated well enough to be able to read and write. Upon reading the journals, however, James reappraised his opinion of his father in several ways. He no longer regarded his father as the innocent bystander he had always believed, and in reading Cecil’s documentary evidence of misdeeds as an outlaw – including more than one particularly cold-blooded murder – James grew to dislike the man intensely, and in so doing grew to sympathise with the way the other villagers had viewed him.

  At the same time, he grew to admire his father for his ability to write, for in his journals, Cecil made note of the secret passage that led from beneath Four Oaks to the riverbank of the Dryad – the entrance below the waterline could only be navigated by boat during low tide.

  Cecil made inventory of many purloined artefacts; various smugglers had kept some, the remainder hidden deep beneath Four Oaks.

  In the bowels of that house was secreted a hoard of gold, silver and jewels. Anyone who found them would be immensely wealthy – and in the lifetime of the proper owners, very dead.