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

by Benjamin Ford

  He stopped, turned, and looked after them. They appeared completely oblivious to his presence.

  It was almost as if he was not there.

  It was almost as if he were invisible.

  Like a ghost.

  Dear God – I’m dead!

  2002

  Matthew sat beside the hospital bed, clutching onto his father’s hand, tearfully watching Roger’s face, hoping for any sign of awakening.

  Roger had lain in a comatose state since being admitted to hospital the night before last with multiple stab wounds and head injuries.

  Somehow, Roger had sustained injuries that were not immediately life threatening. The manner in which Lucinda had seemed to frenziedly attack him, as witnessed by Matthew and Theo, seemed to indicate she wanted him dead; the injuries, on the other hand, implied that rational thought had somehow overcome her madness: it was as if her subconscious, realising what she was doing was wrong, had tried to prevent her from killing Roger.

  A small mercy, considering he now lay in a coma.

  The knife wounds, little more than superficial lacerations, would heal quickly; the concussion – suffered as he tumbled down some of the stairs, the doctor hypothesised – should have induced little more than short-term unconsciousness. A brain scan indicated no internal damage, and though the brain was a curious unpredictable beast, the specialists maintained their assertions that Roger’s condition was not life threatening, and remained cautiously optimistic that he would awaken at any moment.

  Being very sensitive and prone to outbursts of histrionics, Matthew was convinced that his father should have awakened by now, that the very fact that he had not bode ill for Roger, and that he could die at any moment.

  His mother told him he was not helping either himself or his father by being at the hospital every permissible moment of the day.

  Indeed, Margaret found it increasingly odd that Matthew should show such overt concern for his father after the way Roger had treated him over the years, and she wondered whether perhaps they bonded in the short space of time they were together at Four Oaks.

  Certainly, as Roger was Matthew’s father, Matthew should assuredly be concerned about his wellbeing – but not to the detriment of his own health.

  Margaret tried to get Matthew to take it in turns with her to keep the bedside vigil, but he point-blank refused.

  ‘I must be here when Daddy awakens,’ he had said in a sad lost voice that was barely audible above the constant quiet noise of the hospital.

  How odd, thought Margaret with a slight frown; Matthew has never once called his father Daddy before!

  She recalled the last time Matthew had visited Silverthorne Lodge just last week; she thought of the strange voices in which her husband and son had spoken, and how afterwards they appeared to have no recollection of what had happened.

  She felt something similar was occurring again. Roger’s comatose condition was his way of protecting himself from harm, or perhaps it was the spirit doing the protecting? Matthew’s invasive spirit was keeping vigil: a daughter keeping watch over her ailing father.

  Margaret wanted to say nothing to Matthew about it, for it was clear that much of the time he had no knowledge of the girl’s presence. Only once had he mentioned the fact that he felt the presence of a spirit; moments before the child had taken hold of him at Silverthorne Lodge. He had never mentioned such feelings before, at any point in his life, and as far as she could ascertain from Theo – since Matthew was barely speaking to anyone, not even her – he had made no mention of being possessed since then, though Theo had made mention yesterday evening of the fact that she might wish to speak with Joyce.

  When she had asked Theo what he meant by such a statement, he had merely shrugged, made some throwaway comment about not wishing to become further embroiled in the machinations of Roger’s dealings with his son than he already was, and left it at that.

  A disquieting statement, it unnerved Margaret immensely, implying as it did that at some point in the past, Roger had interfered in their son’s life in some overtly drastic manner, which if it were true, would mean Matthew had no inkling of it.

  Possession or no possession, if he had known of any interference in his life at his father’s behest, there would be no forgiveness forthcoming from Matthew. To try to split up Matthew and Theo by being cold and rude was one thing; to try to split them up by physical interference was another thing altogether, and Margaret could not help but wonder whether there was a ring of truth to Theo’s unsubstantiated rumour-fuelled accusations about her husband.

  Would Joyce know?

  Both Matthew and Joyce had already gone to bed when Theo had been quietly insistent that Margaret should speak with his mother, and that morning, Margaret had left the house before Joyce awoke. Now Margaret quietly agreed with Theo’s gentle insistence.

  She looked across Roger’s gently rising and falling chest to where Matthew sat, clutching tightly onto his father’s hand, almost willing him to awaken.

  ‘Darling, I’m returning to Four Oaks for the rest of the day. I’ll be back this evening. Do you want me to bring you anything?’

  Matthew shook his head, but remained silent, and with a tragic sigh of desperation, Margaret rose to her feet and left the bedside without another word.

  As she walked away, Matthew turned his head slightly, following her departure with a sad sigh.

  She does not understand. She can never hope to understand, so you must not even try.

  Matthew silently agreed with the gentle voice in his head, and returned his attention to his father’s unconscious body, continuing his unblinking vigil.

  *

  Rachel had been sad to see Joyce and Theo leave her home to go and stay with Matthew and his mother at Four Oaks, but she understood their reasons completely. Matthew especially seemed overtly distraught at what had happened to his father, and considering what little information she had gleaned from Joyce and Theo during their short stay, Rachel found such an emotional display rather odd.

  Still, she mused, it takes a great personal tragedy to make us realise just how we really feel about someone, and considering that the man is Matthew’s father, it’s only right and proper that he should be upset.

  It was also right and proper that the only two people currently in the area who knew Matthew and his family should be with them and not her.

  Rachel had been alone long enough now to have grown accustomed to her own company; no matter how comfortable she had become with Joyce and Theo in the house, she had known they were only temporary house guests and would leave eventually – she just had not expected it to be quite so soon.

  She felt desperately sad for Matthew, who had no idea, it seemed, that anything odd was going on in his life, and she could not help wondering whether the attack on Roger had something to do with the visitors from the past.

  Rachel could not claim to know Lucinda well; in fact, she barely knew the girl’s parents to speak of, as she was not a regular patron of The Green Woman Inn. However, she had seen Lucinda around the village on numerous occasions and as far as Rachel was concerned, her behaviour was atypical. Perhaps a little brusque with people she did not know, Lucinda had certainly shown no homicidal tendencies that Rachel could recall, and so her attack on Roger Silverthorne was all the more unsettling.

  One possible explanation sprang readily to mind, though one that Rachel had no wish to contemplate.

  When they discovered in whose body Sawyl Gwilym had manifested himself, Rachel hoped it was neither someone she knew, nor someone she liked. A stranger or someone she disliked would certainly make the situation a little easier to deal with.

  She did not like to believe the warlock had taken over Lucinda Samwell, but it seemed increasingly likely.

  The one person who would be able to tell if Lucinda was indeed possessed by Sawyl Gwilym was Peter Neville.

  Glancing at her watch, Rachel tapped the dial thoughtfully. Louise and Phil should be driving the children to
school about now, but they were usually home again by ten o’clock. She decided she would visit them later that morning. If they could find a way to get into the Crowborough Police Station to see Lucinda, Peter would be able to reveal if her worst fears were true, or whether they were completely unfounded.

  Until they returned from the school run, however, there was little point in going round to their house, so Rachel pottered around her own, cleaning and tidying, and put her mind into gear to think of a way to persuade the police to let them see Lucinda.

  *

  Louise waited until Phil had left with the twins, and then she cleared away the breakfast things before settling in the cosy sitting room with her daughter to find out what was going on in Glory’s life. She was fully convinced she was not going to like what she was about to hear, and fully expected her daughter to speak in some other tongue.

  She decided she should let Glory talk in her own time, and offered no prompting as they sat in silence together on the sofa. It was clear to Louise that Glory was uncomfortable with what she wanted to tell her and did not know where to begin.

  Finally, Glory looked at her, tears welling up in her eyes, and with an anguished cry, Louise leaned over and hugged her tight. ‘Oh, my poor baby, whatever is the matter? Come on, it’s all right, you can tell me. Whatever it is, we’ll get through it together. If you’re in trouble, I won’t be cross, I promise.’ She tilted her daughter’s head, wiping the girl’s tears away with her handkerchief. ‘Are you in trouble at school?’

  Glory shook her head.

  ‘Are you being bullied?’

  Again, Glory shook her head, and then took a deep breath. ‘There’s this boy at school, who I really like. He’s new; he only joined a couple of months ago, and I just thought he was gorgeous.’

  Louise smiled. ‘Ah, you’re first crush. I begin to understand. Go on.’

  Glory told her mother how she had bonded with the boy, whose name was Samuel, and how they became friends very quickly.

  At the mention of the boy’s name, Louise felt a sudden chill of dread. Could it be? Was it possible? She warned herself not to jump to conclusions; she had done that before and nearly lost the friendship of her oldest friend. She had vowed never again to jump to conclusions, but had realised on numerous occasions that it was human nature to fear the worst.

  She forced herself to abandon the thoughts that were slowly growing within her mind, and concentrated on her daughter’s words.

  ‘I thought I was doing the right thing, Mother, befriending him, because he didn’t know anyone. I liked him more and more each day, and he seemed to like me a lot too, but then that cow Isobel Fitzwilliam put her oar in, told Sam what a nasty piece of work I was, and he believed her. She told him some of the things I’d done in the past, and he went off me right away.’

  ‘That’s most unfair, darling,’ gasped Louise, appalled at how cruel children could be when playing with the emotions of others. ‘We should never judge people by past actions alone. If we like them as they are now, then we should see past such things. There are facets to everyone, including our best friends, that we might not like, but we accept those things because we like that person as a whole, and those bad points are part of who they are. The good and the bad counterbalance each other.’ She ruffled her daughter’s blonde curls. ‘Unfortunately, children don’t understand that, and sometimes adults don’t, either. To them, everything is black and white; there are no grey areas in between to some people, and I’m afraid jealousy brings out the very worst in everyone.’

  Glory nodded. ‘Isobel was jealous because she fancied Sam too, so she did everything she could to turn him against me. That’s why I have done my best to turn over a new leaf, to show him that I’m not the spiteful girl Isobel made me out to be. I went round to his house recently, to speak to him privately, but when I got there, Isobel was already waiting on the doorstep, and when he opened the door, he kissed her and let her in.’

  Louise hugged her daughter again as more tears flowed. ‘Oh, my poor darling,’ she sighed. ‘I know this may sound harsh, but I’m afraid this is something you are going to have to get used to. Boys will toy with your affections, and then toss you aside when they get bored with you or if they find someone they like more. Girls can be just as devious and manipulative, too. It’s up to you, though, to be yourself, to show him how mature you are by feigning indifference around him, even though inside you are nursing a broken heart. You must never let him see how much you are hurting: that would only serve to boost his ego, and don’t let that girl see your pain either, or she will manipulate you further, until you reach the point where you are convinced you cannot cope without him.’

  ‘But Mummy, how do I cope without him? I love him!’

  ‘Well darling, you start by telling your best friend everything; your closest and dearest friend is the one person you know will not laugh at you, and will not betray your confidence. You know who your best friend is, don’t you?’

  Glory nodded with a quiet smile.

  ‘Good. The next thing you do not do, is try to make him jealous by hooking up with someone else who you don’t really like. That can only lead to one outcome… more heartache, for you especially. Don’t let him ever see your tears; be happy with yourself for rising above that, and don’t let him bait you with his words and actions. Remember that you wanted to be his friend first off, because he was new to the area, and that your feelings for him began afterwards. He never said he had had feeling for you, did he?’

  ‘No,’ Glory admitted.

  ‘So you have actually lost nothing, save his friendship. So, you be brave, you go up to him, even if that cow Isobel is with him, and you tell him that yes, you used to be the way she described you, but that was in the past and he saw the real you when you befriended him. You tell him nothing has changed and you still want to be friends with him, and that he should not allow others to tell him who he can and cannot be friends with. Isobel will no doubt try to bait you through all this if she is with him, but you must rise above all that and ignore her. Once you have told him you want to remain friends, flash him your best smile and walk away. Don’t look back, don’t make any contact with him again after that, other than to say hello if you should see him. No matter how hard it is – and it will be very hard, and no matter how much it hurts – and by God it will hurt terribly; if you see them together you must never give in to your jealousy. He’s your friend, remember, so be happy for him. If you can hold your head up, he might just see you as he originally did, and whether or not his feelings for you increase, I’m sure he’ll once again be your friend, and to be perfectly honest, if he doesn’t still want your friendship, I think that’s his loss rather than yours.’

  ‘But I don’t want to be just his friend, Mummy.’

  ‘I know darling, but sometimes certain things are just not meant to be. A harsh fact of life, to be sure, but a truth you will have to learn, I’m afraid. What you must think about is, do you want him in your life, if only as a friend, or do you not want him in your life at all? Once you have made that decision, you will know how to proceed, and nobody can make that decision except you.’

  Louise smiled at her daughter. ‘Trust me, I went through a similar experience when I was about your age, and I have been through so much more during my adult life. Indeed, you wouldn’t believe some of the things I have been through!’

  Glory sat back with her arms folded. ‘Try me,’ she said. ‘I might be more open minded than you think!’

  Louise fixed her daughter with a bemused look. ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Let’s just say I read Grandad’s novel, Into the Light, and I have recently read The Master of the Scrolls by Aunt Gloria. You tell me what I mean!’

  Louise frowned, uncertain how best to proceed. It was all very well her giving Glory advice on boys, but now she found herself needing advice on how to deal with this unexpected situation. She had never expected her daughter to read and understand Into the Light or The M
aster of the Scrolls, and yet that seemed to be the implication of Glory’s words. The difficulty was just what exactly Glory thought she knew.

  ‘I really wouldn’t know where to begin, darling,’ Louise said at length. ‘Besides, you’re only fourteen; I’m not sure you’re yet ready for the heavy burden of the whole truth.’

  ‘The truth about Aunt Gloria’s disappearance; the truth about Uncle Allan’s death? Two people, both very dear to you, one who disappeared the year before I was born, and one who died a year after that disappearance; events that are described in both Aunt Gloria’s final novel, and Grandad’s first. I’ve heard you and Daddy talking at night, too: I don’t think you realise just how thin the walls of this house are, Mummy!’

  Glory arched an eyebrow sagely, and Louise blushed crimson at the veiled intimation.

  ‘From both those novels, I get the gist of what happened, but I don’t fully believe everything. Since both are works of fiction, with a degree of truth, it’s difficult to decide which parts are the truth, and which are the fiction.’

  ‘You honestly want me to tell you the whole truth?’

  Glory nodded.

  Louise chuckled. ‘How did we go from discussing your problems to mine?’ She sighed deeply. ‘Okay, so you think you are ready for the truth do you?’

  Glory nodded again.

  ‘Well, hold on to your hat, darling, because I don’t think you are quite prepared for the entire truth!’

  *

  Chloe and Ainsley walked into the hospital in Tunbridge Wells, following the signs for the intensive care ward they had been told to come to. They walked rather more speedily than they ought to, nearly crashing into a staff nurse as she rounded the corner.

  Chloe apologised profusely, explaining that they were anxious to see their son. ‘He’s Liam Samwell. Apparently he was brought in early this morning.’

  ‘Do you know which ward he’s in?’ asked the nurse politely, silently cursing the crass stupidity of visiting relatives, always so desperate to see their loved ones that they had no concept of time and place. Patients were in the best place, in safe hands who would look after them, and taking five minutes longer to reach the person they were visiting would have no adverse effect upon visitor or patient; rushing around hospital corridors would lead to further accidents.