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

by Benjamin Ford

  ‘Indeed, I too am concerned about this. His power grows ever stronger as he remains within this world. Should he remain undetected long enough, he may yet attain the power to free himself from the earthly bonds that bind him.’

  That must be prevented at all costs.

  Rachel listened to the odd conversation with interest, until she could stand the tension no longer and cleared her throat loudly. ‘This little reunion of yours is all very nice, you two, but perhaps you’d like to bring us into the loop and tell us what the hell is going on?’

  Both Thaumaturgia and Peter faced Rachel, fixing her with unblinking eyes for so long that it unnerved her, forcing her to look away. Even when she was looking at her feet, Rachel felt the blazing pink eyes of the Seer boring into her.

  ‘What of these two?’ questioned Peter.

  There be great danger in involving the pair. The child has an entire lifetime ahead of her. To bring her into contact with the others would be foolhardy. The mother of Gloria Schofield must be protected at all costs. She be the mother of the Saviour. No harm must come to her.

  ‘Now wait just a damn minute,’ Rachel began furiously. ‘I don’t pretend to understand what you’ve been talking about, but you don’t need to protect Glory and me from the truth.’

  What wish thee to know? Ask me anything about any subject, save one.

  As her thoughts had been on Gloria, and since she knew the Seer had the ability to see into her mind, Rachel instinctively knew Thaumaturgia meant she should ask no questions concerning Gloria, which begged the question of why, exactly, she should have any questions about Gloria in the first place.

  Rachel knew her daughter had lived a full and reasonably happy life – as happy as anyone ripped from her own time could hope to be. Gloria had died before Rachel was even born, and had fulfilled most of her personal goals. What more could she possibly want to know?

  Unless…

  Rachel’s eyes lit up momentarily.

  No, old woman, Gloria be not amongst us. Thou must ask nothing of her, for there be nothing I can tell thee. Ask anything else of me.

  ‘Is Lucinda Samwell possessed by the spirit of Sawyl Gwilym?

  Be that what thou wish to know?

  ‘Oh, wait, I heard you when we came in. You were saying you don’t know where Sawyl is, which means he’s not in Lucinda.’

  Thou art correct in that assumption. Lucinda Samwell be not possessed by Sawyl.

  ‘How do we defeat him if even you, the great all seeing oracle cannot see him?’

  Only one might return Sawyl whence he came, and even she knoweth not his location at this time.

  ‘How can that be? How can he hide so effectively from you?’

  Sawyl Gwilym has used the intervening years well to his advantage. He has discovered a means of manipulation in the perception of other spirits so he might hide himself. We must wait for him to make his move afore we might track him down.

  ‘And what exactly will his move be?’

  Thaumaturgia was silent for a moment, allowing Peter to speak. ‘He will surely come for Rachel, the mother of the Saviour. The child would not be safe in her charge alone.’

  Then it be decided.

  Peter turned to Rachel and Glory, smiling at them, though his smile lacked humour. ‘It seems you are to accompany us after all.’

  ‘Accompany you to where, exactly?’

  To the forest of the dead men; to Elen – my mother.

  *

  Sometime after Margaret and Matthew left his room as he feigned sleep, Roger opened his eyes and sat up.

  Pleased to find no nurses in attendance, he threw aside the sheet, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He lowered himself onto the floor cautiously, hopping from one foot to the other until his feet grew accustomed to the coldness of the tiles, and then slowly walked around the end of the bed, heading towards the door.

  He was somewhat relieved to find his legs worked well enough, though he was unamused to discover that his clothes were not in the room, a fact that would make getting out of the hospital unquestioned rather more difficult than he had hoped.

  He warily opened the door and peered out into the corridor, relieved that no hospital staff of note saw him. He noticed a middle-aged couple as they exited a nearby room. The blonde woman saw him, and clutched onto the man’s arm, a look of terror on her face. It was clear she somehow knew him. The bearded man turned to face him, muttering something to the woman as he approached slowly, whilst the woman turned and headed speedily in the opposite direction.

  Roger retreated into his room and the man followed slowly, closing the door behind him.

  ‘Mr Silverthorne, my name is Ainsley Samwell. It was my daughter who allegedly attacked you at your son’s house.’

  ‘Ah, the young woman. I have made certain all charges against her are dropped forthwith.’

  Ainsley nodded, regarding the man in the hospital gown with intense curiosity. ‘So I have been told, and though I am most grateful, I cannot help but wonder why you would do such a thing when your own son remains so adamant that he saw Lucinda attacking you. It would mean you are calling him an outright liar.’

  Roger smiled in an unfriendly manner. ‘I have my reasons for my actions.’

  Ainsley frowned at the sudden difference in Roger’s voice. ‘You’re up to something! Are you planning some kind of revenge against my daughter? I’ll warn you now – lay one finger on Lucinda, no matter what she has done, and I’ll break your other arm!’

  ‘It is not your daughter you should be concerned about,’ said Roger chillingly.

  ‘Then who–’

  Ainsley had no time to react as Roger swung his arm in plaster upwards, smashing into the side of his head.

  As Ainsley crumpled to the floor unconscious, Roger barely registered the pain, for he was no longer in control of his body.

  Hrothgar had returned, a man on a mission, and within minutes of purloining Ainsley’s clothes – which though a little on the baggy side, were less conspicuous than the hospital gown – he made good his escape from the hospital.

  Hrothgar was not entirely sure where he was, even with access to Roger’s thoughts, but he knew exactly where he needed to go. Roger indicated to him that they should take a taxi – one of the metal and glass horseless carriages that waited nearby – and so the pair marched as one across the car park to the taxi rank.

  Chloe had just brought the car around to the front of the hospital to wait for Ainsley, and she saw him in the rear-view mirror, alarmed by the fact that he was wearing her husband’s clothes. Her first instinct was to rush into the hospital to find Ainsley, but if he was hurt then he was already in the best place. She did not think the recently comatose man would have the capacity to kill, and she wanted to know where he was going, and why her daughter had apparently tried to kill him – not to mention why the man himself had exonerated Lucinda.

  She watched as he left the car park and climbed into a taxi just beyond, and made a snap decision to follow him in an attempt to get to the bottom of the mystery.

  *

  Lucinda could not hide her surprise when the policewoman opened the cell door and announced that she was free to go.

  Free to go without explanation, after being locked up for what felt like forever? What was going on? It was as unfathomable to the voice in her head as it was to Lucinda.

  Lucinda had surrendered control of her body to the spirit willingly for her own selfish reasons, yet she had been unprepared for the savage attack perpetrated at her hand. She had struggled to regain control of her body at the moment of the first knife blow, which had saved Roger’s life, but doomed her own it seemed.

  She wanted Matthew to be hers; she wanted him to love her, not loathe her with every fibre of his being. Murder had clearly been the spirit’s intention from the start, and Lucinda sadly realised she should have known that, but her jealousy had blinded her to the fact. The spirit had said he would remove the father from the picture and the c
hild would be grateful. In hindsight, the only way Roger could be removed from the picture was by killing him, and no matter how much his father angered him, there was no way Matthew would be grateful for his murder.

  Lucinda had tried to get the spirit to open up to her whilst locked in the cell. She wanted explanations, but none was forthcoming. She refused all visitors, not knowing what she could say to explain her terrible behaviour. She knew her parents must surely be devastated by her actions; no matter how badly she had behaved over the years, they had always been there for her through the troubled times and always maintained that they loved her. They would be so disappointed by this turn of events that Lucinda could see no way they could continue to love her, and she did not want to see that hurt and anger in their eyes.

  The spirit told her they must effect their escape from the prison somehow, but Lucinda was not about to make matters worse for herself by having the police pursue her relentlessly. She told the spirit she wanted freedom from his interference, but was coldly rebuked: there would be no freedom for her until the task was done.

  Lucinda had demanded to know exactly why the man Roger must die, but the spirit refused to answer. In a petulant fit of anger, Lucinda refused to converse further with the spirit. When he asked a question, she did not respond; when he made a comment, she ignored him.

  The spirit grew enraged, tried to wrest control of Lucinda’s body away from her by force, but the young woman somehow found within her the inner strength to combat him. He was forced to sit impatiently on the sidelines of her mind, driving her half-mad with his constant griping about her inadequacy as a host, and her incredible stupidity at being caught and not allowing him full control to complete the task when the accursed child had come into the house.

  Finally, as she stood on the pavement outside the police station following her release, Lucinda breathed in the gloriously fragrant damp fresh air. Choked as it was with mid-morning traffic fumes, it was infinitely more preferable to the stark stench of the cells.

  She made a mental note never again to do anything that might lead to such an incarceration, but even as the thought entered her mind, so too did the realisation that she would have to revisit the scene of her crime, and face the wrath of whoever was there.

  At Four Oaks, and nowhere else, would she finally understand the spirit’s motivation. She could feel the spirit’s mounting excitement and realised this was precisely the course of action he had anticipated.

  Four Oaks was where the spirit wished to be.

  I must have a care to remain in control at all times, Lucinda thought as she headed towards the bus stop where she knew she could catch a bus to the edge of Elendale. Otherwise, I shall end up back in the cells.

  *

  The voice inside his head was persistent and annoying. He ignored it as best he could, until he could stand it no longer and opened his eyes. He did not look around him, for the moment he opened his eyes, signifying his docile wakefulness, the owner of the voice continued to speak and distract him with endless questions.

  How long hath we lain asleep? What place be this? What happened? Who art the two people for whom you pretended to be asleep?

  Ah, so you knew I was only pretending.

  Of course. How else might I have heard all that be going on around us, even though I could see nothing?

  Enough with the questions. I know who you are, but I don’t know what you want of me.

  Thou art the vessel of my vengeance. I have been with thee since thou were newborn, and would hath been thy constant companion thy entire life, had thou not intruded upon mine own home as a child. I must thank thee for thy actions, for they allowed me to remain undetected.

  Oh! I thought that was when you originally took me over. Instead, it was the opposite. That was when you left me!

  Indeed, and I hath returned to thee now that thou hast returned once more to my lair.

  But why? Why now? Why this particular point in time?

  Because she be here.

  Who do you mean?

  She who might destroy me. We must seek her out and destroy her afore she doth discover me.

  But who are you referring to?

  My sister – mother to my offspring. Long since have I sensed her presence, but be unable to rid myself of her, for she be not in human form. Each time, her human form lives a lifetime and then dies, returning to the earth. She did recently return to that natural state, but she cannot stay away from human existence for long. It be a drug to her, an obsession, and in her moment of formation, she be vulnerable and might be killed.

  I don’t pretend to understand anything that you say, but I will not willingly be party to murder.

  Then thou shalt unwillingly be party to it!

  In the young man’s mind, Sawyl Gwilym exerted his will, grew strong and gained control.

  He threw back the bedclothes and stepped onto the tiled floor, not flinching at the coldness. He opened the door and left the room, aware that he was conspicuous in the gown he wore – he could feel from the draught at the rear that it flapped open, revealing his nakedness. Sensing movement from the room immediately to his left as he moved along the corridor, he stepped into the room, closing the door with a soft click.

  The doctor glanced up from tending the older bearded man, who lay in his underwear on top of the bed, with a nasty gash on his forehead. The doctor had no chance to react as the young man’s fist slammed into his face, rendering him unconscious with the supernaturally powerful blow.

  The young man slipped off the robe and began stripping the doctor of his clothes. The older man on the bed began regaining consciousness, but the young man ignored him, even as he sat up, clutching his head in pain.

  Ainsley Samwell’s vision swam before him momentarily before steadying. He saw a doctor lying prostrate beside him on the bed, and he rubbed his aching head, then realised he wore only his underwear. ‘Damn that bloody man, he stole my clothes!’

  Ainsley realised there was someone else in the room with him, someone who was systematically yanking off the doctor’s trousers. He gasped as his vision focussed on the young man. ‘My God, what the bloody hell are you doing?’

  For the second time that morning, Ainsley Samwell’s reflexes let him down, and the last thing he saw before he lost consciousness was his son’s fist heading straight for his jaw.

  *

  Joyce and Theo sat upon a fallen tree somewhere in the middle of Dead Man’s Wood, both feeling rather more afraid than they had at the beginning of their trek from Four Oaks.

  From the house, Max had led them across the grounds and over the small stream, which they crossed using another fallen tree trunk as a makeshift bridge, and into the boundary edge of the forest that rather ominously bordered the Four Oaks estate.

  The prevailing wind and rain of the past few days had once more abated, having ripped all the remaining autumnal foliage from the canopy overhead and carpeted the forest floor in a thick layer of brown and green, whose only purpose seemed to be to hide the fact that the ground beneath was slippery mud that squelched underfoot.

  Several times, Joyce slipped, to be caught by Theo, who himself lost his footing more than once, to be caught by nobody.

  Max seemed unconcerned by their plight and appeared in no way affected by the condition of the forest floor – but then, reasoned Joyce with a shiver, he’s a ghost, so why should he slip and slide in this quagmire?

  Despite the fact that it was midmorning and the sun shone bright in a cloudless blue sky, through the dense canopy of bare branches that seemed to rise endlessly upwards above their heads, precious little light managed to poke through, and what little did manage to filter downwards was immediately eaten by the shadows caused by the branches.

  The whole forest had a distinct aura about it. It felt lived in, as though countless spirits dwelled within its boundary, watching their every move. It was not a pleasant sensation, and disturbed Joyce so much that she held tightly onto her son’s hand, relieved, amused a
nd equally alarmed to feel the firm pressure of his own moist, nervous grip.

  Joyce was certain something evil dwelled within the borders of the forest. She half expected the eyes she felt upon her to bring forth some wild banshee, crashing through the trees towards them, wailing demonically.

  Theo was also aware of the countless eyes watching their slow progress from beyond the shadows. He could almost hear the callous laughter with each stumble that dragged them further behind Max; could almost hear voices and footsteps all around them; could hear rushing rustling sounds from above that sounded much like batwings.

  Twisting and turning through the ever-encroaching trees for what seemed to Joyce like hours – though a quick check of Theo’s glow-in-the-dark digital watch showed they left the house less than twenty minutes ago – she lost all sense of direction.

  As though sensing they lagged far behind, Max waited for them to catch up.

  ‘How much further?’ Joyce had asked.

  ‘Where exactly are you taking us?’ Theo had asked at precisely the same moment.

  ‘You will wait here,’ Max had said, ignoring their questions. He had indicated the fallen tree, and had then literally vanished into thin air before their very eyes.

  With no sense of where exactly they were, Joyce and Theo felt it best to do as Max instructed, and as they sat, Theo placed a protective arm around his mother’s shoulders.

  ‘I’m beginning to think perhaps we shouldn’t have come,’ whispered Theo.

  ‘How were you to know he’d abandon us in the middle of the woods?’ whispered back Joyce, who tried hard not to tremble with the fear she felt. She glanced constantly around, trying to make out what lay beyond the shadows, hoping there was nothing just outside of her field of vision that would pounce on them the instant they let down their guard. ‘We are not alone in these woods, Theo.’

  Theo nodded, craning his neck backwards sharply to glance behind them as he sensed movement in the trees. He took a deep breath, telling himself mentally to calm down and get a grip. ‘It’s Elen who watches us.’