‘Why have none of your kind ever been seen?’
Elen turned to Joyce. ‘A disbeliever!’ She smiled. ‘That is good. It is best not to take everything you are told purely on face value. Your questioning nature makes humanity so unique. To answer your question, we have been seen, countless times across the millennia. How else do you explain stories of fairy folk, the Lady of the Lake from your Arthurian legends, the tales of the Green Man… the Green Woman, the naming of the village Elendale? I could go on. People have a knack of explaining many of the things they witness yet cannot understand, blithely ignoring the rest until such tales pass on into myth and legend. My kind has certainly not been forgotten by man, but over time our existence has been explained away as fables, relegated to fairy stories, remembered as fantasy rather than forgotten.’
She indicated the tree stumps. ‘Please be seated. There are things I must tell you all.’
Everyone did as Elen requested, and once they were all seated, she recounted tales from long ago.
The Nature of Time
My sisters and I are the children of time and nature. Mankind euphemistically calls our parents Father Time and Mother Nature. One cannot exist without the other. Nature is required to allow life to develop, while time progresses the growth, but ultimately destroys life. Nature finds her way to replenish the land, and the cycle of life goes on. Although time destroys life at the end of its cycle, time is required for life to grow, otherwise everything would exist in one moment and would go nowhere.
All but one of Mother Nature’s children are female; only the one child follows in the path of his father.
Our parents exist at the opposite ends of our reality; Mother Nature lives at the perpetual dawn, sending out her loving tendrils of life; Father Time lives in the eternal twilight, when he drowns all life in his ebb and flow.
In between are the maidens. Some, like myself, maintain the order of things in your world. We are charged with preserving the timelines, to ensure no one corrupts the order of nature; we are empowered with gifts from our father to ensure the flow of time is not altered, and if it is, we have the power to intervene. Other than that, we must never interfere.
It is a lonely existence, and from time to time, one or other of the daughters of nature ventures forth into the world of man to live a lifetime in human form. Upon our human death, we revert to our natural state and the cycle begins anew.
We exist outside of time, and though some of us choose to live within the world of man, others of our number have been exiled from our land, and further more have been selected to watch over the exiled.
I was chosen to watch over this area, for it is weakened by a convergence of ley lines, which allows the other realms to break through from time to time.
Sometimes, those of us chosen to watch over an exile or weakened area bear fruits of our loins. I have lived amongst man in this area for many hundreds of years, and have borne countless such fruits; Maxim here being one, while two others known to some of you are Thaumaturgia Anathemas and Isabella Neville.
One of my sisters, Gwenllian Lacustrina, who has her own eternal task, is the water nymph known mostly as The Lady of the Lake. She is the mother of Peter Neville.
It is because of our bloodline that Peter and Isabella are able to come and go as they please from this world, interacting with suitable host bodies, though they only do so under the gravest of circumstances.
I have mentioned that we maidens of nature have but a single brother, who follows the path of his father. He too has gone by many names since his exile from our realm. You will know him as Sawyl Gwilym.
In my own realm, before I came into the world of man, he was not only my brother, but also my lover – though through no choice of mine. He violated me, and the result of his violation was my daughter, Thaumaturgia, who is imbued with more gifts than Isabella, Maxim or any of my other children, because her father is not human.
Time destroys life because of its very nature. If he were to recover his memories, Sawyl will destroy life because it would amuse him.
In our own realm, he perpetrated unspeakable acts against the common people of Albion, what you might call an alternate version of your own reality. His plan was to rule over that land from the capital city of Avalon.
He escaped to the world of man with a barrier placed around his memories. His memories remain locked deep within his subconscious, and it is said only a return to Avalon may release them. The rulers felt he would be no threat here, but they reckoned without the appearance of Merlin.
Merlin too resided once within the walls of Avalon, but he grew tired of that existence, choosing to live in the world of man. He believed he might help mankind achieve greatness.
Instead, he almost caused its downfall.
Following his escape to the wastelands of this world, Sawyl encountered Merlin. Merlin believed they could make a great team, teaching mankind how to better itself, but he quickly realised that although Sawyl’s memory had been erased, his inherent evil remained as strong as ever.
By the time he realised this, it was too late. The seeds for the possibilities of time travel and eternal life had already been planted within Sawyl’s mind, and now he has those thoughts, he will not rest until the quest is completed and the secrets are his.
It was decided that Merlin should not remain in the world of man, and so Nimue, Maiden of Fire, was despatched to return him to Avalon, where he would be imprisoned forever for his misdemeanour.
When it became clear that Sawyl would settle in this weakened area, I agreed to follow and watch over him. It was here that I was reunited eventually with my daughter, who was banished from Avalon by those who feared that her visions were a sign that she would follow her father’s path..
I bore my son Maxim before my departure. He eventually accompanied me into this world, but his ability to travel naturally through time made him a danger when Sawyl returned from a long period abroad, and so I sent him to the future where he would remain safe from harm, only for his physical form to die at the hands of another enemy.
While Sawyl continued his quest for immortality, my daughter, my sister and I maintained a close watch on him, making certain any progress he made was blocked.
We thought the barriers placed around his memories would hold forever, but we were wrong. Thaumaturgia foresaw a time when those barriers would break down, and Sawyl would discover his true identity, abandoning his quest for the secrets of alchemy when he realises he already possesses the ability to travel through time and has an immortal soul. Thaumaturgia had shared several of her visions with me, and all came true; I therefore knew this one would come true too, so between us, we had no choice but to bend the rules of our existence.
My sister and I manipulated time to our advantage, taking the places of Margaret and Elizabeth Ashton so that we might be provided with two offspring, Isabella and Peter Neville, whose sole task in that life and the next was to defeat Sawyl Gwilym before his memories returned.
Many years into her life, Isabella was granted the complex formulae with which to create the elixir of life and the secrets of alchemy that would permit time travel. In so doing, we set in motion the chain of events that led to Sawyl’s execution, and the meeting of Gloria Schofield and James Trevayne – who are so integral to everything that happens hereafter.
Unfortunately, I miscalculated, or so I thought. Sawyl’s spirit escaped and has now returned to continue his quest.
I realise now that this is the order of things; this is how events were supposed to evolve. It is now that Sawyl’s memories are to return to him, and it is now that he must finally be defeated.
He cannot be killed, though, for his soul is immortal. He must be returned to Avalon, to be secured within the same crystal prison that holds Merlin – which with the benefit of hindsight is what should have been done in the first place.
This I must do before he realises his soul is immortal, and before he discovers he has the power to manipulate time, for if th
at happens the barriers placed within his mind will break down completely.
Time is running out, and soon he will remember everything, and when that happens it will be the end of life as you know it.
2002
In the hallway of Four Oaks, Hrothgar peered at his reflection in the mirror adjacent to the front door. He at first admired the physique of his host, and was lost in the symmetry of his finely chiselled features, but Roger’s appearance quickly bored him, and he found himself longing for a time long ago, when he was still within his own body; a time long before the unpleasantness; a time before the killing started.
Hrothgar defiantly missed his own time, his own friends… his own daughter.
Oh, how he missed her terribly; her life wasted so tragically, cut short whilst still in childhood by a man they had not known. He had been an outsider, a stranger to the village from distant shores, with the sole intention – it had seemed to him at the time – of ending Hrothgar’s bloodline.
Hrothgar had retaliated the only way any parent would, his vengeance swift and merciless – for which he still paid the ultimate price.
This life of hatred must cease, he thought sadly. One way or another it ends this night, and we shall be free. No more innocent blood shall be spilled.
He moved away from the mirror and roamed the empty house, not entirely certain what he sought.
He had learned much during the countless centuries when he could not make his presence felt, teaching himself new skills, progressing his intellect one step further each time his child was reborn. Once a savage, he was now cultured enough to enable the reading of literature. He knew that what he did all those years ago was wrong; a mistake he hoped to set right. In the past, he had been unable to interfere, nothing more than an observer with no real presence, and during each lifetime of his daughter’s reincarnation he was forced to watch helplessly, while history was endlessly re-enacted.
This time was different, as was promised; this time he had presence, and through that presence, he now had substance – and with that substance he would act to prevent the great misdeed from being repeated. Blood would be spilled this night for sure, but not the blood of an innocent bystander, and not the blood of his beloved daughter.
This time the blood spilled would be his – there was no escaping that destiny and he welcomed the sweet scent of oblivion as it approached.
*
Chloe stood on the threshold of the house, unsure whether she should enter. It was not the same as breaking and entering, after all; the door was open and she had no intention of stealing anything. All she wanted was the chance to talk to Roger. Her mind would not be put at ease until she knew what really happened the night of the attack.
If Lucinda had been involved, then so be it; her daughter was an adult, and as far as Chloe was concerned, she could not be held accountable for the actions of another adult. If Lucinda were guilty, they would get through it as a family; if she was innocent then the situation threw up more questions.
If, as she had come to understand it, Roger himself told the police of Lucinda’s innocence, then he was either lying for some reason, or his son had lied in his implication of Lucinda. Whatever the truth, one of the Silverthorne men was lying, and Chloe wanted to know why.
Peering through the door, she saw Roger come out of a room towards the end of the expansive entrance hall. He seemed to be searching for something. Chloe cleared her throat loudly. ‘Mr Silverthorne, might I have a word please?’ Her voice carried effortlessly down the hallway, and Roger turned to face her, apparently not startled by her sudden voice.
Chloe frowned. There was something peculiar about the man’s movements, which appeared jerky, almost as though he were not quite fully in control of his body. Whoever had attacked him must have done some serious damage besides the broken arm.
Hrothgar regarded the woman standing in the doorway quizzically. With the lunchtime sun behind her, he could not make out who she was. Uncertain whether or not he should know her, he allowed Roger a degree of control. ‘May I help you, Miss?’
Chloe took a step into the house, but remained by the door. ‘My name is Chloe Samwell. I’m Lucinda’s mother.’
Hrothgar inwardly smiled. A fortuitous stroke of good fortune: this woman might lead the way to Lucinda, whom he knew to be close by. It was possible the mother knew the facts, was indeed assisting her daughter, though more likely that she knew nothing and was an innocent bystander. Whether she was able to help or not, Hrothgar sadly decided he should not after all involve the woman.
‘Ah, the mother of my would-be attacker!’
Chloe gasped. ‘Then she did attack you? But if that’s the case, why did you tell the police she was innocent?’
‘Because it suits my purpose to not have her locked away in a police cell.’
Chloe frowned, demanding to know what he meant. It was such an obscure thing to say that it sounded outwardly like a thinly veiled threat.
‘I doubt you would believe me if I told you the truth,’ sighed Roger.
‘Try me! You sounded like you were planning some kind of revenge against my daughter. I would advise against such a course of action, Mr Silverthorne. There is no wrath more vengeful than a parent seeking retribution for the killing of their child.’
Hrothgar decided to take matters into his own hands. ‘A fact I know only too well, my dear. Why not come in? Let us sit and converse like civilised people. A drink, perhaps?’
A little warily, Chloe accepted the invitation and followed Roger into the kitchen.
Hrothgar moved so swiftly to deal her a blow from Roger’s plaster cast that she had no time to react. He carried her inert body into the rear sitting room and laid her down upon the sofa, making sure her wound was not bleeding. ‘I am sorry, my dear, but it is best this way.’
As he turned, he saw movement from the corner of his eye through the French windows, and moved to the glass, peering out cautiously, surprised to see Lucinda marching across the lawn in the direction of Dead Man’s Wood.
‘Most odd,’ he mumbled with a slight frown. ‘I would have thought his first goal would be to finish me off. I wonder where he is going?’
Too late, he realised his error. He should not have come into the house; he should have gone straight for the forest, to her. He knew that was where Lucinda was heading.
‘Worry not, Maud, Daddy is coming.’
Having stopped by the front door of Four Oaks whilst he decided what course of action to take, Lucinda sensed doubt and confusion in Luke’s mind. He wanted to finish Roger off, but also wanted to make haste his departure to the woods.
It was not so much a crisis of conscience, but rather a questioning of priority. Luke could not decide whom he wanted dead first. In the end, he decided he wanted Hrothgar to know he had killed his daughter, not the other way around, so he turned away from the front door and walked around the side of the house, across the lawns, heading for Dead Man’s Wood.
Luke knew his task was not to be an easy one, for she would be there. It was all her fault. Had she not interfered all those many centuries ago, none of this would have happened in the first place.
A difficult task did not make it impossible. He merely had to lure the girl away, and then he would strike. He had done it before so many times, but this time Hrothgar would be there to see it.
He was not about to let that damned Wood Witch stop him.
Rachel and Louise stared incredulously at Elen as she reached the end of her tale. Just when they had thought events in their lives could get no more fantastic, now this wood nymph had pulled another proverbial rabbit out of the hat.
How could it be possible for this woman – this creature – to manipulate time and events of the past to bring into existence Isabella and Peter Neville for her own selfish use? It was also therefore surely because of this creature that Gloria had been possessed by Isabella; that Gloria had gone back in time and met James Trevayne, and abandoned them all.
This creatu
re, thought Rachel bitterly, robbed me of my daughter, yet if it had not been for her, my family would not exist. She played God, and I don’t know whether to thank her or curse her.
Louise thought of nothing but the horrifying fact that Sawyl Gwilym could not be killed, and not only that, but he already possessed the secrets he had spent a thousand years in search of. All that prevented him from achieving his warped goal of world domination was a thin piece of mental elastic that held his memories in check; a thin piece of mental elastic that must surely, after more than a thousand years, be frayed or stretched to breaking point.
Who was to say the evil man had not already regained those memories?
As Sawyl Gwilym, he had wanted to dominate this world; as the child of Mother Nature and Father Time, he had wanted to dominate the alternate reality, which Elen had called Albion.
If he regained the memories of his former life, and retained the memories of his latter life, would domination of one world be enough for him? If so, which would he choose?
Louise seriously doubted one or the other would be enough for Sawyl Gwilym. He would want to enslave them both.
At all costs, for all their sakes, he must be stopped – and Elen had said only by returning him to Avalon, to be entombed within a crystal prison alongside Merlin, could he finally be stopped.
In which case, as she saw it there was only one solution.
Joyce and Theo sat spellbound; neither had been able to take their eyes off Elen, even though they knew that to stare was rude. They had learned some startling facts over the course of the past week, and witnessed a few unexplained events, but nothing could have prepared them for Elaine Oakhurst. Was she an old woman, a ghost, a tree, or a curiously young looking hybrid of the old woman and the tree, with vines for hair and bark for clothing? Was Max really her son, had he really been born centuries ago, and been sent through time to avoid contact with the mysterious Sawyl Gwilym that everyone kept mentioning? And if he was a ghost, when and how had he died?
The Master of Prophecy (The Sawyl Gwilym Chronicles Book 2) Page 29
