It was all just too much to take in, and had they not already been seated, they would have both needed to sit down.
Matthew and Margaret glanced at one another. Considering what Elen had just told them all about her children, they wondered whether the spirit that hid in Matthew was one too, or perhaps Hrothgar was one.
Matthew became convinced that Sawyl Gwilym sired Hrothgar at some point in the past. It made sense of why Lucinda’s spirit was so intent upon killing him: to prevent Sawyl’s heir from obtaining his father’s powers. Sawyl already had one child that they knew of, Thaumaturgia Anathemas, whose powers were immense. If Sawyl Gwilym had the potential to be as powerful as Elen claimed, how dangerous might any other progeny become?
Similar thoughts went through Phil’s mind as he thought of the Seer and her powers. Thankfully, her propensity was not for evil; she inherited her mother’s good nature. Who was to say that any other offspring of Sawyl’s would be good? They could easily be more evil and dangerous than the warlock himself.
It was lucky for them all that Sawyl had no memory of his true identity; if he had, none of them would be safe. He would show his evil in its truest manifestation. He could conceivably go back in time, wipe them all from existence in one fell swoop.
It was luckier still that there were watchers such as Elen to ensure history remained uncorrupted. Peter and Isabella were two more such watchers. Phil wondered whether they knew their birthright, that they had been conceived with the sole intention of defeating Sawyl Gwilym.
Phil also wondered what would happen if someone altered the past, even by only one tiny fact. What effect would such an event have on the present?
He shook his head. It did not bear thinking about.
There was no other option. Sawyl Gwilym had to be stopped, and only Elen could do it – they had no choice but to trust the strange creature.
‘Sorry if I’m speaking out of turn, but how do we know you are to be trusted?’
Every head turned to face Glory, who alone amongst them possessed the childlike innocence to ask the question of the wood nymph that no one else dared ask.
‘I mean, you’ve proved you’re incredibly powerful, and you’ve just told us that you manipulated time to get the desired effect. That doesn’t sound very trustworthy to me.’
With a noise that sounded like a cross between a banshee wail and a rumble of thunder, Elen transformed into the tree again and suddenly sank into the ground, reappearing almost instantly right beside Glory, startling the girl. ‘I am able to move anywhere that there is flora on this planet, and, should I choose, to any point in history whilst in my natural state. If I were not to be trusted, I would go back to the beginning of man’s existence and alter the path of his evolution. I am not evil child. True, I manipulated certain events in the past, but I have not changed history. The timeline that exists is as it should be, and I manipulated future events from my own perspective, not past events. I have always been a part of the history of this land. However, perhaps you wish further proof?’
Once more, with the sound of thunder coming from beneath the earth, Elen sank into the ground, returning after a slightly longer absence. Everyone gathered within the clearing could see she was not alone upon her return; she had someone enfolded within the branches where once her arms had been, and as she unfolded them to release her charge, Rachel gave a squeal, clasping both hands over her mouth.
Louise was equally stunned. ‘My God, Gloria – is that really you?’
The middle-aged woman with greying hair turned to face them, smiling with recognition.
She was older than they recalled – as they must appear older to her – but she was undeniably Gloria Schofield.
She rushed into her mother’s arms. ‘Mother, darling Mummy… I thought never to set eyes upon you again.’
Tearfully, Rachel embraced her daughter. ‘Likewise Gloria; it’s been so long.’
‘You are looking well, Mother. Tell me, how many years has it been?’
‘A little over fifteen years since the day you were supposed to marry Allan; fifteen years since you left us.’
Gloria smiled. ‘Yes, I remember that day so clearly, it’s like it was yesterday.’
‘How long has it been for you?’
Gloria chuckled. ‘It’s doubtful you would believe me. I am dead.’
‘What?’ gasped Louise, coming forward to stand beside Rachel. She wrapped a protective arm around the old woman’s shoulders. ‘What do you mean, you’re dead?’
‘I mean precisely what I say. I am dead. I lived a long and fulfilling life, and was happy right to the end, despite a few unpleasant experiences. When I died, I was reunited with James, who turned out to share the same spirit as Allan. The two men in my life were one person really, so we were destined all along to be together, and we live on together in Avalon.’
‘What?’ cried Louise.
Elen’s voice floated out from her tree form. ‘Did I not tell you they are integral to everything that happens after the moment of their deaths? You still have no idea how integral!’
‘Indeed,’ sighed Gloria. ‘It’s too much to go into here and now, but you must listen to Elen. She will not harm you in any way. Listen to what she has to say, and trust her. She is the key to preventing Sawyl Gwilym from escaping again. He will come here, and you must be ready for him.’
‘Just a minute, Gloria,’ said Louise. ‘If you’re dead, why do you look like this?’ She waved her hands in front of Gloria’s face. ‘Why don’t you look like you did the day you died, or as we last saw you?’
‘You see me as I would be had I remained in this time. Time has no linear meaning in Avalon. Avalon itself exists outside of time, and I have no physical body there. We are all spirits in that citadel. Elen was able to bring me here to this time only because in a linear sense I should still be alive here. I died an old woman, and I was born in 1957, so if I had remained in my original timeline, I would still be alive now, and this is how I would look.’
‘Oh, I understand… I think.’
‘I’m glad I was given this opportunity to see you both again, but it’s time for me to return.’ Gloria hugged Louise, and then kissed and hugged her mother. ‘It isn’t easy, being parted from you, but we shall all be reunited again one day. Daddy looks forward to that day, Mother.’
Rachel burst into tears. ‘Jeremy is with you?’
Gloria nodded. ‘He is, and Allan looks forward to seeing you, Louise. But I must go now. I’m sorry that this can be but a brief visit. Just remember – trust Elen. She alone can bring about the final defeat of Sawyl Gwilym.’
Gloria stepped backwards into the welcoming embrace of Elen, still in her tree form; amid more rumbling they vanished once more into the ground, and when she returned, Elen was alone.
‘Well?’ said Elen as she transformed into her young nymph figure.
Rachel nodded slowly. ‘We can trust her, Glory.’
*
When he passed in the taxi, Hrothgar had recognised the spirit within Lucinda, which he could see as clearly as he saw the host, and had followed Luke into the forest. Trailing behind as he threaded his way through the densely packed trees, he stepped over fallen tree trunks, while carefully avoiding the roots that seemed almost to spring out of the ground to trip him up. He nevertheless lost his footing several times in the twilight beneath the canopy of branches that stretched ever upwards, slipping on the slimy leaves, sodden with weeks of rain. He was covered in mud within minutes of entering the woods, and his mind was drawn back to memories of his first life.
Such conditions were not uncommon in his time; he was used to the damp and the grime. Sticky mud, which picked up leaves each time he fell, was a perfect camouflage, and the figure ahead of him seemed not to notice his presence.
He could not be certain, for he had no ability to enter another mind, but he felt certain Luke’s thoughts were so focussed on the way ahead that he did not sense the spirit trailing him.
‘You
will not kill my daughter again – not this time,’ Hrothgar whispered under his breath. Maintaining a stealthy silence as he continued his pursuit, he reached into the pocket of the jacket he wore, careful not to cut himself as he caressed the cold steel of the knife, the perfect instrument with which to exact his revenge on the man who had killed his daughter so many times. In the past, he had been unable to intervene, unable to do anything except helplessly watch the endless slaughter; but now he had substance, now he had strength – now he had both the overpowering anger and the means to ensure his poor child would never suffer again.
*
Luke was alert as he made his way swiftly through the trees. He had so far avoided any mishap but remained wary, for the Witch of the Woods had many spies. The animals of the forest were her eyes and ears, but he knew it was not the living he should be careful of.
Spirits dwelled within the boundary of the woods; it was not without reason that they were named Dead Man’s Wood.
Already, he had seen shifting shapeless figures, moving amongst the trees. He could hear breathing from all around him, could hear twigs snap underfoot ahead of him, the scraping of clothing against bark behind him.
The spirits of the dead were all around him, and Luke was aware that every one of them could see him through Lucinda’s body, and any one of them could report his progress to Elen.
One deciding factor did not go against him; the spirits trapped within the woods owed no allegiance to the Witch of the Woods. It was most likely she who ripped them from their resting place, summoning them to do her bidding before being cast adrift.
They were all souls out of place, out of time. They should be enjoying their afterlife, but instead were trapped in the ether, which Luke hoped meant that they might be willing to assist him instead of warning Elen about him.
He could see he was approaching the clearing up ahead, and slowed his pace. Crouching low, he maintained a discreet distance, peering through the branches of a young sapling.
He could see them all, sitting around the edge of the clearing, watching her as she held court. He saw Matilda, directly opposite, and his blood boiled. He would need all the help he could get if he were to be rid of her here and now, surrounded as she was by those who would help protect her.
He would invite the lurking spirits to assist him.
His attention focussed upon Elen. He recognised her at once. He had fully expected her to appear old and wizened; he did not expect her to appear exactly as she had the last time he had seen her, a little over a thousand years ago.
In an instant, his mind returned him to that time, and he was an observer, witnessing events as they occurred.
AD 843
Lucia watched the approaching man from her hiding place high up in the canopy of the trees. She pulled her legs tighter to her chest and held her breath lest he should hear her.
Her father had told her many tales of how the Danish overlords of the north ate little children who misbehaved, but she did not believe him, recognising them as tales told by parents to keep order amid the chaos.
She had never set eyes upon any of the Danes, but some inner instinct told her this approaching man was one of them. He did not look especially fearsome with his soft features and delicate straw coloured hair, and looked in no way threatening with his less than robust frame.
Lucia found his fair hair and complexion fascinating. He was certainly no local, and her thirteen-year-old mind kicked into overdrive as she wondered what he was doing so far from his kin.
There had been peace in the village for as long as Lucia could remember. She knew it had not always been thus; her father had told her often enough how the enemy had tortured and raped the women of the settlement when she was but a babe in arms. That last great battle in the lands around Elendale had resulted in the death of Lucia’s mother and aunt. Her father always spared her the gory details, but her imagination was vivid enough to produce disturbing images in her mind, and on many a night the girl found herself unable to sleep.
Too late, the villagers called upon the assistance of the Great Wood Witch Elen, who had supposedly used her powers once to repel the hordes, and for over a decade, Elendale lived in seclusion and peace.
Elen was their saviour, but as Lucia grew older and was told the stories of her mother’s death, the girl grew more resentful of the Wood Witch. She blamed the settlement’s saviour for her mother’s death. Why, if she were all seeing and all powerful, had she not intervened to save the womenfolk those many years ago?
A man called Vilam led the Danish horde that decimated the settlement before Elen’s intervention. It was he, so Lucia’s father said, who killed her mother with his bare hands.
Lucia wished him dead.
It was claimed amongst the remaining Elders of the village that Vilam did not depart when Elen repelled the invaders, that the Wood Witch herself protected him, granting him safe haven within the locality.
At times, Lucia wished to see both Vilam and Elen pay with their lives for their part in her beloved mother’s slaughter. Her father warned that no harm must ever come to the Wood Witch; whatever her reasons for not intervening sooner, she was the saviour of their village. She was their protector, and had acted thus for as long as anyone would recall, and would remain protector of Elendale for as long as she remained alive.
Elen, then, could live, but if she ever found out where Vilam himself hid, Lucia vowed to seek him out, hunt him down, and destroy him.
He could be anywhere.
It was well known to the village Elders that Vilam was native to their lands, and though he was not one of the Danish hordes, he had led the raiding party on their settlement and was guilty of mass murder.
One day his crimes would find a fitting punishment.
The fact that he was native to the Wessex lands made it possible for him to blend in. He could be living in any of the neighbouring settlements without their knowledge. Only one person might know his whereabouts, and one day, once she finally mustered enough courage, Lucia decided she would approach the Wood Witch to seek her help in finding Vilam.
Lucia’s anger and hatred was not levelled at just Vilam, however. She loathed all Danes; she wished to see them all dead. They were all guilty as far as she was concerned, and if she ever met one, she would be swift in delivering the death blow.
The man passed by beneath her hiding place, apparently unaware of her presence, and she let out her breath as quietly as she could. There was little doubt in Lucia’s mind that he was one of the Danish Horde, for he walked with the arrogant swagger of an invader who believed himself to be superior to those he subjugated. As she watched him walk in the general direction of the village, Lucia felt her blood begin to boil with her mounting anger.
How dare he come strolling into their lands as though it were his right to be there? What did he want? Was he perhaps a scout, searching out their defences before returning to report his findings to some encroaching army?
He was a danger to the village, of that Lucia was certain. In exactly what way he was dangerous was still a mystery to her, but she knew she must warn her father: she had no desire to become an orphan right now.
Once the man had disappeared around the curve of the track, Lucia carefully scrambled down from the tree. As she landed with a soft thud, she heard footsteps approaching, and before she could move, the man came back around the curve of the trees.
He stopped and smiled at her, which caught her off guard. ‘Good morrow, child. Be not afeared, I shall harm thee not.’
His gentle voice bore a heavy accent, but Lucia understood him well enough. She did not trust herself to say anything, so remained silent, regarding him with the wary eyes of a bird watching an approaching cat.
‘My name be Mads,’ the man added in his gentle voice. ‘What be thine?’
Lucia did not respond, nor did she take her eyes off him as she sidled around him.
‘Dost thou understand my words?’ The man frowned, placing a hand upon his b
reast. ‘Mads,’ he intoned slowly. ‘My name be Mads.’
Some inner voice stirred within her, telling her she should take the man to her father, and though she remained reluctant to engage the stranger in conversation, something compelled Lucia to respond. ‘Why dost thou come to our land?’
Mads sighed with relief. ‘Praise the Gods, I have found a friendly native. Please, I would speak with the Elders of thy village.’
‘What wish thee to say to mine Elders? Thou art one of the barbarian horde; thy words be poison to us.’
There was venom in the very words Lucia spoke. She cared not whether they were true; all that mattered was that she let no outsider into the village. Nobody would again have the chance to destroy the last remnants of her happiness.
Mads spread his hands wide. ‘I bear thee no malice, child. I be unarmed, and come to thee in peace, with no ill will intended to thy people. All I ask be that thou grant me an audience with thy village Elders.’
‘Canst thou truly be trusted?’ Lucia was not naïve enough to give in to his desperate ploy. True, he did not wear the armour of his barbarian brothers, but he could still be hiding a weapon.
‘Wouldst thou prefer me naked?’ Mads suggested with a smile. ‘Then thou canst be certain I be unarmed.’
Lucia thought for a moment or two. It would certainly prove his innocence, but would at the same time prove her to be over-zealous and mistrustful to the Elders. They would not view her in good light should she treat a visitor to their lands with such disrespect, no matter what her personal feelings.
He had approached her, and had not come stealthily. The village Elders were wise. Were he a threat, they would know how best to deal with him.
Elen would allow him to do no harm to the inhabitants of Elendale. She would rise up and strike him down before he could deliver the first blow: Elen would not revisit the sins of the past in repeating her mistakes.
The Master of Prophecy (The Sawyl Gwilym Chronicles Book 2) Page 30
