by T L Blake
“Nothing happens here without my grandfather knowing about it.” He looked almost ashamed, apologetic. “He heads the town council and he’s chair of the board at school, among other initiatives. He has the power to protect you, your job and if anybody has the ability to stop whoever is doing this, it’s him.”
He also has the power to get rid of me. The thought crept into her brain. She couldn’t lose this job.
Robyn sighed. She’d once asked Andrew how he had amassed such influence at school in so short a time, now it was apparent that it was down to family ties. Andrew’s grandfather held the purse strings to the school. That meant that he could indeed secure her position.
“Will he? Stop them I mean.”
“Yes, for now. But I won’t be able to intervene again if you don’t drop this. If the locals see you as a nuisance they will put pressure on the Head to get rid of you.” He looked at her imploringly. “Please accept that Kat left.”
Robyn couldn’t accept that, she wouldn’t, not after yesterday, but she said, “Okay.”
Robyn tried to sound convincing but Andrew’s stare was weighty. Instead, she changed the subject. “I can’t think about this anymore. I’m tired and hungry. I’m going to make toast, do you want some?” He sighed but moved back allowing her to step down and head to the kitchen.
Andrew sat at the dining table, his back to her as she foraged. “You don’t have to stay,” he said without turning, “they meant to frighten you off. They won’t anymore, but if it’s too late, if you’re already too scared to remain, you should go.”
Something sank inside her. Did he want her to go? No, he couldn’t, not after the conversation she’d overheard. This was just Andrew giving her options.
“I don’t want to run. I came here to make a life, Andrew. I intend to do just that. The locals will just have to learn to accept me.”
Resolved, she walked to the fridge to get butter and gasped at the sight before her when she opened the door.
Andrew was on his feet and at her side immediately. He held her protectively and tried to pull her backward from the fridge.
“What the hell?”
Robyn laughed. She couldn’t help it. Relief flooded her systems, warming places that her visitors had frozen.
“Robyn. Stop. Talk to me.” Andrew was shaking her shoulders and trying to pull her away but all she could do was laugh.
“I’m fine . . . . Stop shaking me . . . . Really I’m fine . . . Oh, God.” Each word was difficult. Laughter had drained her energy and the look on Andrew’s face almost made her laugh even more. She breathed deeply to take control. “God, Andrew, I’m fine. Good even.”
She lifted a palm to his cheek and smiled. He frowned and looked at her as though she’d completely lost it.
“When they came for me, I thought they were spectres, spirits. It sounds ridiculous but you didn’t see them, and I couldn’t shake that from my mind, even after this morning. I was afraid, afraid of being here alone. But now, now I know they’re just people, sad, pathetic people.” Her tone had darkened. She heard it herself and found the controlled hatred strengthening.
She stepped forward.
On a plate, on the centre shelf of the fridge, sat the head of a small pig. Facing out, its eyes were black and cloudy, the retinas having broken down in death, and blood dribbled from the cut at its neck. The plate upon which it sat overflowed and globules of sticky, clotting blood trickled onto the food stored lower down. It was grotesque.
“You don’t have to look at it. It’s another warning. They won’t come at you again.”
Robyn wanted to ask him how he could promise that, what he had bartered for that knowledge, but instead she turned to him.
“I’m not bothered looking at it. Do they really think a little blood is going to put me off, going to make me run, screaming out of the house? Are they so small minded that they didn’t consider that I have seen and done a lot worse than this during the course of my studies? Hell, I’ve dissected two of these and the only frightening thing about it is if you accidentally nick the stomach. Trust me, once you smell that, you learn never to do that again.” She was angry, not frightened and she knew that Derek had had a hand in this. The hanging effigy on the door had been the first warning. This was an escalation, or so Derek thought.
Andrew looked at her incredulously.
She smiled. “We’d better clean this up.”
“What was your doctorate about?” Andrew sat opposite her at the small dining table sipping coffee.
“Ah. How symbolism is used in myths and legends,” he grinned, “I studied ancient symbols from around the world and looked at their associations to legend, both ancient and modern. For instance, I could tell you about that.” He pointed to the pendant she was still wearing.
“What about it?” Robyn instinctively clutched the pendant between finger and thumb.
“It’s an ancient symbol with Pagan and Celtic origin called a Witches Knot.”
Robyn let go of the necklace and Andrew laughed.
“No. It’s not a bad symbol. It’s for protection. The Witches Knot has been used in Wiccan and folk magic for years, as protection against the forces of witchcraft.” He reached out to touch the pendant gently. “It is often mistaken for the Triquetta which has three of these leaves instead of four. The Triquetta is a symbol of female power but it is formed differently from the Witches Knot. In the Triquetta the leaves are drawn individually, but in the Witches Knot they are drawn from one continuous strand of silver. See, the same thread makes up all four leaves.” His finger traced the design against her throat, his touch making her tremble. “The silver represents the sacred chord that originally would have been used to make the design. The circle around it represents protection. In fact, the circle is the oldest known symbol for protection and is used in many cultures all over the world. In this case it not only represents protection but also the binding of witchcraft and therefore protection against it. Whoever left this on your door wanted you to be protected.”
“So they knew what was coming? They knew about the people on the lawn?” Tiny fingers of fear slithered into her spine.
“I doubt they knew the specifics, but it’s possible they wanted to protect you after the police came.”
“Do you know other symbols as well?” An idea had occurred to her.
He shrugged, “Yes. It started as a hobby really.”
Robyn rose from her chair and dug a pen and piece of paper out of a kitchen drawer. She drew the spiral design from the gravestones.
“Do you know this one?” She pushed the paper across the table towards him.
Andrew looked puzzled. “Yes, it’s the Triskele or Triskelion.”
“Tell me about it.” She tried to seem only mildly intrigued when in actuality her whole body was poised for an answer.
“Most think it’s Celtic in origin but there have been similar symbols discovered that date before then, to the megalithic era. This one is a triple spiral but there are triple arms or legs or even heads.” Andrew frowned and turned the paper around to see the design from the three sides. “In symbolism the number three is sacred, especially in Celtic history and the spiral represents the cycle of life. The three spirals here probably represent the cycle of life, death and rebirth. Why do you ask?”
“It’s on one of the headstones in the graveyard.” She tried to sound dismissive. She didn’t want to let him know that the symbol was more prevalent.
“Well, that makes sense. Triskeles have been found at burial sites throughout the centuries. The megalithic discovery I referred to was at a passage grave dating from 3200BC. But there have been discoveries of Triskeles associated with burials much more recently, usually on objects placed in the grave but also on carvings.” He picked up the piece of paper, stood and began to pace. “There are other theories as to the Triskele’s meaning. Some believe that it represents fertility, each arm representing a trimester of pregnancy. Some believe that it represents earth, water and
sky. Celtic Christians used it to represent the holy trinity: the father, the son and the Holy Spirit. It can also represent the goddess as the Triquetta does, but the meaning I told you, the cycle of birth, life and rebirth makes more sense when it comes up at grave sites. These symbols have been seen in Ireland and across Europe. The symbol is used to help the spirit of the deceased be reborn.”
“Reborn?”
“Reincarnation, the spirit moving on, like to heaven, or Valhalla. Lots of religions believe that the spirit lives on after death and this symbol is meant to help them on their way. Many ancient peoples went to great lengths to make sure that the spirit of their loved ones could move on. The pyramids in Egypt have vent holes for the spirit to escape, to make its way to the afterlife. The last rights in Christianity are to help passage of the spirit.”
“Wow. You really are into this stuff aren’t you?” She stared at him as he paced in his own little world. The subject appeared to bring calm to him and he spoke with authority. It was super sexy.
Andrew smiled. “It’s just an interest really.” He put the sheet of paper back on the table. “You can see similar symbols on ancient sights all over the world and they have similar meanings. It’s like a puzzle. How did different peoples, of different faiths, who could never have met, know to use the same patterns for the same meanings?”
Patterns and meanings, history and magic. She would revisit the churchyard.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Robyn had been arriving at work early for some weeks. The week before they would break for the Easter Holidays was no different. She walked into her classroom on Monday and went straight to the windows to raise the blinds and let in the morning sunshine. Working her way around the large expanse of glass she moved from window to window, yanking the blind chords down and tying them off on the small hooks provided. By the time she got to the last of the windows, a pane that sat next to the fire escape and overlooked the small garden to the rear of her room, she was out of breath from the exertion. These were not small windows, nor light-weight blinds.
Her mind was swirling with images of symbols and churches. She was desperate for the term to end so that she could sneak back to the church without Andrew knowing. He would certainly not approve. Robyn wanted to go back for two reasons. One, Andrew had intrigued her about the strange symbols on the graves and she wanted to know if there were any on the building itself. Two, she wanted to hunt for the rest of Kat’s phone. If she could find the phone, she could prove it was Kat’s and maybe, just maybe, get PC Godwin to help again. She was desperate to contact her friend. Her relationship with Andrew had not progressed since that one unbelievable night together. She couldn’t deny the chemistry between them, hell, she had no words to describe how he had made her feel, physically, but Robyn wanted more and she couldn’t give more without speaking to Kat. She also had the added weight of the overheard conversation preying on her mind. Even if Kat reassured her that her leaving had indeed had nothing to do with Andrew, it still left her doubts about his honesty. God, how she wished she could talk to Kat. Kat would give her advice. Robyn needed that.
With her mind swirling, Robyn reached up and yanked the chord on the last blind. As the heavy cloth rose, a sneering face, half lit by the sun and half in shadow, flashed into view. Startled, Robyn flew backwards, screamed and crashed into one of the heavy wooden benches behind her. Stumbling, she tripped over a stool and fell. She collided heavily with the floor and pain shot through her hip.
Holding her aching hip, Robyn glanced to the window to see Derek Ellis smirk and walk away.
Angry, no livid, no furious, she got up from the floor as the pain in her hip shot through to the bone. Robyn knew she would develop a substantial bruise, but it was the last thing on her mind as she righted the fallen stool and slammed it back into place. She’d had enough of Derek Ellis and his campaign to get her to leave.
When the pain subsided, Robyn marched out of the room. Her face fixed like thunder, she stormed down the corridor and past the Head Teacher who took one look at her and pushed Mrs Young back into the safety of the office. Robyn heard him follow her but she had little care for what David Rowe thought right at that moment. Anger drove her on.
The main hall was bustling with pupils and staff and without breaking step, Robyn headed to the library, where Derek now stood guarding the entrance. His smug expression only fuelled her rage.
Robyn walked straight up to Derek and, despite the difference in stature, slammed into him. She pushed him backwards into the library, to avoid the pupils seeing the coming confrontation and managed to catch him by enough surprise that she got him through the door before he stopped. Not intimidated in the slightest, Robyn remained in his personal space.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” she shouted, standing on tip toes to get as close to his face as possible. “How dare you try to intimidate me!”
They weren’t alone in the room. Other staff members were using the photocopier or printers before the morning meeting and the sudden bang when the door had flown open had drawn a large audience, but Robyn was too far gone to stop.
“Wha. .” Derek tried to reply but Robyn was not about to let him speak.
“You pathetic, insignificant, little man,” she seethed, “stay the hell away from me.”
Derek stared with incredulity. His eyes flitted around the room, all too aware that others were observing the confrontation. “Don’t you speak to me like . . .”
“Like what? I’ll speak to you any way I damn well please. You have picked on the wrong woman, do you hear me? I will not stand for it anymore.” The rage flowed so freely that she felt stronger, bigger. She stood, inches from Derek, and bellowed in his face as she shook with fury.
“You little bitch!” He regained his disdain as the element of surprise wore off.
“Oh yeah, resort to name calling,” Robyn knew she was winning. “Stay away from me and my classroom with your pitiful bullying tactics.” She turned to leave.
“This is not the end of it,” he said to her back, trying to regain some control.
Robyn spun to face him and took a large step towards him. “Bring it on.” She stared until he had no choice but to avert his gaze. Robyn left the room. She could almost hear the mouths closing as she walked out the door and past the Head.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Robyn walked through the little gate, back to the churchyard. The grass had grown longer in the warmth of the spring sunshine and she had to wade through the tall blades.
She’d scouted the bank behind the church thoroughly and had found no more pieces of Kat’s mobile phone. It was disappointing but she wasn’t going to let it defeat her. There was something about the symbols that she had found that tugged at her subconscious.
Starting at the church porch, she made her way around the graves, checking the symbols on each one and reacquainting herself with the layout of the churchyard. Focussing on the triskele rather than the mass graves, she found more headstones carved with the symbol, a lot more.
Questions began to form. Questions of Wiccan or Pagan practices, but she was no closer to enlightenment.
Robyn turned to the church. Andrew had mentioned that some ancient buildings had symbols carved upon the walls. She needed to know if this one did.
Starting at the porch, Robyn made a thorough sweep, checking the boarded up door and windows, even looking behind guttering, but found nothing. She was more than halfway around the church when something caught her eye. There was something strange about one of the boarded up windows. The plywood that covered them, greyed from weather and age, had dark trails bleeding down from rusty screws. But one panel was different. One greying, rust and water stained panel had shiny, new, silver-headed screws glinting in the sunlight.
Robyn walked up to the board and pressed her fingertip to a screw head. It was sharp, new. She stood at the back of the building, next to the bank that had produced the mobile phone cover and she could not believe that it was a coinci
dence. She turned, and marched back to her cottage.
Just over an hour later, Robyn returned with a bag. She dropped the pack, unzipped it and plunged her hand in to find the screwdriver she had fetched, among other things, from the cottage. She started with the screw on the bottom right of the board.
It came out easily, as did the bottom left. The top two would not be so simple.
A stone sarcophagus lay tight against the church wall, just to the right of the window. It stood three feet high and without thinking about the callousness of what she was doing, driven only by her desire for the truth, Robyn stood on the monument to reach the top right screw. Unfortunately, the sarcophagus was too far to the right. She needed to be more central.
Four feet away, underneath the window, stood a plain headstone. Rectangular and fashioned out of one complete slab, it stood straight and true. Robyn held onto the stone window frame with her fingertips and stretched out her left leg. Pointing her toes to extend her reach as far as possible, she lurched through the air praying that her foot would find its mark. As she moved sideways across the gap, she lost her tenuous grip on the window frame, and held her breath in anticipation of a fall. Her heart skipped, but, with a jolt, her foot hit something solid.
Robyn slapped her free hand flat onto the board over the window and her body stopped moving.
Precariously positioned across the gap, flat up against the board, she lifted the screwdriver.
Holding the screwdriver at the far end of the handle to utilise its full length, Robyn reached up, twisting her left foot so that her weight was on the ball of her foot. She pushed upwards, pointed her toes and stretched her arms, shoulders and back in order to push the bit of the screwdriver into the head of the screw and feel it lock onto its target.
She balanced there, swaying slightly, holding just the tip of the handle and began to turn the screwdriver anticlockwise. With each quarter turn, the screw moved out further and her sense of accomplishment grew.
