The Dream Weavers

by Barbara Erskine

  It was two hours before Bea awoke. She stretched and groaned. ‘Mark? What time is it?’ She was looking around her in a panic, completely disorientated. And then she remembered. The drive up through the Welsh Marches, the search for Eliseg’s Pillar and for Mathrafal and finally the church at Meifod. ‘Simon? Where’s Simon?’

  ‘He had a text from Felix.’ Mark knelt by the sofa and brushed her hair back from her forehead with a gentle hand. ‘He’s driven back to Meifod. Emma’s phone has been switched back on and Felix tracked it down to a farm a mile or so outside the village.’

  ‘He’ll be exhausted. We’ve been driving all day.’

  ‘I tried to dissuade him, but he insisted. He’s a good man.’

  She pushed away the rug he had tucked over her and sat up groggily. ‘Thank God Emma’s all right. Sandra was there, Mark, at Meifod. In the church. Somehow she was there in the past with Eadburh. She was vicious. Like nothing I’ve ever seen. I didn’t know what to do. I had to think of something to ward her off.’

  ‘And that was why you held up the mirror. Simon told me.’

  ‘I did? A real mirror?’

  ‘A real mirror. It was in your bag. He told me he was looking for your car keys and you grabbed it and held it up. He said someone screamed.’

  ‘And he heard it? It was Sandra. Sandra screamed. The mirror reflected her evil back at her, like some awful basilisk.’ She lay back, exhausted. ‘Oh Mark, it’s all such a muddle.’

  ‘I didn’t try to wake you when Simon left,’ he said firmly. ‘I thought it better if you slept.’ He grabbed his phone as it rang again. ‘Heather. She’s rung several times.’

  ‘Did she leave a message?’ Bea held out her hand. ‘Let me speak to her.’

  Mark stood up and, passing over the phone, walked over to the fireplace. He leaned his elbow on the mantelpiece, staring down into the empty hearth.

  Bea listened for a few seconds. ‘Come over, Heather. Now. Please.’

  She lay back, exhausted. ‘She went to see Sandra again. We need to hear what she has to say.’

  Mark went through to the living room and over to the front window. Outside the Close was dark save for the street lamps dotted between the trees. The cathedral was closed. The scent of new-mown grass drifted in through the window. He turned round to find Bea had followed him. ‘I hope Simon finds Emma soon. The poor man is beside himself with worry.’

  When Simon drew up outside the farmhouse he saw every light in the place was on. Climbing out of the car he walked towards the front door. It flew open and an elderly woman appeared. She stared at him in confusion. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I am looking for my daughter, Emma. I understood she was here earlier this afternoon.’

  ‘Well she’s not here now!’ the woman cried, shaking her head. ‘Why won’t anyone believe us? We told the police all we knew. Why on earth would we hurt her? Dai has gone with them to show them where he dropped her. That was hours ago, and he hasn’t come home.’ The woman broke down in tears. ‘They searched the house and the barns. Everything.’

  Simon stared at her, aghast. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise the police had been called.’ He followed her indoors. ‘My son told us he had tracked Emma’s mobile signal here, which was why I came as soon as I could.’

  He stood where he was as the woman turned away and went to sit down at the kitchen table, her head in her hands. ‘We would never hurt her. Why would we?’ she repeated brokenly. ‘I gave her a cup of tea and some of my Welsh cakes.’

  Simon followed her, reaching for his phone. ‘You said your husband – is it your husband? – dropped her off somewhere?’

  ‘Llangynog. She wanted to go to Pennant Melangell to see the shrine. He thought it was a bit late to drive her up to the church, so he dropped her outside a B & B. He couldn’t remember the name of it one, so the police said they would drive him there to talk to the owner. That was hours ago.’

  ‘A shrine?’ Simon was perplexed. ‘What shrine?’

  ‘She said she had arranged to meet her boyfriend there.’ The woman looked up at him pleadingly. ‘We were trying to help. We didn’t think she should be wandering around on her own, a pretty girl like that. Dai would never lay a finger on her.’ Suddenly she was angry. ‘I could see what that police sergeant was thinking, but we’ve got granddaughters her age!’

  The word boyfriend was echoing round Simon’s brain. Did she have a real boyfriend, or were they talking about Elisedd? ‘I’m so sorry.’ He knew he kept repeating himself. ‘I suppose it’s the police’s job to believe the worst of people. Perhaps I’d better follow them and see what’s happening. Where is this shrine?’

  She repeated the instructions and he typed them into his phone. ‘I’ll make sure someone gets in touch with you and lets you know what’s happening,’ he said as he walked out to the car. ‘And again, I’m so so sorry about this. You were only being kind.’

  Tucking his phone into the cup-rest between the seats he allowed the satnav to guide him along the dark winding road. Halfway to Llangynog he pulled into the hedge and called Felix. ‘Yeah, Mum called the police,’ the boy said. ‘They were questioning her about social media and stuff. Perhaps they thought the old man was impersonating someone. I didn’t know they’d rushed over there. Oh God, that’s awful. Those poor people.’

  ‘As far as the police were concerned she’s a seventeen-year-old girl who’s been missing for two days,’ Simon said. ‘Now they’ve been told she’s trying to meet up with a mysterious boyfriend and was last heard of in a remote farmhouse with two elderly people who probably looked a bit sinister. They were trying to do what’s best for her. Have you managed to track where she is now?’

  ‘No. Her phone is still off, Dad. I’ll ring you the second she pings up again.’

  ‘OK. I’m going to head for this shrine. I don’t know what else to do.’ Simon stared out of the windscreen at the silhouette of the mountains, impenetrably black against the blackness of the sky, and wound down the window. The car flooded with the scents of deep country, flowers, hay, a faint aroma of sheep and above all the immensity of silence. Without the car lights on it felt as if he was in the middle of nowhere. It was the middle of the night, he was completely exhausted, and he had no idea where Emma was.

  47

  When Sandra woke it was dark. She was lying on the floor at home in her own front room, alone, with a splitting headache and ribs that felt so bruised she couldn’t breathe.

  For several minutes she lay there wondering what had happened. That flash of light, blinding, a lightning flash, had flung her backwards against a stone wall. She remembered feeling as though her head would burst and an agonising pain in her chest, then nothing.

  It was several minutes before, clutching her chest, she staggered to her feet. She could see her phone lying on the far side of the table. If she could just reach it, she could call for help. She winced again as a sharp pain sliced through her ribs, leaving her gasping.

  She had been in this incredible place, an ancient monastery, watching Emma pleading with the monks. No, it wasn’t Emma. It was a vicious, hard woman who knew her stuff. Eadburh. Bea had been there too. Watching. Always bloody watching. And someone else. Another woman, in the shadows.

  She reached out for the phone and grabbed it. She was feeling dizzy; the room was spinning. She sat down, trying to catch her breath and, both elbows planted on the table, brought the phone up close to her face, squinting at the little screen, trying to find her contacts. There must be someone she could call

  She remembered now. She had looked away from Eadburh to find Beatrice watching her. Beatrice who had been distracted, who hadn’t even seen her, Beatrice who had been open to the entire scene. That had been her chance. She had gathered all her strength and hurled a curse towards her. She had seen Bea struggle and stagger, and then there was a man there with her. Simon. The author. Emma’s father. He caught Bea and pulled her away, away from the past, away from the scene, saving her
from, from what? The next thing she remembered was the flash of light, a blinding reflection, the slam as she hit the wall, and then nothing.

  Somewhere Emma had taken a wrong turning. She had made a last-minute decision to follow the signpost towards the trail rather than stick to the road along the bottom of the valley and found herself climbing up through fields and then woodland as she headed west above the course of the river. It was growing ever darker as she walked and she found it hard to see where she was going through the trees. Deep down she was beginning to feel frightened. She was exhausted and lost and hungry. Now was the time to call her dad. Before the last streaks of red had faded from the sky she sat down at the foot of an oak tree and turned on her phone.

  There was no reception. Almost crying with frustration, she stared at the screen in despair. Leaning back against the trunk of the tree she closed her eyes and felt the hot tears begin to slide down her cheeks.

  It was some time later later she remembered she had food. Annie had wrapped up some Welsh cakes and put them in a bag for her to take with her. She felt in her rucksack for the package, still slightly warm from Annie’s stove, and she began to eat. The food helped her think more clearly. She needed to find a signal for her phone then she would be able to find where she was in relation to the path. Standing up, she turned on the phone’s torch and flicked it round the trees. She mustn’t use it for too long in case she ran down the battery again, but there was enough to find her way upwards towards the higher ground where there would be a signal. She spotted a path almost at once, narrow, but definitely a path, winding through the trees out of sight. With a renewed sense of hope, she set off and found that almost at once it started to climb.

  Then, somewhere in the distance, she heard a wolf howl.

  Bea was sitting up in bed. Mark had insisted on walking Heather home and, finally acknowledging her exhaustion, Bea had climbed upstairs. But she couldn’t sleep. Sitting up again she pulled a throw round her shoulders and she went back carefully over their conversation. It seemed that Heather had gone to see Sandra and found her with her Tarot cards. According to Heather, the woman had completely lost it and virtually threw her out. After Heather left, they assumed, Sandra had returned to her cards and travelled, not to Pavia this time, but to Meifod. How had she done that? Where had she learnt all this vicious stuff, the Dark Arts? Bea shivered. Sandra was more than a professional psychic. She was the real thing. Whatever that meant. She had obviously seen the danger at some point in her past and sought refuge in the cathedral, but even that had failed to save her.

  Bea lay back against the pillows. If only she didn’t feel so tired. She had depleted her reserves these last few days; psychic work uses a lot of energy at the best of times and she had been using hers constantly. Add to that the driving and the stress and the worry, and she was almost at the end of her tether. But somehow she had to find enough energy to go back into the fight. She wasn’t sure now who she was fighting against, Eadburh or Sandra, but what she was doing, above all else, was trying to save Emma.

  She needed help, she realised that now. She had been stupid to try and handle all this alone. She sighed as she climbed out of bed. However stupid it might appear, she couldn’t lie here, doing nothing, she had to see if she could find Nesta in her wanderings across the universe. Nesta would know what to do. She had spotted the problem long ago. Surely she would at least dispense some of her enigmatic advice.

  At the top of the attic stairs she paused and listened. The house was very silent. Pulling her dressing gown around her more tightly she went into her room. It smelled faintly of herbs and beeswax candles. She could see the light from the street lamps behind the rooftops reflected on the ceiling and in the distance she heard the chime of the cathedral clock, echoed faintly a few seconds later by the clock from the Buttermarket in High Town. The sounds reassured her. Time was where it should be.

  Lighting a new candle, she sat down on her cushion and, out of habit, reached for her touchstone. It felt warm and receptive, reassuring. Closing her eyes she centred herself, careful with her circle of protection. Sandra was not going to sneak under her guard again. Here, in her study, surrounded by all she held sacred, she was doubly protected and this time she was expecting trouble. Slowly she sank into the silence, waiting.

  Theo and Ava had been hiding in the shelter of the woods until Eadburh returned. Alerted by the quiet growl in Ava’s throat, they spotted the young monk as he crept out of the gate and set off hesitatingly towards them, along the track. He was carrying a horn lantern and a staff, much like Eadburh’s own, but he was not striding out confidently, he was obviously nervous, looking round, peering into the shadows. They had heard the bell ringing for vespers some time ago. Soon it would be full dark. Eadburh had hoped so desperately to be ensconced, if not in the arms of her beloved, then at least in the small guest hall by now; had not God himself taught holy men and women to entertain the weary traveller without question? As it was, she and Theo were still there, huddled together with the dog under the trees. Her resolve had gone. She was tired and miserable and, for the first time, without hope.

  ‘Hello!’ he was calling quietly. ‘Are you there, my lady?’

  She stepped out of the shadows of the undergrowth. ‘I’m here.’

  He turned towards her with obvious relief, then immediately ushered her back into the cover of the bushes. ‘Father Abbot and his sons in Christ did not tell you the truth, my lady. They did what they thought best, but I know Tywysog Elisedd would have wanted you to know what happened to him.’ He broke off, suddenly realising she was no longer alone. There behind her was a young man and a large tawny dog. He stepped back, afraid.

  ‘They won’t hurt you!’ she said wearily. ‘This is my servant and my dog. So, you know where Elisedd is? He is still alive?’ Her whisper floated through the trees of the coppice around them. She felt a rush of hope.

  ‘He came back to Meifod, but he was greatly troubled. He would not take up his place here again for all he was so much loved by all the brothers. He held many private talks with the Father Abbot.’

  ‘And how do you know this?’

  ‘Because the prince told me himself.’ She saw the young man’s cheeks colour slightly in the dim light from the lantern. ‘I looked after his needs when he went into retreat in a private cell in the woods near here. I brought him food every day and sometimes he would sit and talk to me. It was not a confession – for that he went to Father Abbot – but he needed to talk, I think, to understand himself what had happened. He believed you dead, and he told me he blamed himself for your death. He could never be easy in his conscience for causing you so much distress. He told me what they did to him.’ There was a long pause.

  ‘What who did to him?’ She felt herself grow tense.

  ‘The emperor’s men.’ He looked at her, his eyes troubled. ‘They spared his life, on the direct orders of the emperor of the Franks, but …’ The young man fell silent, unable to go on. He blushed even more deeply.

  ‘I know what they did.’ Eadburh bit back a sob. She had prayed it wasn’t true.

  ‘They spared his life so he could dedicate it to God,’ he went on eventually, ‘and, after much thought and prayer here, he told me he was going to walk up into the Berwyn Mountains to visit the shrine of the Blessed Lady Melangell. He said he had promised you that one day he would take you there. He told me he would make offerings at the shrine and seek counsel from the mother abbess there, then he would go into seclusion for the rest of his days somewhere over there in the heart of the mountains.’

  Eadburh let out a little cry of pain. ‘When was this?’ she could barely frame the words.

  ‘Two years since.’

  ‘While I was still living a life of comfort and safety in Pavia. God forgive me.’ She was silent for a while as an owl hooted close beside them in the depths of the rapidly darkening wood. ‘I must try and find him. Can you tell me where to go?’

  The young man nodded gravely. ‘I will guid
e you there, lady. He thought you dead, but in my heart I swore to God that if ever I saw you I would try and unite you. It would ease his guilt and his grief. The shrine is a day’s walk from here, perhaps less. There’s a pilgrim path. It leads from our St Tysilio’s shrine here to the shrine of St Melangell, which is on land given to the holy saint by an ancestor of our prince.’ He studied her more closely and she saw concern in his eyes as he noticed she was shivering. ‘The night is growing cold, my lady. I will guide you and your servant to a barn nearby where you will be safe and sheltered. I will bring you food and blankets, then at first light I will return to show you the way.’

  Eadburh lay shivering, wrapped in the rugs he had brought them. He had produced bread and cheese and oatcakes and a flagon of ewe’s milk too, which she had shared with Theo and Ava. Even snuggled against Ava’s warm back she was unable to sleep for the cold, and she heard the bell ring for prime as the daylight began to flood slowly across the broad valley.

  Sometime later he reappeared, two scrips slung across his shoulders, a second staff in his hand. He smiled as he sat down beside her and began to unroll a linen napkin to reveal a breakfast of spiced meat and bread. This time he had brought a leather bottle of mead. ‘To fortify us on our long walk, lady,’ he said cheerfully.

  ‘Will you not be in trouble with the abbot if you’re absent all day?’ Eadburh commented as they gathered up their belongings. Each took a rug to drape over their shoulders in the chill of the early morning mist.