Sands of Time

‘She’s not going to ring you, Toby.’ Serena watched as he picked some logs out of the basket. ‘If she calls anyone it will be Phyllis. Or perhaps me.’ She felt automatically in her pocket for her mobile and frowned. ‘Of course. I left it on charge in the car. Perhaps I’d better fetch it.’

Toby felt the draught of cold air as she pulled open the front door. He stooped, crumpling up a newspaper he had found lying on the chair, piling the logs carefully over it with handfuls of kindling, building them into a pyramid. In the distance he heard Serena’s car door bang. There was a box of matches on the huge black beam which served as a mantelpiece. He picked it up and shook it. Reaching for a match he was striking it as he heard Serena come back in, closing the door behind her.

The paper caught. Then the dry twigs, crackling up with a satisfying roar. He sat back, staring down at the fire, feeling the sudden warmth on his face. Then he looked up puzzled. Serena had not reappeared. Instead he heard the creak of floorboards above his head. She had gone upstairs.

Serena tapped lightly on Phyllis’s door and went in. ‘She’s called in. Listen.’ She dialled up Anna’s message and held it to the old lady’s ear.

‘Oh God!’ Phyllis stared at her. ‘We were right. He went with her. What do we do?’

‘Shall I tell Toby?’ Serena bit her lip. ‘He’s out of his mind with worry, but he is so vulnerable to Carstairs. Oh, Phyllis, I don’t know what to do for the best.’

‘Ring her back. That’s what she’s asked you to do. Call her. Now. Quickly.’ She handed the phone back to Serena and watched anxiously as Serena keyed in the number.

18

The phone rang as Anna turned the car into the high street and threaded her way towards the sea. She grabbed it. ‘Serena? Is that you? I’m here. In Aldeburgh -’ The phone hissed and crackled and went dead. She stared at it in disbelief, then she threw it down. She could see the sea wall ahead of her. She was driving slowly now, manoeuvring as close as she could to the beach.

Carefully she drew the car to a halt.

‘We’re here. The place of power.’ From the beach he would be able to see the power station in the distance. Surely he would realise that it was different; something strange he would never have seen before; would sense its sinister aura. Just so long as he gave her time to reach the sea.

‘We’re there. Let me show you. It’s the most amazing place.’ As she groped for the door handle she found herself smiling wryly. Maybe he was not so clever after all. And she had to keep it that way. Cajole him. Go along with him. Fool him. She was wondering how high the tide was. She would only need a few seconds to reach the sea. Not long.

In her mind’s eye she conjured again the picture of the power station, so close along the coast. Its great white dome would be easily visible from the edge of the sea.

As she climbed out into the bitter dawn, the bottle was in her hand. ‘OK. Come on. I’ll show you where we’re going. More powerful than anything you ever dreamed of.’ It was windy here. Her hair whipped round her face. She paused, half expecting the rear door of the car to open. It didn’t. There was no sound. Nodding grimly she turned towards the sea wall, and searching for a gap set off into the teeth of the wind down across the pebbled beach.

The tide was nearly high; it hurtled in against the pebbles with a rattle of falling stones and shingle and she stood for a moment staring at it, dazed by the noise. In front of her the sky had begun to turn red. Along the coast the dome reflected the hint of blood.

It was bitterly cold. She stared round, to see if Carstairs was following her. There was no sign of him. Her fingers tightened round the bottle.

Stray shreds of mist were drifting in off the sea.

Suddenly she began to run down towards the tide line, the pebbles shifting and lurching beneath her feet. She was there. He couldn’t stop her now.

In her hand one of the last drops of moisture worked its way through the wrapping in her hand to dampen her fingers in the wind. Above her head a cloud seemed to coalesce and waver. She sensed its presence. Stopping she whirled round in time to see two figures, white, wispy in the dawn light. They towered over her, arms outstretched towards her. She could feel their anguish – and their anger. ‘Oh God, the priests! They know what I’m going to do!’ Clutching the bottle to her she backed away, terrified. They were coming towards her. They were growing in strength. Their mutual enmity forgotten, they were intent on one thing – the small bottle in Anna’s hand and the final few drops of its precious contents. In a moment they would envelop her.

‘No!’ Her scream rang out into the roar of the sea and was echoed by the cry of a gull. A small trickle of moisture ran up her arm. It was warm. Healing. Blessed.

Hold on to it. Don’t let them have it!

Carstairs’ voice was strong.

Save it, Anna. Keep it for us!

Inside the bottle the last drop of liquid seeped past the cork. And was blown away in the wind. As their final echoing shrieks of despair dissipated into silence the two figures began to fade. The last traces of mist vanished over the sea.

Anna took a deep breath. She was only yards from the water. They couldn’t stop her. No one could stop her now.

‘Can you feel it? The power?’ she cried. ‘Over there. Along the coast? And here. Even better, here in the sea! This is where the bottle belongs! This is where it is going! To follow the priests into oblivion!’ Running down across the last strip of pebbles she headed for the waves.

No! Stop!

Suddenly he seemed to realise what she had in mind. She felt a blow on her shoulder. She spun round as fingers grasped her wrist. The bottle was being wrestled from her hand. The bubble wrap tore free and she saw it bowling away along the shingle as the bottle slipped from her grasp and fell amongst the stones. Without a second’s thought she swooped on it and falling to her knees she picked up a large smooth stone. She had forgotten the danger. She had forgotten to be afraid. Her only thought was to prevent Roger Carstairs snatching the bottle from her. At all costs she had to stop him from getting it. Lifting her arm she brought the stone down on the bottle with all her strength.

No!

His scream of anguish was appalling as the glass splintered, and suddenly the whole world seemed to stand still. The wind dropped. The sea grew silent. She knelt there on the stones staring down at the small patch of broken glass. Amongst the splinters, a few damp grains of sand sifted, ran down into the shingle and disappeared.

Anna cringed, waiting.

Nothing happened. No explosion. No Egyptian goddess. No archangels. No high priests. As the last touch of moisture evaporated into the air the power was gone. On the horizon the sky was blazing, but it was a silent sunrise.

Then slowly she became aware of the sound of the sea again. And the wind. A gust blew past her and the final grains of Egyptian sand disappeared. The crunched slivers of glass settled in amongst the stones and vanished. In a few moments the rising tide would come and obliterate the spot. She climbed to her feet and watched as the sea crashed in up the beach, swirling, clean. Purifying.

A gull flew up the beach past her, its eerie cry echoing in the wind.

It seems you win, Anna.

He was still there.

‘The priests have gone.’ She was defiant; triumphant.

Indeed they have. The breath of Isis sustained them. They were always beyond my command.

‘You thought something would happen, didn’t you? You thought the whole world would blow up!’ Shaking as much from cold as fear, she was staring down at the line of waves breaking on the shore at her feet. She had