‘And Abi.’
He nodded. She saw the crease between his brows deepen. ‘And Abi. She has been sucked into the story out there, and Kier, rather than supporting her, has I fear added a very unwholesome energy to the mix.’
‘Can you do something?’ It was almost a whisper.
He shrugged. ‘I wish Meryn was here.’
‘Meryn?’
‘The man who taught me all I know.’
‘The sorcerer to your apprentice?’
He laughed dryly. ‘Exactly. I’ll do my best. I wish Mat and the dogs were back here safely. I don’t like the thought of my brother crashing around in the undergrowth all open and unprotected in the psychic sense.’
She shook her head. ‘Nor do I.’
He gave her a quick smile. ‘I’ll do my best for them all, Cal. You know I will. But as I’m here and the others are presumably on Kier’s tail, I’ll start in the orchard. You wait here, OK? Please do not come outside no matter what happens. I need to know you at least are safe.’
She nodded dumbly and he gave her a quick pat on the shoulder. First he went out to the car and retrieved a canvas bag from the boot. Slinging the strap onto his shoulder he raised a hand to her and walked off round the back of the house into the darkness.
He could feel it all around him. An electric tenseness in the air which he had never felt here before. The place was very quiet. Not a breath of wind. No sound of small animals or night birds. Nothing scuttling busily in the undergrowth. It was all totally silent. He walked out across the lawn and paused near the log seat, sending out feelers into the night, trying to sense where his brother was with those two irrepressible dogs. If they were anywhere nearby there would not be this silence, this sense of nothing.
He tensed. He was wrong. There was something. Just for a moment he had sensed someone else out there listening and waiting for him. He frowned, trying to keep his mind empty of expectation. ‘Don’t give the enemy anything to work with.’ Meryn’s voice echoed in his head for a moment. ‘If he or she senses that you are expecting to see a figure in a bedsheet that is what you will see. If you are sure it is the Loch Ness Monster or Black Shuck, be ready, for they will appear.’ It had seemed funny at the time, but it was shrewd advice and very hard to follow. He deliberately blanked his mind of visions of Roman soldiers and bloody swords.
He held his breath, surrounding himself with a shield of protection. The old condom from head to toe trick. His mouth twitched into a smile again. Meryn’s words were supporting him. Making him strong. He stayed immobile, waiting. Someone was nearby, watching him. But who? Not Mora. Not Lydia or Petra. No-one from the homestead. Much too powerful and sophisticated for that. A druid? His senses sharpened. He wanted to step forward, to get closer, but he resisted the urge to move.
The cauldron of silence grew deeper. A small patch of moonlight drifted across the grass from the waning crescent, half-shrouded in clouds. He took the chance to take two slow unhurried steps towards the bench and sit down. Carefully, without any hurried movements he reached into his bag and drew out the small drum. For a long time he sat without moving, waiting to see what would happen. It was like watching a nervous animal, trying to win its trust. No. That wasn’t right. There was nothing nervous about this energy. His fingers strayed to the taught drumskin made with his own hands from the hide of a deer he had hunted and slain himself, giving thanks to the soul of the animal for its sacrifice. Its meat had kept several families in food for a while, up there in Scotland, when he had been training with Meryn. The antlers had been used to make handles for crooks and staves and knives. What remained, and there was precious little, had been buried with honour on the hillside where the young stag had lived. It had been destined for the cull. It was better that he kill it with honour and respect, than a man with a gun who had paid money for the fun of slaughter. The wood of the drum was ash from a storm-felled tree on the same wild mountainside. The animal and the tree between them could conjure life out of rock; they could summon the future and they could enchant; above all they could carry him far away into the distant past. Slowly he began to tap, feeling the drum wake, feeling it respond like a lover to his touch.
He drummed on, gently, hypnotically. ‘Don’t lull yourself, boy.’ Meryn’s voice came to him and he remembered their long sessions as the druid taught him his art. ‘Keep alert. Be watchful. The drum has a mind of her own. She may not call those you expect. She may take you to places you would rather not go.’
It was his turn to smile. How true. So, who or what was this shadow? Why did they not reveal themselves?
Almost as he thought the words he sensed a drawing away. What had changed? Was there someone or something else out there?
The sound of the drum went on, a soft heartbeat, conjuring matter out of darkness. He could feel someone else there now. He didn’t turn his head. Whoever it was would reveal himself soon. It was a child. A boy. He could feel the aggression, the hesitancy, the uncertainty. The fear. He resisted the urge to speak. The cast was assembling. All he had to do was wait.
19
‘Are you ready?’ Mora peered in at the door of Yeshua’s little house on the edge of the sanctuary. A patch of new wattle showed where he had been mending the wall. ‘It is time to go. I sent a message to Cynan and asked if he would meet us at moonrise with a boat. By dawn we will be halfway down the river.’
Yeshua was sitting staring down into the small circular hearth in the centre of the floor. He was deep in thought. She ducked in and came to sit beside him, settling gracefully on the matting and watching him in the flickering light. His eyes were closed in prayer. She studied the planes of his face, the long strong nose, the firm mouth, the high cheekbones, the straight eyebrows and felt herself aching to put her arms round him, to protect him, to draw him close. She looked away guiltily, biting her lip. ‘Yeshua?’ she whispered again. ‘It is time.’
He opened his eyes and looked at her. ‘My presence here has caused you nothing but unhappiness, Mora,’ he said softly. He reached out and took her hand.
She shook her head. ‘You have cured Petra. You have brought so much good and love and healing with you.’
‘I have brought death and destruction to those you love.’ His voice was suddenly anguished. ‘It is something I am going to do to my followers again and again!’
‘No.’ The denial was automatic but even as she said it she knew she was wrong and he was right.
They sat for a moment clasping hands, looking into each other’s eyes. He looked away first, back towards the fire. ‘Will you keep faith with me Mora?’
‘Of course.’ She gave a sad smile.
‘Even if I asked you to give up your gods for mine?’
She hesitated.
‘I need you to believe me, Mora. I need you to have faith in me.’ He looked anguished suddenly. ‘If you don’t, who will?’
She frowned. ‘You told me an angel foretold your birth. Your mother believes in you.’
‘My brothers don’t.’ He shook his head with a wry grin. ‘A prophet, as I am sure you know, is not without honour save in his own land and in his own house! And I have to convince the whole world as well as them.’
They were looking into one another’s faces. I have to remember him like this, she thought. After today he will be gone. I will never see him again. He smiled again, that melting, beautiful smile which went straight to her heart.
‘I believe in you,’ she whispered. ‘And I believe in your god.’
‘Bless you.’ He tightened his grip on her fingers.
‘We have to go.’
