‘But I want to go with you!’ She caught his wrist, feeling the warm blood pulsing under his skin. ‘Please.’
He shook his head. ‘We have already spoken about this. Your story is not my story, Mora, not now. Our ways have to part.’ He put his hand out and touched her cheek with a gentle smile. ‘There is something you must do for me, Mora. I want you to heal in my name. Go back to Petra. She is going to need you. Lay your hands on her and pray to my father.’
‘But you have healed her already,’ Mora protested. She was clinging to his hand.
Gently he freed himself. ‘Go home, Mora. Now, as the tide turns. I have to leave. I will always remember you.’
She felt the tears well up in her eyes. ‘Will you be safe?’
He nodded. ‘You know I will. It is written by the prophets. I will go home to my people and I will take up the position that my father put me on Earth to fill. He turned to look up the beach. ‘It appears I haven’t finished my apprenticeship in the Isles of the West. I will make my way north as far as I can go and then I will cross over to the eastern coast and return to my home from there. Do not fear, Flavius will not catch up with me. Not yet. But you must take care, my Mora. I do not want you to fall into his clutches.’ He put both his hands on the gunwale of the boat and began to push it round. The tide lifted it at once. ‘Take care of her, my friend,’ he said to their host. He leaned in and put his finger on Mora’s lips. ‘Do not look back. Fix your eyes on the south.’ With a last hard push he sent the boat sliding into the deeper channel, then he turned and began to walk up the beach.
Abi looked up at Justin. There were tears on her face. ‘She didn’t go with him.’
He shook his head. ‘It appears not.’
‘So, where were they?’
Justin stood up and went over to his bookshelves. He brought out an old cloth-bound volume and then after staring at the shelf for several seconds, another. ‘There are legends that after visiting Cornwall and various places in Somerset including of course Glastonbury and Priddy, Jesus crossed over into South Wales. Interestingly there is one strand that follows him in a fairly logical fashion doing exactly what he said, according to your Mora’s story. If I remember right, he was supposed to have landed near Monknash and Llanilltud Fawr on the coast near or in the Vale of Glamorgan.’ He was rifling through the pages. ‘Then the stories say that he went on, probably by sea, landing here and there up the coast of Wales, maybe over to Ireland, then to Scotland where he is supposed to have gone to Mull, I think, and of course to the sacred isle of Iona and then across to Fortingall where there is an ancient yew tree which would have been already ancient when he was there.’ He saw her look of incredulity and smiled. ‘It is a wonderful skein of legend and myth, always involving the druids, and, who knows, with maybe a bit of history thrown in, all trying to explain why in many eyes Britain is – or was – such a sacred, special place.’ He sat down at the table and reached for the other book. ‘I used to pooh-pooh this sort of thing as utter waffle, but over the years I have become more open-minded. Social and political historians will talk about attempts to boost Britain’s self-esteem and the need for a Protestant foundation ethic and such like, but, who knows?’ He shrugged. ‘And now here we have a window into what happened, via your stone.’
They both looked at it, nestling on Abi’s lap as she sat in one of the chairs near the fire.
‘The Serpent Stone.’ She smiled.
‘Is that what it’s called?’ He nodded thoughtfully. ‘I wonder why. Of course, the ancient druids were sometimes known as adders, as perhaps you know. In Welsh, the
She raised an eyebrow. ‘But how does it work? Does it create a hologram?’ Picking it up she turned it over and over in her hands. ‘If we knew that, wouldn’t it give us some idea as to its – ’ She paused, searching for the right word.
‘Authenticity?’
She smiled. ‘If you like, yes. And its purpose. Why does it exist?’
‘I think a hologram might be a good way of describing what happens. I don’t know any more than you, to be honest. I do know that technically crystal can hold a memory. From the esoteric point of view we can say that looking into a crystal is an aid to looking into your own subconscious, just like looking into a bowl of water or a saucer of tea leaves.’ He grinned. ‘But crystal has an extra quality which can be scientifically measured. Quartz oscillates to a specific frequency which can be made to match the frequency of sound and of thought. So what is happening may not come from inside your head, it may be an actual physical phenomenon of some kind. I will dig out a book for you if you are interested. Crystals can be encoded and I think that is what has happened here.’ He stood up and held out his hand. ‘May I?’
She handed it to him and watched as he cupped it in his palm. ‘All we need to do is ask it,’ he said after a few seconds, shaking his head. ‘And that is for you to do. I have my own theories about how this was done, and how it is user protected,’ he grinned, ‘but I think you will have to ask Mora. It may be that we are not permitted to know that particular secret.’
A ray of sunlight fell on it, lighting the prisms in the cloudy crystal core of the stone. Putting it down, he stood up. ‘The mist has withdrawn. Come out for a moment and look round. You need to clear your head anyway before going back to the story.’
Following him out of the door she stood and stared. The cottage and its garden nestled in a nook on a low summit; on almost every side the ground fell away in stunning open views across the grassy mountainside, ridged and folded and sweeping. To the north, he showed her, they could see out across the Wye Valley to the Radnor Forest beyond; to east and west more hills, pools of mist still lying in some of the hollows. ‘It is beautiful.’ She turned round slowly, taking it all in.
He watched her, touched by the carefree expression on her face as she walked across to study his herb garden, Meryn’s herb garden, lovingly tended and enlarged by Beth. The strain and pallor had gone and with it the hunted look in her eyes.
Behind them the track led across the soft, sheep-cropped turf between the cottage and the hill road above. Abi stared at it for a moment. Was that a movement up there? The glint of sun on windscreen? She stepped away from Justin, thoughtfully narrowing her gaze against the glare. Kier was no fool. He could well have worked out where she might have gone; the others wouldn’t tell him, but it was probably possible to find his address somehow. She sighed.
Justin frowned. Something wasn’t right. He could sense it. ‘Shall we go back inside,’ he said quietly. ‘I want to study the stone, maybe test it further.’
She followed him in. With a quick look behind him he closed the door and slid the bolt. She bit her lip. ‘You saw it too. There is someone out there, isn’t there.’
He nodded. ‘I think so. We won’t take any chances. There are only two doors and they both have stout locks and bolts. We have nothing to fear.’ He glanced at her. She didn’t seem afraid at all. Was that her own serenity showing through or was it her confidence in his ability to keep them safe? He gave an inner chuckle. What he was about to do would probably freak out your average clergy person. He wondered how she would react. Probably calmly, he decided. He hoped.
He closed his eyes, went briefly inside his head and in seconds he had cast a protective shield around the house. The sun became hazy; a pall of mist drifted back up the valley. Opening his eyes, he gave her a sideways look and saw her raise an eyebrow. ‘Druid magic?’ she asked. She had noticed then! She didn’t seem phased when he gave a nod.
‘I’m sorry. I am sure Christianity has its own esoteric branches; probably no more than special prayer but maybe you need to know how to word it?’ He grinned.
‘I suppose we just pray. Perhaps I don’t know the esoteric stuff.’ She went to stand near the fire. ‘This is all so strange. Jesus, my Jesus, is different now. I see him in a new way. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to believe any more. This man, who kissed Mora, and paddled in the sea, down there in the Bristol Channel, is my God.’ It was strangely easy to talk to him about her faith. In some ways easier than to his brother.
‘I don’t have to tell you, there is a lot about Jesus and boats in the Bible. His disciples were fishermen.’ Justin came over and piled logs onto the fire. ‘He stilled the storms. Who knows, perhaps that was druid magic he had learned here.’ He frowned as he straightened, listening. All they could hear was the crackle of the flames as they licked round the logs. He hastened across the room and pulled the curtains, hurrying between the windows until the room grew shady. Then he went over to the door and put his ear against it. Abi hadn’t moved.
He gestured at the front door silently. There was someone there.
