by Alys West
She reached up and touched his bark covered cheek. “I think you are a tree spirit,” she whispered. “And maybe I’m being ridiculous but who cares? I need all the help I can get. If you do wishes or anything like that then please help me. I need to be inspired and I mean, really inspired. These King Arthur pictures have to be as good as anything I’ve ever done because this is my big chance. Please, please don’t let me blow it.”
She stared at his blank eyes. A long moment passed. She was sharply aware of the rough texture of the bark beneath her fingers, the smell of damp earth, the birds singing in the branches above her head. “Thanks for listening,” she breathed.
Inhaling deeply, she leaned her back against the trunk. If she was really honest she’d been tense for weeks. She wasn’t enjoying life as an aspiring artist any more. She’d expected that by now, four years after graduation, life would be easier. Yet she was still working two other jobs just to pay the rent. Being constantly on the brink of bankruptcy was no joke. It was fine when she’d first left Goldsmiths because her friends were penniless too but now they were all, Anna included, busy climbing career ladders and their salaries made her income look like pocket money. Her friends were no longer happy with ‘all you can eat buffets’ and restricted view seats at the theatre. They had the money to enjoy a different lifestyle and Zoe, still determinedly chasing her dream, felt left behind.
When this commission had unexpectedly come her way she’d believed it was her big chance. Until everything she drew was unoriginal, uninspired or the sick ghost of someone else’s work. She spent hours at her drawing table with nothing to show for it except eyes red from crying and mountains of discarded paper, fit only for recycling. If she couldn’t break through the block while she was here she had no hope of delivering the commission and her dream was dead. She’d have no choice but to get a proper job.
“Zoe! What are you doing?” Maeve called, her voice high and sharp.
Startled, Zoe looked round. The healer stood by the recliners, hands on hips, her face creased into lines of controlled rage. Reluctantly Zoe pushed away from the trunk and walked towards the healer.
“What were you doing by that tree?” Maeve’s foot tapped impatiently.
“One of my drawings blew away. I went to pick it up.” She glanced back at the wooden face; saw that his empty eyes watched her.
“Oh!” Maeve’s hands slipped from her hips. “Have you been working on your book?”
Holding up the sketch, Zoe said, “Actually I’ve been drawing your cat.”
Maeve bent to look at the sketches scattered on the recliner. “And are these Persia as well?”
“Yes. I got a bit carried away but he’s a joy to draw.” Zoe gathered up the sketches and handed them to Maeve. “So elegant. I love the way he moves.”
“She,” Maeve said as she leafed through the sketches. “These are very good. Very good indeed. This one in particular is remarkable.” Maeve held out the picture of the cat yawning. “You’ve captured the spirit of Persia. Most people just see the smooth coat of the domestic cat but you’ve caught the killer within.”
“I’m glad you like it.” Seeing the pleasure on Maeve’s face, Zoe said impulsively, “You can keep it if you like.”
“How kind. Thank you, my dear.” Maeve’s smile warmed her watery eyes.
Perhaps they’d just got off on the wrong foot, Zoe thought smiling back. Maybe in time she could come to like Maeve as much as Anna did. “I was just wondering, the face in the tree over there, is it a Green Man?”
“Yes but it’s a modern interpretation.” Turning her back on the face, Maeve couldn’t have made it any clearer that she didn’t want to talk about it.
Irritated by the healer’s response, Zoe folded her arms and continued. “I was just admiring him. He’s most unusual. I love that he’s got hair rather than the usual leaves around his head. Makes him look so realistic.”
“It’s really not that interesting.” Maeve spoke slowly, emphasising each word. Her eyes narrowed, staring directly at Zoe as if trying to imprint a message in her brain. Again Zoe felt the strange compulsion to agree and was about to say ‘yes, you’re right’ when she remembered that the Green Man intrigued her.
“Actually I’d like to draw him.” She gestured towards the tree. “The light’s wrong now but maybe tomorrow if it’s a nice day.”
Maeve blinked and then her face tightened. “I thought you said you were working on a book on King Arthur. A Green Man won’t help you with that.”
“I’ve got some freedom with the inner covers and I think he would work well there. You could say the Green Man is one of our remaining links to the world of myth and folklore,” Zoe said improvising quickly. She had no definite plans for the inner covers but this could work. It was as good an idea as any she’d had so far. She wasn’t pushing this just to annoy Maeve. Although that was rapidly becoming an unexpected bonus.
The healer’s eyes narrowed. “We’re about to start the evening meditation and as it’s such a lovely day we’re going to meditate around the Earth Mother’s Altar. You’ll join us.” She spoke the final words with calm emphasis. Again Zoe felt the strange compulsion to agree. She blinked and looked away from Maeve’s glassy blue eyes.
“It’ll be good for you,” the healer said. “You must open your mind to release your creativity.”
“Where’s the Earth Mother’s Altar?” As the words left Zoe’s mouth she had an uncomfortable feeling she already knew the answer.
Maeve pointed to the stone table. “It’s over there, dear. You saw it as you came in.”
Zoe shook her head. “Then no. Thanks. I’m going to walk into Glastonbury and get something to eat.”
“Tomorrow then!” Maeve said, as she walked away. It sounded like a command.
Goosebumps again prickling the back of her neck, Zoe watched Maeve cross to the granite table. What was it about the damned thing that freaked her out so much? She ran back into the house and grabbed her bag and jacket. She wanted to be out of here before the meditation started. She didn’t want to witness what went on around Maeve’s altar.
* * *
Dropping three cushions on the ground around the table, Maeve took a box of matches from her trouser pocket and lit each of the candles. There would be only Tanya and Helena for the meditation. It was hardly worth doing at all.
She’d such hope of the new girl. When she’d hugged her she’d caught a flicker of silver in her aura. Silver was always enticing as it indicated awakening of the cosmic mind. She’d expected an opportunity for further investigation during the meditation.
Until the girl turned out to be impervious to her powers of persuasion. Her strength must be waning faster than she’d realised if a slip of a girl could withstand her so easily. Zoe looked waif-like and delicate with her flowing brown hair and big, doe eyes but she was infuriatingly resistant.
That this girl – the only one for years that she couldn’t influence - had noticed the face and, even worse, was clearly fascinated by it, made for an unwelcome complication. She could only hope that the girl’s interest would be transient. If not, Zoe would have to be watched.
Settling cross legged on the cushion, Maeve reminded herself that she only had to maintain her careful facade for five more days until Beltane. After that, if all went to plan - and after six months of meticulous research and preparation there was no reason to think it would not – she’d be strong enough to no longer need what her guests unwittingly gave.
Chapter 2
By half past eight Zoe was desperate for a distraction, any distraction. She’d eaten the sandwiches, salad and fruit she’d bought from the Co-op in the town. Then deciding to do some work she’d looked again at the manuscript of the six tales of King Arthur until the familiar panic swamped her. It was bad enough at home feeling like her one talent had abandoned her but at least she had friends, two other jobs and her housemates to take her mind off it. Anam Cara wasn’t the comforting haven she’d craved. Here she
felt exposed, every emotion, every thought amplified.
Figuring there must be a television in the place somewhere she headed downstairs. As she stepped into the kitchen an Australian voice said, “Hey, Zoe! How you doing?” Helena and another woman sat around the dining table.
“I’m fine, thanks,” Zoe said.
“Do you want to join us?” Helena gestured to the bottle of red wine and the glasses on the dining table. She wore black clothes that did nothing for her, clinging to her plump body and draining all colour from her complexion.
“Yeah, that’d be great! Thanks.” Zoe started to pull out a chair and then realising it gave an uninterrupted view of Maeve’s altar, walked around the table and sat next to the other woman.
“I’m Tanya,” she said, pouring wine into the glass that Helena pushed towards Zoe. She appeared to be in her early thirties, gently rounded with ample chest and hips. She looked very polished in an aubergine jersey dress with impeccable make-up, manicured nails and perfect hair.
“Nice to meet you.” Zoe picked up her glass and gestured towards her companions. “Cheers!”
“I’m just reading Tanya’s angel cards,” Helena said, tucking strands of frizzy brown hair behind her ears.
“What are angel cards?” Zoe said. A pack of oversized cards lay on the table. In front of Tanya, two cards had been turned over. A third lay face down.
“They’re messages from our guardian angels. Tanya asked about her future and these two cards show her past and her present. The next one -” Helena pointed at the third card “- is about her future.”
“I came here because my relationship ended,” Tanya said. “I’d been with Nick nearly a year and I really thought it was going somewhere, you know. Then he said we’d grown apart and he couldn’t see his future with me. But he was lying. I found out last week that he’s sleeping with Danielle from the accounts department.” Tanya’s eyes filled with tears that she tried to blink away.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Zoe said softly. She could empathise. She’d felt that kind of pain after she’d ended it with Gareth. The lies had made it worse, made it cut deeper.
Tanya turned the final card over and read the words printed on it. “It’s always darkest before the dawn. Don’t give up before the miracle occurs.” An angel in front of a sunrise illustrated the meaning.
Tanya looked at it uncertainly for a long moment. “Is this telling me to keep hoping that things will get better?”
“If the meaning’s unclear to you at the moment then you need to meditate on it. In time it’ll come clear,” Helena said.
“Alright.” Tanya still looking confused. “And if I’m still unsure I’ll ask Maeve about it on Monday when I have my healing.”
“She’ll help you interpret what it means,” Helena said. Shuffling the cards, she turned to Zoe, “Shall I do yours?”
Zoe held her hands up. “I don’t really believe in angels. Won’t that get in the way?”
“You might not believe in angels but they believe in you,” Helena said, with the same calm, superior smile that Maeve had.
Zoe hesitated. She didn’t want to be rude but something in Helena’s words made her uncomfortable. “Maybe later, okay?”
“What brings you to Glastonbury?” Tanya said.
“I’m an artist.” Zoe grimaced. “Well, I’m trying to be. This could be my big chance but I seem to be screwing it up.” Pushing her hair away from her face, she told them about the King Arthur project and, unlike with Maeve, she found it easy to share her worries about the commission. They both assured her that Maeve fostered such a wonderful, nurturing environment she’d have no problem being creative at Anam Cara.
“That’s what my friend Anna said when she talked me into coming here. But I’m just not feeling it,” Zoe said.
“It took me a while to settle in. When I first arrived I thought I’d made a dreadful mistake. It seemed so hippy.” Tanya pronounced the word with derision. “But when I got to know Maeve and we really talked I knew I’d come to the right place.”
“So being here is helping you get over Nick?” Zoe said.
“I feel like a different person and I’ve only been here three days. I was so angry and hurt. This isn’t how my life is supposed to be.” Tanya’s voice rose as a tear crept down her cheek. “Maeve is helping me to let go of that negativity and to value myself again. She’s amazing. I’ve never met anyone like her.”
“Meeting Maeve changed my life,” Helena said. “I was going nowhere before I met her. I’d come to Europe doing the backpacking thing and all I’d seen were beaches and bars. I landed up here by accident. I didn’t realise it at the time but now I reckon it was meant to be.”
“It’s a shame you missed the meditation this afternoon,” Tanya said. “We had a great session. Really powerful.”
“I’m not that into meditating,” Zoe said.
“You know I’d never meditated before I came here but I’m going to keep it up when I go home. I felt amazingly calm after the session today. It’s almost like being on drugs. That is -” Tanya added hastily “- I’m guessing that’s what drugs are like. I’ve not actually taken any.”
“I’ve done plenty of pot and I’m telling you meditating’s better. You don’t get the down,” Helena said.
“Honestly Helena, you make me feel like I’ve never lived!” Tanya laughed. “My only vice is a glass of wine at the end of a day.”
From then on the conversation flowed effortlessly. Tanya talked more about Nick and the breakup of their relationship. Helena admitted she’d been drifting but through working at Anam Cara she felt she’d found her purpose. She was going home to Melbourne in the autumn and, because she wanted to be a healer too, had enrolled on a reflexology course.
Walking upstairs with Tanya sometime around eleven, still chatting away, Zoe thought that maybe coming to Anam Cara hadn’t been such a big mistake after all.
* * *
She woke feeling exhausted. It’d been a night of nightmares, the worst she’d had since the autumn. Twice she’d woken and had to draw the dreams before she could go back to sleep. Hauling herself out of bed, she walked across the wooden floor to open the curtains. It was another bright sunny day.
Turning from the window, Zoe’s shoulders tensed as she picked up her sketchpad. Since October her fear of the dreams had intensified. On a deep breath, she flipped the pad open to see what she’d drawn. Eyes widening, her hand rose to her throat.
The drawing showed a man standing in a garden. This garden. The one outside her window!
She sank into the chair. Sucking in a deep breath, she studied the rough sketch. It was dark and raining heavily. A light above the gate illuminated the garden showing the broken wreck of one of the trees by the boundary wall. The stub of the trunk still stood, cleft down the middle and hollowed out. Branches, twigs and leaves littered the garden.
The man stood on the lawn, staring at the house. Poised to run, a look of terror and confusion in his face. He was tall with a broad chest, long, strong legs and bare feet. Dirt streaked his face; his square chin was dark with stubble. He had a gash above one eyebrow. Blood dripped from cuts on his hands. A rip in his trousers revealed a gash on his thigh. A deep cut on his chest stained his t-shirt.
Zoe closed her eyes and then looked again. But the picture remained the same. She shoved her hand through her hair. What the hell was wrong with her subconscious?
Turning the page she saw the same man limping in bare feet along a dark road. A single lamppost lit the night as rain sheeted down. His mouth was a thin line. Rain streaked the dirt on his face. Blood smeared his forehead. He held his injured hands cradled to his chest.
She recognised the sign for the Chalice Well on the road into Glastonbury. She shuddered. She’d walked past there yesterday evening.
There had to be a sensible explanation. She refused to contemplate anything else. This was so not the time to think about the dreams she’d had of Mia with a baby before her sister anno
unced her pregnancy. Or, prior to her Mum announcing she planned to move, the restless nights when she’d woken to find drawings of strangers in her childhood home.
It was nothing like those things. They were flukes. She’d discussed them with Anna and they’d decided her subconscious picked up on signals from her family and reflected them in her dreams. These drawings must be a reaction to her uncertainty about staying here, her dislike of Maeve and the stress she was under with this commission. Totally understandable in the circumstances. Absolutely nothing to worry about.
But even if that was true – and the freaked out part of her brain was far from convinced – these pictures left her with two unanswerable questions. Who was this guy? And what was he doing in her dreams?
* * *
Maeve woke feeling her age. Every bone in her body ached. Her vision was blurred and her breath rattled in her chest. Eventually she found strength to throw back the bedclothes, reached for the stick she kept by the bed for days like this and heaved herself up. Then slowly, painfully, she crossed the room and drew the heavy velvet curtains. The soft pile was sandpaper against her skin. The rattle of the curtain rings on the wooden pole sounded as loud as clogs on cobbles. Light flooded the room. She winced and turned away.
Bent almost double, she made for the table. She flicked the switch on the kettle and picked up a jug. Above the table were two rows of silver canisters. Placing the stick where she could easily reach it, Maeve leaned on the table and took down three of the canisters. Today she needed fennel, to reduce the sensitivity which increased as her strength lessened; rosemary for the muscle pains and sage for her mental exhaustion. She spooned a teaspoon of each into a jug, added two spoons of powdered bone and poured on boiling water.
She bent to open the small fridge beneath the table and took out a small vial containing a ruby red liquid. Shaking it, she realised it was almost empty. She’d been rationing herself for the past month but she had barely enough to last to Beltane. She stirred the contents of the jug, poured them into a mug and added a couple of drops from the vial.