Beltane

by Alys West

  Then, telling the goddesses what she wanted to do, she held her hand in the smoke of the fire and sliced the athame across her palm. Blood surged. She closed her hand around the body of the poppet.

  As her blood merged with the poppet she felt the goddesses’ power within her and knew the spell worked.

  Chapter 25

  Alone at a table in the courtyard of the hostel, Zoe stared into the bottom of her glass. The wine had done its job. Her thoughts had stopped frenetically spinning and the world had lost its focus.

  A nightlight glowed in a jam jar on the table in front of her. Cheers from the bar – where football fans from a bewildering variety of nations were watching a game on the big screen - swirled out and joined with the chatter and laughter of the other hostellers. The noise didn’t touch her. She was isolated in a bubble of her own silence.

  Her phone flashed and beeped. She picked it up. A text from Finn. “Your bags are at the front desk. No problems with picking them up. If you decide you want to talk then ring me. If not, then good luck. Finn.”

  She closed her eyes, dropped her head into her hand. She’d hurt him. She could feel it in the words, the curt ‘good luck’ which meant ‘goodbye’. The prospect of never seeing him again was suddenly terrifyingly real. He wouldn’t contact her again. If she didn’t ring him then that was it. Over.

  Swallowing hard, Zoe took a deep breath and slugged down the last of her wine. She stood and then wobbled, had to grab the table to steady herself. She saw people looking, felt a blush rise to her cheeks and swung her hair to cover her face. Slowly, not hurrying in case she tripped over her feet, she walked towards the main entrance. Her bags were in the custody of the totally disinterested man behind the desk and she was soon heading for the dorm, rucksack slung on her back, portfolio tucked under her arm.

  It was all she’d dreaded from a hostel, a large room, packed with metal bunk beds. Some of the bunks were already made up with sheets and blankets. One or two had people lying on them, reading or, headphones in, listening to music. Spotting an unoccupied bed, Zoe dropped her rucksack and portfolio on the floor and claimed the bottom bunk.

  She pulled her portfolio towards her and slid open the zip. Quickly, she flipped through the contents checking if all her King Arthur sketches were there. Nothing seemed to be missing although they were in a different order. The drawings of Finn that she’d tucked away at the back were now on top. Did that mean Maeve really had gone through her portfolio last night?

  Remembering how troublesome Lancelot’s face had been, she flipped through the drawings again, thinking, at least, this was a problem she could solve. She tugged out the drawing she’d done on Sunday and rested it on her knees. Then she blinked, frowned. Lancelot looked like Finn. Admittedly he wore armour and his hair was a lot tidier but the resemblance was unmistakable. Which was as weird as hell because she’d drawn this twenty-four hours before she met him.

  Forget it for now, she told herself. Look at it again tomorrow. As she slipped Lancelot back into the portfolio the picture of the Green Man fell forward. She shoved her hair out of her eyes and picked it up. She remembered now. He’d been her inspiration for Lancelot.

  Then she gasped. The Green Man looked like Finn too. But he was suffering. His mouth clamped into a thin line, holding back pain or grief, the empty eyes haunted. She frowned, blinked and blinked again. The picture remained the same. The Green Man looked exactly like Finn. How was that possible? Why the hell would Maeve have a carving of Finn on her tree?

  She shook her head to try to clear it. Feeling a little dizzy, she closed her eyes. It made no sense. Like so many things that had happened today it made absolutely no bloody sense. And she’d had more than she could take of this insanity. She wanted to lie down, close her eyes and sleep dreamlessly until morning when she could go home.

  She shoved the portfolio under the bed and yanked open her rucksack. Something fell out. She bent to pick it up. “Oh,” she whispered. She twirled the rose between her finger and thumb. It really was beautiful. The purple petals were softer than velvet, the scent as opulent as the colour.

  How had he done it? How could he create something so gorgeous from just a twig and a leaf? He couldn’t have known what colour she’d choose. Did he have roses in all the colours of the rainbow in his pockets ready to pull out?

  She laid the rose on her palm, remembered the tingle and the heat she’d felt as his hand covered hers. Then, when he’d moved his hand away, the rose had been there. As simple and as utterly inexplicable as that.

  * * *

  On his knees, hands bound behind him, Finn watched from the centre of the stone circle as the hooded figure brandished the broken stick at the sky and screamed a torrent of meaningless words. With the movement the hood fell backwards and revealed a face. It was the face of a crone and that face was laughing.

  The high triumphant laugh followed Zoe as she struggled through layers of sleep. She woke, skin drenched in sweat, heart thumping. Automatically she reached for the bedside light but her fingers found only air. Then she remembered where she was.

  Except for a thin line of light around the blinds at the windows, darkness smothered the dorm. Rubbing her eyes, Zoe sat and reached down to pick up her sketchpad and pencil. Her fingers closed around the rose – resting on top of her pad - and she grabbed it too.

  Not completely awake she walked, one hand extended to make sure she didn’t bump into anything, towards the door. The corridor was unlit but from an un-curtained window came a thin grey light. Walking towards the window, she found herself in a kitchen. Switching on the light, she pulled a chair from the table and sat down.

  For a long moment she simply twirled the rose between her fingers, brushing it against her cheek, inhaling its perfume. Then she reluctantly put it on the table, bent her knees, rested her sketchpad on them and closed her eyes. Immediately the dream sprang back to life and without thinking she started to draw.

  When she finished she dropped the pad on the table, rested her head on her knees and curled up. She could feel tears, a hard ball trapped above her diaphragm. But she felt too scared to cry. The crone was back. She didn’t need to look at the sketch to know that she’d drawn her again. She’d stalked her dreams for night after night in the autumn. Why the hell had she come back now?

  Eventually she prised her head off her knees. She picked up the rose again, pulled her sketchpad towards her.

  The crone wore the hooded robe. She held two broken sticks over the fire at the centre of the circle. Finn had got it wrong. It wasn’t Maeve. She brushed a finger over his familiar face. The furrow between his eyes, the tension in his jaw made it look like he was concentrating hard on something. She frowned, peered closer. He held something in one of his hands. It looked like a thin bladed knife. Was he trying to escape?

  He had to see this. Whatever she felt about him, however confused she was, she couldn’t keep this from him. Maybe she could meet him, for just long enough to explain about the drawing, before she caught the first bus out of here.

  Only home didn’t seem like a safe haven anymore. Because she’d drawn the crone before. In the autumn she’d had a string of bad dreams in the run up to Halloween. The drawings had so terrified her that she’d hidden them in the back of the wardrobe hoping she’d never have to look at them again. Only now she would have to because, somehow, it was all connected. And that made no sense at all. How could the nightmare figure from October be the person behind the hood?

  Suddenly all she wanted was to see Finn, to tell him about the crone. She looked at her watch. Quarter past five. His text had said ‘ring me’ but she was fairly sure he hadn’t meant at this time in the morning.

  And if she did ring, what would she say? There was still all of the head-spinning stuff that he’d told her about druids and spellworkers and magic.

  Could Anna be right? Had she over-reacted last night? She brushed her fingers over the rose’s soft petals. Maybe. She’d felt the same stunned disbelief as w
hen she’d found Gareth had lied to her. Had that made her reject Finn’s words without thinking?

  Did what he’d said about the earth and energy make some kind of sense? Lots of people believed in an innate energy in the earth and that there were places – Glastonbury, Stonehenge, Avebury – where it spilled over. That was why people flocked to these special – some would say sacred – sites. Would it really be such a huge leap to believe that Finn could somehow use that energy? Especially when she held something he’d created with it?

  But what about Maeve? What about all he said about her? Could any of that possibly be true? She closed her eyes, thought of Tanya and Helena, the altar, the doll, the Green Man’s face disappearing after the storm.

  Abruptly the memory became crystal clear. Standing in the garden by the shattered wreck of the Green Man’s tree and seeing that his face – the face that looked exactly like Finn - was missing. She’d felt it then. Something was going on at Anam Cara. Something that didn’t - no matter how hard she wanted it to - make any kind of logical sense.

  Which meant it had to be something else. Something outside of the world she knew and believed in.

  Finn’s words from yesterday, when she stood up to leave, leapt into her mind. She remembered his hand on her arm, the way his grey eyes had pleaded with her to understand, how he’d asked her to embrace the truth of what she’d seen and felt. But she hadn’t. She’d walked away.

  Shoving her chair away from the table, she almost ran back to the dorm and grabbed her bag. In the kitchen, she closed the door, dug her phone out and pulled up Finn’s number. Her finger hovered over the screen. Was this the right thing to do or was she being completely crazy?

  She looked at the rose and her finger hit the screen. Once she’d done it she knew it was a bad idea. About to cancel the call, she heard it ringing. Taking a deep breath, not sure if she wanted him to answer or not, she put the phone next to her ear and counted the rings. Finn answered on the sixth, his voice thick with sleep.

  “Hi, it’s... Zoe. I’m so sorry to wake you. I seem to be making a habit of it.” She laughed unconvincingly. “It’s just that I’ve had another dream.”

  “What?”

  “It’s about you. You’re in the stone circle and the hooded figure, it’s not Maeve.” Zoe’s voice rose. “It’s this woman with a crone’s face.”

  “It’s not Maeve. You’re sure?” Finn’s voice sharpened.

  “Yes, I’m sure. But I’ve seen this crone woman before. I dreamt about her again and again in October. Do you think that’s important?”

  “Yes.” She heard him yawn and then he said, “Are you okay? Because you don’t sound okay.”

  “No.” The word came out high and squeaky. Zoe screwed her eyes up, bit her lip to try to hold it together.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “She really scares me. The crone woman. The dreams I had in October, I don’t remember them but I know they were terrifying and if she’s the person in the stone circle then that’s bad, Finn. I just know that’s bad.”

  “She’s not going to hurt you.”

  “No, she’s going to hurt you!”

  There was a long silence then Finn said, “I thought you didn’t care about that.”

  “Oh, God! Please don’t say that. I just got confused...” Zoe gestured wildly. “Everything you told me… it was too much but when I had this dream I realised that I was wrong and I...I want to see you.”

  “Now?”

  “I know it’s ridiculous because it’s not even light,” she said. “But yes.”

  “Are you at the hostel?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes.” The line went dead and Zoe stared at her phone. A grin spread across her face. Then she looked down, saw her pyjamas and dashed to the dorm to get dressed.

  A little over ten minutes later, Zoe stepped out of the front door of the hostel wearing jeans, trainers and a purple hoody. Her portfolio was tucked under her arm. Silence cradled the town as the light changed, slipping from night to day.

  Both the High Street and Magdalene Street were deserted. No sign of Finn in his little red car. Restlessly she walked towards the market cross. After she’d paced twice around it, she made herself sit on the stone base. At the sound of an engine, her head whipped round. A big, blue off-road vehicle approached.

  It slowed and then pulled up by the kerb. There was a man driving it. He looked like Finn. Then she was on her feet because it was Finn. He got out of the car and walked towards her. His hair was rumpled from sleep, his clothes looked like he’d fallen into them. She walked towards him and then her feet were running.

  Suddenly he was there, his arms around her, pulling her towards him, holding her tight. Her hands slid around his back, grabbing handfuls of fleece to tug him closer. He cradled her head and stroked her hair, whispering her name. Her face was pressed against his safe, strong chest. She closed her eyes and basked in the moment.

  Then he moved. She looked up, ready to step back but his eyes were on hers with a look that held. A slow smile spread across his face sending shivers of anticipation through her. Then his lips met hers. Gently at first, moving tantalisingly slowly then, as she opened her mouth, his hands pulled her closer as his lips became more urgent, more passionate.

  And then there was another feeling, an entirely different sensation to anything she’d ever felt. It started where he touched her, spread from his lips, his hands until every inch of her skin tingled. As the kiss deepened, the tingling became more intense. Confused, she pulled away, looked up at him, frowning.

  “What’s wrong?” he said, his hand stroking her cheek.

  “I felt the strangest thing.”

  Finn’s face froze. Abruptly he let her go, stepped back. “I thought you wanted...”

  “Of course, I did! I do! I’ve been waiting for you to kiss me for days.” She stepped after him, grabbed his hand and returned it to her waist. “But there was this tingling feeling. It was just kind of strange.”

  Finn pulled her close again. “Are we talking good strange?”

  “Definitely good.” Zoe stood on her tip toes and brushed his lips with hers. “I’ve felt it before when we touched but then when we kissed it was all over.”

  Finn raised his eyebrows. “Really? All over?”

  “Yes.” Zoe giggled. This time the kiss started deeper, one hand locked in her hair, tilting her face to meet his. His other sliding down her back to pull their bodies closer. The tingle rose faster, seemed part of her body’s urgent response, the desire that raced through her. When his lips moved to trail down her neck she found enough breath to say, “Definitely all over.” The look he gave her made her heart beat faster and then his lips were on hers again and she forgot to think at all.

  Passing footsteps made them pull apart. “If we keep this up someone’s going to tell us to get a room,” Finn whispered against her ear. “I’ve got one but unfortunately Winston’s in it.”

  Winston. She’d forgotten all about him arriving last night. And if he was at Finn’s then they definitely weren’t about to finish – in his lovely, big double bed – what they’d just started.

  “All I’ve got is a bed in a dorm so I vote for your place,” Zoe said, reluctantly removing her arms from around his neck. “Except I guess Winston’s not going to like being woken up this early.”

  “He’ll get over it. He’s dying to meet you. He’s never met a seer who can draw her visions.”

  “Oh no! What have you told him?” Zoe’s hands rose in agitation. “I’m so not a seer. My dreams don’t even make sense.”

  “Shush.” Finn brushed a finger over her cheek. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll figure out who this crone is.” He gestured to her portfolio lying at the bottom of the Market Cross. “Is that coming with us?”

  “Yes. I thought you’d want to see the drawings of all the dreams I’ve had since I came to Anam Cara.”

  “We do.” Finn stepped away to pick up her portfolio a
nd the tingling sensation disappeared, making her feel abruptly bereft. Opening the passenger car door, he slung her portfolio onto the back seat.

  Zoe stared at the car seat, the bottom of which was at the same level as her chest. “Could this be any higher?” She put her foot on the ledge and grasped the seat to climb in.

  “You need a hand?” Finn said. Before she could reply, his hand was on her bum boosting her up. Zoe lurched into the seat and had to grab the steering wheel to steady herself.

  Face bright red, she turned to him. “I think you enjoyed that a bit too much!”

  Finn simply grinned, slammed the door and walked around to the driver’s side. When he got in next to her Zoe said, “You were driving a little red car yesterday.”

  “Hire car,” Finn said, starting the engine. “This one’s mine. Brought it back from Lyme yesterday.”

  Zoe looked down. Her feet barely touched the floor, making her feel uncomfortably like a child. “This one’s built for giants.”

  Finn laughed, the rich, wonderful sound that sent shivers through her. “You’ll get used to it. And I’m always happy to give you a helping hand.” He winked.

  Half way up the High Street they turned down a narrow side road. “Thanks for bringing my things last night. I really didn’t want to go back to Anam Cara...” She broke off as a thought hit her and she blinked at her own stupidity. Had she really been so obsessed with her own problems that she’d not realised how dangerous it was for him? “But you shouldn’t have gone! What if Maeve had seen you?”

  “She was out. Winston went in, charmed Helena and came out with your stuff. All I did was sit in the car and keep watch.”

  “That was lucky,” Zoe said quietly. Her reaction made her realise that she must have accepted that Maeve wanted to harm Finn. Glancing out of the passenger window, she added, “I’ll thank Winston when I see him. I’m sorry I didn’t text you last night to say thanks. I should have done only I....I had a bit much to drink.”