Circle of Stones

by Catherine Fisher

  They made statues of her, of branches and flowers, then of wood, then of stone.

  But I was not content. I had been touched by magic, and I had to pay her back. I wanted to inscribe my joy on the world. So I made circles. On the downs we made one that was vast and powerful, ring within ring within ring. I set an acorn in that ground too, that would one day be a great tree. And all around the spring, I built her a city, of fine houses, and a temple for her image, so that the bramble valley was a shining place. I lit a fire for her that would never go out.

  Sulis

  She was worried about Josh coming to the house and Hannah must have noticed, because after breakfast she said, “Everything okay?”

  “Fine, thanks.”

  “I’ve got a day off too. We could go shopping if you like.”

  Sulis frowned. She was curled up on the window seat in the sunny sitting room flicking through one of Simon’s books on the city. An illustration caught her eye; she turned the pages back to find it. “I can’t. I mean, I’d like to, another day, but a friend’s coming over. Any minute.”

  “Anyone I know?”

  “Josh. He works at the museum.” The questions were intrusive, but she tried not to get annoyed. Instead she found the page and smoothed it open. It showed a painting of three men in eighteenth-century coats and breeches gathered around a table; a stiff, formal group looking directly out at the viewer. Before them lay an artful scatter of pens, scrolls, surveying instruments, a model of the sun and moon. And a large unrolled plan of the Circus, overlaid with a triangle and some other strange symbols. One of the men had his forefinger touching the paper, pointing at the empty center of the Circus. Was he Jonathan Forrest?

  A shadow on the page made her glance up. Hannah was turning a mug of tea in anxious hands; her hair was untidier than ever. She blew a wisp of it out of her eyes. “I don’t want to pry, Su, you know that, but . . . well, when you say friend, do you mean like, a boyfriend?”

  Sulis tried not to cringe. She kept her eyes on the page. “No, I don’t. Just because he’s a boy . . .”

  “I know! Believe me, I hate asking. It’s just . . . well, you know. The situation.”

  Simon came in then. “What about the situation?”

  “Sulis has made a new friend. Josh. He’s coming over.”

  The room was silent. Sulis realized her teeth were gritted with tension; she relaxed and glanced up at Simon. The whole thing was ridiculous. “If you want, I’ll call it off. It’s not that important . . .”

  Simon had an armful of files and drawings. He put them down carefully on the table. “Maybe we need to discuss this a bit.”

  “Why? You said live a normal life . . .”

  “But you should have mentioned him, Sulis. I don’t want to be heavy, but we have to be very careful.”

  “He doesn’t know anything about the past. He’s my age. Do I have to tell you about everyone I ever talk to?”

  She knew she sounded defensive; her voice had risen to a whiny, stupidly high note.

  Simon sat down on the seat next to her. “Of course not.”

  “Good.” To break the awkwardness she hefted the heavy book to face him. “Look. Is that Forrest?”

  Simon glanced at Hannah. Then he took the book and looked at it and she sensed that he was being especially patient, his whole pose a considering caution. “Yes. That’s him. I believe it’s the only known image of what he looked like. You see he’s pointing to the center of the Circus? There’s a story that he wanted some sort of secret feature there, but whatever it was, was never completed. There was just a reservoir for water; you can see the roof of it out there, between the trees.”

  She glanced out. The ground between the planes was thick with golden leaves. Simon followed her gaze. “Well, maybe not now. In summer. This man here in red was Ralph Alleyn, a local bigwig who owned the stone quarries. Pretty rich.”

  “And him?” She pointed to the boy at Forrest’s side.

  “Zachariah Stoke. Forrest’s assistant. Can’t remember what happened to him. But look, Sulis, are you sure this Josh knows nothing about you?”

  “He knows you’re my parents. We live here. I’m going to college next year. That’s it. End of story.”

  She was used to lying, but she didn’t like lying to them. They were so innocent somehow. As if she were older than them. Generations older. And in a way she was, because she had seen death and evil close up, and they never had.

  Simon looked at Hannah. She said brightly, “Well, I’m sure it will be all right. Where are you going?”

  “I don’t know. It’s up to him.” Sulis turned back to the book. She sensed Hannah’s jerk of the head to Simon; they both went out into the kitchen and after a while the murmurs of their conversation drifted in.

  Sulis stared hard at the painting, as if it could stop her hearing them. Zachariah Stoke looked about her age. He had a haughty, self-confident air, his head slightly on one side, as if he were listening to somebody too, in that distant room. Perhaps it had been a room in the Circus. Maybe even this one. He was handsome, and rather fine, but it was Forrest who interested her. The architect had a face full of energy, of fierce enthusiasm. He gazed out at her as if he challenged her; as if there was something she and he could share. Perhaps, she thought, it was that each of them had only one image that the world could see. One picture that would define them forever. “So this is how they caught you,” she whispered. There was a sadness about him too, as if all the things he loved had failed him.

  The doorbell rang.

  Sulis looked up. She felt a sudden pang of nerves, and that annoyed her. Josh was early.

  “I’ll go.” Hannah came out of the kitchen. “Are you okay about him coming up?”

  “He’ll have to. I’m not ready.” She put the book down and hurried upstairs.

  As she found her coat and money, she heard voices below; when she ran down Josh was standing by the window talking to Simon politely about the view.

  “It’s a bit like a clock,” Josh was saying. “A stone clock.”

  “Well, yes. The sun travels around it. The shadows of the trees are like dark pointers.” Simon sounded impressed. “Are you a student?”

  “I was. Not now.” That tense note had come into Josh’s voice.

  “Architecture?”

  “Archaeology.”

  “Really? Well, if you’re interested, there’s a project about to begin here in the Circus that you might help me out with. I can’t promise money . . .”

  Sulis said, “You never told me that.” Simon turned. “Oh well, I was going to, of course. It’s not exactly glamorous. A new storm drain is due to be laid across the green down there—it will run from roughly our cellar to the other side, so I’ve pulled a few strings and the contractors have offered the university the chance to work there if anything turns up.”

  Josh said, “What sort of things?”

  “Who knows?” Simon smiled his lecturer’s smile. “If you’re interested . . .”

  Sulis was annoyed. “I’m interested.”

  “Oh, I meant both of you, of course.”

  Hannah was clearing the breakfast table. “Just like a man.”

  Sulis moved to the door. She had to get Josh out of here. “I need to get my phone.” She pulled his sleeve. “Come on. I’ll show you the view from the roof.”

  In her bedroom she opened the window and he stepped through and whistled. “This is amazing. Have you ever worked your way along the roof?”

  “No. And don’t you.”

  He put his arms around the stone acorn. “These things look smaller from below. Why acorns, anyway?”

  “Bladud’s crown, so Simon says.” She grinned. “Simon says.”

  Josh even laughed. He seemed different today, up here. Less self-absorbed. Happier. Above him the sky was blue and clear and cold.
It was as if they had risen above their lives and, for a moment, were free.

  A voice echoed, strangely distorted. It spoke garbled, harsh syllables. A ripple, it said, in the pool of time.

  “What’s that?” Josh turned.

  She sighed. “The tourist bus.”

  It came around the corner, as it did every hour, the red double-decker slowly purring along the circular road.

  “Do they look in through your windows?” Josh grinned.

  “Sometimes.”

  The commentary drifted across to them, the woman with the microphone in hat and scarf, her voice rebounding from the opposite houses.

  “. . . Jonathan Forrest’s masterpiece, built to a complex and secret theory. Thirty houses in three sections, using the three orders of architecture. Begun in 1740, Forrest’s survey of Stonehenge inspired his . . .”

  The bus came around toward them, scattering jackdaws into the trees. There were a few people downstairs, all foreign tourists, but on the upper, open deck, there was only one man. He was sitting on the backseat, muffled against the cold in a coat and a scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. Sulis stared at him.

  Was it?

  Dread paralyzed her. Josh was talking, but she couldn’t even hear him.

  The man had dark hair. He was gazing at the houses he passed intently, with a fixed fascination, and yet he was doing something too, dialing a number into a mobile phone he held.

  “Sulis?”

  Josh had had to stand directly in front of her. “Am I that boring?”

  “It’s him.” She pushed him aside, and he wobbled and grabbed hastily at the acorn.

  “Be careful!”

  “It’s him. I know it. There, look!” She grabbed him, turned him. “At the back, on his own.”

  He stared. The bus drew slowly level with them. The man raised his eyes and gazed calmly across at them.

  “. . . please note the mysterious frieze of images above the columns,” the microphone droned. “Symbols of occult and unknown imagery, as if Forrest was leaving a message for later generations, never deciphered . . .”

  The man smiled at her.

  Sulis couldn’t move. She stared at him and he gazed back, and she was on the top of the tower in her red coat and Caitlin was standing too near the edge, sidling toward it one foot at a time saying, “It’s okay. It’s quite safe, look.” But then Caitlin was a boy and he was saying, “Are you sure it’s the same man? I don’t think it is.”

  “Sure. Utterly sure. I dream about him.”

  The man lifted the mobile phone to his ear. He leaned back on the seat, gazing at her.

  Her phone rang.

  The shock was so great she dropped it. It fell with a clatter onto the narrow stone ledge and skittered to the edge. The vibrations of its ringtone made it shudder in a tiny circle.

  Josh crouched. “I can get it.”

  “No! Don’t!”

  “I can reach it.” His fingers groped. “It’s just . . .”

  He leaned farther.

  “Don’t!”

  “It’s okay. It’s safe. Look.”

  She stood behind him and the wind blew and the birds cawed and flew around her. The man’s eyes were fixed on her and she was sick and shivering and she had hold of his coat and was pulling and she wanted to scream but the words were choked in her throat.

  Josh’s fingers closed on the phone. He scrabbled it nearer. “If I can just . . .” He was over the empty, sheer edge of the roof.

  “Caitlin,” she breathed. “Don’t . . .”

  He squirmed back. He scrambled up. “Who’s Caitlin?”

  “She’s dead,” she whispered.

  Awkward, he handed her the phone. “You should answer this.”

  “No. No one knows this number. No one but Hannah and Simon.”

  He held it out to her, but she couldn’t take it. The bus had passed them; it was turning out of the Circus and through the windshield at the back she could still see the man sitting there. He didn’t turn his head.

  “Hello?” Josh had the phone to his ear, looking at her. “Who is this?”

  She knew who it was.

  Intent, she watched Josh’s face as the jackdaws came down in a squawking cloud on the roofs and the trees.

  For a minute he was expressionless. Then he pushed the button and gave the phone back to her. “No answer.”

  She looked at the tiny screen. It said NUMBER UNAVAILABLE. She felt giddy. For an instant she felt how the whole world was spinning around the sun, in a circle so fast no one even noticed. She took a step sideways and bumped against the acorn. The sun was blinding her eyes.

  She didn’t remember how they got inside. She was sitting on the bed and Josh was propped on the chair. He was looking at her.

  They were both silent.

  For a moment there was only silence, and then he said, “We should go out.”

  “No! We’ll stay here.” She swallowed. “I’ll tell you here.”

  There was no sound from below. Simon would have gone to work and if Hannah had shouted up to say she was going out, neither of them would have heard her. The small room was quiet and warm and the sunlight streamed in.

  Josh took his coat off and tossed it down. “I could murder a cup of tea.”

  She had to talk. She said, “That photo. On the book cover.”

  She leaned over and pulled a drawer open and tossed the book onto the bed. They both stared at it. Josh didn’t touch it. He said, “This Caitlin . . .”

  “She’s in it too.”

  He leaned back. He took a small wooden clown that was on her table and pulled the string that made it collapse. But he didn’t say anything.

  And suddenly the silence yawned, and she knew only her words could fill it.

  “Sulis is not my real name. I was born in Sheffield, and I lived there until I was seven with my mum . . . not Hannah, my real mum. We had a house on an estate, just outside the town. A bit small, a bit . . . scruffy. I didn’t think so then, but I suppose I do now.”

  She curled up on the bed, as if she were telling herself the story. And it was easy to tell, because she had rehearsed it over and over for this moment. The moment she would explain.

  “It was just an ordinary life and I was just an ordinary kid. I didn’t have a dad, but that’s true for a lot of people. We didn’t have any family, though. My mum never talked about them that I remember.

  “I went to the local primary school and I must have been in the kindergarten class when I met Caitlin. I don’t remember a time in school when she wasn’t there. She sat by me a lot. There was a whole class of kids, but she was my friend. You know, the way little girls are. My special friend.”

  He collapsed the toy again, and nodded. She sensed he didn’t want to interrupt her.

  “She was . . . funny. And chatty. A bit loud. She was always doing things and saying things . . . If there was something going on . . . I don’t know, a fight or an argument, she was in it. She was always pulling me after her. I followed her. She was stronger than me. I sort of knew that.” She curled up, tighter. “Other people didn’t like her. My mother started to say, ‘That Caitlin . . .’ The teacher split us up but we always played together in the yard. She wasn’t supposed to come to my house. So I only saw her then in school. We were ordinary little kids. We got into trouble, but only silly things. We would have grown up to be just ordinary teenage girls, I suppose. If that day hadn’t happened.”

  Josh was listening, his fingers on the toy. She said, “It was a cold morning. Sunny, but cold. It must have been autumn . . . Just after the schools go back, because we had a new teacher, and she didn’t like Caitlin. There was some trouble, I forget what, an argument with some girl. Caitlin got the blame, and then she lost her temper, and punched the other kid. She’d had to go to the principal’s office, and h
er mum was going to get a letter about it. She was really upset. We were in a corner of the playground that lunchtime and she was there with her back against the fence and her face all red from crying and her knees up and she was so wild. I’m not staying here to get yelled at again, she said. I’m going. Are you coming?

  “I don’t think I wanted to. I wouldn’t have done it on my own. But she was like that. You had to go along. She sort of pulled you after her. We crept past the lunch ladies and around by the staff parking lot. There was a wall, but it was easy to get over. I remember we were two streets away, running down an alley, when I heard the bell ring for the afternoon, and thinking that I’d miss PE and that I was quite pleased about that.”

  She looked up. “Sorry. All this . . .”

  “I’m interested. Go on.”

  He had dumped the toy. Now he wasn’t fiddling with anything, his eyes on her.

  She looked away. “We’d never been out on our own before. At least I hadn’t. We knew a few streets, but after that it was all new. Cars and a crosswalk and then a bus stop. A bus came and Caitlin said Let’s get on it, so we did. We didn’t have any money, but there was a crowd of women and we got on with them and sat together, all innocent, and I suppose everyone thought we were someone else’s kids. The bus went through the countryside for miles—woods and fields and then into another town and we got off and ran. We didn’t care. Not yet. We walked down streets and found this big park, so we played on the swings—and then we ran around a little lake that was there. It was fun at first. I don’t know how long it took us to realize that we were lost, and it was cold, and we were hungry.” She looked up. “People tell kids not to talk to strangers, but everyone is a stranger, nearly, and all of a sudden we realized that. There were no friendly firemen or policemen or women in nurses’ uniforms like in the pictures in kids’ storybooks, no kind old ladies walking dogs. It was twilight and the tree branches were black against the sky, and the streetlamps were all orange. I remember that. It was getting dark. And I remember how the birds scared me—flocks of birds swooping into the trees, squawking.

  “Then we saw him. He was sitting on a bench in the park. He looked all right. I think he was watching the birds or maybe I’ve imagined that. It’s so hard to tell what you remember from what you imagine. Or what other people whisper around you. And I’ve read all the clippings now, of course, so there’s all that newspaper stuff in my head too.”