He shook his head. “I never saw him.”
“I did,” said Steph, her words tense with fury. “He ran out of the house, screaming. He went that way.” She gestured toward the mountain.
Laura was too traumatized to know whether to be relieved he had gone or terrified that he was out there somewhere and might come back. She crouched down next to Dan and took his hand in hers.
“Dan, I am so sorry,” she said.
He tried to answer her, but the smoke still had his voice. Instead he mustered a weak smile and shook his head, squeezing her hand.
Sirens could be heard echoing through the lower reaches of the valley. Laura turned to look at the burning house, the flames now feeding on the roof which cracked and groaned as it began to fall in on itself. The fire burned with terrifying ferocity, lighting up the night sky with a dizzying display of spark and flame. Within minutes timbers that had sheltered generations for hundreds of years were consumed and replaced by a cavernous, orange hole.
EPILOGUE
OUTSIDE THE VILLAGE shop the colors of the plants lined up for sale spoke joyfully of spring. Laura considered the vermilion climbing rose and the china-white daisies before settling on a vigorous looking honeysuckle. Mrs. Powell appeared in the open shop doorway.
“Ooh, hello there. Lovely to see you again. My goodness, it’s been a few months, hasn’t it? Are you keeping well?”
“Yes, thank you. I’m fine. Just a little tired sometimes.”
“Oh, that’s to be expected, isn’t it? And after that terrible fire, well, well. Was Glyn the Bryn called the fire brigade, wasn’t it?”
“That’s right. Actually, I was buying this to take to Anwen.”
“Who, dear?”
“Mrs. Morgan. Glyn’s wife?”
Mrs. Powell laughed merrily at this. “Glyn have a wife? Oh, my goodness, the idea. Who’d want to be married to that grumpy old beggar?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand. I thought…”
“Glyn’s been up at the Bryn on his own since his father died in 1978. Or was it 1987?”
Laura stared at Mrs. Powell, trying to take in what she was saying. At first she thought there was a simple misunderstanding, or that the postmistress was getting forgetful and would remember Anwen in a minute. But no, the more she thought about her, about what an ill-match Anwen and Glyn had always seemed, about the strangeness of the old woman, and about the fact that there had never been anyone else around when Laura had seen her, the clearer the truth became. It made more sense, in fact, that Anwen should be like Merlin, a being who inhabited that liminal realm of stories and legends. It seemed too obvious now; Laura felt foolish for not having seen it sooner.
“No wife?” she asked Mrs. Powell once more, handing her the money for the plant.
“No, dear. No wife.”
Laura looked at the honeysuckle and then smiled, deciding in that moment what to do with it. An idea had come to her. She put the plant in the passenger footwell of her car and settled herself carefully behind the wheel. She fidgeted with the cushion she had taken to using in the small of her back when driving, then set off for Penlan.
It had indeed been several months since she had been to Wales. It was good to see the countryside in its spring finery again. With a pang she thought of the first time she had seen the house, exactly at this time of year twelve months ago. Such a lot had happened in that time. So many things to so many people. She drove slowly up the twisting lane, not wanting to take any of the bumps or potholes too quickly this time. A mixture of excitement and nervousness took hold as the house came into view. How different it looked now. All around it the timeless landscape remained constant, shifting only with the seasons, year in, year out, but remaining otherwise as it had been for centuries. In its sheltered position in the lea of the hill Penlan still nestled snuggly against any threatening winds that might come, but the makeshift corrugated roof and boarded-up spaces where the windows had been made it a forlorn sight. She parked the car and climbed slowly out. At least now that the better weather had arrived the rebuilding work could resume. Soon there would be a new roof and new windows, and the house would be made whole and beautiful once more. But it would never be like it was before. However sympathetic the restoration, a lot of work would be needed, and something of its history, of those connections with past lives, would be lost. The main A frame had survived, as had the bigger of the beams. They were of such stout and dense oak that even such an intense fire would have needed longer to consume them. Many of them had been irredeemably blackened, though, and most of the floorboards were gone, along with the lovely wood paneling, and many of the details which had given the place its charm. Laura had known straightaway after the fire that she would never want to live at Penlan again. It was ruined for her, and not just because of the fire damage. The main part of the house being stone was still standing, and to the casual observer there would be little difference to see. But too much had happened. Too much had changed. She could never make her home there after what had been done. After all that she had experienced. After all that she had so nearly lost, and for which she would always blame herself. Even now, so many months later, she could vividly recall the terror of that night. What if Megan had not helped her escape from the croft? What if she had not gotten to the burning house in time? Dan had so nearly died, and all because of her. He had been so understanding, so generous and loving and forgiving. He was prepared to try again, to save their marriage. He promised there would be no more guilt, no more recriminations, just moving forward, together.
Standing still was beginning to make Laura’s back ache, so she fetched the honeysuckle from the car and walked slowly down across the meadows toward the woods. The May blossom was spilling from the hedgerows, and the first of the bluebells were blooming in shady spots here and there. A small flock of longtailed tits bobbed by, and a squirrel chattered in an ash tree as she passed. As she entered the woods and stepped over the stream she thought of William and Hamish and how much she had loved spending time with them here. At least they had their father back now. It would be some time before he was completely his strong and irrepressible self again, but he had woken up on Boxing Day, giving Steph and the boys the best late Christmas present they had ever had. Laura still felt horribly responsible for what her best friend and her family had been through. No one had openly blamed her, but she knew the very sight of her must bring back painful memories, thoughts of what had happened, and of what nearly happened. Laura counted herself lucky that her friendship with Steph had been strong enough to endure all that had tested it. She was certainly going to need her friend more now than ever before.
She made halting progress but eventually reached the sloping oak and the clearing around it. The glade looked every bit as enchanting as she remembered, with wild garlic and violets and silvery lichen and a hundred different mosses, not one of them actually moss green. She put the plant pot down and hunted for a sharp stone with which to dig. The ground was dry but soft beneath the topsoil. She scraped and scratched away until she had dug what she hoped was a deep enough hole, then upturned the honeysuckle and planted it. She stood up, aching as she always did now if she stayed in one position for more than a few moments. She brushed the dirt from her hands and regarded the enormous oak tree, imagining what it might look like in a couple of years with the honeysuckle twining its way up the trunk and through the branches, with fragrant, drooping blooms attracting bees and butterflies for miles around. She wondered if perhaps she would come back to see it, but she doubted it. In her heart she knew that this was good-bye. It was a moment she had been putting off, but it had to be faced. At least she did not fear coming across Rhys. The police had tracked him for two days after the fire. He had eventually been found, hiding out on the mountain, raving and incoherent. Laura had spent many difficult hours telling the authorities everything she suspected, everything she knew, everything that had happened. He was ultimately charged with abduction and arson, the police feeling they
did not have enough evidence to prosecute him for what happened to Angus. There was little doubt that he would be convicted, though it was more likely he would be sent to a secure hospital than a prison. Laura pitied him now. Pitied him, and despised herself, for her own selfish weakness, and for the danger she had brought to those she loved. She quelled a shudder at the thought of what he had done, and at the thought of how close she had let him get to her.
She still missed Merlin. She had grown accustomed to the constant, physical ache just below her heart, and even the vivid dreams where he seemed so very close and so very real. But the thought of never seeing him again, the endlessness of that, was something she would never get used to. It had taken her weeks to realize that he had gone. Forever. At first she thought it was just because she wasn’t living at the house any more. But she would come back, to oversee clearing up, or sort out builders or insurance men, and each time she would look for him. And each time she came away weeping. She could not understand why he had left her. For a while it felt as if she had lost everything worth living for. Her imagined future with Dan at Penlan. And Merlin. She had never in her life felt so alone. But then, gradually, with the passing months, she had come to understand at last what Merlin had meant about their fates being linked. She remembered that he had told her they were not destined to stay together, but that all would be well. The thought of a future without him being a happy one had seemed an impossibility to her at the time, but now she understood. She put her hands on her swollen belly and closed her eyes, trying to picture the growing baby inside her. Of course to Dan, to everyone else, this little person would be a miracle the two of them had conjured, without help. Laura knew different. This child was indeed miraculous. A magical gift. Merlin had been robbed of his own baby, but he had used his unearthly magic to see to it that Laura would at last have a child. Her baby, hers and Dan’s, but one brought about by an ancient power, a spark of legend that had been rekindled in her. Now she understood her part in the continuation of Merlin’s story. And there was something else he had given her; a second chance with Dan. She had known, at that moment when she came so close to losing him, that she still loved her husband, still wanted their marriage to work. If Merlin had still been in her life she knew she would have found it harder to fully commit to Dan. There were more ways of being faithless, she had learned, than with your body. Now, with the baby on the way, they had the opportunity to start again. She knew she was lucky to still have him.
The move back to London had been painful, but now they were settled once more. They had found a large flat not far from Steph and Angus. It was part of a warehouse conversion, with ample space for a studio, so that she could continue to work from home. The exhibition that winter had been a success and had renewed her belief in herself as an artist. People had been captivated by her new style; by the atmospheric paintings she had produced at Penlan, and in particular by the paintings of Merlin. She had kept one and it hung on the wall of her new studio, so that she worked beneath the steady gaze of those unfathomably blue eyes. One day she would tell her child of its wonderful origins. Of how an ancient soul possessed of strong magic had given her his blessing, a blessing that enabled her to at last conceive a baby of her own. One day, when it was old enough to understand. It was up to Laura to make sure that that day came, that she raised her boy or girl with an open mind and a special way of looking at things. A special way of seeing. Anwen had called it her artist’s eye. Maybe the baby would inherit her mother’s predisposition. Maybe as it grew to adulthood it, too, would be able to see what others could not. Maybe there would, after all, be a time when Laura returned to these woods, to show her son or daughter this very special place that was so filled with magic and wonder.
A movement at the edge of the glade caught her eye. She froze, watching. Into the clearing, on silent paws, padded a large, grey wolf. It stood squarely, raising its nose to sniff Laura’s scent and gazing straight at her. She watched it without fear. She knew whose wolf it was. It seemed she was not the only one who needed to say her good-byes. The wolf looked at her steadily for a minute longer, then turned and trotted away, disappearing noiselessly into the woodland undergrowth. Laura gazed after it until her swollen ankles began to complain, took one more look at the oak and its new adornment, and then started her steady walk back to the car.
A Note from the Author
My inspiration for this book came from the house I was living in at the time, and the landscape surrounding it. Although born in Dorset, I grew up in Wales, and have returned here to rear my own family in the hills of my childhood. This is truly a magical place. With my partner, I moved to an ancient, unmodernized longhouse high in the Brecon Beacons in 1999. The house had no electricity, no phone, and no cell phone signal. You can see for miles in every direction, but not a single light from another dwelling is visible. The weather is often extreme and highly unpredictable, which is where the idea for the sudden thunderstorm came from, as well as Megan’s wild ride through the night.
There is a tangible sense of timelessness about the place. Generations have lived and died in the house, which has changed little over centuries. The flags have been worn thin and the stone stairs blunted by hundreds of feet down the years. It is impossible to feel lonely in such a house, despite its isolation. It does not take a great leap of imagination to hear whispers or glimpse shadowy shapes, though happily my family always found these presences to be peaceful and friendly. I would not call them ghosts, more echoes of lives lived long ago, and stories softly told.
Discussion Questions
1. When we meet Laura and Dan their relationship is under great stress because of their thwarted longing for a family. What do you think about Laura’s theory that moving to Blaencwm might help her conceive? Do you think Dan is right to go along with her wishes when he is clearly so reluctant to leave the city for the wildness of Wales?
2. Laura immediately feels an affinity with her new home, and is sensitive to all manner of presences there. Why do you think she is so easily able to connect with people from a different time or a different reality? Do you think the fact that she is an artist makes a difference to the way she experiences her new mountain home?
3. Rhys is a complex character, and Laura’s response to him is influenced by many aspects of her life that are not really to do with him. What were your own feelings about Rhys when he first came into the story, and how did they change through the course of the book?
4. Laura makes some poor decisions, but knows when she has been foolish, and suffers terrible guilt. She tries to make amends and set things right, but some things cannot be undone. Do you feel sorry for her, or angry with her?
5. Have you ever been to a place where you felt a strong connection to past lives? Would such a connection as Laura has with Merlin, for example, terrify you or thrill you, do you think?
6. Who is your favorite character in the story, and why? Do you think most women are attracted to “bad” men, or only in fantasies, rather than real life?
7. Megan is vulnerable because there are people she cares about–her father, Merlin, Huw–but she is also a resilient person who is fiercely loyal. Given this, do you believe there is any way she could have changed her own fate?
8. Anwen is furious when she finds Laura casting a spell. “You are playing with the very fires of the underworld, my girl, and its heat will consume all those you love if you persist along this path.” Anwen plays a crucial role in Laura’s new life. What do you make of her? Laura asks her a lot of questions but rarely receives straight answers. What would you have asked her?
9. Not everyone makes it to the end of the story. Which death affects you the most? Often readers are more upset by the suffering of animals in a book rather than humans. What do you think that says about us? Is this the case for you with this novel?
10. Now that you know how the story ends, what do you think might happen next?
St. Martin’s Griffin
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PAULA BRACKSTON has a master’s degree in creative writing from Lancaster University in the UK. She lives in Wales with her family.
Visit her online at www.paulabrackston.com. You can sign up for email updates here.
ALSO BY PAULA BRACKSTON
The Witch’s Daughter
The Witches of the Blue Well
The Winter Witch
The Midnight Witch
The Silver Witch
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
Reading Group Guide
About the Author
Also by Paula Brackston
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THOMAS DUNNE BOOKS.
An imprint of St. Martin’s Press.
LAMP BLACK, WOLF GREY. Copyright © 2015 by Paula Brackston. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
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