Guardians Of The Haunted Moor

by Harper Fox

  Lee looked up at him. His pupils were constricted, gaze washed out to sunlit silver. His attention seemed to pass blindly through the bones of Gideon’s skull and into the closely guarded innerspace where the lightest touch was sweet anguish, inexpressible pleasure and pain “How, though? How did I find you? I love you, Gid.”

  “I love you too,” Gideon choked out. He couldn’t do this here, not with Pendower watching. But nor could he spirit Lee away to a place that would be private and safe for such naked declarations. Lee’s vision had to play itself out right here, and Gideon knew he’d have hell to pay for interrupting. “What do you see?”

  “Leaves. My head is full of leaves and light. But there’s a cold wind blowing, and it’s starting to get dark. Turn me so I can face into it—just for God’s sake don’t let go.”

  “You know I won’t.” Holding his shoulders, Gideon eased him round, warming and shielding his spine. “Is there a monster I need to unmask?”

  “No. It’s a lamb. But the lamb will devour the wolf and... he slew John Barleycorn.”

  Wow. This one was wild. Gideon squeezed Lee’s shoulders. “Breathe.”

  “It’s hard. Hard to breathe the darkness. Everything’s black now. The leaves are withered, and the moor’s gone, and there’s no water, no water anywhere. No fields, no trees.” He shuddered. “It’s coming. It’s going to hit.”

  This time Gideon felt it. Back in All Saints Hall two Christmases ago, he’d sat in the audience and watched while an unseen force made a fist of itself and knocked Lee down. He had a fraction of a second to brace—to hold his lover fast and tight under the impact and then to catch him, one clean grab as he dropped like a stone. “Got you!” Gideon gasped, lowering him onto the turf. Lee’s head was back, his muscles in spasm. “Come home now, sweetheart. Come home.”

  “What’s wrong with him?” Pendower demanded. “Is he having a seizure? Should I call for help?”

  “Not just yet.” Gideon restrained one wild, flailing movement, remembering that they’d missed Lee’s last two MRI appointments, one in the flurry of their wedding preparations and the second because Tamsyn had been ill. “Get your phone out. Jesus Christ, Lee. Easy. Easy.”

  Pendower crouched beside Lee in the grass. “What can I do?”

  “Just help me hold him so he doesn’t hurt himself. And don’t look so scared.”

  “But he seemed so calm—so normal...”

  “He is normal. He just has visions.” Gideon rolled Lee onto his side. “Mate, if you don’t come out of this in thirty seconds flat, I’m calling Commander Summers from Hawke Lake to get you medevac’d. Do you hear me?”

  The dark wing passed. Gideon felt it like a pressure-change in the air. Lee jolted once more under his hands and went limp, breathing hard. He half-turned his face into the grass and said, distinctly, and apparently to the daisies and the moss, “The shepherd. The good shepherd of Dark.”

  “Who’s the good shepherd?” Gideon stroked his damp hair. “Is it my brother? Do you want Zeke?”

  “No.” Lee lay still for a few seconds longer. Then he pushed onto his elbows and sat up. “I just want our baby. You’re the good shepherd of Dark, Gid. It’s you.”

  Gideon helped him stand. Between them they brushed off most of the bits of barley from his hair. He glanced regretfully at the grass stains on his shirt, then at Gideon’s vest. “Shit. Did I drool on your uniform?”

  “Only a bit.” He was trying desperately for normality. Gideon propped him discreetly as he could, aware of Pendower in the background, frantically scribbling down notes. “Do you want to try and tell me what it means—the lamb and the wolf?”

  “Is that what I said?”

  “And something about John Barleycorn, and the fields going dark.”

  His colour faded from parchment to grey. “Do you remember... last time something like this actually knocked me on my backside?”

  “Yes. You were dramatically sick about a minute later.”

  “Minute’s up, nearly. If you let me go now I’ll get to the fence. Don’t want to contaminate the scene.”

  Gideon patted him on the back. “You’re a true pro, you are. Want me to look after you?”

  “No. Just keep Sergeant Weird-Shit out of my face. Please.”

  He stumbled away. Pendower watched him go, pen poised over a page of his notebook. His expression was hard to interpret. Was there a trace of disappointment there? Lee reached the fence and doubled over. Gideon moved to block Pendower’s view. “This is the reality of it,” he growled. “The work he does. It isn’t always pretty.”

  “Yes, but...” Pendower flipped a few pages back in his notes. “It doesn’t seem to make much sense, either. A lamb eating a wolf? And John Barleycorn’s just an old rhyme. This isn’t how he comes across on his TV show. I’ve seen a couple of his stage acts, too. He can cold-read an audience with no props at all.”

  “Those are controlled environments. Think about what happened here, Pendower—what we asked him to open himself up to.”

  “I’m not questioning his courage. What was the point of it, though? He didn’t give us anything useful at all. Or if he did, it’s so cryptic that even he doesn’t know what it means.” He turned another page or two, shaking his head. “And... wait. He said something about a baby.”

  Weariness swept over Gideon. “Yes, Sergeant. He’s my husband, and we had a baby. It’s almost like we were human beings, isn’t it? But we lost her.”

  Pendower blanched. “Oh, God. Did she die?”

  “No, she...” Gideon flinched as Lee dropped to his knees by the fence. “I can’t talk to you about it now. I have to get him home.”

  “Right. I’ll, er... I’ll go fetch my car, shall I?”

  First bloody useful suggestion you’ve made all day. “Please. Bring her all the way up the lane, as close as you can.”

  Lee was done for. Gideon measured his exhaustion in his lack of protest at being hoisted up, his passive acceptance of an arm around his waist to help him across the field. If Pendower hadn’t been there, busily parking his patrol car, opening doors and vaulting back over the stile, Gideon would have cashed in on the situation and lifted him bodily, carried him off the battlefield like the soldier he was. Damn Pendower anyway, the pen-pushing little bookworm—what could he ever know about the risks and rewards of clairvoyance?

  Two years ago, Gideon had known nothing about them either. Except that he hadn’t been sufficiently open-minded to write down Lee’s pronouncements in a book. He’d called him a charlatan and warned Sarah Kemp not to give him any money up-front. He accepted Pendower’s help to steady Lee over the stile and into the back seat of the patrol car, where he curled up. He was shivering in spite of the warm breeze. Gently Gideon closed the door behind him.

  “Is he okay?”

  Gideon turned to face Pendower. The sergeant was too old and solid a man to be suspected of a crush, but Gideon knew the look—an idol turning out to be human, just as nerve-strung and fallible as himself. “I don’t know. That was hard for him.”

  “Yes, I can see that. Sergeant Frayne...” Pendower adjusted his cap nervously. “Can I ask you something? As a fellow officer, I mean, someone I can trust even if I don’t really know you...”

  “You’re going to ask if Lee’s for real. If he has a genuine gift.”

  “Yes.”

  Gideon lowered his voice. “Let me tell you about his gift. If it was a bad tooth or a tumour or something I could get taken out of him, I’d do it tomorrow. It rips him to shreds. So just be grateful for anything he shows us, and don’t ever set another trap for him.”

  “I’m sorry. I... Can I give you both a lift home?”

  “That would be good. Thanks.”

  Chapter Six

  “Sergeant Pendower,” Lee said fervently, as soon as the door was shut behind him, “is a pain in the arse.”

  “I couldn’t help noticing that myself. It’s a shame you don’t like him, though—he thinks the sun shines out of your
s.”

  “That’s just where you’re wrong. He thinks I want the world to believe it does, but really I’ve got a torch rammed up there to fool them. He wants to get in there—dissect me, if necessary—and find the torch.”

  Distracted by the imagery, it took Gideon a moment to catch on. “If you mean he thinks you’re a fake, he’s had his convictions seriously rattled.”

  “Still. He wants me to be one.”

  “I don’t think so. He’s your biggest fan.”

  “Nope. He’s just impressed by how well I hide my torch, and my amazing remote-control system for switching it on and off. And the ironic thing is, I know all this because I am a genuine psychic and can read his tiny mind like a very short book.”

  Gideon checked the lock. Their home was a much-besieged castle, and their guard dog was on secondment to the Kemp house. He was glad Lee was talking, but his colour didn’t match the vigour of his words, and Gideon wanted him off his feet and securely in bed. “All right, Mr Tiger. Go lie down, and I’ll bring you a cup of tea and a sandwich.”

  “I don’t need to lie down.” He shuddered. “Couldn’t manage the sarnie yet, either. What time is it?”

  “Just after one.”

  “Jesus. We haven’t even managed a whole day yet without her.”

  Gideon reeled him in. He pressed his mouth to the top of his skull. “Tell you what,” he said after a moment, almost managing to smooth the rasp of pain from his voice. “If I took my lunch break now, and hopped into bed with you and shared the sarnie, would you submit?”

  Lee met his eyes. He dredged up a pallid smile. “That does put a different complexion on it, yes.”

  They’d been planning to stop for groceries on their way home from Drift. That, together with so many other small daily intentions, had gone to hell. Gideon did the best he could with the end of a loaf, cheese and pickle. By the time he’d made tea and carried everything through on a tray, Lee had obediently got beneath the duvet. He’d showered the Carnysen barley-dust out of his hair, and borrowed the dressing-gown Gideon had left in the bathroom. He looked good enough to eat, but for once Gideon wasn’t hungry either, not in that way. He hoped he hadn’t made his bedroom lunch break sound too seductive. “It’s all right,” Lee said, holding out a hand to him. “I couldn’t manage the afternoon delight either, not now. Just come here.”

  Gideon set the tray down, kicked his shoes off and crawled in under the quilt. As often when he’d thought Lee too worn out to offer comfort, he found a strong arm extended to pull him in. He subsided with a faint moan. To breathe his own scent mixed with Lee’s through the dressing gown’s fabric was a primal reassurance. He closed his eyes on Lee’s shoulder and listened to the thump of his heart. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better now. Sorry for the performance.”

  “We should make you a hospital appointment, get you caught up with your scans. That looked more like a seizure than...”

  “Than my usual fit of the vapours? Yeah, it felt like one. But I don’t think it was anything to do with me, if you know what I mean. It came from whatever happened in that field.” He ruffled Gideon’s hair. “And I know I have to start trying to untangle whatever did happen from the wolves and the lambs in my brain, but...”

  “It’s okay. Don’t rush it.”

  “Did you really threaten me with Flyin’ Flynn Summers as a punishment for not waking up?”

  “Not exactly a punishment. More an inducement.”

  “I’ll say.”

  Gideon slid a hand into the dressing gown, smiled as a warm nipple tightened against his palm. Just an autonomic response, but he and Lee had raised one another from the dead before. “You’re disgusting. And Summers is as married as you are, so forget him. Did you see the guy he brought with him to the services benefit night?”

  “What, the ex-army doctor, all brooding good looks and haunted past? Can’t say as I noticed him, no.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Whatever. Stop distracting me. You know I’ve got to try and get something out of all this before it fades. Do you remember anything I said?”

  “Pretty much all of it. You said, very clearly, that the lamb will devour the wolf, and he slew John Barleycorn.”

  “The lamb will devour the wolf? Not that he’s already done it?”

  “No. You said will.”

  “That’s important. Be careful, Gid—the lamb hasn’t finished his work.”

  “And it’s a he, this lamb? A person?”

  “I want to say yes. But when I think about it, I’m getting a sense of division—two people, maybe, or one and... something else. Tell me, love—as sensible men, you a copper and me just a deckhand and a bartender when I’m not making creepy pronouncements in cornfields—do we believe in the Bodmin Beast?”

  Gideon let the sunlight filter through his eyelashes. Beyond these self-made rainbows lay the moor at its sunniest best. Tourists came for hundreds of miles to walk its shining expanse. It was peaceful, benign, devoid of any creatures larger than the ponies that cropped the turf around the Hurlers. “As sensible men who lived through the Lorna Kemp case... I don’t know. Is that important too? Something to do with the rest of your vision?”

  “There was more?” Lee gave a shiver of disturbance. “I really went to town, didn’t I?”

  “You talked about the moor going dark. Everything turning black, and losing the trees and the water. Don’t you recall?”

  “Yes, I do. I just... didn’t realise I’d said any of it. I thought it was just a projection of how I was feeling.”

  It took Gideon a second to understand. Then he sat up, disentangling carefully. “About Tamsyn? That’s how you feel inside?”

  “Oh, Gid. I’m trying my best, and I know you are too, but...”

  “You know, when we were up there in the field, Sergeant Weird-Shit asked me what was wrong, and for some unknowable reason I told him the truth. I said we’d lost our child. And he asked me if she’d died.”

  “Oh, Christ.”

  “I know. And I told him she hadn’t, but... in one sense I feel as if we’re acting like she did. I don’t quite understand why we’re not on the ferry right now with Ma and Zeke, doing everything we can to get her back. She didn’t die. A couple of idiots took her from us.”

  Well, that was off his chest. Gideon waited to feel better. Instead he watched his lover’s face turn bleak and cold with despair. “I told you,” Lee said hoarsely. “It’s the wrong thing to do.”

  “Probably, yes. But I still don’t really know why.”

  “You think I’m hanging back on purpose. That it’s because of Elowen, and I’m... I don’t know—dressing it up as some kind of vision.”

  Gideon got out of bed. He looked out at the smiling, gorse-shimmered moor. Most likely Lee didn’t remember telling him he was part of all that beauty either. He turned back to face the room. “Fuck,” he whispered, running a hand over his hair. “I did not say any of that.”

  “You wouldn’t, would you? You’re too kind. Don’t worry, I haven’t been poking around in your mind. It’s just what any sane man would think.”

  Gideon grabbed a fresh shirt out of the wardrobe. He smelled of hard graft and misery, and he had interviews to conduct. He strode down the hall to the bathroom: closed the door behind him with great deliberation, letting the aborted slam ricochet through his shoulders instead. He pulled his sweat-damped shirt over his head and stood staring blankly at himself in the mirror. Tears did not suit him. They contradicted everything about him—his sturdy frame, the air of calm reassurance he’d cultivated over all his years as a street bobby until it had become part of him. He evicted a handful of Tamsyn’s rubber ducks from the sink, turned the tap on hard and muffled one great sob in the water, splashing it into his face.

  That was better. He continued the treatment until the surge of grief had passed. Then he dried off, blew his nose and put on the clean shirt.

  Back in the bedroom, Lee was only a shape beneath the quil
t. Now Gideon had to repress a painful rush of compassion—and, against all odds and sense, the urge to laugh. The poor sod looked like Isolde when the world had become too much for her and she’d crept beneath the sideboard to escape. Cautiously he lifted a corner of the quilt. He caught a glimmer of silver, and then—his imagination, surely—the faintest growl. Maybe he should call Zeke, who had performed impromptu exorcism on Lee’s beleaguered spirit before...

  No. This was just ordinary human misery, put beyond manners and even affection. It wasn’t written into their marriage vows, but it had been one of Gideon’s first assurances to his new lover, something Lee had desperately needed to hear: you don’t always have to be nice for me to like you. So Gideon went to the telephone table in the hall, tore off a sheet of notepaper and wrote three words—the obvious ones, unashamed to be corny and straightforward in this emergency—and enclosed them in a quick scrawl of a heart. He folded the paper and slipped it under the duvet. “I’ve got to go out now,” he said levelly. “I’ll just be around the village if you need me. I’ll be back by eight.”

  ***

  The door opened before he could turn his key in the lock. Lee was standing off to one side of it, eyes downcast, the harvest sunset making a burnished statue of his immobility. He’d turned in his second huge effort of the day and was dressed in clean jeans and the same shirt he’d been wearing when Gideon had first set eyes on him at Sarah Kemp’s. It was an old one, faded with laundering, and a favourite of Gideon’s because of the associations. Wordlessly he held up a folded piece of paper. Gideon recognised the note he’d left. On its blank side Lee had returned him the same message, one word added at the end. I love you too. “It’s all very well liking me when I’m not nice,” Lee said quietly, drawing him into the house. “Nowhere is it written that you have to love me when I’m being a complete dick.”

  “You’re wrong. That’s exactly when I have to love you. And you weren’t being a dick—just tired and unhappy.”