The old woman held her stare through her big glasses, her lips pursing slightly. ‘He’s got it,’ she said with disdain, flicking her head in Dylan’s direction.
Deidre shifted her glare to Dylan. ‘Can I have it back please,’ she asked shortly.
‘It’s not here,’ he replied. ‘I wasn’t allow-‘
‘Dat vile ting,’ Mavis spat, ‘will never come under dis roof. If it was up to me-‘
‘Ok Aunty Mavis, we’re aw well aware of yer feelings on dis matter,’ Vee said, pushing herself up from the bed. ‘Deidre’s up on her feet again an’ she seems t’have survived her bout of madness unscathed.’ Vee headed towards Mavis, her arms out corralling the old woman towards the exit. ‘I tink we should just leave dees two alone for a wee bit.’
‘Vee,’ Mavis stated simply, her tone as sharp and hard as an axe blade, ‘get ootta my way.’ The old woman placed a hand on Vee’s arm and moved her bulk to the side, her stern gaze falling back onto Deidre. ‘I want to know what happened oot in dat valley.’
Deidre stood in the middle of her small crowded room dressed in her pink pyjamas, the eyes of all these strangers looking at her, waiting for her to explain herself.
‘I got lost,’ she stated simply, looking down into the half-empty glass of water. ‘I was trying to get home. I was following the way you had gone across the valley,’ she said looking up at Dylan, aware on some deeper level that this wasn’t quite right.
‘Follow me across the valley?’ he questioned, pointing to himself.
‘Yes, you were running.’ She closed her eyes, placed her hand over them, recalling the images in her mind. ‘I could see you. I was watching you. I didn’t think I would ever see you again,’ she muttered quietly, opening her eyes and staring down at the floor, trying to make sense of her thoughts, these emotions that still resonated deep inside her.
‘What were ye going across da valley for?’ Mavis asked regarding Dylan with some consternation.
‘I wasn’t. I went the Coffin Road.’
Yes, yes he did. Deidre remembered now, remembered watching him walk away up the hill to the Coffin Road. Remembered achingly how he didn’t wait for her, never turning back once.
‘So who did ye see in da valley?’ Vee asked.
Deidre sat down on the bed, the image of the running figure clambering up the hill towards the headland clear in her head, the feelings of hopelessness and grief she’d felt still engulfing her. Deidre shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I think I’m confused.’
‘Confused?! Mad!’ Mavis proclaimed, a bony arthritic finger pointing at Deidre. ‘It’s dat curse-ed cross! I warned ye. Stay away from dat valley my girl or you’ll end up like yer ancestor afore ye.’
Deidre bit down on her words, fighting the compulsion to tell them all to mind their own business. She wanted to put her head on her pillow and cry. ‘I’m tired,’ she said, ‘can everyone leave me alone please.’ She lay down on the bed and pulled the covers up and over her head.
‘I want dat cross,’ she heard Mavis say.
‘Aunty Mavis, enough!’
‘I want it destroyed.’
‘Oot, come on.’ Deidre heard them shuffle out of the room, the door closing quietly behind them before she felt a weight on the side of the bed. She pulled the covers off her head. Dylan sat there, looking down at her, a weak smile twitching at his lips, failing to erase the concern in his eyes. He took her hand in his, rubbing his thumb across the back of her hand.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I’m fine.’
‘I’m thinking maybe we should go down to the hospital in Lerwick and get you checked out.’
‘I don’t think we need to do that.’
‘You seem a bit confused. You might be concussed. You might’ve fallen over and knocked your head.’
‘I didn’t knock my head!’
‘How do you know, you don’t seem to be able to remember anything.’
‘I’m fine Dylan! For God’s sake,’ she muttered impatiently, pulling her hand away in irritation. He was nagging. ‘I’m not concussed, okay.’ He stared down at her in silence. ‘What?’ she asked, peevish. He was annoying her.
His silence reeled out. ‘What happened to you out there?’
She rolled her eyes to him. ‘Apparently I knocked by head,’ she replied testily.
‘I don’t want you to go back to that valley again,’ he said.
She turned her head away, looked out the window to the grey sky.
Right now, she had no intention of ever going back there again. Too many peculiar things had happened to her in that valley that had left her completely unnerved. How could she tell them what had happened to her out there when she couldn’t explain it to herself. She needed a clear head and a lot of analysis, and memory recollection, which she was in short supply of.
‘I’m not going back there,’ she said quietly. She shuddered. She could still feel the coldness of that place, the sharp icy needles of rain that penetrated through to her bones. The desolation. ‘I’m not going back,’ she repeated, and she meant it.
Running.
She could see the figure in the distance running towards the headland.
Come back to me, she said, the need urgent, desperate, the loss she felt so great it felt like a beast living inside her chest eating her heart away.
She knew death was coming and she knew she would die this day.
‘Deidre.’ Shaking. ‘Deidre.’ Tugging at her shoulder. ‘Deidre wake up.’
She opened her eyes, a faint translucent light radiating through the window. Her face was wet with tears. She used the sheet to wipe them away, feeling devastated, feeling as if it was the end of all she knew. Death.
‘You were crying,’ Dylan’s voice said behind her. Deidre turned to him. She could see his face, his pale skin luminous in the semi-dark. ‘You were talking in your sleep,’ he said. ‘But I couldn’t make out...’
She turned onto her side, her back to him.
Come back to me.
Her vantage point seemed to be from a lower perspective, her line of sight feeling distinctly closer to the ground. She walked bent over, moving with a limping gait that caused incredible pain, but a pain that paled by comparison to the ache that seared her soul.
Ayres Kame on her right, the bay on her left, she made her way across the valley floor, empty, vacant of ruined crofts, although she saw that large patches of land had been cultivated, the crops of barley and wheat they contained ready for harvest. She knew this land, every nuance and detail of the landscape, every rock and boulder. The burn rippled and splashed behind her and she turned, looking up at Brud Stone standing on the edge of the headland.
With the aid of a broken wooden shaft, she limped and hobbled across the valley basin to the opposite headland, excruciating pain pulsating in her hip with each dragging step as she aimed for the well-worn pathway that led up to the lower end of the headland where the incline was less steep.
The pain incredible, suppressing and dominating all other thought, she found herself standing on the wide-open tundra of sloping headland, a vast sea of green rising in hilly undulations into the distance. It was overwhelming. Insurmountable.
A whoosh! followed by a thunderous clap blew water up through a fissure in the narrow bridge of land stretching out from the headland like the back of a sleeping whale, the wind carrying droplets of mist across the distance to land on her face. There was an arch under that bridge, she knew, where the sea came in with such might it forced its way up through the rock. They called it Aennods Glup, the place where the great whale slumbered.
A glimmer caught her attention in the next valley over; the loch, the one she passed by on the Coffin Road. Although she now viewed it from a different angle, it looked larger, undefined, a vast area surrounding it appearing to be marshland, burns and rivulets breaking away like spider veins.
She lumbered onward across the expansive headland, one step after another, resolutely focussed on t
he sweeping field on the other side, its grassland strewn with rocks and boulders, some of enormous size. A small inlet revealed itself at the bottom of the headland, a small intimate cleft in the landscape, waves rushing up the small pebbly shore. She noted with dread that the turf at the mouth of the inlet had been churned up exposing the dirt beneath.
She looked away from this to a haphazard accumulation of boulders and rocks stacked around a large mound further over and higher up in the rising field and started heading towards it, sideways across the swell of the land, the slant of the ground exacerbating her limp, intensifying the pain.
Approaching the knoll, she could see a dark hollow between two of the larger boulders offering an opening, a doorway into the mound. Pain flared to a new intensity as she bent forward, stepping into a small walled entryway, feeling her way along a narrow curving passage leading deep into the hillock. She felt the space expand suddenly as she stepped into a small room, the air cold, frigid and filled with the scent of old fires - and devoid of life. It was this last knowledge that stabbed through her heart, just enough to cut through the searing physical pain and lessen it.
Easing herself to her knees, sweat pouring down her skin in rivulets, she shuddered with cold. She felt around for the pile of dried grasses and deposited them into the fire pit, her shaking hands finally getting a spark from the flint and lighting them.
The dried grasses caught with ease and a small fire grew, offering light, revealing the room to her, its construction of stones layered one upon another to form a compact beehive shaped dwelling, smoke rising up through a hole in the ceiling.
Four urns sat near the wall beside a collection of tools and spears, bowls and a pile of neatly stacked animal bones and a small wall of dried turf. A bed made of grass and heather occupied the other side of the room. Reaching for two clumps of peat, she deposited them carefully onto the fire before dragging herself to the other side of the room and lying down on the bed. She pulled the black cross from under her tunic, firelight reflected in its polished surface and she felt the other ache take hold, an emotional agony more insufferable than the physical pain consuming her, tearing her apart like a wild dog.
Deidre woke, the palm of her hand thumping on her chest, searching, her heart racing, feeling only bare skin beneath her pyjama top. It was gone. It was all she had left and it was gone. Deidre sat upright, soaked with sweat, panic charging through her like a jolt of electricity. She looked down, aware suddenly of another presence beside her. Dylan lay on his back, his head turned away, emitting a small clicking snore.
He had the cross. He’d taken it away from her and refused to give it back. He had no right. It was hers, it belonged to her. It had been left to her. For her! It was all she had left. She stared down at him through the dusky light, incensed, consumed by retribution.
She shook him roughly. ‘Dylan. Dylan!’
He came to, dragged suddenly out of a deep sleep and stared up at her in bleary confusion. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, his face screwed up, blinking.
‘I want the cross back,’ she stated bluntly, hovering over him, droplets of sweat dripping from her chin and the tip of her nose.
Dylan looked up at her, annoyance written clearly on his face. Squinting, he glanced at the clock. Three fifty eight. He looked back at her with unbridled irritation, wiping a droplet of her sweat from his cheek, turned his back on her and pulled the blankets over his shoulder.
She shoved him, aggressive. ‘I want it back Dylan. I mean it.’
‘Shut up and go to sleep,’ he mumbled into the pillow.
‘How about you stop telling me what to do? You and that old woman!’ she spat vehemently to the back of his head, bristling with anger. ‘Telling me where I can and can’t go. If I wanna wear a cross around my neck, that’s my business.’
Dylan made no response, his back to her.
‘You had no right to take it off me,’ she persisted, prodding him with a finger, ‘and I want it back.’
‘You’re not getting it back,’ he retorted into the pillow, pulling the covers higher.
Rage detonated inside her, a rogue wave of fury sending her crashing against him. ‘Who the fuck do you think you are?!’ She shoved him, punching him in the shoulder, temper in full control of her senses. ‘I’ve known you for two fucking weeks and you’re telling me what to do?!’
Dylan sat up and turned on her with the momentum of a striking snake, his face inches away from hers. ‘Maybe that’s because you’re acting like a fucking lunatic,’ he hissed, glowering at her.
‘I want my cross back,’ she said through clenched jaws, unrelenting.
Dylan regarded her for a moment, his lips pressed so hard together a white bloodless ring encircled them. He threw the blankets off and got out of bed in one sudden and swiftly fluid movement, pulling his jeans on, dressing in silence.
Deidre threw herself back in the bed, lying on her back, wiping sweat from her brow and staring at the ceiling. She wanted him to leave now and so remained silent. She felt anesthetized, the dream she’d woken from consuming her thoughts. She’d fallen into a subconscious molasses, its thick syrup of emotions clinging to her in her conscious state as a peculiar and disjointed reality settled over her, the molasses hardening to a veneer, encasing her, closing her off.
Dylan left without another word spoken, closing the door quietly behind him.
She felt nothing.
The night passed and she barely thought about Dylan, buried beneath an avalanche of thoughts and feelings that were new and strange to her, but known, as if she’d started reading a book she’d read a long time ago but had forgotten, the characters, the story all familiar.
Unable to sleep, she moved to the desk and scoured George’s drawings. She recognised the sketch of the mound immediately, the boulders distinct in their haphazard layout. They were an inherent part of the landscape, forming and camouflaging the entryway to the chamber just as she’d seen it in her dream. It stirred strange and surreal feelings in her. She knew this place, she’d walked between those rocks, through that entrance, she could still feel echoing twinges of the pain as she’d bent forward heading into the passageway. She could still smell the old smoke that permeated its walls, could still feel the cold emptiness of that dark hollow.
She would have to go back to the valley; to search for the small underground room that she knew existed.
But first, she wanted the cross returned to her, its rightful owner.
Dylan didn’t call, he didn’t rush back. He took his time. He made her wait, returning to Stayne House later in the morning. Much later. Deidre, in her room all morning watching out the window, waiting, ran downstairs when she saw him driving around the bay. She met him in the carpark before he had a chance to enter, before he had the chance to join forces with Mavis.
He walked up to her, silent, his face like stone, stopping a few feet away, making no move to kiss her. He stood with his hands deep in his jacket pockets and she could see in his face that he was evaluating the situation, evaluating her.
‘You hit me,’ he finally said. ‘You punched me and screamed at me in the middle of the night when I was still half asleep.’
Chagrined, she held her silence.
‘What if I did that to you?’ he continued. ‘What would you think? Would you put up with that? Would I get away with that?’
Deidre shook her head.
‘No, I didn’t think so. I don’t really know you very well, but I didn’t think you were like that.’ He shrugged, glanced towards the house and back at her. ‘Is this normal behaviour for you? Punching and screaming at people?’
She shook her head again. ‘No,’ she croaked, the word cracked and half uttered. She hadn’t spoken all morning. She coughed lightly, clearing her throat. ‘No,’ she repeated.
Dylan inhaled, exhaled loudly, patiently, adjusting his stance, his boots crunching in the gravel. ‘What’s going on with you, Deidre?’ he asked, looking at her, his eyes blue and troubled, his skin
white against the faint black stubble on his cheeks. ‘Something’s... different. Ever since you’ve come back from that place.’
He was looking at her, his eyes asking, searching for an answer, eyes that were familiar and loved. She remembered loving those eyes, being lost in them. But now he was a stranger to her.
He continued, ‘Mavis is saying you’re cursed. I’m trying to remain rational on this, but considering your behaviour over the past couple of days...’ He trailed off and pulled the cross from his pocket, looked at it, the corners of his mouth involuntarily curving downwards in distaste. He looked up at her. ‘I’m giving this back to you because I want you to get rid of it.’
She took a step towards him, her heart leaping at the sight of the object, her hand almost grasping. It felt so precious to her, evoking such strong emotions he might’ve been withholding her father’s wedding ring. ‘Give it to me then,’ she said, hearing the edge of desperation in her voice.
Dylan wrapped his fingers around it, holding it back from her, his hand falling to his side. ‘We’ll walk down to the bay and throw it in the water.’
She glared at him. He was playing games. ‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because! It’s mine, I found it on my property. It belongs to me and I want it back.’
‘No.’
His audacity astounded her. ‘It’s mine!’ she cried like a petulant child.
‘Listen to yourself,’ he barked impatiently, the silence reeling out as he stared at her, his gaze so intense she had to turn away. ‘You know the stories about this thing. I’m trying my best not to buy into this, but it’s really creeping me out. I’m asking you to throw it away, Deidre. For me.’ He paused. ‘For us.’ His request was so plaintive she felt something knocking inside her enamelled heart, reminding her how she’d felt only a day or two ago when she would have done anything for him. Anything. She’d never been so in love or felt so relaxed with anyone in her life before and she looked at Dylan for a long moment, wondering what had happened to those feelings. They were still there she knew, she could feel them tap tap tapping on her heart like coalminers trapped underground.
The Stone Dweller's Curse: A Story of Curses, Madness, Obsession and Love Page 15