‘Things have changed somewhat since I was last here,’ Etienne said, scratching his head as he tried to make sense of the knot of coloured lines. ‘I’m sure there weren’t this many lines. Where did you say you were heading?’
‘Belleswater.’
‘Ah well, seems we have a way to go in that case.’ Etienne offered Charlotte his arm as he pointed to a blue dot. ‘Sure you don’t want to take a stroll in the night air?’ His face fell when Charlotte shook her head.
*
It was obvious that Etienne did not enjoy being so far underground so Charlotte got little else out of him for the rest of the journey other than Clarissa had lived on her own for years and that the house had been in the family for centuries. He was clearly relieved when they had returned to the fresh air of the city streets.
‘I trust you will be alright from here?’ he said, looking a little pale.
‘Yes, thank you, Etienne,’ Charlotte grinned.
‘Excellent, in that case I really must be going, I am already late.’
‘I’m sorry, you shouldn’t…’
‘Nonsense, I won’t hear it. What sort of gentleman would I be to leave a lady stranded?’ Etienne, with his usual chivalry, tipped his hat and bowed to Charlotte before adding, ‘We will meet again, Miss Stone.’
His tone sent chills down her spine; it sounded almost like a threat and she had to force back an urge to run. Charlotte immediately felt stupid. Etienne had shown her nothing but kindness but she was still pleased to see the warm lights of Belleswater Hospital.
The welcoming calm of the Crankshaw Wing engulfed her. It smelt clinical like any hospital, but there was an underlying hint of vanilla with soothing pipe music and soft carpet underfoot. This was the one place she felt safe and at peace at the moment.
Visiting time was coming to an end and the hospital was settling in for the night so she ducked into a store room to avoid the burly nurse Collins who was making her last round of the evening. Charlotte had met her before and she was not someone to mess with so only when she was absolutely sure that the coast was clear did she sneak out into the corridor. Soft strip lighting lined the ceiling, plenty enough for her to find her way around, and soon she was outside room 11 – Edessa’s room.
She still couldn’t get used to seeing her sister like this. It was unnatural seeing her so inactive, quite apart from all the machines she was hooked up to. Charlotte went over to the bed, pulled up a chair and got as comfortable as she could for the long night ahead.
She reached for her sister’s hand and felt the faint pulse in her wrist. Though she needed a ventilator to breathe, the doctors had said it was a good sign that her heart was still working on its own. All Charlotte could think of at the moment was that the one person she could talk to about anything and needed most of all right now was unable to help her. She had always thought she was the strong one, but now she felt weak and alone.
It had been hard enough to face the loss of her parents but the double whammy of her sister’s coma had been too much to bear – almost. For the first time since that dreadful night she let herself really cry. She cried and cried till she thought her heart would burst and still she couldn’t stop. Eventually she cried herself into a mercifully dreamless sleep.
*
A fierce wind whistled in the pitch-blackness around Edessa Stone but she felt and heard nothing. She couldn’t recall how she’d got here (wherever ‘here’ was) and though she couldn’t feel them, she knew tears flowed down her cheeks as she desperately tried to keep her fear in check. The last thing she remembered was being with Morag at the Opéra Bastille in Paris and now she was alone in the darkness. She had no way of marking time in this place but it seemed as if she had been here for an eternity.
If only Lottie were with her, she’d know what to do; she was practical like that. Edessa was sure her mind was playing tricks on her because she thought she had just heard her sister calling out to her only moments ago. That must be just wishful thinking though – there was no sound in this terrifying place. There was the vision, however.
Edessa knew it off by heart now. It started with the gnarly oak, perched high on the hill, with roses wrapped around it. Snow lay on the ground yet the rose was still in full bloom. In her mind’s eye, Edessa saw its petals fall to the ground as the plant began to wither in front of her eyes before the hand, long broken nails thick with dirt, burst out of the ground. As fire engulfed the scene she felt the blood-curdling scream reverberate in her skull, its sound lingering in the dark long after the vision had faded.
Edessa could feel the light of the fireball building and she steeled herself for another onslaught of disturbing images; but something was different this time. She convinced herself the light was not in her imagination this time. For a start, it was cold and silver; a tiny pinprick in the distance like a lone star in the night sky – and it was calling to her.
I wish you could hear me, Eddie, it whispered in her sister’s voice.
Charlotte was out there somewhere looking for her, she just knew it. Edessa could feel her sister again and this gave her renewed courage as she focused with all her might on the new silver light, straining to hear Charlotte’s voice again. But it never came. The silence was deafening and most alarming of all, the silver light was flickering and beginning to fade.
Don’t go out, don’t go out, Edessa repeated over and over, willing it to grow brighter. Somehow she knew her life depended on it. To her surprise it seemed to do as she asked.
As the light drew closer, Edessa noticed for the first time the ominous shadows floating in the air around her. Evil-looking creatures with deformed limbs and lifeless eyes flashed razor-sharp teeth at her in an evil smile of anticipation, making their intentions clear. She could feel their longing, their desire for her to become one of them – and that they had been human once. She shuddered inside.
One creature was showing particular interest in her and was the only one not disturbed by the light. Its eyes were pupilless and as dark as obsidian while its pale white face was lined with marble-like streaks. It reached a long taloned finger to her chest. Edessa could almost taste its curiosity and felt something (almost physical and definitely disturbing) flickering across the edges of her consciousness.
Before she had a chance to think, a cord burst from the starlight and lunged at her, attaching itself to her chest where the creature was pointing. Her first instinct was to scream, but in moments energy flowed through her and… she could feel her body again. She still couldn’t move but the cord was pulling her away from the hungry shadows as they recoiled from the light.
Images bloomed in front of her: a hospital room with all manner of machines, Charlotte sitting in a hospital chair and… Edessa gasped as she saw herself lying in the bed. Tubes protruded from her nose, arms and mouth; she barely had time to take it all in as the silver cord pulled her into her body.
In an instant, the sounds of the hospital, the traffic noise outside and her sister’s heavy breathing filled her senses. It was as if someone had turned up the volume full blast on a TV and Edessa realised just how used to the silence she had become.
Lottie, Lottie? Can you hear me? Edessa’s inside voice whispered but her sister didn’t stir.
Edessa wondered how she had managed to hear her sister in the silence; she was so convinced she had heard her thoughts so why wasn’t it working the other way round? A vague memory bubbled and a word repeated over and over: Duende.
Edessa remembered the Gypsy woman’s lesson on projecting her emotions through the song of creation. As the lessons of that night came back to her, Edessa imagined she could hear a low, constant humming underneath the noise of the traffic and she latched onto it. Taking a deep breath, Edessa focused with all her might and in her head she sang as loudly as she could.
Charlotte.
The marble-faced creature, who was still hovering nearby, nodded and smiled before disappearing back into the blackness.
Charlotte sat bolt uprigh
t and rigid, not daring to breathe, not daring to move…
Rain was falling so heavily against the window that it almost drowned out the sound and Charlotte thought she was still half asleep though her eyes were open.
Eddie? Is that you? Charlotte whispered half-heartedly. Talking to the air, she must be mad; it was scientifically impossible for her sister to be talking to her in her head, but she desperately wanted it to be true. She missed her sister so much.
I’m here, Lottie, I can hear you. I can feel you. Please, let this work.
Edessa’s voice was more determined than before and growing louder. So loud in fact that Charlotte worried that someone would hear – till she remembered it was all in her head.
I… I can… hear you, Eddie. Charlotte imagined she heard a sigh of relief.
Thank goodness, you have no idea how much I’ve missed you.
I think I might. How is this possible? Charlotte replied tentatively.
Beats me, I’ve been floating in the dark for I don’t know how long then all of a sudden, there you were. If Charlotte had had her sister’s skill she would have felt the wave of fear and relief.
What do you remember?
Paris, Monet… then pitch-blackness… oh, and the vision… The sentence trailed off.
Me too. Charlotte tingled all over as she remembered her encounter with the Brackenheath Oak but there was another matter she had to deal with first.
Eddie… Charlotte began. She was no use at giving bad news. … something has happened… to Mum and Dad… She paused to let her sister absorb what she was telling her. The silence stretched into minutes.
I stopped feeling them when I was in the dark… Edessa finally answered, … but I thought it was just this place.
Can you remember the last thing you felt? Charlotte persisted.
Discomfort, like being too hot, then… maybe falling?
Heat is simple enough… but where on earth could they have fallen to in a desert?
Do you think they…
Don’t know, Charlotte replied abruptly. They know how to look after themselves.
Edessa could feel Charlotte’s emotions in turmoil and knew not to push the subject any further. She changed the subject. You had something else to tell me?
That was enough to prompt her sister to tell her all about the strange encounter with the tree in the rundown park in Brackenheath.
Do you think it’s the one we have been seeing since Spain? Charlotte asked.
How could it be any other? Edessa replied.
I don’t know, but I’m not going back. I don’t want to live with that strange hippy woman. Besides, I’ve got to focus on finding Mum and Dad.
Be sensible, Charlotte, Edessa pleaded. That “hippy woman” is family and how exactly do you intend to search the entire Sahara desert by yourself. Anyhow, there must be a reason you found the tree… or that it found you.
You think it could be linked? Charlotte had come to the same conclusion but it was good to have her sister confirm her thoughts.
I honestly don’t know, but it ties in with what Madame Cortes told you and it’s as good a place to start as any. I think it deserves further research.
Charlotte thought about what her sister had said for a while. She was certainly good at research.
I don’t want to leave you.
Well, you can hardly live in the hospital, and we can always talk like this now.
How do you know? Charlotte was not convinced. The scientist in her still needed proof.
Edessa didn’t know – but she did feel. For some reason the face of the marbled creature smiling at her in the silver gloom came to mind.
Things are different now.
Those four simple words summed it all up and with that they both fell into a comfortable silence.
*
Neva removed her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. She had been working for ten hours solid and was making slow progress. The sun had set ages ago and security would be coming soon to lock up for the night. Outside was now blowing a gale and rain lashed down, so it looked like she would be getting wet on her walk back to the dorms.
The carbon dating of the cloth wrappings she’d requested that morning had finally come back and she smiled to herself – Charlotte had been right again, they were of little interest. However, the stone had remained a puzzle. She studied the pictures taken of the object in situ once more in case they could offer any inspiration but they gave her nothing. She returned to her notebook.
O ushalin zhala sar o kam mangela
She had written the translation underneath: ‘The shadow moves as the sun commands’. It was Romani and they had found it on a wooden marker post near the site. It had been easy enough to translate with Madame Cortes’ help. She assumed it was some sort of spell for protection but against what? And what of the stone itself? A C scan had determined it was hollow with a second object inside, like a Russian doll, Neva mused, intrigued by the results.
Neva stroked the smooth surface of the lozenge-shaped object but it gave away none of its secrets. Unusually there were no markings and no way to open it but then, perhaps that was the point.
She wished Richard and Ella were there, they’d have some theories. Neva was sure there was something they hadn’t had a chance to share with her, she could tell from their faces when the object had been discovered. They were always like excited school children with new discoveries but this had been different, it was as if they had seen it before. She was probably wasting her time; she didn’t even know if she still had a job after what had happened but she couldn’t help being drawn back to the project.
An idea struck her and, mixing a mild acid solution, she carefully brushed an even coat on a small section of the artefact. Nothing. The solution caused no obvious damage so she risked trying another section but this came up blank as well. She threw the brush down in frustration. However, just as she decided to pack up for the night she saw it.
Gradually, lines started to appear and, as they darkened, began to form strange symbols. Neva’s arms prickled with goosebumps as she hurriedly coated the rest of the vessel she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. The symbols seemed to be letters of some sort but in the form of tree roots, branches and leaves. Neva was alarmed to see the writing begin to fade so she hurried to jot it down before it disappeared. She was so engrossed she didn’t hear anyone come into the room.
‘Hello, Neva.’
Neva cursed under her breath as she nearly dropped the fragile artefact. She turned towards the source of the voice.
‘Who the hell are you?’
The man tipped his top hat and bowed.
‘I’m the money,’ he grinned.
*
As the first rays of sunshine filtered through the blinds of room 11, Charlotte squirmed in her chair. She was in that space between sleep and wakefulness and vivid images swirled through her mind. Images of her parents falling through the air, of a rosebush blooming in snowfall before withering and dying in moments and a golden flash of fire that left her blinded. In the edges of her vision a marble-faced figure moved and strange chanting filled the air, just like the sort she had heard when she arrived in Wykenhall.
As Charlotte came to, she swore she could hear the chanting filling her sister’s room and not just her own head, but as she opened her eyes the sound disappeared. Her body was sore from a night in the hard plastic chair and demanded her attention, so as she focused on stretching the stiffness out of her limbs, the disturbing images of the night soon floated away.
The hospital was also waking and Charlotte heard the clattering of pans from the kitchens as breakfast was prepared for staff and patients – but not for her sister. In the corridor outside there was the soft footfall of the morning nurse going about her rounds and Charlotte knew she would have to leave soon or face discovery.
Having stretched out the kinks in her neck, arms and legs, Charlotte listened by the door to work out if the corridor was empty. Just as she th
ought the coast was clear, the handle turned and she was nearly knocked to the floor by the person entering. There were three of them and she didn’t need to look up to know who the purple dress belonged to.
‘Thank you, Nurse Collins, I think we can take it from here,’ Clarissa said calmly.
Nurse Collins looked as if she had a few choice words she wanted to share with Charlotte but luckily she relented and left her to what she obviously hoped would be a long and severe lecture from her relatives. That was clearly exactly what Morag had in mind but as she stepped forward, her face a picture of fury, Clarissa intervened again.
‘There is no need for recriminations, Morag, the important thing is she is safe.’
Morag’s face softened and she nodded gently in agreement before throwing her arms around Charlotte who could see her makeup was streaked with tears. She had obviously been very worried and, feeling guilty, Charlotte hugged her back.
Go with them.
The hair on Charlotte’s neck prickled as Edessa spoke. She looked at the adults but they showed no sign of having heard. Charlotte shut her eyes and concentrated.
There’s no time to explain so listen to me, Lottie, something bad is coming, I can feel it, and you need to protect the oak till we work out what it is.
‘What is it, Charlotte? What’s wrong?’ Aunt Clarissa’s voice sounded worried but Charlotte could sense something else, something like expectation, lurking underneath it.
Find me by the tree, Lottie. I’ll be waiting.
Charlotte opened her eyes. ‘Nothing.’ She smiled. ‘I’m ready to go now, Aunt Clarissa.’
‘Wonderful… and call me Clarissa, the “aunt” makes me feel like an old maid!’
Charlotte smiled to herself. Edessa had always been a good judge of character so maybe living with this crackpot wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Face in the Flames
As the festival fire burned in the central grove of the Tree Weaver village, on the edges of the last great forest of Syluria, a small group sat some distance away exchanging worried glances. Their harmless game had started to take a dangerous turn.
Charlotte Stone and the Children of the Nymet Page 4