I walk the moors every afternoon and stay out until it is too dark to see. Anwen helps me bathe. I eat only because I must. The benevolence I have been entrusted with has not been extended to myself.
January 7
I feel that time is not a friend to me. Indeed, I feel the minutes and hours slipping through my fingers with every move of the clock hand. I confided in Anwen today. I showed her the Cup’s special hiding place, showed her my room. I told her all that I had only ever once revealed to a single other soul. She has vowed her allegiance, should a terrible fate befall me.
January 13
I don’t have much time. Garym is dead. They are coming for me. I hope there is some mercy, just a little.
Taryn read the last sentence again then dabbed her eyes. The last entry was scrawled hastily across the entire page. There were black smudgy splotches around it. Blood?
Sighing, she stuck the pages back inside her backpack. The park would be closing soon. She stood to leave but then, upon hearing the water flowing again behind her, smiled. It only took a minute for her to empty out one of her medicine bottles. When the spigot was clear of people, she knelt before it and filled her bottle to the top.
It couldn’t hurt, right?
Chapter Thirty-Two
TARYN MULLED OVER THE WORDS of Iona’s diary as she sat through a supper of trout and potato jackets. She tossed them around in her head as she walked back to the hostel at sunset, the bright red and purple sky above her deepening with every step.
When she entered the hostel’s common room, she was surprised to find a group of people crammed on sagging couches and rickety chairs before the small television. Lucy and Beth sat on the floor, their backs up against the knees of who Taryn assumed were their boyfriends. They were all intently focused on “Rosemary’s Baby.”
“Hey Taryn!” Beth called, throwing up a wave. “Wanna watch with us?”
On the screen, Rosemary declared that witches used infants in sacrifice, using their blood for their rituals. A Goth girl dressed in black from head to toe and sporting henna tattoos across her face stood up. “Slander! Lies,” she hollered and everyone laughed.
Taryn smiled. It looked like they were having a good time. She wanted to think more about the diary, but she also knew that she wasn’t finished digesting all she’d learned.
“Sure,” she replied at last. Taryn shrugged out of her backpack and jacket and settled on the floor next to Lucy.
“Hey,” Lucy whispered. “We’re going up on the Tor at midnight to do a ritual. You wanna come?”
It had been a day of firsts for Taryn: her first hostel, her first time in Glastonbury, her first time drinking from a sacred well…ending the day with a spell from a bunch of Wiccans ought to even things right out.
***
The Tor was different at night. A black shadow against the dark sky, the tower at the top was menacing, the scale of the hill formidable. It was windier, too, Taryn found as she walked up the stairs with the others. Beth and Lucy carried packages of candles while their boyfriends had backpacks full of matches, oils, incense, and wands. Taryn had met their boyfriends, Roy and Steve, back at the hostel. They were friendly guys who seemed to dote on their significant others. Like his girlfriend, Roy also had a teddy bear on his bed.
“Do you think the story of King Arthur is real?” Taryn asked Beth as they walked up the hillside together.
“I’d like to think so,” she replied, “but realistically it can’t all be true. Maybe based on someone?”
Taryn nodded. “The house where I’m staying and working? They think the Holy Grail was there for a long time. People used to go there to get healed.”
“I believe in things that have healing power,” Beth said. “And mostly the people that give them the power.”
“So you think it might not have been the Cup but rather the person offering the Cup?” Taryn asked.
“I think so. I think whatever power we have comes from the inside, not from an object,” Beth said. “Perhaps we can transfer it, but noting is as strong as the soul.”
They continued to walk on in silence before a few more minutes before Taryn spoke again. “Do you think Morgaine was a witch?”
“No,” Lucy called out from up ahead. “She was a woman with healing powers, a benevolent figure that tried to do the right thing. History doesn’t look fondly on women who have power. They turn them into sluts or witches.”
“Or both,” Steve added.
“Legends change over the years,” Beth said. “And unfortunately, I think the men have been responsibility for writing it. There was never going to be a really strong woman in the legends, not a normal one anyway. She either had to be a witch or piously devout.”
“It’s interesting the way we’re remembered, isn’t it?” Taryn asked. They all agreed. “We have such little say over it once we’re gone.”
“We were thinking about conjuring a demon,” Roy explained, turning to Taryn when they reached the top, “but decided that since you guys are with us it might be kind of rude.”
“I appreciate that,” Taryn replied. It was one thing to do a “providence” ritual; it was quite another to be calling up evil spirits. She’d met enough of those as it was. She didn’t need anything following her back home.
The five of them entered the tower. Although there were a few groups scattered around on the grass outside, the tower was clear. Beth and Lucy went about setting up their altars and organizing their supplies. Taryn stood awkwardly in the doorway, not knowing how to help. Finally, she spoke.
“Um, guys,” she began nervously. “I really want to be up here with you all but I have a lot of thinking to do. I think this is a good place to do it so I thought I’d just kind of sit out here under the stars.”
“No problem man,” Steve replied. “I feel ya.”
“You want a candle?” Lucy offered, handing her a black one. “For protection?”
Taryn took it gratefully, as well as the box of matches she was offered.
Outside, she perched on the side of the hill with the tower protecting her from the wind that blew fiercely around her. Other than the wind, it was a nice night. Not a cloud in the sky and the thousands of stars twinkling down at her. In the valley below, Glastonbury spread out, a valley of light.
Taryn wasn’t Wiccan or pagan by any means but she believed in a little candle magic, didn’t see it any different that lighting one in church and praying. So now she dug a little hole in the earth and wedged the black candle inside. It took a few tries to get it lit but once it got going, the flame was strong.
She was surprised at how much compassion for Iona she felt. She’d known all along that she wasn’t a witch, couldn’t possibly have been. The majority of the “witches” burnt at the stake had been ordinary woman killed from a fuel of anger and fear. Iona Haycock had been an ordinary woman grieving first the loss of her mother, then her father, and then her beloved pets. She’d found solace with a man she’d thought was her friend, only to have him leave her.
Taryn straightened, startled by the comparison. She, too, had lost her family. She was also alone in the world, with only her childhood friend for comfort.
But it was different. Very different. Matt wasn’t going to leave her. Right?
But was she staying with him only because she thought he wouldn’t? Because it was safe? What if Shawn was right? What if there was something else out there for her?
Taryn could not ignore the fact that there was something else going on with Iona, though. The special room, her secret? She’d been put in charge of something, but Taryn didn’t think it was death. She knew in her heard that Iona Haycock was not killing those around her. She didn’t think she’d placed a curse on the land either.
Her words about passing the job down through her children, however…that was something. Perhaps her mother had had a gift and she’d passed it down to Iona. It would explain why the area seemed cursed, even after Iona’s death. Except, of course, for the fact that she didn’t ha
ve children.
Taryn closed her eyes and tried to remember. Had anyone in her family been able to see the past like her? Her nana, she was almost certain that her grandmother had some kind of gift. Her mother? Definitely not. Aunt Sarah? Maybe. Taryn again found herself wishing that she’d been closer to her as an adult, that they’d spent time together while they could.
Although Taryn was absolutely convinced that Iona hadn’t killed anyone, except maybe Garym, there were still unanswered questions. Why had Almodd left? Was it because of what she’d revealed to him? And what was in the room? Had it been the Cup?
Sighing, Taryn leaned back on the damp grass and studied the stars above. Despite the questions churning around in her stomach, she felt at peace with herself. Maybe she really was on the Isle of Avalon. Maybe Glastonbury did hold some magic.
***
The journey back to Lampeter was long. By the time she’d trudged down the length of the driveway, she was sweating through her jacket, dampening the backpack straps under her arms.
When she got up to the house, however, she was surprised to see the police cars pulled up to the door. Fearing that something had happened to Nicki or Shawn, Taryn raced inside, forgetting her fatigue.
“Nicki!” she called. “Shawn!”
Shawn appeared from around the corner, two police officers flanking him. His mouth smiled but his eyes were worried. He opened his mouth to say something but Nicki came from the other direction and threw her arms around her. “Don’t talk unless you want,” she whispered in Taryn’s ear.
“What’s going on?” Taryn asked.
The younger of the two officers stepped forward and removed his hat. “Miss?” he asked. His voice was friendly, but the immediate distrust that filled Taryn had her stiffening. She’d watched a lot of cop shows. She suddenly knew that she was about to be questioned.
“What happened?” Taryn asked, looking quickly around.
“It’s Paul,” Nicki answered. “He fell out the window and died.”
Horror filled Taryn. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Oh my God! How? When?”
“Last night,” Nicki answered.
“Where did it happen?”
Shawn and Nicki both looked down at their feet, refusing to meet her eyes. A sinking feeling began to fill Taryn’s stomach.
“The deceased apparently fell, or was pushed, through your bedroom window,” the officer replied with a steel voice.
It took Taryn a second to gather her thoughts but when she could speak, her voice was high and shrill. “The window!” she cried. “It was broken. He was up there to fix it. Hell, I almost fell through it the other night.”
The other officer opened a small notebook and began reading from it. “We also have witnesses who say they heard you telling the deceased that you wished he were dead?”
Taryn swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean it,” she protested. “It was just a thing to say.”
“Nobody’s blaming you,” Shawn said, but it was clear from everyone’s faces that they were.
“Wait, I wasn’t even here that night!” Taryn said. “I left early for Glastonbury.”
“We have here that you left the following morning?”
Taryn shook her head. “No,” she replied. “The housekeeper, Miriam, gave me a ride to Bristol. She was going to visit family. We left when it was still daylight. Ask her!”
“Well,” the younger officer said, “we’re still trying to get in touch with her.” He closed his notebook forced a smile.
“I sent you a text,” Taryn told Nicki. “Telling you that I was leaving. You were asleep and I didn’t want to wake you up.”
“I slept through the night. I didn’t get it,” she replied sadly. But, to the officers, she said, “If she says she wasn’t here then she wasn’t here.”
For an agonizing moment, Taryn thought they might arrest her. The idea of being locked up in a foreign jail, even a Welsh one, terrified her.
Just like Iona, she thought to herself. And Iona hadn’t done it, either!
But, just when she thought they were going to come at her with handcuffs, the officers said they’d be in touch and left. Taryn was left standing in the foyer with Nicki and Shawn.
“I didn’t do it,” she protested weakly.
Shawn walked up and put his arm around her. “If you say you didn’t then we believe you.”
“Hell, we weren’t blaming you if you had,” Nicki added. “In fact, we were kind of impressed.”
“Let’s get you some tea and talk about it,” Shawn suggested.
Once they were sitting in the kitchen Taryn threw her head down on the table and sighed. “Why can’t they just believe he fell out?”
“Apparently one of the plumbers thought they saw a woman standing next to him when he was in your window,” Nicki explained.
“Shit.”
She’d had such a nice outing, and now, the day before the owners were meant to arrive, she was being accused of murder.
Chapter Thirty-Three
TARYN STRODE THROUGH the small grocery store with her head down. She couldn’t take the inquisitive stares. She’d dealt with them at the farmers’ market and the bakery-sneers, even looks of fear, that came from those who’d heard the news.
When Miranda came up beside her and offered her an embrace, it nearly scared her out of her wits. “You scared me,” she said, leaning into the other woman.
“Sorry love,” she apologized. “You just looked so lost.”
“I feel lost,” she said. People continued walking past her and she could feel their eyes boring into her back.
“Don’t mind them,” Miranda scolded the onlookers loudly. “A bunch of gossipy witches just looking for something to talk about.”
“I didn’t do it,” Taryn said.
“I know you didn’t,” Miranda assured her. But while she smiled, her voice did not sound convinced.
Great, Taryn thought, the whole town probably thinks I killed him.
“He was a terribly unhappy man,” Miranda said as she let go of Taryn’s waist. “I’m sure he’s in a much happier place.”
“I still didn’t want him to die,” Taryn grumbled.
“I know.”
“Do you have any idea how to get in touch with Miriam’s family?” Taryn asked. “The police can’t find her.”
Miranda shook her head sadly. “I’ve tried her phone but it’s going straight to messages. I’ll keep at it though.”
Taryn thanked her and watched her walk off.
She wasn’t ready to go back to Ceredigion House so she walked around the university’s campus, stopping occasionally to marvel at the old building that set in the middle and looked like a castle. She could only imagine how fun it must be to study as a student there and, for a crazy minute, she wondered if maybe she should enroll and go back for another degree.
But it didn’t matter. She was too old to start over.
Matt was blowing up her phone. Still not able to talk about what had happened, she’d sent him an email explaining everything. He was begging her to let him come over. If things got worse, she’d have to let him. She’d need someone to bail her out.
***
Taryn spent suppertime telling Shawn and Nicki about the diary. It had kept their minds off of Paul’s death. The owners, held up in Manchester with lost luggage, wouldn’t arrive for another day. Shawn was to pick them up from the Aberystwyth train station in the morning.
“So do we all agree that she didn’t kill anyone?” Nicki asked.
Taryn started to defend herself and then realized they weren’t speaking of her. She was starting to know how Iona felt.
“I’m still unsure about Garym,” Taryn declared. “But if she did it, I think she had a good reason.”
“I concur,” Shawn said.
“So what was her big secret?” Nicki asked.
Taryn took a bite of her fish, chewed, and then answered. “I think she was a witch.”
They looked at
her in surprise. “Not the way everyone thought,” Taryn replied hurriedly. “But I do think she had some kind of powers. I’m just not sure what they were.”
“Do you know how she died?” Shawn asked.
Nicki nodded. “It’s a bit gruesome for dinner talk, though.”
Shawn shrugged. “I’m game.”
“Well,” Nicki began, “first she was taken to the jail. It was no Tower of London, mind you, but it wasn’t nice.”
Taryn pushed her plate back. She decided she was finished. The talk of jail had her stomach upset.
“There were witches before, of course, in in 1563 they made a statute that made witchcraft a capital offence. After that, people kind of went nuts.”
“Was it like in America?” Shawn asked. “You know, where witchcraft as a crime was basically limited to women who were just a little different than everyone else or a way for a jealous man or woman to get revenge?”
Nicki nodded. “And sometimes here it was given to women who were meant to cure people but couldn’t. I mean, if you had cancer you were going to die. No amount of voodoo was going to help you in the sixteenth century.”
“After that, though, wasn’t witchcraft and executions for it pretty much gone?” Taryn asked. “I thought that died out in the 1600s.”
“It did,” Nicki agreed. “But there were still exceptions. Like Iona. I mean, technically she was executed for murder, not for witchcraft.”
“Ah,” Shawn sighed. “A good old-fashioned loophole.”
“Right. It was hard to prove witchcraft. Sometimes the women spent periods in prison before they were released due to lack of evidence. There’s a museum at St. Fagan’s with some items from those trials and imprisonments. I think the Religious Experience Center over in town at the university has some of the stories on file, too.”
Bloody Moor: A Ghost Story (Taryn's Camera Book 8) Page 18