A moving shaft of light touched the stone circle. One by one, the monoliths shone against the darkening sky as the cruiser sliced through the sea. How long had the stones stood there? How many people had seen what she saw now?
Katherine pointed. “A fine sight. I have missed the island.”
Freya did not take her eyes from the stones. “I can understand why.”
The note of the engine changed as Dan eased the boat around, setting her on a long, curved course toward Findnar’s cove. He knew the grain of this water, knew when to fight the current and when to use it, but sometimes, even on a calm night, the sea lay in wait. Because it has no mercy. “And no conscience.” Perhaps he said the words aloud, he did not know.
Freya glanced at Dan’s rigid profile. He’d muttered something she’d not quite heard. “What do you reckon, good night for a barbie or what? I even remembered the beer.” Two six-packs of Stella Artois bumped against her feet in the bilge.
Dan lined the prow up on the opening of the sea cave. He was sweating. None of this is real. It can’t be, he thought.
Katherine said helpfully, “Australian for barbecue.”
“I did not think Freya meant the doll.” Dan dropped the revs, and the hull lost momentum as it idled through a trough; he waited for the swell to build.
Freya needled him gently. “If you get this wrong, we’ll be fish food.”
Dan did not remove his eyes from the cave mouth. “Supportive. Not.”
Behind the boat a gathering crest began to push the hull forward and, coupled with a spurt from the motor, the weight of the sea carried them under the rock arch and all the way up to the quay.
“Oops—nearly took the prow off.” But Freya smiled as she climbed out of the wallowing cruiser and caught the rope Dan threw.
He shut down the motor and watched as Freya loaded her backpack—beer first, sausages next, then tried to stuff more groceries on top. “You’ll not get any more in.” He knew Freya was worried about his leg. He picked up a loaf of bread, butter, and several cheeses, and relieved her of the vegetables, too, though he managed not to touch her hands.
Katherine hoisted her bag. “We’ve both been on Findnar before, Freya. You don’t have to worry.”
“Okay then, off we go.” Along the beach, Freya paced herself to Dan’s uneven stride, though she hoped it wasn’t obvious. As the climb up the cliff path began, she caught Katherine’s eye. The librarian wasn’t remotely short of breath, though Freya was panting already. She did not look at Dan.
As the top of the path wound into sight, Freya edged past him. “I’ll just light the lamps. Excuse me.”
There was room for two people, but an accidental touch, her jacket hushing against his, gave them both a jolt. Freya stumbled, and Dan flung a hand toward her. “Careful!”
She saved herself but cannoned back against the cliff face; their hands did not touch.
Bemused by the strange performance, Katherine called out, “Are you all right?”
Freya mumbled, “Fine. Take your time.” With a shake she strode away.
The kitchen yawned its usual dark challenge to the open door, but Freya hurried down the steps with much more confidence than even a day ago, and groped for the pack of matches on the table. Moments later, lamp held high, she stood beside the back door. “Welcome to you both.”
Dan paused. Freya—she was a Goddess too. Half-smiling, he drew back to allow Katherine to enter first. A Norse Goddess in wet-weather gear.
The librarian ducked beneath the lintel, navigating the kitchen steps one by one. “Thank you,” she said.
Freya watched with approval. “They caught you too, the steps?”
“Only once.” Katherine’s voice was wistful.
Dan hobbled toward the basket of peat beside the stove. “A fire, then. Where shall it be?”
Freya rattled the latch down behind her guests. “At the front of the house—on the turf—there’s a great view on a calm night. We shall light a beacon.” But beacons are warning fires . . .
Katherine was standing at the kitchen table, beside the captain’s chair. “While Dan gets the barbecue going, we could organize the beds,” Freya said to the librarian. “I’ll have to break it to him gently, but he gets the couch.” She did not say, And you can show me where you used to sleep.
Katherine glanced toward the top of the stairs. “I’ll get the sheets, shall I?”
So, you know where they’re kept. “Thanks, that would be great.”
So much unsaid.
An untethered silver balloon, the moon sailed higher as they watched.
“Another beer?” Freya waved a long-necked bottle. “Drink them while they’re cold. No refrigeration on Findnar.” She was sitting with Katherine beside the fire in front of the house and hadn’t felt so relaxed in a long time.
Katherine smiled, and they clinked bottles. Firelight suited the librarian, flattered her bright eyes and pretty skin. “I like beer, by the way. Michael taught me how to drink it.”
She looks lovely tonight, Dad, your dear friend. Freya poked at the embers, and sparks flew up into the dark. She called out, “Fire’s nearly ready, Dan.”
Exiting Compline via the front steps, Dan put a bowl of salad, knives and forks, and a plate of buttered bread on the turf beside the two women. Freya held up a bottle of beer, and he leaned down to take it. “I heard you talking about refrigeration, Freya. Put the meat and milk in the shed—as the year grows old they’ll freeze, if that’s what you want.”
She waved airily. “Ah, but this is summer. Hot, hot, hot.” A flirty leer. Horrified, she paused. That came out wrong.
Dan arranged sausages on an iron rack filched from the kitchen range. He seemed engrossed.
Katherine stared into the heart of the flame. “There’s something about watching a fire. A sense of connection, I suppose, to all those who’ve been here before.” She pulled her jacket tighter.
Freya muttered, “Good friend, bad enemy where I come from.”
“Bushfires.” Dan turned the sausages one by one, head cocked away from the smoke. “Not a problem here—very few trees—and then there’s always the rain.” He grinned and stood back from the heat, his face gilded by flame. “Scotland was covered in forest once. The Vikings are supposed to have cut the trees down. Or that’s the legend.”
Freya sat up. She asked, “Do you think Findnar was forested?”
Dan half-closed his eyes, staring into the dark. “Maybe, though it’s more exposed here than the mainland.”
“But it does make sense that there were trees here once. Below the stones on the eastern side there’s a sheltered little valley. A couple of big oaks and conifers grow there, plus a fair bit of scrubby stuff—bog willow and such. I thought it must just be a protected microclimate down there, but maybe not.” Freya got to her feet. “Can I help, Dan?”
“I can just about manage sausages.” Deadpan.
She grinned. “My apologies. You’re a natural.” She started toward the house. “I’ll get the sauce. Can’t have a barbie without tomato sauce.”
“Here.” Dan slung Freya a flashlight. She caught it on the run and took the front steps two at a time.
He called after her. “Be quick. They’ll burn.”
Who will? Freya shrank from the thought. It wasn’t funny.
“It’s a bit basic.” Freya placed the lamp on the bedside table. “But I hope you’ll be comfortable. I haven’t had time to get started on the house, making it feel more like my place, I mean.”
Katherine stared around the little room. The iron-framed bed filled much of the space. “It’s perfect just as it is.”
“I’m glad you came.” Impulsively, Freya kissed Katherine on the cheek; Katherine returned the gesture with a stiff little hug.
An awkward pause. Freya cleared her throat. “I hope one hot water bottle in the bed’s enough? It’s cold up here.” It was, this late in the night—close to midnight—and the wind had backed to the east.
&nbs
p; “A cool room is best for sleeping in. Good night, Freya.” Katherine turned away bravely. The bed would seem very empty. Both of them knew that.
“By the way, I’ve got something to show you tomorrow—very interesting. Do you read Latin?”
Katherine’s look was quizzical. “I do.”
“Well, that’s good. See you in the morning.” Freya grinned.
“But . . .”
“It’s a surprise—something Dad found. Sweet dreams.”
Closing the door softly, Freya padded down to the kitchen. She was wearing football socks and a jacket over thermals, and waiting for her in the still-warm room was Daniel. How did she feel about that?
“Cocoa?” He held up a mug.
Freya sat at the massive table. They both knew the time for small talk was done. “Thank you, but I’ll sleep well anyway tonight with both of you here.”
That passed without comment.
Dan lifted a saucepan of hot milk off the gas ring, and Freya realized she liked watching him. Fine hands, economy in all that he did.
He caught her glance. “Sugar?”
She shook her head and wrapped both hands around the mug as it was offered. The surface of the cocoa trembled slightly.
Dan sat down on the other side of the table.
If she reached out, she could touch him.
They drank in silence until he said, “So. Where do we begin?”
Freya got up from the table and added more milk to her cocoa—the physical distance made it easier to think, but only slightly.
“A bit of background. There’s something I want to show you tomorrow, and I need your help too. I’ve got a dig going—something I’m searching for—and it will happen faster with more than one pair of hands. It’s important because there are things . . .” Freya, uncertain, tried again. “My father found some artifacts, you see. Significant objects. This crucifix was one of them.” She lifted it out from beneath her clothes so Dan could see. “Dad was looking for a particular grave and, I don’t know, but everything odd that’s happened here—and to you and me”—she felt heat rise in her chest and her throat—“well, I’m certain it’s connected with what he was doing and even with this. I just feel that.”
Dan raised his eyebrows at her fervent tone.
Calm down, Freya. “Look, I’ve been trying to say—oh, I don’t know, but this—whatever this is—it’s all leading somewhere.”
The kitchen was shadowed, and the old stove hissed gently, its belly full of peat—a big, metal cat. The house was chattering, too, windows flexing behind drawn curtains, doors shifting a little as the air came and went around the building.
Dan spoke cautiously. “What else did your father find?”
“A lot of things. Believe me, an enormous number of artifacts, some of them very valuable—the kinds of things you see in the best museum collections.”
“Really?” He looked surprised. “But doesn’t the government usually get involved?”
Freya nodded. She tried not to show how anxious she felt. “Yes. There’s all sorts of regulation about troves and hoards, and I’ll have to do something about that, but at the moment . . .” Her voice trailed away. She went to the kitchen dresser and pulled out a drawer. “He thought this was important, though—it was found with the crucifix.” She held out the small lead box.
Dan took it from her carefully. Their hands did not touch.
“Open it if you like. It’s quite the surprise packet.”
He glanced at Freya and with supreme delicacy prized up the lid. “But this is . . .”
She opened the stove with unnecessary vigor and pushed more peat into the firebox. “Yes. It’s a manuscript. A very small one. I’m hoping Katherine will be able to read it; my Latin, such as it is, isn’t up to the task.”
Dan closed the little box with care, and Freya hesitated before she sat down again. “Look, I know it seems inconsistent, but each time it happens”—she paused, and gathered herself—“these . . . visions—I don’t know what else to call them—grow stronger. More vivid. I see and hear more; more detail, that is.”
Dan answered the implied question with a nod, though he did not speak.
She leaned forward. “And they happen either when I’m here alone or if I touch you. Or when you touch me, but not always.” She inspected her hands. Slow down. “It doesn’t work with anyone else, Dan. Not your father, not Katherine—just with you.” She muttered the last words to her fingers before she looked up.
He was staring at her. She couldn’t read his expression.
“I feel like an idiot, trying to put this stuff into words. They can’t just be hallucinations. You see them too.” She heard herself pleading.
Dan sighed, a long exhale. “It is hard to understand, certainly, or even believe, but I came willingly to this house, did I not?” The ghost of a smile.
He was making her work for this conversation, but Freya was more practiced talking about feelings than Dan was; perhaps that was fair. She said, pensively, “I thought I was going crazy. I was going to ring my mum and ask if we had schizophrenics in the family.”
“Hmmm. Always a possibility, I suppose.” Was he amused? Freya could not tell.
“We should deal with this systematically, eliminate unlikely explanations one by one.” Sturdy Scots reductionism—a way of denying his own fears about insanity.
Freya shifted in her chair. “How? It’s all so unlikely.”
Dan said carefully, “Well, we should experiment. Find out what makes it happen. For instance . . .”
He pushed his chair back and walked around the perimeter of the table until he was standing beside her. “If I do this . . .” He picked up one of Freya’s hands—she did not resist as he turned it over—and the tingle was a clamor inside her head now, but nowhere else.
“Do you see anything, Freya?”
She shook her head. “You?”
Dan frowned. “No. Give me your other hand.”
Freya did what he asked.
“Stand up.” He helped her to her feet with a slight tug. She stood in front of him. Dan was a head taller than she, and one part of her, that small part that remained detached, saw tension as the muscles moved in the column of his throat.
“It’s waiting for something.” Her words were a nervous blurt.
Dan dropped Freya’s hands and rocked back a step. “For what?”
She rubbed her eyes. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s just . . . a sense. But what’s it, anyhow?”
He said, lightly, “Tomorrow is another day, there’s no hurry. I’ll away to my couch of dreams.” He gave her a rueful smile with a bit of mischief in it, and the severe lines on his face were transformed. He looked young suddenly.
Freya tried not to stare. So, you are human and quite nice when you want to be. “Good night, Dan. No nightmares now.”
He shook his head. “The couch and I shall keep them at bay by main force. We’re famous for it, we Scots. Wrestling with the Boggart.”
They both laughed. That was a first.
CHAPTER 22
AND THIS was with the crucifix?” Katherine would not acknowledge the little spurt of jealousy. “Yes—that’s what Dad’s notes say.”
The lead box lay open between them on Michael’s desk.
Katherine extracted the little packet of vellum. “This certainly is a surprise.”
“But interesting. Dad didn’t have time to translate the manuscript and—”
The librarian interrupted. “It’s in Latin.”
“Yes. Not my forte, I’m sorry to say, and I was hoping that you . . .”
Katherine’s expression changed. She looked much more cheerful. “You’d like me to translate it?”
Freya nodded. “If you can. Only if it’s not too much trouble.”
Not too much trouble. Katherine eyed the little manuscript. “I can, and I’d be delighted—thank you for trusting me.” Her eyes filmed abruptly.
Freya was uncertain what to do. She put a hand on K
atherine’s shoulder; after a moment, the librarian covered it with her own and sniffed. “Silly of me.” Awkwardly she patted Freya’s hand. “Coffee, I think you said, then I’ll get started.”
It was the perfect day for digging, radiant and warm but not hot. A soft wind set the seed heads nodding as Freya led Dan toward the girl’s grave site.
The tent she’d rigged was still securely pegged and, as she lifted up one side, Dan’s eyes widened. “Blunt force trauma, as they say in the crime shows.” He pointed at the skull.
Freya nodded. “Yes, poor girl—well, I think it’s a girl. A violent death, but I don’t think it’s contemporary.” A slightly breathless laugh.
“Did you put the flowers around the grave?” Dan looked at Freya curiously.
“Yes. Unprofessional, I know.” She climbed down into the excavation. “I hope you don’t mind, but I want to bag up the bones so I can take them back to the house for study later. Can you pass the ziplock bags and the bucket of brushes down?”
“Happy to help.”
She smiled at him, shading her eyes as he passed the tools down. “All right, that would be great. The skull will be tricky to lift. We could start with that if you like.”
Dan smiled his crooked smile. “If I am to be of use, I shall need your hand.”
Freya saw what he meant—a big admission.
“Okay.” Expecting the thunderbolt, she still reached up to brace Dan while he half-slid, half-scrambled to the bottom of the trench. They were both breathless as he found a steady place to stand.
“Daniel, I’ve worked it out.” The morning sun was a corona for Freya’s head.
He squinted, trying to see her in the dazzle of light. “What?”
“It doesn’t happen when we’re relaxed.” She’d been about to say, When we’re happy.
After a moment, he nodded. Very deliberately he held out his hand. “Let’s test the theory.”
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