Destiny (Immortal)

by Gillian Shields

  One of the angel creatures stepped forward. I felt dazzled by his presence, but then the glory fell away from him, and his shape changed many times. Now he seemed like a young child, and now like the old gardener who tended the school grounds, and now like a teenage boy with merry eyes and a wide grin.

  “Tom! Oh, Tom…my Wanderer, it’s you! You’ve come back!” Helen flung herself at him, sobbing wildly, and I didn’t know why but I was crying too….

  The boy released himself, laughing, from her embrace. “Yes, it’s me,” he said. “I was with you all the time.” And then he wasn’t laughing anymore, but looking solemn and tender. His face changed again, and I saw a young man with fair hair and a world of wonder in his blue eyes. “Lynton!” Helen swayed and he caught her, and they clung to each other like two souls who had been drowning far out to sea, and had now been saved and were walking on the shores of paradise.

  “Lynton…,” Helen said, as she stepped back in amazement. “My Wanderer, my hope, my salvation! I thought perhaps…I tried to guess; I thought there was a connection when you gave me the ring, though I couldn’t be sure if you were really part of all this. But I never stopped hoping. I never stopped believing, not really. Why didn’t you say? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I wasn’t permitted to until now. I nearly gave myself away to you so many times; then I had to draw back, which was so hard. I had to pretend we were just friends, when I knew we were meant to be soul mates. And I wanted so much to be there in your last battle. I did everything I could to help, without crossing the boundaries. You had to work things out for yourself if you were ever going to be ready to join us. But the sacrifices you were willing to make for your mother, and for Velvet, have shown the Guardians that you are ready. And that means I don’t have to hide anything from you anymore, not where we are going. That is—if you will come with me.” He looked at Helen beseechingly, balanced between hope and dread. “The choice is yours.”

  “And you will always be there with me?”

  “Always. Now…and now…and now,” he replied softly. “In every circle of Time, in every place, and beyond the confines of this world. Helen, I’ve always loved you, ever since I was sent to watch you in the home.”

  “So you were there?” Helen gazed at him in wonder. “You were my Wanderer, all the time…. It really was you…. Oh, Lynton.”

  “Someone had to protect you, even from a distance. You were the daughter of one who could have been a Guardian, and so you were touched by fate. You had great gifts, greater than you ever knew, and those gifts can be a burden. We had to make sure that no lasting harm came to you. Helen, I know you had a harsh life in the home, and that hurt me too. I tried to bring you what little comfort I could, but above all it was your soul that we were guarding, and they couldn’t touch that. From the first time I saw you I have known that your soul is beautiful and great and strong—how could I help loving you, even though I thought you would never love me in return? I thought I was just helping to guard you so that you could grow up and be safe and meet some human boy and forget all about me. But you didn’t forget, and the Order allowed me to be near you again, and watch over you at Wyldcliffe. Helen, I have loved you from the very first moment I saw you. I always will, whatever you decide.”

  “I’ve already decided,” Helen said, and her face was radiant with certainty. “It’s the easiest choice I’ve ever made.”

  “And you won’t regret it?” Lynton asked.

  “Never.”

  “Let me hear you say it.” His voice became barely a whisper. “Tell me that you love me.”

  “You know I do. You’ve always known.” Helen blinked back her tears and laughed for joy. “‘Twice or thrice had I loved thee, before I knew thy face or name….’”

  Lynton drew her to him, murmuring in reply: “‘Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm; for love is strong as death.’” Then he folded her in his arms and kissed her, and a light fell all around them, like a blessing.

  But Velvet still lay on the ground, and her breath was shallow, and her face was as white as the morning star, which was now glimmering on the horizon.

  “Come,” said Miss Scratton. “It is time. Look to the morning and follow the sign. The great Seal is calling you, the sign of the One: Signum dei vivi. This is the time when all paths cross and all circles connect. Helen, this is the moment when all things begin again. In the new world that is waiting for you, all your old griefs will fall away. Everything you had taken away from you, everything you were prepared to sacrifice will be given back to you a hundredfold. Daughter of light and air, daughter of destiny, come to us. I will be your mother now, and Lynton will be at your side. Your true name will be known, and you will know us, without shadow or fear.”

  She pinned the Seal to Helen’s shirt, then led her to kneel by Velvet’s side. Helen lifted Velvet’s head onto her lap and placed her hands on Velvet’s brow. As simply as a child, Helen closed her eyes and said, “I give this gift to you.” We seemed to see clear white flames flickering around her head like a crown, until the light faded from Helen. The bright halo now gleamed on Velvet’s glossy dark hair, among the leaves of the Crown. Velvet drew a long, grateful breath and sat up. For an instant she and Helen looked into each other’s eyes and embraced as sisters. Then Velvet got to her feet, full of new life and vigor, but for Helen it was different. As Velvet stood up, Helen fell back. Her pale hair flowed over her shoulders as she lay there on the green earth, and the light in her eyes dimmed, and she was no more. I hid my face against Josh’s arms and wept for losing her, but just as grief seemed to crush me like one of the great stones on the Ridge, a voice began to sing.

  It was a lark greeting the dawn. It was a pure soul worshipping its Creator. It was a new life beginning, as the old one ended. Everything begins again….

  Helen was singing the song of herself, as beautiful as she had always truly been, had the world only had eyes to see it. Her song was the wind and the sky, and as she sang, she was connected with all living things. And another pure note of music rose into the air and blended with hers, like the clear, soft call of a flute. And so, at last, crazy Helen Black was crowned with glory and love, and we were there as witnesses. On her breast she bore the sign of the great Seal and her rustling wings were of white fire, and the bright swords at her side were of finest gold. Lynton was with her, and Miss Scratton, and the whole Company of Guardians. And as they withdrew behind the veil of the sunrise, they saluted us joyously and spoke their true names, which were as fair and powerful as the One who created them, like music echoing among the far-off stars.

  Thirty-four

  THE WYLDFORD CHRONICLE

  Confused accounts are emerging of what caused last week’s fatal fire at Wyldcliffe Abbey School for Young Ladies. It is most likely, say the authorities, that the malfunction of an old-fashioned gas lamp in the Victorian ballroom started the blaze. All the students and staff were present on the night in question. It is believed that they had been attending a rehearsal for a concert. The school is noted for its high standards in classical music.

  However, early eyewitness accounts report that many of those present were found wandering on the school’s extensive grounds in a confused state. Some even claim to have seen the ghost of Lady Agnes Templeton enter the Abbey as the fire reached its height. Donald Hooke of the local fire and ambulance service issued this statement: “Many victims of the fire had suffered minor burns and the effects of smoke inhalation. But memory loss, confusion, and hallucinations were also reported. It may be that certain substances—for example, old varnish on the extensive antique wooden paneling—may have released some kind of toxic fumes as the building caught fire, causing these symptoms. All we can say at this stage is that further investigations will be necessary, and that we are only grateful that more lives were not lost.”

  Three teachers were killed in the blaze. They have been named as Miss Rowena Dalrymple, Miss Ellen Schofield, and Dr. Franzen, the High Maste
r. It was also announced that Mr. John Brooke had died of a heart attack.

  None of the students was seriously injured in the fire. “It was a miracle,” said Wyldcliffe resident Mrs. Hannah Wilkes, aged fifty-four, who works as a cook in the school kitchens. “The ballroom in the east wing of building was on fire, but it suddenly died away. They said the winds changed and it began to rain or something, but I think someone was watching over Wyldcliffe that night. That’s what I believe.”

  An unexpected savior has stepped forward to help the beleaguered school. The multimillionaire rock star Rick Romaine has pledged a large sum of money to fund the refurbishment of the ballroom, apparently at the request of his daughter, Velvet, a pupil at the school. He was quoted as saying, “My Velvet found it difficult to settle at first, but she tells me she’s made good friends there now. I’m only too happy to help the school get back on its feet. Hey, Wyldcliffe’s world famous—It’s the best, isn’t it? It’s been around for years, and it’s gonna be around for a lot longer, trust me.”

  The investigations continue.

  Thirty-five

  THE WITNESS OF SARAH FITZALAN

  In the damp November days after the fire we spent a lot of time talking quietly, piecing things together. I thought at first that it would be too painful to read Helen’s diary and poems in the little notebook she had left us, but eventually Evie persuaded me to look at them, and she was right; they were a comfort. Reading the diary made me feel that Helen was still close to us, and it answered so many questions and revealed many secrets. It was hard to accept, though, that apart from Velvet no one else in the school had any idea that Helen had ever been at Wyldcliffe or that she had even existed. But so few of the other students had really liked or understood her that in a way it made little difference. Our loss was private.

  The teachers tried to keep our classes going in the days after the fire. There was a feeling of improvisation as rules had to be relaxed and schedules had to be torn up, but we muddled through. Some of the parents hurried up from London in their posh cars to collect their daughters and take them away for good. This last disaster at Wyldcliffe was too much for them, but once the grumblers had gone, a new atmosphere filled the school. Officially, of course, everyone said how dreadful it was about the three teachers who had died in the fire. But in the secret hearts of all those who worked and lived in Wyldcliffe, a weight had been lifted, although they didn’t know why.

  Only we knew what had happened: The inner core of the Wyldcliffe coven had been broken at last, and a poison had been cleared from the air of the valley. Darkness and danger had come so close, but thanks to Helen and to Agnes, we had all been spared. I couldn’t grieve for Miss Schofield or Miss Dalrymple or Dr. Franzen, though I hoped that whatever madness had pushed them onto dark paths had now been wiped from their souls. The remaining women of the coven gave no further sign, and we felt hopeful that they had given up their obsessions and had quietly gone back to their ordinary lives, eager to forget.

  The dirt and debris from the fire was quickly cleared away. While the workmen were busy, some of our classes were held in the village hall, where we were given a kind welcome. The whole experience of the fire seemed to bring the school and the village together. It was astonishing, people commented, how little real damage there had been to the Abbey, mostly to the ballroom and a few classrooms near to it. And when Velvet’s father announced that he would provide whatever funds were needed for the restoration, she soon became everyone’s best friend again, the most popular student, the coolest, the most daring, the most outrageous….

  But we knew that, underneath all that, Velvet’s heart was waiting to blossom, like a rose. We were looking forward to getting to know her properly, and we didn’t care if some of our classmates were surprised at the sight of Velvet and Evie, who had never been the best of friends before, sitting side by side, deep in serious conversation.

  I rang my mother to let her know that I was all right and to tell her that the person who should look after the school until things were sorted was Miss Hetherington. Mom rang around her friends among the school’s governors and dropped a few hints and it seemed to work, because it was soon announced that the art mistress would be acting as Principal for the foreseeable future. Sometimes it’s useful to have rich parents and titled friends…. Anyway, I was glad they had dropped the “High Mistress” stuff; we’d had enough of all that. It was time to move on.

  Someone else seemed to think so too. One day at lunch Celeste came up to Evie, looking awkward. “Hey,” she said nervously. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  “Of course,” Evie said, trying to hide her astonishment and making room for her on the long wooden bench. “Sit down. What is it?”

  “It’s just—this might sound weird—but it’s about Laura.”

  “Laura?”

  “Yeah—um—I’ve been having these dreams about her. And she keeps saying things, about you. Weird things.” Celeste colored and looked extremely uncomfortable, murmuring defensively, “You’ll just laugh.”

  “It’s okay, Celeste,” Evie replied. “I promise I won’t. What did Laura say in the dream?”

  “She said—It’s not Evie’s fault, don’t blame her. She said I had to say thank you to you. And then—this was the weirdest thing—she said I had to dance. Life is a dance, she said. And I’ve been dreaming the same thing for days now. It’s been driving me crazy, so I had to tell you.” Her face hardened. “I guess you’ll tell everyone that I’ve completely lost it, but I don’t care.”

  “I won’t say a word,” Evie promised. “And I’m so glad you told me, Celeste. Thank you.”

  Celeste got up to go, then turned back. “I’m sorry I was kind of mean to you. I didn’t—well, I did do it on purpose, but I don’t know why really. And another thing, you know I stuck that photo of Laura over your bed to freak you out? I decided it was time to take it down this morning, so I got the caretaker to unscrew it. But the photo, it looked different—she was smiling.”

  “I don’t think you’ll dream about her anymore, not that same dream anyway,” Evie said gently. “Though I still dream about my mother sometimes, and it helps.”

  Celeste hesitated. “Your mom’s dead, isn’t she?”

  “Yes. I know what it’s like to lose someone you love. Believe me, Celeste, I really do understand. I’ll be here if you ever want to talk.”

  “Oh…well…maybe. But see you around.”

  She walked off, back to where Sophie was sitting, waiting for her. I was glad. It was another little act of healing for Wyldcliffe. Agnes would have been proud.

  As for me, I had my sisters and my friends. And I had Cal. For me, there would always be Cal. Life beckoned us, and we were ready to greet it. Helen had moved on, and so would we, facing the future with hope.

  We owed that much to her, to our departed sister—to crazy Helen Black.

  Thirty-six

  THE WITNESS OF EVELYN JOHNSON

  November slipped away and December arrived with snow. It lay over the hills and the grounds, purifying the land and hiding all scars and wounds. Soon the term would be over. This part of our story would be finished, only remembered as a past chapter of our lives. I was comforted by Josh’s quiet, faithful love, by my dearest Sarah’s loyal friendship, by Cal’s strength, and even by Velvet’s passionate gratitude that she had stepped inside our circle at last. But I couldn’t help thinking of those I had lost, as the snow fell in swirling flakes, softening the wild landscape and wrapping it in dreams and memories.

  Sebastian, my first love, who had turned my world upside down forever with his beauty and sorrow. Agnes, who had reached out to help and heal Wyldcliffe from beyond the grave. They were both at rest now, until we all met again in the light of the One. And Helen—oh, I thought of Helen every day, every hour. I wondered what new paths she was treading, what miracles she was making happen. I was glad for her, but I missed her so much. It was simple, this ache inside. I just missed her.

  O
ne afternoon, I wandered down to the art room. Although all memory of Helen had been erased from the world, I had a sudden thought; a hope that maybe some of the drawings she had done might have been spared, and that they might still be tucked in a folder somewhere. I needed to feel that she was close to me again, to be able to touch something that she had touched. I quickened my step and slipped into the art studio. It was empty as I hurried to look on the shelves and in the wide drawers for any scrap that might have been left of Helen’s work.

  I found nothing. But just as I was giving up, I turned over a final sheet of paper. It was the most beautiful sketch of an angel—tall and graceful with softly nestling wings. The angel was carrying a musical instrument like a slender flute, and had the face of Helen Black. I let out a gasp, then heard a light step behind me.

  “Do you like it?” Miss Hetherington was smiling. “The villagers have clubbed together to replace the statue. You know, the one that was broken on Lady Agnes’s grave on the night of the fire. The vicar doesn’t know whether it was due to vandalism or an accident, but there’s a strong local feeling that it should be put right. I’ve been asked to make some sketches for a possible new design.”

  “It’s beautiful,” I said in wonder. “But—that face—is it based on someone you know?” Miss Hetherington gave me a long, appraising look, then said softly, “We meet many people in our dreams, Evie. And they stay with us. Never forget that.”