by Torey Hayden
“‘We’d almost reached the light, you and I,’ he murmured. ‘I would have joined the Beings of Light. I would have been among the Voices now. But I lost you. I came into awareness and you were gone …’ His voice cracked with sudden emotion. ‘I had to come back for you. To find you. I couldn’t leave you here alone.’ He lowered his hands.
“When I opened my eyes, I saw his face was awash with tears. He smiled beatifically through them. ‘And now, at last, I’ve found you.’
“What could I say? I was astonished to find myself at the centre of such a florid, yet achingly romantic story. It was so beautiful. While part of me found it weird, a much more powerful part of me wanted it and him. I wanted to touch him, to kiss him, to make love to him. I wanted that more than anything else at just that moment. More than being a doctor. More than Torgon or the Forest. Way more than common sense. So, as out-of-this-world as his ideas were, I felt something in them. I felt maybe this moment had been destined since time before the stars.
“The next evening it was out to dinner again. Fergus couldn’t pick me up until after eleven because he had appointments to do readings at the health club through until ten o’clock.
“All day I’d been thinking about him obsessively. Any desire I’d had to test him or to show him up as a fake had vanished entirely, as did any desire to deceive him about myself. I decided that I was going to be fully truthful with him about Torgon from the onset. I was going to describe Torgon exactly as she was – the real Torgon – and not the hokey thing she’d turned into for the Tuesday night group.
“Fergus was very interested in my relationship with her. How had I first got in contact with Torgon? How had I maintained the contact? What information had I got from her? How did I use it in my everyday life? When had I first felt compelled to share the information with others? What goals had she set for me? What world goals had she offered?
“World goals? The conversation had been getting out of hand well before we got to world goals. I was trying to be very honest with him, to explain to him that Torgon wasn’t really a spirit guide, but he kept asking questions to the point that it was clear he just wasn’t hearing me when I said I was giving people my own advice and simply presenting it as Torgon’s. But world goals? Even in my most extravagant imaginings, world goals had never been involved.
“‘With as great a gift as you have,’ Fergus said, ‘you must start thinking this way. It’s wrong to keep it to yourself when you are meant to do good with it.’
“I protested and tried to explain that ‘using my gift’ to help unhappy people at the Tuesday night group was doing quite enough good.
“‘No, no, no,’ he said and lovingly touched my face. ‘We have much greater things to do, you and I.’
“We talked for several hours that night. We were still sitting at the table in the restaurant at one in the morning and the proprietor was making obvious noises with his keys. When I realized what time it was, I became concerned because my alarm was due to go off in only four-and-a-half hours. I mentioned to Fergus that I’d better go and he said ‘No,’ in this anguished tone and pleaded with me to stay longer. Flattered as I felt by his insistence, I was too tired and needed to go home. When I objected, however, Fergus became not quite so loving. He said dismissively that I was only tired because I let my body rule my mind, although he did relent and take me home.
“Needless to say, my practicum at the hospital the next day was a session in hell and I sat through Betjeman’s afternoon seminar with all the animation of a starfish in formaldehyde. When it was finished and I was preparing to leave, Betjeman stopped me.
“‘Stay a moment, Deighton,’ he said.
“I was thinking, ‘Oh God, not now, not today.’ Whatever he had to tell me, I was too tired to care.
“He closed the door to the seminar room and turned to me. ‘Are you having problems?’ he asked.
“‘No sir,’ I said. ‘I’m just a bit tired today, sir. I stayed up too late last night and realize now I shouldn’t have.’
“‘I mean more broadly, Deighton. Some of the shine seems to have gone off your work over these past few months. Is there something wrong?’
“My heart began to sink. My work had slipped. With all the excitement of the Tuesday night meetings and getting together with people to talk about Torgon’s advice, I couldn’t do the amount of studying I’d done before. As I’d never had any kind of social life before this, I didn’t think I was expecting too much in wanting to enjoy it a little bit. I didn’t think I was being excessive. Things would no doubt settle down again, and I’d be able to get back to my studies and catch up on what I’d let slide.
“‘Are you still thinking about going abroad when you’re through?’ he asked.
“‘I guess,’ I said. I still intended to follow the jungle doctor idea through, but I wasn’t in quite the same hurry to get at it as I had been the previous year.
“‘I’m asking,’ Betjeman said, ‘because a colleague of mine down at Johns Hopkins told me there’ll be an opening in their surgical programme under Dr Patel by the time you’re ready for your internship, and as I’m sure you know, Patel is the best. I prefer seeing people rise on merit, so it isn’t my policy to give personal recommendations, but your talents are so special, Deighton, that if you were interested, I’d put your name forward.’
“He paused to regard me. ‘You’ll still have to be damned ambitious to get it. Even if I recommend you, there’ll still be a lot of other people out there who’ll want it too and many of them will be just as good as you are.’ He smiled. ‘But I’d wager none of them is better.’
“‘Thank you, sir,’ I said.
“‘But you must get yourself back into gear again.’
“‘Yes, sir.’
“He looked me over carefully. ‘I hope you appreciate that you’ve been given a very rare chance in life, Deighton: both a dream and the talent to fulfil it. Don’t waste it, all right? Even the best chances are worthless, if you lack the passion.’
“I came out of the seminar room chastened. Betjeman was right. I had lost sight of my long-term goals. I made a pact with myself then and there that I’d go home, get a good night’s sleep and then start hitting the books again.
“To my astonishment, Fergus was waiting for me again in the hospital car park. He embraced me warmly; we kissed and my good intentions vanished like mist.
“Nothing was by halves with Fergus, and nothing really mattered to him except the spiritual world and his Voices. There was no way to have a conversation with him over football or the plot of a new movie. These things didn’t exist in his world. And he didn’t know the meaning of ‘down time’. I’ve never come across someone with quite as much energy. He was so alive as to be almost incandescent. It emanated from him, like a force, and it made everything else around him seem a little bigger, a little brighter, a little better just for being in his presence. It affected me too. When I was with him I felt more alive and focused myself. By comparison, everything began to feel dull and grey when we were apart.
“That night he took me back to his house, an elegant old townhouse, opulent with dark oak floors, twelve-inch wide woodwork and antique furniture. Persian carpets and large tapestry cushions were everywhere, giving the rooms the lush aura of a scene from the Arabian Nights.
“‘Would you like tea?’ he asked, taking me into the kitchen with him.
“When I said yes, he turned to this huge basket on the draining board of the sink. It was full of freshly-cut mint, so much that he must have been growing it himself. He took out whole sprigs, put them into two tall, bevel-sided tumblers and filled the glasses with boiling water from the tea kettle. The room came alive with the most wonderful fresh odour.
“I’d never had mint tea before, had never seen tea made from anything but tea bags and the first thing to spring to my mind was the tea Torgon drank, made from what were called ‘water herbs’ in her world. I’d always taken ‘water herbs’ to be a kind of mint. This
sudden fusion of Torgon’s world with Fergus’s made the evening feel good and right. I forgot immediately how tired I was. Or that I should be studying.
“He took me into a small room lined with books. There was an exquisite little fireplace at one end with a cast iron inset and delicate tiles featuring lilies. A modern black metal desk that seemed quite out of keeping with the rest of the decor was at the other end of the room. On the corner of the desk sat a large crystal ball on a stand, such a beautiful thing that I couldn’t resist touching it.
“‘Here, come sit down with me,’ Fergus said and took a seat midst the cushions on the floor facing the fireplace. The fire had already been laid, so he leaned forward and put a match to it. It sprung to life with a whoosh of yellow flame and engulfed the kindling.
“Before I knew it, his hands were in my hair and his mouth closed hungrily over mine. The scent of burning pine in the fireplace mingled with the watery freshness of our stillundrunk tea and that formed the fabric of my memory of that night, that scent of mint and fire.
“He drew me closer and closer. I felt his fingers at the buttons of his shirt and my hand came up too, frantically undoing my own. My breasts became taut and the feel of my nipples against his hot, hot skin, against the teasing hairs of his chest sent shudders through me of a kind I’d never experienced before.
“He cradled me, crushed me with his lips and sought out the deepest places in me with his tongue. In one fervent coupling, Fergus erased Matt’s schoolboy fumbling, Alec’s ineptitude and even Steven’s bleak violence.
“In the aftermath, we lay wrapped in each others’ arms in companionable warmth. I felt very much in love with him at that moment. In the back of my mind was also the awareness of how I’d never thought this moment of love would come for me. It made me cherish Fergus even more. Already I knew I could never live without him.
“The next day followed a similar pattern: hard work and miserable tiredness at the hospital and in seminar, then exhilaration at seeing Fergus waiting for me, food, love and talking into the early hours.
“As we lay languorously in the aftermath of love, I explained how Torgon had arisen from my childhood imagination and, as a consequence, wasn’t the same as his Voices. ‘She can’t come “through me,”’ I said, ‘because she is me.’
“‘Of course she will come through, Laura,’ Fergus said gently.
“‘No, it’s a different experience for me. Not direct, like you have. There’s an aspect of Torgon that isn’t me, but I think that’s what creativity is – bringing into being something unique and alive in its own right, something that both is and isn’t oneself – but it still comes from within me.’
“‘You just aren’t sufficiently evolved yet, Laura. You’ll bring her through in time. You’ll hear her voice. I’m here to help you now.’ He caressed the hair back from my face. ‘This time I won’t ascend without you.’
“‘But that’s the thing, Fergus. I don’t hear her. Torgon doesn’t speak to me. She never has. She can’t. She’s locked away in a separate universe that’s totally inside my head.’
“‘Don’t you suppose that’s all we are? What God imagined? That we are simply the universe that is totally inside His head? What are prayers, if not talking to God?’
“‘I don’t know. But that’s not what I’m trying to say. This is really hard for me to admit to you, Fergus, but I have to. I’m already in love with you and I want this to be a totally honest relationship. What I’m doing with the Tuesday night group … that never was Torgon. Ever. The people in the group, they’re nice people, but they’re grasping for any straws they can find because they are so confused and desperate to alleviate their misery. But to be perfectly honest, Fergus, they don’t need help from celestial beings. Someone with common sense and an objective point of view, someone who cares about them is all that’s required. And so that’s what I’ve done. Since they think it’s someone who’s really special, like a spirit guide, who cares about them, they’re willing to try. All this time I’ve been telling myself that I’m not doing anything wrong, even though it isn’t strictly honest, because sometimes I think the end does justify the means. But I don’t want you to think Torgon was doing all this. Fact is, Torgon doesn’t even know they exist.’
“Fergus wrapped his arms more tightly around me and kissed my hair. ‘Of course it’s only you. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. When I’m at the health club, ninety-nine percent of the people I see are lowers. They aren’t in any way evolved. So they come to me wanting to know stuff like whether or not they should fuck the chauffeur. Or invest in some dodgy-sounding property deal. Or marry some jerk just because he’s got a yacht and a summer home on Martha’s Vineyard. These people don’t want enlightenment. They want money, a good lay and three-inch fingernails that don’t break. For them, there is no more to existence than that. So I bulge my eyes, sway a bit to give them a good show, tell them whatever it is I know they want to hear and leave it at that. This makes them happy. Their money makes me happy. And that’s the end of it. Is that wrong? Do I feel guilty? Am I a fraud? No. Because they’re unevolved, Laura. They can see no further than the pains and pleasures of this life, so they live as if there is nothing more there, like two-year-olds, living in the present because they have no concept of next week. Such people would not be able to cope with what the Voices are really communicating. This is why the Voices choose to come to people like you and me.’
“He smiled gently. ‘You’ll grow accustomed to this paradox. If people are not evolved, if this isn’t their lifetime for enlightenment, nothing you do will bring them to the Light. Each person has to make that journey for themselves. So you do what you can to ease their suffering and leave it at that. That’s not wrong. That’s not deception. That’s compassion.’
“For several moments I lay, listening to the beating of his heart. Finally, I said, ‘I wish I had your certainty.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
James paged through the folder of stories to where he had last left Torgon, smiling seductively as she anointed Ansel as the new Seer.
When Ansel came for the first time into the compound as the Seer, Torgon stayed distant so that her interest in him would not appear unseemly, but curiosity kept her watching discreetly from the open window of her cell.
He was handsome. His build was tall and manly, the taut muscles of his shoulders surging beneath his deerskin shirt as he carried in his things. His eyes were as brown as the ancient wood used in carving amulets, and his hair was rich and rusted with just the slightest touch of grey, like fallen leaves in autumn, their tips crystalline with frost. In curls about his ears, his hair blended with his ruddy-coloured beard, groomed carefully in the warrior style. It was apparent from everything about him that he was holy-born. Every move had elegance, as in the manner of a man accustomed to his power.
He immediately set about clearing his father’s cells. The doors were left hanging wide open as he did so, as if they were not holy rooms at all, and he chucked the old man’s things out unceremoniously onto the stone flags in the corridor. The acolytes and holy women were still absent, so perhaps it did not matter. Torgon watched in silence for several minutes. Then she retired to her duties.
As evening approached, Torgon laid out bread and chunks of ripened cheese on the table and gave the benediction.
Entering the dining area, Ansel surveyed the table. “Have we no better than this?”
“It is holy food. It has been blessed.”
“Aye, blessed perhaps, but it is cold. Where’s something hot? And where’s the meat?”
“It is not my role to prepare the meals,” Torgon replied.
“Why? Do you not know how? Did you not learn to make yourself marriageable?”
“I am the divine benna, lest you forget. It is not my role to prepare the food.”
Ansel gave an unconcerned shrug. “Do you not know how?”
“Yes, of course I know how.”
“Then you should do i
t. This is not a fit meal for a warrior.”
“You are not a warrior here.”
“No,” he replied, “but my stomach doesn’t know that.”
“If you wish something different, you shall have to prepare it for yourself,” Torgon said simply. “For I have other duties.”
Ansel looked over, then unexpectedly he laughed. “Oh aye,” he said. “I can see I will enjoy myself in such spirited company.”
After the meal, Torgon retreated to her cells. She’d meant to spent the evening in meditation, but the long weeks of the old man’s decline had brought a bone-aching weariness to dog her. She lay down on her bed without even removing her clothes and within moments was asleep.
“What form of laziness is this to be abed at such an early hour? Did my father encourage slothfulness?”
Startled, Torgon shot up from the bed. Ansel stood in the doorway of her inner cell. He was clad not in the holy vestments of a Seer, but in the leather girdle and deerskin undertrousers warriors wore. His broad chest was bare.
“Did your father teach you rudeness? These are my private cells and I need not open them to you. So go now. I have not sent for you.”
He grinned cheerfully. “You are very quick with answers. I see you’ve been given the title ‘anaka’ rightly, for you are a proper little warrior. My father did well in choosing you.”
“I am Dwr’s choice, not your father’s. Now go.”
He didn’t move a muscle. “I’ve come to claim my rights with you.”
Torgon moved away from him. “You have no rights with me.”
“I am the Seer. You are the benna.”
“Aye, but we have not yet observed holy laws. We’ve made no offerings to Dwr. We haven’t gone together to the high holy place. And the acolytes are still absent, so you have yet to receive the holy cup.”