Shadows 02 Celtic Shadows

by K C West

  “Sweetie, you were hallucinating.”

  She covered her eyes, fingers probing and squeezing her temples as if fighting a sudden headache. I could feel the agitation in her body. “I’d like to believe I was, but - ”

  “But what?”

  “The chip in the handle. I can’t deny that.”

  “Easy, there. I’m not saying you should.”

  “Jesus.” PJ’s voice quavered. “What’s going on here? It’s like this guy is - was - talking to me, sending me a message.”

  She looked at me, on the verge of panic, her expression pleading for an explanation, preferably a reasonable and logical one. What could I tell her?

  “Maybe he was using you to send a message. Stranger things have happened.”

  “To you, maybe, like the Mania thing and the dreams. It all happened to you. I was there, and I know it was real for you because you lived with the lost tribe of women in your dreams for so long. But I don’t have that extrasensory perception or whatever you call it. I’m here, solidly planted in this place and this time. I have no past lives trying to catch up to me.”

  There were tears in her eyes as she waited for me to convince her that this wasn’t happening, but I couldn’t. I could only console her the best way I knew how, by taking her into my arms, kissing the top of her head, and brushing away the tears as they spilled onto her cheeks.

  I didn’t cope too well with tears, especially PJ’s. I launched into lecture mode, offering her the most expedient thoughts my poor, panicked brain could conjure up. Perhaps putting an academic slant on the situation would make it less personal.

  “Okay, think about it. You recognized the marks on the axe handle without a moment’s hesitation, so it’s obvious that you’ve seen them before. Somewhere, in some time frame.”

  She sniffled against my neck. “But I’m a pragmatic, garden-variety archaeologist. I don’t deal in the paranormal. At least I didn’t, until our Superstition project. Frankly, it scares the bejeezus out of me.”

  I could see that PJ was seriously frightened. She got up and began pacing.

  I turned my chair and sat with my back to the laptop. “All right, let’s say for a moment that it was an extraordinarily vivid vision, and that he was communicating with you at some level. What was his message?”

  She raked her fingers through her hair, giving the ends a tug.

  “What if he was identifying himself as the mysterious Celt in Morrison’s glass coffin? With his remains destroyed, he had no way of communicating with the modern world, no archaeological path for us to follow back into his time.” PJ bowed her head, probably remembering her encounter. There was fear in her eyes when she looked up. “So he came to me. I don’t believe for one moment that is what happened, but how else can I explain the weapon?”

  “First of all, there’s nothing to be afraid of. Okay?”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “Let’s consider for a moment, that the story about his being discovered in a bog is true. If it happened to be your bog - ”

  “It’s not my bog.”

  I held up my hand. “Okay, it’s not your bog, but let’s say for the sake of argument that it’s the same one. It’s quite likely he would have left something there, a spiritual energy force. Psychics tell us it happens often enough, especially when someone dies a violent death. They tune into something like that when they help the police solve crimes.” I shook my head, denying my own explanation of things. “Though we don’t know that he died violently.”

  “Oh, he definitely did.”

  I stared at PJ. Her face was pale, her eyes haunted. “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because when he appeared to me, his weapons were drawn and his sword was dripping blood.”

  I pulled her onto my lap again and drew her head to my shoulder. It was obvious that she was still fragile from her ordeal and needed careful handling. I gently rocked her, hoping it would calm and reassure her. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, you know. We’re all capable of receiving messages from out there, but most of us never do. Our minds are too cluttered.”

  “Are you saying that my falling into the bog provided him with a way of telling his story? That I was a conduit for him?”

  “I can’t know that for a fact, but who am I to deny it? Stranger things have happened to us, or at least to me. Perhaps our working together has increased our power and allowed us to see beyond the here and now. We’re either blessed or cursed with something that’s beyond explanation.”

  PJ groaned.

  I stroked her head. “The Superstitions, the Amazons, Mania and me, and now this. Think about it. There are no logical, earth-based answers.”

  PJ stood up. This time, thank goodness, she didn’t appear as agitated, and she didn’t start pacing.

  “We know one thing for sure, though,” she said in a calm voice. “Morrison’s missing corpse was not Owain Glyndwr.”

  “I’ve decided,” I said, turning back to the computer and powering down, “that looking for the bog man is no project for first-year students.”

  “You’re right about that.” PJ dropped to the floor and folded herself into a yoga position.

  I wished I could do that. “Have you finished your packing?”

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Yes, I’m ready whenever you are.”

  I slid the laptop into its travel case and put it on the bed. “Let me take Pup for one last visit to the garden and kennel. Then we’ll be on our way home.”

  Still in the lotus position, she propped her chin up on her hands. “So much work to be done when we get there. You have your book chapter to finish, and I have therapy.”

  Pup danced around my legs in anticipation of a trip outdoors. “Why don’t you join us? You could use a bit of sunlight, and we can say goodbye to the roses and butterflies.”

  She smiled at me and got to her feet. “Just as long as we don’t see any dead Amazons or Celtic warriors along the way.”

  I took her hand. “Pup will protect us if we do, won’t you, buddy?”

  A low growl and a lolling tongue were his only responses.

  *

  Arwel had taken such good care of us in our time of need that parting with her left us saddened. We exchanged goodbye hugs in the foyer, breathing in the delicious scent of baking bread. It had been the first aroma we associated with the inn, and it would be our last memory as we departed.

  “I hope we will see you again,” Arwel said with sincerity.

  “I’m sure we’ll return sometime,” I assured her, “but it won’t be for a while. The horrors are too fresh in our minds to contemplate another visit anytime soon.”

  “I understand,” Arwel said, in her musical Welsh accent. “I’m sorry that bad things happened to you here in my country, and in my village.”

  It was a shame that so much evil had marred our visit to Wales. The faces of almost everyone we had met were so open and outgoing, and we could honestly say they were there for us when we needed them most.

  “Just remember that the ones doing the bad things were Americans,” PJ said.

  “That’s right,” I added. “The Welsh are in no way to blame for what happened to us here. Besides, without your help and that of Sergeant Jones, things would have been even harder to bear.”

  “I did what I could, and I’m sure the sergeant did, too.”

  “If we do come back,” I said, “I’ll insist that we be given the same room. It was delightful.”

  “You shall have it without fail.” Arwel made us wait while she gathered a bag of snacks for our drive back to London. “Some biscuits for you, Kim, and a few of those Scotch eggs you enjoy so much, PJ. There are some goodies for Pup, too.”

  I smiled at her. “You’re a treasure, Arwel. Give our best to Mavis and Cook.”

  She blushed and assured us she would.

  PJ gave her a parting hug and murmured her thanks.

  *

  We stowed our bags and drove along the wi
nding road to the ridge overlooking Dolgellau. At the top of the hill, we pulled over to take a final look at the picturesque village nestled in the valley below. We gazed in silence, remembering all that we had experienced.

  PJ’s hand rested on my thigh. I covered it with mine. She closed her eyes, and I could see tears escaping down her cheeks. She made no effort to stop them.

  She was no longer the young, playful woman that I knew so well. She had aged as the often-harsh realities of life caught up with her. We were both forever changed. But we had survived the pain, and we were better prepared for the journey ahead, wherever it took us.

  As if reading my mind, she gave my hand a squeeze. “So, are we moving anytime soon?”

  Smiling, I started the Rover up. “You seemed a bit upset.”

  “Just one of those mood swings.” She reached into her pocket and retrieved the small, smooth stone I had given her. She held it tightly in her fist. “This has a calming effect.”

  “Good. If it can’t be lucky, it can be calming.” I patted her thigh. “Is it okay for us to leave now?”

  The lopsided grin appeared. “Actually, I thought maybe you wanted me to drive this time.”

  With a laugh, I shifted into gear and we roared over the hill. “Not on your life, little one. And not on mine, either. With you at the wheel, all the calming stones in the world won’t protect me.”