The Master of Prophecy (The Sawyl Gwilym Chronicles Book 2)

by Benjamin Ford

  Taking a deep breath, Matthew took a single step over the threshold into the house, and froze. A sensation of dread and panic overwhelmed him, and he stumbled backwards, falling down the steps. He scrambled to his feet and ran all the way back down the drive, not bothering to shut the front door, not bothering to pick up the keys from where he had dropped them, not bothering to close the gates behind him.

  Once he was back inside the security of his car, with all the doors locked, he gripped the steering wheel tightly until his knuckles shone white, and he rested his forehead on his hands whilst he struggled to bring his breathing under control. His heart hammered so hard within his chest that he could almost hear it.

  ‘It’s not possible,’ he gasped as he sat there, staring in horror at the house. ‘It’s just not possible!’

  Whether it was possible or not, there was no denying the fact that something in his subconscious had recognised the interior of the house, just as the same subconscious recognition of its exterior had jolted him.

  He had been here before and something terrible had happened, though he could not remember what, and he could not remember when.

  Oddly, he also knew that whatever had happened had not actually happened to him, but that did not alleviate his unease. He was not yet ready to set foot in the building.

  Realising he could not leave the house wide open he steeled his resolve, dashing back to slam and lock the door – mentally noting that yet again he had selected the correct key – and then ran back to the car, dragging closed the heavy gates before he even had time to catch his breath.

  Then he climbed into the car and drove off at a reckless speed.

  *

  Louise awoke with a jolt and reached across her still-sleeping husband to lift the clock so that she could read the time, and was shocked to see that it was gone ten in the morning. She could not remember the last time she had slept right through the night without disturbance.

  No, actually that’s not true, she thought as she rested her head back on the plump duck-down pillow and stared at the ceiling. She could clearly recall the last time she had had a decent night’s sleep.

  Damn you, Peter Neville, why did you reappear in our lives again, only to be silent for the past year?

  Until his sudden reappearance in their lives last year, Louise had never suffered insomnia, not even when the children were babies. She would wake at their first cry, change them, feed them, comfort them, and then when they had settled down again, she would return to her own bed and fall into a contented sleep, her current motherly duties done.

  She was never tired, never stressed, and never lost her temper with the children. On numerous occasions, her mother had told her that she was a natural at parenting: Louise had much more patience than she had ever had.

  But those relaxing times and stress-free sleep-filled nights had ended last year when Peter Neville appeared and spoke through Phil, warning that the accursed Sawyl Gwilym was on his way back.

  Annoyingly, Peter had been incredibly vague about when the evil warlock’s reappearance would take place, and about who would be the vessel of his return. He had been completely evasive about how he knew what was going to happen: did spirits perhaps have some way of seeing the future, or perhaps the ability to travel through time?

  Anything was possible.

  Louise knew very well that time travel itself was indeed possible, but there were consequences. Her own encounter with that enigma had been a traumatic period in all their lives, but even that had little effect upon her sleep.

  The terror she felt knowing Sawyl Gwilym could reappear at any given moment kept her awake night after night. Her fear magnified every creaking noise made by the house during nocturnal hours, and made her heart race uncontrollably whilst she at the same time held her breath.

  Peter Neville had not even been able to tell her exactly how the Warlock had survived.

  Phil had long ago informed Louise of everything that had happened during Gloria’s penultimate visit to Ravenscreag Hall back in the summer of 1987. He had told her how his sister had apparently been the reincarnation of Sawyl Gwilym, and how after Wilma had eventually died, Mary Turner made certain the Warlock’s spirit could never again be reincarnated.

  The horrific act Mary Turner had perpetrated appalled Louise, but she had heard enough about Sawyl Gwilym to realise the consequences of any future reincarnation. Her willingness to believe in anything fantastical – which, considering the things she had actually witnessed, was not altogether difficult – helped suppress any doubts she might have harboured surrounding the validity of such an act of barbarism.

  However, when Peter had returned, offering no explanation as to how Sawyl Gwilym might have survived his execution, those doubts rekindled in Louise’s mind, festering away like a suppurating wound to her subconscious, gnawing away at her rational thought.

  How could anyone be certain that separating a head from a body after death would prevent the soul from reincarnating? Who was to say such a course of action would prevent Sawyl’s spirit from being reborn yet again? Perhaps Wilma’s soul alone would be unable to return, after all, Sawyl’s spirit had merely hitched a lift in her body.

  Suddenly those doubts and fears came to the forefront of Louise’s mind. Why should those thoughts suddenly become so clear, at precisely the moment she awoke from her first decent night’s sleep since Peter had returned to prophesise the Warlock’s return?

  She had no wish to dwell upon the possibilities. Better to just luxuriate in the afterglow of restful slumber and worry about the reasons for madness later.

  Lying beside her, Phil looked so peaceful that Louise did not want to disturb him, so she slipped quietly from the bed, eased her feet into her slippers and grabbed her dressing gown, before silently leaving the room.

  The house was peaceful now, as the children were staying with their grandparents in Crowborough for half term to give Phil and her a well deserved rest, but they were due back after dinner.

  Until the end of summer term, Glory had been an angelic child, but almost overnight she had become a nightmare, throwing tantrums left right and centre when she could not get her own way. She had never been a spoilt child, but had always somehow managed to twist Phil round her little finger and frequently got away with blue murder, but she had never once shown any tendencies towards temper tantrums before. If Phil told her she could not do something, have something or go somewhere, she had never once disobeyed. Now, she wilfully disobeyed her parents at every opportunity, and Louise found it increasingly difficult not to lose her own temper. She tried to be patient, and was finally able to empathise with her own mother, who frequently reminded her of what a wilful child she herself had been.

  The only redeeming quality was that Louise had outgrown her personal tantrums at sixteen and became an angel overnight, so she hoped Glory would follow her example. Another couple of years of bad behaviour might just about be bearable if there was a pleasant mannered young woman waiting for discovery at the end of it.

  Louise wondered how Glory had been behaving with her parents. Neither Susan nor Daniel was getting any younger and twelve year old twins and a precocious fourteen year old were a handful for anyone. She was always hesitant about sending the children to stay with her parents, but Susan insisted that she and Daniel looked forward to school holidays because looking after their grandchildren kept them young.

  As she put the bread in the toaster and switched on the kettle, Louise could not help but smile. She had warned the children to behave for their grandparents, and had told her mother that if they misbehaved in any way she was to mete out whatever punishment she felt fitted the situation and that if they got completely out of hand she was to telephone immediately and the children would be taken off her hands.

  Susan had not called all week, and it had taken all of Louise’s willpower to refrain from calling to make certain all was well.

  Phil had admired her restraint, idly commenting that Mrs Barncroft had done
an admirable job bringing up his wife, and that even at seventy-eight, she could hold her own against three adolescents.

  ‘Well, we’ll find out this evening when mother brings the terrors back,’ Louise muttered to herself as she pottered about the kitchen, setting out plates, cups and cutlery as she waited for the toaster to deliver its wares.

  She heard a noise behind her and whirled around in sudden dread. Half relieved to find Phil standing in the doorway yawning and stretching, she scowled at him. ‘You made me jump!’ she snapped.

  Rubbing his eyes, Phil fixed her with a penetrating stare. ‘For heaven’s sake, darling, just how much longer is this paranoia to continue?’

  ‘I’m not paranoid, I’m frightened. There’s a big difference.’

  Phil came over to stand behind her as she returned her attention to filling the coffee cups with boiling water, and wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling the back of her neck affectionately. ‘I’m sorry, darling. I know you are frightened. I can’t say my own nerves aren’t shot to hell. But it’s a year later, and nothing has happened.’

  ‘I know, Phil, but Peter didn’t give a timescale. It could have happened any time over the past year, or it might not happen for another ten years. That’s what’s so frustrating.’

  ‘My dear, I wish I could have been more forthcoming.’

  Louise emitted a shriek of alarm and pushed Phil away from her with a little more force than she intended, sending him sprawling. Her nerves were too tightly coiled at that moment and the sudden sound of Peter Neville’s voice whispering in her ear caught her off guard. She squealed again as the toaster delivered its contents.

  ‘My God, Peter, I wish you’d let me know when you’re going to put in an appearance,’ she cried, setting down the kettle. She hurried over to help her husband to his feet. ‘Nigh on twelve months of silence from you, and then you speak to me out of the blue whilst I’m holding a boiled kettle. Not the most sensible thing to do!’

  ‘My apologies,’ Peter continued. ‘I could not reveal to you when Sawyl Gwilym was to return for I did not know. He has now done so.’

  Louise blanched. ‘He’s back? Where?’

  ‘Somewhere close by,’ Peter responded, and Louise heard the fear that tinged his voice. ‘But I know not in whose body he has made his return. I shall not know that until he makes his first move.’

  ‘Then how do you know he has returned?’

  Phil looked deep into his wife’s eyes, his own blazing with a fury that was not his. ‘I can sense his malevolence.’

  ‘I guess that’s a spiritual thing,’ Louise sighed. She made no attempt at pretence when it came to the matters of the spirit world. She could not understand how the spirits were able to take control of the bodies of the living, nor why so many people she knew had been possessed at some point in the past.

  Why did Peter choose Phil as his vessel?

  How had Sawyl come back, and why?

  Louise knew from experience that a spirit hiding within the body of a living person could be clearly seen by another spirit, and now it seemed that a spirit could sense another spirit.

  Then again, perhaps it was more to do with the level of malevolence emanating from Sawyl Gwilym in particular.

  ‘Are you able to tell us then why he has returned?’ she asked, knowing perfectly well from Peter’s previous appearance that he had no intention of revealing how the Warlock had remained alive in spirit form. ‘Is he coming for us?’

  ‘Perhaps not for you, my dear, but his vengeful spirit will not rest until all those who enabled his defeat are dead.’

  ‘But Phil said Wilma fell down the stairs. Her death was an accident. And Mary Turner is dead, so who is he going to blame for his defeat?’

  ‘He holds Phil directly responsible,’ intoned Peter. ‘He wishes Phil dead, and will stop at nothing to exact that revenge. But there is more.’

  ‘What else?’ sighed Louise in desperation, her sense of unease mounting.

  ‘He believes he has found another way of attaining his immortality, and again he will stop at nothing to achieve it’

  ‘How can he be immortal if he is dead?’

  ‘I know not. That is why we must discover how he has returned to this world.’

  Louise was shocked. ‘Then you really don’t know how he’s come back?’

  Peter shook his head. ‘If we cannot find the answer to that question then we have no chance of vanquishing him once and for all!’

  *

  Joyce Lockridge put the key in the lock and opened the front door of Matthew’s house in the centre of Portsmouth, and found herself tutting when she was greeted with dirty clothes strewn over the floor in the hallway, though why she was always surprised by the state of the house was a mystery to her.

  Today was the first day she had been over to clean the house since Matthew’s return from his holiday, and in the week since his return, he had obviously done no washing.

  She shook her head sadly, sighing deeply as she closed the front door firmly behind her. ‘Oh Matthew, you really are an untidy wretch!’

  In spite of her mild annoyance, Joyce could not help chuckling softly to herself as she unbuttoned her coat, slipped it from her shoulders and hung it on the coat hook just inside the front door. ‘If you got your act together with Theo, you might become a tidier person!’

  Ever since her son calmly announced over breakfast one morning seven years ago that he was gay, Joyce had worried constantly about him. He was a mere sixteen at the time, and although she had had her suspicions for quite some time, it still came as something of a shock that her only child would never marry and have children to carry on the family line. She was glad her husband was not alive to hear the announcement, for it would surely have finished him off almost as certainly as being struck by the hit and run joy rider had.

  Archie Lockridge had been a defiantly old fashioned man, who believed entirely in the sanctity of marriage, frowned heavily upon sex before marriage and single mothers who sponged off the state, and deplored swearing and violence, so there was no way he would have accepted a homosexual son.

  Joyce had initially worried about Theo because of his tender years. She felt he was naïve and was terrified older men would prey upon him, out for their own sexual gratification. She worried that he would be used and abused mentally, discarded like a dirty dishrag when the current man of the moment grew tired of him.

  She underestimated her son though. Theo was no-one’s plaything. Gay he might be, but he had inherited his father’s morals, and though there would be no marriage, he had told her he did not believe in casual sex and deplored those friends of his who slept around. He was keeping himself for someone special, and that someone special turned out to be Matthew Silverthorne.

  Theo had always looked up to Matthew like an older brother, and though their relationship had come as something of a surprise to her, Joyce could think of no better boyfriend for her son. Even though he had been under the legal age of consent at the time, Joyce gave the pair her blessing: better that than drive them apart and away from her by forbidding their romance.

  Theo told her they had not consummated their love until his eighteenth birthday, and since her son was not prone to telling lies, and Matthew frequently informed her that he would never do anything to hurt Theo, she saw no reason for disbelief.

  The first cracks began to appear three years ago when Theo turned twenty. He began mixing with the wrong crowd when he started visiting the local clubs, and though Joyce was not about to start telling him who he could be friends with, she took an instant dislike to his new group of friends, whom she felt were leading him astray.

  Matthew hated nightclubs, but trusted Theo enough to not try to prevent him from going out and enjoying himself. He always maintained that they should both have their own groups of friends and their own interests as well as the things they did together.

  The change in Theo’s demeanour was immediate from the moment he met the five lads who would ultimately
lead him on a path to self-destruction.

  Where once he seldom consumed alcohol, suddenly he started coming home drunk almost every night to her house instead of going home to Matthew.

  Then one afternoon she returned home from doing the grocery shopping to find three of the lads wandering naked around her lounge, and the other two and Theo in the kitchen. It was clear to her that they had been entertaining a debauched afternoon of alcohol induced lust, and she was furious more than horrified. She threw the other lads out and berated Theo loudly for nearly an hour. She tried to make him see that he was throwing away something special with Matthew, but he responded that Matthew had become incredibly dull and boring, never going out, always writing his damn books. He told his mother not to interfere, and promptly disappeared for several days.

  At first, Joyce thought he had returned to Matthew’s house, until Matthew telephoned to ask if she knew where Theo was. She told him everything that had happened, and he was not the least bit surprised.

  Theo’s personality was completely unrecognisable from the youth Matthew had fallen in love with, and whilst he still loved her son desperately, he told Joyce he was uncertain whether it was worth the hassle and heartache to continue with the relationship.

  Joyce persuaded him to persevere. All relationships went through rocky periods. Why should theirs be any different? How they dealt with their problems would define their future together.

  Theo had come back to him, begging forgiveness, but within days had strayed again. He always went crawling back to Matthew after a bout of infidelity, and Matthew always welcomed him back.

  They bought their timeshare in Alicante that same October, and took a month out of their lives to try to salvage their relationship. It was the first of their consecutive October holidays where they split up, only to get back together again a month later, and for Theo to stray yet again soon after.

  It reached the point where Joyce sadly told Matthew that she felt he should look out for himself for a change. She did not think her son would ever once again become the nice young man she had nurtured, and felt Matthew deserved so much better. She loved her son, but deplored the way he treated his boyfriend, yet even now, she firmly believed the pair were meant to be together. They were soul mates, and if they could work through their problems, and if Theo could sort himself out, then they could quite easily have a long future together.