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

by Benjamin Ford

  Matthew smiled. Clearly, his own sleep had been so deep that he had not heard Liam enter the room at some point during the night, obviously unable to sleep himself. Matthew was quite enchanted by the fact that not only had Liam not awakened him, but that he had also chosen to sleep on the floor instead of climbing into bed with him.

  As if sensing that he was being observed, Liam suddenly opened his eyes, and smiled when he saw Matthew’s face peering down at him. ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Is it morning already?’

  Matthew nodded. ‘I slept like a log.’

  ‘I didn’t,’ sighed Liam, climbing shakily to his feet. He kept the blanket wrapped around his body. ‘I kept hearing things as I was trying to get to sleep: footsteps, voices, moaning, laughing, screaming; you name it, and last night I heard it! Didn’t you?’

  Matthew pursed his lips, and then shook his head. ‘No, I didn’t hear a thing. I think I must have fallen asleep the moment my head touched the pillow.’

  ‘I guess I must be more attuned to ghosts than you. One came into my room in the night.’

  Matthew’s eyes widened as he moaned in excited fear. ‘You saw one? A real ghost?’

  ‘No, but my door opened and closed of its own accord, and then footsteps came across the floor towards the bed. The air got very cold too. I just grabbed the pillow and blanket, and legged it out of there.’

  Matthew found himself shivering with anticipation. ‘I kind of wish you’d woken me up!’

  ‘You want to see a ghost, don’t you?’ gasped Liam incredulously.

  Matthew nodded enthusiastically. ‘I think it’s the fear of the unknown that makes this house so damned creepy; not knowing whether it really is haunted or not. Perhaps I’m mad, but I believe that if I see a ghost, if I prove to myself that they exist, then I won’t be so frightened of them. The fear they hold over me comes from not knowing whether they are real or not.’

  ‘Trust me, they’re real! Ghosts exist in this house. I’m not sleeping on my own here again.’

  Matthew chuckled impishly. ‘Are you sure this isn’t just a crafty ploy to get me to share my bed with you, young man?’

  Liam made a face of mock-offence. ‘How could you even suggest such a thing?’ He grinned. ‘The thought had crossed my mind, but I decided against it. We’re getting on so well, I didn’t want to ruin our new friendship.’

  ‘Very wise. Listen, we can always drag one of the other beds in here, if you’re going to stay.’

  A shadow of disappointment flickered briefly across Liam’s eyes. It was an understated display of the young man’s emotions, which did not pass unnoticed by Matthew, who felt marginal sympathy for the lad.

  ‘I can’t get involved, Liam,’ he said gently. ‘I still love Theo.’ His words took him by surprise. He had come away from Portsmouth to write in peace, and to sort out his feelings for Theo. Unbidden, yet reawakened by the proximity of a devilishly handsome young man who was clearly enamoured with him, his feelings for Theo resurfaced. They were genuine and unfettered by bitter recriminations.

  Yes indeed – I love Theo!

  Matthew patted Liam’s hand affectionately. ‘I know you’d like there to be more between us, mate, but it can’t happen. I’m so sorry.’

  Liam pulled the blanket tighter around his body, smiling through his pain of rejection. He shrugged his shoulders with a sigh. ‘Ah well, I guess I’ll just have to worship you from afar.’

  ‘Don’t worry; someone else will come along who will love you in return!’

  ‘I know you’re right, it’s just… I was hoping…’

  ‘You were hoping I was the one. Liam, mate, you’re young; you’re inexperienced. With time, you will learn to tell the difference between lust and love. Anyway, enough of that, who do you suppose visited your room last night?’

  ‘How should I know? Elaine Oakhurst, probably!’

  Matthew scrambled from the bed, moved to the window, and flung aside the heavy velvet drapes that all but obliterated the light, dismayed at the sight of yet more rain. ‘Well,’ he said with a sigh, ‘it looks like it’s too wet to go traipsing all the way up to the hill today. I suggest we get dressed and have some breakfast, and then thoroughly explore this house.’ He turned to face Liam again. ‘If you still want to spend time with me?’

  Liam smiled, ‘Yours isn’t the first knock-back I’ve had, Matt, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. I might be young and inexperienced, but I’m mature enough to maintain a newfound friendship.’

  ‘Good, because I actually really like you, Liam, and I’d hate to think of our friendship ending over this.’

  Liam came to stand beside Matthew, staring out of the window. For some reason, he felt aggrieved at the prospect of not going up to Wicca Hill. He felt certain another day or two would make little difference, and yet he desperately wanted to go there now.

  He leaned into the window alcove, pressing his forehead against the cold glass as he squinted into the distance. ‘There’s someone down by the main gate,’ he said, not taking his eyes off the figure, who stood clearly visible on the other side of the gates.

  Matthew felt a chill as he slowly started to turn. ‘Is it a fat young man?’ he muttered.

  ‘No, it’s a woman.’

  ‘Oh!’ Matthew faced the window quickly, peering out into the deluge. He could see the female figure, but her features were hidden beneath the umbrella she carried to shield herself from the rain.

  ‘Do you know who she is?’ Liam asked, turning to glance at Matthew, who shrugged. ‘Well, perhaps one of us ought to go and see what she wants?’

  ‘There’s no need,’ sighed Matthew as another figure joined the woman as the gate. He instantly recognised the second figure, and he felt anger bubble slowly within him. He threw on his trousers and a jumper, and slipped into his shoes as quickly as he could, ignoring Liam’s impassioned plea for an explanation.

  He ran from the room, leaving Liam beside the window, listening to Matthew’s footsteps as he hurtled down the stairs, tripping occasionally over the untied laces of his shoes. Upon hearing the front door open, Liam returned his attention to the window, staring down through the driving rain to watch as Matthew raced down the driveway to the gates.

  It was then that Liam realised an older man had joined the woman, and was clearly unwilling to set foot in the grounds, even as Matthew opened the gates and beckoned them in.

  Cajoled by the woman, who now stood beside Matthew with her back to the house, the man took one faltering step past the boundary of the estate, and then another.

  Even from his vantage point at the window, Liam could tell the man really did not want to be there.

  Probably heard all the ghost stories, he ruminated wryly as he wondered who the two people were, and whether he would be expected to remain hidden from them, or whether it would be all right to go downstairs and meet them once Matthew brought them up to the house.

  He decided that since nothing had happened between Matthew and him, he had no reason to remain secreted upstairs, so he returned to his room, dressed, and then made his way down to the ground floor, where he busied himself in the kitchen, making a pot of tea.

  Eventually, he heard footsteps and muted voices, and he poked his head into the hallway. ‘I’ve just made a pot of tea, Matt,’ he called.

  ‘Thanks, Liam. Could you bring it into the back sitting room, and bring a couple of extra cups for my guests.’

  Liam placed the teapot and cups on a tray, along with the bag of sugar, carton of milk and spoons, and lifting it carefully, made his way from the kitchen and into the sitting room facing Wicca Hill.

  Sitting in one of the armchairs, Matthew glanced up as Liam entered the room. He smiled, though Liam sensed he was not exactly happy. ‘Thanks, Liam.’

  Liam glanced at the man and woman, who sat apart on the sofa. The middle-aged woman gave him a curious look of deflated defeat. He had no idea who she was, but guessed Matthew would introduce her in due course.

  The man resem
bled an older version of Matthew, so Liam correctly guessed he must be his father. Liam knew hardly anything concerning Matthew’s family, but one thing they both knew about each other was their respective fathers’ mutual dislike for their lifestyle choices.

  Liam set the tray down on the low table beside the sofa, aware that both newcomers were scrutinizing him carefully.

  ‘Liam, I’d like you to meet my father, Roger, and Joyce, Theo’s mother.’

  Ah, thought Liam at that revelation. That explains the look she gave me. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you both,’ he smiled as he poured them each a cup of tea, passing them the cups with slightly trembling hands.

  Roger in particular unnerved him, but he could not say why.

  ‘Thank you, young man,’ said Joyce as she took the proffered cup.

  Roger remained tight lipped and silent, as though not wishing to trust himself to speak.

  ‘So then, what brings the pair of you to this neck of the woods?’ Matthew muttered, holding tightly onto his own cup. ‘Did you come up here together?’

  ‘Oh no, dear, I had no idea your father was coming,’ said Joyce hastily. ‘I’ve been staying with a family friend in the neighbouring village.’

  At Joyce’s words, Matthew arched an eyebrow. ‘Coincidence?’

  Joyce chuckled. ‘Hardly. It’s coincidence that Elendale is the neighbouring village to Neville Hill, where she lives, but it’s you I came to see, Matthew.’

  ‘Really? Why?’

  Joyce sighed. ‘It occurred to me that this big old house you inherited, having probably been empty for months, might be in need of a damn good clean.’ She glanced around and wiped a finger over the surface of the side table. ‘All things considered, it would seem you might not need my help after all!’

  Matthew laughed. ‘Joyce, you haven’t seen the other rooms!’

  Joyce rubbed her hands together with glee. ‘Thank the stars. I was beginning to think I’d had a wasted journey.’ She indicated Liam, sat on one of the other chairs at right angles to the sofa she shared with Roger. ‘So, who’s your young friend here?’

  ‘This is Liam Samwell, a local lad. His parents run the local pub, where I stayed when I fist arrived here.’

  Joyce arched an eyebrow. ‘You didn’t come straight to the house?’

  Matthew shook his head. ‘Can you not feel the strange atmosphere in this house?’ When Joyce indicated that she could not, Matthew sighed. ‘You will, dear, you will – if you stay here long enough.’

  ‘If it’s that bad, why are you staying?’

  Everyone turned to face Roger as he spoke for the first time. He was staring intently at his son, completely ignoring the other pair.

  ‘Don’t let’s start arguing, Dad,’ Matthew sighed. ‘I think you made your feelings about me coming here perfectly clear back in Pompey.’

  ‘I thought so, but you chose to ignore my words of warning, and so now here you are, telling us you have first hand experience of the nature of this house.’

  Joyce faced Roger on the sofa. ‘Can you sense it too, then? Am I alone in not understanding the nature of the house? Am I the only one who cannot feel this… atmosphere… to which you refer?’

  ‘This house is cursed,’ intoned Roger, as though Joyce had not spoken. ‘I tried to prevent you coming here, but in disobeying my request, you will have awakened the spirits that reside within the four walls of this dwelling place.’

  ‘Hang on,’ countered Joyce, frowning. ‘Matthew said the house had an atmosphere, which was why he stayed at the local pub to begin with, but you are saying his presence here has reawakened the spirits. Surely the spirits must have already been awake to give the place the atmosphere that so terrified Matthew?’

  ‘Very astute, me dear,’ muttered Roger softly. He looked across at her. ‘There are a great number of spirits occupying this house, but there are also those who lay dormant until their kindred spirit returns.’

  ‘You mean that in coming to this house, Matthew has reawakened another long dormant spirit?’

  Roger turned to face Liam, frowning slightly. ‘I don’t know what your connection to my son is, young man, but I would recommend that you not stay here. I fear bad things are about to happen.’

  ‘Dad, stop it!’ snapped Matthew, rising angrily to his feet. ‘Liam is here as my guest. This is my house, and I decide who stays. Just because you disapprove of my lifestyle, that does not give you the right to try and frighten my friends out of my life.’

  Roger fixed Matthew with baleful eyes. ‘I care not about such matters, child. I merely have no wish to witness an innocent hurt when the path of vengeance is followed once more.’

  When Roger spoke in the distinctly different yet oddly familiar voice, Joyce shifted away surreptitiously. She glanced in Matthew’s direction, relieved only slightly by his indication that she should not be unduly alarmed.

  Liam smiled uneasily at Matthew. ‘Don’t worry, Matt, perhaps your father is right. Maybe it’s best if I do leave. I ought to let Mum know I’m okay, anyway.’

  ‘Please don’t leave on account of my father,’ Matthew said, seeking to reassure his young friend. ‘That wasn’t him speaking!’

  ‘Yeah, I kind of guessed that. Look, it’s all right, really, I’ll see you around the village I’m sure, but for the moment, I shall leave you and your… father… to have a little chat.’

  Matthew followed Liam from the sitting room, leaving Joyce and Roger alone.

  ‘Who… who are you?’ Joyce managed to whisper, as Roger turned to regard her curiously.’

  ‘I am Hrothgar. I have come home to protect my child!’ Roger responded in the same peculiar variant of his own voice.

  ‘Your child?’ gasped Joyce as she struggled to comprehend what was going on. ‘Am I to understand it that you are a reincarnated spirit, and that the spirit of your child is reincarnated in Matthew?’

  ‘That is so.’

  ‘And your child is in danger?’

  ‘Indeed, the child has been in danger before, but I have never been close enough at hand to help. This time it is different. I can help this time.’

  ‘But who are you?’

  Matthew chose that moment to storm back into the room. ‘For fuck’s sake, Dad, what’s wrong with you?’ He glanced at Joyce apologetically. ‘I’m sorry for my language, Joyce, but really!’ He returned his angry gaze to his father. ‘You really are the absolute limit, Dad! Liam is just a friend, nothing more. Nothing happened between us last night, and nothing is going to happen, either! There was no need for you to frighten him away from here like that.’

  ‘I’m sorry, son. Believe it or not, I didn’t actually come here to fight with you.’ Roger once more spoke in his normal voice, much to the relief of Joyce.

  ‘So why did you come here then?’ demanded Matthew tersely.

  ‘To make certain you are all right. I meant what I said about believing something bad is going to happen. Something has been awakened within the walls of this house, and it’s not good news.’

  Matthew sank into the armchair once more. ‘My God, you really are serious, aren’t you?’

  Can it be that I have misjudged Dad all these years, wondered Matthew?

  Can it be that Roger Silverthorne actually cares enough about Matthew to have made the long journey, just to check he is all right, mused Joyce?

  They both pondered the possibility that the spirit Roger carried within him had brought him to Four Oaks.

  It was disconcerting to think that a spirit could take control of another person. At times, Matthew felt it was all in his own imagination, which was why he felt the urgent need for proof that ghosts and spirits did exist. If it could explain his father’s constant odd behaviour, then perhaps their father-son relationship might yet be salvaged, and if no proof should be found, then that would indicate to him that for whatever reason, Roger was merely pretending to be possessed from time to time.

  Matthew was unsure which of the two was the more preferable scenario.


  ‘Listen, you two,’ Joyce began, trying to choose her words carefully, ‘I don’t know what’s going on here, and I’m not entirely sure I want to know, either.’ She faced Matthew. ‘If you want me to clean the house for you, I’m still willing to do so, but if there’s any chance I’m going to be in some kind of danger, well then I’m afraid I shall leave you to it. Supernatural shenanigans give me the willies.’

  Roger smiled at her. ‘Worry yourself not, gentle lady,’ he intoned once more in the odd voice, ‘you have nought to fear. None of these happenings concerns your good self.’

  Joyce rose to her feet, holding up her hand for silence. ‘Enough already,’ she stammered. ‘I think it’s best that I leave you to it.’

  She almost ran from the sitting room, with Matthew close on her heels. ‘Joyce, please wait,’ he called after her.

  Joyce whirled around, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. ‘Matthew, how can you possibly remain so calm about all this? Your father is possessed by the spirit of some other man, who is here to help protect…’ Her voice trailed off as Matthew laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Did he say who he was, this spirit?’

  Flustered by Matthew’s apparent calmness at the situation, it unnerved Joyce more that he should be taking such unnatural events in his stride than it did to hear Roger speak with the strange inflection to his voice. ‘You know?’ she gasped. ‘You know that he is being possessed?’

  Matthew patted her hand, offering a vaguely reassuring smile. ‘It’s all right, Joyce, Mum and I know he is possessed by someone else, but we just don’t know who. Apparently, I’m possessed too.’

  ‘You are possessed?’ gasped Joyce, eyes wide with shock. It had not occurred to her that Matthew might know of this fact.

  With a wry smile, Matthew nodded. ‘Apparently it is so, yes.’

  Joyce emitted a deep sigh. ‘Well, that explains a few things.’ She caught Matthew’s look of curiosity, and with a soft chuckle, patted his hand. ‘You and I need to have a conversation, Matthew, without your father hanging around!’