A Passionate Spirit

by S. C. Skillman

  “You’ve no hope!” yelled James. “We’ve got you!”

  They fled deeper into the wood, stumbling over tree roots and uneven ground. Poppy lost her footing and pitched forward into a pile of stones. Zoe bent to lift her up, knowing the darting beam of James’s torch was hunting them down. The damp odour of decomposing leaf litter filled her nostrils.

  “Come on, Poppy!” she coaxed the weeping child. “Come on! We can do this!”

  Flailing fingers grazed her sleeve. She jerked herself from James’s grasp.

  “Run, Poppy, run!” she cried.

  Poppy scurried away into the undergrowth. James instantly seized Zoe’s arm in a fierce grip.

  “She won’t get far on her own,” he snarled.

  Zoe screamed, as another torch beam cut through the trees behind James. She lifted her right knee high then kicked back. He bellowed in pain and let her go. She made off at once, but an overhanging branch caught the collar of her jacket. As she struggled to free herself, strong hands lashed out and James was onto her.

  “Natasha!” he yelled. “I’ve got her!”

  “Hold on. I’ll get Poppy.” Natasha sprinted past.

  Zoe gave a violent twist and pushed James away. She was about to launch herself off again, but he grabbed hold of her by one arm and swung her to face him. She raised her free hand and slapped his face hard.

  He gasped then punched her in the ribs. The force of it sent her sprawling to the ground. But, despite the throbbing pain in her side, she scrambled to her feet and flung herself forward. She slid down a sharp incline of loose stones, and at the bottom, picked herself up and fled. After trampling a wide area of dying ferns and scrambling over at least half a dozen fallen branches, she halted, gasping, beside a tree-stump.

  She turned to find James right there, directing his torch beam into her face. Dazzled, she shrank back. He kept the beam trained on her as he closed in.

  “At last,” he panted.

  She struck him across the arm that held the torch, knocking it from his hand. As he cursed and stumbled, she dived onto the torch. She straightened and shone it into his face. He fell back a few paces, swearing. He looked as if he was on an SAS training exercise through challenging terrain. His face was smeared with dirt, and his eyes bloodshot.

  They both waited, their chests heaving. But as she stared at him, wide-eyed with terror, a mental image clicked into place. Those bloodshot eyes were familiar. Holding the torch steady in her left hand, she bent and snatched up a rock from the ground with her right. Any moment he’d make another move towards her.

  He sprang and she hurled the rock at him. It struck him in the stomach and he lurched backwards, landing with a crash in a bed of brambles. She kept the torch beam on him. As she watched, he began to sink. There was a dismal gurgle. The brambles had formed a masking screen across a bog. She gazed intently at James wallowing in fetid water.

  Then she refocused. That memory again filled her mental screen.

  A man lurched out of the trees, and swayed before her. He wore a long, filthy coat. Bloodshot eyes held her in scrutiny; thick beard and matted hair; half-full bottle of wine in his hand.

  Her mind ricocheted further back, to her session of online research. Along with other pieces of information about James, she’d learned that his acting career included numerous walk-on parts as antisocial types and loners. And those parts would, of course, have required him to dress up as a tramp.

  “James,” she said. “The vagrant… Was it you?”

  “At last,” he snarled. “Took you long enough, didn’t it? I’m an actor; and a good one.”

  “Not my idea of one,” she said. “The only actors I’ve ever known, apart from you, have been good people. You’re sick.” She swung round in disgust, ready to continue her flight, and ran into the arms of Natasha.

  “I’ve taken care of Poppy,” said Natasha, tightening her grip on Zoe’s upper arm, just above the elbow. “Now I need you.”

  “What have you done to her?” screamed Zoe, twisting and squirming, but unable to escape Natasha’s grasp.

  “Stop struggling. It’s hopeless. I’ve got the child. She’s nice and quiet. You’d do well to follow her example. It’s all over, Zoe.” Still holding Zoe’s arm, she turned her torch on James, who was struggling to escape.

  “Well done, James,” she said. “But get out of that bog. You look dreadful.”

  James heaved himself out and came to stand beside Zoe and Natasha, covered with a thick coating of mud, and training a murderous glare upon Zoe. Zoe stared back at James. She was trembling as a result of her recent exchange with Natasha – who still held her fast.

  Something hard struck her on the head. A black fog descended. She felt herself sinking following the shape of a spiral.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Zoe opened her eyes. She lay on her back on a bitterly cold surface. A sharp pain stabbed her in the side. She blinked a few times. The darkness was relieved only by a very low light.

  She began to explore her ribs with her fingers and they met a soft, smooth material, which felt like silk. Then she put her hand out again, to feel around her. Her fingers met stone. Her head throbbed. She tried to roll onto her other side, but couldn’t summon the strength.

  She worked her parched tongue around her mouth. After swallowing several times, taking two or three deep breaths, and balling her hands into tight fists, she managed to raise herself onto one elbow and look around. In front and above her was a tall candle-stand with tulip sconces, in which burned four tall candles.

  She shot a desperate glance down at herself. Her own muddy and torn clothes had gone, and in their place she wore a long, silk dress. Her feet were bare, and icy cold. With a groan, she sat up. She stared around again, her heart pounding. She could barely make out dim shapes beyond the candle-stand. To the left, her hand met a flat, vertical timber surface. Breathing in again, she smelt a heavy fragrance: incense. She grimaced at the cloying sweetness of it.

  Another candle burned in a stone dish on a table just to the right of where she lay. The flat timber surface to her left was the back of a pew. Elsewhere in the darkness, further candles burned. Twisting round, and looking up, she saw an arched window above her, deeply inset into the thickness of the wall. Another candle flame shone steadily on the window ledge and beyond it she could make out the leadlights. Wincing at the pain in her side, she turned again, and began to get to her feet.

  “Awake, Zoe?”

  She stood up, and found herself face-to-face with Natasha, who wore a similar dress to hers and over it a floor-length white satin cloak.

  “Natasha!” she gasped. “What’s going on? Why are we here?”

  “They only hold services here once a month,” replied Natasha. “Ideal. Sonya managed to get the keys.”

  “But why are we here?” Zoe repeated. “And why am I dressed like this?”

  “Let me answer your second question first,” smiled Natasha, “You wouldn’t want to have stayed in those sweaty, torn clothes of yours, would you? And as to your first question, well, the answer is that tonight, we initiate you and Poppy. Now, relax, don’t worry, everything will be perfect, so long as you obey me, of course.”

  “But I don’t choose to obey you,” cried Zoe. “I refuse to be ‘initiated’. Remember, Natasha,” she continued, urgently trying to contact something in Natasha that would respond to normal human decency and reason, “when you healed people, you always needed them to ask you first, didn’t you?” She spread her hands out, palms uppermost.

  Natasha laughed. “Yes, that’s clever of you, Zoe, to remember. But I’m afraid, in the spiritual dimension things are far more complex than that. It was important that your guests believed they’d chosen freely. But in reality, I was reaching out to them with my own subtle will, making them want the very thing I knew would be perfect for them.”

  Zoe clapped both her hands to her head.

  “No, Natasha, it won’t work with me, I promise you. I do not ch
oose to be ‘initiated’. I have not asked to come here. And I reject whatever it is you plan to do. And where is Poppy?”

  “Safe on the chancel steps. But Zoe, there’s no need to reject me; you have nothing to fear. You and Poppy will both be initiated into a world so beautiful you could never have imagined it. Just remember. All power has been given to me, in heaven and upon earth.”

  Zoe swallowed.

  “What on earth makes you think those words apply to you?”

  Natasha gave a light chuckle. “Zoe, you have a very rebellious spirit. But I must admit I like that in you; you’re more of a challenge to me.”

  Zoe swiftly changed tactics. “Never mind me. What of Poppy? She’s far too young to have agreed to anything.”

  “Of course,” said Natasha. “We must make decisions for her. It happens with infant baptism all the time.”

  Zoe tried to push past, but Natasha remained immobile.

  “Just now you said Poppy was safe. What does that mean? And why should I believe you? How can you play such a dangerous game with an innocent child, Natasha?”

  “‘Innocent’, you say?” responded Natasha. “Who gave you the right to judge? Only I can do that. Once I’ve initiated you both, and you’ve sworn to follow me, then neither you nor Poppy need worry any more about whatever you’ve done in your lives. I’ll assume responsibility for all the years to come.”

  Zoe longed to fight Natasha’s bizarre claims, but a desperate sense of vulnerability and powerlessness rose in her, and the dryness in her mouth had worsened.

  “Ultimately, of course,” added Natasha, “I’ll have the Celtic Knot studio. It will be ideal as a chapel and well-suited to my purposes.”

  Zoe tried to speak, but her voice broke up. “Can I have a glass of water?” she asked huskily.

  “Sorry. No running water here, I’m afraid. This church is unmodernised.”

  Zoe nearly sobbed, but instead, forced out another question she’d been longing to ask.

  “You say you want to ‘collect’ children; but how?”

  Natasha gave Zoe a look of cool contempt.

  “That’s no concern of yours. All you need know is this: I’ll rescue children from the life they would have lived, if not for my intervention. I have a lot of support in this. Disciples in many professions are working for me.”

  Zoe’s face burned and her arms and legs tingled. The powerful incense in the atmosphere took hold of her, beginning to fog her mind and make her dizzy.

  “No more questions,” said Natasha.

  “But…” said Zoe, fighting for clarity.

  A key scraped in the church-door lock.

  “Ah, here comes my assistant,” said Natasha.

  Behind Natasha, the heavy door creaked open, and the new arrival stepped in. The door closed and Sonya stood there, wearing a gown identical to Zoe’s and Natasha’s. Natasha swung to face her.

  “Welcome, Sonya,” she said.

  “Ah, Zoe’s awake. We can get on with the ceremony,” said Sonya.

  “I’ll take part in no ceremony,” cried Zoe. “Show me where Poppy is.”

  “Over there,” said Natasha, turning back again, and pointing towards the chancel.

  Zoe ran up the narrow aisle and stopped dead when she reached the chancel steps. Two tall candle-stands were placed in front of each choir-stall. Between them lay Poppy, quiet and still, on the crimson runner at the entrance to the chancel.

  The child’s eyes were closed. By the light of the candles, Zoe saw she too was dressed in white. Zoe’s heart thundered against her ribs, which still ached from James’s attack. She knelt down on the second chancel step and placed her hand on the little girl’s chest, leaning in to put her ear to her lips. Poppy was breathing softly. Zoe had no doubt at all that her sleep was drug-induced. Still kneeling on the step, Zoe twisted round to face the two sisters once more. Neither had moved from their position at the west end of the church, between the medieval font and the votive light stand.

  Zoe scrambled to her feet, keeping her eyes on Natasha and Sonya. Her head began to swim again. It seemed as if the observing part of her had detached and floated away from her body. And then she started to feel Natasha’s psyche reaching out to her, across the length of the aisle; seeking to leach her free will from her. She fought against it. God, help me, she repeated beneath her breath.

  Natasha’s healings sprang again to her mind. Although Natasha went through the charade of waiting for people to ask, they were in reality bound by something much stronger than themselves, over which they had no control. Their main concern was the bodily pain which had previously held them in its grip; and when Natasha released them from it, through a power nobody understood, she won them, heart, mind and soul.

  Zoe shot a desperate glance down at Poppy again. The child still lay on her back, fast asleep. Then Zoe looked up towards the altar. Another four-foot-tall candle-stand stood to its left. And beside this, Zoe saw a small table. On it had been placed a large plate, a jug and two goblets.

  Zoe gasped. She recognised these items at once. The special ceramic communion set! Even now, the high gloss of the cobalt-blue glaze glimmered in the candlelight. She spun to face the sisters again.

  “You’re a thief, Natasha,” she cried.

  Natasha laughed. “They’re mine by right,” she said. “I’ll put them to much better use than you and Theo would have done.”

  Before Zoe could answer, she heard the heavy, iron latch of the south door clunk down, and the door opened once again. She froze. James entered, clean and well groomed, and wearing white robes. Sonya handed him the keys; he closed and locked the door, then deposited the keys in a pocket in the folds of his robes.

  Zoe’s stomach turned. This was like some creepy, perverse piece of theatre. But it was terrifyingly real. She cast a desperate glance towards Natasha again. The white satin of the healer’s cloak gleamed as she stood close to the votive light stand, full of steadily-burning tea-lights. Sonya and James waited on her right-hand side.

  “Soon you will be ready to be sworn to the service of the Divine Master,” they said in unison.

  Fighting tears of anger and fear, Zoe crouched down again to take Poppy’s hand in hers. It felt limp and cool.

  “Now James has arrived, we can begin,” said Sonya. Zoe heard the swish of satin and silk as they processed up the aisle. She released the child’s hand and jumped up quickly to face them.

  “Never!” she shouted.

  Only Natasha and Sonya had moved. James stood still, as if awaiting further instructions. Perhaps he was after all, despite all his behaviour in the previous weeks, merely a pawn in Natasha’s game; but Zoe couldn’t be sure.

  Sonya halted at the foot of the chancel steps. Natasha turned, walked across to the pulpit, and ascended the steps. Zoe’s stomach clenched. God, she thought. Surely Natasha wasn’t going to give some warped sermon to them all? Once at the top, Natasha turned to face her small audience, lifted her chin, held her arms out wide with uplifted hands, like an inspired preacher, and began: “I, alone, know the Truth. I alone can connect you with the world of Spirit to which you truly belong. I am the Divine Master.”

  Zoe listened in cold horror, her spine prickling with perspiration. James moved swiftly to join Sonya. Their eyes fixed on the healer, the two disciples both murmured their rapt agreement.

  “Zoe, soon you and Poppy will be given your permanent entrance into that world,” said Natasha.

  Zoe’s heart pounded. The pungency in the air weighed upon her spirits, quite as much as Natasha’s words and actions. But, she told herself, she must remain alert; all her energies must be concentrated on guarding Poppy, and keeping her from harm.

  “You’ll both be wrapped in security,” continued Natasha, “you’ll have an enormous sense of liberation and freedom from the limitations of the body, an increased sense of knowledge and power, and a vast capacity to cultivate those things which you feel should be cultivated.”

  Ice cold tears escaped
from the corners of Zoe’s eyes and traced their way down her cheek. She clenched her fists, and with mind and body she fought against Natasha’s words, yet at the same time she felt her spirit weakening, as the sound of Natasha’s voice now began to entrance her together with the vision of her lovely face, her pale-gold flowing hair, and her slim arms uplifted in glimmering white silk.

  “The only reality is spiritual,” said Natasha. “The only real world is the spiritual world, and the real ‘you’ haunts, but is by no means identified with, the temple of clay which is called the body. There are two things: the darkness and the light. If you have negative feelings, you are poured into darkness. I call upon you now to let go of all that is negative. Surrender yourself to me. Know that I am the power that rules your fate. Cling to nothing else. You have nothing to defend.”

  The tingling sensation down her back rapidly spread around Zoe’s ribs, and to every part of her body.

  “Why should I surrender myself to you, Natasha?” she cried.

  “Because,” replied Natasha, “I have entered the Silence. Just as it’s possible for the mind to move in and out of the flesh at birth, sleep and death, so do I move in and out of different forms at will. I alone can be trusted, Zoe. Follow my voice.”

  Zoe’s head swirled again. Her stomach contracted. She knew the incense was a psychoactive drug. It was invading her mind. She began reciting the Lord’s Prayer.

  “Our Father in Heaven, Hallowed be Your Name…”

  Natasha’s voice broke in. “In a few moments, Zoe, I’ll open the door for you, which is the opening to freedom.”

  New thoughts flashed across Zoe’s mind. This was a village church; there’d be a community close by. She might try to attract attention from outside. A passer-by could see the candlelight through the windows, surely. But why should they not believe it was a small Christian group using the church?

  Natasha descended the steps of the pulpit and moved to the top of the aisle, facing the altar. James and Sonya fell back, and stood, waiting, behind her. Zoe remained where she was, on the top chancel step, beside Poppy.