On the Edge of Darkness

by Barbara Erskine

  Ivor read the note and sighed. ‘Presumably Giles has gone after her?’

  Liza nodded. ‘If they could just have waited till we got here.’

  ‘I think I’ve found the reason they didn’t wait.’ On the kitchen table, amongst the letters and papers scattered there, Ivor had uncovered Giles’s phone. The battery, when he tried to switch it on, was flat. ‘They never got your messages.’

  ‘Dear God!’ Liza sat down abruptly on a kitchen stool. ‘What have we done, bringing Adam here?’

  ‘We’ve brought him to the place where he needs to be.’ He looked at her gravely. ‘I’m sure we’ve done the right thing, but all we can do now is wait to see what Beth is doing.’

  ‘To see if she survives,’ Liza retorted sharply. ‘She is facing Brid out there, don’t forget.’

  ‘I haven’t forgotten.’ Ivor patted her hand reassuringly. ‘I think it is time we went up to Adam. Let’s see if we can make ourselves heard.’

  Meryn was standing in the shadows, watching the silhouette against the sun as it set behind the mountains. Broichan was there, his arms folded in the sleeves of his dark robe. He had tensed, his senses alert, aware suddenly that he was no longer alone, that the one who had been pursuing him through the ages was close. Turning slowly, his back to the crimson sky, Broichan surveyed the woods. Behind him in the hut Brid’s sleeping form lay still, covered by a blanket of rich fur.

  Meryn glided closer on silent feet, aware of the cold purity of the air around him, of the intense silence of time. He was so close now.

  He drew his cloak of protection around him and felt himself grow strong.

  Beth couldn’t believe it was so easy. The hillside was sunlit and green, the heather purple, the vast backdrop of mountains grey against the blue of the sky. Looking round she could see the cross-slab, close beside her. She frowned, expecting to see the carvings – the zed rod, the serpent, the mirror – but instead all she could see was the huge wheel cross in relief on the granite, and below it the soft grass.

  She heard herself sob out loud. It hadn’t worked. She wasn’t looking for a cross. She was in the wrong place.

  She moved closer to the stone and then she saw them, the ancient symbols on the back of it, clear, newly drawn, strong.

  So, the child of A-dam’s child is here …

  The voice was coming from immediately behind her. Beth whirled round. Brid was standing near the stone, a shiny iron knife, newly honed, in her hand, the silver knife long-ago stolen from Catriona lost somewhere in the long grasses of a twentieth-century hillside. She was dressed in a long green gown, and a leather girdle. At her waist hung the empty sheath.

  The child of A-dam’s child.

  It was like a mantra inside her head, but Brid’s lips had not moved.

  Beth took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. ‘Adam? Where is Adam? Tell me where he is. I’ve come to find him.’

  Panic was fogging her brain. Or was it sleep? Was she really just dreaming, still lying in the bed in the house beside Giles, as the mist lapped round the windows?

  Remember what Meryn had told her. Picture her own neat notes, pages of them, fix them in her mind. Surround herself with light. Repeat her own mantra of protection, call on her own gods and angels. She squared her shoulders, trying to hide her fear, stepping forwards instead of back as Meryn had insisted she do.

  ‘Brid, you must tell me where Adam is. He does not belong here – ’

  But suddenly Brid was looking beyond her towards the trees, her eyes enormous with fear. Beth could hear it now too, the rumble of thunder and the sizzle and crack of the lightning bolt.

  Her concentration broke and she whirled round. A tall figure stood there, a man with a fine aquiline face and wild white hair. His robe of scarlet and gold thread was covered with a mantle of heavy black. In his hand he held a sword. Beth stared at him for a full second, Brid forgotten, then she turned and ran. Her feet slipped on the grass. She gasped for breath. Her terror was overwhelming.

  Beth, stand firm. Do not be afraid. I’m here. It was Meryn’s voice inside her head.

  Where was he? Frantically she looked around her. ‘Meryn!’

  Beth, the barriers between the planes are open. Bring Adam through now whilst time stands still.

  The sun had gone in and she was again surrounded by mist. It was so thick she could see nothing. The sleet beat against her face and she could feel the needle-sharp cut of ice.

  Meryn, help me! Where is Adam? I can’t see him! Her own voice seemed to be in her head. She was imprisoned in a nightmare, unable to free herself, running, but not moving, breathing, gasping for breath, but suffocating as her lungs locked.

  Blindly she turned. There were other figures now in the mist near her. Meryn? Grandfather? She couldn’t see properly. Her terror was too great. She saw another flash of lightning and heard a crack of thunder. The sleet cut more deeply. Then she felt a hand on hers.

  Come. Quickly. Back to the stone. Back to your own time.

  ‘Meryn?’

  Brid was there again now, standing before her uncle. Her hair was flying, the small blade in her hand puny against Broichan’s strength.

  Traitor witch! Daughter of the hag! His voice echoed in the vastness of the storm. You and Adam will die together on this night.

  ‘Grandfather! Meryn!’

  Beth found herself turning round and round in despair. It was a dream; a nightmare. It had to be. In a moment they would all turn into a pack of cards and come tumbling down around her ears.

  ‘Meryn, help me!’ She screamed into the darkness. ‘I need you … Now!’

  The snow had begun to fall heavily. Giles bent closer to the ground, wishing again and again that he had brought a torch. He was out of breath, gasping, his eyes screwed up against the cold. The path disappeared again and he stooped closer, desperately hunting for it.

  ‘Beth!’ He stood upright and shouted into the murk. ‘Beth, where are you?’ There was no answer. He moved on, almost in despair. Hot tears mixed with the ice on his cheeks. ‘Beth!’

  He was at the top now, and the ground had levelled out. He stood still again and tried to look round. Was that a figure he could see near him? ‘Beth?’ Excitement gave his voice strength. ‘Beth, I’m coming!’

  He stumbled into a run, then he stopped. The figure was almost lost in the mist. But it was not Beth. It was a man, a man who appeared to be brandishing a sword.

  ‘Christ Almighty!’ Giles skidded to a halt. He had nothing to defend himself but his bare hands as Broichan moved towards him, his hair flying wildly round his head in the whirling snow.

  In a second he had closed in on Giles and Giles found himself leaping sideways out of reach of the murderous blows. In a frantic, instinctive moment of self-protection he jumped forward under the blade and caught the other man’s wrist, wrestling frantically, surprised that, in spite of his ferocity he seemed less strong than he had expected. ‘Drop it, you bastard!’ Giles gasped through gritted teeth. He shook the man’s arm like a terrier.

  Broichan!

  The scream came from far away, but it was enough to make the man hesitate. Giles wrenched the sword out of his grasp and it flew through the air. He doubled his fist and aimed it at Broichan’s chin. It made contact with a satisfying thump and Broichan reeled back. Giles turned, searching for the sword. He had a painful stitch and it seemed that blood was running into his eyes.

  ‘Beth!’ He screamed the name into the sleet. ‘Beth, where are you? Adam?’

  Someone was heading towards him. He recognised suddenly the slim figure, the flying hair, the wild stance, the long skirts, the brilliant eyes, the knife …

  ‘Jesus Christ! Beth, look out!’ He didn’t seem to be able to move fast enough. He was locked into his nightmare. He couldn’t see properly.

  The yell from behind him caught him by surprise; he spun round in time to see the huge sword flash again across his vision. He ducked, slipped, fell to one knee and looked up in terror at the man
standing above him. There was no mistaking the intention in those eyes as for one instant their gaze locked.

  Then suddenly Meryn was there. Giles saw him facing Broichan, his hands upraised. He saw Broichan hesitate and step backwards, lowering his sword; he saw Gartnait, his arms reaching out towards his sister, and then Adam was there too.

  ‘Grandfather! Adam!’ Beth’s scream brought them all to a standstill. ‘Adam!’

  He was standing a little way away staring at them all, a much younger Adam, his face alight with excitement and love.

  Brid spun round.

  A-dam!

  She had seen him. At last she had seen him. Her face full of joy she was running towards him through the snow.

  Beth closed her eyes. Meryn! What had Meryn told her to say?

  And suddenly she too could see him in front of her with his gentle face, his strength, his certainty. You can win, Beth. You can prevail! You can save Adam and Brid and yourself. You don’t need me any more. And at last she remembered the word. The word of power which cannot be spoken save in extremis.

  She closed her eyes and raised her arms and shouted it across the hillside, her voice echoing and gaining in strength as the wind dropped and the snow began to slacken.

  * * *

  ‘Wake up!’ Giles’s voice, weak with relief, came to her from a long way away. ‘Beth, wake up!’

  She opened her eyes and looked round.

  Broichan and Brid and Gartnait had disappeared.

  The door to the past had closed.

  She threw herself at Giles, shaking with cold and fear. ‘They’ve gone! Oh my darling, I thought you were going to die!’ She buried her face in his chest.

  He closed his arms around her. ‘Tell me I was dreaming, Beth!’

  She gave a small, sad laugh. ‘I don’t think you were, Giles, look at you.’

  Shaking the sleet from his eyes he stared down. His clothes were soaked in blood. Pushing back his sleeve he saw a vicious slice through his forearm just below the elbow.

  ‘That came from Broichan’s sword,’ Beth said quietly.

  ‘The arch Druid!’ Giles gave a small groan. ‘Who would believe me?’

  ‘No one.’ She had pulled off her scarf and was wrapping it tightly round his arm.

  ‘Beth, where’s your grandfather?’

  Beth stopped and stared round. There was no one in sight in the mist. She rubbed her eyes and turned slowly. ‘But he was here! I can’t see him. Oh Giles, you don’t think – ’

  ‘He’s gone back with them.’

  ‘No! Oh, Giles, no. Meryn said it would work. He said we would all go back to our own time!’ Tears poured down her face.

  Giles hugged her to him, biting his lip against the pain in his arm. ‘I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘It didn’t work.’ She took one last despairing look around and stumbled back towards the path. ‘It was all for nothing! Poor Grandfather. He’s trapped with them, with that evil man Broichan. He will be killed.’

  Liza had stood for a long time at the back door, staring out at the darkness, seeing, in her mind’s eye, not the bitterly cold garden with its layer of light snow, but the stone with its cluster of ancient symbols. She was not afraid. She could sense now that it was over.

  She sighed. ‘God bless, wherever you are,’ she murmured and at last she turned back into the house.

  Ivor was sitting at Adam’s table, his spectacles perched on the end of his nose, deep in Adam’s papers.

  ‘How is he?’ She was tired and very cold.

  ‘I’ve been checking every half an hour. No change.’ He stood up. ‘Go and have a look at him, and I’ll make you a hot drink.’

  Wearily Liza climbed the stairs, pulling off her wet coat as she went. She hung it from the banister at the top and walked along the landing to Adam’s bedroom. Pushing open the door she walked in.

  ‘Beth has gone up to the stone to look for you, you old reprobate,’ she said quietly as she went up to the bed. She looked down at him fondly. ‘I wish I knew where you were.’

  ‘I’m here.’ The whisper was so quiet she barely heard it. He reached out for her hand, his own so weak he could scarcely move. ‘I saw Beth. She’s coming home. And I saw Brid. She’s safe. She has gone to her brother in her own time. He has rescued her from Broichan and he will take care of her. Meryn was there too.’

  Liza sat down on the edge of the bed. She leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. ‘And you’re sure she won’t come back?’

  ‘Not for a while, anyway.’ He shook his head. ‘Not for a while.’

  Then he smiled.

  As he had gathered her into his arms and touched the dark silky hair and kissed her cold lips under the whirling snow, Brid had made one last promise before she turned away from him and slipped out of sight:

  One day, A-dam, I shall find you again. One day I shall see you in the mirror of my mind and I shall return. Then no one shall come between us. Ever.

  24

  The sun was going down. It was growing cold. With a groan Adam sat up and stretched. The shadow of the great Celtic cross lay across him like a swathe. Rubbing his eyes, he looked round. His stomach was rumbling and he could tell without looking at his watch that it must be time to go home.

  He climbed uncomfortably to his feet. He felt disorientated; strange. Slowly the dream was coming back to him.

  Was it a dream?

  Had he dreamed his whole life?

  He glanced back down the hill, trying to get a grip on himself, trying to remember. His mother and father had had another quarrel. He had run away, up the hillside, to his stone. And he had fallen asleep. That was it, surely.

  He was a boy, wearing shorts and gym shoes with his binoculars and his life’s dreams hanging round his neck.

  Or was he, after all, an old man, a fool, who had gone back to the stone, looking for Brid, the beautiful nemesis of his dream; an old man, whose life was nearly over?

  Cautiously, with a shiver of foreboding, he looked down at himself, wondering.

  Which was he now, old man, or boy with his whole life still ahead of him? Could he believe his eyes, or had time played a trick on him again?

  How would he ever know?

  Author’s Note

  Of all the characters in the book only Broichan is based on fact. He appears in Adamnan’s ‘Life of Columba’, the Druid of King Brude who opposed the Saint in his attempts to convert Pictland to Christianity. Naturally, in Adamnan’s version, his pagan powers were vanquished and he vanishes from the story defeated, although history would seem to suggest that Christianity’s spread was in fact a far more gentle and undramatic process than he relates. If I have taken Broichan’s name in vain, and he was really a nice, gentle man, I hope he will forgive me. I should hate to incur his wrath.

  There was a real Meryn, too. A healer and a mystic, he lived, when I knew him when I was a child, in Kensington rather than in his native Welsh hills, but he instilled in me a love of nature and of crystals and of the mysteries of things and for that I shall always remember him with affection and gratitude.

  So many people help with stories and advice when one writes a book, but some have to be singled out for their special contribution. Dr John Waller went to endless trouble to describe for me his days as a medical student at Edinburgh University during the war and I thank him very much for all his help. Air Vice Marshal Sandy Johnstone sent me information and told me stories of his days in the RAF in Scotland in the early months of the war and about Edinburgh during that time, as did my father whose CO Sandy was in 602 Squadron. I am so grateful to them for their reminiscences. My son Adrian supplied me with information on mountain rescue techniques and Jo and Ian McDonald gave advice and hospitality on my tour of Pictish stones. A special thank you too, to Diana Currant who came with me on that trip, for her company and cheerful moral support climbing damp cold hillsides, peering through windows of closed museums and standing shivering whilst I photographed
and sketched and made notes in the pouring rain and icy wind! And finally thanks as always to Carole Blake, and to Rachel Hore and Lucy Ferguson for their support and inspiration and patience!

  About the Author

  On the Edge of Darkness

  A historian by training, Barbara Erskine is the author of ten bestselling novels that demonstrate her interest in both history and the supernatural, plus three collections of short stories. Lady of Hay was her first novel and has now sold over two million copies worldwide. She lives with her family in an ancient manor house near Colchester, and a cottage near Hay-on-Wye.

  For more information about Barbara Erskine, visit her website, www.Barbara-Erskine.com.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.

  By the same Author

  LADY OF HAY

  kingdom of shadows

  encounters (short stories)

  CHILD OF THE PHOENIX

  midnight is a lonely place

  house of echoes

  distant voices (short stories)

  WHISPERS IN THE SAND

  hiding from the light

  sands of time (short stories)

  DAUGHTERS OF FIRE

  the warrior’s princess

  Copyright

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction.

  The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are

  the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to

  actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.