CHAPTER FIVE
In
leafy Tunbridge Wells, Gail Wright sat in her sitting room and contemplated the
crystal bowl. It glowed only faintly now. She concentrated on making her mind a
blank sheet. Some deeper instinct insisted this is what she must do. Slowly,
but surely she succeeded. An innate self-confidence began to reassert
itself.
Certainly, she wasn’t afraid. Not for herself, at any rate. But those same nether instincts warned her there was danger about. She became aware of losing her identity in much the same way as a caterpillar sheds its skin. No butterfly emerged, however. Instead, new shapes and images started to appear. These meant nothing to Gail. Yet another self, awakening within a second consciousness, was gradually able to identify most of them. Among them, the young man she had glimpsed before, not unlike her son, Michael, but dark instead of fair. He was angry and shouting....
Certainly, she wasn’t afraid. Not for herself, at any rate. But those same nether instincts warned her there was danger about. She became aware of losing her identity in much the same way as a caterpillar sheds its skin. No butterfly emerged, however. Instead, new shapes and images started to appear. These meant nothing to Gail. Yet another self, awakening within a second consciousness, was gradually able to identify most of them. Among them, the young man she had glimpsed before, not unlike her son, Michael, but dark instead of fair. He was angry and shouting....
But these were only
pictures and blurred at that. It was like watching an old TV film with the
sound turned right down. Another man came into view. It could have been her
husband, Tim. Only, that was absurd…. Well, isn’t
it?
Both vanished from
the ‘screen’ to be replaced by the image of a woman, the spitting image of
herself some years younger. She was
running down a dark passage. Nor was she
alone. A young boy, a mere infant, clutched at one hand. Behind her, a woman
carried a girl child in her arms. There was someone else. The name Ricci came
into her head, unbidden, but meant nothing. They were in a stream, no a sewer.
She saw a huge rat and screamed.
The
scream reverberated through the whole house and had the immediate effect of
restoring Gail Wright to a state of near normality. She shook her head and even
managed a grim smile. How on earth could she have imagined seeing a rat? Now,
there something she was meant to do? Ah, yes, the supermarket. Her eyes
fastened on a scrap of paper on the table. She snatched it up and her own neat
handwriting leapt up at her as she read, Tea, Sugar, Cornflakes, Mamelon….
Mamelon…?
Suddenly,
the moving pictures started up again. Faces and names. Names and faces. Gail,
Galia. Galia, Gail. Everything was
muddled, yet so vivid and uncannily familiar.
Could they be memories? She felt
sick. Her mind reeled and went spinning like a top into another time, another
place…
Mamelon…
She heard someone speak her name. The voice,
although distant, was oddly familiar. As
it closed in on her ears, she realised it was her own.
Michal is gone, Timon, too, and what of Calum and Nadya? For Ri’s sake, I must save the children! Elves, yes, they will help, they must. Am I not part elf? Dear Ri, let it be so! Oh, but there’s something else? Ah, yes, the key! What of the sacred key? Give it to Ricci for safekeeping, yes. Elves must help. How can they refuse? Now, go. Ignore the children’s cries. Ricci and Oona will keep them safe. I will be back soon. Even soon is too long, but it must be done, for all our sakes. Run, now, run to the Forest of Gar. And make peace, seek peace, find peace…
Michal is gone, Timon, too, and what of Calum and Nadya? For Ri’s sake, I must save the children! Elves, yes, they will help, they must. Am I not part elf? Dear Ri, let it be so! Oh, but there’s something else? Ah, yes, the key! What of the sacred key? Give it to Ricci for safekeeping, yes. Elves must help. How can they refuse? Now, go. Ignore the children’s cries. Ricci and Oona will keep them safe. I will be back soon. Even soon is too long, but it must be done, for all our sakes. Run, now, run to the Forest of Gar. And make peace, seek peace, find peace…
Somewhere
in the 21st century, emergency sirens screamed past a pretty
semi-detached house in a quiet avenue lined with beech trees. Gail’s head began
to clear although an old nursery rhyme settled there and would not budge, Ladybird, Ladybird, fly away home /your
house is on fire and your children…
What
happened to the children...? I must remember.
Gail
picked up the bowl. The crystal responded instantly to her touch and began to
glow a deeper pink than before. Now crimson, now white. Its very whiteness
suggested an unbearable heat. Only, there was none. On the contrary, the bowl
was icy cold against her skin. It began
to let off a vapour in which more pictures appeared, and clearer now. More
faces. Names, too, that played hide-and-seek in a parade of personalities and
identities that she had turned her back upon but never quite forsaken.
Galia,
Gail. Gail, Galia. To and fro, the images came and
went, back and forth…
She saw
her own face again. Ah, but no. Nadya…
Galia of Mamelon gasped. Could it be that her daughter was alive? A child stood beside Nadya, Another child
came into view. Gail moaned softly. I
have slept too long, Joy, sorrow,
terror…all these did battle with each other in her heart. These children, a boy and a girl, they are my grandchildren. The
girl was pretty, but she saw no family resemblance. The boy was fair, like his
grandmother...
Galia’s heart skipped a beat, caught like a scrap of cloth on barbed wire until it tore away and began beating again. But there were strands left on the wire, she thought sadly. Blood, too. The boy’s handsome face was screwed up in pain. Such pain, it passed through her whole body. She dropped the bowl. It clattered on the table. From one tiny fragment of crystal a spark of light flared briefly and died. In that instant she saw something, a face.
Galia’s heart skipped a beat, caught like a scrap of cloth on barbed wire until it tore away and began beating again. But there were strands left on the wire, she thought sadly. Blood, too. The boy’s handsome face was screwed up in pain. Such pain, it passed through her whole body. She dropped the bowl. It clattered on the table. From one tiny fragment of crystal a spark of light flared briefly and died. In that instant she saw something, a face.
Astor.
The
name, as feared as it was loved, yanked at her every nerve ending until she
could bear it no longer and fell to the floor in a dead faint.
Gail
Wright recovered consciousness in her husband’s arms, his kind face gazing into
hers, anxious and full of concern. He was kneeling on the floor, her head in
his lap. “What time is it?” she needed to know for some obscure reason.
“Three
o’clock, near enough. You must have fainted. But you’re going to be okay.
Everything is going to be okay,” he kept repeating. The words of the Okay Song
came into her head and its melody reassured her as it always did.
“The children..?” She sat up in alarm and tried to remember why she should be so worried about them.
“The children..?” She sat up in alarm and tried to remember why she should be so worried about them.
Tim
Wright mopped his wife’s brow with a large handkerchief. “They’ll be okay,
don’t worry.”
“But they’re in…” she faltered. What had she meant to say? Could it be danger? But how, why…? She only knew for certain that she was afraid for them and could see signs of her own distress mirrored in their father’s eyes for all his outward show of calm. Such gentle eyes, too. They were green, like a reflection of trees on a ring of glassy water. She let herself float on it, gently, like a leaf. Above her, a clear sky stretched forever. Now clouds began to form. Not fluffy white ones but a brown-yellow formation. Colours, everywhere, were changing from bright to drab. A marmalade tint gave the rolling scene an added pathos. Mamelon, she thought she heard herself cry, and then realised she hadn’t uttered a sound. The face close to hers swam into a different focus. Another face superimposed itself on the dear, familiar features. “Timon!” she gasped.
“Yes, Galia, it is I,” murmured Tim Wright even as he peeled away at layer upon layer of a half-forgotten consciousness to rediscover Timon, Holy Seer of Mamelon, who had turned his back on the world of his birth because he so loved the wife of his best friend and Ruler, Michal.
“But they’re in…” she faltered. What had she meant to say? Could it be danger? But how, why…? She only knew for certain that she was afraid for them and could see signs of her own distress mirrored in their father’s eyes for all his outward show of calm. Such gentle eyes, too. They were green, like a reflection of trees on a ring of glassy water. She let herself float on it, gently, like a leaf. Above her, a clear sky stretched forever. Now clouds began to form. Not fluffy white ones but a brown-yellow formation. Colours, everywhere, were changing from bright to drab. A marmalade tint gave the rolling scene an added pathos. Mamelon, she thought she heard herself cry, and then realised she hadn’t uttered a sound. The face close to hers swam into a different focus. Another face superimposed itself on the dear, familiar features. “Timon!” she gasped.
“Yes, Galia, it is I,” murmured Tim Wright even as he peeled away at layer upon layer of a half-forgotten consciousness to rediscover Timon, Holy Seer of Mamelon, who had turned his back on the world of his birth because he so loved the wife of his best friend and Ruler, Michal.
To be continued
