Eternal (6 page)

Everything changed. I was seeing another scene. It seemed far away. My mother was young and pretty like she had been in those photos of my dad’s. But she was holding a baby and crying. She was crying about me. I saw her taking me to the home with just a few little dresses and keepsakes. One of them was a smal gold brooch, which she pinned to my shawl. Then she left. After that I saw someone come in—I’m not sure who, a nurse maybe, I couldn’t see her face properly. Anyway, this nurse came in and picked me up. She saw the brooch and unfastened it and put it in her pocket.” Helen looked up hesitantly. “That brooch was the same shape as the mark on my arm.”

“Go on,” I said. “What happened next?”

“There was more interference and flashing lights. I was back standing on the ledge with the road spread out below. My mother was waiting for me. ‘Come to me, Helen,’ she was saying. ‘Al you have to do is jump. I’l catch you.’ She was smiling, but when I looked again, her face changed to a . . . to a horrible mask . . . like a shrunken white skul . ‘Come to me, come to me, my daughter,’ she said, again and again. ‘No, never, never,’ I screamed, and there was this terrible noise. It was drums beating wildly, on and on, as though the sound itself could destroy me.”

“Drums?” I whispered. “But I—”

“That was only a dream, Helen,” said Evie. “You mustn’t let it get to you.”

“Yes, but when I woke up a pain was burning in my arm.

And this mark has been there ever since.” She touched her arm again, rubbing the place where the mark was hidden by her nightshirt. “It had stopped hurting, but the pain started again when Miss Scratton was speaking before supper. That’s why I decided I had to tel you.”

Dreams. Faces like masks. The sound of drums. It was the same as I had seen and heard. For a moment I couldn’t speak. “So what—what do you think the mark means?” I stammered. “What do you think is happening?”

“I think my mother is trying to contact me from the shadows and drag me into her world,” Helen replied. “She won’t let me alone until I am her creature. That night last term, out on the moors, she said I would acknowledge her as both mother and High Mistress before she was through.”

“But she’s not the High Mistress anymore,” argued Evie.

“She’s dead. She’s gone, Helen. Wasn’t al that stuff about seeing her just a bad dream?”

“So how do you explain the mark?” asked Helen.

“Wel , I guess it could be a good sign,” Evie suggested.

“A protection of some kind.” Helen looked unconvinced, and Evie turned to me pleadingly. “What do you think, Sarah?”

I didn’t know what to think. “I suppose it could be a good omen,” I said cautiously. “Let’s hope it is. But why would Agnes’s study be sealed against us? Who—or what—is behind that?”

Evie answered hurriedly. “What if it’s Agnes herself?

Maybe this is her way of tel ing us that our time with the Mystic Way is finished. And if the mark on Helen’s arm is for protection, maybe Agnes is tel ing us there is nothing more we need to do.”

“And what if the mark is hostile and it’s Mrs. Hartle or the coven stopping us going through the door?” I asked.

Evie looked self-conscious and replied in a strained, artificial voice. “Of course,” she said, “there’s the possibility that the mark could be some kind of psychosomatic phenomenon—”

“How sane and rational!” Helen’s pale eyes flashed with quiet anger. “Yes, it could be that. I could have imagined the whole thing. Everyone says I’m half-crazy anyway. Is that what you think too, Evie?”

There was a silence. It was the nearest we had ever come to a quarrel. I had to sort it out, be the peacemaker.

“Evie doesn’t think that, Helen. She’s just tired and upset. It’s al been so difficult for her, we have to remember that.”

“I know—,” began Helen.

“Do you? Do either of you real y know what is feels like to be me?” Evie said with a sob in her voice. “I am so tired of hiding in the shadows, of dealing with death and sorrow and ancient wrongs and powers. Sebastian wanted me to move on, to live in the light, and that’s what I’m trying to do.

I just don’t think I can cope with any more of this.”

“Don’t you think I’ve had stuff to cope with too?” replied Helen wildly. “I’d been tormented by my mother long before you even came to Wyldcliffe, Evie. You and Sarah both take the fact that you have your families for granted. And you had Sebastian, if only for a short time. You were loved!

No one . . . no one . . . has ever loved me.”

Helen’s face was tight with pain, and she leaned against the wal in despair. I wanted so much to reach out to her, but she seemed to radiate a cold, invisible barrier.

Evie was crying quietly, wrapped up in her own unhappiness.

This couldn’t happen. We had to stay together. “Stop it, both of you,” I begged. “Please, we mustn’t fight. Evie, don’t let this happen!” She took a deep breath and scrubbed the tears from her eyes, then pul ed herself together before making a stilted apology.

“I’m sorry, Helen, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“We love you, Helen,” I added. I gave her a hug, but she didn’t respond. “And don’t you remember what Miss Scratton said? That one day you wil meet someone who wil love you—”

“Beyond the confines of this world,” finished Helen in a shaky voice. “Yeah, I remember. But I don’t see how that can ever happen. Anyway, it doesn’t matter about me.

Please forget what I said. The mark is my problem, not yours. And I do want you to be happy, Evie. I want you to find the peace you’re looking for, I real y do.”

The moment of anger was over. We were sisters again, but for how long?

Evie sighed. “It’s not just your problem, Helen. Sarah was right. We’re in this together. So what are we going to do?”

Helen shook her head hopelessly. “I don’t know. I’ve run out of ideas. And I feel that I’m running out of time.”

“Don’t worry,” Evie murmured. “Everything wil be okay.”

But I felt she was speaking with her lips, not from her heart.

The bonds between the three of us suddenly seemed so fragile. We stood there, waiting silently in the dark, and it seemed that it was left to me to come up with some kind of plan.

“We could walk away,” I said slowly, “and pretend none of it ever happened—Sebastian and Agnes and the coven.

But there’s the mark on Helen’s arm. It appeared after her dream, or vision, about Mrs. Hartle, which can’t be a coincidence. And I’ve had—”

I paused. For some reason I didn’t want to tel them about my dreams. They had been menacing, with their drums and grotesque images, but I couldn’t forget the look in those eyes. There had been someone looking at me, someone who knew me, right the way through. Someone who loved me, and I had longed for his kiss. . . . It was too personal, too private for even my dearest friends to know about.

“Wel , like I told you, I feel something is watching us,” I went on. “And now something is stopping us getting into Agnes’s study. Don’t forget that the Book is locked away in there. Why are we being prevented from getting hold of it?”

“The Book,” said Helen, looking with up with interest.

“There might be something in it about this mark on my arm.

It might tel us more. I need to know what this thing is.”

The Book of the Mystic Way, describing ancient secrets and spel s, had been discovered by Sebastian. It had survived the years since then and was a priceless treasure. The other relic of the Mystic Way that had come down through the years was Evie’s Talisman, bequeathed to her by Agnes. The Talisman was a finely wrought charm of silver, with a glittering crystal at its center, and it was hanging safely on a chain around Evie’s neck. The Book, however, was hidden in Agnes’s old writing desk, on the other side of the sealed door.

I glanced at my watch and shivered with cold. We had been up in the lightless attic for over an hour. Every minute that we spent out of our beds in the middle of the night was putting us at risk of being caught by one of the mistresses.

If Miss Scratton found us breaking the school rules, I was sure she would understand and forgive us. But there were others—the plump, gushing geography mistress Miss Dalrymple, for instance—who were secret members of the coven and would love to discover our meeting place.

“Look, we’d better not stay up here much longer,” I said.

“Why doesn’t Helen try one last time to pass through the door and retrieve the Book? At least then we could see if it would tel us anything about the sign on her arm.”

“Al right,” said Helen.

“And, Evie?” I asked. “Are you wil ing for Helen to make one more attempt?”

“If we must,” she said. Then she shook herself and spoke more enthusiastical y. “Yes, of course. Let’s try.”

“We should make the Circle,” I said. “That wil strengthen our efforts.”

I bent down and drew a Circle in the dust on the floor.

Standing up again, I whispered, “Lord of Creation, we draw this Circle, round and whole like your sacred earth.

Let it protect us. Let it be a holy place, where we seek only truth.”

We al stepped inside the Circle and held hands.

“We are sisters of the Mystic Way,” said Helen. “We put our gifts in the service of the Light.”

Together we began to chant the familiar words, “The air of our breath, the water of our veins, the earth of our bodies, the fire of our desires . . .” As the chanting quieted our minds, we went deep into ourselves, reaching out to the mysteries. Then Evie finished the incantation, saying,

“Water . . . Fire . . . Earth . . . Air . . . we ask the mystic elements to work through us for the common good.”

When the opening invocation was over, Helen closed her eyes and began to murmur secret words, swaying slightly from side to side. The air stirred in the stuffy attic, and Helen’s hair whipped around her face. She seemed to burn with silver light, until she was so bright I could hardly look at her. The next moment she vanished. Evie clutched my hand tightly and whispered, “Oh, Sarah, I hope she’l be al right.”

I strained to listen for any sound to indicate that Helen had made it to the other side of the door and was drawing back the bolts to let us in. There was nothing—just a dreadful, cold silence. Al the things that could go wrong began to race through my head. I didn’t real y know how this gift of Helen’s worked. We had simply accepted it when she had first revealed her ability to dissolve into the air and reappear somewhere else. It was just one more of the marvels we had stumbled across. But now I wondered anxiously what was happening. What if she got trapped in the in-between state? What if the spirit of Mrs. Hartle was able to enter that hidden place and ensnare her? I stared down at the circle in the dust and repeated, “Protect her, protect her, protect her . . .”

An eternity later, Helen crashed into us, coughing and gasping. There was blood on her face, streaming from a gash over her eye. “I couldn’t . . . I couldn’t find my way.

Something was pushing me. . . .” We waited for her to get her breath. “I went into the tunnel of wind, as usual, but I couldn’t control it. I fel out at the other end, far up on the hil s, near those huge stones on Blackdown Ridge.”

“And you’re bleeding—”

“Oh that, yes. I fel against one of the stones.”

“But how did you end up on the Ridge?” asked Evie anxiously.

“Someone sent me,” Helen replied, sounding dazed.

“And then I was blasted back here.”

“At least you came back safely,” I said.

“Am I safe?” Helen’s yel ow-green eyes looked strange in the dim light. “I heard something out there on the moor. It sounded like—I don’t know, voices, far away. And then—”

“What?”

“Someone cal ing my name.” Her head drooped.

“Perhaps it was only in my mind. Crazy, like they say. I’m sorry. I can’t open the door.”

“Has anyone got any other ideas?” I asked. “Evie?”

“There’s one thing I could try.” She drew the Talisman from around her neck. It glinted in the torchlight, swinging on its silver chain. Lady Agnes had locked her powers and her love for Sebastian in its glittering heart. Evie held the necklace up and said, “Agnes, my sister and ancestor, I invoke your strength and wisdom. Help us now. If it is your wil , open the door to us.”

I knew somehow that nothing would happen. Perhaps Evie didn’t real y want it to. Perhaps Lady Agnes real y was no longer able or wil ing to help us. Or maybe this simply wasn’t the right moment. We have to wait for the signs and be ready for the way to be shown to us. There is a time for everything. I truly believe that.

Evie lowered her arm and slowly let out her breath. “I’m sorry. I seem to have lost my way.”

“But last term you did so much, with fire as wel as water,” Helen said. “You were in control of the Talisman.”

“Last term was different!” Evie’s anger flashed out; then she control ed herself, taking a deep breath. “Last term Sebastian was in Wyldcliffe. Just knowing that gave me strength. I’m sorry. I’m not ready for this.” She hid the Talisman away again. “Why don’t you try, Sarah?”

I had no idea what I could do. My powers of earth were slow and deep; the movements of the seasons; the mysteries of plants and herbs; the way of animals; earth and bone and blood and clay; the innermost secrets of the heart. I walked up to the door and examined it. It was made of smooth wood, but here and there, knots and grooves showed in the grain. I tried to let the wood speak to me, to hear the sigh and sway of the living tree that it had come from.

Let me pass, I thought, as I stretched my hands out and placed them on the door.

It began to shake. A fine spray of dust began to spurt from the crack where the door fitted into its surround. The dust grew faster and thicker like a tiny avalanche, until it was pouring onto the floor in soft heaps. A tearing, splintering noise came from under my hands and at last I staggered back, fal ing against Evie and Helen.

The surface of the wood had erupted into raw, fresh markings. They formed a pattern of letters that read: LISTEN TO THE DRUMS

And below that, scored across the panels of the old door like an angry snake, there blazed the letter S.