HAVERSHAM HILL A cold wind blew and it rained steadily, leaving everything shrouded in a misty veil, the day of the funerals. It was an unusually wet September in
~ CHAPTER ~ 1
The only mourner at this funeral was the brother and uncle of the deceased. He was a well to do business man from
The gravedigger, a well muscled black man, stood back in the thickets his forearm resting on his shovel; as he mopped his face with a soiled white handkerchief. He wore faded jeans with holes in the knees and frayed at the bottom. His wet shirt hung over a nearby gravestone. Rain ran down his muscled chest and fell onto the ground. His eyes were huge in his face with whites showing all around as he looked over his shoulder wishing for a speedy service so he could be on his way. He could feel the spirits hovering here causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end.
The rain came down in a constant cold drizzle and didn't let up the entire time. It seemed a fitting day for a place such as this where it was incessantly quiet as the excess water gathered in the low spots forming muddy pools. The only sound was the splashing of the rain as it hit the standing water. Mist hung in the trees and around the old markers adding to the dreariness of this painful ordeal. Merrill was in a depressed mood having lost the last of his relatives.
As the vicar finished speaking and stepped back, Merrill cleared his throat and threw three white roses into the new graves. He had decided he would sell the three hundred year old mansion, located on these grounds, that had been erected by his relatives in the sixteen hundreds. He would not be coming back to Haversham Hill, letting the legacy and all the legends die with his sister and her children. For years he had tried and was successful in separating himself from the spirits that lingered here and from the lifestyle his sister lived. So this was the last of it then.
Slowly he stepped away and back to the forest path, pulling his coat closer against the wind as the gravedigger finished his work. He didn't look back when the gates clanged shut behind him but he heard the shovel make a dull scraping sound as it dug into the mounds of dirt.
Stepping quietly he maneuvered his way around the pools of water and back to the house, his shoes tapping gently as they touched the packed wet earth. His intention was to dispose of any personal items that would cause needless family embarrassment and brand his sister for what she was. He wanted to make haste back to
The gargoyles looked at him knowingly as his shoes clapped across the wet boards of the old porch. Their evil faces glared down as the wind sent a shower of fall leaves skittering by. Merrill pulled the collar tighter around his neck and ducked his head down against the chill as he reached the door, pulling it open to reveal a different world than his own. This was a world of dark evil forces that seemed to hang thick in the air around him.
He worked quickly, his thin frame moving easily through the darkened rooms, as he pulled books and papers on magic from the shelves and cupboards. His long fingers removed jars of unknown items along with implements and candles that his sister used in her craft. All these items came to rest in a pile on the wood plank floor. He worked room by room gathering things to join the pile that was getting higher as the afternoon wore on. He was hoping the weather would clear so he could carry out his plan of burning everything that could link the family to witchcraft.
It thrilled him when the rain clouds lifted and he was able to light the fire at dusk. He stood huddled against the chill with his overcoat held snug as he watched the flames flicker and dance in shades of orange and yellow. He was satisfied of a job well done as the pile was gradually being reduced to black ash. Little did he know he didn't find the things in a secret hiding place deep in the house.
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“Noooo!” Lady Glynis wakes with a start, gasping for breath. Her scream brings her handmaidens running from the adjoining alcove. They move with haste to the Lady’s bedside where she’s sitting up in disheveled bedding, panting and grasping at the coverlets with boney fingers, her dark hair wild and tangled. “My Lady what has happened?” Annalisse grabs her thin arms shaking her as her gray eyes stare into space. The Lady’s bedclothes are damp with her own sweat. It trickles down her neck bringing a chill and a shutter. “Quick Gerta bring a blanket.” Annalisse looks wide eyed at her companion who rushes to the chest in the corner, the lid creaking open, as she pulls a wrap of white yarn from it. The old chest lid shut with a bang as she races across the space with the spread trailing behind her, her green gown rustling softly as it brushes against the stone floor. “Was it a bad dream, my Lady?” Annalisse sits on the bed wiping the oracles face with a soft cloth dampened from the basin on the chest. Glynis moans, beginning to come around as they drape the coverlet over her frail shivering form. “I’m alright now. Please I must get ready for the celebrations.” She feels weak from her nightmare and finds it hard to push the maidens’ aside and stand. “Just sit my Lady. You’re dazed and must rest. We have time to get your bath.” Annalisse keeps a firm grip on her arm as she signals Gerta to bring forth some watered wine. “I’ve seen my own death. The winds of change will blow.” Glynis speaks solemnly keeping a rigid grasp on the goblet with both hands so as not to spill it. Shaken by the experience and not prone to nightmares, she slowly gains control over herself again. She must accept the fact she’ll come to the same end as her mother. This thought frightens her greatly as she remembers well caring for her mother the last years of her life. “Tell us my Lady. What was your dream?” However, the handmaidens know she will not speak about it and look fearfully at each other wondering what kind of change is coming and when. Who’s to rule the Isle if the Lady dies? “Where’s Meriona?” The Lady’s voice interrupts the maiden’s silent contemplation. Startled Annalisse looks over at her companion for the answer. She knows Lady Glynis is seldom wrong in her predictions and this thought scares her. Whom will they look to for guidance if she meets her demise as she predicts? There’s no one trained to step into her place. A pensive expression crosses her face. “She sees to preparations for tonight’s feast.” Gerta’s words were hardly out when they heard the commotion out in the commons. Peering across the vast grassy area, she could make out the men as they struggled to lay the large bonfire for the coming celebration. The clang of pots shattered the silence in the lady’s quarters as the village women wrestled with the large containers and the tables as children frolicked about. Shaking her troubled thoughts away Annalisse reaches for the lady’s hand. She would give this some thought later. All the activity on the grounds signaled there was no time to waste. “Do you think you’re strong enough now to prepare?” Annalisse and Gerta help Glynis up, then down the passageway to the bathing room. The sweet smell of lavender permeates the small space as it wafts in curls of steam from the vessel. A blue gown and veils adorn a lounging bench nearby. Lady Glynis sits in a trance gazing into the crystal pool. The skirt of her long blue garment spills over the rocks that sit like sentinels guarding this sacred place. Thick and jet-black, her hair tumbles over thin shoulders to form a curtain over her face as she rests her lithe body beside the boulders propping herself up with slender pale arms. The Isle of Tiernay De Ochern is heavily wooded with abundant streams and cascading waterfalls. Rugged boulders in shades of gray and brown lay throughout the countryside, which lies in a veil of mists most of the year keeping it hidden from the rest of the world. The Isle sits alone surrounded by water and only accessible by boat once the brave adventurer has made his way through the rugged mountain trails to the bank where a boat is available. Raised to be an oracle, Lady Glynis is a leader to her people. She stepped in without question to fill this position when it was time to do so. Her job is to oversee preparations for and to preside over the festivals and feast days as well as to watch over all the inhabitants of the isle. The villagers bring their disputes before her and they seek her guidance for the perplexities in their lives. Glynis has always been thin and pallid. She looks even more so now against the rich backdrop of the massive trees and boulders. Water trickles from some unknown source above her head making its way over the bumps and crevices and into the pool. The water is so deep it appears black and bottomless. Small ripples spread outward where the stream enters the pool across from her perch. Here an endless supply of round rings spiral away to the edges where it falls silent against the rocks and reeds that grow there. A frog croaks nearby and a brief rustling in a bush that grows on the bank signals some small animal going to its evening rest. As twilight falls, a crescent moon ascends over the mountain in the eastern sky. Stars begin to take shape in the darkness and as if by magic, they appear in groups and patterns twinkling and blinking in the night sky. A gentle wind ruffles her hair and clothes but she doesn’t stir keeping her gaze fixed upon the water looking for the prophecy to come. The faint ringing of a bell on a distant hill pierces the stillness. Ragged strips of cloth tied to the rowan tree above the pool flutter in the breeze, all the wishes and prayers from the people in the village who venture here to ask for blessings. Glynis can smell the smoke of the numerous bonfires as it drifts up to her. Ah, the celebration of Candlemas has begun. She shifts slightly and lets thoughts of the ceremony fill her soul. She feels such joy that her people have survived another winter and it’s time once again to welcome the sun back to warm the earth. Her lips curve up gently for she has always loved the spring best of all the seasons. The celebrations on the Isle transcend time and centuries as the traditions pass from one generation to the next. Her gray eyes glow like mercury as a picture forms in the water before her. Two daughters will be born to a peasant couple in the small The water ripples again and she sees famine and starvation. Many lives will be lost as the people struggle to get through yet another winter. Food and medicine will be scarce and living conditions grow crowded as people move in together to help each other and save on supplies. The next vision is two sisters playing in a mountain meadow and running through the forest. Their laughter brings a smile to her delicate lips. Then her face grows still and serious as her eyes stare into the rippling water once more. She sees bandits with swords. The flames of numerous fires crackle amid clouds of black smoke, consuming the village. It falls to the ground in an echo of many crashes. The picture before her fades and another takes its place. She sees a young girl struggling alone, her face sad but hopeful. The image in the pool begins to flicker and is gone. Once more Glynis looks down into a black still pit. She stirs and a young maiden in the green robe of a novice comes soundlessly from nearby to help her to her feet. Reaching down with small slender fingers, she clasps the Lady’s hands to pull her up; long red curls tumble over her shoulders hiding half the freckles on her young face as she eases her arm around Glynis’s small waist to help her to the footpath where they start down the steep hill together. “You have seen, my Lady?” “Yes Annalisse. I have seen.” Her voice is hoarse and she speaks barely above a whisper as she stumbles, weak from the experience. They walk in silence down the path that meanders through the trees and boulders as it makes its way back to the village at the base of the hill where the bonfires crackle and spit red sparks into the night air. The men sit in groups on the grassy knolls while the women busy themselves with setting up the feast on trestle tables. Children dart around chasing each other, their reflections casting ever-changing shadows on the ground. All activity and chatter stop as Lady Glynis comes out of the forest and into the clearing. The children hang on the garments of their mothers and everyone stands at attention waiting to hear the prophecy.
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THE MEDALLION - BOOK ONE - THE PROPHECY
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New Book - Coming Soon - SAVING THE RAINBOW - A Y/A fantasy story.
My new manuscript is now in the ABNA 2010 contest.
It will be published this summer after the contest is over.
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